by Brian Aldiss
Chapter Sixteen
‘Then in a wailful choir …’
A few hours later, with a fanfare of Technicolor, the sun sank like an express lift into the world’s basements; and night, with the jocular shrewdness of a confidence trickster, stepped out in its best array. Unalarmed by this florid imagery, Soames paced the roof of the palace, lonely and alone. A night bird, with all the zest of a returning earth satellite, hurtled over his head calling ‘Crippen! Crippen!’
Under his arm, Soames carried a bulky volume which detailed the statutes of the realm. Princess Cherry had found it for him in the library. He had brought it straight up here to peruse the regulations pertaining to the defloration ceremony. The relevant passage was fairly brief. Translated from a French liberally scattered with misprints, it read:
1. The President shall present himself at dawn upon the appointed day at the Defloration Field, at what time his ministers and his people shall already be present and orderly. He shall then be divested by his retinue of all he wears, save only his shoes, should he care to retain them. He shall then salute the East, so that the first rays of the sun, lighting and warming his pudendum, shall reveal that he has no artificial aids, props or engines about him.
2. The Chosen Virgin shall meanwhile have been made ready upon the Defloration Couch, whose height shall be adjusted to the requirements of the President, provided it be not raised higher than the general eye level of the spectators. The Chosen Virgin shall be divested of all her garments; such bangles and adornments as she may wear on her arms and legs shall be removed, provided they be removable; necklaces may be retained, provided they be of insufficient length to hamper the proceedings.
3. The Defloration Call shall now be sounded upon bugle or drum. The President shall come forward and, without climbing upon the Couch, shall be allowed two minutes in which to exchange such endearments or caresses with the Virgin as may suitably stiffen his purpose for the task at hand.
4. The Second Defloration Call shall now be sounded, whereupon the President, without undue hesitation, shall be required to mount the Couch and assume an appropriate position with the Chosen Virgin.
5. The Defloration shall now take place. If the season is wet, a thin attendant shall be allowed to hold an umbrella over the accouched couple in such a manner as not to obscure them from the general view; or, if it be dry, a similarly narrow attendant shall fan the couple with a small fan to protect them from the attentions of flies.
6. Upon the President’s withdrawal, the Mayor shall investigate the Chosen Virgin, in order to ascertain that matters have reached their just and necessary conclusion. When he has satisfied himself upon this point, he shall declare in a loud voice: ‘The candidate for the Presidency is proven capable of filling the opening offered him.’ He shall take the right hand of the President and raise it high, showing him this way and that to the crowds, to announce him victorious. The President shall then assume his dress again.
7. No animals shall be allowed upon the Field. No ice cream or any other foodstuff capable of causing a distraction shall be consumed while the ceremony is in progress. Such betting as may be carried on over the outcome of the event, shall be conducted outside the field.
8. The term ‘Virgin’ shall be understood to mean any female over the age of six years old; previous experience in love shall not disqualify her, unless she be plainly more than six months gone with child.
9. A silver collection shall be taken directly after the dismounting; proceeds shall go to the Mayor’s ‘Help the Children’ Fund.
10. When the ceremony is successfully completed, the Chosen Virgin shall be considered the lawful wife of the President and shall receive the title of ‘Mrs President’, and shall live in the palace until her demise or until the expiration of the term of office, whichever term shall prove shorter.
All this, to Soames, made very uncomfortable reading. The absurd glory of becoming President had been killed for him at the moment of its fruition; as the cup of success reached his lips, he had read its label, ‘Not Drinking Water’. This horrible, primitive rite he could not go through with.
‘It’s always the same,’ he muttered, half-aloud, wandering behind the tesselations. ‘Whatever I do, there’s always sex in it. No matter how remotely connected the two things seem, you bet sex will eventually enter. You cannot escape it! As the most solid-looking matter is basically composed of nothing more than waves of force, so the most innocent-seeming circumstance turns out to consist of this peculiar quality. It gives me as much pleasure as it does the next man; thank heaven, I’ve never been stuck with the idea that sex was dirty – but, my God, it’s certainly ubiquitous.’
He stopped suddenly. A slight figure had emerged from behind the covered stair-top and stood on the roof in Soames’ path.
‘Who’s that?’ Soames demanded sharply, peering through the dusk.
‘Sir, not to be alarmed, sir, is only to be your humble servant, Turdilal Ghosti,’ said an oily voice. ‘I am come here for to give you helpful advice, sir.’
‘I don’t want any advice from you, thank you. You can turn round and go right back to where you came from; in fact, why don’t you go back to Firpo’s, Turdilal?’
‘Is impossible, sir. Here I am living in this bloody old town, sir, since seven years, also having with me my wife and six little chickos, and my brother and his family, and my uncle with his relations, also including my senile old mother, sir, lapsing rapidly to death. Is impossible to leave, sir, forgive me.’
‘Well, just get off the roof!’ Soames said.
The Hindu spread his arms wide.
‘Between us, sir, the past has maybe brought much misunderstanding; each and every bit I am regretting with a bristling heart. This I now make up for by make you very good offer, sir, and seal our friendship with love.’
‘What do you want?’ Soames asked.
‘Now, sir, only I am coming to tell you of very lovely fair lady called by name Tulatu. About her I can confidentially tell you many secret things for your advantage, sir. This young lady is of extraordinary, irresistible attractment and also once seen can hardly be believed. On top also is making lovely nice cooking and doing all household work good. Also about this young lady is many symptoms of culture, such as make dance or singing for you either upstairs or in your lower regions or the garden. I tell you, sir, purely with confidence, that this mentionable young lady is blessed also by Heaven with nature most gentle, mild temper and strong white teeth. Sleeping or awake, always I insist you will like her. She makes most dainty motions. This girl for you to take on Defloration Couch is a most ideal only attained by splendid good fortune or the lucky chance of circumstance, blessed by God. Happily, sir, having once set her eyes upon you, she is consummated with bloody eager desire to be taken by you, otherwise she will not consider this matter in any way at all.’
‘I see,’ Soames remarked, properly impressed by this oration. ‘Is she by any chance some sort of relation of yours, Turdilal?’
‘Oh, sir, no, sir. Of her only I am speaking in purely self-disinterest. You are too much suspicious for me! This young lady is Dumayami’s daughter, sir.’
The wind went from Soames’ sails like a homing pigeon homing. Before he could attack the impudence of this suggestion, Turdilal was speaking again.
‘Sir, please to consider this poor old man Dumayami that by your power you are casting from his job, sir, to humble chicken farm; he is now being without friends or doimores. So he is thinking humbly in exile each and every day that if you are accepting this paragon of daughter called by name Tulatu he will regain prestige and good name and live to bless you. Also this young daughter is only just a schoolgirl, sir, exceptionally well reversed in all the arts of love and every pleasure of marriage bed, with good fine flesh and moulded exterior make you lucky man all men are envying.’
‘I’ll think it over,’ Soames said. ‘Bring Tulatu to me tomorrow, Choosing Day, and I will interview her.’ After all, if the office of Pre
sident was to carry its burdens, it should also carry its pleasures.
When he had lavished more praise on the attractions of Miss Dumayami, the Hindu departed. Soames, however, was not left alone on the roof. No sooner had Turdilal gone, than a light footstep made Soames turn to confront the slender figure approaching him. Peering through the dimness, Soames discerned Ping Hwa.
His heart lightly changed gear as she touched his sleeve and then withdrew her hand.
‘Excuse,’ she said, hanging her head and obviously filled with a sudden embarrassment. ‘I – ai ya, I say little English, cannot say. Best go leave you.’
‘Ping Hwa,’ Soames said, reaching out and seizing her fragile wrist, for she looked as if she were about to run away. He sat down on a weathered bench, drawing her nearer until her knees touched his legs. ‘Ping Hwa, I am glad to see you.’
‘Sir, two times I come to see you your room. You not there. I t’ink you not want see this girl,’ she said, looking about her uneasily, as if the idea of running away had not yet deserted her.
‘I did want to see you, Ping Hwa,’ Soames said. ‘I didn’t know you had come. It was just – well, I have hardly had a moment of peace since I came to Goya. I never seem to get a chance to do the things I want to do. Do you understand?’
‘I say my father, “I not want go again see that man, he not like me.” My father say, “Go more again one time”.’
‘You mustn’t let him bully you. I’d like to know you better, Ping Hwa, without any strings or conditions attached. Not a business deal, you know – a – a gentleman’s agreement. Do you understand what I mean? For your own sake …’
‘My father make me come see you. I not speak many word in English. Not say anything of meaning. You not like see me.’
‘I don’t feel like that,’ Soames said. ‘You don’t know what I’m like. You’ll soon learn the language and, besides, two people can do other things besides talk, eh? Let’s just keep our father out of this entirely, shall we? Think of each other; do you understand?’
‘I say my father, “Here many girl too many.” I no speak. You not want see this girl.’
During this conversation, in which both sides might have been addressing different sides of different brick walls, for all the transference of ideas that took place, the Chinese girl looked, in the half-light, so infinitely defenceless and desirable that Soames groaned in despair. He groaned because he surmised that something more impenetrable than the language bar lay between them, because he had experienced this same inability to communicate with English girls perfectly fluent in the language and he perceived that Ping Hwa was unable to grasp all the unsaid things which – whether we like it or not – comprise the greater part of social intercourse. For all her elegance of manner and figure, Ping Hwa was a little fool.
He groaned again, a general groan for the way performance so often belies appearance, and a particular groan because none of this had any power whatsoever to alter his urge to lie with her.
‘See, you not like me. You want me go ’way,’ she said, interpreting, as he pressed her closer, his groans in her own fashion. ‘Better I not come at all.’
‘What this infinitely foolish girl is trying to say,’ Ping Ah exclaimed – bursting from his hiding place, unable to contain his righteous impatience any longer, and causing Soames to jump like a startled gnu – ‘is that she holds love in her bosom for you, and will serve always in honourable measure if you choose her for Chosen Virgin.’
‘I suppose this is all your idea?’ Soames asked sourly, letting the girl go. She stood motionless between the two men, gazing into the imbecile darkness.
‘Is a partnership: I have the notion, she have the body,’ Ping Ah explained. ‘You could do no better than choosing my girl. With this bond between us, Mr Noyes, you and I could control this town for its own good. I have plenty contact. We throw out Portuguese men entirely on their ear.’
‘Get out!’ Soames said wearily. ‘Please get out and take your daughter with you. Quite frankly, the idea of bargaining with women offends me.’
‘Please, is only because you are brought up in funny Western way, Mr Noyes,’ Ping Ah said. ‘Here is occasion to become well familiar with our way. Women must bow to necessities like all other things.’
‘Well, just don’t make her bow to me,’ Soames said; he vaguely suspected he was being foolish, without being able to work out why. The supper gong sounded from below, a tropical, moon-like noise which nevertheless brought with it a reminder of British seaside boarding-houses, and bloateresque high teas at six.
‘Excuse me,’ Soames said, slipping past the father and the daughter. Ping Ah called after him, but he hurried downstairs without pausing.
These two interviews with Turdilal and Ping Ah provided a foretaste of the pattern which repeated itself with many variations during Choosing Day, that most curious day in Soames’ life.
He was roused early and given breakfast by himself. He was then escorted to a well-appointed room made available to him for the occasion. A queue of people had already gathered garrulously outside the door to await interviews with him. All these people, Soames marvelled, as his interpreter let them in by ones and twos, were beseeching him to accept an attractive woman as a favour; a couch in the room inspired many of them to suggest that he try out the goods beforehand. It was every young man’s most ideal situation, dreamed of, unattainable – and when attained it was found to contain several disadvantages.
To begin with, Soames enjoyed himself to the full, especially as among the first half-dozen applicants for the post were two young Portuguese girls on whom to look was to be reassured that one could pass the morrow’s ceremony with flying colours. Their names were Amelia and Isidora; their nubility was terrific. One of them kissed him, one made him a pretty speech in English, in which, among other things, she guaranteed her ability ‘never to snore and always to cook English Yorkshire pudding’. There was also a half-caste girl with a squint, a black widow with a dowry of five head of cattle, a pygmy girl of about ten with breasts like pears, and Mrs President Tunna.
The latter entered, sat on the proffered chair and began to weep with the slow, indifferent air with which one picks up a textbook.
‘What does she want here?’ Soames asked the interpreter. ‘Surely she doesn’t think I’d … What does she want?’
Gradually, between sobs, an answer was forthcoming. Now that M’Grassi was no longer President, her position as President’s wife automatically lapsed. On the morrow, she would be turned out of the palace according to the law. She was old, she admitted it. She was ugly, she knew it. She could not cook, she confessed it. She could not manage servants. She had no knowledge of what might appeal to a white man. She had borne six children, and felt certain no more goodness remained in her womb. Nevertheless, if Soames, by shutting his eyes and using his imagination, could possibly bring himself to take her on the morrow, she could enjoy a further term in her old rank and would, in exchange, be like a mother to him in everything.
‘Thank her for the offer,’ Soames said to the interpreter with difficulty. ‘Tell her I’ll bear her in mind.’
He watched sadly as the big bundle of her left the room, still weeping; but he did not add her name to the names of the two Portuguese girls, which stood alone on his short list headed ‘Possibles’.
Throughout the day the interviews went on. Soames, among the plain and ugly, saw many attractive women; he often felt that uncounterfeitable stirring of the blood, yet to every beauty some objection seemed to attach itself. Mostly the girls came accompanied by brothers, fathers, mothers; some Soames guessed to be bazaar whores accompanied by their pimps. These escorts were almost invariably of Ping Ah’s ilk, hoping for personal gain by a link with the Presidency; they talked or wheedled, while their offerings sat sullenly by without pretence of interest. By lunch time, Soames had realised what he was seeking in the ideal candidate.
‘It’s quite simple,’ he told M’Grassi, when the Sovereign solicito
usly enquired how he was progressing, ‘I just want a girl who is physically presentable and at the same time has a – well, a spark of genuine affection for me.’
‘Then you will very likely be disappointed,’ M’Grassi said, wolfing down several corn pancakes. ‘The system makes it long odds against such a girl turning up here, for most of them are pushed forward by self-seeking relatives; and if there is one such as you seek, she will probably stay away because she can offer you only affection, and does not think that enough to attract a great man like you.’
‘If that is what the system does, then the system is wrong,’ Soames said.
‘No, no, the system is all right, it is simply that your thinking does not fit it. You should do what I did when I was choosing: pick a comfortable one with good health and few brains. Never mind the family connections at all; the family will soon accustom themselves to the idea that they are unable to pull strings, and are not even welcome at the palace.’
‘And you, an intelligent man, can really think like that?!’ Soames exclaimed, marvelling. ‘I have never thought you cynical, but to connive at fixing yourself a marriage without love or respect for your wife is surely the shallowest kind of smartness.’
For a moment, M’Grassi halted the rapid movement of his jaws and looked at Soames askance.
‘Now I see where you are going adrift,’ he remarked thoughtfully. ‘It must be harder than I had suspected to slew off one mode of feeling and take on another; I believed you had done so merely because you have, at least on the surface, accepted our way of life so unprotestingly. What I hoped you had found by instinct, let me therefore help you to by logic. Matrimony, at least as it is conceived in most Western countries, places – if it is to succeed on its own terms – a terrible burden on the husband and a worse one on the wife. She has to be friend and lover, companion and adviser, mother and audience. She must bear her husband’s moods when he sulks, his tears when he fails, his lusts at all times. She must bring forth his children, with their wakeful nights and fickle passions the very image of his! In many cases, she must also wash, cook and even work for him. Is this not true?’