Leila

by Robin Jenkins

  ‘Would it be possible for me to speak to Leila on the telephone?’

  ‘If some bastard hasn’t cut the wires.’

  Maitland picked up the telephone. ‘It’s still working.’ He waited. Then he spoke, in Malay. ‘This is the Deputy Commissioner speaking. Hold on. I’ve got Mr Sandilands here. He’d like to talk to his wife. All right, Madam Azaharri, if that’s what you want to call her. Yes, we’ll wait.’

  ‘They’ve gone to tell her,’ he said. ‘They insist on calling her Madam Azaharri. She’s in council, it seems.’

  ‘They’ve formed a new government and are passing new laws.’

  ‘Bloody idiots. Like children playing games.’

  ‘They think they had a right to do it, since they won the elections.’

  ‘They certainly did that.’

  ‘Yet British soldiers are on their way to arrest them and maybe kill them. Do the British people know that?’

  ‘I doubt it. But if they did it wouldn’t keep them off their sleep. Savu’s too far away and full of wogs.’

  Then he was listening to the telephone. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked. ‘What authority have you to speak for her? Here’s her husband. Tell him.’

  But when he handed the telephone to Sandilands the person at the other end had hung up.

  ‘He’s hung up,’ muttered Sandilands. ‘Did he say who he was?’

  ‘No. Sounded as if he was young.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That Madam Azaharri did not want to speak to Mr Sandilands.’

  ‘Do you think he was telling the truth?’

  ‘Do you think he was?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry, Andrew. There’s still a chance they’ll give up when the soldiers arrive. Those soldiers will have experience of this kind of thing.’

  ‘Of crushing democracy?’

  ‘You know what I mean. They’ll use minimum force. It could be that nobody will be hurt.’

  ‘But they’ll all be arrested.’

  ‘Aye, they will.’

  ‘What will happen to them then?’

  Maitland stared at the photograph of his family. ‘Some might get off with prison sentences.’

  ‘And some will be hanged?’

  Maitland nodded. ‘They were warned, Andrew.’

  ‘I could appeal to the Sultan.’

  ‘You could. You know him personally better than I do.’

  ‘I could write to the British press, telling them that a democratic party’s been suppressed by British soldiers, on behalf of a dictator.’

  ‘I doubt if it would be printed. Certainly not in those terms and not on the front pages. The Sultan, you know, has it in his power to do a great deal of damage to the British economy, by withdrawing his money.’

  Sandilands sighed. It was almost a whimper. ‘What do you think I should do, Alec?’

  ‘You want an honest answer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t really know you all that well, Andrew. You’re like me, you’ve kept yourself too private, but if I was in your place I’d go home, as soon as possible. They’ll let you have your full pension, considering the circumstances. They’ll give you a good testimonial, as you deserve. You’ll easily find a good job in Edinburgh. And – you said you wanted an honest answer – I’d ask Jean to go with me. She’s still very fond of you. She’s been talking about going home herself. She’d help you get over this.’

  ‘I’m still married.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Even if she was in prison for twenty years I’d wait for her.’

  ‘Aye, I’d wait for Kate for twenty years.’

  ‘They wouldn’t hang a woman, would they?’

  ‘It’s been done before. They wouldn’t waste any time either. There’d be no trial, in public anyway. The sentence would be carried out immediately. There would be the briefest of announcements.’

  The telephone rang. Both men were startled. Maitland picked it up. His expression hardly changed as he listened.

  ‘Right,’ he muttered, and put the telephone down.

  ‘Too bad, Andrew. I’ve got my orders. Nobody’s to be allowed to leave the country. They’ve lost their chance.’

  He got up, put on his hat, picked up his cane, tapped Sandilands on the shoulder with it, and hurried out.

  Sandilands wiped tears and sweat from his face with his handkerchief. He waited for a minute or two to try and compose himself. He must show himself worthy of Leila.

  Downstairs he found a great difference. The hive had been disturbed. No one as much as looked at him. Out in the compound vehicles were already leaving, crammed with policemen. All were armed.

  ‘What the hell’s happening?’ said Baker, as Sandilands got into the car.

  ‘He’s got his orders. Nobody’s to be allowed to leave the country.’

  ‘Does he have to obey his fucking orders? I always thought he was a bit of a fascist. What about the soldiers? Are they coming?’

  ‘They’ll arrive during the night.’

  ‘And that will be bloody that. There’s nothing more you can do, Sandilands. For Christ’s sake let’s get back to the College. I’m knackered. Christ knows how you must feel.’

  ‘I have to pick up Mary.’

  ‘Oh.’ Like everybody else Baker had been amazed by the quixotic decision to adopt the daughter of the woman charged with murder. He hadn’t, like Mr Srinavasan, thought it an affront to God, in that the child as well as the mother deserved to be punished and not ‘pampered’. It wasn’t, however, the sort of gesture he himself could have made, being too sensible and, to be honest, not possessing the necessary moral courage. If it had been a difficult undertaking for Sandilands with his wife’s co-operation it was surely next to impossible for the Scotsman on his own. Baker had a wife in Sydney who, if he’d brought home a Malay kid who spoke little English and whose mother had been hanged for murder, would have wanted to know if he had gone off his fucking head.

  ‘Where is she?’ he asked.

  ‘At the beach, I think.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to her now, Sandilands?’

  ‘I intend to take her home with me, to Scotland, if they let me.’

  The airport was now in sight. The Cathay Pacific plane for Hong Kong was still on the runway.

  At a PWD house near the beach Sandilands got out of the car and called up to three women on the verandah, asking them where Mary was. One replied that she was on the beach. They were white and, in Baker’s view, deserving of praise themselves for allowing their own daughters to play with a kid who wasn’t just poor and brown-skinned, usually a repellent combination, but was into the bargain the child of a murderess; and, to add to the grisly catalogue, whose foster mother stood a good chance of being hanged too.

  ‘What’s happening in the town, Andrew?’ asked one of the women. ‘We’ve heard there’s been trouble. Is it all over? Why are there so many policemen at the airport?’

  ‘It’s not quite over, Mrs Moore.’

  ‘Do you think our husbands will be all right?’

  ‘I’m sure they will.’

  ‘Are they expecting trouble at the airport?’

  ‘Soldiers are arriving tonight.’

  ‘Why? Is there going to be a war?’

  ‘No, not a war.’

  ‘British soldiers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is your wife all right, Andrew?’ asked another of the women.

  ‘I hope so, Mrs Pettigrew.’ His voice at last was a little shaky.

  Baker felt ashamed. He had been under the sneaky impression that Sandilands, though upset about his wife, as any man would be, wasn’t altogether shattered by it. Now he realised that Sandilands was suffering torture but didn’t dare show it lest he break down and weep. What would a hero have done? Not much different.

  The little girls, five of them, four white and one brown, were enjoying themselves on the sand. Mary was not shouting with joy like her friends but she didn’t lo
ok miserable or sorry for herself. Baker felt more moved than he would have given himself credit for as he sat in the car watching Sandilands go down onto the sand and be greeted by the little dark-faced flat-nosed girl as if he was indeed her father. He chatted amiably to the other girls as she dried her feet and put on her socks and sandals.

  She smiled at Baker as she got into the car and asked a question that chilled his scalp. ‘Where is Leila?’ He did not have much Malay but he understood that. What answer could poor Sandilands give her?

  Whatever it was it was in Malay, so that Baker did not quite catch it, but it couldn’t have been the truth, for it seemed to reassure her. Baker almost loved Sandilands then for the lie, whatever it was.

  As the car passed the house the women stood up and waved. Baker found himself waving back. It was his way of saluting them. In a world full of bastards it was as well to admit that there were some decent people.

  No more was said until the car stopped outside Sandilands’ house.

  ‘Can I do anything?’ asked Baker.

  ‘Perhaps you could go and see that the students are all right.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Saidee came hurrying down the steps to help Mary out of the car. She was in tears. She knew about Leila. The whole town would know by now.

  ‘Would it be worth it, appealing to His Highness?’ asked Baker, as he sat astride his motor-bicycle. ‘You’re a pal of his, in a way. I’d have a go, Sandilands.’

  Saidee had a message for Sandilands. Jean Hislop had telephoned.

  He thought about Jean and what Maitland had said. He had humiliated her and yet she still loved him, in a way that did not demand too much from him. She wasn’t interested in politics. ‘I’d vote Tory, like my parents, but to tell you the truth I don’t trust anybody who says they’re in it to help people. As far as I’m concerned they’re all in it to help themselves.’ So she had said in the days before he had met Leila. He had agreed with her. Did he do so now? What were Leila’s motives? A desire to bring democracy and freedom to her native country? To be fair she had seldom used those shop-soiled words.

  The telephone rang. He let it ring. So anguished and confused was he that he did not know whether he wanted it to be Jean or Leila. It kept on ringing.

  Saidee could bear it no longer. She ran in and snatched up the telephone. From her scowl of disappointment he knew it must be Jean.

  It was Jean. Her voice was sad but affectionate and the accent was blessedly Scottish.

  ‘Hello, Andrew.’

  ‘Hello, Jean.’ His own voice was hoarse.

  ‘Poor Andrew. It’s awful, isn’t it? I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

  ‘Thanks, Jean.’

  There was a pause.

  But Leila had to be mentioned and she did it, resolutely. ‘I’ve just heard about Leila. From Alec.’

  There was another pause.

  ‘I can’t believe it. It’s happened so suddenly. Such a talented woman. How could she be so foolish?’

  Foolish? The word showed surely a lack of imagination. Yes, she would vote Tory, and wear a hat in church, and send her children to a private school. Would those children be his too?

  ‘How are things at the hospital?’ he asked.

  Her voice brightened. ‘You’d scarcely believe it, Andrew. I ordered them to put down their guns and weapons. Do you know what? They did it, very neatly on the floor. They were so polite the whole time they were here. I told them not to disturb the patients and they kept so quiet. I told them to go home but it was too late by then, the police were waiting for them. They were all arrested. I hope nothing terrible happens to them. Alec says they could get ten years in prison. Most of them are so young.’

  She could not quite subdue her elation. ‘If I can help in any way, Andrew, you know I’ll be very glad to. That little girl you were going to adopt, where is she? What’s going to happen to her?’

  ‘She’s here. I intend to adopt her, if I can.’

  ‘Will they let you?’ Evidently she thought, and perhaps hoped, that they wouldn’t.

  ‘I don’t know. Probably not.’

  ‘What would happen to her in that case? Did you know they’ve got quite a good well-run orphanage here? I’ve met the woman in charge. She’d be well looked after there.’

  He heard the roar of Baker’s motor-bicycle. ‘I’ll have to go now, Jean. Thanks for telephoning.’

  ‘Would you mind if I came over this evening? I wouldn’t stay long.’

  ‘If you like.’ He couldn’t forgive her for her too ready suggestion that Mary could be put into the orphanage.

  ‘Good. About seven then. Love.’

  He went onto the verandah to hear Baker’s report.

  ‘They’re all safely back, except Dusing of course. I think you should go and talk to them, Sandilands. They’re in a state of shock. The girls particularly. Weeping and wailing and tearing their hair. Literally. I’ve been a crass bastard. I didn’t realise how much it mattered to them; how much Leila mattered to them. Be seeing you.’

  He shot off then towards the teachers’ flats.

  Twenty-Four

  SANDILANDS DECIDED to try and telephone the palace before going over to the students’ quarters. If he got through and spoke to the Sultan he might have good news to give them.

  To his surprise he got through without difficulty. He asked if he could speak to His Highness. He gave his name, and instead of being curtly dismissed was asked to wait. Had His Highness been expecting a call from him?

  After five long minutes another voice spoke, this time in urbane English. It was one of the Sultan’s secretaries, educated at Oxford. ‘His Highness will speak to you now, Mr Sandilands.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sandilands felt the bones of his skull grow tight with foreboding.

  The Sultan sounded friendly but also sombre. ‘Good afternoon, Andrew. I do not think you are telephoning to arrange a game of golf.’

  ‘No, Your Highness. It’s about Leila.’

  His Highness sighed. ‘Yes. Why did you not stop her? But I think you must have tried. I remember you yourself are not interested in politics.’

  ‘Yes, I tried.’ Sandilands’ voice trembled. ‘What is going to happen to her?’

  ‘That is not for me to say. That is for the courts. She and her misguided friends have broken the law. They knew what the consequences would be. They must pay the penalty.’

  ‘No one’s been seriously hurt, Your Highness.’

  ‘Blood has been shed. They are armed, these rebels. Why do they have guns? Is it to kill me?’

  ‘I don’t think that was ever their intention. They don’t want to kill anyone. They didn’t have guns to start with. They took them from the police.’

  ‘That in itself is a very serious crime.’

  Sandilands could have said that they had been severely provoked, but instead he pleaded humbly. ‘If she was pardoned I would take her to Scotland with me. I promise she would never take part in politics again.’

  ‘How could she be pardoned and the others condemned? We both know her too well to think that she would accept that. You would not ask that they should all be pardoned? The State would be put in peril. I deeply regret this, Andrew. I shall always remember with great pleasure our games of golf. You will be returning to Scotland soon?’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  ‘That would be best. I have been told you may wish to take a Savu child with you, as your adopted daughter.’

  ‘If it is permitted.’

  ‘It will be permitted. All your rights will be safe-guarded. You will be treated generously. Believe me, my friend, I feel great sadness. But you will marry again and your wife will be the child’s mother.’

  That surely was ominous.

  ‘So something good will have come out of this terrible business.’

  Then he hung up.

  Sandilands imagined the telephone, of gold, being put down by a hand that wasn’t steady. Nor had the Sultan’s voice at the en
d been steady.

  With the telephone in his hand Sandilands dialled the number of Government House. He would make a last attempt to speak to Leila.

  There was a response almost immediately. Were they standing by the telephone, waiting for an offer of amnesty?

  ‘This is Andrew Sandilands. I would like to speak to my wife.’

  There was no nonsense this time about Madam Azaharri.

  ‘Please hold the line, Mr Sandilands.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sandilands felt giddy, as if he was having a heart attack.

  If she spoke to him would he be able to keep bitterness and self-pity out of his voice?

  It was her voice. He felt a great pang of joy but also, seconds later, a greater pang of fear and grief. She chose to speak in Malay.

  ‘Hello, Andrew. I’m glad you telephoned. I didn’t say goodbye as I should.’

  Why had she not telephoned him? He did not cast it up. He must not sound sorry for himself. ‘What’s happening, Leila?’

  ‘They have the building surrounded. We are all prepared to die.’

  If they surrendered they would be hanged, if they resisted they would be shot.

  ‘What are you going to do about Mary? Where is she?’

  ‘She’s here with me.’

  Mary was watching him from the door.

  ‘You will be going home to Scotland soon. Take her with you. Marry Miss Hislop. She is a good person. She will help you look after the child.’

  ‘I already have a wife.’

  ‘I was proud to be your wife, Andrew, but I should not have married you. Love is not always enough. I have brought you great unhappiness.’

  ‘You brought me great joy.’

  ‘Did I? For a little while? I hope so. Go home. Soon. Very soon. Don’t wait here.’

  Don’t wait, she meant, until you hear that I am dead.

  ‘Goodbye, Andrew.’ She was weeping as she said that.

  His telephone was silent.

  He hadn’t the strength or the will to put it down. Mary came over and did it for him. She saw the tears in his eyes.

  ‘Were you speaking to Leila?’ she whispered.