“I’ll be goddamned,” Con said.
Niven smiled proudly. “Showed those cooks how to do it myself.”
Con ate a minnow and a couple slices of egg and a square of water buffalo and someone put a bamboo cup of laku in his hand.
“Come on over and meet your Christmas present to me,” Niven said putting the cigar back into his mouth and tilting his head.
“A little later,” Con said. “I’ll wander around a bit.”
Con walked over and looked at the table heaped with roast wild pig and peacock and chicken and water buffalo steaks. There were many kinds of berries and jungle fruits, and huge tangerines and wild flowers.
Danforth came up to the table next to Con: “Well, I see you got the best for your favorite son,” he said sarcastically looking over at Niven.
Niven had his arm around the Shan girl and Billingsly was sitting with them now.
“I didn’t know a thing about it, Johnny,” Con said. He took a drink of the laku.
Danforth bit into a piece of chicken leg. “I’ll bet. I’ll bet you didn’t know anything about it.” He spit out some of the chicken.
“Take it easy, Johnny,” the Indian’s eyes were black, drunkenly Indian wild. “You seem to be all set. Hell, I didn’t even know there was going to be any woman at all,” Con said. “The night’s young. Enjoy it,” Con walked away towards a group of the Jemadars. The half-Indian glared and walked heavily back towards the little Kachin girl.
Con talked to the Jemadars for a while and then went over to Lau’rel standing alone.
“I can’t seem to get with it, old boy,” Lau’rel said.
“You’re just a couple of drinks behind,” Con said consolingly. He looked over at the Shan girl. She was staring at him and he felt the deep black eyes running through him and he felt as if he were being x-rayed. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Lau’rel?” He couldn’t help himself. Keeping his eyes fixed on her he was beginning to realize the truth of what Nautaung had said.
“She is especially beautiful even for a Shan woman,” Lau’rel replied gloomily. “Actually she reminds me of someone, y’know,” he said in a tired voice. “She reminds me of a half-caste even more beautiful than this girl,” Lau’rel’s voice trailed away. He lifted his hand absently to the silver medallion and looked at the Shan girl sullenly.
Con’s eyes were still fixed upon her. She stared at him and the tip of her tongue lay coiled like a serpent between her red lips. Niven reached over and pulled her to him and she finally looked away. Con sighed: “Come on Lau’rel, let’s go over and meet her.”
“Jolly good idea,” the Filipino said.
The Shan girl got up and placed her hands in front of her and bowed low: “I am humble before you, Dukaba. I have heard the greatest of tales about your battles,” she said in Kachin.
“Thank you,” Con extended his hand. She took it, and clasped her other hand over it, her slightly Mongolian eyes searching into his. He felt each long finger and even the tips of her fingernails. He looked down and saw that her nails were at least three-quarters of an inch long and painted purple with berry juice.
“And what are you called?” Con asked unable to remove his hand.
“Supiyawlet. I have the name of a queen,” she said.
Her voice was soft and the words flowed from her assuredly as if she really were a queen, Con thought.
“But my master,” she looked down at Niven. “He calls me doll baby bitch,” she said innocently in Kachin. The words doll baby bitch spoken an English.
That did it. Con removed his hand from her warm grasp and motioned her to sit down. Then he introduced Lau’rel and they sat down on the edge of the spread red silk parachutes.
“Hi, Du boss,” Billingsly said. “Billingsly did fine job,” he grinned and patted himself on the shoulder. “Procure much laku, niiice doll beby bitches and much food.”
“That you did,” Con said.
From the other side of the clearing Nautaung watched. And he did not like the way the Shan girl was looking at the Dua Con.
Subadar Major La Bung La came over saluting. They all looked up. “The Subadar Major wishes to have a word with the Dua.”
“Certainly, Subadar Major,” Con said. “Speak if you wish.”
“Alone, if the Dua will.”
The Subadar Major was standing at attention, head back, shoulders squared, the black beret rakishly on the side of his head.
“Of course, Subadar Major,” Con got up. They walked over by the table.
“Be at your ease, Subadar Major,” Con said. “We will have a drink together.” Con thought that La Bung was a little glassy eyed.
“Yes, Dua, that is good,” the Subadar Major said sternly, his hands on the binoculars, his eyes to the ground. He looked up shyly, then called for one of the Scouts to bring them laku.
They drank.
“I do not wish to be out of place, Dua,” La Bung La said, then he hesitated. “But the men dance on the valley grass before the totems and I think it would be good for their spirits if you and I were to make our presence there together,” he blurted it out, then looked down at the ground sheepishly.
From the way he talked Con thought he was either drunk or had had some of the pipe. Whatever it was, it brought something out in the Subadar Major that Con had never seen before.
It had only been in the last few days that Con had discovered how much La Bung really hated him. And now this gesture, which would be a good gesture for all concerned. It caught Con flat. Momentarily he was immobile. Then he pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“I think it is a fine idea,” Con said. “I think we should have another drink together and go out and greet the men.”
“Yes, Dua,” the Subadar Major grinned and came to attention for an instant. Then they had another drink of the laku. As they walked out of the clearing everyone stared as Con took the Subadar Major by the arm.
Nautaung was not surprised and he would give the Subadar Major the benefit of the doubt. But it was possible that the Subadar Major felt that he was losing his grip with the men as Con grew in their eyes, and this show of unity would strengthen the Subadar’s hand. He was very clever. A man did not become a Subadar Major in the Burma Rifles unless he was clever.
But Nautaung knew too that La Bung had changed. Often now he even played cards with the white Dus. And any man that had served the profession of soldiering as La Bung had must have absorbed some of the heart that was the soldier’s heart. It was very possible now that La Bung had placed his personal interests aside in new concern for organizational unity. Or maybe it was the opium. Nautaung knew that already this night the Subadar Major had had his smoke, and often opium affected men in strange ways.
Nautaung reached into his pocket and opened his old battered incense tin. He counted four cigarette butts, then ran his finger over a brownish waxen little clod the size of a marble. Ahhh, tonight I will have my pipe, he thought. Tonight, I too can relive my youth with the added wiseness of the years. He closed the tin carefully and put it in his hip pocket. He squinted into the fire. He studied the Christmas tree and smiled and his old wrinkled face became an assembly of wise, ancient lines, and his quick eyes scanned the radio area.
The Du Danforth had disappeared into the woods with the little Kachin girl. The Du Lau’rel was laughing now and had a girl on each side of him. The Shan girl was plying Niven with laku. She was trying to get him out of the way, Nautaung knew, so that she could get at the Dua Con. She was set for the Dua, and she was dangerous. Nautaung would have to stay and watch this woman. His pipe would have to wait for that.
All the others were drinking and laughing. The drums stopped beating and there was great shouting from the valley grass, and in his mind Nautaung saw the Subadar Major and the white Dua Con as they stood before the men beneath the totems.
Nautaung looked up and the moon was midway in its arc. He knew that from the clearness of the sky and from the high ground he would be able to see the magic moun
tain this night. That was rare to be able to see the mountain by the light of the night light. He lowered his eyes and saw that a card game was starting over on the other side of the clearing. He thought maybe he would play a few hands until the Dua came back. Maybe if the Dua was not too interested in other things he would show him the mountain tonight. He walked leaning forward slowly, youthfully toward the card game, jingling the silver rupees in his pocket.
CHAPTER XI
The presence of Con and the Subadar Major before the totems had stimulated the men to an intense rythmic height. Con himself had danced for over an hour after he and La Bung La had each made a short speech. Then the Dua mingled with the young Scouts, telling stories and joking, until Billingsly had come running in breathlessly, flustered and incoherent, to report trouble at the radio headquarters.
Con took the head muleskinner by the arm and led him out of the light of the fires, out of sight of the men to the edge of the valley grass. There he tried to collect the jumbled mass of Billingsly’s mutterings into some significance. It was no use. Billingsly was too agitated, too frightened.
Now Con was running through the thin forest toward the cocktail party area, a loping easy run until he saw the light of the clearing, then he slowed to a walk and stopped. The area was almost vacated. He went forward again slowly and deliberately.
The Christmas tree lay smashed on the ground and the generator was silent. Niven was sprawled on the ground near the tree and Nautaung and one of the Jemadars stood by him.
“Is he all right?” Con walked up to Nautaung and looked down at Niven.
“He has only had too much to drink,” Nautaung said in a tempered voice. The Jemadar nodded.
“What happened, Nautaung?” Con asked concernedly, looking up at the old man.
“It was all very fast, Dua.”
“The Du Danforth?”
“Yes, Dua,” Nautaung said. “The Du Danforth came running in from out of the dark. Over there,” Nautaung pointed. “The Du Niven already slept, his head in the Shan girl’s lap. About the area we had several games of cards in progress. The Du Danforth had that strange look in his eye. He went over and tried to wake the Du Niven. When the Du Niven would not awaken he began to yell wildly at all and one,” Nautaung explained.
Con looked away from Nautaung to the Christmas tree. “Then he began to smash this?”
“Yes, Dua. And he dragged the Du Niven away from the Shan girl and put him by the tree, shaking him and screaming at him.”
“And all the Subadars and Jemadars left, wanting no part of Du Danforth?” Con said.
“That is right, Dua. And then the Du Danforth went and grabbed Billingsly by the collar and began to shake him, and holler at him, and ask him why he didn’t get such a Shan girl as this for him instead of the Du Niven. Then he put his knife to Billingsly’s throat and Billingsly begged for release.”
“And Danforth let him go?”
“Only after Billingsly said he had made a mistake, that he intended the girl for him all along. After Billingsly had pointed to the girl and said, ‘You can have her now, Du Danforth,’” Nautaung said. “Then the Du Danforth turned and saw the girl sitting there alone and he threw Billingsly to the ground and went and took the girl into the woods.”
“And did the girl resist?”
“She was too much a woman for that, Dua.”
“And do you think the girl is in danger?”
“No, Dua.”
“Do you think she will be able to keep the Du Danforth occupied all night?”
“She will, Dua.”
“Then there will be no danger for the others from him.”
“I am sure of it. She is a shrewd woman and once the Du is spent he will sleep much. He has had very much to drink.”
“And where was the Du Lau’rel?”
“He had already left, Dua. He had gone with one of the young Kachin girls. He does not know of this.”
“And the Du Island?”
“He never came to the party, Dua. No one ever sees the Du Island.”
“And you and the Jemadar here are the only ones that remained through it all,” Con looked at the old Jemadar standing next to Nautaung.
“That is right, Dua.”
“Well done. Both of you,” he said in Kachin.
Con looked down at Niven again. His young face lay on the ground and he was smiling contentedly, almost rapturously in his sleep. Con reached over and removed his gold rimmed glasses, then stood up. He folded the glasses, slipped them into his pocket, then looked down at Niven again.
You stupid little shit, Con thought. If you hadn’t been fool enough to get falling down drunk, if you’d been on your feet instead of passed out, that Indian would have taken you for the limit tonight. The chances are that you provoked the whole goddamn business, and when you get it all started you sleep through the whole damn thing. Who the hell would run my radio if anything happened to you? You never considered that, did you?
And then Con had to grin. As much as he did not want to, he grinned. Never in all his life had he seen one human so loose and limp, so contentedly plastered. He eased his eyes up to the old Jemadar: “What do you say we three have a drink of laku,” he said comradely.
The Jemadar turned to Nautaung bewildered and Nautaung smiled.
“I forgot, my old Jemadar friend,” Nautaung said, “that you have never seen Americans manau. This incident is minor,” he turned to Con and winked. “But it is a little example of how they derive their pleasures when they feast. It is their custom.”
Nice going, old man. “Yes,” Con said. “People all over the world say we are fools when we feast. But we enjoy it.” Here he was standing defending that goddamn crazy Indian. “Now, Jemadar, go get us some laku.”
The Jemadar smiled an awkward grin and walked away.
“I will go get a blanket to cover the Du Niven,” Nautaung said.
“Thank you, old man.”
Con walked to the edge of the clearing and lit a cigarette. He shivered now that he was away from the fire. The old Jemadar hadn’t bought it. And no one else would buy any excuse for the way Danforth had acted. Kachin or American, men wanted officers that acted like men. They wanted their superiors to be friendly and human, and to be able to understand them. But once they understood them, once they had seen them drunk and off the handle like Danforth, once they determined their leaders were just plain ordinary men, with weaknesses also, they no longer had respect for them anymore. One son-of-a-bitch makes a mistake and the whole brotherhood suffers, a weak link and a broken chain. And he had made no provision for that, he knew now.
It was his own goddamn fault. It shouldn’t have happened. Not in front of everyone, it shouldn’t. He had wanted to be fair with the Dus, and in trying to be fair he had gone over the tight wire edge of the middle road, and relaxed his discipline to where it endangered the respect they had worked so long and hard to attain. It was that simple, and that would be end of that.
Con threw his cigarette on the ground and stamped on it. He would put it plain to all the Dus tomorrow at a special meeting. He would tell them that if anything like this ever happened again it would be the end for them. He would not carry on his conscience the scraping pick axe sound of burial details and twisted bodies, just because someone had busted up and become jittery under pressure because they had no respect for the men that were leading them, because the leaders themselves lacked discipline. Lacked it because he had been too fair with them. He had a far greater obligation than to be fair, the obligation of the lives of all his men, and nothing would ever transcend that obligation again, he thought, not ever. He looked over by the fire and saw Nautaung and the old Jemadar waiting for him.
They had a drink and smoked a cigarette and the Jemadar left.
“It is not as bad as you think, Dua,” Nautaung said.
“No. Not as bad as I thought at first, Nautaung. I learned something tonight, and I hope it is not too late.”
“It is not too lat
e.” Nautaung nodded.
“We will see.” Con stroked his goatee.
“I am going to walk to the rim of that hill,” Nautaung pointed. “It is possible I can see the mountain from there. The sacred mountain. If you are not too tired, Dua?”
“No. That is good. I am not tired and I would like to see this mountain of yours,” Con said sincerely, softly. He reached out his hand and grasped the old man’s shoulder, he patted him once lightly. “Come.”
Now they had just gained the rim of the hill and the moon was very bright. There were many stars in the sky, and a light north wind blew against them. Nautaung looked to the north and there obscured only by a few clouds was the mountain.
“There,” he said softly in Kachin.
As Con’s eyes focused north toward the Himalayas the distant sound of the drums in the valley diminished. “I have never seen anything like it,” he said breathlessly in Kachin. “I think it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”
“All the secret of nature is there,” Nautaung said pointing to the mountain, crystal coned, apparition like, ornament of the Gods. “The secret of nature which is not in the body but the spirit.”
“I think I know now why men climb mountains,” Con said in a half whisper.
“The sea is beautiful, Dua, but when we are in the water we no longer see it. Once you have seen a thing it moves,” Nautaung said solemnly still in Kachin. “It is carried away and something else comes in its place; and that is carried away.”
“Yes,” Con said. “I think I see what you mean.”
“But the mountain will always be there. That is the hilt of the world, and beyond that and beyond that.… and you, Du, are that.”
“I don’t understand,” Con replied softly in Kachin.
“Once you have climbed the mountain, if you are a climber of mountains, and that is the highest of mountains, you are finished. That is your limitation. But beyond and beyond. Men must look beyond. For the real beauty of man is in his imagination, in his spirit.
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