Aldiss, Brian W-A Rude Awakening

by A Rude Awakening(Lit)

  'Remember him in Kanchapur, back in India?' I said. 'He was the baby of the platoon.'

  'Fear of death versus death-wish, pulling him apart. The way he drives around on that bike of his... The Indonesians will pick him off one day. One sniper, that's all it needs. He drove out to Belawan on Wednesday, all on his Jack Jones, just for the hell of it. Bloody madman... Coming down the RAPWI? I need a drink and we ought to have a bit of a talk.'

  'Okay. I'd as soon miss the piss-up if Tertis is going to be there. Besides, I need some khana, I'm starving. I've been trying to get in touch with Boyer all day. Lets walk. We'll cool off.'

  'Let's do that. I'll hitch a lift back.'

  'Just let me grab a couple of things I have for Margey.'

  He was standing smoking a cigar by the gate, keeping the mosquitoes off, when I returned. He said immediately, as if it was a sentence he had been rehearsing, 'I think we should let the mutiny issue drop if Jhamboo wants it that way.'

  'Why do you say that? Jhamboo's only a bloody Wog.'

  He laughed; it was his usual meaningless noise. 'Work it out for yourself, Horry. To use Tertis's phrase, we're sitting on a powder-keg here. If the TRI found out what Tertis and that bloody mob was up to, they would attack here with the mess as Target No. 1. We're way under strength, blokes leaving, no reinforcements coming out from ALFSEA or the Blight. If we raise a stink about mutiny, all of "O" Section would have to be shipped to Changi for trial and imprisonment, leaving us even more vulnerable.'

  As I thought that over, I lit one of my cigars.

  'You realise that that sort of argument leads to the collapse of the army and the discipline on which it's built. It was fucking mutiny, aided and abetted by Corporal Steve Bloody Kyle.'

  Johnny looked askance at me.

  'You're a vindictive bastard at times, mate. What do you care about army discipline? You just have it in for Steve Kyle. He's not a bad bloke. It wasn't mutiny. The lads were all stoned on cheap carioca last night they just felt unable to get up.'

  'Okay, let's walk...'

  Although I saw there was sense in what he said, I would not tell him what Jhamboo had told me; and a sort of delicacy in Johnny made him refrain from asking.

  With my package for Margey under my arm, we strolled past the MP post and along the Serdenweg. Bats were wheeling above the lamp-post, making Stuka raids on the insect population in orbit there.

  It was a wonderful evening. Blossoming trees overhung the road. Soon this evening and the others like it would be mere ghosts. We walked in silence until Johnny said, 'This Dutch pusher I'm going out with was telling me that the local branch of the TRI has us all marked all the British officers and NCOs, a dossier on each of us. Frightening thought, isn't it?'

  'Better wind up in a dossier than on a slab.'

  More silence. But I had to say it some time.

  'Johnny, you know I really am sweet on Margey. That's why I need to speak to Boyer. Would you think I was fucking puggle if I went ahead and married her?'

  At length, he said, 'There's a book in our billet you ought to read, by Joseph Conrad. About a white man marrying a native girl.'

  'I read it. But Margey's not a savage, she's a Chinese.'

  'Horry, old pal, don't do it, don't think about it. Just have a good time while you can. You'd rot, stuck in a place like this.'

  'I meant take her back to the Blight.'

  He cast a glance at me.

  'Her face wouldn't fit, would it? What would your Ma do if you turned up at home with a yellow girl on your arm? I know what mine would do. What would the kids be like?'

  'Well, they'd be bloody smashing. You know how cute Chinese kids are. Besides, Margey isn't yellow. She's paler than I am.'

  He sighed. 'The longer you're out here, the whiter they get...'

  'You think she's just a whore, don't you?'

  'Let's put it this way, Horry, old mate. In the long run, it's just as well you didn't manage to locate Boyer.'

  We got to town, and strolled into the restaurant on the corner of Maggalaan and Bootha Street. The big fat smiling Chinese who ran the place appeared, addressing me as Missa Stubbs. We ordered beers and five eggs and chips each. I planned to take Margey out to eat later, but I was hungry now.

  A trader came in from the street and sold us some black market Yankee Chesterfields. We lit up and looked round at the talent. It was an all-male, all-native clientele, except for three women sitting at a table in an area to the back of the shop which was screened off. One of the women I recognised as Margey's old enemy, Katie Chae.

  We were clearing our plates when I found Miss Chae standing beside me.

  Miss Chae certainly was dishy. She wore the traditional dress of Chinese women, tunic and trousers. ('How are you expected to keep your bleeding hands off them when they goes around in pyjamas all day?' as my old pal Bamber asked.) They were of a light blue and white striped material. Where Margey was plump, Miss Chae was slender, though the dress nicely revealed the bulge of bum and breasts.

  Her face held those thrilling oriental planes which recall works of art. It had nothing of Margey's kittenish look. Miss Chae's face was long and elegant, with a look about it this was my impression which could be interpreted by a Westerner as either serenely calm and benign or cruel to a marked degree. It was a dark face, with eyes very large and dark. The lips of Miss Chae were finely chiselled, full, and expressive, though it would be necessary to know the lady better to find out what it was they actually expressed.

  She said to me, familiarly, 'Have you god a Briddish cigarette for an ol' fren', Horry?' Although her powers of expression were good, her accent was more currupt than Margey's, as if she had learnt all her English off a couple of drunken Dutch longshoremen a none too remote possibility.

  I gave her a Chesterfield and struck a match for her. Johnny and I exchanged winks as she lit up, bending over my hand to steady the light, breathing vapour trails through her delicate nostrils. She also managed to rub a tit against my arm.

  'May I siddown wit' you, Horry? Won't you innerduce me your fren'?'

  'Oh, Johnny, this is Miss Katie Chae, she's a friend, and Miss Chae, this is Johnny Mercer, he's a friend of mine.' Despite the 'friend' business, we had only spoken once because of Margey's jealousy but in Medan one saw people around and about.

  They exchanged greetings. I could tell Johnny was interested.

  'You are from Lonnon, Johnny?' Miss Chae asked him, leaning forward.

  'I'm a Cockney but my home's in Swindon. That's in Wiltshire.'

  'Too bad.' She looked at him under her dark lashes and then leaned back in her chair, blowing out smoke like the very picture of relaxation. Turning towards me and pointing the cigarette, she said, as if hardly asking a question at all, 'Where's Rosey toni'?'

  'You mean Margey?'

  Miss Chae sipped at her cigarette. 'Some time she Rosey, some time she Margey. Diff'ent trade mark, same goods.'

  She flashed beautiful teeth at me, as if unaware of the havoc her remark caused.

  Johnny scraped his chair back and stood up, calling for the bill. 'I better get on up the RAPWI they've got a dance on tonight and all the birds will be booked if I don't hurry. Why don't you come too?'

  I was still not looking at Miss Chae. 'See you tomorrow, Johnny.'

  'You're a big boy now. Just remember the old powder-keg. Night, Miss Chae.' He tipped the boss of the caf and went out into the street.

  My companion looked after him with disdain. 'Your fren' he like Orang Blanda girl, yes?'

  'Yes.'

  'Yes, I t'ink. He not wait buy Miss Chae drink. Orang Blanda girl legs very fat. India girls legs very thin. Only China and Malay girl legs very pretty, yes? You buy me drink, Horry?'

  'I must go. Some other evening. I'd love to.' Saying no played hell with the respiratory system. The effect of having that countenance, with its lustrous eyes, turned upon you, was compelling.

  Her conversation was a series of small raids on one's privacy. 'You
been Sumatra long time, Horry. When I speak Malay, apa mengerti?'

  'I know that Orang Blanda means the Dutch.'

  'All people hate Orang Blanda, no want come back. Orang Ingris diff'ent, Ingris men nice, I like. When I say "saya kaseh angkau", can you un'erstan' what I say?'

  What she was saying was, 'I love you'; Margey had taught me that. Feeling my cheeks redden, I rose from my chair, smiling down at her. 'You're telling me that it's time I went.'

  As I put some money down on the table and left, she called, 'See you, big boy.' The quote to end all quotes from all the Hollywood flicks of the thirties.

  As I strolled along to Margey's place, other terrible phrases of Miss Chae's came back. 'Some time she Rosey, some time she Margey. Diff'ent trade mark, same goods.' Misery.

  The soldiers from Amboina were sitting on the doorsteps and window sills of their barracks, singing to their girl-friends songs of Pacific beaches, moonlit nights, love for ever, fornications past, fornications to come, and fornications in progress, caressing the taut sinews of their guitars as they did so. Among all the delectable smells of hitherto unknown cuisines lay the insidious gong of drains, but it meant only that some gourmet family had just opened a duryan, that delicious fruit whose stink can anaesthetise an entire street when the wind is right.

  Ah, nights of Medan. At least I had sense enough to relish your mixed pleasures at the time...

  5

  Margey's humble home was crowded. Several old men and women, their faces brown and wrinkled like apples stored too long, moved silently about the room. The men were dressed in blue suits, the women in black. One by one, they went behind the old screen to pay their respects to Auntie. From Auntie came only an occasional moan; the curative flying lizard had not done its stuff.

  In order to accommodate the visitors, the table had been pushed to one side, under the stairs. There sat Fat in his usual posture, a cigarette balanced in his mouth. With him were two men, one of the brown unidentifiable ones, and the scholarly Tiger Balm, spectacles gleaming. He and Fat nodded politely to me. Of Margey there was no sign.

  According to my watches, it was about nine o'clock, give or take twenty minutes. I set down on the table the presents I had brought for Margey: a jar of Chivers' marmalade, a tin of Portuguese sardines, two bars of Palmolive, a tub of Indian- made Andrews' Liver Salts, and some envelopes.

  As Fat seized upon these items and examined them with police-force thoroughness, Tiger Balm said affably, 'And are the British still preparing for withdrawal?'

  'That's up to Soekarno to decide.'

  My sarcasm was lost on him. He merely asked, taking another whiff of his cigarette. 'Is that the official British attitude? Now you allow people to have what they want. We read in the papers that London lets Marshal Tito take over Jugoslavia. Poor King Peter, who was your wartime ally, is left out in the cold.'

  That this intellectual Chinaman should know so much about things that were going on in Europe... It was none of his business.

  'I came to talk to Rosey. To Margey. Where is she?'

  'Old Auntie sick, tida bagoose,' said Fat. 'Margey look see Auntie.'

  But in a moment Margey appeared, smiling, and took my hand. I put an arm round her, squeezing her waist.

  'Second house of the cinema in half an hour,' I said. 'They All Kissed the Bride. Joan Crawford. Had you forgotten?'

  She laughed in genuine amusement. 'I forget cinema with you, Horry? Course Margey no forget. First I nurse poor old Auntie a little, then we go. After that, we eat and have fun, yes?' She smiled her lovely smile. 'And you bring me more present, you naughty boy. Now what, this time?' Fat yielded up the shopping item by item, retrieving each after she had looked at it.

  Her slender arms went round my neck. 'Why you so kind to me, Horry? Poor Margey no good for you. You very good for Margey.'

  'Not a foreign devil rapist soldier any' longer, eh? You're gorgeous, Margey get a bloody move-on, will you, or we'll miss the best seats.'

  'Maybe I give some Andrews' Liver Salt to poor old Auntie. She very ill. Then we go upstairs for very quick time before pictures, okay? You like it? My God, Horry, I will absolutely drag your trousers down and I will make you come your orgasm in fastest rate ever, so be warn!'

  After the film, the hordes poured out along the safely lighted thoroughfares, but Margey led me down various unlit and unsavoury alleyways to an area of the town which had only recently been declared safe, following the eradication of a nest of extremists. This was the busiest time of day, with trade brisk and amazing smells of cooking fighting with music in the air.

  Not a hint of trouble about though it needed only one pistol shot for the streets to clear instantly. I had seen it happen.

  Margey trotted along happily at my side. 'This restaurant nice pleasant prace. Once was a consulate building, you know. Now British have made a deal with Soekarno, you not get shot at any more times.'

  I agreed that this was a good thing.

  'When British troops go away, then begins more shooting, and much trouble for all China people. Right now, Indonesians have your people to worry about. When you gone, then they worry about our people, I think.'

  'Something's worrying me. Do you ever call yourself Rosey?'

  We walked several paces before she said in a tiny voice, 'Why you ask such thing?'

  'Answer the question.'

  'I Margey, okay. That my name ever since I go university. English names very smart and fashionable. Who this Rosey? What you mean to say? I no like all so many questions.' I listened to her working herself up and would not reply.

  The restaurant was a two-storey concrete structure, built on stilts overlooking the river. Its name was the Bunga Rampaian. Its faade was scarred by machine-gun fire. As we entered, the sight of customers and the prospect of a meal made Margey chirpy again.

  She knew the boss. With wide smiles, we were shown to a table. Fragrant odours filled the air. It would be strange when first the British then the Dutch withdrew; but surely the prophets of doom would be wrong and the political take-over prove peaceful, here if not in Java. Probably I could get a bank job; the Indonesian Republic would need banks. If only I could get in touch with bloody Boyer...

  While I fantasised, Margey conferred with the waiter.

  'They have very tasty good sea fish served with ginger, also sweet green bean soup. How you like that, darling?'

  'Sounds great. Bring it on.' As we lit cigarettes and smiled at each other, a five-piece band began to assemble on a tiny platform. They started up with 'Terang Boelan' as our fish arrived. Customers applauded the tune with rapture.

  With my knowledge of banking, I could rise to manager... Ah, at the time, at the time, it appeared that the future was simple if only I made up my mind. I did not grasp the fact that I was up against the futility of human relationships.

  International affairs met with little understanding in those days. To the crowds who danced in London and other great cities on VE Day, celebrating the death of fascism, Evil appeared vanquished. They lit their bonfires and exchanged their kisses under the impression that the world's reserves of hatred were exhausted. In the East, matters appeared in truer perspective.

  VE Day itself was the occasion for a ten-minute break for a smoke while we got on with the task of dislodging every Japanese installed in thousands of islands and territories which stretched from Tokyo to the very gates of India. After the Japanese surrender, their will to fight smashed by the A-bomb, insurrections sprang up on every side in the territories they had freed from white rule.

  No country went back into the box from which the Nipponese tide had spilled it. New breeds of angry men arose, running to new barricades waving new banners. Many leaders like Soekarno rode to power on the backs of Nippon. In the East, the one peace ignited a dozen wars.

  Even in Medan, time-honoured fuses of economic interest, of race, of faith, of colour, were spluttering away. We kept our weapons clean, dry, and slightly oiled, and listened to 'Terang Boelan'.<
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  While we wolfed down the fish, Margey extracted from me the fact that I had spoken to Katie Chae. Only when I swore that she was the ugliest Chinese girl I had ever seen did Margey relax.

  'Miss Chae is no pure China girl,' she said. 'That is why she so ugly like you say, and so dark skin. I hear her father is a very bad man who ran away to Penang after a bank robbery. He is half Mongolian man.'

  'What's the other half?'

  'I tell you, Horry, her father one half Chinese, one half Tibet, one half Mongolian. Maybe another half Negro, I don't know.' She burst out laughing, covering her mouth politely.

  'That makes two of her!'

  'Miss Chae girl of many values. I not bore you with description of her quarters.' She roared with laughter again, sobering to say, 'She come from Tibet not so nice place as Tsingtao. Where you get this Rosey nonsense? One day, how I wish to take you see Tsingtao and the Shantung Peninsula. The people are all good and the landscape so pretty...' She sighed. 'Now for the present I must go home and nurse poor Auntie a little more.'