“How do you do, Mr Edward? My sister told me I should find you here.”
Ginger Ted gave him a surly look and did not take the proffered hand. He made no answer.
“We’d be so very glad if you’d come to dinner with us next Sunday. My sister’s a capital cook and she’ll make you a real Australian dinner.”
“Go to hell,” said Ginger Ted.
“That’s not very gracious,” said the missionary, but with a little laugh to show that he was not affronted. “You go and see the Controleur from time to time, why shouldn’t you come and see us? It’s pleasant to talk to white people now and then. Won’t you let bygones be bygones? I can assure you of a very cordial welcome.”
“I haven’t got clothes fit to go out in,” said Ginger Ted sulkily.
“Oh, never mind about that. Come as you are.”
“I won’t.”
“Why not? You must have a reason.”
Ginger Ted was a blunt man. He had no hesitation in saying what we should all like to when we receive unwelcome invitations. “I don’t want to.”
“I’m sorry. My sister will be very disappointed.”
Mr Jones, determined to show that he was not in the least offended, gave him a breezy nod and walked on. Forty-eight hours later there mysteriously arrived at the house in which Ginger Ted lodged a parcel containing a suit of ducks, a tennis shirt, a pair of socks, and some shoes. He was unaccustomed to receiving presents and next time he saw the Controleur asked him if it was he who had sent the things.
“Not on your life,” replied the Controleur. “I’m perfectly indifferent to the state of your wardrobe.”
“Well, then, who the hell can have?”
“Search me.”
It was necessary from time to time for Miss Jones to see Mr Gruyter on business and shortly after this she came to see him one morning in his office. She was a capable woman and though she generally wanted him to do something he had no mind to, she did not waste his time. He was a little surprised then to discover that she had come on a very trivial errand. When he told her that he could not take cognizance of the matter in question, she did not as was her habit try to convince him, but accepted his refusal as definite. She got up to go and then as though it were an afterthought said:
“Oh, Mr Gruyter, my brother is very anxious that we should have the man they call Ginger Ted to supper with us and I’ve written him a little note inviting him for the day after tomorrow. I think he’s rather shy, and I wonder if you’d come with him.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“My brother feels that we ought to do something for the poor fellow.”
“A woman’s influence and all that sort of thing,” said the Controleur demurely.
“Will you persuade him to come? I’m sure he will if you make a point of it, and when he knows the way he’ll come again. It seems such a pity to let a young man like that go to pieces altogether.”
The Controleur looked up at her. She was several inches taller than he. He thought her very unattractive. She reminded him strangely of wet linen hung on a clothes-line to dry. His eyes twinkled, but he kept a straight face.
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
“How old is he?” she asked.
“According to his passport he’s thirty-one.”
“And what is his real name?”
“Wilson.”
“Edward Wilson,” she said softly.
“It’s astonishing that after the life he’s led he should be so strong,” murmured the Controleur. “He has the strength of an ox.”
“Those red-headed men sometimes are very powerful,” said Miss Jones, but spoke as though she were choking.
“Quite so,” said the Controleur.
Then for no obvious reason Miss Jones blushed. She hurriedly said goodbye to the Controleur and left his office.
“Godverdomme!” said the Controleur.
He knew now who had sent Ginger Ted the new clothes.
He met him during the course of the day and asked him whether he had heard from Miss Jones. Ginger Ted took a crumpled ball of paper out of his pocket and gave it to him. It was the invitation. It ran as follows:
Dear Mr Wilson
My brother and I would be so very glad if you would come and have supper with us next Thursday at 7.30. The Controleur has kindly promised to come. We have some new records from Australia which I am sure you will like. I am afraid I was not very nice to you last time we met, but I did not know you so well then, and I am big enough to admit it when I have committed an error. I hope you will forgive me and let me be your friend,
Yours sincerely, Martha Jones
The Controleur noticed that she addressed him as Mr Wilson and referred to his own promise to go, so that when she told him she had already invited Ginger Ted she had a little anticipated the truth.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not going, if that’s what you mean. Damned nerve.”
“You must answer the letter.”
“Well, I won’t.”
“Now look here, Ginger, you put on those new clothes and you come as a favour to me. I’ve got to go and, damn it all, you can’t leave me in the lurch. It won’t hurt you just once.”
Ginger Ted looked at the Controleur suspiciously, but his face was serious and his manner sincere: he could not guess that within him the Dutchman bubbled with laughter.
“What the devil do they want me for?”
“I don’t know. The pleasure of your society, I suppose.”
“Will there be any booze?”
“No, but come up to my house at seven, and we’ll have a tiddly before we go.”
“Oh, all right,” said Ginger Ted sulkily.
The Controleur rubbed his little fat hands with joy. He was expecting a great deal of amusement from the party. But when Thursday came and seven o’clock, Ginger Ted was dead drunk and Mr Gruyter had to go alone. He told the missionary and his sister the plain truth. Mr Jones shook his head.
“I’m afraid it’s no good, Martha, the man’s hopeless.”
For a moment Miss Jones was silent and the Controleur saw two tears trickle down her long thin nose. She bit her lip.
“No one is hopeless. Everyone has some good in him. I shall pray for him every night. It would be wicked to doubt the power of God.”
Perhaps Miss Jones was right in this, but the divine providence took a very funny way of effecting its ends. Ginger Ted began to drink more heavily than ever. He was so troublesome that even Mr Gruyter lost patience with him. He made up his mind that he could not have the fellow on the island any more and resolved to deport him on the next boat that touched at Baru. Then a man died under mysterious circumstances after having been for a trip to one of the islands and the Controleur learnt that there had been several deaths on the same island. He sent the Chinese who was the official doctor of the group to look into the matter, and very soon received intelligence that the deaths were due to cholera. Two more took place at Baru and the certainty was forced upon him that there was an epidemic.
The Controleur cursed freely. He cursed in Dutch, he cursed in English, and he cursed in Malay. Then he drank a bottle of beer and smoked a cigar. After that he took thought. He knew the Chinese doctor would be useless. He was a nervous little man from Java and the natives would refuse to obey his orders. The Controleur was efficient and knew pretty well what must be done, but he could not do everything single-handed. He did not like Mr Jones, but just then he was thankful that he was at hand, and he sent for him at once. He was accompanied by his sister.
“You know what I want to see you about, Mr Jones,” he said abruptly.
“Yes. I’ve been expecting a message from you. That is why my sister has come with me. We are ready to put all our resources at your disposal. I need not tell you that my sister is as competent as a man.”
“I know. I shall be very glad of her assistance.”
They set to without further delay to discuss the st
eps that must be taken. Hospital huts would have to be erected and quarantine stations. The inhabitants of the various villages on the islands must be forced to take proper precautions. In a good many cases the infected villages drew their water from the same well as the uninfected, and in each case this difficulty would have to be dealt with according to circumstances. It was necessary to send round people to give orders and make sure that they were carried out. Negligence must be ruthlessly punished. The worst of it was that the natives would not obey other natives, and orders given by native policemen, themselves unconvinced of their efficacy, would certainly be disregarded. It was advisable for Mr Jones to stay at Baru, where the population was largest and his medical attention most wanted; and what with the official duties that forced him to keep in touch with headquarters, it was impossible for Mr Gruyter to visit all the other islands himself. Miss Jones must go; but the natives of some of the outlying islands were wild and treacherous; the Controleur had had a good deal of trouble with them. He did not like the idea of exposing her to danger.
“I’m not afraid,” she said.
“I daresay. But if you have your throat cut I shall get into trouble, and besides, we’re so short-handed I don’t want to risk losing your help.”
“Then let Mr Wilson come with me. He knows the natives better than anyone and can speak all their dialects.”
“Ginger Ted?” The Controleur stared at her. “He’s just getting over an attack of D.T.s.”
“I know,” she answered.
“You know a great deal, Miss Jones.”
Even though the moment was so serious Mr Gruyter could not but smile. He gave her a sharp look, but she met it coolly.
“There’s nothing like responsibility for bringing out what there is in a man, and I think something like this may be the making of him.”
“Do you think it would be wise to trust yourself for days at a time to a man of such infamous character?” said the missionary.
“I put my trust in God,” she answered gravely.
“Do you think he’d be any use?” asked the Controleur. “You know what he is.”
“I’m convinced of it.” Then she blushed. “After all, no one knows better than I that he’s capable of self-control.”
The Controleur bit his lip.
“Let’s send for him.”
He gave a message to the sergeant and in a few minutes Ginger Ted stood before them. He looked ill. He had evidently been much shaken by his recent attack and his nerves were all to pieces. He was in rags and he had not shaved for a week. No one could have looked more disreputable.
“Look here, Ginger,” said the Controleur, “it’s about this cholera business. We’ve got to force the natives to take precautions and we want you to help us.”
“Why the hell should I?”
“No reason at all. Except philanthropy.”
“Nothing doing, Controleur. I’m not a philanthropist.”
“That settles that. That was all. You can go.”
But as Ginger Ted turned to the door Miss Jones stopped him.
“It was my suggestion, Mr Wilson. You see, they want me to go to Labobo and Sakunchi, and the natives there are so funny I was afraid to go alone. I thought if you came I should be safer.”
He gave her a look of extreme distaste.
“What do you suppose I care if they cut your throat?”
Miss Jones looked at him and her eyes filled with tears. She began to cry. He stood and watched her stupidly.
“There’s no reason why you should.” She pulled herself together and dried her eyes. “I’m being silly. I shall be all right. I’ll go alone.”
“It’s damned foolishness for a woman to go to Labobo.”
She gave him a little smile.
“I daresay it is, but you see, it’s my job and I can’t help myself. I’m sorry if I offended you by asking you. You must forget about it. I daresay it wasn’t quite fair to ask you to take such a risk.”
For quite a minute Ginger Ted stood and looked at her. He shifted from one foot to the other. His surly face seemed to grow black.
“Oh, hell, have it your own way,” he said at last. “I’ll come with you. When d’you want to start?”
They set out next day, with drugs and disinfectants, in the Government launch. Mr Gruyter as soon as he had put the necessary work in order was to start off in a prahu in the other direction. For four months the epidemic raged. Though everything possible was done to localize it, one island after another was attacked. The Controleur was busy from morning to night. He had no sooner got back to Baru from one or other of the islands to do what was necessary there than he had to set off again. He distributed food and medicine. He cheered the terrified people. He supervised everything. He worked like a dog. He saw nothing of Ginger Ted, but he heard from Mr Jones that the experiment was working out beyond all hopes. The scamp was behaving himself. He had a way with the natives; and by cajolery, firmness, and on occasion the use of his fist, managed to make them take the steps necessary for their own safety. Miss Jones could congratulate herself on the success of the scheme. But the Controleur was too tired to be amused. When the epidemic had run its course he rejoiced because out of a population of eight thousand only six hundred had died.
Finally he was able to give the district a clean bill of health.
One evening he was sitting in his sarong on the veranda of his house and he read a French novel with the happy consciousness that once more he could take things easy. His head boy came in and told him that Ginger Ted wished to see him. He got up from his chair and shouted to him to come in. Company was just what he wanted. It had crossed the Controleur’s mind that it would be pleasant to get drunk that night, but it is dull to get drunk alone, and he had regretfully put the thought aside. And heaven had sent Ginger Ted in the nick of time. By God, they would make a night of it. After four months they deserved a bit of fun. Ginger Ted entered. He was wearing a clean suit of white ducks. He was shaved. He looked another man.
“Why, Ginger, you look as if you’d been spending a month at a health resort instead of nursing a pack of natives dying of cholera. And look at your clothes. Have you just stepped out of a band-box?”
Ginger Ted smiled rather sheepishly. The head boy brought two bottles of beer and poured them out.
“Help yourself, Ginger,” said the Controleur as he took his glass.
“I don’t think I’ll have any, thank you.”
The Controleur put down his glass and looked at Ginger Ted with amazement.
“Why, what’s the matter? Aren’t you thirsty?”
“I don’t mind having a cup of tea.”
“A cup of what?”
“I’m on the wagon. Martha and I are going to be married.”
“Ginger!”
The Controleur’s eyes popped out of his head. He scratched his shaven pate.
“You can’t marry Miss Jones,” he said. “No one could marry Miss Jones.”
“Well, I’m going to. That’s what I’ve come to see you about. Owen’s going to marry us in chapel, but we want to be married by Dutch law as well.”
“A joke’s a joke, Ginger. What’s the idea?”
“She wanted it. She fell for me that night we spent on the island when the propeller broke. She’s not a bad old girl when you get to know her. It’s her last chance, if you understand what I mean, and I’d like to do something to oblige her. And she wants someone to take care of her, there’s no doubt about that.”
“Ginger, Ginger, before you can say knife she’ll make you into a damned missionary.”
“I don’t know that I’d mind that so much if we had a little mission of our own. She says I’m a bloody marvel with the natives. She says I can do more with a native in five minutes than Owen can do in a year. She says she’s never known anyone with the magnetism I have. It seems a pity to waste a gift like that.”
The Controleur looked at him without speaking and slowly nodded his head three or four times. She’d n
obbled him all right.
“I’ve converted seventeen already,” said Ginger Ted.
“You? I didn’t know you believed in Christianity.”
“Well, I don’t know that I did exactly, but when I talked to “em and they just came into the fold like a lot of blasted sheep, well, it gave me quite a turn. Blimey, I said, I daresay there’s something in it after all.”
“You should have raped her, Ginger. I wouldn’t have been hard on you. I wouldn’t have given you more than three years and three years is soon over.”
“Look here, Controleur, don’t you ever let on that the thought never entered my head. Women are touchy, you know, and she’d be as sore as hell if she knew that.”
“I guessed she’d got her eye on you, but I never thought it would come to this.” The Controleur in an agitated manner walked up and down the veranda. “Listen to me, old boy,” he said after an interval of reflection, “we’ve had some grand times together and a friend’s a friend. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll lend you the launch and you can go and hide on one of the islands till the next ship comes along and then I’ll get “em to slow down and take you on board. You’ve only got one chance now and that’s to cut and run.” Ginger Ted shook his head.
“It’s no good, Controleur, I know you mean well, but I’m going to marry the blasted woman, and that’s that. You don’t know the joy of bringing all them bleeding sinners to repentance, and Christ! that girl can make a treacle pudding. I haven’t eaten a better one since I was a kid.”
Ah King (Works of W. Somerset Maugham) Page 12