The collected stories (56 page)

'The Bird Park's open,' said the Sultan. 'It's full of chickens, they say. Chickens of various kinds. They wanted me to see them. Know what I told them? I said, "/ have penguins ." I do - eight or ten. Perhaps your friend would like to see them after the match.'

'We're expected back in Ayer Hitam when the match is over,' said Alec. He scowled at his watch. 'Which should be any minute now.'

'I won't let you go,' said the Sultan. He spoke to Angela. 'I won't let them go.'

'No, Your Highness.'

The match ended soon after she spoke. The Sultan said, 'Come,

DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS (i): THE CONSUL'S FILE

Stewart,' and he took Angela's arm. 'If you don't come I shall never speak to you again.'

Alec whispered, 'He's not joking.'

We were in the Sultan's ballroom. The lights of the chandeliers were on, and the fans rattled their glass. But it was not yet dark outside; the setting sun ridiculed these lights and made them look cheap, like the garish illuminations of an arcade. Some of the glass hangings were missing or broken; the wall mirrors were imperfect and had that tropical decay that showed as gray blistered smears on their undersides. I saw the Sultan's flowered shirt in one of the mirrors; it passed into a smear and he was gone.

The room was filled with people - women dressed like Angela, men in white suits, waiters carrying trays of drinks. The polo players were still in their uniforms, much grimier than they had looked on their horses, with mud-spattered boots. It was their celebration: they wore their mud proudly like a badge of combat.

'Have a drink,' said a Malay polo player. He handed me a large gold cup.

The metal was warm and sticky, and I hesitated again when I saw the sloshing liquid, faintly yellow under a spittly froth. I tried to pass it back to him.

'Drink,' he said. 'It's champagne. We won!'

'Congratulations,' I said, and made a show of drinking.

'It's solid gold,' he said. 'From Asprey's.'

The cup was taken from me by a fat Malay girl who raised it to her mouth so quickly it splashed down her dress.

'That's okay,' she said, and brushed at her dress. 'It's just a cheap thing I got in London.'

'Very pretty,' I said.

'Do you like it? It's from a boutique. 'Che Guevara' on Carnaby Street.'

'The Che Guevara boutique,' I said. 'That sums up the past fifteen years, doesn't it?'

She said, 'The cup's from Asprey's. It cost three thousand dollars.'

The polo player smiled. 'Three thousand eight hundred.' As he spoke his teeth snagged on his lip.

I was relieved to see Alec making his way toward us. He greeted the girl, 'How's my princess? You're looking fit. 1

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I'm not,' she said. 'It's this stinking climate. Daddy insists I spend my hols here. He knows I hate it, so he bought me a car this time. Red. Automatic transmission. It's the only one in the country.'

'Drive up and see us some time,' said Alec.

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?' she said. 'Excuse me, I need a drink.' She wandered into the crowd.

'The princess,' said Alec. 'She's a hard lass. Her tits are solid gold.'

'Who are all these people?'

'Royalty of various kinds,' said Alec. 'They're all in the stud book. Try to look interested - we won't be here long.'

'I was hoping to talk to the Sultan.'

'I thought you'd had your fill of that.'

'Political questions,' I said. But I didn't want to ask them. I knew the answers, and I was certain it would only make me angrier to hear him say them.

Alec said, 'It doesn't matter. Whatever you ask him, he'll turn the conversation to Beverley Nichols and Willie Maugham. Here he comes.'

The Sultan entered the room. He had changed into a buff-colored military uniform that resembled a Masonic costume. None of the medals and ribbons thatched on his breast pocket were as striking as the buttons down the front of his jacket, which turned the dim light from the chandeliers into a dazzle. There was some applause as he took his seat at the head table.

'Those buttons are something,' I said.

'Diamonds,' said Alec. 'That's how we kept these jokers on our side, you know. We let them design their own uniforms. Buffles is one of the better ones. True, he barely speaks Malay, he's half gaga and he thinks Beverley Nichols is Shakespeare. But I tell you, Buffles is one of the better ones.'

'Isn't this rather an expensive farce?' I said. I looked around and thought: Gillespie died for them. But Gillespie had been a polo player.

'It's your farce from now on. You Americans will pay for it.'

'No,' I said. 'They're whistling in the dark.'

'We're being summoned,' said Alec. 'Here comes the princess. What did I tell you? Now we have to stay.'

'No,' I said. 'I'm not hungry anymore.'

DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS (i): THE CONSUL'S FILE

The princess said, 'Daddy wants you to sit down.'

The Sultan had already begun eating. He was hunched biliously over his food and appeared to be spitting into his plate.

'We'll be right over,' said Alec.

'I'm expected in Ayer Hitam,' I said.

'Daddy said you're to stay.'

'I'm afraid that's out of the question,' I said.

Alec tried to soothe her, but she stepped in front of him and said crossly, 'Daddy said so.' She went back to the Sultan and whispered in his ear. The old man looked up, trying to focus on me. He looked blackly furious, and then his cheeks bulged with a bone which he spat on the table-cloth.

'Now you've done it,' said Alec.

The princess returned to us. 'Go, if you want to,' she said. 'Daddy doesn't care. But I do. You have no right to treat him that way. You know what I think of you? I think you're a typical rude American.'

'If you believe that,' I said, 'then it won't surprise you if I tell you that I think you're a fat overprivileged little prig.'

Her eyes widened at me. I thought she was going to scream, but all she said was, 'I'm telling Daddy.'

'Please do.'

Alec said, 'Are you off your head?' He rushed over to the Sultan and spoke to him, and he did not leave until he had the Sultan laughing, agreeing, sharing whatever story he had concocted to excuse himself for my bad manners.

'What were you telling the Sultan?' I asked on the way back to Ayer Hitam.

'Nothing,' he said. Then suddenly, 'You don't have to live here - I do.'

The road was dark; we drove in silence for a while past the ruined rubber estates. At one, there was a shack at the roadside. I heard a child bawling. I said, 'Poor Gillespie.'

Alec grunted. He said, 'Gillespie would have stayed.'

He was right, of course. Gillespie would have stayed and charmed the Sultan and complimented the princess. I had overreacted - my squawk was ineffectual. But Gillespie didn't matter much. He was just another Maugham hero whose time was up. Only the night mattered, and those feebly lighted shacks, and the cry of that child in the darkness, and the danger that all of us deserved. We drove

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down the road which was made cavernous by hanging branches, and there was no sound but the pelting insects smashing against the windshield.

TRIAD

serve - she should be working on that.' He sipped his drink. 'Now, top-spin. Ideally, the ball should hit the racket at this angle.'

He touched the ball to the strings and then with a sudden hilarity hit the ball hard. It shot out of the window and made a dark thump in the grass.

'You weren't paying attention.'

Prosser said, 'You're drunk.'

But Evans was heading for the door. He said, 'Now I've got to find my bloody ball.'

We heard him stamping around the lawn and swishing through the flowers under the window. He cursed; there was a cry - not his - like a cat's complaint. The next we knew he was at the door and saying, 'Look what I found!'

He did not hold the girl in his arms - she was too big for that. He held her wrist, as if he was abducting her, and she was trying to pull away. She had the haggard, insolent look of someone startled from sleep. She did not seem afraid, but rather contemptuous of us.

'She was at the door,' said Evans. 'I saw her legs sticking out. These people can sleep anywhere.'

'I've seen her around,' said Prosser. 'I thought she was from the kampong.'

'Could use a bath,' said Evans. He made a face, but still he held her wrist.

In Malay, I asked her what her name was. She scowled with fear and jerked her head to one side. Her thin starved face allowed her teeth and eyes to protrude, and she smelled of dust and damp grass. But she was undeniably pretty, in a wild sort of way, like a captive bird panting under its ragged feathers, wishing to break free of us.

'Call the police,' said Evans. 'She shouldn't be sleeping out there.'

Then he said with unmistakable lechery, 'She doesn't look like much, but believe me she's got a body under all those rags. I felt it! Give her a bath and you might be surprised by what you find. All she wants is a good scrub.'

I said, 'We ought to call the mission.'

'They'll be asleep - it's nearly midnight,' said Prosser. 'I'll ring Jan. We can put her in the spare room.'

Prosser went to the phone. Evans picked up the bowl of peanuts from the bottle-cluttered table. He showed her the peanuts and said, l Makan?

DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS (i): THE CONSUL'S FILE

At first she hesitated, then seeing that she was being encouraged she took a great handful and pushed it into her mouth. She turned away to chew and I could hear her hunger, the snappings and swallowings.

Evans nudged me. 'Listen to him' - Prosser was drunkenly shouting into the phone in the next room - Til bet Jan thinks he's picked up some tart!'

A week later the girl was still with the Prossers.

'She's landed on her feet,' said Evans. 'Couple of bleeding hearts. They always wanted a kid.'

'She's no kid,' I said. 'Has Prosser told the police? Her parents might be looking for her. Who knows, she might have had amnesia.' Evans was shaking his head. 'She might be a bit simple.'

'Not according to Jan. They're thinking of taking her on as an amah. She learns fast, they say. The only thing is, she hasn't said a blessed word!'

'Suppose she's not Malay? Suppose she's Chinese? We should get someone to talk to her in Cantonese or Hokkien. Father Lefever could do it.'

'You don't want a mish for this,' said Evans. 'My provisioner's just the man. I'll put him onto it. You're in for a treat. Pickwick's a real character.'

That afternoon, as I was walking into town, a car drew up beside me, the Prossers' Zephyr.

'Give you a lift?' said Rupert.

I thanked him, but said I'd walk. Then I saw the girl. She was in the back seat, in a beautiful sarong, with a blouse so starched it was like stiff white paper enfolding her dark shoulders. She smiled at me shyly, as if ashamed to be seen this way. The blouse was crushed against her breasts, the sarong tightened on her curve of belly. Cleaned up she looked definitely Chinese; her face was a bit fuller, her eyes deep and lacking the dull shine her hunger had given them. She was a beauty in tremulous trapped repose, and the Prossers in the front seat were obviously very proud of her.

'We're taking Nina into town to buy some clothes,' said Jan. 'She doesn't have a stitch, poor thing.'

'We had to burn her dress,' said Rupert, grinning. 'It stank!'

'Filthy! She was caked with it,' said Jan, who like Rupert seemed to relish their transformation of the girl.

TRIAD

Rupert glanced back admiringly. 'We gave her a good scrub. Jan wouldn't let me help.'

Jan was coy. 'She's hardly a child.'

The girl hid her face against her shoulder: she knew she was being discussed.

I said, 'What does she have to say?'

'Not much,' said Jan. 'Nothing actually. We think she'll open up when she gets used to us.'

I told them my idea of asking someone to speak to her in Chinese and how Evans had suggested his provisioner.

'Wonderful,' said Rupert. 'Send him around. We're dying to find out about her.'

'You know her name at least.'

'Nina? That was Jan's idea. We always said if we had a girl we'd call her Nina.'

And they drove away, like a couple who've rescued a stray cat. They looked happy, but I was struck by the sight of their three odd heads jogging in the car's rear window. If the girl had been younger, if she had not looked so changed by that hint of shame, I think I would have let the matter rest. There would have been little to describe: a lost child - and children look so much alike. But she was different, describable, almost remarkable in her looks, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, all her moles uncovered, a person. Someone would remember her. I knew Jan and Rupert wouldn't forgive me for going to the police, so the first chance I had I rang Father Lefever at the mission and asked him if he could find out anything about her. The mission net was wide: Johore was a parish.

Evans's provisioner was that unusual person in Malaysia, a fat man. I distrusted him the moment I saw him. He had an obscure tattoo on the back of his hand, three linked circles, and he had that wholly insincere jollity the Chinese affect when they are among strangers.

Evans introduced him as Pickwick and the fat man laughed and said his name was Pei-Kway. He said, 'Too hard for Europeans to say.'

I stared at him, pursed my lips, and said crisply, 'Pei-Kway.' Prosser was leading the girl into the room. She was even prettier than she had seemed in the car, but her look of wildness was gone; she was slow, uncertain, domesticated. She watched the floor.

DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS (i): THE CONSUL'S FILE

'Ask her how old she is,' said Jan.

'Go on, Picky, do your stuff,' said Evans.

Pei-Kway spoke to the girl, and getting no reply he repeated his question in a slightly different tone, licking at the words and gulping as he spoke.

The girl's answer was little more than a sigh.

'Hokkien,' said Pei-Kway. 'She is sixteen years.'

'Amazing,' said Evans. 'Small for her age.'

'Not really,' said Rupert. 'Ask her where she's from.'