The Glass Palace (59 page)

It was as though he wasn't really there and nor was she; as though their bodies had been impelled more by a sense of inevitability than by conscious volition; by an inebriation of images and suggestion—memories of pictures and songs and dances; it was as though they were both absent, two strangers, whose bodies were discharging a function. She thought of what it was like with Dinu; the intensity of his focus on the moment; the sense of time holding still. It was only against the contrast of this cohabiting of absences that she could apprehend the meaning of what it meant to be fully present— eye, mind and touch united in absolute oneness, each beheld by the other, each beholding.

When Arjun rolled off her she began to cry, pulling her dress down over her body, clasping her knees. He sat up, in consternation. ‘Alison—what's the matter? Why're you crying?'

She shook her head, her face buried between her knees. He persisted. ‘Alison, I didn't mean . . . I thought you wanted . . .'

‘It's not your fault. I'm not blaming you. Only myself.' ‘For what, Alison?'

‘For what?' She looked at him in disbelief. ‘How can you look at me after this and ask me a question like that? What about Dinu?'

‘Alison.' He laughed, reaching for her arm. ‘Dinu doesn't need to know. Why tell him about this?'

She pushed his hand away. ‘Please,' she said. ‘Please. Don't touch me.'

Then they heard a voice, calling in the distance, just loud enough to carry over the lapping of the water.

‘Sah'b.'

Arjun pulled on his wet uniform and stood up. He saw Kishan Singh standing on the beach; behind him was a helmeted motorcyclist, on a Harley-Davidson just like the one Arjun had driven up from the base.

Kishan Singh was waving a piece of paper, snapping it urgently through the air.

‘Sah'b.'

‘Alison,' Arjun said, ‘something's up. They've sent a messenger from the base.'

‘You go ahead,' Alison said. All she could think of at that moment was of throwing herself into the water, to wash off the feel of his touch. ‘I'll follow in a minute.'

Arjun walked into the water and waded over to the beach. Kishan Singh was waiting at the water's edge; his eyes held Arjun's for an instant. There was something in them that made Arjun check his pace and look again. But now Kishan Singh had snapped to attention, his hand raised in a salute, his eyes fixed in an unseeing gaze.

‘What is it, Kishan Singh?'

Kishan Singh handed him an envelope. ‘Hardy-sah'b sent this.'

Arjun tore the envelope open and unfolded Hardy's note. He was still frowning at it when Alison stepped out of the water and walked up to him.

‘What is it?' she said.

‘I have to get back,' Arjun said. ‘Right now. It looks as if something big is under way. We're leaving Sungei Pattani—my battalion, that is.'

‘You're going away?' Alison stared at him, as though she couldn't believe what she'd heard.

‘Yes.' He glanced at her. ‘And you're glad—aren't you?'

She walked off without answering and he followed her. When they were over the crest of the dune, out of Kishan Singh's sight, he turned her around with a sudden violence.

‘Alison,' he said sharply, ‘you didn't answer me.'

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don't take that tone with me, Arjun. I'm not your batman.'

‘I asked you a question.'

‘What was it?'

‘Are you glad that I'm leaving?'

‘If you really want to know,' she said flatly, ‘the answer is yes.'

‘Why?' His voice was halting and confused. ‘You came here because you wanted to. I don't understand this: why are you so angry with me?'

‘I'm not.' She shook her head. ‘I'm not angry at all—you're wrong about that. It wouldn't make sense to be angry with you, Arjun.'

‘What the hell are you talking about?'

‘Arjun—you're not in charge of what you do; you're a toy, a manufactured thing, a weapon in someone else's hands. Your mind doesn't inhabit your body.'

‘That's crap . . .' He cut himself short. ‘The only reason you can get away with that,' he said, ‘is because you're a woman . . .'

She saw that he was a hair's-breadth away from hitting her and this had the odd effect of making her suddenly sorry for him. And then she realised that she had always felt sorry for him, a little, and that was why she had come with him that morning to the beach. She saw that despite the largeness and authority of his presence, he was a man without resources, a man whose awareness of himself was very slight and very fragile; she saw that Dinu was much stronger and more resourceful, and she understood that that was why she'd been tempted to be cruel to him; that that was why she had had
to take the risk of losing him. The thought of this made her suddenly apprehensive.

She walked quickly to the Harley-Davidson. ‘Come on,' she said to Arjun. ‘Take me back to Morningside.'

part six

The Front

 

thirty-two

I
t was early evening by the time the 1/1 Jats left Sungei Pattani. They drove out of their base in a convoy of trucks, heading northwards, on the north–south highway. On reaching the town of Alor Star, they were deposited at the railway station and told to await further instructions. The men settled down at one end of the platform, the officers commandeered the other.

The station was the smallest and prettiest that Arjun had ever seen: it looked like a dolls' house version of the railway stations he'd known in India. There was a single, narrow platform, under a low, red-tiled awning. Potted palms hung in clusters from the beams and the wooden columns that lined the platform were wrapped in brightly coloured bougainvillea bushes.

Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland had stayed on at divisional headquarters and he arrived late. At midnight he called his officers together to brief them on the latest sitrep. There was to be a drastic change in tactics, he said. There were indications that the Japanese were about to enter the war: their forces were believed to be preparing to attack Malaya from the north. In order to forestall this a strike force was to thrust deep into Siam, to secure the eastern seaboard: this was intended to be a pre-emptive attack to deny a Japanese invasion force the potential landing grounds of the coast. The 1/1 Jats were to
play a key part in this operation. The battalion's orders were to hold itself in readiness to entrain at a half-hour's notice. At dawn they would move northwards with the objective of occupying a beach-head near the coastal town of Singora. ‘Jot these down.' Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland read out a string of map references while the officers took notes.

After the briefing Arjun spread a map on the station floor, under a naked lightbulb, brushing away the insects and moths that came to settle on the surface. He could feel his index finger shaking in excitement as he followed the thin red line of the road that led to the beach-head. This was it then: the proof of all these years of training; the waiting was over at last. Arjun glanced at the flower-bedecked platform: it struck him that this was a very unlikely place from which to launch a major operation.

It was hard to sleep. At about 3 a.m. Kishan Singh brought him a cup of tea in an enamel mug. Arjun took it gratefully, without asking where it had come from. Beside him Hardy was dozing peacefully in a long-armed chair, with his turban tipped back. Arjun stood up and strolled down the platform, picking his way past the huddled figures of the men. He noticed a light in the station master's office, and stepped in.

The station master was a Goan Christian. He was fast asleep, lying sprawled at his desk. There was a radio on a shelf. Arjun stepped round the desk and turned on the radio. He began to fiddle idly with the knobs. Presently, the crackling airwaves yielded a newsreader's voice: ‘. . . heavy fighting near Kota Baharu . . .'

Kota Baharu was in eastern Malaya: Arjun knew of it because of a friend who was stationed there. It was a small, out-of-the-way coastal town. Arjun turned up the volume and listened again: now the newsreader was talking of massive Japanese landings along the seaboard—he heard him mention Singora, the town they were meant to occupy the next day. Arjun turned and went sprinting down the platform to the waiting room where he had left the CO.

‘Sir.'

The CO and Captain Pearson were dozing in armchairs.

‘The balloon's up, sir: the Japs have landed.'

‘Impossible, Lieutenant.' The CO sat up.

‘It's on the radio, sir.'

‘Where?'

Arjun led them to the station master's room. Along the platform the men were stirring now, aware that something was under way. Arjun pushed the station master's door open. The man was awake, groggily rubbing his fists in his eyes. Arjun stepped round him and turned up the volume. The newsreader's voice filled the room.

This was how they learnt that their pre-emptive strike had itself been pre-empted by an operation of unprecedented scale, involving synchronised attacks on targets thousands of miles apart—an air attack on Pearl Harbor and amphibious landings along the Malay peninsula. Singora, the town that was to have been their objective, was one of the first to have been occupied.

‘Gentlemen.' Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland gave his officers a polite smile. ‘If my knowledge of the army is any guide, I would suggest that you make yourselves comfortable here. It may be a while before we hear anything from HQ . . .'

There was something very comforting about the note of irony in his voice: listening to him, Arjun found it hard to imagine that anything could go seriously wrong.

There was a large airfield at Alor Star, and at first light a squadron of Blenheims took to the air. The 1/1 Jats cheered as the planes buzzed over the station. A couple of hours later, the Blenheims came circling back with empty fuel tanks. Within minutes of their return a flight of Japanese planes came humming over the horizon. They attacked the airport in close formation, at the precise moment when the refuelling Blenheims were at their most vulnerable. In a matter of minutes the planes were in flames. The timing of the raid was uncannily precise. There could be no doubt that the enemy had been tipped off by a spy or a local informer.

Later in the day Lieutenant-Colonel Buckland drove over
to the airfield with a few of his officers. A medical centre had been hit and there was a powerful smell of chemicals. On the apron, the tar had liquefied around the Blenheims. In the distance there was a row of attap huts. These served as barracks for the Malay auxiliaries who guarded the airfield. The men were nowhere to be seen and Arjun was sent to look for them. He found their barracks in perfect order. The beds were all made and each had a kitbag hanging beside it. Rifles stood leaning against the wall, in neat rows, exactly as regulations demanded. But the men were gone. It was evident that after going through all the daily motions of tidying their quarters, the troops had quietly deserted.

Dinu had spent the night on a cot on the veranda of Ilongo's mother's house. He woke up early. Both Ilongo and his mother were still asleep. He looked at his watch. The train to Penang wasn't till midday; many long hours lay ahead.