The Horatio Stubbs Trilogy (62 page)

If I took Margey back to England, that would be okay. For her and me. And yet … Even here, even in Medan, even in the bloody Indian Army, even ten thousand miles from home, I still met with that stupid British prejudice from my fellow sergeants, a racialism that it would take a million years to wipe out. They would screw the local girls of any shade or persuasion. But to love them, to treat them as human beings, that was not to be thought of.

These comments set down now are inevitably coloured by all that has happened since those distant days when the warmth between Margey and me was a real breathing thing. They are coloured by memories of the welcome Britain gave to the West Indians, the Indians, and the Pakistanis, who fought beside us against Jap and German alike in World War
II
. They came to work here in what they called their Mother Country. Only to find the milk had gone sour.

Grunting about my headache, I climbed back into socks, boots, puttees. I stood up and put the ginger machine-thing out of its agony with the heel of a left Army Boot Size Eleven. Then I clomped downstairs. I was going back to the billet. A strategically held bush hat concealed the mess on my trousers.

I left the corned beef, all thirty guilders' worth, on the window sill, in payment for my sterile pleasure. If it had been pleasure. And I closed the window. Maybe shite-hawks liked corned beef.

At the top of the alley-way, Margey appeared. She carried her little purse, her parasol, and a small parcel wrapped in newspaper.

‘Oh, hello, Horry, darling. How nice I see you. You wait for me?'

‘I'd given up waiting. I was going back to the billet.'

‘Come in, sit down, and I make you nice coffee, darling. Today coffee again.' She linked her chubby arm in mine. ‘I
been shopping a long way, to get some medicine for poor Auntie. She no well today and doctor come, poor Auntie. When I go down Chuah Street, I see in a shop real lovely little hat from Paris or some prace like that. Just is right to wear in London and look smart but costs much price. Tomorrow I take you and show, and you can see me wear it, okay?'

‘I'll buy it for you, Margey.'

‘No, is costing too much price. Just you see me wear it.' She grinned up at me saucily. ‘Then you think you dear Margey very sexy, want make love to her in shop.'

I laughed. ‘I'll buy it for you as my parting present.'

Her smile vanished immediately. ‘It impossible us to part, Horry, now we found each other.' She clung to my arm.

We went back in. She started scolding the old man at the table, who stood up and started explaining something to her with a maximum of gesture. Margey became very angry and animated. I sat down at the table to watch her and keep my flies hidden. Fat appeared from the rear of the building, said something irritably, and immediately became a second object of Margey's fine scorn. She stood there, beautifully moulded, with her eyes wide, letting them have it about something or other. Daisy also appeared, lolling against the wall and enjoying every word of it as she cradled her baby. Her manner was indolent.

When the men trooped dejectedly into the kitchen, Margey unwrapped her parcel on the table. I started back in alarm. A disgusting oily creature was revealed which looked like a fish with legs. It was black; it leaked an oily substance on to the table. Daisy came up to admire it.

Margey burst into laughter at my expression, her anger vanishing.

‘Don't be frightened, darling. Is only medicine make Auntie better.'

‘What is that revolting thing?'

She explained that it was a common Sumatran animal which lived on the plantations. She held it up by its tail. It
looked like a baby dinosaur, ripped palpitating at foetus-stage from some stygian archaic womb. It had frogs' eyes. Along its body was a folded membrane which Margey pulled out, revealing wings rather like bats' wings. The head was blunt, with curious flaps instead of ears. I had never seen anything like it before. It was a flying lizard, believed by the Chinese community to have medicinal powers. Margey trotted it out to the kitchen to cut it up. The old man went behind the screen to fan Auntie. Daisy made little crooning noises to her baby. Fat brought me a bottle of Red Fox. Life was going on more or less as usual, scraping by.

That was how average days in Medan drifted along. Not much achieved; not much harm done either. An easier life than anything I was likely to find at home. A life fit for a fucking hero.

Nevertheless, a certain dissatisfaction followed me back to the lines when I returned there an hour or so before sunset. Boyer had eluded me; I blamed myself for not doing something about him earlier. You never knew where officers were going to be.

Before reaching the sergeants' mess, I heard the sound of a pump, wheezing like an asthmatic trying to climb the Great Pyramid with his grannie on his back. An Indian havildar was supervising the draining of our ruined cesspit, while the gang of men under him laid freshly sawn planks over the hole.

Charlie Meadows stood watching from the mess steps, smoking his pipe to ward off the stink.

‘Merdeka, Horatio. We'd better not get too pissed tonight, or we'll be in there head-first. It would be a nasty way to die.'

‘I can think of better ways to go.'

As I came level with him, he turned to face me, pulling the pipe wetly from his big mouth and pointing the end at me. ‘You're a dodgy bugger, and always have been as long as I've known you,' he said admiringly. ‘Jhamboo Singh has been looking for you most of the bloody day. What have you been doing, flogging more gin-palaces?'

‘The sergeants' mess this time. Flogged it to Soekarno for a brothel. What's Jhamboo want, do you know?'

‘You'd better go over to Admin and see.'

‘All this bloody army bullshit – I'll be glad to escape from it. I'd better have a shower and a change first.'

Charlie stuck the pipe in the other side of his mouth. ‘You don't know when you're well off, you young lads …'

For all my assumption of indifference, the summons to Jhamboo worried me. I showered fast, yelling for the Chinese orderly to get out a fresh uniform as I cast the spunk-ridden one aside. Quick dash of powder over foot rot and prickly heat, fast dress, and I was ready.

As I made my way over to Admin, the sun was sloping down the western sky without in any way relaxing its animosity towards mankind. The duty clerk was on me as I entered the doorway, and a moment later an Indian orderly showed me upstairs to Jhamboo's office.

Captain Jhamboo Singh was a small man. Perhaps that was why he stood up as I entered and saluted him. As ever, he was immaculately dressed in khaki uniform, with razor-sharp edges to his shorts. His belt and boots shone. His little moustache was deadly symmetrical.

‘Ah, good afternoon, Sgt Stubbs. I have been trying to get in touch with you all day. May I ask where you have been?' His voice was soft, almost pleading.

‘I had some business down in town, sir. I am time-expired, flying out on Monday, and the
RSM
has excused me duties.'

‘Well, we are very short of men, Sgt Stubbs. We don't get the replacements, you see. It may be that we shall be forced to call upon you for some duties.' He smiled. ‘The army always needs us till the very last moment when it releases us. As a regular soldier, you will understand.'

‘What did you want to see me for, sir?'

His fingers drummed on the desk.

‘Perhaps you would be kind enough to wait one moment while I work on some papers. When I learned you were here, I have summoned also Sgt Mercer and Cpl Kyle of “O” Section. I hope they will arrive immediately.'

He came half-way round his desk to offer me a chair. I sat on it in a rigid ‘At Attention' position.

‘Please, you may smoke, Sgt Stubbs. Perhaps you will take
one of mine.' He extended a sumptuous silver cigarette case; it opened like the jaws of a crocodile as it approached me over the desk. ‘They are English cigarettes. De Reszke.'

I took one and lit up. Rumour had it that Jhamboo's family were fantastically rich and ate their curries off beaten gold plates while being served by naked slave-girls.

Before I had finished puffing away, the door opened and Johnny and Kyle clumped in. They halted side by side and saluted. I heaved myself up beside them and stared at a spot six inches the other side of Jhamboo's head.

‘Thank you, gentlemen, no need to be formal,' Jhamboo whispered. ‘We have a painful subject to talk about. It is the question of why “O” Section did not turn out to dig the field this morning, as you, Sgt Mercer, reported. That is why I have invited you to come here. Cpl Kyle, you are in charge of these men. Why exactly was Agricultural Duty not carried out as per orders?'

Our thin-nosed pale friend said, ‘Sir, I asked the men very reasonably to turn out on parade but they refused. They said that their job did not include digging. They claimed to be skilled tradesmen, sir. They said – I just report what they
said
, sir – that such a job was a task for the Indian Other Ranks.'

Jhamboo Singh nodded very methodically at all these points, as if meeting them head on. A fly buzzed about and sat on his left ear; he ignored it.

‘So the men refused duty as laid down. Have you anything to add to that, Sgt Mercer?' He asked the question mildly, putting his head to one side like a family doctor prepared to listen to any description of any symptom, however revolting.

Mercer stood rigidly at attention as he spoke. ‘The men would not budge from their
charpoys
, sah. When not descending to the level of common abuse, such as telling Cpl Kyle to get knotted, sah, their argument ran that they saw no point in the proposed agricultural activity. Sah.'

Johnny loved to parody the military manner.

‘The whole point of the proposed agricultural activity, Sgt
Mercer,' said Jhamboo suavely, ‘is that we can become a little independent of the hostile local community by growing a vegetable crop for ourselves. Do you personally like fresh potatoes, Sgt Mercer?'

‘Sah. Particularly with a little butter, sah. But, begging your pardon, sah, my culinary tastes don't enter the issue at hand. The gist of the argument as presented by the
BORS
, sah, in among their epithets to Cpl Kyle here, was that, supposing the field was dug and the potatoes planted, 26 Div would have evacuated Sumatra before the aforesaid root crop was ripe enough to benefit the military cuisine. In other words, sah, they claimed that digging that field would benefit the Indonesians and not the troops. Hard to produce a counter argument to that, sah.'

Jhamboo looked as if he agreed with every word that had been said, and was prepared to agree with many more; but he said, ‘Unfortunately orders are issued from
GHQ
as instructions to be carried out and not as arguments to be discussed. Similarly, your duty was to implement those instructions, and not play any socratic role.'

Kyle stuck his nose forward at this and said, ‘With respect, sir, I can't think that remark really represents your private views. I'm sure you feel as I do that wrong orders have in this instance been issued. It is an injustice that the British Army should be here at all, suppressing the freedom of Indonesians, as you, sir, as an Indian, must be aware; so it must be unjust that we should dig fields which probably belong by rights to Indonesian farmers.'

‘I see.' Jhamboo's face betrayed nothing. He lit a De Reszke, never removing his gaze from Kyle. Then he said, softly, ‘I will not listen to criticism of the British Army from a conscript. In any case, such policies have nothing to do with us as soldiers. We are discussing an order that has been defied and what we should do about it.' He stubbed out his newly lit cigarette.

‘The war is over, sir, we should be trying to build the peace.'

‘Corporal, 26 Indian Division is unfortunately on Active
Service. For us, we have a war. It is difficult to command if nobody obeys … Impossible, to be frank.'

Kyle ignored these remarks.

‘If we went to the
GOC
, sir, and complained of flagrant injustice, all the lads would be behind you, believe me.'

That was too much for me. As Kyle spoke, I saw terrible anger flash in Jhamboo's eye, then his countenance was again lamb-like. For one second some ghastly bloody-minded ancestor had been glimpsed, swinging a two-bladed battle-axe.

I said, ‘What Kyle is saying is beside the point, not to mention a right load of nonsense. An army exists by following orders even if it thinks them idiotic. That's how we won the Great War and the war against the Japs and –'

Kyle interrupted. ‘And look at the millions who got killed obeying fool orders issued by stupid generals. It's more courageous to defy an order you know is nonsense – like this rubbish about planting potatoes.'

‘Don't you talk to me about courage, Cpl Kyle. What do you think these medals are?
NAAFI
fruitcake?' I thumped my chest before turning to Jhamboo. ‘There's no problem here, sir. The only problem is that you're stuck with a corporal who can't or won't give orders. You heard what he said – he went into “O” Section billets and he
asked the men reasonably
to turn out. Of course they told him to piss off. I guarantee that if you give me the job, I'll have 'em on parade and digging away, tomorrow at sunrise.'

Jhamboo gave me a straight look and said, ‘Tomorrow is Saturday, Sergeant. In any case, remember that you are excused all duties, as you were telling me.'

There was a sort of silence while we looked at each other. Jhamboo got up and paced a bit behind his desk. He took another cigarette from his silver case, selecting and lighting it with care.

Johnny said, ‘Permission to ask a question, sah. I gather that it is
pukka
that 26 Div will pull out of Sumatra and return to India in September?'