World of Suzie Wong : A Novel (9781101572399) (30 page)

The persuasion was superfluous, and I promptly cabled back my unconditional acceptance, and at the same time asked for a clarification of the fee. Forty-eight hours later came the reply. The figure given had been correct. And for the first time since Rodney's departure I wished he had been there, for if it had not been for him this would never have happened, and I was so happy that I would have liked to throw my arms round his neck.

An hour later another cable arrived, advising me that a sum of money representing the return fare to Japan and the first installment of my fee had been made available for me at the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, and requesting me to make tracks for Japan forthwith.

I collected the money and bought a tourist-class return ticket to Tokyo at B.O.A.C. I had been paid for first-class, and with the difference I took Suzie shopping. Since the loss of all her possessions she had bought herself only a couple of cheap cheongsams and a few underclothes, for she had hated spending my money; but now we let ourselves go. We bought shoes, sandals, stockings, jeans, cheongsams, and a whole lot of other little feminine items of which she had so long been deprived. Then, loaded with parcels and paper bags, we returned to the bank to see Gordon Hamilton and open an account in Suzie's name. She received her first check book, and Hamilton told her that whenever she wanted some money she could come to him, and he would write out the check for her and she could sign it. And she sat down to inscribe a specimen signature, which she did very carefully, biting her tongue, and writing Suzie with the Z characteristically large, disjointed, and back-to-front; and Hamilton said, “Bravo, well done. I wish everybody's signature was as easy to read.” And eighteen hours later I was in the aircraft, peering through the little window as we took off and catching a last glimpse of Suzie in her new jeans behind the wire-mesh fence as she jumped up and down waving good-by.

A few hours later we landed at Okinawa to refuel. We took off again shortly, and at sunset were twenty thousand feet over the sea. I watched the light drain out of the sky until all was black except for a long streak of violent blazing orange across the horizon. Then all at once I noticed a cone-shaped silhouette against the orange. “Mount Fuji,” said the air hostess—and I had caught my first glimpse of Japan.

Half an hour later we landed at Haneda airport. I went into Tokyo on the airline bus and spent the night at the Imperial Hotel, and in the morning called at the local office of the magazine.

“Coke?” said the American manager. “Miss Yamaguchi, two Cokes,” and we sat chatting and nursing our bottles and drinking the ice-chilled liquid through straws. But the sumptuousness of the office intimidated me, and likewise the manager's apparent assumption that I was an artist of standing. I felt like an impostor. I had started painting for pleasure and could not rid myself of my beginner's sense of guilt at being paid for doing what I enjoyed. I blushed at each mention of my enormous fee; and when the manager began to talk of my expenses in terms of living and traveling de luxe, I kept self-consciously assuring him how modest were my needs. Finally I beat him down to a daily allowance that would have sufficed for a fortnight in Hong Kong with the odd dance girl thrown in. I also beat him down on the number of places he was recommending for inclusion in my tour, for I knew that I should do my best work with the minimum movement and the maximum time to browse. There was no obligatory itinerary or theme for my drawings, and we worked out a rough plan of campaign that gave me a week in Tokyo, a month in Kyoto and the south, another week in Tokyo, then a fortnight up in the southern island of Hokkaido.

Next I moved out of the international atmosphere of the Imperial into a Japanese-style hotel. And all at once I was immersed in an alien world, and what seemed an alien age. I removed my shoes at the front door and proceeded in my socks, squatted at a foot-high table for meals, wallowed in near-boiling water in a huge sunken bath, slept on a mattress on the floor, and was dressed, undressed, and waited upon hand and foot by half-a-dozen little serving maids in pretty kimonos chirruping round me like a flock of sparrows. And at all my departures and arrivals the whole flock would be in attendance at the porch, falling to their knees and bowing with their hands spread on the matting in front of their knees and their foreheads touching the floor.

The proprietress of the hotel was an ex-geisha, a woman in her thirties and still very pretty; and on my arrival she had greeted me in kimono and old-fashioned hair style like a figure from a Japanese print.

The next day in the garden I saw a slim woman sauntering in yellow slacks. Her hair was tied in a bandanna and there was heavy Swiss jewelry on her wrists. I thought she must be an American. Then she turned and smiled, and behind all the modernity I recognized the ex-geisha.

The occupant of the next room to mine performed a similar astonishing transformation in reverse. On my first evening at the hotel I had seen him in the corridor carrying a leather dispatch case and wearing black jacket, striped trousers, and stiff white collar. Then only an hour later, passing his room when the sliding door screen stood open, I caught a glimpse of this same little businessman squatting on the mat floor, against a background of typical Japanese simplicity: a vase containing two flowers and a leaf, and a single scroll picture on the wall. And now his black suit had been replaced by a kimono, and every other vestige of the West had been shed. It might have been a scene from one of those historical Japanese films, and I half expected to see a posse of heavy-breathing Samurai leap out of hiding and butcher him before my eyes with their great curved swords.

This duality in the life of the Japanese was in evidence everywhere. It was not a very original discovery on my part but it was so fundamental, and often so amusing, that I decided to make it the theme of my drawings. And with this important matter settled I set out on my travels south.

There followed a month of utter enchantment, for I had never before been in a country that so delighted my eye, nor met with such kindness and hospitality; and my only regret was the absence of Suzie. I was astonished to find how much I missed her. Before leaving Hong Kong I had half considered broaching the subject of marriage but had not done so, for I had thought rather guiltily that in the excitement of seeing a new country and meeting new people I might begin to forget her. Yet now, traveling round by myself, I constantly suffered pangs of loneliness that the beauty of the countryside only made more acute. And at every delightful experience—as I gasped at the splendors of Nikko, or sat cross-legged eating
sukiyaki,
or wandered at night through a wood among a myriad twinkling fireflies—I told myself, “How wonderful this is, but how much more I should enjoy it if Suzie was here!” For she would have so enjoyed it herself; and her company always touched off in me a kind of childish gaiety, as I saw the world through her eyes and shared the innocence of her vision.

It was in Kyoto that I received my first post card from her, forwarded from the Tokyo office. I had left her a number of addressed cards, telling her just to sign her name on them and post them at intervals to let me know she was all right; but this first card was one that I had written as a joke, like an official form with various alternatives to leave or cross out, such as “I
adore/detest
you. Since you left I have had
no/two/six/seventy-three
sailors.” She had left
adore
in the first sentence, and
seventy-three
in the second, with an asterisk drawing attention to a note in Gwenny's handwriting below:

 

This is just a joke about the sailors. I cried after you left. Please bring me a pink umbrella that you can make small if you have enough money. I have seen Japanese umbrellas, they are very nice.

Love, Suzie.

The signature was her own with the usual large reversed Z.

A week or two later when I returned to Tokyo there were two more cards from her at the office, both with little messages written by Gwenny. There was also a post card signed all over by a dozen of the girls, with their names in Chinese characters followed by their adopted European Christian names in brackets. In prominence were Fifi and Wednesday Lulu. I do not know what the Japanese secretaries in the office had made of this but when the manager asked me “Did you get your mail?” I fancied from the odd look he gave me that the card must have done the rounds.

I spent an afternoon in a store and bought small presents for all the girls and several for Suzie. I had no difficulty over the umbrella because there was a whole department devoted to nothing else, with a vast range of gay, modernistic patterns that made them equally suitable for sunshades. I bought one with a pink base and blue pattern like the spattering of ink from a pen, and with a collapsible handle as requested. It cost only one pound, but looked so original and smart that it would have created a sensation at Ascot.

A few days later I received another post card from Suzie, in Gwenny's handwriting.

 

Something terrible has happened. That Canton girl said a very bad thing that made me angry. But all the girls helped me so it is all right now. Gwenny is writing to tell you everything. That Canton girl is no good.

Love, Suzie.

I found this rather disturbing. I knew, of course, that “that Canton girl” meant Betty Lau, who had been the only fly in the ointment since Suzie's return to the Nam Kok; for after claiming me for so long as her own boy friend, Suzie's reappearance had much displeased her and she had lost no opportunity for the oblique expression of malice. Once or twice she had made remarks that had upset Suzie for days; and now clearly she had taken advantage of my absence to give her malice full rein.

I waited anxiously for the letter from Gwenny. It turned up three days later on the morning that I was due to depart for Hokkaido, and I took it across the road from the office to read in Hibiya Park. However, when I opened it I found that, although the envelope had been addressed by Gwenny, the letter itself was written in an unfamiliar hand. Evidently the gravity of the matter had called for a writer who was more at home with the language.

 

Dear Sir,

I am writing this letter at the request of “Gwenny” and “Suzie” who say you are a friend of theirs and wish to acquaint you with a certain matter. I wish to state first however that I have no personal connection with this matter nor with the parties concerned except that as Chief Petty Officer in H. M. Royal Navy I am interested in fair play and justice, and having entered this bar for the sole purpose of drinking, being a married man and not otherwise interested, and having observed the two above-mentioned girls to be very upset, I am glad to help these girls without in any way committing myself.

They wish me to state that at approx. 3
p.m.
on 17th inst. a third party named “Betty” used insulting words to “Suzie” in this bar, provoking the latter to strike her with a pair of scissors, and to cause injury necessitating her removal to hospital. “Suzie” was detained by the police overnight, suffering discomfort, and on morning of 18th inst. appeared in the magistrate's court and was remanded on bail, this being provided in part by herself, and in part by sympathetic friends from this establishment. They further state that there is no cause for worry since it is general opinion that “Suzie's” action was justified in view of the abusive attitude of the other party. They also wish to be remembered to you.

I must finally correct any misapprehension that this letter is intended to interfere with justice, but I am satisfied that the girl “Suzie” is a very decent sort considering circumstances and was acting in good faith.

Yours truly,

R. 0. Bridges,

C.P.O.

Below this was written “
What day will you come back?
” followed by Suzie's signature. The signature was written jauntily and was frivolously surrounded with kisses.

The letter exceeded my worst fears. I found its apparent confidence far from reassuring. Obviously “general opinion,” according to which Suzie's action was said to have been justified, meant nothing more than opinion in the bar—the opinion of the other girls. And the magistrate's opinion would doubtless be very different. Especially with those scissors.

The scissors worried me most of all. What on earth had she been doing with scissors in the bar? Where had they come from? Her handbag?

But she never carried scissors in her handbag. I had never seen any girl with scissors in the bar. Yet it was inconceivable that she had taken the scissors down to the bar on purpose: that the attack had been premeditated. It was out of the question.

Or was it? The more I thought about it, the less sure I became. I remembered how she had brooded after one of Betty's slighting remarks. I remembered her eyes; and now, in retrospect, I fancied that there had been a much deeper hurt in them than I had realized at the time. I had been so busy with my painting that I hadn't wanted to be bothered; I hadn't wanted to see the hurt. Yet it was not surprising that she should have been so hurt, for Betty had struck at the most sensitive part of her—at her pride.

Suzie's pride was often petty, but I had always been able to forgive her for it; for like the pride of most girls at the Nam Kok, it stood for her belief in herself and her aspirations to be something better. It stood for her refusal to submit to degradation, and the only girls who were truly degraded were those who had lost this bulwark of their pride.

And recently, since her baby had been killed, Suzie's pride had centered round her relationship with me. It was the only tangible asset she had left. And nothing in the world mattered to her more than that it should be kept intact, not only in fact but in the eyes of the other girls. And it was this very relationship with me that Betty had always so maliciously disparaged. She had caused Suzie to lose face. And when I considered what this meant to Suzie, it no longer seemed so unlikely that she should have carried her grievance as far as premeditated attack.