Look down in mercy, p.6
Look Down in Mercy, page 6
“The light,” he whispered. He crossed the room and turned out the light and came slowly back. His outstretched arms touched the bedside table and he felt for the bottle of gin. He took a big mouthful, letting the saliva break it down before he swallowed.
She was frightened now and protested, trying to hold his hands away from her body and whispering, “No, Tony, my dearest, please no.” But he went on, kissing her with a semblance of passion until her struggles ceased. He thought her gasps of pain were pleasure, too drunk and too indifferent to wonder whether she was a virgin.
After a few moments he got up. She lay absolutely still, and he wondered if she had drunk too much. He bent over her, “Are you all right, Helen?”
“Yes.” He bent over again and kissed her perfunctorily, he felt very tired and his head was aching.
“Darling, I must go, let me put the light on.”
“No, Tony, please!” It was the only thing he could have said to rouse her out of her lethargy. She felt so ill that she knew it must be reflected in her face, her hair disarranged, and her lipstick smeared round her mouth. “You go, Tony, darling, I’ll wait here a minute or two. Shall I see you before we get off the boat?”
“Yes, of course you will. Or anyway, sometime tomorrow.” He tried to keep his impatience out of his voice, but every moment he stayed in her cabin increased his longing to be back in his own bed, alone.
“Good.” She was too exhausted to think, all she wanted was for him to go so that she could lie in the darkness.
“Good night, Helen, and thank you for a lovely evening.”
“Good night, Tony, my dear.” She waited until the last thread of the sound of his footsteps had gone, then she got up and crossed the cabin unsteadily and turned on the light. It dazzled her and she looked uncomprehendingly at the smeared patch of blood on the pale-blue bedcover. Tears filled her dark-rimmed eyes and ran down her face as she leaned against the wall. She cried almost silently for a long time, but not because she regretted what had happened; that was still to come. Now she cried because she knew that her white evening frock must be stained with blood, and it was the only one she had brought from Sialpur.
Part Two
( I )
K ent and the battalion commander sat on the top of a small hill waiting for the other company commanders to arrive. They were shadowed by a clump of low trees, and there was a soft breeze to temper the sun. The hill they sat on was the most dominant feature in the wide valley; to the south and north the land stretched away into haze, to the east and west rose the hills, those to the east clear cut, only a few miles away, pagoda topped, those to the west blurred by distance. The plain was split from north to south by an avenue of leafy trees, hiding the straight track that was raised a little above the level of the plain. Nothing moved on the road or in the plain, the sun poured from a pale-blue sky, and the leaves above them rustled gently. To Kent it seemed exquisite in its peacefulness, although the Japanese could not be more than thirty miles away. He turned to the C.O.
“Do you know, sir, I’d really rather like to live here.” His voice was faintly apologetic, and the C.O. smiled.
“Would you, Tony? So would I. But farther south for me; I’m told that there’re small hills coming down to the sea, with wonderful beaches and swimming. But neither choice is practical, from May to October they would be uninhabitable. No, Tony, it’s no good, I’m afraid in the end one’s Shangri-Las always boil down to Suburbia or Cheltenham, it’s what they’re there for. In any case you’re married.”
“Yes, I know,” he answered quietly, thinking to himself how odd it sounded. There had been so much to do in the preceding weeks, so much hurrying from one part of the country to another, that he had scarcely thought about Celia, whole days went by together until a chance remark would recall her momentarily. And she had receded even further frond his mind after he had been woken early one morning by Anson with the news that they were at war. He smiled as he remembered his surprise that Anson could have waited with his news until he had made Kent’s early cup of tea. The days that followed until now had been so strange, watching unbelievingly the Japanese draw closer and closer, fascinated and secretly appalled by the apparent ease with which great ships were sunk and fortresses fell. Then they reached Burma, and it was still the same story; already they had taken the southern strip that ran toward Malaya, and only two days ago Kent had been in the railway station at Pegu and seen the remnants of the troops that had swum the wide Sittang River. Apathetic men with exhausted faces armed only with revolvers and dressed in a medley of uniform or Burmese clothes. From their confused accounts of what had happened he had not been able to form any clear picture, but while they talked of atrocities and road blocks and fifth column he had felt their fear.
And he could still feel it, sitting on the hill looking in the direction from which the Japanese would come, but only very faintly and with contempt for himself that he should have paid attention to the talk of defeated troops. He told himself that it was only natural to feel some fear when in a day or so death might come, horribly. All that mattered was not to show your fear, not to let it influence your actions, not to let your mind dwell on what might happen. And with a conscious effort he turned his thoughts to Celia.
He wondered again if the episode with Helen had deepened the gulf that on his part lay between them, but how could it when even that meant no more than a feeling that bordered on disgust? He still remembered vividly the shock when he had undressed in his cabin and how frantically he had washed himself, as though he would never be clean. There had been no feeling of remorse or gratitude, he despised her that she should have been so easy, should have wanted him so badly that she allowed him to have her. He had been thankful not to see her again. The battalion had left Rangoon the same day that they disembarked and Rowland’s unit was attached to another formation. After a few days he had written a brief note saying how sorry he was not to have been able to say goodbye, and how much he appreciated their friendship. Then he forgot her, except to glance with indifference through the letters she wrote.
He could hear a group of people climbing the hill and he stood up, opening his map case and taking out a notebook. The three company commanders arrived and saluted the C.O., talking cheerfully together for a few minutes.
“Well, let’s to business,” the C.O. said, and they stopped talking and sat in a half circle around him. “I’ve brought you all here so we can look at the country and talk about other matters at the same time. First of all I’ll give you the gist of the latest Sitrep from Brigade. Information about the enemy is pretty vague. They’re known to have crossed the Sittang in force in spite of the bridge being blown and last night there was a rumor that they were in Pegu, about thirty miles from here. There are also rumors that some of their advance parties are closer than that. There is no concrete evidence yet which direction their main thrust will take, but it’s almost certain it will be for Rangoon. At the same time we can expect strong thrusts up the two main valleys, on either side of this one, that lead to Northern Burma. One talks about valleys but of course they’re enormously wide, even this tin-pot thing we’re in is twenty miles across. Our own forces have had to split, one division blocking the Toungoo valley, on our left as we face south, and the other falling back to cover Rangoon. If reinforcements don’t come in time Rangoon will have to be evacuated and the Division will then hold the Irrawaddy valley. Our own role is to stop the Japanese coming up this small central valley and crossing the hills behind either of the two divisions. To do that there’s a brigade consisting of ourselves, one Indian battalion, one Gurkha battalion, a battery of twenty-five-pounders, and a few armored cars.” He paused and spread out his map on the ground.
“From now on the only way we can tell what troops we have against us will be by constant patrolling. Immediately when you get back you will send out standing patrols at least six miles in front of your company positions and no patrol is to come back until it has been relieved by another patrol. Take down the map references now.” He read them out slowly and then went on, “While I’m talking about patrols I want to make one thing quite clear. As you know, officers seem to be in as short supply out East as everything else and were particularly badly off. I’ve been promised first priority by Brigade but at the minute the situation could hardly be worse. Maguire and Kent for instance have no other officers in their companies, Brampton and Rogers only one each. I do not want officers to go on minor patrols and until we build up our strength I do not want you company commanders taking unnecessary risks. Are there any questions so far?”
There was a low murmur of “no.”
“About our own domestic affairs. First of all A Company. We’ve only been here thirty-six hours and already I noticed this morning that the men are making what I can only describe as a semipermanent camp of bamboo shelters and heaven knows what. It must stop. I never preach discomfort for discomfort’s sake but from now on they must accept slit trenches and nothing else. C Company. All the latrines in the battalion are unpretty but yours are vile. Fill them in and start again. I didn’t have time to look at your company, Kent, or Brampton’s, but I don’t expect they’re perfect. I can no longer spare the time to supervise all these details, don’t let me have to mention them again. Now it’s your turn. Are there any points in administration that have gone wrong,” he smiled wryly, “or should I say gone right?”
The conference wandered off through the usual maze of domestic detail: boot repairs, the use or abandonment of mosquito nets during actual fighting, the issue of latrine paper, chlorinating tablets for water, a speedier distribution of mail. Finally the C.O. stood up. “That’s enough for one morning. Get back and get those patrols out, otherwise most of the problems will only be of academic interest.”
They saluted and started quickly down the hill, trying to behave as unconcernedly as if they were leaving the usual weekly C.O.’s conference. They reached their jeeps and separated. Kent was very silent driving the few miles to the little town of Paganle round whose outskirts the battalion was in position. He was watching the sunlight piercing the canopy of leaves above him as they moved in the wind. He had never noticed it before, it seemed fantastically beautiful.
( 2 )
At the end of an hour and a half Corporal Bonar’s patrol had almost reached the base of the ridge, but the track that had started off so well, just as it was shown on the map, had now deteriorated into a rock-strewn riband, the terrain on either side broken and confused, thick with bamboo and scrub. To their left they caught occasional glimpses of the ridge, steep and matted with jungle, but to their right they could see nothing except the tangle of undergrowth. Bonar kept looking at his map, trying to find the reference he had been given, but it no longer made any sense to him. He was worried in case another track had branched off unnoticed; he thought it extremely unlikely but once the doubt was in his mind it would not be dismissed. He was afraid that if there had been another track the relief patrol might go that way; it would put him in a difficult position, Tarrant had given him strict instructions not to return until he was relieved. He felt aggrieved that Tarrant should have sent him on the first patrol and put Venner in the section as well: they hated each other with a meaningless hatred. If they had to use their rifles, which he was sure they would not, he would be careful not to let Venner get behind him. He tried to forget him and looked again at his map, turning it vaguely in his hands as though by doing so he hoped the country would suddenly fall into position. Then he looked at his watch and decided to halt at the first likely place they came to between three o’clock and a quarter past. By that time they would have covered six miles and that would have to do.
The track continued to climb and the eight men were sweating. The warm wind that now blew steadily from the south only reached the track fitfully, the sweat dripped from their faces onto their shirts and ran from beneath the brims of their bush hats. They had not halted for the usual ten minutes’ rest at the end of the hour’s march, and now when they stumbled their profanities were no longer meaningless.
Only Goodwin had been too preoccupied to swear or notice the heat. One of the straps supporting his pack was chafing his shoulder. Or was it the start of a sore? Ever since the evening on board ship when Anson had told him about the girl, the slightest spot on his body had made him wonder whether it was the beginning of leprosy. He knew nothing about the disease and was too frightened to ask in case it might connect him with the murder, but he had a hazy idea that people became covered in white sores and then whole limbs rotted and fell off. But he had no idea what the first symptoms would be. As the weeks went by and his spots and pustules came and went in their usual cycle his fears began to subside, but they could still be conjured back by any unusual irritation such as he now felt.
He often wondered what he would do if a white sore suddenly appeared; on the whole he thought that he would report sick as soon as he was certain it was leprosy. He could always say that he had bumped into a leper in one of the bazaars. In any case they never hanged white people out here. Or did they? That was something else he dared not ask. He twisted his hands behind his back and tried to feel the place. It was probably only the pack strap but as soon as he could he would have another wash.
They toiled up a steep slope and suddenly came to a clearing about thirty yards in diameter. Immediately on their left was a dilapidated resting hut with a raised bamboo floor and a tattered-looking roof supported by four poles. The track crossed the clearing and disappeared into a slanting gorge. As though this were the place he had been looking for, Bonar left the track and led the section into the hut. He took off his equipment and lay full length on the springy floor, using his pack as a pillow, and the rest of the section followed suit. To begin with, the hard packs and the uneven floor seemed comfortable, and the breeze dried their sweat-soaked clothes and cooled their damp hair. Goodwin lay a little removed from the rest of the section; now that his pack was off he was no longer conscious of the skin on his shoulder. He smoked a cigarette as though he was hungry, and listened idly to the small sounds of the wind. Something puzzled him, there was an undertone that came fitfully across the clearing, like water falling. He listened more carefully; it was water, and now he could wash. He turned to Bonar.
“Corporal, I can hear a stream just the other side, can I have a look?”
“If you like. But don’t be long, this is meant to be a patrol.”
“O.K., Corp.” He got up and put on his equipment.
“Can I go too, Corporal Bonar?” Venner stood up; perhaps it was deep enough to bathe in. Bonar wanted to refuse and would have done so to anyone other than Venner, but thought it best to agree.
The two men walked across the clearing and followed the track as it plunged down the slope. Now the noise of the water blotted out every sound except the scrape and clatter of their nailed boots and Goodwin instinctively began to feel uneasy at the loss of one of his senses, like a dog that cannot bear to have its eyes covered. But his uneasiness had very little to do with the possibility of meeting the Japanese. That was something no one in the section expected to have happen, it was as improbable as walking into the jungle and meeting a tiger.
They reached the bottom of the gorge and the stream ran tetchily between the big steppingstones that carried the track to the other side and away up the far slope. On their left was a deep pool and into it fell a sheet of water. There were trees growing by the stream, their smooth trunks ran to the sun and broke in branches of dark-green leaves. Yellow butterflies crisscrossed the pool and rested on the steppingstones with open wings.
A large flat rock some yards to their left on the other side of the pool was an obvious choice from which to bathe and Venner crossed the stream and made his way there. The excessive noise of the water still repelled Goodwin and he walked back a little way and undressed behind a large boulder, folding his clothes neatly and putting them under a bush that had burst from beneath the rock. He took a cake of soap from his haversack and walked gingerly into the water, floundering about in the deep part of the pool. Then he climbed onto Venner’s rock and lathered himself thoroughly.
“Not bad, eh?” Venner shouted from the water, lying on his back and threshing his legs, laughing with pleasure at having been hot and sweaty and now feeling fresh and cool. Goodwin slipped into the water again; Venner’s cheerfulness made him feel more easy, he forgot his dislike of the noise. After he had rinsed himself he went back to his clothes and dressed slowly; it took him a long time to brush off the damp dirt picked up by his feet, but at last he was ready and scrambled up from behind the rock. Normally he would never have considered waiting for anyone except Anson, but Venner had been so pleasantly friendly that despite himself he felt warm toward him, and decided to cross over and offer him a cigarette. He looked to see whether he was dressed. Venner was sitting on the rock naked, his arms around his knees and a cigarette in his mouth. Two yards behind him stood a big man; his uniform seemed very untidy. He took a delicate step forward with his left foot and something flashed behind his head and swept down in an arc from right to left. Venner’s head hit his left knee, bounced on the rock and fell into the pool. A fountain of blood shot into the air and drenched his naked body as it toppled slowly over. The big man seemed to laugh as he picked up Venner’s shirt and wiped his sword. He turned and waved, two or three men stepped from their hiding places and went quickly toward him.
Goodwin dropped swiftly behind the rock and then ran doubled up toward the clearing. His boots slipped and clattered on the stones, and the flesh of his buttocks and back crawled as he waited for a burst of rifle fire to come tearing through the undergrowth. Christ Almighty, his mind kept repeating as the nails of his boots tore at the track; Christ, what a marvelous escape!
