Forgotten Life

by Brian Aldiss

  He surveyed the muddle in the foyer, irritably smoothing the end of his moustache, and then said, in mild tones, ‘Why have you not opened this crate of film, sergeant? It’s your job, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sir, strict orders from Captain Morrison, sir.’

  ‘Why’s there all this mess here?’

  ‘Men having trouble with the wood, sir. All tidy for this evening’s performance. The Bank Dick, again, sir. Very popular.’

  ‘What’s the matter with the wood?’

  ‘Too hard, sir.’

  ‘Well, get this crate opened.’

  ‘Would you like me to phone Captain Morrison about it, sir?’

  I stood rigid as I spoke. He fixed me with a hard cold Polish eye, despite his command of English unsure as to whether I was being impolite. Gradually he relaxed, and his manner became less waspish.

  ‘I don’t like slackness, sergeant.’

  ‘Sir.’

  He turned away, perhaps in disgust. The two carpenters resumed their singing, which they had stopped in order to listen to the exchange. The Rajput guard had followed Zajac in, perhaps under the same sort of impulse that moves dogs to follow strangers.

  I was looking out through the new glass doors into the street. A big black civilian car stopped. A corporal in a bush hat jumped out and stood cradling a sten gun, staring into the cinema. With a start I recognized him. It was Corporal Jones, the deserter.

  ‘Down, everybody!’ I flung myself to the floor, seeing from the corner of my eye that Zajac immediately did the same, turning to face the danger as he did so. The carpenters dived behind their half-built bar.

  Jones hesitated. It crossed my mind as I scrabbled for my revolver that he could hardly see in; the foyer being rather dark and the street full of light, the glass doors would present him only with a reflection of the street. But he must have glimpsed a movement. As he fired, the panes of glass splintered and bullets went ricocheting about the place.

  I got my revolver up. One shot rang out, then a second. Jones dropped his gun. The look on his face suggested he had heard something that shocked him deeply. He turned and fell to his knees. Someone fired some wild shots from the black car, then it accelerated forward and was lost from my line of sight. A battered truck followed. Men were firing from it at random. Another fusillade of shots rang out, but those I scarcely heeded; the Rajputs were firing at the fugitives. I was running forward after Zajac, who had fired before I could do so.

  Jones was on the pavement, head touching the stone, making some kind of a cry.

  Zajac stood over him, arms akimbo, still nursing his revolver and smiling grimly.

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose the Borderers will thank me for finishing their task for them.’

  ‘They’ll be glad to see him on his knees, sir. Good shooting.’

  ‘Go and get Colonel Glyn Williams of the Borderers on the phone. Tell him – ask him – if he would care to come round here. Then get the Ambulance Unit, fast.’

  ‘Sir.’ I stood staring down at the mighty Jones, at his sweat-stained bush shirt. His blood was trickling out under him, gathering in a rivulet and running into the gutter. He paddled at it with one hand, as if in wonderment. I went inside to the phone, my legs a trifle shaky. A shrill noise was coming from the inside of the cinema. The old patching lady was having hysterics, and the two carpenters were splashing water in her face.

  ‘You’d better get back on bloody duty,’ I said to the Rajput guard, who was trembling privately to himself. ‘You were meant to be out there.’

  He clutched my arm. ‘Very bad man – kill us all.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll kill anyone else now. It’s okay. Thikhai. Thank God Zajac was here – I’ve had no target practice since Madras …’

  I wound the crank of my field phone vigorously, and eventually a lazy afternoon operator replied. I heard myself yelling at him.

  A few minutes later, we found that the Rajputs had managed to wound the driver of the Jones truck, which had run into a tree. It contained cans of petrol and grenades. Jones had intended to pick a quiet time of day and burn down his old HQ.

  He died in hospital two days later. The Borderers threw a party in celebration for Captain Zajac. Sportingly, he took me along and we both got agreeably drunk.

  August came, bringing thunderstorms. The hot days dragged by. And still I met with my love in the ambushed afternoon, and still the future drew nearer to destroy us.

  It was impossible to decide why I hung back from thinking about marrying her, supposing she should get a divorce from Wang – which she said would not be difficult. The years of war had made me feel old; it would be a relief to settle down and be domestic. I had no great desire to return to England.

  The obstacles in my way I have already mentioned. I dreaded the opposition and opprobrium the army would bring to any request of mine to get married. I had never heard of such a thing happening, although I guessed I should immediately find myself posted to some inaccessible spot, with never a chance of seeing her again.

  There was another more intangible objection which always eluded me. But one day, rooting about a secondhand stall in the native quarter, I came across a worn anthology of English poetry, and bought it. Almost the first poem at which I opened the book was a poem by William Blake:

  He who bends himself to joy

  Doth the winged life destroy:

  But he who kisses the joy as it flies

  Lives in eternity’s sunrise.

  I could not get the lines out of my mind. Doth the winged life destroy. Yes, we had the winged life and, despite ourselves, we were destroying it. I explained it to Mandy, but she would hear nothing of the matter.

  ‘Blake is dead,’ she said. ‘Why listen to him? What does this Blake know of our circumstances? Did he ever kiss me? Was he fucked by me? It’s simple – we love each other and should be married together. I know you hate the pretence. We should be free.’

  ‘I know, I know. Don’t talk about it.’

  ‘I must. I lie awake at night thinking about it. There’s only one tragedy waiting in the future otherwise, my God. Why does Ginny not recover? Isn’t it because she sickens with worry for Sammi and herself and all of us? And at least she has a European husband. Well, that’s all I want, this pretty one with the pretty prick here.’

  ‘Please, Mandy. I can’t talk. I think – I think – Oh, you must blame me, but I am just too immature to deal with it all.’

  She kissed me and rubbed her nose against my cheek. ‘I am such an old nag. Now you see how I nag Wang, my God. No wonder no one wants me. You better get back to England before this whole great place goes up in smoke – Merdeka smoke!’

  Oh, the love we made. Oh, the way we had of torturing each other. And all the time I hadn’t even the sense to take Charlie into my confidence. It would not have been possible to have explained my tangled feelings to anyone. Only Blake would have understood.

  She was offering me a whole fascinating, foreign way of life and I was too palsied to take it. Why my thousand hesitations?

  Back came the answer: Doth the winged life destroy …

  The hot days dragged by. Despite the rumours that had been flying, the order to quit Sumatra, when it came from ALFSEA, was something of a surprise. By now, all the Dutch who wished to be repatriated had gone, and the Japanese Army had been sent packing back to Tokyo. In three weeks, we also must be gone.

  Various troopships would take off various units. All war material would be sold to the Dutch forces remaining in the islands. Various categories of immovable equipment were to be destroyed. Discipline must be maintained throughout the remainder of the Occupation. It was estimated that all British forces would be cleared from the Medan-Belawan area by 1200 hours on 15th September, 1946.

  Indonesian intelligence was, as usual, excellent. Scarcely had the orders been posted on the various unit notice-boards than a procession of extremists was organized. It marched down the Kesawan and round the centre of town, with banners wav
ing saying MERDEKA and BRITISH QUIT, and large portraits of President Soekarno. The British did nothing to quell the procession. They were already starting to pack and to celebrate, each according to his lights.

  Rumours flew that we should get a special medal for the Sumatra campaign – ‘A thumb downturned on a field of shit brown,’ someone suggested. Other rumours said that we should get no medals since the whole campaign had been a disgrace to the British flag, and we could expect to go on jankers when we got to transit camps in Singapore.

  Suddenly there was too much to do and too much to talk about. When Captain Morrison came round again, I asked him if the Rex was to be regarded as in the immovable equipment category, to be destroyed.

  ‘Certainly not, Sergeant Winter. What do you take us for? The Rex and the Deli will be handed over in perfect working order.’

  ‘I see, sir. Who to, sir? The Dutch or the Indonesians?’

  ‘To the proper authorities. I’m not sure who.’

  The orders of course brought to a head my most pressing problem. If I was to act, then I had to act immediately, or the chance would be gone. And it seemed to me that there was someone who could help me if he would – the peevish Captain Zajac, who had been more friendly since our triumphant encounter with Corporal Jones. After I had thought out my approach, I went to talk to him.

  ‘I suppose you will be thinking of returning to England, Sergeant Winter?’ he said, when I reported to him in his office. He had a map of Sumatra on one wall and a map of a part of Poland on the other.

  ‘No, sir. I still have time to serve, sir. It’s something else I came about.’

  ‘Sit down, then. By the look of you it is something serious.’

  ‘Yes, sir. This is confidential. I have a romantic involvement with a lady.’ Even to me the phrase sounded absurd, but it did not pay to speak ordinary English to an officer.

  ‘I see.’ The moustache stirred. ‘Locally, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In Medan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve got three weeks to enjoy yourself, then.’

  ‘This is a more permanent sort of affair, sir. She’s Chinese. I wondered if you would book a passage for her on the Van Heutz. I mean, I’d pay, of course, but it does need a special arrangement, which you as an officer could manage. If you felt able …’

  ‘You want to meet her in Singapore. Is that the case?’

  ‘Well, we may be kicking about in Singapore for some time, sir, don’t you think?’

  ‘You’re not thinking of marrying this Chinese lady, are you?’

  ‘Sir, the Chinese are going to have a bad time under Indonesian rule. Everyone says so. She would be safer in Singapore, a British colony. Besides, she has just had news that cousins of hers have arrived there, to avoid the fighting in Amoy or thereabouts.’

  ‘All Chinese have endless cousins. You shouldn’t get involved, Winter.’

  ‘However that may be, sir, it happens that I am involved, and so I’ve come to you as my senior officer to ask if you’d do this thing for me. There’s nothing illegal in it. It’s just a question of priorities.’

  ‘“A question of priorities”… We have commitments here only to the Dutch. Not to any other races. Oh, maybe to Europeans. Perhaps the odd Indian, in certain cases. No one else.’

  ‘The Chinese fought with us in Burma, sir.’

  ‘No other commitments,’ he said, firmly.

  ‘Well, I have a commitment, sir.’

  ‘Is she pregnant, do you mean?’

  ‘No. Not pregnant.’

  He stared down at his blotting paper. Then he looked up with a sardonic grin. ‘Is this slant-eyed hussy pretty?’

  ‘I find the lady very pretty, yes. There’s a sailing of the Van Heutz from Belawan on 13th September, sir, just before we all pull out. The authorities might not let her go after that – the island’s going to be a prison, as far as I can make out. If you could see your way to booking her a single passage …’

  He stood up.

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  I rose to my feet, red in the face.

  ‘Does that mean yes or no, sir?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Why can’t you say yes or no to me, Captain Zajac? It’s no skin off your nose to make a decision, is it? You only have to put her name down on a list – one of those endless army lists.’

  His mouth set angrily at this outbreak, but he said with surprising meekness, ‘Give me her name, Winter, and I’ll get my orderly to ring through to the RTO straight away. Thirteenth, you said?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Thanks very much.’

  I saluted and left. They could not resist wielding their power. Zajac was less awful than most officers; and he as a permanent exile had more excuse than most to be awful.

  Feeling considerably worked up, I went for a drink in the sergeants’ mess. Again the longing to tell everyone what was going on; but such was my peculiar moral code that I was still bound to silence. I would have been mortified if Charlie Frost found out how I had abused my friendship with the Merciers.

  Bradbury was making a speech. The three native mess orderlies, Ali, Thomas, and Chan, were moving about silently, serving drinks to all concerned.

  ‘Come in, stranger,’ said Bradbury, interrupting himself when he saw me. ‘We’re just into the question of what constitutes immovable equipment and how we should best destroy it, to keep it out of the hands of the Indos. Now then, gents, on this subject of liquor. We have built up quite good stocks from what the Japs disgorged. Enough, probably, to last a hard-drinking mess like this for six months, taking it easy.’

  ‘I never saw you taking it easy,’ said Blizzard, and there was general laughter.

  ‘Thank you. Now, I have a few questions to ask you about leaving this valuable liquor behind. Do we want the squarehead Dutch to drink it?’

  ‘No,’ went up the cry.

  ‘Do we want the bloody wogs to drink it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do we want the yellow-skinned Chinks to drink it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do we want the extremists to drink it?’

  ‘No-oo.’

  ‘Then we have to drink it all ourselves.’

  ‘Ye-es.’ And Bragg was shouting above the noise, ‘Let’s have a party every night till we leave.’

  The vote was passed nem con. Ali, Thomas, and Chan went on filling up glasses amid the uproar, their faces inscrutable.

  I downed a couple of whiskies and then went to tell Mandy my good news.

  I was five minutes late when I entered the rear door of Miss Chew’s little bungalow. Mandy was sitting on the bed, dwarfed by the stacks of tables and chests of drawers which lined the room. She had already drawn the curtains, so that the room existed in twilight. With the window shut, it seemed hotter than ever.

  She immediately read something in my looks and manner. We sat together and kissed and caressed each other. Then I told her of my conversation with Zajac.

  To my surprise, she burst into tears. I had seen the odd tear, but never a full-scale weep, and was properly dismayed by it. With my arm round those brittle shoulders, she gradually lay against me and began to talk.

  She had decided that she had been utterly mistaken in trying to take advantage of me. She should long ago have listened to what I said. She knew at heart that she was not fit to be my wife, quite apart from the fact that she was already married and burdened with two children. She knew all the things that the British said about the Chinese, calling them Chinks, and saying they were slit-eyed and cowardly. More weeping.

  I asked where all this nonsense had come from, but she would say nothing.

  ‘Well, whether you marry me or not, there’s going to be a ticket for the Van Heutz on the thirteenth. You’ll have to go. And before that you’ll have to say something to Wang.’

  ‘I can’t go. I can’t possibly, my God. What for I go? Better I stay here and be killed and finish with everyt
hing.’

  ‘Mandy – we can get married in Singapore. Not here, but it’s civilized there.’ I heard my own voice ringing in my ears. I did not know I intended to say any such thing, but there it was, cool as anything, born perhaps of protectiveness, shame, and desperation.

  She became rigid. Then she started to mop her little nose.

  ‘You don’t really want to marry me. It’s too much for you, I know.’ She knelt beside me on the bed, looking up, looking down, sniffing intermittently. ‘I know it’s all too much. I understand, Joe.’

  ‘Then listen. I know you must fear what Wang will do. Simply tell him that you are going on a holiday to Singapore to see your cousins from Amoy.’

  ‘He won’t believe that. He will know I am going to join you.’

  ‘How will he know if you don’t tell him?’

  ‘Oh, Joseph, he has known all about our affair all along. How could I not tell him, when he is my husband?’

  This casual remark left me utterly deflated. I had no response to it. If there is anything worse than scheming it is having the scheming found out – and proved to be for nothing.

  She then said, speaking rapidly while I floundered, ‘Then I will accept the ticket. I will take the kids to Singapore, where my cousins will be happy to look after them. It will only be a holiday. If you are there, we can go to Happy World and similar enjoyment places. I will just stay for one month. In that time, I can see how conditions are back here. If too bad, then others follow me. Maybe Ginny comes over for a holiday to recuperate her health. It’s a good arrangement. Nobody gets hurt … Now we make love to celebrate and I do a special thing to you you most like.’

  What could I say?

  ‘It’s a deal,’ I said.

  Every day saw scenes of drunkenness as the British celebrated their coming departure. The Indonesians sensibly held their hand and waited. Our vehicles and weapons were sold off to the Dutch who were remaining. Advance parties began to leave on the San Salvrino and other troopships. Zajac and I were delegated as part of the rear; we should be among the last to leave.

  I closed the Rex down, said goodbye to the Rajputs, and took a temporary room in the sergeants’ mess for safety, just in case of a last-minute attack. Tension grew. So did the drinking.