The Corpse in the Garden of Perfect Brightness

by Malcolm Pryce

  ‘For a while, I stood transfixed and simply stared. Eventually, I went over to ask what was the matter. Her English was poor and she was unable or unwilling to explain her tears. I took her for a cup of tea. By the end of that cup of tea my heart had been ravished. A genie had been released from the bottle of my heart. When she left, I knew she would never return, but I was wrong. The next day, she came back and looked for me and stammered a few words of broken English, no doubt having pored over the dictionary all night; she thanked me for my kindness. We both came to the conclusion that she needed some coaching with her English, and after wondering for a while who might be able to tutor her, we agreed that I would perform that office.’

  The room was silent now. There was a sincerity to Mr Webster’s words that I had never heard from him before. As he spoke, two members of the staff carried between them, behind our group, an object covered in a sheet. I knew it to be the rattan ball, but no one else at the party paid the slightest attention, so engrossed were they in the story. Mr Webster continued:

  ‘After that, we met regularly under the pretence that our meetings were about English lessons and nothing more, but our hearts knew differently, as hearts always do. Then, in early December 1941 I travelled home to the States to speak to my parents and sound out their reactions should I decide to break with the Church and bring home a Japanese bride. When I arrived back on US soil, the papers were full of a place called Pearl Harbor. The Japanese were being rounded up and interned. It was not a pretty sight. I’m not sure exactly what happened after that. I got caught up in the tide that swept hundreds of thousands of young men into ships and boats across the sea.’

  The people listening were gripped by his tale, no one stirred. The only movement came from the manager, who was quietly setting up a small table, much like a magician might use. He covered it with a silk cloth, and where there might usually be a top hat he placed a jar of strawberry jam.

  ‘I assumed I would land in the European theatre of war,’ said Webster, ‘but I found myself instead on Tinian Island. There I was called upon to bless a special bombing mission, a B-29 Superfortress called Bockscar that took off on the morning of the ninth of August 1945 carrying a new type of bomb called Fat Man. It was my duty. I blessed the crew and their mission and thought no more about it. It wasn’t until the next day that I saw the photographs and learned that the aiming point for the bombardier had been that prominent landmark in the centre of the city, Urakami Cathedral. It was full, too, because they had been holding a Mass to mark the Feast of the Assumption of Mary.’ The audience responded with soft gasps of indrawn breath. ‘That was the day I fell out with Jesus. And spent the next three years calling him all manner of names. But today, my friends, I have made my peace with Him. I realised it was not Jesus who designed that bomb, but we sinners. It was seeing the innocent beauty of Hoshimi’s face that drove it home to me. I just want to thank her. She’s an angel.’

  He mimed a little applause to Hoshimi and this was enthusiastically taken up by the rest.

  Kilmer proposed an interval and both he and Webster rejoined our group.

  The night air became filled with the song of a man singing, coming from the river. A boat had moored containing a group of blind musicians, the same people I fancied had played outside the hotel the chaps had taken me to the night before. One of their number held out a tin cup and some guests walked over to donate. The words, ‘You good heart,’ drifted over.

  ‘I have to say, Mr Webster,’ I said, ‘I found your story very affecting.’

  ‘It was totally cheezle-peezle,’ said Jenny.

  Spaulding scoffed. ‘Wearing trousers and talking like a GI. Would you believe it?’

  ‘Something wrong with GIs?’ said Kilmer.

  ‘This is a dull party,’ said Roger. ‘Let’s liven it up.’ He sauntered off.

  ‘Only with their morals,’ Spaulding responded to Kilmer. ‘It’s a wonder they found time to clean their rifles, things they got up to. Personally I wouldn’t have allowed it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kilmer, ‘it’s a wonder they found time to save your sorry Limey asses!’

  ‘I’m not aware they did any such thing, too busy chewing gum, and making GI brides. That’s on the rare occasions they thought to marry.’

  ‘Why must you put such a sour complexion on something so … it’s a beautiful thing, isn’t?’ said Jenny.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Two people falling in love.’

  ‘I hardly think love came into it,’ said Spaulding, ‘not if the bacchanals that I witnessed during the blackout were anything to go by.’

  ‘I don’t know what that word means,’ said Jenny, her voice starting to crumble, ‘but as far as I can see it is the most natural thing in the world for young men and women to fall in love. It’s the oldest story in the world, and I wonder that your heart can be so cold as to disparage it in the way you do.’

  Hearing the mounting anguish in Jenny’s voice, I made a desperate attempt to divert the conversation. ‘I say, I heard an interesting story the other day. Did you know on the main route of the trans-Siberian railway there is a spur line between Buyant-Uhaa and Borhoyn Tal leading to a small garrison of soldiers. It goes nowhere else. And the soldiers of the garrison have only one purpose. Their job is just to sweep the line clear of sand.’ I laughed. ‘Isn’t that jolly?’

  No one took any notice of me. Spaulding said to Jenny, ‘For the arrangement you describe I prefer the word miscegenation. As for the sort of love that can be bought for nylon stockings, I prefer the word harlotry.’

  The colour drained from Jenny’s face. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said in a voice soft as a whisper. ‘I’m going indoors for a while.’ She walked off towards the main hotel building.

  ‘Mr Spaulding,’ I said, ‘I must insist that you stop being so impertinent in front of my wife. I have already warned you once.’

  ‘Impertinent in what way?’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean. Your tone and manner is disagreeable to me and insulting to my wife. If you do not change your ways it will be the worse for you.’

  ‘Really? And what will you do?’

  ‘I have a mind to give you a bloody nose.’

  ‘What about Roger? Think you could give him a bloody nose, do you?’

  ‘If he makes himself disagreeable in the same fashion I shall extend the same courtesy to him. For all your talk about cowardice and desertion it seems you are a man who gets other chaps to fight his battles for him.’ Our voices had risen considerably and I became aware that all eyes were on us.

  I directed my attention to the people watching. ‘So,’ I said, ‘since I have everybody’s attention, this might be a good time to perform my little act. I have decided on the title “Whatever happened to Mr Curtis”. I hope you like it.’

  The rattan ball was hidden beneath a drape. I indicated to the kitchen boy that he should approach, and he did, having been rehearsed in his part by the manager.

  ‘You may recall,’ I began, ‘there was a burglary at the hotel on the night of Mr Spaulding’s birthday party. This was also the night that a certain Mr Curtis scandalised you all by turning up at the party wearing a necklace of human ears. Mr Curtis has not been seen since that night, and I propose to demonstrate to you what I think happened to him. You will observe my assistant is a boy from the kitchen. Note the shining white condition of his tunic, which has come straight from the hotel laundry. Now, see here!’

  I whipped the sheet from the rattan ball with the drama of a stage magician. There was a slight gasp from the audience, even though there was nothing much to gasp about.

  ‘Many of you will know this rattan ball is usually positioned on the first floor landing. Now watch carefully.’ I began applying the strawberry jam using a spoon as my brush to the tips of the inward facing spikes.

  ‘Bloody pointless theatre,’ Earwig said, but seemed reluctant to take his eyes off it.

  Flies began to buzz around the spikes.

/>   At my request, the boy in the white tunic climbed carefully into the ball and crouched. He then got out and stood up. The jam had left its imprint on his tunic. I held up the jacket that had been worn by Curtis. ‘See the similarity of the pattern of holes?’ I asked.

  ‘Bravo!’ said one of the guests.

  ‘Completely different,’ said Earwig.

  ‘Do you really think so, Mr Earwig? It seems to me to be remarkably similar.’ I returned my attention to the audience. ‘In the burglary a vase and a rug were stolen. It is my surmise that there was no burglary. I believe instead this rattan ball tumbled down the stairs and knocked the vase over at the bottom. It is further my belief that the unfortunate Mr Curtis was inside the ball. The rug was used to wrap up his body and remove it from the building, perhaps in the back of a motor car.’

  Earwig snorted and walked towards the main door, passing close to me and hissing in a voice of repressed anger, ‘You’ll get what for, Wenlock.’

  ‘Perhaps so, but I suspect so will you. I have already this evening placed a call to the Chief of Police and explained the situation. You can be sure he is most interested.’

  Spaulding was now some distance away, moving towards the main hotel. He scoffed in an exaggerated fashion. ‘Mr Wenlock, if you telephoned the Chief of Police and found him at his desk at nine p.m. then you must have accidentally phoned a different country. In Siam you would need to phone his mistress!’ The three chaps disappeared into the main building.

  Webster approached me. ‘That was smart thinking, Jack.’

  Before I could answer our attention was diverted by a scream. It came from Hoshimi, uttering a cry that pierced the heart of all who heard it. It was followed by shouts from the hotel and we detected the smell of burning. We rushed across the lawn. Through the French windows of the reading room we could see the flare of a small fire. We arrived in time to find hotel staff dousing the conflagration with water from a saucepan. Someone had set fire to all of her cranes.

  EXT. OCEAN, OPEN BOAT. NIGHT

  The boat drifts through a gentle swell beneath a night sky ablaze with stars.

  SQUIDEYE

  The natives call him Chomghuürgha, the abominable yeti told of old. Twelve foot high, fiercer than a pack of hungry lions, he eats sheep whole as if they were Turkish Delight.

  But we will no longer go there, we sail instead for Singapore.

  MILLIE

  After all the monsters of the deep you have battled?

  SQUIDEYE

  The monsters of the deep are nothing to the monster deep within our hearts, which we must learn to overcome.

  Since that brigand SCARFACE plucked out my eye, I see more clearly. All my life I have been blind, and yet now I see with that inner eye of the heart.

  I have squandered all the Lord’s precious gifts. He was right to take away my eyes because I misused them. I could see but was blind; now blind I finally see.

  MILLIE

  If you go to Singapore they will hang you!

  SQUIDEYE

  And you will find passage home to the land you love and there perhaps find your son.

  MILLIE

  I fear they mean to hang me too! They said I was a spy.

  SQUIDEYE

  Why would they think such a thing?

  MILLIE

  There were strange goings on at Wisskirriel Hall in the years before the Great War. Secret meetings held at night. The Graf von Scharnhorst came often and was always very welcome even when the papers were full of stories of the coming war. When Archduke Ferdinand was shot the Master received a telegram from the Graf saying the single word, Rejoice! I delivered it to the Master. He told me to forget I had ever seen it, and never to breathe a word about it to anyone.

  SQUIDEYE

  In that case we will sail to my home on the island of Tepu Nui in Polynesia.

  CHO LEE

  Captain Squideye, look!

  POV CHO LEE: Ahead a thick impenetrable bank of fog.

  C/U: Compass needle spins wildly.

  MILLIE

  My God!

  POV CHO LEE: Out of the fog shapes appear. Warriors armed with spears stand on the beach.

  EXT. MOUNTAINTOP. DAY

  MILLIE is alone on the plateau. She stares up in awe and terror at CHOMGHUÜRGHA. He looks down at her, pounds his chest, and ROARS.

  MILLIE SCREAMS.

  CHOMGHUÜRGHA jumps down onto the plateau. MILLIE backs away in fear but finds herself standing on the cliff’s edge, unable to back away any further.

  In a flash CHOMGHUÜRGHA swipes and grabs her in his big paw.

  MILLIE SCREAMS

  CHOMGHUÜRGHA brings her up to his face, peers at her with a puzzled frown on his brow.

  MILLIE SCREAMS. The SCREAMS peter out. CHOMGHUÜRGHA stares in deep fascination. MILLIE begins to calm down. Her hands rest on the index finger that enfolds her. She looks down and notices a thorn embedded deep in CHOMGHUÜRGHA’s flesh. It has clearly been there a while and become infected.

  MILLIE puts her hand round the thorn. CHOMGHUÜRGHA starts in pain.

  MILLIE

  There, there!

  MILLIE slowly pulls the thorn out, and lets it drop. CHOMGHUÜRGHA is deeply moved. He emits a soft whine of contentment. He reaches up and places MILLIE gently on his shoulder, where she sits holding on to his fur. CHOMGHUÜRGHA moves carefully to the cliff’s edge and looks out.

  POV: the NATIVES down below. They watch in astonishment as CHOMGHUÜRGHA appears, with MILLIE sitting happily on his shoulder.

  NATIVES

  Chomghuürgha! Chomghuürgha!

  NATIVES throw themselves to the ground in prostration.

  EXT. THE COTTAGE OF SQUIDEYE AND MILLIE. DAY

  TITLE: 13 YEARS LATER

  SQUIDEYE lies in a hammock strung between two palm trees, smoking. In the distance we see a little cottage, and behind it a smoking volcano towers up above the trees. A little girl playing at the water’s edge discovers some flotsam washed up. It is a sea chest. She opens it and finds inside a typewriter, a sheaf of paper and a manual on How to Write Motion Picture Screenplays.

  INT. THE COTTAGE OF SQUIDEYE AND MILLIE. DAY

  MILLIE, watched by the little girl, inserts a piece of paper into the platen and begins to type the words: ‘FADE IN’

  MILLIE

  Well, little Jackie, it is time to write the story of your brother Jack.

  Chapter 17

  An acrid smell of wet burned paper hung in the air. The fire had been small and easily extinguished. Word reached us that Hoshimi was sleeping. A box of matches found nearby, Bryant and May ‘England’s Glory’, suggested very strongly that the fire had been deliberately set. I suspected Roger.

  The party had resumed, but with noticeably less effervescence. It was getting on for ten and the combination of the heat, the alcohol and perhaps the obvious stupidity of the ritual had taken its toll on the spirits of the guests. I found Jenny sitting quietly in the hotel lobby and went to sit next to her.

  ‘Jenny, you must not think I mind about your American chap, Cooper.’

  ‘I know you try not to.’

  ‘I try very hard.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I do not blame you for walking away, Spaulding is a most—’

  ‘I did not leave because of him. I don’t care a damn for him. It’s what he said, about GI brides. It … it reminded me … something I’ve wanted to tell you, for so long, but I was scared.’

  ‘You must never be scared of me.’

  She paused for a long while and then said, ‘Do you remember me saying about your mother, I said I knew how she felt?’

  ‘Yes. And I thought it was jolly big of you to take her side.’

  ‘No, Jack, no—’

  ‘Yes! A lot of people can be … quite snooty about such matters. ’

  ‘I don’t mean like that, I mean, I knew.’

  ‘Yes, you knew. You knew, of course. What do you mean?’

  ‘I knew what she felt like beca
use … once … a similar thing happened to me …’

  ‘You?’

  She said ‘Yes’ in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

  ‘A similar thing?’

  She whispered, ‘Oh Jack, I knew how she felt, the poor thing, I knew what the world thought of her and how keenly she knew what they thought, how terrified she must have been, how she knew she had to tell Lady Seymour but knew there was no way in the world she could, I knew, Jack, how … how utterly alone in all the world she felt. With no one she could turn to, no one she could trust who could tell her, she who knew nothing of the world, knew only how completely she was doomed, and all for something so innocent, something that … strangely everybody else did but you weren’t allowed to, and those same people who did it would cast you out for doing it too … oh I knew, Jack! A girl so young … where could she go?’ She stared at me, eyes filled with anguish. ‘Who could she turn to?’

  ‘But … Lady Seymour would have …’

  ‘She would have cast her out. She would have been alone in the world, in winter, with child, can’t you see? What terrible fears must have filled her young heart? You can’t imagine it, you can’t. But I can, I knew. What could she do? Perish? The only thing she could think of, even worse than dying, was to give you up. So you could have a life. She must have thought hers didn’t matter any more, it was over. At sixteen. How it must have broken her heart to give you up, Jack!’

  ‘Do … do you really think … it was like that?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, I do. I know. She did it because there was no other way. Pity her, Jack.’

  ‘Oh I do, I do. Of course I do.’

  ‘She must have loved you so much,’ she said, her voice a whisper of such intensity it was barely audible.

  ‘Yes, that is … is such a wonderful …’

  ‘Pity her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She placed her hand gently on my cheek and turned my head to face her. ‘Pity me.’

  There was a pause. From far off came the thin sound of the string instruments, the hubbub of drunken conversation. After an eternity, I spoke. ‘Where is your child now?’