Leila

by Robin Jenkins

  It was the first time she had mentioned her mother to him.

  ‘No, Mary, it’s got nothing to do with your mother.’

  She smiled and went back into the house.

  All his life he would remember that smile.

  After taking Mary to play with some friends on the beach, Sandilands went to his office out of habit but did not stay long. He stood outside, among the fragrant bushes, and listened, but he was too far from the town to hear the loudest shouting. He heard birds calling, yesterday exhilarating sounds, today not so. He was not aware of how great his sense of dread was until he found that he had infected the whole scene with it, the sky, the flowers, the trees, a butterfly that fluttered by. He could not shake it off. He should have gone with her. He remembered Maitland’s warnings of arrest and imprisonment.

  He walked slowly back to his house. To his annoyance Mr Srinavasan was seated on the verandah.

  ‘Ah, Mr Sandilands, sir, as you see I have taken the liberty of asking your servant to provide me with this glass of excellent cold lemonade. I hope you do not mind.’

  Sandilands minded very much but did not say so.

  Mr Srinavasan had come to talk about the demonstration but there was another subject of interest to him.

  ‘Where is the child, Mr Sandilands?’ he asked. ‘I do not see her about.’

  ‘She has gone to play with friends.’

  ‘Ah, so she has friends?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t she have friends?’

  ‘The schools are closed today, I believe.’

  ‘Hers is.’

  ‘So that the teachers can participate in this fruitless protest march. I hope they keep their faces well hidden. Otherwise they will find notices of dismissal on their desks tomorrow morning. The authorities will charge them, incontrovertibly in my opinion, with setting their pupils an example of lawlessness and disobedience.’

  A tiny fly with blue wings had fallen into his lemonade. He rescued it with his pinkie. It could not fly but it crawled across the table.

  ‘All life is sacred,’ said Mr Srinavasan, with a giggle. ‘Is that not so, Mr Sandilands?’

  He had splendid white teeth, now revealed in a gloating grin. Sandilands remembered Mr Andau’s rotted stumps.

  ‘That being so,’ said Mr Srinavasan, ‘what do we, as reverent men, propose should be done to the child’s mother who has committed murder? Mrs Srinavasan, not so reverent as we, alas, has no doubt. She thinks the miserable wretch should be hanged forthwith.’

  The fly, its wings now dry, flew off. Mr Srinavasan seemed genuinely pleased.

  ‘I’d rather not talk about this, if you don’t mind,’ said Sandilands.

  ‘But it must be talked about, Mr Sandilands. We cannot close our eyes and pretend the problem does not exist. Suppose though, she is hanged, what then is to happen to her daughter?’

  ‘My wife and I intend to look after her.’

  ‘May I ask, for what reason? Is it because you have guilty consciences?’

  ‘Why should our consciences be any more guilty than yours, Mr Srinavasan?’

  ‘Mrs Srinavasan, a woman without philosophy, says that the child should be condemned to make amends for her mother. She should be made to serve in some menial capacity all her life, with long hours of painful toil, with small wages, indeed with no wages at all. Does not the Bible suggest such punishment for the children of miscreants?’

  ‘I doubt if the Bible demands that a child of ten should suffer for what her mother did.’

  ‘You are presuming that the child is innocent.’

  ‘I am not presuming it. I’m stating it.’

  Sandilands was beginning to lose his temper. He was too worried about Leila to be patient with this devious fellow.

  ‘Give me leave to doubt her innocence, Mr Sandilands. In a sense we are all guilty when a dreadful crime has been perpetrated. Does not the bell toll for us all? But I fear this poor child’s guilt is greater far than ours. We are mere bystanders. She saw the deed done. Did she try to prevent it? Did she assist in it? For what reason was she present? Out of a depraved loyalty? Or because of innate wickedness? As Christian men, Mr Sandilands, we believe in evil, do we not?’

  ‘I am not a Christian, Mr Srinavasan.’

  ‘So I have been told. Yet you were married in church.’

  ‘My wife’s a Christian.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. I have seen her in church, praying. Yet where is she at this moment? Taking part in an impious demonstration. I saw her being driven off in a big car. Those young criminals, Chia and Lo, came for her, did they not?’

  ‘They are not criminals. You have good eyesight, Mr Srinavasan.’

  ‘I made use of Miss Leithbridge’s binoculars. You were unwise to let her take part. It is inevitable that the ringleaders will be arrested. She is a ringleader, is she not?’

  ‘Why should they be arrested?’

  ‘Because they are wilfully breaking the law and inciting others to break it too. Your wife may be imprisoned, Mr Sandilands. That would be a great pity. I would regret it very much. An unfortunate consequence would be that you could scarcely expect to continue as Principal of this College, if your wife and your father-in-law to boot were in prison for breaking the law and defying authority. You might even be expelled from the country, even if you have played golf-ball with His Highness.’

  He was grinning like a jackal. Sandilands was tempted to strike him.

  ‘You are silent, Mr Sandilands? You have nothing to say? There is nothing you can usefully say. I have sympathy for you but really, sir, how can you as a person from the West understand the minds of Oriental students? Does not Kipling say, never the twain shall meet?’

  Sandilands then lost his temper. ‘Do you know what the students think of you, Mr Srinavasan?’

  ‘Their opinion of me is irrelevant but I have reason to believe they hold me in high esteem.’

  ‘Well, I have reason to believe that they look on you as an ill-disposed, condescending, envious, lustful, little shit.’

  ‘Lustful!’ Apparently he was prepared to forgive all the other accusations except this one.

  ‘They have noticed, everyone has noticed, how you are always ogling the pretty female students.’

  ‘That is professional slander, Mr Sandilands. Take care lest I bring you before the courts.’

  ‘It is possible, as you have so shittily pointed out, that my wife may be arrested and put in prison and I may be dismissed and expelled, but I can assure you that you are the last person in Savu who would be put in my place. The students would go on strike. All the staff would resign.’

  He expected Mr Srinavasan to get up and slink off, snarling, like a jackal repulsed, but no, he sat there looking woeful and taking another sip of lemonade. His brown eyes were bloodshot. From them trickled some tears.

  He then began a recital, wistfully uttered or rather whined, that disconcerted Sandilands, it was so mournful, so self-pitying, and, though in some ways comic, totally humourless.

  ‘It is easy for you to abuse me, Mr Sandilands. You have a beautiful wife. My own wife, as you have seen, is ugly. She is fat, her bottom is immense and yet not voluptuous. Once a carpenter had to be summoned to saw her out of a chair. All that I could forgive for her dowry was substantial to compensate for her uncomeliness, but what I cannot forgive or overlook, what disgusts my soul, is that –’

  Sandilands had to try and stop him. ‘Mr Srinavasan, you should not be saying this to me.’

  ‘I have been longing for a long time to say it to someone, and you, Mr Sandilands, are a suitable confidant, not because you are a sympathetic person, for you are not, but because your wife is so beautiful. Making love to the magnificent Leila . . .’

  ‘Just a minute, Mr Srinavasan!’

  ‘. . . must be an experience of heavenly bliss. My Kamala in the act chews betel nuts; her mouth looks bloody. Who can with fondness kiss a bloody mouth? She chatters about inopportune things: the length of cloth to make her a sar
i, the house she lived in when a child, a fellow she was fond of when she was fourteen.’

  Was it possible to feel pity, revulsion, and amusement all at once? Sandilands felt them.

  ‘If I suggest that she caress my member, which in wedlock is permissible, she seizes it with impatience, and her hand is sharp with rings. I have been lacerated. Is it any wonder that we have no children? Is it any wonder I have become – what did you say – ill-disposed and envious?’

  If ever there was a rhetorical question that was it.

  ‘You are saying nothing, Mr Sandilands.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what to say, Mr Srinavasan.’

  ‘I am not finished.’

  ‘I don’t think you should say any more.’

  ‘I have a confession to make.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to hear it.’

  ‘It is your duty to listen to it. It concerns members of your staff, myself and Miss Leithbridge.’

  ‘Miss Leithbridge?’

  ‘I have made an immoral proposal to that lady.’

  Sandilands nearly smiled. Miss Leithbridge was quite capable of dealing with any immoral proposal, especially from Mr Srinavasan.

  ‘I invited her to make love. No, let me be truthful. I implored her to allow me to make love to her. On my knees I implored her. I was in her house borrowing her binoculars. Kamala was having a nap. I often borrow her binoculars, to spy on this house, in the hope of seeing beautiful Leila.’

  Sandilands stood up. He had had enough. ‘You are a member of the Anglican Church, Mr Srinavasan. Why don’t you have a talk with the minister?’

  Srinavasan stood up too. ‘No, I shall go home and murder my wife. I shall cut her throat.’

  While Sandilands was wondering, with some alarm, if the demented fellow meant it there was heard the roaring of a motor-bicycle. In a few moments it stopped outside the house. Its rider was Baker, the Australian.

  He got off and ran up the steps. He was hot and dusty.

  ‘I’ve come from the town,’ he cried. ‘Christ, could I do with a cold beer!’

  Sandilands called to Saidee to bring it. ‘Did you see the demonstration?’ he asked. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘More like a bloody riot than a demonstration.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Baker sat down and thanked Saidee for the beer. He took a long drink. He paid no heed to Srinavasan who had sat down too, licking his lips.

  ‘Did you see Leila?’ asked Sandilands.

  ‘Yes, I saw her.’

  ‘How was she? Was she all right?’

  ‘It depends on what you mean by all right.’

  ‘She’s not hurt or anything like that?’

  ‘Has she been arrested?’ asked Mr Srinavasan.

  Baker ignored him. ‘Who said Savuans couldn’t get stirred up? The buggers have taken over half the town.’

  Sandilands was thunderstruck. ‘How could they?’

  ‘There were thousands of them. All smiling. At first anyway. I noticed one thing. They had left their kids at home. Two things, really. There weren’t any women. Except Leila, of course. Three things, for Christ’s sake. The third thing was, though they were laughing there was something else about them I had never seen before. They looked as if they meant business. After all, fuck it, Sandilands, they had had the dirty done on them and they were going to do something about it.’

  ‘What about our students?’ asked Sandilands.

  ‘I didn’t notice them. They must have kept well to the back. Except Dusing, Jerome Dusing. He was up there, at the front, with some other young fellows, Chinese mainly, whose looks I didn’t like. Maybe I should say whose looks I did like. They looked as if they were going to get satisfaction or else.’

  ‘Were Chia and Lo among them?’

  ‘Yes, they were. Dangerous young bastards, Lo especially. Mind you, I saw no weapons. If there was an enquiry I’d swear to that. It was the police who had the weapons. Well, when they got to Government House they found it guarded by cops, commanded by your mate, Maitland. I don’t know what the hell he thought he was doing. His duty, I expect he’d tell me. His duty my arse. He was just being bloody officious, like cops everywhere. He stood there on the steps, like bloody Horatio, and ordered them to bugger off. Didn’t they know they were breaking the law? The cops had their holsters open, ready to draw their guns. I was sure they didn’t have bullets in them or maybe blanks, but it turned out I was wrong. Anyway little Abad very politely held up the petition they wanted to be presented to His Highness: a document as big as the Magna Carta, for Christ’s sake. Like a bloody fool Maitland refused to take it. You’d have thought it was a poisonous snake the way he drew back. Evidently he’d had his orders. The crowd got angry then. They shouted, they waved their fists. There was hatred on their faces, I was astonished. Were these Savuans? Then something – a durian I heard later – was thrown and hit Maitland on the head and knocked his hat off. It wasn’t just his hat he lost, it was his self-control too. He yelled to his minions to arrest Abad. They weren’t keen, as you can imagine. So he did it himself or tried to. Bloody idiot. He grabbed hold of the old man. Leila tried to prevent her father from getting hurt. Some of the young fellows I mentioned went for Maitland and roughed him up a bit. His second-in-command, Major Simbin, didn’t know what the hell to do, so he did the worst thing he could. He pulled out his pistol and fired it, over the heads of the crowd or at least that’s what I think he meant to do, but he was terrified and his hand was shaky, so one of the bullets hit the crowd. It was a real bullet too. Someone was hit. There was a scream.’

  ‘Good God,’ cried Sandilands, now very much afraid for Leila. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t Leila?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t her, though it easily could have been. It was a man. They carried him away on one of the banners. His shirt was bloody but he was alive. I think he was hit in the shoulder. Well, while the rest of the cops were trying to make up their minds whether to be live cowards or dead heroes the crowd charged. Guns were grabbed. I saw some automatic rifles. God knows where they came from. I didn’t hear any more firing, though. Major Simbin got a bang on the nose. You couldn’t see his face for blood.’

  ‘Was Maitland badly hurt?’

  ‘Not his person anyway. His dignity, yes. The crowd shoved open the door and rushed into Government House. I saw Abad and Leila leading them. I have to say, Sandilands, she was doing her share of the shouting. Their intention seemed to be to occupy the Council Chamber. Some of the crowd dashed off, to capture the town. I heard they’d taken over the telephone exchange and – would you believe it? – the hospital. So I thought I’d better come and tell you so that you could go and get Leila out of it; or at least you could try.’

  ‘You think she’s still in Government House?’

  ‘I would say so. People are going to be hanged for this, Sandilands. If she was my wife I’d get her out of the country. She’s gone too far. That kid you’ve got staying with you, her father’s a fisherman, isn’t he? She’ll know other fishermen. It should be easy enough to get a boat to take you to the Philippines. But you’d have to hurry. Troops will be flown in. British troops.’

  Sandilands was on his feet. ‘Will you come with me?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Can I be of assistance?’ asked Mr Srinavasan.

  Again they ignored him.

  ‘I’ll leave my bike here,’ said Baker. ‘Bring money, Sandilands, as much as you can lay your hands on. This could be your farewell to Savu. But what about the kid? Where is she?’

  ‘She’s with friends at the beach.’

  ‘Will you want to pick her up too?’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  Twenty-Two

  ON THEIR way to the town they met the students trudging back to the College. Sandilands stopped the car. They gathered round it. Their mood was very different from that earlier when they had set out. Then they had been joyful and light-footed, now they were frightened and downcast. Their banners were rol
led up as if they did not want the inscriptions to be seen; they were no longer demanding justice.

  Some of the girls had been crying.

  Sandilands was dismayed to find that though they were concerned about Leila they seemed to have lost faith in her. They did not altogether absolve her from blame for the violence they had seen.

  They had been talking among themselves as to what was likely to happen to the leaders and to themselves. They asked what he thought.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Are all of you here?’

  ‘All of us, except Jerome Dusing. He stayed with Albert Lo. Some said they saw him with a gun.’

  ‘Are you going to bring Leila back, Mr Sandilands?’

  ‘If I can. When you get back to the College report to Miss Leithbridge.’

  ‘Will they do anything to us, Mr Sandilands?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Sandilands drove on.

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Baker, ‘in saying nothing will be done to them. Every damned one could be expelled.’

  ‘The country needs teachers.’

  ‘They could be brought over from Malaya. One thing’s certain, anyway, you won’t see our students taking to the streets again. Whatever happens from now on they’ll sit at their desks, with their heads down. Ironical, isn’t it? They set out to help establish democracy and freedom, and what have they helped to do? Turn the place into a bloody police state.’

  In the town it was as if an earthquake had just taken place and another, even more destructive, was thought to be inevitable.

  Sandilands had to drive slowly because of groups of men on the streets, discussing the morning’s events. Few had gone back to work. The bars were full. Women had ventured out to shop. The fruit and fish markets had reopened; as had the banks. Street-sweepers were busy. Traffic policemen were at their posts. Surely signs of sanity and normality.

  There was, though, that sense of a calamity about to happen. Both Sandilands and Baker felt it, the former more keenly because of Leila. It was incredible that in an hour or so he might be fleeing from the country, with Leila, he hoped. Suddenly their whole future was altered. Luckily most of his money was invested back in Edinburgh. He could find a teaching job, Leila one in a lawyer’s office, in that city of lawyers. They could build a new life.