The Day of the Scorpion

by Paul Scott

  ‘Susan—’ she began.

  ‘What about Susan, pet?’ Then, like Uncle Arthur, without waiting: ‘I was thinking of Susan, too, of when we saw her and Teddie off at the station on their way to Nanoora.’

  ‘Were you? Why, Auntie?’

  ‘Because of a similar occasion, when we saw your father and mother off on their honeymoon. I coped with it awfully well. Later there was a family joke about it. They said I was so busy being the centre of attraction for all the young officers who came down to wave them off that I hardly had time to wave to them myself. In Mirat I watched you so closely, pet, because it brought it all back to me. I knew something had made you unhappy and I wondered if you were feeling the same about Susan whisking Teddie away as I felt about Millie whisking John. You looked so sad.’

  ‘I wasn’t sad.’

  Truly?’

  Truly.’

  Then everything’s all right, Now.’ A squeeze of the arm. ‘Finish making yourself look pretty and come in as soon as you can. And do think over what I said. I mean about staying for a bit, just so that you can enjoy yourself, and meet a few new faces. I’m sure General Rankin will turn a blind eye to a few days absence, and your mother can do without you very well. Just for once. Heaven knows when the baby comes you’ll all be at sixes and sevens, so take advantage now, pet.’ She hesitated. ‘I know it’s been difficult, for many reasons. In the old days coming out to India was a tremendous lark. All you’ve had is this dreary war and – what it’s done to people.’ People like my mother, you mean, Sarah thought. ‘When your father gets home and realizes how much you’ve done to help your mother and Su, he’ll be very proud of you, but awfully upset to know how little fun you’ve had.’

  As if on cue the silence beyond the closed door was broken by a peal of men’s laughter. Her aunt made a funny face. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘If you leave them too long they start telling each other horrid stories. Men simply aren’t serious creatures at all, they make a joke of everything. I’d better go and keep them in order. What a shame Jimmy Clark’s only here until tomorrow, he was one of Arthur’s most promising chaps on the course and is such a nice man, but then he was at your father’s old school. They’re sending him down to do some special training in something rather hush-hush in Ceylon. He’s only thirty but Arthur says he’ll probably end up a lieutenant-colonel if the war goes on another year, which it probably won’t. He got an emergency commission but we think he’s the kind of man who may want to stay on in the army either here or at home. Incidentally, he’s been asking all about you.’

  Fenny rose, gave Sarah what was meant as a reassuring pat. Sarah smiled up at her, feeling it incumbent on her to remain where she was, like a tense little chrysalis from which – in the ten or fifteen minutes of privacy that were left to her and encouraged by homilies and the dutiful desire to shake off all those dark and gloomy images of the world as a repository only of occasions and conditions of despair – she would emerge as the tough little butterfly of Aunt Fenny’s affectionate imagination.

  *

  ‘No,’ Aunt Fenny said, ‘tonight the ladies will not withdraw. At least not for more than a few minutes. There are only two of us and frankly, Arthur, the walls in this flat are too thin for mutual comfort.’ The chaps, cheered by cocktails, an Anglo-Indian curry, two bottles of South African hock and the expectation of brandy or liqueurs, laughed dutifully. There were six of them, including Jimmy Clark who sat on Sarah’s right. On her left, at the head of the table, was her Uncle Arthur, deep in but chin above his cups. Opposite her, on Uncle Arthur’s left, was a pale-faced young officer with a lick of hair who had begun the evening with what she had detected as intellectual reservations but who was now, long before its ending, apparently entranced and well on his way to what she knew men called being as pissed as a newt. Why a newt? She had kept newts one summer at Grandfather’s, in a deep square blue Mackintosh’s toffee tin and all she could recall was that the water turned sallow and the newts had died. Perhaps that was it. Sallowness, and death by drowning, like Mr Morland in his dream.

  ‘We’ll all withdraw and meet next door for coffee and what’s-it. Have you boys decided how you’ll finish up this evening? There’s Ingrid Bergman and Gary Cooper at the New Empire.’

  ‘Send not,’ the pale young officer intoned, ‘to ask for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee. I’ve seen it, it’s rotten.’

  ‘And unless you’ve booked there isn’t a chance,’ another man said.

  ‘Well, Arthur and I are going on to the Purvises,’ Fenny announced. ‘We thought you young people might make up a party of your own. I’m sorry Iris and Dora couldn’t come because then you might have preferred to stay here and dance to the gramophone. There’s plenty to drink and bits to eat if you get peckish later, so do stay if you’d prefer to, or all go out somewhere. You can talk it over with coffee. It’ll be in in just a few minutes.’

  Catching Sarah’s eye she nodded and rose. Noisily they followed suit. Major Clark helped Sarah with her chair.

  In the living-room Fenny said, ‘The thing is, pet, just to fall in with what they decide and not express a preference. Men much prefer the helpless happy type. My bet is they’ll plump for the Grand Hotel. It’s an officers’ hostel these days and they feel at home there. They might mix in with another party. Don’t be too put out or standoffish if you find yourself in a gang that includes chichis. Boys like these from home think we treat girls like that awfully badly, and perhaps we do. They laugh at them too, but feel sorry for them, and can’t bear it when English girls turn up their noses. But you’re not like that, pet, are you? You’ll have a lovely time. It’s quite a thing for them to have an English girl, and they’ll adore just being seen there turning up with you. And, pet, there’s safety in numbers. Well, listen to me. Birds and bees. I shan’t start worrying about you until long after midnight. Jimmy Clark will look after you. He’ll know exactly why I put him next to you.’

  ‘Who are the Purvises?’

  ‘Oh just some rather dreary civil types Arthur has to keep in with. They’re having a bridge party – Indians, not cards – and want to muster forces for after dinner when it gets tense and embarrassing because everybody’s said everything twice.’

  ‘I’ve never been to a bridge party.’

  ‘Think yourself lucky. It’s part of the price you pay when you get posted to a place like this. Let’s powder our noses and get moving with the coffee. Some of them need it.’ She hesitated, apparently struck by a conscientious thought. ‘Oh dear. Ought I to let you? I am responsible for you to your mother, aren’t I?’

  ‘I’ve been out with tipsy boys before.’

  ‘But it’s different here. Calcutta’s not Pankot and some of them are tipsy already. Well, one of them is.’

  ‘I don’t think we need worry about him.’

  Fenny stared at her. A slight flush came and went. ‘Don’t we? Heavens.’ She smiled. ‘What can you know about such things? Well, anyway. Come on. Powder noses and into the breach.’

  *

  The Purvises’ bridge party was an official affair so Aunt Fenny and Uncle Arthur used the staff car. They dropped Sarah and Major Clark at the entrance to the Grand Hotel. A following taxi brought the five others. Between the departure of car and arrival of taxi, Clark – shooting away small boys and bent beggars – said, ‘Be sure to tell me the moment you’ve had enough. It can get pretty rackety in here. It may not be quite up your street.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Why not?’

  ‘Well, I should say rather, it’s not much up mine.’

  ‘That didn’t seem to be Uncle Arthur’s impression earlier.’

  ‘No.’ She felt him glance down at her – not far down; he wasn’t tall. She caught sight of the taxi that was bringing the others. ‘It wouldn’t be the first wrong one he’s had. Let’s go in. It’s a hell of a long walk. They’ll soon catch up.’

  The long walk was through a shopping arcade. At the end of it was the reception hall. Nea
r by a band thumped; a sound Susan once described as only a degree or so less fascinating than the sound of men en masse, waiting in the ante-room of a mess for you to arrive on ladies’ night. Bands attracted Sarah too, but hearing this one prodded her alive to the fact that under a wakeful surface, articially stimulated by plenty to drink and too much chatter, she was exhausted. Was it only yesterday at this time that the train had left Ranpur? She smiled cheerfully at the other five, as they came up, and went in the midst of them through a lounge full of wicker chairs and tables, every one occupied, predominantly by men in uniform, and out on to a broad terrace where a band played to an almost empty floor, under a temporary rainy-season roof. In the dry, presumably, you could dance under the stars. Bearers moved tables together and arranged chairs. About to sit she felt herself held.

  Clark said, ‘I only dance where there’s plenty of room and other people can see, so now’s your chance.’ He took her on to the floor. A quick-step. An over-familiar tune. Susan would know its name. For the first few moments she felt a pleasure at discovering he danced well and that she could follow. But after one and a half circuits of the floor the old problem arose. She had never been much good at talking and dancing together. The two duties seemed incompatible. She tried to recall what questions she had asked him at dinner. Not many. Dinner had centred mainly on conversation dominated by Uncle Arthur. She said the first thing that came into her head.

  ‘Aunt Fenny tells me you were at Chillingborough.’

  He nodded. They were not dancing close, but the realization that he never took his eyes off her was almost as inhibiting as that over-close proximity men occasionally attempted and sometimes embarrassingly established.

  ‘It’s Daddy’s old school,’ she said.

  ‘I know. I hope he survived the experience.’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’ She did not know what else to say.

  ‘Good, I survived it too.’

  A turn or so.

  ‘Have you been in India long?’

  ‘Six months.’

  She wondered whether to him that was a short or long time. ‘Aunt Fenny said you were in the desert.’

  ‘Mostly a euphemism for Cairo. But yes, I was for a time in what’s called the desert.’ A pause. ‘Shall I ask the questions now and give you a rest?’ She glanced up. His smile was remote. His skin, close to, had a coarseness of texture which she felt she ought to dislike, but didn’t. ‘How was your boy-friend?’

  ‘My boy-friend?’

  ‘The chap you took goodies to.’

  But just then the band stopped on an up-beat and a clash of cymbals.

  He shepherded her to the table. A bearer was unloading glasses and bottles from a tray. Only three of the five other men were sitting there.

  ‘Isn’t it on the early side for dropping out?’ Clark asked. The one with a blond moustache said, ‘No one’s dropped out.’ The others agreed. She thought: They don’t like Clark: and recollected that he was a stranger to them. Perhaps they assumed from Clark’s proprietary attitude that his earlier connection with Colonel and Mrs Grace was of a more intimate kind than their own and gave him rights in her which her aunt and uncle accorded formal recognition. It might not even be obvious to them that until today she and Clark had never met. She felt like saying something that would make the position clear, and was conscience-stricken by the fact that in spite of introductions she was uncertain of their names. To the blond moustached one who asked her what she would drink (Freddie? She would have to listen more closely) she said, ‘Do you get kicked out if you only want coffee?’ He said something about letting them try and coffee it was but what about having something with it, for instance a sticky green? To please him she agreed before the penny dropped that he meant crême de menthe. The order was given, the music started up and Freddie (or was he Tony? Why were men so often called by their diminutives?) said ‘May I?’ and was on his feet as if he had recognized his possible sole opportunity. She responded automatically and was in his arms, waltzing, before she admitted to herself that dancing with the blond-moustached man was the last thing she had wanted to do. She had noticed the heavy perspiration while sitting at the table. Mercifully he kept his distance, but his hands were wet. Susan said heavy sweat was the sign of a beer drinker which was why British Other Ranks perspired worse than officers.

  ‘Mrs Grace told me you’ve come miles to visit someone at the BMH.’

  ‘Well, just from Pankot.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  She told him.

  ‘I was there myself last month. The BMH I mean, not Pankot. Nothing romantic though. Appendix. These days they give you a spinal. Interesting looking up at the ceiling and sort of half feeling it all going on.’

  ‘It must have been awful.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Interesting. Looking up at the ceiling.’

  She felt for him. Obviously he found dancing and talking incompatible too. She came out with it. ‘I’ve met so many people tonight I’ve got the names mixed up.’

  ‘Leonard.’

  ‘Mine’s Sarah.’

  ‘I know. Just now I nearly made an awful bloomer. At home I’ve got a Labrador dog called Sarah. Well, I mean she’s a she-dog. I nearly said, like you do when you’re thinking of something to say, “I’ve got a dog named after you.” I stopped myself in time but then my mind went blank.’ Their ankles made fleeting contact. ‘Sorry.’

  She smiled. ‘Where’s home?’

  ‘Shropshire. I’m a Shropshire lad. There are poems about it, but I’ve never read them.’

  ‘What are you, a farmer?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  An image of Mr Birtwhistle’s fields and Mr Birtwhistle’s cows imposed itself behind Leonard’s corn-stook hair and fiery, dripping face.

  ‘I’m not really a farmer though. My father is.’

  ‘It’s a reserved occupation, isn’t it?’

  ‘Could be. But I’d only just gone in with him, and Dad’s not so old. He’s got Italian prisoners working for him. Says they’re all right. I’m not missed. Well, not for that.’

  ‘Will you go back to farming?’

  ‘Expect so.’ A pause. ‘Your uncle makes India sound fascinating, though,’ he added dutifully. They exchanged rather solemn glances. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘you’ve lived here most of your life.’

  ‘I went home to school. It works out about half and half.’

  ‘Would you recommend it? Living in India?’

  ‘Why, are you thinking about it?’

  ‘Well, it sounds all right, responsible job, lots of servants. Your uncle says it will be years before the Indians can do without us entirely. Up in the Punjab I went round one of those experimental agricultural stations and I thought then there’s a job I could do. A chap from England who knows a bit about farming looks at India generally and thinks he’s back in the middle ages. I mean I don’t know anything about politics or government or commerce, but I do know a bit about land. Some of the things you see make your hair stand on end. But then when I think of settling down here and getting married and having kids I don’t think I’d like it much. I mean sending the kids back home wouldn’t be my idea of having a family. Am I wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She considered. ‘I’d hate never to have been home. I’d feel I’d missed something important that I was entitled to, the thing that makes me English. You go back to claim an inheritance. Then if you have children of your own you send them back to claim theirs. It’s part of the sacrifice parents have to make.’

  ‘I couldn’t make it. Even knowing that if I had a daughter, as well as a dog called Sarah, she might turn out like you if I did.’

  She glanced up at him and felt his presence as a homely kindly man some girl other than herself would be fortunate to love and settle down with.

  ‘But then,’ he added, ‘I don’t think you’re typical. Young memsahibs usually scare me to death.’

  She laughed; but for the rest of the waltz they both seemed t
o find it difficult again to think of anything to say. As he led her back to the table he said, ‘Are you really going back tomorrow?’

  ‘I should.’

  ‘You mean there’s a chance not? That film at the New Empire isn’t rotten. I could sit through it again any day. But perhaps you’ve seen it too?’

  ‘Oh, in Pankot we never get anything new.’

  ‘May I ring you then, in the morning? You’ll know by then, won’t you, what you’ve decided?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I’ll ring you. At ten o’clock.’ He delivered her up to Major Clark. On her section of the table there was coffee and brandy. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Clark said. ‘I changed the order because I didn’t think you looked like a girl who drank sticky green.’ The chairs had been moved, too. She and Clark were now subtly isolated from the others. There were still two absentees. They arrived as the band started up again – the pale officer who had been tipsy and now looked paler than ever and the dark-haired boy whom she was pretty sure was Tony. As they approached the table Clark whispered to her, ‘Let’s dance again. I’ll tell you why presently.’