‘Is your wife joining you, sir?’ the driver enquired politely. He was not allowed to park for too long before the hotel lobby.
‘No. She’s gone shopping and sight-seeing with Mr Gordon’s wife. Over on Kowloon-side.’
‘Where do you wish to go, sir?’
‘Drive out towards Big Wave Bay. Go through Wong Nai Chung Gap and down Repulse Bay Road, not the other way round through North Point. Through Tai Tam.’
‘Yes, sir.’
When they reached the T-junction of Tai Tam Road with Shek O Road he knocked on the sliding screen separating driver from passenger.
‘Go right, then left. Stop halfway down the hill.’
The driver, surprised at this order, obeyed. He thought he was taking the Number One Man from London on a sight-seeing excursion. Possibly he might have been asked to find a good massage parlour – other executives had requested that of him, and this one had got rid of his wife and the Number One Hong Kong Manager for the afternoon.
‘Wait here, please,’ David instructed as the driver held the door open for him. ‘I shall be a quarter of an hour.’
The sun was scorchingly hot: David had forgotten just how harsh it could be. He had not gone twenty yards before he was soaked with sweat. He could feel it trickling down inside his shirt and soaking into the top of his trousers.
The stone was surrounded by low plants, the dusty foliage of which was tired and limp in the coarse glare of mid-summer. He looked at the carving. There was a maple leaf on the top and a cross below. In between was cut, ‘Brigadier J.K. Lawson The Royal Canadian Regiment 19th December 1941 Age 54’.
David walked on, growing hotter. A parched breeze was blowing up the hill from Chai Wan and the sea. In a corner of the cemetery he found what he was searching for: it was a brand new headstone. He placed his hand upon it and attempted to shift it by rocking it to and fro. They had done a good job of it: it was firmly inserted in its base. He stood back and regarded the inscription. It was plainly and unpretentiously lettered. He was very pleased with it. Stooping, he looked at the writing through the protective shadow of his sunglasses. He read it to himself, but out loud:
‘“Joseph Sandingham Died Christmas Eve 1952 – He saw what no man should be made to see; he died fearing what we all must fear.”’
From his wallet, David took out a dull silver disc and a folded piece of stiff paper. He squatted by the graveside and, with his hand, scooped a hollow in the arid soil. In it, he put the half-crown and the photo which time had all but faded clean. Only the ink was still quite evident. He smoothed the dirt over them.
‘Money and an old companion for the after-life,’ David said as if he were some Chinese at the grave of his ancestors. Then, turning tiredly, he walked away towards the car, the dry breeze drifting the dust under his glasses and into his eyes.
By the same author
Fiction
THE CARRIER
THE BAD TRACK
Verse
THE CRYING EMBERS
CORONIS
SNATH
THE BREVITIES
THE KNOTTING SEQUENCE
EXTENDING UPON THE KINGDOM
DEVILS’ WINE
THE CNOT DIALOGUES
MEETING THE SNOWY NORTH AGAIN
KILLING THE MOSCS
Non-Fiction
THE BOOK OF CATS (co-written with George MacBeth)
CONTEMPORARY BRITISH AND NORTH AMERICAN VERSE (ed)
THE UNPUBLISHED POEMS OF JAMES ELROY FLECKER (ed)
Critical Studies
TRAVELLING THROUGH THE SENSES: A CRITICAL
STUDY OF THE POETRY OF GEORGE MACBETH
BRITISH VERSE 1964–84: DRIVING THROUGH THE BARRICADES
HIROSHIMA JOE. Copyright © 1985 by Martin Booth. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Picador, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Booth, Martin.
Hiroshima Joe.
ISBN 0-312-26805-X
1. World War, 1939-1945—Fiction I. Title.
PR6052.063H5 1985 823'.914 85-30747
First published in the United States by The Atlantic Monthly Press
First Picador Edition: January 2003
eISBN 9781466853980
First eBook edition: August 2013
Hiroshima Joe Page 48
