The Rebellion of Yale Marratt

by Robert H. Rimmer

  Yale walked toward the huge fire that had been started in the centre of the village. Although it was still early evening the fire cast huge dancing shadows on the hundreds of villagers who already were passing and eating hot and exotic curries in earthenware bowls. Yale had given Surya Gupta three thousand rupees for the celebration. He remembered that Surya Gupta had looked at him unbelievingly and said, "Sahib Marratt, this is enough money to feed two villages for months. We will have a fantastic wedding celebration."

  As he walked through the crowds of grinning Hindus who stopped to congratulate him, Yale was certain that Surya Gupta had invited more than a thousand guests. A native orchestra was playing monotonous Oriental scales. After the feasting there would be dancers and mummers, and storytelling from the epic Mahabharata, stories that would go on all night.

  Yale couldn't find Surya Gupta who was evidently busy supervising details or entertaining local Hindu officials. As he searched, he discovered, to his shock, that Trafford had corralled Sunanda Gupta. She was sitting against a palm tree with Trafford on one side of her and Baker on the other.

  "No, Colonel, I do not like leeker," Yale heard her protest.

  "Come on, baby," Trafford said. "One little drink won't hurt you a bit."

  Trafford looked up and recognized Yale. "Look at this cute little babe, Marratt. Speaks pretty good English, too. Not so white as yours but I'll wager she's a hot little piece. Look at those cute little titties palpitating under her sari. Before the night is over, I plan to squeeze them up a little."

  "Joe," Yale said, kneeling beside him, "do me a favor, just once, will you? Take off! This is really a Hindu celebration. Anne and I aren't going to stay. You and Baker will be the only white people left. Chris and Jane are going in a few minutes." Yale smiled at Sunanda. "You better find your husband, Sunanda."

  Sunanda started to get up. Trafford grabbed her arm. "Sit down, baby. We haven't got acquainted yet." He shook his head sadly at Yale. "I don't know what's the trouble with you, Marratt. You're just plain hoggish! I plan to stay at this here party. Before the night is over, with a small 'token payment, if I know these wogs, I can borrow this little girl. Just for a half hour or so . . . What do you think, Baker? I'll bet she's not over fourteen years old. Very sweet stuff. We'll both give her a whirl. Toddle on, Lieutenant. I don't need your advice."

  Yale stood up. He stared at Trafford, fighting back a desire to lash out at him. It was all he could do to refrain from kicking him in the face. Quickly he walked away. He heard Trafford grumble, "I'm going to have to take the starch out of that young fellow, Baker. We should have taken him back to the base tonight. He just doesn't appreciate my essential generosity."

  Yale walked through the village to his basha. Helen Axonby was sitting in front waiting for him. Chatterji sat cross-legged against the wall, at her feet.

  "Your Colonel is a problem." Helen Axonby sighed. "Is he still in the middle of things?"

  Yale told her what Trafford was doing and that he was nervous. He hoped that once Trafford realized that he and Baker were the only white people left in the village he would feel uneasy. He prayed that Trafford would leave before he caused trouble.

  "I'm praying with you," Helen Axonby said. "Anne is almost hysterical with worry. I don't blame her. That man is an ass! There's absolutely no need for him to behave the way he has to you two youngsters. You're both doing your job. I'm sure that your being married won't interfere with Army discipline. What business is it of his, anyway?" Helen Axonby took Yale's hand. "I wish you the best of luck. Anne is such a nice person." She smiled at him. "You go to her, now. Jane and Chris are waiting to drive me home. Tomorrow is Sunday. I'll expect you and Anne to come for dinner. Please."

  Anne had lighted their kerosene lamp. She was sitting on the charpoy in her slip when Yale entered. "He's still out there; isn't he?" she asked despondently.

  Yale put his arm around her. "Stop fretting, Anne. He'll leave soon." Gently, Yale tried to push her back on the bed. She lay beside him motionless, listening. When Yale kissed her she started to cry. "Oh, Yale, I'm so frightened. I just can't make love. How do you know he won't find us here? I can just see him bursting through the door, saying something foul and rotten." She stood up. Her face was tearstained. There was a note of desperation in her voice. "I think I should get dressed and go back to the base."

  Yale pulled her back on the bed. Slowly he lifted her slip over her head. "Honey," he murmured, "this is our wedding night. At least you can lie in my arms. It's early. We won't make love until we are sure that Trafford has gone."

  Somehow, drugged with exhaustion, they must have fallen asleep. Yale awoke with Chatterji shaking him. "You come, Sahib. Big trouble." Chatterji ignored Anne's consternation as she awkwardly tried to cover her breasts with her slip.

  "You wait," she said to Yale. "You're not going without me." She slipped into her skirt and jacket, listening as Chatterji tried to explain. "Colonel, he get very drunk. Memsahib Gupta very frighten. She run. Colonel grab. Pull off sari. Very bad. Sunanda nanga." Yale realized that Chatterji was trying to tell them that Trafford had somehow torn off Sunanda Gupta's sari. This was a serious disgrace for Sunanda. God knew what the Indians would do to Trafford.

  "Where is the Colonel now?" Yale demanded of Chatterji.

  "Colonel very sick. His friend very sick. Fall down," Chatterji said. His eyes were big with fear. "Many men carry. Come, Chatterji show."

  Yale looked at his watch. It was two o'clock. As they walked through the village it seemed unusually quiet. Yale had the feeling they were being observed through apertures in the bamboo walls of the houses they passed. Chatterji led them through the village. They passed Trafford's jeep. Yale looked in it. The keys were in the ignition. The silence around them was ominous.

  "Where are you taking us?" Yale demanded irritably. "Colonel not this way."

  "Colonel this way," Chatterji whispered. "Come." He led them out on the dike that connected the village to the main road. Half way out, Chatterji stopped and pointed down the steep embankment. Yale directed his flashlight into the rice paddy. At the edge of the water, his light caught the mud-covered bodies of Trafford and Baker.

  "Oh, my god," Anne screamed. "They're dead!"

  Yale scrambled down the side, followed by Chatterji and Anne. He leaned over Trafford. To his amazement Trafford stared back at him . . . blinking his eyes trying desperately to move his lips. Yale felt his pulse. It was strong. He looked at Baker and found him in the same condition.

  "Anne, they're both alive," he said, unbelievingly.

  Anne felt Trafford's pulse, and listened to his heart. "They've been drugged, Yale," she said in awe. "Look at Trafford. He can hear us, but he can't answer. Someone must have fed him an Indian mickey. Sundari told me once there are many Indian herbs and medicines that the white people know nothing about."

  Yale pointed his flashlight at Chatterji, who looked at him with a happy smile. "Hindu man, no take life." He pointed at Trafford and Baker. "No good men. Someone fix good. Now, you push in water. Soon gone." Chatterji shrugged. "No one find. Gone bye-bye, all time."

  Anne shivered. "He's telling you to push them in the water." She pointed at the expanse of water-covered rice land. "It's only a few feet deep but they'd drown in a second, and our troubles would be over."

  Yale leaned over Trafford. "Can you hear me, Trafford? I think it's a good idea. A couple of shoves and you and Baker would sink -- into a muddy grave." He reached for Trafford as if he were going to roll him into the water. "No, Yale," Anne screamed, "don't do it."

  Yale looked at her, grinning. "I should. They've interrupted our wedding night. Now, we're going to have to get them back to the base and God help us if they don't recover." He started to drag Trafford up onto the road. "It would be easier, and probably a blessing for the world, if I just accidentally pushed him in."

  After he had pulled Baker up onto the road alongside Trafford, he told Anne to go back with Chatterji and get Trafford's jeep. S
he would have to drive to Talibazar and find Major Manning who was the chief medical officer at the base. Major Manning could bring an ambulance to get them back. Yale wondered how serious their condition was. They could die while Anne was gone. It was obvious that Anne had the same thought. She studied them carefully. "Do you think they'll be all right, Yale?" She examined Trafford, who continued to stare at her. All that he was able to do was blink his eyes. Both Trafford's and Baker's mouths were open; coupled with their staring eyes, their faces both had a fearful, idiotic expression.

  Chatterji was obviously disappointed that they had rescued Trafford and Baker. In response to Yale's questioning, he denied any knowledge of what had happened.

  "Colonel, no, sick, long time. One day. Two day. Okay. Feel fine," he grimaced. "Too bad. Very bad men."

  When Anne returned with Trafford's jeep she stopped for a moment. Sitting behind the wheel, she looked at Yale. Her eyes glistened with tears. "I love you, Yale. I just love you." She nuzzled her face against his for a second. "It was a nice wedding."

  Yale watched the taillight of the jeep disappear. He sat down beside Trafford and Baker. Pointing the flashlight at Trafford's face, he asked, "Why? . . . Why? . . . That's all I want to know . . . Why? . . ."

  8

  Colonel Trafford and Captain Baker were kept in the base hospital for five days. To squelch rumors, Major Manning stated that their ill health was due to a violent attack of dysentery. Two days after they were released by Major Manning, Trafford sent a message to Yale to report to his office. He was leaning back in his chair, one foot in a desk drawer, when Yale walked in and saluted.

  "I don't suppose you thought you'd get away with it," Trafford demanded, blowing a cloud of smoke in his direction.

  "Get away with what?" Yale asked insolently.

  "You know what I mean. Telling those fucking wogs to poison me and Baker. Stand at attention, you bastard, or you'll leave Talibazar under guard."

  Yale ignored his order. Leaning on Trafford's desk, he grinned. "You're lucky you're not floating in some rice paddy with the buzzards pecking at your rotten flesh. You were trying to rape the wife of the head of the village, at a party to which you weren't even invited."

  Trafford snapped his riding crop on his desk with a shattering bang. "And you, you wise bastard . . . you let them feed me and Baker a 'mickey.'" He looked at Yale slyly. "Just what in hell did that Gupta character put in our drinks, anyway?"

  Yale shrugged. "They didn't consult me, Colonel. You can call it a form of 'passive resistance' and thank your lucky stars you were mixed up with Hindus. They have a religious repugnance for taking human life. Even at that they have Mohammedan friends in a nearby village who would have cut your balls off willingly as a gift to Allah."

  "Listen, you litle snot, I know all about you. A rich man's son. You think the world was buttered just for you. The Marratt name will do you no damned good here. You're finished." Trafford banged on his desk. "Baker. Come in here. Bring O'Hara with you."

  Captain Baker walked into the office. He gave Yale a frigid look. Behind him was another Captain wearing Finance Department gold diamonds.

  "Captain O'Hara," Trafford said, coldly, "this is Lieutenant Marratt. Captain O'Hara is your replacement, Marratt. You re to report to headquarters in Calcutta. There's a plane going down to Calcutta at six o'clock. That will give you four hours. I understand from Headquarters that the transfer of funds can be accomplished without too much difficulty. You be on that plane, Lieutenant. Don't miss it!"

  Yale, flushed with anger, stared at Trafford. For a moment he was filled with hatred, ready to reach across the desk and despite the consequence to himself punch Trafford's sneering face. This was it, he thought. Anne had anticipated it. "Yale, he won't permit it," she had told him. "This is the end. Just as soon as he and Captain Baker get out of the hospital they will have one of us transferred."

  As he stared at Trafford his anger slowly dissipated. Yale thought of only one thing. Before O'Hara could accept the transfer of accountability it would take every second of the time for O'Hara to count all the money and balance the accounts. He would have Sergeant Prouty, his master sergeant, stay with O'Hara. That would give Anne and him at least three hours.

  "We'll do our best," Yale heard O'Hara saying. "You realize, Colonel, this office disburses over a half a million dollars a month. It will take me time to verify the account."

  Trafford smiled and said sarcastically, "Lieutenant Marratt will give you his full cooperation, I'm sure." Trafford was obviously a little disappointed that Yale had shown no overt anger. "Lieutenant Marratt, Captain Baker is having your orders cut now. You are to stay with Captain O'Hara until your departure. I've made arrangements with Captain Johnson for O'Hara to take over your room. Very comfortable quarters, O'Hara. Lieutenant Marratt has the feel of the land. These natives would do anything for him. You can have his bearer, Chatterji." Trafford smirked at Yale. "I'm sorry to say that his personal whore doesn't go with the deal . . . which is too bad because she looks like the coolest piece of ass ever to find its way into these parts." Delighted, Trafford noted that Yale was clenching his fist and breathing heavily. "Don't do it, Marratt. She's not worth it. No woman is. Not a dishonorable discharge and the jug." He re-lighted his cigar. "Okay, get the hell out of here. I got work to do."

  As they left the office he thrust his final knife into Yale's back. "Just in case you think you can go shed tears on Mrs. Wilson's voluptuous tits, let me advise you that she, Harold Tuttle, and Jane Belcher have taken a staff car and gone to Shillong for a week to the rest camp." The last words Yale heard Trafford say were, "Never saw anyone so eager in my life as that Tuttle, amazing how easily we men are led around by a little hairy pussy." Trafford's laughter followed them across the courtyards.

  Mat Chilling wasn't aware until two days later that Yale had been transferred. When he heard the news he sought out Colonel Trafford.

  Trafford beamed at him. "Preacher, if I hadn't known that you left early from that little shindig last week you'd be on your way to parts unknown right now." He stared at Mat. "What in hell do you think I'm running here? A country club?" he guffawed. "That's good! A 'cuntry' club. Get it, Captain? Well, for your information this is a supply base to Kai-shek forces in China. The Germans are just about washed up, but the way it looks now we may be fighting Japs for another ten years, and I mean to do my part in shortening this affair just as much as possible. I ain't got a thing against a man getting a little nookie, but when he usurps one of the three or four white women around here and starts this Romeo and Juliet crap, it's damned right debilitating for base morale. I did the only thing that could be done. What's more, I'm not showing any partiality. I've contacted Red Cross headquarters. Mrs. Wilson is going down to Calcutta in a couple of weeks. When I clean up a mess I do it thoroughly. I don't want her mooning around the base getting all the rest of the women up in arms against me for being a first class prick."

  Mat realized that it was useless for him to comment. He knew that in a subtle way Trafford was right. Yale and Anne . . . particularly Yale . . . had once again deviated too sharply from the patterns that men lived by. Listening to Trafford, Mat was aware that Yale was fighting over again the same battle he had waged in Midhaven. Colonel Trafford was simply a crude version of Pat Marratt; both had the identical commissar mentality.

  Mat remembered prophesying in college that the most important single fact of the twentieth century would be the end of intellectual man; the balanced intellectual, who had sufficient knowledge of man and the learning man had so arduously accumulated, that he would be able to interrelate not only knowledge itself but the hopes and aspirations of all mankind. When that kind of man disappeared from the earth, civilization would crumble with him. There was no room in a world of specialists, in a world that was delightedly cultivating mediocrity, for men like Yale who dared to challenge their gods, their morals, and their ethics.

  Would he himself have the courage to revive the "Seek the
True Love" venture? He was beginning to doubt it. Too many of his most enthusiastic supporters were faddists, who at the end had tried to usurp his ideas and combine them with their own screwball notions. He had played the game of "popularizing" an idea. Putting it across to the people in such simple terms that they couldn't fail to understand it. In the end his idea of man saving himself by a deeper understanding of the act of love had been corrupted by his own closest followers who had begun to interpret his theories as a carte blanche for sexual license, rather than as an approach to God.

  The Sunday after his talk with Trafford, Mat preached a conventional sermon in the base chapel. He was listened to by a few dozen soldiers who had sacrificed their sleep for the spiritual solace. He saw Anne, by herself, following his words with an attention they scarcely warranted. From behind the pulpit he felt the impact of her proud, lonely beauty. For a second he lost the thread of his theological argument as, in a kind of telepathy, he not only sensed her loneliness and need of Yale, but felt a deep sorrow for all men in a world where hatred, anger, fear, and sadism were such popular emotions.

  After the service Anne remained in her seat while Mat talked briefly with a few of the soldiers. When they had gone he came over and took her arm. "Come on, Anne. I've been waiting to talk with you. We have to get out of here. Father Harris has an eleven-thirty Mass. Do you want to walk out to the village?"

  Anne shook her head. Mat could see that she was close to tears. "I could never go back there, Mat." He saw her shiver with the intensity of her emotion. "Oh. God, why did it have to end this way?"

  "It hasn't ended, Anne. The war will be over, you'll be together again."

  Mat took one of the jeeps assigned to the chaplains. Sitting beside him as he drove away from the base, Anne told Mat what had happened. "Colonel Trafford certainly left no stone unturned in getting his revenge," she said bitterly. "Howard Tuttle told us Wednesday night that Jane Belcher and I had to be in Shillong on Thursday. It was a real cock-and-bull story about a new club opening at the rest camp. Tony Martin and a lot of Hollywood celebrities were to be there. I tried to get out of going. I was supposed to meet Yale in the village but Howard laid the law down. Trafford had obviously told him all about Yale and me. Howard tried to imply that because I was in love with Yale I wasn't doing my duty. Can you imagine that? The truth is that because I am in love with Yale, and, perhaps, because I felt guilty at being so happy, I have been working longer hours and planning more projects for the fellows than any of the other girls."