We Saw The Sea

by John Winton

  George Dewberry’s voice had the same magic action as the Pied Piper’s. There was a rustling and a bustling and the room filled with girls, tripping, dancing, flinging their arms round George Dewberry.

  Michael felt himself lifted off his feet and carried to a chair. His shoes were removed, his collar loosened and a hot towel pressed on his forehead. He saw Paul nearly submerged in girls, also having his forehead bathed. A special chair was brought for George Dewberry and he sat in it surrounded by girls, like Bacchus with attendants. Although, as a customer of long and respected standing, George Dewberry had the majority of the girls’ attention, he still seemed unsatisfied.

  “Where’s Mimi! Mimi!”

  A tall Japanese girl came out from behind some curtains at the back of the bar and sat down by George Dewberry. She was wearing a European evening dress but she had the golden skin and almond-shaped eyes remembered in a thousand legends of old Japan. Her eyelashes were long and swept upwards and her lips were pouted and red as cherries. She seemed aware of her beauty and displayed it as though she were conscious that she was destined to give pleasure.

  “Zut alors!” said Paul. “Where did you find her, George?”

  “In here.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “Oh, you make me sick. There’s such a lot of rubbish talked about Japanese women. Just say the word ‘Japan’ to most people and they immediately think ‘Geishas’. They come ashore expecting tinkling samisens, fluttering fans and Madame Butterflys up every side street. And when they find it’s not quite like that they take one look at the old woman who comes to do the laundry, say ‘Aroint thee witch’ and take to the bottle instead. Mimi’s not a geisha. She’s a whore. Aren’t you, Mimi?”

  Mimi nodded and smiled.

  “Well, I won’t argue with you, George,” Paul said. “You’re obviously an expert.”

  “I know a fair amount about it. I was thinking of going R.A. at one time. Lot to be said for a Japanese wife. They understand men.”

  “I can imagine,” said Michael.

  “Mimi, meet my friends. She’s got the best-looking bottom in all Suki Yaki. Haven’t you, Mimi? She doesn’t speak English very well but she’s got the message.”

  George Dewberry pinched affectionately. Mimi wriggled and dimpled with pleasure. Michael felt outraged, as though he had just seen someone tweak the Mona Lisa’s nose.

  “Now. What are we going to have? Don’t take any notice of all those bottles. You can have beer or saké. Or you can have Mamasan’s own speciality, ‘Kiss of Fire’.”

  “God, what’s that?”

  “Equal parts of whisky and vermouth with chrysanthemum seeds sprinkled on top.”

  “Blimey, is it an aphrodisiac or an abrasive?”

  “Couldn’t say, never tried it. Personally I’ve had enough beer for one night. I’m going to have saké. Mamasan brews quite a good drop up in the bathtub. Real Prohibition hooch. I can recommend it.”

  “I’ll have saké,” Michael said. “What are you going to have?” he asked the girl nearest him.

  “Whisky, Mac,” said the girl.

  “Saké for me too,” said Paul. “How about you?” he asked the girl next to him.

  “Whisky, Mac.”

  “You can see the American influence, can’t you? Suki Yaki is the Forty-Ninth State.”

  Mamasan, the large jovial Japanese woman who ran the bar, brought the drinks. The whisky was in small pony glasses and the saké in a china teapot surrounded by thimble-sized cups.

  “Aragato, Mamasan,” said George Dewberry. “Shall I be mother?”

  He poured the saké into the cups. It was steaming hot and tasted of earth, rice and caraway seeds. The girls drank their whisky straight and replaced their glasses on the tables expectantly. Michael was suspicious.

  “I wonder if that’s really whisky?”

  “Oh, it’s whisky all right,” said George Dewberry. “They don’t go in for the layer trick or cold tea here, although quite a lot of them do. Taste it yourself and see.”

  Michael tasted it. It was certainly whisky.

  “Tastes a bit peculiar though.”

  “That’s Genuine Old Highland King Victoria VIII Scotch. Made in Tokyo. Not a drop sold until it’s two days old.”

  George Dewberry sipped his saké with the air of a connoisseur.

  “Did you see anything of old Freddy Spink while you were in Hong Kong? The last time I heard of him he was running a highly successful taxi-dance and call-girl racket.”

  “He showed us over his empire.”

  “I rather liked old Fred. He and I saw eye to eye on a lot of things. I met one of his uncles the other day, the chap who runs that big night-club on the hill. I didn’t take you there tonight because I got the buzz that the Yank M.P.s are getting interested in it. It’s due for a temporary shut-down. All the best people get drunk there.”

  Mamasan brought more saké and small pieces of salted fish, scented cheeses and olives cut and filled with mint. Michael thought the saké a pleasant and sociable drink; one drank it like tea and it had the mellowing effect of alcohol.

  “Let’s have some music,” said George Dewberry. “Mimi, let’s have a song! I’ve rather been neglecting Mimi with you fellows around.”

  Mimi and the other girls stood in a circle and sang a plaintive Japanese song, clapping their hands and swaying their bodies.

  “What’s it called, George?”

  “I’ve no idea. They always sing it when I’m here. They know it’s my favourite.”

  Paul stretched his legs. “What a life of bliss you lead, George. Here were we thinking poor old George an exile in foreign parts, and all the time you’ve been having these orgies.”

  “I think if it wasn’t for Mimi and the other girls I’d go round the bend. The chap I relieved had to be put away. He thought everything he ate tasted of castor oil.”

  “Haven’t you got out of Suki Yaki all the time you’ve been in Japan?”

  “I’ve had an occasional trip up to Kure but that’s only once every three months or so. And I did manage a week in Kyoto. That was well worth while.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “On the way to Tokyo from here on the main island. All the American tourists go there. It’s the sort of Japanese Oxford, Stratford-on-Avon and Edinburgh all rolled into one. It was the only major city that wasn’t bombed by the Americans during the war, because of it’s historical value or something. It convinced me that no European ever will know the first thing about how a Japanese mind works.”

  “Oh come, if you lived here long enough you’d be bound to get to know them.”

  “So you say. But the last time I was in Kure I met an old boy who’s worked out here for Dunlops for thirty years and he said he still hasn’t started to understand the Japanese. They can make gardens like people in England would never dream of. I saw the Emperor’s gardens in Kyoto and parts of them came straight out of the Wizard of Oz. But a good many of these people think the bigger a hypodermic needle is the better the injection will be.” George Dewberry was unaware of the interest he was arousing in Michael and Paul; they were both trying to reconcile the man they saw now with the boy they had known. At Dartmouth George Dewberry had been one of the dullest young men in the term, who got drunk at every opportunity and wrote regularly to his family, receiving in reply detailed lists of the numbers of British fauna slain in his absence. Paul wondered what George Dewberry’s family would say if they could see him in “The Hot Squat”.

  “They take such incredible pains over things, too. The chaps who make that damascene stuff sit cross-legged all day long hammering tiny cuts into pieces of metal, about five hundred cuts to the inch.”

  The girls began to play games with match-sticks. They solved their own puzzles with lightning speed, leaving Paul and Michael baffled. George Dewberry, however, solved the tricks almost as quickly as the girls themselves.

  “You’ve obviously got this business all buttoned up, George.”
>
  “I know. Perhaps I should have been a Japanese procurer instead of a naval officer. I sometimes wonder why I joined the Navy. When I first joined I was still getting the weight. It was a novelty and I suppose I enjoyed it. Now I’ve got the weight and I’m beginning to wonder where the hell I’m carrying it. Do you remember that first night I got drunk at Dartmouth?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Vividly.”

  George Dewberry grinned. “Do you know why I got drunk? It was the big day of the Royal Visit. When I saw those divisions and the brass and all the shouting and tumult I thought this is too much for me. So I went out and got myself thoroughly honked.”

  “George, you’re getting quite maudlin! “

  “I know. I shall be in tears soon. The big thing I’ve got to decide now is whether to go into that little back room with Mimi. If I don’t I shall have to stop coming here or Mimi will lose face. Or she’ll go off with that American top-sergeant. Let’s have some more saké.”

  “Not for me,” Michael said decisively. “I’ve had enough.” George Dewberry finished his saké and stood up.

  “Well,” he said, “there are one or two things I must do. See you again sometime. Best of British luck in your mighty vessel.”

  Taking Mimi by the hand, George Dewberry went through a door at the back of the bar. He seemed to take the party spirit with him. One by one the girls got up and sat at the other end of the room. They were no longer interested. Michael and Paul were merely customers who looked as though they were going soon; George Dewberry had been somebody of special importance.

  Michael and Paul went outside. The night life of Suki Yaki was in full swing. They met parties of sailors walking arm in arm, singing and supporting each other, negro patrolmen swinging their truncheons, and crowds of Japanese staring into the lighted shop windows. A neon sign flashed “Silver Dollar! Clean Girl!” and another “Savoy Suki Yaki! Stateside Drinks! You Try!” Loud music blared across the street.

  The Navigating Officer was the only officer in the wardroom.

  “Hello you two!” he said. “You’re back very early?” “We’ve had enough beer for one night, sir,” Paul said. “We met a chap in our term who showed us Suki Yaki in a big way and told us what peculiar people the Japanese are.”

  “They’re certainly that. They’re the most peculiar people I know. I was a prisoner-of-war out here for two and a half years.”

  “That must have been pretty tough, sir.”

  “You never knew which way they were going to jump next. I was down in Macassar for most of the time. There were thousands of us and only a few soldiers and one officer guarding us. I’ll never forget the day that bloke was relieved. We were all lined up and told we had to cheer him out of camp. Those with caps would wave them in a circular motion, all same Cheer Ship. Those without caps would go through the motions. Any man who made a sound would be shot. That foxed us a bit but we weren’t in any position to argue the toss so we lined up and cheered the bastard off. Without making a sound. It was only after the war that I found out that the chap had got the idea from a film of King Edward VII’s coronation. He wanted to be cheered in the same way. The reason we weren’t allowed to make a sound was because the film was a silent one!” The Navigating Officer finished his whisky. “I must away and arrange some bail for the Commander and The Bodger and the rest of the boys.”

  “Why, what have they been doing, sir?”

  “Half the wardroom were in some sleazy night club that was raided tonight. Good night.”

  The next morning, there was a commotion in the streets of Suki Yaki. Every American walked plainly with a chip on his shoulder. There were several bar-room fights with Commonwealth troops before lunch. Americans in passing boats shouted at Carousel’s gangway staff.

  “What’s gotten into our American allies?” The Bodger wondered.

  George Dewberry had struck back at his rival, the American top-sergeant. On the large placard outside the U.S. Fleet Club which stated “Through These Portals Pass The Finest Goddamn Fighting Troops In The World” there was an amendment to the word “Pass”. A bold stroke of Mimi’s lipstick had cancelled the letter “A” and substituted the letter “I”

  9

  ”Naval Officer Rapes Typist,” The Bodger read, aloud.

  The rest of the wardroom, reading the other Sunday newspapers, pricked up their ears.

  “He Was Like An Animal Says Girl In Citizens Advice Bureau.”

  “After you with that, Bodger.”

  “Anybody we know, Bodger?”

  “No. Some pilot or other. Listen to this. ‘The Judge said that the evidence to follow was likely to prove unpleasant and anyone who wished to leave the court could do so now. No one left.' In evidence the girl, a nineteen-year-old typist from Stockton-on-Tees, said: ‘He took me for a ride in his sports car and possessed me on the Guildford by-pass’.”

  “Crikey, I didn’t think that was possible!”

  “Love will find a way, Padre.”

  “I screamed and shouted for help but the engine was still running.”

  “After you with that, Bodger.”

  “You can have it now. I’ve got to go and look at the midshipmen’s bloody journals.”

  The other lieutenant commanders in Carousel had been delighted to hear of The Bodger’s past experience at Dartmouth and in the Cadet Training Cruiser. They had unanimously voted him the man most likely to succeed as officer in charge of midshipmen’s training, better known as Snotties’ Nurse. The Bodger was not reluctant to take the job, indeed he enjoyed it, but it sometimes tried his patience to have to correct the midshipmen’s journals on a hot afternoon, after a curry lunch.

  The midshipmen’s journals were intended to be a record of their service in diary form, with appropriate sketches, charts and diagrams. They were presented to The Bodger for inspection once a week and to the Captain once a month. Some of the journals were well done, but others made The Bodger wonder whether his successors at Dartmouth were achieving anything at all. The Senior Midshipman, Jeremy James Waffard, nicknamed Soapy by the Gunroom, was something of an artist and his journal (although The Bodger disliked the boy personally) gave The Bodger many moments of private amusement. Andrew Bowles’s journal, on the other hand, was barely readable. There were grammatical errors and spelling mistakes in almost every line and the sketches were only just adequate. But The Bodger was tolerant with the boy because he recognized that Andrew Bowles was labouring under a tragic and unavoidable disadvantage; shy and rather slow himself, Andrew Bowles was following in the footsteps of two brilliant elder brothers. The Bodger took the trouble to give Andrew Bowles a special talk about journals.

  “You’ve got to get the right idea about this journal business, Bowles,” he said. “It’s not just another thing thought up by Their Lordships to make your life more of a misery. There’s a definite purpose behind it. Sooner or later every officer, if he wants to get on in the service, has got to learn how to notice things, with an enquiring mind. He’s also got to learn how to express himself clearly and distinctly on paper. It grieves me to say it, but in peacetime one of the few ways an officer can make his name is in the quality and quantity of his paperwork. You’ve only got to look at some of the dreadful jargon you read in a lot of the ‘Orders’ and official letters which are being pushed around the place now to see the results of muddled and stereotyped thinking and hence muddled and stereotyped writing. Quite apart from all that, if you write up your journal properly it’ll give you an enormous amount of amusement in years to come. I often look through mine and howl with laughter at myself. The Commander was telling me only the other night that he’s still got his journal because it’s got two things in it which he’s always finding useful, the complete words of ‘The Ball of Kerriemuir’ and a recipe for paint to put on ships’ boats that’s better than anything else he’s seen. See what I mean?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now let’s have a look at yours. See, this is what I mean. Th
ursday, 19th. 0900, anchored. Where? You know, and I know, that it was off New Guinea but put it in all the same. Here again, ‘sent away seaboat’. It doesn’t say what for. For all your journal tells us we stopped one day, lowered a seaboat just for laughs and steamed on our way rejoicing. There’s a lot of things which have happened this commission which you don’t even mention at all. You might have described the way we rigged the motor-cutter for diving when the Commander went down to find Lady C.-in-C.’s engagement ring. And what courses we steered to keep clear of that typhoon. The Captain didn’t just pick a course with a pin, you know. There’s a quadrant in every typhoon configuration which you steer for to keep out of trouble. There’s lots of things. I could go on and on. The concert party. The banyans. The dinner party we gave for the chief who offered to shrink the Chief Steward’s head free of charge. You’ve hardly mentioned Miranda and that island that appeared. There’s plenty of learned gentlemen in the Royal Society who would have given their right arms for your grandstand view of that. Got the idea?”

  “Yes, I think so, sir.”

  “Good. Now sketches. This one of the weather forecast areas of the British Isles is all right but we’re not in the British Isles, we’re in the Far East. And this one of pipe markings is O.K. but it’s not very original, is it? I can get a dozen much better ones from the Senior Engineer any day of the week. You must try and cultivate a newspaperman’s outlook about this. Try and make your sketches relevant, up to date, interesting and informative. Even a map of Hong Kong showing the bars and their prices would fill all four functions, although I don’t suppose the Captain would go much on it. See what you can do anyway, Bowles.”

  “I’ll try, sir.”

  With Soapy Waffard, The Bodger had a different approach. The Bodger thought Master Waffard too clever by half.

  “Hm. What’s this?”

  “It’s a map of Hong Kong, sir. It’s got the name at the bottom, sir.”

  “Yes.”