The Empire Trilogy (183 page)

‘Refugees.'

‘Of course, but why is nothing being done by the Government to take care them?
We
can't possibly be expected to feed them all. And what about sanitary arrangements? We'll have an epidemic in no time if they stay here. I thought schools had been taken over to house them. Perhaps you could enquire, François, and see if there's somewhere for them to go … The poor things are obviously too exhausted to find out for themselves.'

Dupigny smiled at his friend and made a gesture of helplessness; his experience of administration in Hanoi told him that even in the best conditions it would take several days or even weeks before Singapore was again able to cope adequately with its administrative problems, of which the refugees were only one. What about the water supply? The burial of the dead? The demolition of damaged buildings? The repair of damage done to vital roads, to gas, electricity and telephone installations? And then there was the storing and distribution of food, the struggle to prevent an epidemic of typhus or cholera, and a hundred and one other difficulties … None of these matters, Dupigny knew without any doubt, would be dealt with adequately, for the simple reason that there were not enough experienced men to do the job … some of them, he explained to the Major, would not be dealt with at all unless people took matters into their own hands … ‘Like this fellow here,' he added.

They had passed through another little community, this time living in army tents scrounged from somewhere, and had come with a certain relief to an open space which led presently to the little wilderness of rare shrubs beyond which lay the Blacketts' compound. Beneath the shade of a rambutan a Chinese was digging a grave, or rather he had already dug the grave and was now shovelling earth back into it. On closer inspection the Chinese turned out to be Cheong who, for the past few days, had been working with astonishing energy and fortitude to provide meals at intervals for the ever-increasing number of volunteer firemen and their dependents. And now, not content with feeding people, here he was burying someone single-handed.

‘Ah, Cheong,' said the Major peering into the grave where, however, nothing could be seen but the well-polished toes of a pair of stout English shoes. ‘Good show,' he added, wanting to make it clear how much he appreciated Cheong's efforts.

‘Whose grave is that?'

Cheong, without pausing in his digging, muttered a name which the Major had to cup his ear to catch.

‘Not old Tom Prescott!' cried the Major in dismay. ‘Why, François, I knew him well. He used to do a trick at parties with an egg.' And the Major gazed into the grave in concern.

Dupigny shrugged, as if to say: ‘What else can one expect, the way things are?'

They moved on a little way. The Major, upset, mopped his brow with a silk handkerchief. ‘Poor old Tommy,' he said. ‘What a card he was! He used to have us in fits. Mind you, he was getting on in years. He'd had a good innings.'

The Major, too, Dupigny could not help thinking, was beginning to look his years; the lack of sleep and the ceaseless activity of the past few days had given his features a haggard appearance, accentuating the lines under his eyes; even his moustache had a chewed and patchy look, perhaps singed by drifting sparks at one of the fires he had attended.

‘People are like bubbles, Brendan,' declared Dupigny in a sombre and sententious manner. ‘They drift about for a little while and then they burst.'

‘Oh, François, please!'

‘Not clear bubbles which sparkle, but bubbles of muddy, blood-stained water. Prick them and they burst. Moreover, it is scientific,' he added, narrowing his eyes in a Cartesian manner. ‘We are made of ninety-nine per cent water, we are like cucumbers. So what do you expect?' If you prick a cucumber it does not burst, the Major thought of saying, but decided not to encourage his friend in this lugubrious vein.

Having returned to the bungalow they found Ehrendorf who had disappeared for an hour to drive some of the women refugees from up-country to Cluny to join the queue of people trying to register for passages at the P & O Agency House. He reported a scene of despair and chaos. Now, with what might be the last passenger ships for some time preparing to leave, men, women and children were braving the heat and the air-raids in an attempt to get away.

‘Perhaps you should be on one of them yourself, Jim, unless you expect your army to arrive and rescue us and are merely waiting to welcome them ashore.'

‘While François is still in the Colony I know it must be safe,' replied Ehrendorf with a smile.

‘You surely do not expect me to leave on …
quelle horreur
… a troopship. If you have ever been on such a vessel you will know that there is at least one instance in which it is better to arrive than to travel. Besides, I am curious to see how it ends, this Singapore story.'

Matthew, too, arrived presently. He had spent the morning at the Chinese Protectorate trying to get an exit permit for Vera. They now had everything that was needed including photographs and had both been hopeful that at last they would be able to tackle the next obstacle of getting Vera registered with the P & O. But the exit permit had been refused without explanation. Matthew was still shocked by this set-back: he had been so certain that they would succeed. Curiously enough, this time Vera had seemed to be less affected than he was by the disappointment, had comforted him as best she could and had come back with him to the Mayfair.

‘I know someone at the Protectorate,' said the Major suddenly. ‘I think I shall go and have a word with him.'

It was not until later in the afternoon that the Major found time to telephone Smith at the Chinese Protectorate, asking to see him. Smith was discouraging. ‘We're very busy here, Major. We have a whole lot of Chinese on our plate. What's it about?'

‘I'm coming to see you now, Smith,' the Major told him sharply, ‘and you'd better be there or else you'll find a dozen young women camping in your office tomorrow.'

‘You'll never get through. Traffic jams.' There was silence for a moment, then Smith's voice asked suspiciously: ‘What's it about?'

The Major rang off.

Word had now spread that two, or even more, of the troopships that had brought the 18th Division would be sailing that evening after dark. This was a further blow for Matthew, made no better by the knowledge that even if they had managed to get the exit permit they still would not have been able to complete the other formalities in time to get Vera on board. From early in the afternoon those prospective passengers fortunate enough to have been granted passages on the ships that were due to sail had begun to converge on the docks, with the result that delays and traffic jams soon began to develop. Eventually those who were trying to approach Keppel Harbour along Tanjong Pagar Road found that they could no longer move forward at all: so many cars had been abandoned in the road by passengers who had driven themselves to the docks that the stream of traffic had become hopelessly blocked by them. The situation both there and in the other approach roads was made even worse by the bomb-craters, the rubble from destroyed buildings which had not yet been cleared away, and by the efforts of the newly arrived 18th Division to unload their equipment and force a passage through for it in the opposite direction. Everywhere desperate people were sweltering in cars which crept forward at best only a few feet at a time through clouds of smoke or dust, thin in places, dense in others, between rows of heat-distorted buildings, accompanied by a nightmare braying of car-horns, the hammering of anti-aircraft guns and the crump of bombs falling ahead of them. Nearer the docks a number of buildings were on fire: there were godowns with roofs neatly carpeted with rectangles of flame and shop-houses with flames sprouting like orange weeds from every window. Some passengers began to realize that they would never reach the docks in time, but the greater the panic the worse the situation became. It was obvious, even to the Major, arriving after a considerable delay at the Chinese Protectorate on the corner of Havelock Road, that the embarkation had turned into a shambles.

The Major had half expected not to find Smith in his office but there he was at his desk, peering intently into one of its drawers which, however, contained nothing but a few whiskers of perforated paper left over from a sheet of postage stamps, a much-bitten pencil, and one or two wire paper-clips. Ignoring the Major's entrance he put the pencil between his teeth and after some deliberation selected one of the paper-clips. Sitting back he asked blandly: ‘Well, what can I do for you, Major?'

The Major explained that he wanted an exit permit for Vera.

‘Does she have a valid certificate of admission? Why doesn't she apply herself?'

‘She
has
… and has been refused without explanation.'

‘I'm afraid in that case …' said Smith, beginning to clean his ear with the paper-clip and inspecting it at intervals.

‘She'll be in grave danger should the Japanese gain control of Singapore.'

‘Can't do much about that, I'm afraid. But as a favour we'll have a little look at her file, shall we? If she's properly registered we should have her photograph and thumb-print, I should think … Just a moment.'

Smith got to his feet and made his way to a door leading to an inner office. He left the door ajar and the Major could hear whispering but could not make out what was being said. He looked around. Nothing in the office had changed since his first visit except that strips of brown paper had been pasted over the window as a precaution against flying glass-splinters. It was some time before Smith reappeared; when he did so he was wearing spectacles and carrying a file. The atmosphere in the office was stifling despite the fan thrashing away above his desk. He sat down and for a while studied the file suspiciously, occasionally making a clicking sound with his tongue. From time to time he lifted the paper-clip and twisted it in his ear like a key in a lock. At length he looked up and said sharply: ‘What's your interest in this case, Major?'

‘She's a friend of mine …'

‘I believe we've discussed this woman before, haven't we? I told you she wasn't reliable, perhaps even a whore. Surely now you don't mean to tell me that she's a friend of yours!'

‘Even if your evil-minded suggestions were true,' replied the Major coldly, ‘it would be no reason to refuse her an exit permit when her life is in danger if she remains in Singapore.'

Smith had once more dropped his eyes to the file and was champing his lips in a disagreeable manner. How little had changed, the Major reflected, since the first time he had sat in this office! Smith was still blinking and sweating profusely: wisps of hair still flickered on each side of his bald crown like electric sparks, dancing weirdly in the draught of the fan. The Major had been too busy fire-fighting to give much thought to earlier days when his Civil Defence Committee had lobbied the various departments of the Government for distribution of gasmasks and for air-raid shelters in the populous quarters of the city. But now his sense of frustration with petty officials returned in full force, combined with bitterness at the results of their ineptitude which he had witnessed in the last few days driving about in the defenceless, shelterless city.

‘This woman once had connections with the General Labour Union,' pursued Smith, unaware of the Major's anger. ‘I suppose you know that that was a Communist organization?'

The Major said nothing. Outside the air-raid sirens yet again began their rise and fall, rise and fall. Smith cocked an ear anxiously to them, then went on: ‘We have information that she was also implicated in some criminal affair in Shanghai before the war in which a Japanese officer was killed. That was also Communist-inspired without doubt. So you see …'

‘I see nothing except that she'll be on a Japanese black-list if she remains in Singapore!' shouted the Major, losing his temper.

‘Don't raise your voice with me, Major,' said Smith nastily. ‘You'll find that it doesn't get you anywhere.'

‘From the way you talk it sounds as if you're on the side of the Japanese. Let me remind you that they and not the Chinese are the enemy!'

‘Look here, old man,' said Smith in a condescending tone. ‘I happen to know a great deal more about this business than you do. Of course, the Japs are the enemy, of course they are! But that doesn't mean the Chinese are on our side, particularly the Communists. You don't know, as I do, how dangerous they are to the fabric of our society. Well, they're like … I always say … hookworms in the body. They don't respect the natural boundaries of the organs … They pass from one to another …'

‘So you said before. But I want an exit permit for that young woman and I don't mean to leave without one.'

‘Out of the question, old man. Here in Singapore we have the Communists isolated and under control. We can't allow them to spread all over the place. The way I describe it, which many people have been kind enough to find illuminating, is that they're like millions of seeds in a pod. If we allow that pod to burst in India, say, or even in Australia, why, they'll be scattered all over the Empire in no time … Oh Lord!' he added hurrying to the window and throwing it open. ‘It looks as if they're coming this way. We'd better go down to the shelter.'

The Major joined him at the window. The office was on the top floor of the building and looked eastwards over the city towards the sea. At this hour the stretch of water between Anderson Bridge and the horizon was a delicate duck-egg blue, extraordinarily beautiful. The Major, however, was looking up at the minute formation of silver-black planes flying towards the city at a great height. As the bombers passed over Kallang little white puffs began to appear in the sky beneath them, as if dotted here and there with an invisible paint-brush. After a moment the thud of guns came to them at the window. ‘Yes, they do seem to be coming this way,' he agreed.