The Rain Forest Read online

  Pedley, having proved himself the clever one, turned on his heel and left Hugh to reflect on what he had learnt. Hugh said to himself: ‘At least we’ve beaten that bastard, Gurgur.’ With this consoling thought, he returned to the Daisy at midday and found Kristy sitting bleakly on the edge of the bed. All her papers had been thrown on the floor. The writing-desk had been taken while she was out for her walk.

  ‘In future,’ Hugh said, ‘we’ll keep the door locked.’

  ‘What good would that do? The room has to be cleaned and Akbar has a pass key.’

  Had it not been for Pedley’s strictures, he would have gone back to Sir George for help but now he was inhibited, realizing he seemed to the others a spoilt, demanding junior. If he could not go to Sir George, who else was there? Not Ambrose. And Simon Hobhouse had taken himself off again. Only one name occurred to him: Lomax. Lomax had offered to speak to Gurgur. Lomax was in a position to make peace between them. When he returned to the office, Hugh telephoned the Praslin. As soon as he heard Lomax’s voice, he knew that whatever plea had been made for them, had failed.

  Sounding remote and embarrassed, Lomax said: ‘I tried to reason with him, but it’s gone too far. He refused to discuss it. I am afraid I can do nothing.’

  Who else was there? There was no one else.

  The pension linen was changed every other day. The Fosters’ towels and bed-linen were not changed. The cloth on their table was replaced by one that was not only not clean: it was very dirty. A cup of coffee had been spilt across it and the large, salient stain seemed to mark them as friendless and victimized.

  Hugh could go to his office but for Kristy there was no escape. She was sitting on the balcony when Akbar entered without knocking and surveyed the room as though deciding what to take next. He had brought three safragis with him and they, seeing Kristy, began to retreat but Akbar recalled them sternly.

  Kristy entered the room to ask: ‘What have you done with my writing-desk?’

  ‘That desk too big. That desk belong Mas’ Gurgur: he need it.’ Akbar looked out at the balcony table and chairs: ‘Mas’ Gurgur say he need these one, two things.’

  ‘He has no right to them. The furniture has been requisitioned.’

  ‘No, only room rekwishoned. Furniture Mas’ Gurgur furniture.’

  Kristy returned to her chair on the balcony and put her feet up on the opposite chair and the safragis were confounded. They dared not move Kristy and Kristy refused to move.

  Akbar said grimly: ‘We come back bukra’ and next day, while the Fosters were at breakfast, not only the balcony furniture but the arm-chair and sofa were moved out.

  If the other guests knew what was happening, they said and did nothing. They had not supported the Ogdens, so why should they support the Fosters? Besides, they had other cause for complaint. If they brought their own wine up from Aly’s, Gurgur charged them corkage. If someone wanted a meal in his room, Gurgur put an extra ten rupees on the bill. Mrs Gunner had kept the Daisy as an English preserve. Gurgur was willing to take all comers. The room left vacant by the Ogdens was let to an Egyptian couple. Mrs Gunner had served meals to residents only. Gurgur pushed the tables closer together, added more tables and advertised that his restaurant was open to everyone.

  Mrs Axelrod was angered most by the Egyptians, a fat elderly man with a young wife. The man, who wore his fez at the table, roused in her so much consternation that her husband could not keep her quiet.

  ‘What have we got sitting with us?’ she asked aloud. ‘A bloody safragi?’

  The Egyptian, on his first appearance in the dining-room, called Akbar and explained that his wife was slimming. She did not eat luncheon so he required a rebate on her food. Both men were Arabic-speaking but, to Mrs Axelrod’s joy, neither could understand the other’s Arabic and they were obliged to speak in English. Akbar went to consult with Gurgur and returned to say that a rebate could not be allowed. During the long argument that followed, Mrs Axelrod broke in every few moments with appreciative hoots of ‘Hah!’

  It was decided in the end that the Egyptian would eat his wife’s luncheon as well as his own. After his first meal, he would stroll round the garden to prepare himself for the second. This solution so transported Mrs Axelrod that she spent every luncheon watching the Egyptian throughout his meals and commenting on his progress

  The Fosters, lost in their own troubles, gained little from these diversions. They could only wonder what Gurgur would do next.

  One evening, Kristy, coming out on the balcony to view the sunset, looked into the Lettuce Room and saw it was filled with Gurgur’s girls. The girls must have noticed her for they at once began to pull down the blinds. While this was going on, Kristy saw a male figure leave a car and make a cautious detour in order to reach the Lettuce Room unseen from the windows of the Daisy. She recognized Culbertson, the Chief of Police. He went in through the new rear door and she heard him greeted by female cries of delight. Culbertson was not the only member of the force to visit the Lettuce Room but he was the only Englishman and his patronage of Gurgur gave her a bitter sense of betrayal by her own kind. Then it occurred to her that Gurgur had wanted to dispossess them because of this vantage point. They would see too much and know too much and in her nervous state, she began to imagine Gurgur murdering them – poison in the food, an attack in the dark – simply to get rid of them.

  Hugh, returning each evening as harassed as she was, would ask: ‘Has anything happened?’ Within a week, the room had been denuded of everything except the bed and a bedside table that had to accommodate the reading-lamp and all Kristy’s make-up pots Thinking about it, she began, at the dinner-table, to laugh hysterically.

  Hugh, on edge, said: ‘For God’s sake, stop that.’

  She pointed to the stain on the table-cloth: ‘Look, it’s like a giraffe. And the room: it’s like that place the Tibetans believe in. A sort of half-way house in the next world. What’s it called? Braham?’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘When you get there, you make your own surroundings. You can think up exactly what you want but you have to keep a sharp look-out because it’s a thought structure and parts are liable to disappear. The room’s like that. We keep losing bits of it.’

  Hugh frowned, not liking this sort of talk.

  ‘But not just the room. Everything, everything.’ Kristy gulped, making an effort to control herself: ‘It’s the same with the world. I hate the destructiveness. One wants to save it, to cling to what’s left but every day . . . I feel I’m holding on to one corner and then another corner, and they’re all slipping away.’

  She seemed on the verge of hysteria and Hugh checked her sharply: ‘Shut up. Don’t let them see you crying.’

  She kept her head down for several minutes then whispered: ‘Do something.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Go and see Easterbrook again.’

  ‘I can’t. He’d only think I’m a nuisance. We get what we pay for: bed and board. We’re on our own. We have to fight this ourselves.’

  Kristy brooded a while, staring at the stain on the cloth, then, gathering her strength, she said: ‘O.K., we fight.’

  Hugh watched anxiously as she lifted her end of the cloth and put the dishes and cutlery on the bare wood of the table. When the cloth was clear, she threw it on to the floor. Negumi, quite bewildered, picked it up and took it to Akbar who appeared to be scandalized. Frowning darkly, he took the cloth to the Fosters and asked: ‘Why yo’ do dat?’

  ‘The cloth is dirty,’ Kristy said.

  ‘No surprise. Yo’ very dirty people.’

  ‘You’re quite right. So we’re better without a table-cloth.’

  ‘Bad people. Bad, bad people,’ said Akbar as he returned to his post.

  No one appeared to disapprove Kristy’s action. On the contrary, Mrs Axelrod looked appreciative and Simpson smiled at her like an old friend. For the first time since their arrival, Hugh felt rather proud of his wife.

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bsp; Another cloth was put on the table; not a clean cloth but one that was tolerably half-clean. The bed-linen, however, was not changed and being constantly sweat-soaked, it soon had a putrid smell that became the smell of the room. Conditioned to it, Kristy was the more surprised when she returned one day to find the air heavy with her Balmain scent. The bedside table had gone and everything on it had been tipped on to the bed. She was careless with bottle tops and the scent had soaked through the bedclothes. The combination of odours made her feel sick. When Hugh came home, she said:

  ‘The boat arrives tomorrow. Let’s pack and go.’

  ‘Nothing would please Gurgur more.’

  ‘How much longer can we bear these filthy sheets?’

  Even the servants, it seemed, felt that the sheets disgraced the pension. Hassan approached Kristy in a nervous, secretive way and whispered: ‘Why you not ask Akbar to help you?’

  ‘Akbar?’

  ‘Give Akbar little money, you have new sheets, new towels.’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Yes, yes, sayyida. Akbar say ten rupee and all towels new. Come now, sayyida, it better for you.’

  Kristy handed over the ten rupees and the bargain was kept. Not only did they get clean sheets and towels but Akbar began to take a paternal interest in their table. Two days later they were given a clean table-cloth. The Fosters, amazed, realized that Akbar, the magnificent, had needed only to be bought.

  But the furniture was not returned. Now that she was heavy and dull-footed, Kristy found the size of the room a burden. She was always crossing empty space to reach the cupboards or bed or balcony. There was nowhere to sit except the bed. She began to feel that any room, even Mrs Gunner’s room, would be preferable if in it she could feel secure and free from persecution. She said to Hugh, desperately: ‘Let’s do what he wants. Let’s move.’

  For a moment Hugh looked as though he, too, would be thankful to move, then an obstinate expression came over his face: ‘A nice couple of fools we’d look, moving now when he’s taken all he can take. There’s nothing left but the bed and if that goes, we’ve real cause for complaint. He’s done his worst. Now he’ll have to leave us alone.’

  But Hugh had overlooked the vulture’s skill at picking the last shred of sinew from a denuded bone. Or so Kristy thought. In fact, he had not overlooked it, he simply turned his back on it. His work, he felt, was tedium enough without the strain of returning to the pension in fear of some new reprisal. When Kristy came down to dinner with the air of one still in the fight, he wanted to say: ‘Don’t tell me.’

  Her appearance disturbed him. She looked breathlessly elated, yet strange. Her face seemed to have shrunk and her cheeks had lost their colour but she was more vivacious than she had been for many a month. She said: ‘He’s taken out the light bulbs.’

  ‘So we’re without light?’

  ‘No. I borrowed a chair from Simpson’s room and got the bulbs from the corridor. I put them into our room.’

  ‘Then you’d better take them out again.’

  ‘Like hell I will.’

  Her gaiety seemed unnatural to Hugh: ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I feel marvellous,’ she said but there had been an aberrant instant when, reaching up to the chandelier in the room, her consciousness shifted. When she thought of it, it still seemed that in that instant she had lost her balance and fallen into a void. But she had not fallen. She found herself where she had been: on Simpson’s chair, putting the bulbs into the chandelier in the dark room.

  It was to be a memorable evening. While they were sitting over their coffee in the salon, Ambrose entered the pension with the assurance of a proprietor. He paused, expecting a welcome, but the only welcome came from the Fosters.

  Though they had quarrelled with him, they were, in their forlorn situation, thankful to see him. He joined them rapturously and called on Negumi to bring him coffee. Hassan, abandoning the bar, ran to his old employer. Ambrose, struggling to his feet, embraced Hassan who was so overcome that a tear rolled down his worn, yellow face. Returning to the bar, he sent Negumi over with three glasses of brandy and only after argument would he accept payment for them.

  The small jocular party of Ambrose, Hugh and Kristy was islanded in a sea of disapproval. Unfriendly eyes viewed Ambrose’s new elegance and air of well-being. How had he achieved them? By selling the Daisy up the river.

  The Fosters, unable to forget their wretched plight, were a little hysterical in their merriment. This went unnoticed by Ambrose who was eager to pass on an amusing piece of news.

  He said: ‘Believe it or not, Lomax is in love.’

  Kristy had been laughing too much. Now she attracted attention by shouting wildly: ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘I assure you, I’m not. He met the lady while he was in Beirut and she’s followed him here. And, I may say, he’s not done badly. She’s a pretty widow with a house in the Lebanon and orchards and vineyards. What more could anyone want?’

  ‘How about two pretty daughters?’

  Ambrose’s eyes opened as he gazed on Kristy: ‘But she has two pretty daughters. It’s most unjust, a cold fish like Lomax getting not one woman but three.’

  ‘You wicked old thing! You want her yourself.’

  ‘Well, I will say she finds me quite entertaining. But he saw her first. I’m afraid they’re already engaged.’

  When they had talked right through Lomax, the Fosters could not keep from mentioning Gurgur and what he had done to them. They joked about the disappearing furniture hoping, in spite of their laughter, that Ambrose could set things right. Ambrose was quick to promise help: ‘I’ve come to pick up Mrs G.’s clothes. He rang me to remind me they were here. I said I’d look into the Lettuce Room before I go. Don’t worry, I’ll have a word with him.’

  ‘Lomax tried . . .’ Hugh said.

  ‘Oh, Lomax! He doesn’t know how to tackle Gurgur. I’ll see the old thing: I’ll get round him.’

  The Fosters, in spite of everything, were elated by Ambrose’s self-assurance. Why should he not succeed where Lomax failed? He had a charm that Lomax lacked. Seeing them delivered from misery, Kristy, still wideawake at eleven o’clock, was as vivacious as she had ever been.

  Hugh told Ambrose: ‘It must be your company. She’s usually dead on her feet by ten.’

  Ambrose, taking her vitality as a compliment to himself, flirted with her and held her hand in his, but at last he had to go. Lomax’s car awaited him and the chauffeur was brought in to carry the little bright garments outside.

  ‘What will you do with them?’ Kristy asked.

  ‘He’ll distribute them among the girls at the Dobo. Very much their goût.’

  Ambrose went, as promised, to the Lettuce Room and was gone so long that only the Fosters remained when he put his head into the salon. He called ‘Be seeing you,’ and sped away.

  Kristy cried: ‘Go after him. Ask him what Gurgur said,’ and Hugh, running out into the darkness, caught the car as it was about to move off. He looked into the window and Ambrose seemed to shrink from him.

  ‘It was no good. He wouldn’t listen to me.’

  ‘Thank you for trying.’

  As he returned to Kristy, Hugh thought he had touched the nadir of dejection yet the next day’s events were so much worse, they reduced Gurgur’s vengeance to insignificance.

  Hugh had gone first down to breakfast, expecting Kristy to follow him. She did not follow and when he had eaten, he went back to the room, fearing fresh persecution. He found her still in her dressing-gown, standing on the wide, empty floor, crying helplessly. All he could feel was an exasperated inertia.

  ‘What’s happened now?’

  She shook her head, unable to speak. He went to her and put an arm round her: ‘Kristy, what’s happened?’ She was soaked with tears but he was troubled less by her tears than the limp despair of her whole body. He shook her: ‘Tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘It’s dead.’

  ‘What’s dead?�
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  ‘The baby. The baby’s dead.’

  ‘Of course it isn’t dead. Don’t be silly.’ He led her over to the bed and sat her down. She had been wringing a towel between her hands. He took it from her and wiped her face with it: ‘Where did you get this idea?’

  She said that while lying in the bath, she had noticed a crease across her belly. The distended flesh had shrunk, only slightly but she was frightened because it was a reversal of the natural process. She tried to remember when she had last felt the child move. Not during the night, not the previous evening. She got out of the bath, dried herself and placed her hands over her stomach. She sensed a lack of life.

  ‘Last night I was wideawake at eleven o’clock. Now I know why.’

  Hugh did not believe any of it. He tried to reason with her but she only dropped down on the bed and wept afresh. It had occurred to him that the pregnancy might end itself, and what a relief that would be! But now, disturbed for Kristy’s sake, he went to telephone Mueller and the expected relief came only when Mueller laughed at Kristy’s alarm.

  ‘I will see her today,’ he said. ‘But, Mr Foster, you need not be alarmed. Ladies have these ideas at such a time.’

  That confirmed Hugh’s own opinion but when he returned at lunch-time, he found Kristy lying as he had left her, in a half-waking stupor, the parturient bloom all gone from her face.

  They walked up to see Mueller in the mid-afternoon. The trade wind, hot and dusty, was blowing fiercely against them. Hugh, supporting her, held her hand with the tenderness of their earliest days together but Kristy offered no response. In her spiritless silence, she looked a figure of such desolation that even Dr Mueller stopped laughing when he saw her. He regained himself quickly and taking her from Hugh, said in a comforting tone: ‘It’ll be all right, you will see.’