The Incident at Badamya Page 6

  "They may not be fighting in Mandalay."

  "They could send planes, then."

  "I'm told there are only three planes in the country."

  "Enough to bring soldiers to free us!"

  Mrs. Caswell said anxiously, "But there were government soldiers traveling with us on the steamer, and they must surely be looking for us and not far away! My husband must be frantic, he'd never allow them to just—just go on."

  "Nor Mr. Culpepper," added Lady Waring. "He was specifically assigned to me by the Consul in Rangoon."

  U Ba Sein reappeared in the doorway to say, "They are digging a latrine at this moment, a deep hole in the ground to the left of the doorway. For water, the guard will inquire instructions of his superior."

  "But how long—" Lady Waring bit her lip. "Did you learn their plans?"

  U Ba Sein said cheerfully, "Only that they appear to find us of much value to their plans, which remain unspoken."

  "Will they harm us?" asked Mrs. Caswell anxiously.

  "They wouldn't dare," said Lady Waring. "They noted down all our names and passport numbers last night and surely must have sent them to Rangoon along with whatever they want in exchange for us. The British may have turned the country over to these—these people—two years ago but the British cannot be without influence and the name of Waring won't be ignored, the Consul will see to that."

  Gen, who had been listening politely and considering what Mr. Ba Sein had just said, spoke what to her seemed an obvious truth. "If they are digging a latrine they must expect to be here a long time."

  "Tactless child," said Baharian lightly. "If that should be the case—of course we cannot know—perhaps we would be very clever to make housing arrangements, and a few rules."

  "Quite unnecessary," said Lady Waring flatly.

  "Like what?" asked Gen with interest.

  But no one could think of any rules or arrangements, or did not want to, and the conversation subsided, Mrs. Caswell withdrawing behind the pillar for a nap, the day's heat penetrating even the cool walls of the temple and rendering them listless.

  There was no midday food. Hungry, angry and craving freedom, Gen fled to the step of the temple where she could sit and think about her escape route, given only fleeting glances by the two guards who were engaged in a game of dominoes. Hugging her knees and considering her plans she could foresee no problem for a single person slipping away into the darkness: one minute the guards would see her sitting in the doorway, the next moment she would have vanished but it would be assumed that she had gone inside to join the others. If not, a few shots might be fired but she could run fast, and once down the hill she would need only a few trees to hide herself in the night. The only problem, as she saw it, lay in which direction to head to avoid more soldiers and she was wondering if somehow she might gain information from the guards when U Ba Sein walked through the archway and sat down beside her.

  "I have brought your Zawgwi," he said.

  She turned her head, and finding him so near she looked closely into his face in the sunlight: at the high broad forehead, the short blunt nose, the line that curved down from each side of his nose to divide his plump cheeks from the full-lipped mouth and round chin.

  "I will show you something," he said. "I will show you how one starts to bring a puppet to life."

  He had captured her attention and Gen waited.

  Holding up the marionette he said gravely, "First we must ask Zawgwi to please not be offended if we change him—not for long—into others. Now," he said to Gen, "who among those in the temple walks like this?"

  His fingers moved among the strings and Zawgwi's red wand dropped, turned vertical until it touched the ground and tapped angrily up and down; Gen laughed in spite of herself. "It is the lady in gray silk with the cane, called Lady Someone."

  "Yes.., now what of U Baharían, how does he walk?"

  "U Ba Sein, I came only this morning!" she protested.

  "But one must observe, observe!" he told her. "Describe this Mr. Baharían to me as you remember him."

  "He's very large," she said, considering this. "He looks like a wild man with his hair like a bird's nest but his face is round and jolly and it shines... He stood often with hands on his hips.. . Yes, like that," she said, smiling as U Ba Sein illustrated each word with a lift of the rod and a twitch of the strings.

  "Very good," he said. "And Miss Thorald?"

  Gen turned wistful. "She's very beautiful, she'd walk like the princess in the Creation of the World."

  U Ba Sein's fingers moved deftly and the puppet walked with grace. "And Mrs. Caswell?"

  "She is the other lady? She would walk with apology, U Ba Sein, her shoulders drooping—so." And as she dropped her shoulders so did the marionette, so perfectly that Gen laughed.

  "And Mr. Gunfer?"

  "Oh he is very sour," she told him. "He moves stiffly, as if his joints need sesamum oil."

  It was U Ba Sein who laughed now. "Very very good, Zen, you have seen more than you realize. To quote the English Shakespeare, 'All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players. ' To bring these little people to life they must speak, walk, gesture like humans, until they become the very shadows and reflections of human people. And the puppetmaster—it is the puppetmaster who moves them, just as kan—destiny—moves us." He gave her an interested glance. "You are planning—thinking of— leaving us?"

  Startled by his reading of her thoughts she said, "I don't like being a prisoner, U Ba Sein."

  "But we are all prisoners from birth to death," he said softly. "You will learn this."

  Puzzled, she said, "What does that mean?"

  "That is for you to discover." Standing up he stretched out a hand to her. "Come—come inside, there is a feast of people in there to observe, and if you are serious to learn—"

  "I am, U Ba Sein," she said, and followed him inside.

  Near sunset time the soldiers brought them blankets, two wooden buckets filled with water, three candles, matches and a kettle of rice.

  The rice was cold and glutinous and it was the only food they brought. The blankets had holes in them. A drowned grasshopper floated in one of the pails of water.

  And when they had delivered food and blankets they shattered all of Gen's plans for escape in the darkness: they brought up from the village a huge wooden gate which they nailed over the arched doorway, closing them in for the night.

  6

  GEN SLEPT BADLY, FEELING CAGED AND NEARLY suffocated by the nearness of the others. Waking frequently it was to hear the same sounds that she'd heard in Rangoon during the war: snores, small groans as bodies turned on the hard stone floor, coughs, the footsteps of the sentries outside. And it was cold.

  The gate was removed just before dawn, and Mr. Ba Sein and Baharian summoned to go to the river and bring up water, accompanied by guards. Hearing this, Lady Waring cried out, "The water comes from the river? Good God, tell them we must have our water boiled or we'll all come down with dysentery!"

  Mr. Gunfer's head appeared turtlelike from under his blanket. "The thought of another day here absolutely appalls me," he announced. "There has to be something we can do to get out of here before we all die of boredom or starvation."

  "Much of Asia lives on rice," Mrs. Caswell told him reproachfully. "And if you're suggesting escape—" Her glance moved pointedly to Lady Waring.

  "I can walk," snapped Lady Waring. "Of course 1 can walk, I walked up this hill, didn't I?"

  "But your cane—"

  Lady Waring gave her a sardonic glance. "This cane of mine is sheer affectation. It pleases me to use it, I'm a very infractious and insubordinate old woman and do not go kindly into the night."

  "How old are you?" asked Gen.

  "Hear the child! Tactless again but I'm sixty-eight."

  "My goodness that's not old," Gen told her. "U Htun Schwae is seventy-six, which is much older—although of course he's a very happy person."

  "Fortunate man," said Lady War
ing dryly, and meeting tactlessness with tactlessness, "I prefer to make people unhappy. A cane helps, 1 can stamp it on the ground, trip people up, rap them lightly on the legs—as my secretary Moreland can attest—and in general get far more attention. But I can walk, thank you. Tell them, Mr. Ba Sein, we must have boiled water," and with a defiant glance at Mrs. Caswell she added, "and you might also count how many soldiers you see in case we decide to escape."

  This last suggestion pleased Gen; she followed the men to the doorway and sat on the brick step in the cool fresh air to watch them go, U Ba Sein and Baharian each carrying a bucket, the two guards their rifles, the figures growing smaller and then dropping behind the hill that led to the river. It was a steep hill and Gen thought that it would go hard with them to bring up filled buckets. She received a few furtive glances from the remaining sentry, who was mixing areca, lime and tobacco on a palm leaf. She wondered where U Hamlin might be in this first dawn since they'd been separated; he was not spoiled and soft like these people, she thought, and she wondered how many soldiers U Ba Sein would count so that she could make new plans to get away. How easy it would be, for instance, to walk away right now, she thought, with no barricade and only one guard. What held her back was her lack of information, for she was remembering with disapproval how naively she had strolled into the village below the hill yesterday, never dreaming she would meet with soldiers. Obviously there was more to be understood and observed before any new attempt could be planned. It was a matter of examining her kan and of hoping for guidance from her thamma deva.

  Her gaze moved beyond the sentry to the erupting color in the east and a sky laced with marvels of color. The fragrances of damp earth and of jasmine drifted to her on the air and she sniffed appreciatively after the stale night air in the temple. Later the breeze would falter and the sun rule a cloudless sky but the sun's rise was still moments away, and with it came the hush of expectation.

  She felt someone behind her and Lady Waring moved to sit down at the opposite end of the step. "I need to warm my bones," she said, and with a glance at Gen, "I won't bite."

  Gen said nothing, for the sun was appearing now—a huge and fiery globe—as it would appear day after day until the end of time, and this constancy was of comfort to her just now as she watched the mist over the Irrawaddy begin to retreat into the shadows under the hills, leaving the river a stream of gold.

  " 'Where the dawn comes up like thunder,' " murmured Lady Waring. She turned and looked at Gen. "You know, you are quite as rude as I am, but at your age you should make an attempt to please, it's considered proper." She was silent, considering this. "Although not like Mrs. Caswell, of course."

  "Mrs. Caswell?" Gen brought herself back to the moment and tried to remember who Mrs. Caswell was.

  "A dithery sort of woman," continued Lady Waring. "One could observe this on the steamer. A self-important husband who has rendered her totally helpless as to who she is, a very definite example of why I dislike women."

  Gen turned and looked at her curiously.

  "Oh yes," said Lady Waring. "Poor spineless creatures in general."

  "Miss Thorald, too?"

  Lady Waring sniffed. "Time will tell. I don't understand why you're going to Rangoon at such an indecent time," she said. "Your parents must be insane to allow it."

  Gen said frankly, "I don't understand why you're here either, traveling north in this country."

  Lady Waring looked at her with exasperation. "You're supposed to properly answer questions and try to please your elders, young woman, and above all not be impertinent. As to why I'm here, I keep my grief to myself, thank you."

  "Grief?" said Gen, suddenly stilled. "Grief?"

  Lady Waring, surprised by this arresting of motion, this involuntary stillness in the girl, gave her a long and thoughtful glance. Something in Gen's voice, in her face, moved her to say gruffly, against her will, "My son is buried in this country."

  Gen looked at her questioningly.

  "He was a glider pilot," said Lady Waring stiffly. "In the RAF. They called the planes 'whispering death' and death it brought him. I intend—will and must," she emphasized grimly, "bring him back to England for proper burial."

  "How will you find his grave?" Gen asked in a practical voice.

  Lady Waring's lips tightened. "I have spent a great deal of time searching for the survivors of that mission behind Japanese lines in '44. I have the name of the village in Upper Burma written down very carefully, and a map of where they buried the twenty-three men who crashed, and I have made a great deal of trouble for a great many people to get here. He was only twenty-two when he died. And he was my son," she added.

  There were tears in her eyes and Gen, seeing this, thought that perhaps she was not, after all, a balu. If this was confusing to her it brought with it the thought that perhaps Europeans wore masks to hide themselves. This possibility answered a great puzzle in her; it might explain, for instance, whatever unseen despairs had gripped her father when he chose to end his life, for he had smiled at her only that morning, if somewhat absently, just as he had smiled at her every morning over their breakfast rice. The idea was new but interesting, if untested, for the only masks worn among the Burmese were masks of courtesy and of great tact; they had brought to an art the principle of never saying no, and carefully avoided placing anyone else in a position to say no. Lady Waring's hiding of herself was different, Gen decided, not recognizing her own mask, and if she was to live among such people this was something she must study and observe. It was possible their skins were only shells, like a nut, and if the shell was broken there would be fruit inside, although at the moment they seemed more like stones to her, polished and impervious, with no meat inside.

  "What was his name?" she asked.

  "Eric."

  A name made this dead son more real, and thinking about this Gen's thoughts convulsed and formed into expressible words. She asked, "Is life nothing except loss?"

  Behind them Mr. Gunfer said, "What a bizarre display of color, I had no idea Nature could be so vulgar, just look ! "

  "I am looking," snapped Lady Waring, annoyed by his interruption. "If you observe carefully you will see that I sit facing the sunrise and would have to be utterly myopic to miss it, and vulgarity, Mr. Gunfer, is in the eye of the beholder. Help me up," she added peevishly. "I don't like change, I miss my toothbrush, a night's sleep in a bed, and I dare not even consider breakfast but at least 1 can comb my hair."

  Impervious to her hostility Mr. Gunfer extended his hand. "Today we really must insist on firewood to boil our water, Lady Waring."

  She nodded and pointed her cane at Gen. "You," she said. "You or whatever-his-name-is—speak to a guard about it."

  "His name is Mr. Ba Sein," pointed out Gen. "It means diamond."

  "In the rough?" cackled Mr. Gunfer, and guided Lady Waring inside.

  As the colors in the sky rearranged themselves into a simple golden radiance that might have pleased even Mr. Gunfer, four heads came into view over the rim of the hill, reached the crest and stopped while Baharian put down his pail to wipe his forehead with his sleeve. When they resumed walking Gen stood up to greet them. She asked softly, "Were there soldiers?"

  U Ba Sein answered. "1 counted twelve foreheads bathing in the river."

  She nodded. "It's that time of day, yes. Next time I will take a turn at going for water and see."

  "And a thirteenth soldier guarding them and their rifles on the shore," added U Ba Sein sternly, and went inside.

  After considering this depressing news for a few minutes Gen followed them inside to hear Baharian say, "Very interesting! I like the dramatic idea myself but it is scarcely to the point to speak of escape if there are a dozen soldiers bathing, and who knows how many other soldiers in the neighborhood. Me, I would not enjoy using great guile and cunning against the guards—not to mention Lady Waring's cane," he added with a bow to her, "only to reach the base of the hill and be caught all over again."

  M
iss Thorald said, "Perhaps we should postpone speaking of this until tomorrow."

  "It's going to be another long night," sighed Mrs. Caswell. "And I'm so hungry."

  Gen suggested grasshoppers. "If we could catch some —like the one that was floating in the water pail, only fresh—"

  She was regarded with astonishment. "What would we do with grasshoppers?"

  "They're a wonderful treat when fried."

  "Good God!" said Gunfer.

  "Revolting," murmured Lady Waring.

  Only Mrs. Caswell was unmoved and looked at Gen with interest. "I suppose you know a great great deal about this country, its customs and beliefs."

  Gen said vaguely, "I suppose."

  "Do you know as much about America?"

  She shook her head. "Except that its President is Harold Truman."

  "Harry Truman," said Lady Waring.

  "Would you consider removing your hat?" suggested Baharian in a kind voice. "You interest me, small one. Anyone who recommends grasshoppers—would they be considered entrée or appetizer?—interests me deeply. What do you look like under that hat, can we persuade you to remove it?"

  Responding to the kindness in his voice Gen reached up and removed her hat.

  "Good God, she has hair," said Mr. Gunfer.

  "Indeed yes, and look at those eyes." Baharian spoke with such exaggerated drama that Gen laughed. "Green as a cat's eyes—lovely!"

  "Really?" said Gen, touched and surprised, having not been given such attention for a long time. "But I don't have breasts yet."

  Baharian laughed, Mr. Gunfer snickered and Lady Waring gave her a sharp glance. "There is no need to speak of such things," she told her.

  "But it's the truth," protested Gen.

  "To speak such truth is rude, you have to change1."

  Gen said defiantly, "I thought you didn't like change."

  "There you go again," said Lady Waring. "You're bad for my blood pressure, go away."

  "She means you give as good as you get, you outsmart her," Baharian said, beaming at Gen. "Truth does that— kindly do not change."

  Gen thought about this. "I think I'd prefer people to like me."