Empire of the Sun - J. G. Ballard [110]
As he crossed the athletics track he noticed that three men had entered the stadium. Two were Chinese coolies, bare-chested with black cotton trousers tied at the ankles above their straw sandals. The third was the Eurasian in the white shirt whom Jim had seen with the Japanese security troops. They stood by the tunnel, while the Eurasian inspected the stadium. He glanced at the prisoners sitting on the grass, but his attention was clearly fixed on the looted furniture in the stands.
The Eurasian carried a heavy automatic pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers, but he smiled at Jim in an ingratiating way, as if they were old friends separated by the misadventure of war.
‘Say, kid…You’re okay?’ He surveyed Jim’s ragged shirt and shorts, his legs and bare feet covered with dirt and sores. ‘Lunghua CAC? I guess you’ve had to tough it out.’
Jim stared stolidly at the Eurasian. Despite the smile, there was no sympathy in the man’s eyes. He spoke with a strong but recently acquired American accent, which Jim assumed he had learned while interrogating captured American aircrews. He wore a chromium wristwatch, and the Colt pistol in his waistband was like those that the Japanese guards at Lunghua had taken from the pilots of the downed Superfortresses. His baggy nostrils quivered in the stench rising from the football field, distracting him from his scrutiny of the stands. He stepped aside for two British prisoners who hobbled through the tunnel.
‘It’s some set-up,’ he reflected. ‘Your Ma and Pa here? Looks like you could use a couple of bags of rice. Ask around, kid, if they have any bracelets, wedding rings, charms. We can work together on it.’
‘Is the war over?’
The Eurasian’s eyes lowered, eclipsed by some passing shadow. He rallied himself and smiled keenly. ‘That’s for sure. Any time now the whole US Navy is going to tie up at the Bund.’ When Jim looked unconvinced, the Eurasian explained: ‘Kid, they dropped atomic bombs. Uncle Sam threw a piece of the sun at Nagasaki and Hiroshima, killed a million people. One great big flash…’
‘I saw it.’
‘Kid…? Did it light up the whole sky? Could be.’ The Eurasian sounded doubtful, but turned his eyes from the booty in the stands and began to examine Jim. For all his easy manner he was unsure of himself, as if aware that the incoming US Navy might be less than convinced by his pro-American act. He glanced warily at the sky. ‘Atomic bombs…too bad for all those Japs, but lucky for you, kid. And for your Ma and Pa.’
Jim weighed this as the Eurasian stepped to the concrete rubbish bin by the entrance tunnel and began to root around inside it. ‘Is the war really over?’
‘Yeah, it’s over, finished, we’re all friends. The Emperor just announced the surrender.’
‘Where are the Americans?’
‘They’re coming, kid, they have to get here with their atom bombs.’
‘A white light?’
‘That’s correct, kid. The atom bomb, US super-weapon. Maybe you saw the Nagasaki bomb.’
‘Yes, I saw the atom bomb. What happened to Dr Ransome?’ When the Eurasian seemed puzzled, Jim added: ‘And the people who left on the march?’
‘Too bad, kid.’ The Eurasian shook his head, as if regretting a small oversight. ‘The American bombing, some diseases. Maybe your friend will make it…’
Jim was about to walk away, when the Eurasian turned from the rubbish bin. In one hand he held a pair of worn clogs which he threw on to the track. In the other he carried Jim’s leather golf shoes, tied together by their laces. He was about to speak to the waiting coolies, when Jim stepped forward.
‘Those are mine – Dr Ransome gave them to me.’ He spoke flatly and pulled the shoes from the Eurasian’s hands. Jim waited for him to draw his gun, or order the coolies to knock him to the ground. Though exhausted by hunger, and by the effort of climbing the stand, Jim