Empire of the Sun - J. G. Ballard [37]
‘What about your Daddy, Jim?’ Basie asked. ‘Why aren’t you at home with your mother? Are they here in Shanghai?’
‘Yes…’ Jim hesitated. All his experience of the previous weeks told him not to trust anyone, except perhaps the Japanese. ‘They’re in Shanghai – but they’re sailing on the Idzumo.’
‘The Idzumo?’ Frank jumped from his deck-chair. He seized a mess-tin from his haversack and helped himself vigorously to the saucepan of rice. Between mouthfuls, he shook his spoon at Jim. ‘Kid, who are you? Basie…!’
‘Not the Idzumo, Jim.’ With his white hands Basie selected a piece of charcoal from a bag under the bed. ‘The Idzumo’s heading for Foochow and Manila Bay. Jim’s having you on, Frank.’
‘Well, I think they’re on the Idzumo.’ Jim decided to fan the small doubt still in Basie’s eyes. ‘My father often goes to Manila.’
‘Not on a Japanese cruiser, Jim.’
‘Basie…!’
‘Frank…’ Basie mimicked the sailor’s voice. ‘Some day you’ll want to trust me. I imagine Jim’s folks had themselves picked up with all the other Britishers, and now Jim’s looking for them. Jim…?’
Jim nodded, taking the last liqueur chocolate from his blazer pocket. He unwrapped the silver foil and bit into the miniature chocolate bottle. Then, remembering what Vera had drummed into him about the need to be polite, he handed half the chocolate to Basie.
‘Curacao…Well, things have been looking up, Jim, since you arrived. All these new words, and now this fancy candy, we’re getting a little of that Palace Hotel style.’ As Basie sucked at the chocolate cup with his sharp teeth he resembled a white-faced rat teasing the brains from a mouse. ‘So you’ve been living at home, Jim, all by yourself. Down there in the French Concession?’
‘Amherst Avenue.’
‘Frank…Before we leave Shanghai we ought to take a ride out there. There must be a lot of empty houses, Jim?’
Jim closed his eyes. He was very tired but awake, thinking of the rice he had just eaten, retasting every fishy grain. Basie talked, his devious voice circling the fume-filled air with its scent of cologne and Craven A. He thought of his mother smoking in the drawing-room at Amherst Avenue. Now that he had met these two American sailors he would be seeing her again. He would stay with Basie and Frank; together they could go out to the boom of freighters; sooner or later the Japanese patrol boats would notice them.
A hot, fishy breath filled his face. Jim woke with a gasp. Frank’s huge body leaned across him, heavy arms on his thighs, hands feeling in his blazer pockets. Jim pushed him away, and Frank calmly returned to his deck-chair and continued to polish the portholes.
They were alone together in the cabin. Jim could hear Basie on the bamboo catwalk below. The door of the truck slammed, and the elderly engine began to throb, then stopped abrupdy. There was a distant blast from the Idzumo’s siren. With a meaningful glance at Jim, Frank buffed the faded brass.
‘You know, kid, you have a talent for getting on people’s nerves. How is it the Japs haven’t picked you up? You must be quick on your feet.’
‘I tried to surrender,’ Jim explained. ‘But it isn’t easy. Do you and Basie want to surrender?’
‘Like hell – though I don’t know about him. I’m trying to get Basie to buy a sampan so we can sail upriver to Chungking. But Basie keeps changing his mind. He wants to stay in Shanghai now the Japs are here. He thinks we can make a pile of money once we get to the camps.’
‘Do you sell a lot of portholes, Frank?’
Frank peered at Jim, still unsure about this small boy. ‘Kid, we haven’t sold a single one. It’s Basie’s game, like a drug, he needs to keep people working for him. Down in the yard somewhere he has a bag of gold teeth that he sells in Hongkew.