Empire of the Sun - J. G. Ballard [87]
Also, there was Basie’s interest in Jim’s expanding vocabulary.
‘You did your schoolwork today, Jim? You learned all your words?’
‘I did, Basie. A lot of Latin words.’ Basie was intrigued by Jim’s command of Latin, but easily bored, so he decided not to recite the whole passive tense of Amo. ‘And some new English words. “Pragmatist”,’ he suggested, which Basie greeted with gloom, ‘and “survivor”.’
‘“Survivor”?’ Basie chuckled at this. ‘That’s a useful word. Are you a survivor, Jim?’
‘Well…’ Dr Ransome had not meant the term as a compliment. Jim tried to remember another word of interest. Basie never used the words, but seemed to store them away, keeping them in reserve for a better day, as if preparing himself for a life of elaborate formality.
‘Is there any more news, Basie? When are the Americans going to land at Woosung?’
But Basie was preoccupied. He rested his head against the pillow and stared at the contents of the cubicle, as if burdened by all his possessions. At first sight the cubicle seemed to be filled with old rags and wicker baskets, but it actually contained a complete general store. There were aluminium pots and pans, an assortment of women’s slacks and blouses, a mah-jong set, several tennis racquets, half a dozen unmatched shoes and a king’s ransom of old copies of the Reader’s Digest and Popular Mechanics. All these had been obtained by barter, though Jim had never understood what Basie gave in return – like Dr Ransome, he had come into the camp with nothing.
On the other hand, it had occurred to Jim that much of this equipment was useless. No one was strong enough to play tennis, the shoes were full of holes and there was nothing to cook in the saucepans. The cabin steward, for all his guile, was the same limited man whom Jim had first met at the Nantao shipyards, with the same clear but small view of the world. Basie’s talents expanded to fill only the most modest possibilities of petty thievery around him. Jim worried about what would happen to Basie when the war was over.
‘Jobs, Jim,’ Basie announced. ‘You set out the traps? How far did you go? Across the creek?’
‘Right across the creek, Basie. I went as far as the old drill hall.’
‘Good…’
‘I didn’t see any pheasants, Basie. I don’t think there are any pheasants. It’s too close to the airfield.’
‘There are pheasants, Jim. But we need to move the traps to the Shanghai road.’ He peered shrewdly at Jim. ‘Then we’ll have to set up a decoy.’
‘We could set up a decoy, Basie.’ Jim guessed that there already was a decoy – himself. The whole enterprise of setting the traps had nothing to do with catching pheasants. Perhaps one of the Americans was planning to visit Shanghai, and Jim was being used to test the escape route. Alternatively, these bored sailors might be playing a game, betting amongst each other on how far he could push the traps before being shot by the Japanese sentry in the watch-tower. Although they liked Jim, they were quite capable of gambling with his life. That was American humour of a most special kind.
He swayed with fatigue, wishing lie could he across the foot of the bunk. Basie was watching him in an expectant way. From his window he would have seen Jim at work in the hospital garden, and he was waiting for a few beans or tomatoes. Basie always demanded these tidbits, though he was generous in his own way. When Jim was younger Basie spent hours making toys for him out of copper wire and cotton reels, sewing exquisite fish flies that hung from free-floating buoys. On his birthdays it was only Basie who gave him a present.
‘Basie, I brought something for you…’ Jim took the two condoms from his pocket. Basie