Empire of the Sun - J. G. Ballard [89]
‘B-29s, Basie?’
‘That’s it, Jim. Superfortress bombers, what we call a hemisphere defence weapon. All the way from Guam.’
‘From Guam, Basie…’ Jim was impressed by the thought of these four-engined bombers making the long journey across the Pacific, in order to attack the Shanghai dockyards where he had spent so many happy hours playing hide and seek. The B-29s awed Jim. The huge, streamlined bombers summed up all the power and grace of America. Usually the B-29s flew above the Japanese anti-aircraft fire, but two days earlier Jim had seen a single Superfortress cross the paddy fields to the west of the camp, only five hundred feet above the ground. Two of its engines were on fire, but the sight of this immense bomber with its high, curving tail convinced Jim that the Japanese had lost the war. He had seen captured American aircrews who were held for a few hours in the Lunghua guardhouse. What impressed him so much was that these complex machines were flown by men such as Cohen and Tiptree and Dainty. That was America.
Jim thought intently about the B-29s. He wanted to embrace their silver fuselages, caress the nacelles of their engines. The Mustang was a beautiful plane, but the Superfortress belonged to a different order of beauty…
‘Take it easy, kid…’ Basie put an arm around his shaking chest. ‘They’re a long way from Lunghua. You’re going to mess yourself.’
‘I’m all right, Basie. The war’s nearly over, isn’t it?’
‘That’s it. Not too soon for you, Jim. Tell me, did you ever see the Hell Drivers in Shanghai?’
‘Sure I did, Basie! I saw them crash right through a burning wall!’
‘Okay, then. Let’s calm down and get on with our jobs.’
For the next hour Jim was busy with the tasks that Basie had assigned him. First, there was water to be collected from the pond behind the guardhouse. When he had carried the bucket back to E Block, Jim set about gathering fuel for the stove. Basie still insisted on boiling his drinking water, but the shortage of fuel made this difficult. After rounding up a few sticks and shreds of straw mats, Jim searched the pathways around E Block, hunting for fragments of coke embedded in the cinder track. Even the cinders gave off a surprising heat.
Having lit his stove, Jim blew on the lazy flames. He placed the pieces of coke at the neck of the clay venturi, where, as Dr Ransome had explained, the air moved most swiftly. As soon as the drinking water had boiled he decanted some grey fluid into the mess tin, which he carried upstairs and left to cool on Basie’s window ledge. He collected Basie’s clothes and washed the dirty shirts in the remaining water. These could be left for an hour, while he queued for Basie’s rations. The male prisoners in E Block were the last to be fed each day, and the men queued at the kitchens. Jim always enjoyed the long wait for Basie’s ration of cracked wheat and sweet potato, and felt himself a growing man in the company of men. The lines of sweating prisoners covered with ulcers and mosquito bites, gave off a heady odour of aggression, and Jim could understand the Japanese guards being wary of them. Much of their foul language was above his head, their brutally crude talk of women’s bodies and private parts, as if these emaciated males were trying to provoke themselves by describing what they could no longer perform. But there were always phrases to be catalogued away and savoured as he lay in his cubicle.
By the time Jim returned to E Block with Basie’s shirts and food ration he felt entitled to push past Demarest and sit at the foot of the bunk. He watched Basie eat the cracked wheat, flicking the weevils to and fro like a Chinese shopkeeper with his abacus.
‘We worked hard today, Jim. Your dad would be proud of us. Which camp did you say he was in?’
‘Soochow Central. And my mother. You can meet them soon.’ Jim wanted Basie to be present at their reunion, so that the cabin steward could identify him if his parents failed to recognize him.
‘I’d like to meet with them, Jim. If they’re not moved up-country…’
Jim noticed