The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [521]
‘If we had thought the Government was competent we wouldn’t have considered it necessary to form the Committee in the first place!’ the Major had retorted sharply, nettled by the young man’s tone.
As it had turned out, he now reflected sadly, dropping a hand to soothe the Dalmatian again, for all the progress that had been made he might as well have taken Smith’s advice. He had been faced at every turn by total indifference. But what, after all, could one expect of a society whose only culture and reason for existence was commercial self-interest? A society without traditions, without common beliefs or language, a melting-pot, certainly, but one in which the ingredients had failed to melt: what could one expect of such a place?
The Major now saw an opportunity for interrupting Mr Bridges again, and this time more successfully, by suggesting that the time had come for questions. From behind his chair there came a long, warbling howl of despair. The Major added swiftly that since there were no questions they would adjourn until the following week and, in the meantime, he would continue to press the administration for air-raid shelters in the populous quarters of the city and a proper distribution of gasmasks among the Asiatic communities. With that, he got to his feet, released the dog, and with a hasty goodbye made for the door. The emergency meeting had not been a success.
29
A clock somewhere was striking five o’clock as the Major’s Lagonda turned to the right off Orchard Road on its way to the Tanglin Club. A few moments later the Major, followed by the dog, was making his way up the steps to the entrance. Here he unexpectedly came upon Dupigny, clad in billowing tennis flannels which the Major had no difficulty in recognizing as his own; moreover, it was the Major’s old school tie which had been knotted around Dupigny’s waist to serve as a belt. The Major’s old school, Sandhall’s, was not a famous establishment but the Major was attached to it, none the less, and it caused him a moment’s distress to see his school colours wrapped like a boa-constrictor around a Frenchman’s waist. But still, one must not make a fuss about trifles. This was war.
The Major continued to look preoccupied, though about something else, as he climbed the steps with the black and white dog trotting behind him, its tail waving back and forth like a metronome. At the top he paused and said: ‘Well, François, do we have to fear the Communists in Singapore?’
‘Until you have a government popular and democratical in Malaya, yes, you must fear them,’ replied Dupigny after a moment’s reflection. ‘Your Government here fears, naturally, an anti-colonial revolution if the Communists are allowed to operate freely. It is true, there is a risk. Thus, your dilemma can be stated so: with them in danger … without them, too weak to resist the Japanese!’
‘Oh, François!’ The Major shook his head and sighed but did not pursue the matter. Instead he asked Dupigny if he had heard any further news of the Japanese attack. According to the communiqué issued that morning by GHQ the Japanese had tried to land at Kota Bahru in the extreme north-east of the country but had been driven off. But in the meantime Dupigny had spoken to someone who had attended another briefing: the few Japanese left on the beach were being heavily machine-gunned, he told the Major.
‘First we repel them. Then, though we have repelled them, they are on the beach and we are machine-gunning them!’
The Major shrugged and turned away, but continued to stand there for a moment, fingering his moustache gloomily. Dupigny surmised that he was exploring