图书在版编目（CIP）数据

像爱丽丝的小镇/（英）舒特（Shute，N.）著；叶雷译．—南京：译林出版社，2015.12

（双语译林．壹力文库）

ISBN 978-7-5447-5925-0

Ⅰ．①像…　Ⅱ．①舒…②叶…　Ⅲ．①英语－汉语－对照读物②长篇小说－英国－现代　Ⅳ．①H319.4：I

中国版本图书馆CIP数据核字（2015）第256529号

书　　名　像爱丽丝的小镇

作　　者　〔英国〕内维尔·舒特

译　　者　叶　雷

责任编辑　王振华

特约编辑　邓　敏

出版发行　凤凰出版传媒股份有限公司

译林出版社

出版社地址　南京市湖南路1号A楼，邮编：210009

电子信箱　yilin@yilin.com

出版社网址　http://www.yilin.com

印　　刷　三河市尚艺印装有限公司

开　　本　640×960毫米　　1/16

印　　张　19.5

字　　数　260千字

版　　次　2015年12月第1版　2015年12月第1次印刷

书　　号　ISBN 978-7-5447-5925-0

定　　价　45.00元

译林版图书若有印装错误可向承印厂调换

多少人爱你青春欢畅的时辰，
爱慕你的美丽，假意或真心，
只有一个人爱你那朝圣者的灵魂，
爱你衰老了的脸上痛苦的皱纹。(1)

——叶芝

————————————————————

(1) 引自叶芝的诗《当你老了》，袁可嘉译本。

目录

译本序

第一章

第二章

第三章

第四章

第五章

第六章

第七章

第八章

第九章

第十章

第十一章

作者附言

A TOWN LIKE ALICE

译本序

一

内维尔·舒特出生于1899年，毕业于牛津大学，获得工程学学位，1923年进入伦敦的德哈维兰飞机有限公司，边工作边学习驾驶飞机，并且利用业余时间写作。为了避免航空工程师和作家两个角色的混淆，他在从事航空工作时使用原名内维尔·舒特·诺威，写作时使用内维尔·舒特一名。其后他成为R100飞艇设计和制造团队的成员。由于R101飞艇在1930年坠毁，英国决定停止飞艇研制工作，内维尔所在的团队也被解散。二战爆发后，内维尔参加了海军，战时主要在伦敦从事秘密的海军工作，最终升任至英国皇家海军志愿后备队的少校。离开海军后，他远访远东和澳大利亚，并在途中听到了八十位欧洲女士二战期间在印尼被日军俘虏，被迫徒步长途跋涉的悲惨故事。他被这个故事深深触动，怀着对幸存者的尊敬，构思了《像爱丽丝的小镇》前半部的情节，这部小说也成为了他的代表作。

内维尔·舒特的第一部长篇小说《玛拉赞》于1926年出版，讲述一个商务飞行员坠机后流落荒岛，被一个罪犯所救的故事。该罪犯实际上是因为惨遭其贩毒的哥哥陷害而蒙冤的。后来，在两人的共同努力下，该贩毒集团终于被捣毁。内维尔最著名的小说还有《彩衣风笛手》（1942）、《公路已尽》（1948）、《海滩之上》（1957）和《来自工具室的受托人》（1960）。他喜欢把航空知识和他的战时经历写进小说中。内维尔1950年移居澳大利亚，1960年猝然离世，终其一生共留下了二十三部小说，其中多部被搬上荧幕。在美国现代图书馆（Modern Library）网站由读者评选的二十世纪一百部最佳英文小说中，他有三部小说入选，《像爱丽丝的小镇》位列最高，排名十七。澳大利亚中部的爱丽丝斯普林斯（爱丽丝泉）因该书而闻名。英国汉普郡朴茨茅斯机场的诺威路和内维尔·舒特路以他的名字命名，澳大利亚东南部维多利亚州的贝里克也有以他的名字命名的舒特大街。

二

拿到这本书的时候，仲夏正炎，展眼却已秋情萧瑟，寒意渐生，正如这部小说一路写来热烈激荡，却在斯特拉坎先生那冷雾围绕的寒舍中落幕。

《像爱丽丝的小镇》于1950年出版，大获好评，再版多次，并于1956年被拍摄成电影。翻译这本名作的这六个多月，每天焦灼不安。本来翻译就像给别人带孩子，比带自己的孩子还要紧张一万倍，深恐磕着碰着，不能完整交回朋友手中，译者也最怕把书翻走了样，交到读者手里的，竟是自己的重新创作，糟蹋了作者的心血。

小说以二战结束为界，分为两部分。前半部分，从英国远赴马来亚工作的年轻姑娘，琴·佩吉特，在二战期间日本侵略马来亚的战争中被俘，被迫和其他妇女儿童一起在马来亚北部各地之间徒步跋涉。其间他们遇到了年轻的澳大利亚战俘乔·哈曼，他为了帮助战俘们渡过难关铤而走险。下半部分写琴在战争结束后回到英国，继承了一笔丰厚的遗产。为了报答战时马来亚村民对他们这群战俘的保护和照顾，她返回马来亚报恩，并偶然得到乔仍然在世的消息……

若将《像爱丽丝的小镇》比喻成一幅油画，必定属于不厌其烦的古典派。细细读来，不禁感到舒特先生简直就像在写回忆录，努力将情节安排得真实自然，把人物写得栩栩如生，让读者觉得仿佛确有其人其事，而作者只是一个忠实的记录者。通部小说出现了多个“of course”（直译则是“当然”，“自然”），并处处做了铺垫，使故事的推进顺理成章，鲜有突兀之处，不露堆砌痕迹。因此，书中叙述虽然细致繁复，似有赘言，回头看时，却发现伏笔布满，一不小心就容易走漏瞬息繁华。例如，写到诺尔送别琴的时候，作者说诺尔莫名其妙地感到琴不会回来，看似老人家的痴语，实则却为后文伏笔。当然，“无巧不成书”，主角琴和乔之间的爱情故事还是稍微落入了俗套，读者读至彼处自能体会。

作者在写这本小说的时候，已经年逾五十，历经一战和二战，也经受了职业生涯的跌宕起伏，因此笔下每一句话都功力深厚，不能等闲视之。他在书中深刻地探讨了人生和人性，正如书中结尾所说的，他写了“陌生的场景”和“勇敢的人”。这些不是一根青春烂漫的笔能写出来的。他写琴去到马来亚，和同胞们一样不知战争之险恶，也不知祸之将至，在硝烟即将弥漫之时仍然载歌载舞地忙得不可开交，却又马上写她成了战俘，陷入绝境；他写绝境中之人性，一人一个样，绝无重复，幸存下来的人，却又都一致地乐观坚强；他写战俘眼里的战争，真实地描画了在战争里隐忍求存的平民百姓，写出了军官的残暴，也写出了某些日本士兵的善良。后来，他又写琴和乔的爱情故事，写琴如何融入海湾地区的生活，如何勇于改变威尔斯镇的面貌，虽淡淡写来，却都是经验智慧之言。他写到被抛弃的黄金镇，那透骨的荒凉，却又通过写琴改变威尔斯镇的努力种下了复苏的种子，仿佛预示温暖的东风即将吹开一季繁花。这一切，时而通过琴来叙述，时而由诺尔以第一人称叙述，娓娓讲来，历历在目，不矫揉造作，不哗众取宠，真实的情感委婉动人，让读者不知不觉中跟着书中的人物一起悲伤，一起快乐，一起惆怅，一起沉迷于这个具有魔力的故事中，读着读着仿佛都变成了诺尔，忘不了米德赫斯特的牧场住宅，忘不了威尔斯镇鲜艳夺目的红色屋顶，忘不了那里朴实却令人感动的平凡居民，与他们的欢笑悲辛。

本书对于人物的描写，也委实难有其他小说出于其右。琴和乔都不是什么大人物，没有出格的个性，也不是什么悲天悯人的大救世主，这样的人物，最是难写。两个普通人，没有惊人的美貌，没有惊天动地的壮举，却凭着认真坚韧的心，度过逆境，守来幸福，遂了心愿。琴是一个活泼聪明的姑娘，文化水准中等，没有上过大学，却善解人意，真诚善良，敢作敢为，讲诚信，有义气。在马来亚的时候，敌人马上杀到眼前，她却担心霍兰太太无法带着两个孩子一起逃难，自告奋勇地去帮助她，结果跟着霍兰一家一起被俘。被迫徒步东奔西走时，她勇于转换生活方式，适应当地恶劣条件，并主动与日本看守和当地村民交流，积极化解困难，最后带领幸存的战俘们成功安顿下来，挽救了自己和他人的生命。她头脑清楚，同伴们都认为乔是神的使者，她却知道乔也是一个普通人，但她依然深爱着他。她因失去爱人而伤心欲绝，却依旧生活得认真踏实。拿到遗产后，她首先想到的不是个人享受与实现个人梦想，而是赶紧回马来亚去报答战时恩人。知道乔仍然在世，她不顾一切地赶赴澳大利亚，只为了再见他一面，自是一个有情有义的人。后来，为了乔的事业，她又决定留在偏远的海湾地区，并且积极进取地实施自己的计划，最终将乔的家园建设得温馨时尚，将勃勃生机和无限希望带到这片土地上。

而乔则是一个满腔热血的男子，有正义感，也很善良，虽然话多了些，却朴素踏实，像一座沉稳秀美的山。他看见琴和她的同伴忍饥挨饿，心有不忍，舍命偷鸡给他们吃，结果事发受刑。后来他听见琴未婚，马上从澳大利亚远赴英国，为的也只是再见琴一面，也是一个性情中人。他热爱自己的工作，对未来充满乐观，积极进取，在所有人都要离开海湾地区的时候，他却看到了繁荣的远景，对牛场的发展作了详细周密的计划。他去英国旅行，让他兴奋不已的不是华丽的著名宫殿，而是先进的育种技术。终于与琴相见后，他想为了琴而放弃自己的家园，为了心爱的人情愿委屈自己。别人偷他的牛而受伤，他也马上去救人，可见他心胸之宽广。他没有什么文化，说起话来土气扑面，但是却可亲可爱，真挚诚恳，活力四射，仿佛浑身上下都散发着温暖的阳光。

本书另一个重要人物诺尔，是一位收入丰厚的律师，年事已高，生活孤单冷清，却仿佛作者自己的化身，是一位可亲而深邃的老人家。他历经人世沧桑，晚年遇到一位年轻漂亮的姑娘，成为了她的托管人，并尽他所能帮助她实现愿望。他对她有一种无从述说的感情，正如书末所说，她是一个“迟到了四十年的姑娘”，也正是以他的口气，才能将这样一个故事讲得字字深情，千回百转。若换一个人来讲，或者换一个角度叙述，这个故事只是平淡如水。这正是作者独特的匠心与苦心，其对待写作的态度是如此认真，本身也足以令人感动。其他人物，如给唐纳德开死亡证明的医生、弗里思太太、马特·阿明、安妮等，全部个性鲜明，跃然纸上，读者阅读之时，自能玩味。

最爱结尾的那一点不甘心和遗恨，使人读到诺尔的梦境时，禁不住地悲伤，方知道这一本书，也有一点“妖”，是能使人着魔的，诺尔梦里的那些场景，倒像是自己也真实看到过的。

这样一部小说，翻译起来真是费尽思量。力求真实的故事、平凡的人物、细致的描写，以及作者每一句话里的机锋，让我这个非常欠缺生活经验的人挠破了头。这部小说时而写东半球，时而写西半球，时而是发达的伦敦，时而是落后的马来亚，时而是蓬勃发展的澳大利亚，所涉及的人物更是多如牛毛，各有各的性格，各有各的语言特点。作者在英国出生长大，后来去过马来亚旅游，五十岁时定居澳大利亚，一切细如毫发的描写可说与现实丝毫不差，翻译时绝不敢怠慢或轻松带过，几乎所有的场景和物品都要查一次，看到图片或相关介绍才能放心地翻译出来。书中说到海湾地区有许多牛场，后来我查了沈永兴老师等编著的《澳大利亚》，方知道确有其事，而且昆士兰出口的牛肉占澳大利亚一半以上，而澳大利亚又是仅次于阿根廷的世界牛肉出口大国，可知书中背景并非凭空捏造。而最难翻译的，当属人物语言。英国人说英式英语，日本人英语大多很差，马来亚人自然说的是另一种英语，而澳大利亚人则满嘴澳洲土话。有许多俚语和土话，连我们学院的外教都闻所未闻，例如“fair cow”，连澳洲外教都不知道是什么意思，后来托外教住在澳大利亚的亲戚才辗转查到了。第九和第十章的广播用语也令我左右为难。此外，作者是一个职业工程师，游历广泛，知识丰富，在书中讲述了很多有趣的知识，例如稻田种植、沙袋鼠、飞机、飞行、卡车等，这些离我的生活都很远，翻译的时候，只好硬着头皮重新看书学习。需要指出的是，书中的威尔斯镇却是作者以伯克镇和诺曼顿为原型虚构的一个小镇。通篇小说语言严密，却又以老人讲故事的口吻，平淡而絮叨地讲来，往往话里有话，翻译时必须步步留神，一不小心就会错失字里行间的隐含意义。

有鉴于此，加上这本书在国内是第一次被翻成中文，没有前人的成稿可以参考，我的译稿必然有许多错漏之处，恳请读者谅解，也恳请前辈们不吝指正。

翻译这本书，前后只有六个多月的时间，加上开学后行政工作和教学工作繁重，总怕自己力有不逮，不能将这本书翻得合乎理想。很多前辈、同事和学生都看见过我每天下班后翻译的狼狈相，给予了我许多许多帮助，我的内心，自然对他们充满了感谢。此外，书中《圣经》和《古兰经》的句子，分别使用基督教协会和马坚老师的经典译文，在此一并致谢。

经典之所以成为经典，自有其过人之处，非寻常浮光掠影般的快餐文学可比。如果各位能抽空好好品读一下这个故事，将是我极大的幸福。也许这个故事有一点长，但读罢掩卷，其袅袅余韵，一定会比其本身更加悠长。

第一章

1905年3月，四十七岁的詹士·麦法登在德里菲尔德的一次定点越野赛马中不幸丧生。

他大部分财产由儿子道格拉斯继承。那时麦法登家和达尔豪西家都住在珀斯，达尔豪西家的佐克是道格拉斯的同学。佐克当时还很年轻，却已经是伦敦赞善里一家律师事务所——欧文、达尔豪西和彼得斯——的初级合伙人。这个律师事务所历史悠久，三位创始人都早已辞世，但我作为现任高级合伙人，从未想过要给它起一个新名字。

佐克·达尔豪西顺理成章地成为了道格拉斯·麦法登的代理律师，并一直亲自处理好友的财产事务，直到1928年去世。在分摊达尔豪西的工作时，麦法登先生成为了我的客户，但我却忙于应付其他事务，渐渐把他的事情抛在了脑后。

一直到1935年，麦法登先生从埃尔寄来一封信，我才重新想起这位客户来。信上告知，他的妹夫亚瑟·佩吉特在马来亚惨遭车祸，不幸罹难，因此他意欲修改遗嘱，以遗产托管的方式，将遗产转移到妹妹琴和她两个孩子的名下。作为他的代理律师，竟然对委托人孑然一身、无儿无女的情况一无所知，我不禁感到惭愧不安。信的结尾说，由于健康状况太糟糕，无法亲自到伦敦来，所以如果我们能够委派一名小职员去见他以安排相关事宜，他将不胜感激。

这与我的行程不谋而合。收到这封信的时候，我正要动身去希尔湖度假，享受为期两周的钓鱼之旅。所以我写信告诉他，将在假期结束，南下返回的时候顺道去拜访他。写好信后，我把他的档案材料塞进旅行箱底，打算在度假时找一个晚上好好做做功课。

到达埃尔后，我在车站酒店住了下来——既然信中只字未提我的食宿，我想麦法登先生也不会操这份心。我脱下灯笼裤，换上深色正装，去拜访这位素未谋面的客户。

他的生活状况完全出乎我的意料。我不知道他的遗产具体有多少，但肯定超过两万英镑，所以我想这位先生应该会住在一幢体面的房子里，由一两名仆人伺候生活起居。但是，情况全然不是这样。他住在海边一个很小的私人旅馆里，在同一层里租了一个卧室和一个起居室。他才五十出头，比我还年轻十岁，但显然已过着病榻生活，起居不便。他跟一个八十岁的老太太一样弱如风烛，脸色死灰，似乎一半身子已经躺在了坟墓里。我刚刚从空气清新的湖边湿地回来，蓦地走进这个窗户紧闭、阴暗局促的房间，觉得浑身不自在。窗户上挂着一排鸟笼，养着许多虎皮鹦鹉，散发出来的味道使得这个房间越发令人窒息。从家具布置来看，这位先生已经在这个房间里生活了许多个年头。

我们讨论遗嘱时，他谈到了他的生活。他亲切友善，对于我的亲自来访感到喜出望外。尽管他有浓重的苏格兰口音，但应该是一位知书识礼的先生。“我的生活波澜不惊，斯特拉坎先生，”他说，“健康状况不允许我出远门。天气好的时候，我会起个大早，在门前晒晒太阳。然后，玛姬——老板娘道尔太太的女儿——就会过来帮我坐上轮椅，推我出去散散心。她们对我真是照顾有加。”

谈到遗嘱，他告诉我说他只剩下妹妹琴·佩吉特一位近亲了。“如果不算上我父亲在澳大利亚可能还有的一到两个所谓的私生子，”他说，“我不能确定有，尽管我一个都没见过，也没有收到过他们的来信。不过有一次琴向我提起过母亲曾为此事悲痛万分。这种事情最能刺激女士的神经，而且我父亲又是个精力旺盛的风流人物，去到哪里都闲不住。”

他妹妹琴在一战期间参加了英国妇女后勤军团，并在1917年春天与一位佩吉特上校成婚。“有点出乎我们意料，”他和蔼地说，“要知道我妹妹在参军前没离开过苏格兰半步，后来又去了帕斯，而亚瑟·佩吉特却是从汉普郡南安普敦来的一位英格兰人。我对亚瑟倒是没什么意见，但我们一直都很自然地以为琴会嫁给一位苏格兰人。不过，话说回来，他们的婚姻还算美满——起码不比大部分夫妻差吧。”

战后亚瑟·佩吉特在马来亚太平镇附近一个橡胶庄园找到了工作，琴当然也跟着他去了，从此便几乎从道格拉斯·麦法登的生命中消失。她只在1926年和1932年趁休假回家探过亲。她生了两个小孩儿，儿子唐纳德出生于1918年，女儿小琴出生于1921年。1932年的时候，琴把兄妹俩送到南安普敦的爷爷奶奶家，把他们留在那里上学，自己则回到了马来亚。我的客户与他们唯一一次见面就在那一年。

现在的情况是，亚瑟·佩吉特在怡保附近出车祸去世了——他从吉隆坡开车回家时车速太快，滑出马路，撞到了树上。可能他当时睡着了。他的遗孀琴·佩吉特事发时在英格兰。亚瑟去世前大约一年，她回家给两个小孩找了一套房子，就在南安普敦边上的巴西特，以方便他们上学。这个安排还算合理，但是麦法登先生对此多少感到有些遗憾，因为兄妹俩没能够住得离彼此更近一些。我能看出来麦法登先生对此耿耿于怀，因为他不止一次地提到这件事。

他想修改遗嘱。现在这份遗嘱只是很简单地把所有遗产都留给琴。“我还是会把遗产给她，”他说，“但是我写这份遗嘱的时候亚瑟·佩吉特还活着，而且我当时并没想到他会比我先走一步。我这身子骨一向很差，想是也活不长的，而他和琴风华正茂。我原以为他可以帮助我妹妹好好规划一下如何使用这笔钱。”

他似乎顽固地认为所有女人都不谙世事，不善理财。她们没有责任心，而且投机商能轻而易举地把她们玩弄于股掌之中。所以，尽管决定了把全部财产都留给妹妹，他还是打算要找一位托管人，以保证唐纳德能够在她去世后分文不少地得到这笔遗产。要实现这个要求当然并不困难。作为例行公事，我向他列举了这个做法的种种利弊，同时指出，他在道尔太太的房子里住了这么多年，而且很可能会一直住到离世，如果不能留出一笔小小的遗赠给她，多少有点不妥。他认同我的说法。此外，由于已经没有其他近亲在世，他想委托我作为全权托管人和遗嘱执行人。那倒是家庭律师的分内事，但是我告诉他，鉴于我年事已高，最好找一位共同托管人。他同意由我们所的初级合伙人列斯特·罗宾逊来担任此职，对我们在这些事务上的收费条款，他也没有异议。

这份遗嘱毕竟很简单，再敲定余下几个小问题就完成了。我问他，如果他和妹妹都在唐纳德未满二十一岁之前去世，我们该如何处理这笔遗产。我的建议是，在唐纳德成年时托管结束，所有遗产归他自由支配。麦法登先生同意了，我在便笺上记下来。

“假设发生另外一种情况，”我说，“唐纳德先于他母亲去世，又或者母子俩都由于某种原因先于您去世，那财产就转由小姑娘小琴继承。我是否也可以认为，托管期同样地在她成年时结束？”

“您是说，”他问，“在她满二十一岁的时候？”

我点点头。“是的，和她哥哥一样。”

他摇摇头。“我认为那太不周全了，斯特拉坎先生，请原谅我这样说。但是，没有一个二十一岁的姑娘能够管理好自己的财产。那个年纪的姑娘都很容易上男人的当，斯特拉坎先生。她们会上男人的当的。她的托管期必须要长很多，至少要到她满四十岁时才能结束。”

过去种种经历让我不禁同意他这个观点。一个二十一岁的女孩子确实还太年轻，无法驾驭这样一笔巨款，但是我又觉得四十岁太老了。我对他说，二十五岁是一个比较合适的年纪，他很勉强地让步到三十五岁。那已经是他的底线了。他开始表现出明显的疲态，并且变得有点不耐烦，所以我只好接受那作为托管的最长期限。这意味着托管期可能长达二十一年，尽管这种情况不太可能发生，因为小琴生于1921年，而当时才1935年。我们的会面就到此为止了。我与他分别，回到伦敦起草遗嘱，并寄给他签字。从此，我就再没跟他见过面。

与他失去联系是我的错。多年来，我养成了春天度假的习惯，跟妻子一道去苏格兰——通常是希尔湖——玩两周，享受钓鱼的乐趣。人常常会不自觉地以为，生活总是会一成不变地过下去。所以我想，明年此时，当我再度从北方南返时，还可以顺道拜访一下麦法登先生，看看有没有别的事情可以为他效劳。但世事无常，在1935年冬天，露茜去世了。我不愿沉溺其间，但我们是二十七年的老夫妻了——是的，那使我十分悲痛。当时两个儿子都在国外，哈利在驻中国英军基地的潜水艇上服役，马丁在巴士拉(1)的石油公司工作。我无心再赴希尔湖，并从此再未踏进苏格兰半步。我拍卖了大部分家具，并卖掉了我和妻子在温布尔登公地共同居住过的房子。人在此情此境更须振作，不应埋首于往日幸福的灰堆。

我在白金汉门(2)租了一套公寓，在皇家马厩对面，与我在蓓尔美尔街的俱乐部只隔一个公园。我用从温布尔登带来的几件家具简单布置了一下新家，请了一位保姆每天早上来做早饭和打扫卫生。在这里，我渐渐过上了和俱乐部其他会员一样的生活：在公寓吃早饭，步行穿过公园，沿河岸街走到位于赞善里的办公室，工作一整天，在办公桌上吃一顿简单的午餐，六点到俱乐部去看看杂志，闲聊一会儿，吃晚饭，打一局桥牌。从1936年起，我就养成了这样的生活方式，直到现在，依然如此。

上述一连串变故让我的心思离开了道格拉斯·麦法登。我将大部分精力放在处理私事上，工作上只能应付那些有急事的客户。不久，另一件事又更加吸引了我的注意。战争的硝烟开始弥漫，而俱乐部的一些会员——包括我在内——因年纪太大无法服兵役，便都积极投身空袭预防工作。长话短说，这项被称作民防的工作在接下来的八年里占据了我所有的闲暇时间。我成了一个民间防空员，负责在伦敦大轰炸期间以及其后漫长的战争岁月中在威斯敏斯特地区执勤。实际上我的下属都去服兵役了，我只能勉强独力支撑整个律师事务所的运营。那些年里，我从未休假，甚至连每晚五小时的睡眠时间也难以保证。待到战争终于在1945年结束，我已经白发苍苍，颤颤巍巍了。虽然接下来几年身体状况有所好转，我还是不可挽回地加入了老年人的行列。

1948年1月的一个下午，我收到一封从埃尔发来的电报。上面写道：

道格拉斯·麦法登先生昨夜去世深切哀悼请回复指导葬礼事宜

道尔

埃尔，巴勒莫尔旅馆

恐怕我必须努力回忆起战前发生的事情，才能想起道格拉斯·麦法登先生是谁。我不得不翻查档案和遗嘱，让它们帮助我回忆起十三年前发生的点点滴滴。我觉得很奇怪，在埃尔居然没有一个人能够帮助麦法登先生料理后事。我马上打了一个长途电话到埃尔，很快我便和道尔太太通上了话。线路很差，但我勉强听懂了她说麦法登先生的亲戚她一个都不认识。很明显，已经很久没有人去看望他了。看来我必须亲自去一趟埃尔，或者派一个人去。接下来两天我手头没有紧急事务，而这件事情又有点棘手，于是我去找列斯特·罗宾逊商量此事，他是从战场上回来的陆军准将，我现在的合伙人。很快，我就清理好办公桌，吃过晚饭便坐卧铺车到格拉斯哥。第二天早晨，我已经坐上了开往埃尔的慢车。

我到达巴勒莫尔旅馆时，看见房东夫妇穿着丧服，一脸悲伤。他们一直很喜欢这位古怪的房客，也许正是亏得他们的细心照料，麦法登先生才能这么长寿。死因并无可疑，我从医生那里了解到他身上的种种毛病。弥留之际医生就在他身边，他们的住所只隔了两扇门。死亡证明也已签妥。我简单确认了遗体并办理了各种与死亡有关的手续。一切都进行得很顺利——除了没有任何亲戚露面。

“我想他一个亲戚也没有了，”道尔先生说，“有一次他妹妹还给他写信来着，还来看了他一回。好像是在1938年吧。她住在南安普敦。但这两年他好像再也没有收过信了，除了几张账单之外。”

他妻子说：“他妹妹肯定已经不在了。你忘了他告诉过我们，说她妹妹在战争结束之前不久就去世了吗？”

“哦，我不记得了，”他说，“那阵子发生了太多事情。也许她确实去世了。”

不管麦法登先生还有没有亲戚，葬礼都要尽快举行。下午，安排好葬礼事宜后，我仔细地把麦法登先生桌子里的文件看了一遍。账簿上和支票簿里几个写在票根背后的数字引起了我的注意。很明显，明天早上我要做的第一件事情，就是和银行经理见面。我发现了他妹妹1941年写的一封信，是关于房屋租赁的。当然，这封信并未透露她死于何事——如果她确实已离世，但它提供了两个小孩的关键信息。他们那时候都在马来亚。儿子唐纳德那时应该已经二十三岁了，在瓜拉雪兰莪(3)附近一个橡胶农场工作。他的妹妹琴1939年冬天去投奔他，那时任职于该农场在吉隆坡的办事处。

五点左右，我站在旅馆狭窄的电话间里，给在伦敦的合伙人打了一个长途电话。“听我说，列斯特，”我说，“我告诉过你死者亲戚的问题有点棘手。很遗憾，我现在一筹莫展。我已经临时将葬礼安排好了，后天两点在圣伊诺克公墓举行。我目前所知道的唯一一个亲戚，就是在——或者曾经在南安普敦生活的妹妹亚瑟·佩吉特太太。1941年的时候，这位太太住在巴西特的圣罗南路十七号，就在南安普敦附近。那个地区还有佩吉特家的其他亲戚，比如说亚瑟·佩吉特的父母。亚瑟·佩吉特太太——她的教名是琴——是的，她就是死者的妹妹。她有两个孩子，唐纳德和琴·佩吉特，但他们1941年的时候都在马来亚。天晓得他们遇到了什么事情。我现在不会浪费太多时间在他们身上，但是能不能请你告诉哈里斯，让他尽量找到在南安普敦生活的佩吉特家人，告诉他们葬礼的事？他最好对着电话号簿逐个打给南安普敦姓佩吉特的人。应该没几个。”

第二天早上，我刚从银行回来，列斯特就给我打电话了。“诺尔，很抱歉，关于你想找的人，我没有找到任何确切消息，”他说，“但我发现了一件事：佩吉特太太已经于1942年去世，所以不用再花力气找她了。她在防空洞中死于肺炎——哈里斯从医院查到的。其他姓佩吉特的人在电话号簿上有七个，我都打过电话了，可是他们跟你所提到的家庭一点关系都没有。但其中一个，尤丝缇丝·佩吉特太太，觉得你要找的应该是爱德华·佩吉特一家。他们在第一次南安普敦大轰炸后就举家搬到北威尔士去了。”

“大概在北威尔士的什么地方？”我问。

“毫无线索，”他说，“我想现在你能做的也就只有继续办葬礼了。”

“你说得对，”我回答，“但还是请你让哈里斯继续调查吧，因为除了要办葬礼，我们还必须找到继承人。我刚刚去了银行，发现那可是一笔很可观的遗产呢。要知道我们可是托管人啊。”

我利用那天余下的时间打包麦法登先生的个人物品和书信文件，以便带回事务所。那时候家具供应紧缺，我找了一个地方存放那两个房间的家具，因为继承人可能会用得上。我把衣物交给道尔太太，请她拿去施舍给埃尔的贫困居民。最后只剩下两只虎皮鹦鹉，我把它们留给了道尔太太，她似乎已经离不开它们了。第二天早上，我又跟银行经理见了一面，并打电话预订好卧铺票——我将乘坐夜班邮车回伦敦。下午，我们安葬了道格拉斯·麦法登先生。

那是一月的下午，公墓里一片愁云惨雾，寒气刺骨。送葬的只有道尔一家——父亲、母亲和女儿，和我。记得我当时在想，这个葬礼真是奇怪，我们对眼前即将被自己掩埋的人，竟几近一无所知。经过与道尔一家的短暂相处，我已经对他们产生了深深的尊敬之情。之前我告诉他们，麦法登先生给他们留了一笔小小的遗赠，把他们惊呆了，第一反应就是不愿接受。他们说，这些年麦法登先生吃住在这里，从不曾亏待他们，他们为他所做的其他一切，纯粹出于真诚友爱。在那个灰冷的一月下午，有朋友送他最后一程，墓边的风景便少了几分凄寂。

葬礼就这样结束了。我和道尔一家开车返回旅馆，和他们在厨房旁边的起居室喝茶。喝完茶后，我就起程去格拉斯哥，并于当晚坐火车回伦敦，带着两个手提箱的文件和个人物品。如果一时无法找到继承人，闲来无事之时还要细细查看，寻找线索。它们也是遗产的一部分，将来要交给继承人的。

实际上，寻找继承人的过程并没有大费周章。杨·哈里斯不到一周就找到了继承人的消息，不久我们就收到阿加莎·佩吉特小姐的一封信，她是科尔温贝(4)女子学校的校长，在马来亚车祸中丧生的亚瑟·佩吉特的姐姐。

她证实了他的妻子于1942年在南安普敦去世，同时告诉了我们一个新消息：唐纳德也已经过世了。他在马来亚战争中成为了俘虏，在被俘期间死去。然而，她的侄女琴却仍然在世，现在就住在伦敦地区。这位校长不知道琴的确切地址，因为她住在租来的房间里，搬过一两次家，住所不固定，所以写给她的信通常都寄到公司去。琴现在在帕克和利维公司里做事，地址是：伦敦西北海德区佩里维尔。

这封信夹在早班邮件里送来。我从一堆信件中翻出它，重新读了一遍，又让秘书把麦法登先生的档案拿给我，再看了一遍遗嘱、其他文件和关于遗产的笔记。最后我翻开电话号簿，找到帕克和利维公司，看看这个公司经营什么业务。

不久，我从桌子旁边站起来，在窗前站了一会儿。窗外是伦敦一月份灰蒙蒙的寒冷街道。我喜欢三思而后行，从不鲁莽行事。然后，我回身出去，走进罗宾逊的办公室。他正在口述文件，所以我先站到壁炉前暖和一下身子。他完事后，做记录的女孩离开了办公室。

“我找到麦法登的继承人了，”我开口说，“我一会儿会告诉哈里斯。”

“太好了，”他说，“你找到那个儿子了？”

“不，”我说，“我找到女儿了。儿子已经去世了。”

他笑道：“真倒霉。这就是说，在她三十五岁之前，我们要一直当这笔遗产的托管人了，是不是？”

我点点头。

“她现在多大了？”

我算了一下，说：“二十六七岁吧。”

“这个年纪，足够给我们添麻烦的了。”

“可不是。”

“她现在在哪里？在干什么？”

“她现在是一个文员或者打字员，在佩里维尔一个手提包厂工作，”我说，“我打算给她写一封信。”

他微笑道：“你可真是她的天降贵人啊。”

“一点不假。”我答道。

我回到办公室坐下来，考虑如何写那封信。第一次给这位年轻的女士写信，似乎应该显得正式一些。最后我写道：

亲爱的太太：

我们非常悲痛地通知您，令舅道格拉斯·麦法登先生于1月21日在埃尔去世。作为其遗嘱执行人，我们一直在寻找其遗产继承人，此间遇到了一些困难。如果您是曾住在南安普敦和马来亚的琴（·妮·麦法登）和亚瑟·佩吉特的女儿，将很有可能对遗产享有继承权。

请您在方便之时与我们电话预约见面，进一步商讨相关事宜。为了前期阶段工作的顺利进行，请您届时提供身份证明，例如出生证明，身份证，或者其他有效之证件。

顺颂　近佳！

欧文、达尔豪西和彼得斯律师事务所

N.H.斯特拉坎

第二天早上她就给我打电话了。她的声音很悦耳，听起来像一位训练有素的秘书。她说：“斯特拉坎先生，我是琴·佩吉特。我收到您29日给我写的信了。请问您周六上午是否上班？我平时走不开，所以周六对我而言再合适不过了。”

我回答道：“噢，是的，我们周六上午上班。你方便几点过来？”

“十点半可以吗？”

我在记事本上写下来。“没问题。你有出生证明吗？”

“有的。我还有母亲的结婚证明，那有用吗？”

我说：“有的，请一并带来。好了，佩吉特小姐，那我们周六见。报我的名字就能找到我，诺尔·斯特拉坎先生。我是高级合伙人。”

周六早上十点半，她准时出现在我的办公室。她身材中等，头发乌黑，看不出来是否已经结了婚。她恬静漂亮，有一种淡定的风度。这种风度很难确切形容，是苏格兰后裔女性身上常见的那种从容优雅。她穿着深蓝色的外套和裙子。我站起身，与她握手，请她坐在我桌子前的椅子上，再回身在我自己的椅子上坐下。我已经把文件都准备好了。

“我们开始吧，佩吉特小姐，”我说，“我通过你的姑姑找到了你——我想她是你的姑姑吧，在科尔温贝的那位？”

她点点头。“雅姬姑姑给我写信了，告诉我她收到了您的信。没错，她是我的姑姑。”

“我想，你就是曾经在南安普敦和马来亚生活过的亚瑟和琴·佩吉特的女儿？”

她点点头。“是的。我带了我和我母亲的出生证明，还有她的结婚证明。”她从包里掏出这几份文件，连同身份证一起，放在我的桌上。

我打开这些文件，仔细检查了一遍。毫无疑问，她就是我要找的人。我重新把身子靠到椅背上，摘掉眼镜。“请告诉我，佩吉特小姐，”我说，“你曾经见过你刚过世的舅舅道格拉斯·麦法登先生吗？”

她犹豫了一下。“我一直在想这件事情，”她坦率地说，“我不能发誓说我肯定见过他，但是有一次，我母亲带我去苏格兰拜访过一个人，那个人肯定就是他。那个时候我好像只有十岁吧，母亲带着我和我哥哥一起去的。我记得好像是一个老人家，住在一个闷热的房间里，用笼子养了很多鸟。我想那就是道格拉斯舅舅吧，不过我不是很确定。”

这与麦法登先生的说法相符。母子三人确实于1932年去拜访过他。这个女孩当时应该是十一岁。“能跟我说一下你的哥哥唐纳德吗，佩吉特小姐？”我问，“他是否还在世？”

她摇摇头。“他1943年去世了，在被俘期间。我们投降的时候(5)，他在新加坡被日本兵抓走，送到了铁路上。”

“铁路？”我有点疑惑不解。

她冷冷地看着我，目光中仿佛包含了一丝宽容——对战时留在英国的人所表现出来的无知。“日本兵迫使亚洲人和战俘建造的泰缅铁路。每安放一条枕木，就有一个人死去，而铁路大约有两百英里长。唐纳德就是其中一个。”

接下来我们都没有说话。“我很抱歉，”我终于打破沉默，“但恐怕我还是要问你一件事——你有没有他的死亡证明？”

她盯着我说：“我不可能会有吧。”

“噢……”我重新把身子靠到椅背上，拿起遗嘱。“这是道格拉斯·麦法登先生的遗嘱，”我说，“我给你准备了一份复印件，佩吉特小姐，但是我想最好先用普通的语言来告诉你里面写了什么。除了两份小小的遗赠之外，你舅舅把所有剩余财产都以托管方式归到你哥哥唐纳德名下。托管的条件是，托管财产的收益归你母亲所有，直到她去世。如果她在你兄长满二十一岁前去世，托管将在他成年时结束，财产就归他任意支配。而如果你的兄长在继承财产前去世，你将在你母亲去世后，继承剩余的财产。但这样的话，托管期将一直延续到1956年，你满三十五岁的时候。我想你会希望我们取得你兄长的合法死亡证明的。”

她犹豫了一下，然后说道：“斯特拉坎先生，恐怕我真是愚蠢透顶。我能够理解为什么您需要唐纳德的死亡证明。但如果您真的拿到了这份证明，是不是就意味着我可以继承道格拉斯舅舅留下来的一切？”

“基本上——是这样的，”我回答，“但在1956年之前，你只能获得这笔遗产的收益。之后，财产就是你的了，你想拿来做什么都可以。”

“他留下了多少钱？”

我从面前的文件里拿起一张纸条，从上到下把数字扫了一眼，最后再检查一遍。“扣除税款和遗赠后，”我小心地说，“剩余的财产大约价值五万三千英镑——以目前的价格计算。我必须提醒你，这是按照目前的价格计算的，佩吉特小姐。不能保证到1956年的时候你就一定会继承这个数目。股市的低迷甚至会影响到信托证券。”

她直直地盯着我，说：“五万三千英镑？”

我点点头。“大概是这个数目。”

“这样一笔资本每年可以产生多少收益，斯特拉坎先生？”

我扫了一眼我面前纸条上的数字。“投资于受托公债的话，目前每年大约能有一千五百五十英镑的总收入。扣除所得税后，每年大概还能剩下九百英镑，佩吉特小姐。”

“噢……”接下来是一阵长长的沉默。她坐在那里，目光落在前方的桌子上。忽然她抬起头来看着我，莞尔一笑。“我还没回过神来，”她说，“我是说，一直以来我都是自己挣钱养活自己，斯特拉坎先生。我从未想过我还能干点什么别的，除非嫁人——但那似乎只是换一种方式工作罢了。但是从今往后我再也不用工作了——除非我乐意。”

最后一句话真是一针见血。“一点不假，”我回答，“除非你乐意。”

“如果再也不用去办公室上班了，我不知道要做什么，”她说，“我几乎没有业余活动……”

“那就应该继续去办公室上班。”我指出。

她笑道：“我想我也没有其他事情可以做了。”

我重新把身子靠到椅背上。“我已经是个老头子了，佩吉特小姐。我这一辈子犯了很多错误，并从中学会了一个道理，那就是：欲速则不达。我想你的生活会因为这份财产而变得很不一样。如果你问我的话，我会请你千万不要马上辞掉手头这份工作。现在，我先不跟你在办公室里谈遗产的事情。首先，就算是财产的收益，你也还要等几个月才能拿到。我们还没拿到你哥哥的合法死亡证明，苏格兰的遗嘱执行人也还没批准我们变卖部分证券来偿付财产税和其他税款。告诉我，你在帕克和利维公司做什么工作？”

“我是速记员，”她说，“现在是帕克先生的秘书。”

“你现在住在哪里呢，佩吉特小姐？”

她说：“我租了一个不含厨房的开间，在坎贝恩路四十三号，对面就是伊令公地。地方很方便，但自然要经常在外面吃饭了。附近就有一家里昂斯餐厅。”

我想了想，说：“你在伊令有很多朋友吗？在那儿住了多久了？”

“我认识的人不多，”她回答说，“一两家人吧，都是同事。我回国后就住在那里，有两年多了。之前我在马来亚，斯特拉坎先生。有三年半的时间，我基本上是一个战俘。回国后，我就在这家公司找到了工作。”

我在记事本上记下了这个地址。“现在，佩吉特小姐，”我说，“请让我继续把接下来要做的事情告诉你。我周一早上会咨询陆军部，希望尽快获得你哥哥的死亡证明。请告诉我他的姓名、身份证号和分队编号。”我把她提供的信息一一记下来。“我一拿到证明，就会上交遗嘱，等待认证。遗嘱被批准执行后，托管就开始，直到1956年你能任意支配财产为止。”

她抬起头来看着我。“请向我解释一下托管是怎么回事，”她问，“恐怕我对法律事务不怎么在行。”

我点点头。“这很正常。我给你的遗嘱复印件都是以法律语言写成的。关于托管一事，其实是这样的，佩吉特小姐。当你舅舅立下这份遗嘱的时候，他对女性管理自己财产的能力抱有一种非常不合理的偏见。很抱歉说了这样的话，但是我想最好是能让你知道整件事情的来龙去脉。”

她笑道：“请不必替他道歉，斯特拉坎先生。请继续。”

“开始的时候，他觉得至少要等你满四十岁，才能让你自由支配遗产，”我说，“我提出了反对意见，所以现在遗嘱上写的是三十五岁，我无法让他缩短这个期限了。现在，托管的目标是这样：立遗嘱人指定托管人——在这里是指我和我的合伙人——尽其所能保护好这份财产，在托管结束时，把它完好无损地交到继承人——也就是你——的手里。”

“我知道了。道格拉斯舅舅害怕我会一下子把这五万三千英镑花个精光。”

我点点头。“他就是这样想的。他不了解你，当然，佩吉特小姐。所以他并不是针对你个人的。他只是有一个很笼统的概念，认为年轻女性控制巨款的能力不如男性。”

她平静地说：“他可能是对的。”思考片刻后，又说，“所以，在我三十五岁之前，您将会一直帮我保管这笔钱，把它的利息给我，每年九百英镑，对吗？”

“如果你希望我们帮助你处理所得税事宜的话，就是这个数目，”我说，“你能选择一种支付方式，比如季度或者月度支票。你将每半年收到一份账目明细表。”

她好奇地问道：“你们为我做这么多事情，怎么收费呢，斯特拉坎先生？”

我微笑道：“这是一个很精明的问题，佩吉特小姐。你会在遗嘱里找到一条相关的条款，好像是第八条吧。它赋予我们因提供专业的托管服务而收费的权利。当然了，如果你遇到任何法律上的麻烦，我们会很高兴成为你的代理人，并且尽一切努力帮助你。不过那样的话，我们会按照正常标准收费。”

她出乎意料地说：“托付给您再好不过了。”她瞥了我一眼，调皮地说，“我昨天就查询过您这家公司。”

“噢……希望结果让你满意？”

“非常满意，”她说，“把事情交到您手中，我绝对放心，斯特拉坎先生。”不过她事后才告诉我，泄密者把我们描述成“牢如英格兰银行(6)，黏如糖蜜(7)”。

我点点头。“希望如此。恐怕有时候你会觉得这个托管很烦人，佩吉特小姐，不过我会保证尽量避免发生这种情形。你会看到，立遗嘱人会在遗嘱里给予托管人一些权力，在对继承人确实有利的情况下，托管人是可以解冻一部分财产的。”

“您的意思是，如果我真的需要很多钱——做手术或者什么的——只要您同意，我就可以预支这笔钱？”

真是思维敏捷，这姑娘。“我想那是一个很好的例子。如果你生病时没有钱做手术，为了你的利益，我当然会解冻一部分遗产。”

她向我微微一笑，说：“现在我是不是还挺像受大法官监护的未成年人？”

这个比喻不知怎的触动了我。我说：“如果你愿意把我当成监护人，我将感到不胜荣幸，佩吉特小姐。这份遗嘱将无可避免地打乱你的生活，我愿意尽我所能帮助你尽快适应新情况。”我递给她遗嘱的复印件。“这就是遗嘱。我建议你带走它，找个时间安静地认真读读。我会暂时保留这些证件。等你过几天想清楚到底发生了什么事之后，肯定会生出很多问题，并且想要知道答案。到时你是否愿意再过来与我见一面？”

她说：“我当然愿意。我一定会有无数的问题，但是我现在一个都想不出来。这一切太突然了。”

我看看预约日志，道：“那——我们下周二或者周三再见一面如何？”我一边看着我的预约安排一边说，“当然了，你白天要上班。你几点下班，佩吉特小姐？”

她说：“五点。”

“周三晚上六点你方便吗？希望到时候有关你哥哥的事情会有些进展。”

她说：“嗯，可以的，斯特拉坎先生。但是对您来讲不会太晚了吗？不耽误您回家吗？”

我心不在焉地说：“我只去俱乐部。不耽误，周三六点对我来讲正合适。”我记下新的预约事项，犹豫了一下。“如果事后没有安排，你是否愿意跟我一起去俱乐部，在淑女馆餐厅吃晚饭呢？”我说，“恐怕那个地方算不上很时髦漂亮，但是菜不错。”

她微微一笑，热情地说：“太好了，斯特拉坎先生。谢谢您的邀请。”

我站起来。“很好，那么，佩吉特小姐，周三晚上六点。同时，请记住：三思而后行，欲速则不达。”

她走了。我收拾好桌子，打车去俱乐部吃午饭。饭后，我喝了杯咖啡，在壁炉前的椅子里睡了十分钟。醒来时，我想活动活动，于是戴好帽子，穿上大衣出去遛弯。我漫无目的地沿圣詹姆斯大街往北走，再顺着皮卡迪利大街走到公园。一边走，我一边想那位突发横财的女士正在干什么。她是正在向好友炫耀这份好运气呢，还是正坐在一个温暖而安静的地方，酝酿着一个计划，好让我给她预支一笔财产？又或者已经在挥金如土、肆意狂欢了？她也可能正在和一位年轻有为的男士约会——她现在已经有足够的资本，可以从众多追求者中从容选择一位如意郎君，我讽刺地想着。然后，我突然意识到，她可能已经有很多男朋友了——她正值妙龄，待字闺中。实际上，她是那么漂亮迷人、温柔可亲，要是还没结婚才奇怪呢。

那晚我在俱乐部跟一位内政部的朋友聊天，向他了解如何确认一位战俘的死亡事实。周一我打了好几个电话到陆军部和内政部咨询这个案子。不出所料，有一个例外程序可以证明战俘的死亡事实——如果战俘营里的俘虏去世时有医生在旁照料，这位医生就有权开具有效的死亡证明。在这个案子中，有一位名叫费里斯的全科医师，曾经在泰缅铁路沿线塔库南地区的第二〇六号营地当过随军医生，目下在贝肯汉姆开诊所。陆军部的官员说这位医生有权开具一份正规的死亡证明。

第二天早上，我给这位医生打电话，但不巧他出诊了。我试着让他的妻子明白我需要什么，但是那对她而言似乎太过复杂了。她建议我等夜间应诊时间结束，晚上六点半再去找他。我犹豫要不要去，因为贝肯汉姆离我的公寓非常远。但我想尽快替这位姑娘拿到这份文件，所以当天晚上就去拜访这位医生了。

他不到三十五岁，性格开朗，面色红润。他颇具幽默感，但是喜欢时不时拿死亡来开玩笑。这位乡村医生看上去健康结实，就像从未离开过英格兰一样。见到他时，他刚送走最后一位病人，正好有空与我说话。

“佩吉特中尉，”他边想边说，“噢，是的，我知道他。唐纳德·佩吉特——他是叫唐纳德吗？”我说是，他接着说：“噢，当然了，我记得很清楚。没问题，我可以给他开一份死亡证明。我很乐意为他效劳，虽然我觉得他要这份证明也没有用。”

“是给他妹妹的，”我说，“关乎她的继承权。正式手续办理得越快，对她越有利。”

他伸手去取表格。“我真想知道她是不是和她哥哥一样胆色过人。”

“他是个了不起的小伙子吗？”

他点点头。“是的。他看起来有点弱不禁风，忧郁苍白，但他是个棒小伙。我想他原来是个农场主吧——总之，他后来参加了马来亚的志愿军。他的马来语说得很好，暹罗语也说得不错。当然了，他会这两种语言，真是帮了我们大忙。我们那时常常要跟村民们做黑市买卖，跟战俘营外面的暹罗人。而且他是那种特别讨人喜欢的军官。他的去世真是让我们损失惨重。”

“他的死因是什么？”我问道。

他停下笔。“这个——你可以从十几个原因里挑一个。我当时不可能有时间做尸检。实话告诉你，我并不能确定死因，反正他就是去世了。但是他已经熬过了足以杀死十几个普通人的病痛，所以我不知道在死亡证明上写什么是否那么要紧。死因并不会影响它的法律效力，是不是？”

“啊，不会的，”我说，“有一个死亡证明就足够了。”

他沉浸在回忆中，仍然没有动笔。“我们当时正在治疗他左腿上一块面积巨大的热带溃疡，那产生的毒素毫无疑问正在向全身扩散。如果溃疡继续恶化下去，就不得不截肢了。之所以被耽误到那么严重，就因为他是那种只要还能走得动，就不会告诉别人他生了病的小伙子。唉，当他因为溃疡住院的时候，又得了脑型疟疾。当时我们没有办法治疗那种该死的病，直到后来我们终于能腾出手来，自制奎宁溶液，给病人进行静脉注射。那是很冒险的一招，我们都很害怕，但别无选择。我们就这样帮助很多人渡过了难关，佩吉特就是其中之一。他战胜了疟疾。紧接着就爆发了霍乱。霍乱横扫了医院，势不可当。我们没有办法隔离病人，或者采取任何类似的措施。我再也不想看到那样的场面了。我们手头什么都没有，什么都没有！甚至连碱盐泻药都没有，更别提药物和设备了。我们只好用旧煤油罐来做便盆。佩吉特也得了霍乱。你能相信吗？他连霍乱也挺过来了。我们给他注射了一些预防药物，从日本人那里拿来的，可能起了点作用。至少，我们给他注射了那种药——不过我记不清了。当他从霍乱中康复过来之后，已经非常虚弱了。当然了，原来的溃疡并没有什么好转。大概一周后的一个晚上，他死去了。我想是心脏的原因吧。我会告诉你我将会怎么做。我会把死因写成——霍乱。好了，请收好。抱歉让你为它走了那么远的路。”

我收下证明，好奇地问：“你有没有也得那些病？”

他笑道：“我是幸运儿。我只得了普通的痢疾和疟疾，普通的那种疟疾，不是脑型疟疾。我的问题是超负荷的工作，不过其他人也一样。当时真是一团糟，没完没了的。我们把几百个病人放在地板上，或者放在棕榈树小屋的竹子吊床上——那会儿一直在下雨。没有床，没有床单，也没有设备，药物少得可怜。我们连喘口气的机会都没有，一直工作到倒头昏睡过去，醒来后又要马上继续工作，不知什么时候是个头。连松懈半个小时去抽根烟的机会都没有，去散个步也不可能，除非你把几个急需你医治的可怜蛋甩下不管。”

他稍稍停顿了一下。我默默地坐着。相形之下，我所遇到的所谓战争是多么微不足道。“就那样熬了差不多有两年，”他说，“有时候会很抑郁，因为甚至连去听个讲座的时间都没有。”

“你们还有讲座？”我问。

“啊，有的，我们营里有很多小伙子，常常给我们做各种讲座。考克斯橙皮苹果(8)的栽种方法啦，TT摩托车公路赛啦，好莱坞的生活之类的。这些讲座多少能开解一下大家。但我们这些医生经常没有时间去听。我的意思是，如果有病人发生抽搐，我们却在营地的另一头听别人讲考克斯橙皮苹果，似乎有点说不过去。”

我说：“那肯定是很可怕的一段经历。”

他顿了顿，回忆起当时的生活。“那里的景色太美了，”他说，“三塔边界(9)肯定是世界上最可爱的地方。河流顺着广阔的峡谷流下来，还有茂密的热带森林和大山……有时候，我们坐在河边看日落，感叹这将是一个多么神奇的度假胜地。不管一个战俘营有多可怕，如果周围有美景，总会有点不一样的。”

当琴·佩吉特周三晚上来看我的时候，我已经准备好向她报告我取得的进展。首先我大概介绍了几件在我们清理财产时发生的事情，给她看了看埃尔的家具清单。她对那些家具没有什么兴趣。“我想我应该把它们都卖掉，是不是？”她说，“我们可以拿它们去拍卖吗？”

“也许还是先等等再说吧，”我建议道，“也许将来你要买新房子或者新公寓呢？”

她蹙起鼻头，说：“即使是那样，我也不会用道格拉斯舅舅的家具来布置我的新家。”

然而，她同意先不去处理它们，等确定好将来的计划再说。然后我们就去谈别的事情。“我拿到你哥哥的死亡证明了。”我说。但是，当我正准备进一步告诉她我是如何得到它的时候，她打断了我。

“他因什么而死，斯特拉坎先生？”她问。

我迟疑了一会儿。从费里斯医生那里听来的故事是如此令人不安，我不想把它讲给一个这么年轻的女士听。“死因是霍乱。”我最后说。

她点点头。好像她等的就是这个答案。“可怜的人，”她轻声说，“不是一种很舒服的死法。”

我感到一定要说点什么来减轻她的忧伤。“我跟照顾过他的医生聊了很久，”我告诉她，“他去世的时候很平静，在睡梦中。”

她盯着我看。“哦，如果是那样的话，就不是霍乱，”她说，“霍乱引起的死亡不是那样的。”

我本来是想帮她免除不必要的痛苦，但她一语戳穿了我的谎言，使我阵脚大乱。“他先是得了霍乱，但是好了。实际的死因可能是心脏衰竭吧，由霍乱引起的。”

她仔细想了一会儿，道：“他还有没有得其他病？”

好吧，在那种情况下，我只好老老实实将我所知道的和盘托出。我感到非常惊讶，因为她在听到这些令人不愉快的细节时，能保持一种就事论事的淡定态度，也因为她知道如何医治热带溃疡之类的疾病，直到我想起来，这位姑娘自己也曾经在马来亚当过日本人的俘虏。“真是该死，运气糟透了，溃疡扩散得快一些就好了，”她冷冷地说，“如果截了肢，他们就会让他从铁路上撤下来，那就不会得脑型疟疾或者霍乱了。”

“他肯定有一副很强健的体格，才能熬了那么久。”

“他没有，”她很肯定地说，“唐纳德总是咳嗽啊、感冒啊什么的。他有的是极强的幽默感。就因为这一点，我总以为他能够挺过来。不管遇到什么事情，他都能拿来开玩笑。”

我年轻的时候，姑娘们都不懂霍乱或者大面积溃疡，所以我不知道应该怎样回答她。我把话题转回到法律事务上——我这方面的知识更巩固——告诉她遗嘱认证的进展情况。不久，我带她下楼，一起坐出租车去俱乐部吃晚饭。

那是我们第一次晚上出去吃饭，我有充足的理由要好好款待一下她。很明显，接下来几年我将会经常和她打交道，加深对她的了解很有必要。实际上，当时我对她受教育的情况和人生背景一无所知，比如说，她对于热带疾病的丰富知识就让我感到很困惑。我想请她吃一顿不错的晚饭，请她喝一点酒，让她多说一些话。如果我了解她的兴趣爱好和思维方式，托管工作会变得容易很多。所以我带她到俱乐部的淑女馆餐厅，一个相当不错的地方。在那里我们可以不受音乐打扰，饭后在安静的环境中慢慢聊。普通餐厅混乱嘈杂，会使我无精打采，疲惫不堪。

我告诉她洗手间的位置。在她梳洗的时候，我给她点了一杯雪利酒。看见她向我走来，我从客厅的桌子旁边站起身，递给她一根香烟，并替她点着。“周末干什么了？”她坐下来的时候我问她，“出去庆祝了吗？”

她摇摇头。“我没做什么特别的事情。我之前约了办公室的一个女孩儿周六一起吃午饭，去可胜街看贝蒂·戴维斯的新电影。一切按计划进行。”

“有没有告诉她你的当头红运？”

她摇摇头。“谁我都没告诉。”她顿了顿，抿了一口雪利酒。她抽烟和喝酒的动作都相当娴熟。“听起来太不可思议了，”她笑着说，“我都不知道该不该相信那是真的。”

我向她微微一笑。“任何事情在发生前都不会成为现实，”我说，“你会相信这是真的，当我给你寄去第一张支票的时候。不过，在那之前，如果太把它当回事，就大错特错了。”

“我没有，”她笑道，“不过我能确定一件事。我相信你不会把时间浪费在一件毫无意义的事情上。”

“一点不假。”我顿了顿，“再过几个月，你就能拿到托管财产的收益了，每个月的税后收入是七十五英镑。你有没有想过到时要做什么？应该不会还想继续做手头这份工作了吧？”

“不了……”她盯着袅袅升起的香烟烟雾，“其实我不想停止工作。我一点也不介意在帕克和利维公司继续工作下去，就像什么都没发生过一样，如果那是一份很有意义的工作的话，”她说，“不过——唉，它不是。我们生产女装鞋子和手提包，斯特拉坎先生，还有专门用于高端贸易的精装小提箱——就是那种在邦德街的商店里卖三十基尼(10)一个的箱子，只有那些钱多得没处花的蠢女人才会买。我们还定做用珍稀皮革制成的小化妆包，反正净是那一类玩意儿。如果是为了谋生，在那种地方也还干得下去，了解一下那方面的贸易也很有意思。”

“当你还处在学习阶段的时候，大部分的工作都很有趣。”我说。

她转向我。“是这样的。我在那里过得挺快乐的。但是我现在有钱了，情况就不一样了。人应该做更有意义的事情，但我现在还没想到该做什么。”她又喝了一点雪利酒，“您瞧，我没有一技之长，只会速记、打字和一点簿记。我从没正儿八经上过学——我是指职业技术学校，拿一个学位什么的那种。”

我想了想。“我可以问你一个比较私人的问题吗，佩吉特小姐？”

“当然了。”

“你觉得你短期内会结婚吗？”

她微微一笑。“不，斯特拉坎先生。我觉得我甚至都不会结婚。当然了，话不能说得太绝对，但是——我觉得不会。”

我没有对此作出评论，只是点点头。“好吧，那你有没有想过要攻读一个大学学位？”

她睁大双眼。“不会的——我从没想过。我做不来，斯特拉坎先生。我不够聪明，考不上大学。”她顿了顿，“我一直成绩中等，而且连中学六年级(11)都没上过。”

“这只是我的一个想法而已，”我说，“我想知道它会不会引起你的兴趣。”

她摇摇头。“我现在没法再回去上学了。我太老了。”

我向她微微一笑。“也不至于老成那样了。”我说。

不知怎的，这个小小的奉承好像并没能令她愉快。“每次我拿自己和办公室里的姑娘们作比较，”她轻声说，不带任何开玩笑的口吻，“我就知道我已经差不多七十岁了。”

我似乎开始了解她了。不过为了使气氛变得轻松一些，我提议先吃晚饭。点好菜后，我说：“请告诉我你在战争中的遭遇。你当时在马来亚，是吗？”

她点点头。“我当时有一份办公室的工作，在霹雳一家种植园公司上班。我父亲原来就在那里工作，唐纳德也是那里的员工。”

“你遇到什么事情了？”我问道，“成为了战俘？”

“算是吧。”她说。

“在战俘营里？”

“没有，”她回答，“他们让我们过得挺自由的。”然后她果断地转移了话题，说道，“您呢，斯特拉坎先生？一直在伦敦吗？”

如果她不愿意提及战争经历的话，我不能够强迫她。于是我告诉她我的经历——原原本本地。不久，我发现我在跟她谈我的两个儿子，在中国军事驻地的哈利和在巴士拉的马丁，他们的战争记录、家庭和孩子。“我已经当了三次爷爷了，”我幽幽地说，“相信不久就会再当一次。”

她笑道：“那种感觉怎么样？”

“还跟以前一样，”我告诉她，“不管年纪多大，感觉都是一样的。只是，能做的事情越来越少了。”

不久我又把话题引回她身上。我向她描述了与九百英镑的年收入相符合的生活状态。我举了个例子，她可以在德文郡买一套乡村别墅和一辆小车，雇一个女仆，用剩下的钱作海外旅行。“在找到一个新的人生目标之前，我不知道应该干什么，”她说，“我一直在为某个目标努力着，一辈子都这样。”

我知道有几个慈善组织正等待着上帝的恩赐——从天而降一个不收工资的速记员，就问她要不要考虑一下，但她似乎觉得这种幻想是需要批评的。“如果一件事物有价值，自然就是有价钱的，”她说，显示出强烈的商业本能，“这个世界不需要一个白干活的秘书。”

“慈善组织喜欢把日常开支维持在低水平。”我说。

“如果一个组织连秘书都请不起的话，我不认为它能为社会做什么贡献，”她说，“我希望能够为一个真正有价值的目标而奋斗。”

我向她介绍一份医院的社工工作，她非常感兴趣。“这比较像了，斯特拉坎先生，”她说，“是那种值得为之付出时间精力的工作。但我不想和病人打交道。不知道您是否觉得自己对病人有一份天生的责任，我是不觉得的。不过这份工作值得考虑。”

“嗯，慢慢来吧，”我说，“不必着急去做任何事情。”

她向我笑道：“我相信您的座右铭就是——三思而后行。”

我微笑道：“比它糟糕的座右铭有的是。”

喝完饭后咖啡，我带她去艺术馆试探她的艺术造诣。她对音乐一窍不通，除了喜欢一边听收音机一边做女红；也不懂文学，除了爱看有着欢喜结局的小说；她喜欢看名画的复制品，她叫得出名字的那些，但从未去过皇家艺术学院；她还完全是个雕刻盲。作为一个生活在伦敦，年收入九百英镑的女士，竟然毫无艺术和社交修养，这在我看来多少有点遗憾。

“你是否愿意找个晚上去看场歌剧？”我问。

她微笑道：“我能看得懂吗？”

“噢，你会看得懂的。我去查一下最近有什么可以看的，尽量挑简单易懂的英文剧。”

她说：“您愿意邀请我真是太好了，但是我觉得，您还不如去打桥牌，那样您会快乐得多。”

“完全不是这样，”我说，“我很多年没去看过歌剧什么的了。”

她微微一笑。“好吧。我当然很乐意去，”她说，“我长这么大，还没去看过歌剧呢。我甚至都不知道歌剧是怎么演的。”

我们坐在艺术馆里闲谈这些事情，不觉一个多小时过去了，转眼已经九点半，她起身要走。回到她在郊区的房间要走三刻钟，先要去圣詹姆斯公园车站坐车。我送她去车站，因为——怎么能让这么年轻漂亮的姑娘独自一人穿过深夜的公园呢？在车站，我们站在阴暗潮湿的人行道上，车站顶棚灯火通明。她向我伸出手。

“真是太感谢您了，斯特拉坎先生。谢谢您的晚饭，还有您正在为我做的一切。”她说。

“我很荣幸，佩吉特小姐。”我回答，并不是客套话。

她迟疑了一下，然后微笑着说：“斯特拉坎先生，我们以后还要经常打交道。我的名字是琴。您要一直叫我佩吉特小姐的话，我会受不了的。”

“你无法教会老狗新把戏。”我尴尬地说。

她笑道：“您刚才还说，不管年纪多大，感觉都是一样的。请您尝试一下。”

“谨遵教诲。”我说，“你确定现在一个人回去就可以了吗？”

“当然了。晚安，斯特拉坎先生。”

“晚安，”我说，把我的帽子举起来，逃避离别的场面，“我会约你去看话剧。”

在接下来等待遗嘱公证审核的几周里，我带她去了许多地方。我们一起去阿尔伯特音乐厅看了几场周日下午上演的歌剧，还去美术馆看了几次画展。作为回报，她带我去看了几场电影。我不敢说她因此就养成了高雅的艺术欣赏水平。她喜欢绘画多于音乐会。如果一定要去欣赏音乐的话，她更愿意选择歌剧，而且越简单轻松越好。当耳朵被音乐灌满的时候，她不喜欢让眼睛也闲着。我们去了两次皇家植物园，因为春天的脚步越发近了。在此期间，她到我在白金汉门的公寓做过几次客。我告诉她厨房的位置，有几次一同外出归来后，她在那里沏茶。我从未在那所公寓里招待过任何姑娘，除了我的儿媳妇——她来伦敦办事的时候，会在空房间里住一两晚。

她的事情终于在三月份都办妥了。我给她寄去了第一张支票。她并没有马上辞去工作，而是像往常一样继续去上班。她很聪明，打算在靠这笔额外收入生活之前，先用它攒起一笔小小的资本。况且那会儿她也还没有找到新的人生目标。

四月的一个星期天，我为她安排了一次短途旅游。她将在中午的时候过来公寓吃饭，然后和我一起去南面的汉普顿宫。她从未去过汉普顿宫，但我想她一定会喜欢那里的古雅宫殿和明丽春花，我为此兴奋了好几天，对这次旅行充满期待。然后，当然——那天下雨了。

她午饭前来到了公寓，拿着一把湿淋淋的雨伞，雨水顺着深蓝色的雨衣流淌下来。我帮她脱去外套，挂在厨房里。她进空房间收拾了一下，再到起居室里来，和我一起站在窗前，看着雨打在对面的皇家马厩上，考虑当天下午可以做什么别的事情。

饭后，我们在壁炉前坐下来喝咖啡，还没做好决定下午要做什么。我提议了一两件事情，但她好像有点心不在焉。喝完咖啡后，她终于说道：

“我已经决定第一步要做什么了，斯特拉坎先生。”

“噢，”我问，“是什么？”

她犹豫了一下。“我知道您会觉得这很奇怪。您可能会觉得我很愚蠢，把钱花在这上面。但是——嗯，这就是我想做的事情。我想最好在出门之前告诉您。”

坐在壁炉前既温暖又舒适。外面天色阴沉，雨倾盆而下，拍打着湿答答的人行道。

“别这样说，琴，”我回答，“我不会觉得你愚蠢的。你想做什么呢？”

她说：“我想回马来亚，斯特拉坎先生，去挖一口井。”

————————————————————

(1) 伊拉克最大的港口城市。

(2) 伦敦街道名，在白金汉宫附近。

(3) 马来亚海滨市镇。

(4) 也称科尔温湾，英国海滨小镇。

(5) 根据历史记载，日军1942年1月攻陷吉隆坡，新加坡的英军于1942年2月向日军投降，日军从此控制马来亚全境，直至1945年9月投降。

(6) 英国的中央银行。

(7) 制糖工业的副产品，非常黏稠。

(8) 英国培育的一种品质优良的苹果，皮色橙黄至橙红。

(9) 在泰缅边界上。

(10) 英国旧时金币，1基尼等于21先令。

(11) 相当于我国高三年级。

第二章

如果我没有记错的话，在她说完那句话之后，我们陷入了长久的沉默。我惊呆了。当不知道可以说什么的时候，我习惯性地躲进沉默中去。我想她从我的沉默中读出了责备之意，所以她向我倾过身子，说：“我知道这件事情听起来确实有点滑稽。可不可以先让我告诉您，我为什么要这么做？”

我说：“当然了。是否跟你的战时经历有关？”

她点点头。“我从未跟您提起过。不是不想提，是想不起来。那么久远，就像是多年前发生在另一个人身上的事情一样——仿佛我并没有亲身经历过，只是书上的故事。”

“这样难道不是更好吗？”

她摇摇头。“现在不是了，因为这笔钱。”她顿了顿，“您对我太好了，”她说，“我真的很想试着让您理解我的决定。”

她说，她的人生可以分成三个部分。前两部分与余者有天壤之别，现在已经很难在她身上找到它们的影子。最开始的时候，她是一名学生，和母亲一同住在南安普敦近郊一所有三间卧室的小房子里。此前他们曾全家住在马来亚，但后来，当她长到十一岁，哥哥唐纳德十四岁时，母亲带着兄妹俩回到了英格兰。马来亚的生活对她而言，只是一些残存的模糊片段。显然，亚瑟·佩吉特去世的时候，妻小都在英格兰，他是孤身一人在马来亚。

他们的生活和普通郊区英国小孩并无二致。他们上学、放假，生活简单，节奏柔和。每年八月迎来一个激动人心的三周假期，去怀特岛(1)

上的海景村或者弗雷什沃特。但有一件事情使他们跟其他家庭不太一样，就是他们都会说马来语。当然，是保姆教会孩子们说马来语的，母亲则鼓励他们在英国也一直说下去。一开始，他们只是说着好玩，当作家庭秘密语言，但后来马来语成了一件严肃的事情。亚瑟·佩吉特在怡保附近驾车一头撞到树上时，正在因公出差途中。他的遗孀根据公司计划获得了一份年金。他能力出众，是一个宝贵的人才。马来亚霹雳种植有限公司的董事们痛失英才，一面又求贤心切，便写信给这位遗孀说，等唐纳德一满十九岁就为他安排一个职位。这是一份美差，琴一家上下都很欢喜。这就意味着唐纳德长大后要去马来亚投身橡胶种植事业。马来语是帮助他顺利打开局面的重要技能，因为在去东方寻找人生第一份工作的十九岁男孩中，会说当地语言的实在是凤毛麟角。那位精明的苏格兰女士，他们的母亲，时刻谨记不能让孩子们忘了马来语。

她非常喜欢南安普敦，在那里度过了一个愉快的童年，宁静的生活在连接着家、学校、帝王影院和溜冰场的轨道上悠然往复。她记得最清楚的是溜冰场，而每当想起溜冰场，就总是仿佛能听见瓦尔特费尔的溜冰圆舞曲。“那真是一个美妙的地方，”她望着火炉，似乎那里跳动着一团温暖朦胧的回忆，“我想，它算不上气派，真的——我想它是一栋木楼，在一战时建造的，后来改作了溜冰场。记忆中，我们每周在那里大约溜两次冰，每次都非常愉快。那里的音乐，干净迅速的动作，所有的男孩和女孩。荧光灯，人群，还有滑冰道。我溜得还不赖。妈妈给我买了一套衣服——黑色的紧身衣和紧身马甲，还有一条小短裙。在冰上跳舞感觉真的很棒……”

她转向我。“您知道吗，在马来亚，在我们被疟疾和痢疾折磨得死去活来，在雨里发着烧打着冷战，没有衣服，没有食物，无处可去，因为没人想要我们的时候，我就会想起南安普敦的溜冰场。那是过去生活的象征，提醒我生活曾经如此美好——告诉我不要放弃。”她顿了顿，“一回到英国，我马上就回到了南安普敦，迫不及待地——我要去那里处理点事情，但是实际上是因为在那些年里，我曾对自己发誓，总有一天，我一定要回去，再在那里滑冰。但是它遭到了空袭，只剩下一个焦黑的、千疮百孔的外壳。现在南安普敦已经没有溜冰场了。我站在人行道上，让出租车在后面等着，拿着靴子和溜冰鞋，情不自禁地因为失望而失声大哭。不知道出租车司机怎么看我。”

她的哥哥1937年去了马来亚，那年琴十六岁。她十七岁时离开了学校，去了南安普敦的一个商学院，集中学习六个月后，拿到了速记员的文凭。然后她在镇上一个律师事务所工作了大约一年。这一年，她去马来亚工作的事情渐渐有了眉目。她的母亲一直和霹雳种植园公司的董事长保持联系，这位董事长对经理关于唐纳德的汇报非常满意。马来亚的未婚姑娘为数不多，所以当佩吉特太太跟董事长联系，请求他为琴在吉隆坡总部找一份工作的时候，公司认真地考虑了这个请求。公司上下都不想看到他们的经理跟当地女人通婚或者订婚，要想避免这个结局，一个显而易见的方法就是鼓励未婚女孩从英格兰过来工作。现在，这个女孩不仅来自他们熟悉的家庭，还会说马来语，这在从英国来的速记员中是一种罕见的本领。于是琴获得了这份工作。

这一切都准备妥当后，战争爆发了。一开始，在英国人们都认为这只是一次假战争，不会真的打起来。似乎并没有理由为了一件这么微不足道的事情阻碍了琴的大好前程。而且在佩吉特太太看来，如果战争突然在英国打起来的话，琴待在马来亚要比留在国内好得多。所以琴在1939年的冬天出发去了马来亚。

在刚到马来亚的十八个月里，她的生活妙不可言。办公室就在秘书处附近。秘书处是一栋巨楼，建得非常宽敞气派，有意宣示英国统治者的力量。它占据了所在广场的一整面，这个广场隔着板球场与俱乐部相望，另一面有一个堪称完美典范的英国乡村教堂。这里的热带气候温和舒适，每个人都过着典型的英国式生活：充足的闲暇，玩不完的游戏，开不完的派对，跳不完的舞会，有大量仆人供他们使唤，帮助他们操办这一切。刚到马来亚那几周，琴和公司的一个经理一起住，后来在都铎玫瑰旅馆找到了一个房间。那是一个英国女人开的小型私人旅馆，很多在办公室和秘书处工作的未婚姑娘都住在那里，就跟单身宿舍差不多。

“好得让人难以置信，”她说，“每个晚上都有舞会或者派对。如果你不拒绝邀请，就连写封信回家的时间都没有。”

日本南下进攻东南亚的消息传来时，她并未感到情势危急，周围一切也平静如常。1941年12月7日，美国被迫参战，似乎也是一个好消息。在吉隆坡举行的派对并没有什么异样，除了年轻小伙儿们开始请假不上班，穿上了军装，而这本身就让人感到一种愉悦的兴奋。甚至当日本人在马来亚北部登陆时，吉隆坡的英国人也还安之若素。延绵三百英里的大山和森林本身就是一道天然屏障，能抵抗从北部而来的侵略。威尔士亲王号战列舰和反击号战列巡洋舰的沉没虽然表明事态严重，但对一个刚拒绝了生平第一次求婚的十九岁女孩来说，是不值一提的。

很快，至少在理论上，所有已婚妇女和她们的孩子都已被撤离到新加坡。当日本军队采取迅速迂回绕行的战术，穿越了那片从未被任何军队征服过的森林，向半岛南下推进的时候，人们开始意识到情况的严重性。一天，琴的主任梅里曼先生把她叫到办公室，开门见山地告诉她办事处要关门了。她必须马上收拾好行李，去火车站坐第一趟火车南下新加坡。他给了她一个公司代理人的地址，在莱佛士广场附近，让她去那里报到，要求放她通行回国。另外五个姑娘也收到了相同的命令。

那时，有报告说日本人已经逼近怡保，仅在北方大约一百英里处。

城里一片风声鹤唳。琴到银行取出她所有的积蓄，大约六百马来亚元。她没有去火车站，但即使去了也不一定能坐上南下新加坡的火车，因为那时铁路上已经挤满了开赴前线的军队和物资。她本可以从公路逃走，却错失良机，去了巴图塔斯克找霍兰太太。

巴图塔斯克距吉隆坡约二十英里。霍兰先生今年四十岁，是一个露天锡矿的经理，一家人住在锡矿边上一间舒适的平房里。他的妻子叫艾琳，三个孩子分别是七岁的弗雷迪、四岁的简和只有十个月大的罗宾。艾琳·霍兰是一个平易近人的慈母，三十到三十五岁。霍兰一家从不参加派对和舞会，他们不喜欢那种场面。他们总是安静地待在家里，任凭世事变迁。琴刚到马来亚的时候，他们邀请她到家里做客。琴觉得和这家人待在一起非常轻松自在，后来又去了好几次。有一次，她刚得完轻微的登革热，在他们家住了一个星期，静心休养。前一天在吉隆坡的时候，她听说霍兰先生带家人去了车站，但是没能坐上火车，又回家了。琴觉得她不能抛下霍兰一家，她必须带着那几个孩子一起走。艾琳·霍兰是一个好母亲，也是一流的家庭主妇，但现在兵荒马乱，要她独自带着三个孩子逃难，她应付不来。

没费多大力气，琴就搭上了当地一辆开往巴图塔斯克的公共汽车。她大约在午饭时间到达，发现霍兰太太单独和孩子们在一起。矿上所有卡车和轿车都被军队带走了，霍兰一家只剩下那辆破旧的奥斯丁十二，其中一只轮胎磨损严重，帆布层都露了出来，另外一只的内壁很可疑地鼓起一个大包。这是他们唯一的交通工具，要靠它撤离，但它看起来根本就无法把全家人送到新加坡去。霍兰先生黎明前出发到吉隆坡去找两个外胎，到现在还没回来，霍兰太太焦急万分、坐卧不宁。

屋子里一片混乱。保姆回家了，或者正在外出办事。满屋子都是半收拾好的手提箱，或者是收拾好又打开了的。弗雷迪一直在池塘里玩耍，浑身是泥；简坐在便壶上，在许多手提箱中间哭个不停。霍兰太太正在一边给婴儿罗宾喂奶，一边指挥仆人做午饭，同时又要顾着简，心里还惦记着丈夫。琴先帮弗雷迪擦干净身子，再去照顾简。不久他们就坐在一起吃午饭了。

比尔·霍兰差不多日落时分才回来，两手空空。吉隆坡所有的轮胎储备都被强行征募了。不过，他发现有一辆当地的公共汽车第二天早上八点会去新加坡，就给家人订了座。回程的最后五英里，他只能步行，因为实在找不到交通工具了。在热带正午的酷热中，在柏油碎石路上徒步五英里，可不是一件开玩笑的事情。他浑身上下都湿透了，渴得要命，整个人都虚脱了。

他们本应当晚就出发去吉隆坡，但是晚上军队封锁了道路，而且，开着这辆奥斯丁在黑暗中四处乱撞，神经过敏的哨兵很可能会向他们开枪。他们决定黎明动身，留出充足的时间，确保在八点前到达吉隆坡。琴当晚跟他们一起待在平房里，一夜辗转无眠。半夜时她听见比尔·霍兰起身出去走廊上。透过蚊帐，她能看见他一动不动地站着，望着星星。她从蚊帐底下爬出去，穿上晨衣——在马来亚，人们睡觉时几乎不穿衣服。她沿着门廊走到他身旁。“怎么了？”她轻声说。

“没什么，”他说，“只是好像听见了什么声音。就这样。”

“有人在院子里？”

“不，不是那样。”

“那是什么？”

“我觉得我听到了枪声，在很远的地方，”他说，“可能是幻觉吧。”他们紧张地站着，在一片蛐蛐和青蛙的叫声中，努力寻找另一种声音。“上帝，”过了一会儿他说，“让黎明快点降临吧。”

他们回去睡觉。那晚，日军先头侦察部队潜入了在美罗驻扎的英军后方，并且渗透至仕林河，离他们仅有不到五十英里远。

他们黎明前就全都起来了，趁着第一缕灰色的光线往奥斯丁上装行李。三个成年人，三个小孩，还有他们所有的行李，把奥斯丁装得满满的。霍兰先生给男仆们结清工资，就出发南下吉隆坡。但是才开出不到两英里，那个露出帆布的车胎就爆了。他们被迫停下来，紧张万分，大家七手八脚把备胎——那个内壁上鼓起来一块儿的轮胎——换上。但这个轮胎只支撑了半英里。霍兰先生绝望地继续往前开，光秃秃的钢丝轮只跑了两英里就坏了。这样奥斯丁就完全走不动了。他们那时离吉隆坡还有十五英里远，而时间已经是七点半了。

霍兰先生把他们留在车里，自己匆忙跑下马路。大约一英里开外，有一间种植园平房。但他没有在那里找到交通工具，经理前一天就离开了。他绝望而焦急地返回来，发现孩子们烦躁不安，妻子则只想回到自己的平房去。在这种情况下，似乎没有其他更好的选择了。于是，每个大人带一个小孩，背着、抱着或牵着，走了五英里回家。他们把行李锁在车里。

他们在热气刚刚开始袭来的时候到家，筋疲力尽。他们从冰箱里拿出几瓶冰镇饮料，喝完便躺下休息。一个小时后，一辆卡车停在平房前，把他们惊醒了。一个年轻军官匆忙走进来。

“你们一定要离开这里，”他说，“上车，我搭你们。你们有几个人？”

琴说：“六个，算上孩子。您可以把我们带去吉隆坡吗？我们的车子坏了。”

军官冷笑道：“不行。日本兵已经到吉宁了，或者说，在我最后一次听到他们消息的时候，他们已经在那里了。他们现在可能已经进一步南下了。”吉宁离这里只有二十英里。“我带你们去帕农吧，那里有去新加坡的船。”他拒绝开车去取他们的行李，也许他是对的。那辆卡车上已经装了好多个没能及时撤离的家庭，而奥斯丁在五英里外，敌人方向。

瓜拉是河口的意思，瓜拉帕农则是位于帕农河口的一个小镇。那里有一个常驻地区委员。到达他的办公室时，卡车上有被迫撤离的四十个男人、女人和孩子，都是在经过沿路庄园时捎上的。大部分是出身相对卑微的英国女性，锡矿工程师长或者铁路领班的妻子，没几个能意识到日军推进的迅速和危险。种植园经理、秘书处职员和其他政府职员消息更灵通，也更富有，都及时把家人转移到了新加坡。这些自己没走成，最后一刻才搭上卡车的人，都是最无能的。

卡车在地区委员的办公室前停下来，陆军中尉走了进去。地区委员不久走了出来，这位男士一脸担忧地看着这群拥挤的妇女和儿童，以及当中寥寥几个男士。“天啊。”他轻声说，知道这个新担子有多重。“这样，把他们载到那边会计办公室去，命令他们坐在门廊上等一两个小时，我去想想办法。告诉他们别到处乱跑。”他转身返回办公室。“我想我可以把他们送到渔船上，”他说，“正好有几条闲置着。这就算仁至义尽了，我没有大汽艇。”

这群人被扔在会计办公室的门廊里。他们可以在那里做做伸展运动，活动活动筋骨。办公室里有自来水，门廊阴凉清爽。琴和比尔·霍兰把艾琳留在门廊上，让她带着孩子背靠墙坐下，两人结伴进村，把能买的东西都买下来，代替丢失的行李。他们找到一个给婴儿用的奶瓶，一点奎宁，一些治疗痢疾的盐，两罐饼干和三听肉罐头。他们想买蚊帐，但蚊帐已经卖光了。琴买了一些新针线，看见一个大帆布背袋，也买了下来。随后三年里，她一直背着那个袋子。

大约在下午茶时间，他们回到门廊，向霍兰太太展示购买成果，并吃了一点肉，喝了一些柠檬水。

日落时分，河口的灯塔守卫打电话到地区委员办公室，报告说巨鹗号正在进河。巨鹗号是海关的大汽艇，负责在海岸巡逻，搜寻从苏门答腊岛出发，偷越马六甲海峡作案的走私客。她是一艘柴油内燃船，大约有一百三十英尺长，平时驻扎在槟榔屿，强而有力，可用于远洋航行。地区委员的脸放光了——这就能解决他的问题。不管巨鹗号的任务是什么，她都必须捎上这些撤离者，带着他们沿海岸线南下，脱离险境。不久他离开办公室，走到码头上，打算在她进港时上船跟船长会面。

她出现在河的转弯处。他看见她装满了军队——矮胖的小个子男人，穿着灰绿色的军装，装备着来复枪，拿着比他们还要高的刺刀。怀着沉痛的心情，他看着她沿河驶过来，知道这就是他所有努力的终点。

日本人冲上岸，马上逮捕了他，用枪指着他的后背，押着他走上防波堤，随时准备给他一枪——哪怕只是遇到最轻微的抵抗。但那里根本就没有能够抵抗的部队，就连开卡车的军官也已经把车开走了，去找他自己的分队。日本士兵们迅速散开，没费一颗子弹就占据了整个驻地。他们来到撤离者们面前，这些人乖乖地坐在门廊上，呆若木鸡。日本兵立刻举起来复枪和刺刀对准他们，命令他们交出所有自来水笔、腕表和戒指。在男同伴们的劝说下，女士们默默地照做了，避免了遭受进一步的折磨。琴失去了她的腕表。士兵们搜查她的背包，想看看有没有自来水笔，但是她把自来水笔装在了行李里。

不久，夜幕降临，一个军官走过来，用一盏防风灯检查门廊上这群人。他沿门廊走着，把灯猛地塞到他们面前，两名士兵紧随其后，拿着上好膛的来复枪和寒光闪闪的刺刀。大部分孩子都哭了。检查结束后，他用蹩脚的英语发表了一个小小的演讲。“你们现在是俘虏，”他说，“你们今晚留在这里。你们明天去战俘营，也许。你们做好事情，对命令遵守，你们会从日本军人收到食物。你们做坏事情，你们就被马上射死。所以，总是做好事情。军官来的时候，你们站起来，鞠躬，每次都要。那就是好事情。你们现在去睡觉。”

其中一个男士问道：“请问有床和蚊帐吗？”

“日本军人没有床，没有蚊帐。你们可能明天有床和蚊帐。”

另外一个说：“我们可以吃点晚饭吗？”这个需要解释一下。“食物。”

“明天你们有食物。”军官离开了，留下两个哨兵把守门廊两头。

瓜拉帕农位于一个长满红树林的沼泽地区内，在一条浑浊河流的入口，所以蚊子极多。孩子们整个晚上都在不停地呻吟，焦躁地哭泣，闹得大人们也没法睡觉。他们躺在硬邦邦的门廊地板上，长夜漫漫，令人厌烦。被囚禁、吃败仗、受蚊子折磨，重重痛苦压在身上，没有几个人能睡着。刚开始的时候，琴眯瞪了一会儿，不久便醒来，浑身僵硬疼痛，脸和手臂都被蚊子咬肿了。她听到孩子们又突然大闹起来，知道在黎明前蚊子的攻击将变得更密集、更凶猛。当天边终于绽放出第一道曙光的时候，俘虏们的状态都非常糟糕。

会计办公室后面有一个公共厕所，但是人太多不够用。他们尽量相互协调，勉强解决了如厕问题。接下来，他们无事可做，只好干坐着，听天由命。霍兰和艾琳用罐头肉和甜饼干给孩子们做了一些三明治。吃了这顿简单的早饭后，大家感觉好了一些。很多人随身带着少量食物，并分给没带食物的人。那天早上日本人什么都没给他们吃。

上午九十点钟的时候，审讯开始了。士兵把每个家庭轮流带进地区委员办公室。办公室里有一个日本陆军大尉——琴过后知道他叫阳丹，大尉身旁坐着一个陆军中尉。中尉把笔记写在一本儿童临摹练习本上。琴和霍兰一家一起进去，当大尉问她是谁的时候，她解释说她是这个家庭的朋友，和他们结伴旅行，并说她在吉隆坡工作。审讯很快就结束了。最后大尉说：“男人今天去战俘营，女人和孩子留在这里。男人下午就走，所以你们现在跟他们道别，直到下午。谢谢。”

他们一直害怕日本兵把他们分开，也在门廊上讨论过此事，但没想到会这么快。霍兰先生问：“我可以知道你们会把女人和孩子们送到哪里去吗？他们的战俘营在哪里？”

军官说：“日本皇军不会在妇女们和孩子们身上打仗。也许不去战俘营，如果他们做好事。也许他们回家。日本军人总是对女人们和孩子们好。”

他们回到门廊上，和其他家庭一起讨论目前的情况。将男人和妇女儿童分别拘留是战时通常做法，他们不可能改变这个决定，但这仍然让他们难以承受。琴觉得，霍兰一家此时此刻并不需要她，便走开去，独自坐在门廊边上。她感到饿了。年轻的活力稍稍冲淡了眼下的抑郁忧愁。她在想，前路茫茫，有什么艰难困苦在等待着她？有一件摆在眼前的事：如果他们还要在门廊上过夜，必须找到一些驱蚊膏。北边的村子里有一家药剂店，他们前一天下午曾去过那儿，在这个地区应该有驱蚊膏卖。

她尝试引起哨兵的注意。她指指身上的蚊口，又指指那个村子，然后从门廊下来到地上。他马上举起刺刀指向她，她匆忙回到门廊上。这种做法明显行不通。他怀疑地向她大吼大叫，回到岗位上。

还有一个办法。公共厕所在大楼背后，靠着一面墙。那里没有哨兵，因为有墙挡住，不能从那里走出会计办公室，要出去就必须绕过大楼走到前面。过了一会儿，她起身走出后门，在大楼的掩护下，她东张西望。有一些孩子在不远处玩耍。

她轻声用马来语叫道：“姑娘！对，就是你，姑娘，过来一下。”

那个孩子向她走来。她大概十二岁，琴问：“你叫什么名字？”

她害羞得咯咯直笑：“哈里娅。”

琴说：“你知道那个药店吗，中国人开的？”

她点点头。“陈可欢记。”

琴说：“去找陈可欢。如果你把我的消息带给他，他过来找我，我就给你十分钱。告诉他有蚊子咬夫人们，”她给小姑娘看她的蚊口，“请他带一些药膏到门廊来，夫人们会买很多。快去，如果他带着药膏回来，我就给你十分钱。”

那个孩子点点头，跑走了。琴回到门廊等待，不久中国商人就出现了，拿着一个托盘，上面摆满了管装和罐装的药膏。他走向哨兵，向哨兵表示他想卖商品，哨兵犹豫了一下，最后还是同意了。琴买了六管防蚊膏，其他女士马上就把剩下的买走了。哈里娅拿到了十分钱。

不久一个当值的日本兵拿来两桶很稀的鱼汤和半桶米饭，脏兮兮的，让人直倒胃口。没有餐具，但他们除了尽量吃，也没有别的选择。战俘的生活方式要求严格平分所有食物，但那时他们还没习惯这种生活，所以有的人吃得比别人多很多，有的人吃得很少，还有的人根本就没吃上。不过，自带食物还没吃完，所以他们还可以靠饼干和其他私人储备来补充营养。

那天下午，男人们被迫与家人分离，被看守押走了。比尔·霍兰告别了他肥胖慈祥的妻子，眼睛湿润了。“再见，琴，”他沉重地说，“祝你好运。”又道，“请尽量不要扔下他们不管，好吗？”

琴点点头。“请放心。我们会进同一个战俘营。”

男人们站好队，一共七人，在看守的监押下离开了。

剩下的人里有十一位已婚女士，两位未婚姑娘——琴和一位死气沉沉的女孩埃伦·福布斯。埃伦一直跟其中一个家庭住在一起，她是来马来亚找结婚对象的，但不幸尚未成功。除了这些人外，还有十九个小孩，有大有小，从十四岁的女孩到仍在襁褓中的婴儿。加起来一共三十二人。大部分女人只会说英语，其中几个，包括艾琳·霍兰，可以用马来语来指挥她们的仆人，但再多的就不会了。

他们在会计办公室住了四十一天。

第二晚和第一晚很相似，但日本人把办公室的门都给打开了，把房间给他们使用。晚上，日本人送来第二顿鱼汤餐，但没有提供其他东西——没有床，没有毯子，也没有蚊帐。有些女人带着行李，所以有毯子，但数量实在是太少了，根本不够分。一个一脸严肃的女士，霍斯福尔太太，要求见军官。阳丹大尉来了，她抗议说条件太差，要求给他们提供床和蚊帐。

“没有床，没有蚊帐，”他说，“很抱歉。日本女人们睡在地板、草席上。所有日本人都睡草席。你丢掉骄傲的思想，很坏的东西。你睡在草席上，跟日本女人一样。”

“但我们是英国人，”她愤怒地说，“我们无法像动物一样睡在地面上！”

他的眼睛睁圆了。他向哨兵做了个手势，哨兵们冲进来，一人抓住霍斯福尔太太一条手臂，大尉狠狠地扇了她四巴掌。“很坏的思想。”他说，转身离开了他们。从此再没人提床的事情了。

第二天早上，阳丹来检查他们。霍斯福尔太太并没有因为昨天的事而畏首畏尾，她提出他们需要水。她指出，不仅是婴儿，他们每一个人都渴望洗澡。当天下午，有人把一个桶放进那间最小的办公室，请来一个苦力负责装水。他们把这个房间改装成浴室和洗衣间。刚开始的时候，大部分妇女还有钱，村子里的小贩效仿陈可欢把东西拿来卖给这些战俘，所以她们积攒起一些足以维持生存的生活必需品。

他们慢慢开始习惯这种艰苦的生活。孩子们很快就学会了毫无怨言地睡地板，年轻的女士们为此花的时间要多许多，三十岁以上的女士们则难得睡上半个小时而不被痛醒——但她们确实睡着了。阳丹大尉向他们解释说，要等到战役结束，获胜的日本人才有时间给女人们建一个战俘营。日本成功占领马来亚全境后，他们会搬进一个宽敞漂亮的战俘营，专门为他们在山区疗养胜地金马伦高原上修建的。那里有床和蚊帐，以及他们过惯了的舒适生活，但为了获得这一切乐趣，他们必须“做好事情”。“做好事情”意味着，每当看见他走近就要站起身鞠躬。在阳丹大尉扇了好几张脸，用军靴踢了好几次小腿后，他们都学会了“做好事情”。

日本兵提供的食物仅够勉强果腹，而且每顿都是一成不变的鱼汤和米饭，每天两顿。抱怨毫无用处，而且常常是危险的，在阳丹大尉看来，这些都是过于骄傲的思想，需要接受道德审查。然而，村子里有一间小中国餐馆可以提供饭菜。钱还没花光的时候，大部分家庭每天从那间餐馆预订一顿煮好的饭。

他们没有医生，也没有任何药物。一周后，痢疾袭击了他们。晚上一片混乱，孩子们尖叫着和母亲一起踉踉跄跄地跑进公共厕所。疟疾一直在流行，但是被他们从陈可欢记买到的奎宁控制住，尽管价钱一涨再涨。为了对付痢疾，阳丹大尉减少了汤量，增加了米饭的补给，在米饭里多放一些腐烂的干鱼——那些干鱼可能原来是用来熬汤的。另外，他往食谱里添加了一桶茶，每天下午送去，作为对英国生活习惯的一种让步。

在这段时间里，琴一直和霍兰太太分担照顾三个孩子的工作。她很虚弱，明显因饮食改变而引起的困乏也使她痛苦不堪，但她每晚都睡得很好，尽管频频醒来。艾琳·霍兰受的苦更多。她的年纪比琴大，在地板上很难入睡。她失去了大部分青春活力，迅速地消瘦了下去。

第三十五天，艾思梅·哈里森去世了。

艾思梅是一个八岁的小孩。她患了痢疾有一段时间了，变得骨瘦如柴，非常虚弱，基本不能入眠，常常哭泣。不久她发烧了，又得了疟疾，有两天烧到一百零四度(2)。霍斯福尔太太告诉阳丹大尉，必须给她找一个大夫，并送她去医院。他说很抱歉，但没有医院。他会试着去找一个医生，但医生们都在为皇军的胜利而努力战斗。当天晚上，艾思梅陷入了持续的抽搐状态，黎明前不久就去世了。

当天上午，她被埋葬在村子后面的穆斯林墓地里。她的母亲和另外一个女士被允许参加葬礼。在语言不通的日本兵和马来亚人面前，她们从祈祷书上给她读了一段祷文，葬礼就结束了。生活还像从前一样，在会计办公室继续下去。但是，死亡的阴影开始悄悄侵入孩子们的梦境了。

第六周末尾，阳丹大尉做完上午的检查后，和他们面对面站着。女人们全身湿透，精疲力竭地站在门廊的阴影中，面对着他，用手抓住自己的孩子。很多大人和大部分孩子到那时都已瘦骨嶙峋，病病歪歪。

他说：“女士们，日本皇军已经进入新加坡，整个马来亚都自由了。现在战俘营正在被建造给男人，还有女人们和孩子们。战俘营在新加坡，你们去那里。我很伤心你们的生活不舒服，但是现在好一些了。你们明天出发去吉隆坡，不会比你们每天能走的更多。你们从吉隆坡坐火车去新加坡，我想。在新加坡，你们会很开心。多谢。”

从帕农到吉隆坡有四十七英里远。理解他的话需要一点时间，然后霍斯福尔太太说：“我们怎样去吉隆坡？有卡车吗？”

他说：“很抱歉，没有卡车。你们走，轻松的旅程。不会多过你们每天能走的。日本军人帮助你们。”

她说：“带着这些孩子，我们没法步行。我们必须要有一辆卡车。”

这些是坏的思想。他的目光变得僵硬无情。“你们走。”他重复道。

“但是我们的行李怎么办？”

他说：“带上你们能够带的东西。不久行李就会给你们送过去。”话毕便转身离开。

那一天余下的时间里，她们陷在一种震惊的绝望中。那些有行李的人绝望地收拾着行李，她们想将生活必需品都打包带走，但又不想让包裹变得太沉。曾任女校长的霍斯福尔太太主动承担起领导的角色，在她们之间来回走动，向她们提供帮助，出各种各样的主意。她只带着一个十岁的男孩约翰，所以她的情况比大部分人要好，因为对于一个女人来说，携带一个十岁男孩儿的必需品上路并不会很费力。有些年轻母亲带着好几个孩子，她们面临的处境要艰难得多。

琴和霍兰太太面临的问题小一些，她们丢过一次行李，所以现有的东西不多，也不必花许多心思东挑西拣。她们几乎没有可以换的衣服，仅有的几件可以轻易地放进琴的背包。她们买到了两张毯子和三个饭碗，还有三个汤匙。于是她们决定用毯子把这些小东西捆起来，然后用一条绳子捆住毯子，并利用这条绳子做背带，这样一个人就可以同时背一个背袋和一个毯子包裹。她们最大的问题是鞋，这些鞋都很时髦，但很不适合走远路。

傍晚时分，孩子们都不在身边，她们俩抱着婴儿独自坐在角落里。霍兰太太轻声说：“亲爱的，我不该说泄气话，但是我想我走不了那么远。我最近身体状况很糟糕。”

琴说：“会好的。”虽然在内心深处，她也知道事实并非如此。“你比我们其中一些人健壮得多，”这倒可能是真的，“我们会慢慢地走，因为孩子们。我们会走好几天。”

“我知道，亲爱的。但我们在哪里过夜？他们会给我们安排住宿吗？”

没人能回答。

黎明后不久米饭就送来了。八点钟的时候，阳丹大尉和四个士兵一起出现，这四个士兵将担任这次旅途的看守。“今天你们走去亚逸彭吉斯，”他说，“天气好，旅途很轻松。到达亚逸彭吉斯你们就有好晚饭。你们会很高兴。”

琴问霍斯福尔太太：“亚逸彭吉斯离这里有多远？”

“我觉得有十二到十五英里吧。我们当中有些人还没有走过那么远的路呢。”

琴说：“最好和士兵们一样，每小时休息一下，是不是？”

“如果他们允许。”

一个小时后，最后一个孩子终于上完厕所，女人们也终于做好了远行的准备。看守们蹲在那里，出发后他们就轻松多了。最后，阳丹大尉又出现了，他的眼光冷酷无情，充满愤怒。“你们现在就走，”他说，“还留下的女人们被打，打得厉害。你们做好事情才会高兴。现在就走。”

没有办法，他们只好启程了。他们三三两两一组，在烈日下沿着柏油路南行，每遇到树荫就躲进去。琴跟霍兰太太一起走，把最热也是最重的负担——毯子包裹挂在肩上，手牵着四岁的简。七岁的弗雷迪跟在母亲旁边走，霍兰太太抱着婴儿罗宾，背着背包。一个日军中士缓步走在最前面，三个士兵殿后。

妇女们走得很慢。每当一个母亲带着孩子撤进灌木丛，整个队伍就要停下来，这种情况频繁发生。根本不需要向看守提一个小时休息一次的问题，因为痢疾让它变得毫无意义。对于没有受到痢疾困扰的人来讲，旅途变得没完没了，基本上成了一个在烈日下站在路边等待的过程，因为中士不允许队伍抛下落伍的人继续前进。在他们的职责范围内，日本士兵还是很人道和很能帮忙的，他们每个人都帮忙抱着一个孩子走了很远的路。

这一天过得很慢。中士一开始就说得很清楚，在他们到达亚逸彭吉斯之前，一路上没有食物，也没有遮阴处，而且他似乎并不关心要走多久。这一天他们的时速不超过一英里半。走着走着，女士们都开始觉得脚疼，尤其是年纪大一些的女士。她们的鞋子都不适合走远路，柏油路的热气让她们的脚都肿起来了，所以不久很多人就因为脚疼而变得一瘸一拐的。有一些孩子赤着脚走，倒也走得很顺畅。琴观察了一段时间，弯下身把鞋脱掉，小心地用光脚感受陌生的路面。她开始光着脚走，把鞋子拿在手里，仔细地看着路。虽然柏油沙子还时不时刺痛她柔软的脚底，但脚已经不疼了。她觉得光着脚走更舒服，但是艾琳·霍兰拒绝尝试。

那天晚上六点钟，天马上要黑的时候，他们跌跌撞撞地来到亚逸彭吉斯。这是一个马来亚村庄，给附近橡胶庄园的工人居住的。附近就有一个乳胶加工厂，工厂旁边有一个用棕榈树做房顶的仓库，里面有很多平行的木板条，平时用来烟熏挂在上面的生橡胶片，现在是空的，女士们成群走进去。他们筋疲力尽，东倒西歪，精神恍惚。过了一会儿士兵们送进来一桶茶、一桶米饭和干鱼。他们很多人都一杯接一杯地喝茶，但是几乎没有人有胃口吃东西。

趁着最后一缕光线，琴信步走到外面，四周看看。看守们正忙着在一堆小火上做饭，她走到中士的跟前，问他今天晚上她可不可以进村子里走走。他理解了琴的意思，点头同意。离开了阳丹大尉，纪律变得很宽松。

在村子里，她找到几间卖衣服、糖果、香烟和水果的小商店。她看到有卖芒果的，就买了一打。她跟卖水果的马来女人讨价还价，因为她的现金少得可怜，要省着点花。买来后她马上吃了一个，感觉舒坦了一些。在瓜拉帕农，他们基本没吃水果。她回到仓库，发现士兵们用椰子油给他们点起了一盏小小的灯，灯芯是露在外面的。

她把芒果分给艾琳和三个孩子，又分给其他人，发现这桩买卖真是一个巨大的成功。有了从其他妇女那里拿来的钱作武装，她又去了一趟村子，买回来五十多个芒果，不久所有的妇女和儿童都在埋头吃芒果了。士兵们又送进来一桶茶，每人拿了一个芒果，作为他们辛苦付出的回报。妇女们吃了芒果后，感觉精神多了，差不多能把所有米饭都吃下去。不久，他们就在疲劳、虚弱和病痛中，昏昏睡去。

仓库里满是老鼠，整个晚上在他们身上和周围跑来跑去。早上起来他们发现有几个孩子被咬了。

他们醒来时，昨天长途跋涉所造成的新疼痛、僵硬和疲劳开始发作，使得他们无法再上路了。中士却强迫他们继续走，这次要走去一个叫作亚沙汉的地方，比昨天的行程短一些，大约十英里。至少有十英里，因为他们花了差不多相同的时间才走到那里。这次主要是被科勒德太太耽误了行程。她是一个肥胖的女人，大约四十五岁，有两个孩子，哈里和本，大约十岁和七岁。她在帕农患了疟疾兼痢疾，现在非常虚弱。每隔十分钟，她就必须停下来，其他人也不得不跟着停下来，因为中士不准他们分散。她无须背任何东西，年轻一些的女人轮流扶着她走，帮她拿行李。

到下午，大家看到她好像变了一种颜色。她本来还算红润的脸变成斑驳的蓝色。她不断抱怨胸口疼。当他们终于到达亚沙汉的时候，她实际上已经无法单独行走了。住宿的地方跟昨天一样也是一个橡胶固化仓库，她们搀科勒德太太进去，扶她靠墙坐下，因为她说躺下来会疼到无法呼吸。有位女士出去拿了点水给她洗脸，她说：“谢谢，亲爱的。请给哈里和本也洗洗，亲爱的。”那个女士便带孩子出去给他们洗澡。等她回来的时候，科勒德太太已经歪在一边，失去了意识。半个小时后，她去世了。

当天晚上琴又给他们买了一些水果，芒果和香蕉，还给孩子们买了一些糖果。卖糖果的马来女人拒绝收她钱。“不，太太，”她说，“日本人这样对你们太过分了。这是我们的礼物。”琴回去之后告诉大家发生了什么事，大家听了都很感激那个女人。

在仓库外面炊火的光亮中，霍斯福尔太太和琴一起，跟中士进行了一次谈判。这个中士只会说几个英文单词，为了让他听明白，她们一边说一边打手语。“明天不能再走，”她们说，“不，不能再走。休息——睡觉——明天。明天再走，更多女人死去。明天休息。走一天，休息一天。”

她们无法知道他是否听懂了。“明天，”他说，“女人在土里。”

明天早上必须将科勒德太太下葬。这样一来就不用一大早出发了，而且也走不完十英里。她们抓住这一点作为借口。“明天埋葬女人在土里，”她们说，“明天留在这里。”

她们已经尽了力，他不理解也没有办法。他跟三个士兵一起在炊火前蹲下来。过了一会儿，他走向琴，脸上闪烁着智慧的光芒。“走一天，睡一天，”他说，“女人们就不死了。”他使劲儿点着头，又把霍斯福尔太太叫过来，三人一起，友好地微笑着，使劲儿地点头。他们都对彼此感到满意。为了庆祝这一外交胜利，她们给他一根香蕉以示尊敬。

那一整天，琴都赤着脚走来走去，虽然不慎几次踢到脚指头，踢破了脚趾甲，但在晚上她感到了久违的舒爽清新。晚上，远行的效果开始以不同形式显现在不同年龄段的人身上。大部分三十岁以下的妇女和孩子们，状态实际上都比离开帕农时要好。宽松的纪律使他们振奋，走路活动身体，有水果和糖果吃，也使他们变得更精神。老一些的女人状况却糟糕得多。对她们而言，极端的疲劳压倒了这些改善带来的好处。她们在黑暗中或躺或坐，无精打采，被淘气的孩子们折磨着，连吃东西的力气都没有。很多人都累到失眠。

第二天早上，他们埋葬了科勒德太太。附近找不到可以做墓地的地方，但当地的马来首领告诉他们，可以在院子的一角挖一个洞，在一堆橡胶的旁边。中士找来两个苦力给挖了一个浅浅的墓坑，把包裹在毯子里的科勒德太太放进去。霍斯福尔太太从祈祷书上读了一段祷文。然后她们又把毯子拿回来，因为实在是没有多余的毯子了。随后就盖上了土。琴找来一个木匠替他们钉了一个小小的十字架，但是这个木匠拒绝收费。他是一个穆斯林，或者仅仅是一个万物有灵论(3)者，但他知道老爷们是怎样办一个基督教葬礼的。他们用一根永久铅笔把“茱莉亚·科勒德”和死亡日期写在上面，希望雨水不会把字迹冲刷掉。然后她们就开始了冗长的讨论，以决定在上面写什么铭文。所有女士都兴致勃勃，热烈的讨论持续了一个半小时。出人意料地，霍兰太太建议使用《新约·罗马书》第十四章中的句子：“你是谁，竟论断别人的仆人呢。他或站住，或跌倒，自有他的主人在。”暗指那个迫使他们上路的中士。但其他的女士并不喜欢这句话，最后她们妥协成“安宁，真正的安宁，心爱的人远在他方”。那使所有人都很满意。

葬礼结束后，她们散坐在各处洗衣服。肥皂现在变得很稀有，跟钱一样。吃完米饭后，霍斯福尔太太把大家召集起来，开了一个简单的会议，核实经济状况。有一半女人已经身无分文，其他人的钱加起来总共也只有十五美元左右。她提议把钱集中起来使用，但兜里还有钱的女人们宁愿把钱留着，花在自己的孩子身上。不过，由于钱实在是太少了，没有什么讨论价值。然而，她们都同意平分日本兵每日提供的食物，此后他们吃饭的时候就更加井然有序了。

大约在中午的时候，阳丹大尉开着地区委员的轿车出现了。他停车下来，发现他们没有在路上，不禁怒火中烧。他用日语数落了中士一顿。中士僵硬地站在那里，专注地听着，完全没有为自己解释或辩护。之后大尉转向女人们。“你们为什么不走？”他愤怒地质问道，“非常坏的事情。你们不走，没有食物。”

霍斯福尔太太冲着他说：“科勒德太太昨天晚上去世了。我们今天早上才把她葬在那里。如果你强迫我们每天都这样走，我们会统统死掉。这些女人一点也不适合走远路。你知道的。”

“女人为什么死？”他询问道，“什么病？”

“她得了痢疾和疟疾，就像我们大部分人一样。昨天，我们走了那么多路，她累死了。你最好进来看看弗里思太太和茱迪·汤姆逊。她们今天都不可能上路。”

他走进仓库，站着看了看两三个无精打采地坐在昏暗中的女人。他和中士说了点什么，便回去开车。在门口，他转向霍斯福尔太太。“很伤心女人死了，”他说，“也许我找一辆卡车在吉隆坡。我会问的。”他上了车，开走了。

他的话很快就在女人们中间传开了。他要去给她们找一辆卡车！她们可以坐卡车去吉隆坡了！不用再走远路了！事情到底还不至于那么糟糕。她们将会从吉隆坡坐火车去新加坡，跟其他英国女士一样住进一个像样的战俘营。在战俘营里，她们可以安顿下来，重新组织生活，好好照顾孩子。战俘营里还有医生，也总会有地方医治病重的人。她们变得欢欣鼓舞，连最无精打采的人也恢复了，纷纷出来洗漱，把自己收拾得干净漂亮一些。那个下午她们都非常关心自己的外表，因为她们以前常常去吉隆坡购物，那里的人都认识她们。她们必须在卡车到达之前把自己打扮好。

日落前大概一个小时，阳丹大尉又来了。中士向他敬了一个礼，他又和中士说话。然后他转向女人们：“你们不去吉隆坡，”他说，“你们去瑞天咸港(4)。英国人毁坏了桥，所以通向新加坡的铁路不好。你们现在去瑞天咸港，然后坐船去新加坡。”

妇女们陷入了震惊的沉默。霍斯福尔太太问道：“会不会有卡车送我们去瑞天咸港？”

他说：“很抱歉没有卡车。你们慢慢走，轻松的行程。两天，三天，你们走去瑞天咸港。然后船带你们去新加坡。”

从亚沙汉到瑞天咸港有大概三十英里远。她说：“阳丹大尉，请你讲讲道理。我们中的很多人都不适合继续走路了。无论如何，你就不能给我们的孩子找一些交通工具吗？”

他说：“英国女人们有骄傲的思想，总是。太骄傲了，不像日本女人们那么好。你们明天走去巴克里。”他上车走了。那是她们最后一次见到他。

巴克里大概有十一英里远，大约和瑞天咸港在同一个方向上。突如其来的变故让她们失望透顶，任人摆布的命运更是如此。霍兰太太绝望地说：“我真不懂，难道在帕农的时候，他就不知道桥都断了？他就不应该让我们去吉隆坡！我真怀疑瑞天咸港到底有没有船……”

第二天早晨他们只好又出发上路了。两个士兵被带走了，只剩下一个士兵和中士一起留下来看守他们。看守减少并不会增加他们的危险性，因为没有人想过要逃走。但现在只剩下两个看守给她们带年幼的孩子，所以母亲们的负担增加了。

那天，琴第一次抱着婴儿罗宾走路。霍兰太太走得太痛苦了，必须减轻她的负担。她仍然背着背包，照顾着弗雷迪，但是琴不仅要背毯子包裹和零碎物件，还要抱着婴儿，另一只手牵着简。她像以前一样赤脚行走。经过几番试验，她发现，像马来女人那样把婴儿背在臀上是最轻松的方式。

奇怪的是，这个婴儿在三个小孩中最省事。她们喂他米饭、鱼汤或鱼汁，效果很好。六周里面，他好像只得了一次痢疾，吃了一两次芒硝就好了。蚊子好像从来不去骚扰他，他也没发过烧。另外两个孩子就没那么幸运了。他们时不时受到痢疾的折磨，现在虽然已经好了，人却变得相当的瘦。

当天晚上他们睡在一间平房里。这间平房原来属于巴克里锡矿的经理，一个英国人。他七八周前就抛下它离开了，在此期间它被双方部队占领过，也遭受了马来人的洗劫，现在只剩下光秃秃的墙。然而，奇迹般地，肮脏不堪的洗澡间还能用。洗澡间里堆着一些切好的木头，用于生炉子烧热水。中士信守承诺，允许他们休息一天，他们便充分利用热水来洗衣服和洗澡。他们的状态稍稍好了一些，精神也恢复了。

“我想船上会有热水，”霍兰太太说，“通常都会有的，是不是？”

第二天，他们继续上路，出发去一个叫作迪里特的地方。这一天他们基本上都沿着橡胶种植园的小路行走，树荫覆盖了大部分道路，让他们感到很舒服。即使是年老一些的妇女，也发现今天的行程可以忍受。他们在探路的时候遇到了一些困难。中士基本上不会说马来语，他时不时去问路，但是听不懂那些负责收割橡胶的马来女人们在说什么。琴发现她能听懂那些女人所说的答案，也可以跟她们沟通，但她自己知道方向后，又很难让中士听得懂。时近黄昏，他们俩达成了一项协议，由她负责跟马来女人们交谈——无论如何，这些马来女人跟她聊天时没那么害羞；然后她发明了一种中士能看明白的手势语。从那时起，琴便负责为大家打探最近的路。

下午三四点钟，本·科勒德——已逝科勒德太太的儿子——光着脚在草丛中走的时候，踩到一样东西，那东西用毒牙咬了他一口，逃走了。他过后说那看起来像一只大甲虫，很可能是蝎子。霍斯福尔太太负起责来，让他平躺在地面上，从伤口中吮吸出毒液。但是他的脚迅速地肿了起来，一直肿到膝盖，看起来就很疼，使他哭个不停。她们别无他法，只好把他背起来。对于本身已经虚弱不堪的女士们来讲，要背着一个五英石(5)重的七岁男孩走路并不是一件容易的事情。霍斯福尔太太背着他走了一个小时，然后中士背着他走完剩余的路程。到达迪里特后，他的脚踝已经肿成一个大包，膝盖也僵硬了。

在迪里特没有地方住，也没有食物。那个地方是一个典型的马来村庄，房子用木制成，棕榈屋顶离地板有四英尺高，地板用柱子支撑。地板下面是空的，狗在那里睡觉，家禽在那里做巢。他们疲惫地或坐或站，等待中士与马来首领进行交涉。很快他就把琴叫过去，让她加入了三语谈判。村子里有米，可以给他们做一顿饭，但是首领提出要收钱。最后中士答应日后一定会付账，首领才勉强同意提供晚饭。关于住宿，他冷漠地说，没有，但他们可以跟狗和家禽一样睡在屋子底下。后来他同意腾出一间屋子，这样这三十个战俘就可以睡在屋顶下，大约十五英尺见方的地板上。

琴占了一个角落，艾琳·霍兰带着孩子和婴儿坐进去。在几英尺开外，霍斯福尔太太正在照料本·科勒德。她们有一些高锰酸盐结晶和旧剃须刀片。尽管孩子痛得尖叫，她们还是用刀片稍稍切开了伤口，放进去一些结晶，再重新包扎好伤口。随后她们用热敷。琴帮不上忙，信步走出去了。

在一个类似村子公用厨房的地方，日本士兵正在指挥村子里的女人做米饭。首领的住所就在附近。他坐在通向屋子的楼梯上，坐在脚后跟上，抽着一根长管烟。他是一名头发灰白的老人，穿着纱笼和一件褪了色的卡其斜纹粗棉布夹克。琴走到他跟前，含羞用马来语说：“很抱歉，我们被迫来到这里，给你们添了这么多麻烦。”

他站起来，向夫人鞠了一躬。“不麻烦，”他说，“看到夫人们境况如此凄惨，我们感到很难过。你们是否从很远的地方来？”

她说：“今天从巴克里来。”

他请她进房子里去。那里没有椅子，她和他一起坐在地板上，靠着门洞。他问他们的遭遇，琴告诉了他，他发出一声哼哼。不久他的妻子从里面出来，拿着两杯没有糖和牛奶的咖啡。琴用马来语谢谢她，她含羞一笑，又退回房子里面去。

过了一会儿，首领说：“那个矮子，”他指日本中士，“他说你们明天必须待在这里。”

琴说：“我们太虚弱了，无法每天走远路。日本人准许我们每走一天就休息一天。如果明天可以留在这里，对我们恢复体力将很有帮助。中士说他可以找到钱买食物。”

“矮子们从来都是白吃白喝，”首领说，“不过你们要留下来。”

她说：“我不知道能说什么——除了谢谢你。”

他抬起灰白的头。“《古兰经》第四章(6)写道：‘人性是贪吝所支配的。如果你们行善而且敬畏，那末，真主确是彻知你们的行为的。’”

她和这位年老的男人一起坐着，直到米饭飘香，她才离开他去吃晚饭。其他女人奇怪地看着她。“我看见你和首领坐在一起闲聊，”其中一个说，“就像老朋友一样。”

琴笑道：“他请我喝了一杯咖啡。”

“真好！能用他们的语言和他们交谈，总能得到点好处，不是吗？他都说了些什么？”

琴想了想。“东拉西扯——关于我们的旅途。他聊了一下上帝。”

女人们盯着她看。“你是指他自己的上帝？不是真正的上帝？”

“他没有把两者区分开来，”琴说，“就是上帝。”

第二天，他们休息了一整天，然后步行去离瑞天咸港三到四英里远的巴生。小本·科勒德的情况虽无恶化，但也并无好转，大腿肿得厉害。他现在主要的问题是身体上的虚弱：受伤后他就再没有吃过东西，因为一吃就要吐出来。那个时候，孩子们都累得一点劲儿没有了。首领指挥村民们给他做了一个担架，把两条带枝丫的长竹竿并排扎起来，再在中间放一个用棕榈树叶织成的垫子，这样他们可以把小本放在上面，轮流抬着他。

他们当天下午就走到了巴生。那里有一个空校舍，中士把他们安置进去之后，自己就到附近的日军营地报到，汇报工作并安排日常食物供给事宜。

不久，一个带着六个护卫士兵的军官来了，对他们进行了检查。他是合欢少佐，英语说得非常好。他说：“你们是谁？来这里干什么？”

他们盯着他。霍斯福尔太太说：“我们是战俘，从帕农来。我们在去新加坡战俘营的路上。帕农的阳丹大尉派看守把我们押来这里，让我们从这里上船去新加坡。”

“这里没有船，”他说，“你们应该留在帕农。”

没有争论，她们也没有力气了。“我们被送来这里。”她机械地重复道。

“他们没有权利把你们送来这里，”他生气地说，“这里没有战俘营。”

接下来是漫长而尴尬的沉默：女人们盯着他，茫然，绝望。霍斯福尔太太再次把残存的能量集中起来。“我们可以看医生吗？”她问，“我们当中有人病得很厉害——尤其是一个孩子。另一位女士在路上去世了。”

“她死于什么？”他很快地问道，“瘟疫？”

“不是感染。她累死了。”

“我会派一个医生去给你们所有人做检查。你们今晚可以留在这里，但是必须尽快离开。我们自己的食物都不够，更别说养活战俘。”他转过身去，走回营地。

他给校舍安排了一个新看守。他们再也没有见过那个友好的中士和那个士兵了。也许他们被派回帕农了。不到一个小时，一个年轻的日本医生来了。他让他们都站起来，检查看他们有没有被感染，然后就要走，但是他们请他留下来看看小本·科勒德的大腿。他命令他们继续做热敷。当他们问是否可以请他把小本送进医院的时候，他耸耸肩，说：“我问一下。”

他们在看守的监视下一直留在校舍里，日复一日。第三天，他们又去叫医生，因为本·科勒德的情况陡然恶化。尽管很不乐意，医生还是用卡车把他送到医院去。六天后，他们听说小本去世了。

琴·佩吉特弯腰蹲在起居室壁炉边的地板上。窗外，风转了方向，把伦敦的雨吹到了窗户上。

“在战俘营度过战争岁月的人们写过很多书，写他们过得有多糟糕。”她轻声说，望着余烬，“没有在战俘营里待过的人，是不会知道那是怎么样的。”

————————————————————

(1) 英格兰郡名，在英吉利海峡中，为著名旅游胜地。

(2) 书中的温度单位均为华氏度。

(3) 该理论认为天下万事万物皆有灵魂，享受同等的权利。

(4) 马来亚第一大港。

(5) 英国重量单位，1英石相当于14磅。

(6) 这一章内容主要针对妇女，故首领在此时引用。

第三章

他们在巴生待了十一天，但觉前路茫茫。食物又差又短缺，附近也没有商店——即使有也没有区别，因为实际上他们已经没钱了。第十二天，合欢少佐让他们在收到通知半小时内起程，走路去波德申(1)，并派一个下士作为看守。他说，可能那里会有一条船带他们南下新加坡，如果没有的话，他们就朝战俘营的大致方向走。

那时候大概是1942年3月中旬。巴生离波德申有大约五十英里远，但他们现在走得不如从前快了。他们一直走到月底才到达波德申。途中他们在一个村子滞留了几天，因为霍斯福尔太太患疟疾倒下了，一度烧到一百零五度。不到一周她就恢复了，可以走路了——或者说，蹒跚而行。但她再也没能恢复活力。从那时候起，领导的责任渐渐落到了琴的肩上。

他们到达波德申的时候，衣衫褴褛，惨不忍睹。妇女们没有衣服可换，因为她们已经把负担降到最低限度。琴和霍兰太太被抓时，穿的就是现在身上的薄棉连衣裙，它们都穿破、洗旧了。刚从帕农出发不久，琴就开始赤脚行走，并打算就这样一直走下去。她现在的穿衣风格又向马来女人靠近了一步。在沙拉克，她把小胸针卖给了一个印度珠宝商，换来十三美元，她用宝贵的两美元买了一件纱笼。

纱笼是一种管状的衣服，直径大概三英尺，人套进去，像毛巾一样围在腰上，让其余部分自然垂下来成褶皱状，人就可以自由移动了。睡觉的时候，可以把围着腰的部分解开，让它松软地铺在身上，不必担心滑走。它是最轻薄、最凉快的热带服饰，也最实用，穿洗都很方便。她剪掉连衣裙破烂不堪的裙摆，把余下的部分当成一件束腰外衣穿在上面。从那个时候起，她穿得比其他妇女都要轻松凉快。一开始其他女士都对这种下等的当地穿法表示强烈不满，但随着衣服越穿越破，她们中的大部分也都开始效法她。

在波德申，他们并没有碰上什么好运气，也没有船。日本人允许他们留在波德申，待在一个干椰子肉仓库中，并未进行严格监管。就这样过了大约十天。日本指挥官认定他们是令人讨厌的累赘，于是又要把他们赶往塞伦班。他解释说，显而易见地，他们又不是他的俘虏，不是他的责任，应该由那些抓住他们的人把他们送去战俘营。他的目的很明显，就是要摆脱他们。因为如果他们继续赖着不走，他就不得不向日本皇军提出申请，请求军队、食物和医疗支援了。

在波德申和塞伦班之间的西里奥，悲剧降临到霍兰一家头上——简去世了。他们走了一整天，在一个熏橡胶的小屋里休息。简在路上发起烧来。那个时候他们有两个日本看守，其中一个当天大部分时间背着她。体温计在几天前意外损坏了，所以没有办法测量疟疾病人的体温，但是她很烫。她们有一点奎宁，想给她吃，但喂不下去。后来，直到她虚弱得无法抵抗，才喂了下去，可惜为时已晚。她们说服日本中士让大家留在西里奥，不去冒险继续移动这个孩子。琴和艾琳·霍兰一直陪着她，不眠不休，在那个阴暗发臭的地方，与死神战斗，听任老鼠晚上在周围发疯似的跑来跑去，母鸡白天不断进进出出。第二天晚上，她去世了。

面对这个打击，霍兰太太表现得很坚强，远远超出了琴的想象。“这是上帝的意志，我亲爱的，”她轻轻地说，“当她爸爸听到这个消息的时候，上帝也会给他力量，使他坚强。就像上帝给我们力量，来忍受现在的审判一样。”她站在小坟墓旁边，没有流泪，帮忙制作小木头十字架，并选好写在上面的铭文：“让小孩子到我这里来。(2)”她轻轻地说：“我想她爸爸会喜欢这一句。”依然没有掉一滴眼泪。

琴那天晚上在黑暗中醒来，听到她在哭泣。

经历了这一切，婴儿罗宾却越发地健壮了。他很幸运，只吃新鲜煮熟的食物，靠米饭和汤果腹。没有人故意安排这一切，但这可能解释了他为什么没有像其他人那样闹肚子。琴每天背着他，她自己的健康也绝对比他们离开帕农时要好。她在巴生烧了五天，但有一段时间，痢疾没有找她麻烦，她胃口很好。由于一直暴露在太阳下面，她被晒得黝黑，臀上的孩子也随着晒黑了。

塞伦班在铁路沿线上，她们希望可以从那里坐火车南下新加坡。他们大约在四月中旬到达塞伦班，但那里没有他们可坐的火车。铁路被限制使用，可能不通新加坡。不久他们又被迫上路去淡边，但出发之前，他们又失去了一个成员。

失踪的人叫埃伦·福布斯，就是那个从英国出来找对象却没找着的未婚姑娘。在跟她密切接触的这几个月里，琴深刻地理解到她为什么找不着对象。埃伦空虚无聊，自由散漫，爱开玩笑，跟日本兵随意打闹，令其他女士嗤之以鼻。在塞伦班，他们住在小镇外面一个满是日本兵的校舍里。白天的时候，埃伦无缘无故消失了，他们再也没见到她。

琴和霍斯福尔太太要求见军官，并向军官汇报了这个案子，说她们有一个同伴失踪了，可能是被士兵们绑架了。军官承诺进行调查，但毫无下文。两天后，他们收到南下淡边的命令，在看守的监视下出发了。

他们在淡边停留了几天。食物太少了，实际上他们都在挨饿。在他们的迫切恳求下，当地的指挥官派人监视他们南下去了马六甲，说那里可能有船。但马六甲也没有船，那里的负责军官又把他们打发回淡边。他们拖着沉重的步子，绝望地往回走。在亚罗牙加，茱迪·汤姆逊去世了。留在淡边不可避免地意味着更多的死亡。所以他们建议，应该让他们继续南下步行去新加坡，于是指挥官派了一个下士押送他们去金马士。

五月中旬，途经亚逸古宁时，霍斯福尔太太去世了。她得过疟疾，两个月前又原因不明地发烧，实际上一直没有康复。她总是不定期地重复发低烧，琴不禁怀疑她到底是不是患了疟疾。不论得的是什么病，总之她变得十分虚弱。在亚逸古宁，她又得了痢疾，两天后就去世了。也许是心脏衰竭或者劳累过度。弗里思太太接管了庄妮·霍斯福尔所操心的事情。她是一个病得变了色的小个子女士，已经五十多岁了，一直都病恹恹的，好像总是徘徊在死亡的边缘。新的责任给她注入了活力，从那天起她越变越精神，晚上也听不到她呻吟了。

三天后，他们到达金马士。就跟以往在镇上的时候一样，他们被安置在校舍里。镇上的日本指挥官二须井大尉当天晚上去检查他们。他对他们之前的事一无所知。这些日本军官总是这样，琴已经习以为常。她解释说他们是被迫远行去新加坡战俘营的俘虏。

他说：“战俘不去新加坡。严格的命令。你们从哪里来？”

“我们都走了两个多月了，”她说，在经历了无数次的失望后，她变得非常淡定，“我们必须住进战俘营，不然我们都要死掉。路上已经死了七个人。原来被俘的时候，我们有三十二个人，现在只有二十五个。我们不能一直这样走下去。我们必须住进新加坡的战俘营。您必须理解。”

他说：“不能再有战俘去新加坡。很抱歉，但这是严格的命令。太多战俘在新加坡。”

她说：“但是，二须井大尉，那不可能指女囚犯，那肯定说的是男战俘。”

“不能再有战俘去新加坡，”他说，“严格命令。”

“那好吧，那我们可以在这里留下来，给自己建一个战俘营，并请你们给我们派一个医生吗？”

他眯起眼：“没有战俘留在这里。”

“但是我们要怎么做？我们可以去哪里？”

“很可怜，”他说，“明天我告诉你们去哪里。”

他走后，她回去找她的同伴。“你们都听见了，”她平静地说，“他说无论如何不会让我们去新加坡。”

这个消息对于他们而言几乎没有意义。他们已经习惯了这种单调的生活，永远与新加坡隔着千山万水。“看起来哪儿都不想要我们。”普莱斯太太沉重地说，“波比，如果再让我看到你挑逗艾米，我就像你老爸那样揍你一顿。马上，我说到做到。”

弗里思太太说：“如果他们不管我们，我们就可以去找一个小村庄，在那里生活，等这一切结束。”

琴盯着她。“他们不可能养活我们，”她慢慢地说，“我们跟着日本兵才有食物。”但这个想法萌芽后，一直留在她的脑海里。

“多么珍贵稀有的食物！”弗里思太太说，“有生之年我都不会忘记淡边这个可怕的地方。”

第二天，二须井大尉来了。“你们现在去关丹，”他说，“关丹的女士战俘营。很好。你们会高兴的。”

琴不知道关丹在哪里。她问：“关丹在哪里？远吗？”

“关丹在海边，”他说，“你们现在去那里。”

后面有人说：“有好几百英里远。在东海岸。”

“好吧，”二须井大尉说，“在东海岸。”

“我们可以坐火车去那里吗？”琴询问道。

“抱歉，没有火车。你们走，十，十五英里每天。你们很快到那里。你们会很高兴。”

她轻轻地说：“已经有七个人在这次长途跋涉中去世了，大尉。如果您强迫我们从这里走去关丹，会有更多人死去。我们可以坐卡车去那里吗？”

“对不起，没有卡车，”他说，“你们很快去到那里。”

他想让他们马上动身，但已是早上十一点了，他们誓死不从。通过耐心的谈判，琴迫使他同意第二天黎明再起程，这是她能做的最大限度的争取了。但是，她确实说服了他当天晚上给他们提供一顿丰盛的晚饭——肉炖米饭，外加每人一根香蕉。

从金马士到关丹有大约一百七十英里，没有直达的路。五月最后一周，他们离开了金马士。按照之前的速度计算，琴想，他们去到那里需要六周。此前他们从未连续走过那么远的路。之前每走五十英里就有希望可以坐上交通工具，而现在他们要连续走六周，而且还不知道到达目的地后有没有喘息的机会。没有人真的相信关丹有战俘营。

“你犯了一个错误，亲爱的，”弗里思太太说，“居然求他让我们留在这里，并给我们建个战俘营。看得出来他不喜欢这个主意。”

“他只是想甩掉我们，”琴疲倦地说，“他们不想我们在这里碍手碍脚——只是想把我们打发走。”

第二天早上，一个中士和另一个士兵看守押送他们上路。金马士是一个铁路枢纽，东海岸的铁路经过这里，连接向北走的铁路。铁路那时闲置着。有传言说日本军队将拆除这条铁路，把铁路材料运送到北方一个秘密战略目的地。女人们并不关心这种事，她们满心在想的是，她们要在一天大部分时间里走在烈日之下，没有火车捎她们一程。

他们每隔一天走上十英里。一个星期后，许多孩子都发烧了。她们永远都不知道那到底是什么病。是从小艾米·普莱斯开始的。她出了疹子，体温飙升，还流鼻涕。可能是麻疹。当时的条件不可能允许她们把孩子们隔离开来。接下来几周孩子们全部被传染了。艾米·普莱斯慢慢康复了，但等她好到能走路的时候，另外七个孩子又倒下了。她们一筹莫展，只能不断擦洗这些汗流如注的小脸庞，给疲倦的孩子们降温，并不断把衣服洗净晒干，将他们身上湿透的衣服换掉。疾病在一个叫作马口的地方达到高潮。他们住在车站里，在售票处、候车厅和月台。很不巧地，在他们到达的三天前，马口有一个日本军医，但他坐卡车朝瓜拉基亚旺的方向去了。她们请首领派人跑去追他，但没追上。没有人能帮助她们。

在马口，四个小孩去世了：哈里·科勒德，苏珊·弗莱彻，只有三岁的多丽丝·西蒙斯，还有弗雷迪·霍兰。琴自然最关心弗雷迪，但她也无能为力。在他发烧的第一天，她就猜到他会去世，那时她已经积累起许多悲伤的经验。在有些人——甚至包括幼小的孩子——对待自身所患疾病的态度里，似乎隐藏着某种信息，预示死亡即将降临。大约是一种萎靡不振的状态，仿佛在说他们已经太累，没有气力为生存作斗争。那个时候，她们已经变得很坚强，能够面对死亡的现实。她们不再深陷于悲伤和哀悼之中，明白到死亡是一个事实，必须避开它，或者和它作斗争，但是当它降临的时候——好吧，它不过是那些不得不去面对的事实之一。一个人死了以后，有一些事情要做：伸直四肢，挖坟墓，做十字架，在日记里记载死者姓名和坟墓的确切位置。也就是这样了，她们没有力量再回头细想。

琴现在更关心霍兰太太的情况。埋葬了弗雷迪之后，她尝试把婴儿交给艾琳照顾，最近几周琴一直负责给罗宾喂食，照顾他，把他背在臀上，她觉得自己离不开这个小宝贝儿了。在两个更年长的孩子去世后，琴将他交还给艾琳照料。这么做不是因为她想甩掉他，而是因为她觉得艾琳·霍兰需要一个精神寄托，她想这个孩子应该可以让她提起精神来。但这个试验并不成功。艾琳那个时候已经虚弱到无法抱着小孩走路，也无法召集起足够的力气和他玩耍了。更重要的是，比起自己母亲，这个婴儿明显更喜欢这位年轻的女士，因为他在她背上度过了如此多的光阴。

“他仿佛已经不再属于我了，”霍兰太太有一次说，“你带着他吧，亲爱的，他喜欢跟你待在一起。”从那时起，她们一起照顾他，艾琳给他喂食，琴陪他玩耍。

他们继续上路，把四个小坟墓留在马口的铁路信号房后面。她们抬着两个竹竿担架走在铁路上，把最虚弱的孩子轮流放在上面。跟从前一样，她们发现这两个日本看守也很人道，很讲道理。他们习惯粗野，完全不能理解西方人的思维方式，但他们对虚弱的女人很宽容，也为孩子们付出了很多。一连几个小时，中士步履沉重地走着，肩上扛一个孩子，手里抓住担架的一头，把来复枪放在担架上，孩子的旁边。和往常一样，他们遇到了语言不通的问题。她们那时学会了一些日本单字，但只有琴能够说流利的马来语。正是她负责向村子里的人问路，并不时为日本人做翻译。

弗里思太太使琴非常惊讶。她年过五十，是一个衰老的小个子女人，总是一副半死不活的样子。远行初期，她非常虚弱，并没完没了地作邪恶的预言，使她们非常厌烦。她们平常已经麻烦缠身，前路的艰辛，她们不愿去想。但自从弗里思太太接替了庄妮·霍斯福尔太太的角色之后，仿佛重获新生。她的健康改善了，现在她的步履和其他人一样有力。她在马来亚住了十五年左右，只能说几个马来单字，但她对于这个国度及其疾病的知识非常丰富。她很开心大家能走去关丹。“那里很不错，”她说，“比在西部健康多了，那里的人也好一些。我们一到那儿就会没事的。相信我。”

随着时间的流逝，琴越来越频繁地求助于弗里思太太，请她提出一些建议，好让他们在困境里过得舒服一些。

在亚逸克宁，霍兰太太的力气用尽了。她在路上倒下了两次，她们轮流搀扶着她走。把她放到竹轿上去是不可能的，因为即使她现在已经大大消瘦了下去，依然重八英石。那时大家都疲惫不堪，没有人可以抬着那么大的负重走远路。而且，把她放在竹轿上就意味着要把一个孩子挤下来，这个想法本身就让她无法接受。她咬着牙踉踉跄跄地走到村子里，整个人都变了颜色，就像之前的科勒德太太一样。那是一个不祥的征兆。

亚逸克宁是火车站附近的一个小村庄，没有车站大楼。经过交涉，首领把一个屋子腾出来给他们住，就像之前好几回那样。她们把霍兰太太安置在一个阴凉的角落里，给她做了一个枕头，并帮她洗脸。她们没有白兰地或者其他酒可以给她喝了。她无法躺下来休息，只好强坐着，所以她们把她留在角落里，让她靠着墙。她当天晚上喝了一点汤，但吃不下任何食物。她知道自己的生命已经到了尽头。

“我很抱歉，亲爱的，”夜深人静的时候，她轻声说，“抱歉给你添了这么多麻烦。我替比尔感到伤心。如果你再看见他，请告诉他不要苦恼。告诉他，如果他能找到一个好人，不要介意再婚。他还年轻。”

过了一两个小时，她又说：“我真的觉得，你这样背着宝宝很可爱。他真幸运，不是吗？”

早上的时候，她仍然活着，但已经失去了意识。她们用尽了一切办法——当然她们也没有多少办法可以用了，但她的呼吸越来越微弱，差不多到中午的时候，她去世了。她们当晚把她葬在村子的穆斯林墓地里。

在亚逸克宁，他们进入了一路走来最不健康的地区。马来亚中部的大山目前在他们左边，也就是西边，因为他们正在往北走。他们来到彭亨河上游地区，这是一条向东流入东海岸的河流。在这里，它分成数不清的支流，如孟旷河，巴塘河，白浪鼓河，等等。这些支流流经地势平坦的农村地区，形成一个长满灌木和红树林的沼泽区，沿着他们的步行路线绵延四十英里。这是一个蛇和鳄鱼丛生的区域，蚊子多得无法想象。白天的时候，这里潮湿翳闷，热得让人窒息；晚上却笼罩在湿冷无情的浓雾中，冷得让人发抖。

进入这个地区的第二天，有几个人发起了烧。跟以往由疟疾引起的那种烧不一样，体温不会升到很高，可能是登革热。那个时候她们几乎没有办法对付它，并不是因为她们没有钱，而是因为在那种热带丛林的村子里，根本就没有药。琴咨询了中士，他建议他们加快步伐，尽快走出这个鬼地方。琴自己也发起了烧，所有东西都在她面前模糊地摇晃着。她头痛欲裂，无法集中精神看东西。她咨询了出奇健康的弗里思太太。

“他说得对，宝贝儿，”弗里思太太宣称，“不走出这个沼泽地带，你们就不会好起来。我想我们应该每天都往前走，如果你问我的话。”

琴强迫自己集中精神：“西蒙斯太太怎么办？”

“如果她的情况恶化，也许可以请士兵们背着她。——不知道，我也拿不准。这确实艰难，但我们必须走。我们最好走，走出去。这就是我的看法。我们在这个糟糕的地方逗留绝对没有什么好处。”

那之后他们不再隔天休息，而是每天上路，踉踉跄跄地，生着病，发着烧，虚弱不堪。琴背着的那个婴儿，罗宾·霍兰也发了烧，这是他第一次得病。她让门里村的首领看看他，首领的妻子用一种树皮制作了一剂热腾腾的溶液，盛在一个肮脏的椰子壳里拿给她。琴尝了尝，觉得很苦，所以她觉得那里面含有奎宁。她给婴儿喝了一点儿，自己也喝了一些，当天晚上就起效了。第二天上路之前，另外几个女士也喝了一些，这对她们的病情很有帮助。

他们花了十一天才走出沼泽地，过了淡马鲁，来到一个更高的地带。他们把西蒙斯太太和弗莱彻太太留在后面，还有小吉莲·汤姆逊。当他们进入了这个更健康的地区，终于敢停留一天稍事休息的时候，琴已经虚弱不堪，但烧总算是退了。婴儿还活着，不过明显生了病，醒着时哭个不停。

现在是弗里思太太在鼓舞着他们，就像早些时候她使大家沮丧一样。“从现在起一切都会好起来，”她告诉他们，“我们越靠近海岸，就会变得越精神。东海岸很舒服，有漂亮的沙滩，总是海风习习，而且很健康。”

他们不久来到山顶上一个隐藏在丛林深处的村庄。他们从来都不晓得它叫什么名字。它在增卡河上方。此时他们已经离开了铁路，在一条丛林小路上往东走，这条小路很可能会接上通向关丹的大路。这个村子很凉快，空气清新，村民善良好客。他们给女士们一间屋子歇息，还提供食物和新鲜水果。相同的树皮溶液也能治疗发烧。他们在那里待了六天，陶醉于新鲜清冽的微风和清爽宜人的夜晚。他们终于再次踏上行程的时候，状态比之前好多了。他们留了一个小胸针给首领，作为对村民们提供食物和照顾的报酬。它原来属于弗莱彻太太，他们想这位逝者应该不会提出反对意见。

四天后的晚上，他们来到了马兰。一条横穿马来半岛的柏油路穿过马兰，连接关丹和吉宁。这个村子可能有五十间屋子，一所学校，和几间当地商店。他们在马路上走了大概一英里半，去到村子的北边。在铁轨和丛林小路上走了五周之后，这条马路上的现代文明迹象使他们欣喜若狂。他们迈着轻快的步子走向村子。突然，他们看见前面停着两辆卡车。有两个白人男人在修理它们，日本看守在旁监视。

他们快步向卡车走去，发现那上面装满铁轨和枕木。卡车面朝关丹方向停着。其中一辆被从车上搬下来的枕木顶了起来，两个白人男人躺在车底下修理后轴。他们穿着短裤和军靴，没穿袜子，皮肤被太阳晒得黝黑，身上被后轴上的泥巴弄得脏兮兮的。但他们都是肌肉发达的健壮男士，尽管精瘦精瘦，但身体状况良好。他们都是白人，这是女人们五个月来第一次见到白人男性。

他们把卡车团团围住。他们的看守开始用断断续续的日语和卡车看守说话。其中一个白人男人面朝上躺在车轴底下，手里摆弄着螺丝扳手，瞥眼看着视野范围内的赤脚和纱笼，一边慢悠悠地说：“告诉那些脏兮兮的日本人让那些脏兮兮的女人挪开一点，给我们透点光。”

一些女人笑了，弗里思太太说：“不许那样跟我说话，年轻人。”

男人们从卡车底下翻出来，坐到地上，盯着女人们和孩子们看，看棕色的皮肤，纱笼和赤脚。“刚才是谁在说话？”拿着螺丝扳手的人问，“你们谁会说英语？”他慢悠悠地拉长调子说话，每两个单词之间都好像有停顿。

琴笑道：“我们都是英国人。”

他盯着她看，注意到编成马尾的黑发，棕色的手臂和双脚，纱笼，以及背在臀上的棕色婴儿。她穿着脏兮兮的衬衫，开领处有一道白色的皮肤。“海峡土生白人(3)？”他冒昧地问道。

“不是，真正的英国人——我们全是，”她说，“我们是俘虏。”

他站起来。他是一个金发青年，很健壮，二十七八岁。“真的？”他说。

她听不懂他说的话(4)。“你也是战俘吗？”她问。

他慢慢地微笑了。“我们是战俘吗？”他重复了一遍，“哦，老天！”

这个男人身上有一种什么东西是她从来没有碰到过的。“你是英国人吗？”她问。

“当然不是，”他拖着那种慢条斯理的调子说，“我们是澳洲人。”

她说：“你们住在这里的战俘营吗？”

他摇头。“我们从关丹来，”他说，“但我们整天都在开车，把这些东西运到海边去。”

她说：“我们要去关丹，去那里的女子战俘营。”

他盯着她看。“那一开始就是一个骗局，”他慢悠悠地说，“关丹那里没有什么女子战俘营。只有一个给我们建造的临时战俘营，因为我们是卡车司机。谁告诉你关丹有一个女子战俘营的？”

“日本人告诉我们的。他们负责把我们送去那里，”她叹了一口气，“那只是又一个谎言。”

“那些可恶的日本人信口开河，”他慢慢地微笑了，“我还以为你们是一大群土著(5)呢，”他说，“你说你们是英国人，真的？一路从英国来？”

她点点头。“是的。我们有些人已经在马来亚待了十到十五年，但我们都是英国人。”

“还有这些孩子们——他们也都是英国人？”

“全部都是。”她说。

他慢悠悠地笑了：“我从来没有想过会与一个长成你这样的英国女士说话。”

“你长得也不怎么样。”琴说。

另一个男人正在和另一群女人聊天。弗里思太太、普莱斯太太和琴在一起。他转向琴她们。“你们从哪里来？”他问道。

弗里思太太说：“我们在西海岸那头的帕农被抓住了，在等船接我们离开的时候。”

“但是，你们现在从什么地方来？”

琴说：“日本兵要送我们去关丹。”

“不是一路从帕农来？”

她立刻笑道：“我们到处去——瑞天咸港，波德申——到处走来走去。没有人想要我们。我想我们走了差不多有五百英里了。”

“哦，老天，”他说，“那听起来像一个骗局。要是你们没待在战俘营里，上哪儿找‘塔克’？”

她没听懂。“塔克？”

“你们吃什么？”

“每天晚上我们都在村子里过夜，”她说，“我们必须找个歇脚的地方。可能就在这样一个地方，也可能是在学校里。我们从村子里找到什么就吃什么。”

“看在上帝的分上，”他说，“等我一下，我去告诉我哥们儿。”他猛地转向他的同伴。“你听到他们遇到的那个骗局了吗？”他说，“被抓后就一直被迫走来走去。从来没有进过战俘营。”

“她们跟我讲的就是这个，”另一个说，“这些可恶的日本人就是这么做事。让人作呕。”

第一个男人回身问琴：“你们生了病的话怎么办？”

她嘲讽地说：“如果生病了，要不就好起来，要不就死掉。我们过去三个月里没有见到过一个医生，我们实际上也没有药了。所以我们差不多全死了。我们被抓的时候有三十二个人，现在只剩下十七个了。”

澳洲人轻轻地说：“哦，老天！”

琴说：“你们今天晚上会在这里过夜吗？”

他说：“你们呢？”

“我们会留在这里，”她说，“我们明天也还会留在这里，除非他们让我们坐你们的卡车。我们不能让孩子们每天都走，得走一天歇一天。”

他说：“如果你们留下来，土著太太，那我们也留下来。我们可以修理修理这根可恶的轴，让它再也转不起来，如果有需要的话。”他停下来，缓慢地思索着。“你们没有药吗？”他说，“你们想要什么？”

她很快地说：“你们有芒硝吗？”

他摇摇头，说：“那就是你们想要的？”

“我们一点芒硝都没有了，”她说，“我们想要奎宁，还有可以治疗这些孩子身上所有皮肤病的药物。这里有吗？”

他慢慢地说：“我去试着找一下。你们有钱吗？”

弗里思太太哼了一声：“在跟着日本人走了六个月之后？他们拿走了我们身上所有的东西。连我们的结婚戒指也不放过。”

琴说：“我们还剩下一点珠宝，如果有人买的话，就有钱了。”

他说：“我先试试，看能做点什么。你们去找地方睡觉吧，回头见。”

“好的。”

她回去找中士，向他鞠了一躬，因为那能使他高兴，这样一来事情就会变得对他们更加有利。她说：“军曹，今晚哪里歇息？孩子们必须歇息。我们去见首领，关于歇息和食物？”

他和她一起去找到首领，交涉借用校舍来安置俘虏的事情，并且请求首领提供大米作为食物。他们没有像过去那样遭到断然拒绝，因为那时候他们有三十人，现在人数变少了，提供住宿和食物就变得容易多了。他们在校舍里安顿下来，开始处理例行琐事，洗洗刷刷，这占据了他们大部分的空余时间。在关丹没有女子战俘营的消息，虽然是他们都早就暗中预料到的，还是不免有点令人失望。但两位澳大利亚男士带来的新鲜感对此作出了补偿，因为他们一直在严格的看管下，过着一成不变的无聊生活。

澳洲小伙们又回去修理卡车。他们在后轴底下交头接耳，刚才和琴说话的金发青年说：“这么下作的骗局真是闻所未闻。我们可以怎样修理这个混账家伙，好让我们今天晚上能够留下来？我跟她们说，我要试着给她们弄点药。”

他们已经修理好刹车卡滞的问题，正是这个问题使得内侧轮毂过热，导致卡车无法前进。另外一个说：“把整个混账的轮毂卸下来瞧一眼，把传动轴从差速器里拉出来。那会弄得脏兮兮的一团糟，并意味着我们要睡在卡车里。”

“我说我要试着搞点药来。”他们又干了一会儿。

“你打算怎么办？”

“汽油，我想。那是最容易的。”

天快黑的时候，他们从后轴里把带着键槽的金属传动轴抽了出来，这个东西有四英尺长，非常沉。他们把滴着黑油的传动轴拿给负责看守他们的日本下士看，作为他们辛勤工作的证据。“今晚在这里休息。”他们说。下士心下怀疑，但还是同意了。实际上他也只能同意。他走开去给他们安排晚饭，让跟着他的士兵留下来看守他们。

金发青年借口上厕所离开了卡车，趁着夜色后撤到一座房子的后面，迅速在一排房子后溜了下去，来到大街上。他在大街上跑了几千码，去到村子另一头。这里有一个中国人，开一辆破旧的公共汽车。澳洲人定期地在这条路上开车来回跑，在多次穿过马兰的旅途中注意到了这个地方。

澳洲人用慢悠悠的语气轻声地说：“哥们儿，买不买汽油？你出多少钱？”语言不通所造成的障碍，在一个有心买的人和一个有心卖的人之间，竟然是如此的小。在谈判中，他们一度通过写字来交流，澳洲人用大写字母在一张包装纸的碎片上写道：“芒硝和奎宁和皮肤病药膏”。

他带着三个两加仑的罐子和一条橡胶管溜回房子背后，把这些东西藏在公共厕所后面。不久他就回到卡车去，招摇地扣上短裤上的纽扣。

大约十点钟，趁尚未夜深人静，他摸黑找到校舍。本应有一个日本士兵整晚值勤看管他们，但在过去五周里面，妇女们并没有在两名看守面前表现出最轻微的逃跑倾向，所以这两位看守早就放弃了晚上的监视。澳洲人弄清楚他们的确切位置，待看见那两个日本兵和卡车看守蹲到一起，他马上悄无声息地来到了学校。

门开着，他站在门口，轻声问道：“下午是哪位女士和我聊天来着？背着婴儿的那个。”

琴睡着了。她们把她摇醒，她套进纱笼，套上上衣，出来到门前。他给她带了几个小包裹。“那是奎宁，”他说，“如果你还有需要的话，我可以再去弄一些。我找不到芒硝，但中国人用这种东西治疗痢疾。上面都是中文，按他的意思，每隔四小时用三片这种叶子泡温水喝。那是一个成年人的量。如果有效，把标签留好，在其他中国药店也可以买到。还有这个青草膏是用来涂的。如果你还想要的话，还有很多。”

她感激地把药收下。“真是太棒了，”她温柔地说，“花了多少钱？”

“没关系，”他慢条斯理地说，“日本人付的账，但他们不知道。”

她又谢谢他。“你在这里干什么？”她问，“你们要开车去哪里？”

“关丹，”他说，“本来我们今晚就应该到达那里，但是本·莱格特——我哥们儿——他把卡车拆碎了，只好作罢。明天下午再去。不过，如果方便的话，我们还可以多留一天，虽然我觉得需要冒点险。”他告诉她，他们有六个人，为日本人开着六辆卡车。他们定期从关丹开去内地，跑上大约一百三十英里，到铁路沿线一个叫而连突的地方。花一天时间到达而连突后，他们拆下铁路的枕木和铁轨，装满卡车，第二天再开回关丹。在关丹，他们把铁路材料卸在码头周围，有船来把东西运到一个未知的目的地。“我想他们是要在另一个地方建一条新铁路吧。”他说。一百三十英里很远，在这种热带条件下开着满载的卡车，一天勉强能走完。如果无法在天黑之前赶到关丹，就找一个村庄过夜。关丹的日本兵不会注意到他们缺席。

他在柔佛被俘后，一直在做这项工作，大概已经有两个月了。“比待在战俘营好。”他说。通往学校的台阶有三级，她坐在最上面一级，他在她面前的地上坐下来。她觉得他的坐姿很有意思，因为他像本地人一样一条腿坐在脚后跟上，但却伸出左腿。“你是澳大利亚的卡车司机吗？”她问道。

“才不是呢，”他说，“我是个套环(6)。”

她说：“‘套环’是什么？”

“我是个牧工，”他说，“我在昆士兰出生，就在克朗克里后面，我全家都是昆士兰人。我爸从伦敦来，来自一个叫作哈默斯密斯的地方。他过去是开出租的，但他很懂马，所以就出来到昆士兰，为科布马车公司(7)工作，并遇到了我妈。但我很久没回克朗克里了。我在它西边的北领地(8)工作，在一个叫作沃拉华的农场。那里大概离斯普林斯西南一百一十英里。”

她笑道：“那斯普林斯在哪里？”

“爱丽丝，”他说，“爱丽丝斯普林斯。在澳大利亚正中央，达尔文和阿德莱德中间。”

她说：“我还以为澳大利亚中部都是沙漠呢。”

她的无知引起了他的关心。“哦，老天，”他慢悠悠地说，“爱丽丝是个很棒的地方。那里水源充足，人们整晚开着水龙头，给草地浇水。就是那样，他们整晚开着水龙头。不过当然了，北领地大部分地区都很干旱，但小河边的牧草通常很茂盛。只要你找一找，就会发现河边到处都有水。虽然只有在雨季的时候河里才有水，但即使是在干涸的时候，只要你往下挖不到一英尺，就一定能找到水源。就是那样，即使是在干旱地带的中央也一样。”不知道为什么，他说话的调子又慢又平，听起来非常舒服。“你去到一个类似的地方，就能看见沙地上满是小洞，那是袋鼠和岩大袋鼠挖来找水喝的。它们知道上哪儿找水喝。内地到处都有水，但你要知道去哪里找。”

“你在这个叫作沃拉华的地方做什么？”她问道，“看羊吗？”

他摇摇头。“在爱丽丝地区，你是找不着绵羊的，”他说，“那里对它们来讲太热了。沃拉华是一个牛场。”

“你们有几头牛？”

“我离开的时候，大概有一万八千头吧，”他说，“数量上上下下的，根据湿度情况。”

“一万八千头？有多大啊？”

“沃拉华？大概两千七百吧。”

“两千七百英亩啊，”她说，“真够大的。”

他盯着她看。“不是英亩，”他说，“是平方英里。沃拉华有两千七百平方英里大。”

她惊呆了。“但那全是一个地方吗——我是说，一个牧场？”

“是一个牛场，”他回答，“归一个人单独所有。”

“但那要多少人才能经营得了它啊？”

他满怀感情地任思绪在记忆犹新的场景中驰骋。“有杜维恩先生，汤米·杜维恩——他是经理，然后是我——我是牧工头，或者以前是。汤米说，他会留一个位置给我，等我回去的。我希望能再回到沃拉华，在未来某一天……”他沉思了一会儿。“我们还有另外三个牧工——都是白人，”他说，“然后有快乐、月光、金块儿、雪白和柏油路……”他想了想。“我们有九个土著，”他说，“就那么多了。”

“九个什么？”

“长得很黑的家伙——土著牧工。土著。”

“但那也只有十三个人。”她说。

“是的，如果你算上杜维恩先生的话就有十四个。”

“但是十四个人能看得住那么多牛吗？”她问。

“哦，当然了，”他边想边说，“从某个意义上讲，沃拉华是一个很好管理的牧场，因为它没有篱笆。天然的屏障把它围了起来。北面有帕默河和利维山；西边是沙地，牛不去那里边；南边有科诺特山和奥默罗德山，东边有孖岗山。十四个人足够管理那样一个牧场了。如果多几个白人就更容易了，但是雇不到。那些可恶的土著，他们总是动不动就要去丛林流浪(9)。”

“那是什么？”她问。

“丛林流浪？哦，土著牧工总是冷不丁地走到你面前说：‘老板，我现在去丛林流浪。’然后就离开牧场，只穿着短裤，戴着旧帽子，带着枪——要是他们有的话，要不然就拿着矛和飞标，你留不住他们。他们到处乱走，消失两到三个月。”

“但他们要去哪里？”她问道。

“就是瞎逛。他们每次都要走很远——哦，老天，”他说，“四百到五百英里。走够了就回到牧场继续工作。土著的麻烦就在于，你永远都不知道他们下周会不会来上班。”

接下来是一段短暂的沉默。在热带的夜色中，这两位背井离乡的年轻人一起安静地坐在校舍台阶上。狐蝠在他们头上的月光里飞来飞去，像皮革一样的翅膀扇出清脆的沙沙声。“一万八千头牛……”她思考着说。

“差不多吧，”他说，“水源充足的时候，会升至两万一千或者两万两千头。然后就会迎来干旱的一年，数量直线下降到一万两千或者一万三千。我想我们每年都会因为干旱而损失三千头牛。”

“但你们不能把它们带到有水的地方去吗？”

他慢慢地笑道：“只靠十四个人是不够的。每年在北领地和北昆士兰死于干渴的牛足以养活整个英格兰。当然了，在沃拉华还有马，所以情况更糟糕。”

“马？”

“哦，老天，”他说，“我们有大约三千匹野马，但它们一点用都没有——它们是害虫。沃拉华几年前有一个马场，把马卖给印度军队，但现在你不能卖马了。我们会使用一些马，当然——大约一百匹，和驮马一起。你没法消灭它们，除非把它们射死，但你永远都找不到一个会去射杀马匹的牧工。它们吃掉给牛吃的牧草，并把草地给毁了。牛不喜欢在被马吃过的地方吃草。”

她问：“沃拉华有多大？——多长？多宽？”

他说：“哦，让我说的话，最宽的地方大概东西九十英里，南北四十五到五十英里。但它是一个很容易管理的牧场，因为牧场住宅设在中央附近，往哪个方向走都不会很远。去科诺特山是最远的，大概要走六十英里。”

“从牧场住宅去要六十英里？你就住在牧场住宅里？”

“是的。”

“其他地方还有住宅吗？”

他盯着她。“每个牧场只有一处牧场住宅。有的会有分牧场，在上面建个棚屋什么的，牧工们可以在那里放一些毯子和食物，但这种情况不多。”

“那需要多长时间才能去到最远的地方——科诺特山呢？”

“到科诺特山去？哦，好吧，来回需要花一个星期。那是骑马去，如果开越野车去的话，一天半就够了。但骑马最好，虽然有点慢。骑驮马不会比走路快，如果你爱惜它。跟电影里人们策马狂奔到处去的情景完全不一样——哦，老天。要是在北领地这样做的话，不消一会儿就会把马给骑坏了。”

他们在一起坐了超过一个小时，在校舍入口轻声交谈。最后，牧工从他奇怪的姿势中站起身来，说：“我不能再留在这儿了，不然那些日本人回来后就该气得跳来跳去了。我哥们儿也是——他会以为我出了什么事。我跟他说我去烧水来着。”

琴站起来。“你人真是太好了，给我们找来这些东西。你不知道它们对我们有多重要。请告诉我，你叫什么名字？”

“乔·哈曼，”他说，“哈曼中士——牧工哈曼，他们有人这么叫我。”他迟疑了一下，说，“对不起，我今天叫你土著太太，”他尴尬地说，“那是个很蠢的笑话。”

她说：“我叫琴·佩吉特。”

“那听起来像一个苏格兰名字。”

“是的，”她说，“我不是苏格兰人，但我母亲来自帕斯。”

“我母亲生于一个苏格兰家庭，”他说，“来自因弗内斯。”

她伸出手。“晚安，中士，”她说，“跟另外一个白人聊天真是太令人愉快了。”

他抓住她的手。他的握手强而有力，给她带来了极大的安慰。“喂，佩吉特太太，”他说，“我会尝试说服日本人让你们坐我们的卡车往南走。如果这些小浑蛋们不同意，我们也没有办法。这样的话，在你们到达关丹之前，我们还会在路上相遇，到时我他妈的一定会给卡车做手脚。你们还想要别的什么东西？”

“肥皂，”她说，“你有可能给我们弄点肥皂吗？”

“应该可以。”他说。

“我们一点肥皂都没有了，”她说，“我们有一个小金盒，是一位过世的女士的，里面有一些头发。我看看能不能把它卖掉换点肥皂。”

“别卖，”他说，“我会帮你找到肥皂。”

“既然你已经帮我们找到了这些药，肥皂就是我们最急需的东西。”她说。

“请放心。”他迟疑了一下，然后说，“抱歉，我太唠叨了，跟你讲了那么多内地的事情，你一定觉得很无聊。只是，有时候不免情绪低落——不能让自己相信，还能再回到那个地方。”

“一点也不无聊，”她温柔地说，“晚安，中士。”

“晚安。”

早上，琴向同伴们展示她拿到的东西。“我听见你跟他谈了很久，”普莱斯太太说，“要我说，他真是个不错的小伙儿。”

“他是个有思乡病的小伙儿，”琴说，“他喜欢谈论他的牛场。”

“思乡病！”普莱斯太太说，“我们所有人都患着思乡病，不是吗？”

澳洲人当天早上和他们的看守进行了一场很聪明的辩论，但日本人断然拒绝了让女人们坐卡车南下的提议。在他们看来，这是有一定道理的，因为两辆卡车已经严重超载，再搭上十七个女人和孩子，增加的重量很可能就会最终把卡车压垮。要是卡车报废，就连看守自己都逃不过上级军官的鞭打。九十点钟的时候，哈曼和莱格特已经把后轴安装好，做好出发的准备。

乔·哈曼说：“让那个小浑蛋忙活一阵，我要把油管接头弄松。”他指那个日本看守。过了一会儿，在哈曼的带领下，他们松开油管接头，让一些汽油漏出来。看守并未注意到这一切。这样一来，卡车没油时，别人不会怀疑到他们身上来，也不会有人知道他们偷走六加仑汽油卖给了那个中国人。

从马兰到关丹有五十五英里。女人们在马兰休息了一天，第二天又开始沿着柏油路前进。当天晚上他们来到了一个叫作布湾的地方。琴一整天都在留心寻找乔·哈曼的卡车，希望能在它往回走的时候看见它。她不知道它因为汽油耗尽而在薄海滞留了一个晚上，耽误了回程。第二天，他们在布湾逗留了一天，住在一间以聂帕榈做屋顶的棚屋中。女人们轮流和琴一起到路边守候那辆卡车。他们的健康稍微有所改善。在经历了铁轨和森林小径之后，走在柏油路上感觉非常轻松，药物也已经开始起效。他们朝地势更高的地方走，环境越来越健康，想象力丰富的人已经在说他们能闻到海的味道了。和两位澳洲人的接触也明显提升了他们的士气。

乔·哈曼开卡车驶过布湾时没有遇到他们。然而，晚上有一个马来女孩给他们送去一个棕色纸的包裹，里面装着六块救生圈牌肥皂，包裹上写着佩吉特太太收，还有留言：

亲爱的女士：

现送上一些肥皂。目前我们只能找到这么多，但稍后我还会再找来一些。很抱歉没能与你见上面，但日本兵不让我们停车，所以我把这个包裹交给了马兰的中国人，他说他会转交给你。注意看我们，我会尝试在回程的时候停下来。

乔·哈曼

女人们都很高兴。“救生圈牌，”沃纳太太说，欣喜若狂地嗅着它们，“你都能闻到石炭的味道！我的乖乖，你想他们是上哪儿找来的？”

“我猜有两种可能性，”琴回答，“要不就是偷来的，要不就是用偷来的东西换来的。”实际上是后者。在薄海，澳洲人的日本看守在村子水井边洗脚时把靴子脱了下来。洗了三十秒后，他转过身来，发现靴子不见了。不可能是澳洲人干的，因为他们俩都马上出现在另外一个方向。这成了一个永久的谜。然而本·莱格特帮了大忙，当天晚上他从一个呼呼大睡的日本兵那里偷了一双靴子交给他们的看守，看守大大松了一口气，给了本一美元。

第二天，女人们走到了薄卡坡。他们进入了一个比从前好得多的地区，环境更宜人，也相对健康。那里的道路蜿蜒曲折，环绕山腰，几乎全部覆盖在树荫里。那天，他们第一次吃上了椰子。普莱斯太太有一双破旧的拖鞋，原来是霍斯福尔太太的，这几周她一直带在身上，从来没有穿过。一到薄卡坡，他们就用它换椰子，每人一个，想着椰汁里的维生素对她们有好处。在薄卡坡他们住在路边一个很大的聂帕榈顶椰子棚里。时近黄昏，两辆熟悉的卡车停在村子前，驾驶员是本·莱格特和乔·哈曼。就跟往常一样，车上装满了枕木和铁轨，目的地是海边。

琴带上几个同伴，和日本中士一起步行穿过马路去迎接他们。日本看守聚在一起说话，乔·哈曼转向琴。“我们不能在而连突及时装车，赶在今晚到达关丹了，”他说，“本找到了一头猪。”

“一头猪？”她们围住本的卡车，看见那头死猪躺在铁路材料上面。它是一头黑色的长鼻东方猪，好像受了点伤，身上盖满了苍蝇。在特卡姆河附近，本的车开在最前面，在路上发现了这头猪，就开车追着它跑了四分之一英里。坐在他身旁的日本看守用来复枪向它开了六枪，都没有打中，第七枪才终于打伤了它，本于是能够用一个前轮轧倒它。他们把车停下来，哈曼也在他们后面停车，两位澳洲人和日本看守七手八脚地把猪抬到铁路材料上面。他们在一位暴怒的中国店主面前发动卡车继续上路——那位中国店主声称那头猪是他的财产。哈曼轻声对琴说：“我们不得不让那些浑蛋日本人先吃个饱，并带走一些。交给我，我去看看能不能弄一些来给你们吃。”

当天晚上，那些女人拿到大约三十五磅煮熟的猪肉，它们被分成好几次偷偷摸摸送给他们。他们在椰子商店后面用椰子壳生火，把猪肉放进日本兵送来的米饭里炖着吃。他们吃得很省，再次出发前还可以吃三顿。吃完饭后，他们在屋里或路边闲坐。他们终于能够饱餐一顿，数月来第一次吃上了真正有营养的晚饭。不久，澳洲人过来找他们聊天。

乔·哈曼走到琴面前。“抱歉我不能再给你们送来更多的猪肉了，”他拖着慢悠悠懒洋洋的昆士兰腔调说，“都让那些混账日本人分没了。”

她说：“已经很棒了，乔。我们一直在吃，还留了很多明天吃呢。我都不记得我们上一次吃得这么好是在什么时候了。”

“我觉得这正是你们需要的，”他说，“要我说，你们身上都没有什么肉了。”

他在他们旁边的地上坐下来，坐到一只脚后跟上，用他那种特别的姿势。

“我知道我们现在很瘦，”琴说，“但已经比之前好看多了。你给我们用来代替芒硝的中药真的是很有效，它把皮肤病都治好了。”

“很好，”他说，“说不定我们可以从关丹多弄一些给你们。”

“那头猪真的是上帝赐予的礼物，”她说，“它，还有水果——我们今天买到了一些青椰子。我们一直都很幸运，没有得脚气病什么的。”

“那是因为我们有新鲜米饭，”弗里思太太出其不意地说，“在乡下，我们能一直吃上新鲜米饭。吃过时的米饭就会患脚气病。”

澳大利亚人若有所思地坐在那里，嚼着一根棍子。“对你们女士来讲，这真是一种有趣的生活，”他终于开口说道，“落到这么一个地方，吃得跟土著一样。这些日本人会遭报应的，他们作了那么多的孽，迟早有人找他们算账。”

他转向琴。“你们在马来亚都做什么？”他问道。

“我们中的大部分人都已经结婚了，”她说，“丈夫在马来亚工作。”

弗里思太太说：“我丈夫是铁路的地区工程处处长，我们曾经在加影有一间很漂亮的平房。”

哈曼说：“我想，所有的丈夫都被一起关在另一处吧？”

“对的，”普莱斯太太说，“我的亚瑟在新加坡。他在波德申时，我听到过他的消息。我想他们都在新加坡。”

“你们在这种乡下地方走来走去，他们却舒舒服服地待在战俘营里。”他说。

“是的，”弗里思太太说，“但是，不管怎样，能知道他们没事就很好。”

“在我看来，”哈曼说，“他们把你们踢来踢去，只是因为他们不知道该如何处置你们。对你们而言，在一个地方安顿下来，一直住到战争结束，应该不会很困难。比如说留在这里就很好。”

弗里思太太说：“我们一直就这么想。”

琴说：“我知道。自从弗里思太太提出这个主意，我就一直在考虑它。问题是，日本人给我们提供食物——或者说他们让村子给我们提供食物，却从来不付钱。如果我们要留在村子里，就必须挣钱养活自己，但我不知道我们要怎样才能做得到。”

哈曼说：“这只是个想法。”

过了一会儿他说：“我知道我可以上哪儿去找到几只鸡。如果找着了，后天我往北走的时候就捎给你们。”

琴说：“我们还没付你肥皂的钱呢。”

“算了，”他慢慢地说，“我也没有拿现金来买它，我用一双日本人的胶靴换来的。”他慢悠悠地告诉他们关于靴子的事情，就像在讲一个冷笑话。“你们得到肥皂，日本人得到一双新靴子，本得到一美元，”他说，“皆大欢喜。”

琴说：“你打算用同样的方法，给我们找来一只鸡吗？”

“我会给你们找来一只鸡的，总有办法的，”他说，“你们这些女士需要补充营养。”

她说：“别再冒险了。”

“你只需要管好自己的事情，土著太太，”他说，“有什么就拿什么吧。你别无选择。当你沦为战俘，只能有什么就拿什么。”

她笑道：“好吧。”事实上他叫她土著太太让她很开心，她和这个陌生男人之间，似乎有一种微妙的联系，好像他天生就该拿她的黑皮肤、她的土著穿着，还有她像马来女人那样将婴儿放在臀上的习惯开玩笑似的。“土著”这个词让她记住了澳大利亚，还有那些土著牧工。然后她想起来要问一个问题，部分是出于好奇，部分是由于她知道跟他聊他的祖国会令他愉快。“请告诉我，”她说，“在澳大利亚是不是很热？在你的家乡，是不是比这里还要热？”

“很热，”他说，“哦，老天，说热就热。沃拉华的气温可以高达一百一十八度——天热的时候。但跟这儿的热不一样。那是一种干热，不像在这儿的时候出那么多汗。”他想了想。“我有一次从马上摔了下来，”他说，“在试图给一匹野马戴上马鞍的时候。我摔断了大腿，被送往了医院。他们用一种灯照着我的大腿，他们叫它紫外线灯，说是能帮助肌肉康复之类的。你们在英国也有这样的东西吗？”

她点点头。“你们那里的热，就像被那种灯照着一样，是不是？”

“是的，”他说，“既温暖又干燥，是那种对你有好处，让你想喝冰镇啤酒的热。”

“那个国家看起来怎么样？”她问道。跟这个男人谈家乡能令他愉快。她想令他愉快，因为他对他们太好了。

“是红色的，”他说，“整个爱丽丝都是红色的，还有我的家乡也是。红色的土，红色的山。麦克唐奈，莱维斯，还有科诺特，都是红色的大山，坐落在蓝色的天空下。晚上它们会变紫，变成其他各种颜色。雨季过后，山上一片绿油油的。旱季时，它们有一部分变成银色，因为长了三齿桴。”他顿了顿，又道，“我想每个人都会喜欢自己的家园，”他轻轻地说，“爱丽丝周围的乡下地区就是我的家。人们坐甘号列车从阿德莱德和南方来。他们说爱丽丝是个差劲的地方。我只去过阿德莱德一次，我觉得它才差劲呢。斯普林斯周边的地方，对我来讲都很美。”

他陷入了沉思。“艺术家从南方过来，尝试把它画下来，”他说，“我只见过一个画得像的，他是一个土著，叫作艾伯特，住在赫曼斯堡。有一次有人给了他一把刷子和一些颜料，他就开始画，画出来比任何人都好。哦，老天，他画得真好。但他是个土著，他在画自己的家园。我想正是这个原因使他的画与众不同。”

他转向琴。“你的家乡在哪里？”他问，“你从哪里来？”

她说：“南安普敦。”

“轮船驶往的地方？”

“是的，就是那里。”她说。

“那儿是怎么样的？”他问。

她将婴儿挪到臀上，在纱笼里轻轻晃动双脚。“很安静，很凉快，很开心，”她边想边说，“不是特别美丽，尽管周围有漂亮的乡村——新森林，还有怀特岛。那里是我的家，就像你的斯普林斯。如果我能够熬过去，我就一定要回去，因为我太喜欢它了。”她顿了顿，“那里有个溜冰场，”她说，“当我还在上学的时候，常常在溜冰场上跳舞。总有一天我会回去，再去溜冰场跳舞。”

“我从来没有见过溜冰场，”从爱丽丝来的男人说，“我有见过照片，在电影里也见过。”

她说：“那实在是太有趣了……”

过了一会儿，他起身要走，她像往常一样把婴儿背在臀上，和他一起穿过马路向卡车走去。“我明天没法跟你见面了，”他说，“我们黎明就要出发。但后天我会沿路返回。”

“我想那天我们应该走在去薄海的路上。”她说。

“我会看看能不能给你找来那些鸡。”他说。

她转过身，面对着他，他站在她旁边，在被月光照得发亮的路中央，在热带夜晚的阵阵声响中。“喂，乔，”她说，“如果那意味着麻烦，我们不需要肉。你能给我们找到那些肥皂已经很了不起了。但你确实大大冒了一次险，偷了那家伙的靴子，让人后怕。”

“那没什么大不了的，”他慢悠悠地说，“只要你能找到窍门，就可以捉弄这些日本人。”

“你为我们做了很多了，”她说，“这些猪肉，还有药，还有肥皂。过去这几天我们的生活发生了极大的变化。我知道这些东西都是你冒险得来的。请一定要小心。”

“不用担心我。”他说，“我会尝试找些鸡肉，但如果我发现事情变得很危险，就会放弃。我不会把脖子伸出去让人砍的。”

“你发誓？”琴问道。

“不用担心我，”他说，“你自己已经有一堆麻烦事了，老天。只要我们活下来，就一定能熬过去。我们现在要做的就是活下去。活下去，再等两年，等战争结束。”

“你认为战争会打那么久吗？”她说。

“关于战争什么的，本比我在行，”他说，“他觉得大概要两年。”他向她微笑。“你们最好能拿到几只鸡。”

“请务必小心。”她说，“如果你被抓住，并为此付出生命的代价，我一辈子都不会原谅自己。”

“我不会有事的。”他说。他伸出手，好像要执起她的手，但又放下了。“晚安，土著太太。”他说。

她笑道：“你要是再叫我土著太太，我就用椰子打碎你的头。晚安，乔。”

“晚安。”

他们第二天早上没有看见他，不过听见了卡车开走的声音。那天他们按照习惯在薄卡坡休息，第二天继续步行去薄海。大约中午的时候，哈曼和莱格特驾驶的两辆卡车从他们身边经过，空车往北驶向而连突，两位司机都向女人们挥手致意，她们也挥手回应。坐在司机旁边的日本看守皱了皱眉头。没有鸡从卡车里掉出来，卡车也没有停下来。琴暂时松了一口气。她现在稍微摸到一点这些男人的脾气了。他们会无端把卡车停下来，不论冒多大的危险，都要获得他们认为对女人们有帮助的东西。没有鸡意味着没有麻烦，那一天余下的时间，她继续步行，踏实舒坦。

当天晚上，他们投宿于薄海的一座房子。一个马来小男孩拿着一个绿色的帆布袋去找琴，说是甘帮的一个中国人让他送来的。袋子里是五只黑色的小公鸡，全部活着，脚被绑住。在东部，家禽一般都是活着运输的。

它们的到来使琴左右为难。她找弗里思太太商量。她们不可能瞒过看守，暗地里把这些鸡杀死、拔毛并煮熟。看守发现后会问的第一个问题就是，这些公鸡是从哪里来的？如果琴知道这个问题的答案，编起谎话来就容易多了。她们认为，可以说这是用澳洲人给的钱买的，但如果中士问是从薄海什么地方买的，她们就答不上来了。不幸的是，薄海是一个不怎么友好的村子，让村子腾出一间屋子给女人们住都难上加难，而且她们并不寄希望于通过欺骗手段取得村民们的合作。最后她们决定，说她们用澳洲人给的钱买了这些鸡。在薄卡坡的时候，离马路两到三英里开外有一个叫利茂的小村庄，她们在那里付了钱，请村民把这几只小公鸡送到薄海给她们。这是一个不太经得起推敲的故事，一调查就会穿帮，但她们看不出来为什么有人要去调查它。

她们万分遗憾地做出了一个决定：分一只小公鸡给看守。牺牲一只公鸡作为礼物可以使得中士变得非常友好，同时把他拖下水，让他放弃对这些鸡的来龙去脉展开仔细认真的调查。于是，琴拿着袋子去找中士。

她向他鞠了一躬，让他的脾气变得好一点。“军曹，”她说，“今晚有好吃的。我们买了鸡。”她打开袋子，给他看躺在底部的几只小公鸡，并伸手进去拿出来一只。“给你。”她使尽浑身解数，尽量让自己看起来天真纯洁一些，微笑着向他说。

这对他来讲是一个很大的惊喜。他不知道她们这么有钱，从他监视她们那天起，她们一直除了椰子和香蕉之外什么都买不起。“你们买的？”他问。

她点点头。“从利茂。我们今晚都有很好的食物。”

“哪来的钱？”他问道。他并没有起疑心，因为她们以前从来没有欺骗过他，他只是感到好奇。

刹那间，有一个想法闪过琴的脑子：她可以说她们卖掉了一些珠宝。她突然产生了一种迅速的感觉，像直觉一样，就是不提澳洲人会更好。但她把这个想法放在了一旁。她必须坚持这个故事，因为它是她们从各个角度准备和考虑过的。“男战俘给我们钱买鸡，”她说，“他们说我们太瘦。现在我们晚上有好吃的，日本人和战俘都有。”

他举起两根手指，说：“两只。”

她怒火中烧。“一只，不是两只，军曹，”她说，“这是给你的礼物，因为你很好，一直带着孩子，而且批准我们慢慢走。只有五只，五只。”她给他看那个袋子，他仔细地数清楚了。直到那个时候，她才发现这几只公鸡大得出奇，而且浑身乌黑，在东方很少见。“一只给你，四只给我们。”

他把袋子放下，点点头，向她笑笑，把公鸡塞到腋下，往厨房走去——他正在那里做晚饭。

那天关丹简直像炸开了锅似的。当地的指挥官是一个渚蒲大尉。1943和1944年期间，这位大尉在泰缅铁路沿线的三〇二战俘营做出了诸多暴行，因此于1946年接受了远东国际军事法庭的审判，并被处死。这个故事发生的时候，他在关丹的职责是拆除马来亚东部铁路，将铁路材料送去海边，装船运往暹罗。他住在前任地区委员的房子里，这位地区委员养了一小批来亨鸡，大约有二十只，是在1939年特地从英国进口的。一天早晨，渚蒲大尉醒来时发现他二十只黑来亨鸡中的五只不见了，随之消失的还有一个绿色的袋子，那原来是用来装地区委员的邮件的，现在用来装家禽饲料。

渚蒲大尉是一个极易动怒的男人。他召来军事警察，命令他们马上展开调查。澳大利亚的卡车司机马上成为嫌疑对象，因为他们在该地区有一些小偷小摸的记录。而且，他们有很多作案机会，他们的工作性质决定了他们有很多自由时间——卡车的维修和加油一般都在漆黑的晚上进行，那时很难知道每一个人的确切位置。军事警察当天就搜查了卡车司机的战俘营，以期发现泄露秘密的羽毛或者袋子，但除了司机们从军需官仓库那里偷来的罐头食物和香烟之外，军警们一无所获。

渚蒲大尉很不满意，比以往任何时候都要生气。这演变成关乎面子问题的大事，因为小偷胆敢染指指挥官的财产，这种行为明显是对这个职位，甚至是对日本皇军的侮辱。他下令对整个关丹镇进行搜查。第二天，听令于军事警察的部队搜查了每一座房子，势必要找到黑色羽毛和绿色袋子的踪迹。但也是白费工夫。

大尉日夜冥思苦想，发誓要洗刷掉泼在他制服上的奇耻大辱。他命令对他手下士兵的兵舍进行搜查，但同样毫无发现。

还有一条线索。有三辆由澳洲人开的卡车是沿着大路往北走的，或者从而连突开过来。第二天渚蒲派了一辆轻便的卡车，配备了四名军事警察，出发去搜查这些卡车，审讯司机、看守以及任何有可能知情的人。在薄海和布拉特之间，他们遇到一群女人和孩子，这群人正背着包裹沿路往南走。一个日本中士走在最前面，一边肩上挂着来复枪，另一边挂着一个绿色的袋子。卡车尖声刹车，停了下来。

在接下来的两个小时里，琴坚持说她的故事：她用澳洲人给的钱在利茂买了这些鸡。他们把她赶到路中央，对她进行刑讯逼供，连续不断地问她重复的问题：当他们觉得她走神了，就扇她耳光，踢她小腿，或者穿着军靴踩在她的光脚上。她用绝望的决心坚持讲这个故事，知道它太蹩脚，知道他们不相信她，但她不知道除此之外还可以说什么。最后，由三辆卡车组成的车队沿路开了过来。第二辆车的司机，乔·哈曼，马上被中士认了出来，并被用刺刀押着带到琴面前。军警的中士说：“是这个男人吗？”

琴绝望地说：“我一直在告诉他们你给了我们四美元，让我们拿去买鸡吃，乔，但是他们不相信我。”

军警说：“你们从大尉那里偷来这些鸡。这就是那个包。”

牧工看着那个女子血淋淋的脸和脚。“放开她，你们这些该死的浑蛋，”他用慢腾腾的昆士兰腔调愤怒地说，“是我偷了这些该死的鸡，是我把它们给了她。那又怎么样？”

黑暗渐渐笼罩住我在伦敦的起居室。那是一个风雨交加的下午，暮色提前降临。雨仍旧打在窗户上。琴坐在那里，凝视着火焰，沉浸在她悲伤的记忆中。“他们残杀了他。”她轻轻地说，“他们把我们全部带到了关丹，把他的手钉在树上，残忍地打死了他。我们被迫站在旁边，看着他们行刑。”

————————————————————

(1) 马来亚西南部港口城市。

(2) 语见《新约·路加福音》第18章。

(3) 原文是“straits-born”，指海峡殖民地（英国在马六甲海峡沿岸的殖民地，包括新加坡、槟榔屿、马六甲和附近小岛）出生的英国人。

(4) 他说的是“Dinky-die？”，澳洲口语，英国人不使用，所以琴没听懂。

(5) 乔在此处用的是“boong”一词，在澳洲俚语中是“土著”的意思，但在普通英语中，“土著”一般使用“abo”一词，故下文琴问他那是什么意思。后来乔称琴作“土著太太”，用的也是“Mrs Boong”。

(6) 套环（ringer），澳洲用语，所以琴听不懂。

(7) 十九世纪末非常著名的澳大利亚马车公司，至今尚存。

(8) 澳大利亚有六个州和两个领地。北领地为两个领地之一，与昆士兰相邻。

(9) “walkabout”（丛林流浪）在澳洲英语里指在内地的长途旅行，在普通英语中，“walkabout”指的是要人在公共场所的巡行。

第四章

“天啊，”我说，“实在是太悲惨了。”

她抬起头。“不必惊讶，”她说，“战争就是这样的。那是很久之前，到现在差不多有六年了。渚蒲大尉也已经被绞死了——不是因为这件事，而是因为他在铁路上犯下的暴行。时过境迁，我几乎都想不起来了。”

关丹果然没有女子战俘营，渚蒲大尉也不喜欢让许多妇女和孩子打扰他。死刑中午时分在一个游乐场里执行，从那里可以俯瞰一片网球场。双手被钉在树上的身体鲜血淋漓，体无完肤。它一停止扭动，渚蒲大尉马上让这些女人和孩子在他面前站成一排。

“你们都是很坏的人，”他说，“没有给你们的地方。我让你们去哥打巴鲁。你们现在就走。”

他们一言不发，跌跌撞撞地上路了。他们的心被绝望笼罩，只想赶快逃离这个恐怖的地方。护送他们从金马士过来的中士仍然被派作看守，因为他恬不知耻地参与了分赃。命令他继续和他们待在一起，是对他的惩罚，因为在日本人眼里，所有这些战俘都是卑劣无耻的生物，押送他们也是一件下流丢脸的工作，只能由那些最低贱的人来干。一个光荣的日本军人宁可自杀也不会甘心被俘。也许为了强调这一点，那位普通士兵被带走了，所以从关丹开始，这个中士就是他们唯一的看守。

他们就这样再次上路，日复一日地延挨着。他们离开关丹的时候大约是七月中旬。从关丹到哥打巴鲁有大约两百英里路程，算上疾病将引致的耽搁，琴预计这一次至少要走两个月。

第一天他们走到了勿沙莱，海边的一个渔村，沙滩边缘有雪白的珊瑚沙和棕榈树。这个地方风光秀丽，但他们几近无眠，因为几乎所有孩子都因恐怖的记忆失魂丧魄，整夜哭泣，无法入寐。他们无法在如此靠近关丹的地方停留，第二天就继续上路。经过短暂的行程，他们到达巴洛，另一个海边渔村，棕榈树更为繁茂。他们在这里休息了一天。

他们渐渐意识到自己进入了一片新天地。马来亚东北部海岸漂亮宜人，也更加健康。它景色优美，海岬周围岩石满布，满是沙子的海滩绵延曲折，边缘点缀着棕榈树，海风清爽新鲜，悠悠不绝。更重要的是，所有村庄都能供应大量鲜鱼。他们离开帕农至今，第一次获得充足的蛋白质搭配米饭，健康马上好转。大部分人至少每天在温暖的海水里洗一次澡，他们罹患的某些皮肤病——尽管不是全部——也开始在这种盐水疗法中逐渐痊愈。多月来孩子们头一次有充沛的体能玩耍嬉戏。

实际上，除了中士，所有人的状态都变好了。他现在对这群女人疑心重重，几乎不帮她们抱小孩儿，也不以任何其他方式帮助她们了。他似乎对于所受的谴责耿耿于怀，而且也失去了可以交谈的同伴。他总是精神不振，晚上坐得离她们远远的，一脸阴沉。有一两次，琴忽然意识到自己正在故意尝试鼓励他振作，仿佛他倒是战俘，而她却成了看守。一路上他们很少碰到日本人，只是偶尔会看到河村或者小机场上的分队驻地。他们每次经过驻地，中士都会把自己收拾得漂漂亮亮，向主管军官作报告，军官通常会过来检查他们。但在关丹和哥打巴鲁之间几乎没有工业设施和比渔村大的小镇，也没有人认为敌人会袭击马来半岛东部。有好几次，女人们连续一周连一个日本人也没看见，除了中士之外。

他们慢慢沿着海岸往北走，妇女和孩子们的状况大为改善。六个月前，他们无助地从帕农出发，但现在这群战俘已经非同往日。死亡无情地淘汰了那些最弱的成员，把他们的数量减至原来一半左右，这样一来，村子为他们安排住宿和伙食就容易多了。他们的经验也大为增加，学会了怎样使用当地疗法对付疟疾和痢疾，并和当地人一样穿衣、洗澡和睡觉。因此，与他们之前拒向原始条件屈服，努力挣扎维持西方生活方式的时候相比，他们现在拥有的闲暇时间大为增加。每隔一天走十英里已然不再是一个沉重的负担。在休息日，女人们能抽出更多时间陪伴孩子。不久，曾任小学女校长的沃纳太太为孩子们开班授课，上课成了休息日的常规活动。

琴开始教小宝贝罗宾·霍兰走路。他恢复了健壮的体魄，并变得很沉，因为他现在已经十六个月大，琴快要背不动他了。气候炎热，她从未给他穿过任何衣服。他身无挂碍，在棕榈树和木麻黄树荫里，或在阳光下的沙滩上，像个马来婴儿一样赤身裸体地爬来爬去，并晒得跟马来婴儿差不多一样黑。

接下来几周，他们慢慢沿着海岸往北走，经过许多渔村，像乌拉、真德、卡隆、珀农乔角、甘马仕，等等。他们偶尔染病，当很多人都排汗退烧时，就随地停留几天，但再也没有人死去。关丹留给他们的死亡恐惧，是最后一次，每个人都对之讳莫如深，因为没有人想唤起其他人的可怖回忆。但是，每个人却又都暗中认为，这个惨剧恰好是他们命运的转捩点。

弗里思太太的存在大大加深了这个念头。她是一位小个子的虔诚女士，恪守时辰早晚祈祷。正是弗里思太太永远知道哪天是星期天：那天她会大声向任何听众念上一个小时祈祷书和圣经。如果碰上休息日，她会猜算时间，尽量在十一点开始这项服务，因为晨祷理应在此时进行。

弗里思太太试图为他们遇到的每一件事情寻找上帝之手。循着这种思路来冥想他们的经历，她猛然领悟到某种相似性。圣人受难的故事，她烂熟于心，现在她亲眼见证了另外一个。在她心目中，这位澳洲人有治愈疾病的力量，因为他给他们带来的药物治好了她的痢疾和庄妮·霍斯福尔(1)的皮癣。并且，毫无疑问的是，在他为他们牺牲之后，他们每一所遇都仿佛恩受祝福。上帝把儿子(2)送到了巴勒斯坦。难道他(3)在马来亚重演了这个故事？

遭蒙持续巨大苦难的男男女女，被完全切断了和之前生活的联系，过上一种完全异样的生活，常常会形成奇怪的心理特质。弗里思太太并没有把自己的观点强加到其他人身上，然而，她开始逐渐相信的事情还是不可避免地为其他女人所知悉。大家初时心存怀疑，但都认为这件事情比其他一切更需要深刻和谨慎的思考。大部分女人过去一有机会就去教堂，几乎全属低教会派(4)，内心深处一直渴望得到上帝的帮助。随着她们的身体健康一周周改善，宗教思想能力逐步增强，时间也渐渐冲淡了关于澳大利亚人的准确记忆。这种记忆变得充满敬畏，泛着玫瑰色，脱离了现实。如果弗里思太太相信的这个奇迹有可能是真的，实际上意味着她们被置于上帝手中，没有东西可以碰她们，她们会战胜万难，熬过苦境，终将重新获得她们的家园、丈夫和西方生活方式。她们重获力量，继续前行。

琴并没有做任何事来驱散这些幻想，因为它们明显对女人们大有益处，但她自己却不为所动。她最年轻，也是唯一一个未婚姑娘，对于乔·哈曼的印象跟其他人大相径庭。她认识的他不过是一个普通人，一个普通的男人。当他回来跟她谈话的时候，她已经变得更漂亮迷人。她下意识地采取了防范措施，让他一直叫她土著太太。如果她臀上的婴儿使他误会她跟其他女人一样已为人妻，那也无妨。在那些热带村庄的炎热夜晚，他们几乎衣不蔽体。那个地方不守常规，甚至根本毫无规则可言，如果他知道她是个未婚姑娘，她敢说他们两人之间可能发生任何事情，而且可能猝不及防。她因他而起的悲伤，相比其他妇女而言更真实，也深刻得多，并且丝毫不是因为她认为他是个神圣的人。她很肯定他不是。

八月末，他们来到一条名叫瓜拉德朗的村子，大概在关丹和哥打巴鲁的半途。德朗是一条河流，短小泥泞，蜿蜒经过一片平坦的稻米种植区，流入大海，村子就坐落在河流南岸的河口沙洲内。这是一个秀美的地方，棕榈树和木麻黄树青葱茂盛，南中国海的巨浪拍打着绵长的玉白色沙滩，碎成点点银雪。村民以打鱼和种植稻米为生。河里停泊着大约十五艘用于出海捕鱼的渔船，是一种大型开放式帆船，头尾装饰着高高扁扁的奇怪雕像。村子里有一块用作广场的空地，周围聚集着用木头和棕榈叶搭建而成的当地店铺，后面有一个紧靠河岸的米仓。这个米仓当时是空的，女人们带着孩子住在里面。

中士在这里病倒了，发起烧来，很有可能是得了疟疾。关丹一事之后，他性情大变，一路上阴沉忧郁，仿佛深觉孤单寂寞。女人们越来越健壮，他却变得越来越虚弱。一开始她们都觉得很奇怪，因为他以前从未生过病。这个小个子男人怪异、丑陋又野蛮，她们看见他一蹶不振，最初都感到轻松愉快，但随着他日益身心交病，她们反而开始蒙受一种相反的感觉。他和她们共度了漫长的时光，也在职责范围内竭尽所能减轻她们的负担。在路上，他心甘情愿地抱着她们的孩子，孩子去世时，他黯然哭泣。后来他烧得很厉害，她们便轮流帮他拿着来复枪、紧身短上衣、靴子和包裹。所以当这群人到达村子时，走成了一个很奇怪的队列：一个只穿着长裤的小个子黄种男人被沃纳太太牵着，头晕目眩地踉跄而行。他光着脚走更舒服。其他女人走在他们后面，拿着他的整套装备和她们自己的行囊。

琴找到村子的首领，一个大约五十岁，名叫马特·阿明·宾·泰布的男人，向他解释情况。“我们是战俘，”她说，“要从关丹步行到哥打巴鲁，这个日本人是我们的看守。他生病发烧了，我们必须找一间阴凉的屋子让他躺下休息。他有权以日本皇军的名义开具收据，支付我们的食宿费。他康复之后就会这样做的，会给你们开一张收据。我们自己也必须找地方住宿和吃饭。”

马特·阿明说：“我没有能给白人夫人睡觉的地方。”

琴说：“我们已经不再是白人夫人了。我们是战俘，已经习惯了和你们的妇女一样生活。我们需要的只是一个屋顶和一块可以睡觉的地板，并借用锅、米、蔬菜和一点点鱼或肉。”

“我们自己吃的你们都可以吃，”他说，“但看到你们这些夫人如此落魄，真是让人感到奇怪。”

他把中士带进自己的屋子，用椰子纤维填充出一张褥子和一个枕头给他。他想把一个明显是他自己平日用的蚊帐给中士，但妇女们拒绝了，因为她们知道中士需要尽可能多的凉风。她们帮他脱掉裤子，穿上纱笼，扶他躺到床上。她们的奎宁已经用光了，但首领用自己的配方调制了一剂药。她们给中士喝了一点，就把他留给首领的妻子照顾，去找自己落脚的地方和食物。

中士整个晚上都烧得很厉害。她们第二天早上去看望他的时候，他看起来一点也不好。他仍然发着高烧，变得虚弱了很多，她们觉得他好像已经放弃了，那是一个不祥的征兆。那天，她们轮流坐在他身旁，给他洗脸、擦身子，不时跟他说话，试图引起他的兴趣，但并不怎么成功。晚上，琴坐在他身旁，他毫无生气地朝天躺着，汗流如注，她问什么都不答应。

她想找点东西来吸引他的注意，于是拉过他的紧身短上衣，在口袋里摸寻收据本。她在口袋里找到了一张照片，上面有一个日本女人和四个小孩，站在一间屋子的入口处。她说：“军曹，这是你的孩子吗？”然后递给他。他拿过去，一言不发，也没有看。然后他把照片递回给琴，示意她放回去。

她一边把夹克放回原位，一边看着他。眼泪从他的眼中流出，淌下，混入脸颊上的汗珠。她非常轻柔地把它们拭去了。

他越来越虚弱，两天后在夜里去世了。似乎没有特别的理由可以解释他的离世，但在关丹所受的侮辱可能一直重重地压在他的心上，使他失去了活下去的兴趣和愿望。她们第二天把他葬在村子外的穆斯林墓地里，几乎所有人都为他哭了一阵，把他当作一位珍贵的老朋友。

他们因为中士的死而陷入了非常尴尬的处境，成了没有看守的战俘。葬礼当天晚上，妇女们深入而详细地探讨了目前的状况。“我看不出来为什么我们不应该留在这里，原地不动，”弗里思太太说，“这是一个很不错的地方。它确实很不错，不比我们之前去过的任何一个地方差。那是他说的，我们应该找一个地方，不再奔波，安顿下来。”

琴说：“我知道。但我们必须先确定两件事情。第一，日本兵终有一天会发现我们在这里生活，这样一来首领就会因为擅自收留我们而受到惩罚。日本兵很可能会杀了他，大家都很清楚他们是什么人。”

“也许他们根本就不会发现我们呢？”普莱斯太太说。

“我不相信马特·阿明是愿意冒这种险的人，”琴说，“他也毫无冒险的理由。如果我们留下来，他会立刻去找日本兵，告诉他们我们在这里。”她顿了顿，“第二，我们不能仅仅凭着白人夫人的身份，就期望这个村子会一直无限期供养我们十七个人。他们会把我们的消息通知日本兵，只是为了甩掉我们这个包袱。”

弗里思太太精明地说：“也许我们可以自己种粮食。我们来的时候看到有一半的稻田今年尚未播种。”

琴看着她说：“非常正确——那些田现在荒着。我真想知道原因。”

“肯定是因为所有男人都去打仗了，”沃纳太太说，“作为苦力修建那条铁路什么的。”

琴慢慢地说：“大家怎么看？如果我们去告诉马特·阿明，只要他让我们留下来，我们就下地干活，你们觉得怎么样？”

普莱斯太太冷笑道：“我？以我这体型？在齐膝深的泥和水里走来走去，把秧苗插进地里，就像大家看见的马来亚女孩那样？”

琴满怀歉意地说：“那只是一个想法。”

“也是一个很好的想法，”沃纳太太说，“我不介意在稻田里劳动，只要我们能留在这里安安稳稳地生活。”

弗里思太太说：“如果我们能像你说的那样种水稻的话，说不定他们会让我们留下来——我是指日本兵。无论如何，那样我们就能做点贡献，而不用再无所事事地全国各地闲荡，就跟受鞭打的流浪狗一样。”

第二天早上，琴去找首领。她双手交叠，做出致敬的祈祷姿势，向他微笑，并用马来语说：“马特·阿明，我们看到有些稻田没有播种，这是为什么呢？我们来到这里时，看见太多被完全荒置的田地了。”

他说：“大部分的男人，除了渔夫，都在为军队工作。”他指日本军队。

“在铁路上？”

“不，他们在贡卡达。他们正在开路，需要铲平一条长长的陆地，在上面铺上柏油和石头，这样飞机就可以在上面降落了。”

“他们很快就会回来种地了吗？”

“那掌握在真主手中，但我认为他们还要在外度过很多个月。我听说他们在贡卡达做完这个工程之后，还要去另外一个叫作马常的地方，继续做同样的工程，完了还要去檀永麻。一旦落入了日本兵的魔掌，人们就很难逃回自己的家园。”

“那谁来栽种和收割水稻？”

“妇女们会尽其所能去做。明年稻米将很短缺——这里不会，因为我们不会卖掉自己需要吃的稻米。我们将不会有多余的稻米卖给日本人。我不知道他们明年吃什么，但应该没有稻米。”

琴说：“马特·阿明，我有一件很严肃的事情想跟您商量。如果我们之中有一个男人，我会让他来跟您谈，可是没有。如果我请您跟一个代表其他女士的女人来商量正事，希望您不会感到被冒犯。”她现在已经稍稍懂得跟伊斯兰教徒打交道的正确方法。

他向她鞠了一躬，请她去他的屋子商量。那里有一个颤巍巍的小门廊，他们走上去，面对面在地板上坐下来。他两只眼睛靠得很近，头发剪得很短，小胡子修得整整齐齐，腰以上赤裸着，下身穿着纱笼。他面容坚定，但透着仁慈。他厉声吩咐屋子里的妻子把咖啡端出来。

在等咖啡端上来的时间里，琴很有礼貌地与首领寒暄。她从六个月的乡村生活经验中总结出谈判的规矩。端上来的咖啡装在两个厚厚的玻璃杯里，没放牛奶，却甜甜的，加了糖。她向他鞠一躬，举起杯子啜了一口，又把杯子放下。“我们身处困境，”她坦率地说，“看守去世了。现在我们的命运掌握在自己手中——和您的手中。您了解我们的故事。我们在帕农被俘，一路跋山涉水来到这里。没有日本指挥官愿意收留我们，让我们进战俘营，供养我们，在我们生病的时候给予照顾，因为每个指挥官都认为这是其他人的职责。所以他们派看守押送我们从这个镇走到那个镇。这足足持续了六个多月，在这期间我们一半人死在了路上。”

他点点头。

“现在我们的军曹过世了，”她说，“我们要怎么办？即使我们继续走下去，直到碰上一个日本军官，向他报告此事，他也不会收留我们。这整个国家没有人会收留我们。他们不会马上杀掉我们，就像对待男人一样。为了摆脱我们，他们会迫使我们不断走下去，走去别处，也许是沼泽满布的乡下，就像我们之前经过的那些地方。这样我们就会再次生病，一个接一个全部死去。如果我们现在就去告知日本兵，这就是我们的命运。”

他回答道：“《古兰经》上写道：‘凡有血气者，都要尝死的滋味。我以祸福考验你们，你们只被召归我。’(5)”

她飞速思考，迪里特村首领的话在脑海里浮现出来。她说：“《古兰经》上也写道：‘如果你们行善而且敬畏，那末，真主确是彻知你们的行为的。’”

他定定地看着她。“在什么地方？”

她说：“第四章。”

“你也信奉伊斯兰教？”他怀疑地问道。

她摇摇头。“我不想欺骗您。我是一个基督教徒。我们都是基督教徒。路上我们遇到了一位对我们非常仁慈的村子首领，我去答谢他时，他向我说了这句话。我不懂《古兰经》。”

“你是一位非常聪明的女士，”他说，“请告诉我你的请求。”

“我希望我们能留在这里，在这个村子里，”她说，“下地劳动，种植稻米，就像你们的妇女一样。”他瞠目结舌。“这对您来讲很危险，”她说，“我们很清楚。如果日本军官在接到您的报告之前在这里找到我们，肯定会勃然大怒。因此，我希望您这样做。我希望您马上让几位村子里的妇女带领我们下地劳动，教会我们如何种水稻。我们会从早到晚工作，纯粹为了换取食物和栖身之处。两周后，我会自己去找日本军官，向他报告我们的情况。希望您作为村子的首领能跟我一同前往，告诉军官，如果我们被允许留下来继续种地，日本军队就有更多稻米可吃。这就是我的请求。”

“我从未听说过白人夫人在稻田里劳作。”他说。

她问道：“您是否听说过白人夫人像我们一样四处奔波、接连死去？”

他不言语。

“我们的命运掌握在您的手中，”她说，“如果您说，继续上路，到别处去，那我们就必须离开，离开就意味着死亡。到时请您向真主解释。如果您允许我们留下来耕种您的稻田，在您的护荫下平静安全地生活下去，那么当英国的老爷们获胜后重返这个国家时，您将获得巨大的荣誉，因为他们终将赢得这场战争。这些矮子们现在当权，但他们敌不过美国人和世界上所有自由民族。英国老爷们终有一天会回来的。”

他说：“那一天来临的时候，我将不胜欢喜。”

他们默默坐着，抿着咖啡。过了一会儿首领说：“这不是一件能轻易决定的事情，因为它关乎整个村子的安危。我会认真考虑，并和兄弟们详细商量。”

琴离开了。当天晚上晚祷结束后，她看见一群男人坐在首领屋子前面。他们都是老人家，因为当时在瓜拉德朗已经全然看不见年轻男子的踪影，况且，很可能无论如何年轻小伙子也是没有资格参加会议的。稍晚的时候，马特·阿明来到米仓，要求见佩吉特夫人。琴背着婴儿出来迎接他，在一盏小油灯发出的光亮中站着和他交谈。

“我们已经讨论过你提出的请求了，”他说，“让白人夫人在我们的稻田里干活实在有点不近情理。一些兄弟担心白人老爷们回来时无法理解这种情形，并且会发怒说我们违背你们的意志，强迫你们为我们劳动。”

琴说：“我们可以马上给您写一封信。如果他们那样说，您可以把信拿给他们看。”

他摇摇头。“不必如此。等老爷们回来的时候，请你告诉他们，这完全出于你们的意愿就可以了。”

她说：“我们会的。”

她们第二天就开始下地干活。当时他们的队伍有六个已婚女士、琴和十个孩子，包括琴的婴儿。首领把他们带到田里，和名叫法缇玛·宾蒂·妲露丝和蕾哈娜·宾蒂·哈珊的两个马来女孩儿一起工作。作为开端，他让她们耕种七小块杂草丛生的土地。以她们的力气，耕种这几块地游刃有余。旁边有一个带屋顶的平台供她们纳凉休息，大家一起劳动的时候，最小的孩子们就待在那里。

七位女士都非常健壮。艰苦的旅途淘汰了无法承担农活的成员，剩下来的女人都坚定勇敢，士气高昂，风趣幽默。一旦她们适应了在脚踝深的泥土和水里工作的新鲜感，就发现这种劳动并不吃力。她们很快就变得雄心勃勃，想要向村民们证明白人夫人也能干和马来女人一样多的活，甚至更多。

人们把稻米种在小块田地里，田地周围环绕着像矮墙一样的泥垄，以便把溪水引入田中，形成小池塘。把水排干后，稻田底部全是柔软的淤泥，就可以用手拔掉杂草，犁地，准备插秧。人们把稻种撒在类似苗圃的地方，等种子发芽后把秧苗移植到泥土松软的田里插成排，然后重新往田里灌水，让幼苗在水里露出头来，在大太阳底下暴晒几天，之后水被再次排空，好让太阳晒到稻苗根部。在热带气候下，这样的水旱交替能使作物迅速生长，等它们长到差不多跟小麦一样高时，稻秆顶端就开始抽穗，就像长出来毛茸茸的小耳朵一样。收割时，用小刀把耳朵割下，装进袋子拿进村子去糠，把稻秆留在地里。水牛这时就被放进田里吃掉稻秆，使土地更肥沃，并把土地踩个遍。这样这些土地就适于来年重新播种，重复上述循环。这些稻田每年大约能收两造，并且不需要轮作。

习惯之后，在这些田里劳作并无令人不愉快之处。在一个炎热逼人的国家里，戴上一顶用棕榈叶编成的大圆锥形太阳帽，脱掉大部分衣裳，在泥和水里嬉戏，筑起小水坝，把潺潺小溪引流入田，比起从事其他许多工作来要惬意得多。最初两周快要结束的时候，女士们都已经安下心来踏实干活，并且喜欢上了这份工作，而所有的孩子打从一开始就乐此不疲。在那期间，并没有日本兵靠近村子。

第十六天，琴和首领马特·阿明带着中士的来复枪、装备、制服和收据本，一起出发去寻找日本军队。他们去的地方叫作瓜拉拉吉特，大约二十七英里远，有一个日本分队驻扎在那里。

他们花了两天时间步行去瓜拉拉吉特，中途在一个叫作武吉特帕拉的地方过了一个晚上，当地首领接待了他们，琴和村子的妇女一起睡在村子后面的屋子里。他们第二天继续上路，晚上到达瓜拉拉吉特。那是一条很大的村庄，或者说是一个小镇。马特·阿明带琴去当地一个马来政府官员登库·本塔拉·拉雅家中与他见面。登库·本塔拉是一个瘦小的马来人，英语说得非常好。他由衷关心从马特·阿明和琴那里听来的故事。

“真是非常，非常抱歉，”他最后说，“我无法给予你们直接的帮助，因为日本兵控制了我们的一切行为。你们不得不耕种稻田，这实在是太糟糕了。”

“一点儿也不糟糕，”琴说，“实际上我们非常喜欢这份工作。我们想和马特·阿明一起留在那里。如果日本军队在本地有一个女子战俘营，我想他们会把我们送进去，但如果没有的话，我们不想继续步行环游马来亚。在途中我们已经失去了一半成员。”

“请你们今晚务必留下，”他说，“明天我将和这里的日本行政长官谈一谈。总之这里是没有女子战俘营的。”

当天晚上，琴近七个月来第一次睡在床上。她并没有因此觉得很高兴。习惯了在地板上睡觉后，她觉得睡在褥子上反而没那么凉快。她并没有真的下床睡到地板上，不过她差一点就那样做了。然而，泡在浴缸里，拿一个灌满水的葫芦往头上淋浴，倒是件乐事。她洗了很久很久。

早上，登库·本塔拉和马特·阿明带她一起去见日本行政长官，她又讲了一遍她的故事。行政长官曾在加利福尼亚州立大学留学，说一口一流的美式英语。他深感同情，但宣称战俘归军队负责，与他毫不相干。不过，他带他们一起去见军事指挥官，一个松坂大佐。琴对着松坂又讲了一遍她的故事。

松坂大佐显然认为女战俘是令人讨厌的累赘，丝毫不愿意抽调自己的任何兵力来押送他们。如果让他自行裁决，他很可能会让他们继续上路，但是碍着登库·本塔拉和行政长官的情面，又了解到女人们的悲惨遭遇，他没法这样做。最后，他干脆洗手不管，让行政长官作出自认为最妥当的安排。行政长官告诉本塔拉，女人们可以暂时留在原地，琴便和马特·阿明一起出发回瓜拉德朗。

他们一留便是三年。

“那是遗失的三年，被生生从我们的生命中割离开来。”她说。她抬起头来看着我，迟疑着。“至少——我认为是那样。我懂得很多关于马来人的知识，但它们在英国没有多少价值。”

“直到生命结束那一刻，你才能确定那是否是一段毫无意义的时间，”我说，“也许到时你就觉得不是了。”

她点点头。“我想您是对的。”她拿起拨火棍，开始刮掉壁炉铁栏上的灰。“他们对我们太好了，”她说，“用他们拥有的一切，以他们的方式尽可能善待我们。法缇玛，那位最初几周告诉我们如何在田里工作的姑娘——她简直是个完美的宝贝儿。实际上到后来我们情同姐妹。”

“那就是你想回去的地方？”我问道。

她点点头。“现在我继承了这笔钱，想回去为他们做点事情。我们和他们一起生活了三年，他们倾囊相助。如果他们没有收留我们，可能我们都活不到战争结束。现在我这么富有，而他们却如此，如此穷困……”

“别忘了你还未能支配全部遗产，”我说，“马来亚之旅将所费不菲。”

她微微一笑。“我知道。我想为他们做的事情花不了这么多钱——不会超过五十英镑。住在那个村子的时候，我们必须去打水，那是女人的职责，也是一个可怕的任务。是这样，流经村子的河流随海潮涨落，所以河水是咸的，人们可以用它来洗澡或者洗衣服，但如果要喝水，就必须走大约一英里，把泉水打回来。我们一般用葫芦打水，每只手拿两个，中间穿一条棍子提着，早晚一次——去程一英里，回程一英里——一天走四英里。法缇玛和其他姑娘并不觉得有任何不妥，因为村子一直以来都是那样做的，世代因循。”

“那就是你想要去挖一口井的原因？”

她点点头。“那是我能为他们做的事情，为妇女们——可以让她们活得更轻松，就像她们让我们活得更轻松一样。我想在村子正中央挖一个井，离每间屋子都不到一百码。她们早就应该有这么一个井。我敢肯定至多只需要挖十英尺深，因为那里遍地是水源。地下水位不会深于十英尺，至多十五英尺。我想如果我回去雇用一个挖井队替他们做这项工作，应该能把井挖成。做完这件事之后，我就可以清清白白地安心享用这笔钱。”她再次抬起头来看我。“您会不会觉得我很傻？”

“不会，”我说，“我不觉得。但有一点，我希望你不用去那么远的地方。往返马来亚的旅程会花掉一年大部分收入。”

“我知道，”她说，“如果我把钱花光了，我会在新加坡或者其他地方找一份工作，干几个月活，存一点钱。”

“我很想知道，”我说，“为什么你不干脆留在那里找一份工作呢？你对那个国家很熟悉。”

她说：“我当时对那里有点厌倦了——1945年的时候。我们都渴望回家。他们从哥打巴鲁派了三辆卡车来接我们，把我们送到机场。我们坐空中列车飞往新加坡，机组人员都是澳大利亚人。在飞机上我遇到了比尔·霍兰。我必须告诉他关于艾琳、弗雷迪和简的事情。”她的声音低沉了下去。“我必须告诉他所有家庭成员的遭遇，除了罗宾。他那时已经四岁了，是一个很健壮的小家伙。他们让我跟比尔和罗宾一起回家，帮忙照顾罗宾。他很自然地把我当成妈妈了。”

她微微一笑。“比尔想我做他的妻子，”她说，“我做不到。我不可能成为他想要的那种妻子。”

我一言不发。

“我们降落的时候，英国是那么地绿意逼人，那么美丽，”她说，“我想忘却战争，忘却东方，做回一个普通人。我在帕克和利维公司找到了现在这份工作，在那里干了两年了——用于奢侈品贸易的女士手提包和公文包跟战争、疾病和死亡一点关系都没有。总的来说，我在那里过得还算愉快。”

她重返家园时茕茕孑立。她一到新加坡就给母亲发了电报。过了很久，科尔温贝的阿加莎姑姑才通过电报作出回复，向她透露她母亲已经去世的消息。她离开新加坡之前已经听说哥哥唐纳德死在泰缅铁路上。当她重获自由，却发现亲人尽失，肯定深感孤寂。在我看来，她确实展现出了极其坚强的精神，才在彼时彼境拒绝了求婚。她在利物浦着陆，去科尔温贝和阿加莎姑姑待了几周，就南下伦敦找工作。

我问她为什么不和舅舅联系，去找那位住在埃尔的老人家。“老实说，”她说，“我把他忘得一干二净。即使我想起他来，也只会认为他已经去世了。我只见过他一面，那个时候我才十一岁，他看起来就好像行将就木了。我从来没想过他还活着。母亲的财产全部毁于一旦。她的私人文件也几乎全部丢失了，因为遭受轰炸时，它们都放在南安普敦的佩吉特家里。即使我能想起道格拉斯舅舅来，也不知道他住在哪里……”

外面依然下着倾盆大雨。我们决定放弃当天下午外出的主意，干脆留在公寓喝茶。她到我的小厨房烧水沏茶，我则忙于摆桌子，切面包和奶油。当她拿着托盘进来的时候，我说：“那你打算什么时候回马来亚？”

她说：“我想，我会订五月底的票，继续在帕克和利维公司工作到那个时候。”又说，“离现在大概还有六周时间。那个时候我就能存起足够的钱来支付来回路费，我还有从过去两年的工资里省下来的六十英镑。”她开始认真思考这次旅途的费用，并在一艘中等大小的货船上订到一张票，这艘货船会顺路带上十来位乘客到新加坡去，收费比较便宜。“我将不得不从新加坡坐飞机到哥打巴鲁，”她说，“马来航空有经停关丹去哥打巴鲁的飞机。我不知道要怎样从哥打巴鲁去瓜拉德朗，不过我想总会有办法的。”

我想，她从哥打巴鲁走路去瓜拉德朗应该也没有问题。步行穿过马来亚腹地现在对她来讲应该是小菜一碟。她给我讲战时遭遇时，我把地图集拿了出来，看看她说的地方都在哪里。现在我又在看地图。“你可以在关丹下飞机，”我说，“从那里走近一些。”

“我知道，”她说，语气透着悲伤，“我知道那样近一些。但如果让我回到那里，我会发疯。”

为了缓和气氛，我岔开话题道：“我肯定要花很多年才能记住这些马来名字。”

“懂得它们的含义后就简单多了，”她说，“就跟英语名字一样。‘巴鲁’是‘新’的意思，‘哥打’是‘要塞’的意思。就像英语里的纽卡斯尔(6)。”

她继续她在佩里维尔的工作，我也继续我在赞善里的工作，但她的故事在我脑海里挥之不去。我俱乐部里有一位叫怀特的男士，曾经在马来警察局工作，日据期间成为了日本军队的战俘，我想他被关进了樟宜监狱(7)。一个晚上，我坐在他身旁吃饭，无法抑制向他探听此事的冲动。“前几天我的客户告诉我一个关于马来亚的离奇故事，”我说，“日本兵拒绝让一批女人进入战俘营，她是其中一人。”

他放下刀子。“您不是说在帕农被俘后，被迫步行横穿马来亚的那批女士吧？”

“正是她们，”我说，“你知道她们的故事，是不是？”

“哦，是的，”他说，“那真是一件再离奇不过的事了，正如你所说的那样。日本指挥官让她们东奔西走，直到最后她们被允许在东海岸某个村子里安顿下来，在那里一直生活到战争结束。她们的首领是一位非常可敬的姑娘，马来语说得非常流利。她不是什么名人，曾经在吉隆坡一个办事处当打字员，战时却表现出色，堪称楷模。”

我点点头。“她就是我的客户。”

“是吗！我总想知道她后来怎么样了。她现在在干什么？”

我干巴巴地说：“她又当回打字员了，在佩里维尔一个手提包厂工作。”

“真的？”他吃了几口饭，又说，“我总是觉得应该给她颁个奖章什么的。不幸的是，你无法给予那样的人任何奖赏。但如果没有她，那些女士和她们的孩子可能都会死掉。在那批战俘里，其他人都没有她那样的才干。”

“我知道那批战俘有一半去世了。”我说。

他点点头。“我相信那是真的。最后她帮助他们安顿下来，在稻田里劳作，那之后他们都平安无事。”

在琴离开英国之前的六周里，我不时与她见面。她订好了6月2日从伦敦出发去新加坡的船票，并通知了她的公司，她将于五月底离职。她告诉我，他们听到这个消息后非常沮丧，并且马上提出给她十先令的提薪。有鉴于此，她向帕克先生提及遗产的事情，他只好接受了这件不可避免的事情。

我做好安排，给她在渣打银行开了一个账户，使她能在新加坡收到七到九月的收入。随着她的出发时间日益临近，我开始为她担忧，不是怕她大手大脚花钱，而是怕实际花销超出预算，使她陷入困境。在现在这种时世，每年九百英镑对于一个去东方旅行的人来讲有点捉襟见肘。

大约在她出发前一周，我向她提及我的忧虑。“别忘记你现在是一个相当富有的女士了，”我说，“量入而出很正确，实际上我也必须防止你铺张浪费，但是别忘了，根据你舅舅的遗嘱，我对这笔遗产有相当大的酌情权。一旦你陷入任何困难，或者真的急需用钱，请立刻给我发电报。比如说，万一你生病了。”

她莞尔一笑。“您真的是太体贴了，”她说，“不过，老实说，我想我会没问题的。如果我的钱都花光了，我可以指望找一份工作来挣钱。毕竟，我并不需要在一个指定日期之前回英国，也没有什么别的事情迫使我按期回国。”

我说：“别在外逗留太长时间。”

她微微一笑。“我不会的，斯特拉坎先生，”她说，“一旦我完成此事，就没有不得不走的理由。”

既然要出门长期远行，她退掉了伊令公地的房间。她问是否可以把一个大箱子和一个手提箱放在我公寓的储物室里，请我在她回国前替她妥为保管。她出发前一天将两个箱子拿过来，还有一双带冰刀的溜冰鞋，她塞不进箱子。她告诉我她只带一只手提箱做行李。

“你的热带工具包呢？”我问，“把它托运了吗？”

她微微一笑。“我把它放进了我的手提包，”她说，“五十片百乐君，一百片磺胺嘧啶片，一些防蚊膏，还有我的旧纱笼。我不是去马来亚当淑女的。”

除我之外没有人到码头送她。她在世上非常孤单，有可能愿意来送她的朋友也都要上班，没法请假。我叫了一辆出租车送她去码头。她当然很重视这次旅行，但在我看来，我那个时代的姑娘们去一趟奇斯尔赫斯特过周末所做的准备都要比她周全，而她可是要跨越半个地球。轮船是崭新的，一切都洁净光鲜。当乘务员替她打开舱门时，她不胜讶异地后撤了一步，因为他为这个小小的房间饰满了鲜花，里面一片花海。“瞧瞧这些花儿！”她转向乘务员，“它们是从哪儿来的？不是我公司送的吧？”

“昨天晚上放在三个大箱子里送过来的，”他回答，“它们把房间装饰得很漂亮，是不是，小姐？”

她转过身来看着我。“我相信是您送的。”然后她说，“您怎么能这么可爱！”

“这些都是英国的花朵，”我说，“只是想提醒你尽快回家。”甚至在她还没有出发的时候，我肯定就已经预感到她永远都不会回来了。

等我回过神来，她已经把一只手臂环在我的肩上，轻吻了我的嘴唇。“这是多谢你送的这些花朵，诺尔，”她温柔地说，“这些花朵，还有你为我所做的一切。”我实在是太心慌意乱、不知所措了，能说出口的只有这么一句话：“等你回来的时候，我会再送你一次那些花。”

不等开船我就走了，因为离别会让人变得愚蠢，所以最好尽早结束。我回到出租车上，独自返回公寓。我记得自己在公寓的窗前站了很久，看着对面马厩的雕花墙壁，想着她那艘漂亮的蒸汽轮船沿河而下，经过格雷夫德森、蒂尔伯里、舒伯里和北福兰角，带她离开。然后我让自己从想象中醒来，去把她的箱子和手提箱挪到储物室一角，跟其他物品分开存放。我站在那里，手里拿着她的靴子和溜冰刀，她的私人物品，考虑应该安放于何处。最后我把它们拿进卧室，放在我衣橱的最下面，因为如果它们不幸被盗，我将永远无法原谅自己。她正是那种让人很想认作女儿的人，而我们自己又偏偏没有女儿。

她坐这艘不定期货船穿越大半个地球，几乎从每一个停靠的港口城市给我写信，从马赛和那不勒斯，从亚历山大和亚丁(8)，从科伦坡(9)，从仰光(10)，从槟城(11)。怀特总是对她怀有浓厚的兴趣，因为他知道她在马来亚的事迹。我习惯于捎上她写给我的信去告诉他她的行程和近况。他有一个好朋友是哥打巴鲁酋长的英国顾问，一位威尔逊-海斯先生。我让他写航空邮件给威尔逊-海斯先生，告诉这位先生琴·佩吉特的计划，并请这位先生尽量给予她帮助。他告诉我那非常有必要，因为在哥打巴鲁，女士只能跟当地的英国人住在一起。我从威尔逊-海斯先生那里收到了一封非常友好的回信，告诉我他期待她的光临。我给她寄去一封航空快信，在信上告知我们为她所做的一切，她应该能在渣打银行收到它。

她只在新加坡逗留了一个晚上，就坐次日早上的航班去哥打巴鲁。空中列车在马来亚到处飞来飞去，经停许多地方。午后不久飞机就载着她停泊在哥打巴鲁的小机场上。她下了飞机，穿着离开伦敦时穿的浅灰色外套和裙子，威尔逊-海斯已经亲自和妻子一起在那里等候了。

一年后，我在联合大学俱乐部见到了正在度假的威尔逊-海斯。他又高又黑，很安静，脸很长。他说她发现他亲自来到机场迎接她时有一点窘迫。她似乎没有意识到她在当地这么有名。尽管早在我给他写信之前，威尔逊-海斯理所当然地就已经知道了她所有事情，但战争结束后他就没有听说过她的任何消息。他收到我们的信，知道琴会回来探望瓜拉德朗的村民之后，就捎了个口信给马特·阿明，并安排好把他的吉普车连司机一起借给她，送她走一百多英里去瓜拉德朗。我想他这么做真的是非常周到，向他表达了我的感谢。他说，战争结束后，英国人在瓜拉德朗地区的声望之所以能高于战前，主要归功于这位姑娘和他们这批战俘，他想，让这辆吉普车替她服务几天，也是应分的。

她在官邸住了两个晚上，从当地商店买了一些简单的小物品。第三天早上坐吉普车离开的时候，她换上了当地衣服。她把手提箱和大部分物品留给威尔逊-海斯太太看管，只随身带着当地体面妇女日常携带的物品。她穿着一条褪了色的旧蓝白方格纱笼，一件白色紧身短上衣。但柔嫩的双脚让她被迫妥协，穿上了拖鞋。她带了一把朴素的茶色中国伞遮阳，按当地样式把头发盘到头顶上，中间插了一个大大的梳子。她拿着一个小小的棕榈叶篮子，但威尔逊-海斯太太告诉她丈夫说里面其实没有什么东西。她带了牙刷，但没带牙膏，带了一条毛巾和一块抗菌肥皂，还有几样药品。她带了一套换洗的衣服：一条新纱笼和一件用来配它的碎花棉上衣；还有三个小小的伍尔沃思胸针和两只戒指，作为送给朋友的小礼物，但没带任何化妆品。那大概就是她的全部行装。

“我想她的做法非常聪明，”威尔逊-海斯说，“如果她把自己打扮成一个英国淑女，见面时会让村民们很尴尬。有些英国居民听到她穿着当地服饰去瓜拉德朗时感到很难过——她也是接受过正规教育的，怎么能穿得如此暴露，全是那一类的话。我必须说，看到她出发时的模样，我觉得她的选择非常正确。”他顿了顿，“毕竟，在战争期间她一直穿成那样，当时也没有人说过她穿着暴露。”

坐吉普车从哥打巴鲁到瓜拉德朗需要一天时间，漫长而痛苦。路面情况很糟糕，而且途中要跨越四条河流的干流，必须把吉普车开到渡轮上过河。除此之外还要经过很多浅滩。她花了十四个小时才走完这一百多英里路，到达瓜拉德朗时天已经黑了。吉普车驶进夜色朦胧的村子时，惹起一阵激动的嘈杂声。村民们一边系上纱笼一边从屋子里走出来。那是一个月圆之夜，月亮的清辉足以帮助司机看清道路。车子停在首领屋子前面，她下了车，稍带倦容，举起双手做出祈祷的姿势向首领走去，用马来语说：“我回来了，马特·阿明，唯恐您误以为，当白人夫人不再需要你们时，就把你们抛诸脑后。”

他说：“你们离开之后，我们一直念念不忘，时常谈起你们。”随后人们过来聚集在他们周围。她看见法缇玛走过来，抱着一个婴儿，一个学步的小童紧紧抓住她的纱笼。琴从人群中挤过去，牵着她的手，说：“时间过得太快了。”然后她看见蕾哈娜，萨菲娅·宾蒂·雅各布和萨菲娅·宾蒂·泰布；还有那个总是眯着眼睛看她的小不点儿易卜拉欣，他现在已经长成了一个年轻小伙儿；还有他的哥哥萨马特，还有老祖贝达、梅里亚姆和很多其他人。其中有一些是她不认识的，因为她离开马来亚后不久，男人们就结束苦役回来了，现在这里有很多新面孔。

法缇玛和一个叫作德拉曼·宾·伊斯梅尔的年轻小伙儿结了婚。她把他带上前介绍给白人夫人。琴向他鞠躬，心想要是她带了一块头巾来遮住脸就好了，这样被介绍给陌生男士时才显得知书识礼。她把手举起来挡住脸，说：“请原谅我没戴面纱。”他向她鞠躬，说：“请别介意。”然后法缇玛插进来说：“他知道的，所有人都知道白人夫人和我们住在一起的时候从来不戴面纱。因为不同民族有不同规矩。迪恩(12)啊，你能回来真是太让人高兴了。”

琴和马特·阿明一起为司机安排好住宿，然后和法缇玛到她丈夫屋子里去。他们问琴是否已经吃过饭，琴说没有，他们就给琴做了一顿虾酱米饭。虾酱是用极辣的生鱼虾肉糊做成的，马来人把它们保存在倒立起来的混凝土排水管里。不久，精疲力竭的琴用她的棕榈叶袋子做了一个枕头，就像过去上千次那样躺到一个垫子上，把围在腰上的纱笼松开，进入了梦乡。说她在过了三年有床可睡的生活之后，在地板上睡得很安稳并不完全准确。她一晚上醒来了很多次，听着晚上各种声响，看着洒满屋子的月光，满心高兴。

次日早上，她跟法缇玛、梅里亚姆和老祖贝达围坐在房子后面的锅旁聊天，以免受到男士们打扰。“我离开后每天都想起这个地方。”她说，这并非绝对真实，但也八九不离十。“我工作和生活的时候，就想起你们所有人的工作和生活。我在英国工作，在办公室做案头工作，就跟我们国家其他不得不工作的女士一样。因为，正如你们所知，我很贫穷，必须一辈子工作来养活自己，直到找到一位如意郎君，而我又那么挑肥拣瘦。”女人们笑了，老祖贝达说：“女人要以那种方式自己养活自己还真是件怪事。”

梅里亚姆说：“我们民族有一个女人在瓜拉拉吉特的银行工作。我从窗户里看见过她。她正在用手指头敲一个机器，机器发出像钟一样的踢踏踢踏声。”

琴点点头。“我在我的国家就是这样挣钱的，用类似那样的机器替我的老爷打印信函。但最近我的舅舅去世了。他住得离我很远，只与我见过一次面，但他没有其他亲戚了，我继承了他的遗产。所以现在我不需要工作了，除非我乐意。”女人们发出一阵赞羡的低语声。此时又有几个人加入了谈话的圈子，她们的队伍越发壮大了。“现在，我人生头一回有了这么多钱，我比以前任何时候都更加想念在瓜拉德朗的你们，想念我们身为战俘住在这里时，你们给予我们的恩惠。我意识到我必须报恩。我将以一个女人的身份送给瓜拉德朗的女人一件礼物，这件礼物跟男士们毫无关系。”

在她周围的女人之间爆发出一阵愉快兴奋的低语声。老祖贝达说：“这倒是真的，男人们什么都不缺。”有几个女人听到这个异端邪说，震惊得目瞪口呆。

“我考虑了很多遍，”琴说，“认为这个地方应该有一口井，这样你们就不需要早晚去泉边打水，而只需走出房子，最多走个五十步就有一口井，井里有新鲜水，旁边放着水桶，每当你们需要凉快的新鲜水时，都可以随时出来打。”又是一阵赞赏的低语声。“井的周围应该有光滑的石头，在年轻小伙子们替你们用桶打水的时候，你们可以坐在石头上聊天。我会在井边修建一个用聂帕榈做顶的屋子给你们用来洗衣服，里面有光滑的长条石板，或者混凝土板，那样你们就可以面对面洗衣服，边洗边聊。屋子四面用聂帕榈墙围起来，那样男人们就看不见你们在做什么了。”低语声变成一阵兴奋的喧闹声。“这就是我想做的事情，作为我对你们恩惠的回报。我会请一个挖井队过来挖井，并付钱给泥瓦匠，让他们弄好井旁的石头，还会请木匠过来修建洗衣房。但我想请几位经验丰富的女士给我提提建议，告诉我应该如何进行室内布置——关于洗衣板的高度，混凝土水池或者水渠，等等。这是女人送给女人的礼物，在这件事情上，男人要对女人唯命是从。”

接下来是一阵长时间的热烈讨论。一些女人怀疑男人们会不会允许这么一件事物的存在，有一些则怀疑，她们的祖母和母亲都对目前的打水方式相当满意，希望改变它是不是会有不虔诚的嫌疑。但如果这一革新有可能成为现实，几乎所有女人都对它充满渴望。一旦她们不再对这个主意大惊小怪，就开始反反复复地思考它，检查每一个细节，讨论井、洗衣间、混凝土水池和水渠的最佳位置。两个多小时后，她们都全心全意接受了这个主意。琴满心欢喜，因为它将使她们真正受惠，也是她们目前最想要的礼物。

那天晚上，她和马特·阿明面对面坐在他屋子前面的小门廊上，就像以前无数次一样。她要跟他谈谈与女人们切身相关的事情。她抿了一口咖啡。“我要来和您谈一谈，”她说，“因为我想回报此地对我们的恩惠，好让人们记住，白人夫人曾经来过这里，你们对她们非常仁慈。”

他说：“今天一整天我妻子净在和其他女人一起谈这件事情。她们说你想挖一口井。”

琴说：“是真的。这是一份送给瓜拉德朗的感恩之礼，来自所有英国夫人。但因为我们是女人，所以这份礼物送给此地女性比较合适。当我们住在这里的时候，打水任务非常繁重，我们早晚都要去泉边打水。在英国的时候，每次想起她们我都觉得非常难过。这就是我打算在村子中央挖一口井，作为感恩之礼的原因。”

他说：“对于她们之前的母亲和祖母而言，能够喝上泉水就已经心满意足了。如果她们有一口井，难免会生出很多与其地位不相配的念头。”

她耐心地说：“那样一来，她们将会有更多精力来尽忠尽责地伺候您，脾气也会变得更加温柔，马特·阿明。您还记得蕾哈娜·宾蒂·伊斯梅尔吗？她去打水的时候失去了肚子里三个月大的孩子。”她能说出这件事情来，使他倍感震惊，但英国夫人一向口无遮拦。“后来她病了整整一年，我不认为她以后还会对丈夫好声好气的。如果当时她们有这个作为感恩礼物献给您的井，悲剧就不会发生了。”

他说：“真主安排女人的命运，就像他安排男人的命运一样。”

她温柔地笑了。“我需要提醒您吗，马特·阿明？《古兰经》上写道：‘人性是贪吝所支配的。如果你们行善而且敬畏，那末，真主确是彻知你们的行为的。’”

他用手拍打大腿，大笑道：“你住在这里时，每次想管我要点什么，就过来向我唠叨这句话。但你走了之后我就再也没听到过它了。”

“让女人们拥有她们的井，确是行善的。”她说。

他仍然笑着，回答道：“我这样跟你说吧，琴小姐。当女人们像渴望这口井一样渴望一样东西时，她们一般都会得到它。但这是关乎整个村子的大事，我必须和兄弟们商量。”

第二天早上，男人们聚集在聂帕榈棚屋市场的阴凉处开会，全都坐在脚跟上。不久他们把琴叫过来。琴在他们身旁坐下，稍稍别过身子去，女士这样坐是很得体的。他们问她打算把井挖在哪里，以及聂帕榈洗衣房的位置。她说一切都掌握在他们手中，不过如果在蔡山的店铺前面那块空地上挖井，并把聂帕榈洗衣房建在井的西面，对着阿罕默德的屋子，对于女人们来讲会很方便。他们都站起来去视察地形，从所有角度展开了讨论。村子里所有女人都站着围观，见证她们的主人做出这个重要的决定。而迪恩则加入了他们的讨论，好像她也是他们当中平等的一员。

她并没有催促他们匆忙下决定。她在这个村子里住了三年，知道他们思考过程非常缓慢，也知道他们在面临任何革新的时候有多么小心翼翼。他们花了两天时间，最终决定拥有一口井是好事，如果他们着手挖井，真主的愤怒不会落到他们头上。

挖井是一件技术性很强的差事，沿海一带只有一个家庭可堪重任。他们住在离关丹大约五英里远的地方。马特·阿明口授了一封信给当地的阿訇，请他写成爪哇文，然后村民们把信带到瓜拉拉吉特寄出去。琴托人从哥打巴鲁送来五袋水泥，并在瓜拉德朗安顿下来，打算工程进行期间在村子里住几天。

她常常跟渔夫们一起出海，要不然就坐在沙滩上和孩子们一起玩耍。她教他们堆沙堡，用手指在沙地上画出方格玩画圈打叉游戏。她常常在海里洗澡和游泳，水稻收割时节在稻田里劳动了一周。她和这里的人一起生活了很久，所以也很耐心地悠然度日。况且，既然已经没有必要继续上班，她也需要利用这段时间来思考新的人生目标。她闲居了三周，一点儿也不觉得无聊。

挖井队和水泥大约同时到达，工程开始了。挖井队是一家人，灰胡子的父亲叫苏莱曼，两个儿子叫雅各布和侯赛因。他们花了一天时间勘察土地，所有关于在哪里挖井的争论又重演了一遍，好让这些专家满意。后来终于可以开始动工了，工程进行得又快又好。挖井队从黎明一直忙活到黄昏，一个人在洞底，另外两个人在上面将挖出来的土堆在洞外。他们一边挖一边从上往下铺砖，用插入洞壁的木桩支撑砖墙。

那位父亲老苏莱曼对村子而言是一座信息的宝矿，因为他在马来亚东海岸走南闯北，修建和维修水井，不时走遍大部分村庄。瓜拉德朗的男男女女都习惯坐在周围，一边看他们挖井，一边和老人家扯些闲话，打听沿岸熟人和亲属的信息。一天下午，琴坐在一旁，向他说道：“您是从关丹来的吗？”

“从巴图沙瓦，”那位老人家说，“从关丹步行需要两个小时。我们的家在那里，但我们总是在旅行。”

琴沉默了一会儿，然后问道：“您还记得战争第一年主管关丹军事的那位日本军官，渚蒲大尉吗？”

“当然记得，”那位老人家回答说，“他是一个很坏的人，他离任时我们都很高兴。接替他的市野大尉要好一些。”

他似乎不知道渚蒲大尉已经死了，琴感到很惊讶。她以为战争犯罪委员会会去关丹调查取证。她告诉他：“渚蒲大尉现在已经死了。他后来被派往负责修建泰缅铁路，在那里滥施暴行，还谋杀了很多人。但同盟国战后逮捕了他，他以谋杀罪名接受审判，在槟城被处决了。”

“这个消息真是大快人心，”老人家回答，“我要告诉我儿子。”他向井里大声说出这个新闻，几位男士进行了简短的讨论后便继续工作。

琴问：“他在关丹做了很多邪恶的事情吗？”其中一件仍然留在她脑海里，记忆犹新，但她不想听见自己把它说出来。

苏莱曼说：“很多人被折磨死了。”

她点点头。“我自己就看见过一次。”话已经藏不住了，而且她在这位不相干的老人家面前无须顾忌。“那时我们都在挨着饿，生着病，一个被俘的士兵向我们伸出了援手。日本人抓住了他，对他施以酷刑，把他的手钉在树上打死了他。”

“我记得那件事，”老人家说，“那个人就在关丹的医院里。”

琴睁大双眼看着他说：“老人家，他什么时候在医院里？他死了。”

“也许是两个人吧。”他向井里的雅各布喊道，“那个战争第一年在关丹被施以酷刑，被打伤的英国士兵，这位英国夫人认识他。告诉我们，那个英国人死了吗？”

侯赛因插进来说：“被打的是个澳大利亚人，不是英国人。他是因为偷鸡被打的。”

“确实如此，”那位老人家说，“就是因为偷了黑公鸡。但他死了还是没死？”

雅各布从井底往上喊道：“那天晚上渚蒲大尉把他放了下来，他们把钉子从他手里拔掉。他没死。”

————————————————————

(1) 原文如此，但庄妮·霍斯福尔在乔出场之前就已经去世了（第三章）。

(2) 指耶稣。

(3) 指上帝。

(4) 属于基督教新教会圣公会派，主要观点包括反对烦琐的宗教仪式，强调基督教徒要提高对现实世界的责任心，等等。

(5) 《古兰经》第21章35节。

(6) 纽卡斯尔的英语是Newcastle，new是“新”的意思，castle是“城堡”的意思。

(7) 在新加坡。

(8) 也门首都。

(9) 斯里兰卡首都。

(10) 缅甸首都。

(11) 马来亚港口城市。

(12) “琴”的音误。

第五章

1942年7月那个晚上，在关丹，一位中士到地区委员住宅找渚蒲大尉，向他报告说那个澳大利亚人还活着。渚蒲大尉觉得既好奇又有趣，既然还有半个小时才吃晚饭，他就信步到游乐场去看看情况。

犯人的身体仍然被双手吊着，面朝大树。背部已经变成惨不忍睹的污黑一片，血顺着大腿流下来，在地上形成一个黑色的池，已被烈日晒干并氧化。无数苍蝇覆满了身体和血池，但那个男人毫无疑问仍然活着。当渚蒲大尉走近那张脸时，乔睁开双眼看着他，仿佛在跟他打招呼一样。

西方人很可能从来不曾完全明白日本人的思维方式。当渚蒲大尉看到这个澳大利亚人在死亡边缘向他打招呼的时候，对着这个残破不堪的躯体毕恭毕敬地鞠了一躬，至真至诚地说：“请问在您去世之前，我有什么可以为您效劳的呢？”

牧工字字清晰地说：“你这个残忍的浑蛋。我要吃你一只黑色小公鸡，再来一瓶啤酒。”

渚蒲大尉站在那里，看着这个被钉在树上的男人，看着他血肉模糊的身躯，脸上毫无表情。过了一会儿他转身回屋，走进阴凉处时唤来勤务兵，命令勤务兵去给他拿一瓶啤酒和一个玻璃杯，但啤酒不要打开。

勤务兵坚持说没有啤酒。渚蒲大尉其实对此心知肚明，但还是命令他到镇里去找遍所有中国小吃店，看看能不能在关丹任何地方找到一瓶啤酒。他一个小时后回来时，渚蒲大尉的坐姿仍然和他出发去找啤酒时完全相同。他诚惶诚恐地向上级报告说，全关丹找不出一瓶啤酒来。渚蒲大尉便把他打发走，他高高兴兴地离开了。

对渚蒲大尉来讲，死亡是一种宗教仪式。他走近澳大利亚人这一举动带着几分神圣的意味。既然他已经当着下属的面，主动要求帮助他的受害者实现临终愿望，就必须亲眼看到它成为现实。如果能找到一瓶啤酒，他会牺牲一只幸存的黑色小公鸡，把煮好的肉和啤酒一起送到树上这个已经奄奄一息的人面前。他甚至可能亲手端托盘。这样做能为他麾下的部队树立起一种骑士精神和武士道的榜样。不幸的是，他已经没有办法赐予他这瓶啤酒，既然缺少了这瓶啤酒，这位士兵的临终愿望也无法完全实现，那就没有理由牺牲掉一只幸存的黑色小公鸡。他也无法实现自己在这个仪式中的角色，没有办法通过恩赐这个临终愿望来发扬武士道精神。因此，他不能允许这位澳大利亚人死去，要不然他自己就会因此受辱。

他又唤来他的中士，命令中士带一队士兵抬着担架去娱乐场。他们的任务是，在不给澳大利人造成二次伤害的前提下，拔掉他手上的钉子，把他从树上放下来，脸朝下放在担架上送去医院。

对琴而言，这位澳大利亚人仍然活着的消息，仿佛给她的生命开启了一扇门。她偷偷溜开去，在一棵木麻黄树的绿荫里坐下来，在沙滩边上细细咀嚼这个令人难以置信的事实。阳光打碎在浪花上如烁烁熔金，沙滩白得耀眼夺目，大海蓝得勾魂摄魄，简直是一片极乐狂欢的景象。过去六年，她仿佛一直走在一条黑洞洞的隧道里，而现在，她猛然扎进了光明之中。她尝试祈祷，但她从来不信教，所以不知道怎样把感情灌注进祈祷中。她能做到的，也就只是回想起她在学校跟着大家一起做祈祷时，间或会念到的那些祈祷词。“哦，主啊，请照亮我们的黑暗，求主怜悯……”她就只能想起来这么多。那一整个下午，她对自己一遍又一遍地重复这句话。她的黑暗，已经被挖井队照亮了。

她那天晚上回到村子后又和苏莱曼谈起那件事情，但他和两个儿子都无法提供更多信息。澳大利亚人在关丹的医院里待了很长时间，但他们不知道具体是多长。雅各布说他在那里待了一年，但她很快就发现，他这么说只是想表达时间很长的意思。侯赛因说是三个月。苏莱曼虽然不知道他住了多久，但说他后来被送上南下新加坡的船，进了战俘营，并说他那个时候是拄着双拐去的。从他们的话里，她无法推断出那是哪一年。

于是她只好作罢，继续留在瓜拉德朗，等待挖井和修建洗衣房的工程结束。经过与年长妇女的一番长时间商讨之后，她已经让木匠着手装修洗衣房，目前的具体工作是安装百叶窗和晾干油漆。井底终于开始冒水那天，木匠着手为聂帕榈顶洗衣房打桩，最终井和洗衣房几乎同时完工。村民们花了两天把井里的泥水舀出来，井水终于变得清澈透明。然后他们举行了启用仪式——琴用井水洗她的纱笼，村子全体妇女一起笑着涌进洗衣房。男人们远远地站成一个圆圈，宽容地看着她们，暗暗思忖着，允许一样能让女人们乐成这样的事物存在，是否一个明智之举。

第二天，她请送信人给瓜拉拉吉特的威尔逊-海斯发去一份电报，请他派吉普车来接她回去。几天后车就来了。她在一片混乱腼腆的祝福声中红着眼睛离开了瓜拉德朗。她要回到自己的祖国，回到她的同胞中去，但她也在挥别生命中难以忘怀的三年，那从来都不是一件容易的事。

她深夜时分才回到哥打巴鲁的官邸，因为太劳累而吃不下任何食物。威尔逊-海斯太太给她的房间送去一杯茶和一些水果。她洗了一个很长时间的热水澡，最后一次脱去了当地衣服。她躺在蚊帐中休息，房间既宽敞又凉快，她渐渐有了睡意。她满脑子想的都是牧工哈曼，他口中那些环绕着爱丽丝斯普林斯的红色郊区，还有岩大袋鼠和野马。

第二天早上吃完早餐后，她和威尔逊-海斯趁着早晨空气凉爽，在官邸的花园散步。她告诉他她在瓜拉德朗所做的事情，他问她修建洗衣房的主意是从哪儿来的。“她们显然需要一间洗衣房，”她说，“女人都不喜欢在众目睽睽下洗衣服，尤其是穆斯林女人。”

他思考了一下这个问题。“你很可能开了某种风气，”他最终评论道，“现在每个村子都会想要拥有一个洗衣房了。是谁帮你们设计的——告诉你们如何布置洗衣槽之类？”

“我们自己想出来的，”她说，“她们很清楚自己的需求。”

他们沿着河边漫步。这条流入大海的河宽半英里，棕色的河水浑浊不堪。她一边走，一边告诉他那位澳大利亚人的故事，因为她现在可以安心自如地谈论这个话题了。她告诉他事情的经过。“他的名字叫乔·哈曼，”她说，“来自爱丽丝斯普林斯附近某地。我希望能再次联系上他。您认为我有可能在新加坡发现关于他的任何消息吗？”

他摇摇头。“我认为没有。既然东南亚司令部已经解散了，我想现在无法在新加坡找到任何战俘记录。”

“那要怎样才能找到他的消息？”

“你说他是一个澳大利亚人？”

她点点头。

“我想你必须写信到堪培拉，”他说，“那里应该有所有战俘的记录。我猜你并没有碰巧知道他的分队编号？”

她摇摇头。“恐怕没有。”

“嗯，当然了，这会让事情变得很困难——可能会有好几个乔·哈曼。我先写信给陆军部长——他们就这么称呼他，陆军部的头儿。收件人就写陆军部长，堪培拉，澳大利亚，可能会找到一点线索。我想，你是想要一个他能收到信的地址？”

琴凝视着河对岸的橡胶树和椰子树。“我想是的。事实上，我大概知道这个地址。他战前在一个名叫沃拉华的牛场工作，在爱丽丝斯普林斯附近。他说那里会为他保留职位。”

“既然如此，”他说，“我应该写信去那儿。比起堪培拉，写信去沃拉华找到他的机会更大。”

“我觉得那样做比较好，”她慢慢地说，“我很想再见到他。您也知道，全是因为我们，他才会身受重创……”

她本打算回新加坡等一艘回国的船。如果要等很久才能有便宜的船票，她打算在新加坡找工作，干上几周或者几个月。马来航空第二天会经停哥打巴鲁，它的空中列车将经停关丹飞往新加坡。当天晚上，她饭后又去找威尔逊-海斯谈话，听取他的建议。

“如果我在关丹逗留一天，您认为我能找到酒店之类的吗？”她问。

他慈祥地看着她。“你想回关丹？”他问。

“我想是的，”她说，“我想去关丹的医院，试试看能不能从医院员工的口里问出一点线索。”

他说：“你最好住在大卫和乔伊丝·包文夫妇家里。包文是地区委员，他会很乐意为你安排住宿的。”

“我不想打扰别人，”她说，“我不能住在那里的招待所什么的吗？毕竟我对这个国家很熟悉。”

“那正是包文将会很乐意接待你的原因，”他说，“你一定要意识到你在这个地区是非常出名的人。如果你住招待所的话，他会非常失望的。”

她惊讶地望着他：“人们真的这样看我吗？我只是做了任何一个人都会做的事情。”

“也许是那样的，”他说，“但关键是，你确实这么做了。”

她第二天坐飞机南下关丹。肯定有人把她的故事告诉了机组成员，因为起飞后半小时，马来空姐走到她跟前对她说：“佩吉特小姐，我们马上要飞经瓜拉德朗，菲尔比机长想知道您是否愿意到驾驶舱来看一眼。”于是她走向机头，穿过驾驶舱门，站在飞行员中间。他们把空中列车下降到大约七百英尺高，在村子上空盘旋。她能看到那口井和洗衣房的新聂帕榈屋顶，也能看到人们站在那里仰头盯着这架飞机看，法缇玛、祖贝达和马特·阿明。然后飞机直线上升，继续沿着海岸南下，瓜拉德朗被抛在了后面。

包文夫妇在位于关丹市外十英里的机场迎接她。威尔逊-海斯当天上午通过无线电通知了他们琴的造访。他们是一对友好朴素的夫妇。她和他们坐在地区委员住宅里聊天，那正是渚蒲大尉从前常常坐着喝咖啡的地方。她毫无困难地向他们简述了那位澳洲士兵惨遭折磨的故事。他们说现在医院由弗罗斯特护士长负责，但他们怀疑现在是否还有1942年就已经在那里工作的老员工。他们喝完茶后就开车去找弗罗斯特护士长。

弗罗斯特护士长在护士长室接待了他们。护士长室卫生清洁，弥漫着一股强烈的消毒水味儿。她是一个年纪四十上下的英国女人。“这里没有那个时候的老员工，”她说，“护士在这样的地方——她们总是为了结婚而离职。我们从来没有办法把她们留在这里超过两年。我不知道可以给你们提供什么线索。”

包文说：“菲利斯·威廉姆斯呢？她从前是这里的护士吧？”

“哦，她，”护士长轻蔑地说，“战争爆发的时候她在这里工作，直到她嫁给那个男人。她可能会知道点儿什么。”

他们离开医院，开车去找菲利斯·威廉姆斯。途中包文太太告诉琴这个人的身世。“她是一个欧亚混血儿，”她说，“很黑，差不多就跟马来人一样黑。她和一个叫林本泰的中国人结了婚，那人是开电影院的。那就是人们所谓的异族通婚，不过他们好像相处得不错。当然了，她是天主教徒。”琴终其一生都没能搞懂这个“当然了”是什么意思。

林本泰夫妇住在山上一栋摇摇晃晃的木房子里，从那里可以俯瞰海港。他们无法把车开到房子跟前，就把它留在路中间，沿着一条遍地垃圾的短路走上去。菲利斯·威廉姆斯太太在家接待了他们。她是一个满脸喜悦的棕色皮肤女人，带着四个小孩儿，很明显第五个也快要出世了。她看见他们很高兴，把他们带进一间简陋的会客室，那里主要的装饰品是一套锡镴啤酒杯和一幅石印油画，上面画着长袍加身的国王和女王。

她的英语说得非常好。“噢，是的，我记得那个可怜的家伙，”她说，“乔·哈曼，他是叫这个名字。我看护了他有三到四个月——他进来时确实伤得很严重。我们没有人以为他能活下来，但他挺过来了。他之前肯定非常健壮，因为他肌肉的恢复情况好得惊人。他说他就像一条狗。他康复得太好了。”

她转向琴。“您就是那位带领那群来自帕农的妇女和孩子渡过难关的女士？”她问，“我猜肯定是。真想不到您又回来了！他一直惦记着您和您的同伴，希望有人能告诉他你们后来去哪儿了。当然了，我们不知道，而且渚蒲大尉对这件事情又那么敏感，哪有人敢四周围打探你们的消息？”

她转向琴。“我忘记您的名字了。”

“佩吉特。琴·佩吉特。”

这位欧亚混血儿一脸困惑。“不是这个名字。难道他提到的是另一个人？我记不起来他是怎样称呼她的了，但不是这个名字。我原来还以为他说的是您呢。”

“弗里思太太？”

她摇摇头。“过一会儿我就会想起来了。”

她所知道的比琴多不了多少。澳大利亚人刚刚康复到能够旅行，就被送往南方新加坡的战俘营。她们从此再也没有听到过他的消息。她们想他最后肯定完全康复了，虽然，即使最终他背上的肌肉能恢复力量，也要等上好几年。她知道的也就这么多了。

他们不久就告辞了，顺着那条满是垃圾的小道往下走去开车。差不多走到山脚的时候，那个女人从阳台叫住了他们。“我刚想起来那个名字。土著太太。那就是他从不离口的名字，土著太太。那是你们中的一员吗？”

琴笑着向她喊回去：“他过去就是那样叫我的！”

那个女人感到很满意。“我就说他总挂在嘴边的人肯定就是您。”

在开车回地区委员住宅的路上，他们经过那个游乐场。网球场上的网不知道什么时候安好了，几对夫妇正在打网球，还有一个年轻的白人小伙儿在和一个棕色皮肤的女孩儿一起打。琴又看见那棵俯视网球场的树，树下有两个马来妇女坐在那块曾经浸满了鲜血的地上。在她们头顶上方，就是那个男人曾经的受难处。她们在闲话家常，孩子在周围嬉戏。在晚上柔和的灯光下，一切都显得那么宁静安详。

琴当天晚上住在包文家中，第二天继续坐空中列车前往新加坡。按照威尔逊-海斯的建议，她就住在大教堂对面的阿德尔菲旅馆。

几天后她从那里给我写信。那封信很长，大约有八页，用钢笔写成。在那个潮湿的地方，她写信时手上出的汗弄污了一些字迹。她首先告诉我在瓜拉德朗发生的事情，挖井队的故事和乔·哈曼仍然活着的消息。然后她继续写道：

我正苦恼于不知道怎样才能跟他再次联系上。您也知道，他遭到毒打完全是因为我们的缘故。他为我们去偷鸡时，肯定知道渚蒲大尉是个什么样的人，也知道自己在冒着多么可怕的危险。我一定要弄清楚他现在住在什么地方，是否安好。我无法相信他在受了那么严重的伤之后，还能做骑马放牧的工作。我想，如果他健康无事，就总能福星高照，逢凶化吉。但我无法承受他也许还躺在医院里的想法，并且他也许，甚至很可能因为受伤太重而要在那里度过余生。

我确实有想过写信给他，寄到他跟我提到过的沃拉华，他工作的牛场，在爱丽丝斯普林斯附近。但仔细想想，如果他丧失了劳动能力，为什么还要回去那里呢？我永远都不会从那样一个地方收到回信，反正短时间内不会。我想过写信到堪培拉去，尝试找到一点线索，但也应该不会得到更理想的结果。正因为如此，我做了一个决定，这也是我给你写这封信的初衷，诺尔。我希望这个决定不会使你太震惊：我要从这里去澳大利亚。

请不要因此认为我彻头彻尾地疯了。从这里坐星宿号到达尔文需要花六十英镑。从达尔文可以坐公共汽车到爱丽丝斯普林斯，大概要花两到三天时间，不过比坐飞机便宜很多。结完这里酒店的账后，我还剩下大约一百零七英镑，不包括下个月的收入。我想我可以从爱丽丝斯普林斯去这个叫沃拉华的地方，找到一些关于他的消息。那个地区肯定有人知道他的遭遇和行踪。

我在这里认识了一些海上贸易官员，都是非常友好的年轻男士。他们告诉我，我应该能在澳大利亚东海岸昆士兰的汤斯维尔找到一艘商船回英国。如果汤斯维尔没有船，到布里斯班就一定有。我跟莱佛士坊渣打银行的一位先生谈过，他非常热心，我请他将我下个月的钱汇入爱丽丝斯普林斯的新南威尔士银行，这样我就有钱横跨澳大利亚去汤斯维尔或者布里斯班了。请你费心为我写一封信到爱丽丝斯普林斯的新南威尔士银行，因为我抵达那里时将深感故乡迢递。

我将会在本周四坐星宿号离开此地，所以当你收到这封信时，我大约已经到达澳大利亚某地。我感觉我对你来讲肯定是个绝顶可恶的麻烦鬼，诺尔，但我回家后有一大堆话要跟你说。我想从汤斯维尔或者布里斯班回家的旅程顶多不会超过三个月，所以我无论如何都能赶得上回英国过圣诞。

我坐在那里反复读这封信，感到深深的失望。我想我一直在计划着等她回来后带她到处玩——实际上我都计划好了。上了年纪的人，过着一种多少有点空虚无聊的生活，在那种事情上面常常会变得非常愚蠢。在我第三次读这封信的时候，列斯特·罗宾逊拿着一捆文件走进我办公室。“我的佩吉特姑娘，”我说，“你知道——她继承的就是麦法登先生托管给我们的那笔遗产。她完全不打算回家，而要从马来亚继续去澳大利亚。”

他扫了我一眼。我想我的眼光流露出失望之情，因为他温和地说：“我告诉过你，她的年龄大得足以给我们制造一大堆麻烦。”我迅速抬起头来望着他，想知道他说那句话的意思，但他开始谈论科尔切斯特的一条私家路，那一刻就这么晃过去了。

我继续工作，但糟糕的情绪一直萦绕不去，直至晚上去到俱乐部时依然没有好转。晚饭后，我安静地坐在图书馆里读一卷贺拉斯(1)，因为我想，读拉丁文所需的大脑活动可以把烦心事从脑子中清除出去，让心情变好。但是，我想我已经忘记了我的贺拉斯，因为那几行诗，过去四十年里不曾读过也不曾想起过的，现在仿佛从书页上凝视着我，把我弄得晕头转向：

在那里
我将爱上我的莱拉姬
她柔声细语，笑容甜美(2)

这几行诗曾经是我青春的一部分，我想对于许多谈过恋爱的年轻男士来说，它们同样地刻骨铭心。读完它们之后我无法忍受继续读贺拉斯，我坐在那里，想着我的莱拉姬，她的柔声细语和甜美笑容。她此刻正坐在长途公共汽车里，在去爱丽丝斯普林斯的路上，直到我猛然打破这种病态的幻想，起身把书放回书架上。

肯定过了有一个星期之后，有一天，我刚送走一个客户，德里克·哈里斯就走进我的房间。德里克是我们事务所两个学徒办事员之一，是个一脸稚气的小伙子，很讨人喜欢，我希望有一天能把他提拔为合伙人。他说：“先生，请问您能抽出几分钟来见一位陌生人吗？”

“怎样的陌生人？”我问。

他说：“一个叫作哈曼的人。他大约一个小时之前到达，请求见您，但没有预约。冈宁律师问，既然您没有空，我是否可以替您见见他，我就和他聊了一会儿，但他想见的是您。我了解到那跟佩吉特小姐的事情有关系。”

我现在想起来从前在什么地方听到过这个名字了，但那真是难以置信。我问：“是一位怎样的男士？”

他咧开嘴笑道：“我想是个殖民地居民吧，很可能是澳大利亚人。总之看起来像是在户外工作的。”

“他是个通情达理的人吗？”

“哦，我想是的，先生。我想他大概是个乡下人。”

开始对得上号了。但是，一个澳大利亚牧工居然能找到我在赞善里的办公室来，还是令人非常难以置信。“他是碰巧叫作约瑟夫(3)吗？”我问道。

“您认识他，是不是，先生？乔·哈曼。我要叫他上来吗？”

我点点头。“我现在就见他。”哈里斯下楼去接他，我走到窗前看着外面灰色的街道，一边思考这个拜访意味着什么，将如何改变这一切的走向，以及我可以把我客户的多少信息透露给他。

哈里斯把他带进来，我转身迎接他。

他是一个金发男人，大约五英尺十英寸高，身材矮壮，但不胖。我猜他三十到三十五岁。他的脸被晒成深棕色，但皮肤光滑，有一双湛蓝的眼睛。他谈不上英俊，脸太方正了些，但看上去却单纯温厚。他以一种古怪的僵硬步姿走向我。

我和他握手。“哈曼先生？”我说，“我是斯特拉坎。您想见我吗？”说话的时候，我无法抑制冲动，低头看他的手。在他手背上有一个巨大的疤痕。

他有点笨拙地说：“我不想占用您太多时间。”他局促不安，一脸窘迫。

“没关系，”我说，“请坐，哈曼先生。请告诉我有什么可以为您效劳的。”我请他坐在桌子前面的客户椅里，给他一根香烟。他从口袋里摸出一个装着蜡梗火柴的铁盒，那种风格对我而言非常陌生。他娴熟地用拇指指甲划燃一根，也没有烧到自己。他穿着一套很新的成衣西服，花里胡哨的领带在伦敦显得相当扎眼。

“我想问问您，能不能请您告诉我关于琴·佩吉特小姐的一些消息，”他说，“她住在哪里之类的。”

我微微一笑。“佩吉特小姐是我的客户，哈曼先生，”我说，“您显然知道。但客户信息是绝对保密的。您是她的朋友吗？”

这个问题似乎使他更加窘迫了。“差不多吧，”他回答说，“我们在战争时期见过一次面，在马来亚。哦，对了，我想我应该先做自我介绍。我是昆士兰人，在海湾地区经营一个牛场，大约离威尔斯镇二十英里远。”他说起话来慢悠悠懒洋洋的，似乎平时就这样说话，非因窘迫。“我的意思是，我的牧场住宅离威尔斯镇有二十英里远，但牛场的地界沿着小溪向南延伸，距离威尔斯镇只有五英里。我的牛场名叫米德赫斯特，地址是威尔斯镇米德赫斯特。”

我在便笺上记下来，再次向他微笑。“哈曼先生，您可是不远万里来到这里呢。”我说。

“太对了，”他回答，“我在英国没有认识的人，除了佩吉特小姐和一个在战俘营认识的哥们儿，他住在英格兰北部一个叫作盖茨黑德的地方。您可以说我是来这里度假的，我想佩吉特小姐听到我在英国大概也会很高兴，但我不知道她的地址。”

“来这里度假是不是太远了一些啊？”我说。

他有点不好意思地笑了。“我中奖了。中了‘珍宝盒’。”

“珍宝盒？”

“黄金珍宝盒。这里没有吗？”

我摇摇头。“恐怕我没有听过。”

“哦，老天，”他说，“在昆士兰，没有珍宝盒我们就活不下去。那是州彩票，筹集到的资金用来修建医院。”

“原来如此，”我说，“您中了彩票？”

“哦，老天，”他重复道，“我中了彩票？我赢了一千镑——当然不是英镑，但那也是我们的一千镑(4)。我总是像其他人一样每期都买，因为即使你赢不了奖，你也会有一个医院，有些时候那可能更有用。您一定要去看看珍宝盒在威尔斯镇修建的那家医院，有三个病房，每个病房里有两张床，还有两个护士室和一个给医生用的独立屋子。只是我们现在还请不到医生，因为威尔斯镇有一点偏僻。我们有一台X光机，还有无线电，这样护士就可以呼叫‘凯恩斯救护车’——那架飞机。我们没有珍宝盒真不行。”

我不得不说我对此有点感兴趣了。“飞机也是珍宝盒花钱买的吗？”

他摇摇头。“每个家庭每年付七磅十分给‘凯恩斯救护车’，如果生病了，必须到凯恩斯去，护士就会用无线电呼叫在凯恩斯的工作人员，飞机就过来把你送去凯恩斯的医院。那是免费的，但你必须每年交七磅十分。”

“你们离凯恩斯有多远？”

“大约三百英里。”

我把话题转回手头事务上。“请告诉我，哈曼先生，”我说，“您怎么知道我是佩吉特小姐的律师？”

“我们在马来亚认识的时候，她告诉我她住在南安普敦，”他说，“我不知道任何地址，所以去了南安普顿，住在旅馆里，因为我想如果她知道我在英国，她会感到高兴的。我以前从未见过曾被轰炸的城市——哦，老天。嗯，然后我查询电话号簿，问了很多人，但我找不到任何她的消息，除了她有一位住在威尔士的姑姑，在一个叫作科尔温贝的地方。于是我就去了科尔温贝。”

“您直接去的科尔温贝？”

他点点头。“我想她的姑姑认为我是个骗子，”他坦白地说，“不肯告诉我地址或者任何其他消息，只说您是她的托管人。我也不知道那是什么意思。于是我就来到这里。”

“您什么时候到的英国？”我问。

“上周四。五天前。”

“您在南安普顿上的岸？”

他摇摇头。“我从澳大利亚坐澳航的飞机来的。您瞧，我找到一个很好的牧工替我照料米德赫斯特，但离开太久的话我也受不了。吉姆·伦农可以看一段时间，但我不想离开米德赫斯特超过三个月。您瞧，现在在海湾地区是闲季。我们今年等到合适的季节，三月集合，四月把牲口赶到南边的朱利亚克利克——在铁轨末端。我有大约一千四百头牲口要送到罗克汉普顿去育肥。嗯，把它们送上火车后，我就要回到米德赫斯特，因为我请了一个施工队在那里钻孔。我让斯皮尔斯太太——她是米德赫斯特的业主——我让她同意我们在杨柳河放下一个钻头，大概离牧场住宅东南二十英里，这样旱季的时候就可以从河里抽水了。我们有一个很棒的钻头，我们真的有。大概每天能抽三万加仑，能大大改善我们的供水。嗯，三周前我才把钻孔的工程安排好。我必须最晚十月底回到米德赫斯特收回那些牲口，赶在圣诞节的雨季开始之前。所以我想，要趁这个假期过来的话，最好坐飞机。”

我想，坐飞机来英国肯定花掉了他大部分奖金。“这么说，您是在伦敦下的飞机，然后直接南下去了南安普敦？”

“没错。”他说。

“然后您又北上北威尔士，再从北威尔士回伦敦？”

“没错。”

我看着他的眼睛，微微一笑。“您肯定非常想见佩吉特小姐。”

他迎着我的目光。“我是很想见她。”

我靠回椅子上。“恐怕我要告诉您一个令人失望的消息，哈曼先生。佩吉特小姐出国了。”

他低头盯着他的帽子。过了一会儿，他抬起头来。“她去了很远的地方吗？”他问，“我的意思是，如果她去了法国之类的，我可以去找她。”

我摇摇头。“她正在东方旅行。”

他轻轻地说：“我知道了……”

我对这位男士的喜爱和尊敬之情油然而生。毫无疑问，为了找琴·佩吉特，他走了大约一万两千英里，却扑了个空。一般人遇到这种情况，至少会抱怨一下运气不佳，但他却安然接受。我觉得自己需要一点时间来考虑这件事情。

“我能帮您的，”我说，“顶多就是把您的信转交给她。如果您希望给她写一封信，我可以通过航空邮件寄给她。但恐怕您要等大约一个月才能收到回信。”

他喜笑颜开。“那太好了。我想都没想过，走了这么远的路来到这里，却发现她去‘丛林流浪’了。”

他想了一会儿。“我应该在信上写什么地址？”

“我不能把客户的地址给您，哈曼先生，”我说，“我建议您给她写一封信，明天早上带过来给我。我会附上一个简短的说明，告诉她我是怎样得到这封信的。如果她想见您，就会亲自跟您联系。”

“您认为她会不想见我吗？”他沉重地说。

我微微一笑。“我没有那样说，哈曼先生。我敢肯定，如果她听说您到英国来找她，她会给您写信的。我要说的是，我需要考虑她的利益，不管是谁来到这个办公室并希望得到她的地址，都不会如愿。”我顿了顿，“有一件事情您最好知道，”我说，“佩吉特小姐是一位非常富有的女士。身家丰厚的女士们往往容易被骗子缠上。我不是说您是骗子，或者您在追逐她的金钱，我说的是您必须先给她写信，让她决定是否愿意见您。如果您是她的朋友，您会发现这样做合情合理。”

他睁大眼睛看着我。“我从来没听说过她有钱。她告诉我她只是在办公室工作的打字员。”

“是这样没错，”我说，“但她最近继承了一笔钱。”

他陷入了沉默。

“明天早上我会在这里等您，哈曼先生。”我说，扫了一眼我的预约日志，“明天上午十二点如何？请您给她写信，畅所欲言，并把信带过来。明天晚上我就会把信转寄给她。”

“好的。”他说。他站起来，我也随着起身。“您晚上住在哪里呢，哈曼先生？”我问。

“金域皇宫酒店。”

“好的，哈曼先生，”我说，“明天上午十二点见。”

那晚我几乎整晚都在想，拒绝把地址告诉乔·哈曼是不是做对了。我满心后悔地想，琴如果知道我这么做肯定会勃然大怒，尤其是当她正满澳大利亚找他的时候。同时我又想道，我的所作所为并不会耽误他的信送到她手上的时间，而且也没有理由现在就把她所有的底细和盘托出。一件使我有点困惑的事情是，为什么他突然在六年后想起来要再见琴一面呢？似乎有必要问他几个问题以弄清楚此事。我准备等他带着信来见我的时候，对他进行一次小小的审讯。

第二天上午十二点的时候，他并没有出现。一直等到一点钟，他还没来，我就去吃午饭了。

三点的时候我有一点着急了。主动权落到了他手里。如果他人间蒸发，再也不来见我，琴·佩吉特将理直气壮地对我大发雷霆。在等待客户的间歇，我打电话去金域皇宫酒店，请求和乔·哈曼先生通话。酒店答复说哈曼先生早饭后就外出了，并未在前台留下任何口信。我给他留了一条信息，请他回到酒店后马上与我电话联系。

他一整天都没有打电话给我。

那天晚上十点半的时候，我再次打电话去酒店，但酒店说哈曼先生不在。

第二天早上八点，我再次致电酒店。酒店说哈曼先生没有退房，行李还在房间里，但他昨天晚上也没有回去睡觉。

我一进办公室，马上叫来德里克·哈里斯。“哈里斯，”我说，“我想请你试着找一下那个叫哈曼的男人。他是一个澳大利亚人。”我向他简要说明了情况。“我会再尝试给酒店打电话，如果你扑了空，请给附近各个治安法庭打电话。”

三刻钟后他回来了。“您太有先见之明了，”他说，“他今天早上将因醉酒闹事在弓街接受审讯，昨晚他被关在监狱里。”

“他是佩吉特小姐的朋友。”我说，“哈里斯，赶紧去弓街，告诉他你是谁。他在哪个治安法庭接受审讯？”

“奥莱法官那里。”

我看了一眼手表。“现在马上去。陪着他，如果他没有钱，你就替他付罚款。完事后给我打个电话。如果没有其他意外情况，带他坐出租车到我公寓来，我在那里等你们。”

那天我桌上并没有不能推迟处理或者由列斯特帮我处理的文件。我及时赶回公寓，趁保姆还没走，让她把空房间的床铺好。我告诉她我需要在公寓里吃三四顿饭，并给她钱让她去买任何能找到的非配给粮食(5)。

半小时后哈里斯和哈曼一起回来了。澳大利亚人的衣服邋里邋遢的。在监狱里待了一个晚上后，他精神很好，也很清醒，但他丢了一只鞋、一个纽扣和帽子。我到大堂去迎接他。“早安，哈曼先生，”我说，“我想也许您更愿意先来这里把自己收拾干净。您最好不要以这副尊容回酒店。”

他看着我的眼睛。“我一直在喝格罗格酒(6)。”他说。

“看出来了。如果您想洗澡的话，水已经烧好。浴室里还有一个剃须刀。”我带他熟悉了房子的布局。“您可以用这个房间。”我上下打量他，笑道，“我会给您找一件干净的衬衣。您可以试穿我的鞋，如果它们太小，我就让人送一双大点的过来。”

他摇摇头。“我不知道您为什么要这么照顾我。我会没事儿的。”

“如果您洗个澡，好好刮刮胡子，那样会更好。”我说，“如果我让佩吉特小姐的朋友就这样邋里邋遢地在大街上招摇过市，她是不会原谅我的。”

他好奇地望着我，但我离开他回到起居室。哈里斯正在那里等我。“谢谢，德里克，”我说，“罚了一笔钱吧？”

“五十先令，”他说，“我先垫付了。”

我把钱给他。“他是不是已经身无分文了？”

“他有四英镑四便士半，”他回答，“他想他还有七十英镑，但不确定。”

“他好像并不担心钱的事情。”我说。

他笑道：“我也这么觉得。他好像对自己的财产状况非常乐观。”

我让哈里斯先回办公室。哈曼洗澡的时候，我在桌子前坐下来写了几封信。不久他走进起居室，看起来有点害羞，我又一次注意到他那奇怪僵硬的步姿。“我不知道可以说什么，”他拖着慢悠悠的腔调说，“和我一起的家伙把我身上所有钱都拿走了，所以哈里斯先生不得不帮我交罚款。但我还有一点钱。我有一个叫作信用证的东西，是布里斯班的银行开给我的。我可以凭信用证取钱还给他。”

“没关系的。”我说，“你吃早饭了吗？”

“没有。”

“想不想吃一点？”

“嗯，我不知道。也许我可以回酒店找点东西吃。”

“不必这样，”我说，“我的保姆还没走，她可以给你做点早饭。”我出去吩咐保姆做早饭，回来时发现他站在窗前。

“你没有带着信回办公室找我。”我说。

“我改变主意了，”他说，“我决定作罢。”

“作罢？”

“没错，”他说，“我什么信都不会写。”

“那似乎太遗憾了。”我轻轻地说。

“也许吧。我很仔细地考虑过了，我什么信都不会写。我决定了。那就是我没如约回去的原因。”

“随你所愿。”我说，“也许等你吃完早饭后，会愿意跟我更详细地谈谈你的决定。”

我打发他去吃早饭，然后继续写我的信。保姆把早饭带到饭厅，他就在那里吃。一刻钟后，他回起居室找我。

“我最好现在就走。”他窘迫地说，“我可不可以今天晚些时候再回来，把鞋子还给保姆？”

我站起来，给他一根香烟。“在你离开之前，能不能让我更好地了解一下你呢？”我问，“是这样的，我过一两天就会给佩吉特小姐写信，她肯定想知道关于你的一切。”

他拿着香烟看着我。“您要写信告诉她我来过这里？”

“当然了。”

他默默站了一会儿，然后用他慢悠悠的昆士兰腔调说：“您最好把这件事给忘了吧，斯特拉坎先生。别跟她提起我。”

我划了一根火柴，替他点着香烟。“是不是因为我跟你提到的那笔遗产？”

“您是指，因为她变富有了？”

“是的。”

他咧嘴一笑。“我不会介意她富有，就像任何其他男人一样。不是因为这个，是因为威尔斯镇。”

当然了，这句话对我而言比希腊文还要难懂。我说：“乔，坐几分钟，跟我说几句话，对你而言又没有什么损失。”我叫他乔，因为我想那也许可以使他放松下来。

“我不知道有什么可以跟您说的。”他不好意思地说。

“无论如何，请先坐下。”我想了一会儿，然后说，“如果我没记错的话，你和佩吉特小姐的第一次见面是在战争期间？”

“没错。”他说。

“那是在马来亚，你们都是战俘的时候？”

“没错。”

“1942年的某个时候？”

“没错。”

“从此之后，你就再也没有见过她，也没有给她写过信？”

“没错。”

“嗯，我弄不明白的就是这个，”我说，“为什么你现在突然这么渴望见她？毕竟你最后一次跟她见面已经是六年前了。为什么现在突然这么着急要想跟她取得联系呢？”我的脑海中仍然有个模糊的想法：他可能偶尔听到她现在很有钱。

他抬起头来看着我，咧嘴笑道：“我之前以为她已经结婚了。”

我盯着他看。“我知道了……你什么时候发现她单身的？”

“我今年五月才刚知道的。我在朱利亚克里克碰见一个飞行员，当时正是他开飞机送她从马来亚一个叫作哥打巴鲁的地方离开。”

他在吉姆·伦农和两个土著骑马放牧人的帮助下，赶着他的一千四百头牛从米德赫斯特牛场南下到朱利亚克里克。取道诺曼河、萨克斯比河和弗林德斯河的话，从米德赫斯特到朱利亚克里克大概要走三百英里。他们三月底离开米德赫斯特，每天赶着牛群走大约十英里，5月3日到达朱利亚克里克的火车始发站。牲口被关进火车站的畜栏，他们花了差不多三天时间把它们赶上火车。

在此期间，吉姆和乔住在朱利亚克里克的邮局旅店。当时天气酷热，他们每天工作十四个小时，把牛赶上火车。他们一休息就站在旅店的酒吧里海喝冰镇澳大利亚淡啤酒——人们因干重体力活而挥汗如雨时，喝这种啤酒对身体没有坏处。一天晚上，他们站着喝啤酒时，两位制服笔挺的男士走进酒吧，叫了好几巡啤酒。他们是跨澳大利亚航空公司空中列车的飞行员，那天晚上因为飞机右舷漏油，停宿在朱利亚克里克。

哈曼恰好坐在机长旁边。他头戴原本属于美国军队的一顶绿色麻太阳帽，穿一件棉汗衫和一条脏兮兮的卡其短裤，光脚穿着靴子。他的外表和这位整洁的飞行员形成奇怪的对比，但飞行员对内地风气早已见怪不怪。他们开始谈论战争的话题，很快就发现大家都曾经在马来亚服役。乔让飞行员看他的伤疤，飞行员饶有兴味地察看一番。他告诉他们自己曾经被钉起来毒打，他们给他叫了一瓶格罗格酒。

“在我所见所闻中最有趣的，”不久机长说，“就是一群女人和孩子，他们从未进入战俘营。他们战争期间大部分时间都在一个马来村庄的稻田里劳作。”

乔很快地说：“在马来亚什么地方？我认识那群人。”

飞行员说：“在关丹和哥打巴鲁中间某个地方。我们回去的时候，他们已经被卡车送到哥打巴鲁，我开飞机把他们送到新加坡。他们都是英国人，但看起来就跟马来人一模一样。所有女人都穿着当地衣服，晒得跟周围的人一样黑。”

乔说：“那群人里面有没有一个佩吉特太太？”对他而言，顶重要的是知道琴是否在战争中幸存了下来。

飞行员说：“有一位佩吉特小姐。她真是一个好女孩儿，是他们的首领。”

乔说：“太太。一个黑头发少妇，带着一个婴儿。”

飞行员说：“是的——一个黑头发女孩。她带着一个四岁左右的小男孩儿，但不是她的孩子。那孩子的母亲去世了，也是她的同伴。我知道这一点，因为她是唯一一个未婚姑娘，是他们的首领。战前她只是在吉隆坡工作的打字员。琴·佩吉特小姐。”

乔睁大眼睛看着他：“我以为她已经嫁人了。”

“她没有结婚。我知道她没有，因为日本人把结婚戒指都没收了，所以她们把自己分得很清楚。她们都被叫作这个太太那个太太的，除了这个姑娘之外，她是琴·佩吉特小姐。”

“那就对了，”牧工慢慢地说，“她是叫琴。”

过了一会儿，他从酒吧出来到门廊上，站着仰望星空。不久他离开酒吧漫步走向畜栏，找到一扇门倚着，在夜色中站了很久，把所有和琴有关的事情细细思考了一遍。那天早上在我伦敦的公寓里，他向我透露了一点他思考的内容。

“她是个了不起的姑娘，”他坦白地说，“我要结婚的话就找她那样的。”

我微微一笑。“我明白了。”我说，“那就是你来英国的原因？”

“没错。”他坦率地说。他跟吉姆和土著木工一起骑马回米德赫斯特，牵着走成一队的十五匹驮马，花了大约十天时间。自从他们二月在牛场集合，已经差不多在马鞍上连续度过了三个月。“我还要回去处理钻头的事，”他说，“我原来跟斯皮尔斯太太强调过，在钻头完工之前我走不了，但我食言了，找个周三去了凯恩斯，和约翰·达菲一起坐‘勤务机’去的，”——后来我知道了那是指每周一次的空中列车航空邮件服务——“并从那里南下布里斯班，然后从布里斯班来这儿。”

“那黄金珍宝盒呢？”我问。

他有点不好意思地说：“我没有跟您说实话。我确实赢了一次珍宝盒，但不是今年。那是1946年的事情，我回到昆士兰的第二年。正如我之前说的，我当时赢了一千镑。”

“原来如此，”我说，“你没把奖金花掉？”

他摇摇头。“我把它存起来了，也许有一天我要买一个自己的牛场，或者做牛的买卖，或者别的什么。”

“你觉得现在你还剩下多少钱？”

他说：“信用证上还有五百澳大利亚镑，我想那就是我全副身家了，大概有四百英镑吧。当然了，我当经理的工资每个月都会打入威尔斯镇的银行里。”

我坐着默默抽了会儿烟。我无法不为这个男人感到心疼。自从他六年前遇见琴之后，就一直把她放在心里，希望找到一个带着她一点影子的人。当他听说她还没结婚的时候，就把所有那么一点储蓄全部取出，不惜代价急急忙忙飞越半个世界到英国来，希望能找到她，并发现她仍是单身。那是一个赌徒的行为，但他整个人生很可能都是由赌博构成的，在内地很难不是如此。显然，如果他的钱能够为他换来一个和琴·佩吉特结婚的机会，他是完全不会在意这点钱的。

想到她此时此刻正在他的国家四处奔走寻找他的踪迹，真是让人觉得很讽刺。我觉得我还未准备好把这个消息告诉他。

“我仍然不能理解，为什么你放弃了给佩吉特小姐写信的念头。”我最后说，“你好像提到了威尔斯镇。”

“是的。”他顿了顿，然后拖着他那种慢腾腾的腔调说，“我跟您告别后，想了很多，斯特拉坎先生。也许我真应该先把这件事情考虑清楚再离开米德赫斯特。我告诉过您，我从来没有过不跟有钱姑娘结婚的夸张想法。如果是合适的姑娘，她要有钱的话，我会像其他男人一样高兴得要死。但还有比这重要得多的事情。”

他又停顿了一下。“我来自内地，”他慢慢地说，“只会经营牛场，内地的牛场就是我的归宿。我无法在像布里斯班或者悉尼那样的大城市里生活。我甚至都没有办法在凯恩斯生活很久。而且，城市里也没有我可以干的工作。我从小就住在牛场上，没有念过多少书。我不是说我挣不了钱，在经营牛场方面，我可以比大部分牧工干得好，似乎在卖牛方面我也做得不赖。我希望有一天能拥有自己的牛场，很多牛场主都能挣到五万镑身家。但如果我想取得如此成绩，就必须留在内地做我拿手的事情。斯特拉坎先生，我想告诉您，内地对于女人来讲实在是糟糕透顶。”

“怎么讲？”我轻轻问道。我们真的在开始认真考虑某些问题了。

他有点挖苦地笑了。“拿威尔斯镇做例子吧。那里收不到任何广播电台，只有发自布里斯班的短波，还老被静电干扰。没有卖新鲜蔬菜和水果的商店，护士说这就是很多老人家患上糙皮病的原因；也没有新鲜牛奶和成衣店。女人可以逛的地方只有卖干豆子、杰伊斯液之类的比尔·邓肯商店。在威尔斯镇吃不到冰淇淋，没有可以让女人买到报纸、杂志或者书的地方，也没有医生，因为没有医生愿意到威尔斯镇来。没有电话。没有游泳池让女孩们穿得漂漂亮亮地坐在边上嬉戏，虽然那里很热，哦，老天。也没有其他年轻女士。我相信那个地区十七到四十岁之间的女士不超过五个人。她们一旦到了能离家的年纪，就背井离乡到城市去。你可以坐飞机去凯恩斯买点东西，但机票很贵，要不然就开四天吉普车去，完了你会发现吉普车的轮子全部都要换掉。”他顿了顿，“对男士来讲，那是一个生活和工作的好地方，能赚很多钱，但对女士来说那里实在是糟糕透顶。”

“我明白了，”我说，“是不是所有的内地小镇都那样？”

“大部分都是，”他说，“有一些镇会大一点，像克朗克里。当然了，它们好一些。但是，卡穆威尔、诺曼顿、伯克敦、克罗伊登和乔治敦——它们都跟威尔斯镇差不多。”他停下来思考了一会儿。“只有一个地方适合女人生活，”他说，“爱丽丝斯普林斯。爱丽丝是一个很棒的地方，哦，老天。一个女孩可以在爱丽丝找到她任何想要的东西——两间电影院，卖各种商品的店铺，水果，冰淇淋，新鲜牛奶，埃迪·麦克莱恩的游泳池，那个地方有很多未婚姑娘和年轻的已婚少妇，还有漂亮的房子。爱丽丝是一个很棒的地方，”他说，“但它是独一无二的。”

“为什么呢？”我问，“是什么使得爱丽丝与众不同？”

他挠挠头。“我不知道，”他说，“我想只是因为它比其他地方大一些吧。”

我把这个问题抛开了。“你的意思是，即使你能令佩吉特小姐同意嫁给你，她也无法在威尔斯镇过上快乐的生活？”

他点点头。“是的，”他说，流露出痛苦的眼神，“好像一切都跟我在马来亚遇见她时不一样了。那时她是个一无所有的战俘，我也同样一无所有，所以我们还挺般配的。我一知道她有可能还是单身，就匆忙赶到这里，完全没有先停下来想想内地的情况。也许我有想过，但下意识地把她当成了一个一无所有的人，那样她在威尔斯镇也过得下去。您明白我的意思了吗？”他哀求地看着我，“但来到英国后，我看到南安普敦，即使它已经遭受过轰炸和洗劫，那儿人们的生活方式还是与内地有天壤之别。我还来了伦敦，去过科尔温贝。当您告诉我她变得很富有时，我开始想象她的生活状态，她习以为常的那一类事情，就知道她不会适应威尔斯镇的生活。然后我就觉得自己行事太草率了。我从没听过有哪个从英国直接去内地的姑娘能适应的。对于一个有钱的姑娘来说，那只有更糟糕。”他顿了顿，向我咧嘴一笑，“所以我去喝格罗格酒了。”

现在，我觉得他去喝格罗格酒一事绝对无可厚非，但很遗憾这让他付出了七十英镑的代价。“是这样，乔，”我说，“我们需要再好好考虑一下这件事。我想我会写信告诉佩吉特小姐，我见过你。她以为你已经死了。”

他睁大眼睛。“那您知道我？”

“知道得不多。”我说，“我知道你为她偷过鸡，日本人把你钉起来毒打。她以为你死了。”

“我真是差不多死了。”他咧嘴笑着说，“她告诉您了，是不是？”

我点点头。“她为此事悲伤不已，”我轻轻地说，“你也不想让她继续悲伤下去吧？她认为那都是她的过错。”

“完全不是她的错，”他拖着那种慢悠悠的腔调说，“她告诉我不要自己把脖子伸出去让别人砍。我却不听劝阻，并为此付出了代价。完全不是她的错。”

“我想你应该写信给她。”我重复道。

接下来很长一段时间，我们都没有说话。

“给她写信的话，我不知道到底可以说些什么。”他嘟囔道。

继续为这个问题伤脑筋是没有意义的，我放弃了。“是这样，乔，”我说，“花点时间好好想想。你必须最晚什么时候回到澳大利亚？”

“我如果不能在十月底之前回到牛场，斯皮尔斯太太就会谴责我。”他说，“我要遵守诺言。”

“这么说你还有两个半月的时间。”我说，“你的来程机票花了多少钱？”

“三百二十五磅。”他说。

“这么说你的信用证上还剩下五百镑？”

“没错。”

“你是想坐飞机回去呢，还是更愿意走海路？如果你想走海路，我可以帮你买到船票。我估计坐一艘不定期货船回去要花大概八十镑，但你必须尽快离开——大约两周之内。”

“我留在这里好像也没有什么意义了。”他有点疲倦地说，“她会不会在十月底前回到英国？”

“恐怕不会。”

“我最好坐船回去，把剩下的钱省下来。”

“我认为那很明智。”我说，“我会派下属替你买船票。在回国之前，你为什么不搬来这里住？欢迎你使用我的空房间，那会比你住酒店便宜一些。”

“我不会妨碍您吗？”

“一点儿也不。”我说，“我一天有大部分时间都在外面，而且如果你喜欢住在这里的话，我会感到很高兴。”

他同意了。我问他，在伦敦短暂停留期间最想去看什么地方。他说想去看看哈默斯密斯区的金合欢路十九号，那是他父亲出生的地方。然后他想去看一次《缠人沼泽地》的现场演出。这个节目每次播出的时候，只要静电干扰不严重，他都会通过布里斯班的短波广播收听。（“爱丽丝有一个超棒的电台，”他充满渴望地说，“一个当地电台，就在镇上。”）他还想尽可能多见识良种马和良种牛。他对马具很感兴趣，但他不认为我们在这方面有什么可以教他的。

去哈默斯密斯的事情当然没有什么困难。我当天下午送他上了一辆公共汽车，然后去办公室处理昨天被我忽略的工作。除了来访客户之外，我还有很多事情要考虑。琴·佩吉特见到这位男士时，是否会选择和他结婚，完全是她的私事，但很可能她会这么做。不管别人认为这样一对夫妇般配与否，都无法否认乔·哈曼具有一些非常可靠的优点。他似乎吃苦耐劳，也很节俭——如果不计他为寻找心爱的姑娘花费巨资飞越半个世界一事，并且很可能创造成功的人生。可以肯定的是，他的善良会使他成为一个好丈夫。

这件事情还有另外一面值得调查。无论她本人知情与否，琴·佩吉特是有澳大利亚血统的。她从未向我提及祖父詹士·麦法登，她很可能根本不会想起他。然而，正是因为他，她才有这么一大笔遗产可以继承，并且显然这笔钱是在他回家参加约克郡的定点越野赛马，并摔断脖子之前，在澳大利亚挣来的。稍微增加一点对詹士·麦法登的了解将会相当有趣。他的丰厚身家是否也是通过经营内地的牛场赚来的？他是不是恰好就是另外一个乔·哈曼？

那天下午，我让秘书给我找来麦法登的档案盒，在送走了最后一个客户后，我坐下来浏览了一遍里面的契据和遗嘱。我能找到的唯一线索就是詹士·麦法登在1903年9月18日立下的遗嘱，开头写道：“本人，詹士·尼尔森·麦法登，约克郡郊区柯比摩尔赛德镇罗德尔庄园，以及西澳大利亚霍尔斯克里克之主人，在此撤销此前一切遗嘱……”我当时对霍尔斯克里克一无所知，就先把这个名字记下来，用于进一步调查。当天的调查到此为止。

接下来我给马库斯·费尔尼打电话。他正在英国广播公司的办公室里，我向他要一张《缠人沼泽地》的票。为了得到这张票，我不得不把乔·哈曼的事迹告诉他，因为它们似乎非常抢手。他马上回复要求乔·哈曼接受《城中一夜》节目的采访，我说我会见到乔并转告此消息，他便答应把票送过来。然后我继续打电话给老丹尼斯·弗兰普顿，他在汤顿附近有自己的牛场，养殖赫里福种食用纯种牛。我把乔·哈曼的愿望告诉他，他非常和蔼地邀请乔去他那里住几个晚上。

我大约七点回到公寓时，乔已经在那儿了。我之前安排好在公寓吃晚饭。他去过银行和旅馆，并把手提箱拿来了，放在空房间里。我问他是否找到了他父亲在哈默斯密斯的房子。

“我找到它了，”他说，“哦，老天。我找着了。”

“很糟糕吗？”

他咧嘴一笑。“‘糟糕’一词不足以形容它。我们在澳大利亚也有一些贫民窟，但没见过那么破陋的。老爸离开那里，千里迢迢跑到昆士兰，实在是再正确不过的选择了。”

我问他要不要喝一杯雪利酒，但他想喝啤酒。我去给他找来一瓶。“你父亲是什么时候离开这个国家的？”我问道。

“1904年，”他说，“他去了克朗克里的科布马车公司。那公司在汽车引进之前是经营公共马车的。他那时候肯定有十五岁了。一战时他和澳洲人在加利波利打仗。”

“他已经去世了，是不是？”

“是，”他说，“他是1940年过世的，在我参军后不久。”他顿了顿，“我妈还在。她和我姐姐艾米一起住在克朗克里。”

“请告诉我，”我说，“你知道一个叫作霍尔斯克里克的地方吗？”

“产黄金的地方？在西澳大利亚的温德姆那边？”

“就是那里。”我说，“那里有金矿，是不是？”

“我想人们现在不去那里淘金了。”他说，“十九世纪时那里遍地都是黄金，就像海湾地区的昆士兰一样。我从来没有去过霍尔斯克里克，但我总觉得它有点像克洛伊登。克洛伊登有很多黄金，哦，老天。淘金热持续了大概十年，后来他们就必须挖下去很深才能找到金子，那样就无利可图了。听他们说克洛伊登一度有三万居民。现在只有两百人。在诺曼顿和伯克敦也一样——威尔斯镇也一样。它们都曾是黄金城。”

“你从未听说过有叫麦法登的人住在霍尔斯克里克吧？”

他摇摇头。“我没有听过这个名字。”

我告诉他，我拿到一张今晚《缠人沼泽地》的票，以及电台想请他周六晚上接受现场采访。他犹豫一番后同意了去录节目。我按时收听了这期节目，觉得他表现得出奇地好。主持人很有技巧地引导他说话，他说了大约六七分钟，内容关于米德赫斯特牛场，还有卡奔塔利亚湾南面的乡下地区，他把它叫作海湾地区。马库斯·费尔尼第二天亲自费心给我打来电话，告诉我这期节目实在是太成功了。“我现在真希望能找到更多像他这样的小伙子，时不时请他们上节目，”他说，“他们录节目的风格跟大人物完全不一样。”

周日，我送他上火车，南下汤顿见识丹尼斯·弗兰普顿先生饲养的牛。他留在英国的时间不多了，因为肖·萨维尔公司有一趟下周五早晨离港去新西兰和澳大利亚的航班，我设法为他预订了一个便宜的舱位。他周三回来时，满口都是在汤顿看到的新鲜事物。“他那里的牛太棒了，哦，老天，”他说，“在那里的两天，我所学到的牲口质量改良技术，比我在海湾地区十年学到的还要多。当然了，他的做法在米德赫斯特那样的牛场无法实现，但确实有很多值得思考的地方。”

“你是指育种吗？”

“在海湾地区，我们压根不研究品种改良，”他说，“不像在英国。我们只是四处走，看到矮小的牛就射死，留下最好的种牛繁殖后代。我很希望能在海湾地区看到一个纯种牛群，像他的牛群那样的。那么好的牲口，我只在电视上见到过。”

晚饭后，我跟他谈起佩吉特小姐。“我将会在一到两天后写信给她，告诉她你的地址，”我说，“我知道她会因为错失与你见面的机会而倍感惋惜。相信等你回到米德赫斯特时，就会发现她写给你的信已经寄到了。实际上，我很确定那时信已寄到，因为我将会寄航空邮件，她肯定也会给你寄航空邮件。”

想到能收到她的信，他喜不自胜。“我想我不会从这里给她写信。”他说，“如果您要给她写信，我会耐心等待，等我收到她的信后再写回信。在某种意义上，我很高兴没有在这里见到她。很可能这就是上天的安排，到最后一切都会圆满收场。”

我几乎脱口而出她身在澳大利亚的消息，但还是忍住了。乔·哈曼找来我办公室的前一天，我写了一封信到爱丽丝斯普林斯给她，现在每天都在等回信，因为她习惯每周给我写一封信，非常有规律。如果有必要的话，我可以给她打电报，把他的地址告诉她，这样她就不会一无所获地离开澳大利亚，但也没有理由在这个阶段就把她所有事情都告诉他。

两天后，我到码头送别他，就像几个月前送别琴一样。当我转身要走下舷梯的时候，他语气生硬地对我说：“谢谢您为我做了这么多事情，斯特拉坎先生。我会在米德赫斯特给您写信。”他和我握手。那紧紧的一握，瞬间让我想起他所受过的种种伤害，使我不寒而栗。

我转身走下舷梯。“不要客气，乔。你到家时就会收到佩吉特小姐的信。甚至可能会有更大的收获。”

我最后那句话并非无中生有，因为在我口袋里有一封她写来的信，是昨天寄到的，上面盖着威尔斯镇的邮戳。

————————————————————

(1) 古罗马诗人。

(2) 莱拉姬是贺拉斯诗集中的人物，贺拉斯在诗中向她表达了纯洁的爱慕之情。原文为拉丁文。

(3) “乔”是“约瑟夫”的昵称。

(4) 澳大利亚1966年开始使用澳元，之前使用澳大利亚镑。

(5) 战后初期英国国内粮食紧缺，政府实施粮食配给政策。

(6) 一种掺水烈酒。

第六章

当琴·佩吉特走下星宿号的舷梯，双脚踏上达尔文机场的时候，心里荡漾着阵阵难以名状的狂喜。我想，事实上直至彼时她才真正走出了战争的阴影。归国后，她来到英格兰，在帕克和利维公司工作了两年，高质高效，但在为人处世上，她一直把自己当成一个五十岁的人。她活着，但如槁木死灰一般。关丹的悲剧一再在她脑海深处重演，慢慢绞杀着她的青春。只有那一次，当她告诉我，她觉得自己已经七十岁时，才流露出了真情实感。

她于八点十五落地，夜幕已降临。下飞机的时候，澳航已经帮她在达尔文酒店预订了一个房间。她踏上混凝土地面，有人给她指路去位于飞机库内的海关。三位年轻小伙儿在舷梯脚下仔细打量她。那时她以为他们是机场官员，后来才知道是澳大利亚各家报社的记者。他们毫无疑问摊上了所有新闻工作中最糟糕的差事：在达尔文机场迎接每架飞机降落，希望从飞机上下来一位首相，或是长了两个脑袋的女人。

她一过关，其中一个记者就走向她。这班飞机的乘客平淡无奇，很难从他们身上挤出故事来。然而，一个满脸洋溢着快乐的姑娘却可能暗藏玄机。他说：“请问是佩吉特小姐吗？听机组成员说您在这里下飞机，并且要住进达尔文酒店。您是否愿意搭我的便车进城？我的名字是斯图尔特·霍普金森，这儿《悉尼监督报》的代表。”

她说：“您真是太好了，霍普金森先生。但我不想让您为了我而兜远路。”

他说：“我自己就住在那里。”他有一辆小型沃克斯豪尔，泊在飞机库外面。他帮她拿手提箱，把它放在后座上，然后两人上了车，一边闲聊星宿号和这次飞行。不久，当他们驶过维斯提屠宰场时，他说：“您是英国人吧，佩吉特小姐？”她说是。“请问您能否告诉我您来澳大利亚的原因？”

她笑道：“恐怕不太方便，霍普金森先生。只是一些私事——编不成一个有趣的新闻故事。我是不是从这里下车自己走？”

“不用，”他说，“我只是随便问问。我已经有一个星期交不出稿了。”

“我要是说我就是觉得达尔文很棒，对您会有帮助吗？‘伦敦打字员对达尔文赞赏有加’？”

“我们不能嘲讽伦敦，在《悉尼监督报》上不行。您是一个打字员吗？”

她点点头。

“出来找对象结婚？”

“我不认为是这样。”

他叹口气。“恐怕您对我的新闻不会有什么贡献。”

“请告诉我，霍普金森先生，”她说，“从这里怎么坐公共汽车去爱丽丝斯普林斯？我想去那里，但手头并不宽裕，所以我想还是坐公共汽车吧。有去那里的公共汽车吗？”

“当然了，”他说，“今天早上就有一班车。您要等到周一，周末不发车。”

“要坐多久？”

“两天。您周一出发，当天晚上到达戴利沃特斯，周二晚上到达爱丽丝。一路上不会太辛苦，但热得很。”

他把她送到旅馆，帮她把包拿进走廊。她居然能在那样一个人满为患的地方订到一个单人房，而且房间还带有可以俯览海港美景的阳台，实在是太幸运了。达尔文很热，是一种让人恹恹缩缩的湿热，即便是最轻微的动作也会令她汗流不断。这对她而言并非什么新鲜事，因为她对热带天气已经习以为常。她把门锁好，脱掉衣服，洗了一个淋浴，在洗手盆里洗刷一番，几乎一丝不挂地睡下了。

第二天她一早醒来。黎明的空气凉爽清新，她继续躺了一会儿，思考自己的处境。现在的头等大事是找到乔·哈曼并和他好好谈谈。然而，和霍普金森先生碰过面后，她也警惕到未来可能会遇到的困难。不管这些年轻人看起来有多么友善，他们的任务是为报纸探寻新闻。她一点儿也不希望自己的名字出现在报纸头条，但她来澳的目的一旦被发现，这将无可避免。“英国姑娘飞越重洋，追寻为己受刑之士兵……”如果她是男人的话，就没有这些烦恼了。

然而她不是。她开始给自己编造一个故事：她去阿德莱德找姐姐，后者嫁给了在当地邮局工作的霍姆斯先生。这个故事似乎很稳妥。她取道达尔文和爱丽丝斯普林斯，是因为她有一个叫作乔·哈曼的远房表兄应该是在那里工作，但已经有九年没有写信回家，她的舅舅想知道他是不是还活着。她将从爱丽丝坐火车南下阿德莱德。

这不太能解释她坐星宿号去达尔文的原因，不过她可以说，想去达尔文别无他径。她躺在床上，反复推敲这个故事，觉得它似乎滴水不漏。当她起床下楼吃早饭的时候，决定要在斯图尔特先生身上试验一下这个故事的效果。他当天早上告诉她怎么去公共汽车订票处时，她找到了机会。在超过半小时的谈话中，她把它分成风趣的小片段讲了出来，《悉尼监督报》的记者对之深信不疑，她都感到有点羞愧了。

他带她去一个牛奶吧，给她点了一杯可口可乐。“乔·哈曼……”他说，“九年前他在爱丽丝干什么？”

她吮着吸管。“他是牛场上的牛仔。”她故作天真地说，希望自己的表演并未过火。

“牧工？你还记得那个牛场的名字吗？”

“沃拉华，”她说，“那个牛场叫作沃拉华。在爱丽丝斯普林斯附近，是不是？”

“不知道，”他说，“我给你问问。”

午饭后，他回去找她，和《阿德莱德先驱报》的哈尔·波特一起。“沃拉华离爱丽丝斯普林斯远着呢，”波特先生说，“那儿的牧场住宅离爱丽丝肯定有一百二十英里远。您是说汤米·杜维恩的牛场吧？”

“我想是的，”她说，“有没有从爱丽丝斯普林斯去那里的公共汽车？”

“没有公共汽车，也没有其他办法，除了开卡车或者越野车去。”

霍普金森说：“艾迪·麦克莱恩会在那里停站吧，是不是？”

“你这么说我想起来了。”波特转向琴，“麦克莱恩航空公司每周都会飞一遍那些牛场派送邮件，”他说，“你应该可以坐飞机去那儿。那是最轻松的方式了。”

她受到电影的影响，对记者怀有一种成见。但她惊讶地发现，在现实生活中，他们彬彬有礼、善良友好、乐于助人。她由衷地向他们表达了感激之情。他们带她在达尔文四处兜风。她看到仙境一般的雪白沙滩和碧蓝的大海，高兴得大喊大叫，建议举行一个游泳派对。

“有几样东西会破坏这个派对，”波特先生说，“其中之一是鲨鱼。如果你走进齐膝深的水里，它们就会把你拖走。另外一样是短吻鳄。然后还有石头鱼——它不声不响地躺在沙滩上，看起来跟石头一模一样。如果你不小心踩到它，它就会向你喷出一品脱的毒液。僧帽水母也不怎么友好。但真正让我望而却步的是珊瑚耳朵。”

“那是什么？”

“一种长在脑里的肿瘤，由于这些幼细的珊瑚沙进入耳朵而引起的。”

琴得出了结论，也许她还是不要在达尔文游泳了。

但她后来还是去游了一次。周日的时候，他们开车带她顺着一条马路往南走了大约四十英里，到达一个叫作贝里斯普林斯的地方。那是某条河流上的一个深水池塘，非常适合游泳。当她换上两件套泳衣来到两位记者面前的时候，他们都非常好奇地看着她，因为她在瓜拉德朗那几年一直穿当地衣服，身上被晒黑的地方跟普通人很不一样。这是她犯的第一个错误，他们的脑海里头一次掠过一丝怀疑：只要他们能套出她的话来，这个姑娘身上一定藏有一段曲折离奇的故事。

“乔·哈曼……”哈尔·波特若有所思地对斯图亚特·霍普金森说，“我敢肯定之前在哪儿听过这个名字，但想不起来了。”

游完泳后开车往回走时，记者们向她介绍达尔文的情况。他们描画的图片暗淡阴沉。“这里发生的一切都没有好下场，”哈尔·波特说，“屠宰场关门好几年了，因为劳资纠纷——员工罢工太频繁，后来不得不关门大吉。铁路本打算往南修到爱丽丝，连接上从爱丽丝去阿德莱德的铁路——贯穿大陆南北。如果这个工程能够完成，可能会带来一些好处，但后来只修到伯德姆就断了。天晓得现在修得怎么样了。这条马路修好后，差不多把铁路的生意都抢光了——之前做过的所有生意。以前这里有一家冰工厂，但也倒闭了。”他顿了顿，“你在这里每经过一个地方，都能看见许多废墟，都是某些人尝试过却失败了的事业。”

“为什么呢？”琴问，“这个地方还挺不错的，有一个很好的港口。”

“你说得不错。这个地方应当是一个了不起的大港——像新加坡那样。这是北方沿岸唯一一个颇具规模的城市。我不知道。我在这里待的时间实在是太长了，它使我心生畏惧。”

斯图尔特·霍普金森嘲讽地说：“这里有内地症。”他向琴微微一笑，“这在澳大利亚很常见，尤其是在北方。”

她问：“爱丽丝斯普林斯也这样吗？”六年前乔·哈曼向她倾诉的回忆繁华艳丽，与他们对内地的描述非常不一样。

“嗯，”霍普金森说，“爱丽丝不太一样。爱丽丝很好。”

“为什么不一样？”她问。

“我也说不清楚。当然了，它是铁路起点，人们将牛从那里运送至南面的阿德莱德——那是其中一个原因。但它是一个方兴未艾的城市，那里的一切都欣欣向荣。我向上帝许愿，希望《先驱报》会派我去那儿，而不是到这个鬼地方来。”

那天晚上，她和两位朋友告别。第二天黎明，她坐上公共汽车，出发去爱丽丝斯普林斯。这是一辆大型现代贝德福德，流线型的车身沉重厚实，拉着用于装货物和行李的拖车。车上虽然没有空调，但也相当舒适。它沿着宽敞空旷的柏油路往南走，马不停蹄，车速每小时五十英里左右，司机是一位前海军船员。

车子一直开到凯瑟琳才停下，大家下车吃午饭。这是一个郊区，长着非常茂密的桉树。这些桉树非常矮小，琴发现人们把它们叫作胶树。树丛之间是开阔的野草地，没有放过牧，未被开发，荒无人烟。她有一个旅伴是银行检查员，要去藤南特克里克。两人一起讨论这个郊区的情况，他告诉她这一带沿海地区都无法用于农耕，出于某种她无法理解的原因。过了凯瑟琳，土地渐渐变得更荒芜，树木也更稀少干枯。傍晚，他们已经进入了一个沙漠附近的郊区。

薄暮时分，他们停在一个叫作戴利沃特斯的地方过夜。她发现，戴利沃特斯除了一个旅馆、一个邮局和一个大型飞机场之外，就没别的任何东西了。旅馆其实就是许多分散的单层小木屋和男女宿舍，对琴而言非常陌生，但也相当舒服。她晚饭前漫步走出门外，在暮色中东张西望。旅馆前面有三个年轻小伙儿坐在地上。他们一条腿坐在脚跟上，另一条腿伸着，跟乔·哈曼的坐姿一式一样。他们穿着一种骑马裤，脚蹬一种用松紧带扎边的薄底靴子，专心致志地在地面上打扑克。她意识到这是她头一次在这里看到牧工。

她饶有兴味地仔细观察他们。乔·哈曼在参军前就跟他们一样打扮。她真想上前去问其中一人是否认识乔，但这种行为实在有些荒唐，她最终还是抑制住自己。

公共汽车第二天黎明就启程了，继续沿柏油路一直往南开，经过米尔纳潟湖、纽卡斯尔沃特斯、玛奇蒂波，到达藤南特克里克。沿路植被越来越稀疏，太阳也越来越热，他们在藤南特克里克停车吃饭和休息的时候，已经置身于一片纯粹的沙漠中。一个小时后，他们重新出发，沿着酷热的马路南下，时速五十到五十五英里，途经只有两三间房子的小地方。这些地方寂寂无闻，却都取了名字来自抬身价：沃科普、巴罗克里克和艾勒朗。时近傍晚，他们发现自己马上要经过麦克唐纳山脉。在淡蓝的天空下，荒瘠的红色山坡绵延不尽。薄暮时分，他们缓缓进入了爱丽丝斯普林斯，下榻塔尔伯特兵器旅馆。

琴走进旅馆，开了一个面朝阳台的房间。旅馆是单层平房，跟爱丽丝斯普林斯所有其他房子一样。他们一到达旅馆就吃晚饭。她已经知道，在澳大利亚乡村旅馆，如果不准时去吃饭，就什么都吃不上。饭后，她换了一身衣服，走到镇上。她沿着郊区宽阔的道路不紧不慢地散步，仔细观察这个小镇。

她发现这个地方确实就如乔·哈曼所描述的一样，是一个令人愉快的地方，有很多年轻人，朝气蓬勃。尽管地处热带，房子都是平房，但爱丽丝斯普林斯隐约间透着一丝英国郊区的影子，恍惚间有一种家乡的熟悉感。这里也有带花园的独栋房子，花园四周有栅栏或者树篱，围出一片片小天地。街道修得像英国一样，路边种有行道树。如果不去看麦克唐纳山脉，就仿佛回到了儿时的巴西特。大家都说爱丽丝很棒，她现在理解他们的意思了。她知道，她可以在这里为自己营造出快乐的人生，住在其中一栋郊外房子里，也许还有两三个孩子。

她寻路回到主街道，去看沿街的商店。此地名不虚传，任何一个正常的女孩都能在这里找到她想要的一切——美发沙龙、几间好服装店、两间电影院……九点左右，她走进牛奶吧，点了一杯冰淇淋苏打。她想，如果内地都像这里一样，也胜过很多地方。

第二天早晨吃完早饭后，她去旅馆办公室找老板娘，一位德赖弗太太。她说：“我想试着跟一个远房表哥取得联系，他有十年没写信回家了。”她告诉德赖弗太太，自己从伦敦来，要去阿德莱德见姐姐，途经爱丽丝。“我告诉舅舅，我会路过爱丽丝斯普林斯，可以试试看能不能打探到乔的消息。”

德赖弗太太非常感兴趣。“他叫什么名字？”

“乔·哈曼。”

“乔·哈曼！在沃拉华工作的乔？”

“没错，”琴说，“他现在还在那里吗？”

那个女人摇摇头。“战争刚结束时他常常来我的旅馆，但只在这里住了六个月左右。我是战争期间才来到这里的，不太了解之前的情况。他是日本兵的战俘，没错。他们折磨他。他回来时手上有伤疤，他们用钉子刺穿了他的手，还毒打他。”

琴装出一副惊讶和恐惧的样子。“您知道他现在在哪里吗？”“我肯定不知道。可能其中一个牧工会知道。”

在爱丽丝住了三十年的杂工总管老阿特·福斯特说：“乔·哈曼？他回昆士兰了，那是他的故乡。战后他在沃拉华住了六个月左右，后来找到一份牧场经理的工作，好像在海湾地区附近。”

琴问：“您不知道他的地址？”

“不。沃拉华的汤米·杜维恩应该知道。”

“他常常到镇里来吗？”

“是的，他周五在镇里。每隔三到四周就过来一次。”

琴故作天真地问：“我想乔·哈曼去昆士兰时，是举家过去的吧？他们不会还住在这儿吧？”

老人家盯着她说：“我从未听说过乔·哈曼成家的事。他没结婚，至少就我所知没有。”

她自我解嘲说：“我在英国的舅舅以为他已经成家了。”

“我从未听说过他有一个妻子。”老人家说。

琴想了一会儿，然后和德赖弗太太说：“在沃拉华有电话吗？我是说，如果杜维恩先生知道他的地址，我很想给杜维恩先生打电话要这个地址。”

“那里一个电话也没有，”她说，“当然了，在沃拉华，人们通过收音机每天早晚收发消息。”这个地区有一个巨大的电台网络，由医院的航空出诊服务部门经营，医院的接线生每天早晚坐在广播站里，把四五十个牛场都呼叫一遍，通过广播互通消息，传递新闻，并大致确认一切安好。牛场的主妇们在另一头操作。“杜维恩太太今天晚上肯定会收听广播，因为她姐姐艾米正住院待产，伊蒂丝肯定想知道孩子是否已经生了下来。如果你写一份电报，拿给医院的泰勒先生，他今晚就会把消息转达给他们。”

琴回到房间，写了一份得体的电报，拿去医院给泰勒先生，他同意帮忙转交至沃拉华。“八点左右再回来吧。如果他们手头有这个地址，可能到时就已经给我回复了。如果他们一时找不着，可能会明早通过广播把地址告诉我。”这样一来，她那天余下的时间都空闲无事。她回到牛奶吧，又点了一份冰淇淋。

她在牛奶吧交到一个朋友，一个名叫露丝·索耶的姑娘，大约十八岁，牵着一条苏格兰粗毛猎狗。索耶小姐每天下午在服装店上班。她听说琴来自英国，对琴产生了很大兴趣，两人谈论了一段时间英国的情况。“你觉得爱丽丝怎么样？”她过了一会儿问道，语气中透出一丝习惯性的轻蔑。

“我喜欢它，”琴直率地说，“我见过很多不如它的地方。我相信你在这里过得挺愉快的。”

那姑娘说：“嗯，我觉得它还不错。以前我们在纽卡斯尔生活，后来我爸要来这里当银行经理。我们都以为这个地方很糟糕。我所有朋友都说这些内地地方糟糕透顶。我原以为自己在这里住不了多久，但现在已经是第十五个月了，我觉得还行。”

“爱丽丝比内地大部分地方要好，是不是？”

“他们是这么说的——我还没去过别的地方。当然了，这一切都只是在不久前建起来的。他们说战前还没有这些商店。”

琴了解到这个镇的一些历史，其发展之迅速令她非常惊讶。1928年的时候它只有三间房子和一个酒吧，就是铁路从乌德纳达塔修到这里那年。1930年，航空出诊服务系统开始运营，政府在爱丽丝周边地区修建了一些小医院。护士们眨眼间全部嫁出去了。琴了解到，当地绝大部分老住户的女主人是当年的护士。1939年，爱丽丝的人口大约有三百。战争爆发时，这个小镇成为军事物资中转站。战后，人口在1945年增加到大约七百五十，琴在那里的时候大约有一千两百。“战后，所有这些新房子和商店都拔地而起，”索耶小姐说，“现在人们似乎不停涌入这里。”

她建议琴下午晚些时候过来游泳。“麦克莱恩太太有一个很漂亮的游泳池，就在飞机场外面。”她说，“我会打电话给她，问能否带上你。”

她那天下午五点钟去接琴，琴参加了在游泳池举行的游泳派对。坐在黄昏的太阳底下悠然陶醉，远远望着风刀霜剑在厄特瓦山上刻出的线条，她渐渐融入了爱丽丝斯普林斯的社交生活。大部分姑娘和已婚妇女都不到三十岁，她发现她们善良好客，知书达理。她们热切关注英国的消息，有些人很自然地把英国叫作“家”，尽管她们都不曾去过英国。每个人都怀着一个理想，希望有一天能够回“家”旅行。到了晚上，琴满心惭愧，因为这些讨人喜欢的人对她的国家是如此了解，而她却对她们的国家知之甚少。

饭后，她在清凉的夜色中信步走到医院。杜维恩太太一时未能找到乔·哈曼的地址，但她证实了他在海湾地区某处经营着一个牛场。她会请丈夫在次日早晨的通话时间告知乔的地址。

那天晚上，琴仔细考虑拿到地址之后应该做什么。她想了很多。毫无疑问，她刚开始的担忧是多余的。乔·哈曼康复情况良好，能够继续在内地工作。他竟然能够康复至此等程度，她深感惊讶，这个男人太顽强了。虽然现在与他相见已不再是紧迫之事，但她觉得不能不再见他一面就离开澳大利亚。他们两人一别多年，时过境迁，人物皆非。她不害怕再见到他时心生尴尬，她感到自己可以坦诚相告，说她听说他没有死，就过来找他，希望看到他幸福安稳。如果那之后会发生点什么，好吧，那只是那些无可避免的事情之一。

她不知不觉睡着了，嘴边挂着一丝微笑。

第二天早上广播时间结束后，她去到医院，了解到乔·哈曼是米德赫斯特牛场的经理。这个牛场在威尔斯镇附近，她以前从来没有听说过它。泰勒先生非常亲切地拿出一份澳大利亚地图。这份地图经过专门设计，清楚标示出内地牛场各种广播设施和频道频率。他指出威尔斯镇给她看，就在卡奔塔利亚湾吉尔伯特河河口。

“那个地方怎么样？”她问他，“跟这里像吗？”

他笑道：“那儿可是个鬼地方。”他研究了一下地图。“但有一个机场。我不认为它还有点别的什么。我从没去过那儿，也从未听说有谁去过。”

“我要去那里。”她说，“我走了这么远的路，一定要见到乔·哈曼。”

“那儿的生活似乎很艰苦，”他说，“哦，老天。”

“那里会有旅馆吗？”

“哦，那儿会有旅馆的。他们需要一个喝格罗格酒的地方。”

她离开医院，一边想一边走到牛奶吧。她点了一杯冰淇淋苏打，不知为何，她觉得上一次喝它已经是很久以前的事了。喝完后，她沿着大街走了一小段路，拐进一间书店，买了一份澳大利亚地图、一份公共汽车时刻表和一份飞机时刻表。然后她回到牛奶吧，又点了一杯冰淇淋苏打，边喝边研究这几份印刷品。

不久露丝·索耶牵着小狗走了进来。琴说：“我知道乔·哈曼住在什么地方了。现在我要弄清楚怎样去那里。好像没有去那里的公共汽车。”

她们一起研究时刻表。“坐飞机去是最容易的，”露丝说，“现在所有人都那样做。那是贵一些，但不用花那么多时间，因为如果走陆路的话，你要在路上吃很多顿饭，还要住在旅馆里。我下周一会坐麦克莱恩的航班去克朗克里。”

这意味着要在爱丽丝斯普林斯多停留几天，但似乎是最佳选择了。“你可以来跟我们住在一起，”露丝说，“爸妈肯定很欢迎来自英国的人。住旅馆不太舒服，对不对？不过当然了，我从来没住过。”

“那里的人有点醉醺醺的。”琴说。她已经意识到，在澳大利亚有一条严格的规矩：女人决不能踏进酒吧半步。“我很愿意去你家住，如果那肯定不会给你造成很大麻烦的话。”

“我们很欢迎你来。在这里，几乎不可能找到另一个来自英国的人一起谈话。”她们绕路回索耶家，路上遇到了年轻的麦克莱恩太太，一头金发，推着婴儿车。她们停下脚步，琴说：“我必须到海湾地区的威尔斯镇去见乔·哈曼。我可不可以在您的飞机上预订一个周一去克朗克里的座位？”

“我想应该没问题。我正要去办公室，我会让他们把你加入周一的旅客名单。我要不要请他们给你安排从克朗克里继续到威尔斯镇的行程？我想你能直接从克里去威尔斯镇。但如果你想那样做的话，他们要先查一下，看能不能订到机票。”

“您实在是太好了，”琴说，“有劳他们费心了。”

“没问题。今晚来不来游泳池？”

“好的，麻烦了。”

她们继续走到索耶家。那是一间坐落在小花园中的平房，非常漂亮，蔷薇花爬满屋顶，花园里种满了英国花朵，一个洒水器在草地上浇着水。索耶太太头发灰白，是一个很实在的人，对琴的款待热情周到。她带着所有澳大利亚女人对旅馆的厌恶说：“你跟我们一起住比住在那个鬼地方好多了。你来了真好，佩吉特小姐。露丝昨天把你的事情告诉了我们。见到同乡真让人高兴。”

琴回旅馆收拾手提箱，半路在邮局停下。她要写一份电报给乔·哈曼，告诉他她打算去找他。她花了三刻钟吮吸铅笔头，斟酌措辞。最后她写道：

近闻你从关丹酷刑中恢复倍感高兴。我兹在澳大利亚并计划下周去威尔斯镇见你。

琴·佩吉特

她带着手提箱坐出租车去索耶家安顿下来。她和这些友善的人一起待了四天。第三天，她实在不忍心继续向她们隐瞒自己的秘密了，告诉了露丝和露丝的妈妈在马来亚发生的一切，以及她寻找乔·哈曼的原因。她深恐此事被登上报纸，求她们不要告诉其他人。她们同意了，但请她等索耶先生下班后，把她的故事再讲一次给他听。

那天晚上，索耶先生有很多使她感兴趣的话要说。“乔·哈曼可能了解到那儿的潜力。”他说，“海湾地区现在还很荒僻，但他是一个年轻人。在澳大利亚，一切都可能发展神速。二十年前这个镇还什么也没有，但看看现在！海湾地区有一个优势，就是雨水。我们这儿每年有六到七英寸的雨——大概是伦敦的四分之一。乔·哈曼那儿可能有三十英寸——比英国还要多。从长远来看，那肯定是一个巨大的优势。”

他吮着吸管。“提醒你注意，”他说，“那些雨目前对他们来说并未产生什么实际利益，因为它们全部集中在两个月的时间里，并且直接流入海中，并不像你们在英国那样，雨水是分散在全年的。但我去年遇到一个从家乡来的小伙儿，他说要不是每条河上每隔三英里左右就有一个堰，你们英国大部分的雨水也一样直接流入大海。那是澳大利亚人还未能抽出时间来做的事情——保护牧场水源。他们在这方面做了一些工作，但并不很多。”

住在索耶家的那几天里，琴不可避免地听说了露丝·索耶的爱情生活。它有失严肃，主要围绕一个比利·韦克林先生展开。这位先生有路修的时候就去修路。“他在战争中的表现太出色了，”她告诉琴，“二十三岁就当了上尉，但他跟你的乔·哈曼没法比，他还不曾为我受过酷刑……”

“我并没有和乔·哈曼谈恋爱，”琴颇带尊严地说，“我只是想知道他现在平安无事。”

露丝仍在四处寻找适合她的工作。

“我喜欢商店，”她说，“我不可能去学习速记，像你那样。我觉得商店就很好了，但我不知道在服装店工作有那么多意想不到的困难。衣服不上身，我就永远不知道它适合什么人穿。所以我想我永远成不了一个服装设计师。我想经营一个牛奶吧，那是我的理想。我想，开个牛奶吧一定会很有趣……”

琴去银行拜访索耶先生，他以专业人员的身份接待了她。她请他帮忙，等她离开后，把任何到达她账户的收入都汇至威尔斯镇。她周一上午依依不舍地离开了爱丽丝斯普林斯，索耶一家和麦克莱恩一家也满心不舍。

她乘坐一架蜻蜓号飞机飞了一整天，深受启发。飞机并没有直接飞往克朗克里，而是迂回穿梭于澳大利亚中部的荒地，在各个牛场收取小包邮件，顺带捎上牧工和旅行者，飞行一百或者一百五十英里后又放下他们。在当天的行程中，飞机降落了八到十次，在阿马鲁、哈切特河、库伦地、罗克汉普顿山丘和很多其他牛场。每到一处，他们都会下机喝一杯茶，和牛场经理或者主人闲聊，然后再上机继续行程。那天快要结束的时候，琴·佩吉特已经确切知道了牧场住宅的模样，并渐渐对里面发生的一切了如指掌。

薄暮时分，他们到达克朗克里。克朗克里是一个相当大的镇子，坐落在铁路沿线上，该铁路向东直抵汤斯维尔海边。这里属于昆士兰地区，她一听到当地慢悠悠懒洋洋的昆士兰腔调，乔·哈曼的音容笑貌马上扑进了她的脑海。她坐一辆非常旧的敞篷车到达邮局旅馆，要了一个房间。但饭点已过，她只好走到宽阔的中心大街上，在一片尘土飞扬中找餐馆吃晚饭。她发现，爱丽丝斯普林斯那种干净的魅力，在克朗克里连半点也找不到。这里满镇都是牛的气味，街道宽阔，有很多旅馆和几间商店，人们沿着街道将牛群赶进牲畜栏中。所有房子都是木制的，屋顶是漆成红色的瓦楞铁。旅馆都是两层的，但其他房子几乎都只是平房。

她不得不在那里逗留一天，因为去诺曼顿和威尔斯镇的飞机每周只在周三有一班。早饭后，她趁着空气仍然凉爽，走出旅馆，沿着巨大的中央街道走了半英里，来到镇中心一端，再走四分之一英里就到了另一端。然后她去看了一眼火车站。再看完机场后，就几乎把克朗克里看遍了。她顺路到一个卖玩具和报纸的商店转了一圈，但所有读物都卖光了，只剩下几本女装裁缝杂志。气温开始升高的时候，她回到旅馆，设法从旅馆老板娘那里借到了一本澳大利亚的《女士周刊》，拿回房间。她脱剩勉强能遮羞的衣服，躺到床上，在炎热的白天里，任涔涔热汗兀自流淌。克朗克里大部分其他市民似乎都在做着同样的事情。

饭前不久她就恢复了精神。她洗了个澡，去咖啡店点了一杯冰淇淋苏打。昆士兰人称作“茶”的晚饭，竟是油腻腻的烤牛肉和葡萄干布丁，真让她吃不消。黄昏的门廊暮色阴沉，她在帆布躺椅里坐了一会儿，晚上八点又爬上床睡觉。

她黎明前就被叫醒了，在晨光熹微中赶赴机场。这次的飞机是一架复古龙号，跟上一架一样流连于各个牛场之间，像卡农比、温杜拉和米尔加拉。大约中午的时候，经过四五次降落，他们飞经海边，一片荒寂的沼泽地海岸，之后很快就在诺曼顿降落了。半小时后他们重新起飞，飞往康斯坦茨山丘牛场。他们在那里喝了一杯茶，和经理的妻子聊了会儿天，再次起飞，飞往最后一站——威尔斯镇。

他们下午两三点钟抵达威尔斯镇，琴在飞机降落前盘旋的时候得以鸟瞰这个地方。这个郊区桉树茂密，青翠欲滴，吉尔伯特河奔流入小镇脚下大约三英里处的大海。威尔斯镇及其周边地区肯定深涵地下水，因为她可以看到一个木制码头，吉尔伯特河一直延伸至内陆，以她的目力根本望不到头，远蔽在水汽迷蒙的热霾中。然而，所有其他水道都仿佛干涸了。

这个小镇本身由大约三十栋楼房构成，它们非常稀疏地分散在两条巨大的交叉街道边沿——或者说分布在两条土地的边缘，因为街道尚未铺设好。只有一栋是两层的，她后来知道那是旅馆。有许多泥路从镇中心通往各个方向的郊区。那是在威尔斯镇可以看见的一切，此外还有一个华丽的机场，战争期间出于防御目的而修建，有三条巨大的柏油路跑道，每条长一英里。

他们降落在其中一条跑道上，向一辆停在跑道交会处的卡车滑行。这辆卡车载有两桶汽油和一个用于加油的半回转泵。飞行员从驾驶舱下来时向琴说：“佩吉特小姐，您要在这里下吗？有人接您吗？”

她摇摇头。“我想见一个住在这个地区的人，他在其中一个牛场工作。我想我不得不去旅馆了。”

“您要见谁？阿尔·伯恩斯，那边卡车上的壳牌代理商，他认识这儿每一个人。”

她说：“太好了。我想见乔·哈曼先生。他是米德赫斯特牛场的经理。”

他们一起下了飞机。“早，阿尔，”飞行员说，“她(1)需要加大约四十加仑。我马上就看看你的油。乔·哈曼在镇上吗？”

“乔·哈曼？”卡车里的人说，他身材瘦削，黑头发，年约四十。“乔·哈曼在英国。去度假了。”

琴眨眨眼睛，努力定定神。她已经准备好要听到哈曼在自己的牛场上，甚至去了凯恩斯或者汤斯维尔，但做梦也没想到会听到他在英国。她有一会儿头脑混乱得说不出话来，然后又想笑。她意识到两位男士正好奇地盯着她。“我给他发了一封电报，告诉他我马上来找他。”她愚蠢地说，“我想他没有收到吧。”

“不可能收到。”阿尔·伯恩斯慢慢地说，“什么时候发的？”

“大约四五天前吧，从爱丽丝斯普林斯。”

“哦，不，他不可能收到。可能发到了米德赫斯特牛场的吉姆·伦农那儿。”

“那是真的吗？”飞行员问道，“他去了英国？”

“大约一个月前去的。”那个男人说，“吉姆·伦农前几天晚上说的，十月底之前回来。”

飞行员转向琴：“您要怎么办，佩吉特小姐？您现在想留在这儿吗？这个地方可不怎么样。”

她紧咬嘴唇，思考着。“你们什么时候起飞？”她问，“回克朗克里吗？”

“没错，”他回答，“我们今晚回诺曼顿，在那里过夜，明天早上回克里。趁阿尔给她加油，我先去镇里一趟。大约半个小时后起飞。”

克朗克里是她最不想回的地方。“我需要考虑一下，”她说，“我要留在澳大利亚，直至见到乔·哈曼。待在凯恩斯还不错，是不是？”

“哦，凯恩斯是一个很棒的镇，”他说，“汤斯维尔也是。如果您一定要等六到八周，您不会想留在这儿的，佩吉特小姐。”

“我要怎样去凯恩斯？”她问。

“这个嘛，”他说，“您可以和我一起回克朗克里，然后坐火车到汤斯维尔，再往北坐到凯恩斯。我不太清楚坐火车需要花多长时间——肯定有六百到七百英里的路程。或者您可以在这儿等到下周三，下周的今天，坐空中列车直接到凯恩斯，行程大概两个半小时。”

“从克朗克里坐火车到凯恩斯要花多长时间？”

“哦，那我不知道。我想他们不会每天都从汤斯维尔发车去凯恩斯，但我不是很确定。您就按三天一班作计划吧。”他顿了顿，“当然了，最好的方法就是从克朗克里飞去汤斯维尔，再飞去凯恩斯。”

“我知道，”她对这些长途飞行的花费变得非常敏感，但不坐飞机就只能坐火车，而在内地的火车上度过三个星期简直要热死人，“如果留在这里等下周坐空中列车的话，会便宜很多，是不是？”

飞行员说：“哦，便宜很多。从这儿飞到凯恩斯要花十镑十五先令，飞回克朗克里再飞去汤斯维尔和凯恩斯要花大概三十镑。”

“我想这里的旅馆还挺便宜的？”

“我想大约每天十二先令六便士吧，”他转向正在忙着加油的壳牌代理商，“阿尔，康纳太太那里多少钱一晚上？”

“十先令六便士。”

琴飞快地进行了心算，留在这个地方，花一周时间等空中列车，她会省下十六镑。“我想还是留在这里吧，”她说，“那样比跟你回去便宜很多。我会留下来见吉姆·伦农，并等待下周的空中列车。”

“您知道这儿的旅馆是怎么样的吗，佩吉特小姐？”

“就跟克朗克里的邮局旅馆一样？”

“比那个更简陋一些。人们就在后院方便。”

她笑道：“我是不是应该把自己锁在房间里，在床头放一把左轮手枪？”

他有点被震惊到了。“哦，您会发现这旅馆还挺体面的。但是，嗯，您会发现它有一点简陋。”

“我想我能活下来。”

那时另一辆载着几个人的卡车出现了。车里的人好奇地盯着琴看。飞行员帮她拿手提箱，放在后座上，司机帮她坐上驾驶室，让她坐在自己旁边。逃离炫目的太阳，再次进入阴凉的地方，令人觉得轻松多了。

司机说：“留在威尔斯镇？”

“我想见乔·哈曼，但他们说他出门了。如果康纳太太那里有空房间给我住的话，我会在这里待到下周，再坐空中列车去凯恩斯。”

他好奇地看着她：“乔·哈曼去英国了。您是英国人吧？”

卡车沿着宽广的柏油跑道开起来。“没错。”她回答。

他满面笑容地向她道：“我父母都来自英国。我爸，他在刘易舍姆区出生，我想是伦敦的一个区吧，我妈来自赫尔。”他顿了顿，“我叫斯莫尔，”他说，“森·斯莫尔，就像那个扛着火枪的小伙子一样(2)。”

卡车开离跑道，开始跌跌撞撞、摇摇摆摆地走在通往小镇的土路上。驾驶室里尘土飞扬，引擎轰鸣，蓝色的烟气把他们包裹得严严实实。卡车每一个部分都在嘎吱嘎吱地尖叫。“乔·哈曼为什么要去英国？”她扯着嗓子喊道，以期盖过阵阵喧闹声，“他去那里做什么？”

“我想就是一时心血来潮吧，”斯莫尔先生回答，“他几年前赢了珍宝盒。”这在她听来像希腊文。“这个季节在牛场也没多少活儿。”

她喊道：“你知道旅馆有没有空房间吗？”

“哦，有的，您能开到一个房间的。您刚从英国出来？”

“是的。”

“现在家那边的配给制(3)怎么样？”

她大喊着回答他。她一边说，卡车一边颠簸摇摆着前行，穿过沿路片片风光。他们路过一座修在道路旁边的小木棚屋，五十码后又路过左边的一座，往前一点再路过一座，然后就开上了主街道。他们停在一栋两层楼房前，底层门廊上有一个褪了色的招牌，上面写着：“澳大利亚旅馆”。“就是这里了，”斯莫尔先生说，“进来吧，我去找康纳太太。”

澳大利亚旅馆是一座很大的楼房，有大约十个门朝顶层门廊的小房间。地板和门是木的，其余整栋房子都以木作框架，以瓦楞铁做面。那时琴已经习惯了无处不在的瓦楞铁屋顶，但睡房的瓦楞铁墙对她而言还是件新鲜事物。

斯莫尔先生去找康纳太太时，琴在顶层门廊等待。门廊上有几张床。老板娘睡眼惺忪地来到她跟前。老板娘身材高挑，头发灰白，五十岁左右，看起来是个雷厉风行的人。

琴说：“下午好。我叫琴·佩吉特。我不得不在威尔斯镇住到下周。请问您这里有房间吗？”

那个女人上下打量着她。“嗯，我真的说不好。你是单独旅行吗？”

“是的。其实我是来见乔·哈曼的，但他们告诉我他出门了。我要去凯恩斯。”

“你刚刚错过了去凯恩斯的飞机。”

“我知道。他们说我要等一个星期才能坐上下一班。”

“没错。”女人四处张望，“嗯，我说不好。你瞧，男人们通常睡在这个阳台上。那对你来说不太好。”

森·斯莫尔说：“那两间后屋呢，老妈？”

“对了，她可以住那儿。”她转向琴。“在背面的阳台上，能看到后院。你会看到牧工们都去后院上厕所，但我拦不住他们。”

琴说：“我想我能挺住的。”

“你以前在内地的镇子住过？”

她摇摇头。“我刚刚从英国出来。”

“是嘛！英国现在怎么样了？你们吃得饱吗？”

琴又回答一遍。

“我有一个姐姐嫁给了一个英国人，”那个女人说，“住在一个叫作古尔的地方。我每个月都给她家寄去一个包裹。”

她带琴去看房间。房间很干净，有一个相当不错的蚊帐。房间小小的，但向过道开的门正对着向阳台开的双层落地窗，穿堂风很凉快。“没有人走这边的阳台，除了安娜——她是女仆。她睡另一间，如果你晚上听到任何动静，希望你会告诉我。我盯着那个姑娘。”她把话题转向通风，“你把门打开一条小缝，用你的箱子顶着它，那样就没有人能走错门闯进来了。再开着窗，穿堂风就飕飕的了。我在这个地方一直睡得很好。”

她往下扫了一眼琴的手，说：“你还没结婚？”

“没有。”

“嗯，这个地区的每一个牧工都会到镇里来看看你的。你最好有心理准备。”

琴笑道：“我会的。”

“那——你是乔·哈曼的朋友？”

“我俩是战时认识的，”琴说，“在新加坡等船回国的时候。”至少这比她上一个谎言更接近事实。“后来我来了澳大利亚，就给他发了一份电报，说我想来见见他。我没有收到回复，所以就不管三七二十一先过来了。但他却去‘丛林流浪’了。”

那女人笑道：“看来你学会了一些澳洲土话。”

“乔·哈曼教我的，我俩在战争期间认识的时候。”

森·斯莫尔把琴的手提箱拿了上来，她向他道谢，他窘迫地转身走开了。她走进房间，脱下湿答答的衣服，去浴室洗了一个淋浴，换上干爽的衣服。六点半，铃声响遍整座瓦楞铁楼房，她已经准备好吃晚饭了。

她找到下楼去餐厅的路。那里已经坐着三四个人，他们好奇地望着她。一个发育良好的十六岁女孩儿让她单独坐一张已经摆好的小桌子，后来她知道这女孩儿叫作安妮。“烤牛肉，烤羊肉，烤猪肉，烤火鸡，”她说，“茶还是咖啡？”

天气仍然闷热难耐。餐厅里到处都是苍蝇，扑在琴的脸、嘴唇和手上。“烤火鸡。”她说。了解清楚此处食物的供应情况后，明天尽可以优哉游哉地吃一顿清淡的。“茶。”

安妮端上来一个堆满了肉和蔬菜的盘子，热气腾腾，异常油腻，马上招来了一大堆苍蝇。一会儿茶也来了，里面加了罐头牛奶。土豆看起来很新鲜，但胡萝卜和甘蓝明显是罐头蔬菜。她镇静地想道，这些苍蝇很可能以痢疾收场，但她有应对办法。她有充足的磺胺嘧啶帮她挺过这周。她吃了这份巨大盘餐的四分之一左右，喝了两杯茶，就吃撑了。

她马上跑到外面的新鲜空气中去，逃离苍蝇的攻击。底层门廊大约距离地面三英尺高，上面有两三张帆布躺椅，就放在离酒吧入口不远处。她已经深知澳大利亚规矩不允许女人靠近酒吧，但在旅馆里又找不到其他可以坐的地方，只好在其中一张躺椅上坐下来，一边担心着这样做是否会违反当地礼节。

她点燃一根香烟，边抽边看风景。已是黄昏时分，但太阳仍然猛烈，一大片作为街道使用的土地沙尘滚滚，淹没在一片金色的浮光里。街道另一边，一百码开外，有一坐很大的单层楼房，仿佛经过多次加建，挂着一个牌子——威廉·邓肯杂货店。没有任何迹象表明镇里还有其他商店。邓肯先生的商店外面，有三个非白人牧工在一起聊天，其中一个拿着一个马鞍。他们都是人高马大的年轻人，身材健壮，外表很像黑人，同时也像黑人一样，似乎有许多可以嘲笑的事物。

沿着大街另一边更远处，有一条六英寸长的管子，垂直从地上伸出来，高出地面大约八英尺。水从这条管子的顶端喷出，形成一个小喷泉。水仿佛烧得很热，因为有一团水蒸气围绕着小喷泉。水落在地上形成的小溪流一直流向远处，也全程冒着腾腾热气。四分之一英里开外有一座横跨小溪流修建的小屋，这样水可以流进小屋里，从另一面流出，但琴还没有发现这座建筑物的用途。

一阵低语声从酒吧内传进她的耳朵，不时地就有一个男人经过她身旁，走进开着的门。她在这个地方一个女人也没见着。

不久，一个年轻人路过时向她笑道：“晚上好。”她也向他笑道：“晚上好。”

他马上停下脚步，她知道麻烦来了。“我今天下午看见你和森·斯莫尔一起来的。是坐飞机来的吧？”

他是一个外貌整洁的青年庄稼汉，走起路来摇摇摆摆的，一副典型的牧工相。他穿着绿色骑马裤和绑边靴子，一看见它们就知道他的职业。尝试冷语相向是不明智的。“没错，”她说，“我从克朗克里来的。请告诉我，那是天然水资源吗？”

他朝她指的方向看。“天然？那是个钻头。从来没有见过吗？”

她摇摇头。“我刚刚从英国来。”

“从英国来？哦，老天，”他拖着内地那种慢悠悠的腔调说，“英国怎么样？你们吃得饱吗？”

她又回答了一遍。“我老爸来自英国，”他说，“一个叫作伍尔弗汉普顿的地方。离你住的地方近吗？”

“大约两百英里吧。”她回答。

“哦，挺近的。那你应该知道这个家庭。姓氏是弗莱彻。我是彼特·弗莱彻。”

她向彼特解释说英国人还挺多的，又重新回到钻头的话题上。“你们从钻孔钻上来的水是不是都那么热？”

“太对了，”他说，“而且是矿泉水——你不能喝那些水。还有气一起喷上来。我去点着它，如果你想看的话。”他解释说那会喷出大约五六英尺高的火焰。“等天黑一点时我再点给你看。”

她说他人真是太好了，他看起来一脸窘迫。阿尔·伯恩斯，那个壳牌代理人和卡车修理工开车路过，停下来加入他们的谈话。“安顿下来啦，佩吉特小姐？”

“是的，谢谢您。我会在这里待到周三，然后继续去凯恩斯。”

“很好，我们在威尔斯镇很少看到陌生面孔。”

“我正在这里问彼特关于钻孔的事情。彼特，牛喝这些水吗？”

那牧工笑了。“如果它们找不到比它更甜的水就喝。你会发现它们在雨季是不喝这些水的，但旱季时它们喝得挺好。”

“有一些钻头它们是不碰的。”阿尔说，他正在给自己卷烟，“人们在因弗高登放下去一个钻孔，那是这儿和诺曼顿之间的一个牛场——往南一些。人们要往下钻差不多三千英尺才能找到水，真是费了好大力气，哦，老天。钻孔队在那儿干了差不多三个月。后来当他们钻到水的时候，那些水散发着矿物质的恶臭，牛连碰都不碰一下，即使旱季时也不。更可怕的是，那些水连草都种不活。”

又有两个男人过来加入躺椅旁边的小聚会。“请告诉我，”她说，“为什么这个镇的房屋这么分散？为什么不修建得密集一些？”

其中一个四十来岁的新来者说：“过去这儿沿街有很多房子。我有一张这儿的照片，拍于1905年。明天拿来你看。”她后来知道他叫作蒂姆·惠兰，是一个木匠。

“那时这里的居民比现在多吗？”

阿尔·伯恩斯说：“哦，老天。这就是其中一个淘金镇，佩吉特小姐。也许你不知道，但这儿一度有三万人呢。”

另一个新来者说：“八千人。我在一本书上读到的。”

阿尔·伯恩斯固执地说：“我老爸总是说他刚来的时候这儿有三万人。”

这明显是一个古老的辩题。琴问道：“现在有多少人？”

“哦，不知道。”阿尔转向其他人：“你说现在有多少人，蒂姆？”他对一旁的琴说：“他是做棺材的，问他就对了。”

“一百五十人。”惠兰先生说。

森·斯莫尔加入了门廊上的谈话。“目前在威尔斯镇住的还不到一百五十人呢。不会多于一百二十人。”他顿了顿，“当然是指住在镇里的人，不包括牛场的居民。就住在镇上这儿的，不算土著。”

谈话演变成一场小小的争论，所以他们开始坐下来数人数。黄昏的光亮渐渐褪去，琴坐在那里看他们做统计，心想这群人真有趣。最终结果是一百四十六人。数据终于被确认时，她已经听到了镇上大部分人的名字和职业。

“这里以前有金矿吗？”她问。

“没错，”斯莫尔先生说，“他们曾扬言说有一百个呢，都在这些小河沿岸，哦，老天。这儿曾经有十七家旅馆。十七家。”

另一个人说：“那时候轮船从布里斯班驶来这儿——绕过约克角半岛，沿着吉尔伯特河一直往内陆走，去到栈桥那儿。我从未亲眼见到过，都是听我家老头儿说的。”

琴问：“后来发生了什么事？是不是金子都淘光了？”

“是的。他们从河里和礁石表面就能淘出金子，太容易了。后来他们要挖得很深，使用很多机器，那就不值当了。这些镇都一样。克罗伊登是，诺曼顿也是。”

“他们说要在克罗伊登开一个矿——再开一个。”某人说。

“从我记事起他们就老那么说。”

琴问：“但那些房子呢？人们都离开了吗？”

“房子后来就塌了，或者被拆掉，材料用来修补其他房子。”阿尔告诉她，“人们挖光了金子，就不再留在这儿了——他们待不下去。现在这里只剩下牛场了。”

男人们越聊越起劲，琴偶尔插进一两句话或者几个问题。“鬼城，”有人说，“有一次我在书上读到的，他们就这么叫这些海湾小镇。鬼城。那是因为它们都成了鬼魂，只有在过去有金子的时候才是活着的。”

“那并没有持续很长时间，”有人说，“这儿1893年首次发现了金子，到1905年就没多少人了。”

男人们谈话的时候，琴坐着，努力想象这个被抛弃的小城曾经有何等繁盛。那时，它有八千或三万居民，街道交错密布，沿街挤满了十七家旅馆和众多楼房。该镇的设计者，不论是谁，肯定做过一个伟大的梦。当他看见人们源源不断地涌入该镇追求事业，没几天人口就翻一番，自然有理由心生憧憬，要把这里发展成卡奔塔利亚湾的纽约。现在，残留下来的只有许多长方形的泥路，相互交织像一张破烂的网，再也不能称之为街道，其上也不复再见那些木制的楼房。只剩下模样古怪的楼房孤零零地挂在这张网上，仿佛过去梦想的残片。

夜幕降临后，彼特和阿尔出去为琴点燃钻头。他们划了半打火柴来点它，一片火焰猛地向上蹿起，照亮了整个小镇，在水和蒸汽间跳跃闪烁，直到最后被喷上来的一片水浇灭了。他们再次点着了它，琴饱览了该景象。很明显，这是该镇能提供的最佳娱乐节目，他们使尽浑身解数，以博她一笑。“太漂亮了，”她说，“我在英国从未见过类似的景象。”

他们都非常谦虚。“这儿周边大部分小镇都有这么一个可以点燃的钻头。”他们说。

那天的飞行使她非常劳累，九点钟，她向他们告辞，他们都祝她晚安。她走之前把阿尔·伯恩斯稍稍拉到一边。“阿尔，”她说，“我想见吉姆·伦农——他在米德赫斯特工作，是不是？我想在周三出发前见他一面。他会到镇里来吗？”

“他周六会来，”阿尔说，“我敢说他会在这儿过周六，喝格罗格酒。如果我听到任何人去那边，我会托人捎话给他，说你在镇上并且想见他。”

“米德赫斯特的居民会通过广播收发消息吗？”

他摇摇头。“那儿离镇里太近了，不需要那么费事。如果有人生病或者遭遇事故，他们可以带他进城，一个小时左右就到了。护士在医院有收音机。”他顿了顿，“大概明天就有人去那边。如果没有，或者如果吉姆·伦农周六不来，我就周日开卡车送你过去。”

“那真是太好了，”她说，“我不想太麻烦你。”

“不麻烦，”他说，“只是稍稍改变计划而已。”

她上楼睡觉。旅馆用电灯照明，后院有一个油引擎和发电机组，在她房间外面持续地工作着发电。她十点时听到酒吧关门，十点五分引擎停止工作，所有灯都熄灭了。威尔斯镇沉沉睡去。

她第二天在晨光中醒来，房间外面传来人们起床和洗漱的声音。她躺着打盹，聆听早晨的声音。早餐要七点半才开始供应，她起来洗了一个淋浴，准时出现在餐厅。她发现威尔斯镇的标准早餐是半磅牛排，上面盖两个煎蛋。她点了一个煎蛋，不要牛排，这让安妮非常惊讶。“早餐是牛排和鸡蛋。”安妮很耐心地向这位英国女士解释。

“我知道是这样，”琴说，“但我不想吃牛排。”

“好吧，你可以不吃它。”那个姑娘明显感到非常困惑。

“我可不可以只要一个煎鸡蛋，而不要牛排？”琴问。

“你的意思是，只在盘子里放一个煎鸡蛋？”

“没错。”

就食物的问题展开对话在威尔斯镇明显是一种新理念。“我去问问康纳太太。”安妮说，过了一会儿她从厨房回来，端着一个装着一块牛排和盖着两个煎鸡蛋的盘子。“我们只有一种早餐。”她解释道。琴放弃挣扎。

早饭后，她冒险走去大楼外面的厨房，找到康纳太太。“我有一些东西要洗，”她说，“请问我可以用您的洗衣盆吗？还有——您有熨斗吗？”

“安妮会替你做的，”康纳太太说，“把衣服给她吧。”

琴并不打算把衣服托付给安妮。“她有很多活要干，”她说，“而我无所事事。如果我能借用洗衣盆的话，我可以自己洗。”

“那好吧。”

琴整个早上都在底层背面门廊洗熨衣服，就在厨房门口。在那个干燥灼热的地方，把衣服挂在外面的晾衣绳上，十分钟就干了。厨房里的温度肯定接近一百二十度。琴匆忙走进去，从炉子上取走她的熨斗，心想，女人们每天都在这种条件下做三顿热饭，实在是坚毅得令人惊讶。不久安妮走过来，在门廊上东站站西站站，在琴洗衣服的时候偷偷地观察她。

安妮拿起一个装肥皂片的纸板箱。“你放多少这个进水里？”

琴说：“我想每加仑水放一盎司吧，是不是？据我所知就是这样。我就放一点儿。包装上有说明。”

那个女孩儿把包装转过来，细细察看。“在‘使用说明’里写着。”琴说。

康纳太太的声音从她身后的门口传来：“安妮不太认字。”

那个姑娘说：“我能看懂。”

“哦，你会吗？好吧，那你给我们念一念，看包装上写了什么？”

那个姑娘把箱子放下。“我最近练习得太少了。我在学校的时候念得可好了。”

为了缓和气氛，琴说：“你需要做的只是不断把肥皂片放进去，直到水适当起泡。各种水放的量不一样，因为硬度不一样。”

“我用普通肥皂，”安妮说，“我不太会用这种。”

过了一会儿那个姑娘说：“你是护士吗？”

琴摇摇头。“我是个打字员。”

“哦，我还以为你可能是个护士呢。差不多所有来威尔斯镇的女人都是护士。她们在这里都留不长。六个月，然后就受够了。”

大家都不说话。“如果你曾经当过护士，”过了一会儿，那姑娘说，“我想请你开一些药。我最近一起床就觉得很不舒服。今天早上还吐了。”

“那可真糟糕。”琴小心地说。似乎也没别的可说。

“我想我要去医院，”安妮说，“找道格拉斯护士开点药。”

“换我也会这么做。”

当天白天她见到了威尔斯镇大部分有头脸的人物。她穿过马路到杂货店去，尝试买点香烟，但只买到一听烟丝和一包卷烟纸。她在杂货店里和比尔·邓肯聊天，他拿出一块石英石给她看，说里面含有金子。她仔细端详这块石头的时候，学校教师肯莱小姐进来了。半小时后，琴过马路回旅馆，阿尔·伯恩斯来找她，想把她介绍给该郡的文书卡特先生。

下午大部分时间，她和威尔斯镇的其他人一样躺在床上睡觉。白天的热气消散后，她下楼到门廊上，跟昨晚一样坐在帆布躺椅里。牧工们很快就发现了她。他们一个接一个走过来，扭扭捏捏地，在这个英国姑娘面前毫无自信，但又无法抗拒她的吸引力。不久，他们都坐在了门廊上，在她周围形成一个小圈子。

她让他们谈谈他们自己的事情，那好像是让他们放松的最佳办法。“这儿挺好的，”其中一个说，“是一个很不错的牧牛区。这儿的雨水比往南一些的牧场更充足。但我明年就要离开了。我的兄弟在罗克汉普顿的铁路上工作，他说如果我去投奔他，他会让我跟着他们干。”

琴问：“那里的薪水是不是要高一些？”

“嗯，不。我不认为那儿给的薪水很高。我在这儿有五镑十七先令六——当然，那是包食宿和日用的。这是普通骑马放牧人的薪水。”

她感到很惊讶。“那很不错，是不是？对于一个单身男人来讲？”

彼特·弗莱彻说：“这儿的薪水还可以。问题是这个地方实在是太无聊了。”

“你们这里有过电影院吗？”

“有一个小伙子每隔两个星期过来一趟，在郡政厅里放电影——就是那边那栋房子。”她看到一座矮矮的木结构建筑物，像谷仓一样。“他有一个月没来了，但卡特先生说他下周会来。”

“舞会呢？”琴问。

这个问题引起了一阵讽刺的笑声。“他们有时试着举办，但在这个地方很难办起来。姑娘太少了。”

彼特·弗莱彻说：“我们这些来威尔斯镇的牧工大约有五十个，佩吉特小姐，但可以跟我们一起跳舞的未婚姑娘只有两个，多丽丝·纳什和苏西·安德森。我是说年龄在十七到二十二岁之间的姑娘，不包括孩子和已婚女士。”

其中一个牧工坏笑道：“苏西已经不只二十二了。”

琴问道：“但这里的姑娘们都怎么了？这附近肯定还有其他姑娘吧？”

“她们都去市里找工作了，”某人说，“威尔斯镇没有适合女孩儿干的工作。她们去汤斯维尔或者罗克汉普顿——还有布里斯班。”

彼特·弗莱彻说：“那正好是我要去的地方，布里斯班。”

琴说：“这么说，你们不喜欢在牛场上工作？”她想起乔·哈曼和他对于内地的满腔热爱。

“哦，牛场挺好的。”彼特说。他迟疑了一下，不确定该如何准确地向这个英国女士表达他的感受，同时避免一时大意说出脏字。“我的意思是，”他说，“一个小伙子有权利找一个女朋友结婚，就像任何其他人一样。”

她盯着他看：“真是这样吗？”

“这儿是个鬼地方，”有人说，“这儿真是个鬼地方。不是开玩笑，女士。五十个单身汉争夺两个未婚姑娘。老爷们儿在这儿讨不到媳妇儿。”

另一个人向她解释道：“您瞧，佩吉特小姐，如果一个姑娘是正常的，脑子没坏——比如说，就像您这样——就不会留在这儿。一旦到了可以离家的年纪，你就会离开这儿，去一个能找着工作的地方，自己养活自己。老天，你会的。留在威尔斯镇的姑娘都有点笨，在其他地方混不下去，要不就是想留下来照顾老人。”

另一个人说：“那样想的姑娘会带老人一起进城。像埃尔西·弗里曼。”

琴笑道：“你是说，如果你留在威尔斯镇，最终只能娶一个不怎么抢手的姑娘了。”

他们尴尬地面面相觑。“嗯，小伙子都想周游四方……”

“如果你们都进城，周游四方的话，谁来经营这些牛场呢？”琴说。

“让经理为此而头疼吧，”彼特说，“我自己的事儿就够我头疼的了。”

那晚饭后不久，一辆破旧的老雪佛兰越野车开来旅馆。它的车头是一个驾驶室，车身则像卡车一样是敞篷的。司机是一个瘦削的男人，五十来岁，看起来弱不禁风。他旁边坐着一个棕色皮肤的女孩儿，二十到二十五岁，皮肤光滑，面容安详。她不是纯本地人，但很可能只有四分之一白人血统。她穿一条鲜艳的红色连衣裙，抱着一只小猫咪，它显然是她的一大乐趣。他们穿过门廊进入旅馆，男人拿着手提包。他们显然要在旅馆过夜。饭点时，琴看见他们和男人们一起坐在另一张桌子旁边，但几乎不跟别人说话。

饭后琴问康纳太太他们是谁。“那是埃迪·佩吉，”她说，“是卡莱尔牛场的经理，那牛场大约在一百英里开外。那个土著女人是他太太，他们过来购物。”

“明媒正娶的妻子？”琴问。

“哦，是的，他和她是合法结婚的。布什修士会的科普兰修士去年正好在那儿，为他们主持了婚礼。他们时不时来我这儿住。我必须说，她从未惹过任何麻烦。当然了，她是文盲，话也不多，总是带着一只小猫咪或者小狗。她就喜欢小猫小狗什么的。”

琴想起那个男人脆弱却睿智的脸，觉得这对夫妻很不般配。“我真想知道他为什么要这么做。”

康纳太太耸耸肩。“我想是寂寞的缘故吧。”

那晚琴上楼回卧室的时候，看见一个人站在俯瞰后院的阳台上，倚在扶手旁。阳台上只有两个睡房，她的和安妮的。在微弱的光线中，她走向双层落地窗时说：“晚安，安妮。”

那个女孩向琴走来。“我一直感觉很糟糕，”她嘟囔道，“介意我问你件事情吗，佩吉特小姐？”

琴停下脚步。“当然不介意，安妮。什么事？”

“你知道怎样打掉婴儿吗，佩吉特小姐？”

琴在早上的对话后，对这句话早有心理准备。一阵对孩子的深切惋惜涌上心头。“我很抱歉，安妮，但我不知道。我不认为你应该那样做。”

“我去找道格拉斯护士了，她告诉我我的问题。老爸知道了肯定会狠狠揍我一顿。”

琴执起她的手，把她拉进卧室。“进来，告诉我是怎么回事。”

安妮说：“我知道有一些办法，比如吃点什么药，或者去骑马，或者类似的事情。我想也许你以前也被迫这么做过，应该知道办法。”

“我从不需要这么做，安妮。我不知道，为什么你不让他娶你，名正言顺地把孩子生下来？”

那个姑娘说：“我不知道孩子是谁的。他们都会赖账的，不是吗？”

这是一个琴从来不需要面对的问题。“我想他们会的。”

“我想去问问我的姐姐贝西。她应该知道。她结婚前就有俩小孩儿了。”

看来贝西在这方面的知识对她不会有什么用。“护士难道不会帮助你吗？”

“她只说我是个荡妇。那没什么帮助。就算我是个荡妇吧。在这个鬼地方也没别的事情可做。”

琴尽她所能好言相慰，但话语对安妮毫无用处。她关心的不是道德问题，而是现实问题。“老爸知道后，肯定会大发雷霆，”她忧心忡忡地说，“他会打死我的。”

琴无能为力，不久她们各自上床睡觉。琴久久不能入寐，苦苦思索人类遭受的各种痛苦。

她继续在威尔斯镇待了两天，坐在门廊上和牧工们聊天，参观镇上各座建筑物。肯莱小姐带她去学校，道格拉斯护士带她去医院，卡特先生带她去郡政厅——那里的公共图书馆只有少得可怜的几册书。沃特金斯先生带她去苍蝇横飞的银行，海恩斯警察长带她去警察局。周末时，她对威尔斯镇已经非常熟悉了。

吉姆·伦农跟预想一样，周六进镇买格罗格酒。他开着一辆国际越野车，比普通汽车大一号，前座后面拖着一个像卡车那样的车身，装备着七十加仑的油箱和五十加仑的水箱。琴知道那是乔·哈曼的财产。伦农先生身材瘦削，皮肤棕黄，沉默寡言。

“我昨天收到了一封航空邮件，”他拖着那种懒洋洋的昆士兰调子说，“乔已经坐上轮船，启程从英国回来。他说预计十月中旬到达。”

“我知道了。”琴说，“我想在回英国之前见他一面。我已经计划好周三飞去凯恩斯，在那里等他。”

“好的。我觉得你要在这儿等他的话也太无聊了。我想邀请你去米德赫斯特，但那儿更无聊。”

“乔在英国都做了些什么，伦农先生？他告诉您他去那里干什么了吗？”

牧工笑道：“我连他要去英国都不知道。我只知道他要去布里斯班，后来我收到信说他去英国了。我不知道他为什么去。他确实在昨天给我的信里说，他见到了一群属于一位丹尼斯·弗兰普顿先生的赫尔福特牛，那群牛棒极了。也许他把牛运到国外去育种了吧。他什么也没跟我说。”

她告诉他，她的地址就是凯恩斯的海滨旅馆，请他收到乔到达的准确消息后通知她。

那晚，她照常坐在门廊的躺椅上，阿尔·伯恩斯带了一位蓄着胡须的老人家来见她。这位老人家非常腼腆，阿尔费了不少力气才把他从酒吧里拽了出来。他拿着一个袋子。“佩吉特小姐，”阿尔说，“这是杰夫·波科克。”琴站起来和他握手。“我想你会很乐意认识杰夫的，”阿尔兴奋地说，“他是全昆士兰最好的短吻鳄猎人。是不是，杰夫？”

老人家摇摇脑袋。“我从很小的时候就开始捕猎短吻鳄了，”他说，“我想现在还算是个内行吧。”

阿尔说：“他有一张鳄鱼皮要给你看，佩吉特小姐。”他又向老人家说：“把你的鳄鱼皮给她看一下，杰夫。我打赌她从未在英国见过那样的皮。”

杰夫·波科克拿起袋子打开，拿出一小张卷起来的鳄鱼皮。“当然了，”他说，“我已经自己把它洗干净、裁剪好并晒干了。我一般只是用盐腌起来卖给制革厂。”他在她面前的地板上摊开鳄鱼皮，“斑纹很漂亮吧？我敢打赌您在英国没见过这样的鳄鱼皮。”

它惹起了琴的乡愁。她想起了佩里维尔西大道上红彤彤的公共汽车，帕克和利维公司，一排排姑娘们坐在工作台边制作鳄鱼皮鞋、手提包和化妆盒。她笑了。“我在英国见过成百张这样的鳄鱼皮，”她回答道，“这是我真正了解的一样东西。我曾经在一个手提包和化妆箱工厂工作，原材料就是这种皮革。”她拿起鳄鱼皮，轻轻抚摸着，“我想我们用的皮比这张硬。你把它加工得非常好，杰夫。”

又有两三个人过来了。他们添油加醋地流传她的故事。她告诉他们关于帕克和利维公司的一切。他们对此很感兴趣，没有人知道这些皮革被卖出海湾地区后的下落。“我知道他们拿它做鞋子，”杰夫说，“但我一双也没见过。”

琴在脑海里形成了一个模糊的主意。“像这样的皮，你们每年能找到多少张？”她问。

“去年我卖出去八十二张，”那位老人说，“不算很多。几乎都是三十到三十六英寸宽的皮。一条大概十一英尺长的短吻鳄。”

“杰夫，你能把这张卖给我吗？”

“你要来做什么？”

她笑道：“我想用它来给自己做一双鞋子。”她顿了顿，说，“如果蒂姆·惠兰可以给我做一双鞋楦的话。”

他一脸窘迫。“不要钱，”他生硬地说，“我把它送给你吧。”

她和他争论了一小会儿，然后感激地收下了。“我们要找一点小牛皮做鞋底，”她说，“以及更厚一些的材料来做鞋跟。”

她在手里抚弄着这张鳄鱼皮。“真柔软啊，”她说，“让我告诉你们它的用途。”

————————————————————

(1) 指飞机。

(2) 可能是指英国西汉姆联队的足球队员Sam Small（1912—1993）。

(3) 特殊时期（如战争时期或经济危机时期）对某些稀缺资源和商品实行的分配制度，由政府控制配给数量。当时战争刚结束，英国资源紧缺，所以澳大利亚人有此一问。

第七章

那双鞋是琴在卧室的化妆台上做出来的。更准确地说，她失败了两次，才最终成功做出一双能给自己穿的鞋来。

这项工作从蒂姆·惠兰开始。蒂姆时不时为各个鞋匠制作鞋楦，内地的木匠必须十八般武艺俱全。琴把自己的一只鞋借给他，让他在他的木工车间里测量她的脚。他花了几天时间，用围篱树的木头给她做了一双鞋楦。她请彼特·弗莱彻帮忙寻找制作鞋底和鞋跟的皮料，他提供了几张晒干的牛皮，厚度大约适于做鞋底，还有一张用来做鞋跟的公牛皮。最初，衬里是主要的难题，直到有人提议使用幼年沙袋鼠的皮。彼特·弗莱彻出去射杀了一只沙袋鼠，剥下它的皮。由彼特·弗莱彻、阿尔·伯恩斯和当·邓肯组成的委员会负责在比尔·邓肯店子背后将其晒干。这项做鞋工作在威尔斯镇的生活中变得如此重要，琴推迟了去凯恩斯的旅程，一周又一周。

用作衬里的沙袋鼠皮还未完工，所以琴用一块从小商店买来的白缎子做了第一双鞋的衬里。从一个旁观者和办公室职员的角度，她非常熟悉做鞋的每一个步骤，但她毫无实践经验，所以做出来的第一双鞋糟糕透顶。它们看起来是一双鞋，但脚尖部分太紧，箍疼了她的脚趾，鞋跟也宽了四分之一英寸。它们还弄疼了她的脚背。缎子衬里很不成功，顺着手指流下来的汗把整件工作弄得一团糟。但无论如何，它们总算是一双鞋，只要有人的脚恰好是这个形状，还是可以穿上它走路的。

那么丢脸的一双鞋，她是不能拿下楼去给男人们看的。她开始做第二双。她让蒂姆帮忙改一下鞋楦，从小商店买来另一把刀子和一块小研磨石，再次开工。固化剂方面，她使用小管装的德克斯牌，也是从小商店买的。

安妮对整个工作过程都表现出了浓厚的兴趣。在琴修边、打磨鞋底或者小心地把湿鳄鱼皮放到鞋楦上的时候，她常常过来坐在一旁仔细观察。“我觉得你真是太聪明了，居然会做鞋。”她说，“它们差不多就跟你能在商店里买到的那些一样好。”

第二双有所进步。琴穿起来非常合脚，但袋鼠皮衬里不平整，还起块儿。整件工作也还是一团糟，鞋子沾满了汗渍和指纹。她不屈不挠地开始做第三双。既然无法裁剪沙袋鼠皮，这一次她把厚度均匀的小块皮革拼凑在一起做衬里。她大清早起来完成了最后的组装步骤，因为那时双手出汗最少。最终成果是一双水平相当高的鞋子。五颜六色的衬里非常丑陋，不过她可以穿着这双鞋去任何地方。

她拿着三双鞋子下楼，把它们拿给门廊上的阿尔·伯恩斯看。阿尔招呼了另外两三个人过来，康纳太太也来瞧了一眼。“在英国，鳄鱼皮就是这么用的，”琴说，“人们把它们制成这样的鞋子。很漂亮，是不是？”

其中一个男人说：“你自己做的吗，佩吉特小姐？”

她笑道：“去问康纳太太。她知道我把房间搞得有多混乱。”

那个男人把鞋子拿在手里翻来覆去地看。“哦，老天，”他慢慢地说，“就跟在商店里能买到的一样好。”

琴摇摇头。“没有，”她说，“其实没那么好。”她向他指出鞋子的瑕疵。“我没有合适的曲头钉和固化剂。整体也很邋遢。我把它们做出来，只是想让你们看看他们都如何使用从杰夫那里买来的鳄鱼皮。”

“我打赌你可以把它们拿去凯恩斯卖。”那个男人固执地说，“哦，老天，你绝对可以。”

森·斯莫尔说：“这样一双鞋在英国卖多少钱？”

“在商店里吗？”她想了一会儿，“我想大约四镑十五先令吧。我知道有四十五先令是制造商的利润，但还要算上消费品零售税和零售商佣金。”她顿了顿，“当然了，一双真正的好鞋子可能比这贵得多。人们说在有些商店里要卖十镑呢。”

“十镑？那样一双鞋？哦，老天。”

杰夫当时正在镇外沿河检查他布下的陷阱，所以她那天没有办法把鞋子拿给他看。她把鞋子留给男人们拿进酒吧去评头论足，自己去洗澡。那时她已经发现了在威尔斯镇洗澡的最佳去处，是安妮告诉她的。澳大利亚旅馆有女士专用的冷水淋浴，但水通常都很热，因为水箱曝晒于太阳底下。如果想泡个热水浴，完全有另一个办法。

从那个钻头流出来的水形成一条小小的热溪，一座小木屋跨溪而建，与钻头的距离不远不近，屋内水温正好适合洗澡。人们在屋子里修建了一个粗糙的混凝土池子，大得足以并排坐进去两个人。拿着毛巾和肥皂进屋，把自己锁起来，就可以在流经池子的水里舒服地洗一个澡。温暖的流水饱含盐分，清爽非凡。

琴躺在温暖的水中，独自一人锁在小木屋里。阳光从木缝儿里透进来，在水面跳跃嬉戏。自从她看到杰夫·波科克的鳄鱼皮，脑海里就产生了生产皮鞋的念头。从第一次见我并知道自己继承了这么大一笔财产开始，她一直深感困惑，有时甚至很苦恼，不知道该如何确定新的人生目标。她的教育背景或成长环境无法使她从容不迫地过上一种优雅的生活。她是一个有商业头脑的姑娘，习惯勤恳度日。现在她每年有九百英镑收入，放弃在帕克和利维公司的工作再自然不过，但她尚未找到一份新寄托，来填补生命中因此出现的空白。过去六个月中，她一直在下意识地苦苦探寻，希望能找到值得追求的目标。她唯一真正懂行的工作，是关于高级皮具的——用鳄鱼皮制成的鞋、手袋和化妆箱。她确实懂得一点制作和销售那类皮具的知识。

她躺在这池药浴般的温水中，深陷沉思。假设这里有一个小工厂，里面有五个姑娘在工作，工厂外有一个小小的制革厂。她将需要两台手动印刷机和一台旋转抛光机，那意味着需要供电。她可以置办一个小小的发电机组，除非可以从旅馆买电。还要有一台空调来保持工厂凉快，避免姑娘们工作时满手是汗。做出来的鞋子一定要崭新干净，那是至关重要的。

这样一个工厂能挣钱吗？她边躺着洗澡边默默计算。她发现杰夫·波科夫平均每张鳄鱼皮卖七十先令左右。那是未经加工的皮，她知道帕克和利维要为每张加工好的皮付一百八十先令。据她所知，修剪和晒干一张鳄鱼皮至多需要二十先令的成本，并且是以澳大利亚货币计算的。皮革应该会比在英国便宜很多。劳动力也应该更便宜。威尔斯镇的女性劳动力可能会比佩里维尔的便宜。但还要算上把鞋子运往英国的运费和销售商的代理费。

她想知道帕克和利维公司会不会替她销售皮鞋。她知道帕克先生很早就对制鞋业务兴趣冷淡。他们确实也卖其他人的产品——那些由法国公司生产的手提袋，杜克霍·弗夏尔牌。尽管帕克和利维公司自己生产手提包，但也卖别人的……

她想主要的问题不在于工厂本身。在威尔斯镇，劳动力和材料都很便宜，工厂应该是可以开起来的。但她能否将威尔斯镇的姑娘们训练成才，生产出品质过硬的一流产品，足以放在邦德街的商店出售呢？那才是真正的问题。

她躺在这池药浴般的温水中，深陷沉思。

当天晚上，她照常坐在门廊上的帆布躺椅里，森·斯莫尔向她走来。“佩吉特小姐，”他说，“有时间和我谈谈吗？”

“当然了，森。”她说。

“我一直在想你做的那双鞋子，”他说，“我想知道你能否教教我们的茱迪。”

“茱迪多大了，森？”

“十五岁，”他说，“明年十一月满十六岁。”

“你想让她学做鞋吗？”

他说：“我在想，不管是谁，只要能够做出一双真正的女式皮鞋，都可以把鞋子拿到凯恩斯的商店出售。茱迪马上就到找工作的年纪了。这儿没有任何可以让女孩儿糊口的工作。她将被迫像其他姑娘一样进城。嗯，对她母亲来说，那实在是太糟糕了，佩吉特小姐。我们就这么一个女儿——我们有三个男孩儿，一个女孩儿。如果她像其他姑娘一样去布里斯班，她母亲肯定要发疯的。我想，嗯，也许做鞋这件工作她可以留在家里做。无论如何，看来我们能找到你做鞋所需要的一切材料，就在威尔斯镇这儿。”

“不包括皮带扣，”琴思考着说，“我们要设法找到一些皮带扣。”她一半是在自言自语。

她想了一会儿。“森，那是行不通的。”她说，“你认为那双鞋很棒，但它们并不好。它们拿不出手。在英国，那样的鞋子是卖不出去的，高档皮鞋的消费群体是不会买它们的。我不认为你可以在任何一间一流的商店里出售它们，即使是在凯恩斯。”

“我看着挺好。”他固执地说。

她摇摇头。“它们不行。我以前是干这行的，森——我知道一双符合标准的鞋看起来应该是怎么样的。我不是说我们不能在威尔斯镇制造出一双像样的鞋子，我很想尝试一下。但要把这件工作做好，我需要机器、合适的工作台和手工工具，还有合适的材料。我能理解你关于茱迪的想法，也很想看到她在威尔斯镇工作。但如果要她独自应付这件事情的话，恐怕力所不及。”

他敏锐地看着她：“你是在计划一间工厂之类的吗？”

“我不知道。假如有人在这里开设一间类似的工厂，你们有多少姑娘可以上下午全职上班——如果每周给五镑的话？”

“在威尔斯镇这儿？”

“没错。”

“要满多少岁你才收？”

她想了想。“我想，等她们从学校毕业吧。那是十四岁，对不对？”

“你不会付给一个十四岁的小姑娘每周五英镑吧？”

“不。等她们受过充足的训练，成为熟练工之后。”

他仔细算了算。“我想你能找到六七个十六七岁的姑娘，佩吉特小姐。之后还会有更多毕业生。”

她把话题转向设厂的另一方面。“森，修建一个工厂要花多少钱？”

“多大的？”

她四处张望。“大约从这里到门廊尽头那么长，差不多一半宽。”

“那是三十英尺长，十五英尺宽。你是指修建一座木屋，就像临时军用仓那样的，有一个铁屋顶，还有一圈窗户？”

“就是那样。”

他在头脑里慢慢计算。“大约两百镑。”

“我想我要修一个双层屋顶和一个门廊，就像海恩斯警察长住的那间屋子一样。一定要凉快。”

“啊，那会增加成本的。那样一间屋子，还要有四周环绕的门廊，要花差不多四百英镑。”

“要花多长时间才能建好？”

“哦，我不知道。要从诺曼顿买木材。我想蒂姆·惠兰和他的牧工需要用几个月时间把工厂建好。”

还需另建楼房用于晒染皮革。“请告诉我，森，”她说，“这里的人会不会欢迎这么一间工厂？还是会觉得这个念头有点愚蠢？”

“你是说，如果能让这儿的姑娘们留下来挣钱？”

“没错。”

“哦，老天，”他说，“他们会不会欢迎？只要能让姑娘们高高兴兴地留下来并且有活可干，不管是什么事情，这儿的人都会欢迎的。”他顿了顿，陷入沉思，“姑娘们背井离乡，在这个乡下地区很反常。”他慢慢地说，“我和老妈(1)前几晚还谈论过这件事。很反常。”

他们默默地坐了一会儿。“这事还要好好考虑一下，森。”她最后说。

她乘坐下周三的空中列车离开了威尔斯镇，启程去凯恩斯。她花了两天时间才到达，因为空中列车向来就是那么不紧不慢的。飞机下午离开威尔斯镇，经停多个牛场，收发邮件，并把函授课程递送给在凯恩斯、邓巴、米兰达和万鲁克上学的学生。在最后一抹余晖中，他们于诺曼顿降落，开卡车进镇过夜。

诺曼顿的旅馆跟威尔斯镇的很相似，但要大许多。琴和一位叫作麦肯齐的男飞行员一起吃饭。饭后两人一起坐在门廊里。她问诺曼顿是否有制鞋商。“我想没有。”他说。他向一位熟人喊道：“泰德，这里有人做鞋吗？”

泰德摇摇头。“都是从伯恩斯·菲尔浦公司(2)买的，”他说，“是不是想修鞋？”

琴说：“不是——我只是好奇。这里的鞋子都是从城里进货的？”

“没错，”泰德给自己卷了一根香烟，“我小姨在罗克汉普顿一家鞋厂工作。那儿是很多鞋子的产地。厂名叫万宁·库帕，在罗克汉普顿。伯恩斯·菲尔浦公司就是从他们那儿买鞋的。”

琴问：“您小姨是在这附近出生的吗？”

“克罗伊登，”他说，“她们父亲以前是在克罗伊登开旅馆的，但后来关掉了。那儿一家旅馆尽够了。现在就剩下布莱森太太那家。”

“她没结婚吗？”

“谁？埃尔西·彼得斯？”

“就是在万宁·库帕工作的那位？”

“她未婚。现在肯定是个负责人了，手底下有很多姑娘。”

他离开后，琴问飞行员：“他是谁？”

“他？泰德·霍纳。他在这里经营修车厂。”她记下这个名字，以供将来参考。

他们第二天一大早重新出发，飞往凯恩斯。她坐车进镇，去海滨旅馆。她发现凯恩斯是一个繁荣的小镇，大约有两万人，坐落在入海口处，非常漂亮。那里有好几条挤满店铺的商业街，宽阔的马路中央设有花坛。整个小镇清一色的木楼房，几乎都是铁屋顶。凯恩斯很像她在电影上看到的美国南方腹地市镇，门廊覆盖着宽阔的人行道，人们可以站在阴凉之中欣赏商店的橱窗，但它那泼辣明亮的风格几乎与英国无异。她第一眼就喜欢上了凯恩斯。

她从那里给我写信。她在汤斯维尔给我写了两封信。在海滨旅馆，她收到了我给她写的信。我想那封信在那里放了有一段时间了，因为她在威尔斯镇耽搁了一些日子。她写道：

北昆士兰

凯恩斯

海滨旅馆

我亲爱的诺尔：

我昨天到达此地时，收到你二十四日的信，我想我从威尔斯镇写给你的两封信你也已经收到了。真希望我有一台打字机，因为这将是一封长信。我想我要买一台便携打字机，以便将信件副本保存下来——不是说那些写给你的信，但我开始考虑要在这里做生意了。

首先，非常感谢你告诉我你为乔·哈曼所做的一切。你显然对他非常友好，如你所知，对他友好即对我友好。你说他花了那么多钱匆忙跑到英国去，只是为了再见我一面，我到现在还觉得难以置信。但我想这里的人都是那样做事的。我现在可以告诉你澳大利亚人有多么粗鲁，但我也可以说：我在内地遇到的人全都像乔·哈曼一样，很简单，很诚恳，很真实。

好，然后让我谈一下威尔斯镇。我不知道当乔·哈曼再次见到我时，是否会依然如此渴望和我结婚。六年是一段漫长的时间，而人是会变的。我不知道我是否也依然渴望嫁给他。但如果我们到时不改初衷，他向你描述的威尔斯镇绝对是真实的。

那里真的是糟糕透顶，诺尔。内地有些地方可以让人生活得充实愉快，像爱丽丝斯普林斯就是一个很不错的小镇。但威尔斯镇不是其中之一。诺尔，它绝对是最差的。那里没有任何女士用品，除了一个洗衣盆。我知道一个人没有某些东西也能生活下去，例如广播、唇膏、冰淇淋和漂亮的衣服。我就 能过得很好——我在马来亚时就是这样过的，但如果连新鲜牛奶和蔬果都没有，那就有点困难了。我想乔告诉您的一切都是绝对真实的。我不认为任何直接从英国过来的姑娘能在威尔斯镇生活得开心。我不认为我可以。

而且，诺尔，我不希望看到乔尝试改变他的生活方式。他是一流的牛场经理，日后也会做得很好。我向各种各样的人询问米德赫斯特的经营情况，所有人都赞赏有加。当然，如果他能广为游历，学习其他饲养员的技术，会做得更好，但跟海湾地区的其他牛场相比，米德赫斯特已经相当不错了，而且每年都在进步。上一个经理把它搞砸了，他们是这么跟我说的，但乔在那里工作的两年期间表现出色。我所不愿意看见的是，乔只是因为跟一个不能，或者不愿在他工作所在地威尔斯镇生活的富小姐结了婚，就尝试去其他任何地方谋生。

当然了，你很可能会说，他可以在一个好一点的镇附近找一个牛场，也许就在爱丽丝附近。我不确定那是否是一件容易的事情，关于这点我想了很多。但即使那是有可能实现的，我也不会太喜欢这个想法。米德赫斯特是一个很好的地区，雨水比英国更充沛。作为终身事业，我似乎觉得海湾地区比爱丽丝附近任何一个地方都更有发展前途。如果他只是因为我而弃优择劣，我不会感到高兴。那对于一个农场经理的妻子来说，并不是一个好开端。

诺尔，你觉得我可以预支五千镑遗产吗？你总是试图强迫我接受的那个忠告，三思而后行，我将恪守它。如果我见到乔·哈曼，而我们仍旧想跟对方结婚的话，我会先等待一段时间，要是我能使他同意。我想先在威尔斯镇独立工作几年左右，再决定是否把自己的人生永远交付给它。我想看看，自己是否有希望适应那个地方。我想亲身试验一下。我希望看到，即使我是在英国长大的，也能够在海湾地区生活得很好，因为那里的居民都是如此正直。

我想尝试经营一间小型工厂，用鳄鱼皮制作鞋子和手提包。我在上一封信里曾经告知。我了解这件工作，在海湾地区也能轻易找到除了金属配件以外的所有材料。我今早写了一封长信给帕克先生，问他如果鞋子质量过关的话，他是否愿意替我在英国出售它们，并请他告诉我，鞋子运抵佩里维尔后，他能为其开出的最高价格。此外，我还请求他给我列一张单子，写明我开办一间雇用多达十位姑娘的工厂可能会需要的东西，以及它们的成本，像打包机、带钻头抛光机和奈顿六号的缝纫机，等等。

缝纫机是用于加工皮革的重型机器，是最昂贵的单项。我估计一切项目，包括修建工厂大楼所需的四百英镑在内，总共要花两千英镑左右。但恐怕我的计划并不仅限于此。如果我要给姑娘们开一间工厂，她们必须有地方消费。我想再开一间卖女士用品的店铺。

不是大商店，只是一间小店铺。我想把它办成一间冰淇淋吧，有镀铬的椅子和玻璃面的桌子。我想在那里卖新鲜蔬果，如果实在无法从附近进货，就从凯恩斯空运过来。在内地，人们很愿意为新鲜蔬果花钱。我还想卖新鲜牛奶。乔将需要养几头奶牛。我想卖糖果，还有像唇膏、粉底、面霜和杂志那样的小东西。

当然了，在此地设店的一笔巨大花销是冰箱和空调。我想这部分预算至少需要五百镑，再加上店面和店内陈设——总共需要大约一千两百英镑。那会形成大约两千五百英镑的资本支出。如果我能预支五千英镑遗产，就能够解决店铺和工厂的库存问题，雇用五六个姑娘，并且头一年无须出售任何产品。我想一年后就有盈利了。如果那失败了，好吧，那就实在是太糟糕了，我所有钱都赔进去了。

我想做这件事情，诺尔。不仅仅是为了乔·哈曼和我，威尔斯镇的居民都善良正直，但他们的生活太贫瘠了。我想在那里工作几年，就当作自我磨炼，好让我在如此富有的条件下，不至于丧失谋生技能。我想，即使没有乔·哈曼，我也会想做它，但在我和他见面交谈之前，我还不能下定决心，并采取任何实际步骤。

所以我想要的是五千英镑。拜托了，诺尔。如果我想继续实行我的计划，我能够得到这笔钱吗？

琴

五天后，我通过航空邮件收到了这封信。我把包含预算的段落用红色铅笔标注出来，在顶上做了一点笔记，然后把它送到列斯特办公室请他看。当天晚一点的时候，我走进他办公室。“你看过那位佩吉特姑娘写的信了吗？”我问道。

他从面前的桌子上拿起它。“是的，我一直在看遗嘱。这个自由裁量条款是你自己起草的吗？”

“是我起草的。”

他微笑道：“我想它真是一个杰作。你完全可以在它的保护下解冻这笔钱。”

“那大约占了遗产的百分之九，”我说，“用作商业投资，她打算亲自全职打理它。”

“立遗嘱人并不了解她，是不是？”

我摇摇头。

“她二十七岁？”

“是的。”

“我想我们可以让她拿到这笔钱，”他说，“不然的话，扣留这笔钱的做法太极端了。在你起草的自由裁量条款下，我们完全有权力解冻这笔钱。她似乎是一个很负责任的人。”

“我想花一天左右好好考虑清楚。”我说，“在我看来，对于她的计划而言，这笔资本好像太小了。”

我把她的信放在一旁，晾了几天，因为我从不喜欢匆忙行事。经过细致的回忆，我似乎觉得，如果能尽我之力避免琴·佩吉特在这笔投资上亏损，已故的道格拉斯·麦法登先生就不会怪责我。我拿起电话，打给帕克和利维公司的帕克先生。

我说：“帕克先生，这是欧文、达尔豪西和彼得斯律师事务所的斯特拉坎。我相信您收到了琴·佩吉特小姐的来信，她是我的客户。”

“是的，没错，”他说，“您是她的律师，是不是？她的遗产托管人？”

“是的，”我说，“我也收到了她的信。我在想，也许您愿意与我见面详谈信中所写事项，帕克先生。”

“嗯，正合我意。”他回复道，“她问我要一张单子，列上她开这个小工厂所需要的东西。我已经把单子写好了，但还没有拿到所有的离岸价。”

我和他约好下周五见面，按计划，他那时会在伦敦处理其他事务。到了约定的时间，他来到我办公室见我。他身材矮胖，精神焕发，是一个典型的工厂经理，手里拿着一个棕色包裹。

“在我们开始谈之前，”他说，“请先看看这个。今天早上送到的。”他在我的桌子上打开包裹，里面是一双鳄鱼皮鞋。我好奇地拿起一只来看。

“这是什么？”我问。

“这是她给自己做的皮鞋，在这个叫作威尔斯镇的地方，”他说，“她告诉您做鞋的事儿了吗？”

我摇摇头，兴趣盎然地细看它们，感觉很新鲜。“她自己做的？亲手做的？”

“在旅馆房间里亲手做的，她是这么说的。”他回答。

我把鞋子翻过来。“做得好吗？”

“取决于你如何看它们。”他说，“如果以能否用于贸易为标准，它们糟糕透顶。看这里，这里和这里。”他指出众多不规则和粗糙之处，“这两只鞋甚至都不对称。但她知道这个问题。不过，一个从未做过鞋的打字员，能够在没有任何设备的情况下，在自己床上做出这样一双鞋，嗯，已经很了不起了。”

我把鞋放下，递给他一根香烟。“她告诉您她的计划了吗？”

他把从她那里听到的消息告诉我，我告诉他一些她写信告知我的内容，我们谈了四十五分钟。谈话快要结束的时候，我问他：“您实际上怎样看待她的计划，帕克先生？”

“我不认为她能成功，”他直截了当地说，“实际情况跟她想的不一样。我认为她对制鞋行业了解得还不够，很难获得成功。”

我必须说我很失望，但总算知道了真相。“我知道了。”我轻声说。

“您瞧，”他解释道，“她没有经验。她是一个好女孩儿，斯特拉坎先生，而且很有商业头脑，但她没有制鞋出售的经验，也缺乏管理经验，管不住这些姑娘，无法迫使她们为了拿到薪水而卖命工作。她甚至要面对和英国不同的局面。对她来说，这些澳大利亚乡下姑娘们就像一大群外国人一样。她们也许愿意给她干活，但她们从来没有见过一个工厂——她们对工厂完全没有概念。她必须一边自己学习这件新工作，一边教会其他人。嗯，她做不来。”

“我知道了。”我重复道。

“我愿意帮助她，”小个子男人说，“但她要稍微改变一下想法。她再好好想想，就会发现她拥有很多有利条件。我必须说，读到她在信上说她花七十先令买到了一张未经修剪的鳄鱼皮，我惊讶得目瞪口呆。而且还是澳大利亚先令——也就是五十六英国先令吧。这儿每张未经修剪的鳄鱼皮要花我一百七十到八十先令，这些年一直是这么贵，我还以为自己捡了便宜！我跟利维先生说，我说，我们就是两个大傻瓜。”

“您有什么好建议呢？”我问。

“我是这么想的，”他说，“如果她能聘请一个女工头，并支付来回路费，我会让我手下的一个姑娘过去，在她开厂的头一年替她工作。我有一个干得不耐烦的姑娘——嗯，她至少有三十五岁了。她已经结婚了，但不和丈夫住在一起——分居很久了。她是战时国土辅助自卫队(3)的中士，有一段时间在埃及服役，所以很了解热带国家。她叫阿姬·托普。让阿姬·托普负责的话，就永远不会有女孩儿胆敢在店里调皮捣蛋。”

“佩吉特小姐认识她吗？”我询问道。

“哦，是的，琴认识阿姬。阿姬也认识琴。事实上，阿姬昨天来递交辞职信。我把信还给她，好言相劝了很久。她每几个月就闹一次辞职，就像我说的那样，干得不耐烦了。后来我问她，去澳大利亚跟着佩吉特小姐工作一年怎么样，她说她愿意去任何地方，只要不用再排队领取那该死的口粮。如果琴需要她，她会出去一年的。她们都很喜欢琴。”

我说：“你能放她走吗？”

“反正她也留不长。”他说，“我不想失去她，也许我不会。如果她能去澳大利亚旅行，看见其他地方还不如英国好，可能就会回来，在我们公司重新安顿下来，并打消辞职的念头。”

我们就此事谈论了一段时间。这位女士赴澳期间的路费和薪资总计大概三百英镑，但在我看来，如果它能帮助这笔投资成功度过开始的几年，倒也不算贵。帕克先生认为琴对其余部分的估价偏低，但也算不上离谱。“在高级皮鞋贸易中，你无法维持高度机械化生产的成本。”他说，“你必须不断更新款式。”

关于皮鞋款式，他的建议是，他们可以时不时地通过航空邮件寄送样本到威尔斯镇，让琴的工厂依图生产。他非常愿意替她售卖鞋子。“注意，以我们的价位，我不知道她做不做得来。”他说，“我会告诉她我们的进货价，卖不卖由她自己决定。但我必须说，我想尝试一下跟她合作。因为有管制，在这个国家生产皮鞋已经变得非常困难。而且，人总是希望尝试点新鲜事物。”

我诚恳地向他表达了谢意，他离开了。我把全部谈话内容写在信中，通过航空邮件寄给琴·佩吉特。我相信帕克先生也会以同样方式给她寄信。这两封信寄到后，她并没有立刻收到，因为她已经南下罗克汉普顿，寻找供职于制鞋厂的埃尔西·彼得斯。她非常节约地选择了火车，大约七百英里的旅程缓慢酷热。直到那时，她才意识到昆士兰是一个多么地广人稀的地区。飞机压缩了这个地区，去罗克汉普顿的五十一个小时把它重又延展开来。

她找到了埃尔西·彼得斯。这次只持续了十分钟的会面是一次彻底的惨败。她们在鞋厂附近一个咖啡厅见面，琴一提出在海湾地区工作的话题，埃尔西马上告诉她不必白费口舌了。埃尔西很不情愿地承认，在海湾地区开办事业可能是件好事，但那与她无关。开弓没有回头箭，她是不会回去的。

琴走出咖啡厅，在某种意义上，她感觉轻松了一些，但也深感沮丧。她不会雇用怀有那种心情的人，但她在这位陌生女士身上寄托了许多希望。她很清楚自己缺乏管理经验。组建工厂的想法萌芽时，困难还没有那么明显，但在筹备期间，它们开始接踵而至。她在旅馆非常沮丧地过了一晚，次日飞回凯恩斯，仿佛要报复那漫长的火车旅途。她发现飞机票价格几乎与火车票持平。

她回到海滨旅馆后，发现我们的信都已经在那里等着她。她的精神也恢复了。她清楚地记得那个憔悴而严厉的阿姬，如果阿姬已经准备好要来昆士兰一年，对实现她的计划将大有帮助。我想，她在凯恩斯等待乔·哈曼期间，置身于如此多陌生人之中，渐渐开始感到孤独无助。

她拖延了一段时间才给我们回信，因为在见到哈曼之前，她无法做出任何决定。她过后告诉我们，从罗克汉普顿回来后，住在凯恩斯海滨旅馆那三周，是她一生中最难过的时光。每个早晨，她在黎明寒冷的光线中起床，确信她在大大地愚弄着自己，确信自己永远都无法在这个古怪的国家安顿下来，她和哈曼没有任何共同点，可能她根本就不应该来见他。聪明的做法是坐下一班飞机飞往悉尼，买一张便宜的船票回英国，那里才是她的归属。到中午的时候，女侍者和老板娘那种粗朴的澳大利亚式友好，却又在她那反复无常的决心里播下怀疑的种子，整个下午像野草一样疯长。到晚上，她知道如果自己离开那个国家和那个地方，就会终身错失某些非常值得拥有的珍贵事物。所以她重新下定决心，一定要耐心等候。第二天早上，整个循环又重新开始。

当然，从我的信中，她知道了哈曼坐的是哪艘船，很轻易地就打探到了它在布里斯班靠岸的日期。经过谨慎细致的咨询，她获悉他必须取道凯恩斯去威尔斯镇，并确知在船靠岸之后，她还要在凯恩斯等几天，因为他乘坐的船周一在布里斯班靠岸，而飞往海湾地区的飞机每周只有一班，在周二黎明起飞，两者永远接不上。她在威尔斯镇的时候知道了他会住在凯恩斯的海滨旅馆，所以她留在原地等他。

她给他写信，请布里斯班的航运公司转交给他。这封信，她写得很艰难。最后她写道：

亲爱的乔：

斯特拉坎先生寄给我一封信，信上说你在英国的时候去拜访了他，并说你因为错失与我见面的机会而深感沮丧。可巧的是，我也在澳大利亚度过了几个礼拜。我会留在凯恩斯等你，希望在你回威尔斯镇之前可以见上一面。

见面时请不要谈论太多马来亚的事情。我们都知道发生了什么事，让我们尝试把它们忘了吧。

你会让我知道你的动向吗——你什么时候来凯恩斯？我真的很想再见你一面。

祝安！

琴·佩吉特

她周二早上收到一封电报，上面说他将会留在布里斯班见米德赫斯特的主人斯皮尔斯太太，并于周四飞往凯恩斯。她到飞机场接他，感觉自己像个第一次赴约的十七岁女孩一样。这种感受真是荒唐透顶。

我想，当空中列车飞近凯恩斯的时候，乔·哈曼肯定觉得忐忑不安。这六年间，他一直把这个姑娘的形象珍藏于心，但他根本说不出她在现实中的模样。他记忆中的姑娘有一头长长的黑发，扎成马尾，垂在背上，末端用小绳子扎起来，就像一个中国女人。她被晒得很黑，差不多和马来姑娘一样黑。她的上衣褪了色，破旧不堪，像一件衬衣，下面穿一条廉价棉纱笼。她赤着脚走路，一双很黑的脚，还经常脏兮兮的。她总是把一个婴儿背在臀上。实际上，他并不认为她在凯恩斯的模样还跟那时一样。想到自己很可能认不出她来，他感到既苦恼又担忧。不幸的是，她内心的人格光辉，那种令他对她仰慕不已的个性，凭肉眼是看不见的。

他面临的困难对琴来说是显而易见的。她也一直在想，她为了他在房间里把自己打扮得如此花枝招展，不知道他是否能认出自己。她的结论是：他不能。她倒不担心自己认不出他来，因为他的改变肯定比她小。不管怎样，他手上有“圣痕”，那是错不了的。当空中列车在烈日下滑行的时候，她亭亭玉立地站在柏油路跑道的白色围栏旁，等候他的到来。

他一走出飞机，她马上就认出了他的金发蓝眼和宽肩膀。他焦虑地东张西望，目光落在她身上，停留了一会儿，又滑走了。她盯着他，心想她是否看起来人老珠黄。她看见他用那种奇怪僵硬的姿势开始走向航空公司的办公室，心里划过一丝刺痛——关丹那件事在他身上留下了永难磨灭的印记。以她的智慧，她早料到会这样，但第一次见到这种步姿时，她还是觉得万箭穿心。

她离开栏杆，快步穿过柏油路向他走去，喊道：“乔！”他停下脚步，难以置信地盯着她看。他在寻找一个陌生人，然而眼前这个姑娘，身披轻快的连衣裙，时髦漂亮，怎么可能会是她要找的人？最后一次看见她的时候，她站在马来亚的马路上，一脸悲伤，衣衫褴褛，黝黑肮脏，惨遭日本士兵欺负，脸上挨打的地方鲜血淋漓，脚上也血糊糊的。怎么会是同一个人？然后他看见她那个性鲜明的转头动作，回忆蓦地涌上心头——那又是土著太太了，是他这些年来一直记在心里的土著太太。

他无法表达此刻的心情。他有点害羞地咧嘴而笑，说：“你好，佩吉特小姐。”

她饱含深情地握着他的手，说道：“哦，乔！”他用手覆着她的手，俯视她的双眸，然后说：“你住在哪儿？在这里等了多久了？”

她说：“海滨旅馆。”

“真的？我也住在那儿，”他说，“我总是去那儿。”

“我知道，”她说，“斯迈思太太告诉我的。”

这里头有很多他不理解的东西，但他必须先挑要紧的事情做。“我去拿行李，等着我，”他说，“我们可以一起坐车进镇。”

“我叫了一辆出租车，”她说，“别坐公共汽车去。”

他们坐出租车进镇时，她问他：“斯特拉坎先生怎么样，乔？”

“他很好。”他说，“我和他一起住了挺长一段时间，在他的公寓里。”

“是嘛！”她不知道那部分，因为我没有告诉她。我告诉她的只是最关键的少量信息，因为很明显他们要见面的。“你在英国待了多久，乔？”

“大约三周。”

她没有问他去英国的原因，因为她已经知道了答案，而且在出租车司机身后深入谈论它也不太合适。他的问题也阻止了她发问：“你来澳大利亚做什么，佩吉特小姐？”

她没有正面回答。“你不知道我在这里吗？”

他摇摇头。“我只知道斯特拉坎先生告诉我的事情，他说你在东方旅游。如果我在布里斯班收到你的信，我会惊讶得目瞪口呆的。哦，老天，真的。请告诉我，你在凯恩斯做什么？”

一丝微笑滑过她的嘴边。“那你在英国做什么？”

他沉默不语，不知该如何回答。他没有任何现成的谎话。他们穿过镇子的郊区，路过教堂。“我们有很多事情要向对方解释，乔。”她说，“等你到旅馆安顿下来，我们再找个地方好好谈谈。”

他们默默地坐着，一路到旅馆也没有说话。琴有一个朝门廊开的房间，可以俯瞰大海，远眺格莱弗顿海角后面覆满森林的荒山。他们约好，等他洗完澡后在门廊见面。她那时已经知道澳大利亚的一些习惯。“要不要来点啤酒？”她说。

他咧嘴而笑。“好啊。”

她请女侍应多丽丝拿来四瓶啤酒，三瓶给乔，一瓶给自己。大量的冷饮在那个炎热干燥的地方不可或缺。她感到，必须在四瓶啤酒的帮助下，他们才能敞开心扉对话，第一次在对方面前流露出真感情。这是澳大利亚的一个独特之处。

她把两张帆布躺椅拖进她房间外面的阴凉处，啤酒和乔大约同时到达。女侍应离开后，就剩下他们单独相处了，她轻轻地说：“让我好好看看你，乔。”

他站在她面前，细细欣赏她的美貌。他之前在马来亚见到她的时候，做梦都没有想到她是这样一个女孩儿。“你一点儿也没变。”她说，“背伤要不要紧？”

“不怎么要紧，”他说，“不妨碍我骑马，谢天谢地，但我不能抬重物。医院的人告诉我，我永远都不能够再抬重物了，我最好别试。”

她点点头，把他的一只手放到自己手上看。她把他的手翻过来，温柔地捧着，细看掌心和手背的巨大伤疤。他就站在她身旁。“这些呢，乔？”

“它们没事儿，”他说，“我可以抓住任何东西——可以发动卡车，或者做任何事情。”

她转向桌子。“喝点啤酒，”她递给他一个杯子，“你肯定渴了吧。这三瓶是给你的。”

“好啊。”他拿起一杯，喝掉一半。他们一起坐到帆布躺椅上。“请告诉我你们后来怎么样了。”他问，“我知道你说过不要谈关于马来亚的事情，那真是一个鬼地方。我不想再记起它，但我真的很想知道你们后来怎么样了——离开关丹之后。”

她抿着啤酒。“我们继续走，”她说，“渚蒲大尉当天就打发我们继续上路了，在——在那之后。我们继续沿着东海岸北上，只剩下中士一人做看守。我很替中士难过，乔，因为那件事情使他饱受侮辱。他一直对那件事情耿耿于怀，后来他发起了烧，并失去了生存的勇气。他在一个叫作瓜拉德朗的地方去世了，大约在关丹和哥打巴鲁中间的一个地方。那是在大概一个月后。”

“那时他是唯一一个日本看守吗？”他问道。

她点点头。

“嗯，那之后你们怎么办？”

她抬起头。“此后直到战争结束，他们让我们留在原地，”她说，“我们就住在村子里，在稻田里劳动，直到战争结束。”

“你是说，在水里赤着脚踩来踩去，种稻米，像马来亚人一样？”

“没错。”她说。

“哦，老天。”他吸了一口气。

她说：“那种生活并不糟糕。我想，比起战俘营，我更情愿待在那里——一旦我们安顿了下来。战争结束时，我们都非常健康。我们开了一间小学校，教孩子们知识。我们还教了一些马来小孩儿呢。”

“我确实听到过一些类似的传言，”他思考着说，“在南方的朱利亚克里克听到一个飞行员说的。”

她盯着他看：“他怎么知道我们的事情？”

“他是1945年时驾驶飞机把你们带离马来亚的飞行员。”他回答道，“他说，你们被卡车送到哥打巴鲁，他负责开飞机把你们从哥打巴鲁送到新加坡。他现在在跨澳大利亚航空公司(4)工作，飞汤斯维尔到芒特艾萨的航线。那条航线经过朱利亚克里克。我去年五月份在那儿见到他，那时我正在那儿将牲口装上火车。”

“我记起来了，”她慢慢地说，“是一架澳大利亚空中列车带我们离开的。是一个瘦瘦的金发青年吗？”

“应该是他。”

她想了想。“他跟你说什么了，乔？”

“就是我跟你说的这些。他说他把你们送到南边的新加坡。”

“提到我的时候，他怎么说的？”她看着他，眼里泛着笑意。

他害羞地咧嘴而笑，什么也没说。

“告诉我吧，乔。”她说，“再喝一瓶啤酒，然后有话直说。”

“好吧。”他说，拿起一个杯子，但没喝，“他说你是一个单身的女士，土著太太。我一直以为你们所有人都是已婚的。”

“她们都是，除了我以外。那就是你匆忙赶去英国的原因吗？”

他和她四目相投。“没错。”

“哦，乔！那真是浪费钱，你瞧，结果我们还是要在这里见面！”

他跟着她一起笑，喝了一大口啤酒。“好吧，我怎么知道你会在凯恩斯出现呢？”他想了一会儿，“那你到底在这儿干什么呢？”他问，“你还没有告诉我。”

现在轮到她害羞了。“我继承了一笔钱。”她说，“我想诺尔·斯特拉坎告诉过你。”

“没错。”他和善地说。

“那时我不知道自己接下来要做什么，”她说，“我不想继续在伦敦郊区当打字员。后来我想到一个主意，我要为收留了我们三年的瓜拉德朗做点什么。我想给他们挖口井。”

“一口井？”

她手里拿着一杯啤酒，坐在那里给他讲瓜拉德朗的故事，她在那里交到的朋友，还有洗衣房和那口井。接下来就不那么好讲了。“挖井队从关丹来，”她说，“那时我以为你已经死了，乔。我们都是那样想的。”

他咧嘴而笑。“我也差不多死了。”

“挖井队告诉我你没死，”她说，“他们说你被送往了医院，后来康复了。”

“没错，”他说，“我尝试让医院的人告诉我你们后来的遭遇，但他们说不知道。或者即使他们知道也不会说。我想他们都被那个渚蒲吓坏了。”

她点点头。“我去了关丹。那里现在非常平静。人们在网球场上打网球，在那棵可怕的大树下坐着聊天。在医院，他们告诉我你曾经问起我们，”她笑道，“你叫我土著太太。”

他咧嘴而笑。“但你是从那儿来的澳大利亚吗？”

她点点头。“是的。”

“为了什么？”

“嗯，”她尴尬地说，“我想来看看你是否安好。我想也许你还躺在医院里之类的。”

“是真的吗？”他问道，“你是因为我才来的澳大利亚？”

“某种意义上是的，”她说，“不要想多了。”他咧嘴而笑。“即使你是个土著我也会那样做的。”

“嗯，让你来说我浪费钱真是再合适不过了。”他说，“如果你留在英国的话，我们就会顺顺利利地见上面了。”

她生气地说：“哼，我又怎么知道你会跑到英国去，还健康得像只跳蚤一样？”

他们坐着喝了一会儿啤酒。“你是怎样来这儿的？”他问，“你先去的哪儿？”

她说：“我知道你以前在沃拉华工作，我想那里的人应该会认识你。所以我从新加坡飞过来，去到达尔文，然后坐公共汽车南下爱丽丝。”

“哦，老天。你去了爱丽丝斯普林斯？你去郊区沃拉华见汤米·杜维恩了吗？”

她摇摇头。“我在爱丽丝住了一周左右，后来通过医院的广播站从杜维恩先生那里拿到你在米德赫斯特的地址。所以我飞去威尔斯镇——我在米德赫斯特给你寄了一封电报，告诉你我正要来找你。但是，当然，那里的人告诉我你在英国。”

他盯着她看。“那是真的吗？你去过威尔斯镇？”

她点点头。“在那里住了三周左右。”

“三周！”他盯着她看，“你住在哪儿？”

“在旅馆里，和康纳太太一起。”

“但为什么是三周？对于大多数人来说，三个小时就够受的了。”

“我必须找个地方待着。”她说，“如果你跑到英国去了，想见你的人就必须找个落脚处。你回去后，很可能会发现澳大利亚旅馆里满是这样的人。”

他咧嘴而笑。“哦，老天，我会的。你在那儿都做了些什么？”

“闲坐着，跟阿尔·伯恩斯、彼特·弗莱彻、森·斯莫尔和其他所有人聊天。”

“你肯定引起了轰动。”他顿了顿，深深地思考这个新情况，“你去米德赫斯特了吗？”

她摇摇头。“我一直留在威尔斯镇。不过我见到了吉姆·伦农。”

楼下响起了晚饭的铃声。“我们最好下楼，乔。”她说，“如果你迟到了，他们会不高兴的。”

“我知道。”他拿起杯子，一饮而尽。但他拿着空杯子坐着，一动不动。最后他说：“你觉得威尔斯镇怎么样，佩吉特小姐？”

她笑道：“瞧，乔，把佩吉特小姐忘了吧。你可以叫我土著太太或者琴，但如果你还叫我佩吉特小姐，我明天就回家。”

他微微一笑。“好吧，土著太太。你觉得威尔斯镇怎么样？”

“乔，如果我们开始谈这个话题，就会错过饭点的。”

“告诉我。”他说。

她看着他，眼里含着笑意。“我觉得那真是个糟糕的地方，乔，”她轻轻地说，“我真不明白为什么有人能够忍受在那里生活。”她把手放到他小臂上，“我想和你谈谈它，但现在我们必须下楼吃饭。”

他从椅子上站起来，放下杯子。“太对了，”他沉重地说，“那个地方对于女人来说真是糟糕透了。”

他们下楼喝茶，同坐一张桌子。乔陷入了深深的忧郁之中。点完菜后，琴说：“乔，你还可以留多久？必须什么时候回米德赫斯特？”

他抬起头，咧嘴一笑。“当我准备好要回去的时候。”他说，“我离开了这么久，再多待几天也不会有什么差别。”他顿了顿，说，“你呢？”

“我只是过来看看你是否平安健康，乔。”她说，“我想我会南下布里斯班，下周就找船回家。”

他们的饭来了，乔点了烤牛肉，琴要了冷火腿片和沙拉。“你来到凯恩斯之后，都做了些什么？”他不久问道，“去看大堡礁了吗？”

她摇摇头。“我去了趟罗克汉普顿，还跟一个白人旅游团去了阿瑟顿高原，在那里过了一晚。我没去其他地方。”

“哦，老天，”他说，“你一定要看过大堡礁再回家。”他顿了顿，然后说，“你想去格林岛过周末吗？”

她瞟着他说：“格林岛是什么样的？”

“就是一个礁石上面的珊瑚岛，”他解释道，“一个小小的圆形岛屿，大约半英里宽。岛上有一个餐馆，树丛中间有一些供人住宿的小木屋。如果你喜欢游泳，那是一个很棒的小地方。可以整天穿着泳衣。”

琴想，她要好好考虑一下，树丛中间的小木屋是不是暗藏玄机，但这个提议自有其醉翁之意。他们对彼此几乎一无所知，有太多地方需要了解，太多话需要谈。她穿着泳衣和乔·哈曼在一个珊瑚岛上过周末，不管可能会发生什么事情，可以肯定的是，相比在气氛拘谨的凯恩斯，他们在那里能更深入地了解彼此。

“我很乐意，乔，”她说，“我们要怎样去那里？”

他满心欢喜地微笑了，她替他高兴。“吃完饭后，我出去找厄尼，”他说，“他很可能在海兹的酒吧里。他有一条船，我让他明早开船送我们去那儿。路上需要花三个小时左右，我们最好八点左右出发，趁太阳还不是很猛。我会请他下周一左右帮忙出来接我们。”

“好的。”她同意了，“但是，乔——我们实行荷兰制(5)。”他没听懂这个词。“我的意思是，你付一程的船，我付另一程，我们各埋各的单。”他强烈反对。“如果不那样，乔，我就不去了，”她说，“我会疑心你要对我图谋不轨。”

他咧嘴笑了。“太对了。”然后说，“好吧，土著太太，我们各付各的钱。”

他饭后离开，半小时后回到门廊找她。他找到了厄尼，预订好来回的船，还买了一大篮水果带去。黄昏稍纵即逝，夜幕很快就降临了。他们一起坐了几小时，谈论除了威尔斯镇以外的一切。她了解到很多信息，关于他早年在各个牛场的生活，他在克朗克里及周围的亲戚，他的军役，以及米德赫斯特。“上个雨季，我们有三十四英寸的雨。在南方的爱丽丝，有十英寸就算得上是一个好年头了。我一直想让斯皮尔斯太太同意在河流的源头修两个水坝来蓄水——一个在袋鼠溪上游，一个在干树胶河上游。”

“她同意了吗？”

“她同意出钱。”他说，“当然了，问题是很难找到人来修。你请不到小伙子过来内地工作。那是个鬼地方。”

“为什么呢？”她问。她自己就很清楚，但她想听听他的意见。

“我不知道，”他说，“他们全都想到镇上工作。”

她没有纠缠这个话题，以后有的是谈论它的时间。他们谈起令人愉快的闲事，她发现他非常焦急地想回到米德赫斯特去见他的马和狗。“我有一条叫莉莉的小母狗，”他说，“它母亲是一条蓝牧牛犬，和一头野狗交配了，所以莉莉有一半野狗血统。它真是一条很棒的狗。嗯，我出发去英国前，让它和另一条蓝牧牛犬交配，现在应该已经生小狗了，这样它们都有四分之一野狗血统。野狗和牧牛犬杂交的话，能生出很出色的小狗，但必须减弱野狗的血统，不然生出的小狗就很野。战前在沃拉华的时候，我有一条狗就是有四分之一野狗血统的，它可好了。”

他告诉她，他的牛场有大约六十匹驯马和驮马，但它们与他的关系远没有狗那么亲近。“狗会到牧场住宅里来，坐在你身旁，陪你度过晚上的时间。”他说。她可以想象那个画面，那些漫长而孤寂的夜晚，那就是他平常所过的生活。“在内地，如果没有狗，日子都不知道怎么熬下去。”

十点钟，他们各自上床睡觉，准备次日一早出发。他们在她房门前的黑暗中一起站了一会儿。“我是不是变了很多，乔？”她问。

他咧嘴而笑。“我完全认不出你来了。”

“我想也是。六年真的很长。”

“实际上你一点也没变，”他说，“你的内心还跟从前一样。”

“我想你说得对，”她慢慢地说，“战后我觉得自己就像一个老太太，乔。经过了关丹那件事情后，我以为我再也不会因为什么事情而快乐起来了。”她笑道，“比如说去格林岛过周末。”

“在那儿没什么可做，”他说，“游游泳，坐玻璃底的船出海看珊瑚和鱼。”

“我知道。那肯定会很有趣。”

他们第二天早晨坐上厄尼的渔船出发了，那是一艘带顶棚的汽艇。他们在一片光滑的海面上嘎嚓嘎嚓地前进了两个小时。他们在船后拖了一条钓鱼绳，钓到两条颜色鲜艳的大马鲛鱼。一个小时后，他们看到了格林岛，海平线上出现了椰子树的树顶；再驶近一些，就能看见小小的圆形岛屿，白色的珊瑚沙沙滩把它完全包围起来。一条长长的栈桥，一直修到珊瑚礁的浅水之上。他们下了船，一起走上这栈桥，停下来看猩红色和蓝色的鱼儿在下面的珊瑚丘周围嬉戏。

岛上没有其他过夜的游客，他们要了两间绿树掩映的小木屋。这些小木屋两端通透，微风习习，有用于保护隐私的简易窗户。他们约好马上在沙滩见面，一起游泳。琴穿上一套新的两件式泳衣，乔一看见就赞赏不已。“就像画儿一样漂亮，”他说，“哦，老天。”

她笑道：“布太少了，都不够填满一个画框的。”

“太对了，”他说，“但这儿周围又没有老古板。”

“我要小心点，别被晒伤。”她说，“我敢打赌，在这里游过泳的女人之中，我是最白的。”

“你的肤色不均匀。”他说。他站着盯着她看，简直没有办法把目光从她的美貌上移开。“不过你曾在烈日下曝晒。”

她的肩膀和双臂都晒黑了，乳房上有一条明显的分界线，上面是棕色的，下面是白的。“我在马来亚时把纱笼拉到这里，”她说，“在他们挖井的时候。住在村子时，我们常常把纱笼穿得高高的，拉到手臂底下。那样穿真的非常凉快，还可以保护身体大部分地方不被晒伤。而且也相当得体。”

“你带纱笼来了吗？”他问。

她点点头：“我打算一会儿穿。”

他们转身走进海水时，她第一次看到他的背部，上面布满了一道道巨大的疤痕。疤痕扭曲了整个背部，使它看起来皱巴巴的。看到这一景象，她的内心涌上一阵深深的怜悯。这个男人已经为她受足了伤害，她绝对不能再伤害他了。他回头看她，说：“我们到齐膝深的地方就好了，最好不要往深里走。这附近有很多鲨鱼。”然后他仔细地看着她，说，“怎么了？”

她马上笑道：“是太阳，”她说，“晒得我都流眼泪了。我真该戴上太阳镜。”

“我去给你拿。放在哪儿了？”

“我不想戴了，真的。”她说，一下子向前猛扎进沙上的浅水处，下到大约两英尺深的水里，然后翻了一个身，背朝下，甩掉脸上的水。“太美妙了！”她说。他也往前一扑，打了几个滚，坐在她身旁。珊瑚沙上的海水温暖宜人。“请告诉我，乔，”她说，“鲨鱼当真会游到这么近的地方来吗？”

“它们会把你扯进刚齐腰深的水里，”他说，“哦，老天，它们会的。我不知道这会儿这儿有没有鲨鱼。问题是，你永远都不会知道。马来亚没有鲨鱼吗？”

“我想有吧。”她说，“村民从不走进深过膝盖的海水，所以我们也没试过。河里还有鳄鱼呢。”她笑道，“总之，在热带国家，还是在游泳池游泳最好。”

他们在蔚蓝清澈的海水里嬉戏，阳光穿过海面的涟漪，闪闪烁烁地，在他们周围的珊瑚沙上淌成银白色的流光。“我从未在游泳池里游过泳。”他说，“他们把游泳池的一头修得很浅，是吗？可以让人像这样坐上去？”

“当然了，一头浅一头深，深的那头有跳水板。在澳大利亚这里不也有游泳池吗？”

“哦，老天。在南方有，像悉尼和墨尔本那样的地方。我听说过有些牛场主在他们的土地上修建了游泳池，但像凯恩斯、汤斯维尔和麦基，它们就在海边上，所以不需要游泳池。”

“麦克莱恩太太在爱丽丝斯普林斯有一个游泳池。”她说。

“我知道，他们一两年前才修的。我还从来没有见过呢。”

她翻了一个身，背朝上躺着，注视着一只海鸥从小岛飞到海上，在热气中翱翔。“你们可以在威尔斯镇修一个游泳池，”她说，“就这样任凭从钻孔喷出来的水在镇中心白白流淌，实在是太浪费了。你们可以在旅馆对面修一个漂亮的游泳池。”

“那些水并没有被浪费掉，”他说，“哦，老天。旱季的时候牛就喝它。”

“即使我们先把水借来灌满游泳池，也不会对牛造成任何伤害，”她说，“而且它们喝起来会更甜。”

“如果是你在池里游泳的话，喝起来会更甜一些，”他同意，“但如果是我在里面游，那就不知道了。”

他最多只让她在水里泡三刻钟。“你会晒伤的，”他说，“像这样的大毒日头，在海里就跟在陆地上一样容易晒伤。你的皮肤那么白，要特别注意。”他们从沙滩上起身，走到树荫中，坐着抽了会儿烟，然后回到小木屋添些衣服去吃午饭。她发现，在澳大利亚的旅馆吃饭必须非常注意着装。在凯恩斯，即使是在夏天最热的时候，男士去餐厅时要是不穿上外套并系好领带，就没有人愿意接待他，女士也不会穿着休闲裤去吃饭。

哈曼给她点了一顿清淡的午饭，冷火腿片和水果。他为了能让她度过一个愉快的周末费尽了心思，令她非常感动。她问道：“乔，为什么像威尔斯镇那样的地方没有新鲜水果？水果在那儿不长吗？”她一边说一边努力想以一种优雅的方式吃掉一个芒果。

“芒果长得挺好的，”他说，“我们在米德赫斯特有三四棵芒果树。镇上没有吗？我还以为肯定有呢。”

“我相信没有。我从未在旅馆里见过水果，其他地方也没有卖的。”

“哦，好吧，也许你是见不到水果的。人们似乎并不拿它当回事。在有些地方，所有的行道树都是芒果树。如果你在初夏的时候开车经过库克镇，就会看到沿路种满了芒果树。”

“人们不喜欢新鲜水果和蔬菜吗？我是说，如果不吃它们的话，就会得各种各样的皮肤病。”

“对于老人家来说，在园子里干活太热了，就像在其他地方一样，”他说，“乡下没有足够的人手来种那样的东西。我们甚至都请不到人到牛场做牧工——我们不得不用三分之二的土著牧工，甚至更多。那里就是人手不够。他们都不愿意来内地。”

她思考着说：“爱丽丝斯普林斯有大量新鲜蔬菜。”

“啊，是的，”他回答，“爱丽丝是不一样的。爱丽丝是一个很棒的小镇。”

饭后热浪来袭的时候，他们各自上床睡觉，晚饭前再去游泳。晚间凉风送爽，他们走到码头边钓鱼。他们抓到一些青嘴龙占，还有三四条红蓝相间的鱼——这些闪闪发光的鱼有毒，不能吃，还会蜇人，必须戴上手套来对付它们。厌倦了这项无利可图的运动后，他们收起钓鱼线，一起坐着，看太阳从地平线上的阿瑟顿高原背后落下。“这真是一件很有趣的事情，”琴说，“去到一个新国家，原本希望一切都是新鲜的，却发现有很多东西并不陌生。在英国，遇到晴朗的夏日黄昏，也能看见跟这里一模一样的日落。”

“你能在这儿看到很多和英国相似的景象吗？”他问。

她微微一笑。“在格林岛上不能。在威尔斯镇也看不到多少。但在凯恩斯——很多。停在大街上的沃克斯豪尔和奥斯丁汽车，告诉人们买英国货的政治家，大英北方保险公司(6)，塔特沙尔花格毛料，旅馆里收听《又是那个家伙》(7)的银行职员。就连街上的报童——‘快来看报纸！’闭起眼睛听着他们的声音，就像身在英国。我住在伊令公地的时候，他们天天那样喊，喊声一模一样。”

“伊令是你上班时住的地方吧？在伦敦附近，是不是？”

“没错。其实它是伦敦的一部分——伦敦的一个郊区。”

“你回国后还会回那儿住吗？”

“不知道，”她慢慢地说，“我不知道接下来要做什么，乔。”

黄昏的光线斜斜地照下来，风平浪静，他们一起坐在码头，看着海那边的日落。她希望他能够循着她的话追问下去，但他没有，她深感失望。除此之外，她对他还怀有更多期望，但并无一个得以实现，她开始觉得心烦意乱。她原本还期望自己整个周末都要刻意防范着他，譬如说，像抵御入侵者一样，但到目前为止，事态仿佛完全在朝另一个方向发展。乔·哈曼对她的行为无可指责，他并没有试图吻她，甚至不曾制造与她发生身体接触的机会。如果不是他确实去过英国，不为别的只为去找她，她很可能会认为他对她根本毫无兴趣。那天结束的时候，他的坐怀不乱令她深为担忧。他已经为她遭受了太多痛苦。

他们回屋睡觉的时候，事情并无任何好转。她情愿被吻，在安静的夜色中，在婆娑的棕榈树树影下，但乔没有这么做。他们用最循规蹈矩的方式互道晚安，甚至连手都没有握一下，然后各自回屋，就像那些恪守礼节的老古板一样。琴醒着躺了一会儿，焦躁不安，苦恼不已。她想当然地认为他们会在格林岛上取得某种感情上的进展，但如果事情就这样发展下去，他们下周一就会一无所获地离开。那样的话，她就不得不南下布里斯班坐船回家。没有任何借口去做任何其他事情。这个想法简直让她无法忍受。

她知道她的英式做派对他来讲很陌生，他不可能知道她有多么愿意让自己融入他的昆士兰式生活。另外，也许她的钱成为了两人之间的障碍。她不认为一个男人会真诚或诚恳到在娶一个有钱的女士时犹豫不决，但这笔钱也可能使他对她望而却步。她有一种感觉，她这个陌生的英国贵小姐，和一个来自凯恩斯的澳大利亚姑娘有着天壤之别。如果乔·哈曼对一个来自凯恩斯的姑娘如此感兴趣，这个姑娘早就已经和他同床共枕了。然而他甚至都还未曾吻过她。

她躺了很久，难以入寐。

第二天也并无任何进展。早晨空气凉爽，他们在清澈得不可思议的海里游泳。退潮时，他们走到礁石上，去看色彩缤纷的珊瑚。他们坐在一艘用玻璃做底的船上，划着它四处转悠，观赏五颜六色的鱼儿，两人中间一直隔着足足有六英寸的距离。吃饭的时候，他们都发现自己已经谈够了无关痛痒的话题。克制变成一种负担，当他们两人似乎都无话可说的时候，那漫长的沉默显得相当尴尬。

傍晚的光线柔和温暖，他们决定到环岛的沙滩上散步。她把他留在她的小屋门前，说：“给我几分钟时间，乔。我不想穿着这条连衣裙在沙滩上散步。”她把其中一块窗帘拉起来，把自己遮住。换衣服时，她想他们就剩一天时间了，有那么多需要解决的问题，但他们甚至还没开始进入正题。不入虎穴，焉得虎子，如果是为了乔，冒点险还是值得的。

她在昏暗的光线中走出小屋的时候，他转过身来。他仿佛回到了六年前的马来亚。她又穿着那条褪了色的旧棉布纱笼，或者是一条很相似的纱笼，拉得很高，在手臂下打一个结。她棕色的肩膀和棕色的手臂露在外面。她光着脚，头发垂下来扎成长长的辫子，尾部用一条小绳子扎起来，就像在马来亚的时候一样。她不再是那个陌生的英国贵小姐，她又变回了土著太太，这些年来他一直记在心里的那位土著太太。她很羞涩地走向他，把双手放到他的肩膀上，说：“这样是不是好一点，乔？”

她永远无法非常清楚地记得接下来五分钟发生的事情。她站着，被他的手臂紧紧拥抱着，他发狂地吻她的脸、她的脖子和双肩，一边用手抚摸她的身体。在横扫全身的激动和兴奋中，她知道，从未有任何人比这个男人更想得到她。她站在他的双臂中，并没有抵抗，她从没想过要挣扎或者逃走。但是过了一会儿，当她得以喘口气说话时，她说：“哦，乔！屋子里的人会看见我们！”

她意识到的下一件事情，就是他们已经在她的小木屋里了。她永远不知道他们是怎么进去的，但过后想想，她得出了结论，他肯定是把她抱了进去。这时发生了另一件让她担心的事情。如果不乱动，在胸部上方用一个紧结扎起来的纱笼可以整天都保持在合适的地方，但它抵挡不住活力四射的男性力量。她可以感觉到它渐渐松开并往下掉。她身上没穿任何其他衣服。

她仍然顺从地站在他的手臂中，被他的吻窒息，她想，这就是它了。然后她想，这件事情总有一天要发生的，我很开心对方是乔。然后她想，它不是他的错，是我引诱他的。然后她想，我必须坐下来，或者怎么样，要不然就会一丝不挂了。想到这里，她往后一撤，从他的手臂里逃了出来，坐到床上。

他跟着她坐下，笑着，她一边试图把纱笼拉起来，并用手遮着双乳，一边含笑望着他。然后她又落入了他的双臂，他不让她把纱笼穿上。然后他很直白地说：“你介意吗？”

她伸出右臂，环着他的肩膀，温柔地说：“亲爱的乔，如果你想要的话，我不介意。但如果你能够等到我们结了婚再说，我会更加乐意。但不管你现在做什么，我都一样爱你。”

他俯视着她，看进她的双眸：“再说一遍。”

她把他的头拉到自己面前，吻他。“亲爱的乔。我当然爱你。你以为我来澳大利亚是为了什么？”

“你愿意嫁给我吗？”

“我当然愿意嫁给你。”她抬起头看着他，眼里充满深情和笑意，“所有看见我们现在这副样子的人都会说我们已经是夫妻了。”

他咧嘴而笑。他现在更加温柔地抱着她。“不知道在你眼里我是个什么样的人。”

“我要告诉你吗？”她拿起他一只受过伤的手，轻抚巨大的伤疤，“在我眼里，你就是那个我想嫁给他，并且为他生小孩的男人。”纱笼似乎已经滑落到她的腰部，但现在那已经不重要了。“我倒更情愿等几个月，把我们的生活先安排一下，乔。婚姻是一件大事。在我们结婚之前，是有很多事情需要做的。但如果你说我们等不了了，那我明天就跟你结婚，或者今天晚上。”

他温柔地把她拉过来，吻她的指尖。“我可以等。我都为这一刻等了六年了，我可以再等一阵子。”

她轻柔地说：“可怜的乔。我会试着把事情弄得容易一些。我不会把你逗急的。我今天这样做真不应该。”她从他的手臂中抽出身来，把纱笼拉上，裹住身体。“请出去等一会儿，我要多穿点衣服。”

他说：“你不需要那样做。我不会做任何事情，除了不时吻吻你。今晚就这样吧，就当这儿是马来亚。”

“只限今天晚上。”她说。他们不久走到沙滩上，站在明亮的月光下，紧紧拥抱着对方。“我从来不知道一个男人可以如此开心。”他说。

半小时后，她说：“乔，我们现在都很累了，是时候上床睡觉了。我们有太多东西要谈了，但最好留到明早再谈。今晚我只想跟你说一件事。只要你觉得你一刻也不能等，你来告诉我，好不好？如果你那样来找我，我保证我们马上就结婚，或者更快。”

他温柔地说：“我可以为你等很久很久，在这之后。”

“亲爱的乔。我会尽我所能不让你久等的。”

她太累了，所以回到小屋后没有点蜡烛，而是倒在床上，像个马来人一样松开纱笼，几乎马上就睡着了。第二天，她在晨光中醒来，躺着回忆昨晚发生的事情，感到出奇地高兴。最后，她觉得他们两人之间的事终于走上了正轨。太阳升起时，她起床跑去小心翼翼地窥探乔的小屋和餐厅。到处都没有一点人的动静，所以她穿上泳衣，到海里洗了个澡。太阳升起后，她躺在浅水中，发现身上有一些瘀痕。她回忆起自己是如何惊险逃脱了比死亡更可怕的命运。

她蹑手蹑脚地回到小屋，穿上连衣裙，走去餐厅。餐厅开着门，但里面没有人。她把水壶放到油炉上，泡了一壶茶。她拿着一杯茶去乔的小屋，小心地往里窥探。

他穿着一条短裤躺在床上，还未睡醒。她在那里站了几分钟，看着他睡觉的模样。因困扰而生的皱纹已经从他脸上消失，他安稳合目而睡，像个小男孩儿。他背上的疤痕凶狠地凸出来，与这张恬静的脸形成了鲜明的对比。她深情地看了他一段时间，知道自己在未来几乎每一个早晨都会看见他现在这个样子，这个想法令她很高兴。

她挪了一下位置，放下杯子。当她再去看他的时候，他已经睁开了眼，也在看着她。“早，乔，”她说，一边想她是不是应该像只兔子一样逃之夭夭，“我给你泡了一杯茶。”

他用一只手臂撑起身来。“请告诉我，”他说，“我以为昨天发生过的事情真的发生了吗？”

“我想是的，乔，”她说，“我想那肯定发生了。我浑身上下都是瘀痕。”

他伸出一只手。“过来，让我吻吻你。”

她后撤了。“想都别想。你先起来洗个澡，穿好衣服，到时我会给你一个吻。”

他笑道：“你不去洗澡吗？”

“我洗过了，”她说，“你还在睡觉的时候我就已经起来了，磨蹭了差不多有一个小时。我下去看着你洗。”

他问道：“你睡得好吗？”

她点点头。“像根木头一样。”

“我也是。”他们心有灵犀地一笑。“给我几分钟，我马上去沙滩。”她坐在沙子上，在他洗澡时和他聊天。然后他上来去刮胡子，不久就穿上一件干净的衬衣和干净的卡其色休闲裤来到琴跟前。她走进他的双臂，给了他一个吻。然后，既然不见有任何早饭的动静，他们紧紧偎依着，一起坐在沙滩上，在清爽的晨风中绵绵不绝地谈着话。他们现在找起话题来毫无困难，即使相对无言，也觉亲密无间。

吃过早饭后，他们坐着喝最后一杯咖啡，一边抽烟，他说：“我一直在想，一等斯皮尔斯太太找到另外一个经理，我就离开米德赫斯特。”她愕然地听着。接下来是什么？“如果我们可以找到一个用于育肥的牧场，在阿德莱德北边，在马拉拉、哈姆利布里奇、巴拉克拉瓦，或者其他类似的地方，在爱丽丝斯普利斯的铁路沿线上，离屠宰场不是很远，那就符合我的理想了。我想我们能找到那样一个地方，离城市大约五十英里，以便随时进城。”

她默默地坐了一会儿。这需要慎重应对。“你为什么想这样做，乔？米德赫斯特有什么不好？”

“它离任何一个地方都太远了，”他说，“也许对一个单身汉来讲没问题，但对一对夫妇来讲就不行。阿德莱德现在是一个很棒的城市。我是昆士兰人，但我喜欢阿德莱德多于布里斯班。我没去过悉尼和墨尔本，但阿德莱德是一个很棒的城市，哦，老天。有一条又一条的商业街，还有有轨电车、电影院和舞厅，它也是一个漂亮的地方，背后有山脉，还有葡萄园，里面种的葡萄用来酿酒。如果我们能在阿德莱德附近找到一个农场，就能过上很棒的生活。”

“但是，乔，”她说，“那是你想要的工作吗？只是从内地把牛买来进行育肥？我听着觉得太无聊了。你是不是受够内地了？”

他把烟头扔到地上，用脚后跟辗灭。“有些地方适合单身汉，有些地方适合已婚的人。”他说，“结婚后，人必须做出一些改变。”

他们中间隔着早餐桌，对于这一份新建立的亲密关系而言，这个距离太远了。她无法在不触碰他的情况下处理一件这么严肃的事情。“让我们出去谈。”她说。于是他们走出餐厅，在沙滩边缘的树荫下找到一块满是沙子的草地，在那里一起坐下。“我不认为那是对的，乔，”她慢慢地说，“我认为你不应该只是为了要娶我就离开内地。”

他向她笑道：“海湾地区没有适合女人住的地方，”他说，“除非她是在内地出生并长大的，有时候这样也不行。我见过一些从英国来的已婚夫妇试着适应内地的生活，但从来没听过有成功的。内地的生活跟英国太不一样，太艰苦了。”

她慢慢地说：“我知道不一样，也很艰苦。我在威尔斯镇住了三周，乔，对它有一些了解。”她捧起他的手，在自己双手间轻抚那巨大的伤疤。“我知道你害怕什么。你害怕像我这样一个直接从英国来的女孩儿在内地会过得不开心，乔。你害怕我会焦躁不安，开始找借口离开，住在城市里，为着牙医，为着商店，还有那一类东西。你害怕，如果我们在米德赫斯特开始我们的婚姻，你会把我逼得太苦，然后我们的婚姻就会出问题。”

她抬起双眼望着他。“你害怕的就是这个，是不是，乔？”

他看着她的眼睛。“没错，”他说，“一个男人没有权力让一位英国姑娘住在像威尔斯镇那么糟糕的地方。”

她笑道：“不仅是英国姑娘，乔。就连澳大利亚姑娘，生在威尔斯镇的姑娘们，也不惜背井离乡地逃离它。”

他咧嘴而笑。“没错，如果连她们都不能忍受它，你又怎么能呢？”

“我不知道我能不能。”她思考着说，做人要诚实。“所有海湾地区的镇子都一样吗？”

他点点头。“诺曼顿大一点，有三个酒吧，而不是一个，还有一个教堂。”

接下来是一段长长的沉默。“我有一点恐惧。”她最后说。

他执起她的手。他们的新生活仿佛触手可及，她却心怀畏惧，真让人发疯。她昨天晚上真是勇气可嘉。“恐惧什么？”他温柔地问。

她说：“我害怕你换工作。”她顿了顿，说，“我觉得你的想法完全行不通。一个男人怎么能因为自己的妻子无法忍受他能忍受的生活，就嚷嚷着要换工作呢？你习惯了在一块大约两千平方英里的土地上工作，乔，时不时赶着驮马消失三个礼拜，但从不离开你自己的土地。像你这样的男人，在一千英亩地上能做什么？”

他虚弱地咧嘴而笑。她点到了他的痛处。“我相信我会很快适应的。”

“我知道你行，”她轻轻地说，“你甚至可以做得非常好。但离开了海湾地区之后，你永远不会真正感到满足。电影院，或者一条又一条的商业街，又或者是舞厅，都无法弥补这种落差。当我们偶尔吵起架来——我们会吵架的，乔——你就会想起过去在海湾地区的生活，想到你是怎样为了我而放弃了它，我知道你会怪在我的身上，那我们之间就会一直心存芥蒂。那才是我害怕的事情，乔。我想我们应该留在海湾地区，你工作的地方。”

“你刚刚才说你不能忍受威尔斯镇。”他抗议道，“伯克敦和克罗伊登——嗯，它们都一样的。”

“我知道，”她体贴地说，“我有点前言不搭后语，是不是？开始我说我不能忍受在那样一个地方生活，然后又说你不应该有去任何其他地方生活的念头。”

“没错，”他既困扰又苦恼，“我们要试着想办法解决它，看看怎样对我们两人都合适。”

“只有一个办法，乔。”

“是什么？”

她向他微笑道：“我们要做点什么来改变威尔斯镇。”

————————————————————

(1) 指康纳太太。

(2) 澳大利亚主要的航运和贸易公司。

(3) 简称ATS，二战时期英国军队的妇女分队。在本书中，琴的母亲曾在一战时参加妇女辅助军团（WAAC），该辅助军团就是ATS的前身。

(4) 于1992年并入澳洲航空公司（Qantas Airways）。

(5) 即AA制。

(6) 英国一家保险公司，总部设在爱丁堡。

(7) “It's That Man Again”的简称，BBC的一个喜剧节目，1939—1949年播出，对战时英国人民的抗侵略斗争产生了很大影响。

第八章

他们度过了很特别的一天，时而卿卿我我，时而讨论生意问题。“你说一个降雨量三倍于北领地的地区，无法发展出一个和爱丽丝一样好的镇子，那是不合逻辑的。”期间她有一次说，“我知道爱丽丝有铁路，威尔斯镇有雨，我还知道我自己更情愿在哪个地方养牛。如果你还说要换工作，乔，我就自己坐开去。我们还没结婚呢。”她把他的手拉过来，吻了一下。

“养牛需要的不单是雨水，”他说，“不过当然，饲料越多，就有更多小牛能挺过旱季，也有更多牛可以拿去卖。但除此之外，还有很多其他事情，哦，老天。”

“还有其他什么？告诉我，乔。”她紧紧握住他的手。

“其中一件是，”他说，“下雨的时候，你必须想办法蓄水。米德赫斯特确实有很多雨水，但转眼间就全部流走了。我们的降水从十二月中旬持续到二月底，那时你就会看到小河都涨得满满的，简直要泛滥成灾。但三周后，到三月底，它们就又全部重新变干了，整个地区又变得像往常一样干燥。”

“这就是你要在袋鼠溪和干树胶河上修建水坝的原因？”

“没错。”他说，“我想开始的时候先修建一些小型拦河坝来储水。从每条小溪的源头开始，一点一点慢慢往下修。沿着那些小溪，每隔两三英里储备出一个小水池，直到它们流入吉尔伯特河。当然了，旱季时无法蓄水，因为太阳太猛烈了。但如果米德赫斯特有那样的水坝，饲料数量就会大大增加。哦，老天，肯定会的。”

她放开他的手。“乔，米德赫斯特有多大？”

“一千一百平方英里。”

“上面养了多少头牛？”

“大概九千头吧。应该还可以养更多，但牛场的北部边界很干，非常干。”

“假设你所想象的这些小水坝全都可以建起来，那时可以养多少头？”

他想了一会儿。“我不明白为什么不能养现在的两倍。那大概是每平方英里养十六头。有那么多的雨水，我们应该能做到。”

“今年你们卖了一千四百头，是不是？”

“没错。”

“每头卖多少钱？”

“四镑十六先令。”

她又抓住他的手，把它紧紧攥在自己手里。“乔，我在想，如果你在牛场上多养一倍的牛，每年就能多卖一千四百头。那就是——那就是每年能多卖六七千镑。那样你每年就能卖出价值一万两三千镑的牛了，乔。投点成本在水坝上，就能使营业额增加那么多，如此良机绝对不能错过，是不是？”

他对她另眼相看。“嗯，我就是那样想的。我告诉过斯皮尔斯太太，说我想聘请一个由三个男员工和一些土著组成的固定团队来专门负责这件事。从源头开始，每年修一点。一年差不多要花一千五百镑。第一年的利润会低一些，但那之后利润就会稳步上升，直到接近翻番。我就是那样跟她说的。”

“她同意了吧？”

“她同意出钱。但这只是开头，让她出钱倒不难，问题是我可能要花很多年才能雇到这些人。”

她难以置信地看着他。“很多年？”

“太对了，”他沉重地说，“要想出这个计划来很容易，但真正将它付诸实践要费很大工夫。可能要等五年才能开工。在米德赫斯特只有我们三个人——我是指白人——我、吉姆·伦农和戴夫·霍普。我们必须再找三个人，他们必须整个礼拜都在距离牧场住宅四十英里的偏远地区工作，差不多天天用鹤嘴锄和铁铲干活。他们还必须负责可靠，这样我们只需每周或每两周去跟进一次。嗯，根本就雇不到那样的人。海湾地区的人口每年都在减少。如果没有土著牧工，我都不知道要怎么办。”

“真的只有你们三个白人在经营米德赫斯特吗？”

他用手臂环着她的肩膀。“你来了之后就有四个了。”

她想可能很快就有五六个了，但忍住没把这个想法说出来。“你们的理想人数是多少？”

“你是说，未来养一万八千头牛的时候？”她点点头。“我认为那样一个牛场需要二十人。”他说，“如果我们把经过驯服的公牛都赶进畜栏来改良牲口质量，就不需要太多人。到时将要修建篱笆和畜栏，还有其他杂七杂八的东西。我可能需要二十个白人牧工，此外再请一些别的帮手。”

她慢慢地说：“彼特·弗莱彻说有五十个牧工去了威尔斯镇，在那里成家立业。”

“差不多吧。”他说。

“如果所有的牛场都像你说的那样发展起来，”她说，“那意味着牧工数量要增加到现在的七倍，因为现在你们只有三个人。这个地区将会有三四百个牧工，还有他们的妻子和家庭，这些人需要商店、酒吧、车库、无线电台和电影院。威尔斯镇可以发展成两三千人的小镇，乔。”

他微微一笑。“下一步你就要把它发展得跟布里斯班一样大了。”

她严肃地说：“乔。在马来亚当战俘的时候，我们当中有一位叫作弗里思太太的老妇，她觉得你肯定是耶稣托世，因为你曾经为我们受难。我尝试告诉她，你不是。如果她看见你现在的所作所为，就很可能会相信我。”

他们谈论了一会儿弗里思太太，然后把话题转到更加世俗的事务上。“乔，”她说，“听我说。如果我说我想在威尔斯镇创业，你会不会觉得我很愚蠢？”

他盯着她。“创业？你能在威尔斯镇做什么生意？”

“你知道我在英国的工作吗？”她问道。

“速记打字员，是不是？”他问。

她拿起他的手，在自己双手间摩挲着。“你太不了解我了，”她说，“我有太多事情要告诉你。”她先告诉他帕克和利维公司，然后说到帕克先生、短吻鳄鱼皮鞋，还有阿姬·托普。半小时后，她说：“那就是我想要做的事情，乔。你会觉得这有点疯狂吗？”

“我不知道。”然后，他很有点出人意料地说，“我去逛过邦德街的商店。”

她转向他，一脸惊讶。“真的吗，乔？”

他点点头。“我问斯特拉坎先生应该去伦敦什么地方参观，他问我知道多少伦敦的历史，我告诉他我没上过多少学。所以他就让我去参观圣保罗大教堂和威斯敏斯特教堂，然后坐公共汽车去皮卡迪利广场，往北走上摄政街，沿着牛津街走到邦德街，再沿着皮卡迪利广场走回来。他说走那条路线的话我就能看见所有最好的商店。”

她点点头。伦敦仿佛远隔万水千山之外。海洋的微风拂面而来，只听见头顶上椰子树低低的沙沙声。

“我看到了很多鳄鱼皮鞋，”他说，“还有一些化妆箱。”他转向她，“我看见它们的时候，心想也许它们的皮就来自老杰夫·波科克捕获的那些鳄鱼，真是有趣。那让我感到挺亲切的。它们都制作得非常漂亮，手工很好。但价钱——哦，老天。它们几乎都不带价签，但其中有一个很小的女用鳄鱼皮箱，里面装了一些银白色的小玩意儿，这样一个箱子竟然要卖一百基尼。”

她很兴奋。“乔，我敢打赌那是帕克和利维公司制作的。我们做的全是那一类生意。”

“你不是在想，在威尔斯镇也能生产那些东西吧？”

“不做皮箱，乔。只做鞋——至少以做鞋开始。一间小工厂，雇用六七个姑娘制作鳄鱼皮鞋。成本不会很高，乔——万一出了问题，也不会超出我所能承受的范围。但我不知道——也许不出问题呢？如果进展顺利，有利可图，对于小镇来讲是一件好事。”

“六七个姑娘，全都在威尔斯镇工作挣钱？”他若有所思地说，“你留不住她们的。最多六周，她们就会全部嫁出去——哦，老天，她们会的。”

她笑道：“那我就再找六七个。”她站起身来，“我们去游泳吧，不然一会儿就太热了。”

他们换好衣服，躺在干净的银白色海水中，身下是幼细的珊瑚沙。“看看这些瘀痕，”她说，“你真会欺负人。下次欺负一个跟你一样健壮的人试试看。”过了一会儿她又说，“我还有一个疯狂的主意。现在就告诉你——可别晕倒在水里。我想开一间冰室。”

“哦，老天。”

“我要付给这些姑娘很高的薪水，乔，”她严肃地说，“我要把它们挣回来。”

他看着她，不能确定她是否在开玩笑。“在威尔斯镇开一间冰室？”他说，“那挣不了钱的。”

“且看我每个冰淇淋卖多少钱。”她说，“我不仅要卖冰淇淋，乔——以后还要卖蔬果、速冻食品、女士杂志、化妆品和所有其他女士想要的小玩意儿。有一个很漂亮的姑娘想来帮我打理这间冰室，名叫露丝·索耶，现在住在爱丽丝。”

他慢慢地说：“如果店里有那样一个女孩儿，女士们就挤不进去。牧工会把它挤得满满当当。”

“那也没关系，”她说，“只要他们买我的冰淇淋。”她转向他，“乔，你有没有去过爱丽丝过周日？”

他摇摇头。“我想没有。至少开战以来没有。”

“我也知道原因，”她说，“周日所有酒吧都不开门。”

他咧嘴笑道：“太对了。”

“威尔斯镇的酒吧周日也不开门。”

“酒吧是关了，”他说，“但你通常可以从康纳老妈那儿买到酒，从旅馆后面。”

她在水里翻了一个身。“我必须向海恩斯中士通风报信，乔。星期天是爱丽丝的冰室生意最好的日子。泡了一个礼拜酒吧的男人会带着妻子和小孩去冰室，大口大口喝冰淇淋汽水和可口可乐。那个地方周日的生意兴隆得不得了。”

“确实如此，”他思考着说，“不然人们也没别的事情可做。”

不久他们从海里上来，坐到树荫里。他不允许她在太阳底下坐太久，以免晒伤。他们一起在树底下抽烟的时候，他说：“你想做的这一切将会花掉一大笔钱。我看要三四千镑吧，甚至更多。”

“我有足够的钱。”她说。

他转向她。“斯特拉坎先生告诉我，你是一个有钱的姑娘。”他轻轻地说，“那确实让我非常担心，不过后来我慢慢接受了这个现实。你有多少钱？别告诉我你情愿保守秘密。如果我知道你有多少身家，就能帮你出更好的主意。”

“我当然会告诉你。”她说。经过昨晚之后，他们之间已经没有隔阂。“斯特拉坎先生说我有大概五万三千英镑。但这笔钱全部被托管，托管期要到我三十五岁才结束。如果我想在那之前使用这笔钱，就必须先经他同意。”

“哦，老天。”

“那真是很大一笔钱，是不是？”她说，“从某种意义上说，我很高兴它被托管了，因为我现在根本不知道拿它来干什么。而且诺尔又是如此可亲可爱。”她顿了顿，“我想拿它来做点有意义的事情，”她说，“但我不知道真正做起生意来是怎么样的。我唯一懂行的也就只有高档皮制品生意了。我想，如果我们可以开办一个类似的工厂，和一个售卖女士用品的商店——嗯，即使不能财源滚滚，那也是把钱花在了该花的地方上，在像威尔斯镇那样的地方。”

他弯下腰来吻她。“还有一件事，乔。”她说，“我不知道，但我有一种感觉，雇用这些姑娘可能会带来连锁效应。你说牧工都要离开海湾地区，外面的男人也不愿意来内地。嗯，他们当然不愿意，如果在内地找不到姑娘结婚的话。并且，所有的姑娘都因为找不到工作而离开内地。我每给一个姑娘提供一份工作，就能同时给你招来一个愿意在米德赫斯特工作的男人。你觉得是不是这样？”

“不知道。”他的视线越过大海，落到高原暗淡的灰蓝线条上，“如果那儿能有一群姑娘，自然好多了。住在内地的人，常常会感到孤独寂寞，哦，老天。”

体会到这种深不见底的孤寂，她猛然一阵心酸。那些牧场住宅里没有尽头的漫漫长夜，使得“在内地，没有狗就熬不下去”。她想起那张敏感睿智的脸，想起卡莱尔牛场的埃迪·佩吉，想到他跟那个没有文化又不善言辞的土著女人结了婚。她马上理解了他的话，并对他生出无限同情。她转向他。“我真不忍心让你继续等我。”她说。他执起她的手，紧紧握了一下。“但我确实很想在我们结婚之前，开始尝试做这些生意，乔。”她说。她向他微笑道：“你是一个精力充沛的爱人，我相信我们很快就会迎来第一个孩子。”

他咧嘴笑道：“我不会催迫你的。”

“我也想尽快生儿育女，”她说，把他的头拉到自己面前吻他，“但那意味着我们结婚后，我只有六个月时间来打理生意，然后就不得不开始考虑其他事情。乔，你们什么时候开始集合？”

“雨季后。”他说，“今年是三月集合，因为雨季来迟了。往常我们都是二月中旬开始集合。”

“要集合多长时间？”

“大概三周或者一个月。之后就要给小牛打烙印并把牛赶到朱利亚克里克。”

“我们可以等集合结束后再结婚吗，乔？比如说四月上旬？”

“当然可以。”

她思考着说：“那意味着从现在开始，我有大约一年的时间，把生意发展到可以离开我一两个月的阶段，好让我能专心生孩子。我认为时间很充裕。如果这些生意离开了我，连一个月也经营不下去，那它们也没什么前途，最好直接关门大吉。”

他说：“我当然也可以帮你照看一段时间。”

她笑道：“让你向年轻姑娘递雪糕和卖唇膏吗？我不会叫你做这种事情的，乔。”

他思考这个计划。“吉姆可以独自把牲口赶到朱利亚克里克，”他说，“在我们忙着操办婚礼的时候。我会派布尔纳维尔和其他土著跟他一起去。婚礼结束后，我们可以开越野车追他，应该能在他差不多到达的时候赶上他，和他一起把牛赶上火车。就当是度蜜月了。”

她微微一笑。“我喜欢你这个度蜜月的主意。”他咧嘴笑了。“在朱利亚克里克，除了喝啤酒，还有其他事情可做吗？”

“哦，老天，”他说，“在朱利亚克里克可做的事情多着呢。”

“有什么呀？”

“把一万五千头牛赶上火车，”他向她咧嘴一笑，“没多少英国姑娘能有机会度一个这么特别的蜜月呢。”他说。

他们回去换衣服吃午饭。吃饭时他说：“关于晒干和加工鳄鱼皮的工作，我希望能把它承包出去。”他对于在威尔斯镇做这件工作很反感。那是一件邋里邋遢的工作，不适合女孩儿干，又找不到男人来干。他告诉她，凯恩斯有皮革厂，可以加工她送去的皮革。“是一个叫作戈登的家伙经营的，”他说，“他去年离开了海湾地区。如果你愿意，我们下午就可以去见他。”

“你觉得他那里有白色小山羊皮吗？”

“可能有。即使没有，他也很可能有办法搞到手。”

他有丰富的牛场管理知识，提出的建议对她的开厂计划大有帮助。“我觉得，既然你决定要建一个厂房，就应该把它修得又大又好。”他说，“把木材运到威尔斯镇才是花钱最多的地方。”他想了想，“如果一切顺利的话，将有三个新姑娘到威尔斯镇来生活，”他说，“你、露丝·索耶和阿姬·托普。为什么不把工厂修得大一些，在其中一头隔出三个坐卧室？可以用墙将它们和其他地方隔开来，设一个单独的出入口。那样你们就不必住在旅馆里，自己住得舒舒服服。然后，如果生意越做越大，你们可以把墙拆掉，把坐卧室和生产车间打通。”这在她听来真是一个非常好的主意。

午饭后，他们找来纸和铅笔，草草写下他们回到凯恩斯后要办的几件事情和需要订购的东西。然后他们回到各自的小屋，在白天热气蒸腾时呼呼大睡。乔在屋子外面叫醒了她。“来游泳吧，”他在说，“差不多五点了。”

她迅速把床单拉起来遮住身体。“我马上就来。你没偷看吧？”

“我不会做那种事的。”

“希望我能相信你。”她把窗帘拉严，换上泳衣去沙滩找他，和他一起躺在蔚蓝的银白色海水中。海水很温暖，身子底下是细滑的沙子。她说：“乔，你想不想我们现在就订婚，用一个戒指或者随便别的什么东西？”

“你想这么做吗？”

她摇摇头。“不，除非那能让你安下心来。我四月上旬就嫁给你，乔——绝不骗你。”他微微一笑。“但就目前来说，我相信如果我们不正式订婚会相处得更好。”她转向他，“回到威尔斯镇后，我将做出一系列标新立异的举动，威尔斯镇的人肯定会认为这些举动很疯狂。其中一些确实会很疯狂，因为总会出点问题。我不想只是因为我们订了婚就把你牵扯进来。你最好置身事外。”

“如果人们认为，不管你做什么，我总是和你并肩作战，那不是很好吗？”

她微笑着，翻了一个身，吻他。“你真可爱。你要是每个周六晚上都和酒吧里面的人打起来，只是因为有人对你的未婚妻骂了粗口，对我的生意又有什么帮助呢？”他咧嘴而笑。“他们肯定会说些不中听的话。他们肯定会觉得我疯了。”

过了一会儿，他们从海里上来，坐在树荫里，绵绵不绝地谈论未来。“乔，”她说，“如果一个土著走进冰室买汽水，我该怎么办？一个土著牧工？我就在这个冰室里卖给他，还是要另给他们开一家店？”

他挠挠头。“我不知道那种事情在威尔斯镇有没有发生过。他们会去比尔·邓肯的商店买东西。我想你不能在冰室里招待他们，因为柜台后面站的是一个白人姑娘。”

她坚定地说：“那我就给他们另开一家店，请个土著姑娘来招待他们。那里有很多土著牧工，乔——我们不能把他们排除在外。我们要开两家冰室，厨房就修在两家冰室之间，冷冻柜也共用。”她用手指在白沙上画了一幅小小的布局图。“就像这样。”

“哦，老天，”他说，“你会在威尔斯镇引起很多议论的。”

她点点头。“我知道。那就是我不想那么早订婚的缘故。”

晚上，他们在两人的小屋之间互吻晚安时，她说：“回到威尔斯镇后，我们将要保持距离了。我会终生铭记这个格林岛的，乔。”

他咧嘴而笑：“如果你喜欢的话，我们四月再来。在去朱利亚克里克之前。”

第二天早上艾迪开摩托艇来带他们离开格林岛，下午一早就在凯恩斯上了岸。他们把提包拿回旅馆后，就直接去制革厂见戈登先生，花了一个小时和他讨论鳄鱼皮和其他制鞋材料的问题。他建议他们放弃用山羊皮做衬里的想法。“任何可以用山羊皮做的东西，我们都会给你换成沙袋鼠皮来做，”他说，“你们那儿有很多沙袋鼠，而且沙袋鼠皮和山羊皮一样好——手感、外观、漂白、磨光——任何方面。”哈曼做好安排，等下一辆卡车从威尔斯镇去凯恩斯时，顺道给他送去半打皮革作样品处理。“稍微控制沙袋鼠的数量是件好事，”他说，“它们在牛场上吃掉的饲料实在是太多了。它们的数量太多。”

他们下午剩下的时间都花在购物和订购上，黄昏时精疲力竭地回到旅馆。他们已经订好了早晨回威尔斯镇的机票。琴说：“乔，我有一件事情必须今晚完成，赶在离开凯恩斯之前。我必须写信给诺尔·斯特拉坎，告诉他所发生的一切。”

昆士兰海边初夏的夜晚温暖恬适，花香袅袅。饭后，她坐在门廊上给我写了一封长信。她写信的时候，乔·哈曼坐在她身旁安静地抽烟，一脸平和。

她很会写信，直到现在仍然如此。她依旧每周给我写信。我记得很清楚，我是在十一月上旬收到那封信的。那是一个雾蒙蒙的阴天，烟雨茫茫。我不得不开着电灯吃早饭，对面的皇家马厩几乎消失在浓雾中。出租车经过楼下的街道，把泥水溅到潮湿的木墙上。

那是一封长信，写信人是一个沉浸在幸福中的姑娘，满纸都是她和乔的爱情。我读到这个消息当然很高兴。我坐着读这封信，把早餐晾在面前，又把信从头到尾看了一遍，然后读了第三遍。等我回到现实中时，咖啡已经冷了，荷包蛋在我面前的盘子里冻成又冷又硬的油膏状，但我太过沉迷于她的消息，对早餐失去了兴趣。我进卧室去穿鞋和大衣，准备去办公室。当我打开衣橱拿大衣时，看见她的靴子和溜冰刀，那是我一直在为她保存，等她回来取走的。老人家有时候会变得非常愚蠢。我不得不说，在看见它们的那一瞬间，我仿佛挨了重重的一击——因为她不会回来取走它们了。她永远也不会再回英国了。

我走到前门。我的保姆在公寓里，正好从餐厅走出来。“有一个好消息，尚贝太太。”我说，“你还记得佩吉特小姐吗？时不时来这里做客的那位。她订婚了，马上就要结婚了，跟一位澳大利亚人，在昆士兰。”

“哦，真让人高兴，”她说，“她真是个不错的女士呢。”

“是啊，”我重复道，“真是个不错的女士。”

她说：“您还没吃早饭，先生。早餐没什么问题吧？”

“嗯，没什么问题，谢谢，尚贝太太。”我说，“我今儿早上什么都不想吃。”

街上阴冷生寒，那些灰黄色的早晨总是沉雾迷蒙，冰冷中带着臭味，让人止不住咳嗽。我一直往前走去办公室，半梦半醒地，想着沙袋鼠和带着笑脸的土著牧工，想着流过白色珊瑚沙的蓝色海水，想着琴·佩吉特，以及在那个所有衣服都是负担的热带国家里，纱笼带给她的麻烦。然后我的头顶上方猛然传来一阵撕心裂肺的尖叫声，我感到右臂上重重挨了一下，踉跄了几步，差不多跌倒了。我发现自己正站在蓓尔美尔街正中央，一辆出租车横在我面前。那一刹那，我不知道自己身在何方，然后我听到一脸煞白的司机说：“看在上帝的分上，你还活着就真是谢天谢地了！”

“我很抱歉，”我说，“我没看路。”

“你怎么能没头没脑地横冲到马路上！”他愤怒地说，“都这么大年纪了，走路还不带眼睛！我撞伤你了吗？”

周围开始聚集起一圈小小的人。“只是撞到了手臂。”我说。我动动它，好像没什么问题。“没事儿。”

“哼，那可真是个奇迹。”他说，“下次好好看路！”他挂上挡，发动出租车开走了。我继续向办公室走去。

秘书像往常一样把信拿给我过目，但我把它们放到一边，满心只想着我胸前口袋里的另一封信。我想，那天早上我接待了一两个客户，我通常都会接待这么多。我想我给他们提供了一些建议，但我的灵魂似乎飞到了一万两千英里外。有一次列斯特·罗宾逊进来跟我商量一些工作上的事情，或者别的事情，我对他说：“你记得我的佩吉特姑娘吗——麦法登先生的遗产继承人？她订婚了，并打算嫁给一个澳大利亚人。他似乎是一个很不错的小伙子。”

他嘟哝着说：“我忘记了。那会终止我们的托管吗？”

“不，”我说，“还要等一段时间，直到她三十五岁。”

“真遗憾，”他说，“这个托管条款给你增添了很多工作。真希望托管期尽快结束。”

“我不觉得麻烦，真的。”我说。那天快要结束的时候，我想我已经把她的信都记在脑子里了，尽管它有八张四开纸那么长，但我还是把它带去了俱乐部。我在酒吧里喝了一杯雪利酒，告诉莫尔她订婚了，因为他稍微了解她的故事。晚饭后我跟丹尼森、斯特里克兰和卡拉汉一起坐下来打了几局桥牌，每天晚上都是我们四个一起玩儿。我把她的事情告诉了他们。

大约十一点，我从桌子旁站起身来，走进图书馆，在步行穿过公园回公寓之前抽最后一根烟。那个空荡荡的大房间里只有我和怀特两个人，他曾经在马来警察局工作，知道她的故事。我在他旁边的一张椅子上坐下来，说：“你还记得那个佩吉特姑娘吗？我想以前我跟你提过几次。”

他微微一笑：“是的。”

“她订婚了，马上要结婚了，”我告诉他，“和一个牛场的经理，在北昆士兰。”

“真的？”他说，“他怎么样？”

“我见过他，”我说，“他是一个很好的小伙子。她很爱他，我想他们会过得非常幸福。”

“她结婚前会回英格兰吗？”他问。

我坐在那里，盯着墙上的一排排书和天花板角落凸着花纹的金饰。“不，”我说，“我想她再也不会回英国了，再也不了。”

他不言语。

“太远了，”我说，“我想她现在会选择在昆士兰安居乐业。”

接下来是一阵长长的沉默。“无论如何，她没有任何回英国的理由，”我终于说道，“她回来干什么呢？她在这里又没有牵绊。”

然后他说了一句很愚蠢的话。他也许是出于好意，但说那样的话确实愚蠢之极。我站起来离开他，回到我那幽暗空荡的公寓。那之后有一段时间我都躲着他。我那个秋天已经七十三岁了，年纪大得足以当她的祖父，怎么可能爱上了她？

第九章

那年的十一和十二月，琴·佩吉特比以往任何时候都工作得更加卖力。

露丝·索耶两周后在威尔斯镇与她会合，阿姬·托普十一月初登上了驶往澳大利亚的船。我请帕克先生让阿姬在离开英国之前来见我。她是一个古板的女人，干枯消瘦，但我马上就看出来帕克先生说得挺对的：如果要找人监督姑娘们工作，她是最合适的人选。我把她的票给她，还有一份打印好的路线说明，告诉她如何从悉尼坐飞机到威尔斯镇。随后我跟她谈起她的工作。“这是一件非常、非常艰苦的工作。”我说，“那个地方又艰苦又热，而且佩吉特小姐的生意完全从零开始。她有很多钱，但在那里经商的过程将自始至终困难重重。您能理解我的意思吗，托普太太？”

她说：“我收到两封来自佩吉特小姐的信，她寄了一张那个地方的照片给我，拍的是主街道。我必须说，那里看起来没什么地方好去。”

“去那儿你还挺高兴的，是不是？”

她说：“哦，我以前去过艰苦的地方。反正也就只去一年。”然后她说，“我一向很喜欢佩吉特小姐。”

我还有一件事情要托付给阿姬·托普。琴非常焦急地想买到一台空调，跟一个小冰柜差不多大小，可以放在房间里吸收热空气并喷出大量冷气。这对她而言似乎很重要，因为必须防止姑娘们在工作时满手是汗，在精致的皮鞋上留下汗渍。她在澳大利亚买不到，就给我发电报。我找到一家生产空调的公司，好不容易才买到一台，还暗地里花了一点钱。德里克·哈里斯非常善于应付这一类谈判。我让他们把空调送到我们办公室，存放在楼梯脚下。我带托普太太去看了一眼，安排好让她带上它去悉尼。她要带着它从悉尼飞去凯恩斯和威尔斯镇，所费不菲，但我觉得那是值得的，因为一年最热的时候即将来临。

在琴交代给我的任务中，这是最重要的一项，也是我个人对这笔投资能做出的最大贡献。她余下的电报都是关于一些毫不麻烦的琐事。阿姬·托普也从帕克和利维带走了很多东西：三大箱工具、鞋楦、样板和其他各种东西。运费总共一百四十六镑，我在英国替琴支付了账单。

一回到威尔斯镇，她就在乔·哈曼的帮助下开始修建工厂和冰室。他们在陈列着棺材的木匠车间里跟蒂姆·惠兰和他两个儿子开会。他们已经从凯恩斯预订了两卡车的木材。男士们站着，或以牧工姿势坐在地面上，面前摆满了画着楼房的布局图。先修建附带三个卧室的工厂，再在旁边修冰室，一头留出扩建工厂的空间，另一头留出扩建冰室的空间。在威尔斯镇建筑物最密集之处，扩建也并不困难。

不久，他们派蒂姆·惠兰去找郡文书卡特先生，请他批准新建楼房的计划，并批准他们在主街道上租一块地。“那儿应该没问题。”他思考着说，“1905年的时候，那儿有一整排的房子——我有一张照片，但在我任职期间，从未收到过那块地的租金。”琴问他要收多少租金，但考虑到没有可供参照的价格，而且她尚未确定要租多大面积，数目一时难以确定。“那是一个镇自治区，”卡特先生说，“在镇自治区内，不以土地面积为基础收取租金。如果你想通过修建房子来发展该地皮，租金就是每一百英尺临街宽度每年大约一先令。我指的是主街道。如果你想用这块地来养鸡或者做诸如此类的事情，我要收你五先令。”

他们转移至旅馆的酒吧签订合同。琴端着柠檬水坐在外面的台阶上，那对于一个需要在威尔斯镇保持良好声望的女士来讲是很得体的。

她一周后去布里斯班。先飞去凯恩斯，再坐同一天的班机去布里斯班。她在那里住了三天，返程时已经预订好一个发电机组、一个很大的冰柜、两个冷藏箱、一个不锈钢柜台、八张玻璃面桌子、三十二张椅子、两个洗涤台，以及大量商店零碎杂项用品，如玻璃杯、盘子、餐具和装饰品，还有一大堆小电器和电线。她和公司商定，将所有这些东西装箱并运送至福赛斯。在凯恩斯，她安排好用卡车将这些商品从福赛斯运到威尔斯镇。我给她准备了充足的信用额度，好让她能够为这一切支付现金。

她一周后回到威尔斯镇时，已经初步安排好冰室的存货供应事宜。她发现工厂的框架已经搭建起来了。木制房屋建得很快。这件事情在威尔斯镇轰动一时，老人们常常站在旁边看，惊讶于一个英国姑娘这种疯狂的行为。她是海湾地区的一个陌生人，提出要在那里做鞋并大老远送到英国去卖。他们都太善良了，并没有恶语相向，也没有嘲笑如此一件怪事，但大家对她的投资都抱着一种怀疑的态度，这种令人窒息的气氛，让她在开始几周里倍感孤单。

她很快就去拜访了米德赫斯特。周日不施工，她便找了一个周日去。黎明时分，乔·哈曼开他的大型越野车来接她，把她带回米德赫斯特，刚好赶得上吃早饭。越野车一开到看不见小镇的地方，他们就停下来接吻交谈。

过了一会儿，他们谈完情，继续上路。琴这时已经接受了一个事实：郊区连一条碎石子路都没有。她迄今尚未坐车离开过这个镇子。她很快发现，根本就没有固定的道路，所谓的路只是车子穿过郊区时经过的地方。土地被夏天的热气烤得焦干，上面薄薄地覆盖着一丛丛萎蔫的小草。这个地区稀疏地分布着细长而扭曲的桉树，平均高度有二十到三十英尺。树与树之间有相当大的空间，驶过郊区的轿车或者卡车可以在它们之间穿行。这就是他们的路，土地表面如果凹下去一个深坑，或者被来往车辆碾轧得坑坑洼洼，轿车和卡车就绕路走。车辙的方向大致相同，在浅滩处会聚在一起，因为汽车必须从那里过河。小河现在都是干枯的，河床上满是石头。经过浅滩后，车辙又呈扇形散开。

每走二十英里她就看到半打牛，它们一听到越野车颠簸时的噪声，马上就害怕得四处狂奔，在崎岖的地面上疾驰。她问乔，那些牛到底能找到什么可吃的，因为这块土地在她看来寸草难生。“它们过得挺好的，”他说，“这里有很多好吃的，老天。草丛里这些干巴巴的东西就跟干草一样呢。”他告诉她，在他们走的这条路附近就有一个水潭。“它们顶多离开水源三四英里，”他说，“而马呢——你会发现它们在离水源足足二十英里远的地方吃草。”

途中她看见三个毛茸茸的褐色身影在桉树间跳来跳去，大喊道：“快看，乔——袋鼠！”

他纠正了她。“那是沙袋鼠。这些地区没有袋鼠。”

她入迷地盯着那些飞速远去的影子。“沙袋鼠和袋鼠有什么区别，乔？”

“沙袋鼠个头比较小，”他说，“大个头的雄袋鼠站起来有六英尺高，但沙袋鼠不会超过四英尺。袋鼠的脸像鹿，沙袋鼠的脸像兔子或者老鼠。我在牧场住宅养了一只沙袋鼠，待会儿给你看。”

“野生的？”

“现在已经被驯化了。它长大后会变得很野，到时就会跑掉，去找同伴。”他告诉她，他们帮她射杀沙袋鼠以剥下样皮送去凯恩斯时，不慎射死了一只带着幼崽的母兽。与其放任这个毫无防御能力的小家伙死去，不如把它带回家抚养。“我喜欢在身边养一只沙袋鼠。”他说。

他们不久抵达米德赫斯特。用钢丝索做成的篱笆钉在树上，树木间距太大的地方有时会竖起一根柱子。横跨入口小路的篱笆上开了一扇铁门，门后面的小路看起来跟马路差不多。她下车开门让他开进去。“这是家用围场，”他说，“主要是用于把马围起来的。”她看见有很多马站在树下，都是瘦削的乘用马，长长的黑尾巴摇来摇去。“我像这样在房子四周大约围出了三平方英里的地方。”

路拐了一个大弯，她看见了米德赫斯特的牧场住宅。它很漂亮，坐落在一个矮山丘上，一条小河在山丘脚下蜿蜒而过。这条小河没有流水，但河道上有一连串的小水洼。“当然了，现在是它一年中最难看的时候。”他说。她意识到他的焦虑不安。“冬天的时候，它是一条很漂亮的小河，哦，老天。但即使是在旱季最糟糕的时候，像现在，河里也一直有水。”

牧场住宅是一座非常大的单层楼房，用柱子支撑着，高高地离开地面，必须爬八英尺高的楼梯才能踏上门廊和房子的地板。它是木建筑，毫无疑问也是用瓦楞铁做的屋顶。它有四个房间，三个卧室和一个起居室，房子四面都围着深十二英尺的门廊。门廊外缘有很多蕨类植物和其他各种青葱的花草，种在花盆中，或者摆在架子上，阻挡了大部分阳光的直射。在房子的一头附带建了一个厨房，另一头则有一个浴室。厕所是一个独立的小屋子，建在围场内的一个坑上，离房子有一段距离。显然，这座楼房里的大部分生活是在门廊上开展的，房间好像几乎没人使用。乔的床和蚊帐都放在门廊里，另外还有几张简易藤椅、一张餐桌和一些餐椅。椽上挂着一个大帆布水袋，在风里晾着，还绑了一根绳子，垂下来一个搪瓷马克杯。

越野车停在楼梯前，五六条狗兴高采烈地出来迎接他们。他把它们赶到一边，但指出一条蓝黄相间的大母狗给琴看。琴从未见过长成那样的狗。“那是莉莉，”他满怀感情地说，“她生了一窝很棒的小狗，哦，老天。”

他把莉莉抱起来放到门廊的阴凉处。她转向他：“哦，乔！好可爱！”

“喜欢吗？”小狗涌到他们身旁，趴着舔他们的手。它们都是蓝黄相间的，模样古怪。在门廊边上，有一只小动物直挺挺地站在一张椅子后面，躲在角落里窥视他们。乔把小狗一只只拾起来，扔进角落的一个铁丝围栏里。“今天早上我开车去接你之前把它们放出来了。”他说，“它们很快就会长大到能够走下楼梯到院子里去了。”

“乔，这些植物由谁来打理？是你吗？”

他摇摇头。“斯皮尔斯太太以前住在这里时自己负责打理。她搬走后，我就任它们继续长。土著早晚给它们浇水。”他告诉她，他有三个土著女仆，是他三个土著牧工的妻子，分担牧场住宅的家务活，并给他做饭。

他四处张望。“那只幼崽应该就在附近。”他们在门廊另一头找到了那只蹦蹦跳跳的小沙袋鼠。它站着的样子像一只小型袋鼠，大约有十八英寸高，一点儿也不害怕他们。琴向它弯下腰去，它轻啃她的手指。“你喂它吃什么，乔？”

“面包和牛奶。它吃得挺好。”

“小狗不会伤害它吗？”

“它们有时会追着它玩儿，但它会把它们踢开。一只成年沙袋鼠可以杀死一条狗，把它撕成碎片。”他顿了顿，定定地看着她轻抚这只小生物，觉得她迷人之极。“我只是在开玩笑，”他说，“其实它们相处得很好。等它和狗都渐渐长大一点后，它们可能会惹怒它，到时它就会逃回树林里去。”

一个肥胖的中年土著出来摆桌子。她肤色很黑，容貌怪异。过了一会儿她又端来两盘毫不意外的双蛋盖牛排和一壶浓茶。琴此时已经适应了内地的早餐，但这块牛排比平时吃的都要硬。她一边挣扎着想把它吃下去，一边暗暗记住，一定要好好研究一番怎样在米德赫斯特做饭。最后她索性放弃了，笑着往后一坐。“对不起，乔，”她说，“我想也许因为我是英国人吧。”

他郑重其事地说：“多吃几个煎鸡蛋。你还什么都没吃呢。”

“我已经比在英国时多吃了五倍的早饭，乔。早饭是谁做的？”

“今天是棕榄做的，”他说，“她今天当值。玛丽比她做得好多了，但今天玛丽休息。”

“她们是谁，乔？”

“我有一个叫月光的牧工，”他说，“棕榄是他老婆。我的土著首领叫布尔内维尔，他是个了不起的牧工。玛丽是他老婆。玛丽的饭做得不错。”

“告诉我，乔，”她说，“你有过消化不良吗？”

他咧嘴笑道：“不经常，只是偶尔一两次。”

“如果我住进来之后要改变烹饪方式，你不会介意吧？”

“只要不是你一个人把活儿都干完了就好。”他说。

“你不喜欢由我来做饭？”

他摇摇头。“我情愿看见你把更多时间留出来做自己喜欢的事情，像做鞋和开冰室之类的。”

她把手放在他的手上。“我想把时间留出来给你。”

他趁白天热浪来袭之前带她出去，在牧场上转悠。尽管这个牧场占地一千平方英里，牧场住宅周围的楼房并不多，她之前在英国见过一个四百英亩的农场，上面的房子也不比这儿少。她看见三四座给牧工住的小木屋，每座顶多只有两个房间；两座单身木工的简易住房，白人和土著混住；一个用于停放卡车和越野车的棚子，里面堆放了很多机器零件；一个能容纳六匹马的空马厩；一个放马鞍的房间；还有一个屠宰间。她还看见一个用于驱动发电机和从小河泵水的柴油引擎。就只有这么多东西。

途中他说：“你会骑马吗？”

她摇摇头。“恐怕不会，乔。在英国，普通人很少骑马。”

“哦，老天，”他说，“你应该能学会骑马。”

“我可以学吗？”

“太对了。”

他把手指摁在嘴唇上，像个学生那样吹了一个尖锐的口哨，一颗黑色的脑袋随之从一座独房小屋的窗户里伸了出来。“布尔内维尔！”他喊道，“出去把伯母和罗宾牵来，备好鞍。我马上下去帮你们。”

他转向她，检查她的棉布连衣裙。“我不知道你该穿什么。你可以穿我的裤子。不会觉得难为情吧？”

她笑道：“哦，乔，它们足足可以绕我两圈！”

“我不是总是这么胖的。”他说，“我有一条战前穿的裤子，现在穿不进去了。不贴身没关系，我们只是坐在马上慢慢走，让你体会一下那种感觉。”

他把她带回牧场住宅，找出一件干净的男士衬衫、一条褪了色的骑马裤和一条皮带给她。她笑着从他那儿把衣物接过来，走进他的空房间穿上，还穿上了一双用松紧带绑边的薄底骑马靴。那靴子也是他的，穿在她的脚上太大了。全身上下都穿着他的衣服，感觉怪怪的，好像她成了他的私有财产。她小心翼翼地走下楼梯到院子里，感觉所有东西都要从她身上掉落。她想起了某个难忘的场合。

他扶她跨上马鞍。十四岁大的伯母脾气温顺，琴一坐好，不安全感马上烟消云散。他们为她调整好马镫，告诉她放脚的位置。一切到位后，她感到非常安全。那时的她几乎对马和马具一无所知，但这个马鞍跟她在英国见到的完全不同，甚至不曾在电影里见过。它呈弧形，座位前后都拱起来，坐上去就像坐在一个吊床里。马鞍从每条大腿上下方各伸出来一条长长的角状物，把她夹在适当的位置。“我相信任何人都不可能从这样一个马鞍上掉下去。”她说。

“你掉不下来。”他说。

他们骑着马走出院子，沿着小路走到小河边。一边走，他一边教她如何抓稳缰绳和使用脚后跟。他带她沿着小河往北走了一英里左右，绕了一个大弯穿过树林，尽量在树荫里蜿蜒行进。途中她看见四个毛茸茸的黑影消失在树丛中，他告诉她那是野猪。他们经过一片铺满了睡莲的宽广水域时，一条短吻鳄看见了他们，匆忙潜入水中，搅起了猛烈的漩涡。她看见几只沙袋鼠从马的跟前跳开去。

一个多小时后，他们回到牧场住宅。尽管一路骑着马，酷热的太阳还是把琴晒得大汗淋漓，口渴难耐。她在门廊里喝了好几马克杯水，然后去浴室冲了个澡，换回自己凉快的衣服。

他们在门廊上吃午饭，牛排和面包果酱，如果再加上鸡蛋，就和早饭一模一样。“棕榄在做饭方面没有什么想象力。”他抱歉地说。

“她看起来很疲倦，”琴说，“眼底下有大大的黑眼圈儿。乔，下午让她休息吧，我来给你做晚饭。”

饭后，他让她到空房间的床上小憩，但他们过去两周都没怎么见面，把宝贵的相处时间用来睡觉似乎太浪费了。“让我们就在这里坐着吧，”她说，“如果我睡着了，乔，那也没办法。”于是他们把两张长长的藤椅拉到微风习习的门廊角落，紧紧依偎在一起，十指紧扣。“只有这两个月才热得这么难受。到一月份就开始凉快起来，然后就该下雨了。”

“还不算太难受，”她说，“我记得在马来亚的时候，有时也跟这里差不多一样热。”

她引他讲牛场上的工作。当天早上她对该地区的地势稍微有所了解，现在能够更好地理解他曾经跟她说过的一些话。“每年这个时候都没什么活，”他说，“这个时候，如果可以的话，我会每两周去一次牛场的北部边界，以防‘盗夫(1)’。还要在那儿找一两个地方暗藏食物。看见那些矮小的牛时，就把它们射死。它们最不中用了。”

“‘盗夫’是什么，乔？”

“哦，‘盗夫’就是指偷牛贼。今年他们不太猖狂。牧工有时候把牛群从约克角的牛场赶到朱利亚克里克——他们经过牛场的时候，会顺手牵走几头，混进自己的牛群里。当然了，那意味着要伪造烙印。在朱利亚有警察，在牛群上火车时会留心注意带有新烙印的牲口。他们两年前抓到了一个家伙，判了他六年。从那时起贼就少多了。嗯，现在麻烦的是‘迷盗小牛’。”

“什么是‘迷盗小牛’，乔？”她开始打瞌睡，但她想尽量了解更多事情。

“哦，小牛是指还没打烙印的幼崽，都是每次集合之后才出生的。牛场上有一些家伙，甚至包括你最好的朋友，会潜入你的牛场，围捕小牛后，把它们赶到自己的土地上。没有任何东西能证明那是你的牛。那就是‘迷盗小牛’。真是下作。当然了，由于没有篱笆，总是会有小牛越过边界，所以去集合的时候总会有一些混淆的。但在一些我工作过的牛场，在集合的季节，未打烙印的小牛几乎都不见了，都被其他牧场上的家伙偷走了。”

她说：“但那些小牛愿意留在新的土地上吗？它们不会设法回到母亲身边吗？”

他瞥了她一眼，很理解她为什么问这个问题。“没错——如果你放它们走，它们就会回到母亲身边。它们会马上回到自己的家园，找到原来的牛群，即使隔着五十英里远。但这些家伙这么做：他们在自己的土地上找个不起眼的地方修一个小畜栏，把你的小牛赶进去，把小牛关在里面四五天，不给吃不给喝——什么都不给它们。嗯，那样做的话，小牛就变得有点神智错乱了，忘掉原来的牛群和自己的母亲。它们只想喝一口水，跟你我一样。然后他们把小牛放出来，让小牛在一个水坑里喝个够。小牛口渴怕了，好几个月都不会离开那个水坑，把自己的家园忘得一干二净，只守着新家。”

她闭上眼，睡着了。醒来的时候，夕阳西下，乔已经不在身边。她起身去浴室用海绵擦脸，看见他在外面修理卡车引擎。她把自己收拾整齐，看看表，然后去察看厨房。

她想，用简陋来形容这个厨房再贴切不过了。里面有一个烧柴的炉子，幸好没有生火；还有一个点棉芯的油炉，就这些炊具。还有一个小小的煤油冰箱。一大堆煮熟的肉被存放在一个带金属网纱的食品橱里，里头的苍蝇和外头差不多一样多。厨房用具都是老式的，又脏又少。这个厨房简直是一个噩梦。琴觉得，正确的做法是把它烧掉后重新修建一个。她想知道这样做是不是连带着会把整座房子都烧掉。储存柜里也没什么东西，只有像面粉之类的主食，以及盐和肥皂。

她把水壶放到炉子上，烧水泡茶，然后东翻西找，看看除了肉之外还有没有什么东西可以拿来做晚饭。米德赫斯特不缺鸡蛋，她还找到一些变质奶酪。她去咨询了一下乔，然后回到厨房，用了八个鸡蛋给他做了一个奶酪卷蛋饼。他洗干净手，看着她做饭。“哦，老天，”他说，“你在哪儿学的做饭？”

“在伊令。”她说。那似乎离她非常遥远：灰色的天空，高大的红色公共汽车，还有地铁的喧闹声。“我有一个小厨房，里面有一个电磁炉。我总是给自己烧一顿有两道菜的晚饭。”

他窘迫地咧嘴笑道：“恐怕在内地找不到电磁炉。”

她轻握他的手。“我知道呀，乔。但在这里，我们有很多办法使做饭变得容易一些。”他们一边吃晚饭一边谈论厨房和房子。“只有厨房需要重新布置，”她说，“其他地方都已经很漂亮了。”

“在你住进来之前，我会在屋子里修一个厕所。”他向她承诺，“我到外头去上厕所没问题，但对你来讲不太好。”

她笑道：“我不介意的，只要你能一直给我订《星期六晚报》。”他咧嘴一笑，但她发现他正坐在这份报纸上。“有些地方有化粪池，”他说，“他们在奥古斯塔斯修了一个，公爵和公爵夫人住在那里的时候。我想我们要等一阵子才能有一个。”

太阳下山时，他们坐着在门廊上吃晚饭，欣赏外面的风景，俯瞰小河和树林，安静地抽着烟谈话。“你们下周干什么？”她问道，“会去镇里吗，乔？”

他点点头。“我周四的时候会去，最迟周五去。我明天会去北部边界巡视几天，看看有没有什么特别情况。”

她笑道：“去看住你的小牛？”

他咧嘴笑道：“没错。现在是旱季，小牛的脚印不太好找。我的牛场上有一个叫金块的牧工，他可会找脚印了，哦，老天。我会带上他一起去。我总觉得温德米尔农场的唐·柯蒂斯对我的小牛虎视眈眈。”

“如果你发现了小牛的脚印一直从你的土地延伸至他的土地，那怎么办？”

他咧嘴而笑。“追踪它们，找到它们，把它们赶回去。”他说，“希望唐在我们这样做的时候不会出现。”

当天晚上大约九点的时候，他开车送她回威尔斯镇。他们在小镇外面停了一会儿，以恰到好处的方式道别。他用手臂环着她，她依偎在他肩头，听树林里的各种声响——蛙声、蛩鸣和夜莺的歌声。“你住的这个地方真迷人，乔，”她说，“只差一个新厨房了。我很喜欢它，你不必担心。”

他吻她。“你搬进来的时候一切都会准备就绪的。”

“四月，”她说，“四月初，乔。”

十二月第一周，她的工厂开张了。三四天后，阿姬·托普抵达威尔斯镇。开始的时候，她请了五个姑娘：茱迪·斯莫尔和她的朋友洛伊丝·斯特朗，由于肚子越来越明显而被旅馆开除了的安妮和两个刚毕业的十五岁姑娘。琴要求她们工作时必须穿着绿色制服外套，一方面可以让她们看起来干净整洁，另一方面也能表明这是一份固定工作。琴还在墙上挂了一面镜子，让她们可以看到自己的模样。

她从一开始就发现那些十五岁的姑娘是最好的雇员。刚从学校毕业的姑娘能适应固定的工作时间，但来自内地家庭的女孩很难静下心来工作，适应能力不如她们。有些姑娘已经离开学校好几年了，有些甚至连学都没上过，她们非常厌烦这种单调乏味的工作。她从凯恩斯预订了一个带有自动更换唱片功能的留声机和一些唱片，试图给她们的工作增添一些乐趣。这些音乐自然激发了整个威尔斯镇的兴趣，给小镇带来了不少欢乐，并可能对年纪大一些的姑娘有一点帮助，尽管帮助不大。但工厂的主要吸引力来自空调。

空调是最好的招聘广告。夏季炎热潮湿，午间气温高达一百到一百一十度。她设法把工厂的室内温度保持在七十度左右，这样姑娘们工作起来不会满手是汗。对于姑娘们来说，在工厂工作意味着能够暂时逃离阵阵热浪，穿上时髦的制服，舒舒服服地边工作边听音乐，以及在周末领到工资。工厂打从一开始就备受青睐，琴丝毫不必为招不满人而发愁。不过，在开头几个月，五个就很足够了。

工厂开业后，她花了两周时间，紧张忙碌地装修冰室和购进存货。她决心要赶在圣诞前开始营业，并成功地在12月20日实现了目标。她接受了乔的建议，先将一半计划付诸实践，专供土著消费的冰室暂缓开张，等他们确有这方面的需求再说。这省却了她雇用一个非白人姑娘的工资和装潢冰室的费用。实际上，差不多一年之后，土著对冰淇淋的需求量才上升了。土著牧工开始挤在厨房门后购买冰淇淋汽水。第二年九月，土著冰室开张了。

第一家冰室开张那天下午，她和乔一起头顶烈日站在大街上，欣赏她的工作成果。冰室和工厂在主街道上几乎并排而立。工厂门窗紧闭，以免走漏冷气，但他们仍然可以听到姑娘们边做鞋边唱歌。圣诞节临近，她们在唱颂歌——《神圣夜》、《仁君温瑟拉》和《冬雪里的风景》。衬衫黏住了她的背部，她挪动肩头透气。“嗯，该建的都建好了，”她说，“现在就要看它们能不能挣钱了。”

“来，我请你喝杯汽水，”他说，“给你捧捧场。”他们走进冰室，从柜台后面的露丝·索耶那儿买了一杯汽水。“冰室肯定能挣钱。”他说，“我不知道工厂怎么样，但冰室应该没问题。我之前和乔治·康纳在旅馆谈话，你的冰室开张后，他非常担心酒吧的生意。”

“我不明白他有什么好担心的，”她说，“我又不打算卖啤酒。”

“但你打算向牧工卖饮料。”他说，“如果别人也开一个冰室跟你抢生意，你肯定会生气吧？”

她笑道：“我想我会气个半死。但我觉得我不会抢光酒吧的生意，乔。”

“不管怎样，我觉得你会做得不错。”他们坐在铬玻璃顶小桌子旁边，彼特·弗莱彻扭扭捏捏地走进来，不声不响地到柜台前点了一个冰淇淋，并开始和露丝·索耶搭话。乔说：“可怜的老乔治·康纳。”两人会心一笑，他接着说：“我敢打赌露丝顶多能在这儿干六个月。”

琴上个月经常和露丝·索耶见面。“我跟你打赌，”她说，“赌一英镑，她从现在起一年之内还会在这儿，乔。”他们按照当地规矩握手成交。“如果你赢了，”他说，“就真是奇迹。”

现在生意已经顺利开张，她却累坏了。烈日炎炎，她无精打采，精疲力竭。她想晚上跟乔去米德赫斯特，在那里安安静静地住一两天，睡睡觉，骑骑马，和小沙袋鼠一起玩耍。但一种审慎的本能警告她，千万别以此等孟浪行为触犯当地的乡下道德准则。如果她希望自己已经着手为当地女性所做的一切取得成功，她自己的行为一定要在道德上无可指责。她知道，如果内地的母亲们知道她在米德赫斯特和乔·哈曼过夜，她们是不会愿意把女儿交到她手里的。如果老板娘言行有失检点，已婚男人也不会愿意把自己的妻子和女儿带去她的冰室消费。

那是一个周三，但周日对琴来说已经不再是一个休息日，因为周日很可能是冰淇淋和软饮料最畅销的日子。她跟乔说好，黎明时分他去旅馆接她，带她去米德赫斯特玩一天。她向他道别，一等工厂下班马上回到自己的房间，中途只停下来看了一眼从工厂出来去冰室吃甜点的姑娘们。她一进房间就一头倒在床上，精疲力竭，累得连晚饭都没吃。工厂里的空气清新凉爽，因为空调整天开着。她换上睡衣，在凉快的房间里蒙头大睡。她就这样睡了十二个小时。

自从那个周日之后，她又到米德赫斯特玩了几次，在邓肯先生的商店给自己买了一条牧工骑马裤，打算骑马的时候穿，还买了一双用松紧带绑边的牧工骑马靴来配它。她一大早出来跟乔会合，胳膊底下夹着一小捆骑马用具，和他一起上了越野车。像往常一样，他们把车开到镇子外面后就停下来谈情说爱。他抱着她问道：“你今早感觉怎么样？”

她笑道：“我现在好多了，乔。我想，终于顺利开张了，可以暂时松一口气。我一离开你就上床睡觉了，睡死过去，睡了整整十二个小时。我现在感觉很好。”

“今天好好放松一下。”他说。

她轻抚他的头发。“亲爱的乔。从现在开始，一切都会越来越顺利。”

“这种鬼天气很快就会结束，”他说，“这周之内就会开始下雨，然后就开始凉快了。”

过了一会儿，他们驾车继续前进。“乔，”她说，“我这周和银行经理吵了一大架——沃特金斯先生。你听说了吗？”

他咧嘴一笑。“我确实听到了一些传言，”他承认，“但到底发生了什么事？”

“都怪那些苍蝇，”她说，“周五那天太热了，我又太累了。我走进那个令人痛苦的小银行，想兑现工资支票。你也知道，那里总是飞满了苍蝇，我又必须等一会儿才能办事。苍蝇在我全身上下爬来爬去，在我的头发里、嘴巴里和眼睛里。我想我当时汗流浃背，没控制住自己的脾气，乔。我错了。”

“那个银行真是糟糕透顶。”他说，“真是的，怎么会有那么多苍蝇呢？你说什么了？”

“什么都说了，”她坦白道，“我告诉他，我要取消账户，因为我无法忍受他那些该死的苍蝇；我说我要去凯恩斯的银行开户，每周坐空中列车去凯恩斯取现金。我说我要写信到他的悉尼总部，告诉他们为什么我要这么做；我说我要写信到新南威尔士银行，如果他们在这里开一个没有苍蝇的支行，我就在他们银行开户；我说我用敌敌畏喷雾，我的工厂里就没有苍蝇，我也无法容忍在我的银行里有苍蝇。我说他应该给威尔斯镇树立一个榜样，而不是……”她停住了。

“而不是什么？”他问。

她虚弱地说：“我忘记自己说什么了。”

他直直盯着前方的路。“我确实在酒吧里听到别人说，你告诉他，他应该树立起一个好榜样，而不是傻坐在那儿挠屁股。”

“哦，乔，我不可能说了那样的话！”

他咧嘴笑道：“威尔斯镇的人就是这么跟我说的。”

“哦……”他们默默地往前开了一段路。“我周五去找他道歉，”她说，“在那种地方吵架可不太好。”

“我不明白你为什么要道歉，”他反对道，“应该是他向你道歉才对。毕竟你才是客户啊。”他顿了顿，“我周五先去那儿看看他怎么样，”他建议道，“我知道周六的时候他买了十加仑的敌敌畏喷雾，阿尔·伯恩斯告诉我的。”

他们到达米德赫斯特后，他马上让她坐在门廊角落的一张长凳上，并用冰箱里的冷水给她做了一杯柠檬茶。他命令她定定地坐在原地吃早饭，亲自用托盘端了一杯茶、一个水煮鸡蛋和一些黄油面包给她。她坐在那里，身心放松，任倦意肆意扩散，任他体贴地在身边为自己忙前忙后，感到心满意足。天变热时，他提议她去空房间的床上躺下，把房间两头的双层门打开通风。他咧嘴笑着向她承诺，他经过门廊时保证不往里偷看。她相信了他，在空房间里几乎脱得一丝不挂，躺倒在床上，在炎热的中午昏昏睡去。

她醒来时已经差不多四点了，她感到凉快清新，轻松自在，精力充沛。她继续躺了一会儿，疑心他也许偷窥了。然后她起来套上连衣裙去洗澡，在温暖的水流下洗了很久。不久，她容光焕发地到门廊上寻找他，对他的宽容大度充满感激。她发现他坐在地板上，用棕榈叶、针和蜡线修补一个马勒。她俯身吻他，说：“多谢你所做的一切，乔。我睡得很舒服。”然后她说，“我们吃完饭可以去骑马吗？”

“还是有点儿热，”他说，“你想去骑马吗？”

“我想去，”她说，“我想学会骑马的正确方法。”

他说：“你上一次骑得挺好的。”她这次的坐骑升级了，从十四岁的伯母变成精力更加充沛的萨利。她开始慢慢学会如何骑马小跑。她发现，在那种气候里骑马小跑，人流的汗比马还要多，并且令她肌肉酸疼，第二天弯腰坐下来都困难。但她知道这种锻炼对她有好处。在这个年纪才开始学习骑马，她永远成不了一个好骑师。但她还是决心要具备骑马的能力，因为马在这个地区是很重要的交通工具。

他们那晚骑了一个半小时，暮色初降时回到米德赫斯特。他不允许她继续留在外面，尽管她并不急着回去。“我现在一点儿也不累，”她说，“我好像找到了窍门，乔。骑萨利比骑伯母轻松多了。”

“是的，”他说，“马越好，骑手就越轻松，只要你能驾驭它。”

“我希望有一天能跟你去北部边界，”她说，“不过我想要等我们结婚之后。”

他咧嘴笑道：“如果你结婚之前就跟我去，威尔斯镇那些老古板肯定会说个没完。”

“以我现在的水平，可以跟你去了吗？”

“哦，是的，”他说，“只要你放松下来，就能舒舒服服地坐在萨利背上。我白天从来不会骑行超过二十英里，即使有特别的理由也不会。”

他开越野车送她回威尔斯镇。他们互吻晚安时，他说他下周会进镇一趟。她那晚上床时，但觉神清气爽，清静的一天使她彻底恢复了精神。

她周五照常去银行兑现工资支票。她发现人们正在重新粉刷墙壁，银行里连一只苍蝇也看不见。沃特金斯先生在一旁忙自己的事情，没理会她。年轻的银行办事员莱恩·詹士把钱递给她，笑得合不拢嘴，还向她使眼色。她周六下午又看见了莱恩，他带多丽丝·纳什进冰室买冰淇淋汽水。他向她露齿而笑，说：“银行焕然一新了吧，佩吉特小姐？”

“我昨天去那里了，”她说，“你们正在重新粉刷墙壁。”

“没错，”他说，“多得你仗义执言。”

“他是不是很生气？”

“实际上并没有，”那男孩儿说，“他早就想把银行重新装饰一番了，但又担心总部有意见。银行在这种地方没什么生意。嗯，现在他终于付诸行动了。”

“我很抱歉，我太鲁莽了。”她说，“有机会的话，请代我向他道歉。”

“我会的。”他向她承诺，“你说得真好，我们好久没笑得那么痛快了。其实我也讨厌那些苍蝇。”

冰室开张的第一个周日，她和露丝·索耶一起一直从早上九点工作到晚上十点。她们售出了一百八十二个冰淇淋，每个一先令，以及三百四十一杯软饮料，每杯六便士。打烊后，精疲力竭的琴在收银机旁数钱。“十七镑十三先令，”她说，一边有点不敢相信地望着露丝，“对于一个一共只有一百四十六人的小镇来说还真不少。人均花了多少钱？”

“大概两先令六便士吧，是不是？”

“你觉得生意会一直这么兴隆吗？”

“为什么不呢？今天还有很多人没来呢。今天的客人几乎都光顾了两到三次，茱迪肯定花了有十先令。”

“她会消化不良的。”她说，“她会生病，那样就没人来光顾我们了。走，回去睡觉吧。”

圣诞节那天，冰室在午饭时间后开始营业，下午和晚上一共赚了二十镑。那天晚上，她把留声机从工厂搬到冰室，播放舞曲，音乐和彩光从冰室的木缝里流淌而出，驱散了主街道的荒寂和黑暗。在居民眼中，就仿佛曼利海滩(2)的一块碎片蓦然掉落在威尔斯镇。一些年老色衰的女人被音乐和彩光吸引，突然冒了出来，带着同样衰老的男人一起走进冰室喝冰淇淋汽水。尽管冰室仍然挤满了人，她于十点准时打烊。她认为最好从一开始就坚决执行原定的打烊时间，不要让这个乡村社区沾染上熬夜的坏习惯。

工厂在阿姬的监督下运作平稳。圣诞刚结束，她们就运送了两木箱皮鞋去福赛斯，通过铁路运到布里斯班，再通过轮船运往英国。她之前已经用航空邮件给帕克和利维公司寄去了一些样本。

雨季在节礼日(3)那天降临。之前有过一两次短时阵雨，但那天大块大块的云聚集起来，形成高高的积雨云山峰，覆满了整个天空，以致天昏地暗。然后下起了瓢泼大雨，银河倒泻一般下个不停。刚开始的时候，气温并没有下降，湿度却变得非常大，感觉比旱季更糟糕。工厂里即使只有七十度，姑娘们依然汗流如注，阿姬·托普不得不推迟最后的工序，集中精力完成制鞋初期那些精密程度较低的工序。

新年后不久，琴跟乔去米德赫斯特玩了一天。像往常一样，他破晓时分就来接她。这是一个风雨如晦的黎明，非常炎热。她迅速从房间门口跑上越野车的驾驶室。到那个时候，她已经习惯了一会儿浑身湿透，一会儿又干透，如此反复。雨水的温度和体温差不多，患伤风的机会微乎其微。她上车时说：“小河现在都变成什么样了，乔？”

“正在上涨，”他说，“现在还没有什么好担心的。”不久就无法从米德赫斯特开车去威尔斯镇了。这种状况要持续几周，如果他们一定要见面，他只能骑马去。他过去一两周一直在给牧场住宅储备食物。

威尔斯镇和米德赫斯特之间有两条小河，河底很宽，满是沙子和大石块。旱季时，干枯的河道又热又荒芜，现在却变成了两条宽阔的黄色河流，奔流的河水浑浊不堪，让她心生恐惧。车子开到第一条小河的岸边时，她说：“我们能过去吗，乔？”

“没问题，”他说，“只有一英尺深。你看见那儿那棵树了吗？有一根树枝垂下来的那棵。那根树枝被淹没时，水就有点儿深了。”

他们开着越野车艰难地涉水而行，在另一边上了岸。他们以同样的方式涉水经过了第二条小溪。他们像往常一样按时抵达牧场住宅吃早饭。依旧大雨滂沱，无法开展任何户外活动。他们早饭后开始设计新厨房和他决心一定要修好的厕所。

那天早晨，在他们西边四百英里处的凯恩斯，杰奎琳·培根小心翼翼地在雨中走过人行道，从家去凯恩斯急救中心和消防站。她匆忙从消防车中穿过，把伞上的雨水抖掉。她向其中一个当值的消防员说：“老天，这雨下的。”

他吮吸着空烟斗，盯着外面的雨。“对鸭子们来讲，还真是好天气啊。”

闪闪发亮的消防车停放在主楼里，她走进她在主楼外面的小办公室。她扫了一眼挂钟，还有三分钟时间。那个房间有一张桌子，桌上摆着一个麦克风和一叠小书写纸。屋子里还有两台高高的无线电装置。书写纸前面放着一组操作仪器。她把无线电装置的三个开关打开，启动机器，脱下湿答答的大衣和帽子。然后她拿起铅笔，把书写纸拉到面前，再拉过来一张卡片，卡片上面有一长串通信呼号和牛场名字。她坐下来，开始每日的常规工作。

她转动一个在她面前的旋钮，说：“第八区泰尔面包师(4)，第八区泰尔面包师，第八区查理女王呼叫第八区泰尔面包师。第八区泰尔面包师，第八区泰尔面包师，第八区查理女王呼叫第八区泰尔面包师。第八区泰尔面包师，如果你听到第八区查理女王的呼叫，请回话。报文完，请回复！”她又转动了一下旋钮。

她面前的扬声器发出一个女人的声音。“第八区查理女王，第八区查理女王，这是第八区泰尔面包师。你能听到吗，杰姬(5)？”

培根小姐转动了一下旋钮，然后说：“第八区泰尔面包师，这是第八区查理女王。我能听得很清楚，音量大概为四。你们那边的天气怎么样，科比特太太？报文完，请回复！”

“哦，天啊，”扬声器说，“这里简直是倾盆大雨。这雨太可爱了，吉姆说我们可把它盼来了。我相信天气已经开始变凉了。报文完，请回复！”

“第八区泰尔面包师，”培根小姐说，“这是第八区查理女王。我们这里的雨也不小。我没有任何新消息要告诉你，科比特太太，但如果你那边有人要来乔治城，请帮忙捎话给卡特太太，说她儿子罗尼昨晚从麦基坐火车来凯恩斯，并将继续坐火车去福赛斯。他将于周四上午抵达福赛斯，所以周四晚上能到家。收文悉否，科比特太太？报文完，请回复！”

扬声器说：“收文悉，杰姬。我们的一个牧工或者吉姆今天晚些时候会去乔治城，我保证把消息转达给卡特太太。报文完！”

“第八区泰尔面包师，”培根小姐说，“这是第八区查理女王，科比特太太。通话到此为止。请继续收听广播。第八区轻松维克多，第八区轻松维克多，第八区查理女王呼叫第八区轻松维克多。如果你能听到的话，请回话，马歇尔太太。报文完，请回复！”

毫无回音。培根小姐继续呼叫了一会儿第八区轻松维克多。但她知道马歇尔太太习惯在早晨广播时段喂鸡，一般都等晚间广播时段再回话。她发出了规定次数的呼叫，便继续呼叫下一个。“第八区豪奶奶，这是第八区查理女王，”然后重复了一遍自己的话，“如果你能听见，第八区豪奶奶，请回话。报文完，请回复！”

一个男人的声音说：“第八区查理女王，这是第八区豪奶奶。报文完！”

培根小姐说：“第八区豪奶奶，这是第八区查理女王。我有一封你的电报，格斯林先生。你有铅笔和纸吗？我只能等一分钟。注意，只有一分钟，你准备好后，请呼叫我。报文完！”

她等他再次呼叫她时说：“第八区豪奶奶，这是第八区查理女王。你的电报来自汤斯维尔，提道莫莉昨晚七点产子，重八镑四盎司，母子平安。署名是：伯特。收到了吗，格斯林先生？报文完，请回复！”

扬声器说：“我收到了。又是一个男孩儿。报文完！”

培根小姐说：“如此顺利真是太让人高兴了。你给莫莉写信的时候，请转达我的祝福，好不好，格斯林先生？请问还有别的事情吗？报文完！”

扬声器说：“我会好好想想怎么回电，杰姬，并在晚间广播时段告诉你。报文完，请回复！”

她说：“好的，格斯林先生，我将等候你的消息。通话到此为止。第八区尤克条款，第八区查理女王呼叫第八区尤克条款。”她继续工作。

二十分钟后，她仍然在收发消息。“第八区能人乔治，第八区能人乔治，如果你能听到第八区查理女王，请回话。报文完！”

扬声器传来一连串带着抽泣声的话语。说话人身处三百英里之外，声音受到静电的严重干扰。“哦，杰姬，收到你的呼叫我太高兴了。我们这里出了大事。唐的马昨晚回来了。两点时我听到马回来的声音，觉得很奇怪。唐从来不在夜间赶路，因为路上有很多树。然后我又想了想，觉得不对劲儿，因为只听到一匹马的声音，而唐去的时候带着萨姆逊一起。于是我起床望向窗外。我看不见马，哦，天啊，于是我就拿起手电筒，穿上大衣走进雨里。哦，天啊，我看见了唐骑走的那匹马朱比利，上好了鞍，装备齐全，但唐没回来。我太害怕了。”声音逐渐变成一连串抽泣声。

培根小姐呆呆地坐在麦克风前，一只手放在旋钮上，听着通过载波从另一头传来的低泣声，纵使饱受静电干扰仍然声声刺耳。在海伦·柯蒂斯平静下来并记起把旋钮旋至“接收”之前，她什么都做不了。她迅速扫了一眼面前的单子，犹豫了一会儿，然后从椅子上起身，开门向当值的消防员说：“弗雷德，请打电话给巴尔内斯先生，如果可以的话请让他下来。温德米尔出事儿了。”

她回到椅子上。此时，扬声器里传出一个尖锐的外差尖叫声，淹没了抽泣声，似乎是某个表示同情的愚蠢女人试图在相同的波段上回话，但声音含混不清。她耐心地坐着，等待干扰消失，在她们记起来进行常规操作之前，她什么都做不了。外差停止了，海伦·柯蒂斯仍然在三百英里外的麦克风前抽泣着，头顶上方挂着一幅彩画，画着身披加冕长袍的国王和王后，收音机上放着他们女儿的婚纱照。然后她说：“杰姬，杰姬，你在吗？哦，我忘了。报文完！”

培根小姐转动旋钮，说：“好的，海伦，这是杰姬。请各位注意，第八区查理女王正在和能人乔治通话。请所有人停止通话，不要插话。你们可以守听，但不要插话。如果有人能帮得上忙，我会呼叫他。柯蒂斯太太，我让弗雷德打电话给巴尔内斯先生，请他下来。现在请你保持冷静，告诉我事情的经过，我会记下来。请记住你的操作规程，如果你想听到我的回复，请转动旋钮。请别太担心，海伦，请冷静地告诉我具体情况。报文完，请回复！”

扬声器说：“哦，杰姬。能听到你的声音实在是太好了。我身边只剩下土著了。戴夫放假了，彼特去了诺曼顿。事情是这样的。唐三天前带着萨姆逊一起去牛场上的失望溪，说自己会离开两天。他们没有按期回来，我并不担心，因为下雨了。我想他们要绕远路，因为小溪涨满了。然后，昨晚只有唐的马自己回来了，萨姆逊也失踪了。萨姆逊是我们新请的土著牧工。我这儿有一个名叫庄尼·沃克的牧工很擅长跟踪脚印，他一大早就出门了，骑着马沿脚印原路返回。但他一个小时前返回牧场住宅，报告说情况很糟糕，因为雨水把脚印都冲走了，他只能跟踪到三英里远。现在我不知道该怎么办了。”接下来是一阵沉默，然后她说：“哦，报文完！”

培根小姐的书写纸上写满了潦草的笔记。她转动旋钮，说：“这是杰姬，海伦。请告诉我，你们南北边上都有什么牛场？报文完。”

“北方是卡莱尔农场，杰姬——那是埃迪·佩吉的农场。南方是米德赫斯特农场，东方是派力肯农场。米德赫斯特的经理是乔·哈曼，派力肯是莱恩·德赖弗。不过我想米德赫斯特没有广播。报文完。”

培根小姐说：“好的，海伦，我会尝试呼叫他们。请在座位上守听，因为巴尔内斯先生来了后要跟你说话。现在我要接通卡莱尔农场。我有第八区小狗糖果给第八区吉格舞威廉的电报，等我一有空就转达给他们。第八区查理彼特，第八区查理彼特，这是第八区查理女王。如果你听到我的呼叫，第八区查理彼特，请回话。报文完。”

她转动旋钮，听到埃迪·佩吉不紧不慢的声音，松了一口气。“第八区查理女王，这是第八区查理彼特。我听到了你和杰姬的所有通话。弗雷德·道森和我在一起，我们会尽快去温德米尔了解情况。请告诉海伦我们大约四小时后到达她家，到时再见机行事。你会保持守听吗？报文完。”

她说：“没问题，佩吉先生。我们会一直在原地守听，直至进入值班时间。值班时间内从整点到整点过十分都会有人守听。收文悉否？报文完。”

他说：“好的，杰姬，收文悉。我现在停止通话去备鞍。你今天不会再听到我的声音了，奥利弗不会操作机器。我走了。”

她接下来呼叫派力肯，但没有回音。她随后呼叫第八区爱麦克，即威尔斯镇骑警局，并马上接通了海恩斯中士。他说：“好的，杰姬，我都听见了。我会派菲尔·邓肯和一个善于寻找脚印的手下处理此事，并尽量派一个牧工跟着他们。我会让路过米德赫斯特的人把这件事情告诉乔·哈曼。请告诉巴尔内斯先生，邓肯警员将于今天下午三四点钟到达温德米尔。关于守听的信息已收悉。你真是个好姑娘。完毕。”

尽管出了这么大一件事情，那天余下的常规工作仍然要完成。培根小姐说：“第八区小狗糖果，这是第八区查理女王。我有一封给第八区小狗糖果的电报，如果第八区小狗糖果听到第八区查理女王的呼叫，请回话。完毕。”她继续工作。

大约中午时分，琴正在米德赫斯特和乔·哈曼一起测量厨房，在书写纸上做计划，突然听到了马蹄声。外面还在下着雨，但是雨势稍小。他们走到房子的另一头，看见彼特·弗莱彻把马交给月光并走上门廊。他头戴宽松的牧工帽，淋成落汤鸡。上楼梯时，他的靴子发出吧唧吧唧的声音。

他说：“你们收听广播了吗？”

“没有。怎么了？”

“温德米尔那边出了点状况，”牧工说，“三天前唐·柯蒂斯带着一个土著牧工去牧场的北部边界，现在只有马自己回来了。”

“有没有引马沿路返回？”乔马上问。

“试过了，但找不到路。所有脚印都被冲掉了。”牧工坐在门廊边缘上，脱掉靴子，把里面的水倒掉，很快就倒出来一摊水。“杰姬·培根，在凯恩斯广播站工作的女孩儿，在早晨广播时段收到这个消息。她呼叫了海恩斯中士，中士派了菲尔·邓肯去温德米尔。菲尔正在去那儿的路上，和阿尔·伯恩斯一起。我说我会路过这边并顺道告诉你。埃迪·佩吉和弗雷德·道森已经一起出发从卡莱尔去温德米尔了。”

乔问：“唐带着哪个土著牧工去的？”

“一个叫作萨姆逊的小伙儿，来自米切尔里弗。他跟着唐工作有大约一个月了。”

“他们知道他去牛场的什么地方吗？”

“北边，失望溪那儿。”

“看在基督的分上，”乔说，“那我知道他去那儿干什么了。”琴看着他，他嘴唇紧绷。

“去干什么？”彼特问。

“他又在打我的小牛的主意，”乔说，“那个强盗在那儿修了一个小牛畜栏。”

“你怎么知道的？”彼特问。

“被我发现了，”他说，“我来告诉你畜栏在哪儿。你知道失望溪从哪儿流入菲什里弗吗？”牧工点点头。“嗯，从那儿沿失望溪往上游走大约四英里，就会看见一个小岛，小岛旁边有一条从北面流进来的小溪。嗯，继续往前走大约一英里，就会看见失望溪北面有一大片茂密的树林，后面有一个小小的荒山。你不可能搞错的。小牛畜栏就在那片树林后面，在荒山脚下。如果你爬到那个山上——它只有十五英尺高——就会看见南面的小牛畜栏。”他顿了顿，“如果你跟搜索救援队一起去，我建议你们先去那儿找找。”

“谢谢你，乔，”彼特说，“我到温德米尔就告诉他们。”

“是的，你最好告诉他们。我想柯蒂斯太太对此一无所知。”

琴一直在犹豫，不知道是否应该加入这个谈话，因为他们谈论的事情对她而言非常陌生。但现在她说：“你是怎么知道这件事的，乔？”

他转向她：“圣诞刚结束时，我和布尔内维尔一起去了一次北部边界，我发现小牛好像变少了。于是我让布尔内维尔跟踪小牛的脚印。那时基本还没开始下雨，所以脚印很清晰。卡特赖特河就在那儿，我们把它当作牛场边界。我们跟踪脚印过了河，一直去到温德米尔。那儿有两匹马，还有很多小牛。就像我之前说的，我找到了畜栏，小牛都被关在畜栏里，关了有两三天了。当然了，我把它们放了出来，并把它们赶了回去。好不容易才把它们从第一个水坑边上赶走了，哦，老天。”

彼特问道：“畜栏里有多少头小牛，乔？”

“四十七头。”

“都是未打烙印的？”

“哦，是的。”乔听出了他的弦外之音，深感震惊。

“唐不会做那种事的。”他说。

牧工穿上鞋子并站起身来。“你打算怎么做？跟我一起去吗？”

“不。”乔慢慢地回答道，“我想我会直接去米德赫斯特的北部边界，他是从那儿把小牛偷走的。也许他还想再偷一些，结果在那儿出了意外。那在卡特赖特河南面，我们修的新钻头往东。如果我在我的土地上没发现他的踪迹，我会跟踪他把小牛赶去畜栏时留下的脚印。说不定我明天或者后天的时候会在那儿附近跟你会合。”

彼特点点头：“我会转达给菲尔的。”

“请告诉他，我会带上布尔内维尔一起去。我开越野车把佩吉特小姐送回威尔斯镇后就马上出发。”

在那种大雨滂沱的天气下，开越野车跑四十英里需要花差不多三个小时。琴说：“乔，不用管我。我留在这里等你回来。你马上跟彼特走吧。”

他犹豫了。“我可能会离开好几天。”

“嗯，那我就骑萨利回去。我可以带上一个土著，让他把萨利骑回来。”

“这样也行，”他慢慢地说，“月光会留在这儿，可以让他跟你一起回去。我带着布尔内维尔。”

“好的，”她说，“那完全没问题。戴夫什么时候回来？”

“应该是这个下午吧。”他说。他转向彼特。“我让吉姆·伦农放假了，戴夫去诺曼顿找一个年轻女护士，但他今天就会回来。”

琴说：“我会留在这里等戴夫回来，以防万一，乔。”

他向她微笑。“嗯，那可帮了大忙了。我不想只留下牧工。我会告诉月光，让他领你进镇，你想什么时候走都可以。”他转向彼特。“要不要换一匹马？”

“不用了吧。这儿离温德米尔大概有四十英里远？”

“没错。过了这条河，你就能找到一条直达那儿的小路。最近没什么人走那条路，如果你找不着它，就往北骑去吉尔伯特河。沿河骑一两英里就会见到一座小木屋，杰夫·波科克捕猎鳄鱼时就住在那座屋子里。从那儿往北骑大概两英里，有一个可以骑马横穿的浅滩。从那儿往北骑大约十英里，就能找到他们从牧场住宅去威尔斯镇的路。你不可能搞错的。”

“好的。”

“要不要带点食物？”

牧工摇摇头。“我还是尽快上路吧。”

他们走下楼梯到院子里去，看着他装好马鞍后离开。雨实际已经停了，但依然天色阴沉，乌云密布。乔转向她。“很抱歉，”他轻轻地说，“今儿我们什么都干不了了。你确定和月光一起骑马进镇没问题吗？”

“当然没问题，”她说，“你必须赶紧出发。”

她匆忙进屋催促棕榄给他们做一点午饭和食物，好让他们能带着在路上吃。男人们正在院子里备鞍。他们准备带上各自的乘用马和一匹驮马，让驮马背着一个帐篷和露营装备。乔认为只需带上少量质量极差的食物，她感到心疼万分。他从食品橱里拿出一大块煮过了头的肉，把这块黑得可怖的东西连同三条面包一起扔进一个袋子里，抓了几把茶叶放进一个可可罐里，再抓了几把糖放进另一个罐子里。那就是他的全部食物，但他却不知道要在旅途上耽搁多久。她在一旁看着他埋头作准备，没有干涉，因为不想打扰到他。但她把这一切记在心里，也许将来能派上用场。

他在门廊上和她吻别，她和他一起走下楼梯到院子里。“照顾好自己，乔。”她说。

他咧嘴一笑。“下周在威尔斯镇见。”然后他骑马小跑着出了大门，布尔内维尔在他旁边，后面牵着驮马。然后她就孤零零地跟土著一起留在了米德赫斯特。

雨又开始下。她走上门廊。乔走了，棕榄又回到了自己的房间，门廊上空荡荡静悄悄的。雨不断地打在铁屋顶上，叮叮咚咚作响。她突然想到，可能整件事情都已经结束了。唐·柯蒂斯可能已经回到了温德米尔，乔可能白跑了一趟。米德赫斯特居然没有无线电收发机，真是太不可思议了。确实，他们离医院只有二十英里，如果是他们自己发生意外，并不需要使用收发机。但如果遇到像现在这种让人牵肠挂肚的情况，没有收发机就太不方便了。她打定主意，等他们结婚后，一定要在米德赫斯特买一台发报机。这年头，没有收发机的牛场太落伍了。

她之前从未试过孤身一人留在米德赫斯特。她一个一个地走遍了所有房间，步履缓慢，左思右想。沙袋鼠蹦蹦跳跳地跟在后面。她时不时把手放下来爱抚它，它轻轻地啃她的手指头。她在他的房间里停留了很长时间，手指划过粗糙的装备和衣服，它们就是乔的全部家当。他的生活太简陋了。然而，就是在这个房间里，他梦想并计划了去英国追寻她的伟大旅程。这个旅程在诺尔·斯特拉坎的办公室里戛然而止。最后一次去赞善里似乎已经是上辈子的事情了。

大概三点的时候，戴夫·霍普回来了。彼特·弗莱彻早上过来的时候，他正骑着马冒雨从威尔斯镇往回赶。他在途中遇到一辆从诺曼顿开来的卡车，搭了一程便车。他在威尔斯镇听说了所有关于温德米尔的事情。他临近中午才离开威尔斯镇，知道很多广播上没说的新消息。他告诉她，那个土著牧工萨姆逊已经回到牧场住宅了。

“他们好像正在找一些小牛，”他说，“在牛场北面的失望溪附近。他们出于某种原因各走各路。他们离开营地时约好晚上回去会合。唐那晚没回营地，土著在黑暗中也无法找到他的脚印。第二天早晨，整个地方都被水淹了，土著压根无法找到他的脚印。就是这样了。”

他们在门廊上谈论了一会儿此事。在离他们三四十英里外的某个地方，肯定有一个男人躺在地上，身受重伤。只能确定他身处一个方圆三十英里的地区内。他可能躺在一个树丛底下，并且很可能那时已经失去了意识。要找到他无异于大海捞针。

“你最好去帮他们，戴夫，”琴最后说，“这里没什么事情。我留下来料理家务。”

他起了点疑心。“哈曼先生给我分派任务了吗？”

“他什么也没说。我跟他说我会留在这里等你回来。如果牛场上只剩下土著的话，他觉得不太妥当。我会留在这里，戴夫，直到有其他白人过来。你去温德米尔加入他们吧，那样做最好了。”

“留在这儿无所事事确实是很不仗义。”他承认。

下午晚些时候，她打发他走了。那时离天黑还有两个小时，他很高兴能在夜色中赶路，因为他很熟悉温德米尔牛场。现在又剩下她自己一个人了，琴继续设计厨房，满怀憧憬地把它设计成理想中的模样。她要让乔把旧厨房全部拆掉，从头修起。过了一会儿，棕榄走进厨房给她做晚饭吃的鸡蛋，给各种动物喂食，并给门廊上的植物浇水。

棕榄离开后，她独自一人在米德赫斯特过夜，只有小狗和沙袋鼠陪伴她。窗外，夜雨潇潇，漆黑阴森，乔·哈曼正在马不停蹄地赶往牧场的北部边界，人马俱湿，小心翼翼地在黑暗中寻路前行。她除了干坐着等待消息，什么忙都帮不上。

那天晚上，她忽然明白了很多事情。她稍稍意识到一个生活在牧场上的妻子必须变得多么坚强。她不无严肃地想，即使是一个有五万三千英镑的妻子也不例外。她意识到无线电收发装置对于这样一个妻子而言几乎是不可或缺的。即使在头一个晚上，她也渴望和凯恩斯的杰姬·培根说上一两句话。她意识到，一个孤独的人有多么依赖动物。很奇怪地，她想起了奥利弗，那个皮肤棕黑的土著女孩儿，即使只是去威尔斯镇的旅馆小住，也无法离开那只小猫。到她上床准备睡觉的时候，她已经能够更好地体会奥利弗的心情了。

她九点左右上床睡觉。床头有几本破旧的英美杂志。乔肯定经常翻阅它们，翻得七零八落的，另一个世界里的悲欢故事，他读了一遍又一遍。她拿起一本在床上看，但那些小说并不能引起她的兴趣，或者消除她的焦虑。雨停了，过了一会儿又开始下，然后又停了。她昏昏沉沉地睡着了。

她睡得不深，夜里频频醒来，又频频睡去。她黎明前就被院子里的马蹄声吵醒了。她立刻起床，穿上连衣裙走到门廊上，打开灯喊道：“谁？”

一个男人走到楼梯脚的灯光下，说：“是我，小姐，布尔内维尔。霍普先生回来了吗？”

他口音浓重，她无法听懂他在说什么。她说：“上来，布尔内维尔。怎么了？”

他走上门廊，来到她的跟前。他是一个五十岁上下的男人，很黑，脸上布满了皱纹，头发灰白。他又说了一遍：“霍普先生，他回来了吗？”

这次她听懂了。“他去温德米尔了。他回来了，又去了温德米尔。哈曼先生怎么样了，布尔内维尔？”

他说：“哈曼先生，他到北面边界了。他找到柯蒂斯先生，他脚断了。哈曼先生，他让我回来接霍普先生，他开越野车去北部边界，带柯蒂斯先生回来。”

她完全听不懂他在说什么，很生自己的气。问题在她，一个海湾地区的女人立刻就能听懂这个人的话，而此时此刻，听懂他说的话简直就是一件生死攸关的事情。她轻轻地说：“对不起，布尔内维尔。请再慢慢说一遍。”

这一遍她听明白了。“霍普先生不在这里，”她说，“他去温德米尔了。”

他沉默了一会儿，然后说：“这里没有白人，可以开越野车吗？”

她摇摇头。“你会开越野车吗，布尔内维尔？”

“不，小姐。”

“有会开越野车的土著吗？”

“没有，小姐。”

她突然萌生了一个想法。她可以让布尔内维尔带路，自己开越野车去找乔。但那可不是一件轻松的任务。她从未有过自己的汽车，虽然开过几次属于不同年轻小伙子的车，知道怎样驾驶，但驾龄不超过五个小时。她再度为自己的无能感到生气和羞愧。

她点起一根烟，陷入沉思。如果她贸然尝试驾驶越野车并把它撞坏了，对谁都没有好处。它可是一个大家伙，个头比任何一辆普通的汽车都要大，甚至比她驾驶过的任何东西都要大。还有一个办法，就是让布尔内维尔骑马去威尔斯镇，也许去警察局，请他们派一个司机开一辆卡车或者一辆越野车去北部边界。从米德赫斯特到威尔斯镇来回程有四十英里，卡车开到米德赫斯特就要六个小时，然后才能出发去北部边界。

她问：“哈曼先生离这里有多远，布尔内维尔？”

他想了想。“过了钻头四英里。”

乔曾经告诉过她，新钻头距离牧场住宅二十二英里。那就是说事故现场距离这里二十六英里。她说：“路况怎么样？能开越野车到那里吗？”

“路很棒，干的，一直到钻头那儿。”他说。她点点头。这话可信度很高，因为钻头刚刚在几个月前才完工，之前肯定一直有卡车开去那儿。即使下着雨，那条路也非常有可能是通的。天空已经开始变灰，应该不久就会放晴了。

她问道：“需要过河吗？”

他举起三根指头。“树。(6)”

“河水深吗？越野车可以通过吗？”

“能通过，小姐。小河不太深。”

如果布尔内维尔骑马在越野车旁边给她指路，她觉得自己应该能够完成这个任务。无论如何，那值得一试。最糟糕的结果就是她半路绊在坑里，不得不让布尔内维尔带着一张便条回到威尔斯镇，请他们派一个更能干的人过来。只要他骑着他的马，就不会造成重大延误。她说：“好吧，布尔内维尔，我来开越野车。你骑马跟我一起走。”

“换一匹马，小姐。它累了。”

“没问题，换一匹。”布尔内维尔肯定也累了，但那爬满皱纹的黑脸庞对她而言太陌生，她察觉不出他的倦容。“你带点食物，”她说，“我也带一点。我们半小时后出发。”

他走开了，她烧了一壶开水，喝了一杯茶，然后去换上她的骑马衬衫和马裤。她昨晚发现乔的房间里有一个半满的旧锡箱，装着绷带、夹板和各种药物。她想它是锡制的，可以防水，于是把毯子装进去，再装进去一些从储藏柜里拿出来的食物罐头和一小包面粉。她只能想到要带这么多东西。万一半路陷入深坑，她将不得不在越野车里过一两个晚上。

她喝了一杯茶，吃了一顿包含肉、面包和果酱的早饭。然后走下楼梯到院子里检查那辆越野车。巨大的汽油箱里有二十加仑汽油，机油箱里满满都是油。她从大水箱里舀水灌满了引擎冷却器，并把从车灯架上吊下来的水袋装满。然后她爬上驾驶舱。让她松了一口气的是，变速器上的标识非常清楚。她转动开关，摁下发动键，拉起加速器。引擎发动时，她感到既害怕又高兴。她小心翼翼地挂了倒挡，把越野车驶出了后院。

箱子被放在驾驶室后面。布尔内维尔在前面骑马带路。她一方面考虑到布尔内维尔骑着马，另一方面也完全不相信自己的能力，所以一路上她从未挂满挡，时速也不曾超过十英里。她驶过三条小溪，每次都沿着布尔内维尔指示的路线通过，跟着步履蹒跚的马往前走。在马的脚下，黄色的流水形成漩涡，令它焦躁不安。途中，水位一度升到驾驶舱的地板处，她非常害怕。但她继续往前开，设计者早就预料到此种情况，把汽车的点火系统置于汽缸之上。越野车一蹦一跳地驶过一块又一块岩石，水从每个洞口和每条裂缝里喷涌而出。

在钻头以北四英里处，乔·哈曼坐在他那个小帐篷的开口处。在一个小山谷的底部有一片茂密的树林，有人清出来一块空地，帐篷就扎在这块空地上。空地上有一排坚固的木栅栏，或者说是一个畜栏，就在帐篷后面。做门的木头都是可以移动的，此时被拆掉了，畜栏是空的。乔在帐篷前生了火，正在烧水。

帐篷里有一张用灌木做的床，上面铺着防水床单。一个男人躺在床上，身上盖着一张毯子。乔转过头去，说：“发生了什么事，唐？它们把门冲破的时候是不是把你撞倒了？”

那个男人从帐篷里说：“真该死。它们把柱子撞到我的身上，把我击倒了。然后有差不多六头牛从我身上踩过。”

乔说：“活该。让你在其他人的土地上到处偷牛。”

他顿了顿，然后说：“你去年偷了我多少头牛，唐？”

“大概三百头。”

哈曼先生笑了。“我从你那儿偷了三百五十头。”

帐篷里的柯蒂斯先生说了一句非常粗鲁的话。

————————————————————

(1) 乔说的是“duffer”，在普通英语里表示“傻瓜”。

(2) 澳大利亚著名海滩。

(3) 圣诞节后第一个工作日。

(4) 这个名称，以及下面一系列以“第八区”开头的名称，都是牛场居民的呼号，用于无线电广播通信，非真实姓名。

(5) 杰奎琳的昵称。

(6) 布尔内维尔说的是“tree”，跟英语里的“三（three）”音近，但他口音很重，发音不正确。

第十章

越野车慢慢在帐篷前停了下来，布尔内维尔骑着马跟在旁边。她挂了停车挡，把车停下来，大大松了一口气。她坐在驾驶室里，乔走向她。“戴夫呢？”他问，“他没回来吗？”

她把情况告诉他。“我想我最好试着自己开车来。”她说，“我之前只开过大概三次车。我肯定把它开坏了，乔。”

他后撤几步。“看起来没问题。”他说，“你撞到什么了吗？”

“什么都没撞到。但有时候我挂不上挡，它就发出可怕的声音。”

“它还走得动吗？”

“哦，我想可以。”

“那就没问题。小河怎么样？”

“水挺深的，”她说，“都漫过驾驶室的地板了。”

他嘟囔了一声。“赶紧回去。希望这该死的雨快点停。”

她问：“柯蒂斯先生在这里吗，乔？”

他点点头。“在帐篷里。”

“他怎么了？”

“腿断了，”他说，“有创骨折——你们把断骨刺穿皮肤的骨折叫作有创骨折吧？我想他的脚踝也断了。”

她惊讶地噘起嘴唇。“我把你那个装着夹板和绷带的箱子带来了。”

他问：“你知道怎样处理骨折吗？从前有没有当过护士什么的？”

她摇摇头。“没当过。”

“我看了一眼并清洗了伤口。”他说，“我已经尽力了，但它实在是太糟糕了。我今早做了一块长条形的夹板，把它绑在伤腿上。我们要把他送去医院，越快越好。已经两天了。”

他们开始撤营，把帐篷从伤员上方移开。唐第一次见到琴。“你好，佩吉特小姐，”他说，“你不记得我了吧？我在威尔斯镇见过你，在你抵达那天。”

她向他微笑。“你很快就会回到威尔斯镇。我们要把你送进医院。”

她忙活的时候，突然满脸困惑地转向乔。“我们这是在谁的土地上，乔？”

“米德赫斯特啊，”他说，“为什么这么问？”

她扫了一眼畜栏。“那是用来做什么的？”

“那个东西？”他说，“哦，没什么特别用途，我们偶尔会把牛赶进去打烙印什么的。”

她没有再说话，继续低头干活。她的嘴唇几度漾起一丝微笑。他们把唐放在地上，在灌木床底下放了一条毯子，再放下越野车的车尾板。然后，他们用尽力气，小心万分地把他搬到床上，再把床搬到越野车的车身上。躺在车身上的男人脸色煞白，汗流如注。他把嘴唇都咬破了，但他们没有办法舒缓他的疼痛。

大约九点钟，他们开车返回。乔负责开越野车，琴在后面陪伴伤员，布尔内维尔骑马跟在车后，牵着两匹马。他们路过钻头，往前走了大约五英里，来到第一条小河的岸边。跟琴几小时前经过的时候相比，水位上涨了很多。

他们顺利涉过了这条河，不过河水已经漫进了越野车的驾驶室，差一点就漫上车身的底板，而伤员就躺在底板上。过了河之后，他们继续往前走。第二条河的水位更高。乔停在河边，向琴和布尔内维尔咨询他们之前过河的情况。琴当时经过的地方似乎比现在浅五十码，那应该是水位比较低的地方了。乔让布尔内维尔骑马走进水里，听人和马在水里行走时发出的声音。看来没什么问题，于是他把越野车开进河里。

河水很快就变深了，他加速保持前行。黄色的洪水快速旋流，水底下的河床非常崎岖。巨大的汽车在河床的大石头上颠簸着前进。突然间，车子重重地撞到某个东西上，发出一阵金属的嘎吱声，一动不动。

乔说：“天啊。”他使劲儿摁发动键，但引擎毫无反应。油迹开始渗上水面，顺着旋流的黄色河水流走，拖出黄黑色的尾巴。他盯着这些油，大惊失色。

琴说：“怎么了，乔？”

“我把该死的机油箱撞破了。”他简短地说。

他从驾驶室上下来，在河水里小心翼翼地探路。水已经漫过他的膝盖，差不多深及腰部了。他喊来布尔内维尔，并让琴从卡车背后递给他一卷绳子。越野车只离岸十码远。他们制作了一个串联式的套索，把一头套在三匹马的前鞍上，另一头系在越野车的后轴上。这一切都在水底下摸索着进行，两人一边干活一边气急败坏地向对方喊话。十分钟后，汽车已经被拉上了岸，其效率之高，令琴惊叹不已。

她从车身上下来，走向躺在前轴下的乔。她俯下身去，和他一起查看情况，发现用生铁制成的汽油箱被撞碎了。“情况严重吗，乔？”她轻声说。

他向她咧嘴笑道：“这下惨了。”他从破洞里把生铁碎片掏出来，从车底下抽出身来，从驾驶室里找来启动曲柄，小心地转动引擎。他松了一口气。“曲轴轴承没问题，”他说，“只是机油箱坏了。”

他手里拿着启动曲柄，站着深思了一会儿。倾盆大雨扑在他们身上。她问道：“我们现在去哪里？”

“我能补好它，”他说，“开回家没问题。但现在也没油了。以河流现在的上涨速度，去把卡车叫来也没用。”他站着观察了几分钟河水。“卡车到这儿的时候也过不了河。”他最后说，“现在只有一个办法。用飞机把他送走。”

周围满是岩石和茂密的树林。“这里有给飞机降落的地方吗？”她问。

“我知道一个可以降落的地方，”他说，“飞机需要一条五百码长的平整跑道。”

他骑马去南边。琴和布尔内维尔在河边打开帐篷，支起来遮住唐·柯蒂斯，给他挡雨。伤员一度虚弱地说：“乔·哈曼的驾驶技术真差，开着车肯定偷不到牛。不过他的偷牛技术还真不赖。”琴笑道：“你们这对穷凶极恶的罪犯。我要跟柯蒂斯太太好好谈谈。”

“千万别，”他说，“她对此一无所知。”

她说：“好好躺着，别说话。乔出去找一个能给飞机降落的地方，让飞机来接你走。”

“希望他这次的表现比开那辆破车时好一些。”柯蒂斯先生说。

三刻钟后乔回来了。“我想我们可以清理出一条跑道。”他说，“离这儿只有一英里。”他和布尔内维尔一起，用套索把由三匹马组成的马队套在卡车的前轴上，启程穿越树林。琴负责控制方向盘，马队拉着越野车在绿树之间迂回行进。

不久他们来到一块空地上，那儿有一块狭长的草地，上面稀疏地长着一些矮灌木。这块草地超过五百码长，但两头都有树木。他们可以把它清理成一条跑道。“把这些灌木砍掉，”乔说，“再砍掉两头的树。我见过他们在比这儿糟糕得多的地方降落。”

斧头和铲子是越野车的常规装备。他们不缺工具，但以两人的力气无法完成这项体力劳动。“我们必须把米德赫斯特的牧工都叫来，”他说，“并派人去威尔斯镇请求他们派一辆飞机过来。”

她说：“让我和布尔内维尔一起骑马回牧场住宅吧，乔。他可以把牧工都带回来，我继续骑马去威尔斯镇。”

他盯着她：“你骑不了那么远。”

“有多远？”

“从这儿到威尔斯镇有四十英里。”

“至少我可以骑回米德赫斯特。”她说，“如果我到时骑不动了，就派月光捎一张便条给海恩斯中士。我们最好找中士，是不是？”

“没错。这样的话，你就不必自己一个人骑马上路了。如果你要继续从米德赫斯特骑到威尔斯镇，一定要带上月光或者其他牧工。我不允许你自己一个人骑马过河。”

她把手放在他的手臂上。“没问题，乔。我会带人和我一起去。”她顿了顿，“我可以从威尔斯镇发送广播消息，”她说，“那样就可以从温德米尔找人来帮你了，是不是？”

“没错。”他说，“要是米德赫斯特有无线电收发机就好多了。”他顿了顿，“他们肯定想知道一件事情，”他说，“就是这个地方的准确位置。我们距离新钻头大约六英里，西—南—西方向。记住了吗？”

“记住了，乔，”她说，“距离新钻头大约六英里，西—南—西方向。”她顿了顿，“你接下来打算怎么做？”她问。

“我会在这儿扎营。”他环视四周，“搭起帐篷来挡住越野车的车身，”他说，“在找到担架之前，尽量不要再次移动他。搭好帐篷后，我就开始砍树，给飞机开道。”

“你的后背行吗？”她问。

“没问题。”

她想象双手挥舞斧子砍树的动作。“你之前砍过树吗，乔？”

“没有，但没问题的。”

她说：“如果你要砍树，我就要收回我的话。我要自己骑马去威尔斯镇，让月光和其他牧工一起来这里帮你。”

“你别这样，”他说，“你一个人过河不安全。”

“你挥斧头砍树也不安全。”她说，“如果你在这里把后背弄坏了，对谁都没有好处，乔。”她又把手放在他的手臂上，“我们都要理智一点，”她说，“你那点活儿，土著们来了以后一个小时就干完了。没必要冒险，乔。”

他向她微笑。“好吧。但你不能自己一个人骑马。”

“我保证不。”她说。

大约十点半的时候，他们扶她骑上乔的马罗宾。罗宾的个头比她之前骑过的马都要大得多，她非常害怕它。跨上罗宾并不比跨上其他马困难多少。乔的马鞍比她之前所用的休闲马鞍大得多，又软又破，因为长期使用而变得柔顺服帖，但仍然很好用，维护得也很好。他们替她调整好马镫后，她发现坐在上面非常舒服。

她和布尔内维尔一起出发，小跑着穿过树丛。一个艰苦卓绝的壮举就这样开始了。此后许多年里，她每次想起此事都心有余悸。罗宾脾气温顺，反应迅速，精力充沛，小跑起来的时候，步履矫健从容。不过，不能否认的是，此前她只骑过六次马，每次不超过一个半小时。

他们来到河边时雨停了。他们涉过翻腾不已的黄色河水，布尔内维尔从旁保护。过河后，他们继续前行，一会儿慢走，一会儿小跑。一个小时后，他们来到第二条河的岸边。这条河很宽，布尔内维尔帮助她把脚从马镫里抽出来，作好抓住鬃毛游泳过河的准备。但实际上并不需要游泳，他们从容不迫地过了河。再也没有小河阻碍余下的行程了。

“这两条河太深了，越野车肯定开不过去。”她说。

“是的，小姐。它太深了，现在。”

他们和米德赫斯特之间已经没有河流的阻隔了。雨又开始下，雨水混进涌流而出的汗水，使她浑身湿透。她的臀部和大腿不断和马鞍摩擦，很快开始蹭伤，她感到越来越痛苦，但一筹莫展。她拍过胸脯保证自己会骑马的，所以必须咬牙坚持。

她发现，当道路通畅时，她能骑得比布尔内维尔还要快。她骑乘的马精神充足，也更加强壮，而他的马已经跟着越野车跑了一程，疲惫不堪。在罗宾可以小跑前进的时候，她不得不频频放慢速度，边走边等他。这有助于缓解她的疲劳。

他们大约两点半回到米德赫斯特的牧场住宅。她口渴难耐，疲劳不堪。月光和另外几个牧工跑出来，拿过她的缰绳，帮助她下马。她的腿伸展不开了，无法自己从马镫上下来。她说：“布尔内维尔，请让月光备好鞍，准备和我一起去威尔斯镇。我喝完茶和吃完东西就出发。你带上全部牧工回去找哈曼先生，好吗？”

他说：“好的，小姐。”她猛然意识到，如果连她都觉得劳累不堪，那他肯定已经精疲力竭。他一直坐在马鞍上，马不停蹄地赶了二十四小时的路。她看着那张皱纹密布的黑脸，说：“布尔内维尔，你能行吗？累坏了吧？”

他露齿而笑。“我不累，小姐。吃完东西后和牧工们一起回去哈曼先生那里。”他边走开边喊道：“棕榄，棕榄。你去厨房，给小姐泡茶和做饭。你去厨房，快。”

她疲倦地瘫坐在门廊的椅子上，棕榄很快就给她端来了一壶茶和一块盖着两个鸡蛋的牛排。那块牛排简直无从下口。她吃了鸡蛋，在牛排边上啃了一口，喝下去六大杯茶。她不敢换衣服或者检查疼痛的地方，因为她知道，一旦开始做那种事情，就会彻底打消继续上路的念头。吃完东西后，她把月光唤来，下去院子里。那些深色皮肤的牧工正在那里给自己的马备鞍，在雨中扎好包裹，绑在驮马背上。他们扶她上马，她再次启程，在月光的陪伴下朝威尔斯镇前进。

短暂的休息使她浑身僵硬，她鼓起所有的勇气才敢面对前头的二十英里。她身上每一块肌肉都拉伤了，疼痛不已。她几乎无法靠自己的双腿稳坐在马鞍上，但位于大腿上下方的角状物开始起作用，把她牢牢地固定住。

他们涉过现在对于汽车而言太深的小河，继续前行。他们沿着车道骑行，一路通畅。她现在成为落后的一方，因为月光的马很精神，而罗宾已经累了。最后十英里，她眼冒金星，骑着罗宾疲倦地慢走或者小跑。最后五英里，皮肤棕黑的牧工紧挨着她前进，好让自己能在她掉下来的时候接住她。但她挺住了。大约七点钟，她骑着马踏进了夜色茫茫的威尔斯镇。那时的她，是一个疲劳困顿的姑娘，骑着一匹同样疲劳困顿的马，旁边跟着一个棕色皮肤的牧工。她骑过旅馆和渗着彩光的冰室，来到海恩斯中士的警察局和住所外面，在一个小摊前停下。她已经连续在马背上度过了大约八个小时。

月光下了马，抓住罗宾的头。她鼓起最后一丝力量，抬起右脚，跨过马鞍，滑到地上。刚下马的时候，她连站都站不稳，只好扶着罗宾的马鞍。海恩斯中士已经出来了。

“你怎么来了，佩吉特小姐？”他拖着慢悠悠的昆士兰腔调说，“从哪儿来的？”

“从乔·哈曼那儿。”她说，“他在米德赫斯特的北部边界找到唐·柯蒂斯了，唐断了一条腿。中士，请告诉月光怎样处置这两匹马，然后扶我进去详细说。”

他让月光把马牵进警察局的畜栏，晚上和负责跟踪脚印的警察一起住在宿舍里，然后转向琴。“进屋吧。”他说，“这儿，扶着我的手臂。你骑了多远？”

“四十英里。”她说。终于走完了这么长的路，尽管累得虚脱，她还是感到一丝自豪。“乔·哈曼留下来陪伴柯蒂斯先生。米德赫斯特的其他牧工都去那里了，他们要清理出一条跑道来。乔说只能用飞机把他接走。越野车过不了河。”

他扶她在安有防蚊网的门廊上坐下，海恩斯太太端来一杯茶。他扫了一眼挂钟，不紧不慢地坐下来听她讲。他错过了凯恩斯救护站七点钟的值班守听时间，现在必须要等三刻钟才能采取下一步行动。“距离新钻头大约六英里，西—南—西方向。”他思考着说，“我知道了，那附近有一块开阔的空地。我一会儿在广播上发送消息，吩咐飞机明早出发。”

“乔在想，如果你在广播上发送消息，是否可以请一些温德米尔的牧工过去帮他清理跑道？”她说，“让他们去帮他砍树。我不许他亲自上阵，因为他后背有伤。”

他点点头。“我会同时通知温德米尔。”然后他说，“我从不知道你是个骑手，佩吉特小姐。”

“我不是的，”她说，“我之前只骑过六次马。”

他微微一笑，然后说：“哦，老天，你觉得疼吗？”

她疲惫地站起身来。“我要回家睡觉。”她扶着椅背说，“如果我继续留在这里，这双腿就该残废了。”

“坐着别动，”他说，“我去开越野车把你送到医院。”

“我不想去医院。”

“我不管你想不想去，”他说，“但你必须去。你最好在那儿过夜，道格拉斯护士会把你照顾得好好的。”

半个小时后，她被清洗得干干净净，乖乖地躺在病床上，身上涂满了青霉素药膏，感觉自己像个幼童。海恩斯中士回到办公室，在无线电收发机前坐下来。

“第八区查理女王，第八区查理女王，”他说，“这是第八区爱麦克呼叫第八区查理女王。第八区查理女王，如果你听到第八区爱麦克的呼叫，请回话。报文完，请回复！”

他转动旋钮，机器上方的扬声器传来一个姑娘的声音：“第八区爱麦克，这是第八区查理女王，我能听见你说话，音量为三。请告诉我你的消息。完毕。”

他说：“第八区查理女王，我们发现唐·柯蒂斯了。乔·哈曼在米德赫斯特北部边界找到了他。他的伤情是有创骨折，左腿，两天半，很可能左脚踝也骨折了。扎营地点距离哈曼的新钻头大约六英里，西—南—西方向。收信悉否？完毕。”

扬声器里的女声说：“哦——我真是太高兴了，我们这边都担心死了。收信悉，但我会重复一遍。”她重复了一遍。“报文完，请回复！”

他说：“好的，杰姬。现在请向巴尔内斯先生转达一条信息。内容是：请求救护飞机从威尔斯镇尽快准备丛林降落。请复述一遍。完毕。”

她向他复述了一遍。

“好的，杰姬，”他说，“现在请替我呼叫温德米尔，我要跟他们说话。完毕。”

她说：“第八区能人乔治，第八区能人乔治，第八区查理女王呼叫第八区能人乔治。如果你能听见我的呼叫，第八区能人乔治，请回话。报文完，请回复！”

从三十个牧场住宅的三十个扬声器中传出一个战栗的女声。“第八区查理女王，这是第八区能人乔治。我都听到了，杰姬。上帝回答祈祷者的方式真是奇妙啊！哦，我的天啊，我高兴得不知道说什么好。我确定我们今晚都应该下跪，感谢上帝的仁慈。我确定我们都应该那样做。哦——完毕。”

培根小姐转动她的旋钮。“我确定大家今晚都会感谢上帝，海伦。现在海恩斯中士正等着跟你说话呢。请注意守听，把开关旋到‘接收’上，海伦。第八区爱麦克，请回话，完毕。”

在威尔斯镇，海恩斯中士说：“第八区爱麦克呼叫第八区能人乔治。柯蒂斯太太，你已经听说了乔·哈曼目前在米德赫斯特北部边界陪伴你丈夫。他必须清理出一条能让救护飞机降落的跑道，并已经命令米德赫斯特的全体牧工都去帮忙。你能把目前留在温德米尔的所有人员派去帮忙吗？我会把位置告诉你，请用铅笔和纸记下来。”他顿了顿，“跑道距离他的新钻头六英里，西—南—西方向。距离他的新钻头六英里，西—南—西方向。我希望你能派目前留在温德米尔的所有人员去帮助他，并把该信息传达给邓肯警员，如果他在你身边。柯蒂斯太太，收文悉否？完毕。”

那个震颤着的声音说：“收文悉，中士。距离乔的新钻头六英里，西—南—西方向。我写下来了。埃迪·佩吉在这里，我想菲尔·邓肯今晚就能回来。我会把所有的人都派去那儿。上帝能给予我们的帮助实在是太神奇了。每当我想到上帝对我们这些受苦受难的罪人是多么仁慈，我就会双膝跪地并哭泣。”她顿了顿，然后说，“哦，我又忘了。完毕。”

他转动旋钮，说：“你要感谢的不仅仅是上帝，柯蒂斯太太。”他非常清楚，海湾地区方圆十万英尺以内的几乎所有家庭主妇都在收听广播，而且他也相信好人应该有好报。“佩吉特小姐骑马赶了四十英里路，从米德赫斯特北部边界赶到威尔斯镇，带来了唐的消息。你认识琴·佩吉特吗？她就是那个开办了工厂和冰室的英国姑娘。我们听说唐失踪的那天，她正好在米德赫斯特，她骑了四十英里来告诉我跑道的位置。她之前只骑过六次马，可怜的姑娘浑身疼得连站都站不起来。道格拉斯护士正在医院照顾她，让她安心休息。她过几天就会好起来。完毕。”

她说：“哦，老天。我不知道说什么来感谢她。请向她转达我最深的爱，希望她尽快康复。”她顿了顿，然后说，“她开的那间冰室让我很纠结。在威尔斯镇开一个那样的店铺似乎不太合适，而且它连周日和圣诞节都开门，从不消停。我在《圣经》里找不到任何支持或者反对它的内容，但我一直深感困惑。不过，现在那似乎也是上帝的安排，就像其他一切一样。我真的觉得那间冰室很棒。完毕。”

“没错。”海恩斯中士态度暧昧地说。他自己也一直对于冰室的关门时间心存疑虑，并曾写信到总部请求指导。他已经很久没有萌生勒令一间店铺关门停业的想法了。“我现在必须结束通话，柯蒂斯太太。第八区查理女王，这是第八区爱麦克。我的事情已经处理完毕，你今晚不必再值班了，杰姬。请你从明天七点开始保持日间守听。收文悉否？完毕。”

培根小姐说：“收文悉，中士。我会告诉巴尔内斯先生。如果你没别的事情要跟我说，我就结束广播。完毕。”

“没有了，杰姬。晚安。通话结束。”

“晚安，中士。通话结束。”

培根小姐满心感激地关掉了她的机器。凯恩斯救护中心并没有要求员工保持二十四小时守听，但现在情况如此紧急，人人都应该尽己所能伸出援手。她前一天就从早晨八点守听到午夜，今天早上又从八点守听到现在。巴尔内斯先生昨晚守夜，并已经准备好今晚再守一夜。她懊恼地想，她错过了亨弗莱·鲍嘉和劳伦·巴考尔(1)，电影已经演了一半了。不过明天晚上还有一场，如果这件事情到那时已经了结，她还能幸运地赶上。她去打电话给巴尔内斯先生。

巴尔内斯先生打电话给澳洲国家航空公司的斯迈思先生，斯迈思先生打电话给他的预备飞行员吉米·科普。科普先生说：“见鬼，希望明早的天气变得好一些，今天飞机绝对飞不过阿瑟顿高原。我看最好六点出发，我会准时抵达飞机库。”

他第二天一大早抵达机场的时候，老飞龙号的两个引擎都已经开动了。它无疑是内地有史以来制作最精良的急救飞机。此时细雨潇潇，云层低压，大约五百英尺高，把机场后面的大山遮盖得严严实实。威尔斯镇大约距离乔所在地点西—北—西方向四百英里。这次飞行的头七十英里要飞越阿瑟顿高原，那里的山脉高达三千五百英尺。没有广播导航的帮助，他将不得不一直用肉眼探路，尽他所能在云层和树顶之间勉强飞行。

他向机场的控制官员说了几句晦气话，便沿跑道起飞。同去的还有一个救护员。一飞上天，他就发现情况糟糕透顶。他在三百英尺的高度飞行，沿着贝伦河北上，向着大山飞去，希望能在低云(2)中找到一个缺口，使他可以在库兰达峡谷内爬升，飞越阿瑟顿高原。灰色的蒸汽紧紧包围着他，机翼擦过覆满森林的峡谷边缘。前面没有任何缺口的迹象，他向右舷方向侧移，在峡谷里勉强拐了一个很危险的弯，最近的时候离峡谷的峭壁只有一百英尺。他随后飞回海边，抬起麦克风说：“凯恩斯发射塔，这是胜利者超能麦克面包师(3)。我无法从库兰达飞往目的地。我将往北飞往海边的库克镇，尝试从那儿飞往目的地。请告诉库克镇，我将在大约一个小时之后在那儿降落，并需要加二十加仑的七十三号汽油。”

他往北飞过昆士兰的热带海岸，飞行高度大约为三百英尺，一个小时后飞抵库克镇。库克镇很小，人口大约三百，但他抵达时，小镇笼罩在乌云中，雨横风狂。他在机场降落并加了油。“我要尝试从这儿飞去威尔斯镇，”他说，“路上不会有太高的障碍。如果状况太糟糕，我就飞回来。我会从这儿直线飞往威尔斯镇。”他这么说，是为了万一他遭遇意外，救援队能找到他。

加完油后，他马上启程，依照罗盘指示方向往内陆飞去。在整个飞行过程中，他从未飞离树顶超过两百英尺。他勉强飞越了大分水岭，离山顶只有五十英尺的距离，总是眼看就要回头了，就看见前面有一个模糊的缺口，迫使他往前飞，逐渐进入北部地区。护理员坐在他身后，紧紧抓住座位，被吓得魂飞魄散，却什么都做不了。他们就这样一直飞了三个小时。靠近卡奔塔利亚湾的时候，飞行员开始发现他认识的地标：一个河湾，一片被烧毁的树林，一弯形似香蕉的沙荒。他飞抵威尔斯镇，在零零落落的房屋上空一百英尺处盘旋，通知他们自己已经抵达，然后在机场降落。他滑行至等候他的卡车前，精神紧张，筋疲力尽。雨仍在下。

在卡车旁边，他、海恩斯中士、道格拉斯护士和阿尔·伯恩斯一起开了一个小会。“我会尝试把他接回来。”他说，“如果下午情况没有好转，他就只能在这儿的医院过夜。在这种天气里我无法把他送到凯恩斯去。明儿的天气很可能会好一些。”他们给他一幅徒手画的铅笔地图，是中士给他准备的，上面标示着小河和米德赫斯特牧场住宅的位置，还有新钻头和跑道的大概位置。大约十一点，他再度启程。

按照地图，他没费多大工夫就找到了目的地。降落地点很明显，因为他们把一块狭长地带清理了出来，还把一小块草地上的灌木都砍光了。他能看到十个人，有的在埋头工作，有的抬起头来望着飞机。他看见一辆越野车停在那儿，上面有一个帐篷。他在低云下盘旋，计算风险。他们清理出来的跑道即使对于一架飞龙号飞机而言也短得可怜。然而，事态紧急，那个男人已经受伤三天了，脓毒病、坏疽或一切其他疾病都可能降临。他咬紧牙关，将飞龙号对准跑道，尝试降落。

他用尽全部勇气，慢慢越过树顶下降，离它们仅有五英尺，小心翼翼地调整速度。他在被砍掉的树木上方减速，向草地俯冲，希望草地是光滑的。眼看就要成功了……不行，他绝对无法及时把飞机停住。轮子离地面不到两英尺的时候，他加大油门，保持高度飞行了片刻，重又攀升离开。

他让飞机在低云下盘旋，使跑道保持在视线范围之内，然后转向身后的护理员。“有铅笔和纸吗？我说你写。”他想了一会儿，“抱歉我无法降落。你们必须把跑道延长一百码，如果可以的话一百五十码。我下午四点再回来。”他们把纸条放进带有彩色饰带的邮袋里，从跑道上空飞过，把邮袋扔到跑道中央。

回到威尔斯镇后，他向他们讲述了事情经过。“他们时间不够，”中士说，“下午应该就没问题了。”中士开车送他去旅馆，阿尔·伯恩斯带他去酒吧，但他除了柠檬水之外什么都不肯喝，因为下午还有一趟困难重重的飞行。

他在旅馆吃完午饭，闲步走进冰室。他上次来威尔斯镇时这间冰室还没开张。他既兴奋又好奇地东看看西瞧瞧，点了一份冰淇淋。露丝·索耶催他赶快吃掉它，因为马上就要打烊了。他问她是不是每天下午都关门，她说她要去医院看望佩吉特小姐。然后，顺理成章地，他听闻了她的英勇举动。

四点钟，他回到米德赫斯特北部边界。雨已经停了，他能够以八百英尺的高度接近跑道。他在上方盘旋了一会儿，仔细观察地面情况。他们把跑道延长了许多，这次的降落很顺利。飞机向下俯冲，在近端降落，在不平整的跑道上蹦蹦跳跳地落了地，颠簸着滑行，渐渐停了下来。

他熄灭引擎并爬出机舱。他们把担架从机舱里抬出来，护理员把唐·柯蒂斯抬上担架，在牧工的帮助下把担架搬上机舱。飞行员点起一根烟，递给哈曼一根。

乔问：“你在威尔斯镇听到任何关于佩吉特小姐的消息了吗？”

飞行员说：“她在医院里。他们说没什么大碍，只是又累又疼。她肯定是个了不起的女孩儿。”

乔说：“太对了。如果你看见任何从医院来的人，请帮我给佩吉特小姐捎个信儿，好吗？请告诉她我明天下午进镇。”

“我会的，”飞行员说，“我今晚会在那儿过夜。现在去凯恩斯太晚了。我无法在这种天气里进行夜间飞行，这架飞机不行。”

护理员和牧工已经把唐搬上了飞机。科普先生回到驾驶座上，护理员转起螺旋桨，他们滑行回跑道的远端。跑道很短，但他能起飞。他发动引擎，沿跑道起飞，以十五英尺的距离呼啸着擦过远端的树顶。半小时后，他在威尔斯镇落地，帮忙把担架搬上卡车，卡车将唐·柯蒂斯送到医院。

当天下午，琴·佩吉特在医院里给露丝·索耶看她的伤口。有些地方皮都蹭掉了，伤口长达六英寸。“多么光荣的伤疤啊，”露丝说，“可惜你不能把它们露出来给别人看。”

“那是因为所有东西都太湿了。”琴说，“但我想我不可能找到一条完全合身的骑马裤。骑马裤是专门针对牧工的皮肤而设计的。”

“换了是我，就再也不想骑马了。”

“短期内我都无法再骑了。”琴说。

过了一会儿，露丝说：“请告诉我，琴，你认为承包商能在这里揽到工程吗？”

琴盯着她。“做什么工程的承包商？”

“修路之类的。建房子也行。”

“你是给爱丽丝的比利·韦克林问的吗？”

露丝点点头。“他给我写信。”她淡淡地道。琴觉得，她如此描述每周三由空中列车送来的七封信，实在是太过于轻描淡写。“他父亲是纽卡斯尔(4)的承包商——有平路机、推土机、蒸汽挖土机和所有那一类的东西。战后他让比利在爱丽丝创业，因为他说爱丽丝正在发展扩大，而那意味着承包商有许多工程可做。但比利说他已经受够了爱丽丝。

“雨季一结束，他就会来威尔斯镇一趟。”她就事论事地添上一句。

“他在这里揽不到任何修路或者建房工程，”琴说，“没人会愿意出钱。不过我知道这里有什么工程可做。乔·哈曼想在米德赫斯特修建一些小水坝。我不知道那是不是在比利的经营范围内。”

“我想应该是吧，”露丝慢慢地说，“反正比利干的就是这种脏活累活。旱季的时候用推土机就能修起来吧，是不是？”

“我对此一窍不通。”琴说，“他能找到推土机吗？”

“他的老爷子在纽卡斯尔有大概四十台呢，”露丝说，“我想应该能腾出一台来给比利吧。”

“不过只是修小型水坝。”琴说。

“嗯，做什么生意都总要有个开头嘛。我想比利也不会期望一个像悉尼海港大桥(5)那样的合同，这才第一年。”

琴问：“能不能用推土机挖一个坑来修游泳池呢？”

“我想可以吧。哦，我想起来了，肯定可以。我有一次和他出去约会，我们去看推土机是怎么工作的。他让我试着开了一下，实在是好玩极了。可以先用推土机把土挖出来，在坑里铺上木头，他们把那叫作构模，然后用混凝土做池壁。”

“这些比利都能做吗？”

“哦，比利都能做。为什么这么问呢，你想修一个游泳池吗？”

琴盯着漆成白色的墙壁。“那只是一个想法。就在钻孔旁边修一个漂亮的大泳池，池边有跳水板和其他一切，大得足够让所有人都跳进去嬉戏。主街道上就水源充足。我们要先修一个木制的东西，好像是叫冷却塔吧，让水流进去冷却后再流进游泳池。还要在旁边修一个草坪，让人们躺在上面晒日光浴。请一个老人家在门口收钱，游一次泳收一先令……”

露丝盯着她。“你都计划好了。你真的要这么做吗，琴？”

“不知道。一个游泳池能增添很多欢乐，而且我相信它就像其他生意一样能挣钱。当然了，我说的是混合游泳池。”

露丝笑道：“老古板们都会站在围栏后面偷看的。”

“那要收他们六便士。”琴说。她转向露丝。“请让比利准备好工程计划和工具，”她说，“雨季结束后把价钱告诉我们。我相信整个海湾地区连一个游泳池也没有。开一个肯定很有趣。”

“我问问他。还有别的吗？”

琴在床上舒展身体。“一个漂亮的美发沙龙兼美容院。”她说，“我要请一个漂亮的法国黑发姑娘来打理它。这个姑娘一定要是个行家，能够把顾客打扮得像丽塔·海华丝(6)那么漂亮。我时不时就想起这个计划来。但我不知道那是不是比利的经营范围。”

“最好不是。”露丝说。

琴第二天起床出院，一瘸一拐地走到工厂。帕克先生寄来了一封航空邮件，内容是关于他从她们那儿收到的空运皮鞋。他故作平淡地指出它们的瑕疵和毛病，提醒她们在进行批量生产时必须予以改正，这一次他们就先替她们处理好了。在信的结尾，他说他会尝试把这批鞋卖掉。琴和阿姬·托普非常了解帕克先生，把这句话理解成对她们的表扬。

“下一批会让他更满意的。”阿姬说。然后她说：“你不在的时候，有两个姑娘来应聘。一个是弗雷德·道森的女儿，弗雷德好像是一个叫作卡莱尔农场的牧工领班什么的。她十五岁，由母亲带着来的。她有点太年轻了，但挺有前途。还有一个十九岁的姑娘，之前在诺曼顿的商店工作。我不是很喜欢她。”

“我不想在售出第一批鞋子之前招聘新员工。”琴说，“如果道森太太再来，就说我们会在雨季结束后答复她。如果可以的话我想聘用这个小姑娘。我想我们就不聘另一个了，你说呢？”

“我想还是不要了。她看起来有点懒。”

她们就工作的细节问题谈论了一个小时。“我们还没把制服拿回来，”阿姬说，“我去找哈里森太太了，但她的背病又犯了。我们必须找另一家帮忙洗。”她们已经向姑娘们作出保证，每周都能让她们穿着干净的制服干活。这些制服的清洗工作对她们来讲是一个问题。

“我们需要的，”琴说，“是一台洗衣机，自己洗制服。我们可以把它接在发电机组上……当然了，还需要热水。”她想了一会儿，“要不这样，”她说，“我们可以把它租给人们洗衣服。不过，目前还是要先找到另一个哈里森太太。”

阿姬说：“所有人都在谈论你骑马的事情，佩吉特小姐。”

“真的？”

她点点头。“就连那个从诺曼顿来的女孩儿也听说了。”

“她到底是从哪儿听来的？”

“就是他们在牛场上使用的那些无线电收发机。”阿姬说，“这里的牧工告诉我，他们每天都收听广播——电报内容什么的他们都知道。他们反正闲着也是闲着。在这个地区，秘密都藏不住。”然后她说，“我今早听见飞机起飞了。那个男人的伤势很严重吗？”

“不太好，”琴说，“护士认为那条腿应该能保住。我们真应该请个医生过来。”

“医生在这个地方没什么活干。”阿姬说，“他们要把他送去哪儿？”

“凯恩斯。凯恩斯有一个很好的医院。”她转向门口，顿了顿，“阿姬，”她说，“你觉得在威尔斯镇修一个游泳池怎么样？人们会去游泳吗？”

乔·哈曼当天下午和彼特·弗莱彻一起骑马进镇。他把马牵进澳大利亚旅馆后面的马厩，然后来找琴。他穿着骑马服，湿淋淋脏兮兮的，因为小河都涨满了。虽然他离开米德赫斯特时打扮得很整洁，对于一个去镇上见女朋友的男士而言非常得体，但路上他必须抓住马的鬃毛和马鞍游过一两条小河，使得他精心打扮的成果付诸东流。他抵达威尔斯镇时，身上已经干了一半。他梳了梳头，把靴子里的水倒干，去冰室问露丝琴在哪里。

他在卧室里找到了正在给我写一封长信的琴。他敲了敲门，她出来迎接他。“我们不能在这里谈话，乔。如果你走进来，人们肯定要没完没了地嚼舌根。我们去冰室吃客冰淇淋吧。”她确信，这是威尔斯镇唯一一个可以让青年男女光明正大地见面聊天的地方。如果是在雨季，他们还可以走进马厩或者谷仓。他们挑了一张靠墙的桌子坐下。她东张西望，看着方方正正的四面墙，邻桌的人对她很有意见。“这不行，”她说，“我要隔出一些雅座，让顾客可以在小角落里说悄悄话。”

“你要吃什么？”他问。

“我要香蕉船，”她说，“我要补充营养。我不知道你是否知道，但我一直都觉得很不舒服。别给钱，乔——冰室请客啦。”

他咧嘴而笑。“你觉得我是那种带女孩儿出去却让她请客的男人吗？”

“如果你那样想，我就来两份。香蕉明天就要变质了。”她请空中列车每周三送来少量水果，很容易就能售罄，价格足以支付航空运费。但问题是它们通常不到一个星期就变质了。

他端着冰冻的甜品回来，和她一起坐下。“好了，乔，”她说，“小牛畜栏是怎么回事？”

他不好意思地露齿而笑，回头看了看。“那是骗人的，”他说，“米德赫斯特没有小牛畜栏。”

“好像有一个吧，”她笑道，“你老实交代。唐·柯蒂斯到底是怎么受的伤？”

“他在我的土地上偷偷摸摸地瞎溜达，他是没有权利这么做的。”乔小心地说，“他找到我用来围住小牛的畜栏——注意，是我的小牛。我把它们关在那儿，让它们冷静一下，因为它们离群了。嗯，唐想把它们偷走。他拿掉上门闩，但那些小牛可野了，它们已经有大概四天没喝水了，只能靠雨水解渴。我猜他弄松第二条门闩的时候，它们把门冲破了，木柱砸在他后背上，把他击倒了。然后它们都从他身上跑过，踩碎了他的脚。它们还向马冲去。唐用缰绳把马系在不知道什么东西上，那些小牛冲向那匹马，把缰绳撞断了，马就跑了。唐就这样倒在那儿，直到我发现他。真是活该，让他乱跑。”

“这些小牛是谁的？老实告诉我，乔。”

“我的。”他坚定地回答。

她微微一笑。“你在哪里发现它们离群了？”

他咧嘴而笑。“温德米尔。但它们是我的小牛。他从我那儿偷走的。我告诉过彼特他在温德米尔有一个小牛畜栏，你也听见了。”

“你畜栏里那些小牛，是不是就是你从他的畜栏里放出来的那些？”她问。她似乎已经开始介入此事了。

“差不多吧，”他说，“你可以说有几头是我顺手牵走作为补偿的。”他顿了顿，“有时候会混在一起分不清。”他说。

“现在小牛在哪儿？”她问，“我是指唐放出来的那些。”

“它们会在米德赫斯特，”他说，“我想是在钻头附近。它们绝对不会离开第一个水源，甚至在雨季时也不会。”

她默默地吃了几口香蕉船，然后说：“嗯，至少你在他住院期间不能去偷他的小牛，乔。那不公平。那样他出院时就会发现所有小牛都被偷光了。”

“我不会做那种事。”

“我敢打赌说你会。我不懂这个游戏的玩法，乔，但我肯定那是违反规则的。”

他咧嘴而笑。“好吧，但他一出院就会来偷我的牛。那肯定错不了。”

“你们为什么不能放过其他人的小牛？”

“即使我放过他的小牛，他也不会放过我的小牛。”他简单地说，“去年我多偷了他五十头。”

琴感觉这个对话不会有成果。在小牛的问题上，乔似乎毫无道德操守可言。她换了一个话题，说：“乔，我想跟你谈谈你在格林岛上提到的那些小水坝。你找到人来修了吗？”

他摇摇头。“等旱季来了再说吧。”

“用推土机能修起来吗？”

“哦，老天，”他说，“如果有人有辆推土机，一个月内就会建起来很多东西。但克里一带没有推土机。”

“可能会有一辆。”她说。她告诉乔露丝·索耶和比利·韦克林的事情。“反正他也要来见她，”她说，“而且她说他想在这里承包工程。我想他和露丝的感情会稳定下来。他来的时候，你最好带他到米德赫斯特去谈一谈。”

“老天，”他说，“如果在威尔斯镇有一个会开推土机的家伙，周边的牛场将会发生很大的变化。”

“威尔斯镇也会改头换面。”她说，“乔，如果我们就在钻头附近修一个相当不错的游泳池，配上跳水板、换装的小屋和可以晒日光浴的草坪，再请一位老人家负责修剪并打理草坪——人们会去游泳吗，乔？如果我们收一先令的入场费？”

他们就游泳池的话题讨论了一段时间，如果一个小镇只有一百五十个居民，修一个游泳池是无利可图的。“只是发展速度的问题，”他说，“游泳池和其他东西一样，也能促进它的发展。整个海湾地区没有一个镇有游泳池。”

“冰室绝对能挣钱。”琴说，“如果能保持食物的质量，应该很快就会上轨道。要是我能从诺尔·斯特拉坎那儿预支一笔钱，下一步我想试试游泳池。”

他微笑着，好奇地问道：“游泳池之后是什么？”

她的目光落在外面一大片潮湿泥泞的土地上，威尔斯镇的街道荒凉寂寞。“他们游泳时会把头发弄湿，所以我要开一间美容院。”她说，“我想那是下一步。之后是一间露天影院，然后是水洗洗衣房，再然后是一间漂亮的服装店。”她转向他，“别笑我，乔。我知道那听起来有点疯狂，但看看我的成绩。我开了一间冰室给露丝打理，年轻的韦克林就冲着她来到了威尔斯镇，还带来了一辆推土机，这样你的水坝也修好了。”

“你说早了，”他说，“还没开始修呢。”

“很快就会开始了。”

他环视冰室。“如果你的所有计划都像这个冰室一样顺利，”他慢慢地说，“威尔斯镇很快就会变得跟爱丽丝斯普林斯一样棒了。”

“那就是我想要的，”她说，“一个像爱丽丝的小镇。”

————————————————————

(1) 亨弗莱·鲍嘉和劳伦·巴考尔都是著名的美国演员，亨弗莱曾获得奥斯卡最佳男主角奖。两人于1945年结婚。

(2) 低云的高度一般在2500米以下，大部分会产生降水。

(3) 科普先生的代号。

(4) 指澳大利亚的纽卡斯尔。

(5) 位于悉尼，建成于1932年，被誉为世界第一单孔桥，是悉尼的标志性建筑之一。

(6) 二十世纪四十年代红极一时的美国女星，以性感美艳著称。

第十一章

转眼间，差不多三年过去了。

我无法否认，当时她的每一封信都给我带来了无穷的乐趣。我的生活寂静空虚，不知不觉间，它们成为了我的精神寄托。我想，在经历了柯蒂斯先生和“迷盗小牛”事件之后，她终于融入了海湾地区的生活。甚至还在结婚之前，她给我写来的信就已经发生了微妙的变化。她的口吻不再像一个流落他乡的英国女子，那片土地对她而言，似乎不再陌生，也不再荆棘满布。渐渐地，她笔下的人物不再是异乡人，她描画的地方也变成了她的家园。当然，这可能仅仅是我的幻觉。也许是因为我太沉迷于她的信，每一封都反复细读了，并用专门的文件夹把它们珍藏在公寓里，所以才能察觉出它们的微妙差别。这些差别是如此细微，一个马虎的读者可能根本不会注意到。

四月的集合结束后，她兑现了自己的诺言，和乔·哈曼结了婚。布什修士会的一位英国巡回牧师为他们主婚。碰巧的是，这位牧师曾经在金士顿的圣约翰教堂当过教区牧师，这个教堂距离我之前在温布顿的住所还不到十英里。他们在郡政厅成婚，因为威尔斯镇当时没有教堂，尽管人们正在计划第二年修一个。所有乡下居民都参加了婚礼。他们去格林岛度蜜月，或者蜜月的一部分。我猜她一定带上了纱笼，尽管她没有告诉我。

婚后头两年，她透支了相当大一部分财产。她精通投资之道，在同时开办冰室和工厂之后，总是步步为营，等一桩生意上了轨道再开始下一桩。她会把所有的账目表都寄给我，它们都是由一位年轻的银行职员莱恩·詹士制作的。尽管如此，她还是每隔半年就会问我要三四千镑，直到她第二个儿子出生。她用我的名字给他命名。到那时她已经透支了一万八千英镑来开办各种当地生意了。尽管它们似乎都有盈利，列斯特和我还是越来越担心自己未能恪尽托管义务，虽然麦法登先生的遗嘱给予了我们充分的裁量权。我们的职责是在她满三十五周岁的时候把财产完好无损地交到她手中。我开始担心澳大利亚陷入经济萧条，或者横遭某种未知的灾难，使得我们预支给她的三成遗产血本无归。她多少有点孤注一掷，而且她的投资虽然成绩斐然，却不能被视为托管股票。

今年二月，她生下诺尔后不久，从威尔斯镇给我写来一封长信，请求我给她预支一笔空前的巨款。她问我是否愿意当诺尔的教父，那当然让我非常高兴，尽管以我的年纪，已经不太可能对他恪尽教父的义务了。她打算请韦克林做第二位教父。既然他大约六个月前已经和露丝·索耶成婚，并似乎要在那个地区成家立业，她多给孩子找一个住在世界另一边的老教父，对孩子也没任何坏处。当然了，我马上对我的遗嘱作了相应的修改。

她接着在信里谈到米德赫斯特的事务。“乔现在是唯一的经理，”她写道，“他做得相当出色。他刚到这个牛场的时候，这里有大约八千头牛，但现在已经增长到一万两千或一万三千头。我们今年将会卖出超过两千头牛，无法一趟全部赶到朱利亚克里克，所以乔要跑两趟。接下来两年应该还会稳步增长，因为每年旱季比尔(1)·韦克林都会给我们新修一些水坝，牧草的数量连年增长。”

她继续向我介绍牧场主人斯皮尔斯太太的情况。“她丈夫大约十年前去世，她随后离开了海湾地区，”她说，“现在住在布里斯班。去年十月，乔和我去她家里住了几个晚上。我那时没告诉你这件事，因为我想先把它考虑清楚，还要先确定能不能贷到款。”

她告诉我，斯皮尔斯太太年事已高，想把套在米德赫斯特的资本卖掉变现。她很可能打算在有生之年将财产转移出去，以规避遗产税。“她问我们是否可以购买牧场的一半股份，”她说，“这样我们就能获得剩下一半股份的期权，在她临终时以估算价值购入，不论那将是何年何月。那意味着我们现在要筹集大约三万镑的资金，即一半股份的价值。当然了，土地是向国家租借的，根据现在的租约，还有十七年租期。那意味着要更改租约，把乔的名字加进去，和她联名。”

她告诉我他们已经去过银行了。银行可以贷给他们两万镑。“他们派了一个熟悉牧牛业的检查员来米德赫斯特，”她写道，“乔在海湾地区的名声很好，我想检查员认为我们经营颇为得法。我们现在只差一万镑现金，这就是我的请求。”

她岔开了话题。“米德赫斯特很好，”她说，“我们在此生活愉快。如果我们无法接管它，斯皮尔斯太太很可能会把它卖掉，我们就不得不另寻一个新地方重新开始。那对乔而言太残忍了，因为他在米德赫斯特上倾注了那么多心血。现在让我离开威尔斯镇的话，我将感到痛苦万分，因为它已经逐渐发展为一个颇具规模的地方，镇上的生活也充满了欢乐。如果可以的话，我确实很想留在这里。”

她继续写道：“我知道牛场不属于托管投资，诺尔，跟我的其他投资一样。请你认真考虑此事，并把决定告诉我。如果不行的话，我就要重新想办法，也许就要把我的生意卖掉或者抵押出去。我真不想那样做，因为它们可能落入庸人之手，从此一蹶不振。这个小镇就像一个初生的婴儿——我知道当母亲的感受，诺尔！在它变强壮之前，需要受到细心的呵护。”

这意味着我们要允许她把一半的遗产都投进极具投机性的行业里，并且集中在一个地区。这绝对违反麦法登先生立遗嘱时的意愿。从法律上说，我们几无风险，我悄然加进遗嘱中的自由裁量条款措辞模糊，能保护任何违反托管义务的行为。在把她的信拿给列斯特看之前，我花了几天时间来思考此事。最后，我认为我们的职责是尽量揣测麦法登先生的心意，做出他本人在相同情况下会做出的决定。

那位隐居在埃尔的古怪先生会做出什么决定呢？他虽然身患残疾，但我不觉得他冷酷无情或者蛮不讲理。他并不是因为不信任琴·佩吉特而规定了那么长的托管年限，他根本就不认识她。他这么做完全是为她好，因为他觉得一个二十来岁的未婚姑娘一旦一夜暴富，极容易上当受骗。在这一点上，他很可能是对的。但琴·佩吉特是一个三十岁的已婚女人，已经是两个小孩的母亲，并和一个又明智又可靠的男士结了婚——不管他在“迷盗小牛”上持什么观点。麦法登先生在此种情况下是否还会坚持原定托管办法？

我想不会。他是一个仁慈的人——我很确定——既然那是她的家，也是她情之所钟，他肯定也希望她能得到米德赫斯特。然而，他是一个谨慎的苏格兰人，我想他更加关心的是这笔投资的细节，确保这一万镑能带来丰厚的回报。就此而论，我认为必须解决租期问题。十七年太短，无法让乔收回在水坝和其他新建设施上投入的成本。如果不经过谈判延长租期，他将很可能无法继续进行资本改良。

然后我把她的信拿给我的合伙人看，并就此谈了很长时间。他的观点和我一样，认为租期是这件事情的核心问题。“我觉得，在托管这件事情上，我们不能太死板。”他说，“我想你的做法是对的，尝试把自己代入立遗嘱人的角色。他妹夫在世的时候，他并没有提任何托管的事情，因为他觉得妹夫可以帮助妹妹妥善处理这笔财产。他在妹夫去世后才想到要把财产托管。嗯，现在他外甥女已经结婚了。如果让他现在处理这笔钱，很可能不会费心将它托管了。”

“你的看法挺有道理的，”我说，“我没想到这一点。”

“我不认为我们应该无视托管义务。”他说，“我们应该以此为契机，帮她获得一个合乎理想的新租约。我们可以放话，必须修改租约，在我们对所作修改感到满意之前，不会解冻一分钱。我觉得这样她就能达成所有目标。”

我微微一笑。“我不会把这点告诉她。”

第二天，我坐下来起草了一封回信。“我认为我们可以考虑你的请求，”我写道，“但非常抱歉，我们对目前的租约非常不满意，你们必须先修改它。根据目前的租约，很可能你们十七年后就会无家可归，你们和斯皮尔斯太太在牛场上投入的资本也会血本无归。根据我目前所得到的信息，所有新建设施都要无偿收归国有。”后来我才知道事实并非如此。

接下来，我亮出这封信的主要观点：“毫无疑问，你已经有一个值得信赖的律师，但如果我能帮助你处理此事，我将很愿意去拜访你，在昆士兰住几周，确保在你将此笔巨资投进米德赫斯特之前，租期一事得到妥善解决。我多年不曾离开英国，深感后悔。我已到了风烛残年之时，可以用来周游世界的时间已经不多了。我想给自己放一个长假，在变得老朽无能之前出去走走。如果我能帮助你处理租约一事，将不胜欣喜，并马上付诸行动。”我添了一句话，“赘言一句，我将自费出行。”

大约十天后，琴通过夜间电报给我回复。她催促我尽快去拜访他们，并建议我四月底坐飞机去，因为那时昆士兰即将入冬，天气就跟英国的夏天一样。她正在给我列一张单子，写上我要带去的衣物、药品和旅途所需物品。我有点感动。

第二天，我去温坡街的诊所拜访我的医生肯尼迪。“有没有什么特别的理由阻止我飞去昆士兰？”我问。

他一脸疑惑地看着我。“准确地说，我不应该建议你这么做。你非去昆士兰不可吗？”

“我非常想去，”我说，“我想在那里住一个月左右，处理一点私事。”

“你最近走路怎么样？”

向他撒谎没有任何意义。“早上我一般步行至特拉法尔加广场，”我说，“从那里打车去办公室。”

“你无法全程走路上班？”

“不，”我说，“我有一些日子没那么做了。”

“如果中间不停歇，你能爬俱乐部的楼梯上二层吗？”

我摇摇头。“我总是坐电梯上去。但我在昆士兰不用爬楼梯，所有的房子都是平房。”

他微笑道：“请脱掉外套和衬衫，让我给你检查一下。”

检查结束后，他说：“嗯。你打算自己一个人去吗？”

我点点头。“我会跟朋友们住在一起，他们会去机场接我。”

“你真的觉得非去不可？”

我们四目相迎。“我想去。真的很想。”

“好吧，”他说，“你也很了解自己的情况。没有什么新问题——只是一些正常的退化。战争期间你减了十年寿。总的来说，我想你坐飞机去是明智的。我想你飞越红海时会感到非常劳累。”他继续告诉我可以做的事和绝对不能做的事，都是些老生常谈。

我回到办公室，跟列斯特说了我的计划。“我将给自己放三个月左右的假，”我说，“从四月底开始。我会坐飞机去，不知道要去多久。如果我去程时觉得坐飞机太辛苦，回程就坐船。”我顿了顿，“总之你就当我要放长假吧。反正我也很快退休了。”

“你真的觉得有必要亲自去吗？”他问。

“是的。”

“好吧，诺尔。我只是希望你不要在这件事情上消耗太多精力。这毕竟是件小事。”

“我不能同意这句话，”我说，“我开始觉得，在我这辈子处理过的所有案子之中，这才是最重要的。”

我在一个周一早上离开了伦敦，坐同一班机一直飞到悉尼，落地时已经是周三深夜。这趟飞机经停开罗、卡拉奇、加尔各答、新加坡和达尔文。我必须说，这架飞机很舒适，空姐也相当善解人意，温柔体贴。当然了，在躺椅上睡两个晚上让人疲倦不堪，落地时我倍感轻松高兴。我在悉尼休息了两晚，下午租了一辆汽车进城兜风。第二天，我坐飞机去凯恩斯，一路上风景秀美宜人，布里斯班以北的昆士兰海岸线尤其漂亮。临近降落的时候，飞机沿着凯恩斯和汤斯维尔之间的欣钦布鲁克海峡北上，那一定是世界上最迷人的海岸线之一。

我们晚上在凯恩斯降落。我收到了一个很大的惊喜，因为乔·哈曼在机场迎接我。他说，空中列车现在每周往海湾地区飞两趟，部分是由于威尔斯镇发展迅速。他是坐周五的飞机来的，打算周一带我去威尔斯镇。“我要在这儿处理几件小事情，”他说，“我的律师本·霍普也在凯恩斯。我想，您可能愿意利用这个周末了解一下米德赫斯特的基本情况，并与他会面。”

自从他三年前离开伦敦之后，我至今不曾听到过慢悠悠的昆士兰腔调。他开车送我去旅馆。那是一座形状古怪的楼房，坐落在一个相当漂亮的地方。旅馆内的酒吧规模巨大，似乎是人们的活动中心。我们正好在开饭前到达——这里的人把晚饭称作“茶”——下了车就走进餐厅坐下。他问我要喝茶、啤酒还是普朗克(2)。

“廉价酒？”我问。

“普朗克是一种红酒，”他说，“我自己很少喝，但那些懂酒的家伙说它还不错。”

我从酒水单上选了亨特河酒，喝起来相当不错。“琴不能亲自来接您，她觉得很抱歉。”他说，“我们可以托人照顾小乔，但她还在给诺尔喂奶，所以来不了。她周一开车去威尔斯镇接您。”

“她最近怎么样？”我问。

“她很好。”他说，“生小孩对她有好处，她变得越来越漂亮了。”

饭后，我们在卧室外面的门廊上坐下来，开始讨论米德赫斯特的事情。他带来了牛场过去三年的账目表，打印得很整洁，字迹清晰可辨。我对它们作出了评论，他说：“我在这方面不怎么在行。琴住院前就把它们做好了，她负责管账。我告诉她我想在牛场上做什么，她就让我知道我还剩多少钱可以花。她受的教育比我多。”

然而，我发现他是一个很精明的男人。在租期和资本改良方面有一些很复杂的问题，但他理解起来毫不费力。我们那个晚上聊了好几个小时，谈到他的牛场和琴在镇上开办的各种生意。他对那些生意非常感兴趣。

“她请了二十二个姑娘在工厂工作，”他说，“她们现在制作皮鞋、公文包和女士手提包。工厂和其他生意相比要差一些。”他把账目表翻给我看。“今年挣钱了，但去年损失了两百多镑——两百二十七镑。但所有其他生意——哦，老天。”他给我看冰室、美容院、游泳池、电影院、洗衣房和服装店的数字，“它们都很好。蔬果店也不错。”我们把数字加总，发现去年这七项一共带来了两千六百七十三镑的净利润。“即使工厂亏损，她照样挣钱，”他说，“姑娘们要把自己在牧工面前打扮得漂漂亮亮的，牧工也要带姑娘们出去消费，钱又回到她腰包里了。”

我为工厂感到一丝担忧。“能否通过扩大生产规模来降低日常管理开支水平？”我问。

他对此抱着怀疑的态度。“她已经把杰夫·波科克和另外两个人送过来的所有皮都用上了，”他说，“沙袋鼠的数量也减少了。我认为她的工厂没什么拓展空间，她也不想这么做。她有一种预感，可能再过几年就可以把这间工厂关掉。威尔斯镇会变得很大，到时一间只聘请二十个姑娘的工厂就会变得无关紧要了。”

“我知道了。”我思考着说，“威尔斯镇现在有多大？”

“现在有大约四百五十人住在威尔斯镇，”他说，“不包括土著，也不包括住在牛场上的人。人口在过去三年里增加了两倍。”

“全部归功于工厂吗？”我问。

他慢慢地说：“我想一定是——仔细想想，所有东西都跟它有关。不仅是工厂。她请了两个姑娘来打理冰室，还有一个土著姑娘。美容院请了两个，服装店三个，蔬果店两个，电影院三个。她可请了不少人呢。”

我感到困惑不解。“但工厂里只有二十个姑娘，她们能给这么多其他姑娘创造工作机会吗？”

“好像没那么简单。”他说，“前几天我们算了一笔总账。在任何一个时点上，她聘请的姑娘从未超过三十五个。但自从她开办工厂以来，已经有四十二个姑娘结了婚并辞职。她们基本上都嫁给了牧工。嗯，威尔斯镇多了四十二个新家庭，就意味着有四十二个女士需要电影院、美容院和新鲜蔬菜，再加上她正在雇用的那三十五个姑娘，就像滚雪球一样。”他顿了顿，“比如说银行。那儿前所未有地请了两个女职员，都是因为业务量增加了。澳大利亚互济公司(3)在我们这儿开设了一个办事处，请了一个姑娘。比尔·韦克林的办公室也请了一个姑娘。”他转向我，“实际上，威尔斯镇现在有大约一百个二十五岁以下的未婚姑娘或者已婚少妇。”他说，“琴来的时候只有两个。”

“还有婴儿！”他说，“婴儿多得数不清。他们派了一个助产士过来。那又是一个女孩儿。她上个月和菲尔·邓肯警员订婚了，所以还会再派一个过来。”

我微笑道：“有足够的男士来满足需求吗？”

“哦，老天，”他说，“现在很容易就能请到小伙子来威尔斯镇工作。我现在请的牧工来自昆士兰各地，还有从北领地来的，他们都想在威尔斯镇附近找一份工作。有一个小伙儿从西澳大利亚的马布尔巴远道而来，走了大约两千英里路呢。现在的劳动力情况和三年前大不一样了。”

那晚我很早就上床休息，躺着思考了很多事情。第二天早上，我去霍普律师的办公室找他，写了一封信给昆士兰土地管理局，提议召开一个会议来讨论米德赫斯特的租期问题。那天下午，我们在凯恩斯四处兜风观光。我觉得凯恩斯是一个怡人的热带小镇，环镇景色清新秀美。周日我们开车北上去阿瑟顿高原，看见许多高高的丘陵农田，耕作方式颇有点英国化。

我们周一上午坐空中列车飞往威尔斯镇，沿途在名叫乔治敦、克罗伊登等地方降落，在每个机场上停留大约二十分钟，接送乘客和装卸货物。我们在乔治敦上空盘旋准备降落的时候，我得以观察这个地方。它很有点凄凉，从天空上能看到四四方方的街道布局。这些街道都很宽阔，也曾繁荣一时，边上有过鳞次栉比的楼房，但现在芳草丛生，雨痕密布。几座寥落的房子站在曾经的街道交会处，大部分都紧紧挨着旅馆。在乔治敦和克罗伊登，旅馆都是唯一一座两层楼房。这两个破败的地方都是被抛弃了的黄金镇。

坐卡车来接机的人们都被晒成了古铜色，健康风趣。男士们几乎都皮肤黝黑、高大健壮，看起来非常能干，女士们则是又朴实又顺从的家庭主妇。

我靠窗坐着，起飞时细细观察克罗伊登，直到它被我们抛在身后。“您能看到这些小镇，我还挺开心的。”我身旁的乔说，“威尔斯镇原来也这样，比它们还要糟糕一点。当然了，它现在还算不上特别出色，但比克罗伊登好。哦，老天。”

我们在威尔斯镇上空盘旋，准备降落。它位于一条大河旁边，布局跟另外两个小镇出奇地相似。宽阔的街道同样构成一个四方形，但这个四方形上盖满了房子。从飞机上俯视小镇，只见每一个瓦楞铁屋顶上都洒满了耀目的阳光，所以当飞机背对太阳盘旋的时候，我必须闭上眼睛以防眩晕。这些房子似乎全部都是簇新的，街道上还有相当多尚未完工的房子。我看见了一座两层高的楼房，大概也是旅馆，对面是主街道，路中央有一条灌木带，把宽阔的牛道隔成双行线，边上还修了柏油人行道。旅馆对面是一个带跳水板的游泳池，周围有一些小木屋，池边还有一块草坪，恰如琴在信中的描述。然后镇子从视线中消失了，我们开始降落，在一条崭新的跑道上滑行，停下。

她坐在一辆福特越野车上等我。那是她的私人座驾，她经常开着它进出威尔斯镇打理生意。现在的她已经成长为一个非常迷人的女人，比我记忆中那个年轻的姑娘成熟多了。她说：“哦，诺尔，见到你真是太高兴了。累坏了吧？”

“我不累，”我说，“只是因为又老了三四岁。你看起来神采飞扬。”

“我很好，”她说，“好得不得了。诺尔，你能来看我们真是太好了。我想请你来，但又觉得这个要求太过分。实在是太远了。快上车，让乔帮你拿包。”

他们马上驾车送我去米德赫斯特。越野车驶过威尔斯镇的主街道，我想下车看看她的生意，但他们不允许。“明天或后天再慢慢看吧，有的是时间，”她说，“我们现在去米德赫斯特，你先稍微休息一下。”

读了那么多她的信，我深知沿途将会看到何等景象。跟我的预想丝毫不差。并没有我们通常所说的道路，她小心翼翼地寻路穿过郊区，沿着重重叠叠的车辙前进，遇到深坑便绕过去。我们来到第一条小河的河边，我惊讶地看到他们修了一条横穿河床的混凝土堤道。河流两岸立了两条巨大的木桩，用于标示堤道的位置。“我们还没发展到修建桥梁的地步，”她说，“但雨季时这条堤道简直就是上帝的恩赐，再也不用担心撞上水底的大石头了。”

牧场住宅跟我想象中相去不远，但前面多了一座花园，里面繁花盛放，鲜艳夺目。还多了一大排我没听说过的木栅栏或者牛栏。“我们现在有三头瘤牛(4)，开始育种后，我们需要更多畜栏。”他的瘤牛是印度瘤牛和英国赫尔福德牛的杂交种。他告诉我，他还养了一小群奶牛，所以还需要修建更多畜栏。

“你现在有多少人手？”我问。

“十一个牧工，”他说，“十个土著。现在这个地区白人差不多比土著还好请。”

他们那天不允许我走路，只让我端着冷饮坐在门廊的一张长椅上。人们在院子里忙活各种工作的时候，我静坐欣赏。这幅景象非常迷人，白人牧工、土著牧工、牛、狗和马，还有一只半大的沙袋鼠到处跳来跳去，一群小狗追着它的尾巴逗它。我可以无休止地坐在那里一直欣赏下去，顺带欣赏琴优雅地在房子里走来走去，照顾孩子并使唤她的土著女仆。我在那里足足坐了三天。

一天早上，她带我进镇，向我展示她的所有杰作。她先是带我去看工厂。进去之前，她先让我围上一条围巾，因为里面很冷。室内温度其实并不低，但比炎热的室外低很多，突然走进去很容易着凉，因为她让空调一年到头都开着。“姑娘们确实也喜欢让它开着，”她说，“就因为有空调，前来应聘的人数总是超过空缺数。”这些姑娘都穿着绿色的制服，正在埋头生产皮制品，看起来又聪明又漂亮。车间一头挂着一面长镜子，墙上钉着几幅从画报上剪下来的图片，都是时下流行的发型和连衣裙图样。“我们经常更换它们，”她说，“我希望她们能把自己最漂亮的一面展示出来。”

工厂是独门独户的，但她把其他店铺修成一排，看上去像一条小小的商业街。她在宽阔的柏油人行道上方修了一个木门廊，给逛街的人遮阳挡雨。她请了一个中年爱沙尼亚女士负责打理美容院，这位漂亮的女士有着深色的皮肤，妆容精致，手下有两个澳大利亚姑娘。店内有四个独立隔间、一个玻璃柜台和一个摆满女士用品的展示柜，雅致干净。美容院旁边是一个小店面，店里有四台家用洗衣机，三个年轻的已婚女士坐在一旁，等洗衣机洗衣服，一边说着家长里短。洗衣店旁边是卖种子、园林工具和水果蔬菜的蔬果店。再旁边就是服装店。这里地方很大，有很多柜台和穿着夏天连衣裙的假人模特。我对于一个被单独隔开的小角落很感兴趣，里面有一个中年店员，老人家可以在这里买到他们惯常所穿的衣服，例如黑裙子、法兰绒衬裙和做工粗糙的厨房围裙。

她带我穿过马路去看电影院和游泳池。那会儿正是酷热难耐的大白天，我有点熬不住了，于是她带我去冰室喝了杯冷饮。她中途离开半小时去处理一些生意上的事情，我便自己一人坐着，观察走进冰室或者路过人行道的人。女人比男人多得多。女士们看起来都很漂亮，似乎至少一半怀有身孕。

过了一会儿，她回来和我一起坐在冰室里。“下一步打算做什么？”我问，“什么时候是个头？”

她笑着把手放在我的手上。“没完没了。”她说，“我会一直缠着你，管你要钱，是不是？事实上，我想我已经攒起足够的利润来实施下一步计划了。”

“是什么计划？”

“开一个自选杂货铺，”她回答，“需求在变化，诺尔。开始的时候，威尔斯镇需要的是娱乐，因为那时所有人都还年轻，都还没结婚。他们不需要那些实在、理智的东西，他们需要的是冰淇淋、游泳池、美容院和电影院。他们现在仍然需要这些东西，但这方面的需求没有太大的增长空间。现在威尔斯镇需要满足年轻家庭的需求。我要开一间合乎理想的杂货店，以尽量低的价格出售种类丰富的优质食品。紧接着我还要开一间日用品商店。你知道在威尔斯镇，连给婴儿做饭用的锅都买不到吗？”

我向对门的商店点点头。“邓肯先生的商店没有卖吗？”

“他毫无想象力。他卖的那些锅大得能把整个婴儿都放进去。”

过了一会儿，我问她：“你的商品是怎样运过来的？肯定不是都走空运吧？”

她摇摇头。“从凯恩斯到福赛斯走铁路，再用卡车把它们从福赛斯运过来。当然了，没有一条像样的路，导致运费出奇地高，因为一辆卡车最多只能开两年。比尔·韦克林说路政委员会正在酝酿一条从威尔斯镇通往马里巴和凯恩斯的路——一条像样的柏油路。当然了，他想承包这个工程。他认为这条路两年内就能修好，因为威尔斯镇发展得这么快。我必须说，这条路将是上帝的恩赐。开车去凯恩斯只需要一天的时间，真是难以想象！”

土地管理局那周晚些时候回复了我们。考虑到飞往威尔斯镇的班机时间，他们建议于下周二或周三召开一个会议。我和乔·哈曼一起飞往布里斯班，在凯恩斯捎上他的律师，和土地管理局的官员开了一个会。会议持续了差不多一天，我们在会上敲定了框架协议。会后，哈曼返回牛场，霍普先生和我则继续留在布里斯班，与土地管理局反复来回交换最终协议的草案，用红色、绿色、蓝色和紫色的墨水进行修改。此外，我还与斯皮尔斯太太的律师保持着联系，洽谈全盘购买米德赫斯特的期权合约。所有这些事务让我在布里斯班忙活了差不多两个星期。在和列斯特交换电报之后，我终于把两份合同都敲定，并把它们带回凯恩斯。乔·哈曼在合同上签名后，我们把它们寄了出去。至此，我在昆士兰的任务已经完成。

我和乔一起回到威尔斯镇，又和他们住了一个星期。我并不是非要多留一个星期不可，只是出于一种老年人的情感。我和琴一起坐在门廊上，她把自选杂货店的布局画了出来，征求我的意见。我们讨论能否把它和五金店合并起来，并去威尔斯镇为杂货店选址。我去找郡文书卡特先生，讨论这块土地的租期。她带我去看游泳池，我们讨论在混凝土上铺瓷砖的成本。我在冰室坐了许多个小时，看年轻漂亮的女士推着婴儿车穿梭于商店之间。

有一次我问她是否会回英国度假。她犹豫了，然后轻轻地说：“绝对不会，诺尔。乔和我打算明年出国度假，但我们想去美国。我们想去旧金山，买一辆旧汽车，沿着西海岸驶往亚利桑那州和得克萨斯州。那样的话，我们肯定能学到很多在威尔斯镇派得上用场的东西。他们肯定也遇到过和我们一样的问题，并且比我们更早着手解决。”

一天晚上，琴建议我留下来跟他们一起住，让我非常感动。“你在英国也没有什么牵挂了，诺尔，”她说，“你实际上已经退休了。为什么不放弃赞善里，放弃伦敦，留在这里和我们一起生活呢？你也知道我们很想和你住在一起。”

这当然是不可能的。老人家和年轻人都需要有自己的独立空间。“谢谢你的邀请，”我说，“我希望可以留下。但你也知道我有儿子和孙子。哈利明年会来伦敦，我们都希望他能回到岸上工作。我想他在海军部的任期已经结束了。”

她说：“那真是太可惜了。乔和我详细谈论过此事，我们希望你能和我们一起长住，和我们一起在这里安家。”

我轻轻地说：“多谢你们的厚意，琴，但我必须回去。”

他们自然亲自开车送我去机场，和我告别。告别是愚蠢的事情，忘得越快越好。我甚至都不记得她说了什么，反正那也不重要。我只能记得自己感激万分，因为那趟空中列车上连一个空中小姐也没有。飞机起飞后，在威尔斯镇上空盘旋，准备进入航线，我最后一次看见那个海湾小镇上簇新的楼房，还有那些耀眼的屋顶。幸好没有人能看见我当时脸上的表情。

现在是冬天，距离我最后一次出门去办公室或者俱乐部已经差不多三个月了。我的儿媳妇，马丁的妻子伊芙一直在照顾我的生活起居。正是因为她的坚持，我聘请了一位护士住在公寓看护我。他们想让我进养老院，但我是不会去的。

这个冬天，我一直在写这个故事。我想，老人家总是喜欢沉溺于回忆之中，而我又有把回忆写下来的癖好。故事写完后，我发现自己已经在不知不觉间深陷其中，难以自拔。在一个新城市拔地而起的时候，从旁协助并非小事一桩。当我坐在这里，看进伦敦沉沉的浓雾，有时不禁会想，琴所作的努力到底意味着什么？她这些成就的重要性，时人能否意识到呢？

我前几天写信给她，告诉她我萌生了一个奇怪的想法。她的财产最初是由詹士·麦法登挣来的。上世纪最后几年，他曾经在西澳大利亚的霍尔斯克里克淘金，并因此一夜暴富。我想，霍尔斯克里克现在已经被抛弃了，就像另一个伯克敦和另一个克罗伊登。我觉得，金子被从这些地方挖走，变成了资本，冥冥之中又回到了家乡，使这些荒凉的土地重又繁荣起来，也不枉这一路上的辗转漂泊。想到这一点，我认为自己对这笔财产的处理非常得当，詹士·麦法登肯定也会赞同我的做法，尽管这跟他儿子那份严格的遗嘱南辕北辙。但毕竟这笔钱是詹士挣来的，并把它从一个像威尔斯镇那样的地方带到了英国。我想，如果他知道自己的甥孙女(5)又把它带回了澳大利亚，一定会倍感欣慰。

我想，也许正是因为我的生活圈子太过狭窄，才会如此喜欢回忆这些勇敢的人和陌生的场景。这几年来，我一直牵挂着这些人和事，感慨良多。这个冬天，我日复一日地坐在这里，终日在椅子里沉睡，几乎分不清自己身在伦敦还是海湾地区，总是梦见炫目的阳光，“迷盗小牛”和土著牧工，梦见凯恩斯和格林岛，梦见一个迟到了四十年的姑娘，梦见她在那个小镇上的生活。那个让我魂牵梦萦的小镇啊，今生无缘再见了！

————————————————————

(1) 比利的昵称。

(2) 乔说的是“plonk”，在英式英语里指廉价酒，所以诺尔感到很奇怪。

(3) 澳大利亚的一家人寿保险服务机构和互助协会，初成立时为非营利组织， 1998年变为营利机构并上市。

(4) 原产印度，因脖子背后有一巨大牛峰而得名。

(5) 原文为great-niece，译为侄孙女或甥孙女，但按前文所述，琴实则为詹士·麦法登的外孙女。此处许是作者笔误。

作者附言

该书出版之时，我已做好准备遭受他人指责，说我篡改历史，尤其是关于无家可归的女战俘们长途步行和纷纷死亡那一段。我想人们一定会说，在马来亚，此等事情纯属子虚乌有。但事实上，在苏门答腊岛，确曾发生过一件类似的事情。

日军于1942年攻占马来亚后，迅速入侵苏门答腊岛并占领全岛。大约八十位荷兰女士和孩子在巴东附近被俘。当地的日本指挥官勉为其难地承担起对这群战俘的责任。为了摆脱这一负累，他迫使他们步行离开他的管辖区域。就这样，他们开始了一段持续两年半的旅程，几乎徒步走遍了苏门答腊岛。这段漫长的旅程终于结束时，只有三十名成员幸存了下来。

1949年，我去印尼苏门答腊岛拜访住在巴邻旁的J．G．基瑟尔-冯克夫妇。基瑟尔太太就是该批战俘中的一员。被俘时她才二十一岁，刚刚结婚，纤细漂亮，为人风趣，有一个六个月大的婴儿。随后几年，基瑟尔太太被迫背着婴儿步行了超过一千二百英里。当时的情况跟我在书中所描写的非常相似。她和婴儿挺过了这个可怕的劫难，顽强地活了下来。

我想，此前我从未以现实生活中的事件为基础构思小说情节。但这次我破戒了，因为这个鲜活的故事是如此动人，我无法抵挡它的魅力，同时也因为我想尽我所能向这位女士致敬——在我遇到过的所有女士中，她是最勇敢的一位。

内维尔·舒特

How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true; But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

W. B. Yeats

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Author's Note

返回目录

Chapter 1

James Macfadden died in March 1905 when he was forty-seven years old; he was riding in the Driffield Point-to-Point.

He left the bulk of his money to his son Douglas. The Macfaddens and the Dalhousies at that time lived in Perth, and Douglas was a school friend of Jock Dalhousie, who was a young man then, and had gone to London to become junior partner in a firm of solicitors in Chancery Lane, Owen, Dalhousie, and Peters. I am now the senior partner, and Owen and Dalhousie and Peters have been dead for many years, but I never changed the name of the firm.

It was natural that Douglas Macfadden should put his affairs into the hands of Jock Dalhousie, and Mr Dalhousie handled them personally till he died in 1928. In splitting up the work I took Mr Macfadden on to my list of clients, and forgot about him in the pressure of other matters.

It was not until 1935 that any business for him came up. I had a letter from him then, from an address in Ayr. He said that his brother-in-law, Arthur Paget, had been killed in a motor car accident in Malaya and so he wanted to redraft his will to make a trust in favour of his sister Jean and her two children. I am sorry to say that I was so ignorant of this client that I did not even know he was unmarried and had no issue of his own. He finished up by saying that he was too unwell to travel down to London, and he suggested that perhaps a junior member of the firm might be sent up to see him and arrange the matter.

This fitted in with my arrangements fairly well, because when I got this letter I was just leaving for a fortnight's fishing holiday on Loch Shiel. I wrote and told him that I would visit him on my way south, and I put the file concerning his affairs in the bottom of my suitcase to study one evening during my vacation.

When I got to Ayr I took a room at the Station Hotel, because in our correspondence there had been no suggestion that he could put me up. I changed out of my plus-fours into a dark business suit, and went to call upon my client.

He did not live at all in the manner I had expected. I did not know much about his estate except that it was probably well over twenty thousand pounds, and I had expected to find my client living in a house with a servant or two. Instead, I discovered that he had a bedroom and a sitting-room on the same floor of a small private hotel just off the sea front. He was evidently leading the life of an invalid though he was hardly more than fifty years old at that time, ten years younger than I was myself. He was as frail as an old lady of eighty, and he had a peculiar grey look about him which didn't look at all good to me. All the windows of his sitting-room were shut and after the clean air of the lochs and moors I found his room stuffy and close; he had a number of budgerigars in cages in the window, and the smell of these birds made the room very unpleasant. It was clear from the furnishings that he had lived in that hotel and in that room for a good many years.

He told me something about his life as we discussed the will; he was quite affable, and pleased that I had been able to come to visit him myself. He seemed to be an educated man, though he spoke with a marked Scots accent.“I live very quietly, Mr Strachan,”he said.“My health will not permit me to go far abroad. Whiles I get out upon the front on a fine day and sit for a time, and then again Maggie—that's the daughter of Mrs Doyle who keeps the house—Maggie wheels me out in the chair. They are very good to me here.”

Turning to the matter of the will, he told me that he had no close relatives at all except his sister, Jean Paget.“Forbye my father might have left what you might call an indiscretion or two in Australia,”he said.“I would not say that there might not be some of those about, though I have never met one, or corresponded. Jean told me once that my mother had been sore distressed. Women talk about these things, of course, and my father was a lusty type of man.”

His sister Jean had been an officer in the WAACs in the 1914-1918 War, and she had married a Captain Paget in the spring of 1917.“It was not a very usual sort of marriage,”he said thoughtfully.“You must remember that my sister Jean had never been out of Scotland till she joined the army, and the greater part of her life had been spent in Perth. Arthur Paget was an Englishman from Southampton, in Hampshire. I have nothing against Arthur, but we had all naturally thought that Jean would have married a Scot. Still, I would not say but it has been a happy marriage, or as happy as most.”

After the war was over Arthur Paget had got a job upon a rubber estate in Malaya somewhere near Taiping, and Jean, of course, went out there with him. From that time Douglas Macfadden had seen little of his sister; she had been home on leave in 1926 and again in 1932. She had two children, Donald born in 1918 and Jean born in 1921; these children had been left in England in 1932 to live with the Paget parents and to go to school in Southampton, while their mother returned to Malaya. My client had seen them only once, in 1932 when their mother brought them up to Scotland.

The present position was that Arthur Paget had been killed in a motor accident somewhere near Ipoh; he had been driving home at night from Kuala Lumpur and had driven off the road at a high speed and hit a tree. Probably he fell asleep. His widow, Jean Paget, was in England; she had come home a year or so before his death and she had taken a small house in Bassett just outside Southampton to make a home for the children and to be near their schools. It was a sensible arrangement, of course, but it seemed to me to be a pity that the brother and the sister could not have arranged to live nearer to each other. I fancy that my client regretted the distance that separated them, because he referred to it more than once.

He wanted to revise his will. His existing will was a very simple one, in which he left his entire estate to his sister Jean.“I would not alter that,”he said.“But you must understand that Arthur Paget was alive when I made that will, and that in the nature of things I expected him to be alive when Jean inherited from me, and I expected that he would be there to guide her in matters of business. I shall not make old bones.”

He seemed to have a fixed idea that all women were unworldly creatures and incapable of looking after money; they were irresponsible, and at the mercy of any adventurer. Accordingly, although he wanted his sister to have the full use of his money after his death, he wanted to create a trust to ensure that her son Donald, at that time a schoolboy, should inherit the whole estate intact after his mother's death. There was, of course, no special difficulty in that. I presented to him the various pros and cons of a trust such as he envisaged, and I reminded him that a small legacy to Mrs Doyle, in whose house he had lived for so many years, might not be out of place provided that he was still living with them at the time of his death. He agreed to that. He told me then that he had no close relations living, and he asked me if I would undertake to be the sole trustee of his estate and the executor of his will. That is the sort of business a family solicitor frequently takes on his shoulders, of course. I told him that in view of my age he should appoint a co-trustee, and he agreed to the insertion of our junior partner, Mr Lester Robinson, to be co-trustee with me. He also agreed to a charging clause for our professional services in connection with the trust.

There only remained to tidy up the loose ends of what was, after all, a fairly simple will. I asked him what should happen if both he and his sister were to die before the boy Donald was twenty-one, and I suggested that the trust should terminate and the boy should inherit the estate absolutely, when he reached his majority. He agreed to this, and I made another note upon my pad.

“Supposing then,”I said,“that Donald should die before his mother, or if Donald and his mother should die in some way before you. The estate would then pass to the girl, Jean. Again, I take it that the trust would terminate when she reached her majority?”

“Ye mean,”he asked,“when she became twenty-one?”

I nodded.“Yes. That is what we decided in the case of her brother.”

He shook his head.“I think that would be most imprudent, Mr Strachan, if I may say so. No lassie would be fit to administer her own estate when she was twenty-one. A lassie of that age is at the mercy of her sex, Mr Strachan, at the mercy of her sex. I would want the trust to continue for much longer than that. Till she was forty, at the very least.”

From various past experiences I could not help agreeing with him that twenty-one was a bit young for a girl to have absolute control over a large sum of money, but forty seemed to me to be excessively old. I stated my own view that twenty-five would be a reasonable age, and very reluctantly he receded to thirty-five. I could not move him from that position, and as he was obviously tiring and growing irritable I accepted that as the maximum duration of our trust. It meant that in those very unlikely circumstances the trust would continue for twenty-one years from that date, since the girl Jean had been born in 1921 and it was then 1935. That finished our business and I left him and went back to London to draft out the will, which I sent to him for signature. I never saw my client again.

It was my fault that I lost touch with him. It had been my habit for a great many years to take my holiday in the spring, when I would go with my wife to Scotland for a fortnight's fishing, usually to Loch Shiel. I thought that this was going on for ever, as one does, and that next year I would call again upon this client on my way down from the north to see if there was any other business I could do for him. But things turn out differently, sometimes. In the winter of 1935 Lucy died. I don't want to dwell on that, but we had been married for twenty-seven years and—well, it was very painful. Both our sons were abroad, Harry in his submarine on the China station and Martin in his oil company at Basra. I hadn't the heart to go back to Loch Shiel, and I have never been to Scotland since. I had a sale and got rid of most of our furniture, and I sold our house on Wimbledon Common; one has to make an effort at a time like that, and a clean break. It's no good going on living in the ashes of a dead happiness.

I took a flat in Buckingham Gate opposite the Palace stables and just across the park from my club in Pall Mall. I furnished it with a few things out of the Wimbledon house and got a woman to come in and cook my breakfast and clean for me in the mornings, and here I set out to re-create my life. I knew the pattern well enough from the experience of others in the club. Breakfast in my flat. Walk through the Park and up the Strand to my office in Chancery Lane. Work all day, with a light lunch at my desk. To the club at six o'clock to read the periodicals, and gossip, and dine, and after dinner a rubber of bridge. That is the routine that I fell into in the spring of 1936, and I am in it still.

All this, as I say, took my mind from Douglas Macfadden; with more than half my mind upon my own affairs I could only manage to attend to those clients who had urgent business with my office. And presently another interest grew upon me. It was quite obvious that war was coming, and some of us in the club who were too old for active military service began to get very interested in Air Raid Precautions. Cutting the long story short, Civil Defence as it came to be called absorbed the whole of my leisure for the next eight years. I became a Warden, and I was on duty in my district of Westminster all through the London blitz and the long, slow years of war that followed it. Practically all my staff went on service, and I had to run the office almost single-handed. In those years I never took a holiday, and I doubt if I slept more than five hours in any night. When finally peace came in 1945 my hair was white and my head shaky, and though I improved a little in the years that followed I had definitely joined the ranks of the old men.

One afternoon in January 1948 I got a telegram from Ayr. It read,

Regret Mr Douglas Macfadden passed away last night please instruct re funeral.

Doyle, Balmoral Hotel, Ayr.

I had to search my memory, I am afraid, to recollect through the war years who Mr Douglas Macfadden was, and then I had to turn to the file and the will to refresh my memory with the details of what had happened thirteen years before. It seemed rather odd to me that there was nobody at Ayr who could manage the funeral business. I put in a trunk call to Ayr right away and very soon I was speaking to Mrs Doyle. It was a bad line, but I understood that she knew of no relations; apparently Mr Macfadden had had no visitors for a very long time. Clearly, I should have to go to Ayr myself, or else send somebody. I had no urgent engagements for the next two days and the matter seemed to be a little difficult. I had a talk with Lester Robinson, my partner, who had come back from the war as a brigadier, and cleared my desk, and took the sleeper up to Glasgow after dinner that night. In the morning I went down in a slow train to Ayr.

When I got to the Balmoral Hotel I found the landlord and his wife in mourning and obviously distressed; they had been fond of their queer lodger and it was probably due in a great part to their ministrations that he had lived so long. There was no mystery about the cause of death. I had a talk with the doctor and heard all about his trouble; the doctor had been with him at the end, for he lived only two doors away, and the death certificate was already signed. I took a brief look at the body for identification and went through the various formalities of death. It was all perfectly straightforward, except that there were no relations.

“I doubt he had any,”said Mr Doyle.“His sister used to write to him at one time, and she came to see him in 1938, I think it was. She lived in Southampton. But he's had no letters except just a bill or two for the last two years.”

His wife said,“Surely, the sister died, didn't she? Don't you remember him telling us, sometime towards the end of the war?”

“Well, I don't know,”he said.“So much was happening about that time. Maybe she did die.”

Relations or not, arrangements had to be made for the funeral, and I made them that afternoon. When that was done I settled down to look through the papers in his desk. One or two of the figures in an account book and on the back of the counterfoils of his cheque book made me open my eyes; clearly I should have to have a talk with the bank manager first thing next morning. I found a letter from his sister dated in 1941 about the lease of her house. It threw no light, of course, upon her death, if she was dead, but it did reveal significant news about the children. Both of them were in Malaya at that time. The boy Donald, who must have been twenty-three years old at that time, was working on a rubber plantation near Kuala Selangor. His sister Jean had gone out to him in the winter of 1939, and was working in an office in Kuala Lumpur.

At about five o'clock I put in a trunk call to my office in London, standing in the cramped box of the hotel, and spoke to my partner.“Look, Lester,”I said.“I told you that there was some difficulty about the relations. I am completely at a loss up here, I'm sorry to say. Provisionally, I have arranged the funeral for the day after tomorrow, at two o'clock, at St Enoch's cemetery. The only relations that I know of live, or used to live, in Southampton. The sister, Mrs Arthur Paget, was living in 1941 at No 17 St Ronans Road, Bassett—that's just by Southampton somewhere. There were some other Paget relations in the district, the parents of Arthur Paget. Mrs Arthur Paget—her Christian name was Jean—yes, she was the deceased's sister. She had two children, Donald and Jean Paget, but they were both in Malaya in 1941. God knows what became of them. I wouldn't waste much time just now looking for them, but would you get Harris to do what he can to find some of these Southampton Pagets and tell them about the funeral? He'd better take the telephone book and talk to all the Pagets in Southampton one by one. I don't suppose there are so very many.”

Lester came on the telephone to me next morning just after I got back from the bank.“I've nothing very definite, I'm afraid, Noel,”he said.“I did discover one thing. Mrs Paget died in 1942, so she's out of it. She died of pneumonia through going out to the air raid shelter—Harris got that from the hospital. About the other Pagets, there are seven in the telephone directory and we've rung them all up, and they're none of them anything to do with your family. But one of them, Mrs Eustace Paget, thinks the family you're looking for are the Edward Pagets, and that they moved to North Wales after the first Southampton blitz.”

“Any idea whereabouts in North Wales?”I asked.

“Not a clue,”he said.“I think the only thing that you can do now is to proceed with the funeral.”

“I think it is,”I replied.“But tell Harris to go on all the same, because apart from the funeral we've got to find the heirs. I've just been to the bank, and there is quite a sizeable estate. We're the trustees, you know.”

I spent the rest of that day packing up all personal belongings, and letters, and papers, to take down to my office. Furniture at that time was in short supply, and I arranged to store the furniture of the two rooms, since that might be wanted by the heirs. I gave the clothes to Mr Doyle to give away to needy people in Ayr. Only two of the budgerigars were left; I gave those to the Doyles, who seemed to be attached to them. Next morning I had another interview with the bank manager and telephoned to book my sleeper on the night mail down to London. And in the afternoon we buried Douglas Macfadden.

It was very cold and bleak. and grey in the cemetery, that January afternoon. The only mourners were the Doyles, father, mother, and daughter, and myself, and I remember thinking that it was queer how little any of us knew about the man that we were burying. I had a great respect for the Doyle family by that time. They had been overwhelmed when I told them of the small legacy that Mr Macfadden had left them and at first they were genuinely unwilling to take it; they said that they had been well paid for his two rooms and board for many years, and anything else that they had done for him had been because they liked him. It was something, on that bitter January afternoon beside the grave, to feel that he had friends at the last ceremonies.

So that was the end of it, and I drove back with the Doyles and had tea with them in their sitting-room beside the kitchen. And after tea I left for Glasgow and the night train down to London, taking with me two suitcases of papers and small personal effects to be examined at my leisure if the tracing of the heir proved to be troublesome, and later to be handed over as a part of the inheritance.

In fact, he found the heir without much difficulty. Young Harris got a line on it within a week, and presently we got a letter from a Miss Agatha Paget, who was the headmistress of a girls' school in Colwyn Bay. She was a sister of Arthur Paget, who had been killed in the motor accident in Malaya. She confirmed that his wife, Jean, had died in Southampton in the year 1942, and she added the fresh information that the son, Donald, was also dead. He had been a prisoner of war in Malaya, and had died in captivity. Her niece, Jean, however, was alive and in the London district. The headmistress did not know her home address because she lived in rooms and had changed them once or twice, so she usually wrote to her addressing her letters to her firm. She was employed in the office of a concern called Pack and Levy Ltd, whose address was The Hyde, Perivale, London, NW.

I got this letter in the morning mail; I ran through the others and cleared them out of the way, and then picked up this one and read it again. Then I got my secretary to bring me the Macfadden box and I read the will through again, and went through some other papers and my notes on the estate. Finally I reached out for the telephone directory and looked up Pack and Levy Ltd, to find out what they did.

Presently I got up from my desk and stood for a time looking out of the window at the bleak, grey, January London street. I like to think a bit before taking any precipitate action. Then I turned and went through into Robinson's office; he was dictating, and I stood warming myself at his fire till he had finished and the girl had left the room.

“I've got that Macfadden heir,”I said.“I'll tell Harris.”

“All right,”he replied.“You've found the son?”

“No,”I said.“I've found the daughter. The son's dead.”

He laughed.“Bad luck. That means we're trustees for the estate until she's thirty-five, doesn't it?”

I nodded.

“How old is she now?”

I calculated for a minute.“Twenty-six or twenty-seven.”

“Old enough to make a packet of trouble for us.”

“I know.”

“Where is she? What's she doing?”

“She's employed as a clerk or typist with a firm of handbag manufacturers in Perivale,”I said.“I'm just about to concoct a letter to her.”

He smiled.“Fairy Godfather.”

“Exactly,”I replied.

I went back into my room and sat for some time thinking out that letter; it seemed to me to be important to set a formal tone when writing to this young woman for the first time. Finally I wrote,

Dear Madam,

It is with regret that we have to inform you of the death of Mr Douglas Macfadden at Ayr on January 21st. As Executors to his will we have experienced some difficulty in tracing the beneficiaries, but if you are the daughter of Jean (née Macfadden) and Arthur Paget formerly resident in Southampton and in Malaya, it would appear that you may be entitled to a share in the estate.

May we ask you to telephone for an appointment to call upon us at your convenience to discuss the matter further? It will be necessary for you to produce evidence of identity at an early stage, such as your birth certificate, National Registration Identity Card, and any other documents that may occur to you.

I am,

Yours truly,

for Owen, Dalhousie and Peters,

N. H. Strachan

She rang me up the next day. She had quite a pleasant voice, the voice of a well-trained secretary. She said,“Mr Strachan, this is Miss Jean Paget speaking. I've got your letter of the 29th. I wonder—do you work on Saturday mornings? I'm in a job, so Saturday would be the best day for me.”

I replied,“Oh, yes, we work on Saturday mornings. What time would be convenient for you?”

“Should we say ten-thirty?”

I made a note upon my pad.“That's all right. Have you got your birth certificate?”

“Yes, I've got that. Another thing I've got is my mother's marriage certificate, if that helps.”

I said,“Oh yes, bring that along. All right, Miss Paget, I shall look forward to meeting you on Saturday. Ask for me by name, Mr Noel Strachan. I am the senior partner.”

She was shown into my office punctually at ten-thirty on Saturday. She was a girl or woman of a medium height, dark-haired. She was good-looking in a quiet way; she had a tranquility about her that I find it difficult to describe except by saying that it was the grace that you see frequently in women of a Scottish descent. She was dressed in a dark blue coat and skirt. I got up and shook hands with her, and gave her the chair in front of my desk, and went round and sat down myself. I had the papers ready.

“Well, Miss Paget,”I said.“I heard about you from your aunt—I think she is your aunt? Miss Agatha Paget, at Colwyn Bay.”

She inclined her head.“Aunt Aggie wrote and told me that she had had a letter from you. Yes, she's my aunt.”

“And I take it that you are the daughter of Arthur and Jean Paget, who lived in Southampton and Malaya?”

She nodded.“That's right. I've got the birth certificate and mother's birth certificate, as well as her marriage certificate.”She took them from her bag and put them on my desk, with her identity card.

I opened these documents and read them through carefully. There was no doubt about it; she was the person I was looking for. I leaned back in my chair presently and took off my spectacles.“Tell me, Miss Paget,”I said.“Did you ever meet your uncle, who died recently? Mr Douglas Macfadden?”

She hesitated.“I've been thinking about that a lot,”she said candidly.“I couldn't honestly swear that I have ever met him, but I think it must have been him that my mother took me to see once in Scotland, when I was about ten years old. We all went together, Mother and I and Donald. I remember an old man in a very stuffy room with a lot of birds in cages. I think that was Uncle Douglas, but I'm not quite sure.”

That fitted in with what he had told me, the visit of his sister with her children in 1932. This girl would have been eleven years old then.“Tell me about your brother Donald, Miss Paget,”I asked.“Is he still alive?”

She shook her head.“He died in 1943, while he was a prisoner. He was taken by the Japs in Singapore when we surrendered, and then he was sent to the railway.”

I was puzzled.“The railway?”

She looked at me coolly, and I thought I saw tolerance for the ignorance of those who stayed in England in her glance.“The railway that the Japs built with Asiatic and prisoner-of-war labour between Siam and Burma. One man died for every sleeper that was laid, and it was about two hundred miles long. Donald was one of them.”

There was a little pause.“I am so sorry,”I said at last.“One thing I have to ask you, I am afraid. Was there a death certificate?”

She stared at me.“I shouldn't think so.”

“Oh...”I leaned back in my chair and took up the will.“This is the will of Mr Douglas Macfadden,”I said.“I have a copy for you, Miss Paget, but I think I'd better tell you what it contains in ordinary, non-legal language. Your uncle made two small bequests. The whole of the residue of the estate was left in trust for your brother Donald. The terms of the trust were to the effect that your mother was to enjoy the income from the trust until her death. If she died before your brother attained his majority, the trust was to continue until he was twenty-one, when he would inherit absolutely and the trust would be discharged. If your brother died before inheriting, then you were to inherit the residuary estate after your mother's time, but in that event the trust was to continue till the year 1956, when you would be thirty-five years old. You will appreciate that it is necessary for us to obtain legal evidence of your brother's death.”

She hesitated, and then she said,“Mr Strachan, I'm afraid I'm terribly stupid. I understand you want some proof that Donald is dead. But after that is done, do you mean that I inherit everything that Uncle Douglas left?”

“Broadly speaking—yes,”I replied.“You would only receive the income from the estate until the year 1956. After that, the capital would be yours to do what you like with.”

“How much did he leave?”

I picked up a slip of paper from the documents before me and ran my eye down the figures for a final check.“After paying death duties and legacies,”I said carefully,“the residuary estate would be worth about fifty-three thousand pounds at present-day prices. I must make it clear that that is at present-day prices, Miss Paget. You must not assume that you would inherit that sum in 1956. A falling stock market affects even trustee securities.”

She stared at me.“Fifty-three thousand pounds?”

I nodded.“That seems to be about the figure.”

“How much a year would that amount of capital yield, Mr Strachan?”

I glanced at the figures on the slip before me.“Invested in trustee stocks, as at present—about £1550 a year, gross income. Then income tax has to be deducted. You would have about nine hundred a year to spend, Miss Paget.”

“Oh...”There was a long silence; she sat staring at the desk in front of her. Then she looked up at me, and smiled.“It takes a bit of getting used to,”she remarked.“I mean, I've always worked for my living, Mr Strachan. I've never thought that I'd do anything else unless I married, and that's only a different sort of work. But this means that I need never work again—unless I want to.”

She had hit the nail on the head with her last sentence.“That's exactly it,”I replied.“Unless you want to.”

“I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have to go to the office,”she said.“I haven't got any other life...”

“Then I should go on going to the office,”I observed.

She laughed.“I suppose that's the only thing to do.”

I leaned back in my chair.“I'm an old man now, Miss Paget. I've made plenty of mistakes in my time and I've learned one thing from them, that it's never very wise to do anything in a great hurry. I take it that this legacy will mean a considerable change in your circumstances. If I may offer my advice, I should continue in your present employment for the time, at any rate, and I should refrain from talking about your legacy in the office just yet. For one thing, it will be some months before you get possession even of the income from the estate. First we have to obtain legal proof of the death of your brother, and then we have to obtain the confirmation of the executors in Scotland and realize a portion of the securities to meet estate and succession duties. Tell me, what are you doing with this firm Pack and Levy?”

“I'm a shorthand typist,”she said.“I'm working now as secretary to Mr Pack.”

“Where do you live, Miss Paget?”

She said,“I've got a bed-sitting-room at No 43 Campion Road, just off Ealing Common. It's quite convenient, but of course I have a lot of my meals out. There's a Lyons just round the corner.”

I thought for a minute.“Have you got many friends in Ealing? How long have you been there?”

“I don't know very many people,”she replied.“One or two families, people who work in the firm, you know. I've been there over two years now, ever since I was repatriated. I was out in Malaya, you know, Mr Strachan, and I was a sort of prisoner of war for three and a half years. Then when I got home I got this job with Pack and Levy.”

I made a note of her address upon my pad.“Well, Miss Paget,”I said,“I should go on just as usual for the time being. I will consult the War Office on Monday morning and obtain this evidence about your brother as quickly as I can. Tell me his name, and number, and unit.”She did so, and I wrote them down.“As soon as I get that, I shall submit the will for probate. When that is proved, then the trust commences and continues till the year 1956, when you will inherit absolutely.”

She looked up at me.“Tell me about this trust,”she asked.“I'm afraid I'm not very good at legal matters.”

I nodded.“Of course not. Well, you'll find it all in legal language in the copy of the will which I shall give you, but what it means is this, Miss Paget. Your uncle, when he made this will, had a very poor opinion of the ability of women to manage their own money. I'm sorry to have to say such a thing, but it is better for you to know the whole of the facts.”

She laughed.“Please don't apologize for him, Mr Strachan. Go on.”

“At first, he was quite unwilling that you should inherit the capital of the estate till you were forty years old,”I said.“I contested that view, but I was unable to get him to agree to any less period than the present arrangement in the will. Now, the object of a trust is this. The testator appoints trustees—in this case, myself and my partner—who undertake to do their best to preserve the capital intact and hand it over to the legatee—to you—when the trust expires.”

“I see. Uncle Douglas was afraid that I might spend the fifty-three thousand all at once.”

I nodded.“That was in his mind. He did not know you, of course, Miss Paget, so there was nothing personal about it. He felt that in general women were less fit than men to handle large sums of money at an early age.”

She said quietly,“He may have been right.”She thought for a minute, and then she said,“So you're going to look after the money for me till I'm thirty-five and give me the interest to spend in the meantime? Nine hundred a year?”

“If you wish us to conduct your income-tax affairs for you, that would be about the figure,”I said.“We can arrange the payments in any way that you prefer, as a quarterly or a monthly cheque, for example. You would get a formal statement of account half-yearly.”

She asked curiously,“How do you get paid for doing all this for me, Mr Strachan?”

I smiled.“That is a very prudent question, Miss Paget. You will find a clause in the will, No 8, I think, which entitles us to charge for our professional services against the income from the trust. Of course, if you get into any legal trouble we should be glad to act for you and help you in any way we could. In that case we should charge you on the normal scale of fees.”

She said unexpectedly,“I couldn't ask for anybody better.”And then she glanced at me, and said mischievously,“I made some enquiries about this firm yesterday.”

“Oh... I hope they were satisfactory?”

“Very.”She did not tell me then what she told me later, that her informant had described us as,“as solid as the Bank of England, and as sticky as treacle.”“I know I'm going to be in very good hands, Mr Strachan.”

I inclined my head.“I hope so. I am afraid that at times you may find this trust irksome, Miss Paget; I can assure you that I shall do my utmost to prevent it from becoming so. You will see in the will that the testator gave certain powers to the trustees to realize capital for the benefit of the legatee in cases where they were satisfied that it would be genuinely for her advantage.”

“You mean, if I really needed a lot of money—for an operation or something—you could let me have it, if you approved?”

She was quick, that girl.“I think that is a very good example. In case of illness, if the income were insufficient, I should certainly realize some of your capital for your benefit.”

She smiled at me, and said,“It's rather like being a ward in Chancery, or something.”

I was a little touched by the comparison. I said,“I should feel very much honoured if you care to look at it that way, Miss Paget. Inevitably this legacy is going to make an upset in your condition of life, and if I can do anything to help you in the transition I should be only too pleased.”I handed her her copy of the will.“Well, there is the will, and I suggest you take it away and read it quietly by yourself. I'll keep the certificates for the time being. After you've thought things over for a day or two I am sure that there will be a great many questions to which you will want answers. Would you like to come and see me again?”

She said,“I would. I know there'll be all sorts of things I want to ask about, but I can't think of them now. It's all so sudden.”

I turned to my engagement diary.“Well, suppose we meet again about the middle of next week.”I stared at the pages.“Of course, you're working. What time do you get off from your office, Miss Paget?”

She said,“Five o'clock.”

“Would six o'clock on Wednesday evening suit you, then? I shall hope to have got somewhere with the matter of your brother by that time.”

She said,“Well, that's all right for me, Mr Strachan, but isn't it a bit late for you? Don't you want to get home?”

I said absently,“I only go to the club. No, Wednesday at six would suit me very well.”I made a note upon my pad, and then I hesitated.“Perhaps if you are doing nothing after that you might like to come on to the club and have dinner in the Ladies Annexe,”I said.“I'm afraid it's not a very gay place, but the food is good.”

She smiled, and said warmly,“I'd love to do that, Mr Strachan. It's very kind of you to ask me.”

I got to my feet.“Very well, then, Miss Paget—six o'clock on Wednesday. And in the meantime, don't do anything in a great hurry. It never pays to be impetuous...”

She went away, and I cleared my desk and took a taxi to the club for lunch. After lunch I had a cup of coffee and slept for ten minutes in a chair before the fire, and when I woke up I thought I ought to get some exercise. So I put on my hat and coat and went out and walked rather aimlessly up St James's Street and along Piccadilly to the Park. As I walked, I wondered how that fresh young woman was spending her weekend. Was she telling her friends all about her good luck, or was she sitting somewhere warm and quiet, nursing and cherishing her own anticipations, or was she on a spending spree already? Or was she out with a young man? She would have plenty of men now to choose from, I thought cynically, and then it struck me that she probably had those already because she was a very marriageable girl. Indeed, considering her appearance and her evident good nature, I was rather surprised that she was not married already.

I had a little talk that evening in the club with a man who is in the Home Office about the procedure for establishing the death of a prisoner of war, and on Monday I had a number of telephone conversations with the War Office and the Home Office about the case. I found, as I had suspected, that there was an extraordinary procedure for proving death which could be invoked, but where a doctor was available who had attended the deceased in the prison camp the normal certification of death was the procedure to adopt. In this instance there was a general practitioner called Ferris in practice at Beckenham who had been a doctor in Camp 206 in the Takunan district on the Burma-Siam railway, and the official at the War Office advised me that this doctor would be in a position to give the normal death certificate.

I rang him up next morning, and he was out upon his rounds. I tried to make his wife understand what I wanted but I think it was too complicated for her; she suggested that I should call and see him after the evening surgery, at half past six. I hesitated over that because Beckenham is a good long way out, but I was anxious to get these formalities over quickly for the sake of the girl. So I went out to see this doctor that evening.

He was a cheerful, fresh-faced man not more than thirty-five years old; he had a keen sense of humour, if rather a macabre one at times. He looked as healthy and fit as if he had spent the whole of his life in England in a country practice. I got to him just as he was finishing off the last of his patients, and he had leisure to talk for a little.

“Lieutenant Paget,”he said thoughtfully.“Oh yes, I know. Donald Paget—was his name Donald?”I said it was.“Oh, of course, I remember him quite well. Yes, I can write a death certificate. I'd like to do that for him, though I don't suppose it'll do him much good.”

“It will help his sister,”I remarked.“There is a question of an inheritance, and the shorter we can make the necessary formalities the better for her.”

He reached for his pad of forms.“I wonder if she's got as much guts as her brother.”

“Was he a good chap?”

He nodded.“Yes,”he said.“He was a delicate-looking man, dark and rather pale, you know, but he was a very good type. I think he was a planter in civil life—anyway, he was in the Malay volunteers. He spoke Malay very well, and he got along in Siamese all right. With those languages, of course, he was a very useful man to have in the camp. We used to do a lot of black market with the villagers, the Siamese outside, you know. But quite apart from that, he was the sort of officer the men like. It was a great loss when he went.”

“What did he die of?”I asked.

He paused with his pen poised over the paper.“Well, you could take your pick of half a dozen things. I hadn't time to do a post mortem, of course. Between you and me, I don't really know. I think he just died. But he'd recovered from enough to kill a dozen ordinary men, so I don't know that it really matters what one puts down on the certificate. No legal point depends upon the cause of death, does it?”

“Oh, no,”I said.“All I want is the death certified.”

He still paused, in recollection.“He had a huge tropical ulcer on his left leg that we were treating, and that was certainly poisoning the whole system. I think if he'd gone on we'd have had to have taken that leg off. He got that because he was one of those chaps who won't report sick while they can walk. Well, while he was in hospital with the ulcer, he got cerebral malaria. We had nothing to treat that damn thing with till we got around to making our own quinine solutions for intravenous injection; we took a frightful risk with that, but there was nothing else to do. We got a lot through it with that, and Paget was one of them. He got over it quite well. That was just before we got the cholera. Cholera went right through the camp-hospital and everything. We couldn't isolate the cases, or anything like that. I never want to see a show like that again. We'd got nothing, nothing, not even saline. No drugs to speak of, and no equipment. We were making bed-pans out of old kerosene tins. Paget got that, and would you believe it, he got over cholera. We got some prophylactic injections from the Nips and we gave him those; that may have helped. At least, I think we gave him that—I'm not sure. He was very weak when that left him, of course, and the ulcer wasn't any too good. And about a week after that, he just died in the night. Heart, I fancy. I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll put down for Cause of Death—Cholera. There you are, sir. I'm sorry you had to come all this way for it.”

As I took the certificate I asked curiously,“Did you get any of those things yourself?”

He laughed.“I was one of the lucky ones. All I got was the usual dysentery and malaria, the ordinary type malaria, not cerebral. Overwork was my trouble, but other people had that, too. We were in such a jam, for so long. We had hundreds of cases just lying on the floor or bamboo charpoys in palm huts—it was raining almost all the time. No beds, no linen, no equipment, and precious few drugs. You just couldn't rest. You worked till you dropped asleep, and then you got up and went on working. You never came to an end. There was never half an hour when you could slack off and sit and have a smoke, or go for a walk, except by neglecting some poor sod who needed you very badly.”

He paused. I sat silent, thinking how easy by comparison my own war had been.“It went on like that for nearly two years,”he said.“You got a bit depressed at times, because you couldn't even take time off to go and hear a lecture.”

“Did you have lectures?”I asked.

“Oh yes, we used to have a lot of lectures by the chaps in camp. How to grow Cox's Orange Pippins, or the TT motorcycle races, or Life in Hollywood. They made a difference to the men, the lectures did. But we doctors usually couldn't get to them. I mean, it's not much of an alibi when someone's in convulsions if you're listening to a lecture on Cox's Orange Pippins at the other end of the camp.”

I said,“It must have been a terrible experience.”

He paused, reflecting.“It was so beautiful,”he said,“The Three Pagodas Pass must be one of the loveliest places in the world. You've got this broad valley with the river running down it, and the jungle forest, and the mountains.... We used to sit by the river and watch the sun setting behind the mountains, sometimes, and say what a marvellous place it would be to come to for a holiday. However terrible a prison camp may be, it makes a difference if it's beautiful.”

When Jean Paget came to see me on Wednesday evening I was ready to report the progress I had made. First I went through one or two formal matters connected with the winding up of the estate, and then I showed her the schedule of the furniture that I had put in store at Ayr. She was not much interested in that.“I should think it had all better be sold, hadn't it?”she remarked.“Could we put it in an auction?”

“Perhaps it would be as well to wait a little before doing that,”I suggested.“You may want to set up a house or a flat of your own.”

She wrinkled up her nose.“I can't see myself wanting to furnish it with any of Uncle Douglas's stuff, if I did,”she said.

However, she agreed not to do anything about that till her own plans were more definite, and we turned to other matters.“I've got your brother's death certificate,”I said, and I was going on to tell her what I had done with it when she stopped me.

“What did Donald die of, Mr Strachan?”she asked.

I hesitated for a moment. I did not want to tell so young a woman the unpleasant story I had heard from Dr Ferris.“The cause of death was cholera,”I said at last.

She nodded, as if she had been expecting that.“Poor old boy,”she said softly.“Not a very nice way to die.”

I felt that I must say something to alleviate her distress.“I had a long talk with the doctor who attended him,”I told her.“He died quite peacefully, in his sleep.”

She stared at me.“Well then, it wasn't cholera,”she said.“That's not the way you die of cholera.”

I was a little at a loss in my endeavour to spare her unnecessary pain.“He had cholera first, but he recovered. The actual cause of death was probably heart failure, induced by the cholera.”

She considered this for a minute.“Did he have anything else?”she asked.

Well, then of course there was nothing for it but to tell her everything I knew. I was amazed at the matter-of-fact way in which she took the unpleasant details and at her knowledge of the treatment of such things as tropical ulcers, until I recollected that this girl had been a prisoner of the Japanese in Malaya, too.“Damn bad luck the ulcer didn't go a bit quicker,”she said coolly.“If there'd been an amputation they'd have had to evacuate him from the railway, and then he wouldn't have got the cerebral malaria or the cholera.”

“He must have had a wonderfully strong constitution to have survived so much,”I said.

“He hadn't,”she said positively.“Donald was always getting coughs and colds and things. What he had got was a wonderfully strong sense of humour. I always thought he'd come through, just because of that. Everything that happened to him was a joke.”

When I was a young man, girls didn't know about cholera or great ulcers, and I didn't quite know how to deal with her. I turned the conversation back to legal matters, where I was on firmer ground, and showed her how her case for probate was progressing. And presently I took her downstairs and we got a taxi and went over to the club to dine.

I had a reason for entertaining her, that first evening. It was obvious that I was going to have a good deal to do with this young woman in the next few years, and I wanted to find out about her. I knew practically nothing of her education or her background at that time; her knowledge of tropical diseases, for example, had already confused me. I wanted to give her a good dinner with a little wine and get her talking; it was going to make my job as trustee a great deal easier if I knew what her interests were, and how her mind worked. And so I took her to the Ladies Annexe at my club, a decent place where we could dine in our own time without music and talk quietly for a little time after dinner. I find that I get tired if there is a lot of noise and bustling about, as in a restaurant.

I showed her where she could go to wash and tidy up, and while she was doing that I ordered her a sherry. I got up from the table in the drawing-room when she came to me, and gave her a cigarette, and lit it for her.“What did you do over the weekend?”I asked as we sat down.“Did you go out and celebrate?”

She shook her head.“I didn't do anything very much. I'd arranged to meet one of the girls in the office for lunch on Saturday and to go and see the new Bette Davis film at the Curzon, so we did that.”

“Did you tell her about your good fortune?”

She shook her head.“I haven't told anybody.”She paused, and sipped her sherry; she was managing that and her cigarette quite nicely.“It seems such an improbably story,”she said, laughing.“I don't know that I really believe in it myself.”

I smiled with her.“Nothing is real till it happens,”I observed.“You'll believe that this is true when we send you the first cheque. It would be a great mistake to believe in it too hard before that happens.”

“I don't,”she laughed.“Except for one thing. I don't believe you'd be wasting so much time on my affairs unless there was something in it.”

“It's true enough for that.”I paused, and then I said,“Have you thought yet what you are going to do in a month or two when the income from the trust begins? Your monthly cheque, after the tax has been deducted, will be about seventy-five pounds. I take it that you will hardly wish to go on with your present employment when those cheques begin to come in?”

“No...”She sat staring for a minute at the smoke rising from her cigarette.“I don't want to stop working. I wouldn't mind a bit going on with Pack and Levy just as if nothing had happened, if it was a job worth doing,”she said.“But—well, it's not. We make ladies' shoes and handbags, Mr Strachan, and small ornamental attaché cases for the high-class trade—the sort that sells for thirty guineas in a Bond Street shop to stupid women with more money than sense. Fitted vanity cases in rare leathers, and all that sort of thing. It's all right if you've got to earn your living, working in that sort of place. And it's been interesting, too, learning all about that trade.”

“Most jobs are interesting when you are learning them,”I said.

She turned to me.“That's true. I've quite enjoyed my time there. But I couldn't go on now, with all this money. One ought to do something more worth while, but I don't know what.”She drank a little sherry.“I've got no profession, you see—only shorthand and typing, and a bit of book- keeping. I never had any real education—technical education, I mean. Taking a degree, or anything like that.”

I thought for a moment.“May I ask a very personal question, Miss Paget?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think it likely that you will marry in the near future?”

She smiled.“No, Mr Strachan, I don't think it's very likely that I shall marry at all. One can't say for certain, of course, but I don't think so.”

I nodded without comment.“Well then, had you thought about taking a university course?”

Her eyes opened wide.“No—I hadn't thought of that. I couldn't do it, Mr Strachan—I'm not clever enough. I couldn't get into a university.”She paused.“I was never higher than the middle of my class at school, and I never got into the Sixth.”

“It was just a thought,”I said.“I wondered if that might attract you.”

She shook her head.“I couldn't go back to school again now. I'm much too old.”

I smiled at her.“Not quite such an old woman as all that,”I observed.

For some reason the little compliment fell flat.“When I compare myself with some of the girls in the office,”she said quietly, and there was no laughter in her now,“I know I'm about seventy.”

I was finding out something about her now, but to ease the situation I suggested that we should go into dinner. When the ordering was done, I said,“Tell me what happened to you in the war. You were out in Malaya, weren't you?”

She nodded.“I had a job in an office, with the Kuala Perak Plantation Company. That was the company my father worked for, you know. Donald was with them, too.”

“What happened to you in the war?”I asked.“Were you a prisoner?”

“A sort of prisoner,”she said.

“In a camp?”

“No,”she replied.“They left us pretty free.”And then she changed the conversation very positively, and said,“What happened to you, Mr Strachan? Were you in London all the time?”

I could not press her to talk about her war experiences if she didn't want to, and so I told her about mine—such as they were. And from that, presently, I found myself telling her about my two sons, Harry on the China station and Martin in Basra, and their war records, and their families and children.“I'm a grandfather three times over,”I said ruefully.“There's going to be a fourth soon, I believe.”

She laughed.“What does it feel like?”

“Just like it did before,”I told her.“You don't feel any different as you get older. Only, you can't do so much.”

Presently I got the conversation back on to her own affairs. I pointed out to her what sort of life she would be able to lead upon nine hundred a year. As an instance, I told her that she could have a country cottage in Devonshire and a little car, and a daily maid, and still have money to spare for a moderate amount of foreign travel.“I wouldn't know what to do with myself unless I worked at something,”she said.“I've always worked at something, all my life.”

I knew of several charitable appeals who would have found a first-class shorthand typist, unpaid, a perfect god-send, and I told her so. She was inclined to be critical about those.“Surely, if a thing is really worth while, it'll pay,”she said. She evidently had quite a strong business instinct latent in her.“It wouldn't need to have an unpaid secretary.”

“Charitable organizations like to keep the overheads down,”I remarked.

“I shouldn't have thought organizations that haven't got enough margin to pay a secretary can possibly do very much good,”she said.“If I'm going to work at anything, I want it to be something really worth while.”

I told her about the almoner's job at a hospital, and she was very much interested in that.“That's much more like it, Mr Strachan,”she said.“I think that's the sort of job one might get stuck into and take really seriously. But I wish it hadn't got to do with sick people. Either you've got a mission for sick people or you haven't, and I think I'm one of the ones who hasn't. But it's worth thinking about.”

“Well, you can take your time,”I said.“You don't have to do anything in a hurry.”

She laughed at me.“I believe that's your guiding rule in life—never do anything in a hurry.”

I smiled.“You might have a worse rule than that.”

With the coffee after dinner I tried her out on the Arts. She knew nothing about music, except that she liked listening to the radio while she sewed. She knew nothing about literature, except that she liked novels with a happy ending. She liked paintings that were a reproduction of something that she knew, but she had never been to the Academy. She knew nothing whatsoever about sculpture. For a young woman with nine hundred a year, in London, she knew little of the arts and graces of social life, which seemed to me to be a pity.

“Would you like to come to the opera one night?”I asked.

She smiled.“Would I understand it?”

“Oh yes. I'll look and see what's on. I'll pick something light, and in English.”

She said,“It's terribly nice of you to ask me, but I'm sure you'd be much happier playing bridge.”

“Not a bit,”I said.“I haven't been to the opera or anything like that for years.”

She smiled.“Well, of course I'd love to come,”she said.“I've never seen an opera in my life. I don't even know what happens.”

We sat talking about these things for an hour or more, till it was half-past nine and she got up to go; she had three-quarters of an hour to travel out to her suburban lodgings. I went with her, because she was going from St James's Park station, and I didn't care about the thought of so young a woman walking across the park alone late at night. At the station, standing on the dark, wet pavement by the brightly lit canopy, she put out her hand.

“Thank you so much, Mr Strachan, for the dinner, and for everything you're doing for me,”she said.

“It has been a very great pleasure to me, Miss Paget,”I replied, and I meant it.

She hesitated, and then she said, smiling,“Mr Strachan, we're going to have a good deal to do with each other. My name is Jean. I'll go crackers if you keep on calling me Miss Paget.”

“You can't teach an old dog new tricks,”I said awkwardly.

She laughed.“You said just now you don't feel any different as you get older. You can try and learn.”

“I'll bear it in mind,”I said.“Sure you can manage all right now?”

“Of course. Goodnight, Mr Strachan.”

“Goodnight,”I said, lifting my hat and dodging the issue.“I'll let you know about the opera.”

In the following weeks while probate was being granted I took her to a good many things. We went together to the opera several times, to the Albert Hall on Sunday afternoons, and to art galleries and exhibitions of paintings. In return, she took me to the cinema once or twice. I cannot really say that she developed any very great artistic appreciation. She liked paintings more than concerts. If it had to be music she preferred it in the form of opera and the lighter the better; she liked to have something to look at while her ears were assailed. We went twice to Kew Garden as the spring came on. In the course of these excursions she came several times to my flat in Buckingham Gate; she got to know the kitchen, and made tea once or twice when we came in from some outing together. I had never entertained a lady in that flat before except my daughters-in-law, who sometimes come and use my spare room for a night or two in London.

Her business was concluded in March, and I was able to send her her first cheque. She did not give up her job at once, but continued to go to the office as usual. She wanted, very wisely, to build up a small reserve of capital from her monthly cheques before starting to live on them; moreover, at that time she had not made up her mind what she wanted to do.

That was the position one Sunday in April. I had arranged a little jaunt for her that day; she was to come to lunch at the flat and after that we were going down to Hampton Court, which she had never seen. I thought that the old palace and the spring flowers would please her, and I had been looking forward to this trip for several days. And then, of course, it rained.

She came to the flat just before lunch, dripping in her dark blue raincoat, carrying a very wet umbrella. I took the coat from her and hung it up in the kitchen. She went into my spare room and tidied herself; then she came to me in the lounge and we stood watching the rain beat against the Palace stables opposite; wondering what we should do instead that afternoon.

We had not got that settled when we sat down to coffee before the fire after lunch. I had mentioned one or two things but she seemed to be thinking about other matters. Over the coffee it came out, and she said,

“I've made up my mind what I want to do first of all, Mr Strachan.”

“Oh?”I asked.“What's that?”

She hesitated.“I know you're going to think this very odd. You may think it very foolish of me, to go spending money in this way. But—well, it's what I want to do. I think perhaps I'd better tell you about it now, before we go out.”

It was warm and comfortable before the fire. Outside the sky was dark, and the rain streamed down on the wet pavements.

“Of course, Jean,”I replied.“I don't suppose it's foolish at all. What is it that you want to do?”

She said,“I want to go back to Malaya, Mr Strachan. To dig a well.”

Chapter 2

I suppose there was a long pause after she said that. I remember being completely taken aback, and seeking refuge in my habit of saying nothing when you don't know what to say. She must have felt reproof in my silence, I suppose, because she leaned towards me, and she said,“I know it's a funny thing to want to do. May I tell you about it?”

I said,“Of course. Is this something to do with your experiences in the war?”

She nodded.“I've never told you about that. It's not that I mind talking about it, but I hardly ever think about it now. It all seems so remote, as if it was something that happened to another person, years ago—something that you'd read in a book. As if it wasn't me at all.”

“Isn't it better to leave it so?”

She shook her head.“Not now, now that I've got this money.”She paused.“You've been so very kind to me,”she said.“I do want to try and make you understand.”

Her life, she said, had fallen into three parts, the first two so separate from the rest that she could hardly reconcile them with her present self. First, she had been a schoolgirl living with her mother in Southampton. They lived in a small, three-bedroomed house in a suburban street. There had been a period before that when they had all lived in Malaya, but they had left Malaya for good when she was eleven and her brother Donald was fourteen, and she had only confused memories of that earlier time. Apparently Arthur Paget had been living alone in Malaya when he met his death, his wife having brought the children home.

They lived the life of normal suburban English children, school and holidays passing in a gentle rhythm with the one great annual excitement of three weeks holiday in August in the Isle of Wight, at Seaview or at Freshwater. One thing differentiated them slightly from other families, in that they all spoke Malay. The children had learned it from the amah, of course, and their mother encouraged them to continue talking it in England, first as a joke and as a secret family language, but later for a very definite reason. When Arthur Paget drove his car into the tree near Ipoh he was travelling on the business of his company, and his widow became entitled to a pension under the company scheme. He had been a competent and a valuable man. The directors of the Kuala Perak Plantation Company, linking compassion with their quest for first-class staff, wrote to the widow offering to keep a position for the boy Donald as soon as he became nineteen. This was a good opening and one that they all welcomed; it meant that Donald was headed for Malaya and for rubber-planting as a career. The Malay language became a matter of importance in giving him a good start, for very few boys of nineteen going to the East for their first job can speak an Oriental language. That shrewd Scotswoman, their mother, saw to it that the children did not forget Malay.

Jean had liked Southampton well enough, and she had had a happy childhood there in a gentle orbit of home, school, the Regal cinema, and the ice-skating rink. Of all these influences the one that she remembered best was the ice rink, connected in her mind inevitably with Waldteufel's Skaters Waltz.“It was a lovely place,”she said, staring reminiscently into the fire.“I suppose it wasn't much, really—it was a wooden building, I think, converted out of something that had been put up in the first war. We skated there about twice a week ever since I can remember, and it was always lovely. The music, and the clean, swift movement, and all the boys and girls. The coloured lights, the crowd, and the ring of skates. I got quite good at it. Mummy got me a costume—black tights and bodice, and a little short skirt, you know. Dancing was wonderful upon the ice...”

She turned to me.“You know, out in Malaya, when we were dying of malaria and dysentery, shivering with fever in the rain, with no clothes and no food and nowhere to go, because no one wanted us, I used to think about the rink at Southampton more than anything. It was a sort of symbol of the life that used to be—something to hold on to in one's mind.”She paused.“Directly I got back to England I went back to Southampton, as soon as I could—I had something or other to do down there, but really it was because all through those years I had promised myself that one day I would go back and skate there again. And it had been blitzed. It was just a blackened and a burnt-out shell—there's no rink in Southampton now. I stood there on the pavement with the taxi waiting behind me with my boots and skates in my hand, and I couldn't keep from crying with the disappointment. I don't know what the taxi-driver thought of me.”

Her brother had gone out to Malaya in 1937 when Jean was sixteen. She left school at the age of seventeen and went to a commercial college in Southampton, and emerged from it six months later with a diploma as a shorthand typist. She worked then for about a year in a solicitor's office in the town, but during this year a future for her in Malaya was taking shape. Her mother had kept in contact with the chairman of the Kuala Perak Plantation Company, and the chairman was very satisfied with the reports he had of Donald from the plantation manager. Unmarried girls were never very plentiful in Malaya; and when Mrs Paget approached the chairman with a proposal that he should find a job for Jean in the head office at Kuala Lumpur it was considered seriously. It was deemed undesirable by the Company that their manager should marry or contract liaisons with native women, and the obvious way to prevent it was to encourage unmarried girls to come out from England. Here was a girl who was not only of a family that they knew but who could also speak Malay, a rare accomplishment in a shorthand typist from England. So Jean got her job.

The war broke out while all this was in train, and to begin with, in England, this war was a phoney war. There seemed no reason to upset Jean's career for such a trivial matter; moreover in Mrs Paget's view Jean was much better in Malaya if war was to flare up in England. So Jean left for Malaya in the winter of 1939.

For over eighteen months she had a marvellous time. Her office was just round the corner from the Secretariat. The Secretariat is a huge building built in the more spacious days to demonstrate the power of the British Raj; it forms one side of a square facing the Club across the cricket ground, with a perfect example of an English village church to one side. Here everybody lived a very English life with tropical amenities; plenty of leisure, plenty of games, plenty of parties, plenty of dances, all made smooth and easy by plenty of servants. Jean boarded with one of the managers of the Company for the first few weeks; later she got a room in the Tudor Rose, a small private hotel run by an Englishwoman which was, in fact, more or less a chummery for unmarried girls employed in the offices and the Secretariat.

“It was just too good to be true,”she said.“There was a dance or a party every single night of the week. One had to cry off doing something in order to find time to write a letter home.”

When war came with Japan it hardly registered with her as any real danger, nor with any of her set. December the 7th, 1941, brought America into the war and so was a good thing; it meant nothing to the parties in Kuala Lumpur except that young men began to take leave from their work and to appear in uniform, itself a pleasurable excitement. Even when the Japanese landed in the north of Malaya there was little thought of danger in Kuala Lumpur; three hundred miles of mountain and jungle was itself a barrier against invasion from the north. The sinking of the Prince of Wales and the Repulse was a catastrophe that didn't mean a thing to a girl of nineteen who had just rejected her first proposal.

Soon the married women and the children were evacuated to Singapore, in theory at any rate. As the Japanese made headway down the peninsula with swift encirclements through the jungle that no troops had ever penetrated before, the situation began to appear serious. There came a morning when Jean's chief, a Mr Merriman, called her into the office and told her bluntly that the office was closing down. She was to pack a suitcase and go to the station and take the first train down to Singapore. He gave her the name of their representative at an address off Raffles Place, and told her to report there for a passage home. Five other girls employed in the office got the same orders.

The Japanese at that time were reported to be near Ipoh, about a hundred miles to the north.

The serious nature of the position was obvious to everyone by then. Jean went to the bank and drew out all her money, about six hundred Straits dollars. She did not go to the station, however; if she had, it is doubtful whether she would have been able to get down to Singapore because the line by that time was completely blocked with military traffic coming up to the Front. She might have got away by road. Instead of that, she went to Batu Tasik to see Mrs Holland.

Batu Tasik is a place about twenty miles north-west of Kuala Lumpur, and Mr Holland was a man of forty, the manager of an opencast tin mine. He lived in quite a pleasant bungalow beside the mine with his wife Eileen and their three children, Freddie aged seven, Jane aged four, and Robin, who was ten months old. Eileen Holland was a comfortable, motherly woman between thirty and thirty-five years old. The Hollands never went to parties or to dances; they were not that sort. They stayed quietly at home and let the world go by them. They had invited Jean to come and stay with them soon after she arrived, and she had found their company restful. She had been to see them several times after that, and once, when she had had a slight attack of dengue, she had spent a week with them recuperating. In Kuala Lumpur on the previous day she had heard that Mr Holland had brought his family into the station but had been unable to get them on the train, so they had all gone home again. Jean felt she could not leave without seeing the Hollands and offering her help with the children; Eileen Holland was a good mother and a first-rate housewife, but singularly unfitted to travel by herself with three children in the turmoil of evacuation.

Jean got to Batu Tasik fairly easily in a native bus; she arrived about lunch-time and she found Mrs Holland alone with the children. All trucks and cars belonging to the mine had been taken by the army, and the Hollands were left with their old Austin Twelve with one tyre worn down to the canvas and one very doubtful one with a large blister on the wall. This was the only vehicle that they now had for their evacuation, and it didn't look too good for taking the family to Singapore. Mr Holland had gone into Kuala Lumpur to get two new outer covers; he had gone in at dawn and Mrs Holland was already in a state of flutter that he had not come back.

In the bungalow everything was in confusion. The amah had gone home or had been given notice, and the house was full of suitcases half packed, or packed and opened again. Freddie had been in the pond and was all muddy, Jane was sitting on her pot amongst the suitcases, crying, and Mrs Holland was nursing the baby and directing the cooking of lunch and attending to Jane and worrying about her husband all at the same time. Jean turned to and cleaned up Freddie and attended to Jane, and presently they all had lunch together.

Bill Holland did not come till nearly sunset, and he came empty-handed. All tyre stocks in Kuala Lumpur had been commandeered. He found out, however, that a native bus was leaving for Singapore at eight that morning, and he had reserved seats for his family on that. He had had to walk the last five miles for lack of any other transport, and walking five miles down a tarmac road in the middle of the afternoon in the heat of the tropics is no joke; he was soaked to the skin and with a raging thirst, and utterly exhausted.

It would have been better if they had started for Kuala Lumpur that night, but they didn't. All movement on the roads at night was prohibited by the military, and to start out in the Austin in the dark would have been to risk a burst of fire from trigger-happy sentries. They decided to leave at dawn, which would give plenty of time to get to Kuala Lumpur before eight. Jean stayed the night with them in the bungalow, wakeful and uneasy. Once in the middle of the night she heard Bill Holland get up and go out into the veranda; peering out through her mosquito net she could see him standing motionless against the stars. She climbed out from under the net and slipped on her kimono; in Malaya one sleeps with very little on. She walked along the veranda to him.“What is it?”she whispered.

“Nothing,”he said.“Just thought I heard something, that's all.”

“Someone in the compound?”

“No—not that.”

“What?”

“I thought I heard guns firing, very far away,”he said.“Must have been fancy.”They stood tense and listening against the great noise of the crickets and the frogs.“God,”he said presently,“I wish it was dawn.”

They went back to bed. That night the Japanese advanced patrols infiltrated behind our forces lining the Bidor and penetrated as far as Slim River, less than fifty miles away.

They were all up before dawn and loading up the Austin with the first grey light; with three adults and three children and the luggage for all of them the Austin was well loaded down. Mr Holland paid the boys off and they started down the road for Kuala Lumpur, but before they had gone two miles the tyre that was showing canvas burst. There was a strained pause then while they worked to put the spare on, the one with the blister on the wall; this took them for another half mile only before going flat. In desperation Mr Holland went on on the rim; the wire wheel collapsed after another two miles, and the Austin had run to its end. They were then about fifteen miles from Kuala Lumpur, and it was half past seven.

Mr Holland left them with the car and hurried down the road to a plantation bungalow about a mile away; there was no transport there, and the manager had left the day before. He came back disappointed and anxious, to find the children fretful and his wife only concerned to get back to their bungalow. In the circumstances it seemed the best thing to do. Each of the adults took one child, and carrying it or leading it they set out to walk the five miles home again, leaving the luggage in the car, which they locked.

They reached home in the first heat of the day, utterly exhausted. After cold drinks from the refrigerator. they all lay down for a little to recover. An hour later they were roused by a truck stopping at the bungalow; a young officer came hurrying into the house.

“You've got to leave this place,”he said.“I'll take you in the truck. How many of you are there?”

Jean said,“Six, counting the children. Can you take us into Kuala Lumpur? Our car broke down.”

The officer laughed shortly.“No I can't. The Japs are at Kerling, or they were when I last heard. They may be further south by now.”Kerling was only twenty miles away.“I'm taking you to Panong. You'll get a boat from there to get you down to Singapore.”He refused to take the truck back for their luggage, probably rightly; it was already loaded with a number of families who had messed up their evacuation, and the Austin was five miles in the direction of the enemy.

Kuala means the mouth of a river, and Kuala Panong is a small town at the entrance to the Panong River. There is a District Commissioner stationed there. By the time the truck reached his office it was loaded with about forty men, women, and children picked up for forcible evacuation from the surrounding estates. Most of these were Englishwomen of relatively humble birth, the wives of foreman engineers at the tin mines or gangers on the railway. Few of them had been able to appreciate the swiftness and the danger of the Japanese advance. Plantation managers and those in the Secretariat and other Government positions had had better sources of information and more money to spend, and these had got their families away to Singapore in good time. Those who were left to be picked up by truck at the last moment were the least competent.

The truck halted at the DC's office and the subaltern went inside; the DC came out presently, a very worried man, and looked at the crowded women and children, and the few men amongst them.“Christ,”he said quietly as he realized the extent of the new responsibility.“Well, drive them to the accounts office over there; they must sit in the veranda for an hour or two and I'll try and get something fixed up for them. Tell them not to wander about too much.”He turned back into the office.“I can send them down in fishing-boats, I think,”he said.“There are some of those left. That's the best I can do. I haven't got a launch.”

The party were unloaded on to the veranda of the accounts office, and here they were able to stretch and sort themselves out a little. There were chatties of cold water in the office and the veranda was shady and cool. Jean and Bill Holland left Eileen sitting on the veranda with her back against the wall with the children about her, and walked into the village to buy what they could to replace the luggage they had lost. They were able to get a feeding-bottle for the baby, a little quinine, some salts for dysentery, and two tins of biscuits and three of tinned meat; they tried for mosquito nets, but they were all sold out. Jean got herself a few needles and thread, and seeing a large canvas haversack she bought that, too. She carried that haversack for the next three years.

They went back to the veranda about teatime and displayed their purchases, and had a little meal of biscuits and lemon squash.

Towards sunset the lighthouse-keepers at the river mouth telephoned to the DC that the Osprey was coming into the river. The Osprey was the customs launch that ran up and down the coast looking for smugglers from Sumatra across the Malacca Strait; she was a large Diesel-engined vessel about a hundred and thirty feet long, normally stationed at Penang; a powerful, seagoing ship. The DC's face lit up; here was the solution to his problems. Whatever was the mission of the Osprey she must take his evacuees on board, and run them down the coast out of harm's way. Presently he left his office, and walked down to the quay to meet the vessel as she berthed, to interview the captain.

She came round the bend in the river, and he saw that she was loaded with troops, small stocky men in grey-green uniforms with rifles and fixed bayonets taller than themselves. With a sick heart he watched her as she came alongside, realizing that this was the end of all his endeavour.

The Japanese came rushing ashore and arrested him immediately, and walked him back up the jetty to his office with guns at his back, ready to shoot him at the slightest show of resistance. But there were no troops there to resist; even the officer with the truck had driven off in an attempt to join his unit. The soldiers spread out and occupied the place without a shot; they came to the evacuees sitting numbly in the veranda of the accounts office. Immediately, with rifles and bayonets levelled, they were ordered to give up all fountain-pens and wristwatches and rings. Advised by their men folk, the women did so silently, and suffered no other molestation. Jean lost her watch and had her bag searched for a fountain-pen, but she had packed it in her luggage.

An officer came presently, when night had fallen, and inspected the crowd on the veranda in the light of a hurricane lamp; he walked down the veranda thrusting his lamp forward at each group, a couple of soldiers hard on his heels with rifles at the ready and bayonets fixed. Most of the children started crying. The inspection finished, he made a little speech in broken English.“Now you are prisoners,”he said.“You stay here tonight. Tomorrow you go to prisoner camp perhaps. You do good things, obedience to orders, you will receive good from Japanese soldiers. You do bad things, you will be shot directly. So, do good things always. When officer come, you stand up and bow, always. That is good thing. Now you sleep.”

One of the men asked,“May we have beds and mosquito nets?”

“Japanese soldiers have no beds, no mosquito nets. Perhaps tomorrow you have beds and nets.”

Another said,“Can we have some supper?”This had to be explained.“Food.”

“Tomorrow you have food.”The officer walked away, leaving two sentries on guard at each end of the veranda.

Kuala Panong lies in a marshy district of mangrove swamps at the entrance to a muddy river; the mosquitoes are intense. All night the children moaned and wailed fretfully, preventing what sleep might have been possible for the adults. The night passed slowly, wearily on the hard floor of the veranda; between the crushing misery of captivity and defeat and the torment of the mosquitoes few of the prisoners slept at all. Jean dozed a little in the early hours and woke stiff and aching and with swollen face and arms as a fresh outburst from the children heralded the more intense attack from the mosquitoes that comes in the hour before the dawn. When the first light came the prisoners were in a very unhappy state.

There was a latrine behind the accounts office, inadequate for the numbers that had to use it They made the best of that, and there was nothing then to do but to sit and wait for what would happen. Holland and Eileen made sandwiches for the children of tinned meat and sweet biscuits, and after this small breakfast they felt better. Many of the others had some small supplies of food, and those that had none were fed by those who had. Nothing was provided for the prisoners that morning by the Japanese.

In the middle of the morning an interrogation began. The prisoners were taken by families to the DC's office, where a Japanese captain, whom Jean was to know later as Captain Yoniata, sat with a lieutenant at his side, who made notes in a child's penny exercise book. Jean went in with the Hollands; when the captain enquired who she was she explained that she was a friend of the family travelling with them, and told him what her job was in Kuala Lumpur. It did not take very long. At the end the captain said,“Men go to prisoner camp today, womans and childs stay here. Men leave in afternoon, so you will now say farewell till this afternoon. Thank you.”

They had feared this, and had discussed it in the veranda, but they had not expected it would come so soon. Holland asked,“May we know where the women and children will be sent to? Where will their camp be?”

The officer said,“The Imperial Japanese Army do not make war on womans and on childs. Perhaps not go to camp at all, if they do good things, perhaps live in homes. Japanese soldiers always kind to womans and to childs.”

They went back to the veranda and discussed the position with the other families. There was nothing to be done about it, for it is usual in war for men to be interned in separate camps from women and children, but none the less it was hard to bear. Jean felt her presence was unwanted with the Holland family, and went and sat alone on the edge of the veranda, feeling hungry and wondering, with gloom tempered by the buoyancy of youth, what lay ahead of her. One thing was certain; if they were to spend another night upon the veranda she must get hold of some mosquito repellent. There was a chemist's shop just up the village that they had visited the afternoon before; it was probable that in such a district he had some repellent.

As an experiment she attracted the attention of the sentry and pointed to her mosquito bites; then she pointed to the village and got down from the veranda on to the ground. Immediately he brought his bayonet to the ready and advanced towards her; she got back on to the veranda in a hurry. That evidently wouldn't do. He scowled at her suspiciously, and went back to his position.

There was another way. The latrine was behind the building up against a wall; there was no sentry there because the wall prevented any exit from the accounts office except by going round the building to the front. She moved after a time and went out of the back door. Sheltered from the view of the sentries by the building, she looked around. There were some children playing in the middle distance.

She called softly in Malay,“Girl. You, you girl. Come here.”

The child came towards her; she was about twelve years old. Jean asked,“What is your name?”

She giggled shyly,“Halijah.”

Jean said,“Do you know the shop that sells medicine? Where a Chinese sells medicine?”

She nodded.“Chan Kok Fuan.”

Jean said,“Go to Chan Kok Fuan, and if you give my message to him so that he comes to me, I will give you ten cents. Say that the Mem has Nyamok bites”—she showed her bites—“and he should bring ointments to the veranda, and he will sell many to the Mems. Do this, and if he comes with ointments, I will give you ten cents.”

The child nodded and went off. Jean went back to the veranda and waited; presently the Chinaman appeared carrying a tray loaded with little tubes and pots. He approached the sentry and spoke to him, indicating his wish to sell his wares; after some hesitation the sentry agreed. Jean got six tubes of repellent and the rest was swiftly taken by the other women. Halijah got ten cents.

Presently a Japanese orderly brought two buckets of a thin fish soup and another half full of boiled rice, dirty and unappetizing. There were no bowls or utensils to eat with. There was nothing to be done but to eat as best they could; at that time they had not fallen into the prisoner's mode of life in which all food is strictly shared out and divided scrupulously, so that some got much more than others, who got little or none. There were still food supplies, however, so they fell back on the biscuits and the private stocks to supplement the ration.

That afternoon the men were separated from their families, and marched off under guard. Bill Holland turned from his fat, motherly wife, his eyes moist“Goodbye, Jean,”he said heavily.“Good luck.”And then he said,“Stick with them, if you can, won't you?”

She nodded.“I'll do that. We'll all be in the same camp together.”

The men were formed up together, seven of them, and marched off under guard.

The party then consisted of eleven married women, and two girls, Jean and an anaemic girl called Ellen Forbes who had been living with one of the families; she had come out to be married, but it hadn't worked out. Besides these there were nineteen children varying in age from a girl of fourteen to babies in arms; thirty-two persons in all. Most of the women could speak no language but their own; a few of them, including Eileen Holland, could speak enough Malay to control their servants, but no more.

They stayed in the accounts office for forty-one days.

The second night was similar to the first, except that the doors of the offices were opened for them and they were allowed to use the rooms. A second meal of fish soup was given to them in the evening, but nothing else whatever was provided for their use—no beds, no blankets, and no nets. Some of the women had their luggage with them and had blankets, but there were far too few to go round. A stern-faced woman, Mrs Horsefall, asked to see the officer; when Captain Yoniata came she protested at the conditions and asked for beds and nets.

“No nets, no beds,”he said.“Very sorry for you. Japanese womans sleep on mat on floor. All Japanese sleep on mat. You put away proud thoughts, very bad thing. You sleep on mat like Japanese womans.”

“But we're English,”she said indignantly.“We don't sleep on the floor like animals!”

His eyes hardened; he motioned to the sentries, who gripped her by each arm. Then he hit her four stinging blows upon the face with the flat of his hand.“Very bad thoughts,”he said, and turned upon his heel, and left them. No more was said about beds.

He came to inspect them the next morning and Mrs Horsefall, undaunted, asked for a water supply; she pointed out that washing was necessary for the babies and desirable for everyone. A barrel was brought into the smallest office that afternoon and was kept filled by coolies; they turned this room into a bathroom and washhouse. In those early days most of the women had money, and following the example of Chan Kok Fuan the shopkeepers of the village came to sell to the prisoners, so they accumulated the bare essentials for existence.

Gradually they grew accustomed to their hardships. The children quickly learned to sleep upon the floor without complaint; the younger women took a good deal longer, and the women over thirty seldom slept for more than half an hour without waking in pain—but they did sleep. It was explained to them by Captain Yoniata that until the campaign was over the victorious Japanese had no time to construct prison camps for women. When all Malaya had been conquered they would be moved into a commodious and beautiful camp which would be built for them in the Cameron Highlands, a noted health resort up in the hills. There they would find beds and mosquito nets and all the amenities to which they were accustomed, but to earn these delights they must stay where they were and do good things. Doing good things meant getting up and bowing whenever he approached. After a few faces had been slapped and shins had been kicked by Captain Yoniata's army boots, they learned to do this good thing.

The food issued to them was the bare minimum that would support life, and was an unvarying issue of fish soup and rice, given to them twice a day. Complaint was useless and even dangerous; in the view of Captain Yoniata these were proud thoughts that had to be checked for the moral good of the complainant. Meals, however, could be supplied by a small Chinese restaurant in the village, and while money was available most of the families ordered one cooked meal a day from this restaurant.

They received no medical attention and no drugs whatsoever. At the end of a week dysentery attacked them, and the nights were made hideous by screaming children stumbling with their mothers to the latrine. Malaria was always in the background, held in check by the quinine that they could still buy from Chan Kok Fuan at an ever increasing price. To check the dysentery Captain Yoniata reduced the soup and increased the rice ration, adding to the rice some of the dried, putrescent fish that had formerly made the soup. Later, he added to the diet a bucket of tea in the afternoon, as a concession to English manners.

Through all this time, Jean shared with Mrs Holland the care of the three Holland children. She suffered a great deal from weakness and a feeling of lassitude induced, no doubt, by the change in diet, but she slept soundly most nights until wakened, which was frequently. Eileen Holland suffered much more. She was older, and could not sleep so readily upon the floor, and she had lost much of the resilience of her youth. She lost weight rapidly.

On the thirty-fifth day, Esmé Harrison died.

Esmé was a child of eight. She had had dysentery for some time and was growing very thin and weak; she slept little and cried a great deal. Presently she got fever, and for two days ran a temperature of a hundred and four as the malaria rose in her. Mrs Horsefall told Captain Yoniata that the child must see a doctor and go to hospital. He said he was very sorry, but there was no hospital. He would try and get a doctor, but the doctors were all fighting with the victorious army of the Emperor. That evening Esmé entered on a series of convulsions, and shortly before dawn she died.

She was buried that morning in the Moslem cemetery behind the village; her mother and one other woman were allowed to attend the burial. They read a little of the service out of a prayer book before the uncomprehending soldiers and Malays, and then it was over. Life went on as before in the accounts office, but the children now had nightmares of death to follow them to sleep.

At the end of six weeks Captain Yoniata faced them after the morning inspection. The women stood worn and draggled in the shade of the veranda facing him, holding the children by the hand. Many of the adults, and most of the children, by that time were thin and ill.

He said,“Ladies, the Imperial Japanese Army has entered Singapore, and all Malaya is free. Now prisoner camps are being built for men and also for womans and childs. Prisoner camps are at Singapore and you go there. I am very sad your life here has been uncomfortable, but now will be better. Tomorrow you start to Kuala Lumpur, not more than you can go each day. From Kuala Lumpur you go by train to Singapore, I think. In Singapore you will be very happy. Thank you.”

From Panong to Kuala Lumpur is forty-seven miles; it took a minute for his meaning to sink in. Then Mrs Horsefall said,“How are we to travel to Kuala Lumpur? Will there be a truck?”

He said,“Very sorry, no truck. You walk, easy journeys, not more than you can go each day. Japanese soldier help you.”

She said,“We can't walk, with these children. We must have a truck.”

These were bad thoughts, and his eyes hardened.“You walk,”he repeated.

“But what are we to do with all the luggage?”

He said,“You carry what you can. Presently the luggage is sent after you.”He turned, and went away.

For the remainder of the day they sat in stunned desperation; those who had luggage sorted hopelessly through their things, trying to make packs that would hold the essentials and yet which would not be too heavy. Mrs Horsefall, who had been a schoolmistress in her time and had assumed the position of leader, moved among them, helping and advising. She had one child herself, a boy of ten called John; her own position was better than most, for it was possible for a woman to carry the necessities for one boy of that age. The position of the mothers with several younger children was bad indeed.

Jean and Mrs Holland had less of a problem, for having lost their luggage they had less to start with and the problem of selection did not arise. They had few clothes to change into, and what they had could easily go into Jean's haversack. They had acquired two blankets and three food bowls between them, and three spoons, and a knife and fork; they decided to make a bundle of these small possessions in the blankets, and they had a piece of cord to tie the bundle with and to make a sling, so that one could carry the haversack and one the bundle. Their biggest problem was their shoes, which had once been fashionable and were quite unsuitable for marching in.

Towards evening, when the children had left them and they were alone with the baby in a corner, Mrs Holland said quietly,“My dear, I shan't give up, but I don't think I can walk very far. I've been so poorly lately.”

Jean said,“It'll be all right,”although deep in her mind she knew that it was not going to be all right at all.“You're much fitter than some of the others,”and this possibly was true.“We'll have to take it very slowly, because of the children. We'll take several days over it.”

“I know, my dear. But where are we going to stay at night? What are they going to do about that?”

Nobody had an answer to that one.

Rice came to them soon after dawn, and at about eight o'clock Captain Yoniata appeared with four soldiers, who were to be their guard upon the journey.“Today you walk to Ayer Penchis,”he said.“Fine day, easy journey. Good dinner when you get to Ayer Penchis. You will be very happy.”

Jean asked Mrs Horsefall,“How far is Ayer Penchis?”

“Twelve or fifteen miles, I should think. Some of us will never get that far.”

Jean said,“We'd better do what the soldiers do, have a rest every hour. Hadn't we?”

“If they'll let us.”

It took an hour to get the last child out of the latrine and get the women ready for the march. The guards squatted on their heels; it was a small matter to them when the march started. Finally Captain Yoniata appeared again, his eyes hard and angry.“You walk now,”he said.“Womans remaining here are beaten, beaten very bad. You do good thing and be happy. Walk now.”

There was nothing for it but to start. They formed into a little group and walked down the tarmac road in the hot sun, seeking the shade of trees wherever they occurred. Jean walked with Mrs Holland carrying the bundle of blankets slung across her shoulders as the hottest and the heaviest load, and leading the four-year-old Jane by the hand. Seven-year-old Freddie walked beside his mother, who carried the baby, Robin, and the haversack. Ahead of them strolled the Japanese sergeant; behind came the three privates.

The women went very slowly, with frequent halts as a mother and child retired into the bushes by the roadside. There was no question of walking continuously for an hour and then resting; the dysentery saw to that. For those who were not afflicted at the moment the journey became one of endless, wearisome waits by the roadside in the hot sun, for the sergeant refused to allow the party to move on while any remained behind. Within the limits of their duty the Japanese soldiers were humane and helpful; before many hours had passed each was carrying a child.

Slowly the day wore on. The sergeant made it very clear at an early stage that there would be no food and no shelter for the party till they got to Ayer Penchis, and it seemed to be a matter of indifference to him how long they took to get there. They seldom covered more than a mile and a half in the hour, on that first day. As the day went on they all began to suffer from their feet, the older women especially. Their shoes were quite unsuitable for walking long distances, and the heat of the tarmac swelled their feet, so that before long many of them were limping with foot pains. Some of the children went barefoot and got along very well. Jean watched them for a time, then stooped and took her own shoes off, savouring the unaccustomed road surface gingerly with her bare feet. She walked on carrying her shoes, picking her way with her eyes upon the ground, and her feet ceased to pain her though from time to time the tarmac grits hurt her soft soles. She got along better barefoot, but Eileen Holland refused to try it.

They stumbled into Ayer Penchis at about six o'clock that evening, shortly before dark. This place was a Malay village which housed the labour for a number of rubber plantations in the vicinity. The latex-processing plant of one stood near at hand and by it was a sort of palm thatch barn, used normally for smoking sheets of the raw rubber hung on horizontal laths. It was empty now and the women were herded into this. They sank down wearily in a stupor of fatigue; presently the soldiers brought a bucket of tea and a bucket of rice and dried fish. Most of them drank cup after cup of the tea, but few had any appetite for the food.

With the last of the light Jean strolled outside and looked around. The guards were busy cooking over a small fire; she approached the sergeant and asked if she might go into the village. He understood that, and nodded; away from Captain Yoniata discipline was lax.

In the village she found one or two small shops, selling clothes, sweets, cigarettes, and fruit. She saw mangoes for sale, and bought a dozen, chaffering over the price with the Malay woman to conserve her slender cash. She ate one at once and felt better for it; at Kuala Panong they had eaten little fruit. She went back to the barn and found that the soldiers had provided one small lamp with an open wick fed by coconut oil.

She distributed her mangoes to Eileen and the Holland children and to others, and found they were a great success. Armed with money from the women she went down to the village again and got four dozen more, and presently all the women and children were in mango up to their ears. The soldiers came in with another bucket of tea and got a mango each for their pains, and so refreshed the women were able to eat most of the rice. Presently, they slept, exhausted, weak, and ill.

The barn was full of rats, which ran over them and round them all night through. In the morning it was found that several of the children had been bitten.

They woke aching in new places with the stiffness and fatigue of the day before; it did not seem possible that they could march again. The sergeant drove them on; this time the stage was to a place called Asahan. It was a shorter stage than the day before, about ten miles, and it had need to be, because they took as long getting to it. This time the delay was chiefly due to Mrs Collard. She was a heavy woman of about forty-five with two children, Harry and Ben, aged about ten and seven. She had suffered from both malaria and dysentery at Panong, and she was now very weak; she had to stop and rest every ten minutes, and when she stopped they all stopped since the sergeant would not allow them to separate. She was relieved of all load and the younger women took turns to walk by her and help her along.

By the afternoon she had visibly changed colour; her somewhat ruddy face had now gone a mottled blue, and she was complaining constantly of pains in her chest. When they finally reached Asahan she was practically incapable of walking alone. Their accommodation was another rubber-curing barn. They half carried Mrs Collard into it and sat her up against the wall, for she said that lying down hurt her, and she could not breathe. Somebody went to fetch some water, and bathed her face, and she said,“Thank you, dearie. Give some of that to Harry and Ben, there's a dear.”The woman took the children outside to wash them, and when she came back Mrs Collard had fallen over on her side, and was unconscious. Half an hour later she died.

That evening Jean got more fruit for them, mangoes and bananas, and some sweets for the children. The Malay woman who supplied the sweets refused to take money for them.“No, mem,”she said.“It is bad that Nippon soldiers treat you so. This is our gift.”Jean went back to the barn and told the others what had happened, and it helped.

In the flickering light of the cooking fire outside the barn Mrs Horsefall and Jean held a conference with the sergeant, who spoke only a very few words of English. They illustrated their meaning with pantomime.“Not walk tomorrow,”they said.“No. Not walk. Rest—sleep—tomorrow. Walk tomorrow, more women die. Rest tomorrow. Walk one day, rest one day.”

They could not make out if he understood or not.“Tomorrow,”he said,“woman in earth.”

It would be necessary to bury Mrs Collard in the morning. This would prevent an early start, and would make a ten-mile stage almost impossible. They seized upon this as an excuse.“Tomorrow bury woman in earth,”they said.“Stay here tomorrow.”

They had to leave it so, uncertain whether he understood or not; he squatted down on his heels before the fire with the three privates. Later he came to Jean, his face alight with intelligence.“Walk one day, sleep one day,”he said.“Womans not die.”He nodded vigorously, and she called Mrs Horsefall, and they all nodded vigorously together, beaming with good nature. They were all so pleased with each other and with the diplomatic victory that they gave him a banana as a token of esteem.

All that day Jean had walked barefoot; she had stubbed her toes two or three times and had broken her toenails; but she felt fresher that evening than she had felt for a long time. The effect of the march upon the women began to show itself that night in very different forms, according to their age. The women under thirty, and the children, were in most cases actually in better condition than when they left Panong; they were cheered by the easier discipline, and stimulated by the exercise and by the improvement in the diet brought by fruit and sweets. The older women were in much worse case. For them exhaustion outweighed these benefits; they lay or sat listlessly in the darkness, plagued by their children and too tired to eat. In many cases they were too tired even to sleep.

In the morning they buried Mrs Collard. There was no burial ground at hand but the Malay headman showed them where they could dig the grave, in a corner of the compound, near a rubbish heap. The sergeant got two coolies and they dug a shallow grave; they lowered Mrs Collard into it covered by a blanket, and Mrs Horsefall read a little out of the Prayer Book. Then they took away the blanket because they could not spare that, and the earth was filled in. Jean found a carpenter who nailed a little wooden cross together for them, and refused payment; he was a Moslem or perhaps merely an animist, but he knew what the Tuans did for a Christian burial. They wrote JULIA COLLARD on it and the date of death with an indelible pencil, hoping it would survive the rain, and then they had a long discussion over the text to put underneath it. This interested every woman in the party, and kept them happy and mentally stimulated for half an hour. Mrs Holland, rather surprisingly, suggested Romans, xiv, 4;“Who art thou that judgest another man's servant? to his own master he standeth or falleth”, meaning the sergeant who had made them march that day. But the other women did not care for that, and finally they compromised on“Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away”. That pleased everybody.

They sat around and washed their clothes after the burial was over. Soap was getting very scarce amongst them, but so was money. Mrs Horsefall held a sort of meeting after rice and examined the money situation; half the women had no money left at all, and the rest had only about fifteen dollars between them. She suggested pooling this, but the mothers who had money left preferred to keep it for their own children; as there was so little in any case it did not seem worth while to worry them by making an issue of it. They all agreed, however, to share rations equally, and after that their feeding times were much better organized.

Captain Yoniata turned up about midday, driving into Kuala Lumpur in the District Commissioner's car. He stopped and got out, angry to find that they were not upon the road. He abused the sergeant for some minutes in Japanese; the man stood stiffly to attention, not saying a word in explanation or defence. Then he turned to the women.“Why you not walk?”he demanded angrily.“Very bad thing. You not walk, no food.”

Mrs Horsefall faced him.“Mrs Collard died last night. We buried her this morning over there. If you make us walk every day like this, we shall all die. These women aren't fit to march at all. You know that.”

“What woman die of?”he inquired.“What illness?”

“She had dysentery and malaria, as most of us have had. She died of exhaustion after yesterday's march. You'd better come inside and look at Mrs Frith and Judy Thomson. They couldn't possibly have marched today.”

He walked into the barn, and stood looking at two or three women sitting listless in the semi-darkness. Then he said something to the sergeant and walked back to his car. At the door he turned to Mrs Horsefall.“Very sad woman die,”he said.“Perhaps I get a truck in Kuala Lumpur. I will ask.”He got into the car and drove away.

His words went round the women quickly; he had gone to get a truck for them, and they would finish the journey to Kuala Lumpur by truck; there would be no more marching. Things weren't so bad, after all. They would be sent by rail from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore, and there they would be put into a proper camp with other Englishwomen, where they could settle down and organize their lives properly, and get into a routine that would enable them to look after the children. A prison camp would have a doctor, too, and there was always some kind of a hospital for those who were really ill. They became much more cheerful, and the most listless ones revived, and came out and washed and made themselves a little more presentable. Their appearance was a great concern to them that afternoon. Kuala Lumpur was their shopping town where people knew them; they must get tidy before the truck came for them.

Captain Yoniata appeared again about an hour before sunset; again he spoke to the sergeant, who saluted. Then he turned to the women.“You not go to Kuala Lumpur,”he said.“You go to Port Swettenham. English destroy bridges, so railway to Singapore no good. You go to Port Swettenham now, and then ship to Singapore. ”

There was a stunned silence. Then Mrs Horsefall asked,“Is there going to be a truck to take us to Port Swettenham?”

He said,“Very sorry no truck. You walk slow, easy stages. Two days, three days, you walk to Port Swettenham. Then ship take you to Singapore.”

From Asahan to Port Swettenham is about thirty miles. She said,“Captain Yoniata, please be reasonable. Many of us are quite unfit to walk any further. Can't you get some transport for the children, anyway?”

He said,“English womans have proud thoughts, always. Too good to walk like Japanese womans. Tomorrow you walk to Bakri.”He got into his car and went away; that was the last they ever saw of him.

Bakri is eleven miles in the general direction of Port Swettenham. The change in programme was the deepest disappointment to them, the more so as it showed irresolution in their destiny. Mrs Holland said despairingly,“I don't see why he shouldn't have known at Panong that the bridges were down, and not sent us to Kuala Lumpur at all. It makes one wonder if there's going to be a ship when we get to Port Swettenham....”

There was nothing for it, and next morning they started on the road again. They found that two of the privates had been taken away, and one remained to guard them, with the sergeant. This was of no consequence to their security because they had no desire to attempt to escape, but it reduced by half the help the guards had given them in carrying the younger children, so that it threw an extra burden on the mothers.

That day for the first time Jean carried the baby, Robin: Mrs Holland was walking so badly that she had to be relieved. She still carried the haversack and looked after Freddie, but Jean carried the bundle of blankets and small articles, and the baby, and led Jane by the hand. She went barefoot as before; after some experiments she found that the easiest way to carry the baby was to perch him on her hip, as the Malay women did.

The baby, curiously, gave them the least anxiety of any of the children. They fed it on rice and gravy from the fish soup or stew, and it did well. Once in the six weeks it had seemed to be developing dysentery and they had given it a tiny dose or two of Glauber's salt, and it recovered. Mosquitoes never seemed to worry it, and it had not had fever. The other children were less fortunate. Both had had dysentery from time to time, and though they seemed now to be free of it they had gone very thin.

They slept that night in the bungalow that had belonged to the manager of the Bakri tin mine, an Englishman. In the seven or eight weeks since he had abandoned it it had been occupied by troops of both sides and looted by the Malays; now little remained of it but the bare walls. Marvellously, however, the bath was still in order though filthily dirty, and there was a store of cut wood for the furnace that heated water. The sergeant, true to his promise, allowed them a day of rest here, and they made the most of the hot water for washing their clothes and themselves. With the small improvement in conditions their spirits revived.

“I should think there'd be hot water on the ship,”said Mrs Holland.“There usually is, isn't there?”

They marched again next day to a place called Dilit; this was mostly a day spent marching down cart tracks in the rubber plantations. The tracks were mostly in the shade of the trees and this made it pleasant for them, and even the older women found the day bearable. They had some difficulty in finding the way. The sergeant spoke little Malay and had difficulty in understanding the Malay women latex-tappers that he asked for directions from time to time. Jean found that she could understand the answers that the women gave, and could converse with them, but having got the directions they required she had some difficulty in making the sergeant understand. They reached an agreement by the end of the day that she should talk to the women, who talked to her less shyly in any case, and she developed a sign language which the sergeant understood. From that time onwards Jean was largely responsible for finding the shortest way for the party to go.

In the middle of the afternoon Ben Collard, the younger son of Mrs Collard who had died, trod on something while walking barefoot in the grass that bit him with poison fangs and got away. He said afterwards that it looked like a big beetle; possibly it was a scorpion. Mrs Horsefall took charge and laid him on the ground and sucked the wound to draw the poison from it, but the foot swelled quickly and the inflammation travelled up the leg to the knee. It was obviously painful and he cried a great deal. There was nothing to be done but carry him, and this was no easy matter for the women in their feeble condition because he was a boy of seven and weighed five stone. Mrs Horsefall carried him for an hour and after that the sergeant took him and carried him the rest of the way. By the time they got to Dilit the ankle was enormous and the knee was stiff.

At Dilit there was no accommodation for them and no food. The place was a typical Malay village, the houses built of wood and palm thatch raised about four feet from the ground on posts, leaving a space beneath where dogs slept and fowls nested. They stood or sat wearily while the sergeant negotiated with the Malay headman: very soon he called for Jean, and she joined the tri-lingual discussion. The village had rice and could prepare a meal for them, but the headman wanted payment, and was only with difficulty induced to agree to provide rice for so many on the word of the sergeant that they would be paid some day. As regards accommodation he said flatly that there was none, and the party must sleep under the houses with the dogs and poultry; later he agreed to move the people from one house, so that the thirty prisoners had a roof to sleep under on a floor about fifteen feet square.

Jean secured a corner for their party, and Eileen Holland settled into it with the children and the baby. A few feet from them Mrs Horsefall was working on Ben Collard. Somebody had some permanganate crystals and someone else an old razor blade; with this they cut the wound open a little, in spite of the child's screams, and put in crystals and bound it up; then they applied hot fomentations. There was nothing Jean could do, and she wandered outside.

There was a sort of village kitchen, and here the Japanese private was superintending the activities of women of the village who were preparing rice. At a house nearby the headman was sitting at the head of the steps leading up to his house, squatting on his heels and smoking a long pipe: he was a grey-haired old man wearing a sarong and what once had been a khaki drill jacket. Jean crossed to him and said rather shyly in Malay,“I am sorry we have been forced to come here, and have made trouble for you.”

He stood up and bowed to the Mem.“It it no trouble,”he said.“We are sorry to see Mems in such a state. Have you come far?”

She said,“From Bakri today.”

He made her come up into the house: there was no chair and she sat with him on the floor at the doorless entrance. He asked their history, and she told him what had happened, and he grunted. Presently the wife came from within the house bearing two cups of coffee without sugar or milk; Jean thanked her in Malay, and she smiled shyly, and withdrew into the house again.

Presently the headman said,“The Short One”—he meant the Japanese sergeant—“says you must stay here tomorrow.”

Jean said,“We are too weak to march each day. The Japanese allow us to rest a day between each day of marching. If we may stay here tomorrow it will help us a great deal. The sergeant says he can get money for the food.”

“The Short Ones never pay for food,”the headman said.“Neverthe-less you shall stay.”

She said,“I can do nothing but thank you.”

He raised his grey old head.“It is written in the Fourth Surah, ‘Men's souls are naturally inclined to covetousness; but if ye be kind towards women and fear to wrong them, God is well acquainted with what ye do’.”

She sat with the old man till rice was ready; then she left him and went to her meal. The other women looked at her curiously.“I saw you sitting with the headman, chatting away,”said one.“Just as if you were old chums.”

Jean smiled.“He gave me a cup of coffee.”

“Just fancy that! There's something in knowing how to talk to them in their own language, isn't there? What did he talk about?”

Jean thought for a minute.“This and that—about our journey. He talked about God a little.”

The women stared at her.“You mean, his own God? Not the real God?”

“He didn't differentiate,”Jean said.“Just God.”

They rested all next day and then marched to Klang, three or four miles outside Port Swettenham. Little Ben Collard was neither better nor worse: the leg was very much swollen. The chief trouble with him now was physical weakness: he had eaten nothing since the injury for nothing would stay down, and none of the children by that time had any reserves of strength. The headman directed the villagers to make a litter for him in the form of a stretcher of two long bamboo poles with spreaders and a woven palm mat between and they put him upon this and took turns at carrying it.

They got to Klang that afternoon, and here there was an empty schoolhouse: the sergeant put them into this and went off to a Japanese encampment near at hand, to report and to arrange rations for them.

Presently an officer arrived to inspect them, marching at the head of a guard of six soldiers. This officer, whom they came to know as Major Nemu, spoke good English. He said,“Who are you people? What do you want here?”

They stared at him. Mrs Horsefall said,“We are prisoners, from Panong. We are on our way to the prisoner-of-war camp in Singapore. Captain Yoniata in Panong sent us here under guard, to be put on a ship to Singapore.”

“There are no ships here,”he said.“You should have stayed in Panong.”

It was no good arguing, nor had they the energy.“We were sent here,”she repeated dully.

“They had no right to send you here,”he said angrily.“There is no prison camp here.”

There was a long, awkward silence: the women stared at him in blank despair. Mrs Horsefall summoned up her flagging energy again.“May we see a doctor?”she asked.“Some of us are very ill—one child especially. One woman died upon the way.

“What did she die of?”he asked quickly.“Plague?”

“Nothing infectious. She died of exhaustion.”

“I will send a doctor to examine you all. You will stay here for tonight, but you cannot stay for long. I have not got sufficient rations for my own command, let alone feeding prisoners.”He turned and walked back to the camp.

A new guard was placed upon the schoolhouse: they never saw the friendly sergeant or the private again. Presumably they were sent back to Panong. A Japanese doctor, very young, came to them within an hour; he had them all up one by one and examined them for infectious disease. Then he was about to take his departure, but they made him stay and look at little Ben Collard's leg. He ordered them to continue with the hot fomentations. When they asked if he could not be taken into hospital he shrugged his shoulders and said,“I inquire.”

They stayed in that schoolhouse under guard, day after day. On the third day they sent for the doctor again, for Ben Collard was obviously worse. Reluctantly the doctor ordered his removal to the hospital in a truck. On the sixth day they heard that he had died.

Jean Paget crouched down on the floor beside the fire in my sitting-room; outside a change of wind had brought the London rain beating against the window.

“People who spent the war in prison camps have written a lot of books about what a bad time they had,”she said quietly, staring into the embers.“They don't know what it was like, not being in a camp.”

Chapter 3

They stayed in Klang eleven days, not knowing what was to become of them. The food was bad and insufficient, and there were no shops in the vicinity: if there had been shops they could not have done much with them, because their money was now practically gone. On the twelfth day Major Nemu paraded them at half an hour's notice, allocated one corporal to look after them, and told them to walk to Port Dickson. He said that there might be a ship there to take them down to Singapore; if there was not they would be walking in the general direction of the prison camps.

That was about the middle of March 1942. From Klang to Port Dickson is about fifty miles, but by this time they were travelling more slowly than ever. It took them till the end of the month; they had to wait several days in one village because Mrs Horsefall went down with malaria and ran a temperature of a hundred and five for some time. She recovered and was walking, or rather tottering, within a week, but she never recovered her vigour and from that time onwards the leadership fell more and more upon Jean's shoulders.

By the time they reached Port Dickson their clothes were in a deplorable condition. Very few of the women had a change of any sort, because burdens had been reduced to an absolute minimum. Jean and Mrs Holland had nothing but the thin cotton frocks that they had worn since they were taken; these were now torn and ragged from washing. Jean had gone barefoot since the early stages of the march and intended to go on without shoes: she now took another step towards the costume of the Malay woman. She sold a little brooch for thirteen dollars to an Indian jeweller in Salak, and with two of the precious dollars she bought a cheap sarong.

A sarong is a skirt made of a tube of cloth about three feet in diameter; you get into it and wrap it round your waist like a towel; the surplus material falling into pleats that permit free movement. When you sleep you undo the roll around your waist and it then lies over you as a loose covering that you cannot roll out of. It is the lightest and coolest of all garments for the tropics, and the most practical, being simple to make and to wash. For a top, she cut down her cotton frock into a sort of tunic which got rid of the most tattered part, the skirt, and from that time she was cooler and more at ease than any of them. At first the other women strongly disapproved of this descent to native dress: later most of them followed her example as their clothes became worn out.

There was no haven for them at Port Dickson, and no ship. They were allowed to stay there, living under desultory guard in a copra barn, for about ten days; the Japanese commander then decided that they were a nuisance, and put them on the road to Seremban. He reasoned, apparently, that they were not his prisoners and so not his responsibility; it was the duty of those who had captured them to put them into a camp. His obvious course was to get rid of them and get them out of his area before, by their continued presence, they forced him to divert food and troops and medical supplies from the Imperial Japanese Army to sustain them.

At Siliau, between Port Dickson and Seremban, tragedy touched the Holland family, because Jane died. They had stayed for their day of rest in a rubber-smoking shed: she had developed fever during the day's march and one of the two Japanese guards they had at that time had carried her for much of the day. Their thermometer had been broken in an accident a few days before and they had now no means of telling the temperature of malaria patients, but she was very hot. They had a little quinine left and tried to give it to her, but they could not get her to take much of it till she grew too weak to resist, and then it was too late. They persuaded the Japanese sergeant to allow them to stay at Siliau rather than to risk moving the child, and Jean and Eileen Holland stayed up with her, sleepless, fighting for her life in that dim, smelly place where the rats scurried round at night and hens walked in and out by day. On the evening of the second day she died.

Mrs Holland stood it far better than Jean had expected that she would.“It's God's will, my dear,”she said quietly,“and He'll give her Daddy strength to bear it when he hears, just as He's giving us all strength to bear our trials now.”She stood dry-eyed beside the little grave, and helped to make the little wooden cross. Dry-eyed she picked the text for the cross:“Suffer little children to come unto Me”. She said quietly,“I think her Daddy would like that one.”

Jean woke that night in the darkness, and heard her weeping.

Through all this the baby, Robin, throve. It was entirely fortuitous that he ate and drank nothing but food that had been recently boiled; living on rice and soup, that happened automatically, but may have explained his relative freedom from stomach disorders. Jean carried him every day, and her own health was definitely better than when they had left Panong. She had had five days of fever at Klang, but dysentery had not troubled her for some time, and she was eating well. With the continual exposure to the sun she was getting very brown, and the baby that she carried on her hip got browner.

Seremban lies on the railway, and they had hoped that when they got there there would be a train down to Singapore. They got to Seremban about the middle of April, but there was no train for them; the railway was running in a limited fashion but probably not through to Singapore. Before very long they were put upon the road to Tampin, but not till they had lost another member of the party.

Ellen Forbes was the unmarried girl who had come out to get married and hadn't, a circumstance that Jean could well understand by the time she had lived in close contact with her for a couple of months. Ellen was a vacuous, undisciplined girl, good humoured, and much too free with Japanese troops for the liking of the other women. At Seremban they were accommodated in a schoolhouse on the outskirts of the town, which was full of soldiers. In the morning Ellen simply wasn't there, and they never saw her again.

Jean and Mrs Horsefall asked to see the officer and stated their case, that a member of their party had disappeared, probably abducted by the soldiers. The officer promised to make inquiries, and nothing happened. Two days later they received orders to march down the road to Tampin, and were moved off under guard.

They stayed at Tampin for some days, and got so little food there that they practically starved; at their urgent entreaty the local commandant sent them down under guard to Malacca, where they hoped to get a ship. But there was no ship at Malacca and the officer in charge there sent them back to Tampin. They plodded back there in despair; at Alor Gajah Judy Thomson died. To stay at Tampin meant more deaths, inevitably, so they suggested it was better for them to continue down to Singapore on foot, and a corporal was detailed to take them on the road to Gemas.

In the middle of May, at Ayer Kuning, on the way to Gemas, Mrs Horsefall died. She had never really recovered from her attack of malaria or whatever fever it was that had attacked her two months previously; she had had recurrent attacks of low fever which had made Jean wonder sometimes if it was malaria that she had had at all. Whatever it was it had made her very weak; at Ayer Kuning she developed dysentery again, and died in two days, probably of heart failure or exhaustion. The faded little woman Mrs Frith, who was over fifty and always seemed to be upon the point of death and never quite made it, took over the care of Johnnie Horsefall and it did her a world of good; from that day Mrs Frith improved and gave up moaning in the night.

They got to Gemas, three days later; here as usual in towns they were put into the schoolhouse. The Japanese town major, a Captain Nisui, came to inspect them that evening; he had known nothing about them till they appeared in his town. This was quite usual and Jean was ready for it; she explained that they were prisoners being marched to camp in Singapore.

He said,“Prisoner not go Singapore. Strict order. Where you come from?”

She told him.“We've been travelling for over two months,”she said, with the calmness borne of many disappointments.“We must get into a camp, or we shall die. Seven of us have died upon the road already—there were thirty-two when we were taken prisoner. Now there are twenty-five. We can't go on like this. We must get into camp at Singapore. You must see that.”

He said,“No more prisoner to Singapore. Very sorry for you, but strict order. Too many prisoner in Singapore.”

She said,“But, Captain Nisui, that can't mean women. That means men prisoners, surely.”

“No more prisoner to Singapore,”he said.“Strict order.”

“Well, can we stay here and make ourselves a camp, and have a doctor here?”

His eyes narrowed.“No prisoner stay here.”

“But what are we to do? Where can we go?”

“Very sad for you,”he said.“I tell you where you go tomorrow.”

She went back to the women after he had gone.“You heard all that,”she said calmly.“He says we aren't to go to Singapore after all.”

The news meant very little to the women; they had fallen into the habit of living from day to day, and Singapore was very far away.“Looks as if they don't want us anywhere,”Mrs Price said heavily.“Bobbie, if I see you teasing Amy again I'll wallop you just like your father. Straight, I will.”

Mrs Frith said,“If they'd just let us alone we could find a little place like one of them villages and live till it's all over.”

Jean stared at her.“They couldn't feed us,”she said slowly.“We depend upon the Nips for food.”But it was the germ of an idea, and she put it in the back of her mind.

“Precious little food we get,”said Mrs Frith.“I'll never forget that terrible place Tampin in all my born days.”

Captain Nisui came the next day.“You go now to Kuantan,”he said.“Woman camp in Kuantan, very good. You will be very glad.”

Jean did not know where Kuantan was. She asked,“Where is Kuantan? Is it far away?”

“Kuantan on coast,”he said.“You go there now.”

Behind her someone said,“It's hundreds of miles away. It's on the east coast.”

“Okay,”said Captain Nisui.“On east coast.”

“Can we go there by railway?”Jean inquired.

“Sorry, no railway. You walk, ten, fifteen miles each day. You get there soon. You will be very happy.”

She said quietly,“Seven of us are dead already with this marching, Captain. If you make us march to this place Kuantan more of us will die. Can we have a truck to take us there?”

“Sorry, no truck,”he said.“You get there very soon.”

He wanted them to start immediately, but it was then eleven in the morning and they rebelled. With patient negotiation Jean got him to agree that they should start at dawn next day; this was the most that she could do. She did, however, get him to provide a good supper for them that night, a sort of meat stew with the rice, and a banana each.

From Gemas to Kuantan is about a hundred and seventy miles; there is no direct road. They left Gemas in the last week of May; on the basis of their previous rate of progress Jean reckoned that it would take them six weeks to do the journey. It was by far the longest they had had to tackle; always before there had been hope of transport of some sort at the end of fifty miles or so. Now six weeks of travelling lay ahead of them, with only a vague hope of rest at the end. None of them really believed that there were prison camps for them at Kuantan.

“You made a mistake, dearie,”said Mrs Frith,“saying what you did about us staying and making a camp here. I could see he didn't like that.”

“He just wants to get rid of us,”Jean said wearily.“They don't want to bother with us—just get us out of the way.”

They left next morning with a sergeant and a private as a guard. Gemas is a railway junction and the East Coast railway runs north from there; the railway was not being used at all at that time, and there was a rumour that the track was being taken up and sent to some unknown strategic destination in the north. The women were not concerned with that; what concerned them was that they had to walk along the railway line, which meant nearly walking in the sun most of each day, and there was no possibility of getting a ride in a train.

They went on for a week, marching about ten miles every other day; then fever broke out among the children. They never really knew what it was; it started with little Amy Price, who came out in a rash and ran a high temperature, with a running nose. It may have been measles. It was impossible in the conditions of their life to keep the children segregated, and in the weeks that followed it spread from child to child. Amy Price slowly recovered, but by the time she was fit to walk again seven of the other children were down with it. There was nothing they could do except to keep the tired, sweating little faces bathed and cool, and change the soaked clothes for what fresh ones they could muster. They were at a place called Bahau when the sickness was at its height, living at the station in the ticket office and the waiting-room, and on the platform. They had bad luck because there had been a doctor in Bahau three days before they arrived, a Japanese army doctor. But he had gone on in his truck in the direction of Kuala Klawang, and though they got the headman to send runners after him they never made contact with him. So they had no help.

At Bahau four children died, Harry Collard, Susan Fletcher, Doris Simmonds, who was only three, and Freddie Holland. Jean was most concerned with Freddie, as was natural, but there was so little she could do. She guessed from the first day of fever that he was going to die; by that time she had amassed a store of sad experience. There was something in the attitude of people, even tiny children, to their illness that told when death was coming to them, a listlessness, as if they were too tired to make the effort to live. By that time they had all grown hardened to the fact of death. Grief and mourning had ceased to trouble them; death was a reality to be avoided and fought, but when it came—well, it was just one of those things. After a person had died there were certain things that had to be done, the straightening of the limbs, the grave, the cross, the entry in a diary saying who had died and just exactly where the grave was. That was the end of it; they had no energy for afterthoughts.

Jean's care now was for Mrs Holland. After Freddie was buried she tried to get Eileen to care for the baby; for the last few weeks the baby had been left to Jean to feed and tend and carry, and the had grown very much attached to it. With both the older children dead Jean gave the baby, Robin, back to its mother, not so much because she wanted to get rid of it as because she felt that an interest must be found for Eileen Holland, and the baby would supply it. But the experiment was not a great success; Eileen by that time was so weak that she could not carry the baby on the march, and she could not summon the energy to play with it. Moreover, the baby obviously preferred the younger woman to its mother, having been carried by her for so long.

“Seems as if he doesn't really belong to me,”Mrs Holland said once.“You take him, dear. He likes being with you.”From that time on they shared the baby; it got its rice and soup from Eileen, but it got its fun from Jean.

They left four tiny graves behind the signal box at Bahau and went on down the line carrying two litters of bamboo poles; the weakest children took turns in these. As was common on the journey, they found the Japanese guards to be humane and reasonable men, uncouth in their habits and mentally far removed from western ideas, but tolerant to the weaknesses of women and deeply devoted to children. For hours the sergeant would plod along carrying one child piggyback and at the same time carrying one end of the stretcher, his rifle laid beside the resting child. There was the usual language difficulty. The women by that time were acquiring a few words of Japanese, but the only one who could talk Malay fluently was Jean, and it was she who made inquiries at the villages and sometimes acted as interpreter for the Japanese.

Mrs Frith surprised Jean very much. She was a faded, anaemic little woman of over fifty. In the early stages of the journey she had been very weak and something of a nuisance to them with her continued prognostications of evil; they had trouble enough in the daily round without looking forward and anticipating more. Since she had adopted Johnnie Horsefall Mrs Frith had taken on a new lease of life; her health had improved and she now marched as strongly as any of them. She had lived in Malaya for about fifteen years; she could speak only a few words of the language but she had a considerable knowledge of the country and its diseases. She was quite happy that they were going to Kuantan.“Nice over there, it is,”she said.“Much healthier than in the west, and nicer people. We'll be all right once we get over there. You see.”

As time went on, Jean turned to Mrs Frith more and more for comfort and advice in their predicaments.

At Ayer Kring Mrs Holland came to the end of her strength. She had fallen twice on the march and they had taken turns in helping her along. It was impossible to put her on the litter; even in her emaciated state she weighed eight stone, and they were none of them strong enough by that time to carry such a load very far. Moreover, to put her on a litter meant turning a child off it, and she refused even to consider such a thing. She stumbled into the village on her own feet, but by the time she got there she was changing colour as Mrs Collard had before her, and that was a bad sign.

Ayer Kring is a small village at a railway station; there were no station buildings here, and by negotiation the headman turned the people out of one house for them, as had been done several times before. They laid Mrs Holland in a shady corner and made a pillow for her head and bathed her face; they had no brandy or any other stimulant to give her. She could not rest lying down and insisted on sitting up, so they put her in a corner where she could be supported by the walls. She took a little soup that evening but refused all food. She knew herself it was the end.

“I'm so sorry, my dear,”she whispered late in the night.“Sorry to make so much trouble for you. Sorry for Bill. If you see Bill again, tell him not to fret. And tell him not to mind about marrying again, if he can find somebody nice. It's not as if he was an old man.”

An hour or two later she said,“I do think it's lovely the way baby's taken to you. It is lucky, isn't it?”

In the morning she was still alive, but unconscious. They did what they could, which wasn't very much, but her breathing got weaker and weaker, and at about midday she died. They buried her in the Moslem village cemetery that evening.

At Ayer Kring they entered the most unhealthy district they had passed through yet. The central mountains of Malaya were now on their left, to the west of them as they marched north, and they were coming to the head waters of the Pahang river, which runs down to the east coast. Here the river spreads out into numerous tributaries, the Menkuang, the Pertang, the Belengu, and many others, and these tributaries running through flat country make a marshy place of swamps and mangroves that stretched for forty miles along their route, a country full of snakes and crocodiles, and infested with mosquitoes. By day it was steamy and hot and breathless; at night a cold wet mist came up and chilled them unmercifully.

By the time they had been two days in this country several of them were suffering from fever, a fever that did not seen quite like the malaria that they were used to, in that the temperature did not rise so high; it may have been dengue. They had little by that time to treat it with, not so much because they were short of money as because there were no drugs at all in the jungly villages that they were passing through. Jean consulted with the sergeant, who advised them to press on, and get out of this bad country as soon as possible. Jean was running a fever herself at the time and everything was moving about her in a blur; she had a cracking headache and it was difficult to focus her eyes. She consulted with Mrs Frith, who was remarkably well.

“What he says is right, dearie,”Mrs Frith declared.“We won't get any better staying in this swampy place. I think we ought to walk each day, if you ask me.”

Jean forced herself to concentrate.“What about Mrs Simmonds?”

“Maybe the soldiers would carry her, if she gets any worse. I don't know, I'm sure. It's cruel hard, but if we've got to go we'd better go and get it over. That's what I say. We shan't do any good hanging around here in this nasty place.”

They marched each day after that, stumbling along in fever, weak, and ill. The baby, Robin Holland, that Jean carried, got the fever; this was the first ailment he had had. She showed him to the headman in the village of Mentri, and his wife produced a hot infusion of some bark in a dirty coconut shell; Jean tasted it and it was very bitter, so she judged it to be a form of quinine. She gave a little to the baby and took some herself; it seemed to do them both good during the night. Before the day's march began several of the women took it, and it helped.

It took them eleven days to get through the swamps to the higher ground past Temerloh. They left Mrs Simmonds and Mrs Fletcher behind them, and little Gillian Thomson. When they emerged into the higher, healthier country and dared to stay a day to rest, Jean was very weak but the fever had left her. The baby was still alive, though obviously ill; it cried almost incessantly during its waking hours.

It was Mrs Frith who now buoyed them up, as she had depressed them in the earlier days.“It should be getting better all the time from now on,”she told them.“As we get nearer to the coast it should get better. It's lovely on the east coast, nice beaches to bathe on, and always a sea breeze. It's healthy, too.”

They came presently to a very jungly village on a hilltop; they never learned its name. It stood above the river Jengka. By this time they had left the railway and were heading more or less eastwards on a jungle track that would at some time join a main road that led down to Kuantan. This village was cool and airy, and the people kind and hospitable; they gave the women a house to sleep in and provided food and fresh fruit, and the same bark infusion that was good for fever. They stayed there for six days revelling in the fresh, cool breeze and the clear, healthy nights, and when they finally marched on they were in better shape. They left a little gold brooch that had belonged to Mrs Fletcher with the headman as payment for the food and kindness that they had received, thinking that the dead woman would not have objected to that.

Four days later, in the evening, they came to Maran. A tarmac road runs through Maran crossing the Malay peninsula from Kuantan to Kerling. The road runs through the village, which has perhaps fifty houses, a school, and a few native stops. They came out upon the road half a mile or so to the north of the village; after five weeks upon the railway track and jungle paths it overjoyed them to see evidence of civilization in this road. They walked down to the village with a fresher step. And there, in front of them, they saw two trucks and two white men working on them while Japanese guards stood by.

They marched quickly towards the trucks, which were both heavily loaded with railway lines and sleepers; they stood pointing in the direction of Kuantan. One of them was jacked up on sleepers taken from the load, and both of the white men were underneath it working on the back axle. They wore shorts and army boots without socks; their bodies were brown with sunburn and very dirty with the muck from the back axle. But they were healthy and muscular men, lean, but in good physical condition. And they were white, the first white men that the women had seen for five months.

They crowded round the trucks; their guard began to talk in staccato Japanese with the truck guards. One of the men lying on his back under the axle, shifting spanner in hand, glanced at the bare feet and the sarongs within his range of vision and said slowly,“Tell the mucking Nip to get those mucking women shifted back so we can get some light.”

Some of the women laughed, and Mrs Frith said,“Don't you go using that language to me, young man.”

The men rolled out from under the truck and sat staring at the women and the children, at the brown skins, the sarongs, the bare feet.“Who said that?”asked the man with the spanner.“Which of you speaks English?”He spoke deliberately in a slow drawl, with something of a pause between each word.

Jean said laughing,“We're all English.”

He stared at her, noting the black hair plaited in a pigtail, the brown arms and feet, the sarong, the brown baby on her hip. There was a line of white skin showing on her chest at the V of her tattered blouse.“Straits-born?”he hazarded.

“No , real English—all of us,”she said.“We're prisoners.”

He got to his feet; he was a fair-haired powerfully built man about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old.“Dinky-die?”he said.

She did not understand that.“Are you prisoners?”she asked.

He smiled slowly.“Are we prisoners?”he repeated.“Oh my word.”

There was something about this man that she had never met before.“Are you English?”she asked.

“No fear,”he said in his deliberate way.“We're Aussies.”

She said,“Are you in camp here?”

He shook his head.“We come from Kuantan,”he said.“But we're driving trucks all day, fetching this stuff down to the coast.

She said,“We're going to Kuantan, to the women's camp there.”

He stared at her.“That's crook for a start,”he said slowly.“There isn't any women's camp at Kuantan. There isn't any regular prisoner camp at all, just a little temporary camp for us because we're truck drivers. Who told you that there was a women's camp at Kuantan?”

“The Japanese told us. They're supposed to be sending us there.”She sighed.“It's just another lie.”

“The bloody Nips say anything.”He smiled slowly.“I thought you were a lot of boongs,”he said.“You say you're English, dinky-die? All the way from England?”

She nodded.“That's right. Some of us have been out here for ten or fifteen years, but we're all English.”

“And the kiddies—they all English too?”

“All of them,”she said.

He smiled slowly.“I never thought the first time that I spoke to an English lady she'd be looking like you.”

“You aren't exactly an oil painting yourself,”Jean said.

The other man was talking to a group of the women; Mrs Frith and Mrs Price were with Jean. The Australian turned to them.“Where do you come from?”he inquired.

Mrs Frith said,“We got took in Panong, over on the west coast, waiting for a boat to get away.”

“But where did you come from now?”

Jean said,“We're being marched to Kuantan.”

“Not all the way from Panong?”

She laughed shortly.“We've been everywhere—Port Swettenham, Port Dickson—everywhere. Nobody wants us. I reckon that we've walked nearly five hundred miles.”

“Oh my word,”he said.“That sounds a crook deal to me. How do you go on for tucker, if you aren't in a camp?”

She did not understand him.“Tucker?”

“What do you get to eat?”

“We stay each night in a village,”she said.“We'll have to find somewhere to stay here. Probably in a place like this it'll be the school. We eat what we can get in the village.”

“For Christ's sake,”he said.“Wait while I tell my cobber.”He swung round to the other.“You heard about the crook deal that they got?”he said.“Been walking all the time since they got taken. Never been inside a prison camp at all.”

“They've been telling me,”the other said.“The way these bloody Nips go on. Makes you chunda.”

The first man turned back to Jean.“What happens if any of you get sick?”

She said cynically,“When you get sick, you get well or you die. We haven't seen a doctor for the last three months and we've got practically no medicines left, so we mostly die. There were thirty-two of us when we were taken. Now we're seventeen.”

The Australian said softly,“Oh my word.”

Jean said,“Will you be staying here tonight?”

He said,“Will you?”

“We shall stay here,”she said.“We shall be here tomorrow too, unless they'll let us ride down on your trucks. We can't march the children every day. We walk one day and rest the next.”

He said,“If you're staying, Mrs Boong, we're staying too. We can fix this bloody axle so it will never roll again, if needs be.”He paused in slow thought.“You got no medicines?”he said.“What do you want?”

She said quickly,“Have you got any Glauber's salt?”

He shook his head.“Is that what you want?”

“We haven't got any salts at all,”she said“We want quinine, and something for all these skin diseases that the children have got. Can we get those here?”

He said slowly,“I'll have a try. Have you got any money?”

Mrs Frith snorted,“After being six months with the Japs? They took everything we had. Even our wedding rings.”

Jean said,“We've got a few little bits of jewellery left, if we could sell some of those.”

He said,“I'll have a go first, and see what I can do. You get fixed up with somewhere to sleep, and I'll see you later.”

“All right.”

She went back to their sergeant and bowed to him because that pleased him and made things easier for them. She said,“Gunso, where yasme tonight? Children must yasme. We see headman about yasme and mishi?”

He came with her and they found the headman, and negotiated for the loan of the schoolbuilding for the prisoners, and for the supply of rice for mishi. They did not now experience the blank refusals that they formerly had met when the party was thirty strong; the lesser numbers had made accommodation and food much easier for them. They settled into the school building and began the routine of chores and washing that occupied the bulk of their spare time. The news that there was no women prisoners' camp in Kuantan was what they had all secretly expected, but it was a disappointment, none the less. The novelty of the two Australians made up for this, because by that time they were living strictly from day to day.

At the trucks the Aussies got back to their work. With heads close together under the axle, the fair-haired man that Jean had talked to said to his cobber,“I never heard such a crook deal. What can we do to fix this bastard so as we stay here tonight? I said I'd try and get some medicines for them.”

They had already rectified the binding brake that had heated up the near side hub and caused the stoppage. The other said,“Take the whole bloody hub off for a dekko, 'n pull out the shaft from the diff. That makes a good show of dirty bits. Means sleeping in the trucks.”

“I said I'd try and get some medicines.”They worked on for a little.

“How you going to do that?”

“Petrol, I suppose. That's easiest.”

It was already growing dark when they extracted four feet of heavy metal shafting, splined at both ends, from the back axle; dripping with black oil they showed it to the Japanese corporal in charge of them as evidence of their industry.“Yasme here tonight,”they said. The guard was suspicious, but agreed; indeed, he could do nothing else. He went off to arrange for rice for them, leaving them in charge of the private. Who was with him.

On the excuse of a benjo, the fair-haired man left the trucks and in the half light retired behind a house. He slipped quickly down behind a row of houses, and came out into the street a couple of hundred yards down, towards the end of the village. Here there was a Chinaman who ran a decrepit bus; the Australian had noted this place on various journeys through Maran; they plied regularly up and down this road.

In his deliberate manner he said quietly,“Johnnie, you buy petrol? How much you give?”It is extraordinary how little barrier an unknown language makes between a willing buyer and a willing seller. At one point in the negotiation they resorted to the written word, and the Australian wrote GLAUBER'S SALT and QUININE and SKIN DISEASE OINTMENT in block letters on a scrap of wrapping paper.

He slunk back behind the houses carrying three two-gallon cans and a length of rubber hose, which he hid behind the latrine. He came back to the trucks presently, ostentatiously buttoning his shorts.

In the darkness, early in the night, he came to the school-house; it may have been about ten o'clock. One of the Japanese soldiers was supposed to be on guard all night, but in the five weeks that they had been with this pair of guards the women had not shown the slightest inclination to escape, and their guards had long given up watching them at night. The Australian had made sure where they were, however, and when he had seen them squatting with the truck guards he came silently to the school.

At the open door he paused, and said quietly,“Which of you ladies was I talking to this afternoon? The one with the baby.”

Jean was asleep; they woke her and she pulled up her sarong and slipped her top on, and came to the door. He had several little packages for her.“That's quinine,”he said.“I can get more of that if you want it. I couldn't get Glauber's, but this is what the Chinese take for dysentery. It's all written in Chinese, but what he says it means is three of these leaves powdered up in warm water every four hours. That'll be for a grown-up person. If it's any good, keep the label and maybe you could get some more in a Chinese drug shop. I got this Zam-Buk for the skin, and there's more of that if you want it.”

She took them gratefully from him.“That's marvellous,”she said softly.“How much did it all cost?”

“That's all right,”he said in his deliberate manner.“The Nips paid, but they don't know it.”

She thanked him again.“What are you doing here?”she asked.“Where are you going with the trucks?”

“Kuantan,”he said.“We should be back there tonight, but Ben Leggatt—he's my cobber—he got the truck in bits so we had to give it away. Get down there tomorrow, or we might stretch it another day if it suits, though it'ld be risky, I think.”He told her that there were six of them driving six trucks for the Japanese; they drove regularly from Kuantan up-country to a place upon the railway called Jerantut, a distance of about a hundred and thirty miles. They would drive up one day and load the truck with sleepers and railway lines taken up from the track, and drive back to Kuantan the next day, where the railway material was unloaded on to the quayside to be taken away by ship to some unknown destination.“Building another railway somewhere, I suppose,”he said. A hundred and thirty miles is a long way to drive a heavily loaded truck in a day in tropical conditions, and they sometimes failed to reach Kuantan before dark; when that happened they spent the night in a village. Their absence would not be remarked particularly at Kuantan.

He had been taken somewhere in Johore, and had been driving trucks from Kuantan for about two months.“Better than being in a camp,”he said.

She sat down on the top step of the three that led up to the school, and he squatted down before her on the ground. His manner of sitting intrigued her, because he sat down on one heel somewhat in the manner of a native, but with his left leg extended.“Are you a truck driver in Australia?”she asked.

“No bloody fear,”he said.“I'm a ringer.”

She asked,“What's a ringer?”

“A stockman,”he said.“I was born in Queensland out behind Cloncurry, and my people, they're all Queenslanders. My dad, he came from London, from a place called Hammersmith: He used to drive a cab and so he knew about horses, and he came out to Queensland to work for Cobb and Co., and met Ma. But I've not been back to the Curry for some time. I was working in the Territory over to the west, on a station called Wollara. That's about a hundred and ten miles south-west of the Springs.”

She smiled.“Where's the Springs, then?”

“Alice,”he said.“Alice Springs. Right in the middle of Australia, half way between Darwin and Adelaide.”

She said,“I thought the middle of Australia was all desert?”

He was concerned at her ignorance.“Oh my word,”he said deliberately.“Alice is a bonza place. Plenty of water in Alice; people living there, they leave the sprinkler on all night, watering the lawn. That's right, they leave the sprinkler on all night. Course, the Territory's dry in most parts, but there's usually good feed along the creeks. Come to that, there's water all over if you look for it. You take a creek that only runs in the wet, now, say a couple of months in the year, or else not that. You get a sandy billabong, and you'll get water there by digging not a foot below the surface, like as not—even in the middle of the dry.”His slow, even tones were strangely comforting.“You go to a place like that and you'll find little diggings all over in the sand, where the kangaroos and euros have dug for water. They know where to go. There's water all over in the outback, but you've got to know where to find it.”

“What do you do at this place Wollara?”she asked.“Do you look after sheep?”

He shook his head.“You don't find sheep around the Alice region,”he said.“It'd be too hot for them. Wollara is a cattle station.”

“How many cattle have you got?”

“About eighteen thousand when I come away,”he said.“It goes up and down, according to the wet, you know.”

“Eighteen thousand? How big is it?”

“Wollara? About two thousand seven hundred.”

“Two thousand seven hundred acres,”she said.“That's a big place.”

He stared at her.“Not acres,”he said.“Square miles. Wollara's two thousand seven hundred square miles.”

She was startled.“But is that all one place—one farm, I mean?”

“It's one station,”he replied.“One property.”

“But however many of you does it take to run it?”

His mind ran lovingly around the well-remembered scene.“There's Mr Duveen, Tommy Duveen —he's the manager, and then me—I'm the head stockman, or I was. Tommy said he'd keep a place for me when I got back. I'd like to get back to Wollara again, one day...”He mused a little.“We had three other ringers—whites,”he said.“Then there was Happy, and Moonlight, and Nugget, and Snowy, and Tarmac...”He thought for a minute.“Nine boongs we had,”he said.“That's all.”

“Nine what?”

“Black boys—black stockmen. Abos.”

“But that's only thirteen men,”she said.

“That's right. Fourteen if you count Mr Duveen.”

“But can fourteen men look after all those cattle?”she asked.

“Oh yes,”he said thoughtfully.“Wollara is an easy station, in a way, because it hasn't got any fences. It's fences make the work. We've got the Palmer River and the Levi Range to the north, and the sand country over to the west; the cattle don't go there. Then there's the Kernot Range to the south and Mount Ormerod and the Twins to the east. Fourteen men is all right for a station like that; it would be easier if we had more whites, but you can't get them. These bloody boongs, they're always going walkabout.”

“What's that?”she asked.

“Walkabout? Why, an Abo ringer, he'll come up one day and he'll say, ‘Boss, I go walkabout now.’ You can't keep him. He'll leave the station and go wandering off just in a pair of pants and an old hat with a gun if he's got one, or a spear and a throwing stick, maybe, and he'll be away two or three months.”

“But where does he go to?”she asked.

“Just travels. They go a long way on a walkabout—oh my word,”he said.“Four or five hundred miles, maybe. Then when he's had enough, he'll come back to the station and join up for work again. But the trouble with the boongs is, you never know if they'll be there next week.”

There was a short silence; they sat quietly in the tropic night together on the steps of the atap schoolhouse, exiles far from their homes. Over their heads the flying foxes swept in the moonlight with a dry rustling of leathery wings.“Eighteen thousand cattle...”she said thoughtfully.

“More or less,”he said.“Get a good wet, and it'll maybe rise to twenty-one or twenty-two thousand. Then you get a dry year, and it'll go right down to twelve or thirteen thousand. I reckon we lose about three thousand every year by drought.”

“But can't you get them to water?”

He smiled slowly.“Not with fourteen men. There's enough cattle die of thirst each year in the Territory and Northern Queensland to feed the whole of England. Course, the horses make it worse on Wollara.”

“Horses?”

“Oh my word,”he said.“We've got about three thousand brumbies, but you can't do nothing with them—they're vermin. Wollera used to be a horse station years ago, selling horses to the Indian Army, but you can't sell horses now. We use a few, of course—maybe a hundred, with packhorses and that. You can't get rid of them except by shooting, and you'll never get a ringer to shoot horses. They eat the feed the cattle ought to get, and spoil it, too. Cattle don't like feeding where a horse has been.”

She asked,“How big is Wollara—how long, and how wide?”

He said,“Oh, I'd say about ninety miles from east to west, and maybe forty-five to fifty, north to south, at the widest part. But it's a good station to manage, because the homestead is near the middle, so it's not so far in any one way. Over to the Kernot Range is the furthest; that's about sixty miles.”

“Sixty miles from the homestead? That's where you live?”

“That's right.”

“Are there any other homesteads on it?”

He stared at her.“There's only the one homestead on each station. Some have an outstation, a shack of some kind where the boys can leave blankets and maybe a little tucker, but not many.”

“How long does it take you to get to the furthest point, then—to the Kernot Range?”

“Over to the Range? Oh well, to go there and come back might take about a week. That's with horses; in a utility you might do it in a day and a half. But horses are best, although they're a bit slow. You never take a packhorse faster'n a walk, not if you can help it. It isn't like you see it on the movies, people galloping their horses everywhere—oh my word. You'd soon wear out a horse if you used him that way in the Territory.”

They sat together for over an hour, talking quietly at the entrance to the schoolhouse. At the end the ringer got up from his strange posture on the ground, and said,“I mustn't stay any longer, case those Nips come back and start creating. My cobber, too—he'll be wondering what happened to me. I left him to boil up.”

Jean got to her feet.“It's been terribly kind of you to get us these things. You don't know what they mean to us. Tell me, what's your name?”

“Joe Harman,”he said.“Sergeant Harman—Ringer Harman, some of them call me.”He hesitated.“Sorry I called you Mrs Boong today,”he said awkwardly.“It was a silly kind of joke.”

She said,“My name's Jean Paget.”

“That sounds like a Scotch name.”

“It is,”she said.“I'm not Scotch myself, but my mother came from Perth.”

“My mother's family was Scotch,”he said.“They came from Inverness.”

She put out her hand.“Goodnight, Sergeant,”she said.“It's been lovely talking to another white person.”

He took her hand; there was great comfort for her in his masculine handshake.“Look, Mrs Paget,”he said.“I'll try if I can get the Nips to let your party ride down on the truck with us. If the little bastards won't wear it, then we'll have to give it away. In that case I'll see you on the road again before you get to Kuantan, and I'll make darn sure there's something crook with the truck. What else do you want?”

“Soap,”she said.“Could you possibly get us soap?”

“Should be able to,”he said.

“We've got no soap at all,”she observed.“I've got a little gold locket that one of the women had who died, a thing with a bit of hair in it. I was going to see if I could sell that here, and get some soap.”

“Keep it,”he said.“I'll see you get soap.”

“We want that more than anything, now that you've got these medicines for us,”she said.

“You'll have it.”He hesitated, and then said,“Sorry I talked so much, boring you with the outback and all that. There's times when you get down a bit—can't make yourself believe you'll ever see it again.”

“I wasn't bored,”she said softly.“Goodnight, Sergeant.”

“Goodnight.”

In the morning Jean showed the women what she had got.

“I heard you talking to him ever so long,”Mrs Price said.“Nice young man, I'd say.”

“He's a very homesick young man,”Jean said.“He loves talking about the cattle station he comes from.”

“Homesick!”Mrs Price said.“Aren't we all?”

The Australians had a smart argument with their guards that morning, who refused point-blank to let the women ride down on the trucks. There was some reason in this from their point of view, because the weight of seventeen women and children added to two grossly overloaded trucks might well be the last straw that would bring final breakdown, in which case the guards themselves would have been lucky to escape with a flogging at the hands of their officer. Harman and Leggatt had to put the back axle together again; they were finished and ready for the road about the middle of the morning.

Joe Harman said,“Keep that little bastard busy for a minute while I loose off the union.”He indicated the Jap guard. Presently they started, Harman in the lead, dribbling a little petrol from a loosened pipe joint, unnoticed by the guard. It was just as well to have an alibi when they ran out of fuel, having parted with six gallons to the Chinaman.

From Maran to Kuantan is fifty-five miles. The women rested that day at Maran, and next day began the march down the tarmac road. They reached a village called Buan that night. Jean had looked for Joe Harman's truck all day, expecting to see it returning; she was not to know that it had been stranded overnight at Pohoi, short of petrol, and was a day late in the return journey. They stayed next day at Buan in an atap shed; the women took turns with Jean watching for the truck. Their health already was somewhat improved. After the railway track and the jungle paths the tarmac road was easy walking, and the medicines were already having an effect. The country, too, was growing higher and healthier, and the more imaginative of them were already saying they could smell the sea. And finally their contact with the two Australians had had a marked effect on their morale.

They did not see Joe Harman's truck as it passed through. Instead, a Malay girl came to them in the evening with a brown paper parcel of six cakes of Lifebuoy soap; it was addressed to Mrs Paget. Written on the parcel was a note which read,

Dear Lady,

I send some soap which is all that we can find just at present but I will get more later on. I am sorry not to see you but the Nip won't let us stop so I have given this to the Chinaman at Maran and he says he will get it to you. Look out for us on the way back and I will try and stop then.

Joe Harman

The women were delighted.“Lifebuoy,”said Mrs Warner, sniffing it ecstatically.“You can just smell the carbolic in it! My dear, wherever do you think they got it?”

“I'd have two guesses,”Jean replied.“Either they stole it, or they stole something to buy it with.”In fact, the latter was correct. At Pohoi their Japanese guard had taken off his boots to wash his feet at the village well; he washed his feet for about thirty seconds and turned round, but the boots had vanished; it could not have been either of the Australians because they both appeared immediately from the other direction. The mystery was never cleared up. Ben Leggatt, however, was most helpful and stole a pair from a sleeping Japanese that evening and gave them to their guard, who was so relieved that he gave Ben a dollar.

The next day the women marched to Berkapor. They were out into much better country now, a pleasant, relatively healthy part where the road wound round hillsides and was mostly shaded by the overhanging trees. That day for the first time they got coconuts. Mrs Price had an old worn-out pair of slippers that had belonged to Mrs Horsefall; she had carried them for weeks and had never really used them; they traded these at Berkapor as soon as they got in for milk coconuts, one for each member of the party, thinking that the vitamins contained in the fluid would be good for them. At Berkapor they were accommodated in a large atap copra shed beside the road, and just before dusk the two familiar trucks drew up in the village, driven by Ben Leggatt and Joe Harman. As before, they were headed for the coast and loaded high with railway lines and sleepers.

Jean and several of the others walked across the road to meet them, with the Japanese sergeant; the Japanese guards fell into conversation together. Joe Harman turned to Jean.“We couldn't get loaded at Jerantut in time to make it down to Kuantan tonight,”he said.“Ben's got a pig.”

“A pig?”They crowded round Ben's truck. The corpse was lying upon the top of the load, a black, long-nosed Oriental pig, somewhat mauled and already covered in flies. Somewhere near the Tekam River Ben, whose truck was in the lead, had found this pig upon the road and had chased it with the truck for a quarter of a mile. The Japanese guard beside him had fired six shots at it from his rifle and had missed it every time till with the seventh he had wounded it and so enabled Ben to run over it with one of the front wheels. They had stopped and Harman coming close behind them had stopped too, and the two Aussies and the Japanese guard had heaved the pig on to the load and got moving again before the infuriated Chinese storekeeper had caught up with them to claim his property. Harman said quietly to Jean,“We'll have to let the bloody Nips eat all they can and carry away a bit. Leave it to me; I'll see there's some for you.”

That night the women got about thirty-five pounds of boiled pig meat, conveyed to them surreptitiously in several instalments. They made a fire of coconut shells behind the copra store and made a stew with their rice ration, and ate all of this that seemed prudent to them; at that there was enough meat left for the three meals that they would have before they took the road again. They sat about in the shed or at the roadside after they had finished, replete with the first really nourishing meal that they had had for months, and presently the Australians came across to talk to them.

Joe Harman came to Jean.“Sorry I couldn't send over more of that pig,”he said in his slow Queensland drawl.“I had to let the bloody Nips have most of it.”

She said,“It's been splendid, Joe. We've been eating and eating, and there's still lots left for tomorrow. I don't know when we last had such a meal.”

“I'd say that's what you need,”he observed.“There's not a lot of flesh on any of you, if I may say so.”

He squatted down upon the ground beside the women, sitting on one heel in his peculiar way.

“I know we're pretty thin,”Jean said.“But we're a darned sight better than we were. That Chinese stuff you got us as the substitute for Glauber's salt—that's doing the trick all right. It's stopping it.”

“Fine,”he said.“Maybe we could get some more of that in Kuantan.”

“The pig was a god-send,”she said.“That, and the fruit—we got some green coconuts today. We've been very lucky so far that we've had no beriberi, or that sort of thing.”

“It's because we've had fresh rice,”said Mrs Frith unexpectedly.“Being in the country parts we've had fresh rice all through. It's old rice that gives you beriberi.”

The Australian sat thoughtful, chewing a piece of stick.“Funny sort of a life for you ladies,”he said at last.“Living in a place like this, and eating like the boongs. These Nips'll have something coming to them, when it's all added up.”

He turned to Jean.“What were you all doing in Malaya?”he asked.

“Most of us were married,”she said.“Our husbands had jobs here.”

Mrs Frith said,“My hubby's District Engineer on the railway. We had ever such a nice bungalow at Kajang.”

Harman said,“All the husbands got interned separately, I suppose?”

“That's right,”said Mrs Price.“My Arthur's in Singapore. I heard about him when we was in Port Dickson. I think they're all in Singapore.”

“All comfortable in a camp while you go walking round the country,”he said.

“That's right,”said Mrs Frith.“Still, it's nice to know that they're all right, when all's said and done.”

“It seems to me,”said Harman,“the way they're kicking you around, they just don't know what they can do with you. It might not be too difficult for you to just stay in one place, as it might be this, and live till the war's over.”

Mrs Frith said,“That's what I've been thinking.”

Jean said,“I know. I've thought of this ever since Mrs Frith suggested it. The trouble is, the Japs feed us—or they make the village feed us. The village never gets paid. We'd have to earn our keep somehow, and I don't see how we could do it.”

Harman said,“It was just an idea.”

He said presently,“I believe I know where I could get a chicken or two. If I can I'll drop them off for you when we come up-country, day after tomorrow.”

Jean said,“We haven't paid you for the soap yet.”

“Forget about it,”he said slowly.“I didn't pay cash for it myself. I swapped it for a pair of Nip rubber boots.”With slow, dry humour he told them about the boots.“You got the soap, the Nip got another pair of boots, and Ben got a dollar,”he said.“Everybody's happy and satisfied.”

Jean said,“Is that how you're going to get the chicken?”

“I'll get a chicken for you, one way or another,”he said.“You ladies need feeding up.”

She said,“Don't take any risks.”

“You attend to your own business, Mrs Boong,”he said,“and take what you get. That's what you have to do when you're a prisoner, just take what you can get.”

She smiled, and said,“All right.”The fact that he had called her Mrs Boong pleased her; it was a little tenuous bond between herself and this strange man that he should pull her leg about her sunburn, her native dress, and the baby that she carried on her hip like a Malay woman. The word boong put Australia into her mind, and the aboriginal stockmen, and she asked a question that had occurred to her, partly from curiosity and partly because she knew it pleased him to talk about his own country.“Tell me,”she said,“is it very hot in Australia, the part you come from? Hotter than this?”

“It's hot,”he said.“Oh my word, it can be hot when it tries. At Wollara it can go to a hundred and eighteen—that's a hot day, that is. But it's not like this heat here. It's a kind of a dry heat, so you don't sweat like you do here.”He thought for a minute.“I got thrown once,”he said,“breaking in a brumby to the saddle. I broke my thigh, and after it was set in the hospital they used to point a sort of lamp at it, a sunray lamp they called it, to tone up the muscles or something. Do you have those things in England?”

She nodded.“It's like that, is it?”

“That's right,”he said.“It's a kind of warm, dry heat, the sort that does you good and makes you thirsty for cold beer.”

“What does the country look like?”she inquired. It pleased the man to talk about his own place and she wanted to please him; he had been so very kind to them.

“It's red,”he said.“Red around Alice and where I come from, red earth and then the mountains are all red. The Macdonnells and the Levis and the Kernots, great red ranges of bare hills against the blue sky. Evenings they go purple and all sorts of colours. After the wet there's green all over them. In the dry, parts of them go silvery white with the spinifex.”He paused.“I suppose everybody likes his own place,”he said quietly.“The country round about the Springs is my place. People come up on the 'Ghan from Adelaide and places in the south, and they say Alice is a lousy town. I only went to Adelaide once, and I thought that was lousy. The country round about the Springs is beautiful to me.”

He mused.“Artists come up from the south and try and paint it in pictures,”he said.“I only met one that ever got it right, and he was an Abo, an Abo called Albert out at Hermannsburg. Somebody gave him a brush and some paints one time, and he started in and got it better than any of them, oh my word, he did. But he's an Abo, and he's painting his own place. I suppose that makes a difference.”

He turned to Jean.“What's your place?”he asked.“Where do you come from?”

She said,“Southampton.”

“Where the liners go?”

“That's it,”she said.

“What's it like there?”he asked.

She shifted the baby on her hip, and moved her feet in the sarong.“It's quiet, and cool, and happy,”she said thoughtfully.“It's not particularly beautiful, although there's lovely country round about—the New Forest, and the Isle of Wight. It's my place, like the Springs is yours, and I shall go back there if I live through this time, because I love it so.”She paused for a moment.“There was an ice rink there,”she said.“I used to dance upon the ice, when I was a girl at school. One day I'll get back there and dance again.”

“I've never seen an ice rink,”said the man from Alice.“I've seen pictures of them, and on the movies.”

She said,“It was such fun...”

Presently he got up to go; she walked across the road with him towards the trucks, the baby on her hip, as always.“I shan't be able to see you tomorrow,”he said.“We start at dawn. But I'll be coming back up the road the day after.”

“We shall be walking to Pohoi that day, I think,”she said.

“I'll see if I can get you those chickens,”he said.

She turned and faced him, standing beside her in the moonlit road, in all the noises of the tropic night.“Look, Joe,”she said.“We don't want meat if it's going to mean trouble. It was grand of you to get that soap for us, but you did take a fearful risk, pinching that chap's boots.”

“That's nothing,”he said slowly.“You can run rings round these Nips when you learn how.”

“You've done a lot for us,”she said.“This pig, and the medicines, and the soap. It's made a world of difference to us in these last few days. I know you've taken risks to do these things. Do, please, be careful.”

“Don't worry about me,”he said.“I'll try and get the chickens, but if I find things getting hot I'll give it away. I won't go sticking out my neck.”

“You'll promise that?”she asked.

“Don't worry about me,”he said.“You've got enough troubles on your own plate, my word. But we'll come out all right, so long as we just keep alive, that's all we got to do. Just keep alive another two years, till the war's over.”

“You think that it will be as long as that?”she asked.

“Ben knows a lot more than I do about things like that,”he said.“He thinks about two years.”He grinned down at her.“You'd better have those chickens.”

“I'll leave that with you,”she said.“I'd never forgive myself if you got caught in anything, and bought it.”

“I won't,”he said. He put out his hand as if to take her own, and then dropped it again.“Goodnight, Mrs Boong,”he said.

She laughed.“I'll crack you with a coconut if you say Mrs Boong again. Goodnight, Joe.”

“Goodnight.”

They did not see him next morning, though they heard the trucks go off. They rested that day at Berkapor, as was their custom, and the next day they marched on to Pohoi. The two trucks driven by Harman and Leggatt passed them on the road about midday going up empty to Jerantut; each driver waved to the women as they passed, and they waved back. The Japanese guards seated beside the drivers scowled a little. No chickens dropped from the trucks and the trucks did not stop; in one way Jean was rather relieved. She knew something of the temper of these men by now, and she knew very well that they would stop at nothing, would be deterred by no risk, to get what they considered to be helpful for the women. No chickens meant no trouble, and she marched on for the rest of the day with an easy mind.

That evening, in the house that they had been put into at Pohoi, a little Malay boy came to Jean with a green canvas sack; he said that he had been sent by a Chinaman in Gambang. In the sack were five black cockerels, alive, with their feet tied. Poultry is usually transported in the East alive.

Their arrival put Jean in a difficulty, and she consulted with Mrs Frith. It was impossible for them to kill, pluck and cook five cockerels without drawing the attention of their guards to what was going on, and the first thing that the guards would ask was, where had the cockerels come from? If Jean had known the answer to that one herself it would have been easier to frame a lie. It would be possible, they thought, to say that they had bought them with money given to them by the Australians, but that was difficult if the sergeant wanted to know where they had bought them in Pohoi. It was unfortunate that Pohoi was a somewhat unfriendly village; it had been genuinely difficult for the village to evacuate a house for the women, and it was not to be expected that they would get much cooperation from the villagers in any deceit. Finally they decided to say that they had bought them with money given to them by the Australians, and that they had arranged at Berkapor for the poultry to be sent to them at Pohoi from a village called Limau, two or three miles off the road. It was a thin tale and one that would not stand up to a great deal of investigation, but they saw no reason why any investigation should take place.

They decided regretfully that they would have to part with one of the five cockerels to their guards; the gift of a chicken would make the sergeant sweet and involve him in the affair, rendering any serious investigation unlikely. Accordingly Jean took the sack and went to find the sergeant.

She bowed to him, to put him in a good temper.“Gunso,”she said,“good mishi tonight. We buy chickens.”She opened the sack and showed him the fowls lying in the bottom. Then she reached down and pulled out one.“For you.”She smiled at him with all the innocence that she could muster.

It was a great surprise to him. He had not known that they had so much money; they had never been able to buy anything but coconuts or bananas before, since he had been with them.“You buy?”he asked.

She nodded.“From Limau. Very good mishi for us all tonight.”

“Where get money?”he inquired. Suspicion had not dawned, for they had never deceived him before; he was just curious.

For one fleeting moment Jean toyed with the idea of saying they had sold some jewellery, with a quick, intuitive feeling that it would be better not to mention the Australians. But she put the idea away; she must stick to the story that they had prepared and considered from all angles.“Man prisoner give us money for chicken,”she said.“They say we too thin. Now we have good mishi tonight, Japanese and prisoner also.”

He put up two fingers.“Two.”

She went up in a sheet of flame.“One, not two, gunso,”she said.“This is a present for you, because you have been kind and carried children, and allowed us to walk slowly. Five only, five.”She showed him the sack, and he counted them carefully. It was only then that she took note of the fact that the birds were rather unusually large for the East, and jet black all over.“One for you, four for us.”

He let the sack fall, and nodded; then he smiled at her, tucked the cockerel under his arm, and walked off with it towards the kitchen where his meal was in preparation.

That day there was a considerable row in progress at Kuantan. The local commanding officer was a Captain Sugamo, who was executed by the Allied War Crimes Tribunal in the year 1946 after trial for atrocities committed at Camp 302 on the Burma-Siam railway in the years 1943 and 1944: his duty in Kuantan at that time was to see to the evacuation of the railway material from the eastern railway in Malaya and to its shipment to Siam. He lived in the house formerly occupied by the District Commissioner of Kuantan, and the District Commissioner had kept a fine little flock of about twenty black Leghorn fowls, specially imported from England in 1939. When Captain Sugamo woke up that morning, five of his twenty black Leghorns were missing, with a green sack that had once held the mail for the District Commissioner, and was now used to store grain for the fowls.

Captain Sugamo was a very angry man. He called the Military Police and set them to work; their suspicion fell at once upon the Australian truck drivers, who had a record for petty larceny in that district. Moreover, they had considerable opportunities, because the nature of their work allowed them a great deal of freedom; trucks had to be serviced and refuelled, often in the hours of darkness when it was difficult to ascertain exactly where each man might be. Their camp was searched that day for any sign of telltale feathers, or the sack, but nothing was discovered but a cache of tinned foods and cigarettes stolen from the quartermaster's store.

Captain Sugamo was not satisfied and he became more angry than ever. A question of face was now involved, because this theft from the commanding officer was a clear insult to his position, and so to the Imperial Japanese Army. He ordered a search of the entire town of Kuantan: on the following day every house was entered by troops working under the directions of the military Police to look for signs of the black feathers or the green sack. It yielded no result.

Brooding over the insults levelled at his uniform, the captain ordered the barracks of the company of soldiers under his command to be searched. There was no result from that.

There remained one further avenue. Three of the trucks, driven by Australians, were up-country on the road to or from Jerantut. Next day Sugamo dispatched a light truck up the road manned by four men of his military police, to search these trucks and to interrogate the drivers and the guards, and anybody else who might have knowledge of the matter. Between Pohoi and Blat they came upon a crowd of women and children walking down the road loaded with bundles; ahead of them marched a Japanese sergeant with his rifle slung over one shoulder and a green sack over the other. The truck stopped with a squeal of brakes.

For the next two hours Jean stuck to her story, that the Australian had given her money and she had bought the fowls from Limau. They put her through a sort of third degree there on the road, with an insistent reiteration of questions: when they felt that her attention was wandering they slapped her face, kicked her shins, or stamped on her bare feet with army boots. She stuck to it with desperate resolution, knowing that it was a rotten story, knowing that they disbelieved her, not knowing what else she could say. At the end of that time a convoy of three trucks came down the road; the driver of the second one, Joe Harman, was recognized by the sergeant immediately, and brought before Jean at the point of the bayonet. The sergeant of the Military Police said,“Is this man?”

Jean said desperately,“I've been telling them about the four dollars you gave me to buy the chickens with, Joe, but they won't believe me.”

The military policeman said,“You steal chickens from the shoko. Here is bag.”

The ringer looked at the girl's bleeding face and at her bleeding feet.“Leave her alone, you bloody mucking bastards,”he said angrily in his slow Queensland drawl.“I stole those mucking chickens, and I gave them to her. So what?”

Darkness was closing down in my London sitting-room, the early darkness of a stormy afternoon. The rain still beat upon the window. The girl sat staring into the fire, immersed in her sad memories.“They crucified him,”she said quietly.“They took us all down to Kuantan, and they nailed his hands to a tree, and beat him to death. They kept us there, and made us look on while they did it.”

Chapter 4

“My dear,”I said.“I am so very sorry.”

She raised her head.“You don't have to be sorry,”she replied.“It was one of those things that seem to happen in a war. It's a long time ago, now—nearly six years. And Captain Sugamo was hung—not for that, but for what he did upon the railway. It's all over and done with now, and nearly forgotten.”

There was, of course, no women's camp in Kuantan, and Captain Sugamo was not the man to be bothered with a lot of women and children. The execution took place at midday at a tree that stood beside the recreation ground overlooking the tennis courts: as soon as the maimed, bleeding body hanging by its hands had ceased to twitch Captain Sugamo stood them in parade before him.

“You very bad people,”he said.“No place here for you. I send you to Kota Bahru. You walk now.”

They stumbled off without a word, in desperate hurry to get clear of that place of horror. The same sergeant that had escorted them from Gemas was sent with them, for he also was disgraced as having shared the chickens. It was as a punishment that he was ordered to continue with them, because all prisoners are disgraceful and dishonourable creatures in the eyes of the Japanese, and to guard them and escort them is an insulting and a menial job fit only for the lowest type of man. An honourable Japanese would kill himself rather than be taken prisoner. Perhaps to emphasize this point the private soldier was taken away, so that from Kuantan onwards the sergeant was their only guard.

So they took up their journey again, living from day to day. They left Kuantan about the middle of July. It is about two hundred miles from Kuantan to Kota Bahru: allowing for halts of several days for illness Jean anticipated it would take them two months at least to get there.

They got to Besarah on the first day: this is a fishing village on the sea, with white coral sand and palm trees at the head of the beach. It is a very lovely place but they slept little, for most of the children were awake and crying in the night with memories of the horror they had seen. They could not bear to stay so close to Kuantan and travelled on next day another short stage to Balok, another fishing village on another beach with more palm trees. Here they rested for a day.

Gradually they came to realize that they had entered a new land. The north-east coast of Malaya is a very lovely country, and comparatively healthy. It is beautiful, with rocky headlands and long, sweeping, sandy beaches fringed with palm trees, and usually there is a freshwind from the sea. Moreover there is an abundance of fresh fish in all the villages. For the first time since they left Panong the women had sufficient protein with their rice, and their health began to show an improvement at once. Most of them bathed in the warm sea at least once every day, and certain of the skin diseases that they suffered from began to heal with this salt water treatment, though not all. For the first time in months the children had sufficient energy to play.

They all improved, in fact, except the sergeant. The sergeant was suspicious of them now; he seldom carried a child or helped them in any way. He seemed to feel the reproofs that he had been given very much, and he had now no companion of his own race to talk to. He moped a great deal, sitting sullenly aloof from them in the evenings; once or twice Jean caught herself consciously trying to cheer him up, a queer reversal of the role of prisoner and guard. Upon this route they met very few Japanese. Occasionally they would find a detachment stationed in a river village or at an airstrip; when they came to such a unit the sergeant would smarten himself up and go and report to the officer in charge, who would usually come and inspect them. But there is very little industry between Kuantan and Kota Bahru and no town larger than a fishing village, nor was there any prospect of an enemy attack upon the eastern side of the Malay Peninsula. On several occasions a week passed without the women seeing any Japanese at all except the sergeant.

As they travelled slowly up the coast the condition of the women and the children altered greatly for the better. They were now a very different party from the helpless people who had started off from Panong nearly six months before. Death had ruthlessly eliminated the weakest members and reduced them to about half the original numbers, which made all problems of billeting and feeding in the villages far easier. They were infinitely more experienced by that time, too. They had learned to use the native remedies for malaria and dysentery, to clothe themselves and wash and sleep in the native manner; in consequence they now had far more leisure than when they had been fighting to maintain a western style of life in primitive conditions. The march of ten miles every other day was now no longer a great burden; in the intervening day they had more time for the children. Presently Mrs Warner, who at one time had been an elementary schoolmistress, started a class for the children, and school became a regular institution on their day of rest.

Jean began to teach her baby, Robin Holland, how to walk. He was quite fit and healthy again, and getting quite a weight for her to carry, for he was now sixteen months old. She never burdened him with any clothes in that warm climate, and he crawled about naked in the shade of palm or casuarina trees, or in the sun upon the sand, like any Malay baby. He got nearly as brown as one, too.

In the weeks that followed they moved slowly northwards up the coast, through all the many fishing villages, Ular and Chendar and Kalong and Penunjok and Kemasik and many others. They had a little sickness and spent a few days here and there while various members of the party sweated out a fever, but they had no more deaths. The final horror at Kuantan was a matter that they never spoke about at all, each fearing to recall it to the memory of the others, but each was secretly of the opinion that it had changed their luck.

With Mrs Frith this impression struck much deeper. She was a devout little woman who said her prayers morning and evening with the greatest regularity. It was Mrs Frith who always knew when Sunday was: on that day she would read the Prayer Book and the Bible for an hour aloud to anyone who came to listen to her. If it was their rest day she would hold this service at eleven o'clock as near as she could guess it, because that was the correct time for Matins.

Mrs Frith sought for the hand of God in everything that happened to them. Brooding over their experiences with this in mind, she was struck by certain similarities. She had read repeatedly about one Crucifixion; now there had been another. The Australian, in her mind, had had the power of healing, because the medicines he brought had cured her dysentery and Johnnie Horsefall's ringworm. It was beyond all doubt that they had been blessed in every way since his death for them. God had sent down His Son to earth in Palestine. What if He had done it again in Malaya?

Men and women who are in great and prolonged distress and forced into an entirely novel way of life, divorced entirely from their previous association, frequently develop curious mental traits. Mrs Frith did not thrust her views upon them, yet inevitably the matter that she was beginning to believe herself became known to the other women. It was received with incredulity at first, but as a matter that required the most deep and serious thought. Most of the women had been churchgoers when they got the chance, mostly of Low Church sects; deep in their hearts they had been longing for the help of God. As their physical health improved throughout these weeks, their capacity for religious thought increased, and, as the weeks went on, accurate memory of the Australian began to fade, and was replaced by an awed and roseate memory of the man he had not been. If this incredible event that Mrs Frith believed could possibly be true, it meant indeed that they were in the hand of God; nothing could touch them then; they would win through and live through all their troubles and one day they would regain their homes, their husbands, and their western way of life. They marched on with renewed strength.

Jean did nothing to dispel these fancies, which were evidently helpful to the women, but she was not herself impressed. She was the youngest of all of them, and the only one unmarried; she had formed a very different idea of Joe Harman. She knew him for a very human, very normal man; she had grown prettier, she knew, when he had come to talk to her, and more attractive. It had been a subconscious measure of defence that had led her to allow him to continue to refer to her as Mrs Boong; if the baby on her hip had misled him into classing her with all the other married women, that was just as well. In those villages, in the hot tropic nights when they wore little clothing, in that place of extraordinary standards or no standards at all, she knew that anything might have happened between them if he had known that she was an unmarried girl, and it might well have happened very quickly. Her grief for him was more real and far deeper than that of the other women, and it was not in the least because she thought that he had been divine. She was entirely certain in her own mind that he wasn't.

Toward the end of August they were in a village called Kuala Telang about half way between Kuantan and Kota Bahru. The Telang is a short, muddy river that wanders through a flat country of rice fields to the sea; the village stands on the south bank of the river just inside the sand bar at the mouth. It is a pretty place of palm and casuarina trees and long white beaches on which the rollers of the South China Sea break in surf. The village lives upon the fishing and on the rice fields. About fifteen fishing-boats operate from the river, big open sailing-boats with strange, high, flat figureheads at bow and stern. There is a sort of village square with wood and palm-leaf native shops grouped round about it; behind this stands a godown for the rice beside the river bank. This godown was empty at the time, and it was here that the party was accommodated.

The Japanese sergeant fell ill with fever here, probably malaria. He had not been himself since Kuantan; he had been sullen and depressed, and he seemed to feel the lack of companionship very much. As the women had grown stronger so he had grown weaker, and this was strange to them at first, because he had never been ill before. At first they had been pleased and relieved that this queer, ugly, uncouth little man was in eclipse, but as he grew more unhappy they suffered a strange reversal of feeling. He had been with them for a long time and he had done what was possible within the limits of his duty to alleviate their lot; he had carried their children willingly and he had wept when children died. When it was obvious that he had fever they took turns at carrying his rifle and his tunic and his boots and his pack for him, so that they arrived in the village as a queer procession, Mrs Warner leading the little yellow man clad only in his trousers, stumbling about in a daze. He walked more comfortably barefoot. Behind them came the other women carrying all his equipment as well as their own burdens.

Jean found the headman, a man of about fifty called Mat Amin bin Taib, and explained the situation to him.“We are prisoners,”she said,“marching from Kuantan to Kota Bahru, and this Japanese is our guard. He is ill with fever, and we must find a shady house for him to lie in. He has authority to sign chits in the name of the Imperial Japanese Army for our food and accommodation, and he will do this for you when he recovers; he will give you a paper. We must have a place to sleep ourselves, and food.”

Mat Amin said,“I have no place where white Mems would like to sleep.”

Jean said,“We are not white mems any longer; we are prisoners and we are accustomed to living as your women live. All we need is a shelter and a floor to sleep on, and the use of cooking pots, and rice, and a little fish or meat and vegetables.”

“You can have what we have ourselves,”he said,“but it is strange to see mems living so.”

He took the sergeant into his own house and produced a mattress stuffed with coconut fibre and a pillow of the same material; he had a mosquito net which was evidently his own and he offered this, but the women refused it because they knew the sergeant needed all the cooling breezes he could get. They made him take his trousers off and get into a sarong and lie down on the bed. They had no quinine left, but the headman produced a draught of his own concoction and they gave the sergeant some of this, and left him in the care of the headman's wife, and went to find their own quarters and food.

The fever was high all that night; in the morning when they came to see how he was getting on they did not like the look of him at all. He was still in a high fever and he was very much weaker than he had been; it seemed to them that he was giving up, and that was a bad sign. They took turns all that day to sit with him and bathe his face, and wash him; from time to time they talked to him to try and stimulate his interest, but without a great deal of success. In the evening Jean was sitting with him; he lay inert upon his back, sweating profusely; he did not answer anything she said.

Looking for something to attract his interest, she pulled his tunic to her and felt in the pocket for his paybook. She found a photograph in it, a photograph of a Japanese woman and four children standing by the entrance to a house. She said,“Your children, gunso?”and gave it to him. He took it without speaking and looked at it; then he gave it back to her and motioned to her to put it away again.

When she had laid the jacket down she looked at him and saw that tears were oozing from his eyes and falling down to mingle with the sweat beads on his cheeks. Very gently she wiped them away.

He grew weaker and weaker, and two days later he died in the night. There seemed no particular reason why he should have died, but the disgrace of Kuantan was heavy on him and he seemed to have lost interest and the will to live. They buried him that day in the Moslem cemetery outside the village, and most of them wept a little for him as an old and valued friend.

The death of the sergeant left them in a most unusual position, for they were now prisoners without a guard. They discussed it at some length that evening after the funeral.“I don't see why we shouldn't stay here, where we are,”said Mrs Frith.“It's a nice place, this is, as nice as any that we've come to. That's what He said, we ought to find a place where we'd be out of the way, and just live there.”

Jean said,“I know. There's two things we'd have to settle though. First, the Japs are bound to find out sometime that we're living here, and then the headman will get into trouble for having allowed us to stay here without telling them. They'd probably kill him. You know what they are.”

“Maybe they wouldn't find us, after all,”said Mrs Price.

“I don't believe Mat Amin is the man to take that risk,”Jean said.“There isn't any reason why he should. If we stay he'll go straight to the Japanese and tell them that we're here.”She paused.“The other thing is that we can't expect this village to go on feeding seventeen of us for ever just because we're white mems. They'll go and tell the Japs about us just to get rid of us.”

Mrs Frith said shrewdly,“We could grow our own food, perhaps. Half the paddy fields we walked by coming in haven't been planted this year.”

Jean stared at her.“That's quite right—they haven't. I wonder why that is?”

“All the men must have gone to the war,”said Mrs Warner.“Working as coolies taking up that railway line, or something of that.”

Jean said slowly,“What would you think of this? Suppose I go and tell Mat Amin that we'll work in the rice fields if he'll let us stay here? What would you think of that?”

Mrs Price laughed.“Me, with my figure? Walking about in mud and water up to the knee planting them little seedlings in the mud, like you see the Malay girls doing?”

Jean said apologetically,“It was just a thought.”

“And a very good one, too,”said Mrs Warner.“I wouldn't mind working in the paddy fields if we could stay here and live comfortable and settled.”

Mrs Frith said,“If we were growing rice like that, maybe they'd let us stay here—the Japs I mean. After all, in that way we'd be doing something useful, instead of walking all over the country like a lot of whipped dogs with no home.”

Next morning Jean went to the headman. She put her hands together in the praying gesture of greeting, and smiled at him and said in Malay,“Mat Amin, why do we see the paddy fields not sown this year? We saw so many of them as we came to this place, not sown at all.”

He said,“Most of the men, except the fishermen, are working for the army.”He meant the Japanese Army.

“On the railway?”

“No. They are at Gong Kedak. They are making a long piece of land flat, and making roads, and covering the land they have made flat with tar and stones, so that aeroplanes can come down there.”

“Are they coming back soon to plant paddy?”

“It is in the hand of God, but I do not think they will come back for many months. I have heard that after they have done this thing at Gong Kedak, there is another such place to be made at Machang, and another at Tan Yongmat. Once a man falls into the power of the Japanese it is not easy for him to escape and come back to his home.”

“Who, then, will plant the paddy, and reap it?”

“The women will do what they can. Rice will be short next year, not here, because we shall not sell the paddy that we need to eat ourselves. We shall not have enough to sell to the Japanese. I do not know what they are going to eat, but it will not be rice.”

Jean said,“Mat Amin, I have serious matters to discuss with you. If there were a man amongst us I would send him to talk for us, but there is no man. You will not be offended if I ask you to talk business with a woman, on behalf of women?”She now knew something of the right approach to a Mohammedan.

He bowed to her, and led her to his house. There was a small rickety veranda; they went up to this and sat down upon the floor facing each other. He was a level-eyed old man with close-cropped hair and a small, clipped moustache, naked to the waist and wearing a sarong; his face was firm, but not unkind. He called sharply to his wife within the house to bring out coffee.

Jean waited till the coffee appeared, making small talk for politeness; she knew the form after six months in the villages. It came in two thick glasses, without milk and sweet with sugar. She bowed to him, and lifted her glass and sipped, and set it down again.“We are in a difficulty,”she said frankly.“Our guard is dead, and what now will become of us is in our own hands—and in yours. You know our story. We were taken prisoner at Panong, and since then we have walked many hundreds of miles to this place. No Japanese commander will receive us and put us in a camp and feed us and attend to us in illness, because each commander thinks that these things are the duty of the other; so they march us under guard from town to town. This has been going on now for more than six months, and in that time half of our party have died upon the road.”

He inclined his head.

“Now that our gunso is dead,”she said,“what shall we do? If we go on until we find a Japanese officer and report to him, he will not want us; nobody in all this country wants us They will not kill us quickly, as they might if we were men. They will get us out of the way by marching us on to some other place, perhaps into a country of swamps such as we have come through. So we shall grow ill again, and one by one we shall all die. That is what lies ahead of us, if we report now to the Japanese.”

He replied,“It is written that the angels said, ‘Every soul shall taste of death, and we will prove you with evil and with good for a trial of you, and unto us shall ye return.’”

She thought quickly; the words of the headman at Dilit came into her mind. She said,“It is also written, ‘If you be kind towards women and fear to wrong them, God is well acquainted with what ye do.’”

He eyed her steadily.“Where is that written?”

She said,“In the Fourth Surah.”

“Are you of the Faith?”he asked incredulously.

She shook her head.“I do not want to deceive you. I am a Christian; we are all Christians. The headman of a village on our road was kind to us, and when I thanked him he said that to me. I do not know the Koran.”

“You are a very clever woman,”he said.“Tell me what you want.”

“I want our party to stay here, in this village,”she said,“and go to work in the paddy fields, as your women do.”He stared at her, astonished.“This will be dangerous for you,”she said. We know that very well. If Japanese officers find us in this place before you have reported to them that we are here, they will be very angry. And so, I want you to do this. I want you to let us go to work at once with one or two of your women to show us what to do. We will work all day for our food alone and a place to sleep. When we have worked so for two weeks, I will go myself and find an officer and report to him, and tell him what we are doing. And you shall come with me, as headman of this village, and you shall tell the officer that more rice will be grown for the Japanese if we are allowed to continue working in the rice fields. These are the things I want.”

“I have never heard of white mems working in the paddy fields,”he said.

She asked,“Have you ever heard of white mems marching and dying as we have marched and died?”

He was silent.

“We are in your hands,”she said.“If you say, go upon your way and walk on to some other place, then we must go, and going we must die. That will then be a matter between you and God. If you allow us to stay and cultivate your fields and live with you in peace and safety, you will get great honour when the English Tuans return to this country after their victory. Because they will win this war in the end; these Short Ones are in power now, but they cannot win against the Americans and all the free peoples of the world. One day the English Tuans will come back.”

He said,“I shall be glad to see that day.”

They sat in silence for a time, sipping the glasses of coffee. Presently the headman said,“This is a matter not to be decided lightly, for it concerns the whole village. I will think about it and I will talk it over with my brothers.”

Jean went away, and that evening after the hour of evening prayer she saw a gathering of men squatting with the headman in front of his house; they were all old men, because there were very few young ones in Kuala Telang at that time, and young ones probably would not have been admitted to the conference in any case. Later that evening Mat Amin came to the godown and asked for Mem Paget; Jean came out to him, carrying the baby. She stood talking to him in the light of a small oil lamp.

“We have discussed this matter that we talked about,”he said.“It is a strange thing, that white mems should work in our rice fields, and some of my brothers are afraid that the white Tuans will not understand when they come back, and that they will be angry, saying we have made you work for us against your will.”

Jean said,“We will give you a letter now, that you can show them if they should say that.”

He shook his head.“It is not necessary. It is sufficient if you tell the Tuans when they come back that this thing was done because you wished it so.”

She said,“That we will do.”

They went to work next day. There were six married women in the party at that time, and Jean, and ten children including Jean's baby. The headman took them out to the fields with two Malay girls, Fatimah binti Darus and Raihana binti Hassan. He gave them seven small fields covered in weeds to start upon, an area that was easily within their power to manage. There was a roofed platform nearby in the fields for resting in the shade; they left the youngest children here and went to work.

The seven women were all fairly robust; the journey had eliminated the ones who would have been unable to stand agricultural work. Those who were left were women of determination and grit, with high morale and a good sense of humour. As soon as they became accustomed to the novelty of working ankle-deep in mud and water they did not find the work exacting, and presently as they became accustomed to it they were seized with an ambition to show the village that white mems could do as much work as Malay women, or more.

Paddy is grown in little fields surrounded by a low wall of earth, so that water from a stream can be led into the field at will to turn it into a shallow pool. When the water is let out again the earth bottom is soft mud, and weeds can be pulled out by hand and the ground hoed and prepared for the seedlings. The seedlings are raised by scattering the rice in a similar nursery field, and they are then transplanted in rows into the muddy field. The field is then flooded again for a few days while the seedlings stand with their heads above the water in the hot sun, and the water is let out again for a few days to let the sun get to the roots. With alternating flood and dry in that hot climate the plants grow very quickly to about the height of wheat, with feathery ears of rice on top of the stalks. The rice is harvested by cutting off the ears with a little knife, leaving the straw standing, and is taken in sacks to the village to be winnowed. Water buffaloes are then turned in to eat the straw and fertilize the ground and tramp it all about, and the ground is ready for sowing again to repeat the cycle. Two crops a year are normally got from the rice fields, and there is no rotation of crop.

Working in these fields is not unpleasant when you get accustomed to it. There are worse things to do in a very hot country than to put on a large conical sun-hat of plaited palm leaves and take off most of your clothes, and play about with mud and water, damming and diverting little trickling streams. By the end of the fortnight the women had settled down to it and quite liked the work, and all the children loved it from the first. No Japanese came near the village in that time.

On the sixteenth day Jean started out with the headman, Mat Amin, to go and look for the Japanese; they carried the sergeant's rifle and equipment, and his uniform, and his paybook. There was a place called Kuala Rakit twenty-seven miles away where a Japanese detachment was stationed, and they went there.

They took two days to walk this distance, staying overnight at a place called Bukit Perah. They stayed with the headman there, Jean sleeping in the back quarters with the women. They went on next day and came to Kuala Rakit in the evening; it was a very large village, or small town. Here Mat Amin took her to see an official of the Malay administration at his house, Tungku Bentara Raja. Tungku Bentara was a little thin Malay who spoke excellent English; he was genuinely concerned at the story that he heard from Mat Amin and from Jean.

“I am very, very sorry,”he said at last.“I cannot do much to help you directly, because the Japanese control everything we do. It is terrible that you should have to work in the rice fields.”

“That's not terrible at all,”Jean said.“As a matter of fact, we rather like it. We want to stay there, with Mat Amin here. If the Japanese have got a camp for women in this district I suppose they'll put us into that, but if they haven't, we don't want to go on marching all over Malaya. Half of us have died already doing that.”

“You must stay with us tonight,”he said.“Tomorrow I will have a talk with the Japanese Civil Administrator. There is no camp here for women, anyway.”

That night Jean slept in a bed for the first time in nearly seven months. She did not care for it much; having grown used to sleeping on the floor she found it cooler to sleep so than to sleep on a mattress. She did not actually get out of bed and sleep upon the floor, but she came very near to it. The bath and shower after the bath taken by holding a gourd full of water over her head, however, were a joy, and she spent a long time washing.

In the morning she went with Tungku Bentara and Mat Amin to the Japanese Civil Administrator, and told her tale again. The Civil Administrator had been to the State University of California and spoke first-class American English; he was sympathetic, but declared that prisoners were nothing to do with him, being the concern of the Army. He came with them, however, to see the military commanding officer, a Colonel Matisaka, and Jean told her tale once more.

It was quite clear that Colonel Matisaka considered women prisoners to be a nuisance, and he had no intention whatsoever of diverting any portion of his force to guarding them. Left to himself he would probably have sent them marching on, but with Tungku Bentara and the Civil Administrator in his office and acquainted with the facts he could hardly do that. In the end he washed his hands of the whole thing and told the Civil Administrator to make what arrangements he thought best. The Civil Administrator told Bentara that the women could stay where they were for the time being, and Jean started back for Kuala Telang with Mat Amin.

They lived there for three years.

“It was three years wasted, just chopped out of one's life,”she said. She raised her head and looked at me, hesitantly.“At least—I suppose it was. I know a lot about Malays, but that's not worth much here in England.”

“You won't know if it was wasted until you come to the end of your life,”I said.“Perhaps not then.”

She nodded.“I suppose that's right.”She took up the poker and began scraping the ash from the bars of the grate.“They were so very kind to us,”she said.“They couldn't have been nicer, within the limits of what they are and what they've got. Fatimah, the girl who showed us what to do in the rice fields in those first weeks—she was a perfect dear. I got to know her very well indeed.”

“Is that where you want to go back to?”I asked.

She nodded.“I would like to do something for them, now that I've got this money. We lived with them for three years, and they did everything for us. We'd have all died before the war was ended if they hadn't taken us in and let us stay with them. And now I've got so much, and they so very, very little...”

“Don't forget you haven't got as much as all that,”I said.“Travelling to Malaya is a very expensive journey.”

She smiled.“I know. What I want to do for them won't cost so very much—not more than fifty pounds, if that. We had to carry water in that village—that's the women's work—and it's a fearful job. You see, the river's tidal at the village so the water's brackish; you can use it for washing in or rinsing out your clothes, but drinking water has to be fetched from the spring, nearly a mile away. We used to go for it with gourds, two in each hand with a stick between them, morning and evening—a mile there and a mile back—four miles a day. Fatimah and the other girls didn't think about it; it's what the village has done always, generation after generation.”

“That's why you want to dig a well?”

She nodded.“It's something I could do for them, for the women—something that would make life easier for them, as they made life easier for us. A well right in the middle of the village, within a couple of hundred yards of every house. It's what they ought to have. I'm sure it wouldn't have to be more than about ten feet deep, because there's water all about. The water level can't be more than about ten feet down, or fifteen feet at the most. I thought if I went back there and offered to engage a gang of well-diggers to do this for them, it'ld sort of wind things up. And after that I could enjoy this money with a clear conscience.”She looked up at me again.“You don't think that's silly, do you?”

“No,”I said.“I don't think that. The only thing is, I wish it wasn't quite so far away. Travelling there and back will make a very big hole in a year's income.”

“I know that,”she said.“If I run out of money, I'll take a job in Singapore or somewhere for a few months and save up a bit.”

“As a matter of interest,”I said,“why didn't you stay out there and get a job? You know the country so well.”

She said,“I had a scunner of it, then—in 1945. We were all dying to get home. They sent three trucks for us from Kota Bahru, and we were taken to the airfield there and flown down to Singapore in a Dakota with an Australian crew. And there I met Bill Holland, and I had to tell him about Eileen, and Freddie and Jane.”Her voice dropped.“All the family, except Robin; he was four years old by that time, and quite a sturdy little chap. They let me travel home with Bill and Robin, to look after Robin. He looked on me as his mother, of course.”

She smiled a little.“Bill wanted to make it permanent,”she said.“I couldn't do that. I couldn't have been the sort of wife he wanted.”

I said nothing.

“When we landed, England was so green and beautiful,”she said.“I wanted to forget about the war, and forget about the East, and grow to be an ordinary person again. I got this job with Pack and Levy and I've been there two years now—ladies' handbags and attaché cases for the luxury trade, nothing to do with wars or sickness or death. I've had a happy time there, on the whole.”

She was very much alone when she got home. She had cabled to her mother directly she reached Singapore; there was a long delay, and then she got a cable in reply from her Aunt Agatha in Colwyn Bay, breaking to her the news that her mother was dead. Before she left Singapore she heard that her brother Donald had died upon the Burma-Siam railway. She must have felt very much alone in the world when she regained her freedom; it seemed to me that she had shown great strength of character in refusing an offer of marriage at that time. She landed at Liverpool, and went to stay for a few weeks with her Aunt Agatha at Colwyn Bay; then she went down to London to look for a job.

I asked her why she had not got in touch with her uncle, the old man at Ayr.“Quite honestly,”she said,“I forgot all about him, or if I thought of him at all I thought he was dead, too. I only saw him once, that time when I was eleven years old, and he looked about dead then. It never entered my head that he would still be alive. Mother's estate was all wound up, and there were very few of her personal papers left, because they were all in the Pagets' house in Southampton when that got blitzed. If I had thought about Uncle Douglas I wouldn't have known where he lived...”

It was still pouring with rain. We decided to give up the idea of going out that afternoon, and to have tea in my flat. She went out into my little kitchen and began getting it, and I busied myself with laying the tea table and cutting bread and butter. When she came in with the tray, I asked,“When do you think of going to Malaya, then?”

She said,“I thought I'd book my passage for the end of May, and go on working at Pack and Levy up till then,”she said.“That's about another six weeks. By then I'll have enough saved up to pay my passage out and home, and I'll still have about sixty pounds I saved out of my wages in this last two years.”She had been into the cost of her journey, and had found a line of intermediate class cargo ships that took about a dozen passengers for a relatively modest fare to Singapore.“I think I'll have to fly to Kota Bahru from Singapore,”she said.“Malayan Airways go to Kuantan and then to Kota Bahru. I don't know how I'll get from Kota Bahru to Kuala Telang, but I expect there'll be something.”

She was quite capable of walking it, I thought; a journey through the heart of Malaya could mean little to her now. I had had the atlas out while she had been telling me her story to see where the places were, and I looked at it again now.“You could get off the aeroplane at Kuantan,”I said.“It's shorter from there.”

“I know,”she said,“I know it's a bit shorter. But I couldn't bear to go back there again.”There was distress in her voice.

To ease the situation I said idly,“It would take me years to learn how to remember these Malay names.”

“It's all right when you know what they mean,”she said.“They're just like English names. Bahru means New, and Kota means a fort. It's only Newcastle, in Malay.”

She went on with her work at Perivale, and I went on with mine in Chancery Lane, but I was unable to get her story out of my mind. There is a man called Wright, a member of my club, who was in the Malayan Police and was a prisoner of the Japanese during their occupation of Malaya, I think in Changi gaol. I sat next to him at dinner one night, and I could not resist sounding him about it.“One of my clients told me an extraordinary story about Malaya the other day,”I said.“She was one of a party of women that the Japanese refused to put into a camp.”

He laid his knife down.“Not the party who were taken at Panong and marched across Malaya?”

“That was it,”I said.“You know about them, do you?”

“Oh yes,”he said.“It was a most extraordinary thing, as you say. The Japanese commanders marched them from place to place, till finally they were allowed to settle in a village on the east coast somewhere, and they lived there for the rest of the war. There was a very fine girl who was their leader; she spoke Malay fluently. She wasn't anybody notable; she'd been a shorthand typist in an office in Kuala Lumpur. A very fine type.”

I nodded.“She's my client.”

“Is she! I always wondered what had happened to her. What's she doing now?”

I said dryly,“She's a shorthand typist again, working in a handbag factory at Perivale.”

“Really!”He ate a mouthful or two, and then he said,“I always thought that girl ought to have got a decoration of some sort. Unfortunately, there's nothing you can give to people like that. But if she hadn't been with them, all those women and children would have died. There was no one else in the party of that calibre at all.”

“I understand that half of them did die,”I said.

He nodded.“I believe that's true. She got them settled down and working in the rice fields in the end, and after that they were all right.”

I saw Jean Paget from time to time in the six weeks before she left this country. She booked her passage to sail from London docks on June 2nd, and she gave notice to her firm to leave at the end of May. She told me that they were rather upset about it, and they offered her a ten shilling rise at once; in view of that she had told Mr Pack about her legacy, and he had accepted the inevitable.

I made arrangements for her income for the months of July and August and September to be available to her in Singapore, and I opened an account for her with the Chartered Bank for that purpose. As the time for her departure drew closer I became worried for her, not because I was afraid that she would overspend her income, but because I was afraid she would get into some difficulty due to her expenses being higher than she thought they would be. Nine hundred a year does not go very far in these days for a person travelling about the east.

I mentioned that to her about a week before she left.“Don't forget that you're a fairly wealthy woman now,”I said.“You're quite right to live within your income and, indeed, I have to see you do. But don't forget that I have fairly wide discretionary powers under your uncle's will. If you get into any difficulty, or if you really need money, let me have a cable at once. As, for example, if you should get ill.”

She smiled.“That's very sweet of you,”she said.“But honestly, I think I'll be all right. I'm counting upon taking a job if I find I'm running short. After all, I haven't got to get back here to England by a given date, or anything like that.”

I said,“Don't stay too long away.”

She smiled.“I shan't Mr Strachan,”she said.“There's nothing to keep me in Malaya once I've done this thing.”

She was giving up her room in Ealing, of course, and she asked if she might leave a trunk and a suitcase in the box-room of my flat till she came back to England. She brought them round the day before she sailed, and with them a pair of skating boots with skates attached, which wouldn't go into the trunk. She told me then that she was only taking one suitcase as her luggage.

“But what about your tropical kit?”I asked.“Have you had that sent on?”

She smiled.“I've got it with me in the suitcase,”she said.“Fifty Paludrine tablets and a hundred Sulphatriads, some repellent, and my old sarong. I'm not going out to be a lady in Malaya.”

She had nobody but me to go down to the docks with her to see her off; she was very much alone in the world, and friends she had who might have liked to come were all working in jobs, and couldn't get the time off. I drove her down in a taxi. She took her journey very much as a matter of course; she seemed to have made no more preparation for a voyage half way round the world than a girl of my generation would have made for a weekend at Chislehurst. The ship was a new one and everything was bright and clean. When the steward opened the door of her cabin she stood back amazed, because he had arranged the flowers all round the little room, and there were plenty of them.“Oh Noel, look!”she said.“Just look at all the flowers!”She turned to the steward.“Wherever did they come from? Not from the Company?”

“They come in three big boxes yesterday evening,”he replied.“Make a nice show, don't they, Miss?”

She swung round on me.“I believe you sent them.”And then she said,“Oh, how perfectly sweet of you!”

“English flowers,”I said.“Just to remind you to come back to England soon.”I must have had a premonition, even then, that she was never going to come back.

Before I could realize what she was doing, she had slipped an arm round my shoulders and kissed me on the lips.“That's for the flowers, Noel,”she said softly.“For the flowers, and for everything you've done for me.”And I was so dumbfounded and confused that all I could find to say to her was,“I'll have another of those when you come back.”

I didn't wait to see her ship go off, because partings are stupid things and best got over quickly. I went back in the taxi to my flat alone, and I remember that I stood for a long time at the window of my room watching the ornamented wall of the stables opposite and thinking of her fine new steamer going down the river past Gravesend and Tilbury, past Shoebury and the North Foreland, taking her away. And then I woke myself up and went and shifted her trunk and her suitcase to a corner of the box-room by themselves, and I stood for some time with her boots and skates in my hand, personal things of hers, wondering where they had better go. Finally I took them to my bedroom and put them in the bottom of my wardrobe, because I should never have forgiven myself if they had been stolen. She was just such a girl as one would have liked to have for a daughter, but we never had a daughter at all.

She travelled across half the world in her tramp steamer and she wrote to me from most of the ports she called at, from Marseilles and Naples, from Alexandria and Aden, from Colombo, from Rangoon, and from Penang. Wright was always very interested in her because he had known about her in Malaya, and I got into the habit of carrying her latest letter about with me and telling him about her voyage and how she was getting on. He knew the British Adviser to the Raja at Kota Bahru quite well, a Mr Wilson-Hays, and I got him to write out to Wilson-Hays by air mail telling him about Jean Paget and asking him to do what he could for her. He told me that that was rather necessary, because there was nowhere a lady could stay in Kota Bahru except with one of the British people who were living there. We got a very friendly letter back from Wilson-Hays saying that he was expecting her, and I was able to get a letter out to her by air mail to meet her at the Chartered Bank telling her what we had done.

She only stayed one night in Singapore, and took the morning plane to Kota Bahru; the Dakota wandered about all over Malaya calling at various places, and put her down upon the air-strip at Kota Bahru early in the afternoon. She got out of the Dakota wearing the same light grey coat and skirt in which she had left London, and Wilson-Hays was there himself to meet the aeroplane, with his wife.

I met Wilson-Hays at the United University Club a year later, when he was on leave. He was a tall, dark, quiet man with rather a long face. He said that she had been a little embarrassed to find that he had come to the airstrip to meet her personally; she did not seem to realize that she was quite a well-known person in that part of Malaya. Wilson-Hays knew all about her long before we wrote to him although, of course, he had heard nothing of her since the end of the war. He had sent word to Mat Amin when he got our letter to tell him that she was coming back to see them, and he had arranged to lend her his jeep with a driver to take her the hundred miles or so to Kuala Telang. I thought that very decent of him, and I told him so. He said that the prestige of the British was higher in the Kuala Telang district after the war was over than it was before, due solely to the presence of this girl and her party; he thought she'd earned the use of a jeep for a few days.

She stayed in the Residency two nights, and bought a few simple articles in the native shops. When she left in the jeep next morning she was wearing native clothes; she left her suitcase and most of her things with Mrs Wilson-Hays. She took with her only what a native woman of good class would take; she wore a faded old blue and white chequered sarong with a white coatee. She wore sandals as a concession to the softness of her feet, and she carried a plain tan Chinese type umbrella as a sunshade. She had done her hair up on top of her head in the native style with a large comb in the middle of it. She carried a small palm-leaf basket, but Mrs Wilson-Hays told her husband there was very little in it; she took a toothbrush but no toothpaste; she took a towel and a cake of antiseptic soap and a few drugs. She took one change of clothes, a new sarong and a flowered cotton top to match; she took three small Woolworth brooches and two rings as little presents for her friends, but she took no cosmetics. That was about all she had.

“I thought her very wise to go like that,”said Wilson-Hays.“If she had gone dressed as an Englishwoman she'd have made them embarrassed. Some of the English residents were quite upset when they heard she'd gone off in native dress—old school tie, and letting down the side, and all that sort of thing. I must say, when I saw her go I thought it was rather a good thing to do.”He paused.“After all, it's how she was dressed all through the war, and nobody talks about her letting down the side then.”

It is a long day in a jeep from Kota Bahru to Kuala Telang; the roads are very poor, and there are four main rivers to be crossed which necessitate ferrying the jeep over in a boat, apart from a large number of fords. It took her fourteen hours to cover the hundred miles, and it was dark when they drove into Kuala Telang. There was a buzz of excitement as the jeep drove through the shadowy village, and people came out of their houses doing up their sarongs; there was a full moon that night, so that there was light enough to see to drive. They stopped in front of the headman's house, and she got out of the jeep a little wearily, and went to him, and put her hands up in the praying gesture, and said in Malay,“I have come back, Mat Amin, lest you should think the white mems have forgotten all about you when their need is past.”

He said,“We have thought and talked about you ever since you went.”And then there were people thronging about them, and she saw Fatimah approaching with a baby in her arms and a toddler hanging on to her sarong, and she pushed through the crowd and took her by the hand, and said,“It is too long since we met.”And there was Raihana, and Safirah binti Yacob, and Safirah binti Taib, and little Ibrahim who squinted, now grown into a young man, and his brother Samat, and old Zubeidah, and Meriam, and many others, some of whom she did not know, because the men had come back from the labour gangs soon after she left Malaya, and there were a number of new faces.

Fatimah was married to a young man called Derahman bin Ismail, and she brought him forward and presented him to the white mem; Jean bowed before him and wished that she had brought a shawl to pull over her face, as would have been polite when being introduced to a strange man. She put her hand up to her face, and said,“Excuse me that I have no veil.”He bowed to her and said,“It is no matter,”and Fatimah broke in and said,“He knows and everybody knows that the white mems never veiled their faces when they lived with us, because different people have different ways. Oh Djeen, we are so happy that you have come back.”

She made arrangements with Mat Amin for the accommodation of the driver, and then went with Fatimah to her husband's house. They asked if she had eaten, and she said no, and they made her a supper of rice and blachan, the highly-spiced paste of ripe prawns and fish that the Malays preserve in an upended concrete drain pipe. And presently, tired out, she made a pillow of her palm-leaf bag and lay down on a mat as she had done a thousand times before, and loosened the sarong around her waist, and slept. It would not be entirely accurate to say that she slept well upon the floor after sleeping in a bed for three years. She woke many times throughout the night, and listened to the noises of the night, and watched the moonlight creep around the house, and she was happy.

She had a talk with Fatimah and Meriam and old Zubeidah next morning, squatting round the cooking-pots behind the house out of the way of the men.“Every day that I have been away I have thought of this place,”she said; it was not precisely true, but near enough.“I have thought of you all living and working as I lived and worked. I was working in England, in an office at books in the way that women have to work in my country, because, as you know, I am a poor woman and I have had to work all my life to earn my living till I find a husband who suits me, and I am very particular.”The women laughed, and old Zubeidah said,“It is very strange that a woman should earn her living in that way.”

Meriam said,“There is a woman of our people working in the bank at Kuala Rakit. I saw her through the window. She was doing something with her fingers on a machine, and it went clock-click-click.”

Jean nodded.“That is how I earn my living in my country, working a machine like that to make a printed letter for the Tuan. But recently my uncle died; he lived far away from me and I have only met him once, but he had no other relatives and I inherited his money, so that now I need not work unless I want to.”A murmur of appreciation went around the women. Two or three more had drifted up to enlarge the circle.“And now having money of my own for the first time in my life, I thought more of you here in Kuala Telang than ever before, and of your kindness to us when we lived with you as prisoners. And it came to me that I should give a thankoffering to this place, and that this thankoffering should be a present from a woman to the women of Kuala Telang, nothing to do with the men.”

There was a pleased and excited little buzz amongst the women who surrounded her. Old Zubeidah said,“It is true, the men get everything.”One or two of the women looked shocked at this heresy.

“I have thought many times,”Jean said,“that there should be a well in this place, so that you should not have to fetch fresh water from the spring morning and evening, but you could walk out of your houses only fifty paces at the most and there would be a well of fresh water with a bucket that you could go to and draw water at any time of the day whenever you had the need of cool, fresh water.”There was a little buzz of appreciation again.“There would be smooth stones around the well where you could sit and talk while the young men work the bucket for you. And close beside the well, I would have an atap house for washing clothes with long slabs of smooth stone or concrete arranged so that you could face each other while you wash, and talk, but all surrounded by an atap wall so that the men will not be able to see.”The buzz rose to an excited clamour.“This is what I want to do, as a thankoffering. I will engage a gang of well-diggers, and they shall dig the well, and I will pay masons for the stonework round the top, and I will pay carpenters to build the washing-house. But for the arrangement inside the house I shall want two or three women of experience to advise me how it should be devised, for the height of the slabs, for concrete pools or channels for the water, and so on. This is the gift of a woman for women, and in this thing the men shall do what women say.”

There was a long clamour of discussion. Some of the women were doubtful if the men would ever allow such a thing, and some were doubtful whether it was not impious to wish to alter the arrangements that had satisfied their mothers and their grandmothers before them. But most were avid for the innovation if it could be achieved; once they were used to the idea they savoured it and turned it over, examining it in every detail and discussing where the well should be and where the washhouse, and where the concrete pools should be, and where the drain. At the end of a couple of hours they had accepted the idea whole-heartedly, and Jean was satisfied that it would fill a real need, and that there was nothing that they would have preferred her to give.

That evening she sat opposite Mat Amin on the small veranda before his house, as she had sat so many times before when matters that concerned the women had to be discussed. She sipped her coffee.“I have come to talk with you,”she said,“because I want to give a thankoffering to this place, that people may remember when the white women came here, and you were kind to them.”

He said,“The wife has been talking of nothing else all day, with other women. They say you want to make a well.”

Jean said,“That is true. This is a thankoffering from all the English mems to Kuala Telang, but because we are women it is fitting that it should be a present for the women of this place. When we lived here it was a great labour, morning and evening, to fetch water from the spring and I was sorry for your women when I thought of them, in England, fetching water all that way. That is why I want my thankoffering to be a well in the middle of the village.”

He said,“The spring was good enough for their mothers and their grandmothers before them. They will get ideas above their station in life if they have a well.”

She said patiently,“They will have more energy to serve you faithfully and kindly if they have this well, Mat Amin. Do you remember Raihana binti Ismail who lost her baby when she was three months' pregnant, carrying this water?”He was shocked that she should speak of such a thing, but English mems would speak of anything.“She was ill for a year after that, and I don't think she was any good to her husband ever again. If the women had had this well I want to give you as a thankoffering, that accident would not have happened.”

He said,“God disposes of the lives of women as well as those of men.”

She smiled gently,“Do I have to remind you, Mat Amin, that it is written, ‘Men's souls are naturally inclined to covetousness; but if ye be kind towards women and fear to wrong them, God is well acquainted with what ye do.’”

He laughed and slapped his thigh.“You said that to me many times when you lived here, whenever you wanted anything, but I have not heard it since.”

“It would be kind to let the women have their well,”she said.

He replied, still laughing,“I say this to you, Si-Jean; that when women want a thing as badly as they want this well that you have promised them, they usually get it. But this is a matter which concerns the village as a whole, and I must consult my brothers.”

The men sat in conference next morning, squatting on their heels in the shade of the atap market house. Presently they sent for Jean and she squatted down with them a little to one side as is fitting for a woman, and they asked her where the well was to be put, and where the atap washhouse. She said that everything was in their hands, but it would be convenient for the women if it was on the patch of ground in front of Chai San's shop, with the atap washhouse west of it and pointing towards Ahmed's house. They all got up then and went to see the ground and discuss it from all angles, and all the women of the village stood around and watched their lords making this important decision, and Djeen talking with them almost as if she was an equal.

She did not hurry them; she had lived three years in this village and she knew the slowness of their mental processes, the caution with which all innovations were approached. It took them two days to make up their minds that the well would be a good thing to have, and that the Wrath of God would not descend upon them if they put the work in hand.

Well-digging is a skilled craft, and there was one family only on the coast who could be entrusted with the work; they lived about five miles from Kuantan. Mat Amin dictated a letter for the Imam to write in the Jawi script, and then they took it into Kuala Rakit and posted it. Jean sent for five sacks of cement from Kota Bahru, and settled down to wait for several weeks while the situation developed.

She spent much of the time with the fishermen on their boats, or sitting on the beach and playing with the children. She taught them to build sand castles and to play Noughts and Crosses on a chequer drawn with the finger in the sand; she bathed and swam a good deal, and worked for a week in the rice fields at the time of harvest. She had lived so long with these people that she was patient about the passage of time; moreover, she had a use for time to consider what she was going to do with her life now that she had no further need to work. She waited there for three weeks in idleness, and she did not find it tedious.

The well-diggers and the cement arrived about the same time, and work commenced. The diggers were a family of an old grey-bearded father, Suleiman, and his two sons, Yacob and Hussein. They spent a day surveying the land and all the arguments for the site chosen for the well had to be gone over once again to satisfy these experts; when work finally began it was done quickly and well. The diggers worked from dawn till dusk, with one at the bottom of the shaft and the other two disposing of the soil on top; they bricked it downwards from the top as they worked, supporting the brickwork upon stakes driven into the earth sides.

Old Suleiman, the father, was a mine of information to the village, for he travelled up and down the east coast of Malaya building and repairing wells, and so visited most villages from time to time. The men and women of Kuala Telang used to sit around watching the progress of the new well and gossiping with the old man, getting news of their acquaintances and relatives up and down the coast. Jean was sitting there one afternoon, and said to him,“You are from Kuantan?”

“From Batu Sawah,”said the old man.“That is two hours' walk from Kuantan. Our home is there, but we are great travellers.”

She was silent for a moment; then she said,“Do you remember the Japanese officer in charge at Kuantan in the first year of the war, Captain Sugamo?”

“Assuredly,”the old man replied.“He is a very bad man, and we were glad when he went away. Captain Ichino who came after him was better.”

Jean was surprised that he did not seem to know that Sugamo was dead; she had supposed that the War Crimes Commission would have taken evidence in Kuantan. She told him,“Captain Sugamo is dead now. He was sent to the Burma-Siam railway, and there he caused many atrocities, and many murders. But the Allies caught him when the war was over, and he was tried for murder, and executed in Penang.”

“I am glad to hear it,”the old man replied.“I will tell my sons.”He called down the well with the news; it was discussed a little, and then the men went on with their work.

Jean asked,“Did he do many evil things in Kuantan?”There was one still hideously fresh in her mind, but she could not bring herself to speak of it directly.

Suleiman said,“Many people were tortured.”

She nodded.“I saw one myself.”It had to come out, and it did not matter what she said to this old man.“When we were starving and ill, a soldier who was a prisoner helped us. The Japanese caught him, and they crucified him with nails through his hands, and they beat him to death.”

“I remember that,”the old man said.“He was in hospital at Kuantan.”

Jean stared at him.“Old man, when was he in hospital? He died.”

“Perhaps there were two.”He called down the well to Yacob.“The English soldier who was crucified and beaten at Kuantan in the first year of the war. The English mem knew him. Tell us, did that man die?”

Hussein broke in.“The one who was beaten was an Australian, not English. He was beaten because he stole chickens.”

“Assuredly,”the old man said.“It was for stealing the black chickens. But did he live or die?”

Yacob called up from the bottom of the well.“Captain Sugamo had him taken down that night; they pulled the nails out of his hands. He lived.”

Chapter 5

In Kuantan, in the evening of that day in July 1942, a sergeant had come to Captain Sugamo in the District Commissioner's house, and had reported that the Australian was still alive. Captain Sugamo found this curious and interesting, and as there was still half an hour before his evening rice, he strolled down to the recreation ground to have a look.

The body still hung by its hands, facing the tree. Blood had drained from the blackened mess that was its back and had run down the legs to form a black pool on the ground, now dried and oxidized by the hot sun. A great mass of flies covered the body and the blood. But the man undoubtedly was still alive; when Captain Sugamo approached the face the eyes opened, and looked at him with recognition.

It is doubtful if the West can ever fully understand the working of a Japanese mind. When Captain Sugamo saw that the Australian recognized him from the threshold of death, he bowed reverently to the torn body, and he said with complete sincerity,“Is there anything that I can get for you before you die?”

The ringer said distinctly,“You bloody bastard. I'll have one of your black chickens and a bottle of beer.”

Captain Sugamo stood looking at the wreck of the man nailed to the tree, and his face was completely expressionless. Presently he turned upon his heel and went back to his house. He called for his orderly as he went into the shade, and he told him to fetch a bottle of beer and a glass, but not to open the bottle.

The man protested that there was no beer. Captain Sugamo already knew that, but he sent his orderly to the town to visit all the Chinese eating-houses to see if he could find a bottle of beer anywhere in Kuantan. In an hour the man came back; Captain Sugamo was sitting in exactly the same attitude as when he had gone out to find the beer. With considerable apprehension he informed his officer that there was no beer in all Kuantan. He was dismissed, and went away gladly.

Death to Captain Sugamo was a ritual. There had been an element of holiness in his approach to the Australian, and having offered in the hearing of his men to implement the last wishes of his victim he was personally dedicated to see that those last wishes were provided. If a bottle of beer had been available he would have sacrificed one of his remaining black Leghorns and sent the cooked meat and the beer down to the dying body on the tree; he might even have carried the tray down himself. By doing so he would have set an example of chivalry and Bushido to the troops under his command. Unfortunately, it was impossible for him to provide the bottle of beer, and since the beer was missing and the soldier's dying wish could not be met in full, there was no point in sacrificing one of the remaining black Leghorns. He could not carry out his own part in the ritual; he could not show Bushido by granting the man's dying wish. Therefore, the Australian could not be allowed to die, or he himself would be disgraced.

He called for his sergeant. When the man came, he ordered him to take a party with a stretcher to the recreation ground. They were to pull the nails out and take the man down from the tree without injuring him any further, and put him face downwards on the stretcher, and take him to the hospital.

To Jean, the news that the Australian was still alive came like the opening of a door. She slipped away and went and sat in the shade of a casuarina tree at the head of the beach to consider this incredible fact. The sun glinted on the surf and the beach was so white, the sea so blue, that it was almost ecstasy to look at them. She felt as if she had suddenly come out of a dark tunnel that she had walked down for six years. She tried to pray, but she had never been religious and she didn't know how to put what she was feeling into a prayer. The best she could do was to recollect the words of a prayer that they had used at school sometimes.“Lighten our darkness, oh Lord, and of Thy great mercy...”That was all she could remember, and she repeated it over and over to herself that afternoon. Her darkness had been lightened by the well-diggers.

She went back that evening and spoke to Suleiman again about the matter, but neither he nor his sons could supply much further information. The Australian had been in the hospital at Kuantan for a long time, but how long they did not know. Yacob said that he had been there for a year, but she soon found that he only meant a very long time. Hussein said three months, and Suleiman did not know how long he had been there, but said that he was sent down on a ship to Singapore to a prison camp, and he was then walking with two sticks. She could not find out from them when that was.

So she had to leave it, and she stayed on in Kuala Telang till the well and washhouse were completed. She had already started the carpenters upon the washhouse after long consultations with the elder women, and the concrete work was now completed in the shuttering, and drying out. On the day that water was reached at the bottom of the well the carpenters began to erect the posts for the atap house, and the well and the house were finished about the same time. Two days were spent in baling out the muddy water from the well till it ran clean, and then they had an opening ceremony when Jean washed her own sarong and all the women crowded into the washhouse laughing, and the men stood round in a tolerant circle at a distance, wondering if they had been quite wise to allow anything that made the women laugh so much.

On the next day she sent a telegram by runner to Kuala Rakit to be dispatched to Wilson-Hays asking him to send the jeep for her, and a day or two later it arrived. She left in a flurry of shy good wishes with some moisture in her eyes; she was going back to her own place and her own people, but she was leaving three years of her life behind her, and that is never a very easy thing to do.

She got back to the Residency at Kota Bahru after dark that night, too tired to eat. Mrs Wilson-Hays sent her up a cup of tea and a little fruit to her bedroom, and she had a long, warm bath, putting off her native clothes for the last time. She lay on the bed in the cool, spacious room under the mosquito net, rested and growing sleepy, and what she thought about was Ringer Harman, and the red country he had told her of round Alice Springs, and euros, and wild horses.

She walked with Wilson-Hays in the garden of the Residency next morning after breakfast in the cool of the day. She told him what she had done in Kuala Telang; he asked her where she had got the idea of the washhouse from.“It's obvious that's what they need,”she said.“Women don't like washing their clothes in public, especially Moslem women.”

He thought about it for a minute.“You've probably started something,”he remarked at last.“Every village will want one now. Where did you get the plan of it—the arrangement of the sinks and all that sort of thing?”

“We worked it out ourselves,”she said.“They knew what they wanted all right.”

They strolled along by the river, brown and muddy and half a mile wide, running its way down to the sea. As they walked she told him about the Australian, because she could talk freely about that now. She told him what had happened.“His name was Joe Harman,”she said,“and he came from a place near Alice Springs. I would like to get in touch with him again. Do you think I could find out anything about him in Singapore?”

He shook his head.“I shouldn't think so, not now that SEAC is disbanded. I shouldn't think there's any record of prisoners of war in Singapore now.”

“How would one find out about him, then?”

“You say he was an Australian?”

She nodded.

“I think you'd have to write to Canberra,”he said.“They ought to have a record of all prisoners there. I suppose you don't happen to know his unit?”

She shook her head.“I'm afraid I don't.”

“That might make it difficult, of course—there may be several Joe Harmans. I should start off by writing to the Minister for the Army—that's what they call him, the head of the War Office. Just address your letter to the Minister for the Army, Canberra, Australia. Something might come of that. What you want is an address where you could write to him, I suppose?”

Jean stared across the river at the rubber trees and coconut palms.“I suppose so. As a matter of fact, I've got an address of a sort. He used to work before the war on a cattle station called Wollara, near a place called Alice Springs. He said that they were keeping his job open for him there.”

“If you've got that address,”he observed,“I should write there. You're much more likely to find him that way than by writing to Canberra.”

“I might do that,”she said slowly.“I would like to see him again. You see, it was because of us that it all happened...”

It had been her intention to go back to Singapore and wait there for a boat to England; if she had to wait long for a cheap passage she intended to try and find a job for a few weeks or months. Malayan Airways called at Koto Bahru next day, and the Dakota landed at Kuantan on the way down to Singapore. She spoke to Wilson-Hays again that evening after dinner.

“Do you think there would be a hotel or anything at Kuantan if I stopped there for a day?”she asked.

He looked at her kindly.“Do you want to go back there?”he asked.

“I think I do,”she said.“I'd like to go and see the people at the hospital and find out what I can.”

He said,“You'd better stay with David and Joyce Bowen. Bowen is the District Commissioner; he'd be glad to put you up.”

“I don't want to be a nuisance to people,”she said.“Isn't there a resthouse that I could stay in? After all, I know this country fairly well.”

“That's why Bowen would like to meet you,”he remarked.“You must realize that you're quite a well-known person in these parts. He would be very disappointed if you stayed at the resthouse.”

She looked at him in wonder.“Do people think of me like that? I only did what anybody could have done.”

“That's as it may be,”he replied.“The fact is, that you did it.”

She flew on down to Kuantan next day. Someone must have told the crew of the aircraft about her, because the Malay stewardess came to her after half an hour and said,“We're just coming up to Kuala Telang, Miss Paget. Captain Philby wants to know if you would care to come forward to the cockpit and see it.”So she went forward through the door and stood between the pilots; they brought the Dakota down to about seven hundred feet and circled the village; she could see the well and the new atap roof of the washhouse, and she could see people standing gazing up at the machine. Fatimah and Zubeidah and Mat Amin. Then they straightened up and flew on down the coast, and Kuala Telang was left behind.

The Bowens met her at the airstrip, which is ten miles from the town of Kuantan; Wilson-Hays had sent them a signal that morning. They were a friendly, unsophisticated couple, and she had no difficulty in telling them a little about the Australian soldier who had been tortured when they were sitting in the DC's house, where Captain Sugamo had sat so often, over a cup of tea. They said that Sister Frost was now in charge of the hospital, but it was doubtful if there was anybody now upon the staff who was there in 1942. They drove down after tea to see Sister Frost.

She received them in the matron's room, very hygienic and smelling strongly of disinfectant. She was an Englishwoman about forty years of age.“There's nobody here now who was on the staff then,”she said.“Nurses in a place like this—they're always leaving to get married. We never seem to keep them longer than about two years. I don't know what to suggest.”

Bowen said,“What about Phyllis Williams? She was a nurse here, wasn't she?”

“Oh, her,”the sister said disparagingly.“She was here for the first part of the war until she married that man. She might know something about it.”

They left the hospital, and as they drove to find Phyllis Williams Mrs Bowen enlightened Jean.“She's a Eurasian,”she said.“Very dark, almost as dark as a Malay. She married a Chinese, a man called Bun Tai Lin who runs the cinema. What you'd call a mixed marriage, but they seem to get along all right. She's a Roman Catholic, of course.”Jean never fathomed the“of course”.

The Bun Tai Lins lived in a rickety wooden house up the hill overlooking the harbour. They could not get the car to the house, but left it in the road and walked up a short lane littered with garbage. They found Phyllis Williams at home, a merry-faced, brown woman with four children around her and evidently about to produce a fifth. She was glad to see them and took them into a shabby room, the chief decorations of which were a set of pewter beer-mugs and a large oleograph of the King and Queen in coronation robes.

She spoke very good English.“Oh yes, I remember that poor boy,”she said.“Joe Harman, that was his name. I nursed him for three or four months—he was in a state when he came in. We none of us thought he'd live. But he got over it. He must have led a very healthy life, because his flesh healed wonderfully. He said that he was like a dog, he healed so well.”

She turned to Jean.“Are you the lady that was leading the party of women and children from Panong?”she asked.“I thought you must be. Fancy you coming here again! You know, he was always wanting to know about you and your party, if anybody knew the way you'd gone. And of course, we didn't know, and with that Captain Sugamo in the mood he was nobody was going to go round asking questions to find out.”

She turned to Jean.“I forget your name?”

“Paget. Jean Paget.”

The Eurasian looked puzzled.“That wasn't it. I wonder now, was he talking about someone different? I can't remember now what he called her, but it wasn't that. I thought it would have been you.”

“Mrs Frith?”

She shook her head.“I'll remember presently.”

She could not tell them very much more than Jean knew already. The Australian had been sent down to a prison camp in Singapore as soon as he was fit to travel; they heard no more of him. They thought that he would make a good recovery in the end, though it would be years before the muscles of his back got back their strength if, indeed, they ever would. She knew no more than that.

They left presently, and went down the garbage-strewn lane towards the car. When they were nearly at the bottom the woman called to them from the veranda.“I just remembered that name. Mrs Boong. That's who he was always talking about, Mrs Boong. Was that one of your party?”

Jean laughed, and called back to her,“That's what he used to call me!”

The woman was satisfied.“I thought it must have been you that he was always talking about.”

On the way back to the DC's house in the car, they passed the recreation ground. There were tennis nets rigged and one or two couples playing; there was a white young man playing a brown girl. The tree still stood overlooking the courts, and underneath it a couple of Malay women sat exactly where the feet of the tortured man had hung, on ground that had been soaked in blood, and gossiped while their children played around. It all looked very peaceful in the evening light.

Jean spent that night with the Bowens, and went on to Singapore next day in the Dakota. Wilson-Hays had advised her about hotels, and she stayed at the Adelphi opposite the Cathedral.

She wrote to me from there a couple of days later. It was a long letter, about eight pages long, written in ink smudged a little with the sweat that had formed on her hand as she wrote in that humid place. First she told me what had happened in Kuala Telang; she told me about the well-diggers and that Joe Harman was still alive. And then she went on,

I've been puzzling over what I could do to get in touch with him again. You see, it was all because of us that it happened. He stole the chickens for us, and he must have known the sort of man that Captain Sugamo was, and the risk that he was taking. I must find out where he is living now, and if he's all right; I can't believe that he can be able to work as a stockrider after having been so terribly injured. I think he was a man who'd always fall upon his feet somehow or other if he was well enough, but I can't bear the thought that he might be still in hospital, perhaps, and likely to stay there for ever with his injuries.

I did think of writing to him at this place Wollara that he

told me about, the cattle station that he worked on, somewhere near Alice Springs. But thinking it over, if he can't work he can't be there, and I don't suppose I'd ever get an answer to a letter from a place like that, or not for ages, anyway. I thought of writing to Canberra to try and find out something, but that's almost as bad. And this brings me to what I wanted to tell you when I started this letter, Noel, and I hope it won't be too much of a shock. I'm going on to Australia from here.

Don't think me absolutely crazy for doing this. The fare from here to Darwin costs sixty pounds by the Constellation, and you can get a bus from Darwin to Alice Springs; it takes two or three days but it ought to be much cheaper than flying. After paying the hotel bill here I shall still have about a hundred and seven pounds, not counting next month's money. I thought I'd go to Alice Springs and get to this place Wollara and find out about him there; someone in that district is bound to know what happened to him, and where he is now.

There are some merchant service officers staying here, very nice young men, and they tell me I can get a cabin on a merchant ship back to England probably from Townsville, that's on the east coast of Australia in Queensland, and if there isn't a ship there I'd certainly get one at Brisbane. I've been talking to a man in the Chartered Bank here in Raffles Place who is very helpful, and I've arranged with him to transfer my next month's money to the Bank of New South Wales in Alice Springs, and so I'll have money to get me across to Townsville or Brisbane. Write to me care of the Bank of New South Wales in Alice Springs, because I know I'm going to feel a long way from home when I get there.

I'm leaving here on Thursday by the Constellation, so I'll be in Australia somewhere by the time you get this letter. I have a feeling that I'm being a terrible nuisance to you, Noel, but I'll have an awful lot to tell you when I get back home. I don't think the trip home from Townsville or Brisbane can take longer than three months at the outside, so I shall be home in England in time for Christmas at the very latest.

I sat there reading and re-reading this, bitterly disappointed. I had been making plans for entertainments for her when she came back, I suppose—in fact, I know I had been. Old men who lead a somewhat empty life get rather stupid over things like that. Lester Robinson came into my office with a sheaf of papers in his hand as I was reading her letter for the third time; I laid the letter down.“My Paget girl,”I said.“You know—that Macfadden estate that we're trustees for. She's not coming home after all. She's gone on from Malaya to Australia.”

He glanced at me, and I suppose the disappointment that I felt showed in my face, because he said gently,“I told you she was old enough to make a packet of trouble for us.”I looked up at him quickly to see what he meant by that, but he began talking about an unadopted road in Colchester, and the moment passed.

I went on with my work, but the black mood persisted and it was with me when I reached the club that night. I settled down after dinner in the library with a volume of Horace because I thought the mental exercise required to read the Latin would take my mind off things and put me in a better frame of mind. But I had forgotten my Horace, I suppose, because a phrase I had not read or thought about for forty years suddenly stared up at me from the page and brought me up with a round turn,

—Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
Dulce loquentem.

It had been a part of my youth, that phrase, as I suppose it is a part of the youth of many young men who have been in love. I could not bear to go on reading Horace after that, and I sat thinking of sweetly smiling, soft-spoken Lalage on her way to Alice Springs in a long-distance bus, until I broke away from morbid fancies and got up and put the book back on the shelf.

It must have been about a week after that that Derek Harris came into my room as the client went out. Derek is one of our two articled clerks, and one day I expect to make him a partner; a pleasant fresh-faced lad. He said,“Could you spare a few minutes for a stranger, sir?”

“What sort of stranger?”I inquired.

He said,“A man called Harman. He came about an hour ago without any appointment and asked to see you. Sergeant Gunning asked if I would see him as you were engaged, and I had a talk with him, but it's you that he wants to see. I understand that it's something to do with Miss Paget.”

I knew now where I had heard that name before, but it was quite incredible. I asked,“What sort of a man is he?”

He grinned broadly.“Some sort of a colonial, I should think. Probably Australian. He's an outdoor type, anyway.”

“Is he a reasonable person?”

“Oh, I think so, sir. He's some sort of a countryman, I should say.”

It was all beginning to fit in, and yet it was incredible that an Australian stockman should have found his way to my office in Chancery Lane.“Is his name Joseph, by any chance?”I asked.

“You know him, do you, sir? Joe Harman. Shall I ask him to come up?”

I nodded.“I'll see him now.”Harris went down to fetch him, and I stood by my window looking out into the grey street, wondering what this visit meant and how it had come about, and how much of my client's business could I tell this man.

Harris showed him in, and I turned from the window to meet him.

He was a fair-haired man, about five feet ten in height. He was thickset but not fat; I judged him to be between thirty and thirty-five years old. His face was deeply tanned but his skin was clear; he had very bright blue eyes. He was not a handsome man; his face was too square and positive for that, but it was a simple and good natured face. He walked towards me with a curious stiff gait.

I shook hands with him.“Mr Harman?”I said.“My name is Strachan. Do you want to see me?”And as I spoke I was unable to resist the temptation to look down at his hand. There was a huge scar on the back of it.

He said a little awkwardly,“I don't want to keep you long.”He was ill at ease and obviously embarrassed.

“Not at all,”I said.“Sit down, Mr Harman, and tell me what I can do for you.”I put him in the client's chair before my desk and gave him a cigarette. He pulled from his pocket a tin box of wax matches of a style that was strange to me, and cracked one expertly with his thumbnail without burning himself. He was wearing a very ready-made suit, quite new, and an unusually ornamental tie for London wear.

“I was wondering if you could tell me about Miss Jean Paget,”he said.“Where she lives, or anything like that.”

I smiled.“Miss Paget is a client of mine, Mr Harman,”I said.“You evidently know that. But a client's business is entirely confidential, you know. Are you a friend of hers?”

The question seemed to embarrass him still further.“Sort of,”he replied.“We met once in the war, in Malaya that was. I'll have to tell you who I am, of course. I'm a Queenslander. I run a station in the Gulf country, about twenty miles from Willstown.”He spoke very slowly and deliberately, not from embarrassment but because that seemed to be his way.“I mean the homestead is twenty miles from the town, but one limb of the land runs down the creek to within five miles. Midhurst, that's the name of my station. Midhurst, Willstown, is the address.”

I made a note upon my pad, and smiled at him again.“You're a long way from home, Mr Harman,”I said.

“Too right,”he replied.“I don't know nobody in England except Miss Paget and a cobber I met in the prison camp who lives at a place called Gateshead in the north of England. I came here for a holiday, you might say, and I thought perhaps Miss Paget might be glad to know that I'm in England, but I don't know her address.”

“Rather a long way to come for a holiday?”I observed.

He smiled a little sheepishly.“I struck it lucky. I won the Casket.”

“The Casket?”

“The Golden Casket. Don't you have that here?”

I shook my head.“I'm afraid I've never heard of it.”

“Oh my word,”he said.“We couldn't get along without the Casket in Queensland. It's the State lottery that gets the money to build hospitals.”

“I see,”I said.“Did you win a prize in the lottery?”

“Oh my word,”he repeated.“Did I win a prize. I won a thousand pounds—not English pounds, of course, Australian pounds, but it's a thousand pounds to us. I always take a ticket in every Casket like everybody else because if you don't get a prize you get a hospital and there's times when that's more useful. You ought to see the hospital the Casket built at Willstown. Three wards it's got, with two beds in each, and two rooms for the sisters, and a separate house for the doctor only we can't get a doctor to come yet because Willstown's a bit isolated, you see. We've got an X-ray apparatus there and a wireless so that the sister can call for the Cairns Ambulance—the aeroplane, you know. We couldn't do without the Casket.”

I must say I was a little bit interested.“Does the Casket pay for the aeroplane, too?”

He shook his head.“You pay seven pounds ten a year to the Cairns Ambulance, each family, that is. Then if you get sick and have to go to Cairns the sister calls Cairns on the wireless and the aeroplane comes out to take you into Cairns to hospital. That's free, provided that you pay the seven pounds ten each year.”

“How far are you from Cairns?”

“About three hundred miles.”

I reverted to the business in hand.“Tell me, Mr Harman,”I said,“how did you get to know that I was Miss Paget's solicitor?”

“She told me in Malaya when we met, she lived in Southampton,”he said.“I didn't know any address, so I went there and stayed in a hotel, because I thought maybe she'd like to know I was in England. I never saw a city that had been bombed before—oh my word. Well, then I looked in the telephone book and asked a lot of people but I couldn't find out nothing except she had an aunt that lived in Wales at a place called Colwyn Bay. So then I went to Colwyn Bay.”

“You went right up there, did you?”

He nodded.“I think her aunt thought I was up to some crook game or other,”he said simply.“She wouldn't tell me where she lived or anything. All she said was that you were her trustee, whatever that means. So I came here.”

“When did you arrive in England?”I asked.

“Last Thursday. Five days ago.”

“You landed at Southampton, did you?”

He shook his head.“I flew from Australia, by Qantas. You see, I got a good stockman looking after Midhurst for me, but I can't afford to be away so long. Jim Lennon's all right for a time, but I wouldn't want to be away from Midhurst more'n three months. You see, this is a slack time in the Gulf country. We mustered in March this year on account of the late season and drove the stock down Julia Creek in April—that's railhead, you know. I had about fourteen hundred stores I sold down to Rockhampton for fattening. Well, after getting them on rail I had to get back up to Midhurst on account of the bore crew. I got Mrs Spears—she's the owner of Midhurst—I got her to agree we sink a bore at Willow Creek, that's about twenty miles south-east of the homestead, to get water down at that end in the dry, and we got a bonza bore, we did. She's flowing over thirty thousand gallons a day; it's going to make a lot of difference down at that end. Well, that took up to about three weeks ago before I got that finished up, and I must be back at Midhurst by the end of October for getting in the stores and that before the wet begins at Christmas. So I thought that coming on this holiday I'd better fly.”

Flying to England, I thought, must have made a considerable hole in his thousand pounds.“You came to London, then, and went straight down to Southampton?”

“That's right,”he said.

“And from there you went up to North Wales. And from there you came here?”

“That's right.”

I looked him in the eyes, and smiled.“You must want to see Miss Paget very much.”

He met my gaze.“I do.”

I leaned back in my chair.“I've got a disappointment for you, I'm afraid, Mr Harman. Miss Paget is abroad.”

He stared down at his hat for a moment. Then he raised his head.“Is she far away?”he asked.“I mean, is it France or anything like that, where I could get to see her?”

I shook my head.“She's travelling in the East.”

He said quietly,“I see.”

I couldn't help liking and respecting this man. It was perfectly obvious that he had come twelve thousand miles or so to find Jean Paget, and now he wasn't going to find her. It was bad luck, to say the least of it, and he was taking it well. I felt that I wanted a little time to consider this affair.

“The most that I can do for you,”I said,“is to forward a letter. I can do that, if you care to write one, and I'll send it to her by air mail. But I'm afraid that you may have to wait a month or so before you get an answer.”

He brightened.“I'd like to do that. I never thought that after coming all this way I'd find that she'd gone walkabout.”

He thought for a minute.“What address should I put upon the letter?”

“I can't give you my client's address, Mr Harman,”I said.“What I suggest that you do is to write her a letter and bring it in to me here tomorrow morning. I will send it on with a short covering note explaining how it came into my hands. Then if she wants to see you she will get in touch with you herself.”

“You don't think she'll want to see me?”he said heavily.

I smiled.“I didn't say anything of the sort, Mr Harman. I'm quite sure that when she hears you've been in England looking for her she will write to you. What I'm saying is that I have her interests to consider, and I'm not going to give her address to anyone who comes into this office and cares to ask for it.”I paused.“There's one thing that you'd better know,”I said.“Miss Paget is a fairly wealthy woman. Women who have command of a good deal of money are apt to be troubled by touts. I'm not saying that you're a tout or that you're after her money. I am saying that you must write to her first of all, and then let her decide if she wants to meet you. If you're a friend of hers you'll see that that's reasonable.”

He stared at me.“I never knew that she had money. She told me she was just a typist in an office.”

“That's quite true,”I said.“She inherited some money recently.”

He was silent.

“Suppose you come back tomorrow morning, Mr Harman,”I said. I glanced at my engagement diary.“Say, twelve o'clock tomorrow morning. Write her a letter saying whatever it is you want to say, and bring it here then. I will forward it to her tomorrow evening.”

“All right,”he said. He got up and I got up with him.“Where are you staying, Mr Harman?”I asked.

“At the Kingsway Palace Hotel.”

“All right, Mr Harman,”I said.“I shall expect you tomorrow morning, at twelve o'clock.”

I spent most of that evening wondering if I had done the right thing in refusing Mr Harman the address. I thought ruefully that Jean would have been very angry if she had known I had done such a thing, especially when she was looking for him all over Australia. At the same time, what I had done would not delay a letter from him reaching her, and there was no sense in putting all her cards upon the table for him to see just at present. One thing that puzzled me a little was, why had he suddenly awoken to the fact that he wanted to meet Jean Paget again, after six years? A question or two upon that point seemed to be in order, and I prepared a small interrogation for him when he came to see me with his letter.

Twelve o'clock next morning came, and he didn't turn up for his appointment. I waited in for him till one o'clock, and then I went to lunch.

By three o'clock I was a little bit concerned. The initiative had passed into his hands. If he should vanish into thin air now and never come back to see me again, Jean Paget would be very cross with me, and rightly so. Between clients I put in a telephone call to the Kingsway Palace Hotel and asked to speak to Mr Joseph Harman. The answer was that Mr Harman had gone out after breakfast, and had left no message at the desk. I left one for him, asking him to ring me as soon as he came in.

He did not ring that day.

At half past ten that night I rang the hotel again, but I was told that Mr Harman was not in.

At eight o'clock next morning I rang again. They told me that Mr Harman had not checked out and his luggage was still in his room, but that he had not slept in the room that night.

As soon as I got into the office I sent for Derek Harris.“Harris,”I said.“I want you to try and find that man Harman. He's an Australian.”I told him briefly what had happened.“I should try the hotel again, and if you draw a blank, ring round the various police courts. I think I may have given him some rather unwelcome news, and it's quite possible he's been out on a blind.”

He came back in a quarter of an hour.“You must have second sight, sir,”he said.“He's coming up at Bow Street this morning, drunk and disorderly. They had him in the cooler for the night.”

“He's a friend of Miss Paget's,”I said.“Get along down to Bow Street, Harris, and make yourself known to him. Which court is he coming up in?”

“Mr Horler's.”

I glanced at my watch.“Get along down there right away. Stay with Harman and pay the fine if he hasn't got any money. Then give me a ring, and if it's all in order take him in a taxi to my flat. I'll meet you there.”

There was nothing on my desk that day that could not be postponed or handled by Lester. I got back to my flat in time to catch my charwoman at work and tell her to make up the spare room bed. I told her I should want food in the flat for three or four meals, and I gave her money and sent her out to buy whatever food she could get off the ration.

Harris arrived with Harman half an hour later, and the Australian looked a little bit the worse for wear. He was cheerful and sober after his night in the cells, but he had lost one shoe and he had lost his collar stud and his hat. I met him in the hall.“Morning, Mr Harman,”I said.“I thought perhaps you'd rather come round here and clean up. You'd better not go back to the hotel looking like that.”

He looked me in the eyes.“I've been on the grog,”he said.

“So I see. The water's hot for a bath if you want one, and there's a razor in the bathroom.”I took him and showed him the geography of the house.“You can use this room.”I looked him up and down, smiling.“I'll get you a clean shirt and collar. You can try a pair of my shoes; if they're too small I'll send out for a pair.”

He wagged his head.“I dunno why you want to do this for me. I'll be all right.”

“You'll be righter when you've had a bath and a shave,”I said.“Miss Paget would never forgive me if I let a friend of hers go wandering about the streets like that.”

He looked at me curiously, but I left him and went back to the sitting-room. Harris was waiting for me there.“Thanks, Derek,”I said.“There was a fine, I suppose?”

“Forty shillings,”he said.“I paid it.”

I gave him the money.“He was cleaned out?”

“He's got four and fourpence halfpenny,”he replied.“He thinks he had about seventy pounds, but he's not sure.”

“It doesn't seem to worry him,”I said.

He laughed.“I don't think it does. He seems quite cheerful over it.”

I sent Harris back to the office and settled down to write a few letters while Harman was in the bath. He came into the sitting-room presently looking a bit sheepish, and again I noticed the curious, stiff gait with which he walked.“I dunno what to say,”he said in his slow way.“Those jokers I was with got all the money I had on me so Mr Harris had to pay the fine. But I got some more. I got a thing called a letter of credit that the bank in Brisbane gave me. I can get some money on that and pay him back.”

“That's all right,”I said.“Have you had any breakfast?”

“No.”

“Want any?”

“Well, I dunno. Maybe I'll get something round at the hotel.”

“You don't have to do that,”I said.“My woman's here still; she'll get you some breakfast.”I went out and organized this, and then I came back and found him standing by the window.“You didn't come back with that letter,”I observed.

“I changed my mind,”he said.“I'm going to give it away.”

“Give it away?”

“That's right,”he said.“I won't be writing any letter.”

“That's seems rather a pity,”I said quietly.

“Maybe. I had a good long think about it, and I won't be writing any letter. I decided that. That's why 1 didn't come back at the time you said.”

“As you like,”I said.“Perhaps you'd like to tell me a bit more about it when you've had some breakfast.”

I left him to his breakfast and went on with my letters. My woman took it to the dining-room and he went in there to eat it; a quarter of an hour later he came back to me in the sitting-room.

“I'd better be getting along now,”he said awkwardly.“Will it be all right if I come round later in the day and leave these shoes with the woman?”

I got up and offered him a cigarette.“Will you tell me a bit more about yourself before you go?”I asked.“You see, I shall be writing to Miss Paget in a day or two, and she's sure to want to know all about you.”

He stared at me, cigarette in hand.“You're going to write and tell her I've been here?”

“Of course.”

He stood silent for a moment, and then said in his slow Queensland way,“It would be better to forget about it, Mr Strachan. Just don't say nothing at all.”

I struck a match and lit his cigarette for him.“Is this because I told you about her inheritance?”

“You mean, the money?”

“Yes.”

He grinned.“I wouldn't mind about her having money, same as any man. No, it's Willstown.”

That was rather less intelligible than Greek to me, of course. I said,“Look, Joe, it won't hurt you to sit down for a few minutes and tell me one or two things.”I called him Joe because I thought that it might make him loosen up.

“I dunno as there's much to tell,”he said sheepishly.

“Sit down, anyway.”I thought for a moment, and then I said,“I'm right in thinking that you met Miss Paget first in the war?”

“That's right,”he said.

“That was in Malaya, when you were both prisoners?”

“That's right.”

“Some time in 1942?”

“That's right.”

“And you've never met her since, nor written to her?”

“That's right.”

“Well, what I don't understand is this,”I said.“Why do you want to meet her now so very badly? After all, it's six years since you met her. Why the sudden urge to get in touch with her now?”It was still vaguely in my mind that he had somehow heard about her money.

He looked up at me, grinning.“I thought she was a married woman.”

I stared at him.“I see.... When did you find out that she wasn't married?”

“I only found out that this May. I met the pilot that had flown her out from a place in Malaya called Kota Bahru. At Julia Creek, that was.”

He had driven his fourteen hundred cattle down from Midhurst station to Julia Creek with Jim Lennon and two Abo stockriders to help. From Midhurst to Julia Creek is about three hundred miles by way of the Norman River, the Saxby River and the Flinders River. They left Midhurst at the end of March and got the herd to railhead at Julia Creek on the third of May, moving them at the rate of about ten miles a day. The beasts were corralled in the stockyards of the railway, and they set to work to load them into trains; this took about three days.

During this time Jim and Joe lived in the Post Office Hotel at Julia Creek. It was very hot and they were working fourteen hours a day to load the cattle into trucks; whenever they were not working they were standing in the bar of the hotel drinking hugely at the cold Australian light beer that does no harm to people sweating freely at hard manual work. One evening while they were standing so two dapper men in uniform came into the bar and shouted a couple of rounds; these were the pilots of a Trans-Australia Airline Dakota which had stopped there for the night with an oil leak in the starboard engine.

Harman found himself next to the chief pilot. Joe was wearing an old green linen sun hat that had once belonged to the American Army, a cotton singlet, a pair of dirty khaki shorts, and boots without socks; his appearance contrasted strangely with the neatness of the airman, but the pilot was accustomed to the outback. They fell into conversation about the war and soon discovered they had both served in Malaya. Joe showed the scars upon his hands and the pilots examined them with interest; he told them how he had been nailed up to be beaten, and they shouted another grog for him.

“The funniest do I ever struck,”said the chief pilot presently,“was a party of women and children that never got into a prison camp at all. They spent most of the war in a Malay village working in the paddy fields.”

Joe said quickly,“Where was that in Malaya? I met that party.”

The pilot said,“It was somewhere between Kuantan and Kota Bahru. When we got back they were taken in trucks to Kota Bahru, and I flew them down to Singapore. All English, they were, but they looked just like Malays. All the women were in native clothes, and brown as anything.”

Joe said,“Was there a Mrs Paget with them then?”It was vastly important to him to hear if Jean had survived the war.

The pilot said,“There was a Miss Paget. She was a hell of a fine girl; she was their leader.”

Joe said,“Mrs. A dark-haired girl, with a baby.”

The pilot said,“That's right—a dark-haired girl. She had a little boy about four years old that she was looking after, but it wasn't hers. It belonged to one of the other women, one who died. I know that, because she was the only unmarried girl among the lot of them, and she was their leader. Just a typist in Kuala Lumpur before the war. Miss Jean Paget.”

Joe stared at him.“I thought she was a married woman.”

“She wasn't married. I know she wasn't, because the Japs had taken all their wedding rings so they had to be sorted out and that was quite easy, because they were all Mrs So and So except this one girl, and she was Miss Jean Paget.”

“That's right,”the ringer said slowly.“Jean was her name.”

He left the bar presently, and went out to the veranda and stood looking up at the stars. Presently he left the pub and strolled towards the stockyards; he found a gate to lean upon and stood there for a long time in the night, thinking things over. He told me a little about what he had been thinking, that morning in my London flat.

“She was a bonza girl,”he said simply.“If ever I got married it would have to be with somebody like her.”

I smiled.“I see,”I said.“That's why you came to England?”

“That's right,”he said simply. He had ridden back with Jim Lennon and the Abo stockmen to Midhurst, a journey that took them about ten days, leading their string of fifteen packhorses; since they had started mustering on the station in February he had been in the saddle almost continuously for three months.“Then there was the bore to see to,”he said.“I'd made such a point of that with Mrs Spears that I couldn't hardly leave before that was finished, but then I got away and I went into Cairns one Wednesday with John Duffy on the Milk Run”—I found out later that he meant the weekly Dakota air mail service—“and so down to Brisbane. And from Brisbane I came here.”

“What about the Golden Casket?”I inquired.

He said a little awkwardly,“I didn't tell you right about that. I did win the Casket, but not this year. I won it in 1946, the year after I got back to Queensland. I won a thousand pounds then, like I said.”

“I see,”I observed.“You hadn't spent it?”

He shook his head.“I was saving it, in case some day I got to have a station of my own, or do a deal with cattle, or something.”

“How much do you think you've got left now?”

He said,“There's five hundred pounds of our money on the letter of credit, and I suppose that's all I've got. Four hundred pounds of yours. There's my pay as manager goes into the bank at Willstown each month, of course.”

I sat smoking for a time in silence, and I couldn't help being sorry for this man. Since he had met Jean Paget six years previously he had held the image of her in his mind hoping to find somebody a little like her. When he had heard that she was not a married woman he had drawn the whole of his small savings and hurried expensively half across the world to England, hoping to find her and to find that she was still unmarried. It was a gambler's action, but his whole life had probably been made up of gambles; it could hardly be otherwise in the outback. Clearly he thought little of his money if it could buy a chance for him of marrying Jean Paget.

It was ironical to think that she was at that moment busy looking for him in his own country. I did not feel that I was quite prepared to tell him that.

“I still don't understand why you've given up the idea of writing to Miss Paget,”I said at last.“You said something about Willstown.”

“Yes.”There was a pause, and then he said in his slow way,“I thought a lot about things after I left you, Mr Strachan. Maybe I'd have done better to have done some thinking before ever I left Midhurst. I told you, I got none of them high-falutin ideas about not marrying a girl with money. So long as she was the right girl, I'd be tickled to death if she had money, same as any man. But there's more to it than that.”

He paused again.“I come from the outback,”he said slowly.“Running a cattle station is the only work I know, and it's where I like to be. I couldn't make out in any of the big cities, Brisbane or Sydney. I couldn't make out even in Cairns for very long, and anyway, there'd be no work there I could do. I never got a lot of schooling, living on a station like we did. I don't say that I won't make money. I can run a station better'n most ringers, and I seem to do all right with selling the stock too. I'll hope to get a station of my own one day, and there's plenty of station owners finish up with fifty thousand pounds. But if I get that far, it'll be staying in the outback and doing what I'm cut out for. And I tell you, Mr Strachan, the outback is a crook place for a woman.”

“In what way?”I asked quietly. We were really getting down to something now.

He smiled a little wryly.“Take Willstown, as an example. There's no radio station to listen to, only the short wave stuff from Brisbane and that comes and goes with static. There's no shop where you can buy fruit or fresh vegetables. The sister says that it's because of that so many of the old folk get this pellagra. There's no fresh milk. There's no dress shop, only what a woman can get in Bill Duncan's Store along with the dried peas and Jeyes Fluid and that. There's no ice-cream in Willstown. There's nowhere that a woman can buy a paper or a magazine or a book, and there's no doctor because we can't get one to come to Willstown. There's no telephone. There's no swimming-pool where a girl could sit around in a pretty bathing dress, although it can be hot there, oh my word. There's no other young women. I don't believe there's more'n five women in the district between the age of seventeen and forty; as soon as they're old enough to leave home they're off out of it, and down to the city. To get to Cairns to do a bit of shopping you can either fly, which costs money, or you can drive for four days in a jeep, and after that you'll find the jeep needs a new set of tyres.”He paused.“It's a grand country for a man to live and work in, and good money, too. But it's a crook place for a woman.”

“I see,”I said.“Are all the outback towns like that?”

“Most of them,”he said.“You get the bigger ones, like the Curry, they're better, of course. But Camooweal and Normanton and Burketown and Croydon and Georgetown—they're all just the same as Willstown.”He paused for a moment in thought.“There's only one good one for a woman,”he said.“Alice Springs. Alice is a bonza place, oh my word. A girl's got everything in Alice—two picture houses, shops for everything, fruit, ice-cream, fresh milk, Eddie Maclean's swimming-pool, plenty of girls and young married women in the place, and nice houses to live in. Alice is a bonza town,”he said,“but that's the only one.”

“Why is that?”I asked.“What makes Alice different from the others?”

He scratched his head.“I dunno,”he said.“It's just that it's got bigger, I suppose.”

I left that one.“What you mean is that if you got Miss Paget to agree to marry you, she wouldn't have a very happy life in Willstown.”

He nodded.“That's right,”he said, and there was pain in his eyes.“It all seemed sort of different when I met her in Malaya. You see, she was a prisoner and she hadn't got nothing, and I hadn't got nothing either, so there was a pair of us. When I got to know there was a chance she wouldn't be married I was so much in a hurry to get over here I didn't stop to think about the outback, or if I did I thought of her as someone who'd got nothing so she'd be all right in Willstown. See what I mean?”He looked at me appealingly.“But then I come to England and I see Southampton and the sort of way people live there, bombed and muggered up although it is, and I been in London and I been in Colwyn Bay. Then when you told me she'd come into money I got thinking about how she would be living and the sort of things that she'd be used to and she wouldn't get in Willstown, and then I thought I'd acted a bit hasty. I never know it to work, for a girl to come straight out from England to the outback. And for a girl with money of her own, it'ld be worse still.”He paused, and grinned at me.“So I went out on the grog.”

In all the circumstances, it now seemed to me that he had taken a very reasonable line of action, but it was a pity it had cost him seventy pounds.“Look, Joe,”I said.“We want to think about this thing a bit. I think I'll have to write and tell Miss Paget that I've met you. You see, she thought you were dead.”

He stared at me.“You knew about me, then?”

“Not very much,”I said.“I know that you stole chickens for her, and the Japs nailed you up and beat you. She thought you died.”

“I bloody near did,”he said grinning.“She told you that, did she?”

I nodded.“It's been a very deep grief to her,”I said quietly.“You wouldn't want her to go on like that? You see, she thinks it was her fault.”

“It wasn't her fault at all,”he said in his slow way.“She told me not to stick my neck out, and I went and bought it. It wasn't her fault at all.”

“I think you ought to write to her,”I repeated.

There was a long pause.

“I dunno what in hell I'd say to her if I did,”he muttered.

There was no point in going on agonizing about it. I got up.“Look, Joe,”I said. Take a bit of time to think it over. When have you got to be back in Australia?”

“I wouldn't be doing right by Mrs Spears unless I get back on the station by the end of October,”he said.“I don't want to serve her a crook deal.”

“That gives you two and a half months,”I said.“How much did your airline ticket cost you when you came here?”

“Three hundred and twenty-five pounds,”he said.

“And you've got five hundred pounds left, on your letter of credit.”

“That's right.”

“Do you want to go back by air, or would you rather go by sea? I could find out about sea passages for you, if you like. I think it would cost about eighty pounds on a tramp steamer, but you'd have to leave pretty soon—within a fortnight, say.”

“There don't seem to be much point in staying here,”he said a little wearily.“There wouldn't be no chance that she'll be coming back to England?”

“Not in that time, I'm afraid.”

“I'd better go back by sea, and save what's left of the money.”

“I think that's wise,”I said.“I'll get my office on to finding out about the passage. In the meantime, why don't you move in here? You're welcome to use that spare room till you go, and it will be cheaper for you than living in the hotel.”

“Wouldn't I be in your way?”

“Not in the least,”I said.“I'm out most of the day, and I'd be very glad for you to stay here if you'd like to.”

He agreed to that, and I asked him what he wanted most to see in England in his brief visit. He wanted to see No. 19 Acacia Road, Hammersmith, where his father had been born. He wanted to see a live broadcast of“Much-Binding-in-the-Marsh”which he listened to on short wave from Brisbane when the static permitted. (“They've got a bonza radio at Alice,”he said wistfully.“A local station, right in the town.”) He wanted to see all he could of thoroughbred horses and thoroughbred cattle. He was interested in saddlery, but he didn't think that we had much to teach them about that.

There was no difficulty about Hammersmith, of course; I put him in a bus that afternoon, and went into my office to deal with my neglected work. Apart from the clients who came to see me, I had plenty to think about. Whether Jean Paget chose to marry this man when she met him was entirely her own affair, but it was quite a possibility that she would do so. Whatever one might think about the suitability of such a match, there was no denying that Joe Harman had some very solid virtues; he seemed to be hard-working, thrifty if one excepts the great extravagance of flying half across the world to look for the girl he loved, and likely to make a success of his life; quite certainly he was a kind man who would make a good husband.

There was another aspect of the matter which was worth investigation. Whether she knew it or not, Jean Paget had Australia in her ancestry. She had never mentioned her grandfather, James Macfadden, to me and it seemed quite possible that she had never thought about him much. And yet, he was the original source of her money, and apparently he had made it in Australia before coming home to England to break his neck while riding in a point-to-point in Yorkshire. It would be interesting, I thought, to find out a little more about James Macfadden. Had he made his money on an outback cattle station, too? Had he been just such another as Joe Harman?

I sent my girl that afternoon to bring me the Macfadden box, and I sat looking through the old deeds and wills after my last client had gone. The only clue I found was in the Will of James Macfadden dated September 18th, 1903, which began,“I, James Nelson Macfadden of Lowdale Manor, Kirkby Moorside, in the County of Yorkshire, and of Hall's Creek in Western Australia, do hereby revoke all former wills... etc.”I knew nothing of Hall's Creek at that time, but I noted the name for future investigation. That is all there was.

I got Marcus Fernie on the telephone that afternoon at his office at the BBC and asked if I could have a ticket for“Much-Binding-in-the-Marsh”. I had to tell him something about Joe Harman in order to get it because there seemed to be considerable competition, and he came back at once with a demand that Harman should be interviewed for the programme“In Town Tonight”. I said I'd see him about that, and he promised to send over the ticket. Then I got on to old Sir Dennis Frampton who has a herd of pedigree Herefords at his place down by Taunton and told him about Joe Harman, and he very kindly invited him down for a couple of nights.

I got back to my flat at about seven o'clock; I had arranged for dinner there. Joe Harman was there, and he had been to the Bank and the hotel, and he had brought his suitcase round to my spare room. I asked if he had found his father's house at Hammersmith.

“I found it,”he said.“Oh my word, I did.”

“Pretty bad?”

He grinned.“That's putting it mild. We got some slums in Australia, but nothing like that. Dad did all right for himself when he come away from that and out to Queensland.”

I offered him a glass of sherry, but he preferred a beer; I went and got him a bottle.“When did your father leave this country?”I inquired,

“1904,”he said.“He went out to the Curry, to Cobb and Co. They used to run the stage coaches, before motors came. He must have been about fifteen then. He fought in the first war with the Aussies at Gallipoli.”

“He's dead now, is he?”

“Aye,”he said.“He died in 1940, soon after I joined the army.”He paused.“Mother's still alive. She lives with my sister Amy at the Curry.”

“Tell me,”I said,“do you know a place called Hall's Creek?”

“Where the gold was? Over by Wyndham, in West Australia?”

“That will be the place,”I said.“There are gold mines there, are there?”

“I don't think they work it now,”he said.“There was a lot of gold there in the nineties, like in Queensland, in the Gulf country. I've never been to Hall's Creek, but I've always thought that it would be like Croydon. There was a lot of gold at Croydon, oh my word. It lasted for about ten years, and then they had to go so deep for it, it didn't pay any longer. Croydon had thirty thousand people one time, so they say. Now it's got two hundred. It's the same at Normanton and Burketown—Willstown's the same. All gold towns at one time, they were.”

“You never heard of anybody called Macfadden over at Hall's Creek, did you?”

He shook his head.“I never heard the name.”

I told him I was getting a ticket for“Much-Binding-in-the-Marsh”, and that they wanted him to broadcast on Saturday night. He agreed diffidently to do this; when the time came I listened in and thought he did it surprisingly well. The announcer shepherded him along quite skilfully, and Harman spoke for about six or seven minutes about the Midhurst cattle station and the country down below the Gulf of Carpentaria that he called the Gulf country. Marcus Fernie took the trouble to ring me up next day to tell me how well it had gone.“I only wish we could get more chaps like him now and then,”he said.“It makes a difference when you hear the real McCoy.”

I put him on the train on Sunday down to Taunton to see Sir Dennis Frampton's cows. He had not much time left, because a ship of the Shaw Savill line was leaving on the following Friday morning for New Zealand and Australia, and I had managed to get him a cheap berth on that. He came back on the Wednesday full of what he had seen.“He's got a bonza herd there, oh my word,”he said.“I learned more about raising up the quality of stock there in two days than I'd have learned in ten years in the Gulf country. Of course, you couldn't do the things that he does on a station like Midhurst, but I got plenty to think about.”

“You mean about breeding?”

“We don't breed for quality at all in the Gulf,”he said.“Not like you set about it here in England. All we do is go out and shoot the scrub bulls when you see them so you keep the best ones breeding. I'd like to see a herd of pedigree stock out there, like he's got. I never see such beasts outside a show.”

After dinner I had a word with him about Miss Paget.“I shall write to her in a day or two and give her your address,”I said.“I know that she'll be very sorry to have missed you, and I should think you'd find a letter from her waiting for you at Midhurst when you get there. In fact, I know you will, because I shall write air mail, and she's certain to write air mail to you.”

He brightened considerably at the thought.“I don't think I'll write to her from here,”he said.“If you're going to do that I'll wait and write when I hear from her. I'm glad I didn't meet her over here, in a way. It's probably all turning out for the best.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him then that she was in Australia, but I refrained. I had written to her in Alice Springs the day before Joe Harman had come to me, and I was expecting a letter from her any day now, because she used to write once a week, very regularly. If necessary, I could cable her to tell her his address in order that she might not leave Australia without seeing him, but there was no reason to lay all her cards before him at this stage.

I saw him off at the docks two days later, as I had seen Jean Paget a few months before. As I turned to go down the gangway he said gruffly,“Thank you for doing so much for me, Mr Strachan. I'll be writing from Midhurst.”And he shook my hand with a grip that made me wince, for all the injury his hand had suffered.

I turned to go down the gangway.“That's all right, Joe. You'll find a letter from Miss Paget when you get back home. You might even find more than that.”

I had reason for that last remark, because I had a letter from her in my pocket that had come by that day's post, and it was postmarked Willstown.

Chapter 6

When Jean Paget stepped down the gangway from the Constellation on to Darwin airport she was wildly and unreasonably happy. It is a fact, I think, that till that time she had never really recovered from the war. She had come to England when she was repatriated and she had done her job efficiently and well with Pack and Levy for two years or so, but she had done it in the manner of a woman of fifty. She lived, but she had very little zest for life. Deep in the background of her mind remained the tragedy of Kuantan, killing her youth. She had only been speaking the truth when she had told me once that she felt about seventy years old.

She landed at about eight-fifteen at night, after dark; as she was getting off the plane at Darwin, Qantas had booked a room for her at the Darwin Hotel. She stepped on to the concrete and was marshalled to the Customs office in the hangar; at the foot of the gangway there were three young men who scrutinized her carefully. At the time she took them for officials of the airport. It was only later that she found out that they were reporters on the staff of various Australian newspapers engaged in what must surely be the worst assignment in all journalism, meeting every aeroplane that lands on Darwin airport in the hope of finding a Prime Minister on board, or a woman with two heads.

One of them came up to her as soon as she was through the Customs; there had been nothing to make a story in this load of passengers. A happy-looking girl was a small dividend, however. He said,“Miss Paget? The stewardess tells me that you're getting off here and you're staying at the Darwin Hotel. Can I give you a lift into town? My name is Stuart Hopkinson; I represent the Sydney Monitor up here.”

She said,“That's terribly kind of you, Mr Hopkinson. I don't want to take you out of your way, though.”

He said,“I'm staying there myself.”He had a small Vauxhall parked outside the hanger; he took her suitcase and put it in the back seat and they got in, chatting about the Constellation and the journey from Singapore. And presently, as they drove past the remains of Vestey's meatworks, he said,“You're English, aren't you, Miss Paget?”She agreed.“Would you like to tell me why you're visiting Australia?”

She laughed.“Not very much, Mr Hopkinson. It's only something personal—it wouldn't make a story. Is this where I get out and walk?”

“You don't have to do that,”he said.“It was just a thought. I haven't filed a story for a week.”

“Would it help if I said that I thought Darwin was just wonderful? ‘London Typist thinks Darwin wonderful’?”

“We can't go panning London, not in the Monitor. Is that what you are, a typist?”

She nodded.

“Come out to get married?”

“I don't think so.”

He sighed.“I'm afraid you're not much good to me for a story.”

“Tell me, Mr Hopkinson,”she said,“how do the buses go from here to Alice Springs? I want to go down there, and I haven't got much money, so I thought I'd go by bus. That's possible, isn't it?”

“Sure,”he said.“One went this morning. You'll have to wait till Monday now; they don't run over the weekend.”

“How long does it take?”

“Two days. You start on Monday, stop at Daly Waters Monday night, and get in late on Tuesday. It's not too bad a journey, but it can be hot, you know.”

He put her down at the hotel and carried her bag into the lobby for her. She was lucky in that overcrowded place to get a room to herself, a room with a balcony overlooking the harbour. It was hot in Darwin, with a damp enervating heat that brought her out in streams of perspiration at the slightest movement. This was no novelty to her because she was accustomed to the tropics; she bolted the door and took off her clothes and had a shower, and washed some things in the hand basin, and lay down to sleep with a bare minimum of covering.

She woke early next morning and lay for some time in the cool of the dawn considering her position. It was imperative to her that she should find Joe Harman and talk to him; at the same time the meeting with Mr Hopkinson had warned her that there were certain difficulties ahead. However pleasant these young men might be, their duty was to get a story for the paper, and she had no desire whatever to figure in the headlines, as she certainly would do if the truth of her intentions became known.“Girl flies from Britain to seek soldier crucified for her...”It would be far easier if she were a man.

However, she wasn't. She set to work to invent a story for herself, and finally decided that she was going out to Adelaide to stay with her sister who was married to a man called Holmes who worked in the Post Office; that seemed a fairly safe one. She was travelling by way of Darwin and Alice Springs because a second cousin called Joe Harman was supposed to be working there but hadn't written home for nine years, and her uncle wanted to know if he was still alive. From Alice she would take the train down to Adelaide.

It didn't quite explain why she had come to Darwin in a Constellation, except that there is no other way to get to Darwin. Lying on her bed and cogitating this it seemed a pretty waterproof tale; when she got up and went downstairs for breakfast she decided to try it out on Stuart Hopkinson. She got her chance that morning as he showed her the way to the bus booking-office; she let it out in little artistic snippets over half an hour of conversation, and the representative of the Sydney Monitor swallowed it without question so that she became a little ashamed of herself.

He took her into a milk bar and stood her a Coca-Cola.“Joe Harman...”he said.“What was he doing at Alice nine years ago?”

She sucked her straw.“He was a cowboy on a cattle farm,”she said innocently, and hoped she wasn't overdoing it.

“A stockman? Do you remember the name of the station?”

“Wollara,”she said.“That's the name, Wollara. That's near Alice Springs, isn't it?”

“I don't know,”he said.“I'll try and find out.”

He came back to her after lunch with Hal Porter of the Adelaide Herald.“Wollara's a good long way from Alice Springs,”said Mr Porter.“The homestead must be nearly a hundred and twenty miles away. You mean Tommy Duveen's place?”

“I think that's it,”she said.“Is there a bus there from Alice Springs?”

“There's no bus or any way of getting there except to drive there in a truck or a utility.”

Hopkinson said.“It's on one of Eddie Maclean's rounds, isn't it?”

“Now you mention it, I think it is.”Porter turned to Jean.“Maclean Airways run around most of those stations once a week, delivering the mail,”he said.“You may find that you could get there by plane. If so, that's much the easiest.”

Her ideas about reporters had been moulded by the cinema; it was a surprise to her to find that in real life they could be kind and helpful people with good manners. She thanked them with sincere gratitude, and they took her out for a run round Darwin in a car. She exclaimed at the marvellous, white sand beaches and the azure blue of the sea, and suggested that a bathing party might be a good thing.

“There's one or two objections,”Mr Porter said.“One is the sharks. They'll take you if you go out more than knee deep. Another is the alligators. Then there's the stone fish—he lies on the beach and looks just like a stone until you tread on him, and he squirts about a pint of poison into you. The Portuguese Men-o'-War aren't so good, either. But the thing that really puts me off is Coral Ear.”

“What's that?”

“A sort of growth inside your head that comes from getting this fine coral sand into your ear.”

Jean came to the conclusion that perhaps she wouldn't bathe in Darwin after all.

She got her bathe, however, because on Sunday they drove her forty miles or so southwards down the one road to a place called Berry Springs, a deep water hole in a river where the bathing was good. The reporters eyed her curiously when she appeared in her two-piece costume because the weeks that she had spent in native clothes in Kuala Telang had left her body tanned with sunburn in unusual places. It was the first mistake that she had made, and for the first time a dim suspicion crossed their minds that this girl held a story for them if they could only get it out of her.

“Joe Harman...”said Hal Porter thoughtfully to Stuart Hopkinson.“I'm sure I've heard that name before somewhere, but I can't place it.”

As they drove back from the bathe the reporters told her about Darwin, and the picture they painted was a gloomy one.“Everything that happens here goes crook,”Hal Porter said.“The meatworks has been closed for years because of labour troubles—they got so many strikes they had to close it down. The railway was intended to go south to Alice and join up with the one from Alice down to Adelaide—go from north to south of the continent. It might have been some good if it had done that, but it got as far as Birdum and then stopped. God knows what it does now. This road has just about put the railway out of business—what business it ever had. There used to be an ice factory, but that's closed down.”He paused.“Everywhere you go round here you'll see ruins of things that have been tried and failed.”

“Why is that?”Jean asked.“It's not a bad place, this. It's got a marvellous harbour.”

“Of course it has. It ought to be a great big port, this place—a port like Singapore. It's the only town of any size at all on the north coast. I don't know. I've been up here too long. It gives me the willies.”

Stuart Hopkinson said cynically,“It's got outbackitis.”He smiled at Jean.“You'll see a lot of this in Australia, specially in the north.”

She asked,“Is Alice Springs like this?”It was so very different from the glowing recollections of Alice that Joe Harman had poured out to her, six years before.

“Oh, well,”said Hopkinson,“Alice is different. Alice is all right.”

“Why is it different?”she asked.

“I don't really know. It's railhead, of course, for trucking cattle down to Adelaide—that's one thing. But it's a go-ahead place is Alice; all sorts of things go on there. I wish to God the Monitor'ld send me there instead of here.”

She said goodbye to her two friends that night, and started at dawn next morning in the bus for Alice Springs. The bus was a big, modern Bedford, heavily streamlined; it towed a trailer carrying goods and luggage. It was comfortable enough although not air-conditioned; it cruised down the wide, empty tarmac road at fifty miles an hour, hour after hour, manned by ex-naval crew.

As far as Katherine, where the bus stopped for lunch, the country was well wooded with rather stunted eucalyptus trees, which Jean discovered were called gums. Between these trees were open meadows of wild land, ungrazed, unused, and uninhabited. She discussed this country with a fellow traveller, a bank inspector on his way to Tennant Creek, and she was told that all this coastal belt was useless for farming for some reason that she could not understand. After Katherine the country gradually became more arid, the trees more scattered and desiccated, till by the evening they were running through a country that was near to desert.

At dusk they stopped for the night at a place called Daly Waters. Daly Waters, she discovered, was a hotel, a post office, a large aerodrome, and nothing else whatsoever. The hotel was a rambling collection of single-storey wooden huts or dormitories for men and for women, strange to Jean but comfortable enough. She strolled outside before tea, in the dusk, and looked around. In front of the hotel three young men were squatting on their heels with one leg extended in the peculiar attitude that Joe Harman had used; they wore a sort of jodhpur trouser and elastic-sided boots with a very thin sole, and they were playing cards upon the ground, intent upon their game. She realized that she was looking at her first ringers.

She studied them with interest; that was how Joe Harman would have looked before he joined the army. She resisted an absurd temptation to go up to one of them and ask if they knew anything about him.

The bus started at dawn next day, and drove on southwards down the tarmac road, past Milners Lagoon and Newcastle Waters and Muckety Bore to Tennant Creek. As they went the vegetation grew sparser and the sun grew hotter, till by the time they stopped at Tennant Creek for a meal and a rest the country had become pure sand desert. They went on after an hour, driving at fifty to fifty- five miles an hour down the scorching road past tiny places of two or three houses dignified with a name, Wauchope and Barrow Creek and Aileron. Toward evening they found themselves running towards the Macdonnell Ranges, lines of bare red hills against the pale blue sky, and at about dusk they ran slowly into Alice Springs and drew up at the Talbot Arms Hotel.

Jean went into the hotel and got a room opening on to a balcony, the hotel being a bungalow-type building with a single storey, like practically every other building in Alice Springs. Tea was served immediately after they arrived, and she had already learned that in Australian country hotels unless you are punctual for your meals you will get nothing. She changed her dress and strolled out in the town after tea, walking very slowly down the broad suburban roads, examining the town.

She found it as Joe Harman had described it to her, a pleasant place with plenty of young people in it. In spite of its tropical surroundings and the bungalow nature of the houses there was a faint suggestion of an English suburb in Alice Springs which made her feel at home. There were the houses standing each in a small garden fenced around or bordered by a hedge for privacy; the streets were laid out in the way of English streets with shade trees planted along the kerbs. Shutting her eyes to the Macdonnell Ranges, she could almost imagine she was back in Bassett as a child. She could now see well what everybody meant by saying Alice was a bonza place. She knew that she could build a happy life for herself in this town, living in one of these suburban houses, with two or three children, perhaps.

She found her way back to the main street and strolled up it looking at the shops. It was quite true; this town had everything a reasonable girl could want—a hairdressing saloon, a good dress shop or two, two picture houses.... She turned into the milk bar at about nine o'clock and bought herself an ice-cream soda. If this was the outback, she thought, there were a great many worse places.

Next morning, after breakfast, she went and found the manageress, a Mrs Driver, in the hotel office. She said,“I want to try and get in touch with a second cousin of mine, who hasn't written home for ten years.”She told her story about being on her way from London to Adelaide to stay with her sister.“I told my uncle that I'd come this way and stop in Alice Springs and try and find out something about Joe.”

Mrs Driver was interested.“What's his name?”

“Joe Harman.”

“Joe Harman! Worked out at Wollara?”

“That's right,”Jean said.“Do you know if he's there still?”

The woman shook her head.“He used to come in here a lot just after the war, but he was only here about six months. I only came here in the war; I don't know about before that. He was a prisoner of the Japs, he was. They treated him terribly. Came back with scars on his hands where they'd put nails right through, crucified him, or something.”

Jean expressed surprise and horror.“Do you know where he is now?”

“I don't know, I'm sure. Maybe one of the boys would know.”

Old Art Foster, the general handyman who had lived in Alice Springs for thirty years said,“Joe Harman? He went back to Queensland where he come from. He was at Wollara for about six months after the war, and then he got a job as station manager at some place up in the Gulf country.”

Jean asked,“You don't know his address?”

“I don't. Tommy Duveen would know it, out at Wollara.”

“Does he come into town much?”

“Aye, he was in town on Friday. He comes about once every three or four weeks.”

Jean asked innocently,“I suppose Joe Harman took his family with him when he went to Queensland. They aren't living here still, are they?”

The old man stared at her.“I never heard Joe Harman had a family. He wasn't married, not so far as I know.”

She said defensively,“My uncle back in England thinks he's married.”

“I never heard nothing of a wife,”the old man said.

Jean thought about this for a minute, and then said to Mrs Driver,“Is there a telephone at Wollara? I mean, if Mr Duveen knows his address, I'd like to ring him up and get it.”

“There isn't any telephone,”she said.“They'll be speaking on the radio schedule morning and evening from Wollara, of course.”There was an extensive radio network operated by the Flying Doctor service from the hospital; morning and evening an operator at the hospital sat down to call up forty or fifty stations on the radio telephone to transmit messages, pass news, and generally ascertain that all was well. The station housewife operated the other end.“Mrs Duveen is sure to be on the air tonight because her sister Amy is in hospital here for a baby and Edith'll want to know if it's come off yet. If you write out a telegram and take it down to Mr Taylor at the hospital, he'll pass it to them tonight.”

Jean went back to her room and wrote out a suitable cable and took it down to the hospital to Mr Taylor, who agreed to pass it to Wollara.“Come back at about eight o'clock, and I may have the answer if they know the address right off; if they've got to look it up they'll probably transmit it on the schedule tomorrow morning.”That freed her for the remainder of the day, and she went back to the milk bar for another ice-cream.

In the milk bar she made a friend, a girl called Rose Sawyer. Miss Sawyer was about eighteen and had an Aberdeen terrier on a lead; she worked in the dress shop in the afternoons. She was very interested to hear that Jean came from England, and they talked about England for a time.“How do you like Alice?”she asked presently, and there was a touch of conventional scorn in her tone.

“I like it,”Jean said candidly.“I've seen many worse places. I should think you could have a pretty good time here.”

The girl said,“Well, I like it all right. We were in Newcastle before, and then Daddy got the job of being bank manager here and we all thought it would be awful. All my friends said these outback places were just terrible. I thought I wouldn't be able to stick it, but I've been here fifteen months now and it's not so bad.”

“Alice is better than most, isn't it?”

“That's what they say—I haven't been in any of the others. Of course, all this has come quite recently. There weren't any of these shops before the war, they say.”

Jean learned a little of the history of the town and she was surprised at the rapidity of its growth. In 1928 it was about three houses and a pub; that was the year when the railway reached it from Oodnadatta. The Flying Doctor service started about 1930 and small hospitals were placed about in the surrounding districts. The sisters married furiously, and Jean learned that most of the older families were those of these sisters. By 1939 the population was about three hundred; when the war came the town became a military staging point. After the war the population had risen to about seven hundred and fifty in 1945, and when Jean was there it was about twelve hundred.“All these new houses and shops going up,”Miss Sawyer said.“People seem to be coming in here all the time now.”

She suggested that Jean should come swimming in the late afternoon.“Mrs Maclean's got a lovely swimming-pool, just out by the aerodrome,”she said.“I'll ring her up and ask if I can bring you.”

She called for Jean that afternoon at five o'clock and Jean joined the swimming party at the pool; sitting and basking in the evening sun and looking at the gaunt line of Mount Ertwa, she became absorbed into the social life of Alice Springs. Most of the girls and married women were under thirty; she found them kindly, hospitable people, well educated and avid for news of England. Some spoke quite naturally of England as“home”though none of them had ever been there; each of them cherished the ambition that one day she would be able to go“home”for a trip. By the end of the evening Jean was in a humble frame of mind; these pleasant people knew so much about her country, and she knew so very little about theirs.

She strolled down to the hospital in the cool night, after tea. Mrs Duveen had not been able to give Joe Harman's address offhand, but she confirmed that he was managing a station somewhere in the Gulf country. She would ask her husband and send a message on the morning schedule.

That night Jean thought a good deal about what she would do when she did get the address. It was clear now that her first apprehensions were unfounded; Joe Harman had made a good recovery from his injuries, and was able to carry on his work in the outback. She was amazed that this could be so, but the man was tough. Though there was no compelling need for her to find him now, she felt that it would be impossible to leave Australia without seeing him again; too much had passed between them. She did not fear embarrassment when she met him. She felt that she could tell him the truth frankly; that she had heard of his survival and had come to satisfy herself that he was quite all right. If anything should happen after that, well, that would be just one of those things.

She drifted into sleep, smiling a little.

She went down to the hospital in the morning after the radio schedule and learned that Joe Harman was the manager of Midhurst station, near Willstown. She had never heard of Willstown before; Mr Taylor obligingly got out a map of Australia designed to show the various radio facilities and frequencies of the outback stations, and showed her Willstown at the mouth of the Gilbert River on the Gulf of Carpentaria.

“What sort of a place is it?”she asked him.“Is it a place like this?”

He laughed.“It's a fair cow up there.”He studied the map.“It's got an air-strip, anyway. I don't suppose it's got much else. I've never been there, and I've never heard of anyone who had.”

“I'm going there,”she said.“I've got to see Joe Harman, after coming all this way.”

“It's likely to be rough living,”he said.“Oh my word.”

“Would there be a hotel?”

“Oh, there'll be a hotel. They've got to have their grog.”

She left the hospital and went thoughtfully to the milk bar; as she ordered her ice-cream soda, it occurred to her that it might be a long time before she had another. When she had finished her soda she walked up the street a little way and turned into the magazine and book shop, and bought a map of Australia and a bus timetable and an airline timetable. Then she went back to the milk bar and had another ice-cream soda while she studied this literature.

Presently Rose Sawyer came into the milk bar with her dog. Jean said,“I've found out where Joe Harman lives. Now I've got to find out how to get there. There doesn't seem to be a bus going that way at all.”

They studied the timetables together.“It's going to be much easiest to fly,”said Rose.“That's how everybody goes, these days. It's more expensive, but it may not be in the long run because you've got so many meals and hotels if you try and go by land. I should take the Maclean service to Cloncurry, next Monday.”

It meant staying a few days more in Alice Springs, but it seemed the best thing to do.“You could come and stay with us,”said Rose.“Daddy and Mummy would love to have somebody from England. It's not very nice in the hotel, is it? I've never been in there, of course.”

“It's a bit beery,”said Jean. She was already aware of the strict Australian code, that makes it impossible for a woman to go into a bar.“I would like to do that, if you're sure it wouldn't be a lot of trouble.”

“We'd love to have you. It's so seldom one can talk to anyone that comes from England.”They walked round to the Sawyers' house; on the way they met Mrs Maclean, fair-haired and youthful, pushing her pram. They stopped, and Jean said,“I've got to go to Willstown in the Gulf country to see Joe Harman. Can I get a seat on your plane on Monday as far as Cloncurry?”

“I should think you could. I'm just going to the office; I'll tell them to put you down for Monday. Shall I ask them to arrange the passage for you from Cloncurry on to Willstown? I think you can get there direct from the Curry, but they'll find out that and make the booking if you want.”

“That's awfully good of you,”said Jean.“I would like them to do that.”

“Okay. Coming down to the pool this evening?”

“Yes, please.”

They went on to the Sawyer house, a pleasant bungalow with a rambler rose climbing over it, standing in a small garden full of English flowers, with a sprinkler playing on the lawn. Mrs Sawyer was grey-haired and practical; she made Jean welcome.“Much better for you to be here with us than in that nasty place,”she said, with all of an Australian woman's aversion to hotels.“It'll be nice having you, Miss Paget. Rose was telling us about you yesterday. It's nice to meet somebody from home.”

She went back to the hotel to pack her suitcase, and on the way she stopped at the Post Office. She spent a quarter of an hour sucking the end of a pencil, trying to word a telegram to Joe Harman to tell him that she was coming to see him. Finally she said,

Heard of your recovery from Kuantan atrocity quite recently perfectly delighted stop I am in Australia now and coming up to Willstown to see you next week.

Jean Paget

She took her suitcase round to the Sawyers' house in a taxi, and settled in with them. She stayed with these kind people for four days. On the third day she could not bear to go on lying to them; she told Rose and her mother what had happened in Malaya, and why she was looking for Joe Harman. She begged them not to spread the story; she was terribly afraid that it would get into the papers. They agreed to this, but asked her to tell her story again to Mr Sawyer when he came back from the office.

Mr Sawyer had a lot to say that interested her that evening.“Joe Harman may be on to a good thing up there,”he said.“The Gulf country's not much just at present, but he's a young man, and things can happen very quickly in Australia. This town was nothing twenty years ago, and look at it now! The Gulf's got one thing in its favour, and that's rain. We get about six or seven inches a year up here—about a quarter of what London gets. Up where Joe Harman is they probably get thirty inches—more than England does. That's bound to tell in the long run, you know.”

He sucked at his pipe.“Mind you,”he said,“it's not much good to them, that rainfall, because it all comes in two months and runs off into the sea. It's not spread out all the year round, like yours is in England. But I met a chap from home last year, and he said most of your water would run off into the sea, in England, if you hadn't got a weir every three miles or so on every river. That's what Australia hasn't got around to yet—water conservation on the stations. They're doing a little at it, but not much.”

In the days she spent with the Sawyers, Jean inevitably heard about Rose Sawyer's love life, which was not so far very serious. It chiefly centred round a Mr Billy Wakeling, who built roads when he could get a road to build.“He did awfully well in the war,”she told Jean.“He was a captain when he was twenty-three. But he's nothing to compare with your Joe Harman. He hasn't been crucified for me yet...”

“I'm not in love with Joe Harman,”Jean said with some dignity.“I just want to know that he's all right.”

Rose was still looking round for work that would suit her.

“I like a shop,”she said.“I couldn't ever learn shorthand, like you do. I like a shop all right, but I don't know that the dress shop is much catch. I can never tell what suits a person till I see it on, so I don't think I'll ever be a dress designer. I'd like to run a milk bar, that's what I'd like to do. I think it must be ever such fun, running a milk bar...”

Jean visited Mr Sawyer at the back in his professional capacity, and arranged for him to transfer to Willstown any credits that might come for her account after she had gone. She left Alice Springs on Monday morning with regret, and the Sawyers and Macleans were sorry to see her go.

She flew all that day in a Dragonfly, and it was a very instructive day for her. The machine did not go directly to Cloncurry, but zigzagged to and fro across the wastes of Central Australia, depositing small bags of mail at cattle stations and picking up stockmen and travellers to drop them off after a hundred or a hundred and fifty miles. They landed eight or ten times in the course of the day, at Ammaroo and Hatches Creek and Kurundi and Rockhampton Downs and many other stations; at each place they would get out of the plane and drink a cup of tea and gossip with the station manager or owner, and get back into the plane and go on their way. By the end of the day Jean Paget knew exactly what the homestead of a cattle station looked like, and she was beginning to have a very good idea of what went on there.

They got to Cloncurry at dusk, a fairly extensive town on a railway that ran eastward to the sea at Townsville. Here she was in Queensland, and she heard for the first time the slow, deliberate speech of the Queenslander that reminded her of Joe Harman at once. She was driven into town in a very old open car and deposited at the Post Office Hotel; she got a bedroom but tea was over, and she had to go down the wide, dusty main street to a café for her evening meal. Cloncurry, she found, had none of the clean glamour of Alice Springs; it was a town redolent of cattle, with wide streets through which to drive the herds down to the stockyards, many hotels, and a few shops. All the houses were of wood with red-painted corrugated iron roofs; the hotels were of two storeys, but very few of the other houses were more than bungalows.

She had to spend a day here, because the air service to Normanton and Willstown ran weekly on a Wednesday. She went out after breakfast while the air was still cool and walked up the huge main street for half a mile till she came to the end of the town, and she walked down it a quarter of a mile till she came to the other end. Then she went and had a look at the railway station, and, having seen the aerodrome, with that she had exhausted the sights of Cloncurry. She looked in at a shop that sold toys and newspapers, but they were sold out of all reading matter except a few dressmaking journals; as the day was starting to warm up she went back to the hotel. She managed to borrow a copy of the Australian Women's Weekly from the manageress of the hotel and took it up to her room, and took off most of her clothes and lay down on her bed to sweat it out during the heat of the day. Most of the other citizens of Cloncurry seemed to be doing the same thing.

She revived shortly before tea and had a shower, and went out to the café for an ice-cream soda. Stupefied by the heavy meal of roast beef and plum pudding that the Queenslanders call“tea”she sat in a deckchair for a little in the dusk of the veranda, and went to bed again at about eight o'clock.

She was called before dawn, and was out at the aerodrome with the first light. The aircraft this time was a vintage Dragon, which wandered round the cattle stations as on the previous flight, Canobie and Wandoola and Milgarra. About midday, after four or five landings, they came to the sea, a desolate marshy coast, and shortly after that they put down at Normanton. Half an hour later they were in the air again for Constance Downs station; they had a cup of tea here and a chat with the manager's wife, and took off on the last leg to Willstown.

They got there about the middle of the afternoon, and Jean got a bird's-eye view of the place as they circled for a landing. The country was well wooded with gum trees and fairly green; the Gilbert River ran into the sea about three miles below the town. There was deep, permanent water in it as far up as Willstown and beyond, because she could see a wooden jetty, and the river ran inland out of sight into the heat haze with water in it as far as she could see. All the other watercourses, however, seemed to be dry.

The town itself consisted of about thirty buildings, very widely scattered on two enormous intersecting streets or areas of land, for the streets were not paved. Only one building, which she later learned to be the hotel, was of two storeys. From the town dirt tracks ran out into the country in various directions. That was all that one could see of Willstown, that and a magnificent aerodrome put there in the war for defence purposes, with three enormous tarmac runways each a mile long.

They landed upon one of these huge runways, and taxied towards a truck parked at the runway intersection; this truck was loaded with two barrels of petrol and a semi-rotary pump for refuelling. The pilot said to Jean as he came down the cabin,“You're getting off here, Miss Paget? Is anyone meeting you?”

She shook her head.“I want to see a man who's living in this district, on one of the stations. I'll have to go to the hotel, I think.”

“Who is it? Al Burns, the Shell agent out there on the truck, he knows everybody here.”

She said,“Oh, that's a good idea. I want to see Mr Joe Harman. He's manager of Midhurst station.”

They got out of the aeroplane together.“Morning, Al,”the pilot said.“She'll take about forty gallons. I'll have a look at the oil in a minute. Is Joe Harman in town?”

“Joe Harman?”said the man in the truck. He was a lean, dark-haired man of forty or so.“Joe Harman's in England. Went there for a holiday.”

Jean blinked, and tried to collect her thoughts. She had been prepared to hear that Harman was out on his property or even that he was away in Cairns or Townsville, but it was absurd to be told that he was in England. She was staggered for a moment, and then she wanted to laugh. She realized that the men were looking at her curiously.“I sent him a telegram to say that I was coming,”she said foolishly.“I suppose he didn't get that.”

“Couldn't have done,”said Al Burns slowly.“When did you send it?”

“About four or five days ago, from Alice Springs.”

“Oh no, he wouldn't have got that. Jim Lennon might have it, out at Midhurst station.”

“That's dinky-die is it?”the pilot asked.“He's gone to England?”

“Went about a month ago,”the man said.“Jim Lennon said the other night that he'd be back about the end of October.”

The pilot turned to Jean.“What will you do, Miss Paget? Do you want to stay here now? It's not much of a place, you know.”

She bit her lip in thought.“When will you be taking off?”she asked.“You're going back to Cloncurry?”

“That's right,”he replied.“We're going back to Normanton tonight and night-stopping there, and back to the Curry tomorrow morning. I'm going into town now while Al fills her up. Take off in about half an hour.”

Cloncurry was the last place that she wanted to go back to.“I'll have to think about this,”she said.“I'll have to stay in Australia, till I've seen Joe Harman. Cairns is a nice place to stay, isn't it?”

“Oh, Cairns is a bonza town,”he said.“Townsville, too. If you've got to wait six or eight weeks you don't want to wait here, Miss Paget.”

“How could I get to Cairns?”she asked.

“Well,”he said.“You could come back with me to Cloncurry and then go by train to Townsville and up to Cairns. I don't quite know how long that would take in the train—it must be between six and seven hundred miles. Or you could wait here till next Wednesday, today week, and go by the Dakota straight to Cairns in about two and a half hours.”

“How long would the train take, from Cloncurry to Cairns?”

“Oh, I don't know about that. I don't think they go every day from Townsville to Cairns, but I'm not really sure. I think you'd have to allow three days.”He paused.“Of course, the best way would be to fly from Cloncurry to Townsville and then fly up to Cairns.”

“I know.”She was getting very sensitive of the cost of flying these vast distances, but the alternative of three days in an outback train in sweltering heat was almost unbearable.“It'ld be much cheaper to stay here and go by the Dakota next week, wouldn't it?”

The pilot said,“Oh, much. From here to Cairns would cost you ten pounds fifteen shillings. Flying back to Cloncurry and then on to Townsville and Cairns would be about thirty pounds.”

“I suppose the hotel here is quite cheap?”

“About twelve and six a day, I should think.”He turned to the Shell agent, busy with the fuel.“Al, how much does Mrs Connor charge?”

“Ten and six.”

Jean did a rapid mental calculation; by staying in this place and waiting for the Dakota in a week's time she would save sixteen pounds.“I think I'll stay here,”she said.“It's much cheaper than going back with you. I'll stay here and see Jim Lennon and wait for the Dakota next week.”

“You know what it's going to be like, Miss Paget?”

“Like the Post Office Hotel at Cloncurry?”

“It's a bit more primitive than that. The whatnot's out in the back yard.”

She laughed.“Will I have to lock myself in my room and take a revolver to bed with me?”

He was a little shocked.“Oh, you'll find it quite respectable. But, well, you may find it a little primitive, you know.”

“I expect I'll survive.”

By that time another truck had appeared, a lorry with a couple of men in it; they stared at Jean curiously. The pilot took her suitcase and put it in the back; the driver helped her up into the cab beside him. It was a relief to get out of the blazing sunshine into the shade again.

The driver said,“Staying in Willstown?”

“I wanted to see Joe Harman, but they say he's away. I'm staying here till next week if Mrs Connor can have me, and going on to Cairns in the Dakota.”

He looked at her curiously.“Joe Harman's gone to England. You're English, aren't you?”

The truck moved off down the wide tarmac runway.“That's right,”she replied.

He beamed at her.“My mother and my dad, they both came from England. My dad, he was born in Lewisham, that's part of London, I think, and my mother, she came from Hull.”He paused.“My name's Small,”he said.“Sam Small, like the chap with the musket.”

The truck left the runway and began bumping and swaying over the earth track leading to the town. Dust rose into the cab, the engine roared, and blue fumes enveloped them; every item of the structure creaked and rattled.“Why did Joe Harman go to England?”she shouted above the din.“What did he go for?”

“Just took a fancy, I think,”Mr Small replied.“He won the Casket couple of years back.”This was Greek to her.“There's not a lot to do upon the stations, this time of the year.”

She shouted,“Do you know if there's a room vacant at the hotel?”

“Oh, aye, there'll be a room for you. You just out from England?”

“Yes.”

“What's the rationing like at home, now?”

She shouted her information to him as the truck bumped and swayed across the landscape to the town. A wooden shack appeared on one side of the track, and fifty yards on there was another on the left; there was another some distance ahead, and they were in the main street. They drew up in front of a two-storeyed building with a faded signboard on the first-floor veranda, AUSTRALIAN HOTEL.“This is it,”said Mr Small.“Come on in, and I'll find Mrs Connor.”

The Australian Hotel was a fair-sized building with about ten small bedrooms opening on to the top floor veranda. It had wooden floors and wooden doors; the whole of the rest of it was built of corrugated iron on a wood framework. Jean was accustomed by that time to the universal corrugated iron roofs, but a corrugated iron wall to her bedroom was a novelty.

She waited on the upstairs veranda while Mr Small went to find Mrs Connor; the veranda had one or two beds on it. When the landlady appeared she was evidently only just awake; she was a tall, grey-haired determined woman of about fifty.

Jean said,“Good afternoon. My name's Jean Paget, and I've got to stop here till next week. Have you got a room?”

The woman looked her up and down.“Well, I don't know, I'm sure. You travelling alone?”

“Yes. I really came to see Joe Harman, but they tell me he's away. I'm going on to Cairns.”

“You just missed the Cairns aeroplane.”

“I know. They say I'll have to wait a week for the next one.”

“That's right.”The woman looked around.“Well, I don't know. You see, the men sleep out on this balcony, often as not. That wouldn't be very nice for you.”

Sam Small said,“What about the two back rooms, Ma?”

“Aye, she could go there.”She turned to Jean.“It's on the back balcony, looks out over the yard. You'll see the boys all going to the gents, but I can't help that.”

Jean said,“I expect I'll survive that.”

“You been in outback towns before?”

She shook her head.“I've only just come out from England.”

“Is that so! What's it like in England now? Do you get enough to eat?”

Jean said her piece again.

“I got a sister married to an Englishman,”the woman said.“Living at a place called Goole. I send her home a parcel every month.”

She took Jean and showed her the room. It was clean and with a good mosquito net; it was small, but the passage door was opposite the double window opening on to the balcony, giving a clear draught through.“Nobody don't come along this balcony, except Anne—she's the maid. She sleeps in this other room, and if you hear any goings on at night I hope you'll let me know. I got my eye upon that girl.”She reverted to the ventilation.“You leave your door open a chink, prop your case against it so that no one can't come barging in by mistake, and have the windows open, and you'll get a nice draught through. I never had no difficulty sleeping in this place.”

She glanced down at Jean's hand.“You ain't married?”

“No.”

“Well, there'll be every ringer in this district coming into town to have a look at you. You better be prepared for that.”

Jean laughed.“I will.”

“You a friend of Joe Harman, then?”

“I met him in the war,”Jean said.“In Singapore, when we were both waiting for a passage home.”It was nearer to the truth than her last lie, anyway.“Then as I was in Australia I sent him a telegram to say I'd come and see him. I didn't get an answer so I came here anyway. But he's gone walkabout.”

The woman smiled.“You picked up some Aussie slang.”

“Joe Harman taught me that one, when I met him in the war.”

Sam Small brought up her suitcase; she thanked him, and he turned away, embarrassed. She went into her room and changed her damp clothes for dry ones, and went along to the bathroom and had a shower, and was ready for tea at half past six when the bell echoed through the corrugated iron building.

She found her way down to the dining-room. Three or four men were seated there already and they looked at her curiously; a well-developed girl of sixteen whom she came to know as Annie indicated a separate small table laid for one.“Roast beef, roast lamb, roast pork, roast turkey,”she said.“Tea or coffee?”

It was swelteringly hot still. Flies were everywhere in the dining-room; they lighted on Jean's face, her lips, her hands.“Roast turkey,”she said; time enough to try for a light meal tomorrow, when she knew the form.“Tea.”

A plate was brought to her heaped high with meat and vegetables, hot and greasy and already an attraction for the flies. Tea came, with milk out of a tin; the potatoes seemed to be fresh, but the carrots and the turnips were evidently tinned. She thought philosophically that the flies would probably result in dysentery but she knew what to do about that; she had plenty of sulphatriad to see her through the week. She ate about a quarter of the huge plate of food and drank two cups of tea; then she was defeated.

She got outside into the open air as soon as possible, escaping from the flies. On the downstairs veranda three feet above the level of the ground there were two or three deckchairs, a little distance from the entrance to the bar; She had seen nowhere else in the hotel where she could sit and she already knew enough about Australian conventions not to go near the bar; she went and sat down in one of these chairs wondering if by doing so she was offending against local manners.

She lit a cigarette and sat there smoking, looking at the scene. It was evening but the sun was still strong; the dusty great expanse that served as a street was flooded with a golden light. On the opposite side of the road, more than a hundred yards away, there was a fairly extensive single-storey building that had been built on to from time to time; this was labelled—Wm Duncan, General Merchant. There was no sign of any other shop in the town. Outside Mr Duncan's establishment three coloured Abo stockmen were gossiping together; one held the bridle of a horse. They were big, well-set-up young men, very like Negroes in appearance and, like Negroes, they seemed to have plenty to laugh about.

Further along the other side of the great street a six-inch pipe rose vertically from the ground to a height of about eight feet. A fountain of water gushed up from the top of this pipe and the water seemed to be boiling hot, because a cloud of steam surrounded the fountain, and the stream running away into the background was steaming along its length. A quarter of a mile away a small hut was built across the course of the stream so that the stream ran into the hut and out the other side, but Jean had yet to discover the purpose of this edifice.

A low murmur of voices reached her from the bar; from time to time a man passed her and went in through the open door. She saw no women in the place.

Presently a young man, passing by upon the road, smiled at her and said,“Good evening.”She smiled back at him, and said,“Good evening.”

He checked immediately, and she knew that she had started something. He said,“I saw you come in with Sam Small this afternoon. Came in the aeroplane, didn't you?”

He was a clean-looking young yokel; he walked with the typical swaying gait of the ringer, and he wore the green jodhpurs and the elastic-sided boots that marked his calling. It was no good trying to be standoffish.“That's right,”she said.“I came up from Cloncurry. Tell me, is that water natural?”

He looked where she was pointing.“Natural? That's a bore. Never seen one before?”

She shook her head.“I've only just come out from England.”

“From England? Oh my word.”He spoke in the slow manner of the outback.“What's it like in England? Do you get enough to eat?”

She said her piece again.“My Dad came from England,”he said.“From a place called Wolverhampton. Is that near where you live?”

“About two hundred miles,”she replied.

“Oh, quite close. You'll know the family then. Fletcher is the name. I'm Pete Fletcher.”

She explained to Pete that there were quite a lot of people in England, and reverted to the subject of the bore.“Does all the water that you get from bores come up hot like that?”

“Too right,”he said.“It's mineral, too—you couldn't drink that water. There's gas comes up with it as well. I'll light it for you if you'd like to see.”He explained that it would make a flame five or six feet high.“Wait till it gets a bit darker, and I'll light it for you then.”

She said that was terribly kind of him, and he looked embarrassed. Al Burn, the Shell agent and truck repairer came by and stopped to join them.“Got fixed up all right, Miss Paget?”

“Yes, thank you. I'm staying here till Wednesday and then going on to Cairns.”

“Good-oh. We don't see too many strange faces, here in Willstown.”

“I was asking Pete here about the bore. Pete, do the cattle drink that water?”

The boy laughed.“When they can't get nothing sweeter they'll drink that. You'll see that they won't touch it in the wet, but then in the dry you'll see them drinking it all right.”

“Some bores they won't touch,”said Al. He was rolling himself a cigarette.“They sunk a bore on Invergordon, that's a station between here and Normanton—over to the south a bit. They had to go down close on three thousand feet before they got the water and did it cost them something, oh my word. The bore crew, they were there close on three months. Then when they got the water it was stinking with the minerals and the cattle wouldn't touch it, not even in the dry. What's more, it wouldn't grow grass, either.”

Two more men had drifted up and joined the little gathering about her chair.“Tell me,”she said,“why is this town so spread out? Why aren't the houses closer together?”

One of the newcomers, a man of forty that she later learned to know as Tim Whelan, a carpenter, said,“There was houses all along here once. I got a photograph of this town took in 1905. I'll bring it and show you tomorrow.”

“Were there more people living here then?”

Al Burns said,“Oh my word. This was one of the gold towns, Miss Paget. Maybe you wouldn't know about that, but there was thirty thousand people living here one time.”

The other newcomer said,“Eight thousand. I saw that in a book.”

Al Burns said stubbornly,“My Dad always said there was thirty thousand when he come here first.”

It was evidently an old argument. Jean asked,“How many are there now?”

“Oh, I dunno.”Al turned to the others.“How many would you say now, Tim?”To Jean, aside, he said,“He builds the coffins so he ought to know.”

“A hundred and fifty,”said Mr Whelan.

Sam Small had joined them on the veranda.“There's not a hundred and fifty living in Willstown now. There's not more than a hundred and twenty.”He paused.“Living here in the town, not the stations, of course. Living right here in the town, not counting boongs.”

A slow wrangle developed, so they set to work to count them; Jean sat amused while the evening light faded and the census was taken. The result was a hundred and forty-six, and by the time that that had been determined she had heard the name and occupation of most people in the town.

“Were there goldmines here?”she asked.

“That's right,”said Mr Small.“They had claims by the hundred one time, all up and down these creeks, oh my word. There were seventeen hotels here, seventeen.”

Somebody else said,“Steamers used to come here from Brisbane in those days—all around Cape York and right up the river to the landing stage. I never see them myself, but that's what my old man told me.”

Jean asked,“What happened? Did the gold come to an end?”

“Aye. They got the stuff out of the creeks and the surface reefs, the stuff that was easy got. Then when they had to go deep and use a lot of machinery and that, it didn't pay. It's the same in all these towns. Croydon was the same, and Normanton.”

“They say they're going to start the mine in Croydon—open it again,”said somebody.

“They been talking like that ever since I can remember.”

Jean asked,“But what happened to the houses? Did the people go away?”

“The houses just fell down, or were pulled down to patch up others,”Al told her.“The people didn't stay here when the gold was done—they couldn't. There's only the cattle stations here now.”

The talk developed among the men, with Jean throwing in an occasional remark or question.“Ghost towns,”somebody said.“That's what they called the Gulf towns in a book that I read once. Ghost towns. That's because they're ghosts of what they were once, when the gold was on.”

“It didn't last for long,”somebody said.“1893 was the year that the first gold here was found, and there wasn't many people still living here in 1905.”

Jean sat while the men talked, trying to visualize this derelict little place as a town with eight thousand inhabitants, or thirty thousand; a place with seventeen hotels and houses thickly clustered in the angles of the streets. Whoever had planned the layout had dreamed a great dream; with people streaming in to take up claims and the population doubling itself every few days, the planner had had some excuse for dreaming of a New York of the Gulf of Carpentaria. Now all that remained was a network of rectangular tracks where once there had been streets of wooden houses; odd buildings alone remained among this network to show what had been the dream.

As the light faded Pete and Al went out and lit the bore for Jean. They struck half a dozen matches and got it to light; a flame shot upwards from it and lit up the whole town, playing and flickering amongst the water and the steam till finally it was extinguished by a vomit of water. They lit it again, and Jean admired it duly; it was clear that this was the one entertainment that the town provided, and they were doing their best to give her a good time.“It's wonderful,”she said.“I've never seen anything like that in England.”

They were duly modest.“Most towns around here have a bore like that, that you can light,”they said.

She was tired with her day of flying; at nine o'clock she excused herself from their company and they all wished her goodnight. She drew Al Burns a little to one side before she went.“Al,”she said.“I'd like to see Jim Lennon—he's the man at Midhurst, isn't he? I'd like to see him before I go on Wednesday. Will he be coming into town?”

“Saturday he might be in,”Al said.“I'd say that he'd be in here Saturday for his grog. If I hear of anybody going out that way I'll send him word and say that you're in town, and want to see him.”

“Do they work a radio schedule at Midhurst?”

He shook his head.“It's too close in town, it wouldn't be worth it. If anyone gets sick or has an accident they can get him into town here in an hour or so, and the sister has a radio at the hospital.”He paused.“There'll be someone going out that way in the next day or so. If not, and if Jim Lennon doesn't come in on Saturday, I'll run you out there in the truck on Sunday.”

“That's awfully kind of you,”she said.“I don't want to put you to that trouble.”

“It's no trouble,”he said.“Make a bit of a change.”

She went up to bed. The hotel was lit by electric light made in the backyard by an oil engine and generator set that thumped steadily outside her room till she heard the bar close at ten o'clock; at five past ten the engine stopped and all the lights went out. Willstown slept.

She was roused at five o'clock with the first light with the sounds of people getting up and washing; she lay dozing, listening to the early morning sounds. Breakfast was not till half past seven; she got up and had a shower and was punctual in the dining-room. She found that the standard breakfast in Willstown was half a pound of steak with two fried eggs on top of it; she surprised Annie very much by asking for one fried egg and no steak.“Breakfast is steak and eggs,”Annie explained patiently to this queer Englishwoman.

“I know it is,”said Jean.“But I don't want the steak.”

“Well, you don't have to eat it.”The girl was obviously puzzled.

“Could I have just one fried egg, and no steak?”asked Jean.

“You mean, just one fried egg on a plate by itself?”

“That's right.”

Food conversation in Willstown was evidently quite a new idea.“I'll ask Mrs Connor,”said Annie. She came back from the kitchen with a steak with two fried eggs on top.“We've only got the one breakfast,”she explained. Jean gave up the struggle.

She ventured out to the kitchen after breakfast and found Mrs Connor.“I've got a few things to wash,”she said.“Could I use your washtub, do you think? And—have you got an iron?”

“Annie'll do them for you,”Mrs Connor said.“Just give them to her.”

Jean had no intention of trusting her clothes to Annie.“She's got a lot of work to do,”she said,“and I've got nothing. I'll do them myself if I can borrow the tub.”

“Good-oh.”

Jean spent the morning washing and ironing in the back ground-floor veranda just outside the kitchen; in that dry, torrid place clothes hung out on a line were dry in ten minutes. In the kitchen the temperature must have been close on a hundred and twenty Fahrenheit; Jean made quick rushes in there to fetch her irons from the stove, and wondered at the fortitude of women who cooked three hot meals a day in such conditions. Annie came presently and stood around on the back veranda, furtively examining Jean's washing.

She picked up a carton of soap flakes.“How much of this do you put in the water?”

Jean said,“I think it's an ounce to a gallon of water, isn't it? I used to know. I put in just a bit. It tells you on the packet.”

The girl turned the packet over in her hands, scrutinizing it.“Where it says, DIRECTIONS FOR USE,”said Jean.

From the door behind her Mrs Connor said,“Annie don't read very well.”

The girl said,“I can read.”

“Oh, can you? Well then, read us out what's written on that packet.”

The girl put the carton down.“I ain't had much practice lately. I could read all right when I was at school.”

To ease the situation Jean said,“All you do is just go on putting in the soap flakes till the water lathers properly. It's different with different sorts of water, because of the hardness.”

“I use ordinary soap,”said Annie.“It don't come up so well as this.”

Presently the girl said,“Are you a nurse?”

Jean shook her head.“I'm a typist.”

“Oh, I thought you might be a nurse. Most women that come to Willstown are nurses. They don't stay here long. Six months, and then they've had enough.”

There was a pause.“If you'd been a nurse,”the girl said,“I'd have asked you for some medicine. I've been feeling ever so ill lately just after getting up. I was sick this morning.”

“That's bad,”said Jean cautiously. There did not seem to be much else to say.

“I think I'll go up to the hospital,”said Annie,“and ask Sister Douglas for some medicine.”

“I should do that,”said Jean.

In the course of the day she met most of the notable citizens of Willstown. She walked across to the store to try and buy some cigarettes, but only succeeded in buying a tin of tobacco and a packet of papers. While she was chatting to Mr Bill Duncan in the store and examining the piece of quartz with gold in it that he showed her, Miss Kenroy came in, the school teacher. Half an hour later, as Jean was walking back across the road to the hotel, Al Burns met her and wanted to introduce her to Mr Carter, the Shire Clerk.

She slept most of the afternoon upon her bed, in common with the rest of Willstown, when the day cooled off she came down to the lower veranda and sat there in a deckchair, as she had the previous evening. She had not long to wait before the ringers found her; they came one by one, diffidently, unsure of themselves before this English girl, and yet unable to keep away. She had a little circle of them squatting with her on the veranda presently.

She got them to talk about themselves; it seemed the best way to put them at their ease.“It's all right here,”said one.“It's good cattle country; more rain here than what you get down further south. But I'm off out of it next year. My brother, he's down at Rockhampton working on the railway. He said he'd get me in the gang if I went down and joined him.”

Jean asked,“Is it better pay down there?”

“Well, no. I don't think it's so good. We get five pounds seventeen and six here—that's all found, of course. That's for an ordinary stockrider.”

She was surprised.“That's not bad pay, is it? For a single man?”

Pete Fletcher said,“The pay's all right. Trouble is this place. There's nothing to do here.”

“Do you get a cinema here ever?”

“There's a chap supposed to come here every fortnight and show films in the Shire Hall—that building over there.”She saw a low, barnlike wooden structure.“He hasn't been for a month, but he's coming next week, Mr Carter says.”

“What about dances?”Jean asked.

There was a cynical laugh.“They try it sometimes, but it's a crook place for a dance. Not enough girls.”

Pete Fletcher said,“There's about fifty of us stockmen come into Willstown, Miss Paget, and there's two unmarried girls to dance with, Doris Nash and Susie Anderson. That's between the age of seventeen and twenty-two, say. Not counting the kids and the married women.”

One of the ringers laughed sourly.“Susie's more than twenty-two.”

Jean asked,“But what happens to all the girls? There must be more than that around here?”

“They all go to the cities for a job,”said somebody.“There's nothing for a girl to do in Willstown. They go to Townsville and Rockhampton—Brisbane, too.”

Pete Fletcher said,“That's where I'm going, Brisbane.”

Jean said,“Don't you like it on a cattle station, then?”She was thinking of Joe Harman and his love for the outback.

“Oh, the station's all right,”said Pete. He hesitated, uncertain how to put what he felt to this Englishwoman without incautiously using a rude word.“I mean,”he said,“a fellow's got a right to have a girl and marry, like anybody else.”

She stared at him.“It's really like that, is it?”

“It's a fair cow,”said somebody.“It's a fair cow up here. No kidding, lady. It's two unmarried girls for fifty men in Willstown. A fellow hasn't got a chance of marrying up here.”

Somebody else explained to her,“You see, Miss Paget, if a girl's a normal girl and got her head screwed on right—say, like it might be you—you wouldn't stay here. Soon as you were old enough to go away from home you'd be off to some place where you could get a job and make your own living, not have to depend on your folks all the time. My word, you would. The only girls that stay in Willstown are the ones who are a bit stupid and couldn't make out in any other place, or else ones who feel they've got to stay and look after the old folks.”

Somebody else said,“That kind take the old folks with them down to the city. Like Elsie Freeman.”

Jean laughed.“You mean, that if you stay in Willstown you'll finish up by marrying a girl who's not so hot.”

They looked over their shoulders, embarrassed.“Well, a fellow wants to look around a bit...”

“Who's going to run the stations if you all go down to the cities, looking round a bit?”Jean said.

“That's the manager's headache,”said Pete.“I've got headaches of my own.”

That evening shortly before tea a utility drove up, a battered old Chevrolet with a cab front and an open, truck-like body behind. It was driven by a man of about fifty with lean, sensitive features. Beside him sat a brown girl of twenty or twenty-five with a smooth skin and a serene face; she was not pure native, but probably a quarter white. She wore a bright red dress, and she carried a kitten, which was evidently a great amusement and interest to her. They passed into the hotel, the man carrying their bags; evidently they were staying for the night. At teatime Jean saw them in the dining-room sitting with the men at the other table, but they were keeping very much to themselves.

Jean asked Mrs Connor who they were, after tea.“That's Eddie Page,”she said.“He's manager of a station called Carlisle about a hundred miles out. The lubra's his wife; they've come in to buy stores.”

“Real wife?”asked Jean.

“Oh yes, he married her properly. One of the Bush Brothers was round that way last year, Brother Copeland, and he married them. They come in here from time to time. I must say, she never makes any trouble. She can't read or write, of course, and she doesn't speak much. Always got a kitten or a puppy along with her; that's what she likes.”

The picture of the man's sensitive, intelligent face came incongruously into Jean's mind.“I wonder what made him do that?”

Mrs Connor shrugged her shoulders.“Got lonely, I suppose.”

That night, when Jean went up to her bedroom, she saw a figure standing by the rail of the balcony that overlooked the backyard. There were two bedrooms only that opened on that balcony, her own and Annie's. In the dim light as she was going in at her window, she said,“Goodnight, Annie.”

The girl came towards her.“I been feeling awful bad,”she muttered.“Mind if I ask you something, Miss Paget?”

Jean stopped.“Of course, Annie. What's the matter?”

“Do you know how to get rid of a baby, Miss Paget?”

Jean had been prepared for that one by the morning's conversation; a deep pity for the child welled up in her.“I'm terribly sorry, Annie, but I don't. I don't think it's a very good thing to do, you know.”

“I went up to Sister Douglas and she said that's what's the matter with me. Pa'll beat the daylights out of me when he hears.”

Jean took her hand, and drew her into the bedroom.“Come in here and tell me about it.”

Annie said,“I know there's things you can do like eating something or riding on a horse or something like that. I thought perhaps you might have had to do it, and you'd know.”

“I've never had to do it, Annie. I don't know. Why don't you ask him to marry you and have it normally?”

The girl said,“I don't know how you'd tell which one it was. They'd all say it was one of the others, wouldn't they?”

It was a problem that Jean had never had to face.“I suppose they would.”

“I think I'll ask my sister Bessie. She might know. She had two kids afore getting married.”

It did not look as if Bessie's knowledge had been very useful to her. Jean asked,“Wouldn't the sister do anything to help you?”

“All she did was call me a wicked girl. That don't help much. Suppose I am a wicked girl. There's nothing else to do in a crook place like this.”

Jean did what she could to comfort her with words, but words were little good to Annie. Her interests were not moral, but practical.“Pa will be mad as anything when he gets to know about it,”she said apprehensively.“He'll beat the daylights out o'me.”

There was nothing Jean could do to help the girl, and presently they went to bed. Jean lay awake for a long time beset by human suffering.

She continued for the next two days in Willstown, sitting on the veranda and talking to the ringers, and visiting the various establishments in the town. Miss Kenroy took her and showed her the school. Sister Douglas showed her the hospital. Mr Carter showed her the Shire Hall with the pathetically few books that constituted the public library; Mr Watkins showed her the bank, which was full of flies, and Sergeant Haines showed her the Police Station. By the end of the week she was beginning to know a good deal about Willstown.

Jim Lennon came into town on Saturday, as predicted, for his grog. He came in an International utility that Jean learned was the property of Joe Harman, an outsize in motor cars with a truck body behind the front seat, furnished with tanks for seventy gallons of petrol and fifty gallons of water. Mr Lennon was a lean, bronzed, taciturn man.

“I got an air mail letter yesterday,”he said with the deliberation of the Queenslander.“Joe's starting on his way back from England in a ship. He said he'd be about the middle of October, so he thought.”

“I see,”said Jean.“I want to see him before I go back to England. I've arranged to fly to Cairns on Wednesday and wait there for him.”

“Aye. There's not much for you to do, I don't suppose, waiting round here. I'd say come out and live at Midhurst, but there's less to do there.”

“What's Joe been doing in England, Mr Lennon? Did he tell you what he was going for?”

The stockman laughed.“I didn't even know he was going. All I knew he was going down to Brisbane. Then I got a letter that he'd gone to England. I don't know why he went. He did say in this letter I got yesterday he'd seen a bonza herd of Herefords, belonging to a Sir Dennis Frampton. Maybe he's having bulls shipped out to raise the quality of the stock. He didn't tell me nothing.”

She gave him her address as the Strand Hotel in Cairns, and asked him to let her know when he got accurate news of Joe's arrival.

That evening as she was sitting in her deckchair on the veranda, Al Burns brought a bashful, bearded old man to her; he had disengaged the old man from the bar with some difficulty. He was carrying a sack.“Miss Paget,”he said,“want you to meet Jeff Pocock.”Jean got up and shook hands.“Thought you'd like to meet Jeff,”Al said cheerfully.“Jeff's the best alligator hunter in all Queensland. Aren't you, Jeff?”

The old man wagged his head.“I been huntin' 'gators since I was a boy,”he said.“I reckon I knows 'gators by this time.”

Al said,“He's got an alligator skin to show you, Miss Paget.”To the old man he said,“Show her your skin, Jeff. I bet she's never seen a skin like that in England.”

Jeff Pocock took the sack and opened it, and took out a small alligator skin rolled up.“'Course,”he said,“I cleaned and trimmed and tanned this one myself. Mostly we just salt them and sell 'em to the tannery like that.”He unrolled the skin before her on the floor of the veranda.“Pretty markings, ain't they? I bet you never seen a skin like that in England.”

The sight of it brought back nostalgic memories to Jean of red buses on the Great West Road at Perivale, and Pack and Levy Ltd, and rows of girls sitting at the work benches making up alligator-skin shoes and alligator-skin handbags and alligator-skin dressing-cases. She laughed.“I've seen hundreds of them in England,”she replied.“This is one thing I really know about. I used to work in a factory that made these skins up into handbags and dressing-cases.”She picked up the skin and handled it.“Ours were harder than this, I think. You've done the curing very well, Jeff.”

Two or three other men had drifted up; her story was repeated back and forth in other words, and she told them all about Pack and Levy Ltd. They were very interested; none of them knew much about the skins after they had left the Gulf country.“I know as they make shoes of them,”said Jeff.“I never see a pair.”

A vague idea was forming in Jean's mind.“How many of these do you get a year?”she asked.

“I turned in eighty-two last year,”the old man said.“'Course that's a little 'un. They mostly run about thirty to thirty-six inch—width of skin, that is. That's a 'gator about eleven foot long.”

Jean said,“Will you sell me this one, Jeff?”

“What do you want it for?”

She laughed.“I want to make myself a pair of shoes out of it.”She paused.“That's if Tim Whelan can make up a pair of lasts for me.”

He looked embarrassed.“I don't want nothing for it,”he said gruffly.“I'll give it to you.”

She argued with him for a little while, and then accepted gracefully.“We'll want a bit of calf skin for the soles,”she said,“and some thicker stuff for building up the heels.”

She fondled the skin in her hands.“It's beautifully soft,”she said,“I'll show you what to do with this.”

Chapter 7

Jean made that pair of shoes working upon the dressing-table of her bedroom; to be more exact, she made three pairs before she got a pair that she could wear.

She started off upon Tim Whelan. Tim had made lasts for shoes from time to time, working for various cobblers; the outback woodworker must turn his hand to anything. Jean lent him one of her shoes and lent him her foot to measure in his carpenter's shop, and he made a pair of lasts for her in mulga wood in a couple of days. She asked Pete Fletcher about leather for the soles and heels, and he produced some pieces of tanned cow-skin which were about the right thickness for the soles, and a piece of bull's skin for building up the heels. The lining was a major difficulty at first till somebody suggested a young wallaby skin. Pete Fletcher went out and shot the wallaby and skinned it, and the tanning was carried out by a committee of Pete Fletcher and Al Burns and Don Duncan, working in the back of Bill Duncan's store. The business of this pair of shoes assumed such an importance in the life of Willstown that Jean put off her trip to Cairns for a week, and then another week.

The wallaby skin for the lining was not ready, so Jean made up the first pair with a white satin lining that she bought in the store. She knew every process of shoe-making intimately from the point of view of an onlooker, and from the office end, but she had never done it herself before, and the first pair of shoes were terrible. They were shoes of a sort, but they pinched her toes and the heels were too large by a quarter of an inch, and they hurt her instep. The satin lining was not a success, and the whole job was messy with the streaming perspiration of her fingers. Still, they were shoes, and wearable by anyone whose feet happened to be that shape.

She could not show shoes like that to the men downstairs, and so she set to work to make another pair. She got Tim to alter the lasts for her, bought another knife and a small carborundum stone from the store, and started again. For fixative she was using small tubes of Durofix, also from the store.

In all this work Annie took a great interest. She used to come and sit and watch Jean working as she trimmed and filed the soles or stretched the wet alligator hides carefully upon the lasts.“I do think you're clever to be able to do that,”she said.“They're almost as good as you could buy in a shop.”

The second pair were better. They fitted Jean moderately well, but the wallaby-skin lining was uneven and lumpy, and the whole job was still messy and fingermarked with sweat. Undaunted, she began upon a third pair. This time she used portions of the wallaby skin that were of even thickness, having no means of trimming the skin down, and when it came to the final assembly of the shoes she worked in the early morning when the perspiration of her hands was least. The final result was quite a creditable shoe with rather an ugly coloured lining, but a shoe that she could have worn anywhere.

She took the three pairs downstairs and showed them to Al Burns on the veranda; Al fetched two or three of the other men, and Mrs Connor came to have a look at them.“That's what happens to the alligator skins in England,”Jean said.“They make them up into shoes like that. Pretty, aren't they?”

One of the men said,“You made them yourself, Miss Paget?”

She laughed.“Ask Mrs Connor. She knows the mess I've been making in the bedroom.”

The man turned the shoe over in his hand.“Oh my word,”he said slowly.“It's as good as you'd buy in a shop.”

Jean shook her head.“It's not,”she said.“It's not really.”She pointed out the defects to him.“I haven't got the proper brads or the proper fixative. And the whole thing's messy, too. I just made it up to show you what they do with all these skins that Jeff brings in.”

“I bet you could sell that in Cairns,”the man said, stubbornly.“Oh my word, you could.”

Sam Small said,“How much does a pair of shoes like that cost in England?”

“In a shop?”She thought for a minute.“About four pounds fifteen shillings, I should say. I know the manufacturer gets about forty-five bob, but then there's purchase tax and retailer's commission to go on.”She paused.“Of course, you can pay much more than that for a really good shoe. People pay up to ten pounds in some shops.”

“Ten pounds for a pair of shoes like that? Oh my word.”

Jeff was out of town up the river visiting his traps, so she could not show him the shoes that day. She left them with the men to take into the bar and talk over, and she went to have a bath. She had discovered how to have a bath in Willstown by that time; Annie had showed her. The Australian Hotel had a cold shower for ladies, which was usually a very hot shower because the tank stood in the sun. But if you wanted to wallow in hot water, there was another technique altogether.

Where the water from the bore ran off in a hot stream, a small wooden hut had been constructed spanning the stream, at such a distance from the bore that the temperature was just right for a bath. A rough concrete pool had been constructed here large enough for two bodies to lie in side by side; you took your towel and soap and went to the hut and locked yourself in and bathed in the warm, saline water flowing through the pool. The salts in the water made this bath unusually refreshing.

Jean lay in the warm water, locked in the little hut alone; the sunlight came in through little chinks in the woodwork and played on the water as she lay. Since she had seen Jeff Pocock's alligator skin the idea of making shoes had been in her mind. From the time that she had first met me and learned of her inheritance she had been puzzled, and at times distressed, by the problem of what she was going to do with her life. She had no background of education or environment that would have enabled her to take gracefully to a life of ease. She was a business girl, accustomed to industry. She had given up her work with Pack and Levy as was only natural when she inherited nine hundred a year, but she had found nothing yet to fill the gap left in her life. Subconsciously she had been searching, questing, for the last six months, seeking to find something that she could work at. The only work she really knew about was fancy leather goods, alligator shoes and handbags and attaché cases. She did know a little bit about the business of making and selling those.

She lay in the warm, medicated water, thinking deeply. Suppose a little workshop with about five girls in it, and a small tannery outside. Two handpresses and a rotary polisher; that meant a supply of electric current. A small motor generator set, unless perhaps she could buy current from the hotel. An air conditioner to keep the workshop cool and keep the girls' hands from sweating as they worked. It was imperative that the finished shoes should be virgin clean.

Could such a set-up pay? She lay calculating in her bath. She had discovered that Jeff Pocock got about seventy shillings for an average alligator skin, uncured. She knew that Pack and Levy paid about a hundred and eighty shillings for cured skins. It did not seem to her that it could cost more than twenty shillings to trim and tan an alligator skin, and her figures were in Australian money, too. The skins should be much cheaper than in England. Labour, too, would be cheaper; girl labour in Willstown would be cheaper than girl labour in Perivale. But then there would be the cost of shipping the shoes to England, and an agent's fees.

She wondered if Pack and Levy would sell for her. She knew that Mr Pack had been lukewarm for a long time about the manufacturing side of the business. They did sell other people's products, too —those handbags made by that French firm, Ducros Frères. Pack and Levy sold those, although they made handbags themselves...

The major problem was not the business, she thought. In Willstown both labour and materials were cheap; the business end of it might well be all right. But could she train the sort of girl that she could get in Willstown to turn out first-class quality work, capable of being sold in Bond Street shops? That was the real problem.

She lay for a long time in her warm, medicated bath, thinking very deeply.

That evening as she was sitting in her deckchair on the veranda, Sam Small came to her.“Miss Paget,”he said.“Mind if we have a talk?”

“Of course, Sam,”she said.

“I been thinking about that pair of shoes you made,”he said.“I been wondering if you could teach our Judy.”

“How old is Judy, Sam?”

“Fifteen,”he said.“Sixteen next November.”

“Do you want her to learn shoe-making?”

He said,“I been thinking that anyone who could make a dinkum pair of ladies' shoes like that, they could sell them in Cairns in the shops. You see, Judy's getting to an age when she's got to do some work, and there ain't nothing here a girl can do to make a living. She'll have to go into the cities, like the other girls. Well, that's a crook deal for her mother, Miss Paget. We've only got the one girl—three boys and one girl, that's our litter. It'll be a crook deal for her mother if Judy goes to Brisbane, like the other girls. And I thought this shoe-making, well, maybe it would be a thing that she could do at home. After all,”he said,“it looks like we've got everything you need to do it with, right here in Willstown.”

“Not buckles,”Jean said thoughtfully.“We'd have to do something about buckles.”She was speaking half to herself.

She thought for a minute.“It wouldn't work like that, Sam,”she said.“You think that pair of shoes are wonderful, but they aren't. They're a rotten pair of shoes. You couldn't sell a pair like that in England, not to the sort of people who buy shoes like that. I don't think you could sell them in any first-class shop, even in Cairns.”

“They look all right to me,”he said stubbornly.

She shook her head.“They aren't. I've been in this business, Sam—I know what a shoe ought to look like. I'm not saying that we can't turn out a decent shoe in Willstown; I'd rather like to try. But to get the job right I'll need machinery, and proper benches and hand tools, and proper materials. I see your point about Judy, and I'd like to see her with a job here in Willstown. But it's too big a thing for her to tackle on her own.”

He looked at her keenly.“Was you thinking of a factory or something?”

“I don't know. Suppose somebody started something of the sort here. How many girls would you get to work regular hours, morning and afternoon—say for five pounds a week?”

“Here in Willstown?”

“That's right.”

“How young would you let them start?”

She thought for a minute.“When they leave school, I suppose. That's fourteen, isn't it?”

“You wouldn't pay a girl of fourteen five pounds a week?”

“No. Work them up to that when they got skilled.”

He considered the matter.“I think you'd get six or seven round about sixteen or seventeen, Miss Paget. Then there'd be more coming on from school.”

She turned to another aspect of the matter.“Sam, what would it cost to put up a hut for a workshop?”

“How big?”

She looked around.“About as long as from here to the end of the veranda, and about half as wide.”

“That's thirty foot by fifteen wide. You mean a wooden hut, like it might be an army hut, with an iron roof, and windows all along?”

“That's the sort of thing.”

He calculated slowly in his head.“About two hundred pounds.”

“I think I'd want it to have a double roof and a veranda, like that house that Sergeant Haines lives in. It's got to be cool.”

“Ah, that puts up the cost. A house like that'ld cost you close upon four hundred, with a veranda all around.”

“How long would that take to build?”

“Oh, I dunno. Have to get the timber up from Normanton. Tim Whelan and his boys'ld put that up in a couple of months, I'd say.”

There would be extra buildings needed for the tanning and the dyeing of the hides.“Tell me, Sam,”she said.“Would people here like something of that sort started? Or would they think it just a bit of nonsense?”

“You mean, if it kept the girls here in the town, earning money?”

“That's right.”

“Oh my word,”he said.“Would they like it. They'd like anything that kept the girls at home, so long as they was happy and got work to do.”He paused thoughtfully.“It isn't natural the way the girls go off a thousand miles from home in this country,”he said slowly.“That's what Ma and I was saying the other night. It isn't natural.”

They sat in silence for a time.“Takes a bit of thinking about, Sam,”she said at last.

When the Dakota came next Wednesday she left Willstown for Cairns. She took two days to get there because that was the unhurried way of the Dakota; they left Willstown in the afternoon and called at various cattle stations with the mail and correspondence lessons for the children from the school at Cairns, at Dunbar and Miranda and Vanrook. With the last of the light they put down at Normanton for the night, and drove into the town in a truck.

The hotel at Normanton was similar to the hotel at Willstown, but rather larger. Jean had tea with the pilot, a man called Mackenzie; after tea she sat with him on the veranda. She asked him if anyone made shoes in Normanton.“I don't think so,”he said. He called out to an acquaintance.“Ted, does anyone make shoes round here?”

Ted shook his head.“Buy 'em from Burns Philp,”he said.“Want a pair of shoes mended?”

Jean said,“No—I was just curious. They all come from the cities, do they?”

“That's right.”Ted rolled himself a cigarette.“My wife's sister, she works in a shoe factory down at Rockhampton. That's where a lot of the shoes come from. Manning Cooper, at Rockhampton. That's where Burns Philp get 'em from.”

Jean asked,“Was your wife's sister born round here?”

“Croydon,”he said.“Their Dad used to keep a hotel at Croydon, but he give up; there wasn't work for two. Mrs Bridson's is the only one there now.”

“She's not married?”

“Who? Elsie Peters?”

“That's the one who works at Manning Cooper, is it?”

“No, she's not married. Got to be a charge hand now, with a lot of girls under her.”

When he had moved on Jean asked the pilot,“Who was that?”

“Him? Ted Horner. He runs the garage here.”She noted the name for future reference.

They flew on to Cairns early the next morning; she drove into the town and went to the Strand Hotel. Cairns, she found, was a prosperous town of about twenty thousand people, situated rather beautifully on an inlet of the sea. There were several streets of shops, wide avenues with flower beds down the middle of the road; the buildings were all wood and most had iron roofs. It looked rather like the cinema pictures she had seen of American towns in the deep south, with its wide broad sidewalks shaded by verandas to enable you to look into the shop windows in the shade, but it was almost aggressively English in its loyalties. She liked Cairns from the start.

She wrote to me from there. She had written to me twice from Willstown, and at the Strand Hotel she found a letter from me waiting for her that had been there for some days, on account of her delays. She wrote,

Strand Hotel,

Cairns,

North Queensland

My Dear Noel,

I got your letter of the 24th when I arrived here yesterday, and you will have got my two from Willstown by this time. I wish I had a typewriter because this is going to be a long letter. I think I'll have to get a portable soon in order to keep copies of my letters—not to you, but I'm getting involved a bit in business out here.

First of all, thank you so very much for telling me what you did about Joe Harman. You've evidently been very nice to him and, as you know, that's being nice to me. I can't get over what you say about him rushing off to England and spending all that money, just to see me again. But people out here are like that, I think. I could say an awful lot of rude things about Australians by this time, but I can say this, too. The people that I've met in the outback have all been like Joe Harman, very simple, very genuine, and very true.

And now, about Willstown. I don't know if Joe Harman will still be so keen on marrying me when he sees me; six years is a long time, and people change. I don't know if I'll be keen on marrying him. But if we were to want to marry, what he told you about Willstown is absolutely right.

It's just terrible there, Noel. There are some places in the outback where one could live a fully and happy life. Alice Springs is a grand little town. But Willstown's not one of them. Noel, it's absolutely the bottom. There's nothing for a woman there at all except the washtub. I know that one ought to be able to get along without such things as radio and lipstick and ice-cream and pretty clothes. I think I can get along all right without them—I did in Malaya. But when it comes to no fresh milk and no fresh vegetables or fruit, it's a bit thick. I think that what Joe told you was absolutely right. I don't think any girl could come straight out from England and live happily in Willstown. I don't think I could.

And yet, Noel, I wouldn't want to see Joe try and change his way of life. He's a first-class station manager, and he'll do very well. I asked all sorts of people about the way Midhurst is run, and it's good. I don't say it couldn't be better if he travelled a bit more widely and saw what other cattle breeders do, but relative to the other stations in the Gulf country, Midhurst is pretty good and getting better every year. The last manager let it run down, so they tell me, but Joe's done a good job in the two years that he's been there. I wouldn't want to see Joe try and make his life anywhere else, just because he'd married a rich wife who couldn't or wouldn't live in Willstown, where his work is.

Of course, you'll probably say that he could get another station near a better town, perhaps near Alice. I'm not sure that that would be very easy; I've thought a lot about that one. But if it was possible, I wouldn't like it much. Midhurst is in good country with more rainfall than in England; for a life's work it seems to me that the Gulf country is a far better prospect than anything round Alice. I wouldn't like to think that he'd left good land and gone to bad land, just because of me. That wouldn't be a very good start for a station manager's wife.

Noel, do you think I could have five thousand pounds of my capital? I'm going to take the advice you always shove at me, and not do anything in a hurry. If when I meet Joe Harman he still wants to marry me, and if I want to marry him, I'm going to wait a bit if I can get him to agree. I'd like to work in Willstown for a year or so myself before committing myself to live there for ever. I want to see if I could ever get to adapt myself to the place, or if it's hopeless. I don't want to think that. I would like to find it possible to live in the Gulf country even though I was brought up in England, because they are such very, very decent people living there.

I want to try and start a tiny workshop, making shoes and handbags out of alligator skins. I told you about that in my last letter. It's work I know about, and all the materials are there to hand in the Gulf country, except the metal parts. I've written a long letter this morning to Mr Pack to ask him if he would sell for me in England if the stuff is good enough, and to let me know the maximum price that he could give for shoes delivered at Perivale. And I've asked him to make me out a list of the things I'd want for a workshop employing up to ten girls and what they cost; things like a press and a polisher with the heads for it, and a Knighton No. 6 sewing machine.

The sewing-machine is a heavy duty one for leather and that's the most expensive single item. I should think the lot, including £400 for a building to work in, would cost about a thousand pounds. But I'm afraid that's not the whole story. If I'm going to start a workshop for girls, they've got to have something to spend their wages on. I want to start a shop to sell the sort of things that women want.

Not a big shop, just a little one. I want it to be a sort of ice-cream parlour with a few chromium-plated chairs and glass-topped tables. I want to sell fruit there and fresh vegetables; if I can't get them any other way I'll have them flown in from Cairns. There's plenty of money in the outback for that. I want to sell fresh milk there, too; Joe will have to play and keep a few milking cows. I want to sell sweets, and just a few little things like lipstick and powder and face cream and magazines.

The big expense here is the refrigerators and freezes, of course. I think we'd have to allow five hundred pounds for those, and then there's the building and the furniture—say £1200 the lot. That makes, say, £2500 for capital expenditure. If I have five thousand of my capital, I should be able to stock the shop and the workshop and employ five or six girls for a year without selling anything at all, and by that time the income should be coming in, I think. If it isn't, well that's just too bad and I shall have lost my money.

I want to do this, Noel. Apart from Joe Harman and me, they're decent people in Willstown, and they've got so very little. I'd like to work there for a year as a sort of self-discipline and to keep from running to seed now that I've got all this money. I think I'd want to do this even if there wasn't any Joe Harman in the background at all, but I shan't make up my mind or take any definite step until I've had a talk with him.

So what I want is five thousand pounds, please, Noel. May I have it if I want to go ahead with this?

Jean

I got this letter five days later by the air mail. I marked the passages about her money with a red pencil, and wrote a little note upon the top, and sent it into Lester for him to read. I went into his office later in the day.“You read that letter from the Paget girl?”I asked.

He took it up from his desk before him.“Yes. I've just been looking at the will. Did you draft that discretionary clause yourself?”

“I did.”

He smiled.“I think it's a masterpiece. It covers us all right, if you think she ought to have this money.”

“It's about nine per cent of her capital,”I said.“For a commercial venture that she intends to work at whole-time herself.”

“The testator didn't know her, did he?”

I shook my head.

“She's twenty-seven years old?”

“That is correct.”

“I think that we might let her have it,”he said.“It would be very extreme to do the other thing, to withhold it. We've got ample latitude under your discretionary clause to let her have it, and she seems to be a responsible person.”

“I'd like to think it over for a day or so,”I said.“It seems to me to be a very small amount of capital for what she wants to do.”

I put her letter on one side for a couple of days because I never like to take any action in a hurry. After a period of reflection it seemed to me that I would be carrying out the wishes of the late Mr Douglas Macfadden if I exerted myself to see that Jean Paget did not lose her money in this venture, and I picked up my telephone and rang up Mr Pack of Pack and Levy Ltd.

I said,“Mr Pack, this is Strachan, of Owen, Dalhousie, and Peters. I believe you've had a letter from a client of mine, Miss Jean Paget.”

“Aye, that's right,”he said.“You're her solicitor, are you? The one that's her trustee?”

“That is correct,”I said.“I've had a letter from her, too. I was thinking it might be a good thing if we got together, Mr Pack, and had a talk about it.”

“Well, that suits me,”he replied.“She asked for a list of what she'd want to start up in a small way. I got a list together, but I haven't got all the f.o.b. prices in yet.”

I made an appointment with him for the following Friday when he expected to be in London on other business. He came to see me then at my office. He was a small, fat, cheerful man, very much of a works manager. He brought with him a brown paper parcel.

“Afore we start,”he said,“these come in this morning.”He untied the parcel on my desk and produced a pair of alligator-skin shoes. I picked up one curiously.

“What are these?”I asked.

“They're what she made herself at this place Willstown,”he said.“Did she tell you about that?”

I shook my head, and examined them with fresh interest.“Did she make these herself, with her own hands?”

“Made 'em with her own hands in her hotel bedroom, so she said,”he replied.

I turned one over.“Are they any good?”

“Depends on how you look at it,”he observed.“For selling in the trade they're bloody awful. Look at this, and this, and this.”He pointed out the various irregularities and crudities.“They're not even the same. But she knows that. If you take them as a pair of shoes made by a typist that hadn't ever made a shoe before, working on her bed with no equipment, well, they're bloody marvellous.”

I laid down the shoe and offered him a cigarette.“She told you what she wants to do?”

He told me what he had heard from her, and I told him some of what she had written to me; we talked for a quarter of an hour. At the end of that time I asked him,“What do you really think about her proposition, Mr Pack?”

“I don't think she can do it,”he said flatly.“Not the way she's thinking of. I don't think she knows enough about the shoe business to make a go of it.”

I must say, I was disappointed, but it was as well to have the facts.“I see,”I said quietly.

“You see,”he explained,“she hasn't got the experience. She's a good girl, Mr Strachan, and she's got a good business head. But she's got no experience of making shoes to sell, and she's got no experience of keeping girls in order 'n making them bloody well work for their money. It's not even as if she was in her own country. These Australian country girls she writes about, they're just like so many foreigners to her. They may be willing, but they've never seen a factory before—they won't have the idea at all. She's got to learn her own job and teach them theirs at the same time. Well, she can't do it.”

“I see,”I said again.

“I'd like to help her,”said the little man,“but she'll have to change her ideas a bit. She's on to a good wheeze, if she can put it over. I must say, when I read her letter where it says that she's paying seventy shillings for an alligator skin uncured, you could have knocked me down with a feather. Australian shillings, too—fifty-six bob of our money. Here have I been paying a hundred and seventy, hundred and eighty shillings for a cured skin, all these years, and thinking I was getting 'em cheap at that! I said to Mr Levy, I said, couple of bloody mugs, we are.”

“What can you suggest to help her?”I asked.

“What I thought was this,”he said.“If she could pay the passage of a forewoman out and home, I'd let her have a girl out of my shop, say for the first year. I got a girl that's getting restless—well, a woman she is, thirty-five if she's a day. She's a married woman but she isn't living with her husband—hasn't been for a long time. She was a sergeant in the ATS in the war, out in Egypt some of the time, so she knows about a hot country. Aggie Topp, the name is. You wouldn't get girls playing up in any shop with Aggie Topp in charge.”

“Does Miss Paget know her?”I inquired.

“Oh, aye, Jean knows Aggie. And Aggie knows Jean. Matter of fact, Aggie came in yesterday and handed in her notice. I handed it back to her and jollied her along, you know. She does that every two or three months, getting restless, like I said. But I asked her then, how would she like to go out to Australia for a year to work with Miss Paget. She said she'd go anywhere to get away from standing in a queue for the bloody rations. She'd go out for a year, if Jean wants her. They all liked Jean.”

I said,“Can you spare her?”

“She won't stay long, anyway,”he said.“I don't want to lose her and perhaps I won't. If she gets a trip out to Australia and sees that other places aren't so good as England, then maybe she'll come back and settle down with us again. Get it out of her system.”

We talked about this for a time. The woman's passages and pay while travelling would tot up to about three hundred pounds, but it seemed cheap to me if it would help the venture through the early stages. For the rest of it, Mr Pack thought Jean's estimates of capital were on the low side, but not excessively so.“You can't afford much mechanization in the quality shoe trade,”he said.“You got to keep changing the style all the time.”

About the style, he suggested that they air-mailed a sample to Willstown from time to time for Jean's party to copy. He was quite willing to do the selling for her.“Mind, I don't know if she'll be able to make a go of it upon the prices we can sell at,”he said.“I'll tell her what we can buy at, and it's up to her. But I'd like to give this thing a spin, I must say. Manufacturing's getting so bloody difficult in this country with controls and that, one feels like trying something different.”

I thanked him very sincerely, and he went away. I wrote all this out to Jean Paget by air mail, and I believe Mr Pack wrote to her by the same mail. She did not get these letters for some days after their arrival, because she had gone down to Rockhampton to look for the girl Elsie Peters who worked in the shoe factory there. She went economically by train, a slow, hot journey of some seven hundred miles; till then she had not realized how vast and sparsely populated a state Queensland was. The aeroplanes had dwarfed it for her; fifty-one hours in the train to Rockhampton expanded it again.

She found Elsie Peters, and the meeting was a complete fiasco. It only lasted ten minutes. They met in a café close outside the works; as soon as Jean broached the subject of a job in the Gulf country, Elsie told her she could save her breath. It might be a good thing, she conceded, to start something in the Gulf country, but not for her. Wild horses would not drag her back again.

Jean came away from the café relieved in one way, and yet depressed. She would not have wanted anybody in that frame of mind, but she had been counting rather heavily on this unknown woman. She was very conscious of her own lack of managerial experience; as the venture became closer difficulties loomed up which had not been quite so obvious at the birth of the idea. She spent a depressed evening in the hotel, and flew back to Cairns next day in revolt at the long train journey; she found the air fare very little more expensive.

She found our letters waiting for her at the Strand Hotel when she got back there, and her spirits revived again. She remembered the gaunt, stern Aggie very well; if Aggie was prepared to come to Queensland for a year that really was something. I think she was beginning to feel very much alone and amongst strangers while she was waiting in Cairns for Joe Harman.

She wrote temporizing letters to us, for she would not make her mind up about anything until she had seen Harman. She told me later that the three weeks that she spent in Cairns living at the Strand Hotel after she came back from Rockhampton were the worst time of her life. Each morning she woke up in the cold light of dawn convinced that she was making a colossal fool of herself, that she could never settle down in this outlandish country, that she and Harman would have nothing in common and that it would be much better not to meet him at all. The wise course was to take the next plane down to Sydney and get a cheap passage to England, where she belonged. By noon some rough Australian kindness from a waitress or the manageress had sown a seed of doubt in the smooth bed of her resolution, that grew like a weed throughout the afternoon; by evening she knew that if she left that country and that place she would be running away from things that might be well worth having, things that she might never find again her whole life through. So she would go to bed resolved to be patient, and in the morning the whole cycle would start off again.

She knew the name of Harman's ship, of course, from my letters, and she had no difficulty in finding out when it docked at Brisbane. A few discreet inquiries showed her that he must pass through Cairns to get to Willstown, and convinced her that he would have to wait for several days in Cairns because his ship docked in Brisbane on a Monday and the weekly plane into the Gulf country left at dawn on Tuesday; he could never make that connection. She had found out in Willstown that he stayed at the Strand Hotel in Cairns, and so she waited there for him.

She wrote to him care of the shipping line at Brisbane, and she had some difficulty with that letter. Finally she said,

Dear Joe,

I got a letter from Mr Strachan telling me that you had been to see him while you were in England, and that you were sorry to have missed me. Funnily enough, I have been in Australia for some weeks, and I will wait at Cairns here so that we can have a talk before you go on to Willstown.

Don't let's talk too much about Malaya when we meet. We both know what happened; let's try and forget about it.

Will you let me know your movements—when you'll be coming up to Cairns? I do want to meet you again.

Yours sincerely,

Jean Paget

She got a telegram on Tuesday morning to tell her he was staying to see Mrs Spears, the owner of Midhurst, and he would be flying up to Cairns on Thursday. She went to meet him at the aerodrome, feeling absurdly like a girl of seventeen keeping her first date.

I think Joe Harman was in a position of some difficulty as the Dakota drew near to Cairns. For six years he had carried the image of this girl in his heart, but, in sober fact, he didn't in the least know what she looked like. The girl that he remembered had long black hair done in a pigtail down her back with the end tied up with a bit of string, like a Chinese woman. She was a very sunburnt girl, almost as brown as a Malay. She wore a tattered, faded, blouselike top part with a cheap cotton sarong underneath; she walked on bare feet which were very brown and usually dirty; and she habitually carried a baby on her hip. He did not really think that she would look like that at Cairns, and he was troubled and distressed by the fact that he probably wouldn't be able to recognize her again. It was unfortunate that the inner light in her, the quality that made her what he called a bonza girl, didn't show on the surface.

Something of his difficulty was apparent to Jean; she had wondered if he would know her while she was making herself pretty for him in her room, and had decided that he probably wouldn't. She had no such difficulty herself for he would have changed less than she, and anyway he carried stigmata upon his hands if there were any doubt. She stood waiting for him by the white rails bounding the tarmac as the Dakota taxied in in the hot sun.

She recognized him as he came out of the machine, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and broad-shouldered. He was looking anxiously about; his gaze fell on her, rested a minute, and passed on. She watched him, wondering if she was looking very old, and saw him start to walk towards the airline office with his curious, stiff gait. A little shaft of pain struck her; that was Kuantan, and it had left its mark on him. With her intellect she had known that this must be so, but seeing it for the first time was painful, all the same.

She left the rails, and walked quickly across the tarmac to him, and said,“Joe!”He stopped and stared at her incredulously. He had been looking for a stranger, but it was unbelievable to him that this smart, pretty girl in a light summer frock was the tragic, ragged figure that he had last seen on the road in Malaya, sunburnt, dirty, bullied by the Japanese soldiers, with blood upon her face where they had hit her, with blood upon her feet. Then he saw a characteristic turn of her head and memories came flooding back on him; it was Mrs Boong again, the Mrs Boong he had remembered all those years.

It was not in him to be able to express what he was feeling. He grinned a little sheepishly, and said,“Hullo, Miss Paget.”

She took his hand impulsively, and said,“Oh, Joe!”He pressed her hand and looked down into her eyes, and then he said,“Where are you staying? How long are you here for?”

She said,“I'm staying in the Strand Hotel.”

“Why, that's where I'm staying,”he said.“I always go there.”

“I know,”she said.“Mrs Smythe told me.”

There was much here that he did not understand, but first things came first.“Wait while I get my luggage,”he said.“We can drive in together.”

“I've got a taxi waiting,”she said.“Don't let's go in the bus.”

In the taxi as they drove into the town she asked him,“How was Mr Strachan, Joe?”

“He was fine,”he said.“I stayed with him quite a long time, in his flat.”

“Did you!”She had not known that part of it because I had not told her; I had told her the bare minimum about him since it was obvious that they were going to meet.“How long were you in England, Joe?”

“About three weeks.”

She did not ask him why he went because she knew that already, and it was hardly a matter to be entered on behind the taxi driver. He forestalled her, however, by asking,“What have you been doing in Australia, Miss Paget?”

She temporized.“Didn't you know I was here?”

He shook his head.“All I knew was what Mr Strachan said, that you were travelling in the East. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I got your letter at Brisbane. Oh my word, you could. Tell me, what are you doing in Cairns?”

A little smile played around her mouth.“What were you doing in England?”

He was silent, not knowing what to say to that. He had no lie ready. They were running through the outskirts of the town, past the churches.“We've got a good bit of explaining to do, Joe,”she said.“Let's leave it till you've got your room at the hotel, and then we'll find somewhere to talk.”

They sat in silence till they got to the hotel. Jean had a bedroom opening on to a veranda that looked out over the sea to the wild, jungle-covered hills behind Cape Grafton; they arranged to meet there when he had had a wash. She knew something of Australian habits by that time.“What about a beer or two?”she asked.

He grinned.“Good-oh.”

She asked Doris the waitress to get four beers, three for Joe and one for her; large quantities of cold liquid were necessary in that torrid place. It was symbolic of Australia, she felt, that they should hold their first sentimental conversation with the assistance of four bottles of beer.

She dragged two deckchairs into a patch of shade outside her room; the beer and Joe arrived about the same time. When the waitress had gone and they were alone, she said quietly,“Let me have a good look at you, Joe.”

He stood before her, examining her beauty; he had not dreamed when he had met her in Malaya that she was a girl like this.“You've not changed,”she said.“Does the back trouble you?”

“Not much,”he said.“It doesn't hinder me riding, thank the Lord, but I can't lift heavy weights. They told me in the hospital I won't ever be able to lift heavy weights again, and I'd better not try.”

She nodded, and took one of his hands in hers. He stood beside her while she turned it over in her own, and looked at the great scars upon the palm and on the back.“What about these, Joe?”

“They're all right,”he said.“I can grip anything—start up a truck, or anything.”

She turned to the table.“Have a beer.”She handed him a glass.“You must be thirsty. Three of these are for you.”

“Good-oh.”He took a glass and sank half of it. They sat down together in the deckchairs.“Tell me what happened to you,”he asked.“I know you said not to talk about Malaya. It was a fair cow, that place. I don't want to remember about it any more. But I do want to know what happened to you—after Kuantan.”

She sipped her beer.“We went on,”she said.“Captain Sugamo sent us on the same day, after— after that. We went on up the east coast with just the sergeant in charge of us. I was sorry for the sergeant, Joe, because he was very much in disgrace, because of what happened. He never got over it, and then he got fever and gave up. He died at a place called Kuala Telang, about half way between Kuantan and Kota Bahru. That was about a month later.”

“He was the only Nip guarding you?”he asked.

She nodded.

“Well, what did you do then?”

She raised her head.“They let us stay there all the war,”she said.“We just lived in the village, working in the paddy fields till the war was over.”

“You mean, paddling about in the water, planting the rice, like the Malays?”

“That's right,”she said.

“Oh my word,”he breathed.

She said,“It wasn't a bad life. I'd rather have been there than in a camp, I think—once we got settled down. We were all fairly healthy when the war ended, and we were able to make a little school and teach the children something. We taught some of the Malay children, too.”

“I did hear a bit about that,”he said thoughtfully.“I heard from a pilot on the airline, down at Julia Creek.”

She stared at him.“How did he know about us?”

“He was the pilot of the aeroplane that flew you out, in 1945,”he replied.“He said that you got taken in trucks to Kota Bahru. He flew you from Kota Bahru to Singapore. He's working for TAA now, on the route from Townsville to Mount Isa. That goes through Julia Creek. I met him there this last May, when I was down there putting stock onto the train.”

“I remember,”she said slowly.“It was an Australian Dakota that flew us out. Was he a thin, fair-haired boy?”

“That'ld be the one.”

She thought for a minute.“What did he tell you, Joe?”

“Just what I said. He said he'd flown you down to Singapore.”

“What did he tell you about me?”She looked at him, and there was laughter in her eyes.

He grinned sheepishly, and said nothing.

“Come on, Joe,”she said.“Have another beer, and let's get this straight.”

“All right,”he said. He took a glass and held it in his hand, but did not drink.“He said you were a single woman, Mrs Boong. I always thought the lot of you was married.”

“They all were, except me. Is that why you went rushing off to England?”

He met her eyes.“That's right.”

“Oh, Joe! What a waste of money, when here we are in Cairns!”

He laughed with her, and took a long drink of beer.“Well, how was I to know that you'd be turning up in Cairns?”He thought for a minute.“What are you doing here, anyway?”he asked.“You haven't told me that.”

She was embarrassed in her turn.“I came into some money,”she said.“I think Noel Strachan told you about that.”

“That's right,”he said kindly.

“I didn't know what to do with myself then,”she said.“I didn't want to go on working as a typist in a London suburb any more. And then I got the idea into my head that I wanted to do something for the village where we lived for those three years, Kuala Telang. I wanted to give them a well.”

“A well?”he asked.

Sitting there with a glass of beer in her hand she told him about Kuala Telang, and about her friends there, and the washhouse, and the well. Then she came to the difficult bit.“The well-diggers came from Kuantan,”she said.“I thought that you were dead, Joe. We all did.”

He grinned.“I bloody nearly was.”

“The well-diggers told me that you weren't,”she said.“They told me that you'd been put into the hospital, and you'd recovered.”

“That's right,”he said.“I tried to find out what had happened to you, but they didn't know, or if they knew they wouldn't say. I reckon they were all scared stiff of that Sugamo.”

She nodded.“I went to Kuantan. It's very peaceful there now. People playing tennis on the tennis courts, and sitting gossiping under that ghastly tree. They told me at the hospital that you'd asked about us.”She smiled.“Mrs Boong.”

He grinned.“But did you come on to Australia from there?”

She nodded.“Yes.”

“What for?”

“Well,”she said awkwardly,“I wanted to see if you were all right. I thought perhaps you might be still in hospital or something.”

“Is that dinky-die?”he asked.“You came on to Australia because of me?”

“In a way,”she said.“Don't let it put ideas into your head.”He grinned.“I'd have done the same if you'd have been an Abo.”

“Well, you're a fine one to talk about me wasting money,”he said.“We'd have met all right if you'd have stayed in England.”

She said indignantly,“Well, how was I to know that you'd be turning up in England, and as fit as a flea?”

They sat drinking their beer for some time.“How did you get here?”he asked.“Where did you come to first?”

She said,“I knew you used to work at Wollara and I thought they'd know about you there. So I flew from Singapore to Darwin, and went down to Alice on the bus.”

“Oh my word. You went to Alice Springs? Did you go out to Wollara and see Tommy Duveen?”

She shook her head.“I stayed about a week in Alice, and I got your address at Midhurst from Mr Duveen over the radio, from the hospital. So then I flew up to Willstown—I sent you a wire at Midhurst to say I was coming. But they told me there, of course, that you were in England.”

He stared at her.“Is that dinky-die? You've been to Willstown?”

She nodded.“I was there three weeks.”

“Three weeks!”He stared at her.“Where did you stay?”

“With Mrs Connor, in the hotel.”

“But why three weeks? Three hours would have been enough for most people.”

“I had to stay somewhere,”she said.“If you go running off to England, people who want to see you have to hang around. You'll probably find the Australian Hotel's full of them when you get back.”

He grinned,“My word, I will. What did you do all the time?”

“Sat around and talked to Al Burns and Pete Fletcher and Sam Small, and all the rest.”

“You must have created a riot.”He paused, thinking deeply about this new aspect of the matter.“Did you go out to Midhurst?”

She shook her head.“I stayed in Willstown all the time. I met Jim Lennon, though.”

The bell rang downstairs for tea.“We'd better go down, Joe,”she said.“They don't like it if you're late.”

“I know.”He picked up his glass to drain it, but sat with it in his hand, untouched. At last he said,“What did you think of Willstown, Miss Paget?”

She smiled.“Look, Joe, forget about Miss Paget. You can call me Mrs Boong or you can call me Jean, but if you go on with Miss Paget I'll go home tomorrow.”

He smiled slightly.“All right, Mrs Boong. What did you think of Willstown?”

“We'll be late for tea, Joe, if we start on that.”

“Tell me,”he said.

She smiled at him with her eyes.“I thought it was an awful place, Joe,”she said quietly.“I can't see how anyone can bear to live there.”She laid her hand upon his arm.“I want to talk to you about it, but we must go and have tea now.”

He got up from his chair, and set the glass down.“Too right,”he said heavily.“It's a crook kind of a place for a woman.”

They went down to tea and sat at a table together, Joe deep in gloom. When they had ordered, Jean said,“Joe, how long have you got? When have you got to be back at Midhurst?”

He raised his head and grinned.“When I'm ready to go back,”he said.“I been away so long a few days more won't make any difference.”He paused.“What about you?”

“I only came here to see if you were all right, Joe,”she said.“I suppose I'll go down to Brisbane and start looking for a boat home next week.”

Their food came, roast beef for Joe, cold ham and salad for Jean.“What have you been doing since you came to Cairns?”he asked presently.“Been out to the Reef?”

She shook her head.“I went down to Rockhampton once, and I went on one of the White Tours up to the Tableland, and stayed a night in Atherton. I've not been anywhere else.”

“Oh my word,”he said.“You can't go home without seeing the Great Barrier Reef.”He paused, and then he said,“Would you like to go to Green Island for the weekend?”

She cocked an eye at him.“What's Green Island like?”

“It's just a coral island on the reef,”he explained.“A little round one, about half a mile across. There's a restaurant on it and little sort of bedroom huts where you can stay, in among the trees. It's a bonza little place if you like bathing. Wear your bathers all the day.”

Jean thought the little bedroom huts among the trees wanted checking up on, but the suggestion certainly had its points. They knew so little about each other; they had so much to learn, so much to talk about. Whatever else might happen if she spent a weekend in her bathing dress with Joe Harman on a coral island, they would certainly come from it knowing more about each other than they would learn under the restraints of Cairns.

“I'd like to do that, Joe,”she said.“How would we get there?”

He beamed with pleasure, and she was glad for him.“I'll slip out after tea and find Ernie,”he said.“He's probably in the bar at Hides. He's got a boat, and he'll run us out there tomorrow; it'll take about three hours. We'd better start about eight o'clock, before the sun gets hot. Then I'd ask him to come out and fetch us on Monday, say.”

“All right,”she agreed.“But look, Joe—this is to be Dutch treat.”He did not understand that term.“I mean, you pay the boat one way and I'll pay it the other, and we both pay our own bills.”He objected strenuously.“If we don't do that, Joe, I won't come,”she said.“I'll think you're plotting to do me a bit of no good.”

He grinned.“Too right.”And then he said,“All right, Mrs Boong, we'll each pay our own whack.”

He went out after tea and came back to her on the veranda half an hour later; he had found Ernie and arranged the boat, and he had bought a large basket of fruit to take with them. In the quick dusk and the darkness they sat together for some hours, talking of everything but Willstown. She learned a lot about his early life on the various stations, and about his relations in and around Cloncurry, about his war service, and about Midhurst.“It's got a bonza rainfall, Midhurst has,”he said.“We got thirty-four inches in the last wet; down at Alice it's a good year if you get ten inches. I've been asking Mrs Spears if we couldn't build a couple of dams at the head of the creeks to hold back some of the water—one across the head of Kangaroo Creek and one on the Dry Gum.”

“Did she agree?”

“She'll pay for them,”he said.“Trouble is, of course, to get the labour. You can't get chaps to come and work in the outback. It's a fair cow.”

“Why is that?”she asked. She had a very good idea, herself, but she wanted to hear his views.

“I don't know,”he said.“They all want to go and work in the towns.”

She did not pursue the subject; there was time enough for that. They talked of pleasant, unimportant things; she found that he was very anxious to get back to Midhurst to see his horses and his dogs.“I got a bitch called Lily,”he said.“Her mother was a blue cattle dog and she got mated by a dingo, so Lily's half a dingo. She's a bonza dog. Well, I mated her with another blue cattle dog before I come away and she'll have had the litter now, so they'll be quarter dingo. A cross between a dingo and cattle dog makes a grand dog, but you've got to get the dingo strain weak or they aren't reliable. I had a quarter dingo dog before the war at Wollara, and he was grand.”

He told her that he had about sixty saddle and pack horses on the station, but they did not seem to be as close to his heart as his dogs.“A dog comes into the homestead and sits around with you in the evenings,”he said, and she could picture the long, lonely nights that were his normal life.“You couldn't get along in the outback without dogs.”

At ten o'clock they went to bed, prepared for an early start in the morning. They stood together in the darkness by the entrance to her room for a moment.“Have I changed much, Joe?”she asked.

He grinned.“I wouldn't have known you again.”

“I didn't think you would. Six years is a long time.”

“You haven't changed at all, really,”he said.“You're the same person underneath.”

“I think I am,”she said slowly.“After the war I felt like an old woman, Joe. After Kuantan, I didn't think I'd ever enjoy anything again.”She smiled.“Like a weekend at Green Island.”

“There's nothing to do there, you know,”he said.“You bathe and go out in a glass-bottomed boat to see the coral and the fishes.”

“I know. It's going to be such fun.”

They left next morning in Ernie's fishing boat, a motor launch with a canopy. For two hours they chugged out over a smooth sea, trolling a line behind and catching two large, brilliantly coloured horse-mackerel. Green Island appeared after an hour as the tops of coconut palms visible above the horizon; as they drew near the little circular island appeared, fringed round completely with a white coral beach. There was a long landing-stage built out over the shallow water of the reef; they landed and walked down this together, pausing to look at the scarlet and blue fishes playing round the coral heads below.

There were no other visitors staying on the island and they got two of the little bedroom huts in among the trees; these huts had open sides to let the breeze blow through, with an occasional curtain for privacy. They bathed at once and met upon the beach; Jean had a new white two-piece costume and was flattered at the reception that it got.“It's pretty as a picture,”he said.“Oh my word.”

She laughed.“There's not enough of it to fill a picture frame, Joe.”

“Too right,”he said.“But there aren't any wowsers here.”

“I'll have to look out I don't get burnt,”she said.“I bet I'm the whitest woman that ever bathed here.”

“You are in parts,”he observed. He stood looking at her, reluctant to take his eyes off her beauty.“You've been out in the sun up top, though.”

Her shoulders and her arms were tanned; there was a hard line above her breasts, brown above and white below.“That's where I was wearing a sarong in Malaya,”she said.“While they were building the well. In the village we used to wear the sarong up high, under the arms. It's beautifully cool like that, and yet it protects most of you from sunburn. And it's reasonably decent, too.”

“Have you got it here?”he asked.

She nodded.“I'm going to put it on presently.”

As they turned to go into the water she saw his back for the first time, lined and puckered and distorted with enormous scars. Deep pity for him welled up in her at the sight; this man had been hurt enough for her already. She must not hurt him any more. He glanced back at her and said,“We'd better not go in more than about knee-deep. There's plenty of sharks round here.”And then he looked at her more closely, and said,“What's the matter?”

She laughed quickly.“It's the sun,”she said.“It's making my eyes water. I ought to have brought my dark glasses.”

“I'll go and get them. Where are they?”

“I don't want them, really.”She threw herself forward in a shallow dive over the sand in about two feet of water and rolled over on her back, flirting the water from her face.“It's marvellous,”she said. He flung himself forward, wallowed for a little, and sat beside her on the coral sand in the warm sea.“Tell me, Joe,”she said.“Do sharks really come in close like this?”

“They'll take you in water that's only waist-deep,”he said.“Oh my word, they will. I don't know if there are any here just now. Trouble is, you never can tell. Didn't you have sharks in Malaya?”

“I think there were,”she said.“The villagers never went out more than about knee-deep, so we didn't. There were crocodiles in the river, too.”She laughed.“Taking it all in all, there's nothing to beat a good swimming-pool in a hot country.”

They rolled over in the blue, translucent water; the sun came shimmering through the ripples and made silvery lights upon the coral sand around them.“I've never bathed in a swimming-pool,”he said.“They make them with a shallow end, do they? Where you can sit, like this?”

“Of course. They have a shallow and a deep end, with diving-boards at the deep end. Don't they have swimming-pools here, in Australia?”

“Oh my word. They have them down in places like Sydney and Melbourne. I've heard of station owners having them upon their land, too. But places like Cairns and Townsville and Mackay, they're on the sea, so they don't need a pool.”

“Mrs Maclean's got a pool at Alice Springs,”she said.

“I know. They only made it a year or two ago. I've never seen it.”

She rolled over on her back, and watched a seagull soaring in the thermals from the island.“You could have a pool at Willstown,”she said.“You've got all the water in the world, from the bore, running to waste right in the middle of the town. You could make a lovely swimming-pool right opposite the hotel.”

“That water isn't running to waste,”he observed.“Oh my word. The cattle drink that, in the dry.”

“It wouldn't hurt the cattle if we borrowed it first and used it for a swimming-pool,”she said.“It'ld taste all the sweeter.”

“Might taste sweeter if you swam in it,”he concurred.“I don't know about me.”

He would not let her stay in the water more than a quarter of an hour.“You'll burn,”he said.“Midday, like this, you can burn just as easy in the sea as on the land. You want to be careful, with a skin as white as yours.”They went up from the beach into the shade of the trees and sat smoking for a time; then they went back to their huts to put on a little more covering for lunch. Australian hotels, she had discovered, are very particular about dress at mealtimes; in Cairns even on the hottest day of summer a man without a jacket and tie would not be served in the dining-room, nor would a woman in slacks.

Harman had arranged a light lunch for her, cold meat and fruit; she was touched by the care that he was taking to make her weekend a success. While struggling to eat a mango decently she asked,“Joe, why don't places like Willstown have more fresh fruit? Won't it grow?”

“Mangoes grow all right,”he said.“We've got three or four mango trees at Midhurst. Aren't there any in the town? I'd have thought there must be.”

“I don't believe there are. I never saw any fruit in the hotel, or anywhere on sale.”

“Oh well, maybe you wouldn't. People don't seem to bother much about it. Some places have every shade tree a mango tree. Cooktown, in the early summer you drive over them, all along the road.”

“Don't the people like fresh fruit and vegetables? I mean, they get all sorts of skin diseases through not having them.”

“It's too hot for the old folks to work in gardens, like in other places,”he said.“There aren't enough people in the country to grow things like that. We can't even get men to work as ringers on the stations—we have to use two-thirds boongs as stockmen, or more. There just aren't enough people. They won't come to the outback.”

She said thoughtfully,“There were plenty of fresh vegetables at Alice Springs.”

“Ah, yes,”he replied.“Alice is different. Alice is a bonza little town.”

They slept on their beds in the heat of the day after lunch and bathed again before tea; in the cool of the evening they went out to the end of the jetty and fished. They caught some sand snappers and three or four brilliant red and blue fish which were poisonous to eat and had to be handled with a glove because they stung; then tiring of this rather unprofitable sport they rolled up their lines and sat and watched the sunset over the heights of the Atherton Tableland on the horizon.“It's a funny thing,”Jean said.“You go to a new country, and you expect everything to be different, and then you find there's such a lot that stays the same. That sunset looks just like it does in England, on a fine summer evening.”

“Do you see much that's like England here?”he asked.

She smiled.“Not on Green Island, and not much in Willstown. But in Cairns—a lot. Vauxhall and Austin motor cars parked in the streets, and politicians telling people to buy British, and the North British Insurance Company, and Tattersalls, and bank clerks in the hotel listening to ‘Itma’. Even the newsboys selling papers in the street—‘Read all about it’. Listening to them with your eyes shut, they sound just the same. They used to shout exactly like that when I lived in Ealing.”

“Ealing's the place near London where you lived when you were working, isn't it?”

“That's right. It's a part of London, really—a suburb.”

“Are you going to live there again when you go home?”

“I don't know,”she said slowly.“I don't know what I'm going to do, Joe.”

In the evening light, sitting together on the jetty and watching the sunset over the calm water, she had expected him to follow up this opening, and she was disappointed that he did not do so. She had expected more than this of him, and that she didn't get it was beginning to distress her. She had expected to spend the whole weekend on the defensive, in repelling boarders, so to speak, but so far things had worked out very differently. Joe Harman's behaviour toward her had been above reproach; he had not tried to kiss her or even to make opportunities of touching her. But for the fact that he had been to England for no other purpose than to look for her, she might have thought he wasn't interested in her at all. By the end of the day she was becoming seriously worried about his restraint. She had caused him enough pain already.

It was no better when they went to bed. She would have liked to have been kissed, in the quiet darkness under the palm trees, but Joe didn't do it. They said goodnight in the most orderly way, not even shaking hands, and they retired to their own huts with perfect decorum. Jean lay awake for some time, restless and troubled. She had taken it for granted that they would arrive at some emotional conclusion at Green Island, but if things went on as they were going they would leave on Monday with nothing settled at all. If that happened, she would have to go down to Brisbane and go home; there would be no excuse for doing anything else. The thought was almost unbearable.

She knew that her English ways were strange to him; he could not know how very willing she was to adapt herself to his Queensland life. Perhaps, too, her money stood between them. She did not think that so sincere and genuine a man would have any scruples about marrying a girl with money, but it might well make him shy of her. She had a feeling that there was a difference between herself, a strange, wealthy, English girl, and an Australian girl from Cairns. If Joe Harman had been so much interested in a girl from Cairns, Jean thought, she would have been in bed with him by then; whereas she herself had not even been kissed.

She lay awake for a long time.

Things were no better the next day. They bathed in the cool of the morning in that marvellous translucent sea; they walked out upon the reef at low tide to see the coloured coral; they paddled about in a glass-bottomed boat to see the coloured fishes, and a good six inches separated them all the time. By teatime they were finding that they had exhausted their light conversation; the restraint was heavy upon both of them, and there were long awkward pauses when neither of them seemed to know what to say.

In the evening light they decided to walk round the island on the beach. She left him at the door of her hut, and said,“Give me a couple of minutes, Joe. I don't want to go around the beach in this frock.”She pulled one of the curtains for privacy; as she changed she thought that they had only one more day, and so much to settle that they had not started on. She would get nowhere without taking a bit of a risk, and it was worth it for Joe.

In the half light he turned as she came out of the hut, and he was back in the Malay scene of six years ago. She was wearing the same old faded cotton sarong or one very like it, held up in a roll under her arms; her brown shoulders and her brown arms were bare. She was barefooted, and her hair hung down in a long plait, tied at the end with a bit of string, as it had been in Malaya. She was no longer the strange English girl with money; she was Mrs Boong again, the Mrs Boong he had remembered all those years. She came to him rather shyly and put both hands on his shoulders, and said,“Is this better, Joe?”

She could never remember very clearly what happened in the next five minutes. She was standing locked in his arms as he kissed her face and her neck and her shoulders hungrily while his hands fondled her body; in the tumult of feelings that swept over her she knew that this man wanted her as nobody had ever wanted her before. She stood unresisting in his arms; it never entered her head to struggle or to try to get away. But presently, when she had breath to speak, she said,“Oh, Joe! They'll see us from the house!”

The next thing that she realized was that they were in her bedroom hut. She never knew how they got there, but thinking of it afterwards she came to the conclusion that he must have picked her up and carried her. And now a new confusion came to her. A sarong held up by a tight roll above the breasts will stay in place all day if given proper usage but it does not stand up very well to energetic man-handling; she could feel that it was getting loose and falling, and she had no other garment on at all.

Standing in his arms still unresisting, smothered by his kisses, she thought, this is It. And then she thought, It had to happen sometime, and I'm glad it's Joe. And then she thought, It's not his fault, I brought this on myself. And then she thought, I must sit down or something, or I'll be stark-naked, and at that she escaped backwards from his arms and sat down on the bed.

He followed her down, laughing, and her eyes laughed back at him as she tried to hold her sarong up with her hand to hide her bosom. Then she was in his arms again and he was hindering her. And then he said quite simply,“Do you mind?”

She reached her right arm round his shoulders, and said quietly,“Dear Joe. Not if you've got to. If you can wait till we're married, I'd much rather, but whatever you do now, I'll love you just the same.”

He looked down into her eyes.“Say that again.”

She drew his head down to her and kissed him.“Dear Joe. Of course I'm in love with you. What do you think I came to Australia for?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Of course I'll marry you.”She looked up at him with fondness and with laughter in her eyes.“Anyone looking at us now would say we were married already.”

He grinned; he was holding her more gently now.“I don't know what you must think of me.”

“Shall I tell you?”She took one of his wounded hands in hers and fondled the great scars.“I think you're the man I want to marry and have children by.”It did not seem to matter now that the sarong had fallen to her waist.“I'd rather wait a few months and get our lives arranged a little first, Joe. Marriage is a big thing, and there are things that ought to be done, first, before we marry. But if you say we can't wait, then I'll marry you tomorrow, or tonight.”

He drew her to him gently, and kissed her fingertips.“I can wait. I've waited six years for this, and I can wait a bit longer.”

She said softly,“Poor Joe. I'll try and make it easy, and not tantalize you. I oughtn't to have done this.”She freed herself from his arms and pulled up the sarong and rolled it round.“Just get outside a minute, and I'll put on some more clothes.”

He said,“You don't need to do that. I won't do anything, except kiss you now and then. Stay that way for tonight, as if it was Malaya.”

“Just for tonight,”she said. They went out presently and stood upon the beach in the bright moonlight, holding each other close.“I never knew a man could be so happy,”he said once.

Half an hour later she said,“Joe, we're both tired now, and it's time for bed. We've got an awful lot to talk about, but we'll talk better in the morning. There's just one thing I want to say tonight. If you ever feel you can't bear waiting any longer, you'll tell me, won't you? If you come to me like that, I promise we'll get married right away, or sooner than that.”

He said gently,“I can wait a long time for you, after this.”

“Dear Joe. I won't keep you waiting any more than I can help.”

She was so tired that when she got into her hut she did not light the candle, but fell upon her bed and loosened her sarong, Malay fashion, and slept almost at once. She woke with the first light of dawn and lay reflecting upon what had happened, absurdly happy; at last, she felt, things were going to go right, between them. She got up as the sun rose and peered cautiously over to Joe's hut and the restaurant building. There was no sign of any movement anywhere, so she put on her bathing dress and went down to the sea and had a bathe. Lying in the shallow water as the sun rose she discovered a number of bruises on her person, and reflected on the narrowness of her escape from a fate worse than death.

She went back very quietly to her hut and put on a frock. Then she went over to the restaurant. It stood open but there was nobody about; she put the kettle on the oil stove and made a pot of tea. Carrying a cup she went to Joe's hut and peered in cautiously.

He was lying on the bed asleep in a pair of shorts; she stood there for some minutes, watching him as he slept. The troubled lines had vanished from his face and he was sleeping easily and quietly, like a little boy; the scars upon his back stood out with an appalling and contrasting ferocity. She stood watching him for a time with fondness in her eyes, knowing that she would see him so most of the mornings of her life to come, and the thought pleased her.

She moved a little and put down the cup, and when she looked at him again he had opened his eyes, and he was looking at her.“Morning, Joe,”she said, wondering if she ought to be running like a rabbit.“I've made you a cup of tea.”

He leaned up on one arm.“Tell me,”he said.“Did what I think happened last night really happen?”

“I think so, Joe,”she said.“I think it must have done. I've got bruises all over me.”

He stretched out one hand.“Come here, and let me give you a kiss.”

She retreated.“Not on your life. I'll give you a kiss when you've got up and had a bathe and got some clothes on.”

He laughed.“Aren't you going to bathe?”

“I've bathed,”she said.“I've been up and pottering about for an hour, while you've been sleeping. I'll come down and watch you.”

He asked,“Did you sleep all right?”

She nodded.“Like a log.”

“So did I.”They smiled with mutual understanding.“Give me a minute, and I'll come down to the beach.”

She sat on the sand and chatted to him while he bathed. Then he came out and went to shave, and presently appeared in a clean shirt and a clean pair of khaki drill slacks, and she came into his arms and gave him his kiss. Then, as there was no sign yet of breakfast, they sat very close together on the beach in the cool morning breeze, talking and talking and talking. They had no difficulty in finding things to talk of now, and even their silences were intimate.

After breakfast, as they sat smoking cigarettes over a last cup of coffee, he said,“I've been thinking. I'm going to give up Midhurst, soon as Mrs Spears can find another manager.”She listened in consternation; what was coming now?“If we could get a grazing farm for fattening, in back of Adelaide, at Mallala or Hamley Bridge or Balaklava or some place like that, that's on the railway down from Alice Springs and not too far from the abattoir, that's what I'd like to do. I think we might be able to find a place like that only about fifty miles from the city, so as we could get in any time.”

She sat in silence for a minute; this needed careful handling.“Why do you want to do that, Joe? What's wrong with Midhurst?”

“It's too far from anywhere,”he said.“All right for a single man, perhaps, but not for a married couple. Now Adelaide's a bonza city. I'm a Queenslander, but I like Adelaide better than Brisbane. I haven't seen Sydney or Melbourne, but Adelaide's a bonza city, oh my word. It's got streets and streets of shops, and trams, and cinemas, and dance halls, and it's a pretty place, too, with hills behind and vineyards growing grapes to make the wine. We could have a bonza time if we got a farm near Adelaide.”

“But Joe,”she said,“is that the sort of work you want to do? Just buying store cattle from the outback and fattening them? It sounds awfully dull to me. Are you fed up with the outback?”

He ground his cigarette out on the floor beneath his heel.“There's places that suit single men and places that suit married people,”he said.“You've got to make a change or two when you get married.”

They had the breakfast table between them, separating them much too far for their newfound intimacy; she could not deal with so serious a matter as this without touching him.“Let's go outside,”she said. So they went out and found a patch of sandy grass at the head of the beach in the shade, and sat down there together.“I don't think that's right, Joe,”she said slowly.“I don't think you ought to leave the outback just because we're getting married.”

He smiled at her.“The Gulf country's no place for a woman,”he said.“Not unless she's been brought up and raised in the outback, and sometimes not then. I've seen some married people out from England try it, and I've never known it work. The life's too different, too hard.”

She said slowly,“I know it's very different, and very hard. I've lived in Willstown for three weeks, Joe, and so I know a bit about it.”She took his hand and fondled the great scars between her own two hands.“I know what you're afraid of. You're afraid that a girl straight out from England, a girl like me, will be unhappy in the outback, Joe. You're afraid that I'll get restless and start making excuses to go and stay in the city, for the dentist, or for shopping, and things like that. You're afraid that if we start at Midhurst you'll be trying me too hard, and that our marriage will go wrong.”

She raised her eyes and looked at him.“That's what you're afraid of, isn't it, Joe?”

He met her eyes.“Too right,”he said.“A man hasn't got a right to try and make an English girl live in a crook place like Willstown.”

She smiled.“It isn't only English girls, Joe. Australian girls, girls born in Willstown, they run a thousand miles to get away from it.”

He grinned.“That's right. If they can't stand it, how could you?”

“I don't know that I could,”she said thoughtfully. One had to be honest.“Are all the towns in the Gulf country the same?”

He nodded.“Normanton's a bit bigger; it's got three pubs instead of one, and it's got a church.”

There was a long silence.“I'm afraid of things, too,”she said at last.

He took her hand; he could not bear that she should be afraid of anything in the new life before them. She had been brave enough last night.“What's that?”he asked gently.

She said,“I'm afraid of changing your job.”She paused.“I can't believe that that would ever work out properly, that a man should change his work because his wife couldn't stand conditions that he could. You've been used to a property about two thousand square miles big, Joe, going off for three weeks at a time with packhorses and never going off your own land. What would a man like you do on a thousand acres?”

He grinned weakly; she had put her finger on the spot.“Get accustomed to it pretty soon, I should think.”

“I know you'd do it,”she said quietly.“You might even learn to do it reasonably well. But it could never satisfy you after the Gulf country, and cinemas won't fill the gap, or streets of shops, or dance halls. And sometimes when we squabble—we shall squabble, Joe—you'll think about your old life in the Gulf country, and how you had to give it up, because of me. And I shall know you're thinking that and blaming it on me, and that will be between us all the time. That's what I'm afraid of, Joe. I think we ought to stay up in the Gulf country, where your work is.”

“You just said you couldn't stand Willstown,”he objected.“Burketown and Croydon—well, they're just the same.”

“I know,”she said thoughtfully.“I'm not being very reasonable, am I? First I say I couldn't stand living in a place like that, and then I say that you oughtn't to think of living anywhere else.”

“That's right.”He was puzzled and distressed.“We've got to try and work it out some way to find what suits us both.”

“There's only one way to do that, Joe.”

“What's that?”

She smiled at him.“We'll have to do something about Willstown.”

Chapter 8

They spent that day in a curious mixture of love-making and economic discussion.“You can't tell me that a country with three times the rainfall of the Territory can't support a town as good as Alice,”she said once.“I know Alice has a railway. Willstown's got rain, and I know which I'd rather have for raising cattle. If you go on doing that, Joe, I'll go off and sit by myself. We aren't married yet.”She removed his hand and kissed it.

“Rain's not the only thing you want for raising cattle,”he said.“The better the feed, of course, the more calves live through the dry and the more you've got to sell. But there's a lot more to it than that, oh my word.”

“Tell me, Joe.”She had his hand in a firm grip.

“One thing,”he said,“you've got to keep that water when you've got it. It's true that Midhurst gets a lot of rainfall, but it's all gone in a flash. We get rain from the middle of December till the end of February, and you'll see the creeks all running full in flood. But three weeks later, by the end of March, they'll be all dry again, and the country as dry as ever.”

“Is that what you want to build the dams for, at Kangaroo Creek and Dry Gum Creek?”

“That's right,”he said.“I want to make a start with building little kind of barrages to hold back the water. Do a bit each year, starting at the head of each creek and working down. Get a little pool held back every two or three miles all down the creeks till they run out into the Gilbert. They wouldn't hold the water right through the dry, of course; the sun's too strong. But you could add a lot of feed to Midhurst if you had a lot of little dams like that. Oh my word, you could.”

She released his hand.“How big is Midhurst, Joe?”

“Eleven hundred square miles.”

“How many cattle does it carry?”

“About nine thousand. Ought to carry more than that, but it's dry up at the top end. Very dry.”

“Suppose you could get all the little dams that you're imagining. How many would it carry then?”

He thought for a minute.“I don't see why it shouldn't carry double what's on it now. That'ld be about sixteen to the mile. With a rainfall like we've got you should be able to do that.”

“You sold fourteen hundred head this year, didn't you?”

“That's right.”

“How much a head?”

“Four pound sixteen.”

She grabbed his hand again, and held it imprisoned.“I'm trying to think, Joe. If you doubled the stock on the station you'd have another fourteen hundred to sell each year. That's—that's between six and seven thousand pounds a year more to sell. You'd be selling twelve or thirteen thousand pounds worth every year then, Joe. It'ld be worth spending a bit of capital on dams to get that rise in turnover, wouldn't it?”

He looked at her with a new respect.“Well, that's the way I worked it out. I told Mrs Spears, I said, I want to keep a permanent gang of three men and a few Abos on this. Do a bit each year, working down from the top. Spend about fifteen hundred a year, you might say. There'd be less profit the first year, but after that it should rise steadily to nearly double. That's what I told her.”

“She agreed, did she?”

“She's agreed to spend the money. But that's only the start of it, the easy part. It may be years before I get the men.”

She looked at him incredulously.“Years?”

“Too right,”he said heavily.“It's all very well to think of things like that, but it's another thing to do them. Might be five years before I get the work in hand. You see, there's only three of us on Midhurst—whites, that is—me and Jim Lennon, and Dave Hope. We've got to find three more who'll work out all the week up-country, forty miles from the homestead, working with a pick and shovel mostly, and responsible enough to get on by themselves with only just a visit once a week or once a fortnight. Well, you can't get men like that. There are fewer people in the Gulf country every year. If it wasn't for the Abo stockmen, the boongs, I don't know what we'd do.”

“Are there really only three of you—whites—running Midhurst?”

He put his arm around her shoulders.“When you come it'll be four.”

She thought it would be five or six soon after that, but she refrained from saying so.“How many would you like to have?”

“You mean with eighteen thousand head of cattle, some time in the future?”She nodded.“I could use twenty on a station like that,”he said.“That wouldn't be too many, not if you were running tame bulls in a paddock, to improve the stock. There'd be fences and stockyards and all sorts of things to make. I could use twenty white ringers, and some other hands besides.”

She said slowly,“Pete Fletcher said that there were fifty ringers coming into Willstown, using it as their town.”

“That's about right,”he said.

“If all the stations developed like you say,”she observed,“that means seven times as many ringers, because there are only three of you now. Three or four hundred ringers in the district, all with wives and families, and shops for them, and pubs, and garages, and radio, and cinemas. There's room here for a town of two or three thousand people, Joe.”

He smiled.“You'll be making it as big as Brisbane next.”

She said severely,“Joe. There was an old girl in our party in Malaya called Mrs Frith. She thought you must be Jesus Christ, because you'd been crucified. I tried to tell her that you weren't. If she saw what you're doing now she'd probably believe me.”

They talked about Mrs Frith for a time, and then reverted to more mundane matters.“Joe,”she said,“listen to me. Would you think it very stupid if I said I wanted to start a business in Willstown?”

He stared at her.“A business? What sort of business could you do in Willstown?”

“Do you know what I was doing in England?”she inquired.

“Shorthand typing, wasn't it?”he asked.

She took his hand and smoothed it between her own.“There's such a lot that you don't know about me,”she said.“So much to tell you.”She started in to tell him about Pack and Levy, and Mr Pack, and about alligator-skin shoes, and Aggie Topp. Half an hour later she said,“That's what I want to do, Joe. Do you think it's crazy?”

“I don't know.”And then, quite unexpectedly, he said,“I took a walk down Bond Street, looking in the shops.”

She turned to him, surprised.“Did you, Joe?”

He nodded.“I asked Mr Strachan what I ought to see in London and he asked me how much history I knew and I told him that I never got much schooling. So then he said to go and see St Paul's and Westminster Abbey, and then he said to take the bus to Piccadilly Circus and walk up Regent Street and along Oxford Street and down Bond Street and back along Piccadilly; he said I'd see all the best shops that way.”

She nodded. It seemed very far away from Green Island, and the whisper of the coconut palms overhead in the sea breeze.

“I saw a lot of alligator-skin shoes,”he said.“Sort of dressing-cases, too.”He turned to her.“It was interesting seeing those, and wondering if they were skins that old Jeff Pocock trapped. Made me feel quite at home. Beautifully done up, they were. But the prices—oh my word. Most of them hadn't got no labels, but there was one, just a little alligator-skin case with silvery things in it, for a lady. A hundred guineas, that one was.”

She was excited.“Joe, I bet that was made by Pack and Levy. We did all that sort of work.”

“You weren't thinking you could make that sort of stuff in Willstown?”

“Not cases, Joe. Just shoes—shoes to start with, anyway. A little workshop with six or seven girls making alligator-skin shoes. It won't cost very much, Joe—not more than I can afford to lose if it goes wrong. But I don't know—perhaps it won't go wrong. If it worked out all right, and if it paid, it'ld be a good thing for the town.”

“Six or seven girls all earning money at a job in Willstown?”he said thoughtfully.“You wouldn't keep them six weeks. They'd all be married—oh my word, they would.”

She laughed.“Then I'd have to find six or seven more.”She got up.“Let's go and bathe. It'll be too hot if we don't bathe soon.”

They went and changed and lay in the clean, silvery water on the coral sand.“Look at those bruises,”she said.“You great bully. Hit somebody your own size.”And presently she said,“I've got another shock for you. You won't drown if I tell you now? I want to start an ice-cream parlour.”

“Oh my word.”

“I'm going to pay these girls a lot of money, Joe,”she said seriously.“I've got to get some of it back.”

He looked at her, uncertain if she were laughing or not.“An ice-cream parlour in Willstown?”he said.“It'll never pay.”

“You wait till you see what I charge for an ice-cream,”she said.“Not only ice-cream, Joe—fruit and vegetables, quick frozen stuff, and women's magazines, and cosmetics, and all the little bits of things that women want. I've got a very pretty girl who wants to come and run it for me, a girl called Rose Sawyer who lives in Alice Springs.”

He said slowly,“If you've got a girl like that to run it, the women won't be able to get in the shop. It'll be full of ringers.”

“That's all right,”she said,“so long as they buy ice-cream.”She turned to him.“Joe, did you ever spend a Sunday in Alice Springs?”

He shook his head.“I don't think I ever did. Not since before the war, anyway.”

“I know why that is, too,”she said.“The pubs are shut.”

He grinned.“Too right.”

“The pub's shut in Willstown, too, on Sundays.”

“The bar's shut,”he said.“You can usually get it out of Ma Connor, round the back.”

She rolled over in the water.“I'll have to tip off Sergeant Haines, Joe. Sunday's the best day of all for the ice-cream parlour at Alice. All the men who are in the bar all the week come along with their wives and kids on Sunday to the ice-cream parlour and put down ice-cream sodas and Coca-Cola. That place does a roaring trade on Sundays.”

“It would,”he said thoughtfully.“There'd be nothing else to do.”

They got out of the sea presently and went and sat in the shade; he would not let her stay in long for fear of sunburn. When they were smoking together under the trees, he said,“It's going to cost a hell of a lot of money, all this you want to do. Three or four thousand pounds, I'd say, or more than that.”

“I've got enough,”she said.

He turned to her.“Mr Strachan told me you were a wealthy woman,”he said quietly.“It worried me, that did, till I got used to the idea. How much have you got? Don't tell me if you'd rather not say, but if I knew about how much I'd be able to help you more.”

“Of course,”she said. Nothing would come between them now, after last night.“Mr Strachan says I've got about fifty-three thousand pounds. It's all in trust for me until I'm thirty-five, though. If I want to spend capital before then, I've got to ask him.”

“Oh my word.”

“It is a lot of money, isn't it?”she said.“I'm glad that it's in trust for me in a way, because I wouldn't in the least know what to do with it. And Noel has been such a dear.”She paused.“I want to do something useful with it,”she said.“I don't know anything about real business. The only thing I know about at all is what Pack and Levy made. I thought if we could start a little workshop of that sort, and a shop where women could get things they like—well, even if it didn't pay very well, it'll be using money the way money ought to be used, in places like Willstown.”

He bent and kissed her.“There's another thing, Joe,”she said.“I don't know, but I've got a sort of feeling that there's more to it than just employing a few girls. You say the ringers are all leaving the Gulf country, and men won't come to the outback. Well, of course they won't if they can't get a girl. And all the girls go because they can't get a job. For every girl I make a job for, I believe you'll get a man to work at Midhurst. Don't you think that's true?”

“I don't know.”He stared out over the sea to the dim blue line of the Tableland.“It'ld certainly help to have a flock of girls around. It can be lonely in the outback, oh my word.”

A poignant realization of the solitude struck her. The long nights alone in the homestead, when ‘you couldn't get along in the outback without dogs’. The sensitive, intelligent face of the manager of Carlisle, Eddie Page, who had married his illiterate, inarticulate lubra. She turned to him with quick understanding and sympathy.“I feel an awful pig asking you to wait,”she said. He took her hand and squeezed it.“I do want to try and start this business before we get married, Joe,”she said. She smiled at him.“You know, you're a pretty energetic lover. I don't believe you'll waste much time starting a family.”

He grinned,“I won't go quicker than you want to.”

“I want to have them, too.”She pulled his head down to her and kissed him.“But that means I'll only have six months for business after we get married, and then I'll have to begin thinking of other things. Joe, when do you start mustering?”

“After the wet,”he said.“It was March this year because of the late season, but normally we'd start mustering about the middle of February.”

“How long does the muster go on for?”

“About three weeks or a month. After that there's the branding of the calves, and driving the stock down to Julia Creek.”

“Could we get married after the mustering, Joe? Say early in April?”

“Of course.”

She said thoughtfully,“That would mean that I'd have nearly a year from now, to get it to the stage when I could leave the business for a month or two while we start your family. I think that's fair enough. If it couldn't run without me for a month by then the whole thing wouldn't be much good, and we'd better pack it up.”

He said,“I'll be around, of course.”

She laughed.“Handing out ice-creams and selling lipsticks to young girls. I won't ask you to do that, Joe.”

He thought about this programme.“Jim could drive the steers alone down to Julia Creek,”he said,“while we're getting married. I'd send Bourneville and some of the other boongs with him. Then we could drive down in the utility and catch him up about the time he got there, and put them on the train. Have it as a kind of honeymoon.”

She smiled.“I like your idea of a honeymoon.”He grinned.“Is there anything to do in Julia Creek, Joe, except drink beer?”

“Oh my word,”he said.“There's plenty to do in Julia Creek.”

“What is there to do there?”

“Put fifteen hundred cattle into railway trucks.”He grinned at her.“There's not many English girls get a chance of a honeymoon like that,”he said.

They went and changed for lunch, and over lunch he said,“About this tanning and dressing the alligator skins. I'd give that away.”He was very much against attempting to do that in Willstown; it was messy work, unsuitable for girls, and no men were available to do it. He told her that there was a tannery in Cairns who could dress any skins she sent them.“A joker called Gordon runs it,”he said.“He was over in the Gulf country last year. We could go and see him tomorrow afternoon if you like.”

“Would he have any white kid basils, do you think?”

“Might do. If not he'll probably get them.”

With his knowledge of station management he was a great help to her with suggestions for the workshop.“I'd make it good and big, while you're at it,”he said.“It's the transport of the wood to Willstown that's going to cost the money.”He thought for a minute.“There's three of you new girls coming in to live in Willstown, if all goes right,”he said.“You and this Rose Sawyer and this Aggie Topp. Why don't you make your workshop building a bit bigger and have three bed-sitting-rooms at the end, walled off from the rest of it and with a separate entrance? Then you wouldn't have to live in the hotel and you'd be all comfortable by yourselves. Then if the business grows up you can pull down the wall and throw it all into one.”This seemed to her to be a very good idea indeed.

They got a paper and pencil after lunch and jotted down a few essential things to do in Cairns when they got back there, and orders to be placed. Then they retired to their own huts and slept in the heat of the day. She was roused by Joe calling her outside her hut.“Come on and bathe,”he was saying.“It's nearly five o'clock.”

She pulled the sheet over quickly.“I won't be a minute. Have you been looking in?”

“I wouldn't do a thing like that.”

“I wish I could believe you.”She pulled the curtain across and put on her bathing dress, and joined him on the beach. And lying with him in the warm blue and silvery water on the sand, she said,“Joe, do you want us to be engaged, with a ring and everything?”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

She shook her head.“Not unless it would prevent you worrying. I'll marry you early in April, Joe —that's dinkum.”He smiled.“But for the present, I believe we'd get on better if we weren't officially engaged.”She turned to him.“You see, when we get back to Willstown I'll be doing some pretty odd things, things that Willstown people will think crazy. Some of them may be, because there'll probably be some mistakes. I don't want you to have to be mixed up in it, just because we're engaged. You've got a position to keep up.”

“Wouldn't it help if people thought I was with you in whatever you're doing?”

She smiled, and rolled over and kissed him.“You're all salt. It wouldn't help if you get in a fight every Saturday night in the bar because somebody says something rude about your fiancée.”He grinned.“They will, you know. They're bound to think I'm crackers.”

They got out of the water presently and sat in the shade of the trees, talking and talking about the future.“Joe,”she said once,“what do I do if a boong comes into the ice-cream parlour and wants a soda? A boong stockrider? Do I serve him in the same place, or has he got to have a different shop?”

He scratched his head.“I dunno that it's ever happened in Willstown. They go into Bill Duncan's store. I don't think you could serve them in an ice-cream parlour, with a white girl behind the counter.”

She said firmly,“Then I'll have to have another parlour for them with a black girl in it. There's such a lot of them, Joe—we can't cut them out. We'll have two parlours, with the freezes and the kitchen between.”She drew a little diagram on the white sand with her forefinger.“Like this.”

“Oh my word,”he said.“You're going to start some talk in Willstown.”

She nodded.“I know. That's why I don't want us to be engaged till just before we're married.”

In the evening as they kissed goodnight between their bedroom huts, she said,“We won't be able to do this in Willstown. I'll remember this Green Island all my life, Joe.”

He grinned.“Come back here in April, if you like. Before Julia Creek.”

They left next morning, when Eddie came for them with his motorboat, and landed at Cairns early in the afternoon. They took their bags to the hotel, and then went straight to see Mr Gordon at the tannery, and spent an hour with him discussing alligator skins and other shoe materials. He advised them to dismiss the idea of kid for linings.“Anything that can be done with kid we'll do for you with wallaby,”he said.“You've got any amount of wallaby out there, and it's as good as kid— texture, appearance, bleaching, glazing—anything you like.”Harman arranged to send him half a dozen skins for sample treatment by the next lorry.“Be a good thing to keep down some of these wallabies,”he said.“They eat an awful lot of feed out on the station. Too many of them altogether.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon shopping and ordering, and got back to the hotel at dusk, tired out, having booked their passages to Willstown upon the morning plane. Jean said,“There's one thing I must do tonight, Joe, before leaving Cairns. I must write to Noel Strachan and tell him what's happened.”

In the warm scented night of early summer by the Queensland sea, she sat down on the veranda after tea and wrote me a long letter. Joe Harman sat beside her as she wrote, smoking quietly, at peace.

She was very good about writing, and she still is; she still writes every week. I got that letter early in November; I remember it so well. It was a foggy, dark morning with a light rain or drizzle falling. I had to have the electric light on for breakfast, and the Palace stables on the other side of the road were hardly visible. In the street below the taxis went past with a wet swish of mud and water on the wet wood blocks.

It was a long letter from a very happy girl, telling me about her love. I was delighted at the news, of course. I sat reading it with my breakfast before me, and then I read it through again, and then I read it a third time. When I woke up to realities my coffee was cold and the fried egg had frozen to the dish in front of me in cold, congealed fat, but I was too absorbed in her news to want it. I went into my bedroom to put my shoes and coat on for the office, and as I opened the wardrobe to get my coat I saw her boots and skates, that I had been keeping for her till she came back for them. Old men get rather silly, sometimes, and I must say that that rather dashed me for a moment, because she wouldn't be coming back for them. She wouldn't be coming back to England ever again.

I went to the front door, and my charwoman was in the flat, just coming out of the dining-room.“Such good news, Mrs Chambers,”I said.“Do you remember Miss Paget, who used to come here sometimes? She's got engaged to be married, to an Australian, out in Queensland.”

“Oh, I am glad,”she said.“Such a nice lady, she was.”

“Yes, wasn't she?”I repeated.“Such a nice lady.”

She said,“You didn't eat your breakfast, sir. Was everything all right?”

“Yes, quite all right, thanks, Mrs Chambers,”I said.“I didn't want anything this morning.”

It was cold and raw out in the street, one of those yellow foggy mornings with a reeking chill that makes you cough. I walked on towards the office in a dream, thinking about wallabies and laughing black stockmen, about blue water running over the white coral sands, about Jean Paget and the trouble she had had with her sarong in that hot country where all clothes are a burden. Then there was a fierce, rending squeal right on top of me, and a heavy blow on my right arm so that I staggered and nearly fell, and I was in the middle of Pall Mall with a taxi broadside on across the road beside me. I didn't know where I was for a moment, and then I heard the white-faced driver saying,“For Christ's sake. You can think yourself bloody lucky that you're still alive.”

“I'm sorry,”I said.“I wasn't looking where I was going.”

“Stepping out into the road like that,”he said angrily.“Ought to have more sense, at your age. Did I hit you?”

A little crowd was starting to collect.“Only my arm,”I said. I moved it, and it worked all right.“It's nothing.”

“Well, that's a bloody miracle,”he said.“Look out where you're going to next time.”He put his gear in, straightened up his taxi, and drove on; I walked on to the office.

The girl brought in the letters for me to go through, as usual, but I put them on one side in favour of another letter that I had in my breast pocket. I had a client or two that morning, I suppose; I usually have, and I suppose I gave them some advice, but my mind was twelve thousand miles away. Lester Robinson came in once with some business or other and I said to him,“You remember my Paget girl—the heir to that Macfadden estate? She's got herself engaged to be married to an Australian. He seems to be a very good chap.”

He grunted.“I forget. Does that terminate our trust?”

“No,”I said.“That goes on for some time to come. Till she's thirty-five.”

“Pity,”he said.“It's made a lot of work for you, that trust has. It'll be a good thing when it's all wound up.”

“It's been no trouble, really,”I said. By the end of the day I think I knew her letter by heart although it was eight quarto pages long, but I took it with me to the club. I had a glass of sherry in the bar and told Moore about her engagement because he knew something about her story, and after dinner we sat down to a couple of rubbers of bridge, Dennison and Strickland and Callaghan, the four of us who play together every evening, and I told them about her.

I got up from the table at about eleven o'clock, and went into the library for a final cigarette before going back across the park to my flat. The big room was empty but for Wright, who had been in the Malay Police and knew her story. I dropped down into a chair beside him, and remarked,“You know that girl, Jean Paget? I think I've spoken to you about her once or twice before.”

He smiled.“You have.”

“She's got herself engaged to be married,”I told him.“To the manager of a cattle station, in Northern Queensland.”

“Indeed?”he said.“What's he like?”

“I've met him,”I replied.“He's a very good chap. She's very much in love with him. I think they're going to be very happy.”

“Is she coming back to England before getting married?”he asked.

I sat staring at the rows of books upon the wall, the gold embossed carving at the corner of the ceiling.“No,”I said.“I don't think she's ever coming back to England, ever again.”

He was silent.

“It's too far,”I said.“I think she'll make her life in Queensland now.”

There was a long pause.“After all, there's no reason why she should come back to England,”I said at last.“There's nothing for her to come back for. She's got no ties in this country.”

And then he said a very foolish thing. He meant it well enough, but it was a stupid thing to say. I got up and left him and went home to my dark, empty flat, and I avoided meeting him for some time after that. I was seventy-three years old that autumn, old enough to be her grandfather. I couldn't possibly have been in love with her myself.

Chapter 9

In the months of November and December that year Jean Paget worked harder than she had ever worked before.

Rose Sawyer joined her in Willstown within a fortnight, and Aggie Topp sailed early in November. I got Mr Pack to send Aggie to see me before she left. She was a gaunt, rather prim woman, but I could see at once that Pack had been quite right; if anyone could make girls work this woman could. I gave her her ticket and a typed sheet of instructions telling her how she would get by air from Sydney to Willstown, and then I talked to her about the job.“You know, it's very, very rough,”I said.“It's rough, and it's hot, and Miss Paget is having to start absolutely from nothing. She's got plenty of money, but it's going to be hard, all the time. You understand that, Mrs Topp?”

She said,“I've had two letters from Miss Paget, and she sent a photograph of the place, the main street. It don't look up to much, I must say.”

“You're quite happy to go out there, are you?”

She said,“Oh well, I've been in rough places before. It's only for a year to start with, anyway.”And then she said,“I always liked Miss Paget.”

I had another matter to fix up with Aggie Topp. Jean was very anxious to get hold of an air-conditioning unit, a thing about the size of a small refrigerator which stood in the room and took hot air into itself and pumped it out cold into the room; it seemed to her important to have this to prevent the girls' hands from sweating as they worked and marking the delicate leathers of the shoes. She had not been able to get hold of one in Australia and had cabled me, and I had found a firm that made them and got hold of one with a good deal of difficulty and some small payments on the side. Derek Harris is rather good at that sort of negotiation. I had it in our office standing at the foot of the stairs and I showed it to Mrs Topp, and arranged for her to take it out with her to Sydney. From Sydney it would have to be flown up with her to Cairns and Willstown at some considerable expense, but it seemed to me to be worth it since it was then the hottest time of the year.

This was the biggest commission that I got from Jean and was my own main contribution to the venture; the remainder of her cables were concerned with little bits of things that were no trouble. Aggie Topp took out with her a good deal of stuff from Pack and Levy, too; three cases full of tools and lasts and formers and all sorts of things, the bill for which came to about a hundred and forty-six pounds, which I paid for Jean in England.

Joe Harman helped her to get the buildings started on the day that they arrived in Willstown. They had a meeting with Tim Whelan and his two sons, in the carpenter's shop amongst the coffins. They had already placed orders for two lorry loads of lumber in Cairns. The men stood or sat squatting, ringer fashion, on the floor with papers on the floor before them, planning the layout of the buildings; the workshop with its three-bedroom annexe was to be built first, and after that the ice-cream parlour next to it, leaving room for the expansion of the workshop one way and of the ice-cream parlour the other way. There were no great difficulties of expansion in the built-up area of Willstown.

They sent Tim Whelan presently to find Mr Carter, the Shire Clerk, to pass the plans of the new buildings and to grant a lease of the site in the main street.“It'll be all right there,”he said thoughtfully.“There was a whole row of houses there in 1905—I've got a photograph. But nobody ever paid rent for that land in my time.”Jean asked what rent would be required for the area she wanted, a difficult matter to decide in view of the fact that no plans existed and the area that she wanted was quite uncertain.“This is a town borough,”Mr Carter said.“You don't lease land upon an acreage basis in a town borough. If you're going to develop the land by building, then I'd say about a shilling a year for each hundred foot of frontage. It's in the main street, you see. If you wanted it for chickens or anything like that I'd have to charge five shillings.”

They adjourned to the bar of the hotel to seal the contracts; Jean sat on the steps outside with a lemonade, as was fitting for a lady with a reputation to preserve in Willstown.

She went to Brisbane a week later, flying to Cairns and flying on the same day down to Brisbane. She stayed there for three days and came back having ordered an electric generating set, a very large refrigerator, two deep freezes, a stainless steel counter, eight glass-topped tables, thirty-two chairs, two sink units, and a mass of minor shop fittings, glasses, plates, cutlery, and furnishings as well as a good deal of electrical fittings and cable. She made arrangements with the firms for all this stuff to be crated and consigned to Forsayth; in Cairns she made arrangements for the truck transport of these goods from Forsayth to Willstown. I had arranged the necessary credits for her and she was able to pay cash for everything.

She came back to Willstown a week later having made tentative arrangements for supplies of stock for her ice-cream parlour, and found the framework of the workshop already erected; a wooden building goes up very quickly. The matter was a nine days' wonder in Willstown and old men used to stand around wondering at this midsummer madness of an English girl, a stranger to the Gulf country, who proposed to make shoes there and send them all the way to England to be sold. They were too kindly to be rude to her or to laugh at such an eccentricity, but an aura of disbelief surrounded the whole venture and made her feel very much alone in those first weeks.

She visited Midhurst at a very early stage, one Sunday when no work was going on upon her building. Joe Harman drove in to fetch her in his big utility at dawn one day, and took her back to Midhurst in time for breakfast. As soon as they were out of sight of the town they stopped for five minutes to kiss and talk.

Presently they disentangled and went on. Jean was accustomed by this time to the idea that no road in this country had a metalled surface. She had not been beyond the town hitherto; very soon she discovered that a road was where the car drove across country. The land was parched and dry with the heat of summer, covered with thin tufts of scorched grass. It was a wooded land, covered thinly with spindly, distorted eucalyptus trees averaging twenty to thirty feet in height; these trees were fairly widely spaced so that it was possible for a car or truck driven across country to find a way between them. This was the road, and when the surface of the earth became too deeply pitted and potholed with traffic the cars and trucks would deviate and choose another course. These tracks followed the same general direction, coming together at the fords where creeks, now dry and stony, had to be crossed, and fanning out again upon the other side.

Once in the twenty miles she saw half a dozen cattle, that stampeded wildly at the noise of the utility as it bounced, and rocketed over the uneven ground. She asked Joe what on earth the cattle found to eat; the ground seemed to her to be completely barren.“They get along,”he said.“There's plenty here for them to eat, my word. This dry stuff in the tussocks, why, it's just the same as hay.”He told her that there was a waterhole a little way from their track.“They never go more than three or four miles from water,”he said.“Horses, now—you'll find them grazing up to twenty miles from a drink.”

Once she exclaimed at three brown, furry forms bounding away among the trees.“Oh, Joe— kangaroos!”

He corrected her.“Wallabies. We don't get any 'roos up in these parts.”

She stared after the flying forms, entranced.“What's the difference between a wallaby and a kangaroo, Joe?”

“A wallaby's smaller,”he said.“A big, buck kangaroo, he'll stand up to six feet high, but a wallaby's not more than four. A kangaroo, he's got a face like a deer. A wallaby, he's got a face like a rabbit, or a rat. I got a little wallaby to show you at the homestead.”

“A wild one?”

“He's a tame one now. He'll get wild as he grows older; then he'll go off to his own folks.”He told her that when they had shot the wallabies to send the sample skins to Cairns for her they had shot a doe with a joey, and rather than leave the small defenceless creature to die they had taken it home to rear.“I like a wallaby about the place,”he said.

They came to Midhurst presently. A fence of two wire strands tacked to the trees, with an occasional post in the wider gaps, crossed their path, with an iron gate; beyond the gate the track became the semblance of a road. She got out of the utility and opened the gate and he drove through.“This is the home paddock,”he said.“For horses, mostly.”She could see horses standing underneath the trees, lean riding horses, swishing long black tails.“I've got about three square miles fenced off like this around the house.”

The road swung round, and she saw Midhurst homestead. It was prettily situated on a low hill above the bend of a creek; this creek was not running, but there were still pools of water held along its length.“Of course, you're seeing it at the worst time of year,”he said, and she became aware of his anxiety.“It's a lovely little river in the winter, oh my word. But even in the worst part of the dry, like now, there's always water there.”

The homestead was a fairly large building that stood high off the ground on posts, so that you climbed eight feet up a flight of steps to reach the veranda and the one floor of the house. It was built of wood and had the inevitable corrugated iron roof. Four rooms, three bedrooms and one sitting-room, were surrounded on all four sides by a veranda twelve feet deep; masses of ferns and greenery of all sorts stood in pots and on stands on this veranda at the outer edge and killed most of the direct rays of the sun. There was a kitchen annexe at one end and a bathroom annexe at the other; the toilet was a little hut over a pit in the paddock, some distance from the house. Most of the life of the building evidently went on in the veranda and the rooms seemed to be little used; in the veranda was Joe's bed and his mosquito net, and several cane easy chairs, and the dining-room tables and chairs. Suspended from the rafters was a large canvas waterbag cooling in the draft, with an enamelled mug hung from it by a string.

Five or six dogs greeted them noisily as the utility came to a standstill before the steps. He brushed them aside, but pointed out a large blue and yellow bitch like no dog Jean had ever seen before.“That's Lily,”he said fondly.“She had a bonza litter, oh my word.”

He took her up into the coolness of the veranda; she turned to him.“Oh Joe, this is nice!”

“Like it?”Puppies were surging about them, grovelling and licking their hands; odd-shaped yellow and blue puppies. Along the veranda a small animal stood erect behind a chair, peering at them around the corner. Joe took the puppies one by one and dropped them into a wire-netting enclosure in one corner.“I let them out this morning before driving in,”he said.“They'll be big enough to go down in the yard pretty soon.”

“Joe, who fixed up these plants? Did you?”

He shook his head.“Mrs Spears did that, when she used to live here. I kept them going. The lubras water them, morning and evening.”He told her that he had three Abo women, wives of three of his stockriders, who shared the domestic duties of the homestead and cooked for him.

He looked around.“There's the joey somewhere.”They found the little wallaby lolloping about on the other side of the veranda; it stood like a little kangaroo about eighteen inches high, and had no fear of them. Jean stooped beside it and it nibbled at her fingers.“What do you feed it on, Joe?”

“Bread and milk. It's doing fine on that.”

“Don't the puppies hurt it?”

“They chase it now and then, but it can kick all right. A full-grown wallaby can kill a dog. Rip him right up.”He paused, watching her caress the little creature, thinking how lovely she was.“It's all in fun,”he said.“They get along all right. By and by when he gets bigger and the dogs are bigger he'll get angry with them, and then he'll go off into the bush.”

A fat, middle-aged lubra, a black golliwog of a woman, laid the table and presently appeared with two plates of the inevitable steak with two eggs on the top, and a pot of strong tea. Jean had become accustomed to the outback breakfast by this time but this steak was tougher than most; she made mental notes to look into the Midhurst cooking as she struggled with it. In the end she gave up and sat back laughing.“I'm sorry, Joe,”she said.“It's because I'm English, I suppose.”

He was very much concerned.“Have a couple more fried eggs. You haven't eaten anything.”

“I've eaten six times as much as I ever ate in England for breakfast, Joe. Who does the cooking?”

“Palmolive did this,”he said.“It's her day. Mary cooks much better, but it's her day off.”

“Who are they, Joe?”

“I've got a ringer called Moonshine,”he said.“Palmolive's his gin. My boss Abo, he's called Bourneville; he's a bonza boy. Mary's his gin. Mary cooks all right.”

“Tell me, Joe,”she said,“do you ever get any indigestion?”

He grinned.“Not very often. Just now and then.”

“You won't mind if I reorganize the cooking a bit when I come in?”

“Not so long as you don't do it all yourself,”he said.

“You wouldn't like me to do that?”

He shook his head.“I'd rather see you keep time for the things you want to do, the shoes, and the ice-cream parlour, and that.”

She touched his hand.“I want to keep time for you.”

He took her out before the heat of the day and showed her the establishment. Although the property covered over a thousand square miles, there were no more buildings round the homestead than she had seen on a four-hundred-acre farm in England. There were three or four cottages of two rooms at the most, for stockmen; there were two small bunkhouses for unmarried ringers, white and black. There was a shed housing the truck and the utility and a mass of oddments of machinery. There was a stable for about six horses, which was empty, and a saddle-room, and a butcher's room. There was a Diesel engine that drove an electric generator and pumped water from the creek. That was about all.

Once he said,“Can you ride a horse?”

She shook her head.“I'm afraid not, Joe. Ordinary people don't ride horses much in England.”

“Oh my word,”he said.“You should be able to do that.”

“Could I learn?”

“Too right.”

He put his fingers to his mouth like a schoolboy and blew a shrill whistle; a black head came poking out the window of a single-room cottage.“Bourneville,”he called.“Get out and bring in Auntie and Robin, 'n saddle up. I'll be down to help you in a minute.”

He turned to her, surveying her cotton frock.“I dunno about your things. Could you get into a pair of my strides, or would you rather not?”

She laughed.“Oh Joe, they'd go round me twice!”

“I wasn't always as fat as this,”he said.“I got a pair I used to wear before the war, I can't get into now. It doesn't matter if they don't fit right; we'll only be walking the horses so you'll see what it feels like.”

He took her up into the homestead and produced a clean man's shirt and a faded pair of jodhpurs and a belt for her; she took them from him laughing, and went into his spare room and put them on, with a pair of his elastic-sided, thin-soled riding boots that were far too big for her. It gave her a queer feeling of possession to be dressed all in his clothes. She walked gingerly down into the yard with the feeling that everything was likely to fall off her, as it had done on another memorable occasion.

He helped her up into the saddle; once astride the patient fourteen-year-old Auntie the feeling of insecurity left her. They adjusted her stirrups and showed her how to set her foot; once she was fairly settled she felt very safe. She knew little about horses or saddlery at that time, but this saddle was like no saddle she had ever seen in England, even in a picture. It rose up in an arch high behind her seat and high in front of her, so that she was seated as in a hammock. There was a great horn that projected above each of her thighs and another one under each thigh, so that she was as if clamped into place.“I don't believe that anyone could fall off from a saddle like this,”she said.

“You aren't meant to fall off,”he replied.

They walked the horses out of the yard and down the track to the creek; as they went he showed her how to hold the reins and how to use her heels. He took her up the creek for about a mile and then by a wide circuit through the bush, winding beneath the trees so far as possible to seek the shade. Once she saw four scurrying black forms vanishing among the trees and he told her that these were wild pig, and once in a wide stretch of water covered with water lilies there was a violent swirl of water as an alligator dived away from them. She saw several wallabies bounding away before their horses.

They returned to the homestead after an hour or so. Although they had walked the horses all the way Jean was drenched with sweat under the hot sun, and she had a raging thirst. In the veranda she drank several mugs of water, and then she went into the bathroom and had a shower, and changed back into her own cool clothes.

They lunched in the veranda on steak and bread and jam, a repeat of breakfast without the eggs.“Palmolive hasn't got much imagination in the matter of tucker,”he said apologetically.

“She's looking very tired,”Jean said.“Great black circles under her eyes. Give her the afternoon off, Joe. I'll make tea for you.”

He offered her the use of the spare room bed to sleep on after lunch, but they had seen so little of each other in the last fortnight that the time seemed too precious to waste in sleep.“Let's sit out here,”she said.“If I should go to sleep, Joe, it'll be just one of those things.”So they pulled two of the long cane chairs to the corner of the veranda where there might be a little breeze, and sat together close, so that they could touch hands.“It's not always as hot as this,”he said, still anxious for her approval of the place.“Just these two months are the bad ones. By January it'll be beginning to cool off, when the rain gets properly under way.”

“It's not too bad,”she said.“I remember times when it was quite as hot as this in Malaya.”

She led him on to tell her about his work on the station; having seen a little of the terrain that morning she felt she could appreciate what he told her better now.“There's not a lot to do this time of year,”he said.“I like to get up to the top end of the station once a fortnight, if I can, in case of duffers. Make a cache or two of tucker up there, top, this time of year, and shoot the worst of the scrub bulls you see around.”

“What's a duffer, Joe?”

“Why, cattle duffers—cattle thieves. We've not had much of it this year. Sometimes the drovers coming down to Julia Creek from the Cape stations—they pick up a few as they go through the property and put them with the herd. It means faking the brands, of course, and there's the police at Julia to keep an eye open for fresh-branded beasts as they go on the train. They caught a joker at it two years ago and he got six months. We've not had much since then. Poddy-dodging, now—well, that's another matter.”

“What's poddy-dodging, Joe?”She was beginning to grow sleepy, but she wanted to know all she could.

“Why, a poddy's a cleanskin, a calf born since the last muster that hasn't been branded. Some of these jokers, even your best friends, they'll come on to your station and round up the poddys and drive them off on to their own land, and then there's nothing to say they're yours. That's poddy-dodging, that is. It's a fair cow. Of course, there's always cattle crossing the boundaries because there aren't any fences, so it's a bit of a mix-up generally when you come to muster. But I've been on stations where there weren't hardly any poddys there at all when we come to muster. All the jokers on the other stations had got them.”

She said,“But do the poddys just stay on the new land? Don't they want to go back to mother?”

He glanced at her, appreciating the question.“That's right—they would if you let them. They'd go straight back to their own herd on their own land, even if it was fifty miles. But what these jokers do is this. They build a little corral on their land in some place where no one wouldn't ever think to look, and they drive your poddys into it. Then they leave them there for four or five days without food or water—don't give them nothing at all. Well, if you do that to a poddy he goes sort of silly and forgets about the herd, and mother. All he wants is a drink of water, same as you or I. Then you let him out and let him drink his fill at a waterhole. He's had such a thirst he won't leave that waterhole for months. He forgets all about his own place, and just stays in his new home.”

Her eyes closed, and she slept. When she woke up the sun was lower in the sky, and Joe had left her. She got up and sponged her face in the bathroom, and saw him outside working on the engine of the truck. She tidied herself up, looked at her watch, and went to investigate the kitchen.

Primitive was the word, she thought. There was a wood-burning hearth which mercifully was out, and a wick-burning oil stove; this was the cooking equipment. There was a small kerosene refrigerator. Masses of cooked meat were stored in a wire gauze meat safe with nearly as many flies inside it as there were outside. The utensils were old-fashioned and dirty and few in number; it was a nightmare of a kitchen. Jean felt that the right course would be to burn it down and start again, and she wondered if this could be done without burning down the house as well. There was little in the store cupboard but staple foods such as flour and salt and soap.

She put on the kettle to boil for tea and looked around for something to cook, other than meat. Eggs were plentiful at Midhurst and she found some stale cheese; she went and consulted Joe, and then came back and made him a cheese omelette with eight eggs. He cleaned his hands and came and watched her while she did it.“Oh my word,”he said.“Where did you learn cooking?”

“In Ealing,”she said, and it all seemed very far away: the grey skies, the big red buses, and the clamour of the Underground.“I had a sort of little kitchenette with an electric cooker. I always used to cook myself a two-course evening meal.”

He grinned awkwardly.“Afraid you won't find many electric cookers in the outback.”

She touched his hand.“I know that, Joe. But there are lots of things that could be done here to make it a bit easier.”As they ate their tea they talked about the kitchen and the house.“It's just the kitchen that needs altering,”she said.“The rest of it is lovely.”

“I'll get a toilet fixed up in the house before you come,”he promised her.“It's all right for me going out there, but it's not nice for you.”

She laughed.“I don't mind that, so long as you keep up the supplies of the Saturday Evening Post.”He grinned, but she found him set upon this alteration.“Some places have a septic tank and everything,”he said.“They put one in at Augustus when the Duke and Duchess stayed there. I reckon that we'll have to wait a while for that.”

They ate their tea out on the veranda as the sun went down, and sat looking out over the creek and the bush, smoking and talking quietly.“What are you doing next week?”she asked.“Will you be in town, Joe?”

He nodded.“I'll be in on Thursday, or Friday at the latest.“I'm going up to the top end tomorrow for a couple of days, just see what's going on.”

She smiled.“Looking after the poddys?”

He grinned.“That's right. It's a bit difficult this time of year, in the dry, because the tracks don't show so good. I got a boy called Nugget on the station now, and he's a bonza tracker, oh my word. I'm taking him up with me. I've got a kind of feeling that Don Curtis, up on Windermere station, he's been at my poddys.”

“What would you do if you found tracks, then, Joe? Tracks leading off your land and on to his?”

He grinned.“Go after 'em and find 'em and drive 'em back,”he said.“Hope Don doesn't come along while we're doing it.”

He drove her into Willstown at about nine o'clock that night; they halted for a while outside the town to say goodnight in proper style. She lay against his shoulder with his arm around her, listening to the noises of the bush, the croaking of the frogs, the sound of crickets, and the crying of a night bird.“It's a lovely place you live in, Joe,”she said.“It just wants a new kitchen, that's all. Don't ever worry about me not liking it.”

He kissed her.“It'll be all ready for you when you come.”

“April,”she said.“Early in April, Joe.”

She started up the shoe workshop in the first week of December, three or four days after Aggie Topp arrived. To start with she had five girls, Judy Small and her friend Lois Strang, and Annie, whose figure was beginning to deteriorate and who had been sacked from the hotel, and two fifteen-year-olds who had recently left school. For cleanliness and to mark the fact that they were working in a regular job she put everyone into a green overall coat in the workshop, and gave them a mirror on the wall so that they could see what they looked like.

From the first days she found that the fifteen-year-olds were the best employees. Girls straight from school were used to the discipline of regular hours of work; she seldom got the girls from outback homes to settle down to it so well as the younger ones. The monotony was irksome to the older girls who had left school for some years, or who had never been to school at all. She tried to help them by ordering an automatic changing gramophone from Cairns, with a supply of records; the music certainly intrigued and amused the whole of Willstown and may have helped the older girls a little, but not much. The big attraction of the workshop was the air-conditioner.

The air-conditioner was the best recruiting agent of the lot. In that torrid summer heat which ranged from between a hundred and a hundred and ten degrees at midday, she managed to keep the temperature of the workshop down to about seventy degrees, at which the girls could work without their hands sweating. For the girls it meant that they got respite from the heat of the day, and music to listen to, and the novelty of a clean green overall to wear, and money in their pockets at the end of the week. The workshop was popular from the first, and Jean never had any difficulty in getting as many recruits for it as she could handle. For the early months, however, she was content with five.

She spent a hectic fortnight after the workshop opened getting the ice-cream parlour furnished and stocked. She was resolved to have this open by Christmas Day, and she achieved her aim by opening on December 20th. On Joe's advice she only opened half of it at first, leaving the parlour for the Abos till it was established that they wanted ice-cream. This saved her the wages of a coloured girl and the expense of furnishing. In fact, it was not for nearly a year that the demand arose and Abo ringers started hanging round the kitchen door to buy an ice-cream soda. She opened the coloured annexe in the following September.

She stood with Joe outside in the blazing sunlit street on that first afternoon, looking at what she had done. The workshop and the ice-cream parlour stood more or less side by side on the main street. The windows of the workshop were closed to keep the cool air in, but they could hear the girls singing as they worked over the shoes. Christmas was near, and they were singing carols —“Holy Night”, and“Good King Wenceslas”, and“See Amid the Winter Snow”. The shirt was sticking to Jean's back and she shifted her shoulders to get a little air inside.“Well, there it all is,”she said.“Now we've got to see if we can make it pay.”

“Come on and I'll buy you a soda,”he said.“That'll help.”They went in and bought a soda from Rose Sawyer behind the counter.“This part of it'll pay,”he said.“I don't know about the shoes, but this should do all right. I was talking to George Connor up at the hotel. He's getting very worried about his bar, with you starting up.”

“I don't see why he's got anything to worry about,”she said.“I'm not going to sell beer.”

“You're going to sell drinks to ringers,”he remarked.“If you had a bar instead of this, wouldn't it rile you?”

She laughed.“I suppose it would. I can't see myself putting the bar out of business, Joe.”

“I can see you doing all right, all the same.”As they sat at the little chromium glass-topped table, Pete Fletcher came in shyly and sidled up to the bar and ordered an ice-cream, and began chatting with Rose Sawyer. Joe said,“Poor old George Connor.”They laughed together, and then he said,“I bet you don't keep Rose six months.”

Jean had seen a good deal of Rose Sawyer in the last month.“I'll take you,”she said.“Bet you a quid she's still there in a year from now, Joe.”They shook hands on it according to the custom of the place.“If she is,”he said,“it'll be a miracle.”

Now that the businesses were started, she was very tired; she felt slack and listless in the great heat, drained of all energy. She would have liked to go out with Joe to Midhurst that evening and live quietly there for a day or two, sleeping and riding and playing with the little wallaby. A cautionary instinct warned her not to offend against the rural code of morals by an indiscretion of that sort; if she was to make a success of what she had set out to do for women in that place her own behaviour would have to be above reproach. No mothers in the outback, she knew, would care to let their daughters work for her if it were known that she was spending nights alone at Midhurst with Joe Harman; no married man would care to bring his wife and daughters to an ice-cream parlour run by a loose woman of that sort.

It was a Wednesday, but Sunday was no longer an off day for Jean since it was likely to be the biggest day of all for the ice-cream and soft drinks. She arranged with Joe that he should call for her at the hotel soon after dawn and take her out to Midhurst for the day. She said goodbye to him and went to her room as soon as work stopped in the workshop, pausing only to see the girls from the workshop sampling the ice-cream parlour. She went and lay down on her bed, exhausted and too tired to eat that night; it was refreshingly cool in the workshop building, for the air-conditioner had been on all day. She took off her clothes and put on her pyjamas, and slept in the coolness; she slept so for twelve hours.

She had been out to Midhurst several times since that first visit and had fitted herself out with a small pair of ringer's trousers in Bill Duncan's store for riding, with a pair of elastic-sided ringer's riding boots to match. She met Joe in the early morning with a little bundle of riding things under her arm, and got into the utility with him. As usual they drove a little way out of town and stopped for an exchange of mutual esteem; as he held her he asked,“How are you feeling this morning?”

She smiled.“I'm better now, Joe. It was the reaction, I suppose—getting it finished and open. I went to bed just after leaving you and slept right through. Twelve solid hours. I'm feeling fine.”

“Take things very easy today,”he said.

She stroked his hair,“Dear Joe. It's going to be much easier from now on.”

“This bloody weather'll break soon,”he said.“We'll get rain starting within the week, and after that it'll begin to get cool.”

They drove on presently.“Joe,”she said,“I had an awful row this week with the bank manager— Mr Watkins. Did you hear about it?”

He grinned.“I did hear something,”he admitted.“What really happened?”

“It was the flies,”she said.“It was so hot on Friday, and I was so tired. I went into that miserable little bank to cash the wages cheque and you know how full of flies it always is. I had to wait a few minutes and the flies started crawling all over me, in my hair and in my mouth and in my eyes. I was sweating, I suppose. I lost my temper, Joe. I oughtn't to have done that.”

“It's a crook place, that bank is,”he observed.“There's no reason why it should have all those flies. What did you say?”

“Everything,”she said simply.“I told him I was closing my account because I couldn't stand his bloody flies. I said I was going to bank in Cairns and get the cash in by Dakota every week. I said I was going to write to his head office in Sydney and tell them why I'd done it, and I said I was going to write to the Bank of New South Wales and offer my account to them if they'd start up a branch here with no flies. I said I used a DDT spray and I didn't get flies in my workshop and I wasn't going to have them in my bank. I said he ought to be setting an example to Willstown instead of...”She stopped.

“Instead of what?”he asked.

She said weakly,“I forgot what I did say.”

He stared straight ahead at the track.“I did hear in the bar you told him he ought to set an example instead of sitting on his arse and scratching.”

“Oh, Joe, I couldn't have said that!”

He grinned.“That's what they're saying that you told him, in Willstown.”

“Oh...”They drove on in silence for a time.“I'll go in on Friday and apologize,”she said.“It's no good making quarrels in a place like this.”

“I don't see why you should apologize,”he objected.“It's up to him to apologize to you. After all, you're the customer.”He paused.“I'd go in there on Friday and see how he's getting on,”he advised.“I know he got ten gallons of DDT spray on Saturday, because Al Burns told me.”

When they got to Midhurst he made her go at once and sit in a long chair at the corner of the veranda with a glass of lemon squash made with cold water from the refrigerator. He would not let her move for breakfast, but brought her a cup of tea and a boiled egg and some bread and butter on a tray. She sat there, relaxed, with the fatigue soaking out of her, content to have him gently fussing over her. When the day grew hot he suggested that she took the spare bedroom and lay down upon the bed leaving the double doors open at each end of the room to get the draught through; he promised, grinning, not to look if he passed along the veranda. She took him at his word and took off most of her clothes in the spare room and lay down on the bed and slept through the midday heat.

When she woke up it was nearly four o'clock and she was cool and rested and at ease. She lay for a while wondering if he had looked; then she got up and slipped her frock on and went to the shower, and stood for a long time under the warm stream of water. She came to him presently on the veranda, fresh and rested and full of fondness for him in his generosity, and found him squatting on the floor mending a bridle with palm, needle, and waxed thread. She stooped and kissed him, and said,“Thanks for everything, Joe. I had a lovely sleep.”And then she said,“Can we go riding after tea?”

“Still a bit hot,”he said.“Think that's a good thing?”

“I'd like to,”she said.“I want to be able to sit on a horse properly.”

He said,“You did all right last time.”She had been promoted from the fourteen-year-old Auntie to the more energetic Sally and she was gradually learning how to trot. She found that trotting in that climate made her sweat more than the horse and made it difficult for her to sit down next day, but the exercise, she knew, was good for her. Starting at her age, she would never be a very good rider, but she was determined to achieve the ability to do it as a means of locomotion in that country.

They rode for an hour and a half that evening, coming back to Midhurst in the early dusk. He would not let her stay out longer than that, though she wanted to.“I'm not a bit tired now,”she said.“I believe I'm getting the hang of this, Joe. It's much easier on Sally than it was on Auntie.”

“Aye,”he said.“The better the horse the less tiring for the rider, long as you can manage him.”

“I'd like to come with you one day up to the top end,”she said.“I suppose it'll have to be after we're married.”

He grinned.“Plenty of wowsers back in Willstown to talk about it, if you came before.”

“Do I ride well enough for that?”

“Oh, aye,”he said.“Take it easy and you'ld get along all right on Sally. I never travel more than twenty miles in the day, not unless there's some special reason.”

He drove her into Willstown in the utility, and as they kissed goodnight he said that he would be in during the following week. She went to bed that night rested and content, refreshed by her quiet day.

She went to the bank on Friday and cashed the wages cheque as usual; she found that the walls were in the process of being distempered and there was not a fly in the place. Mr Watkins was distant in his manner and ignored her; Len James, the young bank clerk, gave her her money with a broad grin and a wink. She saw Len again on Saturday afternoon, when he brought in Doris Nash for an ice-cream soda. He grinned at her, and said,“You wouldn't know the bank, Miss Paget.”

“I was in there yesterday,”she said.“You're having it all distempered.”

“That's right,”he said.“You started something.”

“Is he very sore?”she asked.

“Not really,”the boy said.“He's been wanting to decorate for a long tune, but he's been scared of what the head office would say. There's not a lot of turnover in a place like this, you know. Well, now he's doing it.”

“I'm sorry I was rude,”she said.“If you get a chance, tell him I said that.”

“I will,”he promised her.“I'm glad you were. Haven't had such a laugh for years. I don't like flies, either.”

On the first Sunday she worked steadily in the ice-cream parlour with Rose Sawyer from nine in the morning till ten o'clock at night. They sold a hundred and eighty-two ice-creams at a shilling each and three hundred and forty-one soft drinks at sixpence. Dead tired, Jean counted the money in the till at the end of the day.“Seventeen pounds thirteen shillings,”she said. She stared at Rose in wonder.“That doesn't seem so bad for a town with a hundred and forty-six people, all told. How much is that a head?”

“About two and six, isn't it?”

“Do you think it's going to go on like this?”

“I don't see why not. Lots of people didn't come in today. Most of them come in two or three times. Judy must have had about ten bob's worth.”

“She can't keep that up,”Jean said.“She'll be sick, and we'll get a recession. Come on and let's go to bed.”

She opened the ice-cream parlour after lunch on Christmas Day and took twenty pounds in the afternoon and evening. She had the gramophone from the workshop in the parlour that evening playing dance music so that the little wooden shack that was her ice-cream parlour streamed out music and light into the dark wastes of the main street, and seemed to the inhabitants just like a bit of Manly Beach dropped down in Willstown. Old, withered women that Jean had never seen before came in that night with equally old men to have an ice-cream soda, drawn by the lights and by the music. Although the parlour was still full of people she closed punctually at ten o'clock, thinking it better as a start to stick to the bar closing time and not introduce the complication of late hours and night life into a rural community.

The workshop went fairly steadily under Aggie Topp and they despatched two packing-cases of shoes to Forsayth just after Christmas to be sent by rail to Brisbane and by ship to England. She had already sent a few early samples of their work to Pack and Levy by air mail.

On Boxing Day the rain came. They had had one or two short showers before, but that day the clouds massed high in great peaks of cumulonimbus that spread and covered the whole sky so that it grew dark. Then down it came, a steady, vertical torrent of rain that went on and on, unending. At first the conditions became worse, with no less heat and very high humidity; in the workshops the girls sweated freely even at seventy degrees, and Aggie Topp had to postpone the finishing operations and concentrate on the earlier, less delicate stages of the manufacture of shoes.

Jean went with Joe to Midhurst for a day soon after the New Year; as usual he called for her just after dawn. This time it was a grey dawn of hot, streaming rain; she scuttled quickly from the door of her room into the cab of the utility. By that time she was getting used to being wet through to the skin, and drying, and getting wet again; the water as it fell was nearly blood temperature and the chance of a chill was slight. She said as she got into the car,“What are the creeks like, Joe?”

“Coming up,”he said.“Nothing to worry over yet.”A time would come when for a few weeks he would be unable to reach Willstown from Midhurst in the utility, and would have to ride in if they were to meet at all. He had been stocking up with foodstuffs for the homestead in the last week or two.

There were two creeks between Willstown and Midhurst, wide bottoms of sand and boulders that she knew as hot, arid places in the dry. Now they were wide streams of yellow, muddy water, rather terrifying to her. At the first one she said,“Can we get through that, Joe?”

“That's all right,”he said.“It's only a foot deep. You see that tree there with the overhanging branch? When that branch gets covered, at the fork, it's a bit deep then.”

They drove the utility ploughing through the water and emerged the other side; they forded the second creek in the same way, leaping from boulder to boulder, and went on to Midhurst. They got there as usual in time for breakfast. It was still streaming rain down in a steady torrent, too wet for any outdoor activity. They set to work after breakfast to plan out the new kitchen and the toilet he had set his heart on.

In Cairns that morning, four hundred miles to the west of them, Miss Jacqueline Bacon tripped delicately down the pavement in the rain from her home to the Cairns Ambulance and Fire Station. She wore a blue raincoat and she carried an umbrella. She hurried in between the fire engines, and shook the rain from her umbrella. She said to one of the firemen on duty,“My, isn't it wet?”

He sucked his empty pipe and stared out at the rain.“Fine weather for ducks.”

She went into her little office off the main hall where the gleaming fire engines stood and glanced at the clock; she had still three minutes to go. The room was furnished with a table and with a microphone and a writing-pad, and two tall metal cabinets of wireless gear; a set stood on the table before her pad. She turned three switches for the apparatus to warm up and took off her wet coat and her hat. Then she found her pencil and drew the pad to her, and a card with a long list of call signs and stations on it. She sat down and began her daily work.

She turned a switch on the face of the cabinet before her and said,“Eight Baker Tare, Eight Baker Tare, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Baker Tare. Eight Baker Tare, Eight Baker Tare, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Baker Tare. Eight Baker Tare, if you are receiving Eight Queen Charlie will you please come in. Over to you. Over.”She turned the switch.

From the speaker in the set before her came a woman's voice.“Eight Queen Charlie, Eight Queen Charlie, this is Eight Baker Tare. Can you hear me, Jackie?”

Miss Bacon turned the switch and said,“Eight Baker Tare, this is Eight Queen Charlie. I'm receiving you quite well, about strength four. What's the weather like with you, Mrs Corbett? Over to you. Over.”

“Oh my dear,”the loudspeaker said,“it's coming down in torrents here. We're having a lovely rain; Jim says we've really got it at last. I do believe it's getting cooler already. Over to you.”

“Eight Baker Tare,”said Miss Bacon,“this is Eight Queen Charlie. We're having a lovely rain here, too. I have nothing for you, Mrs Corbett, but if you should have anybody going into Georgetown will you pass word to Mrs Cutter that her son Ronnie came up on the train from Mackay last night and he's coming on by train to Forsayth. He'll be there on Thursday morning, so he should be home on Thursday night. Is this Roger, Mrs Corbett? Over to you. Over.”

The loudspeaker said,“That's Roger, Jackie. One of the boys or Jim will be in Georgetown later on today, and I'll see Mrs Cutter gets that message. Over.”

“Eight Baker Tare,”said Miss Bacon,“this is Eight Queen Charlie. Roger, Mrs Corbett. I must sign off now. Listening out. Eight Easy Victor, Eight Easy Victor, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Easy Victor. Eight Easy Victor, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Easy Victor. If you are receiving me, Mrs Marshall, will you please come in. Over to you. Over.”

There was silence. Miss Bacon went on calling Eight Easy Victor for a minute, but Mrs Marshall, she knew, was in the habit of feeding the hens at the time of the morning schedule and more usually came in in the evening. She made her statutory number of calls and went on to the next.“Eight Nan How, this is Eight Queen Charlie,”and repeated herself.“If you are receiving me, Eight Nan How, will you please come in. Over to you. Over.”

A man's voice said,“Eight Queen Charlie, this is Eight Nan How. Over.”

Miss Bacon said,“Eight Nan How, this is Eight Queen Charlie. I have a telegram for you, Mr Gosling. Have you got a pencil and paper? I can wait just one minute. Only one minute, mind. Call me when you're ready. Over.”

She waited till he called her back, and then said,“Eight Nan How, this is Eight Queen Charlie. Your telegram is from Townsville and it reads Molly had son seven last night eight pounds four ounces both doing fine. And the signature is, Bert. Have you got that, Mr Gosling? Over to you. Over.”

The speaker said,“I got that. It's another boy. Over.”

Miss Bacon said,“I am so glad it's all gone off all right. Give Molly my love when you write, won't you, Mr Gosling? Have you got anything else for me? Over.”

The speaker said,“I'll think out a reply to this, Jackie, and give it to you on the evening schedule. Over to you. Over.”

She said,“Okay, Mr Gosling, I'll take it then. Now I must sign off from you. Eight Item Yoke, Eight Item Yoke, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Item Yoke.”She went on with her work.

Twenty minutes later she was still at it.“Eight Able George, Eight Able George, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Able George. Eight Able George, if you are receiving Eight Queen Charlie will you come in now. Over.”

The answer came in a sobbing torrent of words, rather impeded by the static of three hundred miles.“Oh, Jackie. I'm so glad you've come. We're in such trouble here. Don's horse came back last night. I heard the horse come in about two o'clock in the morning and I thought, that's funny, because Don never travels at night because of the trees, you know. And then I thought, that's funny, because there was only one horse and he had Samson with him so I got up to look and I couldn't see the horse, my dear, so I got a torch and put my coat on and went out in the rain and, my dear, there it was, Don's horse, Jubilee, saddled and everything and Don wasn't there, and I'm so frightened.”The voice dissolved into a torrent of sobs.

Miss Bacon sat motionless before the microphone, one hand on the transmitter switch, listening to the carrier wave and the low sobbing at the other end, clearly distinguishable through the static. There was nothing to be done until Helen Curtis recovered herself and remembered to switch over to Receive. She glanced quickly at the list before her; she hesitated, and then left her chair and opened the door and called to the fireman on duty,“Fred, ring up Mr Barnes and ask him to come down if he can. Something's happened at Windermere.”

She went back to her chair, and now a heterodyne squeal shrilled out, drowning the sobbing as some sympathetic, foolish woman came in on the same wave saying something unintelligible. She sat patiently waiting for the air to clear; until they remembered their routines she could do nothing for them. The heterodyne stopped and Helen Curtis was still sobbing at the microphone three hundred miles away, beneath the coloured picture of the King and Queen in coronation robes and the picture of their daughter's wedding group that stood upon the set. Then she said,“Jackie, Jackie, are you there? Oh, I forgot. Over.”

Miss Bacon turned her switch and said,“All right, Helen, this is Jackie here. Look, everybody, this is Eight Queen Charlie talking to Eight Able George. Will everybody please keep off the air and not transmit. You can stay listening in, but not transmit. I'll call you if you can do anything. Mrs Curtis, I've sent Fred to telephone to Mr Barnes to get him to come down. Now sit down quietly and tell me what happened and I'll take it down. Remember your routine and switch over when you want me to answer. It's going to be all right, Helen. Just tell me quietly what happened. Over to you. Over.”

The speaker said,“Oh, Jackie, it is good to hear you. I've got nobody here except the boongs. Dave's on holiday and Pete's in Normanton. What happened was this. Don went up to the Disappointment Creek part of the station three days ago and he took Samson with him and he said he'd be away two days. I wasn't worried when they didn't get back because of the rain, you know, and I thought they'd have to go around because the creeks would be up. And then last night Don's horse came back alone, and no sign of Samson. Samson's our new Abo stockrider. I've got a very good tracker here called Johnnie Walker, and Johnnie went out at dawn to track the horse back. But he came back an hour ago and it wasn't any good because the rain had washed the tracks out; he could only follow it about three miles and then he lost it, and now I don't know what to do.”There was a pause, and then she said,“Oh, over.”

Miss Bacon's pad was covered with rough notes. She turned her switch and said,“This is Jackie, Helen. Tell me, what stations are north and south of you? Over.”

“It's Carlisle, north of us, Jackie—that's Eddie Page. It's Midhurst to the south, and Pelican to the east. Midhurst is Joe Harman and Pelican Len Driver. I don't think Midhurst's got a radio, though. Over.”

Miss Bacon said,“All right Helen, I'll call some of them. Stay listening in, because Mr Barnes will want to speak to you when he comes. Now I'm going over to Carlisle. I have telegrams for Eight Dog Sugar and for Eight Jig William, and I will give them as soon as I'm free. Eight Charlie Peter, Eight Charlie Peter, this is Eight Queen Charlie. If you are receiving me, Eight Charlie Peter, will you come in. Over.”

She turned her switch and heard the measured tones of Eddie Page, and sighed with relief.“Eight Queen Charlie, this is Eight Charlie Peter. I heard all that Jackie. I've got Fred Dawson here, and we'll go down to Windermere soon as we can. Tell Helen we'll be with her in about four hours and see what we can do. Will you be keeping a listening watch? Over.”

She said,“That's fine, Mr Page. We shall be on watch here till this is squared up listening every hour, from the hour till ten minutes past the hour. Is this Roger? Over.”

He said,“Okay Jackie, that's Roger. I'll sign off now and go and saddle up. You won't be able to raise me any more; Olive can't work it. Out.”

She called Pelican next, but got no answer, so she called Eight Love Mike, the Willstown Mounted Police Station, and got Sergeant Haines at once. He said,“Okay Jackie, I've heard all of that. I'm sending Phil Duncan and one of my trackers, and we'll see if any of the boys can come along. I'll see that someone goes round by Midhurst and tells Joe Harman. Tell Mr Barnes that Constable Duncan will be at Windermere about three or four this afternoon. Your listening watch is Roger. Good girl, Jackie. Out.”

Drama or no drama, the day's work still remained to be done. Miss Bacon said,“Eight Dog Sugar, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Dog Sugar. I have a telegram for Eight Dog Sugar. If you are receiving Eight Queen Charlie will you please come in. Over.”She went on with her work.

At Midhurst Jean was measuring up the kitchen with Joe Harman and making a plan on a writing-pad, when they heard a horse approaching about noon. It was still raining, though less fiercely than before. They went to the other side of the house and saw Pete Fletcher handing his horse over to Moonshine; he came up to the veranda. He was wearing his broad ringer's hat and he was soaked to the skin; his boots squelched as he climbed the steps.

He said,“Did you hear the radio?”

“No. What's that?”

“Some kind of trouble up on Windermere,”the boy said.“Don Curtis went up with an Abo ringer to the top end of his station three days ago. Now the horse is back without him.”

“Tracked the horse back?”Joe asked at once.

“Tried that, but it didn't work. Tracks all washed out.”The boy sat down on the edge of the veranda and began taking off his boots to tip the water out of them; a little pool formed round him.“Jackie Bacon, the girl on the Cairns radio, she got the news on the morning schedule. She called Sergeant Haines, and he sent Phil Duncan to Windermere. Phil's on his way there now, with Al Burns. I said I'd come round this way and tell you. Eddie Page is on his way to Windermere from Carlisle, with Fred Dawson.”

Joe asked,“Who was the Abo ringer he had with him?”

“Chap called Samson from the Mitchell River. He's been with Don about a month.”

“Do they know where on the station he was going to?”

“Up by Disappointment Creek.”

“For Christ's sake,”Joe said.“Then I know what he's been up to.”Jean, looking at him, saw his mouth set in a hard line.

“What's that?”asked Pete.

“He's been at my poddys again,”said Joe.“The mugger's got a poddy corral up there.”

“How do you know that?”asked Pete.

“Found the sod,”said Joe.“I'll tell you where it is. You know where Disappointment Creek runs into the Fish River?”The boy nodded.“Well, from there you go up Disappointment Creek about four miles and you'll come to an island and a little bit of a creek running in from the north just by it. Well, go on past that about a mile and you'll see a lot of thick bush north of the creek with a little bare hill behind. You can't mistake it. The poddy corral's round the back of the thick bush, just under the bare hill. If you get up on that hill—it's only about fifty feet high—you'll see the poddy corral to the south of you.”He paused.“If you're going on a search party I'd start off with that.”

“Thanks, Joe,”Pete said.“I'll tell them at Windermere.”

“Aye, you'd better. I don't suppose Mrs Curtis knows anything about it.”

Jean had been hesitant to break in on a discussion about things that she knew nothing of, but now she said,“How did you get to know about it, Joe?”

He turned to her.“I was up at the top end just after Christmas with Bourneville, and I thought poddys were a bit scarcer than they ought to be. So then Bourneville got to tracking and the rain hadn't hardly begun then, so it was easy. The Cartwright River makes the station boundary just there, and we followed the tracks across and on to Windermere. Two horses there were, with a lot of poddys. We found the corral like I said, and there they were; been there two or three days. I let 'em out, of course, and drove them back. Had a cow of a job to get them past the first water, oh my word.”

Pete asked,“How many were there, Joe?”

“Forty-seven.”

“All cleanskins?”

“Oh yes.”Joe was rather shocked at the implied suggestion.

“Don wouldn't go and do a thing like that,”he said.

The boy put on his boots and got up.“What'll you do, Joe? Come along with me?”

“I don't think so,”Joe replied slowly.“I think I'll get up to the top end of my station, where he got those poddys from. Maybe he's been after some more, and had his accident up there. That's south of the Cartwright River, and east of the new bore we made. If I can't see any trace of him on my land, then I'll follow the way he drove those poddys to his corral. Maybe I'll meet you around there somewhere tomorrow or the next day.”

Pete nodded.“I'll tell Phil.”

“Tell him I'll be taking Bourneville with me, and I'll start as soon as I've run Miss Paget here back into town in the utility.”

Forty miles in the utility in those wet conditions would take the best part of three hours. Jean said,“Joe, don't bother about me. I'll stay here till you come back. You get off at once.”

He hesitated.“I may be away for days.”

“Well then, I'll ride into town on Sally. One of the boongs can come with me and bring Sally back.”

“You could do that,”he said slowly.“Moonshine will be here, and he could go with you. I'll be taking Bourneville along with me.”

“Well then,”she said,“that's perfectly all right. What time's Dave coming back?”

“Should be back this afternoon,”he said. He turned to Pete.“I've got Jim Lennon on holiday, and Dave's off visiting a girl, one of the nurses down at Normanton. But he'll be back today.”

Jean said,“I'll stay here till Dave comes, in case anything crops up, Joe.”

He smiled at her.“Well, that would be a help. I don't like leaving the place with just the boongs. I'll tell Moonshine he's to take you into town any time you want to go. He turned to Pete.“Want another horse?”

“I don't think so. 'Bout thirty miles to Windermere from here?”

“That's right. Cross over the river here, you know, and you'll find a track that leads there all the way. It's not been used much lately. If you miss it, go north to the Gilbert and follow up a mile or two and you'll find a little hut Jeff Pocock uses when he's hunting 'gators. There's a shallow about two miles up from that where you can get across. Go north from there about ten miles and you'll find their track from the homestead to Willstown. You can't mistake that.”

“Okay.”

“What about some tucker?”

The boy shook his head.“Think I'll get on my way.”

They went down into the yard and saw him saddle up and ride away. The rain had practically stopped, but the clouds were heavy and black overhead. Joe turned to her.“Sorry about this,”he said quietly.“It's spoilt our day. You're sure you don't mind riding in with Moonshine?”

“Of course not,”she said.“You must get away at once.”

She hurried in to galvanize Palmolive to prepare some lunch and food for them to take with them; down in the yard the men were saddling up. They took their riding horses and one packhorse with them, loaded with a tent and camping gear. She was distressed at the meagre quantity and poor quality of the food Joe seemed to think it necessary to take with them. He took a hunk of horrible black, overcooked meat out of the meat safe and dropped it into a sack with three loaves of bread; he took a couple of handfuls of tea in an old cocoa tin and a couple of handfuls of sugar in another. That was the whole of his provision for a journey of indefinite length. She did not interfere, seeing that he was absorbed in his preparations and not wanting to fuss him, but she stored up the knowledge for her future information.

He kissed her goodbye on the veranda and she went down with him to the yard.“Look after yourself, Joe,”she said.

He grinned.“See you in Willstown next week.”Then he was trotting out of the gate with Bourneville by his side and the packhorse behind on a lead, and she was left alone at Midhurst with the boongs.

It began to rain again, and she went up into the veranda. It was very quiet and empty now that Joe was gone, and Palmolive had retired to her own place. The rain made a steady drumming on the iron roof. It occurred to her that the whole business might be over. Don Curtis might have turned up at Windermere and Joe's journey might be so much wasted effort. It was absurd that Midhurst had not got a radio transmitter. It was true enough that they were only twenty miles from the hospital and so would hardly need it for their own accidents, but in a case like this it was both difficult and trying not to know what was going on. She made up her mind to have a transmitter at Midhurst when they were married. A cattle station without one in these days was a back number.

She had never been alone in Midhurst before. She wandered through from room to room, slowly, deep in thought, and the wallaby lolloped after her; from time to time she dropped her hand to caress it, and it nibbled her fingers. She spent a long time in his room, touching and fingering the rough gear and clothes that were essentially Joe. He had so few things. Yet it was in this room he had dreamed and planned that fantastic journey to England in search of her, that journey that had ended in Noel Strachan's office in Chancery Lane. Chancery Lane seemed very far away.

At about three o'clock Dave Hope arrived. He came riding from Willstown through the rain as Pete Fletcher had come in the morning; he had got a lift up on a truck from Normanton. He had heard all about the Windermere affair in Willstown, which he had left shortly before noon, and he could add further information from the radio. He told her that the Abo ringer, Samson, had returned to the homestead.

“Seems they were looking for some poddys,”he said,“somewhere up at the Disappointment Creek end of the station. They separated and one went one way, one the other, for some reason; they left the camp standing and were going to meet back in the evening. Don didn't turn up that evening and of course the Abo couldn't track him in the dark. When the morning came the whole place was swimming in water, and he couldn't track him at all. That's how it seems to be.”

They talked about it for some time on the veranda. Somewhere thirty or forty miles from them a man must be lying injured on the ground; he might be anywhere within a circle thirty miles in diameter. He might be lying under a bush and very probably by that time he would be unconscious; looking for him would be like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay.

“You'd better go and help, Dave,”Jean said at last.“There's nothing to do here. I'll stay here and look after things.”

He was a little doubtful.“What did Mr Harman say I was to do?”

“He didn't say anything. I said I'd stay here till you got back. He doesn't want the station left without anyone at all, except the boongs. I'll stay here Dave, till somebody else comes. You go and join them over at Windermere. That's the best thing you can do.”

“It certainly seems crook to stay here doing nothing,”he admitted.

She got him off in the late afternoon with about two hours of daylight left. He knew Windermere station well, and was quite happy about finishing his journey in the dark. Left to herself, Jean went on with the plan of the kitchen she would have liked to see built, with a view to getting Joe to pull the old one down completely and start again from scratch. Presently Palmolive came in and cooked eggs for her tea, and fed the various animals, and watered the veranda plants.

When Palmolive had gone away, she was alone in Midhurst for the night, with only the puppies and the wallaby for company. Somewhere out in the darkness and the rain Joe Harman would be pushing on towards the top end of the property, horses and men soaked through, picking their way cautiously through the darkness. She could do nothing to help them, nothing but sit and wait.

She learned a lot that evening. She learned a little of the fortitude that a wife on a cattle station must develop, even, she thought a little grimly, a wife with fifty-three thousand pounds. She learned that a radio transmitting and receiving set was almost indispensable to such a wife; even on that first evening she would have liked to exchange a word or two with Jackie Bacon in Cairns. She learned how much a lonely person turns to animals, and queerly the memory of Olive came into her mind, the brown Abo girl who could not bear to be separated from her kitten even on a visit to the Willstown hotel. By the time she went to bed she understood Olive a bit better.

She went to bed at about nine. There were one or two old British and American magazines about the place, tattered, much read stories about a different world. She took one of these and tried to read it in bed, but the fiction failed to satisfy her or to quell her anxieties. The rain stopped, and started, and then stopped again, and presently she slept.

She slept lightly and woke many times, and dozed again. She woke before dawn to the sound of a horse in the yard. She got up at once and put her frock on and went out on the veranda, and switched on the light, and called,“Who's that?”

A man came forward into the light at the foot of the steps, and said,“It's me, Missy, Bourneville. Missa Hope, him come back?”

He spoke with a thick accent; she could not understand what he was saying. She said,“Come up here, Bourneville. What is it?”

He came up to her in the veranda. He was a man of about fifty years of age, very black, with a seamed, wrinkled face and greying hair. He said again,“Missa Hope, him come back?”

She understood this time.“He's gone over to Windermere. He came back here, and went on to Windermere. What's happened to Mr Harman, Bourneville?”

He said,“Missa Harman, him up top end. Him find Missa Curtis, him leg broken. Missa Harman, him send me back fetch Missa Hope, him drive utility up top end, bring Missa Curtis down.”

She was angry with herself that she could not fully understand what he was saying. The fault lay within herself; a woman of the Gulf country would understand this man at once, and it was terribly important that she should understand. She said quietly,“I'm sorry, Bourneville. Say that again slowly.”

She got it at the second repetition.“Mr Hope's not here,”she said.“He's gone to Windermere.”

He was silent for a time. Then he said,“No white feller here, drive utility?”

She shook her head.“Can you drive the utility, Bourneville?”

“No, Missy.”

“Can any of the other Abos drive the utility?”

“No, Missy.”

The thought came to her that she could drive it up to them herself, with Bourneville as a guide, but it was not a thing to be undertaken lightly. She had never owned a car, and though she had driven cars belonging to various young men from time to time and knew the movements, her total driving experience did not exceed five hours. Again, she was angry and humiliated by her own incompetence.

She lit a cigarette and thought deeply. It would benefit nobody if she attempted to drive the utility and crashed it. It was a very big vehicle, larger than any ordinary car and much bigger than anything she had ever driven before. The alternative would be to send Bourneville riding on to Willstown, perhaps to the police station; they would send a truck or a utility out with a driver who would go on to the top end. The return journey to Willstown was forty miles. It would mean at least six hours delay before the truck could arrive at Midhurst ready to start for the top end.

She asked,“How far away is Mr Harman, Bourneville?”

He thought.“Four mile past bore.”

Joe had once told her that the new bore was twenty-two miles from the homestead; that made the scene of the accident twenty-six miles away. She said,“What's the track like? Can the utility get there?”

“Him bonza track in dry far as bore,”he said. She nodded; this was likely enough because the bore had only been made a few months and there must have been trucks going up to it. It would probably be possible to get along it even in this rain. Already the sky was getting grey; full daylight was not far away.

She asked,“Are there any creeks to cross?”

He held up three fingers.“Tree.”

“Are they deep? Can the utility go through?”

“Yes, Missy. Creeks not too deep.”

If Bourneville rode a horse beside the utility to guide her, she thought that she could make it. It was worth trying, anyway; the worst that could happen would be that she would get it stuck and have to send Bourneville back to Willstown with a note for them to send up somebody more competent. So long as he had his horse there was no risk of any great delay. She said,“All right, Bourneville, I'll drive the utility. You come up with me on your horse.”

“Get fresh horse, Missy. Him tired.”

“All right, get a fresh horse.”Bourneville must be tired too, but she was too unaccustomed to these seamed black faces to be able to detect fatigue.“You get some tucker,”she said.“I get tucker, too. We'll start in half an hour.”

He went off and she put the kettle on for a cup of tea and then went and changed into her riding shirt and breeches. There was an old tin truck in Joe's room which she had discovered the night before; it was half full of bandages and splints and various medicines. Being of tin, she thought, it would be waterproof, and she filled it up with blankets and some tins of food from the store cupboard, and a small sack of flour. That was all she could think of for provision in case she got stuck halfway and had to spend a night or two in the utility.

She had a cup of tea and a small meal of meat and bread and jam; then she went down to the yard and examined the utility. The huge petrol tank had twenty gallons in it, and the sump was full of oil. She filled the radiator from the water-butt and filled the waterbag suspended from the lamp bracket. Then she sat in it; to her relief the gears were clearly marked. She switched it on and pressed the starter and jiggeted the accelerator, and was both alarmed and pleased when the engine started. Very gingerly she put it in reverse and drove it out into the yard.

They put the trunk into the back and started off, Bourneville riding ahead of her to show her the way. Partly because of Bourneville on his horse and partly because she thoroughly distrusted her own competence, she never got it into top gear all the way, and never exceeded ten miles an hour. She drove through each of the three creeks along the line that Bourneville showed her, following the agitated, plunging horse as he forced through the yellow water swirling about its legs. Once the water rose above the floorboards of the cab and she was very frightened. But she kept the utility going and the designer had anticipated such usage and had placed the ignition system above the cylinders, and it came through bounding from rock to rock with water pouring out of every hole and cranny.

Four miles beyond the bore Joe Harman sat at the mouth of his small tent. It was pitched in a clearing in a thick patch of bush in the bottom of a little valley. A heavy log stockade or corral had been built in this clearing and stood immediately behind the tent; the movable logs that formed a gate had been pulled down and the corral was empty. Joe had built a fire before the tent, and he was boiling up in a billy over it.

A man lay inside upon a bed of brushwood covered with a waterproof sheet, with a blanket over him. Joe turned his head, and said,“What happened, Don? Did they rush you when you got the pole down?”

From the tent the man said,“My bloody oath. They pushed the pole back on to me and knocked me down. Then about six of them ran over me.”

Joe said,“Serve you bloody well right. Teach you to go muggering about on other people's land.”

There was a pause. Then he said,“How many of mine did you get last year, Don?”

“'Bout three hundred.”

Mr Harman laughed.“I got three hundred and fifty of yours.”

From the tent Mr Curtis said a very rude word.

Chapter 10

Jean drove the utility slowly up to the tent with Bourneville riding beside her; she took out the gear and stopped it with a sigh of relief. Joe came to her as she sat there.“What's happened to Dave?”he asked.“Didn't he come back?”

She told him what had happened.“I thought I'd better have a go at driving it up myself,”she said.“I've only driven a car about three times before. I don't think I've done it any good, Joe.”

He stepped back.“Looks all right,”he said.“Did you hit anything?”

“I didn't hit anything. I couldn't get the gears in sometimes and it made an awful noise.”

“Do they still work?”

“Oh, I think so.”

“That's all right, then. What were the creeks like?”

“Pretty high,”she said.“It came over the floor of the cab.”

He grunted.“Get along back as soon as we can. I wish this bloody rain 'ld stop.”

She asked,“Is Mr Curtis here, Joe?”

He nodded.“In the tent.”

“What's wrong?”

“Got his leg bust,”he said.“Compound fracture—that's what you call it when the bone's sticking out, isn't it? I think he's got a broken ankle, too.”

She pursed her lips.“I brought up that trunk with your splints and things.”

He asked,“Do you know about breaks? Ever been a nurse or anything like that?”

She shook her head.“I've not.”

“I've had a look at it and washed it,”he said.“I set it well as I could, but it's a mess. I made a sort of long splint this morning and tied it all down on that. We'll get him down to hospital, soon as we can. It's been done two days.”

They set to work to strike camp. They removed the tent from over the injured man and he saw Jean for the first time.“Hullo, Miss Paget,”he said.“You don't remember me. I saw you in Willstown, day you arrived.”

She smiled at him.“You'll be back there in a little while. In the hospital.”

Once as she worked she turned to Joe with a puzzled expression.“Whose land are we on, Joe?”

“Midhurst,”he said.“Why?”

She glanced at the corral.“What's that for?”

“That?”he said.“Oh, that's just a place we put the cattle in sometimes, for branding and that.”

She said no more, but went on with her work; once or twice a little smile played round her lips. They worked a blanket underneath the brushwood bed as the man lay upon the ground, and lowered the tailboard of the utility; then, with infinite care and great labour they lifted him on his bed into the body of the truck. The man was white and sweating when they had done and a little blood was showing on his lip where he had bitten it, but there was nothing else that they could do to ease his pain.

They started off at about nine o'clock, Joe driving the utility, Jean riding in the back with the injured man, and Bourneville following behind, riding and leading the two horses. They passed the bore and went on for about five miles till they came to the creeks. The water was considerably higher than when Jean had crossed a couple of hours earlier.

They crossed the first without difficulty, though the water was in the cab of the utility and only just below the floor of the truck body on which the sick man lay. They came through that one and went on. At the second creek the water was higher. Joe stopped on the edge and consulted with Jean and Bourneville about the crossing they had made before. It seemed shallower fifty yards above the point where Jean had crossed; Joe sent Bourneville into the water on his horse to sound the crossing. It looked good enough, so he drove the utility into the water.

It grew deep quickly, and he accelerated to keep her going. The bottom, under the swirling yellow flood, was very rough; the big car went forward leaping from boulder to boulder under the water. Then she came down heavily on something with a crunch of metal, and stopped dead.

Joe said,“Jesus,”and pressed the starter, but the engine was immovable. Oil began to appear on the eddying yellow surface of the water, and slide away downstream in black and yellow tails. He stared at it in consternation.

Jean said,“What's happened, Joe?”

“I've cracked the bloody sump,”he said shortly.

He got down into the water from the cab, feeling his way gingerly; it was well above his knees, close on waist deep. He called Bourneville and made Jean pass him a coil of rope from the back of the truck. The utility was only about ten yards from the bank. They made a sort of tandem harness for the three horses with lariats that they carried at the pommel of the riding saddles, and harnessed this team to the back axle of the utility, groping and spluttering under the water to do so. In ten minutes the vehicle was on dry land; a performance that left Jean awed by its efficiency.

She got down from the back and went to Joe, who was lying on his back under the front axle. She stooped down with him to look; the cast iron sump was crushed and splintered.“Say it, Joe,”she said quietly.

He grinned at her, and said,“It's a fair mugger.”He picked the broken pieces of cast iron from the hole, and got out from underneath. He went and got the starting-handle from the cab and turned the engine carefully. He sighed with relief.“Crank-shaft's all right,”he said.“It's only just the sump.”

He stood in deep thought for a minute, starting-handle in his hand; the rain poured down upon them steadily. She asked,“Where do we go from here, Joe?”

“I could patch that,”he said,“good enough to get her home. But then we haven't got any oil. It's no good going down to fetch the truck the way these creeks are rising.”He stood watching the water for a minute or two.“Never get the truck through by the time it got here,”he said finally.“There's only one thing for it now. He'll have to be flown out.”

The country round about was covered with rocks and trees.“Is there anywhere an aeroplane can land here?”she asked.

“I know one place it might,”he said.“Five hundred yards, they want, and then a good approach.”

He took his horse and went off to the south; by the river they unpacked the tent and arranged it over Don Curtis to keep the rain off him. The wounded man said faintly once,“Joe Harman's a clumsy mugger with a car. He's a good poddy dodger, though.”Jean laughed.“Pair of criminals, the two of you,”she said.“I'm going to have a word with Mrs Curtis.”

“Don't do it,”he said.“She don't know nothing about this.”

She said,“Lie still, and don't talk. Joe's gone off to find a place where the aeroplane can land to fly you out.”

“Hope he makes a better job of it than he did driving this bloody truck,”said Mr Curtis.

Joe came back in a quarter of an hour.“Think we can make something of it,”he said.“It's only about a mile away.”With Bourneville he harnessed up the tandem team of three horses to the front axle of the truck, and with Jean at the wheel they set off through the bush, steering and manoeuvring between the trees.

They came presently to an open space, a long grassy sward with low bushes dotted about on it. It was more than five hundred yards long, but there were trees at each end. It would be possible to make an airstrip there.“Clear off some of those bushes,”Joe said,“and fell some of those trees. I've seen them use a lot worse places than this.”

An axe and a spade were part of the equipment of the utility; they had tools enough. Their labour was quite inadequate for the work.“We'll have to get the boys up from Midhurst,”he said.“Everyone that's there. And get a message down to Willstown about the aeroplane.”

She said,“I'll ride down with Bourneville to the homestead, Joe. Then he can bring the boys back, and I'll go on to Willstown.”

He stared at her.“You can't ride that far.”

“How far is it?”

“Forty miles, to Willstown.”

“I can get to Midhurst, anyway,”she said.“If I can't go on I'll send Moonshine in with a note to Sergeant Haines. He's the best man to tell, isn't he?”

“That's right. If you do this, there's to be no riding alone. If you go on from Midhurst to town, you've got to take Moonshine or one of the other boys with you. I won't have you trying to cross them creeks alone, on a horse.”

She touched his arm.“All right, Joe. I'll take someone with me.”She paused.“We could get on the radio from Willstown,”she said.“We could get some people over from Windermere to help you then, couldn't we?”

“That's right,”he said.“It would be better if we had a radio at Midhurst.”He paused.“There's one thing that they'll all want to know,”he said,“and that's where this place is. We're about six miles west-south-west of the new bore. Can you remember that?”

“I've got that, Joe,”she said.“Six miles west-south-west of the new bore.”She paused.“What are you going to do?”she asked.

“I'll make a camp here.”He looked around.“I'll pitch the tent over the back of the utility,”he said.“We don't want to shift him again if we can help it, not until we get a stretcher. After that I'll start and fell some of those trees for the approach.”

“What about your back?”she asked.

“That'll be all right.”

She thought of swinging a two-handed axe to fell a tree.“Have you done that, Joe?”

“No, but it'll be all right.”

She said,“If you're going to cut down trees I'll take back what I said about not riding alone. I'll send Moonshine up with the other boongs to help you here.”

“You're not to do that,”he said.“It's not safe for you crossing them creeks.”

“It's not safe for you to swing an axe,”she said.“It won't help if you go and ruin your back up here, Joe.”She touched his arm again.“Let's both be sensible,”she said.“The work you'll do in cutting down those trees alone is only what the boongs will do in an hour when they get here. Don't take risks, Joe.”

He smiled at her.“All right. But you're not to ride alone.”

“I'll promise that,”she said.

It was about half past ten when they put her up on Joe's horse, Robin. Robin was a much bigger horse than she had ridden before, and she was rather afraid of him. He was little, if any, wider for her to straddle than the horses she was used to, and Joe's saddle was much better than the casual saddles she had been using up till then; it was soft and worn and supple with much use and yet efficient and in very good repair. When they got the stirrups adjusted for her legs she found herself fairly comfortable.

She started off with Bourneville at a slow trot through the trees, and so began a feat of endurance which she was to look back upon with awe for years to come. She found the horse docile, responsive, and energetic; moreover, he had a very easy gait when trotting. At the same time, the bald fact remained that she had only been on a horse six times before, and never for more than an hour and a half at a time.

The rain had stopped for the moment, and they came to the creek and waded through the tumbling yellow water, Bourneville beside her. They came through that one and went on, walking and trotting alternately. After an hour they came to the second creek and found it very deep; Bourneville made her take her feet out of the stirrups and be prepared to swim, holding to the horse's mane. That was not necessary and they came through to the other side in good order, and then the creeks were over.

“Too deep for the utility,”she said.

“Yes, Missy. Him too deep now.”

No creeks now lay between them and Midhurst; it remained only for them to ride. The rain began again and soaked her to the skin, mingling with the sweat streaming off her. Very soon the wet strides began to chafe her legs and thighs; she could feel the soreness growing, but there was nothing to be done about that. She had said that she would ride, and ride she would.

She found, on the good going that was before them now, that she could get along faster than Bourneville. She was on a much better horse, and a horse that was fresh whereas he had ridden his from Midhurst with the utility. Frequently she had to slow to a walk for him when Robin would have trotted on, and these walks helped her, easing her fatigue.

They came to Midhurst homestead at about half past two. By that time she had a raging thirst, and she was getting very tired. Moonshine and one or two of the other boys ran out and took her bridle and helped her down from Robin; she could not manage the stretch from the stirrup to the ground. She said,“Bourneville, tell Moonshine to saddle up and come with me to Willstown. I'm going to have a cup of tea and some tucker, and then we'll start. You take all the boys back to Mr Harman. That okay?”

He said,“Yes, Missy.”It struck her that if she was tired he must be exhausted; he had been in the saddle continuously for twenty-four hours. She looked at the seamed black face and said,“Can you make it, Bourneville? Are you very tired?”

He grinned.“Me not tired, Missy. Go back to Missa Harman with the boys after tucker.”He went away shouting,“Palmolive, Palmolive. You go longa kitchen, make tea and tucker for Missy. You go longa kitchen quick.”

She sat down wearily upon the chair in the veranda, and in a very short time Palmolive appeared with a pot of tea and two fried eggs upon a steak that was almost uneatable. She ate the eggs and a corner of the steak and drank six huge cups of tea. She did not dare to change her clothes or examine her sores; once started on that sort of thing, she knew, she would never get going again. She finished eating and called out for Moonshine and went down into the yard. The black stockmen, saddling their own horses and making up the bundles for the packhorses in the rain, put her up into the saddle and she was off again for Willstown with Moonshine by her side.

The short rest had stiffened her, and it needed all her courage to face the twenty miles that lay ahead. Every muscle in her body was stretched and aching. Her legs ceased to function much to hold her in the saddle, but the big horns above and below her thighs came into play and held her in place.

They crossed the creeks, now too deep for a car, and rode on. They were following the car track, and the going was good. She was the laggard now, because Moonshine's horse was fresh and Robin was tiring. She rode the last ten miles in a daze, walking and trotting wearily; for the last five miles the black stockman rode close by her side to try and catch her if she fell. But she didn't fall. She rode into Willstown in the darkness at about seven o'clock, a very tired girl on a very tired horse with a black ringer beside her. She rode past the hotel and past the ice-cream parlour with its lights streaming out into the street, and came to a stand outside Sergeant Haines' police station and house. She had been about eight hours in the saddle.

Moonshine dismounted and held Robin's head. She summoned a last effort and got her right leg back over the saddle, and slithered down to the ground. She could not stand at first without holding on to something, and she held on to Robin's saddle. Then Sergeant Haines was there.

“Why, Miss Paget,”he said in the slow Queensland way,“where have you come from?”

“From Joe Harman,”she said.“He's got Don Curtis up at the top end of Midhurst with a broken leg. Look, tell Moonshine what he can do with these horses, and then help me inside, and I'll tell you.”

He told Moonshine to take the horses round to the police corral and to bed down for the night with the police trackers in the bunkhouse; then he turned to Jean.“Come on in the house,”he said.“Here, take my arm. How far have you ridden?”

“Forty miles,”she said, and even in her fatigue there was a touch of pride in the achievement.“Joe Harman's up there now with Mr Curtis. All the Midhurst stockmen have gone up there to make an airstrip. It's the only way to get him out, Joe says. You can't get through the creeks with a utility.”

He took her in and sat her down in his mosquito-wired veranda, and Mrs Haines brought out a cup of tea. He glanced at the clock and settled down to listen to her in slow time; he had missed the listening watch of seven o'clock on the Cairns Ambulance radio, and now there was three quarters of an hour to wait before he could take any action.“Six miles west-south-west of the new bore,”he said thoughtfully.“I know, there's open country round about that part. I'll get on to the radio presently, and get the plane out in the morning.”

“Joe thought if you got on the radio some ringers might go out from Windermere and help him make the strip,”she said.“He's talking about cutting down some trees. I don't want him to do that, because of his back.”

He nodded.“I'll be getting Windermere at the same time.”And then he said,“I never knew you were a rider, Miss Paget.”

“I'm not,”she said.“I've been on a horse six times before.”

He smiled, and then said,“Oh my word. Are you sore?”

She got up wearily.“I'm going home to bed,”she said, and caught hold of the back of the chair.“If I stay here any longer I won't be able to walk at all.”

“Stay where you are,”he said.“I'll get out the utility and run you to the hospital.”

“I don't want to go to the hospital.”

“I don't care if you want to go or not,”he said,“but that's where you're going. You'll be better off there for tonight, and Sister Douglas, she's got everything you'll want.”

Half an hour later she was bathed and in a hospital bed with penicillin ointment on various parts of her anatomy, feeling like a very small child. Back in his office Sergeant Haines sat down before his transmitter.

“Eight Queen Charlie, Eight Queen Charlie,”he said,“this is Eight Love Mike calling Eight Queen Charlie. Eight Queen Charlie, if you are receiving Eight Love Mike will you please come in. Over to you. Over.”

He turned his switch, and the speaker on top of the set said in a girl's voice,“Eight Love Mike this is Eight Queen Charlie answering, receiving you strength three. Pass your message. Over.”

He said,“Eight Queen Charlie, we've got Don Curtis. Joe Harman found him at the top end of Midhurst. His injuries are compound fracture of the left leg two and a half days old, probably left ankle broken in addition. Position of the camp is six miles west-south-west of Harman's new bore. Tell me now if this is Roger. Over.”

The girl's voice from the speaker said,“Oh, I am glad—we've all been so worried this end. That is Roger, but I will repeat.”She repeated.“Over to you. Over.”

He said,“Okay, Jackie. Now take a message for Mr Barnes. Message reads. Request ambulance aircraft at Willstown soon as possible prepared for bush landing. Just read that back to me. Over.”

She read it back to him.

“Okay, Jackie,”he said.“Now call Windermere for me and let me speak to them. Over.”

She said,“Eight Able George, Eight Able George, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Able George. If you are receiving me, Eight Able George, please come in. Over to you. Over.”

A tremulous woman's voice said in thirty speakers in thirty homesteads,“Eight Queen Charlie, this is Eight Able George. I've heard all that, Jackie. Isn't it marvellous the way prayer gets answered? Oh my dear, I'm that relieved I don't know what to say. I'm sure we all ought to go down on our bended knees tonight and thank God for His mercy. I'm sure we all ought to do that. Oh—over.”

Miss Bacon turned her switch.“I'm sure we'll all thank God tonight, Helen. Now Sergeant Haines is waiting to speak to you. You stay listening with your switch on to Receive, Helen. Eight Love Mike, will you come in now? Over.”

In Willstown Sergeant Haines said,“Eight Love Mike calling Eight Able George. Mrs Curtis, you've heard Joe Harman's with your husband up at the top end of Midhurst. He's got to make an airstrip for the ambulance to land on, and he's taken all his stockmen up there. Will you send everyone you have upon your station to help make this airstrip? I'll give you the position. If you have a pencil and a bit of paper write this down.”He paused.“The place where Joe Harman is making the strip is six miles west-south-west of his new bore. Six miles west-south-west of his new bore. I want you to send every man you've got there to help him, and pass that message to Constable Duncan if he's with you. Is that Roger, Mrs Curtis? Over.”

The tremulous voice said,“That's Roger, Sergeant. Six miles west-south-west of Joe's new bore. I've got that written down. Eddie Page is here, and I'm expecting Phil Duncan to come back tonight. I'll send everybody up there. Isn't it marvellous what God can do for us? When I think of all His mercies to us suffering sinners I could go down on my bended knees and cry.”There was a pause, and then she said,“Oh, I keep on forgetting. Over.”

He turned his switch and said,“It's not only God you've got to thank, Mrs Curtis.”He was very well aware that most of the housewives in a hundred thousand square miles of the Gulf country would be listening in to this conversation, and one good turn deserves another.“Miss Paget rode forty miles down from the top end of Midhurst to bring this message about Don. You know Jean Paget, the English girl that's started the shoe workshop and the ice-cream shop? She was out at Midhurst spending the day when we heard Don was missing, and she rode forty miles to tell me where this airstrip was to be. She's only been astride a horse six times before, and the poor girl's so sore she can't stand. Sister Douglas has her in the hospital for a good rest. She'll be all right in a day or two. Over.”

She said,“Oh my word. I don't know what to say to thank her. Give her my very dearest love, and I do hope she'll be better soon.”There was a pause, and then she said,“I've been so troubled in my mind about that ice-cream parlour. It didn't seem right to have a thing like that in Willstown, and opening it on Sundays and Christmas Day and all. I couldn't find nothing in the Bible either for or against it, and I've been that perplexed. But now it seems God had that under His hand like everything else. I do think it's wonderful. Over.”

“That's right,”said Sergeant Haines non-committally. He had been uncertain about the shop closing hours himself and had written to his head office for guidance; it was a good long time since he had been in a district where there was a shop to close.“Now I must sign off, Mrs Curtis. Eight Queen Charlie, this is Eight Love Mike. It's okay here if you want to close down your listening watch for tonight, Jackie. I'd like to have a listening watch in daylight hours tomorrow, from seven o'clock on. Is this Roger? Over.”

Miss Bacon said,“That is Roger, sergeant. I'll tell Mr Barnes. If you have nothing more for me, I shall close down. Over.”

“Nothing more, Jackie. Goodnight. Out.”

“Goodnight, Sergeant. Out.”

Miss Bacon switched off her sets thankfully. There was no proper organization for a twenty-four hour listening watch at the Cairns Ambulance; in an emergency such as this everybody had to muscle in and lend a hand. She had been on duty the previous day from eight in the morning till midnight, and from eight o'clock that morning till then; Mr Barnes had taken the night watch and was preparing to do so again. She thought, ruefully, that she had missed Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall; the show would be half over. But there was still one more night, and with any luck this flap would be over and she could see it tomorrow. She went to telephone to Mr Barnes.

Mr Barnes telephoned to Mr Smythe of Australian National Airways, and Mr Smythe telephoned to his reserve pilot, Captain Jimmie Cope. Mr Cope said,“Hell, I hope it's better in the morning than it was today. We'd never have got over the Tableland today. Better say take off at six, I suppose. I'll be along at the hangar then.”

When he got to the aerodrome at dawn the old Dragon, surely the best aircraft ever built for ambulance work in the outback, was running up both engines. The clouds hung low at about five hundred feet, shrouding the hill immediately behind the aerodrome; it was raining a little. Willstown lay about four hundred miles to the west-north-west; the first seventy miles of this course lay over the Atherton Tableland with mountains up to three thousand five hundred feet in height With no radio navigational aids he would have to fly visually all the way, scraping along between the clouds and the treetops as best he could.

He said a sour word or two to the control officer and took off down the runway with an ambulance orderly on board. Once in the air it was worse than ever. He flew at three hundred feet up the Barron River towards the mountains, hoping to find a break in the low cloud that would enable him to get up on to the Tableland through the Kuranda Gap. The grey vapour closed around him and the sides of the jungle-covered gorge drew very near his wings. There was no sign of a break ahead. He edged over to the starboard side and made a tight, dicey turn round in the gorge with about a hundred feet to spare, and headed back for the coast. He lifted his microphone and said,“Cairns Tower, this is Victor How Able Mike Baker. I can't make it by Kuranda. I'm going up to Cooktown by the coast, and try it from there. Tell Cooktown I'll be landing there in about an hour, and I'll want twenty gallons of seventy-three octane.”

He flew on up the tropical Queensland coast at about three hundred feet, and came to Cooktown an hour later. Cooktown is a pretty little town of about three hundred people, but it was grey and rainswept when he got there. He landed on the aerodrome and refuelled.“I'm going to try and make Willstown from here,”he said.“There's not much high stuff on the way. If it gets too bad I shall come back. I'll be on a direct course from here to Willstown.”He said that in case a search party should be necessary.

He took off again immediately the refuelling was finished and flew inland on a compass course. In the whole of that flight he was never more than two hundred feet above the treetops. He scraped over the Great Dividing Range, petering out up in this northern latitude, with about fifty feet to spare, always on the point of turning back, always seeing a faint break ahead that made it necessary to go on. Behind him the orderly sat gripping his seat, only too well aware of danger in the flight and impotent to do anything about it. For three hours they flew like that, and then as they neared the Gulf of Carpentaria the pilot started picking up the landmarks that he knew, a river bend, a burnt patch of the bush, a curving sandy waste like a banana. He came to Willstown and flew round the few houses at a hundred feet to tell them he was there, and landed on the airstrip. He taxied in to where the truck was standing waiting for him; he was strained and tired. It was still raining.

He held a little conference with Sergeant Haines and Sister Douglas and Al Burns beside the truck.“I'll have a crack at flying him back here,”he said.“If it's no better this afternoon he'll have to spend the night in hospital here. I can't fly him to Cairns in this weather. It'll probably be better by tomorrow.”They gave him a freehand pencil map which the sergeant had prepared for him, showing him the creeks and Midhurst homestead, and the new bore, and the probable position of the airstrip, and he took off again. That was at about eleven o'clock.

Following this map he found the place without much difficulty. It was clear where they meant him to land, because trees had been felled upon a line he was to come in on, and bushes had been cleared for a short distance on what seemed to be a grassy meadow. He could see about ten men working or standing looking up at him; he could see a utility parked with a tent over it. He circled round under the low cloud, considering the risks. The runway that they had prepared was pitifully short, even for a Dragon. Time was also short, however; the man had had his compound fracture three days now. Sepsis and gangrene and all sorts of things would be setting in; he must not delay. He bit his lip and lined the Dragon up with the runway for a trial approach.

He came in as slowly as he dared over the trees, missing them by no more than five feet, motoring in with careful graduations of the throttles. Over the cut trees he throttled back and stuffed her down towards the grass, hoping it was smooth. He could... he couldn't, he could never stop her in time. With wheels no more than two feet from the ground he jammed the throttles forward, held her level for a moment, and climbed away.

He turned to the orderly behind him as he circled low under the clouds, keeping the airstrip in sight.“Got a pencil and paper? Write this.”He thought for a moment.“Sorry I can't make it. Strip must be about a hundred yards longer, or a hundred and fifty if you can manage it. I will come back at four o'clock this afternoon.”They put this in a message bag with coloured streamers flying from it, and flew over, and dropped it on the middle of the strip.

Back at Willstown airfield he told them what had happened.“They've not had time to make it long enough,”the sergeant said.“You'll find it'll be all right this afternoon.”He drove the pilot in to the hotel and Al Burns took him to the bar, but the pilot would drink nothing but lemonade till the difficult flying of the afternoon was over.

He lunched at the hotel and strolled into the ice-cream parlour after lunch. It was new since he had last been in Willstown, and he stared around him with amused wonder. He ordered an ice; Rose Sawyer told him briskly to be quick and eat it, because she was shutting up. He asked if she closed every afternoon and was told that she was going up to see Miss Paget at the hospital. Then, of course, he heard all about her ride.

At four o'clock he was back over the airstrip at the top end of Midhurst; the rain had stopped and he was able to approach at about eight hundred feet. He circled once and had a good look; they had made the strip much longer and he would have no difficulty now. He came in and touched down at the near end; the Dragon bounced on the uneven ground and landed again, and rolled bumping and swaying to a standstill.

He stopped the engines and got out; they took a stretcher from the cabin and the orderly began the business of getting Don Curtis on to the stretcher and into the cabin, helped by the ringers. The pilot lit a cigarette and gave one to Joe Harman.

Joe asked,“Did you hear anything about Miss Paget, down in Willstown?”

The pilot said,“She's in the hospital. Nothing much wrong, they say, just tired and sore. She must be quite a girl.”

Joe said,“Too right. If you see anyone from the hospital, leave a message for Miss Paget, will you? Tell her I'll be in town tomorrow afternoon.”

“I'll do that,”said the pilot.“I'll be staying there tonight. It's too late now to get to Cairns; I can't do night flying in this weather, not in this thing.”

The loading was completed now. He got into his seat; the orderly swung the propellers and they taxied back to the far end of the track. It was short, but he could make it. He opened out and took off down the runway, and cleared the trees at the far end with about fifteen feet to spare. Half an hour later he was on the ground at Willstown, helping to transfer the stretcher to the truck that was to take Don Curtis to the hospital.

In hospital that afternoon Jean Paget showed Rose Sawyer the more accessible of her wounds, great chafed raw places six inches long.“Honourable scars,”Rose said.“Pity you can't show them.”

“It's because everything was so wet,”Jean said.“But I'm going to have a proper pair of riding breeches made, I think. Ringers' strides are for ringers' skins.”

“I'd never want to get up on a horse again if it'd done that to me.”

“It's going to be some time before I can,”said Jean.

Presently Rose said,“Tell me, Jean. Do you think there'd be any work up here for a contractor?”

Jean stared at her.“What sort of a contractor?”

“Making roads and things like that. Buildings, too.”

“Is this Billy Wakeling, from Alice?”

Rose nodded.“He wrote me,”she said carelessly. For the bunch of seven letters that arrived by the Dakota regularly every Wednesday, this seemed to Jean to be an understatement.“You know, his father's a contractor in Newcastle—he's got graders and bulldozers and steam shovels and all sorts of things like that. He started Billy off in Alice after the war because he said Alice was expanding and expanding places meant work for contractors. But Billy says he's fed up with Alice.

“He's coming up here for a visit as soon as the wet's over,”she added artlessly.

“He won't get any roads or buildings to contract for here,”Jean observed.“There's nobody to pay for them. I know what does want doing though. Joe Harman wants some little dams built up on Midhurst. I don't know if that's in his line.”

“I should think it might be,”said Rose slowly.“After all, it's shifting muck, and that's what Billy does. He'd do it with a bulldozer in the dry, wouldn't he?”

“I haven't the least idea,”said Jean.“Can he get hold of a bulldozer?”

“His old man's got about forty down at Newcastle,”Rose said.“I should think he could spare one for Billy.”

“They're only little dams,”said Jean.

“Well, everything's got to start. I don't think Billy expects a contract like the Sydney Harbour Bridge, not in the first year.”

Jean asked,“Could you scoop out a hole for a swimming-pool with a bulldozer?”

“I should think so. Yes, I'm sure you could. I went out with him once and watched one working. He let me drive it; it was awful fun. You'd scoop it out first with a bulldozer and then you'd put up wooden stuff that they call shuttering and make the concrete sides.”

“Could he do all that, too?”

“Oh, Billy can do that. Why, do you want a swimming-pool?”

Jean stared at the white painted wall.“It was just an idea. A nice, big pool just by the bore, with diving-boards and everything, big enough for everybody to get into and have fun. You see, you've got the water there, right in the main street. You'd have a wooden thing they call a cooling tower and run the water through that to cool it off before it went into the pool. Have a lawn of grass by it, where people could lie and sunbathe if they want to. An old man taking the cash at the gate, a bob a bathe...”

Rose stared at her.“You've got it all worked out. Are you thinking of doing that, Jean?”

“I don't know. It would be fun to have it, and I believe it'ld pay like anything. Mixed bathing, of course.”

Rose laughed.“Have all the wowsers in the place looking over the rails to see what was going on.”

“Charge them sixpence for that,”said Jean. She turned to Rose.“Ask Billy to get hold of plans and things,”she said,“and tell us what it would cost when he comes up after the wet. I don't believe that there's a swimming-pool in the whole Gulf country. It would be fun to have one.”

“I'll ask him. Anything else?”

Jean stretched in her bed.“A nice hairdressing saloon and beauty parlour,”she said,“with a pretty French brunette in it who really knew her stuff, and could make one look like Rita Hayworth. That's what I want, sometimes. But I don't think that's in Billy's line.”

“It had better not be,”said Rose.

Jean got up next day and left the hospital, and walked awkwardly to the workshop. There was an airmail letter from Mr Pack about the air freight consignment of shoes that he had received from them. His enthusiasm was temperate; he pointed out a number of defects and crudities which would require correction in production batches; most of these they were aware of and had attended to. He finished up by saying he would try and shift them, which, knowing Mr Pack, Jean and Aggie Topp interpreted as praise.

“He'll like the next lot better,”Aggie said. And then she said,“I had two girls come along for jobs while you were away. One was Fred Dawson's daughter; he's the chief stockman or something on a station called Carlisle. She's fifteen; her mother brought her in. She's a bit young, but she'd be all right. The other was a girl of nineteen who's been working in the store at Normanton. I didn't like her so much.”

“I don't want to take on anyone else until that first batch of shoes have been sold,”said Jean.“If Mrs Dawson comes in again, tell her that we'll let her know about the kid after the wet. I'd like to have her if I can. I don't think we want the other one, do we?”

“I don't think so. Bit of a slut, she was.”

They talked about the details of the business for an hour.“We haven't got the overalls back yet,”said Aggie.“I went and saw Mrs Harrison, but her back's bad again. We'll have to find someone else.”They issued the girls with a clean overall each week to work in, and the washing of these overalls was something of a problem to them.

“What we want,”said Jean,“is one of those Home Laundry things, and do them ourselves. We could run it off the generating set.... Of course, it needs hot water.”She thought for a minute.“Think about that one,”she said.“Hire it out, do people's washing for them. Anyway, see if you can find another Mrs Harrison for the time being.”

Aggie said,“Everybody's talking about your ride, Miss Paget.”

“Are they?”

She nodded.“Even that girl from Normanton, she knew about it, too.”

“How on earth did she get to hear?”

“It's these little wireless sets they have up on the cattle stations,”Aggie said.“The boys here were telling me, they all listen in to what everybody else is saying—telegrams and everything. They've got nothing else to do. You can't keep anything secret in this country.”And then she said,“I heard the aeroplane go off this morning. Was the man very bad?”

“Not too good,”said Jean.“Sister thinks they'll be able to save the leg. We ought to have a doctor here, of course.”

“There's not enough work to keep a doctor occupied in a place like this,”said Aggie.“Where did they fly him to?”

“Cairns. There's a good hospital in Cairns.”She turned to the door, and paused.“Aggie,”she said,“how do you think a swimming-pool would go in Willstown? Would people use it?”

Joe Harman rode into the town that afternoon with Pete Fletcher. He put his horse into the stable behind the Australian Hotel and came to find Jean; he was wet and dirty in his riding clothes because the creeks were up, and though he had started spick and span from Midhurst as befits a man going in to town to see his girl, he had had to swim one of the two creeks on the way holding to the mane and saddle of his horse, which had rather spoilt the sartorial effect. He was half dry when he got to Willstown; he combed his hair and emptied out his boots, and went to the ice-cream parlour to ask Rose where Jean was.

He found her in her bedroom, writing a long letter to me. He tapped on the door and she came out to him.“We can't talk here, Joe. I'll never hear the last of it if you come in. Let's go and have an ice-cream in the parlour.”It was borne in on her that this was literally the only place in Willstown where young men and young women could meet reputably to talk; the alternative, in the wet, would be to go into the stable or a barn. They picked a table by the wall; she looked around her at the rectangular walls and the adjacent tables with discontent.“This won't do at all,”she said.“I'll have some sort of booths made, little corners where people can talk privately.”

“What'll you have?”he asked.

“I'll have a banana split,”she said.“I want feeding up. I don't know if you know it, but I've been very ill. Don't pay, Joe—have it on the house.”

He grinned.“Think I'm the kind of man to take a girl out and let her shout?”

“If you're feeling like that, I'll have two. The bananas will be going bad by tomorrow.”She was getting fruit flown in by the Dakota every Wednesday, and she had little difficulty in selling the small quantities she got at prices that would pay for the air freight. Her trouble was that usually she could not keep it for a week.

He came back with the ices and sat down with her.“Now Joe,”she said,“what about that poddy corral?”

He grinned sheepishly, and looked over his shoulder.“That's crook,”he said.“There's no poddy corral on Midhurst.”

“There's something damn like one,”she said, laughing.“Come clean, Joe. What happened to Don Curtis, anyway?”

“He was moseying about on my land where he hadn't got no right to be,”Joe said carefully.“He found that corral where I'd got some poddys—my own poddys, mind you. I'd put 'em in there to consider things a bit, because they'd been wandering. Well, Don went to steal them off me, and he took down the top bar, but they were pretty wild, those poddys were; they hadn't had no water for about four days except the rain. Far as I can make out they pushed the second bar out on top of him when he went to loose it, and knocked him over on his back with the pole on top, and then they all ran over him and bust his leg. They ran out on the horse, too; Don had hitched his horse by the rein to something or other, and these poddys, they come charging down on to the horse and he bust the rein and he went too. So there Don was, and serve him bloody well right for going where he hadn't got no business to be.”

“Whose poddys were they, really, Joe?”

“Mine,”he replied firmly.

She smiled.“Where had they been wandering?”

He grinned.“Windermere. But they were my poddys. He pinched 'em off me. You heard me telling Pete he's got a poddy corral there.”

“Were these poddys that you had in your corral the same ones that you let out of his corral?”she asked. It seemed to be getting just a little bit involved.

“Most of 'em,”he said.“There might have been one or two with them that we picked up as damages, you might say.”He paused.“Things get a bit mixed up sometimes,”he observed.

“Where are the poddys now?”she asked.“The ones that Don let out?”

“They'll be on Midhurst,”he said.“They'll be somewhere round about the bore, I'd say. They won't stir from the first water that they find, not even in the wet.”

She ate a little of her banana split in silence. Then she said,“Well, anyway, you're not to go after any of his poddys while he's in hospital, Joe. That's not fair. He'll come out of hospital and find there's not a poddy left.”

“I wouldn't do a thing like that.”

“I bet you would. I don't know how this game is played, Joe, but I'm quite sure that's against the rules.”

He grinned.“All right. But he'll be after mine as soon as he gets back. That's sure as anything.”

“Why can't you let each other's poddys alone?”

“I'll let his alone, but he won't let mine alone. You see,”he said simply.“I got about fifty more of his last year than he got of mine.”

This conversation, Jean felt, was not getting them anywhere; where poddys were concerned Joe's moral standards seemed to be extremely low. She changed the subject, and said,“Joe, about those little dams you were talking about on Green Island. Have you got anyone to build them for you yet?”

He shook his head.“It's no good thinking about those until the dry.”

“Could a bulldozer build them?”

“Oh my word,”he said.“If anybody had a bulldozer he'd built the lot inside a month. But there's no bulldozer this side of the Curry.”

“There might be one,”she said. She told him about Rose Sawyer and Billy Wakeling.“He's coming up to see her anyway,”she said,“and she says he's looking for that sort of work to do up here. I suppose he's turning into Rose's steady. You'd better take him out to Midhurst when he comes, and have a talk to him.”

“My word,”he said.“If we had a joker with a bulldozer in Willstown it'ld make a lot of difference to the stations.”

“It'ld make a lot of difference here in Willstown,”she observed.“Joe, if we had a really decent swimming-pool just by the bore, with little cabins to change in and green lawns to sunbathe on, and diving-boards, and an old man in charge to mow the grass and keep it clean and nice—would people use it, Joe? If we charged, say, a bob a bathe?”

They discussed the swimming-pool for some time, and came to the conclusion that it could never pay upon the basis of a town with a hundred and fifty people.“It's just a question of how fast this town is going to grow,”he said.“A swimming-pool is just another thing to make it grow. There's not a town in the whole Gulf country that's got a pool.”

“The ice-cream parlour's paying, definitely,”Jean said.“If we can keep up the quality, I feel we're home on that one. I'd like to try the swimming-pool next, I think, if I can get the money for it out of Noel Strachan.”

He smiled in curious wonder.“What comes after the swimming-pool?”

She stared out at the wet, miry expanse of earth that was the street.“They'll get their hair wet in the swimming-pool, so we'll have to have a beauty parlour,”she said.“I think that's the next thing. And after that, an open-air cinema. And after that, a battery of Home Laundries for the wet wash, and after that a decent dress shop.”She turned to him.“Don't laugh, Joe. I know it sounds crackers, but just look at the results. I start an ice-cream parlour and put Rose in it, and young Wakeling comes after her with a bulldozer, so you get your dams built.”

“You're a bit ahead of the game,”he said.“They aren't built yet.”

“They will be soon.”

He glanced around the ice-cream parlour.“If everything you want to do works out like this,”he said slowly,“you'll have a town as good as Alice Springs in no time.”

“That's what I want to have,”she said.“A town like Alice.”

Chapter 11

All that happened nearly three years ago.

I cannot deny that in that time her letters have been a great interest to me, perhaps the greatest interest in my rather barren life. I think that after the affair of Mr Curtis and the poddy dodging she became more closely integrated into the life of the Gulf country than she had been before, because even before her marriage there was a subtle change in her letters. She ceased to write as an Englishwoman living in a strange, hard, foreign land; she gradually began to write about the people as if she was one of them, about the place as if it was her place. That may be merely my fancy, of course, or it may be that I made such a study of her letters, reading and re-reading them and filing them carefully away in a special set of folders that I keep in my flat, that I found subtleties of meaning in them that a more casual reader would not have noticed.

She married Joe Harman in April after the mustering, as she had promised him. They were married by a travelling Church of England priest, one of the Bush Brothers who had been, queerly enough, a curate at St John's in Kingston-on-Thames, not ten miles from where I used to live in Wimbledon. There was, of course, no church in Willstown at that time though one is to be built next year; they were married in the Shire Hall, and all the countryside came to the wedding. They had their honeymoon, or part of it, on Green Island, and I suppose she took her sarong with her, though she did not tell me that.

In the first two years of her married life she made considerable inroads into her capital. She was very good about it; she always started off one thing and got it trading smoothly before starting on another, after the first effort when she started both the ice-cream parlour and the workshop together. She used to send me accounts of her ventures, too, prepared for her by a young man called Len James who worked in the bank. But all the same, she asked me for three or four thousand pounds every six months or so, till by the time her second son was born, the one that she called Noel after me, she had had over eighteen thousand pounds for her various local businesses. Although they all seemed to be making profits Lester and I were growing, by that time, a little concerned about our duty as trustees, broad though our terms of reference under the Macfadden will might be. Our duty was to keep her capital intact and hand it over to her when she was thirty-five, and I began to worry sometimes about the chances of a slump or some unknown disaster in Australia which would extinguish the thirty per cent of her inheritance that we had let her have. Too many eggs seemed to be going into one basket, and her investments, laudable though they might be, could hardly be classed as trustee stocks.

The climax came in February, when she wrote me a long letter from the hospital at Willstown, soon after she had given birth to Noel. She asked me if I would be one of his godfathers, and of course that pleased me very much although there was very little prospect that I should live long enough to discharge my duties by him. Wakeling was to be the second godfather, and as he had married Rose Sawyer about six months previously and seemed to be settled in the district I felt that she would not be injuring her child by giving him an elderly godfather who lived on the other side of the world. I made a corresponding alteration to my will immediately, of course.

She went on in the same letter to discuss affairs at Midhurst.“You know, Joe's only manager at present,”she wrote.“He's done awfully well; there were about eight thousand head of cattle on the place when he went there, but now there are twelve or thirteen thousand. We shall be selling over two thousand head this year, too many to send down to Julia in one herd, so Joe's got to make two trips. It looks as if there'll be a steady increase for the next few years, because each year in the dry Bill Wakeling builds a couple more dams for us so we get more and more feed each year.”

She went on to tell me about Mrs Spears, the owner.“She left the Gulf country after her husband died about ten years ago,”she said,“and now she lives in Brisbane. Joe and I went down and stayed a couple of nights with her last October; I didn't tell you about it then because I wanted to think it over and we had to find out if we could get a loan, too.”

She told me that Mrs Spears was getting very old, and she wanted to realize a part of the considerable capital that she had locked up in Midhurst; probably she wanted to give it away during her lifetime to avoid death duties.“She asked if we could buy a half share in the station,”she said.“She would give us an option to buy the other half at a valuation at the time of her death, whenever that might be. It means finding about thirty thousand pounds; that's about the value of half the stock. The land is rented from the State, of course, and there's seventeen years to go upon the present lease; it means an alteration to the lease to put Joe's name into it jointly with hers.”

She told me that they had been to the bank. The bank would advance two-thirds of the thirty thousand pounds that they would have to find.“They sent an inspector up who knows the cattle business, and he came out to Midhurst,”she wrote.“Joe's got a good name in the Gulf country and I think he thought that we were doing all right with the property. That leaves us with ten thousand pounds to find in cash and that's what I wanted to ask you about.”

She digressed a little.“Midhurst's a good station,”she said,“and we're very happy here. If we can't take it over Mrs Spears will probably sell it, and we'd have to go somewhere else and start again. I'd hate to do that and it would be a great disappointment to Joe after all the work he's put into Midhurst. I'd be miserable leaving Willstown now, because it's turning into quite a fair-sized place, and it's a happy little town to live in, too. I do want to stay here if we can.”

She went on,“I know a cattle station isn't a trustee investment, Noel, any more than any of the other things you've let me put my money into. Will you think it over, and tell me if we can have it? If we can't, I'll have to think again; perhaps I could sell or mortgage some of the businesses I've started since I got here. I should hate to do that, because they might get into bad hands and go downhill. This town's like a young baby—I know something about those, Noel! It needs nursing all the time till it's a bit bigger.”

Another ten thousand pounds, of course, would mean that we should have allowed her to invest half of her inheritance in highly speculative businesses in one district, which was by no means the intention of Mr Macfadden when he made his will. Legally, of course, we were probably safe from any action for a breach of trust by reason of the broad wording of the discretionary clause that I had slipped into the will. I spent a day or two thinking about this before I showed her letter to Lester, and it came to me in the end that our duty was to do what Mr Macfadden would himself have done in similar circumstances.

What would that queer recluse in Ayr have done if he had had to settle this point? He was an invalid, of course, but I did not think he was an unkind or an unreasonable man. He had not made that long trust because he distrusted Jean Paget; he did not even know her. He had made it for her good, because he thought that an unmarried girl in her twenties who was mistress of a large sum of money would be liable to be imposed upon. In that he may well have been right. But Jean Paget was a married woman of thirty with two children now, and married to a sensible and steady sort of man, whatever his ideas on poddy-dodging might be. Would Mr Macfadden, in these circumstances, still have insisted on the trust being maintained in its original form?

I thought not. He was a kindly man—I felt sure of that—and he would have wanted her to have her Midhurst station, since that was where her home and all her present interests were. He was a careful, Scottish man, however; I thought he would have turned his mind more to the details of her investment in Midhurst to ensure that she got good value for this ten thousand pounds. Looking at it from this point of view I was disturbed at the short tenure of the lease. Seventeen years was a short time for Joe Harman to regain the value of the dams that he was building on the property and all the other improvements that he was making; he could not possibly go on with capital improvements until a very much longer lease had been negotiated.

I showed her letter to my partner then, and we had a long talk about it. He took the same view that I did, that the lease was the kernel of the matter.“I can't say that I take a very serious view of this trust, Noel,”he said.“I think your approach is the right one, to try and put yourself in the testator's shoes when looking at this thing. He was quite content to leave the money to his sister without any question of a trust, while her husband was alive to help her. It was only after the husband's death that he wanted the trust. Well, now the daughter's got a husband to help her. If he was disposing of his money now, presumably he wouldn't bother about any trust at all.”

“That's a point,”I said.“I hadn't thought of that one.”

“I don't suggest we disregard the trust,”he said.“I think we ought to use it as a lever to get this lease put right for her. Tell all and sundry that we won't release her money till the leasehold is adjusted to our satisfaction. Then, so far as I'm concerned, she can have all she wants.”

I smiled.“I wouldn't tell her that.”

I sat down next day and drafted a letter to her in reply.“I do not think it is impossible to release a further ten thousand pounds,”I wrote,“but I should be very sorry to do so until this matter of the lease had been adjusted to our satisfaction. As the thing stands at the moment, you could lose your home in seventeen years' time and lose with it all the money that you and Mrs Spears have expended on improvements such as dams and other water conservation schemes, which would pass to the State without any payment whatsoever, so far as my present information goes.”I learned later that that was incorrect.

I came to the main point of my letter next.“No doubt you have a solicitor that you can trust, but if it would assist you I would very gladly come and visit you in Queensland for a few weeks and see this matter of the lease put into satisfactory order before you invest this money in Midhurst. It is many years since I left England and I have regretted that; I cannot expect to have many more years left in which to travel and see the world. I would like to take a long holiday and travel a little before I get too feeble, and if I could help you in this matter of the lease I should be only too glad to come and do so.”I added,“I need hardly say that I should travel at my own expense.”

The answer came in a night letter telegram about ten days later. She urged me to come to them, and suggested that I should come out by air about the end of April, since their winter was approaching then and the weather would be just like an English summer. She said that she was writing with a list of clothes that I should have and medicines and things that I might need upon the journey. I was a little touched by that.

I saw Kennedy, my doctor, at his place in Wimpole Street next day.“Is there any particular reason why I shouldn't fly out to Queensland?”I asked.

He looked at me quizzically.“It's not exactly what I should advise for you, you know. Have you got to go to Queensland?”

“I want to go, very much,”I said.“I want to go and stay out there about a month. There's business I should like to see to personally.”

“How have you been walking recently?”

There was no point in lying to him.“I walk as far as Trafalgar Square most mornings,”I said.“I take a taxi from time.”

“You can't quite manage the whole distance to your office?”

“No,”I said.“I haven't done that for some time.”

“Can you walk upstairs in your club, to the first floor, without stopping?”

I shook my head.“I always go up in the lift. But anyway, there aren't any stairs in Queensland. All the houses are bungalows.”

He smiled.“Take off your coat and your shirt, and let me have a look at you.”

When he had finished his examination, he said,“Well. Are you proposing to go alone?”

I nodded.“I shall be staying with friends at the other end. They'll meet me when I get off the aeroplane.”

“And you really feel it's necessary that you should go?”

I met his eyes.“I want to go, very much indeed.”

“All right,”he said.“You know your condition as well as I do. There's nothing new—only the deterioration that you've got to expect. You put ten years on your age during the war. I think, on the whole, you're wise to travel by air. I think you'd find the Red Sea very trying.”He went on to tell me what I could do and what I mustn't attempt, all the old precautions that he had told me before.

I went back to my office and saw Lester, and told him what I was proposing to do.“I'm going to take about three months holiday,”I said,“starting at the end of April. I'm going out by air, and I don't know quite how long I shall stay for. If I find air travel too tiring on the way out, I may come home by sea.”I paused.“In any case, you'll have to work on the assumption that I shall be away for some considerable time. It's probably about time you started to do that, in any case.”

“You really feel that it is necessary for you to go personally, yourself?”he asked.

“I do.”

“All right, Noel. I only wish you hadn't got to put so much of your energy into this. After all, it's a fairly trivial affair.”

“I can't agree with that,”I said.“I'm beginning to think that this thing is the most important business that I ever handled in my life.”

I left London one Monday morning, and travelled through to Sydney on the same airliner, arriving late on Wednesday night. We stopped for an hour or so at Cairo and Karachi and Calcutta and Singapore and Darwin. I must say the aeroplane was very comfortable and the stewardess was most kind and attentive; it was fatiguing, of course, sleeping two nights in a reclining chair and I was glad when it was over. I stayed two nights in Sydney to rest, and took a little drive around in a hired car during the afternoon. Next day I took the aeroplane to Cairns. It was a lovely flight, especially along the coast of Queensland, after Brisbane. The very last part, up the Hinchinbrook Channel between Cairns and Townsville, must be one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world.

We landed at Cairns in the evening, and here I had a great surprise, because Joe Harman met me at the aerodrome. The Dakota, he told me, now ran twice a week to the Gulf country, partly on account of the growth of Willstown, and he had come in on the Friday plane to take me out on Monday.“I got one or two little bits of things to order and to see to,”he said.“My solicitor, Ben Hope, he's here in Cairns too. I thought that over the weekend you might like to hear the general set-up of Midhurst, 'n have a talk with him.”

I had not heard the slow Queensland speech since he had come to me in Chancery Lane, over three years before. He took me in a car to the hotel, a queer, rambling building rather beautifully situated, with a huge bar that seemed to be the focal point. We got there just before tea, the evening meal, and went in almost at once and sat down together. He asked me if I would drink tea or beer or plonk.

“Plonk?”I asked.

“Red wine,”he said.“I don't go much for it myself, but jokers who know about wine, they say it's all right.”

They had a wine list, and I chose a Hunter River wine which I must say I found to be quite palatable.“Jean was very sorry she couldn't come and meet you,”he said.“We could have parked Joe with someone, but she's feeding Noel, so that ties her. She's going to drive into Willstown and meet the Dakota on Monday.”

“How is she?”I asked.

“She's fine,”he said.“Having babies seems to suit her. She's looking prettier than ever.”

We settled down after tea on the veranda outside my bedroom, and began discussing the business of Midhurst. He had brought with him copies of the accounts for the station for the last three years, neatly typed and very easily intelligible. I commented upon their form, and he said,“I'm not much of a hand at this sort of thing. Jean did these before she went into the hospital. She does most of the accounts for me. I tell her what I want to do out on the station, and she tells me how much money I've got left to spend. She's got the schooling for the two of us.”

Nevertheless, I found him quite a shrewd man, very well able to appreciate the somewhat intricate points that came up about the lease and his capital improvements. We talked for a couple of hours that night about his station and about the various businesses that Jean had started in the town. He was very interesting about those.

“She's got twenty-two girls working in the workshop,”he said.“Shoes and attaché cases and ladies' bags. That's the one that isn't doing quite so well as the others.”He turned the pages of the accounts to show me.“It's making a profit now, but last year there was a loss of over two hundred pounds—two hundred and twenty-seven. But all the others—oh my word.”He showed me the figures for the ice-cream parlour, the beauty parlour, the swimming-pool, the cinema, the laundry, and the dress shop.“They're doing fine. The fruit and vegetable shop, that's all right, too.”We totted up the figures and found that the seven of them together had made a clear profit of two thousand six hundred and seventy-three pounds in the previous year.“It'ld pay her to run the workshop at a loss,”he said.“She gets it back out of what the girls spend to make themselves look pretty for the ringers, and what the ringers spend in taking out the girls.”

I was a little troubled about the workshop.“Can she expand it?”I asked.“Can she lower the overhead by doing a bigger business?”

He was doubtful about that.“She's using just about all the alligator skins Jeff Pocock and two others can bring in,”he said.“Wallabies, they're getting scarcer than they were, too. I don't think she can get much bigger in the workshop. She doesn't want to, either. She's got a kind of hunch that in a few years' time the workshop won't be necessary at all, that the town will be so big that a workshop employing twenty girls won't be neither here nor there.”

“I see,”I said thoughtfully.“How big is the town now?”

“There's about four hundred and fifty people living in Willstown,”he said.“That's not counting boongs, and not counting people living out upon the stations. The population's trebled in the last three years.”

“Is that just because of the workshop?”I asked.

He said slowly,“I think it must be—everything comes back to that, when you look at it. It's not only the workshop, you see. She's got two girls employed in the ice-cream parlour, and one lubra. Two in the beauty parlour, three in the dress shop, two in the fruit shop, three in the cinema. She employs quite a lot of people.”

I was puzzled.“But can twenty girls in the workshop provide work for all these other girls?”I asked.

“It doesn't seem to work that way,”he said.“We were totting it up the other day. She's never employed more than about thirty-five girls at any one time, but since she started there's been forty-two girls married out of her businesses. They mostly marry ringers. Well, that's forty-two families starting, forty-two women wanting cinema and beauty parlour and fresh vegetables and that, besides the thirty-five girls that she's still got employed. It kind of snowballs.”He paused.“Take the bank. There's two girl clerks there that there never were before, because of the bigger business. The AMP have started up an office, and there's a girl in that. Bill Wakeling's got a girl in his office.”He turned to me.“It's a fact, there's something like a hundred girls and married women under twenty-five in Willstown now,”he said.“When Jean came, there was two.”

“And the babies!”he said.“There's more babies than you could shake a stick at. They've had to send a special maternity nurse to the hospital. That's another girl. She got engaged to Phil Duncan, the copper, last month, so there'll be another one.”

I smiled.“Are there enough men to go round?”

“Oh my word,”he said.“There's no difficulty in getting men to work in Willstown. I've had ringers coming from all over Queensland, from the Northern Territory, too, wanting a job round about Willstown. There was one chap came all the way from Marble Bar in Western Australia, two thousand miles or so. The labour situation's very different now from what it was three years ago.”

I went to bed early that night with plenty to think about. We had a conference next morning with Mr Hope, the solicitor, in his office, and wrote a letter to the Queensland Land Administration Board suggesting a meeting to discuss the lease of Midhurst. That afternoon we spent in driving around Cairns to see the sights; it seemed to me to be a pleasant little tropical town, beautifully situated. On Sunday we drove up on to the Atherton Tableland, high rolling downs farmed somewhat on the English style.

We flew to Willstown on Monday morning, in a Dakota. We landed at places called Georgetown and Croydon on the way and stayed on each aerodrome for about twenty minutes, picking up and setting down passengers and freight, as we circled Georgetown for the landing I was able to study the place. It was pathetic in a way, for you could see from the air the rectangular pattern of wide streets that once had been busy and lined with houses, now rutted with the rain and grass-grown. A few scattered houses stood at the intersections of what had once been these streets, and they were clustered rather more thickly around the hotel, the only two-storeyed building in either place. Both of these were derelict gold towns.

The people who came to meet the aeroplane in trucks were bronzed, healthy, and humorous; the men were mostly great big tanned, competent people; the women candid, uncomplaining housewives.

I sat at the window studying Croydon as we took off, till it fell away from view behind us.“I'm kind of glad that you've seen those,”said Joe beside me.“Willstown was like that, only a bit worse. It's no great shakes yet, of course, but it's better than Croydon, oh my word it is.”

We circled Willstown as we came in to land. It stood by quite a large river, and it was queerly like the other two towns in its layout. There were the same wide streets arranged in rectangular pattern, but the pattern was filling up with houses here. From the air the glint of the sun upon new corrugated iron roofs was everywhere, so that at one point as we circled opposite the sun I had to shut my eyes against the dazzle. All these houses seemed to be new, and a considerable number were still in the process of building. In the main street opposite the two-storeyed building that I guessed to be the hotel, a line of shrubs had been planted in a formal garden down the middle of the road, transforming the wide cattle-rack into two carriageways, and tarmac pavements had been made in this part of the town. Opposite the hotel I could see the swimming-pool with diving- boards and cabins and a lawn beside it, just as Jean had described it to me in her letters. Then the town was lost to view, and we were landing, coming in over a brand-new racetrack.

She was there to meet me in her Ford utility, her own car that she had bought for running in and out of town to see to her businesses. She was more mature now than I had remembered her; she had grown into a very lovely woman. She said,“Oh Noel, it is nice to see you. Are you very tired?”

“I'm not tired,”I said.“Three or four years older, perhaps. You're looking very well.”

“I am well,”she said.“Disgustingly well. Noel, it was good of you to offer to come out like this. I wanted to ask you to, and then it seemed too much to ask. It's such a very long way. Come and sit in the utility. Joe's just getting your bags.”

They drove me out immediately to Midhurst. We passed through the main street of Willstown and I wanted to stop and see what she had done, but they would not let me.“Time enough for that tomorrow or the next day,”she said.“We'll go to Midhurst now, and you can rest a bit.”

I knew the sort of scenery that I should see upon the way to Midhurst from many readings of her letters, and it was just as I had expected it to be. There was no road in the usually accepted sense; she picked her way across country in the car following the general line of the tracks but avoiding the deep holes. When we came to the first creek, however, I was interested to see that they had made a sort of concrete bottom or causeway across the river bed, and this causeway was marked by two massive wooden posts upon the bank at either end.“We haven't got as far as having bridges yet,”she said.“But this thing is a god-send in the wet, to know that you won't hit a boulder under water.”

The homestead was very much as I had expected it to be, but there was a garden now in front of it, bright with flowers, and there were great ranges of log stockades or cattle pens that I had not heard about.“They've gone up in the last two years,”Joe said.“We've got three Zebu bulls now, and you want more stockyards when you start breeding.”His Zebu bulls were a cross between Indian cattle and English Herefords. He told me that he was keeping a small herd of dairy cows, too, and that meant more enclosures still.

“How many hands have you got now?”I asked.

“Eleven white stockmen,”he said,“and ten boongs. It's almost easier to get white than black in this part of the country.”

They would not let me walk that day, but put me in a long chair in the veranda with a cool drink, and I sat watching all the work of the station as it went on in the yard below. It was fascinating to sit there and watch it all, the white stockmen and the black stockmen, the cattle, the dogs, and the horses, and a half grown wallaby lolloping about with puppies teasing it by playing with its tail. I could have sat there indefinitely watching it all, and watching the grace of Jean moving round the house attending to her children and her Abo women. I did sit there for three days.

She took me into town one morning, and showed me everything that she had done. She took me to the workshop first, and she made me put a scarf on before we went in because it would be cold. It was not cold as we would know cold, but it struck chilly after the warm day outside, because she kept the air-conditioner going all the year round.“The girls do love it so,”she said.“There's always more of them wanting to work here than I can take on, just because of that.”They all looked very smart and pretty in their green smocks, working at the leather goods. There was a long mirror at the end of the shop, and a few pictures of hair styles and frocks cut out of illustrated magazines pinned up on the wall.“We change those every so often,”she said.“I like them to make the best of themselves.”

The workshop stood by itself, but she had arranged her other enterprises all in a row as a little street of shops. She had built a wooden veranda over the broad tarmac pavement to shade shopgazers from the sun or the rain. Here she had the beauty parlour with an Estonian in charge, a dark, handsome middle-aged woman, beautifully got up, with two Australian girls under her. There were four private little booths, and a glass counter and display-case full of women's things; it was all very clean and nice. Next in the row came a little shop with a battery of four Home Laundries, and three young married women sitting gossiping while they waited for their wash. Next was the greengrocer's shop, which sold seeds and garden implements as well as fruit and vegetables, and after that the dress shop. This was quite a big place, with counters and dummys clothed in summer frocks, and I was interested to see a small, secluded part served by a middle-aged woman where the elderly could buy the clothes they were accustomed to, black skirts and flannel petticoats and coarse kitchen aprons.

She took me across the road and showed me the cinema and the swimming-pool. It was quite a hot day and by that time I had had about enough, so she took me to the ice-cream parlour and we had a cool drink there. She had some business to attend to and she left me there for half an hour, and I sat watching the people as they came into the parlour, or as they passed on the sidewalk. There were far more women than men. All of them seemed to be pretty, and at least half of them seemed to be in the family way.

She came back presently, and sat with me in the parlour.“What comes next?”I asked.“Is there any end to this?”

She laughed and touched my hand.“No end,”she said.“I keep on badgering you for more money, don't I? As a matter of fact, I think I can start the next one out of the profits.”

“What's that one going to be?”

“A self-service grocer's shop,”she replied.“The demand's shifting, Noel. When we started, it was entertainment that was needed, because everyone was young and nobody was married then. The solid, sensible things weren't wanted. What they needed then was ice-cream, and the swimming-pool, and the beauty parlour, and the cinema. They'll still need those things, but they won't expand so much more. What the town needs now is things for the young family. A really good grocer's shop selling good, varied food as cheap as we can possibly get it. And then, as soon as I can start it, we must have a household store. Do you know, you can't even buy a baby's pot in Willstown?”

I nodded at the store opposite.“Doesn't Mr Duncan sell those?”

“He's got no imagination. He only sells big ones, that'ld hold the whole baby.”

I asked her presently,“How do all your goods get here? They aren't all flown, surely?”

She shook her head.“They come by train from Cairns to Forsayth, and by truck from there. There's no proper road, of course. It makes it terribly expensive, because a truck is worn out in about two years. Bill Wakeling says the Roads Commission are considering a road from here to Mareeba and Cairns—a proper tarmac road. Of course, he wants to build it. He thinks we'll get it inside two years, because the town's growing so fast. I must say, it'll be a god-send when we do. Fancy being able to drive to Cairns in a day!”

The Land Administration Board answered our letter later on that week and suggested a meeting on the following Tuesday or Wednesday, which suited our air services. I flew down to Brisbane with Joe Harman, picking up his solicitor in Cairns, and we had a conference with the Land Administration Board, which lasted most of one day, settling the Heads of Agreement. Then Harman went back to his station and Mr Hope and I stayed on in Brisbane passing the draft of the final agreement backwards and forwards to the Land Administration Board with amendments in red and green and blue and purple ink. On top of this, I was in communication with the solicitors for Mrs Spears over the option agreement for the final purchase of Midhurst; all this kept me busy in Brisbane for nearly a fortnight. Finally I was able to agree to them both, after an exchange of cables with Lester, and brought them back to Cairns. Joe Harman signed them, and we put them in the post, and my business in Queensland was done.

I went back to Willstown with Joe and stayed another week with them, not because there was any reason why I should do so, but for an old man's sentiment. I sat on the veranda with Jean, studying her drawing of the layout of the self-service grocery. We discussed whether it could not be combined with the hardware store. We went into Willstown and visited the site for it, and I spent some time with Mr Carter, the Shire Clerk, discussing with him the position in regard to the leases that she held for land. She showed me the swimming-pool and we talked about the cost of tiling over the rough concrete to make it look better, and I sat for hours in the ice-cream parlour watching those beautiful young women as they pushed their prams from shop to shop.

I asked her once if she would be coming back to England for a holiday. She hesitated, and then said gently,“Not for a bit, Noel. Joe and I want to take a holiday next year, but we've been planning to go to America. We thought we'd go to San Francisco and get an old car, and drive down the west coast into Arizona and Texas. I'm sure we'd learn an awful lot that would be useful here if we did that. Their problems must be just the same as ours, and they've been at it longer.”

Jean touched me very much one evening by suggesting that I stayed out there and made my home with them.“You've nothing to go back to England for, Noel,”she said.“You're practically retired now. Why not give up Chancery Lane, give up London, and stay here with us? You know we'd love to have you.”

It was impossible, of course; the old have their place and the young have theirs.“That's very kind of you,”I said.“I wish I could. But I've got sons, and grandchildren, you know. Harry will be coming home next year and we're all hoping that he'll get a shore appointment. He's due for a term of duty at the Admiralty, I think.”

She said,“I'm sorry, for our sake. Joe and I talked this over, and we hoped we'd be able to get you to stay with us for a long time. Make your home here with us.”

I said quietly,“That was a very kind thought, Jean, but I must go back.”

They drove me to the aeroplane, of course, to see me off. Leave-takings are stupid things, and best forgotten about as quickly as possible. I cannot even remember what she said, and it is not important anyway. I can only remember a great thankfulness that the Dakota on that service didn't carry a stewardess so that nobody could see my face as we circled after taking off to get on course, and I saw the new buildings and bright roofs of that Gulf town for the last time.

It is winter now, and it is nearly three months since I have been able to get out to the office or the club. My daughter-in-law Eve, Martin's wife, has been organizing me; it was she who insisted that I should engage this nurse to sleep in the flat. They wanted me to go into some sort of nursing- home, but I won't do that.

I have spent the winter writing down this story, I suppose because an old man loves to dwell upon the past and this is my own form of the foible. And having finished it, it seems to me that I have been mixed up in things far greater than I realized at the time. It is no small matter to assist in the birth of a new city, and as I sit here looking out into the London mists I sometimes wonder just what it is that Jean has done; if any of us realize, even yet, the importance of her achievement.

I wrote to her the other day and told her a queer thought that came into my head. Her money came originally from the goldfields of Hall's Creek in West Australia, where James Macfadden made it in the last years of the last century. I suppose Hall's Creek is derelict now, and like another Burketown or another Croydon. I think it is fitting that the gold that has been taken from those places should come back to them again in capital to make them prosperous. When I thought of that, it seemed to me that I had done the right thing with her money and that James Macfadden would have approved, although I had run contrary to the strict intentions of his son's will. After all, it was James who made the money and took it away to England from a place like Willstown. I think he would have liked it when his great-niece took it back again.

I suppose it is because I have lived rather a restricted life myself that I have found so much enjoyment in remembering what I have learned in these last years about brave people and strange scenes. I have sat here day after day this winter, sleeping a good deal in my chair, hardly knowing if I was in London or the Gulf country, dreaming of the blazing sunshine, of poddy-dodging and black stockmen, of Cairns and of Green Island. Of a girl that I met forty years too late, and of her life in that small town that I shall never see again, that holds so much of my affection.

Author's Note

On the publication of this book I expect to be accused of falsifying history, especially in regard to the march and death of the homeless women prisoners. I shall be told that nothing of the sort ever happened in Malaya, and this is true. It happened in Sumatra.

After the conquest of Malaya in 1942 the Japanese invaded Sumatra and quickly took the island. A party of about eighty Dutch women and children were collected in the vicinity of Padang. The local Japanese commander was reluctant to assume responsibility for these women and, to solve his problem, marched them out of his area; so began a trek all round Sumatra which lasted for two and a half years. At the end of this vast journey less than thirty of them were still alive.

In 1949 I stayed with Mr and Mrs J. G. Geysel-Vonck at Palembang in Sumatra. Mrs Geysel had been a member of that party. When she was taken prisoner she was a slight, pretty girl of twenty-one, recently married; she had a baby six months old, and a very robust sense of humour. In the years that followed Mrs Geysel marched over twelve hundred miles carrying her baby, in circumstances similar to those which I have described. She emerged from this fantastic ordeal undaunted, and with her son fit and well.

I do not think that I have ever before turned to real life for an incident in one of my novels. If I have done so now it is because I have been unable to resist the appeal of this true story, and because I want to pay what tribute is within my power to the most gallant lady I have ever met.

Nevil Shute