A Different Sky (19 page)

The low sea wall was too wet to sit on and Howard stood staring at the island of sampans below him on the water, crowded together against the wall, rocking as one on the swell. Now that the rain had stopped, the first birds of prey had reappeared in the sky, gliding over the water on motionless wings searching for garbage riding the waves. Beyond the sampans the great arc of the horizon spread endlessly before Howard, filling him with its emptiness. There was nothing here to hem in his thoughts, nothing to impede ambition or will. His heart seemed to swell as if it would burst the confines of his body and he knew life waited only for him to fill it. Gazing again at the ocean, he realised he must focus on his own horizon, and the possibilities that lay beyond.

Remembering his tea he turned back to the stall but saw that another customer was being attended to. After waiting his turn he was served a cup of strong brew that he carried back to the wall. The other customer, an Indian in a mud-splattered
dhoti
, stood nearby, sipping loudly at his cup. While Howard watched, the man poured some tea from the cup into the saucer and as it cooled drank directly from it.

‘This way tea is getting cold quickly and not burning the tongue. Try.' The man smiled, seeing Howard's interest.

Howard nodded but still sipped the scalding drink from the cup, burning his lips; drinking tea from a saucer was something his mother disapproved of. The man was looking curiously at Howard.

‘Indian?' he asked, observing Howard's dark skin.

‘Eurasian,' Howard answered and the man smiled, relieved to have Howard's indecipherable components explained.

‘My name is Raj Sherma,' he offered.

‘Working in one of these godowns?' Howard asked after introducing himself. Although he judged the man to be in his mid-twenties, he had the beginnings of a paunch beneath his loose shirt and a brash confidence that made him seem older. Howard wished he had the same hard-bitten look about him, the look of a man who knew the ways of the world. In spite of his smile, there was something guarded in the man's hooded eyes, as if he were constantly appraising things and searching only for that which was of use to him.

‘I have my own business. I am a ship chandler,' Raj replied proudly.

Raj pointed to a ship anchored in the outer lanes of the harbour. ‘That Japanese ship is one of my ships. I am supplying everything it needs when it comes into port: meat, vegetables, rice, nails, beer, soap; everything.'

‘A Japanese ship?' Howard queried.

‘I am only servicing Japanese ships. The Japanese are good people to work for, they are a people who keep their word. British com panies are always finding some problem, making you feel like dog shit under their shoe,' Raj replied.

‘How are the Japanese so different?' Howard felt suddenly disadvantaged before a man he had immediately taken to be uneducated.

‘The Japanese see Asia as a family of nations; they feel they are the father of this family. They feel they must free their family from the white man's rule. They want all Asia to have prosperity, free of colonial rule. This is their vision. The Japanese are also a powerful people like the English people. Japan too is also conquering countries that are bigger than themselves, just like the English. Now they have conquered China, a nation that is like a giant beside their own small island. The most important thing to remember is that, like us, the Japanese are also Asiatics. It is a good feeling when you work for another Asiatic, instead of for the English.'

Howard stared at the man in surprise, and for a moment was tempted to tell him about his letter to
The Straits Times
. The tea had cooled and he sipped it thirstily, the taste of condensed milk sweet on his tongue. He was hungry, it was past tiffin time and Calthrop had sent him out deliberately so that he would miss his lunch.

‘We want them out of our country,' Raj said suddenly, draining his saucer and refilling it.

‘Who?' Howard asked, still absorbed in his anger with Calthrop, thinking of the phrases he had written in his letter.

‘We want the British out of India. We want our Independence,' Raj answered, lifting the saucer of tea to his lips.

‘How will you get them out? They are our rulers; we are their subjects,' Howard answered, puzzled yet excited by the audacious ideas coming from this unlikely source. Even when he had written his letter to
The Straits Times
he had never thought it possible to be rid of colonial rule, only hoped to expand his presence within it.

‘My brother-in-law, who is a revolutionary, says that in India the time is coming soon; there is much agitation amongst Indians everywhere for Independence, even here in Singapore. India has the strength of millions, and the British are no more than a handful of people. Why should a handful of people rule so many millions?' Raj argued.

‘Why should they?' Howard echoed, staring at the man in amazement.

The words cut into him, opening a space in his mind into which already he felt something new shifting. In contrast to the radical thoughts just expressed, his letter, for which he had been so chastised, was a lame thing and he was glad he had not mentioned it to the man.

Unaware of his effect upon Howard, Raj tipped up the saucer and drank down the last of the tea. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand he nodded then walked away, shoulders swinging, his step direct and sure. Howard stared after him, trying to absorb the unexpected things he had said.

Once he had finished his tea, Howard walked along the seafront, the Indian's unsettling words still racing through him; the sun was now hot on his head. This old part of the docks retained its tie to the days of sail, when ships were unloaded into the cavernous godowns that still lined the waterfront. Running above the open arches of the five-foot way before the warehouses, a long common veranda linked one upper floor office to another. In those faraway days of early sail every office was equipped with a telescope and from this veranda men would scan the horizon for sight of an arriving ship. At the same time each year a forest of sails descended upon the island as the indigenous tribe of Bugis from the Celebes came to trade in an armada of small boats. The town had then been a fishing village, a pirates' den, before Stamford Raffles disembarked, possibly on this very beach, Howard thought. The men who followed him from those cold countries across the sea
had left their seed in local women, breeding a race of mimic men trained to serve the new colony. They had fashioned
him
, thought Howard, in clandestine meetings and filthy brothels, in marriages of convenience far from home.

He turned to look back at the tea stall but Raj Sherma was gone and he wished now that he had talked more to the man. The Indian was fighting to rid his country of men like Calthrop. Howard remembered again his humiliation in the office, the silence and embarrassed guffaws and Teddy de Souza shaking his head as if Howard were a naughty schoolboy. What had he to fight for, Howard wondered, if even those he would speak for disowned him?

As Howard climbed out of a rickshaw before the office the following day, Wee Jack was also arriving and called out a greeting. He waited for Howard to pay his runner and then walked with him towards the entrance of the building.

‘Got time to meet after work?' Wee Jack asked.

He smiled in an unusually friendly manner. Other than a thumbs-up sign after the Calthrop incident, the man had not spoken to Howard before. He was a mystery to everyone, mixing with no one yet competent in his work and with a good command of English. He always departed the office with such haste that it was thought he might have a second job.

Later that day, they left the office together, Jack leading the way to a drinking place sandwiched between brothels in a crumbling shop-house outside the dock gates; beggars littered their path, dock coolies gambled and quarrelled. The sun was setting, dulling the metallic glitter of the sea to an oily beaten grey. Flies buzzed thickly over offal thrown out of a kitchen window and a couple of ageing prostitutes called to them as they passed. Howard always avoided this part of the docks, mindful of his mother's instructions.

A wall of tobacco smoke and alcohol fumes hit them as they entered the place. The narrow room was crammed with benches and tables at which sat Chinese tally clerks and the crews of ships in port. A couple of rough looking Europeans occupied a corner. Wee Jack had to raise his voice to be heard as he ordered beer.

‘You're not like the others, happy to take whatever Calthrop doles out. Why should such people rule us?' Wee Jack hissed in a low voice.
An old Malay man in a worn sarong shuffled towards them with their beer and a tin plate with fried shrimp wafers.

‘The world has had enough of colonial rule; native peoples everywhere now want to rule themselves.' Wee Jack leaned forward across the table, the light reflecting on his round metal-framed spectacles. Behind the thick glass his eyes were bright but deeply sunken; the ridge of his cheekbone high. There was a rodent-like quality about the man, Howard thought, something hidden and furtive of which he was immediately wary. Yet Howard leaned forward, excited in spite of himself to hear ideas of this nature expressed yet again. Just the thought of such things produced an effervescing inside him.

‘The Indians want the British out of India,' Howard replied, recalling the man at the tea stall. Wee Jack clicked his tongue impatiently.

‘They have their battle to fight in India; in China we have ours. They are different battles, even if there is the common motive of freeing Asia from Imperialist rule.'

‘Are you a communist?' Howard asked in a low voice. The thought struck him for the first time. A distant memory of the riot of Kreta Ayer returned to him, and a shadow of fear flickered through him. He remembered the Chief Inspector's bloodied sun helmet rolling in the road and the bodies of young men covered with rush mats.

‘Communists don't eat people. Have you read Lenin or Marx?' Refusing to commit himself, Jack took a gulp of beer. Howard had only a vague knowledge of these men.

‘I can bring you some books to read,' Jack offered, assessing Howard over his spectacles. ‘There is a new world taking shape where the workers will have power, not men like Calthrop. He's a clown.' He reached into his trouser pocket and took out a sheet of paper that he carefully unfolded and pushed over the table to Howard, looking about to see if anyone was observing them.

Workers of the World, Unite. Avenge the Martyrs of Japanese Tyranny
. Beneath this heading were crude drawings of Japanese soldiers with bayonets killing Chinese women and children. The pictures were printed in red. A boycott of Japanese goods was demanded but British goods were not mentioned.

‘You're not fighting the British, you're fighting the Japanese. This is nothing to do with Malaya. This killing is all in China,' Howard protested as he read the crudely printed page.

‘The Japanese are also colonists. Their occupation of China is brutal. Chiang Kai-shek will never free us from the Japanese, but Mao Tse-tung has the people with him.' Wee Jack's eyes shone.

Everywhere he turned nowadays Howard saw posters urging people to give money to the China Relief Fund to support China in the war against the Japanese. On street corners Chinese students sold flags or paper flowers, urging everyone to donate to the war effort.

‘If the Japanese ever come to Singapore perhaps they will treat us like equals; they're Asiatic like us after all,' Howard suggested, again thinking of the man at the tea stall. Wee Jack drew back on his stool with a frown.

‘Do you know the things they're doing in China? The British are an arrogant race, but they're not animals.' He stared at Howard incredulously.

‘Sorry, Wee Jack, I don't know much about the war in China,' Howard admitted hurriedly, seeing how much he had upset the man and wondering how soon he could escape him.

‘I am neither Jack, nor
Wee Jack
,' the Chinese exploded, mimicking the false Scottish accent Calthrop adopted when he called Jack's name. ‘My name is Wee Jiak Kim.' Howard began to apologise but Wee Jack cut him short.

‘You're taking the Public Service Examination, aren't you?' Wee Jack leaned forward, his eyes focused intently on Howard.

‘It will enable me to rise up the ladder,' Howard replied defensively, echoing his mother's words, staring at the tiny ghost of himself reflected in the polished spheres of Wee Jack's spectacles.

‘That examination is just a plot by the British Imperialists to gain control of your life and enslave you further,' Wee Jack said angrily. Leaning over the table he began speaking in the cajoling tone he might use to a child.

‘Calthrop and his kind are colonial stooges. Are you going to work under British running dogs or will you join the struggle to bring freedom to the masses? You should attend one of our meetings.'

The thick stale odours of tobacco smoke and liquor fumes pressed in upon Howard in the suffocating room; Wee Jack's words swam through his head. In spite of his misgivings, Howard's heart thumped unevenly with excitement. Once, on a trip to a nearby island he had climbed a headland and stood on the edge of a cliff looking down at
the rocky shore far below and felt the same kind of excitement. A breeze had blown on his face and vibrated in his ears. Now, within the course of little more than a day, he had met two people who were convinced the world could be shaken. It shocked him to find that seditious thought and agitation grew underfoot like weeds, threatening to overthrow an immovable order, and until now he had known nothing about it. It was as if a skin had been peeled from his eyes.

The following day Teddy took Howard home for dinner; he had issued the invitation the week before. ‘Olive, my missus, is determined to meet you. She has promised to cook her special coconut chicken if you'll honour us with a visit. That chicken is delicious, boy, as are her
sugee
cake and devil's curry; I'll be retiring soon, so you could call it a farewell dinner.'