mechanic, a Welshman, revved the engine as he told Grace, ‘We’ve done the best we can. I’d give the old thing another ten miles and then it’s going to die forever. Where are you off to?’
‘India.’
‘Well, pray for a miracle.’
Pressing his foot down hard on the accelerator, the engine growled, frighteningly loud. At that Allu stirred from his sleep, rubbed his eyes, stood up, rolled up his mat andwaited for the mechanic to get down from behind the wheel. As he did so, Grace heard the distinctive pop-pop-pop of the Jemadar’s motorbike.
He must have been waiting in the shade of some trees, a quarter of mile back, for hours. The bike neared the bus and dawdled to a stop. The children called out to him: ‘Where have you been, Jem?’ and he was about to reply when two things happened simultaneously. Allu let in the clutch and Hants & Dorset lurched forward and the mechanic started yelling at the Jemadar. The noise of the accelerating bus and the shouts of the children as they waved goodbye to their new friends was loud, but not so loud as to hide the Welshman’s fury: ‘Traitor! Traitor! I saw you in Singapore! You…’
The rest was lost. Grace twisted in her seat as the Jem accelerated past the bus, zooming through the dust, sashaying past a water buffalo standing in the middle of the road, dangerously fast.
No sign of his tell-tale two-wheel cloud of dust for the rest of the day. Shortly before dusk, Allu pulled up by the side of the road for the night and explained to Grace that the following day they should reach the Chindwin, so it made sense to try and get a good night’s rest.
Fat chance of that. Restless, she begged for the comfort of sleep, but in vain. The very dead of night, the crickets whirring and buzzing in the undergrowth, and a new sound, a motorbike being wheeled, its engine cut, towards them. Framed against a red half-moon rising, he came to a stop.
‘So. The mechanic…’ Ice in her throat. ‘He recognised you. What did you do at Singapore?’
A stillness between them; his silence, an admission of guilt.
‘Traitor? Jiff?’ The words, hissed.
‘Yes.’
Fury, sudden, irresistible, rose within her, her voice a high-pitched shriek: ‘How dare you! You’re a bloody Jiff! How could I have been so stupid! You appear from nowhere, always on your own, never with any soldiers or senior officers. You never stop at any of the army bases. You didn’t speak to any of the soldiers at the bridge.’
She slapped him hard on the face. ‘You used us.’
‘Yes, I used the children.’
‘And you used me. And what are you going to do now, Jiff? Because I swear to you that the very first British soldier I meet, I will condemn you out of hand.’
‘Listen to me, Grace.’
‘Why the hell should I trust a Jiff, a traitor?’
‘Because… because I cannot be a traitor,’ the Jemadar told Grace, ‘to a foreign power, to an Empire that is occupying my country, imprisoning its leaders, holding its people captive. I am no traitor.’ The passion died from his voice. ‘But, at the same time… ’
‘But what, traitor?’ said Grace.
‘Can I trust you?’
‘How dare you!’ Grace repeated. She made to slap him, but he gripped her wrist with bewildering force, drawing her towards him.
Near them, something crackled in the undergrowth.
‘What’s that?’ he whispered. Further off, an owl hooted to its mate. Under the red moon, his eyes– on fire. He talked and talked until the moon hid behind a heft of clouds. In the near-darkness, her fingers traced the length of his jaw to just below the ear, down his neck, touching his shoulder-blade, and unbuttoned his shirt. They lay down on the grass. Bending over him, she untied her hair, and it fell down on to his naked chest, making a cave of dark gold.
The listener, unseen by the two lovers, locked in silent ecstasy, moved away.
Far, far way, almost on the edge of hearing, a wild dog howled at its own echo.
Chapter Four
The
‘India.’
‘Well, pray for a miracle.’
Pressing his foot down hard on the accelerator, the engine growled, frighteningly loud. At that Allu stirred from his sleep, rubbed his eyes, stood up, rolled up his mat andwaited for the mechanic to get down from behind the wheel. As he did so, Grace heard the distinctive pop-pop-pop of the Jemadar’s motorbike.
He must have been waiting in the shade of some trees, a quarter of mile back, for hours. The bike neared the bus and dawdled to a stop. The children called out to him: ‘Where have you been, Jem?’ and he was about to reply when two things happened simultaneously. Allu let in the clutch and Hants & Dorset lurched forward and the mechanic started yelling at the Jemadar. The noise of the accelerating bus and the shouts of the children as they waved goodbye to their new friends was loud, but not so loud as to hide the Welshman’s fury: ‘Traitor! Traitor! I saw you in Singapore! You…’
The rest was lost. Grace twisted in her seat as the Jem accelerated past the bus, zooming through the dust, sashaying past a water buffalo standing in the middle of the road, dangerously fast.
No sign of his tell-tale two-wheel cloud of dust for the rest of the day. Shortly before dusk, Allu pulled up by the side of the road for the night and explained to Grace that the following day they should reach the Chindwin, so it made sense to try and get a good night’s rest.
Fat chance of that. Restless, she begged for the comfort of sleep, but in vain. The very dead of night, the crickets whirring and buzzing in the undergrowth, and a new sound, a motorbike being wheeled, its engine cut, towards them. Framed against a red half-moon rising, he came to a stop.
‘So. The mechanic…’ Ice in her throat. ‘He recognised you. What did you do at Singapore?’
A stillness between them; his silence, an admission of guilt.
‘Traitor? Jiff?’ The words, hissed.
‘Yes.’
Fury, sudden, irresistible, rose within her, her voice a high-pitched shriek: ‘How dare you! You’re a bloody Jiff! How could I have been so stupid! You appear from nowhere, always on your own, never with any soldiers or senior officers. You never stop at any of the army bases. You didn’t speak to any of the soldiers at the bridge.’
She slapped him hard on the face. ‘You used us.’
‘Yes, I used the children.’
‘And you used me. And what are you going to do now, Jiff? Because I swear to you that the very first British soldier I meet, I will condemn you out of hand.’
‘Listen to me, Grace.’
‘Why the hell should I trust a Jiff, a traitor?’
‘Because… because I cannot be a traitor,’ the Jemadar told Grace, ‘to a foreign power, to an Empire that is occupying my country, imprisoning its leaders, holding its people captive. I am no traitor.’ The passion died from his voice. ‘But, at the same time… ’
‘But what, traitor?’ said Grace.
‘Can I trust you?’
‘How dare you!’ Grace repeated. She made to slap him, but he gripped her wrist with bewildering force, drawing her towards him.
Near them, something crackled in the undergrowth.
‘What’s that?’ he whispered. Further off, an owl hooted to its mate. Under the red moon, his eyes– on fire. He talked and talked until the moon hid behind a heft of clouds. In the near-darkness, her fingers traced the length of his jaw to just below the ear, down his neck, touching his shoulder-blade, and unbuttoned his shirt. They lay down on the grass. Bending over him, she untied her hair, and it fell down on to his naked chest, making a cave of dark gold.
The listener, unseen by the two lovers, locked in silent ecstasy, moved away.
Far, far way, almost on the edge of hearing, a wild dog howled at its own echo.
Chapter Four
The
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