Chapter 7 Chapter Six

in Pamela.On the day Tudsbury wrote to Colonel Henry—three weeks before the attack on Pearl Harbor—London had been darkened for a week by the cold November night fog, seeping through windows and keyholes. Come in, through the closed door, through every crack; the doorknob and the banister are sticky to the touch.Indoors and outdoors, people breathe fog; there is nowhere to escape the moisture.Bronchitis made her feverish, shivering, and coughing up phlegm as she packed her things for a trip to the tropics. The low, monotonous report of the six o'clock news broadcast on her bedside radio was as chilling as the fog.The threat of Japan's entry into the war grew stronger.Having rejected Roosevelt's latest peace proposal, they are massing forces and ships off the coast of French Indochina; a clear threat to Malaya and Singapore.Radio Moscow is denying that Rostov, the gateway to the Caucasus and its great oil fields, has fallen into German hands.But every victory claimed by the Nazis in these days, within a week, the Soviets always admit it in half; now they have confirmed that Leningrad is cut off from the outside world, is under siege, and the German army It is surging towards Moscow.And a German U-boat actually - as Berlin radio announced a few days ago - sank the aircraft carrier "Ark Royal" outside the Strait of Gibraltar.The announcer delivered the series of ill-fated news with the calm tone of the BBC.But it's getting boring.She packed her bags happily anyway; because she could see Victor from the other side of the world.Henry is gone.For the news, she has long been insensitive.Because there's been nothing but bad news for months.

The phone rang, and she turned off the radio to answer it. "Pamela? I'm Philip Rule." A voice from the past; a low, confident, obnoxious voice.Resisting the urge to hang up the phone, she said, "What's the matter?" "That 'what' is so weak, Pam. How are you?" "I have a bad cold." "You sound like you have a cold. That's bad. What are you doing?" "At this moment? Pack your bags." "Oh? Just for Taoji's announced world tour?" "yes." "Is Singapore in the plan?" "Yes. What's the matter?"

"I'm going there myself next week for the Express. Go straight in the Braham." Pamela was silent for a while without answering. "Pam, Leslie. Sloter is in town from Moscow. He's asking about you. I thought you'd come and join us for dinner. He told me a lot about your friend, Colonel Henry." thing." "Oh? Any news from him?" "Well, Pam, I don't know how long it's been since you heard from Colonel Henry lately." "What is Leslie doing here?" "He's on his way to the American Legation in Berne, and he's passing here. That's his new job."

"How strange. He's only been in Moscow a few months." "He got into trouble there." "Which aspect?" "I guess it's about the Jews. It's a sore sore, don't you tell him about it." "Where are you having dinner?" "In the Savoy." "I can't go to the Savoy in this blackout fog." "I'll pick you up, honey. How about seven o'clock?" Hearing this artificial kiss, Pamela said, "How is your wife?" "God knows. The last I heard was that she was working in a factory outside Moscow. See you at seven, then?"

Pamela hesitated.She had made up her mind to avoid Philip.Rule, but she wanted to know what Slote knew about Pug.Henry's case.Leslie.Slote is a dry, ambitious diplomat.After a year or so of the four of them having been happy together in Paris, he took Natalie.Jastrow gave up.He and Phil seemed equally heartless then.She's better with Sloot now because he regrets what he did.It seemed strange that he should have had anything to do with Jewish affairs; for he had abandoned Natalie mainly because he was afraid that having a Jewish wife would affect his prospects. "Are you listening, Pamela?"

"Well, well, seven o'clock." At first glance, the crowded Savoy Hotel appears untouched by the war.But the dim sconces, the dusty drapes, the tablecloths so laundered that their threads showed, and the old, limp waiters in their black uniforms with greenish cuffs and elbows, pointed to the difficult times.The same was true of the people who came to dine, with the haggard and shabby looks of the wealthiest Londoners.Slote drank a spoonful of the sticky Scotch broth for which he had been waiting twenty-five minutes.He grimaced and put down his spoon. "Savoy has gone downhill."

"What's not to go downhill?" Pamela fiddled with the jeweled necklace that cinched her slender neck.Slote figured she must be running a fever: flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, coughing fitfully, gray cardigan fully buttoned. "Singapore hasn't gone downhill," Philip said.Rule said. "Today I interviewed a general who came back from sick leave. Their place is full of cannons and planes, and they are ready to deal with the Japanese. Their courage is summoned up, and the club is full of whiskey and soda. The old La Force Hotel was crowded and full of joy. That's what he said. He found London getting worse and worse, frightening people."

Pamela coughed and said, "Like the residents here." Ruhr tugged at his bushy red mustache and grinned. "You, dear, you look so charming." Long ago, that wry smile had turned her on like alcohol.Ruhl's square face had gained some weight, his once-thick hair had thinned, but his eager blue eyes still excited her.She had thought that she had no feelings for him anymore, but that was not the case! Their love affair in Paris didn't go well from the start.She made a fuss about his waitresses and whores, and he saw no reason to change these low tastes for her.She really made a fuss over a nice Yale guy—an Antinous from Bridgeport.Rull slipped away with him to Majorca and spent three weeks very happily.Ruhr had developed this penchant in high school, although he generally preferred to hang out with women.After he came back, she lost her temper and turned upside down, and he beat her to the ground; so.She was so ashamed and pissed, nearly mad, drank a bottle of iodine, rolled and vomited in pain, and he drove her to the hospital at three o'clock in the morning.This incident finally broke them off.Ruhr continued to live his life.Like nothing happened.And from his point of view, it really doesn't matter.

Like Slote, he studied Russian in Paris; that's why they lived in the same house.After he was sent to the Soviet Union as a reporter, he met a girl from the "Grand Theater" troupe.The girl was very pretty, and he married her--so he wrote to Pamela--just to possess her, for she was too serious to listen to anything.He described the ceremony in the communist "wedding palace" as a laughing stock: Valentine's parents, relatives, and best friends in the "grand theater" stood around giggling, a stern-looking fat lady in a tailored suit dressy clothes, gave them a brief lesson in communism marriage, and the bride, flushed with shame, clutched her pretty English sweetheart tightly in one hand and held a wilted bouquet in the other. yellow roses.In this way, Ruhr had a Russian wife.As soon as he left Russia, he put the matter behind him.

Avoiding his loving gaze, Pamela said hoarsely, "Do you believe Singapore is like that?" "Why don't you believe it? Our monopoly capitalists, through several pacifist ministries, have established a powerful air force and defense system here in the British homeland right under our noses. Not only the Germans, but our own people Amazing too! The British Empire is pivoted around Singapore, Pam. If we are going to continue oppressing and extracting half a billion Asians and stealing their wealth from the ignorant natives of Australia and New Zealand, we must make Singapore Indestructible. So there is no doubt about it."

"Alas, the Empire is over, anyway!" said Slote. "Don't be so sure, Les. After all, Vinnie built another alliance to keep it alive. The Russians will beat the Germans for us. Sooner or later your sleeping countrymen will go to war and beat the Japanese. The whole The system of monopoly capital and its colonies are both rotten and doomed, just not yet. The white exploiters are indomitable masters of the world. To wipe them out, a global revolution is required. I guess that's half a century That's for later." "What on earth makes you think the Russians are going to beat the Germans?" interposed Pamela. "Didn't you hear the evening news broadcast?" It was that crooked smile again, the huge body moved lazily in the chair, and the furry hands waved in a big way. "Honey, you don't understand the Soviet Union." "I understand," Sloter said. "I was in Moscow until last Thursday. I never saw such a breakdown. Anyone who could get a cart or a horse slipped away." "They are just mortals. They will recover." Ruhr lowered his voice and whispered smoothly. "Brother, isn't it alarming that Hitler's main force is coming at you from fifty miles away?" "I've been through it twice. It's really terrible. But I'm a damned coward myself. I thought the Russians were braver." Pamela and Rule both laughed.Pamela liked Sloter better because he was honest, although he didn't look attractive at all.The scrawny, pale ex-Rhodes Scholar wore rimless glasses, smoked a pipe, and had a nervous look that always reminded her of a biologically underdeveloped individual.In Moscow, she had rebuffed his courtships to her.She never understood Natalie.The passion that Jastrow had had for him in the past. A chill made her sick. "Leslie, how long has Colonel Henry been in Moscow?" She had come to Savoy in spite of her illness to ask that question. "Let's think about it. You and he left on the sixteenth, didn't you? It was the most panic-stricken time, right?" "yes" "He stayed for another week, trying to get a train farther than Kuibyshev. I thought it would be impossible in such a panic, but at last he did, and he headed east , across Siberia to Hawaii." "So, where is he now?" "should be." "Great." Ruhr said to Pamela in the happiest tone: "Are you lovers?" Her voice was equally cheerful. "It has nothing to do with you." "Leslie said," said Ruhl, who blinked at the icy reply, and stuck to the subject, "that Jastrow was married to this man's son, a submarine officer, much younger than her." He also confided in the utmost secrecy that he was still suffering for Nata in his heart. Why would she do such a ridiculous thing? Did the boy impregnate her?" Pamela shrugged. "Ask Leslie." "They're isolated, in villas outside Siena," Sloter said gloomily. "I told you. Stayed together month after month and this was before he joined the Navy. He was doing research work for Ellen Jastrow. I want to stay in Tuscany Americans There were only two of them under the age of sixty. There is no doubt that things happened in their natural way. I spent a whole evening in Washington arguing with her about this unsuitable union. She was very irrational and became Be as stubborn as a rock." "You mean that she is in love with him," said Pamela, "and no longer in love with you." " "Actually, that's what I mean," Sloter replied with a sudden sad grin.This made Pamela feel his loveliness. "She used to be terribly sensible, but now she's being flippant: married to such a young man; stayed in Italy with Jastrow; and, I heard lately, she's still there, with a baby." Ruhr let out a slight giggle. "You shouldn't be debating that night in Washington." "If I'd been thinking about anything else, I'd have a black eye and a black eye." "Well, that might be some consolation to you. Colonel Henry tried to break them up, but it didn't work," said handsome B. Meera, "they're very passionate." " "That's the man I'd like to see," Rule said. "Colonel Henry." "It couldn't be easier. Arrange yourself to interview the captain of the USS California in Hawaii," said Pamela sharply. "What do you like about him, Pam?" "He's very decent." "I see. The charm of novelty." Dinner is over.Their sweet treats - bland, sticky pink jelly-like cloths - were left uneaten.The money has been paid to the waiter.Slote wished that Rule would go away.He meant to try it again on Pamela, fever or not; he hadn't touched a woman in months, and unlike Ruhr, he didn't play whores.Rule called himself a libertine; Sloot thought he was a brute.He himself had treated Natalie badly, but he would never resort to such rough methods as had driven Pamela to death.Slote did not seduce Pamela in Moscow, and he believed that it was because of the presence of Colonel Henry.Now Henry is far away.Pam was pretty and cute, and easygoing and open-minded, or so Sloter expected her to be. "Okay! Les just came in from Stockholm today, Pam," Rule said.It was obvious that he had the same intention. "Maybe we shouldn't keep him up late. Let me drive you to your apartment." "Honestly, I heard music," said Pam. "I really want to dance." "Dearest, when did it begin? You haven't danced since I've known you." "My American friends taught me. Pity you don't dance. How about it, Leslie?" "Happy to accompany." Ruhl stood up, grinning in fiasco. "Then, give my regards to Taoji. I'm going to Singapore on Monday. No problem, see you there." Pamela watched his leaving back, a blush spread on her pale cheeks. Slote said, "Do you really want to dance?" "What? Of course I don't want to dance. I'm sick of it. I just want to send that gay guy off." "Come to my room for a drink." The invitation was obvious, but not frivolous. There was a smile on her face—understanding, amused, slightly smug.Even in her illness, her face looked lovely.She put a sweaty hand to his cheek. "My God! Leslie, you're still trying to trick me, aren't you? You're so funny. I'm sorry, but I'm sick. I've got a high fever. Anyway, no." "Okay," Sloter said, shrugging resignedly. "You should have married Natalie in Paris. She was so demanding!" "Alas! Pamela, to you." She laughed, and took his hand and placed it on her wet, hot forehead. "Try it. Honestly, I'd better get a taxi to take me home, don't you think? Good luck in Switzerland. Thank you for the news of Colonel Henry." As soon as she got back to her own apartment, she wrote that passionate letter. In a spaceship circling over Singapore, Erist.Tudsbury had pulled off his tie, unbuttoned his white linen coat, which clung to his belly, and fanned the fat from his sweaty cheeks with a straw hat. "It's worse than Ceylon, Pam. We're going into a goddamn hell." "Peaceful little hell," said Pamela, looking down through the slanted window. "Where are the massive ramparts, the cannons beyond count, the spitfires and Hurricanes so densely packed?" "Can't see anything, of course. But that little green scorpion down there is a deadly stinger. The Prince of Wales is there! You can see all the turrets on the ship." Seen from the air, the long and narrow causeway connects it to the mainland. Singapore looks like a green triangular piece of land cut off from the steep Malayan mountains, a piece of green triangular land on the undulating high sea.Two gray "bumps" marred its jungle beauty: to the southeast was a modern city, dotted here and there with red roofs, and to the north near the causeway was a mass of small shacks, cranes, barracks, streets, houses and wide Green Field: Singapore Naval Base.The base seemed especially quiet, not a single ship in sight on the docks and wide anchorages.On the other side of the island, warships and merchant ships alike converged on the city's waterfront. "Hey!" In the immigration shed, Philip.Ruhr pushed through the crowd and came across the railing.He was wearing army shorts and a shirt, his face and arms were reddish brown, and he held a purple orchid in his swollen, bandaged hand. "Just in time. You two have been invited to a reception given by Admiral Phillips aboard the Prince of Wales." "The Admiral's reception!'! Tudsbury limped up to shake hands." That's great! " Ruhr handed the orchid to Pamela. "Welcome to the Fortress of the Empire, dear. This kind of thing grows on the side of the road here. Come, I will take you through the immigration process in a hurry!" "What's the matter with your hand, Phil?" Ruhl led them to a small office, and he turned around happily and said: "I went out with the Scottish Highland troops in Argyll and Sutherland, and went out to practice in the jungle. A centipede took a bite. It was so bad, it was a foot long. I didn't know whether to stomp on it or shoot it with a gun! That's the beauty of the tropics." A sweaty, red-faced little man in The brass buttoned coat is here to stamp the passport. "Whoa, whoa! Erist. Mr. Tudsbury! What an honor! There's a flood of journalists now, and you're the biggest name." "Hi, thank you Hu." I thought, sir, we have caused panic over the Japanese before.Always make a fuss for a while, and then people forget about it.It may be said that the bald eagles gather in vain.You can't fight a war, sir.I wish you a pleasant stay here, sir. " Rule gathered their luggage together, piled them in his car, and drove them quickly downtown.In the city, he drove slowly through narrow, sweltering streets.The streets were crowded with Asians of all ages and colors: some in local clothes, some in Western clothes, some pampered and fat, some skinny and scantily clad.Sweet, savory, and sickening smells blew through the windows in waves.Both sides of the street are full of brightly colored shop signs written in strange letters. When the car drove onto the main road, the scenery changed: wide tree-lined roads, parks lined with green palm trees, English signboards, tall buildings; seaside scenes, bursts of fresh sea breeze; policemen with dark faces and white gloves directing Traffic; a British seaport city baked in a searingly un-British heat, the pavements filled with the faces of people of color.Rule unloaded their luggage in the sprawling, ramshackle LaForce Hotel.They then boarded a Navy motorboat from the vaulted-roofed steel-and-concrete pier, which ferried them to one.A garishly camouflaged battleship hitched to buoys.Pamela tightened her thin skirt, and Ruhr helped climb up the gangway.Behind her, Tudsbury gasped in pain. "Ouch!" she said as she stepped onto the deck. "The English! I should like to know where they are." "Everyone of importance is here," Ruhl said. Chattering and laughing under the brown canopy, guests stood in circles drinking cocktails or waited in a welcoming procession that stretched out onto the sunlit foredeck.The men wore natural linens or brightly colored sweatshirts, and the women wore prints that blew in the breeze.Except for the person serving the plate, all the people are white.Four cannons were painted colorfully and protruded from the canopy like snakeskin. "Mr. Tudsbury?" said a young officer at the gangway. "The admiral greets you, sir, please follow me." They went to the front of the line.The admiral was unexpectedly small, with gold-covered epaulets on his white uniform.He held out a small, short-haired hand. "Very pleased. Enjoyed listening to your radio." He introduced them to a few straight old men in line next to him.Their well-tailored tropical uniforms showed round gray knees and elbows; they were all high ranks, Singapore's most senior officers.The chatter and laughter were interrupted by roaring planes, one after another flew low from the sea, almost passing through the mast of the "Prince of Wales", and then flew over the seashore.Cannons rumbled in the distance.On the other side of the city, clouds of white smoke rose into the blue sky.Tudsbury called to the Admiral: "Are those our famous coastal guns?" "Exactly. The largest caliber in the world. According to the report of my target tugboat, it was very accurate. It is not wise to approach Singapore aggressively from the sea!" "I'd love to see those cannons." "It can be arranged." Noisy air show forced them to shout and talk.Tudsbury pointed to the sky. "Where are these planes?" Standing next to the admiral was a tall, gray-haired man in an RAF uniform, with wrinkled, hazy eyes that shone with pride. "The leader of the Foddy Beast torpedo bombers and the Branham bombers. The fighters are the American Buffaloes. Not as good as our Spitfires, but they are very good, better than what the Japanese have." "How do you know, sir?" "Oh, the Japanese plane was shot down in China, you know." His gray eyebrows arched slyly. "We have books about them. Second-rate, to be exact." Ruhl and Pamela stood among a group of smiling Brits over the rail, watching the plane.He selected two glasses of wine from a plate passed by a Chinese waiter. "God, Pam, your father has a way of dealing with senior officers. That's Brooke talking to him. Air Admiral Popham, commander of the entire theater, commander in chief of the Far East. They're talking like old school friends. Woolen cloth." "Everyone wants to be well received by the press and broadcast." "True. And they know he's got the style that's popular, don't they? Bitter and sober all the way down to Rudyard at the end. Kipling's tone, every time. For God and Empire , huh, Pam?" "What's wrong with that?" "That's wonderful. It's a complete betrayal of the future. But since he believes in it, he doesn't care." The plane is getting smaller and smaller in the distance.Pamela took a sip of her wine and walked along the huge deck from bow to stern. "You know, Phil, when Churchill took this ship to Newfoundland, Colonel Henry visited it. Now we are walking on the deck of this ship off the coast of Malaya, and he is in Hawaii directing and Such a huge monster. It's really like a dream." "Do you still think of your American Colonel often?" "That's why I'm here. Pearl Harbor is my destination. Talkey knows it." Ruhr grimaced and wiped his beard. "Hi, I'm staying at the home of Jeff McMahon, Director of Broadcasting Malaya. Let's all go to La Force for dinner tonight, shall we? Jeff wants to meet your father and ask him to broadcast. Tao Foundation will I like Elsa. She's the prettiest woman in Singapore." "Then her husband would be a fool to keep you at home." "Honey, I'll never fail my host's hospitality. Handsome B. Meera arched her eyebrows and curled her lips in contempt as an answer." So, will you come to dinner? " "I have nothing but I can't make decisions for Taoji." Then the fat old reporter, in a very happy mood, readily agreed to have dinner with the prettiest woman in Singapore. "Of course, buddy. Great, man, the Air Admiral is a good man. I'm going to visit the top secret military installation here. There's nothing I can't see. I'm going to write about my favorite things." Elsa.McMahon wore a cream silk bodysuit, the only fashionable garment Pamela had seen in the colony.Her thick, smooth black hair looked as though it had been combed in Paris.Four children were laughing and whirling through the rambling house, scolded and chased by servants; the woman had a slender figure, a cameo face, and the clean smooth skin of a girl, tanned rosy from playing tennis .She showed Pamela her house, her library, a wall of phonograph records, her tennis court and her garden before sunset: a large unkempt lawn, tall palm trees, flowering shrubs And trees--staff, wood mold, jasmine, orchids--the scents in the air were almost suffocating.Her fluent English had a Scandinavian accent, for her father had been a captain of a Norwegian sea ship.Her husband kept looking at her; as if they had only been married a month. They drank while they waited for Tudsbury to return from his visit to the Governor, who soon called.The Governor had just invited him to dinner at the Tanglin Club.He's at that club now.Could Pamela and her friends forgive her, and accept the governor's invitation to join them for a drink? Before Pam hung up, Rule said angrily, "Pamela, he's so rude. We're all set for dinner. Tell him and the smug Governor ass to go to hell with them both." Bar." "Nonsense, he can't turn down the Governor," Jeff said.said McMahon amiably. "The Tanglin Club happens to be on the way, let's go." It was only a short drive from the McMahon's house.The director of Malayan Broadcasting stopped the car at the entrance of the club, turned around and said to Pamela: "You are here. Elsa and I will go on to the bar of the La Force Hotel. May as well Stay for a while, come to eat again, the music keeps going until midnight." "Nonsense. Park the car and come in. The governor invites us all." "Pam, I stopped going to Tanglein when Elsa and I got married." "What are you saying?" Elsa in the front seat.McMahon looked back.The dark eyes were serious, and the lovely mouth was set tight. "My mother is a Burmese, my dear. See you, La Force." Tanglein is a large place, but rambling and stuffy.Full-length portraits of the king and queen hung high in the foyer; magazines and newspapers published in London were strewn about; under the slowly turning electric fan, colored servants in white uniforms kept hurrying away with drinks with.The club was filled with the raucous din of booze as it was quite late.Tudsbury sat in the bar among the same people Pamela had seen on the Prince of Wales.These men were all drunk.Women's evening dresses were as old-fashioned as their daytime attire.The Governor was a mild and unbelievably dull man.Pamela and Ruhr drank a glass of wine and left. When they came out into the moonlit night, richly scented with flowers, she said, "The McMahons have nothing to lose by not going!" Pamela was English through and through; Such a wonderful theory of superiority.She knows that this kind of club has this kind of rule, but even so fat Elsa.McMahon's exclusion still annoyed her. "Come on, you sure haven't discovered the hard truths about imperialism yet." Ruhl called a waiting taxi. "How do you imagine 20,000 whites - most of them weak-willed idiots - trying to rule over 4.5 million Malayans? Not by drinking with them!" "She's as non-British-born as I am." "One cannot allow exceptions, my dear. The snobbish British Empire dams hold back a sea of ​​raging colored people. There is a needle's eye and those dams collapse. It is the principle. Elsa is an Oriental." He imitated The aristocratic voice said in a nasal voice: "It's a pity, this set of things-come on, you get in the car, let's go meet our oriental girlfriend!" In the open-air courtyard lined with palm trees in La Falls, a band of five old white men played listless old-fashioned jazz.It's hot and humid here.The McMahons sat at the table and watched three grizzled couples dance on the floor sweating.When they greeted Pamela and Ruhr, they didn't show resentment.As they ate, they talked about the Governor with interest and indulgence. He was, they said, an innocent man, the son of a vicar.The hot weather, the bureaucracy, and the intricacies and chaos of his job had turned him, over seven years, into a benevolent and hands-on veteran.Nothing could shake, change or offend him.The Malayan government was a lunatic asylum, dealing with eleven scattered local governments, including two recalcitrant sultans.In any case, half the tin and one-third of the rubber used in democracies come from this messy land.There is money to be made, and it has been made.Dollars kept pouring into Britain as war chests.The people who worked—the two million Muslim Malayans, the two million Buddhist Chinese, the half a million or so Indians—did not like each other, but shared a common distaste for the quiet, weak The small group of white people in power headed by white people.The white man lived in an official residence on a high hill in a large park, far away from the crowds and smells of the local Singaporeans.He has been commended in London for seven consecutive years for his smooth management.He has nothing to do but let nature take its course.And in the British colonial department, according to Jeff.In McMahon's words, that's genius. "Opinions vary," Ruhr said. "I heard a three-hour rant against him today. Associated Press reporter Tim Boyle said he was a censorship-obsessed bully. Tim wrote an article about the nightlife here. , got shot by the censors. Tim asked to meet with the governor and was called out as a coolie. The governor's first words were: "I read that article.If you're Asian, I'm going to put you in a cell! "'"Oh, that's different," said Elsa, "and the Colonial Office has a pretty good memory.America was originally a colony.Once a native, always a native. " The McMahons barely ate anything.After drinking coffee, they got up and writhed and danced to the horrible music.Ruhr stretched out his hand: "Pamela?" "Don't be ashamed of yourself. I'm sweating even if I move here. You know you can't dance anyway. Neither can I." "You asked Slote to dance with you in London." "Sniff, that's for me to get rid of you." "Honey, you can't still be angry with me." He grinned without anger, and his red lips and mustache stretched out. "That was all a long time ago." "Forget it, Phil. You're the yellowed diploma on the wall, and that's where it should be." "Break me down again! Well, I'm glad you're taking a stand for Elsa, but she's a hot lady, and Tanglein's Club is so loathsome that she can live without it. Look around the suburbs. What about the Chinese and Indians who are crowded like rats in the rubbish dump? That is the real colored problem in Singapore." Pamela did not answer for a long time.She has no precise opinions on politics, society and religion.For her, life is a colorful and painful performance, and the standard of right and wrong is the yardstick in it.Values ​​and morals change over time and place.For example Victor.The Christian morality of Henry and the military socialism of the Ruhr can only bring misery and destroy the already meager happiness.That's what she thinks. “在那些问题上我是个糊涂人，菲尔，这你是知道的。或多或少亚洲难道不总是这样的吗——几个王公和苏丹用金盘吃东西、建造庙宇和泰吉玛哈陵，老百姓却在牛粪和泥地上繁殖？” “我们就是为了改变这一切情况而来的，亲爱的。吉卜林是这么说的，还有埃里斯特。塔茨伯利。” “我们没有把事情改变得好些吗？” “从某一方面来讲，是变得好一些。铁路、行政机构、近代语言。可是帕姆，在这儿，坦格林俱乐部正在为一件事闹翻天。他们禁止印度军官进他们的游泳池。我再说一遍，是印度第五团的军官！——受过教育的军人、驻扎在这里带领士兵们准备为坦格林俱乐部战斗和牺牲！这决定硬是不改！这样一来，吉卜林白白浪费了五十年光阴。” 麦克马洪夫妇很早就离开，回到他们的孩子们身边去了；尽管他们对韬基的失约表示得很有礼貌，这件事却使这个晚上过得很没有意义。菲利普'鲁尔和帕米拉一起穿过旅馆的门厅。“把你的蚊帐塞紧，亲爱的，”他在楼梯上说。“每一边都检查一下。几只这种小虫会象吸血鬼一样吸干你的血。” 帕米拉环顾四周，看着穿白制服的中国男仆端着盘子交叉来往，走过宽阔的门厅。“喝酒，喝酒！还有完没完啦？！” “我来这儿头一天就听说了，”鲁尔说，“而且从那以后我已在白人的俱乐部里听到过四十遍了——新加坡是一个到处有”酒、中国人和臭气'的地方。 “他吻了吻她的脸。”晚安。我现在要把自己挂回到墙上去了。 " 第一批炸弹在早晨四点钟落到新加坡。帕米拉半睡半醒，正在蚊帐里出汗。当她听到头顶上有一阵轻轻的声音、她模模糊糊地认为这是一场夜间战斗机演习。她一听到远处砰砰的响声就坐了起来，把帐子甩到一边，跑进起坐室。塔茨伯利茫然眨着眼睛，紧抓着睡衣去遮住他那毛茸茸的肚子，从自己的房间里蹒跚地出来。“这是轰炸，帕姆！” “我知道是轰炸呀。” “这帮黄皮肤的杂种！他们真的干起来了，是吗？老天啊，他们会后悔的！” 飞机在头顶上轰隆隆地来去。炸弹的爆炸声越来越近，越来越响。塔茨伯利一边脱睡帽，一边磕磕绊绊地回进自己的房间。帕米拉在落地长窗边喊道：“韬基，我们甚至还没有灯火管制哩！”街上灯火辉煌，头上的云彩都受到了这光辉的反射。她根本看不到探照灯和曳光弹，听不到警报和高射炮声。这和伦敦的空袭毫无相同之处。事实上唯一不同于其他温暖、芬芳的新加坡之夜的，只是头上有看不见的飞机正在扔炸弹，而这座城市对此却无动于衷。 他压低嗓门答道：“是啊，谁都没料到这个。停在陆上基地的日本轰炸机飞不到这么远来轰炸，这是布鲁克。波帕姆亲自告诉我的。” “那么现在是怎么回事呢？” “大约是航空母舰上的轰炸机。当然啦，要是皇家空军不先把在附近一带发现的任何一艘航空母舰炸掉，'威尔士亲王号'也准会拦住和击沉它们。谁也估计不到敌人会有近于自杀的疯狂行为。” 不久，他衣服都没穿整齐，就急急忙忙跑出了自己的房间。轰炸已离得远些了，可是飞机却依然在天上轰隆隆地响着。她半裸地穿着短睡衣，在桌边迟钝地翻动着一篇打字稿，头发披在脸边。“这篇广播现在过时了，韬基。” “怎么会呢？我写的军事概况还行。这是文章的要点。现在正好格外适合形势！关于这场空袭，我需要一段新的开场白和一段有力的结束语。把这写一下，好吗？等我回来，就根据你的草稿口授文章。” “现在正空袭，你究竟想到什么地方去？” “到陆军部新闻处去。我给费希尔上校打过电话。这会儿他正开记者招待会呢，而且——怎么啦？” 她在桌前把头埋在裸着的双臂之中。“这真叫我沮丧！这一切，突然又在这儿出现啦。” “鼓起勇气来，姑娘。这些并不是德国人。那上面的飞机是用竹笋和宣纸造的。我们会粉碎这些狗杂种的。神明啊，看看那些光吧，好不好？这座城市可真亮得象棵圣诞树了。要是有人在值班的时候睡着，准会受到处分的！我要走了。你就起草新稿子吧？” “好啦，去吧。”她把头埋在两臂之间哺哺地说。 帕米拉正在想——飞剪型客机当然会马上停开；到夏威夷去的海上航道会受到日本潜艇的干扰；事实上她和维克多。亨利的联系已经断了，也许几年，也许永远不会见面了。白白这么老远地跑来！她还能离开新加坡吗？ 天蒙蒙亮，一阵微弱的凉风从开着的落地窗外吹进来，使房间充满花园里清新的芳香。这时她的父亲好似一头疯了的大象一样吼着冲了进来：“帕姆，帕姆，你听到了吗？”她还穿着睡衣，从打字机上泪眼模糊地抬起头来看着。“我听到了什么呀？” “啊哟，你这小笨蛋，我们打赢了！”塔茨伯利的眼睛从他的脸上鼓了出来，他的手在发抖。“那些黄皮肤的免崽子已经袭击珍珠港啦！” "what!" “我说的话你听到了嘛。航空母舰上的飞机大举进攻！各种各样的巨大损失。美国佬陷进去了，帕姆！这一回他们陷到脖子那儿了！别的还有什么要紧的呢？我们已经赢得了这场该死的战争，我对你说啦！为此我得喝一杯，要不我就活不下去了。” 他把威士忌一下子倒进一个无脚酒杯，一饮而尽，咳嗽起来。“我们已经战胜了！战胜了！多么紧张的战斗啊！我们真的已经打赢了这场该死的战争了。我得从第一页起重写那篇文章了。可是上帝啊，这是生活在一个多么光荣的时刻！这是巨人们的日子啊，帕姆。他们的脚步在震撼着地球——” “什么船被打中了？” “啊，美国佬自然闭口不谈。可损失是巨大的。这些都是檀香山的通讯社直接报道的。我们没有在这儿被当场抓起来，感谢上帝！他们试图在哥打巴鲁机场登陆，可是我们把他们撵回到海里去了。他们在泰国确是获得了一个登陆点。今天早上我们就将出发到那里去，给他们一个迎头痛击。两个精锐的师在边境上，准备出击。这一回日本人真的已经把脑袋套进绞索里了，而且——喂，有什么不对吗？” 帕米拉用手背捂住眼睛，正朝她的卧室里大步走去。“没什么，没什么，没什么！”她指指办公桌。“你那该死的草稿在那儿呐。” 塔茨伯利的广播引来了从伦敦、悉尼和纽约打来的祝贺电报和电话。他谈到了自己亲眼目睹的大量秘密贮备和防御工事；谈到了他从最高军方人士得知装备着重武器的援军已经在途中；谈到了不论是欧洲人还是亚洲人在轰炸时都保持了惊人的镇静。他的广播稿还引证了空袭期间亮着的街灯，作为新加坡临危沉着的一个幽默例子。新闻检查官吞吞吐吐地、抱歉地要把他这点删去。他也就和颜悦色地同意了。 塔茨伯利滔滔不绝地列举美国巨大工业资源的统计数字，以这一段夸夸其谈的话作为结束：“确实，战争并非靠索然无味的统计数字来打，而是靠热血沸腾、受苦受难的人。然而统计数字则预示着结果。尽管这场战争还得给人类带来可怖的悲剧，它还是会被打赢的。这一点我们现在已经知道了。 “我可以报道说，新加坡要塞对这场恶狠狠地逼来的战斗是作好了准备的。新加坡要塞并不指望这是一场茶话会，可是它为那些不速之客作好了充分准备。有一件事外边世界尽可以放心。要是日本人真的跑近了，来尝一尝新加坡要塞为他们准备的苦酒。他们是不会欣赏的。” 他广播后走进坦格林俱乐部的酒吧间时，那里的人全都不约而同地站起来鼓掌，使他的胖脸上热泪纵横。 轰炸机没再来新加坡，也很少有人提起内地的战事。这勾起了帕米拉的一种奇怪联想，觉得一九三九年的“假战争”又在热带重演了：同样令人兴奋、同样古怪和不真实、同样“照常工作”。由于缺乏黑布，俱乐部里的女士们在闷热的花园里坐着卷绷带时虽然忧心忡忡，喊喊喳喳但灯火管制却被看作一种不方便的新鲜玩意儿。应付空袭的民防队员戴着钢盔神气活现地在街上昂首阔步。然而却没有挖防空洞。 没有防空洞，却使塔茨伯利不放心。他去问总督。总督回答说：“地基多水，亲爱的朋友。”塔茨伯利指出，就在海军基地上，他看到巨大的混凝土地下室修建在很深的地底下，无边无际地堆着炮弹、食物和燃料。那么地基多水是怎么回事？总督对他犀利的词锋报以微笑。说真的，为了英帝国的安全，那些地下室是花了巨大的代价在潮湿的土地上挖出来的。可是在城市里，姑且不谈费用，这样严厉的措施会把亚洲老百姓吓坏的。适当的指示已经下达：在地窖和石头的建筑物里躲避空袭。需要的话，一个详尽的疏散计划已准备就绪。塔茨伯利勉强地同意了这一切。他是坦格林俱乐部的名人，是新加坡安定全世界人心的广播喉舌。 可是他为了排满自己的广播时间而感到烦恼。在第一次的陆军公报里，日本的入侵船只据报告正在撤退，撇下几支部队在被包围的登陆点上，而且这些流落在海滩上的侵略者正在有计划地被消灭掉。从此以后报道就越来越少。出现的地名总是奇怪地向南移。有一天整个公报只有一句：“无可奉告。”白种人的俱乐部里有一种说法流传开了：象俄国人同希特勒作战一样，军事指挥部正在巧妙地以空间来换取时间，把日本人拖垮在赤道附近的丛林里，赤道附近的丛林象俄国的冬季一样使部队受不了。 随后又出现了“季节风”的说法。军事专家们早就认为十月以后，新加坡就能安安稳稳地度过半年，因为在东北季节风期间敌人是不能登陆的。可是日本人事实上已经登陆了。专家们如今在解释说，任何轻率的军事计划当然都可以一试，不过入侵的日本军队已被季节风的巨浪造成的损失致命地削弱了，不久一定会在丛林中被逐渐消灭掉。尽管塔茨伯利广播了这些说法，缺乏确实的消息仍然使他烦恼。他得到的欢迎方式和他第一次广播的效果逼得他不得不扮演一个乐观者的角色，然而他感到自己是在一个即将被放弃的地方说话。 随后传来了“威尔士亲王号”和“击退号”被击沉的消息。这是确实的消息！一开头就遇上灾难，很明显是犯了大错误；这虽令人恶心，然而在英国人指挥的战争中却不是新鲜事。两名记者带着有历史意义的最新消息活着从“击退号”回来，吓坏了，生病了。塔茨伯利不得不进行竞争。他突然闯到他那些高级军官的朋友面前，要求了解事情真相，并且如愿以偿。那勇敢的小个子上将曾经乘船北去打算奇袭侵略军，迅速粉碎他们。但遇上日本陆上基地的轰炸机，只得逃出来。他没有空中掩护。离得最近的英国航空母舰在印度。本地的皇家空军指挥部缺少飞机，要不就是没发现信号；这一部分讲得含糊不清。日本鱼雷飞机和俯冲轰炸机轰隆隆地飞来，把那两艘第一流的军舰都炸沉了。上将淹死了。帝国现在听凭日本海军进攻了。这支日本海军拥有十艘战列舰和六艘大型航空母舰，它们背后只有已被大大削弱的美国海军需要提防。 塔茨伯利冲到拉福尔斯旅馆，对帕米拉口述了这个最新消息，文章集中在一个主题上：空中力量。他的广播稿是半社论性的。英国用血的代价弄懂了战列舰抵挡不住陆上基地的飞机！他要求吸取教训，用同样的手段回击敌人！皇家空军是世界上最伟大的空中部队。迅速地从马来亚派去大量空军增援力量就能切断日本侵略者的退路，并且置之于死地。这可是一个值得其他战线作出任何牺牲的机会；是消除灾难，保全帝国的转折点。 他让送信人把稿件送到新闻检查官办公室。新闻检查官在广播时间前三小时打电话给他；广播稿很好，只是他不能说舰艇缺乏空中掩护。埃利斯特。塔茨伯利对这样的干预很不习惯，匆匆坐着出租汽车，汗流满面、哺哺自语地赶到新闻检查官办公室去。新闻检查官是一个脆弱的金发男子，噘着嘴在微笑。他被塔茨伯利的怒吼声吓坏了，用泪汪汪的小圆眼睛瞪着他。他的军事顾问穿着笔挺的热带白军服，胖墩墩的样子，白头发，脸色红润，是个海军上校，对于自己的决定从不作任何解释，只是重复说道：“十分抱歉，老朋友，但是我们不能这么报道。” 塔茨伯利争辩了许久以后，猛地把涨得紫红色的脸直冲到他面前，吼道：“好吧，我要直接去找空军布鲁尔。波帕姆上将，你们先说说为什么不能报道？” “这是生死攸关的军事情报呀。我们决不能让敌人知道。” “敌人？！哎呀，你们以为是谁把那舰艇炸沉的呢？我的广播曾给新加坡带来这么一大批战斗机，以后就再也不会发生那样的事了！” “不错，先生，那部分写得非常精采，你说得对。” “不过，要是我不提没有空中掩护那么这样写就没有意义了！明白吗？莫名其妙！笨蛋！” “十分抱歉，先生，但是我们不能这么报道。” 塔茨伯利蹿出去，抓起离得最近的电话。空军上将接不通，总督出去检查防务了。离他广播的时间越来越近了。他怒气冲冲地赶到播音室，他求杰夫。麦克马洪让他马上广播，照读原稿，自己承担后果。 “老天，我们在打仗呢，塔茨伯利！”麦克马洪拦住了他：“你打算让我们都进监狱吗？我们得把开关关掉。” 这个胖胖的老记者火气和活力渐渐耗尽了。“我在柏林广播了四年哩，麦克马洪。”他咬牙切齿地说：“戈培尔本人都从来不敢这样改我的稿件。从来没有过！新加坡的英国行政机关竟然敢改，这是怎么搞的？” “我的亲爱的朋友，德国人称自己是'主宰种族'，只不过说说罢了，”埃尔莎。麦克马洪的丈夫干巴巴地说。“还有十分钟就该你广播啦。”