loose, Patrick. No, I don’t hate you. I’ve just changed, that’s all.’
I wanted to cry, because she and I had been so close in everything, and we weren’t any more; and because Colonel Savage was able to make me so stuttery and foolish; and because everyone was moving into our places, like the Indian crew on the goods train; and because for me there was no question of thinking what was best, what was right—I had to have Victoria, I had to grovel in front of Savage, I had to fight the Indians for my rights.
The signal wires hissed over their pulleys beside us, the counterweight of the signal level flopped up, and then I knew that my face shone green and wet instead of red and wet. I tried to apologize to Victoria. I told her again that I loved her. I said, ‘What are we going to do?’
She said, ‘You and I?’
‘No. We, we people,’ I said, meaning us Anglo-Indians.
And then she said something which, although she spoke bitterly, made me feel better, because it meant she realized the brick wall she, we, were up against. Savage, for instance. He might have been friendly to both of us, but he’d just been as cruel as he could. He was a leopard, the way I’d been thinking in my mind all the time So my heart jumped when she said, ‘What are we going to do? We? If we stay the way we are we’re going to run the bloody railway, of course! Isn’t that what we were born for, man?’
SIX
On that Monday morning, the day the Gurkhas were due to arrive in the afternoon, Victoria rang me up early. Her voice was trembly with anger, and at first I thought it was me she was angry with, but she said, ‘Patrick? Listen to this. This is atelegram for me from the WAC (I) Directorate in Delhi: “Leave cancelled owing to temporary emergency. Report forthwith repeat forthwith to O.C. First Thirteenth Gurkha Rifles Kabul Lines Bhowani Cantt for temporary duty as special liaison officer. Administrative details follow. Acknowledge. All informed.” Isn’t that the limit?’
She waited for me to say something, but to tell the truth I was delighted. I thought someone up there in Delhi had realized the situation and sent the telegram. I said, ‘That’s going to help me a lot, Victoria.’
She answered impatiently, ‘Don’t you see he ’ s done it—Colonel Savage?’ She said that he must have sent off a telegram as soon as he left my office on Saturday. She said he must know Mrs Fortescue, who was the head lady of the WAC (I)s.
I asked her what she was going to do about it. She didn’t answer for a time. Then she said, ‘I could go sick. I could send a telegram saying I wasn’t fit enough to report. They’d never find out.’
‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘That Colonel Savage will send his doctor down to look at you as soon as the trains come in, you mark my words.’
She was silent again, and it was funny how clearly I got the impression of what she was doing and thinking at the end of all that telephone wire. She was biting her lip and frowning. She was thinking, I hate him; but she was thinking, I must do my duty. How could any of us know then how serious the emergency might be? She was remembering what Govindaswami had told us. At last she said, ‘He’s got me. I’ll have to do it.’
I said, ‘Will I see you here tomorrow, then, do you think?’
She said, ‘I suppose so. I’ve got to find my uniform and get it ironed.’ And she hung up.
But Savage didn’t waste any time, and I saw her that afternoon, I was busy all morning with my own work and making the arrangements for the reception of the Gurkha troop specials. Mrs Williams rang up to suggest that the ladies from the Railway Lines ought to have hot tea ready for the Britishofficers of the Gurkhas when they arrived, and I agreed. That will make Savage more polite to us, I thought, because he will owe us something. It was going to be impossible to work with him if he always thought we were just useless obstructionists. I had found out that he did know
I wanted to cry, because she and I had been so close in everything, and we weren’t any more; and because Colonel Savage was able to make me so stuttery and foolish; and because everyone was moving into our places, like the Indian crew on the goods train; and because for me there was no question of thinking what was best, what was right—I had to have Victoria, I had to grovel in front of Savage, I had to fight the Indians for my rights.
The signal wires hissed over their pulleys beside us, the counterweight of the signal level flopped up, and then I knew that my face shone green and wet instead of red and wet. I tried to apologize to Victoria. I told her again that I loved her. I said, ‘What are we going to do?’
She said, ‘You and I?’
‘No. We, we people,’ I said, meaning us Anglo-Indians.
And then she said something which, although she spoke bitterly, made me feel better, because it meant she realized the brick wall she, we, were up against. Savage, for instance. He might have been friendly to both of us, but he’d just been as cruel as he could. He was a leopard, the way I’d been thinking in my mind all the time So my heart jumped when she said, ‘What are we going to do? We? If we stay the way we are we’re going to run the bloody railway, of course! Isn’t that what we were born for, man?’
SIX
On that Monday morning, the day the Gurkhas were due to arrive in the afternoon, Victoria rang me up early. Her voice was trembly with anger, and at first I thought it was me she was angry with, but she said, ‘Patrick? Listen to this. This is atelegram for me from the WAC (I) Directorate in Delhi: “Leave cancelled owing to temporary emergency. Report forthwith repeat forthwith to O.C. First Thirteenth Gurkha Rifles Kabul Lines Bhowani Cantt for temporary duty as special liaison officer. Administrative details follow. Acknowledge. All informed.” Isn’t that the limit?’
She waited for me to say something, but to tell the truth I was delighted. I thought someone up there in Delhi had realized the situation and sent the telegram. I said, ‘That’s going to help me a lot, Victoria.’
She answered impatiently, ‘Don’t you see he ’ s done it—Colonel Savage?’ She said that he must have sent off a telegram as soon as he left my office on Saturday. She said he must know Mrs Fortescue, who was the head lady of the WAC (I)s.
I asked her what she was going to do about it. She didn’t answer for a time. Then she said, ‘I could go sick. I could send a telegram saying I wasn’t fit enough to report. They’d never find out.’
‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘That Colonel Savage will send his doctor down to look at you as soon as the trains come in, you mark my words.’
She was silent again, and it was funny how clearly I got the impression of what she was doing and thinking at the end of all that telephone wire. She was biting her lip and frowning. She was thinking, I hate him; but she was thinking, I must do my duty. How could any of us know then how serious the emergency might be? She was remembering what Govindaswami had told us. At last she said, ‘He’s got me. I’ll have to do it.’
I said, ‘Will I see you here tomorrow, then, do you think?’
She said, ‘I suppose so. I’ve got to find my uniform and get it ironed.’ And she hung up.
But Savage didn’t waste any time, and I saw her that afternoon, I was busy all morning with my own work and making the arrangements for the reception of the Gurkha troop specials. Mrs Williams rang up to suggest that the ladies from the Railway Lines ought to have hot tea ready for the Britishofficers of the Gurkhas when they arrived, and I agreed. That will make Savage more polite to us, I thought, because he will owe us something. It was going to be impossible to work with him if he always thought we were just useless obstructionists. I had found out that he did know
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