Part 15 (2/2)

”Orderly,” she said, but she was forced to smile back at him, making fun at herself for her outburst, ”and clean. They run all the vice-rings, you know. The opium-dens, the dance-halls...”

”That's what I meant!”

They laughed together.

The car moved forward a few more inches. The chauffeur sounded the horn.

Frau Glogauer hissed in despair and flung herself back against the upholstery, her gloved fingers tapping the arm of the seat.

Karl pulled the speaking tube towards him. ”Could you try another way, Hank? This seems impa.s.sable.”

The Chinese, in his neat grey uniform, nodded but did nothing. There were carts and rickshaws packing the street in front of him and a large truck blocking his way back. ”We could walk,” said Karl.

His mother ignored him, her lips pursed. A moment later she took out her handbag and opened the flap so that she could look into the mirror set inside it. She brushed with her little finger at her right eyelid. It was a gesture of withdrawal. Karl stared out of the window. He could see the skysc.r.a.pers of the Bund looming close behind them still. They had not gone far. He studied the shops on both sides. For all that the street was crowded, n.o.body seemed to be doing much business. He watched a fat Indian in a linen suit and a white turban pause outside a shop selling the newspapers of a dozen countries. The Indian picked his nose as he studied the papers, then he selected an American pulp magazine from another rack and paid the proprietor. Rolling the magazine up, the Indian walked rapidly away. It seemed to Karl that some more mysterious transaction must have taken place. But then every transaction seemed like that in Shanghai.

The Rolls rolled a few more feet. Then the chauffeur saw an opening in a side street and turned down it. He managed to get half-way before a night-soil cart - the ”honey-carts” as the Chinese called them - got in his way and he was forced to brake quite sharply. The driver of the cart pretended not to notice the car. One wheel of his cart mounted the sidewalk as he squeezed past. Then they were able to drive into the side street which was barely wide enough to accommodate the big Phantom.

”At least we're moving,” said Frau Glogauer, putting her compact back into her bag and closing the clasp with a snap. ”Where are we?”

”We're going all round the world,” said Karl. ”The river's just ahead, I think. Is that a bridge?” He craned forward, trying to get his bearings. ”Now that must be north... My G.o.d!”

”What?”

”Chapei. They must have set fire to it. The smoke. I thought it was clouds.”

”Will it mean trouble - here, I mean?” asked his mother, taking hold of his arm.

He shook his head. ”I've no idea. We're pretty close to the j.a.panese concession now. Maybe we should go back and speak to Father?”

She was silent. She liked to make the decisions. But the political situation had never interested her. She always found it boring. Now she had no information on which to base a decision. ”Yes, I suppose so,” she said reluctantly. ”That was gunfire, wasn't it?”

”It was something exploding.” Karl suddenly felt an intense hatred for the j.a.panese. With all their meddling, they could ruin Shanghai for everybody. He took up the speaking tube. ”Back to the Bund, Hank, as soon as you can get out of here.”

They entered a wider thoroughfare and Karl saw the crowds part as if swept back by invisible walls. Through the corridor thus created a Chinese youth came running. Hank had pulled out into the street and now the car was blocking the youth's progress.

Behind the youth came three little j.a.panese policemen with clubs and pistols in their hands. They were chasing him. The youth did not appear to see the car and he struck it in the way that a moth might strike a screen door. He fell backwards and then tried to scramble up. He was completely dazed. Karl wondered what to do.

The j.a.panese policemen flung themselves onto the youth, their clubs rising and falling.

Karl started to wind down the window. ”Hey!”

His mother buried her face in his shoulder. He saw a smear of powder on his lapel. ”Oh, Karl!”

He put his arm around his mother's warm body. The smell of her perfume seemed even stronger. He saw blood well out of the bruises on the Chinese boy's face and back. Hank was trying to turn the car into the main street. A tug went past on the river, its funnel belching white smoke which contrasted sharply with the oily black smoke rising over Chapei. It was strange how peaceful the rest of the tall city looked. The New York of the Orient.

The clubs continued to rise and fall. His mother snuffled in his shoulder. Karl turned his eyes away from the sight. The car began to reverse a fraction. There was a tap on the window. One of the j.a.panese policemen stood there, bowing and smiling and saluting with his b.l.o.o.d.y club. He made some apology in j.a.panese and grinned widely, shaking his free hand as if to say ”Such things happen in even the best-run city.” Karl leant over and wound the window right up.

The car pulled away from the scene. He didn't look back.

As they drove towards the Bund again, Karl's mother sniffed, straightened up and fumbled in her handbag for a handkerchief. ”Oh, that awful man,” she said. ”And those policemen! They must have been drunk.”

Karl was happy to accept this explanation. ”Of course,” he said. ”They were drunk.”

The car stopped.

- There is certainly something secure, says Karl, about a world which excludes women. Which is not to say that I deny their charms and their virtues. But I can understand, suddenly, one of the strong appeals of the h.o.m.os.e.xual world.

- Now you're thinking of subst.i.tuting one narrow world for another, warns his friend. - I spoke earlier of broadening your experience. That's quite different.

- What if the person isn't up to being broadened? I mean, we all have a limited capacity for absorbing experience, surely? I could be, as it were, naturally narrow.

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