In late May of 1925, Archie was delivered to Taprobane in the early evening, with the intention of spending the first two weeks of his annual three-month leave with his brother, and then going snipe shooting in the wetlands west of Trincomalee.
He had havered over the invitation for some time. The fact was that his long unrequited passion for Daniel’s wife made it painful for him to be with them. He felt cut off and safe in Peshawar or Simla, or in the Hindu Kush. In those places Rosie was a remote and beautiful dream, and that she existed at all was a kind of joy to him, and a pleasure. He could bivouac in a nullah, with his sepoys slumbering about him, and gaze up at the stars, remembering Rosie sipping tea, Rosie as a little girl, Rosie playing tennis, Rosie at prayer in church or talking earnestly about poetry in the conservatory at Eltham. Archie cared not a whit for poetry, beyond ‘How Horatius Kept the Bridge’, but Rosie’s bright-eyed passion for it almost made him believe in its importance. The way she talked about it, you’d think that it was as vital as bread. He loved her blue eyes, her chestnut hair, her freckles, her bohemian armbands, and the way that her hips moved when she walked. He loved her soft voice, and the shadows of sorrow in her eyes that had never quite gone away, even after marrying his brother.
That wedding day had provided the most painful hours of his life. It had been completely unbearable to think of her in Daniel’s arms, night after night, for all the years to come, raising the children that he would never have, and would so much have wanted. On the boat back to India he had written a long confessional letter to Daniel: ‘…One has dreams. It is very hard to endure the sight of them fluttering away like a flock of sparrows. It leaves a taste in the mouth like licking an old penny.’ He had concluded the letter by asking to be buried in Peshawar.
Archie thought a great deal about death. One saw a great deal of it on the North-West Frontier, and the tribesmen seemed to find a value in it much higher than any they attached to life. To them, the latter was just an irksome anteroom to paradise. Archie thought they yearned for death because their religious fanaticism made any enjoyment of this life completely haram. Life was not to be enjoyed until you were dead, and in paradise.
The fun in Archie’s life was of the unenduring, self-destructive kind. He drank too much, and too much enjoyed the danger of being up in the mountains, always in imminent jeopardy of avalanche, ambush, capture and torture. But the most destructive pleasure of his life was thinking of Rosie, becoming paralysed by dreams.
It was therefore with great misgivings that he had agreed to come to Ceylon instead of taking ship straight back to Southampton, and now that he was out on the terrace with Rosie and Daniel, sipping tea as they watched the mist rise up in the valley below, those misgivings became even greater. This was too much like paradise, and something was bound to go wrong.
Rosie was talking animatedly about her work in the clinic: ‘…and the natives don’t trust our medicine at all, because they’ve got their own, and so they only come to us when they’re desperate, and obviously by then it’s too late, and they die anyway, and of course that means they trust our medicine even less.’
‘Damned awkward,’ said Archie, puffing on his cigarette. He smoked Abdullas when he could get them, and was enjoying the first of a pack he had bought in Colombo before setting off.
‘Worse than awkward,’ said Daniel. ‘You build a lovely expensive clinic for your workers, and then it’s only a few Europeans who use it.’
‘It’s so frustrating!’ said Rosie.
‘There must be something you can do,’ said Archie.
‘What do you do in India these days? It seems like a lifetime since I was there. Has anything changed?’ asked Daniel.
‘No, it’s just the same. On the North-West Frontier, the only medicine they believe in is the bullet, if you don’t count things like swallowing a verse of the Koran. It’s completely different in Calcutta or Delhi, obviously. The more sophisticated Indians use both systems at once, as far as I can see, depending on the expense. Rosie, my dear, will you be using the clinic…on the day?’
‘What day?’
‘Well, I see that…forgive me…I know one is not supposed to draw attention to such things, but…Well, it is quite evident, if you don’t mind me saying.’
Rosie patted her stomach happily. ‘Oh, you mean this!’
‘Yes. And congratulations. I imagine it’s due quite soon?’
‘Six weeks,’ said Rosie. ‘We’re so happy about it, aren’t we?’ she said, turning to Daniel.
‘We are indeed. Poor little Esther isn’t, though. She doesn’t want the competition. She’s very grumpy, and says, “Daddy, make it go away.” She says she’s going to give it to someone else.’
‘So will you be having the baby at your clinic?’
‘One normally gives birth at home,’ said Rosie. ‘I expect we’ll get the midwife in, and hope that she’s here on time.’
‘I can’t imagine what it’s like, giving birth,’ said Archie. ‘Must be hell. Strange how easy it is for cats and dogs, eh? And such damned hard work for you. The curse of Eve, eh?’
‘I’d rather not think about it,’ said Rosie.
‘Sorry. I’m just glad it’s not something I’ll ever be called upon to do.’
‘Well, I’m glad I don’t have to creep about being ambushed by Pathans,’ said Rosie.
‘We have a lot of fun too,’ said Archie. ‘We put on a new Gilbert and Sullivan every six months, and once we did a mock Romeo and Juliet with our largest officer as Juliet. You should have seen him mince. The sepoys think we’re mad, of course. And then there’s the Peshawar Vale Hunt.’
At that moment Esther came out in her nightdress, with her thumb in her mouth. ‘I can’t sleep,’ she announced. ‘You’re too noisy, and I’m not tired, and it’s not even dark.’
‘I think the plan failed,’ said Daniel to Rosie. ‘I did say there wasn’t any point in sending her to bed early.’
‘Well, I thought that Archie might want us to himself on his first night here. Children can be such a distraction, and then they take all the attention, and you can’t talk about anything else.’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have done that for me,’ exclaimed Archie. ‘My niece is adorable, and I see her so little.’ He beckoned to her, saying, ‘Viens, chérie, come and sit on my smelly old knee.’
Esther settled herself onto his knee with much aplomb, her thumb never leaving her mouth, and he put his hand to the side of her head, pushing it against his shoulder.
‘Suffer the little children,’ he said happily.
‘You do smell cigaretty,’ said Esther.
‘Nothing like a child for honesty,’ said Archie. ‘Is “cigaretty” nice or nasty?’
‘A bit of both. Daddy doesn’t smoke.’
‘Everyone thinks I’m very strange,’ said Daniel. ‘I don’t smoke, and to make matters worse, I’m half French, though it doesn’t much show. I prefer coffee to tea, and I’d rather be at home than at the club.’
‘You are strange, little brother,’ said Archie. ‘I always did say so.’
‘Uncle Archie?’
‘Yes, chérie?’
‘Why’s your moustache orange in the middle?’
‘Cigarettes. There’s something orangey in the smoke.’
‘If I go to bed, will you tell me an histoire?’
‘As long as you promise to get so bored that you go to sleep.’
‘I will when it’s dark.’
‘Dark soon,’ replied Archie. ‘Look at that sun, sinking like a ship.’
‘It’s on fire,’ said Esther. ‘It’s a wheel on fire.’
‘Come on, my darling,’ said Archie. ‘I’ll carry you in. Why don’t you pretend to be a wounded soldier, and I’m carrying you to safety?’
He stood up, and Esther flopped in his embrace. ‘Oh, I am blessée,’ she cried, ‘and I think I might die. Kiss me hardly.’
‘Say goodnight to Mummy and Daddy,’ said Archie, presenting her in turn to Rosie and Daniel for a kiss on the forehead. ‘I hope you’re cured by the morning,’ said Daniel.
‘It’s prob’ly fatal,’ said Esther.
Archie carried her indoors and laid her in her small bed. ‘There,’ he said, pulling the covers over her.
‘Now you’ve got to tell me a story.’
‘I’ll tell you one about Ali Anei, the elephant. I was told it by someone called “The Mad Major”.’
‘Why’s he called Ali?’
‘Because he is a Mohammedan elephant.’
‘And why is he called Annie?’
‘Because Anei means elephant.’
‘But Annie’s a girl’s name.’
‘Not Annie. Anei.’
‘Uncle Archie?’
‘Yes?’
‘What’s a Mohammeding?’
‘A follower of the prophet Mohammed. Look, it would take hours to explain. Do you want a story or an explanation of an entire religion?’
‘Story, please. Uncle Archie, does Mohammed like elephants?’
‘I’ve no idea, chérie. He was very fond of his camel, and it’s said that he liked cats, and he had one disciple who loved cats so much that his nickname was “Father of Kittens”, and I believe that in his will he left only one white mule. Can I tell you the story now?’
She nodded her head solemnly.
‘Once upon a time there was a big bull elephant called Ali Anei, and this elephant was the biggest and strongest in all Ceylon, and he lived with his wives and friends and relatives by a huge lake that was full of crocodiles, at the very edge of the jungle.
‘Now, one day in the dry season, he went down to the water to drink, and it so happened that there was a crocodile just under the surface, and when Ali put his trunk into the water, the crocodile said to itself, “Oh goody goody, a big grey wiggly sausage!” And he grabbed hold of it with his dreadful sharp teeth.’
‘Uncle Archie?’
‘Yes?’
‘What was it called?’
‘The crocodile? It was called Lord Palmerston.’
‘No it wasn’t!’
‘Was!’
‘Wasn’t wasn’t wasn’t!’
‘Was was was!’
‘Not!’
‘All right, it was really called Lieutenant Colonel Aloysius Reginald Arthur Quibbling Crockersnapper. Don’t you want to know what happened? Well, Aloysius the crocodile pulled hard on the trunk, and Ali Anei pulled back. Ali was much bigger, so he began to drag the crocodile out of the water.
‘Now, Lieutenant Colonel Crockersnapper’s best friend happened to be passing by, so he thought he’d lend a mouth, and he grabbed Crockersnapper’s tail in his jaws, and heaved backwards, but Ali was still too strong, and then Crockersnapper’s second-best friend came along and grabbed hold of the crocodile’s tail, but Ali was still too strong, and before you knew it there were ten crocodiles trying to pull him into the water so they could gobble him up.
‘Now, you might be wondering why Ali’s friends didn’t come to help, even though he was bellowing with pain and indignation. Were you wondering that?’
Esther shook her head.
‘Oh, never mind then. So, when there were ten crocodiles pulling, Ali felt himself beginning to be overpowered, and just then he noticed that he was next to a rubber tree, and he wrapped his tail around it.’
‘Trees aren’t rubber,’ said Esther. ‘They’re made of wood.’
Archie sighed resignedly, and said, ‘Very well, there was a wooden tree, and Ali wrapped his tail around it to anchor himself, and they all stayed like that for five hours because it was a complete stalemate.
‘Ali racked his brains for a solution to his predicament, and then he had a very good idea. He breathed in and breathed in and breathed in until he could inhale no more, and then, with all his might, he blew through his trunk, which by now was right down the crocodile’s throat. He blew so hard that the crocodile swelled up as round as a football, and he blew so hard that the crocodile expanded so much that quite suddenly it exploded – bang! – and all his friends fell back into the water with a big splash.
‘So that’s how Ali Anei defeated the crocodile, and he went back to his wives and friends and relatives, and showed them his wounded trunk, and he said, “You wouldn’t believe what just happened to me,” and he told them the story I have just told you, and they said, “Stop making things up,” because they really didn’t believe a word of it. But we know it’s true, don’t we?’
Esther looked at him sceptically in the gathering darkness and said, ‘Will you stay with me ’til I fall asleep?’
‘Of course I will.’
‘Uncle Archie?’
‘Yes?’
‘Where’s my birthday?’
‘Where? Don’t you mean “when”?’
‘No. Where is it?’
‘Um, well, I suppose it’s waiting for you just round the corner, and when it comes it’ll be here. Here in Ceylon. At Taprobane.’
‘Which corner?’
‘At Daddy’s tea factory, I expect. But don’t go looking for it, because it’ll see you coming, and just nip round the next corner.’
‘Why don’t balls have edges?’
‘Gracious me…I suppose that a ball is a solid body with only one edge if you think about it. Or perhaps it’s the only geometrical solid with no edges at all…I’m afraid you’ve got me there.’
‘Uncle Archie, how big is air?’
‘How big is air? Good Lord…well…um…it’s a big blanket a few thousand feet deep, and it wraps the earth up completely. I expect your father would know how big it is. He used to be a flyer. Ask him in the morning.’
‘Uncle Archie, why is “brought” not “bought”?’
‘Well, “brought” means “did bring”, and “bought” means “did buy”. Does that make sense? Do you think you’ll remember that?’
Esther nodded, and said, ‘I’m going to sleep now.’
She turned on her side and closed her eyes. Archie sat on his chair, leaning forward with his arms on his knees and his hands clasped together. He watched the child fading away into her dreams and thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He put out a hand to stroke the side of her head, but then withdrew it.
He would have loved to have had a child like this, and he wondered again why it was that he had quite deliberately cut himself off from any chance of living from a full heart. ‘Had it beaten out of me at Westminster,’ he said to himself. At prep school and then at public school he had learned to close himself off so completely during his ten years of thrashings, spartan training on the sports fields, and the Hobbesian war of all against all, that he knew he had become like the prisoner whose cell door has fallen open, but cannot go out into the light. ‘Why didn’t this happen to Daniel?’ he asked himself. Daniel had been thrashed and bullied and half starved as well, but he had emerged with a heart open to the world. His own was in the darkness out of choice, it seemed. At home in England there was Rosie’s sister Ottilie, a good woman who loved him, with whom he could have enjoyed domesticity and children, but at the back of his mind was the knowledge that anyone who adored him as sincerely as she did must have something wrong with them, and should therefore be avoided. It was easier to love Rosie because she would never love him in return.
Archie observed the sweet little girl breathing softly and peacefully in the half-light, and felt tears well up. He closed his eyes and muttered, ‘Dear Lord, let this child live a long life full of happiness, and may she never suffer harm, and defend her from wars and disasters, and watch over her and protect her.’ He paused, then added, ‘And as far as I’m concerned, I don’t mind if you take me as soon as you like. Amen.’
After an hour had passed, Rosie came in to look for him, fearing that something was amiss. She put her head round the door, and saw Archie in the darkness, stock-still in his chair with his hands clasped together and his head bowed. ‘Is everything all right?’ she whispered. ‘Is she asleep? Supper’s ready.’
Archie looked up at her with sorrowful eyes, and said, ‘Tickety-boo. Perfectly splendid. Along in a minute.’