of the city, or were they huddled trembling inside their houses, waiting for the terror to pass them by? The latter, I hoped. The tanks and guns would stay on the metalled roads as much as they could, and the defenders would choose solid buildings from which to fight back rather than canal banks. Later, perhaps, when the defenders broke and the mopping-up process began, it might be wise to join in the killing and so demonstrate one’s loyalty to the victors; but, for the present, it would be safer to remain passive.
I heard Rosalie put the empty glass down and move over to the mirror. I finished picking up the plaster and glanced at her. She was brushing her hair. She saw me in the mirror, looking at her, and stopped brushing. I went over to her and put my hands on her shoulders. She turned to face me.
“You do not dislike me now?”
“No.”
“You are not pretending because you feel sorry for me?”
“No.”
“If you were angry and beat me for what I said, I should feel more certain.”
“Most of what you said I didn’t understand.”
“It was not polite.”
“I know. There was something about my skin.”
She flushed. “You understood that? I am sorry. I said it to humiliate myself.”
“Does a European skin disgust you?”
“Sometimes.” She looked up at me defiantly. “You see, I do not pretend with you. And sometimes, my own skin disgusts me because it is so dark. My father’s was light, much lighter than yours. You are nearly as brown as I am. I like to touch and smell your body and to feel the strength of it. I do not think: ‘He is a European, I am an Indo.’ I think: ‘It is good to be a woman with this man.’ ” She paused. “But sometimes it is different. You know how these men here can feel about me. That is how I can feel about myself. Part of me is European. Sometimes I hate it and want to kill it.”
“What made you feel like that just now? Was it the leaflets? They don’t really alter anything, you know.”
“Perhaps not. I do not know. But I laughed at those officers dancing about like little boys when someone is throwing them coins, and forgot to be frightened. Then, when you showed me what was on the paper, it was worse than it had been before. It was like waiting for the pemoedas to come, and I wanted us both to die.” She looked at me anxiously. “Do you understand?”
“Not altogether. Perhaps you have to be an Indo to understand completely.”
She nodded. “Yes, perhaps you do.” She hesitated. “It is curious to hear you use that word.”
“You used it.”
“And you do not dislike me for what I said?”
“No.”
“Put your arms round me.”
A few minutes later she said: “I do not really mind if I have to die, but I am afraid of being hurt.”
“I know. So am I. The men in the next room are. The men firing those guns are. Everyone is-Indos, Sundanese, Europeans-everyone. There’s nothing special about you.”
“That is not polite.”
“I don’t have to be polite to you. It was part of the arrangement.”
She smiled then. “You remember? That is very businesslike.”
“Certainly. And dying was no part of the arrangement. If one of us is to be killed or wounded because we happen to be here, that is another matter, but we are not going to kill ourselves.”
“It is not much to kill oneself.” She was still smiling.
“It is to me. Whatever happens, don’t get that idea again, will you?”
Her smile faded and she looked up at me curiously. “Does it truly matter to you?”
“Yes, it matters.”
After a moment she nodded. “Then as long as you are here, I will not think of it.” She gathered up her hair and began to twist it into a bun on top of her head. “There is still water left in the bathhouse,” she remarked; “perhaps we should use it while we can.”
It was such a determined change of subject that it made me laugh.
She raised her eyebrows. “It will not be amusing if we cannot wash.”
“You’re right. It won’t.”
“Do you wish to go first?” She was still uneasy because I had laughed at her.
“No, you go ahead. If you use too much water, I shall beat you.”
She smiled. I had made a feeble joke and she had regained face. All was well.
“May I wear your bathrobe?”
“Of course.”
When she had gone, I ate a slice of papaya, lit a cigarette and went out on to the terrace. The bow-legged officer was standing at the far end, looking out gloomily at the smoke haze. He nodded curtly when he caught sight of me, and I nodded back. We did not speak.
The firing had slackened off considerably and there were only occasional flurries of activity. It was as if both sides were weary of the argument, but could not quite make up their minds to abandon it. I found that a comforting notion. Unfortunately, I could not altogether conceal from myself the fact that what sounds there were seemed to come from very much nearer than they had an hour earlier.
Down in the leaflet-strewn square there was feverish activity. Fox-holes were being dug and the two- pounders were being manoeuvred into sandbagged pits so that they could cover the two western approaches to the square. One of the bomb craters was being used as a headquarters, another as an ammunition dump. Sounds from the Ministry of Public Health next door suggested that it, too, was being placed in a state of defence. Immediately below, beside the crater that had flooded the generator room, some men were unloading three-inch mortars from a truck. There were other men sitting on the ground fusing grenades. As far as I could see, there was only one small group of men in the entire square to whom a tank commander would have given a second thought. They were squatting under the trees, placidly scooping rice out of their bowls with their fingers. Laid out neatly on a groundsheet beside them were two American bazookas.
Someone came into the living room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bow-legged officer turn and then go in quickly. A moment later I recognised Suparto’s voice. There was a lot of firing going on just then and a truck down in the street below was spitting and back-firing as the driver revved it up, so I went back into the bedroom to see if I could hear what he was saying through the door.
It was not much better there. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was giving orders, but that was all. Then, there was a pause, and I heard steps on the terrace. I had just time to move away from the door before Suparto came in by the window.
He nodded to me and glanced quickly round the room.
“She’s bathing,” I said.
He nodded. “That is as well. I have not much time and what I have to say is private.”
“You might be heard in the next room.”
“For the present, there is no one in the next room. Sanusi is shortly transferring his headquarters there.” He sat down wearily and stretched his legs. His cheekbones stood out sharply and his skin was the colour of parchment. I realised that it was probably three days since he had slept. His uniform, however, was as neat as ever.
“May I know what’s happening out there?”
“There will be an official statement issued at the first opportunity. Colonel Roda is writing it at this very moment.”
“No jokes, Major, please.”
He smiled. “My apologies. I was indulging myself. The thought of Colonel Roda, whom I greatly dislike, trying bravely to misrepresent a situation which is already hopeless is very enjoyable.”
“Are you sure there’s nobody in there who can hear you?”
“I can see that you are nervous this morning, Mr. Fraser.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I admit that this waiting is disagreeable. As far as I know, the present situation is this. General Ishak’s
