Bamboo Heart by Ann Bennett

Author:Ann Bennett
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789814423748
Publisher: Monsoon Books Pte. Ltd.

17

Tom had ceased to register the passing of the hours. He no longer even knew whether it was day or night, or if he had survived another day in the pit. He had stopped bothering to watch the routines of the camp. He would open his eyes at random and see the stars twinkling above the ragged jungle skyline, or the sun burning overhead, the officers digging the latrines on the other side of the camp.

He realised he had developed a fever now, on top of all his other ailments. He alternated between periods of shivering, his teeth chattering uncontrollably, and periods of burning up, sweat pouring off him. Most of the time, he inhabited the dream world of the past that he had recreated, so he could get himself through the present. He tried to blank out the present. He knew if he dwelled on his misfortune, he would give up the struggle. He did sometimes wonder, though, how much pain and suffering a single human being was capable of withstanding. He felt as if his fragile body could give up at any moment, as if his life hung by a thread.

One day the Ripper came striding across the clearing. He tore away the corrugated iron and bamboo from the top of the pit and bent down to peer at Tom’s face. Then he poked his shoulders and chest several times with a bamboo cane as if Tom were a pig being prepared for slaughter. He was obviously not pleased with what he saw. He frowned, and shouted at the guards, lashing out at them indiscriminately with his cane, jabbering orders at them. In his fevered state, Tom was confused. What did all this mean? Were they going to take him out and shoot him? Tom tried to blank out his thoughts.

As the Ripper stomped back to the guard house, Tom allowed his mind to drift again. It took him back to the day after he had first met Joy at the museum. He remembered that he had telephoned Millicent in the morning and arranged to meet her at the club.

When they met in her private suite, he had told her that their relationship was over.

At first she thought he was joking. She sat there, lounging on the white sofa, smoking her cigarette, eyeing him with scepticism.

‘What on earth has brought this on?’ she asked when she had begun to realise that he was serious. ‘Is there someone else?’

‘No,’ he said, looking down at his hands. It was the truth, but not the whole truth.

‘Are you sure? I think there is. Who is it? Betty Tranter? Jane Gibbons? I’ve seen those tarts eyeing you up. They’d love to get their hands on you.’

‘No, Millie. It’s nobody. I just think we should end it because … Well, because it has been wonderful, but it is going nowhere. You have to agree.’

‘So what? That didn’t matter to you at first,’ she said, sitting forward, anxiety displacing the mocking look her face usually held.

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