The Malayan Trilogy by Anthony Burgess

Author:Anthony Burgess [Anthony Burgess]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2010-12-01T16:00:00+00:00

Two Malay workmen, dish-towels round their heads, came in to drink iced water.

“There they go, hairy sods, drinking all day.”

“Doing no work.”

“Let them have their pleasure. They won’t have it much longer.”

“The reckoning is coming.”

“Shit for brains.”

“Like prawns.”

The samsu flowed freely. Kartar Singh had overlooked a parking offence that day, and the grateful Chinese driver had slipped him five dollars. As the magical flower of the brief twilight lulled them, the yodel of the muezzin turning to Mecca, the lights coming on in the shops, only Mohinder Singh felt morose.

“I have failed,” he said. “Failed. Here am I grateful for the hospitality of a police constable, when it is I who should be crowding this table with bottles.”

“And so you will, brother, so you will. It is not too late to start again. In the police there are many opportunities. And,” he nodded his great beard at Teja Singh, “also even in the night watchman’s profession.”

“It is now we need money,” said Teja Singh. “I have but thirty cents. The bottle is empty.”

The scanty ration of intellect that sweltered in Kartar Singh’s monumental fat today had determined to expend itself. What the hell.

“The white woman, brother,” he cried. “Have you forgotten? Have you forgotten that she wants to buy up your shop? Camphorwood chests and blankets and sheets and cutlery and plates. We will go to her house. We will take these things to her. We shall be paid. We may even be offered whisky.”

“Can we?” Mohinder Singh was sapped of confidence. “We may be turned away. And then we shall have wasted trishaw fares and also have lost face.”

“Lose face? It is only the cowardly Chinese who talk of that. We Sikhs are men of courage, of adventure. If we fail, we fail. But we shall not fail.”

Kartar Singh was exhibiting signs of a talent for salesmanship. He was showing enterprise. Mohinder Singh did not like this.

“I think it is not a good idea,” he said.

“And so you will drink all day at my expense, and when the chance is given you to repay hospitality you will not take it. That I call the attitude of an ingrate.”

“It was you who persuaded me to come and drink. I was unwilling.”

“Not so unwilling. You needed only three minutes’ persuading.”

“You will remember that before you lost me valuable trade. It was inconsiderate, to say the least.”

“It was this trade, brother, trade that you seem anxious to lose without any help from me or anyone else.”

“Are you implying …”

“Brothers, brothers,” soothed Teja Singh, “we must not quarrel.”

“No, we will not quarrel,” said Kartar Singh. “I accept his apology. Come, we will go. We will have a little adventure.”

They staggered down to the shop, unlocked it with difficulty, and then called loudly for trishaws. Soon they were loading goods on to them, while the mummified Chinese druggist next door looked on sardonically.

“I knew you would never make a shopkeeper. You take too much time off.”

“These,” said Kartar Singh, “we are selling. We will beat you towkays at your own game.

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