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A Lotus for Miss Quon
(Home Reading for Intermediate Level Students)
Рецензент: зав. кафедройиностранных языков Харьковского экономико-правового университета канд. филол. наук, доцент Черновол-Ткаченко Р.С.
James Hadley Chase “A Lotus for Miss Quon”. Учебное пособие по внеаудиторному чтению для студентов-магистров 5 курса групп с углубленным изучением английского языка юридических специальностей факультета права и предпринимательства дневной формы обучения/ Составитель: ст. препод. Петренко Т.И.
Пособие по внеаудиторному чтению для студентов-магистров пятого курса групп с углубленным изучением английского языка юридических специальностей дневной формы обучения содержит оригинальный текст детективного романа известного американского писателя Джеймса Хедли Чейза и целый ряд лексических упражнений, направленных на дальнейшее совершенствование таких языковых компетенций как чтение и устная неподготовленная речь. Пособие поможет студентам понимать, обсуждать и анализировать англоязычные художественные тексты, а также воспринимать английский язик в определенном жанрово-стилистическом и культурологично-временном контексте.
Пособие соответствует требованиям программы по иностранным язикам для высших учебных заведений и может бать рекомендовано к печати.
Принято на заседании кафедры иностранных языков
«15» января2013 г.
Протокол № 1
Предисловие
Данное пособие предлагает детективный роман Джеймса Хедли Чейза «Лотос для мисс Квон». Текст романа рекомендуется для уровня Intermediate.
Цель пособия – помочь тем, кто изучает английский язык самостоятельно, или в студенческой аудитории, лучше понимать англоязычный художественный текст, розвивать навыки чтения и устной речи. Научить обсуждать и анализировать литературные художественные произведения, проблематику текстов и их стилистические особенности.
Пособие содержит целый ряд упражнений, направленнях на развитие культуры речи и обогащению лексического запаса. Лексические упражнения и задания являються разными по своему уроню и направленности; тщательное и последовательное выполнение лексических упражнений готовит студентов к болем расширенному в лексическом отношении высказыванию мнения, касающегося вопросов и проблем, которые предлагаются для обсуждения, а также помогает более обстоятельно высказывать свои собственные мысли относительно содержания прочитанного текста и характеристики героев произведения. Пособие поможет студентам воспринимать английский язик в определенном жанрово-стилистическом и культурологично-временном контексте.
Пособие содержит словарь.
Chapter One
HE had come upon the diamonds one hot Sunday afternoon in January.
It had happened in this way: he had had a solitary lunch prepared by Dong Ham, his cook and served by Haum, his house-boy, and then he had gone up to his bedroom for a siesta. In spite of the air-conditioned coolness of the room, he had been unable to sleep. He had listened with growing irritation to the high-pitched chatter of his servants below, the discordant sound of someone's distant radio playing Vietnamese music and the nerve shattering racket of passing motor cycles.
Usually, he was able to sleep in the afternoon in spite of the noise, but this afternoon he had found sleep impossible. He had reached for a cigarette, lit it and then resigned himself to the depression of his thoughts.
He had come to loathe Sundays in Saigon. When he had first arrived, he had found the social round amusing, but now it bored him. He was bored by the same faces, the same idiotic: small-talk, the same dreary scandals, and he had gradually withdrawn from the set that ate, drank, and danced together day in and night out.
During the week, he had his work to distract him. He worked for a shipping company — not a particularly interesting job, but the pay was good: a lot better than he could have hoped to have earned back home in San Francisco. He needed money for he had extravagant tastes: he drank more than was good for him, and also he was saddled with monthly payments to his ex-wife who had divorced him a few months before he had sailed to the Far East.
Now as he lay on the bed, feeling a trickle of sweat running down his massive chest, he thought bleakly that in three days' time, he would have to send his wife yet another cheque. He had only 8,000 piastres in the bank. When she had been paid, he would have very little left to last him to the end of the month which was quite some time ahead. Well, it served him right, he thought. He had been reckless to have bought that picture. It had been quite an unnecessary extravagance, but all the same, he thought of it with great pleasure. He had come across it in a dealer's shop in Duong Tu-Do, and it had immediately arrested his attention. It was an oil painting of a Vietnamese girl wearing the national dress of white silk trousers, a pale-blue sheath tunic and a conical straw hat. She was posed against a white wall over which climbed a rose-coloured bougainvillea. It was a set piece, but well painted, and the girl reminded him of Nhan. She had the same innocent expression; the same childish way of standing, even the same doll-like features. The girl in the painting could have been Nhan but for the fact he knew Nhan had never posed for an artist.
It was then that he remembered the picture was still unpacked and still had to be hung. He felt the urge to see how it looked on the wall in the downstairs room. Eager for an excuse to do something other than lying on his bed, he got up and walked barefooted down the stairs into the living-room.
Haum, his house-boy, was leisurely polishing the dining-room table. He looked up in startled surprise as Jaffe came into the room.
Haum was thirty-six years old. He was thin and small and his brown-skinned face had a pointed, foxy look. Although small and brittle-looking, he worked well and seemed able to undertake the heaviest tasks without appearing to tire.
"Get me a hammer, a good-sized nail and the steps," Jaffe said. Then as Haum gaped at him as if he thought he had gone out of his mind, he went on, "I have bought a picture. I want to hang it on the wall."
Haum's face cleared. He smiled, revealing gold-capped teeth.
"At once, sir," he said and went swiftly from the room.
Jaffe went over to where the painting stood against the wall, still in its paper and string. He stripped off the paper and stood the painting on the table and looked at it.
He was still regarding it with a half-smile when Haum came in with the step-ladder, a hammer, and a nail clenched in his teeth. He set the ladder against the empty wall where the picture was to hang, then moved curiously to Jaffe's side to examine the picture.
Jaffe watched him as he looked at the picture. There was no change of expression, but he was aware that there was a disapproving atmosphere which was felt but not seen. He knew that Haum didn't approve of him having a Vietnamese mistress and he knew too that Haum thought that by hanging this picture on the wall, Jaffe was deliberately rubbing Haum's nose in the fact that he did have a Vietnamese mistress.
This was, of course, not so. Jaffe minded very much what his servants thought of him. He minded what anyone thought of him. He had always been careful about his relations with Nhan. It was important to him that neither she nor he should be the subject of gossip, but here in Saigon, it was impossible to keep anything quiet: particularly an association between a man and a woman.
With a rapidity that angered and amazed Jaffe, the news that he had met a Vietnamese taxi-dancer at the Paradise Club in Cholon, and had fallen in love with her and she came regularly to his house had spread throughout the Saigon European community in next to no time. This in spite of the fact that he had taken every precaution not to be exposed to gossip. Nhan came only after dark. She slipped into the house like a ghost. She invariably left before dawn, yet all the European residents knew what was going on and gossiped about it in that bored, sophisticated way they have in Saigon when discussing other people's sexual adventures.
Although his two servants slept in a little building just across the courtyard that served both as a kitchen and their sleeping quarters, they too knew when Nhan visited him, but being Vietnamese, they were more intolerant and more critical than his European friends. They hinted silently by their attitude and expressions that he had lost face by taking a Vietnamese girl as a mistress instead of one of the many married or unmarried European women who were to be had for the asking.
Jaffe had met Nhan Lee Quon one evening at the Paradise Club in Cholon: a dimly-lit, noisy dance hall where unattached Europeans mixed with the Chinese and the Vietnamese in search of female company.
The Club was run by a fat, cheerful Chinese who called himself Blackie Lee. He ran the club at a considerable profit, and because of his big clientele, he was able to hire the prettiest and youngest Vietnamese and Chinese girls.
The girls could be hired for about 120 piastres an hour or roughly a dollar and a half of American money. Their job was to dance with you, to share your table and talk with you if you felt disinclined to dance, and generally keep you company. If you wished to develop the association, then you made your own arrangements with the girl. This was something Blackie Lee didn't want to know about. The girls were hired by him from nine-thirty p.m. until midnight when restrictions imposed by the authorities forced all dancehalls and every form of night life to close down. So if you were in a hurry, you paid Blackie for the girl's time, paid the doorman fifty piastres and left with the girl who either took you to her apartment or to a hotel for a sum you had agreed upon before leaving the club.
When Jaffe had first come to Saigon, he had felt the urgent need of female company. For the first two or three months, he had followed the recognized procedure and had slept with the numerous married European women who had nothing better to do than to exploit their somewhat tarnished sexual attractions, but he quickly found such associations led to complications, and he wanted, more than anything else, to lead an uncomplicated life.
A friend of his, Charles Mayhew, an old man who had lived for years in the Far East, had advised him to take a Vietnamese or a Chinese girl for a mistress.
"A man needs a woman in this climate," he had said. "The trouble in this town is that the vast majority of European women have nothing to do. Their servants do everything for them. When a woman has nothing to do, she can get into mischief just as quickly as any man who has nothing to do. This is, of course, one of the evils of the East. Women who come out here find they have the whole day on their hands and those with the inclination, look around for an unattached man. They are the ones to beware of. If I had my time over again, I wouldn't have anything to do with a European woman unless I intended to marry her. I would take a Vietnamese or a Chinese girl, and I advise you to do the same."
Jaffe had shaken his head with a grimace.
"Not for me," he said. "I don't care for coloured women."
Mayhew had laughed.
"I'll tell you this: an Asian girl is far less complicated and demanding than a European girl. She is far less expensive and considerably more competent in bed. You must remember that Asian women have a tradition for pandering to the comfort and wishes of men, and that is important. You talk to Blackie Lee. He'll find you someone. Not all his taxi girls are prostitutes, you know. He has quite a few who are very decent and hard-working. You talk to him. He'll find you someone."
"Thanks for the suggestion," Jaffe said, "but not for me."
Eventually, however, it was the boredom and the loneliness of the week-ends that finally drove Jaffe to the Paradise Club. He had been surprised by the friendly atmosphere of the place and equally surprised that the evening had passed so quickly. He had danced with a number of the girls and had found them amusing. He had spent some time drinking whisky with Blackie Lee and he had found the fat Chinese pleasant company. The evening didn't cost him all that much either.
Jaffe began to go to the club regularly. It certainly solved the problem of what to do with himself in the evenings. A Month or Mater, Blackie Lee had casually suggested Jaffe should take a regular girl.
"There is a girl who could do with some help," he had said. "She has a big family to support. I've talked to her, and she's willing. It's better to have regular girl. Do you want to meet her?"
"What's this about a big family?" Jaffe had asked, frowning. "Do you mean she's married with a string of kids?"
Blackie Lee had giggled.
"She isn't married. She has a mother, three young brothers and an old uncle to support. I'll send her over. If she suits you, tell her. I've fixed everything."
"Well, I don't know," Jaffe had said, but he was interested. "Let's see her anyway."
It was while Jaffe was standing on the step ladder, carefully marking with a pencil the place where he was to drive the nail on which to hang the picture, that he recalled his first meeting with Nhan Lee Quon.
He had been sitting at a table well away from the noisy Philippine band. The dance floor was crowded. The lighting in the hall was so dim that it was impossible to distinguish the dancer's features. It was impossible too to recognize anyone sitting within ten feet of you, and this obscurity gave him a sense of relaxation and isolation.
Nhan Lee Quon had appeared by his side, silently and unexpectedly. He had been looking down the aisle between the tables, hoping to catch sight of her before she reached his table, but she had approached him from behind.
She was wearing the Vietnam national costume. She had on white silk trousers over which was a rose-coloured tunic sheath of nylon. Her black glossy hair was parted in the centre of her small head and hung in soft waves to her shoulders. Her perfect skin was the colour of very old ivory. Her bridgeless nose, her lips, slightly thicker than the lips of a European woman, and her fine black eyes gave her a doll-like appearance. Her bone structure was so delicate that she reminded Jaffe of an intricate carving of ivory.
She smiled at him and he had never seen such strong white teeth.
His eyes moved curiously from her face to her throat encased in the high collar of her tunic and then down to the two mounds that thrust out the rose-pink sheath in a pathetic but defiant voluptuousness.
Jaffe had heard all about the deceptiveness of the Vietnam girl's figure. Sam Wade who was something unimportant in the American Embassy had enlightened him when he had first come to Saigon.
"Look, fella," Wade had said, "don't let those curves kid you. These dolls are built like boys. They are as flat in front as they are behind. It was only when they saw Lollo and Bardot on the movies that they wised up to what they lacked. You take a walk through the market. You'll see where they get those shapes. I reckon a set of falsies is the hottest sales project in this police ridden hell-hole of a city."
"I am Nhan Lee Quon," the girl had said as she sat down opposite Jaffe. She spoke excellent French. "You may call me Nhan."
They stared for a long moment at each other, then Jaffe stubbed out his cigarette, aware of a sudden tingling excitement.
"I'm Steve Jaffe," he said. "You may call me Steve."
It had been as simple as that.
Jaffe reached down for the nail which Haum gave him. He positioned the point of the nail exactly on his pencil mark, then he accepted the hammer Haum handed up to him. He gave the head of the nail a sharp tap.
In this way, he found the diamonds.
Under the impact of the hammer against the head of the nail, a six-inch square segment of the wall collapsed in a flurry of plaster and dust, revealing a deep hole.
Jaffe, poised on the step-ladder, stared with consternation at the damage he had caused, then he said violently, "Oh, double hell!"
Haum, expressing himself in the Vietnamese manner of showing grief, laughed in a high cackle that infuriated Jaffe.
"Oh, shut up!" He exclaimed and put the hammer down on the top rung of the ladder. "Why goddam it, the wall's made of paper!"
Then it occurred to him that the wall wasn't made of paper but was at least the thickness of two feet, and the hole in the wall was a cunning hiding place: a hidden safe which probably had been there for a long time.
Cautiously, he dipped his hand into the dark opening. His fingers touched something. He lifted out a small leather bag, and as he did so, the rotten bottom of the bag disintegrated, and from it poured bright, sparkling objects that bounced on the parquet floor.
He recognized the tiny objects as diamonds. They made a disjointed pattern of fiery brilliance around the foot of the ladder. He stared down at their glittering magnificence. Although his knowledge of diamonds was no more than the average man's, he knew these stones were worth an enormous sum of money. There seemed to be at least a hundred of them; the majority of them were the size of pea seeds. He felt his mouth turn dry and his heart begin to thump with excitement.
Squatting down on his haunches, Haum made a tutting sound with his tongue; a sound the Vietnamese make when they are excited. He picked up one of the diamonds and examined it.
Jaffe watched him.
There was a long pause, then Haum glanced up and the two men stared at each other. With some hesitancy because of Jaffe's tenseness, Haum smiled, revealing his gold-capped teeth.
"These diamonds, sir," he said, "belonged to General Nguyen Van Tho. The police have been searching for them for years."
Very slowly, as if he were walking on egg shells, Jaffe climbed down from the ladder and squatted beside his servant.
Jaffe was an immensely powerfully-built man. He was over six feet tall. His shoulder span would have satisfied two averagely built Europeans. In his younger days, he had been a fanatical physical culture enthusiast. He had gone in for weight-lifting, football, boxing and wrestling. Even after a five year lay off, he was still in pretty good condition, and as he squatted down beside Haum, the physical difference between the two men was sharply contrasted. Beside Jaffe's muscular bulk, the Vietnamese seemed like an undernourished pigmy.
Jaffe picked up one of the diamonds and rolled it between his fingers.
These stones, he thought, must be worth a million dollars — probably more. Talk about the Jaffe luck! I drive a goddam nail into a goddam wall and make a goddam fortune!
Haum said, "The general was a very rich man. It was known that he had bought diamonds. Then the bomb killed him. His Excellency will be very pleased the diamonds have been found."
Jaffe felt his heart give a little kick against his ribs. He looked at Haum who was smiling happily at the diamond he was holding.
"What are you talking about?" Jaffe asked. He straightened up, towering above the squatting Vietnamese. "What general?"
"General Nguyen Van Tho," Haum said. "He was in the pay of the French. He did much harm before the bomb killed him. He robbed the Army of much money and with the money he bought these diamonds. Before he could get away, the bomb went off."
Jaffe moved over to the table and picking up a pack of cigarettes, he shook out a cigarette and lit it. He noticed his hand was unsteady.
"What makes you think these diamonds belong to the general?" he asked, thinking here was an immediate complication. He suddenly remembered that Haum was an ardent supporter of the present regime and that he had a photograph of President Ngo-Dinh-Diem hanging in the cook house. He remembered too that Haum went twice a week to attend a course in political science. He suddenly realized the significance of these facts. It was sheer bad luck that this little Vietnamese should have been in the room when Jaffe had found the diamonds.
He would have to handle this situation carefully, Jaffe thought, if he was going to keep the diamonds, and he had every intention of keeping them.
"Who else could they belong to?" Haum asked. He began to pick up the diamonds, collecting them in the palm of his hand. "This house was once owned by Mai Chang."
Scarcely listening, Jaffe was thinking, the little swine is handling those stones as if they belong to him. If I'm not careful, he'll march out of here and hand them to his precious President.
"Who is Mai Chang?" he asked and then his mind shifted to the problem of how to dispose of the diamonds. Certainly not in Vietnam. He would have to smuggle them into Hong Kong; he would have no difficulty in selling them there.
"She was the general's woman," Haum said contemptuously. “When he died, she went to prison. This was her house. The general must have hidden these stones here for safety."
"If the authorities knew the woman lived here, why didn't they come and find the diamonds?" Jaffe asked.
"It was thought the diamonds had been stolen," Haum said, reaching under a chair to pick up a stray diamond. "It was supposed the general had them on him when the bomb went off, and in the confusion, someone took them from his body."
"What bomb?" Jaffe asked, merely to gain a little time. He was wondering how he could persuade Haum to keep quiet about the diamonds. He would have to be very tactful. He would have to give Haum a face-saving reason why he should hand the diamonds over to him and to persuade him to accept some of the proceeds. Jaffe couldn't imagine Haum would refuse a sum of money if it were offered to him in a diplomatic way.
"It was while the general was trying to escape that someone threw a bomb at him," Haum said. He stood up and stared at the diamonds glittering in his hand.
Jaffe moved to his desk and took out a white envelope from the paper rack. Casually, he approached Haum. Tut them in here," he said, pinching open the envelope. Haum hesitated, then he poured the diamonds into the envelope. He made a tentative move to take the envelope from Jaffe, but Jaffe had already started to move away from him. Jaffe licked the flap of the envelope, then sealed it. He put the envelope in the hip pocket of his shorts.
A worried expression came over Haum's brown face.
"It would be better, sir, to call the police," he said. "They will want to see the wall. I will tell them how you found the diamonds. In this way, there will be no complications."
Jaffe stubbed out his cigarette. He was feeling slightly more relaxed. At least he had got the diamonds away from Haum. That was a step in the right direction. He must now attempt to persuade Haum to keep his mouth shut.
"Don't let's be in too great a hurry about this," he said, and moving over to an armchair, he sat down. "I don't believe these diamonds did belong to the general. If I took the trouble to check on the various owners of this house, I'm sure I'd find the diamonds belonged to someone long dead and who lived here long before the general came here. It is more than possible that the general's diamonds were stolen at the time of his death."
Haum gazed at him; his face expressionless. Jaffe could see the little man wasn't impressed by what he had said and he felt a wave of irritation run through him.
"That is for the police to decide, sir," Haum said. "If the diamonds belong to the general, his Excellency will be very pleased to recover them, and you will be highly honoured."
"Well, that's nice to know," Jaffe said sarcastically, "but it so happens I'm not interested in honours. Besides, the police will naturally claim they do belong to the general." He attempted a stiff smile. "You know what policemen are like."
He saw this was a mistake for Haum lost his worried expression and became suddenly hostile.
The diamonds, sir, belong to the State whether or not they once belonged to the general. It is not for anyone except the State to decide what to do with them."
"That's your opinion," Jaffe said, his voice curt. "I could sell these diamonds. Naturally, I would give you a share. You could become a rich man, Haum."
Well, there it is, he thought. Now the cards are on the table. What's the little bastard going to do?
Haum stiffened. His black eyes opened to their widest extent.
"It would be against the regulations to sell the diamonds," he said.
"The authorities won't know about it," Jaffe said. "I can sell the diamonds and I will give you a share."
"I think it would be better to tell the police, sir," Haum said stiffly.
"Don't you want to become rich?" Jaffe felt the hopelessness of trying to corrupt this little man, but he wasn't going to give up without a struggle. "You could have a house of your own and servants. You could marry that girl of yours who is always hanging around here. You could buy a car."
Haum lifted his shoulders.
"The diamonds, sir, are not mine to sell, nor yours. They belong to the State."
Well, that's that, Jaffe thought. He felt a sudden vicious rage take hold of him. Here I have a million bucks in my pocket and because of this damn yellow monkey, the money's going down the drain. There must be some way out of this jam. To give up a million dollars!
Haum said, "If you will excuse me, sir, it is my afternoon off. I have an appointment."
It suddenly flashed into Jaffe's mind that once Haum left the room, he would first tell Dong Ham, the cook, about the diamonds, then dash off to the police station and within ten minutes, the house would be full of trigger-happy policemen. He got quickly to his feet and stepped between Haum and the door leading to the courtyard.
"Now, wait a minute," he said, "you're going to keep your goddam mouth shut about this or I'll skin you alive!"
He had no idea how menacing he looked when he was angry. His huge, towering figure, his hard, angry expression and the viciousness in his voice struck terror into Haum. The Vietnamese had now only one thought: to get out of the room and tell the police about the diamonds. He darted around the table, along the wall, putting the table between himself and Jaffe, and then made a wild dash for the door.
In spite of his size, Jaffe had perfect balance and his body, still hard in spite of his drinking and his lack of exercise, responded to his quick mind to a degree Haum hadn't suspected.
As Haum's sweating fingers closed over the door handle, Jaffe's fingers closed over his shoulder and jerked him around. Haum was horrified by the strength of those fingers. It was as if his flesh was being squeezed in steel pincers. The agony of the grip made him cry out: a thin scream like that of a terrified rabbit. He tried to break free, struck feebly at Jaffe's wrist, then opened his mouth to scream again.
Jaffe clamped his hand over Haum's mouth, digging his fingers into the Vietnamese's face, cutting off his scream. Haum writhed in the grip, trying to bite Jaffe's hand while he kicked at Jaffe's legs: his soft soled shoes making no impression on Jaffe's hard muscles.
"Shut up!" Jaffe snarled and gave the Vietnamese a vicious shake.
He heard a faint dry sound like the snapping of a stick. Haum's face suddenly became heavy in his fingers and seemed to come adrift from his thin neck. Jaffe saw his eyes roll back and felt his knees sag. He found he was holding the Vietnamese up by his face and that his legs were no longer supporting him.
In sudden panic, Jaffe released his grip and watched Haum slide down against the wall and spread out on the floor like a doll whose sawdust had leaked away.
He saw a trickle of bright-red blood coming from Haum's half-open mouth. He knelt beside the Vietnamese and touched him cautiously.
"Hey... Haum! Hell! What's the matter with you?"
Then with a shudder, he stood up.
The full force of his predicament struck him.
Haum was dead, and he had murdered him!
Chapter Two
With a violently thumping heart, Jaffe stared down at Haum's crumpled body. His immediate reaction was to get help. He turned to the telephone, but paused, frowning and shaking his head.
There was nothing anyone could do now for Haum. He was dead. This was not the moment to think of him, but of himself.
He looked at the ladder standing against the wall. Suppose he told the police that Haum had fallen off the ladder and had accidentally broken his neck?
His eyes shifted to the hole in the wall. The moment the police saw that hole they would suspect it had been a hiding-place for something. They would remember that this house had once belonged to Mai Chang, General Nguyen Van Tho's mistress. It wouldn't take them long to assume that the general's diamonds had been hidden in the wall.
Jaffe moved over to Haum's body. He peered down at the little man. He saw the skin around Haum's mouth and throat was bruised and broken. These tell-tale marks would rule out any story of an accident with the ladder.
Suppose he told the police that he had come upon Haum stealing the diamonds and that Haum had attacked him and that during the struggle, Haum had been accidentally killed? Such a story might get him off a murder charge, but it would mean giving up the diamonds, and there was always the risk he would receive a prison sentence.
It was at this moment that Jaffe made up his mind that whatever the risk, he was going to stick to the diamonds and having decided this, his panic subsided and he began to think more clearly.
If he could get to Hong Kong with the diamonds, he could get lost without any difficulty. He would be a very rich man. He could begin a new life. With the money from the sale of the diamonds, he would be free to do anything he liked. But the trick question was, of course: how to get to Hong Kong?
He poured himself a stiff shot of whisky, drank half of it, then after he had lit a cigarette, he finished the drink.
You couldn't leave Vietnam just when you thought you would, he reminded himself. The authorities entangled all travellers in a web of restrictions and regulations. You first had to apply for an exit visa, and the granting of this could take a week. Then there were forms to fill in regarding the movement of currency. There were photographs to be supplied. He couldn't hope to get out under ten days, and in the meantime, what would be happening to Haum's body?
A sudden sound broke in on his thoughts that made him stiffen and set his heart thumping again. Someone was knocking on the back door!
He stood motionless, scarcely breathing while he listened.
The gentle knock came again, then he heard the back door creak open.
In a surge of panic, he stepped over Haum's body and moved into the kitchen, closing the sitting-room door behind him.
Dong Ham, his cook, was standing on the top step, the back door half open and he peered cautiously into the kitchen.
The two men stared at each other.
Dong Ham appeared to be very old. His brown face was a network of wrinkles, like crushed parchment. His thin white hair grew in straggly wisps from his bony skull. Wisps of white hair sprouted from his chin. He wore a black high-collared jacket and black trousers.
Had he heard Haum's cry for help? Jaffe wondered. It was possible that he had; why else should he be standing here? He never entered the house. His place was in the cookhouse across the courtyard, and yet here he was about to walk in, and Jaffe was sure if he hadn't moved so quickly, the old man would have come into the sitting-room.
"What is it?" Jaffe asked, aware his voice sounded husky.
Dong Ham picked at a lump of hard skin on the side of his hand. His watery black eyes shifted from Jaffe to the door leading to the sitting-room.
"Haum is wanted, sir," he said. He spoke French badly and slowly. He pushed back the door and moved to one side so Jaffe had a clear view of the outer courtyard and the cookhouse.
Standing in the shade of the cookhouse building was a Vietnamese girl. She was in white and her conical straw hat hid her face. For a moment, Jaffe thought she was Nhan, and his heart gave a little lurch of surprise, then the girl looked up and he saw she was Haum's girl.
Jaffe had often seen this girl waiting with Asian patience for Haum to finish his work. Haum had told him he planned to marry the girl when he had finished his political studies.
Jaffe had never paid any attention to the girl. He had only been vaguely aware of her when he went out to get the car from the garage, but now, he stared at her, realizing how dangerous she could be to him.
How long had she been here? He wondered. Had she too heard Haum's cry?
The girl looked very young. She wore her hair in a ponytail that hung in a black thick rope to her tiny waist. For a Vietnamese, he thought, she was very plain and unattractive.
By the tense way she was standing and by her staring alarmed eyes, Jaffe was sure she had heard the cry, but had she recognized Haum's voice?
Jaffe suddenly became aware that both the old man and the girl were regarding him in a hostile, suspicious way, although both of them were obviously uncertain of themselves and frightened.
Jaffe said the first thing that came into his mind: "Haum has gone out. I have lent him to a friend to help with a dinner party. It's no use you waiting for him. He won't be back until late."
Dong Ham slowly backed down the three steps that led up to the kitchen. His wrinkled face was expressionless. Jaffe looked quickly at the girl. She had lowered her head. The straw hat hid her face.
He crossed to the back door and shut it gently, and then very quietly he slid home the bolt. Then he stepped to the shuttered window and peered through one of the slits into the courtyard.
The old man was staring blankly at the closed door and he picked nervously at the hard skin of his hand. The girl too was staring at the door. She said something. The old man went to her with slow, shuffling steps. They began jabbering together: their voices discordant and loud in the hot silence of the courtyard.
Not a good lie, Jaffe thought uneasily, but the best he could have thought of in the circumstances. He had had to say something. It was true that from time to time he did lend Haum to one or the other of his friends who happened to be throwing a party. On these occasions Haum always wore his white drill coat and trousers. He always spent some time in preparing himself. He enjoyed these outings, and invariably boasted to Dong Ham where he was going.
This Sunday, he had worn his blue working dress. He would never have gone to any of Jaffe's friends in this dress. The old man would know that. He and the girl had only to go to Haum's sleeping quarters, to find the white drill clothes and nail Jaffe's lie to the mast. Then what would they do? Jaffe wondered. He felt pretty certain they wouldn't have the initiative nor the courage to call the police. Even if they had heard Haum's cry and knew he was lying about Haum going out, they wouldn't go to the police. Probably they would wrangle and talk together for the rest of the evening. They would try to persuade each other they hadn't heard the cry. They would try to believe that Haum had gone out wearing his blue working clothes. But eventually, of course, they would be forced to accept the fact that something had happened to Haum, and then trouble would begin for Jaffe.
At least he had a little time. He felt certain these two would wait to see if Haum returned. They would wait until the morning, then, possibly, the girl would go to the police. Jaffe returned to the sitting-room. He stood looking down at Hum's body with revulsion. He felt tempted to go to someone and ask for help. Maybe if he went to the Embassy...
He took a grip on himself.
I've got to keep my nerve, he said to himself. I've got to gain time. I've got to work out a way to get out of this goddam country. But first things first. I can't leave him lying here. Suppose someone called? You never knew who might drop in on a Sunday afternoon. I must get him upstairs and out of sight.
Steeling himself, he picked Haum up and carried him upstairs. The little man was a pathetically light burden: it was like carrying a child.
Jaffe went into his bedroom. He put Haum down gently on the floor, then he went over to his big clothes closet, opened it, made space at the bottom of the closet and then put Haum in a sitting position in the closet, his back against the wall. He hastily shut the closet door. He turned the key and put it in his pocket.
Although the bedroom was cool, he went over to the air conditioner and turned the machine on fully. He was feeling slightly sick, and it irritated him that his legs felt boneless, and the muscles in his thighs were fluttering.
He went down the stairs and bolted the front door, then he went into the sitting-room. Several large bottle flies were buzzing excitedly around the small patch of drying blood on the parquet floor. Grimacing, Jaffe looked from the blood to the hole in the wall and at the mess of dust and plaster on the floor. He must clear up this mess, he told himself. If someone came...
He went into the kitchen but there was nothing there he could use to sweep up the dust or wipe off the blood. All the house things were kept in the cookhouse. This discovery worried him. He glanced through the slit in the shutter.
Dong Ham and the girl were out of sight, but he could hear their voices coming through the open window of Haum's room. They had probably discovered by now that Haum hadn't changed his clothes.
Jaffe took out his handkerchief, dipped it in water and then went back into the sitting-room. He squatted down and wiped away the patch of blood. It left a brownish stain on the polished parquet, and although he scrubbed at it for some minutes, he couldn't get rid of it.
After he had flushed the soiled handkerchief down the toilet, he returned to pick up the largest pieces of plaster. Then he knelt and blew at the plaster dust, distributing it about the floor. It now didn't look quite so obvious. It was the best he could do. He wrapped the bits of plaster in a sheet of newspaper and left the small bundle on the table.
He would have to do something about the hole in the wall, he told himself. When the police eventually came and when they saw the hole, they would guess very quickly what had been in the hole.
He searched for and found the nail, then he climbed the ladder and gently tapped the nail into the wall, just above the hole. He reached down and picked up the picture and hung it in place, concealing the hole.
He stepped back and looked at the picture. There was just a chance the police wouldn't think to look behind it: not much of a chance, but still, a chance.
He carried the ladder into the kitchen and put the hammer in the tool drawer. He felt the need for a drink and he went back into the sitting-room and poured himself another stiff shot of whisky. As he lifted the glass to his lips, the telephone bell began to ring: a violent, persistent sound that shattered the silence in the room and made Jaffe start so violently the glass of whisky jumped out of his hand and smashed to pieces on the floor, spraying whisky and water over his bare feet.
He stood staring at the telephone, his heart contracting with shock.
Who could it be? Someone wanting to come round? Someone inviting him for a drink? He was too frightened to answer the telephone. He might get caught up in one of those ghastly chit-chats that could go on and on and on.
He remained motionless, staring at the telephone. The bell continued to ring: the sound tore at his nerves. He realized that Dong Ham and the girl must also be listening to the bell. They were probably standing as motionless as himself, looking at each other, wondering why he wasn't answering the telephone.
The bell abruptly ceased to ring. The sudden silence in the room pressed down on him. Carefully, he stepped away from the broken pieces of glass. He must get out of the house, he told himself. He couldn't stay here a minute longer. Later, he would come back, but right now, until his nerves settled, he must get out.
He went quickly up the stairs, took off his shorts and had a shower. He put on a pair of trousers and a shirt that were lying on a chair, thus avoiding opening the closet. He checked his money and was dismayed to find he had only 500 piastres in his wallet. He rummaged among his handkerchiefs in a drawer in his closet and found another too piastres note.
This wasn't so good, he thought. He needed money. If he was going to get out of the country, he would have to have money. His mouth tightened when he remembered it was Sunday and the banks were closed. He would have to cash a cheque at one of the hotels. He was pretty well known now in Saigon. It surely wouldn't be difficult to get some hotel to cash his cheque.
As he was about to leave the room, he suddenly remembered he had left the diamonds in the hip pocket of his shorts and this forgetfulness frightened him.
I must pull myself together he told himself as he took the envelope from the pocket of the shorts. I'm risking my neck for these stones and here I am, walking out without them.
He opened the envelope and examined the stones under the ceiling lamp. The sight of them sent a surge of excitement through him.
He returned to the sitting-room and searched in his desk drawer for something more solid to hold the diamonds. He decided on an empty typewriter ribbon box. He put the diamonds into the box, again pausing to admire them, then put the box in his trouser pocket. He found his cheque book which he put in his wallet, then he walked into the kitchen and looked across the courtyard through the slit in the shutter.
Dong Ham was squatting outside the cookhouse door, staring blankly towards him. There was no sign of the girl. Wondering where she had got to, Jaffe returned to the sitting-room and looked through the shutters into the street beyond. He stiffened when he saw the girl squatting on the edge of the kerb opposite, looking towards the house.
These two obviously suspected something, he thought, but with the inevitable, dim-witted Asian patience they were waiting to see what happened. But at the same time, they were taking no chances. While the old man watched the back door, the girl was watching the front.
At this moment, he was past caring. He had to get away from the atmosphere of the house.
He took a last look around the room, then he picked up his car keys, the key of the back door and the newspaper parcel and went into the kitchen. He slid back the bolt, opened the back door and stepped into the stifling heat of the evening sun. Studiously ignoring Dong Ham, he locked the door and put the key in his pocket. As he passed the old man on his way to the garage, he said, without looking at him, I’ll be back late. No dinner."
He drove the red Dauphine which he had bought when he had first come to Saigon because of its ease of parking, down the short runway to the double gates. He stopped the car, got out and opened the gates, aware of the girl, staring intently at him.
He got into the car, and leaving the gates wide open, he drove fast towards the centre of the town.
Sam Wade (Second Secretary: Information. United States Embassy) parked his Chrysler car outside the Majestic Hotel, and heaved his bulk out on to the sidewalk. He paused to look across the road at the miniature golf course where two Vietnamese girls were playing with considerable skill watched by a large crowd of Sunday loafers.
He thought the two girls in their blue tunic sheaths and white silk trousers made an attractive picture. He never ceased to admire the Vietnamese girls. Their charms for him were as sharp edged as when he had first come to Saigon eighteen months ago.
Sam Wade was a squat, fat man, balding, with a red, good-natured face. He wasn't brilliant at his work, but he was well liked and known for his weakness for women and loud pattern Hawaii shirts.
Freshly shaved and showered, and basking in the glory of a new colourful shirt, Sam Wade felt on top of the world. He had spent the afternoon water skiing. In half an hour's time, he had a date with a Chinese girl with whom he had arranged to spend the night. So for Sam Wade, the world was revolving satisfactorily.
He entered the empty bar of the Majestic Hotel and lowered his bulk into a chair with a grunt of satisfaction.
The ceiling fans revolved lazily, stirring the hot, humid air. In a little while, the bar would become crowded but for the moment, Wade appreciated having the place to himself. He ordered a double whisky on the rocks, lit a cigar and stretched out his short fat legs.
After the inevitable delay the whisky was placed before him, and he savoured his first drink of the day.
Leaning back in his chair, he regarded the activity of the street outside with its traffic of cycle rickshaws, known in Saigon as pousse-pousse, the dangerously driven motor cycles and the stream of bicycles ridden by the Vietnamese. He spotted Jaffe's red Dauphine as it pulled out of the stream of traffic and edged its way to a standstill behind his Chrysler car.
Watching him, as Jaffe crossed the sidewalk and came into the bar, Wade thought he looked fine drawn and worried.
He thought: looks as if he has something on his mind. Maybe he's got a touch of dysentery.
He raised a fat hand in greeting when he caught Jaffe's eye. He was puzzled to see the big, muscular man hesitate as if he were in two minds whether to join him or not. With an obvious effort, he came over, pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Hi, Steve," Wade said and smiled, "what'll you have?"
"A Scotch I guess," Jaffe said and fumbled for a cigarette. "That's a hell of a shirt you're wearing."
"Yeah, isn't it?" Wade smiled complacently. "It even scares me a little," and he laughed. He ordered a double Scotch and soda for Jaffe and paid for both drinks. "I didn't see you on the river this afternoon."
Jaffe shifted uneasily in his chair.
"No," he said in a cold, flat voice. "Have you been skiing?" He was telling himself it had been a mistake to come into the bar. He should have gone immediately to the desk, cashed his cheque and left. He should have remembered you always ran into someone you knew at the Majestic bar.
Wade said he had been skiing. He grumbled about the filth of the Saigon river while Jaffe only half listened.
Seeing he wasn't holding Jaffe's interest, Wade said, "I've got hold of a piece of Chinese tail for tonight," and he leered. "She's a real dish. I ran into her at L'Arc-en-Ciel the other night. If she performs the way she looks, I'm in for one hell of a night."
Looking at the fat, good natured man who lolled opposite him, Jaffe felt a sharp twinge of envy. He too expected to have a hell of a night, but horribly different from the one Wade was anticipating. In an hour or so, he would have to decide what he was going to do, and on that decision, his freedom and life depended.
"Apart from the girls and the Chinese food," Wade was saying, "this is a hell of a dump to live in. I'll be mighty glad when I go home. These goddam restrictions give me a pain in the pants."
Jaffe was staring past Wade out on to the street at the two Vietnamese policemen who lounged outside the hotel; small, brown-skinned men in white drill with peak caps and revolvers at their hips. The sight of them gave him a sickish feeling. He wondered how Wade would react if he told him he had murdered Haum and had hidden his body in his clothes closet.
"I see you're still running that little car," he heard Wade say and realized the fat man had been talking for some time and he hadn't been listening to what he had been saying. "Do you still like it?"
Jaffe dragged his mind away from his problem.
"It's all right," he said. "I'm hiving trouble with the automatic choke, but the car wasn't new when I bought it."
"Well, I guess it's handy for parking, but give me a big car," Wade said and glanced at his wrist-watch. The time was three minutes to seven. He got to his feet. As he stood beside Jaffe, he wondered what was bothering the guy. He seemed so far away and unfriendly. This wasn't like Jaffe. Usually he was a good guy to drink with. "Are you okay, Steve?"
Jaffe looked up sharply. Wade had an uneasy idea he was suddenly scared.
"I'm all right," Jaffe said.
Wade frowned at him, then gave up.
"Watch out you're not sickening for a dose of dysentery," he said. "I've got to run along. I promised to feed my girl friend before she performs. See you, pal."
As soon as Wade had driven away, Jaffe took out his cheque book and wrote out a cheque for 4,000 piastres.
He went over to the reception desk and asked the clerk if he would cash the cheque. The clerk, a pleasant-faced Vietnamese who knew Jaffe, asked him politely to wait. He disappeared into the Manager's office, reappeared in a moment or so, and smiling, handed Jaffe eight five-hundred piastre notes.
Relieved, Jaffe thanked him and tucked the notes into his wallet. He left the hotel and drove up Tu-Do and parked outside the Caravelle Hotel. He entered and asked the reception clerk if he could cash him a cheque. Here again, the clerk knew him, and after a brief visit to the Manager's office, he cashed Jaffe's cheque for another 4,000 piastres.
As he was leaving the hotel, he paused abruptly in the entrance, feeling his heart give a violent kick against his side.
A policeman was standing by the red Dauphine, his back to Jaffe. He appeared to be examining the car.
A few hours ago such an occurrence would have merely irritated Jaffe and he would have gone to the policeman and asked him what he was looking at, but now the sight of the little man in his white uniform frightened Jaffe so badly he had to resist the urge to run.
He remained motionless, watching the policeman who moved slowly to the front of the car and looked at the number plate, and then he slouched away, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt to pause a little further up the street to examine yet another car.
Jaffe drew in a sharp breath of relief. He went down the steps to his car, unlocked it and climbed in. He glanced at his wrist-watch. The time was twenty-five minutes past seven. He drove back to the river, past the Club Nautique where he could see a number of people on the terrace having drinks before dinner, on towards the bridge that led to the docks. He pulled up by the little ornamental garden by the bridge, parked his car and went into the garden. At this hour it was deserted except for two Vietnamese who sat on a seat under a tree: a boy and a girl, their arms around each other.
Jaffe moved well away from them and sat in the shade. He lit a cigarette. Now was the time, he told himself, to decide what he was to do. He had a certain amount of money. He had to get out of Vietnam. He couldn't hope to do this without help. He considered for a moment a quick dash to the frontier in the hope he could get to Phnom-Penh where he was certain to get a plane to Hong Kong, but the risk and difficulties were too great. If it weren't for the diamonds, he would have been prepared to take the risk, but it would be stupid, he told himself, now that he had a potential fortune in his pocket to go off at half-cock. He was sure that somehow, given the right contacts, it would be possible to get new identity papers and an exit visa. He would have to change his appearance of course. That shouldn't be difficult. He could grow a moustache, bleach his hair, and wear glasses.
He had read often enough of people obtaining false passports. Exactly how this was done, he hadn't the faintest idea. It would probably be easier to get a faked passport in Hong Kong and have it brought to him here than it would to attempt to get it in Saigon.
He moved uneasily, flicking the ash off his cigarette.
Who could he approach to get him a false passport? He knew no one in Hong Kong. He couldn't think of anyone in Saigon either. Then he remembered Blackie Lee who ran the Paradise Club. He was a possibility, but was he to be trusted? Once the news broke that Haum had been murdered and the diamonds were missing would Blackie betray him? Even if Blackie was to be trusted, could he get a false passport? Had he contacts in Hong Kong?
Jaffe realized this business couldn't be rushed. It might take a couple of weeks before he had the slightest chance of getting out of the country. What was he going to do while he was waiting? Where could he stay where he wouldn't be found by the police?
By tomorrow morning, he felt sure, the hunt for him would be on. He had to get under cover tonight. But where?
The obvious person who would and could help him was Nhan, but Jaffe hesitated to involve her. He had no knowledge of the Vietnam Criminal Code, but he was sure anyone harbouring a murderer would get into trouble, and yet, if he didn't involve her who else could he turn to?
He was wasting time, he told himself. He would have to rely on her: he would see and talk to her. He couldn't stay at her place. He had never been there but she had often described it to him. She lived in a three-room apartment with her mother, her uncle and her three brothers. She often complained sadly of her lack of privacy, but maybe she knew of someone: maybe she would have some ideas.
He got to his feet and walked over to his car.
The boy and girl sitting on the seat didn't look his way. They were too wrapped up in each other to be aware even that he was there.
Looking at them, so obviously happy in their secure, safe dreams, Jaffe suddenly felt more lonely than he had ever felt before in his life.
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