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‘How can you?’ asked Kuang. ‘You will tell them that you gave the documents to the girl and put my safety into her hands because you were not brave enough to perform your duties as conducting officer. You let the girl masquerade as Major Chan while you made a quick getaway, alone and unencumbered. You gave her access to the code greeting and I can only guess what other secrets, and then you have the effrontery to complain that your stupid researches are not delivered safely to you aboard the ship here.’ Kuang smiled.
Datt turned away from us and walked forward. Inside, the ship was in better condition and well lit. There was the constant hum of the generators and from some far part of the ship came the sound of a metal door slamming. He kicked a vent and smacked a deck light which miraculously lit. A man leaned over the bridge wing and looked down on us, but Datt waved him back to work. He walked up the lower bridge ladder and I followed him, but Kuang remained at the foot of it. ‘I am hungry,’ Kuang said. ‘I have heard enough. I’m going below to eat.’
‘Very well,’ said Datt without looking back. He opened the door of what had once been the captain’s cabin and waved me to precede him. His cabin was warm and comfortable. The small bed was dented where someone had been lying. On the writing table there were a heap of papers, some envelopes, a tall pile of gramophone records and a vacuum flask. Datt, opened a cupboard above the desk and reached down two cups. He poured hot coffee from the flask and then two brandies into tulip glasses. I put two heaps of sugar into my coffee and poured the brandy after it, then I downed the hot mixture and felt it doing wonders for my arteries.
Datt offered me his cigarettes. He said, ‘A mistake. A silly mistake. Do you ever make silly mistakes?’
I said, ‘It’s one of my very few creative activities.’ I waved away his cigarettes.
‘Droll,’ said Datt. ‘I felt sure that Loiseau would not act against me. I had influence and a hold on his wife. I felt sure he wouldn’t act against me.’
‘Was that your sole reason for involving Maria?’
‘To tell you the truth: yes.’
‘Then I’m sorry you guessed wrong. It would have been better to have left Maria out of this.’
‘My work was almost done. These things don’t last for ever.’ He brightened. ‘But within a year we’ll do the same operation again.’
I said, ‘Another psychological investigation with hidden cameras and recorders, and available women for influential Western men? Another large house with all the trimmings in a fashionable part of Paris?’
Datt nodded. ‘Or a fashionable part of Buenos Aires, or Tokyo, or Washington, or London.’
‘I don’t think you are a true Marxist at all,’ I said. ‘You merely relish the downfall of the West. A Marxist at least comforts himself with the idea of the proletariat joining hands across national frontiers, but you Chinese Communists relish aggressive nationalism just at a time when the world was becoming mature enough to reject it.’
‘I relish nothing. I just record,’ said Datt. ‘But it could be said that the things of Western Europe that you are most anxious to preserve are better served by supporting the real, uncompromising power of Chinese communism than by allowing the West to splinter into internecine warrior states. France, for example, is travelling very nicely down that path; what will she preserve in the West if her atom bombs are launched? We will conquer, we will preserve. Only we can create a truly world order based upon seven hundred million true believers.’
‘That’s really 1984,’ I said. ‘Your whole set-up is Orwellian.’
‘Orwell,’ said Datt, ‘was a naïve simpleton. A middle-class weakling terrified by the realities of social revolution. He was a man of little talent and would have remained unknown had the reactionary press not seen in him a powerful weapon of propaganda. They made him a guru, a pundit, a seer. But their efforts will rebound upon them, for Orwell in the long run will be the greatest ally the Communist movement ever had. He warned the bourgeoisie to watch for militancy, organization, fanaticism and thought-planning, while all the time the seeds of their destruction are being sown by their own inadequacy, apathy, aimless violence and trivial titillation. Their destruction is in good hands: their own. The rebuilding will be ours. My own writings will be the basis of our control of Europe and America. Our control will rest upon the satisfaction of their own basest appetites. Eventually a new sort of European man will evolve.’
‘History,’ I said. ‘That’s always the alibi.’
‘Progress is only possible if we learn from history.’
‘Don’t believe it. Progress is man’s indifference to the lessons of history.’
‘You are cynical as well as ignorant,’ said Datt as though making a discovery. ‘Get to know yourself, that’s my advice. Get to know yourself.’
‘I know enough awful people already,’ I said.
‘You feel sorry for the people who came to my clinic. That’s because you really feel sorry for yourself. But these people do not deserve your sympathy. Rationalization is their destruction. Rationalization is the aspirin of mental health and, as with aspirin, an overdose can be fatal.
‘They enslave themselves by dipping deeper and deeper into the tube of taboos. And yet each stage of their journey is described as greater freedom.’ He laughed grimly. ‘Permissiveness is slavery. But so has history always been. Your jaded, overfed section of the world is comparable to the ancient city states of the Middle East. Outside the gates the hard nomads waited their chance to plunder the rich, decadent city-dwellers. And in their turn the nomads would conquer, settle into the newly-conquered city and grow soft, and new hard eyes watched from the barren stony desert until their time was ripe. So the hard, strong, ambitious, idealistic peoples of China see the over-ripe conditions of Europe and the USA. They sniff the air and upon it floats the aroma of garbage cans overfilled, idle hands and warped minds seeking diversions bizarre and perverted, they smell violence, stemming not from hunger, but from boredom, they smell the corruption of government and the acrid flash of fascism. They sniff, my friend: you!’
I said nothing, and waited while Datt sipped at his coffee and brandy. He looked up. ‘Take off your coat.’
‘I’m not staying.’
‘Not staying?’ He chuckled. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to Ostend,’ I said. ‘And you are going with me.’
‘More violence?’ He raised his hands in mock surrender.
I shook my head. ‘You know you’ve got to go back,’ I said. ‘Or are you going to leave all your dossiers back there on the quayside less than four miles away?’
‘You’ll give them to me?’
‘I’m promising nothing,’ I told him, ‘but I know that you have to go back there. There is no alternative.’ I poured myself more coffee and gestured to him with the pot. ‘Yes,’ he said absent-mindedly. ‘More.’
‘You are not the sort of man that leaves a part of himself behind. I know you, Monsieur Datt. You could bear to have your documents on the way to China and yourself in the hands of Loiseau, but the converse you cannot bear.’
‘You expect me to go back there and give myself up to Loiseau?’
‘I know you will,’ I said. ‘Or live the rest of your life regretting it. You will recall all your work and records and you will relive this moment a million times. Of course you must return with me. Loiseau is a human being and human activities are your speciality. You have friends in high places, it will be hard to convict you of any crime on the statute book …’
‘That is very little protection in France.’
‘Ostend is in Belgium,’ I said. ‘Belgium doesn’t recognize Peking, Loiseau operates there only on sufferance. Loiseau too will be amenable to any debating skill you can muster. Loiseau fears a political scandal that would involve taking a man forcibly from a foreign country …’
‘You are glib. Too glib,’ said Datt. ‘The risk remains too great.’
‘Just as you wish,’ I said. I drank the rest of my coffee and turned away from him.
‘I’d be a fool to go back for the documents. Loiseau can’t touch me here.’ He walked across to the barometer and tapped it. ‘It’s going up.’ I said nothing.
He said, ‘It was my idea to make my control centre a pirate radio boat. We are not open to inspection nor even under the jurisdiction of any government in the world. We are, in effect, a nation unto ourselves on this boat, just as all the other pirate radio ships are.’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘You’re safe here.’ I stood up. ‘I should have said nothing,’ I said. ‘It is not my concern. My job is done.’ I buttoned my coat tight and blessed the man from Ostend for providing the thick extra sweater.
‘You despise me?’ said Datt. There was an angry note in his voice.
I stepped towards him and took his hand in mine. ‘I don’t,’ I said anxiously. ‘Your judgement is as valid as mine. Better, for only you are in a position to evaluate your work and your freedom.’ I gripped his hand tight in a stereotyped gesture of reassurance.
He said, ‘My work is of immense value. A breakthrough you might almost say. Some of the studies seemed to have …’ Now he was anxious to convince me of the importance of his work.
But I released his hand carefully. I nodded, smiled and turned away. ‘I must go. I have brought Kuang here, my job is done. Perhaps one of your sailors would take me back to Ostend.’
Datt nodded. I turned away, tired of my game and wondering whether I really wanted to take this sick old man and deliver him to the mercies of the French Government. They say a man’s resolution shows in the set of his shoulders. Perhaps Datt saw my indifference in mine. ‘Wait,’ he called. ‘I will take you.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘It will give you time to think.’
Datt looked around the cabin feverishly. He wet his lips and smoothed his hair with the flat of his hand. He flicked through a bundle of papers, stuffed two of them in his pocket, and gathered up a few possessions.
They were strange things that Datt took with him: an engraved paperweight, a half-bottle of brandy, a cheap notebook and finally an old fountain pen which he inspected, wiped and carefully capped before pushing it into his waistcoat pocket. ‘I’ll take you back,’ he said. ‘Do you think Loiseau will let me just look through my stuff?’
‘I can’t answer for Loiseau,’ I said. ‘But I know he fought for months to get permission to raid your house on the Avenue Foch. He submitted report after report proving beyond all normal need that you were a threat to the security of France. Do you know what answer he got? They told him that you were an X., an ancien X. You were a Polytechnic man, one of the ruling class, the elite of France. You could tutoyer his Minister, call half the Cabinet cher camarade. You were a privileged person, inviolate and arrogant with him and his men. But he persisted, he showed them finally what you were, Monsieur Datt. And now perhaps he’ll want them to pay their bill. I’d say Loiseau might see the advantage in letting a little of your poison into their bloodstream. He might decide to give them something to remember the next time they are about to obstruct him and lecture him, and ask him for the fiftieth time if he isn’t mistaken. Permit you to retain the dossiers and tapes?’ I smiled. ‘He might well insist upon it.’
Datt nodded, cranked the handle of an ancient wall phone and spoke some rapid Chinese dialect into it. I noticed his large white fingers, like the roots of some plant that had never been exposed to sunlight.
He said, ‘You are right, no doubt about it. I must be where my research is. I should never have parted company from it.’
He pottered about absent-mindedly. He picked up his Monopoly board. ‘You must reassure me on one thing,’ he said. He put the board down, again. ‘The girl. You’ll see that the girl’s all right?’
‘She’ll be all right.’
‘You’ll attend to it? I’ve treated her badly.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘I threatened her, you know. I threatened her about her file. About her pictures. I shouldn’t have done that really but I cared for my work. It’s not a crime, is it, caring about your work?’
‘Depends upon the work.’
‘Mind you,’ said Datt, ‘I have given her money. I gave her the car too.’
‘It’s easy to give away things you don’t need,’ I said. ‘And rich people who give away money need to be quite sure they’re not trying to buy something.’
‘I’ve treated her badly.’ He nodded to himself. ‘And there’s the boy, my grandson.’
I hurried down the iron steps. I wanted to get away from the boat before Kuang saw what was happening, and yet I doubt if Kuang would have stopped us; with Datt out of the way the only report going back would be Kuang’s.
‘You’ve done me a favour,’ Datt pronounced as he started up the outboard motor.
‘That’s right,’ I said.
40
The Englishman had told her to lock the ambulance door. She tried to, but as her finger hovered over the catch, the nausea of fear broke over her. She imagined just for a moment the agony of being imprisoned. She shuddered and pushed the thought aside. She tried again, but it was no use, and while she was still trying to push the lock the English boy with the injured knee leaned across her and locked the door. She wound the window down, urgently trying to still the claustrophobia. She leaned forward with her eyes closed and pressed her head against the cold windscreen. What had she done? It had seemed so right when Datt had put it to her: if she took the main bulk of the documents and tapes up to the rendezvous for him, then he would be waiting there with her own film and dossier. A fair exchange, he had said. She touched the locks of the case that had come from the boat. She supposed that her documents were inside, but suddenly she didn’t care. Fine rain beaded the windscreen with little lenses. The motor boat was repeated a thousand times upside down.
‘Are you all right?’ the boy asked. ‘You don’t look well.’
She didn’t answer.
‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I wish you’d tell me what all this is about. I know I’ve given you a lot of trouble and all that, you see …’
‘Stay here in the car,’ Maria said. ‘Don’t touch anything and don’t let anyone else touch anything. Promise?’
‘Very well. I promise.’
She unlocked the door with a sigh of relief and got out into the cold salty air. The car was on the very brink of the waterside and she stepped carefully across the worn stones. Along the whole quayside men were appearing out of doorways and warehouse entrances. Not ordinary men but men in berets and anklets. They moved quietly and most of them were carrying automatic rifles. A group of them near to her stepped under the wharfside lights and she saw the glitter of the paratroop badges. Maria was frightened of the men. She stopped near the rear doors of the ambulance and looked back; the boy stared at her across the metal boxes and film tins. He smiled and nodded to reassure her that he wouldn’t touch anything. Why did she care whether he touched anything? One man broke away from the group of paratroops near her. He was in civilian clothes, a thigh-length black leather coat and an old-fashioned trilby hat. He had taken only one step when she recognized Loiseau.
‘Maria, is it you?’
‘Yes, it’s me.’
He hurried towards her, but when he was a pace away stopped. She had expected him to embrace her. She wanted to hang on to him and feel his hand slapping her awkwardly on the back, which was his inadequate attempt to staunch miseries of various kinds.
‘There are a lot of people here,’ she said. ‘Bif?’
‘Yes, the army,’ said Loiseau. ‘A paratroop battalion. The Belgians gave me full co-operation.’
Maria resented that. It was his way of saying that she had never given him full co-operation. ‘Just to take me into custody,’ she said, ‘a Whole battalion of Belgian paratroops? You must have exaggerated.’
‘There is a ship out there. There is no telling how many men are aboard. Datt might have decided to take the documents by force.’
He was anxious to justify himself, like a little boy seeking an advance on his pocket money. She smiled and repeated, ‘You must have exaggerated.’
‘I did,’ said Loiseau. He did not smile, for distorting truth was nothing to be proud of. But in this case he was anxious that there should be no mistakes. He would rather look a fool for over-preparation than be found inadequate. They stood there staring at each other for several minutes.
‘The documents are in the ambulance?’ Loiseau asked.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The film of me is there too.’
‘What about the tape of the Englishman? The questioning that you translated when he was drugged?’
‘That’s there too, it’s a green tin; number B fourteen.’ She touched his arm. ‘What will you do with the Englishman’s tape?’ She could not ask about her own.
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