State of Siege

She did not answer. She was still wondering what it was that I had not told her. I looked round the room. In some way she had managed to get rid of the plaster dust and rubble and make the place tidy. I wanted to comment on the fact, but I could not get the words out.

I sat down on the edge of the chair and started to unbutton my shirt. As I did so, she knelt down in front of me and took off my waterlogged shoes. I fumbled with the shirt. My fingers were scratched and sore, and one of the buttons caught in a loose thread. In a weak rage I tore it free. She looked up, and then, with a murmured apology, began to help me. Every stitch of clothing I had on smelt of oil and sweat and dirty water. When I had undressed, I gathered it all up and threw it out on to the terrace.

She smiled. “While you are bathing I will get out some clean things.”

Luckily there was still plenty of water left in the bathhouse; I had to soap myself several times from head to foot before I could get rid of the smell of oil.

When I got back to the room, she had switched off the top light so that there was not so much glare, and had put the bedside lamp on. There was a set of clean clothes ready for me on my bed, and also a neatly folded batik sarong.

“I can wash some of our clothes,” she explained, “but I cannot iron them. You have only those white trousers clean and two more shirts. There are some of Roy’s things there, but they will not fit you. Perhaps it is foolish to think of such things now but…”

“No. You’re quite right. Anyway, a sarong will be more comfortable. Up in Tangga I often wore one.”

“You do not object that it is one of mine?”

“Object? It’s a beauty.”

She watched me critically while I put it on.

“There are, perhaps, more suitable materials for a man,” she said at length; “but it does not look effeminate.”

“Good. Have you another one for yourself?”

“Oh yes. But while you were not here and the guard was outside, it was better that I looked as European as possible. In batik I look more Sundanese.”

“Then look Sundanese.”

She smiled, and, going to the other end of the room, began to take off her dress. In the next room they switched on the radio.

I opened the bottle of Jebb’s whisky that Suparto had given me, and poured out two drinks. I drank one straight down. Then I refilled the empty glass and took it over with me to my bed. The bruise on my stomach was beginning to be painful and I lay down gingerly. When I was stretched out flat, however, the muscles began to relax, the pain went and a delicious drowsiness began to steal over me. In the next room a voice on the radio was announcing that General Sanusi would shortly address a message to the world. I closed my eyes.

There was something moving against the fingers of my right hand and I half opened my eyes. Rosalie was gently removing the glass that I had been holding. Her hair was down over her shoulders, the sarong was fastened at her waist and she had a narrow scarf draped loosely over her breasts like a country woman. She looked beautiful. I remained still and watched while she placed the glass gently on the bedside table. Then, she glanced at me and saw that I was not asleep. She smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. I took her hand.

“There’s something I’d better tell you,” I said.

“I know, but you are very tired. Sleep first.”

“Sanusi said that by this time tomorrow he would have moved his headquarters, and that we would be free.”

“And does he not mean it?”

“Oh yes, he means it, but there are things he doesn’t know.”

“Tell me.”

“He’s in a trap. It was all a trap; the garrison leaving the city unprotected; promises from men he thought he could trust that they would bring over their troops to his side; assurances that the country was waiting for his leadership, appeals to his vanity, warnings that if he hesitated he would be lost; anything to trick him into coming down from the hills with all his men so that the Government tanks and guns could move in and cut him to pieces. Well, it’s worked. Tomorrow he thinks that he’ll be moving over into the Presidential Palace. He won’t. He’ll be fighting for his life, here, and I don’t imagine that he has any chance at all of winning.”

She had been looking down at my hand. Now, her eyes looked into mine. “How do you know this? Who told you?”

“You may be better off if you don’t know.”

“Major Suparto.” It was a statement, not a question. I said nothing.

“They might still get away to the hills.”

“Not very many of them. And none from this building, I think. They know where Sanusi is, all right.”

“It will be bad again for us here.”

“I’m afraid it will.”

She took my hand and, leaning forward over me, held it against her breast so that my fingers touched one of the nipples. I felt it harden, and she smiled.

“You see,” she said, “I am not afraid.”

She pressed my hand, and then moved away. “You must sleep now, and I think I will sleep, too.”