But reality was a poor crude thing - no wonder so many refuse to accept it! I grew more nervous as I moved round the lake. The realization dawned on me that there might even be a queue for her. What was that about all of No. 1 Platoon having her? Also, the edges of the lake weren't always too enjoyable. I had to make a long detour round a thicket, and cross over a bed of dried mud in which water buffaloes had left hoof-prints and droppings.

Eventually, I had in view the basha Charley c.o.x had mentioned. It stood under a few ragged trees nearby, where gaunt goats nibbled. By the water's edge, a man squatted, looking ahead at nothing. I had no realization of the lengths to which people could be driven by poverty; all I could think of was Ginger Gascadden's verdict that he was selling his wife. How sinful he looked, squatting there by the water while his wife was being shafted by some dirty big Mendip only a few feet away! What a country this was!

Preoccupied by gloomy thoughts and gloomy l.u.s.t in equal quant.i.ties, I was taken by surprise by a small boy who materialized at my elbow. He was a beautiful child, perhaps ten years old, wearing old khaki pants and a ragged vest, and he said brightly, 'You want f.u.c.k girl, Johnny?'

'No.' I didn't know. It was all so ghastly. To take but one point, could I even do it, knowing her husband and - her -her son, was this? - were within earshot? How could I face them after? 'No, thanks, no girl.'

He smiled and gestured at my flies. 'You like gobble, Johnny? I give you nice gobble? Two rupee, very lovely, very quick.'

I knew how the monkey G.o.d felt, tearing himself apart.

Life seemed to be crushed between the grindstones of earth and sky.

'How much the girl ?'

'Short time ten rupee, Johnny. If she like you, eight rupee. You come see! My sister. Very pretty lovely girl of pale face.' He took my hand and I went along the path with him. My impulse was to say to him, 'We don't do this sort of thing in England', but it was not the place for small talk; also, I was burningly curious to see the girl. Just curious. It was such a foul set-up. Perhaps we should have let the j.a.ps take over running the country.

The man at the water's edge rose now and stood still, watching us approach. There was activity at the hut too. A man emerged, ramming a bush hat on to his head, a bulky man in trousers, puttees, and boots, wearing no shirt. I watched eagerly to see if the girl would come out after him.

As the other Mendip and I were about to pa.s.s each other, I saw that it was Rusk, the cook. His ident.i.ty discs were bouncing between his fat hairy b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He gave me a dirty grin.

'So you're getting a bit of service in at last, then, Jack, are you? Get in there, it's your birthday! I've warmed her up proper for you!'

As he pa.s.sed, I could smell his rancid body. The boy was still half-tugging me along. I got almost to the hut, and then I could go no further. The thought of f.u.c.king anything after Rusk had been at it was too much for me; I couldn't do it. l.u.s.t had fled - I just wanted to go back and take a shower. I did not even want to see the cow.

'No f.u.c.k,' I said.

'Gobble, Johnny? Super quick time!' He reached for my flies.

'f.u.c.k off! you little b.a.s.t.a.r.d! 'Jao!'

'You f.u.c.k off! And f.u.c.k off f.u.c.king you!' He jumped away, spitting anger, waving his fist at me, backing towards the old man, who still stood motionless at the water's edge. I turned and ran.

The misery of it! s.e.x was as squalid as everything else here. Directly I was away from the baska, the filthy images hovered about my head again like s.h.i.te-hawks. I had never seen the bibi. Of course she was a raddled old wh.o.r.e .. .yet the image of rutting, of depraved acts, of the total degradation that seemed to creak out of the parched soil had me in its grip. A torment of l.u.s.t overcame me.

How could I relieve it except by w.a.n.king? Oh, Virginia! Oh, Christ! And there wasn't even anywhere in this wilderness where you could enjoy a decent sensuous w.a.n.k - certainly not in the tent or the latrine.

Nowhere.

There was the lake. Possessed by a sort of fury, I trotted along its bank until I was well-concealed from the camp. In the water, I could always pretend I was bathing - there was no law against that! I flung my clothes off and trotted into the water. It was muddy and unpleasant underfoot, so that for a moment I felt squeamish.

Looking down at my c.o.c.k, I took heart - not that it didn't need more than I could give it. At least I could bash it fervently and privately under water.

The water was slimy but warm. Even when one is h.e.l.l bent on e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n by the shortest possible means, water is not the ideal element for sensuous experiment; it conducts away the heat too fast.

Fevered though the pictures were that I drove through my brain, it took a long while, as I lay with just my head above water, to work up any sensation at all. Slowly, slowly, persistence began to win the day.

'That man!'

I looked round. The solid figure of Sergeant Meadows stood on the bank. Hastily, I took a stroke or two of a different kind to make believe I was swimming.

'h.e.l.lo, sergeant!'

'Stubbs? What do you think you're doing in there, man? Come out here! That water is loaded with all kinds of filthy diseases!'

Instead of pointing out that we had swum through worse waters frequently since coming to Vadikhasundi, I said, feebly, 'It's okay just here, Charley!'

'Get out at once and come here!'

Was there an Army regulation against w.a.n.king in public lakes? Dismayed, I jumped up, standing in two feet of water. A hasty look down: swollen, yes, pretty gorged with blood, yes, but not erect. I splashed to dry land. Charley Meadows was not standing by my clothes, so I had no option but to parade naked before him, at the 'shun except for my hands over my c.o.c.k instead of at my sides.

He scratched his head and looked baffled. 'I can never make you out, Stubbs. You are bright enough.

You were a sergeant once yourself. Yet you will keep on as if you were immature. What were you playing at in there? Were you trying to drown yourself ?'

'No, I was just having a bit of a swim. I didn't get any sleep last night, so I thought a swim might tone me up.'

Tone you up! In that filthy pond, up to the eyes in buffalo s.h.i.t! You're a regular, Stubbs, you should know better than that! How do you reckon we're ever going to win this war if responsible blokes like you keep playing the fool?'

'I wasn't playing the fool! I was having a swim. I didn't know I was doing any thing wrong.'

He sighed. Didn't know you was doing anything wrong! You're in trouble, my lad. I'm taking you up before Captain Gore-Blakeley, right away. Get yourself dressed!'

The captain was orderly officer. As I stood before him, he showered captain's questions at me - questions, Army-style, at once stupid and sarcastic. Not only what was I doing and what did I think I was doing, but had I ever seen anyone else swimming in that filthy pond, did I imagine I had been brought out to India at Army expense just to swim in a filthy pond, had I never heard of tropical diseases, did I know what bilharzia was, I didn't think it was the name of an Indian tradesman, did I, and so on?

When this catechism had reduced me to a red-faced silence, Gor-Blimey and Charley looked at each other.

'Sar'nt!'

'Sar?'

'Put this man on picket duty every night until we leave Vadikhasundi.'

'Sar!'

'Signaller Stubbs, you must learn to have some respect for the dangers of an alien environment. We want to get you to Burma fit and well, not crippled with elephantiasis or something equally unpleasant.

Understand ?'

'Wharr!' This syllable, only p.r.o.nounceable with the body rigid, the chest fully extended and the throat firmly clamped down under the jaw, was uttered towards a point some two feet above Captain Gore-Blakeley's head.

I was marched out of the presence. Outside, Charley said, 'You got off light, Stubby, as well you know.

You'd better report to the MO in the morning and tell him I sent you.

Tell him you were swimming in the buffalo pool.' He eyed me hard and not unsympathetically. 'There's a touch of the tarbrush about you, Stubbs.' Resuming a more formal manner, he drew himself up - a gesture I at once copied -and said, 'Signaller Stubbs, di-hiss-miiiiiss!' Right turn, pause, smartly away, ep ri' ep ri' ep...

And to think that all of 1 Platoon had been having it in -and getting away with it!

As I headed over the red desert to find myself a couple of beers at the canteen, I prepared my face and shuffled the facts of what had happened into a story that would help me to emerge creditably from the incident. As matters stood, they did not do me much of a favour. Failed f.u.c.ker, failed w.a.n.ker was an inglorious double billing. But, in the Army, everything can be arranged to suit the occasion; the pecking order is so steep, the pecks so frequent, that the truth is never as eagerly received as a story that shows one's superiors in a comic or ridiculous light. The discomfiture of friends has to take second preference to the discomfiture of officers and NCOs. Everyone feeds on fantasy, and my story could be arranged not too fancifully to make me show up better than Charley and Gor-Blimey.

There was still half-an-hour to sunset. Shadows of tall trees stretched across the old marquee tent that housed the BORs' canteen. The canteen had only just opened and there were comparatively few Mendips inside.

An old mate of mine, Di Jones, who had been with me at Prestatyn, was sitting drinking char with another Welshman from i Platoon, Taffy Evans. I bought myself a beer and went over to join them.

'Wotcher, Di! Wotcher, Taff!'

'You're looking proper bra.s.sed off, mucker, isn't he, Taffy?'

'Proper chokka? agreed Taffy. 'How many more years you got to serve?'

'Too f.u.c.king many. I've just been nicked by Charley Meadows.'

Both men were immediately sympathetic, and Di made a lot of clicking noises like a shorting Morse key.

'Your sergeant's got more b.a.l.l.s than brains, if you ask me. What did he nick you for, Stubby ?'

'Oh, it's a long story. You wouldn't want to hear it.'

'Here, have a f.a.g, Horry lad, and tell us the worst.' Di brought out a tin of Indian 'Players' and offered me one.

Thanks, Di, I don't mind if I do ... Well, I suppose you know that there's a bibi down by the lake, charging five chips a time?'

As I spoke, I remembered what serious and chapel-going men these two were, and paused, burying my face in the beer gla.s.s.

Di Jones looked grave. 'We heard all about that bibi from Ginger Gascadden. You want to stay away from Indian women, Horry, really you do. I know you're a l.u.s.ty young lad with the fires of creation in your crutch, but you'd do best to stick to the old hand-shandy - wouldn't he, Taff ?'

But they exchanged winks. Taffy was agreeing vigorously with Di, advising me to stay married to my fist.

'What happened about the bibi anyhow?'

'Oh, I just thought I'd go and have a shufti at what was going on - look, let me get another beer. Can I buy you two a round? That b.l.o.o.d.y char does you no good, you know!'

They agreed to drink some beer. While I was up at the counter waiting for it, and gazing round to see the day depart, in ambled Geordie. He always looked lost when he was on his own and the idea was growing in me that one day Geordie was going to be told to p.i.s.s off and hang about someone else - but on this occasion I felt glad to see him.

I gave him a cheery hail, grabbed a fourth beer, and welcomed him over to our table.

'I bet you've been over with that bibi, Geordie, haven't you?'

'Me? No, I wouldn't fancy - you know me better than that, mucker! Anyroad, they've sort of got the Redcaps, like, down there, like, to send her packing before she gives the whole b.l.o.o.d.y unit a dose of the clap, like. So I was hearing -I don't know if it's true. Did you see her?'

'Horry's just going to tell us,' Di said, almost simultaneously waving impatiently at me to continue and wiping the beer froth from his lips.

'I thought I'd go and have a shufti at the bibi and, just as I was getting there, I glanced back - and who do I see but our Sergeant f.u.c.king Meadows!'

'Likely he was going to have a basinful himself, I shouldn't wonder,' Di said, grinning. 'They're dead crafty, these sergeants!'

'He was hanging about waiting to catch someone, that's what I reckon. Spying on us! So I didn't let on I'd spotted him, but I thought, "Christ, now I'm in the s.h.i.t, what do I do now?" I mean, if I'd turned back, I'd have walked right into him. So then I had this bright idea -1 thought I'd have him on, just for a lark.'

We all sat there pulling at our f.a.gs and swigging beer. The canteen lights came on. Night had arrived.

'Go on,' they said.

I laughed. 'I had this b.l.o.o.d.y daft idea that I'd pretend I was going to have a swim in the lake.'

They all laughed. 'Didn't I always say as you were round the f.u.c.king bend, Horry? Swim in that mucky pond, full of buffalo s.h.i.t!'

'It's not all that bad, mate - it's pretty clean, by Wog standards. Anyhow, I knew old Charley was watching, so I stripped off-'

'You stripped off into the nude?'

'You know me, Di - s.h.i.t or bust! I stripped right off, ran along the bank, and dived straight into the f.u.c.king pani!'

They were incredulous, amused, horrified. They laughed and tried to make me admit I had done no such thing. Taffy Evans called another mate of his over to hear the tale.

'I always said as you was f.u.c.kin' puggle, mate!' Geordie said, laughing. 'What a right carry-on! I don't know ... What did Meadows do?'

'Well, what could he do? I mean, I was b.l.o.o.d.y daft in the first place, I admit that. You know me - anything for a laugh. And you should have seen his face! He came stomping along the edge - for a moment I thought he was going to dive in after me, boots and all!'

We were all laughing like drains now.

'So he yells to me, "Is that you, Signaller Stubbs? What the f.u.c.king h.e.l.l are you doing in there?" - as if he'd never seen a man take a swim before. I felt like saying to him, "I'm watching a.r.s.enal play the Spurs", but I just said, "I'm cooling my b.a.l.l.s off, Sarge" - and he had me out of there so fast my feet didn't touch! Straight up to the orderly room!'

They were all laughing and repeating 'Cooling my b.a.l.l.s off!', and more blokes were coming over to find what was so funny.

I told the story again, throwing in a comic imitation of Gore-Blakeley. 'I suppose you think typhoid is a make of tea, Signaller Stubbs? Eh, what?'

Everyone was in cordial agreement: Meadows and Gor- Blimey had no sense of humour; I, on the other hand, was a bit of a card who had been victimized. Most of us saw ourselves as cards and victims. More beer was ordered, and other victim-card stories told, amid general laughter. Soon someone was reminiscing gaily about the first time he was on jankers.

Mention of jankers reminded me of picket duty. It was almost time to be getting my kit together. Back to realities, I drained my gla.s.s and bid them all farewell. As I was going out of the tent, a pasty face in the corner caught my eye. It was Rusk, sitting with a mate and eating a chicken b.u.t.ti which was so firmly clasped in his great mitt that for a moment I thought he was tearing his fist apart with his teeth.

Rusk fixed his greasy eyes on me and made a sign, beckoning me with his whole arm. I gave him the Up Yours signal with two fingers and ducked out of the tent, but he called out and immediately began following me/Outside the circle of light thrown by the tent entrance, I turned and waited for him.

He came towards me truculently, the strands of chicken in the corners of his mouth waving for the last time. His sleeves were still rolled up to his elbows. 'You're asking for trouble, Stubbs, sticking your f.u.c.king fingers up at me, you know that?'

'Get your sleeves rolled down, Rusk! How long have you been in ? Get some f.u.c.king service behind you !'.

'Don't you tell me to get some f.u.c.king service in, mate! You're going to get a bunch of fives if you don't belt up, know that? You're on a charge already, aren't you?'

I moved in closer and said, 'You'll be on a charge if you don't get your sleeves down ek dum, you fat s.h.i.t!'

'Don't you order me about: I've been in too long. Don't you go calling me names! I know a thing or two about you, don't I?'

'What do you know?'

'Come on, you know what I know!'