No More Learning

There was a flurry and a general clicking of tongues. No one had paid any attention to the
child — the incident was too nonnal to be noticed — and now they all felt horribly
ashamed. Everyone began putting the blame on the child. There were exclamations of
‘What a disgraceful child! What a disgusting child! ’ The old Chinese woman carried the
child, still howling, to the door, and held it out over the step as though wringing out a
bath sponge. And in the same moment, as it seemed, Flory and Elizabeth were outside the
shop, and he was following her back to the road with Li Yeik and the others looking after
them in dismay.

‘If THAT’S what you call civilized people — ! ’ she was exclaiming.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said feebly. ‘I never expected — ’

‘What absolutely DISGUSTING people! ’

She was bitterly angry. Her face had flushed a wonderful delicate pink, like a poppy bud
opened a day too soon. It was the deepest colour of which it was capable. He followed
her past the bazaar and back to the main road, and they had gone fifty yards before he
ventured to speak again.



‘I’m so sorry that this should have happened! Li Yeik is such a decent old chap. He’d
hate to think that he’d offended you. Really it would have been better to stay a few
minutes. Just to thank him for the tea. ’

‘Thank him! After THAT! ’

‘But honestly, you oughtn’t to mind that sort of thing. Not in this country. These people’s
whole outlook is so different from ours. One has to adjust oneself. Suppose, for instance,
you were back in the Middle Ages — ’

‘I think I’d rather not discuss it any longer. ’

It was the first time they had definitely quarrelled. He was too miserable even to ask
himself how it was that he offended her. He did not realize that this constant striving to
interest her in Oriental things struck her only as perverse, ungentlemanly, a deliberate
seeking after the squalid and the ‘beastly’. He had not grasped even now with what eyes
she saw the ‘natives’. He only knew that at each attempt to make her share his life, his
thoughts, his sense of beauty, she shied away from him like a frightened horse.

They walked up the road, he to the left of her and a little behind. He watched her averted
cheek and the tiny gold hairs on her nape beneath the brim of her Terai hat. How he loved
her, how he loved her! It was as though he had never truly loved her till this moment,
when he walked behind her in disgrace, not even daring to show his disfigured face. He
made to speak several times, and stopped himself. His voice was not quite ready, and he
did not know what he could say that did not risk offending her somehow. At last he said,
flatly, with a feeble pretence that nothing was the matter:

‘It’s getting beastly hot, isn’t it? ’

With the temperature at 90 degrees in the shade it was not a brilliant remark. To his
surprise she seized on it with a kind of eagerness. She turned to face him, and she was
smiling again.


‘Isn’t it simply BAKING! ’



With that they were at peace. The silly, banal remark, bringing with it the reassuring
atmosphere of Club-chatter, had soothed her like a charm. Flo, who had lagged behind,
came puffing up to them dribbling saliva; in an instant they were talking, quite as usual,
about dogs. They talked about dogs for the rest of the way home, almost without a pause.
Dogs are an inexhaustible subject. Dogs, dogs! thought Flory as they climbed the hot
hillside, with the mounting sun scorching their shoulders through their thin clothes, like
the breath of fire — were they never to talk of anything except dogs? Or failing dogs,
gramophone records and tennis racquets? And yet, when they kept to trash like this, how
easily, how amicably they could talk!

They passed the glittering white wall of the cemetery and came to the Lackersteens’ gate.
Old mohur trees grew round it, and a clump of hollyhocks eight feet high, with round red
flowers like blowsy girls’ faces. Flory took off his hat in the shade and fanned his face.

‘Well, we’re back before the worst of the heat comes. I’m afraid our trip to the bazaar
wasn’t altogether a success. ’

‘Oh, not at all! I enjoyed it, really I did. ’

‘No — I don’t know, something unfortunate always seems to happen. — Oh, by the way!
You haven’t forgotten that we’re going out shooting the day after tomorrow? I hope that
day will be all right for you? ’

‘Yes, and my uncle’s going to lend me his gun. Such awful fun! You’ll have to teach me
all about shooting. I AM so looking forward to it. ’

‘So am I. It’s a rotten time of year for shooting, but we’ll do our best. Goodbye for the
present, then. ’

‘Good-bye, Mr Flory. ’


She still called him Mr Flory though he called her Elizabeth. They parted and went their
ways, each thinking of the shooting trip, which, both of them felt, would in some way put
things right between them.



CHAPTER 12


In the sticky, sleepy heat of the living-room, almost dark because of the beaded curtain, U
Po Kyin was marching slowly up and down, boasting. From time to time he would put a
hand under his singlet and scratch his sweating breasts, huge as a woman’s with fat. Ma
Kin was sitting on her mat, smoking slender white cigars. Through the open door of the
bedroom one could see the corner of U Po Kyin’s huge square bed, with carved teak
posts, like a catafalque, on which he had committed many and many a rape.

Ma Kin was now hearing for the first time of the ‘other affair’ which underlay U Po
Kyin’s attack on Dr Veraswami. Much as he despised her intelligence, U Po Kyin usually
let Ma Kin into his secrets sooner or later. She was the only person in his immediate
circle who was not afraid of him, and there was therefore a pleasure in impressing her.

‘Well, Kin Kin,’ he said, ‘you see how it has all gone according to plan! Eighteen
anonymous letters already, and every one of them a masterpiece. I would repeat some of
them to you if I thought you were capable of appreciating them. ’

‘But supposing the Europeans take no notice of your anonymous letters? What then? ’

‘Take no notice? Aha, no fear of that! I think I know something about the European
mentality. Let me tell you, Kin Kin, that if there is one thing I CAN do, it is to write an
anonymous letter. ’

This was true. U Po Kyin’s letters had already taken effect, and especially on their chief
target, Mr Macgregor.

Only two days earlier than this, Mr Macgregor had spent a very troubled evening in
trying to make up his mind whether Dr Veraswami was or was not guilty of disloyalty to
the Government. Of course, it was not a question of any overt act of disloyalty — that was
quite irrelevant. The point was, was the doctor the KIND of man who would hold
seditious opinions? In India you are not judged for what you do, but for what you ARE.



The merest breath of suspicion against his loyalty can ruin an Oriental official. Mr
Macgregor had too just a nature to condemn even an Oriental out of hand. He had
puzzled as late as midnight over a whole pile of confidential papers, including the five
anonymous letters he had received, besides two others that had been forwarded to him by
Westfield, pinned together with a cactus thorn.

It was not only the letters. Rumours about the doctor had been pouring in from every
side. U Po Kyin fully grasped that to call the doctor a traitor was not enough in itself; it
was necessary to attack his reputation from every possible angle. The doctor was charged
not only with sedition, but also with extortion, rape, torture, performing illegal
operations, perfonning operations while blind drunk, murder by poison, murder by
sympathetic magic, eating beef, selling death certificates to murderers, wearing his shoes
in the precincts of the pagoda and making homosexual attempts on the Military Police
drummer boy. To hear what was said of him, anyone would have imagined the doctor a
compound of Machiavelli, Sweeny Todd and the Marquis de Sade. Mr Macgregor had
not paid much attention at first. He was too accustomed to this kind of thing. But with the
last of the anonymous letters U Po Kyin had brought off a stroke that was brilliant even
for him.

It concerned the escape of Nga Shwe O, the dacoit, from Kyauktada jail. Nga Shwe O,
who was in the middle of a well-earned seven years, had been preparing his escape for
several months past, and as a start his friends outside had bribed one of the Indian
warders. The warder received his hundred rupees in advance, applied for leave to visit the
death-bed of a relative and spent several busy days in the Mandalay brothels. Time
passed, and the day of the escape was postponed several times — the warder, meanwhile,
growing more and more homesick for the brothels. Finally he decided to earn a further
reward by betraying the plot to U Po Kyin. But U Po Kyin, as usual, saw his chance. He
told the warder on dire penalties to hold his tongue, and then, on the very night of the
escape, when it was too late to do anything, sent another anonymous letter to Mr
Macgregor, warning him that an escape was being attempted. The letter added, needless
to say, that Dr Veraswami, the superintendent of the jail, had been bribed for his


connivance.



In the morning there was a hullabaloo and a rushing to and fro of warders and, policemen
at the jail, for Nga Shwe O had escaped. (He was a long way down the river, in a sampan
provided by U Po Kyin. ) This time Mr Macgregor was taken aback. Whoever had written
the letter must have been privy to the plot, and was probably telling the truth about the
doctor’s connivance. It was a very serious matter. A jail superintendent who will take
bribes to let a prisoner escape is capable of anything. And therefore — perhaps the logical
sequence was not quite clear, but it was clear enough to Mr Macgregor — therefore the
charge of sedition, which was the main charge against the doctor, became much more
credible.

U Po Kyin had attacked the other Europeans at the same time. Flory, who was the
doctor’s friend and his chief source of prestige, had been scared easily enough into
deserting him. With Westfield it was a little harder. Westfield, as a policeman, knew a
great deal about U Po Kyin and might conceivably upset his plans. Policemen and
magistrates are natural enemies. But U Po Kyin had known how to turn even this fact to
advantage. He had accused the doctor, anonymously of course, of being in league with
the notorious scoundrel and bribe-taker U Po Kyin. That settled Westfield. As for Ellis,
no anonymous letters were needed in his case; nothing could possibly make him think
worse of the doctor than he did already.

U Po Kyin had even sent one of his anonymous letters to Mrs Lackersteen, for he knew
the power of European women. Dr Veraswami, the letter said, was inciting the natives to
abduct and rape the European women — no details were given, nor were they needed. U
Po Kyin had touched Mrs Lackersteen’s weak spot. To her mind the words ‘sedition’,
‘Nationalism,’, ‘rebellion’, ‘Home Rule’, conveyed one thing and one only, and that was
a picture of herself being raped by a procession of jet-black coolies with rolling white
eyeballs. It was a thought that kept her awake at night sometimes. Whatever good regard
the Europeans might once have had for the doctor was crumbling rapidly.

‘So you see,’ said U Po Kyin with a pleased air, ‘you see how I have undermined him. He
is like a tree sawn through at the base. One tap and down he comes. In three weeks or less
I shall deliver that tap. ’


‘How? ’



‘I am just coming to that. I think it is time for you to hear about it. You have no sense in
these matters, but you know how to hold your tongue. You have heard talk of this
rebellion that is brewing near Thongwa village? ’

‘Yes. They are very foolish, those villagers. What can they do with their dahs and spears
against the Indian soldiers? They will be shot down like wild animals. ’

‘Of course. If there is any fighting it will be a massacre. But they are only a pack of
superstitious peasants. They have put their faith in these absurd bullet-proof jackets that
are being distributed to them. I despise such ignorance. ’

‘Poor men! Why do you not stop them, Ko Po Kyin? There is no need to arrest anybody.
You have only to go to the village and tell them that you know their plans, and they will
never dare to go on. ’

‘Ah well, I could stop them if I chose, of course. But then I do not choose. I have my
reasons. You see, Kin Kin — you will please keep silent about this — this is, so to speak,
my own rebellion. I arranged it myself. ’

‘What! ’

Ma Kin dropped her cigar. Her eyes had opened so wide that the pale blue white showed
all round the pupil. She was horrified. She burst out:

‘Ko Po Kyin, what are you saying? You do not mean it! You, raising a rebellion — it
cannot be true! ’

‘Certainly it is true. And a very good job we are making of it. That magician whom I
brought from Rangoon is a clever fellow. He has toured all over India as a circus
conjurer. The bullet-proof jackets were bought at Whiteaway & Laidlaw’s stores, one
rupee eight annas each. They are costing me a pretty penny, I can tell you. ’

‘But, Ko Po Kyin! A rebellion! The terrible fighting and shooting, and all the poor men
who will be killed! Surely you have not gone mad? Are you not afraid of being shot
yourself? ’



U Po Kyin halted in his stride. He was astonished. ‘Good gracious, woman, what idea
have you got hold of now? You do not suppose that / am rebelling against the
Government? I — a Government servant of thirty years’ standing! Good heavens, no! I
said that I had STARTED the rebellion, not that I was taking part in it. It is these fools of
villagers who are going to risk their skins, not I. No one dreams that I have anything to do
with it, or ever will, except Ba Sein and one or two others. ’

‘But you said it was you who were persuading them to rebel? ’

‘Of course. I have accused Veraswami of raising a rebellion against the Government.
Well, I must have a rebellion to show, must I not? ’

‘Ah, I see. And when the rebellion breaks out, you are going to say that Dr Veraswami is
to blame for it. Is that it? ’

‘How slow you are! I should have thought even a fool would have seen that I am raising
the rebellion merely in order to crush it. I am — what is that expression Mr Macgregor
uses?
Agent provocateur — Latin, you would not understand. I am agent provocateur.
First I persuade these fools at Thongwa to rebel, and then I arrest them as rebels. At the
very moment when it is due to start, I shall pounce on the ringleaders and clap every one
of them in jail. After that, I dare say there may possibly be some lighting. A few men
may be killed and a few more sent to the Andamans. But, meanwhile, I shall be first in
the field. U Po Kyin, the man who quelled a most dangerous rising in the nick of time! I
shall be the hero of the district. ’

U Po Kyin, justly proud of his plan, began to pace up and down the room again with his
hands behind his back, smiling. Ma Kin considered the plan in silence for some time.
Finally she said:

‘I still do not see why you are doing this, Ko Po Kyin. Where is it all leading? And what
has it got to do with Dr Veraswami? ’

‘I shall never teach you wisdom, Kin Kin! Did I not tell you at the beginning that
Veraswami stands in my way? This rebellion is the very thing to get rid of him. Of course
we shall never prove that he is responsible for it; but what does that matter? All the



Europeans will take it for granted that he is mixed up in it somehow. That is how their
minds work. He will be ruined for life. And his fall is my rise. The blacker I can paint
him, the more glorious my own conduct will appear. Now do you understand? ’

‘Yes, I do understand. And I think it is a base, evil plan. I wonder you are not ashamed to
tell it me. ’

‘Now, Kin Kin! Surely you are not going to start that nonsense over again? ’

‘Ko Po Kyin, why is it that you are only happy when you are being wicked? Why is it
that everything you do must bring evil to others? Think of that poor doctor who will be
dismissed from his post, and those villagers who will be shot or flogged with bamboos or
imprisoned for life. Is it necessary to do such things? What can you want with more
money when you are rich already? ’

‘Money! Who is talking about money? Some day, woman, you will realize that there are
other things in the world besides money. Fame, for example. Greatness. Do you realize
that the Governor of Burma will very probably pin an Order on my breast for my loyal
action in this affair? Would not even you be proud of such an honour as that? ’

Ma Kin shook her head, unimpressed. ‘When will you remember, Ko Po Kyin, that you
are not going to live a thousand years? Consider what happens to those who have lived
wickedly. There is such a thing, for instance, as being turned into a rat or a frog. There is
even hell. I remember what a priest said to me once about hell, something that he had
translated from the Pali scriptures, and it was very terrible. He said, “Once in a thousand
centuries two red-hot spears will meet in your heart, and you will say to yourself,
‘Another thousand centuries of my torment are ended, and there is as much to come as
there has been before. ’” Is it not very dreadful to think of such things, Ko Po Kyin? ’

U Po Kyin laughed and gave a careless wave of his hand that meant ‘pagodas’.

‘Well, I hope you may still laugh when it comes to the end. But for myself, I should not
care to look back upon such a life. ’



She relighted her cigar with her thin shoulder turned disapprovingly on U Po Kyin while
he took several more turns up and down the room. When he spoke, it was more seriously
than before, and even with a touch of diffidence.


‘You know, Kin Kin, there is another matter behind all this. Something that I have not
told to you or to anyone else. Even Ba Sein does not know. But I believe I will tell it you
now. ’

‘I do not want to hear it, if it is more wickedness. ’

‘No, no. You were asking just now what is my real object in this affair. You think, I
suppose, that I am ruining Veraswami merely because I dislike him and his ideas about
bribes as a nuisance. It is not only that. There is something else that is far more important,
and it concerns you as well as me. ’


‘What is it? ’


‘Have you never felt in you, Kin Kin, a desire for higher things? Has it never struck you
that after all our successes — all my successes, I should say — we are almost in the same
position as when we started? I am worth, I dare say, two lakhs of rupees, and yet look at
the style in which we live! Look at this room! Positively it is no better than that of a
peasant. I am tired of eating with my lingers and associating only with Burmans — poor,
inferior people — and living, as you might say, like a miserable Township Officer. Money
is not enough; I should like to feel that I have risen in the world as well. Do you not wish
sometimes for a way of life that is a little more — how shall I say — elevated? ’

‘I do not know how we could want more than what we have already. When I was a girl in
my village I never thought that I should live in such a house as this. Look at those
English chairs — I have never sat in one of them in my life. But I am very proud to look at
them and think that I own them. ’

‘Ch! Why did you ever leave that village of yours, Kin Kin? You are only fit to stand
gossiping by the well with a stone water-pot on your head. But I am more ambitious, God
be praised. And now I will tell you the real reason why I am intriguing against
Veraswami. It is in my mind to do something that is really magnificent. Something noble,



glorious! Something that is the very highest honour an Oriental can attain to. You know
what I mean, of course? ’


‘No. What do you mean? ’

‘Come, now! The greatest achievement of my life! Surely you can guess? ’

‘Ah, I know! You are going to buy a motor-car. But oh, Ko Po Kyin, please do not expect
me to ride in it! ’

U Po Kyin threw up his hands in disgust. ‘A motor-car! You have the mind of a bazaar
peanut-seller! I could buy twenty motor-cars if I wanted them. And what use would a
motor-car be in this place? No, it is something far grander than that. ’

‘What, then? ’

‘It is this. I happen to know that in a month’s time the Europeans are going to elect one
native member to their Club. They do not want to do it, but they will have orders from the
Commissioner, and they will obey. Naturally, they would elect Veraswami, who is the
highest native official in the district. But I have disgraced Veraswami. And so — ’

‘What? ’

U Po Kyin did not answer for a moment. He looked at Ma Kin, and his vast yellow face,
with its broad jaw and numberless teeth, was so softened that it was almost child-like.
There might even have been tears in his tawny eyes. He said in a small, almost awed
voice, as though the greatness of what he was saying overcame him:

‘Do you not see, woman? Do you not see that if Veraswami is disgraced I shall be elected
to the Club myself? ’

The effect of it was crushing. There was not another word of argument on Ma Kin’s part.
The magnificence of U Po Kyin’s project had struck her dumb.

And not without reason, for all the achievements of U Po Kyin’s life were as nothing
beside this. It is a real triumph — it would be doubly so in Kyauktada — for an official of



the lower ranks to worm his way into the European Club. The European Club, that
remote, mysterious temple, that holy of holies far harder of entry than Nirvana! Po Kyin,
the naked gutter-boy of Mandalay, the thieving clerk and obscure official, would enter
that sacred place, call Europeans ‘old chap’, drink whisky and soda and knock white balls
to and fro on the green table! Ma Kin, the village woman, who had first seen the light
through the chinks of a bamboo hut thatched with palm-leaves, would sit on a high chair
with her feet imprisoned in silk stockings and high-heeled shoes (yes, she would actually
wear shoes in that place! ) talking to English ladies in Hindustani about baby-linen! It was
a prospect that would have dazzled anybody.

For a long time Ma Kin remained silent, her lips parted, thinking of the European Club
and the splendours that it might contain. For the first time in her life she surveyed U Po
Kyin’s intrigues without disapproval. Perhaps it was a feat greater even than the stonning
of the Club to have planted a grain of ambition in Ma Kin’s gentle heart.


CHAPTER 13

As Flory came through the gate of the hospital compound four ragged sweepers passed
him, carrying some dead coolie, wrapped in sackcloth, to a foot-deep grave in the jungle.
Flory crossed the brick-like earth of the yard between the hospital sheds. All down the
wide verandas, on sheetless charpoys, rows of grey-faced men lay silent and moveless.
Some filthy-looking curs, which were said to devour amputated limbs, dozed or snapped
at their fleas among the piles of the buildings. The whole place wore a sluttish and
decaying air. Dr Veraswami struggled hard to keep it clean, but there was no coping with
the dust and the bad water-supply, and the inertia of sweepers and half-trained Assistant
Surgeons.

Flory was told that the doctor was in the out-patients’ department. It was a plaster-walled
room furnished only with a table and two chairs, and a dusty portrait of Queen Victoria,
much awry. A procession of Burmans, peasants with gnarled muscles beneath their faded
rags, were filing into the room and queueing up at the table. The doctor was in shirt-



sleeves and sweating profusely. He sprang to his feet with an exclamation of pleasure,
and in his usual fussy haste thrust Flory into the vacant chair and produced a tin of
cigarettes from the drawer of the table.

‘What a delightful visit, Mr Flory! Please to make yourself comfortable — that iss, if one
can possibly be comfortable in such a place ass this, ha, ha! Afterwards, at my house, we
will talk with beer and amenities. Kindly excuse me while I attend to the populace. ’

Flory sat down, and the hot sweat immediately burst out and drenched his shirt. The heat
of the room was stifling. The peasants steamed garlic from all their pores. As each man
came to the table the doctor would bounce from his chair, prod the patient in the back, lay
a black ear to his chest, fire off several questions in villainous Burmese, then bounce
back to the table and scribble a prescription. The patients took the prescriptions across the
yard to the Compounder, who gave them bottles filled with water and various vegetable
dyes. The Compounder supported himself largely by the sale of drugs, for the
Government paid him only twenty-five rupees a month. However, the doctor knew
nothing of this.

On most mornings the doctor had not time to attend to the out-patients himself, and left
them to one of the Assistant Surgeons. The Assistant Surgeon’s methods of diagnosis
were brief. He would simply ask each patient, ‘Where is your pain? Head, back or belly? ’
and at the reply hand out a prescription from one of three piles that he had prepared
beforehand. The patients much preferred this method to the doctor’s. The doctor had a
way of asking them whether they had suffered from venereal diseases — an
ungentlemanly, pointless question — and sometimes he horrified them still more by
suggesting operations. ‘Belly-cutting’ was their phrase for it. The majority of them would
have died a dozen times over rather than submit to ‘belly-cutting’.

As the last patient disappeared the doctor sank into his chair, fanning his face with the
prescription-pad.

‘Ach, this heat! Some mornings I think that never will I get the smell of garlic out of my
nose! It iss amazing to me how their very blood becomes impregnated with it. Are you
not suffocated, Mr Flory? You English have the sense of smell almost too highly
developed. What torments you must all suffer in our filthy East! ’



‘Abandon your noses, all ye who enter here, what? They might write that up over the
Suez Canal. You seem busy this morning? ’

‘Ass ever. Ah but, my friend, how discouraging iss the work of a doctor in this country!
These villagers — dirty, ignorant savages! Even to get them to come to hospital iss all we
can do, and they will die of gangrene or carry a tumour ass large ass a melon for ten years
rather than face the knife. And such medicines ass their own so-called doctors give to
them! Herbs gathered under the new moon, tigers’ whiskers, rhinoceros hom, urine,
menstrual blood! How men can drink such compounds iss disgusting. ’

‘Rather picturesque, all the same. You ought to compile a Burmese pharmacopoeia,
doctor. It would be almost as good as Culpeper. ’

‘Barbarous cattle, barbarous cattle,’ said the doctor, beginning to struggle into his white
coat. ‘Shall we go back to my house? There iss beer and I trust a few fragments of ice
left. I have an operation at ten, strangulated hernia, very urgent. Till then I am free. ’

‘Yes. As a matter of fact there’s something I rather wanted to talk to you about. ’

They recrossed the yard and climbed the steps of the doctor’s veranda. The doctor,
having felt in the ice-chest and found that the ice was all melted to tepid water, opened a
bottle of beer and called fussily to the servants to set some more bottles swinging in a
cradle of wet straw. Flory was standing looking over the veranda rail, with his hat still on.
The fact was that he had come here to utter an apology. He had been avoiding the doctor
for nearly a fortnight — since the day, in fact, when he had set his name to the insulting
notice at the Club. But the apology had got to be uttered. U Po Kyin was a very good
judge of men, but he had erred in supposing that two anonymous letters were enough to
scare Flory permanently away from his friend.

‘Took here, doctor, you know what I wanted to say? ’


‘I? No. ’


‘Yes, you do. It’s about that beastly trick I played on you the other week. When Ellis put
that notice on the Club board and I signed my name to it. You must have heard about it. I
want to try and explain — ’



‘No, no, my friend, no, no! ’ The doctor was so distressed that he sprang across the
veranda and seized Flory by the arm. ‘You shall NOT explain! Please never mention it!