Charley Brindley - Raji, Book Three

“Three on a match?” he asked as he leaned back and inhaled deeply.

Strange, I thought. How does one learn a culture's beliefs and superstitions?

This business of not lighting three times on the same match stems, I think, from the World War of 1918, when three American soldiers were in a foxhole one night. One of the solders opened a pack of cigarettes, took one for himself, and gave one to each of his buddies. The first soldier lit his smoke, held the match out to the second man to light his, then to the third soldier. A German sniper, catching a glimpse of the match flame across the battlefield, took careful aim and fired just as the third soldier took his first, and final, puff.

Perhaps this was a military, rather than a cultural belief. But I had no military background. How had it come to me? I made a mental note to talk with Kayin about this the next time we were alone. If she and I were going to be together, then I wanted to learn her belief system, as well as her language.

I crushed out the match in the ashtray. “No,” I said in answer to his question about me and Raji not completing our degree programs. “We left school in our third year.”

“Why?” he asked.

I puffed my pipe and waited a moment. I didn’t mind talking about school or why Raji and I had quit, but I did resent being interrogated.

“Oxford,” I said as I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs.

A puff of cigarette smoke obscured the major’s face for a moment, but from Kayin’s look, I imagined he glanced at her.

“Pardon me?” he said as the gray smoke drifted away.

“You went to Oxford University,” I said as I examined the bowl of my pipe, then looked back at him.

“The accent?” He took a bit of tobacco from the tip of his tongue using his thumb and forefinger.

“Yes.” I smiled and inquired further. “What was your field of study?”

“I have degrees in engineering and mining,” he replied as he dropped the bit of tobacco into the ashtray.

“Why mining? I should have thought political science would be of interest to you.”

He sipped his coffee and regarded me over the rim of his cup for a moment before he replied. “My primary interest was in the latest developments in explosives.”

“I left school,” I said, “because I no longer saw any point in it. How about you, Raji?”

“I suppose, to me,” she said, “it is really no more than a sabbatical leave. I will probably go back and finish my degree at some point.”

I looked back to the major. “Does that answer all your questions?”

“I’m sorry,” he said as he put his cup back on the saucer. “I didn’t intend to be rude. Sometimes I’m too direct and forget my manners. I hope I didn’t offend either of you.”

“No offense,” Raji replied, with a smile.

I waved away his concern.

“I know,” he went on in a friendlier tone, “that both of you are sympathetic to our cause.”

I looked at Kayin and saw she was waiting for my reaction.

“What is your cause, Major?” I asked.

The major leaned forward to tap the ash from his cigarette. “Quite simply, we want the British out of Burma.”

“And if the British refuse your invitation to leave?” I asked.

“Then we are prepared to take action against them.”

“‘We?’” I asked. “I’ve read in the newspapers the British have almost five regiments in Burma, plus artillery and gunboats. Do you have enough men to go up against that kind of force?”

“No, we don’t have enough men to confront them now, but our numbers grow every day.”

“And you want me, Raji, and I suppose Kayin, to join your army?”

“Kayin has other duties to perform. But I would like very much for you and Miss Devaki to join with us on a training exercise.”

I wanted to know what Kayin’s other duties were, but he continued before I could ask.

“I’m taking a regiment of irregulars to Ethiopia for a training mission.”

“Ethiopia?” I asked. “Why so far?”

“Three years ago, in 1928, the Emperor of Ethiopia was killed in the civil war. Two days later his wife, the Empress, died of mysterious causes, then Haile Selassie crowned himself the new Emperor. Those loyal to the former Emperor continue to fight the forces of Haile Selassie in the outlying provinces, and we are fortunate enough to have access to one of the airfields in a region they control. We have been invited to use their training grounds for our new recruits.” The major took a last puff of his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. “As you say, it is a long way, and that is one of the reasons we are going there. It is so far away that the British will not notice what we are doing. We would like the two of you to go along and serve as our medics.”

“I don’t know about Raji,” I said, “but I don’t feel qualified to perform any medical procedures.”

“Nor do I,” Raji said.

“This will not be in the nature of surgery or treatment of diseases,” the major said, “but more along the lines of first aid.” When he received no response from either of us, he went on. “We expect minor wounds and maybe a broken bone or two, nothing more.”

I glanced at Raji.

Is she thinking the same thing I am? A broken bone or two?

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