Paul Theroux - The Consul's File

She was sent to Vietnam, a promotion of sorts since her salary was practically doubled with hardship pay. There she stayed, in Saigon, while I finished in Kampala and was reassigned to Ayer Hitara. At first she had written to me often; the letters became fewer, and finally they stopped altogether. I thought I had heard the last of her, then the 'Peanuts' envelope came, and the windjammer postcard, the news that she was being sent to Djakarta. Knowing that' I was going to meet her again I felt a thrill and a slight ache, the mingled sense of freedom and obligation at seeing a former lover.

Ayer Hitam was a considerable detour for her. I was flattered by her willingness to put up with the inconvenience. I looked forward to her visit. But I did not answer her letter immediately. Instead, I tried to recall in as much detail as possible the times we had spent together, and almost unexpectedly I discovered the memories to be tender. We had been alone, private, complete, for the short time we'd known each other, and she had shown me by example how to manage such affairs.

But the mind is thorough: seeking the past it casts us images of the future. I saw Jill in Ayer Hitam being joshed at the Club by Alec and leered at by Squibb and hearing how Strang grew watercress in his gumboots. At City Bar and at the mission she would look for more and see nothing more. In the town and at my house, trying to praise, she would miss what it took a year of residence to see, as if your eyes had to become accustomed to the strong light to perceive that the place had features, that the Club members' ghastly jollity was a defence against strangers, that the weather was not as harsh in November as it was in June, or the aspect of the town — its dust and junk — as unimportant as it seemed. I would not be able to prove that events had taken place in Ayer Hitam; where was the proof? The past in the tropics is just the green erasures of wild plants. Jill was a kind person, but even her kindness would not prevent her, on a short visit to the town, from seeing the place as a backwater.

I wrote saying that I would be in Singapore on the dates she mentioned. Perhaps we could meet there? The letter went to her contact address in K.L. She phoned me when she arrived in the capital, said she understood and that Singapore was perfect. She was planning to fly from there to Djakarta to start her new job.

'What about Raffles Hotel — romantic! '

'It's not what it was,' I said. 'I generally stay at one of the plastic ones, the Mandarin.'

'You're the mandarin,' she said. 'I'll see you there, Thursday at three.'

'Will I recognize you?'

She laughed. 'Probably not. I'll be the fat blonde in the lobby.'

Everyone in the elevator was staring at the lighted numbers. For part of the descent I was giving myself reasons why I should not sleep with Jill; for the rest, reasons why I should make an attempt; and then we were at the lobby. She had not been fat and her hair had been dark, but she was partly right — she had put on a few pounds and her hair was streaked grey-blonde. She looked, when I saw her sitting by the fountain, like a woman waiting for her lover — not me, someone older, richer, whom she would describe as a snappy dresser, a riot, a real card. She was sensible enough to know that she looked her best in a light suit, with make-up. She was of the denim and tee-shirt generation, but in matters of dress State Department employees are twenty years behind the times. She had obviously just had her hair done, she wore beautiful shoes, and her jewellery — four bracelets on each wrist, a necklace, a brooch— gave her the appearance of being bigger than she was, and slightly vulgar. Jewellery represents in its glitter a kind of smug self-esteem, cold and protective, like queenly armour. She looked safe and unassailable wearing her jewels,

She saw me and sat forward to let me kiss her, and she lingered a fraction as if posing a question with that pressure. Perfume — a familiar scent, but much more of it, so much that it clung to my mouth, and each time she moved she created draughts of it against my eyes.

We did not speak until we were in the bar and touching glasses. She said, 'You haven't changed. I know I have— let's not mention it here. I'm out of my element. How do you manage to keep so thin?'

'Dysentery. I've got the worst cook in Malaysia.'

'Be glad you don't have me — I can't cook to save my life! Hey, the gal I was staying with in K.L. said you've got just the prettiest little consulate. And you must like it because she says you never set foot out of it.'

'I do, but I don't tell anyone.'

'I forgot you were so young! ' I saw in her smile and that wink — as obvious as a shade being drawn — pure lust. She was counting on me.

She said, 'Did I tell you I was robbed?'

'You didn't mention it, no.'

'I thought I told you on the phone. I've told everyone else. It was at that gal's flat when I arrived. My bags were on the landing. She let me in and when I went out for my bags the small case was gone. It couldn't have been there more than two minutes. They think a child did it. They've had other incidents. Of course, they haven't found it.'

She did not look in the least distressed. She had lost her bag but now she had a good story.

'Was there anything valuable in it?'

'My watch. One I had made in Bangkok when I was getting Saigon out of my system. It's not the money — it was specially made for me. Sentimental value.'

'If it was custom-made it must have been worth something.'

She faced me. 'It cost two thousand dollars. It had a jade face, diamond chips and a gold strap. That was two years ago. It's probably worth more now. But it's not the money.'

'I'd be in mourning if I were you.'

'You're lying,' she said. Her tone was affectionate. 'But thanks — it's a nice lie.'

I said, 'Maybe they'll find the thief.'

'I can always buy another one. But it won't be the same.'

'A watch,' I said. 'Worth two grand.'

'More like three. But friends are much more important than things like that.' She met my gaze. 'Don't you think so?'

I wanted to say no. I felt slightly blackmailed by the sentiments her loss required of me. But I said, 'Sure I do.'

'I was looking forward to seeing you.'

This all came so neatly that I suspected a trick; she had baited the trap with something pathetic to arouse my sympathy and make me pause. Then she'd pounce, And yet I felt a futile indebtedness. We had been lovers — we were no longer. There was no way I could repay her except by a show of that same love, and that was gone. I did not feel the smallest tug of lust, only a foolish reflex, as if I'd seen two youngsters kissing and had to turn away to spare them embarrassment, to save myself from judging them.

I said, 'I've thought about you a lot. Those terrible nightclubs. What a dreadful place Uganda was. But I didn't notice. You had such a cozy apartment.'

'You should have seen it writh the lights on. A mess. But I had a nice one in Saigon. It was in the compound — they all were — but on the top floor, air-conditioned, a guestroom. I bought one of those water-beds. They're fun, even if you're alone.'

'Water-beds in Saigon,' I said. 'No wonder we lost the war.'

She winced, and all her make-up exaggerated this pained face as it had exaggerated her smiling one. She said, 'I hated to leave. Sometimes I think of the others, the local staff, those telex-operators and code-clerks we left behind, and I want to weep. You never came to Vietnam.'

'I was offered a trip, a fact-finding tour. I knew the facts, so I refused.'

'You could have seen me. I'd have shown you around. I was hoping you'd visit. When you didn't I knew you'd thought about it and decided not to — you'd made a choice.'

I wondered if she was being gentle with me by describing this missed opportunity: if I had gone, if she had shown me around, if I had made a gesture then, things would be different now.