Paul Theroux - The Consul's File

'Miss Duckworth is in the choir,' said Mr Ratnasingham.

'So you're not the only musician, Mr Ratnasingham.'

'Please call me Francis,' he said. 'Actually, I'm a solicitor.'

'I've always been in the Christmas choir,' said Miss Duckworth.

The Chinese girls had drifted over to listen.

'We're talking about Midnight Mass,' said Mr Ratnasing-ham. 'Are you going?'

They gave that negative cautioning Chinese bark, and one of the girls said, 'Meffidist.'

'Drinks, drinks — who hasn't got one?' It was Alec, with a bottle of Tiger. He pumped my hand. 'I saw that enormous bottle of duty-free whisky on the table and I knew it must be yours.'

'Season's greetings.'

He made a face. 'I hate Christmas.'

'It's going to be quite a party.'

'We do it for them,' he said.

More guests had begun to arrive, Doctor Estelle Lim, the botanist; Squibb and his Malay wife; Mr Sundrum, who, half-Chinese and half-Indian, looked Malay. Alec greeted them, then went on, 'We have a Christmas party every year. It's Mildred's big day.' Mildred, rushing drinks to the newcomers, was a Chinese girl who looked twenty but might have been fifty; Alec had married her after settling in Ayer Hitam to supervise the hospital. 'She keeps it going. They appreciate it.'

I saw who they were. They weren't in the club; they weren't of the town. Anglicized, a little ridiculous, over-neat, mostly Christian, they were a small group with no local affiliations — Methodist Chinese, Catholic Indian, undeclared half-caste — the Empire's orphans. By marriage or inclination they were the misfits of the town for whom the ritual generosity of Christmas was a perfect occasion to declare themselves. From the conversations I heard it sounded as if they had not seen one another since the previous Christmas, here at the Stewarts'.

Alec said, 'When they kick us out what'll they do then?'

I didn't know what to say.

He said, 'There won't be any more Christmas parties.'

Dr Lim came over to where we were standing. I noticed she had a glass of beer, which interested me, because the Chinese aren't drinkers. But the others were drinking beer as well, and Squibb had a large bottle of Tiger and was refilling glasses. Dr Lim was a tall woman with long black hair combed to the small of her back. She had that fine pale Chinese skin that is as tight and unmarked as the membrane on tropical fruit. She handed a small box to Alec and said, 'Merry Christmas.'

'What's this?'

'Just a present-/a/z,' she said.

'I'm going to open it, my dear,' said Alec, who looked slightly embarrassed. He tore off the gift-wrapping — reindeers, Santa Clauses, holly, snow — and took out a green and yellow necktie.

'Batik,' she said.

'Just what I need.' He kissed her on the cheek and she went away smiling. Then he said, 'I haven't worn one of these bloody nooses since 1957.' He put it on carelessly. He was wearing a blue short-sleeved sports shirt, and the garish colours of the tie made him look as if he was drunk and toppling forward.

Hovering, the others presented their gifts. Mr Ratnas-ingham gave him a calendar on a stand with a plastic antique car glued to the base; the Methodists gave Mildred some perfume, Miss Duckworth followed up with fancy handkerchiefs, and Mr Sundrum produced a bunch of white carnations. Everyone took turns sniffing the flowers — they were regarded as quite a prize. In a country where fantastic purple and yellow orchids showed their outlandish ears and whiskers in every garden, the colourless carnation was valued as a great rarity. Dr Lim explained how they grew them up on Eraser's Hill. Not odd, then, that we sweating foreigners should be considered so special by these dainty Malaysians; they were the orchids, we the carnations.

Squibb said, 'Have a little of this,' and poured me a brandy.

'The natives say if you take brandy with durian fruit you die,' said Reggie Woo.

'Codswallop,' said Squibb.

'It's what they say,' said Reggie.

Tve never believed that,' said Miss Duckworth.

'Who are the natives?' I asked.

'Malays,' said Reggie.

'We're not natives,' said Hamida Squibb. 'The sakais are — Laruts and what-not.'

'There was an old man over in the kampong,' said Mr Sundrum. 'He took two cups of brandy and then ate a durian. He died. His picture was in the Straits Times.'

'Absolute rubbish,' said Alec. Mr Sundrum winced and went to find a vase for the carnations. Alec added in a whisper, 'But mind you, I wouldn't try it myself.'

'Drink up, Hamida,' Squibb was saying. He lurched over to me, perspiring, and snatched at my shoulder. Brandy seemed to be percolating out of his eyes. He said, 'She's a muslim — she only drinks at Christmas.'

Miss Duckworth said, 'I always cry at Christmas. I can't help it.'

Mildred, in her dark blue cheongsam, raised a sherry glass; 'Merry Christmas to everyone!' This brought mutters of, 'The very best,' 'Here's to you,' and 'Cheers.'

Ah Kwok entered from the kitchen carrying a large varnished turkey on a platter, Ah Chiang behind him with a bowl of potatoes and a gravy boat. Then Mildred flew, got Alec to carve and set out the rest of the dishes on the long table.

Mr Ratnasingham said, 'That's a big bird.' 'A sixteen pounder,' said Alec. 'Mildred bought it in Singapore — Cold Storage gets them from Australia.'

'Australia! ' said one of the Methodists, clearly overwhelmed.

'And I remembered that you Americans like cranberry sauce,' said Mildred to me.

'I adore cranberry sauce,' said the other Methodist. She turned to me. 'I've always wanted to go to America.'

Mildred made a great show of seating us. Alec stood aside and said, 'I don't care where I sit as long as it's near the gin bottle,' but Mildred pushed and pointed: 'No — it has to be boy-girl-boy-girl.'

Hamida said, 'That's the way it should be. In my ham-pong the men used to eat in one room while the women served! '

'Quite right,' said Squibb. 1 thought I was marrying a Malay and look what I get. Doris Archer.'

'You're the Malay,' said Hamida.

Mildred directed me to sit between Dr Lim and one of the Methodist girls.

Alec said, 'For what we are about to receive may we be truly grateful.'

'Amen'—it chimed assertively in a dozen different voices.

Miss Duckworth said, 'This reminds me of last year.'

'And the year before,' said Alec.

'We used to have such lovely Christmases,' said Miss Duckworth. 'Of course that was in Singapore. Tang's had a Santa Glaus on their roof — in a sleigh with all the reindeer. And that week your Chinese provisioner would give you a Christmas basket with tins and fruit all tied in red ribbon. Then there were drinks at the Sea-View Hotel and a carol service at the Cathedral. There were so many people there then.'

'There are people there now,' said Reggie Woo.

'I mean English people,' said Miss Duckworth. 'Now it's all Japanese.'

Dr Lim said, 'We used to think white people smelled like cheese.'

'Like corpses,' said Mildred. 'But it was their clothes. After they had been here for a few months they stopped smelling like dead cheese.'

'I like cheese,' said Reggie Woo.

'So do I! ' said one of the Methodists, and everyone nodded: cheese was very good, and one day Malays, Indians and Chinese would realize that.

'Santa Glaus is still on Tang's roof, Elsie,' said Mildred. 'I saw it when I picked up the turkey.'

'Cute,' said Hamida.

'Cold Storage was decorated, too. They were playing carols on the loudspeaker system.'

'But there's no one there to appreciate it,' said Miss Duckworth. 'No, they don't have Christmases like years ago.'

'Christmas in England,' said Mr Sundrum. 'That's a real white Christmas.'

'Horrible,' said Squibb. 'You have no idea. We had a council house outside Coventry. All I remember is expecting something to happen that never happened. I didn't know my old man had been laid off.'