Paul Theroux - The Consul's File

'But the snow,' said Mr Sundrum.

'Hate it,' said Squibb. 'Freezes the pipes.'

Td like to see snow,' said Mr Ratnasingham. 'Just once. Maybe touch it.'

'Ah Kwok, show Francis to the fridge,' said Alec. 'He wants to stick his hand in the freezing compartment.'

Ah Kwok cackled and brought second helpings.

Dr Lim said, 'Listen — it's starting to rain.'

It was; I could see the palm fronds nodding at the window, and then it began on the roof, a light patter on the tiles. It encouraged talk, cheerless and regretful, of other Christmases, of things no one had ever seen, of places they had never visited; phrases heard second-hand and mispronounced. They were like children with old inaccurate memories, preparing themselves for something that would never occur.

In that same mood, Dr Lim said, 'I had a dream last night about my father.'

'I like hearing people's dreams,' said Mildred.

'My father is dead,' said Dr Lim, and she gave her plate a nudge. She lit a cigarette.

'I don't think I want to hear,' said one of the Methodists.

'Go on, Estelle,' said Alec. 'You've got us all in suspense.'

'He came into my room,' she said. 'But he was dressed in white pyjamas — Chinese ones, with those funny buttons. He was buried in clothes like that. He had something in his hand and I could tell he was very cross. Then I saw what he was holding — an opium pipe. He showed it to me and came so close I could see the tobacco stains on his teeth. I said to him, "What do you want?" He didn't reply, but I knew what he was thinking. Somehow, he was thinking, You're not my daughter any more.'

'That gives me the shivers,' said Mildred.

'Then he lifted up the opium pipe and broke it in half,' said Dr Lim. 'He just snapped it in my face. He was angry.'

'And you woke up,' said Mr Ratnasingham.

'Yes, but that was the strange part. When I woke up he was still there in my room. The white pyjamas were shining at me. I looked harder and he backed out the door.'

Everyone had stopped eating. Dr Lira puffed her cigarette, and though her face was fixed in a smile I could see no pleasure in it.

'White is the Chinese colour for death,' said Mr Sun-drum.

'That's what I mean,' said Dr Lira.

'Like black is for us,' said Reggie Woo.

Mildred said, 'I think it's time for the Christmas pudding. Alec, get your brandy butter.'

Hamida said, 'I don't believe in ghosts. Do you, Francis?'

'I'm a Catholic,' said Mr Ratnasingham.

Miss Duckworth had begun to cry. She cried without a sound, terribly, shaking her shoulders as if she was trying to stand up.

'Can I get you anything?' said one of the Methodists.

'No,' whispered Miss Duckworth, sobbing hoarsely. 'I always cry at Christmas.'

The girl said, 'I wasn't here last year.'

Squibb said, 'I used to dress up as Santa Glaus. But you're all getting old now, and besides I'm drunk.'

The Christmas pudding was carried alight from the kitchen by Ah Kwok, and Ah Chiang brought the cheese board. I finished my pudding quickly, and seeing me with an empty bowl, Dr Lim passed me the cheese. She said, 'You must have some of this.'

'Just a slice of the brie,' I said.

'That's not brie — it's camembert,' said Dr Lim.

'He doesn't know the difference! ' cried Reggie Woo.

Mr Ratnasingham said, 'How about a Christmas song?' He began to sing White Christmas in his trembling Tamil voice. The others joined in, some drunkenly, some sweetly, drowning the sound of the rain on the bungalow roof.

'You're not singing,' muttered Dr Lim to me.

So I did, but it was awkward because only I knew the last verse, and I was obliged to sing it alone like a damned fool while the others hummed.

Even an amateur bird-watcher knows the bird from the way the empty nest is woven on a limb; and the wallpaper you hate at your new address is a pattern in the former tenant's mind. So I came to know Rogers, my predecessor at the consulate, from the harsh-voiced people who phoned for him at odd hours and the unpaid bills that arrived to reveal his harassments so well. That desk drawer he forgot to empty told me a great deal about his hoarding postcards and the travels of his friends (Charlie and Nance in Rome, Tom and Grace in Osaka — interesting, because both couples reported 'tummy-aches'). But I knew Rogers best from the habits of Peeraswami, the Indian clerk, and the descent of Miss Harbottle.

Peeraswami said, 'I see European lady today morning, Tuan,' and I knew he had no letters. Rogers had allowed him to take credit for the mail: he beamed with an especially important letter and handed it over slowly, weighing it in his brown hand like an award; if there were no letters he apologized and made conversation. Rogers must have found this behaviour consoling. It drove me up the wall.

'Thank you.' I went back to my report.

He hesitated. 'In market. With camera. Taking snaps of City Bar's little girl.' Woo Boh Swee, who owned the establishment, was known locally as City Bar, though his elder child was always called Reggie. 'European from America.'

'An American?' I looked up. 'How do you know?'

'Wearing a hat,' he said. 'Carrying her own boxes.' 'That doesn't mean she's an American.' 'Riding the night bus.' He smiled. 'American.' A show of contempt from the barefoot mail-boy. Americans, once thought of as free-spenders and luxury travellers, were now considered cheapskates. What he said was partly true: the night bus from Kuala Lumpur was used mostly by American students and Tamil rubber tappers. But Peeraswami was such a know-it-all, I hoped he was wrong.

I saw her after lunch. She was sitting on the front steps of the consulate, fiddling with her camera. Her suitcases were stacked next to her. I recognized her from the hat. It was a Mexican model, and the wide brim was tied at the sides by a blue ribbon, making it into a silly bonnet with a high conical crown.

She said, 'I shouldn't be doing this in broad daylight.' She was juggling little yellow capsules, changing the film in her camera. I stepped past her and unlocked the front door.

'Are you open now?' She looked up and made a horrible face at the sun.

'No,' I said. 'Not until two. You've got a few minutes more.'

'I'll just sit right here.'

I went inside, and reflecting on that hat, considered leaving by the back door. But it was too hot for tennis, too early for a drink; and I had work to do. I turned on the fan and began signing the letters I'd dictated that morning. I had signed only three when the door burst open.

'Hey! ' She was at the door, undoing her bonnet. 'Where's Mr Rogers?'

Tm the new consul.' 'Why didn't you say so out there?'

'I only admit to it during office hours,' I said. 'It cuts down on the work.' I showed her my pen, the letters on my blotter.

'Well, I've got a little problem,' she said. Now her bonnet was off, and I could see her face clearly. She was sunburned, plump and not young; her hands were deeply freckled and she stood leaning one fist on my desk, talking to me as if at an employee. 'It's to do with accommodation. I don't have any, and I was counting on Rogers. I know him from Riyadh.'

'He's in Turkey now,' I said. 'But there's a rest house in town.'

'It's full.'

'There are two Chinese hotels.'

She leaned still further on her fist: 'Did you ever spend a night in a Chinese hotel?'

'There's a camp site,' I said. 'If you know anything about camping.'

'I camped my way through the Great Nafud. That's where I met Rogers,' she said. 'I wrote a book about it.'

'Then Ayer Hitam shouldn't bother you in the least.'

'My tent was stolen yesterday in K.L., at the bus depot.'

'You have to be careful.'

'It was stolen by an American.'