Chapter 13

The island of Ceylon, lying off the southern tip of India, over centuries has been strategic for sea traffic around Cape Comorin. For centuries invaders have come and gone or stayed — Tamils from India, Portuguese, Dutch and British, etc. Unification of the country under the British and a better system of communications brought into conflict all the different social, regional, racial, linguistic and religious populations in this small land. Today, politicians exploit. Newspapers shout a dreary socialism; nevermore the mystery of the East. Crime is rife and rascals thrive. Such a beautiful island, such a gracious and beautiful people. I only wished my umbrella to conceal a sword for safety's sake.

As the plane landed at Colombo my heart was beating, only not from joy as a regular tourist. Fortunately, the police were with backs turned as I went by. In customs my bags were not opened. It is, I think, the official policy of the country to encourage contraband and corruption of every sort. Most obliging. I had all the sarees, the watches, Indian currency and dollars undeclared and undiscovered. Because of overweight on the plane and to save money, I had carried books and many heavy things in my hands and in plastic bags. It is discussible if ever a passenger has had so much "cabin luggage."

Inside the airport bus we had to speak of temporarily parting. Deborah would to an expensive hotel, at least for one night, until she had seen the way the land lies. Americans cannot live for many days without hot water baths, even when humidity from the air rolls down the legs. She had changed a twenty-dollar traveler cheque in the airport into Ceylonese rupees. The rest she will change on the black market. I warned her against dealing with those rascals, but she will not listen. Always when traveling she has changed her money at illegal rates when possible.

This evening she preferred to spend alone, going early to bed. (It was not yet lunch time, yet she knew how she would feel several hours later!) She however let me accompany her to her hotel, as doing me a favour, which really it was. How well she knows me, even without ever asking questions. The hotel is horribly expensive (she must pay for a room for two persons) and is undergoing massive facelift, so that the gardens are like junkyards. Her room is old-fashioned, not at all luxurious, but I think it is better now than when they shall have finished "modernizing" it. No food is included in the astronomical price of the room, but the bathtub is one of the largest either of us has ever seen, only old and discoloured by time.

Nevertheless, she insisted that the hotel is all right for one night. She was wearing a nylon dress that closed down the front with buttons, on her feet rubber sandals. Her hair had become very limp in the damp air. It was now raining and as she looked out the window her face was tired and rather old.

After seeing the room she walked with me down the wooden staircase which goes around and around the lift to the bottom. The lobby was crowded with tourists speaking many tongues, but all of a uniform face. Typical package tours. Rows of suitcases with identical labels. Her Ladyship looked lost and sad in her house-dress among these very fat tourists.

"What am I doing here?" she asked me just before my taxi took me away.

I was not sure where I myself would spend the night. My last address is known to my "accomplices" and it was necessary to find another, for they consider themselves betrayed, not knowing the whole circumstances of what actually occurred. For an even less serious "betrayal" I have seen these criminals remove the nose of their victim with a sharp knife, no more bother than cutting off the end of a prawn. So no wonder I was nervous.

But how strange. As we entered the city of Colombo, my embassy dress, umbrella, carnation, etc. seemed to beckon to all the evil elements of the city. People seemed to stop as I passed, heads turned, eyes looked at me suspiciously. My imagination? I do not know. Almost without exchanging words my taxi driver took me to the sort of hotel I had in mind, cheap and disreputable, in keeping not with my elegant clothes but with my purse and intentions. How did he know? Then a few minutes later I was in my room, a grey cellar with lightbulb overhead. At least it was cooler here than on the street, but quite damp.

The best thing to do, I had already decided, was to act as quickly as possible to get many things accomplished in case I must suddenly leave. Locking the watches into my attach6 case, I went into the street where I was immediately set upon by street urchins whispering of money exchange. They were offering fourteen, fifteen rupees to the cash dollar. The official rate: five. And the government itself offers the unofficial rate of nine to try to undercut the other scoundrels. A very comical land.

Then I saw a familiar face looking at me from a dingy doorway. Then I was following him up one street and down another. So humiliating, like an American tourist following the money urchins. Never did he look backwards, so sure of himself. Then through a shabby door and up some stairs. A small room. He walked behind a table and I laid sixty-six Swiss watches out for him to see, all wound and running to the correct time.

These watches I had bartered for in Singapore and had planned to sell in New Delhi. India is the best place for this. You absolutely cannot prevent mad Indians who want to wear Swiss watches from wearing them. So after all, why not take the profit? No harm is done anyone. But for these watches I was only offered 290 dollars, a large shipment having arrived the day before. So I had brought them to Colombo.

The man held a few of the watches to his ear, opened one and looked into its back. Then he offered me 500 rupees! I explained briefly to him the State of Military Emergency in which I found myself. He had no sympathy, only put the money on the table. I took it up. Very depressing.

So, the campaign is on. Only with not many soldiers (i.e. dollars) between me and victory or defeat. My army is not at full battle strength, but is growing. I must be careful to have a good price for the sarees, not become desperate like this afternoon. There is only one successful tactic, and that is boldness and energy. "He who remains behind his entrenchments is beaten." "One must always be the first to attack."

Thinking in this way I visited the Embassy of M-- and sent my card in to His Excellency, a short, greasy and dishonourable individual whom I had met during an official Buddhist funeral on my last visit. He had then been interested in contraband Indian sarees and was very impressed with the calling card I put into his hand that day. It bore my coat-of-arms (three crowns, two lions, an elephant, etc., Mon Dieu et Mon Honneur, Audacter Pugnate, etc.). and listed all my professional titles and university degrees. I sent him now another, an even better production than the earlier printing, this one done in Teheran in blue ink.

He was not in to receive these "credentials," most likely out on some nefarious errand of his own, armed with credentials given him by his government quite as dishonest as mine. The secretary assured me that His Excellency would contact me by phone as soon as he came in. I left the number of my miserable pension. What would they in that comfortable official residence think to see the telephone which bears that number? On a stinking wall in the stairway of the pension where resides Prof. Dr. Flaminio de Conningsfield, BS, PhD, Councillor of State, S.M., Commercial Advisor, President and Director General of Blah-Blah Institute, etc. I tell you, they demand to be robbed.

Supper I ate in my room. My landlady, used to rogues, is very solicitous of the fine gentleman who has sought temporary shelter beneath her roof (me). Such a good supper of local food. How hungry I was.

Afterwards, I telephoned Her Ladyship, so far away from me just now, high up in her room above the sea while I stand underground. But her spirits are no higher than mine. She is writing letters, will early to bed.

"Tomorrow we can meet?" I asked.

She has some errands to do in the morning and will find a less expensive hotel somewhere on a bathing beach far from the city and its pollution. We will meet at lunchtime at Thos. Cook & Sons, Ltd. She admits that she is rather depressed, but says that this will change as soon as she settles down somewhere to live in the sun and write. She has heard of a beach down the coast where there are coral reefs and tropical fishes to look at through snorkel masks. A hotel is already there but it is very expensive and booked up by package tours. Tomorrow she will ask the Tourist Bureau for the name of a less expensive place catering for individuals not traveling on tours.

How easily the possessors of money hammer out their plans.

 

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