Now coming on was the last night in the year of the Gregorian calendar (Pope Gregory XIII, from 1572-85). Here, only six degrees from the equator, warm weather with rain. Farther north, full winter's cold. Below the equator to the south, summer going at full blast.

"I couldn't stand a change in the weather just now," Deborah said. "I'd like everything to stand still until I can get hold of myself."

This shows that there were strong forces acting in her subconscious, though her exterior was rather calm. The tears of course were symptomatic, like boiling lava from the depths of the so calm earth. But strange nevertheless. Why Deborah? Why Erde? Why Etna?

I did not much like the elder of the two German pederasts. He was perhaps nearly sixty-five, tall and thin, walking fast with his head forward and always wearing very narrow sun spectacles like slits. His shoulders moved very much when he walked, and even when he was sitting on the beach. Each day he wore, on top of each other, five or six different tiny bathing costumes, removing one with much wriggling after every swim. His petit ami was a boy many years younger who was acting as his servant, always fetching cigarettes, towels, etc. Some more p.d.'s had arrived that afternoon, one a handsome blond boy. Also much with the group was an American girl of perhaps thirty-five years with an intelligent face and good taste in clothes. After introductions, Deborah whispered to me that the girl was from a very rich and well-known American family.

Deborah had chosen not to wear the Christmas Eve saree (suddenly too shy), and had nothing else to wear but the drip-dry dress with buttons down the front. The other girl was in pants, looking very chic, but Her Ladyship did not seem to mind. "They are only queers after all," she said.

The men wore very casual shirts with trousers laced up very tight on the thighs, wide at the bottom cuffs, the shirts open to the belt. I wore my uniform sans waistcoat, gloves, watch, etc., being rather nervous for the safety of my so few clothes because of spilled drinks and the wear and tear of celebrations in a hot climate. Here anyway were no persons of importance.

On our way to the diningroom I was surprised when Deborah asked suddenly at the desk for mail.

"Cooks is forwarding my mail," she told me.

I thought this strange. Who knew she had come to Ceylon? It had been such a sudden decision.

"Tom. I left him a note that morning."

At this I could not help looking around, expecting to see Tom, tall, gaunt, standing in some corner licking his wounds. "Do you think he will write to you?"

"Unless his mind's blown. In which case I'll have him on my conscience the rest of my life."

The evening began. First we all had supper at our hotel at a large table. The food was very good so it is clear that the cook knows his job, only is too lazy to bother except one time a year. Permission was asked to drink at the table the wine belonging to the Germans, who pretended they were too impoverished to buy the wine on the carte. I myself had planned to drink water, but now felt no compunction about drinking their beverage, which was quite good.

The conversation was very amusing, consisting mostly of a story told by the elder p.d. of a time in his youth when he was still liking girls (!) and wanting to visit one he loved but who lived very far, in Austria. It was then wartime, and also the Gestapo was looking for him as he would not into the army. He had only a bicycle for going on very difficult roads. Very many escapes and adventures, only he could never get to his destination. Later he didn't see the girl again because he had become "queeah." Very comical, but less so when considering that if reaching the girl with his bicycle he might now be leading a "happy married life" on one side and a sub rosa existence as pederast on the other.

During supper I noticed Deborah trying to begin a conversation with the other American girl. But Judy appeared disinclined to talk at all, wanting rather to observe from a very lofty height all that was happening around her. Her Ladyship looked angry to be snubbed by this rich American a few years older than herself. But I was thinking that perhaps the young woman was using some drug which put her onto a different level of experience from the rest of us. They said she had been ill and only could decide to come that afternoon.

The Germans were soon quite high on their alcohol (they began drinking whisky after supper). I myself was feeling a rather pleasant sensation in head and body. Only Deborah had not touched any drink during supper. Now, urged by the Germans, she sipped unenthusiastically on a whisky before getting into the car. There were three cars. Ours was a private taxi arranged by the little lad who would to Germany in gem-cutting business. He was in the front seat next to the driver and would see to getting his commission and some tips, but not, I was thinking, from Conningsfield.

With much gay tooting of horns the cars started toward Galle. There were not yet many firecrackers to be heard. Possibly, I was thinking, this poor folk must save them all to make some important noise at midnight. Also, most used a different calendar. I regretted it was night because Deborah would not see the beautiful and famous Dutch fortress which dominates the port town. It is one of the special places on this island and has a genuine aura of history. The old Dutch fortress, over the coast, such high walls "which not even an elephant can break," as our young Sinhalese guide informed us proudly. And inside the fort the green grass like a sea between the grey stone walls; there too the little Dutch village, so quaint looking, within the fortress itself.

We arrived in Galle, our car following the others to stop at a hotel. We were within the grounds of the nearly invisible fort. There was no moon and we could hardly see the flat front of the hotel which was painted a dark rose colour. When we arrived, it was raining. How eagerly we all rushed up the front steps onto the verandah and then into the huge lobby with many straight-backed chairs. Seasonal decorations were draped from ceiling and walls. But even then I had a feeling of foreboding.

Not many had come here to celebrate. Besides our group there were only some Greek sailors who had been already waiting some weeks for their ship to be loaded. They were not drinking alcohol, something I was glad to see, thinking it would not be an amusing evening if these tough, stupid looking fellows became drunk and uproarious. When Her Ladyship saw the sailors she came very close to me out of nervousness. I assured her that I would not leave her side for a minute.

Now the Germans began ordering drinks, though they had much more in bottles hidden in some bags. The sailors, who spoke almost no English, stayed in the next room playing billiards or throwing darts at a target on the wall. They did not seem very pleased at the arrival of all these queer fellows. They watched mostly Deborah and Judy who are pretty girls. Quite natural.

The Germans were rather gay and pleased with the evening. After a while they told the hotel owner, a fat woman looking in one light as a Sinhalese, in another as a Dutch, to serve drinks for all the sailors too.

Now Deborah would absolutely be leaving. She was very nervous. I told her one drink would not make these fellows drunk. Also, I had seen on the verandah outside the English cockneys who, unseen, had followed us to Galle. I felt it would not be very safe for us to go outside unless, in a group with others, we could make our escape. Of course, I didn't tell her this.

Then a most unusual sight caught our attention. Judy was sitting in the lap of the handsome, blond pederast and the two were kissing passionately. Neither Deborah nor I could understand this, for the fellow was obviously "queeah." What pleasure could either of them find in these embraces? And soon, much to our astonishment, he had opened the girl's blouse and had out in his hands her two breasts which he proceeded to caress and kiss.

Deborah was sure we were under some visual delusion, like a trick with mirrors, but even so, I could feel my sex rising at the sight. Now Judy was sitting on a table and he was kneeling at her feet, his face in her lap, a most intimate posture. I could see her breasts were of the very large type, with dark brown nipples, not the kind of which I am fond, as when the nipples are soft and pink. Also, the girl was a little bony between the breasts, like a chicken. So I was not tempted, thinking to myself I would like more to unbutton Judy's pants and turn her around and see something about her posterior.

"I think we'd better get out of here right now," said Deborah. But then the older German filled her glass and sat down beside her. She told him she would at once leave. He became furious. I have never seen anyone so angry over such a small thing. He blamed her for wanting to break up the party, for caring only for herself, for drinking their whisky and then wanting to disappear and spoil everyone's fun.

"You are a dirty spoil sport," he told her and took her wrist very tightly in his hand so that she could not get away.

She turned toward me. "Save me," she said, though with no energy in her voice. She knew, I think, that there was absolutely nothing I could do. She bent and tried to bite the German's hand, but he beat her face back, then held her tight to his chest so that she could only struggle uselessly.

Now I noticed that the Greek sailors were no longer playing billiards. They were standing in the doorways and along the walls with very uneasy and excited faces. Suddenly one stepped forward, pushed the blond pederast aside with his knee, and crushed Judy's breasts against his face.

Then all terror and panic broke loose. Already three sailors were dragging Deborah screaming up a flight of stairs. Sailors were everywhere. Now they had off the pants of the men, now they were jumping onto their behinds. The old German was giggling and screaming with his face in the air like a dog. The English, who stepped inside to see about the noise, also were grabbed. First I hid behind the bar, then ran up the stairs hoping to hide in one of the rooms but finding them all locked.

Running along the hall, I could see through one door a great struggling. I could not believe it was Deborah being assaulted by these rascals, but I ran inside as if wanting to join them (better, I was thinking, to be considered one of the rapers than one of the raped). Then an open bathroom door was on the right and a second later I was inside with the bolt locked.

Cowardly? But what could I have done against those crazy sailors? It was not pleasant sitting in that private place, listening to the screams and sobs in the next room. Through the keyhole I could see them at their game, though I could not count how many pairs of buttocks came between my American friend's knees as she lay back across the table's edge, her poor feet not even touching the floor.

After a time a certain regularity seemed to prevail; a queue had probably formed. Much later the light was turned off and the door to the hall shut. Silence. Cautiously I left my hiding place. Deborah, naked, covered with filth and only half alive, was lying on the floor.

Tears of pity streaming from my eyes, I helped her into the bathroom, ran the tub with hot water (a better hotel than ours, all the same) and lifted her over the edge. Had I not been there to support her head above the water, she would have drowned. Already her eyes were, like those of Eliot's drowned sailor, as pearls, though I am not a keen admirer of that poet.

Tenderly I washed her with the tiny hotel soap, for she made no move to clean herself. When done, I rinsed her with fresh water. It was necessary to dry her while she still sat in the empty tub; wet, she was too slippery to pull out.

I do not know what was going through her mind. The gift of thought is not always a blessing. Her body now looked clean and normal, though I am sure she was hurting everywhere. As I helped her into her dress she sat dully, staring ahead of her. The buttons had all flown off the front of her dress and her underclothes were lost forever. I then dressed her in my own shirt which reached down to her thighs like a very short dress. Fortunately, I was wearing an undershirt or would have had to make my exit as a half-naked Conningsfield (very undignified).

Then Deborah refused to leave the room, pulling back at the doorway like a frightened horse, trembling horribly. She was afraid of meeting more sailors in the hallway or downstairs. I told her I knew of a secret way out and actually managed to find some stairs leading down the back of the building. Through a doorway while passing by I looked back into the lobby and saw several sailors still sitting in one corner. The pederasts were holding discussion around the old German who appeared unconscious and was lying on the floor, badly bruised. Behind the bar the fat woman was wiping glasses. When we went around the hotel to find our taxi, I saw Judy sitting on the verandah with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, taking the night air.

Then suddenly much loud banging. I looked at my watch. Midnight. The start of the New Year. Rockets burst in the air, all making only one spark. Such a poor land. Covering her ears and head, Deborah climbed into the car and we rode back to our hotel, my arm around her, her face in her hands.

No one spoke throughout the journey. At the hotel I paid the prearranged fare. The Sinhalese boy, taking the money, mentioned that after all it was an important Feiertag, would I give only the double (!) But because of Deborah, he did not insist much and helped me take her up the stairs to our room. We put her on the bed and I thought to give him an extra rupee, only then seeing that the room had been nearly destroyed during our absence. My money, which for fear of losing I had ingeniously hidden in a special place, was gone!

"As you can see," I told the boy, pointing to the upside down room, "thieves have been here. They have taken all my money."

He could see I was pale as a ghost, then gave me back the taxi fare, keeping only the driver's fee. He looked very distressed, probably thinking his people had done this crime, not knowing it was the English. Also he did not know I would be unable to report to the police the loss of this undeclared money.

When he was gone I searched the room from end to end, hoping I had been mistaken about the money, or that the thieves had overlooked some. But I found not one rupee. Then I covered Deborah with both the sheet and bedspread, for she was looking cold in spite of the warm air. Her eyes were closed but she was not asleep. I felt she should be given a pill for sleeping, but had nothing of this sort in my bag, only some imitation pills made of sugar to be used in cases of unextreme emergencies. I gave her one of these with a little water.

"This will help you sleep," I told her, for there is no good in giving a placebo without indicating what job it is to perform.

So for a long time I lay in the dark, unable myself to sleep, and finally also taking one of the sugar pills. Outside there was still some noise, people hurrying on the beach. (The next day I learned giant turtles had come to lay eggs in the sand, very interesting for the tourists.)

The next morning, awakening, I was thinking unimportant thoughts in my head a long time before remembering where I was and what had happened. My eyes then burst open. Heart pounding, I turned toward the other bed, expecting to see Deborah vanished. But she was still there; only turned on her side. I went around to see if she was asleep. Her eyes were closed. I did not know what to do, but thought it best to leave her until she made some movement.

Then I saw something that made my heart jump. The bottle of sugar pills was on the floor. I picked it up. Empty. My eyes flew to Deborah. Was she dead? Could she have killed herself just by belief in the pills? Or had I made a stupid mistake and given her real ones?

To awaken her was to risk giving her and myself a too great fright. But perhaps she was lying there waiting to die and then I would be saving her much interior suffering. What to do? Then as I watched her, she breathed very deep and turned over on her back. I went to open the cupboard and make a little unspectacular noise. When I looked back, her eyes were open.

"What's the matter?" she murmured.

I did not know what to reply, so happy I was to hear her voice.

She raised her head and looked around in fright. "Am I dead?"

I could not help laughing, even though so moved. "No, very alive."

Her head fell back on the pillow. "Then I'm dying." Her voice sounded satisfied. She shut her eyes again.

"You ate the sleeping pills," I said. She did not reply, perhaps afraid I would call a doctor to pump out her stomach. "They were only made of sugar!" I shouted joyfully.

Then a long silence. Then she sighed deeply. "Well, shit. No wonder I couldn't sleep." Tears slid out of her eyes to the pillow.

I had breakfast brought to the room, but she would not eat, was not at all hungry. All morning she lay in bed. Then lunch in our room, only again she would not eat. It was not all bad food, so I ate twice the good things and left the rest. I did not want to tell her of the stolen money. How could we ever pay for this room and all this food? She would have to quickly send a cable to her father.

Afternoon, still in bed, supper she would not eat, not even tea or fresh pineapple slices. I was meantime looking for the English, but the rascals were gone. I never saw the Germans again.

That night she slept. For two hours I sat near her, watching her. So many emotions filled me. She has been brought as low in spirit and self-esteem as the old Mariner in the poem. But he, the Mariner, from this low place could see beauties that before had appeared hideous, and bless them. Only with Deborah this has not happened. Hélas, the poor girl has not even glanced at this miserable "psychopath." Instead of turning toward love and its salvation, she prefers to take her life. It is even possible that she associates me with her misfortune and blames me for it. Yet perhaps her spiritual awakening will yet come.

This morning she took tea with some sugar in it. I knew then she would begin to recover. At least I can be assured she will not try to fast herself to death. In the afternoon she accepted tea with biscuits. She is regaining her strength in spite of her death wish. The human body is a terrible force, once it selects to live. I think that in two days she will surpass me in strength. Already her eyes at times look quite hard. She is putting up another wall around her despair.

The desk clerk gave me a letter which has come for her. The postmark is Villefranche, forwarded from Colombo. It is surely from Tom. Should I give it to her? In my entire life I have never interfered with government postal services, not abused them in any way by mailing contraband goods, but now I think it better for the doctor to think of the illness of his patient. What if the letter has been written in anger? It might drive Deborah to despair. What if it announces the arrival in Ceylon of Tom? It would drive Conningsfield to despair! So I have put the letter in a special place while I decide.