Her Master's Voice (10 page)

“Hey, Tommo! When are you going to get a real plane?”

“One of these days I’m going to report you as too drunk to fly. What did you do in Singapore? Good break?”

“The best! Went up to Pulau Kelapa, fantastic life.”

“Well, get on board. I’ve got to get moving, there’s another flight when I get back. Sit next to me.”

Tim squeezed through the awkward hatch and left his bag at the rear of the cabin. He climbed the narrow sloping aisle and slipped into the co-pilot’s seat, one of the advantages of Tommo and his Goose.

Tommo settled into his seat, fastened his belt and shoulder straps, and started his pre-flight ritual, touching switches and levers and reciting something under his breath. He put on bulbous green earphones and announced, “Right, gentlemen, we’re ready to go. Please extinguish your champagne and keep your cigars firmly corked…” He reached up to fire the first engine. It clattered into life and from now on the noise would stop them talking. Tommo spoke on the radio. He eased off the brake and started to roll.

They sat at the end of the runway and gunned the engines. The Goose vibrated under maximum power and shuddered as it rolled along the tarmac, gathering speed. They were quickly airborne and Tim watched as Tommo lifted the gear and waited to retract the flaps. Tim liked the sparseness of the instrument panel. No banks of strange instruments and rows of switches, just the most basic altimeter, compass, attitude, standard in the early 1930’s when the Goose had first flown. He looked down at the road, villages and rice paddies passing not far below them. It all looked very like a dreamy painting.

Tommo gestured to the controls and Tim took over. He enjoyed this, although the old Goose almost flew herself. The life of the plane came to him through the controls and he felt he was doing something serious. Tommo appeared to be wrapped up in his paperwork but Tim knew he had a weather eye on the instrument panel. He flew happily for forty minutes before Tommo took back control. The delta and CampDua were coming into view.

Tommo lined them up for the channel in front of the camp and lost altitude. The afternoon breeze rippled the brown water and the waves slapped the keel until the Goose set itself down with a bump and planed happily. The vibration unlatched Tim’s sliding cockpit window and parcels of brackish water splashed into his face. He slammed the window shut again and saw Tommo laughing delightedly and shouting something.

Tommo balanced the throttle and the current as he nosed into the jetty. A neatly uniformed radio operator caught them with a boat hook and deftly manoeuvred them alongside. Tim climbed out and went looking for Raymond.

He thought about delivering his letter to Captain Rais but something held him back. He would take it to Darti instead. More secure, and much more fun. He dropped off some of the invoices at the PetroFrance office, and went looking for Raymond. He appeared distantly on the river, standing up in the whaler as it slapped its way through the chop to the jetty.

Tim handed his bag over and dropped down beside Raymond. The whaler spun around and they set off across the river.

“Miss Darti come looking for you, Mr. Tim,” he said without embarrassment.

“Really? I wonder what she wanted.”

Raymond just smiled at him. “She come back, I think.”

“Perhaps. Where are we moored?”

“Charlie-32. We do tubing test tomorrow, and then nothing to do.”

“OK. I’ll have some invoices to take to the rigs. I guess we need to do maintenance?”

“Always maintenance, Mr. Tim. Must repack the pumps again.”

“Jesus, not again. Always the same when I get back. Do we have to do it before the tubing test?”

“I start on the small pump when I see the plane coming. That’s enough.”

That was good. The guys would probably have the pump stripped down already. He could watch them get it back together again and with a bit of luck, they should get a pressure test that afternoon. Raymond did not have the qualifications to repack and test pumps unsupervised.

As soon as he had dropped his bag in his cabin, he changed into coveralls and went down to the pump unit. Raymond had removed the floor gratings and dismantled the pump. They could start sliding the vee-ring packing stack into the first cylinder of the triplex pump. A tight fit as always, and the brass support rings had to be prodded delicately into place without jamming. Next the gland nut assembly, and the first cylinder could have its heavy solid plunger slid into place. They manhandled the chromed piston, dull with oil, into the packing gland and pushed it into place by cranking the drive end over manually with a pipe wrench. Raymond started to tighten the long, fine thread of the plunger while Tim prepared the packing for the next cylinder.

An hour later, they had got all three cylinders packed, the valves dropped into their seats, and caps and pipework re-assembled. While the guys put back the floor gratings and carried off the tools, Tim did his pre-start checks. Raymond opened the air supply and Tim pressed the start buttons. First one engine and then the other coughed into life with a snort of compressed air. Raymond opened the Alemite air oilers and they added their tak-tak-tak to the engine noise. They watched as fresh oil appeared on the newly packed pump plungers. Tim raced the pump to bed the new packing and then slowed right down. As the pump ticked over, Raymond sat with a packing wrench, tightening the packing on each in-stroke. When he had finished, Tim primed the pump by circulating from the displacement tanks and stopped. They were ready to test.

Raymond closed all the valves and went to stand out of the way in safety. Tim stood alone on the pump unit. The guys hid under the crane platform, out of reach of any rupturing pipes. Everyone wished for a successful test so they could go for their showers and evening meal.

Tim ran the left-hand engine up to 800 rpm and locked the throttle. He snapped the Allison transmission into fifth and watched the pressure climb before the transmission stalled. The old fashioned Martin Decker pressure recorder showed nearly 2000 psi. He dropped gears one by one, allowing the transmission to kick the pump over before stalling again. The pressure stepped up over 5000 psi and he shut the engine down. Raymond climbed up beside him and together they stared at the Martin-Decker, willing it to stay put. It dropped.

“Air,” said Tim, and started the engine again. He brought the pressure up a second time, hoping that the drop had been caused by trapped air leaking from one of the many seals and valves. This time, the pressure held. After two or three minutes they knew the test would succeed. He left Raymond to wait out the remainder of the 15 minutes and went to shower and change. He looked forward to meeting his friends over dinner and having a game of darts and a few beers.

Chapter 10

Wednesday morning and Sherry again followed Ranji as she pushed through the crowded pavements of Serangoon Road. She was alone in Singapore again and Tim was flying somewhere over Kalimantan, on his way to another two-week hitch in the oil patch. Kalimantan sounded mysterious and adventurous, and she wished she could travel with him. Singapore with its frantic crowds and overwhelming buildings sometimes oppressed her. She found herself missing Tim’s company and his relentless optimism.

Ranji stopped at the foot of the ashram staircase and looked at Sherry. “You’re wearing your new top?” she asked. She reached for the hem of Sherry’s loose cotton shirt and lifted it. She smiled and started up the stairs.

Oh dear, Sherry thought, here we go again. I feel like an animal in a zoo. In the large familiar room her friends chatted and slowly prepared for the class. Half undressed, they called out greetings. Ranji was already tearing off her clothes as she dived into the group.

“Ooooo—sexy Ranji!”

“New clothes again, Ranji? You must have a rich boyfriend.”

“Turn around, girl, let us look at you. Ranji! Your bottom! I’m surprised your father lets you go out like that.”

They admired her latest purchase, a lurid pink one-piece body. The colour looked good against her darkness. Stretched like a shiny second skin over her curves, it had little to it, and even less at the back. Cut high over her hips, there was nothing below the waist apart from a narrow pink strap running down to disappear between the heavy cheeks of her bottom. She wiggled it at her audience.

“If her father sees her like that, he will forget he is her father!”

“Mary! My father never sees me like this. I bought this for yoga only.”

“And for your lover?”

“Maybe for lovers too. Now look at Sherry. Isn’t she beautiful today?”

All eyes turned to Sherry as she pulled her jeans off her feet. She freed herself and laid her jeans on the table. She was reluctant to undo her shirt and show them what Ranji had talked her into buying.

The shirt fell from her shoulders. Underneath she had a lacy black slip, nearly transparent, held up by thin shoulder straps. It just reached down to her hips and the smallest black thong monokini that Ranji could find.

“There!” said Ranji proudly. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

The women crowded round to admire her. They stared at her breasts from only centimetres away. The slip hid nothing and Sherry felt her nipples tighten from embarrassment. She forced herself to keep her hands by her sides.

“Beautiful, yes, very beautiful.” “So pretty.” “Good breasts, no babies yet.” “She’s pink…”

They crowded round to touch her and run fingers through her hair. They were just curious, but it made her feel like a freak, especially when fingertips brushed and pushed her breasts.

“Enough, enough!” ordered Ranji, “or you will make her too excited to concentrate.” Sherry settled gladly down into the lotus position, disconnected from
today
and opened herself to the cosmos.

Papi Bombar spoke in English again today. He spoke of the Vedic scholar Sayana and his remarkably prescient statements from the fourteenth century on the sun and the speed of light. Sherry felt no sense of surprise that the ancients had known such things. She expected no less and found Papi’s enthusiasm vaguely unsatisfying. She let his words pass her by and concentrated on breathing and cultivating the sense of pure I-am-ness.

The end of the session caught her by surprise and by the time she had returned fully to reality most of the other women were already changing back into their street clothes. Papi Bombar’s novice stood at her elbow, asking her and Ranji to come into Papi’s retreat. For a moment her heart leapt. At last Papi was offering her the opportunity to redeem her failure and show him her new skills, but when she entered his room, she found a pretty Thai girl already seated in front of him. She stood with Ranji and the novice, watching the girl open his clothes and lay them back around Papi’s brown and purple stem. She muttered to herself as she trailed her fingers up and down the teacher’s shaft.

It felt exciting to watch the girl’s head bowing into his lap and her mouth swallowing up the rigid sex. For once Sherry could watch, learn, criticise. The girl worked enthusiastically, her hands deep in Papi’s clothes, holding his dependents and burrowing under him. She nodded her head vigorously. Papi leaned back against the wall and his eyes closed behind his glasses. Sherry watched his face with fascination. He had an expression of effortless calm that did not change when the girl’s movements accelerated until she drank deeply of his essence.

His eyes opened again as the girl placed her palms together and bowed, and he returned the gesture. He reached out to touch the girl’s forehead and she got up to leave.

Now he turned his attention to Sherry and Ranji. “Welcome, Little Sisters, welcome.” and he gestured for them to sit in front of him. “New clothes again, Ranji?” He smiled. “Rati must be fond of you, and you too, Sherry. Every week you come here, you are more woman. The Goddess is smiling on you too.”

Sherry felt embarrassed at her top’s transparency and the fact that her nipples had again betrayed her, but Papi Bombar took no notice of her breasts. Something else was troubling him.

“Sisters, Singapore is a difficult place for people who are not Chinese. You know this yourselves. The Government is fair to us, and protective. Still, there are some people who are not. These are the people who do not care for the Gods, ours or their own. Nor do they worry about their return in future lives. They think only of today and of money.” Papi paused to look at them. They did not know where this was leading.

“One of these people is Yhee Lu Pat.”

Ranji took a sharp intake of breath. She at least had heard the name before. “Who is that?” Sherry asked.

“A bad man, Sherry,” said Papi Bombar. “He makes money from bad things. From drugs, by smuggling people from China into Malaysia, by selling children. Unfortunately, now we need his goodwill and the ashram does not have money to pay this man. So I am asking you, my Little Sisters, to help our ashram. Help us by going to this man and begging for his assistance.”

Papi avoided their eyes. Sherry looked at Ranji who pursed her lips and gave a little nod. They would help.

Ranji came by taxi to pick her up next day. She wore jeans and a tee shirt, and carried a small suitcase. Sherry was ready to go and wearing what she thought of as her working clothes, but Ranji still had to dress. Sherry took her up stairs and stayed to watch the fun.

Ranji threw her jeans and shirt onto the bed and was left nude to fight with the lock on her suitcase.

“Ranji! You’re beautiful,” said Sherry in surprise.

Ranji immediately stopped trying to open the suitcase and stood up. “Really?” she asked, “You don’t think I’m too fat?”

Sherry had always known that Ranji was no skinny waif. Her yoga clothes never concealed her generously unfashionable hourglass curves, but Sherry had not seen her completely nude before. Now, naked apart from her jewellery, she showed Sherry what she showed her lovers.

Sherry envied her smooth chocolate colour, unbroken by tanning marks. Ranji smiled as she stood there, one hand lifted uncertainly to touch her full, round breasts. Her gesture drew Sherry’s eyes to them. They looked almost too big for her shoulders. Her areolae were large wrinkled discs, very dark, almost black, with long proud nipples. Below her breasts, her figure tapered to a narrow waist before flaring widely over her hips. She had a soft and round tummy, and there, nestling between the tops of sturdy thighs, she hid her sex. Her mound looked fat and generous like the rest of her, and completely hairless. Its smoothness made it look intriguing, tempting, shy and vulnerable all at once. The groove between her lips was deep and dark, and Sherry could see the black wrinkled petals of her hidden flower bursting out.