The Rebellion of Yale Marratt (52 page)

 

 

He thanked Mat and Sundari. He was glad that they had decided to leave.
Trafford didn't seem to have any fear. Yale was afraid that the villagers,
peaceful as they were, might be so shocked by Trafford's behavior that
real trouble would ensue. Sufficiently angered, he knew that some of
these Indians would not hesitate to use one of their rapier-like knives
on Trafford.

 

 

Yale walked toward the huge fire that had been started in the centre
of the village. Although it was still early evening the fire cast huge
dancing shadows on the hundreds of villagers who already were passing
and eating hot and exotic curries in earthenware bowls. Yale had given
Surya Gupta three thousand rupees for the celebration. He remembered that
Surya Gupta had looked at him unbelievingly and said, "Sahib Marratt,
this is enough money to feed two villages for months. We will have a
fantastic wedding celebration."

 

 

As he walked through the crowds of grinning Hindus who stopped to
congratulate him, Yale was certain that Surya Gupta had invited more
than a thousand guests. A native orchestra was playing monotonous
Oriental scales. After the feasting there would be dancers and mummers,
and storytelling from the epic Mahabharata, stories that would go on
all night.

 

 

Yale couldn't find Surya Gupta who was evidently busy supervising details
or entertaining local Hindu officials. As he searched, he discovered, to
his shock, that Trafford had corralled Sunanda Gupta. She was sitting
against a palm tree with Trafford on one side of her and Baker on the other.

 

 

"No, Colonel, I do not like leeker," Yale heard her protest.

 

 

"Come on, baby," Trafford said. "One little drink won't hurt you a bit."

 

 

Trafford looked up and recognized Yale. "Look at this cute little babe,
Marratt. Speaks pretty good English, too. Not so white as yours but
I'll wager she's a hot little piece. Look at those cute little titties
palpitating under her sari. Before the night is over, I plan to squeeze
them up a little."

 

 

"Joe," Yale said, kneeling beside him, "do me a favor, just once, will
you? Take off! This is really a Hindu celebration. Anne and I aren't
going to stay. You and Baker will be the only white people left. Chris
and Jane are going in a few minutes." Yale smiled at Sunanda. "You better
find your husband, Sunanda."

 

 

Sunanda started to get up. Trafford grabbed her arm. "Sit down, baby. We
haven't got acquainted yet." He shook his head sadly at Yale. "I don't
know what's the trouble with you, Marratt. You're just plain hoggish!
I plan to stay at this here party. Before the night is over, with a small
'token payment, if I know these wogs, I can borrow this little girl.
Just for a half hour or so . . . What do you think, Baker? I'll bet
she's not over fourteen years old. Very sweet stuff. We'll both give
her a whirl. Toddle on, Lieutenant. I don't need your advice."

 

 

Yale stood up. He stared at Trafford, fighting back a desire to lash
out at him. It was all he could do to refrain from kicking him in the
face. Quickly he walked away. He heard Trafford grumble, "I'm going
to have to take the starch out of that young fellow, Baker. We should
have taken him back to the base tonight. He just doesn't appreciate my
essential generosity."

 

 

Yale walked through the village to his basha. Helen Axonby was sitting
in front waiting for him. Chatterji sat cross-legged against the wall,
at her feet.

 

 

"Your Colonel is a problem." Helen Axonby sighed. "Is he still in the
middle of things?"

 

 

Yale told her what Trafford was doing and that he was nervous. He hoped
that once Trafford realized that he and Baker were the only white people
left in the village he would feel uneasy. He prayed that Trafford would
leave before he caused trouble.

 

 

"I'm praying with you," Helen Axonby said. "Anne is almost hysterical
with worry. I don't blame her. That man is an ass! There's absolutely
no need for him to behave the way he has to you two youngsters. You're
both doing your job. I'm sure that your being married won't interfere
with Army discipline. What business is it of his, anyway?" Helen Axonby
took Yale's hand. "I wish you the best of luck. Anne is such a nice
person." She smiled at him. "You go to her, now. Jane and Chris are
waiting to drive me home. Tomorrow is Sunday. I'll expect you and Anne
to come for dinner. Please."

 

 

Anne had lighted their kerosene lamp. She was sitting on the charpoy
in her slip when Yale entered. "He's still out there; isn't he?" she
asked despondently.

 

 

Yale put his arm around her. "Stop fretting, Anne. He'll leave soon."
Gently, Yale tried to push her back on the bed. She lay beside him
motionless, listening. When Yale kissed her she started to cry.
"Oh, Yale, I'm so frightened. I just can't make love. How do you know he
won't find us here? I can just see him bursting through the door, saying
something foul and rotten." She stood up. Her face was tearstained. There
was a note of desperation in her voice. "I think I should get dressed
and go back to the base."

 

 

Yale pulled her back on the bed. Slowly he lifted her slip over her
head. "Honey," he murmured, "this is our wedding night. At least you
can lie in my arms. It's early. We won't make love until we are sure
that Trafford has gone."

 

 

Somehow, drugged with exhaustion, they must have fallen asleep. Yale awoke
with Chatterji shaking him. "You come, Sahib. Big trouble." Chatterji
ignored Anne's consternation as she awkwardly tried to cover her breasts
with her slip.

 

 

"You wait," she said to Yale. "You're not going without me." She slipped
into her skirt and jacket, listening as Chatterji tried to explain.
"Colonel, he get very drunk. Memsahib Gupta very frighten. She run.
Colonel grab. Pull off sari. Very bad. Sunanda nanga." Yale realized
that Chatterji was trying to tell them that Trafford had somehow torn
off Sunanda Gupta's sari. This was a serious disgrace for Sunanda. God
knew what the Indians would do to Trafford.

 

 

"Where is the Colonel now?" Yale demanded of Chatterji.

 

 

"Colonel very sick. His friend very sick. Fall down," Chatterji said.
His eyes were big with fear. "Many men carry. Come, Chatterji show."

 

 

Yale looked at his watch. It was two o'clock. As they walked through
the village it seemed unusually quiet. Yale had the feeling they were
being observed through apertures in the bamboo walls of the houses they
passed. Chatterji led them through the village. They passed Trafford's
jeep. Yale looked in it. The keys were in the ignition. The silence
around them was ominous.

 

 

"Where are you taking us?" Yale demanded irritably. "Colonel not this way."

 

 

"Colonel this way," Chatterji whispered. "Come." He led them out on
the dike that connected the village to the main road. Half way out,
Chatterji stopped and pointed down the steep embankment. Yale directed
his flashlight into the rice paddy. At the edge of the water, his light
caught the mud-covered bodies of Trafford and Baker.

 

 

"Oh, my god," Anne screamed. "They're dead!"

 

 

Yale scrambled down the side, followed by Chatterji and Anne. He leaned
over Trafford. To his amazement Trafford stared back at him . . . blinking
his eyes trying desperately to move his lips. Yale felt his pulse. It was
strong. He looked at Baker and found him in the same condition.

 

 

"Anne, they're both alive," he said, unbelievingly.

 

 

Anne felt Trafford's pulse, and listened to his heart. "They've been
drugged, Yale," she said in awe. "Look at Trafford. He can hear us, but
he can't answer. Someone must have fed him an Indian mickey. Sundari
told me once there are many Indian herbs and medicines that the white
people know nothing about."

 

 

Yale pointed his flashlight at Chatterji, who looked at him with a happy
smile. "Hindu man, no take life." He pointed at Trafford and Baker.
"No good men. Someone fix good. Now, you push in water. Soon gone."
Chatterji shrugged. "No one find. Gone bye-bye, all time."

 

 

Anne shivered. "He's telling you to push them in the water." She pointed
at the expanse of water-covered rice land. "It's only a few feet deep
but they'd drown in a second, and our troubles would be over."

 

 

Yale leaned over Trafford. "Can you hear me, Trafford? I think it's a
good idea. A couple of shoves and you and Baker would sink -- into a
muddy grave." He reached for Trafford as if he were going to roll him
into the water. "No, Yale," Anne screamed, "don't do it."

 

 

Yale looked at her, grinning. "I should. They've interrupted our wedding
night. Now, we're going to have to get them back to the base and God
help us if they don't recover." He started to drag Trafford up onto
the road. "It would be easier, and probably a blessing for the world,
if I just accidentally pushed him in."

 

 

After he had pulled Baker up onto the road alongside Trafford, he told
Anne to go back with Chatterji and get Trafford's jeep. She would have
to drive to Talibazar and find Major Manning who was the chief medical
officer at the base. Major Manning could bring an ambulance to get them
back. Yale wondered how serious their condition was. They could die while
Anne was gone. It was obvious that Anne had the same thought. She studied
them carefully. "Do you think they'll be all right, Yale?" She examined
Trafford, who continued to stare at her. All that he was able to do was
blink his eyes. Both Trafford's and Baker's mouths were open; coupled with
their staring eyes, their faces both had a fearful, idiotic expression.

 

 

Chatterji was obviously disappointed that they had rescued Trafford and
Baker. In response to Yale's questioning, he denied any knowledge of
what had happened.

 

 

"Colonel, no, sick, long time. One day. Two day. Okay. Feel fine,"
he grimaced. "Too bad. Very bad men."

 

 

When Anne returned with Trafford's jeep she stopped for a moment. Sitting
behind the wheel, she looked at Yale. Her eyes glistened with tears.
"I love you, Yale. I just love you." She nuzzled her face against his
for a second. "It was a nice wedding."

 

 

Yale watched the taillight of the jeep disappear. He sat down beside
Trafford and Baker. Pointing the flashlight at Trafford's face, he asked,
"Why? . . . Why? . . . That's all I want to know . . . Why? . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

8

 

 

Colonel Trafford and Captain Baker were kept in the base hospital for five
days. To squelch rumors, Major Manning stated that their ill health was
due to a violent attack of dysentery. Two days after they were released
by Major Manning, Trafford sent a message to Yale to report to his
office. He was leaning back in his chair, one foot in a desk drawer,
when Yale walked in and saluted.

 

 

"I don't suppose you thought you'd get away with it," Trafford demanded,
blowing a cloud of smoke in his direction.

 

 

"Get away with what?" Yale asked insolently.

 

 

"You know what I mean. Telling those fucking wogs to poison me and Baker.
Stand at attention, you bastard, or you'll leave Talibazar under guard."

 

 

Yale ignored his order. Leaning on Trafford's desk, he grinned. "You're
lucky you're not floating in some rice paddy with the buzzards pecking
at your rotten flesh. You were trying to rape the wife of the head of
the village, at a party to which you weren't even invited."

 

 

Trafford snapped his riding crop on his desk with a shattering bang.
"And you, you wise bastard . . . you let them feed me and Baker a 'mickey.'"
He looked at Yale slyly. "Just what in hell did that Gupta character put
in our drinks, anyway?"

 

 

Yale shrugged. "They didn't consult me, Colonel. You can call it a form of
'passive resistance' and thank your lucky stars you were mixed up with
Hindus. They have a religious repugnance for taking human life. Even
at that they have Mohammedan friends in a nearby village who would have
cut your balls off willingly as a gift to Allah."

 

 

"Listen, you litle snot, I know all about you. A rich man's son. You
think the world was buttered just for you. The Marratt name will do
you no damned good here. You're finished." Trafford banged on his
desk. "Baker. Come in here. Bring O'Hara with you."

 

 

Captain Baker walked into the office. He gave Yale a frigid look. Behind
him was another Captain wearing Finance Department gold diamonds.

 

 

"Captain O'Hara," Trafford said, coldly, "this is Lieutenant Marratt.
Captain O'Hara is your replacement, Marratt. You re to report to
headquarters in Calcutta. There's a plane going down to Calcutta at six
o'clock. That will give you four hours. I understand from Headquarters
that the transfer of funds can be accomplished without too much
difficulty. You be on that plane, Lieutenant. Don't miss it!"

 

 

Yale, flushed with anger, stared at Trafford. For a moment he was filled
with hatred, ready to reach across the desk and despite the consequence
to himself punch Trafford's sneering face. This was it, he thought. Anne
had anticipated it. "Yale, he won't permit it," she had told him. "This
is the end. Just as soon as he and Captain Baker get out of the hospital
they will have one of us transferred."

 

 

As he stared at Trafford his anger slowly dissipated. Yale thought of only
one thing. Before O'Hara could accept the transfer of accountability it
would take every second of the time for O'Hara to count all the money and
balance the accounts. He would have Sergeant Prouty, his master sergeant,
stay with O'Hara. That would give Anne and him at least three hours.