Burmese Days by George Orwell Read Free Book Online

with a tart. Such a glorious holiday from THEM'--he motioned with one heel in the direction of the Club--'from my beloved fellow Empire-builders. British prestige, the white man's burden, the pukka sahib sans peur et sans reproche--you know. Such a relief to be out of the stink of it for a little while.'
    'My friend, my friend, now come, come, please! That iss outrageous. You must not say such things of honourable English gentlemen!'
    'You don't have to listen to the honourable gentlemen talking, doctor. I stood it as long as I could this morning. Ellis with his "dirty nigger", Westfield with his jokes, Macgregor with his Latin tags and please give the bearer fifteen lashes. But when they got on to that story about the old havildar--you know, the dear old havildar who said that if the British left India there wouldn't be a rupee or a virgin between--you know; well, I couldn't stand it any longer. It's time that old havildar was put on the retired list. He's been saying the same thing ever since the Jubilee in 'eighty-seven.'
    The doctor grew agitated, as he always did when Flory criticized the Club members. He was standing with his plump white-clad behind balanced against the veranda rail, and sometimes gesticulating. When searching for a word he would nip his black thumb and forefinger together, as though to capture an idea floating in the air.
    'But truly, truly, Mr Flory, you must not speak so! Why iss it that always you are abusing the pukka sahibs, ass you call them? They are the salt of the earth. Consider the great things they have done--consider the great administrators who have made British India what it iss. Consider Clive, Warren Hastings, Dalhousie, Curzon. They were such men--I quote your immortal Shakespeare-- ass, take them for all in all, we shall not look upon their like again!'
    'Well, do you want to look upon their like again? I don't.'
    'And consider how noble a type iss the English gentleman! Their glorious loyalty to one another! The public school spirit! Even those of them whose manner iss unfortunate--some Englishmen are arrogant, I concede--have the great, sterling qualities that we Orientals lack. Beneath their rough exterior, their hearts are of gold.'
    'Of gilt, shall we say? There's a kind of spurious good-fellowship between the English and this country. It's a tradition to booze together and swap meals and pretend to be friends, though we all hate each other like poison. Hanging together, we call it. It's a political necessity. Of course drink is what keeps the machine going. We should all go mad and kill one another in a week if it weren't for that. There's a subject for one of your uplift essayists, doctor. Booze as the cement of empire.'
    The doctor shook his head. 'Really, Mr Flory, I know not what it iss that hass made you so cynical. It iss so most unsuitable! You--an English gentleman of high gifts and character--to be uttering seditious opinions that are worthy of the Burmese Patriot!'
    'Seditious?' Flory said. 'I'M not seditious. I don't want the Burmans to drive us out of this country. God forbid! I'm here to make money, like everyone else. All I object to is the slimy white man's burden humbug. The pukka sahib pose. It's so boring. Even those bloody fools at the Club might be better company if we weren't all of us living a lie the whole time.'
    'But, my dear friend, what lie are you living?'
    'Why, of course, the lie that we're here to uplift our poor black brothers instead of to rob them. I suppose it's a natural enough lie. But it corrupts us, it corrupts us in ways you can't imagine. There's an everlasting sense of being a sneak and a liar that torments us and drives us to justify ourselves night and day. It's at the bottom of half our beastliness to the natives. We Anglo- Indians could be almost bearable if we'd only admit that we're thieves and go on thieving without any humbug.'
    The doctor, very pleased, nipped his thumb and forefinger together. 'The weakness of your argument, my