The Pure Land by Alan Spence Read Free Book Online Page A

demonic. He had to take his leave, get back to his room and sleep. He stood up to go and the room tilted, spun. The faces leered as music started up, a thin tinkling jingle from the out-of-tune piano in the corner. It was played by a huge Japanese woman; no, a man dressed as a woman, a corpulent Dutchman in a silk robe, a black wig on his head, face powdered white, lips painted a bright red pout.
    The effect was clownish, grotesque, a pantomime mask.
    ‘Ah!’ said Richardson. ‘The entertainment!’
    Montblanc had suddenly become animated, laughing shrilly and waving at the pianist who grinned back at him, teeth yellow against the make-up.
    Glover sat down again, steadied himself, let the room settle. The piano continued to tinkle and from a back room came three young Japanese women, yes, this time they really were women, gliding forward with tiny, shuffling steps. They were greeted with a spatter of applause, a few ironic, desultory calls of approval,as they moved into a dance, flicked open the fans they were carrying, bowed to their cackling, braying audience.
    Glover imagined the dance must be a parody, rendered crude by the music-hall accompaniment. But even at that, there was something inherently graceful in the way the women moved, a lightness that touched him, in spite of how he was feeling.
    One of the dancers came towards their table and he found himself captivated by the way she cocked her head, the coy, knowing look she gave him over the top of the fan that she fluttered in front of her face. When the music stopped, she bowed to their table, kept her eyes on Glover.
    Richardson laughed. ‘I certainly have no intention of going native! As for Montblanc, I think his predilections are quite other.’ He made a grand gesture, a wave of the hand towards Glover. ‘That leaves you.’
    The girl was still looking at him, still fluttering. She gave a little giggle, said, ‘I come you?’
    ‘Now there’s an offer!’ said Richardson, slapping the table.
    *
    And what else could this day become? And could it really have been only a day? The dreamlike quality had deepened, intensified. He had gone beyond exhaustion into another state entirely, a strange clear-eyed detachment, mind and body separate as he watched himself, watched events unfold, play out. He had stumbled out of the bar, the girl following him. The sudden change of air had gone to his head and the girl had taken him by the arm, steadied him. He’d felt the warmth of her body through the thin cotton robe she wore, smelled her perfume, been suddenly roused. He’d indicated the door to his lodgings, let her guide him up the stairs and into this room, the room that had been his for only a few hours.
    Now she sat on the edge of the bed, his bed, and slipped the robe off her thin shoulders. He remembered a shrieking redhairedharridan, laughing at him in a back wynd by the Aberdeen docks. This young girl, here with him now, was so different. Her black black hair was gathered up, exposed the delicate nape of her neck. Something in the vulnerability of it filled him with a kind of tenderness, made him want to kiss her just there. He thought of Annie.
    ‘ Atsuka ,’ said the girl, with a little nod of the head.
    ‘Sorry?’
    She repeated it. ‘ Atsuka .’ And she mimed fanning herself, dabbing her brow with her hand.
    ‘Hot?’ he said, and he tugged at his collar, blew out air in a big exaggerated sigh.
    ‘ Hai! ’ she said. ‘Yes. Hotu!’
    He put on a deep, gravelly voice, growled the word back at her. ‘ Atsuka! ’
    She let out a highpitched laugh that suddenly became a scream as something, a rock, crashed through the window, shattered the glass.
    His first instinct, in the moment it took to make sense of what had happened, was to shield the girl, put a protective arm round her bare shoulders. She was shaken, trembling, clung to him as he made soothing sounds, stroked her hair. There was noise from outside, angry shouting. Tentatively he disentangled