World of Suzie Wong : A Novel (9781101572399) by Richard Mason Read Free Book Online

girl, because I know you wouldn’t believe me, but I’ve not met another to touch you, Gwenny, and that’s honest to God.
    Now for the good news, we just heard we’re heading back for the old U.S. next month, but wish we could have called at Hong Kong again first.
    Well, good-by, Gwenny, you really are a swell girl, so thanks again.
    Chuck.
    Gwenny smiled at me over her knitting.
    â€œWell?” she said. “Don’t you think it is a nice letter?”
    â€œVery nice, Gwenny. You must have been very kind to him.”
    â€œOf course some of the girls have many letters. Suzie, my best girl friend, has had five. She had one only last week. It was very passionate. It was from somebody called Joe. But she could not remember him because there are so many sailors called Joe.” She broke off, looking at me. “What’s the matter?”
    I nodded towards the door from the quay, which had just swung open to admit a posse of four naval policemen, two British and two American, equipped with boots, gaiters, armbands, and truncheons. They filed into the bar briskly and aggressively.
    â€œWhat on earth is it?” I said in alarm. “A raid?”
    Gwenny gave them a brief glance. “Oh, it’s only the S.P.’s,” she said, and resumed her knitting.
    â€œOnly?”
    â€œThey are very nice. They only come round to see there is no fighting.”
    The patrol, consisting of one officer and one sergeant from each navy, had divided into national pairs. The two American S.P.’s strolled past our table. Just then one of the sailors from the American Station Ship caught sight of them and called out, “Hi, there!” He had his arm round a girl. He stretched out his other arm to pull up an extra chair, but could not reach it without relinquishing the girl, so extended his leg and pulled up the chair with his foot. The Sergeant sat down, while the Officer pulled up another chair for himself, saying, “Well, boys? How are we doing?”
    The two British S.P.’s chose an empty table on the other side of the bar. The Sergeant pulled out a chair for the Officer, then they both seated themselves stiffly, removed their caps, placed them upside down on the table, and took out their handkerchiefs. They methodically mopped their brows. The matelots at neighboring tables looked sheepish and pretended not to notice them.
    The manager of the bar limped out from behind the bar counter. His slight limp, in conjunction with his shaved head and black suit, made him look a trifle sinister, like a Chinese version of Goebbels, though according to Gwenny he was very kind-hearted and popular with the girls. He approached the two British S.P.’s rather obsequiously, offering them a drink on the house, but they shook their heads, and he limped over to the Americans, who refused likewise.
    â€œBut hey, come here, feller,” the Sergeant said, catching him by his sleeve as he was turning away. “You got any more of those chopsticks with the name of this dive on, like you gave the Lootenant? O.K., but they gotta have the name on, see? I want ’em for a souvenir.” The manager limped away and returned with the chopsticks, and the Sergeant said, “Yeah, those’ll do, I guess.”
    Gwenny glanced at me over her knitting and said, “I have never met an artist before. But I once saw a film about an artist at the Roxy. It was very beautiful. He also painted in a bar. But he was a dwarf.”
    â€œI expect it was Toulouse-Lautrec,” I said.
    â€œI don’t remember his name. But I remember reading in the newspaper that the actor had to walk on his knees. He wore boots on his knees instead of his feet. It was very clever.”
    â€œI didn’t see the film, but I’ve seen his drawings in a book,” I said. “They were wonderful.”
    â€œI’m sure yours are better.”
    â€œI wish they were, Gwenny,” I laughed.
    â€œIf I