Free Julia Paradise by Rod Jones Page A

to a passing comment of Ayres, laughter. For Ayres there was a sense of unreality about being together out of doors, away from his dark room and bed, and the long airless hours of Julia talking.
    He ran a finger down her shoulder blade, fine as a child’s. All the time there was the river in the distance.
    They crossed countless small wooden bridges only wide enough for one cart and so low and near the surface of the water that he heard above the noise of the motor car the rush of the filling canals.
    After they had been travelling for half an hour, Julia suddenly pulled up. They were at a bend in the river where the valley had narrowed and huge white boulders stood around in the sun. A pebble bank sloped steeply to the murky tidal water. She reached to open the door, then slipped out of the car and began half-walking, half-sliding down the steep pebble bank. Ayres followed her, the small rocks spilling away from under his boots.
    About two hundred yards away there was a small group of people at work on the rocks. Some of them were fishing with long bamboo poles while others had waded out into the water, setting their nets. Although from that distance Ayres could not see the actual nets, they were close enough for him to see what they were doing.
    Ayres and Julia stood for a long time watching the fishermen and the expanse of water before them. She said, ‘You know, there are things here I can look at and look at. I keep seeing beauty here I never thought possible. I come from such an ugly country.’ She broke off and stared down at her shoes furiously, apparently impatient at the effort it took to force her thoughts into words. Then she changed again, and went on in a bright cheery voice. ‘You see that man over there with the fishermen—on that first rock there? With the hat? That’s Willy.’ Ayres said he was surprised.
    â€˜He comes down here on Saturdays to fish with them. Those other men are our houseboys and gardeners. He comes every Saturday, without fail. He gives them all a half-holiday, as though they were Englishmen...’ Her eyes were blazing.
    â€˜He’s paying cook double to work this afternoon. The houseboys tonight will want the same. Willy panders them. Crawls on his hands and knees to meet with their approval—like some insect. How they must be laughing at him! He treats them—I don’t know—as if they are our equals. Worse. I think he’s trying to be like them!’
    Ayres said, ‘Your place must not be far from here.’
    She fumbled in the pocket of the cardigan she wore and took out a packet of English Players, lighted one and said, ‘No. Not far at all.’ She continued to look at the river, then went on more calmly, ‘He often doesn’t come home until after dinner. He eats rice with their families in the village.’
    â€˜Do none of them live in the mission?’
    She laughed at that. ‘Some soldiers came here last week while I was in Hangchow. Scared them all off. Now the girls have had to go home, too. Bloody Kuomintang soldiers sleep in the schoolhouse now.’
    â€˜Why does your husband not complain? He must have contacts. I myself know the first secretary at the Embassy.’
    â€˜Willy says we are here to earn the people’s love. Not command it. You should hear him. You’d think he was a member of the Kuomintang himself.’ Her face had changed completely during this outburst. A look of utter misery had come over her. She was raw-eyed, her lips thin and drawn back from her teeth in a kind of contemptuous smile and her hand with the cigarette shook. She said, just as bitterly as before, ‘I’ve never known a man to love the Chinese as he does. Poor Willy. He so believes in what he’s doing.’
    Ayres looked again at the distant figure, indistinguishable from the other figures around him. The sun was on the surface of the river. There was a peacefulness about the scene that was