Free A Most Immoral Woman by Linda Jaivin Page B

I do wonder what goeson in there.’ He gestured towards the Forbidden City. ‘It’s like a dream of the Orient.’
    ‘A dream of Oriental despotism more like it.’
    Egan pursed his lips in thought. His lips were full, pouty, on the border of feminine, and Morrison experienced a flicker of revulsion.
    ‘I always understood Oriental despotism, at least as Aristotle described it, to be despotism by consent, which implicates the people in their own slavery. I may be wrong.’ Egan’s relentless affability was getting on Morrison’s nerves.
    ‘But then again, your personal enmity towards the Old Buddha is well known.’
    ‘There is nothing personal about it. You know what the Chinese call this gate here?’ Morrison pointed at the wall’s southeast corner. ‘The Devil’s Pass. That’s because of the tax collectors there, imposing tariffs on rice and salt and cigarettes and the rest. Every Chinaman knows it only goes to keep the Old Buddha in fancy soaps and face powder, just as she diverted the funds for naval defence to construct her marble pleasure boats at the Summer Palace. The woman is a jezebel.’ That should shut him up.
    A camel train approached from the west and Egan pointed at it. ‘I always wonder what marvels these caravans are bringing to market. I imagine beautiful tapestries or woven rugs, furs—’
    ‘Coal. From collieries in the Western Hills.’
    Egan shook his head in admiration. ‘I only have to be in your company five minutes and I’m reminded why you’re the doyen of the correspondents!’
    Morrison mined for respect like other men prospected for gold. He decided he didn’t really mind Egan. The man was not such bad company after all.
    Egan then mentioned that the famous American novelist Jack London had arrived in Japan to cover the war for Hearst’s newspapers.
    ‘Ah yes. My colleague at The Times , Lionel James, said they were on the same ship over from San Francisco to Yokohama.’
    ‘Yes, London remembers James well. Said it was the talk of the ship that he was travelling with a valet! The Americans were all greatly amused. Turns out—’
    ‘Yes, I know. The so-called valet was in fact our colleague David Fraser. The Times said Fraser could cover the war if he paid his own way. Got a cheap ticket under the guise of being James’s valet. Apparently the ribbing still hasn’t ceased. As for London, James said he was good company. Drank everyone under the table. Young bloke too, apparently.’
    ‘Yes, Jack is still short of thirty. Two years my junior. Have you read any of his books?’
    ‘I enjoyed The Call of the Wild . I’m not convinced that he is the American Kipling, as some would claim, though I speak as an ardent fan of the English poet. I’m certainly not an admirer of London’s socialist ideas. But he writes well. Manly sort of prose.’
    ‘Jack and I are good friends—mates, as I think you say in Australia. It’s true he still swaggers and drinks like the sailor he was. He’s challenged me to arm-wrestling in bars once enough whiskies are down the hatch, but he’s educated himself well, lived hard and is the best raconteur I’ve ever known. I must introduce you. I’m sure you’d like him. In spite of his socialism.’
    ‘I look forward to it,’ said Morrison, privately dismayed at the thought of another boisterous American. One who arm-wrestled in bars, at that.
    ‘He’s on his way to the front now.’
    ‘Ha! Let him get past the Japanese. He’ll be the first. One month into the war and they’re still not giving anyone permission to get to the front.’
    ‘Jack says the Japanese aren’t going to stop him.’
    Morrison raised an eyebrow. ‘He underestimates their determination.’
    ‘Oh, if anyone will get there, it’ll be Jack. What’s more, he says he’ll report the real face of war—the mud on the soldiers’ boots, the look in their eyes, the sizzle of their cookfires, the smell of gunpowder. Already he’s got one of the Japanese soldiers