The Harmony Silk Factory

“Nothing too big,” Johnny continued. “I want to tell them about the books I have read. About idealogy.”

“Yes, I-de-o-logy. Good. Tell me, son, what has made you want to do this?”

“I want to help people — just as you have helped me.”

“How are our people these days? You have stopped bringing me news. I guess everything must be fine.”

“Everything is fine. One or two small things. Nothing bothersome. I don’t want to trouble you with anything but the most serious.”

“I see. . Thank you. Is there anything on your mind?”

“No.”

“If there is something, you must tell me. You are a fine, capable man but you are not yet ready for the whole world.”

“Am I not?”

OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS Johnny spread the word that he would, under Tiger’s auspices, be holding a lecture in Kuah. Things were not going well in the Party, he said. He had discovered this during his travels. There was a worm eating its way to the heart of the Party and its awful progress had to be halted.

“A lecture? What kind of thing is that?” some people said.

“A big meeting,” said Johnny, “with free beer for all.”

The lecture was held in a large wooden shack on the western fringes of the Lee Rubber plantation near Jeram. The unruly shrubs of the jungle had crept in amongst the rows of rubber trees, and it was difficult to see the paths leading to the shack. It was not a comfortable place. Many years ago it had been used to store processed rubber sheets, but it was too far from the administrative heart of the plantation, and long abandoned by the owners of the estate. It was now used as a not-so-secret place for local young men to meet and drink toddy and samsu.

The shack was nearly full, with people squatting or sitting cross-legged on the dirt-covered floor. A few kerosene lamps hung from rusty nails on the walls, casting a poor, dull light on the small assembly. When moths fluttered too close to the lamps, the light would flicker and pulse, and huge shadows would flash around the room.

“Strong leadership is key to survival,” Johnny said as he walked round the room. He was wearing a coarse green canvas shirt. On its breast the three stars of the MCP were stitched roughly into the fabric. With one hand he brandished a copy of The Communist Manifesto (in English, for added effect) and with the other he handed out bottles of warm Anchor. Most of the people there were too poor to buy beer and many had never even tasted it before. “Without a strong leader we are doomed.” He spoke with the loud, authoritative voice he had been practising for some weeks. “A weak leader, one who does not live with his men, is damaging to the Cause.” He grasped the three stars on his breast.

“Yes, damaging to the Cause!” several people roared, raising their bottles aloft.

“The Cause!” others echoed.

“This is no time to be soft. We cannot sit back and shake our legs. Resting on my laurels, Westerners say. Look what’s happening in China.”

“Look what’s happening in China!”

“Look what’s happening in China!”

Johnny suppressed a smile as he noticed the rapidly emptying beer bottles and reddening faces in the audience. “If the Japanese army invaded the Valley next month,” he continued, “would we be able to fight them? No! Why? Because we are not prepared. Why? Because our leaders are not strong.”

“Curse our leaders! Damn them!”

“If we are not properly led, then the Japanese, the British — anyone — can destroy us,” Johnny said, opening a crate of whisky.

“No, no one can destroy us!”

“Not if our leaders are strong. But our leaders are not strong.”

Bottles of whisky were passed among the men and women in the room. They drank straight from the bottle, taking one sharp gulp before passing it on.

“What’s that coward Tiger Tan doing, huh?” someone cried. “Where is he?”

“Tiger? Who is that person? He is invisible nowadays.”

“He has done a lot of good in the past,” Johnny said.

“The past? Shit! What about tomorrow?”

“I was OK in the past but in the future I might be six feet under — because of Tiger!”

“Tiger is a good man,” Johnny said.

“But a weak leader!”

“A weak leader!”

“Johnny should be our leader!” someone said, and soon there was a chorus of similar voices. Over and over they chanted his name.

Johnny smiled. “Tiger is a good man,” he said simply.