microphone and podium





Summer 2007, Volume 3

Monsoon Leave
by Douglas Evered

It's 1943, I'm in Simla, summer seat of India's Parliament. I'm staying in the Viceroy's Lodge which houses about eighty on-leave Indian military officers. I'm one, the only naval officer, seconded by the Royal Navy to the Indian Navy for the duration. I have a couple of reasons for wanting to be in Simla, the monsoon has driven my PT boat into a safe mooring and I have a girl friend, Elizabeth, there with her family. They have a nice house, a father who's a colonel in the Indian army, off at the Burma front. Things are going well, her mother is giving us lots of unsupervised time, leaving us alone and going to bed. But I am suspicious, because I think the mother hopes a marriage will blossom, getting her daughter an English husband, important to an Anglo-Indian mother.

The Lodge is a thing of beauty, built with woods from all over India. Food is excellent with menu items from every region, hot curries from the south, cooler ones from the north like nam, a soft bread dipped in dahl curry served with lamb and chicken, washed down with Kingfisher beer.

To my surprise my Sandhurst roommate, Rupert , is also there on leave. He stopped me in the Lodge entry hall, "I've been looking into taking a camping trip. It's possible to put together a trek that would give us a chance to meet up with a caravan and buy things. Would you like to come along?"

I thought for a moment, it would give me a chance to cool down my romance with Elizabeth. I asked, "How many days?"

"We could do it in a few days and a good guide's been recommended. Chance of a lifetime to buy uncut semi-precious stones, rubies. They're trade goods for the caravan."

He was persuasive although talk about rubies was news to me, was I supposed to find that an attraction. As it turned out rubies would go on to play an important role in my life. Rupert would teach me what I needed to become a buyer and seller of those little red stones. Anyway I was going along so when he left a message saying we'd leave the following morning heading for a high mountain pass, caravans used as a trade route. The pass was at twelve thousand feet and only open during the summer.

We set out riding shaggy mountain ponies. Our guides and camping gear followed on mules. Late in the day we approached the pass. That night in our tent, lying in our sleeping bags, listening to the moaning of the wind and the flapping of the canvas, Rupert told me about his upbringing.

"You probably think I'm strange, the way I like to dress in native costumes, my love of men. I was born that way."

He laughed, "Pickings are rather slim in that department although I believe Sikhs are inclined that way."

I said, "I've been told the Arabs say 'A woman for love, a boy for pleasure' . Have you heard that?"

He shook his head, "No, but it sounds good, who'd have thought they were that civilized," he laughed, "I'll keep looking."

We lay there talking. I was curious about how he'd got into the acting business, he explained. "Both my parents were actors, they learned their trade in the repertory theaters found in most English towns. They moved around a lot and often left me for weeks at a time with my grandmother's flat in London. It could be in my blood. I liked to put on her clothes and make my face up."

He went on, "She was a handsome woman in her fifties, dark eyes, gypsy looking, still with a good figure. She was born in Bucharest and had the passionate Hungarian Temperament. There's a saying, 'If you marry a Hungarian women be sure to buy cheap dishes because sooner or later she'll throw them at you.'

"What the hell's that about?" I asked.

"It's an expression that means they're fiery. Based on the cries that came from my grandmother's bedroom, wild things went on. Her men friends kept coming back, even at her age. I'm sure they put a few pound notes on the chest of drawers on their way out."

Rupert said, "I know I was born that way. I found my sexual identity when my parents enrolled me in a boarding school where I soon became friends with another boy. We began masturbating each other in closets under stairs."

"So why would that make you queer?" I asked.

"No, it shouldn't have, except he was my first real love and my feelings that went beyond lustful experiments, I really loved him."

While I knew he wanted to have me, that became clear in the room we shared at Sandhurst, he was decent enough to accept that I preferred females. He didn't give up easily. He told me, "There's nothing wrong with going both ways." I suspected he was right but I was afraid to go down that road even though I'd had enough experience with boys to know it could be enjoyable.

He was posted to an Indian Army regiment, the Rajput Rifles and I asked how the war was going.

"My regiment is defending a stretch of the Karnaphouli River about five miles long. The Japs are across the river and they've set up loudspeakers that broadcast messages telling our troops not to fight for the British. We fire mortars at the speakers but haven't been able to hit them. They change locations every night."

"What's morale like?" I asked.

"Everyone's nervous, especially at night. Indian troops don't have their hearts in the fight. Most of them joined up to get away from poverty stricken villages."

"Any desertions?" I asked.

"We had a few before I arrived to join the regiment. Story is they were caught and put in front of a firing squad. That put an end to running away."

Early next morning our guide stuck his head into the tent.

"Sahib! A caravan is coming, shall we tell them to stop?"

"Yes, wave to them," Rupert said.

We quickly dressed and stepped outside the tent, the crisp mountain air vaporizing our breath. We shouted again for them to stop and we walked over with our head guide. Their mules were picking their way cautiously down the loose shale of the steep incline.

Our guide said, "The men are Afghans, they trade everything from pots and pans, rifles, ammunition and opium."

I remembered learning about these people during schoolboy history lessons. They were the marauding frontier tribe that the British had fought for many years. Slung across their shoulders were long barreled vintage Lee Enfield World War I rifles, the kind favored by snipers. The Afghans used them to shoot mountain goats, or humans, at very long ranges. We studied each other, they hadn't expected to meet anyone and probably wondered what two British Officers were doing on that windswept slope, apparently waiting for them.

Rupert, who had learned Hindi, used that language to say to our guide, "Tell them we're here to buy stones, Ask if they have stones."

Our guide translated our message into Afghani. The tribesmen listened but responded with blank stares, seeming not to hear. Bearded, wearing woven vests and baggy pants, they studied us carefully. Accustomed to being threatened by bandits and probably bandits themselves, they were suspicious and in no hurry to answer. Rupert broke the silence, pulling out a hundred rupee note. "Tell them there's more rupies where these came from, if they have stones."

They talked among themselves, finally nodding assent.

Rupert said, "Tell them we're interested in red ones." Our guide passed on the message. They nodded and took down a saddlebag, pulling out a pouch, which they opened; spreading stones onto a piece of cloth. That's when I learned Rupert was an expert buyer of stones. He was not there, standing on the cold, unfriendly slope, for fun, it was for business. The rubies lying there were uncut and not pretty. Rupert took out a small jeweler's eyepiece and began examining each stone carefully. He looked up at me and said,

"I'm looking for flaws, little cracks which make them hard to cut and finish." He finally selected about two dozen stones.

"Here," he said, "Maybe you should buy a couple?"

I thought for a moment and began to see it as a good idea. I 'd been thinking I should be putting some of my officer's pay into an investment, why not rubies. It took Rupert's encouragement to get me to agree.

"Yes, maybe I should, depending on the price."

"Let me talk to them about the price, if you're really interested." He said, studying my face. Did he think I was up to it? I looked at the two stones he 'd handed me. Dusty and uncut, they didn't look worth much.

I hesitated, then said, "Go ahead, get me a good deal and I'll do it."

He turned to the Afghans and began to bargain. After what seemed a long while and a lot of talk he turned and said, "They want too much, but I'll make another offer," Through our guide he passed the message. It again seemed to fall upon blank faces. Clearly they weren't going to accept Rupert 's offer. Then he made a move that made them think. He pulled out package of American cigarettes and handed it to them. They each took one and lit up, sitting on their haunches, puffing away.

Rupert and I stood there saying nothing, waiting. Then their leader spoke again, presumably talking price, Rupert waited longer, finally coming back with another offer. They puffed away on second cigarettes. He pulled out another packet. They watched him carefully waiting to see what he'd do with it. More time went by. Rupert said to our guide "Tell them this is all we can pay, twenty five rupees per stone." Then he offered them the second pack and they nodded agreement. We had the rubies. My price for two was fifty rupees. I got out my wallet and peeled off enough notes. Next thing I had my rubies and was on my way to becoming a collector.

This small purchase awakened my entrepreneurial spirit. During the remainder of our stay at the Viceroy's Lodge Rupert taught me how to buy rubies. I found myself lying in bed at night after returning from Elizabeth rolling my two uncut stones, small round pebbles to the untrained eye, between my fingertips.

I was not clear about what I'd do. I wanted to make some money from the collecting I was doing. I learned from Rupert that rubies were actually in short supply while diamonds were plentiful. It didn't appear that way because the De Beers monopoly masterfully matched the flow of diamonds into the market to equal demand, in that way keeping prices high. Rubies were not sold through a cartel. They were sold on the open market and did not bring the same high prices as diamonds. My education in dealing in rubies would come in useful in an unexpected way.


BIO:  I am Douglas Evered, I like words. I put them into poetry, fiction and biography (mine). I'm in the Library of Congress like a tree falling in the forest. I'm old but still out there among the animals. Aging is best met by keeping moving; I do.

 



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