Somewhere in the depths of the house a phone rang. ‘My call,’ the General said. ‘Please make yourself comfortable, have some more wine. I should not be too long.’ And he hurried away to disappear down a dimly lit passage at the far side of the room.
Lisa took a deep breath and told herself she was in no danger. How could she be? She took another sip of wine and crossed back to the settee and perched herself gingerly on the edge of it. In a short while they would be heading back across the city to Grace’s house.
She sat for what seemed like a very long time looking idly around the large sprawling sitting room, oriental rugs scattered across the polished teak floor, black lacquer tables laden with ornaments, several beautifully painted lacquer screens. She was startled when the fan overhead suddenly hummed into life and began turning lazily. She glanced round to see the General’s houseboy emerge from the passageway and climb the open-slat staircase to the upper floor. He did not look in her direction. After a while she grew restless and more nervous. Her wine was finished and she laid her cup on a table and stood up to wander round the room, touching things distractedly.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you, my dear.’
She turned and saw, with a sense of shock, that the General was dressed only in a black silk robe with red trim and a red belt. On his feet he wore soft open slippers.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, with a sudden foreboding. But he remained relaxed and smiling.
‘I’m afraid I must wait for a further call. Thirty, forty minutes, no more. I have asked my boy to prepare a couple of pipes while we wait.’
Lisa picked up her purse, panic rising in her chest. ‘I think I’ll just get a taxi.’
‘I regret that will not be possible. It is already after twelve and the curfew is in force.’
‘I should phone Grace and let her know, then.’
The General smiled. ‘I have already done so.’ He held out a hand towards her. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Think of it as an education. The broadening of your experience.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Lisa said.
‘Nonsense.’ He crossed the room and took her hand. ‘You cannot come to the East without experiencing a little of its magic. You must grow up sometime.’
Reluctantly, because she did not know what else to do, she let him lead her to the stairs, and as they climbed slowly to the upper floor he said, ‘The Noble Eightfold Path leads to the abolition of suffering.’
‘I thought you’d forgotten.’ She was startled by this unexpected tangent.
‘I looked them up. For my own enlightenment as well as yours. Shall I go on?’
She nodded mutely as they reached a landing and turned down a narrow hallway with concealed lighting.
‘Right understanding,’ he said, ‘meaning an intellectual grasp of the Four Noble Truths; Right intention, meaning the extinction of revenge, hatred, and the desire to do harm...’ He opened the door into a large study bedroom. A bed draped with mosquito netting, a polished mahogany desk and leather swivel chair, two leather armchairs, a lacquer coffee table. One wall was lined with books, on another hung a huge map of South East Asia. Soft, deep-piled rugs covered the floor, and the only light came from a brass desk lamp with a green glass shade. The room was filled with a peculiar stale, musty smell, and the General’s houseboy knelt over the naked flame of an oil lamp on a low bedside table. In his hands he held the General’s pipe — more than two feet of straight bamboo with carved ivory at each end. About two-thirds of the way down, a small bowl was set into the bamboo, dark and polished by the frequent kneading of opium.
Lisa concentrated hard on the General’s words to still the fear that was growing in her. ‘Right speech,’ he droned on, ‘meaning telling the truth, avoiding rumours, swearing and conceited gossip; Right action, meaning the decision not to kill or hunt any living thing, not to steal or to commit adultery...’
The houseboy was kneading a little ball of hot paste on the convex margin of the bowl, and Lisa smelled for the first time the pungent sweet odour of fresh opium.
‘... Right effort, meaning the conscious choice of good over evil; Right mindfulness, meaning the awareness of the divisions of contemplation: the body; sensation, the mind, and the Dharma...’ The General guided her to one of the leather armchairs and indicated she should sit. She sat uneasily as he crossed to his desk and poured them each more wine from a small porcelain jug. ‘And Right concentration, meaning the mental absorption on actions to be performed rightly.’ He handed her a cup and paused. ‘Was that seven or eight?’
‘I lost count,’ Lisa said nervously
The General laughed. ‘So did I. I think I may have forgotten one. But, then, forgetfulness is one of the privileges of old age.’ He turned to his boy and barked something in Thai. The boy nodded and the General drained his cup in one draught before crossing to the bed. ‘Excuse me, my dear. I like to make myself comfortable.’ He arranged himself on the bed, propping himself up with several pillows. Lisa watched with a fascinated horror as the houseboy plunged a needle into a tiny cavity in the centre of the bowl, and with a practised flick of the wrist released the opium and reversed the bowl over the flame. He held the pipe steady as the General leaned forward and took the end of it between his lips. The bead of opium bubbled gently as he inhaled in one long smooth pull before lying back on the pillows, slowly releasing the smoke from his mouth and nostrils. He sighed with a deep satisfaction and visibly relaxed. He barked something again in Thai and the houseboy immediately began preparing another pipe. ‘I have asked him to prepare you a pipe,’ he said without looking at her.
Lisa sat frozen in her chair. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. But there was uncertainty in her voice, something seductive in the sweet smell of the smoke. Her head swam with confusion and alcohol and the temptation of something forbidden. She took a mouthful of rice wine.
The General rolled over on to his side, propping himself on one elbow, his fat smiling face almost beatific. ‘But you must. We are on this earth for such a short time. It would be criminal not to taste the fruits that it offers at least once. And once tasted, never forgotten. You will not regret it, I promise you.’ But still she hesitated. He shrugged, arching his eyebrows in a gesture of regret. ‘Of course, I cannot force you.’ He spoke again to the boy, who plunged the needle for a second time, flipping the pipe over the flame and holding it steady for his master. The General sucked long and deep and lay back again, eyes closed, as the smoke drifted up from his open mouth.
Lisa finished the wine in her cup and rose unsteadily to her feet. Her resolve seemed to ebb away, her throat constricting in anticipation. She seemed drawn, irrevocably, to the pipe, sudden desire overcoming all doubts. ‘Alright,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper.
The General uttered a short command to the boy and rolled over on to his side once more. His eyes, though dark and strangely glazed, shone brightly. He held out a hand. ‘Come.’
She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of it, watching fascinated as the houseboy kneaded a third ball of the hot paste on the convex margin of the bowl. She was aware of the General shifting on the bed beside her, of her shoulders being taken gently in his hands. The room seemed darker than when they had entered it. All fear, all doubts had gone, as though somehow she had left her will to resist downstairs among the Buddha images. Her mouth was dry and her face flushed hot. The General’s voice was soft and breathy, very close to her. ‘Do not try and draw it all in at once. You will find it hot on your throat at first. You may choke. Try and draw as much of it into your lungs as you can and release it slowly. The second pull will be easier.’