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there would be a scandal when they came back to the Club together after a long absence; but damn it!
what did it matter? She was different from that herd of fools at the Club. And it would be such fun to
go to the pwe together! At this moment the music burst out with a fearful pandemonium–a strident
squeal of pipes, a rattle like castanets and the hoarse thump of drums, above which a man’s voice was
brassily squalling.
‘Whatever is that noise?’ said Elizabeth, stopping. ‘It sounds just like a jazz band!’
‘Native music. They’re having a pwe–that’s a kind of Burmese play; a cross between a historical
drama and a revue, if you can imagine that. It’ll interest you, I think. Just round the bend of the road
here.’
‘Oh,’ she said rather doubtfully.
They came round the bend into a glare of light. The whole road for thirty yards was blocked by the
authence watching the pwe. At the back there was a raised stage, under humming petrol lamps, with
the orchestra squalling and banging in front of it; on the stage two men dressed in clothes that
reminded Elizabeth of Chinese pagodas were posturing with curved swords in their hands. All down
the roadway it was a sea of white muslin backs of women, pink scarves flung round their shoulders
and black hair-cylinders. A few sprawled on their mats, fast asleep. An old Chinese with a tray of
peanuts was threading his way through the crowd, intoning mournfully, ‘Myaypè! Myaypè!’
‘We’ll stop and watch a few minutes if you like,’ Flory said.
The blaze of lights and the appalling din of the orchestra had almost dazed Elizabeth, but what
starded her most of all was the sight of this crowd of people sitting in the road as though it had been
the pit of a theatre.
‘Do they always have their plays in the middle of the road?’ she said.
‘As a rule. They put up a rough stage and take it down in the morning. The show lasts all night.’
‘But are they allowed to–blocking up the whole roadway?’
‘Oh yes. There are no traffic regulations here. No traffic to regulate, you see.’
It struck her as very queer. By this time almost the entire authence had turned round on their mats to
stare at the ‘Ingaleikma’. There were half a dozen chairs in the middle of the crowd, where some
clerks and officials were sitting. U Po Kyin was among them, and he was making efforts to twist his
elephantine body round and greet the Europeans. As the music stopped the pock-marked Ba Taik came
hastening through the crowd and shikoed low to Flory, with his timorous air.
‘Most holy one, my master U Po Kyin asks whether you and the young white lady will not come and
watch our pwe for a few minutes. He has chairs ready for you.’
‘They’re asking us to come and sit down,’ Flory said to Elizabeth. ‘Would you like to? It’s rather
fun. Those two fellows will clear off in a moment and there’ll be some dancing. If it wouldn’t bore
you for a few minutes?’
Elizabeth felt very doubtful. Somehow it did not seem right or even safe to go in among that smelly
native crowd. However, she trusted Flory, who presumably knew what was proper, and allowed him
to lead her to the chairs. The Burmans made way on their mats, gazing after her and chattering; her
shins brushed against warm muslin-clad bothes, there was a feral reek of sweat. U Po Kyin leaned
over towards her, bowing as well as he could and saying nasally: