Chapter 5: Escape from an un-Peasant Purgatory
Captain Stuart Turnips walked out into the courtyard which was lined with what he thought might be
Metasequoia glyptostroboides or maybe
Cryptomeria japonica. The
metasequoia, or Dawn Redwoods, he knew to be local to southern China. The
Cyptomeria seemed to have journeyed fairly far south from their native Japan. Perhaps some industrious Japanese officer had them planted on Tunga Island he mused.
In either case the local flora was not the most significant thing to behold. In the courtyard were several dozen oriental gentlemen wearing a kind of white pajama. They were all practicing ka-rate moves like the ones he learned about in the book he had borrowed from the
Shelby Municipal library. "Holy late fees!" he thought to himself. The prospect of having to pay the lost book charge to Old lady McGillicuddy was not one that enthused. That book was surely lost to the sea or to the CHICOM Navy along with the
Blue Side of American. Just as he was thinking this he heard a voice behind him.
"You probably should send this back to the library by mail to avoid the late fees"
Captain Stuart turned and there was a striking gentleman in casual resort wear (blue silk short-sleeve shirt, white linen slacks, rattan slippers). This man must surely be Scaramanga, whom his father Lord Turnips had sent him to kill or capture for Her Majesty's Government in order to pay off a gambling debt to Princess Margaret. In his hands he held the book on Ka-rate that he had brought on the journey.
Captain Stuart remained as cool as he could under the circumstances. "Scaramanga, I presume?"
"You presume correctly, lad" Scaramanga said in an almost glass cut
Oxford/BBC accent. "I suppose you are wondering why I had you brought here and didn't have you fileted or left you to the tender mercies of our dear friends the Chinese."

"Naturally, the thought had crossed my mind."
Scaramanga smiled and motioned for him to join him as he walked into a covered courtyard. Not able to think of any other option, Stuart obliged.
As they walked into the covered courtyard the same white pajama-clad figures he had seen outside in the tree-lined patio were engaged, not in ka-rate moves but in a series of fine-art endeavors. Here Stuart saw a group engaged in painting water color pictures of John Wayne. There Stuart saw a group discussing the finer parts of the latest
motion pictures. Next to that he saw a group engaged in a discussion on poetry.
Stuart glance at the paintings. Some were pretty decent. One in particular captured John Wayne's stirring western cowboy visage nicely.
(Really captures the majesty of the Western Cowboy Hero, doesn't it?)
(Meh, its kinda impressionistic)Scaramanga brought him over to the group discussing motion pictures and, interupting a discussion of the movie:
Alfie and the relative merits of Michael Caine in that role, he introduced Stuart to the group. "Chop-xin, Lin Ye Tan, Fang Chi, and Timothy, I introduce Captain Stuart Townshend, the future Lord Turnips. "
The one that Scaramanga identified as Fang Chi waved and greeted Stuart. "Hi, we were just discussing the director's use of the fourth wall as a particularly ground breaking way of keeping the Alfie character sympathetic to the audience despite his patentedly unlikeable personality." The one Scaramanga identified as Chop-xin interupted. "Nonsense, Michael Caine's personality made Alfie. This fourth wall nonsense you keep talking about is just a gimmick."
Scaramanga raised his hand "Gentlemen, I must continue my introductions, please forgive us."
Scaramanga led Stuart over to the group engaged in the discussion of poetry. Scaramanga and Stuart walked up right in the middle of a passionate reading:
"Turning and turning in the widening drain
The Sloan Valve man cannot hear the Sloan Valve failure;
plumbing falls apart; the centre cannot
hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the septic system,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity. "
"Utter crap, Bao-Dang!" Interupted one of the poet appreciating martial artists. "Try mine: "
I met a Sloan Valve Man from an antique land Who said: Two vast and
trunkless legs of porcelin Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half
sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold
commandTell that its sculptor well those passions readWhich yet survive, stamp'd
on these lifeless things,The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.And on
the pedestal these words appear:"My name is Ozymandias, plumber of kings:Look on my valve works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
"Horrible, just horrible" the rest of the group all groaned.
With that Scaramanga led Stuart out into patio. "Stuart, I hope you appreciate what we have here on this island. I understand that this might be hard to grasp but I have endeavored to provide a haven for these artists within the cliche' of an Army-of-martial-artists-engaged-in-nefarious-black arts-for-the-evil Communists. I have been doing some small odd jobs for the Chinese government in exchange for their looking the other way while I provide a haven from the
troubles occurring on the mainland for these Chinese artists."
"Hopefully you will join our artist colony and bring us the benefit of your fine breeding and education."
Clearly, Captain Stuart had some thinking to do. As he considered that, one of the oriental artists ran up excitedly. "Oooh, Scaramanga you just must have him answer the
Proust Questionaire! Its always the most delicious game!"