ONE
THE WILD LIFE in Medan was something neither night nor
DDT could stop.
Beyond our steamy wii~_dows， the darkness held all the
breathability of a sailor s armpit. A winged and nameless
shitbag came hurtling in from the murk， full of offense and
fury. Its manner was of one intent on shattering--preferably
forevermthe world speed record for Tropical Hirsute Insect
Nuisance Flying.
It burst across the room at drunken velocity， maintaining
an altitude of approximately two inches above the heads of
the assembled drinkers. The drinkers were tanking them-
selves up for the arrival of a lorry-load of unleashed Dutch
girls， and failed to notice this freak of evolution. Still ac-
celerating， the shitbag gained height and plowed its way
through a cloud of assorted mosquitoes， flies， moths， and flut-
tering uglies which had appropriated our central light as a
zone for combined aerial combat and propagation of species.
I saw it because I was leaning against the far wall of the
mess， listening with Jock Ferguson to Johnny Mercer on War.
\"The generals have done their best， but it s been a bloody
untidy war all along，\" he was saying. \"Do you wonder we re
stuck here in such a right old cock-up? You can t say the war
is over， even now.\"
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