King Rat

Automatically Max went out and filled the saucepan with water. When he came back he plugged in the hot plate and set the saucepan on it. He began to go back to his bunk, but he stopped in his tracks, turned around and stared at the King.

“What’s the matter, Max?” the King said uneasily.

Max just looked at him, his lips moving spastically and soundlessly.

“What the hell’re you staring at?”

Suddenly Max grabbed the saucepan and hurled it through the window.

“You out of your goddam mind?” the King exploded. “You got me all wet!”

“That’s tough,” Max shouted, his eyes bulging.

“I ought to beat the bejesus outta you! You gone crazy?”

“The war’s over. Get your own goddam coffee,” Max screamed, a touch of foam in the corners of his lips.

The King was on his feet and towering over Max, his face mottled with rage. “You get outta here before I put my foot through your face!”

“You do that, just do that, but don’t forget I’m a top sergeant! I’ll have you court-martialed!”

Max began to laugh hysterically, then abruptly the laughter turned to tears, shattering tears, and Max fled the hut, leaving a horrified silence in his wake.

“Crazy son of a bitch,” the King muttered. “Fix some water, will you, Tex,” and he sat down in his corner.

Tex was at the doorway, staring after Max. He looked around slowly. “I’m busy,” he said after an agony of indecision.

The King’s stomach turned over. He forced back his nausea and set his face.

“Yeah,” the King said with a grim smile. “So I notice.” He could feel the depths of the stillness. He took out his wallet and selected a note. “Here’s a ten-spot. Get unbusy and go get some water, will you.” He hid the ache in his bowels and watched Tex.

But Tex said nothing, just shuddered nervously and looked away.

“You still got to eat—till it’s really over,” the King said disdainfully, then looked around the hut. “Who wants some coffee?”

“I’d like some coffee,” Dino spoke up, unapologetically. He fetched the saucepan and filled it and set it to cook.

The King dropped the ten-dollar note on the table. Dino stared at it.

“No thanks,” he said throatily, shaking his head, “just the coffee.”

He walked unsteadily back down the length of the hut.

Self-consciously the men turned away from the King’s smoldering contempt. “I hope for your sakes, you sons of bitches, the war’s over for real,” the King said.

When the Colonel returned, a week later, Mema was shocked to see him look so ill. He interrupted her brusquely.

She stared at him incredulously. “I don’t understand.”

“We have—surrendered,” he began again. “The war is over. We have lost.”

“But that’s impossible,” Mema cried, brinked on insanity. “You told me—”

“Apparently,” said the Colonel, “my—information was incorrect.”

“But then”—Mema stared at him, bewildered—“then they’ve—the English and Americans—they’ve beaten us, I mean—” the words were almost too extraordinary to say, “you mean we’ve beaten you?”

“Yes.”

The Colonel grimly took off his Samurai sword and sat down.

“But that means—” Mema sank onto a chair, staring at him, trying to understand. Then the thought burst through her: “Then Mac, my husband—”

“You will have to speak in Japanese if you wish me to understand you!” the Colonel said curtly.

“Then my husband, what about my real husband?”

“He may be dead. He may be alive, perhaps he is!”

“Alive?” Mem repeated weakly.

“Yes.” The Colonel got up. “You are free to go.”

“Go where?” she burst out.

“Anywhere. With the loss of the war, my love for you is lost. The war is over. My love is over.”

“But, but, what shall I do?”

“That is your problem.”

Mema got up and weakly sat again, for her legs did not seem to be her own, trying to understand, trying to think, but it was too difficult. Too difficult. “Be patient with me, my husband,” she said. “The war is over and you—and we have lost.”

“I’ve said so,” the Colonel snapped. “This whole interview is distasteful.”

Mema didn’t hear the words, so locked was she in her nightmare. “Then what I think—I—will you please kill me, before, before you—commit hari kiri.” The tears were streaming.

“I’m not going to commit hari kiri,” said the Colonel contemptuously.

“But, but our code of honor, Bushido, you’re a Samurai…”

“I obey the orders of the Emperor. He has ordered that we surrender.”

The scales fell from Mema’s eyes and she saw him standing before her. In one clear instant she knew. She KNEW. “You’re afraid,” she gasped. “You’re afraid!”

“I’m not.”

The Colonel’s face was ashen.

“You’re afraid, you, the Samurai, you’re afraid.”

“I am going now. With my men. We have orders to assemble for transshipment for home.” He bowed curtly and walked, the heels of his polished boots clicked on the veranda steps and he began to walk down them.

“But what about me?” Mema gasped. “And our children?”

The Colonel stopped and looked back at her. “Angus is your child, not mine. And as for the girl, she’s a half-caste and a bastard. Do what you like with her.”

Mema stared at him blankly. “What?”