King Rat

The Colonel’s fury lashed out. “It would be easy to kill you. Very easy. But you can live or take your own life. You damned whites! You’ve beaten us, but by my ancestors, I can have a little revenge by leaving you alive. Let’s both be honest—you bought yourself a soft life with your body. You’re no better than a whore. Rot in the stupid hell you believe in, for all I care.”

Then he walked down the path and his chauffeur bowed and he got into the car and the chauffeur closed the door and the car was lost in the Sumatran night.

Mema was crying now, piteously.

“Okasan,” piped Angus as he ran across the room. “Okasan, doshita naiterulno?”

Mema stared at him blankly, not understanding the gibberish words. “What did you say, darling?”

Angus stared at her frightened, not understanding the strange gibberish that his mother was speaking and not understanding her tears. So he said again, pathetically, “Okasan.”

And Mema forced her brain to think the words her son understood, Japanese words, only Japanese words, her son—the son of her and Angus McCoy, who might be alive, her true husband. “I don’t know, my son,” she said, the tears streaming.

Then there were more frightened little feet and then little Nobu was in her arms, whimpering; too young to know speech, but old enough to know terror and know that tears were frightening and that her mother was frightened, even as she.

And because Mema was crying, silently, helplessly, frighteningly, and moaning in a strange gibberish, Angus and little Nobu began crying too. Caught in her arms.

“Oh God,” Mema said aloud. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”

Peter Marlowe walked out of the Camp Commandant’s quarters and hurried towards the American hut. He replied automatically to the greetings of the men he knew and he could sense the constant eyes—incredulous eyes—that watched him. Yes, he thought, I don’t believe it either. Soon to be home, soon to fly again, soon to see my old man again, drink with him, laugh with him. And all the family. God, it’ll be strange. I’m alive. I’m alive. I made it!

“Hello, you fellows!” He beamed as he entered the hut.

“Hi, Peter,” Tex said as he jumped to his feet and shook his hand warmly. “Boy, were we glad to hear about the guard, old buddy!”

“That’s a masterpiece of understatement,” Peter Marlowe said and laughed. As they surrounded him, he basked in the warmth of their greetings.

“What happened with the Brass?” Dino asked.

Peter Marlowe told them, and they became even more apprehensive. All except Tex. “Hell, there’s no need to prepare for the worst. It’s over!” he said confidently.

“It’s over for sure,” Max said gruffly as he walked into the hut.

“Hello, Max, I—” Peter Marlowe did not continue. He was shocked by the frightening look in Max’s eyes.

“You all right?” he asked, perturbed.

“’Course I’m all right!” Max flared. He shoved past and fell on his bunk. “What the hell’re you staring at? Can’t a guy lose his temper once in a while without all you bastards staring?”

“Take it easy,” Tex said.

“Thank Christ, I’ll be outta this lousy dump soon.” Max’s face was gray-brown and his mouth twitched. “And that goes for you lousy bastards!”

“Shut up, Max!”

“Go to hell!” Max wiped the spittle from his chin; he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of ten-dollar notes, then savagely ripped them and scattered them like confetti.

“What the hell’s gotten into you, Max?” Tex asked.

“Nothin’, you son of a bitch! The bills’re no goddam good.”

“Huh?”

“I just been to the store. Yeah. Thought I’d get me a coconut. But that goddam Chinee wouldn’t take my dough. Wouldn’t take it. Said he’d sold his whole stock to the goddam Camp Commandant. On a note. ‘The English Government promises to pay X Straits Dollars!’ You can wipe your goddam ass on the Jap bucks—that’s all they’re good for!”

“Wow,” Tex said. “That’s the clincher. If the Chinese won’t take the dough, then we’ve really got it made, eh, Peter?”

“We have indeed.” Peter Marlowe felt warmed by their friendship. Even Max’s malevolent stare could not destroy his happiness. “Can’t tell you how much you fellows have helped me, you know, kidding around and all that.”

“Hell,” Dino said. “You’re one of us.” He punched him playfully. “You’re not bad for a goddam Limey!”

“You better get your ass State-side when you get out. We might even let you become an American!” Byron Jones III said.

“You gotta see Texas, Peter boy. You ever get to the States, you gotta come to the state!”

“Not much chance of that,” Peter Marlowe said amid the catcalls. “But if I ever do, you can depend on it.” He glanced towards the King’s corner. “Where’s our fearless leader?”

“He’s dead!” Max rocked with obscene laughter.

“What?” Peter Marlowe said, frightened in spite of himself.

“He’s still alive,” Tex said. “But he’s dead all the same.”

Peter Marlowe looked searchingly at Tex. Then he saw the expressions on all their faces. Suddenly he felt very sad. “Don’t you think that’s a little abrupt?”