King Rat

Like Peter Marlowe, Sean was wearing a sarong, but unlike Peter Marlowe’s, which was threadbare and multifaded-color, Sean’s was new and white and the border was embroidered with blue and silver. And Sean wore a short-sleeved native baju coat, ending above the waist, cut tight to allow for the swell of breasts. The King was staring fascinated at the half-opened neck of the baju.

Sean noticed the King and smiled faintly and brushed back some hair that the wind had caressed out of place and toyed with it until the King looked up. Sean smiled inside, warmed inside, as the King flushed.

“It’s, er, it’s getting hot, isn’t it?” the King said uncomfortably.

“I suppose so,” Sean said pleasantly, cool and sweatless, as always—however intense the heat.

There was a silence.

“Oh, sorry,” Peter Marlowe said as he saw Sean looking at the King and waiting patiently. “Do you know—”

Sean laughed. “My God, Peter. You are in a state. Of course I know who your friend is, though we’ve never met.” Sean put out a hand. “How are you? It’s quite an honor to meet a King!”

“Er, thanks,” the King said, hardly touching the hand, so small against his. “You, er, like a smoke?”

“Thanks, but I don’t. But if you don’t mind I will take one. In fact two, if it’s all right?” Sean nodded back towards the path. “Rod and Frank smoke and I know they’d appreciate one.”

“Sure,” the King said. “Sure.”

“Thanks. That’s very kind of you.”

In spite of himself the King felt the warmth of Sean’s smile. In spite of himself he said, meaning it, “You were great in Othello.”

“Thank you,” said Sean delightedly. “Did you like Hamlet?”

“Yes. And I never was much on Shakespeare.”

Sean laughed. “That’s praise indeed. We’re doing a new play next. Frank has written it especially and it should be a lot of fun.”

“If it’s just ordinary, it’ll be great,” the King said, more at ease, “and you’ll be great.”

“How nice of you. Thanks.” Sean glanced at Peter Marlowe and the eyes took on an added luster. “But I’m afraid Peter won’t agree with you.”

“Stop it, Sean,” Peter Marlowe said.

Sean did not look at Peter Marlowe, only the King, and smiled, but fury lurked beneath the smile. “Peter doesn’t approve of me.”

“Stop it, Sean,” Peter Marlowe said harshly.

“Why should I?” Sean lashed out. “You despise deviates—isn’t that what you call queers? You made that perfectly clear. I haven’t forgotten!”

“Nor have I!”

“Well, that’s something! I don’t like to be despised—least of all by you!”

“I said stop it! This isn’t the time or the place. And we’ve been through this before and you’ve said it all before. I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean any harm!”

“No. But you still hate me—why? Why?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Then why do you always avoid me?”

“It’s better. For God’s sake, Sean, leave me be.”

Sean stared at Peter Marlowe, and then as suddenly as it had flared, the anger melted. “Sorry, Peter. You’re probably quite right. I’m the fool. It’s just that I’m lonely from time to time. Lonely just for talk.” Sean reached out and touched Peter Marlowe’s arm. “Sorry. I just want to be friends again.”

Peter Marlowe could say nothing.

Sean hesitated. “Well, I suppose I’d better be going.”

“Sean,” Rodrick called out from the path, “we’re late already.”

“I won’t be a moment.” Sean still looked at Peter Marlowe, then sighed and held out a hand to the King. “It was nice to meet you. Please forgive my bad manners.”

The King couldn’t avoid touching the hand again. “Happy to meet you,” he said.

Sean hesitated, eyes grave and searching. “Are you Peter’s friend?”

The King felt the whole world heard him when he said, stumbling, “Er, sure, yeah, I guess so.”

“Strange, isn’t it, how one word can mean so many different things. But if you are his friend, don’t lead him astray, please. You’ve a reputation for danger, and I wouldn’t like Peter hurt. I’m very fond of him.”

“Er, yes, sure.” The King’s knees jellied and his backbone melted. But the magnetism of Sean’s smile pervaded him. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. “The shows are the best thing in the camp,” he said. “Make life worth living. And you’re the best thing in them.”

“Thank you.” And then, to Peter Marlowe: “It does make life worthwhile. I’m very happy. And I like what I’m doing. It does make things worthwhile, Peter.”

“Yes,” Peter Marlowe said, tormented. “I’m glad all’s well.”

Sean smiled hesitantly a last time, then turned quickly and was suddenly gone.

The King sat down. “I’ll be goddamned!”

Peter Marlowe sat down too. He opened his box and rolled a cigarette.

“If you didn’t know he was a man, you’d swear to God that he was a woman,” the King said. “A beautiful woman.”

Peter Marlowe nodded bleakly.