Damn fine fighter pilot! Now look here, Major. This is the end of it. You're ordered to take him and he's ordered to do it!''
'So Frank and I tried to smooth Sean down, but he swore he was going to be the worst actress in the world, that he was going to make sure that he was sacked after the first disastrous performance. We told him that we couldn't care less. His first performance was terrible. But after that he didn't seem to hate it so much. To his surprise, he even seemed to like it.
So we really started to work. It was good having something to do - it took your mind off the stinking food and stinking camp. We taught him how a woman talks and walks and sits and smokes and drinks and dresses and even thinks. Then, to keep him in the mood, we began to play make-believe. Whenever we were in the theater, we'd get up when he came in, help him into a chair, you know, treat him like a real woman. It was exciting at first, trying to keep up the illusion, making sure Sean was never seen dressing or undressing, making sure his costumes were always concealing but just suggestive enough. We even got special permission for him to have a room of his own. With his own shower.'
'Then, suddenly, he didn't need coaching any more. He was as complete a woman on the stage as it was possible to be.'
'But little by little, the woman began to dominate him off stage too, only we didn't notice it. By this time, Sean had grown his hair quite long - the wigs we had were no damn good. Then Sean started to wear a woman's clothes all the time. One night someone tried to rape him.'
'After that Sean nearly went out of his mind. He tried to crush the woman in him but couldn't. Then he tried to commit suicide. Of course it was hushed up. But that didn't help Sean, it made things worse and he cursed us for saving him.'
'A few months later there was another rape attempt. After that Sean buried his male self completely. 'I'm not fighting it any more,' he said. 'You wanted me to be a woman, now they believe I am one. All right. I'll be one.
Inside I feel I am one, so there's no need to pretend any more. I am a woman, and I'm going to be treated like one.''
'Frank and I tried to reason with him, but he was quite beyond us. So we told ourselves that it was only temporary, that Sean'd be all right later.
Sean was great for morale and we knew we could never get anyone a tenth as good as Sean to play the girl. So we shrugged and continued the game.'
'Poor Sean. He's such a wonderful person. If it wasn't for him, Frank and I would have given up the ghost long ago.'
There was a roar of applause as Sean made another entrance from the other side of the stage. 'You've no idea what applause'll do to you,'
Rodrick said, half to himself, 'applause and adoration. Not unless you've experienced it yourself. Out there, on the stage. No idea. It's fantastically exciting, a frightening, terrifying, beautiful drug. And it's always poured into Sean. Always. That and the lust - yours, mine, all of us.'
Rodrick wiped the sweat off his face and hands. 'We're responsible all right, God forgive us.'
His cue came and he walked onto the stage.
'Do you want to go back to our seats?' Peter Marlowe asked the King.
'No. Let's watch from here. I've never been backstage before. Something I always wanted to do.' Is Cheng San spilling his guts right now, the King asked himself.
But the King knew there was no value in worrying. They were committed and he was ready — whatever card came up. He looked back at the stage.
His eyes watched Rodrick and Frank and Sean. Inexorably, his eyes followed Sean. Every movement, every gesture.
Everyone was watching Sean. Intoxicated.
And Sean and Frank and the eyes became one, and together the brooding passion on the stage soared into the players and into the watchers, ripping them bare.
When the curtain descended on the last act, there was utter silence. The watchers were spellbound.
'My God,' Rodrick said, awed. 'That's the greatest compliment they could ever pay us. And you deserve it, you two, you were inspired. Truly inspired.'
The curtain began to rise, and when it was completely up the awful silence shattered and there were cheers and ten curtain calls and more cheers and then Sean stood alone drinking the life-giving adoration.
In the continuing ovation, Rodrick and Frank came out a last time to share the triumph, two creators and a creation, the beautiful girl who was their pride and their nemesis.
The audience filed quietly out of the auditorium. Each man was thinking of home, thinking of her, locked in his own brooding hurt. What's she doing, right now?
Larkin was the most hit. Why in God's name call the girl Betty? Why? And my Betty — is she — would she — is she now, is she now in someone else's arms?
And Mac. He was swept with fear for Mem. Did the ship get sunk? Is she alive? Is my son alive? And Mem — would she — is she now — is she?
It's been so long, my God, how long?
And Peter Marlowe. What of N'ai, the peerless? My love, my love.
And all of them.
Even the King. He was wondering who she was with — the vision of loveliness he had seen when he was still in his teens, still on the bum —the girl who'd said with a perfumed handkerchief to her nose that white trash smell worse than niggers.
The King smiled sardonically. Now that was one hell of a broad, he told himself as he turned his mind to more important things.
The lights were out now in the theater. It was empty but for the two in the landlocked dressing room.
