Larkin saw the earphone near Mac's head and suddenly laughed. Then they were all laughing. Shagata jerked his rifle towards the men. 'Stop it,'
he shouted, frightened by the laughter.
'We beg thy pardon,' Peter Marlowe said. 'It is just that we who are so near eternity find small things amusing.'
'Truly thou art near death — and also a fool to be caught breaking the law.
But I hope that I may have the courage of laughter when my time arrives.'
He threw a pack of cigarettes into the room. 'Here,' he said. 'I'm sorry that thou hast been caught.'
'No sorrier that I,' Peter Marlowe said.
He divided the cigarettes and glanced across at Mac. 'What's the recital?'
'Bach, laddie,' Mac said, hard put not to break out into hysterical laughter again. He moved his head nearer the earphone. 'Shut up, will you, now.
I'd like to enjoy the music.'
'Maybe we can take turns,' Larkin said. 'Though anyone who can enjoy Bach is a bit of a wet.'
Peter Marlowe smoked his cigarette and said pleasantly to Shagata,
'Thank thee for thy cigarettes.'
Flies were swarming the bucket and its rough lid on top. The afternoon rains came early and settled the stench, and then the sun came out and began to dry the wetness of Changi.
The King walked down the line of bungalows, conscious of the eyes on him. He stopped cautiously outside the condemned bungalow. 'Tabe, Shagata-san,' he said. 'Ichi-bon day, no? Can I talk to my ichi-bon friend?'
Shagata stared at him uncomprehendingly.
'He begs thy permission to talk to me,' Peter Marlowe said.
Shagata thought a moment, then nodded. 'Because of the money I made from the sale, I will let thee talk.' He turned to Peter Marlowe. 'If I have thy words that thou wilt not try to escape.'
'Thou hast our words.'
'Be quick. I will watch.' Shagata moved so that he could keep an eye on the road.
'There's a rumor that guards are pouring into the guardhouse,' the King began nervously. 'Goddamned if I'm going to sleep tonight. They're just the sort of bastards who'd do it at night.' His lips felt dry and he had been watching the wire all day hoping for a sign from the guerrillas that would trigger the decision to make a break. But there had been none. 'Listen.'
He dropped his voice and told them about the plan. 'When the killing starts, rush the guard and break out near our hut. I'll try and cover for the three of you, but don't hope for much.'
Then he got up and nodded to Shagata and walked away. Once in the American hut he called a council of war. He told them of his plan, but he didn't tell them that only ten could go. They all discussed the plan and then decided to wait. 'Can't do more,' Brough said, echoing their fears. 'If we tried now, we'd be shot to pieces.'
Only the very sick slept that night. Or those — the infinite few — who could commit themselves peacefully into the hands of God — or Fate.
Dave Daven was sleeping.
'They brought Dave back from Utram Road this afternoon,' Grey had whispered as he brought them their evening meal.
'How is he?' Peter Marlowe asked.
'He only weighs seventy pounds.'
Daven slept that night and the next awesome day, and he died in his coma as Mac was listening to the news commentator: 'The second atom bomb has destroyed Nagasaki. President Truman has issued a last ultimatum to Japan - surrender unconditionally or face total destruction.'
The next day the work parties went out and, unbelievably, returned.
Rations continued to come into the camp and Samson weighed the rations in public and took extra down to the men who had put him in charge of the supplies. There were still two days' rations in the store hut and cookhouses, and there was cooked food, and the flies swarmed and nothing had changed.
The bedbugs bit and the mosquitoes bit and the rats suckled their young.
A few men died. Ward Six had three new patients.
Another day and another night and another day. Then Mac heard the holy words: 'This is Calcutta calling. The Tokyo radio has just announced that the Japanese Government has surrendered unconditionally. Three years, two hundred and fifty days since the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor —the war is over. God save the King!'
Soon all of Changi knew. And the words became part of the earth and sky and walls and cells of Changi.
Still, for two more days and two more nights nothing changed. On the third day the Camp Commandant walked along the line of bungalows with Awata, the Japanese sergeant.
Peter Marlowe and Mac and Larkin saw the two men approaching, and they died a thousand times for each pace the men took. They knew at once that their time had come.
Chapter 26
'Pixy,' Mac said. 'Yes,' replied Larkin. Peter Marlowe simply stared at Awata, frozen.
The Camp Commandant's face was etched deep with fatigue, but even so, his shoulders were squared and he walked firmly. He was dressed neatly as always, the left arm of his shirt tucked neatly into his belt. On his feet were wooden slippers, and he wore his peaked cap, gray-green with years of tropic sweat. He walked up the steps of the veranda and hesitated in the doorway.
