— not dead.' Then he turned and walked out of the hut into the sun.
When he found the King eventually, it was already dusk. The King was sitting on a broken coconut stump in the north vegetable garden, half hidden by vines. He was staring moodily out of the camp and made no sign that he heard Peter Marlowe approaching.
'Hello, old chap,' Peter Marlowe said cheerfully, but the welcome in him died when he saw the King's eyes. 'What do you want? Sir?' the King asked insultingly.
'I wanted to see you. Just wanted to see you.' Oh my God, he thought with pity, as he saw through his friend.
'Well, you've seen me. So now what?' The King turned his back. 'Get lost!'
'I'm your friend, remember?'
'I got no friends. Get lost!'
Peter Marlowe squatted down beside the coconut stump and found the two tailor-made cigarettes in his pocket. 'Have a smoke. I got them off Shagata!'
'Smoke 'em yourself. Sir!'
For a moment Peter Marlowe wished that he had not found the King. But he did not leave. He carefully lit the two cigarettes and offered one to the King. The King made no move to take it. 'Go on, please.'
The King smashed the cigarette out of his hands. 'Screw you and your goddam cigarette. You want to stay here? All right!' He got up and began to stride away.
Peter Marlowe caught his arm. 'Wait! This is the greatest day in our lives.
Don't spoil it because your cellmates got a little thoughtless.'
'You take your hand away,' the King said through his teeth, 'or I'll stomp it off!'
'Don't worry about them,' Peter Marlowe said, the words beginning to pour out of him. 'The war's over, that's the important thing. It's over and we've survived. Remember what you used to drum into me? About looking after number one? Well, you're all right! You've made it! What does it matter what they say?'
'I don't give a good goddam about them! They've got nothing to do with it.
And I don't give a good goddam about you!' The King ripped his arm away.
Peter Marlowe stared at the King helplessly. 'I'm your friend, dammit. Let me help you!'
'I don't need your help!'
'I know. But I'd like to stay friends. Look,' he continued with difficulty.
'You'll be home soon —'
'The hell I will,'* the King said, his blood roaring in his ears. 'I got no home!'
The wind rustled the leaves. Crickets grated monotonously. Mosquitoes swarmed around them. Hut lights began to cast harsh shadows and the moon sailed in a velvet sky. 'Don't worry, old chum,' Peter Marlowe said compassionately. 'Everything's going to be all right.' He did not flinch from the fear he saw in the King's eyes.
'Is it?' the King said in torment.
'Yes.' Peter Marlowe hesitated. 'You're sorry it's over, aren't you?'
'Leave me alone. Goddammit, leave me alone!' the King shouted and turned away and sat on the coconut stump.
'You'll be all right,' Peter Marlowe said. 'And I'm your friend. Never forget it.' He reached out with his left hand and touched the King's shoulder, and he felt the shoulder jerk away under his touch.
'Night, old chum,' he said quietly. 'See you tomorrow.' And miserably he walked away. Tomorrow, he promised himself, tomorrow I'll be able to help him.
The King shifted on the coconut stump, glad to be alone, terrified by his loneliness.
Colonels Smedly-Taylor and Jones and Sellars were cleaning their plates.
'Magnificent!' Sellars said, licking the juice off his fingers.
Smedly-Taylor sucked the bone, though it was already quite clean.
'Jones, my boy. I have to hand it to you.' He belched. 'What a superb way to end the day. Delicious! Just like rabbit! A little stringy and somewhat tough, but delicious!'
'Haven't enjoyed a meal so much in years,' Sellars chortled. 'The meat's a little greasy, but by Jove, just marvelous.' He glanced at Jones. 'Can you get any more? One leg each isn't very much!'
'Perhaps.' Jones picked up the last grain of rice delicately. His plate was dry and empty and he was feeling very full. 'It was a bit of luck, wasn't it?'
'Where did you get them?'
'Blakely told me about them. An Aussie was selling them.' Jones belched.
'I bought all he had.' He glanced at Smedly-Taylor. 'Lucky you had the money.'
Smedly-Taylor grunted. 'Yes.' He opened a wallet and tossed three hundred and sixty dollars on the table. 'There's enough for another six. No need to stint ourselves, eh, gentlemen?'
Sellars looked at the notes. 'If you had all this money hidden away, why didn't you use a little months .ago?'
'Why indeed?' Smedly-Taylor got up and stretched. 'Because I was saving it for today! And that's the end of it,' he added. His granite eyes locked on Sellars.
'Oh, come off it, man, I don't want you to say anything. I just can't understand how you managed to do it, that's all.'
