Awata understood the movement of his hand. He ordered the guards to line up. Then, on his command, they bowed again.
The captain stood and looked at them. Then he returned the salute.
'Salute, you bloody bastards,' the captain said once more.
Again the guards bowed.
'Good,' the captain said. 'And next time I say salute, salute!'
Awata and all the men bowed and the captain turned and walked to the barricade.
Peter Marlowe felt the eyes of the captain on him and on the men near him, and he started with fear and backed away.
He saw first revulsion in the eyes of the captain, then compassion.
The captain shouted at the guards. 'Open this bloody gate, you bloody bastards.'
Awata understood the point of the hand and quickly ran out with three guards and pulled the barricade out of the way.
Then the captain walked through, and when they began to close it again he shouted, 'Leave that bloody thing alone.' And they left it alone and bowed in salute.
Peter Marlowe tried to concentrate. This was wrong. All wrong. This could not be happening. Then, suddenly, the captain was standing in front of him.
'Hello,' the captain said. 'I'm Captain Forsyth. Who's in charge here?'
The words were soft and very gentle. But Peter Marlowe could only see the captain looking at him from head to toe.
What's the matter? What's wrong with me? Peter Marlowe desperately asked himself. What's the matter with me? Frightened, he backed another step.
'There's no need to be afraid of me.' The captain's voice was deep and sympathetic. 'The war's over. I've been sent to see that you're all looked after.'
The captain took a step forward. Peter Marlowe recoiled and the captain stopped. Slowly the captain took out a pack of Players. Good English Players. 'Would you like a cigarette?'
The captain stepped forward, and Peter Marlowe ran away, terrified.
'Wait a minute!' the captain shouted after him. Then he approached another man, but the man turned tail and fled too. And all the men fled from the captain. The second great fear engulfed Changi. Fear of myself.
Am I all right? Am I, after all this time? I mean, am I all right in the head? It is three and a half years. And my God, remember what Van der Zelt said about impotence? Will it work? Will I be able to make love? Will I be all right? I saw the horror in the eyes of the captain when he looked at me.
Why? What was wrong? Do you think, dare I ask him, dare I… am I all right?
When the King first heard about the officer, he was lying on his bed, brooding. True, he still had the choice position under the window, but now he had the same space as the other men — six feet by four feet. When he had returned from the north garden he had found his bed and chairs moved, and other beds were now spread into the space that was his by right. He had said nothing and they had said nothing, but he had looked at them and they had all avoided his eyes.
And, too, no one had collected or saved his evening meal. It had just been consumed by others.
'Gee,' Tex had said absently, 'I guess we forgot about you. Better be here next time. Every man's responsible for his own chow.'
So he had cooked one of his hens. He had cleaned it and fried it and eaten it. At least he had eaten half of it and kept half of it for breakfast.
Now he had only two hens left. The others had been consumed during the last days — and he had shared them with the men who had done the work.
Yesterday he had tried to buy the camp store, but the pile of money that the diamond had brought was worthless. In his wallet he still had eleven American dollars, and these were good currency. But he knew — chilled
— he could not last forever on eleven dollars and two hens.
He had slept little the previous night. But in the bleak watches of the early morning he had faced himself and told himself that this was weak and foolish and not the pattern of a King — it did not matter that when he had walked the camp earlier people had looked through him — Brant and Prouty and Samson and all the others had passed by and not returned his salute. It had been the same with everyone. Tinker Bell and Timsen and the MP's and his informants and employees — men he had helped or known or sold for or given food or cigarettes or money. They had all looked at him as though he did not exist. Where always eyes had been watching him, and hate had been surrounding him when he walked the camp, now there was nothing. No eyes, no hate, no recognition.
It had been freezing to walk the camp a ghost. To return to his home a ghost. To lie in bed a ghost.
Nothingness.
Now he was listening as Tex poured out to the hut the incredible news of the captain's arrival, and he could sense the new fear gnawing at them.
'What's the matter?' he said. 'What're you all so goddam silent about? A guy's arrived from outside, that's all.'
No one said anything.
The King got up, galled by the silence, hating it. He put on his best shirt and his clean pants and wiped the dust off his polished shoes. He set his cap at a jaunty angle and stood for a moment in the doorway.
'Think I'm going to have me a cook-up today,' he said to no one in particular.
When he glanced around he could see the hunger in their faces and the barely concealed hope in their eyes. He felt warmed again and normal again, and looked at them selectively.
