some.'
'Oh? What does he do?'
'He goes through the wire. At night.'
'My God. That's asking for trouble. He must be mad!'
But the King had seen the flicker of excitement in Peter Marlowe's eyes.
He waited in the silence, saying nothing.
'Why does he do it?'
'Most times, just for kicks.'
'You mean excitement?'
The King nodded.
Peter Marlowe whistled softly. 'I don't think I'd have that amount of nerve.'
'Sometimes this guy goes to the Malay village.'
Peter Marlowe looked out of the wire, seeing in his mind the village that they all knew existed on the coast, three miles away. Once he had gone to the topmost cell in the jail and had clambered up to the tiny barred window.
He had looked out and seen the panorama of jungle and the village, nestling the coast. There were ships in the waters that day. Fishing ships, and enemy warships - big ones and little ones - set like islands in the glass of the sea. He had stared out, fascinated with the sea's closeness, hanging to the bars until his hands and arms were tired. After resting awhile he was going to jump up and look out again. But he did not look again. Ever. It hurt too much. He had always lived near the sea. Away from it, he felt lost. Now he was near it again. But it was beyond touch.
'Very dangerous to trust a whole village,' Peter Marlowe said.
'Not if you know them.'
'That's right. This man really goes to the village?'
'So he told me.'
'I don't think even Suliman would risk that.'
'Who?'
'Suliman. The Malay I was talking to. This afternoon.'
'It seems more like a month ago,' the King said.
'It does, doesn't it?'
'What the hell's a guy like Suliman doing in this dump? Why didn't he just take off when the war ended?'
'He was caught in Java. Suliman was a rubber tapper on Mac's plantation.
Mac's one of my unit. Well, Mac's battalion, the Malayan Regiment, got out of Singapore and were sent to Java. When the war ended, Suliman had to stick with the battalion.'
'Hell, he could've got lost. There are millions of them in Java…'
'The Javanese would have recognized him instantly, and probably turned him in.'
'What about the co-prosperity sphere yak? You know, Asia for the Asiatics?'
'I'm afraid that doesn't mean much. It didn't do the Javanese much good, either. Not if they didn't obey.'
'How do you mean?'
'In '42, autumn of '42, I was in a camp just outside Bandung,' Peter Marlowe said. 'That's up in the hills of Java, in the center of the island. At that time there were a lot of Ambonese, Menadonese and a number of Javanese with us — men who were in the Dutch army. Well, the camp was tough on the Javanese because many of them were from Bandung, and their wives and children were living just outside the wire. For a long time they used to slip out and spend the night, then get back into the camp before dawn. The camp was lightly guarded, so it was easy. Very dangerous for Europeans though, because the Javanese'd turn you over to the Japs and that'd be your lot. One day the Japs gave out an order that anyone caught outside would be shot. Of course the Javanese thought it applied to everyone except them — they had been told that in a couple of weeks they were all to go free anyway. One morning seven of them got caught. We were paraded the next day. The whole camp. The Javanese were put up against a wall and shot. Just like that, in front of us. The seven bodies were buried — with military honors — where they fell. Then the Japs made a little garden around the graves. They planted flowers and put a tiny white rope fence around the whole area and put up a sign in Malay, Japanese and English. It said, These men died for their country.'
'You're kidding!'
'No I'm not. But the funny thing about it was that the Japs posted an honor guard at the grave. After that, every Jap guard, every Jap officer who passed the 'shrine,' saluted. Everyone. And at that time POW's had to get up and bow if a Jap private came within seeing distance. If you didn't, you got the thick end of a rifle butt around your head.'
'Doesn't make sense. The garden and saluting.'
'It does to them. That's the Oriental mind. To them that's complete sense.'
'It sure as hell isn't. Nohow!'
'That's why I don't like them,' Peter Marlowe said thoughtfully. 'I'm afraid of them, because you've no yardstick to judge them. They don't react the way they should. Never.'
