thought that he was a Javanese, like the maniac next door, who still howled and rattled his chains, for he too had been shouting in Malay and looked like the Javanese… 'Come on, Peter,' Ewart said again. 'Grub's up!'
'Oh, thanks.' Peter Marlowe collected his mess cans.
'You feeling all right?'
'Yes.' After a moment he said, 'It's good to be alive, isn't it?'
In the middle of the morning the news flared through Changi. The Japanese Commandant was going to return the camp to the standard ration of rice, to celebrate a great Japanese victory at sea. The Commandant had said that a United States task force had been totally destroyed, that the probe to the Philippines was therefore halted, that even now Japanese forces were regrouping for the invasion of Hawaii.
Rumors and counter-rumors. Opinions and counter-opinions.
'Bloody nonsense! Just put out to cover a defeat.'
'I don't think so. They've never given us an increase to celebrate a defeat.'
'Listen to him! Increase! We're only getting back something we just lost.
No, old chap. You take my word for it. The bloody Japs are getting their come-uppance. You take it from me!'
'What the hell do you know that we don't? You've a wireless, I suppose?'
'If I had, as sure as God made little apples, I wouldn't tell you.'
'By the way, what about Daven?'
'Who?'
'The one who had the wireless.'
'Oh, yes, I remember. But I didn't know him. What was he like?'
'Regular sort of bloke, I hear. Pity he got caught.'
'I'd like to find the bastard who gave him away. Bet he was an Air Force type. Or an Australian. Those bastards'd sell their souls for a halfpenny!'
'I'm Australian, you Pommy bastard.'
'Oh. Take it easy. Just a joke!'
'You've got a funny sense of humor, you bugger.'
'Oh, take it easy, you two. It's too hot. Anyone lend me a smoke?'
'Here, take a puff.'
'Gee whiz, that tastes rough.'
'Papaya leaves. Cured it myself. It's all right once you get used to it.'
'Look over there!'
'Where?'
'Going up the road. Marlowe!'
'That him? I'll be damned! I hear he's taken up with the King.'
'That's why I pointed him out, you idiot. Whole camp knows about it. You been sleeping or something?'
'Don't blame him. I would if I had half the chance. They say the King's got money and gold rings and food to feed an army.'
'I hear he's a homo. That Marlowe's his new girl.'
'That's right.'
'The hell it is. The King's no homo, just a bloody crook.'
'I don't think he's a homo either. He's certainly smart, I'll say that for him.
Miserable bastard.'
'Homo or not, I wish I was Marlowe. Did you hear he's got a whole stack of dollars? I heard that he and Larkin were buying some eggs and a whole chicken.'
'You're crazy. No one's got that amount of money — except the King.
They've got chickens of their own. Probably one died, that's all! That's another of your bloody stories.'
'What do you think Marlowe's got in that billy?'
'Food. What else? You don't need to know anything to know that it's food.'
Peter Marlowe headed towards the hospital.
In his mess can was the breast of a chicken, and the leg and the thigh.
Peter Marlowe and Larkin had bought it from Colonel Foster for sixty dollars and some tobacco and the promise of a fertile egg from the clutch that Rajah, the son of Sunset, would soon fertilize through Nonya. They had decided, with Mac's approval, to give Nonya another chance, not to kill her as she deserved, for none of the eggs had hatched. Perhaps it wasn't Nonya, Mac had said, perhaps the cock, which had belonged to Colonel Foster, was no damned good — and all the flurry of wings and pecking and jumping the hens was merely show.
Peter Marlowe sat with Mac while he consumed the chicken, 'God, laddie, I haven't felt so good or so full for almost as long as I can remember.'
