Chapter 2
'By George,' the major was saying to the King with forced joviality, 'and then there was the time I was in New York, in '33. Marvelous time. Such a wonderful country, the States. Did I ever tell you about the trip I made to Albany? I was a subaltern at the time . . .'
'Yes, sir,' the King said tiredly. 'You've told me.' He felt he had been polite long enough and he could still feel Grey's eyes on him. Though he was quite safe and not afraid, he wanted to get out of the sun and out of the range of the eyes. He had a lot to do. And if the major wouldn't come to the point, what the hell! 'Well, if you'll excuse me, sir. It was nice to talk to you.'
'Oh, just a minute,' Major Barry said quickly and looked around nervously, conscious of the curious eyes of the men that passed, conscious of their unspoken question - What's he talking to the King for? 'I — er, could I see you privately?'
The King gauged him thoughtfully. 'We're private here. If you keep your voice down.'
Major Barry was wet with embarrassment. But he had been trying to bump into the King for days now. And it was too good an opportunity to miss. 'But the Provost Marshal's hut is —'
'What have the cops to do with talking privately? I don't understand, sir.'
The King was bland.
'There's no need - er - well, Colonel Sellars said that you might be able to help me.' Major Barry had only the stump of a right arm and he kept scratching the stump, touching it, molding it. 'Would you — handle something for us, I mean me.' He waited until there was no one within hearing distance. 'It's a lighter,' he whispered. 'A Ronson lighter. Perfect condition.' Now that he had come to the point, the major felt a little easier.
But at the same time he felt naked, saying these words to the American, out in the sun, on the public path.
The King thought a moment. 'Who's the owner?'
'I am.' The major looked up, startled. 'My God, you don't think I stole it, do you? Good Lord, I'd never do that. I've kept it safe all this time, but now, well, now we've got to sell it. The unit's all agreed.' He licked his dry lips and fondled the stump. 'Please. Would you? You can get the best price.'
'Trading's against the law.'
'Yes, but please, you — would you please? You can trust me.'
The King turned so that his back was towards Grey and his face towards the fence - just in case Grey could lip read. 'I'll send someone after chow,'
he said quietly. 'Password is 'Lieutenant Albany said for me to see you.'
Got it?'
'Yes.' Major Barry hesitated, his heart pumping. 'When did you say?'
'After chow. Lunch!'
'Oh, all right.'
'Just give it to him. And when I've looked it over, I'll get in touch with you.
Same password.' The King flipped the burning top off his cigarette and dropped the butt onto the ground. He was just about to step on it when he saw the major's face. 'Oh! You want the butt?'
Major Barry bent down happily and picked it up. 'Thanks. Thanks very much.' He opened his little tobacco tin and carefully tore the paper off the butt and put the half inch of tobacco into the dried tea leaves and mixed them together. 'Nothing like a little sweetening,' he said, smiling. 'Thank you very much. It'll make at least three good cigarettes.'
'I'll see you, sir,' said the King saluting.
'Oh, um, well —' Major Barry did not know quite how to put it. 'Don't you think,' he said nervously, keeping his voice low, 'that, well — to give it to a stranger, just like that, how do I know that — well, everything will be all right?'
The King said coldly, 'The password for one thing. Another thing, I've got a reputation. Another thing, I'm trusting you that it's not stolen. Maybe we'd better forget it.'
'Oh no, please don't misunderstand me,' the major said quickly, 'I was just asking. It's, well, it's all I have left.' He tried to smile. 'Thanks. After lunch. Oh, how long do you think it'll take to, er, to dispose of it?'
'Soon as I can. Usual terms. I get ten percent of the sale price,' the King said crisply.
'Of course. Thank you, and thanks again for the tobacco.'
Now that everything had been said, Major Barry felt an enormous weight off his mind. With luck, he thought as he hurried down the hill, we will get six or seven hundred dollars. Enough to buy food for months, with care.
He did not think once of the man who had owned the lighter, who had given it into his keeping when the man had gone to the hospital, months ago, never to return. That was in the past. Today he owned the lighter. It was his. His to sell.
The King knew that Grey had been watching him all the time. The excitement of making a deal in front of the MP hut added to his well-being.
Pleased with himself, he walked up the slight rise, responding automatically to the greetings of the men - officers and enlisted men, English and Australian - that he knew. The important ones got special treatment, the others a friendly nod. The King was conscious of their malevolent envy and it bothered him not at all. He was used to it; it amused him and added to his stature. And he was pleased that the men called him the King. He was proud of what he had done as a man - as an American. Through running he had created a world. He surveyed his world now and was well satisfied.
He stopped outside Hut Twenty-four, one of the Australian huts, and poked his head through a window.
'Hey, Tinker,' he called out. 'I want me a shave and a manicure.'
Tinker Bell was small and wiry. His skin was pigment-brown and his eyes were small and very brown and his nose was peeling. He was a sheep shearer by trade but he was the best barber in Changi.
'Wot's this, your ruddy birthday? I gave you a manicure the day before yesterday.'
