sky. I do not believe, as Mohammed promised, that the Faithful will go to a paradise where they will lie on silken couches and drink wine and have many beautiful maids to serve them, or that Paradise will be a garden with an abundance of green foliage and pure streams and fruit trees. I do not believe that angels have wings growing from their backs.'
Night swooped over the village. A baby cried and was gentled back to sleep.
'One day I will know for certain by what name to call God. The day I die.'
The silence gathered. 'I think it would be very depressing to discover there was no God.' The headman motioned for Peter Marlowe to sit.
'You may stay. But there are conditions. You will swear to obey our laws and be one of us. You will work in the paddy and work in the village, the work of a man. No more and no less than any man. You will learn our language and speak only our language and wear our dress and dye the color of your skin. Your height and the color of your eyes will shout that you are a white man, but perhaps color, dress and language may protect you for a time; perhaps it can be said that you are half Javanese, half white. You will touch no woman here without permission. And you will obey me without question.'
'Agreed.'
'There is one other thing. To hide an enemy of the Japanese is dangerous. You must know that when the time comes for me to choose between you and my people to protect my village, I will choose my village.'
'I understand. Thank you, sir.'
'Swear by your God —' a nicker of a smile swept the features of the old man, 'swear by God that you will obey and agree to these conditions.'
'I swear by God I agree and will obey. And I'll do nothing to harm you while I'm here.'
'You harm us by your very presence, my son,' the old man replied.
After Peter Marlowe had had the food and drink, the headman said, 'Now you will speak no more English. Only Malay. From this moment on. It is the only way for you to learn quickly.'
'All right. But first may I ask you one thing?'
'Yes.'
'What is the significance of the toilet bowl? I mean, it hasn't any pipes attached to it.'
'It has no significance, other than that it pleases me to watch the faces of my guests and hear them thinking, 'What a ridiculous thing to have an as ornament in a house.''
And huge waves of laughter engulfed the old man and the tears ran down his cheeks and his whole household was in an uproar and his wives came in to succor him and rub his back and stomach, and then they too were shrieking and so was Peter Marlowe.
Peter Marlowe smiled again, remembering. Now that was a man! Tuan Abu. But I won't think any more today about my village, or my friends of the village, or N'ai, the daughter of the village they gave me to touch.
Today I'll think about the wireless and how I'm going to get the condenser and sharpen my wits for the village tonight.
He unwound himself from the lotus seat, then waited patiently till the blood began to flow in his veins once more. Around him was the sweet gasoline smell, carried by a breeze. Also on the breeze came voices raised in hymn. They came from the open air theater, which today was the Church of England. Last week it was a Catholic Church, the week before the Seventh-day Adventist, the week before another denomination. They were tolerant in Changi.
There were many parishioners crowding the rough seats. Some were there because of a faith, some were there for lack of a faith. Some were there for something to do, some were there because there was nothing else to do. Today Chaplain Drinkwater was conducting the service.
Chaplain Drinkwater's voice was rich and round. His sincerity poured from him and the words of the Bible sprang to life, and gave you hope, and made you forget that Changi was fact, that there was no food in your belly.
Rotten hypocrite, Peter Marlowe thought, despising Drinkwater, remembering once again…
'Hey, Peter,' Dave Daven had whispered that day, 'look over there.'
Peter Marlowe saw Drinkwater talking with a withered RAF corporal called Blodger. Drinkwater's bunk had a favored spot near the door of Hut Sixteen.
'That must be his new batman,' Daven said. Even in the camp the age-old tradition was kept.
'What happened to the other one?'
'Lyles? My man told me he was up in hospital. Ward Six.'
Peter Marlowe got to his feet. 'Drinkwater can do what he likes with Army types, but he's not getting one of mine.'
He walked the four bunk lengths. 'Blodger!'
'What do you want, Marlowe?' Drinkwater said.
Peter Marlowe ignored him. 'What're you doing here, Blodger?'
'I was just seeing the chaplain, sir. I'm sorry, sir,' he said moving closer,
'I don't see you too well.'
'Flight Lieutenant Marlowe.'
'Oh. How're you, sir? I'm the chaplain's new batman, sir.'
'You get out of here, and before you take a job as a batman, you come and ask me first!'
'But sir —'
