'Son of a bitch,' the major said wearily, and he made a check mark against Max's name on the list. 'Seems kinda unfair.' He dropped his voice. 'What about the rest of them?'
'Not good. Withdrawal symptoms generally. Anxiety about the future.
There's only one that's in halfway decent shape physically.'
'I'll be goddamned if I know how any of 'em made it. You been in the jail?'
'Sure. Just a quick runaround. That was enough.'
Peter Marlowe was watching morosely. He knew his unhappiness was not due solely to the departure of his friend. It was more than that. He was sad because the Americans were leaving. Somehow he felt he belonged there with them, which was wrong, because they were foreigners. Yet he knew he did not feel like a foreigner when he was with them. Is it envy? he asked himself. Or jealousy? No, I don't think so. I don't know why, but I feel they're going home and I'm being left behind.
He moved a little closer to the truck as the orders began to sound and the men began to climb aboard. Brough and Tex and Dino and Byron Jones III and all the others resplendent in their new starched uniforms, looked unreal. They were talking and shouting and laughing. But not the King. He stood slightly to one side. Alone.
Peter Marlowe was glad that his friend was back once more with his own people, and he prayed that once the King was on his way all would be well with him.
'Get in the truck, you guys.'
'C'mon, get in the goddam truck.'
'Next stop Stateside!'
Grey was unaware that he was standing beside Peter Marlowe. 'They say,' he said looking at the truck, 'that they've a plane to fly them all the way back to America. A special plane. Is that possible? Just a handful of men and some junior officers?'
Peter Marlowe had also been unaware of Grey. He studied him, despising him. 'You're such a goddam snob, Grey, when it comes down to it.'
Grey's head whipped around. 'Oh, it's you.'
'Yes.' Peter Marlowe nodded at the truck. 'They think that one man's as good as another. So they get a plane, all to themselves. It's a great idea when you think of it.'
'Don't tell me the upper classes have at last realized —'
'Oh shut up!' Peter Marlowe moved away, his bile rising.
Beside the truck was a sergeant, a vast man with many stripes on his sleeve and an unlit cigar in his mouth. 'C'mon. Get in the truck,' he repeated patiently.
The King was the last on the ground.
'For Chrissake, get in the truck!' the sergeant growled. The King didn't move. Then, impatiently, the sergeant threw the cigar away, and stabbing the air with his finger shouted, 'You! Corporal! Get your goddam ass in the truck!'
The King came out of his trance. 'Yes, Sergeant. Sorry, Sergeant!'
Meekly he got into the back of the truck and stood while everyone else sat, and around him there were excited men talking one to another, but not to him. No one seemed to notice him. He held to the side of the truck as it roared into life and swept the Changi dust into the air.
Peter Marlowe frantically ran forward and held up his hand to wave at his friend. But the King did not look back. He never looked back.
Suddenly, Peter Marlowe felt very lonely, there by Changi Gate.
'That was worth watching,' Grey said, gloating.
Peter Marlowe turned on him. 'Go away before I do something about you.'
'It was good to see him go like that. ''You, Corporal, get your goddam arse in the truck.'' There was a vicious glint in Grey's eyes. 'Like the scum he was.'
But Peter Marlowe only remembered the King as he truly was. That wasn't the King who meekly said, 'Yes, Sergeant.' Not the King. This had been another man, torn from the womb of Changi, the man that Changi had nurtured so long.
'Like the thief he was,' Grey said deliberately.
Peter Marlowe bunched his good left fist. 'I told you before, a last time.'
Then he slammed his fist into Grey's face, knocking him backwards, but Grey stayed on his feet and threw himself at Peter Marlowe. The two men tore at each other and suddenly Forsyth was beside them.
'Stop it,' he ordered. 'What the hell are you two fighting about?'
'Nothing,' Peter Marlowe said.
'Take your hand off me,' Grey said and pulled his arm from Forsyth. 'Get out of the way!'
'Any more trouble out of either of you and I'll confine you to your quarters.' Appalled, Forsyth noticed that one man was a captain and the other a flight lieutenant. 'Ought to be ashamed of yourselves, brawling like common soldiers! Go on, both of you, get out of here. The war's over, for God's sake!'
'Is it?' Grey looked once at Peter Marlowe, then walked off.
'What's between you two?' Forsyth said.
Peter Marlowe stared into the distance. The truck was nowhere to be seen. 'You wouldn't understand,' he
