“Ay, a real beauty that one. She’ll be six this September.”
The happiness faded, and Duncan fell silent. “How I wish this war was over,” he said.
“Won’t be long now.”
“When you get married, Peter, marry a Chinese girl. They make the best wives in the world.” Duncan had said the same thing many times. “I know that it’s hard to be ostracized, and hard on the children — but I’ll die content if I die in her arms.” He sighed. “But you won’t listen. You’ll marry some English girl and you’ll think you’re living. What a waste! I know. I’ve tried both.”
“I’ll have to wait and see, won’t I, Duncan?” Peter Marlowe laughed. Then he quickened his pace to get into position ahead of his men. “I’ll see you later.”
“Thanks, Peter,” Duncan called after him.
They were almost up to the airfield now. Ahead was a group of guards waiting to take their parties to their work areas. Beside the guards were mattocks and spades and shovels. Already many of the men were streaming under guard across the airfield.
Peter Marlowe looked west. There was one party heading for the trees already. Bloody hell!
He stopped his men and saluted the guards, noticing that one of them was Torusumi.
Torusumi recognized Peter Marlowe, and smiled. “Tabe!”
“Tabe,” replied Peter Marlowe, embarrassed by Torusumi’s obvious friendliness.
“I will take thee and thy men,” said Torusumi and nodded to the implements.
“I thank thee,” said Peter Marlowe and nodded at the sergeant. “We’re to go with him.”
“That bleeder works the east end,” said the sergeant irritably. “Just our bloody luck.”
“I know that,” said Peter Marlowe just as irritably, and as the men moved forward to get the tools he said to Torusumi, “I hope today thou wilt be taking us to the west end. It is cooler there.”
“We are to go to the east. I know it is cooler on the west side, and I always get the east.”
Peter Marlowe decided to gamble. “Perhaps thou shouldst ask for better treatment.” It was dangerous to make a suggestion to a Korean or a Japanese. Torusumi observed him coldly, then turned abruptly and went over to Azumi, a Japanese corporal, who stood grimly to one side. Azumi was known for his bad temper.
Apprehensively, Peter Marlowe watched Torusumi bow and start to speak rapidly and harshly in Japanese. And he felt Azumi’s stare on him.
Beside Peter Marlowe the sergeant was also watching the exchange anxiously. “What’d you say, sir?”
“I said it’d be a good idea if we went to the west end for a change.”
The sergeant winced. If the officer got a slap the sergeant got one automatically. “You’re taking a chance — ” He stopped abruptly as Azumi began walking towards them, followed by Torusumi, deferentially two paces behind.
Azumi, a small bowlegged man, halted five paces from Peter Marlowe, then stared up into his face for perhaps ten seconds. Peter Marlowe readied himself for the slap that was to come. But it didn’t. Instead Azumi suddenly smiled and showed his gold teeth and sucked in air and took out a pack of cigarettes. He offered Peter Marlowe one and said something in Japanese which Peter Marlowe didn’t understand, but he caught “Shoko-san” and was even more astonished, since he hadn’t been called Shoko-san before.” Shoko” is “officer” and “san” means “mister,” and to be called Mr. Officer by a fiendish little bastard like Azumi was praise indeed.
“Arigato,” Peter Marlowe said, accepting the light. “Thank you” was the only Japanese he knew, apart from “Stand easy” and “Attention” and “Quick march” and “Salute” and “Come here, you white bastard.” He ordered the sergeant, who was obviously nonplussed, to get the men lined up.
“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant, glad of an excuse to get out of range.
Then Azumi snapped in Japanese at Torusumi and Torusumi moved up too and said, “Hotchatore,” which means “quick march.” When they were halfway across the airfield and well out of Azumi’s hearing distance, Torusumi smiled at Peter Marlowe. “We’re going to the west end today. And we’re going to cut down the trees.”
“We are? I don’t understand.”
“It is simple. I told Azumi-san that thou art the King’s interpreter, and that I felt he should know this, since he takes ten percent of our profits. So,” Torusumi shrugged, “of course we must look after each other. And maybe we can discuss some business during the day.”
Peter Marlowe weakly ordered the men to halt.
“What’s the matter, sir?” asked the sergeant.
“Nothing, Sergeant. Listen, all of you! Now no noise. We’ve got the trees.”
“Oh bloody hell, how great.”
There was the beginning of a cheer, quickly stifled.
When they got to the three trees, Spence and his working party were already there with their guard. Torusumi went up to the guard and they had a slanging match in Korean. But Spence and his angry men were lined up and marched away by the furious guard. “Why the hell have you got the trees, you bastard? We were here first!” Spence called out.
“Yes,” said Peter Marlowe sympathetically. He knew how Spence felt.
Torusumi beckoned to Peter Marlowe and sat down in the shade and propped his rifle against a tree. “Post a guard,” he yawned. “I hold thee responsible if I am caught asleep by any pestilential Japanese or Korean.”
“Thou mayest sleep soft in my trust,” Peter Marlowe replied.
“Wake me at the hour of food.”
“It will be done.”
Peter Marlowe posted guards in vantage points, then led the furious assault on the trees. He wanted the trees down and carved up before anyone changed their orders.
By noon the three trees were down and the millionaire’s cabbage out of the trees. The men were all exhausted and ant-bitten, but that didn’t matter, for today’s booty was huge. There were two coconuts per man to take home and another fifteen left over. Peter Marlowe said that they would save five for Torusumi and share the other ten for lunch. He divided two millionaire’s cabbage and said that the other should be kept for Torusumi and Azumi, just in case they wanted it. If they didn’t, then it too would be divided.
Peter Marlowe was propped against a tree, panting from the exertion, when a sudden danger whistle rocked him to his feet and he was quickly beside Torusumi, shaking him awake.
“A guard, Torusumi-san, hurry.”
Torusumi scrambled to his feet and brushed down his uniform. “Good. Go back to the trees and look busy,” he said softly.
Then Torusumi wandered nonchalantly into the clearing. When he recognized the guard, he relaxed and motioned the man into the shade and they both propped their rifles and lay back and began to smoke. “Shoko-san,” Torusumi called out. “Rest easy, it is only my friend.”
Peter Marlowe smiled, then called out, “Hey, Sergeant. Cut open a couple of the best young coconuts and take them to the guards.” He couldn’t take them himself, for he would have lost much face.
The sergeant chose the two carefully and sliced the tops off. The outside husks were green-brown and two inches thick and pithy on the deep imbedded nut. The white meat that lined the interior of the nut was just soft enough and easy to eat with a spoon if you’d a mind, and the juice cool and sweet-tasting.
“Smith,” he called out.
“Yes, Sarn’t.”
“Take these over to the bloody Nips.”
“Why me? I’m bloody well always having to do more than the — ”
“Get your arse over here.”
Smith, a spare little Cockney, grumbled to his feet and did as he was ordered.