Why? What was wrong? Do you think, dare I ask him, dare I… am I all right?
When the King first heard about the officer, he was lying on his bed, brooding. True, he still had the choice position under the window, but now he had the same space as the other men — six feet by four feet. When he had returned from the north garden he had found his bed and chairs moved, and other beds were now spread into the space that was his by right. He had said nothing and they had said nothing, but he had looked at them and they had all avoided his eyes.
And, too, no one had collected or saved his evening meal. It had just been consumed by others.
"Gee," Tex had said absently, "I guess we forgot about you. Better be here next time. Every man's responsible for his own chow."
So he had cooked one of his hens. He had cleaned it and fried it and eaten it. At least he had eaten half of it and kept half of it for breakfast.
Now he had only two hens left. The others had been consumed during the last days — and he had shared them with the men who had done the work.
Yesterday he had tried to buy the camp store, but the pile of money that the diamond had brought was worthless. In his wallet he still had eleven American dollars, and these were good currency. But he knew — chilled
— he could not last forever on eleven dollars and two hens.
He had slept little the previous night. But in the bleak watches of the early morning he had faced himself and told himself that this was weak and foolish and not the pattern of a King — it did not matter that when he had walked the camp earlier people had looked through him — Brant and Prouty and Samson and all the others had passed by and not returned his salute. It had been the same with everyone. Tinker Bell and Timsen and the MP's and his informants and employees — men he had helped or known or sold for or given food or cigarettes or money. They had all looked at him as though he did not exist. Where always eyes had been watching him, and hate had been surrounding him when he walked the camp, now there was nothing. No eyes, no hate, no recognition.
It had been freezing to walk the camp a ghost. To return to his home a ghost. To lie in bed a ghost.
Nothingness.
Now he was listening as Tex poured out to the hut the incredible news of the captain's arrival, and he could sense the new fear gnawing at them.
"What's the matter?" he said. "What're you all so goddam silent about? A guy's arrived from outside, that's all."
No one said anything.
The King got up, galled by the silence, hating it. He put on his best shirt and his clean pants and wiped the dust off his polished shoes. He set his cap at a jaunty angle and stood for a moment in the doorway.
"Think I'm going to have me a cook-up today," he said to no one in particular.
When he glanced around he could see the hunger in their faces and the barely concealed hope in their eyes. He felt warmed again and normal again, and looked at them selectively.
"You going to be busy today, Dino?" he said at length.
"Er, no. No," Dino said.
"My bed needs fixing and there's some laundry."
"You, er, want me to do them?" Dino asked uncomfortably.
"You want to?"
Dino swore under his breath, but the remembrance of the perfume of the chicken last night shattered his will. "Sure," he said.
"Thanks, pal," said the King derisively, amused by Dino's obvious struggle with his conscience. He turned and started down the steps.
"Er, which hen d'you want to have?" Dino called out after him.
The King did not stop. "I'll think about that," he said. "You just fix the bed and the laundry."
Dino leaned against the doorway, watching the King walk in the sun along the jail wall and around the corner of the jail. "Son of a bitch!"
"Go get the laundry," Tex said.
"Crap off! I'm hungry."
"He aced you into doing his work without any goddam chicken."
"He'll eat one today," Dino said stubbornly. "And I'll help him eat it. He's never eaten one before without giving the helper some."
"What about last night?"
"Hell, he was fit to be tied 'cause we took over his space." Dino was thinking about the English captain and home and his girl friend and wondered if she was waiting or if she was married. Sure, he told himself sullenly, she'll be married and no one'll be there. How the hell am I going to get me a job?
"That was before," Byron Jones III was saying. "I'll bet the son of a bitch cooks it and eats it in front of us." But he was thinking about his home.
Goddamned if I'm going to stay there any more. Got to get me my own apartment. Yeah. But where the hell's the dough coming from?
"So what if he does?" Tex asked. "We got maybe two or three days to go." Then home to Texas, he was thinking. Can I get my job back? Where the hell will I live? What am I going to use for dough? When I get in the hay, is it going to work?"
"What about the Limey officer, Tex? You think we should go talk with him?"
"Yeah, we should. But hell, later today, or tomorrow. We gotta get used to the idea." Tex suppressed a shudder. "When he looked at me — it was as though, just like he was looking at a — a geek! Holy cow, what's so goddam wrong with me? I look all right, don't I?"
They all studied Tex, trying to see what the officer had seen. But they saw only Tex, the Tex they had known for three and a half years.
"You look all right to me," Dino said finally. "If anyone's a freak it's him.
Goddamned if I'd parachute into Singapore alone. Not with all the lousy Japs around. No sir! He's the real freak."
The King was walking along the jail wall. You're a stupid son of a bitch, he told himself. What the hell're you so upset about? All's well in the world.
Sure. And you're still the King. You're still the only guy who knows how to get with it.
He cocked his hat at a rakish angle and chuckled as he remembered Dino. Yeah, that bastard would be cursing, wondering if he'd really get the chicken, knowing he'd been aced into working. The hell with him, let him sweat, the King thought cheerfully.
He crossed the path between two of the huts. Around the huts were groups of men. They were all looking north, towards the gate, silently, motionless. He rounded another hut and saw the officer standing in a pool of emptiness, staring around bewildered, his back towards him. He saw the officer go toward some men and laughed sardonically as he saw them retreat.
Crazy, he thought cynically. Plain crazy. What's there to be scared of?
The guy's only a captain. Yep, he's sure going to need a hand. But what the hell he's so scared about beats me!
He quickened his pace, but his footsteps made no noise.
"Morning, sir," he said crisply, saluting.
Captain Forsyth spun around, startled. "Oh! Hello." He returned the salute with a sigh of relief. "Thank God someone here is normal." Then he realized what he had said. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean —"
"That's all right," the King said agreeably. "This dump's enough to put anyone off kilter. Boy, are we pleased to see you. Welcome to Changi!"