But stealing rations didn't make sense, not when a man's a diamond to sell. No sense. No sense at all. Except that maybe I was the cause of Gurble's death and I curse myself, again and again, for stealing the diamond. Since I become a thief I got no peace, no peace, no peace. An'
now, now I'm glad, glad that it's gone from me, stolen from me.
"I don't know," Townsend sobbed.
Larkin saw that it was no use and left Townsend to his pain.
"Oh, sorry, Father," Larkin said, as he almost bumped Father Donovan down the hut steps.
"Hello, old friend." Father Donovan was wraithlike, impossibly emaciated, his eyes deepset and strangely peaceful. "How are you? And Mac? And young Peter?"
"Fine, thanks." Larkin nodded back towards Townsend. "Do you know anything about this?"
Donovan looked at Townsend and replied gently, "I see a man in pain."
"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked." Larkin thought a moment, smiled. "Would you like a game of bridge? Tonight? After supper?"
"Yes. Thank you. I'd like that."
"Good. After supper."
Father Donovan watched Larkin walk away and then went over to Townsend's bed. Townsend was not a Catholic. But Father Donovan gave of himself to all, for he knew that all men are children of God. But are they, all of them? he asked himself in wonder. Could children of God do such things?
At noon the wind and the rain came together. Soon everything and everyone was drenched. Then the rain stopped and the wind continued.
Pieces of thatch ripped away and whirled across the camp, mixing with loose fronds and rags and coolie hats. Then the wind stopped and the camp was normal with sun and heat and flies. Water in the storm channels gushed for half an hour, then began to sink into the earth and stagnate.
More flies gathered.
Peter Marlowe wandered up the hill listlessly. His feet were mud-stained like his legs, for he had let the tempest surround him, hoping that the wind and the rain would take away the brooding hurt. But they had not touched him.
He stood outside the King's window and peered in.
"How do you feel, Peter, buddy?" the King asked as he got up from his bed and found a pack of Kooas.
"Awful." Peter Marlowe sat on the bench under the overhang, nauseated from the pain. "My arm's killing me." His laugh was brittle. "Joke!"
The King jumped down and forced a smile. "Forget it —"
"How the hell can I forget it?" Immediately Peter Marlowe regretted the outburst. "Sorry. I'm jumpy. Don't know what I'm saying half the time."
"Have a cigarette." The King lit it for him. Yep, the King told himself, you're in a spot. The Limey learns fast, very fast. At least I think so. Let's see. "We'll complete the deal tomorrow. You can get the money tonight. I'll cover for you."
But Peter Marlowe didn't hear him. His arm was burning a word into his brain. Amputate! And he could hear the saw shrieking and feel it cutting, grinding bone-dust, his bone-dust. A shudder racked him. "What about this?" he muttered and looked up from his arm. "Can you really do something?"
The King nodded and told himself, There, you see. You were right. Only Pete knows where the money is, but Pete won't get the money until you've set up the cure. No cure, no dough. No dough, no sale. No sale, no loot.
So he sighed and said to himself, Yes, you're a pretty smart cookie to know men so well. But when you figure it right, like you did last night, it wasn't a bad trade. If Pete hadn't taken the chance we'd both be in jail with no money and no nothing. And Pete had brought them luck. The deal was better than ever. And apart from that, Pete's all right. A good guy. And hell, who wants to lose an arm anyway. Pete's got a right to put the pressure on. I'm glad he's learned.
"Leave it to Uncle Sam!"
"Who?"
"Uncle Sam?" The King stared at him blankly. "The American symbol.
You know," he said exasperatedly, "like John Bull."
"Oh, sorry. I'm just — today — I'm just —" A wave of nausea surged over Peter Marlowe.
"You beat it back to your bunk and relax. I'll take care of it."
Peter Marlowe got up unsteadily. He wanted to smile and thank the King and shake his hand and bless him, but he remembered the word, and he felt only the saw, so he half nodded and walked out of the hut.
For Chrissake, the King told himself bitterly. He thinks I'd let him down, that I wouldn't do nothin', unless he had the screws on me. Chrissake, Peter, I would help. Sure. Even though you didn't have me by the shorts.
Hell. You're my friend.
"Hey, Max."
"Yeah."
"Get Timsen here on the double."
"Sure," Max said and left.
The King unlocked the black box and took out three eggs. "Tex. You like to cook yourself an egg? Along with these two?"
"Hell no," Tex said, grinning, and he took the eggs. "Hey, I took a look at Eve. Swear to God she's fatter today."
"Impossible. She was only mated yesterday."
Tex danced a little jig. "Twenty days an' we're all daddies again." He accepted the oil and headed outside for the cooking area.
The King lay back on his bunk, scratching a mosquito bite thoughtfully and watching the lizards on the rafters hunt and fornicate. He closed his eyes and began to drowse contentedly. Here it was only twelve o'clock, and already he'd done a hard day's work. Hell, everything'd been sewn up by six o'clock this morning.
He chuckled to himself as he remembered. Yes sir, it pays to have a good reputation and it pays to advertise…
It had happened just before dawn. He had been soft asleep. Then a cautious, muted voice had interrupted his dreams.
He awoke at once and looked out of the window and had seen a little weasel of a man staring at him in the shadowed contrails of the dawn. A man he had never seen before.
"Yeah?"
"I got somethin' yer wanter buy." The man's voice had been expressionless and hoarse.
"Who're you?"
In answer the little man had opened his grimy fist with its broken, dirt-flecked finger nails. The diamond ring was in his palm. "Price's ten thousand. For a quick sale," he added sardonically. Then the fingers had snapped tight as the King moved to pick the ring up, and the fist was withdrawn. "Tonight." The man had smiled toothlessly. "It's the right one, never fear."
"Are you the owner?"
"It's in me 'and, ain't it?"
"Its a deal. What time?"
"You wait in. I'll see yer when there ain't no narks abart."
And the man had gone as suddenly as he had appeared.
The King settled more comfortably, gloating. Poor Timsen, he told himself, that poor son of a bitch's got egg on his face! I get the ring for half price.
"Morning, cobber," Timsen said. "You wanted me?"
The King opened his eyes and covered a yawn with his hand as Tiny Timsen walked up the hut.
"Hi." The King swung his legs off the bed and stretched luxuriously. "Tired today. Too much excitement. You want an egg? Got a couple cooking."