King Rat

Mac stood near his bed, above the radio, his knees shaking, hardly breathing. When at length he could talk he said hoarsely, “I think I know. It’s the news. I didn’t have time to tell you. We’ve—we’ve a new type of bomb. An atom bomb. Yesterday at eight-fifteen in the morning one was dropped on Hiroshima. The whole city disappeared. They say the casualties’ll be in the hundreds of thousands—men, women and children!”

“Oh my God!”

Larkin sat suddenly, and the nervous guard cocked his rifle and half pressed the trigger as Mac shouted in Malay, “Wait, he’s just sitting!”

“All of you sit!” the guard shouted back in Malay, cursing them. When they had obeyed him, he said, “Thou art fools! Be more careful as thou move—for I am responsible that thou do not escape. Sit where thou art. And stay where thou art! I will shoot thee without question.”

So they sat and did not talk. In time they fell asleep, dozing restlessly under the harsh light of the electric lamp, slapping at the mosquitoes until dawn took away the mosquitoes.

At dawn the guard was changed. Still the three friends sat. Outside the bungalow nervous men walked the path, but they looked the other way until they were well clear of the condemned room.

The day was bleak under the scorching sky. It dragged long, longer than any day had ever dragged.

In the middle of the afternoon the three looked up as Grey approached the guard and saluted. In his hands were two mess cans.

“Can I give them this? Makan?” He opened the mess cans and showed the guard the food.

The guard shrugged and nodded.

Grey walked across the veranda and put the food down at the doorway, his eyes red-rimmed and piercing.

“Sorry it’s cold,” he said.

“Come to gloat, Grey, old man?” Peter Marlowe said with a mirthless smile.

“It’s no bloody satisfaction to me that they are going to put you away. I wanted to catch you breaking the laws—not see you caught for risking your life for the good of us all. Just your bloody luck you’ll go in a blaze of glory.”

“Peter,” Mac whispered, “distract the guard!”

Peter Marlowe got up and quickly moved into the doorway. He saluted the guard and asked permission to go to the latrine. The guard pointed to the ground just outside the bungalow. Peter Marlowe squatted in the dirt and relieved himself, hating to do it there in the open, but thankful that they were not going to be made to do it in the little room. As the guard watched Peter Marlowe, Mac whispered the news to Grey, who blanched. Grey got up and nodded to Peter Marlowe, who nodded back, and saluted the guard once more. The guard pointed at the fly-covered mess and told Grey to return with a bucket and clean it away.

Grey passed the news on to Smedly-Taylor, who whispered it to the others, and soon the whole of Changi knew—long before Grey had found a bucket and had cleaned away the mess and set another bucket on the ground for them to use.

The first of the great fears permeated the camp. The fear of reprisal.

At sundown the guard was changed again and the new guard was Shagata. Peter Marlowe tried to talk to him, but Shagata just motioned him back into the little room with his bayonet. “I cannot talk with thee. Thou hast been caught with a radio, which is forbidden. I will shoot even thee if any of thee attempt to escape. I do not wish to shoot thee.” And he moved back to the door.

“My bloody oath,” Larkin said. “I wish they’d just finish us off.”

Mac looked at Shagata. “Sir,” he said, motioning toward his bed, “I beg thee a favor. May I rest there, please? I slept little in the night.”

“Assuredly. Rest while thou hast time, old man.”

“I thank thee. Peace be upon thee.”

“And upon thee.”

Mac went over to his bed and lay down. He let his head rest on the pillow. “It’s still connected,” he said, keeping his voice level with difficulty. “There’s a music recital. I can hear it clearly.”

Larkin saw the earphone near Mac’s head and suddenly laughed. Then they were all laughing. Shagata jerked his rifle towards the men. “Stop it,” he shouted, frightened by the laughter.

“We beg thy pardon,” Peter Marlowe said. “It is just that we who are so near eternity find small things amusing.”

“Truly thou art near death—and also a fool to be caught breaking the law. But I hope that I may have the courage of laughter when my time arrives.” He threw a pack of cigarettes into the room. “Here,” he said. “I’m sorry that thou hast been caught.”

“No sorrier that I,” Peter Marlowe said.

He divided the cigarettes and glanced across at Mac. “What’s the re-cital?”

“Bach, laddie,” Mac said, hard put not to break out into hysterical laughter again. He moved his head nearer the earphone. “Shut up, will you, now. I’d like to enjoy the music.”

“Maybe we can take turns,” Larkin said. “Though anyone who can enjoy Bach is a bit of a wet.”

Peter Marlowe smoked his cigarette and said pleasantly to Shagata, “Thank thee for thy cigarettes.”