The Lonely War (34 page)

Cocoa winked at Hudson. “Loony or not, he sure saved your ass.”

“The colonel’s right,” Stokes said. “The Brits will kill us if they find out.”

Hudson, Grady, and Stokes gathered around Cocoa, who sat on his bunk. Cocoa’s face went hard as stone. “Well, boys, if the senior staff know about us, that means we have a little white mouse in the hut. It’s the only way they could have found out about the
balachong
and the stash of money. We’ve been too careful otherwise.”

White mouse was slang for an informer. They all turned to glare around the hut, trying to guess who it could be.

“It don’t make sense,” Grady said. “Who’d do such a low-down deed?”

“We need to be more careful ’bout what we say and what we show,” Hudson said.

Cocoa smiled. “At least they didn’t find our money stash. We kept that hiding place secret.”

Stokes chuckled. “Knock on wood.” He leaned down and rapped his knuckles on Cocoa’s hollow wooden leg. They all laughed.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

December 24, 1944—1400 hours

A
NDREW
’
S
life had become a perfectly balanced pendulum swinging between days in the prison and nights with Tottori. News of the war’s progress and the looming end of the hostilities had formed boundaries around the time those two worlds could ultimately survive, but Andrew forced himself to focus only on the moment.

He left camp early, couldn’t wait to distance himself from the lie. As he hurried through camp, his mind rambled through a dense fog. He imagined himself strolling down a busy Saigon street. He could smell the charcoal cooking fires, hear the wind-song melody of people speaking the language of South China. Master Jung-Wei’s soothing voice vibrated through his being.

“You are troubled, Lingtse.” The old man’s voice was as serene as ever.

Startled, Andrew turned, but there was nobody within a hundred yards of him.

“Lingtse,” the voice returned, “it is not our abilities or even our deeds that determine who we are. It is our choices. Have you not chosen in every case to protect someone?”

“Yes, master, at the cost of my integrity.”

“Is your integrity more important than those you love?”

“I’ve lost the person you taught me to be.” Andrew had promised his master before leaving Saigon that he would follow the old man’s teachings. Now, he tallied his broken promises. One: tricking the marine, which had cost the man his life. Two: coming close to killing Hurlburt on the beach. Three: becoming Tottori’s whore. Four: lying to Fowler moments ago. Five: lying to Mitchell about his relationship with Tottori. Actually, he had lied to everyone about that, but did that mean a broken promise for each prisoner? He felt himself fall like a stone into a void.

“All you can be is what you are at this moment. Experience that and work with it. That’s all anyone can do. Everything else is a dream of the ego.”

He turned again to see nothing there, but there seemed to be a faint orange glimmer wavering in the afternoon air.

Andrew hurried out the camp gates. The voice had been so real that he questioned his sanity. This was not the first time Andrew had experienced hallucinations. But the fact that it was someone other than the dead he had buried made him worry that perhaps a sickness was gradually consuming his mind.

Climbing the steps to Tottori’s hut, he stumbled over the tortoise that was tied to the stone lantern. He hurried into the living room and cut a direct path into Tottori’s arms.

The surprised commandant stroked the nape of Andrew’s neck. “I’m glad you’ve come early. You can join me while I explore for rocks.”

Andrew wanted to tell him about the hallucination, that he was losing his grip on reality, but now that he was in Tottori’s protective aura, he felt new clarity surging through him. He decided to say nothing and hope that the voices of the dead would leave him in peace.

An hour later they crawled alongside a streambed under a cloud-swollen sky. Tottori inched from one stone outcrop to another with his hammer tucked in his belt and a magnifying glass in hand. Andrew wandered behind him, carrying a canvas bag to hold the specimens.

It was the first time since coming to Changi that Andrew had been outside the camp compound. His heart throbbed as he took in the jungle sounds and earthy fragrances. Light poured over everything, creating a spectrum of colors. The stream was fed by artesian wells and the pure water splashed in brisk freshets. The forest teemed with lush, tantalizing life squirming with energy. Hairy palm-trunks reached for the sky, fleshy green plants as tall as a man seemed to burst with vivacious flowers, and flamboyant colored birds with grotesque beaks squawked while traversing the canopy. Within this jungle, he witnessed the moment-by-moment intermingling of life, creation, and annihilation, in all its dizzying exhibition of transformation.

When his rapture overwhelmed him, Andrew turned his attention on Tottori, who seemed oblivious to the wonder happening around them. He watched Tottori select a stone, scrape away dirt, and inspect it under his magnifying glass. Tottori took great pride in his small but impressive stone collection, with specimens ranging in size from a hen’s egg to a hog’s head. He piled pebbles around his office and placed larger specimens in front of his shrine. He also kept some in bowls of clear water to expose their glossy brilliance.

Tottori meticulously cleaned, polished and labeled each new specimen. Some rocks he split into segments using a cheap diamond stone saw, smoothed them with fine sandpaper, and polished them to a radiant luster. His collection was equally divided into three categories—igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic. His true passion, however, was the mineral crystals such as quartz and amphibole.

“Why do you find these rocks so fascinating?”

Tottori held out a small green stone in his left hand. “This pebble reveals the history of the world. Some stones are formed from magma deep within the earth’s crust. Many are created from living organisms. Coal is simply fossilized wood. Chert is created from sea creatures’ skeletons compressed by the weight of the sea over eons of time. The earth will eventually turn the calcium in our bones into minerals, and our histories will also be reflected in stone. When I look within these silent, lovely rocks, I see my past and my future.”

He went on to explain the important role of erosion—how water, ice, wind, and time reshaped living organic matter into these beautiful storybooks of history. Andrew only half listened. They had worked their way close to the sea and the scent of salt water saturated the air.

They crawled through twisting vines and over fallen tree trunks for another half mile. An eternity passed before Andrew stumbled through a thick stand of vegetation and saw the coastline. Blue-green water stretched to infinity. Vast. Incomprehensible. The space within him expanded.

He had forgotten that a world other than the prison existed. He wished that he had brought Jah-Jai so he could play music with the surf pounding the sand for an underlying beat. Tottori walked up behind him and enfolded him in powerful arms.

“I should have brought you here sooner,” Tottori whispered. They merged while watching the sun wander toward the horizon.

Distant laughter violated their solemn stillness. Far up the beach, a dozen stout huts squatted on stilts under the palm trees, a few yards beyond the yellow sand. Several brightly painted dugout canoes languished on the beach with their sails neatly furled. Fishing nets draped from long poles. A horde of naked children began a game of keep-away in the surf.

“Come,” Tottori said. “Let us pay our respects to the village elders.”

They wandered down the beach until they stood before the largest hut. Three elderly men and a toothless old woman hunkered on the veranda, smoking pipes with long, slender stems. Forty feet down the beach a pig carcass roasted on a spit over glowing coals. The aroma of roasting meat wafted on the air.

Andrew followed Tottori up a rickety ladder and onto the veranda. They squatted on their haunches, emulating the Malays. Several natives emerged from the hut and gathered around. The mood turned lighthearted.

“
Tabe
, Wang San,” Tottori said.

“Welcome, Tottori,” said the oldest-looking man. He wore a maroon sarong, and a single piece of coral jewelry hung from his neck on a leather cord. He smiled, showing the few betel-nut-stained teeth he had left.

“How are you?” Tottori asked.

“Me good,” replied the old one, groping for the proper English words.

Tottori pointed to Andrew. “
Ichi-ban
boy.”  Tottori took Andrew’s hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it.

Comprehension lit up their faces. The old man caressed Andrew’s cheek, appraising his beauty. He nodded and winked to tell the officer that he approved of such a fine mistress.

A wave of satisfaction flowed through Andrew from being with these people and each one understanding his role.

“You eat?”

Tottori nodded, and food arrived minutes later: thick slices of roasted pork dripping in fat, grilled eel, baked sweet potatoes, millionaire’s cabbage, fried bananas, fresh papayas, and a pitcher of coconut milk.
A feast for such a village,
Andrew thought.
They must be prospering from selling their nightly fish catch to the Japanese.

Everyone ate, the women more shyly than the men. Andrew ate with his hands, licking the pork fat from his fingers. He ate more slowly than the others, savoring each bite, while he wondered how to tell the elders that their radio had put them in danger.

The old man turned to his wife and, speaking in Malay, said, “The food is not to the young master’s taste. What else might we prepare for him?”

Andrew knew enough Malay to understand the old man’s meaning and he replied in Malay, “On the contrary, Grandfather. This feast is beyond delicious as the stars are beyond the clouds. But something troubles me.”

“What could be disturbing on such a night?”

Andrew could tell that Tottori didn’t understand Malay, so he decided to gamble.

“Thou keeps a little snake which interests the Englishmen greatly.”

“Many things interest the English.”

“This snake hisses news from far away.”

The man’s eyes widened perceptibly.

“This snake has poison fangs,” Andrew continued. “A wise man would shoo it away. The English are like old women and love to gossip about such creatures.”

“Thou, my grandson, are both wise and kind.” The old one bowed to his guest while the others traded fearful glances.

“What did you tell him?” Tottori asked, obviously aware of the sudden mood change.

“I thanked him for his hospitality.”

Tottori studied him with a curious smile.

Andrew quickly finished his meal so as not to seem impolite.

“Would thou have more?” the old man said.

“No, thank thee,” Andrew replied, knowing that to overeat would be rude.

Women whisked the plates away and brought coffee. The men filled their pipes and lit them with a burning brand brought from the cooking fire. After they finished their coffee, Tottori stood and bowed. Andrew followed his example.

“We thank you for your hospitality,” Tottori said. Andrew translated.

The old man waved a hand. “I’ll not forget thy kindness. Go with Allah, my grandson.”

The evening sky blushed a pure shade of lavender. The stars had not yet appeared, but the villagers gathered at the boats to prepare the nets. A few minutes later they hauled the boats into the surf and glided across the water, leaving a green trail of phosphorescent light. The same light inflamed the surf and made the night seem magical.

Tottori led Andrew a hundred yards up the beach. They undressed as the moon peeped over the horizon. Holding hands, they dashed into the water, diving into an oncoming wave of green light. They swam underwater until they found a cold pocket in the warm surf. Breaking the surface, they floated lazily in the shallows.

The sea caressed Andrew’s nakedness. It felt like a thousand silky fingers roving over his skin. For a second he was back at the Bai Hur Sze Temple enjoying a midnight swim with Clifford. Andrew playfully splashed a handful of water at Tottori. The air shattered with brilliant phosphorescent light. They tumbled in luminescence; were covered with it; radiated it. Seduced by such splendor—this delirious freedom, a full stomach, swimming naked with Tottori—Andrew trembled, humbled by sheer awe.

As Tottori hugged Andrew, the surf swirled around his loins and mixed with the heat from Tottori’s body, igniting Andrew’s insides. They kissed, a sensuous pressing of lips that seemed to last an eon. Tottori carried Andrew to the beach and laid him on the sand. Waves lapped at their legs. He smothered Andrew with his body. His mouth consumed Andrew like an act of communion. Andrew’s hunger surged as Tottori’s lovemaking became imperious and turned into an act of taking possession.

Andrew welcomed the aggression, surrendering to Tottori’s brutality. He merged with the sand under him and the stone-hard body covering him while luminescent water swirled over their legs. It all coalesced into a sensation of ferocious love. This was the first time they had made love outside the confines of their bedroom. The weight of the entire universe pressed from all sides, crushing them together with such agonizing ecstasy that nothing but their hunger for each other survived.

Later, as the tide rushed out, they lay with limbs interlocked. Andrew’s flesh was bruised. He looked into Tottori’s eyes, and for the first time there was no trace of fear. The terror in Tottori’s mind had finally been incinerated.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

December 25, 1944—1000 hours

P
REPARATIONS
for the Christmas celebration began before dawn. Cocoa planned the menu and sent every man out to borrow, steal, and buy an extra hot plate, two stew pots, coconuts, bananas, papayas, and spices. Every egg in the camp was bought up at exorbitant prices. Grady killed three plump hens and plucked feathers all morning.