"We're going to Singapore," he said. "Get under the protection of the Royal Navy and Air Force before the commies spot us and start dropping bombs and rockets. If Buddha wants to see the world, he'd better start by getting a good bodyguard."

Kazu seemed agreeable when appraised of this plan, and so we began to plot a more detailed route over the 1,100 miles between us and the British crown colony. We stood at the narrowest part of the strait, but unfortunately most of it was too deep for Kazu to wade. Reference to the charts showed that by going 250 miles south, we would reduce the swim to about 30 miles, or the equivalent of some 500 yards for a normal man. To this was added a wade of 120 miles through shallows and over the many small Balabalagan Islands.

Suddenly Kazu's hand swept down and came up with a 60-foot whale, which he devoured in great gory bites. After this midocean lunch, Kazu resumed his wading. In the middle of the strait the depth exceeded five thousand feet, and he had to swim for a time, after fastening our box to his head by means of the trailing cables.

At length the sea became shallow once more, Kazu's feet crunched through coral, and the coast of Borneo appeared dimly ahead. We were all taking time for the luxury of a sigh of relief when Chamberlin screamed a warning.

"Planes! Coming in low at three o'clock!"

Fortunately Kazu heard this also, although the language confused him.

Precious seconds were wasted while he held the box up to his face for more explicit directions. The planes, a flight of six, were streaking towards us just above the wavetops. We could see that they carried torpedoes, and it was not difficult to guess their intentions.

"Go sideways!" Baker yelled, but Kazu did not move. He simply stood facing the oncoming aircraft, our box held in his left hand at head level, and his right arm hanging at his side, half submerged. Either Kazu was too frightened to move, or he did not understand the danger.

The planes were hardly a half mile away now, evidently holding their fire until the last moment to insure a hit. What even one torpedo could do I didn't dare to contemplate, and here were twelve possible strikes.

After all, Kazu was made of flesh, and after having seen the effect of TNT on the steel side of a ship, I had little doubt as to what would happen to him.

Now the last seconds were at hand. The planes were closing at five hundred yards, the torpedoes would drop in a second.... But suddenly Kazu moved. His whole body swung abruptly to the left and at the same time the right hand came up through the water. We, of course, were pitched headlong, but we did briefly glimpse a tremendous fan of solid green water rising up to meet the planes. They tried to dodge but it was too late. Into the waterspout they flew, all six with their torpedoes still attached, and down into the ocean they fell, broken and sinking.

It was all over in a moment. We were so amazed it was moments before we could move.

Kazu turned and resumed his stroll toward Borneo without a single backward glance at the havoc wrought by his splash.

As we entered the foothills I became conscious for the first time of a curious change. It was a psychological change in me, a change in my sense of scale. We had been carried so long at Kazu's shoulder level, and had grown so accustomed to looking out along his arms from almost the same viewpoint as his, that we were now estimating the size of the mountains as though we were as large as Kazu! It is difficult to express just how I felt, and now that it is all over, the memory has become so tenuous and subtle that I fear I will never be able to explain it so that anyone but my three companions could understand. But this was the first moment that I noticed the effect. The mountains were suddenly no longer 4,000 foot peaks viewed from a plane 500 feet above ground level, but were forty foot mounds with a six inch cover of mossy brush, and I was walking up their sides as a normal human being! The change was, as nearly as I can express it, from the viewpoint of a normal human being under extraordinary circ.u.mstances to that of an ordinary man visiting a miniature world. The whale to me was now a fat jellyfish seven inches long, the Chinese warplanes were toys with an eight inch wingspread, the little steamer of yesterday was a flimsy toy built of cardboard and tinfoil. We had, in effect, identified ourselves completely with Kazu.

And so we climbed dripping from the Straits of Maca.s.sar, and entered the mists and jungles of Borneo.

Our course toward Singapore carried us across the full width of southern Borneo, a distance, from a point north of Kotabaroe to Cape Datu, of almost six hundred miles.

After about an hour, the blue outlines of the Schwanner Mountains appeared ahead and presently we pa.s.sed quite close to Mt. Raya, which at 7,500 feet was the greatest mountain Kazu had ever seen. Then, dropping into another valley, we followed the course of the Kapuas River for a time, and finally turned west again through an area of plantations. Here Kazu made an effort to secure food by plucking and eating fruit and treetops together. The result was unsatisfactory, but presently we came upon a granary containing thousands of sacks of rice. The workmen, warned by our earthquake approach, fled long before we reached it. Kazu carefully removed the corrugated iron roof and ate the whole contents of the warehouse, which amounted to about a handful. The sacks appeared about a quarter of an inch in length, and seemed to be filled with a fine white powder.

Following this meal, Kazu drained a small lake, getting incidentally a goodly catch of carp, although he could not even taste them. Then, since it was now late in the afternoon, he turned northwest to the hills to spend the night.

The last part of the journey was almost entirely through shallow water--three hundred miles of the warm South China Sea. Baker planned to make a before dawn start, so that we might be close to the Malay Peninsula before daylight could expose us to further attack. Kazu suggested pushing on at once, but Baker did not think it wise to approach the formidable defenses of Singapore by night. And so for a second time we sought out an isolated valley where Kazu could snuggle between two soft hills, and we could get what sleep was possible in the wreckage of the projection room.

The China Sea pa.s.sage was made without incident. We started at three A.M. in a downpour of rain, and by six, at dawn, the low outline of the Malay Peninsula came into sight. We made our landfall some forty miles north of Singapore, and at once cut across country toward Joh.o.r.e Bahru and the great British crown colony.

The rice paddies, roads and other signs of civilization were a welcome sight, and I was already relaxing, mentally, in a hot tub at the officers club when the awakening came. It came in the form of a squadron of fighter planes carrying British markings which roared out of the south without warning and pa.s.sed Kazu's head with all their guns firing.

Fortunately neither his eyes nor our thin sh.e.l.led box was. .h.i.t, but Kazu felt the tiny projectiles which penetrated even his twelve inch hide. As the planes wheeled for another pa.s.s he called out in English that he was a friend, but of course the pilots could not hear above the roar of their jets. On the second try two of the planes released rockets, which fortunately missed, but this put a different light on the whole thing. A direct hit with a ten inch rocket would be as dangerous as a torpedo.

Baker tried to yell some advice, but there was no chance before the planes came in again. This time Kazu waved, and finally threw a handful of earth and trees at them. The whole squadron zoomed upwards like a covey of startled birds.

By the time we had reached a temporary haven, Kazu was thoroughly winded, and we were battered nearly insensible. Baker, in fact, was out cold. Kazu slowed down, and then finding no directions or advice forthcoming, he resumed a steady dogtrot to the north. Martin and I tried to draw Baker to a safer position beside the projector, but in the process one of the steel shelves collapsed, adding Martin to the casualty list. Walt and I then attempted to drag the two of them to safety, but in the midst of these efforts a particularly hard lurch sent me headfirst into the projector, and my interest in proceedings thereupon became nil. Walt, battered and seasick, gave up and collapsed with the rest of us. Further efforts at communication by Kazu proved fruitless. Buddha was on his own.

VI

I awoke with a throbbing headache to find the steel room motionless, and warm sunshine streaming into my face. Looking around, I saw that my three companions were all up and apparently in good shape. Baker was the first to notice that I was awake, and he came over immediately.

"Feel better?" he inquired cheerfully.

He helped me up and I staggered to the window. The room was perched, as usual, on a hilltop, but the vegetation around was not tropical jungle.

I turned to the others, noting as I did that the room was cleaned up.

"Where--" I started, with a gesture outside. Baker stopped me and led me to an improvised canvas hammock.

"You really got a nasty one," he said. "You've been out two days."

"Two days!" I tried to rise, but the effort so increased the headache that I gave up and collapsed into the hammock.

"Just lie quiet and I'll bring you up to date." Baker drew up an empty film box for a seat. "I was knocked about a bit myself, you know, and by the time I came around, our friend had trotted the whole length of the Malay Peninsula and was halfway across Burma."

"But the people at Singapore," I began, "Don't those fools know yet--"

"Things have changed," said Baker. "The biggest change has been in Buddha's mind. He took our advice and almost got killed for his pains.

Now he's on his own."

I tried to look through the open door. Baker shook his head.

"He's not here. No--" this in answer to my startled look, "just off for a stroll, towards China this time, I think. Yesterday he visited Lhasa.

Said it's quite a place. Talked to the Lamas in Tibetan, and they understood him. He calls it playing Buddha."

Baker got up and searched among the maps, finally finding one of southeast Asia. He spread it out before me, and placed a finger rather vaguely on the great Yunnan Plateau between Burma and China.

"We're here, somewhere. Buddha doesn't know exactly, himself. He made it to Lhasa by following the Himalayas, and watching for the Potala. I hope he'll find his way back this time--be a bit awkward for us if he doesn't."

He stepped outside and brought in some cold cooked rice and meat.

"Kazu brought us a handful of cows yesterday. They were practically mashed into hamburger. I guess you'd call this pounded steak."

I ate some of the meat and settled back to rest again. Presently I dozed off.

When I awakened it was dark and Kazu was back. Martin had started a big campfire outside, evidently with Kazu's aid, for it was stoked with several logs fully eight feet in diameter and was sending flames fifty feet into the sky. Kazu himself was squatting directly over it, staring down at us. When I came to the door, he spoke.

"Ah, little brother Bill. I am so sorry that you were hurt. I am afraid I forgot to be gentle, and that is not forgiveable in Buddha."

I made an appropriate reply, and then waited. Evidently he had as yet told nothing of his day's expedition. Finally he plucked a roasted bullock from the fire and popped it into his mouth like a nut.

"Today," he said, "I visit Chungking, Nanking, Peking. I think I see hundred million Chinese. I know more than that see me. Also I talk to them. They understand, for miles. They expected me. As you say, brother Llewelyn, Rau has excellent propaganda machine. Everywhere they hail me as Buddha, come to save them from war and disease and western imperialism. I speak to them as Buddha; today, I am Buddha."

Baker glanced at us meaningfully and murmured, "I was afraid of this."

But Kazu continued.

"Today all of China believes I am Buddha. Only you and I know this is not so, but we can fight best if they believe."

"Have you eaten?" inquired Martin. Kazu nodded.