Stan’s smile faded. Another example of Jap thoroughness. The girl was in the intelligence service of the Japanese forces. He smiled at her again. It might be possible to outwit her, if he could make friends.
“If you could come in or I could go out, we could talk better—about Hollywood,” he said.
“You can come out if you promise not to run away,” the girl said demurely. “I will put you on your honor.”
“You think Americans have honor?” Stan asked.
“Surely, much honor. More than is good for them,” she answered. Then she gave him a wide smile. “Though I do not think you would run far. There are machine guns outside the garden archways.”
“Then why don’t you let me out?” Stan asked.
The girl slid back the bolt and opened the door. Stan stepped outside. The four yellow men had vanished. A peacock screamed shrilly on the far side of the wall. The girl seated herself on the door stone and looked up at Stan.
Stan sat down and put the tray on his knees. He lifted the white cloth and saw a bowl of rice and chopped chicken, a bowl of fruit, and a pot of tea with a shell-thin cup tipped over a little image on the lid. He dipped into the fruit bowl.
“I am called Niva,” she answered.