Here Are the Young Men (33 page)

He got up, leaving the others to their talking. He walked along the beach, away from the sound and lights of the dance area, past the bonfires, out to where no people were. He walked closely alongside the water, and waves broke over his feet, soaking through his
runners.
It was cold but he liked how it felt, the shiver of cool, the high-energy tingle.

Rez was exhilarated. Everything was humming with life and chaos and thrilling destructiveness. The ecstasy triggered cascades of insight and revelation. He knew, like he had never known before, that the vastness of the universe, the hopelessness he felt, the void of heaven – all of these need not be oppressive, as they usually were for him. Or they need not only be that; they were also cause for elation; rapture, even. Rez was alone in truth. He had nothing to live up to and felt profoundly free, a godless orphan, master of his own fate.

He found he had walked out to where the throb of techno was a low, distant rumble. He clambered over rocks that rose up where the stones of the beach ended, nearly slipping into pools of black water. It was windy out here, darker and colder. But Rez was thrilled by everything, he was happy to be in this place. He followed the rocky outcropping around a bend in the coast and reached a headland. Sparse lights twinkled along the coast. He couldn't hear the music at all from here, nor could he see the rave if he looked behind him – it was obscured by the dark matter of jutting rocks. He sat on the headland with the wind on his face and the crash of the sea against the rocks below. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

He had been a fool, he decided, to have ever wanted to kill himself. It wasn't that it had been untrue, all the terrible things he'd become obsessed by: the end of reality, the impossibility of love, the brutal and pitiless character of existence. It was all true – but that wasn't reason enough for suicide. The challenge was to live in this weird, catastrophic, haywire world and ride it out, create your own pride and meaning within it, to face up to the nihilism and not be crushed by it. You had to keep yourself alive: through hate, through loving whatever there was left to love, through music and art and inspiration, through passion and intensity and feeling.

Out there on the headland, Rez felt like he was perched on the edge of the world, before a great abyss. There were no laws and no
limits,
everything was possible. He tilted his head back and the stars dived in his eyes. He laughed out loud and assented to all the whims of the chaotic, hurtling planet. If there was nothing to hope for, then there was nothing to fear, either. His life from here on in would be a reckless experiment in discipline, negation and vehemence. He vowed never to try to kill himself again, even after the euphoria faded, no matter how bad things became. He swore he wouldn't.

Then his smile wilted and he became very still. He had just remembered.

52
|
Matthew

We kissed in front of the DJ rig as dancers whirled all around. Then we walked out past the rave, towards the sea. I felt like I'd known her for a long time, like this kind of thing was easy to do.

‘What's Berlin like?' I asked. ‘Tell me, tell me all about Berlin.'

‘It's amazing, the best city in the world. You can do anything you want there, it's completely free. Everyone is making art, or the music, or doing something interesting. You can go out to the party every night until the afternoon if you want to. We say Berlin is poor, but sexy.'

‘It sounds incredible. I think I want to live there.'

‘You should. I think you would like it.'

‘I will. That's it, I'll leave tomorrow. I'll leave tonight.'

We made our way to where the beach frayed into raised, uneven rocks. Laughing, we climbed up and sat together, our fingers entwined. Elena – her name was Elena – leaned over and kissed me, running her fingers through my hair. I touched her face. Her tongue tasted of Red Bull. We drew apart and looked into each other's eyes.

‘
You're so gorgeous,' I said. We kissed and the whole world vanished. I was nothing; I wasn't there.

But then a voice was saying my name. It sounded urgent. I drew apart from Elena, confused.

It was Rez. He was coming towards us slowly, careful not to trip and fall on to the rocks and into the sea. He came not from the direction of the lights and music, but from the other side, out where it was forbiddingly dark.

‘Matthew,' he was saying. ‘Is that you?'

‘Yeah, Rez. Are ye alright?'

He slowed as he stepped over the final rock to arrive at where we sat, cross-legged and facing one another.

‘Matthew, listen, I've to talk to ye for a second.'

‘Em, yeah, okay. Hang on a sec. This is Elena, by the way.'

‘Heya,' he said, not even looking at her.

I turned to Elena and said, ‘Sorry about this, but I think it's something important. Just hang on here, okay? I'll be back in just a minute or two.'

She smiled. ‘Okay, sure.'

‘I'll just be a sec.'

‘Don't worry.'

I clambered down from the rocks ahead of Rez and waited for him on the shingle. He hopped down and came over.

‘What's up, man?' I said.

I expected him to launch into one of his rants about the technoapocalypse, how he couldn't live with his mind any more, how it distressed him too much to be a non-voice in a dead world. But instead he said, ‘Matthew, listen to me. Kearney is really messed up.'

I laughed. ‘Ye mean you're only thinkin of that now? I hope ye didn't walk all the way out there to ponder things on the rocks and then only realize that Kearney is fucked up. He's –'

‘No, I don't mean just like normal fucked up. He's –'

‘Ye mean the pills? Has he taken too much or something?'

‘
No! Will ye be quiet for a moment and listen to me: Kearney killed that handicapped boy, the one on the news and in all the papers.'

I stared at him. My reaction must have come across as blank incomprehension, because Rez added, ‘That one, James Appleton. Remember? It was Kearney who killed him, the handicapped boy in the Garden of Remembrance, he was pushed down the steps and had his head cracked open.'

I recovered enough to act astonished: ‘Rez, what are ye talkin about? What makes ye think that?' I paused, a crazy new possibility emerging: ‘Did he tell ye that himself ?'

‘No, no he didn't. I just, I don't know. I just know he did it. It's the clothes he was wearin, some of the things he said, and there are other reasons, little things, stuff he said to me when I was in hospital. I think I knew it was him the moment I saw it on the news, but … I don't know, I couldn't be sure, or I didn't trust myself. But I know it now, I'm absolutely certain it was him.'

The wind picked up and a cheer rose from behind me – a new DJ must have come on. I tried to meet Rez's gaze and continue to act amazed. But I started to sense that he could see right into me.

I looked down. ‘I know. I already knew it was him. I mean, I suspected it. I didn't want to believe it. I think I … I convinced myself it couldn't be true.'

‘What!' Rez was astonished. So I'd been wrong: he hadn't suspected me at all. ‘Ye mean ye knew all along?'

I nodded, looking down again. ‘I think I knew. He didn't tell me but I knew, I put it all together.'

Rez fell silent, considering this. Some time passed. Anything was possible now: Rez could go to the police, tell them that I had known about the killing and hadn't done anything. We were all going to be famous and on the news.

But Rez started speaking, saying words that made no sense at all.

He was saying, ‘Matthew, give me the rest of the pills.'

I shook my head in bewilderment. ‘What do ye mean?'

‘
Give me the pills,' he repeated, louder and more firmly.

‘What do ye want them for?'

He didn't reply. He stared into my eyes. Then I knew. I took the pills from my pocket and handed them to him.

‘Will that be enough?' I asked, amazed by what was happening.

‘I don't know. I hope so. But go on back to that girl. Matthew, don't say
anything
. Okay? Not a word!'

‘Okay. Not a word. I –'

‘Go on,' he urged, shoving me away. ‘And act surprised when ye see it later on.' He turned and walked back towards the rave. I watched him walk away, then I climbed back over the rocks, finding my way by the moonlight.

Elena was still sitting on the rock, her arms around her knees. She turned to me as I approached. She put her arm around my hip as I sat down beside her, and the two of us said nothing for a while, gazing out at the dark expanse of the sea.

53
|
Rez

Kearney was out of his mind when Rez found him. He was staggering around the dance area with his face craned to the sky, howling like a maniac. The bottle of whiskey teetered in one hand and a can of Dutch Gold in the other.

‘Rez ye bender ye!' he yelled when he saw Rez approaching.

Rez smiled and drank from a bottle of Buckfast. Then he held up a second bottle and said to Kearney, ‘Here, do ye want this?'

‘Yeah I fuckin want it!' Kearney rasped, deflecting the bodies of more stable dancers.

Rez grinned and said, ‘Are ye sure ye want it, Kearney? Are ye sure ye want the bottle of Buckfast?'

‘For Jaysus sake, just gimme the fuckin thing!' Kearney snatched the bottle out of Rez's hand.

‘Fair enough, man. But listen, who are ye callin a faggot? Let's race these bottles down and see who's the dickhead, will we? I betcha I can skull the whole bottle before you can.'

‘Lemme see how much yiv already drank,' Kearney slurred,
grabbing
Rez's bottle as well. He pushed it back at Rez and shoved a finger into his chest. ‘Fair enough, Rez. Lez go.'

‘Body of Christ,' Rez said, then started to guzzle his bottle, closing his eyes as the syrupy, sickly-sweet liquid gurgled over his tongue, splashing down his throat. He swallowed it in big gulps, as fast as he could. When it was nearly gone, Kearney shoved Rez on the shoulder so that the bottle slipped and some of the Buckfast spilled on his face.

‘I'm finished,' Kearney croaked. ‘It tastes like mank – did ye fuckin jip into it or somethin, Rez?'

Rez smiled. ‘Well done, man! Fair play! You've done it now, it's all over. You're fuckin finished.'

‘Yeah.' Kearney started to say something else, but his wobble took him elsewhere, back to crashing a path through the thicket of bodies.

Rez retreated to the edge of the dance area and watched. Everything in him felt light and free. Ecstasy and Buckfast pulsated through him, imbuing the night with grandeur. He felt like he was at the Coliseum or some ancient human sacrifice. Kearney on the beach, about to fall – a blood offering to the no-God.

Kearney stumbled away. Rez followed him through the crowds, across the bustle of the beach. He was calm; it was only a matter of waiting. The music was getting harder, the beat like the war drums of some demon army howling through the night. Rez watched, enchanted, almost in love with him. Kearney wore a beatific smile as he unconsciously headed towards the drum circle, honing in on the towering bonfire like a moth to the light. Rez imagined the massive quantity of drugs that were right now coursing through Kearney's body, flooding his system, the intensity with which he must have been feeling everything. This was the greatest moment of Kearney's life.

Then Kearney's dance began. First, little quivers started pulsing through him, tingling along his skinny limbs. He began shuffling around on his feet as if he were standing on hot coals. He twitched
about
all over the place, not in time to any rhythm Rez could hear. He stomped and then leapt into the air with an animal grunt. He threw his head back and started to howl and shriek, his madman dance dragging him in backward circles through the startling crowd.

Rez followed, fascinated. Kearney veered towards the drum circle, then he stumbled through a gap in the ring of a dozen kneeling drummers. He was inside the circle, just Kearney and the looming blaze. The drummers looked up at him, stoney-faced, lit up by the bonfire. As if feeding on Kearney's frenzied energy, their drumming intensified, pounding and pounding, faster and faster. Amazed, Rez fell to his knees on the edge of the circle and watched.

The drumming fused with the beat of the techno and Kearney danced, licked by the flames, a streak of motion, a strip of coiled lightning.

Nobody but Rez could see the changing expression on Kearney's sweat-slick face – the distress that now flooded it. Still he danced. And now he began to emit a noise: a weird, inhuman shriek, unbroken as it rose over the pounding of the drums and the techno beat.

Then Kearney was screaming, clawing at his glistening face with the look of a man on fire. The drums pounded hungrily; it was as if the drummers knew they were present at a dreadful ceremony, a sacrifice.

Kearney leapt up once more, high into the air. When he landed he stood still for a moment, perfectly upright. Then he clenched his fists and roared: ‘FALLEN HENRY, DON'T LEAVE ME!'

And with that he spun on his heel, his back now to Rez, facing the flames. His head jerked up and he fell to his knees, eyes rolling and face turned to the sky. He wobbled in front of the fire, and it was unclear which way he would fall. The tottering kept up for a few charged seconds as the murder-drums reached their climax, a frenzy of pounding.

Kearney fell into the flames, his head and torso swallowed up by a surge of fire.

No
one reacted. Everyone watched Kearney, face down in the maddened blaze.

Somebody roared. Men scrambled up and dragged him out, hands clutching at each splayed limb. Out of the fire, he was flopped over on to his back. Rez stood up and looked down at Kearney as the drummers crouched around him and cried out for help.