The Beach (23 page)

I slept in the clearing. I would have slept there even if I hadn't thought it best to stay away from Étienne. I'd lost my sense of smell and become selective in which moans I chose to hear, but I couldn't stand the candles. Their accumulated heat was so strong that the ceiling was wet with condensation. The drips fell like a light rain through clouds of waxy fumes, and by midnight there wasn't a dry square-inch in the longhouse. That aside, Gregorio was in my bed. I'd moved him there so he could get away from Jesse, who'd had the same incontinence problem as Bugs.
The last thing I remember before falling asleep was Sal's voice. She'd recovered enough to walk around and was calling Keaty's name. I could have told her he was down on the beach, but I decided not to. There was something ominously controlled about her tone. It was the way a parent might call for a kid, trying to draw them out of their hiding-place in order to give them a bollocking. After a few minutes I felt her torch shining through my eyelids and she asked me if I knew where he was. I didn't move, and eventually she moved away.
The only other disruption that night was the sound of someone crying nearby. I tried to make myself get up and check on who it was, but it turned out I was too tired to care.
Jed woke me around six thirty, with a bowl of rice and a boiled sweet, one of the last from Ko Pha-Ngan.
'Good morning,' he said, violently shaking my shoulders. 'Have you eaten yet?'
'No,' I mumbled.
'What did I tell you last night?'
'...Eat.'
'So.' He hauled me to a sitting position and put the bowl in my lap. The single sweet, a lurid chemical green, looked ridiculous perched on the mound of sticky grains. 'Eat this now.'
'I'm half asleep.'
'Eat it, Richard.'
I pressed a rice-ball with my fingers and dutifully began to chew it, but my mouth was too dry to swallow. 'Water,' I croaked. Jed went to get me some, and I poured it straight into the bowl. Actually it didn't taste so bad, if only because it didn't taste of anything.
While I ate Jed talked, but I didn't listen to him. I was looking at the bone-white rice and thinking about the dead Freak on Ko Pha-Ngan. I was sure the ants would have stripped him down by now. They work fast, ants. He probably never even got to the rotting stage. I pictured the Freak on his back, a clean skeleton grinning through his loose covering of leaves, dappled in a few pinpricks of sunlight. In fact I'd left him on his front, lying on his arms, but there wasn't much sense in picturing the back of his head so I revised the image to make it more aesthetic. The dappled effect was another revision. As I remember his shallow grave, no light filtered past the thick foliage above him. I just liked the idea that it did.
'Pretty,' I said, putting the sweet in my mouth. 'Maybe a monkey exploring the ribcage.'
Jed looked at me. 'Huh?'
'Or maybe a monkey would be too... kitsch...'
'Kitsch?'
'Monkeys.'
'Have you listened to a word I've been saying?'
'No.' I crunched the sweet and my tongue tingled with the sudden flood of lime. 'I've been thinking about the Freak on Ko Pha-Ngan:'
'The dead guy you hid?'
'Yeah. Do you think he's been found yet?'
'Well,' Jed started to say, looking perplexed. 'I suppose he might have been found if the girl was...' Then he slapped his head. 'Jesus Christ! What the fuck am I talking about? Who cares about the dead Freak? You should have left him where he was, and we've got much more important stuff to deal with right here!'
'I was only interested. And he's bound to get found one of these days.'
'Shut up! Now listen! One of us has to get up to the island to check on Zeph and Sammy!'
'Oh, OK... Why not both of us?'
Jed made an exasperated sobbing sound. 'Why do you think, you dozy fool? Someone has to stay here to look after the sick people, and almost all the fishing detail is out of action. Only the Swedes and Keaty are healthy, and Keaty's still missing.'
I nodded. 'I guess that means me.'
'No. It means me. I need to stay here because I know some stuff about first aid, so you'll be going up to the island alone. Are you up to that?'
'You bet!' I said brightly. 'No sweat at all!'
'Good. Now before you go I want you to find Keaty. There's about fifteen who are well enough to eat, so someone's going to have to get food for them, but I won't have time to go fishing, so he'll have to do it.'
'OK. And what should I do if Zeph and Sammy are on their way?'
'They won't be.'
'But what if they are?'
Jed paused. 'I'm trying not to think about it, but if they are then get back here as fast as you can and tell me.'
'And if there's no time?'
'Plan B.'
'...Which one?'
'You wait and see what happens. I'm positive they'll turn back at the dope fields, but if they don't then follow them to the waterfall. Then, if they get down, intercept them and make fucking sure they know not to start talking about your map.'
Across the clearing, Jesse appeared out of the longhouse. He wobbled towards the bathroom hut, got about a quarter of the way there, and threw up.
'Right,' I said, suddenly feeling immensely cheerful. After last night I hadn't expected the next day to start so well, 'I'd better find Keaty then.'
There was only one bad note to the morning. On the way to the beach I passed Sal sitting outside the longhouse and she called me over. It turned out that Bugs - who was sitting next to her and giving me the evil eye - had told her what I'd done to him. Sal wanted an explanation.
I was slick. I said that I'd been exhausted and was only catching my breath before I gave him a hand outside, and if Bugs remembered it differently I was truly sorry, but maybe his sickness had warped his memory of the incident. Then I suggested we shook on it, and that pleased Sal a lot. She was so hassled, what with everything else she had to deal with, that she was more than ready to get the distraction out of the way.
Bugs wasn't though. When I set off again for the beach he hobbled after me and called me a bastard. He was really angry, poking his finger in my chest and saying what he'd do to me if only he were well enough. I waited until he'd finished, then told him to fuck off. I wasn't going to let him spoil my good mood.

Keaty was sleeping in the same spot I'd left him. High tide was well on its way, and it wasn't going to be long before the wash reached his feet, so rather than wake him I decided to smoke a cigarette. I assumed he'd had a rough night and could do with the extra fifteen minutes. I was just getting down to the filter when the Swedes appeared. I put my finger to my lips, pointing at Keaty, and we walked out of earshot.
Karl, Sten, Christo. Considering that two of them ended up dead and the other ended up nuts, I feel bad that their names mean so little to me.
Like Jed, the Swedes had arrived at the beach uninvited, and although they'd probably found it easier to get accepted, having arrived second, it partly explained why they chose to fish outside the lagoon. They'd never been as involved in beach life as everyone else. They were around but they kept mainly to themselves, all sharing a single tent and often eating away from the crowd. The only times I ever saw them socially participating was on Sundays. They were good footballers and everyone wanted them for their team.
If they had found integration difficult, it can't have helped that only one of them, Sten, could speak fluent English. Christo could just about muddle along but Karl was hopeless. As far as I knew, his vocabulary was limited to a few words based around fishing, like 'fish' and 'spear', and a couple of pleasantries. He would greet me with an uncertain, 'Huloo Ruchard,' and would bid me good morning even if he was just about to go to bed.
'So,' I said, when we were a safe distance from Keaty. 'You've got your work cut out for you today.'
Sten nodded. 'But there is only half the camp to fish for, no? We only need to catch fifteen fishes. Not so difficult, I think... Would you like to fish with us?'
'No. I'll be staying here.'
'You are sure? There is room for four in the boat, and you may be lonely working alone.'
I smiled. 'Thanks, but Keaty will wake up soon.'
'Ah yes, Keaty. Is he sick?'
'No, he's fine. A bit down, but he didn't get food poisoning.'
'That is good. Well, we should be going. We will see you later, Richard.'
'OK.'
Sten said something to the other two in Swedish. Then they walked down to the shore and began swimming for the caves.
It was a short, bland conversation. Not the sort of conversation you'd want to be remembered by. I've tried to think of ways to jazz it up a bit, to make it more poignant or more of an epitaph, but the best I could think of was some kind of pun based around Sten saying, 'See you later.' Something along the lines of, I didn't see him later but I did see him late. Dead late. Late/dead. 'I saw him later, though not in the way I expected... I saw him late!' It doesn't even make sense.
I also looked for extra information to provide about their characters, aside from their similarities with Jed and their football skills, but our relationship had completely revolved around a vague rivalry based on fish sizes. I barely knew them. If two of them hadn't died I doubt I'd have given them a second thought.
So, if I'm going to be honest, I suppose their epitaph must be this: If you've ever sat down with an old school friend and tried to remember all the kids that used to be in your class, the Swedes were the kids you remembered last.
The only thing I'd tag on the end was that they seemed like decent guys, and they shouldn't have had to die that way. Especially Sten.
Eventually I got bored with waiting for the tide to reach Keaty's feet, so I scooped some water in my hands and poured it on his head.
'Hi,' I said, after he'd recovered from the shock. 'Did you sleep all right?'
He shook his head.
'Me neither.' I squatted beside him. 'I got about four hours.'
'...Are things bad in the camp?'
'They were last night. It's better now, but people are still pretty sick.'
Keaty sat up and rubbed the sand off his legs and arms. 'I should get back. Got to help.'
'Then don't go back. You'll only have to come back here. They want you to do some fishing.'
'They want
me
to go fishing?'
'That's what Jed said. All the fishers are ill except for the Swedes and Moshe, and Moshe's busy looking after people in the longhouse. That only leaves you.'
'It leaves you too.'
'Uh, yeah... but...' I thought for a moment.' ...I really need some sleep. I mean, when I said I got four hours, it was more like three. Or two and a half. I'm going to collapse if I don't get some rest...' Keaty still didn't look convinced so I added, 'Also, if you turn up with food instead of empty-handed, it might calm Sal down a bit. She's pretty pissed off that you haven't been around to help.'
'Yeah, I heard her calling for me last night. That's why I didn't go back to my tent.' He shrugged wearily. 'But I've got to go back some time, and... I don't know if it's such a good idea me going fishing. I mean, that's what caused all this.'
'I haven't talked to anyone who sees it that way.'
'I could help at the camp.'
I shrugged. 'The camp needs fish.'
'You really think I should do the fishing?'
'Uh-huh. I was specifically told to find you and give that message.'
Keaty frowned and twirled his fingers in his hair. He hadn't shaved it for so long that he was getting tiny dreads.' ...All right then. If you're sure.'
'Great.' I patted his shoulder. 'So I'll catch some sleep in the trees.'
'Should I come and find you before I head back?'
I didn't answer. I was looking across the lagoon at the circle of cliffs, wondering how I'd swim over without him seeing.
Keaty repeated the question.
'Uh... No...'
If Keaty chose the main boulder to fish from, I could just manage an underwater leap-frog between the smaller boulders, hiding behind them when I needed air.
'What if you oversleep? Then Sal will get pissed off with you too.'
'I won't oversleep. I only need a few hours.'
'...OK. And how many fish should I catch?'
'Ten or so. The Swedes will be fishing too, and most people won't be eating.' I started towards the trees. 'I'll see you back at the camp.'
'Back at the camp. Sure...'
I could feel his eyes on my back, so I dropped my shoulders and dragged my feet to show how tired I was. As I reached the grasses he called after me, 'Hey Rich, I'm sorry you got kept awake. I feel like it's my...'
I waved a hand. 'No trouble,' I called back. Then I slipped into the bushes.
It was easy to hide from Keaty as I swam across the lagoon, but it was infuriatingly slow. It took over thirty-five minutes just to make it to the caves, and it shouldn't have taken half that. The slowness gave me a nasty feeling inside. It was like I wanted to take a deep breath, but however hard I sucked I could never fill the bottom of my lungs. I didn't shake the feeling until I'd climbed the chimney and worked my way around the cliff tops to the mainland.

I paused for a few minutes at the pass, looking down at the DMZ. There was no need, I knew, for me to descend the terraced slope, but at the same time I knew I would. I might never be alone on the island again and the opportunity was too big to miss. But I also had to check on Zeph and Sammy, so I continued upwards towards our look-out point.
'Delta One-Niner,' I murmured as I located the figures. I could see two of them, one in the normal spot and the other about thirty metres to the right, standing down by the shore. The other three were obviously exploring, or busy doing whatever it was they did behind the tree-line. 'This is Alpha patrol. We confirm we have a positive ID, repeat, positive ID. Request further orders.' In the back of my head I heard the fuzz of radio static. 'Orders acknowledged. Will continue recon as advised.'
I dropped the binoculars and sighed, feeling the familiar frustration well up in me again. Their apparent inactivity no longer held any interest for me and had started to seem like a complicated insult. Part of me wanted to yell at them to get a fucking move on. If I'd thought it would work I'd have probably done it.
In that frame of mind, the time went slowly. I felt duty-bound to stick around for at least two hours, even though I was sure that nothing would happen. So every ten minutes I checked to see if they were up to anything new, and when I saw that they weren't - occasionally another would appear or two would disappear—I went back to day-dreaming about what I'd do in the DMZ.
I had only one goal, because there was no sense in getting more grass. All I wanted to do was to see one of the dope guards. Not kipping on a jungle path but active and armed and patrolling. That alone would satisfy me. It would be a proper engagement, a fair fight on equal terms. Him looking out for trespassers and me trespassing.
The more I day-dreamed, the harder it became to stay at my lookout post. Over the last half-hour of my two-hour tour of duty, I counted the minutes like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. When the minute finally came - twelve seventeen — I made one last check on Zeph and Sammy. Typically, for the first time that day, none of the figures was visible, but I only hesitated for an instant. I made a quick check of the sea to make sure they hadn't started swimming, then said 'Fuck it,' out loud and set off down the hill.
My day-dream came true not far from the field that Jed and I had visited the previous day. I'd chosen to go there because it seemed logical that the best place to find a dope guard would be a dope field, and also because it meant I was travelling on a route I'd taken before, if only once.
The contact came about three hundred metres above the terrace. I'd been just about to step around a thick copse of bamboo when I saw a flash of brown through the leaves, too golden to be anything but South-East-Asian skin. I froze, of course, holding the awkward position of three-quarters of the way through a step. Then the brown vanished, and I heard the sound of rustling footsteps heading away from me.
I debated my options swiftly. To follow the guard was a serious risk, but a glimpsed impression was not what I'd had in mind and the longer I delayed the less chance I'd have of seeing him again. Also, I knew that if I didn't follow him at once I'd probably lose my bottle and have to head back. This, I suppose, was what clinched it. I didn't even wait for the footsteps to get out of earshot before creeping around the thicket in pursuit.
The next ten minutes are vague in my memory. I was listening and looking so intently that, similar to my original descent down to the waterfall, I was incapable of storing anything past the immediate.
My memory returns when I heard his footsteps stop — making me stop too — and I spotted him less than fifteen foot away, taking a breather between two tall trees.
Gradually, I crouched down and eased my head around a branch to get a better view. The first thing I registered were his markings: a black-blue dragon tattoo crawling up a densely muscled back, with a claw on one shoulder-blade and flames on the other. Then I saw that he was the same guard I'd seen with Étienne and Françoise — the guy with the kick-boxer build. Recognizing him, I had to concentrate hard to control my breathing. At first it was from an adrenalin rush and a throw-back to the fear I'd had on the plateau, but then it became awe.
The man was facing away from me at a three-quarter angle, with one arm resting on his rifle and the other on his hips. Across his tattoo, running from his neck to the left side of his ribcage, was a deep, pale scar. Another scar cut a white line across the cropped hair on his head. A crumpled packet of Krong Thip was tied to his upper arm with a filthy blue bandanna. He held his AK as casually as a snake-charmer holding a cobra. He was perfect.
I knew he'd probably be gone in a minute or less, and my mind was frantic, trying to record each aspect of his form. It was all I could do to stop myself crawling nearer. If only I could have frozen him I'd have circled him like a statue in a museum, taking my time, noting his posture and listing the items he carried, studying his eyes to read what was happening behind them.
Just before he walked away he turned to face in my direction. Maybe he'd sensed someone watching him. He opened his mouth as he turned and I saw he had his top two front teeth missing. It was the final touch, a dangerous complement to the broken butt of his AK and the torn pouches on his baggy green combat trousers. At that moment, if I'd tried to slip further into the bushes he would have seen me. I could tell from his expression that he wasn't looking hard, just absently scanning, but he'd have noticed a movement. I stayed still. I was hypnotized. Even if he had seen me I doubt I'd have tried to run.
I didn't move for quite some time after the guard had gone. I realized that to leave at once would be the wrong thing to do, not so much because the man might be near and out of sight, but because I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. I was dimly thinking of road accidents, and the drivers that crash soon after a narrow escape.
Hours later, on the way home after spending the afternoon at the look-out point, I paused for a second time at the pass. This time, the sight of the terraces and the steamy evening jungle made me clench my fists. I was shaken by a powerful surge of jealousy towards Jed. He'd had the DMZ for over a year, all for himself. I couldn't begin to imagine what it would feel like, such extended private access, and the briefness of my own encounter only seemed to make it worse. I felt like I'd been damned by a glimpse of paradise.