'She has never kissed you like that.'
'On the cheek?'
'For so long!'
'You've got this wrong.'
He sat up in bed. 'So what should I think?'
I sighed. The pulsing behind my eyes was starting again, turning into a sharp ache. 'I'm very tired,' I said. 'You're very ill. It's affecting you.'
'What should I think?' he repeated.
'I don't know. Anything. I kissed her because I was worried, and because I care about her… Just the same as I'm worried about you.'
He didn't say anything.
I tried a joke. 'If I give you a kiss, will that even things up?'
Étienne paused a bit longer, and finally nodded. 'I am sorry, Richard,' he said, but his voice was flat and I knew he didn't mean it. 'You are right. I am ill and it is affecting me. But I.can look after her now. Maybe some others need your help.'
'Yeah. I'm sure they do.' I stood up. 'If you need anything, give me a shout.'
'Yes.'
I glanced back at Françoise, who, thankfully, was still fast asleep. Then I began walking back down the longhouse, keeping to the side so I didn't get roped into helping Moshe as he shovelled away Bugs' shit.
Good Morning
Epitaph
The VC, The DMZ And Me
Split
The Third Man
Shadowed
'On the cheek?'
'For so long!'
'You've got this wrong.'
He sat up in bed. 'So what should I think?'
I sighed. The pulsing behind my eyes was starting again, turning into a sharp ache. 'I'm very tired,' I said. 'You're very ill. It's affecting you.'
'What should I think?' he repeated.
'I don't know. Anything. I kissed her because I was worried, and because I care about her… Just the same as I'm worried about you.'
He didn't say anything.
I tried a joke. 'If I give you a kiss, will that even things up?'
Étienne paused a bit longer, and finally nodded. 'I am sorry, Richard,' he said, but his voice was flat and I knew he didn't mean it. 'You are right. I am ill and it is affecting me. But I.can look after her now. Maybe some others need your help.'
'Yeah. I'm sure they do.' I stood up. 'If you need anything, give me a shout.'
'Yes.'
I glanced back at Françoise, who, thankfully, was still fast asleep. Then I began walking back down the longhouse, keeping to the side so I didn't get roped into helping Moshe as he shovelled away Bugs' shit.
Good Morning
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.
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.
Epitaph
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.
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.
The VC, The DMZ And Me
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.
'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.
Split
The clearing was empty apart from Ella, who was gutting fish outside the kitchen hut, and Jed, who was chatting to her. Jed stood as I approached and I answered his inquisitive look with a subtle nod. He returned it, then excused himself and set off for the tents.
'Haven't you brought any fish?' said Ella briskly. 'I was hoping you'd be bringing some more.'
'Oh…' I glanced at her bucket, which held less than ten small milkfish. 'No, Ella. Sorry, I haven't… Is that all there is?'
'Yes. It's pathetic. I can't see how I'm supposed to make this stretch to half the camp. Was this the best you and Keaty could do?'
'Uh, yeah… but it's my fault. Last night caught up on me and I had to get some sleep. Keaty was working alone really… But what about the Swedes? Haven't they brought any?'
'No,' she replied irritably, gouging out a handful of guts and tossing them into the dirt. 'They bloody well haven't. The only person who's brought me anything is Keaty. What time is it, anyway?'
'Six thirty.'
'Six thirty! I've waited over two hours for them to show up. But most people are feeling much better than yesterday and that means they're getting hungry, so I can't wait any longer.'
'No… I wonder what could be taking them so long.'
'I haven't a clue. It's so stupid of them. Of all the possible days they might have chosen to get delayed, I simply can't believe they decided to pick this one.'
I frowned. 'Come on, Ella. That's ridiculous. I'm sure they didn't choose to get delayed. They know what's going on… Maybe their engine broke down or they ran out of petrol.'
Ella clucked her tongue as she sunk her knife into the belly of the last fish. 'Maybe,' she said, with an expert snap of her wrist. 'Maybe you're right… But if you stop to think about it, they could have swum back by now.'
I brooded on this last comment of Ella's as I walked towards the longhouse, because she was absolutely right. The Swedes could easily have swum back in two hours, even dragging the boat behind them. I knew from previous conversations that they never fished more than two hundred metres out to sea, a safety precaution in case they spotted another boat and had to get to cover in a hurry.
In a way then, I was already aware that something serious had happened to the Swedes. Logically, it was the only explanation. But I didn't act on my sense of foreboding, probably for the same reasons that no one else had. There were too many problems at hand to start worrying about new ones. For the others, perhaps it was a call for water that distracted them, or a need for sleep, or a puddle of sick that had to be cleaned up. For me, it was the prospect of seeing Étienne again. I'd been having second thoughts about the kiss. I still didn't think I'd been at fault, but I could see why Étienne had thought I was, and I was sure that our next meeting would be awkward. So as I pushed open the longhouse door, I also pushed thoughts of the Swedes to the back of my head, with no more consideration than a vague decision to worry about it later.
My immediate impression inside the longhouse was that some kind of division had occurred while I was away. A tense silence greeted my arrival, shortly followed by a low buzz of noise. At the near end was my old fishing detail, along with Jesse, Cassie and Leah, another member of the gardening detail. At the far end, in the area of my bed, were Sal, Bugs, and the remainder of the gardening and carpentry details. Moshe and the two Yugoslavian girls were sitting between the two groups, apparently neutral.
I assessed the situation. Then I shrugged. If a division had occurred, choosing sides wasn't going to be an issue. I closed the door behind me and went over to my old detail.
Nobody spoke for a couple of seconds after I sat down – which gave me a brief scare, automatically assuming that the split was related to me. A chain of events quickly began to form in my mind, connected to the kiss. Perhaps Étienne had told Françoise, and Françoise was furious, and everyone had heard, and the tension was nothing to do with divisions in the camp but an embarrassed reaction to my arrival. Fortunately, I was way off track, as was shown when Françoise leant forwards and took my hand. 'There has been trouble,' she said in a hushed voice.
'Trouble?' I withdrew my hand slightly clumsily, glancing at Étienne, who was watching me with a completely unreadable expression. 'What kind of trouble?'
Keaty coughed and pointed to his left eye. It was badly puffed up. 'Bugs hit me,' he said simply.
'Bugs hit you?'
'Uh-huh.'
I was too shocked to speak, so Keaty continued.
'I turned up with the fish around four and hung around with Jed in the tents. Then I came to the longhouse about half an hour ago, and as soon as Bugs saw me he jumped up and threw a punch.'
'…What happened then?' I eventually said.
'Jean pulled him off, and then there was a massive argument between that lot…' He gestured to the group at the far end. '…And this lot. Personally, I stayed out of it. I was trying to stop my nose bleed.'
'He hit you because of the squid?'
'He said it was because I wasn't around to help last night.'
'No!' I shook my head angrily. 'I know why he hit you. It had nothing to do with being missing last night. It was because he shat himself.'
Keaty smiled without humour. 'That makes a lot of sense, Rich.'
I struggled to keep my voice steady. My tongue felt thick and I was suddenly in such a rage that I could actually see blackness around the edge of my vision. 'It makes sense to me, Keaty,' I said lightly. 'I know the way his head works. It was the knock to his pride, slipping around in his own shit. That's why he hit you.'
I stood up, and Gregorio caught my arm.
'Richard, what are you doing?'
'I'm going to kick his head in.'
'At last,' said Jesse, rising. 'That's exactly what I've been saying we should do. I'll help.'
'No!'
I looked around. Françoise had also stood up.
'This is too stupid! Both of you sit down now!'
At that moment there was a jeer from the far end of the longhouse. Bugs was calling to us. 'Oh let me guess! The cavalry's arrived!'
'I'm going to stick a spear in your fucking neck !' I yelled back.
'I'm worried!'
Jesse howled. 'You'd better be fuckin' worried! You'd better be very fuckin' worried!'
'Is that right, you Kiwi cunt?'
'You've got no fuckin' idea how right it is!'
Then Sal was standing too. 'That's enough!' she screamed. 'Both of you! All of you! Enough!'
Silence.
The two groups stared at each other for a long thirty seconds. Then Françoise stabbed a finger at the ground.
'Sit!' she hissed. So we sat.
Ten minutes later I was crawling up the walls. I wanted a cigarette so severely I thought my chest was going to cave in, but my supply was at the other end of the longhouse and there was no way I could get them. In an effort to help, Cassie rolled a joint, but it didn't do much good. It was nicotine I needed. The dope only made the craving worse.
Not long after, Ella brought in the food she'd cooked, but she'd burned the rice and without Unhygienix's magic touch the fish stew tasted like sea water. Plus she had to hand it round in the most uncomfortable atmosphere imaginable, which baffled her and made her think it was her cooking. No one bothered to explain, so she left the longhouse nearly in tears.
Jed stuck his head through the door at eight fifteen, gazed around curiously, then disappeared.
So that's how the.time passed, a succession of tense episodes, all serving to distract us from the fact that the Swedes still hadn't returned from fishing.
At a quarter to nine the longhouse door banged open.
'Oh there you are,' Keaty started to say, but the words dried up in his throat.
Karl was half bent over, barely illuminated by the candles. It was the expression on his face that instantly informed us there was something badly wrong, but I think it was his arms that had choked Keaty. They seemed to be absurdly dislocated, jutting out from the top of his shoulders. And there was what looked like a tear in his right hand. Between his thumb and forefinger the split continued down to his wrist, so that the two halves hung like a limp lobster claw.
'Jesus Christ,' said Jesse loudly, and all over the longhouse I heard movement as people rose to get a better look.
Karl took a single heavy step towards us, moving into the brighter candlelight. That was when we realized that the mutilated arms belonged to the person he was carrying on his back—Sten. Abruptly Karl collapsed, toppling forwards without making any effort to break his fall. Sten slipped off him, balancing for a moment on his side, then rolling over. There was a ragged semicircle of flesh missing from his side as large as a basketball, and the remainder of his stomach area had been flattened to no more than four inches thick.
Étienne was the first to move. He barged past me, almost knocking me to the ground. When I looked up, he was bending over Sten, trying to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Then I heard Sal call behind me, 'What's happened?', and at once Karl began yelling at the top of his lungs. For a minute he yelled non-stop, filling the longhouse with high, frantic sound that made some people cover their ears or yell equally loudly, for no apparent reason other than to block him out. It was only after Keaty had grabbed him, shouting at him to shut up, that he managed to form an intelligible word: 'Shark.'
'Haven't you brought any fish?' said Ella briskly. 'I was hoping you'd be bringing some more.'
'Oh…' I glanced at her bucket, which held less than ten small milkfish. 'No, Ella. Sorry, I haven't… Is that all there is?'
'Yes. It's pathetic. I can't see how I'm supposed to make this stretch to half the camp. Was this the best you and Keaty could do?'
'Uh, yeah… but it's my fault. Last night caught up on me and I had to get some sleep. Keaty was working alone really… But what about the Swedes? Haven't they brought any?'
'No,' she replied irritably, gouging out a handful of guts and tossing them into the dirt. 'They bloody well haven't. The only person who's brought me anything is Keaty. What time is it, anyway?'
'Six thirty.'
'Six thirty! I've waited over two hours for them to show up. But most people are feeling much better than yesterday and that means they're getting hungry, so I can't wait any longer.'
'No… I wonder what could be taking them so long.'
'I haven't a clue. It's so stupid of them. Of all the possible days they might have chosen to get delayed, I simply can't believe they decided to pick this one.'
I frowned. 'Come on, Ella. That's ridiculous. I'm sure they didn't choose to get delayed. They know what's going on… Maybe their engine broke down or they ran out of petrol.'
Ella clucked her tongue as she sunk her knife into the belly of the last fish. 'Maybe,' she said, with an expert snap of her wrist. 'Maybe you're right… But if you stop to think about it, they could have swum back by now.'
I brooded on this last comment of Ella's as I walked towards the longhouse, because she was absolutely right. The Swedes could easily have swum back in two hours, even dragging the boat behind them. I knew from previous conversations that they never fished more than two hundred metres out to sea, a safety precaution in case they spotted another boat and had to get to cover in a hurry.
In a way then, I was already aware that something serious had happened to the Swedes. Logically, it was the only explanation. But I didn't act on my sense of foreboding, probably for the same reasons that no one else had. There were too many problems at hand to start worrying about new ones. For the others, perhaps it was a call for water that distracted them, or a need for sleep, or a puddle of sick that had to be cleaned up. For me, it was the prospect of seeing Étienne again. I'd been having second thoughts about the kiss. I still didn't think I'd been at fault, but I could see why Étienne had thought I was, and I was sure that our next meeting would be awkward. So as I pushed open the longhouse door, I also pushed thoughts of the Swedes to the back of my head, with no more consideration than a vague decision to worry about it later.
My immediate impression inside the longhouse was that some kind of division had occurred while I was away. A tense silence greeted my arrival, shortly followed by a low buzz of noise. At the near end was my old fishing detail, along with Jesse, Cassie and Leah, another member of the gardening detail. At the far end, in the area of my bed, were Sal, Bugs, and the remainder of the gardening and carpentry details. Moshe and the two Yugoslavian girls were sitting between the two groups, apparently neutral.
I assessed the situation. Then I shrugged. If a division had occurred, choosing sides wasn't going to be an issue. I closed the door behind me and went over to my old detail.
Nobody spoke for a couple of seconds after I sat down – which gave me a brief scare, automatically assuming that the split was related to me. A chain of events quickly began to form in my mind, connected to the kiss. Perhaps Étienne had told Françoise, and Françoise was furious, and everyone had heard, and the tension was nothing to do with divisions in the camp but an embarrassed reaction to my arrival. Fortunately, I was way off track, as was shown when Françoise leant forwards and took my hand. 'There has been trouble,' she said in a hushed voice.
'Trouble?' I withdrew my hand slightly clumsily, glancing at Étienne, who was watching me with a completely unreadable expression. 'What kind of trouble?'
Keaty coughed and pointed to his left eye. It was badly puffed up. 'Bugs hit me,' he said simply.
'Bugs hit you?'
'Uh-huh.'
I was too shocked to speak, so Keaty continued.
'I turned up with the fish around four and hung around with Jed in the tents. Then I came to the longhouse about half an hour ago, and as soon as Bugs saw me he jumped up and threw a punch.'
'…What happened then?' I eventually said.
'Jean pulled him off, and then there was a massive argument between that lot…' He gestured to the group at the far end. '…And this lot. Personally, I stayed out of it. I was trying to stop my nose bleed.'
'He hit you because of the squid?'
'He said it was because I wasn't around to help last night.'
'No!' I shook my head angrily. 'I know why he hit you. It had nothing to do with being missing last night. It was because he shat himself.'
Keaty smiled without humour. 'That makes a lot of sense, Rich.'
I struggled to keep my voice steady. My tongue felt thick and I was suddenly in such a rage that I could actually see blackness around the edge of my vision. 'It makes sense to me, Keaty,' I said lightly. 'I know the way his head works. It was the knock to his pride, slipping around in his own shit. That's why he hit you.'
I stood up, and Gregorio caught my arm.
'Richard, what are you doing?'
'I'm going to kick his head in.'
'At last,' said Jesse, rising. 'That's exactly what I've been saying we should do. I'll help.'
'No!'
I looked around. Françoise had also stood up.
'This is too stupid! Both of you sit down now!'
At that moment there was a jeer from the far end of the longhouse. Bugs was calling to us. 'Oh let me guess! The cavalry's arrived!'
'I'm going to stick a spear in your fucking neck !' I yelled back.
'I'm worried!'
Jesse howled. 'You'd better be fuckin' worried! You'd better be very fuckin' worried!'
'Is that right, you Kiwi cunt?'
'You've got no fuckin' idea how right it is!'
Then Sal was standing too. 'That's enough!' she screamed. 'Both of you! All of you! Enough!'
Silence.
The two groups stared at each other for a long thirty seconds. Then Françoise stabbed a finger at the ground.
'Sit!' she hissed. So we sat.
Ten minutes later I was crawling up the walls. I wanted a cigarette so severely I thought my chest was going to cave in, but my supply was at the other end of the longhouse and there was no way I could get them. In an effort to help, Cassie rolled a joint, but it didn't do much good. It was nicotine I needed. The dope only made the craving worse.
Not long after, Ella brought in the food she'd cooked, but she'd burned the rice and without Unhygienix's magic touch the fish stew tasted like sea water. Plus she had to hand it round in the most uncomfortable atmosphere imaginable, which baffled her and made her think it was her cooking. No one bothered to explain, so she left the longhouse nearly in tears.
Jed stuck his head through the door at eight fifteen, gazed around curiously, then disappeared.
So that's how the.time passed, a succession of tense episodes, all serving to distract us from the fact that the Swedes still hadn't returned from fishing.
At a quarter to nine the longhouse door banged open.
'Oh there you are,' Keaty started to say, but the words dried up in his throat.
Karl was half bent over, barely illuminated by the candles. It was the expression on his face that instantly informed us there was something badly wrong, but I think it was his arms that had choked Keaty. They seemed to be absurdly dislocated, jutting out from the top of his shoulders. And there was what looked like a tear in his right hand. Between his thumb and forefinger the split continued down to his wrist, so that the two halves hung like a limp lobster claw.
'Jesus Christ,' said Jesse loudly, and all over the longhouse I heard movement as people rose to get a better look.
Karl took a single heavy step towards us, moving into the brighter candlelight. That was when we realized that the mutilated arms belonged to the person he was carrying on his back—Sten. Abruptly Karl collapsed, toppling forwards without making any effort to break his fall. Sten slipped off him, balancing for a moment on his side, then rolling over. There was a ragged semicircle of flesh missing from his side as large as a basketball, and the remainder of his stomach area had been flattened to no more than four inches thick.
Étienne was the first to move. He barged past me, almost knocking me to the ground. When I looked up, he was bending over Sten, trying to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Then I heard Sal call behind me, 'What's happened?', and at once Karl began yelling at the top of his lungs. For a minute he yelled non-stop, filling the longhouse with high, frantic sound that made some people cover their ears or yell equally loudly, for no apparent reason other than to block him out. It was only after Keaty had grabbed him, shouting at him to shut up, that he managed to form an intelligible word: 'Shark.'
The Third Man
The stunned quiet after Karl said 'shark' only lasted a heartbeat. Then we all started jabbering again as abruptly as we'd all shut up. A circle quickly formed around Karl and Sten – the same kind of circle you get in a school-yard fight, jostling for position whilst keeping a safe distance – and suggestions started flying thick and fast. It was a crisis after all. Whatever else a crisis causes, it causes a buzz, so everyone wanted to be in on the act. Étienne and Keaty, tending to Sten and Karl respectively, were instructed, 'He needs water!' and 'Put him in the recovery position!' and 'Hold his nose!'
Hold His Nose was directed at Étienne – said by one of the Yugo girls – because you have to hold the victim's nose while giving mouth-to-mouth to stop the air from escaping. I thought it was a stupid thing to say. You could see the air bubbling out of the hole in Sten's side so his lungs were obviously fucked, and anyway, you couldn't imagine anyone looking more dead. His eyes were open but showing the whites, he was as limp as rags, and there was no blood coming out of his wounds. In fact, just about all the advice was stupid. Karl could hardly be put in the recovery position while he was jerking around and screaming, and I didn't have a clue what use he'd have for water. Morphine yes, water no. But in emergencies people often seem to call for water, so I assumed it was said in that spirit. The only person talking sense was Sal, who was yelling at everyone to get back and shut up. No one took any notice though. Her role as leader had been temporarily suspended, so her good suggestions were about as useful as the bad ones.
The whole scene left me feeling flustered. I was telling myself, 'Alert but calm,' and waiting for my head to come up with the kind of suggestion that was needed. Something that would cut through the chaos, creating a stern efficiency that was appropriate to the gravity of the situation. Specifically, something like the way Étienne had acted on the plateau. With that in mind, I considered pushing my way through to Sten and saying, 'Leave him, Étienne. He's dead.' But I couldn't shake the idea that it would sound like a line from a bad movie, and I wanted a line from a good movie. Instead I pushed my way backwards through the crowd, which was easy as most people were trying to get closer.
As soon as I was out of the circle I began thinking a great deal more objectively. Two realizations hit me at once. Number one was that I now had a chance to get my cigarettes. Number two was Christo. Nobody had even mentioned the third Swede, who might have been on the beach, wounded and waiting for help to arrive. Possibly even dead like Sten.
I dithered for a couple of moments like a cartoon character, first looking one way, next the other. Then I made my decision and ran down the longhouse, passing the few squid-sufferers who were still too sick to see what was going on. I lit up on the run back, taking two matches to catch the flare of the phosphorus. Just before I ducked out of the longhouse door, I shouted, 'Christo!' but I didn't wait to see if anyone had heard me.
Through the jungle, I cursed myself for not having also grabbed a torch. I couldn't see much apart from the red glow of my cigarette, occasionally brightening as it burned through a spider's web. But having recently walked the path in darkness, en route to seeing the phosphorescence a couple of nights before, I didn't have too much trouble. The only mishap was walking straight into a bamboo thicket which had been recently cut for spears. My tough feet were OK. It was my shins and calves that got cut, which bothered me because I knew they'd sting if I had to go into the salt-water.
On the beach, however, there was enough moonlight to see clearly. Across the sand were deep tracks where Karl had dragged Sten. He seemed to have reached the beach about twenty metres from the path to the clearing, come down, missed the entrance to the path, and doubled back. Christo, I noted as I dropped the butt, couldn't have made it as far as the shore. In the light from the moon, the sand was silver. The odd coconut husks and fallen palm branches were black. If he'd been there, I'd have seen him.
I took a deep breath and sat down a few feet from the water, juggling options and ideas. Christo wasn't on the beach and I hadn't passed him on the path – unless I'd walked over him unawares – so he was in either the lagoon, the open sea, or the cave that led to the sea. If he was in the open sea he was probably dead. If he was in the lagoon, he was either on a boulder or floating face down. If he was at the cave, he had to be at one of its two entrances, maybe too tired to swim the lagoon or too injured to get through the underwater passage.
That was the Christo angle. The shark angle was more straightforward. It, or they, could be anywhere. I had no way of knowing any more than that, short of spotting a silhouette fin weaving across the lagoon, so I figured I'd be better off if I ignored the shark angle altogether.
'I bet he's in the caves,' I said, and lit another cigarette to help me think. Then I heard a noise behind me, a padding footstep on the sand.
'Christo?' I called, and heard myself in stereo. The other person had called 'Christo,' at the exact same moment.
'No,' we both answered together.
A pause.
I waited a few seconds, looking in all directions, unable to spot the figure. 'Who then?'
No answer.
'Who then?' I repeated, standing. 'Mister Duck, is that you?'
Still no answer.
A swell swept up the sand and tugged at my feet. I had to take a quick step forwards to keep my balance. The following swell was just as strong and I had to take another step. The next thing I knew the water was up to my knees and my cuts were smarting at the salt. The second cigarette, which I'd forgotten about, fizzled out as my hand hit the water.
I tried to swim along the most likely route Christo would have taken between the cave and the beach, pausing every so often to climb a boulder and scan around me. By the time I'd crossed three-quarters of the lagoon I could see flashlights on the beach. The others had arrived, but I didn't call to them. I wasn't decided whether their distant presence was a reassurance or a drag.
Hold His Nose was directed at Étienne – said by one of the Yugo girls – because you have to hold the victim's nose while giving mouth-to-mouth to stop the air from escaping. I thought it was a stupid thing to say. You could see the air bubbling out of the hole in Sten's side so his lungs were obviously fucked, and anyway, you couldn't imagine anyone looking more dead. His eyes were open but showing the whites, he was as limp as rags, and there was no blood coming out of his wounds. In fact, just about all the advice was stupid. Karl could hardly be put in the recovery position while he was jerking around and screaming, and I didn't have a clue what use he'd have for water. Morphine yes, water no. But in emergencies people often seem to call for water, so I assumed it was said in that spirit. The only person talking sense was Sal, who was yelling at everyone to get back and shut up. No one took any notice though. Her role as leader had been temporarily suspended, so her good suggestions were about as useful as the bad ones.
The whole scene left me feeling flustered. I was telling myself, 'Alert but calm,' and waiting for my head to come up with the kind of suggestion that was needed. Something that would cut through the chaos, creating a stern efficiency that was appropriate to the gravity of the situation. Specifically, something like the way Étienne had acted on the plateau. With that in mind, I considered pushing my way through to Sten and saying, 'Leave him, Étienne. He's dead.' But I couldn't shake the idea that it would sound like a line from a bad movie, and I wanted a line from a good movie. Instead I pushed my way backwards through the crowd, which was easy as most people were trying to get closer.
As soon as I was out of the circle I began thinking a great deal more objectively. Two realizations hit me at once. Number one was that I now had a chance to get my cigarettes. Number two was Christo. Nobody had even mentioned the third Swede, who might have been on the beach, wounded and waiting for help to arrive. Possibly even dead like Sten.
I dithered for a couple of moments like a cartoon character, first looking one way, next the other. Then I made my decision and ran down the longhouse, passing the few squid-sufferers who were still too sick to see what was going on. I lit up on the run back, taking two matches to catch the flare of the phosphorus. Just before I ducked out of the longhouse door, I shouted, 'Christo!' but I didn't wait to see if anyone had heard me.
Through the jungle, I cursed myself for not having also grabbed a torch. I couldn't see much apart from the red glow of my cigarette, occasionally brightening as it burned through a spider's web. But having recently walked the path in darkness, en route to seeing the phosphorescence a couple of nights before, I didn't have too much trouble. The only mishap was walking straight into a bamboo thicket which had been recently cut for spears. My tough feet were OK. It was my shins and calves that got cut, which bothered me because I knew they'd sting if I had to go into the salt-water.
On the beach, however, there was enough moonlight to see clearly. Across the sand were deep tracks where Karl had dragged Sten. He seemed to have reached the beach about twenty metres from the path to the clearing, come down, missed the entrance to the path, and doubled back. Christo, I noted as I dropped the butt, couldn't have made it as far as the shore. In the light from the moon, the sand was silver. The odd coconut husks and fallen palm branches were black. If he'd been there, I'd have seen him.
I took a deep breath and sat down a few feet from the water, juggling options and ideas. Christo wasn't on the beach and I hadn't passed him on the path – unless I'd walked over him unawares – so he was in either the lagoon, the open sea, or the cave that led to the sea. If he was in the open sea he was probably dead. If he was in the lagoon, he was either on a boulder or floating face down. If he was at the cave, he had to be at one of its two entrances, maybe too tired to swim the lagoon or too injured to get through the underwater passage.
That was the Christo angle. The shark angle was more straightforward. It, or they, could be anywhere. I had no way of knowing any more than that, short of spotting a silhouette fin weaving across the lagoon, so I figured I'd be better off if I ignored the shark angle altogether.
'I bet he's in the caves,' I said, and lit another cigarette to help me think. Then I heard a noise behind me, a padding footstep on the sand.
'Christo?' I called, and heard myself in stereo. The other person had called 'Christo,' at the exact same moment.
'No,' we both answered together.
A pause.
I waited a few seconds, looking in all directions, unable to spot the figure. 'Who then?'
No answer.
'Who then?' I repeated, standing. 'Mister Duck, is that you?'
Still no answer.
A swell swept up the sand and tugged at my feet. I had to take a quick step forwards to keep my balance. The following swell was just as strong and I had to take another step. The next thing I knew the water was up to my knees and my cuts were smarting at the salt. The second cigarette, which I'd forgotten about, fizzled out as my hand hit the water.
I tried to swim along the most likely route Christo would have taken between the cave and the beach, pausing every so often to climb a boulder and scan around me. By the time I'd crossed three-quarters of the lagoon I could see flashlights on the beach. The others had arrived, but I didn't call to them. I wasn't decided whether their distant presence was a reassurance or a drag.
Shadowed
Christo's name was being called. Low-pitched and high-pitched, boys' voices and girls' voices, floating across the lagoon. I didn't like the sound. From my position, resting on a boulder by the entrance to the cave, the call was always answered by an echo. It gave me the creeps, so I swam into the cave to cut the sound out. Then, once started, I didn't stop. I swam straight ahead until I bumped blindly against the rock-face where the passage ducked below the water-level, took a lungful and dived.
It was very exciting underwater. The rock walls, never warmed by sunlight, cooled and deadened the water. I felt as if I'd dared to enter a forbidden area, the zone I'd shied away from with Étienne and Françoise, diving for sand on Ko Samui. 'Braver now,' I thought dreamily, relaxing my legs and slowing my arm strokes. I wasn't hurried; Christo and the shark seemed rather distant concerns. I was almost enjoying myself, and I knew my lungs were practised enough to keep me under for over a minute thirty without serious discomfort.
Every few feet I stopped and groped around to make sure I wasn't accidentally heading down the side passage to the air pocket. In the process, I discovered the central passage was far wider than I'd previously imagined. At full arm's length I couldn't touch either of its sides, only the barnacle-covered ceiling and floor. I realized, with a reproachful grimace, that to have ended up in the air pocket I must have strayed quite a way off course.
I grimaced harder when I came up on the seaward side of the cliffs. A strong night swell gave me a harsh reality check, pulling me out of my otherworldly stupor by knocking me against the rocks. I had to clamber awkwardly out of the water, slipping on algae and cutting my legs yet again. When I'd found my balance I looked around for Christo and yelled his name, without a lot of hope because the moonlight was bright enough for me to see he wasn't there. I could, however, see the boat. It was floating freely in the small cove that served as its port and hiding-place, untied. I made my way over and scooped the rope out of the sea, securing the boat with as many granny knots as the rope's length would allow – not very nautical but the best I knew how. Then I perched on a small rock-shelf and wondered what I should do next.
The problem was, I could easily have missed Christo on several stages of my search, the boulders particularly. It was possible he'd already been found and was back at camp. But I also had a powerful sense that I hadn't missed him. The untied boat told me that they'd got as far as the entrance to the cave. If Christo hadn't been injured, he'd have made the swim with Karl. If he had been injured however, Karl would have left him where I was sitting, intending to come back for him later.
'Unless…' I muttered, clicking my fingers and shivering in the sea breeze.
Unless he'd been killed outright at sea, in which case it was a safe bet he'd never be found.
'Or…'
Or he'd only been injured a little. He'd been fit enough to make the swim through the underwater passage. He'd swum under with Karl, helping him with Sten, but something had happened. Swimming three men wide. Slightly hurt. Had to be scared and confused.
'That's it,' I said firmly.
Karl wouldn't have realized Christo had gone until he came up in the lagoon. With Sten to deal with, maybe still alive, he couldn't go back. Maybe he waited for as long as a man could last without breathing. One or two desperate minutes extra to be sure. Maybe then he gave up.
'That's it. Christo's in the air pocket.'
I stood up, filled my lungs, and dived back into the water. I found the side passage to the air pocket on my third attempt.
I surfaced, incredibly, into stars. I wondered if I'd missed the turning a fourth time, got disorientated, come up in the open sea or the lagoon. But the stars were beside and ahead of me. The stars were everywhere, unnaturally dense, within reaching distance and a thousand miles away.
Lack of oxygen, I thought, and took a tentative breath. The air tasted better than the last time, maybe freshened by an extra-low tide, but the stars didn't go away. I took another breath, shut my eyes, waited, opened them again. The stars remained, twinkling away, even a little brighter. 'Impossible,' I whispered. 'This makes no…'
A murmur cut me off, coming from somewhere in the thick constellation. I paused, treading water slowly.
'Here…' said a quiet voice.
I pushed my hands out and felt a rock ledge, then I ran my hands along and felt skin.
'Christo! Thank God! I've been…'
'…Richard?'
'Yes.'
'Help me.'
'Yes. I'm here to help.'
I continued feeling along the skin, working out which part of the body I was touching. It was surprisingly difficult to tell. What I first took to be an arm turned out to be a leg, and what I took to be a mouth turned out to be a wound.
Christo groaned loudly.
I shook my head. 'I'm sorry… Are you badly hurt?'
'…I have… some injury…'
'OK. Do you think you're able to swim?'
'…I do not know…'
'Because you have to swim. We have to get out of here.'
'…Out?'
'We've got to get out of the air pocket.'
'Air…pocket…?' he repeated, forming the sounds uncertainly.
'Air pocket. Uh… this little cave. We need to get out of this cave.'
'But sky,' he muttered. 'Stars.'
I frowned, surprised that he could see the stars too. 'No. They aren't stars. They're…' I hesitated. Then I reached up and my hand sunk into cold strands of hanging seaweed. 'Not stars,' I finished, managing a short laugh, and pulled down a glittering strand.
'Not stars?' He sounded upset.
'Phosphorescence.'
There was a small space left on the ledge so I hauled myself out of the water and sat beside him. 'Listen, Christo, I'm afraid we're going to have to try for this swim. There's no choice.'
No reply.
'Hey, did you get that?'
'…Yes.'
'So what we'll do is I'll swim ahead using my arms, and you'll have to hold on to my legs and try to kick. Are your legs injured?'
'…Not legs. It is my… my…' He felt for my hand and put it some place on his torso.
'So you can kick. We'll be fine. No sweat.'
'…Yes.'
His voice sounded like it was getting fainter so I talked my plans out loud to keep him awake. 'Now our only problem is going to be finding the right passage out of here. If I remember right there are four passages to choose from, and we don't want to get the wrong one. You understand?'
'…I understand.'
'Good. Let's do it, then.' I leant forwards to drop back into the water, but stopped myself just as I was about to drop off the ledge.
It was very exciting underwater. The rock walls, never warmed by sunlight, cooled and deadened the water. I felt as if I'd dared to enter a forbidden area, the zone I'd shied away from with Étienne and Françoise, diving for sand on Ko Samui. 'Braver now,' I thought dreamily, relaxing my legs and slowing my arm strokes. I wasn't hurried; Christo and the shark seemed rather distant concerns. I was almost enjoying myself, and I knew my lungs were practised enough to keep me under for over a minute thirty without serious discomfort.
Every few feet I stopped and groped around to make sure I wasn't accidentally heading down the side passage to the air pocket. In the process, I discovered the central passage was far wider than I'd previously imagined. At full arm's length I couldn't touch either of its sides, only the barnacle-covered ceiling and floor. I realized, with a reproachful grimace, that to have ended up in the air pocket I must have strayed quite a way off course.
I grimaced harder when I came up on the seaward side of the cliffs. A strong night swell gave me a harsh reality check, pulling me out of my otherworldly stupor by knocking me against the rocks. I had to clamber awkwardly out of the water, slipping on algae and cutting my legs yet again. When I'd found my balance I looked around for Christo and yelled his name, without a lot of hope because the moonlight was bright enough for me to see he wasn't there. I could, however, see the boat. It was floating freely in the small cove that served as its port and hiding-place, untied. I made my way over and scooped the rope out of the sea, securing the boat with as many granny knots as the rope's length would allow – not very nautical but the best I knew how. Then I perched on a small rock-shelf and wondered what I should do next.
The problem was, I could easily have missed Christo on several stages of my search, the boulders particularly. It was possible he'd already been found and was back at camp. But I also had a powerful sense that I hadn't missed him. The untied boat told me that they'd got as far as the entrance to the cave. If Christo hadn't been injured, he'd have made the swim with Karl. If he had been injured however, Karl would have left him where I was sitting, intending to come back for him later.
'Unless…' I muttered, clicking my fingers and shivering in the sea breeze.
Unless he'd been killed outright at sea, in which case it was a safe bet he'd never be found.
'Or…'
Or he'd only been injured a little. He'd been fit enough to make the swim through the underwater passage. He'd swum under with Karl, helping him with Sten, but something had happened. Swimming three men wide. Slightly hurt. Had to be scared and confused.
'That's it,' I said firmly.
Karl wouldn't have realized Christo had gone until he came up in the lagoon. With Sten to deal with, maybe still alive, he couldn't go back. Maybe he waited for as long as a man could last without breathing. One or two desperate minutes extra to be sure. Maybe then he gave up.
'That's it. Christo's in the air pocket.'
I stood up, filled my lungs, and dived back into the water. I found the side passage to the air pocket on my third attempt.
I surfaced, incredibly, into stars. I wondered if I'd missed the turning a fourth time, got disorientated, come up in the open sea or the lagoon. But the stars were beside and ahead of me. The stars were everywhere, unnaturally dense, within reaching distance and a thousand miles away.
Lack of oxygen, I thought, and took a tentative breath. The air tasted better than the last time, maybe freshened by an extra-low tide, but the stars didn't go away. I took another breath, shut my eyes, waited, opened them again. The stars remained, twinkling away, even a little brighter. 'Impossible,' I whispered. 'This makes no…'
A murmur cut me off, coming from somewhere in the thick constellation. I paused, treading water slowly.
'Here…' said a quiet voice.
I pushed my hands out and felt a rock ledge, then I ran my hands along and felt skin.
'Christo! Thank God! I've been…'
'…Richard?'
'Yes.'
'Help me.'
'Yes. I'm here to help.'
I continued feeling along the skin, working out which part of the body I was touching. It was surprisingly difficult to tell. What I first took to be an arm turned out to be a leg, and what I took to be a mouth turned out to be a wound.
Christo groaned loudly.
I shook my head. 'I'm sorry… Are you badly hurt?'
'…I have… some injury…'
'OK. Do you think you're able to swim?'
'…I do not know…'
'Because you have to swim. We have to get out of here.'
'…Out?'
'We've got to get out of the air pocket.'
'Air…pocket…?' he repeated, forming the sounds uncertainly.
'Air pocket. Uh… this little cave. We need to get out of this cave.'
'But sky,' he muttered. 'Stars.'
I frowned, surprised that he could see the stars too. 'No. They aren't stars. They're…' I hesitated. Then I reached up and my hand sunk into cold strands of hanging seaweed. 'Not stars,' I finished, managing a short laugh, and pulled down a glittering strand.
'Not stars?' He sounded upset.
'Phosphorescence.'
There was a small space left on the ledge so I hauled myself out of the water and sat beside him. 'Listen, Christo, I'm afraid we're going to have to try for this swim. There's no choice.'
No reply.
'Hey, did you get that?'
'…Yes.'
'So what we'll do is I'll swim ahead using my arms, and you'll have to hold on to my legs and try to kick. Are your legs injured?'
'…Not legs. It is my… my…' He felt for my hand and put it some place on his torso.
'So you can kick. We'll be fine. No sweat.'
'…Yes.'
His voice sounded like it was getting fainter so I talked my plans out loud to keep him awake. 'Now our only problem is going to be finding the right passage out of here. If I remember right there are four passages to choose from, and we don't want to get the wrong one. You understand?'
'…I understand.'
'Good. Let's do it, then.' I leant forwards to drop back into the water, but stopped myself just as I was about to drop off the ledge.