'Hurricanes too.'
'Lancaster bombers? Lysanders? Mosquitoes?'
'…I think I made a Lysander once.'
'Hmm. Any jets?'
I resigned myself to the unlikely topic. 'No. I never liked making jets.'
'Me neither. How about that? No jets… Or boats, tanks, trucks…'
'Or helicopters. They were such a pain, which was a shame because I loved the way they looked.'
'Naturally.'
'It was the rotor blades…'
'Those bloody rotor blades. They'd keep falling off before the glue was dry.'
I didn't reply for a moment. A gentle tickling had alerted me to an ant that had found its way on to my stomach. After a couple of seconds I found it, trapped in the line of hair that ran from my belly button. I picked it up by licking my finger so the ant stuck to the spit. 'Very difficult,' I finally said, and blew the ant away.
Mister Duck's eyes gleamed mischievously. 'So you weren't very good at making models then.'
'I didn't say that.'
'Well, were you any good?'
'Uh…' I hesitated. 'I was OK.'
'You didn't use to mess them up? Too much polyester cement, the pieces not fitting together properly, annoying gaps where the wings met the body, or where the two halves of the undercarriage met. Be honest now.'
'Oh, well… Yeah. That used to happen all the time.'
'Same. It used to drive me nuts. I'd start the model with the best intentions, trying so hard to do a perfect job, but it would almost never work out.' Mister Duck chuckled. 'And at the end, I always got left with the same problem.'
'Which was?'
'What to do with the messed-up model once it was finished. I knew a guy who made perfect models and he'd hang them from his ceiling with bits of thread. But I didn't want to do that with the planes I made. Not with their gluey fingerprints all over the place. It would have been embarrassing.'
'I know what you mean.'
'I thought you would.'
Mister Duck lay back on the grass contentedly, using his folded arms as a pillow. As he did so a butterfly passed near him. A big one, with long strips on each wing that ended in a bright blue circle, like tiny peacock feathers. He reached up a finger, hoping for the butterfly to land, but it ignored him and fluttered off down the slope towards the DMZ.
'So, Rich,' he said lazily. 'Tell me what you used to do with the messed-up models.'
I smiled. 'Oh, I used to have the best laugh with them.'
'Yeah? It didn't drive you nuts then.'
'Sure. At first I'd be kicking chairs around and swearing. But then I'd go out and buy some lighter fuel and I'd drop them out of windows. And also I'd cut holes in the bodies and slide in a firecracker to blow them up.'
'Good fun.'
'Great fun.'
'Burning the bad models.'
'So you used to do the same thing?'
'Sort of.' Mister Duck closed his eyes against the hot sun. 'I burned the good ones too.'
It must have gone midday before I checked on Zeph and Sammy. Our chat had distracted me from the job at hand, which may have been its intent. I'd sunbathed and dozed for a couple of hours, remembering melting Focke-Wulfs and plastic burns from being careless. I might have forgotten about them altogether if Mister Duck, with careful timing, hadn't reminded me.
'Sal's not going to be happy,' he said.
I sat up. 'Huh?'
'Sal's not going to be happy. In fact, she's going to be seriously pissed off. She'll do her funny little frown… You ever notice her funny little frown?'
'No. But how come she isn't going to be happy?'
'I can't believe you've never noticed her frown. I always used to think she looked so pretty when she was pissed off. Her eyes would glow and… Do you think Sal's pretty?'
'Uh…'
'I think she is.'
I looked at him for a couple of moments, then burst out laughing. 'Well, well! You had a crush on her, didn't you?'
'A crush?' He went red. 'I wouldn't call it a crush. We were very close, that's all.'
'You mean she didn't fancy you.'
'I just told you, we were very close.'
I laughed harder. 'Nothing ever happened, did it?'
Mister Duck shot me an annoyed look. Then he said, 'Nothing physical happened. But some relationships, close relationships, don't need a physical connection. A spiritual bond can be more than enough.'
'Unrequited love.' I groaned, wiping tears from my eyes. 'Now I understand why you put up with Bugs all that time.'
'Well, you'd be the expert on unrequited love.'
'Excuse me?'
'Does the name Françoise ring a bell?'
I stopped laughing.
'Ding dong!' Mister Duck chimed. 'How's that for a fucking bell?'
'Do me a favour. It's completely different. For a start, Françoise actually does fancy me. And whereas Bugs is a prick, Étienne is a great guy. Which, I should point out, is the only reason nothing happens. Neither of us wants to hurt his feelings.'
'Mmm.'
I glowered at him. 'Anyway. Do you think we could get back to the point?'
'What point?'
'You said Sal was going to be seriously pissed off about something.'
'Oh… Yeah.' Mister Duck chucked me the binoculars. 'Because of the raft.'
'…Raft?' I scrambled over to the edge of the look-out point and slammed the binoculars to my face. Quickly, I scanned along their beach. It was empty. 'I don't see anything,' I said. 'What are you talking about?'
'Where are you looking?' Mister Duck replied languidly.
'Their beach!'
'Find the split palm.'
'…Got it.'
'OK. Now go to six o'clock. Six or seven.'
I eased the binoculars downwards, leaving the sand behind, moving into the blue water.
'There yet?'
'Where yet? I still can't see anythi…' I gulped. '…Oh fuck.'
'Impressive, huh? They may have taken their time, but they sure put it to good use.' He sighed while I hyperventilated. 'Tell the truth, Rich. No bullshit. Do you think Sal ever thinks about me?'
Fine Thanks
Cabin Fever
Secrets
Black Cloud
Shh
FNG, KIA
Fuckin' A
Their Big Mistake
I Know Abou' Tha'
'Lancaster bombers? Lysanders? Mosquitoes?'
'…I think I made a Lysander once.'
'Hmm. Any jets?'
I resigned myself to the unlikely topic. 'No. I never liked making jets.'
'Me neither. How about that? No jets… Or boats, tanks, trucks…'
'Or helicopters. They were such a pain, which was a shame because I loved the way they looked.'
'Naturally.'
'It was the rotor blades…'
'Those bloody rotor blades. They'd keep falling off before the glue was dry.'
I didn't reply for a moment. A gentle tickling had alerted me to an ant that had found its way on to my stomach. After a couple of seconds I found it, trapped in the line of hair that ran from my belly button. I picked it up by licking my finger so the ant stuck to the spit. 'Very difficult,' I finally said, and blew the ant away.
Mister Duck's eyes gleamed mischievously. 'So you weren't very good at making models then.'
'I didn't say that.'
'Well, were you any good?'
'Uh…' I hesitated. 'I was OK.'
'You didn't use to mess them up? Too much polyester cement, the pieces not fitting together properly, annoying gaps where the wings met the body, or where the two halves of the undercarriage met. Be honest now.'
'Oh, well… Yeah. That used to happen all the time.'
'Same. It used to drive me nuts. I'd start the model with the best intentions, trying so hard to do a perfect job, but it would almost never work out.' Mister Duck chuckled. 'And at the end, I always got left with the same problem.'
'Which was?'
'What to do with the messed-up model once it was finished. I knew a guy who made perfect models and he'd hang them from his ceiling with bits of thread. But I didn't want to do that with the planes I made. Not with their gluey fingerprints all over the place. It would have been embarrassing.'
'I know what you mean.'
'I thought you would.'
Mister Duck lay back on the grass contentedly, using his folded arms as a pillow. As he did so a butterfly passed near him. A big one, with long strips on each wing that ended in a bright blue circle, like tiny peacock feathers. He reached up a finger, hoping for the butterfly to land, but it ignored him and fluttered off down the slope towards the DMZ.
'So, Rich,' he said lazily. 'Tell me what you used to do with the messed-up models.'
I smiled. 'Oh, I used to have the best laugh with them.'
'Yeah? It didn't drive you nuts then.'
'Sure. At first I'd be kicking chairs around and swearing. But then I'd go out and buy some lighter fuel and I'd drop them out of windows. And also I'd cut holes in the bodies and slide in a firecracker to blow them up.'
'Good fun.'
'Great fun.'
'Burning the bad models.'
'So you used to do the same thing?'
'Sort of.' Mister Duck closed his eyes against the hot sun. 'I burned the good ones too.'
It must have gone midday before I checked on Zeph and Sammy. Our chat had distracted me from the job at hand, which may have been its intent. I'd sunbathed and dozed for a couple of hours, remembering melting Focke-Wulfs and plastic burns from being careless. I might have forgotten about them altogether if Mister Duck, with careful timing, hadn't reminded me.
'Sal's not going to be happy,' he said.
I sat up. 'Huh?'
'Sal's not going to be happy. In fact, she's going to be seriously pissed off. She'll do her funny little frown… You ever notice her funny little frown?'
'No. But how come she isn't going to be happy?'
'I can't believe you've never noticed her frown. I always used to think she looked so pretty when she was pissed off. Her eyes would glow and… Do you think Sal's pretty?'
'Uh…'
'I think she is.'
I looked at him for a couple of moments, then burst out laughing. 'Well, well! You had a crush on her, didn't you?'
'A crush?' He went red. 'I wouldn't call it a crush. We were very close, that's all.'
'You mean she didn't fancy you.'
'I just told you, we were very close.'
I laughed harder. 'Nothing ever happened, did it?'
Mister Duck shot me an annoyed look. Then he said, 'Nothing physical happened. But some relationships, close relationships, don't need a physical connection. A spiritual bond can be more than enough.'
'Unrequited love.' I groaned, wiping tears from my eyes. 'Now I understand why you put up with Bugs all that time.'
'Well, you'd be the expert on unrequited love.'
'Excuse me?'
'Does the name Françoise ring a bell?'
I stopped laughing.
'Ding dong!' Mister Duck chimed. 'How's that for a fucking bell?'
'Do me a favour. It's completely different. For a start, Françoise actually does fancy me. And whereas Bugs is a prick, Étienne is a great guy. Which, I should point out, is the only reason nothing happens. Neither of us wants to hurt his feelings.'
'Mmm.'
I glowered at him. 'Anyway. Do you think we could get back to the point?'
'What point?'
'You said Sal was going to be seriously pissed off about something.'
'Oh… Yeah.' Mister Duck chucked me the binoculars. 'Because of the raft.'
'…Raft?' I scrambled over to the edge of the look-out point and slammed the binoculars to my face. Quickly, I scanned along their beach. It was empty. 'I don't see anything,' I said. 'What are you talking about?'
'Where are you looking?' Mister Duck replied languidly.
'Their beach!'
'Find the split palm.'
'…Got it.'
'OK. Now go to six o'clock. Six or seven.'
I eased the binoculars downwards, leaving the sand behind, moving into the blue water.
'There yet?'
'Where yet? I still can't see anythi…' I gulped. '…Oh fuck.'
'Impressive, huh? They may have taken their time, but they sure put it to good use.' He sighed while I hyperventilated. 'Tell the truth, Rich. No bullshit. Do you think Sal ever thinks about me?'
Fine Thanks
Discovering that Zeph and Sammy were on their way left me a lot more anxious and a lot less excited than I'd expected. I found this confusing, and was still trying to make sense of my reaction by the time I arrived back at camp. Whereupon, immediately, I became even more confused.
There was nothing in the clearing to suggest we'd buried Sten that morning. The atmosphere was more like a Sunday than a wake. A few people were kicking a football beside the longhouse, Jesse and Cassie were whistling as they laid out some washing to dry, Unhygienix was playing the Gameboy with Keaty watching over his shoulder. Françoise was the biggest surprise. She was sitting with Étienne and Gregorio in the spot occupied by the Bugs faction until only yesterday. I'd expected her to be keeping an eye on Karl until sundown, as she had every day since the attack. In fact, a quick look around didn't show up any missing faces, so I guessed Karl had been left alone.
In a way, it was reassuring to learn that, whatever my own state of mind, I was sane enough to recognize this as abnormal behaviour. And to make sure that my companions' behaviour was as inappropriate as it appeared, when I passed Cassie I asked her how she was feeling. I chose her partly because she was on my route, but also because this was the question she'd nagged me with in the days following the food poisoning. 'Um,' she said, not pausing from hanging up the washing. 'I've been worse.'
'…You aren't feeling sad?'
'About Sten? Oh yes, I am, of course. But I believe the burial helped. It puts it in the past, I think. In perspective, wouldn't you say?'
'…Sure.'
'It was so difficult to find perspective while his body was lying around.' She laughed, looking puzzled. 'What an awful thing to say.'
'But it's true.'
'Yes. I think the burial was the release we needed. Just look how it relieved the tension around here… Shorts, Jesse.'
Jesse handed her a pair of shorts.
'And Sal's speech was a great help too. We needed her to bring us together. We've been talking a lot about Sal's speech. We thought it was very good, didn't we?'
Jesse's face was hidden by the heap of damp T-shirts he held in his arms, but I saw his scalp nod.
'Yes,' Cassie continued, in her vague and cheerful monologue. 'She's good at that kind of thing… Charisma and… And what about you, Richard? How are you feeling?'
'I'm feeling fine.'
'Mmm,' she said absently. 'Of course. You always are, aren't you?'
I left Cassie and Jesse a few minutes later, after some small talk that wouldn't bear mentioning if it wasn't that the small talk was another reason why everything felt so strange. The only time I got close to unsettling Cassie was when I asked after Karl and Christo. She dropped the T-shirt she was holding at the time – not the dramatic response it might seem but an inconsequential slip of the hand. Less inconsequential was her reaction. 'Fuck it!' she snapped, which was unusual in itself because Cassie rarely swore, and her face darkened with a sudden flush. Then she held the shirt up, glowering at where the dirt had stuck to the damp material, and threw it back at the ground. 'Fuck it!' she said again. A strand of spit that had been linking her lips broke with the force of the words, and the top half swung upwards and clung to her cheek. I didn't bother to repeat the question.
There was nothing in the clearing to suggest we'd buried Sten that morning. The atmosphere was more like a Sunday than a wake. A few people were kicking a football beside the longhouse, Jesse and Cassie were whistling as they laid out some washing to dry, Unhygienix was playing the Gameboy with Keaty watching over his shoulder. Françoise was the biggest surprise. She was sitting with Étienne and Gregorio in the spot occupied by the Bugs faction until only yesterday. I'd expected her to be keeping an eye on Karl until sundown, as she had every day since the attack. In fact, a quick look around didn't show up any missing faces, so I guessed Karl had been left alone.
In a way, it was reassuring to learn that, whatever my own state of mind, I was sane enough to recognize this as abnormal behaviour. And to make sure that my companions' behaviour was as inappropriate as it appeared, when I passed Cassie I asked her how she was feeling. I chose her partly because she was on my route, but also because this was the question she'd nagged me with in the days following the food poisoning. 'Um,' she said, not pausing from hanging up the washing. 'I've been worse.'
'…You aren't feeling sad?'
'About Sten? Oh yes, I am, of course. But I believe the burial helped. It puts it in the past, I think. In perspective, wouldn't you say?'
'…Sure.'
'It was so difficult to find perspective while his body was lying around.' She laughed, looking puzzled. 'What an awful thing to say.'
'But it's true.'
'Yes. I think the burial was the release we needed. Just look how it relieved the tension around here… Shorts, Jesse.'
Jesse handed her a pair of shorts.
'And Sal's speech was a great help too. We needed her to bring us together. We've been talking a lot about Sal's speech. We thought it was very good, didn't we?'
Jesse's face was hidden by the heap of damp T-shirts he held in his arms, but I saw his scalp nod.
'Yes,' Cassie continued, in her vague and cheerful monologue. 'She's good at that kind of thing… Charisma and… And what about you, Richard? How are you feeling?'
'I'm feeling fine.'
'Mmm,' she said absently. 'Of course. You always are, aren't you?'
I left Cassie and Jesse a few minutes later, after some small talk that wouldn't bear mentioning if it wasn't that the small talk was another reason why everything felt so strange. The only time I got close to unsettling Cassie was when I asked after Karl and Christo. She dropped the T-shirt she was holding at the time – not the dramatic response it might seem but an inconsequential slip of the hand. Less inconsequential was her reaction. 'Fuck it!' she snapped, which was unusual in itself because Cassie rarely swore, and her face darkened with a sudden flush. Then she held the shirt up, glowering at where the dirt had stuck to the damp material, and threw it back at the ground. 'Fuck it!' she said again. A strand of spit that had been linking her lips broke with the force of the words, and the top half swung upwards and clung to her cheek. I didn't bother to repeat the question.
Cabin Fever
On my way across the clearing, I briefly debated who I should tell about the raft first – Jed or Sal. Going by the book, it should have been Sal. But we didn ' t have a book so I went with my instincts and told Jed.
I noticed the bad smell as soon as I climbed into the hospital tent. It was sweet and sour; vomit for the sour and something less distinct for the sweet.
'You get used to it,' said Jed quickly. He hadn't even turned round so he couldn't have seen me wince. Maybe he'd heard me cut my breathing. 'In a couple of minutes you won't smell a thing. Don't
go.'
I pulled up the neck of my T-shirt to cover my nose and mouth. 'I wasn't going to go.'
'Not one person has come in all day. Can you believe it? Not one person.' Now he did turn to look at me, and I frowned with concern when I saw his face. Spending almost all his time in the tent had taken a toll. Although his tan was still deep – it would have needed more than five days to wash that out – it seemed underlain by grey, as if his blood had lost its colour. 'I've been listening to them out there since two,' he muttered. 'They came back at two. Even the carpenters. They've been playing football.' 'I saw.'
'Playing football! None of them thinking to check up on Christo!'
'Well, I think after Sal's speech everyone's trying to get back to…'
'Even before Sal's speech they were staying away… But if it was
Sal in here… if it was anyone else… Apart from me…' He hesitated, looking blankly at Christo, then laughed. 'I don't know. Maybe I'm being paranoid… It's just it's so weird. Hearing them outside, wondering why they don't come to check up…'
I nodded, although actually I was only half listening. His confinement with Christo was obviously getting to him and he clearly wanted to talk about it, but I had to bring up the subject of the raft. Sammy and Zeph would have covered the sea between the two islands before nightfall – a conservative estimate I'd worked out with Mister Duck by halving the time it had taken us to make the swim. At the earliest, that meant they could start the journey across the island tomorrow morning, and could conceivably reach the beach by tomorrow afternoon.
Christo stirred, distracting us both. For a second his eyes opened, clearly focusing on nothing, and a line of dark bile ran out of the corner of his mouth. Then his chest heaved and he appeared to slip back into unconsciousness.
Jed wiped away the line with Christo's sheet. 'I try to keep him on his side but he always rolls back… It's impossible. I can't tell what I should be doing.'
'How long will he be like this?'
'Two days at best… It might coincide with Tet.'
'Well that's perfect. It'll be the perfect birthday present for the camp, and maybe it will help Karl snap out of his…'
'Help Karl?' Jed looked at me curiously.
'Sure. I think half the problem is that no one can talk to him in his language. I think if Christo was talking to him then…'
Jed shook his head. 'No,' he said quietly. 'You don't understand. Christo's not getting better.'
'You just said, in two days…'
'In two days Christo will be dead.'
I paused. 'He's dying?'
'Yes.'
'But… How do you know?'
Jed reached out and took hold of my hand. Confused, I thought he was trying to console me or something, which got on my nerves, and I pulled my hand back. 'How do you know, Jed?'
'Keep your voice down. Sal doesn't want people to find out yet.' He reached out again to take hold of my hand, and this time he held it tightly, drawing it towards Christo's stomach.
'What the fuck are you doing?' I exclaimed.
'Shh. I want you to see.'
Jed pulled back the sheet. The entire area of Christo's stomach was almost jet-black, as black as Keaty's.
'Feel there.'
I stared at the skin. 'Why?'
'Just feel.'
'I don't want to,' I protested, but at the same time I felt my arm relax. Outside I heard the football bouncing near the entrance of the tent, a regular thumping that rose and faded like passing rotor blades. Someone cheered, or screamed, and someone else chuckled. Through the canvas, short bursts of conversation sounded sing-song and foreign.
Gently Jed guided my hand until it rested on Christo's torso.
'What can you feel?' he asked.
'It's hard,' I muttered.' …It's like rock.'
'He's been bleeding inside. Bleeding badly. I couldn't be sure until last night. Or I knew… I think I knew, but.,.'
'That thing… it's a haemorrhage?'
'Uh-huh.'
I nodded respectfully. I'd never seen a haemorrhage before. 'Who else knows?'
'Just you and Sal… and Bugs too, probably. I talked to Sal today. She said nobody can find out. Not after we've started to get things back to normal. I think she's mainly worried about Étienne hearing.'
'Because he wanted to take Karl to Hat Rin.'
'Yes. And she's right to worry. Étienne would insist we took Christo to Ko Pha-Ngan, and it would be for nothing.'
'You know that for sure?'
'If we'd taken him the day after the attack, maybe two days after, he might have been OK. And I'd have taken that chance, even if it meant losing the beach. I think Sal would have too… But now… what would be the point?'
'No point…'
Jed sighed and stroked Christo's shoulder before pulling back the sheet. 'No point at all.'
We sat in silence for a minute or two, watching Christo's shallow and irregular breathing. It was strange that, once explained, it was obvious to me he was dying. The smell I'd noticed on entering the tent was the smell of encroaching death, and the waxy appearance of Jed's flesh was from living in death's proximity.
This thought jolted me and I broke the silence bluntly. 'Zeph and Sammy built a raft. It was what they were doing behind the tree-line. They're on their way.'
Jed didn't even blink. 'If they make it to the beach,' he said. 'They'll see Christo die. Everything here will fall apart.' And that was all.
I noticed the bad smell as soon as I climbed into the hospital tent. It was sweet and sour; vomit for the sour and something less distinct for the sweet.
'You get used to it,' said Jed quickly. He hadn't even turned round so he couldn't have seen me wince. Maybe he'd heard me cut my breathing. 'In a couple of minutes you won't smell a thing. Don't
go.'
I pulled up the neck of my T-shirt to cover my nose and mouth. 'I wasn't going to go.'
'Not one person has come in all day. Can you believe it? Not one person.' Now he did turn to look at me, and I frowned with concern when I saw his face. Spending almost all his time in the tent had taken a toll. Although his tan was still deep – it would have needed more than five days to wash that out – it seemed underlain by grey, as if his blood had lost its colour. 'I've been listening to them out there since two,' he muttered. 'They came back at two. Even the carpenters. They've been playing football.' 'I saw.'
'Playing football! None of them thinking to check up on Christo!'
'Well, I think after Sal's speech everyone's trying to get back to…'
'Even before Sal's speech they were staying away… But if it was
Sal in here… if it was anyone else… Apart from me…' He hesitated, looking blankly at Christo, then laughed. 'I don't know. Maybe I'm being paranoid… It's just it's so weird. Hearing them outside, wondering why they don't come to check up…'
I nodded, although actually I was only half listening. His confinement with Christo was obviously getting to him and he clearly wanted to talk about it, but I had to bring up the subject of the raft. Sammy and Zeph would have covered the sea between the two islands before nightfall – a conservative estimate I'd worked out with Mister Duck by halving the time it had taken us to make the swim. At the earliest, that meant they could start the journey across the island tomorrow morning, and could conceivably reach the beach by tomorrow afternoon.
Christo stirred, distracting us both. For a second his eyes opened, clearly focusing on nothing, and a line of dark bile ran out of the corner of his mouth. Then his chest heaved and he appeared to slip back into unconsciousness.
Jed wiped away the line with Christo's sheet. 'I try to keep him on his side but he always rolls back… It's impossible. I can't tell what I should be doing.'
'How long will he be like this?'
'Two days at best… It might coincide with Tet.'
'Well that's perfect. It'll be the perfect birthday present for the camp, and maybe it will help Karl snap out of his…'
'Help Karl?' Jed looked at me curiously.
'Sure. I think half the problem is that no one can talk to him in his language. I think if Christo was talking to him then…'
Jed shook his head. 'No,' he said quietly. 'You don't understand. Christo's not getting better.'
'You just said, in two days…'
'In two days Christo will be dead.'
I paused. 'He's dying?'
'Yes.'
'But… How do you know?'
Jed reached out and took hold of my hand. Confused, I thought he was trying to console me or something, which got on my nerves, and I pulled my hand back. 'How do you know, Jed?'
'Keep your voice down. Sal doesn't want people to find out yet.' He reached out again to take hold of my hand, and this time he held it tightly, drawing it towards Christo's stomach.
'What the fuck are you doing?' I exclaimed.
'Shh. I want you to see.'
Jed pulled back the sheet. The entire area of Christo's stomach was almost jet-black, as black as Keaty's.
'Feel there.'
I stared at the skin. 'Why?'
'Just feel.'
'I don't want to,' I protested, but at the same time I felt my arm relax. Outside I heard the football bouncing near the entrance of the tent, a regular thumping that rose and faded like passing rotor blades. Someone cheered, or screamed, and someone else chuckled. Through the canvas, short bursts of conversation sounded sing-song and foreign.
Gently Jed guided my hand until it rested on Christo's torso.
'What can you feel?' he asked.
'It's hard,' I muttered.' …It's like rock.'
'He's been bleeding inside. Bleeding badly. I couldn't be sure until last night. Or I knew… I think I knew, but.,.'
'That thing… it's a haemorrhage?'
'Uh-huh.'
I nodded respectfully. I'd never seen a haemorrhage before. 'Who else knows?'
'Just you and Sal… and Bugs too, probably. I talked to Sal today. She said nobody can find out. Not after we've started to get things back to normal. I think she's mainly worried about Étienne hearing.'
'Because he wanted to take Karl to Hat Rin.'
'Yes. And she's right to worry. Étienne would insist we took Christo to Ko Pha-Ngan, and it would be for nothing.'
'You know that for sure?'
'If we'd taken him the day after the attack, maybe two days after, he might have been OK. And I'd have taken that chance, even if it meant losing the beach. I think Sal would have too… But now… what would be the point?'
'No point…'
Jed sighed and stroked Christo's shoulder before pulling back the sheet. 'No point at all.'
We sat in silence for a minute or two, watching Christo's shallow and irregular breathing. It was strange that, once explained, it was obvious to me he was dying. The smell I'd noticed on entering the tent was the smell of encroaching death, and the waxy appearance of Jed's flesh was from living in death's proximity.
This thought jolted me and I broke the silence bluntly. 'Zeph and Sammy built a raft. It was what they were doing behind the tree-line. They're on their way.'
Jed didn't even blink. 'If they make it to the beach,' he said. 'They'll see Christo die. Everything here will fall apart.' And that was all.
Secrets
I walked close to the longhouse entrance, past where Sal sat talking with Bugs and Jean, and continued along to the beach path. At the first corner I stopped, leaning against the fin of a rocket-ship tree, and lit up. Sal appeared when I was about an inch from the filter.
'Something is up,' she said immediately. 'What is it?'
I raised my eyebrows.
'By the way you walked, by the look in your eye. How do you think I know? So spit it out, Richard. Tell me what's happened.'
I opened my mouth to reply but she beat me to it.
'They're on their way, aren't they?'
'…Yes.'
'Fuck.' Sal stared into middle distance for a few seconds. Then she snapped back into sharp-focus mode. 'What's their ETA?'
'Sometime tomorrow afternoon, if they don't get scared off by the dope guards.'
'Or the waterfall.'
'Or the waterfall. Yeah.'
'Their timing is unbelievable,' Sal muttered. 'Absolutely unbelievable.'
'It turns out they were building a raft.'
'Building a raft. Of course they were. They had to be doing something…' She clutched her forehead. 'I'm taking it for granted you know about Christo.'
I thought for a moment, then nodded. I didn't want to get Jed in trouble, but when Sal was in this mood it was dangerous to lie. 'You don't mind me knowing?' I said nervously.
'No. The thing about secrets is you can't keep them unless you tell at least one other person. It's too much pressure. So I knew he had to tell someone, and I was fairly sure it would be you…' She shrugged.' …Seeing as you have your own secrets to keep, I figured that this way we'd keep all the secrets together in one little bunch.'
'…Oh.'
'Yes. It is clever, isn't it? Unless…'
I waited.
'Unless the person you told about our guests wasn't Jed. After all, Jed already knew, so it was hardly telling him a secret…'
'…Hardly relieving the pressure.'
'Quite,' she said casually, but watching me pretty close. 'So did you tell anyone apart from Jed? Keaty maybe… Or Françoise? I certainly hope it wasn't Françoise, Richard. I'll be extremely upset if you told Françoise.'
I shook my head. 'I didn't tell a living soul,' I said firmly, thereby excluding Mister Duck.
'Good.' Sal looked away, satisfied. 'To tell the truth, I was worried you might have told Françoise. She'd tell Étienne, you see… And you haven't told Françoise about Christo either?'
'I only found out about Christo twenty minutes ago.'
'If Étienne finds out about Christo…'
'I know. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone.'
'Fine.' Her gaze lapsed back into middle distance. 'OK, Richard… It looks like we have a slight problem with these rafters… But you don't think they can possibly get here until tomorrow?'
'No way.'
'Absolutely sure?'
'Yes.'
'Then I'm going to sleep on this. I need time to think. I'll give you my decision on what we do about them in the morning.'
'Right…'
I hung around, unsure as to whether I'd been dismissed or not. A full minute later, Sal was still gazing into nothingness, so I slipped away.
'Something is up,' she said immediately. 'What is it?'
I raised my eyebrows.
'By the way you walked, by the look in your eye. How do you think I know? So spit it out, Richard. Tell me what's happened.'
I opened my mouth to reply but she beat me to it.
'They're on their way, aren't they?'
'…Yes.'
'Fuck.' Sal stared into middle distance for a few seconds. Then she snapped back into sharp-focus mode. 'What's their ETA?'
'Sometime tomorrow afternoon, if they don't get scared off by the dope guards.'
'Or the waterfall.'
'Or the waterfall. Yeah.'
'Their timing is unbelievable,' Sal muttered. 'Absolutely unbelievable.'
'It turns out they were building a raft.'
'Building a raft. Of course they were. They had to be doing something…' She clutched her forehead. 'I'm taking it for granted you know about Christo.'
I thought for a moment, then nodded. I didn't want to get Jed in trouble, but when Sal was in this mood it was dangerous to lie. 'You don't mind me knowing?' I said nervously.
'No. The thing about secrets is you can't keep them unless you tell at least one other person. It's too much pressure. So I knew he had to tell someone, and I was fairly sure it would be you…' She shrugged.' …Seeing as you have your own secrets to keep, I figured that this way we'd keep all the secrets together in one little bunch.'
'…Oh.'
'Yes. It is clever, isn't it? Unless…'
I waited.
'Unless the person you told about our guests wasn't Jed. After all, Jed already knew, so it was hardly telling him a secret…'
'…Hardly relieving the pressure.'
'Quite,' she said casually, but watching me pretty close. 'So did you tell anyone apart from Jed? Keaty maybe… Or Françoise? I certainly hope it wasn't Françoise, Richard. I'll be extremely upset if you told Françoise.'
I shook my head. 'I didn't tell a living soul,' I said firmly, thereby excluding Mister Duck.
'Good.' Sal looked away, satisfied. 'To tell the truth, I was worried you might have told Françoise. She'd tell Étienne, you see… And you haven't told Françoise about Christo either?'
'I only found out about Christo twenty minutes ago.'
'If Étienne finds out about Christo…'
'I know. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone.'
'Fine.' Her gaze lapsed back into middle distance. 'OK, Richard… It looks like we have a slight problem with these rafters… But you don't think they can possibly get here until tomorrow?'
'No way.'
'Absolutely sure?'
'Yes.'
'Then I'm going to sleep on this. I need time to think. I'll give you my decision on what we do about them in the morning.'
'Right…'
I hung around, unsure as to whether I'd been dismissed or not. A full minute later, Sal was still gazing into nothingness, so I slipped away.
Black Cloud
I felt I could use some time to think myself, so instead of going back to the clearing I headed down to the beach. I had complicated thoughts about the way things had developed over the course of the day, and I wanted to clear them up in my head.
The way I saw it, there was something that both Sal and Jed hadn't picked up on. Whether the rafters reached the beach or not, there was still the question of Karl.
I'll put it another way. Sal and Jed were stuck on the worst-case scenario. They were thinking in terms of what would happen if the rafters reached us. Zeph and Sammy would arrive, probably during Tet. Everyone would go crazy and freak out about the secrecy of the beach being compromised, and unless I got to Zeph and Sammy first, I'd be in a lot of trouble too. The morale that had been revived by Sal's stirring speech would be completely destroyed. Not only that, there'd be the difficulty of explaining to outsiders why we had one insane and one dying Swede with us. It would be a catastrophe.
I, however, was thinking in terms of the rafters not reaching us. In the back of my mind, the reason I'd been half looking forward to Zeph and Sammy's arrival was the challenge of stopping them. And, I was fairly confident, the challenge would somehow be met. The point was that it had to be met. The consequences of them succeeding were far too serious. I didn't know how we'd manage it, but with Sal on the case my instincts were that we wouldn't fail.
So this left not a worst-case scenario to consider, but a medium-case one.
The rafters never reach us. The beach is never aware they even tried. The Tet celebration gives us a fresh start for the new year, and we would cope with Christo's death the same way we'd coped with Sten's. But what about Karl? Karl wasn't about to die. He was going to stick around indefinitely, a constant reminder of our troubles, an albatross around our necks.
This bothered me a great deal.
I bent over, peering at Karl's yellow face through the palm-tree fronds of his shelter. He was painfully thin. Even though he'd accepted food recently, flesh had fallen off him over the past week. Already his collar-bone stuck out so far it looked like a suitcase handle, as if you could pick him up by it. He'd probably have been light enough if I'd wanted to try.
Lying by the gap in his shelter – the one that gave him a clear view over the lagoon to the caves – was a coconut-shell half-full of water and a banana-leaf parcel of rice. What was left of the rice, I noticed, was browning. From this I guessed it was the parcel Françoise had left him yesterday, dried out from a day in the sun. It suggested Françoise hadn't replenished the supply. I contemplated the possibility that this was a new therapy tactic – ignoring him so he'd be goaded into signs of life—but I doubted it. It was more likely that, gripped by the camp's sudden upbeat brand of madness, Françoise had simply forgotten. I remembered my conversation with her the day before. She'd seemed concerned about him back then. It was interesting how quickly Sten's funeral had turned everything around.
'Karl,' I said.
Maybe it was hearing his name, or maybe I was tricked by a breeze disturbing the palm fronds and playing the shadow slits across his head, but I thought I saw him move. I chose to take this as a reaction.
'Karl, you're a fucking albatross.'
I wasn't much bothered that he couldn't understand me. In a way, for Karl's sake, it was probably a good thing.
'You're a black cloud.'
This time Karl did move. No doubt about it. He made a little jerky movement forward, like he was stiff from having sat still so long. Then slowly he reached out of the shelter and picked up the coconut-shell.
'Hey,' I said. 'Drinking. That's good.' I rubbed my stomach. 'Mmm.'
He took a tiny sip – it couldn't have done more than wet his mouth – and put the shell back in its place. I glanced over. There was still a gulp of water left in the bottom.
'You left some. Aren't you going to finish it up?' I rubbed my stomach again. 'Mmm-mm. Very delicious. Aren't you going to have a little more?'
He didn't move. I watched him for a short while before shaking my head.
'No, Karl. You aren't. And that's my point. You're going to keep going like this for days. You'll get so thin and weak that you won't be able to drink even if you want to. Then we'll have to force-feed you or something and this shark business will end up hanging over us for weeks… Maybe more!'
I sighed and, as an afterthought, kicked down his shelter.
'Get sane, Karl. Do it in a hurry. Because Christo's going to be dead soon.'
The way I saw it, there was something that both Sal and Jed hadn't picked up on. Whether the rafters reached the beach or not, there was still the question of Karl.
I'll put it another way. Sal and Jed were stuck on the worst-case scenario. They were thinking in terms of what would happen if the rafters reached us. Zeph and Sammy would arrive, probably during Tet. Everyone would go crazy and freak out about the secrecy of the beach being compromised, and unless I got to Zeph and Sammy first, I'd be in a lot of trouble too. The morale that had been revived by Sal's stirring speech would be completely destroyed. Not only that, there'd be the difficulty of explaining to outsiders why we had one insane and one dying Swede with us. It would be a catastrophe.
I, however, was thinking in terms of the rafters not reaching us. In the back of my mind, the reason I'd been half looking forward to Zeph and Sammy's arrival was the challenge of stopping them. And, I was fairly confident, the challenge would somehow be met. The point was that it had to be met. The consequences of them succeeding were far too serious. I didn't know how we'd manage it, but with Sal on the case my instincts were that we wouldn't fail.
So this left not a worst-case scenario to consider, but a medium-case one.
The rafters never reach us. The beach is never aware they even tried. The Tet celebration gives us a fresh start for the new year, and we would cope with Christo's death the same way we'd coped with Sten's. But what about Karl? Karl wasn't about to die. He was going to stick around indefinitely, a constant reminder of our troubles, an albatross around our necks.
This bothered me a great deal.
I bent over, peering at Karl's yellow face through the palm-tree fronds of his shelter. He was painfully thin. Even though he'd accepted food recently, flesh had fallen off him over the past week. Already his collar-bone stuck out so far it looked like a suitcase handle, as if you could pick him up by it. He'd probably have been light enough if I'd wanted to try.
Lying by the gap in his shelter – the one that gave him a clear view over the lagoon to the caves – was a coconut-shell half-full of water and a banana-leaf parcel of rice. What was left of the rice, I noticed, was browning. From this I guessed it was the parcel Françoise had left him yesterday, dried out from a day in the sun. It suggested Françoise hadn't replenished the supply. I contemplated the possibility that this was a new therapy tactic – ignoring him so he'd be goaded into signs of life—but I doubted it. It was more likely that, gripped by the camp's sudden upbeat brand of madness, Françoise had simply forgotten. I remembered my conversation with her the day before. She'd seemed concerned about him back then. It was interesting how quickly Sten's funeral had turned everything around.
'Karl,' I said.
Maybe it was hearing his name, or maybe I was tricked by a breeze disturbing the palm fronds and playing the shadow slits across his head, but I thought I saw him move. I chose to take this as a reaction.
'Karl, you're a fucking albatross.'
I wasn't much bothered that he couldn't understand me. In a way, for Karl's sake, it was probably a good thing.
'You're a black cloud.'
This time Karl did move. No doubt about it. He made a little jerky movement forward, like he was stiff from having sat still so long. Then slowly he reached out of the shelter and picked up the coconut-shell.
'Hey,' I said. 'Drinking. That's good.' I rubbed my stomach. 'Mmm.'
He took a tiny sip – it couldn't have done more than wet his mouth – and put the shell back in its place. I glanced over. There was still a gulp of water left in the bottom.
'You left some. Aren't you going to finish it up?' I rubbed my stomach again. 'Mmm-mm. Very delicious. Aren't you going to have a little more?'
He didn't move. I watched him for a short while before shaking my head.
'No, Karl. You aren't. And that's my point. You're going to keep going like this for days. You'll get so thin and weak that you won't be able to drink even if you want to. Then we'll have to force-feed you or something and this shark business will end up hanging over us for weeks… Maybe more!'
I sighed and, as an afterthought, kicked down his shelter.
'Get sane, Karl. Do it in a hurry. Because Christo's going to be dead soon.'
Shh
To confirm my fears about the black cloud, when I did return to the clearing I found it causing trouble. Françoise, Étienne and Keaty were sitting in a circle, and Étienne and Keaty were repeating the argument I'd heard them have before.
'What's the big deal?' Keaty was saying, at the same time as he played his Gameboy. 'He's taking water. That's good, isn't it?'
'Good?' Étienne scoffed. 'Why is it good for him to take a little water? Nothing is good about his condition. Karl should not be here. This is obvious to me, and I cannot believe it is not obvious for everybody else.'
'Give it a fucking rest, Étienne. We've been over this a hundred ti… Oops.' He paused, frowning in intense concentration. Then his body slumped and he let the Nintendo drop to his lap. 'One five three lines. I was going fine until you distracted me.'
Étienne spat in the dust. 'So sorry. How could I distract you from a computer game because our friend is in need of help?'
'Wasn't my friend. Hardly spoke to him.'
'Does that mean you do not care about his problems?'
'Sure I do. I just care about the beach more. And you should too. OK. Now this time I'm going for the record, so I don't want any more of these bullshit distractions.'
Étienne got to his feet. 'What would be a real distraction for you, Keaty? Please tell me. Then I will pray I never have to see it.'
The question went unanswered.
'Sit down, Étienne,' I said, in an attempt to lower the temperature.
'Remember what Sal was saying at the funeral. We've got to get over all the difficulties we've had.'
'Difficulties,' he echoed coldly.
'Everyone else is making an effort.'
'Really? I am surprised to hear that you find it an effort.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'It means maybe I do not know you any more, Richard. I recognize your face when you walk towards me, but when you are close I recognize nothing in your eyes.'
I took this as some French saying he'd translated. 'Come on, Étienne. This is stupid. Remember Sal's…'
'Sal,' he interrupted, 'can fuck herself.' Then he marched away in the direction of the waterfall path.
'Actually,' Keaty muttered thoughtfully, not looking up from the tiny monochrome screen, 'I doubt even Sal could manage that.'
A couple of minutes later Françoise also left. She seemed annoyed, so I guessed she didn't feel the same way as Étienne.
When Keaty had finished his Tetris high-score attempt, I finally got the chance to ask him what he felt about doing the Rice Run with Bugs. He said he was pretty relaxed about it. He also said it had been a bit of a shock at first, but he'd come round to the idea if it was for the benefit of the camp. Aside from being a decent conciliatory gesture, he wanted to make sure we had some good stuff brought in for the Tet festival.
I wanted to talk more about Tet, but Sal wanted the Rice Run over in one day so they were getting a very early start and he needed to turn in. I sat alone for twenty minutes or so, polishing off a bedtime joint, then I decided to turn in too. With Zeph and Sammy on their way, Keaty wasn't the only one with a heavy day ahead.
I stuck my head into the hospital tent on the way back to the longhouse, thinking Jed would appreciate another look in. But as soon as I saw inside, I wished I'd stayed away.
Jed was fast asleep, lying next to Christo. Christo, however, was semi-awake. He even recognized me.
'Richard,' he whispered, then muttered something in Swedish and made a gurgling noise.
I hesitated a moment, unsure of whether I should be talking to him.
'Richard.'
'Yes,' I whispered back. 'How are you feeling?'
'I feel very bad, Richard. I feel very bad.'
'I know, but you'll be better soon.'
'Stars…'
'You see them?'
'Phos… phos…'
'…phorescence,' I finished. 'You can see it?'
'I feel very bad.'
'You need some sleep.'
'Sten…'
'You'll see him in the morning.'
'My chest…'
'Close your eyes.'
'Hurts…'
'I know. Close your eyes.'
'Very bad…'
'Shh now.'
Beside him, Jed stirred, and Christo fractionally turned his head. 'Karl?'
'Right there next to you. Don't move or you'll wake him.'
He nodded and at last his eyes shut.
'Have good dreams,' I said, maybe too quietly for him to hear.
I pegged the tent-flap open behind me as I left. I wanted to keep Jed from breathing too much of that dying air.
'What's the big deal?' Keaty was saying, at the same time as he played his Gameboy. 'He's taking water. That's good, isn't it?'
'Good?' Étienne scoffed. 'Why is it good for him to take a little water? Nothing is good about his condition. Karl should not be here. This is obvious to me, and I cannot believe it is not obvious for everybody else.'
'Give it a fucking rest, Étienne. We've been over this a hundred ti… Oops.' He paused, frowning in intense concentration. Then his body slumped and he let the Nintendo drop to his lap. 'One five three lines. I was going fine until you distracted me.'
Étienne spat in the dust. 'So sorry. How could I distract you from a computer game because our friend is in need of help?'
'Wasn't my friend. Hardly spoke to him.'
'Does that mean you do not care about his problems?'
'Sure I do. I just care about the beach more. And you should too. OK. Now this time I'm going for the record, so I don't want any more of these bullshit distractions.'
Étienne got to his feet. 'What would be a real distraction for you, Keaty? Please tell me. Then I will pray I never have to see it.'
The question went unanswered.
'Sit down, Étienne,' I said, in an attempt to lower the temperature.
'Remember what Sal was saying at the funeral. We've got to get over all the difficulties we've had.'
'Difficulties,' he echoed coldly.
'Everyone else is making an effort.'
'Really? I am surprised to hear that you find it an effort.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'It means maybe I do not know you any more, Richard. I recognize your face when you walk towards me, but when you are close I recognize nothing in your eyes.'
I took this as some French saying he'd translated. 'Come on, Étienne. This is stupid. Remember Sal's…'
'Sal,' he interrupted, 'can fuck herself.' Then he marched away in the direction of the waterfall path.
'Actually,' Keaty muttered thoughtfully, not looking up from the tiny monochrome screen, 'I doubt even Sal could manage that.'
A couple of minutes later Françoise also left. She seemed annoyed, so I guessed she didn't feel the same way as Étienne.
When Keaty had finished his Tetris high-score attempt, I finally got the chance to ask him what he felt about doing the Rice Run with Bugs. He said he was pretty relaxed about it. He also said it had been a bit of a shock at first, but he'd come round to the idea if it was for the benefit of the camp. Aside from being a decent conciliatory gesture, he wanted to make sure we had some good stuff brought in for the Tet festival.
I wanted to talk more about Tet, but Sal wanted the Rice Run over in one day so they were getting a very early start and he needed to turn in. I sat alone for twenty minutes or so, polishing off a bedtime joint, then I decided to turn in too. With Zeph and Sammy on their way, Keaty wasn't the only one with a heavy day ahead.
I stuck my head into the hospital tent on the way back to the longhouse, thinking Jed would appreciate another look in. But as soon as I saw inside, I wished I'd stayed away.
Jed was fast asleep, lying next to Christo. Christo, however, was semi-awake. He even recognized me.
'Richard,' he whispered, then muttered something in Swedish and made a gurgling noise.
I hesitated a moment, unsure of whether I should be talking to him.
'Richard.'
'Yes,' I whispered back. 'How are you feeling?'
'I feel very bad, Richard. I feel very bad.'
'I know, but you'll be better soon.'
'Stars…'
'You see them?'
'Phos… phos…'
'…phorescence,' I finished. 'You can see it?'
'I feel very bad.'
'You need some sleep.'
'Sten…'
'You'll see him in the morning.'
'My chest…'
'Close your eyes.'
'Hurts…'
'I know. Close your eyes.'
'Very bad…'
'Shh now.'
Beside him, Jed stirred, and Christo fractionally turned his head. 'Karl?'
'Right there next to you. Don't move or you'll wake him.'
He nodded and at last his eyes shut.
'Have good dreams,' I said, maybe too quietly for him to hear.
I pegged the tent-flap open behind me as I left. I wanted to keep Jed from breathing too much of that dying air.
FNG, KIA
Fuckin' A
Bugs and Keaty left just after five thirty. Sal gave me my instructions at a quarter to six.
I liked being up while everyone else was asleep. I almost always was, since I'd started working up on the island, but usually there were a few signs of stirring: a spot of movement in one of the tents or someone padding their way across the clearing to the Khyber Pass. That morning the camp was as still and quiet and cool as it could ever be. It made everything more exciting. While I talked with Sal and Jed outside the hospital tent, I was so keyed up for the day ahead that I had to keep hopping from one foot to the other. I could tell it was pissing Sal off but I couldn't stop myself. If I hadn't channelled my energy somewhere I'd have started shouting or running around in little circles.
Sal and Jed were arguing. They both agreed that I should head into the DMZ and track Zeph and Sammy's progress across the island. The disagreement was over the interception point. Sal said not until they reached the top of the waterfall, putting some faith in the obstacle course. Jed said earlier, as early as possible, although he seemed reluctant to explain why. Personally, I was siding with Sal, although I kept my mouth shut.
Interception point aside, they both agreed on what to do next. I was to tell the rafters that they weren't welcome and that they should leave at once. That failing, I was to keep them from descending the waterfall. Any way I saw fit to delay them was acceptable, in Sal's words. If necessary I would stay up there with them, missing Tet. It could be explained to the rest of the beach later. Nothing was more important than making sure they didn't arrive at camp until Christo was dead. After that, we would work out whether to let them down or keep them out.
By the way Sal was talking, I was sure she had a fall-back plan that she wasn't telling us. I knew the way her head worked and she wasn't the type to say, 'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.' Especially with something so important. The thing I particularly didn't understand was the idea of turning Zeph and Sammy's group back. If we got to the point where I was forced to intercept them, turning them back seemed as problematic as letting them stay. You could as good as guarantee they would talk about what they'd found back on Ko Pha-Ngan or Ko Samui, and we'd have lost our secret status.
If it had been anyone else but Sal, I'd have pointed this out, but with her I didn't feel it was worth bothering. I felt sure that if I'd been able to think of it, she would have too. I don't think I remember her asking my opinion about anything, unless it was to lead me into something by making it seem like my idea. Come to think of it, I don't remember her asking anyone's opinion. Not even Bugs'.
If it needs saying, the argument about the interception point was eventually won by Sal. A big surprise. I honestly don't know why Jed even tried.
Mister Duck was waiting for me at the pass. He was dressed in full combat fatigues with an M16 over his shoulder and his face all painted up with green and black camouflage stripes.
'What's with the gun?' I said when I saw him.
'Just making sure I fit the bill,' he replied flatly.
'Does it work?'
'Works for me.'
'Guess that's a yes…' I walked past him so I could see down the pass to the DMZ. 'So how you feeling? Nervous?'
'I feel good. I feel ready.'
'Ready for the recon?'
'Well…' He smiled. 'Just ready, that's all.'
'Just ready,' I muttered. I always felt suspicious of his lopsided grin. 'Daffy, there'd better not be something going on here that I don't know about.'
'Mmm.'
'Mmm what?'
'Mmm let's get going.'
'I'm serious. Don't start any of your shit. Not today.'
'Time is ticking, Rich. We've got an RV to keep.'
I hesitated, then nodded. 'OK… If you're all set.'
'All set.'
'Then let's do it.'
'Fuckin' A.'
I liked being up while everyone else was asleep. I almost always was, since I'd started working up on the island, but usually there were a few signs of stirring: a spot of movement in one of the tents or someone padding their way across the clearing to the Khyber Pass. That morning the camp was as still and quiet and cool as it could ever be. It made everything more exciting. While I talked with Sal and Jed outside the hospital tent, I was so keyed up for the day ahead that I had to keep hopping from one foot to the other. I could tell it was pissing Sal off but I couldn't stop myself. If I hadn't channelled my energy somewhere I'd have started shouting or running around in little circles.
Sal and Jed were arguing. They both agreed that I should head into the DMZ and track Zeph and Sammy's progress across the island. The disagreement was over the interception point. Sal said not until they reached the top of the waterfall, putting some faith in the obstacle course. Jed said earlier, as early as possible, although he seemed reluctant to explain why. Personally, I was siding with Sal, although I kept my mouth shut.
Interception point aside, they both agreed on what to do next. I was to tell the rafters that they weren't welcome and that they should leave at once. That failing, I was to keep them from descending the waterfall. Any way I saw fit to delay them was acceptable, in Sal's words. If necessary I would stay up there with them, missing Tet. It could be explained to the rest of the beach later. Nothing was more important than making sure they didn't arrive at camp until Christo was dead. After that, we would work out whether to let them down or keep them out.
By the way Sal was talking, I was sure she had a fall-back plan that she wasn't telling us. I knew the way her head worked and she wasn't the type to say, 'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.' Especially with something so important. The thing I particularly didn't understand was the idea of turning Zeph and Sammy's group back. If we got to the point where I was forced to intercept them, turning them back seemed as problematic as letting them stay. You could as good as guarantee they would talk about what they'd found back on Ko Pha-Ngan or Ko Samui, and we'd have lost our secret status.
If it had been anyone else but Sal, I'd have pointed this out, but with her I didn't feel it was worth bothering. I felt sure that if I'd been able to think of it, she would have too. I don't think I remember her asking my opinion about anything, unless it was to lead me into something by making it seem like my idea. Come to think of it, I don't remember her asking anyone's opinion. Not even Bugs'.
If it needs saying, the argument about the interception point was eventually won by Sal. A big surprise. I honestly don't know why Jed even tried.
Mister Duck was waiting for me at the pass. He was dressed in full combat fatigues with an M16 over his shoulder and his face all painted up with green and black camouflage stripes.
'What's with the gun?' I said when I saw him.
'Just making sure I fit the bill,' he replied flatly.
'Does it work?'
'Works for me.'
'Guess that's a yes…' I walked past him so I could see down the pass to the DMZ. 'So how you feeling? Nervous?'
'I feel good. I feel ready.'
'Ready for the recon?'
'Well…' He smiled. 'Just ready, that's all.'
'Just ready,' I muttered. I always felt suspicious of his lopsided grin. 'Daffy, there'd better not be something going on here that I don't know about.'
'Mmm.'
'Mmm what?'
'Mmm let's get going.'
'I'm serious. Don't start any of your shit. Not today.'
'Time is ticking, Rich. We've got an RV to keep.'
I hesitated, then nodded. 'OK… If you're all set.'
'All set.'
'Then let's do it.'
'Fuckin' A.'
Their Big Mistake
By setting off so early, I was hoping that Zeph and Sammy would still be with their raft. Finding them would be a lot harder if they'd already entered the jungle. I was also trusting that they'd have landed on the same stretch of beach where Étienne, Françoise and I had first come ashore. I was fairly confident that they would have, but you never knew. They might have tried to circle the island, not realizing they'd passed the only open stretch of sand. Either way, the more time I gave myself to play with the better.
At least dodging the guards wasn't a problem. They were dozy enough at the best of times, but at seven a.m. they'd definitely still be sleeping off their dope hangovers. In a way, my biggest problem was Mister Duck. He was badly out of shape, wheezing like an old coalminer, frequently pausing to lean against trees and catch his breath. I tried to tell myself that his ghostly status made it unlikely that anyone else could hear him, but all the same, each time he barked a swear-word my heart would miss a beat. I'd turn and glare at him, and he'd raise his hands apologetically. 'Sorry,' he muttered after a stream of abuse at a razor-leaf thicket. 'I'm not as good at jungle warfare as I'd imagined.' A few minutes later he tripped and fell on his gun, letting off a round into the bushes. He didn't have his safety-catch on, the idiot, and he'd been walking with his finger on the trigger. After that we decided the gun was more trouble than it was worth – seeing as it couldn't kill anything real – and we left it hidden in the undergrowth.
About thirty metres before the tree-line along the beach, I made him wait behind. Even though I was sure that no one else could see or hear him, he distracted me. If I wanted to get close to the rafting
group, I couldn't afford to be compromised.
Unexpectedly – though clearly hurt – he took it in good grace.
'I understand, Richie,' he said gamely. 'You hate me.'
'I don't hate you,' I sighed. 'But like I said, this is serious.'
'I know, I know. You go ahead. Anyway…' His eyes became
slits and flicked to the side. 'In my experience these types of jobs are
one-man affairs.'
'Exactly.'
I left him under a coconut tree, using a serrated bowie knife to
pick the dirt from under his nails.
The early-morning effort paid off. The rafters were still on the beach.
Even though I'd been watching them for months, it was a shock to see the group close up. It confirmed that it actually was Zeph and Sammy we'd been watching; that our assumption had been correct and that the blame for their presence could only come down to me. It was also curious because I'd been anticipating this moment for what seemed like ages, but the reality of their presence left me feeling cold. I'd anticipated something more dramatic than the bedraggled figures who sat huddled around their raft. Something a lot more sinister, considering that – as outsiders – they represented a threat to the secrecy of the camp and a threat to me. I still hadn't worked out what I was going to say to Sal about the map. I didn't have the nerve to countermand her orders, so I just had to rely on the island's obstacle course. That failing, my only hope was that I could explain the situation to Zeph and Sammy while I kept them delayed above the waterfall.
From my spy point – about twenty metres from where they sat, lying flat under the shelter of some ferns—I could see only four of them. The fifth was obscured behind their raft. Of the two visible Germans, one was a boy and one was a girl. With some satisfaction, I saw that the girl was pretty but not as pretty as Françoise. No one on the beach was as pretty as Françoise and I didn't want her usurped by a stranger. The girl would have been prettier if it weren't for her nose, which was tiny and turned-up so she looked like a tanned skull. The guy, however, was a different matter. Even though he was clearly exhausted, weakly hauling his (pink-pastel) backpack off the raft, he had the same build and appearance as Bugs. They could have been brothers, even down to the long hair which he kept having to flick out of his eyes. I took a comfortably instant dislike to him.
Eventually the fifth popped up to finish off the team. Another girl, and annoyingly, I was unable to find anything to hold against her. She was short and curvy, and she had an attractive quiet laugh that rolled cleanly across the sand to where I lay. She also had very long brown hair that at one point, for a reason I couldn't fathom, she wrapped around her neck like a scarf. It was a surreal sight, and it made me smile, until I remembered I should be scowling.
I was mildly put out that the rafters didn't make the same mistake as I had with Étienne and Françoise—walking to each end of the arrival beach before realizing that the only way to get around the island was to go across it. But this was more than compensated by another, far more serious, mistake they made.
Actually, I knew they were about to make the mistake even before it had happened. Firstly, they hadn't properly hidden their raft – only dragging it up beyond the high-tide mark – and secondly, they chatted loudly as they walked. In German, I noticed with grudging respect. (Grudging respect for Zeph and Sammy rather than the Germans, obviously.) To me, this clearly suggested one thing: they were entirely unaware of any need for caution. Mister Duck, who had rejoined me when the group turned inland, noticed it too.
'Not very perceptive,' he said, just under an hour into the trek.
I nodded, putting a warning finger to my lips. I didn't want to talk because we were following them so closely. Not closely enough to see them through the thick foliage, but always close enough to hear.
'If they carry on like that they'll get caught,' he continued, undeterred.
I nodded.
'Maybe you should do something, don't you think?'
'No,' I whispered. 'Now shut up.'
I was a bit perplexed by Mister Duck's concern, but no more than that. The next time he opened his mouth I put the warning finger to his lips instead of mine, and he got the message.
So anyway. That was the rafters' big mistake, not being very perceptive. When they came to the first plateau, not one of them realized they were in a field.
At least dodging the guards wasn't a problem. They were dozy enough at the best of times, but at seven a.m. they'd definitely still be sleeping off their dope hangovers. In a way, my biggest problem was Mister Duck. He was badly out of shape, wheezing like an old coalminer, frequently pausing to lean against trees and catch his breath. I tried to tell myself that his ghostly status made it unlikely that anyone else could hear him, but all the same, each time he barked a swear-word my heart would miss a beat. I'd turn and glare at him, and he'd raise his hands apologetically. 'Sorry,' he muttered after a stream of abuse at a razor-leaf thicket. 'I'm not as good at jungle warfare as I'd imagined.' A few minutes later he tripped and fell on his gun, letting off a round into the bushes. He didn't have his safety-catch on, the idiot, and he'd been walking with his finger on the trigger. After that we decided the gun was more trouble than it was worth – seeing as it couldn't kill anything real – and we left it hidden in the undergrowth.
About thirty metres before the tree-line along the beach, I made him wait behind. Even though I was sure that no one else could see or hear him, he distracted me. If I wanted to get close to the rafting
group, I couldn't afford to be compromised.
Unexpectedly – though clearly hurt – he took it in good grace.
'I understand, Richie,' he said gamely. 'You hate me.'
'I don't hate you,' I sighed. 'But like I said, this is serious.'
'I know, I know. You go ahead. Anyway…' His eyes became
slits and flicked to the side. 'In my experience these types of jobs are
one-man affairs.'
'Exactly.'
I left him under a coconut tree, using a serrated bowie knife to
pick the dirt from under his nails.
The early-morning effort paid off. The rafters were still on the beach.
Even though I'd been watching them for months, it was a shock to see the group close up. It confirmed that it actually was Zeph and Sammy we'd been watching; that our assumption had been correct and that the blame for their presence could only come down to me. It was also curious because I'd been anticipating this moment for what seemed like ages, but the reality of their presence left me feeling cold. I'd anticipated something more dramatic than the bedraggled figures who sat huddled around their raft. Something a lot more sinister, considering that – as outsiders – they represented a threat to the secrecy of the camp and a threat to me. I still hadn't worked out what I was going to say to Sal about the map. I didn't have the nerve to countermand her orders, so I just had to rely on the island's obstacle course. That failing, my only hope was that I could explain the situation to Zeph and Sammy while I kept them delayed above the waterfall.
From my spy point – about twenty metres from where they sat, lying flat under the shelter of some ferns—I could see only four of them. The fifth was obscured behind their raft. Of the two visible Germans, one was a boy and one was a girl. With some satisfaction, I saw that the girl was pretty but not as pretty as Françoise. No one on the beach was as pretty as Françoise and I didn't want her usurped by a stranger. The girl would have been prettier if it weren't for her nose, which was tiny and turned-up so she looked like a tanned skull. The guy, however, was a different matter. Even though he was clearly exhausted, weakly hauling his (pink-pastel) backpack off the raft, he had the same build and appearance as Bugs. They could have been brothers, even down to the long hair which he kept having to flick out of his eyes. I took a comfortably instant dislike to him.
Eventually the fifth popped up to finish off the team. Another girl, and annoyingly, I was unable to find anything to hold against her. She was short and curvy, and she had an attractive quiet laugh that rolled cleanly across the sand to where I lay. She also had very long brown hair that at one point, for a reason I couldn't fathom, she wrapped around her neck like a scarf. It was a surreal sight, and it made me smile, until I remembered I should be scowling.
I was mildly put out that the rafters didn't make the same mistake as I had with Étienne and Françoise—walking to each end of the arrival beach before realizing that the only way to get around the island was to go across it. But this was more than compensated by another, far more serious, mistake they made.
Actually, I knew they were about to make the mistake even before it had happened. Firstly, they hadn't properly hidden their raft – only dragging it up beyond the high-tide mark – and secondly, they chatted loudly as they walked. In German, I noticed with grudging respect. (Grudging respect for Zeph and Sammy rather than the Germans, obviously.) To me, this clearly suggested one thing: they were entirely unaware of any need for caution. Mister Duck, who had rejoined me when the group turned inland, noticed it too.
'Not very perceptive,' he said, just under an hour into the trek.
I nodded, putting a warning finger to my lips. I didn't want to talk because we were following them so closely. Not closely enough to see them through the thick foliage, but always close enough to hear.
'If they carry on like that they'll get caught,' he continued, undeterred.
I nodded.
'Maybe you should do something, don't you think?'
'No,' I whispered. 'Now shut up.'
I was a bit perplexed by Mister Duck's concern, but no more than that. The next time he opened his mouth I put the warning finger to his lips instead of mine, and he got the message.
So anyway. That was the rafters' big mistake, not being very perceptive. When they came to the first plateau, not one of them realized they were in a field.
I Know Abou' Tha'
Sammy whooped, just as he'd whooped six months ago, running through the rain on Ko Samui. And he shouted, 'This is way outa fuckin' line, man! I've never seen so much fuckin' weed! This is more weed than I've ever fuckin' seen!' Then he started ripping up big handfuls of leaves and throwing them in the air, and the other four started whooping and throwing leaves in the air too. They looked like million-dollar bank-robbers throwing their loot around. Completely out of control. Completely dead meat. It was ten a.m. The guards would have been patrolling for two hours at least, and if they hadn't heard them crashing through the jungle, they'd heard them now.
By a twist of fate, nothing intentional about it, Mister Duck and I were hiding in the same bush that I'd hidden in with Étienne and Françoise. It certainly gave the scene an extra edge. Watching Zeph and Sammy was like watching myself – what could have come to pass six months ago if not for Étienne's cool head – and I felt a peculiarly vivid blast of empathy for Scrooge. Perhaps Mister Duck is my Ghost of Christmas Future, I remember thinking, as my stomach knotted with the memories of my fear. But I was also buzzing. It looked like the problem with our uninvited guests was about to be solved, and as if that wasn't enough, I was also going to find out what happened when the dope guards caught someone. Better than that, I was actually going to see it.
Not that I'd want anyone thinking I was without pity for them. I didn't want Zeph and Sammy on the island and I knew it would be convenient if they were to disappear, but it didn't have to be this way. Ideal scenario: they arrived, I had a couple of days tracking them as they found their way across the island, then they gave up at the waterfall and went back home. I would have had my fun, and there'd have been no spilt tears and no spilt blood.
Zeph bled like a stuck pig. When the guards had appeared, he'd begun walking straight over towards them like they were old friends. To my mind an inexplicable thing to do, but that's what he did. He still hadn't seemed to realize what was going on, even though the guards all had their guns off their shoulders and were jabbering in Thai. Maybe he thought they were part of the Eden community, or maybe he was so shocked that he just didn't click how much trouble he was in. Either way, as soon as he got close, one of the guards smashed him in the face with the butt of his rifle. I wasn't surprised. The guard looked very nervous, and just as confused by Zeph's strange behaviour as me.
After that there were a few seconds of silent staring across the heads of the dope plants, Zeph taking little backward steps as he cupped the blood spilling out of his nose. It seemed as if each of the two groups was as bewildered as the other. The rafters were having to make a considerable mental adjustment, Eden to Hell in the space of a few seconds. The dope guards seemed stunned that anyone could be so stupid as to walk into their plantation and start ripping it to pieces.
It occurred to me, during this brief interlude, that most of the guards were more like country boys than experienced mercenaries, with scars from sharp corals rather than from knife fights. A bit like the real VC. But I'm sure these observations would have been of small interest to Zeph and Sammy, and in this case I think it made the guards more dangerous than they might otherwise have been. Maybe someone more experienced wouldn't have panicked and smashed Zeph's face in. Isn't there a saying: the only thing more dangerous than a man with a gun is a nervous man with a gun? If there isn't, there should be. Once the short period of staring was over, the guards flipped. I read it as a panicky reaction to the situation. They just waded in and began beating the shit out of what were now their uninvited guests, and not mine.
I suppose they might have been battered to death right there and then, but just as I was beginning to feel that the scene was getting too unpleasant to watch, another bunch of guards arrived, and this lot appeared to have a boss. I'd never seen him before. He was older than the others and had no automatic rifle – only a pistol, still in its holster. Traditionally a mark of power amongst gunmen. One word from him and the beating stopped.
Beside me, Mister Duck reached over and clutched my arm. 'Rich, I think they're going to be killed.' I frowned at him and mouthed, 'Quiet.' 'No, listen,' he persisted. 'I don't want them killed.' This time I shut him up not just with my finger but my whole hand. The guards' boss had started talking.
He spoke in English. Not flawlessly by any means. Not like a Nazi POW camp commandant who appreciates English poetry and says to his prisoners, 'You know, we are much alike, you and I.' But good enough.
'Who are you?' he said, very loud and clear.
A deceptively tricky question. What do you say? Do you formally introduce yourself, do you say 'no one', do you beg for your life? I thought Sammy handled it very well, considering he'd just had his front teeth knocked out.
'We 're travellers from Ko Pha-Ngan,' he replied between tight gasps for air, involuntarily dribbling as he spoke. 'We were looking for some other travellers. We made a mistake. We didn't know this was your island.'
The boss nodded, not unkindly. 'Ve'y big mistake.'
'Please, we're very…' Gasp. 'Sorry.'
'You alone now? Any frien' here now?'
'We're alone. We were looking for a friend. We thought he was here, and we know we made a mist…'
'Why you look for frien' here?'
'Our friend gave us a map.'
The boss cocked his head to the side. 'Wha' map?'
By a twist of fate, nothing intentional about it, Mister Duck and I were hiding in the same bush that I'd hidden in with Étienne and Françoise. It certainly gave the scene an extra edge. Watching Zeph and Sammy was like watching myself – what could have come to pass six months ago if not for Étienne's cool head – and I felt a peculiarly vivid blast of empathy for Scrooge. Perhaps Mister Duck is my Ghost of Christmas Future, I remember thinking, as my stomach knotted with the memories of my fear. But I was also buzzing. It looked like the problem with our uninvited guests was about to be solved, and as if that wasn't enough, I was also going to find out what happened when the dope guards caught someone. Better than that, I was actually going to see it.
Not that I'd want anyone thinking I was without pity for them. I didn't want Zeph and Sammy on the island and I knew it would be convenient if they were to disappear, but it didn't have to be this way. Ideal scenario: they arrived, I had a couple of days tracking them as they found their way across the island, then they gave up at the waterfall and went back home. I would have had my fun, and there'd have been no spilt tears and no spilt blood.
Zeph bled like a stuck pig. When the guards had appeared, he'd begun walking straight over towards them like they were old friends. To my mind an inexplicable thing to do, but that's what he did. He still hadn't seemed to realize what was going on, even though the guards all had their guns off their shoulders and were jabbering in Thai. Maybe he thought they were part of the Eden community, or maybe he was so shocked that he just didn't click how much trouble he was in. Either way, as soon as he got close, one of the guards smashed him in the face with the butt of his rifle. I wasn't surprised. The guard looked very nervous, and just as confused by Zeph's strange behaviour as me.
After that there were a few seconds of silent staring across the heads of the dope plants, Zeph taking little backward steps as he cupped the blood spilling out of his nose. It seemed as if each of the two groups was as bewildered as the other. The rafters were having to make a considerable mental adjustment, Eden to Hell in the space of a few seconds. The dope guards seemed stunned that anyone could be so stupid as to walk into their plantation and start ripping it to pieces.
It occurred to me, during this brief interlude, that most of the guards were more like country boys than experienced mercenaries, with scars from sharp corals rather than from knife fights. A bit like the real VC. But I'm sure these observations would have been of small interest to Zeph and Sammy, and in this case I think it made the guards more dangerous than they might otherwise have been. Maybe someone more experienced wouldn't have panicked and smashed Zeph's face in. Isn't there a saying: the only thing more dangerous than a man with a gun is a nervous man with a gun? If there isn't, there should be. Once the short period of staring was over, the guards flipped. I read it as a panicky reaction to the situation. They just waded in and began beating the shit out of what were now their uninvited guests, and not mine.
I suppose they might have been battered to death right there and then, but just as I was beginning to feel that the scene was getting too unpleasant to watch, another bunch of guards arrived, and this lot appeared to have a boss. I'd never seen him before. He was older than the others and had no automatic rifle – only a pistol, still in its holster. Traditionally a mark of power amongst gunmen. One word from him and the beating stopped.
Beside me, Mister Duck reached over and clutched my arm. 'Rich, I think they're going to be killed.' I frowned at him and mouthed, 'Quiet.' 'No, listen,' he persisted. 'I don't want them killed.' This time I shut him up not just with my finger but my whole hand. The guards' boss had started talking.
He spoke in English. Not flawlessly by any means. Not like a Nazi POW camp commandant who appreciates English poetry and says to his prisoners, 'You know, we are much alike, you and I.' But good enough.
'Who are you?' he said, very loud and clear.
A deceptively tricky question. What do you say? Do you formally introduce yourself, do you say 'no one', do you beg for your life? I thought Sammy handled it very well, considering he'd just had his front teeth knocked out.
'We 're travellers from Ko Pha-Ngan,' he replied between tight gasps for air, involuntarily dribbling as he spoke. 'We were looking for some other travellers. We made a mistake. We didn't know this was your island.'
The boss nodded, not unkindly. 'Ve'y big mistake.'
'Please, we're very…' Gasp. 'Sorry.'
'You alone now? Any frien' here now?'
'We're alone. We were looking for a friend. We thought he was here, and we know we made a mist…'
'Why you look for frien' here?'
'Our friend gave us a map.'
The boss cocked his head to the side. 'Wha' map?'