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.'
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.