The Beach (35 page)

By the time I'd retaken my seat, the Yugoslavian girls had inspired some of the others. Sal and Bugs started dancing too, then Unhygienix and Ella, then Jesse and Cassie.
I may have had a few screws loose, but I was able to recognize this as a nice moment. Watching the four couples revolving around each other reminded me of the way things used to be on the beach. Even Sal seemed at peace, all her plans and manipulations pushed aside for the time being, aware of nothing more than straightforward affection for her lover. In fact, Sal looked like a completely different person. None of her confidence was apparent in her dancing. Her steps were tentative and slow, and she clung to Bugs with both arms, head pressed flat against his chest.
'You do not recognize her,' Gregorio said to me, having followed the direction of my gaze. While I'd been killing Christo, he'd taken my place so he could chat to Keaty. 'You have never seen her like this.'
'No... I haven't.'
'You know why?'
'No.'
'Because tonight it is Tet, and Sal will only smoke or drink on Tet. The rest of the year, her mind is always clear, all hours in the day. We get high, but she keeps her mind clear for us.'
'She cares very much about the beach.'
'Very much,' Greg echoed. 'Of course.' He smiled and stood up. 'I will get us more coconut beer. You would like some?'
Both Keaty and I said no.
'Just for me then?' 'Just for you.'
He ambled off towards the fishing buckets, which held the last of Jean's moonshine.
Ten o'clock. The dancing had stopped. Moshe was standing where the dancers had been, holding a candle up in one hand, the other hand touching the side of his face. I didn't know if anyone else was taking an interest in him, but I was. 'This flame,' he said, as hot wax ran on to his wrist and down the length of his arm, forming a slim stalactite on his elbow. 'Look.'
'Look,' said Étienne, gesturing to Cassie. She was also studying the candle-flames, crouched over with an expression of rapt pleasure. Jesse was next to her, muttering something in her ear that made her jaw drop. Behind them, Jean sat with his back to one of the bamboo poles, covering his eyes with his fingers, removing them, and blinking like a baby kitten.
' 'Night John-Boy,' called one of the Aussie carpenters.
Six or seven people provided names, all at once. A ripple of laughter spread beneath the marquee.' 'Night Sal,' Ella called, above the competing voices. 'Night Sal, 'night Sal, 'night Sal.'
Soon Ella's cue became a soft chant that lasted as long as the cigarette I was smoking. Then Sal replied, 'Thank you, children,' and the ripple of laughter spread again.
A few minutes later, the carpenter who had called out 'John-Boy' said, 'Is anyone else seeing shit?' When no one answered he added, 'I'm seeing all kinds of shit over here.'
'Potchentong,' sang Jean, like a tolling bell.
Moshe dropped the candle.
'Seriously, guys, I'm seeing all kinds of shit.'
'Potchentong.'
'Did you put mushrooms in the potchentong?'
'This flame,' said Moshe. 'This flame burned me.' He began pulling the line of wax from his arm.
'Moshe's losing his fucking skin...'
'...I am losing my skin?'
'Losing his skin!'
'Potchen-fucking-tong...'
I leant over to Keaty. 'This
can't
be just the dope,' I whispered. 'Even eating it, dope wouldn't do this, would it?'
He wiped beads of sweat off the back of his neck. 'They're all crazy. It's worse being straight. It's doing my fucking head in just watching them.'
'Yes,' said Étienne. 'Really, I do not like this. When can we go?'
I checked my watch for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. To the extent that I'd thought it out, I'd imagined leaving at around two or three a.m., when there'd be a bit of light creeping in to the sky. But Étienne was right. I didn't like the way things were either, and at a pinch, we could probably set off while it was still dark.
'Give it an hour,' I said. 'I think we might be able to leave in an hour.'

But an hour was no good. At ten thirty, things started to go wrong.
Up until then I'd felt I was in control of the situation. Perhaps I even was in control of the situation. A number of difficulties -Françoise drunk, Christo breathing — had been solved; we'd got through the meal without anyone noticing that we were throwing our stew away; aside from Jed, there were no further loose ends to be tied; Tet was winding down. All we had to do was bide our time and then make our move.
But at ten thirty Mister Duck appeared in the marquee, and I knew I had a problem.
He appeared out of the shadows, stepping over the outer ring of candles. Then walked over to Sal and Bugs, and after acknowledging me with a vague grin, sat down beside them.
'Where are you going?' said Françoise, as I stood up. It was the first thing she'd said in a while. Since the dancing she'd been lying with her head in Étienne's lap, staring intently at the sheets on the marquee. From her colour I'd assumed she was feeling the effects of her afternoon boozing, but when she spoke I realized that she was also scared. Obviously, considering the circumstances, but I wasn't in a very empathic frame of mind. Neither was I in the right frame of mind to reassure anyone.
'We could be fucked,' I said, stupidly speaking my thoughts out loud.
Étienne began looking around. 'What? What is it?'
'...I've got to check something out. The three of you don't move from this spot. Clear?'
'Not fucking clear.' Keaty caught me by the leg. 'What's going on, Richard?'
'I've got to do something.'
'You're going nowhere unless you tell me what's going on.'. '
'Let go of my leg. Greg is watching us.'
Keaty squeezed tighter. 'I don't care. You tell us what the fuck...'
I bent down and clamped my fingers on the soft underside of Keaty's wrist, blocking the blood. A couple of seconds later his hand fell away.
'Hi,' I said to Sal.
'Richard,' she replied happily. 'Richard, my right-hand man. How are you, right-hand man?'
'Left-handed. I've started seeing fucked-up stuff.' The last words were directed at Mister Duck, who seemed amused.
'Sit down with us.'
'I need to get some cigarettes from the longhouse.'
'If you were sitting with us...' Sal drifted off briefly, then picked up the thread. 'I'd know that you and Bugs were friends again.'
'We are friends.'
Mister Duck guffawed, but Bugs nodded, full of dreamy goodwill. 'Yeah, man,' he said. 'All friends here.'
'It was... this was the last thing I was worried about... I needed you two to be friends...'
I patted Sal's shoulder. 'There's nothing more for you to worry about. Things are back to normal, just how you wanted.'
'Yes... We did it, Richard.'
'You did it.'
'I'm sorry for shouting at you, Richard. All those times... I'm sorry.'
I smiled. 'I need to get the cigarettes. We'll talk later.'
'And you'll sit with us.'
'Sure.'
When Mister Duck walked through the longhouse door, I grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the inside wall. 'Right,' I said. 'Tell me what you're doing here.'
He stared with a slightly baffled, innocent expression, then chuckled.
'Are you here to stop us?'
No answer.
'Tell me why you're here!'
'The horror,' he said.
'...What?'
'The horror.'
'What horror?'
'The
horror!'
'What horror?
'
He sighed, and with a quick movement, twisted out of my grip. 'The horror,' he said a final time, ducked through the doorway and was gone.
For a few seconds I stayed where I was, my arms still pointlessly raised in the position they'd been holding Mister Duck. Then I came to my senses and started jogging back to the marquee, making only the most cursory attempt at casualness in my haste.
'OK,' I whispered, when I reached Keaty and the other two. 'Get ready. We're going.'
'Right now?'
'Yes.'
'But... it's still pitch-black out there!'
'We'll manage. I'll go first so I can get Jed and pick up the water bottles, then Étienne and Françoise leave five minutes later, then Keaty. We'll meet by the beach path in...'

At the exact moment I said 'path' Bugs jumped to his feet. His dreamy goodwill was out of the window. His eyes were wide and his teeth were bared. 'What the
fuck
was that noise?' he hissed.
Everyone turned to look at him.
'What was that fucking
noise
?'
Unhygienix laughed sleepily. 'Can you hear noises, Bugs?'
'It was... a branch being pushed. It was somebody pushing through branches.'
Sal pulled herself out of the lotus position to sit on her knees. '...Are we all here?' she said, scanning around the sprawled figures.
'I'm not really
here,'
drawled Jesse. 'I'm not really anywhere.'
Bugs took a step away from the blackness outside the marquee. 'Somebody is definitely out there.'
'Maybe it's Karl...' someone offered.
Several heads turned to me.
'It isn't Karl.'
'Jed?'
'Jed's in the hospital tent.'
'Well if it isn't Karl or Jed...'
'Wait!' Cassie was standing too. 'I heard something! ...There!'
We all strained our ears.
'It's nothing,' Jesse began to say. 'Will you all relax? It's just this strange trip...'
'This is no fucking trip.' Bugs interrupted. 'Everyone, get your heads together. I'm telling you there's people coming.'
'People?'
And suddenly we were all rising to our feet, because we could all hear the noise. It was unmistakable. People, pushing through branches, walking on leaves, coming our way from the waterfall path.
'Run!' Sal shouted. 'Everyone run! Now!'
Too late.
A figure materialized within four metres of us, picked out by the oily flames around the marquee. Within seconds, more appeared by his side. They all had their guns up, levelled straight at us. None seemed wet, so they couldn't have jumped from the waterfall. Maybe they knew a secret route into the lagoon or had used ropes to abseil the cliffs, or maybe they simply floated down. The way they hovered in the darkness, it didn't seem unlikely.
I turned to look at my companions. Apart from Étienne and Françoise, I doubt any of them had seen the VC before and I was interested to see their reaction. It was suitably awed. A couple had dropped to their knees, Moshe and one of the gardeners, and the others were frozen in a perfect tableau of fright. Slack jaws, tensed jaws, arms bunched up to chests. I almost envied them. For a first encounter, it took some beating.

I had realized that escape was not an option and we were all about to get killed, and accepted the realization without bitterness. There wasn't anything I could do to stop it happening, and I felt I'd be dying with a clear conscience. Although I'd known that Vietnam might end this way, I hadn't run. I'd selflessly stuck around until I was sure that my friends would be able to run with me. For once, I'd done the right thing.
And this is why I was furious that the VC weren't doing the right thing. They weren't doing the right thing at all, and I was outraged.
As I'd turned back from looking at my companions, I saw the dope-guard boss jab a finger at me. The next moment, one of his men dragged me out of the marquee and forced me to the ground. Appalled, it dawned on me I was going to get shot first.
First! If I had to get shot, then tenth, eleventh, twelfth - fine. But
first.
I couldn't believe it. I'd miss out on everything.
The guard rested the muzzle of his AK against my forehead. 'You're making a big mistake,' I said angrily. 'You're
really
screwing up.' I tilted my head at Moshe. 'Why don't you do him instead? What difference does it make to you? Do him.'
His sleek face gazed down at me indifferently.
'Him, for Christ's sake! That ape!'
'...Aape.'
'Ape,
you fucking slope! You dink mother-fucker! That gorilla!
Him
over there!'
I pointed at Moshe, who moaned feebly. Then the guard behind kicked me in the back.
'Oh shit,' I gasped as red pain burned into my kidneys.
Unable to stop myself I rolled over on to my side, and saw my friends. The tableau didn't seem to have shifted, apart from Étienne, who had covered his eyes.
'OK.' With an effort, I got back on to my knees. 'At least let me choose who does it.'
I didn't make the mistake of pointing again. Instead I swivelled around so that it was the kick-boxer's gun that was aiming at my head.
'I want this guy. Fair enough, right? Get him to do it.'
Kick-boxer frowned, then glanced over at the boss. The boss shrugged.
'Yes you. You with the dragon tattoo.' I paused, then had a look at his mouth. It was closed, pouting slightly with his puzzled expression. 'Guess what? I know you don't have any front teeth!' I showed him mine and gave them a tap. 'Missing, huh?'
He lifted a wary finger and touched between his lips.
'That's right!' I yelled. 'You don't have any front teeth! And I already knew that!'
The kick-boxer kept his finger in his mouth a few moments, exploring his gums. Then he said something to the boss in Thai.
'Ah.' The boss nodded. 'You the boy always come to see us... Every day, ha? You li' to come see us.'
I glared at him. Then, to my surprise, he squatted beside me and ruffled my hair.
'Funny boy in trees, every day. We li' you too. Take some Mary-Jane, ha? OK Mary-Jane. Some Mary-Jane, for you frien's.'
'Hurry up and kill me,' I said bravely.
'Kill you? Ah, funny boy... I no' kill you now.' He ruffled my hair again and rose. 'I no' kill anyone now,' he said to the huddled figures under the marquee. 'I give you warning. You people here, tha' OK for me. One year, two year, three year, no problem, ha?'
If he was waiting for a reply, none came. This seemed to piss him off. He took a slow lungful of air, then flew into a hysteria of rage.
'Bu' now, you makin' problem! You makin' bad fuckin' problem!
'
There was complete silence as he reached into his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper. Even the cicadas seemed to have got the message. '
You makin' maps!
' he screamed. Half the next sentence was lost on me, drowned out by a pounding in my ears. '...
Bu' why you wan' do tha'? Maps bring new people! New people here! New people are danger for me! Tha' is bad fuckin' danger for you!
'
He hesitated, and with the same bewildering abruptness, became calm again. 'Okey-dokey,' he muttered. Then he dropped the map on the dirt, unholstered his pistol, and fired a shot into it. The shot missed but was close enough to send the paper fluttering into the air. For the second time I was deafened. The muzzle had only been a foot away from my head.
When my hearing began to return, the boss was chatting away in an eerily conversational tone of voice. 'So, my frien's. I li' you all ve'y much. Ve'y good. One year, two years, no problem. So you lis'en to my warning. Nex' time I will kill you all.'
This final remark didn't have time to sink in, because for a third time my senses were put out of action. The boss punctuated his sentence by whipping his gun on the top of my head. Out of shock, I tried to stand up, and he hit me again. I dropped straight back down to my knees. The next thing I knew he was holding on to the back of my T-shirt, keeping me steady.
'Wait,' I said thickly. My bravado was entirely gone. I was afraid. Having had a little taste of what it might be like, I was absolutely certain I didn't want to be beaten to death. 'Wait a moment please.'
No use. The boss hit me incredibly hard. For a few seconds I was conscious, staring at his shoes. Reeboks, like the Ko Samui spiv. Then I blacked out.
I didn't know what was going on. A few things registered -footsteps, rustling, some hushed Thai voices, a couple of kicks that rolled me over. But none of these things felt connected to any of the others. They were arbitrary and baffling.
When I was finally able to get up and stay up, which must have been at least ten minutes later, the VC had gone. I began crawling back to the marquee, where I could still see the blurred shapes of my companions, and while I crawled I abstractedly wondered why I'd been chosen as the punch-bag. In fact, why have a punch-bag at all? If they hadn't been planning on shooting us, it seemed unfair to have put me through all that pain.