The Beach

'I don't know! We didn't know anything! I just didn't want us disappearing with nobody knowing where we'd gone!'

Jed put his head in his hands. 'This could be bad, Richard.'

'We could have disappeared into the marine park and no one would have…'

He nodded slowly. 'I understand that.'

We sat in silence for several minutes, Jed staring at the table and me looking anywhere but at him. Over by the Space Invaders machine a tubby black girl with corn-rows was trying to hit the last invader. It was moving so fast it was a blur. She missed it on every pass, and just before it reached the bottom line she turned away, disgusted. The sound of talking and music was too loud for me to hear her exploding spaceship, but I saw it on her face.

Eventually, Jed lifted up his head. 'These two Yanks. Do you think they'll make the trip?'

'…They might do, Jed. I don't know them well enough.'

'Fuck. This could be so bad.' Then suddenly he reached over and laid his hand on my forearm. 'Listen,' he said. 'Are you blaming yourself?'

I nodded.

'Don't. I'm serious. Whatever happens with these Yanks, it isn't your fault. If I'd been in your shoes I might have done the same thing.'

'How do you mean, 'whatever happens'?' I said warily.

'I mean… I mean whatever happens I don't want you to blame yourself. It's important, Richard. If you really want someone to blame, blame Daffy.' He sighed deeply. 'Or me.'

'You?'

'Me.'

I opened my mouth to ask him to explain, but he held up a hand. 'There's no point talking about it.'

'OK,' I said quietly.

'Look, we might not even have a problem. In a few weeks the Yanks will probably be flying off home and the map should go with them. Even if they stay in Thailand there's a good chance they won't bother trying to reach us. They seemed like a couple of air-heads, and the trip isn't easy.'

'I hope you're right,' I said hollowly, remembering how skilled they were at their surfer act.

'Hoping's about all we can do. That and wait…' He finished his beer. 'We've got to get the rice back to the boat tonight because I don't want to be carrying those sacks in broad daylight. Are you ready to go?'

'Yes.'

He stood up. 'Good. Then let's get to it.'

Around the back of the cafe was a thin passage between two beach huts, and under a tarpaulin were our rice sacks. We put them on the tarpaulin so we could drag them along the sand, and holding a corner each, set off on the long trek back to the boat.

Just after leaving Hat Rin, we had a fag break and ate a few of the boiled sweets from my bag of presents.

'I'm sorry if I flew off at you,' Jed said as I passed him the packet.

'It's all right.'

'No. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve it.'

I shrugged. I felt like I did.

'I didn't ask you why your day was so bad.'

'Oh. It's nothing… It was just Hat Rin. The place, or the people… They gave me the creeps.'

'Me too. Fucked up, isn't it?'

'Fucked up… Yeah. It is.'

'Richard?'

'Yes?'

'When we get back to the camp, don't mention this thing with the Yanks.'

'But…'

'Sal and Bugs. I don't think they'll understand.'

I looked at him but he was busy trying to get the wrapper off one of the sweets.

'…If you think that's the right thing to do.'

'Yeah. I do.'

It took us another three hours to get back to the marker. The forked stick showed up clearly in the bright moonlight, and we left the sacks beside it. Then I went to check on the boat while Jed moved the sacks off the tarpaulin and spread it across the sand. It was pitch black under the bushes but I could feel the curved prow. That was enough for me. As long as we had our means of escape, I could relax. Jed was already asleep by the time I got back to the marker. I lay beside him and looked at the stars, remembering the way I'd looked at the stars with Francoise. Somewhere amongst them was a parallel world where I'd kept the map to myself, I thought, and wished it could have been this one.

Through Early Morning Fog I See

Mister Duck sat in his room on the Khao San Road. He'd pulled back one of the newspapers that covered the window and was peering down to the street. Behind him, strewn across his bed, were coloured pencils, obviously the ones he'd used to draw the map. The map was nowhere in sight so maybe he'd already tacked it to my door.

I saw that his shoulders were shaking.

'Mister Duck?' I said cautiously.

He turned, scanned the room with a puzzled frown, then spotted me through the strip of mosquito netting.

'Rich… Hi.'

'Hi. Are you all right?'

'No.' A tear rolled down his grubby cheek. 'I'm going to kill myself pretty soon. I'm feeling really bad.'

'…I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?'

He sighed. 'Thank you, Rich. You're a good friend, but it's too late now. I've been in a Bangkok morgue for the last eleven weeks.'

'There's no one to collect you?'

'No one. The Thai police contacted the British Embassy. They found my parents in Glasgow, but they didn't want to come out to sign the release papers. They don't care about me.' Another tear trickled out. 'Their only son.'

'But that's awful.'

'And I'm going to be incinerated in another four weeks if no one signs my release papers. The Embassy won't cover the cost of returning my body.'

'You… wanted to be buried.'

'I don't mind being incinerated, but if my parents won't come to collect me then I don't want to be sent. I'd rather have my ashes left out here.' Mister Duck's voice began to crack. 'A small ceremony, nothing fancy, and my ashes scattered into the South China Seas.' Then he collapsed into uncontrollable sobbing.

I pressed my face and hands against the netting. I wished I were in the room with him. 'Hey, come on Mister Duck. It isn't so bad.'

He shook his head angrily, and through his sobbing I noticed he'd started to sing the theme song from M*A*S*H.

I waited until he'd finished, not knowing where to look, then said, 'You've got a good voice,' mainly because I didn't know what else to say.

He shrugged, wiping his face with his filthy T-shirt. His face ended up dirtier than it had been before. 'It's a small voice but it can carry a tune.'

'No, Mister Duck. It's a good voice… I always liked M*A*S*H.'

He appeared to brighten up slightly. 'So did I. The helicopters at the beginning.'

'The helicopters were great.'

'It was about Vietnam. Did you know that, Rich?'

'Korea, wasn't it?'

'Vietnam. Korea was the excuse.'

'Oh…'

Mister Duck turned back to peek between the newspapers again. He didn't seem like he was about to speak, so I asked him what he was looking at to keep the conversation going.

'Nothing,' he replied softly. 'A tuk-tuk driver asleep in his cab… A stray dog sifting through litter… You take these things for granted when you're alive, Rich, but when they're the last things you're ever going to see…' His voice began to quaver again and he bunched up his fists. '…It's time I got this over with.'

'…Killing yourself?'

'Yes,' he said. Then he said it again, more firmly. 'Yes.'

He walked briskly over to the bed, sat down, and pulled a knife from under the pillow.

'Don't, Mister Duck! Don't do it!'

'My mind's made up.'

'There's time to change your mind!'

'I won't turn back now.'

'Mister Duck!' I cried out feebly.

Too late. He'd already started to cut.

I didn't watch him die because I thought it would be disrespectful, but I checked on him five minutes later to see how he was getting on. He was still alive, jerking around on the sheets and spraying the walls. I waited another fifteen minutes before checking again, wanting to be sure. This time he was still, lying in the position I'd first found him. His torso was twisted so that his legs were off the edge of the bed – a detail I hadn't noticed previously. Maybe he'd tried to stand up just before he'd died.