The Beach

Mister Duck waggled a finger at me. 'If I didn't know you better, Rich, I'd take offence at that. There's no way you can imagine the way we felt. Apart from anything, you're too young. On and off, I'd been travelling with Sal and Bugs for over eleven years. Eleven years, Rich! How can you imagine what it's like, living with cancer for eleven years?'

'…Cancer?'

'Sure, cancer. Or AIDS. What do you want to call it?'

'Call what?'

'Living with death. Time-limits on everything you enjoy. Sitting on a beautiful beach, waiting for a fucking time-limit to come up. Affecting the way you look at the sand and the sunsets and the way you taste the rice. Then moving on and waiting for it to happen all over again. For eleven years!' Mister Duck shivered. '…Then to have that cancer lifted. To think you've found a cure… That's what you can't imagine, Rich.'

The waterfall and its pool, at least, were exactly the same. A few shrubs different, I suppose, and doubtless a few invisible branches had broken in the trees, but not enough differences to warrant a double take.

One major difference perhaps, but one that would have taken me a while to notice. The carved tree hadn't been carved, and as soon as we arrived by the pool, Mister Duck produced a pocket knife and set about cutting in the names.

I watched him for a while, interested by the concentration on his usually restless face. Then, as he began to write the zero calendar, I asked, 'Why me?'

He smiled. 'I liked the way you talked when I threw the joint at you. You were so indignant and funny… But mainly, I chose you because you were a traveller. Any traveller would have done the job. Spreading the news is in our nature.'

'Our?'

'I'm no better than you. I'm just the same.'

'Maybe worse…'

Mister Duck completed the last zero with a twist of his wrist, and an oval of bark dropped cleanly on to his lap. 'Hey,' he said happily. 'I'd forgotten I did that. How amazing.'

'Maybe worse,' I repeated. 'If I had a part in destroying the beach, I did it unwittingly. You did it on purpose.'

'Who says I destroyed this place? Not me, pal. Not from where I'm standing.' He glanced at his crossed legs. 'Sitting.'

'Who was it then?'

Mister Duck shrugged. 'No one. Stop looking for some big crime, Rich. You have to see, with these places, with all these places, you can't protect them. We thought you could, but we were wrong. I realized it when Jed arrived. The word was out, somehow out, and after that it was just a matter of time… Not that I acted on it at first. I waited, hoping he was a one-off, I guess. But then the Swedes arrived and I knew for sure. Cancer back, no cure, malignant as fuck…' He stood up, dusted the earth off his legs, and flicked his bark zero into the waterfall pool. 'Terminal.'

I punched him as hard as I could, square on his solar plexus. Then, when he doubled up, I pushed him on the floor and kicked him in the face.

He took it all without any attempt to fight back. He let me lay into him until my knuckles were cut and my ankle was twisted. Then, when I'd run out of breath and had collapsed on the grass beside him, he uncurled, pulled himself up, and started to laugh.

'Shut the fuck up!' I panted. 'Shut your fucking mouth!'

'Gripes,' he chuckled, spitting out a broken tooth. 'What's got into you?'

'You tricked me!'

'How? What did I ever offer you? What did I ever say I'd provide?'

'You…'

'I never offered you anything but Vietnam, and only because you asked for it. It so happens you wanted the beach too. But if you could have had Vietnam and kept the beach, it wouldn't have been Vietnam.'

'I didn't know that! You never told me!'

'Exactly.' Mister Duck beamed. 'That was the beauty of it. You not knowing was Vietnam too. Not knowing what was going on, not knowing when to give up, stuck in a struggle that was lost before it started. It's incredible really. It all works out.'

'But I didn't want that Vietnam!' I began. 'I didn't want that kind! I wan…' Then I stopped. 'All? …Wait, you're saying it all works out?'

'All. Right to the bitter end.' He rubbed his hands together. 'You know, Rich, I always thought euthanasia was a kindness. But I never dreamed it could be so much fun.'

BEAUCOUP BAD SHIT

Spud-Bashing

I watched Sal from just inside the longhouse door. Everyone was standing in a big circle and she was in the middle, glowing, marching round, dishing out orders like they were birthday presents. For Greg and Moshe's teams, special fish quotas to achieve; for Bugs and the carpenters, an eating area to construct; for Unhygienix and the gardeners, a feast to prepare; for Ella, seven whole chickens to pluck.

'Meat!' I heard one of the Yugoslavian girls say. 'I have not eaten meat since… since…'

Since the last Tet celebration, it was generally agreed. Nine or ten months ago, a few had eaten a monkey that Jean had killed. Monkey, which tasted more like lamb than chicken, Jesse reported. Something Sammy might have found interesting, as an exception to his rule of exotic food.

Watching Sal's skilful organizing, I wondered how she'd react if I explained that our respite with the rafters was temporary in the extreme, and that all our efforts to protect the beach would come to nothing. I wondered if this news would frighten her as much as it frightened me.

When everyone had woken that morning and the longhouse had begun to buzz, I'd pretended to be asleep. Difficult, when Francoise tried to rouse me, but Sal soon called her off.

'Leave him be,' she'd said, doubtless realizing I was faking. 'Richard had a tough day yesterday, collecting all the dope for tonight.'

Thankfully, it didn't take long for the longhouse to empty and I was able to remove the sheets from over my head, light a candle, and a cigarette. I'd actually been awake a good two hours before the others, itching for nicotine all that time. I should have crept out when I had the chance. It would have meant I wasn't trapped in the longhouse. But at five a.m. I knew it would still be dark outside, and darkness was something I didn't feel ready for. I didn't know what it might be hiding. So instead, I had two hours of my imagination running riot, trying to second-guess Mister Duck.

The only thing I could be sure of was that if Vietnam was heading for a bitter end, I was too. Past that, I couldn't be sure of anything. Working through the possibilities, the areas the end might come were as good as infinite. As an infantry man, all it might take was an ill-advised command from my CO. One that pushed my luck in the DMZ, accepted against my better instincts. Equally it might come from random bad luck. The same luck that jammed a soldier's M16 at the wrong time could make me slip as I jumped from the waterfall.

But knowing Mister Duck in the way I did, these were not the threats that scared me the most. They were real enough, but they didn't have his nightmare hallmark. When he spoke about the bitter end, deep down I knew he only meant one thing. The VC. The fall of Saigon.

I was fortunate that, in her attempt to wake me, Francoise hadn't tried to pull the sheets from my head. If she had done, she'd have discovered that they were soaking wet and cold with sweat.

By eight, all the camp had been given their duties for the day's preparations and were busy working around the clearing. Worried about being seen and asked to join in, I went back to sit on my bed. It was a waste of time, knowing that someone would come to find me sooner or later, but I wanted to put it off as long as possible.