The Beach

The meeting area had progressed swiftly over the time I'd been away. Our bed sheets and one or two unzipped sleeping-bags had been suspended between bamboo poles, making a flat marquee about twenty-five feet in diameter. Bugs had Cassie on his shoulders, giggling and laying palm leaves above the sheets. I guessed the canopy needed to be thick enough to block out the glow from our candles and barbecue, in case any planes happened to pass over us tonight.

But Sal wasn't with the carpenters either. Which meant there was a strong possibility she was in the hospital tent with Jed.

'Shit,' I said.

'Not impressed?' said a crisp voice, directly behind me.

I delayed for a second in order to compose myself and do some rapid thinking, then turned around.' …Impressed, Sal?'

'With our construction.'

'Oh, I'm very impressed with that. Very impressed. It's amazing. No, I was thinking about something else.'

'Mmm?'

'My cigarettes. I left half a packet on the beach.'

'Oh.'

'No big deal. I've just got a feeling they were at the low-tide mark, and the water's coming in. Stupid of me.'

'Doesn't seem too serious.'

'No, no.' I shook my head. 'Not at all serious.'

'Good… I'm glad to see you've cheered up since this morning.'

'I feel much better.'

'I assume that means I shouldn't worry about any unexpected problems tonight.'

'…That's right. No problems. You can… forget about him.'

'Forget?' Sal said, not missing a beat. 'Forget about who?'

'…Karl.'

She gave me an odd look. 'Who?'

'Karl.'

'Who's Karl?'

'Karl's…' I began, then the penny dropped. 'Nobody.'

'I thought you were talking about someone here.'

'No.'

'Fine.' Sal nodded fractionally. 'Well, I'd better get back to work. Still lots to do.'

'Sure.'

'If you get stuck for a chore, let me know. We'll soon find something.'

'Right.'

'Lovely.'

A few moments later Sal was standing under the marquee and pointing out gaps in the sheets to Bugs, although he didn't appear to be paying attention. He still had Cassie on his broad shoulders, and he kept breaking into a little jog to make her squeal.

It was gone four o'clock before I had a chance to get to the hospital tent, and a chance to do something else as well. A piece of inspired opportunism, I thought at the time.

At four, all of the preparations for the evening were as good as finished. The marquee was complete, the stews were bubbling, the chickens were ready to barbecue, and the vegetable peelings, feathers and fish guts had been taken down the Khyber Pass and thrown away. So Sal, sensing a lull, suggested a huge game of football down on the beach. 'Let's work up an appetite!' she'd called out. 'A serious appetite!'

This was excellent news. As Keaty and I never joined in the football, we had an excuse to remain behind. Plus we could offer to tend the cooking pots, meaning Unhygienix could leave with the others. By ten past the clearing was empty.

'He's going to notice,' said Keaty nervously, watching me sprinkle huge handfuls of grass into the stew. 'It's going to taste really strange.'

'If he notices, I'll just admit it was me. I'll say it was for the atmosphere.'

'He hates people fucking with his food.'

'Yeah, well if we don't do something the party will go on all night.' I paused, picking up roughly half an ounce, and chucked it into the biggest pot. Then I chucked in another half. 'Anyway, after an hour he'll be too messed up to give a shit.'

'He'll be tripping. Everyone will.'

'Whatever. Just make sure you don't eat any of this. Stick to the chicken and rice. And make sure Etienne and Francoise get the same message.'

'…It won't be easy to avoid eating the stew.'

'We'll manage.' I dusted my hands off and surveyed my handiwork. After a couple of turns with a stick there was no evidence of the new ingredient. 'You reckon we should chuck in some magic mushrooms or something?'

'No.'

'OK. So how much do you reckon is in there now?'

'In total? All the pots?'

'In total.'

'A lot. Way too much. You're a fucking lunatic.'

'A lunatic!' I laughed. 'Hold the front page.'

Don't Mean Nothing

The atmosphere in the hospital tent was the kind where you feel uncomfortable if you cough or make a hurried movement. Contemplative, detached; I felt like I was in a temple. Even more so because I was praying.

'Die,' went the prayer. 'Make this breath the last one.'

But every time, Christo would breathe again. Despite all the odds, despite the achingly long gaps, his chest would suddenly inflate and deflate. He'd still be alive, and the waiting would start all over again.

For much of the time, I studied Jed. He looked strange because his hair and beard were completely slick, flattened down with blood and sweat. I could see the shape of his head in a way I never had before. It was more angular than I'd imagined. Smaller, and where his scalp showed between the wet curls, shockingly white.

He didn't look at me once, neither had he acknowledged my presence when I climbed in. His eyes were set on Christo's calm face, and weren't going to budge until they were good and ready. Christo's face, I noticed, was just about the only clean thing in the tent. Under his chin you could see the dark smear-marks where Jed had wiped him down, and by the time you reached his neck you couldn't see past the dirt to his skin.

Another thing that caught my attention was that a little bag –which had been sitting just to the right of Jed until yesterday – was now gone. Karl's bag. I'd known it was his because peeking out of its top flap had been the Nike swim-shorts he sometimes wore. Although the missing bag was my only evidence, and remains my only evidence, I felt sure that Karl must have visited Christo before he left. I liked that idea. Visiting his friend, taking his bag, stealing the boat. Cured all right.

Time passed much faster than I estimated. When I looked at my watch I was expecting it to read four thirty, but instead it read five ten. I'd been in there for a whole hour. Forty minutes; that's a long way out. But watching Christo was absorbing. It set my mind thinking about stuff like the afterlife, because there was something about the way Christo was dying that made an afterlife seem particularly unlikely. It's hard to explain what the something was. His eyes maybe, which were slightly open even though he was obviously unconscious. The two glittering slits made him look so dysfunctional. Just a machine that, for whatever reason, happened to be packing in.

When I saw my watch, I realized I had to go. The rest of the camp would be returning soon, so I decided that I had no choice but to break the temple atmosphere.

'Jed,' I said in a soothing, priestly manner. 'There's something we should talk about.'

'You're leaving,' he said bluntly.

'…Yes.'

'When?'

'Tonight… Tonight, when everyone's crashed out after Tet. Will you come?'

'If Christo is dead.'

'…And if he isn't?'

'I'll stay.'

I bit the inside of my lip. 'You understand that unless you come tonight, there'll be no way off the island.'

'Mmm.'

'You'll be stuck here with whatever's coming. And the problem isn't going to be more travellers turning up. Karl's taken the boat. If he contacts his family or Sten and Christo's families…'

'It isn't the Thai police that are coming.'

'…And when Sal finds out we're gone tomorrow, the shit's going to…'

'It's already hit.'

'…I won't be able to wait for you.'

'I don't expect you to.'

'I want you to come.'

'I know.'

'And do you know that it makes zero difference to Christo if you're here or not? Do you know that too? With the amount of oxygen he's taking in, most of his brain has already shut down.'