Alex Garland - The Beach

'What is it, Richard?' said Étienne apprehensively. 'There is something the matter?'

I nodded.

'What? Tell us.'

'...I'm off the fishing detail.'

'Off?'

'Moving to another detail. Sal... She just told me.'

Françoise gasped. 'But why? How can she do that?'

'Something to do with Jed. He needs a work partner. Keaty's going to replace me.'

Gregorio shook his head. 'But wait, Richard. You do not want to move, yes?'

'I like the fishing detail...'

'Then OK. You will stay. I will find Sal and talk to her now.' Then he marched off towards the longhouse.

'Gregorio will stop this,' said Étienne a few moments later. 'Do not worry, Richard. You will not have to move.'

'You will not have to move,' Françoise echoed. 'We are a good team, Richard. Of course you will stay with us.'

I nodded, pleased by my friends' display of solidarity, but at the same time I was entirely unconvinced. I knew that Sal's decision would be final, and as if to force the point home, the sound of her low voice began to drift across the clearing, telling Gregorio that this could be the only way.

Although I was feeling sorry for myself, unsure of the sudden way in which things had developed, as the day went on I felt more sorry for Keaty. After Gregorio's failure to change Sal's mind, the four of us spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in a circle, getting stoned and bitching about the way things had turned out. Keaty, however, sat by the entrance of his tent. He was apparently engrossed in his Gameboy, but he looked miserable. I think he felt responsible for everything, and it must have been depressing to feel that his new workmates were so unhappy with the circumstances of his arrival. Eventually, Keaty's obvious discomfort became intolerable. Sensing that the onus was on me, I called over to him and suggested he join us. He sheepishly put down his Nintendo and came over, immediately launching into an apology for the situation he felt he'dcaused. All of us protested at once, but it did nothing to cheer him up. He also told us that he'd spoken to Sal himself, insisting that he didn't mind remaining on the garden detail, to no effect. This, at least, provided a topic of discussion that didn't make Keaty's discomfort any more acute, because it raised the underlying reason for the job switch.

'Perhaps,' Françoise said, 'there is something happening on the island. Something to do with the drug farmers.'

Keaty muttered his agreement, but Gregorio looked doubtful. 'So maybe the Thais are putting new fields on this side of the island. It would be a problem, but why would Jed need a partner? If he had ten or fifty partners, he could not stop them. There is no difference.'

'Is there ever any talking with the Thais?' Étienne asked.

Gregorio shook his head. 'Daffy spoke to them when they first came, but he is the only one. He said they knew we were here already, and they were not interested in us if we did not move from the lagoon. Since then, nothing.'

'Maybe they've got pissed off with Jed nicking grass,' I suggested.

'Yes, but it is the same thing. If they are angry or not angry, what difference if Jed has a partner?'

'So what else could it be?'

Gregorio looked down at his hands, then back at me. 'I do not know, Richard... I really do not know.'

We continued chatting until late evening, but only going round in circles. Without Jed or Sal there was no way our questions could be answered, but Jed was still absent by the time we went to bed, and no one felt like talking to Sal.

It took me over two hours to get to sleep that night, and the thoughts that kept me awake were as unusual as the rest of the day had been. For the first time since arriving on the beach, I started thinking about home. Almost, in fact, wishing I could return. Not to leave the beach permanently - just to contact a few important people and let them know I was still alive and OK. My family particularly, and a few of my friends.I suppose it may have had as much to do with my earlier conversation with Françoise as with the subsequent unsettling events. The thought of parents had hovered in the back of my mind, reluctant to fall under the beach's amnesiac spell.

The Decisive Moment

'Hi,' said a voice, and I turned round. A small boy was standing in the gateway of the house behind me. He grinned and marched over the pavement. 'Would you like a drink?'

I looked at him blankly. Mister Duck was fair-haired and close to tubby as a child. It surprised me that this well-fed kid would become the scrawny figure I'd meet on the Khao San Road.

'That is you, isn't it?' I said, to make certain.

'It's me.' His chubby arms stretched out and clapped me on the shoulders. 'Would you like a drink?'

'Well...' I rubbed my throat. 'What have you got?'

'Ribena or water.'

'Ribena is good.'

'OK. Wait here.'

Mister Duck went inside the house, waddling slightly as he walked. I wondered if that was where his nickname had originally come from. A minute later he came back out, holding a cup in both hands.

'I'm afraid it's not really very cold. It takes ages for the tap to run cold.'

'That's OK.'

He gave me the cup and watched me closely while I drank.

'Is it all right? Maybe I should've put some ice in it.'

'It's very nice.'

'I can get some ice for you.'

'No.' I drained the remainder. 'It was just right.'

'Great!' He smiled radiantly. 'You want to see my room?'

Mister Duck's bedroom was a lot like mine had been - clothes in heaps, dog-eared posters on the walls, duvet scrunched up at the bottom of the mattress, battered Matchbox cars on the shelves, marbles and toy soldiers everywhere else. The main difference was that I'd shared my room with my younger brother, so the mess was doubled.

In the middle of the floor was a collapsed pile of Tintin and Asterix books.

'Shit,' I said admiringly, as I spotted them. 'That's a good collection.'

Mister Duck's eyes opened wide, then he ran to his bedroom door and peered nervously out. 'Richard,' he hissed, turning back to me with a sternly raised finger. 'You mustn't say that!'

'...Shit?'

His tiny face went bright red and he waved his arms. 'Shh! Someone will hear you!'

'But...'

'No buts!' He dropped his voice to a whisper. 'Swearing carries a two-pence fine in this house!'

'Oh... right. I won't swear any more.'

'Good,' he said gravely. 'I should ask you for some money, but you didn't know the rule, so we'll leave it at that.'

'Thanks...' I walked over to the pile of books and picked one up - Cigars of the Pharaoh. 'So you like Tintin, huh?'

'I love Tintin! Do you? I've got every Tintin book except one.'

'I've got every Tintin book except none.'

'Including The Blue Lotus?'

'Only in French.'

'Exactly! That's why I haven't got it. It really annoys me.'

'You should get someone to talk you through it. My mum went through it with me. It's pretty good.'

Mister Duck shrugged. 'My mum can't speak French.'

'Oh...'

'So which is your favourite one?'

'Hmm. Tricky question.' I thought for a couple of seconds. 'It isn't Tintin in America .'

'No. And it isn't the Castafiore Emerald .'

'No way... It might be Tintin in Tibet ... or The Crab with the Golden Claws ... I can't decide.'

'Do you want to know what my favourite is?'

'Sure.'

' Prisoners of the Sun .'

I nodded. 'That's a good choice.'

'Yes. Would you like to know another book I like?'

'OK.'

Mister Duck walked over to his bed and crouched down, feeling around underneath. Then he dragged out a large hardback, coffee-table size. Its cover was plain red and stamped with gold-leaf writing. It read Time. A Decade in Photographs: 1960-1970.