Alex Garland - The Beach

The man was facing away from me at a three-quarter angle, with one arm resting on his rifle and the other on his hips. Across his tattoo, running from his neck to the left side of his ribcage, was a deep, pale scar. Another scar cut a white line across the cropped hair on his head. A crumpled packet of Krong Thip was tied to his upper arm with a filthy blue bandanna. He held his AK as casually as a snake-charmer holding a cobra. He was perfect.

I knew he'd probably be gone in a minute or less, and my mind was frantic, trying to record each aspect of his form. It was all I could do to stop myself crawling nearer. If only I could have frozen him I'd have circled him like a statue in a museum, taking my time, noting his posture and listing the items he carried, studying his eyes to read what was happening behind them.

Just before he walked away he turned to face in my direction. Maybe he'd sensed someone watching him. He opened his mouth as he turned and I saw he had his top two front teeth missing. It was the final touch, a dangerous complement to the broken butt of his AK and the torn pouches on his baggy green combat trousers. At that moment, if I'd tried to slip further into the bushes he would have seen me. I could tell from his expression that he wasn't looking hard, just absently scanning, but he'd have noticed a movement. I stayed still. I was hypnotized. Even if he had seen me I doubt I'd have tried to run.

I didn't move for quite some time after the guard had gone. Irealized that to leave at once would be the wrong thing to do, not so much because the man might be near and out of sight, but because I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. I was dimly thinking of road accidents, and the drivers that crash soon after a narrow escape.

Hours later, on the way home after spending the afternoon at the look-out point, I paused for a second time at the pass. This time, the sight of the terraces and the steamy evening jungle made me clench my fists. I was shaken by a powerful surge of jealousy towards Jed. He'd had the DMZ for over a year, all for himself. I couldn't begin to imagine what it would feel like, such extended private access, and the briefness of my own encounter only seemed to make it worse. I felt like I'd been damned by a glimpse of paradise.

Split

The clearing was empty apart from Ella, who was gutting fish outside the kitchen hut, and Jed, who was chatting to her. Jed stood as I approached and I answered his inquisitive look with a subtle nod. He returned it, then excused himself and set off for the tents.

'Haven't you brought any fish?' said Ella briskly. 'I was hoping you'd be bringing some more.'

'Oh...' I glanced at her bucket, which held less than ten small milkfish. 'No, Ella. Sorry, I haven't... Is that all there is?'

'Yes. It's pathetic. I can't see how I'm supposed to make this stretch to half the camp. Was this the best you and Keaty could do?'

'Uh, yeah... but it's my fault. Last night caught up on me and I had to get some sleep. Keaty was working alone really... But what about the Swedes? Haven't they brought any?'

'No,' she replied irritably, gouging out a handful of guts and tossing them into the dirt. 'They bloody well haven't. The only person who's brought me anything is Keaty. What time is it, anyway?'

'Six thirty.'

'Six thirty! I've waited over two hours for them to show up. But most people are feeling much better than yesterday and that means they're getting hungry, so I can't wait any longer.'

'No... I wonder what could be taking them so long.'

'I haven't a clue. It's so stupid of them. Of all the possible days they might have chosen to get delayed, I simply can't believe they decided to pick this one.'

I frowned. 'Come on, Ella. That's ridiculous. I'm sure they didn'tchoose to get delayed. They know what's going on... Maybe their engine broke down or they ran out of petrol.'

Ella clucked her tongue as she sunk her knife into the belly of the last fish. 'Maybe,' she said, with an expert snap of her wrist. 'Maybe you're right... But if you stop to think about it, they could have swum back by now.'

I brooded on this last comment of Ella's as I walked towards the longhouse, because she was absolutely right. The Swedes could easily have swum back in two hours, even dragging the boat behind them. I knew from previous conversations that they never fished more than two hundred metres out to sea, a safety precaution in case they spotted another boat and had to get to cover in a hurry.

In a way then, I was already aware that something serious had happened to the Swedes. Logically, it was the only explanation. But I didn't act on my sense of foreboding, probably for the same reasons that no one else had. There were too many problems at hand to start worrying about new ones. For the others, perhaps it was a call for water that distracted them, or a need for sleep, or a puddle of sick that had to be cleaned up. For me, it was the prospect of seeing Étienne again. I'd been having second thoughts about the kiss. I still didn't think I'd been at fault, but I could see why Étienne had thought I was, and I was sure that our next meeting would be awkward. So as I pushed open the longhouse door, I also pushed thoughts of the Swedes to the back of my head, with no more consideration than a vague decision to worry about it later.

My immediate impression inside the longhouse was that some kind of division had occurred while I was away. A tense silence greeted my arrival, shortly followed by a low buzz of noise. At the near end was my old fishing detail, along with Jesse, Cassie and Leah, another member of the gardening detail. At the far end, in the area of my bed, were Sal, Bugs, and the remainder of the gardening and carpentry details. Moshe and the two Yugoslavian girls were sitting between the two groups, apparently neutral.

I assessed the situation. Then I shrugged. If a division hadoccurred, choosing sides wasn't going to be an issue. I closed the door behind me and went over to my old detail.

Nobody spoke for a couple of seconds after I sat down - which gave me a brief scare, automatically assuming that the split was related to me. A chain of events quickly began to form in my mind, connected to the kiss. Perhaps Étienne had told Françoise, and Françoise was furious, and everyone had heard, and the tension was nothing to do with divisions in the camp but an embarrassed reaction to my arrival. Fortunately, I was way off track, as was shown when Françoise leant forwards and took my hand. 'There has been trouble,' she said in a hushed voice.

'Trouble?' I withdrew my hand slightly clumsily, glancing at Étienne, who was watching me with a completely unreadable expression. 'What kind of trouble?'

Keaty coughed and pointed to his left eye. It was badly puffed up. 'Bugs hit me,' he said simply.

'Bugs hit you?'

'Uh-huh.'

I was too shocked to speak, so Keaty continued.

'I turned up with the fish around four and hung around with Jed in the tents. Then I came to the longhouse about half an hour ago, and as soon as Bugs saw me he jumped up and threw a punch.'

'...What happened then?' I eventually said.

'Jean pulled him off, and then there was a massive argument between that lot...' He gestured to the group at the far end. '...And this lot. Personally, I stayed out of it. I was trying to stop my nose bleed.'

'He hit you because of the squid?'

'He said it was because I wasn't around to help last night.'

'No!' I shook my head angrily. 'I know why he hit you. It had nothing to do with being missing last night. It was because he shat himself.'

Keaty smiled without humour. 'That makes a lot of sense, Rich.'

I struggled to keep my voice steady. My tongue felt thick and I was suddenly in such a rage that I could actually see blackness around the edge of my vision. 'It makes sense to me, Keaty,' I saidlightly. 'I know the way his head works. It was the knock to his pride, slipping around in his own shit. That's why he hit you.'