by Alex Garland
‘Of course. I’ll be back in two minutes.’
As I stood up, the cramps came back again. I watched her for a moment, uncertain whether I should go or wait with her until the pain had passed, then I jogged down the longhouse, ignoring the pleas I passed on the way.
Incubus
Unexpectedly, I found Jed sitting outside the kitchen hut, eating plain rice with his Maglite up-ended in front of him like an electric candle. He held out his bowl as I approached and mumbled, ‘You should eat,’ spraying a fan of white flecks into the light.
‘I’m not hungry. Have you seen inside the longhouse?’
He swallowed. ‘Stuck my head round the door, saw enough not to go in. Got plenty to deal with in the tents.’
‘What’s happening in the tents?’
‘Same as the longhouse. The Swedes seem OK, but the others are fucked.’
‘Are you worried?’
‘Are you?’
‘I’m not sure. Françoise said people can die from this stuff.’
‘Mmm. They can.’ He took another mouthful and chewed carefully. ‘We need to keep them tanked up with loads of water. Can’t let them get dehydrated. And we need to keep ourselves fit so we can look after them. That’s why you should eat some food. You haven’t eaten since this morning.’
‘Later,’ I said, thinking of Françoise, and scooped a pitcher into the drinking-water barrel. ‘And if the Swedes are OK, then tell them to come and help.’
Jed nodded, his cheeks too puffed up to speak, and I set off back across the clearing.
Back inside the longhouse, Bugs was metaphorically and literally losing his shit. He was squatting alongside the line of candles, eyes bulging like cue-balls, whilst a pool of faeces collected around his feet. Moshe was standing a few feet away, gagging, and when he saw me he hurriedly moved away, as if having seen Bugs I’d been tagged with the responsibility of dealing with him.
Bugs groaned. A string of drool looped out of his mouth and swung crazily from his chin. ‘Richard,’ he spluttered. ‘Get me outside.’
I looked around. Cassie was several beds away and Moshe was bent over one of the Yugoslavian girls. ‘I’m in a hurry,’ I replied, covering my nose and mouth with the crook of my arm.
‘What?’
‘I’m in a hurry. I’ve got to get this water to Françoise.’
‘I’ve got to get outside! She can wait!’
I shook my head, then grimaced. The smell was so bad it was making me feel giddy.
‘She already has waited,’ I said.
His face contorted as though he was going to yell at me. I looked at him impassively while he held the expression, then he gurgled and another stream of shit splashed on to the ground. ‘No!’ he wailed, then his legs buckled and he slipped backwards.
I took a step sideways to keep clear of the spreading dark puddle. ‘Jesus, Bugs. Can’t you hold on?’
Bugs whimpered and doubled up into the foetal position, tried to straighten, and doubled up again.
I continued watching him, still breathing into my elbow though it did nothing to block the stench. The giddy feeling was getting stronger, mixing with intense rushes of irritation. It seemed to me, through the pulse that had developed behind my eyes, that there was something self-indulgent about his debasement. How could he not have had the strength to drag himself to the door? He’d distracted me from bringing the water to Françoise, and he was making a terrible mess that someone else would have to clean up. I remembered his stoicism when he’d bashed his leg, and the memory nearly made me laugh out loud.
‘I’ve got to get this water to Françoise,’ I said coldly, but didn’t move. ‘I said I’d only be two minutes. I’ve already been longer.’ Bugs opened his mouth, maybe to reply, and a slimy bubble of spit popped over his lips. This time I did laugh. ‘Look at yourself,’ I heard myself say. ‘Who the fuck do you think’s going to clear that mess up?’
Suddenly a hand grabbed my shoulder.
‘My God, Richard! What’s the matter with you? Why aren’t you helping him?’
I turned and saw Cassie staring at me. She looked very angry, but when our eyes met the anger quickly changed to something else. Something like concern, I noted vacantly, or alarm.
‘Richard?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You…’ She paused. ‘… Come on. We’ve got to get him outside at once.’
‘I need to take this water to –’
‘You need to get Bugs outside.’
I rubbed my eyes and wished they would stop throbbing.
‘Now, Richard.’
‘Yes… Right.’ I put the pitcher down, a safe distance from the puddle, and went to help her lift Bugs.
He was heavy, being so broad, and he made no effort to walk so we practically had to drag him along the ground. Luckily one of the Swedes, Sten, arrived before we’d got halfway to the door. With his assistance we got Bugs outside and over to one of the diverted streams, where we dropped him so the current could wash him down.
Sten agreed to stay with Bugs – probably a relief after seeing what was going on in the longhouse – and Cassie and I headed back. I wanted to jog but she made me stop so she could feel my forehead.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked testily.
‘… I thought you might have a temperature.’
‘Do I?’
‘You’re a little hot… but no, thank God. We can’t have anyone else getting ill.’ She gave my hand a squeeze. ‘We’ve got to be strong.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘… We’ve got to keep calm.’
‘Sure, Cassie. I know.’
‘OK…’
‘I’ve got to get the water to Françoise.’
‘Yes,’ she said, and I thought she might be frowning, but in the darkness it was impossible to tell. We started walking again. ‘Of course.’
Over the time I’d been away, Françoise’s condition had got worse. She was still talking but she’d deteriorated into a dreamy, feverish state, and her cheeks were burning up. I had to prop her up against my lap so I could feed the water into her mouth without her choking, and even then she lost most of the liquid down her chest.
‘Sorry I took so long,’ I said, as I dried her down with one of her T-shirts. ‘Bugs was all over the place. Had to deal with him.’
‘Richard,’ she whispered, then said something in French that I couldn’t understand.
I made a guess at the meaning. ‘… I’m fine. I missed out on the squid.’
‘Étienne…’
‘He’s here, right next to you… sleeping it off.’
Her head twitched to the side. ‘I love you,’ she muttered drowsily.
I blinked, thinking for the slightest second that she might be talking to me. Then I caught myself, seeing the direction that her head had pointed, and realized her words were for Étienne. But in a way it didn’t matter. It felt nice just to have heard her say it. I smiled and stroked her hair, and her hand reached up and closed weakly around mine.
For the next five minutes I stayed as still as I could, supporting her shoulders on my crossed legs. Then, when her breathing had become slower and heavier, I eased myself backwards and gently lowered her on to the sheets. They were a little damp from where the water had spilled, but it couldn’t be helped.
*
It isn’t something I feel I ought to justify, but I’ll justify it anyway. I was thinking about the time I’d had a fever. Françoise had given me a kiss so I gave her one too, in exactly the same affectionate spirit. And I wouldn’t have called it a kiss that was open to interpretation. It was straightforward; on the cheek, not the lips, unambiguous.
Technically, if you can get technical about such things, maybe I did hold it for a couple of seconds too long. I do remember noticing how soft and smooth her skin was. In the middle of that hellish night, with all the vomiting and groaning and flickering candle-flames, I wasn’t expecting
to find sweetness. It took me by surprise, that little oasis. I dropped my guard and closed my eyes, drifting a few moments, just for the chance to block the bad stuff out.
But when I pulled back from the kiss and saw the way Étienne was staring at me, I knew he hadn’t seen it in the same way.
There was a short silence, as you might imagine, then he said, ‘What were you doing?’
‘… Nothing.’
‘You were kissing Françoise.’
I shrugged. ‘So?’
‘What do you mean, “so”?’
‘I mean, so?’ If I sounded irritable, it was nothing more than exhaustion, and maybe a hangover from the business with Bugs. ‘I gave her a kiss on the cheek. You’ve seen me do that before, and you’ve seen her kiss me too.’
‘She has never kissed you like that.’
‘On the cheek?’
‘For so long!’
‘You’ve got this wrong.’
He sat up in bed. ‘So what should I think?’
I sighed. The pulsing behind my eyes was starting again, turning into a sharp ache. ‘I’m very tired,’ I said. ‘You’re very ill. It’s affecting you.’
‘What should I think?’ he repeated.
‘I don’t know. Anything. I kissed her because I was worried, and because I care about her… Just the same as I’m worried about you.’
He didn’t say anything.
I tried a joke. ‘If I give you a kiss, will that even things up?’
Étienne paused a bit longer, and finally nodded. ‘I am sorry, Richard,’ he said, but his voice was flat and I knew he didn’t mean it. ‘You are right. I am ill and it is affecting me. But I can look after her now. Maybe some others need your help.’
‘Yeah. I’m sure they do.’ I stood up. ‘If you need anything, give me a shout.’
‘Yes.’
I glanced back at Françoise, who, thankfully, was still fast asleep. Then I began walking back down the longhouse, keeping to the side so I didn’t get roped into helping Moshe as he shovelled away Bugs’ shit.
Good Morning
I slept in the clearing. I would have slept there even if I hadn’t thought it best to stay away from Étienne. I’d lost my sense of smell and become selective in which moans I chose to hear, but I couldn’t stand the candles. Their accumulated heat was so strong that the ceiling was wet with condensation. The drips fell like a light rain through clouds of waxy fumes, and by midnight there wasn’t a dry square-inch in the longhouse. That aside, Gregorio was in my bed. I’d moved him there so he could get away from Jesse, who’d had the same incontinence problem as Bugs.
The last thing I remember before falling asleep was Sal’s voice. She’d recovered enough to walk around and was calling Keaty’s name. I could have told her he was down on the beach, but I decided not to. There was something ominously controlled about her tone. It was the way a parent might call for a kid, trying to draw them out of their hiding-place in order to give them a bollocking. After a few minutes I felt her torch shining through my eyelids and she asked me if I knew where he was. I didn’t move, and eventually she moved away.
The only other disruption that night was the sound of someone crying nearby. I tried to make myself get up and check on who it was, but it turned out I was too tired to care.
Jed woke me around six thirty, with a bowl of rice and a boiled sweet, one of the last from Ko Pha-Ngan.
‘Good morning,’ he said, violently shaking my shoulders. ‘Have you eaten yet?’
‘No,’ I mumbled.
‘What did I tell you last night?’
‘… Eat.’
‘So.’ He hauled me to a sitting position and put the bowl in my lap. The single sweet, a lurid chemical green, looked ridiculous perched on the mound of sticky grains. ‘Eat this now.’
‘I’m half asleep.’
‘Eat it, Richard.’
I pressed a rice-ball with my fingers and dutifully began to chew it, but my mouth was too dry to swallow. ‘Water,’ I croaked. Jed went to get me some, and I poured it straight into the bowl. Actually it didn’t taste so bad, if only because it didn’t taste of anything.
While I ate Jed talked, but I didn’t listen to him. I was looking at the bone-white rice and thinking about the dead Freak on Ko Pha-Ngan. I was sure the ants would have stripped him down by now. They work fast, ants. He probably never even got to the rotting stage. I pictured the Freak on his back, a clean skeleton grinning through his loose covering of leaves, dappled in a few pinpricks of sunlight. In fact I’d left him on his front, lying on his arms, but there wasn’t much sense in picturing the back of his head so I revised the image to make it more aesthetic. The dappled effect was another revision. As I remember his shallow grave, no light filtered past the thick foliage above him. I just liked the idea that it did.
‘Pretty,’ I said, putting the sweet in my mouth. ‘Maybe a monkey exploring the ribcage.’
Jed looked at me. ‘Huh?’
‘Or maybe a monkey would be too… kitsch…’
‘Kitsch?’
‘Monkeys.’
‘Have you listened to a word I’ve been saying?’
‘No.’ I crunched the sweet and my tongue tingled with the sudden flood of lime. ‘I’ve been thinking about the Freak on Ko Pha-Ngan.’
‘The dead guy you hid?’
‘Yeah. Do you think he’s been found yet?’
‘Well,’ Jed started to say, looking perplexed. ‘I suppose he might have been found if the girl was…’ Then he slapped his head. ‘Jesus Christ! What the fuck am I talking about? Who cares about the dead Freak? You should have left him where he was, and we’ve got much more important stuff to deal with right here!’
‘I was only interested. And he’s bound to get found one of these days.’
‘Shut up! Now listen! One of us has to get up to the island to check on Zeph and Sammy!’
‘Oh, OK… Why not both of us?’
Jed made an exasperated sobbing sound. ‘Why do you think, you dozy fool? Someone has to stay here to look after the sick people, and almost all the fishing detail is out of action. Only the Swedes and Keaty are healthy, and Keaty’s still missing.’
I nodded. ‘I guess that means me.’
‘No. It means me. I need to stay here because I know some stuff about first aid, so you’ll be going up to the island alone. Are you up to that?’
‘You bet!’ I said brightly. ‘No sweat at all!’
‘Good. Now before you go I want you to find Keaty. There’s about fifteen who are well enough to eat, so someone’s going to have to get food for them, but I won’t have time to go fishing, so he’ll have to do it.’
‘OK. And what should I do if Zeph and Sammy are on their way?’
‘They won’t be.’
‘But what if they are?’
Jed paused. ‘I’m trying not to think about it, but if they are then get back here as fast as you can and tell me.’
‘And if there’s no time?’
‘Plan B.’
‘… Which one?’
‘You wait and see what happens. I’m positive they’ll turn back at the dope fields, but if they don’t then follow them to the waterfall. Then, if they get down, intercept them and make fucking sure they know not to start talking about your map.’
Across the clearing, Jesse appeared out of the longhouse. He wobbled towards the bathroom hut, got about a quarter of the way there, and threw up.
‘Right,’ I said, suddenly feeling immensely cheerful. After last night I hadn’t expected the next day to start so well. ‘I’d better find Keaty then.’
There was only one bad note to the morning. On the way to the beach I passed Sal sitting outside the longhouse and she called me over. It turned out that Bugs – who was sitting next to her and giving me the evil eye – had told her what I’d done to him. Sal wanted an explanation.
I was slick. I said that I’d been exhausted and was only catching my breath before I gave him a hand outside, and if Bugs
remembered it differently I was truly sorry, but maybe his sickness had warped his memory of the incident. Then I suggested we shook on it, and that pleased Sal a lot. She was so hassled, what with everything else she had to deal with, that she was more than ready to get the distraction out of the way.
Bugs wasn’t though. When I set off again for the beach he hobbled after me and called me a bastard. He was really angry, poking his finger in my chest and saying what he’d do to me if only he were well enough. I waited until he’d finished, then told him to fuck off. I wasn’t going to let him spoil my good mood.
Epitaph
Keaty was sleeping in the same spot I’d left him. High tide was well on its way, and it wasn’t going to be long before the wash reached his feet, so rather than wake him I decided to smoke a cigarette. I assumed he’d had a rough night and could do with the extra fifteen minutes. I was just getting down to the filter when the Swedes appeared. I put my finger to my lips, pointing at Keaty, and we walked out of earshot.
Karl, Sten, Christo. Considering that two of them ended up dead and the other ended up nuts, I feel bad that their names mean so little to me.
Like Jed, the Swedes had arrived at the beach uninvited, and although they’d probably found it easier to get accepted, having arrived second, it partly explained why they chose to fish outside the lagoon. They’d never been as involved in beach life as everyone else. They were around but they kept mainly to themselves, all sharing a single tent and often eating away from the crowd. The only times I ever saw them socially participating was on Sundays. They were good footballers and everyone wanted them for their team.
If they had found integration difficult, it can’t have helped that only one of them, Sten, could speak fluent English. Christo could just about muddle along but Karl was hopeless. As far as I knew, his vocabulary was limited to a few words based around fishing, like ‘fish’ and ‘spear’, and a couple of pleasantries. He would greet me with an uncertain, ‘Huloo Ruchard,’ and would bid me good morning even if he was just about to go to bed.