by Alex Garland
When Jean began to produce a second round of drinks, I manoeuvred myself around to where Françoise and Étienne were standing. I partly did it to get away from Keaty, whose jumpiness didn’t seem helped by my presence. I think it reminded him of what was going on.
Françoise was putting in a great performance. If she was feeling the tension, I’d never have guessed it. Externally, she seemed to be in the party spirit one hundred per cent. When I walked up she gave me a flamboyant hug and a kiss on each cheek, and loudly said, ‘This is all so wonderful!’
I mentally congratulated her. She was even taking the performance through to slightly slurring her words, and not overdoing it either. Getting it exactly right.
‘Can I have a kiss too?’ said Jesse, nudging one of the carpenters.
‘No,’ Françoise replied with a dizzy smile. ‘You are too ugly.’
Jesse clasped one hand to his heart and the other to his forehead. ‘I’m too ugly! I’m too ugly for a kiss!’
‘That’s right,’ said Cassie. ‘You are.’ She gave him her beer. ‘Here. You’d better drown your sorrows.’
‘I think I should!’ Tipping his head back, he drained the liquid in one slurp and tossed the empty vessel behind him. ‘But you still love me, don’t you, Caz?’
‘Not when you call me Caz, Jez.’
‘Caz!’ he howled. ‘Caz! Jez! Caz!’ Then he scooped her up in his arms and began staggering off towards the longhouse.
A couple of minutes later Étienne was called over to help carry the food to the eating area, and Françoise and I were left alone. She said something to me, but I didn’t catch it because I was concentrating on something else. By the kitchen hut I’d seen Unhygienix tasting some of the stew with a puzzled frown.
‘You are not listening to me,’ Françoise said.
Unhygienix shrugged and began organizing the cooking-pot carriers.
‘You never listen to me any more. Before, if I was talking to you, you would always listen. But now you have no time to even talk to me.’
‘Yeah… Has Keaty told you not to eat the stew?’
‘Richard!’
I frowned. ‘What?’
‘You are not listening to me!’
‘… Oh. Well, I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
‘Not me.’
‘Huh?’
‘I am not on your mind.’
‘Uh… Of course you are.’
‘I am not.’ She poked me in the ribs. ‘I think you do not love me any more.’
I looked at her in astonishment. ‘… Are you serious?’
‘Very serious,’ she said petulantly
‘But…I mean… Do we have to talk about this right now? I mean, of all times, does it have to be right now?’
‘Yes. It must be now. Étienne is not here, and maybe soon I will never see you agai…’
‘Françoise!’ I hissed. ‘Keep it down!’
‘Maybe I should keep it down, but maybe I should not. In the dope field, when I would not be quiet, you pushed me to the ground and held me tightly.’ She giggled. ‘It was very exciting.’
With a quick look around, I linked my arm in her elbow and began propelling her away towards the edge of the clearing. Once we were out of sight of the others I turned her round, held her head between my hands, and looked carefully at her pupils. They were all over the place. ‘Oh my God,’ I said furiously. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I am. It was this potchentong.’
‘Potchentong? What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘Jean calls the drink potchentong. It is not the real potchentong, but…’
‘How much have you had?’
‘Three cups.’
‘Three? When?’
‘With the football. The game.’
‘You idiot!’
‘I had no choice! They were passing around the shell, and you had to drink it all. They were watching and clapping, so what could I do?’
‘Christ! Did Étienne drink some too?’
‘Yes. Three cups.’
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Or meant to. That shit never works. I stopped when I was on about four.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Come with me.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Over here.’
Françoise gasped as I pulled her behind a tree.
‘Open your mouth,’ I instructed.
‘Are you going to kiss me?’
The infuriating thing is I’m sure that if I had tried to kiss her, she’d have let me. She was that drunk. But I had to shake my head.
‘No, Françoise,’ I replied. ‘Not exactly.’
She bit my fingers really fucking hard when I stuck them down her throat. And she struggled and squirmed like a snake. But I was holding her with a vice-grip around her neck, and once the fingers were in, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it.
After she’d finished throwing up, she slapped me in the face, which I accepted. Then she said, ‘I could have done that myself.’
I shrugged. ‘I didn’t have time for an argument. Are you feeling more sober now?’
She spat. ‘… Yes.’
‘Good. Now go and wash yourself down in the waterfall stream and then discreetly make your way back to the clearing. And don’t touch a drop of potchentong.’ I paused. ‘Or the stew.’
When I returned to the party, Étienne had finished helping carry the food and was standing alone, probably looking for Françoise. I walked straight up to him. ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Are you drunk?’
He nodded unhappily. ‘The potchentong… They made me drink it and…’
‘I heard,’ I said, and tutted with sympathy. ‘Strong stuff, huh?’
‘Very strong.’
‘Well, no worries. Just come with me.’
A Loose End
The layout was simple. Concentric circles under the marquee, the first a ring of candles, the second our banana-leaf plates, the third our seated selves, and the fourth a final ring of candles. It looked spectacular and terrifying. Orange faces, flickering light, diffused through clouds of dope smoke. And such a level of noise. People weren’t talking, they were shouting. Sometimes screaming. Nothing more than jokes or requests to pass the rice pot, but it sounded like screaming.
I’d made us all sit together. Keeping us together made it easier all round. We were able to get rid of our stew more easily and it kept Keaty and Françoise contained between me and Étienne. It also meant that our relative temperance was less likely to be noticed, something that was fast turning into a problem. Keaty had picked up on it first, a little under an hour after we’d started to eat.
‘I told you they’d trip,’ he said. With the racket as a backdrop, he didn’t even have to whisper. ‘You put way too much in.’
‘You think they’re actually tripping?’
‘Maybe not seeing stuff, but…’
I looked over at Sal, who was directly opposite me in the circle. Strangely, despite the din, she looked like someone in an old silent movie. Sepia-toned, flickering, twisted lips with no discernible sounds coming out. Frozen lips. Arched eyebrows. She must have been laughing.
‘…But yeah, they’re tripping,’ Keaty finished. ‘Either that or I am.’
Unhygienix appeared behind us. ‘More stew!’ he shouted.
I raised a hand. ‘So full! Can’t eat more!’
‘Yes! Eat more!’ He reached over and ladled a huge dollop in front of me. It poured over the edges of my banana leaf like a lava flow, smothering rice grains, taking them with it. Little people in the lava, I thought, and suddenly felt like I was tripping too. I gave Unhygienix the thumbs up, and he continued on his rounds.
A half-hour later, around quarter to nine, I excused myself on the pretext of a piss. I did need a piss as it happened, but mainly I wanted to check up on Jed. With the way things were going, I couldn’t see the manic level being sustained later than midnight, so I wanted to know if our problem was resolved
yet.
I relieved myself outside the hospital tent. Bad form in normal circumstances, but civic responsibility wasn’t high on my list of priorities any more. Then I stuck my head through the flaps. To my amazement, Jed was asleep. He was in the same spot he’d been in earlier that day, but keeled over on his side. He’d probably been awake all the previous night.
Even more amazing was that Christo was still alive, doing his pitiful inflate—deflate thing. So slight I’d be hard put to call it a genuine breath.
‘Jed,’ I said, and he didn’t stir. I said it louder, again with no response. Next a huge cheer came from the marquee. It lasted a pretty long time, and when Jed still hadn’t stirred I knew I had the golden opportunity.
I reached Christo’s head by simply sliding around the left-hand side of the tent. Then, just as I’d suggested earlier, I pinched his nose and covered his mouth. There was no twitching, no resistance. A few minutes later I took my hands away, counted to one hundred and twenty and slid back to the cool outdoors. And that was it. It really was that simple.
As I returned across the clearing, clicking my fingers in time with my footsteps, I saw the reason for the cheering I’d heard. Both the Yugoslavian girls were in the central circle of candles, heads resting on each other’s shoulder, slow dancing to the buzz of noise.
Something Happening Here
By the time I’d retaken my seat, the Yugoslavian girls had inspired some of the others. Sal and Bugs started dancing too, then Unhygienix and Ella, then Jesse and Cassie.
I may have had a few screws loose, but I was able to recognize this as a nice moment. Watching the four couples revolving around each other reminded me of the way things used to be on the beach. Even Sal seemed at peace, all her plans and manipulations pushed aside for the time being, aware of nothing more than straightforward affection for her lover. In fact, Sal looked like a completely different person. None of her confidence was apparent in her dancing. Her steps were tentative and slow, and she clung to Bugs with both arms, head pressed flat against his chest.
‘You do not recognize her,’ Gregorio said to me, having followed the direction of my gaze. While I’d been killing Christo, he’d taken my place so he could chat to Keaty. ‘You have never seen her like this.’
‘No… I haven’t.’
‘You know why?’
‘No.’
‘Because tonight it is Tet, and Sal will only smoke or drink on Tet. The rest of the year, her mind is always clear, all hours in the day. We get high, but she keeps her mind clear for us.’
‘She cares very much about the beach.’
‘Very much,’ Greg echoed. ‘Of course.’ He smiled and stood up. ‘I will get us more coconut beer. You would like some?’
Both Keaty and I said no.
‘Just for me then?’
‘Just for you.’
He ambled off towards the fishing buckets, which held the last of Jean’s moonshine.
Ten o’clock. The dancing had stopped. Moshe was standing where the dancers had been, holding a candle up in one hand, the other hand touching the side of his face. I didn’t know if anyone else was taking an interest in him, but I was. ‘This flame,’ he said, as hot wax ran on to his wrist and down the length of his arm, forming a slim stalactite on his elbow. ‘Look.’
‘Look,’ said Étienne, gesturing to Cassie. She was also studying the candle-flames, crouched over with an expression of rapt pleasure. Jesse was next to her, muttering something in her ear that made her jaw drop. Behind them, Jean sat with his back to one of the bamboo poles, covering his eyes with his fingers, removing them, and blinking like a baby kitten.
‘’Night John-Boy,’ called one of the Aussie carpenters.
Six or seven people provided names, all at once. A ripple of laughter spread beneath the marquee. ‘’Night Sal,’ Ella called, above the competing voices. ‘’Night Sal, ’night Sal, ’night Sal.’
Soon Ella’s cue became a soft chant that lasted as long as the cigarette I was smoking. Then Sal replied, ‘Thank you, children,’ and the ripple of laughter spread again.
A few minutes later, the carpenter who had called out ‘John-Boy’ said, ‘Is anyone else seeing shit?’ When no one answered he added, ‘I’m seeing all kinds of shit over here.’
‘Potchentong,’ sang Jean, like a tolling bell.
Moshe dropped the candle.
‘Seriously, guys, I’m seeing all kinds of shit.’
‘Potchentong.’
‘Did you put mushrooms in the potchentong?’
‘This flame,’ said Moshe. ‘This flame burned me.’ He began pulling the line of wax from his arm.
‘Moshe ‘s losing his fucking skin…’
‘… I am losing my skin?’
‘Losing his skin!’
‘Potchen-fucking-tong…’
I leant over to Keaty. ‘This can’t be just the dope,’ I whispered. ‘Even eating it, dope wouldn’t do this, would it?’
He wiped beads of sweat off the back of his neck. ‘They’re all crazy. It’s worse being straight. It’s doing my fucking head in just watching them.’
‘Yes,’ said Étienne. ‘Really, I do not like this. When can we go?’
I checked my watch for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. To the extent that I’d thought it out, I’d imagined leaving at around two or three a.m., when there’d be a bit of light creeping in to the sky. But Étienne was right. I didn’t like the way things were either, and at a pinch, we could probably set off while it was still dark.
‘Give it an hour,’ I said. ‘I think we might be able to leave in an hour.’
What It Is Ain’t Exactly Clear
But an hour was no good. At ten thirty, things started to go wrong.
Up until then I’d felt I was in control of the situation. Perhaps I even was in control of the situation. A number of difficulties – Françoise drunk, Christo breathing – had been solved; we’d got through the meal without anyone noticing that we were throwing our stew away; aside from Jed, there were no further loose ends to be tied; Tet was winding down. All we had to do was bide our time and then make our move.
But at ten thirty Mister Duck appeared in the marquee, and I knew I had a problem.
He appeared out of the shadows, stepping over the outer ring of candles. Then walked over to Sal and Bugs, and after acknowledging me with a vague grin, sat down beside them.
‘Where are you going?’ said Françoise, as I stood up. It was the first thing she’d said in a while. Since the dancing she’d been lying with her head in Étienne’s lap, staring intently at the sheets on the marquee. From her colour I’d assumed she was feeling the effects of her afternoon boozing, but when she spoke I realized that she was also scared. Obviously, considering the circumstances, but I wasn’t in a very empathic frame of mind. Neither was I in the right frame of mind to reassure anyone.
‘We could be fucked,’ I said, stupidly speaking my thoughts out loud.
Étienne began looking around. ‘What? What is it?’
‘… I’ve got to check something out. The three of you don’t move from this spot. Clear?’
‘Not fucking clear.’ Keaty caught me by the leg. ‘What’s going on, Richard?’
‘I’ve got to do something.’
‘You’re going nowhere unless you tell me what’s going on.’
‘Let go of my leg. Greg is watching us.’
Keaty squeezed tighter. ‘I don’t care. You tell us what the fuck…’
I bent down and clamped my fingers on the soft underside of Keaty’s wrist, blocking the blood. A couple of seconds later his hand fell away.
‘Hi,’ I said to Sal.
‘Richard,’ she replied happily. ‘Richard, my right-hand man. How are you, right-hand man?’
‘Left-handed. I’ve started seeing fucked-up stuff.’ The last words were directed at Mister Duck, who seemed amused.
‘Sit down with us.’
‘I need to get some cigarettes from the longhouse.’<
br />
‘If you were sitting with us…’ Sal drifted off briefly, then picked up the thread. ‘I’d know that you and Bugs were friends again.’
‘We are friends.’
Mister Duck guffawed, but Bugs nodded, full of dreamy goodwill. ‘Yeah, man,’ he said. ‘All friends here.’
‘It was… this was the last thing I was worried about… I needed you two to be friends…’
I patted Sal’s shoulder. ‘There’s nothing more for you to worry about. Things are back to normal, just how you wanted.’
‘Yes… We did it, Richard.’
‘You did it.’
‘I’m sorry for shouting at you, Richard. All those times… I’m sorry.’
I smiled. ‘I need to get the cigarettes. We’ll talk later.’
‘And you’ll sit with us.’
‘Sure.’
When Mister Duck walked through the longhouse door, I grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the inside wall. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Tell me what you’re doing here.’
He stared with a slightly baffled, innocent expression, then chuckled.
‘Are you here to stop us?’
No answer.
‘Tell me why you’re here!’
‘The horror,’ he said.
‘… What?’
‘The horror.’
‘What horror?’
‘The horror!’
‘What horror?’
He sighed, and with a quick movement, twisted out of my grip. ‘The horror,’ he said a final time, ducked through the doorway and was gone.
For a few seconds I stayed where I was, my arms still pointlessly raised in the position they’d been holding Mister Duck. Then I came to my senses and started jogging back to the marquee, making only the most cursory attempt at casualness in my haste.
‘OK,’ I whispered, when I reached Keaty and the other two. ‘Get ready. We’re going.’
‘Right now?’
‘Yes.’
‘But… it’s still pitch-black out there!’
‘We’ll manage. I’ll go first so I can get Jed and pick up the water bottles, then Étienne and Françoise leave five minutes later, then Keaty. We’ll meet by the beach path in…’