The Wicked Go to Hell

by Frédéric Dard

  Frank collapsed again.

  “Jesus falls for the second time,” he muttered, and then added: “I’m thirsty.”

  “Here, try a swig of whisky,” suggested Hal, who had taken good care not to leave the bottle behind.

  Frank raised it to his lips. The whisky tasted very strong. It coursed through his belly and a warm sensation spread right through him. It felt good, very good. It felt as good as death when we want it and it comes to us…

  “Good God!” exclaimed Hal.

  “What’s up?” croaked Frank.

  “I don’t know if I’m seeing things, but I can make out an island a couple of hundred metres farther along.”

  “An island?”

  “A small one… There’s a sort of little hill on it and a few trees…”

  “It’s a mirage,” sneered Frank.

  “It’s real!”

  Hal scoured the horizon.

  “Yes, a small island… At low tide you can probably walk there without getting your feet wet, or not very. At the moment I can see water, not much… all round it.”

  “And at high tide it’s completely underwater!”

  “Did you ever see an island with trees on it that was completely submerged?”

  “No, you’re right.”

  “So come on, man!”

  Frank groaned as he got to his feet.

  They turned and walked straight towards the sea, setting their backs resolutely to the cliffs.

  At first, they continued picking their way awkwardly over rock and shingle, but soon they found themselves on sand and started walking smoothly and soundlessly.

  “Is that better for you?” said Hal.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re enjoying walking on this, aren’t you, old buddy? It’s like strolling on velvet!”

  “You’re right, just like velvet,” said Frank, echoing the thought, infected by his comrade’s high spirits.

  “An island,” said Hal, “is the ideal place to hide. We couldn’t have hoped to find anything better! We can lie low here and live like kings for a while…”

  “Not exactly like kings… How are we really going to live?”

  “There’s shellfish. What do you reckon? Seafood’s very nourishing, you know.”

  “What’ll we drink?”

  “If there are trees, there’s bound to be fresh water.”

  “You think so?”

  “I’m certain… we’ll wait until you’re better. By then, the manhunt will have gone off the boil. The good thing about news is that there’s new news every day… When you’re on your feet again, we’ll move on…”

  “Aren’t you the optimist!”

  They walked on in silence. The splash of the waves grew louder. Suddenly, Frank stopped.

  “Hey!”

  Hal knew what was bothering him.

  “You’re right,” he said, “we’re sinking.”

  They walked on a little farther, but with difficulty, because instead of sand they were now crossing a muddy, treacherous area which grasped and sucked at their legs like some giant mouth.

  Frank had just sunk halfway up his thighs in shifting mud.

  He started screaming like a madman and flapped his arms wildly. His screams were long, urgent and desperate… He exuded panic. It was contagious.

  “Shut up, you dumb creep!… Don’t you know that voices carry over water?”

  “Help me, Hal! I’m sinking!”

  “I’m sinking too! Lie flat and pull your legs out one after the other. I’ve worked it out. You’ve got to spread as much of your weight as you can over the surface!”

  Frank groaned with the strain. He managed to free his right leg, which had not sunk in very far, but it was as if the left had been cemented in.

  “Help me,” he wept. “Help me! Don’t leave me here!”

  Then he passed out and lay face down in the ooze, which was covered by glutinous kelp.

  “Here we go!” Hal muttered.

  He crawled to where Frank lay and then, bracing himself as firmly as he could, pulled hard on the leg that was stuck fast. It came out slowly, making a sound like a bandage being removed.

  Pulling so hard, Hal felt the last of his strength desert him. The effort was too great—he could do no more!

  But then he was overtaken by a sudden frenzy.

  Gasping, sweating, choking, cursing, he kept on pulling the still-imprisoned leg.

  The brand-new suits they had taken from the personal wardrobe of the owner of the estate were now in a fine mess! They had entirely lost their shape under a stucco of gelatinous mud.

  “I’ve had enough of you!” said Hal through gritted teeth. “You make me sick! If I had any sense I’d just leave you here to die!”

  Yet he went on pulling until he finally succeeded in freeing the submerged leg.

  “Come on! Now do what I do!”

  Frank did not move.

  “Frank! Wake up, for Pete’s sake! The tide’s coming in! Come on, up you get! Pull yourself together, man!”

  But Frank was still out cold. Hal put one ear to his comrade’s chest. There was a regular heartbeat.

  Reassured, he rolled Frank towards him until he was lying alongside his body. Then, spreading himself out on the sucking sand, and with a heave of which he would not have believed himself capable, he managed to haul the body up and onto his own back. But pressed down by such a heavy load, he found it impossible to move forward. He was being crushed by Frank’s dead weight.

  “Damn him!…” he gasped. “Goddam bastard!”

  He moved his arms and legs ridiculously, like a frog, in an attempt to crawl over the mire. He succeeded only in getting his feet tangled in lengths of seaweed, which wound themselves round his ankles like snakes.

  “I got it all wrong,” he thought. “I said we’d be able to get to the island at low tide. But in fact you can only reach it at high tide and by boat.”

  But putting the case like that gave him an idea. If he couldn’t move, why not wait for the sea to do it for him? It was coming in slowly and surely. All he’d have to do then would be to swim to the accommodating shore of the island, which he could see just there, just a few strokes away.

  He waited on the sand while the day grew lighter all round him. His only worry now was that they might be seen from the clifftop. But so early in the morning, that was not very likely.

  And so the time passed. Hal began to get drowsy. He felt oppressed by Frank’s breathing but even so he fell asleep in that position. He was woken by a tongue of water. It licked him gently in the face.

  He waited, half propped up on his elbows. The water continued to rise. Soon, it overtook him. He sat up. Then the water was up to his chest. Now he could paddle.

  He stretched out on the water. He tried moving his arms and legs. Then he was floating. In a moment of jubilation, he laughed. It was a solitary, grim laugh. He gripped Frank under his lifeless arms and pulled him against his chest. Then on his back, he kicked out for the shore.

  It took him less time than he had estimated to cross the stretch of sea. Eventually he landed on a beach of firm sand and staggered out of the water, dragging his comrade with him.

  He felt that he too was about to pass out.

  “Die, you bastard!” he muttered as he let go of Frank’s clenched hands.

  Then he lay flat on his back and looked unblinkingly up at the new day’s too-red sun.

  PART III

  Beauty 2

  11

  They regained consciousness almost simultaneously. It was probably the sun beating down on their faces that roused them from the comatose state into which they had sunk.

  They both opened their eyes. Convoys of wispy clouds drifted slowly on a high breeze which could not be felt at sea level.

  Frank stammered:

  “Where are we?”

  “On the island,” murmured Hal.

  “How come?”

  “I dragged you here.”

  “Thanks,” said
Frank. “You’re a real brother!”

  “A brother wouldn’t have done that for you!”

  “OK, so you’re a good pal who looks out for me on account of me being delicate!”

  Hal spat out the sand which had accumulated in his mouth.

  “I wish you were dead,” he mused. “I’ve had a bellyful of you and your stupid comments.”

  “In that case you should have left me there in the mud… I was caught like a rat in a trap! The sea would have drowned me…”

  “It’s not fair,” grumbled Hal. “I risk my life to save yours. You’re about as strong as a newborn slug but the first words you come out with are a put-down…”

  There was a silence.

  “Those are rain clouds,” said Hal, who had been watching the masses of grey as they scudded across the sky.

  “Yes, and they’re going to drop their load on people, and why not?… I wish they would and wipe them all out, the whole lot of them.”

  “Me too…”

  Hal got to his knees and looked around him.

  “You sure this is an island?” asked Frank.

  “You bet. If you feel like doing a Robinson Crusoe, now’s your chance… Well I’ll be… Good God!”

  “What?”

  Hal stared at his companion. The bandage had been torn off Frank’s head and his eyes were now fully open.

  “Say, can you see properly?”

  With one movement, Frank sprang to his feet.

  “I can!” he exulted. “I can see! I can see! And there was me thinking I’d gone blind! Isn’t that tremendous?”

  “You bet!… Come on, this way!”

  They walked across the short grass which started where the beach ended.

  There was a low rise in the land on which stood a number of stunted trees. Clear water ran down one side of the hillock. Hal flung himself face down… It was drinkable.

  “Drink!” he cried.

  Frank followed his example.

  “This is amazing!” he said, weeping with relief. “Wonderful!”

  He was greatly affected by everything. The recovery of his eyesight especially, but also this sweet, fresh water, the awesome quiet and their isolation.

  He held out both arms to Hal.

  “You’re a real friend, you know,” he murmured.

  “Don’t give me that stuff!” said Hal. “Don’t get all sentimental on me… I’m not having it!… Get a grip! God, you’re so slow!”

  And he strode off, greatly restored by the rest he’d just had and the water he’d drunk. Frank trotted behind him, breathing hard.

  “Mustn’t be too rough on me… Listen…”

  Hal stopped suddenly, but not because he was waiting for Frank. Not far from the copse stood a small fisherman’s hut built of mud bricks. It was in a very poor state and it was obviously a long time since the roof, with its tiles made of flattened tin cans, had been repaired.

  He made a beeline for it, followed by Frank, who whimpered happily, like a puppy dog.

  Hal pushed open the door made of reused timber. It creaked mournfully and spiders fled. Inside were a makeshift table, two benches, a heap of dried seaweed and shelves, on which were stacked a quantity of tins.

  “Here, rest up,” he said, pointing to the seaweed. “It’s not the Plaza but it sure is better than a prison cell…”

  Frank flopped onto the dried kelp. Hal hurriedly ran his eye over the tins. Most were empty, but to his delight he found matches in one, dried haricot beans in another and a small quantity of coffee in a third. Moreover, there was a bag of rye flour leaning against one of the large stones which made up a rudimentary fireplace.

  “We’ve struck it rich!” he said. “Wait and see what sort of chow I am about to rustle up for you!”

  He took the largest of the empty tins and went off to get water.

  “Some tasty gravy and dumplings made with this flour will be a meal fit for a king.”

  When he came back he was carrying an armful of dead wood.

  “What do you reckon this place is?” said Frank.

  “I’ll tell you… There must have been fishermen on this island once. Then they abandoned it. From time to time campers would come here and play desert islands during their holidays. They’re the ones who left the grub.”

  “We couldn’t have found a better place,” sighed Frank.

  “Too damn right,” agreed Hal. “We couldn’t have.”

  12

  They spent a troubled night. Frank’s temperature shot up several times. He grew delirious and Hal got up often to give him a cooling drink of water. He regretted he hadn’t taken a supply of medicines from the villa. The blonde woman would have let him have them as willingly as she had given the suits.

  In addition to Frank’s groaning there was the loud beating of the sea all around them. It was as if they were on a motionless boat in the middle of a storm. The bright beam of a distant lighthouse flickered on and off all around with sickening regularity.

  Hal did not get to sleep until early morning, when again it was his comrade who woke him.

  “Hal!” he cried. “Hal!”

  With the instant reflexes of a man who is hunted, Hal sat up clear-headed the moment he was awake.

  “What?”

  “It’s back; it’s started again; I can’t see… This time I’m really blind!”

  “Don’t talk rubbish!”

  “It’s not rubbish! I tell you I can’t see properly!”

  Hal examined the wound. It did not look good and was beginning to fester. Overcoming his distaste he eased it open. The bullet had struck more deeply than he had thought. It had probably clipped the optic nerve.

  “I’m going to clean you up,” he said. “There’s a bit of pus in it. You’re going to have to keep a bandage over your eyes, Frank—you’ve probably damaged an optic nerve or something… You’ll find it more restful being in the dark.”

  Frank said nothing.

  He bore uncomplainingly the basic ministrations of his companion in adversity. Hal poured whisky on the wound and bound it with a piece of the lining of his jacket.

  “There you go,” he said. “Don’t fiddle with it. You’ve probably got a bit of a temperature, but that’ll pass…”

  “A bit of a temperature!” said Frank. “Come off it, you could fry an egg on my forehead!”

  He lay down on his seaweed bed. The hut smelt of iodine. Hal looked all round and felt uneasy. The bottom line was that they were in a fix!… It wasn’t his idea of freedom!

  He went outside.

  “Hey!” bawled Frank.

  “What do you want?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to get us something to eat.”

  “Where?”

  “Never heard of the infinite riches of the sea?”

  “I’m not hungry!”

  “You’re so self-centred!…” Hal snapped. “Just because you’re in a bad way you think the world has stopped turning! Well I’m good and hungry, you know… A griping hunger, like there’s a rat gnawing at my guts! And all the water I can drink won’t drown it, cos rats can swim…”

  He picked up an old canvas bucket he found in one corner of the hut.

  “Go on, get some sleep—it’ll set you up… When the body’s sick, you’ve got to let it get on with it. It’ll cure itself…”

  Hal left the hut and walked towards the sea.

  The previous evening, their isolation had seemed a blessing but now it oppressed him. He had an unsettling sense that a danger graver than that represented by the police was hanging over him.

  He reached the rocks intending to look for crabs. It was the first time he’d ever tried an activity of this kind. All he knew about hunting for crabs was what he had read in books, and that didn’t amount to much.

  But hunger sharpens the wits and Hal was very hungry indeed.

  He ventured right to the water’s edge. He could just make out the mainland through a greyish fog, in which seabirds
flew, shrieking their raucous, plaintive cries.

  He began lifting stones. But crabs are wily creatures. They stay beneath the stone as it is being moved or else promptly bury themselves in the sand.

  It was not long before Hal’s fingers were covered with blood. At first, he could not understand why. He examined his hands, which looked as if they had been sliced by small razor blades, and saw that every large stone he moved was ringed with a collar of tiny broken shells with wickedly sharp edges. In the water he could not feel the tiny cuts.

  That was the sea, in a word: a mine of wonderment and deceit. This discovery led him to proceed with more care and he found crabs.

  They teemed at that spot. Soon he had half a bucketful. The canvas receptacle was soon full of squirming life.

  Cheered by his haul, he returned to the hut. Frank was dozing.

  Hal put water to heat on the fire in the rudimentary hearth and waited until it boiled before putting the crabs into it.

  “Catch anything?” asked Frank.

  “Sure did. We’re going to have us a good feed, that I promise you.”

  “But I told you, I’m not hungry.”

  “So you did but you’ll have to force yourself unless you want to starve to death… They say it’s a good way to die. Life just seems to fade away, like water draining from a bucket with a hole in it.”

  He made Frank eat the meat of a few crabs which he prepared for him. It was good eating.

  “You got to eat it straight away, where it’s caught,” grinned Hal. “Crabs crawl but they don’t travel!”

  The day passed without Hal noticing. He set about organizing their life on the island as if it were going to last a long time.

  There were unsuspected riches in the hut if a man had an inventive turn of mind.

  For example, outside, on a pile of old rubbish, he found a small drum of old engine oil left over from the time when a motorboat had been serviced there.

  He was delighted with his find, for it solved the problem of lighting, at least for a time.

  With an empty sardine tin and a length of twisted cotton he was able to fashion an oil lamp.

  On the beach he found limpets clinging to the rocks under the seaweed. He prised them loose with an old knife blade. When he had collected enough, he returned to cook them.