Dark Horizons

by Dan Smith

  Michael let out a loud cheer and went over, the first to take a bottle. He put his mouth on the top, pulling off the cap with his back teeth and spitting the jagged metal out into his hand. He raised the bottle to us all, turning once on the spot, said, ‘To Matt. Our friend and brother,’ then tipped back his head and drank the entire bottle in one long chug.

  When he had drained it, he slammed it down on the table and helped himself to another. He used his teeth to remove the cap once again and raised the bottle to his mouth before stopping to look around at us all staring at him. ‘What?’ he said. ‘We gonna have a party or not?’

  27

  The beer was good. Not cold enough, but good. Someone brought out a CD player and a set of fresh batteries, put some music on and turned it up loud. There were joints and pipes and beer, people dancing, letting off steam, so I guessed it was the kind of party Matt would’ve wanted as his farewell. This must’ve been the reason why they’d all gone down the hill today: to bring back supplies for the party.

  Some of the others hadn’t yet returned, but it wasn’t long before they began appearing from the forest carrying rucksacks filled with beer and food that wasn’t fish and rice. There was nasi bunkus, fresh fruit, rendang, bags of roasted peanuts, containers of chicken curry.

  Within half an hour or so, the place was overflowing with food and drink and Matt’s wake was in full swing. Perhaps we weren’t so different here after all.

  I drank my beer and watched the others with interest, but my eye kept straying to the longhouse, wondering when Domino would make her appearance.

  ‘She’ll come out when she’s ready,’ Kurt spoke into my ear. ‘It’s been a tough day.’

  I nodded, staring into the fire, cradling a beer in my hands. ‘I guess she liked Matt a lot?’ I asked, remembering her mood when I last spoke to her.

  Kurt shrugged. ‘It’s always hard when something like this happens. Domino’s very emotional.’

  ‘Mm.’ In the short time I’d known her, I’d seen enough to confirm it.

  ‘And death does strange things to people,’ he added.

  My mother’s death had cut me free from responsibility and filled me with guilt. Helena thought death made her want to be close to someone.

  ‘Don’t worry. She’ll come out when she’s ready, but look.’ He pointed to the far side where the last people were emerging from the forest. ‘Something we have to do. You’re going to like this, Alex.’ He slapped me on the back and stood, encouraging me to follow him to the place where Chris and Eco were coming into the clearing, sweating with the exertion of what they were carrying.

  ‘You like pork?’ Kurt asked me.

  ‘Sure, I …’

  The pig was about the size of a large dog, but considerably fatter. Its black body was tied to a wide stretcher made from pieces of bamboo as thick as my arm. It wasn’t fully grown, but it looked heavy and I could see the fat wobble beneath its thick hide. Chris and Eco put the stretcher down in a way that looked practised – as if they’d done it a number of times on their climb up to the community. The strain was evident in their faces, and I didn’t envy them their journey, but there was a sense of appreciation, because as soon as they were among us, everybody stopped what they were doing and gathered round to look down at the animal. I had assumed that it was dead, but coming closer, I saw it open its eyes and roll them in delirium. The animal twisted in its newly returned fear, but the ropes that criss-crossed its body were too tight and all it could do was open its mouth and squeal.

  Michael stepped to the front of the crowd and squatted on his haunches, slapping his hand on the pig’s belly. He looked up at Chris and Eco, nodding, saying, ‘Good pig.’ He turned to stare directly at me. ‘Alex, give me a hand.’ He went to the front of the stretcher. ‘Take the other end. Helena, bring my things.’

  There was something in Helena’s look – pity, fear, I wasn’t sure what. The light from the fire was deceptive; it hid our true expressions behind shadow and false movement. I watched her for a second, then did as I had been asked. I went to the other end of the stretcher and bent my knees, taking the handles. I put as much into the lift as I could muster, not wanting to be inferior to Michael’s obvious physical strength. Then, led by Kurt, we carried the pig across the clearing, into the forest and along a path I had come to recognise. We were going to the execution stone.

  We moved through the trees like the funeral procession Matt never had. Around us, the others lit the route with torches, both electric and flaming. The muscles in my arms burned with the strain of the pig’s weight, and my fingers began to slip from the bamboo grips. I tried to focus, estimating the distance left to travel, mindful of the pitfalls of the path. But when I stumbled, it was Freia who came to help take the weight of the stretcher. She nodded to me and winked before looking straight ahead, walking alongside me. As we moved, others took the weight on either side – Jason, Alban, Morgan – and when we came into the clearing where the execution stone stood, there were at least six of us carrying the beast.

  We laid the pig down and waited while Kurt lit the torches, and I watched as Michael took his machete and cut the ties that held the pig in place. The animal struggled to its feet, but its ankles were still bound with rope and its cloven hoofs slipped between the bamboo slats of the stretcher, stumbling and skittering, the two hard surfaces clicking together until it managed to push itself upright and stand. Any chance of escape impossible, it moved across the clearing in faltering hops, its eyes rolling, its head moving from side to side.

  Helena came through the gathering and handed Michael the things he had asked her to collect for him. The first was a long, narrow knife, which he slid into his belt, and the second was a short-handled axe, which he hefted in one hand before turning to look at his audience.

  I took a step back so that I was among the others but Michael spotted my movement. ‘You want to do it, Alex?’ He held out his hand, offering his axe.

  I shook my head.

  ‘You sure?’ He let his arm loosen, the weight of the axe dropping it straight down so it swung parallel with his leg.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I forgot. You don’t like to kill things.’ Then, with no warning, he took a step towards the pig, raising his arm, the axe swinging high above his head. He brought down the back of the tool, the blunt edge of the darkened steel blade, in one movement, a swift and merciless gesture. The cold metal made a flat and hard slap against the pig’s skull and the animal’s legs buckled beneath it.

  It fell dead without a sound.

  ‘You ever see a thing like that?’ Alban said into my ear. ‘Didn’t even have time to squeal.’

  Michael leaned the small axe against the execution stone, then he slipped the narrow bladed knife from his belt and crouched beside the beast. Again, with just one fluid movement, he jabbed the blade, puncturing the pig’s throat, and withdrew it as if he’d done nothing more than slide it into warm butter. He stood and stepped back, admiring the gush of blood that drained from the animal, spilling in a great pool by his feet. A dark puddle of life that glistened in the glow of the flaming torches, reflecting their dancing light.

  When the flow had stopped, one or two others went over to help him drag the body away from the blood, and he took a flaming torch, passing it over the lifeless body, burning away the hairs that covered its skin, the singed smell mingling with the stink of fresh blood. They worked quickly, turning the pig over to rub the torch over its other side.

  With that done, Michael put his hands on his hips and looked at those of us who hadn’t yet participated in the slaughter of the animal. ‘You wanna eat, you gotta help,’ he said, looking directly at me.

  I had already helped. I had carried the animal to this place. And anyway, I wasn’t sure I wanted to eat it. Not after witnessing that.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, seeing my discomfort. ‘Where do you think meat comes from? A plastic bag?’

  ‘No, I—’

&n
bsp; But Michael didn’t give me time to reply. He came straight to me, putting the narrow-bladed knife in my hand, curling his bloody fingers around mine, pulling me towards the body lying on the ground. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you bloodied.’

  I could feel it on his hands, warm and sticky.

  ‘Here.’ He squatted beside the pig, bringing me down with him and tightening his grip around mine on the handle of the knife. ‘Let’s do it together,’ he said. ‘Like brothers.’ And before I could resist, he touched the blade against the animal’s belly and drew it lengthways from between its hind legs, right along to its throat.

  The sharp blade sliced through skin and fat and flesh. There was little resistance. There was an almost poetic simplicity to it. It wasn’t repulsive – as I had thought it would be – but, instead, there was a mesmeric quality to the way the steel carved through the animal, separating its layers. Only when the viscera bulged out and spilled at my knees did I close my eyes so as not to see it, but then all I could see were visions of the bus crash, the mess of broken bodies, dismembered limbs, the man who had split like a wet balloon, the blood and the despair.

  ‘Well done, brother,’ Michael said, turning to look at me, our faces close together so that I could smell his breath, and although he called me ‘brother’ there was something in his eyes and something in his voice that suggested he might have preferred to run his steel across my belly, spill my guts at the foot of that execution stone.

  All that remained now was for Kurt to remove the pig’s head, which he did with several strong blows from Michael’s parang, and some show was made of leaving it, along with the glistening entrails, beside the stone.

  ‘An offering,’ Michael said to me.

  ‘To who?’ I asked.

  ‘Christ knows,’ he shrugged. ‘The gods?’

  Later, I sat by the fire, drank beer and watched them dancing. There was still no sign of Domino and, although I had tried to go to her, Kurt had stopped me. So I sat alone and thought about how Michael had slaughtered the pig with such expertise, and I remembered the stories Matt and Jason had told me. The pig was butchered now, the carcass left out in the woods, and the flesh was cooking over the fire, but my hunger was not stimulated by the smell of meat. I couldn’t rid myself of the cloying taste of fresh blood. It didn’t seem to bother the others, though; most of them were on their feet now, moving to the beat of the music, some of them with their faces raised to the sky. I studied them through the numbed haze of my own alcohol-induced intoxication, admiring how freely they moved, as if they were alone, each of them twisting in isolation. Even Kurt was among them.

  From the main throng, Helena caught my eye, her narrow hips swaying, her bare feet scuffing in the dirt, her skirt lapping at her calves. She flicked her hair from her face and held her hands out to me, still moving, beckoning. I smiled, shaking my head. I was no dancer. Even with the dope smothering my thoughts I was still too inhibited. In fact, the drug swelled my inhibition, brought it to the fore and the mere thought of dancing with the others induced feelings of paranoia. No matter what I tried or believed, I was who I was. I was never going to be anyone else. Since coming to this country I had always been following other people, always been doing what they wanted me to do, always been trying to be someone else. I could see that with a clarity I hadn’t had before, and knew that all I needed now was the courage to walk away. But if I did that, I would be without Domino, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

  Helena persisted, moving towards me, her body twisting like a snake. She smiled, tossing her hair, reaching down to hold her skirt higher, flicking it around her knees in time with the music, lifting it to her thighs before laughing and dropping it again.

  As before, I shook my head at her, but she had no intention of giving up on me, coming right over, taking my hands and pulling me to my feet. I had no choice but to join her and the others; she had made it impossible for me.

  I followed her and began dancing. Self-conscious and awkward, I angled my head to the ground, but Helena put one hand under my chin and raised my face to look at her, and she danced like that, one hand on me.

  When the song came to an end, I took the opportunity to leave, moving away from the area where the others were dancing, but Helena pulled me back as another song began. A slow beat, quiet but building up to something.

  ‘You don’t like to dance?’ She came close and spoke in my ear.

  ‘Not much of a dancer.’

  ‘Me neither,’ she said, her lips almost touching my skin. ‘This helps, though.’

  She leaned back and held out her hand. A tablet. Similar to the one Kurt had offered me.

  I glanced over at the longhouse, wishing Domino would come out, wishing she’d take me away from this place. ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘I just want to chill out.’

  ‘Forget about her,’ Helena whispered in my ear.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Take it,’ she said. ‘You’ll feel better. Dance. Have a good time. It’ll be just like it was before.’

  The others were dancing around us now, Helena starting to move again, her hand extended, the tablet rolling from side to side on her palm as she swayed.

  Around us, the others continued, their faces contorted with the efforts of their movement. Each of them moving faster now as the music began to build.

  I noticed Kurt among them, caught his eye. He held me like that for a second, then closed his eyes and turned away. Behind him, standing still among the other dancers, Michael did not avert his stare.

  I looked back at Helena, shaking my head again. ‘I’m fine,’ I repeated. ‘Really.’

  Helena persisted, snatching her hand shut, coming close to me again. I began to turn, made a move to leave, but she put her arms around me, pressed her body against mine, her thigh squeezing between my own, her pelvis crushing against me. She reached up with her right hand and touched the tablet to my lips. ‘Take it,’ she said. ‘Take it and dance with me. Hold me. Do what you did before.’

  ‘Helena, no. Stop.’ I pushed her hand away. ‘I should go and find Domino.’

  ‘Please,’ she said, grabbing my arm, one last attempt to keep me there, but I snatched it from her grip, making her twist and stumble. She put out her arms to steady herself, but she’d lost her footing and wheeled backwards, trying to regain her balance with each step. Unable to keep herself upright, though, she finally fell back, knocking into the other dancers as she collapsed in the dirt. The people whom she’d bumped simply glanced down at her and continued, their minds elsewhere, no doubt encouraged by the chemicals racing through their blood.

  Helena stared up at me, shaking her head, an aspect of confusion. But even as I watched her, wondering what to do next, her expression melted, faded, dropped from her face only to be replaced by one of sudden understanding followed by embarrassment and shame.

  I immediately felt my heart become heavier and I felt sorry for her, so pitiful in the dirt. She hadn’t meant for this. She was trying to reach out to me, to make a connection.

  I went to her, extending a hand down for her, but before I could get close, Michael appeared at my side, his fist driving straight into the spot just below my breastbone, taking my breath and dropping me to my knees.

  I lifted my face to him, wanting to ask what he was doing, but my lungs were empty and I only managed to produce a sucking noise. Michael showed no mercy for my condition, though, and hit me square on the nose, knocking me sideways onto the ground as blood erupted from my face. My instinct was to put my hands behind my head, protect my face with my elbows and roll into as small a ball as I could manage. I felt Michael punch me once more, this time in my unprotected kidneys, then I heard Helena’s voice calling him off me. But Michael hadn’t yet had his fill and he hit me two or three more times before Kurt ordered him away. This time, Michael did as instructed and stepped back with one final kick to my ribs.

  I stayed where I was, curled into a ball, wishing I were somewhere else. Anywhere but her
e. And, with blood on my face and bruises forming on my body, I decided I would leave this place. As soon as it was light, I would leave here and never return.

  ‘C’mon, up you get,’ I heard Kurt’s voice and felt someone pull my hands from my head. ‘Come on. It’s all over now.’

  I snatched my hand away and took my arms from their protective position. I looked up at Kurt and the others, humiliated and full of hate.

  ‘No harm done,’ said Kurt.

  In response, I touched my hand to my nose and brought it away, contemplating the blood on my fingers before looking at our great leader.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ said Kurt. ‘Some cold water, a towel, you’ll be fine.’

  I stood, staring at Kurt, then at Michael, who was standing behind him. There was murder in his eyes, his fist clenching and unclenching. He hadn’t finished with me. If Kurt hadn’t stopped him, I think he might have carried on beating me until I was dead. Killed me with his bare hands.

  ‘Now, why don’t you two make up?’ Kurt said. ‘It’s been a hard day for everybody. We don’t want to start fighting among ourselves.’

  ‘You saw what he did to her,’ said Michael, still staring at me. ‘Kick the fucker out. Kick him out or kick him in. I can dig another hole out there in the forest just for you.’ He pointed at me.

  Kurt spun round and slapped Michael across the cheek. ‘Sort yourself out,’ he said. ‘You want me to kick you out? I’ll have no one talking like that.’ He looked round at the others, silent, the music still playing in the background. ‘That goes for everyone. We’re brothers and sisters here, so we’ll fucking act like it. We have a disagreement, we sort it out. We shake hands and we bury it.’

  ‘I’ll bury him,’ Michael muttered, earning another slap. He turned and glared down at Kurt, the two of them sizing each other up, Michael’s face a contorted picture of aggression, Kurt’s a calm mask of forgiveness.