The Backpacker (6 page)

THREE

John.

Fucking good to see you!

Contact soon.

Sir William.

I pulled the piece of paper from the door leaving half the gummed edge behind, and stood, pondering the note. The early morning sunlight was streaming through the gaps in the planks of the door making vertical lines like laser beams across my chest. Squinting and moving my eye out of the line of fire, I sat on the edge of the bed. What did it mean?

Of course, I should have been wondering how on earth someone had managed to get into my room the night before to post the message. The door had been locked so whoever it was either had the key or knew someone who had it. The previous night's events went carefully through my mind, stage by stage, in an attempt to sift out a face or a figure that had been hanging around my hut, and who may have been the intruder. I suddenly felt the urge to check my belongings, to make sure that nothing was missing. My passport, video camera and money were all still there, nothing had been touched.

The next question that entered my head was why Rick hadn't spoken to me himself. If he knew I was here why had he only left a message? And what was all this knighthood stuff?

Unsure exactly what to make of these events, I unzipped my holdall, pulled out the postcard he'd sent me and cross-checked the scrawl. The note was indeed in the same handwriting, and not only that but it was written in the same garish purple ink.

Fucking good to see you!
I imagined him saying it as he wrote it down, wondering whether or not to spell it
Fooking
. Fook. Fooking fook. The words on the paper went over and over in my head. Written on a Rizla, I thought, and sat with my back against the shuttered window, how typical of him. More typical would have been to include a rolled joint as a welcoming present.

I rolled the note into a tiny ball and pushed it out through the window shutter, momentarily blinding myself in the sunlight. Outside, the beach looked almost deserted through my limited strip of vision, and blinking rapidly to stop the bright light from stinging my eyes, first the beach and then the sea came into view.

I pulled away from the window, startled as someone suddenly walked onto the wooden veranda of the hut. ‘Goo' mornin', sir,' came a delicate female voice.

My heart beat a little faster, and I pushed one eye up against the shutter again to see who it was. The woman arranged her things on the wooden platform, and soon the sound of fruit being chopped drifted in along with the sweet sticky smells. Peeping through the shutter and manoeuvring my head, I tried to get a look at her face, but my field of vision was restricted so I just eyed her technique. One hand held the machete while the other spun the papaya around in quarter turns, her lurid blue nail varnish like lapis scarabs clinging to the side of the dark green fruit.

Watching the fruit being prepared made me so hungry that I completely forgot to question how she had known I was awake, and after taking a quick bucket shower and dressing, I opened the door and walked outside. She was gone. There was no mess, no peel, just a huge bowl of chopped tropical fruit sitting in the middle of a small red cloth beneath my hammock.

I quickly jumped off the veranda and looked around the rear of the hut. She was nowhere to be seen. I walked around the hut twice, not quite believing the past ten minutes had really happened. I expected to return to the front and find the bowl of fruit gone but it was still there, shining, mouthwatering, like a mirage.

At first I was reluctant to eat it. I wasn't sure whether I was being suckered into some scam whereby I ate the fruit, watched by beady eyes, and got pounced upon and presented with an outrageous bill. So, hesitating for about two seconds, I picked up the bowl, arranged myself in the hammock, hesitated for another second or two while scanning the beach, and started scooping up the fruit whilst swinging to and fro.

A door opened in the next hut along from mine and Dave the American emerged, stretching and yawning. As he came out his hand went down the front of his shorts as though searching for something, his face frowning and confused. Funny how people look different when they don't know they're being watched. I struck the side of my bowl with the spoon.
Bing!

‘Hey,' he said, quickly dropping his hand and walking to the edge of his veranda. ‘What's that you've got there John?'

I watched him through my swinging knees, ‘Fruit salad,' and struck the spoon against the bowl again.

‘Fruit salad?' He looked at his watch – which wasn't there. ‘Jesus, are they open already?'

‘Don't think they are,' I said happily. ‘You could check though.'

He wrinkled his nose. ‘So where'd you get that?'

‘Some woman's walking around making them.' Another succulent piece of pineapple was slurped into my mouth. ‘Jush left.'

‘How much?'

‘That's the thing,' I said, grinning, ‘they're free.'

‘Fuckin' what? Don't kid me now John. Don't bullshit me.' He leaned over the handrail, balancing on his stomach. ‘You tellin' me you didn't have to pay for that?'

‘That's what I said.' Barely able to contain my laughter, I stuffed the rest of the fruit into my mouth and nearly choked. "Ucking tashty, too.'

Dave vaulted over the side onto the sand and stormed off between the huts towards one of the restaurants. A minute later he was back, empty-handed. ‘You're shittin' me John, there's no one there yet. Just some old guy picking his nose.' He stomped onto the wooden deck of his hut and leaped heavily into his hammock. The rope snapped and brought him crashing onto his back. ‘Fuckin' Jesus!'

I sniggered. ‘You OK, Dave?'

‘Arrgh!' He rolled over onto his side and rubbed his spine. ‘You just eat your free food John, don't worry about me.'

Suzy appeared at the door, looking down at Dave and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, no doubt awoken by the thump. ‘Thought you navy boys were used to hammocks and all that? Morning John,' she said, noticing me.

Dave heaved himself up. ‘Modern ships don't have hammocks, Sooze. I was on the USS
Enterprise
, not the fuckin'
Mayflower
.'

She raised her eyebrows towards me, took a towel off her washing-line and went back inside.

I steadied my hammock by placing one foot against my door. ‘You were in the navy, Dave?'

‘Bet you didn't guess that one, eh John?' He jumped down off his veranda and limped over towards me, pulling a face at Suzy's back. ‘Man, what a start to the day! Wake up, some guy next door gets a free breakfast, an' all I get is freefall!' He sat down with his back against my door and looked out to sea. ‘Yep. Never came to places like this though.'

‘How long were you in for?'

‘Two years basic.' He pulled his knees up to his chest and rubbed his back, wincing in pain. ‘Nothing else for black guys to do in the US. No, that's not strictly true, there is something else but that involves breaking the law, so count me outta that shit.'

Dave told me how he'd almost been a boxer first and then a stripper, all before the age of eighteen. Having not been particularly good at either, and not particularly bright at school, he'd had little choice but to go into the forces. Guys like him get steadily pushed further and further towards the back of the classroom until, finally, they are out of the door and are not allowed back in.

‘You probably expected me to have a crew cut, right?'

I nodded.

‘Well, that was six months ago. Now I'm going for the Hendrix look.' He patted his three-inch afro.

‘Why not Bob Marley?' I said provocatively.

‘I ain't no Rasta, man. Anyway, my mom wouldn't approve. She thinks Bob Marley was a drug addict.'

‘So was Hendrix, wasn't he?'

He nodded. ‘Yeah but he didn't have dreads. Even black people are prejudiced John. Take a black guy with dreads an' shit, my mom'll say he's a bad influence, should be in prison. You dress that same guy up in a suit and give him a haircut, no problem – my mom'll ask him round for dinner.'

I considered the image he conjured up and said, ‘You don't strike me as the kind of person who's worried about what people might think, Dave.'

‘Just fashion, man. All these guys running around with dreads,' his hand swept the air dismissively, ‘just fashion. They ain't hippies. Same way I'm not Jimi fuckin' Hendrix.'

I tutted and rubbed my shaved head self-consciously. ‘Vanity, is that all it is?'

‘That's all. Nothin' more and nothin' less than that.' He paused for a moment. ‘Chicks used to go for the Rasta look, now they go for the afro. Same reason you got a shaved melon, right? Chicks dig that on a white guy.'

Dave and I sat outside my hut discussing fashion, or as he called it, ‘chewing the fat,' until there were signs of life in the restaurant, and we went in to eat.

‘What about Suzy?' I said as we walked beneath the palm trees at the back of the huts. ‘Maybe she's hungry.'

‘She knows where it is, don't worry.' He hesitated, stopping mid-step. ‘Hey, you hittin' on her?'

I stopped. ‘What?' I guessed the meaning but needed time to compose myself. It's a bit of a shock when someone asks that question so boldly. ‘Hitting on her?'

He grinned. ‘You, man, you an Sooze. Shit, white chicks. Whoo-ee!' He slapped me on the back. ‘Listen, if you an' her want to get together that's cool. I know you two are both British la-di-das an' all.'

I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and put both hands up, genuinely surprised. ‘Course not! Christ almighty, is that how it looks? Honestly Dave, I've got no interest in your girlfriend, really.'

He closed one eye and looked down his nose at me. ‘Hey, it's OK, it means she's marketable. Nothin' worse than havin' a girlfriend that nobody looks at.'

‘Dave, I swear!'

‘Let's eat.' He put his arm around me again and we went in and sat down in the empty restaurant.

At one end was a counter and bar where a woman of dubious gender was folding serviettes and placing them in a neat pile. It was difficult to tell whether she was one of the ladymen I'd heard so much about.

D'you think that's a man?' I whispered, and from the cover of my menu flicked my eyes towards the counter.

Dave looked up. ‘What, her? No way, man. I tell you, if she's a fella I'd still have sex with her.'

I watched the woman for a moment and said, ‘Bet you she is.'

‘How much?'

‘Breakfast; loser pays the bill.'

‘You're on.' We shook hands over the table. ‘How're we going to prove it?'

‘Ask?'

‘Fuck, John, we can't ask!'

I thought for a moment and said, ‘You'll just have to sleep with her then.'

‘Hey, no problem, it's a girl.'

At that moment the woman looked up from her boring serviette-folding job and winked at us. ‘That's it,' I exclaimed, ‘she's a he, you lose.'

‘I lose cause she winked?' Dave slammed his large hands on the table.

‘Course. That's proof enough isn't it? Normal girls don't wink at strangers.'

‘Hookers do.' Dave lifted his menu and hid behind. ‘Shit, she's coming over.'

The Thai woman was wearing a sarong tied at the waist, and above that a leotard. As beautiful as she was, six-foot tall and incredibly slim, her small hips gave the game away the minute she emerged from behind the counter.

‘Looks like I'm picking up the tab,' Dave mumbled nervously. He shook his head. ‘Imagine making that mistake. I'm never getting drunk in Thailand.'

With one hand running fingers through her hair and the other placed on our table, the Thai spoke with soft familiarity. ‘Wha' you hansoon boy like?'

Dave started. ‘Ahem. Um, fruit salad and an American breakfast.'

She leaned forward over the table, pushing her imaginary cleavage together with both arms, and looked at me. I ordered an orange juice and she withdrew to the counter, returning a moment later with some condiments and folded serviettes, which she placed carefully on the table. She took intricate care over the tiniest details, smoothing out the folds in the tablecloth with manicured fingers. It was only then that I noticed her bright blue nail varnish.

I went to speak but she cut me off, stunning me into silence. ‘One momen' Lor' John,' she said, walking away with a wiggle.

Dave's eyes nearly popped out of his head and he dropped the menu on the floor. ‘Fuckin' what did you get up to last night, man, huh?'

My mouth dropped open but no words came out. I just stared at the sarong as it swayed its way back across the floor. I still couldn't quite register what I'd just heard.

Dave started rocking backwards and forwards on his chair, laughing. ‘Man, you
are
a dark horse. Whoo-ee!' I leaned across the table at Dave, ready to protest my innocence. ‘Whoa,' he said, ‘not so close! No wonder you're not interested in Suzy!'

‘Fuck off, Dave. I swear I don't know him... er, her. I've never seen her before in my life.'

He eyed me with suspicion. ‘Then how come he knows your name,
Lord
John?'

I shook my head, hardly believing it myself.

FOUR

Dave was like a kid, badgering me about the incident all day long. When I asked the ladyman how she'd got my name, and she just laughed, it made Dave worse. Not only did he not believe that I hadn't slept with the Thai but he also thought that I was some kind of royalty, constantly referring to me as ‘Your Lordship' or ‘Your Highness'. Whenever I asked the ladyman where Rick was, she just said, ‘You wai' momen',' and wiggled off to fold some tablecloths or do her hair. I began to think that someone was playing some kind of elaborate trick.

Every morning for the rest of that week a bowl of fruit salad was ready for me outside my hut, and every afternoon she floated along the beach in her sarong to give me the same pointless message: that she would be going off to buy fresh fruit for the next day's breakfast. Everyone had seen us talking and must have assumed that we were together.

‘They think you're some kind of fuckin' pervert.' Dave somersaulted off the rock and hit the water squarely on his back. He surfaced a moment later arching in pain. ‘Either that or queer. Ow!'

‘Let me show you how to do it.' I took two steps back and up. ‘It's all in the arms, Dave, watch this.' My crucifix shape hit the water with what I considered beauty and elegance. It hurt the tops of my arms on impact and, although I knew this dive spot pretty well now, I almost head-butted a submerged boulder. ‘Fuck,' I gasped as I came up for air, ‘where did that come from?'

‘Almost hit it didn't ya?' Dave clambered back onto the rock and wiped the water from his face.

‘I never saw that before. Christ!'

‘That's because it wasn't there yesterday. Take a look up there. See, where that hole is?' He pointed behind him to where the black boulders ended and the jungle began.

‘Oh yeah,' I confirmed, looking up and squinting at the sun. ‘Jesus, I wonder how that happened?'

‘Wonder no more, Lord John. Here.' He held out a hand and pulled me up onto the rock. ‘I pushed it down last night. Came out here for a swim alone. Made a helluva splash when it hit the water:
Ker-boom!
Like a fuckin' depth charge.'

‘I bet it did.' I wished I'd been there to witness the sight. Imagine, a boulder the size of an armchair rolling down the rocks, bouncing and splintering as it went, until finally impacting like an atom bomb into the water. ‘Superb,' I agreed, suitably impressed. ‘Any more around?'

‘Reckon so. Around the headland there're bound to be more.' He shook the excess water from his afro. ‘I swam further out yesterday and it looks like the whole rock face is falling in.'

I shielded my eyes from the sun to look at the headland. ‘Fancy a swim?'

‘Now?' He looked at his non-waterproof watch that had misted over. ‘Shit, I said I'd meet Sooze at one. Ah well, I'll just say my watch was broken.'

We both dived in and began the swim out towards the pile of rocks in the distance.

Because of the shape of Hat Rin beach and the surrounding landscape, it's possible to swim the quarter of a mile or so out to either headland and still see everything else that's contained within the bay: trees, the beach and all the people on it. The other thing about Hat Rin is that despite being a popular place for backpackers, few people, if any, seem to bother with the sea. As beautiful as it is, most people are too busy listening to music or sleeping off hangovers to wade out any further than waist-deep. For that reason more than anything else, once we'd swum halfway out we came across no one else swimming in the other direction.

‘Pity there're no waves here,' I said, keeping my chin above the water as I breast-stroked. ‘We've got the beach, the sunshine, the parties. Waves would make it perfect.'

‘You surf?'

I nodded, unable to speak as a ripple lapped against my mouth. ‘Uh-huh.'

‘Put it there John.' Dave trod water and held out a hand. ‘Man, is it a killer sport or what?'

‘The best.' I shook his hand while frantically treading water with my legs to make up for the short-fall in the arm department, and we continued swimming. ‘Surf in England.'

‘Man, I thought you said you were from London.'

‘I am. I sometimes surf on the west coast, though.'

‘What, California?'

‘The west coast of England, not America.'

Winking at me and smiling, he said, ‘You're putting me on, right?'

‘Surfed in India once.'

He spat a jet of water at me. ‘Fuck, John, now you are going
too
far. Don't start that la-di-da bullshit with me again. First it's that lady– what did you call her?'

‘Laddy-bird.'

‘Yeah, laddy-bird. Now it's surfing in India.' He chuckled, ‘You British. You bloody-fucking-wanker.'

‘I'm not kidding.' I rolled over and went into a back-stroke. ‘On my life.'

He pushed some water at me. ‘Well I got that beat anyway. Friend of mine, used to serve on the
Enterprise
, this sonofabitch took his board out once and, I swear, he surfed the wake of a war ship. How's that for balls?'

‘Now that
is
ridiculous.'

Dave dived beneath the surface and came back up again a few feet ahead. ‘Bernie Drum's his name, surfin' an' fightin's his game.'

‘Next thing you'll be telling me that aliens have landed and the government are trying to cover it all up.'

‘Hey!'

We reached the headland, and after a quick recce, Dave climbed up onto a rock that looked like it supported another, thus giving us plenty of opportunity to cause an avalanche.

‘Give us a hand,' I called from the water.

He didn't seem to hear me and was staring at something in the distance.

‘Dave.'

‘Shit!' He suddenly crouched down onto his haunches, hiding behind the rock in front.

He still didn't pay any attention to me so I had to crawl up onto the surface of the boulders, scraping my belly and legs painfully on the barnacles. ‘Dave, what the fuck?'

‘Stay down!' he hissed. ‘Over there, look at those guys.'

There was barely enough room on the rock for two people, so to hide and see meant holding myself at an awkward, uncomfortable angle. ‘Where?' I asked, after briefly checking my chest for blood. He pointed around the headland towards the far end of another beach, in totally the opposite direction to where I had been looking.

About half a mile away on a small mound of rocks, two men were holding another man down, one holding his hair and the other his arms. Their captive kicked wildly, his bare legs striking out at them but only hitting the rocks. All three were well tanned so I assumed they were locals, though it was difficult to tell from that distance.

I crouched in closer behind Dave and whispered, ‘What are they doing?'

‘Looks like a beating to me. Keep down.'

We could clearly hear the attackers shouts as they carried across the water and a muffled scream drifted over as the captive doubled up, bringing his knees to his chest before being kicked into a flat position. One of the men then went knee-deep into the water and pulled a small boat out from between the rocks, and together they picked the man up by his arms and legs and threw him into the boat. The loud
crack
of his skull hitting the wood was sickening, and we both grimaced.

Looking down at my bare legs and chest I suddenly felt very naked wearing only swimming trunks. In contrast, Dave's matt-black skin was perfect camouflage against the black, sun-baked rocks, and I regretted having got out of the water at all. Slowly, I slipped back down the face of the boulder into the water.

Dave did a double-take. ‘John, what the fuck are you doing? Ge-get back here.'

‘Shh. I'm better off in the water. If they come this way they'll easily see me.'

They didn't come our way. The two men jumped into the boat with their captive, started the engine and zoomed off in the opposite direction, quickly vanishing behind a distant pile of rocks. Soon the water settled and the small beach looked tranquil and picturesque to the max. The backdrop to the white sand, unlike Hat Rin, was dense jungle, with no signs of tourists or accommodation.

Dave was staring down at me from on top of his rock looking thoughtful. ‘Whaddya say we take a look at that beach, Johnnyboy?' He clenched his fists. ‘Man, I'm fired up now, I can't go back until I've had a look over there.'

‘Now wait just a minute, Dave,' I said, ‘let's not be hasty, they might come back.'

He looked at his watch. ‘Give 'em ten minutes, if they're not back, we go over.'

Although the place where their boat had been moored was further up the beach, I had surmised that the beach itself began just around the curve in the headland from our hiding position. It didn't, and we had to swim in a long arc before we had cleared the rocks and could go ashore.

Dave was lying on his back in the shallows trying to catch his breath when I reached the beach. ‘You could have waited,' I gasped, lifting my aching legs and falling beside him. ‘I could... '

‘Notice the trees?' he said enthusiastically, sitting up and pointing towards the jungle.

Still exhausted from the swim, I slowly turned my head to look. Each palm tree seemed to have weird designs painted on its trunk in what looked like fluorescent paint.

‘Hippy shit. Let's take a closer look.'

‘And they've been having a party or something.' I pointed to the cigarette butts that littered the sand and began to follow him, suddenly forgetting my breathlessness.

‘Wow, out here,' he looked at me, ‘a party like no other.'

The sweat had started to run down my face and back in tickling rivers, making me feel prickly. Once away from the water's edge there wasn't a breeze, and it began to feel claustrophobic. ‘Fuck, it's hot up here,' I said, wiping a hand across my brow. ‘Shall we go back into the water?'

‘Scared?'

‘Course not. What's there to be scared about? It's just a beach.'

‘Good. Let's go into the trees then.'

‘What for?' I tried to hide the trepidation in my voice, which would undoubtedly betray my sense of foreboding at the dark jungle ahead. ‘Dave?' He ignored me and started to walk in. Feeling a little apprehensive about leaving the bright, white light of the beach for the gloomy darkness of the jungle, I loitered, waiting for him to change his mind. ‘Come on, Dave, it's a waste of time.'

‘This must be where those guys were before they left.' Dave's dusky figure vanished into the shade provided by the tree line before his muffled voice came back. ‘Look at these. Ah, Jesus Christ!'

‘What is it?' I moved closer, still cautious.

‘Ah, man, take a look at this.'

Leaving the blinding sand for the cool shade of the trees, I walked carefully through the undergrowth to where Dave, dappled in golden coins of sunlight, was standing next to a big flat rock. ‘Crabs?' I said with barely concealed relief, and wiped a stinging droplet of sweat from the corner of my eye. ‘Ha!'

He picked up a stick and flicked one or two of the small crustaceans off to reveal a fresh bloodstain in the middle of the rock. ‘Check this out,' he said and, using two twigs as chopsticks, picked up a freshly severed human finger.