The Beach (25 page)
Authors: Alex Garland
Shadowed
Politics
Christo's name was being called. Low-pitched and high-pitched, boys' voices and girls' voices, floating across the lagoon. I didn't like the sound. From my position, resting on a boulder by the entrance to the cave, the call was always answered by an echo. It gave me the creeps, so I swam into the cave to cut the sound out. Then, once started, I didn't stop. I swam straight ahead until I bumped blindly against the rock-face where the passage ducked below the water-level, took a lungful and dived.
It was very exciting underwater. The rock walls, never warmed by sunlight, cooled and deadened the water. I felt as if I'd dared to enter a forbidden area, the zone I'd shied away from with Étienne and Françoise, diving for sand on Ko Samui. 'Braver now,' I thought dreamily, relaxing my legs and slowing my arm strokes. I wasn't hurried; Christo and the shark seemed rather distant concerns. I was almost enjoying myself, and I knew my lungs were practised enough to keep me under for over a minute thirty without serious discomfort.
Every few feet I stopped and groped around to make sure I wasn't accidentally heading down the side passage to the air pocket. In the process, I discovered the central passage was far wider than I'd previously imagined. At full arm's length I couldn't touch either of its sides, only the barnacle-covered ceiling and floor. I realized, with a reproachful grimace, that to have ended up in the air pocket I must have strayed quite a way off course.
I grimaced harder when I came up on the seaward side of the cliffs. A strong night swell gave me a harsh reality check, pulling me out of my otherworldly stupor by knocking me against the rocks. I had to clamber awkwardly out of the water, slipping on algae and cutting my legs yet again. When I'd found my balance I looked around for Christo and yelled his name, without a lot of hope because the moonlight was bright enough for me to see he wasn't there. I could, however, see the boat. It was floating freely in the small cove that served as its port and hiding-place, untied. I made my way over and scooped the rope out of the sea, securing the boat with as many granny knots as the rope's length would allow — not very nautical but the best I knew how. Then I perched on a small rock-shelf and wondered what I should do next.
The problem was, I could easily have missed Christo on several stages of my search, the boulders particularly. It was possible he'd already been found and was back at camp. But I also had a powerful sense that I hadn't missed him. The untied boat told me that they'd got as far as the entrance to the cave. If Christo hadn't been injured, he'd have made the swim with Karl. If he had been injured however, Karl would have left him where I was sitting, intending to come back for him later.
'Unless...' I muttered, clicking my fingers and shivering in the sea breeze.
Unless he'd been killed outright at sea, in which case it was a safe bet he'd never be found.
'Or...'
Or he'd only been injured a little. He'd been fit enough to make the swim through the underwater passage. He'd swum under with Karl, helping him with Sten, but something had happened. Swimming three men wide. Slightly hurt. Had to be scared and confused.
'That's it,' I said firmly.
Karl wouldn't have realized Christo had gone until he came up in the lagoon. With Sten to deal with, maybe still alive, he couldn't go back. Maybe he waited for as long as a man could last without breathing. One or two desperate minutes extra to be sure. Maybe then he gave up.
'That's it. Christo's in the air pocket.'
I stood up, filled my lungs, and dived back into the water. I found the side passage to the air pocket on my third attempt.
I surfaced, incredibly, into stars. I wondered if I'd missed the turning a fourth time, got disorientated, come up in the open sea or the lagoon. But the stars were beside and ahead of me. The stars were everywhere, unnaturally dense, within reaching distance and a thousand miles away.
Lack of oxygen, I thought, and took a tentative breath. The air tasted better than the last time, maybe freshened by an extra-low tide, but the stars didn't go away. I took another breath, shut my eyes, waited, opened them again. The stars remained, twinkling away, even a little brighter. 'Impossible,' I whispered. 'This makes no...'
A murmur cut me off, coming from somewhere in the thick constellation. I paused, treading water slowly.
'Here...' said a quiet voice.
I pushed my hands out and felt a rock ledge, then I ran my hands along and felt skin.
'Christo! Thank God! I've been...'
'...Richard?'
'Yes.'
'Help me.'
'Yes. I'm here to help.'
I continued feeling along the skin, working out which part of the body I was touching. It was surprisingly difficult to tell. What I first took to be an arm turned out to be a leg, and what I took to be a mouth turned out to be a wound.
Christo groaned loudly.
I shook my head. 'I'm sorry... Are you badly hurt?'
'...I have... some injury...'
'OK. Do you think you're able to swim?'
'...I do not know...'
'Because you have to swim. We have to get out of here.'
'...Out?'
'We've got to get out of the air pocket.'
'Air...pocket...?' he repeated, forming the sounds uncertainly.
'Air pocket. Uh... this little cave. We need to get out of this cave.'
'But sky,' he muttered. 'Stars.'
I frowned, surprised that he could see the stars too. 'No. They aren't stars. They're...' I hesitated. Then I reached up and my hand sunk into cold strands of hanging seaweed. 'Not stars,' I finished, managing a short laugh, and pulled down a glittering strand.
'Not stars?' He sounded upset.
'Phosphorescence.'
There was a small space left on the ledge so I hauled myself out of the water and sat beside him. 'Listen, Christo, I'm afraid we're going to have to try for this swim. There's no choice.'
No reply.
'Hey, did you get that?'
'...Yes.'
'So what we'll do is I'll swim ahead using my arms, and you'll have to hold on to my legs and try to kick. Are your legs injured?'
'...Not legs. It is my... my...' He felt for my hand and put it some place on his torso.
'So you can kick. We'll be fine. No sweat.'
'...Yes.'
His voice sounded like it was getting fainter so I talked my plans out loud to keep him awake. 'Now our only problem is going to be finding the right passage out of here. If I remember right there are four passages to choose from, and we don't want to get the wrong one. You understand?'
'...I understand.'
'Good. Let's do it, then.' I leant forwards to drop back into the water, but stopped myself just as I was about to drop off the ledge.
'What?' asked Christo feebly, sensing that something had happened.
I didn't answer. I was transfixed by a chilling and beautiful sight — a slender comet cruising through the blackness beneath my feet.
'What happens, Richard?'
'Nothing... There's just... uh... something down there.'
'The shark?' Christo's voice instantly rose to a frightened sob. 'Is it this shark?'
'No, no. Definitely not. Don't worry.' I watched the comet carefully. Actually, when I'd first seen it I'd thought it was the shark, which is why I'd hesitated before answering Christo. But now I was sure it wasn't. Something about the way it moved wasn't right; it wasn't gliding and it was too jerky. It was more like a person.
'It's probably me,' I said with a drunken smile.
'...You?'
'My wake...' I giggled. 'My shadow.'
'...What? I do not...'
I patted Christo's leg gently. 'It's probably a shoal of fish.'
The comet continued on its leisurely path and then, curiously, began to shorten. It took me a moment to realize it was passing into one of the passageways leading out.
'OK, Christo,' I said, putting a cautious hand on the back of my head. I'd suddenly felt as if part of my skull had fallen away and its contents were streaming out or expanding like vapour. Relieved to find hard bone and wet, matted hair, I allowed myself to slip into the water. 'I think I know which direction to take.'
Within a few strokes I understood that the passage was not the one leading back to the original cave. It twisted almost immediately to the right, whereas the other passage was virtually straight. But I was also confident, so I didn't attempt to turn back. Ten or so metres along we found a second air pocket, and ten metres further we found another. At the last air pocket we came up into fresh air. Ahead was the exit, circled by darkness. Through it I could see real stars and the real sky, just bright enough to pick out the faint black shapes of palm trees. Claws on pencil arms, running along the cliff top as it curved around to the mainland.
I laid the exhausted Christo out on the flat shelf beneath the lightning-bolt fissure, and walked forward a couple of steps, so I was looking over the coral gardens.
'Mister Duck?' I hissed softly. 'It was you, wasn't it? You're here.'
'Yeah,' Mister Duck replied, from so near by it made me jump. 'I'm here.'
INCOMINGIt was very exciting underwater. The rock walls, never warmed by sunlight, cooled and deadened the water. I felt as if I'd dared to enter a forbidden area, the zone I'd shied away from with Étienne and Françoise, diving for sand on Ko Samui. 'Braver now,' I thought dreamily, relaxing my legs and slowing my arm strokes. I wasn't hurried; Christo and the shark seemed rather distant concerns. I was almost enjoying myself, and I knew my lungs were practised enough to keep me under for over a minute thirty without serious discomfort.
Every few feet I stopped and groped around to make sure I wasn't accidentally heading down the side passage to the air pocket. In the process, I discovered the central passage was far wider than I'd previously imagined. At full arm's length I couldn't touch either of its sides, only the barnacle-covered ceiling and floor. I realized, with a reproachful grimace, that to have ended up in the air pocket I must have strayed quite a way off course.
I grimaced harder when I came up on the seaward side of the cliffs. A strong night swell gave me a harsh reality check, pulling me out of my otherworldly stupor by knocking me against the rocks. I had to clamber awkwardly out of the water, slipping on algae and cutting my legs yet again. When I'd found my balance I looked around for Christo and yelled his name, without a lot of hope because the moonlight was bright enough for me to see he wasn't there. I could, however, see the boat. It was floating freely in the small cove that served as its port and hiding-place, untied. I made my way over and scooped the rope out of the sea, securing the boat with as many granny knots as the rope's length would allow — not very nautical but the best I knew how. Then I perched on a small rock-shelf and wondered what I should do next.
The problem was, I could easily have missed Christo on several stages of my search, the boulders particularly. It was possible he'd already been found and was back at camp. But I also had a powerful sense that I hadn't missed him. The untied boat told me that they'd got as far as the entrance to the cave. If Christo hadn't been injured, he'd have made the swim with Karl. If he had been injured however, Karl would have left him where I was sitting, intending to come back for him later.
'Unless...' I muttered, clicking my fingers and shivering in the sea breeze.
Unless he'd been killed outright at sea, in which case it was a safe bet he'd never be found.
'Or...'
Or he'd only been injured a little. He'd been fit enough to make the swim through the underwater passage. He'd swum under with Karl, helping him with Sten, but something had happened. Swimming three men wide. Slightly hurt. Had to be scared and confused.
'That's it,' I said firmly.
Karl wouldn't have realized Christo had gone until he came up in the lagoon. With Sten to deal with, maybe still alive, he couldn't go back. Maybe he waited for as long as a man could last without breathing. One or two desperate minutes extra to be sure. Maybe then he gave up.
'That's it. Christo's in the air pocket.'
I stood up, filled my lungs, and dived back into the water. I found the side passage to the air pocket on my third attempt.
I surfaced, incredibly, into stars. I wondered if I'd missed the turning a fourth time, got disorientated, come up in the open sea or the lagoon. But the stars were beside and ahead of me. The stars were everywhere, unnaturally dense, within reaching distance and a thousand miles away.
Lack of oxygen, I thought, and took a tentative breath. The air tasted better than the last time, maybe freshened by an extra-low tide, but the stars didn't go away. I took another breath, shut my eyes, waited, opened them again. The stars remained, twinkling away, even a little brighter. 'Impossible,' I whispered. 'This makes no...'
A murmur cut me off, coming from somewhere in the thick constellation. I paused, treading water slowly.
'Here...' said a quiet voice.
I pushed my hands out and felt a rock ledge, then I ran my hands along and felt skin.
'Christo! Thank God! I've been...'
'...Richard?'
'Yes.'
'Help me.'
'Yes. I'm here to help.'
I continued feeling along the skin, working out which part of the body I was touching. It was surprisingly difficult to tell. What I first took to be an arm turned out to be a leg, and what I took to be a mouth turned out to be a wound.
Christo groaned loudly.
I shook my head. 'I'm sorry... Are you badly hurt?'
'...I have... some injury...'
'OK. Do you think you're able to swim?'
'...I do not know...'
'Because you have to swim. We have to get out of here.'
'...Out?'
'We've got to get out of the air pocket.'
'Air...pocket...?' he repeated, forming the sounds uncertainly.
'Air pocket. Uh... this little cave. We need to get out of this cave.'
'But sky,' he muttered. 'Stars.'
I frowned, surprised that he could see the stars too. 'No. They aren't stars. They're...' I hesitated. Then I reached up and my hand sunk into cold strands of hanging seaweed. 'Not stars,' I finished, managing a short laugh, and pulled down a glittering strand.
'Not stars?' He sounded upset.
'Phosphorescence.'
There was a small space left on the ledge so I hauled myself out of the water and sat beside him. 'Listen, Christo, I'm afraid we're going to have to try for this swim. There's no choice.'
No reply.
'Hey, did you get that?'
'...Yes.'
'So what we'll do is I'll swim ahead using my arms, and you'll have to hold on to my legs and try to kick. Are your legs injured?'
'...Not legs. It is my... my...' He felt for my hand and put it some place on his torso.
'So you can kick. We'll be fine. No sweat.'
'...Yes.'
His voice sounded like it was getting fainter so I talked my plans out loud to keep him awake. 'Now our only problem is going to be finding the right passage out of here. If I remember right there are four passages to choose from, and we don't want to get the wrong one. You understand?'
'...I understand.'
'Good. Let's do it, then.' I leant forwards to drop back into the water, but stopped myself just as I was about to drop off the ledge.
'What?' asked Christo feebly, sensing that something had happened.
I didn't answer. I was transfixed by a chilling and beautiful sight — a slender comet cruising through the blackness beneath my feet.
'What happens, Richard?'
'Nothing... There's just... uh... something down there.'
'The shark?' Christo's voice instantly rose to a frightened sob. 'Is it this shark?'
'No, no. Definitely not. Don't worry.' I watched the comet carefully. Actually, when I'd first seen it I'd thought it was the shark, which is why I'd hesitated before answering Christo. But now I was sure it wasn't. Something about the way it moved wasn't right; it wasn't gliding and it was too jerky. It was more like a person.
'It's probably me,' I said with a drunken smile.
'...You?'
'My wake...' I giggled. 'My shadow.'
'...What? I do not...'
I patted Christo's leg gently. 'It's probably a shoal of fish.'
The comet continued on its leisurely path and then, curiously, began to shorten. It took me a moment to realize it was passing into one of the passageways leading out.
'OK, Christo,' I said, putting a cautious hand on the back of my head. I'd suddenly felt as if part of my skull had fallen away and its contents were streaming out or expanding like vapour. Relieved to find hard bone and wet, matted hair, I allowed myself to slip into the water. 'I think I know which direction to take.'
Within a few strokes I understood that the passage was not the one leading back to the original cave. It twisted almost immediately to the right, whereas the other passage was virtually straight. But I was also confident, so I didn't attempt to turn back. Ten or so metres along we found a second air pocket, and ten metres further we found another. At the last air pocket we came up into fresh air. Ahead was the exit, circled by darkness. Through it I could see real stars and the real sky, just bright enough to pick out the faint black shapes of palm trees. Claws on pencil arms, running along the cliff top as it curved around to the mainland.
I laid the exhausted Christo out on the flat shelf beneath the lightning-bolt fissure, and walked forward a couple of steps, so I was looking over the coral gardens.
'Mister Duck?' I hissed softly. 'It was you, wasn't it? You're here.'
'Yeah,' Mister Duck replied, from so near by it made me jump. 'I'm here.'
Politics
'Damn,' I said, spotting Cassie. She was standing near the kitchen hut, talking to Ella. It meant I had no choice but to pass her. My only other options were to walk directly across the centre of the clearing or to skirt around and come from behind the longhouse. In other words, passing Bugs or passing Sal. Not really options at all.
I sighed. Getting from one side of the clearing to the other had become like an eye-contact obstacle course. It was true that the shark attack had distracted attention away from the flare-up in the longhouse, but although an unspoken truce had been agreed, the tensions behind the incident were still there. Tactically, I had to hand it to Bugs. His group — basically the carpenters and Jean's gardeners minus Cassie and Jesse—had taken over the centre of the clearing. Starting from the first afternoon after the shark attack, I'd come back from the island to find them all sitting there in a loose circle, smoking dope and chatting quietly. So as well as the commanding vantage point they had over the camp, there was a psychological aspect. It was like they represented the establishment, making the rest of us feel like dissenters.
Our dissenter role was accentuated by the fact that, unlike the Bugs group, we had no sense of unity. In effect, we were several sub-groups. There was my old fishing detail and Keaty, which I included myself in, but there was also Jed, and I included myself with him as well. Then there was Moshe's detail, who seemed uncertain of where their affiliations lay, and there were the cooks. The cooks, as a result of Ella, partly included Jesse and Cassie. But you could also partly include Jesse and Cassie with my old fishing detail, because of their friendship with Keaty.
Finally, there were Sal and Karl. Karl was a law unto himself, drifting somewhere in outer space, and Sal was trying extremely hard to appear neutral — though we all knew where her loyalties would lie if push came to shove.
If it sounds complicated, that's because it was.
This, then, was the politics involved in crossing the clearing, and we all had to deal with it to the same degree. Except me, that is, who had an extra burden to deal with in the form of Cassie. Ever since the incident when Bugs had shat himself, she'd been treating me like I was mentally unstable, talking slowly, carefully enunciating each word, using an evenly modulated tone as if she thought a sudden noise would scare me. It was really getting on my nerves. But I'd have shinned up a rocket-ship tree to have avoided passing Bugs, and Sal would make me give her a troublesome report on our guests on the neighbouring island, so Cassie it had to be. Biting my lip and looking intently at the ground, I moved out from behind the foliage and set off in her direction. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that she was deep in conversation with Ella. 'I'm going to make it,' I thought optimistically, but I was wrong.
'Richard,' she said, just as I was about to move out of her range.
I looked up with a studiously blank expression.
'How are you?'
'Fine,' I replied quickly. 'On my way to see the patient.'
She smiled. 'No, Richard, I mean, how a
re
you?'
'Fine,' I repeated.
'I think this has been harder for you than anyone.'
'Oh well, not really.'
'Finding Christo...'
'It wasn't so bad...'
'...And now you have to work up on the island without company, without... support.'
I shrugged helplessly. It would have been quite impossible to explain that, from my point of view, the three days since Sten's death had been great. Jed's knowledge of first aid meant he was spending all his time looking after Christo, and that meant I got to spend my days alone in the DMZ.
Alone in a manner of speaking, anyway.
'But maybe being without company is a good thing, Cassie. It gives me time to think and come to terms with what's happened.' From similar encounters, I knew this was the right thing to say.
Cassie widened her eyes as if she hadn't considered this, but now that she had, yes, it was a good idea and she was impressed I'd thought of it. 'That's
a positive
attitude,' she said warmly. 'Well done.'
I felt that was enough for me to disappear without appearing rude, so I made my excuses and continued on my way.
I was aiming for the hospital tent. More accurately, the Swedes' tent, but seeing as Sten was dead and Karl had started living on the beach, I'd begun calling it the hospital tent. Disappointingly, no one else did. Even though I'd made a point of using the new name at every opportunity, it had stubbornly refused to catch on.
'Back early today,' said Jed, when I climbed in. 'It's still light.' He sounded very tired and was sweating like a pig. It was baking under the canvas, even with the flap pegged open.
'Got hungry, needed a fag. Nothing much going on.'
'No developments then.'
I looked at Christo.
'He's asleep. It's OK.'
'Oh... well, yeah, no developments.' I lied. There had been a very particular development, but not one I could go into. 'Just the same as always.'
'So we 're lucky again. I wonder how long it will last.'
'Mmm... I got some more grass by the way.'
'More? Richard, you...' Jed shook his head. '...We've got grass coming out of our ears. Every day you've brought some back.'
'People are smoking a lot at the moment.'
'We'd need all the hippies in Goa to smoke through your supplies, and if you take too much the guards might notice.'
I nodded. The same thought had crossed my mind, though with a different slant. I'd been hoping that my regular expeditions would get the guards on their toes. They were so pathetically easy to avoid
that it made you wonder why they were there in the first place.
'So what about Christo?' I asked, changing the subject. 'Any developments with him?'
Jed rubbed his eyes. 'Yes. He's getting worse.'
'Delirious?'
'No, just in pain. If he's awake. He spends most of the time unconscious and he's running a bad fever. Without a thermometer it's hard to be sure, but it's higher than yesterday... To tell you the truth...' Jed lowered his voice, '...I'm getting seriously worried about him.'
I frowned. Christo looked OK to me. When I'd seen him in the daylight, the morning after rescuing him, I'd felt slightly let down by the undramatic nature of his injuries. Apart from a single cut on his arm — the cut I'd mistaken for a mouth - his only wound was a large bruise on his stomach from where the shark had rammed him. The injuries were so superficial that he'd walked around on the first day, trying to find Karl. He'd only collapsed on the second day, which we'd thought was a result of stress or possibly a relapse of the food poisoning.
'I mean,' Jed continued, 'the bruise should be going down, shouldn't it?'
'You're the doctor, Jed.'
'I'm not a fucking doctor. That's the point.'
I leant over to take a look. 'Well, it's blacker than it was. Not so purple. I think that means it's healing.'
'Do you know that for a fact?'
'Not for a fact, no.' I paused. 'I'm sure it'll be just the food poisoning that's keeping him low. Jesse is still getting gripes.'
'Uh-huh.'
'And so is Bugs... unfortunately!' I added with a mischievous wink that Jed either missed or ignored.' ...Well, I'm going to get some food and catch up with Françoise and the others.'
'OK. Leave a cigarette will you? And come back later. Nobody comes in to check on me apart from you and Unhygienix. I think they're avoiding having to see Christo... Pretending it hasn't happened maybe.'
'Pretty hard,' I said, chucking him the packet. 'Sten's still lying in that sleeping-bag around the back of the longhouse. It's right on the other side from where I sleep, and I can smell him through the walls.'
Jed glanced at me. There was obviously something he wanted to say so I nodded, to say, 'Go on,' but he only sighed. 'Tomorrow morning,' he said sadly. 'Sal said she's given up on trying to persuade Karl to be there, so he'll be buried by the waterfall tomorrow morning.'
I sighed. Getting from one side of the clearing to the other had become like an eye-contact obstacle course. It was true that the shark attack had distracted attention away from the flare-up in the longhouse, but although an unspoken truce had been agreed, the tensions behind the incident were still there. Tactically, I had to hand it to Bugs. His group — basically the carpenters and Jean's gardeners minus Cassie and Jesse—had taken over the centre of the clearing. Starting from the first afternoon after the shark attack, I'd come back from the island to find them all sitting there in a loose circle, smoking dope and chatting quietly. So as well as the commanding vantage point they had over the camp, there was a psychological aspect. It was like they represented the establishment, making the rest of us feel like dissenters.
Our dissenter role was accentuated by the fact that, unlike the Bugs group, we had no sense of unity. In effect, we were several sub-groups. There was my old fishing detail and Keaty, which I included myself in, but there was also Jed, and I included myself with him as well. Then there was Moshe's detail, who seemed uncertain of where their affiliations lay, and there were the cooks. The cooks, as a result of Ella, partly included Jesse and Cassie. But you could also partly include Jesse and Cassie with my old fishing detail, because of their friendship with Keaty.
Finally, there were Sal and Karl. Karl was a law unto himself, drifting somewhere in outer space, and Sal was trying extremely hard to appear neutral — though we all knew where her loyalties would lie if push came to shove.
If it sounds complicated, that's because it was.
This, then, was the politics involved in crossing the clearing, and we all had to deal with it to the same degree. Except me, that is, who had an extra burden to deal with in the form of Cassie. Ever since the incident when Bugs had shat himself, she'd been treating me like I was mentally unstable, talking slowly, carefully enunciating each word, using an evenly modulated tone as if she thought a sudden noise would scare me. It was really getting on my nerves. But I'd have shinned up a rocket-ship tree to have avoided passing Bugs, and Sal would make me give her a troublesome report on our guests on the neighbouring island, so Cassie it had to be. Biting my lip and looking intently at the ground, I moved out from behind the foliage and set off in her direction. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that she was deep in conversation with Ella. 'I'm going to make it,' I thought optimistically, but I was wrong.
'Richard,' she said, just as I was about to move out of her range.
I looked up with a studiously blank expression.
'How are you?'
'Fine,' I replied quickly. 'On my way to see the patient.'
She smiled. 'No, Richard, I mean, how a
re
you?'
'Fine,' I repeated.
'I think this has been harder for you than anyone.'
'Oh well, not really.'
'Finding Christo...'
'It wasn't so bad...'
'...And now you have to work up on the island without company, without... support.'
I shrugged helplessly. It would have been quite impossible to explain that, from my point of view, the three days since Sten's death had been great. Jed's knowledge of first aid meant he was spending all his time looking after Christo, and that meant I got to spend my days alone in the DMZ.
Alone in a manner of speaking, anyway.
'But maybe being without company is a good thing, Cassie. It gives me time to think and come to terms with what's happened.' From similar encounters, I knew this was the right thing to say.
Cassie widened her eyes as if she hadn't considered this, but now that she had, yes, it was a good idea and she was impressed I'd thought of it. 'That's
a positive
attitude,' she said warmly. 'Well done.'
I felt that was enough for me to disappear without appearing rude, so I made my excuses and continued on my way.
I was aiming for the hospital tent. More accurately, the Swedes' tent, but seeing as Sten was dead and Karl had started living on the beach, I'd begun calling it the hospital tent. Disappointingly, no one else did. Even though I'd made a point of using the new name at every opportunity, it had stubbornly refused to catch on.
'Back early today,' said Jed, when I climbed in. 'It's still light.' He sounded very tired and was sweating like a pig. It was baking under the canvas, even with the flap pegged open.
'Got hungry, needed a fag. Nothing much going on.'
'No developments then.'
I looked at Christo.
'He's asleep. It's OK.'
'Oh... well, yeah, no developments.' I lied. There had been a very particular development, but not one I could go into. 'Just the same as always.'
'So we 're lucky again. I wonder how long it will last.'
'Mmm... I got some more grass by the way.'
'More? Richard, you...' Jed shook his head. '...We've got grass coming out of our ears. Every day you've brought some back.'
'People are smoking a lot at the moment.'
'We'd need all the hippies in Goa to smoke through your supplies, and if you take too much the guards might notice.'
I nodded. The same thought had crossed my mind, though with a different slant. I'd been hoping that my regular expeditions would get the guards on their toes. They were so pathetically easy to avoid
that it made you wonder why they were there in the first place.
'So what about Christo?' I asked, changing the subject. 'Any developments with him?'
Jed rubbed his eyes. 'Yes. He's getting worse.'
'Delirious?'
'No, just in pain. If he's awake. He spends most of the time unconscious and he's running a bad fever. Without a thermometer it's hard to be sure, but it's higher than yesterday... To tell you the truth...' Jed lowered his voice, '...I'm getting seriously worried about him.'
I frowned. Christo looked OK to me. When I'd seen him in the daylight, the morning after rescuing him, I'd felt slightly let down by the undramatic nature of his injuries. Apart from a single cut on his arm — the cut I'd mistaken for a mouth - his only wound was a large bruise on his stomach from where the shark had rammed him. The injuries were so superficial that he'd walked around on the first day, trying to find Karl. He'd only collapsed on the second day, which we'd thought was a result of stress or possibly a relapse of the food poisoning.
'I mean,' Jed continued, 'the bruise should be going down, shouldn't it?'
'You're the doctor, Jed.'
'I'm not a fucking doctor. That's the point.'
I leant over to take a look. 'Well, it's blacker than it was. Not so purple. I think that means it's healing.'
'Do you know that for a fact?'
'Not for a fact, no.' I paused. 'I'm sure it'll be just the food poisoning that's keeping him low. Jesse is still getting gripes.'
'Uh-huh.'
'And so is Bugs... unfortunately!' I added with a mischievous wink that Jed either missed or ignored.' ...Well, I'm going to get some food and catch up with Françoise and the others.'
'OK. Leave a cigarette will you? And come back later. Nobody comes in to check on me apart from you and Unhygienix. I think they're avoiding having to see Christo... Pretending it hasn't happened maybe.'
'Pretty hard,' I said, chucking him the packet. 'Sten's still lying in that sleeping-bag around the back of the longhouse. It's right on the other side from where I sleep, and I can smell him through the walls.'
Jed glanced at me. There was obviously something he wanted to say so I nodded, to say, 'Go on,' but he only sighed. 'Tomorrow morning,' he said sadly. 'Sal said she's given up on trying to persuade Karl to be there, so he'll be buried by the waterfall tomorrow morning.'
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