The Beach

Even more amazing was that Christo was still alive, doing his pitiful inflate-deflate thing. So slight I'd be hard put to call it a genuine breath.

'Jed,' I said, and he didn't stir. I said it louder, again with no response. Next a huge cheer came from the marquee. It lasted a pretty long time, and when Jed still hadn't stirred I knew I had the golden opportunity.

I reached Christo's head by simply sliding around the left-hand side of the tent. Then, just as I'd suggested earlier, I pinched his nose and covered his mouth. There was no twitching, no resistance. A few minutes later I took my hands away, counted to one hundred and twenty and slid back to the cool outdoors. And that was it. It really was that simple.

As I returned across the clearing, clicking my fingers in time with my footsteps, I saw the reason for the cheering I'd heard. Both the Yugoslavian girls were in the central circle of candles, heads resting on each other's shoulder, slow dancing to the buzz of noise.

Something Happening Here

By the time I'd retaken my seat, the Yugoslavian girls had inspired some of the others. Sal and Bugs started dancing too, then Unhygienix and Ella, then Jesse and Cassie.

I may have had a few screws loose, but I was able to recognize this as a nice moment. Watching the four couples revolving around each other reminded me of the way things used to be on the beach. Even Sal seemed at peace, all her plans and manipulations pushed aside for the time being, aware of nothing more than straightforward affection for her lover. In fact, Sal looked like a completely different person. None of her confidence was apparent in her dancing. Her steps were tentative and slow, and she clung to Bugs with both arms, head pressed flat against his chest.

'You do not recognize her,' Gregorio said to me, having followed the direction of my gaze. While I'd been killing Christo, he'd taken my place so he could chat to Keaty. 'You have never seen her like this.'

'No… I haven't.'

'You know why?'

'No.'

'Because tonight it is Tet, and Sal will only smoke or drink on Tet. The rest of the year, her mind is always clear, all hours in the day. We get high, but she keeps her mind clear for us.'

'She cares very much about the beach.'

'Very much,' Greg echoed. 'Of course.' He smiled and stood up. 'I will get us more coconut beer. You would like some?'

Both Keaty and I said no.

'Just for me then?' 'Just for you.'

He ambled off towards the fishing buckets, which held the last of Jean's moonshine.

Ten o'clock. The dancing had stopped. Moshe was standing where the dancers had been, holding a candle up in one hand, the other hand touching the side of his face. I didn't know if anyone else was taking an interest in him, but I was. 'This flame,' he said, as hot wax ran on to his wrist and down the length of his arm, forming a slim stalactite on his elbow. 'Look.'

'Look,' said Etie

' 'Night John-Boy,' called one of the Aussie carpenters.

Six or seven people provided names, all at once. A ripple of laughter spread beneath the marquee.' 'Night Sal,' Ella called, above the competing voices. 'Night Sal, 'night Sal, 'night Sal.'

Soon Ella's cue became a soft chant that lasted as long as the cigarette I was smoking. Then Sal replied, 'Thank you, children,' and the ripple of laughter spread again.

A few minutes later, the carpenter who had called out 'John-Boy' said, 'Is anyone else seeing shit?' When no one answered he added, 'I'm seeing all kinds of shit over here.'

'Potchentong,' sang Jean, like a tolling bell.

Moshe dropped the candle.

'Seriously, guys, I'm seeing all kinds of shit.'

'Potchentong.'

'Did you put mushrooms in the potchentong?'

'This flame,' said Moshe. 'This flame burned me.' He began pulling the line of wax from his arm.

'Moshe's losing his fucking skin…'

'…I am losing my skin?'

'Losing his skin!'

'Potchen-fucking-tong…'

I leant over to Keaty. 'This can't be just the dope,' I whispered. 'Even eating it, dope wouldn't do this, would it?'

He wiped beads of sweat off the back of his neck. 'They're all crazy. It's worse being straight. It's doing my fucking head in just watching them.'

'Yes,' said Etie

I checked my watch for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. To the extent that I'd thought it out, I'd imagined leaving at around two or three a.m., when there'd be a bit of light creeping in to the sky. But Etie

'Give it an hour,' I said. 'I think we might be able to leave in an hour.'

What It Is Ain't Exactly Clear

But an hour was no good. At ten thirty, things started to go wrong.

Up until then I'd felt I was in control of the situation. Perhaps I even was in control of the situation. A number of difficulties –Francoise drunk, Christo breathing – had been solved; we'd got through the meal without anyone noticing that we were throwing our stew away; aside from Jed, there were no further loose ends to be tied; Tet was winding down. All we had to do was bide our time and then make our move.

But at ten thirty Mister Duck appeared in the marquee, and I knew I had a problem.

He appeared out of the shadows, stepping over the outer ring of candles. Then walked over to Sal and Bugs, and after acknowledging me with a vague grin, sat down beside them.

'Where are you going?' said Francoise, as I stood up. It was the first thing she'd said in a while. Since the dancing she'd been lying with her head in Etie

'We could be fucked,' I said, stupidly speaking my thoughts out loud.

Etie

'…I've got to check something out. The three of you don't move from this spot. Clear?'

'Not fucking clear.' Keaty caught me by the leg. 'What's going on, Richard?'

'I've got to do something.'

'You're going nowhere unless you tell me what's going on.'. '

'Let go of my leg. Greg is watching us.'

Keaty squeezed tighter. 'I don't care. You tell us what the fuck…'

I bent down and clamped my fingers on the soft underside of Keaty's wrist, blocking the blood. A couple of seconds later his hand fell away.

'Hi,' I said to Sal.

'Richard,' she replied happily. 'Richard, my right-hand man. How are you, right-hand man?'

'Left-handed. I've started seeing fucked-up stuff.' The last words were directed at Mister Duck, who seemed amused.

'Sit down with us.'

'I need to get some cigarettes from the longhouse.'

'If you were sitting with us…' Sal drifted off briefly, then picked up the thread. 'I'd know that you and Bugs were friends again.'

'We are friends.'

Mister Duck guffawed, but Bugs nodded, full of dreamy goodwill. 'Yeah, man,' he said. 'All friends here.'

'It was… this was the last thing I was worried about… I needed you two to be friends…'

I patted Sal's shoulder. 'There's nothing more for you to worry about. Things are back to normal, just how you wanted.'