The Beach

∨ The Beach ∧

89

Spud-Bashing

I watched Sal from just inside the longhouse door. Everyone was standing in a big circle and she was in the middle, glowing, marching round, dishing out orders like they were birthday presents. For Greg and Moshe’s teams, special fish quotas to achieve; for Bugs and the carpenters, an eating area to construct; for Unhygienix and the gardeners, a feast to prepare; for Ella, seven whole chickens to pluck.

‘Meat!’ I heard one of the Yugoslavian girls say. ‘I have not eaten meat since…since…’

Since the last Tet celebration, it was generally agreed. Nine or ten months ago, a few had eaten a monkey that Jean had killed. Monkey, which tasted more like lamb than chicken, Jesse reported. Something Sammy might have found interesting, as an exception to his rule of exotic food.

Watching Sal’s skilful organizing, I wondered how she’d react if I explained that our respite with the rafters was temporary in the extreme, and that all our efforts to protect the beach would come to nothing. I wondered if this news would frighten her as much as it frightened me.

♦

When everyone had woken that morning and the longhouse had begun to buzz, I’d pretended to be asleep. Difficult, when Françoise tried to rouse me, but Sal soon called her off.

‘Leave him be,’ she’d said, doubtless realizing I was faking. ‘Richard had a tough day yesterday, collecting all the dope for tonight.’

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the longhouse to empty and I was able to remove the sheets from over my head, light a candle, and a cigarette. I’d actually been awake a good two hours before the others, itching for nicotine all that time. I should have crept out when I had the chance. It would have meant I wasn’t trapped in the longhouse. But at five a.m. I knew it would still be dark outside, and darkness was something I didn’t feel ready for. I didn’t know what it might be hiding. So instead, I had two hours of my imagination running riot, trying to second-guess Mister Duck.

The only thing I could be sure of was that if Vietnam was heading for a bitter end, I was too. Past that, I couldn’t be sure of anything. Working through the possibilities, the areas the end might come were as good as infinite. As an infantry man, all it might take was an ill-advised command from my CO. One that pushed my luck in the DMZ, accepted against my better instincts. Equally it might come from random bad luck. The same luck that jammed a soldier’s M16 at the wrong time could make me slip as I jumped from the waterfall.

But knowing Mister Duck in the way I did, these were not the threats that scared me the most. They were real enough, but they didn’t have his nightmare hallmark. When he spoke about the bitter end, deep down I knew he only meant one thing. The VC. The fall of Saigon.

I was fortunate that, in her attempt to wake me, Françoise hadn’t tried to pull the sheets from my head. If she had done, she’d have discovered that they were soaking wet and cold with sweat.

♦

By eight, all the camp had been given their duties for the day’s preparations and were busy working around the clearing. Worried about being seen and asked to join in, I went back to sit on my bed. It was a waste of time, knowing that someone would come to find me sooner or later, but I wanted to put it off as long as possible.

It was past eight thirty when a plump silhouette appeared in the longhouse door-frame. ‘You’re being missed,’ Sal said, walking through the shadows until she was caught in the light from my candle. ‘Greg’s asked if you can work on his detail today. Keaty wants to swap notes on Ko Pha-Ngan.’ She smiled. ‘And Françoise, I know you’ll be glad to hear, has asked me to make certain you join them as soon as you wake up.’

‘What about Jed?’ I asked quickly.

‘Jed?’ Sal frowned as she settled into a lotus position beside my bed. ‘I haven’t seen him yet. But I’m sure he’d like to see you too.’

‘…I’ll go to see him later.’

‘Fine.’ She nodded. ‘Actually, just a thought, but maybe leave it for a while. There’s quite a few people near the tent at the moment, and I have a feeling that things are getting extremely delicate with Christo. Jed might prefer not to be disturbed, and I think we should respect that.’

‘But he might prefer me to…’

‘I’ll check on him myself in a little while if it’s worrying you. And anyway…’ The barest suggestion of apprehension appeared on Sal’s face. So slight that if I’d looked away as it happened, I’d never have noticed a change. ‘There was something else I was hoping you might do.’

I tried to keep my expression as steady as hers.

‘You see, Richard, I know it may feel as if with our rafters gone, our troubles are as good as over. But I’m afraid that isn’t quite the case. We still have the problem of the Swedes, and having got this far, I’m extremely reluctant to risk anything else going wrong. Now…’ She paused to tuck a stray curl of hair back over her ears. ‘…If Christo dies during Tet, no one has to know. People aren’t exactly begging for news, so I can hold it back until the time feels right. No, our real problem, to my mind, is…’

‘Karl…’

‘…Karl. That’s right. And I’m afraid the responsibility for him must lie with you.’

Unconsciously I squeezed the sheets with my fists. ‘With me?’

‘Yes, you’re quite right to look so guilty.’

‘Guilty?’

‘If you hadn’t disturbed him, he’d have stayed in his hole all through today and tonight, and through the next week as well, I’d have thought. Of course, we’d have had to deal with him at some point, but I was planning to leave that matter until after Tet…Thanks to you, a luxury that has gone.’ She gestured vaguely in the direction of the longhouse door. ‘Take a look out there. You can see how important Tet is to everyone here. It’s vital we make sure it goes smoothly. I can’t really stress that enough…’

With a jolt, I realized the direction she was taking. She might have been a long way off delivering the bottom line, but I suddenly understood what it would be.

‘So,’ she said, and now I could clearly hear the controlled tension in her voice. ‘Let me spell the problem out. With Karl running around like a headless chicken, who’s to say he won’t suddenly appear during…’

‘Sal,’ I interrupted. ‘I won’t do it.’

There was a short silence.

Although her composure remained fixed, I could sense the level of calculation at which Sal’s mind was working. With a chess player’s vacant gaze she was running through lists of responses, possible responses to the responses, and beyond. Four or five moves in advance, the variables becoming more complex at each step.

Eventually she crossed her arms. ‘You won’t do what, Richard?’

‘I won’t, Sal. I won’t do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘Don’t ask me, please…’

‘Don’t ask you to…’

I looked at her carefully, wondering if it was possible I’d read the signals wrong. But as my eyes moved to her face, hers dipped, and I knew for certain I was right.

And Sal saw this too. Immediately the pretence dropped, and with a slight shrug she said, ‘I’m afraid I am asking you, Richard.’

I shook my head.’ Sal, please…’

‘I’m going to leave the longhouse now. In half an hour I’ll come back and you will be gone. By tonight, all of our troubles will be behind us. The last month will be concluded. We’ll never have to even think about it ever again.’

She stood up to go, drawing in a deep breath as she rose.

‘The beach is my life, Richard, but it’s yours too. Don’t forget that. You can’t afford to let me down.’

I nodded miserably.

‘Good.’ She returned the nod, turned around, and walked away.

Outside, everyone apart from the fishing details was busy in the clearing. Most were outside the kitchen hut, helping to peel an enormous mound of vegetables, at least four times our usual ration. Unhygienix had stuck some of the chicken feathers in his hair. The carpenters were in the middle, marking out the dimension of the seating area. Bugs and Cassie had started to lay down palm leaves, loosely meshed together as a carpet.

All engrossed in their work and laughter. I easily ducked around the jungle side of the longhouse without being seen.