The Beach

∨ The Beach ∧

95

Potchentong

Take a green coconut, still up in the tree, and cut a small incision in its base. Under the incision, hang a flask to catch the dripping milk. Then leave it for a few hours. When you come back, you’ll find that the milk has fermented and that if you drink it you’ll get pissed. A neat trick. It tastes OK; a bit sugary, but OK. I was surprised I’d never seen it done before.

Thanks to the gardeners, we all had coconut-shell cups filled with the moonshine beer. ‘Down in one!’ Bugs was shouting. ‘Down the hatch!’ And people had fizzy juice running over their chins and chests. Françoise was eyeing Keaty, and Étienne was eyeing me, and we had more running over our chins than anyone else.

Bugs finished his cup first and kicked it into the jungle like it was a football. It must have fucking hurt, like kicking a lump of wood. But the idea caught on and just about everyone had a crack, and soon the clearing was filled up with people hopping around, clutching a foot, giggling like crazy. ‘Hopping mad,’ I said to Keaty, but he didn’t get the joke.

‘Sal keeps staring at me,’ he whispered. ‘She knows something. Should I kick the coconut? What if I break my foot? Would you leave me behi…’ He interrupted himself by dropping the shell and punting it. His face screwed up with the pain and he let out a yell louder than all the others. ‘Did it,’ he gasped. ‘Is she still looking?’ I shook my head. She never had been looking anyway.

When Jean began to produce a second round of drinks, I manoeuvred myself around to where Françoise and Étienne were standing. I partly did it to get away from Keaty, whose jumpiness didn’t seem helped by my presence. I think it reminded him of what was going on.

Françoise was putting in a great performance. If she was feeling the tension, I’d never have guessed it. Externally, she seemed to be in the party spirit one hundred per cent. When I walked up she gave me a flamboyant hug and a kiss on each cheek, and loudly said, ‘This is all so wonderful!’

‘I mentally congratulated her. She was even taking the performance through to slightly slurring her words, and not overdoing it either. Getting it exactly right.

‘Can I have a kiss too?’ said Jesse, nudging one of the carpenters.

‘No,’ Françoise replied with a dizzy smile. ‘You are too ugly.’

Jesse clasped one hand to his heart and the other to his forehead. ‘I’m too ugly! I’m too ugly for a kiss!’

‘That’s right,’ said Cassie. ‘You are.’ She gave him her beer. ‘Here. You’d better drown your sorrows.’

‘I think I should!’ Tipping his head back, he drained the liquid in one slurp and tossed the empty vessel behind him. ‘But you still love me, don’t you, Caz?’

‘Not when you call me Caz, Jez.’

‘Caz!’ he howled. ‘Caz! Jez! Caz!’ Then he scooped her up in his arms and began staggering off towards the longhouse.

♦

A couple of minutes later Étienne was called over to help carry the food to the eating area, and Françoise and I were left alone. She said something to me, but I didn’t catch it because I was concentrating on something else. By the kitchen hut I’d seen Unhygienix tasting some of the stew with a puzzled frown.

‘You are not listening to me,’ Françoise said.

Unhygienix shrugged and began organizing the cooking-pot carriers.

‘You never listen to me any more. Before, if I was talking to you, you would always listen. But now you have no time to even talk to me.’

‘Yeah…Has Keaty told you not to eat the stew?’

‘Richard!’

I frowned. ‘What?’

‘You are not listening to me!’

‘…Oh. Well, I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

‘Not me.’

‘Huh?’

‘I am not on your mind.’

‘Uh…Of course you are.’

‘I am not.’ She poked me in the ribs. ‘I think you do not love me any more.’

I looked at her in astonishment.’…Are you serious?’

‘Very serious,’ she said petulantly.

‘But…I mean…Do we have to talk about this right now? I mean, of all times, does it have to be right now?’

‘Yes. It must be now. Étienne is not here, and maybe soon I will never see you again…’

‘Françoise!’ I hissed. ‘Keep it down!’

‘Maybe I should keep it down, but maybe I should not. In the dope field, when I would not be quiet, you pushed me to the ground and held me tightly.’ She giggled. ‘It was very exciting.’

With a quick look around, I linked my arm in her elbow and began propelling her away towards the edge of the clearing. Once we were out of sight of the others I turned her round, held her head between my hands, and looked carefully at her pupils. They were all over the place. ‘Oh my God,’ I said furiously. ‘You’re drunk.’

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I am. It was this potchentong.’

‘Potchentong? What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘Jean calls the drink potchentong. It is not the real potchentong, but…’

‘How much have you had?’

‘Three cups.’

‘Three? When?’

‘With the football. The game.’

‘You idiot!’

‘I had no choice! They were passing around the shell, and you had to drink it all. They were watching and clapping, so what could I do?’

‘Christ! Did Étienne drink some too?’

‘Yes. Three cups.’

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Or meant to. That shit never works. I stopped when I was on about four.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Come with me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Over here.’

Françoise gasped as I pulled her behind a tree.

‘Open your mouth,’ I instructed.

‘Are you going to kiss me?’

The infuriating thing is I’m sure that if I had tried to kiss her, she’d have let me. She was that drunk. But I had to shake my head.

‘No, Françoise,’ I replied. ‘Not exactly.’

♦

She bit my fingers really fucking hard when I stuck them down her throat. And she struggled and squirmed like a snake. But I was holding her with a vice-grip around her neck, and once the fingers were in, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it.

After she’d finished throwing up, she slapped me in the face, which I accepted. Then she said, ‘I could have done that myself.’

I shrugged. ‘I didn’t have time for an argument. Are you feeling more sober now?’

She spat.’…Yes.’

‘Good. Now go and wash yourself down in the waterfall stream and then discreetly make your way back to the clearing. And don’t touch a drop of potchentong.’ I paused. ‘Or the stew.’

♦

When I returned to the party, Étienne had finished helping carry the food and was standing alone, probably looking for Françoise. I walked straight up to him. ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Are you drunk?’

He nodded unhappily. ‘The potchentong…They made me drink it and…’

‘I heard,’ I said, and tutted with sympathy. ‘Strong stuff, huh?’

‘Very strong.’

‘Well, no worries. Just come with me.’