The Beach

∨ The Beach ∧

100

Apocalypse

I had realized that escape was not an option and we were all about to get killed, and accepted the realization without bitterness. There wasn’t anything I could do to stop it happening, and I felt I’d be dying with a clear conscience. Although I’d known that Vietnam might end this way, I hadn’t run. I’d selflessly stuck around until I was sure that my friends would be able to run with me. For once, I’d done the right thing.

And this is why I was furious that the VC weren’t doing the right thing. They weren’t doing the right thing at all, and I was outraged.

As I’d turned back from looking at my companions, I saw the dope-guard boss jab a finger at me. The next moment, one of his men dragged me out of the marquee and forced me to the ground. Appalled, it dawned on me I was going to get shot first.

First! If I had to get shot, then tenth, eleventh, twelfth – fine. But first. I couldn’t believe it. I’d miss out on everything.

The guard rested the muzzle of his AK against my forehead. ‘You’re making a big mistake,’ I said angrily. ‘You’re really screwing up.’ I tilted my head at Moshe. ‘Why don’t you do him instead? What difference does it make to you? Do him.’

His sleek face gazed down at me indifferently.

‘Him, for Christ’s sake! That ape!’

‘…Aape.’

‘Ape, you fucking slope! You dink mother-fucker! That gorilla! Him over there!’

I pointed at Moshe, who moaned feebly. Then the guard behind kicked me in the back.

‘Oh shit,’ I gasped as red pain burned into my kidneys.

Unable to stop myself I rolled over on to my side, and saw my friends. The tableau didn’t seem to have shifted, apart from Étienne, who had covered his eyes.

‘OK.’ With an effort, I got back on to my knees. ‘At least let me choose who does it.’

I didn’t make the mistake of pointing again. Instead I swivelled around so that it was the kick-boxer’s gun that was aiming at my head.

‘I want this guy. Fair enough, right? Get him to do it.’

Kick-boxer frowned, then glanced over at the boss. The boss shrugged.

‘Yes you. You with the dragon tattoo.’ I paused, then had a look at his mouth. It was closed, pouting slightly with his puzzled expression. ‘Guess what? I know you don’t have any front teeth!’ I showed him mine and gave them a tap. ‘Missing, huh?’

He lifted a wary finger and touched between his lips.

‘That’s right!’ I yelled. ‘You don’t have any front teeth! And I already knew that!’

The kick-boxer kept his finger in his mouth a few moments, exploring his gums. Then he said something to the boss in Thai.

‘Ah.’ The boss nodded. ‘You the boy always come to see us…Every day, ha? You li’ to come see us.’

I glared at him. Then, to my surprise, he squatted beside me and ruffled my hair.

‘Funny boy in trees, every day. We li’ you too. Take some Mary-Jane, ha? OK Mary-Jane. Some Mary-Jane, for you frien’s.’

‘Hurry up and kill me,’ I said bravely.

‘Kill you? Ah, funny boy…I no’ kill you now.’ He ruffled my hair again and rose. ‘I no’ kill anyone now,’ he said to the huddled figures under the marquee. ‘I give you warning. You people here, tha’ OK for me. One year, two year, three year, no problem, ha?’

If he was waiting for a reply, none came. This seemed to piss him off. He took a slow lungful of air, then flew into a hysteria of rage. ‘Bu’ now, you makin’ problem! You makin’ bad fuckin’ problem!’

There was complete silence as he reached into his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper. Even the cicadas seemed to have got the message. ‘You makin’ maps!’ he screamed. Half the next sentence was lost on me, drowned out by a pounding in my ears. ‘…Bu’ why you wan’ do tha’? Maps bring new people! New people here! New people are danger for me! Tha’ is bad fuckin’ danger for you!’

He hesitated, and with the same bewildering abruptness, became calm again. ‘Okey-dokey,’ he muttered. Then he dropped the map on the dirt, unholstered his pistol, and fired a shot into it. The shot missed but was close enough to send the paper fluttering into the air. For the second time I was deafened. The muzzle had only been a foot away from my head.

When my hearing began to return, the boss was chatting away in an eerily conversational tone of voice. ‘So, my frien’s. I li’ you all ve’y much. Ve’y good. One year, two years, no problem. So you lis’en to my warning. Nex’ time I will kill you all.’

This final remark didn’t have time to sink in, because for a third time my senses were put out of action. The boss punctuated his sentence by whipping his gun on the top of my head. Out of shock, I tried to stand up, and he hit me again. I dropped straight back down to my knees. The next thing I knew he was holding on to the back of my T–shirt, keeping me steady.

‘Wait,’ I said thickly. My bravado was entirely gone. I was afraid. Having had a little taste of what it might be like, I was absolutely certain I didn’t want to be beaten to death. ‘Wait a moment please.’

No use. The boss hit me incredibly hard. For a few seconds I was conscious, staring at his shoes. Reeboks, like the Ko Samui spiv. Then I blacked out.

♦

I didn’t know what was going on. A few things registered – footsteps, rustling, some hushed Thai voices, a couple of kicks that rolled me over. But none of these things felt connected to any of the others. They were arbitrary and baffling.

When I was finally able to get up and stay up, which must have been at least ten minutes later, the VC had gone. I began crawling back to the marquee, where I could still see the blurred shapes of my companions, and while I crawled I abstractedly wondered why I’d been chosen as the punch-bag. In fact, why have a punch-bag at all? If they hadn’t been planning on shooting us, it seemed unfair to have put me through all that pain.