The Beach

∨ The Beach ∧

25

Exocet

Neutralized by wet hair and dark skin, each of the six swimmers looked like a carbon copy of the other. I didn’t recognize Étienne and Françoise until they’d crossed the hot sands and were laying out their catch.

Something made me hesitate before I stepped out from behind the tree-line. Seeing my two travelling companions on such friendly terms with the other swimmers felt strange. They were all laughing and calling each other by name. It made me realize how much I’d been left out by sleeping through the first night and day in the camp. And then, when I did step out, none of the group noticed me. I had to stand there a few moments, a grin frozen on my face, waiting for one of them to look up.

Eventually, not knowing what else to do, I coughed. Six heads turned in unison.

‘Hi,’ I said uncertainly. There was a silence. Françoise was frowning slightly, as if she couldn’t quite place me. Then Étienne’s face split into a huge smile.

‘Richard! You are better!’ He bounded over and embraced me. ‘Everybody,’ he said, tightly gripping me with one wet arm and making an expansive gesture with the other. ‘This is our friend who was sick.’

‘Hi, Richard,’ the swimmers chorused.

‘Hi…’

Étienne hugged me again. ‘I am so happy you are better!’

‘I’m happy too.’

I looked over Étienne’s shoulder at Françoise. She was still standing with the group and I smiled at her. She returned the smile but in a lop-sided way. Or a knowing way. I suddenly wondered what kinds of things I might have blurted out to her in my delirious state.

As if to panic me further she walked over and lightly brushed a hand against my arm. ‘It is good to see you better, Richard,’ she said flatly, then as I opened my mouth to reply she turned away.

‘I caught a fish!’ said Étienne. ‘This is my first time fishing, and I caught a big fish!’ He pointed to the catch. ‘You see this big blue fish?’

‘Uh-huh,’ I replied, only half listening as cold thoughts flooded my head.

‘Mine!’

♦

I was introduced to the other swimmers.

Moshe was a tall Israeli with an ear-splitting laugh. He used it in the same way as a madman uses a gun, spraying it around with bewildering randomness. Hearing the laugh made me blink instinctively, like hearing a hammer pound on brick or metal. Our conversation was impeded by having to watch him through the strobe effect of my convulsing eyes.

Then there were two haughty Yugoslavian girls whose names I could never pronounce and certainly never spell, and who made a big deal about being from Sarajevo. They said, ‘We are from Sarajevo,’ then paused meaningfully, like they expected me to faint or congratulate them.

And there was Gregorio. Gregorio I warmed to at once. He had a kind face and a soft Latin lisp, and when we were introduced he said, ‘I am very pleathed to meet you.’ Then he dried his hand on his T–shirt before offering it to shake, adding, ‘We are all very pleathed to meet you.’

♦

I can’t remember one thing about what Étienne said to me as we walked back along the shallows. I remember he was talking about what I’d missed while I was asleep, and I have a vision of the way he cradled his catch, smothering his brown chest with silver scales, but everything else is a blank. It’s a measure of how disturbed I was by what I might have said to Françoise.

I realized I had to find out the truth or it would drive me crazy. Françoise was walking a few paces behind the group so I lagged behind Étienne, pretending to find an interesting sea shell. But as soon as I did so, she picked up her pace. Then when I caught up with her she seemed to deliberately drop behind again.

Seemed. It was impossible for me to tell. When she slowed she was apparently distracted by something in the trees, but that might have been no more real than my interesting sea shell.

It was enough for me. By now I felt sure my suspicions were correct, and rational or otherwise, I decided I had to clear the air without any delay.

When I lagged behind the next time, I caught her by the arm.

‘Françoise,’ I asked, trying to find the right balance between firm and casual. ‘Is there something funny going on?’

‘Funny?’ she replied, wide-eyed. ‘Oh, well, everything here is so strange. Of course, I am not used to it yet.’

‘No, I didn’t mean here…Look, maybe it’s just me, but it feels like there’s something funny going on between us.’

‘Us?’

‘Me and you,’ I said, and instantly began to blush. I coughed and pointed my head at the ground. ‘I thought that, while I was ill, maybe I said something that…’

‘Oh.’ She looked at me. ‘What are you afraid you said?’

‘I don’t know what I said. I’m asking you.’

‘Yes. And I am asking what you are afraid you said.’

Fuck, I thought. Rewind.

‘Nothing. I’m not afraid I said anything.’

‘So…?’

‘So I don’t know. I just thought you were acting funny. It’s just me. Forget it.’

Françoise stopped. ‘OK,’ she said. The rest of the group began drawing away from us. ‘Let me say it, Richard. You are worried you said you loved me, yes?’

‘What?’ I exclaimed, momentarily thrown by her Exocet-like bluntness. Then I gathered my wits and lowered my voice. ‘Jesus Christ, Françoise! Of course not!’

‘Richard…’

‘I mean, that’s a ridiculous idea.’

‘Richard, please. It is not ridiculous. It was what you were afraid of.’

‘No. Not at all. I was…’

‘Richard!’

I paused. She was staring straight at me. ‘Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘It’s what I was afraid of.’

She sighed.

‘Françoise,’ I began, but she interrupted me.

‘It does not matter, Richard. You had this fever, and in a fever people can say strange things, no? Things they do not mean. So you are afraid you said something strange. It means nothing. I understand.’

‘You aren’t angry?’

‘Of course not.’

‘And…Did I say anything? Anything like that?’

‘No.’

‘Really?’

She looked away. ‘Yes, really. You are very sweet to worry, but it is nothing. Do not think of this again.’ Then she pointed to the others, who were now fifty feet down the beach. ‘Come. We should go.’

‘OK,’ I said quietly.

‘OK.’

♦

We caught up with the group, neither of us talking. Françoise walked up to Étienne and started chatting with him in French, and I walked a little aside from the others. As we neared the turning off the beach to the camp-site, Gregorio sidled over.

‘You feel like the new boy in school?’

‘Oh, uh…Yeah. A bit.’

‘These first days are difficult, of course, but do not worry. You will find friends quickly, Richard.’

I smiled. The way he emphasized the ‘you’ made it sound personal, like he thought there was something particular about me that would make it easy to find friends. I knew it was just the way he spoke English, but it made me feel better all the same.