The Beach

∨ The Beach ∧

29

Negative

On the morning of my fourth Sunday, all the camp were down on the beach. Nobody worked on Sundays.

The tide was out so there was forty feet of sand between the tree-line and the sea. Sal had organized a huge game of football and just about everyone was taking part, but not me and Keaty. We were sitting out on one of the boulders, listening to the shouts of the players drifting over the water. Along with our enthusiasm for video games, an indifference to football was something we shared.

A flash of silver slipped past my feet. ‘Gotcha,’ I muttered, flicking an imaginary spear at the fish, and Keaty scowled.

‘Easy life.’

‘Fishing?’

‘Fishing.’

I nodded. Fishing was easy. I’d had the idea that as a city-softened westerner I wouldn’t be able to manage such an ancient skill, but actually it was as simple as anything. All you had to do was stand on a rock, wait until a fish swam by, then skewer it. The only trick was in snapping the wrist, the same as in throwing a Frisbee. That way it span in the water and didn’t lose momentum.

Keaty ran a hand backwards over his head. He hadn’t shaved it since I’d arrived, and now his scalp was covered in a fortnight’s worth of stubble.

‘I’ll tell you what it is,’ he said.

‘Mmm?’

‘It’s the heat. Fishing you can cool off any time, but in the garden you just bake.’

‘How about the waterfall?’

‘Ten minutes away. You go there, swim, and by the time you get back you’re hot again.’

‘Have you talked to Sal?’

‘Yesterday. She said I can transfer if I find someone to swap with, but who wants to work on the garden detail?’

‘Jean does.’

‘Yeah. Jean does.’ Keaty sighed. ‘Jean de fucking Florette.’

‘Jean le Frogette,’ I said, and he laughed.

A cheer erupted from the beach. Étienne appeared to have scored a goal. He was running around in circles with his hand in the air and Bugs, captain of the other side, was yelling at his goalkeeper. Up by the trees I could see Françoise. She was sitting with a small group of spectators, applauding.

I stood up. ‘Feel like a swim?’

‘Sure.’

‘We could swim over to the corals. I haven’t really checked them out yet. I’ve been meaning to.’

‘Great, but let’s get Greg’s mask first. There’s no point swimming to the corals without the mask.’

I glanced back to the beach. The game had started again. Bugs had the ball and was weaving down the sand, looking to make up the deficit, and Étienne was hot on his tail.

‘You want to get it? I’ll wait here.’

‘OK.’

Keaty dived off the boulder. For a few strokes he stayed underwater, and I followed his shape along the seabed until he was lost from view. He finally resurfaced an impressive distance away.

‘I’ll get some grass too,’ he called.

I gave him the thumbs up and he ducked back under again.

♦

I turned away from the beach, towards the seaward cliffs. I was looking for a split in the rock-face that Gregorio had pointed out a few days before. According to him, the most spectacular of the coral gardens lay in the waters directly beneath it.

At first I was confused. I was sure I was looking in the right place.

Gregorio had indicated the split by making me follow a line of boulders that stretched across the lagoon like stepping-stones. The boulders were still there, but the fissure had vanished.

Then I found it. Gregorio had shown me the spot in late afternoon. The cliffs had been in full shadow, and the split had been dark. But now, caught in the low morning sun, the jagged edge of the fissure glowed white against the black granite.

‘Like a negative,’ I said out loud, smiling at my mistake.

Another cheer floated over from the football game. Bugs’ team had pulled one back.