The Beach

∨ The Beach ∧

79

Black Cloud

I felt I could use some time to think myself, so instead of going back to the clearing I headed down to the beach. I had complicated thoughts about the way things had developed over the course of the day, and I wanted to clear them up in my head.

The way I saw it, there was something that both Sal and Jed hadn’t picked up on. Whether the rafters reached the beach or not, there was still the question of Karl.

I’ll put it another way. Sal and Jed were stuck on the worst-case scenario. They were thinking in terms of what would happen if the rafters reached us. Zeph and Sammy would arrive, probably during Tet. Everyone would go crazy and freak out about the secrecy of the beach being compromised, and unless I got to Zeph and Sammy first, I’d be in a lot of trouble too. The morale that had been revived by Sal’s stirring speech would be completely destroyed. Not only that, there’d be the difficulty of explaining to outsiders why we had one insane and one dying Swede with us. It would be a catastrophe.

I, however, was thinking in terms of the rafters not reaching us. In the back of my mind, the reason I’d been half looking forward to Zeph and Sammy’s arrival was the challenge of stopping them. And, I was fairly confident, the challenge would somehow be met. The point was that it had to be met. The consequences of them succeeding were far too serious. I didn’t know how we’d manage it, but with Sal on the case my instincts were that we wouldn’t fail.

So this left not a worst-case scenario to consider, but a medium-case one.

The rafters never reach us. The beach is never aware they even tried. The Tet celebration gives us a fresh start for the new year, and we would cope with Christo’s death the same way we’d coped with Sten’s. But what about Karl? Karl wasn’t about to die. He was going to stick around indefinitely, a constant reminder of our troubles, an albatross around our necks.

This bothered me a great deal.

♦

I bent over, peering at Karl’s yellow face through the palm-tree fronds of his shelter. He was painfully thin. Even though he’d accepted food recently, flesh had fallen off him over the past week. Already his collar-bone stuck out so far it looked like a suitcase handle, as if you could pick him up by it. He’d probably have been light enough if I’d wanted to try.

Lying by the gap in his shelter – the one that gave him a clear view over the lagoon to the caves – was a coconut-shell half-full of water and a banana-leaf parcel of rice. What was left of the rice, I noticed, was browning. From this I guessed it was the parcel Françoise had left him yesterday, dried out from a day in the sun. It suggested Françoise hadn’t replenished the supply. I contemplated the possibility that this was a new therapy tactic – ignoring him so he’d be goaded into signs of life – but I doubted it. It was more likely that, gripped by the camp’s sudden upbeat brand of madness, Françoise had simply forgotten. I remembered my conversation with her the day before. She’d seemed concerned about him back then. It was interesting how quickly Sten’s funeral had turned everything around.

‘Karl,’ I said.

Maybe it was hearing his name, or maybe I was tricked by a breeze disturbing the palm fronds and playing the shadow slits across his head, but I thought I saw him move. I chose to take this as a reaction.

‘Karl, you’re a fucking albatross.’

I wasn’t much bothered that he couldn’t understand me. In a way, for Karl’s sake, it was probably a good thing.

‘You’re a black cloud.’

This time Karl did move. No doubt about it. He made a little jerky movement forward, like he was stiff from having sat still so long. Then slowly he reached out of the shelter and picked up the coconut-shell.

‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Drinking. That’s good.’ I rubbed my stomach. ‘Mmm.’

He took a tiny sip – it couldn’t have done more than wet his mouth – and put the shell back in its place. I glanced over. There was still a gulp of water left in the bottom.

‘You left some. Aren’t you going to finish it up?’ I rubbed my stomach again. ‘Mmm-mm. Very delicious. Aren’t you going to have a little more?’

He didn’t move. I watched him for a short while before shaking my head.

‘No, Karl. You aren’t. And that’s my point. You’re going to keep going like this for days. You’ll get so thin and weak that you won’t be able to drink even if you want to. Then we’ll have to force-feed you or something and this shark business will end up hanging over us for weeks…Maybe more!’

I sighed and, as an afterthought, kicked down his shelter.

‘Get sane, Karl. Do it in a hurry. Because Christo’s going to be dead soon.’