The Beach

∨ The Beach ∧

6

Françoise

Étienne gazed at the map for five minutes without speaking. Then he said, ‘Wait,’ and darted out of my room. I heard him rummaging around next door, then he came back holding a guidebook. ‘There.’ He pointed to an open page. ‘These are the islands in the map. A national marine park west of Ko Samui and Ko Pha-Ngan.’

‘Ko Samui?’

‘Yes. Look. All the islands have protection. Tourists cannot visit, you see?’

I couldn’t. The guidebook was written in French, but I nodded anyway.

Étienne paused, reading, then continued. ‘Ah. Tourists can go to…’ He took the map and pointed to one of the bigger islands in the small archipelago, three islands down from where X marked the beach.’…this one. Ko Phelong. Tourists can go to Ko Phelong on a special guided tour from Ko Samui, but…but they can only stay one night. And they cannot leave the island.’

‘So this beach is in a national park?’

‘Yes.’

‘How are people supposed to get there?’

‘They cannot get there. It is a national park.’

I leant back on the bed and lit a cigarette. ‘That’s that sorted then. The map is bullshit.’

Étienne shook his head. ‘No. Not bullshit. Really, why did the man give it to you? He went to so much trouble. See the little waves.’

‘He called himself Daffy Duck. He was mad.’

‘I do not think so. Listen.’ Étienne picked up his guidebook and began a halting translation.

‘The most adventurous travellers are…exploring the islands beyond Ko Samui to find…to find, ah, tranquillity, and Ko Pha-Ngan is a favourite…destination. But even Ko Pha-Ngan is…’ He paused. ‘OK, Richard. This says travellers try new islands beyond Ko Pha-Ngan because Ko Pha-Ngan is now the same as Ko Samui.’

‘The same?’

‘Spoiled. Too many tourists. But look, this book is three years old. Now maybe some travellers feel these islands past Ko Pha-Ngan are also spoiled. So they find a completely new island, in the national park.’

‘But they aren’t allowed in the national park.’

Étienne raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Exactly! This is why they go there. Because there will be no other tourists.’

‘The Thai authorities would just get rid of them.’

‘Look how many islands are there. How could they be found? Maybe if they hear a boat they can hide, and the only way to find them is if you know they are there – and we do. We have this.’ He slid the map across the bed at me. ‘You know, Richard, I think I want to find this beach.’

I smiled.

‘Really,’ said Étienne. ‘You can believe me. I do.’

♦

I did believe him. He had a look in his eye that I recognized. In my early adolescence I went through a stage of mild delinquency, along with two of my friends, Sean and Danny. During the early hours of the morning, weekends only because we had school to think of, we would patrol the streets around our area, smashing things. ‘Hot Bottle’ was the favourite game. It involved nicking empty milk bottles from people’s doorsteps. We would throw the bottles high into the air and try to catch them. Most of the fun came when bottles were dropped, seeing the silvery explosion of glass, feeling the shards flick against our jeans. Running from the scene of the crime was an extra kick, ideally with the shouts of enraged adults ringing in our ears.

The look I recognized in Étienne’s eyes came from one particular experience when we graduated from smashing milk bottles to smashing a car. We’d been sitting in my kitchen, playfully discussing the idea, when Sean said, ‘Let’s just do it.’ He said it casually, but his eyes said he was serious. Through them I could see he’d already moved beyond thoughts of practicality and consequence, and was hearing the sound of the windscreen folding in.

Étienne, I imagined, was hearing the sound of the surf on this hidden beach, or hiding from the marine-park wardens as he made his way to the island. The effect on me was the same as when Sean said, ‘Let’s just do it.’ Abstract thoughts suddenly flipped into thoughts about reality. Following the path of the map had become something that could happen.

♦

‘I think,’ I said, ‘we could probably hire a fisherman to take us to the island.’

Étienne nodded. ‘Yes. It might be difficult to get there, but not impossible.’

‘We’d have to go to Ko Samui first.’

‘Or Ko Pha-Ngan.’

‘Or maybe we could even do it from Surat Thani.’

‘Or Ko Phelong.’

‘We’d have to ask around a little…’

‘But there would be someone to take us.’

‘Yes…’

At that moment Françoise appeared, having returned from the police station.

If Étienne was the one who turned the idea of finding the beach into a possibility, it was Françoise who made it happen. The odd thing was, she did it almost accidentally, simply by taking it for granted that we were going to try.

I didn’t want to seem impressed by her prettiness, so when she stuck her head round the door, I looked up, said ‘Hi,’ then went back to studying the map.

Étienne shifted over on my bed and patted the space he had made: Françoise stayed in the doorway. ‘I did not wait for you,’ he said, presumably speaking in English for my sake. ‘I met Richard.’ She didn’t follow the language lead and began rattling away in French. I couldn’t follow their conversation past recognizing the odd word, including my own name, but the speed and forcefulness of the exchange made me think that either she was pissed off that he’d left without her, or she was just keen to fill him in on what had happened at the police station.

After some minutes the tone of their voices relaxed. Then Françoise said in English, ‘May I have a cigarette, Richard?’

‘Sure.’ I gave her one and held out a light. As she cupped her hands to cover the flame from the ceiling fan, I noticed a tiny dolphin tattoo half hidden behind her watch-strap. It seemed like a strange place for a tattoo and I nearly commented on it, but to do so seemed too familiar. Scars and tattoos. You need to know someone fairly well before asking questions.

‘So what is this map from the dead man?’ Françoise asked.

‘I found it on my door this morning…’ I started to explain, but she cut me off.

‘Yes, Étienne has told me already. I want to see it.’

I passed the map to her and Étienne pointed out the beach.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Near Ko Samui.’

Étienne nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes. Just a little ride on a boat. Maybe first to Ko Phelong, because the tourists can go there for one day.’

Françoise put her finger on the X-marked island. ‘How can we know what we will find here?’

‘We can’t,’ I replied.

‘And if there is nothing, how do we get back to Ko Samui?’

‘We get back to Ko Phelong,’ said Étienne. ‘We wait for a tourist boat. We say we were lost. It doesn’t matter.’

Françoise took a delicate puff on her cigarette, barely taking the smoke into her lungs. ‘I see…Yes…When are we leaving?’

I looked at Étienne and he looked back at me.

‘I am tired of Bangkok,’ Françoise continued. ‘We can get the night train south tonight.’

‘Well, uh,’ I stammered, thrown by the speed at which events were developing. ‘The thing is, we’ve got to wait a bit. This guy who committed suicide…I’m not supposed to leave the guesthouse for twenty-four hours.’

Françoise sighed. ‘Go to the police station and explain you have to leave. They have your passport number, yes?’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘So they will let you go.’

She stubbed out her cigarette on the floor as if to say, end of discussion. Which it was.