And you want to know if he's got something on him that might, say, leap across the gap. I mean like a snake or other beast.
Anyway, it made me feel pretty sick, the way he looked. The whole business disgusted me, especially that he didn't have any pants on. But then I got up high enough to see his face, and things got a hundred times worse.
I won't even get into what he looked like.
"It's him for sure?" Andrew called.
"I think so."
"Do you think so, or know so?"
"He's all wrecked up. His face. But I guess I'm sure."
"Hung?"
He meant "hanged." Hung meant something very different, also applicable to the situation. I was in no mood to make any cracks, though. I said, "Yeah. But he's got blood all over his hair and face. It looks like maybe someone whacked him on the head, then strung him up."
"Go ahead and cut him down."
"Just a second."
I checked out the rope. It didn't look very new, and was a little thicker than an ordinary clothesline. It had an actual "hangman's knot." I counted thirteen coils. They were tight against Keith's right cheek, and the thickness of the knot had shoved his head sideways. From the top of the knot, the rope went straight up to a limb several feet above his head. It looped over the limb, then stretched down behind his back, straight as a rod to where it was tied off on the limb below his feet.
He'd probably been hauled up by someone standing on that lower limb.
Maybe he'd been killed first, or at least knocked out.
"What're you doing up there?" Andrew called. "Cut him down!"
I wondered if there might be a way to lower him.
If he could be hauled up, why not lowered?
Because, looking down, I could see that there was no extra rope at the lower limb. After tying it off, the killer must've cut off any excess.
I hated to just cut him loose and let him drop.
"Damn it, Rupert!"
"He'll fall," I called back.
"So what? He's dead. He won't feel a thing."
"Okay, okay."
I climbed a little higher. Hugging the tree with my left arm, I brought up my right leg and pulled the knife out of my sock. I used my teeth to open the blade. Then I reached out over the top of Keith's head and pressed the edge of the blade against the rope.
Andrew's knife must've been awfully sharp.
One slice, and the rope popped.
Keith dropped.
It was worse than I expected.
He hit the limb underneath him, all right. But it went in between his legs and slammed him in the crotch. The whole limb shook. He sat there for a few seconds, head hanging. In his bright shirt, he looked like a flamboyant cowboy who'd fallen asleep in the saddle. Then he slumped over sideways. He fell the rest of the way head first.
Andrew let out a grunty noise and pranced backward to get out of the way.
Keith hit the ground with the back of his head. His spine seemed to bend in half. His legs shot down and his knees struck the ground on both sides of his face. For a second, he gazed up at me from down there like some sort of mutant that was half-face, half-ass. Then he tumbled over sideways.
I pushed my face against the tree trunk and sort of trembled for a while.
Pretty soon, Andrew started telling me to quit stalling and climb down -- and bring the rope with me.
I did it. I had to climb out on that lower limb to get the rope. My hands shook too badly for me to untie the knots, so I used Andrew's knife to cut it loose. Then I just let it fall.
On the ground, I gave back Andrew's knife. He'd already picked up the rope and coiled it.
"What're we going to do with him?" I asked.
"Kimberly can't see him this way." He handed the rope to me, then crouched by the body and took off Keith's noose. "She'll want a look at him, though. We can't get around that. If she doesn't see his face, she'll never believe he's really dead."
At that point, Andrew pulled and tugged at the body until it was stretched out flat on its back.
"Where's his damn trunks?"
"The killer must've taken them."
"Look around."
I did, but couldn't find Keith's swimming trunks, sandals, or anything else.
"Wanta give him yours?" Andrew asked.
"No way. Are you kidding? Not mine. You want to go around volunteering pants, volunteer your own."
He gave me a smirk. "Run on back to camp, then, and grab a beach towel . . . a blanket . . ."
"Maybe we should cover him with leaves or something."
"Do what I told you."
So I did, even though it seemed like a mistake.
When I came out of the jungle, Kimberly saw me. She must've just waded out of the water. She was striding up the beach toward Billie and Thelma, but then she spotted me and broke into a run.
Maybe I should've run off. I thought about it, but just couldn't. She's too nice for me to run away from.
"You found him," she said. She must've figured it out from the look on my face. "Oh, God. Where is he?"
"Your dad's with him. He doesn't . . ."
"He's dead, isn't he?"
"Your dad's fine."
"Keith."
Before I could think of a good way to answer, she dodged past me and raced for the jungle. She must've seen where I came out, because she was headed straight toward it.
"Wait!" I yelled. "Kimberly, don't! Just wait!"
She didn't stop. She had too big a headstart on me, so I didn't try to chase her down. Besides, what was I supposed to do, tackle her?
Andrew shouldn't have sent me back to the beach. I'd warned him not to. But he'd insisted.
Anyway, I still had a job to do. I took my time, though. Walked slowly to our camping area, picked up a blanket, answered a few questions from the women, then made my way back to the jungle.
When I got there, Kimberly was sobbing in her father's arms.
He was just in his white briefs.
He must've heard her coming, and had enough time to make Keith less indecent. He'd covered the lower parts with his own khaki shorts, and he'd draped a white handkerchief over the poor guy's face.
While he was busy consoling Kimberly, I went ahead and covered the body with the blanket. Then I reached under and plucked out Andrew's shorts and hanky. I stood off to the side, holding his stuff, and waited for them to get done.
The Funeral
After Kimberly stopped crying in her father's arms, she insisted on giving Keith a close inspection. (All our worries about covering him up seemed a little absurd.) Andrew tried to stop her, but she ignored him and pulled the blanket off and crouched beside the body.
She was awfully grim. She didn't say a thing, but she didn't cry, either. She actually lifted Keith's head, turned it from side to side, and searched through his hair with her fingers. (I think she was trying to figure out what killed him.) After a while, she unbuttoned the front of his shirt. She asked us for some help, so we lifted him into a sitting position and Kimberly pulled his shirt off. She put it on right away, over her bikini top, but didn't fasten the buttons.
Then the three of us, working together, wrapped Keith in the blanket. Andrew wound the rope around it, so that the blanket would stay put. The result was a tidy, man-shaped bundle. Tidy except for the fact that Keith's feet stuck out the end.
Andrew slung Keith over his shoulder. With him in the lead, we made our way back to the beach.
Billie, Connie and Thelma were waiting for us at the campsite. They were all pretty much in tears. When we showed up, they gathered around Kimberly, shaking their heads and sobbing, hugging her and muttering. Kimberly seemed to be taking things pretty well. She was grim, but didn't fall apart. Something about the way she stood there, being really brave and wearing Keith's festive shirt, got to me so that I choked up, myself.
We had a discussion about what to do with Keith's body. Since we don't expect to be castaways for any great length of time, we didn't want to dispose of it in any sort of permanent way. We wanted it handy and easy to recover.
We let Kimberly make the final decision. She chose to bury Keith (store him, more like it), over where the rocks jutted out to the south side of the beach. The place was close enough so we could keep an eye on it and get to the body easily in case of rescue. It was also far enough away so that the thing wouldn't exactly be living with us. I'm hoping we won't be able to smell it.