Apart from the sharp grasses that occasionally nicked my legs, the walking wasn’t taxing. Weeks without shoes had hardened the soles of my feet and left them almost numb. A few days before, I’d pulled a thorn from my heel, half a centimetre long. Its base had been covered in a crust of dirt and I guessed I’d been strolling around with it for quite some time, never feeling a thing.
The hardest part about walking was that my progress was so slow, constantly detouring around thickets and bamboo clusters, and that I was never completely sure about which direction I was heading. This didn’t worry me too much, because I was sure that sooner or later I’d reach the beach or the wall of cliffs. Unfortunately my confidence also meant I didn’t make an effort to remember my route, so when I came across the papaya orchard, over an hour later, I didn’t have a clue as to how I could ever find it again.
I call it an orchard for want of a better word. The papayas were random in size and spacing, so they hadn’t been planted. Possibly the soil in that patch was particularly suitable or the limited room on the forest floor had kept them all together. Whatever – they made a wonderful sight. Much of the fruit was ripe, bright orange and as big as marrows, and the air was filled with sweetness.
I pulled one down with an easy twist of the stalk and split it open on a tree-trunk. The fluorescent flesh tasted like melon and perfume – not, perhaps, as nice as it sounds, but pretty good all the same. Then I pulled out the joint I’d rolled before leaving the camp, found a clear area to sit, and settled down to watch smoke collect beneath the papaya leaves.
After a while, monkeys began to appear. I couldn’t name their species, but they were small and brown, with long tails and oddly cat-like faces. At first they kept their distance. They didn’t study me or register my presence in any way, beyond giving me a wide berth. But then a mother-monkey, with a tiny baby clinging to her stomach, ambled over and took a piece of papaya from my hand. I hadn’t even been holding it out to her – I’d been saving it until I finished the joint – but clearly she had other ideas. She casually helped herself, and I was too surprised to do anything but gape.
It didn’t take long before another monkey followed the mother-monkey’s cue. Then another, and another. Within a couple of minutes the papaya was being pulled out of my hands as quickly as I could tear it from the fruit. My body was covered in sticky juice, my eyes were watering because I didn’t have time to pull the joint from my lips, and little black fingers were pawing at me from all directions. Eventually all of them managed to get a chunk, and I was left sitting cross-legged in a sea of munching monkeys. I felt like David Attenborough.
♦
It was the distinctive sound of falling water that finally led me out of the jungle. I heard it fifteen minutes after leaving the orchard, and then it was just a matter of zoning in on the noise.
I came out by the carved tree and immediately dived into the waterfall pool, keen to wash the sweat and papaya juice off my body. It was only when I came up that I realized I wasn’t alone. Sal and Bugs were kissing, naked, in the penumbra of the spray.
‘Damn,’ I thought, and was about to discreetly swim back to the bank when Sal noticed me.
‘Richard?’
‘Hi, Sal. Sorry. I didn’t see you there.’
Bugs looked at me and smirked. It seemed to me that he was saying my apology was prurient. Gauche, next to his relaxed but frank sexuality. The prick. I held his gaze, and the smile twisted into an inane sneer, the expression he should have started with.
‘Don’t be silly, Richard,’ Sal said, detaching herself from Bugs’ embrace. ‘Where have you come from?’
‘I went for a walk down the Khyber Pass and found a bunch of papaya trees, then ended up here.’
‘Papayas? How many?’
‘Oh, loads.’
‘You should tell Jean, Richard. He’s always interested in that sort of thing.’
I shrugged. ‘Yeah, the problem is, I doubt I could find them again. It’s hard to keep your bearings in there.’
Bugs revived the sneer. ‘It takes practice.’
‘Practice with a compass.’
Smirk. ‘I spend so much time in the trees, I suppose I’ve got an instinct…almost animal, man…’ He pushed his wet hair back with both hands. ‘Maybe I’ll find them tomorrow.’
‘Uh-huh. Good luck.’ I turned to go, adding, ‘Don’t get lost,’ quietly.
I ducked under and swam back to the shore, surfacing only when the water was too shallow to cover me. But I hadn’t escaped quite yet.
‘Richard,’ Sal called, as I hauled myself out. ‘Hang on.’
I looked round.
‘Are you heading back to the camp?’
‘I was going to.’
‘Well…wait.’ She began to swim over, looking slightly like a turtle with her chin jutting up clear of the water. I waited until she reached me.
‘Will you walk with me to the garden? I’ve got to go down there and Bugs has to go to the longhouse. I’d like some company, and we haven’t talked for a while.’
I nodded. ‘OK, sure.’
‘Good.’
She smiled and went to get her clothes.
∨ The Beach ∧
51
The Good News
The walking pace Sal set was slow. Sometimes she paused to look at flowers or to pull a weed from the path. Sometimes she stopped for no apparent reason, aimlessly drawing dust circles with her toes.
‘Richard,’ she began, ‘I want to tell you how pleased we all are that you found our secret beach.’
‘Thanks, Sal,’ I replied, already understanding that this conversation had a point beyond a casual chat.
‘Can I be blunt, Richard? When you three arrived, we were all a little worried. Perhaps you can understand why…’
‘Of course.’
‘But you all fitted in so well. You really entered into the spirit of what we have here, better than we could have hoped…You mustn’t think we didn’t appreciate you doing the Rice Run, Richard, and catching that lovely shark.’
‘Oh, well.’ I tried to look modest. ‘The shark was a fluke.’
‘Garbage, Richard. The shark gave everyone something to feel good about, and morale does get low during rainstorms. I still feel a little guilty about the way I spoke to you that miserable wet morning, but sometimes I need to be…pushy. I don’t consider myself to be the leader here, but…’
‘We all understand that.’
‘Thank you, Richard.’
‘And you are the leader really, Sal.’
‘Oh, maybe in some ways I am. Reluctantly.’ She laughed. ‘People come to me with their problems and I try to sort them out…Keaty, for example. I know you and Keaty are close, so I presume you know about his problem.’
‘He wants to leave the garden detail.’
‘That’s right. Such a headache. It isn’t easy moving people around. Someone has to provide the space before he can move, and the fishing detail is already full…He wants the fishing detail, you know.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘For months now I’ve been telling him it isn’t possible. You see, he was about to start fishing when your little group arrived…He was terribly disappointed, Richard, but he took it very well. Others might have…I don’t know…held it against you.’
‘Sure. Three people turning up out of the blue, taking his job.’
‘Exactly, Richard. I was so grateful to him, and so pleased when you became friends…I was only sorry I couldn’t do anything to improve his situation…’ A weed caught Sal’s eye and she pulled it out, tutting at its stubborn grip on the dirt. ‘But my hands were tied without a vacancy in the fishing detail. And now I’ve realized that one isn’t going to appear unless I make it…’