‘I am not.’ She poked me in the ribs. ‘I think you do not love me any more.’
I looked at her in astonishment.’…Are you serious?’
‘Very serious,’ she said petulantly.
‘But…I mean…Do we have to talk about this right now? I mean, of all times, does it have to be right now?’
‘Yes. It must be now. Étienne is not here, and maybe soon I will never see you again…’
‘Françoise!’ I hissed. ‘Keep it down!’
‘Maybe I should keep it down, but maybe I should not. In the dope field, when I would not be quiet, you pushed me to the ground and held me tightly.’ She giggled. ‘It was very exciting.’
With a quick look around, I linked my arm in her elbow and began propelling her away towards the edge of the clearing. Once we were out of sight of the others I turned her round, held her head between my hands, and looked carefully at her pupils. They were all over the place. ‘Oh my God,’ I said furiously. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I am. It was this potchentong.’
‘Potchentong? What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘Jean calls the drink potchentong. It is not the real potchentong, but…’
‘How much have you had?’
‘Three cups.’
‘Three? When?’
‘With the football. The game.’
‘You idiot!’
‘I had no choice! They were passing around the shell, and you had to drink it all. They were watching and clapping, so what could I do?’
‘Christ! Did Étienne drink some too?’
‘Yes. Three cups.’
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Or meant to. That shit never works. I stopped when I was on about four.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Come with me.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Over here.’
Françoise gasped as I pulled her behind a tree.
‘Open your mouth,’ I instructed.
‘Are you going to kiss me?’
The infuriating thing is I’m sure that if I had tried to kiss her, she’d have let me. She was that drunk. But I had to shake my head.
‘No, Françoise,’ I replied. ‘Not exactly.’
♦
She bit my fingers really fucking hard when I stuck them down her throat. And she struggled and squirmed like a snake. But I was holding her with a vice-grip around her neck, and once the fingers were in, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it.
After she’d finished throwing up, she slapped me in the face, which I accepted. Then she said, ‘I could have done that myself.’
I shrugged. ‘I didn’t have time for an argument. Are you feeling more sober now?’
She spat.’…Yes.’
‘Good. Now go and wash yourself down in the waterfall stream and then discreetly make your way back to the clearing. And don’t touch a drop of potchentong.’ I paused. ‘Or the stew.’
♦
When I returned to the party, Étienne had finished helping carry the food and was standing alone, probably looking for Françoise. I walked straight up to him. ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Are you drunk?’
He nodded unhappily. ‘The potchentong…They made me drink it and…’
‘I heard,’ I said, and tutted with sympathy. ‘Strong stuff, huh?’
‘Very strong.’
‘Well, no worries. Just come with me.’
∨ The Beach ∧
96
A Loose End
The layout was simple. Concentric circles under the marquee, the first a ring of candles, the second our banana-leaf plates, the third our seated selves, and the fourth a final ring of candles. It looked spectacular and terrifying. Orange faces, flickering light, diffused through clouds of dope smoke. And such a level of noise. People weren’t talking, they were shouting. Sometimes screaming. Nothing more than jokes or requests to pass the rice pot, but it sounded like screaming.
I’d made us all sit together. Keeping us together made it easier all round. We were able to get rid of our stew more easily and it kept Keaty and Françoise contained between me and Étienne. It also meant that our relative temperance was less likely to be noticed, something that was fast turning into a problem. Keaty had picked up on it first, a little under an hour after we’d started to eat.
‘I told you they’d trip,’ he said. With the racket as a backdrop, he didn’t even have to whisper. ‘You put way too much in.’
‘You think they’re actually tripping?’
‘Maybe not seeing stuff, but…’
I looked over at Sal, who was directly opposite me in the circle. Strangely, despite the din, she looked like someone in an old silent movie. Sepia-toned, flickering, twisted lips with no discernible sounds coming out. Frozen lips. Arched eyebrows. She must have been laughing.
‘…But yeah, they’re tripping,’ Keaty finished. ‘Either that or I am.’
Unhygienix appeared behind us. ‘More stew!’ he shouted.
I raised a hand. ‘So full! Can’t eat more!’
‘Yes! Eat more!’ He reached over and ladled a huge dollop in front of me. It poured over the edges of my banana leaf like a lava flow, smothering rice grains, taking them with it. Little people in the lava, I thought, and suddenly felt like I was tripping too. I gave Unhygienix the thumbs up, and he continued on his rounds.
♦
A half-hour later, around quarter to nine, I excused myself on the pretext of a piss. I did need a piss as it happened, but mainly I wanted to check up on Jed. With the way things were going, I couldn’t see the manic level being sustained later than midnight, so I wanted to know if our problem was resolved yet.
I relieved myself outside the hospital tent. Bad form in normal circumstances, but civic responsibility wasn’t high on my list of priorities any more. Then I stuck my head through the flaps. To my amazement, Jed was asleep. He was in the same spot he’d been in earlier that day, but keeled over on his side. He’d probably been awake all the previous night.
Even more amazing was that Christo was still alive, doing his pitiful inflate-deflate thing. So slight I’d be hard put to call it a genuine breath.
‘Jed,’ I said, and he didn’t stir. I said it louder, again with no response. Next a huge cheer came from the marquee. It lasted a pretty long time, and when Jed still hadn’t stirred I knew I had the golden opportunity.
I reached Christo’s head by simply sliding around the left-hand side of the tent. Then, just as I’d suggested earlier, I pinched his nose and covered his mouth. There was no twitching, no resistance. A few minutes later I took my hands away, counted to one hundred and twenty and slid back to the cool outdoors. And that was it. It really was that simple.
As I returned across the clearing, clicking my fingers in time with my footsteps, I saw the reason for the cheering I’d heard. Both the Yugoslavian girls were in the central circle of candles, heads resting on each other’s shoulder, slow dancing to the buzz of noise.
∨ The Beach ∧
97
Something Happening Here
By the time I’d retaken my seat, the Yugoslavian girls had inspired some of the others. Sal and Bugs started dancing too, then Unhygienix and Ella, then Jesse and Cassie.
I may have had a few screws loose, but I was able to recognize this as a nice moment. Watching the four couples revolving around each other reminded me of the way things used to be on the beach. Even Sal seemed at peace, all her plans and manipulations pushed aside for the time being, aware of nothing more than straightforward affection for her lover. In fact, Sal looked like a completely different person. None of her confidence was apparent in her dancing. Her steps were tentative and slow, and she clung to Bugs with both arms, head pressed flat against his chest.