“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.
Bad enough that we can see it.
Not the body. It’s out of sight. But every time I turn my head in that direction, I can’t help but look at the pile of rocks covering it. Not to mention the cross. Kimberly made the cross out of driftwood, this afternoon. She stood it up at the head of Keith’s “grave.” It’s gnarled and twisted and as white as bleached bones.
That’s getting ahead of things, though.
First came the decision about where to put Keith. Then we all trooped over there, Andrew marching in the lead with the body slung over his shoulder. (Thelma came with us. Her ankle injury had been pretty minor, and she was able to hobble along okay without help by the time we had our funeral procession.) Kimberly picked exactly the spot where she wanted the grave to be. Then Andrew and Billie and I helped her to clear some rocks out of the way.
Thelma stood by and cried like a maniac.
Connie didn’t help, either, but acted strange; she stood rigid and watched, had this far-off look in her eyes, and rubbed her upper arms as if she was cold. Personally, I don’t think she was grieving over Keith. I think she was scared witless.
After we’d cleared a depression in the rocks, Andrew and Kimberly loaded Keith inside it.
Then Billie said, “Someone should say something.”
“Let’s bow our heads,” Andrew said. We did. In a low and steady voice, he said The Lord’s Prayer. Knew it by heart, which came as a surprise to me. I wouldn’t have taken him for the religious sort.
While everybody still had their heads down, I broke into “Danny Boy.” God only knows what possessed me. I’ve got a pretty good tenor voice, but I’m not a guy who goes around singing in public. It was a sappy thing to do. The guy’s name wasn’t even Danny.
But I’d liked him, and I felt so sorry for Kimberly…
When I got into “Danny Boy,” the waterworks were a sight to see. Everybody cried.
Even Kimberly teared up. After the song was done, she came over to me, wet-eyed and sniffing. She put her arms around me and hugged me.
I’m hoping she’ll do that again sometime, under more favorable conditions.
Fat chance.
She was too overcome with emotion to know what she was doing.
Anyway, I’m glad I went nuts and sang “Danny Boy.” She wouldn’t have hugged me, except for that.
When it was time to finish the burial, she asked everyone to leave. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. So we all left her there.
Away from the rocks where Kimberly was working, Andrew called the rest of us together.
“I don’t want anyone to go straying off alone,” he said. “Keith didn’t have an accident. He was murdered.”
Thelma let out a high-pitched, squealy sound. She seemed embarrassed by it, and plastered a hand across her mouth.
Connie started to shake.
Billie, frowning with concern, put an arm across Connie’s shoulders. “It’s all right, honey,” she said.
“We think it happened out in the jungle where we found him,” Andrew went on. “Someone knocked him on the head, and then hung him. That’s how we figure it.” He glanced at me.
“It was probably just one person who did it,” I added. “I mean, the sneaky way it was done.”
“Somebody strong enough to hoist Keith’s body fairly high up in a tree,” Andrew said.
“What’ll we do? Billie asked.
“I’m not sure yet. Need some time to think things through. Let’s figure on a pow-wow later on. For now, we’ll probably be all right as long as nobody goes off alone. I don’t think the killer’ll come after any of us out here on
