? The Beach ?
4
Etienne
The policeman was perspiring, but not with the heat. The air-con in the room made it like a fridge. It was more to do with the exertion of speaking English. When he came to a difficult word or a complicated sentence his brow would crease into a hundred lines. Then, little beads of sweat would pop up like opals on his brown skin.
‘But Mis’er Duck no you frien’,’ he said.
I shook my head. ‘I’d never met him before last night. And listen. The Duck name, it’s not real. It’s a joke name.’
‘Jo’ name?’ said the policeman.
‘Not a true name.’ I pointed to where he’d written the name in his notebook. ‘Daffy Duck is a cartoon character.’
‘Ca’oon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mis’er Duck is ca’oon?’
‘Like Bugs Bunny. Uh, Mickey Mouse.’
‘Oh,’ said the policeman. ‘So, he gi’ false name to gues’ house.’
‘Definitely.’
The policeman wiped his shirtsleeve over his face. Sweat sprinkled over his notebook, blurring the ink. He frowned and new droplets replaced the ones he’d just swept away.
‘Now I wan’ ask you abou’ scene of crime.’
‘OK.’
‘You en’er Mis’er Duck room, because wha’?’
I’d worked this out on the walk down the Khao San Road to the police station.
‘Because he kept me awake last night and I wanted to tell him not to do it again.’
‘Ah. Las’ nigh’ Mis’er Duck make noise.’
‘Right.’
‘And wha’ you fine in room, hah?’
‘Nothing. I just saw him dead and went to tell the guest-house manager.’
‘Mis’er Duck already dead? How you know abou’ tha’?’
‘I didn’t. I just thought he was. There was a lot of blood.’
The policeman nodded sagely, then leant back on his chair.
‘I think you angry abou’ so much noise las’ nigh’, hah?’
‘Sure.’
‘How angry wi’ Mis’er Duck?’
I held up my hands. ‘I spent the whole morning in the restaurant eating breakfast. From six until nine. A lot of people saw me there.’
‘Maybe he die before six.’
I shrugged. I wasn’t worried. There was a clear image in my head of the low light coming through the newspapered windows and the sparkling highlights on Mister Duck. The blood had been pretty wet.
The policeman sighed. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘You tell me agai’ abou’ las’ nigh’.’
¦
Why didn’t I mention the map? Because I didn’t want to get involved in some foreign police investigation and I didn’t want my holiday fucked up. Also I didn’t care much about the guy’s death. I saw it as, well, Thailand’s an exotic country with drugs and AIDS and a bit of danger, and if Daffy Duck got too caught up, then it was his look- out.
I didn’t get the impression that the policeman cared much about the whole thing either. After another thirty minutes of ruthless interrogation (‘Can you ve’ify you eat banan’ pancake?’) he let me go, asking me not to leave Khao San within twenty-four hours.
¦
The French girl’s boyfriend was sitting on the steps of the police station with his face angled up towards the sun. Obviously he’d been brought in for questioning too. He glanced around as I walked down the steps, maybe thinking I was the girl, then turned back.
Normally I’d have taken that as a sign someone doesn’t want to chat. I do a lot of my travelling alone so sometimes I get starved of conversation and company. It makes me alert to body language, because even if I’m feeling a bit lonely I don’t want to inflict myself on a person who isn’t interested. But this time I ignored the sign. Despite not wanting to get involved with the police, the death had made for an unusual start to the day and I had the urge to talk about it.
I sat down right beside him so he couldn’t avoid me. As it turned out, I’d read the sign wrong anyway. He was very friendly.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Speak English? Uh, je parle francais un petit peu mais malheureusement je suis pas tres bon.’
He laughed. ‘I speak English,’ he replied in a gently accented voice.
‘You’re here about that guy who died, huh?’
‘Yes. I heard you were the one to find him.’
Fame.
‘Yep,’ I replied, pulling my cigarettes out of my pocket. ‘Found him this morning.’
‘It must have been bad for you.’
‘It was OK. Do you smoke?’
‘No, thank you.’
I lit up.
‘So, I’m Richard,’ I said, exhaling.
‘Etienne,’ said Etienne, and we shook hands.
Last night I’d put him at eighteen or so, but in the daylight he looked older. Twenty or twenty-one. He had a Mediterranean look about him – short dark hair and a slim build. I could see him in a few years’ time, a couple of stones heavier, a glass of Ricard in one hand and a boule in the other.
‘This is so weird,’ I said. ‘I only got to Thailand last night. I wanted to relax in Bangkok, if that’s possible, and instead I got this.’
‘Oh, we have been here already four weeks, and it is weird for us too.’
‘Well, yeah, I suppose someone dying is always a bit strange. So where’ve you been for the last month? Not only Bangkok, surely.’
‘No, no.’ Etienne shook his head vigorously. ‘A few days in Bangkok is enough. We have been north.’
‘Chiang Mai?’
‘Yes, we went on a trek. We rafted on a river. Very boring, no?’ He sighed and leant backwards, resting his back on the stone step behind him.
‘Boring?’
Etienne smiled. ‘Raft, trek. I want to do something different, and everybody wants to do something different. But we all do the same thing. There is no…ah…’
‘Adventure.’
‘I think it is why we come here.’ He pointed around the corner of the police station, towards the Khao San Road. ‘We come for an adventure, but we find this.’
‘Disappointing.’
‘Yes.’
Etienne paused for a moment, frowning slightly, then he said, ‘This man who died. He was very strange. We would hear him late at night. He would talk and shout…The walls are so thin.’
To my irritation I blushed, remembering the sound of Etienne and his girlfriend having sex. I took a deep drag on my cigarette and looked down at the steps we were sitting on. ‘Are they?’ I said. ‘I was so tired last night I slept.’
