‘Yes. Sometimes we do not return to the guest-house until late so he will already be asleep.’
‘It won’t be a problem any more.’
‘Often we could not understand him. I know he talked English because I would recognize some words, but…it was not easy.’
‘It wasn’t easy for me either. He was Scottish. Strong accent.’
‘Oh…You heard him last night?’
Now it was Etienne’s turn to go red while I concentrated on my cigarette. My embarrassment was compounded by his. It was odd, but if his girlfriend had been ugly I’d only have been amused, but because she was so attractive it almost felt as if I’d had some kind of affair with her. Which of course I had. A mental affair.
We blushed at each other until the awkward silence became too oppressive.
‘Yes,’ I said, far too loudly. ‘He had a thick Scottish accent.’
‘Ah,’ replied Etienne, also a little firmly. ‘Now I understand.’
He stroked his chin thoughtfully as though he were smoothing down a beard, although I could see from his light stubble that he was a long way from being able to grow one. Then he said, ‘He would talk about a beach.’
He looked straight at me as he said it. He was watching my face for a reaction – it was obvious. I nodded to make him continue.
‘He would talk about it all night. I would lie on my bed awake, because I could not sleep with his shouting, and I would try to follow his words. Like a puzzle.’ Etienne laughed. ‘Fokkin’ bitch,’ he said, approximating the man’s voice pretty well. ‘It took me three nights to understand it was a beach. Just like a puzzle.’
I took another drag on my cigarette, leaving a pause in the conversation, letting Etienne fill it.
‘I like puzzles,’ he said, but not really to me. Then he let the silence grow.
¦
A trip to India, seventeen years old, more dope than sense, me and one friend decided to take about an eighth of hash with us on a flight from Srinagar to Delhi. We each made our own plans as to how to take it. I wrapped mine up in plastic, swathed it in masking tape and deodorant to mask the smell, and tucked it into a bottle of malaria pills. The precautions were probably unnecessary. The customs officers were unlikely to be too interested in internal flights, but I did it anyway.
When we got to the airport I was shit scared. I mean I was
I don’t know why I did it. I knew it was a fantastically stupid thing to do, but I went right ahead and did it anyway. I simply needed to tell someone what I was doing.
¦
‘I know where the beach is,’ I said.
Etienne raised his eyebrows.
‘I’ve got a map.’
‘A map of the beach?’
‘The dead guy drew it for me. I found it stuck to my door this morning. It shows where the beach is, how to get there. I’ve got it in my room.’
Etienne whistled. ‘You told the police?’
‘Nope.’
‘Perhaps it is important. Maybe it is something to do with why he…’
‘Maybe it is.’ I flicked away my cigarette. ‘But I don’t want to get involved. Maybe they’d think I knew him or something, but I didn’t. I never met him before last night.’
‘A map,’ said Etienne quietly.
‘Cool, huh?’
Etienne stood up suddenly. ‘Can I see it? Would you mind?’
‘Uh, not really,’ I replied. ‘But aren’t you waiting for…’
‘My girlfriend? Francoise? She knows the way back to the guesthouse. No, I would like to see the map.’ He rested a hand lightly on my shoulder. ‘If I may.’
Surprised by the intimacy of the gesture, my shoulder twitched and the hand dropped.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’
? The Beach ?
5
Mute
We didn’t talk as we walked down the Khao San Road towards the guest-house. There was no point. Dodging through the hundreds of travellers made it impossible to have a conversation. Passing the bootleg-tape stalls, moving through the music zones, picking up the walking pace for one beat, slowing it for another. Creedence Clearwater told us to run through the jungle, as if we needed to be told. A techno beat pumped out of fuzzy speakers, then Jimi Hendrix.
Platoon. Jimi Hendrix, dope, and rifle barrels.
I sought out the smell of grass to complete the connection, and found it through the stench of a hot gutter and sticky tarmac. I think it came from above – a balcony full of braided hair and dirty T–shirts, leaning on the guard-rail, enjoying the scene below.
A brown hand flashed out and caught hold of me. A Thai trader sitting by his stall, a slim man with acne scars, was gripping my arm. I looked towards Etienne. He hadn’t seen, was still walking down the road. I lost him behind bobbing heads and tanned necks.
The man began stroking my forearm with his free hand, smoothly and swiftly, not loosening his grip. I frowned and tried to pull away. He pulled me back, taking my hand towards his thigh. My fingers clenched to a fist and my knuckles pressed against his skin. People pushed past me on the pavement, knocking me with their shoulders. One caught my eye and smiled. The man stopped stroking my arm and started stroking my leg.
I looked at him. His face was passive and unreadable and his gaze was levelled at my waist. He gave my leg a final caress, turning his wrist so his thumb slipped briefly under the material of my shorts. Then he released my arm, patted me on the behind, and turned back to his stall.
I jogged after Etienne – he was standing on the pavement twenty yards ahead with his hands on his hips. As I approached he raised his eyebrows. I frowned and we continued walking.
At the guest-house the silent heroin addict sat in his usual seat. When he saw us he drew a line with his finger over each wrist. ‘Sad, huh?’ I tried to say, but my lips were sticky and barely opened. The sound that came from my throat was a sigh.
? The Beach ?
6
Francoise
Etienne gazed at the map for five minutes without speaking. Then he said, ‘Wait,’ and darted out of my room. I heard him rummaging around next door, then he came back holding a guidebook. ‘There.’ He pointed to an open page. ‘These are the islands in the map. A national marine park west of Ko Samui and Ko Pha-Ngan.’
‘Ko Samui?’
‘Yes. Look. All the islands have protection. Tourists cannot visit, you see?’
I couldn’t. The guidebook was written in French, but I nodded anyway.
Etienne paused, reading, then continued. ‘Ah. Tourists can go to…’ He took the map and pointed to one of the bigger islands in the small archipelago, three islands down from where X marked the beach.’…this one. Ko Phelong. Tourists can go to Ko Phelong on a special guided tour from Ko Samui, but…but they can only stay one
