inactivity no longer held any interest for me and had started to seem like a complicated insult. Part of me wanted to yell at them to get a fucking move on. If I’d thought it would work I’d have probably done it.
In that frame of mind, the time went slowly. I felt duty-bound to stick around for at least two hours, even though I was sure that nothing would happen. So every ten minutes I checked to see if they were up to anything new, and when I saw that they weren’t – occasionally another would appear or two would disappear – I went back to day-dreaming about what I’d do in the DMZ.
I had only one goal, because there was no sense in getting more grass. All I wanted to do was to see one of the dope guards. Not kipping on a jungle path but active and armed and patrolling. That alone would satisfy me. It would be a proper engagement, a fair fight on equal terms. Him looking out for trespassers and me trespassing.
The more I day-dreamed, the harder it became to stay at my lookout post. Over the last half-hour of my two-hour tour of duty, I counted the minutes like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. When the minute finally came – twelve seventeen – I made one last check on Zeph and Sammy. Typically, for the first time that day, none of the figures was visible, but I only hesitated for an instant. I made a quick check of the sea to make sure they hadn’t started swimming, then said ‘Fuck it,’ out loud and set off down the hill.
¦
My day-dream came true not far from the field that Jed and I had visited the previous day. I’d chosen to go there because it seemed logical that the best place to find a dope guard would be a dope field, and also because it meant I was travelling on a route I’d taken before, if only once.
The contact came about three hundred metres above the terrace. I’d been just about to step around a thick copse of bamboo when I saw a flash of brown through the leaves, too golden to be anything but South–East–Asian skin. I froze, of course, holding the awkward position of three-quarters of the way through a step. Then the brown vanished, and I heard the sound of rustling footsteps heading away from me.
I debated my options swiftly. To follow the guard was a serious risk, but a glimpsed impression was not what I’d had in mind and the longer I delayed the less chance I’d have of seeing him again. Also, I knew that if I didn’t follow him at once I’d probably lose my bottle and have to head back. This, I suppose, was what clinched it. I didn’t even wait for the footsteps to get out of earshot before creeping around the thicket in pursuit.
The next ten minutes are vague in my memory. I was listening and looking so intently that, similar to my original descent down to the waterfall, I was incapable of storing anything past the immediate.
My memory returns when I heard his footsteps stop – making me stop too – and I spotted him less than fifteen foot away, taking a breather between two tall trees.
Gradually, I crouched down and eased my head around a branch to get a better view. The first thing I registered were his markings: a black-blue dragon tattoo crawling up a densely muscled back, with a claw on one shoulder-blade and flames on the other. Then I saw that he was the same guard I’d seen with Etienne and Francoise – the guy with the kick-boxer build. Recognizing him, I had to concentrate hard to control my breathing. At first it was from an adrenalin rush and a throw-back to the fear I’d had on the plateau, but then it became awe.
The man was facing away from me at a three-quarter angle, with one arm resting on his rifle and the other on his hips. Across his tattoo, running from his neck to the left side of his ribcage, was a deep, pale scar. Another scar cut a white line across the cropped hair on his head. A crumpled packet of Krong Thip was tied to his upper arm with a filthy blue bandanna. He held his AK as casually as a snake-charmer holding a cobra. He was perfect.
I knew he’d probably be gone in a minute or less, and my mind was frantic, trying to record each aspect of his form. It was all I could do to stop myself crawling nearer. If only I could have frozen him I’d have circled him like a statue in a museum, taking my time, noting his posture and listing the items he carried, studying his eyes to read what was happening behind them.
Just before he walked away he turned to face in my direction. Maybe he’d sensed someone watching him. He opened his mouth as he turned and I saw he had his top two front teeth missing. It was the final touch, a dangerous complement to the broken butt of his AK and the torn pouches on his baggy green combat trousers. At that moment, if I’d tried to slip further into the bushes he would have seen me. I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t looking hard, just absently scanning, but he’d have noticed a movement. I stayed still. I was hypnotized. Even if he had seen me I doubt I’d have tried to run.
I didn’t move for quite some time after the guard had gone. I realized that to leave at once would be the wrong thing to do, not so much because the man might be near and out of sight, but because I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. I was dimly thinking of road accidents, and the drivers that crash soon after a narrow escape.
¦
Hours later, on the way home after spending the afternoon at the look-out point, I paused for a second time at the pass. This time, the sight of the terraces and the steamy evening jungle made me clench my fists. I was shaken by a powerful surge of jealousy towards Jed. He’d had the DMZ for over a year, all for himself. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it would feel like, such extended private access, and the briefness of my own encounter only seemed to make it worse. I felt like I’d been damned by a glimpse of paradise.
? The Beach ?
67
Split
The clearing was empty apart from Ella, who was gutting fish outside the kitchen hut, and Jed, who was chatting to her. Jed stood as I approached and I answered his inquisitive look with a subtle nod. He returned it, then excused himself and set off for the tents.
‘Haven’t you brought any fish?’ said Ella briskly. ‘I was hoping you’d be bringing some more.’
‘Oh…’ I glanced at her bucket, which held less than ten small milkfish. ‘No, Ella. Sorry, I haven’t…Is that all there is?’
‘Yes. It’s pathetic. I can’t see how I’m supposed to make this stretch to half the camp. Was this the best you and Keaty could do?’
‘Uh, yeah…but it’s my fault. Last night caught up on me and I had to get some sleep. Keaty was working alone really…But what about the Swedes? Haven’t they brought any?’
‘No,’ she replied irritably, gouging out a handful of guts and tossing them into the dirt. ‘They bloody well haven’t. The only person who’s brought me anything is Keaty. What time is it, anyway?’
‘Six thirty.’
‘Six thirty! I’ve waited over two hours for them to show up. But most people are feeling much better than yesterday and that means they’re getting hungry, so I can’t wait any longer.’
‘No…I wonder what could be taking them so long.’
‘I haven’t a clue. It’s so stupid of them. Of all the possible days they might have chosen to get delayed, I simply can’t believe they decided to pick this one.’
I frowned. ‘Come on, Ella. That’s ridiculous. I’m sure they didn’t choose to get delayed. They know what’s going on…Maybe their engine broke down or they ran out of petrol.’
Ella clucked her tongue as she sunk her knife into the belly of the last fish. ‘Maybe,’ she said, with an expert snap of her wrist. ‘Maybe you’re right…But if you stop to think about it, they could have swum back by now.’
¦
I brooded on this last comment of Ella’s as I walked towards the longhouse, because she was absolutely right. The Swedes could easily have swum back in two hours, even dragging the boat behind them. I knew from previous conversations that they never fished more than two hundred metres out to sea, a safety precaution in case they spotted another boat and had to get to cover in a hurry.
In a way then, I was already aware that something serious had happened to the Swedes. Logically, it was the only explanation. But I didn’t act on my sense of foreboding, probably for the same reasons that no one else had. There were too many problems at hand to start worrying about new ones. For the others, perhaps it was a call for water that distracted them, or a need for sleep, or a puddle of sick that had to be cleaned up. For me, it was the
