In a way, it was reassuring to learn that, whatever my own state of mind, I was sane enough to recognize this as abnormal behaviour. And to make sure that my companions’ behaviour was as inappropriate as it appeared, when I passed Cassie I asked her how she was feeling. I chose her partly because she was on my route, but also because this was the question she’d nagged me with in the days following the food poisoning. ‘Um,’ she said, not pausing from hanging up the washing. ‘I’ve been worse.’
‘…You aren’t feeling sad?’
‘About Sten? Oh yes, I am, of course. But I believe the burial helped. It puts it in the past, I think. In perspective, wouldn’t you say?’
‘…Sure.’
‘It was so difficult to find perspective while his body was lying around.’ She laughed, looking puzzled. ‘What an awful thing to say.’
‘But it’s true.’
‘Yes. I think the burial was the release we needed. Just look how it relieved the tension around here…Shorts, Jesse.’
Jesse handed her a pair of shorts.
‘And Sal’s speech was a great help too. We needed her to bring us together. We’ve been talking a lot about Sal’s speech. We thought it was very good, didn’t we?’
Jesse’s face was hidden by the heap of damp T–shirts he held in his arms, but I saw his scalp nod.
‘Yes,’ Cassie continued, in her vague and cheerful monologue. ‘She’s good at that kind of thing…Charisma and…And what about you, Richard? How are you feeling?’
‘I’m feeling fine.’
‘Mmm,’ she said absently. ‘Of course. You always are, aren’t you?’
¦
I left Cassie and Jesse a few minutes later, after some small talk that wouldn’t bear mentioning if it wasn’t that the small talk was another reason why everything felt so strange. The only time I got close to unsettling Cassie was when I asked after Karl and Christo. She dropped the T–shirt she was holding at the time – not the dramatic response it might seem but an inconsequential slip of the hand. Less inconsequential was her reaction. ‘Fuck it!’ she snapped, which was unusual in itself because Cassie rarely swore, and her face darkened with a sudden flush. Then she held the shirt up, glowering at where the dirt had stuck to the damp material, and threw it back at the ground. ‘Fuck it!’ she said again. A strand of spit that had been linking her lips broke with the force of the words, and the top half swung upwards and clung to her cheek. I didn’t bother to repeat the question.
? The Beach ?
77
Cabin Fever
On my way across the clearing, I briefly debated who I should tell about the raft first – Jed or Sal. Going by the book, it should have been Sal. But we didn’t have a book so I went with my instincts and told Jed.
I noticed the bad smell as soon as I climbed into the hospital tent. It was sweet and sour; vomit for the sour and something less distinct for the sweet.
‘You get used to it,’ said Jed quickly. He hadn’t even turned round so he couldn’t have seen me wince. Maybe he’d heard me cut my breathing. ‘In a couple of minutes you won’t smell a thing. Don’t go.’
I pulled up the neck of my T–shirt to cover my nose and mouth. ‘I wasn’t going to go.’
‘Not one person has come in all day. Can you believe it? Not one person.’ Now he did turn to look at me, and I frowned with concern when I saw his face. Spending almost all his time in the tent had taken a toll. Although his tan was still deep – it would have needed more than five days to wash that out – it seemed underlain by grey, as if his blood had lost its colour. ‘I’ve been listening to them out there since two,’ he muttered. ‘They came back at two. Even the carpenters. They’ve been playing football.’
‘I saw.’
‘Playing football! None of them thinking to check up on Christo!’
‘Well, I think after Sal’s speech everyone’s trying to get back to…’
‘Even before Sal’s speech they were staying away…But if it was Sal in here…if it was anyone else…Apart from me…’ He hesitated, looking blankly at Christo, then laughed. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m being paranoid…It’s just it’s so weird. Hearing them outside, wondering why they don’t come to check up…’
I nodded, although actually I was only half listening. His confinement with Christo was obviously getting to him and he clearly wanted to talk about it, but I had to bring up the subject of the raft. Sammy and Zeph would have covered the sea between the two islands before nightfall – a conservative estimate I’d worked out with Mister Duck by halving the time it had taken us to make the swim. At the earliest, that meant they could start the journey across the island tomorrow morning, and could conceivably reach the beach by tomorrow afternoon.
Christo stirred, distracting us both. For a second his eyes opened, clearly focusing on nothing, and a line of dark bile ran out of the corner of his mouth. Then his chest heaved and he appeared to slip back into unconsciousness.
Jed wiped away the line with Christo’s sheet. ‘I try to keep him on his side but he always rolls back…It’s impossible. I can’t tell what I should be doing.’
‘How long will he be like this?’
‘Two days at best…It might coincide with Tet.’
‘Well that’s perfect. It’ll be the perfect birthday present for the camp, and maybe it will help Karl snap out of his…’
‘Help Karl?’ Jed looked at me curiously.
‘Sure. I think half the problem is that no one can talk to him in his language. I think if Christo was talking to him then…’
Jed shook his head. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘You don’t understand. Christo’s not getting better.’
‘You just said, in two days…’
‘In two days Christo will be dead.’
I paused. ‘He’s dying?’
‘Yes.’
‘But…How do you know?’
Jed reached out and took hold of my hand. Confused, I thought he was trying to console me or something, which got on my nerves, and I pulled my hand back. ‘How do you know, Jed?’
‘Keep your voice down. Sal doesn’t want people to find out yet.’ He reached out again to take hold of my hand, and this time he held it tightly, drawing it towards Christo’s stomach.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I exclaimed.
‘Shh. I want you to see.’
Jed pulled back the sheet. The entire area of Christo’s stomach was almost jet-black, as black as Keaty’s.
‘Feel there.’
I stared at the skin. ‘Why?’
‘Just feel.’
‘I don’t want to,’ I protested, but at the same time I felt my arm relax. Outside I heard the football bouncing near the entrance of the tent, a regular thumping that rose and faded like passing rotor blades. Someone cheered, or screamed, and someone else chuckled. Through the canvas, short bursts of conversation sounded sing-song and foreign.
Gently Jed guided my hand until it rested on Christo’s torso.
‘What can you feel?’ he asked.
‘It’s hard,’ I muttered.’…It’s like rock.’
‘He’s been bleeding inside. Bleeding badly. I couldn’t be sure until last night. Or I knew…I think I knew, but…’
