The VC, The DMZ And Me

I paused for a few minutes at the pass, looking down at the DMZ. There was no need, I knew, for me to descend the terraced slope, but at the same time I knew I would. I might never be alone on the island again and the opportunity was too big to miss. But I also had to check on Zeph and Sammy, so I continued upwards towards our look-out point.

'Delta One-Niner,' I murmured as I located the figures. I could see two of them, one in the normal spot and the other about thirty metres to the right, standing down by the shore. The other three were obviously exploring, or busy doing whatever it was they did behind the tree-line. 'This is Alpha patrol. We confirm we have a positive ID, repeat, positive ID. Request further orders.' In the back of my head I heard the fuzz of radio static. 'Orders acknowledged. Will continue recon as advised.'

I dropped the binoculars and sighed, feeling the familiar frustration well up in me again. Their apparent 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 Étienne and Françoise — 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.

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 prospect of seeing Étienne again. I'd been having second thoughts about the kiss. I still didn't think I'd been at fault, but I could see why Étienne had thought I was, and I was sure that our next meeting would be awkward. So as I pushed open the longhouse door, I also pushed thoughts of the Swedes to the back of my head, with no more consideration than a vague decision to worry about it later.

My immediate impression inside the longhouse was that some kind of division had occurred while I was away. A tense silence greeted my arrival, shortly followed by a low buzz of noise. At the near end was my old fishing detail, along with Jesse, Cassie and Leah, another member of the gardening detail. At the far end, in the area of my bed, were Sal, Bugs, and the remainder of the gardening and carpentry details. Moshe and the two Yugoslavian girls were sitting between the two groups, apparently neutral.

I assessed the situation. Then I shrugged. If a division had occurred, choosing sides wasn't going to be an issue. I closed the door behind me and went over to my old detail.

Nobody spoke for a couple of seconds after I sat down - which gave me a brief scare, automatically assuming that the split was related to me. A chain of events quickly began to form in my mind, connected to the kiss. Perhaps Étienne had told Françoise, and Françoise was furious, and everyone had heard, and the tension was nothing to do with divisions in the camp but an embarrassed reaction to my arrival. Fortunately, I was way off track, as was shown when Françoise leant forwards and took my hand. 'There has been trouble,' she said in a hushed voice.

'Trouble?' I withdrew my hand slightly clumsily, glancing at Étienne, who was watching me with a completely unreadable expression. 'What kind of trouble?'

Keaty coughed and pointed to his left eye. It was badly puffed up. 'Bugs hit me,' he said simply.

'Bugs hit you?'

'Uh-huh.'

I was too shocked to speak, so Keaty continued.

'I turned up with the fish around four and hung around with Jed in the tents. Then I came to the longhouse about half an hour ago, and as soon as Bugs saw me he jumped up and threw a punch.'

'...What happened then?' I eventually said.

'Jean pulled him off, and then there was a massive argument between that lot...' He gestured to the group at the far end. '...And this lot. Personally, I stayed out of it. I was trying to stop my nose bleed.'

'He hit you because of the squid?'

'He said it was because I wasn't around to help last night.'

'No!' I shook my head angrily. 'I know why he hit you. It had nothing to do with being missing last night. It was because he shat himself.'

Keaty smiled without humour. 'That makes a lot of sense, Rich.'

I struggled to keep my voice steady. My tongue felt thick and I was suddenly in such a rage that I could actually see blackness around the edge of my vision. 'It makes sense to me, Keaty,' I said lightly. 'I know the way his head works. It was the knock to his pride, slipping around in his own shit. That's why he hit you.'

I stood up, and Gregorio caught my arm.

'Richard, what are you doing?'

'I'm going to kick his head in.'

'At last,' said Jesse, rising. 'That's exactly what I've been saying we should do. I'll help.'

'No!'

I looked around. Françoise had also stood up.

'This is too stupid! Both of you sit down now!'

At that moment there was a jeer from the far end of the longhouse. Bugs was calling to us. 'Oh let me guess! The cavalry's arrived!'

'I'm going to stick a spear in your fucking neck!' I yelled back.

'I'm worried!'

Jesse howled. 'You'd better be fuckin' worried! You'd better be very fuckin' worried!'

'Is that right, you Kiwi cunt?'

'You've got no fuckin' idea how right it is!'

Then Sal was standing too. 'That's enough!' she screamed. 'Both of you! All of you! Enough!'

Silence.

The two groups stared at each other for a long thirty seconds. Then Françoise stabbed a finger at the ground.

'Sit!' she hissed. So we sat.

Ten minutes later I was crawling up the walls. I wanted a cigarette so severely I thought my chest was going to cave in, but my supply was at the other end of the longhouse and there was no way I could get them. In an effort to help, Cassie rolled a joint, but it didn't do much good. It was nicotine I needed. The dope only made the craving worse.

Not long after, Ella brought in the food she'd cooked, but she'd burned the rice and without Unhygienix's magic touch the fish stew tasted like sea water. Plus she had to hand it round in the most uncomfortable atmosphere imaginable, which baffled her and made her think it was her cooking. No one bothered to explain, so she left the longhouse nearly in tears.

Jed stuck his head through the door at eight fifteen, gazed around curiously, then disappeared.

So that's how the .time passed, a succession of tense episodes, all serving to distract us from the fact that the Swedes still hadn't returned from fishing.

At a quarter to nine the longhouse door banged open.

'Oh there you are,' Keaty started to say, but the words dried up in his throat.

Karl was half bent over, barely illuminated by the candles. It was the expression on his face that instantly informed us there was something badly wrong, but I think it was his arms that had choked Keaty. They seemed to be absurdly dislocated, jutting out from the top of his shoulders. And there was what looked like a tear in his right hand. Between his thumb and forefinger the split continued down to his wrist, so that the two halves hung like a limp lobster claw.

'Jesus Christ,' said Jesse loudly, and all over the longhouse I heard movement as people rose to get a better look.

Karl took a single heavy step towards us, moving into the brighter candlelight. That was when we realized that the mutilated arms belonged to the person he was carrying on his back—Sten. Abruptly Karl collapsed, toppling forwards without making any effort to break his fall. Sten slipped off him, balancing for a moment on his side, then rolling over. There was a ragged semicircle of flesh missing from his side as large as a basketball, and the remainder of his stomach area had been flattened to no more than four inches thick.

Étienne was the first to move. He barged past me, almost knocking me to the ground. When I looked up, he was bending over Sten, trying to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Then I heard Sal call behind me, 'What's happened?', and at once Karl began yelling at the top of his lungs. For a minute he yelled non­-stop, filling the longhouse with high, frantic sound that made some people cover their ears or yell equally loudly, for no apparent reason other than to block him out. It was only after Keaty had grabbed him, shouting at him to shut up, that he managed to form an intelligible word: 'Shark.'

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 530