That Savage Water

by Matthew R. Loney

  I don’t know, sir.

  But a shame to sleep alone…

  Sir?

  Carter didn’t answer.

  By the time Om Prakash had finished, the mountain’s shadow stretched well beyond the boulder. The police began to load the bodies into ambulances that were driven down the hill to the hospital in Shimla. Carter watched Om Prakash as he walked over to the driver of the car they had hired in Delhi. He would have to pay him extra for staying longer. They would be too late now to make it back in time for a flight to London. She would have left and he would be too late to stop her. Carter’s face felt oily and his shirt stuck to his back where the sweat had pooled. Prakash’s brown skin looked dry and clean by contrast.

  She would have done it by now – he thought. He would go back to London and she would have done it like she’d threatened to. Carter watched Prakash gather their things and pack them into the car.

  Not a bad-looking man – Carter thought – But not nearly bright enough to ever make it as a journalist.

  They would be back in Delhi in a few hours and Prakash would leave to eat dinner alone. Carter would file the story to Reuters, take a cool shower and then lay on his bed in his towel. Slowly, at the bottom of his stomach, the panic would begin to expand: If she was gone, he would be alone.

  And then what?

  A SEVERED ARM

  Bosh looked over his shoulder, back into the rustling damp of the jungle. The trees and bushes were alive with a nighttime chorus of insects that made it all sound like busted machinery.

  That’s the wrong sound – he said – You listen, Miles. Tell me if that isn’t the wrong sound.

  Miles pretended not to hear him and continued shaving the husk of an empty coconut with the rusted machete.

  Bosh said – Hey! – and chucked a handful of sand at Miles’ lap – I said the jungle’s making the wrong sound. What’re you deaf or something?

  Leave it – I said – There isn’t anything we can do now. The jungle makes all sorts of noises when you just leave it be.

  Bosh stared at Miles shaving the coconut – Christ, doesn’t he look like he’ll kill you?

  Miles said – I won’t kill anyone.

  Ha! – Bosh said – Won’t kill anyone. Would you listen to that noise? Jungle’s out to eat somebody tonight. That’s the wrong sound, Carl, isn’t it?

  I said it sounded different from other nights, but nothing so bad it could have torn us apart in our sleep or changed what we were planning on doing that night. At least not before the boat came. Probably not before the boat came.

  Anchored offshore between our island and that of Ko Yao shone the lights of the army boat, a full-sized troop carrier squatting in the water of the channel. It sat there, fat and omnipotent, its radar spinning silently on top like it knew something we didn’t. On its deck, dim outlines of soldiers paused by the railings with mouths full of cigarettes and quick Thai. They congregated in groups, coughed and adjusted their hats, staring out onto the beach of Ko Yao and probably up the whole Malay Peninsula all the way to Bangkok.

  Must be flooded by now – Bosh stared at the island, bobbing his head to the dull thud of the techno beat that carried over – I hope you got the stuff hidden well, Carl. They’ve brought in the army. They mean business.

  I said – It’s fine. We won’t get searched. There are ten thousand people on that beach, no one’s going to bother us.

  Bosh said – You can tell those army boys are aching for a catch of drugged-up farang. Remember how they strip-search in Thailand, Miles? Want me to show you?

  Miles said – Fuck off.

  They don’t change gloves, see. They bend you over, grease your crack with jelly and stick it in you, same glove as the guy before.

  Miles kept shaving the coconut.

  Looking for drugs and weapons mostly. You never heard of that? That’s how they do it here.

  Bosh nodded his head with the techno beat again. It drifted over the water like the muffled cough of a clock. Miles dug the tip of the machete into the sand and stood up. Hairs from the coconut stuck to his shorts.

  I’m going to check for the boat – he said, and walked off towards the boulders.

  If you don’t come back, what’ll we tell your folks? – Bosh hollered at Miles’ back – Should we tell ’em you fucked a twelve-year-old then gave her the wrong currency as payment? – He began to laugh – Remember, Carl? Should we tell ’em that, Miles? Huh? Want us to pass that on to the family? Christ, what a shit-dick.

  Miles disappeared over the line of boulders that cut down the beach from the jungle into the water. Bosh laughed as he picked up the machete.

  Remember that, Carl? Tried to give her riel instead of baht and she just stood there and the kid wouldn’t take it! And the kid’s mother was watching all the time from the corner trying to teach her how to take what she’d earned, but she was too shy after the whole thing so she just stood there not taking it. And Miles looking like he just wanted to get the hell out of there, but the kid won’t take the money!

  I know the story – I said.

  So he sets the bills down at her feet and goes to leave, but her mother comes walking over…

  I know the story.

  …and picks up the bills and says, what did she say, Carl, come on.

  Fuck off.

  What’d she say! Come on, she picks up the bills and says what?

  You’re a miserable cunt, you know that, Bosh?

  What’d she say!

  You’re a cunt, Bosh. A real cunt.

  She picks up the bills and says… – Bosh bent over double, trying to speak between his laughter – ‘Dis Thailand, assho’! – then he exploded like a dropped drawer of cutlery. Maniacally he hacked at the sand with the machete and the jungle buzz rose through the thick screen of air until every vibration landed on our skin like caterpillars dancing back to their cocoons.

  Across the water, the shore of Ko Yao blazed like a fiery horizon that sent electric ripples out as far as the hull of the army boat. A dozen soldiers on deck leaned over the railings and were spitting into the black water. I couldn’t see for sure but that’s our tendency, to wait and watch and appreciate the impact. I pictured the inside of the ship, the cramped bunk rooms with legs dangling from tiered beds, the air thick with feet and cigarettes, the low gurgles of Thai echoing off the hull down into the dark water.

  Gonna be one hell of a party – Bosh said – Why they got the boat sitting there? Wonder what’s going on.

  I said – I heard some kid got stabbed a few nights ago. Army’s there just to make sure.

  Bastards – Bosh said – I hope you got it hidden well, Carl. I wasn’t kidding about the strip search. They’d fuck us over long-time if we showed up in prison here. Twenty years for a single pill. You get caught with more they’ll lop you into pieces and eat you with chopsticks. I can understand why they think we’re always looking for trouble, Carl. But we’re not here to hurt anyone or steal anything. Just want to swim a little, smoke a few joints in a hammock, dance on the beach with the full moon. That’s what we pay for and we pay for what we take. A fair agreement, don’t you think? Then they come bringing in a goddamn army boat.

  I saw Miles drop down from the boulders, his feet sending up sprays of sand behind him as he walked towards us.

  Met four others over there, all waiting for a boat – he said – Two Germans, a British girl and a Roman with a missing arm.

  A Roman? – Bosh said – Yeah right.

  Said he’s from Rome.

  They’re called Italians – I said – The Romans were of the Empire, nobody wants to remember that.

  He’s missing an arm.

  An arm? – Bosh said. He hacked at the sand with the machete. I could see him aim for the scuttling shell of a hermit crab that ran sideways between the falling blade on its way back to its tunnel.

  Bosh said – I wonder where he left it… �
�� and suddenly brought an end to his chopping – How do you lose your goddamn arm? – He examined the skewered hermit crab.

  I don’t think… – Miles started, but Bosh had already stood up and was walking towards the water, dangling the machete from its handle like he didn’t want to touch it. He walked in up to his knees, then bent down and rinsed the blade in the ripples of light from the army boat. I wondered if he ever remembered anything he said. He looked like an old Thai fisherman skimming for crayfish in the soggy twilight, doomed to come back to his fire and eat them alone.

  Did you tell him? – Miles said.

  I didn’t say anything. It isn’t my problem.

  You’re feeling okay about this, aren’t you? You want me to take it? I’ve carried stuff before, I know how it goes.

  No – I said – I lost the bet, I’ll take them.

  Don’t mind about that.

  I lost the bet, so I’ll carry them.

  Bosh walked back and dropped the machete beside me. It was wet and the sand exploded over it like a virus. He stood with his back to the jungle, as though trying to avoid giving it eye contact, but you could see in his face he was listening to the noises and thinking they were all wrong.

  Bosh said – I’m going to see where that boat is. I’ve got a feeling it’s not coming tonight. Probably forgotten all about us. Have to sit and just stare at the goddamn island, that goddamn fucking army boat…

  He took a few steps towards the boulders then stopped and turned to face the water, nodded his head with the techno beat then turned again and disappeared over the rocks.

  When Bosh had gone, I stared out at the shore of Ko Yao and then at the army boat. A small, low vessel the size of a fishing boat pulled up alongside the metal hull and soldiers climbed a rope ladder down into it. When it was full, the boat pulled away and motored towards the electrified strip of beach.

  I said – What do you really think they’re up to?

  Miles said – Patrolling for drug boats. Fishermen drive them up along the coast bringing cargo in from Cambodia for the parties. Doesn’t seem to do any good though. More ecstasy floats around that beach than the epicentre of a mosque – Then he paused and said quietly with something sharp rasping at his vocal chords – Carl, I never would have done it. I just wasn’t thinking, you know? Too much stuff going on all at once and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know she was twelve and now I’ve got that to hold onto for the rest of my life, and then all that shit about paying her right…

  I said – It’s not so bad – because I felt it was the nicest thing to say. Then I felt the baggie rolled up in my pocket and saw the milky forehead of the moon lift above the top of Ko Yao, its reflection mixing its tentacles with the lights from the beach and the army boat and I wondered what it would be like to be him with all that shit to carry.

  It is bad – Miles said – I have to drag that memory around now and Bosh always reminding me. He won’t let it go and that makes it impossible.

  I said – You won’t always remember. She won’t either – But I figured Miles could tell I was lying.

  And Bosh?

  Bosh will forget soon enough.

  The truth is – Miles said – I didn’t even want to. It was Bosh’s idea, the whole thing. He said it was too dangerous in Phnom Penh because they weren’t used to us there and the girls wouldn’t know how to take precautions. But when we came here they just pulled us off the street and started jabbering on about how cheap it was and I thought I’d just get it over with since Bosh wouldn’t let up about doing it at least once before we left.

  Once you’re home – I lied – you won’t remember. You leave all that stuff here – but I was thinking to myself that’s one thing you don’t want to get stuck with. Then I remembered how it was hard to tell what people carried around and it didn’t all make sense if you just looked at them one way. Then I wondered what people thought I was stuck with and if it made any difference. And then I wondered about Bosh too.

  Miles and I sat facing the water and watched the moon open itself fully into the sky above Ko Yao. There were three or four techno beats now, thumping against each other discordantly, synchronizing for a moment before pulling apart like someone clapping just out of rhythm at a campfire. Each of us has our shit, I thought.

  Bosh appeared on the boulders and stood there for a moment before jumping down into the sand.

  He walked over and sat down, picked up the machete and said – Lost it to gangrene.

  Lost what? – I said.

  His arm. The Roman, he lost it to gangrene. I went and talked to the guys waiting for the boat and I asked him, ‘Where did you lose your arm?’ and he said, ‘In Borneo.’ He was in the jungle on some tourist trek and he got separated from his group. He tripped and fell over a cliff and broke his arm. Big gash, open wound, everything. He goes wandering around the jungle for eight days until he gets to this village where a medicine man tries to treat him. Puts some herbal shit on the wound, sets it with bamboo, feeds him by hand since he has a fever, until someone from the nearest town can come and get him. By that time he’s delirious and his arm is beginning to fester. Says mosquito larvae had burrowed into him. Says it was already beginning to rot by the time they flew him to Jakarta. Says he passed out when the doctor examined it and by the time he woke, it was gone. Lost it to gangrene.

  Bosh sat proudly, like he wanted to say that’s that, like he had deciphered a wall of hieroglyphs and we didn’t know enough to prove to him otherwise. I thought about the Roman and wondered what he thought when he looked down and saw the wound for the first time. I pictured the black moss of gangrene creeping from the stump of amputation and what they do with an arm once it’s been severed. What happens here is different, I thought, and I thought of telling Miles to make him feel better but didn’t.

  The noise of the jungle grew louder and I finally agreed with Bosh that it sounded wrong, that away from the guest-house restaurant with the pool table, with the illuminated threads of smoke spooling upward by the lazy draw of the ceiling fan, with the wet bottles of beer in tanned hands that rested on tanned bellies, I could hear the jaws of the insects gnash their discontent at us from their hidden bark perches. I wondered if the Roman had heard the same thing when he looked down and saw it.

  Then over the boulders a figure dropped into the sand and before we could see who it was, it called to us – The boat is coming – and I looked at the silhouette to see if there was an arm missing but it was too far away to tell. Bosh and Miles stood and brushed off their shorts and I stood and took the machete by the handle and hung it from my belt.

  The driver of the boat steered using his calloused foot to move the tiller, and he aimed with his eyes towards the bright strip of beach all of us watched grow closer like the lights of an unknown city our plane slowly descended into. Two Germans sat at the bow and tried lighting cigarettes against the wind. The British girl sat between Bosh and Miles and said – The island was lovely, wasn’t it? – when I helped her into the boat. I sat next to the Roman on purpose to see what he did without an arm and if he still noticed it wasn’t there.

  He said his name was Marco and I said – Gangrene, eh? – and he said yes like he was used to the question. The stub showed slightly from beneath his T-shirt so I sat on that side of him to show it didn’t bother me.

  One of the Germans shouted to us – Ever been to this party? – and Bosh shouted back that we hadn’t, and the Germans smiled and asked if we had ever heard of anyone getting caught.

  No – Bosh said – But some kid got stabbed a few nights ago. That’s how come the army boat.

  The full moon hovered above the broken ridge of Ko Yao and as we passed by the large metal hull, a boat of troops pushed off and drove beside us towards the island. I could see their Thai faces and the green of their uniforms, and I saw the difference between our two boats that sped over the reflections of the moon and the island like two competing striders on a puddle of oil. Above
the roar of the motor I could hear the techno beats thumping from speakers tied high around the necks of the palm trees on shore, and as we drove closer I could see the stiff uniforms of the soldiers moving deliberately through the crowds and I started to feel nervous. Bosh and the two Germans nodded their heads with the beat and Bosh looked back over his shoulder and gave me a grin that said This is gonna be real! The British girl was smiling sweetly and I suddenly felt old and sick and heavy. Miles was staring at the bottom of the boat and not even at Ko Yao at all. You knew, I thought. That’s why you can’t forget. You knew from the beginning and now you’re stuck with it.

  I reached into my pocket and gripped the baggie in my hand and I looked over at the water still full of throbbing reflections.

  What if I told them I lost it, I thought. I could always say I lost it.

  By now you could see the full scope of the party. Tens of thousands of people danced on the sand to the music from the speakers. Some crawled into the waves with their clothes on, or staggered at the break of the surf to puke or pull their shorts down to piss. There were layers of people coating each bar that lined the beach, smothering the steps and the railings, up the balconies onto the roof so the whole thing looked alive as with giant termites. There were fire spinners with their eyes closed, groups of men fumbling with the clasp of a woman’s bra, someone standing in the water bleeding from a neck wound, his friends shouting in English to a guy shouting back in Thai. Whole boats packed with travellers were arriving from other beaches. They pulled up and disappeared into the party the way spit suddenly sinks into sand. Between the dancers, the steady green of the army uniforms were patrolling the whole thing and I felt sick as I held the bag in my pocket.

  Bosh looked over his shoulder again and grinned as the boat slid up onto the beach. This is gonna be real!

  I thought, what if I just say I lost it…

  CRAWLING WITH THIEVES

  There were temples at both ends of the main dirt road in town. One was an enormous stone complex with eight massive towers, standing strong and immovable. People in colourful saris and men with combed moustaches streamed in carrying bags of marigolds and coconuts. They exited with their dark foreheads dotted red or yellow or streaked with white, and continued along the cracked sidewalk in their bare feet. At the opposite end, a kilometre or so towards the hills, the road disappeared into grass on its way to a massive stone pavilion that housed a sixteen-foot statue of Nandi the bull. Behind the pavilion, stone steps wound up the dry hill and then disappeared behind clusters of sandy boulders. Above it all, the clouds sat quietly in the blue sky as if proof some lid had been arched and sealed over the whole thing. The tall weeds stood still against the columns of the ruins and the soft hooves of the cows thumped gently as they inched their noses forward to new grass.