There were four of us. Harvey, Elly, Joe and myself. To me, they were all confrontational. I didn't feel that I was that way, but perhaps they perceived me differently. When the four of us were sitting together, there always existed an element of tension - suspicion even. It made me wonder if it was all worth it but, thinking about it now, that was part of the thrill. Harvey looked me straight in the eye and said, "You're an idiot." The others merely shrugged. I liked Harvey. The first time I met him, I asked his name and he told me. But then he said, "You can call me anything. Call me idiot if you want." I said that I'd call him Harvey. The jocularity between us had long since evaporated and now he merely ordered me around. "Just go now." I'd spent all day on a boat trip with him, and we'd even gone on a visa run together. I thought this time spent together had cemented our new friendship. 'You're a loser' were the words I now heard him say to me.
As much as I appreciated Elly, she was equally antagonistic towards me. If I dawdled, as I'm prone to do, she was unforgiving. "Hurry up idiot." I tried unsuccessfully to disguise the look of disappointment I gave her. Before she could retaliate, she was cut off by Harvey. "You're fucked," he said. I was fucked. Seriously fucked. In more ways than one. How is it that images of the dead can mingle so seamlessly with such an imaginative, alive ocean? That such lustrous, vivid colors can evoke a pall of misery? Perhaps this was the sly charm of death. That we are reminded of it even in the most beautiful of places. Before I indulge my somberness any longer, let me introduce Joe.
Joe had a zest for life that I envied. He was spontaneous and without airs and graces. He would take a kayak out early in the morning - his camera and a flask of whiskey stashed away - and come back by sunset, red-faced and beaming, with hundreds of idiosyncratic photos he'd taken during the course of the day. At night, he would lean on the bar, his head resting on his hands, while his peeling flesh was soothed by an application of Aloe vera. Whoever was doing the rubbing would be regaled, in muffled but enthusiastic tones, of the latest screenplay he was working on - inevitably a story of psychological terror. "Life is amazing. Watch this." He showed us a video he'd recorded. 'Dog vs Crab', he'd titled it. A lithe, black beach dog toyed with a tiny crab on the sand - a mismatch really. The crab should have stood no chance. It survived though, protected by its shell and imbued with a tenacity the dog lacked. Now it was me who needed a crab-like shell. "You are fucked mate." As if I needed reminding. "You tried to screw with me so now suck on it. Idiot."
Perhaps I was feeling sorry for myself for the hand I'd been dealt. Things seemed grim to me whichever way I looked at them. I was wounded. I had only been able to bluff the others for so long and it wasn't working any more. They could see straight through me. Now that they knew who and what they were really dealing with, they no longer felt the need to be cagey - and so the invective flowed. "Fairytales," said Elly. "You are a fairyteller." I told her that I doubted such a word existed. "Yes, but you know what I mean. You cannot fool us anymore." She was right. I couldn't fool them anymore. I couldn't fool myself anymore either. The time for bluffing was over. My reality here had become both my closest friend and my greatest adversary - azure skies, white sand, and a glassy ocean; loss, fear and hurt.
Harvey and I had gotten on well on the visa run from the island and back. I had teased him about his meal; luminous green peas next to a hunk of unappetizing fried fish. We had wandered around dazed in the morning, both of us unsure of our plans. Eventually, I had followed him back on a later boat. He was Scandinavian - fair and principled, but icy. It was this last trait that I was now experiencing. He looked me up and down, then in the eye, all the while projecting an indifference, an unsettling apathy. He tapped the table impatiently.
I was still here on the island, hoping to heal. But how do you reconcile such beauty with such morbidity? I was in the midst of trying to do just that, with only partial success. As much as I traipsed around the island carelessly, lolled in its inviting waters, dined on its superb cuisine and came to know its hospitable residents, I couldn't escape thoughts of illness, suffering, death and finally absence. In the frustrated and often desperate state I found myself, some sympathy wouldn't have gone amiss. "You are a complete idiot." Harvey pronounced each syllable with disturbing clarity.
To be fair, it wasn't only me that was bullied. We all preyed on each other. Scheming, backstabbing and innuendo were the order of the day. The others brushed it off, just as I pretended to. Elly had the thickest skin. We initially thought she was vulnerable because she was a girl - at least I did - and she used this to her advantage. So we learned not to underestimate her. She was no pushover - Teutonic blood ran thick in her veins. I would often feel myself on the verge of achieving something, proving myself in this uncompromising quartet, only for Elly to casually crush my ambitions. Her two friends rarely joined us. They were aloof - perhaps put off by the rough-edged competitiveness we displayed when together. They preferred to enjoy the island's obvious attractions, unwilling to embroil themselves in our silly game of oneupmanship.
And so we lived out a vicious Lord of the Flies-type fantasy - each of us trying to outdo the other, to trip each other up and gain dominance. Four people, unknown to one another not long previously, now all aimed to establish superiority over each other; to prove their worth. There was no room here for tenderness, comfort or mercy - exactly the things I craved.
My emotions were bound to boil over sooner or later. All this time, I had kept them largely to myself. I knew that If I exposed these emotions, my fate would be sealed - but any more words of derision would do it. Sitting together again, we all looked at each other, po-faced. "Come on," Elly nagged me. "The biggest idiot of the night is also the slowest idiot of the night," added Harvey. Joe simply sniggered. I snapped. "You're all fucking idiots. Every single one of you. Do you not know how hard this is for me, how new it is to me? Have you got no patience, no understanding? Can somebody give me a break for fuck's sake?" Harvey, Elly and Joe sat unmoved - a tapping of the table, a mocking 'tsk-tsk', an eyebrow raised. None of these people knew what I was feeling, or cared. Why should they? My situation was not unique, or even particularly special. I needed to grasp this and resign myself to all life's twists - cruel and kind. One can be crippled or elated, made a fool or a hero. There is no other choice but to take the hands you are dealt - good, bad or mainly just mediocre. Once you're in the game, you're in it to the end. I am as much of an idiot as each of my opponents; no more, no less. After taking a moment to compose myself, I spoke again. "It's your turn Joe, you stupid idiot."
* 'Idiot' is a card game also known as 'Shithead'.
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