It has gone midnight. In the desert the heat governs the hours you keep. For now it allows sleep without the clang and whine of the AC. In the compound the huts are falling into darkness. A scorpion makes its way along the central path, towards its end as a nasty surprise in somebody’s boot. Denise is in Miki’s bed, but her back is turned. She is churning inside at the memory of his words.
‘I tell you when it is time for you to leave, you don’t decide’ he had said. She grinds to herself ‘I should have hit him and walked out.’ But she hadn’t and now he’s sleeping and oblivious. She can’t go back to her own hut now and wake up Iona.
On the other side of the road Colm is awake too, going through his routine of disgust and resignation as his friend Terry slumps into a gob open beery sleep. At the far end of the path, away from the other Volunteers, the hut lights are still on.
Steve, his big hands around the bong, was grinning and chilled. The room smelt sweet from the dope. This was a new smell for Ross. A new smell to go with the new word. ‘Bong’. When Steve took a draw it looked like he was playing a saxophone. That’s what Ross thought, but he didn’t say anything. He was still embarrassed from lunchtime. Why had he told Terry about the bomb?
‘So Steve, what’s this bomb you are making?’
‘What?’
‘The bomb that Ross has been telling me all about.’
‘A bomb!' What would I be making a bomb for?’ Steve pulls a face. ‘What have you been saying Ross?’
‘You told me last night, you had that coke bottle and the bits of pipe. You were going to make a bomb.’ Ross feels a blush spreading. His voice is thin.
‘Ross can’t you shut it, ever! You’re such a nonce; I am not making a bomb.’ Then in a whisper to Terry. ‘I am making a bong. A B-O-N-G.’
‘You never heard of bong Ross?’ Terry all mocking and Steve shaking his head.
‘No, what’s a bong.’
He stretched out on his bed. Now Ross knew what a bong was, and cringed at the memory. There was so much he didn’t understand. Actually he felt pretty embarrassed about everything since they’d arrived. He just kept making a prat of himself.
The mini bus pulls off the main road and starts to climb, crunching on the dirt road. One of the Israelis opens the glove box. There’s a revolver inside, a big military service one. A couple of the others nudge and eyes widen. Ross doesn’t say anything. Growing up in Belfast he’s used to guns and soldiers. And check points like the one they are now approaching. The driver says a few words into a walkie-talkie and the gates swing open. The bus drives into the compound, skirting the perimeter fence then cutting in towards the lights ahead.
Ross and Steve are behind the driver. The girls are in the back talking over their heads to the Israelis up front. Ross joins in with a joke he and Denise had shared back then, back when they had been together.
‘As long as the snakes and spiders don’t get us first.’ Nobody laughs. Then he hears the salt in Denise’s voice.
‘Ha-ha the girls talking about the swimming pool and the boys scared of snakes and spiders’.
‘Wake me up in the morning.’ Steve was sat on the edge of the metal bed all smiles but it wasn't a request. Ross knew this was a fool’s errand.
‘Aye sure thing.’
Steve scared him enough when he was awake, but at least then he was under some control. It was when he slept that he scared Ross the most. The night terrors, Steve shouting and fighting in his sleep, then sitting bolt upright eyes staring full of rage, until he slumped back into more uncomfortable sleep. The idea of walking him up? That was like defusing a bomb. He wanted to be away from Steve, move out of the hut, into one of the empty ones. Not the one next to Miki though. Denise had made that clear.
At the Kobo he buys four beers. He is just going to stick the beers in the fridge for later and go to the pool. Steve is back in the hut sticking bits of pipe onto the coke bottle, making that bong. Best keep away. Ross’ plan is to crash out by the pool, take a swim then hide in the shade. His body is hot and pink from where it has been exposed to the sun. The scratches on his arms and legs throb and itch. The harshest hours of the day were passing but the waves of heat still smother.
He sees Denise coming the other way and feels that tug he always gets when he sees her. Temping together, young bored Filing Clerks in London; it had been his idea to go to a kibbutz. He was thrilled when this new girlfriend wanted to come too. But the relationship was over long before they boarded the plane. Their relationship had been a brief mistake. She had told him that. Now he had to watch the other men around her, her enjoying their attention. He tried not to brood on it. But it was hard. She was spending a lot of time with Miki. Miki styled himself like a gypsy, dark skin and gold, a bandana and an open necked shirt. He had a slim taut body. Miki wasn’t pink and covered in ginger hairs. Miki was cool. Miki wasn’t like Ross.
He gives Denise a lazy wave and a ‘Hi.’ She’s in no hurry and stops.
‘I need to move out; I can’t stand it with Steve.’ Ross doesn’t know why he is telling Denise this, but it comes out all the same.
‘Is there somewhere to go, somebody else you can share with?’ Her voice shrugs.
‘I am going to ask Cornel if I can move in there.’ Ross points to the empty house.
‘You don’t want to do that Ross.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Miki lives next door.’
There is a silence as Ross takes this in. Denise fills in the gaps.
‘Do you really want to hear me with Miki? Do you?’
Lying on his bed that knowledge boiled up inside before slowly simmering down again. He mustn’t let it hurt him. Music was burbling from the stereo. To Ross it sounded like the theme from the Coco Pops advert, but Steve was nodding away to its tinny beat. He had being playing Black Sabbath earlier. Ross hadn’t known who it was, but was relieved Steve had mentioned the name. It avoided him having to look stupid again. He had the liked Black Sabbath tape, forbidden fruit. He remembered the lads back home with that name inked onto their denim jackets. His Da would have smashed those records if he had ever brought them home. The Devil’s music, to go with the ‘demon drink’, and the ‘devil’s playing cards.’ Ross guessed that if his Da had ever got to hear about it there would be the ‘demon bong’ as well.
Steve was padding around getting ready for bed, and Ross braced himself. Steve had told Ross on the first day why he fought in his sleep.
‘I did two years in Wandsworth for burglary. That’s a long time, cooped up day in day out. The pressure builds up and up. Then one day something happens. A tiny thing and somebody has a screamer, loses the plot. The screws don't try and fight you when you have a screamer. Nah, they pin you down, and get you with the chemical cosh. Doosh.’ Steve made a gesture, half punch half injection. ‘Then when you’re conscious but still dopey, they beat you, heavy body blows, no sharp edges for bruises. You feel it but can’t do anything about it. I learned to wake up fighting.’
Ross tried to put out of his mind that he was going to be the alarm clock for a burglar who woke up fighting. He didn’t know about music or drugs. But he knew what it felt like to be beaten. He closed his eyes, the itchy burning of his legs and arms reminding him of his day on the vegetables. But the short red scar throbbing just above his right eye; a reminder of an older hurt.
‘Shift your arse.’ Terry's bellowing from the passenger side of a pickup. ‘We aren’t going to hang about waiting for you every morning.’ The tone is a lot nastier than it needs to be. Ross seethes but keeps it buttoned and climbs in. Doodie is at the wheel, silent. Just a huge physical presence, smoking.
This is Ross’ last shot. They had not wanted him on the Date Plantation, and he had already been slung off the Bananas for, well for being an arse. The Israelis had been pretty clear. English volunteers were drunks and lazy. There was no point explaining that Belfast wasn’t in England. They said they could get twice as much work done for the same using the Arabs. So this is the last chance. Mess up here and he could pack his bags. It meant he is going to have to put up with Terry.
‘Going to be hot out here today and there is no shade. Not like on the bananas.’
‘Thanks Terry.’
‘Think you’ll last?’
Ross drinks hungrily from the Kalka, the big polystyrene clad water cooler. The soil is grey, dusty, not the thick dark land of his Uncle’s farm back home. Was he going to last? Of course he was going to fucking last.
Doodie sets them laying irrigation pipes. Terry, the trusted man gets to drive the tractor, spooling hose off the back. Ross gets to scrabble in the dirt behind, untangling and laying it out. Soon he is sweating, dry mouthed and burning. After half an hour he calls Terry to stop and gulps more cool water from the flagon. Then the tractor moves off again.
His hands are raw now from the dirt. He stops for a moment to ease them but the tractor continues forward. A loop of hose catches is foot and pulls him down hard. The gritty earth scratching his bare arms and knees.
‘Sorry’ Terry shouts but he is laughing.
Ross lies there, feeling the hot cold pain of the grazes. Boiling hot and weak he turns onto his side. He wants just to lie there for a while. Stay down for a bit. Then a memory comes back. Don’t stay down. Go down and you’re dead.
The boys are there by the bus stop, just dark shapes ahead but Ross knows who they are. They aren’t waiting for a bus, they aren’t going anywhere. These are the ones who left school that summer, hanging around with no jobs. Ross has a job; he was never one of them. Ross’ Da had been their Headmaster, so he could never be one of them. Ross’ Da is ‘firm but fair.’ Well that’s what his friends would say. These boys bare a grudge. They have cans of beer and the alcohol is doing its work. They are loud, shouting into the night. He knows they have seen him. It is too late to cross the road; it’s too late to turn around. Just keep walking, be confident. That’s what he had been taught. He knows they are staring at him. He doesn’t catch their gaze. For a moment he thinks they will let him past. Then the biggest one, Billy Masters steps forward.
‘Burns! Your fucking Da caned me for notn.’
‘What’s that got do with me Masters?’ That’s as far as it goes before the first punch lands. Not from Masters, but from the side. Ross starts to run. He is fast but not fast enough to escape more punches. He screams inside, stay on your feet, stay on your feet, you go down you are dead, they will kick your head in.
Ross climbs slowly to his feet. Terry has stopped the tractor, and is looking down. He is laughing but there is not the jeering tone this time. ‘Do you think you will last?’ It’s less of a challenge, more a genuine enquiry this time.
‘I’ll be fine.’ Ross pours cool water over the grazes and curses. Soon the flies will be buzzing round his wounds. ‘Come on Terry let’s get on with it.’
They get on with it, up and down the grey dirty field. By the time they knock off at one they have done a decent shift. Doodie hands them cold cans of coke, and gives Ross a slap on the back.
Dawn approached. Ross wasn't going to let his alarm go off. As quietly as he could he got up and pulled on his shorts and boots. The fridge was humming outside the door. His breakfast was in it so no need to mess around in the room. Steve was turned on his side, very asleep, quietly grumbling to himself. Carefully Ross clicked open the front door and stepped outside. Then carefully he closed the door behind him. He sat outside for a few minutes until his watch came round to 5 am.
From the safety of his side of the door Ross raised his fist, bang bang bang! ‘Wake up Steve, time for work, wake up!’ Inside there was a crash, then a roar and curses. After a few moments the rage subsided and a voice came from inside.
'Cheers Mate.’ The voice was gentle, an honest thank you.
As he walked up the path Ross heard more shouting coming from the huts up ahead. Not so much shouting but wailing and screaming. He broke into a run. As he reached the top of rise he could see a group had already gathered, framed in the light from one of the huts.
‘Jesus feck, get me a doctor.’ It was Terry, he was outside, doubled up and writhing. Colm was standing over him. Terry’s face looked purple; teeth gritted howling like an animal as he held his foot.
‘Daft bugger got stung by a scorpion. Didn’t check his boots.’ Colm’s voice was gentle, motherly. ‘Terry, keep calm, Miki’s gone to get first aid.’
‘Keep calm, fecking keep calm. Jesus.’ Terry howled again. Ross looked around the faces. Denise was next to him. He gave her his best friendly smile. ‘That’s some alarm call’ he said pointing to Terry. There was no smile in return, but she stepped close.
‘About what we talked about yesterday. No reason not to take that room now. The one next to Miki.’ Then she left, heading towards her hut. The one she shared with Iona.
Doodie arrived with a bib on the horn. Ross ran over to share the news but the big man just shrugged. ‘You will be driving the tractor today then. Get in; there is a lot to do. I will get one of the Arabs to help you.’
Word Count 2551
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