It was still early in the morning when John struggled to get out of bed to check from his balcony if he could already see land. Indeed, at a distance he estimated to be between 1.5 and 2 hours of sailing, a long stretch of land emerged, on which luxuriant vegetation seemed to grow. In any case, that's what the travel organizer, who specialized in distant and paradisiacal destinations, had promised him. Besides, who could define paradise without ever having been there? It seems that the word has entered into customs and especially into the imagination of city men and women, often for whom white sand, coconut trees, and turquoise waters were the definition of paradise.
The pitching of the boat that was transporting the twenty guests had calmed down in the second part of the night, as if it had been gradually tamed by its occupants who blew on it like a child one would want to calm and comfort, "calm down, calm down, we're almost there."
John didn't know anyone among the other travelers. It was true that they had only left the port of Miami 48 hours ago, and he thought that once in their paradise, it would be time to start exchanging impressions and getting to know each other. He had not spoken to anyone except the boat staff whose mission was to smile whatever the circumstances and especially whatever the mood of the client. They all did their job very well, but John knew that it was not always with a light heart and that behind their smiles, there was often sadness, distress, and sometimes even despair because these model employees had left their country, their families, and their children to provide for their needs. They all came from a poor region in the north of India. He didn't feel like smiling back at them. The exchange was too unequal.
The island was inexorably approaching as the boat slowed down. They were now so close that they could hear the villagers exchanging greetings, and chatter. It was market day.
Before disembarking, the passengers had a final briefing from Captain Lawrence and the travel agency representative, Steve. The watchword was to blend in with the population, have confidence in oneself, and let oneself be guided.
Lawrence had also decided to disembark so that he too could enjoy this little paradise. The protocol would have required him to leave immediately after the clients and Steve disembarked from the boat and come back to pick them up exactly 7 days later, but he decided to deviate from the rules. The 20 passengers and Steve would be accommodated, fed, in the island's only hotel.
Once the boat was at the dock, a feeling of discomfort overwhelmed Steve. The sight before his eyes as he descended the gangway saddened him deeply. A group of dancers, and musicians were trying in vain to recreate an atmosphere long gone. Under the pretext that they wanted to surprise and welcome tourists and show them what their country had to offer: authenticity. These poor wretches were ridiculous in John's eyes. No, the synthetic loincloth and the necklace of fake leopard teeth didn't impress him at all. He thought his stay on a paradisiacal beach punctuated by surfing and scuba diving was starting off poorly.
It was at this moment that Steve asked him, "What do you think? It's great, isn't it?" with an enthusiastic tone, affirming his question with a press on John's biceps, which destabilized him as he replied, "Not bad, not bad, but what are these villagers doing here? They don't fit in. Their sincerity in reconnecting with their ancestors and their customs seems false, don't you think?"
Steve, accustomed to his clients' criticisms, ignored the remark and said to John, "By the way, in the middle of the week, we're invited to a commemoration ceremony for the dead. I hope everyone will want to attend."
On these words, they parted ways before all boarding the bus that would take them to their beachfront hotel.
Room 9, with an unobstructed view of the white sandy beach, turquoise waters, and coconut trees... Could the brochure and the agency have been telling the truth? John felt invigorated and had a strong desire to dive in and feel his body weightless in this 27-degree water.
As he left the hotel, John ran into Steve, who didn't fail to remind him of the commemorative evening. "Wednesday, at nightfall, we're all waiting for you on the other side of this cove. All the villagers will be there and will be happy to perpetuate their customs in your presence. I would be really pleased if you could come."
"Sure," replied John, who thought that there wasn't much else to do at nightfall anyway.
At dinner that night, he sat at a table with three other guests, all part of the group. One was a German luxury car salesman . He was dressed a bit too much for a tourist getaway like this. Tight jeans, an immaculate white shirt, and a black jacket topped with a discreet pale yellow pocket square that barely peeked out of the jacket. His name, Ralph, was predestined for a German car salesman.
The other two at the table were Yolanda and Betty. Apparently, their personalities had been eclipsed by their tattoos. They were both covered in them, some more or less successful, like the majestic phoenix bird on Betty's right shoulder. The poor creature probably hadn't been finished by the artist, but the bird simply didn't have any eyes, which didn't seem to bother Betty, and even less so Yolanda, for whom the bear drawn on her right shoulder had all the attributes of a wild beast.
"Good evening, my name is John. Nice to meet you. I come from the north of England, and I travel alone. Where are you from?"
"We're from Massachusetts," replied the two tattooed women.
"And I'm from Buffalo, New York," Ralph said proudly, probably thinking that everyone knew about Buffalo and BMW's sales success, as according to the brand, Buffalo was voted the top city in the eastern half of the United States for the number of cars sold. This statistic was necessarily linked to his performance as a salesperson, and he was determined to share this idea.
"Have you been invited to Wednesday's commemoration ceremony on the beach in the second cove?" John asked.
The three replied in unison, "Oh, yes, we're looking forward to discovering how these communities live and how they celebrate their dead."
John thought he had come only to admire the underwater scenery, surf, and enjoy the generous sun, but why not also embrace the idea that they were going to discover something that he would remember forever?
Wednesday, the famous day of the commemoration has arrived. The group of 20 tourists and Steve are all there. Everyone knows each other more or less and the atmosphere is rather jovial.
Approaching the second creek, a fire already makes the shadows of the palm trees shimmer on the granite walls of these immense rocks. John, Betty, Yolanda and Ralph, who now consider themselves friends after spending 3 days together, arrive on the beach. They are offered a dark red potion with a mushroom floating in the middle. With customs and folklore taking priority, all the guests eagerly drink the concoction and religiously chew on the mushroom.
Despite the simplicity of the food and products offered, the commemoration has something grandiose about it. The songs, the drumbeats make all the participants euphoric, and the mushroom slowly kicks in. The commemoration clothes worn by what seems to be the village chief and his disciples dominate in gold with green and yellow highlights punctuated by clusters of rubies, probably as fake as the leopard teeth.
Suddenly, from the top of the largest granite block, a character with a mask whose grin was more than menacing appears. The mask was white and the features that expressed wickedness were black. Once again, the supposed village chief was a fake, and this giant guy on top of the rock was the real boss. To everyone's surprise, the grand chief spoke perfect English.
The announcement he made made them all jump in terror despite their altered state. John tried to find Steve, their guide, to ask him what this scene was all about, but there was no sign of him. He had vanished. Their time had come. The grand chief wanted to commemorate by slitting the throats of the 20 participants in order to harvest their blood, which would then be used to make the potion in which the mushroom floated for the next group of visitors. He slowly removed his mask and everybody recognized Captain Lawrence.
John tried to reason, how could he verify this morbid reality that was descending upon him and his unfortunate companions? He thought that by projecting himself into the future, he might be able to escape this very present. In 5 days, he would be in the stands of his beloved football club, Leeds. They would face Liverpool. As his head heard the cheers of the stadium, a feeling of warmth and almost tenderness caressed his throat. He felt himself being taken, his head now lying on the white sand beside those of Ralph, Yolanda, and Betty.