I was telling Bernhard how I nearly flunked another year because I couldn’t tell the time.
‘Explains why you are always late.’
Bernie’s in a good mood.
‘I bet you were disappointed I didn’t say you were full of shit this time.’
Nothing like a good crap in the great outdoors. It gets you back to mother nature.
‘It gets you back to the soil. I hope you cover it up after you take a crap.’
I’m not a fucking cat, I said.
What you said and what you did are two different things. Just come clean, you covered it up and thought it would make good compost where you could whack in a few tomato plants.
They thrive off shit I said. The juiciest tomatoes I’ve eaten were in China. I swear they were grown on human waste.
‘Waste not want not, isn’t that the saying.’
It was the usual banter over a morning coffee.
Wasn’t last night a blast, I eventually said.
I had glimpses of the night, a target, pin the donkey tail on it, leapfrogging.
‘All in your imagination.’
Bernhard had a way disarming even the hardest case.
‘Games, can’t beat them,’ he says,’ they eventually lead to the bedroom games. ‘
You mean pussy loves games that lead to the bedroom?
I got a whack over the head for that remark but still managed to raise my eyebrows before soldiering on to my point.
It was more like a shack with a mattress thrown on the floor.
‘Beats fucking on a cemetery any day.’
Now that was really debatable. As I was alluding to earlier, nothing beats the great outdoors.
Bernhard ducked into the hotel’s mini-mart and came out with two Red Bulls and two iced Nescafe.
‘I liked your game?”
Now, what was that?
All I know is that the beers flowed and my pack of twenty Tramadols was empty.
‘I’m sure I didn’t take them all.’
I made sure I took at least half of them said Bernhard. Nothing worse than greedy cunts.
I apparently bought cigarettes in exchange for a good snogging.
‘Worked well, ‘said Bernard who reckons by the time the night was over, ‘every shop at the Chicken Farm was out of cigarettes.’
At least the girls would have cigs to smoke. Things could be a lot worse for them.
And cigs aren’t really cheap, the taxes are still high.
So it was just another innocent night?
Bernhard nodded and lit up a Dunhill and took a swig of his Red Bull followed by his ice coffee. ‘I love the taste of nicotine and caffeine in the morning.’
It was good to know we weren’t booted out of the chicken farm, I said. Besides, it’s not like you lose your mind on booze and Tramadol, one cancels out the other.
‘You’ll believe anything if you say it enough.’
I could hear the waves lapping up on the volcanic beach that was a couple hundred yards down the road from our hotel. A swim might clear up the cobwebs.
Then Sana, our tour guide surfaced.
He was laughing. Was there snot hanging off the end of my nose?
‘No,’ replied the Mad Hindu, before Bernhard had a chance to say it was a dag hanging out of my ass, ‘it’s just the money you pay on cigarettes, you could fuck whores all night.’
This was coming from Bali’s finest pimp.
‘Where’s the fun in that,’ said the Kiwi, who lead the charge towards the beach.