There were voices in the room. Sani had come back, and he and Nancy were discussing something—pointing as they spoke over in his direction. He felt better now. Weak, but neither cold nor feverish. He sat up and pushed the pillows up behind him so that he could sit comfortably. Nancy came over to the bed.
“Are you ready for some food now?”
“Actually, I feel quite good now. Yes, thanks, some food would be fine, but I’d better stick to chicken soup and white rice.” All of the nightmare last night seemed very far away now, with the sunlight floating in through the window, and the sounds of the wind lightly in the trees and the reassuring susurrations of the waves on the beach. “Maybe I’m just allergic to shrimp, or got food poisoning or something,” he said hopefully. “Not that your food is bad. It just happens, especially with seafood. It goes bad quickly.”
Sani came over to stand next to Nancy. “We will give you your chicken soup with rice, but what you experienced last night was not some allergy or food poisoning.” He paused a moment to play with his cane. “Perhaps we can all eat in here and then we can discuss matters away from…from other ears. Would that be okay with you?”
Ab waved his hand weakly. “Sure. No problem. But I should get up and have a bath first, to soak off all the sweat I worked up.”
“Good, I will tell the cook to prepare dinner and serve it in here.” He disappeared out the door.
Nancy helped Ab to his feet. Ab sat on the edge of the toilet seat while she filled the big tub with hot water. She then helped him out of his sarong and into the tub. “It’s a little hot, so careful.”
The water seized his feet with hot teeth and it felt like the hair on his legs was being burnt off. He stood for a moment, leaning against Nancy, before lowering himself into the steaming water.
“Well, I shall leave you for a moment then,” she said, withdrawing toward the door.
“Nancy?”
She stopped.
“Your grandfather said not to leave me alone. Could you please stay? It’s not that I’m afraid. It’s just that, well, could you scrub my back?”
Her strong, slim hands massaged the soap over his shoulders, down his back, down over his chest; his belly tensed, bent back like a bow, as her hand slid down and his body rose up to greet her. She leaned over and kissed the tip of his penis, then she rose up and took a towel from the rack. “I think you’d better rest.” She dried him off until his skin hurt, then helped him into his sarong. He was able to walk back to the bed on his own. I wonder if my mother ever did this for Dad while he was on his sick bed? The thought made him feel strange all over, and weak. All the things he had never understood.
She brought a shirt and shorts and dropped them on the bed beside him. “We’ll eat here in the bedroom. Grandfather and I will eat at the bedside table. Now put your feet up and relax.”
The cook brought in several steaming trays of food on a mobile cart, parked it just inside the door, and disappeared. The aroma of chicken soup filled Ab with nostalgia and ravenous hunger. Nancy set his food out in front of him.
“Please, start to eat. My grandfather will be here in a minute.”
Ab breathed in the steam from the soup. “I feel like a little boy, staying home from school with the flu. My mother used to do this for me.”
“So I remind you of your mother?”
“Not exactly. But your grandmother does.” He slurped at his soup while Nancy watched. “Won’t you eat too? I’m not comfortable being watched. I feel like I’ve been watched like a monkey in a zoo ever since I came to this country.”
Nancy took a plate and helped herself to some rice and stew, then sat with it in her lap, not eating. “The organg asli, the real Javanese, watch everyone who doesn’t look like them,” she said. “Or think like them.”
Sani came in shortly, filled his plate, and took a chair next to Nancy. They ate in silence. When they were finished, Nancy took the plates and set them back on the cart.
Then she poured each of them a cup of Chinese tea. Ab sniffed it. “Your grandmother gave me ginger tea.”
Sani smiled. “Yes, Heimun thinks strong ginger tea makes you live longer.”
They sipped at their tea, then, almost simultaneously, clinked their cups down. “Well,” began Sani, gripping his cane before him. “I suppose we should begin. Where shall we begin? Last night, or at the beginning?”
Ab sat back against the pillows. “Why don’t we start somewhere in the middle, which is where I feel like I’ve been. I’ll tell you what I know, and what has happened, and then you can correct me and fill in the details.”
Sani sat back in his chair. “Good.”
Ab closed his eyes as he spoke. Beginning with his investigation of the deaths of the cattle in Gandringan, he recounted his story, ending with the flight to Bali. He included the incident just before he had left, but left out any mention of the kris.
Sani leaned forward on his cane. “Ah, well that explains a few things. I see I shall also have to explain a few things.” He paused, as if considering how much he could say, then muttered. “I guess it doesn’t matter what you know. You are leaving, and out there,” he waved a hand to indicate the non-Indonesian world, “no one would believe you anyway.”
He looked at his granddaughter, and she returned his stare. He sighed.
“Both Soesanto and Susilo assumed that they survived the big purges because of their wits. They didn’t know that my money was also buying them some breathing space.”
“So there’s some irony in Soesanto’s view of you as a villain.”
“It is an irony, yes. But it has also been, for me, some protection. There are people in Jakarta who have looked for ways to get me as well. They don’t like it when Chinese people make money. It seems like a kind of moral affront. If they could tie me to the old Communists, they could simply appropriate my assets. If people like Soesanto thought I was the culprit, then I could not be in a league with them, could I?”
“Are you so absolutely sure that Soesanto wasn’t playing both sides of the fence? I mean, doesn’t it make sense that he would have been kept alive because he had friends or protectors in Jakarta?”
Sani tugged at the cuff of his shirt, then looked directly at Ab. “Am I absolutely sure? No. I am not. But for a person in my position, keeping a double agent alive is one of the risks of protecting my family. For what it is worth, I think Soesanto was genuine.” He looked sideways at Nancy, who was looking down at her hands, and then continued.
“The picture has been complicated by something. The kris, which your friend George found, once belonged to Waluyo’s family, although it has been residing in someone else’s collection. Waluyo was given his current job by General Witono, who must sign all the official approval papers for the Susu Senang project. I think of him as one of Allah’s little helpers.”
“Allah’s little helpers?”
“A figure of speech. If Allah doesn’t seem to be doing what some people think he should be doing, then sometimes he needs a little help. So when Susilo is causing trouble, like killing cows with strychnine to discredit the project, then Allah wants him dead. But Allah doesn’t actually do anything, so his helpers step in. It’s a kind of degenerate view of a jihad, with God as a kind of weakling who needs human help.”
“So, Susilo was killing cows even before Waluyo stepped into the mix.”
“Yes. Waluyo just carried it a step further, and used it to help his cousins in the kampung. But to return to the kris. To keep things under the table, as you might say, we were called upon to provide a weapon. We gave it to General Witono, who passed it on to Waluyo. After, um,” Sani glanced sideways at Nancy, “retiring Susilo, the knife was supposed to be returned. But Waluyo wanted to keep it. At first he tried to hide it in his home village, but his family there were suspicious, and wanted a lot more money, so he kept it in the shed at Susu Senang.”
Ab recalled his first visit to Gandringan. Why hadn’t he made that connection before? He was feeling again like a stupid foreigner. Sani was continuing.
“Waluyo knew that George had taken it from the supply shed at Susu Senang. He wanted it back. He heard that Soesanto had it, and went to Soesanto’s place to get it, but George had already been there to retrieve it. In his anger, Waluyo killed Soesanto. He knew that Witono, his boss, would not be upset about this extra death, and didn’t much care about the kris. He had already been directed to kill Susilo. Soesanto was just, what do you say, collateral damage.
“He then went after George. George refused to admit he had it. Waluyo threatened him unless he was told where the knife was. George misjudged the depth of Waluyo’s feelings, and scoffed at him. A crime of passion over a knife. Waluyo then came after you. I did not know your friend George well, but I doubt that he directed Waluyo to you. You just seemed an obvious choice, that George must have left it at your house. Nancy also thought this. In fact she thought she had seen it at your place, and then the kris seemed to disappear.” Both Sani and Nancy looked expectantly at Ab.
“I found it on the buffet. I guessed that George must have left it there. I taped it to the bottom of the bed.”
“Ah.” It was almost a sigh of relief, coming from both Sani and Nancy, who glanced at each other. Nancy turned to stare for a moment at Ab, as if trying to read something in his facial expression, then refocused on her hands in her lap as her grandfather continued.
“Waluyo tried to give you all a good fright at the fun house that evening, trying to scare up the kris. His way of scaring is somewhat less than controlled, and could lead to unfortunate accidents, as it had with George, so that I even feared for Nancy’s life. That was when I knew that Nancy had to go into hiding for a while. Without knowing where the kris was, we could neither deflect his attention elsewhere, nor bargain with him.”
He sighed again.
“That was probably Waluyo at your house before you came here. If not for the earthquake, he would have the kris. And you might well be dead.”
“Why kill me? Why not just take the knife? Death seems a hefty price to pay for petty theft.”
“For one thing, the military thugs who are running this country right now don’t like foreigners interfering with how they run the place. Your death would be an object lesson. More importantly, Waluyo knew it would matter to me. He resents having to working for a Chinaman. And because…I can see I’m going to have to give you a history lesson. This goes pretty far back and sounds like a fairy tale, but that’s what popular history is, after all, the fairy tales we tell ourselves to bolster our belief in our own importance. About five hundred years ago there lived in Java an expert craftsman, an empu, a weapons maker who was reputed to make the finest kris, the most perfectly suited to their owner, in all of the kingdoms of Java. He was called upon to make a kris for a young Javanese prince to be presented to him on the day of his circumcision. This empu crafted a kris from the finest meteorite iron and nickel of the time; he made a kris of great power and beauty. Unfortunately, the kingdom was overthrown and the young prince killed in battle before the kris was ever put to use. So the empu kept that kris, and used its power in the new kingdom to assure himself and his family a continuing place of honour.
“The kris was passed from father to son, as the art of making fine kris was passed on from father to son. Something over one hundred years ago, the craft of making kris, and the power and sorcery that went with it, were lost. A kris is not much good in battle against a Dutch cannon. The family reverted to farming, and the family treasures, one by one, were sold in the market to buy food and clothing.
“That, then, is how the kris came into another collection. The people who owned it had no idea of its historical importance.”
“That’s a somewhat different story about that kris than the one Soesanto told me.”
Sani laughed. “Well, we each have our own stories, don’t we? I am not even convinced that the kris we have is the one Waluyo thinks it is. We believe what gives us power. What gives us energy. The story I told you is the one Waluyo believes, the one he told me this morning when I questioned him. When we hired him, I did not know, nor do I think Witono knew, that Waluyo had grown up as a child with stories about that kris, that he had an image in his head as to what it would look like, as his father and grandfather had described it to him.”
Ab sat forward on the bed. “You talked with Waluyo this morning?”
“He came on the flight yesterday afternoon. He said he wanted to talk with me about the shipment of cows coming next week. I knew that was not the reason he came when you told me your dream. So I asked him point-blank. He thinks you have brought the kris here, and that I am protecting you. He thinks that if you are seriously harmed or even killed, I will capitulate and give it to him. I did not know then where the kris was, and so did not disillusion him. But it also means that we shall have to retrieve it from your house as soon as possible, and get it back to its rightful owners. Even if he does not have it in his hand, Waluyo will know that it is safe for now, and not likely to leave the country, but that it is beyond our control. Then he will have nothing to gain. He has been afraid that you are going to take it out of the country and it will end up in some collection somewhere in North America, unreachable. Waluyo has learned the ancient tricks well. The apparition over your bed, Waluyo had called up from the realms of the dead, that was the last professional empu in his family, who died more than a hundred years ago.”
Ab’s head was dizzy. “You believe that stuff?”
A slight smile played at the corners of Sani’s mouth. “After last night, do you?”
Ab recalled the drink on his bedside stand. There might be other explanations, but this didn’t seem to be the time for a philosophical discussion. Either way, Waluyo had tried to harm him. Still, something was missing, didn’t quite compute. “What about the anthrax?”
Sani waved his hand, too quickly Ab thought, in a dismissive gesture. “A natural outbreak. We shall have it under control shortly.” He thumped his cane on the floor in front of him.
“In the end,” Sani continued firmly, “this is all about General Witono and Waluyo. Susilo was sabotaging the project, and we couldn’t have that happening. Or rather, if it was going to happen, Witono wanted to control it. So I had to hire Waluyo after he killed Susilo.”
Ab took a deep breath and looked at Nancy and then at Sani. “So, what happens now?”
“I have arranged to make some special compensatory payments to General Witono for his troubles. They are, officially, profits from the project.”
Ab looked from grandfather to granddaughter. “But why?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Nancy leaned over and put her head on her grandfather’s stooped shoulder. “The generals in Jakarta have all the cards. My grandfather has tried to keep himself in the public eye as a way of protecting himself, but it is a weak protection. If the generals and Allah’s helpers want something—money, a few dead bodies, this project, and the government and foreign money that comes with it—then they will get it. In the end, it is only our family that matters.”
Sani smiled at Ab. “You are surprised? You come from a nation that prides itself on family values. And how much do you sacrifice for your country? How many people? Look at the so-called Great Wars.” Now he was pacing angrily around the room, banging his cane on the floor. “Our family has lasted hundreds of years and outlived dozens of countries, and it will outlive many more.” He swung around to glare at Ab. His voice fell to a whisper. “A few lives here or there are nothing. Nothing. Family is all that matters. All.” He turned suddenly and left the room, then returned as suddenly as he had left.
“I have one favour to ask of you, a small favour for safe passage from the country. Something very direct. That should be a relief, yes?” He smiled. “I want you to deliver some papers to General Witono in Jakarta. Can you do that? He will then make sure you have the proper exit papers.”
This time Sani took Nancy by the arm and guided her from the room as he left. Ab stared after them. Nancy had been strangely silent, looking down into her lap, throughout Sani’s elaborate—too elaborate?—explanation, Ab thought. She did not look back as she went through the door.