CRACKED
OR FIXED

Anew moment. It spins out of the darkness like a flaming torch falling towards me. I catch it. I look into its light. There I am. I see me, reading and rereading the same line. The phone is there beside me. It is ringing.

I put my book down.

‘Hey.’ Comes the voice at the other end.

Tension slides down my back into a pool on the floor.

‘I don’t know why, but I was expecting you not to call.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’ This isn’t right. But it is right.

‘You OK, Ice-Cream Boy?’

‘Yes. So you made it?’

‘I made it.’

The light flickers around the moment. The stage darkens, a scene change, then the lights come up again. I am rereading the same line once more. The phone again. It is ringing.

I put my book down.

I listen to the earpiece.

‘There was an accident. She’s dead.’

Sickness in my gut. Tears sting my eyes. Which is it? Which moment is real? Which is happening? Are they both there, like stones lying next to each other, slightly different, but side by side? Which one do I pick? How do I pick the right one and put it in my bag, so I never lose it? How do I know it isn’t just my mind that has cracked and not time?

‘I do not want to meet your bule friends.’

Her back is straight, head held high on her slender neck. The made bed a brilliant white background to her skin, like a cup of sweet coffee on a clean white tablecloth.

‘I’d like you to meet them. Let them meet you. See how special you are.’ Condescension has somehow tainted my compliment.

‘Ha. I so special you leave me. So special you no want pom-pom now with me. You leave me to find ghost. I very special and stupid prostitute, yes.’ It isn’t a question, but a statement that she makes. One she agrees with by nodding her head.

Leaning awkwardly forward from my bamboo chair, placed in front of the bed at just the right distance for discussion, not intimacy, I try to clasp the hands that lie like nesting birds in her lap. They fly the nest before I can catch them.

‘No, Eka, please. I have never thought of you as a prostitute. And how can I when I have never paid you? I think of you only as a wise and lovely friend.’

‘And you have good sex with me.’

‘Very good.’

‘And you pay taxi and food and hotels.’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘And you pay too much. Banyak-banyak.’

‘Maybe. Yes.’

‘So I prostitute.’

‘No. Anyway, listen. I want to explain.’ I sit back and stare at the ceiling. ‘Something has happened in here.’ I tap the offending spot next to my eye. ‘Maybe I have become crazy.’

‘Huh. Already crazy.’

‘Yes, and now maybe more. I don’t know. Or maybe the dukun has done something very impossible and special to my world.’

Eka grunts something.

‘But I cannot have sex with you again. Something is different in me. I must go home.’

‘You think she lives again?’

‘I think maybe she never died. Not now.’

‘But maybe she did.’

‘Maybe she did.’

‘Dukun clever. Not that clever. She dead. She is only ghost now.’

Her head has dropped forward, losing its nobility, and thick hair hangs down over one side of her face. The birds have returned to their nest in her lap. I lean forward and capture them in my hands. They are lifeless.

‘I don’t know, Eka. I don’t know and I’m scared I’m crazy.’ My fingers stroke the hidden rough palms of her hands. The feel of them fills my eyes with water. ‘I’m scared things will be as they were when I left England, that she is dead, that I will still be alone. Just me without her.’

‘And I am scared she will be there. I am scared of this dukun bad magic. I am scared for my crazy bule.’ The birds escape my grip and fly around my neck. She pulls me onto the bed and overbalances me so that we are lying, arms wrapped around each other, my face in her hair and nose against her cheek.

‘You come back here if she still dead. You come back to your Eka.’ Her strength is surprising as she holds me tight, her breasts squashed against me and legs wrapped around the back of my knees. I breathe in her skin, concentrate on the softness of her hair against my face, so I’ll always remember it. I wonder how much I will miss her.

Wet lips press hard and angry against mine while I’m held there in some wondrous mantrap, and then I’m released. The birds fly again. She thrusts me away with hands of cold stone. Her legs untangle themselves and spin through the air so that the movement carries her off the side of the bed and into standing position in one swift motion.

‘Now go. Go, you crazy bule.’ A bag is thrown over a shoulder covered by a sheer satin shirt. Silky calves pour out of a leopard-pattern skirt like mocha waterfalls. Hair is thrown back from her face and she smiles, big eyes shining like dark water in moonlight.

‘You go say bye your friends then go find ghost lady. Think of me sometimes. Think of girl who lives in another world, who wants to meet nice man to look after. Think of me. I think I will always be here. Always looking for nice man.’

‘I will think of you.’ I stand and try to hold her again. Some sort of sadness urging me on to comfort her. Or maybe to comfort me. ‘And you will find—’

A thrust against my chest sends me back onto the bed.

‘Shut up. I go. I have good time at Iguana. Bye, Crazy.’

She moves with speed and grace across the room and is gone. Eka has become a moment, an exhibition of moments in my mind’s gallery, and I will never see her in another moment that isn’t already hanging there.

The bed is sadness. I jump off it and leave, shutting the door on the lonely room. I breathe in the early evening smells of chilli and noodles and rubbish and walk away from the backstreet hotel that will never hold my body again.

I hold the pebble in my hand, feeling its weight, its age, its permanence. I sniff it. The smell of an English beach still lingers on its surface. From that near-insignificant scent come images of a small seaside town, the smell of fish and chips, suntan oil, seaweed and salt. I pass it from one hand to the other, then slide it back into the pocket of my almost-full backpack, its top still undone. A blue-and-white batik shirt trying to escape it.

‘Fuuuuuuccck, man. You not really going, are you?’ The crown of Kim’s head pokes over the back of his armchair. Pungent sweet-smelling smoke hangs in the air around him like a cloud around a mountaintop.

‘Yep. I am. Eight in the morning I be gooonne muffa fucka.’

‘Well then, sit down and have one last joint with me man.’ He points at the chair next to him. ‘Sammo going to do some karate shit on the TV in a minute.’

Sammo is eyeing two thugs in black suits on the TV, looking ready to fight.

I take the joint from Kim, wonder for a smallest of wonders if it’s a good idea the night before I fly, and then decide what the fuck, there’s no way I’m not waking up to get that flight tomorrow. The taste is sickly sweet and scratches my throat like a cheese grater. I cough so hard I have to close my eyes to keep them from flying out onto my cheeks.

‘Hehe. New stuff, fresh from Aceh. Fucking good yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ More coughing. ‘This is one to go out on.’

‘Can I just tell you one thing, Newbie,’ Kim flicks his hair back so he can stare me full-faced. ‘Not once did you buy the fucking ganja, man.’

His stare is long and hard and serious.

‘Ah, yes. You’re right.’ He’s right. I’m so wrapped up in myself I just take the weed supply as a rightful payback for a shitty life. ‘Sorry, Kim.’

He bites on his bottom lip and nods.

‘Fucking Brit. Wouldn’t have expected it any other way. Fucking tight Brits.’

The silence hangs almost as heavy and heady as the smoke. I’m not sure for how long we sit that way, and with me still holding the joint, not sure whether I can suck on it again or not. It’s strong and already I’m not sure how quickly moments are passing by.

A laugh pushes through his closed mouth, a large lip-farting laugh, spraying wetness through the haze.

‘Fuuuuuuccck, man. Fucking got you.’ He leans forward and whacks my knee. ‘I don’t fucking care. Been good sharing with you. I know you’re fucked up, and if I helped in aiding your fucked-uppiness or recovery, I’m fucking pleased, you Brit fuck.’

Please don’t tell me you love me, man.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell you I love you, man. I know you Brits hate that American shit, but I do like you, Newbie. I’m going miss you and your hero shit.’

He’s shoots the TV dead with the remote and is up by the door, banging any unwelcome creatures out of his deck shoes before slipping them on.

‘Let’s get you to Mei’s and get you fucked up for your journey home.’

I don’t tell him that I think I’m already fucked up in more ways than one, and instead get my shoes on and follow the giggling, muttering American out of the house.

We sit at our usual table.

The next time they are all here I won’t be. In some future moment someone new will be with them. Here for his or her own reasons, wondering what this group of mish-mashed nationalities and mental states is all about. Watching for the first time what I now watch for the final time: Julie’s fingers tap dancing on the table top, Marty stealing sideways glances at her while she looks and laughs in every direction but his. Jussy slouching in his chair, quiet except for the occasional smutty interjection. Geoff sitting on my right, upright and confident, a newfound strength, or perhaps his long-lost old self, back in his body, smiling every now and then at Mei who sits confident and radiant behind her counter, surveying her newly returned kingdom of expats, local businessmen and drunk, lost teachers. Kim sitting to my left, alternating between paranoia and expletive-filled exclamations about my sudden and imminent departure. And cockroaches sitting in lines along the edges of the room and under fridges and under any other recently unmoved object, listening to us in their arrogant and superior way, knowing full well that they are better, stronger and more resilient to life and its senseless beatings than we are.

We chatter, reminisce, laugh and irritate each other, while in my mind, where other voices now are silent, there is space for me to picture a possible scene: a reunion, holding and kissing and smelling and feeling. Perhaps at a bus stop while the driver waits impatiently for us to remove her case from its belly, or in a train station while people jostle past us unaware that the impossible has happened, or outside that ice-cream kiosk on the seafront, crying into each other’s necks while seagulls circle above, seeing us just as a part of the theatre of life that scurries around below them.

I nod and talk and ask about their plans and they ask about mine. I don’t tell them about the why and how and my crazy hopes. I will find a job, a house, a girl to marry, I say. I don’t say I have shifted the pebbles of time and the past is always the present and the dead haven’t died. I don’t tell them new memories have mixed with old and that ghosts have left the afterlife for the living. I don’t tell them of my hope that witch doctors can do magic and that I prefer believing that to accepting my mind has cracked.

I am too excited to be here. I want to sleep so time does another of its mind-bending tricks and hours pass in a closing of the eyes and morning comes sooner. But I stay. These are my friends. I am Me. I am no longer trying too hard to be cold. I like them and I will respect them. So I stay. I drink more beer until the name of the day changes and I finally feel I have stayed enough and say my farewells. They say no, let’s go to Iguana and I say no, and they say no, come on, but my nos have it and I shake hands, I hug and smack backs. Mei cries quietly and squeezes my hand while her other hand is held in Geoff’s and he thanks me. Marty says stay in touch and Jussy just says see you, man. Kim sticks a clove cigarette in my mouth and tells me to leave fucking quietly in the morning because he’s going to be fucked and I tell him to take it easy on the grass and he asks what the fuck I mean and I say nothing and hug him again. Julie says she’ll walk part way home with me ‘cos her house is on the way and she needs sleep too and I say OK and Marty’s stare is suddenly heavy on me and I look at him and gently shake my head and he smiles a weak and worried smile which fades as Julie takes my hand and we step from Mei’s into the moonlit, star-filled night.

‘You sure you want to go?’ she asks.

‘I am.’ Her hand feels heavy and strange in mine. I keep my grip loose.

‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to shag you.’

‘I wouldn’t let you.’

‘Oh, if I started on you, you’d let me.’ Her finger tickles in the inside of my palm.

I wouldn’t. Not while there is a chance for miracles.

‘Anyway, you arrogant man, I don’t want to shag you. I’m still reeling from my shag with Marty.’

‘Not good, then?’ I pull my cigarettes from my pocket and we both light one. These I’m not giving up until I see her. I think she’ll laugh at my attempt at rebellion. I suddenly wonder, if this turns out to be the miracle Teddy thinks he’s performed, will I tell Laura about it all? Will I tell her she is dead in another moment? Will I tell her a witch doctor has changed and bent the course of the universe just so we can be together? Then suddenly there is clarity that I am mad. I must be. I will never talk to her again because she is dead and I am a loon.

‘Alright, Newbie?’ Julie has stopped and stands in front of me, the light of a full moon shining on her face.

‘Not really sure.’

‘What is it with you? What’s your story?’

The sounds of the hot night are all around: the insects rubbing knees in the grass along the side of the road, traffic going along just outside the housing compound and somewhere a dog barking.

‘It’s a long and strange one, Julie, and I think it ends in madness.’

‘You’re not mad.’

‘No?’

‘Not completely. I’m mad, so I can tell.’ She puts on a little hysteric laugh. ‘So tell me.’

‘I came here because my girlfriend died. And I’m going back because I think now she hasn’t.’

‘Aha. I take it back. You are mad.’

‘I have memories I never had before, but I also have memories that I’ve always had. Memories of her death. And now also memories of her alive. Alive when she is dead.’

‘You been taking drugs I’ve never heard of?’

We arrive at her house and sit on the white wall that encloses it. A mango tree hangs over us, the full moon’s light falling through its leaves and dappling us in its glow.

‘Nope. But I have been seeing witch doctors.’ I tell Julie about the beach, about Walnut, about Laura, about everything. I wonder why I choose now to tell her, and why her. Perhaps it’s just that I will never see her again, and I want her, them, my friends, to know what I was about. To know that something magical, or something tragic, has happened in Medan and they have been a part of it.

We light more cigarettes and look to the sky.

‘A lot of those stars are dead now. But we can still see them,’ she says. ‘And I’ve got to tell you, Newbie. I think your Laura’s dead, but maybe she’s still shining away for the moment inside you somewhere. It’s just so hard for you to conceive that. In the same way we can’t conceive the size of space and that some of that up there doesn’t exist anymore. You can’t conceive she’s gone because she’s so alive in your mind. You think she’s still there.’

‘I’m nuts, then.’

‘Not necessarily. Just heartbroken and hopeful.’

‘Anyway, I’m going back and staying hopeful until the last moment.’

‘Hokey dokey. Respect that. It won’t happen, though, ‘cos it’s too weird, but weird shit happens, so perhaps it might.’ She laughs.

‘Talking of weird shit, what about you and Marty then?’

‘Best sex of my life.’

‘And you’re ignoring him.’

‘Oh yes. Because how fucking dare he. How dare he be so fucking good and nice and loving.’

I let the silence be my question.

‘I’m scared is what.’

‘He’s nuts about you.’

‘I know.’

‘So give him a chance. Stop being hard on yourself for whatever ghosts are bugging you.’

She sucks long and hard on her cigarette and then taps out a quick succession of Morse code on her knee with her fingers.

‘Just ‘cos you told me your story, doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you mine.’

‘I don’t want to hear it. But Marty does.’

‘Don’t fuck with my mind, Newbie. I was actually planning on shagging you tonight to get back at him for being so bloody, so bloody…’ she sweeps her hair back and looks to the moon for her words, ‘magnificent.’

‘Wow. Big word.’

‘Big man.’ She laughs and I join her. ‘I don’t want to fuck him up.’

‘Then don’t. Easy.’

‘Oh, you just have to mess with all of us, don’t you? Like it’s some mission you’re on before you go.’

She kisses me on the cheek, hops off the wall and slaps her thigh a few times.

‘Right. Cheers, Newbie. Good luck with the ghost.’

‘Thanks, Julie.’ I slide off the wall. ‘Just go grab him. No luck needed. He’s a good bloke.’

‘I’m a screwed-up woman. My story would blow his head off.’

‘He’s that in love with you, his head’s already mush.’

‘That’s true. Right then. Bye. Take care.’ She throws her arms around me and holds me tight, clamping my arms to my side so I can’t hug back. Then a big wet kiss to my cheek and I’m released to the night. ‘Thanks.’

I watch her walk up the short path to her house, fumble keys into the lock and mutter to herself, then she turns, purses her lips and blows a kiss and a wink and she’s gone.

I stand alone in the street, my farewells all done but one. The stars above taunt me into a guessing game of which of them are still there and which have gone. Forever. But they all shine so bright, I can’t believe any of them are dead.

I watch the ceiling, lying naked and wanting sleep, my sheet crumpled on the floor. But all I can do is count the days of this month. Over and over. Checking, double-checking. My flight is today. Today is July thirtieth. It says so on my ticket. July thirtieth. I arrive in England on July thirtieth, at about five in the afternoon. My head calculates time differences, flying times, double-checking today. Rolling the number and month around and around in my skull. July thirtieth in England. Today is the day I find out. Today I’ll be mad or blessed. Today is the day I live. Or I die.

A new moment is born into my brain.

July thirtieth.

‘July thirtieth?’ I ask.

‘Yep. I’ll email you on July thirtieth to tell you when I’ll come back.’

‘July thirtieth.’

‘Yes.’ Her hand moves down over my stomach, which trembles, then down under the cover where it rests on me.

‘Try not to let too many other hands do this.’

‘Don’t worry. I won’t.’ The warmth from her palm spreads across the area.

‘But one slight flaw is that you don’t know how to use email,’ she says.

‘I’ll learn. Just while it’s popular and cheaper than letters. We’ll all be back to pen and paper in a few years. And as for those mobile phone bricks, I’ll definitely never have one of those, so don’t bother setting that up for me. Just a fad for the new century.’

‘OK. So no mobiles, I’m with you on that. But you don’t have an email address.’

‘Oh. That’s a point.’

‘And I thought you were a clever boy.’

‘Always cleverer than you, little girl.’

Her hand squeezes and I yelp.

‘Don’t be a condescending Ice-Cream Boy.’ She doesn’t loosen the grip.

‘Please. Stop. I’m sorry.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. Aaah. Thank you.’

‘Icecreamlover@spacemail.com. All one word.’

I raise my eyebrows at her.

‘Your new email. It’ll be up and running in about eight and a half months. Password will be Mivvi6969.’

‘Eh?’

‘I’ll open you an account just before I come back. An account just for me to contact you when I’m ready. Just check it on July thirtieth.’

‘You’re nuts.’

‘Very possibly.’ She squeezes between my legs again. ‘Your nuts.’

‘Ha ha.’

‘What’s the password?’

‘Mivvi6969?’

‘Correct. Figured even you could remember that one.’

‘Cheeky.’

My hand reaches down her back and gently slaps her beautifully cool rear.

‘Mmm mm.’

‘You drive me mad.’

She takes my hand and holds it against her skin.

‘Why not set it up earlier?’ I say, seeing a way of staying in touch and keeping an eye on her.

‘Nope. It’ll be ready for July thirtieth. That’s the only contact you’re getting. I don’t want you writing to me and I don’t want to be tempted to write to you. And I’m not telling you my address.’

‘You’ve thought of it all.’ I shake my head, ‘Fuck, Laura. I know you’ll come back to me, but it’s going to be the most painful few months of my life.’

She leans up and kisses me, her hand sliding back under the covers.

‘You’ll enjoy it too. A little holiday from your Laura. Just make sure you’re there when I get back.’

‘You know I’ll be there. No matter what.’

‘I know. And so will I. Nothing will stop me. Nothing.’