~
‘What’s become of Martin?’ asked Tom, haunting the pigeonholes. ‘Poor sod. Wasn’t such a bad bloke.’
‘He’s left his new job and he’s planning to go to one of the outer islands,’ said Jan, a stout English woman with a snub nose and a penetrating voice. ‘I forget which one. Well, is the school going to cut our wages or what? Georgie told me last week they were. What’s the latest?’
‘Can’t do, surely,’ said Tom.
‘Nothing would surprise me in this bloody country,’ said Jan, ‘they get away with bloody blue murder in this place. What gets me is that the locals are so inefficient. I tried to send a parcel home this morning and it took three hours – three hours – to get sent. It went from one person to another to the next; one little man to stamp it, one little man to wrap it, one little man to unwrap and inspect it, another little man to stamp it again, another little man to weigh it, two little men to sell me the stamps, one little man to lick the stamp, another little man to put the stamps on, and then a group discussion about where it was going and who it was for. And in the end I had to bribe them to put it in the bag to get sent at all – after I’d already paid for the stamps! What a lark, I would say, except it wasn’t funny. They cannot organise a thing – they’re just dumb; no wonder they get dumped on by whatever foreigners come along. That’s their history. And there’s a reason for it.’
‘I dunno,’ said Tom, lighting a cigarette, stroking his moustache. ‘May not be all that smart, but they are friendly. Easiest place in the world to live, Indonesia.’
‘Oh yeah, they’re friendly,’ said Jan, ‘what a lark! That’s because they always want something from you. That’s why they smile so much, smiling’s the best policy. It’s dog eat dog in this country. I was fooled for about the first two hours.’
‘I dunno,’ said Tom, ‘don’t think they expect that much, really.’
‘Oh yeah, all this humility crap they go on with, all this politeness – what a charade! Scratch the surface and you’ll find they’re only trying to take you down. How could Tati, an intelligent woman, a good Bible Belt Midwestern American girl, the manager of our school, have married one? She changed her name and religion and apparently does exactly what her husband says – gets down on her knees and scrubs the floor, prays five times a day –’
‘Seems happy,’ said Tom.
‘She might think she’s happy. The fact is she’s oppressed, Tom.’
‘Sounds like you should find another country, Jan,’ laughed Tom. ‘Time to move on, as they say. Yeah. Hey, if it’s organisation you’re after, why not try Japan?’
‘Try Japan – what a lark! I’ll try anything after this place.’
‘Smart too, over there, really smart, if it’s intelligence you’re after.’
‘Oh shut up, Tom. Maybe I will try Japan if they’re going to cut our wages here.’
‘Footloose and fancy-free,’ said Tom, ‘that’s the spirit.’
‘That’s right, no ties. That’s what I like about Asia – if I don’t like one country, there’s always another. And the pay’s shit here.’
‘I dunno,’ persisted Tom placidly, ‘we earn more in a day than most Indonesians would see in a month.’
Georgie’s voice was approaching down the hallway, rapidly rising from a distant chirruping. ‘Well, well, well, what a class I’ve just had – cheeky, I tell you! That lot needs taking down a peg or two. Hello, Tom, Jan. Oh hello, Joe, m’laddie. Head up, young man! Shoulders back! Hey, what’s up?’
‘Nothing.’
All that week Georgie had been dying to talk to me about Lisa’s, but she couldn’t quite broach it.
‘You’re losing weight, m’laddie.’
‘Nothing wrong with him,’ said Jan. ‘It’s this bloody country that’s the problem.’
‘Are you sure you’re alright, Mr Joe? No. Well, we wouldn’t want to spoil you now, would we? Don’t begin to think it’s easy living in this country. Oh no, no, no.’
Georgie emitted her trill and sank into her seat. After a few moments she leaned across the desk between us and whispered, ‘Now, I’ve heard that you went to Babette’s last week. Is this true, m’laddie? How was it? Did you meet the children?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Don’t “of course” me, Mr Joe! Take nothing for granted – that’s my motto in this country. I’ve never met the children. None of us have. Haven’t enjoyed the privilege, never was invited! So – come on, out with it: what are they like? What do they look like? They’re not – you know, part Indonesian?’
‘The youngest is.’
‘Oh, really? So they’ve got different fathers?’
‘I assume so.’
‘I wonder who – but – the eldest – oh, never mind. And what’s Babette’s place like, on the inside?’
‘It’s stone.’
‘Yes, I knew that, Mr Joe. You’re not very forthcoming, m’laddie, it must be said. We’ll have to apply the thumbscrews.’
‘Georgie?’
‘Yes?’
‘They don’t still have arranged marriages here, do they? I mean, the rich Javanese wouldn’t do that, would they?’
‘I’ve never heard of it.’
A little man with luminous eyes, a goatee beard, and a long twitching nose scooted into the staffroom. ‘Level Three,’ he announced, ‘name’s Susie O. Yes, Susie O. She is gorgeous. Who knows her? Who’s taught her before? What a honey.’
‘Oscar!’ protested Georgie, ‘you’re disgusting. The girl’s come here to learn English, not to be perved on by her teacher.’
‘What rubbish. She’s come here to hang out with Westerners and hopefully plug into one. She sits in the front row stroking and sucking her pencil.’
‘Oscar!’
Oscar began pacing the staffroom, working his hands together, intent on Susie O of Level Three. ‘She kept looking at me, even after class. She asked to be put in my class. I know she’s singled me out –’
‘Oscar!’ Georgie shrieked, throwing down her pen, ‘this is incredibly unprofessional. I’m going to have a word with the management about this. You shouldn’t be set loose on the poor little lambs, a lecher like you.’
Oscar ignored her. ‘Hey Tom!’ he called the length of the room, ‘do you know a Susie O?’ Tom was loitering near the door.
‘Level Three?’ Tom called back, ‘the one with the fuck-me eyes?’
Georgie’s head shot up.
‘That’s her, that’s her! What do you think? Eight out of ten?’
‘Do feel free, boys, take no notice of us! Don’t listen to them, Joe.’
‘Seven, could be,’ said Tom.
‘She’s even got tits, now that’s something for an In–’
‘Excuse me, boys! Hel-lo!’
‘Does have knockers, come to think of it, doesn’t she,’ mused Tom. ‘I’ve been missing that a bit. Alright then, make it eight out of ten.’
‘By the way, has anyone heard about Martin?’ asked Oscar, changing tack. No one had. ‘I heard he had a nasty accident the other night.’
‘Really?’ cried Georgie.
‘Attacked by a minibus driver – yes, attacked, hit from behind with a spanner while he was getting out of the bus. They’re all Sumatrans, those drivers, they’re dangerous people. Apparently it’s done real damage to his spine. Broken the skin and gone deeper. Refused to pay the fare they wanted him to pay.’
‘Sounds like Martin,’ said Georgie.
‘Yeah, bit of a tight-arse, really,’ said Tom. ‘Oh, by the way, there’s a new recruit outside. Tati’s interviewing her.’
‘Did you say “her?”’
‘Where’s she from?’
‘Ireland. Pretty, too,’ said Tom, ‘peaches and cream. Fresh from the home country.’
‘But what’s she like?’
‘Quite curvy.’
‘No, no –’
‘She seemed a bit shy, you know, just arrived here. A bit stunned, really. Yeah. That stunned look. Not sure who to trust. I think I’ll have to take her in hand. Show her the ropes.’
‘Right, I’m going to have a look,’ said Oscar.
‘I’ve got a class in three minutes, or I’d save her,’ said Georgie, ‘poor unsuspecting girl.’
‘She’s quite a looker,’ Tom droned.
‘But unfortunately speaks English,’ Georgie muttered.
I went back to the losmen. Soon, however, I was getting ready to go out, again with nowhere in mind. I counted my money, arranging coins for beggars and notes for buses in different pockets, then wandered from a maze of alleyways onto a broad street, where the crowns of the plane trees were inset with rain.
‘Mau ke mana, Mister?’ parroted the smiling schoolchildren. Morning shift must be over. They were walking home from school in their still-immaculate uniforms. ‘Mau ke mana?’
‘The Cafe Vermeer.’
‘Ah, Vermeer.’
I was in a state of absorbing, just watching.
Two girls skipped over the paved forecourt in front of the cafe, dressed in matching red, jet hair swinging, skipping through leaf-filtered light. About Amelia’s age, they rushed in to hover before rows of sweets under the glass counter, poring over the sliced squares of pink-and-green striped jellies. Nearby, two neat women whispered head to head, sucking something saffron from straws protruding from the one glass.
Almost as soon as I sat in the garden, a waitress appeared with one of the striped sweets made of coconut milk, prettily arranged with a spray of cocoa on a white saucer.
‘But I didn’t order this.’
‘We saw you sitting by yourself, looking so lonely. And here’s your coffee.’
The giggly waitress stood with a colleague, watching me eat. More of them looked on from the cafe, some pointing: See, he is alone, poor man, and far from home. He has no friends. Look how he eats.
The imams were crying, decrying, decreeing.
A black and expensive car stopped with a gravelly crunch in the drive at the bottom of the garden. The car rested, considering for a moment, engine humming. The vehicle was anonymous enough.
Danu emerged, ignoring the orange flock of girls.
‘I knew I’d find you here, Joe.’
‘How?’
‘This is your … hangout. Is that the word?’
‘I guess it is. Do you want a coffee?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m alone.’
‘Of course. Sorry, wrong country.’
‘But do you want to see where I live? It’s not far away.’
We headed toward the hills around the city, where the cooler heights were enjoyed by grander houses.
‘You know I’m very forward for an Indonesian woman, Joe.’
‘I’m gathering that.’
‘You like forward women?’
‘Demure women don’t really interest me, no. And I don’t like simpering women.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘Giggling, silly and giggling.’
‘Is that a common word?’
‘It’s pretty uncommon. It’s derogatory.’
Danu weaved through the traffic. I found the hairs were standing up on my arm nearest her hand.
‘Now I think you’re criticising my countrywomen, Joe.’
‘Some act a bit cutesy, that’s all. Saccharine.’
‘That’s something I put in my tea.’
‘I mean the women act overly sweet.’
‘Oh, I agree. The women here act like ten-yearold girls until they get married. Then they become maternal overnight and talk like old … matrons, I think you would say.’
‘You’d say that.’
‘They think that’s attractive to men. You don’t?’
‘No I do not. You’re grilling me.’
‘Sorry. I’m studying law! And I’m doing it while I’ve got the chance. I don’t often find someone I can really talk to – I mean, fearlessly, openly. Most of the women I talk to only want to get married and have kids. Or they say they do. This country is boring me to death.’
‘What about on campus?’
‘I don’t go to campus anymore. My parents have stopped paying for my studies. They say they won’t pay until I marry the man they want me to marry. That’s a big problem for me. Study is expensive here.’
We waited at an intersection. Danu was pensive. Suddenly she said, ‘What would you do in my position, Joe? It’s like this: there’s a man I want to marry, and he wants to marry me. We’re engaged. But my family wants me to marry the rich Javanese boy they chose for me about the time I was born, the one whose family owns half the oil in Sumatra or somewhere. What would you do? Am I wrong to want to marry someone my parents hate? I have to choose between my family, my past, my religion, my culture – and a man. I have to choose, and I don’t have much time left. I want to know what you think. Is any person worth that?’
The traffic moved and she accelerated, almost hitting a becak driver, who waved her back serenely.
‘Why ask me?’
‘Because you’re an outsider, you’re disinterested, you’re independent. That makes you relatively trustworthy.’
‘Relatively.’
‘Well, this is my life. I’ve told nobody what I’ve just told you, not a single person. Or only bits, to different people. The thing is, my fiancé has been out of the country for some time, but he’s coming back soon – any day now. When he gets here we’re going to run away together, marry, and leave the country.’
Danu did a U-turn. I said nothing.
‘We’ve got everything arranged, passports, papers, who to pay. But until then I’m left waiting and having to deal with my family.’
We were meandering through a maze of alleyways.
‘Wouldn’t your family get used to this other man you want to marry, in time?’
‘No. You see, the problem is, he’s a Westerner. Or that’s part of the problem. Part of his unsuitability. I know what you’d advise me to do, Joe, if you felt free to. Go with your heart. That’s what you’d say.’
I felt myself smile, and the hairs on my arm came back up.
‘You’re all so selfish, you Westerners,’ she said.
‘You’re so dutiful, you Easterners.’
We came out onto a main road, only to be stopped again. Danu put down her window, gave a beggar a note, and put the window back up.
‘You know, I’ve got nothing to lose in talking to you like this, Joe. Nothing. I think about things like that a lot – who loses, who wins, what’s at stake. Percentages. People think I have everything. But because all I want is something I cannot have, I have nothing. Look, let’s not go to my place, Joe. The maid’s there, and she’ll tell my family. Let’s keep driving. And this might be the last day I have a car. My family’s taking that, too.’
‘Where do you want to go?
‘Have you been to the Japanese caves yet?’
‘Maybe I should go home, Danu.’
‘Come on, you’ll love the caves. They’re weird. They’re tunnelled into the hillside. It’s where the Japanese kept all their bullets and bombs during the war.’
How did she know I would like that? Where exactly were we going, and where would we end up? The road was steep. I felt the flicker of my moral compass wavering, and an accompanying nausea. I felt like the madly sliding bubble in a spirit level.
The caves were hidden in a forested park in the hills. We walked down a red slippery path under the trees. The day’s rain had passed. Sunlight gave the distant forested slopes a broccoli texture, the trees glistening along the ridges, dark in the ravines. Time had passed, and somewhere an imam called, then another and another. But not too close.
‘There are usually more people about,’ said Danu. ‘It’s a bit odd.’
‘Aren’t you worried about us being seen?’
‘We’ll pretend we are married. We’re married. Would that be fun? Would you pretend we’re married?’ She smiled, extending her hand.
‘I would pretend.’
We laughed, wide-eyed and staring, and I took her hand.
‘If you married me, it would solve all my problems, Joe.’
‘Just like that, with a wave of my … hand.’
‘We could go back to Australia together, I could be free. Yes, it would solve everything.’
‘I’d love to solve all your problems, Danu. God knows I would. So – will you marry me?’
‘I would, as it would solve all my problems! Except one. There’s still the problem of Passion Island.’
‘Oh, drat Passion Island!’
‘I love another man. And my love hasn’t grown old, either.’
‘If only you could love me. Then all your problems would be solved.’
‘Could I try?’
We laughed again, simultaneously raising our hands, swinging them.
We came to a bare area before a bald rock face, where two high arched entrances led into the rock. The Japanese caves. ‘They branch off through the mountain like a maze. No one really knows how many there are. Come on, let’s go in.’
We paused as the imam’s call ceased, the message from far away retreating over the canopy. Voices were approaching along the path, and our hands unclasped. We walked apart into darkness.