May 1994
Bandung – Java
‘Aduh, dong, gue pasti basah!’ Nani complained, threatened with being drenched. Angela waited patiently as water trickled down through the torn umbrella, and onto Nani’s shoes.
‘It will blow over,’ Angela’s words were of no comfort to Nani, her new jeans now damp from the knee down, the flimsy, but colorful parasol inadequate protection against the rain. Angela hugged her friend as they ran down the broken footpath into Pasar Kota Kembang, a narrow lane lined with shops and stalls. There, with some protection, they slowed their pace, venturing out into the intersection where the lane connected with the streets of Jalan Asia-Afrika, and Jalan Dalem Kaum. At that moment, the dark sky flashed with a brilliance only a tropical thunderstorm could deliver, the air shattering with a terrifying, piercing crack as deep, rolling thunder collapsed upon the city’s populace, momentarily stunning them all. While winds fought to escape the surrounding Parahayangan Mountains, another lashing downpour followed. Raindrops beating helter-skelter across the provincial capital brought traffic to a standstill, leaving Angela and Nani pressed up against a partially covered doorway, shielding their eyes with dreaded anticipation of the next lightning strike. Wind tugged at their clothes, the deafening roar of thunder interspersed with the brilliance of lightning kept Nani huddled closely to her friend. Then, without warning, the wind fell across the plateau as the gods cast their attention elsewhere and, within minutes, the storm was gone, the young women faced with crossing ankle deep water, flooding the street.
‘Let’s cross here, and go down to Bandung Indah,’ Nani suggested, the capital’s luxurious shopping plaza off City Hall, where those who could afford to do so, hang out. During Colonial times, Bandung was often referred to as ‘the Paris of Java’ because of its ambiance and sophistication but, now, the provincial capital was nothing more than just another overly crowded, Indonesian city. Lost amidst the rush to build glass and aluminum towers, Bandung’s once magnificent legacy of tropical deco architecture and charm, dating from early Dutch times, was now disguised by the city’s town-planners’ enthusiasm to approve structures mimicking avant-garde trends, the Bandung Indah Plaza no exception to these conflicts in design.
Angela took Nani’s hand firmly as they waded, shoes in hand, across the wide street, barely reaching the other side when a jeep ploughed past, throwing spray in every direction.
‘Sialan lu!’ Nani turned with ferocious look, cursing the driver. Angela laughed happily, dragging her friend up the stairs and into the plaza. No sooner had they entered when the skies collapsed into darkness once again, and what had commenced as a distant, low rumbling roll, tumbled into the capital, rupturing the inner city air, with spears of terrifying lightning dancing behind the tumultuous groans.
‘Kopi, yo!’ Angela urged, leading the way to one of their favorite haunts, her call for coffee welcomed by Nani. The pair found a table, ordered coffee and cream cake, then settled back to observe the constant flow of pedestrian traffic passing through the mall. Most, Angela knew, were window shoppers as Bandung’s community was not wealthy. Although centered amongst rich plantations and supported by the government-owned aircraft industry facilities, the city was, nevertheless, basically an educational center. Students flocked to Bandung from all corners of the Republic, most with limited financial resources. Angela recognized a younger student from her campus, observing the girl’s flirtatious movements as she guided past a number of foreign men. Angela felt saddened by the number of undergraduates who depended on part time prostitution to see them through college, grateful that her Dayak community continued to support her studies so vigorously. Soon, Angela would be in a position to repay her people for their trust, and generosity, a commitment she had given to her father, and one she intended to keep.
As Angela’s eyes continued to roam the café, she was attracted to a young child of around six sitting alone, expressionless, her lips quivering as if she were cold, her presence engulfed in an epileptic aura of anxiety. Concerned, Angela looked for the girl’s parents and, seeing none, rose and moved quickly to the youngster’s side, catching the child in her arms as the seizure took hold.
‘Nani!’ Angela called to her friend, ‘try and find her mother!’ with which, Nani scoured the area quickly, and then hurried through the café to check the toilets – returning empty-handed when she found no one there.
‘We’ll just have to wait here,’ Angela held the girl to her chest, the child’s convulsions easing with the student’s comforting words.
‘I saw her mother leave and go into that shop over there,’ a patron leaned across to say, ‘in fact, there she is now!’
Nani sprang to her feet and made her way outside, alerting the woman to her daughter’s condition. They returned, together, Angela suddenly angry at the mother’s indifference.
‘Enny, have you been a naughty girl again?’ the woman scolded.
‘Is this your daughter?’ Angela continued to hold the child, rocking her softly from side to side.
‘Enny, what have you been up to? I can’t leave you alone for one minute!’
‘She fainted,’ Angela glared at the mother.
‘Enny, come along now, I’ll have to take you home.’ The woman reached down and gripped the girl’s arm. Frightened, the child, pulled away.
‘Are you sure you’re her mother?’ Angela challenged.
‘Of course! Now, Enny, get up, I’ll have no more of your tantrums.We’re going straight home!’
She stepped forward, furious, but Angela turned, protectively, continuing to stroke the child’s short, black hair. She looked into Enny’s eyes, reassuringly and, placing a hand gently against the side of the young girl’s head, started to hum. By now, the other patrons had fallen silent, observing the conflict, expecting the child’s mother to explode. Then, a most curious thing occurred as the young, Dayak woman started to chant, softly, the prayer she had learned in her native, Penehing dialect. Angela swayed softly, the hypnotic effect of her movements and voice mesmerizing the spectators as they, too fell under her spell, their minds suddenly oblivious to the cacophonous crowds outside. The soothing, melodious effect relaxed the child and, as Angela completed her chant, she turned back to face the mother. ‘You should take her to a doctor,’ she reprimanded. ‘Enny fainted, and had convulsions.’
‘She’s done this before,’ the woman remonstrated, making a more determined effort to drag her daughter out of Angela’s arms. ‘It’s purely attention seeking.’
Angela rose, her face a mask of wrath. ‘Your daughter is a very sick child.’
‘She is not! She is faking!’ the woman’s voice rose, the café’s customers now following the unusual confrontation.
‘You should never have left her alone!’ Angela’s tone now matching that of the child’s mother, several of the café’s clientele whispered to each other and staff ceased serving, observing the exchange.
‘She strayed away by herself,’ the woman became openly hostile, waving a threatening finger at the trembling six year old.
‘You are a bad mother to blame your child.’ Angela again stepped back slightly, keeping Enny out of her mother’s reach. Someone called out for her to leave the child alone and, aware that she was the center of unwanted attention, Enny’s mother snapped.
‘Give me my daughter!’ she shouted.
‘Not until you promise to take her to a doctor!’ Angela refused, her friend, Nani, anxious with the escalation in hostility.
‘This is none of your business -give me my daughter!’
‘No!’ Angela pulled back as the woman lunged, Enny burying her head into Angela’s shoulder, terrified of her mother.
Enraged, the woman screamed abuse, smashing cups and plates to the floor, then reached over to an adjacent table, in search for something else to throw. When she turned, wielding a knife, Angela stepped back cautiously, the throng of café guests unwilling spectators to what happened next. Enny’s mother’s hand flashed, her face contorted in manic expression, the outstretched palm of Angela’s free hand blocking the attempt, without any apparent sign of physical contact. In that brief, emotionally charged moment frozen in time, lightning struck the mall missing its ineffective conductor, throwing the building into semi-darkness – and sending the Plaza’s stand-by diesel generators coughing into gear, the power-outage throwing the mall into pandemonium. In the ensuing darkness, someone screamed, ‘She’s got a knife!’ Compounding the chaotic scene, panic-driven customers yelled and shoved in their stampede to escape, sending tables and chairs crashing around, spilling crockery, smashing plates and delicately designed coffee sets onto the floor.
In the days that followed, and only in the company of close friends, many of those present would recall hearing a woman’s near-death, chilling scream pierce the scene, their nostrils assailed by a suffocating, wild stench that permeated their surrounds. A terrifying, hoarse cawing cry added to their confusion as the surrounding air was ruptured with the sound of a bird’s powerful wings beating overhead and, above all this, a commanding voice shouting, ‘No!’
In that instant, power was restored, the lights blinking their momentary message, before fading once again. Someone called out that there was smoke, the mere mention of fire plunging guests recklessly towards the exit. Meanwhile, deep in the Plaza basement, the switching gear which sent generators automatically across to the internal power distribution system in times of such crisis, failed, minutes passing before the system could be manually reset, the flow of electricity finally restoring the plaza with light. An audible sigh of relief swept through those unable to escape via the congested exit, many standing around straightening disheveled hair and clothing, as some sense of normality slowly returned to their surrounds.
****
Enny’s mother was clearly in shock, her face smothered with bewilderment as she stood, lost in unfamiliar surroundings, appearing genuinely surprised, when it became apparent that her daughter was there. She stepped forward with outstretched arms, her eyes suddenly filling with tears, Angela, in what appeared to be an about face, willingly surrendered Enny to her mother, who then clutched the child, smothering her with kisses. ‘Where have you been, Enny?’ she asked, ‘I have been looking everywhere for you!’ And then, ‘Are you all right, my darling?’
Nani rubbed her puzzled eyes, trying to make sense of what had transpired. She looked at Angela, questioningly, and then back at the woman to see if she was still armed.
‘You should take your daughter to a doctor,’ Angela moved forward and stroked Enny’s soft face. ‘She is not well.’
Nani stared at Angela, struck by her friend’s peaceful glow.
‘I have been meaning to,’ the woman found herself saying, a tear falling from her cheek. ‘Then you should do it, and soon,’ Angela advised, her voice now soft and reassuring.
‘I will, thank you,’ the older woman agreed, edging closer, and when her fingers touched Angela’s arm, she looked searchingly into her eyes – that moment of recognition becoming clouded with doubt. ‘This may sound strange, to you,’ she said, ‘but I’m sure we’ve met before, somewhere.’
Angela shook her head, and placed her hand comfortingly on the mother’s. ‘I don’t think so.’ Then, she squeezed Enny’s tiny hands, and glanced at Nani. ‘We’re late. We should go. Goodbye Enny,’ she pretended to pinch the girl’s tummy, playfully, nodded knowingly at the woman, then led a confused and apprehensive Nani outside.
****
The weather had cleared, the two undergraduates now standing near the corner of Jalan Martadinata and Merdeka, where tempting, mouth-watering aromas wafted towards them from the roadside, sate stalls. Rows of red-hot, charcoal-fired braziers lined the footpath, offering Madurese, Javanese and an array of Sumatra’s famous Padang food. Further down the street, vendors offered comro to passers-by, the mashed cassava filled with fermented soybean cake, a favorite amongst the students. The street offered a virtual smorgasbord of national dishes, from deep-fried Tokek, the colorful, tropical lizards sought after for their curative properties for those who suffered skin diseases, to fruit bats, believed to improve sexual prowess.
Nani held a polystyrene cup filled with palm sugar-sweetened, coconut milk in one hand, and a roasted cob of corn in the other. Although still struggling to understand what had happened in the Plaza earlier, Nani avoided mentioning the incident, content to wait for Angela to offer an explanation, when she was ready. During the four years she had come to know Angela, she had learned that her friend was indeed very special, and experience had taught her not to press.
****
That evening, as Angela sat alone on her veranda, captured in contemplative mood, she gazed up into the early evening, equatorial sky, recalling the events of that day. She was reminded of those first lessons her father had given, when he’d explained the power of the shaman, and the extraordinary gift generations of Daus had enjoyed. Angela recalled his warning, that although she, too, had been blessed with this ‘tenaga-dalam’, the inner force phenomenon would become more apparent and demanding as she matured, and could be lost, forever, if not nurtured in the traditional way.
The morning’s confrontation with the belligerent woman could have been avoided, she knew – but Angela was also aware that she had inherited her father’s stubbornness, reminding herself to be more circumspect in the future, even with him looking over her shoulder.
Angela peered up at the stars as a puff of wind caressed her face, and she inhaled, the suggestion of jasmine in the air filling her with pleasure. Her body relaxed, then became lethargically still as another form of energy commenced flowing through her body. Angela willed her mind to clear, slowly drifting into an altered but blissful state of consciousness, where she remained, until morning.
****
‘It’s very professionally presented,’ Baird admitted, grudgingly, when asked for his opinion with respect to Sharon’s initial drilling program. Kremenchug had phoned from Manila, to discuss mobilization plans.
‘Any problems sourcing the rigs and other equipment?’ Kremenchug asked.
‘There’s some second hand gear coming in from Western Australia. I’ve already had a sniff around and there doesn’t appear to be a problem, providing we put our stamp on the equipment quickly. The rest is coming directly from the Philippines?’
‘Yes,’ Kremenchug confirmed, ‘Sharon has organized a couple of small containers carrying laboratory sampling equipment.’
‘Tell her to make sure it’s packed tight,’ Baird warned, ‘the handling gets rough as hell once gear is moved along the Mahakam.’
‘I’ll remind her.’
‘And she’s going to ship the rest of the inventory from Manila?’
‘Yes, Eric, she’s highlighted what you have to source locally.’
‘Yeah, I’ve been through the list. Don’t see any problem with most of it, but I’ll still have to dig around for some of the items. I’ll let you know if I have problems there.’
‘What about the riggers?’
‘I thought Ducay was bringing her own team?’ Baird had discussed this earlier with Kremenchug.
‘No she decided that it would be best to recruit some locally experienced hands.’
‘I can get a couple of guys I’ve used before,’ Baird offered.
‘Then you’ll go?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘But you will?’
‘No.’
‘I need to have you on site, Eric.’
‘I really don’t want to go back into the field just yet,’ Baird resisted.
‘You need to get out there and do this drilling for the Filipino,’ Kremenchug sounded convincing. ‘Besides, it’s time we all made some real money. Come on, Eric!’ he cajoled, ‘for you, this should be a walk in the park.’
Baird had anticipated Kremenchug’s request to participate in the drilling operation. Had it not been for Subroto’s insistence that he respond to the invitation to marry Pipi Suhartono, the suggestion that he might return to Longdamai would never have been considered. Now, given the opportunity to avoid confrontation with his sponsor, Baird was seriously considering accepting Kremenchug’s offer to participate in the new project. Numbed by the hand-rolled, ganjah-kretek combination cigarette and far too much rum the evening before, Baird’s eyes began to swim casually, the familiar marijuana effect, soothing.
Baird was unaware of Sharon Ducay’s indirect control over P.T. Kalimantan Gold (Indonesia), the approved operator for the Contract of Work. A Filipino-based, foreign accountancy firm operating in Jakarta had provided nominee directors conditional, of course, that they be appointed to oversee the mining venture’s financials. Baird had pressed Kremenchug as to why Sharon had been appointed Operations Manager, but his associate had been less than forthcoming. Having never met Sharon Ducay, Baird drew the conclusion that Kremenchug had become involved with this woman and was now paying the price for his indiscretions. Baird also concluded that this was the primary reason that his services were required on site, as the Filipino obviously was incapable of overseeing the project without the benefit of an in-country expatriate, experienced in dealing with the Indonesians. He expected that a few days in the Kalimantan jungles would see the end of her. ‘I’ll think about it, but only if Ducay isn’t placed in charge of the operation,’ he said, one hand searching for the joint inadvertently dropped somewhere amongst the cushions.
‘What does it matter who’s in charge?’ Kremenchug’s voice rose in pitch. ‘If you don’t go, Eric, then I’ll just have to find someone else.’
‘Yeah, sure, Alex – we both know there’s no one else you could trust to get the job done,’ came the response. Then, after second thoughts Baird added, ‘You could hire some of the local geos from the Mines Department.’
‘Come on, Eric,’ he appealed again, ‘do this and I’ll take care of you. Okay?’
Having successfully retrieved what was left of the joint, Baird could now smell smoke. He stuck his hand down the narrow gap, cursing loudly when the tip of his fingers came into contact with the burning seat. He dropped the phone, yelled for Mardidi then retrieved the handset. ‘You still there, Alex?’
Kremenchug shook his head in dismay. ‘Yes, Eric, I’m still here. Will you go back out to Longdamai and help Sharon oversee the drilling? If it all works out, we’ll be able to recover what we’ve lost on the BGC shares,’ and without hesitation added, ‘plus some.’
Baird looked over at his companion, Mardidi, the suggestion that Pipi Suhartono might be lying in his place, and he reluctantly agreed.
‘Okay,’ Baird’s voice echoed down the line. ‘I’ll get the drillers and do the work. But,’ he added, ‘we’ll need to throw them some dollars.’
Kremenchug did not hesitate. ‘What do you need?’
Baird thought for several minutes – Kremenchug could hear the man wheezing.
‘It’s a six months project. Let’s see; three expats, plus local support crews, around two hundred grand should see them right.’ Sharon Ducay’s budget had allowed for more, but Baird knew that her costs were still to come out of that.
‘Two hundred thousand?’ Kremenchug was stung. ‘Isn’t that a little over the top?’
Baird was prepared. ‘Not unless you want to bring in a team from offshore – and you know what that will cost. You’ll have to pick up airfares, hotel accommodations, get the drillers work permits and make allowance for a much longer lead time to mobilize. As it is, I’ll really have to scratch around to find drillers with all the work that’s going on. With the number of survey teams stomping around over in Kalimantan, we’re lucky that there are rigs and men available right now. Even two hundred thousand might be a bit light on,’ he suggested.
‘Okay,’ Kremenchug capitulated, although not entirely convinced that Baird was not sticking it to him, ‘get started and I’ll transfer the funds.’
Baird was having none of that. ‘I’ll need it all up front, Alex, or there’ll be no start.’ He waited, a marijuana-induced smile crossing his face as he imagined Kremenchug worrying whether the amount was enough to tempt him to take it all and disappear.
‘What about mobilization costs?’
Baird again referred to Sharon’s budget. ‘We’ll need to set up something with the rig owners so that we hire their equipment and make monthly payments into their account. I’ll nut something out over the next days and let you know what we’re up for. Ducay’s budget seems about right, so best you make arrangements to send a another hundred grand to cover mobilization costs as well.’
‘I’ll have the company transfer fifty thou for you and the drilling teams, and another fifty to cover mobilization.’
‘No, I’ll want at least half of both budgets, now.’
‘Okay, Eric,’ the voice in Manila responded, ‘you’ll have a hundred grand in your account by the end of the week, another hundred when you’ve mobilized. The balance will be paid at the end of six months. Fax me a copy of the rig rental agreement and I’ll set up regular transfers to cover that and other budgetary items. Sharon will bring additional funds for contingencies.’
‘Fine,’ Baird was smiling, ‘I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.’
****
Eric Baird sighed and accepted that although the commitment he had just made which would take him out of Pipi Suhartono’s way for at least six months, it would also place him in a most indelicate position with General Subroto. He decided not to visit the office unless it was absolutely necessary, terrified of the arrangements Pipi’s uncle was so determined to put into place.
Encouraged by an imminent change in fortunes, Baird finished the remaining joint, rolled over onto his side and nudged Mardidi, bringing him awake.
‘Ada apa, sih?’ the slim-framed Javanese appeared groggy, rising on one elbow, asking what was happening. Baird assumed that he would have been eavesdropping on their end of the conversation.
‘We’re going back to Kalimantan,’ Baird said, slowly, losing focus as his attention slipped.
‘Why?’ Mardidi asked, with growing concern. He had no difficulty in recalling the recurring malaria bouts suffered during the first and fateful excursion. Eric Baird moved closer to his companion, his foul, stale breath an offence to clean air. Mardidi’s eyes looked for an escape, opting to raise a pillow to the lower half of his face to cover his squeamishness.
‘We have a drilling contract on the Upper Mahakam,’ Baird revealed, playfully grabbing the kapok pillow and tossing this into the air.
Mardidi was trapped. ‘Why should you be happy with this?’ He leaned to one side and raised his head to see how much of the Bacardi had been consumed that afternoon.
‘I’m not.’ Half-heartedly, he threw the pillow at Mardidi, hitting him in the face. ‘But, at least we’re going on the payroll again.’
‘When?’
‘Immediately. I’ll be able to give you that money for your family by the weekend.’
‘How much?’ His partner’s foul breath no longer of consequence, Mardidi moved closer with this news and started tickling him furiously.
‘Whatever you want!’ Baird cackled, grabbing his lover and wrestling him to the floor.
* * * *