by Dee Lestari
September 2000
The vast lawn and area around the swimming pool were beginning to fill with guests. Torches were being staked in the garden, and tables laid with food. Wanda was the busiest one there, hurrying to and fro.
Noni witnessed the preparations with an anxious expression. Among their wider set of friends, Wanda had been dubbed the Queen of Coordination and Kugy the Mother Alien, but Noni had her own title as well: Ms. Perfectionist. To Noni, everything had to be error-free. She felt Eko touch her elbow.
“Just relax, darling,” he said. “Don’t worry so much. There are lot of people helping. There’s me, Wanda, Keenan . . .”
“What if no one ends up coming? Some people still haven’t called. What if the guests from Bandung suddenly cancel?” Noni was babbling nervously.
“Then we’ll just celebrate on our own and stuff ourselves silly.” Eko laughed.
“Don’t make me more nervous than I already am!” Noni pouted.
“I know how you are. If I take you seriously, you’ll be stressed out. If I make jokes, you’ll be stressed out, too. So I might as well make jokes. At least one of us will be happy.”
“Kugy’s coming, right?” asked Noni, biting her nails.
“Definitely. She’d be crazy not to.”
“You have the medal, right?”
“All taken care of!”
Kugy had been staring at her enormous backpack for more than half an hour. It was lying on the floor, empty. She should have been packed and at the station a long time ago. But Kugy had sat quietly instead, imagining what would happen if she didn’t show up at the party, and what would happen if she did.
If she didn’t show up, there was no doubt Noni would be disappointed. And the conclusion her friend had reached about her would be proven correct: she had indeed changed, she was avoiding them, and she was distancing herself. If Kugy did show up, she would be the one with the broken heart.
Kugy took off her jacket and tossed it on the floor, then threw herself onto the bed. Half of her was annoyed at herself, aware of how much one person had disrupted her life—had made her lose her ability to act with confidence and not care what others thought. Keenan had left her paralyzed.
The other half of her was shocked and amazed. Only now did she realize how deep her feelings for Keenan were and how much she had fallen for him. Kugy knew what her final decision was. She wasn’t going. “Forgive me, Noni,” she whispered.
The lawn was packed. There were lit candles and torches everywhere. Music blasted over the speakers. Everyone was enjoying themselves. But Noni’s face was creased with worry, like an unironed shirt.
Noni approached Eko for the umpteenth time. “Did you call her house? Has she arrived yet?”
“Yeah, I called,” answered Eko. “They said she’s probably not coming after all. If she does, though, she would come straight here.” He tried to sound as relaxed as possible.
“She’s not coming?” Noni’s eyes widened.
“Probably not coming. No one knows for sure, okay?” Eko tried to calm his girlfriend’s nerves. “Her cell phone’s been off for a while. No one’s answering the telephone at her boarding house, either.”
“Kugy, this is too much,” Noni murmured. She couldn’t hide the disappointment on her face.
They heard Wanda calling them. “Noni! Eko! Come over here! We’ll be blowing out the candles soon!”
Noni dragged herself over to the table where the cake was to be placed. Wanda stood there, all smiles. “Hey, guys. I have a special treat for you.” She presented them with two glasses of champagne. “Dom Pérignon. I got a bottle from Dad’s cellar. Sssh. Don’t tell anyone, okay? This is just for us.” Wanda giggled, though no one else did.
Eko took a glass, but Noni shook her head. “You have it, Wanda.”
“Oh, come on, girl! Have fun! Why the long face?” As Wanda spoke, she gulped down the contents of the glass Noni had refused.
“Why don’t we just blow out the candles?” Noni suggested.
“Okay. Everything’s ready, right?” Wanda put down the glass. She had emptied it in the blink of an eye. “Do you have the medal Noni wants to give Kugy?”
Eko reached into his back pocket to make sure it was there. Noni had been planning her twentieth birthday party for a long time, and she had come up with the idea of bestowing Kugy with a medal as a token of their friendship. She and Eko had ordered one from a sporting goods store. For my best and oldest friend, it read. Eko swallowed. The medal was ready and waiting, but he doubted there would be any need for it tonight.
“Just use it as a doorstop or something,” mumbled Noni. She left without another word.
CHAPTER 20
A GIGANTIC LIE
The party had flopped, though Noni’s other friends didn’t realize it. Many of the guests who were expected from out of town never showed up—and Kugy’s absence had been the most fatal of all. Eko, Keenan, and Wanda tried to put on a good show so it would feel like everything was going well—except Noni disappeared, causing the party to finish earlier than expected. By ten, only a handful of people remained, and most of them were Wanda’s servants.
Keenan approached Eko, who was putting away the chairs. “Where’s Noni?”
“Migraine.” Eko averted his eyes. “Ms. Perfectionist always gets them. Can’t handle stress. Luckily, she just ran away to sleep, not to bash her head against a wall.”
“You sure she’s all right?”
Eko nodded. “She’s out like a light. And her older sister is looking after her. But if anyone should be looking after someone, it’s you.”
“What?”
In answer, Eko pulled out the bottle of Dom Pérignon, which was already three-quarters empty. “If I hadn’t confiscated it, she would have drained it to the last drop. We could have used it as a flower vase.”
“Wanda?” Keenan was startled. “Where is she?”
Eko shrugged. “You’d better find her and take her to her room right away. If Wanda’s dad sees his daughter drunk on stolen champagne”—he whistled—“we’re all in big trouble.”
Keenan looked around. “Okay, I’ll find her.”
Two people were dancing in a shadowy corner near the pool. Keenan recognized them immediately: Wanda and Ivan, the DJ.
“Hey, babe. Where’ve you been?” Wanda said brightly. Her movements seemed unsteady.
Ivan looked startled. Hastily, he withdrew his hand from Wanda’s waist. “Keenan, whassup?” he said, trying to look relaxed.
Keenan didn’t answer. “Wanda, you’re drunk. I’m taking you to your room. Now.”
Tottering, Wanda took Keenan’s hand, then leaned into his arms with her full weight. “I can’t walk . . . ,” she whispered in Keenan’s ear.
“If you can still dance, you can still walk. Come on.” Keenan spoke in a firm voice. He removed Wanda’s arms from around him, took her by the hand, and guided her away.
With great difficulty, Wanda tried to keep up. “Don’t go so fast,” she whined. But Keenan ignored her and kept walking at the same pace, stopping only when they reached the door to her room. “You shouldn’t have drunk so much,” he said. “Why can’t you have some self-control?”
Wanda looked straight into Keenan’s eyes and, to his surprise, smiled. “Are you mad because I was drinking or because of Ivan?” Her smile grew wider. “Are you jealous?”
“From the look of things, Ivan is just a side effect,” said Keenan sternly. “The main problem is you’ve had too much to drink. You’re lucky your father’s not home yet.”
Wanda laughed. “Oh, he wouldn’t know the difference. Dad’s an expert at understanding art, not his own daughter.”
“You should rest, Wanda. Drink a lot of water. Take a hot bath first if you need to.” Keenan turned to leave. “I’m going home.”
“What?” Wanda pulled Keenan into her room and closed the door. “You can’t go home!”
Keenan glanced at the closed door behind him. Following his eyes,
Wanda quickly slipped around him and leaned against the door, blocking it.
Keenan sighed. “Wanda, please. Don’t be childish. I have to go.”
“Why do you have to go? You’re supposed to be my boyfriend. I want you to stay.”
“Because you aren’t sober, that’s why,” Keenan answered. “And I don’t want us to do something stupid because you’re drunk.”
In one swift motion, Wanda’s arms were around Keenan’s neck. “Can you imagine what a guy like Ivan would do if he were in your shoes?” she whispered, pressing her lips against Keenan’s. “In this room, together with me?”
Keenan pulled away. “Wanda, please listen. It’s not that I don’t want to, and it’s not that I don’t understand what kind of opportunity I have. But you’re drunk. This isn’t right.”
“Damn it! You’re such a hypocrite!” Wanda screamed. “You never want to do anything, even when I’m not drunk! Don’t use that as an excuse. You never wanted me. You never loved me. You never did—even though I’m bending over backward doing everything for you! I’m willing to do anything for you!”
Keenan was quiet. He knew Wanda wasn’t fully aware of what she was saying, but her words pricked his conscience nonetheless. He tried to pull her into his arms, but she slapped his hand away.
“I don’t need you to humor me!” Wanda shrieked. “I don’t need your pity! I’m sick of begging for your attention! You think I don’t have any self-respect? Get out!” She jabbed her finger toward the door. “Just go back to Bandung! Back to that rotten hole-in-the-wall you call a home! Go!”
Keenan tried to remind himself that Wanda was under the influence, that she didn’t really mean what she was saying. “Fine,” he said, trying to remain calm. “Get some rest tonight, okay? I’ll come over tomorrow.”
“What’s the difference—tonight or tomorrow?” Wanda snapped, her voice rising higher in pitch. “Like you’ll suddenly want to be with me tomorrow? Forget it, Keenan! There will be no tomorrow!”
Unsteadily, Wanda stooped down, lifted the hem of the bedcover, and pulled out several large tubes wrapped in brown paper. “And take these with you!” She hurled them at him.
Keenan felt his throat close up. He had a bad feeling about this. He picked up one of the tubes and peeled away some of the covering to reveal rolled-up canvas—and his knees went weak. His heart was pounding. He realized how many rolls there were. Four—the same number of paintings on display at the Warsita Gallery that had reportedly been sold.
Trembling, Keenan dropped the tube and stepped toward Wanda. “How did my paintings get here?”
“Because I bought them! Satisfied?”
Keenan froze, trying to comprehend what was going on. Everything fell into place. His intuition had been trying to tell him something all along—something he could never explain. He connected the dots, and it was as if he were witnessing a lie swelling, growing larger and larger. Now here it was, staring him in the face. Keenan turned away. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
As Wanda witnessed the change in Keenan’s expression, panic welled up inside her. “Keenan, I meant well,” she stammered. “I just wanted to help you.”
Keenan felt the lie was too gigantic to comprehend. His head spun. His heart churned. The Warsita Gallery, the check, his confidence, his determination to paint . . . One by one, in a matter of seconds, his dreams were shattered.
As Wanda’s mask fell away, her eyes grew wet with tears. Her anger, so explosive just seconds before, was now replaced by the other extreme—she was sobbing. “Keenan, I’m sorry. I know it was wrong. Please understand, I love you so much. Don’t leave. Please . . .” Wanda fell to her knees, hugging Keenan’s legs.
Keenan looked down as Wanda clutched his thighs, her sobs growing louder and louder. He felt his pants become wet with tears. But he couldn’t bring himself to do or say anything. The turmoil he felt exceeded anger, exceeded any emotion he knew.
He stood there for a long time, letting Wanda sob until, slowly, he removed her arms from his legs and pulled her to her feet.
“Keenan, please say something, anything. You can be as angry as you want, I understand. I can take it. Just don’t go.”
Keenan picked up the paintings, his heart broken beyond all repair. “I’m giving back your money. All of it. And I’m taking these back,” he said softly.
Wanda looked at him, devastated. “Don’t go.”
“You may be able to buy these paintings, Wanda,” Keenan hissed as he opened the door, “but you’ll never be able to buy me.” He hoisted the tubes over his shoulder. And without looking back, he left.
Once Keenan was back in Bandung, he went to the post office. With him were five cardboard cylinders—the four paintings he’d gotten from Wanda, and one more for General Pilik and the Alit Brigade.
“Are you done with the form?” the post office employee asked, glancing at the paper he had given Keenan. It was still blank.
“Almost,” Keenan answered. He looked again at the five cylinders, rolled up and tied neatly with string. At last, with a heavy heart, he filled out his details.
The man looked it over. “Ubud, Bali, huh?” he mumbled. “It’ll arrive in three to four days. Anything else I can help you with?”
Keenan shook his head.
Another employee came to take the packages.
“Please be careful,” Keenan blurted anxiously. “Can you label them ‘fragile’? And please don’t let them get wet.”
With an understanding smile, the man got out the stickers Keenan had requested.
Keenan watched the five packages until they were taken away to the storeroom. In a little while, they would set sail for the Island of the Gods. Keenan felt like he was sending them off to heaven. Who knew when he would see them again?
In his heart, he bid farewell to his dreams. Whether he was prepared to do this, he couldn’t say. He didn’t have the courage to consider it further. But he knew his paintings would be in good hands. Right now, that was the most important thing.
CHAPTER 21
A PAINFUL EMPTINESS
Half an hour ago, the room had been dark. But now, the light was on and the colorful letters on the sign hanging on the door read “Noni Is In.” Kugy stood before it, her heart trembling.
It had been three days since the party, and Noni had just returned from Jakarta. They hadn’t spoken yet. Or more precisely, Kugy hadn’t had the courage to contact Noni. Even now her tongue felt too dry to speak.
The door opened to reveal Noni holding a bag of garbage she was going to throw away. Kugy was startled, but it was too late to flee.
Noni quickly averted her eyes.
“Hi,” Kugy said with a slight tremor in her voice.
Noni didn’t answer, much less glance in her direction. As if Kugy were invisible, she walked away.
Kugy knew she should chase after Noni, to try to talk to her, but her feet felt like lead. She didn’t have the nerve. In the end, Kugy went back to her room. A cold war had officially begun, and there was no way of knowing when it would end.
It was ten o’clock at night. Keenan’s belly was rumbling as if there were a soccer match going on inside. The last time he had eaten was noon, and it looked like his stomach wasn’t going to get anything else to eat until the same time the following day.
Keenan patted his stomach slowly and whispered, “Be patient. Don’t cramp up on me yet. I still have to go out and look at the sky.”
He sat down near the clotheslines, just outside his window. From there he could see the rooftops and glowing lights spread out before him in the dense wilderness of alleyways.
He looked up. From where he sat, it looked as if the sky had been bedecked with crisscrossing lines of laundry, a few pairs of damp underwear and jeans still hanging out to dry. But he didn’t mind. Watching the night sky was a simple pleasure that always made him feel a little better.
Keenan didn’t mind being hungry, either. It was simply a consequence of being frugal. He
only had a few rupiah left. But nothing could alleviate the emptiness of his soul, and this feeling was more painful to him than anything else. Rice can be bought. But conviction? Confidence? All the money in the world can’t buy those, he thought bitterly. Money could never be the measure of things. Conviction and money—they existed on completely different planes. He knew that now.
There was a sour taste in his mouth. Only now did he feel sorry for himself. He would have sent himself flowers to express his condolences if he could. No conviction . . . no dignity . . . nothing—emptiness. How could emptiness be so painful? Shouldn’t emptiness mean that there was nothing there? Shouldn’t “nothing there” mean that there were no problems? No pain?
Something stole into the emptiness. Sadness. A shining moment had come and gone in the blink of an eye and had been nothing more than a farce. Keenan felt like an unlucky actor whose scene was over, but who had been left onstage to dream on.
The face of his grandmother in Amsterdam passed through his mind. Keenan remembered their last day together, when Oma had made bruinebonensoep, which they had enjoyed in silence. He remembered the sadness they had felt but never fully expressed. Keenan wished he could return there tonight and leave everything behind. But the roof was the farthest his legs would carry him. His memories of Oma and the night sky mingled. Everything seemed to melt and grow blurry as his eyes welled up with tears.
October 2000
Kugy would never forget this morning. The villagers had built a new shelter for her class to move into and she was teaching in it for the first time. The Sakola Alit’s presence, along with the consistent efforts of Ami and her friends, had finally attracted the sympathies of the area’s inhabitants. The locals had pulled together, and this new shelter was the result. The monsoon season had arrived, and they were worried that school would be disrupted since one of the classes was being conducted underneath a tree.