Paper Boats

by Dee Lestari

  “My boss.”

  “Oh,” Keenan said again. “He’s older then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he serious about you?”

  Kugy shrugged. “One thing’s for sure. I never play around.”

  Keenan didn’t even attempt to respond.

  Kugy took a deep breath. She considered how best to phrase her question. “Balinese girls are pretty. Did anyone catch your eye?” She tried to keep her tone light.

  Keenan nodded. “Yes, my girlfriend is Balinese. Uncle Wayan’s niece. She’s still young, but she’s very mature.”

  “I see. Is she a painter, too?”

  Keenan looked at her. “No. She likes to write. Like you.”

  There was suddenly a bitter taste in Kugy’s mouth. “Oh yeah? What does she like to write?”

  “She . . .” Keenan considered this. “She’s naturally gifted with words, written and spoken. Talking to her is like reading a book of proverbs. She could write anything she wanted to. But at the moment, she wants to write children’s stories.”

  Kugy wanted to say something, to speak her mind, but she couldn’t. Her heart had been wounded—and it stung. Almost unconsciously, she moved her hand again to clutch her blue bracelet. “I’m happy you’re back,” she blurted, in a cheerful voice. “I’ve had a hell of a time finding a new partner. Life as a secret agent isn’t nearly as fun without you.”

  “Now think for a minute,” said Keenan. “How can I continue being one of Neptune’s secret agents if the only person who knows I’m an agent is you? I can’t be a secret agent when you’re not around.” Playfully, he poked the tip of Kugy’s nose.

  Kugy grinned. So everything was finally back to normal. As long as they didn’t touch on what was really going on in their hearts, everything was fine. And now they were free to talk about anything, about Keenan’s time away and his life in Lodtunduh, about Kugy’s job. And they could have talked forever. Before they knew it, half the guests had already left. Things were beginning to quiet down.

  Suddenly, Eko clapped them both on the back. “Hey, Weirdos United! How many plates of rice have you polished off?” Noni appeared behind him, smiling, and they sat together on the tiled floor.

  “It’s so hot in these clothes!” Eko complained as he took off his jacket. “I think I’m going to change into a T-shirt and sarong.”

  “What are you, a farmer?” joked Keenan. “While you’re at it, why not brew up a pot of coffee—boiled with sugar, the old-fashioned way? We can fry up some cassava, listen to some AM radio, talk about the harvest and the price of vegetables . . .”

  “Genius!” exclaimed Kugy. “Why don’t we give this reunion an agrarian theme? How about ‘Back on the Farm’? In the spirit of those agricultural programs that aired on national TV back in the day.”

  Eko looked at them. “More like ‘Alien Resurrection’ if you ask me.”

  “‘Back on the Farm’ sounds good to me!” said Noni. “I’ll get some costumes from your mother, Eko.” She ran into the house and came back with four T-shirts and four sarongs.

  Soon they had all changed and were sitting with four steaming mugs and a plate of snacks. Before they knew it, a rooster was crowing in the distance, affirming that night had rolled by, all too fast.

  CHAPTER 37

  A BARRIER THAT CAN NEVER BE BROKEN

  March 2003

  As Noni’s and Eko’s campus commitments began winding down, the four friends were able to get together more often. They met up at least every two weeks, and this week, Keenan was hosting.

  Lena was happy to see them. It had been a long time since she had seen Keenan socialize with his old friends, and to her this was a sign he was beginning to settle into life in Jakarta. She was so happy that she offered to make them food—so much of it that it could barely fit on the dining table.

  At the sight of it all, the group was astonished.

  “Mom, it’s just the four of us,” said Keenan. “There’s enough food here for an entire party!”

  “But Keenan’s forgetting to take our pets into account, Auntie,” Eko chimed in. “Kugy has a pet anaconda, I have a pet dragon, Noni has a family of lions, and Keenan has adopted a band of vagrants—”

  “Eko!” Jeroen came out of his room.

  “Jeroen?” Eko hardly recognized him. The little kid in his middle school uniform was in high school now. He had shot up and was almost as tall as Eko. “And you! What pet do you have and how did it make you so big?”

  Jeroen chuckled. “A troupe of dancing girls.”

  Lena’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t put it past him, this kid. He has so many girlfriends. What a headache. I have to play both mother and receptionist. The telephone rings nonstop with girls looking for him. And it’s a different one each time.”

  “It’s okay, Auntie,” said Eko. “Since Keenan suffers from the opposite problem, it all balances out.”

  Keenan’s father glided out of his room in his wheelchair, maneuvering the contraption with ease. He gave them all a friendly smile and though his speech was slow, his articulation was clear and sounded close to normal. When he reached the table, he asked to be helped to his feet. Carefully, he walked over to his chair.

  “Keenan’s father is already walking,” Lena explained with pride. “He can do almost everything he could do before, just more slowly.”

  Kugy took it all in. So this is the sacrifice Keenan has made. Hopefully it won’t be permanent, she thought, though she knew it meant Keenan would probably leave again. Suddenly she felt it again—the wound in her heart. But Kugy ignored it. A night like tonight was too precious to pass in pain.

  “You two should go first,” said Keenan as the group stood on the front veranda. “You have to drive back to Bandung in the morning. I can send Kugy home.”

  “You sure?” asked Noni and Eko in unison.

  “It’s not too much trouble?” Kugy asked.

  Keenan shook his head firmly and bid Noni and Eko farewell. Then they were left alone—him, Kugy, and a chorus of night insects.

  “Kugy, I have something I really want to speak to you about. It’s a very personal matter, and it involves you and me. That’s why I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Noni and Eko.”

  Kugy looked calm, but she felt uneasy. Her heart was pounding.

  Keenan gazed deep into her eyes. “I want to thank you.”

  “For what?” And then she saw him produce something from behind his back—something he’d been carrying since coming out to the porch.

  “You lent me something. It’s very precious to me. But I have to return it to its rightful owner.” He handed her a worn-looking notebook.

  Kugy was startled. She never thought she would see the book again. “General Pilik?” she said, her voice trembling.

  “This book has played such an important role in my life,” said Keenan gently, “and you’ll find out why. But I want to tell you in a special way.”

  Kugy was even more confused. She took the notebook, her emotions in turmoil. “So, you’ve had the book with you all this time? Even when you were in Bali?”

  “And I read it almost every day.” Keenan smiled. “You do realize, don’t you, that you’re going to be an amazing fairy tale writer?”

  Kugy’s throat closed up. It had been so long since anyone—herself included—had mentioned, or even touched on, that other life of hers.

  “Now I want to ask you for something else,” Keenan said, almost whispering. “Give me just one day. I want to take you somewhere. Just let me know when you’re free. Then you’ll understand why this book has been so important to me.”

  Kugy didn’t understand what Keenan was talking about, but she nodded, anyway.

  It was Saturday morning. Keenan was already in Kugy’s living room at five minutes to seven. Before long, Kugy emerged. Her hair was still wet and she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

  “You really are crazy after all,” said Kugy, wobbling as she walked. “Did we really have to m
eet at seven o’clock?”

  “The only rules in effect today,” said Keenan with mock sternness, “are my rules.”

  “So I’m about to be enslaved?” asked Kugy, weakly.

  “Just remember, you only have one task for the day: trust me. Okay, first rule: we have to bring extra clothes. You’ve done that, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Good. Second rule: your cell phone must be off, from now in this living room until when we return.”

  “Got it.”

  A few minutes later, they left. Kugy was enjoying their conversation so much that before she realized it, their car had merged onto the Cikampek highway.

  “Wait a minute,” she murmured suspiciously. “Where are we going?”

  Keenan grinned. “Our first stop of the day: Bandung. We’re going to see Pilik.”

  “Bandung? Pilik? Hooray!” she exclaimed, bouncing in her seat.

  It had been three hours since they’d started out. They had gone right through Bandung and were heading north.

  “I don’t get it,” said Kugy. “Why were you thinking about Pilik? You only saw the students twice. I should have thought of the idea. I was their teacher. I saw them almost every day for two years.”

  “Enough already,” Keenan answered with a smile. “No more questions. It’s just one of today’s surprises.”

  They arrived in Pilik’s village. They could see the footpath leading to the Sakola Alit. “I should park here, right?” asked Keenan, seeing the sign for the health clinic, which had been his landmark on previous visits. It looked empty and run-down—as if it had been shut for months. “Everything seems different,” he murmured as he looked around.

  Kugy looked around, too. Keenan was right—everything was different. The footpath to the school was wider, and it wasn’t grassy anymore—as if large vehicles were using it now. The dense clump of bamboo trees that usually sheltered the parking space was no longer there. The sun beat down, making everything look desolate and dry.

  They started down the path. What greeted them was stranger still. They passed several workers carrying sand, cement, and rocks in the opposite direction. And when they arrived, they were horrified to find half the village razed to the ground. Flat red earth stretched out before them. No houses. No fields. Only big trucks, backhoes, cement mixers, and workers coming and going across the large clearing.

  Kugy and Keenan were stunned. The Sakola Alit was gone without a trace.

  Without wasting any time, they asked around, looking for the remaining inhabitants.

  “They’re going to make it into a housing development,” a man told Kugy in Sundanese. He was carrying firewood.

  “There used to be houses here, sir. Where did they go?” asked Keenan.

  “Atos ngaralih. Sadayana atos digusur,” the man answered, motioning with his hand. “They’ve moved. All of it’s been cleared.”

  “Where did they go?” Kugy exclaimed.

  He shrugged. “Duka atuh, Neng. Da paburencay. Don’t know, miss. But they’ve been kicked out.”

  Haltingly, Kugy tried to communicate in Sundanese. “Upami Bapa terang teu Pak Usep ayeuna di mana? Would you happen to know where Mr. Usep lives now?”

  “Oh, Pak Usep anu gaduh kebon sampeu? The one who owns the cassava plantation?”

  Kugy nodded. “Muhun, muhun. Anu putrana namina Pilik. That’s right. The one who has a son named Pilik.”

  The man chose his words carefully. “Pak Usep mah kagusur ka caket susukan, Neng. Mr. Usep had to go live down by the creek, miss.”

  Kugy knew the creek he was talking about—a narrow filthy stream near a garbage dump.

  “Do you know where it is?” Keenan asked Kugy.

  She nodded. “Let’s go find them,” she murmured. She could already imagine the condition they would find Pilik and his family in. They thanked the man and hurried away.

  In fact, it was worse than Kugy imagined. There were several broken-down huts by the side of the stream, unfit to be called homes. They saw several people moving about.

  “It’s Mr. Usep!” Kugy exclaimed.

  “Ms. Ugy!” Mr. Usep was equally surprised. He poked his head into his hut and called to his wife. “Kadieu, enggal! Ieu, aya guru-guruna Pilik! Come out, quickly! It’s Pilik’s teachers!”

  A woman in a faded housedress emerged. She looked as if she had seen an angel. She ran over to Kugy and hugged her tightly. “Ms. Ugy,” she greeted Kugy. “Pilik . . .” She burst into tears. Her body shook. Mr. Usep could only hang his head in silence.

  That was when Kugy and Keenan knew something was very wrong.

  It was just the two of them again, along with the blowing wind and the creaking bamboo. The roar of construction could only be heard faintly from where they stood. In the meantime, a bird circled overhead, cawing. It perched on top of the wooden grave marker before them.

  It was Pilik’s resting place. All that remained were the memories of his boisterous voice and the way he used to run around, his shaved head and his bright, clever eyes. And how all the kids had looked up to him. Kugy saw it all in her mind, like a film, while sorrow filled Keenan a thousand times over.

  Keenan clutched a checkbook. He had planned to present it to Pilik and the Sakola Alit. It showed all the money he had been setting aside from the sale of his paintings. With bitterness, he gazed at the grave marker, thinking about how ironic reality was compared to the world of fairy tales. The world of General Pilik and the Alit Brigade was beautiful, and Keenan had tried to realize that beauty through all his works. And then there was the real life of Pilik bin Usep, a kid whose family was kicked off their land because they didn’t have any proof they owned it. Who had to live in a hut next to a garbage dump, and who came down with typhus three months back but couldn’t get any medical help, because the clinic had been shut down long ago. Mr. Usep told them that in less than a week, Pilik’s condition took a turn for the worse, and his little body had surrendered. Pilik departed, taking with him his unrealized dreams of going to middle school someday.

  “Oh Keenan, if only I could have seen him. I had no idea. I lost contact with Ami, too. Pilik should have had a chance. He was such a smart kid . . .” Kugy’s voice wavered as she spoke.

  Pilik should have had a chance. Overcome with grief, Keenan knelt beside Kugy, who was weeping, and held her.

  “I thought of Pilik so many times,” Kugy wailed, “and the other kids, too. But now, I’ll never have the chance to see them again. I still have a whole notebook of the adventures of the Alit Brigade. They haven’t even read it yet . . .” She buried her head in Keenan’s shoulder and wept until she could weep no more.

  “They’ll read it someday,” said Keenan gently. “I’m sure of it. Don’t stop writing.”

  It felt as if he had been hurled back into the past. To a time when he and Kugy had shared a dream. When all they had needed was the world and each other. When that one simple moment he had shared with Kugy had crystallized forever in his heart. But time had passed and the world had turned, and now they could never go back. Reality and fairy tales were separated by a barrier that could never be broken.

  CHAPTER 38

  A MOST WONDERFUL KIDNAPPING

  Kugy gazed at Keenan’s checkbook, overwhelmed. She was surprised, moved, and angry all at once. Kugy would never have thought her stories would play such a large role in Keenan’s life. She was touched by Keenan’s genuine desire to thank her, the Sakola Alit, and the Alit Brigade. But she was also angry that for all their good intentions, they had been unable to help General Pilik.

  “You’re giving them this money?” asked Kugy.

  “Yes,” Keenan answered. “It’s for Mr. Usep, Mr. Somad, and all the members of the Alit Brigade whose families were evicted. To me, this money is rightfully theirs.”

  “So what do we do now?” Kugy rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted.

  “There’s somewhere else I want to take you. Today’s rules are still in effect.” Keenan smiled and stroked her hand
.

  Kugy didn’t have the energy to protest, or the inclination. It didn’t matter what Keenan’s plans were. All she wanted to do was sit in the car and go wherever fate took her.

  Before long, their SUV had left Bojong Koneng district. Then it left Bandung altogether.

  Kugy slept through the second half of the trip. She was dimly aware they were heading toward the city of Garut, then south toward Pameungpeuk. For the remainder of the journey, she was fast asleep with the seat reclined.

  When she opened her eyes, Keenan’s car had come to a stop. The first thing she saw through the windshield was the open sky, spreading out before her. It was reddish—ablaze, as if it were on fire. She watched as several processions of clouds, blushing orange, were swallowed up by the western horizon. She became aware of something else—the roar of crashing waves, coming from somewhere below. Then another thing hit her—Keenan was gone.

  Quickly, she sat up. She saw they were parked on top of a grassy green cliff. Stretched out beneath her was the vast ocean, where she could see waves churning and whirling, breaking and falling, sweeping across an expanse of coral and white foam. Kugy scrambled out of the car.

  As if that weren’t enough, she was awestruck anew at the emergence of hundreds of bats from beneath where she stood. They flew in a swarm, forming a cluster of black clouds that quickly filled the sky. Astonished by all this beauty, which had appeared so suddenly before her eyes, Kugy lowered herself onto the grass.

  She heard Keenan’s voice. “Little One!”

  Kugy turned her head. There he was, standing near a small grass-thatched shelter, waving. She ran over.

  “Where are we?” Kugy had to shout over the roar of the waves.

  “Welcome to Ranca Buaya.” Keenan grinned. “Another one of today’s rules: your kidnapper gets to take you anywhere he wants. I came across this beach by accident once, when I was with Bimo and some other friends. It was love at first sight. I’ve wanted to come here again for years, but I’ve never had the chance. And now I’m here, with you. So, enjoy!” He held out a cold drink from the cooler he’d brought.