Paper Boats

by Dee Lestari

  Then she returned to Remi and handed it to him. She closed her eyes for a moment. It’s time. “Remi, fairy tales mean everything to me. Writing them is my greatest dream, and this is the closest I’ve ever come to achieving that goal. I still have to make my books by hand, but hopefully someday I’ll be able to share an actual published copy with you. Until then, this is the most valuable thing I own. It’s never changed hands—not once.” Kugy swallowed again. “But today, I want to give it to you because I also hope to share the rest of my life with”—Kugy felt she couldn’t go on. Her chest tightened—“you. And only you,” she said at last.

  Remi was quiet for a long time. He couldn’t remember anyone ever saying anything so beautiful to him. He was only brought to his senses when he saw Kugy’s tears. “Why are you crying? I can’t bear to see you cry.” He pulled her to him.

  Between sobs, Kugy whispered, “It’s not because I’m sad.”

  He stroked Kugy’s hair. “Whatever the reason, I’m here for you. Thank you for this book. Thank you for sharing the most valuable thing you own with me. Thank you for giving me this reassurance.”

  It was true Kugy wasn’t crying because she was sad. But she also wasn’t crying because she was happy. She didn’t know the reason herself.

  It had been six months since Keenan had returned to Jakarta. His father was completely transformed. The man had become living proof that miracles could happen. He had been completely paralyzed, and the doctors predicted he would suffer irreparable damage. Now that same person had recovered and was functioning as well as he had before. He had abandoned his wheelchair. He was even doing light aerobic exercise every morning, just as he had done every day before the stroke. Things were almost as they had been. Almost. He hadn’t gone back to work yet. It was the one thing the doctor still advised against.

  Everybody knew Keenan’s departure had been the cause of his stroke—but his return was also the antidote that had made this miracle happen. Not only did he keep his father company whenever he was able, Keenan also took his father’s place every day in the office, ensuring the family’s economic affairs could continue to run as normal.

  Yet Keenan also knew this moment would come—that one day he would have to confront the miracle and be honest about how things stood. And it was impossible to know who would come out the winner.

  Cautiously, Keenan opened the door to his parents’ bedroom. He found his father sitting by himself in bed, reading a book.

  “Dad?” he asked.

  “Come in. What is it?” Adri put down his book and took off his reading glasses.

  Keenan sat down beside his father. “Dad, I have to talk to you about something.”

  “Is something wrong at the office?”

  Keenan swallowed and shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just that I—” He stopped for a moment. Every day he had held these words in check. Every day he had delayed saying them. But he couldn’t contain them anymore. “Dad, I want to go back to painting.”

  Adri tried to comprehend his son’s words—tried to understand what would happen as a result of them. “You want to stop working at the company?”

  Keenan gave a heavy nod.

  “But if you don’t run things, who else—”

  “I’ll continue to carry out my duties until you’ve fully recovered. Or until someone else can take my place. My point is”—Keenan swallowed for the umpteenth time—“I can’t keep working there forever. I want to paint again.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Adri protested.

  “Do you really need an answer?”

  Slowly, Adri shook his head. “I know you’ve always wanted to paint. I’ve just found it difficult to accept.”

  “Why, Dad?” blurted Keenan, finally asking what he’d wanted to ask for years. “What’s wrong with painting? Painting is my life—I’ve been trying to prove that to you ever since I was little. But you always thought of it as a wall, an obstacle. You shut your eyes and covered your ears and acted as if everything was okay. And I’ve never understood why.”

  Adri didn’t know where to start. It was an old story, rusted over with age. But it had haunted him for decades. Art. The world of art was what kept Lena connected to her old love—that love, which didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word “death.” Then the world of art had made a reappearance, to bring his son into contact with someone whom he wanted nothing to do with. Maybe it was because he felt guilty. Maybe it was because he felt jealous. Who could say? And he had been made so blind by all of it that he had tried everything in his power to kill Keenan’s artistic potential. But how could he tell Keenan any of this?

  “It’s all my fault,” said Adri instead. “I’m the one who never tried to understand you—who tried to keep you locked up and never gave you the freedom to be yourself. You, on the other hand—you’ve been so brave, sacrificing your dreams to come back here and take care of our family.”

  “And I’ll keep doing it as long as I need to,” Keenan declared. “Given the situation at the time, coming home wasn’t a matter of choice. I didn’t think of it as a sacrifice, either. But now, I would like to be able to choose.”

  Adri smiled. “In my eyes, it’s just the reverse. Painting has never been something you’ve chosen. It’s who you are. And it’s who you always will be.”

  Keenan found it difficult to breathe. “So . . .”

  “You can stop working at the company whenever you want to,” said Adri gently. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll find a way to handle it. I’m positive.” He sighed heavily, but he felt a weight lift from his chest. It was as if letting Keenan pursue his artistic dreams had set Adri free, healing the rift between him and Wayan, and putting his guilt to rest. Who knew that Keenan—in some ways, the cause of all this—would end up being the cure as well. He never thought he would say this, but . . .

  “You can even go back to Bali, if that’s what you want.”

  Keenan could feel his heart pounding. Never had he dared to imagine his father giving his consent like this—not even in his wildest dreams. He leaned forward and pulled his father in close for a hug. For the first time in years, he felt they understood each other, and that the things that were sometimes left unsaid didn’t matter anymore. Keenan didn’t feel the need to demand any further explanation. This was enough. At last, Keenan could feel the love, the affection, and the freedom that had finally sprung from their relationship.

  The weekend was almost here. Keenan had finished packing. He checked the front pocket of his backpack again to make sure his plane ticket was there.

  He was resolved. He was going back to Bali—back to Lodtunduh in Ubud. He didn’t know how long he would stay, but he did know he would find a new beginning there. There was nothing tying him down here anymore.

  Before he got into the taxi, he turned around. His father, mother, and Jeroen stood behind him, waving good-bye. They were smiling, genuinely happy for him, without exception.

  He spread his wings. There was nothing stopping him anymore. He was free.

  Remi was up late figuring out the places he and Kugy were going to visit the following day. There was a bridal show, and several very promising potential venues. He didn’t know when the final plans would take shape. He hadn’t dared press Kugy about them. But there was no harm in looking around and learning about different options. In the last text message she had sent him, she had even agreed to tomorrow’s agenda. He smiled with satisfaction.

  Close to midnight, Kugy sent him another message:

  In the immortal words of the great Rhoma Irama, “Lie awake? Don’t lie awake.” Especially if you’re just surfing the Web. I’m not a famous dangdut singer, but let me offer my own humble counsel: “Go to bed. Just go to bed.” But before you do, don’t forget to read the fairy tales. That’s why I gave them to you, you know! Sweet dreams, darling. See you tomorrow.

  Remi chuckled. He turned off his laptop, which he had indeed been using to surf the Web. Then, casually, he picked up the book of
fairy tales Kugy had given him.

  He didn’t usually read fairy tales. But at every page, Remi was moved by the beautiful illustrations, by the stories so full of life, and by how much love Kugy had poured into creating every square inch of it all.

  He reached the last page—the back cover. It was blank. But there was something sticking out from inside it. It was the corner of a white sheet of paper. Without thinking, Remi pulled it out. It was an envelope. Suddenly, he felt apprehensive. Remi wasn’t sure it was meant for him.

  At the same time, he felt the urge to open it. He took out the card and frowned. Happy birthday? Remi turned the envelope over looking for a name. There was none. His uneasiness grew. The book wasn’t a birthday present. Who was this card for?

  Then Remi read what was written inside, line by line, all in Kugy’s hand, the words in neat rows like ants in single file. Every now and then a word would send him reeling. Illustrations . . . sharing . . . only with you. Finally, he saw the date. January 31, 2000. That date. That year. He recalled his last conversation with Noni and how suspicious he’d felt. Now he was sure.

  Suddenly everything became clear: Kugy’s reaction when he told her about Luhde, her strange behavior of late. His head slumped forward. It was all too bitter and painful for him. But at last he understood the shadow that hung over their relationship—that he had never been able to touch, that he had never been able to name.

  Now everything was clear. The shadow already had a name. Keenan.

  CHAPTER 46

  THE HEART DOESN’T NEED TO CHOOSE

  The whole family had been acting funny all morning. Some were smiling, some were giggling, some were whistling for no apparent reason. Kugy was conscious of all this, but she didn’t know how to respond.

  An hour before Remi was supposed to pick her up, her sister Karin blurted out, “So I heard you’re going to a bridal show!”

  “Nothing too fancy, okay, kid?” her father added as he walked by. “Keep it simple. As long as it’s meaningful—that’s what counts.”

  “Dad? Wha—” Kugy protested.

  Kevin chimed in. “No need to get a wedding planner. Just go in-house. I have my own planning committee and everything! Can I do it? Can I do it? Can I do it?”

  Kugy looked around for Keshia. Only her youngest sister hadn’t said anything yet. Don’t tell me she’s in on this, too . . . Keshia was sitting on the sofa, a mischievous look in her eyes. “Now Keenan belongs to me!” she exclaimed.

  Kugy’s face turned bright red. “Mom!” she called out. “What is up with the people in this house? Talk about obnoxious!”

  “Are you going to wear a traditional kebaya or a Western-style wedding gown?” her mother said. “If you’re going with a kebaya, my friend Ms. Sugianto makes beautiful ones. And they’re not expensive, either.”

  Kugy’s mouth hung open. “Not you, too!”

  “What’s wrong? We’re all being supportive!” answered her mother.

  “Supportive of what?” asked Kugy.

  “Oh please,” said Karin, rolling her eyes. “As if you didn’t know. Besides, if anyone should be upset, it’s me. How do you think I feel, knowing that my little sister is planning to beat me to it?”

  “Of course Karin’s upset!” Kevin added. “Of all the people in this house, she’s spent the most on her appearance, yet the scruffiest person has found her soulmate first.”

  Kugy’s cell phone rang. It was Remi. She let out a sigh of relief—saved just when the hot potato had landed in Karin’s lap. She fled into the living room.

  “Hey, are you almost here?” Kugy asked.

  “Not yet,” said Remi. “Sorry, but I can’t pick you up. Would you mind if I just met you somewhere?”

  “No problem. I can drive myself. Are we meeting at the bridal show?”

  “Do you mind if we pass on the show today?” asked Remi.

  Kugy was startled. “So . . .where do you want to meet?”

  Kugy would never forget that place—that swing, that New Year’s Eve. This was where everything had started. She took off her sandals and let her feet graze the sand. A warm sea breeze blew on her skin, sending her long skirt fluttering. A cluster of dark clouds hung overhead. It looked like it was going to rain.

  “Kugy!”

  Kugy turned around. Remi was walking toward her. He had a faint smile on his face, and in his right hand he carried a paper bag. There was something strange about all this, but she wasn’t sure what.

  “Why are we meeting here?” she asked.

  Remi didn’t answer. He took her hand and slowly sat her down on the swing. Gently, he began to push her, swinging her forward, then backward, without saying a word. All she could hear was the squeak of the iron hinges on the swing set and the sound of the waves lapping against the seawall at their feet.

  Finally, Remi spoke. “I’ve known you for almost a year now.”

  Kugy’s feet, which had been dangling, suddenly planted themselves in the sand. The swing stopped. Kugy spun around. “Remi, please tell me. Why did you want to come here all of a sudden?”

  Remi let go of the swing and knelt in front of Kugy, bowing his head. And he was silent—long enough to make Kugy even more concerned.

  “Remi. What is it?” Kugy asked.

  “I . . .” Remi spoke with great difficulty. “I . . . want to give this back to you.” He picked up the paper bag he had propped against the swing set.

  Kugy took it from him and looked inside. It was the book she had made. She was confused. “Why are you giving it back?”

  “Because . . . of this.” Remi handed her the envelope.

  Kugy felt everything come to a stop. All time. All life. All sound. All motion. All she could do was stare. She had almost forgotten about it. But she hadn’t forgotten about it completely. A second was all she needed to recognize the card—to remember what she had written inside and for whom.

  “This book was meant for Keenan, wasn’t it?” Remi’s voice was gentle. “Kugy, Kugy . . . why did you run away?”

  Kugy felt as if everything had gone mute, except for Remi’s voice, which was speaking to her, as softly as the wind.

  “Did Keenan ask you to give him this?”

  Kugy couldn’t speak. All she could do was shake her head.

  “Why did I have to ask before you gave it to me?”

  Something moved, breaking through the silence and stillness holding her in place. A single tear.

  As if he were touching a porcelain doll, Remi held Kugy’s left hand, which bore the ring he had given her. “Did you ask me for this ring?”

  A second tear. Kugy shook her head again.

  “So why did I have to ask you to wear it?”

  Kugy could barely breathe. She tried as hard as she could to suppress her tears, but it was no use. Now the slow sobs broke through the silence and stillness as well.

  Remi slid the ring off Kugy’s finger with the same gentleness, and with great care. “Kugy, if things were different, I would never stop asking you to love me. You’ve done everything I’ve asked you to do. But love isn’t about asking. Now go. Find the person who’ll never ask you for anything, but whom you’ll want to give everything unasked.”

  Kugy couldn’t bear it any longer. Her shoulders began to shake. “But that someone is you,” she gasped, between the sobs and the tumult filling her chest. “I’ve never asked you for anything. But you’ve given everything to me . . .”

  “I know.” Remi nodded as he wiped the tears from Kugy’s cheeks. “You’ve found your someone. I’m the one who hasn’t.” His voice began to tremble. “I’m the one who hasn’t . . . ,” he said again, almost whispering, as if he were saying it to himself.

  Then Remi stood up, embraced her, and walked away.

  The stillness and the silence had been obliterated. Everything looked dark and overcast; but something had thawed between them, had been set flowing. They had been truthful to one another. As if in agreement, drops of rain began to fall. What had remained
unsaid for so long had finally burst, splitting open. And the earth dissolved along with it.

  Two nights had passed since Keenan had arrived at Uncle Wayan’s house, and that evening, Luhde returned from Kintamani. To her surprise, she found Keenan there, waiting for her in the bale.

  Upon seeing her, Keenan sprang to his feet. Beaming, he stretched out his arms, waiting to embrace her. But Luhde didn’t move. She stood there smiling, and greeted him with a polite nod.

  “Luhde, I’ve come back. I’m going to live in Ubud.” He spoke cheerfully. “I’ll move here in stages. I’m going back to Jakarta tonight, but starting next week, I’ll be staying for longer and longer, until finally”—he cupped her face in his hands—“I’ll never have to leave you again.”

  Luhde’s smiled broadened. “I’m glad, too.”

  Keenan sensed something wasn’t quite right. “What’s wrong?”

  Luhde looked down as if gathering her strength. When she raised her head, her gaze had transformed. “I have to know. Why do you want to be with me?”

  Keenan hadn’t expected this at all. It took a long time for him to answer. “Because . . . I’ve chosen you.”

  Luhde’s entire body felt weak. It took all the strength she had to remain standing. But deep down in her heart, she had known that would be his answer. “Keenan, wait here,” she said softly. “I have to fetch something from my room.”

  Soon she was back. In his confusion, Keenan tried finishing what he had started saying before.

  “I want you to come with me to Jakarta. Stay with me while I get things sorted out. Then we can return here together. What do you think?”

  Again, Luhde only smiled. And slowly, she shook her head. “I’m not ready to go with you, Keenan.” She spoke firmly but gently. “Tonight I’m going back to Kintamani.”

  “All right. So when will you be ready? I’ll wait for you,” he said.

  The smile didn’t fade from Luhde’s face. Her tone grew firmer. “Keenan, you’re wasting your time.”