Paper Boats

by Lestari, Dee

Lena tried to read his restless gaze. “What do you want me to do, Adri?”

  Summoning all his strength, Adri’s facial muscles began to move. Bit by bit. His mouth trembled, forcing a sound from his throat.

  “Kk . . . kk . . . kee . . .”

  Lena pressed the button to call the nurse. “Yes, what is it, Adri? What do you want to say?” She leaned closer to Adri’s lips to hear him more clearly.

  In a strangled voice, Adri tried with all his might to utter that one word. “Kk . . . Kee . . . nan . . .”

  Upon uttering the name, Adri’s eyes shut once more.

  Lena was in shock. Keenan? He was the cause of all this? This whole time, Adri hadn’t given any indication he cared about Keenan’s whereabouts. He had even warned her several times not to look for him, that their son would have to contact them first. Since Keenan had left, not once had Adri discussed him, or even uttered his name. It was as if Adri had rounded up all memories of him and put them away in anticipation of some day in the future when Keenan would return home and apologize, like he wanted him to.

  Lena was beset by a deep sense of guilt. She was the only one who knew where Keenan had gone. She was the only one who knew their child was, in fact, safe. Meanwhile, her husband had persisted in a state of ignorance, refusing to find out and refusing to care. Yet all this time Adri must have been asking himself over and over that one question which had finally gnawed away at him from the inside: Where was Keenan?

  Lena bit her lip. She had no choice.

  CHAPTER 33

  THE POWER OF LOVE

  Lena hadn’t stepped foot in Bali since marrying Adri twenty-one years ago. As the plane neared the ocean, preparing to land, a strange feeling came over her. Then there she was in Ngurah Rai International Airport, being greeted by the lilting sounds of Balinese music reverberating softly through the speakers. Lena didn’t know if she was ready to come back here. She felt like returning to Jakarta. She felt regret that she had come. And yet she also realized just how much she had missed this place.

  Lena couldn’t imagine how she would feel on the road later, seeing so many things that would resurrect old memories—ones she had succeeded in burying—of when she was still living on this island, when she was still painting, when she was still with Wayan.

  Before she left the airport, she sat down, trying to calm herself. She reminded herself not to be influenced by unreliable emotions. They would only trap her in the past. She reminded herself she was only here to get her son. That was what she needed to keep in mind. She would be back home that night. Away from this place. Away from the memories.

  The journey passed, minute after minute, mile after mile, tearing her heart to pieces until it reached its climax. The car pulled into the compound. She had arrived. As she waited for the door to open, Lena wondered how she had found the strength to return, or even stand upright.

  The servant who greeted her asked Lena to wait on the front terrace. Before long, she heard footsteps approaching. And from the sound of them, she knew who it was.

  “Hello, Wayan,” she said, greeting him with a smile.

  Wayan was stunned.

  “I want to see Keenan.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Wayan, trying to control his voice.

  “Adri’s in the hospital. He had a stroke.”

  “Wait here,” he finally whispered. “I’ll call Keenan.” With each step he felt as if he were going to sink right through the floor. For a moment, he even thought he was dreaming. In that woman’s presence, everything had fallen away—his strength, his defenses. He was changed now that Lena was there. He felt lost in his own house. Unsteadily, Wayan walked to the back of the house, calling for Keenan.

  It had never crossed Keenan’s mind that he would one day sit with his mother in the bale, the breeze blowing and the sounds of the bamboo kentungan in their ears. Longing and sadness mingled and became one.

  “I know you said that coming home would be like returning to prison,” said Lena. “I also understand that this is your home now. But I won’t go back to Jakarta without you.”

  Keenan nodded heavily. “Of course I’ll come home,” he said. “I’m not going to leave you, Dad, and Jeroen like this. It’s just that I don’t know what kind of work I would do in Jakarta. I dropped out of university. I’m even having trouble painting here. I won’t be able to do anything to help.”

  “The only thing I need from you is you,” Lena said firmly. “And that’s all your dad needs, too. The only thing he can say is your name, Keenan. His entire body is paralyzed, but he can still say your name. You’re the only thing he wants.”

  Hearing this broke Keenan’s heart. “Anything, Mom. Anything Dad wants, anything Dad needs from me—I’ll do.”

  “Then we’ll leave tonight, on the last flight. I can’t stay any longer than that.” Lena gripped her son’s hand.

  Keenan rose and gave his mother a hug. “I’ll start packing,” he whispered.

  Their parting, so sudden and unexpected, brought about a transformation in Luhde. Calmly and coolly, she helped Keenan get ready. She didn’t whine or sulk. She didn’t even ask questions. It was as if she had always known this day would come. Luhde acted like a true woman that day, though she was just nineteen.

  She handed Keenan a pile of neatly folded shirts. “This is the last of what’s in your closet. If there’s anything you’ve left behind, I’ll send it to you in Jakarta.”

  Keenan took the shirts, feeling deeply moved. The way Luhde was handling the situation only broke his heart even more.

  “Agung has already packed your things from the studio. If they’re not too heavy, you can bring them with you tonight. Otherwise, we can send them later.” Luhde looked around the room again, making sure nothing had been forgotten. “That’s everything,” she said with a firm nod. “Come. I’ll help you carry these.”

  Keenan couldn’t bear it any longer. He took the bag Luhde had picked up and set it back down.

  “I’ll come back. Luhde. I promise. When my father recovers and everything is all right with my family again, I’ll return. I want to come back . . . for you.” Keenan paused. “I’m sorry I have nothing to give you. Nothing compares to everything you’ve given me while I’ve been here—”

  “Your being here has been enough.”

  “I’ll come back,” Keenan repeated.

  Luhde’s eyes filled with tears. “Just follow your heart,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Wherever it takes you. The heart never lies. If you don’t come back, I’ll understand.”

  “Luhde, please, don’t speak like that. Titiang me janji,” he said earnestly. “I’ve made my promise.”

  A sad smile appeared on her face. “Just hearing you say that is more than enough for me. I mean it. You don’t have to prove anything. It’s only been two years and you’ve brought such meaning to my life.”

  Keenan embraced her—gently, but also as if he would never let her go. “Wait for me, okay?” he whispered.

  Slowly, Luhde extricated herself from Keenan’s embrace. She pulled something from the cloth bundle she was holding. “Here, take this back.” Luhde placed it in his palm.

  Keenan was startled. “Why are you giving it back to me? It’s for you.”

  Luhde lowered her head. It hurt so much to be truthful. “I know. Even though you gave it to me a long time ago, I’ve always felt that it’s not mine. I don’t know why.”

  “Luhde Laksmi. Watch closely.” Keenan lifted her chin with his finger and looked into her eyes. He then unwrapped the cloth bundle, opened Luhde’s hand, and placed the wooden heart in her palm. “Here. This is the second time I’m giving this to you. And there won’t be a third.” He smiled.

  Luhde smiled, too. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  “I have to go,” said Keenan, stroking her hair. He kissed her lips and pressed her to him once more.

  As Keenan held her, Luhde held the carving to her chest, tightly, as if she never wanted to part with it, because sh
e knew the heart never lied.

  Wayan knew he didn’t have much time. In a few hours, she would disappear again from his life. Every cell in his body was trembling with fear, but Wayan knew he would never have another chance like this again.

  Keenan was still packing, and Lena was waiting on the veranda of the main house, alone. Wayan approached her. Hearing the sound of footsteps, Lena turned around. She was even more startled when he walked up to her, pulled up a chair, and sat down.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Lena,” he said hastily. “I only ask that you listen. And I don’t have much to say.” Wayan summoned the courage to look into Lena’s eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his heart had stopped beating. Oh, how he had loved her.

  “I’ve spent twenty years trying to forget you,” he said. “But I never had any regrets, not one. The love I have for Keenan is the most beautiful thing I’ve experienced—second only to my love for you. I love him like a son. I’m grateful to you and Adri for giving him the chance to be part of my life. Thanks to Keenan, I’ve learned to forgive myself, and you, and Adri, for everything that happened.” As the words, pent up for decades, flowed from him, Wayan’s heart felt more at ease. “Don’t ever tell Keenan how much I love his mother. Just let him think of me as an old friend of yours. Nothing more.” He stood. “I wish Adri a speedy recovery.”

  “Wayan,” Lena whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize for anything, Lena. I’ve let it all go. For your sake.” Wayan gave her a thin smile.

  Lena felt a fluttering in her chest, as if something inside her were trying to escape. She could barely stand or speak, but she knew she would never have this chance again, either. She had to tell him. “I had to leave you. I was pregnant with Keenan and wasn’t willing to sacrifice him. I didn’t make my decision because of Adri—he never had my heart. I made my decision because I was going to have his child—”

  “Lena, enough. I know. I understand. And I’m so happy you decided to keep Keenan.”

  “Adri and I shouldn’t have done that to you. We weren’t thinking. Things spun out of control. What happened between us—”

  “What happened between you two doesn’t concern me anymore. You and Adri have proven yourselves by staying together for so long. I’m happy he was able to love you and provide well for you.” Wayan tried to steady his breath. “Your heart would have been mine once. I know that. Just as my heart has always been yours. But the heart is able to grow and survive in the face of other choices, too. Sometimes that’s enough. I’ve come to feel it’s enough.”

  Lena felt her eyes grow hot, but no tears came.

  “We will be praying for you all,” said Wayan. Lena’s hand was on the table and he stroked it for a moment. Then he turned and left.

  Lena was by herself on the veranda once again. Still no tears came, though her heart resumed the unceasing sobs that had haunted her for decades. The sobs she would always have to keep locked away in silence. The sobs she would have to bury deep inside her once again.

  Something in the house had changed. There was something missing. Everyone felt it.

  After Keenan and Lena left, Luhde and her uncle sat in the bale, each shrouded in a thick fog of emotions.

  “So that was Keenan’s mother,” said Luhde. “She’s beautiful. As beautiful as the portrait you painted of her.” She recalled the face in her uncle’s painting. It was Lena, many years ago, and the one portrait of her that he’d kept.

  “Has Keenan’s mother seen your painting, Poyan? Why didn’t you show it to her? What if she never returns—”

  “Enough,” he said, interrupting her. “There’s no point.” He stood up and walked away.

  Luhde watched him with a sense of remorse. She hadn’t meant to make him even sadder. Lena’s coming must have unsettled his heart and reopened old wounds from decades ago. She regretted adding to his sorrows unnecessarily, all because she hadn’t been able to stop herself from asking about the painting.

  Since Lena had left him, her uncle had never fallen in love with anyone else. He had chosen to live unmarried and alone. To him, Lena was his last love and no one could ever take her place. It was better to live alone than to live in a lie—that’s what her uncle always said.

  Poyan was famous for his paintings of Balinese ceremonies, but those closest to him knew that his current subject matter was nothing but a refuge from what he was fleeing. Poyan’s paintings were far better once, people said. Before, Poyan had only painted women. More specifically, one woman. Who knew where those paintings were now? Scattered among collectors or stored away who knew where. One thing was clear: her uncle would never paint like he did before. For several years, he had even stopped painting altogether. And of all the paintings from that period, he had kept only one. And it was from that one remaining painting that Luhde recognized her. Lena. The woman whom Poyan had so loved and whom he would never be able to have.

  A falling star had slipped from his hands and he would never be able to hold it again—that was how Poyan described the story of their love. And Poyan continued to dwell in his solitude and his memories. His love for Lena would remain with him always, and that was enough, he’d once said. Furthermore, it was enough for him to have Keenan to love as his own son, though Keenan’s arrival was why he and Lena had had to part.

  Luhde’s gaze remained fixed on her uncle’s back as he retreated into the darkness of the forest, merging into its shadows. The man had taught her how strong the heart was—how strong love was. And today, her heart had undergone its own trial.

  It was another late night for Kugy at the office. She was so exhausted she almost fell asleep on the lobby sofa waiting for her taxi to arrive. Suddenly the door opened and four people entered, making a lot of noise, carrying a large painting wrapped in brown paper.

  A security guard appeared and instructed them to unwrap the painting and hang it on the wall behind the receptionist’s desk. The commotion continued, with the security guard barking commands. “That’s it. Move it to the left a bit. Too much. Yeah, right there. A bit lower and to the right. Stop! That’s enough! Perfect!”

  The security guard nodded admiringly and whistled. “This new one sure looks great.”

  Kugy had to take a look for herself. Her jaw dropped. “This painting,” she stammered. “Where did it come from?”

  “From Mr. Remi’s house,” the guard explained. “He said to bring it here at night so we wouldn’t bother anyone during working hours.” Before long, the guard and the movers left.

  Kugy was grateful they had gone so quickly so she could be alone. She gazed at the painting, illuminated by a single spotlight from above. It was as if the painting had seized her by the heart and pulled her into the magic of another life.

  Something about the painting felt familiar—the children and the animals playing together. A simple scene, but so full of life and sound. She felt as though she were there herself, playing with them, experiencing the happiness and brightness of their world.

  “Oh gosh, don’t cry,” she muttered, wiping her eyes. Suddenly, her heart was overwhelmed by an intense longing. She remembered the Sakola Alit. Her students. Pilik.

  Kugy’s eyes swept over the big beautiful canvas. All she could find were two small initials in the bottom right corner: K. K.

  CHAPTER 34

  THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR

  When Keenan arrived in Jakarta, he headed straight to the hospital, and stayed there around the clock. That was only a day ago and everyone could see his father’s condition had undergone an immediate improvement. Although Adri couldn’t speak or move much yet, having Keenan with him had rekindled an enthusiasm for life. There was a freshness about his face, and new progress was being made almost every few hours.

  Lena was filling out the necessary paperwork to take her husband home. There was no doubt about it—the miracle the doctors were hoping for had happened. She was bringing him home. Once again, her family was complete.

 
Keenan stayed at his father’s side, watching and waiting. He never imagined he would one day see his father—so big and strong, so energetic and industrious—reduced to this. Every time his father opened his eyes, calling out in a weak voice that sounded more like a moan, Keenan assured him he was there. But his father kept calling out, anyway.

  Slowly, the door opened and Lena entered cautiously. “We can take Dad home tomorrow,” she said with a smile.

  Keenan let out a sigh of relief.

  “I have a recommendation for a nurse who’ll be able to help take care of him at home. He can start slowly with the physiotherapy.”

  “Mom.” Keenan hesitated. “Who’s running Dad’s business?” It was the one question he dreaded learning the answer to, but sooner or later, he had to ask. Keenan knew just how much his father’s business relied on him. The trading company his father operated was his and his alone. He had been the head of the entire company and everything depended on him. Who knew how long it would be able to survive in his absence.

  The expression on Lena’s face underwent a dramatic change. Like Keenan, she had tried to avoid discussing the matter, though she knew they would have to talk about it eventually. Lena pulled up a chair beside him and held his hand.

  “Keenan, I know we don’t have many options, but we should focus on your father’s health for now. Don’t think too much about business matters—”

  “Dad has already been here for more than a week, Mom. Time marches on whether we like it or not. Someone has to fill his shoes. If not, the company will be ruined. And so will we.”

  Lena bowed her head. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to ask. She’d tried to ignore it, but the matter wasn’t going to go away on its own. Still, she couldn’t bear to make the request.

  “I’ll take over for Dad,” he said softly.

  Lena was stunned.

  “I don’t know where to start. But I’ll do the best I can.”

  Lena tightened her grip on her son’s hand. “Of all the people in the world your father would trust to take his place, you’re the best one. I’m sure you can do it.” But even as she uttered the words, Lena’s heart was cut to the quick. She knew how costly a sacrifice her son was making. Once again, Keenan was being forced to cast away his dreams and ambitions—to set aside his paintbrush, his canvas, and what he loved.