Paper Boats

by Lestari, Dee

  Her lens fixed itself on something—something so beautiful that, for a moment, all she could do was stare. It was a young Balinese woman, kneeling to arrange a sesajen offering that she had brought with her. She lit some incense, picked up one of the flowers, and waved it around slowly and with great feeling—like a dancer. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were murmuring something. She was praying. Kugy was overcome with feeling at the sight of her. There was such truth on that lovely face. It seemed to symbolize sacrifice, devotion. Kugy had never seen anything so stirring.

  The girl opened her eyes. Kugy took aim and snapped several shots to avoid losing a single moment.

  As if sensing something, the girl turned around, and caught sight of Kugy kneeling nearby. Hastily she stood up to leave.

  “Hey! Don’t go!” Kugy ran after her. The girl’s footsteps slowed. “Sorry, I should have asked permission first. I was just playing around. I’m learning how to take photos. I’m really sorry.” Kugy extended her hand and gave the girl a friendly smile. “I’m Kugy. I’m from Jakarta.”

  The girl smiled back as she took Kugy’s hand. “My name is Luhde,” she said.

  Kugy’s heart leapt on hearing the name. “Luhde? What a coincidence. My friend’s girlfriend is named Luhde.” She chuckled.

  “It’s a common Balinese name,” Luhde answered, giggling. “I’m not the only one.”

  “Do you live here?”

  Luhde nodded. “I live with my uncle’s family. I’m from Kintamani originally. Are you staying in Ubud, miss, or just stopping by?”

  “I’m staying in Sanur with a bunch of coworkers,” Kugy explained. “I’m only visiting Ubud for a little while. Later tonight there’s something going on in Jimbaran. And please, don’t call me miss. Kugy is fine.”

  “Kugy?” Luhde sounded awkward as she said it.

  Kugy laughed. “Exactly.” And Luhde joined in.

  Before long, they were sitting together in the temple courtyard, chatting like two old friends. Luhde was impressed by Kugy’s cheerfulness, cleverness, pleasant demeanor, and independence. They were all qualities she aspired to. Kugy in turn was taken by Luhde’s gentleness, brightness, and maturity. She would never have thought that such a simple, innocent-looking girl would have a mind so wise and profound, or feelings so gentle yet perceptive. Not only that—Luhde was very eager to learn and grow. The two of them were even more excited when they found out they shared the same hobby: writing.

  “You’re writing a storybook? Wow. That’s amazing.” Luhde’s eyes shone. “When will it be published?”

  “I don’t know yet, but hopefully I’ll find out next week! I really hope it makes it. I’ve been dreaming about this since I was little.”

  “I’ve been dreaming about the same thing since I was little, too,” said Luhde softly. “But I don’t know what to do with my work, or where to send it. I’ll probably just keep it to myself.”

  “What do you write? Do you write fiction, too?”

  “I also write children’s stories,” said Luhde. “I want to take ancient Balinese hikayat and make them into tales for children. Balinese culture has lots of good material to offer. It’s not just about catering to tourists. But it seems like people aren’t interested in finding out more about it.”

  Kugy shook her head. “You’ll never know if you don’t try. Don’t stop writing.” Then she reached into her backpack and pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper. She wrote down her address, telephone number, and e-mail address. “Luhde, if you ever want to send me something—your stories or anything else—don’t be shy. Write to me. And if you ever plan to visit Jakarta, let me know. Here. I’ll write down directions as well, just so you don’t get lost.”

  Luhde watched Kugy’s hand as it danced across the paper. At the sight of Kugy’s writing, she held her breath. “This is so detailed. You’re very kind. Thank you so much.” Her voice trembled.

  “If my book really does get published, I’ll send you a copy.”

  “Please do!” said Luhde eagerly. “I mean that. Please don’t forget.” She wrote down her address for Kugy.

  “Luhde Laksmi,” Kugy murmured, reading the piece of paper. “You have a very beautiful name. It fits you.”

  “Well, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Luhde answered.

  “Uh, thanks.” Kugy chuckled. “By the way, there’s nothing wrong with your eyesight, right?”

  Luhde only laughed and shook her head. Carefully, she pressed the piece of paper to her chest.

  Suddenly a car appeared and came to a stop on the other side of the road. It gave a short honk. Kugy rose to her feet and picked up her backpack and camera. “That’s my ride. Till we meet again, okay? Don’t forget to contact me if anything comes up. I’m very happy to have met you today.” She hugged Luhde.

  “I’m very happy, too. Till we meet again,” said Luhde. Kugy didn’t notice the slight strain in her voice. “And . . . thank you.”

  Kugy chuckled. “Thank you? For what? And really, I should be thanking you for letting me take a photo of you.”

  Luhde couldn’t bring herself to say anything more. All she could do was tighten her grip on the piece of paper. As if in a trance, she watched as Kugy waved, crossed the road, and climbed into the car, which sped away.

  Luhde walked to the front of the temple, following the car with her eyes until it disappeared from sight. And she remained there, staring into the distance, even though all she could see on the road now were clouds of dust. Luhde wanted to run away—where to, she didn’t know.

  Upon seeing the handwriting, she had known at once who was before her. There was no doubt. How could she not recognize the writing she had been reading for more than two years? The pages and pages of it she had absorbed from that worn-looking notebook of stories written in that very same hand. How could she not know it by heart? Keenan brought that book everywhere he went. He had made it his guiding star, his inspiration, for the whole of his glittering career as a painter when he was in Ubud. Keenan had painted with such love—with all his heart and soul.

  Kugy would never know the depth with which Luhde had thanked her. Luhde was grateful they had met, grateful for the opportunity to see the woman face-to-face. Luhde gave thanks, because now she knew why Keenan’s heart was so firmly anchored there. And though it was very difficult, Luhde tried to give thanks for the pain that, at that very moment, was slicing into her heart.

  Luhde turned and went back inside the temple—back to her acts of devotion. And this time, she let herself go. Her strength vanished. Helpless to prevent the tears from falling, Luhde let them flow, every last one.

  It was Keenan’s last day in Ubud. He was flying back to Jakarta later that afternoon. Once he had finished packing, he went looking for Luhde, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  Keenan sensed that Luhde had been avoiding him since yesterday. She seemed more withdrawn, as if she were holding something back. After searching everywhere for her, he found her holed up in her room. He had to knock on the door for a while before it finally opened.

  “Luhde, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  Luhde shook her head.

  “So what is it then?”

  She was silent.

  “I have to leave for the airport in a few hours. If you have something to say, tell me now. Don’t keep quiet like this. It makes me feel nervous about leaving. You are coming to the airport to see me off, aren’t you?”

  Luhde shook her head again. “It’s better if I don’t,” she murmured.

  “What’s wrong? Are you angry? Have I done something wrong? Just tell me.” Keenan’s tone was pleading, but Luhde only smiled at him. It was a strange smile—so distant. Keenan had never seen that expression on her face.

  “I can’t go on like this,” said Luhde, almost whispering. “Not knowing when you’ll come back, or if you’ll ever want to come back . . .”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t have to come back if you don’t
really want to. Don’t feel burdened by your promise to me.”

  “Luhde, listen. We’ve managed to stay together this long because we have faith in each other. What will happen if you begin having doubts like this? Don’t you believe in me anymore?” Keenan sounded agitated.

  “I believe that you will always try to keep your promises. But how long can you go on like this, Keenan?”

  “It’s like you don’t know me,” said Keenan, exasperated. “Having faith in me means having faith that I can keep my promises. Please help me. I’m not strong enough to do this on my own.”

  Luhde trembled. She could barely contain herself. Of course I want to help you.

  “Luhde, don’t cry,” Keenan whispered gently.

  Suddenly she ran over and hugged him tightly. “I’m so selfish,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to . . .”

  Keenan still didn’t understand why she was so upset, but he didn’t want to press the matter. All he wanted to do was distract her, cheer her up. In the meantime, he heard Luhde utter the same words again and again, filling the space between them: “I don’t want to lose you.”

  It was Sunday night. After some delay, it was time for Keenan to pick up the latest installments of General Pilik. But tonight, he was also picking up Kugy. They were going out for dinner.

  “The way you’re dressed is making me suspicious. Where are we going?” Kugy eyed Keenan. He had shown up in a black turtleneck sweater. His hair, which had grown out a little, was still wet. He looked so fresh, so handsome. In the background she could hear Keshia screaming in excitement. That kid. She’d been hanging around for some time now so she could spy on Keenan when he arrived.

  “Obviously, not for instant noodles at a warung,” he said with a smile.

  Kugy looked down at her T-shirt and jeans. “Let me change. I’ll find an appropriate costume.”

  “Long live Darwin!” exclaimed Keenan, amused. “Once again we have proof evolution really does happen! Suddenly, Kugy Karmachameleon grasps the concept of dressing appropriately.”

  Kugy made a face. “It’s a shame Karel moved out,” she said as she walked away. “I can’t wear his jacket anymore. Tell Darwin that it’s put a crimp in my evolutionary process.”

  Keenan had made reservations at a well-known Japanese restaurant in the Mulia Hotel. Upon arrival, Kugy turned pale. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “Come on, you!” Keenan teased. “You’ve been to a million-star hotel, and you still feel embarrassed at a place like this?”

  “I hope you brought enough money,” she murmured.

  “Spoken like a true Hunger No Longer patron.”

  They were seated by the window. Keenan peered at Kugy from behind his menu. “Do you know what you want? Or do you want me to—” He stopped talking. He stared at Kugy reading the menu, her head inclined, the lighting striking her face just so. Her lips were red, even though she wasn’t wearing lipstick. Her eyebrows were as black as charcoal. Her eyes sparkled, and her complexion was so fair and clear. She played with the ends of her fine hair.

  Kugy never changed. Not even since they had first met, when she had come along to pick him up at the train station nearly four years ago. Keenan had never forgotten that day. And now, after all this time, he realized he had liked Kugy from the very start. She was so unique. She seemed to stand out from the crowd wherever she went.

  “I’m going to get . . . um . . . How about this? Whatever you order, make it a double.”

  “Good strategy.” Keenan grinned.

  After he had ordered, he placed a cup of hot green tea into Kugy’s hands. “I wanted to bring you here because I felt we had something to celebrate.”

  Kugy rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “And what would that be?”

  “We’re going to have a book and an exhibition.”

  Kugy practically fell out of her seat. “What? You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”

  Keenan looked around. “You think I’d bring you to a place like this just to pull your leg? Come on.”

  Kugy covered her mouth and screamed. “I can’t believe it! This is a dream come true!”

  “It is! Our dreams have become a reality.” Keenan smiled and let out a sigh. “I met a man named Mr. Ginanjar. He was one of the first to buy my paintings. In addition to having a publishing house, he’s an art collector and has financial interests in several art galleries. Mr. Ginanjar was very interested when he found out I was painting more of the General Pilik series. But what really won him over was when he found out that you, the creator and writer of General Pilik and the Alit Brigade, were collaborating with me on the project. I showed him some photos of the new General Pilik paintings, along with part of your manuscript. He came up with the idea of making two books. One would be a regular book, with simple, more accessible illustrations—I’ll probably use watercolor. But the other would be an art book—a coffee-table book—with all your stories and all my paintings, including the ones I’m working on. Then there would be a series of exhibitions to promote the book. Do you know what this means? This would be the first exhibition dedicated entirely to my work . . .”

  “And the launch of my first book,” said Kugy, choking up with emotion.

  “No.” Keenan shook his head. “Books, plural. There’ll be two of them, remember?”

  It was Kugy’s turn to let out a long sigh. It felt so hard to believe—too beautiful to believe.

  “Mr. Ginanjar wants to meet you next week. We’ll go together, okay?” Then Keenan raised his cup of green tea. “A toast. To Pilik.”

  “To Pilik.” Kugy smiled warmly. “And to us.”

  CHAPTER 42

  THE CASTLE STILL STANDS FIRM

  Remi glanced at his watch. He was five minutes late. He was usually on time for his appointments. And this was Sunday, too, so he didn’t have a good excuse. But he had encountered a lot of traffic on the way to the hotel. There was a big exhibition nearby and cars were backed up looking for parking.

  He checked the messages on his cell phone to make sure he had gotten the location of the meeting correct. “Okay . . . the café . . . ,” he mumbled. The elevator doors opened. Remi rushed out and collided with someone coming in.

  “Sorry,” he said hastily. The man whom he had run into apologized at almost the same time.

  “Remi?”

  Remi, who had ducked his head in apology, looked up at the sound of his name. “Keenan?” he exclaimed in disbelief.

  Keenan shook Remi’s hand warmly. “How are you? I never would have thought we’d run into each other here.”

  Remi recovered and gave Keenan a hug. “I’m more surprised than you are. I’ve been looking for you for almost a year. How . . . Why are you here?”

  “I live in Jakarta now. I moved at the end of last year.”

  “Still painting?”

  “Just started again,” Keenan answered brightly.

  Remi clapped him on the shoulder. “Good! Good! That’s what I’ve been waiting for. Let me have a look.”

  “Sure. In fact, I’m in the middle of preparing for an exhibition. Mr. Ginanjar is helping me.”

  “You traitor!” joked Remi. “You contacted Mr. Ginanjar but not me? Forgotten your first client, have you?”

  Keenan laughed. “I would never forget you. But I was trying to find the right time to meet with you. I heard you stopped by the gallery in Ubud. I’ve been wanting to contact you since last week, but I’ve had a lot of work to do since I got back to Jakarta.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “I’m helping my father. He’s not well, and now I’m running his trading company.”

  Remi’s jaw dropped for the second time. “You? Running a trading company?”

  “Not a good fit, huh?” Keenan grinned. “Hopefully it’ll only be for a little while longer. My father is getting better every day.”

  “Let’s arrange a time to meet,” Remi said. “I won’t take no for an answer. I’ve been waiting to hea
r from you for months. We should get coffee. You owe me that at the very least.”

  “Of course,” said Keenan. “Sorry, I don’t have a business card on me. I left my wallet in the car. I was just going to get it.”

  “No problem. I’m out of business cards, too.” They exchanged numbers instead.

  “Are you here for something?” Keenan asked.

  “I have a meeting at the café. You?”

  “I’m having dinner with a friend.”

  “I’ll wait to hear from you then,” Remi said. “This week?”

  “Sure. Sometime this week.” Keenan gave an enthusiastic nod.

  The elevator doors closed. Inside, Keenan shook his head in amazement. Who would have guessed he would run into Remi like this.

  Meanwhile, on his way to the café, Remi was still thinking about his chance encounter with Keenan. It was hard to believe. He’d been searching high and low for him for so long, and today, life had unexpectedly brought them face-to-face. There are no coincidences, thought Remi, unable to comprehend just how significant their meeting had been.

  When Remi was determined, he didn’t play around. It was he who called Keenan, eager to arrange a meeting.

  “It just so happens I’ll be near your office this afternoon. If you have time, maybe I can stop by for an hour or so?”

  “Sure,” answered Keenan. “Give me a call when you’re close. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Remi arrived right on time and entered Keenan’s office, mouth agape. “So you really are the director!”

  “What did you think I was? The security guard?” Keenan chuckled.

  “I just can’t get over it. I thought you said you didn’t like business—that it wasn’t your thing.”

  “Well, that’s still true.” Keenan gave him a tight smile. “But never mind. It’s a long story.”

  “I still have an hour to spare,” said Remi. “Let’s hear it.”

  Keenan relented and told him everything, starting with what happened at the Warsita Gallery and ending with his father’s stroke. Remi was even more dumbfounded.