Shaman of Bali

by John Greet

  Geno shut up. Mention of the Marco crew had stopped him. The woman then turned to me and spoke politely, ‘Can you take me to change my clothes? Ask the taxi to wait.’

  I settled her in the office while Ketut fished out her Versace hat and gathered her bags. Geno had disappeared. As we helped her into a taxi, she began, ‘And you can tell Geno …’ But she stopped abruptly. She then pursed her lips and with a faraway look in her eyes said, ‘Tell him nothing.’

  19

  I took a cleaning crew from the Sandika over to Janna’s, along with two bottles of arrack, mops, buckets and a trailer. I asked the crew to wait outside while I checked on the apes: the animals were comatose. We went to work.

  The women grumbled at the mess and wrapped scarves around their faces as they cleaned. Ketut and I carried the arrack bottles out to the trailer. We all kept our eyes on the apes, watching for the slightest movement. A few hours later, Janna’s compound was clean. It smelled of bleach and disinfectant, and with the wood furniture polished and the shades raised, it looked good.

  I had to figure out a solution for the alcoholic apes. Janna couldn’t come home sober and have to buy arrack daily for her animals. Anak said her cure would take some time. I had to come up with a solution by the time she had returned.

  * * *

  Late that night, I was returning a drunken Japanese guest to the Bali Haj when I saw Bas. He was standing by a palm tree near the pool, smoking a cheroot. He offered me one, and we leaned against the tree and smoked. It was difficult to imagine that this slightly dishevelled older man, greying at the temples, had been the ruthless young lieutenant of Anak’s narrative. A man capable of ordering the execution of women and children, and appropriating land for his own benefit.

  After some time, I said half under my breath, ‘I spoke with Anak.’

  ‘And?’ he asked, keeping his eyes on the ground.

  ‘He told me about how you had acquired the land this hotel is built on. He also told me about the money lender Li Cheun and his family.’

  ‘Anak,’ he said, and his body slumped as he flicked the stub of his smoke to the ground. He began pacing. ‘Anak and I are destined to be enemies for life. I can assure you that if I could turn back time …’ He paused and set off on another train of thought, his voice hardening, ‘Let me tell you about some of the things that have happened between us over the years. You know I am Muslim, and most of my guests back in the day were military men and their families. We didn’t have the sophisticated artesian wells then as we do today. In those times we pumped the water up into a holding tank with a petrol pump. One day there was a taste of something rotten in our water, and all my guests came down with diarrhoea. I climbed up to look in our water tank and found the body of a decomposing pig there. Have you any idea what that means to a Muslim, to be drinking and bathing in pig water? I knew this was Anak’s work. There are many stories like this, but the worst was when Anak finally agreed to sell me the Sandika Hotel. I couldn’t believe it at first, but when I heard that he was struggling financially, it made sense. I knew he’d taken heavy losses at the cockfights. When we met, he was civil. He told me that in view of our history, he would require a substantial cash deposit from me as an act of good faith. I agreed to this and in hindsight I acted too eagerly. I paid him the money. To cut a long story short, Anak cancelled the sale and kept the cash deposit, which was about one-third of the hotel’s value at the time. He sent me a note that read, “Consider this part-payment of what you owe my father.” There was nothing I could do. My lawyers told me that I hadn’t followed protocol so I couldn’t retrieve my money. I had to borrow heavily and almost lost the Bali Haj on account of Anak’s trickery. I watched while Anak used my money to build that beautiful overflowing swimming pool you are all so proud of.’

  ‘I know how difficult Anak can be, but you stole his father’s land. You were part of those massacres, and although I don’t agree with what Anak did, I can understand him. And I’m sure over the years, you gave back as good as you got.’

  ‘That I did. These are things you could never understand. You are out of your depth here, Adam.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Okay, so you want to know?’ Mahmood began. ‘It was 1966. I was young and just rising through the ranks of the military. I was a Suharto loyalist and one of the youngest lieutenants to be given command of a squad of men and assigned to Bali. At the time, we military men trusted Suharto implicitly. He was our hero, and he told us the Indonesian Republic was about to be overtaken by communists. I was a nationalist and an idealist, and I had no reason to doubt him. Thankfully, mine was one of the last squads to be sent here. We were on a clean-up mission, since most of the executions had already taken place. I was given a list, and our brief was to hunt out those remaining communists, the ones who had escaped or gone undetected, and execute them. Yes, I’m guilty.’ He held up both his palms. ‘Yes, I ordered executions. I believed the survival of the Republic depended on it. But I had nothing to do with the deaths of Li Cheun and his family. He was on my list, but when we arrived at his shop, he was already badly beaten but alive. His family lay dead around him. It was horrific … They had been butchered by machetes, so I knew it was the local Balinese nationalists who were responsible. Li Cheun handed me a bunch of papers and said, “Don’t kill me. I will give you this big piece of land if you will send my family’s bodies back to China … I beg you to shoot me and send my remains with them.” It was a bizarre and desperate request. I looked at the papers and saw they were land deeds. I recognised the name of Anak’s father and checked my list, realising that he was one of the communist sympathisers I was ordered to execute!’ His voice shook as he spoke. His eyes were fixed on me, his hands clenched behind his back,

  ‘We took Li Cheun with us, and I’m sure Anak has told you the rest. But let me state this,’ Bas said as he waved a finger. ‘I disobeyed orders by not executing Anak’s father. I took that risk although I could have been branded a communist sympathiser myself. Anak’s father lived, not because I wanted to spare him, but because I had seen enough killing and couldn’t stomach anymore.’ He slumped back against the wall. Long moments passed before either of us spoke again. There was a chill in the air. The pool’s underwater lights cast a turquoise light on Mahmood’s face. He lit another cheroot, flicking the struck match onto the ground and crushing it with his foot.

  ‘If you owned the land, why didn’t you give it back to Anak’s father once everything had settled down?’

  Bas considered my question while smoothing his moustache. ‘It wasn’t that simple. You see, it was only years later that we found out about Suharto’s true motives. That the communist kills had been a sham, a fabrication, part of the inhuman military propaganda he had used to gain popularity with the people and to depose Sukarno. He had hood-winked us all. By the time I found this out, I had already built the hotel. In order to develop the property, I borrowed heavily from the generals in power in Jakarta. They lent me the development finance at an extortionate interest rate. I built the Bali Haj Hotel on loans, and I had no means to pay when they fell due. I knew the generals would not hesitate to repossess the hotel. Half of the hotels in Bali had already met this same fate. I had to resort to cockfighting. It had always been a hobby, and something I was very good at. The tourist trade flourished at the same time and finally, only a few years ago, I could pay off my last remaining loan. So, to answer your question, no, I couldn’t have given the land back. It was the security against the loans. And remember that what I got from Anak’s father was a coconut grove. Not the Bali Haj of today.’ He paused for a moment, then said evenly, ‘And let me tell you, not a day goes by that I don’t regret being part of the Bali massacre.’

  Before I could speak, he had walked away, his face as tight as a fist.

  * * *

  Anak came to the coffee shop the following day. Wayan prepared a table for him by the sea wall with his customary meal, and he ate in the traditional manner with his hand.

/>   ‘How is Janna?’ I asked when he had finished eating.

  ‘She is doing very well. Dewi cares for her. Janna’s Indonesian is fluent, and she’s speaking a little now. She needs more time. This cure must work the first time or it doesn’t work at all.’

  ‘Thank you, Anak. That is good to hear. But there’s something else I want to tell you.’

  He sat stone faced as I recounted word-for-word the story Mahmood Bas had told me. When I was finished, he made no comment and left. That evening, I got a message from Wayan: ‘Anak wants to see you.’

  I rode to his compound and took a place on the dais, where Anak sat, holding the same fighting cock I’d seen him with some days earlier. He returned the cockerel to the cover of a basket and came back to the dais. ‘I have had time to consider what you told me this morning. I want you to take an offer to Mahmood Bas. It is an offer that will settle our dispute once and for all and bring peace to our lives. I want you to tell him that I am doing this in my late father’s name.’ Anak took a deep breath, closed his eyes then exhaled.

  ‘I am proposing a cockfight to be held on the boundary between the Sandika and the Bali Haj. One fight only. I will pit my best bird against Bas’s, and the winner takes all. If he wins, I will give him the Sandika Hotel. If I win, I will take the Bali Haj. The fight will be a private affair. We will hire two judges, one of his choice and one of mine. Same with the spur-tiers and cock handlers, and I want to keep the fight a secret. We will have our respective lawyers draw up the deeds in advance and be present at the fight.’

  As the enormity of the proposal sunk in, I interrupted, ‘Anak, please, no! Don’t do this. There are other ways. We could lose everything.’

  ‘Do not tell me what to do! Carry my message to the man. Leave now!’

  * * *

  At the Bali Haj, I was ushered in through a carved entranceway by a uniformed doorman. I was told to wait outside Bas’s office by the receptionist behind the main desk. Crystal water flowed down a marble statue in the centre of the lobby into a pond below, spraying lotus leaves with glowing drops of water.

  Bas strode in, clean and groomed in fresh robes. ‘You look worried. Is there something wrong?’

  ‘I am here with a message from Anak,’ I said, and he led me into his office.

  Careful not to leave anything out, I related the proposal. Bas flew into a rage. ‘That is preposterous. How can he suggest that? The Bali Haj is worth ten times the value of the Sandika. It’s an outrageous proposal, typical of Anak. How do I know this is not another one of his tricks?’

  ‘Because your lawyers will be there, as well as Anak’s. I know it sounds crazy, but I can vouch for Anak’s integrity. And you do have the right to refuse the offer.’

  He didn’t answer, so I continued: ‘And in terms of money, yes, the Bali Haj is worth much more, but the Sandika is worth more to Anak because it’s the fulfilment of his father’s dream. It wouldn’t surprise me if he broke down the Bali Haj Hotel and planted coconut trees in its place if he won.’

  Beneath his moustache, Bas’s lips curved into a smile. ‘That he probably would.’

  ‘And it doesn’t seem so long ago that you wagered your hotel against beach access for your guests,’ I added.

  ‘That was different. I knew I would win.’ Bas paced the room, hands clasped behind his back. ‘I need time. I want to think this through. I will call you tomorrow with my answer.’

  I sent a message to Anak immediately. It was a note that read, ‘He’ll answer tomorrow.’

  * * *

  Valium was the answer. In Bali it could be bought at a pharmacy without prescription.

  I crushed twenty-milligram tablets of Valium and dropped them into two bottles of arrack, then took them to Janna’s compound. I pushed the bottles through the door and left. When I returned an hour later, both apes were sprawled unconscious on the veranda.

  While our crew had been cleaning the courtyard, we’d found an enormous barred iron cage behind the main building. We talked about putting the apes in there, but no one, including myself, wanted to move them. Janna must have had it built years earlier but never used it. It was overgrown with vines. I cleared away the tropical growth and saw that it had raised wooden sleeping platforms, a woven rope centre piece for the apes to climb and a sheltered area in one corner. The cage was about twenty-metres long and rose to the height of the compound wall. I went to a local hardware store and bought a decent-sized chain and lock for the cage’s door.

  Back at the compound, I took the first beast by the legs and dragged it towards the cage. As we descended the veranda, its head thumped on each step, but the ape didn’t wake up. I realised I’d better cut the dose of Valium in half; twenty milligrams was clearly too much. I dragged the hefty beast all the way to the cage and returned soaked in sweat for the second one. We’d just landed on the ground below the steps when it awoke. Its eyes rolled unfocused as it came to its feet unsteadily. It saw me and tried to rush towards me, but staggered sideways and fell. I wanted to run. I had enough time. Instead, I pulled out a bottle arrack from my shirt front. The ape reached out its paw towards it eagerly. I inched towards the cage, holding the arrack before me. Too weak to stand, the ape followed me crawling, intent on having the bottle. As I reached the cage’s door, I tossed the bottle inside and the beast went after it. With the door now chained and locked, I took a deep breath of relief. I watched as the ape undid the bottle’s cap clumsily, spilling most of the contents as it drank from it.

  * * *

  ‘She’s in her room, much better. She’s been asking about you,’ Dewi said. The door to the room was open. Janna sat inside, holding a mirror. She didn’t see me. Sunlight filtered into the room. She was wearing her sarong Indonesian style, tight, with a fold above her breasts. She’d swept her hair to one side, highlighting her forehead. Her hand reached up and touched her nose. With a satisfied look, she tucked a wisp of stray hair behind an ear.

  I walked to her and put my hand on her shoulder. She turned, and her hair smothered my face as she put her arms around me. I held her and felt her warmth, the beat of her heart.

  * * *

  The next morning, I was greeted at the coffee shop by Bas’s messenger. ‘He is ready,’ he said.

  I had breakfast as usual and then rather than walk through the pathway I rode my bike around the road to the Bali Haj. Wayan and Ketut were already looking at me strangely, and I didn’t want to worry them further. I found Bas waiting for me, pacing nervously in the lobby. We walked together to his office.

  ‘You must have received my answer,’ he said. ‘I agree to the terms of the cockfight. But I want the wager to be for my land as far as our swimming pool. That is over one-hundred arrat and at least double the value of the Sandika. It is a fair wager, and I’ll have my lawyer draw up a land deed accordingly.’

  ‘That piece of land against the whole of the Sandika?’

  ‘That is the bet.’

  Anak was waiting when I pulled up at his compound. I stayed seated on my motorbike as I relayed the counter offer. He grunted. ‘Go back and tell him I said no. It’s all or nothing. My original offer stands, and I want an answer now or the wager is cancelled.’ I rode back to the Bali Haj, hoping this would be the end of it. Surely Bas would refuse.

  He seethed with rage when I delivered the message.

  ‘The man is impossible. He lives on another planet from the rest of us. This is a game to him. He is doing this to humiliate me. He is using you to embarrass me, knowing I will refuse. It goes on and on. It never ends, and it never will.’ Then suddenly Bas swung towards me. I took a step back. His moustache twitched furiously. The veins on his temples pulsed.

  ‘Tell him yes!’ he yelled, ‘Yes! I will do it. Go now and tell your madman that my answer is yes!’

  20

  The cockfight was on. The age-old battle of Hindu against Muslim, of the twelve-year-old boy against the nationalist lieutenant, of three-hundred arrat of prime real estate, on which stood one o
f the finest luxury hotels in Bali, against a twelve-room, rundown ramshackle structure that had only just survived a storm, although it had amazing beach frontage. The fight date was set for the following week.

  Gusti worked with Bas’s men on the arrangements. The cockpit was measured out to the correct size and the dirt surface flattened and watered daily. The boundary of the two hotels ran through the centre of the pit. Tourist access was closed for the week by a makeshift thatch fence erected on either side. It became impossible to keep the fight a secret from Wayan and Ketut, so I asked Anak if I could tell them, and he agreed. It was decided that the fight would take place at sunset. The fight would last for only a few minutes.

  There was nothing else for us to do now but wait. I knew my future was intricately linked to the result of this fight, and I hoped, maybe, just maybe, Anak might win.

  Bas had a stipulation over which Anak hesitated: both fighting cocks were to be kept under guard for a twenty-four hour period before the fight, by their respective crews of men. This was to make sure that the birds would arrive at the fight in their natural state, as Bas put it. Since both hotels were being wagered in their entirety, the lawyers’ work was minimal. They simply had to be present with the land deeds ready to be signed, witnessed and transferred.

  However, a complication came up when both camps of lawyers argued that they could not attend the fight as cockfighting was illegal. This baffled me. These corrupt Indonesian lawyers worked so far out of the realms of the law, yet became so particular over such a minor legality. A compromise was reached: they would await the outcome of the fight in the dining room of the Bali Haj Hotel.

  I had to mediate again when Anak and Bas couldn’t agree on which cockfight judges to employ. Furthermore, we couldn’t officially offer them the job for fear of the fight becoming public news. Both Anak and Bas felt too many people already knew. We drove in Anak’s chariot to Singaraja, with Bas following us in his black Mercedes. We tracked down the same judges who had presided over the fight when Bas had wagered his hotel against the Sandika’s beach access. For an amount of cash, these men were brought back with us to Kuta. One judge rode in Bas’s car and the other in Anak’s. Neither was told of the wager. It was agreed they would be housed separately and kept under guard by men from both camps to ensure they couldn’t be bribed.