Shaman of Bali

by John Greet

  I unstrapped Paolo’s surfboard and launched it. Before Geno knew what was happening, I’d jumped into the swell. I would paddle around the reef and come in on Kuta Beach. There was some distance between us before I looked back. I saw Geno standing on the boat with his hands cupped to his mouth, hollering through the spray. ‘Hey, you off the hook, motherfucker. You done it. You don’t owe me no more. I was never gonna hurt you … Never, man.’ I paddled harder. Geno’s voice became a faint echo coming through the roar of the waves. Soon I was beyond the reef. The beach lay in front of me. I was safe. Then I heard a motor behind me. I caught a glimpse of Geno motoring away through the windswept darkness. He was looking at me with one arm raised in a salute.

  I belly-surfed onto the beach. The lights of the beachfront hotels lay a good distance away. I dragged myself out of the water. My feet wavered on solid sand for an instant. I tucked Paolo’s surfboard under my arm and stumbled along the shoreline to the Sandika Hotel.

  26

  At dawn I awoke to commotion outside my door. They poured into the room, carrying machine guns. The police and prison guards searched the bathroom and balcony, all dressed in uniform and armed with holstered pistols, batons and guns. One guard held a revolver to my head. The commander who had shot the cockerels walked in.

  ‘Where is he?’ he said.

  ‘Who?’ I choked out the word.

  He nodded to one of his men, who reversed his machine gun and struck at my chest using the butt with such force that I fell off the bed. Then they came at me like pack of dogs as I lay on the floor. They kicked, used their batons, stomped on my head. My ribs cracked. My nose broke, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

  ‘Where is he?’ asked the commander again.

  ‘Who?’

  Again his men began. The first beating was nothing compared to what happened next. I curled up on the floor, trying to cover my head. The blows and kicks rained down on me. A pain shot though my back like a searing hot knife.

  ‘Where is the Brazilian?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Take him outside.’

  They handcuffed me and pushed me down the stairs and out to the pathway where I was forced to kneel. Two guards stood by me, pointing their machine guns at my head, while the rest of them herded our guests out of their rooms and into the coffee shop. They walked past me, some with terrified expressions, others curious.

  Back at the coffee shop, the Sandika staff watched the proceedings, keeping their distance. Wayan’s hands covered her face; Ketut cried openly.

  The guests were pushed into the coffee shop and held under machine-gun guard. I received another crack on my head with the butt of a gun, and a sharp command, ‘Don’t look.’

  Over the next hour, the police tore the hotel apart. They went through each room methodically, throwing beds, dressers and guests bags out onto the pathway. The commander paced up and down. From my position, kneeling handcuffed, I watched guards rifle through guest’s bags and steal valuables, watches, cash and jewellery.

  Anak arrived and went to the commander. ‘Leave my guests alone, set them free.’

  ‘Be quiet and go away, or I will put you back in the Polda as well.’

  Anak looked at the commander with disgust and left.

  They shoved me into a police van, where a guard held me down on the floor. I knew my destination: the cells in the police barracks in Denpasar. I knew the police and prison guards would keep searching the area around the Sandika until they’d satisfied themselves that Geno wasn’t hiding out here. They hadn’t asked me about the missing outrigger canoe. I prayed that Jimmy would take care of that.

  At the Polda they took me into a room. I recognised the farmer who had passed me behind the prison with his bicycle laden with grass, his kindly face wrinkled and brown from working in the rice paddies. The commander came in and asked the farmer, ‘Is this him?’

  ‘Yes, he is the man I saw on the road behind the prison.’

  ‘Thank you, you are free to go.’

  As the rice farmer walked past me, he bowed and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, may the gods forgive me.’

  Then they brought in the prison guard who’d sold me the twenty visit concessions. He was handcuffed; looking at me, he nodded. Then they took him away. I heard a cell door rattle shut. The guards pushed me into Geno’s old cell at the end of the row. They removed the handcuffs and kicked me to the floor. Every part of me ached. I had a pounding pain in my head. My cracked ribs made breathing unbearable. My eyes and lips were swelling shut but were thankfully numb. I lay curled on the cold concrete floor, wheezing and gasping. I knew there was more to come. But I made a vow: I would never tell them. I would endure the pain, but I would not tell them where Geno was, or what I’d done. I knew that my life depended on it. I repeated this over and over to myself. I was innocent, I’d been conned into helping Geno. I didn’t know what the punishment was for assisting someone with a prison break, but I knew it would be high. My only chance to get out of here was to keep my mouth shut.

  I slept in fits and starts, and had vivid dreams. In one, I saw Elisabeth walk into the cell with two of Tula’s men. She pointed at me and said ‘get up’. I opened my eyes to see the guards standing over me. In another I was raped by Janna’s apes, and in another I watched Grace give birth to a baby orangutan.

  They came for me every day. Some beatings were worse than others, but all were extremely painful. The guards enjoyed coming up with new ways to inflict pain on me. During one beating, a guard, with the commander watching, bent my index finger all the way back and snapped it. The pain was so severe, I almost fainted. I began to understand from their interrogations that what angered them most was they couldn’t figure out how Geno had escaped. But they were determined to find out. I was their only chance. After my beatings, I heard them beating the Kerobokan guard in his cell further along. They shouted at him questions like, ‘How much did the foreigner pay you? How did you let the prisoner out?’

  Clearly no man could climb up a bendy length of bamboo and jump his way out of prison; pole vaulting was something they’d probably never seen or heard of before. Fortunately, I was never asked about the missing outrigger canoe. Jimmy and the crew at the Sandika must have covered that up nicely.

  * * *

  Even though I could force myself to bear the breaking of my fingers and ribs, and the blows to my kidneys, and the stompings on my head, there was one kind of torture that almost made me blurt out Geno’s whereabouts every time it was used on me: the cattle prod on my testicles. One particular guard delighted in using it. As soon as I saw the guard holding the instrument before me, my body would shake uncontrollably. He would stuff a piece of rag in my mouth first. When the electric prod hit my testicles, I would clamp down hard and bite back the truth. I couldn’t speak. I had come this far. I resolved not to break down now. I poured sweat and convoluted. Snot would run from my nose, and my shorts would fill with shit. After that they would drag me back to my cell and toss me on the concrete floor like a slab of meat. All I could do was brace myself for the next round of beatings.

  The pain from the electric shocks on my genitals became so unbearable I began to hallucinate wildly. Once, I dreamed that Janna and I were walking on Kuta Beach, and she was carrying a baby girl strapped to her belly in a sarong. Janna gently handed the baby to me, and when I looked down, I saw it was Grace I was holding. I woke up from the dream to the smell of vomit and shit-stained walls.

  On one occasion, the guards arrived while I slept. They did not bring along my mouth cloth. When they applied the cattle prod on me, unable to bear the pain, I bit off a piece of my tongue.

  * * *

  In time, my body developed a kind of tolerance to the beatings; they still hurt, but not as much. The guards sometimes took pity on me and against the commander’s orders threw me scraps of food and water.

  The beatings and torture came to an end one day because of a particularly painful episode. Normally one guard wo
uld hold me from behind while another applied the cattle prod. That day, for some reason, he released his grip, and I fell. As I toppled backwards, my legs spread open. The guard holding the cattle prod decided not to use his instrument, but he kicked me in the testicles instead. A sickening pain tore through my body as the full force of his boot hit my balls. Vomit erupted from my mouth, and diarrhoea ran down my legs. I passed out.

  When I came to, the guards had left. The unrelenting pain seared through me like a hot knife. I ran my hand over my balls and looked down. One testicle had swollen to the size of an orange. It looked hideous and strange, as if the blue skin could burst at any moment. In the course of the day, it had got bigger. It grew to the size of a grapefruit.

  I slept intermittently and had more wild dreams. In one, Elisabeth walked in with two New Zealand cops and a doctor. The doctor took out a scalpel while Elisabeth pointed to my testicle and said, ‘It needs lancing. Open it up’. I woke up to find the commander and two of his guards staring at me, looking worried. From that moment on, the beatings stopped. They’d realised they’d gone too far. At some point an Embassy representative would have to show up and this wouldn’t make them look good. But then, I doubted they’d even notified the Embassy.

  I lay in stupendous pain for a long time, but although it diminished slowly, the swelling of the testicle didn’t. It did not hurt much anymore, but the thing remained the same size. Something was very wrong. I became terrified that I’d been made a eunuch, that I would live the rest of my life with an unfunctional mango-sized testicle. The commander came often and brought in random people to look at my deformity. They were curious and asked me if it hurt or if I felt any pain.

  They never laid a hand on me again. Slowly my bruises and cuts healed. The ribs took the longest, and a raw nerve hanging from a knocked-out front tooth made eating painful. The gate guard brought food and water regularly. Soon I could walk around my cell. The interest in my mango-ball gradually waned, and I was left alone. I inspected it every day, hoping to see some sign of reduction, but it stayed as it was, rock hard and large.

  Until now, all my energy had gone into surviving and recovering from the daily beatings. I’d begun every day by preparing myself mentally for what was coming and steeling my nerves and resolve. Every day that I’d managed not to talk had become my reward for the torture I’d endured. After the beatings I would lay in pain on the cold concrete floor, congratulating myself between tears on my daily victory.

  Then the food began to arrive: delicious, healing food. I recognised the taste of Wayan’s cooking. Two meals a day were brought in by the gate guard. A few days later, as I chewed on a spring roll, its hardness caused me to take a closer look at it. I found that it contained a rolled-up piece of paper. It was a note: ‘Be strong my brother.’ I chewed up the note and swallowed it. Then, a couple of days later, I found a note from Eddi: ‘Hang in there, Adam. Working on it.’

  The following day, Eddi walked in with the commander, who walked away after unlocking the cell and leaving the door open. I was too shattered and broken to fully understand what was going on. I knew that I might be released, but all I could do was stand there, mute and scared.

  When Eddi saw me, his face turned white. ‘Holy fuck,’ he swore, taking a step back. Then he gained his composure and was all business. ‘Adam, snap out of it. I’m taking you away from here but we have to move fast. Here, put these on.’ He handed me a set of clean clothes. ‘Your flight for Tokyo leaves in one hour. I used an airline ticket that I found in the Sandika’s safe. It was Geno’s and still had the return portion. I managed to put it in your name. It’s all we could manage. I have your Michael Brown passport with me, and my mate Bob will meet you at Narita.’ Each sentence was like cool water being poured over my wounds. I now understood and moved quickly.

  ‘How much did you have to pay for this?’ I muttered as I peeled off my torn and ragged clothes.

  ‘Very little. We couldn’t crack the commander. He’s got a thing about this case and he’s taking it personally. In the end he thought he’d gone too far and wanted shot of you. Anak gave him a few grand and the deal is that you leave the country immediately. They still haven’t found out how Geno escaped and that’s what’s causing the commander grief.’

  I pulled on the fresh linen shirt, and it felt great. As I took off my shorts, Eddi got a look at the mango ball. His eyes flared. ‘Jesus Christ! What the fuck is that?’

  ‘I don’t know, but there is no pain, and I have a lot to thank for it.’

  ‘Mother fucking animals! Filthy pricks, they’re not fit to call themselves part of the human race.’

  ‘Eddi, it’s okay.’

  The trousers he’d bought were thankfully a size too large. As I slipped on the shoes, I saw he’d also brought along a small travel bag.

  ‘Wayan’s packed it. Now let’s go.’

  Eddi and I walked past the gate guard, who smiled and bowed us out of the Polda police barracks into a waiting taxi. The sunlight blinded me; I shielded my eyes. My swollen ball made walking difficult, and I had to drag one leg along.

  ‘How long was I in there?’ I asked.

  ‘Five weeks. We couldn’t do anything. The commander refused to negotiate. The Australian Embassy gave me your case, and believe me, that was the quickest we could work it. That commander was a really tough nut. As I said, he seemed to have taken the whole thing personally. Wayan and Ketut are waiting at the airport. I told the rest of them not to come. We want you out of here quick.’

  I sat in the taxi, luxuriating in the new clothes, feeling the divine coolness of the air-conditioning against my skin, and admiring the tropical colours moving past my window. We turned onto the road leading to the airport when Eddi asked the question.

  ‘How did Geno get out?’

  My tongue stuck in my mouth. I couldn’t answer. I’d spent so long and suffered so much to not reveal these words that they still refused to come out. I looked at Eddi, feeling my face contort into a frown.

  ‘Hey, Adam, it’s me, Eddi,’ he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.’

  ‘He pole vaulted out.’

  ‘Eh?’ he raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘Geno’s got a lot to answer for the trouble he’s caused us all. Oh, and before I forget, your daughter called. I said you were away on a tour … I didn’t want to alarm her. She’s really anxious and wants you to call her urgently. Wouldn’t tell me why, but I gather something’s up over there.’

  I limped through the airport to the departure gate. Wayan rushed to me and hugged me tightly. I felt her tears on my skin. She smelled so clean, the scent of coconut oil in her hair. Then Eddi hustled me towards the check-in gate, handing me the passport. ‘Hey, your papers are ready. Your flight is waiting. Here’s your boarding pass.’ Eddi and Wayan led me to the departure gate.

  Eddi handed me a wallet. I saw that it was full of money. ‘This is from Mahmood, so you’ll be okay in Tokyo. He sends his sympathy. And Bob will be waiting at Narita, and I’m going to call him to take you to a doctor and get …’ He looked at Wayan uncomfortably then back to me. ‘Get that thing looked at.’

  ‘Eddi,’ I called. ‘Can you ask Anak to meet Janna and tell her what’s happened?’

  ‘You talking about the ape woman?

  ‘Yeah, her name’s Janna.’

  ‘Okay,’ Eddi said, looking at me oddly.

  The Japanese Airline flight taxied down the runway, and as it lifted off, I looked down at the Sandika Hotel. Construction was underway on the new units. I saw a small group of people gathered on the beach before the coffee shop, looking up.

  27

  After sleeping on a hard concrete floor for five weeks, the softness of the airline seat felt great and lulled me to a deep sleep. I dozed most of the way. I would be arriving in Tokyo as an Australian named Michael Brown, dressed in an oversize pair of pants and with a missing front tooth and yellow blotches on my fac
e, plus a mango-sized ball.

  I navigated my way through Narita Airport. In twelve hours, I’d come from a filthy dim shit-covered cell in Denpasar to one of the biggest and busiest airports in the world. Neon signage flashed, and bright lighting dazzled, and the chrome and glass walkways disorientated. I managed to keep following the passenger who’d been in the seat in front of me since Bali and soon found myself in a passport check-in queue. With an entry visa stamped in my passport, I passed through and travelled down an escalator to the ground floor. I got myself together and as I had no baggage to claim headed directly to the customs check-out. It took me a moment to convince the Customs officer that my baggage consisted of only my one carry-on bag. He shrugged and gave it a cursory inspection. I walked through glass doors and out into the arrival lounge.

  ‘You must be Michael Brown?’ came a voice from behind me. ‘I’m Eddi’s mate, Bob. I heard you’ve been through hell down there.’ He was short, balding and ruffled with a slightly bemused expression. I found his Australian drawl welcoming.

  ‘I have an Embassy car waiting, and you can bunk up at my place until we get you sorted. Eddi told me you need to see a doctor urgently. We have a Doctor Grey attached to the Embassies, and I’ve got you booked in with him as soon as we get into the city.’

  Thankfully Bob didn’t talk much or ask too many questions. My broken finger had begun to ache, and the old pains in the ribs that I thought were long gone had resurfaced. I felt exhausted, and in the comfort of the Australian Embassy car, I once again fell asleep. We pulled into the driveway of an office block, and Bob helped me as I limped into the lift.

  Doctor Grey, a middle-aged Canadian, inspected me for over an hour. His practice was like a small hospital. It contained units for performing ultrasound and X-ray tests, both of which he used on me. He also took blood samples from me and insisted that I be tested for tuberculosis and malaria.