~~~~~
Raharjo had stayed close by his parents and sisters for the first couple of days in Likupang, but he was keen to get out of the house and look around the village. Having spent so much time in the company of his family in Pantai, it was exciting to be in a new extended family at Likupang. The boy closest to his own age was Harta.
Before they had gone in the boats to collect the three members of Eko’s family, Bandri had taken great pains to explain to Harta that they were good people, even though they had Javanese dialects. Harta had regarded Raharjo with suspicion at first, but now realised that he had a new friend who was eager to learn all he had to tell, even though the different dialects meant they sometimes misunderstood each other.
The two of them had paced quickly around the village as Harta gave a detailed guided tour. Now they were skipping stones out to sea in friendly competition. Harta explained about how he was often told to be lookout on the hill.
“They often tell me to do things like that – I get told to do a lot of things – but I want to decide for myself what I want to do.”
“My father tells me what to do – but I always ask him if I can do things,” said Raharjo.
“Does your father let you do things on your own?”
“Lots of things – like fishing, and hunting with my bow.”
“My brothers won’t let me do stuff like that on my own.”
“But I want to ask father first - he tells me what I can do.”
Harta said nothing, and skipped stones with more force.
“I ask my mother and my sisters too,” said Raharjo earnestly.
“My brothers think they know everything,” complained Harta. “But they don’t.”
Raharjo was quiet and thoughtful for a few moments, and then said:
“Bandri knows a lot.”
Harta shrugged:
“Bandy thinks he knows everything.”
“Bandri doesn’t know everything - but he knows a lot,” said Raharjo with conviction.
“Praba thinks he knows everything.. Agung thinks he knows everything. ”
“Agung doesn’t know everything - but he knows a lot.”
“They think they know everything.. They should ask me – I know a lot more than they think!”
“But they ask all the time!” the younger boy insisted.
“How can you say that?!” retorted Harta, getting annoyed at the new boy who thought he knew the other men in the village better than him. He turned his back on Raharjo and concentrated on skipping stones.
Raharjo realised he had just upset his new friend, and fell quiet for some moments. Then he tried to explain:
“When I came to Likupang I asked my father if I could walk around and learn about the village – and he told me that he thought it was alright, but I should ask Agung -”
Harta carried on skipping stones.
“- I asked Agung and he said that he wasn’t sure, and I should ask Bandri.. then when Bandri came into the house I asked him.. and Bandri said it was fine with him, but first he should ask Praba -”
Harta stopped skipping stones. Perplexed, he listened to Raharjo as he continued to voice his meandering explanation:
“- After Bandri had asked Praba he told me that it was alright, but first I should ask my father.. I said I had.. so Bandri said that it was fine.. but then he said the best person to ask about the village was you.”
All of Likupang still mourned Wayan, especially after the manner of his death. Harta in particular could never forget or forgive what had happened. Every single day he thought about his beloved father and the cowardly pig that had cold-bloodedly murdered him. His brothers had told him that they couldn’t prove that the tall bearded man had killed their father, but still Harta yearned for vengeance. His brothers had explained to him many times of the dangers of trying to kill the Bahoi man, but that didn’t stop him wanting revenge.
The new boy from Pantai had lifted his spirits, and he had almost forgotten now that Raharjo used to be Java. He thought the grown up girls from Pantai were astonishing. He was a red-blooded youth and they were exciting. He thought about both Java sisters a lot, especially Lela. But they were with Agung – Harta understood that.
Apart from Lela, he thought there were just no suitable girls in his small village. Sukma was too young and too silly - besides she was always with his sister Melati. He was one of the men now but they still poked fun at him. Suk and Mel were irksome.
Harta enjoyed the adventure of spying on the Bahoi village. When he was watching their village for all that time he looked frequently at one of the girls. She had been mending a fishing net in the shade of a tree. Sometimes the girl would get up from her crouched position and walk into the bottom floor of one of the tall houses to get something, then come out a little later and go back to her task. When her long hair fell down onto her face she flicked it idly away with her fingers, sometimes pushing the offending locks back behind an ear. She wore a simple sarong, frayed at the hems, which flapped in the gusts of wind blowing in from the bay. It was difficult to tell, but she looked a about the same age as Melati.
Harta liked the way this strange girl walked and moved, attractive in some mysterious, unobtainable way. He knew nothing more about her, but remembered her vividly. He found himself feeling afraid for her. What was her life like in a place like Bahoi? He wondered what she would be like if he met her. Perhaps she wouldn’t trust him or speak to him, or perhaps she might? He couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. He wondered if there was a way to get close enough to the Bahoi village on his own. He wanted to see her again.
Rukma had noticed that young Harta needed more challenge and so he and Andhika coached him in some more strenuous activities. One of these was dealing with any venomous snakes in the vicinity of the village such as cobras, vipers and banded kraits.
“We use the forked sticks to help clear the bushes,” explained Rukma. “So if you get a snake on the ground you can pin it down behind the head.”
“If it’s in the bush or under a rock - don’t try and touch it,” warned Andhika, as he concentrating hard on the task in hand. “It can twist and strike you – better to get it on the ground - where you have more control – even Bandy didn’t want to be bitten!”
“We could just kill the snake when its pinned down,” explained Rukma as Andhika finally succeeded in catching the hissing, coiling, well-camouflaged reddish-brown pit viper.
“What’s the best way to kill it!?” asked Harta, excited at the prospect.
“If you’ve got the machete – then chop its head off!” grinned the perspiring Andhika, standing up while he held the stick in place.
“Or whack it with something!?”
“Be careful, young man,” Rukma intervened with a serious tone. “Treat them with respect and you’ll live to catch another one – if you’ve got the right stick you can break its neck without going near it.. But before killing - we’re just going to try and milk it.”
Into Andhika’s open hand, Rukma put the long handle of the venom pot, which was a small bamboo container with some raw bush turkey skin stretched over the top. Andhika tapped the pot gently near the pointed upturned snout of the angry snake.
“He’s trying to get the snake to bite the skin,” commented Rukma. “There – look what’s happening as it’s chewing at the skin – a big snake like this has a lot of poison.”
“The black cobra spits poison at you!” declared Harta, keen to demonstrate his knowledge.
“It’s more difficult to catch than this one – don’t try it,” answered Andhika. After a short while, he added: “I think this beauty has given us quite a bit.”
Andhika handed the venom pot back to Rukma, who exchanged it for Agung’s machete. With a swift deliberate blow Andhika decapitated the viper, whose patterned body kept moving even as he picked it up and handed the length over to his student.
“Watch!”
Andhika nudged the head on the ground with the machete and the
mouth opened wide, briefly showing its two long, backwards-curved fangs with drops of yellow poison, before snapping shut again. Standing up straight, he passed the machete to Harta, saying:
“Now, let’s see what other snakes we can find.”
The Tropical Sun - Belief, Love and Hate Page 28