End of the Ocean

by Matthew McBride

  They sat on wide stumps cut to knee height, sanded by hand and varnished to a fine gleam.

  “He is replacement?” Djoko said.

  Wayne said of course he was. Then, looking at Sage, said, “You’re in—right, mate?” But before Sage could answer, Wayne turned to Ngyn, leaning forward on his elbows, raising the back of his stump off the floor, and said, “Anyone hear from Grady?”

  They both said no and before anyone could say anything else, Sage, still not entirely sure he was in or not, even though Wayne said he was, said, “Who’s Grady?”

  Djoko said, “Man you replace.”

  Sage looked at Wayne, who, shrugging without enthusiasm, said it was a long story.

  “He was a junkie.”

  Ngyn, nodding in agreement, said, “It true. That what I say. No can have junkie who do drug as mule.”

  “Horse,” Djoko corrected.

  “Whatever,” Wayne said, butting in. “Either way, Grady’s out and Sage here’s in—he’s our guy.”

  Ngyn and Djoko, nodding in accord, agreed with Wayne. That Grady was out and Sage was in. That he was their guy.

  Djoko said to Sage, “This good business. You do good, I know.”

  “You do?” Sage said, unsure of how such an assumption could be formed and curious as to what he could have said or done to alert these strangers to such vast potential.

  “Of course I do. How I know, you wonder? I know since I do this for long time. I know stud horse when I see one. I—

  “Stud horse?” Sage interrupted.

  “Horse—that what we call what you do. You horsepower that make dream come true.” Djoko nodded until Sage found himself nodding in concurrence, even though he was not sure why.

  “I good judge of horsepower and you good horse, I know. You stud horse—stud horse have big balls!—Just look at the balls on you, my friend.”

  Ngyn jumped into the conversation with words of encouragement. “He right, you have very big balls.”

  He held up two fingers.

  Sage said, “Dua?”

  Wayne—frowning first at Ngyn, though appreciating the effort he put forth to coerce their new associate—then, looking at Sage, shrugging, turning both palms up, said, “See, what I tell ya? It’s unanimous, mate. You got the job.”

  Sage, nervous now, taking a deep breath, said, “What job?”

  “Congratulations, my friend! You’ve just won an all expense paid vacation to Krabi.”

  “Where?”

  “Pack your bags, mate—you’re going to Thailand.”

  Wayne bought a round of drinks. They ordered food and talked and ate. Sage, still unsure of himself but feeling comfortable because he trusted Wayne so he trusted Ngyn and Djoko, felt a deep excitement build inside his guts. For the first time in his life he was doing something crazy; something that took big balls—which, apparently, he had in abundance; his new friends could see them. And they trusted him. Completely. Sage now knew their names, their faces. What apprehension Sage had was limited, because, like Wayne said, they’d been doing this a long time and they were good at what they did. If Sage got caught they would all be fucked, and no one wanted that. And if it wasn’t drugs he was smuggling, and something did go wrong, Wayne would pay the bribe. He knew people, he was connected. He had police in his pocket. Lawyers and judges, too. People at the airport. Taxi drivers, immigration workers. Everyone got paid. It was a system proven to work.

  That’s what Wayne said, that everyone had a job to do and they made a nice fee.

  “One run,” Wayne said. “And then you’re free.”

  Sage left the warung behind Wayne and thought about being free. About what that meant: Freedom. No money problems. Then he thought about love. He thought of Ratri and wondered what she’d say. Knowing he could not tell her, but not knowing what he would say, or what lie he could come up with. He just had to ride. And think. Feel the wind in his face before they got back to Wayne’s place. They had to talk about Grady, Wayne said.

  Sage would have to go to the prison and see him.

  “Why?” Sage asked him before they left the warung. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Cuz somebody has to—we ain’t been able ta get a word to him. Can’t trust the phones, can’t trust the guards. I’m sure he’s freakin’ out, poor bastard. Tell him to sit tight. Djoko’s meeting a lawyer and a judge tomorrow.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sage had said.

  “You will.”

  Sage, swerving to miss a deep hole in the road, looked down when he heard his phone chirp. Ratri had sent a text that said she missed him, that she wanted sex with him. After her words there was a heart.

  Texting with his left hand, still following Wayne, Sage told Ratri he would see her tomorrow. That he could not wait. Then he rode. And thought. He saw her face inside his mind. He would plan something exceptional before he left. A fine dinner or a mountain hike. Something romantic. He would ask Wayne for advice on where to go, but someplace special. Some place she had never been before. He wanted to earn her memory, to convince her he was not an American who blew into town with smooth words and bold lies—and while the few lies he told had been bold, he had been anything but smooth, which, according to her, was the reason she liked him. Because he was honest and he was shy and because he did not try to force himself on her when he could have, when most men would have. He waited until she wanted him to, and now she wanted him to more than she had ever wanted anything.

  Sage felt electricity inside his veins. It was the beginning of some rare, beautiful thing that had the potential to change the world, at least his world, now their world, since she was a part of it.

  Later, back at Wayne Tender’s, Sage, watching Wayne break apart a small chunk of pot and crush it between his fingers, said, “Sounds like you got it all figured it.”

  “It’s fucking easy,” Wayne said, sitting in his chair beside the pool, sprinkling pot he’d just broken up on a rolling paper. “It’s so fucking easy, way we do it.”

  “How do you do it?” Sage said. “I’ve been wondering.”

  “Well its bloody simple, mate.”

  Before Sage could ask the obvious question: how bloody simple? Wayne, looking down, concentrating on the task at hand, said, “You just gotta have a man inside the airport in Krabi, which we do. Man in Denpasar, too. Men everywhere. This is big business, mate. Lotta moving parts.”

  “And they’ll just let me by?”

  “You better believe it, sport. They’ll let you walk right fucking through because they make more money that day then they’ll make the rest of the year.”

  “So it’s good for them, too?”

  “It’s good for everyone.”

  “Shit,” Sage said.

  “What?”

  “It’s a lot to think about.”

  “Yeah, twenty grand’s a lot to think about.”

  “Right,” Sage said. Wayne knew how to distract him. Now Sage thought about the money and the more he thought about that the less he thought about the consequences for what he was about to be paid for, assuming he said yes, which they both knew he would—already had—because he had not said no when he’d had the chance.

  There was much to consider but when he considered what he would gain compared to what he would lose the decision seemed like less of an option and more of a requirement.

  “What hap——,” he began, but Wayne cut him off.

  “ What happens you get caught, right? You won’t. How do I know you won’t? Good question. I know because I pay people who will prevent that from happening. People who’re gonna be expecting you. They’ll point ya in the right direction.”

  “You say I won’t get caught.”

  “Right.”

  “Grady got caught.”

  “Not doin’ this he didn’t. Listen, I dunno how he got picked up or what he did, mate. You’ll have to ask him. Djok
o assumes it’s meth; said he’s been out of control, the dumb fuck. Who knows? One thing I can tell you, though, he didn’t get caught doing what I’m about to pay you to do.”

  “Fuck,” Sage said, feeling much more nervous than he was before.

  “Just chill,” Wayne said. “Isn’t that what you Americans say? Chill out, dude.”

  Sage scratched at the shadow of beard that spread across his face, darkening his jaw.

  “Grady’s a party boy. He goes to the hot spots; he’ll drop millions of rupiah every night, just because he can, throwin’ his money around like a fool, not even botherin’ to be discreet about it. People take notice of a thing like that. Hell, the polisa could have set him up just cuz they knew he had the bread.”

  “That’s fucking terrifying.”

  “It’s bloody extortion is what it is.”

  Sage thought of every alternative he could imagine, but knew if he wanted a life with Ratri this was the way. He would go to the prison, meet with Grady. It might not be so bad. And if it was, if he left there with a bad feeling, he would just say no: Fuck Wayne Tender. Then Sage would leave on a plane and he would not see Ratri again. That was his reality. Those were his choices. He had not made his decision yet.

  “You’ll be met at the airport in Denpasar,” Wayne went on. “Someone will approach you, ask if you need assistance—you say yes. They’ll tell you which line to stand in. That’s a friend. Stand in that line, OK? Remember that. Set your bag on the counter and walk through the bloody metal detector. Pick up your bag, put on your shoes, and prepare for a four-hour flight.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And where’s this shit gonna be?”

  “The less you know the better.”

  “Hell, what am I even carrying—horsing? I say that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “No drugs—that’s what you said. There’s no fucking way.”

  Wayne, now finished rolling the joint, stuck it in his mouth, and, crossing one leg over the other, getting comfortable in his chair, said, “Know much about diamonds?”

  “Diamonds? Nothing, I don’t know shit about diamonds.”

  “That’s what I thought. No worries,” Wayne said. “The diamonds come straight from Myanmar, smuggled out of West Papua, New Guinea.”

  Sage asked where that was.

  “Myanmar or West Papua?” Wayne asked, cocking his head, squinting one eye, almost grinning. “Burma,” he said, “also known as Myanmar, borders Thailand. Ever heard of it?”

  “No.”

  “Course not; it hasn’t been open to Americans for like twenty years—maybe more. Maybe never? Bloody hell, who knows—West Papua,” he asked, “Ever hear of West Papua?”

  Sage, shrugging, completely unaware, said he hadn’t, that high school geography had been a long time ago.

  “Fair enough. Well, all you need to know about West Papua is that you don’t want to fucking go there.” Looking at Sage, Wayne said, “I’m serious, the military murders their own people by the millions—your bloody government’s a part of it, too. Betchya didn’t know that, sport? Bet they didn’t teach you that in high school.”

  If Sage had ever heard of West Papua he could not remember, but nothing his government was a part of would surprise him, and that’s what he told Wayne, that his government could not be trusted, that every day he saw his country growing weak instead of strong.

  Sage, holding his face in his hands, rubbing the sides of his head, contemplated these things in silence. At that moment life did not feel real. It was a mixture of excitement and revulsion. He felt incredulous, but also energized. And despite the fact he told Wayne he could not do it, Sage knew he could. Though he did feel fear, it was not the fear of getting caught if he made the run; it was the fear of losing Ratri if he didn’t.

  “You have to put it outta your mind, that’s the only way. Just remember—nobody knows it’s there but you. They’ll be hidden in your bag.”

  Sage said, “Where? How am I supposed to hide them?”

  “Listen,” Wayne said, lighting the joint, drawing quick puffs, holding the smoke high in his chest, “First of all,” he began, “what’s the biggest problem for a smuggler? It’s dogs. Bloody dogs. But they can’t smell diamonds, see, so you’re golden.”

  Wayne let his breath out and smoke filled the air.

  “Just think about that.”

  Sage thought.

  “Someone’s gonna drop off a bag for you, OK? Grady’ll tell you who to meet, but the merchandise’ll be well-packed and well-hidden. Just take the clothes from your bag and transfer them to the new one. Then, take your old bag and give it to them. You swap bags, it’s easy.”

  Sage, feeling unsure of himself, said, “OK.”

  “Packing,” Wayne carried on, “it’s all about the packing. Pack the bag wrong and you’re fucked. But you won’t have to worry about that.”

  “How do I pay him?”

  Wayne shook his head. “Already been taken care of.” He looked at Sage. “Think you can handle it? If not, lemme know right now. Otherwise we’re on in three days—day your visa expires.”

  Sage, surprised, tilted his head and asked how Wayne knew that.

  “Had it pulled,” Wayne said. “See what I mean, mate? I got these blokes on the payroll. Same fella told me that information was paid handsomely for it—that’s Ngyn’s man—he’s the one who’s gonna ask if you need help when you leave Ngurah Rai International Airport. Pay close attention, because that same wanker’s gonna be working the x-ray machine when you come back through. You’ll need to stand in his line.”

  “OK.”

  “Remember that. It’s important.”

  Sage said he would then asked how long he’d be gone.

  “Couple of days,” Wayne said. Holding his hand up, he shook it from side to side. “Two, maybe three.”

  “Where will I stay?”

  “In good time.”

  “You said I leave in three days.”

  Wayne, nodding, shaking his head in agreement, said “Right you are,” and handed the joint to Sage, who refused.

  “I gotta be clear, man.”

  Wayne, frowning, told Sage to take it. “You’re making this harder than it is. Here,” he said. “Trust me, you need this.”

  Sage, caving despite his best intentions, took the joint from Wayne and drew a few breaths and broke out in a fit of coughs.

  “There you go, mate. All better now, trust me. And just think, this time next week you’ll be sitting on a beach in Thailand.”

  Sage closed his eyes and thought about Thailand, a place he never would have imagined seeing.

  “Relax, this is perfect. Nothing’ll go wrong, I promise.”

  Sage, opening his eyes, now bloodshot, considering his future, nodding at Wayne, leaned the chair back as far as he could and wondered if he knew who he was anymore.

  ***

  Sage woke late the next morning and, rolling over on his small uncomfortable bed, felt that already too familiar spring. He stood, and, walking from his bedroom, through the kitchen into the bathroom, used the toilet and showered and brushed his teeth. He had a lot on his agenda today, because tomorrow he went to the prison to see Grady and the day after that he left for Thailand. Something he still could not believe he was doing.

  Turning, spinning on his heels, leaving the bathroom, walking through the kitchen, he stopped to pick up his keys and his helmet and, after locking the door and pausing to admire the beauty that stood before him, turned and climbed the wide steps around the side of the house, walked up the driveway and climbed on his motorbike and started it. Pulling onto the road, navigating potholes both old and new, he left Bangkiang Sidem, riding against the wind into a fine breeze that greeted him, the smell of incense in the air, chickens running in the street, dogs everywhere, roaming and barking and doing all they coul
d to survive without being a nuisance but not having much luck.

  It was late in the afternoon when he picked Ratri up. They would ride to Jimberon and eat seafood on the beach. He’d made arrangements for a special night: fish dinner on the shoreline. At a place Wayne Tender knew about and suggested.

  “She’ll love it, mate,” he’d said.

  “Hope she’s never been there,” Sage said, words that began a conversation about the Indonesian culture he had not considered.

  Sage, riding now, feeling her behind him, remembered what Wayne had told him. That Sage still didn’t get it. “These people are poor,” he’d said. “Poor. They don’t go out to dinner, they eat what they grow. Cafés, restaurants, warungs—that’s for tourists like you and me.”

  “You’re not a tourist, you live here.”

  “We’re all tourists if we ain’t Balinese. And I may live here, but I lease my house same as everyone else.”

  “I didn’t know you could lease a house.”

  “Less you’re Indonesian you can’t buy one but you can lease it for twenty years. Or whatever deal you can strike with one of these shrewd characters, but rest assured, you’ll pay through the arse thanks to Julia Roberts.”

  “Everyone saw that movie didn’t they?”

  “I liked her better in that other one, myself,” Wayne said. “The one where she plays a whore.”

  On the road to Jimberon, Ratri, wrapping her arms around Sage, held him as they rode, her warm breath on his neck raising goose bumps he did not want her to see; he did not want her to know she had that power, knowing if she did she would do it again to gage his reaction, so when the time came to test him, she, moaning softly, squeezing him tight with her thighs, dragging her bottom lip across his skin, felt his shoulders tense and saw his smile in the mirror: pure and kind and honest; she knew that he loved her and that she loved him.

  Sage, feeling her small body against his, feeling everything she felt, surrendering to this moment on pure instinct, turned his head to the side, as she, leaning forward, touched her lips against his, and it was the kind of moment one remembered as long as sun warmed the sky.