End of the Ocean

by Matthew McBride

  “Someone took it while I was at the prison.”

  The polisi believed his helmet had been stolen but felt no sympathy, choosing instead to relieve him of almost all his Indonesian rupiah and a ten dollar bill.

  “You can’t take my money,” he argued. “I’m out of gas—petrol, I need petrol.”

  “Take money, pay fine,” the polisi said.

  Sage was angry, knowing he was being fleeced but terrified they knew his business. He just wanted to leave. They asked him again about the prison and he told them the same lie he’d been using, adding that he went to Kerobokan to talk to an inmate named Grady but he learned the man was dead.

  “They said he killed himself.”

  The polisi, unsatisfied with his explanation but appreciative of his three hundred thousand rupiah, told him he could go. Then two of them thanked him for his cooperation while the third man took his money to a nearby street vendor and paid for their lunch.

  Sage left, riding as fast as he could to get away. It was a long ride back to Ubud. He called Ratri but she didn’t answer. He tried Wayne, again, but the call went to voicemail.

  Sage, after pulling off the main road, stopping at a small white shack, parking in the dust, turning off his motorbike, stood and lifted the seat and removed his wallet. He opened it and handed twenty-five thousand rupiah—all the currency he had left, all the Polisi had left him—to the old dark-skinned woman, small and hunched over, who slowly approached him with a limp.

  Small and frail, she took a large glass bottle that said Absolute Vodka and, after unscrewing the lid, tilted the bottle and poured petrol into the tank beneath the seat.

  When the bottle was empty she screwed the lid on his gas tank and bowed at him.

  He said, “Terima kasih.”

  Before he left, he tried to call Ratri but she did not answer. Neither did Wayne. Sage sent them each a text message and started his motorbike and pulled into traffic, riding north, toward home. Nervous because no one answered and scared he was being followed, he rode to a café, parked, checked his phone, saw no messages, and went inside.

  He was near Ubud, but he’d been starving and anxious and he needed time to think. He needed to hear someone’s voice. Hear Ratri say: I love you, or Wayne say: Don’t worry about it, mate. Have a bloody pint! But he sat there alone and worried and, despite the fact he was starving, found he could eat no food. Not until he talked to Ratri. He was breathing fast and could not sit still. It felt like he would hyperventilate.

  Relax, he told himself. Slow down.

  He called her again but there was still no answer. He found the number to the laundry but they were closed. No one answered when he called the warung she worked at either.

  How could everything be closed?

  His phone chirped to let him know his battery was dying. Frustrated, but relieved to have his debit card, he ordered a San Miguel Light, removed his laptop from the waterproof bag he kept in his trunk space, turned it on, and, once the screen illuminated, a message appeared that read:

  Your Internet connection is being controlled.

  An extension has taken control of your proxy settings, which means it can change, break, or eavesdrop on anything you do online.

  He had been lifting the San Miguel Light off the table, but now he stopped before it touched his lips. He set the bottle down and turned off his computer, slipping it in his bag as he looked around. Then, as casually as any departure he had ever made, he stood, left the café and rode to Wayne Tender’s. But, much to his distress, Wayne Tender was not home.

  He did not answer his phone either; nor did Ratri answer hers.

  Sage was very worried. How had everything gone so wrong?

  Back on his motorbike, he rode home, toward Bangkiang Sidem, because she might be waiting, and because he had to retrieve his phone charger.

  He would find Ratri, except he did not know how to find her or where to look. Where did she live? Something that had not seemed important before, but now it was everything.

  Grady was dead and Wayne was ignoring him. Ratri was nowhere to be found. Now his Internet was being monitored, and he was supposed to leave the country in twelve hours to smuggle diamonds out of Thailand but on the most important night of his life he had never felt so alone.

  A year ago he was a normal man with a normal life. How could this have happened?

  But now, somehow, everything felt different. As if a few hours inside Kerobokan had changed everything. As he passed the laundry two men walked into the street. Lifting their arms, waving them about, they hailed Sage, who, after coming to an abrupt stop, felt a strong set of arms come from behind him, locking onto his neck, squeezing, cutting off his air, pulling him backward off the motorbike.

  Sage tried to break free, but couldn’t. Many voices surrounded him now, everyone yelling, and from amidst the depth of the chaos there was the sharp stick of a needle, then the long, slow draw of gravity as he was pulled to the street.

  They stood above him, looking down, while from his place on cool asphalt he looked up, faces above him growing lesser, farther away, until they came together in one brown smudge, eaten by darkness, getting smaller and smaller until it was gone.

  Thailand

  He saw her in his mind, though at first he did not know it was a dream; he thought she was real: standing in white sand, blue ocean behind her, blue sky above her. All he could see was blue. Then the blue was gone and there was pink: in her tresses, in the skies, in the sun’s reflection off the water, and then she was dancing, slowly, long strands of ribbon in her hair, spinning and laughing, her feet in wet sand. She called out his name but the sound was lost before it reached him. He wanted to answer, but he couldn’t, though he longed to tell the truth: that of all the things he had seen in this world her face was the most beautiful. He wanted to walk toward her but his legs would not move.

  Every step he took felt like he was walking backward.

  Then she saw him see her as she held flowers in her hands—she wanted to hear I love you—but when he opened his mouth to say the words dust came out when there should have been sound.

  Walking backward, she waved goodbye. Moving slowly, she backed into the water. Every stride she made was slow. Both eyes closed, she walked, taking small measured steps into thin translucent spume.

  Grunting, squeezing his muscles, vibrating with intensity, he willed himself to move with a force that cracked his bones and made him shutter.

  He would kiss the salt on her lips if he could only reach her.

  A murder of crows flew above them and when she opened her eyes they were black. When she opened her hands the flowers had turned to ash and fell from her palms into the sea.

  Sage ran toward her, but the faster he ran the farther away she was until he was sprinting and he could see her in the distance but the harder he strained to see her the smaller she became. Then he stopped running and fell to the sand as waves took her body and she was carried away.

  “Open your eyes,” a voice said, distant yet familiar. Then nothing. It was gone.

  “Open your eyes,” it said again. “Sage, wake up.”

  That time Sage heard. His eyelids fluttered. He’d recognized something.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Sage heard fingers snap beside him, where he thought the voice had been. He tried to obey, to open his eyes, but once he found adequate willpower the light burned too much to do it. It was bright. He had never been so tired.

  Had he been dreaming? Was he not just on a beach, by the ocean? And did he not just see her there—someone—but who he’d seen he did not know. Her face had been unclear.

  When Sage opened his eyes his wife was beside him, watching him sleep, looking at him the same way she had when they’d been younger, when the solitary thought of each other was all that was required because the idea of not being in love with the other would not have occurred to either one of them. />
  It was late morning. They’d slept in. It was a Sunday, springtime. Windows open, drapes hovering in a cool breeze. The room was clean. The sheets were white and the floor was white and the walls were white. Pink and yellow flowers on the bed.

  Sage wore his wedding ring.

  Listening to his heartbeat, she ran her finger across his chest and told him he’d been dreaming.

  Sage blinked his eyes, unable to believe they were together. Like he had somehow known all along that Bali was a dream, that Ratri was a dream.

  What were you dreamin’ about, mister? Another girl? I’ll kick her ass.

  She winked at him and shook her fist. Asked him if he’d like some breakfast. Or maybe you’d like something else first, she said, sliding her hand beneath the sheets.

  Someone threw water in his face and Sage opened his eyes. Wayne Tender, squatting before him, down on one knee, his hand on Sage’s shoulder; he asked him how he was.

  Still disoriented, bleary-eyed and unsteady, Sage asked Wayne what had happened.

  “Where …am I?”

  Wayne, letting out a deep breath, shaking his head, told Sage he’d really fucked up now.

  “These blokes wanna kill you.”

  Sage tried to focus, but concentrating on any one objective had never been so hard.

  “You understand what I’m saying, friend? They wanna murder you.”

  “What … is this? What…?”

  Wayne, leaning forward, smacked Sage lightly on the cheek. “Hey,” he said, but Sage drifted away. Wayne waited five minutes and tried again. This time Sage came to.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, still reasonably sedated. “Where is she?”

  “Listen,” Wayne said. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, you and I, OK? Lots to talk about, Sage. I need to make sure you’re with me here, cuz your life depends on it.”

  “Fuck you,” Sage said, half-conscious, spit bursting from his mouth. “Where’s Ratri? What’s goin’ on?” he said, angry and confused and completely disoriented.

  “Hey.” Wayne snapped his fingers close to Sage’s face. “Now you listen here, ‘fore you go insulting me, cuz I’m the only friend you got.” He poked Sage on the chest. “You hear what I’m saying? These cocksuckers behind you, see, they wanna kill you—and it makes the most sense to let them, trust me, you’ve already drawn so much bloody attention to yourself as it is …” Wayne took a deep breath, said, “But I’m trying to save your arse here, mate, so hows about you show me a wee bit of gratitude.”

  Sage, head down, feet together, said nothing, snot running from his nose to his lip. He raised his hand to his face to wipe it away. When he could finally look at Wayne his eyes were as warm as Sage had ever seen them. He told Sage he liked him, a lot, that he was a pretty good lad, but that he’d fucked up proper, threatening to back out like he had.

  “You told me you were good,” Wayne reminded him.

  “I thought I was.”

  “Well these blokes we’re dealin’ with ain’t the kinda blokes you can back out on,” Wayne said. “You … how do you Americans say it, you catch my drift?”

  Sage was very tired and his mouth was dry. His throat cracked when he tried to speak. The words came hard, but they came. As soon as he was able to communicate he asked about Ratri. “Where is she?”

  “I’m afraid you’re not gonna like this part.”

  “Where’s Ratri?” Sage said, dry, raw-voiced.

  “She’s safe.”

  “Oh my God, oh my God, you motherfuckers,” he spat. “You …motherfuckers.”

  “Sage, don’t you motherfuck me, I ain’t the one holdin’ her hostage, mate. I’m just the guy brought in to unfuck this situation.”

  “This is your fault! You put me in this.”

  “Hang on just a minute there, sport, I don’t remember comin’ to you askin’ if you’d like to be a bloody smuggler.” Wayne paused. “I believe it was you,” he said, pointing, “who was sittin’ there cryin’ like a bitch,” Wayne, scrunching up his face, changing the pitch of his voice, “how you were so broke and so in love and what in the fucking fuck were you going to fucking do about it?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “Don’t let them hurt her.”

  “Bloody hell, mate. What can I do about it, huh? I got no say in this, I ain’t the one brought her into this—that was you, all you, and now you’ve got to go through with this, understand? You got’ta see this through. Too many people involved to turn back now.”

  Sage asked how he could trust them since he had no guarantee of her safety.

  “Nobody wants to hurt her, for fuck’s sake. Just do the damn job.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Jesus,” Wayne said, standing up. “You don’t give up, do you? Listen, they ain’t gonna tell me. You still don’t get it, do you?”

  “Fuck that. I gotta know she’s alive, that she’s gonna be all right, otherwise there’s no way …fuck it, go ahead and kill me.”

  Wayne, surprised, said, “I didn’t realize you were such a tough guy, Sage. Most impressive. And I don’t blame you, mate. I’ll see what I can do, but don’t expect much.”

  He spoke a few words in Indonesian and Sage heard others by the door responding.

  “What’d you say?”

  “Told them you wanted proof of life.”

  Wayne and the others walked away, leaving Sage, unaccompanied, in the chair. Angry and very scared, he listened until he heard footsteps fade away. Then a door opened and closed. Sage, while not bound or confined to the chair, made no attempt to move or turn around. He thought of his parents and the hell this would put them through. They were probably worried already. They hadn’t heard from him in days. His brother; his sister. Everyone would worry.

  Feeling his pockets for his phone and wallet he realized they were gone. Reaching to massage his head, which throbbed, he swallowed, wincing from the pain in his throat. It was very sore from where he’d been choked, and he wondered if his friend, Wayne Tender, had been the one who’d done the choking.

  After an amount of time undetermined by Sage, Wayne returned, and, grabbing the top of a chair, dragging it across the floor, set it in front of Sage then planted himself in it. But he did not speak, and neither did Sage, not at first. When he finally did, after contemplating the true gravity of his situation, he did so with a mixture of respect and approbation, asking Wayne Tender about Grady, who had killed him, and, now that he was dead, how could the deal still go through if he was the one who had been so crucial in the first place and now he was gone.

  “We can’t do the job without Grady,” Sage reminded him. “Grady was key—that’s what you said.”

  “Yes, well, you could say that was a bit of rubbish on our part. We need a Grady, just not necessarily that one. And you’re perfect, see? I mean, granted, you’re a bloody amateur, and not necessarily our first choice. Still, you’re available, you agreed to take his place. You went there to give a message.”

  “What message?”

  “I told you, for that wanker Grady to keep his mouth shut. We’d’ve gotten him out eventually. Hell, we’re working on it now—we were—but like I said, you can’t trust the phones, man. We had to send somebody in there.”

  “But you killed him first, before I could even meet him. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t—and first of all,” Wayne said, “I didn’t bloody kill anyone. Second, and more important, sounds to me like the wanker killed himself.”

  “That’s bullshit. You were shocked when I told you.”

  “Exactly, indeed I was. That just goes to show you I don’t make the decisions around here, mate. Who knows?” He shrugged then, leaning forward, telling Sage in a whisper, “This thing we’re involved in is bloody deep and you’re stuck right in the middle, down at the very bottom of the rabbit hole.”r />
  Wayne told Sage the rabbit hole was a dangerous place to be.

  “Either way, you killed him.”

  “Either way he killed himself, you mean.”

  Sage was quiet.

  “Listen boyo, whether somebody else offed him or he offed himself, I would not’ve sent you in there had I of known he was dead—believe me. That’s not exactly a good motivator on the eve of your first smuggling run, now is it? I just wanted the fool to know he’d not been forgotten about, that’s all. I got a business to protect. I didn’t want him to panic and run his fool mouth.”

  Sage, though breathing fast, remained silent.

  “That should make you feel good; I care about the people who work for me.” He took a deep breath and released it. “He got caught with methamphetamine, the dickhead,” Wayne went on. “He just needed to be patient and ride it out. I mean, hell mate, these deals take time to set up. Not to mention bribes ain’t cheap.”

  “Sounds like it was cheaper to kill him.”

  Wayne looked at him and shrugged but did not disagree.

  “Who knows what this idiot was into,” Wayne said. “But you’re not a bloody junkie, so you got nothing to worry about.”

  Sage said nothing. Thinking instead how tired he was and how much his head hurt and how he had never been so thirsty.

  Sage asked Wayne for a glass of water and he said no.

  “I’ve been instructed not to give you anything until you agree.”

  Sage, still in his chair, looked up at Wayne, now standing, who said, “Sorry.”

  Sage laughed once, which turned into a short burst of dry coughs. Finally, Wayne said, “Aw, to hell with it,” left the room and returned a few minutes later with a bottle of water.

  “Here,” he said, handing the bottle to Sage. “Couldn’t bear to see you suffer.”

  Squatting down, touching Sage on the shoulder as he chugged the water, Wayne said, “Just say yes and agree to this so we can put this behind us, OK? Ya ain’t goin’ to bloody get caught, trust me.” Leaning close to Sage, his mouth to his ear, he whispered, “Let’s just say there are members of ‘certain organizations’ involved in this that’re way, way up there in the Indonesian government, see?”