Dark Horizons

by Dan Smith

  ‘Sure,’ she said, kissing her hand and lifting it in a half-wave. She smiled once more, then pushed through the swing door and walked out of my life.

  4

  For the rest of the evening I sat in silence. Dumb not through my own choice, but because there was no one I could speak to. The man in the bed next to mine, Muklas, called my name from time to time, and we smiled, gave each other the thumbs up and nodded in spasmodic bursts of attempted discourse, but that was the most either of us could manage. After some time, I decided it was best to not look in his direction, because my mouth ached from the forced smile and my head swam from the concussion. I felt stupid, in the most literal sense of the word, and embarrassed at my inability to do much more than wave my hands. I wished I’d spent more time with my Indonesian phrase book. But then, most of my thinking time was occupied with wishes. I wished I hadn’t lost my rucksack. I wished I hadn’t climbed onto the bus. I wished it hadn’t crashed. But most of all, I wished Domino was still here.

  It was absurd that I should think about her so much. I’d only known her for the briefest moment, yet she’d come to my aid twice, and that made her more than just another traveller.

  I don’t know what time it was when they turned out the lights. I repeatedly looked to my wrist, each time remembering that my watch was gone, whisked away by a boy who’d seen an opportunity and taken it. It made me angry to think about it, and every time I did, my hand went to the belt that Domino had brought back to me. My money and my passport. Without them, I was screwed.

  The ward was quiet. The occasional moaning, snuffling, snoring from the other men, but nothing more than that. I could hear traffic outside, somewhere not far from the hospital, and I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it during the day.

  Part of me wanted to sleep, to rest my mind and sink into blackness, but something wouldn’t allow it. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be in control of what was happening to me, and it bothered me that I wasn’t.

  I watched the fan rotate above me. I concentrated on the warm draught of air it pushed at me, and I studied the shaft swivelling in its bearing. I listened to its blades as they cut through the air and I tried to relax my mind. Footsteps out in the corridor, the gentle swish of loose clothing, the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on glossy floors.

  I thought how different this room was from the one my mother had been in. There were no electronic gadgets here, no intimacy, and yet the feeling was much the same. The feeling of being surrounded by the sick and the dying. It was something I’d never grown used to. I’d never felt comfortable with the polished floors and the turned-down beds and the blankets and the nurses and the machines. It all felt wrong.

  I drifted in half-sleep for a while, my mind playing events back to me, jumbling them together, making a nonsense of what had happened. I tried to push them out, to think only of what I would do when I left the hospital. But still the memories and the unease crept in and, as a thin veil of sleep finally fell over me, so my thoughts were filled with the memories of my most recent hours. I saw the bus, felled like a giant beast, the blood disgorged from its bloated carcass, bright where it was still fresh, and shining under the sun. The stench of death was all around me, petrol fumes spinning in my head, the cries of the wounded and the dying filtering through me. And I saw the face of the old woman, her eyes watching me, fading, draining of life, unseeing and dry and empty. Now I was drifting too, my own life leaving me as the ache in my head pulsed to the irregular beat of the screaming and the crying. Then a quieter voice, my angel, whispering. Gentle at first, shaking me awake, then harder, more insistent, and I opened my eyes to the darkness of the hospital and there she was, her face close to mine.

  ‘Alex,’ she said. ‘Shit, I thought you were never going to wake up.’

  I stared at her. I wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind. I was still emerging from the horror of the crash. My head still pounding, but not from the screaming as it had been in my dream. This was the throbbing of the wound.

  ‘You OK?’ she asked. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Hm? Yeah. Yeah, I think so. What—’

  ‘Something you should know,’ she said.

  I looked around, but the ward was dark and quiet.

  ‘There’s police coming to talk to you.’

  ‘What?’ I closed my eyes, fought through the pain in my head, feeling it subside.

  ‘Something to do with the crash. They already talked to me but they didn’t give much away. I think they found drugs or something.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘In the wreck. Look, the doctor’s taking them round to talk to everyone.’

  I was still not recovered from my sleep. ‘Drugs? I don’t … What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘We’re white, Alex. They see young whiteys like us, they think we’re only here for one reason. If there’s drugs, it’s our fault.’

  ‘What?’

  Domino held up a hand to quieten me. ‘Just listen to me, Alex. You know the police here are not like your English police, right? I mean, they’re nothing like your English police.’

  ‘What’re you saying?’ I asked, the horror of the crash being replaced with a different feeling. Something less concrete. More unsettling. ‘Why are you telling me this? I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘That doesn’t make any difference.’ Domino looked around. There was a light outside in the corridor, an orange glow leaking through the small, round, frosted windows on the swing doors. ‘You seem like a nice guy,’ she said, turning back to me. Her voice was a beautiful whisper, her hair close to my face, her scent in my nostrils. ‘But – and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way – but you seem a bit green.’

  ‘Green?’

  ‘Yeah. Like you don’t know what you’re doing.’

  ‘I guess you’re right.’ The unease I felt before was masked now, masked by my proximity to Domino. She was intoxicating.

  ‘I think they’re looking for somebody, and that means they’re not going to want you to leave.’

  ‘Don’t leave the country, you mean?’ I tried to smile, but working the muscles tightened them around the back of my head, bringing pain. ‘Well, I don’t think I’m going anywhere right now.’

  ‘They’ll try to take your passport and your money.’

  Now the unease returned. Only this time it was stronger, pushing any excitement about Domino to one side. ‘But I’ll get it back, right?’

  She sighed and pursed her lips, tilting her head. ‘Maybe. I mean, that’s what they’ll tell you, but I’ve heard about people who …’ She shook her head. ‘Look, Alex, it’s just better if they don’t get it. And if they see all that money you’ve got, they’ll be wondering what you’re planning on buying with it.’

  I’d seen films and I’d read books. I knew that I had to keep hold of my passport. No matter what. It was all I had to prove who I was. If they took it away from me, I would be no one again. ‘I’ll tell them I don’t have one,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell them I lost it … Will they search me? You think they’ll search me?’

  Domino shook her head. ‘Probably not, but it would be better if you had somewhere to hide it. Someone to—’

  ‘You could take it for me.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘If I don’t have it, I can’t give it to them, right? You can bring it back to me tomorrow.’ I don’t know why I felt I could trust her, but it seemed like the best thing to do. Maybe she had already proved herself to me. She had come to my help at the crash. She had come as my translator earlier that day, returned my identity, and now she had come to warn me. And if she took my belongings, it would mean she’d have to come back. She couldn’t just abandon me.

  I had no idea that keeping her in my life was a mistake.

  ‘I’ll be gone by tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Then wait until they’ve gone.’ I put my hand on hers. ‘Please.’

  Domino paused, looked away, the
n nodded. ‘OK,’ she said, running her thumb over the back of my hand. ‘I’ll look after it for you.’

  I slipped my hands beneath the sheet and removed the money-belt.

  For the second and last time that day, I watched Domino leave through the swing doors, and I hardly had time to consider whether or not I’d made a mistake, when a shadow crossed the rounded windows, blocking the weak light that passed through them.

  The indistinct shapes shifted, stopped, swayed like spectres waiting just out of sight, then the doors opened a touch. They cracked along the centre, a hairline of illumination that filtered into the ward and slipped across the floor, touching the foot of my bed. I watched as the doors inched open further, the sound of muffled voices as the visitors finished their conversation, the doors moving ever inwards until their discussion was over and they finally swung to their full extent. The men who walked in came without regard for whoever was inside. Their boots were loud on the concrete floor, their keys jangled, and the paraphernalia hanging from their belts clattered and creaked.

  Some of the men in the ward remained still. Others stirred, looked up with mild interest, then turned over in their beds, realising this visit was not for them.

  The doctor who accompanied the men made no attempt to stop them. There was no consideration for the sick. Authority had stepped into the ward, and nothing was going to halt its procedure. There were no pleas to return tomorrow when the patients had rested.

  The two policemen came to a halt beside my bed and looked down at me. Intimidating in their military-style uniforms, both of them with pistols on their hips. They wore peaked caps, pulled low to obscure much of their faces. If they were trying to scare me, it was working.

  The one who was chewing gum was the first to speak. ‘Dari mana kamu? ’

  I looked at him.

  ‘Dari mana?’ he said again.

  I shook my head at him. ‘I … I don’t speak. Saya tidak bisa bicara—’

  ‘English?’ he interrupted.

  ‘English. Yes. I’m English. You speak—’

  ‘Siapa namamu? Name.’

  ‘Alex. Alex Palmer.’

  ‘Passport.’ He held out his hand.

  Again I shook my head with a sigh, but inside my heart was racing. I’d been in a crash, I’d seen blood and death, and now I was lying to the police. ‘I don’t have it,’ I said. ‘I lost it in the crash. It was stolen. A boy stole my things.’

  The policeman stopped chewing and looked at his partner, who shrugged and looked directly at me, saying, ‘Passport.’

  I searched my memory for a phrase. ‘Saya tidak punya. I don’t have—’

  ‘No passport?’

  I shook my head. ‘Stolen.’

  ‘Dicuri?’ He seemed to understand.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Stolen. On the road.’

  The policeman who was chewing spoke to his partner, his language fast, the words spilling from his mouth, and he pointed at the cabinet beside my bed. The partner nodded and squatted down to open the door and check inside, then looked up saying, ‘Tidak ada.’

  The other one stared at me, his jaws taking a rest from chewing as he considered me, then he spoke to the doctor, who replied, causing both policemen to look at me again. He began chewing once more, motioning at me with his chin. His partner stood, pulled back the sheet.

  ‘What—’ But before I could protest, he put his hand on my waist and ran it over me.

  Finding nothing, he shook his head and then a rapid conversation broke out among the three of them. By now some of the other patients were beginning to take a little more interest. One or two had propped themselves up on an elbow to watch the show. In the bed beside me, Muklas was looking on with something like an expression of sympathy on his face.

  ‘You wait,’ the policeman said, putting one hand on the butt of his gun. I don’t think it was intended as a threatening gesture, more like he was finding a place to rest his hand, but it felt threatening nonetheless.

  I nodded.

  ‘You don’t go from here.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Besok. Tomorrow. We. Come – back – tomorrow.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘You stay.’

  ‘OK.’

  They stood for a few more seconds, then they pushed past the doctor and marched from the ward, the doctor hurrying to keep up with them.

  When they were gone, I stared at the doors, watching the decreasing arc of their swing. There was a kind of laziness to the way they flopped back and forth. When they came to a final halt, I cast my eyes around the room, watching the men avoiding my eyes, turning and settling beneath their sheets. Only Muklas would look at me. He gave me a nod and showed me a thumbs up.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘You OK.’

  I forced a smile around my fear and returned his thumbs up, then I slipped down in the bed and studied the ceiling, wondering if the policemen were going to come back right away. I was afraid of what they might do to me. The doctor had obviously told them about my money-belt, and now they thought I was hiding something from them. Perhaps they had gone to look for a translator. Domino, even. Or maybe they’d gone to find her for a different reason, and when they came back, they would drag us both away. I should have been honest. They were the police after all, and I’d only known Domino a few hours. Maybe when they came back tomorrow, I would tell the truth. Domino would bring back my passport and I would do the right thing.

  But Domino didn’t return.

  I waited for a long time. I turned onto my side and watched the doors, waiting for her. But as the evening progressed and the room filled with the sound of snoring, I began to wonder if I had been wrong to trust her. I imagined her spending my money, selling my passport, but told myself that if she’d wanted to do that, she wouldn’t have returned it the first time. It had to be something else. There had to be a good reason why she hadn’t come back, and I felt helpless, lying there, not knowing. The only way I would ever know was if I found her.

  So I shook my head and sat up in bed, looking round the ward in the semi-darkness, illuminated only by the glow from the windows in the swing doors. I slipped off the loose bandage, touched the crusty scar on the back of my head and inspected my fingertips. Clear. I threw back the sheet and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I waited, sitting upright, testing my stability. My head didn’t spin. I didn’t feel faint, no head rush. Satisfied I wouldn’t collapse, I moved forward, placing my feet on the painted floor, enjoying the coolness of it on my soft soles. I stood and straightened my unflattering gown, then I began walking towards the light, keeping my eyes ahead of me, fixed on the two circles of dim orange.

  I pushed against one of the swing doors and moved into the corridor, allowing it to close behind me, an eerie, quiet sound, the arc of its swing decreasing until it came to a stop as I looked around.

  It was calm now, nothing like it had been earlier in the day. There were still trolleys lined along the far wall, perhaps fifteen or sixteen in all, but almost half of them were empty. I wondered if the patients who’d been lying on them had beds now or if they were in boxes somewhere down below, keeping cool.

  An occupant of the gurney nearest me rolled her head to one side, straining her eyes to the corner of their sockets to see who had come from the ward. She stared at me, a vacant, tired stare, then rested her head back, a quiet moan escaping her open lips.

  I waited, looking both ways along the corridor, deciding which way to go. Now that I was up, I wanted to stretch my legs, feel as if I were something other than bedridden, to be free of the walls, the smell and the pitiful noises of the sick. I wanted to feel alive, not muted, suffocated, languishing in the turgid atmosphere of the ward. I needed to breathe something other than the stale stench of sickness and death, to be outside where the air was fresh. I wanted to find Domino, take my passport and run from this place. Do what I had come here to do. To live and experience a different life, to escape from the emptiness and regret I had left at home.

&nbs
p; Behind me a sound, making me turn and see a doctor coming towards me. The same doctor who had been with the policemen. I expected him to try to stop me, to take hold of me like I was a patient in a mental institution, to guide me back to my bed, but I spoke to him before he could react.

  ‘Domino,’ I said to him. ‘Where’s Domino?’

  He held out his hands to show he didn’t understand.

  ‘Does no one in this fucking place speak English? Domino. The girl. Girl,’ I said, becoming frustrated. I shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

  ‘Girl?’ He stopped. ‘Perampuan?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Perampuan. Where is she? Where?’

  The doctor glanced at the floor and shook his head.

  ‘What? Where is she?’

  He met my eye and put a hand on my arm. ‘Perampuan mati. Girl dead.’

  ‘What?’

  He nodded.

  ‘No.’ I stepped back, pushing his hand away. ‘No way. She was here. She was right here, not more than an hour ago. You’re lying.’

  The doctor approached, extending a hand, but I knocked it away and turned, moving quickly along the corridor, looking for a way out. It was a bad dream. Death piled on death. I had to get away from here. I had to be outside where life was real. I needed to see normality, even though it wouldn’t be my own. Right now any kind of normality would be enough. And as I hurried away, I glanced back, but the doctor did not follow. He simply stood and watched.

  There was nothing to indicate which might be the way out, so I just picked a direction, my bare feet slapping on the cold concrete. I looked down at each trolley as I passed, seeing blank faces. One or two glanced up at me, their eyes drowsy, but no one spoke. Once I was past them, I came to an intersection where the corridor was crossed by another. I stopped and scanned both ways. There was no sign of anyone and I began to move forwards again when the door at the far end to my right opened and two men entered. They weren’t doctors. Doctors would be wearing white, but these men were not. As they passed they left in their wake the smell of cooking and the scent of outside, and I guessed they were visiting the hospital, so I headed in the direction from which they had come.