by Dan Smith
‘OK.’ I looked up at the building, seeing the ladder but not a front door. ‘How do we get in?’
‘Magic,’ she said.
The man climbed the ladder and went through a trapdoor into the house. Domino followed him, and I stayed close behind her, wondering what she was getting us into.
The space inside was black. In here, the light from the moon was unable to penetrate and the darkness was complete. I could hear the man moving somewhere in there, but I could see no sign of him.
‘Wait here a moment,’ Domino said, putting a hand on my back and keeping it there as if to reassure me that I was not alone in this place.
Outside the air had been fresh, scented with pine, but in here, it was still and thick and dusty. It smelled of wood and smoke, an exotic mixture of spices and unfamiliar smells.
Domino and I stood in silence, sampling the atmosphere, listening to the man delving deeper into the house, moving about, searching. After a minute or two, a match flared and in its glow I could see the man, twenty feet away, crouched low to the floor, hunched over a lamp. As the match burned down, he breathed in, a sharp intake, and the room was once again plunged into darkness. The rattling of matches in a box, scraping, the flare of phosphorus and, once again, there was a small arc of light in the black. This time, the flame spat and grew before the man waved it out and stood up holding a lamp with a weak glow that expanded and became brighter.
Domino took her hand from me and we both approached as the man beckoned.
The house was like a cave. A large open space without windows, partitions or rooms. There were several low tables at the far end, half obscured in the gloom, and to my left was a pit filled with ashes and charred pieces of wood. Along from the dead fire, a lopsided and basic chest of drawers that someone had made from thin planks of wood. In the centre of the room, a carved wooden pole reached up from floor to ceiling. Even in this light I could see that it was intricately decorated with faded red and white paint, carvings of lizards and spirals. Several sets of buffalo horns had been bound to it with rope, the points jutting out at irregular angles.
The man led us to an area at the back of the building, towards the low tables, and sat down on a tattered woven mat behind one of them. As he sat, he hitched up his sarong and indicated that we should sit on the mat opposite.
He placed the lamp on the table and reached across, holding out his hand to me, saying, ‘Alim.’
I could see him more clearly now and, although I had mistaken his short, slight frame for that of a child, there was no mistaking his face. Thick black hair, skin that was dark and lined, his mouth scarred in the centre where a cleft lip had been corrected. His front teeth were crooked and stained, almost black in this light, except for two on the right side of his mouth, which caught the lamplight and looked to be made of gold.
I took his hand and nodded, telling him my name. ‘Alex.’
He didn’t smile, but he tested the name, trying to say it, not getting it quite right. I thought about correcting him, but didn’t bother. Particularly when I saw what was on the table in front of me.
A bottle of clear liquid, next to a stack of small glasses. A small set of brass scales. A machete with a long, dark blade and a rudimentary wooden handle bound with copper wire. The scabbard that lay beside it was ornately carved, also bound with wire at the top and bottom. The other object on the table, however, was the one that made me most nervous. Something that amplified my fear and exaggerated the sensations in my stomach. A pistol, the metal marked and scratched, the wooden grips scored and nicked. A mysterious and prosaic amalgamation of wood and metal, angular and rounded, created for only one purpose. And what made me most nervous was the way it had been left there, as if it were unimportant. Something kept to hand in case it needed to be used. A knife, a bottle, some glasses, a gun. Everyday items to this man.
As soon as he was sitting, legs crossed beneath him, Alim reached for the pistol, quickening my heart as he took the magazine and pushed it into the weapon with the heel of his palm. He pulled back the slide, and thumbed down the hammer before placing the pistol on the floor beside him.
Alim then took three dirty glasses from the stack and placed one in front of each of us. He picked up the unlabelled bottle, removed the cork and poured us each a generous measure.
‘Tuak,’ he said with a grin that wasn’t a smile.
I looked at Domino for an explanation, wondering what I was going to have to drink.
‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘Tuak. Liquor brewed from coconut palm. Tastes like shit, makes your breath stink, but it’s OK. Just drink it and smile.’
I followed Alim’s lead, lifting the glass in the air in a silent toast and throwing the contents into my mouth. Domino was right, it did taste like shit, and it burned like hell on its way down, but I didn’t cough and my eyes didn’t water. I showed no weakness, whether it mattered or not.
Domino did the same, downing it like water.
I wiped my mouth and steeled myself as Alim poured us another. This time, though, we didn’t drink it straight down. We left it in front of us, lukewarm and unpleasant, stagnating in the dirty glasses.
Alim spoke, the sounds alien and confusing.
‘English,’ said Domino. ‘Speak English.’
Alim rolled his eyes. ‘So you want to buy something? For yourself ?’ The words were awkward and hesitant, his accent thick. ‘Why not take it from what you collected yesterday?’
‘Haven’t been back yet,’ said Domino. ‘I just came in from Medan.’
‘You couldn’t wait?’
Domino shrugged.
Alim returned the gesture. ‘Who is this?’ He tipped his head at me, but kept his eyes on Domino. ‘This one I don’t know.’
‘A friend.’
‘Someone new? He’s cool?’
‘Sure. Where’s Hendrik?’
‘Gone.’
Domino narrowed her eyes. ‘Gone?’
‘Gone.’
‘I’ve only been away a couple of weeks. What—’ Her lips began to form more words, but she glanced at me and stopped herself.
‘A lot can happen,’ Alim said. ‘Even in just one day. It was only a matter of time.’
Domino shook her head and sighed. ‘So Danuri’s in charge now? And Kurt knows?’
‘Of course he knows.’
‘What did he say?’
‘What can he say? We’re here now. It’s better this way for everyone, business as usual. More or less.’
Domino erupted into Indonesian, the words coming easily to her lips, her face serious. Alim crossed his arms and smiled, before cutting her off, saying, ‘Speak English.’
Domino looked at me, choosing her words. She opened her mouth to speak, a light intake of breath, then she closed it again and turned to Alim. ‘What you got?’ she asked.
Alim pulled a wooden box from under the table. Long and flat, the size and shape of three shoe boxes side by side. He lifted it onto the table with two hands and centred it between us, removing the lid and saying, ‘I got whatever you want.’
I leaned forwards for a better look as Alim lifted the lamp to light the contents of the box and I wondered if there was a connection between Domino and the drugs the police had found at the crash. Maybe she was the reason I’d had to hide my passport and run from the police.
There were small bags containing lumps of resin and powders, both white and brown. Clear plastic boxes of pills, tiny squares of what looked like blotting paper, and larger bags filled with herbs in different shades of green and brown. There were a number of empty syringes, too, maybe ten or eleven in all, their needles capped, their plungers down. Accompanying them, an assortment of medicinal bottles, the kind with the rubber caps, just right for tipping upside down and sliding in a needle.
I’d never seen such things other than in a hospital, sterile and offered up on kidney dishes of pulped brown paper. Tablets were for prescriptions, and syringes were for use by white-clad nurses and doctors who smiled empty smiles be
trayed by eyes that tried for sympathy but never quite managed it. My experience of drugs was limited to healing and pain relief. Prolonging and preserving. They were the things that had kept my mother alive and unhappy for longer than she wanted. For longer than I should have allowed. They had been dispensed with good intention, but had extended her wretched existence. But this was a different world now; a world where tablets and tinctures were intended to bring pleasure, not heartache. I didn’t want to expose my naivety. I didn’t want to show my fear. Not of Alim, not of his gun and not of his drugs. I was here to experience new things, to see a side of life I had never seen, and I tried to relax myself, give nothing away, and hope that I would walk away from this place in one piece.
I sensed Domino watching me and I turned to see her gauging my reaction to Alim’s box of goodies. A smile trickled over her lips, touching the corners of her mouth, then disappeared as she went back to her dealer. ‘Nothing too heavy,’ she said. ‘Something to smoke, that’s all.’
Alim took a syringe from the box, removed the cap, held it up for us to see. ‘You sure?’ he said, putting down the lamp and reaching for one of the small bottles. ‘You could shoot right now.’ He slipped the needle into the rubber top and raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
Domino shook her head. ‘I don’t do that shit.’
‘Just pass it on, eh?’
‘Smoke is all we want.’
Alim hesitated, holding the syringe at eye level, one hand securing it with the bottle, the other hand ready to pull the plunger, suck the clear liquid into the shaft. He remained that way for a moment, watching Domino, then nodded slowly and withdrew the needle. ‘I have something from Aceh,’ he said, putting the syringe back in the box. ‘Strong. I think you like.’ He took a bag of what looked like dried herbs from the box and held it out. ‘You wanna try?’
Domino nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘Cigarette.’ He put out his hand like a beggar asking for money.
Domino took a packet from her bag and passed it to him. Alim removed one cigarette and began to roll it between his forefinger and thumb, loosening the tobacco, tipping it out onto the table. When he was done, he held the empty cigarette upright, filled it with the herb, tapping it firmly on the table, packing the dried plant right down into the paper. He finished by rolling the filter until it loosened enough for him to pinch it with his fingernails and pull it from the cigarette. He flicked it to one side and replaced it with a small piece of rolled card, which he tore from the cigarette box.
The whole process took no longer than a couple of minutes, and when he was done, he put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it with a match. He pursed his lips around the end and sucked hard, holding the smoke in his lungs as he passed it to Domino. She received it without hesitation, not even a pause to wipe it, took a long drag and held it out for me to take.
I knew what it was, but I’d never tried it before. Part of me wanted to say no, to smile and tell Domino I didn’t want it. I’d been so controlled for so long that I didn’t know what I’d do if I lost even the tiniest amount of that self-constraint. But that part of my life was gone now. I didn’t have the same responsibilities any more. I only had one person to take care of. I could try anything I wanted, do anything I wanted. It was why I had come away.
I took the cigarette from Domino, touching her fingers as I did so. The smoke stung my eyes, and my mouth was filled with the scented taste of the dope when I inhaled it, but I didn’t cough. I nodded, as if I knew what I was doing, as if I’d smoked a thousand joints and knew the difference between good shit and bad shit, then I passed it back to Alim with a smile.
‘Baik?’ he asked. ‘Good?’
‘It’s OK,’ Domino said, her eyes on me.
‘You want?’
‘How much?’ Domino asked.
‘How much you want?’ He wasn’t giving anything away.
Domino reached into her bag and took out a two-ounce tobacco tin. She used her fingernails to prise off the top, then removed a number of photographs contained within. She slipped the photos back into her bag and pushed the tin across to Alim. ‘Fill that,’ she said.
Alim laughed, throwing his head back, showing us his gold teeth.
‘I’m serious,’ Domino said. ‘How much?’
Alim stopped laughing as if someone had turned off the volume. He levelled his head and stared at Domino. ‘That’s all? One tin of ganja?’
‘It’s all we need,’ she said. ‘We want more, we can take it out of what Kurt has.’
Alim shook his head. ‘Danuri said to watch you people. This some kind of joke?’
‘Just fill the tin, Alim. It’s all I want right now.’ She was strong, determined. If she was afraid of Alim, she gave no sign of it.
Alim handed her the joint and stood up, taking the pistol from beside him. He looked down at us for a second before turning and moving out of the arc of the lamp. He melted into the shadow and we heard him moving around somewhere out of sight. I felt exposed and anxious, sitting there in the light, listening to the man with the gun rummaging in the back of the oversized building. I half expected to hear a gunshot, feel the lead pierce my skin.
Domino nudged me and passed the joint, so I took it from her and smoked some more, starting to like the taste of the herb, feeling a buzz from it now.
Alim came back from the shadow, the silhouette of a boy holding a gun in one hand, the steel hanging limp at his side, and he dropped a clear plastic bag onto the table. It was roughly the size of a carrier bag.
He sat down again, placed the pistol on the table, close to his hand, and opened the bag. He filled Domino’s tin, then tipped the contents onto the scales. He told her the price, then refilled the tin, replaced the lid and pushed it across the table to her.
Domino smiled at him. ‘I’ll pay you along with the rest.’
Alim shook his head. ‘This is a different deal.’
‘C’mon, you know you’ll get your money.’
‘You pay now.’
‘What’s the matter with you, Alim? Power gone to your head? You think that ’cause Danuri’s your—’
Alim touched his fingers to the pistol.
‘OK,’ Domino backed off. ‘OK.’
‘You got money, right?’ Alim asked, gripping the butt, lifting the weapon from the table.
‘Not enough,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave it for now, come back later.’
‘Maybe you give me something else?’ Alim smiled, leaning forward and looking at Domino’s chest. He reached across with the pistol and used the tip of the barrel to flick the loose ties at the front of her dress.
Domino knocked it away. ‘Get that off me.’
Alim’s face changed in an instant, the pistol coming back to press against Domino’s soft cheek. ‘Hendrik’s not here any more,’ he said. ‘Remember that.’
Domino closed her eyes as Alim released the pressure, used the pistol to push back a strand of her hair.
‘I’ll get it,’ I said, taking the last of my notes from my pocket. My hand was shaking. ‘I’ll pay.’
Alim pursed his lips and glared at me. The barrel of the pistol traced a path down Domino’s cheek, across her neck, along her breastbone until it reached the top of her dress. He sniffed hard, withdrew the pistol and sat back again, placing it by the bottle of tuak. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good.’
I could hardly take my eyes from the gun as Domino counted the money from the fold and put it on the table. And when she was done, Alim’s hand whipped out and pinned hers to the wood, turning it over and taking another note from the wad. ‘Something for me.’
The rest she gave back to me, and Alim’s eyes followed it back into my pocket. Once again I looked at the pistol, thinking how easy it would be for him to take everything we had and send us out the door with nothing more than the clothes we were wearing. Or perhaps he would take our lives, too. No one knew we were here. No one would come running to our aid if they heard shots in the forest. No one would miss me.
But Alim relaxed, moving his hand away from the gun and reaching for his glass. He left the money where it was, a few lonely notes on the table, and raised his drink. Domino and I ignored ours and got to our feet, my legs stiff from having been folded beneath me. I shook away the discomfort and waited for Alim to light our way. He came alongside us, and stopped beside Domino.
‘Come to me anytime,’ he said, moving his face close to hers. ‘I give you what you want.’ And as he spoke, his eyes went to her chest again, looking down the top of her dress. His raised his hand to her hair, taking a strand of it between finger and thumb, lifting it to his nose. ‘Your hair smells like gold.’ He held it a moment longer, then flicked it away with a laugh.
Domino forced a smile and waited for him to move on ahead, light our path to the trapdoor where he stood to one side as we descended the ladder. Once we were out, he followed us, jumping the last few rungs onto the dirt beneath. He nodded once as we left.
As we walked, I couldn’t help glancing back to see Alim making his way towards the other house. ‘Christ, I thought he was going to kill us,’ I said, feeling my heart beating so hard in my chest it threatened to outrun itself. Now that Alim was gone, and we were away with our lives, my body slipped into a kind of shock. I had never felt so afraid and so alive. My whole body was raging, my limbs shaking, and yet, fight or flight, I don’t think either would have been possible. If Alim had pulled the trigger, put a bullet into Domino, I think I would have frozen like an animal. I would have frozen in fear and waited for him to do the same to me.
‘He wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘He needs us too much.’
I hardly even registered what she said. ‘What now?’ I asked as we reached the line of the trees. My legs felt as if they belonged to someone else, as if I was learning to walk for the first time. ‘Where we going now?’
Domino took her bag from her shoulder and put her hand inside, searching, then stopping. Her movements became more erratic as she searched further.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Dropped something,’ she said. ‘My iPod.’
‘You dropped it in there?’