Dark Horizons

by Dan Smith

  ‘I guess that’s something you haven’t seen much of,’ Domino said.

  ‘Usually I just get them from the supermarket,’ I told her.

  We passed a small collection of shops, more like stalls, selling knick-knacks and general household items. Pots and pans, piles of cloth wrapped in plastic, sacks of ground spices and leaves I didn’t recognise. The aroma from these was exotic and exciting, but tainted by the smell of the open drains, which ran along either side of the street.

  A brick building, this one painted pale green, stood out from the others. The walls were decorated with film posters for movies that might have been made in India. Long-haired beauties entangled in the arms of young, handsome men, almost effeminate with their high cheekbones and full lips. I couldn’t understand the words, the names of the films, and some I couldn’t even read because they were written in letters I didn’t recognise. The building had a wide shutter door at the front, the metal rolled high so that customers could walk straight in. I could see trays of fruit, sacks of rice, brightly coloured sweets and pretzel-shaped snacks. Bright pink and shocking green, the sort of thing no westerner would pick from a shelf. Above the door, in scripted letters, the word kedai was painted. Simply stated, this was a shop. The man inside, sitting in a rattan chair sipping black coffee from a glass, looked up as we passed, mumbling, ‘Horas’, his head turning to follow us until we were out of sight.

  We walked for a couple of minutes along the main street of the kampong, heading straight for the lake. At the water’s edge, things were quieter and I could hear the slap of the waves against the stone shore. An old man squatting on his haunches, untangling a fishing net, didn’t even look up as we passed.

  Domino led me along the shore towards a line of houses, just a few feet away from a short stone jetty with iron moorings. Here the villagers kept an eclectic collection of vessels, ranging from rowing boats to basic dugout canoes laden with nets, floats and what looked like lobster pots. There was even a bright red pedalo and, beside it, two single-engine motorboats. One of them had a pair of water skis and a couple of dirty yellow life jackets in the back.

  Domino muttered something under her breath as we passed the boats – ‘Shit. He’s here,’ it sounded like – and took me straight past all of these things.

  We went to the first house in the row, a whitewashed brick building, surrounded by tall, fan-shaped palms. It was topped with a distinctive saddle roof, made from rusted corrugated iron, but it didn’t have a trapdoor and it didn’t have a ladder. It was smaller than the traditional Batak home and it was more modern, with a front door and windows lined with mosquito nets. It was in keeping with the general style of what I’d seen of Toba, but it had a more up-to-date twist.

  Domino went straight to the front door, shooing away a mangy cat, and lifted her fist to knock, hesitating before rapping her knuckles on the edge of the screen. It was a hard, shallow tone, weak in the cloudy morning. The sound of the lake behind us was louder, the water lapping at the shore, buffeting the boats enough for them to bump together. A rhythmic, lazy thumping as the vessels nudged each other on the surface of the water.

  Domino knocked again, harder this time, but still the sound was dead.

  We waited a moment longer.

  ‘No one in,’ she said. ‘We should go. We leave now, we’ll get back home within the hour. Kurt will sort you out.’

  That name again.

  ‘One more time,’ I said through my teeth. ‘Please.’ I cradled my right arm with my left, trying to ease the pain.

  Domino raised her fist but stopped when she saw a shadow moving behind the green screen. ‘It’s him,’ she said, and before she could say any more, the figure was there, a large silhouette reaching out for the catch, pulling back the door, looking out at us. What surprised me most of all, apart from his size, was that he was European. His tanned skin was almost native in colour, but his features were not of this place. Fair hair, rounded eyes that might have been grey or blue. I guessed he was at least twenty years older than me, but might have been more. It was difficult to judge because he had a weathered look, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors. A face that had felt the wind, hands that had seen hard work.

  ‘You?’ he said, looking down at Domino. ‘What the hell do you want? You people—’

  ‘Hidayat,’ Domino said. ‘We need Hidayat.’

  The man stopped, raising his eyebrows and looking Domino up and down before saying, ‘What for?’

  ‘We need his help.’

  ‘That’s a good one. Why the hell d’you think he’d want to help you?’

  ‘He slipped.’ She motioned her head towards me. ‘On the path down the hill.’

  ‘Tough.’ The man looked at me now, running his eyes up and down me in the same way he’d done with Domino. ‘You’re new,’ he said. ‘I’ve not seen you before.’

  I nodded. ‘Please. I really need some help.’

  The man raised his eyebrows again. ‘Please? That’s a new one from you people. First time I ever heard one of you say please.’ He stayed where he was, one hand on the door, his arm stretched to hold it open. ‘Came down the path, eh?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Braver than you look.’

  ‘Let’s go.’ Domino touched my arm. ‘He’s not gonna help. I shouldn’t have even brought you here.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I said, thinking I couldn’t go any further.

  ‘Kurt will fix you,’ she tried to reassure me. ‘It’s not too far now.’

  ‘Kurt?’ the man scoffed.

  ‘Please.’ I looked up at him. The dope was wearing off and the pain was intensifying. I tried to lean against the door-frame, but I was too far away and I stumbled.

  The man stepped forward and grabbed me. He held me firm, shaking his head. ‘I’ll probably regret this, but you need more than Kurt. You need a proper doctor.’ He ran his free hand over his head and nodded. ‘OK, then, you better come in. I’ll wake Hidayat.’

  13

  Domino followed us into the house, coming straight into the sitting room. Although the building looked like a modern version of the traditional Batak house from the outside, on the inside it was more like the kind of home I was used to. There were no wooden pillars adorned with buffalo horns here. No mats to sit on, no fire pit in the ground. It wasn’t luxurious either, but it had furniture. A glass-topped rattan table served as the focal point for a two-seater sofa and two armchairs also made from rattan. The orange covers were worn through in places, but they looked comfortable.

  On the walls, large glass cases, six or seven at least, each one of them filled with the preserved colours of more than a hundred butterflies. The wings spread wide, the narrow bodies pinned to boards like Gulliver staked out by Lilliputians. They were beautiful and distasteful at the same time. Removed from the world outside so they could bring a cruel and tainted beauty into this place.

  ‘You better sit down,’ the man said, guiding me to one of the threadbare armchairs. ‘Wait here.’

  It was a relief to be off my feet, but Domino remained standing. She watched the man leave the room, her pale lip almost curling, her fine nose wrinkling. It was a look I’d never seen and it reminded me that I hardly knew her.

  ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ But before she could reply, the European returned, followed by a smaller man, thin and wiry, this one Indonesian. He was less weathered than his friend. His skin was clearer, his features finer, his manner more delicate. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and was tightening a checked sarong around his waist as he came. His hair was tousled and his eyes were hooded as if he’d just woken from a deep sleep. As he walked, there was a hint of him dragging one foot.

  ‘There.’ The European pointed at me. ‘Some kind of fall. Coming down the path, bloody idiot.’

  The Indonesian nodded and ran both hands over his face to wake himself. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked in English. His accent was good.

  ‘It’s his arm,’ said Domino. ‘I think—�
�

  ‘Not you,’ said the European. ‘Him.’

  He and the other man looked at me, waiting for me to speak.

  ‘My arm,’ I said, looking at Domino. ‘I fell.’

  ‘Hm,’ said the European. ‘Coming down the path. Fit for nothing more than mountain goats and snakes. Which are you?’

  The smaller man shook his head and smiled at me. ‘Don’t mind Richard,’ he said. ‘He acts like a bear sometimes, but he’s a very nice man. I’m Hidayat, by the way.’

  ‘Alex,’ I said.

  ‘An Englishman? Just like Richard.’

  I nodded.

  ‘No need to shake, I suppose,’ he said, indicating that I should stand, and he put his hands on me, taking my right arm, moving my left out of the way. He felt around the top of my bicep, probing higher, his fingers pressing around my shoulder. ‘It’s not your arm,’ he said. ‘It’s your shoulder.’

  ‘Broken?’

  Hidayat smiled. ‘No, no, not broken. Dislocated.’

  ‘Can you fix it?’ asked Domino, making Richard snap his head in her direction, daring her to speak again. She held up her hands and threw them down again.

  ‘Anterior dislocation,’ said Hidayat. ‘I can fix it, but it won’t be nice.’

  ‘Are you a doctor?’ I asked. It seemed an unlikely place to find a doctor.

  ‘I trained at one of your London hospitals, believe it or not, but I prefer a slower pace now. And the air here is so good.’ He took my left arm and guided it back to where it had been before, cradling my right. ‘Why don’t you lie down?’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘There’s somewhere you’d prefer?’

  I looked at Domino, who nodded once, very slightly, almost impossible to notice.

  ‘You want the pain to go away?’ asked Hidayat.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then lie down and I’ll fix it for you.’

  I took a deep breath and eased myself onto the floor, lying on my back and looking up at Hidayat.

  ‘You want something to help you relax? Nicotine, caffeine, something stronger?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ I said, glancing at the butterflies on the wall.

  ‘You sure? It can help. I have some hash if you want it. It’s good stuff.’

  ‘I’ve had enough already.’ The pain was crisp now, clear and biting, not fuzzy and dulled as it had been before. It was unpleasant, almost unbearable, but I wanted to feel the moment when he put it right. I wanted to feel the pain disappear, to sense the relief of removing a splinter, magnified countless times.

  He squatted down on one knee and took hold of my right arm, bending it at the elbow and rolling it across my body, then away. ‘You like butterflies?’

  ‘Not really. Maybe when they’re alive, but …’ The pain was intense and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to think of something other than having a stiletto forced into my shoulder socket.

  ‘A macabre pastime you’d think. Catching beauty and pinning it to a board. Naming it and keeping it.’ He repeated the movement, rolling backwards and forwards.

  ‘Not for me to say.’ My words were laboured.

  ‘Each to their own?’ He began to push a little harder. ‘How very English.’ He glanced back at Richard. ‘You’d be surprised how relaxing it can be. Catching, pressing, cataloguing. Not that I do so much of it these days.’

  ‘I—’ On the fifth or sixth iteration, there was an audible wet crunch as my shoulder slotted back into place and I felt an immediate release from the pain.

  I took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. I opened my eyes and looked at Hidayat, not knowing how to thank him for doing such a thing.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ he smiled.

  ‘No, really. Thank you.’

  Hidayat stood up as if it were an effort for him, using the couch for support, then he offered me a hand. ‘You need a sling for that. For a couple of days, that’s all.’ He turned to Richard and spoke to him in Indonesian. Richard hesitated, rolled his eyes, but when Hidayat didn’t reply, Richard left the room, returning with a folded cloth, the pattern red and indigo.

  ‘This is a traditional cloth. Ulos ni tondi,’ Hidayat said. ‘Cloth of the soul.’ He opened it out and re-folded it in a different way, making a sling for my arm. ‘We can wear it on our shoulders or around our hips. Sometimes on our head. We Bataks wear it for rituals and ceremonies, and we give it as a gift – an act of giving warmth and honour. And love.’ He looked at Richard as he reached around my neck to fit it in place, slipping behind me to tie it. ‘And it’s a way of blessing you with good health, so today we can use it to make you better, OK?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Just promise me that you’ll return it one day.’

  ‘Thank you. I will.’

  ‘There,’ he said when he was done. ‘You should be OK. Anywhere else, I’d tell you a hospital visit would be a good idea, but here … well, you’ll probably be all right.’ He glanced at Domino, who remained standing, looking uncomfortable.

  Hidayat cleared his throat. ‘Are you hungry? You should eat something. Let me get you some food.’

  I opened my mouth, but Domino spoke first, saying, ‘No. Come on, Alex. We have to go.’

  ‘Wait.’ Hidayat held up a hand. ‘I’ll get you something. To take with you.’ And before either of us could answer, he swished from the room, his ankles pounding the edges of his tightly tied sarong. Again, I noticed the way he dragged his left foot. It seemed more pronounced now.

  The three of us stood in silence. Beyond this room, there were sounds of movements, clattering and clinking, but in here, there was nothing. Richard watched Domino, a scowl fixed on his face. Occasionally he glanced at me, but only for the briefest moment before he looked back at Domino.

  When Hidayat returned, he handed me a small bundle wrapped in paper. ‘You need something after pain like that. Something sweet. Make sure you eat it, Alex.’ He looked me in the eye when he used my name.

  I took the package and thanked him, wanting to show more gratitude. Hidayat struck me as a good man, and my instinct was to avoid insulting him, but my loyalty was to Domino.

  ‘How about the cut?’ Hidayat asked. ‘What happened there?’ He put his hand to my head, turning it gently to look closer.

  Domino came forward, knocking his hand away from me. ‘Enough,’ she said. ‘Time to go, Alex.’

  Hidayat jumped in surprise and Richard moved towards Domino, raising his hands.

  ‘No.’ Hidayat stepped in front of his friend. ‘No, it’s OK.’

  ‘Who the hell does she think she is?’ said Richard. ‘Coming here for help, then—’

  ‘Leave it,’ said Hidayat.

  ‘No, I won’t leave it.’ Richard moved around him, coming for Domino, pulling himself to his full height and staring down at her. ‘Get out,’ he hissed at her. ‘Get the fuck out of our house.’

  Domino stared up at him, and I noticed that her bag was still over her shoulder, but one hand was now hidden inside and I remembered what I’d seen up on the path after I’d fallen.

  ‘We should go,’ I said, stepping between them.

  ‘Yes, you should,’ said Richard. ‘You should go now. Fuck off back to Kurt and tell him not to come down here again.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said to Hidayat; then I looked at Domino. ‘Come on.’ I took her arm, the one that was now half buried in her bag, and I pulled it out, grasping her hand and turning her round to face the door.

  I wanted to stay longer, to thank Hidayat once more for what he’d done. Richard was aggressive and unpleasant, but Hidayat had been gentle and caring. It was unfair of me to leave like this, but the animosity between Domino and Richard was crackling in the air around us.

  I ushered her towards the door, pulling back the screen and encouraging Domino outside. I stopped and turned to look at the two men, Richard standing defiant, Hidayat embarrassed, a half-smile on his face, one hand lifted in a wave. ‘Rest your arm …’ said Hidayat.

  ‘Thanks. And
I’m sorry about—’

  ‘Just go,’ said Richard. ‘And don’t come back with her. Or any of the others.’

  I nodded, wanting to leave now.

  ‘Kurt will take care of him,’ Domino said from behind me.

  ‘Kurt’s bloody dangerous.’ Richard stared over my shoulder at her.

  ‘Come on.’ She was leading me now, pulling at the back of my shirt. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  I began to turn, following her as she stepped down from the house and walked out past the boats, but Hidayat put a hand on his friend’s chest and came to me, his movement laboured. He touched my arm, stopping me and speaking in a quiet voice.

  ‘Be careful. Those people. I don’t know how you know them, but, well, maybe you don’t want to get mixed up with them. You seem so … so nice.’

  ‘What people?’

  ‘Her.’ He glanced over my shoulder. ‘Kurt too. And the American. He’s the worst of them.’

  I opened my mouth to speak, to ask what he was talking about, but Richard was coming over and Hidayat shook his head. ‘Don’t take any notice of Richard. If you need to come here, then come. If we can help you, we will.’

  ‘Come on,’ Domino shouted.

  ‘Even the smallest thing, you can come. But them?’ He shook his head again. ‘Don’t bring them here. Not any of them. You seem like a nice guy, Alex. Whatever happens, don’t let them get under your skin.’

  14

  Skirting along the edge of the lake, past the boats and away from the houses, I stopped and looked out at the water. Domino urged me on, telling me it wasn’t so far now. Into the line of trees ahead and up the hill. Half an hour maybe, no more than that.

  ‘Let’s sit for a moment,’ I said. ‘It feels like we’ve been walking for ever.’

  ‘It’s what travellers do. They travel.’

  ‘Yeah, but they also stop and look around from time to time, otherwise what’s the point?’

  ‘New places? New people?’

  ‘Like them back there, you mean? Hidayat and Richard.’ I adjusted my sling and sat down in the long-bladed grass, watched a tiny grasshopper make room for me as I opened out the package Hidayat had given me.