Dark Horizons

by Dan Smith

I nodded, not sure I wanted to speak to anyone else. I’d been enjoying my own company all day, getting to know myself better than I’d been able to among the trees and the people.

  ‘Travelling?’ he asked.

  I hesitated, remembering Kurt’s disdain for travellers and tourists, then I smiled and nodded. ‘Yeah. Travelling.’

  ‘Brave man.’

  ‘Brave?’

  ‘Travelling on your own. Most people, they have someone with them.’

  I had a vague recollection of Domino saying something similar. I’d never thought of myself as brave. ‘Or maybe just stupid,’ I said.

  He laughed at that, looking round at his friends and nodding. Then he leaned over the table and held out his hand. ‘I’m Bas,’ he said. ‘Sebastiaan. And this is Christina.’ The girl at the table lifted a hand and smiled. She was petite with dark curly hair cut short and unflattering.

  ‘Alex,’ I told him.

  ‘And these two crazy guys are Gaz and Paulie.’

  Still shaking Bas’s hand, as if he didn’t intend to let me go, I raised my left hand and said, ‘Hi.’

  ‘You German?’ I asked, narrowing my eyes at Bas. ‘That a German accent?’

  He laughed. ‘German? No fuckin’ way, man. Dutch. Not these two guys, though. These two are your countrymen.’ He pointed at me and put his head to one side. ‘English, right?’

  I smiled and nodded.

  Bas invited me to come over and sit with them, asked about my black eye. I told him I slipped getting off the ferry and they all nodded with sympathy. He said he and Christina met Gaz and Paulie a couple of days ago, showed them the best places to chill out on the island and told them where to get the things they wanted to smoke, shoot, sniff or pop. He said he’d do the same for me if I liked; he knew a girl – ‘white, not some dodgy Indonesian’ – who could get anything, but I shook my head, telling him I wasn’t into that stuff. And I wondered if I knew his dealer. We might have even shared a longhouse.

  ‘Not into it? You are English, right? I thought all you guys were into it. I mean, you gotta be into it here. It’s the right place for it. The best place, man. You’re not into it, you never tried it.’

  I just showed him a brief smile, thinking about the tablet Kurt had given me. I imagined it was just the kind of thing that a guy like Bas was looking for. Maybe he’d even like it up there with Kurt and his gang.

  ‘I can show you places,’ he said to me. ‘Places like you never seen.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ I said.

  Bas gave me a curious look. ‘Yeah? You know somewhere?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nah. Not really.’

  I had a couple of drinks with Bas and his friends, saying goodnight at around half ten. By then we were all quite drunk and Christina was clinging to Bas like he was the best catch she was ever going to get. She had her arms wrapped around him and I envied him in a way. Earlier on, sober and in daylight, I’d thought I could forget about Domino, but now, in the cool darkness, wandering back to my guest house, alone and drunk, I didn’t feel so clear about that any more.

  I followed the path using the light that spilled from one or two of the other cottages, leaving the sounds of the dining area behind me. I let myself into my room and sat on the edge of the bed for some time, listening to the lake caressing the shore, feeling alone. In the corner of the room, where the white wall met the ceiling, a gecko was sitting, waiting for something tasty to come its way.

  ‘Eat them up, little guy,’ I said aloud. ‘Keep the little buggers from biting me.’

  It waited, motionless, before giving up and moving away, its body waggling from side to side as it searched for another corner, another spot to lie in wait.

  I climbed into bed in just my shorts, and looked up at the gecko once more before switching off the light.

  Somewhere around midnight, according to the luminous dial on my cheap watch, I was woken by a low rumbling. I sat up in the darkness and strained my ears. Again the sound came, this time louder, longer, and I climbed out of bed and threw on my shirt and put on my flip-flops. I left my room and went down to the lake.

  The water was beginning to chop, a cool wind cutting over its surface and somewhere in the distance, further east from where I was standing, thunder rumbled once more. I sat down on the concrete jetty and watched lightning flash on the other side of the lake. Bright and daring, followed by the low growl of thunder, rolling and breaking in the electric atmosphere, with nothing to stop its progress. As the minutes passed the storm grew ever closer, a beast approaching, the lightning reflected on the surface of the lake and the thunder shaking through me, surprising me every time it bellowed. And when the rain came, hard and heavy, I stayed where I was, letting it soak right through me. The dense, cleansing downpour battering the lake, crashing down on me, the earthy sound of the drops bringing to mind the scatter of soil on dead skin. I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sky and I thought about the story Domino had told me. About how the lake was formed.

  And I wondered if something had angered the gods.

  37

  When I woke, the morning air was sweet with the scent of wet grass and damp soil. There was a brightness which I hadn’t seen since coming here. A freshness. The rain had washed everything clean. It had rinsed the cataracts from my eyes.

  I’d slept well after the storm, settling in my comfortable bed as the beast had rolled on, moving overhead, searching for other places to wipe clean.

  Showered and dressed, I ate alone – no sign of Bas and his friends – taking a plateful of the ripe, fresh fruit on display. Papaya, pineapple, rambutans, mangosteens and bananas. A colourful array of the sweetest things the country had to display. In the palms by the veranda, bright birds, bee-eaters, swooped to snatch insects from the air, their bodies a flash of green and blue and red.

  Feeling as cleansed on the inside as I did on the outside, I set out on the road, making for the place where I’d hired the moped. Early as it was, the stall was open and the man was smiling just as he had been yesterday, happy to take my money. He unlocked the chain, wheeled the first of the mopeds over to me and exchanged it for a wad of cash, which he tucked into his pocket.

  The moped was slow and noisy, but I was glad to be out and on the move. I passed paddy fields and small settlements of Batak houses, many with corrugated iron across the saddled roofs, much of it rusted and worn by the elements. Clothes were strung on wires between them, and great mats were laid out before them with rice spread out to dry in the sun.

  I passed through Tuk Tuk without stopping and drove on to Ambarita. Kurt would’ve scoffed at me signing up for a guided tour with some of the other pale tourists, but I’d left that behind now, and gathering with the others made me feel as if I were raising my fingers at him. Rebelling. Hell, I might even go and find that hotel shaped like a fish.

  Our guide was a serious-looking man, hardly a smile. A pink and white striped shirt, white trousers and sandals. He gathered us all together using English that was thick with accent but far better than my ‘Bahasa Indonesia’. I looked around at the other tourists, wondering if they even spoke English, and it struck me that whoever these people were, wherever they came from, the most assured way of being understood was to speak English.

  There were a lot of children running around, pulling at our shirts, trying to sell chewing gum, sweets, T-shirts. I bought Chiclets from one of them, maybe ten years old with a worn, dirty T-shirt, shorts that were too big for him and nothing on his feet but dust and scabs. I wanted to do him a favour, but it just encouraged the others. They thought I was the only one going to buy anything so I was worth a shot, all of them crowding round me like I was a pop star. They were disturbing the guide’s patter, so he chased them away with harsh words, taking off his sandal and slapping one of them hard as he ran away.

  He must’ve seen the look on my face because he waved a hand and shook his head. ‘My son,’ he said.

  A few people in the small group laughed, brin
ging a wry smile to his face that was gone within a couple of seconds. I turned away and watched two scruffy dogs, amber fur, sniffing and dismissing each other before parting ways, ignoring the chickens that scratched in the dirt.

  I didn’t listen much when he took us into the longhouse and told us how the Bataks used to live. This longhouse was empty, but I’d been into ones with life soaked into their walls. Coming out of the house, he took us down to the stone chairs. This was what Kurt and Michael had tried to recreate in their own community by dragging rocks from further up the hillside. These chairs were not just rocks, though, they were carved from rocks. The guide told us this was where the council would have been held, then became enthused when he recounted the gory bit. The part Kurt had so relished.

  ‘This,’ he said, leading us to the execution stone, ‘was where they took people to be punished.’

  We followed him like sacrificial sheep, listening as he talked over the sound of a cockerel that crowed not far away. We studied the stone, this one mottled and old, the surface almost white in places where the elements had pounded it. It was a different shape from Kurt’s. This one flatter, more square, and there was another stone close by that was used as a block, a place to behead rather than disembowel. The guide told us about the cannibalism. Dragged his son over, blindfolded him, made him lie on the rock. He took a dark, patterned ulos cloth from beside the stone and put it over his son’s face and explained how the ancients would have sliced him open. Then they moved to the block and the boy got to his knees and, as the guide spoke, he chopped the edge of his hand down across his son’s neck and the boy gave a less than convincing death rattle and slipped sideways off the rock. The gathering of tourists laughed, the young boy stood and bowed, then his father described how the ancients ate the dead man’s organs and drank his blood. A tale well practised, told time and again for entertainment and revulsion.

  Seeing it like this was strange. Not at all like it had been to see Kurt’s execution stone. This felt less real, as if I were watching it all on a screen. It was nothing compared to what I had seen among the trees. Up there it had been more sinister, more possible. Without the jokey re-enactment, without the laughing tourists. With just the wind and the trees and the dirt and the dark.

  After the mock execution there was a photo opportunity for the tourists, taking turns sitting in the bench seat, putting their arms around the stone figure. I’d had enough by then, I didn’t need to visit the gift shop, so I slipped away, decided to go it alone, get back on my moped, head out to the water’s edge and stare at the lake for a while.

  On my way over to where I’d left the moped, though, something caught my attention. The sun was high and the shadows were short, but the spaces between some of the iron-roofed buildings were shaded from the sun. In one of those spaces, grey without direct sunlight, were three figures, not wanting to be seen.

  I moved to one side of the track, slowed my pace and watched them conducting their deal. The two with their backs to me, blocking the third from view, looked like tourists. Young, no older than me, small packs on their backs, making some kind of exchange. I guessed drugs, and thought about the penalties if they were caught. Prison. Death. Up there it hadn’t felt so dangerous. Nobody was there to see; everything was shielded by the trees and the sense of otherworldliness. But down here, it was different.

  I carried on walking, pretending not to notice, surprised at how quickly it happened. Within a few seconds, the young tourists were coming out of the shadow, rejoining the track and walking towards me. They looked at me as they passed, one of them hiding a guilty look that stained him, his eyes averting as soon as they met mine, going to the ground, thinking of something to say to his travelling partner.

  I glanced over my shoulder once they’d passed, shaking my head a little, and when I turned back to the road, I saw the dealer come out of the shadow and I recognised her immediately. Freia.

  I’d planned on going to a few other places before heading back to my guest house, but after seeing Freia, I didn’t much feel like it. It reminded me what I was escaping from, and I realised that I hadn’t gone far enough. I’d languished, avoided making a decision. I’d hung around close to Domino, waiting for an explanation – as if anything might be good enough to justify what I’d seen. Coming down from the hillside was coming back to reality, but it was only now that my epiphany came. I could hardly believe I’d even considered waiting. I made myself imagine not seeing Domino again. I pictured myself leaving Samosir today, and I knew it was the best thing to do. Domino had been an image, not a reality. I didn’t need her. I didn’t want her. I didn’t want any of it. The drugs and the graves were all I saw now.

  So, returning to my losmen that afternoon, I decided I’d waited long enough – that what I was waiting for was not worth it. I was going to leave that place. I was going to put my toothbrush and my new T-shirts and my spare trousers into my backpack and take the ferry to Parapat. I’d buy a proper rucksack, some more clothes, a few necessities, then I’d do all the things I’d planned on doing with my mother’s money. I’d take the bus to Brastagi and climb the volcano. I’d see the apes in Bukit Lawang, go to Aceh, then head out to Bali. I couldn’t wait any more.

  I returned the moped to the warung and headed for my room, spotting Bas and Christina coming in the opposite direction. Bas held up his hand, a half-wave, and they stopped in front of me. ‘Alex,’ he said. ‘You been telling me lies? I thought you said you were travelling alone.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘So who’s the girl?’ he asked, glancing at Christina, then punching me on the arm like he was my buddy. ‘She’s pretty, Alex. No wonder you kept her quiet.’

  ‘She’s sexy,’ Christina said.

  ‘Where?’ I asked. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Over by reception.’ Bas pointed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I heard her asking about you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, walking past.

  ‘Hey,’ called Christina. ‘You want to get together, the four of us, we can …’

  But I lost the end of her sentence as I made my way along the path, my stomach turning. I was not going to be persuaded. Whatever Domino had to say, I would tell her how I felt and what I was going to do. I was going to leave, no matter what.

  I turned the corner, heading for reception, expecting to see Domino waiting for me, sitting at one of the tables, or standing with her back to me. But it wasn’t Domino.

  I stopped, shook my head as I approached. It wasn’t the first time I’d expected Domino but got Helena instead.

  ‘Alex,’ she said, pushing out a chair so I could sit down. ‘Drink?’ She looked good. Her dark hair loose, her blue eyes smiling.

  ‘How did you know I’d be here?’ I was pleased to see her, glad to know she was safe.

  ‘Domino told me.’

  ‘She told you? Why?’

  Helena waved her hand, attracting the woman’s attention and raising her bottle. The woman nodded and went inside.

  ‘She wanted me to come and see you. Kurt sent me and Freia down to make a few sales—’

  ‘After what he said that night? He let you leave?’

  ‘He thinks you’re gone, Alex. He knows I have nowhere to go. And I guess he thinks it’s time I start earning my keep. Make me one of them.’

  ‘I saw Freia. In Ambarita.’

  ‘You speak to her?’

  ‘She didn’t see me. Does she know you’re here?’

  ‘No one knows except Domino. Kurt’s pretty pissed off about you leaving.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But he’d let you come back if it’s what she wanted.’

  ‘I’m not coming back.’

  She drained her beer and put the bottle down on the metal table. ‘What happened up there?’ She flicked her head in the direction of the hillside, an almost imperceptible movement, as if she’d made it without thinking. ‘To make you run away like that? Is it because of Michael? Your bruises … I’m sorry, Alex.’

  Th
e woman came to the table with two bottles on a tray, two glasses. I poured my beer into the glass and took a sip.

  ‘She wants you to come back. That’s what she asked me to tell you.’

  It was ironic that Domino had asked Helena to bring the message. ‘She doesn’t know about us, does she?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’ The smile she offered made her look a little sad.

  I studied her face. ‘Why didn’t she come here herself ?’

  Helena shrugged. ‘Maybe she thinks you’ve seen what you’re missing. That you’ll be bored and go back to her. She didn’t need to come.’

  ‘She said that?’

  ‘No, but she’ll be thinking it. She won’t leave that place for you or anyone, Alex. It’s part of her. And she’ll never leave her brother, either. You said it yourself. It’s what makes them different from the rest of us. They have someone.’

  ‘That can’t be true, though. The others, they must have people. What about Alban and Evie? They’re together.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You and Michael.’

  ‘You’re joking now.’

  I reached out for my beer. I took a drink and held it in my hand, resting the bottom of the glass on my thigh. Condensation soaked through my trousers. ‘I was about to leave the island. I was going back to my room to pack my stuff. I’ve had enough. Can’t believe I even waited this long. I shouldn’t have come here.’

  ‘So why did you come?’

  ‘She asked me to wait, but I guess you already know that.’

  She shook her head. ‘We almost made it the other night.’

  ‘Yeah. But when Kurt was there and … I just had to leave.’

  ‘I know. But then she persuaded you to wait for her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So what changed your mind? What made you want to leave now?’

  ‘I saw Freia in Ambarita and it was like something just clicked. A wake-up call. I can’t believe I’ve been such a bloody idiot. Maybe it’s that place, maybe it got under my skin more than I thought. Her, too.’

  ‘And you’re not going back? Not even for Domino?’