‘Remy de Brive.’ He stared at his hands, wishing her away.
The woman perched on the seat next to him. ‘And where are you from, Remy?’
‘Saint-Germain-des-Prés.’
‘Oh, I’m from Saint-Sulpice. Small world.’ She began scanning a list on her clipboard.
‘Too small,’ muttered Remy. He glanced at an English-language newspaper lying on a waiting room table. Islamic extremism strikes Bali, the headline screamed.
‘Was that your wife?’ Marie asked, motioning to the emergency doors.
‘No.’ He expelled the syllable with such force that the woman flinched and Remy felt bad. ‘I … would like her to be,’ he explained. ‘But I may not get the chance to ask.’
I don’t deserve the chance, he thought.
Marie laid a hand on his arm. ‘It’s hard to wait for news.’
You don’t understand. I failed Lorenzo. I let him die.
Remy shook his head, remembering how he’d called out to Lorenzo, urging him to leave while he still had the chance. And then, rather than climbing back into the bathroom and dragging the Italian out, he’d turned and fled himself. He’d slid down the bamboo ladder into the car park and watched dazed from the ground as dozens of uniformed men stormed up over the wall. Seconds later, he’d heard gunfire, and then he was bundled into a waiting emergency vehicle. As he was borne safely away, he looked back and saw that the animal sanctuary was in flames.
Marie looked sympathetic. ‘There’s a counsellor here from the American consulate. Or a British chaplain, if you would prefer?’
A psychologist or a priest. Remy snorted and shook his head. Neither of those professions could help him. No one could.
‘You’ve been through a lot,’ she said, patting his arm now.
‘Thank you, Marie,’ he said, shrugging her hand away. ‘I’d like to be alone, please.’
‘I understand. But I am sure you would like to speak to your family in France? Here.’ She removed a mobile phone from her pocket. ‘It’s a free service.’
He stared at the phone, feeling inexplicably empty.
‘Or … would you like me to call someone for you?’ Marie asked gently.
Remy pictured his parents in Paris, anxiously awaiting news. Glued to media updates, imagining all manner of catastrophic scenarios.
‘Here.’ Marie passed him a notebook and pen. ‘Write down a name and number.’
He scrawled down his mother’s details, then returned the notebook.
‘I will tell her you are safe and well,’ said Marie, standing up to go. ‘And that you will call very soon.’
Remy nodded, knowing full well that he couldn’t talk to his parents, not now. He couldn’t possibly explain that he was waiting for news of a woman with whom he’d fallen madly in love. A woman who didn’t conform to their vision of a suitable match, who wouldn’t embrace their wealth, and who would probably question the inequities of their privileged lifestyle. He couldn’t describe how, despite her fundamental foreigness—in culture, class and world view—the possibility of losing Janelle was more painful than the prospect of enduring their disapproval for the rest of his life.
He couldn’t tell his parents this, not yet. Not until he knew whether Janelle would survive.
‘She’s going to be fine,’ said the Balinese doctor, jotting notes onto a medical chart.
Remy stared at Janelle, lying pallid against the expanse of white hospital linen, her arm connected to a drip. Her eyes remained closed, even now.
He didn’t dare believe it. ‘But what about her head?’
The doctor slipped the medical chart back into an opaque folder, then snapped it shut. ‘The wound was deep, it needed twenty-two stitches. The good news is that it didn’t penetrate the base of the skull. We can remove the stitches in ten to fourteen days.’ The doctor motioned at the IV drip. ‘We are giving her precautionary antibiotics.’
‘Are you sure there is no damage to the brain?’
The doctor looked mildly irked. ‘At first we thought she had a coup-contrecoup injury. Which in English is, er …’
‘I am French,’ said Remy. ‘I know what it is. Trauma to both sides of the head.’
‘My apologies. I assumed you were Australian.’ The doctor smiled. ‘Foreigners all sound the same to me.’
The doctor’s pager vibrated on his belt, but he ignored it. ‘We scanned Janelle’s brain using an MRI, but there was no evidence of swelling. No sign of white matter lesions or other trauma, only mild contusion, consistent with a localised injury. Something sliced into Janelle’s head, probably a piece of metal. But it wasn’t an impact blow.’
‘But she was barely conscious,’ Remy countered.
‘Yes, she lost quite a lot of blood and went into mild shock,’ the doctor explained. ‘Dizziness and weakness, passing out or having trouble standing up—these are all symptoms of shock.’
Remy gestured at Janelle. ‘Is she still in shock?’
The doctor’s smile was warmer now. ‘No, she is just sleeping. Were you the one who helped her at the animal sanctuary?’
‘Well, er … I tried.’ Remy felt suddenly defensive. ‘I put pressure on the head wound and tried to wrap it up, but the bandage kept falling open. I elevated her feet, kept her warm, gave her fluids. Just basic first aid.’
‘You probably saved her life,’ said the doctor. ‘Shock can be fatal if left untreated.’
‘Oh.’ Remy stared in surprise.
‘You did very well,’ the doctor said. ‘Most people cannot think clearly in an emergency, especially when they are under threat themselves.’
Remy nodded, recalling the Australian man who had refused to leave the café. How many hostages had stayed behind with him? And when the guards had returned, what had become of them? His eyes began to smart.
‘When will she wake up?’
The doctor shrugged. ‘When she is ready. Have you been examined?’
‘In triage,’ said Remy. ‘I am not an urgent case. I will wait here until she wakes up.’
‘Alright.’ The doctor moved towards the door. ‘I will tell my colleagues you are here. Someone will come for you soon.’ He pointed to a sleeper chair in the corner. ‘Try to get some rest. We may have to bring other patients in here. There aren’t many beds left.’
‘Of course,’ said Remy. ‘Thank you, doctor.’
He waited until the doctor had closed the door before pushing the sleeper chair across the room, sliding it next to Janelle’s bed. A hand crank allowed him to carefully lower her bed; when the two were level, he stretched out on the chair beside her. Wary of bumping the cannula inserted in the back of her wrist, he reached for her hand.
It was the first time he had lain down in three days, and the sensation was overwhelming. His body felt as if it had been immersed in warm water, and he realised the extent of his physical tension throughout the siege. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Janelle’s chest, and his eyelids became heavier. His breath became deeper, circular; he’d been breathing rapidly for the past seventy-two hours, he now understood.
I want to spend it with her, he thought. I want to spend my last breath with her. It was the only certainty that remained.
Holding fast to Janelle’s fingers, and reassured by the knowledge that she would survive, Remy succumbed to sleep.
He awoke with a start. For a few horrendous moments he lay stiff and unmoving, his eyes closed, convinced he was still at the animal sanctuary. Then he opened his eyes and saw the IV drip, and realised where he was. A clock on the wall told him it was four-thirty. The same afternoon? He couldn’t have slept very long. Wiping a trail of saliva from the corner of his mouth, he pulled himself upright to check on Janelle.
‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ she said. She was lying on her side, one hand propped beneath her cheek, fully conscious for the first time in days.
Remy beamed, leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her.
You’re back.
He pressed his nose
into her hair, letting tears of relief roll down his face.
I love you.
He was desperate to tell her so.
‘Ouch,’ she said, pulling away. ‘My head hurts.’
He slapped his forehead. ‘I’m sorry. Your stitches.’
‘I’m the one who should be apologising. And thanking you. From what I can remember at the animal park …’ She smiled wanly. ‘You were there for me the whole time.’
He reached for her hand and grinned at her, almost giddy with anticipation.
‘Janelle,’ he said. ‘I have been thinking. Every minute of the siege, I was thinking, if we actually survive this …’ He squeezed her hand between his. ‘I need to tell you something I’ve never said to anyone else.’
Janelle’s face was weary. But he couldn’t wait any longer to tell her what was inside him. The siege at the sanctuary had taught him that if he let this opportunity pass, it might never come so perfectly again.
He stood up and pushed the sleeper chair away, then slid down onto his knees next to her bed. ‘Janelle, I love you.’ He searched her face, awaiting the expression of delight, words of reciprocity, or a passionate kiss.
As she continued to stare at him, Remy waited in an excruciating limbo.
Her lips parted, as if she was on the verge of saying something, but nothing came out.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘I … I’m surprised.’
‘Why?’
‘Have you seen a doctor yet, Remy?’ she asked. ‘Are you delirious?’
His mind whirled. ‘What do you mean?’ He realised suddenly that he had not considered for a moment what Janelle might think. He’d been confident, somehow, that she understood his feelings and shared them, and that his declaration would make as much sense to her as it did to him.
She sighed. ‘I remember when we were parasailing. You talked a lot about French women. How they wouldn’t wear zinc or rash shirts or …’
‘Non, non. You are so refreshing for me, Janelle,’ he said. ‘You are not pretentious. I love that.’ He gripped her hand. ‘Remember the shoulder massage at the intimacy workshop? I touched you and it was like … electricity. I had never experienced anything like it. I had to leave the room.’
Janelle looked confused. ‘You said you had gastro.’
‘I lied,’ he confessed. ‘I didn’t want everyone else to know. But then, at the tooth-filing ceremony, I realised I had to tell you how I felt. The manhood rite showed me that I need to start taking more responsibility for my feelings and actions. But I didn’t get the chance to tell you all this … before the animal sanctuary.’
She lowered her eyes.
‘There is something else, isn’t there?’ He felt sick to the stomach. ‘It is the YouTube clip, yes? I am so sorry for that. It was a stupid mistake.’
Janelle shook her head.
He stared at her. ‘You … don’t feel the same way?’ He pulled himself up off his knees and sat awkwardly on the edge of her bed.
‘Remy.’ Her eyes glistened. ‘We’ve just lived through something dreadful. We’re still in hospital. We don’t even understand what’s happened to us. Well, I don’t. I need to recover. I’m very honoured, Remy, but … it feels like an extreme response to an extreme situation.’
‘It is extreme,’ Remy agreed vehemently. ‘Because life is so short, we have seen that at the animal sanctuary. Why should I wait? I love you! We love each other, n’est-ce pas?’
She looked troubled. ‘I … I don’t know, Remy. It’s all happened so fast. We’ve only just met. We haven’t even kissed.’
‘You’re right.’ He smiled. ‘Would you like to?’ He leaned towards her, but she turned her face away.
A curious numbness spread through his chest, a discomfort far greater than anything he’d experienced during the siege. Slowly, he released Janelle’s hand.
There was a cautious knock on the door. It swung inward, and three figures appeared in the doorway.
‘They’re here!’ cried a familiar voice. Pak Tony rushed into the room, reaching the bed in several bounds. Tears ran down his cheeks as he hugged Remy first, and then moved to Janelle’s side. ‘I’m so glad you’re okay,’ he said, clasping her hand.
‘Oh!’ Janelle cried, looking behind him. ‘Cara, is that you? And Annie?’ She gasped. ‘I thought you were …’
‘Me too,’ said Annie, hurrying to the bedside. Pak Tony stepped aside, beaming, and the American hugged first Janelle, then Remy. ‘I didn’t think I’d live to see any of you again.’
Cara joined them now, wrapping an arm around Janelle’s shoulders, then pulling back. ‘You look so much better than you did. Are you alright?’
Janelle nodded, clearly overcome.
‘And as for you …’ Cara turned and smiled at Remy. ‘Come here, hero.’ She pulled him into a tight hug. He received it numbly.
‘Is Tito alright?’ he asked, remembering the little boy Cara had cared for throughout the siege.
‘They had to operate on his arm, but he’s going to be okay. Thanks to you and Lorenzo.’ She turned to Pak Tony. ‘Do you know, Remy held off the guards while Lorenzo got Tito and me out?’
Remy’s face reddened. ‘It wasn’t like that …’
Cara smiled knowingly. ‘You won’t be able to stay out of the limelight forever, Remy. The world will want to know how you and Lorenzo managed to rescue so many hostages. Where is Lorenzo?’ She looked around the room.
Remy was stunned into silence. Gradually, the realisation sank in: no one else knew. After their escape, the hostages had been shunted into waiting emergency vehicles and taken away immediately. Remy was the only one who’d been there at the very end.
‘He was killed,’ he whispered finally. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Cara seemed to shrink before his eyes. Annie covered her face, and Janelle began to weep quietly. Pak Tony simply gaped, aghast.
‘Lorenzo was the hero,’ murmured Remy. ‘I didn’t do anything, apart from what he told me to do. He helped all the hostages get through the bathroom window. But when the guards came, I …’ He faltered. ‘I couldn’t help him anymore.’
I didn’t help him. The silence in the room was censorious, Remy felt.
At length, he wiped his eyes. ‘Lorenzo was the true hero.’
‘His wife is asking for him,’ said Pak Tony, shakily. ‘She’s waiting outside for some news.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Annie. ‘That poor, poor woman.’
‘I’ll go to her now,’ said Pak Tony. ‘She must be told.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Annie.
‘Thank you.’ Pak Tony looked relieved. ‘Henry is on the second floor now, too. He came out of a coma this afternoon. They’re expecting him to make a full recovery.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ Janelle smiled through her tears.
Remy felt a rush of relief, too—followed almost instantly by renewed sadness for Lorenzo. Only he had been lost. Brave, clear-thinking Lorenzo.
‘Henry’s allowed visitors, but he can’t move much yet.’ Pak Tony looked sheepish. ‘He was injured rescuing me. Another tale of bravery. Who would have thought it when we started Fearless?’ He shook his head. ‘It was only last Sunday, but it feels like a lifetime ago.’
No wonder Janelle rejected me, Remy thought suddenly. Who tells someone they love them less than a week after meeting them?
There was a soft tap at the door and the group turned as one. Remy half expected it to be Henry or, absurdly, Lorenzo. But a Balinese nurse stepped into the room and nodded to the group.
‘Mister Remy?’ She looked apologetic. ‘The doctor has sent me. Please come to consulting room three for your check.’
Remy nodded and stood up from the bed to go.
‘Wait a moment, Remy,’ said Pak Tony. He turned back to the others. ‘I have an idea. What we’ve been through …’ he raked a hand through his hair, ‘it feels surreal. Maybe we can talk about it a little later this evening? We could share supper together in Henry’s roo
m?’
The others nodded.
‘Will they … let us do that in a hospital?’ asked Annie.
‘This is Bali, remember,’ said Pak Tony wryly. ‘But I’ll check with the nurses and let you know if there’s a problem.’
Remy nodded too. It seemed churlish to do otherwise.
‘Alright then,’ said Pak Tony, smiling now. ‘Let’s meet at eight-thirty tonight in Henry’s room. I’ll bring supper. And if any of you needs to come back to Puri Damai before then, just call Pak Ketut to be picked up.’
‘We don’t have our phones,’ said Janelle. ‘They took them at the animal sanctuary.’
‘You can use the hospital’s, I’m sure,’ said Pak Tony. ‘Some of the embassy staff have phones available, too. The Australian consulate is one of them. Annie and I will check on that after we’ve seen Lavinia.’
‘Thank you.’ Janelle smiled gratefully. ‘I’d like to call my family.’
‘I’d better go see the doctor now,’ said Remy, moving towards the door. He needed to get away from Janelle, and his growing feeling of humiliation, as quickly as possible.
‘And I need to check on Tito,’ said Cara. ‘Are you okay by yourself, Janelle, for a while?’
‘I’m fine.’ Janelle smiled. ‘All thanks to Remy.’ He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with her. ‘See you tonight,’ she called, as he walked out of the room.
Remy knew he couldn’t possibly face her again. It had been presumptuous and foolish of him to declare his love for her, just hours after their escape from a terrorist siege resulting in the death of Lorenzo and so many others. His timing was terrible. He strode down the hallway without waiting for Annie, Cara and Pak Tony. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He didn’t want to be in Bali any longer.
As he moved along the hospital corridor, tsunami-mind shadowed him like an assassin. He stared at the grooves in the linoleum, cracking and widening into hungry fissures. Imagining himself plunging into a dark chasm and the earth clamping shut above him, swallowing him whole.
After a rudimentary medical examination, Remy was escorted into a makeshift interview room off the hospital foyer to speak with two Indonesian police officers. One of the men—clearly the superior—was thin and jittery, with a habit of blinking rapidly as he spoke. His taller, pudgier sidekick remained silent, engrossed in his task of transcribing Remy’s every word. Irrespective, it seemed, of the large sign taped to the desk: Videorecorder in use.
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