Crossing Allenby Bridge

by Michael Looft

  She must have worked on me for hours because by the time she made her way down my back and then rolled me over and made the bright red tiger stripes on my belly, the sun was beginning to go down. Zach had disappeared early on, and while I wondered where he’d gone, I lost myself in the rhythm and pain of the therapy. I felt each swath burning and she began to move her hands all over me with a touch so light I barely sensed her fingertips. I’m not sure why, but I felt cool waves of energy wherever her hands moved and the inexplicable sensation that each stripe set something free. Of course, this could have been the delirium. She finished with a loud clap of the hands that gave me a rough jolt. Not what I expected since the final few minutes left me relaxed and drifting off. She lifted my head and trickled another bag of water down my throat, and with a quick bow she disappeared without saying anything.

  I lay prone for several minutes, a tingling feeling throughout my body and a mind gliding through thoughts of what to do next. Then I gave up thinking about anything and drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, it was dark, and Zach was sitting in the corner again, his face illuminated from the candle next to his foot. I was so hungry I wanted to eat the stool he was sitting on. The woman returned and spooned something white and mushy and sweet into my mouth, which I ate up like an underfed dog. Three more of those and I began to feel human again.

  “Terima kasih,” I said to her, and she shook her head as if I didn’t need to say thank you.

  “By the way,” Zach said with a sideways glance, “she knows Bahasa. Everyone does because it’s the official language, but Javanese is more prevalent around here. So, you can also say matur nuwun if you want to sound local.”

  “Good to know.”

  Two young men approached me with short bamboo poles, and Zach said something to them that set them to the task of shoving the poles under my mat. They each flashed subservient smiles before throwing their heads down to the poles. “My wife’s brothers,” Zach said, “they’ll lift you inside. Ratu says you cannot be near wind for a while. So, no fans or air conditioning. I’m afraid it’s going to be a hot night for you, but she says in the morning you will feel better.”

  “I hope so. Feel like shit now.”

  Ratu folded a wet cloth over my eyes and the two brothers-in-law carried me into the house and set me down on a soft mattress on the floor of a little room. It felt like a shrine, covered with candles and religious-looking paraphernalia. Ratu followed and stayed close to me, watching my eyes as though she were searching for something in them. Maybe she was trying to see if the spirits were still lingering around inside me. I didn’t know what to make of it, and part of me wanted to play the game while another still considered it a bunch of foolish rubbish. I thought they would all leave the room, but I noticed a woman young enough to still be in school appear at the door and lay a pile of blankets and a pillow in the corner.

  “What’s that for?” I asked Zach.

  “Ratu says she needs to stay with you.”

  “In case the evil spirits come back?”

  “Listen. I know this all seems a little hocus pocus, but I will say I’ve seen her do some amazing things. So, try to keep an open mind.”

  “No worries. I’ve got nothing to lose. Besides, I kind of like her.”

  Zach chuckled at that. “She said you would.”

  “Really?” I was a little taken aback at his comment.

  “I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow. For now, rest up.” And with that, he was gone, and I was left alone with the woman who hadn’t taken her eyes off me since the first time I saw her.

  Indeed, it was a long night. Not too dissimilar from the crazy dreams I’d been experiencing, but these dreams seemed more vivid, and Ratu appeared in each of them. Not some warped version that looked like her but also looked a bit like someone else. No–it was her in those dreams, standing in front of me as a silent protector. Once it was a huge grey beetle trying to attack me, and she fought it off with something that looked like a long spear. Another dream had me stuck in dark mud that tried to pull me under. Ratu stood on the shore, pulling me out through a vine she’d tossed to me. There were dozens of these different episodes that increased in intensity, some of which I don’t remember beyond a feeling, but I would then wake up and see her either curled up next to me or offering me water. Once I went to the bathroom all over myself, and before I had a chance to let the embarrassment set in, she cleaned me up without batting an eye.

  The final dream fragment remains clear in my mind even years later–its intensity and ferocity outweighed all others. I was home, on Pine Street, looking up at a building that resembled my bank, but it was out of focus, almost like it was sweating or dripping. I tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t open. A fat security guard smiled at me and kept motioning to me, but I couldn’t understand him. Finally, he shouted, ‘closed!’ and waved me away. I looked at my watch. Two o’clock in the afternoon in the middle of the week. It couldn’t be closed. It took me a little while, but I realized that the security guard was Mr. Stuard, my economics professor at the Academy. A jolly man both in the dream and in real life, and one of my inspirations to go into banking after I fulfilled my naval obligation. In fact, he helped me get my first job. What was he doing there? I knocked again and pointed to my watch.

  CHAPTER 9 | the watercourse way

  It was then that I woke up. It must have been the bleating of a goat outside the window. It sounded like a baby crying. There was no sign of Ratu at first, but when I craned my head around to look at the door, I noticed her sitting in the corner in a cross-legged meditation pose. When I turned over onto my back, she opened her eyes, a soft frown on her face. I could feel the striped wounds along my entire backside, though they seemed to be on the healing side of pain.

  “You awake now, Dimas. You safe now.”

  I heard a thumping on the other side of the doorway, which didn’t have a door save a thick cut of striped cloth bathed in dark colors. A toddler dressed in a diaper and nothing else peeked through the doorway. Her eyes were big and brown, and I could tell from her facial features that she was a product of Zach and a local woman. She had his twinkle, standing there studying me as if I were a strange creature come down from another planet.

  “Lily!” I heard Zach shout from another part of the house, and then he himself appeared, hand gripping her shoulder as she leaned into him for security. “Sorry, Harry. Did she wake you?”

  “No, the evil spirits leaving my body woke me. I feel lighter now.” This was a half-joke, and I suppose it was meant to acknowledge that I was not quite sure I believed in all the hocus-pocus he and Ratu had introduced into my life, but nevertheless grateful for their help. “Is she your daughter?”

  “Yes, this is Lily.” He looked down at her with an arc of love.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Takes after her mother. By the way, you haven’t met my wife yet. She’s just gone to get us some fruit for breakfast. Maybe you’d like to take a swim this morning. We have a small pool out back and I’m sure it’ll feel good after sitting in a hot box all night.”

  “If I can stand up.”

  “Here, let me help you.” He got me to my feet. I wobbled, and we both looked to Ratu for her blessing, who tossed a few fingers in the air and bent down to pick up her bedding. We took this as assent, and he all but carried me through the room and out the back door. Along the way I caught a glimpse of his living room, sparsely decorated, containing a rattan couch and small flat screen television. Outside we passed the place where I lay the day before, under the suspended tarp. The candles still sat in each corner. I hadn’t realized I had been a few feet from an in-ground pool. It looked new and pristine, so inviting, with a large patch of cut grass and carved wooden chairs in the backdrop.

  “Nice setup, Zach!” I remarked as he helped me sit down at the shallow end.

  “Yeah, the pool was a present from my parents. They said it’s cuz they know how much I like to swim, but I think it’s so they have
a place to cool off whenever they come visit. This place is too hot for my father. All he does is complain about the heat and the constant sweating.”

  “Well, right now it’s the best thing in the world,” I said, slipping underwater and letting all my air out, descending to the bottom of the pool. The coolness peeled away the sweaty slime that had encased me. It felt like layers of life melting away and I gazed up, seeing Zach’s wavy image standing next to the pool. Before I knew it, he’d launched himself into the deep end in a full cannonball. I felt the shockwaves and bubbles as a tumble of flesh crashed down next to me. When I surfaced a few moments later, we both took one look at each other and slipped into deep belly laughs. I hadn’t laughed liked that in years–at least while I was sober.

  For a moment, I forgot about everything. Zach looked over at me and something about his face and the way his eyes shone made me realize it was the first time I’d seen anyone truly happy to his core. Not just having a good time or thrilled that a deal went through or even content with his lot in life. No, he had a joy that ran deep, making each day worth getting up for. Where did it come from? Had he carried this joy into life from some faraway place? It was as if through him shone a shimmering light that I saw traces of in Mark, who sought it, or Elena, who brushed up against it in the right environment, or Sarah who gave it away freely. I thought about this while his little girl toppled into his arms and giggled in the beautiful way only little ones her age can do.

  “How did you ever wind up in this place?” I asked without considering that my question might sound insulting.

  “You mean here… Java? Indonesia?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. But really, how did you get involved in this whole line of work? I mean, I never knew about this kind of stuff before. I’ve heard about the Peace Corps. Is that where you got started, one of those outfits?”

  “No. I wish I had–probably would have saved me lots of trouble. No, I got out of school with a classics degree, which meant I wasn’t prepared for anything beyond working for the parks department.”

  “Where d’you study?” I asked him.

  “A little school in Maryland… St. John’s College.”

  “Really? I went to the Naval Academy. Across the street!”

  “Wow! Small world. Did you ever make it out to the croquet matches?”

  “Between St. John’s and the Academy? No. Sadly, all that stuff came after I was commissioned.”

  “For the best. We beat you guys every year. Still do.” His face sparkled and I realized how connecting it was to know we went to schools who couldn’t be more different, resembling Athens and Sparta. “Anyway, I knew a little Spanish, so I spent the summer after I graduated down in Guatemala, taking language classes. This was at the tail end of the civil war, so it was cheaper to do than to live back in Monterey. I stayed in Antigua for the first few months, living with a family.”

  “That must have been an experience.”

  “Oh yeah. It was a great way to get immersed in the language and the culture. Whole extended families live in the same house. Makes it so much easier to take care of children as everyone pitches in to help. There’s always the odd aunt hanging around the house cooking or doing something. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there, and the city is beautiful with its cobble-stoned streets and all. After a few months I met a guy that was working with the Mayan women in the highlands, trying to help them get back on their feet. Mayans had it the worst during the war.”

  “How so?”

  “May sound a bit strange, but the pecking order in that neck of the woods seems to be based on height. At least that’s what I gathered from my short time there. Lots of people with German and Spanish backgrounds–those with European descent–they’re at the top of the food chain. That’s why you’ll often see the Miss Guatemala beauty queens barely look Latin American. At the other end of the spectrum, you’ve got the indigenous Mayans themselves–several different tribes who you can often identify by their colorful dress. Then you’ve got the mestizos. They’re a mix of European and indigenous people and make up the bulk of the population. While the Mayans still get crapped on because they’re shorter and often don’t speak Spanish as well as the others, power is slowly shifting to include the mestizos. Half a century ago the entire country was controlled by the United Fruit Company, which had strong ties to the U.S.

  “Anyway, I befriended one of the teachers at the Spanish school I was attending. Juan was helping the rural villages where indigenous women were forming cooperatives to try to keep their families and communities intact. Since Juan’s mother was K’iche’, one of the indigenous groups from the highlands, he knew their language and culture. I started by going out with him on the weekends. I learned about farming, food production, and alternative ways of financing. Some NGOs were also trying to get a toe-hold in there to move beyond just helping people with basic services like food, shelter, and clothing. So, I started to meet some of them and soon began working for them. It was fun stuff and I have to say, I loved the food. Simple, but good. You’re probably finding this boring, Harry.”

  “Quite the opposite. For one thing, I’ve been lying down in a pool of sweat for the past two weeks. Even so, I find your story fascinating.”

  “Anyway, Guatemala’s a great place and if you ever go there, you have to visit a little city by the name of Esquipulas. It’s near the border with El Salvador and Honduras. There’s a white church there with a big black Jesus hanging on the cross. People come from all around to see it. Makes you wonder what color that guy was. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t German like most iconography makes him out to look like.”

  “Maybe I’ll check it out someday. How long were you in Guatemala for?”

  “Two years. I came home after that, fluent in Spanish and bursting with ideas, but still trying to figure out what to do with my life. I thought about joining the military. My father taught at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey where I grew up. So, it was something that had sway with me. In retrospect, I wish I’d have joined the Peace Corps, but around my dinner table growing up that sort of thing was looked down on. Peaceniks. Didn’t even seem like an option.”

  “Believe me, I know what you mean. What did your father teach?”

  “Meteorology.”

  “Very interesting.”

  “Sure, I guess; but growing up, whenever I asked him what the weather was going to be like that day he’d just tell me to look out the window. So, I couldn’t take it all that seriously. In fact, when I got back home I got a lot of pressure to do the kinds of things he wanted to do. Being an officer wasn’t for me. I knew that even before Guatemala. After what I’d seen and done over there, all I could think about was getting back out there.”

  “To Guatemala?”

  “Any developing country. You know what it’s like, I’m sure. The minute you get outside of the U.S. and the so-called developed world, it gets raw. Nothing seems to work the way it’s supposed to, but there’s beauty in that. There’s also incredible beauty in the hospitality. Fifteen years of traveling the world and that’s my big take-away: the rest of the world is just plain nicer. Besides, I have the wanderlust gene in me. Family lore has it that my great-great grandfather wanted to go to the World’s Fair around the turn of the century and hopped on trains all the way from upstate New York. He was only eight years old. Not sure if it’s true, but it sure left an impression on me when I heard that story growing up.”

  “Maybe you’re right about the beauty outside America, but these places are not very efficient, are they?”

  “Depends on who’s holding the wheel, I guess.”

  “So, where did you wind up going to?”

  “Originally, I was planning to go back to Latin America. Just loved the culture down there and was itching to get back to it. I only came back home to get some visa stuff straightened out. It wound up taking longer than I expected and one day I was in a café reading and I met this girl. She was reading a guide book on Mongolia and the way she was d
ressed, hiking boots and all, it looked like she was leaving that day. Turns out, she was just breaking the boots in for a trek she was going on.”

  “Mongolia, huh?”

  “Yeah. One thing led to another and I was sitting next to her on the plane. Her name was Michelle. Had a wild streak in her and a big mass of wild curly hair to match. I spent the next year bumming all over Asia with her. To this day I don’t think I’ve met anyone like her. She had a genuine love for people and just ate life. Without even doing it consciously, she taught me the way of the Tao. The watercourse way, they call it. I only read about it before, but she embodied it.”

  “Watercourse way?”

  “There’s a book by Alan Watts that talks about it. In a nutshell, life is like a big river and the way is to go with the flow of that river and follow its natural and supernatural forces wherever it takes us, like a tree branch riding down a mountain stream.”

  “How does one do that?”

  “Well, I’m definitely no expert. I think it has something to do with relying on one’s intuition and letting the signs of nature and just plain everyday life lead us where we need to go. Don’t overlook the easily overlooked.”

  “I like that, don’t overlook the easily overlooked.”

  “Yeah, Michelle taught me a lot about that sort of thing, and like a couple of branches, we floated downstream. We went everywhere together: Mongolia, Cambodia, Thailand, India, Turkey, the Middle East. Sometimes I would wake up forgetting what country I was in. Wherever we were, we found some work teaching English, building a well, or doing community development work. Looking back, it was kind of amazing that we didn’t get killed or die from some strange disease, though we were close to both several times. She just knew which way to go all the time, even though it often seemed like she was just being flighty. After the first few months I began to sense she was somehow tapped into the rhythm of the Universe. So, I just went with it. Before I knew it, I too was doing the same. One couldn’t help feeling the light around her, I suppose.”