The Fifth Season (48 page)

His father had extracted three of the small, gold bars from around his waist and these had sealed their arrangements. They had then taken their papers and waited on the beach at the place designated by their broker. He warned them to remain there until called, for there would not be a second opportunity should they wander away and miss their tender when it arrived. There, squashed amongst many others, they waited, watching the small fishing-boats arrive, then depart carrying the more fortunate ones away to the waiting fleet.

As the day dragged on, the heat took its toll as some fainted, others collapsing from hunger or exhaustion, while a few amongst the elderly just gave up, surrendering themselves to oblivion, their bodies quickly carried to the rear lines and mysteriously disposed of without further ceremony.

Hani had remained with Budi's father while he went in search of food. While he was gone, Hani became concerned when she heard a loud murmur, the crowd's mood suddenly changing as the multitude rose to its feet. She stood, reaching on tiptoe to see what was happening and was surprised when a number of foreigners appeared, surrounded by hundreds of children. Hani protected her eyes from the glaring sun, squinting as the strange group approached.

Under different circumstances she might have been amused by the spectacle of three foreign men walking along the beach in the heat of the day, dressed as they were, their presence in contradiction to all around. But as they passed close enough for Hani to touch, she wondered what could possibly have brought these men to such a place and at that time. Within moments they all but disappeared from view, the sea of humanity swallowing the foreign men as they turned and made their way through the most densely occupied area, towards the main road.

Hani was still preoccupied with the foreigners, caught off guard when one of the men smiled kindly in her direction just as Budi returned with fried rice wrapped in banana leaves. They hungrily scooped the food into their mouths, washing this down with bottled tea. Then they settled down to wait for the tide to change again and their turn to board the tenders and leave. Finally, their numbers and names were called and Hani boarded with the others, her fear of the sea immeasurable.

Now, as ocean swells lifted her boat, dropping it gently then lifting it again, the mound of water passing soundlessly under the fleet in constant rhythm, Hani fought the uncomfortable, queasy sensation associated with motion sickness, wondering how she could possibly survive the final crossing.

* * * *

‘Oh, shit!' Mary Jo swore loudly as the Cessna yawed dangerously, the tires screaming as the aircraft hit the runway roughly and at an angle, before bouncing back into the air. Her stomach rose and she was thrown forward as the pilot dipped the plane's nose and landed the Cessna heavily on the emergency airstrip. She glanced at her assistant, Anne's silence testament of their rough arrival. The aircraft taxied along the runway towards a small group of buildings where the two women alighted, still trembling from their landing. The pilot assisted them with their gear, wished them luck, then hurriedly departed, anxious to return to the relative safety of Surabaya Field before his presence was detected by fighters. He had selected the coastal route believing that their flight would not be visible on radar this far south of Java's daunting volcanic range.

A group of children eyed them suspiciously and ran screaming inside the small buildings when Mary Jo and Anne approached. Moments later a woman appeared, pointing down the road to another group of houses when asked for directions. She snapped at her children, dragging one hurriedly inside, and slammed the door before Anne could ask her anything further. They walked several hundred meters before they were able to wave down a passing motorcyclist who, for a fee, agreed to call someone he knew with transport.

They strolled along the dusty road, Mary Jo's height and color attracting the attention of a number of village children standing together, under the shade of a mango tree just meters from a small stream. They stopped to rest, the heat of the day already too much, even for them. Mary Jo smiled at the bedraggled bunch. They had obviously been playing in the kali, probably swimming, she thought.

‘Give me money, miss?'
one of them asked. Anne turned and snapped but these village children were very persistent.

‘Give us money, nona bule,'
another shouted, using the derogatory word
bule
which, Mary Jo had already discovered, meant nothing less than ‘whitey' with all of its racist connotations. Anne had explained that Indonesian people found nothing wrong in the use of such terms and expressions, believing it natural to have specific words which expressed their natural feelings towards each other. When Mary Jo suggested that Western people found the use of such terminology offensive, Anne had laughed. She pointed to many examples of Asian cultures which were most specific in their descriptions of others, such as the Chinese and Thai terms for any fair-skinned race, and tried to explain the varying cultural attitudes between how the Asians naturally accepted racial and religious differences, as opposed to peoples of Western thinking.

‘You people are too thin-skinned,' Anne had wanted to say when Mary Jo had become a little irrational during their conversation. Instead, her Asian heritage insisted that she suggest to Mary Jo that she might wish to consider these things from an Asian perspective. After that, their relationship had become a little restrained, particularly as Anne believed that it was easy for her associate to take the high road during such discussions.

Mary Jo had not been raised to Asian standards. It seemed that everything to her was either black or white.

‘Give me the Nikon,' Mary Jo said, deciding to fill in time with some candid photographs of the village urchins in their natural habitat. Beyond the mango trees a number of elderly Sundanese villagers watched from the 303

Kerry B. Collison

safety of their ijuk-palm-roofed dwellings, as their children played within reach of the foreigner. Someone cooked, the sharp, pungent smell of
bela-cang,
the shrimp paste drifting across the dirt courtyard to where they waited, whetting Anne's appetite, while causing her companion to pale.

Several of the older villagers ventured out to observe their strange visitor. One, her head wrapped in traditional style, wandered up to join the children, fascinated by the American woman's light-colored hair. Mary Jo watched the toothless woman approach, photographing the peasant's heavily-lined features as she smiled, and positioned herself amongst the children, her wide, callused feet broadened by years of toiling in the paddy-fields, anchors as she squatted on her haunches.

Mary Jo guessed her subject to be at least seventy years of age but this was not the case. Her lips and tongue, reddened by the addictive mixture of betel nut and tobacco, provided an almost grotesque picture when the woman smiled. A grandmother by the age of twenty-nine, Mary Jo's subject would have celebrated her fortieth birthday that year, had she known her own age. Years of toiling the fields under the fierce conditions had taken their toll. The shriveled-breasted old lady smiled, nodding her thanks when Mary Jo offered her last remaining Mars Bar, which the woman accepted as if this was some common day occurrence and slowly removed the wrapping. Mary Jo watched with interest as she carefully opened the chocolate bar, then folded the silver paper lining. Then, in typical village style, the village woman broke the chocolate into many pieces and passed these to the children, offering some back to Mary Jo and her assistant. Finally, she took the remaining crumbs and placed these in her mouth, then nodded her thanks for the gift.

By the time their transport had arrived, Mary Jo had finished the roll of film and some of the stress resulting from their flight had dissipated, leaving her in slightly better spirits.

* * * *

‘We'll go and find accommodation, first,' Mary Jo suggested.

‘That will be easier said, than done,' Anne replied. ‘I'm not so sure we will find anything.' She was referring to the numbers sighted from the air as they flew over the port and surrounding beach areas. The multitudes below had occupied a stretch of sandy coastline covering several kilometers, their numbers spilling across the road into corn fields, trampling whatever harvest might have been underfoot.

‘We'll get out of town and go down to the Samudera Beach Hotel,'

Mary Jo announced. She had never been there before but had often heard others refer to the popular destination. Anne shrugged her shoulders, uncertain that the hotel would even be operational. When their transport arrived, the women could not believe their eyes.

‘Is it safe?' Mary Jo asked. She had seen some strange sights in her time but this home-made vehicle made her doubt the wisdom of risking their bodies and limbs. The village mechanics had taken a Honda diesel generator and affixed this to a simple chassis, the belt-drive system they had incorporated powering one forward wheel. Two long, extended handlebars steered the contraption, which was chained to a small, two-wheeled carriage.

‘We don't have much choice,' Anne replied, placing their baggage on board. There were no seats. They sat with their legs dangling from the rear, their bottoms subjected to the hard timber flooring with each bump on the road. Once under way choking, thick, black diesel smoke added to their discomfort, Mary Jo swearing more than once as they made their way to the main intersection and stopped. There, they managed to flag down a passing mini-bus which took them the rest of the distance to the hotel, the women relieved to find that the resort was still functioning. They knew that it would be unlikely for the state operated electricity services to have survived in such a remote area.

Everywhere they had visited the story had been the same. Coastal villages managed to maintain their supplies of diesel fuel but regular petrol supplies had been depleted in isolated provinces within weeks of civil war first breaking out. As far back as 1968, when foreign investment had first returned to the country, diesel generators had been installed in all hotels throughout the country as a result of the erratic government power supply. Diesel had been heavily subsidized until the IMF fiasco of two years before but, even with the current prices, the precious fuel continued to find its way into the country, by ship. Kerosene and diesel - these were the two fuels that had kept Indonesia alive.

The hotel's staff apologized that their main restaurants and other facilities had all closed. There was no room service and they were advised that fuel supplies might not last the week. However, the staff had managed to keep the coffee-shop overlooking the pool open, where they prepared local dishes for themselves and the handful of guests currently in house. Mary Jo accepted her key, smiling when the self-appointed manager asked for American dollars. Anne negotiated transport for the duration of their stay, asking that a car be made available as quickly as possible. They then went to their rooms and deposited their baggage, agreeing to meet up again down in the lobby when the jeep they had requested arrived.

They drove to within a kilometer of the huge camp, continuing on foot as they made their way slowly through the congested scene, stopping to talk to some, photographing others. It was the children who saddened Mary Jo the most.

‘Surely they can't all be orphans?' she had queried, looking down at a child whose forlorn look tugged at her heart.

‘Many have been abandoned,' Anne explained, ashamed for those who had done so. ‘That child over there told me that her parents have already boarded without her. She was playing with the others and became separated.' Mary Jo stared in the child's direction, anger rising with what she heard.

‘Why didn't they go and look for her, or just wait?' Mary Jo asked, finding great difficulty accepting that parents were arbitrarily abandoning their children. This, she knew, was so out of character for Indonesians.

‘I spoke to some of the others here Mary Jo. It seems that once they have paid for their passage, they only have one opportunity to leave. If they don't come forward when their names and designated numbers are called, then they miss their rides. Permanently.'

‘Even so, Anne,' she said, without finishing what she really wished to say.‘Mary Jo,' Anne's tone was not critical, ‘these people are mainly Chinese. When the
Mufti Muharam
arrive, which I'm certain will happen, those still here will most likely be slaughtered. Yes it's cruel, particularly for the children. But some might agree that it would be better for the parents to escape and start another family elsewhere, than remain and die.' Now there were tears in Anne's eyes, as more than a hundred children gathered around hopefully, hands extended as they begged for money and food.

‘How much money did you bring?' Mary Jo asked, checking her own pockets.

‘Don't do it, Mary Jo,' Anne pleaded, placing her hand immediately on the other's arm to prevent her from extracting anything from her pocket.

‘We'd never get out of here if you do.' Mary Jo stopped, considering the wisdom in this, then sighed despondently.

‘Let's get on with it then,' she said, pretending to ignore the screaming children who tugged and pulled at the women's clothes. Mary Jo continued snapping shots, while Anne assisted with reloading. They had been reduced to using the less sophisticated equipment, the Nikon F5 which had served Mary Jo faithfully over the years, still reliable in her capable hands.

As darkness fell, Mary Jo and Anne stood together atop a small spur overlooking the refugee camp, their elevation sufficient to see the distant fleet clearly. Thousands of tiny, flickering kerosene lights created the illusion of permanence and serenity. Mary Jo knew that there was little she could do here, particularly for those children abandoned as a result of the cruel decisions taken by their parents. But she sincerely believed that the world would be shocked into action once their story had been told and spread across the wire services.