The Flame Tree (21 page)

A
LMOST A YEAR LATER
Isaac returned to the schoolyard, which was still a schoolyard, but no longer for children. The American Academy of Wonobo had permanently closed its doors, and its buildings had been taken over by the Nurse and Village Health Worker Training Institute of East Java. Several trainee nurses in stiff white uniforms, one of them male, bustled across the yard, glancing curiously at this odd bulé boy who was grinning at a tree sapling over by the wall.

Isaac stood where the flame tree had once soared. Another baby flame tree was growing in its place. Deliberately planted, of course, but Isaac had the pleasing notion that it was the spirit of the old tree that was budding out of the ground. Over time this sapling would grow tall and stout for boys to climb. But not Isaac. This was not his tree. Nonetheless, he squatted and ran two fingers up the side of the slender trunk. He paused the fingers where two tiny branches overlapped. He laughed. “I’m the first to climb this tree,” he said. But he’d leave it for another boy to carve his initials in the wood.

It was time to do something else. He returned to the house and got from his old room a long, narrow cardboard box. He walked across the residential compound and out the hospital gate, carrying it over his shoulder.

“Isak, stop.”

Isaac turned around. Mr. Theophilus strode up to him and said, “Where are you going?” He still had the height to look down at Isaac, but not as far down as on that day last August, so very long ago and in a different lifetime.

“Out for a walk,” Isaac said.

Mr. Theophilus eyed his blond hair and blue eyes, his new button-down shirt and baggy cargo pants, his Birkenstock sandals, the long narrow package. “You are not to leave the compound, your mother said.”

“That was months and months ago.” And a different Isaac.

Mr. Theophilus narrowed his pale yellow eyes and then nodded. He withdrew a cell phone from his blue trouser pocket. “Wonobo’s been quiet, but take this just in case.”

Isaac thanked him and slipped the cell phone into one of his many cargo pockets. He strolled down Hayam Wuruk Avenue, passing the same shops, dodging the same crowds, smelling the same scents of Java, overhearing and understanding the same snatches of Javanese conversation as he had done countless times before. Yet something was different, and it wasn’t Wonobo. The world that Isaac now knew, a world that stretched all the way back to Connecticut and the Ash Institute for Gifted Children, did not diminish. The bone-and-blood familiar Javanese world in which he ambled did not pull him in and transform him.

He was neither American nor Javanese, but that did not mean he was nothing. He was who he was, Isaac Williams.

The first two months in the States had been a black hole of
homesickness. But the hole had slowly filled up with simple everyday things: what buses and subways went where; the museums and the best times to go; Sunday-morning services at the cheery Presbyterian church; reruns of
I Dream of Jeannie
, which was his favorite television show out of the bewildering number of them; the community library and its constant supply of new books; and more recently at Ash, Andy Mills, with whom Isaac studied calculus and played chess and on Saturdays searched for monsters in the hallways of the Museum of Natural History.

And Tara Conway, too, with her spiked hair and her belly button ring and her smile that was half friendly, half mystery. In her last e-mail she’d asked him to bring her back some real Javanese tea.

The steady trade winds of the dry southeast monsoon scrubbed the blue sky with balls of cotton cumulus. The curling breeze had tangy hints of sea spray carried from waves breaking on Java’s southern coral reefs. This was the Javanese weather Isaac loved most, and he luxuriated in it now, but there was strong in his mind the recent memory of his first wondrous snowfall.

Life was big and grand, and Isaac was growing into an intention of experiencing as much of it as he could.

Graham Williams had told Isaac that in the middle of the night the previous week a gang of men had stolen three frangipani trees out of the old Muslim cemetery, no doubt to be sold to a new golf course somewhere. These trees had been by the avenue’s fence. A crew of neighborhood men was fixing the last of the gouges that the thieves had left in the ground. One of the men pounded the dirt fill with an iron tamper. Isaac watched for
a second, then said, “
Al-salamu alaikum
, Bapak Trisno.”

Bapak Trisno straightened and stretched his back, looking at Isaac. “
Alaikum as-salam
, Isak. So you are back?”

“Not to stay.”

Bapak Trisno nodded. “Ismail is at home, if you are looking for him.”

“Thank you.”

Bapak Trisno nodded again and, without another word, returned to his work of placating the outraged dead.

In the clear space that the stolen frangipani trees had left, a young boy flew a kite in the trade wind. The kite was a darting mote in the sky, enjoying its unhindered play. Ironically, for all its appearance of soaring freedom, it was its tether that kept it aloft. If the string broke, the kite would swoop and sway uncontrolled to the ground.

Isaac stepped behind one of the untouched trees for a pee, propping the package up against a branch. He studied the pink tip of his penis held between his fingers, ringed by the brighter pink of healed flesh. After twelve years of intimacy with a foreskin, this sight had for a time startled Isaac with its unfamiliarity. But he was now accustomed to it. Imam Ali may have been brutal, but he had cut properly and the wound had healed normally.

Isaac climbed the cemetery’s far fence and walked down Ismail’s street, quiet this time of day. His heart pounded with each step. Once he came in sight of Ismail’s house, his steps slowed. One house away he ceased walking altogether. He did not see the white goose that charged out from the yard behind him, but he
heard its angry hiss and skittered away just in time to avoid a nasty nip. His momentum took him to the front of Ismail’s house and died away, leaving him stranded in front of the closed gate. The house’s front door was open, but the living room was empty. The television was off.

A Nahdlatul Umat Islam sticker was still plastered to the veranda railing. The visage of Tuan Guru Haji Abdullah Abubakar silently watched Isaac but raised no alarm within his heart.

A narrow face flashed in the small window of the bedroom that Ismail shared with his brothers and sisters. Ibu Trisno walked around the corner of the house, her hands dusty from freshly milled rice flour. She stopped, blinked, and then said, “Isak, is that you?” A delighted smile blossomed. “Why, of course it is, come in, come in.”

Isaac opened the gate and stepped into the yard. “Is Ismail home?”

In answer Ismail appeared in the front doorway at the top of the veranda steps. He was as scrawny as ever, his shorts and mended shirt still too big for him. He looked at Isaac without speaking, his thin face blank, unplugged to any current.

Isaac held out the package. “I got you something from America,” he said.

Ismail glanced at the package and then returned his gaze to Isaac’s face. A smile trickled onto his own and into his dark eyes. “You’re looking fat and pale, like an infidel grub.”

Ibu Trisno put her knuckles on her hips. “Ismail!”

Isaac said, “And you’re looking like something even a
garbageman wouldn’t pick out of the gutter.”

Ismail laughed, a full 220 volts dancing on his face. He trotted down the stairs and slapped Isaac across the shoulder, grinning. “Didn’t I tell you to take me to America next time you went? So why’d you go without me?”

Ibu Trisno shook her head in mock exasperation and returned to her kitchen.

Isaac wiggled the package. “But I brought something back for you.”

Ismail took the long narrow box. He shook it. “What is it?”

“Open it,” Isaac said.

Ismail pried open the cardboard flaps and pulled out a long plastic rod, a curved red handle on one end and on the other a gray ring. “Still the same question,” he said. “What is it?”

“A treasure finder,” Isaac said.

Ismail’s eyes widened.

Isaac stuck a hand in one of his cargo pockets. “But it doesn’t use a jinn. It uses batteries. Here.” He gave Ismail a two-pack of nine-volt Duracells.

Ismail quivered with excitement. Isaac put in the batteries and showed him how to use it.

“Wait, wait,” Ismail said, handing the detector over for Isaac to hold. He darted to the side of the yard and climbed to the second branch of the
jambu
tree. When he descended, he had an old Chinese coin in his hand, the one the boys had found in the bed of the Brantas River. He scooped out a hole in the yard, dropped the coin into it, and shoved the dirt over it. “Okay, let’s try,” he said.

Isaac gave him the detector. Ismail clicked the ON button and swept the sensor ring over the covered hole. It buzzed. “Wow, it works, it really works!” Ismail dug out the coin. He brushed it off on his shorts and gave it to Isaac. “You keep it,” he said. “Take it back to America for good luck.” He wiggled the detector, his eyes shining. “Let’s go down to the river, Isak.”

And because hope always rises triumphant in the hearts of boys at the prospect of finding treasure, Isaac grinned and said, “This time, gold.”

Alaikum as-salam:
reply to Islamic greeting of
Al-salamu alaikum
, both meaning “Peace be upon you”

aiyah
: exclamation of surprise or frustration

alim
: An Islamic scholar or teacher

Ambonese: a person from the city of Ambon in Maluku, East Indonesia

arak:
potent alcoholic drink

Awas lo:
“Be careful”

ayat
: verse, as in a verse from the Holy Qur’an

azan
: the Muslim call to prayer, generally broadcast from mosques

bapak
: means “father” also respectful form of address for a male Indonesian

bemo
: public transport jitney

bencong
: transvestite

bismillah:
Arabic term for “in the name of Allah”

Bugis: a seafaring people from the island of Sulawesi, with many communities established throughout the archipelago

bulé:
slang for white person

dangdut:
a form of popular music with Arabian and Hindu influences

dukun santet:
witch doctor

gamelan:
an Indonesian orchestra made up chiefly of percussion instruments

hadith: the words and deeds of the prophet Muhammad as reported by his contemporaries and collected by Islamic scholars as an ancilliary Scripture to the Holy Qur’an

haji:
a male Muslim who has made the obligatory pilgrimage to Mecca; also an honorific title used to address such a male

hajjah:
a female Muslim who has made the obligatory pilgrimage to Mecca; also an honorific title used to address such a female

halal:
permitted by Islamic law

Hutu: African tribe

ibu:
means “mother” also respectful form of address for a female Indonesian

Imam: a title of respect for a Muslim religious leader; also the leader of the congregational prayers

inggih:
Javanese word for “yes”

Irianese: a person from the island of New Guinea

istighfar
: begging for God’s pardon

lyallah
: exclamation commonly translated as “Oh, God”

jambu
: a type of fruit tree

jamu
: medicinal herb

jihad: the concept of striving toward religious purpose, sometimes narrowly taken to mean a holy war

jilbab:
head covering in which the entire head except the face is covered

jinn: a type of supernatural creature

jizyah:
tax paid by non-Muslims to a Muslim state (in early Islam)

kafir:
infidel; person who does not believe in Islam

kampung:
village

kepeng:
old Chinese coin

kiai:
an Islamic religious scholar; also respectful form of address for such a scholar

Kijang: a local brand name for a Toyota; means “deer” in Indonesian

komando
jihad: warrior

kris: a wavy blade, often considered magical

kunut nazilah:
a type of jihad against a spiritual foe that usually takes the form of prayer

magrib:
one of the five daily prayers prayed early in the evening, near sunset

mandi:
to bathe; a bathroom

mas:
Javanese title for a man

ma sha’allah
: expression of strong disapproval

minbar
: pulpit

mosque: Muslim place of worship

mushollah
: a prayer room, usually in a public building
Nahdlatul Umat Islam: fictional organization, translates as Renaissance of the Islamic Community

pak
: Javanese title for a man

peci:
rimless, oval cap, usually black

pesantren:
boarding school for Muslim children, with a heavy emphasis on Qur’anic studies

resolusi
jihad: a resolution by an Indonesian Islamic organization for holy warfare

rukun wudu:
the rite of ritual washing before prayers

salat al-istisqa:
a special prayer for rain

Al-salamu alaikum:
Islamic greeting, meaning “Peace be upon you”

sambal:
hot chili sauce

shahadah:
the Islamic confession of faith

shariah:
Islamic law

tabligh:
using instruction to increase understanding of Islam

Tuan Guru: title of respect for Muslim leader

Tutsi: African tribe

ulamah:
Islamic scholars or teachers

ummah:
congregation

wayang kulit:
shadow puppet, or the puppet show itself, usually depicting an Indian epic