by Dee Lestari
Only when they were back in their seats did Kugy realize that the moon was shining brightly. Kugy couldn’t bear it any longer. Her eyelids felt hot and her vision blurred. She wanted to take the words Keenan had whispered, wrap them up, and store them away in her heart—words she didn’t fully understand, but knew she was experiencing at that very moment. This moon. This journey. The two of them.
Josh had been waiting in the café for an hour. He had ordered all kinds of drinks and donuts from the menu and his stomach felt full to bursting. Then, at last, he heard a booming voice announce that the Parahyangan train from Bandung had arrived. Kugy’s train. He took off immediately to wait at the station entrance.
He recognized her tiny figure from far away. Her shoulder-length hair hung loose, and it swung against her backpack, which was so enormous that it seemed to overwhelm her small frame. She was also wearing a denim jacket—obviously borrowed because it was too big for her. She was a fashion disaster. And yet there was something about her that made her stand out wherever she went. Even at this distance, Josh could see the life radiating from those two eyes, could feel the warmth of her presence and her laugh, so open and carefree . . . Suddenly his brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed. There was someone walking beside Kugy. Someone he didn’t know. Josh scanned them closely. The furrows on his brow deepened.
“Josh!” Kugy waved at him, then broke into a half jog.
“Hi, babe,” Josh greeted her, grabbing her around the waist and kissing her on the cheek. In one swift motion, he took the large backpack from Kugy’s shoulders and slung it over his own.
“Josh, this is Eko’s cousin . . .”
“Keenan.” He extended his hand and gave a friendly smile.
“Hi. Joshua.” Josh shook Keenan’s hand, keeping his other around Kugy.
“See you next semester, Kugy. Happy writing.”
“Happy painting. Don’t forget . . .” Kugy held her index fingers to her temples, like antennae.
Keenan let out a low laugh and did the same. “Neptune radar.”
Josh kept his eyes on Keenan, even after he’d said good-bye and was walking away. Josh’s own radar had picked up a signal. A signal indicating something wasn’t right. And he felt uneasy.
CHAPTER 8
START SMALL
All but one of the four chairs at the dining table were occupied. Even though it was just the three of them—Keenan, Jeroen, and their mother—the mood around the table was bright. The two brothers talked nonstop, their mother occasionally chiming in or joining in their laughter.
They heard the front door open, and someone came in and seated himself in the fourth chair.
“Hi, Dad,” Jeroen and Keenan greeted their father.
“Sorry to keep you all waiting. A meeting with a client went late.”
“It’s okay.” Lena smiled, pouring hot tea into her husband’s cup. “Keenan has an announcement for us.”
“Oh? What is it?” asked his father, sipping his tea.
Keenan glanced at his mother. He seemed reluctant to speak. “Well . . . my GPA for this semester was a 3.7.”
“The highest in his class,” Lena added, beaming. A 3.7 at Keenan’s university was certainly no easy feat.
“Very good,” his father answered evenly, nodding a little. He couldn’t help but look pleased. “I told you an economics degree would be a good fit for you. Another point three points and you’d have gotten a perfect GPA. But there’s always next semester, right?”
“I suppose,” Keenan answered.
“Whatever you need—a new computer, textbooks—just let me know. I’ll buy them for you.”
“What I really want is some time.”
Keenan’s father set his cup of tea on the table. “What do you mean?”
“I’d like to request an extra week before starting the next semester.”
Lena tried to explain. “He wants more time in Ubud—”
“I know what he wants,” Keenan’s father said sharply. “You want permission to skip class for a week. Is that it?”
Keenan nodded.
“You must prioritize your studies. You’ve shown what you can do, and now you’re asking I reward you by letting you skip class?”
Keenan nodded again.
“Ridiculous.” His father shook his head. “You’ve just said you’re going to raise your GPA to a 4.0. How is that going to happen if you miss a week’s worth of classes?”
“I didn’t promise anything about my GPA, Dad. I only said, ‘I suppose.’”
“Don’t you get smart with me.”
“I’m not asking for a lot. I’m not asking for a car. I’m not asking for a new computer. I’m not asking for any books. All I’m asking for is an extra week at Uncle Wayan’s place.” Keenan had raised his voice.
“But skipping class—that is a lot to ask for. A whole extra week! Why do you need to spend so long in Ubud?”
“I already gave you six months, and now all I’m asking for is one week—”
“You think you’re studying for my sake?” his father yelled.
Keenan didn’t answer. There was no point. He sighed.
The playful laughter, which rang so brightly just seconds ago, seemed to evaporate without a trace and was replaced with tense silence—four people sitting stiffly without saying a word.
“I’m sure Keenan will be able to catch up,” Lena said at last.
“Do whatever you want,” her husband answered, half mumbling. Then he got up and left.
All of Keenan’s art supplies were packed and ready to go. Jeroen was also ready to go and had been for two days. He was going to spend a few days in Ubud with Keenan before joining his friends, who were on a school excursion in Kuta. He declared he might die of boredom in Ubud—it was such a quiet town—but he was willing to sacrifice a few days of his vacation in order to spend time with his older brother.
There was only one more thing Keenan wanted to do before leaving for the airport. He opened his address book and searched for a name.
“Hello.” He was greeted by the voice of a teenage girl.
“Good morning. May I please speak to Kugy?”
He could hear a lot of noise on the other end, with lots of people talking in the background. “Kugy! Phone!”
“I think she’s in the bathroom!” a female voice answered.
A male voice chimed in. “Kugy! How long are you going to be in there? Are you taking a dump? Phone call for you!”
Then he heard the pitter-patter of feet. “All right already. I’m upstairs, you know! Hold on!”
“So who’s in the bathroom then? Why does it smell so bad? Phew! Did someone fart? Own up!”
At last he heard Kugy’s voice greet him. “Hello?”
“Hi, Kugy.”
“Keenan?”
“Yeah. It sounds really busy at your house. Is something happening?”
“Oh, no. It’s like this every day.” Kugy chuckled. “You—how are you? Why are you calling all of a sudden?” She chuckled again. “Not that you’re not allowed to. It’s weird, that’s all. I mean, not weird. Just . . . yeah.” Kugy was beginning to feel awkward.
“I’m going to Bali for a month. I just wanted to say good-bye.”
“Oh . . .”
“I’m calling Eko and Noni after this to say good-bye to them as well,” Keenan added hastily. “What do you want as a souvenir?”
“Hmm . . . what do I want?” Kugy thought for a while. “I already have five barong shirts, three beach sarongs, and a miniature surfing board.”
“Salted peanuts? They’re a Balinese specialty.”
“Oh, I know!” exclaimed Kugy. “Something that can’t be bought.”
“So, something stolen?”
Kugy laughed. “No. Something handmade.”
“Okay.” Keenan smiled. “Something handmade. I promise.”
It felt like something was coursing through her blood. She felt warm. And it felt like something was tugging at the corners of her mouth.
She felt like she couldn’t stop smiling. Then Kugy caught a glimpse of her reflection in the closet mirror and felt like an idiot.
“I gotta go. Sorry I can’t talk for long. Take care of yourself, okay? See you next semester.”
“Sure. See you next semester.” And she heard him hang up. Slowly, Kugy put down the receiver. Then she sat there for a long time. The phone conversation hadn’t even lasted two minutes, but it felt as if time had dropped anchor and come to a standstill. Then gradually, Kugy hoisted the anchor and returned to her family’s living room and its usual state of pandemonium.
The compound was located in the village of Lodtunduh, quite a distance from Ubud’s town center, but everyone knew the place. Wayan and his enormous extended family lived there on almost twelve acres of land filled with hills and valleys and traversed by rivers. All the members of the family were well-known artists. There were those who painted, who carved, who sculpted, who danced—and there were even some who made jewelry. It was as if every one of Bali’s art forms was each represented by at least one person among them.
Even though it was Keenan’s first visit to Lodtunduh (he had only seen it in photos Uncle Wayan had sent him), he fell in love with the place immediately. One month would be enough to satisfy all his artistic yearnings and keep him going for a long time. He wished he could spend the rest of his life there.
His mother and Uncle Wayan were old friends, and Keenan had known the man since he was little. Whenever Uncle Wayan had an exhibition at a gallery in Jakarta, his mother would make a point of stopping by. Little Keenan would tag along and pepper the artist with questions as she smiled and watched, occasionally saying something herself.
This was the first time Keenan had seen Uncle Wayan since returning from Amsterdam, though they had stayed in touch. Keenan was always sending photos of his paintings, and Uncle Wayan did the same. Keenan also corresponded with several of Uncle Wayan’s nephews and nieces who were the same age, and he felt as close to them as siblings, even though he had never met them in person. Coming here almost felt like returning to his hometown to visit relatives.
Keenan didn’t paint every day. Sometimes he felt content watching the family members going about their different art-related activities. He had spent all day following Banyu, one of Uncle Wayan’s nephews, who was working on a commissioned wooden sculpture. Keenan squatted next to Banyu to watch him work as Uncle Wayan stood nearby.
“Do you want to learn how to sculpt, Keenan? You look so serious.”
“I’m just impressed, Poyan, that’s all. I’ve never tried it. Do you sculpt?”
Uncle Wayan laughed and spread his palms. “These fingers are made for brushes, not chisels. I’ll leave the sculpting to Banyu and his father.”
“Give it a try,” Banyu chimed in. “Who knows? You might be good at it.”
Keenan looked around at the chisels and knobs of wood lying strewn about. His face began to show signs of interest.
Uncle Wayan fanned the flames. “Come on, what are you waiting for? Luckily, Banyu’s father is around, too, so you can ask him questions. You know, their work is highly regarded in the village of Mas, and Mas is famous for its sculptures.”
“Okay, okay,” said Keenan, smiling, “but I’ll just watch for today.” Then he returned to his devoted observation of Banyu.
As evening approached, Keenan returned to the woodworking studio. This time he was alone. The studio belonged to Uncle Wayan’s brother, Putu, and it was where Uncle Putu and his son Banyu usually worked. It was only two lots away from the studio where Uncle Wayan did his painting.
Many different types of wood of all sizes lay in piles. Keenan recognized a few of them. There was Indian rosewood, frangipani wood, suar wood, belalu wood, and ketapang wood, as well as other kinds of material, like roots, fibers, and twigs. Finally, after much deliberation, Keenan found what he was looking for—a piece of teak with a beautiful wavy pattern on it.
Start small, he thought. Keenan found a spot to work, got out the tools that he needed, and began carving. He stayed late into the night.
CHAPTER 9
THE MATCHMAKING PROJECT
Kugy had something new to keep her occupied these days. It was as if she were a child again, working on arts and crafts projects for school. She photocopied all of Keenan’s sketches and cut them out into squares. The small printer in her room whirred continuously, printing out all her fairy tales. Once everything was ready to go, Kugy began to match the text of her fairy tales with Keenan’s sketches to produce a handmade book. And she worked on every detail with all her heart.
A particular date had inspired her to make the book, and she kept it in mind as she labored away. She had even circled the date in her calendar. It was only one day away from her birthday.
New Year’s Eve 1999
Keenan had decided to emerge from his cave in Ubud and descend the mountain. Tonight he was going to Kuta with Banyu and Agung to celebrate New Year’s Eve. He was excited about what it all meant—a new year, a new century, a new millennium even. A fresh start. Jalan Legian was packed, and the traffic was at a standstill. Nearly every café was overflowing with people who spilled out onto the sidewalk. The three friends had to yell at each other just to be heard.
“So, where are we going?” bellowed Banyu. They had parked at a nearby house and decided to walk on foot.
Keenan shrugged. It was so busy, it already felt like they were celebrating just standing on the side of the road. Truth be told, he couldn’t wait to get back to Lodtunduh and the compound.
Agung pointed at a café on the corner, just a few yards away. “Let’s just go there! It belongs to my friend Parta. We’ll definitely be able to get a table!”
They moved toward the dimly lit café, which was decorated with Buddha ornaments. But Keenan slowed when he saw a small telephone warung wedged between two stores.
“Agung, Banyu. Hold up. I won’t be five minutes!” Keenan yelled as he went in. There was one booth available. Keenan took out his wallet and searched for the little piece of paper he’d slipped in it.
The cell phone number he dialed went straight to voice mail. He tried another number.
“Hello?”
Keenan recognized the voice. It was the same one that had answered the last time he called.
“Hello. May I please speak to Kugy?”
“Hold on,” the voice said sweetly. And once the receiver was held away, the sweet voice transformed into a piercing shriek. “Kugy! It’s for you again! I’m so tired of picking up the phone for other people all the time! Why hasn’t anyone called me?”
“That’s the way it is! Just accept it!” someone answered.
“Ugh. Typical teenager,” said someone else. “Wait till you get a bit older. Then you’ll be sick of answering the phone.”
“I don’t have to wait till I’m older if all the calls I pick up are for everyone else. I’m sick of it now.”
Then he heard the pitter-patter of footsteps. A moment later, the telephone changed hands. “Hello?”
Immediately, Keenan smiled. It was just a “hello,” but it was enough to make him feel happy again.
“How far away is your room? I hear you stomping down the stairs every time I call.”
“Keenan? Hi! How are you?”
“I’m good. I’m in Kuta, celebrating the New Year with Uncle Wayan’s nephews. I thought of you, so I wanted to call. But I figured you wouldn’t be home. You don’t have plans?”
“A lot of invites, but I turned them all down.” Kugy chuckled.
“Are you having a party at home?”
“Nah. I have work to do.”
Keenan’s eyes grew wide. “Important enough for you to skip New Year’s Eve altogether?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Kugy answered. She glanced at her fingers, still coated in dried glue from all the pasting she’d been doing for the past few days.
“We’re ahead by an hour here, and it’s going to be midnight in a little while. So . . . Happ
y New Year, Little One! Don’t grow up too fast. You’re pretty cool just the way you are.”
Keenan said it jokingly, but for some reason, Kugy felt very touched. She swallowed. “Thanks. Happy New Year to you, too.”
“I actually have a lot to tell you. But I never know what to say over the phone. Maybe later, when we meet up again in Bandung, okay?”
Kugy felt a pang of disappointment. It looked like their conversation was going to be over in less than two minutes. “What about my souvenir? You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
“A barong shirt, right?” Keenan teased. This was greeted by a peal of laughter from the other end. His mind drifted to the object which, for the past few days, he almost never let out of his grasp—the object which caused Uncle Wayan and Banyu to shake their heads, wondering at the earnestness with which Keenan scrutinized it and polished it daily to perfect it further.
“Hey, you owe me a lunch at the Hunger No Longer if you end up bringing me a barong shirt, or a beach sarong, or a miniature surfing board . . .”
“What about salted peanuts?”
“Well, salted peanuts would make me pretty happy.”
“I’ll bring all of the above, plus something I’m making right now. So, we’re still on for our date at the Hunger No Longer, right?”
“Right,” said Kugy cheerfully.
Soon afterward, they hung up, and the conversation replayed in Kugy’s mind. And once again time dropped anchor and stood still. And once again Kugy found herself tethered to a moment, preserved like all their other moments in crystal.
January 2000
The trio brought their plates of food to their usual table and sat down. They also brought their respective stories about what they had done over the semester break.
Eko began by recounting the recent operation Fuad had undergone. “Fuad had his engine replaced. It’s like getting a new soul. Fuad is only a 124 in body now. Inside he’s a Mirafiori.”
“In plain language, this means . . . ?”
“The odds of Fuad stalling in the future are low, and life is going to be a lot easier for you two,” Eko summed up.
