by Dee Lestari
Finally, heavily, Lena nodded.
Keenan rose to his feet. He kissed his mother’s forehead and held her close. Every second that rolled by mattered. There was only silence—and the tears that fell from their eyes.
CHAPTER 23
CATCHING STARS
Keenan sat on the bus for twenty hours as it carried him from Bandung to the Ubung Terminal in Denpasar, Bali. And for all twenty hours, his eyes remained wide open. Something about this journey made him both nervous and excited. This was the biggest decision he had ever made. He felt it in his heart, too—something big was waiting for him in Ubud.
From the bus window, he saw Uncle Wayan and his nephew Agung waiting at the terminal, pacing back and forth. Keenan immediately recognized them. They were similar in height and build, and each was dressed in a sarong and collared shirt and wore an udeng on his head. They looked as if they had just come from a ceremony.
“Poyan! Agung!” Keenan waved as he stepped off the bus.
At once Uncle Wayan’s face broke into a bright smile, and Agung sprinted over to help Keenan with his bag.
“Looks like we’re going to have to get food into someone fast, Agung—before all the dogs in Bali start eyeing him. He looks like a walking collection of bones.” Uncle Wayan chuckled.
Keenan chuckled, too. “Sounds good to me, Poyan. I won’t refuse a meal. Especially if we eat soon.”
Uncle Wayan gave Keenan a big hug. “I’m happy you’ve decided to come home to us. The whole family is waiting for you.”
Something in Keenan’s heart stirred. He was moved. He then realized how much he had missed the idea of coming home . . . of family.
The car arrived at a high wooden gate surrounded by leafy trees and wild brush growing tall and dense. Rising up beyond the wooden gate were the spires of a temple, so high they were visible even from the road. There, on twelve acres of land, lived Uncle Wayan’s enormous family, spread out among several houses. There were also three large studios for all the different activities and materials the family needed for their artistic endeavors.
The sight of that familiar wooden gate took his breath away. This was his new home. He couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across his lips.
Uncle Wayan hadn’t exaggerated when he said the whole family was waiting. Keenan felt moved again when their car pulled up in front of the complex and he saw everyone gathered on the terrace.
“Keenan! Brother! What’s up?” It was Banyu. Of all Uncle Wayan’s nephews, he was the closest to Keenan. He went right up to Keenan and enfolded him in a warm embrace. He was followed by Uncle Putu, then the others.
“Your room is all ready for you,” said Auntie Ayu, Agung’s mother and Uncle Wayan’s sister-in-law. She sounded cheerful. “We’ve added an armoire. You’ll be living with us from now on, right?”
“Yes, that’s the plan,” Keenan answered with a broad laugh. “Here, I’ve brought a few treats from Bandung. They’re for everyone.” He handed her a large bag of sweets and snacks he’d purchased before boarding the bus yesterday.
“You must be tired,” said Uncle Nyoman, Uncle Wayan’s younger brother and also a painter. “You have bags under your eyes.”
“I had trouble sleeping on the bus,” answered Keenan. “I haven’t slept since yesterday. But I feel okay.”
“If that’s the case, you’d better get some rest straight away!” Ayu exclaimed. “Take a nap. We’ll wake you later when dinner’s ready, all right?”
“Thank you so much,” Keenan answered with a nod. This sounded just fine by him. Stepping foot inside the house again, he felt as if his entire system had shed all the burdens he’d been carrying, and now he could feel how tired his body was.
“Luhde!” Auntie Ayu called. “Could you please take Keenan to his room? And don’t forget to give him something to drink.”
Keenan frowned. The name was unfamiliar. And sure enough, an unfamiliar woman who had been standing in the corner behind everybody else made her way shyly to the front. She looked at him and ducked her head slightly.
“Keenan, this is Luhde Laksmi, my niece from Kintamani,” Uncle Wayan explained. “Luhde will be living here as well. Her father, Made Suwitna, sent her. He came to visit around New Year’s, when you were here last. Do you remember him?”
Keenan nodded. The man was a very famous Balinese dance choreographer. Keenan glanced at Luhde. She looked like a typical teenage girl. Her frame was petite, and her bashful expression made her look even more delicate. What stood out was her long hair, which she wore loose over her shoulders so that it looked like a black shawl hanging down to her waist. And yet, for all her apparent fragility and bashfulness, her large eyes shone with curiosity. Keenan was transfixed. There was something familiar about her, though they were meeting for the first time. He didn’t know what it was.
“She looks shy, but she knows a lot,” Uncle Wayan continued, chuckling.
Luhde’s face reddened. “Come, Beli. I’ll take you to your room.” Hastily, she began walking. She had spoken softly, but her voice was clear, like dew.
“Just call me Keenan,” he said. Beli was the Balinese term of respect for an older brother.
Meekly, Luhde nodded.
Uncle Wayan patted Keenan on the back. “Get some rest. You’re home now. We’ll talk again later tonight.”
Keenan looked around once more, to reassure himself he wasn’t dreaming. He was too tired to dream anymore.
Eko watched as Noni straightened up her closet. Their social life had undergone many changes recently. He and Noni spent more time by themselves. There were still several friends they went out with, but things just weren’t the same anymore.
“How long before you two start talking to each other again?” Eko asked.
Noni was startled, but hastily resumed folding her clothes. “You mean me and Kugy?”
“Yeah,” answered Eko as he turned away. “Are you really okay with things the way they are, even though you two are living in the same boarding house? I don’t know what to do—I feel bad taking anyone’s side. You’re my girlfriend. Kugy’s my friend. But you’re not speaking to each other.”
Noni shrugged. “What can we do? Haven’t you seen what she’s like now? She can’t even be bothered to say hello.” She motioned with her chin in the direction of the corridor.
Eko poked his head out and saw that Kugy had just returned. Her face had become hard, to the point of looking cruel. Her sunken eyes emanated exhaustion. She was more ghost than person—silent, gloomy, as if she were carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“Could you be bothered to say hello if you saw her looking like that every day?” Noni quipped. “Enough already. What’s the point, anyway? We’ll never be able to go back to how we were before.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s changed ever since she started teaching at Alit and broke up with Josh. I don’t get it, either. And she clearly doesn’t want to be open with me. So, fine.”
Eko looked into Noni’s eyes. “You really don’t miss her? You could try approaching her, or make a bit of conversation . . .”
Noni glared back at him. “She’s the one who should approach me and make a bit of conversation, and apologize for not attending my party! Not the other way around!”
Eko was quiet. He let Noni go back to what she was doing. Her face was set in a sullen expression.
“Noni,” he murmured after they had been silent for a long time. “An antelope can run as fast as lightning, but when it sees a lion, it’ll stand as still as a statue.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What I mean is, even though an antelope is scared of a lion, it won’t be able to run away. It won’t be able to move at all.”
“So? What does that have to do with me?”
“Have you ever considered that Kugy feels guilty about what she did to you? And because of that, she’s like that antelope? But she can’t do anything about it. She’s become stiff, q
uiet, aloof. It’s not because she wants to be that way. But she can’t help herself because she feels bad about what she did. And she’s too scared to approach you.”
Now it was Noni who was quiet for a long time. Then, as she folded her last item of clothing, she mumbled, “Oh please. Don’t psychoanalyze me. You’ve been defending her this whole time. In your eyes, Kugy can do no wrong.” Noni left the room, leaving him wondering what he had done to make her so upset.
Under the shelter of the open-air bale, Keenan sat perfectly still. This was his third week in Lodtunduh. He was beginning to feel there was no difference between him and the free-range chickens Uncle Wayan kept in the backyard. Raised neither for their meat nor their eggs, they were simply allowed to roam free into their old age. Perhaps all Uncle Wayan required of them was their presence, their sounds, their movements, to liven things up. Sometimes Keenan even felt that the chickens were more useful than he was. He tried to help out every day with household chores, but he still felt useless. He was beginning to feel tired and frustrated about it all, and the kindness and sincerity of Uncle Wayan and his whole family only made him feel even worse. For three weeks, all he had done was sleep and eat. And that wasn’t why he was here. He was here to paint.
Before him was an empty canvas, and strewn next to him were all the tools he needed. Every morning, he set up the same equipment in the same place. But he didn’t feel even the slightest urge to paint.
He heard something behind him scrape against the wooden floor, and he turned around to find Luhde on the bale stairs, sitting with her legs to one side. She was surprised as well. She turned pale, as if she were a thief caught red-handed.
Keenan greeted her with a laugh. “Hello, Your Highness. You’ve been parked there the whole time? When did you come in?”
“A-a while now,” Luhde answered, stammering. “I wanted to watch you work.”
Keenan laughed again. “Don’t you value your time? If you’ve been there for a while, it means all you’ve seen me do is daydream.”
Luhde smiled. “A good painter can give expression to anything, even emptiness,” she said in her low, gentle voice.
Keenan was astonished. “You’re a quiet one, but when you speak, you say some really smart things.”
Luhde came over and sat beside him. “It’s common for painters around here to draw their inspiration from a single source, and to rely on that one source for as long as they paint. In that way, it becomes possible for them to attain the highest levels of spiritual transcendence. Perhaps you should search for something similar.”
Once again, Luhde’s words astounded him. He would never have guessed such wisdom could spring from the lips of a seventeen-year-old girl.
“Take Poyan’s younger brother for instance. He draws his inspiration from the sesajen we offer to the spirits, so all his paintings are depictions of them. Or Poyan—he draws his inspiration from our traditional rituals. Banyu’s paintings are abstract, but he draws his inspiration from the patterns in Balinese textiles. Just look at their work. It’s true, isn’t it?” Luhde was happily prattling away. “Once you find your soulmate, your brush will follow.”
“My soulmate?”
“Every artist has a soulmate,” Luhde continued. “As long as they persevere and remain open, they’ll find it. So don’t lose hope so quickly. A canvas with nothing on it can speak volumes. And without nothingness, how would you start something new?”
Keenan couldn’t bear it any longer. Something tightened in his chest. He had yearned for so long to talk to someone about the pressures he faced, and today, Luhde had appeared like an angel of mercy, knocking on the door of his heart, allowing him to let down his defenses. “Luhde, to be honest, I don’t know where to start. I’m not even sure I can ever paint again . . .” Keenan spoke with great difficulty.
Luhde didn’t respond right away. Instead she approached the blank canvas. “Think of this as the sky,” she said as she placed her finger on it. “It looks like this sky is empty. But we know the sky is never empty—for there are many stars. An infinite number of them, in fact. You have to believe this, Keenan. This sky is full of clouds, that’s all. If you can part these clouds, you will find many stars. And one of them is fated to be with you. I will pray that you find your star.” Luhde bowed her head and pressed her palms together in front of her chest. Then, she glided slowly toward the stairs, leaving Keenan by himself once again.
Keenan stayed there until dusk. He lay on his back staring at the sky, trying to see into the distance, beyond the clouds, hoping to find something there.
CHAPTER 24
THE FIRST BUYER
December 2000
Kugy set out early in the morning shouldering a big backpack bulging with books. Her pace was brisk as she left the boarding house, which was quiet these days since all the residents had left for vacation. She was determined not to waste time. Vacations weren’t part of her agenda anymore. Once again, she was taking as many extra courses as possible during the semester break. Now she only had one goal: to graduate quickly.
There was almost nothing left to keep her in Bandung, apart from her courses and the Sakola Alit. For the most part, the dreams she’d had and the happy times she had shared with her friends were now gone. Her relationship with Noni hadn’t improved. The friend she had known since childhood had become a stranger.
Kugy also felt that being in her boarding house had become uncomfortable, living just one room away from Noni, who never spoke to her anymore. She couldn’t possibly continue to act as if Noni wasn’t there. She was too tired for that. Quietly, Kugy began looking for a new boarding house to move to before the new semester began.
Kugy had also stopped writing almost entirely. She had abandoned her ambition of being a fairy tale writer. Her imaginative powers were replaced by a logical chain of thought, which worked mechanically, robotlike, at studying, and nothing but studying.
The only writing she did anymore was for the paper boats she set afloat on the stream. Kugy felt those letters were what enabled her to preserve her sanity and strength—letters where she poured out her heart to Neptune, regardless of whether he existed or not. It didn’t matter. Whenever she watched her paper boats drift away on the stream’s current, Kugy felt as if she could breathe again. Her heart was at ease once more.
She told Neptune about her troubles, her inner restlessness, and how much she missed the way everything used to be, how beautiful it had been—and also, how much she missed Keenan.
A paper boat lay folded in her pocket. She would set it afloat before going to campus. If the boat were unfolded, its reader would find only a couple of lines:
Neptune, all fishermen trying to find their way use the stars as their guide. May he find his star. May he find his way home.
Every morning, in that same bale, Keenan painted, filling canvas after canvas. His fingers and brushes danced in sweeps of strokes and color.
The clouds had parted at last. At his side, he kept a worn-looking notebook. Once, Kugy’s tiny hand had danced across its pages, filling it with the adventures of General Pilik and the Alit Brigade.
From the terrace of the main house, Luhde gazed at the bale in silence.
“Poyan . . . ,” she whispered to Uncle Wayan.
“He’s extraordinarily talented, isn’t he?” Uncle Wayan commented. “His wounds are beginning to heal as well. He’s becoming more like the Keenan he was before.” He spoke as if he were reading Luhde’s mind.
Luhde smiled at her uncle. Her expression was bright. “Keenan has found his star.”
The end of December was here, and Bali was filling up with tourists. There was a celebratory feeling in the air, and even Keenan was affected by it. He felt he needed time away from the whir of creative activity that had so occupied him for the past month. Recently, he had been falling asleep in the bale instead of painting. However, that afternoon, his nap was disrupted.
“Keenan, wake up!” Luhde said, shaking him. “There’s a visitor in
the gallery who wants to meet you. Come on, wake up!”
With great effort, Keenan opened his eyes. He felt Luhde pulling him by the hand, and then Banyu appeared, ready to take him to the gallery on his motorbike.
“You go first. I’ll follow!” yelled Luhde as Banyu and Keenan sped off to the gallery with Keenan perched on the backseat.
The ride only took three minutes. Keenan didn’t even have time to gather himself. Still unsteady on his feet, he entered the gallery and saw Uncle Wayan. “Who’s the visitor, Poyan?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Ah, here’s our painter. He’s just woken up!” Uncle Wayan laughed.
A handsome young man stood next to him, smiling as well. He looked neat and clean even though he was dressed only in a plain T-shirt and jeans. His body was toned and healthy and his skin was clear. Keenan could tell the man wasn’t from Bali. He was from a big city—probably Jakarta.
“Keenan, meet your number one fan—the person who bought that first painting of yours. He’s come all the way from Jakarta to ask about your latest work. I told him you’ve come to stay.”
“Your style has matured,” the man said. “I’m very impressed. Extraordinary.”
“Thank you,” Keenan answered with a broad smile. For the first time, someone genuinely appreciated his work. Joy filled his heart. “Which ones do you like?”
The man cast his eyes around the room, surveying all of Keenan’s paintings.
“I can’t decide, to be honest. May I ask you something? These paintings make up a series of stories, don’t they?”
Keenan nodded energetically. “Yes, the characters are the same—only their adventures differ. I was inspired by a series of children’s adventure stories, written by a friend of mine. Each painting’s theme corresponds to a story. So, they’re more like illustrations, but in the form of paintings.”
“So that’s the problem,” said the man with a light laugh. “That’s why I can’t decide. If I may, I’d like to buy all of them. That way, I’ll have the complete collection.”
