Paper Boats

by Lestari, Dee

  Keenan was taken aback. First, by Luhde’s beauty. And second, by her request, which he felt unable to fulfill, even though he understood what she meant by it. Keenan swallowed. “I put all my heart into every painting I make. You can choose whichever one you want. Or if you like, I can paint one especially for you.”

  Luhde shook her head. “You created those paintings out of your love of art. But that other thing . . . When I saw it, I wept. It was so beautiful. And it was beautiful because you created it out of an even deeper love.”

  Keenan was at a loss for how to respond.

  In the blink of an eye, Luhde changed back into a shy teenage girl. “But I understand if you can’t give it to me,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “I’m sorry I’m always so forward with you.” Hastily, she picked up the tray of coffee cups and left.

  Keenan didn’t move. A great dilemma was raging in his heart, one he had never experienced before.

  CHAPTER 26

  A NEW LEAF

  In the middle of the night, as everyone lay sound asleep in their rooms, one person was still to be found outside. He was looking up at the clear night sky and the innumerable stars scattered across it.

  Keenan sat alone. He remembered other nights like these, spent on the roof above his room in Bandung, enjoying the heavens so clear and vast, thinking about the same person he was thinking about now.

  In his hand he clutched a wooden heart the size of his fist. It was something he had made more than a year ago—something he had meant to give to someone, something he still polished every day, though he kept it to himself. Its surface was covered with an abstract relief resembling ocean waves. Such precision and detail. Making it had caused his neck to ache for a week. He smiled at the memory.

  Once again he studied the relief and rubbed it. Hidden among the waves were two initials: K & K.

  Suddenly, he heard the wind whistling. It shook the hollow bamboo kentungan hanging from the eaves and they reverberated with a sweet, melodious sound. Keenan shivered as the wind blew against his skin, but he still refused to stir.

  The sound of the kentungan reminded him of Kugy for some reason. He remembered Luhde’s words. Memories are nothing but ghosts in the corners of our minds. And all this time he had been clinging to his love for a memory, an apparition who was nothing more than a shadow—even if Kugy was the most beautiful shadow ever to haunt his heart.

  Keenan closed his eyes, immersing himself in the sharp pain filling every cell in his body. But he also knew it was time to let that shadow go. He gave the carving a slow kiss. “Little One, maybe this really isn’t meant for you after all,” he whispered. And with this gesture came the sharp pain of separation.

  The sun was beginning to rise, its rays slowly wiping away all traces of the night sky and stars, and the roosters crowed.

  Keenan knew the room was unlocked. He also didn’t want to wake the room’s occupant. Carefully, he opened the door and stepped inside.

  Luhde was sound asleep, a peaceful expression on her face. The covers were pulled up to her neck and her long hair lay strewn across the pillow.

  Slowing down every movement to avoid making a sound, Keenan placed the wooden carving beside her. “Happy birthday,” he whispered.

  May 2001

  Eko met Kugy again at the Hunger No Longer. They ate lunch together, as they had been doing recently at least twice a week. This new habit was a saving grace for Kugy. It had been so long. Eko was her closest friend now.

  That afternoon, Kugy discussed her plan to graduate in the next two semesters.

  “Well, I’ll be a dead gecko!” Eko exclaimed. “So you’re going to start the process of submitting your thesis?” His eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head.

  Kugy nodded and gave a small smile.

  “Whoa.” Eko shook his head. “It’s too much! You’ve gone too far! This isn’t you at all!”

  Kugy’s grin broadened. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Look. I know once you’re obsessed with something you’ll work at it nonstop,” Eko protested. “It’s like you’re possessed by the djinns who built Prambanan in one night. But this? This is official academic-type stuff! When were you ever this crazy when it came to school? Are you really so desperate to get it over and done with?”

  Kugy laughed. “I’m not desperate to graduate early because I love studying. I want to get out of here! That’s why I’ve been working like crazy.”

  “Oh, I see,” Eko murmured. His eyes grew wide and he gave Kugy a knowing look. “It sounds like someone’s trying to run away from something.”

  Kugy frowned. “Run away from what?”

  Eko’s expression grew serious. “Kugy, there’s a lot I haven’t wanted to ask you because I respect your privacy. I know you’re not the kind of person who talks a lot about her problems. So I’ve left the ball in your court this whole time. If you want to tell me, great! If not, I’m not going to force you. But, please, I just want to know one thing: What’s been going on with you for the past year? You’ve completely changed, you’ve pulled away from us, and we don’t know why.”

  Kugy looked at Eko for a long time. There were so many things she wanted to tell him all jumbled together on the tip of her tongue, waiting to come tumbling out. But once again, she felt paralyzed. Kugy shook her head and gave him a thin smile. “Sorry, I’m still not ready to tell you.”

  Eko let out a long sigh. “You don’t miss the old times with the midnight movie gang?”

  “Of course I do,” Kugy answered softly. “But I also don’t mind how things are now. Sometimes, it even feels better. I have more space.”

  “If you say so,” answered Eko.

  The two of them were silent.

  “I miss Keenan,” said Eko all of a sudden. “Do you know where he is?”

  At the sound of Keenan’s name, Kugy jumped. She tried her best to look calm and unfazed. “He’s your cousin. Can’t you ask his family?”

  “His family doesn’t know where he is, either.”

  “Oh,” mumbled Kugy. Her expression didn’t change, but she couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

  “It’s like the kid’s been abducted by a UFO. Vanished without a trace. Crazy, huh?” Eko looked up at Kugy. “The two of you really are weirdos! One of you has run away, the other is trying to run away—what’s with you guys?”

  Kugy couldn’t help but smile. “You know, the fact that you’re angry is a sign of your affection.”

  “Affection? Yeah, it does affect me—how annoying you are.” Eko made a face. “But I guess I’m still willing to be your friend a little while longer. It must be out of affection. Or maybe it’s because, deep down, I like to collect rare and ugly specimens like you.”

  Kugy laughed. “I love you, too,” she said.

  “Shut up!”

  October 2001

  It hadn’t even been a year yet, but Keenan’s paintings were generating a lot of talk. His name was circulating among the gallery and art-collecting set. But he was still unwilling to show his work in Jakarta, and remained with Uncle Wayan’s gallery in Ubud. He had developed a following and a number of collectors inquired frequently about his newest paintings, but there was no collector as eager as that first one—his first buyer. It was as if he could predict the patterns in Keenan’s creativity. Rarely did other buyers beat him to it. He seemed obsessed with collecting the complete series of Keenan’s Alit paintings, which were beginning to be the talk of the town.

  Keenan meanwhile felt funny knowing that his work was an object of discussion and rivalry. Lying before him was his savings account statement. After those difficult times in Bandung—the most difficult in his life—he had never dreamed he would have so much money. And suddenly, Keenan felt compelled to ask Uncle Wayan a question.

  “Poyan, what will happen if I hit a wall? Or burn out? Or what if people get bored with my work?”

  Uncle Wayan chuckled softly. He pulled up a chair and sat beside Keenan. “It’s true that we ca
n’t predict what collectors will like. We can’t control what curators will think, either. Like fruit, they have their seasons.” There was a broad smile on his face. “You’re right to be worried. When it comes down to it, the most difficult people to predict are ourselves. There will come a time when you’ll ask yourself: Where has all my inspiration gone? Suddenly, you’ll feel abandoned. All you’ll be able to do is sit there, not producing anything. You’ll feel like you’ve run dry. But it won’t necessarily mean you’ll have to find a new subject or source of inspiration. It’s like finding your soulmate. If you’re having problems with your girlfriend, it doesn’t mean you should get a new one, does it? Still, love does have to be renewed. Love can spring up by itself, but that’s no guarantee it will last forever, especially if it isn’t tended to. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Keenan shook his head.

  “General Pilik’s stories have inspired you. But in order for General Pilik to truly come alive and not just be a character in that book, he has to become a part of you. He has to live on in your heart. Do you understand?”

  This time Keenan nodded. Nonetheless, the depths hidden in that afternoon’s conversation still escaped him.

  New Year’s Eve 2001

  Kugy sat alone on the front terrace, a mosquito-repellent coil keeping her company and Snoozy, their basset hound, dozing at her feet. Everyone else was inside fast asleep.

  She had gone two years without making any resolutions. It was a change from her usual practice of writing down her goals, and then hiding them to be read again the following New Year’s Eve. In this sense she had been like Snoozy, who loved hiding bones so he could one day return to dig them up.

  Yet, before her lay a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen—not for writing down resolutions, though. After much reflection, Kugy began to write:

  Neptune, I really hope this letter reaches the ocean this time. Why? Because to be honest, I miss him. I miss him so much. And I feel that tonight he is near the ocean. Give him my regards, okay? And if you don’t, watch out—this agent is going on strike.

  Kugy folded the sheet of paper into a boat. She’d have to wait until tomorrow to set it afloat on the stream. Tonight, she would have to find another way. Kugy held the letter to her chest, closed her eyes, and imagined the wide open sea and the sound of the waves. She had once told Keenan that the sound of waves was nature’s sweetest song. She could almost hear them now.

  Wherever you are, may this message reach you. Even without a boat. I miss you very much.

  As Keenan watched the waves, lost in thought, he realized there would always be times when he had to stop and think about her.

  Oh, Little One, if only you were here. You would be so happy. Didn’t you tell me once that the sound of waves was nature’s sweetest song? Keenan let out a long sigh. I wonder what you’re doing these days.

  “Keenan!” a man’s voice called out. It was joined by a woman’s, also calling his name. Keenan returned to the present. He was in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party at the house of one of Uncle Wayan’s good friends. The backyard, which looked out directly onto the beach, made it possible for him to enjoy the openness of his surroundings without being disturbed by the crowds.

  “Keenan, come inside for a bit,” said the man. “Mr. Wayan is looking for you.”

  Meanwhile, Luhde appeared at Keenan’s side and took his arm. How radiant and happy she looked tonight. This was the first time Luhde had ever attended a party. But what made her the happiest was being able to share the experience with Keenan.

  “Sorry, I have to leave you for a minute. But I’ll be back soon. You’ll be all right, won’t you?” Keenan gently stroked Luhde’s hand.

  “I’ll be fine. I have someone to keep me company.” Luhde glanced at the man next to her.

  Keenan laughed. “Thanks for taking care of Luhde for me. Hopefully she won’t wear you out.”

  “No problem,” the man answered with a smile. “I enjoy talking with her. She’s smart and full of surprises.”

  Luhde ducked her head, like the involuntary response of a touch-me-not plant, closing upon contact. But in her heart she was overjoyed. Luhde knew this man wasn’t just anybody. He was the first buyer of Keenan’s paintings, and now he and Keenan were friends. Every time he visited Bali, he stopped by the gallery, taking time to walk around and talk with Keenan and her family. And tonight, the man had even decided to spend New Year’s Eve in Bali with them.

  Keenan returned to the house. As he walked, he looked out at the sea one last time. In the distance, he could hear people still blowing on their party horns. The New Year had now begun. The turning over of a new leaf.

  He felt dizzy. Looking straight ahead, he left the beach behind him.

  CHAPTER 27

  A PROMISE IS A PROMISE

  January 2002

  Kugy had received an A on her thesis proposal and was celebrating by returning home to Jakarta for the first time in months. Now she was enjoying her days relaxing. On Sunday afternoon, her family gathered in the TV room. The noise was a hallmark of all K Family gatherings.

  “So, once the semester begins, all you have to do is write your thesis?” asked her older sister, Karin.

  “Yup!”

  “Kevin, you’re so slow!” Karin exclaimed, slapping her younger brother on the forehead. “You’ve been going to community college for four years now and still no signs of graduating. Kugy’s beating you and she’s getting a bachelor’s degree!”

  “It’s the end result that’s important!” Kevin shot back. “Now look. I’m social. And I’ve done a lot. Kugy’s a nerd. Of course she’s going to graduate quickly.”

  “You have done a lot,” Kugy said with a smirk. “We can tell from all the free T-shirts you get from organizing ‘important’ events.”

  Karin chuckled. “Yeah, Kev. Are you going to be busy with extracurricular activities forever?”

  “Soon you’ll be asking permission to drop out so you can make extracurricular activities your life: hiking events, chess competitions, car shows, badminton championships, fashion shows . . . It’ll never end.” This comment came from their father as he walked by.

  Kugy laughed. “‘Kevin: The One-Man Organizing Committee. A Million Events and Counting.’ Put that on a T-shirt and you’ll never have to take it off!”

  “You’re the weird one!” Kevin protested. “You should try being human—it’s fun! Three years of university and you’re already writing your undergrad thesis? What’s up with that? Not living life—that’s what I call it.”

  Kugy’s older brother, Karel, spoke up. “Seriously, though, Kugy. What are you going to do after you graduate?”

  “Get a job, of course!”

  “Kugy, Kugy . . .” It was Kevin’s turn to shake his head. “Do you really want to get a job so soon? Jobs are tiring, you know. It’s good to be a student. Otherwise you’ll end up like Karin: nothing but skin and bones.”

  “I’m not skinny! You’re obese!” Karin said, glaring at Kevin.

  “I’m not fat, my darling sister. I’m just not that tall.”

  “What kind of job do you want to get, Kugy?” Karel asked.

  “It has to involve writing somehow. But I don’t want to be a reporter. I’m not that talented when it comes to journalism.”

  “So you don’t want to be a—what was it again? It began with t.” Kevin tried to remember.

  “A tire repairman?” Keshia suggested.

  “A teller! That’s it! A storyteller!” Kevin snorted in derision.

  “A teller of tales,” Kugy corrected him, annoyed. “Maybe someday, when I’m old and retired. How will I earn any money if I do that?”

  Karel raised his eyebrows. “Suddenly you’re thinking about money?”

  “I’m much more of a realist now,” said Kugy with a tight smile. There was a bitter taste in her mouth as she spoke.

  “Okay, how about I help you look?” said Karel. “My friend recently set up his own advertising
firm. Maybe he needs a copywriter. You could probably start out as an intern first, before you officially graduate.”

  “Ask him! Ask him!” said Kugy. “I can work without pay first! That’s fine!”

  “One minute you’re proclaiming yourself a realist, the next you’re saying you don’t need to get paid.” Kevin laughed. “You’re terrible at thinking about money! How are you going to get rich?”

  “Look who’s talking,” said Karin, laughing even harder. “As if there’s any money to be made serving on organizing committees all the time! If you had a hundred rupiah for every time you’ve helped organize an event, you’d already have your own house.”

  But Kugy’s mind was already soaring far away, to graduation, to her first day of work. Whatever it was, wherever it was, the important thing was she would be able to leave and turn over a new leaf.

  March 2002

  Wayan watched his niece as she sat in the bale writing furiously. She happily scribbled away on the pages of the thick notebook she carried everywhere. Even though she’d been given a computer, Luhde still preferred writing by hand.

  “What kind of story are you writing?” Wayan asked gently as he sat down in front of her.

  “A children’s story,” said Luhde. She kept writing.

  “You’re still serious about becoming a writer?”

  “Yes, Poyan. I want to write children’s stories. Later, Keenan will provide the illustrations.”

  This startled Wayan. He looked again at Luhde. Her eyes were shining with excitement, though her tone was serious, as if she were in the middle of pouring her whole life and soul onto paper.

  “Luhde. Poyan ka ngomong kejep,” he said in Balinese. “I want to talk with you for a moment.”

  Luhde put down her pen and shut her notebook. Whenever her uncle started speaking in Balinese, it meant he wanted to discuss something serious.

  “I understand. You’re growing up. Your heart wants to go somewhere, to put down anchor and rest. But that journey has its risks.”