Diffusion Box Set

by Stan C. Smith

  Lindsey was already digging in her pack. “Here, Markus. Is a hundred thousand rupiah enough?”

  “Plenty good, misis.” He took the money and handed it over.

  The man glanced at the bill and smiled. “Papua Merdeka!” he said, and waved them on.

  Lindsey said, “Markus, has the OPM been active?”

  “You don’t worry about this, okay misis? There is talk of protests, but tourists are very safe.”

  “What’s the OPM?” Roberto asked.

  Quentin explained, “It stands for Organisesi Papua Merdeka, the Free Papua Movement. Many Papuans want Papua to become an independent country. The OPM are freedom fighters. The flag on that man’s shirt was the Morning Star. It kind of symbolizes their fight for independence. Occasionally in the past there’s been serious trouble in Wamena.”

  Lindsey said, “Is something happening we should know about?”

  “It’s okay, misis. You’ll see.”

  Markus drove to their losmen as the sun slid behind the mountain peaks.

  Chapter Three

  The pig whimpered as the Papuan man gripped its hind legs. Another man grabbed the forelegs and pulled, lifting the pig from the ground. A third man then drew back his bow. The squealing pig looked directly at Bobby as the arrow pierced its side. Wide eyes pleaded for help, but Bobby couldn’t move. Suddenly he realized the pig’s cries were in Bahasa, the Indonesian language.

  Bobby gasped and opened his eyes. The squawking continued, but it was only the morning chatter of Tika, the cockatoo in the losmen’s lobby.

  Last night’s pig feast, arranged by Markus, had actually been fun. Butchering the pig had been done in the traditional way, and it had taken three arrows to kill it, but Bobby had been too hungry to let that bother him. While the food cooked, the Papuans had staged a fake battle. That was the best part. They’d painted their bodies with pig grease and soot from the fire, reminding Bobby of the Papuans they’d met in the forest.

  Bobby kicked his sheet off. This was the last day, and Mr. Darnell had promised they could explore on their own. Carlos and Addison were asleep, so he shook their beds.

  Addison sat up, his coiled hair smashed flat on one side. He stumbled to the bathroom.

  Carlos mumbled, “I’m awake already.” He heaved off the bed and started picking through dirty shirts and socks that covered the floor. “You know what I’m buying? One of those necklaces with lizard feet.”

  Bobby considered this. Carlos could probably get away with wearing one of those. It was because of his brother. Everyone liked Roberto. If Carlos wore a lizard-foot necklace, people would say, “Well, he did go to New Guinea with his brother Roberto.” If Bobby wore one, they’d say, “That’s disgusting.”

  Bobby didn’t have much money for souvenirs anyway.

  Addison came out of the bathroom. He had frizzed his hair up with his brush, and now it was like a caramel-colored mop hanging over his freckled face. “If you guys want Indonesian lizard-AIDS, go ahead and buy that crap.”

  Bobby looked at Carlos and rolled his eyes. Addison hadn’t apologized to Ashley for blowing up at her yesterday and was still acting like it had never happened. He was clueless about things like that. Bobby got along with him okay, but Addison hadn’t even wanted to come on this trip. The Darnells had made him, because Addison ‘needed more interaction with his peers.’ Addison was the only kid Bobby knew who played Kembalimo more than he did. This had given them something to talk about, and they sometimes communicated through Kembalimo. But Addison could be a pain.

  They got dressed and went to the lobby, where the group met each morning. They were the first ones there, so they passed the time talking to Tika.

  The older kids, Russ and Roberto, and then the two girls, came dragging in with wild hair and pillow-creased cheeks. Bobby didn’t have any siblings, and during this trip he had learned that older kids would sleep all day if they could.

  Ashley’s long frizzy hair was even wilder than the others’. She said, “Does that bird ever shut up?”

  Bobby considered responding to this by telling them about his dream, but the older kids made him a little nervous. Especially Ashley.

  Roberto yawned and eyed the pack on Carlos’s back. “Where you guys going?”

  “Wherever,” Carlos said. “It’s the only time we got on our own. Wanna come?”

  “Maybe. Russ, you want to run with the twerps?”

  Russ sat in a chair with his head in his arms. “After breakfast, I’m back in bed. You guys got too much energy. It ain’t natural.”

  Bobby paced around, eager for the teachers to show up so they could start the day. He plopped into a chair and pulled out his smartphone to pass the time. Without a local SIM card he had no cellular access, so he used the lobby’s Wi-Fi. He opened Kembalimo and browsed through his list of friends. Most of them were kids his age who spoke other languages, living in places like Brazil, Madagascar, and Bahrain. Kembalimo allowed him to talk to them as naturally as he could if they spoke the same language. Addison’s name was near the top of his friend list. He stared at it for a moment and then tapped it. His screen went blank and then was populated with the 128 symbols of Kembalimo. Using his finger, he moved the symbols into groups. Each group contained specific information, because the symbols had gradually been assigned their own meanings as Bobby had played the game repeatedly over the last two years. The message he composed could be roughly translated as: You need to apologize to someone. Bobby tapped Send.

  A few meters away, Addison’s smartphone chirped. He pulled it out and stared at the screen, frowning. He then began shoving things around on his own screen.

  A string of symbols appeared on Bobby’s screen. Addison had composed his message using the same 128 symbols, but Addison’s symbols had different meanings than they did for Bobby. The game translated them into Bobby’s own Kembalimo language, called a lingo. The message said: Someone needs to apologize for almost getting us killed.

  Bobby made eye contact with Addison and tried giving him a disapproving look.

  “You guys are real Kembalimo nerds.” Russ had started pacing and he now stared over Bobby’s shoulder at the smartphone, although there was no way he could understand the message in Bobby’s lingo. “Addison’s right there. You can’t just talk to him?”

  Bobby felt his face flush as all eyes turned to him. Even Ashley was looking at him.

  “It’s just a way to practice,” he said. He shoved his phone back into his pocket. “I usually talk to people in different countries who don’t speak English. We talk about all kinds of stuff.”

  Russ blew out a one-syllable laugh. “You just described the most boring game ever. Answer me this: Can you kill anything in that game, like Nazis or zombies?”

  Bobby’s face grew even warmer. “Actually, it’s not a game. And there’s no—”

  Suddenly the teachers appeared and everyone’s attention shifted away from Bobby.

  “Good morning, scientists!” Mr. Darnell always said that, and like always everyone just groaned and herded to the long breakfast table.

  At the table there were boiled eggs and bread slices with a bit of peanut butter on them. As they ate, Mr. Darnell reviewed the day’s schedule. The flight to Sentani was at 3:30, and everyone had to be at the losmen by noon. Until then they could explore on their own.

  Mrs. Darnell was against this and everyone knew it. Apparently Mr. Darnell had convinced her they wouldn’t be kidnapped or killed if they had a few hours on their own.

  When Mr. Darnell finished, she shouted for them to stay seated. “This is not our country; it’s theirs,” she said. “Ashley, what will you do if someone touches you?”

  “I’ll say Permisi, uh…selamat jalan.”

  “And just walk away,” Mrs. Darnel finished it for her.

  A few chuckles rippled around the table. The others wouldn’t let Ashley forget her fight with Pupun. She must have been really scared to hit someone like that. Bobby had been that scared only a f
ew times before. There wasn’t much to be afraid of in Newton, Missouri. One time a growling dog had cornered him in an alley. He’d grabbed a rock and thrown it. He’d missed, but the dog had backed off. He hadn’t thought about throwing the rock, it had just happened. Danger had a way of changing people.

  Bobby, Carlos, and Addison burst through the door onto the street. The air smelled of strange food and pigs. Barefoot walkers and bicycle riders were everywhere, some with bundles balanced on their heads or hanging behind them from straps across their foreheads. Two Papuan men wearing only horims walked by, holding hands and talking to each other in Dani. Across the street a Papuan woman sat on the ground. Two naked children rolled an empty can around in the dirt next to her. An Indonesian boy, waiting with combed hair and white clothes for his mother to finish talking to someone, watched them play but didn’t try to join them.

  The three students decided to head for the Pasar Nayak market. As they walked, they passed Papuans squatting in the dirt with small piles of sugar cane, ginger root, or yellow tomatoes spread out on cloth before them. Bobby couldn’t imagine they could make much money selling these, and he was tempted to give away the last of his own money. He thought about the Papuans they had met at Lorentz Park. Pupun and his friends had few possessions and maybe no money at all. But unlike the Papuans here, Bobby hadn’t thought of those men as poor.

  At the Pasar Nayak market, which was open on the sides but covered by a metal roof, they wandered for over an hour through endless rows of goods. Carlos couldn’t find a necklace he liked, so finally he bought a machete in a sheath decorated with animals and the words, Wamena, Indonesia.

  When they left the market, a Papuan man carrying a pile of t-shirts stopped them. He held up a shirt emblazoned with the Morning Star flag. The man had a warm smile and friendly eyes, and the boys liked what the teachers had told them about the freedom fighters, so they each bought one. This depleted Bobby’s remaining money.

  Addison shed his pack and pulled his new shirt on. He said, “How’s it look?”

  “Like a dumb-ass tourist,” Carlos said, stuffing his into his pack. Bobby stowed his away, too.

  They turned north on Sudarso, a street busy with activity, but as they made their way north, things seemed to change. People were shouting and running. Soon Bobby saw a mass of people in the street several blocks ahead. He stopped walking.

  “Guys. I don’t think we should go this way.”

  Addison kept walking. “Come on, I want to see what’s going on!”

  Suddenly two Indonesian policemen, wearing stiff tan uniforms and black berets, stepped in front of them, blocking their way.

  “Mau ke mana?” said one of the policemen. The men were not smiling, and their brown faces sparkled with sweat. A pistol hung from each of their belts, balanced on the other side by a black club.

  Carlos said, “Sorry, we speak English.”

  Suddenly, smoke billowed from the middle of the crowd ahead, followed by angry shouting. The two policemen turned and ran toward the crowd, leaving the boys staring in fascination. As Bobby instinctively began backing away, the crowd erupted into chaos and violence. Police billy clubs thrashed in the air above the heads, and people tumbled over each other trying to escape.

  “Addison! Thank God!”

  Bobby turned, startled. It was Mrs. Darnell.

  “Where the hell have you boys been?” She grabbed the neck of Addison’s t-shirt and started hustling them away from the violent crowd. She pulled out her walkie-talkie as she walked. “Quentin?”

  Brief static and then a voice, “Yeah, Linds. Any luck?”

  “I found them. We’ll be at the airport in less than ten.” She lowered the walkie-talkie. “Change of plans. We’re leaving for Sentani now.”

  “Why are we leaving early?” Bobby asked as he tried to keep up.

  She shot him a glance. “Do you really need to ask that? There are conflicts at the north end this morning. Remember talking about the OPM, and the flag?”

  “Yeah. We bought t-shirts. Addison’s wearing his.”

  Mrs. Darnell looked at Addison’s shirt for the first time. She stopped walking. “I told your dad this was a bad idea.” She shook her head and started walking again. “It’ll be okay, Lindsey. They’ll stay out of trouble! Oh, and let’s not buy local SIM cards for their phones, Lindsey. Why would they ever need them?”

  Bobby had never seen her this upset.

  “What about the OPM?” Addison said.

  “Some Papuans demonstrated by raising the flag. Things are getting out of hand. Now they’re trying to get tourists out of Wamena.” She nodded at the shirt. “Take that off. Now.”

  Addison started to pull it off, but when she looked away he shoved it back down.

  As they approached the green domed roof of the air terminal, it became clear that something was very wrong. Tourists were everywhere, slinging luggage around, fumbling for money and paperwork.

  Mrs. Darnell plunged straight through the crowd and into the building. Angry shouting and the odor of sweat filled the crowded space. She guided them through the confusion and out the other side. There they saw Mr. Darnell and the other kids sitting next to the airstrip. The luggage was piled on the grass beside them.

  “Nice of you guys to join us,” Russ said. “We’ve missed our plane like four times.”

  Mr. Darnell rose to his feet. “We should be able to board one of the Twin Otters,” he said. “The larger planes are filled.”

  Bobby’s excitement grew as the plane bounced and rolled to the grassy edge of the airstrip, coming to a stop just in front of him. They had flown from Sentani to Wamena on a big Fokker F-twenty-something, and he’d had a lousy seat far from the window. But this was a proper jungle plane—rugged-looking and dirty white with blue letters that said Merpati. A door near the Twin Otter’s nose popped open, and an Indonesian pilot climbed to the ground. He glanced at the Americans without smiling and then opened a baggage door at the rear of the plane and one on the side of the nose cone. He attacked the pile of luggage, throwing it in like he was angry at every bag. He was not having a good day.

  Inside the plane, Bobby counted eighteen seats, jammed into a cabin not much larger than the minibus. Each row had two seats on the right and one on the left.

  “Move your butt, Roberto. Miranda, don’t touch me there!”

  “Bite it, Russ!”

  The older boys took the first row, then Ashley and Miranda, and then the Darnells. Addison and Carlos took the two seats behind the teachers, leaving Bobby by himself. He chose the single seat across from them, happy to have his own space by the windows.

  The cabin was hot and smelled like fuel. Tattered fabric covered the seats. In fact, everything seemed worn out, like his dad’s old car. Dents and gashes stippled the cabin wall. Suspicious substances caked the floor, gumming up the seams and screws. Bobby felt the same rush as when he boarded a roller coaster—helplessness mixed with anticipation. He looked out the window, his own private window, at the mountains encircling Wamena and the Baliem Valley.

  It had been an exciting day, so far.

  Chapter Four

  The hotter the goddamn plane, the longer you have to sit and wait, thought Quentin. By the time Lindsey had found the boys, the larger planes had departed, leaving only a handful of Twin Otters. The airline’s resources must have been stretched thin, for it appeared there would be only one pilot on this flight. Through the window, Quentin watched the pilot quarrelling with an airline official. Apparently the pilot’s goal was to argue with every person at the airport before taking off.

  Quentin moaned and shifted position. He twirled a small object in his fingers, a habit developed in his first year of teaching that helped calm his nerves. It was a raccoon baculum, or penis bone, that a student had bought while on a family trip to the Ozarks. The student had joyfully explained that Ozark boys once gave the four-inch bones to their girlfriends as tokens of love. Quentin had jokingly offered it to Lindsey when they’d firs
t met, and she’d surprised him by revealing that she’d already collected bacula from a dozen different mammals to show her students. Every day since then he had carried it with him in the pocket of his trousers.

  Lindsay smiled at his nervous habit. “Things could be worse.”

  “How?”

  “We could be stuck here. The Papuans are uprising, and we’d be caught in the middle of it, an international incident. ‘American Teenagers Involved in Civil War.’” She framed the headlines with her hands. “The kids would join the separatists. We’d have to go back and tell the parents they’re now freedom fighters.”

  Quentin felt his stress soften. “You’re a little disturbed.”

  She smiled again. This time Quentin was struck by the glint in her eyes and felt a surge of passion. But his fervor did not suit the setting. Soon we’ll be home, he reminded himself. He decided the conversation could serve as a distraction. “More likely they’d join the Indonesian police,” he said. “They’ve got aptitude for making people suffer.”

  “Why don’t you ask them which side they’d choose? Did you see Addison’s new shirt? He wore it all over town today. I told him to take it off, and he ignored me.”

  Quentin turned around to look, noting Addison’s shirt for the first time. He was secretly pleased at the thought of his son siding with the indigenous Papuans. “I guess you’re right; they’d join the Papuans. Maybe start a village in the rainforest and live on sago grubs.”

  Quentin glanced around at the other students. At the front of the cabin, Russ and Roberto appeared to be sleeping. Both girls bobbed their heads to music from their headphones. All three younger boys were doing something on their smartphones. A young Indonesian couple sat at the back of the plane, talking intimately together. A policeman whose apparent purpose had been to convince the pilot the Indonesians were legitimate passengers had escorted them onto the plane some minutes ago.