Shaman of Bali

by John Greet

  The removal of the Sandika’s tropical wilderness duly began. Workers hacked with machetes, so within a couple of days we could walk from our coffee shop straight into the Bali Haj. Although I missed the garden, the overall effect was pleasing. The temples were given an upgrade as well, but the mango tree and a few other ornamental shrubs were left in place.

  * * *

  One evening, Mahmood asked me to dine with him. I shaved and showered, ironed my best shirt, dug out a pair of new shoes and walked down the pathway to the back entrance of the Bali Haj. I was early, and a waiter escorted me to a plush leather couch with a view of the front entrance: a sweeping driveway lined with queen palms leading up to a set of marble steps with Romanesque pillars. The beautifully carved arched doorways looked like they belonged at a Raja’s palace. Mahmood certainly had good taste, I had to admit.

  ‘Adam, would you like to come with me and view the kitchen? Anak has told me of your previous restaurant,’ he said as he joined me. I followed him to a large stainless-steel fitted kitchen, impeccably clean and modern.

  ‘It cost me a fortune,’ he said. ‘I had a Swiss chef come in as consultant. He designed the thing. But the point of a kitchen is to produce good food, no? And in Bali, as you know, some of the best food can be eaten at a roadside stall or in one of those warungs.’

  He then led me to our table. We continued our conversation over a glass of wine. ‘Let me get to the point,’ Mahmood said. ‘I want you to take over my restaurant and make it into something. Our food is passable but it doesn’t have a point of difference over the other hotels. My head chef tries hard but he needs direction.’ I looked at the menu. He was right. It was all fairly standard fare.

  ‘What do you have in mind? Given that we are in Bali and most tourists would expect to eat local flavours,’ I asked him.

  ‘Exactly, that is what I have in mind: New Asian with a European style presentation. Artistically presented traditional dishes with a modern flair … Creative use of local spices and fruits, making in-house desserts. Do you get where I’m going with this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have to confess that I sent a spy to your little coffee shop once to have him sample some of your dishes. I know why our Japanese prefer your restaurant to ours. I want that kind of food here, only better. You will have complete managerial control, and as many staff at your disposal as you need, both front-of-house and kitchen.’

  I forced myself to look calm and only vaguely interested in the offer although my heart was beating quickly. Here at last was something big. ‘If I do decide to do this, I guess you’re thinking of paying me a salary?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, I have something in mind.’

  ‘Mahmood, I can turn this place around. It’s a huge undertaking, but I’m confident I can do it. However I need it to be worth my while. I don’t want a salary.’

  His hand came up and smoothed his moustache. A waiter approached us, and he waved him away. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Twenty-five percent of the restaurant’s profits.’

  ‘That is preposterous!’

  ‘Not if your profit is doubled.’

  He looked at the sea. ‘Strange how things turn out, isn’t it? Adam, I swear, when you asked me to bail out Anak, I never imagined it would come to this.’ He waved his hand at the view then spoke sharply, ‘Twenty percent and a two-month trial period.’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘Start tomorrow?’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  ‘And before you start, see my clerk for an advance. You’ll need suitable clothes, and I’ll be deducting that off your twenty percent.’

  * * *

  Now, with a new job and good prospects, I felt comfortable about calling Grace. I was back on track and would be able to start paying my debts. But before I could make the call, Wayan called me from the office and handed me the receiver. I almost dropped it when I recognised the voice.

  ‘Adam. Don’t hang up. I know it’s you. If you hang up, I’m calling the police.’ Elisabeth’s voice crackled through the telephone line.

  ‘Adam, say something.’

  ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I didn’t. Grace told me and gave me the number. She’s pregnant, Adam.’

  ‘Whoa, come again.’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘When? How?’

  ‘And she’s keeping the baby. She’s left Steven, who was a complete egg. She’s living with me. A couple of nights ago she had a sort of meltdown. She’d tried calling you but couldn’t get through. I think that set it off. She told me everything.’

  There was a muffled sound. I cursed myself for not calling earlier.

  ‘Damn you, Adam. You don’t know what I’ve been through because of you. David’s left me, and those goons have only recently stopped coming around, and now our daughter’s having a baby. And while all this is going on, you’re lounging around on a beach in Bali. You have to come back.’

  ‘I can’t come back with nothing. That’s why I’m staying here. I’m trying to get money together …’

  ‘I’m going to cut this short,’ she said. ‘Here’s what I’ve decided: either you give yourself up, or I’m going to turn you in. Is that clear?’ The phone went dead. Typical Elisabeth, hanging up to avoid a reasonable discussion.

  Grace was pregnant. I needed time to process that. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. My little girl was going to be a mother. It just didn’t feel right. I desperately wanted to talk to her. Would Elisabeth really give me up or was that just an empty threat? Either way, it hollowed my stomach. A group of guests were playing volleyball in the pool. I could hear their splashes and laughter, and smell their suntan lotion. A local woman arrived by the pool with a basket of fruit on her head. I watched them haggle over the price of a pineapple.

  In an odd way, I was pleased that Grace was with her mother. I’d always felt that I was the cause of their strained relationship. David was gone, and clearly Grace and Elisabeth were talking to each other. I picked up the phone and called Grace. She answered on the second ring.

  ‘I was going nuts with worry. I thought something had happened to you,’ she blurted.

  ‘I hear I’m going to be a grandfather?’ I said, trying to sound casual.

  ‘Hah! Yes, you are, but to be a grandfather you need to be here.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me, Dad?

  ‘A lot of stuff happened here, things I can’t talk about. I didn’t want to worry you but it’s all turned out alright, and I’ve just landed a big job running a kitchen. This is the turning point, sweetheart. I know it.’ I regretted not confiding in my daughter, but then what could I tell her? That I was looking after a Brazilian drug dealer who’d lent me the money to pay Tula and that he’s in prison now? Or that I’ve been busy bribing public officials and detoxing a couple of gay alcoholic orangutans?

  ‘And you’re going to be the youngest grandad ever,’ she said. Clearly she didn’t want to hear more excuses.

  ‘How are you feeling about having the baby?’

  ‘It’s the best, Dad. I can’t wait. We’re going to be a family, even if it’s just me and the baby.’

  ‘You’re going to make a great mum.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And what’s up with your mum? Is she serious?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, you were right. I should have kept my mouth shut.’

  ‘Think she’ll go through with it?’ The thought of being arrested and deported home broke was unbearable. Elizabeth knew exactly where I was. It would take the immigration police only minutes to track me down.

  ‘Don’t know. You never know with Mum, and you’re not her most favourite person. But if she does drop you in it, I’ll call and let you know, okay?

  ‘How far along, are you?’

  ‘About three. I can just feel a little bump on my belly.’

  ‘You okay for money?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m still at Pierre’s and
I’ll have maternity leave when the time comes.’

  ‘Take it easy, sweetheart. I’ll call soon. And, hey, this is a bit of a shock, but I’m happy for you.’

  ‘I knew you would be. Love you, Dad.’

  * * *

  I set out for Kerobokan with the four rubber engine hoses and guitar slung across my back. The gate guard showed no interest in the hoses at all but wanted a substantial amount of cash to allow the guitar in. When I told him that what he was asking for was more than what I’d paid for the guitar itself, he lowered the price. Geno came into the blue room, dripping sweat, fresh from training. He checked out the rubber hoses, a grin spreading across his face.

  ‘Exactly, man, exactly.’

  ‘Did Putu come?’ I asked as Geno rewrapped the hoses.

  ‘Yeah, she come, man.’

  I was too tired with thoughts about home to press him for any information on what he intended to do with the hoses.

  * * *

  The heron’s call woke me. I spent a few minutes on the balcony, watching the surf and thinking of Grace. Then I showered and dressed myself in a white linen shirt and trousers. In the coffee shop, Wayan had my breakfast ready, and we ran over the previous day’s business. I was still the Sandika’s manager although Wayan and Ketut took care of most of its running. We had become the overflow for the Bali Haj. When they were full, their guests came to us. I looked at the Sandika’s gate, expecting to see the immigration police arrive at any moment. Wayan looked at me strangely; she sensed that something was up.

  It was a good day in the Bali Haj kitchen. I made a lot of headway on the new menu. The staff were eager and responsive. I threw myself into work and enjoyed being back at the helm of a serious operation, even if it might all be over soon.

  In the evening, I stood at the sea wall. Fruit bats swooped by me like old friends. I liked to imagine they were thanking me for getting the rat monkeys out of the banyan tree. On the soft sand below the wall, a few guests were playing a game of volleyball – foreign surfers on one side, Bali beach-hustlers on the other – the rubber ball smacking loudly against their fists, the players giving out loud hollers and secret signs. A couple of surfers were catching the last waves on the sea, visible only by the white trails they left behind in their wake. Wayan sidled up and handed me a Long Island iced tea. She stopped to watch the sunset.

  ‘You okay, Adam?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You not leaving us?’

  ‘Not if I don’t have to.’

  Wayan sighed; she wasn’t satisfied with my answer.

  ‘Beautiful sunset,’ I said.

  ‘Of course. The gods like to play with colours.’

  * * *

  Janna had prepared a candlelit dinner for us on her veranda. Her place smelled of jasmine and frangipani blossoms. Beyond her compound, a local gamelan orchestra was practising, its bell chimes weaving a counterpoint to the night noises. She’d been decorating her home. Her excitement overflowed as she showed me everything she’d bought: a hand painted lamp, a coffee table, a framed batik design. Her smile turned to concern as she picked up on my mood.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ she asked. ‘Come and sit down.’

  ‘Sort of, I think. You know I’m just feeling a lot of pressure. I’ve got this Geno thing and …’

  ‘Why do you bother with that guy? He’s given you nothing but a headache,’ she said, moving around the table and arranging the food with a pair of chopsticks.

  ‘And now my daughter tells me she’s pregnant, and my ex-wife is threatening to tell the police about where I am.’

  ‘Oh no, Adam.’ Her eyes clouded a little. Silence wrapped itself around us. Then her breathing quickened, and she spoke in a rush of words. ‘But wait, you could stay here. Nobody would find you here.’ She pushed the food aside and moved onto my lap. I felt her hands against my neck, and the warmth of her breath as her lips met mine. There was a strangeness in our embrace, as if we had been apart for a long time and only just found each other. We kissed tentatively and she whispered lovingly in her own tongue. Then her coy hesitancy gave way to an overwhelming passion.

  We fell onto the bed clutching and grasping, tearing at each other’s clothes. She kissed my neck as she pulled down my trousers. Her sarong fell away. Her skin felt exquisitely soft as she moved onto me. I was inside her. We stayed like that until our small waves of movement became an ocean. After an infinite moment, she gave a prolonged shudder and collapsed beside me, panting hot breath against my ear, sweat beading on her brow. Too exhausted to move, we held each other in a deep, warm embrace, listening to the pounding surf and the rustling of palms.

  I awoke to the chattering of apes. Shards of morning sun stabbed into the room. The air carried a brisk coolness. Sheets and pillows were thrown about the room, clothes lay strewn where they had fallen. We’d hardly slept; it was as if we had tried to squeeze a lifetime of lovemaking into one night. I looked at my watch. I was late for work. As I made to get up, I heard her behind me. Then her arms were around my neck.

  ‘Work can do without you,’ she said, running her fingers through my hair. Then she slid around and laid her head on my lap. There were delicate violet shadows around her eyes. Her hair cascaded in an unruly tangle to her breasts, and her eyes held a glint of mischief.

  ‘This morning I am going to kidnap you,’ she whispered.

  I admired the length of her, the lift of her breasts, the cant of her thighs. Janna was a perfectly beautiful woman. It was written in the curve of her smile and in the way she moved and spoke her words that she was ready to embrace her future and that she wanted to take back everything life had denied her. And in that moment, I knew that our lives were woven together. I knew without any doubt that I loved her.

  25

  Geno walked into the waiting room full of enthusiasm. ‘I feel like an athlete again. I pay more now and get to stay out three hours, running, stretching, doing push-ups and sit-ups. This what I do when I’m young and training for the Olympics, only then I do eight hours every day. Man, you can get anything in here: coke, weed, speed and smack. The guards bring it in, good prices too. I touch nothing, man, nothing. Look what shit that stuff do to my life! I finished with all that. Fuck that shit, man.’

  ‘Has your lawyer been?’

  ‘Yeah, she come, but I tell her to leave. She say I’m looking good, and I tell her I want to give the firing squad a good target, you know, a handsome motherfucker to shoot at.’ Geno’s laugh echoed through the blue room.

  As I’d finished my concession of twenty visits, the guard had his hand out when I arrived the following day. Madame Putu passed me. She spoke harshly to the guard, and from then on I never had to pay another entry bribe. Putu asked about business at the Sandika and if there was any possibility of returning to our previous arrangement. I told her that most of our guests were not Japanese anymore and that she would have to approach Mahmood Bas regarding this. She frowned on hearing the Muslim’s name and sashayed off.

  ‘Putu, man, she all about money that one. Forget about it,’ said Geno when I told him about our encounter. ‘My little lawyer come today. Told me they set a date for sentencing. It is one month from now. For sure I get the firing squad. And the appeals could drag on for years, so I gonna be here a long time, my friend. I hope you don’t get sick of visiting?’

  I choked back words. What was he trying to say? That the debt between us didn’t exist? I was beginning to get a glimpse of how Geno’s mind worked.

  ‘Okay, now listen up. Go to Putu’s place. She gonna give you a box of money, American dollars. You take it and hide it in your room at the Sandika, and hide it good, man. It’s a shit load, okay.’

  Putu was expecting me. She led me to her room and opened a package containing one hundred thousand dollars, all in hundred-dollar notes.

  ‘We’re going to count this together so there can be no misunderstanding about the amount, okay?’ Her lips moved as she counted. Putu could count money faster than a bank t
eller. She handed me the first bundle of ten thousand, and I began sorting piles of money. The money smelled slightly rancid. I rode back to the Sandika with the money in a shopping bag. I took a roll of cling wrap from the kitchen, rolled the bundle in plastic, climbed up the wall of my room and stuffed the package deep into the lady-grass roof.

  * * *

  I returned from a hectic lunch service. The weather was bad and our guests had chosen to stay in. Our boat tours had been cancelled on account of an onshore wind creating huge waves; raging walls of water pounded over the reef, so large that even the most accomplished board rider wouldn’t attempt them. I stood at the sea wall and watched these monster waves break with uncanny regularity. The coffee shop was empty as the wind made it uncomfortable to sit there. Wayan and Ketut were at a ceremony, and the rest of the staff had the day off. It was early afternoon. I was leaving to see Janna when a motorbike pulled into the carpark. I recognised the dark flashing eyes of Putu through the visor of her full-facial helmet.

  ‘Adam,’ she said, looking around to see if anyone had seen her. ‘I have a message from Geno.’ I asked her to come inside, but she shook her head. ‘You know the rice paddy behind the rear prison-wall, the one right under the guard tower?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Geno wants you to be there at exactly two o’clock.’ She handed me a watch and told me to use it. ‘Like I said, two o’clock. It has to be to the second, and take this.’ She gave me a motorbike helmet with a pull-down tinted visor, similar to the one she wore. ‘Clip it on your passenger seat and …’

  ‘Putu, what’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know. Really, I don’t, but my guess is Geno wants you to pick up someone, and I think it has something to do with his release. You probably need to go pay someone, and Geno doesn’t trust the person who’s carrying the money. But that’s just a guess.’ Putu’s cynical look suggested Geno didn’t trust her either. It sounded plausible. I’ve been through this process before when we secured Anak’s release. I was glad that Geno finally had a plan. He was going to buy back his life through the only way that worked in Bali, and hopefully this would be the last favour I would have to do for him. With Geno released, our debt would be cancelled. I guessed we would be going to the appeals prosecutor, and I would be transporting a prison guard who wouldn’t want to be seen. Putu raised her chin to me then swung her motorbike out of the carpark. I attached the helmet to the passenger seat of my bike. The wind came in strong swirls and gusts, rustling the lady-grass roof.