by Derek Hansen
Of course the entire village wanted to join the expedition and witness the miracles for themselves. So the chances of getting near the monkeys unobserved were negligible. Indeed, they had no sooner entered the forest when the monkeys set up cries of alarm.
‘See?’ the women cried. ‘See how the monkeys sense her presence. Already they are shouting their welcome.’
Annemieke looked at the men who had accompanied them and they grinned back at this outrageous assertion. But such is the way legends are born and this one was harmless enough.
‘I will go forward with three men,’ said Annemieke. ‘You must all keep perfectly still.’
The women chose their vantage points and settled down to watch. Annemieke and her three companions crept forward until she also told them to wait. She went on over the same spreading roots she had climbed as a child, past the same great banyans. She stopped short and sat down.
She sat very still for a long time. The monkeys grew curious. Slowly the adults came down from the heights to watch her. She pulled a bag of peanuts from her pocket, cracked the shells and ate a couple. The monkeys showed more interest. Monkeys the world over know what peanuts are and Annemieke was making them hungry. They came down from the lower branches to sit on the ground, firstly the males, then the females. Annemieke noticed the ones which were carrying young. She wondered if the village people would be satisfied now and decided that they probably wouldn’t.
These monkeys were wild animals and not accustomed to human contact. Yet she felt that if she remained calm, they would not harm her. Slowly she rose from the tree root she was sitting on. The monkeys grew tense and watched her carefully. She never looked at them. She stared straight at the root in front of her, reached into her bag, and began to line peanuts up along the length of it. She put down nearly thirty peanuts this way, all with deliberate slowness. Then she eased her way back to the root she’d chosen to sit on.
Two metres separated her from her makeshift table. With great caution and a couple of false starts, the monkeys advanced towards her. The bravest snatched a peanut and raced away in retreat. The others saw that no harm came to it and crept closer. The males came first. Dashing in then skipping away with their prize. But one or two stayed and began to work their way down the line of nuts.
At last a female with a tiny infant on its back had the courage to come to the table. But there were no peanuts left where she was. Annemieke rose slowly, and reaching as far forward as she could, held a peanut out to the mother. The mother hesitated, torn between the desire for the peanut and the urge to run. Greed overcame fear and she reached out and grabbed the peanut. She darted away out of range and ate it. She looked up. Annemieke was still there with another peanut in her hand. She came forward again and took the offered nut, but this time did not retreat. She took another and another until Annemieke had exhausted her supply.
The monkeys watched her carefully. How would they react when they realised there were no more nuts? Annemieke knew they could turn nasty.
They crept closer and Annemieke could not decide what to do. She glanced over her shoulder to where the men were hidden. They stood up. That’s all it took.
The monkeys fled back to their trees. Annemieke rose and silently watched them go. The show was over and she knew she’d done well. In her mind she could already hear the village mothers telling this story to their children as they put them to bed.
When she told Jan and Lita about her adventure, they were proud of her bravery. And delighted that their child had the wisdom to allow her friends in the village their legends.
‘It will become another story,’ Jan said. ‘Soon the story of Annemieke and the monkeys will become as well known as the story of how the Minangkabau got their name.’
Annemieke blushed, embarrassed. Her parents had seen through her. She’d desperately wanted to leave her mark on this land which claimed her as its own. That was the real reason she’d gone back.
Chapter Sixteen
Once again, Annemieke climbed the slopes of Tangkuban Perahu to boil eggs in its thermal pools, and walk around the sulphurous rim of its smouldering crater. She never thought of Tangkuban Perahu as a volcano. The mountain had always been a friend to her when she was a child, a favourite place for picnics and adventures. She never thought to fear any of Indonesia’s volcanoes. They had given her no cause to.
‘Indonesia has more than seventy active volcanoes,’ Jan told her as the two of them soaked in the hot springs of Ciater. Jan never missed an opportunity to give history lessons. Australia was now his home but not yet home to his heart. ‘The islands of Indonesia are among the youngest in the world. Only fifteen million years old. In a sense this country is still being born.’
The idea of being present at the birth of the country she loved so much appealed to Annemieke, but she soon learned no birth is without pain.
‘When the island of Krakatau off Java’s west coast exploded in 1883, it caused a tidal wave that swept around the world. More than thirty-five thousand people were killed on Java alone. That’s the eruption everyone knows about. But there have been much bigger and worse.’
If Jan had seen the effect he was having on Annemieke he would have stopped the lesson there. But eyes closed, and head back on the edge of the pool, totally relaxed and at peace with the world, he was oblivious to her feelings. Annemieke could not explain why she felt suddenly cold despite the warm, soothing waters. She listened with growing dread.
‘Mt Tambora on Sumbawa killed ninety thousand people when it erupted in 1815, and sent eighty cubic kilometres of ash high into the atmosphere. The following year was known as the year without summer. Ash filled the sky in clouds so thick the rays of the sun could not penetrate. Imagine that, Annemieke.’
And Annemieke did. The thought terrified her. She thought about how she’d casually strolled around the rim of Tangkuban Perahu, and shivered. A shadow settled upon her and would not go away.
‘They’ve stopped exploding now though, haven’t they?’ she asked hopefully.
‘No way,’ said Jan emphatically, enjoying his role of tutor. ‘As recently as 1963, Gunung Agung erupted in Bali during the Eka Dasa Rudra rite, the most sacred of all Balinese festivals. It is so sacred, it is only held once each century. More than two thousand Balinese were killed and thousands more left homeless. Many Balinese died because they refused to leave their homes, even though they were in the path of the lava. They are a devout people and they believed they had somehow offended their god, and this was their punishment. They just lay down and the lava swallowed them up.’
A tight band of fear wrapped itself around Annemieke’s chest. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She didn’t know why she was frightened and that made it worse. There was a terror, a nameless terror, and it had found a home in her young mind.
‘When we visit your grandparents we’ll take you to see Mt Galunggung. It’s not too far away. It’s been playing up and letting off steam since April. Come on, sleepy head, let’s go dry off.’
But Annemieke had never been more awake in her life. Nor more frightened.
The following day Annemieke was quiet and uncommunicative. She didn’t go down to the village to see her friends, and she didn’t want to go with Jan as he went about the estate’s business. Lita noticed the change in her but thought she was just wearying of the novelty and becoming bored.
‘Tomorrow we will go to see my parents,’ she said. ‘It will be a nice change for you. We will stay at the Savoy Homann in Bandung, the hotel where your father and I first met.’
She hugged Annemieke to her, kissed her and held her close. Annemieke wanted to tell Lita of her fears, but couldn’t find the words to express a feeling she didn’t understand herself.
‘It’s a very happy place for me,’ her mother continued. ‘Then we’ll go on to Pengalengan. It’s hard to get your grandparents to leave their home any more. Tomorrow you’ll see why.’
They left after breakfast. Jan chose to drive himself. He’d
been to Bandung and Pengalengan often enough to know the way. Besides, as he freely admitted, he was not a good passenger and the local drivers frightened the life out of him.
‘They’re Muslims with the fatalism of Buddhists,’ he claimed. And the fact that cars in Indonesia rarely have rear seatbelts fitted also concerned him.
As soon as they reached the vegetable growing district of Lembang they struck traffic. Roads where cars were once so rare that workers in the fields would down tools to watch their passing, were now crowded with cars, buses and trucks.
Jan had warned Annemieke of the changes but she hadn’t believed him, preferring to remember things as they had been. The sight depressed her further. Bandung was even worse. They crawled along at a snail’s pace through air thick and sluggish with exhaust fumes. When they finally reached the Savoy Homann, Annemieke pleaded a headache and went straight to bed.
She lay awake in the darkness wondering why things had gone so wrong. She’d known that Bandung had changed and the drive down from Jakarta had been worse if anything. Why hadn’t it worried her then? Everything had changed in the hot pool at Ciater, but why? She drifted off into troubled sleep.
The following day they battled the tourist buses and sightseers on the way to Pengalengan and its endless rolling hills. Lita pointed out landmarks but Annemieke showed little interest. Lita tried to guess what could possibly be troubling her daughter. Finally she asked.
‘Annemieke, we’re going to arrive at your grandparents’ house any minute now. You must cheer up. Tell me what’s worrying you.’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’ve hardly said a word to anyone in the past two days.’
To Lita’s surprise, Annemieke began to cry quietly.
‘Annemieke, for heaven’s sake, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then cheer up. If you’ve got a problem, we can talk about it later.’
And Annemieke did cheer up. How could she not? There is a bond between children and grandparents based on love unfettered by parental or filial responsibilities. Lita’s parents descended on the child they had not seen for eight years and fussed over her. With the intuition grandparents so often display, Neneng, her Sundanese grandmother and Barnaby, her British grandfather, gave her a gift which was guaranteed to win her heart and drag her out of her gloom.
It was a four month old monkey.
Annemieke squealed with delight.
‘What’s his name? What’s his name?’ she demanded, as the tiny creature nestled into the crook of her elbow.
‘Osh,’ said her grandfather. ‘He’s a foundling. When he was tiny and fretting for his mother that was the only sound that soothed him. We’d give him the corner of a piece of cloth dipped in milk and sugar, and whisper “osh … osh … osh” in his ear. Now he thinks it’s his name. That’s all he’ll answer to.’
‘Ossshhhhh,’ said Annemieke. ‘Osh … Osh … Osh.’
Osh turned his big limpid eyes upon her and began to suckle on her little finger. Barnaby bent down so that he and Annemieke were the same height and he had her absolute attention.
‘You realise when you leave here you will have to leave Osh behind with us. But he will always be your pet. He will always be here when you visit.’
Annemieke and Osh became inseparable. She took Osh with her on a brass chain wherever she went, and carried a woven basket for him to sleep in.
She was forbidden to let Osh into her bedroom at night, but she always smuggled him in, and let him sleep on her bed, snuggled up in the hollow between her knees and stomach. They’d comfort each other when, off in the distance, Mt Galunggung rumbled and grumbled as pressure built up within its core.
For three days and three nights Annemieke forgot the thoughts that had troubled her. She regained her appetite and her tinkling laugh. She ignored Met Galunggung and its billowing, grey plume. She had better things to think about.
On the fourth night Osh woke her, pulling on her arm and chattering in fright. She pulled him under her blankets and held him close but he still wouldn’t settle.
‘Ossshhh’ … she whispered. ‘Ossshhh … Ossshhh …’
Then she felt the bed move. The windows began to rattle. Then came a sound she’d never heard before but recognised instantly. It was more hollow and mechanical than her dreams had led her to believe. And so much louder. She turned to her window. The sky burned red. Molten white streaks slowly rose and arced back to earth. She screamed. The terror returned to her and this time it had a name. Mt Galunggung had erupted once more.
Fear numbed her brain and robbed her of the use of her legs. Osh clung even tighter as her fears lent weight to his. His nails bit into her but she was oblivious of the pain. Her screams brought Jan. He burst into her room picked her up and hugged her tightly, not realising until Osh howled what the lump was squashed between them.
‘Hush, little one. It’s okay. Everything’s all right. There’s nothing to be frightened of.’ His voice soothed while his eyes took in the tormented sky through her window. The room shook once more and Annemieke screamed.
‘Hush, Mieke, hush. We’re safe here,’ he told the sobbing child. Jan had never seen her this way before. ‘Hush, hush,’ he soothed, ‘we’re quite safe here.’
But then he was interrupted by a sound like hailstones on a corrugated iron roof. Annemieke screamed again. The noise softened off to a pitter-patter, punctuated by occasional thumps as larger pieces of ejecta thundered onto the roof.
Jan looked out of Annemieke’s window once more. The flaming sky seemed to have dulled and lost its threat.
‘Look, Mieke,’ he said, and made her look at the window. ‘See? Already the fires are dying away.’
But Jan was wrong. Mt Galunggung thundered and the house shook to prove it. More ejecta arced through the sky towards their home. The eruptions hadn’t diminished. Clouds of ash had merely obscured the fiery cone.
‘The village people tell me this will go on for months yet. Jolly nuisance.’ Barnaby and Neneng had come to help calm Annemieke. Her grandfather was his normal unflappable self and Annemieke drew comfort from this.
‘We’ll be all right here,’ he confirmed. ‘Wouldn’t want to be any closer though, by Jove. Come on, let’s all go and have a cup of tea. There’s nothing we can do until morning.’
‘Osh,’ said Annemieke between sobs. The little monkey clung to her for dear life.
If Annemieke thought the end of the world had come, the first light of dawn only confirmed her suspicions. Ash like a dusting of snow coated the palms and tea bushes. It carpeted the gardens, lawns and driveway. It lay along windowsills and clung to the pitch of the roof. It coated the water lilies and even the surface of the pond. Grey ash coated the world as far as the eye could see.
They looked at a world without shadows, for the morning sun found the dense clouds of ash almost impenetrable. Even as they watched, the light grew dimmer and their range of vision decreased. Away to the east Mt Galunggung still thundered and vomited although it had long since disappeared from sight.
They sealed the house as best they could, but Javanese houses are built to allow air to circulate freely. They have tall ceilings with large open vents at the top, protected only by mosquito screens and security bars. Verandahs and long overhanging eaves protected the vents from the monsoonal rains. No one ever intended that the vents should close.
Soot and ash wafted in, penetrating every room, coating furniture, clothing, crockery, and the people who lived there. Lita and Neneng fussed around with cloths and covers but there was little they could do.
For Annemieke there was no escape. The volcano followed her everywhere. She hid from the ash by burrowing under her bed linen but the foul odours pursued her. Pungent, nauseating and sulphurous, they caught in her throat and made her eyes sting. There was no escape.
They sat around the radio as overexcited voices relayed exaggerated estimates of damage and casualties. Two thousand people had lost their lives, it claimed
, and over forty thousand were left homeless. But Lita’s father knew the real toll would come from people fleeing the eruption. And later, after the rains had come, from mud slides. That was the way it was in Java.
‘Good will come of this, Annemieke,’ her grandfather said.
Annemieke, who had withdrawn into herself and clung resolutely to an equally frightened Osh, raised her eyes. She could not imagine anything good coming from something so terrifying.
‘The ash will replenish the soil,’ her grandfather said. ‘Make it richer. The stuff our mountains spit out is basic, not acidic as it is from lots of other volcanoes. That’s why the soils in Java are so fertile, and why this tiny island has always been able to feed so many people. It may be hard for you to see it now, but our volcanoes are our blessing.’
‘I want to go home,’ said Annemieke suddenly. And then insistently as the idea blossomed in her mind. ‘I want to go home. I want to go away from here. I want to go back to Tangkuban Perahu.’
She began to cry again, her breath coming in great heaving sobs. Lita put her arm around Annemieke, and she buried her head on her mother’s shoulder. Lita looked over to Jan perplexed. They were not in any danger. The eruption had acted as a safety valve, releasing the pressure building inside. If it hadn’t, they’d have had cause to worry.
‘Let me talk to her,’ said Jan quietly to Lita. ‘Perhaps you can get us all some more tea.’
He sat down alongside Annemieke.
‘Look at me, Mieke,’ he said, taking out his handkerchief and gently wiping her eyes. ‘The volcano can’t hurt us now. We’re too far away and it’s growing weaker. The next few days won’t be very comfortable with the ash—’
‘Daddy! I want to go home now!’
Jan was stunned. Annemieke was not the sort of child to stamp her feet and insist on her own way. He’d never seen her so adamant before. But then, he’d never seen her scared before either.
‘But why, pet? I’ve told you. We’re safe here. Grandma and Grandpa have waited a long time to see you. They’ll be upset if we suddenly run off for no good reason. Besides, the roads will be blocked by people trying to get away to Bandung and Jakarta. You remember all those tourists and buses? And anyway, even if the roads were clear, can you imagine what it would be like trying to drive through those clouds of ash? It’s far too dangerous.’
