Prezzo brought along his ex-footy player friend from Maroubra, Big Nathe. At six foot six, with shoulders six feet wide, he’s the big refrigerator. I hadn’t met Big Nathe before we arrived in Indo.
Craig ‘Crusty’ Barratt is the son of one of Mum’s good friends. I knew of Crusty when we were kids, because he’s from Avoca Beach on the Central Coast and an ace surfer. Avoca’s one of the best surfing spots, and I spent quite a bit of time there because half of my family’s from the area. Crusty and I started working at Billabong at nearly the same time in the late ’90s. We ended up really close mates and have done a few trips together.
Crusty came on the trip with his mate Ian Stewart, who I’d met a long time ago. He was a professional surf photographer back in the day, so that worked out really well, and he’s a super-nice guy. He’s also from the Central Coast, but a bit further up.
Then there was Paul Green. Greenie is the oldest of the group. When I was a young grom, he was one of the better surfers on the Australian circuit and in all the surf mags. He’s an ex-pro but a shop owner as well. He opened his first one in the mid- ’80s and has grown it into a thriving business. He’s a true Aussie larrikin and unreal to be around. He’s got good energy. I looked up to him when I was a kid, and then I got to spend a bit of time with him when I went on a trip to Fiji one year. After I bought my business, he was one of the guys I used as a sounding board and a mentor.
Lastly, there was Aaron ‘Azza’ Waters. He’s another friend from Dapto. He moved to the Gold Coast when he was about eighteen, but we still stayed really close. He’s part of what they call the ‘Cooly Kids’, with Mick Fanning, Joel Parkinson, Dean Morrison and all those guys.
Virtually everyone on board had surfed at a good competition level, whether it was local, regional or international. It was an excellent mix and everyone got along, which I knew they would.
I keep switching between drifting off to other thoughts and then freaking out when the reality of where I am and what’s actually happening slaps me in the face. I’ve thrown all my trust in Michael; he’s all I have.
My mind is in a constant battle, with one side going, This guy’s not coming back. He can just take off, throw his hands up and say, ‘This is all too hard. I’ll just go back out to my island.’ And then the other side of my brain is going, No, surely he has to come back. He’s a human being – we’re all predisposed to help each other. If I were in his position, I’d come back – I know I’d come back – so why wouldn’t he?
Another thread of thought enters my head: Well, the helicopter’s still here, so he’s got to come back. But then he just might not come back for a while, and these guys might sort me out. Then he can just take his helicopter and be on his way. He’s in an isolated place; he can get away from everyone.
I feel like I’m still hallucinating, because I’m forever staring up and not really wanting to close my eyes. But as the reality of the situation comes over me in waves, I have to close my eyes for parts of it. I use the one-to-ten method that I normally turn to if a situation threatens to get the best of me. I simply take a step back and count to ten while breathing slowly; it’s a trigger that calms me down and lets my senses re-engage.
Everything is black – there are no lights around. My hands and arms are tied. The wide eyes surrounding me are filled with shock, just as much shock as I’m feeling.
I try to wrestle control back, to not freak out – It’s a broken neck. I didn’t die. I can be fixed up. Everything will start working again.
Getting out of here, staying alive – that has to be the focus.
The muttering of the crowd around me continues, what feels like a thousand conversations. I’m still trying to pick out key words – whether it’s ‘one’, ‘two’, ‘safe’, ‘home’, anything like that – my mind attempting to process every single sound in the hope that I can make out some sort of dialogue. My brain is going a hundred miles an hour. I’m cursing myself for not spending enough time learning the language on my countless trips to this part of the world. But one big thought keeps coming back: They’re going to take me away and cook me!
I can sense from the tightening crowd that something is going on … and then I feel myself moving. I realise people are touching me, rubbing me, tugging me around my legs and feet, somewhere down where I can’t see … My feet and legs are laying off my board and in the dirt. It’s so peculiar that while I can feel no touch, I can still sense my lower limbs are moving because my upper body is moving with them. I also have weird sensations shooting through my body, as if someone turned up the temperature in my blood, then it disappears again.
I try to scream, ‘Don’t touch me!’ I’m freaking out now for a couple of reasons. One: I know I’m paralysed and shouldn’t be moved at all. Two: I don’t want this mass of complete strangers touching me. I try again to escape to that special place in my mind, but it’s not working – there’s just too much stuff happening that’s not making sense. Before there was more muttering and quiet discussion, so I could take myself away, but now that I know I’m being moved, panic overpowers my mind.
Then I start to hear something different from the normal voices I’ve been trying to decipher. It begins with two or three people, and it seems to be growing louder. It sounds like singing … Then I realise it’s more like chanting. My thoughts run straight back to that image of the cauldron in the cartoons. What else could it be? Fuck, this is it – I’m gone! I’ve always believed that two of humanity’s greatest fears are being paralysed and being eaten alive, and it looks like I’m going to have both dealt to me inside of a day.
Again I try my one-to-ten method so I can get the panic under control, but it doesn’t work – I only get to three. The villagers are still touching me, and the chanting seems to include everyone now. My adrenaline kicks in again, stronger this time, but with no way of moving I’m totally helpless. All I can do is shout – or try to, at least – and I break out into a panicked cry. But the show of tears on my face doesn’t stop the chanting; it only gets stronger. I’m falling deeper and deeper into despair.
Still, nothing happens – just stars and eyeballs staring down on me. The chanting eventually dies away. I haven’t been dragged off anywhere. It’s been maybe thirty to forty minutes since Michael left for help when I see beams of light shine through the darkness. They appear to be headlights, and I can make out some kind of engine noise. A huge wave of relief hits me. He’s back! Michael’s come back! He’s got an ambulance!
I have spent so much of the time thinking that I’ve been abandoned that the relief is overwhelming. Then the lights and the engine turn off. Yep! He’s here! Chuck me on the gurney and lift me into the ambulance! Tears of relief run down my face.
I wait for the only familiar face to appear in front of me – Michael’s – but the talk is still loud and the crowd is still peering over me. I wait with excitement. I wait … I wait … and nothing. I can’t understand why Michael hasn’t come out yet, but before long I see the same light beam again and think, Okay, this is him. The earlier light was just a guide to get him back to the correct spot.
But, again, no Michael. That little bit of excitement disappears as despair returns. He’s not back after all!
I start to think about my disappearance. There are going to be ‘Missing’ signs here, there and everywhere … Life can’t be this cruel. Even Michael, the person I trusted to fly me to help, is not going to know what happened. He might not even return to his helicopter … just an empty soccer field. As a new parent, one of the biggest fears you have for your child is that they go missing and you have no idea where they are or who is responsible. It must be one of the most horrible feelings in the world, to have a loved one go missing, and now my family will go through that hell.
Five minutes pass and I see another headlight, and I go through the same cycle of absolute elation to abject misery. It happens four or five more times until I eventually realise that the headlights are from the little mopeds that everyone rides in In
donesia, bringing more and more people to see what the fuss is all about. Just what I need, more people.
I’m not going to let myself die here. No way I’m not getting home to my family.
But I can’t even communicate through body language. The only thing that I can control is my mind: no more tears, no more freaking out, just be confident that this is going to be okay. Michael will be back soon and I’ll be on my way. With that, I escape to my quiet place … but never for long.
Then I see red and blue lights. Once I register that they aren’t just the same mopeds again, I think, Ah, this is it! Emergency lights, this MUST be the ambulance. Even though I don’t calm down completely, I feel a bit more relieved, knowing that someone’s coming to help me, and then the lights turn off.
It must be some sort of emergency vehicle. Michael must have found an ambulance down the road.
But again, there’s nothing.
Another long pause. The red and blue lights reappear – Come on! This has got to be it! – only to slowly fade away.
A couple of hours pass, and I’m about to abandon all hope when the chanting and singing strengthens again. Nuh. This is not happening. My heart starts racing. There are people around me now who actually have tools with them … farming tools.
They continue chanting, singing. They begin hitting stuff on the ground.
I’m at the end of my wits. Everything’s gone.
Then I see movement within the crowd. An older man slides through to the front and we catch each other’s eyes. His face might show wear but his eyes are razor sharp. He moves closer. I’m feeling anxious to the point where it feels as if my fingers and toes are rigid with adrenaline trying to escape.
The old man stops next to me and bends down on one knee. I don’t know whether he’s someone who’s just turned up or if he’s been there the whole time. Is he some kind of an elder? He reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. I start to flinch but he gives off a sense of calm. He looks me in the eye, nods his head and smiles. He sits down beside me, still with his hand on my shoulder, and it feels like he’s taken it upon himself to be my guardian, like he knows what to do, what I need, what’s coming. He speaks to the others in a softer tone, and they seem to listen. Maybe he has met Michael and was sent to stay with me? His presence offers up more questions, more uncertainty, but at least I feel a bit calmer. I feel less alone, like somebody’s actually there to help.
The old man is trying to talk to me. Even though I don’t understand what he’s saying, I’m able to relax my body. Being touched where I have feeling plays a major part – everyone appreciates a kind touch. He sits with me for a while. I get to the point where I still see the lights come and go, come and go, but it’s just an ordinary occurrence in my head now. Just lights. Even the noise of the crowd seems less threatening, almost friendly, as if they’re helping me relax.
After what feels like an eternity, the face I’ve been hoping to see looms into view. Michael shoves his way through the crowd and gets everyone to make space. He asks how I am. I want to tell him the fucking truth … but instead I just reply, ‘I’m … okay. Did you manage to get help?’
He nods. ‘It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.’
At this point I don’t care if I have to travel on the back of a goat – I just want to get moving to somewhere other than this dust bowl in the middle of the jungle.
8
White-knuckle ride
My ordeal in the jungle was over at last. I went through a massive surge of joy. We’ve got an ambulance. I’m saved! I’m going to a hospital now. Michael’s come back, he’s a good guy. Thank you very much, let’s get going.
Michael told me he’d found help and that we were going to get to the airport. At last. Then he walked off to try to let the locals know what was happening. The people around me left to join the discussion, so I was there on my own again, which was a nice feeling. I was relaxed, thinking I’d been saved. I thought I was near the airport, because I was supposed to be near the airport. But the reality was that I was still a couple of hours away from the help I needed.
After speaking with the crowd, Michael came back and said, ‘I found a van, we’ve got some help. We need to get you to the medical team in Padang.’ While we were lost in the jungle, there had been talk between the Barrenjoey and the medical team on the mainland: ‘They’re not here. It’s been hours and no-one’s here.’ My parents and Aimee had also been kept informed of events.
The medical team had gone out in the ambulance to search for me. I don’t know where they’d decided to look or how they’d hoped to find me, but I guess it was the only thing they could do, aside from sitting there waiting, which they’d done for too long.
I pictured Michael’s ‘van’ as an ambulance with all the modern medical equipment, a bed, everything. ‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘Get me in the van.’
Michael had some of the villagers pick me up. Even though I was a bit nervous because I had all these people moving and pulling me, I felt much safer. Michael was there – at least I had someone to communicate with. I was still lying on only half a surfboard, so my legs and feet were floating around. Michael instructed everyone that I had to be picked up as slowly as possible and remain as still as possible. Then a vehicle suddenly came into my peripheral vision – a beat-up white van with its hubcaps hanging off.
Oh, this can’t be it. This van must be parked next to the ambulance.
I was waiting for the uniformed paramedics to appear, but instead two guys ran to the back of the van and threw open the door. They slid me onto the raw metal floor, and the whole joy of having survived, of getting rescued, of being safe, disappeared.
Man, I thought. This is shit. This isn’t what it should be.
I looked around: no side windows, just an empty steel cabin. The men were in a hurry, time now of the essence, even though it had been God-knows-how-long. Michael climbed in with me, and the two guys shut the back door and jumped up front. I kept thinking, This ain’t right, this ain’t good. But then I got control and told myself that it was only a short trip to the jet. I’d been through so much already – I could get through this little car ride. So I mustered enough strength and stayed patient.
Anyone who’s ever caught a taxi or a bemo (public mini-van) in Bali, or anywhere else in Indonesia, will know that they have two speeds: flat-out or stop-dead. While our driver only wanted to help, he took off flat-out. Because I was strapped to a piece of fibreglass surfboard resting on a metal floor, as soon as we started moving I went sliding like a puck on an air-hockey table straight to the back and crashed into the door. My legs buckled up. ‘Fuck!’
Michael had a hand on me, to try to keep me still, but there was no way he could stop me – he could barely keep himself from sliding around. Michael yelled out something as well, and the driver slammed on the brakes. I switched directions and shot forward, crashing headfirst into the back of the driver’s seat with another, ‘FUCK!’
Even though it didn’t seem to hurt, I was paralysed and knew I was supposed to keep my head as still as possible. I could feel myself starting to slide again, but I couldn’t protect myself. All I could do was yell out, ‘SETTLE THE FUCK DOWN!’
The driver took off again, a bit slower this time, but not as smoothly as I’d have liked, and I was sliding back and forth, side to side, as we went around each corner, with Michael sitting or kneeling next to me, trying to hold me in place. The driver was obviously trying to get to the rendezvous point as quickly as possible, but Indonesian country roads aren’t the best – there are lots of bumps, lots of turns and cars you have to stop for. I kept hearing the usual horns that they used instead of blinkers.
I felt like I was in the van forever, sliding around, still hitting my head, though not as hard as the first time, going over big bumps where I could feel myself lifting off the metal floor and slamming back down again.
I was thinking, How many things can go wrong today? Everything that I’ve been through, and nothing has gone
smoothly. There’s always been some hurdle or something to counter. But I told myself, It’s only a short while. I can get there. I’ve got to get there so I can fly home and look after my family.
For the first twenty minutes it was stop-start, and I was trying to communicate with Michael over the super-loud engine echoing through the van. Because I could still only whisper, Michael wasn’t really acknowledging my questions: ‘Where are we? How much further?’
Every now and then I saw a light, probably from an oncoming car, which would disappear quickly. We couldn’t be too close to a city because there wasn’t enough traffic. I’d lost track of time, and I was still thinking about movies – when people get kidnapped, they try to work out through sight and sound if they’re going over tracks or down busy roads.
The stops and starts were becoming less frequent, until the driver hit the brakes and I banged my head again. We were obviously stuck behind something, so the van quietened down. Michael finally worked out what I had been trying to ask. He just told me, ‘Not far. We’re not far.’
I finally felt relieved: Oh great, phew. I can keep doing this.
Then the van sped up and I slammed into the back door, my legs going all over the place – we were on the move again. This went on for maybe an hour.
I kept using the times when we’d slow down to project my voice: ‘What’s going on?’ But Michael would kneel next to me, one hand on my chest, the other holding what might be my leg or board, and repeat, ‘Not long. Not long.’
After he’d been saying that for a while, I realised, Well, it’s been a fucking long time … You’re just saying that. I started to get the shits with him.
Throughout my life, I’ve always preferred people cut the bullshit and tell the truth, whether good or bad. Then I can deal with the situation and try to fix the problem. That’s something Aimee and I have always had in common. Honesty is probably one of the things that brought us together.
Owen and Eleanor Make Things Up Page 6
