by Heidi Kling
“Vera has nothing to do with this,” he said after a long, heavy moment.
“I’m just saying,” I snapped, “don’t be a hypocrite.”
“Honey, your feelings might be real, but realistically, what is the use of you getting so attached to someone you’ll never see again?”
“What’s the point of wearing your wedding ring if you aren’t going to be loyal to your wife?”
I couldn’t believe the words came out of my mouth, but there they were, like thorns piercing skin.
Dad’s eyes flashed with new anger. “If you want to discuss your mother or Vera, we can do that at another time. Tonight we are discussing you and one of the orphans we came here to help.”
A frustrated tear ran down my cheek. “I am helping them.”
“I don’t want to argue with you, Sienna,” he said, his voice relaxing, “but I mean it about Deni. If you’re not going to do it for yourself or for me, do it for him. Break things off before he gets too attached. Honey, listen, I understand you feel close to him, and judging from the way he looked at you, I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re special too. But I’ve heard his stories, and I’m willing to bet you don’t know everything about that boy. Believe me, kiddo, he’s already lost way too much.”
DAY SEVEN
DECISION
Deni and I are together in our alley kissing against the wall when we’re ambusbed. Dozens of police flashlights blind us. We’re trapped, and now rocks are being thrown at us, leaving bruises the size of grapefruits. I grab Deni’s hand and we tumble over a barbed-wire fence. We make it to the other side, cut and bleeding, but I don’t feel pain. We run through city streets toward the sea-shore. They’re at our heels. We know if they catch us, they’ll kill us, or worse. Finally the ocean lies before us.
There are no stars in the sky.
There is no moon.
They draw closer and closer until we have no choice.
Clutching hands, we dive into the black sea, together.
Deni and I avoided each other like the plague all day. Dad watched over me so closely that I didn’t even dare try to catch Deni’s eye. I taught art, participated in teen group and ate my meals, where I made polite conversation with Team Hope.
Dad couldn’t suspect anything more than he already did.
Finally, Deni gestured to me outside the dining hall after dinner with a snap of his head toward the river. I nodded, knowing we’d meet there after dark.
Saying good night to Team Hope at dusk, I headed back to my room. When Dad hugged me and whispered in my ear that he was proud of me and my good decision, I winced with guilt but still didn’t change my mind.
One of the street kids stood up in the moonlight and walked on top of the concrete wall next to the river, holding thin arms out to the side like he was crossing a balance beam.
“He will fall,” Deni predicted.
I watched the boy. He was about thirteen years old, his face anxious determination. “Maybe not.”
Deni pointed knowingly. “Watch.”
Sure enough, the boy lost his balance halfway across and slipped. Grabbing hold of the concrete wall just before he fell feetfirst into the mucky river, he awkwardly scraped himself back over the wall.
“How did you know he wouldn’t make it?” I asked.
“Some people don’t learn from their mistakes. That boy is not smart. He tried the same thing last night. The wall is still too slippery, and he is too unbalanced. He tries every night. Every night he fails. He should give up trying.”
He was telling me something. Something I should get.
“Deni ...”
He held his hand up, stopping my words. “You come here like an American angel hoping to rescue me. You know ... I cannot be rescued.”
And then I knew he was talking about me going with him to Aceh.
The scrawny street kid, defeated, picked up a handful of pebbles and chucked them into the water, dragging on his cigarette silently.
“He will get up and try again,” Deni said.
I should try again.
“Deni,” I said, a push in my voice. “Please listen to me. I want to take you and see where you lived, where all this happened. I’m not trying to rescue you. I’m trying to help you.”
“You heard your father. I don’t want any trouble for you.”
“It’s my decision. You have to take risks for people you ... well, you care about.”
Deni reached over and took my hand. The boys across the street huddled together. The boy who fell looked happier now that he’d joined his friends.
When I finally got up the nerve to look at Deni, his eyes told me more than his words. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said.
But the way he was looking at me also told me he understood that it was too late to say no. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his neck.
“We go tomorrow, then?” I asked.
His lips breathed into my ear. “We go tomorrow.”
DAY EIGHT
CLICK
We’re naked except for my hair, which is wrapped in a lime green jilbab.
We’re lying together in what I know is our home: a grass hut on the edge of an aquamarine sea.
Our bed is soft feathers and banana leaves.
He takes off my jilbab and my hair falls out across his chest.
He strokes my cheek and forehead and hair.
Everything smells like warm lavender: the tropical air, Deni’s skin, even the banana leaves we lie on.
Suddenly we hear a lion roar and water pours through every crack in the hut and rises fast.
We are thrown together, tossing and spinning, trapped in a saltwater whirlpool. We search for breath. Finally, when I feel my body growing limp, a giant hand reaches down into the eye of the watery tornado.
She pulls us out.
She rescues us.
The plan was to pack and sneak out of the pesantren with Deni before anyone figured anything out.
So I announced over fried-rice lunch, “I’m off to town to take some pictures, so don’t expect me at dinner, okay”
“Fine,” Dad said in a voice gruffer than usual, “but don’t forget you have Vera’s group this afternoon.”
“Well, it might take a while,” I said. “Mind if I skip?”
Vera looked disappointed. “I was hoping you would share your story,” she said. “And you’ve already skipped a session.”
My stomach lurched. I had forgotten I’d said next time I might share. “Sorry.”
“We can talk about it more tonight, about you sharing tomorrow,” Vera said. “You’re moving into my dorm; Nada is moving into your bed. She feels perfectly comfortable and wants to try it alone. The transition, like we talked about.”
Into Vera’s dorm?
Nada’s taking my spot?
I guess I knew this was coming, but I felt bad. I’d no longer be there to see Elli and the girls wake up in the morning. I’d no longer tuck them into bed at night. Then I realized how ridiculous I was being. I was leaving anyway. I was already going to miss them.
I got ready to sputter out an argument. But then I stopped.
Maybe this was a good thing—now Elli and the girls wouldn’t miss me tonight. But it could also be bad—if I was supposed to room with Vera, they would know I was gone earlier.
Under the table, I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.
Dad avoided my eyes.
He was really pushing it with this Vera thing.
“Just move your stuff over whenever,” Vera said cheerfully. “It will be fun. Like a slumber party!”
She did not just say that.
“I’ll move it over right now,” I said. “My stuff.”
Everything except my backpack. That stayed with me.
It’s not like I could haul a whole suitcase to Aceh anyway.
Dad looked relieved that I didn’t make a scene, while Vera smiled like a cat who’d just gifted her owner with a fat mouse.
I sa
w them both through my camera lens: Vera with her skunk pulled back in a tight bun, Dad with his morning eyes and icky hair.
Click.
ADVENTURE
Just like he promised, that evening Deni was waiting for me on the other side of the gate, leaning against the motor, a woven bag slung loose over his shoulder. “You have not changed your mind?” he asked.
“Not a chance,” I said. Without another thought, I hopped on the back of the motor, put my arms around his waist and leaned into his back just like before.
When he started the ignition, the engine rattled loudly in the hot air.
“Should we walk the motor until we are off the grounds?” I asked.
“They will not hear.”
“I told Vera I had to wash my hair in the mandi and not to wait up for me,” I said, which made him laugh. “She offered to come and help me. Thank God I talked her out of it.”
But he wasn’t listening anymore. He was looking up. “Rain is coming. We go.” He looked at me hard. “Do not let go of me.”
“I won’t.”
We took off down the dirt driveway and twisted onto the streets of Yogyakarta.
We’d only been riding a few minutes when it started to rain—really rain—like a total downpour. The streets were slick with oily water and I was holding on to Deni for dear life.
“Is this too dangerous to drive in?” I yelled.
“It is only rain,” he called back.
Twenty minutes later Deni pulled the motor into the chaotic loading zone at the airport. Buses and taxis zoomed around us, splashing water as they sped by. I was soaking wet but relieved we made it in one piece. Besides, I had other things on my mind, like: Will my dad show up and drag us back to the orphanage?
Deni left the motor at the curb and we walked under a shelter. “My friend will get the motor,” he told me.
“Will it still be here when he arrives?” I asked, unconvinced.
He shrugged. “I hope so. Ready?” he asked.
I sucked in a deep breath. “I guess so.”
We approached the ticket counter and I read the phrase directly from the transportation section in my book: “Saya mau dua tiket ke Aceh dan satu tiket Aceh ke Yogya.”
I want two tickets to Aceh. And a one-way ticket from Aceh back to Yogya. For me. For when I flew back without Deni.
The man behind the counter started typing. Deni translated to me that the first leg of the flight for Aceh left in about an hour. We were lucky.
I showed the man behind the counter my passport and handed over my credit card. The man looked at us funny, maybe because of our ages? But the credit card was in my name and matched the name on my passport.
That’s all I needed.
I paid for both tickets, and soon Deni won the agent over with his good humor. As he handed us our boarding passes, I figured we’d spend tonight traveling, one night in Aceh, and then I’d return to Yogya in time to fly home to America. Simple.
“What are those?” Deni asked as we passed luggage carousels.
“For luggage, suitcases and bags. If you pack a lot of luggage, they store them in the bottom of the plane.”
“What would someone need that much luggage for?”
I smiled. “Well, a lot of people pack a lot of stuff for trips. Our bags are small; we’ll just carry them onto the plane.”
Deni followed my lead through checkpoints, past security guards/soldiers dressed in camouflage, holding machine guns, and to the gate, where we waited to board the plane.
I couldn’t believe it was only a week ago that Dad was holding my hand through the airport, which seemed so ridiculous now. Why had I needed to hold Dad’s hand?
I scanned the airport, expecting to see Dad or Tom or Vera scouring the terminal for us, but they weren’t there.
“Are you okay?” Deni asked, leading me toward some chairs to sit once we’d found our gate.
“I’m fine ... just a little nervous.”
“Me too,” he said, tugging on the strap of his bag.
“Really? Well, don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
We sat quietly for a second. It wasn’t too late. I could say I made a mistake. Nothing had happened yet. The motor was still outside. I hadn’t actually left for Aceh, so they wouldn’t be too mad, right?
But then what about Deni?
I tapped my foot on the tile floor.
He already had his plane ticket. He could fly up to Aceh alone.
But then we’d have to say good-bye here at the airport. Right then.
No. Couldn’t do that.
But what if something went wrong up there and nobody knew how to get in touch with Dad? What if I got lost and he couldn’t find me?
Breathe. Breathe.
Deni looked over at me. “You feeling better now?”
“You know when you decide to cross the street how you can’t chicken out halfway and run back to the curb?” I asked. “How you have to keep moving forward so traffic will know what you’re doing? So you don’t get squashed like a bug? I guess that’s what I’m worried about. Chickening out halfway there and not ending up on the other side of the road in one piece.”
He studied my face. “You, Sienna, will always land in one piece,” he said thoughtfully.
“I hope so, Deni,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder.
The plane was rickety and old. I tried to forget Tom’s casual comments about Indonesian in-country flights not meeting FAA standards and enjoyed Deni’s expression as the bucket of bolts vibrated into the night sky. Watching him reminded me of Spider when he caught his very first wave. Exhilarated.
Once we were safely in the air, Deni said, “At home, planes are only for the very rich. We would ride buses to travel to the next village.”
“At home, I didn’t fly much either.”
To think this was my greatest fear less than two weeks ago.
This time, I tried to ignore the danger and rolled with the sensation, like on a wave, like on the motor.
“Before the tsunami I never left Aceh,” he said, staring out the window. “I wonder what it is like now. How much has changed in the time I have been away.”
“Well, they’ve been doing a lot of work. I bet it’s better now.”
He looked doubtful. “How can you fix something that has been destroyed?”
I wanted to hold his hand but didn’t want to risk being inappropriate and have someone question our traveling together.
A flight attendant came by and handed us each a small plastic cup of water and two sweet rolls. I wasn’t sure if the water was purified, so, disappointed, I pushed it aside.
“And everything is free?” Deni asked me, grateful for the extra roll, which he tucked into his bag.
“Well, you have to pay for the plane ticket first,” I said.
“Thank you, Sienna,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” I said, leaning into him.
Switching off the light above our heads, I grabbed a blanket and laid it across our laps. Everyone else on the plane was nodding off, so I reached under the blanket and let my fingers find his.
BANDA ACEH, INDONESIA DAY NINE
TRUST
When we switched planes in Medan, I wasn’t the only white person on board.
The small plane to Aceh was full of health care workers, engineers and contractors, basically volunteers from all over the world. A mix of languages filled the cabin: French, Japanese and English.
While I was shoving my bag under the seat in front of me, Deni started chatting with some Australians across the aisle. “We’re with the World Doctors organization and volunteered after the tsunami, and we’ve returned twice since,” a woman with a pixie cut said. The man sitting next to her was a handsome rugged type with an easy laugh and a scar on his cheek. He reminded me of Indiana Jones, the way my dad looked before Mom disappeared.
“Sienna’s father is also a doctor,” Deni said, gesturing to me.
“Really? Where is he sitting?” I n
oticed her brown wraparound skirt and her tailored white button-up shirt. She seemed very with it and organized.
I felt my face flush. “Actually, he’s not ...”
Deni jumped in. “He still has much work. He is meeting her later.” He raised his eyebrows at me. It wasn’t entirely untrue.
The woman reached out her hand. “I’m Amelia. This is my husband, Mac. Nice to meet you, Sienna.” I noticed the tiny jade stones in her earlobes shine.
“Eh, Deni, are you coming back to Aceh to stay, mate?” Mac asked, leaning forward.
“I hope to,” he said.
Amelia looked at me kindly but with questions in her eyes. “And you two are traveling alone?”
“We are not alone,” Deni said confidently. “We are with each other.”
Amelia’s brown eyes widened, but before she could ask more questions, the flight attendant’s heavy cart rolled down the aisle between us. I asked for a Sprite; Deni got a Coke.
“Thank you,” we said. I gulped down the Sprite. Free cold drinks. No more uncomfortable answers to tricky questions.
As the World Doctors continued chatting with Deni, I leaned back and tried to sleep.
Deni drummed his drink tray with his thumbs as he talked. “At my friends’ house we have certain customs. You know of them from your book?”
“Customs like what?” I asked with a yawn.
“Okay.” Deni stopped drumming. “You have not been to a dinner at a family home yet. Remember I told you about the tea?”
I nodded.
“We are staying with my friends’ family. There will be many formalities-they will offer to sit on the floor, and we will be served tea after much talk about life. They will ask you many questions. They speak some English. A couple things I tell you so you don’t offend. When they offer you tea, wait until they offer it to you twice before you take a drink. Or they will think you are dying of the thirst and keep pouring you more and more drinks. Also with the food ...”
