5
THE KITCHEN
After a breakfast of dry rice scrapings from yesterday’s pot, Kancil and Mother followed a path that led from the back gate, through a tangle of bamboo and vines, then down a steep embankment to the river. The sound of women and children splashing and chattering grew louder as they approached. They emerged from the undergrowth at a point where a wide bend in the river formed a bathing pool.
There was a momentary lull in the women’s conversations when the newcomers stepped into the pool, but Ibu Tari, the grey-haired lady, was there and she greeted them warmly. Taking their cue from Ibu Tari, the women nodded and smiled at Mother while the children stared at Kancil. She tried to ignore them as she scrubbed her feet with a pumice stone.
The bathers’ attention shifted to a woman who was coming down the path. She walked with a cane, which she jabbed at the ground with every step as though to remind the earth of its faults. “That’s Bibi,” Mother whispered. “Be careful of her.”
As Bibi reached the pool she gave Mother a curt nod. “The loom is ready in the front pavilion. Ibu Thani will be waiting for you,” she said. At the sound of her voice, Kancil recognised her as the woman who had first come to the gate the previous night. Now Bibi turned her attention to Kancil. “And she can wait for me in the kitchen.” Then she stepped onto the path that led upstream to the washing pool, saying loudly enough for everybody to hear, “Though what I’m supposed to do with bandit spawn is beyond me.”
Kancil looked to Mother for an explanation, but Mother avoided her gaze. Her mouth was set in a thin line and she was blinking back tears.
The kitchen was a low-roofed hut. Inside it was dark and hot. The air reeked with the smells of fishpaste and hot coconut oil and the combination made Kancil’s stomach turn. The skinny boy who had humiliated her at the pendopo was sitting on the floor inside the doorway. When he saw Kancil he grinned. She glared back at him.
She could hear Bibi huffing up the path so she waited by the doorway, trying not to look at the boy though she could feel his eyes on her. Bibi didn’t greet either of them when she arrived, she just walked into the kitchen, grumbling under her breath. After a moment’s hesitation, Kancil followed her.
At the back of the hut a wall panel hinged open to allow some sunlight into the gloom, and beneath this makeshift window was a stone fireplace. The girl servant Kancil had seen that morning sat on a stool before the fire. Her elbows rested on her knees and in one hand she held a ladle, dangling it in a pan full of boiling liquid. She made sporadic efforts to stir the liquid but her eyelids fluttered and her head drooped in the heat.
Bibi slapped the girl over the head and screeched, “Ida! You moron, it’s burning!” The startled girl sat up and began stirring frantically. “No, you idiot, it’s too late for that.” Bibi grabbed the ladle with her free hand. “Go get the washing in before it rains.” Ida stood and stumbled towards the door. With a grunt, Bibi hoisted the heavy pan off the grate and tipped the blackened contents down the drain that led under the wall of the hut.
The boy in the doorway was chuckling to himself. Ida snarled at him as she passed.
“Why so cross?” the boy asked. “You got what you wanted, a nice walk in the fresh air.” He ducked as she reached out to hit him then went back to his work shelling nuts. Yesterday he had worn a sarung over his left shoulder. Now he was bare-chested and when he leaned into the light, Kancil could see that his shoulder was twisted and that he lifted his left arm awkwardly. Three parallel scars marked the left side of his chest.
“Don’t stand there gaping,” Bibi huffed at Kancil. “Take this.” She thrust the ladle into Kancil’s hand and pushed her onto the stool. Kancil gazed at the iron pan as Bibi poured strained coconut milk into it from a gourd.
“Oh, for goodness sake, don’t tell me you don’t know how to make coconut oil!” Bibi took the ladle and shoved Kancil out of the way, sending her tumbling from the stool. Kancil managed to regain her balance before she fell into the fire. She shuffled to a spot on the dirt floor, close enough to see the pan but far enough away to be out of Bibi’s reach.
“Don’t let it burn like that idiot Ida did. You have to keep stirring it all the time.” Bibi spoke loudly, pronouncing each word slowly while she gave an exaggerated demonstration of stirring the pot. Kancil wished she could tell her that she wasn’t deaf or stupid.
Bibi skimmed a spoonful of coconut grease from the surface of the cooking liquid and dropped it into a bowl. “And these,” she said, scooping out two golden nuggets of coconut candy that had formed in the bubbling liquid, “don’t let him get them.” She bent her head towards the boy in the doorway as she scraped the nuggets onto a banana leaf. “He’s worse than a nest of ants.”
Kancil flinched as Bibi lunged towards her, grabbed her by the shoulder and steered her back onto the stool. Bibi stood behind her for a while, watching her stir and skim the oil. Then she stomped away, taking a swipe at the boy in the doorway as she went. He ducked instinctively.
“Why didn’t you keep Ida awake? She could have burned down the kitchen,” Bibi snapped.
“Oh, don’t worry, Bibi,” the boy replied. “My tiger spirit had everything under control.” He clawed the air with his hands and laughed loudly at his own joke.
“Imbecile,” Bibi muttered as she left.
“Not bad for a beginner.”
Kancil jumped and the ladle clattered against the pan. She hadn’t heard the boy creep up behind her. She had not forgotten how he had humiliated her outside the pendopo and didn’t want him to feel he had the advantage now. She turned away, raising her chin dismissively.
The boy stayed close – just on the edge of her vision. It was impossible to ignore him. Kancil changed her tactics and shifted on the stool so she could stare back at him while watching the pan out of the corner of her eye. She guessed that he was about the same age as her, although it was difficult to tell. His impish grin made him appear younger while his wiry frame and tanned face belonged to someone who had already spent many years doing hard physical work.
Kancil inspected his left arm closely; it was thinner than his right arm and the shoulder was crooked. She turned her attention to the parallel scars on his chest and then to a much more recent wound on his ribs.
The boy followed her gaze. “Oh, that, do you like it?” he said, raising his arm so she could see the wound properly. “That one came courtesy of Bibi on a bad day.” He turned so the light fell on the marks on his chest. “My tiger stripes are prettier though, don’t you think?” Unlike the jagged scar on his ribs, the raised scars on his chest were smooth and even, as though they had been carved with a very sharp knife. Or very sharp claws.
“As I was saying,” the boy continued, standing up and peering into the pan, “you’re doing a very good job so don’t pay any attention when Bibi comes in and calls you an idiot.”
Kancil’s eyes kept straying to the boy’s scars. “I know you don’t speak,” the boy continued, “so I’ll just answer the questions that you want to ask. You’re not deaf, are you?”
Kancil shook her head.
“Best keep your eye on that,” he said, nodding towards the pan, “or you’ll cop it from Bibi.” Kancil turned back to stirring the oil just in time.
“They call me Kitchen Boy because nobody knows my name. Not that having a name means anyone round here will use it. You’ve probably figured that out by now. Anyway, nobody knows my name because your Small Aunt, the crazy one so they say, found me in the forest when I was a baby. She disturbed a tigress and cub when she was out looking for herbs and she thought she was done for. Then the tigress stood up and walked away. It turned out the cub was me.
“Your aunt couldn’t take me home with her so she brought me here and convinced your other aunt – the snooty one – that I was charmed and my presence here would protect the household from marauding tigers. They were sending me out to the forest to collect pepper and honey pretty much as soon as I could walk – apparently th
eir last pepper collector got eaten.”
Kitchen Boy told his story like he thought it was a good joke, but then he seemed to think everything was a joke. Maybe he’d figured out that was the best way to cope with Bibi. Kancil wondered whether he kept up the act when he was in the forest. Going out there alone must be even more frightening than facing up to Bibi every day, especially with only one fully functioning arm.
Kancil felt the frustration of not being allowed to speak more keenly now than she had since she arrived in Prambanan. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Had his arm always been like that? Had a tiger’s claws really caused the scars on his chest? And did nobody know who his parents were? She would have liked to tell him that tigers were special for her too. That her father’s father had been a tiger charmer. On second thought, she probably wouldn’t tell him that. He would laugh at her, she could tell from the teasing way he spoke.
She glanced at him to get a better look at his twisted shoulder, just in time to see his good hand steal the last of the coconut nuggets that she had been carefully piling on the banana leaf. Kancil gasped at the empty plate and slapped at his retreating hand with the ladle.
Kitchen Boy yelped and leaped back, sucking the back of his hand where the hot oil had burned him. “Pah!” he spat. “I was wrong about you. You’re like all the rest.” He retreated to his stool and took a small medicine box from a hiding place in the wall. Muttering to himself, he dabbed ointment on his hand.
Kancil was sorry to have hurt him but she was relieved that she hadn’t forgotten herself and shouted. She scraped at the bottom of the pan to coax more nuggets into life. It was no use, they would only appear when they were ready. Kancil gulped back tears. Don’t be stupid, she told herself. Bibi’s only a servant. How badly can she beat me?
By the time the thump of Bibi’s cane on the path announced her return, Kancil had extracted nearly all the coconut oil and a small pile of nuggets rested on the banana leaf. Bibi stomped to the stove to inspect Kancil’s work.
“Where are the rest?” she demanded as she peered at the banana leaf. She scooped up the nuggets and popped them into her mouth. As she turned to go, she gave Kancil’s ear a stinging slap.
Ida entered the kitchen. She spooned rice from the steamer onto two banana leaves, sprinkled some dried fish onto the dishes then followed Bibi outside to sit on the bamboo day bed under the eaves.
Wondering whether she should follow suit, Kancil looked to Kitchen Boy for her cue. He stood up and brushed down his sarung, then he walked with exaggerated dignity to the rice steamer. His movements were a perfect imitation of the way Kancil’s aunt and cousin had left the pendopo yesterday. Kancil was smiling at his performance when his expression changed to one of mock fury and he tapped the rice spoon sharply against the steamer. He wasn’t mocking her cousin; he was mocking her.
Kancil felt tears prickling behind her eyes. How dare he! Kitchen Boy strode back to his place near the door with his head up and chest puffed out like a hero. Or like some stupid rooster, thought Kancil. She fetched herself some rice and went to join the others. As she passed Kitchen Boy she gave him her deadliest glare. He laughed so hard he nearly choked on a mouthful of rice.
Bibi and Ida turned around to see what was causing the commotion. “What’s wrong with you, moron?” said Ida, tossing a galangal root at Kitchen Boy’s head. He snapped at it with his teeth but missed; the galangal bounced off his cheek and rolled away.
Looking around for somewhere to sit, Kancil settled on a large log that was positioned close to the kitchen wall. It was low enough for her to show respect to Bibi and Ida but gave her a height advantage over Kitchen Boy.
An onion hit her on the head almost as soon as she sat down. “You have no idea, do you, Bandit Spawn?” said Bibi. “Get down off that.” Defeated, Kancil slipped down from the log, squatting on her heels to keep her kain out of the dirt. She stared hungrily at her rice but there was a lump in her throat that no food could get past.
Kitchen Boy sidled closer to her and she braced herself for more taunting. She watched his hand reach into the waist-fold of his sarung, remove a banana-leaf package and place it on her plate. His movement was so subtle and fluid that Kancil wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been watching closely.
Half-expecting a spider to leap from it, Kancil carefully unfolded the leaf. Inside were four golden-brown coconut nuggets. She stared at them for a moment, trying to make sense of this strange boy. She stole a glance at Bibi and Ida to make sure they weren’t watching. Then, trying her best to be as subtle as Kitchen Boy, she took two of the nuggets and placed them on his plate.
6
PAYING RESPECT
Kancil survived her first day in the kitchen with only a few burns on her arms from spitting coconut oil. She endured insults from Bibi and teasing from Kitchen Boy without uttering a word – although her teeth had shredded the inside of her cheeks with the effort of staying silent and her head ached from the tears she was determined not to shed. Finally, Bibi released her for the day and she made her way back to the tiny shack, hoping that she might be allowed to lie on the floor undisturbed for the rest of her life.
Her hopes were dashed. Mother was already there, dressed in her good kain. “We must pay our respects to your aunt and your cousin, Citra,” said Mother. Kancil groaned and her shoulders slumped.
Mother began to comb Kancil’s hair but she had to stop when a spasm of coughing racked her body. “It’s the evening air,” she said in response to Kancil’s look of concern. “I’ll be fine in the morning.”
The front courtyard looked beautiful in the early evening light and the scent of night blossoms hung in the air. Big Aunt and Citra were lounging in the pavilion nestled among hibiscus trees, where Mother had spent the day weaving. They were sipping jamu from polished clay cups and Bibi was kneading Big Aunt’s shoulders while Ida crouched on the step, massaging Citra’s feet.
Kancil’s body ached from her day in the kitchen. She would love to be in her aunt’s or cousin’s place, yet neither of them looked happy. Big Aunt was giving Citra a lesson in the polite Jawa language. “No! That’s wrong,” she said. “You have to speak slowly and softly, and don’t open your mouth so wide …”
“It’s too difficult,” Citra whined. “And you’re hurting my foot!” She kicked Ida’s hand away and reached for a sliver of palm sugar to take away the bitterness of the jamu health tonic she was drinking.
Citra glared at Kancil. “What are you staring at?” she demanded. Kancil bowed her head and crouched a little lower.
“Greetings, my sister,” said Mother, kneeling at the step of the pavilion and touching her forehead to the floor.
It’s all just an act, Kancil reminded herself; Mother doesn’t think any better of them than I do.
At that moment Big Uncle emerged from the house and strode over to the pavilion. He looked more relaxed in his plain sarung than he had in his official’s outfit the day before, but he still had the air of someone accustomed to being obeyed. He had oiled his balding head as well as his moustache and he seemed to shine in the evening light. “How is the lesson going?” he asked.
“Why do I have to learn this stupid language, anyway? It’s too hard,” Citra blurted. Kancil heard an irritated “tsk” under her aunt’s breath.
Big Uncle spoke gently to the girl.“Now, now, child. I know it’s difficult, but it will be worth it in the end. You must be able to speak polite Jawa if you are to marry a prince.”
Kancil choked back a laugh. He couldn’t seriously believe that a prince would marry a village girl, even one as stuck-up as Citra.
“Why don’t you let my sister take over the tuition, my dear?” Big Uncle was talking to his wife now. “You look tired, and she might as well make herself useful.”
Mother climbed into the pavilion. Bibi and Ida were looking down at Kancil, their eyes glittering. Kancil guessed they were hoping she would try to follow Mother so they could crow over her ignorance – but she
knew her place. She sat back on her heels with her hands folded in her lap and her head bowed. Disappointing Bibi and Ida was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
“You there, girl!” It took Kancil a moment to realise that Big Uncle was talking to her. “Tamarind water,” he ordered. Then he stepped through the gate to the pendopo that was already buzzing with men’s voices.
As evening turned to night, Kancil was kept busy running back and forth from kitchen to pendopo with drinks and snacks. Every man in the village had come to Big Uncle’s pendopo to receive their orders from the village elders in preparation for the prince’s arrival.
Big Uncle and three other village elders sat on a mat in the middle of the pendopo. On Big Uncle’s right sat Ki Sardu, the priest who had translated for the crowd the previous day. His calendar was laid out in front of him and as each task was discussed, he gazed thoughtfully at the symbols carved into the lontar leaves before announcing a suitable date for the task to commence.
On Big Uncle’s left sat a man whose role, as far as Kancil could figure out, was to agree with everything Big Uncle said. “Iya, Iyaaaa,” he murmured approvingly, bobbing his head up and down whenever Big Uncle spoke. Kancil decided to call him Bapak Iya.
The fourth elder sat a little apart from the others. He had a wispy white beard and wore a holy man’s headdress. Kancil thought he might be the oldest person she had ever seen. He said very little and at first Kancil wondered if he was asleep. Yet, before any important decision was reached, the other elders would turn to him. If he inclined his head slightly, the other men would nod approvingly and the matter would be settled. If he tilted his head to one side and looked up to the rafters with a puzzled expression on his face, the men would sigh and continue their discussion.
Tiger Stone Page 4
