She stood at the water’s edge, listening. The silence of the bathing pool amplified the eerie screeches of birds and monkeys in the forest on the opposite riverbank, but the sounds were few and far between. Like the villagers, the animals were conserving their energy in the midday heat.
This was the first time she had been properly alone for many months and suddenly she was hit by a wave of self-pity. Thoughts of Agus and Father leaped into her mind and the tears that she had managed to hold back for so long flowed unchecked. Kancil rubbed at her eyes angrily. What is the point in crying? she asked herself. For someone like Citra it’s a way to get what she wants but it’s not going to do you any good.
One thing was for certain, she thought. If Agus were here, she wouldn’t still be standing on the edge of the pool. They would have raced into the water, daring each other to dive deeper and deeper. “Inland people don’t swim,” Mother had warned the first day they came to the bathing pool, and since then Kancil had been careful not to dive under the water. Now she was alone it was too tempting.
She unwound her kain and bundled it up, placing a large, flat river stone on top to secure it. Then, she bounded into the water before she had time to think. The water was cool and it soothed her hot skin, but the lonely, still pool was a poor substitute for the playful waves at home.
Kancil stepped further into the pool until she couldn’t touch the bottom. She duck dived and swam down until her outstretched hand touched a slimy rock. She tumble-turned and crouched on the bottom. “Where are you, Agus?” she yelled with all her might. She watched as her voice was carried to the surface as a mass of air bubbles. Springing off the rocks, she kicked as hard as she could and broke the surface to take a huge gulp of air.
A shape caught her eye as she shook water out of her ears. Kancil gasped. Kitchen Boy was standing on the riverbank, holding her clothes in his good hand, and grinning. “I know you can talk,” he said. “I’ll give you your clothes back if you ask nicely.” Kancil treaded water and glared at him. He was bluffing; he couldn’t possibly have heard her. She pursed her lips and shook her head.
“That won’t work,” he said, smiling his crooked smile. He squinted up at the sky. The sun was dipping towards the trees and a thick thunderous cloud was rising up to meet it. “And if you don’t get out, the water spirit will pull you under,” he added. “She will wake up soon and rain makes her hungry.”
Kancil could see that she was trapped, but the mention of the water spirit had given her an idea. “Please,” she whispered. Kitchen Boy’s grin widened in victory. He placed her clothes at his feet. “Turn around,” she hissed. Kitchen Boy coloured slightly and did as he was told.
Scrambling out of the water, Kancil whipped her kain around her body. She tugged at Kitchen Boy’s arm and motioned for him to follow her a little way off the path into the bamboo.
“I can’t speak,” she whispered, looking around and crouching behind the trees.
“Why are you talking strangely?” he asked.
“Sssshhhh!” she whispered. “If I speak in my normal voice, the mountain spirits will hear me.” She pulled him down beside her and continued to whisper into his ear. “When the mountain near my village breathed fire, I bargained with the spirits to spare my mother’s life. In return I had to agree never to speak again.”
“Why?” asked Kitchen Boy. Kancil had thought her story was quite good but Kitchen Boy didn’t seem impressed. He acted the fool but perhaps he was smarter than she had thought. It frustrated her that people treated her like she was half-witted because she didn’t speak, but until now it hadn’t occurred to her that she did the same to Kitchen Boy.
Kancil turned to her last resort: she pinned him to a tree with all her weight and pinched his arm as hard as she could. “I don’t know why,” she growled, “but if you tell anyone that I can speak, it will bring the mountain spirits here for sure and then you will be responsible for whatever happens next.”
At that moment a flash of lightning lit the sky, then seconds later a deafening peal of thunder cracked in the treetops. The smell of lightning-singed timber filled Kancil’s nostrils and her skin prickled with thunder-jitters. Maybe the spirits didn’t take kindly to her making up stories about them.
Kitchen Boy shook her off and rubbed at his arm. An ugly red welt blazed where she had pinched him. “The thing is,” he said, “I thought your father and brother were swallowed by the earth, not eaten by mountain fire.”
“Ye-es,” replied Kancil. How could she make such a stupid mistake? “That happened before the mountain breathed fire,” she said, thinking fast. “That’s why I had to bargain with the spirits. Mother was all I had left.”
Another flash of lightning lit the sky but the thunder was moving away. Kitchen Boy nodded thoughtfully. “Good enough for the yokels round here to believe,” he said. “Doesn’t convince me, of course.”
“Why not?” Kancil asked.
“Well … mountain spirits, water spirits. They’re all just made up stories to stop children from running away or jumping in the river. Now there’s a thing – you can swim. What’s that all about? And you do talk strangely. You’re not from round here, are you?”
“You really don’t believe in the spirits?” Kancil gasped. She wasn’t trying to change the subject; she was genuinely shocked.
“Real spirits, yes, absolutely. Why wouldn’t I believe what I’ve seen with my own eyes? But not the silly children’s story type. A real spirit wouldn’t waste its time bargaining with some girl to save her mother’s life, believe me.”
“You’ve seen a spirit? When? How?”
“Tell me where you’re really from and I’ll tell you about the spirits,” Kitchen Boy answered.
Kancil shook her head and crossed her arms.
“Oh, well,” Kitchen Boy said, “looks like we’ll both have to stay curious. Come on, we’d better get back before we’re missed.”
“You won’t tell on me?” Kancil whispered as she followed him out of the bamboo grove.
Kitchen Boy turned and grinned at her. “Of course I won’t tell,” he laughed. “Who would believe me?”
As he was about to step onto the path, Kancil tugged at his sarung. “Will you tell me one thing?” she whispered.
“Maybe,” he replied, his eyes narrowing.
“Do you know who the scoundrel is?”
Kitchen Boy shrugged. “The temple forests are teeming with scoundrels,” he said.
“There’s one in particular. They call him ‘the scoundrel’ or ‘the person we don’t talk about’.”
“Oh, that scoundrel,” said Kitchen Boy, nodding wisely. “The thing about the scoundrel we don’t talk about is that nobody talks about him so nobody knows who he is.” His eyes were sparkling with glee, clearly enjoying his own joke. Kancil tried to hide her irritation, knowing that it would only encourage him.
The dream, or vision, or whatever it was, about Agus, the scoundrel and the temple treasure had continued to nag her. She knew she would get no peace until she worked out what it meant.
“Do you think my Small Aunt would know?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
“Do you think you could arrange for me to see her?”
Kitchen Boy breathed out through his nostrils in mock exasperation. “I think I liked you better when you were mute,” he said. “You weren’t nearly so demanding.”
“Please,” said Kancil. “It’s important.”
“Why?”
Kancil imitated Kitchen Boy’s mock exasperation. “I think I liked you better when I was mute,” she said. “You didn’t ask nearly so many questions.”
Kitchen Boy laughed heartily at this. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
9
RETURN TO THE BANYAN TREE
Kitchen Boy didn’t expose Kancil’s secret. He even stopped jumping out to frighten her when she was sweeping the floor and he didn’t tease her the way he used to. Kancil found herself almost missing the old Kitchen Boy – a
t least his practical jokes would have distracted her from worrying about Mother. Her cough was getting worse, she barely slept at night, her hair was going grey. The hair would have seemed trivial except that Mother had once made Kancil promise that if she ever spotted a grey hair on her head, she would pull it out. Mother had so many grey hairs now that she would be half-bald if Kancil were to pluck them.
Word had come that the prince would arrive at the new moon. As that date drew closer, the working days grew longer. Mother stayed strapped to the loom until she could barely see the threads. For Kancil, the pleasure of drinking young coconut juice, once her favourite drink, was lost. The smell reminded her of the hours she spent grazing her knuckles on the coconut grater or bent over the smoky fire, turning the coconut flesh into oil. It was all she could do to limp back to the shack and heave herself onto the platform to sleep in the middle of the day.
Three days before the new moon, all the gourds of oil and sacks of grain were lined up along the kitchen wall, ready to be taken to the joglo kitchen. Kancil was sitting on her low stool by the fire, barely awake, when a booming voice jolted her back to the present. “All right, Bibi. What have you got for us?” Kancil recognised that voice – it was Bapak Pohon, the giant who had terrified her on her first day in the village.
“Little chicken!” the giant bellowed when he saw her. A wide smile lit up his face. The giant’s smile faltered for a moment as he drew close enough to see Kancil’s bare legs and arms, marked by the bruises from Bibi’s beatings and the cuts and burns of everyday kitchen life. He quickly recovered and reached down to squeeze her shoulder. “Ah, little chicken, it’s good to see you again. I’ve just seen the beautiful cloths your mother made for the joglo. Wah! Such fine work! And here you are, keeping the kitchen going. Where would we be without you two? You must have been sent by the gods!”
Kancil heard Ida snorting in the shadows. It hardly registered. Tears sprang to her eyes in response to Bapak Pohon’s kind words and she hung her head, confused and embarrassed, hoping he would go away – it was so much simpler to be ignored.
“Bapak Pohon! Bapak Pohon!” Bibi called to the giant. “Stop bothering the kitchen girl and get your men in order.” As she spoke, she took a swipe at a young man who was reaching for the last gourd on the bench. “Don’t take that one, idiot, that’s to stay here. Just because he’s a prince doesn’t mean he gets everything.”
The giant sighed, then winked at Kancil and patted her cheek. Kancil wiped her eyes and looked around to find some way to busy herself. Kitchen Boy was squatting on the floor nearby, rocking on his heels and grinning at her like a maniac. Kancil knew that look. It meant he was up to something.
“Bibi,” Bapak Pohon said, “I need to talk to you about a delicate matter.” He drew her away to the other end of the kitchen but his voice was loud enough for Kancil to hear. “Particular jamu preparations are needed to make sure a certain someone is looking and feeling her best when the prince arrives,” he said, “but you know what Ibu Jamu is like.”
“I don’t see what it’s got to do with me,” Bibi sniffed.
“Well …” said Bapak Pohon, “we all know Ibu Jamu has a soft spot for the boy,” at this he nodded in Kitchen Boy’s direction, “and the girl, well, she is kin after all.”
Kancil realised that Ibu Jamu was Small Aunt. She held her breath – was this what Kitchen Boy was grinning about?
“Get to your point,” Bibi snapped. “I haven’t got all day.”
Bapak Pohon cleared his throat. “Bapak Thani and I were wondering if it might be possible for you to spare the two of them tomorrow so they could visit Ibu Jamu and, er, acquire the relevant ingredients.”
“Hmpf,” said Bibi. “If that’s the case, why didn’t you come out and say it straightaway? If Bapak Thani wants them to go traipsing off to that witch’s lair, who am I to say no?” She stabbed at the dirt floor with her cane.
“You’re a good woman, Bibi,” said Bapak Pohon. “I’m sure you will be rewarded one day for all your good work.” He looked over Bibi’s head to Kitchen Boy and winked.
That night, Mother sipped at Kitchen Boy’s jamu as usual. Kancil felt she was doing it only to be polite. Her illness was more powerful than his simple remedy. “I’ll be better soon,” she said. “The cloths are all ready for the joglo so tomorrow I can rest.” She lay down but the coughing started again so she propped herself up.
It must be Father’s spirit that is directing my thoughts, Kancil decided. Maybe the scoundrel and the temple treasure aren’t really important. Father just put the thought of them into my head to make me want to see Small Aunt because he knew I needed Small Aunt’s knowledge of jamu to save Mother.
The image of the three shells from her necklace slipping into the mud still nagged: the scoundrel, the temple treasure, Agus. Why would her father taunt her with the hope of finding Agus if that wasn’t the reason for presenting her with the puzzle?
Mother was looking at her. “You should sleep, child,” she said. “Now the rains have come you will have to cross the river further to the north. It will be a long walk to your aunt’s home.”
Kancil couldn’t sleep. In her mind, wheels kept turning: Agus is alive – somewhere; the treasure is not lost – perhaps; the scoundrel is … who is the scoundrel? Mother and Small Aunt know so that should be the easy part of the puzzle to solve.
She could tell Mother was awake and finally she gave up on sleep herself and sat up, gazing out at the dark shape of the tamarind tree. Mother reached for her hand and stroked it gently. “I made your uncle promise that when I’m gone he will take care of you,” she said. “You have a home here.”
All Kancil could do was shake her head. I will not let my mother die, she thought to herself. I will leave this place and I will find a way to make her come with me and we will find Agus.
The next morning Kancil was more worried than ever about Mother. She had been coughing all night and her breathing was ragged.
Kancil lit the kitchen fire before dawn as she did every morning, but when Kitchen Boy arrived he wasn’t carrying the usual measure of rice. Instead he was carrying a kendi that was still wet from the well. “Are you ready then?” he asked cheerfully. Kancil wiped her eyes and shoved at a piece of firewood that was sticking out of the stove, keeping her back to him for a moment while she collected herself.
“What’s up with you?” Kitchen Boy asked. “I thought you wanted to walk halfway up the mountain to visit your crazy aunt!”
“Mother is sick,” Kancil signed.
“I know,” he replied.
“She’s really sick.”
“I did my best.” Kitchen Boy sounded hurt.
“I know.”
Kancil followed Kitchen Boy down the side of the house to the front courtyard. She was surprised to see her uncle’s feet poking out over the edge of the weaving pavilion when they walked by. A snore loud enough to make the pavilion’s corner posts rattle told her why he wasn’t sleeping in the house. She exchanged glances with Kitchen Boy and allowed herself a small smile in reply to his snickering.
Mother will be all right until I get back and Small Aunt will give me the right jamu to cure her, Kancil told herself as they passed through the quiet village.
The pendopo by the north gate had a new roof and smelled of freshly cut timber. Beyond the village, the fields that had been empty dirt bowls when she arrived were now awash with tender green rice shoots. Somehow, though, the hopefulness of everything around her made Kancil feel even more hopeless.
As they passed the pondok where she and Mother had sheltered from the rain, Kancil thought about her necklace buried in the mud. She felt a powerful urge to climb under the floor and dig it out but she resisted. It will be safe there, she told herself.
She paused to gaze at the temples. The bell-shaped top of the tallest spire was silhouetted against the dawn sky.
“Have you been there?” she whispered.
Kitchen Boy nodded. He put the kendi on the grou
nd to give his arm a rest.
“What are they like?”
“Mostly ruins,” he said. “There are trees and vines growing all over and through them. You can still see the carvings though, on the walls, and some of them have statues inside.”
“Mother told me that ceremonies are held there.”
“Really?” said Kitchen Boy. “That must have been a long time ago. Nobody from the village goes there now. Those temples are bad luck.”
“You’ve been there, though.”
“Yes. I don’t need luck. I’ve got my tiger spirit to protect me. Anyway, if I’m out in the forest when a thunderstorm comes, I’d rather trust my luck taking shelter in a cursed temple than under a tree.” He picked up the kendi and set off on the path to the mountain once more. “Come on,” he said.
“Ibu Jamu, Ibu Jamu,” Kitchen Boy called softly through the high fenceposts of Small Aunt’s orchard. They waited. Kitchen Boy tapped on the fence and called out again, then retreated to the shade of the banyan tree, settled himself against the trunk and closed his eyes.
“Shouldn’t we go in?” Kancil whispered. “I don’t think she heard you.”
Kitchen Boy opened one eye. “She heard,” he said, “and even if she didn’t, we couldn’t go in.” He shut his eyes again.
Kancil could tell that he was waiting for her to ask him why they couldn’t go in, but she resisted – her head was full of worry for Mother and she didn’t feel like playing Kitchen Boy’s game. In any case, Mother had told her about the holy woman. They sat in silence for a time then Kitchen Boy gave a loud sigh of exasperation. “All right, you win,” he said. “We can’t go in because your aunt is a servant in the home of a lady who has taken a vow to retreat from the world and nobody may see her except your aunt.”
Tiger Stone Page 6
