“Which reminds me,” the prince continued, “the, ahem, the wedding …”
“Ah yes,” said Big Uncle, “that is the reason I was a little delayed in joining you for the hunt this morning. I was making the final arrangements with the dalang. Here he is now.”
Kancil followed Big Uncle’s gaze and saw Dalang Mulyo walking towards them. Behind him in procession were the singer and the musicians with their gamelan instruments. Bringing up the rear was Kitchen Boy, who carried a pole across his shoulders, with four long bamboo tuak flasks strung from each end.
“Your Highness,” said Dalang Mulyo, bowing deeply when he reached the step of the pendopo. “Forgive me for not accompanying you on the hunt today. I was practising all day with my musicians.
“Now, with your royal permission, my troupe requests the privilege of entertaining you this evening. We bring you this gift of tuak to thank you for the great honour of performing at your wedding celebration tomorrow.” He spoke in such beautiful polite Jawa that all the men in the pendopo unconsciously sat up a little straighter.
“Of course, of course,” said the prince. He motioned for Dalang Mulyo to join the men in the pendopo.
One of the musicians rolled out a mat on the ground and the others set up their instruments. Kitchen Boy stepped forwards and laid the tuak flasks on the pendopo floor. He laid one flask at a slight angle to the others and tapped it once before moving away.
“Allow me, Your Highness,” said Big Uncle, taking the flask and pouring a large cup for the prince.
Kancil was called to the kitchen and as day turned to night she hurried back and forth carrying full and empty dishes. Each time she drew close to the front of the house the noise from the pendopo seemed a little louder and more soaked in laughter. The musicians added to the festive atmosphere and flashes of lightning from a storm brewing on the other side of the mountain gave the evening a sense of expectation.
Whenever Kancil approached the pendopo it seemed that Big Uncle was filling the prince’s tuak cup. None of the village elders were saying much. They seemed to be enjoying listening to the prince and the dalang exchange anecdotes of their travels. The prince looked relaxed, sitting back in his chair and laughing between gulps of tuak as Dalang Mulyo told a tale, then sitting forwards and waving his arms to illustrate a bigger and better tale.
The prince’s men under the tree also looked relaxed – Kitchen Boy had positioned himself nearby and was attentively refilling their tuak cups. The only person who appeared uncomfortable was the parasol bearer. He sat behind the prince’s chair, tense and wary.
Villagers had gathered in the shadows to listen. Kancil wound through the crowd with a plate of crispy melinjo nut crackers, keeping one ear tuned to Dalang Mulyo. He was telling a story about performing at the wedding of a village elder’s son just over the border in Sunda. “I had to concentrate so hard to remember to speak polite Sunda instead of polite Jawa that I found myself making the most simple mistakes.”
There was a hush in the crowd and people looked at each other in confusion. Dalang Mulyo had slipped into speaking the marketplace dialect that the bandits used when they thought they were unobserved. The village elders in the pendopo continued to nod and smile, pretending that they understood. Kancil stood still. She knew now she had been right to trust the dalang.
“So you can imagine my embarrassment,” the dalang continued, “when I realised I had referred to the village head man as the village coconut. It was an easy mistake to make – ‘kelapa’ instead of ‘kepala’ – but that only made it more embarrassing.”
The prince roared with laughter and slapped his thigh, oblivious to the trap that was being laid. The parasol bearer realised though and leaned forwards to warn him. It was too late.
“That’s nothing,” the prince replied in the same dialect. “There was this one time when I was in Muara Jati …” he stopped and looked around him, suddenly aware that the musicians had stopped playing and everyone was staring at him. “What?” he slurred.
“Ah, well,” said the dalang, speaking everyday Jawa now, “I guess they’re all wondering how a member of the Majapahit royal family comes to speak the language of thieves and tricksters with such ease.”
The prince waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve been around,” he said. He didn’t seem to realise the trouble he was in. The parasol bearer sunk his head into his hands.
Big Uncle stood up, towering over the prince.
“How dare you!” the prince spluttered. “I am cousin of King Hayam Wuruk and you, you! A nobody from nowhere and yet you dare to raise your head above me?” He staggered to his feet and stood facing Big Uncle, hands on his hips. Slowly, all the other men in the pendopo raised themselves so they were standing in a circle around the prince. The prince reached behind him for his kris but the parasol bearer caught him by the wrist. Scar and the other bearers looked about in alarm – they were outnumbered.
“You may be the cousin of King Hayam Wuruk,” said Big Uncle, “but you are not the Prince of Mataram. You seek only your own profit – as we would expect from a bandit – but you are a fool if you think the people of Prambanan will be drawn into your trap.”
The prince swayed slightly, the reality of his situation starting to seep through the fuzz of tuak. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I had suspected you for some time,” Big Uncle said loftily, “but I had no proof. Then last night I had a vision. Mbah Merapi sent the spirits to me to confirm my suspicions. Your big mistake, you see, was to anger Mbah Merapi by stealing the treasures from the forest temples all those years ago. The mountain is patient. He never forgets and he will always protect those who are loyal to him.
“You thought that you could deceive us and use us to fight your petty battle with your cousin then send us all to our deaths.”
Kancil heard a cry of horror from behind the fence; it was Big Aunt. Citra had not made a sound.
Fat drops of rain began to fall and lightning lit up the sky.
“I am not such a fool,” Big Uncle continued. “You and your men will leave this place and never return to Mataram. As I am a compassionate man, I will not send you out into this storm tonight.” The time that passed between the rolls of thunder and flashes of lightning was getting shorter and shorter as the storm approached the village.
The musicians had quietly packed up their instruments and slipped into the courtyard to stow them under cover. The villagers, meanwhile, sought what shelter they could. Kancil caught sight of Kitchen Boy huddling under an umbrella leaf and went to join him.
Bapak Pohon and five other strong village men rounded up the bandits and were using sticks to prod them towards the pendopo.
“Tie them up,” Big Uncle commanded. “You will stay under guard in the pendopo tonight. Tomorrow at first light you will be escorted to Salatiga where you will be handed over to the King’s soldiers,” he said to the prince, before turning to leave the pendopo with the other village elders and Dalang Mulyo.
“You’ll never find the treasure,” Scar snarled.
Big Uncle wavered slightly and turned back to speak. The juru kunci interrupted. “You cannot eat gold and it will not shelter you from the storm,” he said. “Our treasure is the rice harvest and the gentle seasons that the spirits bestow upon us. The mountain has taken the gold and you bandits would be wise to accept that as your punishment and forget about your stolen treasure.”
“What about the scoundrel?” Kancil whispered to Kitchen Boy. “Big Uncle didn’t say anything about him.”
Kitchen Boy shook his head. “Don’t worry about the scoundrel,” he said. “He’s going to lead me to the treasure. You’d better get back to the kitchen. Bibi will be looking for you.” The rain was falling in sheets now and the only villagers remaining were Bapak Pohon and his men standing guard around the pendopo.
“Are you crazy?” Kancil whispered. “He’s out there with two of the bandits. It’s far too dangerous. You heard the juru kunci, the treasure isn�
�t important.”
“And you heard the prince two nights ago tell them to keep their distance for five days. They won’t know the prince’s plan has come undone. I’ll follow them to the hiding place then, when they go to the meeting place, I’ll steal the treasure back. Don’t you want to find the tiger stone?”
“Ye-es, but …” Kancil didn’t know what to say. Of course she wanted to find the tiger stone and she wanted to find Agus but what if the tiger stone was just a stone and Agus was dead, after all? “You’re my only friend,” she said. “I don’t want you to get yourself killed for the sake of finding out if there was any truth in a holy man’s story.”
Kitchen Boy’s face broke into a huge grin. He made a small bow. “I am honoured to be your friend,” he said, “and I won’t squander that friendship by getting myself killed. The scoundrel knows the forest well, but I know a few things he doesn’t. Now stop worrying.”
22
THE VANISHING
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Mother whispered into the dark when Kancil reached the shack.
“Mmm,” Kancil replied. She was thinking about Kitchen Boy. His confidence was going to get him into trouble one day. She hoped that day wasn’t soon.
“You saved us,” Mother whispered.
“Not yet,” Kancil answered, “we’re still here.” Then she lay down and fell fast asleep.
When she woke, it was still night. She sat bolt upright. Mother was also sitting up and it took Kancil a moment to figure out that lightning had struck close by. Through the clatter of the storm, Kancil thought she heard men shouting at the front of the house, but it was difficult to be sure and her head was still fuzzy from sleep. She lay back down and let the sound of driving rain carry her off to sleep again.
Mother shook Kancil awake at dawn and she rushed to the kitchen to do her chores, expecting Kitchen Boy to be there with the rice ready for her to hull. He was nowhere to be seen. She lit the fire and swept the kitchen and waited. She could sense that something was wrong.
“The bandits have gone. There’s to be a selamatan to thank the spirits for protecting us,” Bibi said when she arrived. She banged her cane on the shelf where a cone-shaped basket sat. The basket was for shaping the nasi tumpeng, the yellow rice mountain that formed the centrepiece of a selamatan ceremony. “Get that down for me and give it a wipe,” she said.
Kancil pointed towards the empty stool where Kitchen Boy usually sat.
“Gone with the bandits by the looks of it. Good riddance if you ask me,” Bibi said. She spat into the dirt. Then she whacked Kancil on the side of the head with her cane. “Don’t just stand there gaping, girl, get to work.”
Ida arrived with the rice and the news. The bandits had accomplices. They had crept into the village during the storm and untied the men in the pendopo. When they realised what was happening, the guards had fought back but the bandits overpowered them. Lightning struck the pendopo and in the confusion, the bandits had disappeared. At first light the village men had gone looking for them but they had vanished without a trace. Kitchen Boy had been at the pendopo with the guards. Nobody could remember seeing him after the lightning strike.
“Hmpf,” Bibi grunted, “they couldn’t remember seeing him because that good-for-nothing foundling saw the opportunity to sneak away with those thieves to get his hands on some of their treasure. Our treasure, I should say. Bah! Bapak Thani is too kind-hearted, he should have marched them all into the river last night.”
Kancil listened with a sinking heart. The scoundrel and the two other bandits must have disobeyed the prince’s orders and been near enough to the village to know what had happened. Or perhaps they had a secret signal that she didn’t know about.
She was certain that Kitchen Boy wouldn’t have left the way Bibi described. That could only mean that he had been kidnapped by the bandits. She remembered what he had said once, that his freedom to come and go as he pleased meant that nobody would come looking for him if he disappeared. She also remembered promising him that she would look for him.
Some friend I am, she thought.
“Dalang Mulyo’s going to leave after the selamatan,” Ida added. “Ibu Thani said to prepare food for his journey.”
“Typical,” Bibi grumbled. “As if I haven’t got enough to do already.”
Kancil scooped rice into the hulling bowl and swung the pounding rod down on the grains. She might as well be one of those grains of rice, she thought, being pummelled by forces beyond her control. Her belief that the scoundrel and the treasure would lead her to Agus had just been wishful thinking. When the dalang and his troupe left, she would lose her only chance of escape and without Kitchen Boy to talk to she would be right back where she was when she first arrived here.
Listen to yourself! she thought crossly, full of self-pity because you’re lonely when Kitchen Boy is probably being tortured at this very moment. That stopped her feeling sorry for herself, but it didn’t make her feel any better.
The juru kunci placed an offering of rice cakes and flowers with a stick of burning incense under the spirit tree at the north temple gate. Big Aunt placed the nasi tumpeng in the middle of a mat that had been laid out under the tree and the village elders and Dalang Mulyo sat in a circle around the rice mountain. Bapak Pohon and the other guards, all looking rather battered and bruised, formed a circle around the elders and then the rest of the village men joined in. They all sat cross-legged with their eyes closed and palms upturned while the juru kunci muttered to the spirits, offering gratitude for being saved from the bandits and inviting them to join the villagers for a celebratory feast.
Kancil sat in the north pendopo with Mother, Bibi and Ida, behind Big Aunt and Citra. They were surrounded by pots of rice and stewed vegetables, platters of sweet cakes and a pile of banana leaf plates. The selamatan ceremony would end when the juru kunci broke the peak off the nasi tumpeng mountain. That would be the signal to Kancil to start serving offerings of food onto leaves and passing them forwards to Citra to hand out to every villager – the spirits would feed on the essence of the offerings while the physical food would fill the people’s bellies.
The signal was given and Kancil began passing the plates forwards. Citra took them without turning around. Kancil stared resentfully at her cousin’s back. She had been saved from her fate. The least she could do was give her a sign that she felt bad about Kitchen Boy. Everybody else was behaving as if he had never existed.
The last of the food was served, the mat was rolled up and the villagers drifted away to resume their afternoon chores, just like an ordinary day. Kancil was almost ready to believe she had dreamed the whole episode but Dalang Mulyo and his troupe were still there, a reminder that a world existed outside the village, and that Kancil’s chance to join that world was slipping away.
She was standing on the path, about to carry a basket of leftovers back to the house, when she heard Big Uncle speak to the dalang. “Please wait until morning to start your journey. You don’t want to be in the forest at nightfall, and you are, of course, welcome to stay.”
Kancil thought of Kitchen Boy. Would he still be in the forest at nightfall or had he been carried far away? The bandits had probably found out about his role in protecting the village from tigers and decided he would be useful to keep close.
They wouldn’t dare try to sell their gold in Salatiga – Bapak Iya had already sent his son to raise the alarm there. So they would want Kitchen Boy’s help to carry their loot to the coast. Kancil didn’t want to contemplate the alternative. She convinced herself that he would go along with them until they got to the port, then give them the slip.
Perhaps, she thought, he would team up with her brother. She tried to summon Agus into her mind, but he felt far away, as he always did, in the way that gave her comfort because it made her believe he was still alive. Could that work with Kitchen Boy too?
She summoned him into her mind and there he was, standing right in front of her. Kancil’s heart sank at the realisation
that Kitchen Boy had met his fate. But no! He really was standing right in front of her. He was dirty, scratched and bruised and blood seeped from a makeshift bandage on his arm but he was alive and he was grinning at her like an idiot.
23
THE TIGER STONE
“It’s the boy!” cried Ibu Tari. “Oh dear, he’s hurt.” Ibu Tari hurried over and helped Kitchen Boy to the pendopo while everybody else gaped at him. Kitchen Boy swayed slightly but he managed to walk to the pendopo. He was carrying something wrapped in an old sarung. It was the size of a jackfruit and he placed it carefully on the floor in front of Big Uncle. He eased himself up into the pendopo and bowed.
Big Uncle unwrapped the sarung to reveal a large, ornately decorated bowl. It was badly tarnished but there was no doubt that it was gold. Big Aunt gasped. “It’s the holy water bowl that was stolen from the temple,” she said.
Everybody looked at Kitchen Boy, waiting for an explanation. “Drink?” he whispered hoarsely. Kancil was already on her way. She dashed over to a clump of coconut trees near the pendopo. The pile of young coconuts that was always kept under the trees had been diminished by all the feasting of late but there were still a few. She took a large knife that Bibi had brought from the kitchen and with three sharp blows took the top off a coconut.
Kitchen Boy drank the juice in a few gulps and smacked his lips.
“Well?” said Big Uncle.
“I followed them from the pendopo,” said Kitchen Boy with a shrug. “The temple treasures are all buried in jars in a cave. This one was all I could carry but the rest of the gold is quite safe. Really, we owe the bandits gratitude for burying the gold in the first place. They chose a place that was safe from Mbah Merapi’s wrath, much safer than the temple.”
“But the bandits,” Big Uncle said, “where are they? How do we know the treasure is safe? You can’t expect us to believe that you fought them all off single-handed!”
Kitchen Boy sighed. “Forgive me for speaking bluntly, Bapak Thani,” he said, “but tell me – when your sister brought me to you and told you that she had found me with a tigress, you didn’t believe her, did you? You thought I was her fatherless child and she made up a fanciful story to save face.”
Tiger Stone Page 15
