Warmest regards,
Katrien
Chapter 21
The next week, butterflies fluttered around me as I made my way toward the jungle. Several Common Clubtails showed off their striking black-and-white markings and yellow spots. Caper Whites and Koh-i-Noors also dipped in and out of my path.
“ ‘We behold the face of nature bright with gladness,’ ” I whispered to myself. I could not remember the last time I’d been inspired to quote Mr. Charles Darwin, and I smiled at the familiar words.
A plaintive cuckoo hiding in the tamarind tree let out its distinctive cry: four sharp notes followed by a little laughing chirp.
I walked around a cluster of kampongs. Children scurried from building to building, calling to each other and chattering in Javanese. Their voices mingled with the twittering of the birds.
Ahead of me, Brigitta and one of her servants emerged from a kampong. I froze.
“When we come back tomorrow, we should bring some rice,” Brigitta was saying to her servant. “She needs to eat, Kuwat.”
“She will not accept,” Kuwat said.
“She needs to. I’ll make her some beras kencur, and you’ll have to get her to drink it.”
“I will try,” he said.
The she saw me.
“Katrien,” she gasped, her face white.
Wary of an insult from her, I said, “Ja?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m on my way to the jungle.” I held my funnel net over my head. “What are you doing? What’s beras kencur?”
Her pale cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. She spun on her heel and walked off, Kuwat trailing behind her.
My jaw dropped. Brigitta had never passed an opportunity to taunt me before. Something was going on with her, but I decided whatever it was, it didn’t matter to me. This was my weekly visit to the jungle, and I wanted it to be wonderful—and untainted by thoughts of Brigitta.
I’d already begun to feel the forest’s calming effects by the time I reached the path that would take me deep into the interior. As I walked, I wondered for the millionth time how it could be that something I cared so deeply about could cause Vader and Tante Greet such worry. How could I better explain my feelings about the forest to them? They didn’t see the tangle of trees as I did. It wasn’t only a laboratory for collecting specimens; it was also the place where I felt most at home. In truth, all of Java held wonders for me, from its deep blue sky and puffy white clouds to its glistening shores and the ocean beyond. Even the hideous scar of smoke from Krakatau rising high into the sky had become part of my landscape. But for me, the jungle was the most welcoming part of the island. It was my sanctuary, more sacred than any other place I knew.
As I stepped into its shady solace, I noted as usual that the air—permeated with the sounds of tree frogs croaking and birds singing—was heavy with decay. The jungle, a place so full of life, was also full of death. The very trail I walked was covered in dead leaves and insects, but even that I found comforting.
At my feet, I watched as a dark line of ants paraded on their own path carrying snips of leaves to their nest. I knelt down for a closer look, leaning on the handle of my funnel net for balance. My heels sank in the mud.
“ ‘It is interesting to contemplate an entangled bank, clothed with many plants of many kinds, with birds singing on the bushes, with various insects flitting about, and with worms crawling through the damp earth, and to reflect that these elaborately constructed forms, so different from each other and dependent on each other in so complex a manner, have all been produced by laws acting around us,’ ” I quoted.
I stepped over the busy ants and continued through the maze of trees, following my usual route. Sunlight filtered through the treetops and I stopped to observe that here and there, the dappled light would hit a leaf and make it glow like a star. Familiar to me as it was, the jungle still changed every time I set foot in it.
At its outskirts, the town of Anjer encroached on this green wonderland one house at a time. But farther inland, the forest was much darker. The trees grew so thick and their canopy was so dense that little sunlight reached the ground below.
Tante Greet and Vader always insisted I go no more than half a kilometer into the undergrowth. Whenever I complained Tante Greet said, “Any bugs you want to collect will just have to come to you.”
But what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, so I didn’t tell them I had been far more than half a kilometer into the forest. Years ago Slamet had shown me a clearing about four kilometers inland. It was one of my favorite places to visit.
In the clearing, banyan trees grew next to a stream. Sampaguita vines climbed some of their roots, and the scent of the Sampaguita flowers filled the air even though they wouldn’t bloom until nightfall.
The clearing called to me today, and I headed in that direction with my net ready and my eyes peeled. Since I had left the house, I hadn’t seen a single stag beetle. As I made my way deeper into the undergrowth, I could hear the stream gurgling in the distance. I had just crossed the tree line when the pungent odor of wet animal stung my nose. I began to look for the source of the scent when a rapid movement made me freeze.
A pack of dholes, a kind of wild dog, was frolicking with each other in the stream, jumping in and out of the water. Their behavior was a cross between that of a domestic dog and a house cat.
With slender amber bodies and black-tipped tails, the animals—about six or seven of them—nipped at each other. Their white chests sparkled when the sunlight hit the drops of water clinging to their fur. They swatted each other with their paws, and I swore some of them smiled.
One dhole bounced up and down in the water and tried to catch the flying droplets. A bubble of laughter escaped my throat. The dholes acted like children discovering a new toy.
I was just beginning to get comfortable observing them when one of the dholes climbed out of the water and approached me. Crouching low on his haunches, he bared his sharp white teeth. They gleamed in the sunlight, and I took a step back, moving my net in front of me. My heart raced as I imagined the entire pack attacking me at once. I couldn’t help thinking right then that this was why Tante Greet and Vader didn’t want me wandering so far into the jungle.
But then another dhole, one I hadn’t noticed, sat up in the middle of the clearing and let out a series of strange noises, not unlike a hen or a duck. They almost sounded like clucking, where I expected barks.
Whatever the noise, the other dholes understood its meaning. Even the menacing one obeyed. They all followed the lead dhole, who raced out of the clearing and moved inland.
I let out a shaky breath and pushed my spectacles up. “What was that about?” I wondered aloud.
After taking a moment to calm myself, I took my journal out of my bug bag. Oom Maarten had christened my small rucksack with that name when he gave it to me. “For all your tropical traipsings,” he had said. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he ought to call it an insect bag instead.
Every time I came to the jungle I used my bug bag. I didn’t keep a diary, but like any good naturalist, I did keep notes of my explorations, bearing in mind Mr. Charles Darwin’s position that “The opinion of naturalists having sound judgment and wide experience seems the only guide to follow.”
I jotted down a few thoughts about the encounter and dropped the book back in the satchel. Oom Maarten’s latest letter rested beside my journal.
As I walked across the clearing, I tried imitating that strange bark the dholes made. “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.” I licked my lips and tried again with a higher pitch. “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.” When I reached the banyan tree, I stopped.
Banyan trees do not grow like most trees. They do not start life as a tiny seed and grow up, reaching for the sunlight. Banyan seeds take root in crevices on other trees. Once they sprout, they feed off the host tree. As a banyan grows, roots shoot off from its branches and stretch down to the ground.
This banyan wa
s old. It had thick branches with four trunks intertwined in an elaborate root system. They fanned out like the toes of a water monitor lizard. When I stepped up to the trunk, the tallest roots came almost to my knees. I needed to be careful.
After leaning my funnel net against the tree, I placed my foot on a root and grabbed another growing to the ground. Its circumference was about the size around of a man’s fist, and I knew it would be strong enough to hold me. A branch about four meters above reached its sturdy arms over the stream. Using notches in the wood as footholds, I pulled myself hand over hand up to the extending branch, finally swinging my leg over it and resting my back against the trunk.
This was the perfect place to read Oom Maarten’s latest letter. Settling more comfortably on my perch, I pulled it out of my bug bag.
To my adored niece,
I am sorry to hear you’re having difficulties with your friend. And I admit Slamet’s brother does sound rather harsh. However, as you grow older you will discover it becomes more and more difficult to maintain childhood friendships. I myself am no longer friends with any of the boys and girls who were our neighbors and friends as children. And that has nothing to do with my moving to Java. We grew up. We found new interests. We grew apart. It is, unfortunately, the way of the world.
I sighed. This wasn’t the kind of support I wanted. I wanted him to tell me how to stay friends with Slamet, not to let him go.
You will make other friends. Perhaps even friends Greet would prefer, but don’t fret too much if she doesn’t. She always needs something to worry about. If it’s not your friendships, then it’s my bachelorhood. And you can see how much I let that affect me!
Oom Maarten’s tiny house could never accomodate a wife. Tante Greet asked him every time she saw him when he was going to get married and buy a larger home. He always chuckled and said, “After you, Greet,” and Vader would just laugh at them both.
As to your bugs,
“Insects,” I whispered.
I can’t say I’m saddened to hear that you haven’t found any in a while.
But I know that upsets you, so I’m upset on your behalf. But not really.
You know I find those things terrifying. I have nightmares about your collection coming to life and eating you whole.
“That’s a gruesome image, Oom Maarten.”
But I wish you good luck with your bugs all the same.
Happy hunting—M
His letter didn’t offer the advice I wanted, but at least it made me smile. That was something.
“Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.” I tried making the dhole’s noise again. It was such an odd sound for an animal to make. “Ah, ah, a—”
A rustling noise made me stop and look down from my perch. I could scarcely believe my eyes.
At the opposite end of the clearing stood a Javan rhinoceros, the second one I had seen in less than a month. Since I was up in the tree, I didn’t think he would be a threat, but my heart still beat like a sparrow’s wings. If he decided to stay here overnight, I would be trapped, and Vader and Tante Greet would be furious.
He moved across the clearing, leaving a trail of crushed grass in his path. Stopping at the stream, he scratched his enormous feet against the ground. The deep folds of thick hide reminded me of leather saddles. I wondered how anything could injure such a tough skin. Gray hairs, slightly darker than his flesh, grew thicker on the folded parts of his hide.
When he finished drinking, he followed the stream farther inland.
I pushed my spectacles up. Why had I seen two Javan rhinos so recently, when I’d never seen one before in my life?
“ ‘Rarity is the attribute of a vast number of species of all classes, in all countries,’ ” I murmured.
That silvery gibbon, too. I had never seen one of those before either. To see two creatures for the first time in such a short period? It was odd.
And these animals seemed to be on the move, all heading inland. Deeper into the undergrowth. What had Mr. De Groot said? The animals could take care of themselves. Were they doing that? If so, why now?
The jungle closed in around me. The cool damp no longer felt welcoming. A gloom filled the air and my spine tingled as if someone were blowing on my neck.
I was suddenly consumed with the need to talk through what I had seen, and I scrambled down the banyan tree. Vader would still be at work, and I hated to disturb him. But he would listen, even if he didn’t have any answers. Leaving the wilds of the bush, I returned to the cultivated landscape of Anjer.
Part Two
AUGUST 1883
Anjer, Java, Dutch East Indies
Chapter 22
By the end of August the heat had grown oppressive. Even the ocean breezes did little to help circulate the air. The sun shone all around Anjer. People avoided the open roads and strolled along under the trees. Some ladies carried parasols; others found relief with lacy fans. Everyone wore white and looked like clouds come down to visit Earth.
In the distance, the sunlight danced on the waters of the Sunda Strait, making the surface twinkle. The pale cloud of smoke hanging over Krakatau created the sole ugly spot, and even that line of gray had a kind of majesty in its ability to remind us all of the power of nature to impress mankind. Every time I saw it, I couldn’t help thinking of Mr. Darwin’s words: “There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed into a few forms or into one.”
I kept those words to myself, though, on the afternoon that Tante Greet said, “That smoke. All it does is hang over the island. Like a guest who refuses to leave.”
“Let us not be bothered by the ugliness over Krakatau,” Vader responded. “The sun is shining and all is well.”
It was true. Despite the heat, the afternoon was so glorious that I couldn’t even worry about the sewing lesson awaiting me later in the day.
We stood on the beach. The tide was out and the sharp dark coral poked up out of the shore. “It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” he asked.
I grinned. “I love it. There isn’t a more beautiful place.”
“It is even more lovely and tranquil than the North Sea,” Tante Greet agreed.
“How different can the North Sea be? It’s all ocean.”
She brushed some stray hairs behind my ear. “Oh, Katrien, it’s one of the reasons we should visit the Netherlands. You have—”
But I never learned what Tante Greet was about to tell me.
For it was then that a blast, a tremendous blast, far louder than any cannon fire I had ever heard, reverberated around the strait with a thundering boom.
Every head on the beach turned toward the fearsome noise in astonishment and surprise.
Chapter 23
Across the strait, Krakatau stood tall and terrifying, spewing rock and billowing clouds of smoke high into the air. I watched the smoke turn from black to white to black again, amazed at the rapid changes and the enormous natural forces on display. “It’s . . .”
“It’s erupting!” Tante Greet yelled, and the fear in her voice reminded me of Mrs. De Groot’s story.
But this explosion was forty kilometers away on a small island. Surely we weren’t in that kind of danger. I watched the ocean, but the waves weren’t bad. They were worse during a strong monsoon.
Vader glanced at his pocket watch. “1:06.” He turned to us. “Get back to the house. Now!”
A continuous rumble shook the air. “Why?” I wanted to watch the eruption. The dark smoke continued to pour out of Krakatau. It was like nothing I had ever seen. I pushed my spectacles up.
“Katrien, do as I say.”
“Where are you going, Niels?” Tante Greet asked.
“The docks.” I watched the back of his gray suit as he rushed off down the beach.
Wait. Vader wasn’t wearing a gray suit.
His suit was white—wasn’t it? I was about to ask my aunt when I saw that her dress was a dingy gray, too.
I looked down and saw that a similar residue co
ated the white linen of my own skirt. I brushed at it, but it did no good. My hands and arms were covered, too.
“You have dust on your hat,” Tante Greet said, reaching up to my head.
Her own hat was also accumulating dust. But there was no time to tell her because darkness—sudden, immediate and black—descended over Anjer. That’s when fear finally gripped me. Mrs. De Groot had never said anything about darkness. My breathing turned shallow.
Screams came from farther down the beach.
“What is going on?” Tante Greet’s voice rose in panic, and she clutched my arm.
“It’s not dust.”
“What?”
“It’s not dust.
It’s ash. It’s ash from Krakatau.”
With all the smoke and ash in the air now, I could no longer see the island. It sat forty kilometers away. Forty kilometers!
Truly scared now, I grabbed Tante Greet’s other hand. I didn’t want to be here anymore, standing on the beach in this thick, growing blackness. Yet there we stood, in the dark, covered in filth.
A sticky heat now filled the air, making us much hotter than we had been under the August sun only moments before. A thin layer of sweat broke out all over me. Loose strands of hair clung to my neck and forehead. The grit stuck to my hands. As my eyes adjusted to the dimming light, I heard strange, slapping gurgles. The ocean rose and fell like water in a glass that someone had bumped. No longer were calm waves lapping the shore. My heart pounded. Krakatau continued to rumble.
I wanted Vader.
But he had a job to do. He was probably already in his little office sending furious telegraph messages to Batavia.
Tante Greet squeezed my arm. “We should return home until this blows over.”
I heard her, but I remained in place like a tree being slowly swallowed by a strangler fig, unable to move or cry out.
“Katrien,” she said, her voice urgent, “we need to go home.”
After the Ashes Page 10
