“Ja.” But I didn’t budge until she jerked my hand. Once I was moving, I felt an urge to run and hide, but I couldn’t see anything.
My ears heard every little noise, though—the hitch in my aunt’s breath as she struggled to walk, the frightened whinnies of horses, the howling of dogs.
Tante Greet dragged me down the beach. The darkness pressed around us.
“I can’t see, Katrien,” Tante Greet squeaked.
“I can’t either.” I felt my aunt whip her head in my direction. “But I know the way. I’ll lead.”
We inched along the beach, stopping when the air choked us. It had not been that long since the eruption, but my throat grew raw from coughing up the filth. The smell made everything worse. Not even ruined fish or boiled cabbage had this odor—like thousands of eggs left to rot in the sun.
A single spot of light wavered ahead of us. “I think it’s the hotel,” I panted. The sense of relief that washed over me must have been what sailors felt when they saw a lighthouse beacon during a terrible storm. The Anjer lighthouse was farther down the beach from the hotel, but I couldn’t see its light in this pitch dark. Another shudder of fear ran down my spine.
“I need to rest, Katrien. I can’t breathe.” Tante Greet’s words came in short, sharp bursts.
We made our way—step by slow step—to the hotel porch, and I waved my hand in front of me to help guide me to the stairs. Tante Greet clung to my waist as I climbed them and headed for the doors.
The glow from the windows was faint but seeing it helped. I had never been more happy to set foot inside the Hotel Anjer. We pushed the door open and collapsed inside.
Prettily dressed men and women crowded the lobby and stared at us with fearful eyes. On any other day they would have been enjoying the sunshine—outside. But here they all were, coated with a light dusting of ash and stepping away from us as if we had brought the volcano in with us.
Tante Greet drew her handkerchief from her sleeve and coughed into it with a force that shook her shoulders.
Wilhemina De Graff raced over and grabbed my hands. “Katrien, what is going on?”
“Krakatau has erupted.”
“How long will it last?”
“I don’t know.” I pushed my spectacles up.
Her eyes, round and rimmed with tears, shone in the light of the lamps. “This is far worse than it was in May.”
I had suspected so, but I couldn’t say anything. I had been in Batavia then. Safe. The De Groots had been right to leave.
Tante Greet continued to cough beside me, her hacking finally easing into delicate, ladylike sounds.
“When I came here from Rotterdam, I only wanted to find a rich man to marry. I never thought I would have to deal with this.” Wilhemina’s face crumpled, and she pressed her fingers against her eyes. I reached over to comfort her but stopped. I was covered in ash. She wouldn’t want to be dirty as well as terrified.
I wanted to go home. To get out of this filthy, hot air. I could feel the grit everywhere. My eyes burned behind my spectacles, and my clothes weighed at least an additional kilogram.
Worst of all, my throat was coated. I knew it was unladylike, but I couldn’t think of another solution. I stepped away from Wilhemina and my aunt and spat mouthfuls of ash into my hand, again and again.
“Katrien!” Tante Greet cried.
“Apologies, Tante,” I said, wiping my hand on my skirt. Grit remained in my mouth, but I didn’t spit anymore.
Instead I coughed and almost retched from the effort. When I finally caught my breath, I turned to my aunt. “We should go,” I managed.
She nodded. “Do you have a handkerchief with you? After that display, I certainly hope you don’t.”
I shook my head. “No, why?” Leave it to my aunt to be caught in a volcanic eruption and still be concerned about my manners.
“We could hold them over our noses and mouths. They may help us breathe.”
“Oh, that’s a wonderful suggestion.” Surprise at her good idea filled my voice. “Let me see if Wilhemina has one she’ll lend me.”
Wilhemina stood back at the reception counter. She gave me a handkerchief with a generous smile. “You know you can stay here. You don’t have to go home.”
“Dank u, but we’ll get in your way here.”
I returned to my aunt. We took one last breath of relatively clean air and left the hotel.
Chapter 24
By the time Tante Greet and I reached home, we were completely covered in ash. Our hat brims were bent from the extra weight, and our shuffling steps had kicked up the powder on the ground the entire way, which in turn had thoroughly coated our legs and undergarments.
Tante Greet and I fell into the hall and slammed the door behind us. The clock chimed three times. The walk home typically took about twenty minutes, but it had just taken us two hours.
“You are home!” Slamet cried from the parlor. He had been sitting on the floor and he popped up as we stumbled through the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” I croaked through a throat full of dust. Since our fight, I had seen him exactly twice. We hadn’t spoken, and he darted away from me both times.
“I come here after noise. I help Ibu close doors, windows.”
“Dank u. Terima kasih.” It was such a thoughtful act that I hoped the old Slamet was back. I moved toward him, but he ducked away, fidgeting, with his head bent.
“Slamet, what is the matter?” I pushed my spectacles up.
He took a deep breath and glanced away. “Ma’af. I think here is safer.”
“There’s no need to apologize, Slamet,” Tante Greet said in that forceful way of hers, although I didn’t think he was talking to us. “You did the right thing coming here. It is safer.” Her voice gentled. “And dank u for closing the doors and windows. The furniture in this house would be buried in ash if you hadn’t. If you don’t mind, we’re going to try to wash some of this off.”
He nodded. “I am with Ibu.”
In my bedroom, a pyramid of powder sat under the large window. I ignored it and instead pulled off everything I wore and threw the clothes in a corner. They collapsed like saggy elephant skin, all gray and wrinkled. My nicest outfit. It would never be clean again.
I took off my spectacles and grabbed a handkerchief. But no matter how hard I rubbed, I could not wipe the ash off the lenses. It just moved from one side to the other. Homo sapiens. Thank goodness I had another pair in a drawer. They were tarnished and scratched, and I didn’t see as well with them, but at least I wouldn’t be looking through a smoky haze when I wore them.
After removing the pins from my hair, I shook my head like a dog. Ash flew everywhere, but I didn’t care. “For each has to live by a struggle; but it is not necessarily the best possible under all possible conditions.” I grimaced. Conditions were certainly not the best possible now.
As I brushed my hair, more ash floated to the floor.
Next, I tackled the grit stuck to my skin. Fortunately, I had water in my pitcher and basin on the vanity. After moistening a small cloth, I rubbed my face and managed to get it clean, for the most part, but the ash didn’t dissolve in the water. It turned to mud.
I couldn’t use the basin again.
Grabbing another cloth, I scrubbed my whole body without water. The grit still clung all over, but there was nothing else I could do. I would have to wait until Krakatau stopped rumbling before I could have a proper bath.
I stared at the mud in the basin and thought of our water barrels standing outside, no doubt covered in residue. Or mud, since that’s what happened when the ash and water collided.
I dressed in clean clothes and allowed myself one last glance in the mirror. I saw pink cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Dirty hair. Bits of gray still clung to my arms and neck. Never mind a bath. When this was all over, I would go for a swim in the ocean to clean myself off. I grabbed my old spectacles and left the room.
Down the hall I found Indah and Slamet standing i
n a corner of the kitchen with their heads bent together. Rapid whispers in Javanese floated across the room. I cleared my throat.
Slamet kept whispering to his mother. His face was a mixture of anger and disappointment. She brushed him away, straightened and walked toward me. “I have favor.”
“Ibu, do not—”
Indah cut off Slamet’s protest with a hard look. “I have favor,” she repeated.
“Of course,” I said, surprised.
Slamet fingered the kris at his side, and I gulped. His furious expression made me wonder if he might use the dagger. Why was he so angry?
Just then Tante Greet breezed into the room. She had changed clothes, but ash still clung to her arms and hair, too. She had also pinned her hair back into a bun, while mine hung loose around my shoulders. “Is it possible to make some tea?” she asked.
“I don’t think we have any water,” I said.
With a sigh, she said, “Oh, well.” Then she noticed Slamet and his angry look. “Is something wrong?”
“I have favor,” Indah said once more.
“What favor?” Tante Greet asked.
“We go to mosque.”
“But that’s over a kilometer away!” I looked at my aunt. She couldn’t allow this. It had taken us two hours to walk half that distance!
Tante Greet, always a bit aloof with Indah, softened. With the barest nod, she consented. “Of course. I understand.”
“It will take them forever in this ash and dark,” I protested. “They should stay here.”
“I am strong. I help Ibu,” Slamet said. He seemed to grow taller as he spoke. “We want to pray.”
“You can pray here.” I waved my arm toward the kitchen corner where I had seen them kneeling many times. “We won’t interrupt you.”
Utter astonishment filled his face before his expression hardened. “Allah hears prayers better from mosque.”
“Is that what Raharjo says?” I could not believe I asked the question, but their desire to leave the safety of our home made no sense. It had to be something to do with Raharjo’s influence. Slamet—and more importantly, Indah—could not be this illogical!
“It is truth,” he said.
“It is ridiculous!” I rubbed my eyes and stormed out of the room.
“Take a lantern with you,” I heard my aunt saying behind me.
I yelled back to them, “And tie something around your mouth!”
I was going to go back to my bedroom, but something made me reconsider. I stomped to the front door and waited for them, instead. A quotation from Mr. Charles Darwin floated through my mind: “In some cases, however, the extermination of whole groups of beings, as of ammonites towards the close of the secondary period, has been wonderfully sudden.” Why would I think about ammonites at a time like this? I pushed my scratched spectacles up.
When Indah and Slamet reached the door, she touched my arm. “Selamat tinggal,” she said.
“Good-bye. Be careful,” I told her.
She hugged me. “Terima kasih.”
I turned to Slamet. The angry set of his mouth. His haunted eyes. This was not the face of my friend. Some other boy had replaced my friend with an impostor.
I wanted my friend back.
But I knew—just as I knew that Earth revolved around the sun—that with my unfeeling words in the kitchen, our relationship had shattered.
I remembered Oom Maarten’s words about friendships ending. I remembered Slamet saying there were things about him I would not, could not, understand. Maybe they were both right. But I did not want us to part in anger.
Slamet and Indah moved to leave. I knew I had one final chance to see my friend—my old friend, my only friend—before they left.
“Slamet.” My voice cracked on his name. “I apologize for my outburst.”
He looked at me, and for one brief moment, the Slamet I knew shone through his eyes. Some strange impulse compelled me to fling my arms around him. To hold onto him forever. He stiffened, but I squeezed him tight.
He took a step back, but I only rocked forward, clinging to him. I would not let my friend go. But he finally managed to escape my grasp, his face as red as the Ousterhoudts’ flowers.
“Selamat jalan,” I said.
“Sampai jumpa lagi,” he said.
“Ja. Until we meet again.” I didn’t know if that would be true. And if only his angry impostor returned, I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet again. But I would not think of that now.
Indah opened the door, and she and Slamet stepped into the black afternoon.
Chapter 25
As evening fell, Tante Greet and I kept busy. By the time the clock chimed seven, we had dusted the ash off all the furniture and swept it into piles in the corners of every room. The rumbling from Krakatau continued like constant, rolling thunder. I traced patterns in the thin layer of powder that had somehow managed to coat the inside of the windows. Outside, the view was now pitch black.
Please keep Indah and Slamet safe. Please keep Indah and Slamet safe. I prayed this silent plea over and over. I was sorry for what I had said to Slamet earlier, but I still didn’t understand what Tante Greet had been thinking, letting them leave the house. “Why did she do that?”
“Did you say something, Katrien?” Tante Greet asked.
Did I? I pushed my spectacles up. “Why did you let them leave?” I asked.
“Lift them, please.” She sat on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her, but I crossed my arms and refused to budge.
“I let them leave for the very same reasons we left the hotel,” she said.
“What do you mean? It made sense for us to leave the hotel. We were taking up space there. We didn’t live there. It wasn’t our home.”
“Katrien, the same thing could be said for Indah and Slamet here.”
“They weren’t taking up space!” If she said they were, I would shove her back outside.
“No, they weren’t,” she agreed. “But did you want to stay at the hotel?”
“Of course not.”
“Why not?” She stayed calm, despite the maelstrom outside and the edge that was creeping into my voice.
“It wasn’t home,” I repeated. I looked around. Every lamp in our parlor was lit. The furniture had some of the awful powder coating it, but everything was still familiar and comforting in the scary turmoil of the eruption.
“Precisely,” said Tante Greet. “This is not their home.”
“But they didn’t go home.” I pointed in the direction of their kampong. “They went to the mosque.” I flung my arm behind me and accidentally pushed the window open. A whirl of ash blew inside before I could hook it closed again. “Terra firma,” I muttered at the new layer of filth on my blouse.
“Language,” said Tante Greet. “Katrien, the mosque is where they feel comforted,” she explained. Again, she patted the seat next to her, and this time I joined her. “I think we both need some comforting ourselves right now.”
“What do you suggest?” I asked in a tiny voice. The thunder from Krakatau echoed in my head.
“When I was a little girl, I always liked hearing about the Netherlands. I loved the history, the stories. Would you like to hear something like that?”
I nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” She went into the study with a lamp and returned a few moments later carrying a leather-bound book. When she settled back on the sofa, she pulled me toward her. I rested my head on her shoulder. The book was dusty, but I didn’t know how much of that was ash and how much was from sitting unread for years. She opened the cover and began, “The History of the Netherlands by Thomas Colley Grattan. Chapter one. B.C. 50 to A.D. 250.”
“So long ago,” I said. “It’s a solace. To know the world has been around so long.”
Tante Greet nodded and began to read. “ ‘The Netherlands form a kingdom of moderate extent, situated on the borders of the ocean, opposite to the south-east coast of England, and stretching from the frontiers of France to thos
e of Hanover. The country is principally composed of low and humid grounds, presenting a vast plain, irrigated by the waters from all those neighbouring states which are traversed by the Rhine, the Meuse, and the Scheldt.’ ”
She read with a low, reassuring tone, and her voice drifted over me. I should be furious with her, I thought, for letting Indah and Slamet leave. For keeping me from the jungle. For so many things. But her arm around my shoulders was so warm. The soft murmur of her voice so soothing. I tried to block out the rumbling, the worry, the fear. I clung to the comfort my aunt provided like a drowning man clings to driftwood.
“ ‘The history of the Netherlands is, then, essentially that of a patient and industrious population struggling against every obstacle which nature could oppose to its well-being; and, in this contest, man triumphed most completely over the elements in those places where they offered the greatest resistance.’ ”
Another blast outside caused both of us to jump like startled cats.
“That—that wasn’t Krakatau, was it?” Tante Greet asked, panic in her voice.
“I don’t know.”
It hadn’t been as loud as the blast from this afternoon. I walked to the door and opened it to try to identify the source of the noise.
“You can’t see anything,” Tante Greet reminded me.
“Yes, but . . .” I trailed off as I took in the blackness. She was correct. But just as I swung the door back to close it, she stopped me.
“What is that?” She pointed toward the docks.
An orange glow shimmered in the darkness. It appeared to be near Vader’s office.
“Is it a fire?” I asked. Someone must have set an oil lamp too close to a curtain.
Tante Greet’s hands were on my shoulders, squeezing them like a boa constrictor. I grimaced and shifted, but she didn’t stop. “Tante, you’re hurt—” I began.
But then another blast sounded, and the orange glow grew larger. It was certainly a fire.
“Oh, my God,” Tante Greet whispered. “Niels.”
I turned cold with fear. So cold I wondered how my aunt could keep touching me. Vader’s office was near that fire. Vader was near that fire. I shoved Tante Greet away and ran down the steps, slipping in the ash piled on them. I couldn’t see anything ahead of me.
After the Ashes Page 11
