After the Ashes

by Sara K. Joiner

  “Ratu is—was—our cook and housekeeper. Utari, the nanny. Kuwat was the gardener.” Her voice broke on Kuwat’s name.

  What would Tante Greet do in this situation? “Empathy, Katrien,” I heard in my head. I did have some empathy. I reminded myself again that I knew what it was like to lose a parent. “Would it help if you talked about them?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” Tears filled her voice. “It hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much? How long does it take to get used to them being gone?” Her question was drowned out in a sob.

  Frits shifted beside her, and she rubbed his back.

  “Vader likes your father,” I said. “He thinks he’s a wonderful supervisor. He never says one cross thing about Mr. Burkart.”

  “You do know your father is dead, don’t you?”

  Why did she do that? Why did she lash out? I was trying to comfort her, to ease her hurt. I moved away, not wanting to be any closer than necessary to her vile words. “No. I don’t know that. You should get some sleep.”

  She wept a bit longer, her soft sniffles the only sound in the darkness. I couldn’t sleep. My mind would not stop whirring. What happened to the animals? Where were they? We had tromped through the jungle for hours, and except for that lone dhole, the only life we saw was each other. And Frits.

  “A group, when it has once disappeared, never reappears.”

  Brigitta’s sniffles turned to snores as she fell asleep.

  As I sat awake, the scent of the Sampaguita flowers filled the dark air and reminded me of other smells that always seemed to permeate the air around Anjer. Tea and coffee, spices and raw fish, the salty ocean and sweet fruits. But Krakatau had taken all that loveliness away.

  Anjer would never be the same.

  My life would never be the same.

  A wave of sorrow washed over me, and I could feel tears leaking from my eyes. I didn’t know what to do. I had dragged Brigitta and Frits up here, and I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing or not. What if this had been a mistake?

  What if another wave attacked us? I didn’t think I had the strength to hang onto a tree another time.

  What if a wild animal cornered us, instead? Even though we had only seen a dhole, that didn’t mean other animals weren’t lurking in the recesses of the jungle. We were near a stream that was normally filled with water. Animals would need to drink, too, and they wouldn’t know it was drained.

  Why was it drained?

  I focused on that. State the problem. “It is drained of water,” I whispered to myself.

  Hypothesize answers. “Drought.” That was the simplest answer. It was also unlikely. Although we were in the dry season, it had still been raining off and on.

  However . . . it hadn’t rained in over a week.

  But a week or so without rain wouldn’t cause the stream to completely dry out. Besides, the bed was muddy.

  No. It couldn’t be drought.

  Another answer. “All the water was drunk.” Ridiculous! Every animal in the jungle would have to drink from this one stream at the same time. Impossible!

  A different answer. “The wave?” That didn’t make much sense to me. There ought to be more water. It should be flooded, shouldn’t it? The stream should be brackish with saltwater. Or at least I thought it should.

  But none of those things happened.

  “Maybe we should go farther into the jungle?” I whispered aloud. “Follow the stream. We might be able to find some water farther inland.”

  That was it. That was the plan.

  Chapter 37

  I swung from tree to tree. The wind whipped through my hair and made my skirts ripple. Vader swung along behind me, and Tante Greet followed him.

  “Woooo!” my aunt cried, joy coursing through her voice.

  Silvery gibbons brachiated beside us.

  “Katrien, keep up with them,” Vader called.

  “I will.” My legs swung harder, and I picked up a little speed. The gibbons didn’t pass me, but Vader and Tante Greet fell behind.

  The gibbons stopped, and I teetered on the branch when I landed near them. “Vader! Tante Greet! I’m here!”

  They were gone.

  Where could they be?

  I burst into tears, a little girl lost in the jungle. Loud cries ripped from my soul, causing the gibbons to scatter.

  “Wake up, Katrien,” Brigitta said, shaking me.

  I yawned and wiped my eyes. Frits bawled beside us.

  “You need to get up,” she said.

  “I’m awake,” I said groggily. “Why is he crying?”

  She pulled the boy into her lap. “He’s hungry, and I want to go home.”

  “We need water.”

  “Ja, we do.” She reached for her shoes and pulled them on.

  “I think we should follow the stream farther inland.”

  The glare on her face could have sunk a fleet of ships. “What?” she asked hostilely.

  “We might find water.”

  “What makes you think that? The stream is empty. There is no water.”

  “It’s a stream,” I said. “I can’t explain why it doesn’t have water here, but there may be some farther inland.”

  “I thought you fancied yourself a scientist,” she said with an accusatory sneer.

  “I do.”

  Frits’s wails increased in volume, and Brigitta bounced him on her knees. “Then why don’t you know what happened to the water? Why? Give me a reason.”

  “Believe me.” I ran my hands through my knotted hair. “I wish I could. But one of the first things scientists learn is how little they know.”

  Brigitta growled in frustration. “Why am I even listening to you?” She stood, picked up Frits and paced. “You made me come with you into the jungle. You made me climb a tree.”

  “I saved your life,” I protested.

  “Perhaps.” She gave me a dubious look and continued ranting. “You made me march all the way up here. You said there would be water. There is no water. And now you want me to march farther inland? Because you think there might be water? When my father hears about this, he’ll—” She stopped short, realizing her mistake, and glowered at me.

  “I also rescued you from a dhole, but I notice you’ve already forgotten that.”

  “I wouldn’t have needed rescuing from that thing if you hadn’t dragged me into the jungle in the first place.”

  Frits screamed.

  “Can’t you get him to be quiet?” I asked. His wails bored into my brain and made me want to smash something.

  “He’s a baby, Katrien. And he’s hungry.” She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, but his cries continued.

  I stood up and rubbed my eyes. “Then our best option is to follow the stream inland. The wave didn’t hit here. We could find something to eat. It’s our best plan. Don’t you see that?”

  Brigitta’s entire being sank like a wilting flower. Frits almost tumbled from her arms. She mumbled something, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  “What was that?”

  “Ja,” she said tiredly. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Good.” I nodded. “Let’s go.”

  We followed a path along the bank, created by years and years of animals treading to and fro. Frits continued to cry and moan.

  We hadn’t walked more than twenty minutes when a rustling noise came from the forest. I threw out my arm and forced Brigitta to stop. “Shhh!”

  She placed a hand over Frits’s mouth, but his whimpers still echoed.

  The rustling grew louder.

  “What is that?” Brigitta whispered.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I half expected a Javan rhinoceros to burst through the undergrowth.

  But it was Raharjo and four other men who emerged from the foliage.

  I couldn’t believe it. What was he doing there? Shouldn’t he have gone to the mosque like Slamet and Indah? Maybe they had come to him instead. I tried to see past the men, to see if Slamet was fart
her back in the trees.

  Raharjo stared at me and pointed a finger. “You!” He narrowed his eyes and leaned toward me. “You are reason Slamet is not here with me where he belongs. You are reason Ibu is”—He paused before sneering—“not in her home. Not with her family.”

  I felt as if I had been slapped. Was he saying that Indah was dead? That she had not made it to safety with her people? Or was he just berating me because she worked for my family?

  I didn’t understand Raharjo at all. I had never met a native person as confrontational as he was. Normally, they just smiled and backed away from conflicts. What was wrong with him?

  But as soon as that question crossed my mind, I heard Slamet’s words in my head. “You do not know. You cannot know. You are Dutch.” I remembered his story about the coffee plantation owner’s callous indifference toward Purnama. I remembered how Wangi had to care for her husband, day and night. Purnama and Wangi were not about to get into an argument with the owner. Who knows what would have happened to them if they did? But just because they chose not to fight didn’t mean they weren’t in the right.

  Now, standing in the middle of the jungle, filthy, thirsty, hungry and exhausted, I found myself growing angrier by the second. No matter what Raharjo meant about Indah, his malice toward me was unjust, and what he said about Slamet was not true. I did not keep Slamet from him! Slamet chose to be with his mother when the volcano erupted, not with his vile brother. And I did everything I could to protect them. After everything that had happened, I found I did not have the strength to walk away from this fight, regardless of the consequences.

  “I tried to keep them safe!” I shouted. “When they wanted to go to the mosque I tried to keep them at home. Where it was safe!” I wished I had done more to protect them. For a brief instant, I even wished they had gone to Raharjo, deep in the jungle, instead of the mosque.

  “Safe?” He turned to the other men and spoke in Javanese.

  One of them responded and Raharjo turned back to me. Even in the dim light with all the ash in the air, his eyes gleamed with hatred. I took a step back.

  “You tried to keep them from mosque?” Raharjo’s voice dripped with contempt. “To keep them at your home? To do as you say? Like prisoners or slaves?”

  “That is not—”

  “What has happened to your home?” he interrupted.

  I pressed my lips together and felt myself grow hot. I would not give Raharjo the satisfaction of an answer.

  Brigitta stepped out from behind me, still holding Frits. “I’m sure it fared better than the mosque. Our homes are not made of wood.” Her eyes met mine, and I could tell she was frightened. But she wasn’t going to be bullied either. Good for her.

  The men all talked at once, now gesturing toward Frits.

  Then, graceful as a leopard, Raharjo moved and in one swift motion took the boy from Brigitta’s arms. Brigitta stumbled backward and fell, landing with a sharp cry on the damp mud.

  “Raharjo!” My voice cracked like a whip. “We have been caring for that boy!”

  “You are Wewe Gombel.” This was unfair. Wewe Gombel was a supernatural woman who kidnapped children.

  “I did not steal him! We found him, and we’ve been caring for him. He’s frightened!”

  “You are dangerous,” he spat.

  Brigitta reached out. “Frits.”

  Raharjo sneered at her. “You give him Dutch name? He is not Dutch! We will take him. We are his family now.”

  “No!” I grabbed his arm. “You can’t!”

  As soon as I touched him, one of the other men pulled his kris from his waist and pressed it to my throat.

  I froze, and Brigitta gasped.

  “The boy is Javanese,” the man said. “He is ours.”

  Terrifed though I was, I cried out, “Raharjo! I’ll tell Slamet about this.”

  He gazed at me, and in his eyes I now saw grief mixed with hatred. I forced myself not to move. Even the slightest shiver would cause the kris to puncture my skin. “The Dutch are not welcome here,” Rahajaro hissed in my ear. “The Dutch never were. Slamet learned this, but he made a mistake. He trusted you. And you have killed him.”

  Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Slamet had listened to his brother’s stories about the Dutch. I knew the stories were probably terrible, and I knew some of them might be true. And I knew Slamet had believed them. But I also knew that in spite of all this, Slamet had been my friend. He had. Even Raharjo said Slamet had trusted me.

  “I didn’t kill him,” I said, putting as much rage in my voice as I could. “I don’t even know if he’s dead, but I certainly don’t plan to give up on him so easily!” The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over.

  Raharjo stared at me for a long moment. Then, without another word, he walked away with Frits wriggling and twisting in his arms. My captor removed his kris from my neck and drifted off with the other men, his eyes never leaving mine until he faded into the forest.

  I gasped in relief and held my head in my hands.

  I stood there a long time, thinking about what had happened. I might have stayed in that spot forever if it weren’t for Brigitta, who began whimpering from where she still sat on the ground. I squatted beside her. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, and tears streamed from her eyes. “I want him back, Katrien.”

  “I know.” I rubbed her back as she had done with Frits. “I know.”

  Wrapping her arms around my neck, she sobbed. “I miss him so much.”

  She had grown quite fond of the boy for knowing him less than a day. And not really knowing him, even then.

  “I m-miss him s-so m-much,” she repeated, hiccuping.

  I continued patting her back. Trying to find the right words, I said, “Frits is a sweet boy.” When he isn’t screaming, I thought. “Maybe they can find his family.” Even as I said the words, I doubted them. His family was probably dead.

  “Not Frits,” Brigitta said, clutching my blouse. “Little Jeroen. I miss him so much.”

  It must be awful to lose a sibling. I couldn’t imagine what that would be like. Would it hurt more, less, or the same as losing a parent? I rubbed her back again until her sobs died down and eventually stopped.

  She pulled herself away from me and wiped her eyes. “Shall we keep going?”

  “Inland?”

  Nodding, she said, “By the stream. You said—”

  “I know. But do you want to? I mean, with Raharjo and those other men in the forest . . .”

  “No.” Her voice was soft, but resolved.

  “Nor I.”

  She stood up. “So what are we going to do?”

  We. I liked the sound of that. We were a team now. We had faced Raharjo together.

  “Go back to Anjer,” I said. “By way of the streambed.” I just hoped that if the water rose again, we would have a standing tree to climb.

  Brigitta’s shoulders drooped with relief. “Thank goodness. I was terrified to follow those men.”

  Chapter 38

  When we passed the clearing again, Brigitta’s sarcasm returned. “I see our rooms from last night.”

  “We were safe, though.”

  “Only because those men didn’t find us.” She ducked under a branch. “How do you know them?”

  “I don’t.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “I heard you call one of them by name.”

  “Raharjo.” I sighed. “I don’t really know him. He’s Slamet’s brother.”

  “Isn’t Slamet that native boy you’re always running around with?”

  I nodded. “Raharjo hates me.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” she said archly.

  “The only other time I saw him he called me dangerous. I had never even met him before.”

  “You may be many things, Katrien,” she said, walking a bit ahead of me, “but dangerous isn’t one of them.”

  “Slamet said he meant to say Dutch.”

  “Bu
t you aren’t Dutch,” she stated, “you’re Javanese.”

  “I know,” I said, amazement filling my voice. Brigitta understood. Of course she did. She was Javanese, too. Born and bred in Anjer, just like me.

  “How far is it to home?” she asked.

  “Several hours.”

  She groaned.

  I encouraged her. “We’ll get there. Don’t worry. Keep your eyes open for any puddles we can drink from.”

  “I am not drinking from a puddle, Katrien.”

  “Are you expecting to find a glass and a clean rain barrel?”

  She puffed up like a proud bird. “I’m not stupid, you know. It’s dangerous to drink from puddles.”

  “You’re correct.”

  She gave me a smug smile.

  “But in this case,” I said, “it might be more dangerous not to.”

  Snapping her mouth shut, she shot me a defiant glare.

  I smiled prettily, enjoying having an edge over her. “Come on, Brigitta.”

  We had covered about fifteen minutes’ worth of ground from the clearing when we saw the first downed tree. Not far beyond, bodies lay scattered.

  There was a woman in her underthings. Brigitta and I both turned our heads.

  There was a native man with his hands clasped in prayer.

  Neither of us said anything about the bodies we passed. We made the sign of the cross each time we encountered a corpse, but we kept our thoughts to ourselves.

  After a while, a pink fluffy pile of cloth caught my eye.

  “What is that?” Brigitta asked.

  “Fabric,” I said, looking down at my torn skirt. “I could wrap it around me like a sarong!” I picked up the bundle and was immediately surprised by its weight. I turned it over to examine it closer and suddenly a tiny face emerged from the folds.

  “Oh!” I gasped in surprise.

  “What?”

  “It’s a doll.” I laughed and brushed the face with my fingers. It was cold. Waxy. Not porcelain. I froze. “Oh, God.”

  Brigitta stared at the bundle in my hands, yet I got the impression she wasn’t seeing it. She seemed lost in some somber world of her own. But then she took a watery breath and came out of her reverie. Her voice cracked as she said, “It’s a baby, isn’t it?”