Chapter One - Richard Lewis

Down the beach, Mantera buried his legs in the sand. His granddaughter
Wulandri, who yesterday had been glammed up in Balinese temple dress but was now
dressed in shorts and T-shirt, spread a towel on his shoulders. She headed down the
boardwalk, strolling with that balanced grace common to so many Balinese women, but
when she spotted Zoe napping on the recliner, she halted for a second before continuing
on with a distinctly different sashay. Sauntering to the café, she bantered with the lady as
she ordered a tea.
Zoe suddenly sat up as if internal alarm bells had rung and stared at Wulandri.
She removed her cotton top and shorts, and thus stripped down to her bikini, turned over
on her back to present herself and to the sun.
Wulandri eyed Zoe and said in Balinese to the shop matron, "She looks like a
roasting pig."
Tina had to smile at this little vignette. Jealousy, the same the world over.
"If you promise to leave Arini alone," Dharma said, "then I will tell you her
story."
Tina returned her full attention to him. She would never silence another woman's
voice, much less allow a man to tell her to do so, so she lied with ease. "All right."
"I have to start with mine."
"I'm listening."
"Nah, I sharecropped for the old prince, Mantera's father, and then I became
Mantera's collector, the landlord's share of the harvest. I put aside a good percent of what
I earned to keep my younger brother Catra in school. I was already a young man when he
was still a boy. I was determined that at least one of our family should go to university
and become a professional. To fulfill the promise of Sukarno's revolution. After I worked
a hard long day, we'd sit in our front room with its dirt floor and a single kerosene lantern
and he would teach me to read and write.
"Since the days of my forefathers the palace had been hard lords, harsh on the
tenants working their fields, some of them demanding sons and daughters to work in the
palace. They were loyal to the Dutch. Mantera's father was a greedy man. Mantera was
only marginally better." Dharma paused for another slurp.
"Batu Gede was considered a rich area of Bali, but life was hard back then. Last
year I attended a charity event. There were old photographs of Bali in the old days, the
Bali of unspoiled paradise."
"Reed Davis's photos?"
Dharma gave her a long look. "Yes. Some were his."
"I've heard that he was CIA. Many people think the CIA masterminded Gestapu
and the killings, to get rid of the Communists."
Dharma laughed loudly, slapping his knee. "We have had a thousand years of
wars and intrigues, of spies and shadow puppets. It is colonialist arrogance to think the
we needed the white American CIA to rid us of our Communists. Frankly, it is an insult."
"They provided lists of names. Of Communists."
"Bah. For every ten they counted, we already knew a thousand. We took care of
our own problem, and we made the CIA dance to our own tune."
Tina filed this away as she watched Zoe turn over and sat up. Slipping on a Tshirt,
the American girl wandered into the café to order water. She gave Wulandri a
smile, and said in passable Balinese, "Do you think I'm roasted enough?"
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