Chapter One - Richard Lewis

Chapter 32
1965
Rusty, revealing remarkable skills as a cook, made chicken porridge for Naniek,
who managed to finish a bowl on her own, refusing Reed's fumbling help. "I'm not a
child," she snapped. He did help her to the bathroom, but she only grudgingly allowed a
steady arm around her shoulders. She slept in Reed's bed, and cried out in a nightmare.
With a damp cloth, Reed stroked her forehead and brushed tangled hair away from her
face.
"I've sent a telegram to Bambang," he said when she woke. "Still in Singapore.
The office boss, now."
"He's the kind who will survive anything." Naniek looked hollow and far away.
She said, "I was there at Lubang Buaya. Part of a training exercise. The soldiers made us
assemble in a mock court. They killed the generals. Shot and stabbed them. Three were
already dead, I think. I thought I was in a bad dream."
"You're here now. That's what counts."
She clutched the sheet tighter around her. Her black eyes burned, dry as desert
stone. "In Banyuwangi, an Ansor youth gang almost caught me. The police chief hid me
in his house. He said I had to pay him. I had only one thing to pay him with. Communist
whore? Yes, I am one."
"Naniek—"
She shoved him away and closed her eyes.
That evening, after the afternoon rains had eased, the wet season's first batch of
flying ants swarmed from the earth. They came in endless clouds, swarming around all
light, a brown haze around the front yard's lanterns. From the depths of these insect
clouds emerged a figure, as if they'd molded into a man. It was Ompreng, swaggering
through and brushing the bugs away from his face. He sprawled uninvited on a verandah
chair and told Reed, "That man who lives in the garage is a Communist. Fire him."
"He is working for me. He is under my roof and my protection."
In the bedroom, Naniek coughed.
Ompreng's square head swiveled. "You have a girl in there?"
"Ompreng, it is late. Leave me"
The flying ants haloed Ompreng's head. "Give me one of your hundred dollar
bills, Tuan Reed, and everything will be all right. Nothing will happen here."
Reed took a rupiah note from his wallet, ripped it half, and gave one of the halves
to Ompreng. He held up the other. "If anything happens to anybody here," Reed said, "I
will stuff this down your dead mouth."
The next day, Naniek collapsed with another bout of chills and fever, but not as
severe. The chloroquine was mowing down the parasites. The postman bicycled around
with a telegram from Bambang. He was arriving on Sunday on a Permina plane. He was
coming for Naniek.
Reed's relief left him strangely deflated. He hadn't realized how tense he'd been,
his days filled with worry, his nights with the grinding of teeth that left his jaws aching.
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