Chapter One - Richard Lewis

When Nol got home, a black Mercedes from the palace was parked outside his
front gate. Mantera was evidently paying Nol's mother another visit for coffee, yak, yak,
yak, slurp, slurp, slurp.
Still, this was the perfect opportunity. Nol would pull the old man aside and put it
to him straight. As long as you're here talking old times with my mother, I need to borrow
50 million.
Arini was entertaining Mantera on her porch, the coffee accompanied by a plate
of imported Danish butter cookies. The tin was right there. A gift from Mantera, Nol
assumed. Why his mother had actually opened the tin, Nol didn't know. A man like
Mantera should be kept at a certain distance. Surely Mother knew that.
Nol greeted the prince and sat on the porch's cement rail, wide enough for potted
plants, putting him higher than Mantera. If the prince was bothered by the insult, he didn't
show it. Dressed in light trousers and simple batik shirt, he had his cane propped between
his legs, both hands cupped on the handle, its delicate silver work oddly matched to the
length of rough, heavy ironwood. It was, come to think of it, an odd cane, but that was
Mantera for you.
"Don't sit there," Arini scolded Nol. "Here's a chair."
The corner of her right eye fluttered, a sign that her migraine was still clinging.
Why was Mantera bothering her?
Nol grudgingly changed places.
"Your mother and I were just talking about the time our dance troupe danced for
President Sukarno at his palace in Tampaksiring," Mantera said. "Afterwards he pinched
her cheek. She didn't wash it for a week afterward."
"Pak Mantera exaggerates," Arini said coolly.
Mantera tapped his cane on the floor, smiling. "Oh, Arini, I almost forgot. I was
recently reminded of the time your grandson Putu tricked my granddaughter Wulandri
with soap that turned her hands blue. Oh, my, she truly was furious. She told me to report
Putu to the police. I said it ran in the family. I told her about the time when you glued the
pages of my school note book. Remember that? The teacher asked me to read my story,
and I couldn't open the pages."
Arini smiled. "You ripped them up and threw them at me. But I must confess. It
wasn't me. Catra glued the pages."
"Is that so?" Mantera said. The mention of the Nol's father's name lingered
uncomfortably. The prince's hands tightened on the cane's handle and he rose creakily to
his feet. "I must be going. No, no, please don't bother, your son can see me to the gate."
Nol followed a step behind and at the gate slipped in front, as though to politely
usher him out of the compound, but intending to block him and spring the request for a
loan.
Mantera lifted his cane and tapped the silver handle on Nol's chest. "I would like
to see you at my house this evening."
Like an outrigger whose sail had lost all wind, Nol could only sputter, "What
about?"
"A private matter," Mantera said and took his leave.
Nol hurried back to his mother's porch, where she was gathering up the cups.
"What was all that about, Mother? Why is he bothering you?"
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