Chapter One - Richard Lewis

Nol knew next to nothing about songbirds. But if his father could whistle and
charm them, why couldn't he? He pursed his lips and produced a ragged chirp. The thrush
postured aggressively on its branch and burst into livid song.
Nol hid his amazement and delight. "There you go," he said blandly.
Mantera shook his finger at the bird in mock exasperation and invited Nol to sit
on the porch's rattan chairs. Dusk was thickening quickly, and hidden garden lights
sprang to life. The young woman Nol had seen earlier appeared, bearing a tray of coffee
and cakes.
"Thank you," Mantera said. "Wulandri, you know Putu's father?"
Ah. Wulandri. Of course. "It's been a few years," Nol said. "Do you still want to
have my son arrested?"
Oh, such a long cool glance! "Why, what trouble is he in now?" A voice to match
that glance. Very much a young sophisticated woman of her caste.
"He's a student at Stanford University, in America. One of the very best ones. Full
scholarship. You remember how smart he was in class, don't you?"
Mantera said, "Wulandri's also studying abroad. Australia. Business
administration."
She took the shirt hanging off the back of his chair and held it out. "Grandfather,
put this on, please. It's rude, being dressed in an undershirt when you have guests." The
emphasis she put on guests suggested unwanted ones.
Mantera grumbled as he donned on his shirt, but watched fondly as his
granddaughter slipped away into the evening. "She could boss a barrack full of generals,"
he said. "Stanford, is it? What is young Putu studying?"
"Architecture and engineering," Nol said.
Mantera slapped the arms of his chair. "A boy the village can be proud of. He will
start a new school of tropical architecture. Why should it be foreigners who are famous
for the so-called Bali style? Please, drink your coffee."
Nol waited until his host picked up his cup. Mantera pursed his thin lips and
sipped delicately.
"My mother has migraines," Nol said. "She is in a delicate state. She should not
be receiving guests." He'd get this cleared up first before asking the prince for a loan.
"I know she does," Mantera said with a cluck of commiseration. "I gave her the
name of a good balian who does well with migraines. My wife had them, especially
toward the end, but the balian helped."
Mantera's wife had died at the previous year. What a grand cremation that had
been. Entire streets had been closed, electricity shut off and power lines lowered for the
cremation tower's procession.
"I understand your children will be soon have their toothfiling ceremony with
Dharma's grandchildren. Please, please, have a cake."
"Inggé," Nol said, picking up a fat sticky cake. "That is one of the purposes of
Putu coming home." He nibbled. Brown sugar syrup oozed onto his fingers.
In the trees floated little pulsing pinpricks of light. Fireflies. It'd been years since
Nol saw so many. Crickets chirped. Mantera looked like one of his birds, small and
fragile with sharp black eyes. He said, "Wulandri and various cousins are having theirs as
well, after next kajeng kliwon. You are invited." He smiled. "It will be interesting to have
Putu and Wulandri together again."
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