Chapter One - Richard Lewis

eyes adjusted to the gloom. Cobwebs dangled from the rafters, and dust layered the
planking. In the space was an ancient wooden loom, and by it a lumpy mattress, its fabric
yellowed with age and kapok stuffing leaking out of holes.
"What are you boys doing up there?"
Nol startled at Mak's annoyed, scratchy voice and stuck his head out the door. His
great-aunt was at the bottom of the steps, fists on her scrawny hips, her neck cricked to
glare up at him.
"Just looking for some wood to fix your place."
"Get down. I don't want you boys playing up there. Don't you have school?"
Before Nol could reply, Mak was floating off at a half-tilt like a kite in a breeze.
Irritated that he had to buy wood for the frame, Nol grumpily measured the wood
with a tape measure and supervised as Sudana, always clever with his hands, did the
cutting and nailing. Both men squatted in Mak's dirt yard as they worked.
From behind them, a woman said, "Excuse me? Are you Bapak Ziro?"
Nol swung around on his haunches. Why, it was the American woman who'd been
at the bones meeting. Several strands of her frizzy, crayon-colored hair stuck out around
her small pink ears.
Nol rose to his feet. The woman stuck out a hand, which he gingerly shook.
"I'm Tina Briddle. I'm looking for a new place to stay, and somebody told me you
have a house for rent?"
"You're in luck," Nol said, hiding his surprised delight. "The villa just became
available. It has a plunge pool fed by a natural spring. And a view of the ricefields."
A curtain in the warped window flapped aside, and there suddenly appeared an
ancient pistol, its grip clenched in two withered hands. Mak squinted down the quivering
barrel.
"Whoa," Tina said. She switched to Balinese to ask, "Are you pointing that at
me?"
"Mak! Stop that," Nol yelled, stepping between end of wobbling barrel and
beginning of prospective renter. He added to Tina, "Don't worry, it doesn't work."
"Is she Dutch?" Mak demanded. "Bastard Dutch."
"I'm American," Tina said.
"Ah! A CIA spy."
"Just a tax payer."
The pistol withdrew, the eye of the barrel replaced by Mak's beady one. "Do you
know JFK?"
"My grandfather shook his hand."
"He and Sukarno are wonderful friends," Mak said, and she stepped back and
vanished.
"My great-aunt," Nol said to Tina. "She's getting senile."
"She sure knows how to hold a pistol."
"Trained in the Revolution." Nol hustled through the gate to his compound. "You
speak Balinese very well."
"I should hope so. I've spent enough time trying to learn it."
No's mother was ironing laundry on her porch in the cool of late afternoon hour.
Tina smiled pleasantly. "Hello, Ibu Arini."
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