Chapter One - Richard Lewis

damp, and she was brushing it with a turtle shell comb. Reed waved at her. She tilted her
head, and as she combed underside of the strands she watched him without expression.
A week later, he stopped by the Batu Gede salt-making farms and bought five
kilos of the coarse grain crystals, packed in a basket of woven bamboo, paying ten times
the market price. The salt-farmer, rejoicing in this small windfall, allowed Reed to take
photographs of the cleared salt pans and the filtering and drying process, which used
solar evaporation in dry weather and firewood stills in the rainy season. After snapping
off a roll of film, Reed wandered through the refugees' shanties, built on the high ground
in front of cleared mangroves. Dogs barked and mothers snatched their pot-bellied
children away from his sight. One shack of thatch and drift-wood and rusted tin sheet had
a Gerwani sign out front.
Desak's, Reed assumed, but she wasn't in.
He continued on. In the street in front of the Batu Gede Gerwani secretariat, the
two girls played hopscotch. They were still in their school uniforms, their slates and
school bags on the bench. He didn't see Naniek's bicycle. Reed asked the girls if Miss
Naniek was home. The older girl shot him a suspicious glare, but the younger one
cheerfully said she was with Headmaster Catra at the school.
The school was wedged between coconut groves and the southern rice fields. The
single building sported a red tile roof and diligently whitewashed walls. The three
classrooms were connected by a cement porch. In the tidy garden rose a flagpole, and the
only sound was the flag snapping in the breeze. Naniek's bicycle leaned against the gate.
Reed parked and entered, walking along the yard's gravel path. In the farthest classroom,
Naniek sat on a low desk, her palms pressed flat to the desk top, her legs thrust forward,
her black skirt molded to long thighs. Catra stood close before her, arms crossed on his
headmaster's khaki blouse, listening intently as she talked. She lifted a hand and touched
his elbow. The touch dislodged his arms, which fell to his sides.
Catra spotted Reed, and he instantly smiled and waved him into the classroom.
"Did you know that Karl Marx once wrote about the Balinese water irrigation
system?" he asked.
"I had no idea," Reed said. "What did he say, Miss…?"
"Naniek," Catra said.
A flush colored to her cheeks.
"I have to go," she said to Catra and brushed by Reed without a word.
Catra blew air and shook his head. "I've known Naniek for a while. She can be as
abrupt as a car crash."
"Friendly as one too," Reed said, watching her ride off on her bicycle, her back
erect, those calve muscles working smoothly.
"A revolutionary princess," Catra said. "Very earnest."
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