Chapter One - Richard Lewis

"Hush, you silly boy. Don't mention that name. Where's the American?"
She had no sooner asked that when Tina blew in like a leaf on the wind. "My
goodness, the landlord is checking up while I'm away," she teased.
"You should lock up when you go," he scolded.
Tina ignored him to smile at Mak. "My, those are lovely songket."
"Are you sure you're not Dutch?" Mak asked suspiciously.
"American. I have a passport that says so."
"CIA?"
Tina laughed. "Heavens, no."
Mak looked suspicious, as if she didn't believe Tina. She held up her cloth. "Do
you want to buy one of these songket? Fifteen ringgit."
Ringgit? That was antique money.
"You should sell those to a collector," Tina said.
"Here. Take one. I give it to you." Mak thrust the songket into Tina's hand and
labored to her feet. She hobbled away.
Tina dusted the songket with a few slaps of her hand and gave it to Nol.
"Seriously. This could be worth a few hundred dollars."
Really? Well. Nol took it with renewed appreciation, wondering how many more
the old woman had stashed in that hut.
Tina invited him to sit at the porch table and have a coffee. Nol wanted to ask her
why she'd taken the trouble to look up his father's Harian Rakyat letter but he could think
of no path that could naturally lead him to the question. He couldn't just come out with it,
that he'd been reading her files. He'd had enough experience with Americans to know
they got awfully touchy about their privacy, one of their odd cultural habits. Instead, he
and Tina chatted about the unusually warm July weather, and of cobras which Tina had
not yet seen.
Nol then reminded Tina of the pilgrimage to the Temple of the Crater Lake and
that she was welcome to come. He casually mentioned Putu's wish to have his name
changed.
"Is Swastika really such a terrible name? He says he gets threats."
"Many people from other countries arrive in the US with names that sound odd or
have double meanings," Tina said. "Some of them do change their names, but others are
proud of their heritage and let the jokes and insults roll off their backs. Swastika, though,
I have to say that's in a different category. It's a volatile word to many people. They react
without thinking. I think Putu does have a point."
"I hated my name when I was growing up," Nol blurted. "What kind of name is
Ziro? I hated my uncle for giving it to me. But I never said anything." He brooded at the
plunge pool's blue water. "I didn't have a father. I didn't have an example to follow.
Sometimes I wonder if I am a failure as father myself."
"Of course you're not," Tina said.
Nol appreciated the confident no-nonsense way she said that, but she wasn't a
father. She wasn't even a parent. How would she know?
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