Jalan Jalan (34 page)

My stomach suddenly takes a turn again and a slight cramp kicks me. I decide Jack's will do. It's the nearest.

The
bules
nod and say hi, but I get the feeling they aren't happy to see another of their race. I can understand that. They've come a long way to this tip of Indonesia to escape the West and its people.

Behind the bar-cum-reception counter is a young Indonesian who introduces himself as Jack. He has long curly hair and a permanent smile. I tell him I need a room and he takes me to a hut that is set slightly further back, but still has a sea view. It has an uneven balcony and a hammock strung across it. Laura is lying in the hammock, eyes closed, smiling. She's wearing a bikini that she wears in other moments on other less-exotic beaches, when stones explain the layout of time and death is happy being ignored.

‘You like it?' asks the smiling Jack.

‘Very much,' I say, looking at the very clever girl in the hammock, whose fingers of one hand are placed in the top of her bikini bottom.

My gut suddenly churns and I bend over. Sweat is on my forehead again.

‘You OK, man?'

‘Yeah,' I moan, ‘just getting over something. Where's the…?'

‘Over there.' He nods to a wooden outbuilding. ‘And the wash place is the well, just in there.' He points to a chest-high walled enclosure. ‘Use bucket from well. No soap in well, OK? It pollutes the water.'

‘OK.' And I run to the wooden loo and am overjoyed when I see it is one I can sit on and not squat over. My body lets go. A mouse sitting in the rafters watches without comment, just twitches his nose, as well he might.

—You really aren't well.

—Because I have the squits and a temperature or because my super-dead girlfriend is lying in my hammock?

—Possibly both. Although I know I'm here, so therefore I exist, which means the squits is your biggest problem.

I place my hand over her stomach, which quivers.

—Mmm.

—Don't tell me you can feel that?

—OK, I won't.

—I'm not going to shag a dead person.

—OK. But your touch feels good.

—I'm not touching you.

This is crazy. I take my hand away and look to the sea rolling and crashing relentlessly onto the beach.

—
Ever wonder where all that energy comes from?
she asks.

She has turned her head to the sea.

—
The moon, wind, turning of the earth,
I reply.

—And ever wonder where all
that
energy comes from?

I look back to her and shake my head.

—All I wonder is where all your energy went. All your life force. I say.

—I'm still here.

—No, you're not. You've gone. All you are is some electric spark fluttering around my brain, fucking me up.

—Am I?

—Yes.

—All those moments are still there, numbnuts. They're all still there and I'm in every one, still with you. All lying there waiting to be found.

There is an Indonesian family playing in the sea. Mother covered from head to toe in clothing, but still in the water up to her waist. Dad is bouncing a toddler up and down at the water's shallow edge.

—You really want to see this
dukun
?

—I've got to. I promised Charles.

My head does a sudden turn and my mouth goes watery. I can feel sickness rising.

—Do you really want to? He might magic me away.

—You're not here anyway, so…

I swallow the excess water and shake my head.

—Want to be fixed, do you? So you can go off and be an angry New You with a massive chip on his shoulder for the girl he lost?

Wumph. Wumph. Wumph. Three waves collapse in on themselves, heavy and slow and powerful, before I answer.

—No. I don't want to be fixed. I just want it all back. All those moments with you. And all the moments we never had. I want them back. I don't want this hurting teasing you give me now.

Laura sighs and puts an arm over her eyes. I go to touch her but I can't. All I feel is the rough cloth of the hammock. I'm so tired.

—It's nearly time you went, then. Go see the magic man. Let's hope I'm waiting for you when you get back and he hasn't ghost-busted me away.

—I love you, Laura.

—I love you more.

—Not possible.

I look down at her and she is gone. There is just a hammock, torn and stained. Pain, intense and raw, jumps up behind my eyes, and I turn just in time to vomit over the side of the balcony. My hands hold on to the wooden rail and it wobbles with each spasm of my stomach. When my body has finally finished doing its thing, I rinse my mouth with water. I go to find smiling Jack and ask him where the path to the next beach is. He points to a gap through some ferns that grow at the rocky outcrop's base.

‘You OK, my friend?' he asks, the smile giving way to a look of concern. ‘You not look so good.'

‘I'm good, thanks. Small headache from a long journey. I'm just going for a walk. Clear my head.
Jalan jalan
.'

‘OK. Take it easy.
Jalan jalan
is good for a man with troubles.' He nods at me and winks, then the smile is back and he starts wiping the glasses on his bamboo counter. ‘Eh, anyone want a drink?' he shouts to his three residents in the shade. They are all grunts and pleases.

‘Eh, man. You want fish with us tonight? Fresh fish I catch this morning?' Jack asks me as I start walking away.

My stomach wants nothing at the moment. Not even to think about fish.

‘I'll let you know later. Is that OK?'

‘Yeah. OK. No what what. Happy
jalan jalan
.'

The path leads around the land side of the outcrop. It is overgrown and hard to follow in places. It takes me through a grove of coconut trees, then along a small fenced-off area with a solitary water buffalo in it.

‘Hello, water buffalo.' My throat hurts. ‘Seen any witch doctors in these parts?'

He looks at me, ring through his wet nose, as though considering whether he has. He looks away without comment.

The path carries on; grasses and ferns tickle my bare legs as I try to follow the thin indentation through the undergrowth. I'm mostly in the shade here. My head feels better, but someone with a small hammer still taps the back of my eyeballs with each step. My heart is also beating hard in my chest. Hard and fast and uneven.

Why am I going through this for some crazy old walnut? Why is he so interested in me? Jesus Christ, I'm bloody mad. Why am I here? Even in this country? I should have just stayed in England. Got on with life. Things would have got better. I'd have met someone else. Life would have become normal.

I shake my head and my eyes nearly fall out. Nothing would ever have been normal. I'd just be a different mad.

The path starts widening out and turning sandy again. The sound of the sea beating the land returns and then the path spits me out onto a cove. It is about six hundred metres long and enclosed on both sides: the rocky outcrop to my left and a hill covered in trees and bushes to my right. A thick line of driftwood curves along with the beach. At the rocky outcrop the waves are breaking with double the size and force of the waves on the other beach. They spit white foam as they curl and crash on to the point.

There is no old man. There is nobody. I am alone here.

I wander to the water's edge. Sweat runs down my cheeks and around my eyes, but I can feel the heat drying it quickly. I'm not in the shade here and I can feel the sun searing my flesh. I throw handfuls of seawater over my head. God, it feels good. I'd attempt a swim but the waves are too big and I feel too weak. They'd smash me to pieces or drag me out to sea.

Or perhaps that's the way to go. Perhaps that's why the
dukun
wanted me here. Sacrifice me to the sea for some strange spell of his.

I kick my sandals off and step into the water. I can feel it pulling me backwards and forwards as the waves break just a few metres in front of me. This is a strong old boy, this sea. Been pulling people in and under since its birth. I step in a little more. It's knocking my knees, trying to push me over and then it'll have me. Eat me up and turn my bones to driftwood.

I stand here in the sea, feeling its power, listening to its booming voice, while the sun bastes me with its heat from the eternal white-blue of a cloudless sky for a long moment, or string of moments. Staring at a horizon which leads onto other horizons. Horizons which continue all the way around the world until they come up behind me and poke me in the back.

I smell something. Burning wood. Smoke floats around me. I turn. Walnut Teddy is sitting cross-legged on the beach. Little coloured bag over his shoulder and a small fire burning in front of him. A small metal pot sits in the flames. His one good eye is looking at me, his one cloudy eye seeing me.

He smiles and pats the sand next to him. Feeling too exhausted and ill to protest, I leave the sea and sit where he tells me. I watch the hairs dry on my legs, waiting for him to make the next move.

‘You have fever,' he tells me.

‘Yes.'

‘I have something for you to help one of your sickness.' Teddy fumbles in his bag of tricks.

One of my sickness? Crazy old nut. I wonder what he'll pull out. Am I about to go on one of those Jim Morrison in the desert find-myself trips?

‘Somewhere here.' He is still fumbling, the creases even deeper around his face as he frowns. ‘Ah.'

Snake's head? Bottle of gnat's piss?

‘Take one very four hours.'

A blister pack of pills.

‘Oh. Thanks.' I pop one and swig it back with water he also gives me.

‘It will help with stomach and fever a little, but of course bad drugs you must sweat out. I tell Charles he should not sell bad drugs at club, but he like his money.' Walnut laughs and punches my shoulder. ‘But he is good man in other ways. And he likes you and you have problems. So I help.'

I peer at the tarnished pot and see that about a cupful's worth of watery liquid is starting to bubble in it. There are broken pieces of leaf in it.

Laura leans over my shoulder to take a look.

—Mmmmmm. Yummy.

‘Tea?' I ask.

‘Special tea.'

Aha. Here is the ‘find yourself' trip.

Teddy fumbles in his bag again.

Laura sits next to him and rubs sand from her feet. She's still wearing her bikini. I chew my lip and swallow.

‘It just needs one more ingredient.' His hand brings out some brown nuts. ‘Areca nuts. Some people call betel nuts.' He smiles a wide smile and shows me his red-stained teeth. ‘I like very much. Very good for many things.'

He pops them in his mouth, chews them for a second or two, smiles again, and then spits them into the potion. I'm not so sure drinking that is going to improve my stomach. I might leave after all.

—Perhaps you should. That's going to taste awful. And I don't want him to disappear me for good.

‘Now we smoke and wait.' He pulls a long pre-rolled joint out of his bag. He sniffs it like a cigar and then puts it between his gritted red teeth and grins.

I decide to stay.

—He won't disappear you. I'm just humouring the old walnut. You're too much in my head to be disappeared.

—I hope you're right.

—I don't know what I hope.

He pulls a piece of burning driftwood from the flames and lights the reefer. A pungent puff wafts into my face.

‘Here,' he says while holding a lungful down.

‘Thanks.' I draw on it and cough. ‘Whoa, Teddy.'

‘Good shit, as you
bules
say, ya?'

‘Ya.' There isn't one strand of tobacco in it. Just pure grass from the jungle. I take another drag.

He is nodding away, watching the fire. His smoky eye nearest me. I wonder what things it can see.

He smiles at me and winks. Then he turns towards Laura and nods. She raises an eyebrow and there is a fleeting glint of fear in her eyes.

—No way can he see me, right?

—Of course he can't. You're in my head. You don't exist. You're not even on the beach.

—You think. Then how come the sand's burning my bum?

I don't know what I think. I don't want to think.

Teddy looks away from Laura and into the flames.

‘Not matter how many wrong turns a man take, he end up every time where he should be.' Sudden wisdom from my new friend. ‘You have taken many wrong turns, but you will end up in the right place, the right moment. And so will your demons.'