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  CHAPTER 6

  A SWORD OF ICE

  It was Saturday night in Bandung, and the yellow Fiat jockeyed with the other cars traveling up Jalan Dago. Kugy and Keenan were in the backseat. Eko was driving, and Noni sat beside him, talking to someone on the phone.

  Noni looked relieved as she ended the call. “Guys, Mr. Itok managed to get four tickets. They’re near the front, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “As professional midnight-movie goers, it’s important to have connections like Mr. Itok. Long live Mr. Itok!” cried Eko.

  “Long live Mr. Itok!” Kugy repeated from the backseat.

  Ten minutes later, the car pulled into the parking lot of Bandung Indah Plaza. The four of them got out and hurried to the top floor.

  They were greeted by a skinny bespectacled man in his early thirties. It was Mr. Itok, who worked at the video rental store Eko frequented. Buying movie tickets on commission was a side business of his. “These are for you,” he said, giving two tickets to Eko and Noni. “And these are for Keenan and his girlfriend.”

  The four of them exchanged glances and burst into laughter. Mr. Itok took his commission and left, wondering what the group had found so funny.

  “Careful,” said Eko, amused. “If we keep watching these midnight movies together, the four of us may end up double-dating after all.”

  “Amen!” said Keenan.

  The four of them laughed again. But Kugy felt a little disturbed by Keenan’s response. She cast a sideways glance at him as he walked beside her, searching for something—a sign of some sort. Exactly what kind of sign, she didn’t know. Then suddenly, Keenan glanced back. Quickly, Kugy turned away to look at something else, and found a safer object to study in the popcorn machine.

  “Want some popcorn?” Keenan asked.

  Kugy felt she had no choice but to nod.

  “You two go ahead,” Keenan told Eko, who was walking in front. “Kugy and I are going to buy popcorn.”

  “Sure!” Eko answered, and he and Noni continued strolling toward the theater.

  “Come on,” Keenan said lightly. Then he took her hand.

  Kugy wasn’t sure whether Keenan was aware of the change that had just occurred. She hoped the hesitation in her step and the tension in her hand had escaped detection.

  October 1999

  Keenan’s mother had been standing alone beside the telephone in the living room for a long time. She held an open address book, her fingers trembling. I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t the right thing to do, she thought. Decades had passed, yet this was still difficult for her. Swallowing, she summoned her courage and began pressing buttons: 0 . . . 3 . . . 6 . . . 1 . . .

  She heard the voice of a teenage boy on the other end. “Hello?”

  “Good afternoon. May I please speak to Mr. Wayan? This is Ms. Lena, calling from Jakarta.”

  It wasn’t long before she heard the voice again, more faintly, calling Wayan by the affectionate nickname his nephews and nieces had given him. “Poyan! There’s someone on the phone from Jakarta.”

  She heard the receiver being picked up again, and this time, a man’s voice greeted her.

  “Wayan?” she asked.

  There was a brief silence. “Lena?” The man’s voice sounded unsure.

  “Yes, it’s Lena. How are you?”

  “I’m well. I wasn’t expecting you to call.” Each word he uttered sounded stiff and formal.

  “I want to talk to you about Keenan. His semester break is coming up, and he really wants to visit you in Ubud—”

  “Yes, Keenan told me a while ago,” said Wayan, cutting her off. “We’ve been talking about it since he was in Amsterdam.”

  “Still, I felt uncomfortable not asking you for permission directly.”

  The man’s tone became firm. “Keenan is like a son to me. This is his home, too. He can come here whenever he wants. I’ll always be happy to have him.”

  “Hopefully he won’t be too much trouble—”

  Again, the firm voice cut her off. “Keenan is never any trouble. On the contrary, my whole family will be happy to see him.”

  Lena took a deep breath. “If that’s the case, then thank you.”

  “There’s just one thing I want to be sure about. Keenan’s father has given him permission to come, right?”

  “Yes. Adri’s given his permission.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Lena paused. “Of course.”

  “All right, then there’s no problem.”

  Silence again. And with that, Lena knew the conversation was over.

  Keenan bounded up the escalator two steps at a time, working his way past the other riders. Eko and Noni were already there when he arrived, holding up three tickets.

  “My man! Right on time!” Eko greeted him. “They’ve opened the doors, but the film hasn’t started.”

  “And I got us drinks and snacks,” said Noni. “Relax.”

  “Sorry I’m so late. I fell asleep,” said Keenan, still panting. Suddenly he realized something. “Where’s the little one?”

  “Kugy has an important guest from Jakarta, as usual.”

  Keenan frowned. “An important guest? What do you mean?”

  “Her boyfriend, Josh, is visiting. So she won’t be joining the midnight-movie gang this time,” answered Eko.

  “Knowing Josh, they probably went out for a candlelit dinner.”

  “Yeah. It’s the one opportunity Kugy gets to rise above the Hunger No Longer set.” Eko chuckled.

  Keenan was quiet for moment. “I didn’t know Kugy had a boyfriend. In Jakarta?”

  Noni nodded. “Her high school sweetheart.”

  “He’s fierce,” Eko added. “Fiercer than the whole Student Army Regiment.”

  “Are you speaking from personal experience?” teased Noni, punching Eko’s shoulder. “Because Josh can detect which guys are secretly crushing on Kugy.”

  “You’re not bringing that up again!” Eko laughed.

  Eko’s and Noni’s exchange continued as they entered the theater. Keenan followed behind them, saying nothing.

  “Keenan!”

  He knew that voice. He would have recognized its cheerful ring anywhere—and the distinctive pitter-patter of those scurrying feet. But this time, for some reason, Keenan felt reluctant about looking behind him. He took a deep breath before finally turning around.

  “Hey, Kugy.”

  “Hi hi! How was the movie on Saturday? Was it awesome? Noni said she had dreams about it. Sorry I couldn’t join. Have you eaten dinner yet? Let’s go to the Hunger No Longer!” Kugy prattled energetically.

  “I’m not hungry,” Keenan answered curtly. “And I have to get home. I have a lot to do. I hope that’s okay.”

  “No problemo,” said Kugy with a wide smile. “Actually, I just wanted to chat. But it’s okay. Some other time.”

  “About?”

  “Mmm . . .” Kugy paused for a bit. “It’s been two weeks since I gave you that magazine with my short story in it. But you still haven’t told me what you think.” She gave a little laugh and smiled. “No pressure. Just curious.”

  Keenan took another deep breath. “Can I be honest?”

  “Of course!” Kugy exclaimed.

  “I don’t like it.”

  She felt like someone had taken the spark in her heart and doused it in cold water. Snuffed it out. She tried to remain composed, but her expression betrayed her.

  “To someone who doesn’t know you, the story is good,” continued Keenan. “But I think your fairy tales are far more authentic. More original. And they reflect who you really are. I couldn’t find anything of you in that short story—just a writer clever with words, but lacking in soul.”

  Kugy froze. It was as if Keenan’s words had transformed her into a statue. She gulped as if she were swallowing a meatball whole.

  “Sorry. But if you really want me to be honest, then that’s my opinion, plain and simple.”

  Kugy gave a littl
e nod. “Thank you for your honesty,” she said slowly.

  Keenan said good-bye and left Kugy standing there to contemplate what he had said. Each word had pierced her like a sword of ice—painful and chilling all at once, rendering her speechless and helpless.

  Kugy lay awake in her bed for a long time that night—on her back, staring at the ceiling, the wheels of her mind turning round and round and her heart churning. She didn’t understand why Keenan’s remarks had made such an impression. She also didn’t understand why she had been so anxious to hear what Keenan thought—as if his opinion mattered the most. Ironically, all the people closest to her, including Josh, had liked her short story and had praised it. Only Keenan—who had spoken so decisively, without sparing her feelings—had said he did not.

  Kugy kept asking herself where she had gone wrong. How could Keenan say she was clever with words but had no soul? She’d worked her butt off writing that story. She had chosen each word with great care and precision. She had been meticulous in putting together the plot. Every conflict appeared right on cue. She had read books on how to write a good short story and knew all their formulas and theories by heart. Maybe there was something wrong with Keenan’s taste, not her writing.

  Kugy sat upright. She opened the magazine to her short story and read it from start to finish. Then she turned on the computer, opened one of the documents containing her fairy tales, and read it closely as well. As she did, she began to realize something. With the fairy tale, it felt as if she were running free, wherever her heart desired. With the short story, it felt as if she were walking on a tightrope, carefully and with great control. And there was another difference between the two that seemed so clear to her now. She had written the fairy tale for her own satisfaction. She had written the short story for the satisfaction of others.

  Her mind returned to her encounter with Keenan, and again she felt the sting inflicted by his words. But this time, Kugy felt their truth.

  CHAPTER 7

  THIS MOON, THIS JOURNEY, AND US

  December 1999

  The boarding house, which already felt deserted, was even quieter now that almost all the residents had gone home for the semester break. There were only a few people left.

  Keenan put the last of his things into his bag before closing it and securing it with a small padlock.

  His door, which had been ajar, suddenly opened wide. It was Bimo, his fellow boarding house resident, carrying a travel bag. “Hey, do you need a ride back to Jakarta after all? There’s still room in my car for one more.”

  Keenan shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m catching the train later this afternoon. I already bought a ticket. Say hi to the others for me.”

  Bimo was just about to go when he stopped midstep. “Oh yeah. Congratulations.”

  “What for?”

  “The others told me you got the highest GPA in the class this semester. They don’t call you the campus specter for nothing. All you do is stay here and shut yourself up in your room like a bear.” Bimo chuckled.

  Keenan gave a brief smile, unsure whether it was a compliment or an insult. But he liked the nickname enough. The campus specter.

  Keenan was waiting on the front terrace when the yellow Fiat pulled up. He walked around to the back of the car and put his bag in the trunk. Only when he opened the door did he notice someone inside whom he hadn’t expected to see.

  “Kugy? You’re going to Jakarta today, too?” Keenan asked.

  “I swapped tickets with Eko,” Kugy answered brightly. “He’s staying with Noni in Bandung a little longer to keep her company.”

  “Oh, okay,” Keenan said curtly.

  Suddenly, a strange feeling crept into Kugy’s heart, confirming the suspicions she had been harboring for the past month. She had assumed Keenan was keeping to himself because he was studying so much, as evidenced by his getting the highest GPA in their class. But now, Kugy felt that there was another reason. She felt Keenan was avoiding her.

  Without saying much more, Keenan threw himself into the backseat. Because of his long legs, his knees were practically pressed up against the seat in front of him. Kugy watched him out of the corner of her eye. She noticed that his sneakers looked like they had just been cleaned, and he was wearing the long-sleeved denim jacket that he had worn the night he held her hand at the movie theater. She took in the shampoo scent of his wet hair. Kugy noticed—and remembered—all of it. She didn’t understand why. Nevertheless, all of it stuck in her memory, haunting her, and she was powerless to do anything about it.

  Keenan shut his eyes ten minutes after the train pulled out of Bandung Station. He was woken by a parching thirst and what seemed like an unnaturally long silence. When he opened his eyes, he found that the train had stopped at a small station and that Kugy wasn’t next to him anymore.

  From the murmurs of the people around him, Keenan concluded that the train had been there for a while, and that the delay was making many of the passengers nervous.

  He decided to get off the train and ask a station attendant what was going on.

  “Muhun. Another train got derailed, Cep,” the station attendant explained, his speech sprinkled with Sundanese. “We’ll be here for half an hour, maybe more. We don’t know yet.” Above his head hung a sign: Citatah Station. The train wasn’t even halfway to its destination.

  The sky was growing dark. The clouds, which had been hanging low for a long time now, began to release a light drizzle. Even though he’d been advised to wait inside the train, Keenan wasn’t in a hurry to return. He glanced around, looking for something to keep him occupied, and his eyes came to rest on the front veranda of the station.

  “Cep! Don’t go too far!” the attendant called after him.

  Yet Keenan felt as if something were beckoning his feet to head out into the village—out toward the muddy road dotted with coffee warungs, which were beginning to light their kerosene lanterns to greet the darkness of night.

  Keenan stopped at one of them. The assortment of fried snacks on display looked enticing, not to mention the ripe yellow bananas hanging in bunches from the tent’s wooden poles.

  The old woman at the warung greeted him warmly. “Mangga. Come in for coffee, Den.”

  Keenan was just about to sit down on the wooden bench when he noticed someone’s head moving into his line of sight, followed by two tiny hands reaching for one of the bananas.

  “Kugy?”

  “Hey! You’re awake! What are you doing here?”

  “Neptune radar, perhaps?” Keenan exclaimed, both amused and amazed. He sat down beside Kugy and ordered a cup of hot coffee, and the two immediately began talking and laughing, shaking their heads at how they had wound up in the same place.

  “Wait, wait,” said Kugy. She looked alert, as if something were about to burst into view.

  “What is it?” Keenan began looking around as well.

  “That smell. You smell it, don’t you?” Kugy sniffed the air.

  “Did you fart?”

  “No!” Kugy scowled. “It’s the smell of the rain falling on the earth. Don’t you smell it?” She inhaled deeply, her expression ecstatic. “Wonderful . . . ,” she murmured.

  Keenan sniffed the air, too, then inhaled deeply as well. “This, combined with the fragrance of the coffee . . . Amazing . . .”

  Kugy snatched up a banana peel. “And combined with the fragrance of these bananas . . . Wow . . .”

  The two of them were so busy sniffing this and that, they didn’t notice that the warung owner was looking worriedly in their direction.

  “A light drizzle, the smell of rain falling on the earth, coffee, bananas . . . What an incredible combination. I’ll never forget this.” Kugy grinned, the gleam in her eyes made even brighter by the lamplight.

  “Citatah Station, this warung, these lanterns . . . and you. I’ll never forget this, either.”

  Kugy fell silent. She felt compelled to say something, but her tongue wouldn’t move. She wanted to ask whether her inst
incts had been right—whether Keenan had been avoiding her, whether something strange had indeed happened between the two of them, though she didn’t know what. But she didn’t know where to start.

  They sat quietly. Keenan took slow sips of his coffee. Kugy did the same with her hot tea. But this time, it wasn’t an awkward silence. Every second that rolled by had a freshness and solemnity, like the drops of rain falling outside, one by one.

  “You were right about my short story,” said Kugy, breaking the silence. “I wasn’t being myself. I just wrote it for the money, for the recognition . . .”

  Keenan lifted his head and looked at Kugy, who was watching him closely.

  “Thanks,” she continued. “I wouldn’t have realized it if you didn’t have the courage to be honest with me. It doesn’t mean I’m going to stop writing short stories altogether, but now I can see who I really am—my weaknesses and my strengths.”

  Keenan’s face broke into a warm smile. “The road before us is a winding one, but someday—who knows when—we’ll be ourselves. Someday, you’ll be an amazing fairy tale writer. I’m sure of it.”

  Kugy took a deep breath. Her gaze wandered. “Raining, painting, writing . . . someday we’ll be ourselves,” she murmured slowly, as if she were spelling something out, as if she were reciting a prayer.

  In the distance, they heard someone announcing that the train was about to leave. Then, together, they set off. They took their time, picking their way through the mud with care. And just before the train began moving, they hopped onto a car.

  They made their way back to their seats, stopping for a moment between cars on a narrow, shaky platform. Kugy could feel Keenan close behind her, could smell the aroma of his cologne emanating faintly from his shirt, could feel Keenan’s face brush against her hair.

  Though it was noisy, Kugy heard Keenan whisper something into the strands of her hair, which fluttered in the wind. She didn’t know if Keenan was whispering it to her, to himself, or to the both of them. But she heard his words very clearly: “This moon . . . this journey . . . us . . .”