Butterflies were everywhere.
Rubbing my eyes, I sat up on my squishy bunk and pushed the shutters all the way open.
The morning heat was intense and moist, the sky blue with not a cloud in sight.
The butterflies flew in close, daring me to touch them as the call to prayer began its morning cries.
And then I looked at the floor.
At least four inches of dirty water flooded our dorm.
“Oh my God, my suitcase!” I hopped off my bunk, splashing onto the floor, whimpering. “No. No. No. No.”
How could I be so stupid? My clothes and my random stuff were totally, completely drenched. I reached under my sweatpants/pillow. Thank God. My journal and my camera were safe and dry. A minor miracle. I tucked them into my backpack, which was also safe on my top bunk. I would keep this with me today.
The girls all seemed fine, slowly waking up to the prayers. They were fine when I got back last night too; they’d fallen asleep together on a couple bunks, my pictures spread across their chests.
My clothes were the only casualties of the storm.
Opening the door, I got a panorama of the grounds: the soccer field, the dirt paths; everything was underwater—maybe ankle high now, having receded some during the night.
I wondered what Deni was doing as I recalled his wet hands on my arm, his fingers on mine, his warm breath in my ear. I wondered where he ended up sleeping, where he ran off to in the rain. Mostly, I wondered if he was thinking about me the same way I was thinking about him.
But then Elli came over holding her rolled-up prayer mat and pointing out at the swampy flooded path.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Okay, okay. Just don’t put your shoes on. Barefoot, okay? And like this.” I pantomimed lifting my skirt even though I was wearing pants. Elli took my hand, and the other ones sloshed through the water behind us.
I tried to keep my facial expression neutral; that is, I didn’t moan and groan about wading in possibly bug-, worm-, frog-, dead-cat-infested waters. I focused on the path until Elli started pointing and laughing. “What?”
It was a goat. Standing on top of one of the dorm buildings.
“How in the world did he get up there?”
Elli giggled some more.
“Unbelievably smart goat,” I said.
We parted ways at the meeting hall, the chanting flooding the
pesantren
like the water.
I waded alone, looking around for Dad. Looking around for Deni. I didn’t find either.
Finally the chanting stopped, prayers ended, and swarms of kids raced outside toward the dining hall, kicking water on each other, laughing, enjoying the morning sunshine. Dad was there too, standing with his arms folded, a big grin on his face.
“Well done, girls! What a brave group of explorers you all are,” he said. The girls were wet but happy as they gathered around him.
“I didn’t make them wear their shoes. Sorry.”
Dad waved off my apology. “You did great, kiddo. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.”
Even though they probably didn’t need my help anymore, I followed the kids into the flooded dining hall and made sure they were all situated around the table in front of steaming bowls of noodles before I joined Team Hope.
After a few bites, I glanced down to where the older boys sat, but I didn’t see Deni. “Our dorm is a disaster-it’s totally underwater. All my stuff is wet—all the girls’ stuff is wet. How are we going to wash it?” I asked.
“The same lady that cooks does the wash.... Of course, there’s no way she’ll be able to wash all the wet clothes. The kids will probably hang them outside to dry. Doesn’t look like it will rain again today ...” Dad glanced out the window. He looked a bit beat-up, his graying beard longer than usual, his eyes tired from the water bailing. “But I could take you shopping—to buy some new T-shirts.”
“I can just hang mine up too, if that’s what the kids are doing. But man, that water is all kinds of nasty—I can’t imagine what might be swimming in there. I keep checking my arms for leeches.”
Tom shook his burly head. “Malaria kills all the leeches. You did great last night, kid,” he said.
“They were so scared, and I just kept thinking, ‘What if I wasn’t here? They’d be all alone.’ It’s such a good idea that you’re going to mix the kids up—the older kids living with the little ones. Why didn’t the teachers come over to help?”
“It storms here all the time. The dorms flood a lot. The kids that are from here are used to it. That’s why so many of them weren’t upset. So the teachers don’t stress out about it either. They aren’t hired to be on night duty.”
“I’m just glad we’re going to move the older teens in with the younger kids. I bet the older girls will like it too. I know I would if I lived here. Being able to help someone, having someone depend on you, especially a little kid. Makes you feel sort of... important, I guess. I know Deni will think it’s a great idea too....”
I stopped myself.
Dad, Big Tom and Vera were all staring at me.
Why was I suddenly a gush of personal information? Too late.
“You found Deni?” Dad asked.
“The boy who made the peace yesterday with the cook is Deni. I was right.”
“Oh, good,” Dad said. “But ... ?”
I cut him off. “And he said he is happy to meet with you. Whatever the
pesantren
owner told you guys about him is wrong, by the way. You should have seen him last night, bailing the water, making sure the kids were okay, comforting them....”
Dad frowned. “Where did you see him last night? You didn’t go into his dorm, did you?”
Uh.
“You know he has PTSD?” I said, ignoring the question. “He freaked out when the thunder crashed.”
Confusion spread across Dad’s face. “Rewind a minute, please. So you
were
in his dorm?”
“Well, it wasn’t intentional. After I left you, I heard cries from little boys, and then he just was ...” I gulped, remembering looking up from the soggy cardboard and seeing him looking down at me. “Um, sort of.”
Vera’s mouth dropped open. “Sienna, if the owner finds out, he may ask us to leave. You have no idea what a big offense that is.”
“Dad told me you were over there too, Vera. In the off-limit BOYS’ area,” I snapped. Then felt sort of bad. Especially after how nice she was to Elli and to the teen girls in the therapy session. Still. It was unfair of her to chastise me for doing the same thing.
Vera flushed. Dad noticed her discomfort and turned to me. “Vera’s a therapist. It’s an entirely different situation, young lady. Besides, you told me you were heading straight back to your dorm to wait out the storm with the little girls. How did you end up with Deni?”
“I was helping! Their dorm was flooding. Does it really matter? The point is Deni is great with the little kids. I was just giving you an example of how the family system could work.”
Suddenly there was another big ruckus just like yesterday at the other end of the long table. I knew who it was before even turning to follow the noise.
Sure enough, Deni and his friends were walking in late. I sucked in a breath when I saw him dressed in a tight black T-shirt and jeans, making a big production about eating to get the little boys to laugh. The other older kids were mimicking what Deni was doing, sucking up noodles and goofing off. He was helping them forget the thunder, the tsunami, their fears from last night.
“Hmm ...” Vera twisted a piece of hair around her fingers. “Interesting.”
“Why is it interesting?” I asked, annoyed.
“Well, yesterday Deni worked so hard to intervene and keep the peace defending his friend, and today he’s causing the same sort of trouble that elevated the problem yesterday. I wonder why the tide turned.”
My eyes narrowed. “How is goofing around with food the same thing as pushing another kid?”
“They might not be the same, but both things are breaking the rules of the dining hall,” Vera said.
“Maybe he doesn’t
always
feel like doing the exact right thing.”
Dad looked at me funny; so did Tom. Vera followed suit.
I squirmed in my seat. “I mean, it must be hard to have everyone looking up to you all the time, expecting you to know exactly what to do—”
“So you said Deni exhibited PTSD symptoms—which ones exactly?” Vera prodded.
She was so freaking nosy. I should never have told them anything about him. He shared his stories in confidence.
His weren’t my secrets to share.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Never mind about the PTSD. I was helping him
bail water
out of a flooded dorm room. We didn’t talk about religion or politics either. Jeez.”
I was exhausted. I was wet. I was not going to sit here and let them give me the third degree. I pushed my empty bowl away.
“If you guys are all so interested in Deni, why don’t you just talk to him yourselves?”
GIFT
I stormed onto the slushy path.
“Go straight to art therapy!” Dad called after me.
Yeah, right.
Who did they think they were?
Especially that pain in the ass Vera: flirting with Dad, digging into my business, making judgments about Deni. Where was
she
last night? Certainly not helping out the girls in the storm. Oh no, she was far too busy to help them, because she was helping
Dad.
It made me even more mad that I was actually giving her the benefit of the doubt before. Why was she so cool during therapy and such a witch around Dad?
Just looking at the two of them sitting next to each other during meals made me sick.
How could Dad stomach her?
I stomped harder through the warm puddles. Without the cloud cover, the sun was blazing hot on my skin.
I couldn’t imagine Mom acting the way Vera was acting. Mom would be the opposite: giving all the kids the benefit of the doubt, letting them know she was proud of them. Not just the ones she deemed worthy of her attention.
Tears pillowed in my eyes. I wasn’t sad. I was frustrated.
And I had nowhere to go to vent.
The field was a swamp, my dorm smelled like mold and my mattress was still drenched.
I cursed, kicking water into the air like a spastic fountain.
“Such terrible words coming from such a pretty girl,” a familiar voice teased.
I whipped around and my bad mood vanished.
“Hi, Deni.”
“Go on. I don’t mean to interrupt you.” He grinned right at me.
“It’s okay ... I’m done.”
“You are sure? You seem to have a lot to say. And a lot of water to kick.”
I sighed. “It’s just that woman that travels with us? Vera? I can’t stand her.”
“Can’t stand?” He cocked his head, curious.
“Yeah. It means I don’t like her.”
“She is not nice?”
“It’s not that she’s not nice. She just drives me crazy.”
“Your father likes her, though?”
He asked it innocently enough, but the words burned my ears.
“Apparently so ... ,” I choked out.
Before he could ask the next obvious question, Where is your mother? I changed the subject. “They think you’re a troublemaker. Because the
pesantren
owner said so. It made me mad.”
“Why does it make you mad?”
“Because. I don’t agree.”
“That is kind of you. But I do not care what he thinks of me. Or the American doctors truly. But you,
rambut kuning,
your opinion I do care about.”
Raw heat rose to my cheeks. “Thanks,” I said.
“The storm is over, and you do not need to be angry anymore,” he said cheerfully. Then he looked up at the bright blue sky. “It is a beautiful day. A gift from God.”
“So you’re not angry about what the owner said?” I was confused. I would be so mad if my principal started a rumor about me and then told a substitute teacher about it.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Bapak? He misuses me and my friends, yes. He wants only rich Westerners to come to bring donations to make himself richer. He speaks badly of me because I ask questions. I ask why: Why do we not have better food, more meat, more vegetables for the children? I ask why, if the donors are donating to tsunami victims, why he doesn’t share the money with us? He doesn’t like my questions, so he calls me a troublemaker.”
I had a math teacher at school like that last year. He was happy as long as no one questioned him. But if someone did,
look out.
Dad said that behavior comes from insecurity. An irrational need to have power over someone who isn’t in the position to challenge them.
It seemed like this Bapak fell into that same psycho category.
“What does
bapak
mean, anyway?” I asked.
“It means ‘father.’” His eyes flashed with emotion. “Though the
pesantren
owner is not my father.”
Strange that he would call this man he didn’t like “father,” but before I had time to ask more, he was digging in his pockets.
Then he was dangling keys in the air.
“What are those for?”
“A surprise.”
“What?” I raised one eyebrow.
“This is why I left the meal to find you. Come, Sienna.”
“How do you know my name?”
“My friend who works in Bapak’s office found it on papers your father sent from America,” he said, with a slight eyebrow rise like he was so clever. Then he gestured me to follow. Deni approached the gatekeeper, who was busy smoking cigarettes. I didn’t have permission from Dad to leave the grounds and knew I’d get the lecture of a lifetime for bailing without telling him, but I didn’t care.
At that point, even dressed in crusty-wet clothes, I’d follow Deni anywhere.
Deni said something to the gatekeeper and handed him a box of Djarum cigarettes. The gatekeeper smiled and patted the bottom of the pack. He handed a cigarette back to Deni.