The Mothers' Group (11 page)

‘The most important thing, child, is not what is in the basket, but that the offering is made with love.' Her voice crackled like dry wood on the forest floor. She was terrifying, yet strangely familiar. ‘Even the fanciest offering, given without love, is worthless. True love is divine.'

Made stared at the woman, speechless.

The woman nodded once, then turned and disappeared into the billowing mist.

Made took several steps forward. She wanted to follow the woman, to sit at her feet. To tell her about Wayan, her parents, Komang and the responsibility that was now hers. To beg for the woman's help and protection against the many things of which she was ignorant.

The first rays of sun fell on her face and stretched across the deserted beach. As the mist began to clear, the jagged outline of jetties, flagpoles and reclining chairs emerged, littered like flotsam and jetsam across the sand.

The old woman was nowhere to be seen.

Made turned back the way she had come.

It was time to find Ketut.

‘Little cousin!' cried Ketut.

Made stood to one side of the security post, conscious of the guard's glare.

‘You look awful. Are you alright?' Ketut dropped her bags and hugged Made to her chest.

‘I'm fine.' Made lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘But I slept on the beach last night.' She nodded in the direction of the guard. ‘He wouldn't let me in.'

‘That doesn't surprise me.' Ketut's bright eyes danced. ‘What are you doing here? Let me look at you. You've grown so
big
.'

Made smiled. Ketut herself, at twenty, looked much older in her crisp brown uniform.

‘Mother would never admit it,' said Made, ‘but it's been terrible since Wayan . . .' She bit her lip as tears spilled down her cheeks.

‘Poor darling,' said Ketut, drawing Made to her chest again.

‘I need to find work.' Made wiped her eyes with her sleeves. ‘I thought you might help me, Tut. Is there any work going here?'

Ketut shrugged. ‘I don't know. It is very hard now, after the bombings. Not so many tourists. But I can introduce you to Ibu Margono today. You'll need to get changed first. Come with me.'

Ketut marched over to the security booth and, holding Made's hand, smiled at the guard.

‘Sir, this is my cousin. She is a village girl from the mountains, looking for work. She needs a bath before I can take her to see Ibu Margono. May I seek your approval to take her to my quarters?'

The guard smiled at Ketut. There was a leering quality to his gaze. ‘Well, since you asked so nicely, Miss Ketut, certainly.'

He pushed a clipboard towards Made. ‘Sign here. But make sure you report back to me by this time tomorrow,' he added. ‘We don't want people overstaying their welcome.' His breath stank of cigarettes and coffee. Made recoiled, stepping away from the booth.

‘Thank you, sir,' said Ketut, shepherding Made up the driveway.

‘You're welcome,' the guard called, his eyes following them. ‘Have a nice day, Miss Ketut.'

Made showered in Ketut's room, then borrowed a fresh change of clothes. While she was changing, Ketut telephoned ahead to organise a meeting with Ibu Margono, the manager of guest amenities.

Don't get your hopes up, though,' said Ketut as they walked to ‘Ibu Margono's office in the administration building. ‘She's a bit of a dragon.'

Made bowed her head and said a silent prayer, preparing for the worst. Ketut knocked on the door.

‘Come in,' commanded a voice.

‘I'll wait outside,' whispered Ketut. She turned the handle and pushed Made into the room.

Ibu Margono's office was dominated by a large timber desk. Bangkiri wood, Made guessed. Papers, folders and clipboards were stacked in neat piles across its varnished surface.

‘You're a village girl, then?' asked Ibu Margono, leaning back in her chair and studying her.

Made nodded.

‘Did you complete your schooling?'

‘I finished middle school,' Made replied.

‘And what experience do you have working in this sort of environment? Where's your CV?'

‘I don't have a CV,' said Made. In truth, she wasn't entirely sure what it was. ‘I've never worked in a resort before.'

Ibu Margono put down her pen with a loud sigh. She looked irritable.

‘But I've worked hard all my life, with my parents,' said Made quickly. ‘I have experience cooking, cleaning, sewing, tending fields and animals. I'm a diligent worker. I'm willing to learn new skills.' She swallowed, desperate. ‘And if you give me a chance, I'll be loyal to you always.'

Ibu Margono drummed her fingers on the desk.

‘Loyalty is hard to come by in this day and age,' she said. ‘Especially in this part of the island.'

Made hesitated. ‘Whatever you ask, I will do your bidding, Ibu.'

Ibu Margono looked at her. ‘We'll just see about that.' She opened the top drawer of her desk and removed a clipboard. ‘One of our housekeeping staff resigned yesterday due to ill-health.'

Made began to smile. ‘Oh, thank you, Ibu . . .'

‘But this is a Western-style resort,' barked Ibu Margono. ‘And these are difficult times. Do you understand what that means?'

Made shook her head.

‘It means standards of cleanliness that
you
can't even imagine. It means being able to eat breakfast off the bathroom floor. Do you understand?'

Made nodded, uncertain if she did.

‘And you'll also be responsible for placing offerings around the resort. Every morning, without fail. Can you do that?'

‘Oh yes,' Made replied. It was an activity she was familiar with at home. ‘I'm an early riser.'

Ibu Margono unclipped a form and passed it to Made. ‘Fill this in and return it to me tomorrow. Report for duty at six am.'

Made nodded again. ‘Yes, Ibu Margono.'

‘You'll be working under Gusti Agung, head of housekeeping. If he's happy with you by Saturday, you can keep your job and a permanent room in the staff quarters. In the meantime, you can share with Ketut. The wage for cleaners is twenty thousand rupiah per week, including on-site accommodation. Are you satisfied with that?'

Made attempted to contain her excitement. An extra eighty thousand rupiah a month would mean her family could return to two meals a day, with a little left over for savings. She thought of her mother, so thin and anxious, and her empty leather pouch.

‘Yes, Ibu Margono.'

The next day, Gusti Agung demonstrated the meticulous standard of cleaning required. They stood outside a newly vacated cottage on the ocean side of the resort. Gusti Agung gestured to a trolley crammed with mops, brushes, dusters and cleaning products.

‘This is your trolley, no one else
ever
uses it,' he said, his tone stern. ‘It's your responsibility to refill it every day from the store run by Pak Anto. If you start using too much of one thing, Pak Anto will know. And
he'll
tell
me
.'

Made was puzzled by the inference. She wasn't a thief.

‘The first thing is,
you
need to be neat and tidy.' Gusti Agung looked her up and down. ‘Our foreign guests expect the best.
Always
tie your hair back.' He passed Made an elastic band and she hurriedly pulled her hair into a ponytail.

Gusti Agung stared at Made's feet. ‘And no open-toed sandals. Get yourself a proper pair of shoes.'

Made wondered how much this would cost. She would ask Ketut to show her the cheapest market stalls in Sanur.

‘Now,' said Gusti Agung, pushing open the cottage door. ‘Let's get started.'

Over the next hour, Made learned that bed sheets had to be changed on a daily basis, even if the guest had not slept on them. All towels had to be replaced, unless a guest hung them neatly back on the towel rack. This had something to do with the resort's environmental policy.

‘And as for bathrooms, Westerners have standards way beyond our own,' Gusti Agung explained, brandishing a toothbrush. ‘Use this for hard-to-reach crevices around faucets, shower screens, plugholes. And don't think you can just wipe over the top of them. Our guests pay top rates. They will report anything less than perfect. And if that happens, I'll deduct a penalty from your wage.'

All furniture had to be dusted and polished, the carpet vacuumed, bathroom and mini-bar replenished, mirrors and glassware buffed, ashtrays emptied and washed, cushions shaken and plumped, any missing items documented, curtains repositioned and tied with a sash, frangipani and hibiscus flowers tastefully arranged on the vanity and, finally, air freshener sprayed throughout the rooms. Made doubted she could remember it all.

Gusti Agung closed the door. ‘Now, your turn,' he said. ‘Do cottages four through to ten. Their guests have all checked out. Call me if you have any questions.'

By the end of her first day, Made's back was aching. By Saturday, she was exhausted.

‘You're a good worker, I can see that,' said Gusti Agung, passing her a pile of neatly pressed brown clothes. ‘Here are your uniforms. And your first pay packet. Welcome to the team.'

Made smiled, grateful. She stuffed the white envelope, weighty with thousand-rupiah notes, into her pocket. She'd never felt so tired. She'd always worked hard for her parents, but at least there'd been a rest period between noon and three pm, the hottest part of the day. Not at Pantai Raya. She was expected to clean up to twenty cottages in ten hours, and thirty minutes per cottage was hardly enough. She didn't even have a lunch break. Instead, she snacked on guest leftovers—pastries from bread baskets, pieces of fruit, cheese and crackers. At night, dinner was provided in the staff quarters—large servings of rice or noodles, sometimes with pieces of fried chicken or fish.

Her rostered day off was Tuesday, the slowest day of the week. Travelling home to the village and back again in one day was going to be a challenge.

She waited until the following week, when she had been at Pantai Raya Resort for a fortnight, then caught the earliest bus back to where she had met the petrol seller and his son. She imagined telling them of her success in Sanur, assuring them that it wasn't all bad. But when she arrived, it was still too early and the stall was deserted. She cycled home without stopping, hoping to arrive before the daily chores started.

She stopped outside the high stone wall of her family compound. As she hoisted her bicycle through the narrow gateway and leaned it against the wall, she caught sight of her mother. Busy as ever, she was draping wet washing over the bushes in the yard.

‘
Bu
,' Made called.

Instantly her mother dropped a sarong and rushed at her.

‘Oh, you naughty girl,' she cried, throwing herself at Made. ‘I thought I had lost you. Why didn't you tell me where you were going? I have been worried, sick to my heart.'

Her mother was thinner than ever.

‘I am sorry,
Bu
. I didn't mean to worry you. I wanted to make you proud.'

‘You do, my little Made. You do.' She hugged Made to her.

‘
Bu
, I have found work.' Made removed the white envelope from her pocket and closed her mother's hand around it. ‘Eighty thousand rupiah a month. It won't make us rich, but it's something.'

Her mother frowned. ‘You don't have to do that, Made. What sort of work is it?'

‘Cleaning,' Made replied. ‘In a big resort for foreign tourists. The same place Ketut works.'

Her mother appeared to relax a little. ‘And Ketut is there with you every day?'

‘Yes, except her day off is Sunday. Mine is Tuesday. We live in the same staff quarters.'

Her mother hesitated. ‘Well, as long as it is a proper job and you are only expected to clean. Come and talk to your father about it. I will make some tea. You've lost weight. Have you eaten today?'

Made shook her head. She was ravenous from the cycling.

They walked towards the bamboo pavilion in the centre of their compound, where her grandmother sat washing soybeans.

‘Hello,
nenek
.' Made stooped to kiss the old woman.

‘Where have you been?' she asked in her gentle, wispy voice.

‘Working.' Made smiled, proud of herself.

Her grandmother gripped her hand. ‘Good girl.'

There was no sign of her aunt, uncle or cousins. They must be in the field, Made thought.

‘
Bapak!
Komang! Made is here,' her mother called. Komang emerged from the cooking area and ran to Made, throwing her arms around her waist.

‘I missed you,' Komang cried. ‘Please don't go away again.'

Made patted her sister's hair. ‘I'm working now, little sister. I have to go back to Sanur today.'

Komang began to whimper.

‘Now, who would think you are a big girl of fourteen? Only babies cry.' She stroked Komang's face and whispered, ‘I missed you too.'

Her father appeared, scythe in hand. From the mud caked around his ankles she could see he had been working in the field.

‘Made,' he said, his face grave.

‘Good morning,
Pak
.'

He didn't return her smile. ‘Why have you made your mother sick with worry?'

‘I wanted to help. I have found some work.'

Her father stood silent, waiting.

‘As a cleaner in Sanur, at a resort for foreigners. Ketut helped me to get the job.'

He cocked his head. ‘How much?'

‘Eighty thousand rupiah a month.'

Made could hear the hens scratching in the dust, squabbling over tiny scraps of rice thrown out with the dishwater. It was a familiar, comforting sound, one she had grown up with.

‘Good,' said her father finally. Then he turned and walked towards the gate.

Made looked at the ground, resisting the urge to cry. But what had she hoped for?