The Paradise Guest House (15 page)

How odd, he thought, that he happened to land in the country of ritual, of prayer, of daily life devoted to community and family. Even now, three years later, with a job and a home on the edge of a mountain, he can imagine this: Walking away. Walking for hours, days, years. Walking alone.

But last night he didn’t walk away from the bombs. And he didn’t walk away from the screams. Now he has to buy medicine for Jamie.

The pharmacy was still open, and Gabe stepped through the door. He greeted the woman behind the counter with his few Indonesian words. She was pleased and began speaking to him much too fast, a long string of words that he didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you speak English?”

“Yes,” she said with a small smile.

“Dr. Wayan Genep called in a prescription for Jamie Hyde. I’m here to pick it up.”

“Yes, yes,” the woman said, and turned to find the pills.

Looking around the store, he realized he had no toothbrush or toothpaste—neither did Jamie. He grabbed a basket and walked through the aisles, choosing everything they might need. He found a short-sleeved shirt with buttons so Jamie could put it on over her cast.
BALI BABY
was stitched on the front, and a baby monkey graced the back. He picked out a teal-blue sarong and a pair of flip-flops for her, too, and then threw in a new T-shirt for himself. When he returned to the counter, the woman was waiting.

“It is awful,” she said. “The bombing. All of those young people.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding as he unloaded his basket onto the counter.

“You have not left yet,” she said. “I heard that all the Westerners are leaving our country.”

“I live here,” he said.

“You’re staying?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“I am glad,” she told him. “There will be a cleansing ceremony tonight. It begins soon. It will end on the beach. Everyone in town will go. It is important that we do this. For the community.”

“Thank you,” he said to the woman, handing her some cash.

“I am closing the pharmacy now so I can go to the ceremony. You come with me.”

He smiled. “I can’t. I have to bring my friend this medicine,” he said as he turned to leave.

“You, too, must heal.”

He looked at the woman questioningly.

“It is in your eyes,” she said.

Jamie was in the bathroom when he returned.

“Are you okay?” he called out.

“I’m taking a washcloth bath!”

“I have fresh clothes for you,” he told her. “Pharmacy special.”

She opened the door, hiding behind it. “Really?”

He glimpsed her bare shoulder. Her skin was tanned and smooth. He looked away and held up the monkey shirt.

“I love it,” she said.

He passed her the clothes and went back to the kitchen to wait for her. There was a bottle of scotch in Billy’s cupboard, so he poured himself a drink and added some ice.

“That wasn’t easy,” Jamie said, and he turned around.

The new sarong was tightly wrapped around her waist, and Gabe found his eyes lingering on the curves of her body.

“You could ask for help,” he said. “Or is it against your religion?”

“I may have to convert,” she told him. “A one-handed bath is a bitch. Can I have one of those?”

He handed her his scotch and poured himself another.

“How long have you lived in Bali?” she asked.

“For three years now.”

“Since your son died.”

“Since a year after my son died.”

“And your wife?”

“In Boston. We’re divorced.”

“Because of your son?”

“Grief has a way of ripping people apart.”

She sipped her scotch. Then she asked, “Is this grief?”

“This? This is hell. Grief comes later.”

“Oh, boy,” she said, and he smiled.

“Sorry about the shirt. That was the best the pharmacy had to offer.”

“I like my monkey,” she said, spinning around and offering him a look. “Thanks.”

She lifted her scotch and they clinked glasses.

“To hell,” she said.

“To hell.”

As they drank, Jamie caught his eyes, held them for a moment, and then gazed into her glass.

“I bought toothbrushes, too,” Gabe told her. “Toothpaste.”

“My clothes are at the hotel in Seminyak.”

“We can get it all tomorrow,” he said.

“I booked my flight for tomorrow. It’s at four.”

The word
tomorrow
settled like a stone in his ribs.

“We’ll get your suitcase on the way to the airport.”

“Miguel’s things are there. I don’t want to go back.”

“I’ll get it for you. I’ll drive out first thing in the morning.”

“Thanks. I have my passport and some cash stashed in one drawer.”

“I’ll find it,” Gabe promised.

“Can you write down Miguel’s parents’ phone number when you’re there? I think it’s on the ID tag of his luggage. He lived with his parents when he wasn’t working in the mountains.”

“Of course.”

Jamie pressed the cold glass of scotch against her forehead.

“I keep thinking of things to say to Miguel,” she said. “I want to finish a conversation that we hadn’t even started yet.”

She sat on a stool at the kitchen counter, lifting her cast and placing it gently on the marble. She rubbed her shoulder under her sling.

“Would it help to talk about him?” Gabe asked.

She shook her head. Then she offered him a small smile.

“Are you always like this?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Do you always charge into burning buildings?”

“No. I didn’t give it much thought. I heard the screams and I couldn’t run the other way.”

“Good man.”

“So why doesn’t it feel good?”

He looked away from her gaze. Outside, the light of the moon reflected off the pond in the garden.

“Because there were still people left. People dying.”

“I keep hearing screams,” he said. “I hear someone shouting for help, and I turn my head and it’s gone.”

“I smell fire. All the time.”

He met her eyes. “We’re quite a pair,” he said.

“Do you have a job? A girlfriend?”

Gabe stared into the bottom of his glass, then said, “There’s a cleansing ceremony on the beach tonight. The Balinese believe they can free the spirits of the bombing victims.”

She waited, her dark eyes on him. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I have a job. I don’t have a girlfriend. But, truthfully, I don’t know what I have. It feels like everything blew up in that explosion last night.”

Jamie walked to the patio and gazed outside. She drank her scotch. Gabe watched her. For now, he thought, I have this.

“Can we go to the cleansing ceremony?” she asked.

“Yes,” he told her.

He and Jamie made their way across the grass and pulled open the heavy red door at the back of the property. They stepped onto the paved beach path and closed the door behind them. The sky was filled with stars.

For a moment they could hear nothing. And then the sound of the gamelan seemed to surround them. First there were bells, then gongs, then chimes and flutes. The sounds chased one another through the air. A man’s voice called out, and then many voices chanted together.

They walked out onto the beach and followed the edge of the surf toward the gathering. As they got closer, they could see that the crowd was large—a couple of hundred people. Everyone was dressed in traditional Balinese clothing: sarongs with bright belts on both the men and women, lace blouses—kebayas—for the women, head wraps for the men. Almost all the people were Balinese, but there were a few Westerners at the edge of the crowd. Many people held candles, the flames flickering in the dark.

“What are they doing?” Jamie asked.

“The Balinese believe in reincarnation,” Gabe told her as they neared the crowd. “When a body dies, its soul is released so it can find the next life. If there is violence, then the soul has difficulty finding its way. The Balinese believe that this ceremony will help release those souls. And they’re cleansing the island of evil spirits. At some point, the priest will sprinkle holy water over the people and the land.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jamie said.

“When I first came here, I thought the Balinese Hindu religion would give me some peace. I studied a little, went to some ceremonies. But it’s all about community. And I haven’t made my way into a community.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve always been a bit of a loner. Maybe that’s why I like Bali. I’m allowed to be an outsider.”

“When you were married, weren’t you part of something?”

“Maybe for a while. When Ethan was alive, we were a family.”

They stopped walking when they were close to the gathering. The light of the candles reflected off the water and seemed to glimmer in the night sky.

“And you?” Gabe asked. “Are you a solitary soul?”

“Sort of,” Jamie said. “I’m an adventure-travel guide. My life is groups, lots of people, community love fests. But at the end of the day, I go home alone.”

“No boyfriends before Miguel?” Gabe asked.

“An occasional boyfriend,” Jamie said. “But I haven’t been very successful with long-term relationships.”

“Why is that?”

She looked at him and offered a sly smile. “Just because you saved my life doesn’t mean I have to answer all your questions.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

They were quiet for a moment, listening to the chanting of the priest. Many people were openly crying, and one woman made a keening sound that seemed to echo the priest’s song.

“When I travel,” Jamie said, her voice soft in Gabe’s ear, “I think: I love this country. I want to live here awhile. But then the next country lures me away. I keep moving on.”

Gabe glanced at her. “You keep looking for something new.”

“Something different, something better. I don’t know. I do the same thing with men.”

“Is your boss a boyfriend?”

“Most definitely not.”

“And so he stays in the picture.”

“Something like that.” Jamie waited, then added, “I didn’t have very good role models.”

“Your parents divorced?”

“My father left us a long time ago. I’m not sure if I’m protecting myself from a man like him or if I’m becoming someone like him. Either way, it’s pretty scary.”

Gabe saw something in her then that he hadn’t been able to identify. She was clearly tough—and yet there was something vulnerable about her, too. He felt some odd combination of awe at her strength and a deep desire to protect her.

The music stopped and one man began to sing. The voice carried out to sea; Gabe gazed toward the reflection of the moon on the water while he listened. It was full of yearning, this song. He couldn’t understand the words, but he was surprised to find himself fighting back tears.

He’d had similar experiences throughout his time in Bali. The ceremonies always reached deep into his heart, tapping emotional reservoirs that he wasn’t always aware of. And yet he always tugged right back, resisting that call.

A group of children—most of these seem to be the children of Westerners rather than the Balinese—ran to the edge of the surf. They released paper boats onto the water. Each boat, carrying a lit candle, glided over the gentle waves as it headed out to sea.

“I wish I believed that this might work,” Jamie said, her eyes fixed on the shimmering light of the candles bobbing in the water. She turned to Gabe. “But the fire. And all those people buried under the rubble …” She looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears.

He pulled her into his arms and held her, running his hand over her back. He felt her lean her weight into him.

That night, Gabe set up the futon in the living room. He had thought about sleeping outside, under the stars. But he wanted to be able to hear Jamie if she cried out during the night.

The minute he lay down, his mind began to swim with images of the bombing. He could hear echoes of the screams, as if the people who were trapped in the burning club were just outside the walls of the beach cottage. He could still smell the awful biting odor of burning hair. He pulled the blanket up to his nose and inhaled musty closet smells, tangling himself in the cover, trying to find a way to settle down.

Finally, he sat up on the futon, his body soaked in sweat. The night loomed long, hours and hours long, all of them dark and filled with memory. He stood up, dropping the blanket onto the futon. Then he pulled on his jeans and walked outside.

The night air was warm and humid. He loved the heat. He let the air bathe his skin and slow the beating of his heart.

Gabe let his mind wander back to the night the doctor came out of Ethan’s hospital room and walked toward them down the long corridor. Stupidly, he had thought of Ethanopolis, Molly’s fantasy dog. Ethanopolis had failed his mission. But
then he thought: It wasn’t the dog’s job. It was my job to save my son. It was my only job in the God damn world. He had glanced at Heather and Molly, standing beside him, numb and dazed. I failed all of them, he thought. The doctor mumbled words of consolation; Heather screamed, and Molly held her. But Gabe only stood there, his arms hanging at his sides, thinking: It was my only job.

The night was quiet. The moon reflected off the pond, and he could see something skitter across the lily pads and then splash into the water.

The terror is over, he told himself.

But as he waited for Jamie to cry out in her sleep, he knew that all over this island there were other people still shrieking in pain.

He awoke to screams.

He ran into the bedroom, and in his half-awake state, he thought:
Fire
. Get her out before the fire spreads.

He stopped when he saw her sitting in bed, her mouth open, as if gasping for breath. She was silent.

“Are you all right?” Gabe asked. He was now unsure if he had dreamed the whole thing.

She nodded, but she looked terrified.

“Let me get dressed,” he said, suddenly aware that he was wearing only his boxer shorts. “I’ll come back in a minute.”

He waited until she nodded once more. She barely moved—she still looked stunned.

“I’ll be right back,” he repeated.

He tossed on his jeans, glancing outside—the sun was beginning
to rise and brighten the sky. He felt disoriented and scared of something he couldn’t name.