Indonesian Gold (31 page)

‘Why aren't you using a Filipino drilling
crew?'

Sharon
viewed Kremenchug with
hidden disdain. ‘It's a matter of credibility, Alex. Best to have other drillers there, seen to
be carrying out the work. It would be risky to have too many people aware of what's going on.
We'll have two expatriate drilling assistants on site during the initial phase. That's
enough.'

‘Do you still want Eric Baird on the team?'

‘I'd like to keep him around as he could be helpful.
Besides, we'll need someone to take responsibility if it all goes sour.'

‘He's not too keen to go.'

‘Offer him more money,' Sharon suggested.

Kremenchug
nodded in
agreement. ‘Okay, I'll fix it so that he goes.'

****

May
1994
Bandung
– Java

‘Aduh, dong, gue pasti basah!'
Nani complained, threatened with being drenched. Angela waited patiently as water
trickled down through the torn umbrella, and onto Nani's shoes.

‘It will blow over,'
Angela's words were of no comfort to Nani, her new jeans now damp from the knee down,
the flimsy, but colorful parasol inadequate protection against the rain. Angela hugged her friend
as they ran down the broken footpath into Pasar Kota Kembang, a narrow lane lined with shops and
stalls. There, with some protection, they slowed their pace, venturing out into the intersection
where the lane connected with the streets of Jalan Asia-Afrika, and Jalan Dalem Kaum. At that
moment, the dark sky flashed with a brilliance only a tropical thunderstorm could deliver, the
air shattering with a terrifying, piercing crack as deep, rolling thunder collapsed upon the
city's populace, momentarily stunning them all. While winds fought to escape the surrounding
Parahayangan Mountains, another lashing downpour followed. Raindrops beating helter-skelter
across the provincial capital brought traffic to a standstill, leaving Angela and Nani pressed up
against a partially covered doorway, shielding their eyes with dreaded anticipation of the next
lightning strike. Wind tugged at their clothes, the deafening roar of thunder interspersed with
the brilliance of lightning kept Nani huddled closely to her friend. Then, without warning, the
wind fell across the plateau as the gods cast their attention elsewhere and, within minutes, the
storm was gone, the young women faced with crossing ankle deep water, flooding the
street.

‘Let's cross here, and go down to Bandung
Indah,'
Nani suggested, the capital's luxurious shopping plaza
off City Hall, where those who could afford to do so, hang out. During Colonial times, Bandung
was often referred to as ‘the Paris of Java' because of its ambiance and sophistication but, now,
the provincial capital was nothing more than just another overly crowded, Indonesian city. Lost
amidst the rush to build glass and aluminum towers, Bandung's once magnificent legacy of tropical
deco architecture and charm, dating from early Dutch times, was now disguised by the city's
town-planners' enthusiasm to approve structures mimicking avant-garde trends, the Bandung Indah
Plaza no exception to these conflicts in design.

Angela took Nani's hand firmly as they waded, shoes in
hand, across the wide street, barely reaching the other side when a jeep ploughed past, throwing
spray in every direction.

‘Sialan lu!'
Nani
turned with ferocious look, cursing the driver. Angela laughed happily, dragging her friend up
the stairs and into the plaza. No sooner had they entered when the skies collapsed into darkness
once again, and what had commenced as a distant, low rumbling roll, tumbled into the capital,
rupturing the inner city air, with spears of terrifying lightning dancing behind the tumultuous
groans.

‘Kopi, yo!'
Angela
urged, leading the way to one of their favorite haunts, her call for coffee welcomed by Nani. The
pair found a table, ordered coffee and cream cake, then settled back to observe the constant flow
of pedestrian traffic passing through the mall. Most, Angela knew, were window shoppers as
Bandung's community was not wealthy. Although centered amongst rich plantations and supported by
the government-owned aircraft industry facilities, the city was, nevertheless, basically an
educational center. Students flocked to Bandung from all corners of the Republic, most with
limited financial resources. Angela recognized a younger student from her campus, observing the
girl's flirtatious movements as she guided past a number of foreign men. Angela felt saddened by
the number of undergraduates who depended on part time prostitution to see them through college,
grateful that her Dayak community continued to support her studies so vigorously. Soon, Angela
would be in a position to repay her people for their trust, and generosity, a commitment she had
given to her father, and one she intended to keep.

As Angela's eyes continued to roam the café, she was
attracted to a young child of around six sitting alone, expressionless, her lips quivering as if
she were cold, her presence engulfed in an epileptic aura of anxiety. Concerned, Angela looked
for the girl's parents and, seeing none, rose and moved quickly to the youngster's side, catching
the child in her arms as the seizure took hold.

‘Nani!'
Angela called
to her friend,
‘try and find her mother!'
with which, Nani scoured the area quickly, and
then hurried through the café to check the toilets – returning empty-handed when she found no one
there.

‘We'll just have to wait here,'
Angela held the girl to her chest, the child's convulsions easing with the student's
comforting words.

‘I saw her mother leave and go into that shop over
there,'
a patron leaned across to say,
‘in fact, there she is
now!'

Nani sprang to her feet and made her way outside, alerting
the woman to her daughter's condition. They returned, together, Angela suddenly angry at the
mother's indifference.

‘Enny, have you been a naughty girl again?'
the woman scolded.

‘Is this your daughter?'
Angela continued to hold the child, rocking her softly from side to side.

‘Enny, what have you been up to? I can't leave you alone
for one minute!'

‘She fainted,'
Angela
glared at the mother.

‘Enny, come along now, I'll have to take you
home.'
The woman reached down and gripped the girl's arm.
Frightened, the child, pulled away.

‘Are you sure you're her mother?'
Angela challenged.

‘Of course! Now, Enny, get up, I'll have no more of your
tantrums.We're going straight home!'

She stepped forward, furious, but Angela turned,
protectively, continuing to stroke the child's short, black hair. She looked into Enny's eyes,
reassuringly and, placing a hand gently against the side of the young girl's head, started to
hum. By now, the other patrons had fallen silent, observing the conflict, expecting the child's
mother to explode. Then, a most curious thing occurred as the young, Dayak woman started to
chant, softly, the prayer she had learned in her native,
Penehing
dialect. Angela swayed
softly, the hypnotic effect of her movements and voice mesmerizing the spectators as they, too
fell under her spell, their minds suddenly oblivious to the cacophonous crowds outside. The
soothing, melodious effect relaxed the child and, as Angela completed her chant, she turned back
to face the mother.
‘You should take her to a doctor,'
she reprimanded.
‘Enny fainted,
and had convulsions.'

‘She's done this before,'
the woman remonstrated, making a more determined effort to drag her daughter out of
Angela's arms.
‘It's purely attention seeking.'

Angela rose, her face a mask of wrath.
‘Your daughter
is a very sick child.'

‘She is not! She is faking!'
the woman's voice rose, the café's customers now following the unusual
confrontation.

‘You should never have left her alone!'
Angela's tone now matching that of the child's mother, several of the café's
clientele whispered to each other and staff ceased serving, observing the exchange.

‘She strayed away by herself,'
the woman became openly hostile, waving a threatening finger at the trembling six year
old.

‘You are a bad mother to blame your child.'
Angela again stepped back slightly, keeping Enny out of her mother's reach.
Someone called out for her to leave the child alone and, aware that she was the center of
unwanted attention, Enny's mother snapped.

‘Give me my daughter!'
she shouted.

‘Not until you promise to take her to a
doctor!'
Angela refused, her friend, Nani, anxious with the
escalation in hostility.

‘
This is none of your business -give me my
daughter!'

‘No!'
Angela pulled
back as the woman lunged, Enny burying her head into Angela's shoulder, terrified of her
mother.

Enraged, the woman screamed abuse, smashing cups and
plates to the floor, then reached over to an adjacent table, in search for something else to
throw. When she turned, wielding a knife, Angela stepped back cautiously, the throng of café
guests unwilling spectators to what happened next. Enny's mother's hand flashed, her face
contorted in manic expression, the outstretched palm of Angela's free hand blocking the attempt,
without any apparent sign of physical contact. In that brief, emotionally charged moment frozen
in time, lightning struck the mall missing its ineffective conductor, throwing the building into
semi-darkness – and sending the Plaza's stand-by diesel generators coughing into gear, the
power-outage throwing the mall into pandemonium. In the ensuing darkness, someone screamed,
‘She's got a knife!'
Compounding the chaotic scene, panic-driven customers yelled and
shoved in their stampede to escape, sending tables and chairs crashing around, spilling crockery,
smashing plates and delicately designed coffee sets onto the floor.

In the days that followed, and only in the company of
close friends, many of those present would recall hearing a woman's near-death, chilling scream
pierce the scene, their nostrils assailed by a suffocating, wild stench that permeated their
surrounds. A terrifying, hoarse cawing cry added to their confusion as the surrounding air was
ruptured with the sound of a bird's powerful wings beating overhead and, above all this, a
commanding voice shouting,
‘No!'

In that instant, power was restored, the lights blinking
their momentary message, before fading once again. Someone called out that there was smoke, the
mere mention of fire plunging guests recklessly towards the exit. Meanwhile, deep in the Plaza
basement, the switching gear which sent generators automatically across to the internal power
distribution system in times of such crisis, failed, minutes passing before the system could be
manually reset, the flow of electricity finally restoring the plaza with light. An audible sigh
of relief swept through those unable to escape via the congested exit, many standing around
straightening disheveled hair and clothing, as some sense of normality slowly returned to their
surrounds.

****

Enny's mother was clearly in shock, her face smothered
with bewilderment as she stood, lost in unfamiliar surroundings, appearing genuinely surprised,
when it became apparent that her daughter was there. She stepped forward with outstretched arms,
her eyes suddenly filling with tears, Angela, in what appeared to be an about face, willingly
surrendered Enny to her mother, who then clutched the child, smothering her with kisses.
‘Where have you been, Enny?'
she asked,
‘I have been looking everywhere for you!'
And then,
‘Are you all right, my darling?'

Nani rubbed her puzzled eyes, trying to make sense of what
had transpired. She looked at Angela, questioningly, and then back at the woman to see if she was
still armed.

‘You should take your daughter to a doctor,'
Angela moved forward and stroked Enny's soft face.
‘She is not
well.'

Nani stared at Angela, struck by her friend's peaceful
glow.

‘I have been meaning to,'
the woman found herself saying, a tear falling from her cheek.
‘Then you should do
it, and soon,'
Angela advised, her voice now soft and reassuring.

‘I will, thank you,'
the older woman agreed, edging closer, and when her fingers touched Angela's arm, she
looked searchingly into her eyes – that moment of recognition becoming clouded with doubt.
‘This may sound strange, to you,'
she said,
‘but I'm sure we've met before,
somewhere.'