Javanese Deviation
It was late at night and the parking lot at the small bus station in G… was deserted. I didn't quite know how long I had been waiting, sitting on this bench under the dim light of the only lamppost. A myriad of mosquitoes and butterflies swirled in the halo in a disorderly ballet. At times, with a buzzing coming from the depths of the darkness, a heavy insect joined the circle for a few turns, before leaving towards the forest, joining the teeming bestiary of the night creatures. « Sometimes tigers come for a walk in the parking lot ». I jumped. A small man was there, standing next to the bench. How long had he been waiting here ? I had no idea. No doubt I must have dozed off for a moment not to have heard him arrive. « It's especially during the monsoon » He continued « When the trees are weakened by the weight of water in the leaves, the tigers come out of the forest »
« And…they never attacked you ? » I asked taken aback
« Never » he said smiling at me « I am one of His sons and the tigers know it »
« One of his sons ? »
« Yes »
The man looked very old. His only clothing was a short, faded sarong around his waist, and the light from the lamppost made the tanned skin of his lean torso glisten like the smooth leather of a worn sofa. He did not seem very stable on gnarled legs and leaned with one hand on an old featherless broom. Probably he was the station guard. I was about to ask him but the man was faster « Where are you going ? » he asked me.
« K…» I replied « I come from P… where I swam in the Pacific Ocean this morning and I am going to K…, where I plan to swim in the Indian Ocean tomorrow evening » He nodded without looking surprised. The locals had become accustomed to tourists and their absurd ideas. Certainly, that taking two whole days on the bus for the sole purpose of bathing in two different oceans must have seemed completely silly to him, but he must have found that normal from a foreigner « To go to K…, you first have to take the bus from C… and then change to K…» he said, carelessly sweeping away some papers that were lying on the platform. I had actually read it in my pocket guide « But…don't hang around at C…» he added with a look that struck me with its intensity. « Why this ? » I asked.
« In the mountain overlooking C... strange things are happening » That, on the other hand, was not in the book.
« Strange things ? » I was now wide awake « But what kind of things ? »
« Things that are beyond us » He had now pushed the papers into a small shovel «...and which it is better not to disturb »
« Like a curse ? »
« Yes a curse from the gods »
« Gods ? Do you mean Allah ? »
« No, other Gods » He emptied the contents of the shovel into the trash can that was next to the bench and added « Old Gods, long before Allah » Then he gave me a little wave of his hand, meaning that he wouldn't say more and he left for the station dragging his broom behind him.
« Wait, I want to know more » I shouted behind his back.
« I know » he said without turning around « I know, they always want to know more »
Arrived at the bus station of C… it had become obvious that the bus for K… had no more interest. So, I resolutely crossed the street in the direction of a group of motorcycle taxis in the hope of finding one who would take me up the mountain. I found them, sitting on their motorbikes, chatting loudly while smoking kreteks. Approaching them, I suspected that the game would be difficult to play, if the greed of motorcycle taxi drivers was legendary, and it would be hard to pass on a tourist who could be cheated for a good price, it was perhaps only matched by their superstition. The question was, which of the two would be the strongest this time. And after some fruitless negotiations, I had to realize that the scales tipped in favor of superstition. Without success, I was therefore about to give up and return to the bus station when one of the drivers told me that there was one who, perhaps, would accept. A certain Adi, who according to his colleagues never refused a drive. I regained hope. Where could this Adi be found ? He was finishing dropping off a client, I'm told. I just had to wait here, it wouldn't be long. So I sat down on the edge of the pavement and indeed, fifteen minutes later, the famous Adi arrived. At first glance I knew he was the right one. Dressed in an American biker leather jacket, he carried with him as a glow, this aura difficult to describe of those men who knew how to free themselves from conventions. However the Adi was not easy to convince and it took a good quarter of an hour of discussion and the promise of a comfortable extension before he nodded and patted the back seat on which I sat in, smiling inwardly. The adventure was about to begin.
On the road in the middle of the rice fields, Adi's motorcycle was speeding and I was sitting behind, watching the landscape go by. The wind was pleasant. On the side, children greeted us, the din of everyday life faded away and for a moment I let myself be lulled by the melody of life.
It was after a short break, to fill the tank of the motorcycle and empty ours that the serious things began. We left the main road for a winding track that wound around the mountainside. Adi now rode slowly to avoid the countless holes and crevices that dotted the path and we had to dismount several times to push the bike which was struggling on the climbs. Dense forest had now replaced the crops and the temperature dropped as we climbed. It was around this time that I began to realize that something was odd. A slick of what I then thought was fog had imperceptibly settled in and with it a kind of tingle in my eyes. The children had long since deserted the aisles and we hadn't actually seen anyone since the fork in the main road.
Despite the declining luminosity, we continued our climb. Our motorcycle's headlight casted a yellow halo on the mist and that's when I thought I was dreaming: It started to snow. I initially refused this idea: impossible in these tropical latitudes, nor at this temperature, which although chill, should not however fall below fifteen degrees. And yet large flakes abundantly crossed the beam of the headlight and piled up on the ground in a fluffy layer in which our motorcycle left a long straight trace. Despite the language barrier, the hours of riding behind Adi had taught me how to decode him and I could now judge, by the stiffening of the muscles in his back, of his growing nervousness. Indeed the bike started to skid in the bends and the low visibility made driving dangerous. Was he going to leave me here ? Was he going to tell me to turn around ? Was it better to turn around ? But Adi, true to his reputation, continued. And today I am immensely grateful to him because what we saw next, when the fog began to dissipate, will remain forever engraved in my memory.
Imagine a world where all colors have disappeared, except for one, brown. This world is made up of the landscapes, trees, fields and houses that we know, but the only color is brown. Not the brown of the plowed fields of a Breton January, nor the brown of the steaming coffee grounds coming out of the machine, but a sad brown, a brown deprived of its color, of which only the idea would remain. The villages we passed through seemed deserted. Not an animal, not a movement, not a sound. The fields were abandoned, there was no one on the roads. A brown layer had settled over life, like a veil with which one covers the living room before a long period of absence. I noticed Adi's jacket, then my sleeves: we too were turning brown.
Finally we arrived at what seemed to be the last village perched on top of the mountain. Adi stopped, pointed to the shacks at the end of the street, then without a word, simply left, as if our incredible journey together hadn't counted for him. Sometimes, when I overhear people from a culture far removed from mine sharing the same emotion as me, I am overwhelmed by the awareness of belonging to all of humanity. But that day, in the middle of this dirty street, I felt very alone on earth. Yet it was on this occasion that I made my first encounter with an inhabitant of this strange world.
On the doorstep of one of the houses, an old woman was warming herself, seated in front of a small brazier from which emanated a warm light, the only touch of color in the middle of this monochrome painting. I approached. She was very old, covered with a blanket from which only her wrinkled face emerged. Her pupilless eyes, like two red-hot coals, seemed to be staring at something through the brazier. Stranger to my presence, she murmured in a language that probably only her interlocutor from beyond the flame could understand.
« It's Baba the old woman of the village » said a voice in front of me. A young woman had come out of the house and was standing on the porch. She looked like she was in her twenties and was smiling at me « How old is she? » I asked
« Nobody knows. She is very old » Then she added « She was already in the village before our parents and before our parents' parents »
I wasn't sure I understood the meaning, but she continued « I am Dewi »
« Pierre » I replied
« Are you looking for a room for the night ? »
« Oh yes »
« I can rent you one, follow me, you can put your things there » We left the old woman to her incantations, and I followed Dewi to her house.
A gentle warmth reigned in the only room on the ground floor, heated by a stove, next to which I took a seat on a small plastic stool. The interior was basic, lit only by a small oil lamp securely fastened to a low table. In a corner of the room, Dewi was busy preparing dinner. After a closer look I noticed that the few pieces of furniture in the room had been fixed to the walls with large screwed brackets as if to prevent them from running away. I was about to ask Dewi why, when suddenly, in response, the ground began to vibrate, at first faintly, like a subway passing by, then more distinctly, like an airplane going through a layer of clouds. « What is happening ?! » I asked, reflexively clinging to my stool.
« Oh that's nothing » replied Dewi who calmly continued to prepare the meal « Sometimes the whole village starts rocking like a boat on the sea »
« Is it an earthquake ? » I asked trying to recover from my stupor. Dewi had peeled two carrots which she was now cutting into thin strips.
« It is Batara Guru who is angry » She said « But we're used to it now. We have learned to live with it »
« Batara Guru ? »
« Yes, the god who dwells under the mountain » said Dewi who brought a container made of woven leaves from which white swirls escaped « He is a terrible god, most of the time he sleeps. He sleeps for years but one day he wakes up and then he is angry »
« Is it because of him that everything is brown outside? » I asked, taking the bowl of white rice Dewi handed me.
« Yes when he is angry he spits ashes into the sky and it fall on us like rain » Dewi mimicked the trajectory of the ashes with the spatula which described an elegant parabola in the air before continuing « The old ones of the village say that one day Batara Guru spat out so much ash that it was dark for an entire year »
« But have you ever thought of leaving the mountains and settling elsewhere ? » I asked
« No, we know that Batara Guru's tantrums only last for a while, he always calms down and then goes back to sleep » said Dewi. Then she smiled and added « And after Batara Guru's tantrums, the harvests are very good »
« Have you seen him before ? » I asked her « What does he look like ? » Dewi laughed and replied:
« No, no one has ever seen him, his tantrums are way too strong to approach, and when he sleeps he is hidden under the mountain »
I spent the next night drifting mid-waters, sinking into dreams where I saw the old woman leaning over me, staring at me with her impenetrable red eyes. She was inviting me to follow her, I was getting up and accompanied her outside in the cold to the entrance of a dark cave at the foot of the mountain. There we plunged inside and I followed her along an endless black tunnel that led us ever deeper into the heart of the mountain, her eyes of embers blazing in the darkness like headlights in the night. Then we arrived at a gigantic cavity, and the old woman with exaggeratedly slow gestures turned towards me, her finger on her mouth to silence me, she had a strange grin that made me feel more and more uncomfortable. Then I realized that behind her, hidden in the dark, at the bottom of the cavity, something was sleeping, something terrifying. My gaze went to the old woman and I saw her who was beginning to giggle, her hands over her mouth. I felt panic invade me and silently tried to make her understand that we had to leave immediately, but she could no longer control herself and was now letting out loud chuckles amplified by the echo of the cavity. So I stood still and listened to the darkness with anguish. And suddenly the hitherto silent thing began to move. I then escaped from my dream to find myself in my little room, which was shaking from floor to ceiling as if coughing.
The next morning I woke up early with the weird feeling of knowing exactly what to do next. I had to go meet Batara Guru. Despite the apprehension of what I would find up there, I had to know. The storm had hit the mountain during the night. I pulled the hood of my parka down over my face, closed the door of Dewi's house behind me, and walked down the only street in the village, fighting against the wind and the rain that beat against my face. I walked like that until the exit of the village where I stopped for a moment. Beyond that, there was nothing. Nothing but a bleak plain swept by the ash-laden winds from the nearby crater. The road continued in front of me for a few more tens of meters before disappearing as if swallowed by emptiness. And yet I had to go there, attracted by a force that commanded me to leave behind me the relative safety of this village to enter the forbidden domain. I obey it.
The fluffy layer of ash from the day before had turned to mud. A dirty and sticky mud that stuck to my shoes as if to prevent me from moving forward. I struggled to keep my eyes open as the gusts swept down the slope angrily. An immense power was unleashed up there. The monster god let out the full extent of his wrath.
Things made less and less sense as I got closer to the goal. I had lost myself in a world that was not mine. I stumbled over uprooted trees drifting on a sea of mud. Clouds were escaping from the ground and the earth was raining down from the heavy sky. Dark silhouettes loomed in front of me to dance on my consciousness altered by the toxic fumes. I ended up falling to my knees, suffocated and began to crawl to cover the last meters that separated me from the edge. I had to see. Nothing else mattered now. I had to see. With both hands on the ledge, exhausted, I pulled myself up until my eyes were sticking out. And then I saw.
Like demons springing from the depths, big black clouds of ash escaped furiously towards the sky, drawn into an immense vortex, while a tremendous roar made my soul of little mouse, caught in the process of spying through the keyhole of the underworld, tremble to the very core. The energy unleashed right in front of me seemed limitless. The air weighed tons, I was crushed face down on the ground, forced to short breathe. Suddenly an intense pain bit my calf violently. I rolled onto my back and grabbed my leg, a smoking, hissing rock had reached me and left a gaping hole in my pants in the middle of which my burnt skin had melted into the fabric of my pants. I was too close. I couldn't stay any longer, I felt I was already well over the reasonable time. Now I had to get myself away from this evil force as soon as possible. But just as I managed to push myself back from the edge, a gap opened up in the whirlwind in front of me, I felt all the hairs of my body stand at once and in the blink of an eye I saw the Entity.
In that moment, it was as if Niagara Falls had tried to enter my head in a single second and through every entries at once. I collapsed and lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I was in the bed of my small room in Dewi's house. How had I come down from the volcano ? No one could tell me. I only learned from Dewi that I was found lifeless at the entrance of the village from where I was taken to this bed, where, it seems, I slept without interruption for three days. The next day I was on my feet again, a villager agreed to take me back down to the valley, and leaving the cursed mountain behind me, I resumed the normal course of my journey towards the Indian Ocean.
When you travel alone for too long, you sometimes end up getting lost on the path where memories and dreams become one. Today, more than ten years have passed since this adventure. I am now a responsible adult, I take the subway every morning with other people who wear ties to go to work, and the austere rows of numbers on my Excel spreadsheets leave no room for the emergence of the poetic dimension of reality. With hindsight, I ended up putting this episode on the side of the dream. I think that's the right thing to do.
However, on rare occasions when I find myself having the time, I sometimes deviate from my habit of taking quick showers and instead take a nice hot bath in which I happily get rid of the tension of everyday life. Once relaxed by the warm and enveloping water, I carefully soap each of my soothed limbs one by one. And as I meticulously take care of the left leg, my fingers stop on the round and faded scar that adorns the back of my calf, like an old friend whose existence I have almost forgotten and who reappears after all this time.