She heard the others getting together downstairs. The room was square; the floor was cement. The bed was the only piece of furniture. On the other side of the window lathes, a growing chorus of cicadas and frogs.
She sat up; she itched and burned in all the places where skin rubbed against skin. She got on her clothes and went into the hallway. At the end of the hallway, there was a laundry room painted an unfortunate color. To the right, there was a shower and an Asian toilet. She went into the shower room and took off her clothes. There were no hooks for them. She hung them over the door, but while she showered, they managed to get wet.
She rinsed her bra and panties. Covered just in her bath towel, she ran back to the room. What if someone saw her like this? It certainly would not be acceptable to appear in a Muslim guest house, wearing nothing but a bath towel. Maybe she’d be whipped or stoned to death? She put on a T-shirt and long pants, spreading out the wet clothes on the floor. Her wet hair felt good against her head. She felt a pang of hunger. She was returning to health.
She carefully walked down the steep, dark stairs. A TV was on; some young boys were sitting in front of it. They didn’t notice her. A woman looked out from behind a veil. “Have you seen my friends?” she asked in English.
Then she found them. They had taken a few tables, which stood on the street. She stood in the doorway. They didn’t notice her. Martina was sitting in the center. She was in the middle of telling them a story.
Nathan sat next to her, so close that his hand was resting on her leg.
She stood there for a long time, watching them, their shining faces, their intensive listening. Something inside her closed down. She couldn’t bring herself to go to them, nor could she face returning upstairs. All the sounds of the day were still in her head: motors, voices, cicadas. She stood there as if she had turned into a statue-of a middle-aged, charmless, pale, fat, female tourist.
Ben saw her first. He got up and approached her.
“Sit over here, Justine. I’ll get you something to eat.”
“What are you guys doing?”
“Nothing. We’ve eaten and now we’re just sitting around, relaxing.”
She slipped in between the chairs.
“I thought you were sleeping,” said Nathan.
“Uh-huh,” Justine said, feeling stupid.
Heinrich patted her on the cheek.
“It’s good that you’ve rested. You’ll have strength for tomorrow.”
She nodded. She felt about to cry, so she hastily put on her sunglasses.
“Now you look like Greta Garbo,” said Stephan. He had a fairly thick German accent. Katrine imitated him unmercifully, and then she repeated the phrase again, very clearly. Stephan and Katrine were engaged. They were well-trained; she noted the muscles on their calves. They were certainly not going to have trouble keeping up in the jungle.
She forced herself to say something.
“What have you eaten?” she asked.
“Guess!”
“I have no idea…”
“Fried rice and chicken.”
“It’s the national dish of Malaysia,” said one of the Norwegians.
Justine had difficulty telling the Norwegians apart.
“Are you Stein or Ole?” she asked.
“Ole, of course. Maybe we should wear name tags.”
“Well, you guys look identical.”
They both burst out laughing; they had the same clucking, well-meaning laugh.
“Are we? That wasn’t very nice!”
“Maybe because you’re both Norwegian.”
“So you think we Norwegians all look alike? I don’t think you Swedes look alike.”
He looked over at Martina.
“She’s dark-haired, for example, and you are blonde.”
Ben arrived with a plate of food and an ice cold Coke. She drank eagerly.
Ben said, “We talked about packing yesterday. Nathan will show you. Take the least amount of things necessary. Remember that you have to carry everything that you pack. And think that wet clothes are heavier than dry clothes. All the stuff that you’re not going to take with you, we can store here at the house until we return.”
“OK.”
“You’re going to get another pill from me. Tomorrow you’ll be stronger than ever.”
She couldn’t sleep. Nathan lay beside her; he snored slightly. In spite of the heat, she wished she had something to wrap herself in. She also had to go to the bathroom, but she didn’t want to put on all her clothes, and she didn’t have the energy.
Martina had said, “Good night, everyone! And remember that tonight is the last time we get to sleep in a bed for a long, long time!”
Justine thought that she was going to be longing for a bed, even this one.
She must have fallen asleep after all, because when she woke up, Nathan was already up and busy packing all his things. The aroma of food drifted into the room. The chorus of frogs was intense.
“Good morning, Sweetheart,” said Nathan. “How do we feel today?”
She stretched.
“Fine.”
He was sitting on his haunches, pressing his stuff into the backpack.
“Nathan…”
“Hmmm?”
“No, nothing.”
“Well, get up then. I just heard someone leave the shower.”
“Can you help me pack?”
“Nah. You can manage yourself. I have to talk to Ben a little bit. Take a change of clothes and something to sleep in when we make camp. Don’t forget the malaria pills! OK, I have to go now. Come down as soon as you can.”
Chapter FOUR
A truck covered with a tarp took them away from the town. Out of consideration, perhaps because she was the oldest woman in the group or because she had been sick, Justine was allowed to sit up front with the driver. The others crowded into the flatbed with the equipment.
Once she turned. Nathan sat with his legs pulled up. Leaning against them was Martina.
She drank some of the lukewarm water from the bottle. The man next to her drove jerkily; he seemed not used to this truck. Every time he changed gears, he tore the gear control so that the small cogs squeaked and howled. This appeared to make him nervous. The windows were rolled down; dust was sucked into the driver’s cab. He took a peek at her from time to time but he couldn’t speak English. He had very dark skin. The jungle was right next to them on each side of the road.
Once, he called out something and pointed at a place on the road. A python, many meters long, was lying there. It was dead; it had been run over. She heard the others asking about it; she didn’t hear the words, just the excitement in their voices. She thought about nighttime. She shuddered.
After a few hours, the truck turned onto a sandy road, heading right into the jungle. The tires slid a bit; they almost got stuck. Then the man turned off the engine, and the jungle noises began to come toward them like a great and growing orchestra.
Justine was sore over her entire body. She jumped down onto the red sand; she massaged her legs.
Nathan stood next to her.
“Here’s your backpack. And I bought this for you.” He gave her a knife in its sheath; it was wide and black and a half meter long.
“A knife?”
“A parang,” he said.
“It’s unlucky to give something sharp.”
“Whatever. But you’re probably going to need it.”
Justine pulled on the backpack. She let her water bottle hang from one of the metal hooks on the side. She had her fanny pack around her stomach, and she attached the knife there. The heat radiated, pressing sweat drops from her hair fastener. She thought… no she didn’t want to think. If she began thinking, she would lose all her energy; she wouldn’t be able to make it through.