End of the Ocean Read online

  She gave him his change and bagged his groceries.

  As Sage was about to leave he saw several pair of sunglasses for sale on the wall behind her and he picked up a pair of those to replace the ones that had disappeared.

  She bowed at him and he bowed at her, and, after carrying his purchases to his motorbike in two red plastic bags, he hung them from a hook on the steering column and put on his helmet and sat down and started his motorbike and left Bintang. Turning left, he merged with traffic, finding Bangkiang Sidem with no trouble, feeling good about this time by himself, going out on his own, interacting with locals, shopping and dealing with new currency, all of which was confusing but he felt confident.

  He found the house and parked his motorbike and saw there was another motorbike.

  Taking his bags, he walked around the side of the house and down the stairs and found a man and woman waiting.

  “Hello,” Sage said.

  The man walked toward him and bowed and said he was Wayan. His wife said she was Putu.

  “Sage,” he said, unable to extend his hand since they held his bags.

  Putu told Sage she was his pembantu, and it was her job to clean his room.

  Wayan, who did not speak English, grunted and pointed to the pool and Putu told Sage that Wayan’s job was to clean it, which she said he had already done.

  Wayan nodded when she finished speaking, as if to acknowledge he had indeed cleaned the pool and believed he’d done a good job.

  “OK,” Sage said. He thanked Wayan and told him it looked good, though in reality it looked no different than it had before he left.

  “I clean room now,” Putu said.

  Sage shook his head no and told her that was OK.

  “It looks fine.”

  “I come back tomorrow,” she said.

  “No that’s all right, really.”

  “Next day.”

  Her husband nodded at Sage.

  “Sure,” he said. “Why not? Even though it will still be clean, you can come back the day after tomorrow and clean it anyway.”

  Putu and Wayan nodded.

  “You pay now,” she said.

  Sage looked at her.

  “For pool clean and for room clean you pay now, in two day I come back and clean room.”

  Sage set down his bags and removed his wallet and, not knowing how much to offer, offered her one hundred thousand rupiah, the pink one, as was his custom to avoid math.

  Putu took it from him and bowed. She and Wayan left.

  “No change?”

  They continued up the wide steps around the house and acted as though they had not heard him.

  Sage, unlocking the lock, removed it and opened the tall narrow door and a lizard ran across his foot. He jumped and laughed at himself. And even though he was alone, he looked around anyway to be sure no one had seen him.

  Picking up his bags, he took them inside and set the peanuts on the counter and put the water in the refrigerator. His candy bars were melted into nothing but dark black goo that he threw in the trash rather than eat, but he did help himself to some peanuts.

  He grabbed a bag and his jug of water and walked across the main room, sat on the worn bed, and, after opening the bag and smelling the peanuts, tasted one. It smelled like a peanut and tasted like a peanut so he ate it. Then he devoured several handfuls and took a drink of water and tried to sit on the bed in a way that offered even the most basic level of comfort but found none.

  He lay down. Ate more peanuts lying on his back. He tried to relax, wishing the muscle he pulled would heal quicker, and fell asleep. When he opened his eyes he saw her standing in the doorway, sun behind her, light enveloping her in a burnt orange hue.

  He watched her in this soft, warm moment, thankful for the dream.

  She said, “Halo.”

  He opened his eyes fully and, turning to his side, felt the sharp prick of a spring stab his ribcage.

  “Halo, Sage, sorry I wake you. I knock but you sleeping.”

  He could not believe she was there. “Ratri?”

  He sat up and she waved and he wondered how long she had watched him.

  Sage stood, shirtless. Walking toward her with half-drunken steps, he ran a hand through his mess of dark brown hair and smiled.

  “If you need new phone I take you now.”

  “Thank you,” he said, more surprised still. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

  “You are welcome, Sage. I not forget,” she said. She told him they should probably hurry, she did not know how long the store would be open. “It is small place on side of road.”

  After slipping on a white T-shirt, tight across the chest and shoulders, Sage grabbed his helmet and his wallet and his keys and left the room, locking the padlock. He followed Ratri up the steps, to the front of the house, trying not to stare as she climbed, forcing his eyes to the ground.

  “That your neighbor,” she said, once she reached the top step, pointing toward the tall stone house beside his. “His name Raziff, he architect. He always work in Singapore.”

  “I think I saw him the other day,” Sage said.

  “Yes, he gay. If he see you he will come and talk to you.”

  “OK,” Sage said. “I’m afraid he might be disappointed.”

  She laughed and climbed on a pink motorbike.

  He watched her.

  “You want to follow me, Sage?”

  Sage would follow her anywhere. He followed her on Bangkiang Sidem until she stopped her motorbike after the first sharp curve to the left and he stopped beside her. Pointing to a small building on the right, she told him that was a laundry, for when he needed to clean his clothes.

  “Thanks,” he said, appreciating her thoughtfulness.

  They rode to the phone store, which was a small hut he had passed earlier on the way to Devilicious. Ratri talked to a man who was working, who then asked Sage if he could see his phone.

  He handed it to the man and the man looked at it and said it was no good.

  “Tidak bagus,” he said. Then Ratri said, “It’s done.”

  Sage, expecting this, asked if he could buy a new phone. The man nodded and said he had a new phone with a new Internet card and he would charge Sage a fair price for the phone and sell him a card that cost eighty-five thousand rupiah, which was about six dollars and fifty cents, which was a very good price for Internet connection for one month.

  Sage said he would take it. He opened his wallet and removed another pink bill.

  “Wait minute,” Ratri said. Taking his wallet, she removed a handful of bills—blue ones and greens ones and bills the color of sunburnt sand—and handed the proper amount to the man, who accepted it and bowed.

  “Here,” she said. “It OK if I help you?”

  “Please,” Sage said. “I need all the help I can get.”

  She grinned, and he liked the way her lips came apart—slightly—just enough to show her teeth. Small and straight and the perfect shade of alabaster.

  “This help,” she said, arranging the bills in his wallet from smallest amount to greatest. “Look,” holding up his wallet and showing him the new arrangement. “Pink in back, on right side—that one hundred thousand,” she said. “Then blue, fifty thousand, green is twenty thousand, purple is ten thousand but rest very small.”

  “Thank you,” Sage said. “This whole time I’ve just been shoving money in there.”

  She gave him a look that could have been a smirk and told him she could see that.

  The man behind the counter inserted a new sim card in the new phone and turned it on and set it up and handed it back to Sage. The new name in the screen read Telkomsel.

  They returned to their motorbikes and Ratri climbed on hers and put on her helmet and told Sage she would see him later.

  “Wait,” he said, without really thinking about what he would say next.
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br />   She looked at him.

  What the hell was he doing?

  “You hungry? Get some food?”

  She looked at him but did not say anything.

  “If you’re busy that’s fine, I just thought I could buy you dinner for helping with my phone—really, it’s the least I could do. You’ve been a big help to me.”

  Ratri said, “OK.”

  “What sounds good?”

  She looked at him and he could see she was confused but trying hard to figure it out on her own without making him repeat himself.

  “What kind of food do you like?”

  “Oh, I like all kind,” she said. “What about you, Sage?”

  “I like pizza.”

  “Pizza?”

  “I love it. What about you, Ratri? You like pizza?”

  “Yes I love it, Sage. You would like Pizza Bagus. It is good. I ate there once.”

  “Only once?’

  “It expensive for Indonesian.”

  “OK,” Sage said, feeling like an asshole because he had embarrassed her. “That sounds great. Pizza Bagus, I’ll follow you.”

  Ratri pulled onto the main road and passed Devilicious and Bintang and the road to Pennastanan. She crossed the bridge by the Blanco Museum and climbed a long hill that was heavily shaded by overhead branches that dropped very low and hung over the road.

  Sage followed her. It was late evening and the air had begun to cool but it was still hot. Ratri wore shorts and a short-sleeved shirt with her Converse All Stars, but some women he saw on motorbikes wore long coats and gloves, even in the heat.

  They passed the King’s Police Crossing at the square and traffic was much thicker and people rode crazier and it got harder and harder not to lose her but he didn’t. He stayed behind her. They turned. Riding toward Monkey Forest, the road split and they followed that split to the left instead of the right, passing Taco Casa. They stopped at a restaurant after that with a sign in front that read Pizza Bagus.

  “We here,” she said, climbing off of her motorbike and removing her helmet.

  Sage parked and removed the key. Hanging his helmet from the handle bar, he asked her if she was ready and she nodded. He motioned for her to walk first, and then followed her over the sidewalk, onto the porch, through the glass front doors, and inside.

  The air had an unexpected chill. Sage sighed appreciatively, having already decided Pizza Bagus was his new favorite restaurant. It was rare to find a place in Bali with working air conditioning.

  They took a seat and ordered drinks and read a menu, deciding on a Bianca, which looked good in the picture, and then talked until the food arrived. He drank beer and she had water. When the food came they ate, enjoying one another’s company for several hours. Though they had little in common it did not matter. On the contrary, it made her more appealing. It made the night more interesting and he knew that he wanted to know her.

  It was late when they left. Sage had a long ride home, but he studied the map and it looked easy. Turn left on Monkey Forest Road and follow that passed the soccer field by Dewi Sita then turn left at the fork.

  He pulled out of the restaurant and made his way home. Finding the sharp turn to the left, he took it, rode to Monkey Forest and followed that road past the soccer park like the map said to do. He turned right and followed that to the fork and turned left.

  He thought about her as he rode.

  Ratri left the restaurant behind Sage. She would return home and spend the evening with her family. She had a long week ahead of her, she worked several jobs—at the laundry and the warung, and when she wasn’t doing that she worked at an art gallery.

  Now she had a new friend: the American. He was different from the ones she’d met before. She did not know what, but there was something about him. She liked his deep blue eyes.

  She thought about him as she rode.

  Amed

  At the end of his second week in Bali, Sage rode his motorbike to a café in Ubud, on Jl. Goutama. Every day he tried some place new. When he entered, a young Indonesian woman, small and pretty with long dark hair in a braid, asked if he would like a menu.

  He nodded and took a seat on a short wooden stool and ordered a Coca-Cola.

  She brought him a Coke and a menu and returned to what she’d been doing before Sage sat down, talking to a customer.

  Sage was hungry and he’d realized early on he liked Thai chicken curry so that was the first thing he looked for on any menu and as soon as he found it he closed the menu.

  When she returned, he placed his order and she repeated it back to him.

  “You want Thai chicken curry?”

  “Yes,” he said. “The waitress at the last place suggested I come here.”

  She bowed and turned and walked down short concrete steps to a small basement where they did the cooking. When he looked up he saw a familiar face. It was that crazy Australian he’d been talking to on the plane. Or was he an Englishman? Born in London, raised in Brisbane. That’s what he’d said.

  What was his name? Wayne. Wayne something.

  “Wayne Tender,” the man said.

  Sage blinked and realized he’d been staring.

  Wayne stood and, walking toward Sage, repeated himself.

  “Remember me?” he said, sticking out his hand, sitting down on a small wooden stool beside Sage. “It’s Wayne Tender.”

  “Oh yeah,” Sage said, shaking his hand. “How you doin’, stranger?”

  “I’m hot.”

  “No shit. I don’t know how anyone gets used to this heat.”

  Wayne shrugged. “You do, but its worse this time of year.”

  “I know,” Sage said. “Rainy season.”

  “That’s right,” Wayne said. “Bloody rainy season. Hell, I’m surprised it’s not raining now. How’d the sky look when you walked in, mate?”

  Sage had no idea how the sky looked because he had not paid attention, but he did not want to look like he did not know so he said the sky looked fine.

  “Not a cloud in sight.”

  “Good,” Wayne said. He adjusted his position on the stool and took stock of the American. “So, how you like Bali?”

  “I don’t know where to start,” Sage said, as three women in skin-tight yoga pants walked by in half-shirts with bodies that were hard and lean.

  Wayne, pointing, said, “I’d start right there.”

  They both laughed. Sage agreed; that was a good place to start.

  “That’s Ubud,” Wayne said. “Yoga retreat capital of the world.”

  “Really?”

  “For the ones who can afford it.”

  That was true. Everywhere Sage looked he saw women. Some beautiful, some not, but all of them were fit and trim and proud of their bodies and the work they put into them.

  “You stay here, in Ubud?” Wayne asked.

  “Yeah, out on,” Sage stopped and thought. It was hard to remember. “It’s out there past Fly Café. You turn right and follow that road to the laundry, then you go right. It’s Bung king …something? I can’t remember.”

  “You mean Bangkiang Sidem?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Nice,” Wayne said. “Good area. Beautiful.”

  They talked while they waited and Wayne ordered a beer. He ordered one for Sage, too. “What’d you think of Bintang?”

  “I’m getting used to it,” Sage said, realizing for the first time the beer he loathed had the same name as the store where he bought his peanuts, and before he could ask Wayne why that was he said, “Try this,” as Ogi, their waitress, brought Sage a San Miguel Light.

  Sage took it and, thanking her with a smile she returned, raised the bottle and swallowed a mouthful then set it down and licked his lips.

  “That’s actually good.”

  “Better than Bintang—that tastes like cold piss in a bottle.”

 
“It does, I hate it.”

  “Thought you said you liked it.”

  “I said I was getting used to it.”

  “But you really hate it.”

  Sage shrugged, not wanting to offend and not knowing if such a comment would.

  “You Americans and your cordiality.”

  Ogi brought his food and Sage thanked her. Wayne talked to Ogi while Sage ate.

  Sage was impressed with the curry, but more impressed by Wayne’s ability to attract someone as beautiful as Ogi. Wayne Tender had pretty good game, and what he lacked in civility he made up for with charm. He was easy to talk to.

  They talked and drank, and by the time Sage finished his food he had ordered his third beer—no, it was his fourth beer—and Wayne, quite drunk but with an air of charisma about him, told Sage it was time for something special.

  “You trust me, Sage?”

  “I barely know you.”

  “True. But do you trust me?”

  “Define trust.”

  “My God, man. Just walk on the wild side for once. You with me?”

  “Sure.” Sage shrugged, half-drunk, feeling good. He said he was with him.

  Wayne spoke to Ogi in what Sage assumed was Indonesian, and she laughed, saying, “No way, José.”

  Wayne repeated himself and Ogi said no but Wayne persisted. Finally, Ogi agreed, though somewhat reluctantly, and walked downstairs.

  When Ogi returned she had a tall, cold glass in each hand.

  “What’s this?” Sage said.

  Ogi said, “You have to ask Wayne Tender.” She pointed. “Mister Big Shot over there.”