It was Teragia, the only wife of the beautiful Raka; she was greatly revered in the village, though she was still young and awaiting the birth of her first child. The good powers were so strong in her that many could feel them radiating from her. She had the gift of healing and of finding springs, and sometimes the divinity entered into her and spoke through her mouth. She was of high caste, as Raka, too, was, and the doctor of the village was her father and had taught her many formulas and magic prayers. She wiped the blood away from the young man’s forehead with the corner of her sarong and looking round murmured a few words to her servant who knelt beside her. The girl folded her hands in token of obedience and ran off. She quickly returned with a small basket out of which Teragia took a number of large leaves. She put them on the wounded man’s forehead, whereupon the bleeding ceased and the man opened his eyes and sighed. The women uttered exclamations of astonishment and admiration and pressed closer.
Meanwhile Njo Tok Suey had taken charge of the other newcomers. They had brought a few saturated cases with them which they put down on the beach. One of them was a Chinaman too, and he gave a few brief orders in Malay. He was clearly the master of the ship, although he was in a wretched state; his clothes were torn to rags and his chin trembled. Njo Tok Suey supported him and conducted him to the punggawa. The men of Sanur and Taman Sari crowded round, eager not to miss a word. Unfortunately the interview between the punggawa and the two Chinese was carried on in Malay. Krkek pressed forward as near as he could, and even put his hand to his ear to hear better. He translated bit by bit what the three men said for the benefit of his fellows.
“He says his name is Kwe Tik Tjiang. He says he is a merchant from Bandjarmasin. He says his ship is called Sri Kumala.”
There was some laughter at this, for they thought it funny that a ship should have a name like a person. Krkek motioned to them to keep silent so that he could hear.
“He says they anchored yesterday off Bijaung. The storm came up and beat against the ship and broke the anchor cable. He says the ship was tossed to and fro like the shell of a coconut. He says they have been in great terror. They did not think they would ever reach land alive.”
Krkek paused to listen attentively as the Chinaman raised his voice and embarked on a long sentence.
“The Chinese Kwe Tik Tjiang thanks the men for rescuing him and begs leave to retire. He is in pain and very tired,” Krkek then went on.
The crowd murmured its sympathy. The Chinaman stood a moment longer in silence, and looked at the people round him with inflamed and swollen eyes. They stared back at him, for it was not every day that they saw a shipwrecked merchant from Bandjarmasin. The Chinaman tottered as he turned to go, and Njo Tok Suey quickly gave him his support and led him away in the direction of his house.
“He looks like a dead sea-urchin,” the wag Rib said as soon as their backs were turned. There was some laughter at this and the punggawa turned round in annoyance.
“Men of Sanur and Taman Sari,” he said, “I order you to mount a guard to see that nothing is taken from the ship. Whatever is thrown up on the shore is to be stacked up here, so that the Chinese, Kwe Tik Tjiang, loses nothing. Any man who acts contrary to my orders will be severely punished and fined a heavy penalty.”
“So be it!” the men murmured obediently.
The punggawa searched the crowd with his eyes. “Where is Raka?”
he asked. Everyone turned round to look for him.
Raka was standing behind Meru, Pak’s brother, the carver, with his arms affectionately about his shoulders, resting after his exertion. The water ran from his long hair, and though he laughed he looked exhausted. The punggawa stepped up to him, followed by his servant with the indispensable umbrella. “Raka,” he said in a loud voice for all to hear, “I shall inform your exalted friend, the lord of Badung, of your gallantry and readiness. His heart will rejoice to hear a good report of you.”
The men again expressed their assent. Raka raised his clasped hands to his shoulder to thank the punggawa, who then left the beach. The crowd was already dispersing. Some had followed the Chinese to Njo Tok Suey’s house, where they now stood gaping inquisitively over the wall. Others followed the women, who took the young Javanese into the village. Pak stood irresolute. He was proud of Meru for the part he played in the rescue and for the friendly way Raka had leant upon him. Nevertheless, he resolved to warn his younger brother as soon as he got home.
“What we want now, brother,” Raka said to Meru, “is a big jar of palm wine.”
“My belly feels as cold as if I had drunk the whole sea between Bali and Lombok,” Meru replied as they went off hand in hand. Just as Pak was about to follow them, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“You, with a few more, had better mount guard here,” Krkek said. “You are honest and sensible and I can trust you. I will send you food and firing, and perhaps I can pick out a few friends of yours to join you, and then you won’t need to be afraid of the darkness. You shall be relieved at the first hour of the day.”
Pak’s heart sank as he heard this, but Krkek was the most important man of his village and president of the water committee. He was not a man to gainsay. Even the raja had no power over the subak and had to accept its distribution of irrigation water. Nevertheless, Pak attempted a feeble excuse. “I am too tired to stay here as watchman,” he said. “My eyes will shut whether I like it or not. I was at work in the sawah since sunrise. A tired man makes a poor watchman.”
But Krkek would not listen, for it would have compromised his authority if he had revoked his order. “We have all worked in the sawah, brother,” he said mildly as he walked away. “My wall has a hole in it, big enough to let in all the demons, if I don’t mend it up before night,” Pak muttered in an aggrieved tone, but Krkek shut his ears and vanished behind the palm trees that bordered the village. Pak looked round about him. He was almost alone on the beach. There was only Sarda, and a few more with him, crouching beside his boat and chewing sirih. But they were fishermen of Sanur and used to the sea. A few of the ship’s crew were lying down about two hundred paces away. They looked strange and ill-disposed. The natives called out to the foreigners and invited them to join them, but they shook their heads and a little later got up and went away. Pak sighed. He was horribly afraid of the night. Already the sun was sinking in the west. The tide had gone out and the sand extended nearly as far as the wreck and only tiny wavelets nibbled at the shore. A group of children had waded out to the wreck, where they frolicked about with a great show of daring and kicked the water up with their feet. No more hides were floated ashore, but the smell of them pervaded the air and made the watch still more unpleasant.
Pak now felt for the first time how tired he really was. His thighs ached as he squatted beside Sarda. His eyes were haunted by all he had seen and whenever he closed them he saw the ship being battered against the reef. The sky was as green as a ripening rice-field and then as red as the gums of a child at the breast, and then darkness fell. The kulkuls in the villages announced the beginning of the night with short rapid beats.
Pak chewed sirih. His mind wandered, and his head felt empty. A long time passed in this way. Then the women, whom Krkek had sent from the village, arrived with ample supplies of food—rice and vegetables and meat roasted on spits. The light of torches shone out behind them among the palm trunks, and men came with palm wine in hollow bamboo stems. Pak was glad to drink the sweet tuak, for his throat was dry. Dasni, a Sanur girl, squatted in front of him. She had looked at him more than once at the Temple festival and the last rice harvest. She was not exactly ugly, but she had a dark dirty complexion and her breasts were too heavy. She crouched submissively before him and handed him food, gazing attentively while he chewed to see whether he enjoyed it. “I hear you have got a child,” she said. “I hope it will be strong and beautiful and like its father.”
Pak