After the Ashes (25 page)

As far as Merak was, we knew the journey was our only hope. The longer we sat exposed on this beach, the weaker we would become.

Brigitta stood. “Oh!” She swayed, and I grabbed the bottom of her shirt to keep her from pitching forward.

“Are you well?” I asked.

She pressed her palm to her forehead. “A bit dizzy. Give me a moment.” She closed her eyes and took some calming breaths. “Now.” She reached out a hand for me. “I'm better now.”

Helping me to my feet, she held me while a wave of dizziness passed over me as well.

We made our way out of Anjer as best we could. The Great Post Road was destroyed. We had only our memories to guide us. But as long as we stayed close to the beach, we knew we should be able to find Merak.

We walked and we walked and we walked.

Brigitta led the way, wrapping my arm about her neck and shoulders. We said nothing, keeping our eyes on the ground. I didn't have the strength to lift my head. My feet dragged.

Had we passed the mosque yet?

“Mosque?” I croaked. My voice scratched my throat.

“Think . . . we . . . passed . . . ,” Brigitta wheezed. Her voice came from a distance.

I hadn't seen it. The mosque had always been visible from the ocean. Now it had vanished. It, too, was destroyed by the wave.

Which meant, if they had reached it . . .

Indah and Slamet were gone, too.

Indah and her struggle to prepare Dutch food. Her pride in her small successes. Her fierce love for Slamet.

Slamet. The Slamet I used to know. Climbing trees with me in the jungle. Racing on the beach to see who would reach the docks first. The boy who knew so much about the jungle's vegetation.

I wanted to weep for them, but somehow I couldn't. I couldn't feel much of anything at that moment.

Brigitta maneuvered us around more bodies and debris. It was going to take us days to reach Merak.

And we still hadn't found any food.

“Need . . . to rest . . . Katrien.” She panted.

I sank to the ground with her, my legs wedged under me at an awkward angle. Brigitta—her kindness amazed me—dug a little channel with her hands. “Legs . . . out . . . now?”

“Dank u.”
I moaned as the sand cut into my feet when I stretched them in front of me.

The sun sat high over our head. The ugly sight of floating bodies blighted the beautiful sea.

Our breath came in short bursts, and my heart felt like it would surge out of my chest. My face crumpled, and now I would have cried if my body had let me.

She placed a gentle hand on my knee. “It's normal . . . to mourn.” Her voice broke. “To grieve.”

I wiped my face. “I know.”

“We're both lucky, you know.” As we rested and gathered what little energy we had, we could talk again.

“What makes you say that?”

Sadness filled her face, but she, too, had no tears. “We're not alone. We have each other. We both know what we've lost.” Brigitta's hand sat on my knee, giving me a slight squeeze.

“How is it that you have the right words to say, Brigitta?”

“It's what my father said to us when my baby sister died.”

“You had a baby sister? Why don't I remember her?”

Her voice turned wistful. “She didn't live even two days, but we all loved her. She was beautiful. Born with a full head of blond curls. Can you believe that? She looked just like my doll.”

“How old were you?”

“Five.”

I pushed Sister Hilde's spectacles up. “I was six when my mother died.”

“I barely remember when that happened. How did she die? My parents never told me.”

Shaking my head, I said, “I don't know. She was sick for a very long time.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No. I think that made it easier. She was in pain, and when she died, she wasn't in pain anymore. It made the grieving easier. Vader let me run a little wild after that.”

“Just a little?” She smiled.

“Maybe more than a little.” I let out a sound that was supposed to be a laugh though it came out more like a bark. “But then he decided I needed a woman's influence and sent for my aunt. She was still living in the Netherlands at the time.”

“Where is your family from? In the Netherlands.”

“Groningen. Vader and Oom Maarten both went to university there.”

“Where is your uncle now?”

“He's in Batavia.” A thought flickered through my mind. I had just enough strength to latch onto it. “
Ja!
Brigitta, Oom Maarten is in Batavia!”

She looked at me like I had grown another head. “You just said that.”

“No, don't you see? We can go to Batavia! He has a little house.”

Understanding lit her face. “Oh! A plan!” Her whole demeanor brightened.

“Ja,”
I said, nodding. “A wonderful plan.”

But then she deflated. “Are you sure your uncle would let me stay?”

“Of course. Oom Maarten is a bit ridiculous but his heart is good.”

She bit her lip and opened her mouth. Paused. Tried again.

“What is it, Brigitta?”

“Would . . . would
you
mind if I stayed with your uncle?” she asked in a tiny, hesitant voice.

There was a time I would have said, “
Ja
, I would mind.” But that wasn't true anymore. We had survived a cataclysm of disasters and emerged on the other side, battered but alive. And together. I found I no longer felt hostile or tense in Brigitta's presence. Our world had changed. Perhaps our relationship was changing, too. I grinned. “I would mind if you didn't.”

She choked on her emotion. “Do you know what I think, Katrien?”

“What?”

“I think we should have stayed friends. I'm sorry we ever fought.”

“Why
did
we fight, Brigitta?”

“It was at my birthday party. Don't you remember?”

I nodded. “Of course I remember. But I still don't know why you got so angry.”

“Oh.” She played with the hem of her oversized shirt. “Well, first off, that bug terrified me.”

“Insect.”

“I still don't know how you can touch those things, especially pick one up.” She shuddered. “They're hideous.”

“That's it?” I asked, flabbergasted. “You were scared of the beetle?”

“No, Katrien, that's not it.” She held my gaze. “I thought, by choosing to play with that bug instead of me, by suddenly wandering away from our game as if you had something more important to do, that you were insulting me in some way. Or even trying to get attention for yourself, waving it in everyone's face and making them cry like
that. It was my birthday. My special day. I had been so nice to you. But, to me, it looked like you preferred bugs, and that made me mad.”

“I guess we both let that fight ruin our friendship. Tante Greet always wanted me to renew it.”

“Why don't we try now?” Brigitta asked.

I smiled and watched as the sun began its descent beyond Sumatra. “Have you ever been to the Netherlands?” I asked.

She shook her head. “My mother's parents are still in Amsterdam. Have you been?”

“No. Vader and Tante Greet thought I should visit next year. In fact, they were discussing that very thing before the eruption. At first, I didn't want to go, but now . . .” My voice faded, and I waved my hand at the devastation before us. “What about your father's family? I get the impression they aren't from Amsterdam.”

“They lived in a small town east of Batavia.” She lay down beside me.

“Your father is from Java?” Surprise filled my voice.

She nodded.

“How did he meet your mother?”

“At university. She wasn't a student, of course, but she attended some of the social events. Father didn't usually go to the dances, but some friends talked him into it. That's where he met Mother. They always said it was love at first sight.”

“That's a nice story.”

“How did your parents meet?”

“I . . . I don't know,” I answered wistfully. The clouds above us changed shape from a rusa deer to the long catlike shape of a binturong. Why didn't I know more about my parents' lives? The truth was, I never asked. I suddenly wanted to change the subject. “Did your father always want to come back to Java?” I asked.

“
Ja
. It was his home. He found work with the government and proved himself worthy of every opportunity he was given.” Pride rang through her entire being.

“I didn't know him very well, but I told you that Vader liked
him, and that's the truth.” I squeezed her hand. “I'm sorry he's gone.”

Sensing her sadness, I tried to think of something more cheerful.

“Did you know, my tante Greet had the most difficult time adjusting to the weather here?” I said, smiling. “I remember when she first arrived, she had a lace fan that she waved back and forth, back and forth. She would say, ‘I am sweating carrots,' and then whip that fan even faster. I asked if she was trying to create a typhoon.”

Brigitta laughed. “What did she say?”

“She told me not to be impertinent. And Vader said I was being rude.”

“Rude? How is that rude?”

I shrugged. “I'm not sure. I told him I was only having fun, but he didn't want me teasing people. He said life was too short not to be taken seriously.” It felt wrong to talk about Vader in this way, as if I was betraying him. “I think I understand what he meant, now.”

Brigitta patted my hand. Darkness fell, and we continued talking until exhaustion overtook us.

The sun baked my skin as it rose the next morning, and an awful odor smothered me. I gagged and coughed.

“What is that smell?” Brigitta asked, sitting up.

The answer came to me as I caught my breath. “It must be all the bodies. They're beginning to . . .”

“To rot,” she finished.

I nodded, managing to sit up beside her. I looked down at my legs and inspected my feet. They were still swollen and red, and small cuts and nicks covered the soles and tops. The truth of my predicament hit me hard. “Brigitta, I can't walk anymore.”

She nodded.

“I know our plan was to get to Batavia, but I don't think I can make it.” I pushed Sister Hilde's spectacles up. “I'm sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“For getting us in this mess. Perhaps it would have been better if the wave had washed us away. We would be out there.” I pointed to the body-filled Sunda Strait. “We wouldn't be suffering now.”

“Don't say that, Katrien. You have nothing to be sorry for.” She pulled her shirt off and laid it over my bare legs.

“You should go on without me,” I said dully. I could barely feel the cloth on my skin.

“Have you lost your mind? Definitely not.”

I didn't respond. I couldn't respond. We had no food, no water and no way to get to Batavia. We were going to die here.

What would that be like? Letting go of life? Was it easy? I remembered my mother's last days. They hadn't seemed easy.

I thought about everything I would miss. The discoveries I would never make. New ideas I would never learn.

I would never prove Mr. Charles Darwin's theory of natural selection.

“
When we reflect on this struggle we may console ourselves with the full belief that the war of nature is not incessant, that no fear is felt, that death is generally prompt
.”

The sun climbed into the sky, and the smell grew stronger. I covered my nose with my hand, but it did little to help.

The sunlight dancing on the water's surface and the waves rocking the bodies in a gentle rhythm hypnotized me. Brigitta sat by my side, her eyes half closed and her hand over her face, too.

No one was left.

Vader. Tante Greet. Indah. Slamet. Mr. and Mrs. Burkart. Little Jeroen. Sister Hilde. Wilhemina De Graff. The man whose shirt we took.

Even Krakatau itself was gone.

My head drooped, and I fell back against the hot sand, waiting for death to take me, too.

It was then that Brigitta shook me. “We can't stay here.” Her voice was the barest whisper. I strained to hear it over the ocean's waves.

Unable to argue, I squinted at her in confusion. “Where are we going?” My own voice came out like the sigh of a butterfly.

She pointed to her left ear. “What?”

Struggling to sit up, I couldn't speak any louder. Using my finger, I scrawled my question into the sand, hoping she could read my dreadful writing.

She shook her head.

I swept over my words and tried again. Slower. Careful to form each letter. My eyes swam, and the letters danced under my finger.
Was I even writing Dutch? I couldn't read what I wrote. How could Brigitta?

She must have, though, because she pointed north.

“How?” I wrote and gestured to my feet. They were a violent shade of red now.

Crawling on her hands and knees, she beckoned me.

Through sheer force of will, I managed to copy her. The sand coated my damp palms and stuck in the wrinkles of my knees.

My neck prickled with heat, and I fought dizziness even though I wasn't standing. The beach tilted, and I stumbled to my elbows over and over again.

This was futile. We couldn't crawl to Batavia.

I collapsed. With my last bit of strength, I tossed a small piece of wood at Brigitta. She stopped and turned to me.

Shaking my head, I said, “I can't go on.” No sound came out. My heart beat so fast I thought it would burst from my chest. I couldn't seem to get enough air, and I panted rapidly. The world tilted again, and I collapsed onto the sand.

Making her way back to me, Brigitta cradled my head in her lap. Her face was bright pink from the sun, and her cracked lips were white and flaky.

I tried to lick my own lips, but my tongue felt thick and useless, like a dry bit of meat stuck in my mouth.