Читать книгу A Death in Bali - Nancy Tingley - Страница 12

4

Loud splashing and hollering from the pool awakened me from my afternoon drowse. My first thought was that maybe I should have taken that quiet bungalow at the far end of the compound. My second contradicted the first, as any more sleep and I’d be awake all night. My third was of blood glistening on a lovely, sharp blade. Veering from that last thought, I let my ears take over, listening to men laughing, water lapping against the side of the pool. A swim sounded good.

As I rolled onto my side I felt the hard amulet press against me. Sitting up, I pulled the silk bag out of my pocket and looked at it for a long moment. I turned it over in my hand, tested the strings that opened it. I thought, if I don’t open and examine it closely, it won’t mean anything. But that was magical thinking.

It felt hot in my hand, like metal in the noonday sun. I must have been lying on it, though I’d awakened on my back, in the same position I’d fallen asleep. Strange. I ran my finger over the bag, then yanked at the strings.

The tiny sculpture dropped into my hand. I took a single long look before I put him back. I’d seen him before, or a figure like him. My hands trembled as I pulled the strings tight to rid myself of his accusing gaze.

Shaken, I put the silk bag in my toiletry kit and prepared for a swim.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I cursed bathing suit makers for the thousandth time. Why can’t they make bikini tops to fit me? Not all large-breasted women wear a size 16; some of us are small-boned and petite. I readjusted the cups that were too far apart and revealed more than I wanted to reveal. No time to fix that now. No diving today.

By the time I got outside, the racket had died down and the men I’d heard lay dripping on lounge chairs. A French couple had taken over one end of the small pool, their chaises far from each other and their voices loud to cover the distance. The man’s intonation reminded me of an old boyfriend. A French boyfriend dimmed by the men I had known since.

A single chair crowded the narrow side of the pool, and another was set close to the men. About my age, though moments before they had been acting like they were twelve. I had no problem with being twelve; sometimes I was twelve myself. I headed toward the chair near them, the fragrance of the plumeria tree a remembered scent.

“The water’s great,” the shorter, hirsute one said to me in an American accent.

“I heard,” I said as I pulled the chaise so that it wasn’t too close to them.

“Did we wake you?” asked the other. Another American. He was tall, lean, and very tanned, which suggested they’d been in the tropics a while. His short hair revealed a single pierced ear with a tiny lapis earring. I noted that he didn’t have any visible tattoos, and probably none at all, given the size of his bathing suit. That was good. I don’t like tattoos; too permanent. I’ve sworn never to sleep with a man with tattoos or more than three piercings. Alam had neither.

“Wake me?” I rubbed my face to erase any pillow creases on my cheek.

He pointed and laughed. “You still have an earplug in one ear.”

“Ah. I thought you were making an insightful guess.” I pulled out the plug and stuck it in my bag.

“Maybe you just arrived?”

“Yep, jet lag.” And death, I thought as I arranged my towel on the chair. “Have you been here long?”

“No, got here a couple of days ago. Came from Thailand through Singapore. This is the finale of the trip. My name’s Seth, by the way.” He raised his hand.

“Randall,” said his friend.

“I’m Jenna. What do you do when the trip ends?” I took off my sarong.

“We have to get back to the States, to jobs.” Seth raised his beer bottle in a toast.

I held up the sunscreen in response, wondering if I needed it this late in the afternoon.

“We hope to jobs,” Randall said, sitting up a little as he watched me. He ducked his head toward Seth. “He has more interviews.”

The Frenchman burst out laughing, and his wife threw a towel at him.

“What kind of work do you do?”

“Just passed the bar.”

“And a last trip before the grind?” I asked as I stretched out, the chair feeling a bit like a ship at sea. Jet lag wooze.

He nodded. “This is our celebration. You?”

“Here for work and I’m taking advantage of the free flight by adding on a two-week vacation. Seeing the sights, enjoying the sun.”

“Your first time in Indonesia?”

“No, my family spent a summer in Bali when I was eight.”

“I imagine a lot has changed. What do you do?”

“Museum curator.”

“You’re working here as a curator?” Randall brightened, clearly impressed.

“No, no, I work in California, in Marin. I’m here to research Balinese paintings. My museum has a large collection, and we’re planning an exhibition.” I was conscious of them looking at me. “I think I’ll get into that water.”

I WAS floating beneath the plumeria tree, its long, curving branches hanging over the pool to provide shade and an exotic, otherworldly ambiance. I imagined being driven backward by the force of a spear piercing me. If my arms were at my sides, the surprise, the shock of pain would probably keep them at my sides. If I had my arm out, trying to stop the person, then what?

I threw my arm across my eyes, twisted my head to the right, and curled my left leg upward beneath me. All very easy floating in the water. Holding my left shoulder in place proved harder. I thrust and twisted my abdomen, leaving imaginary space beneath me for a six-inch blade. Even in the water, the position wasn’t comfortable. I removed my arm, opened my eyes, and saw Seth standing by the edge looking down at me.

I stood.

A slight smile flickered over his lips. “We’re going to dinner in a bit, then to see a performance of the Rangda and Barong dance. Like to join us?”

I didn’t hesitate. A distraction was just what I needed. “Sure, that would be nice. What time?”

“We’re going to the 7:30 performance at the Royal Palace. There are lots of performances around town, but that promises to be a good one—as far as tourist performances go. See you at 6:30?”

As he walked away, I thought of the pros: nice body, not terribly muscled but not flabby, pleasant face, seemingly intelligent, bushy eyebrows with the one off at an angle giving him a rakish air. A charmer, though I wasn’t sure if that was a pro or a con. Cons: work to do, Wayan Tyo’s family to meet again, staying in the same hotel, his hirsute companion, here only part of my stay. No, the fact that he was here only a short time tallied on the pro side.

I leaned my head back and floated once again. I thought of home and Alam. Alam who called me regularly. Alam whom I’d avoided as best I could since our trip to Cambodia the previous fall. Alam who had said he was persistent and who hadn’t been exaggerating.

We were now eight thousand miles apart, a distance made greater by the decision to reconsider whether or not we wanted to continue seeing each other. I glanced again at Seth, then went back to my floating.