Ever since he was four, he'd been tutored privately in English at his father's insistence. He nodded over his shoulder at a gleaming white sailboat that had just anchored off the jetty. He flipped through pages with oil-smudged fingers and found what he was looking for. The big white man held an English-Indonesian dictionary in his hand. Even the half-grown orange cat rubbing against the boy's ankle seemed foreign. Father, mother, daughter, and son, their long noses red from the sun. He jerked upright, staring dumbfounded at the Western family standing before him. He'd have a quick nap, just a minute's snooze. Ruslan frowned, an uneasy feeling pricking him, but the water quickly cleared to its usual murky green. Its propeller churned the low tide, stirring up black sand and muck into a dark boil. A big tug tied to the pier released its ropes and gunned its diesel, smoke belching from its stack. Tiny waves lapped against the shore's breakwater. One could sin against God, sure, but how could one sin against the police?Ī breeze ruffled the harbor's water, and the sun twinkled off its surface. Was it a sin to drive his father's motor scooter without a license? Ruslan didn't think so. The preacher had warned of the coming flood of God's judgment for liars and sinners. Why was he having such awful nightmares? Perhaps it was the sermon at the mosque the other Friday. He cradled his head on his outstretched arm. All he knew was its color.Īfter the morning's only customer paid his bill and left the waterfront café, Ruslan sat down at a rickety plywood table shaded by one of the palm trees. He often swam in the rivers and played in the ocean waves, but this drowning water was different. Perhaps if he could draw the drowning nightmare, he could banish it as well.īut he didn't know how to draw it. The monster never bothered his sleep again. He'd drawn its picture, its scaly body and fanged head and barbed tail, and then ripped the monster in half. He knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, so he sat down at his desk, turned on the light, and opened his sketch pad.įour years ago, when he was twelve, he'd had nightmares of a monster. In the distance, beyond the shacks and houses of Ujung Karang, moonlight glittered on the sea. He swung out of bed to stand in front of the second-story window, taking deep breaths of the cool night air. The water rushed in from nowhere, from everywhere, swallowing him in an instant.

The Killing Sea by Richard Lewis