East of East
Introduction
I got the inspiration for the novel when someone I know well in the Timor-Leste government asked me – a foreigner and non-resident but potentially with commercial interests in the country if I wanted to contribute financially towards his presidential election campaign.
Timor-Leste may be a small country, with barely over one million inhabitants, yet it is a microcosm of classic Southeast Asian politics, where those who have much want even more and will use any available means to get it while the rest of the population struggles to survive. This is a political spy thriller in the tradition of Deighton and le Carré but brought into the twenty-first century with its frank language, exposing base human emotions and not shying away from graphic descriptions, whether of violence or sex.
Timor-Leste may be a small country, with barely over one million inhabitants, yet it is a microcosm of classic Southeast Asian politics, where those who have much want even more and will use any available means to get it while the rest of the population struggles to survive. This is a political spy thriller in the tradition of Deighton and le Carré but brought into the twenty-first century with its frank language, exposing base human emotions and not shying away from graphic descriptions, whether of violence or sex.
Synopsis
East of East is a novel about maturing and realising what really matters, as seen through the eyes of Johan, a young Swedish bartender who unwittingly gets involved in the machinations leading up to the presidential election in Timor-Leste. In a country ripe for plucking through any means available, the takers are legion:
Indonesia cannot forget nor forgive the international community, particularly Australia, for making it give up a territory within its own archipelago. Australia, having for years swindled Timor-Leste over the vast oil and gas reserves in the Timor Sea, is still hurt by the UN ruling against it and will do anything in its power to regain control of the disputed continental shelf. China, as expected, is quietly working on its goal to achieve Third World domination through vast loans and bribes, and sees Timor-Leste as strategically vital to its plans. But so does the US, and it will not allow the country to even contemplate the option of socialism, let alone communism. Meanwhile, a group of American businessmen remember Vanuatu and consider the failed coup there in 1980, staged by the Phoenix Foundation, as a trial run: mistakes made and lessons learned. This time they will get it right, with the tacit support of the US intelligence community, ever paranoid about another communist hotspot, and hinted encouragement from the highest office in the country. The Knights of Autarky, having begun as an innocuous Harvard student club, are on a serious mission and nothing will stop them.
The members of the secretive Lafaek organisation, based on an ancient Timorese crocodile cult, seem to be the only force in the country that opposes foreign intervention in any way they can. But do they really want Timor-Leste to develop and progress? And is their anonymous leader truly patriotic? In a country where you can buy anything you desire as long as you have enough dollars, who do you believe?
Starting out as a working visitor and naive observer, and ending up as a pawn in a high-stakes game, Johan gets inextricably tangled up in a web of deceit and counter-deceit for no other reason than being a genuinely nice guy and the hottest bartender in town. From rowdy bars and private mansions in Bali to luxury hotels in Singapore, to boardrooms and government offices in Dili, Johan is taken for the wildest ride of his life and forced to make some pretty radical decisions. But is he up for the task, and man enough?
Sample
Chapter 1
‘I’ve told you already! That’s everything I know!’
The young man is trussed up like a pig for a Christmas barbecue, lying in a loader bucket with his trainers, trousers and t-shirt stained from the remnants of red clay smeared on the metal surface. Or maybe it’s blood, impossible to tell in the moonlight. Despite a face not even his mother would have recognised – teeth missing, one eye swollen and closed, blood trickling from his nose and ears – he remains defiant. But then, he has nothing to lose.
‘I’m an Australian citizen,’ he declares suppressing a sob, ‘if you don’t let me go they’ll fucking crucify you and this fucking country.’
The man in front of him, standing straight with arms crossed behind his back in a classic military stance, pretends to consider this briefly before shaking his head in regret.
‘You only turis, white boy, no one give shit here,’ the man spits on the ground, loudly and contemptuously, then smiles. ‘But I believe you. You have told me everything so I will let you go now. See, a good man, am I not?’
A nod towards the loader cabin and the diesel engine coughs reluctantly into life, breaking the night silence. The loader’s lights come on, illuminating a heavy wire fence. Beyond it, a flat, featureless concrete slab and a hint of water a few metres in, the surface nearly covered by leaves and twigs. As the water starts sloshing over the edges, the bucket rises in concert with the increased rumble from the engine. The headlights flicker but are sufficient to illuminate the shape that surges from the pool as the loader advances, bucket now high enough to clear the fence. The reptile charges the fence, its snout impotently biting the stainless steel wires. Then it changes its approach, uses the claws to draw itself up. But it is too heavy and cannot sustain this for long. Retreating, it raises its enormous head, jaws snapping, and rhythmically lifts its upper body, pushing off with its forelegs. Not unlike a dog hoping for a treat and expecting to have to put on a performance to get it.
‘Fuck you, man, you said you’d let me go,’ the youngster in the bucket shakes in terror, trying to ignore the crocodile, still refusing to accept what is about to happen.
‘But I am letting you go! I just give you a unique opportunity to meet our local wildlife before you leave us. And experience our true lifestyle. Was that not why you came here in the first place? A white boy looking for adventure? Paid in hard currency and getting to fuck our girls for the price of a drink, thinking you’re better than us. So prove it. If I see you tomorrow at the airport, running back home to your mama, I won’t stop you. Now, try to be a man.’
Another nod and the loader shudders forward as the bucket tilts down. The young man barely starts sliding down as the crocodile pushes itself off the ground in an impressive display of muscle control and hunger. The jaws close on the head with a sickening crunch, silencing any last words, and the animal slides down into the pool trailing the body behind it. A final twitch of the legs before they disappear below the surface, then everything is still, once again.
‘We have much to do. There will be more like him.’
The young man is trussed up like a pig for a Christmas barbecue, lying in a loader bucket with his trainers, trousers and t-shirt stained from the remnants of red clay smeared on the metal surface. Or maybe it’s blood, impossible to tell in the moonlight. Despite a face not even his mother would have recognised – teeth missing, one eye swollen and closed, blood trickling from his nose and ears – he remains defiant. But then, he has nothing to lose.
‘I’m an Australian citizen,’ he declares suppressing a sob, ‘if you don’t let me go they’ll fucking crucify you and this fucking country.’
The man in front of him, standing straight with arms crossed behind his back in a classic military stance, pretends to consider this briefly before shaking his head in regret.
‘You only turis, white boy, no one give shit here,’ the man spits on the ground, loudly and contemptuously, then smiles. ‘But I believe you. You have told me everything so I will let you go now. See, a good man, am I not?’
A nod towards the loader cabin and the diesel engine coughs reluctantly into life, breaking the night silence. The loader’s lights come on, illuminating a heavy wire fence. Beyond it, a flat, featureless concrete slab and a hint of water a few metres in, the surface nearly covered by leaves and twigs. As the water starts sloshing over the edges, the bucket rises in concert with the increased rumble from the engine. The headlights flicker but are sufficient to illuminate the shape that surges from the pool as the loader advances, bucket now high enough to clear the fence. The reptile charges the fence, its snout impotently biting the stainless steel wires. Then it changes its approach, uses the claws to draw itself up. But it is too heavy and cannot sustain this for long. Retreating, it raises its enormous head, jaws snapping, and rhythmically lifts its upper body, pushing off with its forelegs. Not unlike a dog hoping for a treat and expecting to have to put on a performance to get it.
‘Fuck you, man, you said you’d let me go,’ the youngster in the bucket shakes in terror, trying to ignore the crocodile, still refusing to accept what is about to happen.
‘But I am letting you go! I just give you a unique opportunity to meet our local wildlife before you leave us. And experience our true lifestyle. Was that not why you came here in the first place? A white boy looking for adventure? Paid in hard currency and getting to fuck our girls for the price of a drink, thinking you’re better than us. So prove it. If I see you tomorrow at the airport, running back home to your mama, I won’t stop you. Now, try to be a man.’
Another nod and the loader shudders forward as the bucket tilts down. The young man barely starts sliding down as the crocodile pushes itself off the ground in an impressive display of muscle control and hunger. The jaws close on the head with a sickening crunch, silencing any last words, and the animal slides down into the pool trailing the body behind it. A final twitch of the legs before they disappear below the surface, then everything is still, once again.
‘We have much to do. There will be more like him.’
Chapter 2
‘…and there I am, riding a perfect wave, when I spot the bull shark in front of me. Easily ten feet long and hovering just under the surface, only the tip of the dorsal fin showing. And I’m thinking,’ Jake picks up his beer bottle and drains it, ‘dude, you only get one shot at this. So I adjust slightly and make sure I watch the fin as I pass it. But the bloody shark twists and clamps its jaws on the board, just behind my foot, and suddenly I’m in the water next to it.’
‘So, what happened? Did you punch it on the nose?’ a girl asks, eyes wide open and already in love with Jake. ‘How did you get away?’
‘I didn’t. The shark had me for lunch. They found the board a couple of days later, with a big chunk missing.’
‘But… but,’ the girl stammers, scanning the faces around her. Then she looks at Jake, sees him smiling. And everyone starts laughing.
They are sitting at two tables pulled together, a bunch of blue-eyed youngsters in beachwear, recent arrivals to Dili as attested by their sunburnt faces. Jake sits at one end, his sidekick next to him busy shuffling through a stack of papers. This is Cabana, the most popular restaurant and bar in town, and as most foreigners would claim, the only bar worth the name.
‘I’ve just given y’all lesson number one for free, courtesy of Uncle Sam and my experience in this part of the world,’ Jake says disarmingly. ‘The one thing you’ll have to learn fast here is that everyone will bullshit you, all the time. To them, you and your organisations are nothing but a sack of fresh, crispy dollar bills. Never forget that.’
‘But there are procedures,’ a boy pipes up shyly, his blond fringe not quite covering his red and peeling forehead. ‘Every grant request has first to be properly evaluated and signed off by the board before–’
‘Andreas – it’s Andreas, right? – I’m sure you’ve all received training and induction at home before they sent you here, but that was theory.’ Jake looks around the table, making sure he catches everyone’s eyes before continuing. ‘I’m not saying you should forget everything you’ve learned, just that you need to adapt to reality, Timor-Leste style. And to get you going, Zach here has prepared a starter pack for you.’
‘Ah, yes, hi everyone,’ the man next to Jake removes his glasses and distractedly scratches his sparse beard, ‘I’m Zachary, but you already know that. I’ve compiled the most common scenarios that you’ll encounter in your everyday dealings with government people. As well as some quite imaginative scams that have been attempted over the last five years or so.’
‘It’s a comprehensive list but if you do come across something new, talk to me or share it with Zach,’ Jake adds. ‘After all, it’s USAID that funds most of your organisations here, and we want to make sure our dollars go to truly deserving causes. Which doesn’t include a minister’s private pool or a new Toyota for his mistress.’
Jake nods towards Zachary and stands up. Wearing cutoffs and a frayed tank top that show off his lean, muscular body, with a ponytail and a deeply tanned, creased face, he certainly looks like the ultimate surfer dude. Only a close inspection would reveal the slight sagging of the jowls, the grey hairs in the ponytail and the thinning, receding hairline. Jake is no spring chicken, but to the youngsters around the table he is the pinnacle of cool.
‘I’ll go get us another round while Zach distributes the paperwork. And don’t forget next weekend on Atauro. A lot of sessions to get through, but also a lot of fun. Don’t worry about the bull sharks,’ he winks, ‘they’re all on the other side of the island.’
‘Hey, Shayne, you’re still here?’ Jake calls out to the man behind the bar counter, busy wiping and stacking glasses and looking anything but happy. ‘Where’s your bartender? Nursing his hangover with local talent as usual?’
‘Bugger’s gone walkabout, mate. Had my staff go wake him earlier and he wasn’t in the room. All his stuff’s gone too.’ Shayne barely looks up, handling the glasses as if each one was a personal affront.
‘I don’t know why you bother with Aussies, dude. Useless, the lot of them. And unreliable. All they’re good for is getting drunk.’
‘Watch it, mate,’ Shayne growls unconvincingly. ‘You don’t want this Aussie to give you an excuse to visit a local dentist. The one that makes dentures from pig bones.’
‘Yeah, right. At least you’ve got some good genes from your mother. The ones that get the Western babes all wet when you grin at them. Fuck knows how you do it with that ugly mug of yours.’
‘Because I’m still young and virile,’ Shayne counters and shakes his dreadlocks, ‘and exotic. Unlike a certain Yank I know who can only manage to pull chicks with daddy issues.’
‘Ouch, that hurts, man.’
‘Better you than me. Anyway, you want the same again?’ Shayne nods at the table. ‘I’ll call one of the girls to sort you out.’
‘Sure, man. Once you realise that you’re better off with a reliable and permanent bartender, I’ll give you an interview list. All of them clean cut young Americans, eager and ready to make the world a better place. Even if they have to start in a dump like yours.’
‘So, what happened? Did you punch it on the nose?’ a girl asks, eyes wide open and already in love with Jake. ‘How did you get away?’
‘I didn’t. The shark had me for lunch. They found the board a couple of days later, with a big chunk missing.’
‘But… but,’ the girl stammers, scanning the faces around her. Then she looks at Jake, sees him smiling. And everyone starts laughing.
They are sitting at two tables pulled together, a bunch of blue-eyed youngsters in beachwear, recent arrivals to Dili as attested by their sunburnt faces. Jake sits at one end, his sidekick next to him busy shuffling through a stack of papers. This is Cabana, the most popular restaurant and bar in town, and as most foreigners would claim, the only bar worth the name.
‘I’ve just given y’all lesson number one for free, courtesy of Uncle Sam and my experience in this part of the world,’ Jake says disarmingly. ‘The one thing you’ll have to learn fast here is that everyone will bullshit you, all the time. To them, you and your organisations are nothing but a sack of fresh, crispy dollar bills. Never forget that.’
‘But there are procedures,’ a boy pipes up shyly, his blond fringe not quite covering his red and peeling forehead. ‘Every grant request has first to be properly evaluated and signed off by the board before–’
‘Andreas – it’s Andreas, right? – I’m sure you’ve all received training and induction at home before they sent you here, but that was theory.’ Jake looks around the table, making sure he catches everyone’s eyes before continuing. ‘I’m not saying you should forget everything you’ve learned, just that you need to adapt to reality, Timor-Leste style. And to get you going, Zach here has prepared a starter pack for you.’
‘Ah, yes, hi everyone,’ the man next to Jake removes his glasses and distractedly scratches his sparse beard, ‘I’m Zachary, but you already know that. I’ve compiled the most common scenarios that you’ll encounter in your everyday dealings with government people. As well as some quite imaginative scams that have been attempted over the last five years or so.’
‘It’s a comprehensive list but if you do come across something new, talk to me or share it with Zach,’ Jake adds. ‘After all, it’s USAID that funds most of your organisations here, and we want to make sure our dollars go to truly deserving causes. Which doesn’t include a minister’s private pool or a new Toyota for his mistress.’
Jake nods towards Zachary and stands up. Wearing cutoffs and a frayed tank top that show off his lean, muscular body, with a ponytail and a deeply tanned, creased face, he certainly looks like the ultimate surfer dude. Only a close inspection would reveal the slight sagging of the jowls, the grey hairs in the ponytail and the thinning, receding hairline. Jake is no spring chicken, but to the youngsters around the table he is the pinnacle of cool.
‘I’ll go get us another round while Zach distributes the paperwork. And don’t forget next weekend on Atauro. A lot of sessions to get through, but also a lot of fun. Don’t worry about the bull sharks,’ he winks, ‘they’re all on the other side of the island.’
‘Hey, Shayne, you’re still here?’ Jake calls out to the man behind the bar counter, busy wiping and stacking glasses and looking anything but happy. ‘Where’s your bartender? Nursing his hangover with local talent as usual?’
‘Bugger’s gone walkabout, mate. Had my staff go wake him earlier and he wasn’t in the room. All his stuff’s gone too.’ Shayne barely looks up, handling the glasses as if each one was a personal affront.
‘I don’t know why you bother with Aussies, dude. Useless, the lot of them. And unreliable. All they’re good for is getting drunk.’
‘Watch it, mate,’ Shayne growls unconvincingly. ‘You don’t want this Aussie to give you an excuse to visit a local dentist. The one that makes dentures from pig bones.’
‘Yeah, right. At least you’ve got some good genes from your mother. The ones that get the Western babes all wet when you grin at them. Fuck knows how you do it with that ugly mug of yours.’
‘Because I’m still young and virile,’ Shayne counters and shakes his dreadlocks, ‘and exotic. Unlike a certain Yank I know who can only manage to pull chicks with daddy issues.’
‘Ouch, that hurts, man.’
‘Better you than me. Anyway, you want the same again?’ Shayne nods at the table. ‘I’ll call one of the girls to sort you out.’
‘Sure, man. Once you realise that you’re better off with a reliable and permanent bartender, I’ll give you an interview list. All of them clean cut young Americans, eager and ready to make the world a better place. Even if they have to start in a dump like yours.’
Chapter 3
‘Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls!’ The voice reverberates around the dance floor, competing with the bass-heavy techno beat. ‘Please give it up for Captain Swing, the best deejay ever to host a party on the west coast…’ a pause for effect, ‘of Bali! The one and only place to be during this festive season!’
The crowd on the dance floor responds immediately, screaming and howling in appreciation. Bodies glisten with sweat, unhampered by the usual club gear. This is, after all, Seminyak, the upmarket area in southwest Bali, but tonight’s theme is beach party and anything – well, almost anything – is allowed.
‘This is also a sad night,’ the voice continues as, on cue, the music is turned down to a background thump, ‘because our inimitable guest mixologist Joey is leaving us. Returning to a wintry, cold Sweden and his hot girlfriend.’
A murmur of disappointment goes through the clubbers as a spotlight comes on, illuminating a young man behind the bar. Slim but toned, the white t-shirt with a “Drink me!” slogan and a suggestive silhouette underneath in perfect contrast to his tan. His unruly, sun-bleached hair frames a friendly, attractive face. No wonder all the girls let out a collective sigh then start howling and baying towards him.
He smiles shyly and waves towards the dance floor, then picks up three bottles – he may be shy but he knows how to please the crowd – and starts juggling them effortlessly. The roar of appreciation reaches its peak as he catches the bottles one by one – the third one behind his back – and starts pouring the contents into an oversized shaker. The rest of the staff behind the counter join him with a metal bucket that is already full, crushed ice spilling over the edges.
‘To thank you all,’ the voice continues, ‘ for your patronage of the best club in Bali, and to wish Joey a safe trip home, come to the bar now and get your free Seminyak Sunset, our mixologist’s signature cocktail!’
As the thumping from the speakers resumes and the clubbers start flocking around the bar, the promise of a free drink irresistible and everything else forgotten, Joey ducks under the counter top, aiming for an unmarked door behind the bar. Dodging several girls moving in his direction, a couple of which he has been more intimate with that he would ever admit to his girlfriend, he shuts the door behind him and climbs the stairs.
‘Hey, my man, you were great tonight. You sure you don’t want to stay?’
‘I know I was great, Tony. Just as I’ve been great since my first night here. But I miss my girlfriend and I’ve missed a whole semester back home – that’s a lot to catch up. And if you really want me back, I’ll be here for the next Christmas period, I promise. With Emma, she’ll keep me safe from the crazy club girls.’
‘Honestly, if I didn’t know you I’d never believe that you’re Scandinavian. You people are supposed to be sex-crazed and all about free love. Yet you are the most morally righteous person I’ve ever met. I try not to use the word “boring”, because you’re… er, not really, but it’s tempting.’
‘If you ever decide to visit Sweden, you’d be surprised. We’re no longer the world centre of promiscuity. In fact, morality and sexual ethics are a big thing in Sweden nowadays. Love and feelings are more important to us than sex.’
‘So boring… sorry, just thinking aloud. And sorry, where are my manners, can I offer you a drink? I’ve got an excellent single malt here, too good to be shared with the customers, right?’
‘I’ll just have a coke, please, if you don’t mind.’
‘Sure, whatever,’ Tony turns around on his swivel chair and takes out an ice-cold coke from the fridge behind him. ‘I’ve never met a bartender before that doesn’t like alcohol.’
‘I don’t mind booze, you know that, but only in moderation. I don’t like getting drunk. And losing control, that always ends up badly.’
‘Well, in my exp–’
A cheerful, mindless tune interrupts Tony’s reply and triggers an automated response from both of them, digging in their pockets for the pieces of plastic and metal that control their lives. Joey is slightly faster and the first to activate the screen.
‘Sorry, it’s Emma,’ he says, frowning, ‘let me read this.’
There’s a reason why Tony is a successful club owner and not just one of the dime-a-dozen imported club managers in Seminyak. From his many qualities, two stand out: one, he truly cares for his staff; the other is his ability to read people – which he does now, astutely. But he waits for Joey to finish reading the message.
‘I… I should go now,’ Joey whispers.
‘You know,’ Tony nods, ‘it’s never a good idea to trust women. Sooner or later they disappoint you. I’m not necessarily saying that I’m correct in assuming that is the case right now. But your face is not a happy face.’
‘She just broke up with me,’ Joey says, still looking at the screen. ‘The love of my life, the fucking bitch, she just told me that it’s over. On WhatsApp. She already has a new boyfriend, fucking her and sleeping in our bed. I bought that mattress.’
‘That is not good, I know, and not what you expected,’ Tony replies, ‘but once you go back and kick her out of the flat and–’
‘It’s her flat.’
‘So, you get another girl and another flat–’
‘Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a flat in central Stockholm? I’ll have to stay on the waiting list for a decade, just for a shitty student room outside Stockholm. I couldn’t even afford a parking space in a garage in the centre.’
‘Ah, maybe you want to spend some time here thinking about your options. Continue working in the club. Forget women and studies for now. I can get you another visa if you want to stay legal. Just think about it. Anyway, tonight I have a small party at my villa that I planned as a surprise for you. To lament your departure, as it were, but don’t get too cocky about it, we would’ve partied without you anyway. So, are you in?’
‘I’ll take that single malt now, please.’
The crowd on the dance floor responds immediately, screaming and howling in appreciation. Bodies glisten with sweat, unhampered by the usual club gear. This is, after all, Seminyak, the upmarket area in southwest Bali, but tonight’s theme is beach party and anything – well, almost anything – is allowed.
‘This is also a sad night,’ the voice continues as, on cue, the music is turned down to a background thump, ‘because our inimitable guest mixologist Joey is leaving us. Returning to a wintry, cold Sweden and his hot girlfriend.’
A murmur of disappointment goes through the clubbers as a spotlight comes on, illuminating a young man behind the bar. Slim but toned, the white t-shirt with a “Drink me!” slogan and a suggestive silhouette underneath in perfect contrast to his tan. His unruly, sun-bleached hair frames a friendly, attractive face. No wonder all the girls let out a collective sigh then start howling and baying towards him.
He smiles shyly and waves towards the dance floor, then picks up three bottles – he may be shy but he knows how to please the crowd – and starts juggling them effortlessly. The roar of appreciation reaches its peak as he catches the bottles one by one – the third one behind his back – and starts pouring the contents into an oversized shaker. The rest of the staff behind the counter join him with a metal bucket that is already full, crushed ice spilling over the edges.
‘To thank you all,’ the voice continues, ‘ for your patronage of the best club in Bali, and to wish Joey a safe trip home, come to the bar now and get your free Seminyak Sunset, our mixologist’s signature cocktail!’
As the thumping from the speakers resumes and the clubbers start flocking around the bar, the promise of a free drink irresistible and everything else forgotten, Joey ducks under the counter top, aiming for an unmarked door behind the bar. Dodging several girls moving in his direction, a couple of which he has been more intimate with that he would ever admit to his girlfriend, he shuts the door behind him and climbs the stairs.
‘Hey, my man, you were great tonight. You sure you don’t want to stay?’
‘I know I was great, Tony. Just as I’ve been great since my first night here. But I miss my girlfriend and I’ve missed a whole semester back home – that’s a lot to catch up. And if you really want me back, I’ll be here for the next Christmas period, I promise. With Emma, she’ll keep me safe from the crazy club girls.’
‘Honestly, if I didn’t know you I’d never believe that you’re Scandinavian. You people are supposed to be sex-crazed and all about free love. Yet you are the most morally righteous person I’ve ever met. I try not to use the word “boring”, because you’re… er, not really, but it’s tempting.’
‘If you ever decide to visit Sweden, you’d be surprised. We’re no longer the world centre of promiscuity. In fact, morality and sexual ethics are a big thing in Sweden nowadays. Love and feelings are more important to us than sex.’
‘So boring… sorry, just thinking aloud. And sorry, where are my manners, can I offer you a drink? I’ve got an excellent single malt here, too good to be shared with the customers, right?’
‘I’ll just have a coke, please, if you don’t mind.’
‘Sure, whatever,’ Tony turns around on his swivel chair and takes out an ice-cold coke from the fridge behind him. ‘I’ve never met a bartender before that doesn’t like alcohol.’
‘I don’t mind booze, you know that, but only in moderation. I don’t like getting drunk. And losing control, that always ends up badly.’
‘Well, in my exp–’
A cheerful, mindless tune interrupts Tony’s reply and triggers an automated response from both of them, digging in their pockets for the pieces of plastic and metal that control their lives. Joey is slightly faster and the first to activate the screen.
‘Sorry, it’s Emma,’ he says, frowning, ‘let me read this.’
There’s a reason why Tony is a successful club owner and not just one of the dime-a-dozen imported club managers in Seminyak. From his many qualities, two stand out: one, he truly cares for his staff; the other is his ability to read people – which he does now, astutely. But he waits for Joey to finish reading the message.
‘I… I should go now,’ Joey whispers.
‘You know,’ Tony nods, ‘it’s never a good idea to trust women. Sooner or later they disappoint you. I’m not necessarily saying that I’m correct in assuming that is the case right now. But your face is not a happy face.’
‘She just broke up with me,’ Joey says, still looking at the screen. ‘The love of my life, the fucking bitch, she just told me that it’s over. On WhatsApp. She already has a new boyfriend, fucking her and sleeping in our bed. I bought that mattress.’
‘That is not good, I know, and not what you expected,’ Tony replies, ‘but once you go back and kick her out of the flat and–’
‘It’s her flat.’
‘So, you get another girl and another flat–’
‘Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a flat in central Stockholm? I’ll have to stay on the waiting list for a decade, just for a shitty student room outside Stockholm. I couldn’t even afford a parking space in a garage in the centre.’
‘Ah, maybe you want to spend some time here thinking about your options. Continue working in the club. Forget women and studies for now. I can get you another visa if you want to stay legal. Just think about it. Anyway, tonight I have a small party at my villa that I planned as a surprise for you. To lament your departure, as it were, but don’t get too cocky about it, we would’ve partied without you anyway. So, are you in?’
‘I’ll take that single malt now, please.’
●
‘Hello, gorgeous man, I’m Natasha,’ the girl warbles seductively as she sits down next to Joey while another girl gets comfortable on his other side, ‘and this is my best friend Masha.’
The party is in full swing. Most of the guests have by now discovered the pool and the bar attached to it. Not Joey, though. He remains indoors, looking forlorn and nursing a tall glass, half full with what looks like vodka.
‘Hi, ladies,’ He replies distractedly and barely nods, staring at the glass. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You’re Joey, aren’t you? Our Bacchus and Dionysus at the club,’ Natasha exclaims, with Masha nodding enthusiastically. ‘You make us happy every night.’ The girls are doing their best to bounce their tits in his direction, still dripping pool water.
‘But it’s not Joey, is it?’ A man says as he flops down in one of the chairs opposite the sofa, holding a hookah in one hand and proffering the other across the table. ‘Your name is Joehan, am I not right? Joehan Nordeen. A very Malay name. I’m João, by the way.’
Joey, drunk yet still well mannered and reasonably in control of his thought processes, takes the hand. ‘No, it’s actually Johan. Johan Nordin, a very common Swedish name. Pronounced You-ahn. The aitch is silent. And you don’t look very Portuguese to me so we’re even.’
‘Ha, touché! I like you already,’ João replies, amused. ‘I’m Timorese, that’s why–’
‘Hey,’ Natasha interrupts, ‘when did you get invited here, chihuahua? This is between the three of us, so get lost.’ She turns to Joey, offering him a glass with an opaque, brown liquid with unidentifiable bits floating in it – looking anything but appetising. ‘Drink this, it takes you to the stars.’
Joey, or rather Johan, obediently takes the glass, concentrating on which of the two in front of him he should bring to his lips. Natasha helps him as he gulps it down. The minty flavour doesn’t quite mask the taste of soil and manure in his mouth and he starts spitting.
‘What the fuck–’
‘I know, it tastes like shit but it will make you fly,’ she smiles and beckons to Masha. The two of them kiss barely a hand’s breadth away from his face and Johan observes dispassionately – his reality already beginning to warp – their lips and tongues interacting in slow motion, fleshy and glistening and deep red like raw meat, thin strings of saliva appearing then stretching and breaking as their mouths pull apart for an instant only to immediately resume the intimate contact.
‘You will enjoy this as much as we will,’ Natasha promises moments before Johan gives in to the whirlpool that pulls him down, the happiest person in the world. Or maybe it’s a whirlwind taking me to the stars, he has time to think before his brain is overwhelmed with synesthetic sensations.
The party is in full swing. Most of the guests have by now discovered the pool and the bar attached to it. Not Joey, though. He remains indoors, looking forlorn and nursing a tall glass, half full with what looks like vodka.
‘Hi, ladies,’ He replies distractedly and barely nods, staring at the glass. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You’re Joey, aren’t you? Our Bacchus and Dionysus at the club,’ Natasha exclaims, with Masha nodding enthusiastically. ‘You make us happy every night.’ The girls are doing their best to bounce their tits in his direction, still dripping pool water.
‘But it’s not Joey, is it?’ A man says as he flops down in one of the chairs opposite the sofa, holding a hookah in one hand and proffering the other across the table. ‘Your name is Joehan, am I not right? Joehan Nordeen. A very Malay name. I’m João, by the way.’
Joey, drunk yet still well mannered and reasonably in control of his thought processes, takes the hand. ‘No, it’s actually Johan. Johan Nordin, a very common Swedish name. Pronounced You-ahn. The aitch is silent. And you don’t look very Portuguese to me so we’re even.’
‘Ha, touché! I like you already,’ João replies, amused. ‘I’m Timorese, that’s why–’
‘Hey,’ Natasha interrupts, ‘when did you get invited here, chihuahua? This is between the three of us, so get lost.’ She turns to Joey, offering him a glass with an opaque, brown liquid with unidentifiable bits floating in it – looking anything but appetising. ‘Drink this, it takes you to the stars.’
Joey, or rather Johan, obediently takes the glass, concentrating on which of the two in front of him he should bring to his lips. Natasha helps him as he gulps it down. The minty flavour doesn’t quite mask the taste of soil and manure in his mouth and he starts spitting.
‘What the fuck–’
‘I know, it tastes like shit but it will make you fly,’ she smiles and beckons to Masha. The two of them kiss barely a hand’s breadth away from his face and Johan observes dispassionately – his reality already beginning to warp – their lips and tongues interacting in slow motion, fleshy and glistening and deep red like raw meat, thin strings of saliva appearing then stretching and breaking as their mouths pull apart for an instant only to immediately resume the intimate contact.
‘You will enjoy this as much as we will,’ Natasha promises moments before Johan gives in to the whirlpool that pulls him down, the happiest person in the world. Or maybe it’s a whirlwind taking me to the stars, he has time to think before his brain is overwhelmed with synesthetic sensations.
●
‘Welcome back,’ a voice says, ‘there’s a bottle of water. And some Tylenol, if you need it. I know I always do afterwards.’
‘Fuck, what happened?’
‘Nothing much. Just the usual. You took an intercontinental flight with these two,’ João says, pointing offhandedly towards two naked bodies on the floor, a gentle snore emanating from one of the girls, her head nestled between her friend’s thighs. ‘You landed earlier than they expected you to. So you can’t blame them for continuing without you.’
‘Wha–’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about it if I were you. Bali mushrooms are the best in the region, as long as you’re used to them. So,’ João nods happily, ‘you had a good time, they had a good time. No harm in that.’
‘Shit, I don’t do drugs!’
‘Of course you don’t. No one ever does drugs in Bali. It’s illegal, you know,’ João laughs at his own joke.
Johan sits up moaning and fumbles for the strip of tablets, manages to push one out and swallows it followed by half of the contents of the water bottle. Then he starts retching.
‘Yes, that’s the other common reaction. But it should pass soon,’ João says while he sips from a Coke can, patiently waiting for Johan to recover sufficiently. And see the full sunlight through the panorama windows.
‘Oh shit, I’ll miss my flight,’ Johan exclaims.
‘I believe you’ve already missed it,’ João replies, looking at his watch. ‘But why do you want to go back? Tony told me about your girlfriend. And your… housing problem. Why don’t you stay and continue doing what you do best?’
‘What, continue at the club? But my visa is running out.’
‘There are always opportunities for a good bartender. Not just here in Bali,’ João looks around to make sure no one is listening , then leans forward. ‘Ever considered visiting Timor-Leste? A very good friend of mine owns the best bar and restaurant in Dili, and he’s looking for a bartender. Same deal as the one you’ve had with Tony – room and board, and weekly paid salary. And even more than Tony paid you.’
Johan considers this. ‘I’ve heard from some backpackers that it’s very expensive there.’
‘Compared to Indonesia maybe, but only for foreign visitors. They, ah… pay a premium everywhere. For you as a resident it would be different. If you accept this, Shayne will sort out a temporary work visa for you, and also pay for your ticket. There’s a flight tomorrow.’
‘I suppose I can delay university for another semester. I’ve only my thesis left and maybe I can work on it there,’ Johan thinks aloud.
‘Yes, Tony said you’re a very bright kid. What are you studying?’
‘Political science,’ Johan winces. ‘I know, it sounds boring but it isn’t. My thesis is about the current geopolitical chessboard and the emergence of twenty-first century neo-imperialism. Quite fascinating, really.’
‘Well then, Youahn – did I pronounce it correctly? – I think you will discover that my country is like the world in miniature. And get more material than you’ll ever need for your thesis. Now maybe you should put your clothes on.’
‘Fuck, what happened?’
‘Nothing much. Just the usual. You took an intercontinental flight with these two,’ João says, pointing offhandedly towards two naked bodies on the floor, a gentle snore emanating from one of the girls, her head nestled between her friend’s thighs. ‘You landed earlier than they expected you to. So you can’t blame them for continuing without you.’
‘Wha–’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about it if I were you. Bali mushrooms are the best in the region, as long as you’re used to them. So,’ João nods happily, ‘you had a good time, they had a good time. No harm in that.’
‘Shit, I don’t do drugs!’
‘Of course you don’t. No one ever does drugs in Bali. It’s illegal, you know,’ João laughs at his own joke.
Johan sits up moaning and fumbles for the strip of tablets, manages to push one out and swallows it followed by half of the contents of the water bottle. Then he starts retching.
‘Yes, that’s the other common reaction. But it should pass soon,’ João says while he sips from a Coke can, patiently waiting for Johan to recover sufficiently. And see the full sunlight through the panorama windows.
‘Oh shit, I’ll miss my flight,’ Johan exclaims.
‘I believe you’ve already missed it,’ João replies, looking at his watch. ‘But why do you want to go back? Tony told me about your girlfriend. And your… housing problem. Why don’t you stay and continue doing what you do best?’
‘What, continue at the club? But my visa is running out.’
‘There are always opportunities for a good bartender. Not just here in Bali,’ João looks around to make sure no one is listening , then leans forward. ‘Ever considered visiting Timor-Leste? A very good friend of mine owns the best bar and restaurant in Dili, and he’s looking for a bartender. Same deal as the one you’ve had with Tony – room and board, and weekly paid salary. And even more than Tony paid you.’
Johan considers this. ‘I’ve heard from some backpackers that it’s very expensive there.’
‘Compared to Indonesia maybe, but only for foreign visitors. They, ah… pay a premium everywhere. For you as a resident it would be different. If you accept this, Shayne will sort out a temporary work visa for you, and also pay for your ticket. There’s a flight tomorrow.’
‘I suppose I can delay university for another semester. I’ve only my thesis left and maybe I can work on it there,’ Johan thinks aloud.
‘Yes, Tony said you’re a very bright kid. What are you studying?’
‘Political science,’ Johan winces. ‘I know, it sounds boring but it isn’t. My thesis is about the current geopolitical chessboard and the emergence of twenty-first century neo-imperialism. Quite fascinating, really.’
‘Well then, Youahn – did I pronounce it correctly? – I think you will discover that my country is like the world in miniature. And get more material than you’ll ever need for your thesis. Now maybe you should put your clothes on.’