as soon as you get through the gate,’ explains Julie. ‘I walked straight back out. If Pak’s got friends with places like that, he’s a cunt.’
‘I taught them for a week,’ says Geoff, ‘and it’s true about the guards but the kids are lovely. Fitri and Benny, lovely kids. Pak paid me cash for it too.’
‘Pak pays cash for everything, man. That wasn’t anything special,’ says Kim.
‘It was extra. Paid my beers for a week.’
‘Yeah, but the kids hated you.’ Julie swallows a mouthful and coughs half of it across the table. ‘Said you were a boring tosser or something similar, I heard.’ She wipes her mouth with her sleeve.
‘It is true, Geoff. That’s why Pak asked Julie to go.’ Jussy-boy dabs his brow with Donald’s beak.
‘Anyway,’ I say, suddenly wanting peace and quiet, ‘I’ll give it a go.’
‘It’s bad news. Any friend of Pak’s is bad news.’
‘Let the newbie fucking find out for himself.’ Kim sticks a cigarette in my mouth. ‘Welcome to Mei’s and welcome to the Friday night gang. Bunch of freaks that we be. Anyone who ain’t here ain’t worthy of our company.’
—Oh, I am honoured.
—But you aren’t here.
‘Where are all the other teachers?’ I cut across her before she has a chance to reply. I’ve met the rest of them at work, but not everyone is here.
‘Scared,’ Kim answers. ‘At home watching TV and talking long-distance to the people they miss. Or, in the case of some, spending their money on pretty girls or ladyboys. They keep themselves to themselves.’
‘Scared?’
‘Of this country. Realised they made a mistake. Wanna be home watching whatever shit it is they watch on TV back home.’
‘So why don’t they go home?’
A glance is passed around the table. Julie sniggers, Marty scratches his beard and Geoff’s lines deepen.
‘You haven’t checked your fucking passport, man?’ Kim takes my nearly finished cigarette from my hand, lights another with it and sticks the newly lit one in my mouth. ‘You need to check your fucking passport, man.’
‘Why?’ I draw on the cigarette. It goes well with the beer.
‘Single-entry visa,’ says Julie. ‘Methinks you haven’t noticed.’
I’m silent. I smoke. I swig.
‘Pak only gets everyone single-entry visas. Check the small print on the visa you got. Means you need his permission to leave, and you need about a million rupiah to pay the exit. And if you leave early he doesn’t pay your flights.’ Kim laughs. ‘That’s why half the people aren’t here drinking, they’re saving or crying. They didn’t realise they’d been screwed over ‘til they got here. Bit like you.’
‘I said it before, I’ll say it again, Pak’s a cunt.’
—Ha ha. Stuck here then, numbnuts.
‘Oh well,’ I say, ‘fine with me.’ I take a deep drag on my kretek and smile. I’m here for the year. A long time baking in the oven.
—You’ll be well-baked.
—Shut it and leave.
—OK, OK. I’m going. She leans over me to give me a kiss but I turn away.
—Bye.
‘So who’s coming on tonight?’ asks Kim.
‘Me and Donald. Donald wants to dance, don’t you, Donald?’ Jussy-boy holds the end of his tie up to his face so he can ask the upside-down duck.
‘Not tonight,’ says Geoff, ‘I’m getting up to go camera shopping tomorrow.’
‘I’m up for it,’ Julie.
‘Me too,’ a knock to my knee.
‘Yeah, why not?’ says Marty.
‘I’d better try out this night life,’ say I.
So we finish our beers and queue up to pay Mei.
‘Where are you faggots off to then?’ The Canadian with the big glasses shouts across from his table. There is no humour in his use of the noun.
‘That’s nice, Barry. Nice turn of phrase.’ Kim shoves his roll of notes into his front pocket, having paid for his beers. ‘Why? You hoping to come, man?’
‘Not with you faggots.’
‘That’s good, ‘cos we didn’t fucking ask you.’ Kim heads off to the street. ‘Thanks Mei. Take care.’ He throws Mei a smile and a wave over his shoulder.
‘Have good night, Mr Utah,’ Mei replies.
I throw a glance at Barry the Canadian and he stares back without smiling.
‘Enjoy your night, new faggot.’
I say nothing, but immediately wish I had as I walk away. The confidence of the late thinker is always a gallant yet futile thing. Even New Me can’t think quick enough. But now a choice of responses flows into my mind as I step into the sticky night air; ‘Will do, arsehole,’ or ‘Better than staying here with you, dick-wad.’ Anything similar would have been better than nothing.
Geoff waves us goodnight and walks off in the other direction. We head toward the main gate to flag down a taxi.
‘Why’d she call you Mr Utah? I ask Kim.
‘Thinks I look like Keanu in Point Break. Johnny Utah.’
‘You look nothing like Keanu.’
‘I know, but I still take it as a compliment.’
‘And what is it with that guy back there?’ I ask.
‘He’s a wife-beating dick.’ Julie pulls a lipstick out of her jeans and applies it quickly as she walks. ‘He’s here to escape jail back home. Broke her arms, allegedly.’
‘He’s been hiding out here a few years. Thinks us teachers are just passing tourists and that he’s the real expat. He does some wheeling and dealing dodgy business and is sniffing after Mei.’ Kim nods at the security guards who are almost asleep at the gate.
We leave the estate and step out onto the bustling main road, where minivans, becaks and cars are still avoiding each other by inches; back in the real Medan.
‘Let’s not talk about him. Let’s just get stoned. I say we start at Hotel Garuda.’ Jussy-boy licks his hand and runs it across his hair.
So that’s where we start.
The
