Ms. Laras's reading center was never truly empty.
That didn't mean many children came there.
Quite the opposite.
On most days, the books on the bamboo shelves spent more time waiting than being read. Dust clung to the tops of some of them. The old covers were beginning to yellow. There were children's storybooks missing their middle pages, encyclopedias with their covers coming loose, and several used novels too thick for children who were used to working from morning onward to read.
But Ms. Laras never threw away a book.
"Books aren't trash," she said one day when Jali asked why they didn't just throw away the torn books.
"What if it's damaged?"
"We fix it."
"What if nobody reads it?"
"We wait."
"What if nobody reads it even when it's old?"
Ms. Laras looked at him.
"Then we're the ones who need more patience."
Jali nodded as if he had just learned something important.
"That means books are more patient than people."
Ms. Laras laughed.
That day, toward late afternoon, five children entered the reading center in a hurry.
Raka was at the front.
His sack was still slung over his shoulder.
Sari followed.
Bimo carried the small television he had found earlier.
Jali walked along holding something wrapped in plastic.
Ucup brought up the rear.
He was carrying an old toy car with one wheel missing.
Ms. Laras was standing on a chair to reach for a book on the highest shelf when Raka said,
"Ms. Laras."
Ms. Laras turned.
"What is it?"
"We found something."
Raka lowered his sack.
He didn't take the object out right away.
Ms. Laras climbed down from the chair.
"What?"
Raka glanced toward the door.
Then at the window.
Jali noticed.
"Why do you keep looking around?"
"I don't know."
Ms. Laras came closer.
"Where is it?"
Raka reached into the sack.
The black bag came out.
He set it on the floor.
It looked ordinary.
A black shoulder bag.
A little dirty.
There was a scratch along one side.
Its zipper was still closed.
Ms. Laras didn't touch it.
"Where did you find it?"
"In the east."
"Near what?"
"The old container."
"What time?"
"Around eleven."
Ms. Laras looked at the bag again.
"Have you opened it?"
"No."
"Good."
Jali immediately cut in.
"Why does everyone keep saying that's good?"
Ms. Laras looked at him.
"Because if there's something dangerous inside, at least your hands are still clean."
Jali looked at his own hands.
"They're kind of dirty."
Sari held back a laugh.
Ms. Laras crouched in front of the bag.
She examined the outside.
There was no name.
No address.
No identifying mark.
Only a black stain near the zipper.
"Bring it here," she said.
Raka slid the bag over.
Ms. Laras opened it slowly.
The zipper made a short sound.
Zzzzt.
All five children crowded closer.
Ucup stood at the very front.
"What if there's a snake?"
"Don't get too close," Raka said.
"What if there's food?"
"Then you can get close."
"What if there's money?"
Jali elbowed him.
"Now that's an important question."
Ms. Laras opened the bag all the way.
Not money.
Not food.
Not clothes.
The first thing they saw was a thin black laptop.
It looked old, but it was still in decent shape.
Under it was a black notebook.
Several folded documents.
An old cell phone.
And a red flash drive.
Jali let out a long sigh.
"Aw, man."
Sari turned to him.
"What?"
"There's no money."
"Did you think someone threw away a bag full of money?"
"Sometimes."
"In the trash?"
"That's exactly where sometimes happens."
Bimo picked up the laptop.
He turned it over.
"Still works."
Jali leaned closer.
"Can we sell it?"
"Maybe."
"And if we sell it?"
Bimo shrugged.
"Wouldn't hurt."
Raka looked at Ms. Laras.
"Can we?"
Ms. Laras hadn't answered yet.
She picked up the notebook.
Its cover was plain.
There was no owner's name.
She opened to the first page.
Blank.
The second page was blank too.
The third page contained several lines of handwriting.
Ms. Laras stopped.
Raka watched her face.
"What is it, Ms. Laras?"
Ms. Laras didn't answer.
She read more carefully.
The writing consisted of dates, numbers, and several codes.
At the top was written:
BM-07
Below it:
12/03 — 23.40 — TRK 17 — L-17
Then the next line.
15/03 — 00.15 — TRK 09 — L-17
The next line.
19/03 — 23.55 — TRK 17 — L-17
Sari moved closer.
"Is that a truck schedule?"
"Maybe."
"What's L-17?"
Ms. Laras closed the notebook.
"I don't know yet."
Raka immediately felt that something was wrong.
Ms. Laras usually answered every question.
If she didn't know, she said she didn't know.
But this time her voice was different.
More cautious.
Bimo had already turned on the laptop.
The screen came on after a few seconds.
The battery was at eleven percent.
"Hurry," Raka said.
Bimo nodded.
He found the USB port.
He inserted the red flash drive.
The laptop beeped.
A folder appeared.
BM-07
Bimo clicked it.
There were dozens of files.
Jali leaned closer.
"Open the easy one."
"Which one?"
"The one with the shortest name."
Bimo selected a file.
A table appeared.
The columns were packed with numbers.
Dates.
Vehicle numbers.
Types of waste.
Locations.
Amounts.
Payment codes.
Sari sat down beside him at once.
"Stop."
Bimo stopped.
Sari pointed at the screen.
"Look at this."
"What about it?"
"The truck number."
Bimo zoomed in.
Sari pulled a pencil from her pocket.
She opened the back page of her notebook.
"I've seen this number before."
Raka stared at her.
"Where?"
"At the landfill."
"Which truck?"
"The one that comes at night."
Jali scratched his head.
"Why do garbage trucks come at night?"
Raka answered,
"Garbage trucks can come anytime."
"That's not what I mean."
Jali pointed at the screen.
"Why is this one recorded separately?"
No one answered.
Ms. Laras pulled over a chair and sat down.
"Open the photos."
Bimo clicked another folder.
The first photo appeared.
A truck was entering the landfill grounds.
It was dark.
Its headlights were on.
The timestamp on the camera showed 11:42 p.m.
The second photo.
The same truck.
A different date.
The third photo.
The same truck again.
Sari wrote down the license plate number.
"It's the same number."
Bimo nodded.
"Looks like it."
"Open the next one."
The fourth photo showed the back of the truck.
The cargo bed was open.
Inside were several blue drums.
Ucup stared at the screen.
"Those aren't trash."
Raka turned to him.
"How do you know?"
"Their shape."
Ms. Laras enlarged the photo.
There was a small marking on one of the drums.
A warning symbol.
Ms. Laras immediately shut off the screen.
"That's enough."
Jali was startled.
"Why?"
"Don't open anything else."
"Why not, Ms. Laras?"
Ms. Laras looked at them.
"Because this isn't ordinary stuff."
Raka felt his stomach tighten.
"What is it?"
Ms. Laras didn't answer right away.
She took a breath.
"Waste."
"What kind of waste?"
"I don't know yet."
Sari pointed at the documents.
"But there's a special note here."
Ms. Laras looked.
One page read:
SPECIAL WASTE — BANTAR MAYANG — L-17
Jali read it slowly.
"Special waste."
He swallowed.
"Dangerous?"
Ms. Laras nodded.
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Don't jump to conclusions before we have enough evidence."
Bimo stared at the screen.
"There's a video."
Ms. Laras turned to him immediately.
"Don't."
"But—"
"Bimo."
Ms. Laras's tone made the boy stop.
"Shut it down."
Bimo closed the laptop.
The room fell silent.
Outside, a motorcycle passed along the road.
Then they heard a small child shouting.
Then the call of a vegetable vendor.
Life went on as usual.
Only they suddenly felt that something had changed.
Raka looked at the black bag.
It no longer looked like a used bag.
Now it felt like something they were never supposed to find.
"Put it back."
Ms. Laras pointed at the bag.
Raka put in the laptop.
The notebook.
The documents.
The phone.
The flash drive.
Then he closed the zipper.
Jali looked at the bag.
"Ms. Laras."
"Yes?"
"What if someone comes looking for it?"
Ms. Laras looked at him.
"They might."
"What if they're bad?"
Ms. Laras was silent.
Jali immediately regretted asking.
"So they are bad?"
"Not necessarily."
"What if they aren't bad?"
"That isn't certain either."
Jali frowned.
"Your answers are getting more and more confusing, Ms. Laras."
Ms. Laras gave him a faint smile.
"Because the world really isn't as simple as good and evil."
Raka lifted the bag.
"Should we go home?"
"No."
Raka stopped.
"Why not?"
Ms. Laras stood.
"For now, you're all sleeping here."
Ucup cheered.
"In the reading center?"
"Yes."
"Can we read books?"
"Yes."
"Can we eat?"
"If you have food."
Ucup went silent at once.
Jali laughed.
"That last question was the most important one."
Ms. Laras went into the back.
A few minutes later, she returned with five packets of rice.
There wasn't much.
White rice.
Eggs.
A little vegetable.
But the five children ate as if they had just returned from a long journey.
Ucup scraped the last grains of rice from his packet with his finger.
Jali watched him.
"Cup."
"What?"
"If there were one more grain of rice, would you search until you found it?"
Ucup nodded.
"It's a waste to leave it."
"Exactly."
Ms. Laras watched them.
The children laughed.
Ate.
Joked.
As if the black bag didn't exist.
But Ms. Laras knew they wouldn't sleep peacefully that night.
Nine p.m.
Rain began to fall.
Raindrops struck the reading center's corrugated metal roof.
Bimo sat in front of the laptop.
"Ms. Laras."
"Don't open the files."
"I just want to check the laptop."
Ms. Laras nodded.
Bimo opened the settings.
He checked the system.
A moment later, he said,
"There's something here."
Raka, who had been lying down, sat up immediately.
"What?"
"There's a hidden folder."
Jali sat up too.
"What's in it?"
"I don't know yet."
Ms. Laras stood.
"Bimo."
"I'm just looking."
He opened the folder.
Three video files.
One documents folder.
And a file named:
FINAL_03
Bimo clicked it.
A video appeared.
Black-and-white footage from a security camera.
The time showed 12:17 a.m.
A truck pulled in.
Someone got out.
They could see the drums.
Then the man spoke with a security guard.
The audio was unclear.
But one sentence could be heard.
"Take the L-17 route."
Bimo stopped the video.
Sari spoke at once.
"L-17."
Jali looked at Ms. Laras.
"Ms. Laras."
Ms. Laras didn't answer.
"Why is everyone silent?"
Ms. Laras took the laptop.
"That's enough."
She closed the screen.
Suddenly, they heard a car outside.
Raka stood up.
He walked to the window.
A black car stopped in front of the reading center.
The engine remained running.
The door opened.
A man got out.
A white shirt.
Black pants.
Shiny black shoes.
He stood in the rain.
He didn't move.
He only stared at the reading center.
Raka whispered,
"That man."
Ms. Laras turned.
"Who?"
"The one from yesterday."
The man began walking closer.
Raka stepped back from the window.
Ms. Laras turned off the lights.
"Everyone, stay quiet."
Footsteps sounded on the porch.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then they stopped.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Someone knocked on the door.
No one answered.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Louder this time.
At last, Ms. Laras opened the door a crack.
"Yes?"
The man smiled politely.
"Sorry to bother you."
"What is it?"
"I'm looking for a bag."
Raka felt his heart beat faster.
The man continued,
"It's black."
No one moved.
"Someone may have found it."
Ms. Laras remained calm.
"There are a lot of things here."
"I know."
The man looked inside.
His eyes moved.
The bookshelves.
The table.
The children.
The floor.
Then they returned to Ms. Laras.
"If you have it, I sincerely hope you'll contact us."
"Who are you?"
The man smiled.
"The company that manages the landfill."
Ms. Laras didn't answer.
The man handed her a business card.
"My name is Dimas."
Ms. Laras took it.
Dimas smiled.
"Good evening."
He turned.
Walked to the car.
Got in.
The car drove away.
Several seconds after its lights disappeared, Jali finally dared to breathe.
"Ms. Laras."
"Yes?"
"He knows."
Ms. Laras looked at him.
"Knows what?"
"He knows the bag is here."
Ms. Laras nodded slowly.
Raka stood.
"What do we do?"
Ms. Laras looked at all five children.
Then she said,
"From now on, don't tell anyone about this bag."
"Not even people we know?"
"Not even them."
"Why?"
Ms. Laras looked at the rain outside.
"Because we don't know who we can trust yet."
Raka looked at the black bag lying in the corner of the room.
That afternoon, it had been nothing more than an object they picked out of a pile of garbage.
Now the bag felt like a door.
And they had just opened it a crack.
Behind that door was something they didn't understand.
Something that made adults come in the middle of the night.
Something that made Ms. Laras afraid.
Something that made Raka ask himself for the first time:
What exactly have we found?
Outside, the rain grew heavier.
And somewhere in Mayangkara, someone was realizing that five waste-picker kids had brought home something that should never have left Garbage Mountain.