CHAPTER 8
FIRE
The morning after they found Pipe L-17, Raka couldn't sleep.
Not because he was afraid.
At least, that's what he told himself.
He was just thinking too much.
About the truck.
About the blue drum.
About the pipe.
About the people who knew they were there.
And about Ms. Laras's words:
Evidence has a price, too.
Raka still didn't know how much they would have to pay.
He only knew they didn't have much.
They didn't go far that day.
Ms. Laras asked them to stay around the reading center.
“For now,” she said.
“Why?” Jali asked.
“Because I want to make sure you're safe.”
Jali looked toward the road.
“Even here?”
“It's easier to keep watch.”
“What about the landfill?”
“No.”
Jali nodded.
“So we're taking the day off from picking through the garbage?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Raka smiled.
They kept working around the neighborhood.
But the atmosphere was different.
Every motorcycle sound made Raka turn around.
Every black car made Sari stop.
Every stranger made Bimo close his laptop.
They had never felt watched before.
Now they felt like every eye was on them.
Around noon, Bimo sat behind the reading center.
He was examining the photos they had taken the night before.
Raka came closer.
“How are they?”
“Good.”
“All of them?”
“Some of them.”
Bimo enlarged one photo.
A man could be seen behind the truck.
His face wasn't clear.
But his jacket was visible.
It had a company logo on it.
Bimo shifted the image.
“Look at this.”
Raka leaned closer.
There was a card in the man's hand.
Bimo enlarged it.
The writing wasn't very clear.
But there were numbers.
07.
“BM-07?”
“Maybe.”
Raka nodded.
“Can you enlarge it more?”
“I already did.”
Bimo tried anyway.
The image broke into pixels.
“I can't.”
Raka was silent.
Bimo stared at the screen.
“Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“If the camera had been better...”
Raka patted him on the shoulder.
“What matters is that we have something.”
Bimo nodded.
But deep down, he still felt it wasn't enough.
He wanted to be more useful.
He wanted to be able to fix something bigger than broken radios and used laptops.
He didn't know yet that he would soon need that ability.
That afternoon, a man came to the reading center.
His name was Arman.
He was a local journalist who had written several stories about the Bantar Mayang area.
He didn't bring a big camera.
Just a backpack and a notebook.
Ms. Laras welcomed him.
“You came.”
Arman nodded.
“I heard there was a problem.”
Ms. Laras looked at him.
“From whom?”
“That's not important.”
Arman looked at the five children.
“These are them?”
Ms. Laras nodded.
Arman sat down.
“I won't ask you to tell me anything if you don't want to.”
Jali raised his hand.
“What if we do want to?”
“Then you can.”
“Do we get paid?”
Arman laughed.
“No.”
“Then I don't want to.”
Sari smacked his arm.
Arman smiled.
“I like her.”
“Don't,” Sari said.
“Why not?”
“She causes a lot of trouble.”
Jali nodded.
“That's true.”
The tension eased.
Then Arman grew serious.
“I heard about the bag.”
Raka immediately fell silent.
Ms. Laras looked at him.
Arman raised both hands.
“I won't force you.”
He pulled out a folder.
“For the past two months, I've received several complaints from residents.”
He opened the folder.
Photos.
Notes.
Health reports.
“Complaints about the smell.”
Sari studied them.
“What kind of smell?”
“Like chemicals.”
Raka stared at the photos.
“Where is this?”
“Near the eastern side of the landfill.”
Ucup immediately looked at Raka.
“L-17.”
Arman stopped.
“What?”
Ucup covered his mouth.
Jali elbowed him at once.
Too late.
Arman looked at Ms. Laras.
Ms. Laras slowly nodded.
Arman drew a breath.
“So it's true.”
Raka looked at him.
“What is?”
Arman opened another photo.
“Two months ago, I tried to investigate this.”
“And?”
“I stopped.”
“Why?”
Arman looked at the door.
“Because the person I contacted suddenly didn't want to talk anymore.”
“Were they afraid?”
“Maybe.”
Jali frowned.
“Everyone's afraid.”
Arman looked at him.
“Because maybe there's a reason to be afraid.”
Arman didn't accept the documents right away.
Instead, he said, “If you have something, don't hand it all over at once.”
“Why?”
“Because if all the evidence is in one place, someone only has to take that one place.”
Bimo understood.
“Copies.”
“Exactly.”
Bimo nodded.
“I can do that.”
Arman looked at him.
“You?”
Bimo pointed to the laptop.
“I can make copies.”
Arman smiled.
“Good.”
Ms. Laras looked at Raka.
“Don't rush.”
Raka nodded.
Arman left around sunset.
Before he went, he said, “If you want to keep going, we need to make sure of one thing.”
“What?”
“The evidence has to stand without you.”
Raka frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“If people don't believe you because you're children, then we need evidence they can't ignore.”
Those words stayed with Raka.
Night fell.
It didn't rain.
There was barely any wind, either.
Ms. Laras asked them to go to sleep early.
But around eleven, Raka woke up.
He heard a sound.
Not a truck.
Not a motorcycle.
People.
Outside.
Raka rose slowly.
He saw Bimo.
The boy was awake, too.
Jali was still asleep.
Sari was sitting up.
Ucup hugged a pillow.
Bimo pointed at the window.
There was a shadow.
Someone was standing outside the fence.
Then a second shadow appeared.
Raka signaled for silence.
He walked toward the door.
Ms. Laras appeared from the back room.
She had heard them, too.
“Don't go outside,” she said.
A man's voice came from outside.
“Ms. Laras.”
There was no answer.
“We just want to talk.”
Ms. Laras remained silent.
“We know the kids are inside.”
Raka felt his body tense.
Jali was awake now.
Sari pulled Ucup closer.
Bimo picked up the laptop.
The voice outside came again.
“Hand it over.”
Ms. Laras finally answered.
“Hand over what?”
“Don't make this difficult.”
Ms. Laras approached the door.
“This is a place where children come to learn.”
“We don't care.”
Raka clenched his fists.
Ms. Laras opened the door a crack.
“If you want to talk, talk to me.”
A man stood outside.
It wasn't Dimas.
This man was older.
His face was hard.
“We'll be back tomorrow.”
Ms. Laras didn't answer.
The man looked inside.
Then he left.
Raka stood beside Ms. Laras.
“Who was that?”
Ms. Laras shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Raka looked at her.
Ms. Laras knew.
But she didn't say anything.
The night grew later.
No one slept.
Jali sat on the floor.
“Raka.”
“What?”
“If we give them the bag, will it be over?”
Raka was silent.
“Maybe.”
“What if we don't?”
“I don't know.”
Jali looked at him.
“I'm scared.”
Raka nodded.
“Me too.”
Jali looked surprised.
“You're scared?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you weren't.”
“Why?”
“Because you always say not to be afraid.”
Raka gave a small smile.
“I say don't stop because you're afraid.”
Jali nodded.
He looked at his four friends.
“There are still five of us, right?”
Raka looked at the others.
“There are.”
“Then nobody goes anywhere alone.”
Sari nodded.
Bimo nodded.
Ucup nodded, too.
Raka said, “Tomorrow we'll make copies of all the evidence.”
Bimo immediately sat up straight.
“I can do it.”
“Not just one.”
“How many?”
“As many as possible.”
Jali smiled.
“What if one disappears?”
“We'll still have the others.”
Sari added, “And we'll keep them in different places.”
Raka nodded.
For the first time, they began working like a group that truly understood this problem was bigger than them.
They were no longer five children who had happened to find a bag.
They were beginning to become the guardians of a secret.
At two in the morning, when things had finally quieted down, Raka went outside for a moment.
He sat on the reading center's steps.
Mayangkara looked far away.
Its lights were like stars that had fallen to the ground.
Raka remembered his conversation with Sari.
Afraid to hope.
He looked at his hands.
Hands that sorted garbage every day.
Hands covered in scratches.
Hands that rarely held a book.
Suddenly, he asked himself:
What if they succeeded?
What would happen?
Would they go to school?
Would they have a home?
Would they stop picking through the garbage?
Would Garbage Mountain change?
He didn't know.
But that night, Raka began to dare to hope a little.
Not much.
Just a little.
Because hope, he was beginning to understand, might not be something you waited for.
Maybe hope was something you had to work for.
Morning had not yet arrived when a loud sound came from the direction of the neighborhood.
“FIRE!”
Raka jumped to his feet.
A second voice followed.
“FIRE!”
He ran.
Jali came out.
Sari followed.
Bimo carried the laptop.
Ucup was crying.
The sky to the south was turning red.
Black smoke billowed upward.
And Raka knew that place.
Where they lived.
The waste pickers' shacks.
Their home.
He ran as fast as he could.
“Raka!”
Ucup shouted from behind.
Raka didn't stop.
He didn't yet know what they would find.
But for the first time since they found the black bag, Raka felt something more frightening than a threat.
They were losing the place they called home.