“What do you mean by an eviction meeting, Mr. Amin?”
Crack... Rustle!
The branch of the mango tree beside the fence shuddered violently. Dark green leaves came tumbling down onto the ground.
Before Mr. Amin could answer Salma’s question, a man in a shabby shirt and jeans ripped at the knees slid down from the thick branch, landing with his knees bent right beside the cement yard.
Crash!
The man staggered two steps, clutching a dull brown leather wallet in his right hand.
His wild eyes darted toward Mr. Amin, then flicked briefly to Salma as he gasped for breath.
“Good grief!” Mr. Amin jumped back two steps, gripping the handle of his small hoe tightly.
Without saying a word, the man from the tree vaulted over the low bamboo fence and tore down the lane to the east.
Bam!
“HEY! SOMEBODY STOP THAT LUKEMAN! STOP, YOU IDIOT!”
Two men came sprinting around the third bend in the lane.
The one in front—Roni, a local public-minibus driver—ran in a striped T-shirt with the top button undone, panting like a clogged minibus engine.
Behind him, Agus ran at an easy pace despite breathing hard too, carrying a short piece of bamboo that had once been used as a tire chock.
“Hang on, Ron! Hang on! Your heart’s gonna fall right out of its socket!” Agus shouted as he leaped over a puddle left by a dripping faucet.
Roni abruptly stopped right in front of the fence around Salma’s rental property.
The sole of his flip-flop dragged across the cement. Sccrrrk!
Roni gripped his waist with his left hand and bent deeply forward, coughing.
“Ow... ow, Gus... that guy was running like some eel demon had stuck a rocket on him... He was insanely fast!”
“Well, whose fault is that? You’re chasing a thief in loose Swallow flip-flops!” Agus shot back, stopping beside Roni and tapping his little bamboo stick against the ground.
Roni was about to answer Agus, but his bleary eyes suddenly caught sight of Salma standing in the yard by the rental house’s door.
Roni froze for two seconds.
His hunched posture, hands clutching his stomach, instantly straightened.
He quickly wiped the sweat from his forehead, then straightened the sagging collar of his T-shirt.
“Uh... my goodness...” Roni’s hoarse, shrill voice suddenly became deeper and artificially melodious.
“A goddess has descended on Mr. Omar’s rental property. You’re absolutely gorgeous, ma’am.”
Agus stared at Roni blankly, then shook his head.
“Here we go. His flirt disease is back at the worst possible time.”
Roni rested his right hand against the bamboo fence post, trying to look relaxed even though his chest was still heaving.
“Good afternoon, beautiful. You’re new here, huh? How come Brother Roni has never seen such an elegant goddess passing through Sukamaju before?”
Salma lowered her head slightly and took a step back toward the doorway.
“Good afternoon. I’m Salma.”
“Salma...” Roni stroked his chin, its sparse beard growing in unevenly, and flashed a smugly charming smile.
“What a beautiful name, as beautiful as this afternoon view. I’m Brother Roni, ma’am. I drive the main public-minibus route. If you’d like a free tour around town, just call me. My front door is always open for you.”
Mr. Amin slapped Roni’s shoulder hard with the handle of his hoe.
Smack!
“Ow! What was that for, Mr. Amin?! That hurt!” Roni complained, clutching his shoulder.
“You, Ron!” Mr. Amin scolded him, shaking his head. “A thief just ran past, and you still found time to turn on the charm! Which way did that young man who came down from the mango tree run?”
Roni blinked and furrowed his brow as if he had just woken from a dream.
“Oh... right! The thief! Where’d he go?”
“He’s been running toward the mosque lane this whole time, for crying out loud!” Agus shouted in exasperation. Agus took a step forward and pointed east.
“And what were you doing staring at Miss Salma? Do you even remember why we ran all the way from Mrs. Eros’s food stall?”
Roni combed his hair back with his fingers.
“To chase the thief, obviously. But greeting a new neighbor is important, Gus. Even the ustadz says we have to be welcoming to guests.”
“Your welcome can go soak its head!” Agus smacked his own forehead.
Agus turned sideways and pointed at Roni’s back pocket, which was visibly empty and slightly torn.
“Do you realize why you’ve been chasing that thief this whole time?”
Roni casually patted his back pocket. “Because he took my... uh...”
Roni reached into the hole in his back pocket. His eyes widened.
He checked his front right pocket, then his front left.
Empty.
“Gus...” Roni’s voice suddenly climbed back into a discordant shriek. “Where’s my wallet, Gus?!”
“THEN THINK, RONI! WHY ELSE DO YOU THINK WE’VE BEEN CHASING HIM THIS WHOLE TIME?!” Agus shouted in frustration, smacking Roni’s shoulder fairly hard.
“You were choosing crackers at Mrs. Eros’s food stall, and you left your wallet on the table! Then that guy snatched it while pretending to ask for directions! You forgot?!”
Roni clutched his head with both hands, mussing his hair until it was a tangled mess.
“Great Lord! My Garut sheep wallet! It’s got three days’ worth of minibus payments, my Class A license, my ID card, and a picture of my ex that I never got around to throwing out!” Salma spoke softly from behind the fence.
“Sorry, Roni... The man who came down from the mango tree really was carrying a dull brown leather wallet.”
Roni stared at Salma, eyes bulging.
“Really, Salma?! A brown wallet with a key-shaped keychain?”
“Yes, that’s right. He ran toward Al-Lathif Mosque,” Salma replied, giving him a clue.
“Oh no! I’m dead! If I lose the payment money, Mr. Haji Mursid could seize my minibus!” Roni spun in place like a broken top.
“Gus! Come on, chase him! This is your fault for stopping to chat!”
“Whoa! How is this my fault?! You were the one who got so distracted staring at Miss Salma that you lost your mind!” Agus shot back.
Agus turned around and gripped his little bamboo stick tightly. “Come on, hurry! Before he reaches the main road!”
“Salma! Brother Roni has to go! We’ll continue our lovely conversation later!” Roni shouted, still finding time to throw Salma an awkward wink before turning and sprinting away.
Patter-patter-patter-patter!
The slap of Roni’s flip-flops and Agus’s footsteps echoed loudly through the narrow lane, fading behind the thick banana trees in the direction of the mosque.
Mr. Amin rubbed his chest and shook his head as he watched the two neighborhood youths’ antics.
“Put those two together, and they’re enough to give the whole neighborhood association a headache. One’s nosy and impossible to understand, while the other loves giving advice but never makes any sense.”
Salma smiled faintly.
“But they seem to work well together, Mr. Amin.”
“They work well together at causing trouble, ma’am,” Mr. Amin joked.
Then Mr. Amin’s expression changed as he remembered something important.
“Oh, right, Salma. About what I mentioned earlier... about Mr. Omar gathering the residents tonight.”
Salma stepped forward again.
“Yes, Mr. Amin. Why does Mr. Omar want to drive Husain’s cart away?”
Mr. Amin sighed softly and leaned his small hoe against the bamboo fence.
“To be honest... it’s an old story, ma’am. Mr. Omar has disliked Husain for years because Husain refuses to follow Mr. Omar’s strange rules. Husain sells his coffee on public-use land near the rain tree, and Mr. Omar wants to charge him five hundred thousand rupiah a month for the spot. Husain refused because it’s public road land, not Mr. Omar’s property.”
Salma listened intently. “Oh... I see.”
“And there’s more...” Mr. Amin lowered his voice and leaned in slightly. “Mr. Omar has a daughter named Salma too—uh, no, that’s not what I meant... Mr. Omar likes a certain girl, but she buys coffee and chats with Husain more often. Mr. Omar is insanely jealous. So whenever he gets the slightest chance, he goes looking for something to blame Husain for.”
Salma fell silent for a moment.
“But what about the other residents, Mr. Amin? Do they agree with kicking Husain out?”
“Most of them don’t agree, ma’am,” Mr. Amin replied firmly. “Husain’s a good kid. He’s always helping out at the mosque, and whenever a resident’s faucet gets clogged, he’s the one who steps in without asking for payment. Mr. Ahmad, the neighborhood association head, Mr. Qasim, and I will definitely stand up for Husain. But that’s the problem... Mr. Omar’s one of the wealthy people around here. He has plenty of money and lots of rental properties. He likes using his position to intimidate people.”
Salma gazed down the deserted lane.
“I feel sorry for Husain if they end up harassing him over his business.”
“That’s why Mr. Omar’s house will be packed tonight, ma’am. There’s going to be a fierce debate,” Mr. Amin said. “You’re welcome to come too, Salma. You’re a new resident, after all. It’ll help you learn what the people here are like.”
“Yes, Mr. Amin. I’ll try to come with Mr. Ahmad.”
“All right, then. I’m going back to the food stall. Poor Mrs. Eros is waiting there alone,” Mr. Amin said, hoisting his small hoe onto his shoulder.
“Remember, ma’am, if anything happens, just call the neighbors.”
“All right, Mr. Amin. Thank you so much for telling me.”
Mr. Amin walked away along the footpath toward his food stall. Salma stood alone in the cement yard.
The evening sky above Sukamaju was beginning to turn golden orange beneath a scattering of thin clouds.
Salma turned and went inside, quietly locking the mint-green wooden door behind her.
Click.
Inside the room, Salma sat on the edge of her foam mattress.
She reached into the pocket of her dress and took out a small note from her mother.
She opened it slowly.
The note contained several short messages written in neat handwriting:
Salma, once you get to Sukamaju, take good care of yourself. Don’t be easily swayed by the words of people you don’t know well yet. Smile and be polite to the neighbors. Salma smiled as she read the note.
“Mother was right... I’ve only been here one day, and already the stories are this colorful.” She folded the note back up and put it in her wallet.
Her stomach no longer felt hungry after she had eaten half a balok cake and milk coffee earlier, but her thoughts now drifted to the residents’ debate that would take place tonight.
Salma walked over to the small mirror hanging near the bathroom.
She straightened her hijab, brushed the remaining dust from her clothes, then picked up a plastic cup filled with cold water.
Gulp... gulp... gulp.
The cold water refreshed her throat.
Meanwhile, in the lane to the east, near the area behind Al-Lathif Mosque...
Patter-patter-patter-patter!
The man who had stolen Roni’s wallet—Lukeman—ran through the narrow passage between the boundary walls of the residents’ homes.
He was breathing heavily, glancing back repeatedly to make sure Roni and Agus had failed to catch up with him.
His hand clutched Roni’s brown leather wallet tightly.
“Safe... safe... nobody’s chasing me,” Lukeman happily muttered to himself as he quickened his pace, about to turn at the corner of the mosque wall.
But right at the narrow bend concealed by the thick frangipani trees...
Husain had just come out of the women’s ablution area beside the mosque, carrying a plastic bucket filled with leftover water and a wooden toolbox.
Husain’s steps were calm and steady.
Lukeman, running at full speed without looking ahead, had no time to stop.
CRASH!
Lukeman’s body slammed hard into Husain’s solid chest, sending Husain’s wooden toolbox flying into the air as Roni’s brown wallet fell straight into the murky water in Husain’s hands.