Bird on a Wire

"How old are you Ms.?"

I am lying on a cot in the school clinic with a burning wax tube shoved in my ear. Ms. Oolyn, our rubenesque, olive skinned receptionist is waiting for her turn under the flame and her almond eyes widen when I tell her my age.

"Are you sure?" she thinks maybe I have misunderstood her question. When I assure her that I am and have earned every year of this she shakes her head again. "But Ms., in Indonesia you should have husband already. People will think there is something wrong with you if you don't."

I explain that I have already had husband, and I have already gotten rid of him. "In Canada too, people think there is something wrong with me. Sometimes I think maybe they are right but mostly I think that's their problem."

"Ok. So, you get Indonesian boyfriend!"

I laugh. "No, thank you. I don't go looking for trouble and men just cause me trouble and break my heart." Ms. Yeni, who is administering the ear candling and with whom I've already had similar conversations, is laughing now.

"Oh no," says Ms. Oolyn earnestly, "Indonesian men are very nice. Very respectful. Let you be woman."

I am about to ask why I see so many women with black eyes then, but I bite my mallet (tongue). I don't want to sound accusatory and I know the only difference between here and home is that, back home, when men beat women, we as a society have decided it's unacceptable to leave the evidence where the rest of us will have to bear witness.

"But," she qualifies, "Indonesian women only want bule  men."

"I've noticed that. But if Indonesian men are so nice, why? Bule men are jerks."

"All men are jerks," Ms. Oolyn and Ms. Yeni reply in unison. I can't argue with that so I just wait for Ms. Yeni to remove the candle and blow out the flame.

"Look," she says, showing me a pinky finger's worth of waxy green stuff, "all that is from your ear!"

I pretend to be duly disturbed. She wants to start doing this as a side business and I don't have the heart to tell her "all that" is simply candle wax. Besides, my hearing does seem clearer, possibly from all the massaging, so what's the harm? Still, I am somewhat relieved she wasn't able to find her tools to perform hijama on us like she wanted.

When Ms. Oolyn is finished, I arrange with her to have my school lunches catered after the holiday before Adik (little sister, my Indo nickname for Ms. Yeni) and I set off to buy groceries. On the way home we stop again at the laughing Buddha temple for lunch but the restaurant is closed. We are told it will open in half an hour so we wait. Half an hour later we are told it will open in another half an hour. An hour and three mini travel scrabble games after that it finally opens.

Any fears I have that the food will not be worth the wait are quashed with the first bite sweet potato and long beans. Food is served buffet style and I have taken far more than I can comfortably eat but I manage to finish everything, curried eggplant, fried beans, chili spinach with the exception of the rice. The entire heaping plate cost only $1 and I am beside myself with gratitude.

When I get back home I realize that I have forgotten to buy water so I run out to the convenience store only, instead of going to the smaller one run by the tiny Chinese lady, I walk farther to the larger one on the corner. For some reason I usually avoid this store though Ms Yeni insists he carries the best oranges. He, is the broad shouldered, Asian man behind the counter, who, unlike all the other men on this island who stare when I walk by, ignores me. I have never seen him with a shirt or without a cigarette. If life were a Hollywood movie that store would be a cock fighting ring and he would be taking bets on the match instead of making change for dish soap. 

When I pay him for the water he watches me fumble with the money. There are too many zeroes- I'm a millionaire here- and I inevitably get confused so he counts out loud as I produce bills, which might have been helpful if I knew mandarin, and laughs at me. It isn't an entirely unkind laugh but it catches me off guard and makes me feel vulnerable. When the money's all laid out on the counter he scoops it up and waves. I point to the 500 IDR I still owe him but he looks up at me from his cash drawer and shakes his head. In the moment our eyes meet I understand what I've been avoiding.

Trouble.