Krakatoa Lighthouse, page 6
But Mac seemed excited. He opened his rucksack, pulled out his bottle and a bag of nuts, passed them around, and then took an odd wooden box from the rucksack. He removed the black cover from a piece of glass in a metal mount, then slid a square wooden frame behind the box. He turned a knob and the glass slid from the box.
‘Camera,’ said Jan.
Mac pulled three light, connected pieces of wood from the rucksack, then screwed them to the camera and stretched them. He aimed the glass eye at the crater, then changed the square frame.
The cloud that had cleared Krakatoa was wafting south to Sunda Strait. The German warship Elisabeth was charging down the strait with every sail unfurled; the Dutch gunship Berouw was paddling into Kampong Bay; a slow, small Dutch mail packet, Zeeland, was nearing the Sumatran coast; and the fishing boat that Goliath had passed earlier was floating off Krakatoa. Thwart-the-Bay in the distance completed the view.
But Mac didn’t see any of this. He was fiddling with his camera pointing to the closer islands, the island called Verlaten, meaning ‘Lonely’, and the scattering of about ten tiny islets between it and Krakatoa. Mac slowly frowned as he stepped back, then jerked his head about as if he was being attacked by sandflies.
‘I didn’t see it. I didn’t see it!’ Mac sat down.
‘Oh.’ Jan nodded wisely.
‘I will listen to every old story carefully now. There is a very old story in China called Bawshou Rescues the Sun. In that story the sun is taken from the sky, plunging the world into darkness. Rice begins to fail. There is an old Javanese book called The Book of Ancient Kings, and it says that in about 500 AD ‘the mountain burst into pieces with a tremendous roar and sank into the deepest part of the Earth.’ And there was flooding. Java and Sumatra were divided. The ash from that eruption would have darkened the entire world.’
Mac looked at Kerta. ‘Maybe your ghost came from that memory.’
Kerta blinked.
‘Krakatoa was far bigger than it is now. Very big. How big? Well, there is this one.’ He stood up and pointed to the long island, Lang, which they had passed to reach Rakata. ‘And that one.’ He swept his flattened hand towards a small rocky island, Polish Hat, close to Lang. ‘And that one.’ He stopped his hand on the other side of Verbaten and the islets. ‘Plus this one we are standing on. Now that used to be the size of the old Krakatoa …’
Kerta looked at Krakatoa. It looked like a ship’s bow nudging towards reefs, but the ship was ten kilometres long and three kilometres across. Together with the islands, the old volcano would have been over thirteen kilometres long. And that meant … Kerta lifted his head and stared at a sea eagle way above him circling the sky.
‘Must have been two thousand metres high,’ Mac said.
‘But it couldn’t disappear.’ Jan was uncertain.
‘Bas’s stories,’ Kerta said slowly. ‘They were true!’
Mac nodded. ‘Must have been terrible.’
‘Orang Aljeh is here!’ Kerta looked around wildly. He had accepted that there was a ghost on Krakatoa, but that was tolerable, like knowing there are sharks in the sea. But knowing that the ghost was definitely here now changed everything.
‘Hey, take it easy.’ Mac batted him down. ‘It was 500 AD! Fourteen hundred years ago.’ He wobbled a pumice rock beside his right foot. ‘This island we are standing on didn’t exist then. It built itself up from the bottom of the sea after the end of the old Krakatoa.’
The rock rolled down the slope from Mac’s foot.
‘There’s something happening …’ Jan mumbled.
‘It doesn’t –’ Kerta felt Rakata move under his feet. A quiver ran up his legs to his stomach, then he sensed a deep thump in the earth. His eyes followed Jan’s wobbling finger to Krakatoa’s lowest crater, Perboewatan, and a plume of white steam rising from it. A cannon blast echoed around the island and a cloud of white parrots shimmered from the slopes.
Orang Aljeh had woken.
the fishermen
FOR a moment Mac seemed nervous, but then he relaxed. ‘Well now, that’s something, isn’t it?’ Smiling, he propped up the funny wooden legs and aimed his camera at the hissing crater.
Some of the white parrots settled back in the trees, but most of them kept flying towards Java.
Looking at the rising steam, Jan said, ‘Ah … shouldn’t we go?’
‘The eruption is too far away from here to be dangerous. Don’t worry.’ Mac clicked his camera and slid another frame into place.
Perboewatan cracked like thunder and a spurt of white smoke shot up half a kilometre.
Kerta felt the earth jolt and his face became sickly. I woke it. The Dutch and the English captain never stirred Orang Aljeh because it cannot smell whites. But the ghost can smell the Javanese boy on its island …
‘All right, we’d better move on.’ Mac took his camera from the wooden tripod.
Kerta and Jan snatched the three legs, folded them and jammed them in the rucksack. Mac tried to slow them down as he crammed his camera onto the tripod, but then Kerta slung the rucksack on his shoulder and ran down the crumbling summit. He reached the saddle in a breakneck charge and was aiming for the anchored Goliath when he saw other people on Krakatoa.
He scrambled round a tree, caught a bush and skidded to a stop. The people – definitely fishermen – were walking down Perboewatan’s western beach. They didn’t seem worried about the erupting volcano behind them and one of them kept poking at the sand with a long stick. There seemed to be mist floating above the sand – maybe steam.
Kerta frowned at the men and then slowly twitched a shadow of a smile. It wasn’t he who had made Orang Aljeh angry. It was them…
Suddenly there was a trench across the beach, about ten metres away from the fishermen, where before there had been nothing but flat sand. The fisherman moved quickly away as the trench heaved grey ash across the sand. They sprinted when it hurled black rocks at them. One of them was limping, but a couple of his mates helped him reach some boulders on the edge of the island. Kerta didn’t see them after that.
He looked back to see Jan galloping down the slope, and Mac shuffling slower behind him. Kerta hesitated, but climbed back.
‘What happened?’ Jan rushed past. ‘Forget something?’
‘Yes.’
Mac wobbled from bush to tree as the island shuddered. Kerta caught and steadied him.
‘Thanks,’ Mac wheezed. ‘Not used to this.’
Kerta placed Mac’s hand on his shoulder, turned and began to climb down. Linked like that, they steadily moved to the saddle, through the pepper groves, the remains of the village, past the bubbling stream, through the dark jungle. And while they climbed down, the island trembled, shuddered, boomed and crackled. It sounded like soldiers were fighting to capture the crater. Mac took his hand off Kerta’s shoulder as they reached the long grass and they hurried past the palms and onto the beach.
Goliath was bobbing in the deeper water ten metres from shore. Bas was pulling Jan up the side of the boat.
For one terrifying moment Kerta thought, They are leaving us here!
But then Tuan Joost waved them to the boat in a hurry. They splashed in the shallows and waded through the shimmering water to the boat. Mac was hauled aboard by Joost, Bas and Jan as if he was a sunfish. Kerta pushed the rucksack onto the boat and leaped, pulling himself onto the stern.
Joost stepped behind the wheel and yanked the lever. The propeller churned the water. ‘Sorry about the deep water, but I didn’t want to get caught …’
‘That’s all right.’ Mac was examining his camera.
Kerta hesitated before saying quickly, ‘There were some fishermen on the island. Very close to Perboewatan.’
Joost spun the wheel and frowned at Kerta. ‘So?’
‘One of the men was hurt.’
Joost looked at Jan. ‘Did you see them?’
Jan shook his head.
‘We better have a look,’ Mac said.
Joost’s face darkened, but he turned the steamboat towards Perboewatan. ‘Where did you see them?’
‘They were on the other side. Near Verbaten.’
‘You mean I have to go through those islets? I don’t know whether the Goliath can slip through the shallows.’ But he aimed the bow at the narrow stretch between Krakatoa and Lang.
Bas shovelled coal into the firebox, looking away from the soaring pillar of steam on the island as they approached it. There were several quick booms as they reached the narrows. Jan glanced at Kerta’s face. Kerta rapidly looked away, but Jan had caught his eye. Jan was wishing that Kerta had not said anything about the fishermen.
As Goliath cleared the point of Krakatoa’s Danan Kerta saw several trees burning on the slopes of Perboewatan. But Mac was only interested in the crater where the thick steam and gas were pouring out vertically into the air. Bas just watched his scoop and his small furnace; he didn’t want to look.
‘There!’ Kerta jabbed at a proa on the beach with nobody near it.
But Joost shouted ‘Oh, Christ …’ And he spun the wheel from the beach. A high water-spout was slithering across the shallows near the first islets.
‘There …’ Kerta’s finger wandered helplessly.
‘Good, they can get out by themselves.’ The bow surged from the water-spout to the open sea.
‘There’s no sign of them around the proa. Maybe they can’t get to it.’
‘Shut up, Kerta.’ Jan was staring at the water-spout.
It was a thin column, and it swayed like a cobra as it moved closer to the Goliath. Kerta felt its spray in his face, although it was over fifty metres away, and a low circular wave rippled away from it. The wave would reach the boat in a few seconds; it was too small to worry about, but it showed how close that water-spout was.
‘I’m not going to take any more chances.’ Joost shook his head and steered between Lang and Polish Hat as the wave rippled under Goliath.
Kerta looked at Mac.
But Mac pointed at a second water-spout moving on the other side of Krakatoa. ‘They will have to look after themselves.’
Kerta watched dully as the spouts marched around Krakatoa like menacing sentinels. There is nothing you can do, he thought. Is there?
He was relieved.
the telegrapher
As Goliath moved away from Lang, the little mail packet Zeeland nudged closer to Perboewatan, hooting. A crewman was pulling a number of small flags between the mast and the stern, as if in celebration.
‘What do the flags say?’ Mac said to Tuan Joost.
He shrugged. ‘Something about Krakatoa. But we know that, don’t we?’
The corvette Elisabeth was still charging towards Rakata. It seemed ready to battle the blasting volcano. But then it slipped away from the island into the open sea and Zeeland disappeared behind Lang.
Most of the fishing proas in Sunda Strait were now sailing towards safe bays, but several ships were still moving towards the volcano. An American brigantine was sailing from Java Head and an old grain hopper was plodding past Thwart-the-Way – and the Perboewatan column of steam now rose eleven kilometres in the air.
As Joost and Bas steered Goliath across the strait, Kerta, Mac and Jan stared back. After a while the water-spouts disappeared and the explosions petered out, but the column of steam kept going, spreading at the top like a Dutch woman’s umbrella. Halfway to Anjer, Kerta began to taste bitter ash as a fine grey dust slowly settled on the deck of the launch.
Jan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then made a face. ‘Lloyd’s Agent Schuit won’t like that on his boat.’
Joost glared at him. ‘Shut up, boy.’
Mac rubbed his finger and thumb together. ‘Lava dust. Never mind – Bas can shovel a bag of it; it’s very useful for polishing things.’
Joost grunted.
Just so long it doesn’t get worse, Kerta thought.
The blue sky slowly became dull and milky as the sun faded to resemble a washed-out moon. Kerta picked out the Fourth Point as an off-white stick against the jungle and eventually the beam from it appeared as a pale spot through the falling ash. Normally the light would be turned off at dawn, but Jacob must have decided to keep it on during the eruption. As Goliath drew nearer Kerta thought he could see Pa on the balcony – no, it was two people. Pa and Ma were watching for him. Then he saw Dewi running around the balcony. Kerta climbed up to the top deck and waved at them until they started waving back.
Joost weaved through fishing proas that were paddling and sailing to the Anjer River or the canal, while Bas stopped stoking the firebox. Goliath gently nudged the Water Wharf and Bas stepped out to hold the boat.
‘Interesting day.’ Mac smiled as he shook hands with Joost.
Joost was looking past Mac at the telescope glinting from the hotel veranda.
Jan smiled at Kerta. ‘Lloyd’s Agent is worried about his boat.’
Annoyed, Joost nodded at the veranda. ‘You better tell Tweedledum and Tweedledee what we saw, Professor, while Bas and I take Goliath back to the canal. Take the boys.’
Mac shouldered his rucksack, took Bas’s offered hand to pull him from the boat and strolled down the wharf. Kerta and Jan trailed after him as the launch puttered away. There were two men on the hotel veranda, both watching Mac intensely. Lloyd’s Agent Schuit was standing behind his brass telescope and next to him was Master Telegrapher Schruit, who looked troubled.
Lloyd’s Agent stepped away from his telescope and leaned on the rail as Mac approached the hotel. Every time Kerta had seen him around Anjer he had a smug half-smile on his face – well, why wouldn’t he? Pa said that if he was the richest man in Anjer, with Lloyd’s Agency, the hotel, Captain De Jong’s chandler shop on the Waterfront, two houses and a couple of proas, then he would wear the smug look too. But today Lloyd’s Agent had lost his smug look.
Now he was studying Mac’s walk as if that could tell him how serious things were. ‘What did you see?’ he shouted while Mac was still moving along the pier.
Mac shrugged and crossed the road.
‘Is it as bad as it looks?’ The Agent’s heavy body carried his wealth, but his worn shirt and denim trousers didn’t show it, and he had been burned by the sun into almost a Javanese.
Mac leaned back and called up to the veranda, ‘I don’t really know. But Krakatoa is alive again.’
Master Telegrapher Schruit, a younger, thin man, but with white tufts at his ears, moved to the rail. ‘Why don’t you come up here, Professor? We have to know.’
Mac nodded and steered Jan and Kerta into the busy bar, up the stairs and out on the veranda.
‘I knew it was Krakatoa,’ the Telegrapher said bleakly.
The Agent smiled weakly. ‘He’s joined us now. He bought a house near the river and tomorrow he will have to rebuild it.’
‘If the volcano lets me.’
‘Ah,’ said Mac. ‘I think it will be like any other volcano around these islands – smoke a little bit and go back to sleep.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ the Telegrapher said. ‘My wife and children are sick and tired of hanging on in Batavia. She’d blame me for the eruption!’
Kerta looked up at him in astonishment, but then realised he was joking. He drifted towards the brass telescope and looked through. At first he was alarmed when he saw black smoke pouring from his lighthouse, but he quickly realised the smoke was not coming the lighthouse; it was coming from Perboewatan.
The Telegrapher pulled his brass watch from his waistcoat. ‘What’s the time – four o’clock? I’d better tell someone. Will you come?’
Mac, Jan and Kerta followed him to his office. He waved a lean operator away from the brass machine, jotted a few words on a notebook and passed them to Mac. ‘Is that right?’
Mac showed them to Jan and Kerta and returned the notebook. ‘That’s fine.’
Kerta thought that his word for Krakatoa looked funny but he didn’t say anything.
The Telegrapher flexed his fingers, crouched before his brass machine and tapped the polished knob, creating tiny lightning sparks. Up the wire, to the poles, through the Chinese Quarter, the Arab Quarter, the Dutch fort, across the main bridge, along the Grand Post Road to Batavia, to cables along the dark bottom of the oceans, to Amsterdam, London, New York.
The tiny lightning sparks said, ‘Krakatan casting forth fire, smoke and ash accompanied by explosions and distant rumbling.’
ghosts
MAC touched the Telegrapher’s scribbled note and slowly frowned. ‘I think I’d better go to Batavia, to tell them what’s happening.’
‘Oh,’ Kerta said quietly.
Mac looked at him and patted his shoulder. ‘Just keep watching your ghost, see everything. I’ll be back.’
The Telegrapher and Mac wandered to Lloyd’s Agent on his veranda, leaving Kerta and Jan to drift away. There were a few Dutch people bustling around the Waterfront, like Harbourmaster van Leewen poking his Meerschaum pipe at people, Pilot de Vries pushing his steamboat off the beach to reach a slow-moving ship and Dr Dillié hurrying past with his battered bag … Those people hardly glanced at the column of smoke, as if they had decided that it was nothing to do with them.
But there were a lot of people – Dutch, Chinese, Arab and Javanese – just standing still and staring. As Tuan Joost and Bas walked from the canal they were hounded by worried men. Kerta could see Bas throwing his arms about.
‘They should have asked us,’ Jan said. ‘We’ve been up Krakatoa. And saw the giant lizard …’ He looked at Kerta. ‘Are you going to tell a lot of people about that?’
‘What?’
‘You know … that lizard.’
‘Oh.’ Kerta tilted his head as he studied Jan’s face. ‘No. It’s your story.’
Jan almost beamed at him. ‘Hey, you want to go to my house? Just over there.’
Kerta’s eyes followed Jan’s pointed finger to a slightly pink house at the end of a street. ‘Um …’ He had never seen the inside of a Dutch house, apart from Jacob’s bungalow, and he would love to see inside, but … ‘I better get back to the lighthouse. Or Ma will feed me to the fish.’
