Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Jade
I blink as I exit the chaos of Denpasar airport, so different from the serene majesty of Changi.
I stand outside the terminal, my bag slung over one shoulder, board bag in my other hand, and bucket hat pulled down low to hide my face as much as possible.
It’s always like this whenever I come to Bali: a shift of consciousness, a hit of culture shock.
I check the time on my phone. Anna sent me a map of where I was being met, and when.
I timed the flight in so I wouldn’t miss it; it’s about a twenty-minute drive from the airport, and I have an hour or so.
Still, the roads around here tend to be chaotic, so I’m keen to get going.
The scent of clove cigarettes fills my nostrils as I head over to the taxi rank.
“Serangan Port?” I ask the first taxi driver, a slightly built older man with a wrinkled face. He nods, grinning, revealing gapped teeth. He grabs my surfboard bag, sliding it into the back of his five-seater van, dropping one of the seats to fit it in.
I hop into the front passenger seat, holding my bag as we pull into the snarl of traffic surrounding the airport.
There don’t seem to be any lanes; just a cluster of trucks and motorcycles and cars all moving in one direction, parents clutching small children, loads balanced precariously on flatbeds, and a seeming complete disregard for road safety rules.
I remember how stunned I was the first time I came here, back when I was a Sand Star and the world was just opening up for me.
Now I take it in my stride, settling back into the rhythm of things once the initial shock has passed.
As we head further away from the airport it’s as though the ties around me are loosening, everything connecting to the life I left behind slipping away.
I check my phone again. Zach was coming into Singapore on a later flight than mine; said he had some things to sort out. More like girls to shag, if I know him. I sigh.
I need to break up with him.
I still love him. But it’s a tattered and broken kind of love, shredded by too many betrayals, too many nights watching him bury himself in some other girl, when all I wanted was to be loved.
When we first got together, I thought he was everything, and so I gave him everything in return.
For a while it was just the two of us, and it was bliss.
But then other girls started hanging around and, eventually, came into our bed.
Yet he would go crazy if any other guy so much as tried to talk to me, always insisting that the other girls meant nothing, that it was me who he loved.
And I ate it up, every single time.
Until now.
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes, letting the traffic noise, the tinny music from the taxi radio, the heat coming through the windscreen, swirl around me.
Hopefully taking this time away will give me the clarity I need.
I’ve been with Zach for almost four years, much of my professional surf career.
I don’t know who I’ll be without him. It’s time I figure that out.
We reach the small port and I get out, paying the driver and tipping him.
“Terima kasih.” I thank him in Indonesian, rewarded by another gap-toothed smile.
Then he’s gone and it’s just me, my surfboards and small holdall.
I put on sunglasses and pull my hat down lower.
Bali is a huge surf destination, as are many of the islands reached from this port; it’s more likely than not someone might recognise me and I need to get to my destination without anyone knowing where I am.
Then, once I’m away from prying eyes, I can sort my shit out.
I walk along the harbour, looking for the ferry Anna told me to take. I’m surprised to see a sleek motorised tender at the mooring, all gleaming chrome and white paint. The words Sembuh Queen are blazoned on one side in navy blue lettering.
“Um, hey,” I call out to the young Indonesian guy wearing board shorts and a short-sleeved rash vest at the helm. “Is this the ferry to—”
“Jade?” At my nod his face lights up. He jumps out of the boat, grabbing my board bag and placing it carefully on board. Then he offers me his hand. “I’m Ahmad.”
“Hi, Ahmad.” I take his hand, letting him help me into the boat.
There’s a covered area where the helm is with seating either side, and more padded seating at the rear of the boat.
I put my bag down and sink into the pale linen cushions, smoothing my hand over the soft fabric. This is not what I expected at all.
“Would you like a drink before we leave?”
“A drink?”
“Of course. All part of the Sembuh experience.” Ahmad rummages in a large cooler at the front of the boat. “I have iced water, pineapple juice or soda. Any preference?”
“The juice, please.” I’m still a little confused, but not unhappy.
Anna had said the cabin was on a private peninsula.
I hadn’t realised it came with private transportation as well.
Still, I’m not complaining. The juice is ice-cold, welcome on such a hot day.
I let the sweet liquid slip down my throat as Ahmad casts off from our mooring, turning the boat and heading out to sea.
As we coast across turquoise blue water I relax back, enjoying the feeling of sun and wind on my skin. Ahmad, after asking if I need anything else, seems content to drive the boat and not make conversation, which is fine with me. I don’t mean to be rude, but my mind is still all over the place.
It all feels like too much. Zach. My career.
The endless online promotion. I love to surf, the ocean a haven for me since I was a child on the California coast, but it feels as though surfing is the last thing I want to do at the moment, rather than the first. I’m burnt out, I realise.
Even now, almost alone in the middle of the ocean, I can feel the compulsion to check my phone, to look at analytics, to make sure my sponsors are getting their money’s worth.
I need the pay, which is why I take on all the extra promo stuff.
But I can’t keep doing this forever. The weight of my responsibilities rolls over me again, almost crushing in its intensity.
Giving into the urge I pick up my phone, but there’s no reception and I have to resist the sudden impulse to fling it into the blue water.
Instead I sit back, sip my juice, and hope my sunglasses are dark enough to hide my tears.
When we reach the island, one of thousands in the Indonesian archipelago, it’s almost a relief.
I wipe my eyes, taking in the view. Sembuh looks like a stock photo of the perfect tropical island.
Thick green palms line white beaches, crystal blue waters lapping the shore.
I spot low buildings among the palms, built of wood and thatched in a traditional style, but there are no huge resorts, nothing encroaching on the unspoiled shoreline.
It’s odd, but not unheard of. Not every island needs to be opened to mass tourism, I suppose.
It’s nice to be somewhere that doesn’t seem to be.
The MZM post comes to mind again, the temple dreaming in the jungle as it has done for a thousand years or more. Another unspoiled place, preserved like a jewel in the hand. I wonder whether this island is protected as well; perhaps that would explain why it’s remained undeveloped. I’m glad it is.
Fish dart in the azure shallows as Ahmad docks the boat at a small wooden jetty, jumping off to tie it in place.
Then he gets back on to pick up my boards and place them with care on the dock before helping me disembark.
I look around, but there doesn’t seem to be a soul in sight.
I wonder where I’m supposed to go, or if the mysterious Axel will show up to greet me.
“Come on,” Ahmad says, with a grin. He picks up my board bag, ignoring my protests, and heads down the jetty towards the shore.
I want a drink, I realise. And that scares me.
I don’t mind getting wasted with Zach or whoever, but wanting one now, in the middle of the day, feels like a slippery slope I don’t want to go down. I’ve seen where it leads.
Ahmad leads me between the rustling palms. It’s instant relief, the shade cool.
I follow him along a twisting sandy pathway lined with small white stones, precisely laid.
We pass a long low house, with windows along the ocean side.
I pause, briefly. What a spectacular place to live, hidden from the world, nothing but the sea and sky to keep you company. A dream.
“That’s the boss’s place,” Ahmad says. “You’ll meet him in a bit.”
Huh. By the boss I guess he means Axel. Anna mentioned him being a friend.
She’s spent a bit of time here, which is why I asked if I could stay.
Some sort of informal arrangement of private cabins.
I hadn’t really cared, to be honest; I would camp in a tent on the beach at the moment just to get some space.
But as we continue along the twisting path, past small perfectly formed cabins, I wonder what kind of person Axel is, to create an oasis like this just to keep it for himself and a chosen few.
I’m not sure how I feel about that, to be honest. I can’t deny how beautiful it is, though.
Fairy lights twist around the trunks of some of the palm trees, strung among the leaves, and I imagine them coming on as night falls, flickering like fireflies in the darkness.
Very romantic, but I’m not here for that. I’m here for the opposite of romance.
Ahmad stops in front of one of the cabins. “This is yours, for as long as you need it. Should be all stocked up, and there’s local information inside.” He flashes me another of his brilliant smiles. “Welcome to Sembuh.”
He leaves before I can tip him, loping along the pathway. Maybe he has someone else to collect from Bali. Or maybe he’s going to disappear until someone needs him again, as though this beautiful place is somehow magical.
Shaking my head at the notion, I open the cabin door and step inside.
Axel
I get back home around dinner time, the sun sliding lower across the ocean, the clouds lilac and orange.
They’re spliced with darker clouds, the storms that roll up suddenly at this time of year building out at sea.
I shower again, rinsing off the dust of the day, wandering inside with a towel around my waist. The long windows are open to the sea, the sound washing over me as I prepare dinner.
I set it to cook then head into my bedroom and get dressed.
I choose carefully, light drawstring trousers and a fitted T-shirt, more dressy than my usual shorts. I don’t know why. I suppose it’s because I have a new guest. I’ll go and introduce myself later, make sure she has everything she needs.
Jade. I wonder what she’ll bring to the island.
Each of my guests tends to bring something of themselves, whether it’s something they need to work through or simply the joy at being in such a beautiful place.
I’m careful who I allow to come here for this very reason.
I trust Anna, though; I know she wouldn’t send anyone here who would spoil the healing magic of this place.
But healing is a process, as I know from my own journey. Some days are better than others.
There’s a theory that grief never really changes; it’s just that the life around it grows bigger again, making it easier to manage.
I’ve tried, I suppose. But I blew most of my life apart when the ocean took Susie.
Turned my back on everyone I knew and tried to start again.
The people I call friends now are few and far between, and they know me only as Axel. That’s all.
It should be enough. There are times when the rope of my tolerance wears thin, when I wonder how the hell I can spend the rest of my life like this, but living here and doing the work I do has to be enough.
Because I don’t know how to do anything else.
Later, my stomach full of good food and my arms filled with towels, I wander down the winding path towards my new guest’s cabin.
Fairy lights sparkle in the trees; I notice a couple of blown bulbs, and make a mental note to replace them tomorrow.
There’s a light on inside, soft gold shining through the timber shutters.
Good. She’s settled in, then. I step onto the veranda, raising my hand to knock.
I pause. A sound comes through the timber panel, soft, rising up and down like the sea. I listen for a moment, then put the towels down quietly and walk away. But as I head back to my place I’m frowning, something tugging at my chest.
Like I say, this is a healing place. And people come here with all kinds of problems to sort through. So I shouldn’t be surprised that my new guest is spending her first night here in tears.
The surprise is that, for some reason, I want to help her.