The lieutenant’s left hand, holding his cigarette, draws a line in the dark, and stops. The soldier sets his rifle casually on the ground. In his hand there is now a pistol. He puts the pistol against Matthew’s father’s head. His father starts to say something, three or four words, but Matthew hears only “ Tolong, tolong. Please,” before the first shot is fired. His father’s body shudders and falls forward. He hits the ground chest-first, both arms outstretched, the hands open. Matthew scrabbles at the grass as if he might crawl towards his father, but his fingers close around air. The world empties before the second and third shots. While the sounds are still audible, the first soldier drops his left hand and lets his cigarette fall to the dirt.
The other man is picking up his rifle. They are speaking to one another in low voices, and then his father is lifted off the ground, swung and tossed into the back of the truck. The two men climb into the cab, the lieutenant carrying the jar of money. The engine starts, the headlights sweep the road. The truck reverses, bearing down on Matthew, the lights freezing him. The gears sound and the truck begins to roll forward. The truck turns down the road and drives away.
Matthew lies in the dark, unmoving. The sound of his breathing lifts away from him. The truck’s wheels have raised a cloud of dust and he can taste the road in his mouth, in the back of his throat.
His legs ache with the effort, but he pushes himself to standing. In the dark, he fumbles for the bag and pulls it over his shoulder. Then, turning, he walks slowly in the direction of the plantation.
All his thoughts are clear. He goes first to the storehouse where sheets of rubber hang to dry, and there he finds a small shovel. Then he goes back and begins to count out the rows. His eyes have now adjusted to the darkness. In front of the thirtieth tree of the thirtieth row, Matthew sets down the sack. There are notches in the wood, thin diagonal lines where the rubber has been tapped. All around him, he hears the itching sound of cicadas, a bird, unidentifiable night sounds.
In his mind, his father says again, Make sure no one sees you. Matthew stares into the darkness, then kneels on the ground. He traces an outline in the dirt, making a circle, then he begins to dig with the shovel. His father comes towards him. Please, he says to Matthew, go quickly. This is the place where he will plant the money. It will be like the seeds that his father warned him not to swallow, a strange plant growing from an unexpected place. After a few minutes, Matthew has made a small opening in the ground. Not enough. It has to be so deep that he can stand in it, with only his fingertips brushing the air.
His father gets to his feet. Take the money, he tells the men. He gestures towards Matthew, and Matthew steps out from his hiding place and onto the road. He goes to stand beside his father. His father places his hand on Matthew’s shoulder.
Minutes pass, perhaps hours. The plantation falls away, and he returns to the house on Jalan Campbell. High on a shelf, there is a wooden box whose contents he cannot see. All he hears is the scratch of a record, then a woman’s voice. Through a doorway, he glimpses his parents standing together, his mother holding a jacket open, his father sliding his arms into the sleeves. She runs her hands across his back. He turns to face her. Matthew climbs down into the hole that he has made. There are places so narrow that he has to use his body to widen the opening. When he is standing at the bottom, he reaches his hands up and turns his face towards the fresh air. The dirt surrounding him radiates heat, and he realizes that his entire body is sweating, he can feel the drops running from his hair, down his face and neck. Gripping the surface, he braces his knees against the walls of the hole and forces himself out. He feels no pain and no fatigue. His arms lift him out of the ground and he does not feel the effort.
Lying on his stomach, he lowers the sack as far as he can, then lets it go, hearing it strike at the bottom of the hole. The glass jar does not seem to break. Slowly, he replaces the dirt until the hole is completely filled. He packs the earth down carefully, using his hands and feet to remove any signs of disturbance.
As he does this, he listens for men or trucks, but even the cicadas have stopped their singing and the air is still. Again and again, his thoughts return to the burning embers, the rifle on the ground and the pistol in the soldier’s hand, but he pushes these images away. He has swallowed something wrong. Inside his skin, something that he cannot contain is pulsing and breathing, but there is no way to let it out.
Walking back, he sees a dull light flickering inside the hut and realizes that his mother has returned before him. He lingers outside, staring at the faint candlelight. Dirt is caked to his skin, and he stands in the grass, crumbling the pieces off with his hands. He has lost his shirt, but he does not remember how or when. There are no sounds of planes or gunfire; the night is extraordinarily calm, peaceful. Matthew gathers himself together and walks forward. Alongside the hut, he sees, as if from another time, the bicycle wheel and the stick lying beside it. He pushes open the door.
On the table, a low candle wavers. He stands motionless, looking into the shadows. The hut is empty.
There are two plates of food, rice and meat. The food smells so fragrant, so good, a dizziness comes over him, but he cannot bring himself to eat. One of the settings, he realizes, is meant for his father. A third dish, his mother’s, is sitting empty but unwashed on the other side of the table. His mother has been here, but now she has gone, and this realization makes him pause, eyes stinging. Did the Japanese soldiers return? But there is nothing out of place in the hut.
Shaking, Matthew walks to the other side of the table. Beside his parents’ bed, the metal tub has been filled with water; it is a still lake in the half-darkened room. He touches the surface, the water is warm. He can smell his mother’s soap, the small perfumed square that she keeps wrapped in paper. When he has taken off his clothes, he climbs into the bath. The panic begins to subside, and he slides down until only his mouth and nose remain above the surface, the dirt from the plantation dissolving off his skin. He keeps his eyes open as the room moves in waves above him.
Go now. Quickly. The soldiers in the truck drive away, and their lights sweep across his father, who stands on the steps watching them leave.
Matthew closes his eyes. His father falls backward. His legs dangle loosely from the soldiers’ arms.
Much later, a caravan of vehicles passes by on the road outside. The walls shake, and small ripples start to form in the water, expanding out, moving against his body. Matthew climbs out of the tub, dries his body with a sarong, and sits on his bed. He is waiting for his mother; she is getting ready for Sunday mass in a time before the war. She has a pearl necklace that rests in a cushioned box. When she puts it on, she turns first one way and then another, admiring the play of light along its length. In St. Michael’s Church, she sits on the bench beside him, and he leans his face against her body, the fabric of her dress shifting against his cheek.
Ani says, The boy buried his treasure in a hidden place. In this place, all the trees were silver, and fruit fell from the trees and lined the ground. For months and months, the boy cared for his secret. He nourished the soil and watered the dirt. One day, the first leaves appeared. The stems grew strong and the leaves became bountiful.
This is the treasure that allows the boy to return to the other side. For when he opens the leaves, pieces of gold fall into his hands. He has been trapped here for many, many years. As many years as it takes for a boy to grow into an old man.