Short Stories
vol.10Fragrant Harum Diary（1/5）
Green Day
I arrived in Ubud from Denpasar more quickly than I had imagined. I was served haldi tea on the terrace of the guest house "Sedap," and I almost melted into its sweet, sad aroma as I listened to the birds until sunset. The wind passed through, ringing the leaves of the dianella.
The guest house was run by the wiry owner, his dark-skinned wife, and two beautiful sisters. The beautiful sisters were the top Bali dancers in Ubud. As shadows began to fall, they made up their eyes with azure-colored paint and took off on a motorbike, put-putting down a narrow street, looking like two birds pressed together on its seat. It was night. The word sedap means "delicious."
The guest rooms were no more than identical cottages made of stone. Each contained a shower room and a bed; nothing else. The exterior was covered in moss, and the floor was white linoleum. A brand new mosquito coil was placed in a dish, and a single blue fluorescent light dangled over the bed, lighting up the walls, unadorned except for remains of squashed mosquitoes scattered like sesame seeds.
I've come all this way, Kochan.
Wind Day
The leaves of the dianella continued to ring.
Back on the terrace of the guest house, I had a breakfast of fried fish and white rice. Sauce of tamarind and soy sauce mixed with chili pepper suited the crunchy fish, and I ate like a bottomless pit. The younger of the beautiful sisters placed noodles on banana leaves all about the house, praying as she did. She put some at my feet. Then she made a stirring motion with her right hand at the level of her own face, and the smell of banana leaves wafted upwards. I had always liked the smell of plants. I liked them all, even the odor of living plants that had died.
Kochan, I imagine that you were unable to endure this smell. They say men have more sensitive noses than women. As your strong elder sister, I hate it that your nose is better than mine, but I'm glad too. It makes it all worthwhile following you here to Bali. As long as you've given up on everything anyway.
The pohon maram tree−the night-fragrance tree−is large and it is now yours. Kochan, you were such a small presence, but you were able to become a great tree.
If I follow the map in your diary, I should be able to locate it−the one you spent years looking for. If I find you dangling from that large tree, just like a giant white, sweet-smelling flower, I'll throw my arms around you. Then we can both fall until we're buried in the damp earth. I've seen the dream over and over. You are colored pure white and cover me. Together we sink into a swamp and under the roots of a huge tree. The roots suck nutrition from our bodies until the tree blooms in enormous white flowers−twice as large as those on other trees. Kochan, you were the one who told me this dream would come true, you said it just might.
The beautiful sisters bid me good−bye. Thank you for the feast. The vinegar and soy sauce and tamarind and chili pepper, and that fragrant fried fish. Such delicacies.