The Tropical Sun - Belief, Love and Hate

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  The family at Pantai paid great attention to Bandri’s medical care. In the morning Listeri insisted that he should frequently exercise his leg, walking him around the house.

  “I’m making a stew with Pandan leaves,” she informed him. “It will stop the fever and swelling.”

  “It’s a strong flavour - but good for you,” added Eko from his bed.

  Lyana then instructed him to sit down and rest his leg.

  “This is a lotion of sour honey and calamansi,” she explained, as she started to massage the swelling around his ankle and calf muscle, trying to dissipate the poison and encourage fresh blood to revitalise the swollen tissues.

  “The sour honey tastes good too,” Bandri said, thinking of the Pandan stew he must eat. “We use it for fevers and wounds.”

  “My wife is cooking another snake for you,” Eko said. “Best to eat snakes after a bite,” he added as if it was obvious.

  Lyana smiled with understanding at Bandri.

  “I’ll get plenty of the honey for you to eat as well.”

  In the old bamboo fences around the houses resided numerous small colonies of the stingless bees. Lyana proceeded to collect sour honey by cracking open the nodes of bamboo and scooping out the honey nodules. As she did this, clouds of protesting little black bees buzzed and crawled over her skin. To try and keep them away from her face she had tied a sheet of fabric over her head, porous enough to see and breathe through. Nevertheless, some of the tiny insects made it inside, making themselves an itchy nuisance.

  Bandri got up to try and help her.

  “You must rest your leg,” she told him. “I’ll do this – Sis will do the massage.”

  Bandy smiled in admiration as she persisted, giving out little squeals periodically as some made it into her ears or up her nose. She burst into a fit of coughing when she accidentally breathed one in, but carried on with hardly a pause.

  “My daughter was always determined,” Eko remarked, just loud enough for him to hear. “Strong-willed she is.”

  As Bandri sat on a chair in the shade of the porch, Lela knelt down shyly on the ground at his feet, tucking the long sarong under her knees.

  “Please sir, place your foot on the cushion,” Lela requested dutifully, apparently unable at this time to use his name.

  Bandri watched the girl as she laid her hands on his swollen leg and started rubbing in the lotion with a delicate pressure. Her dexterous movements caused the sarong to gently loosen and then pull a little tighter around her supple figure while her long thick black hair fell forward, mostly hiding her face. Occasionally she looked up, her large dark eyes under those long eyelashes meeting his fleetingly, as if seeking reassurance that she was not hurting him. He found himself looking forward to the next time she raised her head. Discerning the sublime innocence of a freshly-flowered young woman, he adjusted his posture to try and disguise the bulge that had grown in his kathok. He smiled pleasantly down at her and breathed steadily, trying to maintain an appropriate decorum.

  Meanwhile, Eko lay on his bed sleeping, Raharjo had gone fishing and Listeri collected produce from the garden at the back of the house.