Sometimes they disappear

by Emanuela Hanes (Belgium)

I didn't expect to find Indonesia

Sometimes they disappear. Whereto, you cannot say. They were just gone, without comment, without good-byes, without anything. You would come out of your hut and see the kitchen door closed, and you would know that they are no longer here. You realize that are alone in this lagoon, in your lagoon. Alone in the middle of the Papuan Ocean. Maybe, maybe they went home, wherever that was, or to see friends and relatives. Maybe they didn’t go anywhere at all and just wanted some quiet time, some downtime. But all the boats were missing from the jetty, so gone they are. You sit in your hut and try to think of the journey. Try to think where they might be, now. How they assemble around lunch tables with their parents or sit under the shade of the village trees. How they open coconuts for their kids, but most probably not. The kids will be out with the other village kids, one big mob of small hands and short legs, jumping into the water, chasing crabs. Maybe they went shopping, you think, but that is unlikely, on a January First. Also, just a few days ago they returned from the district capital, so that can’t be it. You face the obvious, that you have no idea, it’s a mystery, it’s unsolvable. Later, maybe after you return from the reef, they will be back, just like that, without any comment, without any hellos, just back as if nothing ever happened. As if they had never disappeared. But they have. They are disappeared, right now, while you sit in your hut and listen to the silence of the waves. The waves make sounds, of course, but it’s this organic sound that never changes and that you mistake for silence, more and more often. Silence as in, no kids’ voices, no engines, no chatter, no sounds from the kitchen. Silence as in, only the birds, and the waves, and the rustling of the trees. Nothing too soothing. You sit in your hut and fear creeps up. What if, you think. What if. Fear is a hungry animal, you know that well. You know it well, this animal called fear. You know, it needs to be checked and controlled, otherwise who knows what will happen. Otherwise anything can happen. Otherwise probably nothing will happen, and you will sit in your hut all day long, paralyzed, paralyzed, paralyzed. Until they come back, until the silence is filled with sound, until other human beings legitimize your existence, until you are allowed to be. You sit. You breathe. Barely, but yes. And then – the sound of an engine.