Empty House

In the midst of my usual unintentional nap this morning, I was awakened by a knock on the front door--fortuitously, really, because I never mean to go back to sleep first thing in the morning, and there's no telling how long I'll sleep if I'm left undisturbed. 

I had fallen asleep between the act of disrobing and getting into the shower, so I had to cast about in this bleary state for something to throw on. The knock came again. "Bentar", I called out (just a moment) as I bumbled about for the sarung that was actually right in front of my eyes.  

Upon opening the door, I found a young woman in a motorbike helmet. Upon seeing me, she immediately adopted the 'deer caught in the headlights' posture so common to Indonesians when they suddenly encounter a bule. 

"Hi," I said. 

Still caught in the headlights. 

"Can I help you?" 

Another few moments of silence and staring pass. I'm thinking, do I know this woman? It's entirely possible. I do often have this problem with facial recognition. Is she my immigration agent? No, I don't think so. A friend of Louis'? Hmm. Well, who knows? Perhaps she is my next door neighbor? 

So, I'm searching about the dim caverns of my mind, rifling through the dusty drawers of my memory bank, when the woman finds her voice and says, "Do you speak Indonesia?"

"Yes." 

"Ah!" 

Relief all around. 

Well, it turns out that she wanted to ask about the house a couple houses down from mine. It seems to be empty and she wants to know if in fact it is empty, for she is looking for a place to rent. 

Strangely, this is often how people house hunt here. They drive around looking for places that seem empty. This process could be simplified, of course, were the house owner to post a sign on the door or the gate, but, well, that's just not the way things are done. 

I happen to know that the house is in fact empty, and has been for quite some time, perhaps more than a year now. Previously, a man and a woman had lived in the house and they had a white dog named Milky. One day, the man and the woman were no longer there, but Milky was still there, locked in the driveway behind the gate. Every night, Milky would cry and howl, and by and by I started stopping by to push some food under the gate. A couple of times, late at night, I saw someone stop by in a car and also deliver food for Milky, but then that human disappeared, too, and Milky was left to cry and howl. 

And then one day there was no more crying and howling, for Milky was gone. Had she starved to death? Had she escaped? Was she raptured? No one knows. Nor does anyone seem to really care. (Do you?). 

That's just the way things are done here. 

Some time after the disappearance of Milky, someone began coming to the house every day to perform a number of rather loud repairs involving electric saws and drills and grinders and a whole lot of pounding. Then they, too, disappeared. 

I shared all these stories with the young woman in the motorbike helmet, which seemed to have the effect of making her glad--to hear, that is, that the house was empty. 

"Is there a sign on the door?" I asked. 

"No." 

"Do you have a phone number or something?" 

"No." 

Well, hmm … I suppose, if no other option arises, that she could stand by the gate and cry and howl until someone shows up. 

I did not suggest this measure, however.