Read Online The Timor Man by Kerry B. Collison - Free Book Online Page B

Selamat pagi. ”
    Coleman instantly recognised Pak Seda, one of his instructors. “ Selamat pagi ,” he responded.
    Seda approached, hands in pockets, with the casual gait Asian men have developed throughout the centuries. “ Mau kemana? ” Where are you going? asked the short dark skinned man. Coleman hesitated. He knew he had to select his words precisely as mistakes, even off campus, were remembered when assessing student proficiency.
    â€œ Iseng-iseng saja Pak .” Just strolling around, sir, he answered. Coleman was pleased he had remembered the phrase. His vocabulary was growing rapidly which increased his confidence.
    â€œ You are up early Koesman .” Seda observed, using the student’s allocated Indonesian name.
    â€œ Yes. I needed the fresh air. Too many of these ,” he replied, indicating the cigarette dangling between his nicotine-stained fingers, his sentences still stiff as one would expect of a new student.
    â€œ Would you like a kretek ?” the teacher offered. Aroma from these cigarettes mixed with clove would permeate every corner of the staff building when Seda smoked. The uninitiated would stand close to a kretek smoker only once before discovering that apart from the marijuana grass-like smell, the weed would often explode burning holes in nylon shirts, trousers, or even worse, as had happened one day, to the Director of Studies’sports coat. Seda had almost changed to more orthodox brands after the embarrassing incident.
    Coleman flicked his cigarette away before accepting the Dji Sam Soe . As he lit it, the taste touched his tongue followed by a cooling sensation of scented smoke flowing into his lungs.
    Seda observed the student expecting a response he had often witnessed from inexperienced Indonesian cigarette smokers. When none was evident Seda was pleased and proffered the rest of the packet.
    Embarrassed, Coleman refused. “ No, Pak , terima kasih ,” breaking into English, “Thank you, but no. I cannot take your cigarettes as they must be very difficult to obtain here in Australia.”
    â€œ Tidak apa apa . It’s all right. I buy them from friends who work for Radio Australia. They have plenty. Please. I would be offended if you don’t take them ”
    Coleman knew that this was not the case. Asians would not show offence over something so trivial; instantly he felt a warmth for this lonely man who tried so hard to be inconspicuous amongst his peers. Stephen accepted the packet and walked along the beach road, his tiredness forgotten, pleased to be in the company of the Timorese.
    â€œ As a child I used to walk along the beach near my village. I would dream of crossing the ocean to make my fortune and return as wealthy as a king. ”
    Seda paused to ensure that he selected words simple enough for the student to understand.
    â€œ In my kampung the people were so poor there was not even one motorbike. We were the neglected island: the forgotten people in Soekarno’s dream. ” He turned his head to ensure that his student had understood. “ Do you understand, Mas? ”
    Coleman had understood but was unsure how he was expected to respond. “ I understand what you are saying but do not understand the ... ” he paused, searching his memory for the correct word. Unable to remember, he resorted to the English substitute, “situation.” he added.
    â€œ Ah. Yes, for Australians life is relatively simple. What will you do when you have completed the course? ”
    Coleman felt the thrill of the assumption. He had been reasonably confident of completing the training but this was the first indication, almost confirmation of the possibility from a staff member.
    â€œ No doubt I will be sent to Jakarta to assist the Information Bureau there. After two years in the Embassy the government usually sends us back to Canberra where we sit and wait for another opportunity to travel ,” he explained,