Dissonance

By Rick Davis

I Komang Ponidi, a tour guide in Bali, loves his island home but hates his job. Worse, he has gambling debts, controlled by a vicious gangster. He reluctantly begins what may be his last tour with an American group headed by the unapproachable Mr. Leonard Wagner.

The story takes the reader on a journey through the exotic tropical world of Bali as Ponidi grapples with forces he cannot quite control. Can he get the surly Mr. Wagner to help him? Will his debts catch up with him? Can his faith conquer his fears? Or will his emotional dissonance destroy him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365110658

Book preview

Dissonance

Dissonance

by Richard L. Davis

Copyright © 2016, Richard L. Davis

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2016

ISBN: 978-1-365-11065-8

iStreet Press

Elk Grove CA 95758

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'

Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades

For ever and forever...

- Alfred Lord Tennyson, Ulysses

Day One, Monday.

1400 hours. On a beach, Bali, Indonesia.

I Komang Ponidi fought the tightness in his throat and forced himself to swallow. Only his cigarette gave him relief. He sucked on the remains of a wet stub and let its hot smoke fill him. He held the feeling close for a moment, then exhaled. The familiar twinge of regret came again as the gray mist from his lungs dissipated into the gentle breeze from the sea.

The sea. He studied its expanse, laid out before him. So much more real than what he had to do. He had grown up on a beach like this one and on the low hills that loomed over it. He had fished with his father and brothers on this sea, which men called the Indonesian Ocean. His mother and father and brothers had made Bali his home. He knew no other.

Things change, though. He had changed. He no longer fished. Instead he had sold his youth for gambling and easy money. Now he sold his country. He owned a business, the Supreme Tour and Resort Agency of Bali. The grand title promised tourists a great experience on this exotic island. The title also hid only one employee and tour guide: him. 

The shimmer of the afternoon sun on the water made him squint. Several prahus, Bali's familiar outrigger fishing boats with their large sails, skimmed along, swift and elegant. They slapped the sea as they crested each wave, sending up sheets of white spray. The Balinese fishermen carved the prows into delicate images of Makara, the mythical Hindu elephant-fish. They hoped the image would please the gods of the sea and ensure a good catch. Ponidi knew it did not always work.

He closed his eyes and inhaled to mix salt air with the smoke of another cigarette. The rhythmic sound of the surf absorbed and rolled over him. He tried to match its pulse to his own. In his silence, in that moment, the sea let him forget his regrets. But soon thoughts about the job raced again through his mind. Tours would be fine, he felt, if it did not include the tourists: their constant calls beforehand, their last minute anxieties, their staring at his life and culture without seeing, their anger at things that did not match their version of home. He did not want to do it again.

But he had no choice. He needed the money, and sometimes he loved the money as much as Bali. Maybe more.

Ponidi sat down and leaned back on his hands, the cigarette clinging to the cliff of his lower lip. He enjoyed the malleable comfort of the sandy beach as it molded to his form. He scooped up a handful of sand, then watched it stream back through his fingers. His action brought the attention of an old woman, who glanced at him as she walked past along the shore. Her bare feet kicked and splashed the water, wetting the hem of her sari. On her head she balanced a stack of fruit half her height. Despite the irregular flow of the surf, her graceful movements seemed poetic.

His eyes followed her until he noticed for the first time a naked Australian couple nearby on the beach. They lay on their backs sunbathing and holding hands. Broad hats covered their faces, and at first Ponidi thought they slept. But soon their legs moved to touch, exposing an awareness of each other's sensual presence. Ponidi felt his throat tighten again, this time with disgust. Balinese law prohibited public nakedness, but tourists found the quiet coves and ignored the law. And the police ignored it, too. The money the tourists brought meant more than honor.

Ponidi studied the couple. He tried to guess which one of the nearby resorts they stayed at. The woman had a nice form; but he felt no arousal. Instead, he gathered flakes of the cigarette's tobacco that had clustered on the tip of his tongue and spat them in their direction. Unaware of his presence, the woman rolled over and clung to the man.

Ponidi stood and turned to walk toward his car. The movement startled a sand crab that dashed a few feet away. It then darted back in front of him and buried itself in the sand. Ponidi stared for a moment where the sand crab had disappeared. Like a tourist: there for a pointless moment and then gone. He dropped his cigarette on the spot and crushed it out hard with his bare foot. The sand did not move, and he smiled at his small triumph. He then continued to his car and drove to the Ngurah Rai International Airport.

Behind him, the sand moved again. The crab reappeared, paused for a moment with its eyes alert, and scampered away.

1700 hours. The airport.

Ponidi eased the clutch out as he coasted his old Fiat under the shade of a copse of trees at the airport. He always did this in an attempt to avoid an embarrassing backfire. A loud bang and burst of smoke from the tailpipe proved he failed again. Nobody turned his direction, though, the sharp sound already buried by the constant, hurried noise of airport activity. He remembered the pride he felt when he and his friend, Anak, first bought the car brand new. It had served them well in their little business then. He patted the dash and muttered a silent prayer to Ganesh, the Hindu god of safe travel and removing obstacles.  With a little luck and Ganesh's blessing the Fiat would continue to serve him well.

He spilled himself out of the Fiat and looked up at the familiar edifice before him. One of the newest facilities on Bali, the government had intended the Ngurah Rai International Airport to be the envy of all of Southeast Asia. They built it to handle the annual