"Knock off the noise!" a voice bellowed out from the office. The hostel master had awoken. "It's lights out and all quiet at ten. That's the rule. And if you don't obey it, you can spend the night outside. Now, knock it off.""Yes, yes," the French called back, loudly enough to be heard throughout the hostel. Then more softly to the other visitors he said, "The man is a pig who charges extra for bedsheets and pillows and threatens us to sleep in the rain."
They all remained quiet for a few minutes. He kept perfectly still at the door, listening to the raindrops splattering unevenly against the asbestos roof. His breathing had quickened when he heard the hostel master's voice, but now it was settling down to a steady rhythm again. No one suspected he was there. After a time, he heard them speak English once more.
"I'll have a bit more of that wine if there's any left."
"Sure," said the American. "Here, help yourself. This ten o-clock lights out business is for the birds, isn't it? I mean, what's the point?"
"Well, it's his place," said the English after taking another drink. "I suppose we're just a few of the hundreds of blokes who pass through here each year. I suspect he gets his share of trouble out of some of them, so he feels he has to keep the rules strict."
"Merde," muttered the French. "The man is still a pig."
"Earlier, you were asking about heaven," said the English. "What sort of heaven might you have in mind for yourself?"
"Gee, I don't know. Maybe just some place free from all the laws and hassles and stuff people always lay on you. I guess that's why I came to Bali, too. I heard it was a good place to relax and get away from it all. I was thinking a few weeks on the beach might be nice, same as you guys, I guess. Sun and sand and no schedules to keep. Days without plans or pressure. Something like limbo more than heaven, maybe. Too bad about this rain. I bet Bali is a great place when the sun is shining."
Suddenly, the light went on in the hostel master's room. He was caught in the revealing brightness when the door swung open.
"What the...?" the hostel master shouted in surprise when he saw him. "You little bastards crawl in here every time my back is turned. You'd steal me blind if I gave you half a chance, wouldn't you? Well, I'll teach you a thing or two, you little sneak."
The American jumped up from his bed and came to the dormitory door to see what was going on. The hostel master was holding a native boy by the nape of the neck. But the boy wasn't struggling. He just stood silently, ready to accept his punishment.
"What are you going to do to him?" the American asked.
"You get back in there and cut the jabber or I'll be doing the same to you," growled the master, and he rushed the boy to the front door and threw him down the steps of the stilted hostel.
"Don't you come back, either!" he shouted after him. "If I catch you again, I'll take a cane to you. Understand?"
The boy didn't answer. He simply stared at the hostel as the door was slammed shut. Inside, the nameless visitors would continue drinking from the long bottle, whispering to one another in their mysterious language. He watched until the lights went out again, then turned his back on the hostel and walked down to the sea.
Off on the horizon, the clouds were beginning to scatter. The rain was letting up. He squatted by the water's edge and watched the waves come in for a while before reaching down and scooping up some sand from the beach. His beach. The sand was wet and heavy in his hands.
