Free Mountain of Fire by Radhika Puri Page A

turned out that this man was the bule’s surgeon friend from Jakarta and had come to have a look at Agus’ lip.
    They had a long conversation about Agus. Fitri was not in the room, but she could see from the open window that her mother was crying. But her face looked happy. She soon found out why.
    Agus was grinning and came leaping out of the room. “Fitri, my lip can be fixed! Then I will be able to talk properly.” He continued softly, “I think even Ayah is crying a little, but he is trying not to show it.”
    Fitri jumped up and down, clapping her hands gleefully. “That’s awesome, Agus! Dokters can do that? That’s really amazing!”
    â€œYes! And now they are talking about the money. Something about a reward from the museum.”
    â€œReally? What are they saying?”
    Agus shrugged. “I don’t know but it looks like the village might get something – something called kompensasi,” he pronounced the word with difficulty. “Then they sent me out of the room, so I don’t know what’s being said.”
    He paused. “Fitri, things are not okay with the Merapi. I think that’s what they are talking about.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter, Agus. Don’t think about it now. Ibu and Ayah will figure it out. The important thing is that your lip will be fixed!” Fitri said.
    â€œThat is true,” said Agus, grinning.
    The day ended wonderfully with a small celebration about Agus’ lip and the kompensasi as news spread across the refugee camp. The village was going to get a reward! A compensation for finding the lost kingdom!
    But the best day for Fitri and her family turned into the worst for the village. That night, the Merapi finally erupted.

TWELVE : THE ERUPTION
    WHEN the news first came in, it was late and people were just about settling down on their mattresses for the night. But a volcano erupting is not a silent event. Everyone for miles around heard it before the news came on the radio.
    Agus’ new friends yelled outside his hut, “Come on, Agus. We are going to climb the trees and see!”
    Not one person slept that night. The children watched in horror, hypnotised by the crater of the volcano, growing red in the distance. Every time the volcano rumbled and belched out smoke, the kids screamed in excitement. The grown-ups, huddled around the radio trying to listen in, yelled at them to be quiet.
    Smoke could be seen for miles around. But the worst effect was the awful smell. The smell of sulphur – of rotten eggs – was everywhere and some of the older people in the refugee camp could barely breathe. All night long, trucks and motorcycles raced around carrying people wearing masks.
    The mountain threw out ash and smoke, but there was no news of lahars. But the ash from an eruption was devastating enough, and the news was that some of the adjoining villages had been destroyed. Machuchak too had suffered some damage, but there was no way of knowing how much till people went back to their homes.
    Pak Eko had not been seen since the eruption. When the children asked their father, he said he was probably helping people out in the villages. “He is, after all, the Guardian of the Merapi. He thinks this is his responsibility,” said Ayah.
    When Pak Eko still wasn’t seen in the refugee camp a week after the eruption, Fitri and Agus grew impatient. They were eager to ask him more about being Spirit Keepers of the Merapi. But with everything that had happened, there had not been a chance to talk to him.
    The Merapi spewed ash and smoke for another two weeks. Thick clouds of woolly smoke hung in the air. Streams of people came into the refugee camp, till every hut was bursting with people. As more refugees came in, they brought with them stories of death and destruction. People who could not be evacuated in time, people who got caught in an avalanche of rocks, stragglers who got suffocated by the