Free The Timor Man by Kerry B. Collison Page A

impossible. The disguised threats unsettled his stomach. Should some source inform the Australian authorities of Albert’s relationship to Nathan, dire consequences would follow for their remaining family in Timor. Tired and agitated the following morning, Albert decided not to attend classes for the day. He had to have time to think, to convince Nathan that it would be impossible for him to do those things that he asked. No, not asked, demanded.
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    In the following weeks a further and even more threatening communication arrived and Albert assumed the Asian philosophical approach to Nathan’s letters. He decided that he was, after all, of Indonesian heritage and that bore certain responsibilities even though he had not found peace in his country of birth. He had also considered his remaining family in Kupang and the additional hardships they may have to suffer if he refused assistance.
    He really had no choice but to submit. He agreed to cooperate and, in so doing, commenced down a parallel path to that of Stephen Coleman, unaware that their respective journeys would eventually twist and turn in opposing directions as each moved forward in search of their own dreams and, perhaps too, their ajal .
    Their final destiny.

Chapter 3

    Kampung Semawi, Java - October 1965
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    The line extended for kilometres. In some places, the bicycles were four and five abreast as the children free-wheeled down the gentle incline enjoying the lower temperatures and light humidity of the early morning. As they rode, they talked, laughed and flirted, occasionally pedalling, as they coasted down the hill. They were happy, innocent, and eager to get to school.
    The girls wore dark skirts, white cotton blouses and thin red scarves knotted loosely below the neckline. The boys wore similar colours, dressed in shorts or trousers, depending on their age, and white short-sleeved shirts without the distinguishing loose tie. The girls held themselves erect, poised like Parisian models, their backs straight, both hands elegantly touching but not gripping the handlebars as they maintained their positions in the column.
    Many of the young ladies sported waist length deep black hair. Occasionally, as the bicycles passed under the trees and then out of the thin shadows into the light, the sun’s rays would touch the fine long strands causing their well-kept crowns to shine with the care, the brushing and the natural aloe vera applied each evening by their doting mothers before they retired.
    Even though their appearance could cause one to think otherwise, these were not wealthy children and they wore sturdy sandals. Some wore white socks but only as an option as these were not a mandatory part of the school uniform. The boys wore an assortment of footwear. Most preferred a sandal not dissimilar to those worn by the girls, but more robust to withstand the perpetual pounding they suffered from the mid-morning and late afternoon breaks when the nearby field became a soccer battlefield.
    Occasionally a scooter would pass, and then slow, to permit the driver or passenger to converse with the slower moving twowheelers. To be privileged with a scooter did not, surprisingly, create peer group animosity as young Indonesians generally applauded others’ successes.
    Sharing was already a cultural trait well before the Marxist-Leninist philosophies crept into their lives. Thousands of years of cultural development had produced a people who had achieved a special ability to understand the import of preserving their way of life, to appreciate their history and respect their families and, at all costs, to coexist with their neighbours in their restrictive, suffocating dwellings. This same cultural force was also responsible for the occasional but sudden explosions of temper and violence which sometimes caused normally calm souls to run out of control, or run amok , often killing at random on a scale not understood in the West. Or at least that was so