Jalan Jalan Read Online Free PDF Page B

ask.
    â€˜Just fucking walking, man. Out for a stroll. Going no-where in particu-fucking-lar.’ He runs his hands through his dark hair and breathes in noisily through his nose. ‘Comes from the verb jalan meaning to walk. It also means street and about a dozen other similar meanings. It’s the answer they wanna hear and it saves you having to explain yourself and say what you’re really fucking doing.’
    A becak pulls up next to us and the rider points to his empty seats. Kim waves it on.
    â€˜And you’ll hear, “Hey mister, where you go?” so many fucking times a day you’ll wanna buy a gun and kill yourself or them or both. But you get used to it, man.’ Kim throws his head back and stretches his arms out to the sides, as if worshipping the sky. ‘Fuuuck it’s fucking hot, man.’
    â€˜It is. Fucking hot.’ I look up to the sun burning a hole in the cloudless sky. I close my eyes to it.
    Bake me new. Bake me new. I can feel the ingredients starting to cook, standing here on this street corner where no one knows me and I know no one and a thousand different people travel past me in little yellow buses and on motorbikes and becaks and in the occasional black-windowed four-by-four.
    â€˜So why you here, man?’ Kim asks.
    I look at him. He’s also turned his face to the sun with eyes closed.
    â€˜ Jalan jalan ,’ I say. ‘That’s what I’m doing. Just strolling, minding my own business, trying to get on with nothing. Going nowhere in particu-fucking-lar.’
    â€˜Good fucking answer, man.’
    â€˜And you?’
    â€˜Me? Fuck, I dunno.’ He opens his eyes. ‘I don’t seem to fit in back home. I may be American, but all those flags flying outside every fucking house. Too much nationalism. All that “‘American People”’ shit the government has started using. Brainwashing us into believing we’re in a great nation together. Leave me out of your generalisations, fuckers. I’m just me and great on my own, thanks. And it’s only gonna get worse if Bush gets in.’ With that he steps off the pavement with his hand in the air. ‘Here’s ours, the 65.’
    It pulls in at a diagonal, wobbling stop, ignoring anything else on the road. We climb in. This bus is quieter but the other passengers still steal glances at us. A couple of young guys give us big white smiles.
    â€˜Why do you say that about Bush?’ I’m not even sure who he is, but I’m guessing a candidate for Presidency.
    â€˜Fucking nationalist loon, man. Scares me what he’ll do to keep the “‘American People”’ happy. Probably declare some sort of war to boost the economy.’
    â€˜And he’s the reason you’re here?’
    â€˜Nah, not just him. It just wasn’t my country, man. I feel more at home here. Different sets of values here. That’s all.’
    We all hold on as the bus lurches to a quick stop and two more men get on. They squeeze in as close to us as they can and nod at us in greeting.
    â€˜Where you go, mister?’ asks one.
    Kim looks at me and smiles.
    â€˜ Jalan jalan , my friend. Jalan jalan .’
    Fifteen minutes later we’re at the school and I’m being introduced to the other staff. Their names are told, they enter my ears and are lost in the melee of muck that swishes around between them. I forget everyone’s in admin as soon as Pak says them, although I remember fat Albert from two nights ago. I also forget everyone’s in the teaching department a second after being introduced. Considering there are only four of them here this morning including Kim, my mind is being extra feeble.
    I’ve got two classes this morning and then I’m back in for a six p.m. class. Split shifts are the newbies’ tough shit, according to Kim. ‘And you’re the fucking newbie.’
    It’s eight thirty and my first class is at