emerged from the moss, cutting across the murky, chest-high waters, and ascended from the swamp. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as he walked in bowlegged steps in my direction. Each step of his oddly shaped feet formed the letter 'O.'"
"Who was he?" Mahar choked out.
"Bodenga."
"Oooh," we all gasped at once as we clasped our hands over our mouths, horrified. Not one of us could find the courage to comment. We waited tensely for the story to continue.
"I was more scared of him than of any crocodile!"
We knew. The man who emerged from the moss was a man who didn't want to know anyone, but who in coastal Belitong didn't know him?
"Then what?" Borek asked nervously.
"He passed by me as if I weren't there. Then he approached the ruthless animal blocking the road. He touched it! He petted it gently and whispered something to it—it was so bizarre! The crocodile submitted to him, wagging its tail like a dog after its master's heart.
We were stupefied.
"Seconds later," Lintang continued with a low voice, "that Cretaceous reptile took a sudden, horrific dive into the swamp. It was as loud as seven coconut trees crashing down!"
Lintang took a deep breath. "I was startled. If that ancient animal had decided to chase me earlier, the only thing people would have found would be my decrepit bicycle."
"And what about Bodenga?" we all asked in perfect harmony.
"Bodenga turned back and headed my way. It was clear that he didn't expect any gratitude. I didn't have the guts to look at him. My courage collapsed; with just one pull, he could have drowned me in the water. But he just passed by."
"Passed by? Just like that?" I asked.
"Yeah, just like that. But I feel lucky. Not many people have ever witnessed Bodenga's supernatural powers."
I became lost in my own thoughts. It was true that I had never witnessed Bodenga in action, but I knew him better than Lintang. Bodenga provided me with my first life lesson on premonitions. For me, he symbolized all things related to the feeling of sadness.
No one wanted to be Bodenga's friend. His face was scarred with craters and he was in his forties. He covered himself with coconut leaves and slept under a palm tree, curled up like a squirrel for two days and two nights at a time. When he was hungry, he dove down into the abandoned well at the old police station, all the way to the bottom, caught some eels, and ate them while he was still in the water.
Bodenga was a free creature. He was like the wind. He wasn't Malay, not Chinese, not even Sawang—he wasn't anybody. No one knew where he came from. He wasn't religious and he couldn't speak. He wasn't a beggar or a criminal. His name wasn't anywhere in the village records. His ears could not hear because one day he dove into the Linggang River to fetch some tin and dove so deep that his ears bled. And then, he was deaf.
Nowadays Bodenga was like a lone piece of driftwood. The only family that villagers ever knew was his one-legged father. People say he sacrificed his leg in order to acquire more crocodile magic. His father was a famous crocodile shaman. As Islam flowed into the villages, people began to shun Bodenga and his father because they refused to stop worshipping crocodiles as gods.
His father died by wrapping himself from head to toe in jawi roots and throwing himself into the Mirang River. He deliberately fed his body to the ferocious crocodiles of the river. The only uncovered remain was the stump he used as a second leg. Now Bodenga spends most of his time staring into the currents of the Mirang River, all alone and far into the night.
One evening, villagers came flocking to the National School's basketball court. They had caught a crocodile that had attacked a woman washing clothes in the Manggar River. Because I was still small, I couldn't push my way through the people surrounding the crocodile. I could only see from between people's legs. Its big mouth was propped open with a piece of firewood.
When they split
"Who was he?" Mahar choked out.
"Bodenga."
"Oooh," we all gasped at once as we clasped our hands over our mouths, horrified. Not one of us could find the courage to comment. We waited tensely for the story to continue.
"I was more scared of him than of any crocodile!"
We knew. The man who emerged from the moss was a man who didn't want to know anyone, but who in coastal Belitong didn't know him?
"Then what?" Borek asked nervously.
"He passed by me as if I weren't there. Then he approached the ruthless animal blocking the road. He touched it! He petted it gently and whispered something to it—it was so bizarre! The crocodile submitted to him, wagging its tail like a dog after its master's heart.
We were stupefied.
"Seconds later," Lintang continued with a low voice, "that Cretaceous reptile took a sudden, horrific dive into the swamp. It was as loud as seven coconut trees crashing down!"
Lintang took a deep breath. "I was startled. If that ancient animal had decided to chase me earlier, the only thing people would have found would be my decrepit bicycle."
"And what about Bodenga?" we all asked in perfect harmony.
"Bodenga turned back and headed my way. It was clear that he didn't expect any gratitude. I didn't have the guts to look at him. My courage collapsed; with just one pull, he could have drowned me in the water. But he just passed by."
"Passed by? Just like that?" I asked.
"Yeah, just like that. But I feel lucky. Not many people have ever witnessed Bodenga's supernatural powers."
I became lost in my own thoughts. It was true that I had never witnessed Bodenga in action, but I knew him better than Lintang. Bodenga provided me with my first life lesson on premonitions. For me, he symbolized all things related to the feeling of sadness.
No one wanted to be Bodenga's friend. His face was scarred with craters and he was in his forties. He covered himself with coconut leaves and slept under a palm tree, curled up like a squirrel for two days and two nights at a time. When he was hungry, he dove down into the abandoned well at the old police station, all the way to the bottom, caught some eels, and ate them while he was still in the water.
Bodenga was a free creature. He was like the wind. He wasn't Malay, not Chinese, not even Sawang—he wasn't anybody. No one knew where he came from. He wasn't religious and he couldn't speak. He wasn't a beggar or a criminal. His name wasn't anywhere in the village records. His ears could not hear because one day he dove into the Linggang River to fetch some tin and dove so deep that his ears bled. And then, he was deaf.
Nowadays Bodenga was like a lone piece of driftwood. The only family that villagers ever knew was his one-legged father. People say he sacrificed his leg in order to acquire more crocodile magic. His father was a famous crocodile shaman. As Islam flowed into the villages, people began to shun Bodenga and his father because they refused to stop worshipping crocodiles as gods.
His father died by wrapping himself from head to toe in jawi roots and throwing himself into the Mirang River. He deliberately fed his body to the ferocious crocodiles of the river. The only uncovered remain was the stump he used as a second leg. Now Bodenga spends most of his time staring into the currents of the Mirang River, all alone and far into the night.
One evening, villagers came flocking to the National School's basketball court. They had caught a crocodile that had attacked a woman washing clothes in the Manggar River. Because I was still small, I couldn't push my way through the people surrounding the crocodile. I could only see from between people's legs. Its big mouth was propped open with a piece of firewood.
When they split
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