FOUR RIVERS.


     Chapter 1.

     Approaching Buru from the south.

     "out of Buru flow four rivers that Water the earth.  These are the Waeapu,
the Waekuma, the Waili, and the Waenibe. --Buru myth.


     I will never forget that morning, back in 1957, when i opened my eyes to
see Buru island towering off our starboard beam.  Strands of off-Grey mist
clung to the dark slopes, which rose abruptly from the depths to elevations of
well over a thousand meters.  The island was vast, stretching far into the
distance in both directions.  The whole scene was suffused with that aura of
mystery which i have come to associate so clearly with the islands of the
Moluccan Archipelago.  It was as if sea, sky, and land bore silent witness to
some story that has never yet been told.

     Grey turned to purple, and purple to green, as our ship moved steadily,
almost imperceptibly through the Waters.  Buru was more than just another
island to me.  I had heard often of her fabled mountains, her giant pythons,
and rushing streams.  I yearned impatiently for the shore, my eyes scanning
the emerging contours of the land.  Where was Waebohit?  Where were the other
mountain villages?  I looked in vain for some sign of human habitation, but
all i could see was tall jungle.  I would simply have to Wait.

     My companion on this journey was Martiga Peoha, the young man who was
pastor with Temi at Waebohit during the time that village was at its peak of
spiritual development.  Standing only about five feet high, Martiga had the
fair skin, the mongoloid facial features, and the unmistakable accent of a
native of central Celebes, whence he came.  His life could never have been
easy, and i had seen him in sickness and in sorrow alike.  But Martiga had a
smile that could persist through almost anything.  A very moral person, he was
spiritually sensitive, and strong in doctrine.  He had in him those attributes
of truth and counsel that can only be generated by a deep and pure
relationship with God.  Physically diminutive, he was spiritually a giant.


     Embarking as deck passengers, we had sailed the previous day from the
Moluccan capitol of Ambon.  Now we were approaching our destination, the tiny
port of Leksula, government headquarters for the district of South Buru.  I
had visited Buru before, but only as a passenger on the long cruises from
Ambon to Bacian, when our ship would stop for a day or two at Namlea, in the
north.  Even then i had been struck by the beauty of the island.  The sunsets
over Kayeli bay were truly beyond description.  In the mornings, strong
off-shore breezes brought bamboo rafts with huge sago thatch sails floating
across to us from the mouth of the Waeapu.  But now, for the first time, i was
approaching the island from the south, and our destination lay deep in those
storied mountains, where the forests grew rank and wild, and the rivers ran
fresh and free.

     Fortunately for us, our journey took place before those years of terrible
hardship perpetrated upon the people of the Moluccas and other islands by the
mindless expulsion of the Royal Dutch Packet line, "K.P.M."  Though conditions
on the boat were humble, we still had ample room to spread our bedding on the
deck.  This vessel may have been slightly smaller than the usual K.P.M.
steamer, but she did have a steel hull, and was adequately proportioned for
the cruise.  I reserve the horrors of subsequent journeys for later chapters
of this book.

     My reason for coming to Buru was directly traceable to a principle held by
my parents, the late Ralph and Edna Devin.  Many years before, sometime in the
late thirties or early forties, a disagreement seems to have arisen between
them and certain other missionaries, notably from the "Bethel" group,
concerning the nature of the native Indonesian psyche.  According to my
parents, the "Bethel" group felt that some tribes, and certain classes of
people, were simply not strong enough to stand or carry on for The Lord by
themselves.  In other words, the Indonesians would always be dependent upon
missionary help. nor would they ever become responsible Christians, or be
truly "delivered" from their sins.  They could only be "forgiven for," not
"delivered from," their sins.  

     My parents, on the other hand, were determined that the Indonesian people
could stand alone, and said so, and this conviction of theirs became a
principle which was to have far-Reaching ramifications for the evangelization
of Indonesia.  They believed unwaveringly that anybody God chose to save and
to fill with the Holy Spirit would certainly be enabled at the same time to
"live the life," and be strong in The Lord.  They held that the Holy Spirit
treated men without partiality, and that if people would simply yield their
"all" to The Lord, The Lord would keep them, and make them a strong power for
him, wherever he put them to work.

     "we don't go for that teaching," my mother said to me, referring to the
idea that the Indonesians were somehow inferior to ourselves.  "we believe
anybody can be delivered, and filled with the Holy Spirit, and be a power for
God."  She spoke these words when i questioned her at the age of almost 81,
lying on her back in much the same Way she had been lying since the stroke
that paralyzed her left limbs and disoriented her mind some ten months before.
  

     This principle was already held by my parents before the second world War,
and the subsequent Indonesian revolution.  David expressed it about 3,000
years ago in the Psalms: "god fashions the hearts of all the inhabitants of
the earth alike."  (Psalm 33:15).  It found expression in the declaration of
independence.  "we hold these truths to be self-Evident, that all men are
created equal..."  Along with certain other attitudes and ideas, it came to be
incorporated into the very fabric of my being, and struck for me a course
across wild and lonely depths, where few have sailed before.

     To see exactly how all this brought me eventually to Buru, let us leave
the decks of our Indonesian freighter as it approaches Leksula through the
Buru sea, and return temporarily to Ambon, and to Bacian, where one might say
it all began.  


     Chapter two.

     Holding the fort at Ambon.


     After the death of my father in 1951, my mother began to feel that people
were taking advantage of her widowhood. she felt this with regard to those who
had managed "bank & office equipment co.," my father's business in Seattle,
but i was too young at the time to judge whether she was right or wrong in her
evaluation of them.  She eventually sold them the business for about $120,000.
  This left her financially well-Endowed, but she grieved much over my father.


     During the summer of 1954, we returned to Ambon from a year's vacation in
the u.S.  We found my brother-In-Law and sister, John and Shirley Tinsman,
looking after the mission at Kate-Kate, on the inner bay. with them were their
two children, Kim and Laviere, both small.   I remember mother conversing with
John, from whom she had intended to take over the Bible institute, but i was
still too young to understand what was being said at that time.  I only know
that mother grew incredulously dissatisfied with John's role in whatever it
was that was going on.  They had always been great friends, however, and i
never heard any bad words between them, even then.  I only heard her outpourings of heart, partially to no one, partially to me, and saw her weeping in the privacy of her room.  Soon the Tinsmans were
gone on the long journey back to America, leaving mother and me alone in the
large rooms of our apartment in the old Dutch plantation house at Kate-Kate. 
Mother found herself facing the world alone, with only myself, a mere lad of
12, to confide in.  As far as we know, she was the only American woman within
a radius of hundreds of miles.

     People had evidently thought mother would never be able to carry on
without her husband, and proceeded to shape their plans accordingly.  In
reality, they seem to have misunderstood the mechanics of the Ralph-Edna
relationship, which had been such a successful combination in its time.  It
was not hard to believe in my father.  He was big, six-Foot-Two, a mover of
men and of fortunes.  The u.S. government had offered him a commission in the
pacific during world war ii.  His business was flourishing, and he was known
everywhere.  But what of this woman who had stood at his side?  What could she
possibly do?

     Of course, their eyes were physically oriented.  They failed to see that
whereas Ralph was a giant in the material universe, it was Edna who towered in
the spiritual realm.  Together they were dynamite, but separated it was Edna
who held the greater spiritual force.

     Edna couldn't imagine that she had been taken so lightly, since she had
pioneered everything on equal terms with her husband.  It seemed to her that
the younger missionaries had conspired to wrest from her the Kate-Kate Bible
institute for their own gain.  They planned to incorporate it into the newer
facility which my father had also been instrumental in establishing on the
northern end of Sulawesi.

     The Bible institute there was located at Kekaskasen, high in the cool,
misty mountains behind Menado.  At that time there were three families of
American missionaries there, among whom was my brother.  They all lived in the
area of the Bible institute, some in Kekaskasen, and some in Tomohon. several
Moluccan Bible students had already been routed there, and it wasn't long
before mother caught her secretary shipping her late husband's office
equipment there as well.  Furthermore, mother found that the secretary, a
strikingly beautiful girl, and probably the most intellectually gifted
Ambonese woman i have ever known, was maintaining a steady stream of
correspondence with the American missionaries in north Sulawesi.  From them
she had received the instructions to do what she had done.

     Three things made this latter experience especially painful to mother.  In
the first place, the office equipment in question was not purchased with
church funds, but with personal funds from Ralph's own business.  Secondly,
Ralph had given the secretary his personal training, and now it seemed she had
been unfaithful in the handling of his affairs.  And lastly, my own brother
was involved in the plot.  He was about 25 at the time.  Fortunately, he was
the youngest missionary on the field, so mother didn't think he was the one
who should bear the brunt of the blame.  She didn't see him as the person
engineering the scheme, but he lost a great deal of respect in her eyes.

     As for the secretary, she lost a relationship with mother which might have
flourished during the best years of her life, and she could not seem to work
for the other missionaries after these events.  Things might have gone
differently for her had her life been dominated more by spirit rather than by
intellect, however refined.  As it was, she seemed in many ways to stagnate. 
Yet she has managed to translate copious materials from English to Indonesian.
  She has lived an honest and good life, and been helpful to many.  Many years
later, she did regain some of mother's confidence, as did my brother.

     As far as the other two missionaries were concerned, the older of the
trio, a brother Harold Carlblom, regained mother's confidence early, and has
had a fruitful evangelistic ministry in Indonesia.  The remaining missionary
has never regained mother's unreserved support, and his ministry has not been
noteworthy.

     So mother suffered, and my brothers litters were only acid to her wounds.
he was young, and not overly sensitive, and probably meant her no harm.  But
he remembered her past successes as an evangelist in north Sulawesi, and kept
inviting her to return for more, as if she had no responsibilities at the
Kate-Kate Bible institute, in Ambon.  Thus besides her great loneliness,
mother had many additional sorrows grievous to bear.  

     I watched as she groaned over her meals, spent long hours in prayer, and
became increasingly depressed over the immorality of the people.  Those were
years of many back-slidings, failures, and wanderings.

     All these things cut her to the heart because she continued to believe in
the higher potential of the Moluccan people.  Had she not been convinced that
the people could be delivered from their sins, of course she would never have
cared.  But because of the principle in which she believed, she could never be
happy if the people were not pure.  

     It would also have made little difference to her had she not loved the
people.  Yet this love was often concealed by the severity with which she
addressed herself to those who were in error.

     All during this time, it seemed that i was the only one in whom she could
confide, so that it was upon my tender ears that she poured forth her soul day
after day.  This gave me an insight into the dealings of men, an abhorrence
for sin, and a determination to succeed spiritually that has been with me ever
since.  These things were developing in me, and have continued to develop, but
our communications at that time helped to establish and crystalize them in my
mind, as well as to instruct me in the things of which i did not know.

     Things looked dark indeed, but mother hung on, kept the Bible institute
running, and did the work of the lord.  Having secured land from the tan
sisters, in the town of Ambon, she sold dad's old wood-Shop tools to people
from the department of fisheries, namely Fred Tehupuring and others.  Then she
used the money to build a church in Ambon, on what was then known as Valentyne
street.  The building was large enough to create structural problems not
easily solved by the primitive methods then available in Ambon.  The first
attempt actually blew apart in a windstorm!  But in the end, the structure
held.  It had a capacity of over two hundred people, and served the
congregation well for the next 16 years or so,  Until the present building was
completed in 1970.  Mother's old church building was roofed entirely with a
thatch of sago leaves, and its walls were of sago palm branches, or gaba-Gaba,
on the inside, with corrugated sheet metal stood on end to form the outer
layer.  Between the roof and the top of the walls was a space of about 1/2
meter, with nothing but chain-Link wire.  This open area of the wall served
the duel purpose of letting in fresh air and light, and of letting out the
sounds of the meetings for the benefit of passers by.  In those days, the
sounds of people praying in the spirit drew many into the building.  They
realized something was going on inside, came in to see what it was, and
believed.  Many good meetings were held in that building, a fact i later
attributed in part to the fine acoustical properties of the gaba-Gaba walls.  


     So far as i can remember, the only thing widowy or womanish that mother
ever did during that time was to hang over the inside of the entrance a white
signboard, about 1/2 by 1 meters, upon which she stenciled, "he lay down his
life for the sheep."  On the left side, she mounted a large portrait of my
late father.  I can still see that portrait in my mind's eye, my father looking
matter-Of-Factly down at us from above, hair balding slightly at the temples,
and bushy eyebrows beetling out over steel-Rimmed bifocals.  His head was
turned slightly sideways, and he wore a business suit in keeping with his
facial expression.  

     None of the people seemed to like the plaque very much.  I don't think
this was because they didn't like my father, but because they felt that no one
but god should be honored in the sanctuary.  Nevertheless, mother would have
been insulted at the idea of taking it down, so it remained until the present
building was completed, and the old one was ready to be torn down.  At that
time i asked if i might have the portrait of my father, and the pastor assured
me that i could, but when the plaque was finally taken down, it was withheld
from me, and ultimately disappeared, to where i cannot tell.

     A young man named Paul Tehupuring was tending the flock while mother was
building the church, and it was to this young man, who later became the "Assemblies of God" church
leader for all of Indonesia, that mother surrendered the newly-completed
church building.  He had had no formal theological training at that time, and,
to my knowledge, has not had any since.  But he had a powerful mind, and had a
vast capacity to learn things on his own.  

     I didn't like him from our first meeting in the wheelhouse of the
"evangel," crossing the bay from Halong to Kate-Kate.  I was nine at the time,
and probably not a very nice kid to be around.  I started right out teasing
him about else, whom i had heard he was planning to marry.  His city
background gave him a certain effeminate quality which could not easily be
reconciled to my rustic personality. but all this changed in later years, for
he became a friend whom i have learned both to respect and love.  I am sure
that my rough manners must have offended his more sensitive nature many times.
  But i later changed, and he changed, and we grew more and more to like one
another.  He was exceptionally tall for an Indonesian, and black, and his
large nose and eyes suggested that some of his ancestors might have been from
India.  His personality was magnetic to Indonesians as well as foreigners, and
the power of his presence and his smile gave the meetings a positive
atmosphere that was sadly lacking when he was gone.  

     In those days, Paul was still young in the way, and had to learn many
lessons, not all of them easily.  He soon established a blossoming
rapport with the other pentecostal clergymen in the town, which led ultimately
and logically to the idea of holding joint meetings in the then-new church.  One of
the other ministers was a Eurasian from Mardika, who was rumored to have
taught that one's soul resides in the back part of one's head.  He had
traveled abroad, and mother disliked him for certain fund-Raising activities
staged in Australia.  Another of these ministers, mother said, had had an
adulterous relationship with his second wife while his ailing first wife was
still alive.  In short, past dealings with these people had convinced mother
that they were immoral. she tried to warn Paul, but could not prevail.  Soon,
Paul had them all on his platform, which was more than poor mother could bear.
  After agonizing, groaning, and weeping before the lord, she decided she would
take me, her students and all necessary belongings, and head north to pioneer
a new work on Bacian.  There she would remain until further word from the
lord, or until she saw a change in the pattern of things at Ambon.  

     Many of the Ambonese disliked mother for her bluntness in those days. 
They preferred the sweet little old Norwegian lady, sister Bierva, who never
offended anybody.  Not least among those who disliked mother must have been
Paul Tehupuring himself.  But we know that it all really stemmed from our
principle.  For had mother not been convinced of the deliverance god could and
would work in the lives of the people, she would certainly not have minded
having over the "Pinksters" for a meeting or two, especially when they
appeared to be so full of good-Will and respect.  It was the principle that
made her harsh and blunt in her dealings with sin, for she knew that her own
work would most certainly go the way of all other pentecostal efforts in the
area unless she kept on fighting, teaching, and exposing.  She saw beyond the
present failings of the people to a time when they would rise from their moral
lethargy, and she knew that to accept anything less would preclude the
possibility of that vision ever coming to pass.  She knew that the realization
of that vision depended upon the faith of the people, and that the faith of
the people depended on someone's willingness to continue to teach them,  By
word and by deed, until they saw that the things being taught them were true. 


     So we came to leave Ambon, probably during the summer of 1955, having
embarked as deck passengers aboard the k.P.M. vessel, "Kaimana," bound for
Namlea, Sanana, and Labuha.  


     Chapter 3.


     North, to far Bacian.


     We left Ambon with a good many belongings.  Mother had her notebooks,
typewriter, paper, and box camera.  I had two crude spears, which i had forged
from pieces of scrap steel at Kate-Kate.  The lighter one, whose tip was once
a piece of steel pipe, i had used to put an end to Oom Barma's maingy dog some
months before.  Mother had packed much of our gear in large rattan hampers. 
These were about two feet long, one and one half foot wide, and one foot deep.
  They had two flaps that opened at the top, and held an astonishing number of
items.  We brought cooking utensils, foodstuffs packed in discarded wooden
milk crates, blankets, and folding camp beds from the dormetory.

     But if our belongings were curious, then our traveling companions must
have been even more so.  Not least among them was an Ambonese lad named Petrus
Nanlohi, a student from the Kate-Kate Bible institute.  He had such a struggle
with his salvation that he was often seen pausing for prayers of forgiveness
as he climbed the tall coconut trees when it was his duty to collect nuts.  We
also had Derek and Marie Behuku, newlyweds.  Marie was about six years Derek's
senior, and had a son of almost as many years from some former affair.  One of
the finest men on board must have been Egbert (pronounced "Ekbert") Kaihatu, a
frail, sensitive, and dedicated man approaching middle age.  If there were
others in our company, i do not remember them, except for two, a young man and
woman whose roles were to be very important in our lives.  

     The young man was probably eighteen or nineteen years of age at that time.
  He had tightly curled hair, and a face covered with pock-Marks and pimples. 
He also had one of the finest examples of male physic i have ever seen
anywhere.  Before becoming a Christian, his life had been devoted to
body-Building, and he was an expert at weight-Lifting, jogging, and all manner
of sports.  He claimed that his people had a bride picked out for him in his
village on Ceram, where they planned to make him chief.  His name was Joseph
Latu, but we called him Oce, pronounced "Ochay."  

     The young lady was a delicate blend of Moluccan and Chinese.  She was
quiet, retiring, shy.  One could see in her the reserved poise of a Chinese
noblewoman.  Yet her personality was, in many ways, Moluccan.  She had
straight, black hair, Chinese eyes, and skin that was a lovely light brown. 
Meticulously clean, she was intolerant of all impropriety.  Yet she was
basically loving, generous, and quick to respond with a smile.  Her name was
Gertruida grace Cia, but we called her Tet.

     We boarded the k.P.M. vessel "Kaimana" one afternoon, setting up our
folding beds on the main hatch, where we made our camp.  The hatches on those
ships were covered by hoisting into place steel beams, which rested
athwartships about 1.5 meters apart in sockets on the coaming.  Between these
were fitted planks that lay fore and aft, over which were spread a heavy
canvass tarpaulin.  This was battened down using heavy strips of steel that
fitted around the coaming to be held down by wooden wedges driven between
their ends and a steel flange.  The whole was then covered by a canvass
awning, that was hung on steel cables, supported amidships by the boom, and by
posts along the sheer.

     The first morning out of Ambon, we awoke to find ourselves off Namlea, in
the spectacular bay of Kayeli.  Our ship dropped anchor, her crew rolled back
the awnings, and we were forced to abandon our positions on the hatch cover so
that it could be removed for loading.  We went ashore in the launch, and
mother and Tet spent many hours combing the reef, while i went wandering
about.  There were many marvels of nature to be seen in the shallows, and
mother was always a great one for collecting and examining things, and Tet
seemed to be at home doing the same.  Mother was especially interested in
collecting Moluccan abalone shells for a naturalist named Robert Talmadge, of
Oregon, with whom she had carried on some correspondence.  

     I ascertained that Namlea was a sort of outpost of civilization on this
island, and that primitive peoples were living in an area called 
"Belakang
Tanah," roughly similar in meaning to the Australian term, "outback."  I even
found a path which was said to lead to "Belakang Tanah."  I rather liked this
small village, with its frontier atmosphere, and pondered the mystery that lay
beyond.  At that time, Namlea was a tiny, sun-Baked town, with vistas opening
everywhere onto the sea.  

     After one or two days, the steel beams of the hatch cover were again
lowered into place.  Upon these the planks were fitted.  Then the large canvas
shroud was spread, and battened down with steel straps.  At last, the awnings
were unfurled, and lashed in place, and we were ready once more for the open
sea.  Our next destination was Sanana, for which we sailed through the night. 


     Deck fare was poor, but we improved it with tinned corned beef, often
called bully beef, tomato catsup, boiled eggs, etc., from our milk crates.  I
especially remember the Del Monte tomato catsup, then a rare commodity in
Indonesia.  Not long before our departure from Ambon, this item had
mysteriously appeared on the shelves of Toko Nam, the only Chinese shop
selling foreign foodstuffs in Ambon at the time.  The label advertised
pineapple juice as one of the ingredients.  I thought the flavor was
delicious.  

     The journey was not easy for some of us.  On the last night out of Bacian,
a strong wind arose on the sea, and our friend, Egbert (pronounced "Ekbert")
Kaihatu, succumbed to an attack of tuberculosis which led ultimately to his
early death , some months later, in Java.  I was too young to notice if he had
been adequately cared for on the cruise, or whether he had been getting enough
to eat.  

     The next morning, Sibela rose from the mists before us, and our eyes
feasted upon the contours of the hills, for Bacian lay before us in the
drizzly dawn.  I especially remember two great trees near the shore, a few
miles south of Labuha.  They appeared to tower over everything else on the
coastal plain.  There was no way i could determine their actual height.  I was
delighted by the conical form of Amasing hill, which lay to our left as we
approached the town.  Ahead, and slightly to our right, was the copra
warehouse, with the words 
Jajasan copra painted in giant letters across its
imposing tin roof.  Our ship dropped anchor, the crew lowered the launch, and
soon we were roaming through the town.  

     Labuha was built on a spit of sand, surrounded on four sides by water.  On
the north it was bounded by the Amasing stream.  On the west it faced the sea,
while on the east and south great sago palms rose from the stagnant waters of
an impenetrable swamp.  The sand seems to have been deposited in historical
times, for i found the crumbling remains of fort Barnaveldt, which was
originally built on the shore, about a mile or two inland.  It was situated in
an area of secondary forest and gardens, across a stream in a northeasterly
direction from the center of the town.

     The Porteugese arrived on Bacian in 1525, and it was they who built fort
Barnaveldt.  It was captured from them by the Dutch in 1609.  Bacian was once
ruled by its own sultan, but was later placed under the suzereinty of the
sultan of Ternate.  In 1683, the Dutch took over the government of Bacian, but
the sultan of Bacian still held authority under the Dutch controleur until the
outbreak of world war ii.

     Another relic of the European-Dominated past could be found in the sandy
shallows north of the main harbor.  There lay the decaying wreck of an old
steel sailing ship, her bows seaward, as if she had foundered dragging anchor
in some furious "barat-daya," long ago.  Her mighty mast, sheared through at
the base by corrosion, was held up in an oblique position by the rusting steel
framework of her stern, its tip jutting out over the water landward. a coral
garden flourished over her subsiding steel ribs, and the crumbling steel
bulwarks of her hold.  In 1983 i learned that she was actually the "earl of
Leicester," sunk in 1860.  According to old-Timers on Bacian, she had sprung a
bad leak in Ternate, but the crew made satisfactory repairs, and the captain
decided to set sail for Labuha.  En route she encountered a storm, and by the
time she reached Labuha she was leaking again, this time badly.  The captain
then brought her in close to shore, and abandoned her.  He arranged with the
natives to remove as much of her cargo as possible.  They received three bags
of rice for every ten they brought ashore.  It is said that the natives ate
nothing but rice for months.  The ship's bell was hung in the protestant
church, where Whetzel found it "still gonging strong" after eighty years.  I
found this information, along with the name of the fort, in Randall and
Dorothy Whetzel's booklet, "yet there is room."


     Chapter 4.

     Life in Labuha.


     When we arrived, the population of Labuha seemed to be about five or six
thousand.  Mother found an ancient house, probably belonging to some Chinese
businessman, in the commercial part of town, and there we moved our camp.  In
the mornings we held meetings, which were always followed by prayer, and
crowds would gather for a glimpse of what was going on.  Since i was not
required to stay for prayer, i often wandered out at such times and spoke with
the lads of the town.  Finding me more approachable, and only fourteen, they
asked with a trace of sarcasm if i also believed in what was going on inside. 
I had always accepted such sights and sounds, but i had never personally
experienced any of the spiritual phenomena to which they were referring.  


     Foodstuffs were not easy to come by in Bacian, and our diet was soon
reduced to a sticky rice called "pulut," a persistent supply of red "bayam,"
or spinach, which appeared, when cooked, as if dripping with blood; and a less
reliable supply of fresh fish.  Pulut was generally used throughout Indonesia
for the preparation of snacks and pastries, but not as the kind of rice one
would expect at mealtime.  I had grown used to weavels, and even mildew, in
the flour; but the loaves of bread mother bought at Labuha were almost more
than i could bear.  Once mother met a man on the road carrying a leg of deer. 
This she purchased for our supper.  At home (The little house by the prison),
she cut the meat up into steaks, and these she fried over the fire.  I had
always been a finicky eater, and would never have dreamed of eating deer meat
before.  But things were different here, and meat was a luxury which could not
well be ignored.  I gave in to the tantalizing aroma that night, and was
rewarded with a treat that i can remember to this day (1979).  Along with deer
meat, i learned to eat many new things at Bacian, and my attitude about food
has never been the same.  

     Things got easier for us once we learned what we could and could not
expect to buy.  Labuha was also a frontier town, an outpost of civilization in
primitive surroundings.  The availability of pulut over regular rice at the
time may have been caused by its great popularity for the preparation of snack
foods.  Conversely, it may have been precisely because ordinary rice had sold
more quickly that Labuha was left with nothing but pulut.  What ever the case,
boys roamed the streets in the mornings with "dandangs", or wooden platters,
on their heads crying "nasi jaha!" or "gogos!" depending upon which item they
were hawking.  We were puzzled by the words, "nasi jaha," for to our ears they
sounded like "nasi jahat!" a literal translation of which would be, "wicked
rice."  We later learned that "nasi jaha," terminating in a glottal stop
instead of a "t," was what we knew in Ambon as "nasi bulu," or "bamboo rice." 
This is pulut rice, cooked in coconut milk inside a three or four inch
diameter segment of bamboo which has been lined on the inside with banana
leaves.  The bamboo is cut green, so that it can stand the open flame while
the rice is cooking inside.  A "gogos" is a small packet of fish and spices,
rolled in pulut rice and coconut milk, wrapped in a piece of banana leaf
pinned together at both ends with a tiny needle of bamboo, and toasted over
the coals.  A typical gogos is about one inch in diameter, and about six
inches long.  These little snacks have a delicious flavor  all their own, and
go well with a cup of coffee in the morning.  Other foods we purchased at the
bazaar, located at the Amasing end of town.

     There was always an abundance of fresh water, though the quality left
somewhat to be desired.  One had only to dig down about five feet into the
sandy soil to find a virtually inexhaustible supply for bathing, drinking, and
washing clothes.  For drinking purposes our water had to be boiled, since it
was always drawn from an open well.  The water held a great deal of
calcium-Carbonate in solution, and this would settle to the bottom like a
layer of fine dust once it had cooled.  The water also had a certain fishy
taste which made it loathsome to drink.  Aside from these few difficulties,
however, one could not really complain.  

     The wells were interesting structures.  They were hand-Dug, and their
sides were lined with smooth rocks so that they would remain clean, and not
crumble.  Since few people could afford cement, there were usually no coamings
around the tops of the wells, making it necessary to keep livestock out by
other means, such as bamboo fences.  Tiny crabs scurried over the rocks that
lined the sides of these wells,, and to these we attributed the singing sounds
which rose from the wells at night.  The water table was only four or five
feet below the surface, but when it rained hard, the waters rose to flood
wells, yards, and roads alike.  

     Somewhere near the well one could usually find a small structure, often of
the flimsiest materials, and perhaps even open at the top, which served as the
bath.  In those days, theft was not the problem that it later became in the
Moluccas, so we could leave things like tooth-Brushes, tooth paste, a box of
soap, etc., just about anywhere one could find a place for them along the
walls, on flat rocks, etc. poor Tet was greatly disturbed one day when she
found signs that someone had taken the liberty of using not only her bath
soap, but also her tooth-Brush!  To her it was unthinkable that anyone could
use someone else's tooth-Brush, but i later found that such things were not
entirely uncommon in the Moluccas, where people are often incredulous about
the germ theory to this day.  And, if you don't believe in the germ theory,
then what could really be wrong with using a pretty, young girl's tooth-Brush,
anyway?  

     The problem of the outhouse we never did really solve.  In all of Bacian,
there was never such a thing as what we call a toilet.  We learned that there
were two alternatives open to us, neither one of which was particularly
appealing.  The one was the woods: the other was the beach.  On the beach, one
could opt for one of the several rickety outhouses, or simply squat on the
sand.  Night time was preferable for the latter, of course, since the hulls of
vacant canoes offered little protection in daylight.  The dogs and flies would
then do their work, and the rains and tides would wash away what remained. 
Even if one chose the outhouse, on still had to watch where one stepped, for
these natural processes of waste disposal were apt to take time.  The
outhouses were elaborate affairs, beautiful structures built out over the
water on stilts with the latrine proper at the far end.  One gained access to
the latrine by means of a creaky bamboo bridge, or walk, which usually started
above the reach of the tide, on dry sand.  The latrine was ordinarily equipped
with a closing door, and a one or more holes in the floor through which one
could take aim at the waves below.  Unfortunately anyone nearby had full view
of the dropping pellets, which made embarrassing slapping sounds when the tide
was low.  For toilet paper, people usually carried a beer bottle or small
bucket full of water with which to wash themselves when they were done.  Our
American toilet paper must have been a rare curiosity, though no one ever
mentioned the matter to me while i was on Bacian.  

     If one chose the woods instead of the shore, it was inland, toward the
swamp, where one could either squat among the bushes, or perch, birdlike, on
the trunk of some fallen tree.  In either case, one might be perturbed by
rustlings, or splashings, or by the disconcerting appearance from nowhere of a
four or five foot aquatic monitor lizard, with cruel and curious eyes.  In
reality, these were ferocious looking but beautiful creatures, like
apparitions from the prehistoric past.  On some of their backs were huge,
fan-Shaped fins, which seemed ornamental rather than functional in design.  I
felt somewhat uneasy around these creatures, for there was no visible
mechanism to keep them from growing to forty or fifty feet in length instead
of a mere four or five, in which case they would have been objects of sheer
terror.  I had observed other aquatic lizards, but nothing like these.  I had
seen the ones at Laguna, a crater lake whose waters lay below sea level on the
island of Ternate.  Their flashing fangs, as they surfaced around our canoe,
looked terrifying enough to keep us, at all costs, from falling into the
water.  But these seemed bigger and nobler, and deported themselves in such a
way as to give the impression of being masters of their surroundings.

     When it rained, as it did sometimes, in torrents, Labuha became a lake. 
One could probably have paddled one's way through town in a canoe with about
as much ease as one could walk.  Yan Patirajawane said that this was not so
until a couple of years or so before we arrived, the reason being that there
used to be good ditches.  These ditches had been allowed to fill with sediment
and sand, and so the rain water had had nowhere to go.

     We later moved inland, to a small native house beside the prison.  It lay
just to the left of the prison walls as one faced inland.  The roof was
thatched with sago leaves, and the walls were of sago palm branches, a
material known in the Moluccas as 
Gaba-gaba.  The roof was infested with
termites and other insects which blanketed everything with a steady shower of
tiny droppings each day.  There was no ceiling, of course, and the floor was
of packed earth, though here and there the remains of some former cement floor
still showed through.  It had a verandah, one large bedroom, and one small
bedroom.  Entering at the front door, one first passed through the verandah. 
Then passing through another door offset to the right, one passed through a
living room area to the left of which was the larger bedroom.  Behind this,
there was another smaller room to the right of the smaller bedroom.  Behind
all this lay the kitchen, with a large, rough table just behind the wall of
the smaller bedroom.  The hearth was against the back wall.  A door opened
outside to the right as one approached the hearth.  The hearth was of typical
Moluccan design.  It was a box of earth, mounted about three feet off the
ground on four wooden poles.  Stones were set in the earth in such a way as to
support cooking pots.  The typical design has three long stones per cooking
place, one end of each planted in the dirt, the other end leaning in over the
fire to support the pot.  If iron rod were available, the stones were built up
in such a way as to support two or three iron rods upon which cooking pots
could be set.  Hanging over the hearth, also supported by the same four poles,
or sometimes hung from the ceiling, was a bamboo rack upon which firewood was
stacked for drying, and upon which pieces of fish or other meat could be hung
for smoking.  Just outside the kitchen door, and to the left, was a bamboo
rack, or 
Para-para.  This structure was also supposed by wooden poles which
had been driven deep into the earth.  Its top was about four feet off the
ground, and it was used for preparing food or washing dishes.  Farther toward
the front of the house, near the house but between the house and the prison,
was a well with fairly good water.  The well was surrounded by a court of
clean gravel, with tufts of green grass poking up through the pebbles here and
there, and a clump of dark, ornamental grass growing in one area.  There were
trees in the yard, one of which was a sour "blimbing," or star-fruit.  It was
the kind with the tiny, elliptical fruit.  The kind that doesn't have the five
ridges running from end to end as most blimbings do.  This tree grew in back
of the house on the prison side, not far from the para-para.  From one of the
trees, i could see over the wall, and down into the prison.  The prison doors
were kept open all during the day, and the prisoners, even murderers, were
allowed to roam about freely, as long as they came back inside in the evening.
  The people were basically good, and the place was pervaded by a fundamental
confidence in human nature.  Terrible crimes had been committed, but only as a
one-Time thing.  The hardened criminal seemed to be unknown.  I cannot recall
ever hearing other than the sounds of peace rising from those ancient walls,
nor did i ever meet with anything but good-Will from everyone i met there.  


     At our little house by the prison i had a baby monkey, but i cannot
remember its name.  When mother purchased it for me, it had deep, festering
wounds about the belly, where it had been tied with rough 
Gamutu cord. 
Gamutu is a course, black fiber, taken from the Arenga saccharifera palm, and
used for making brooms and ropes.  It is not as strong as hemp,  But lasts
much longer in the presence of moisture.  With proper care, my tiny monkey was
soon cured of his wounds, and was running and chattering all over the house,
making a general nuisance of himself, especially during mealtimes, when he
would climb up and sit on the backs of our chairs.  The poor little fellow
didn't live very long.  For some reason, not everyone in our party was as
kindly disposed toward animals as i was, and i suspected this had something to
do with it.  At any rate, when we lift him at Labuha to go some place or
other, he died.  

     We had heard much about Babang.  A map of the island showed that it lay
directly across a narrow isthmus, about sixteen kilometers from where we were.
  I was enthusiastic about hiking across the island, but mother held back for
awhile.  The scope of her activities was much broader than mine, and she had
other considerations.  In the end, however, mother decided that we should go,
and so we laid our plans.
  


     Chapter 5.

     To Babang.


     Early one morning, we gathered for prayer.  Our gear was packed, and i was
fairly bursting to get on the trail.  As i remember it now, there were four of
us leaving--Mother, Joseph, tet, and myself.  Joseph had a pack weighing about
sixty pounds, the rest of us twenty to thirty.  None of us had packs
specifically designed for hiking.  Joseph Latu's heavy burden was packed in
one of the rattan hampers which i have described before.  Mother's thirty or
so pounds was rolled up in her pandannus-Leaf sleeping mat.  I can't even
remember my own pack or Tet's anymore.  

     We prayed with those who would remain behind, and struck out down the
road, Joseph swinging beautifully under his burden.  I virtually worshipped
the man because of his fine physic, and that morning he looked as if there was
no challenge for which he was not ready.  One of us carried my light spear,
and i know we must have had other weapons besides.  Joseph was probably
carrying a bare machete.  I think i was carrying a guitar over my shoulder,
wrapped up in a plastic sheet.  I remember that it came apart later as a
result of moisture condensing in the plastic sheet from exposure to the sun. 
We found that it does not pay to wrap musical instruments in plastic sheets in
the tropics.  A great deal of moisture is stored in the wood.  This moisture
evaporates in the heat of the sun, causing condensation inside the plastic
sheet.  The water gets into the glue, and everything warps and comes apart.  


     Our journey took us parallel to the coast as far as Tomori village, though
we could not see the sea.  Between Labuha and Tomori there were a few
clearings, sago swamps, and jungle.  At one place someone had planted some
clove trees in a little plot along the left hand side of the road.  They were
probably the first clove trees on Bacian since the exterminations carried out
by the Dutch east India company, some centuries before. 

     Tomori village was populated by a people of the same name, whom the Dutch
had moved there from Celebes about a hundred years before.  

     At Tomori we struck inland, leaving the road to Mandawong to follow the
branch that led toward Barangka-Dolong.  Tomori, incidentally, is populated by
people of Martiga Peoha's tribe, and Martiga had been with them before we came
to Bacian, communicating with them in their own native tongue.  

     The day was glorious, bright sunlight streaming through the trees.  We
entered secondary forest, and crossed a few tiny streams, most of them dry. 
The rock specimens we found in the stream beds were fascinating.  Especially
one foliated variety whose grains shown with a metallic luster at certain
angles to the sun.  We stopped to rest at spots where we found great piles of
"kayu-besi," or rosewood, an indigenous hardwood so heavy that it sinks in
water.  The wood had evidently been sawed some years before, perhaps to
rebuild the broken bridges, then left to the elements because no one had the
means to remove it.  Kayu-besi is almost impermeable to insects and moisture,
but it will eventually deteriorate if dry-Rot sets in, or if it is exposed to
the tropical elements for great lengths of time.  

     After the secondary forest, we came to Kilo-Empat, about four kilometers
from Labuha, where we found a few houses and gardens, evidently Butonese. 
Thence our path led straight into the "skojo," an expansive area of savannah
where the Japanese had built an airfield during the second world war.  The
name comes from a Japanese word meaning "airfield."  

     By now the sun was blazing down upon us, and the sweat was streaming from
our foreheads and hair, stinging our eyes.  The alang-alang grass grew about
six feet tall where it stood straight up, and it was laced with mimosa thorns
that tore at our arms, packs, and clothes.  The grass blades themselves were
about one inch wide, and had sharp edges which sliced into our skin. 
Sometimes the trail was so overgrown that it became a thing to be felt rather
than seen.  The earth was clay, and foot paths over such terrain tend to
narrow down to about six inches in width, so that in some places it is just
possible to get one foot in front of the other.  The humidity was stifling. 
There was precious little movement of air, and the alang-alang grass steamed
suffocatingly in the sun.

     The whole island was volcanic, and fertile, and from the savannah we had
spectacular views of the mountains, which rose all around us.  Before us, and
slightly to our left, rose one of the most perfectly formed volcanic cones i
have ever seen.  Its origins must have been recent in geologic time, but its
slopes were clad with lush, green jungle. to our right rose mighty Sibela,
where few mortals had ever gone, and to our left the northern range.  It was a
sight to take one's breath away, and we were drinking it all in.  

     The savannah broke about two hours out of Labuha, at the banks of the ra,
which flowed leftward across our path from the slopes of Sibela, where to i do
not know.  The stream bed was strewn with boulders and pebbles, washed by some
of the purest water that ever flowed.  There were deep pools, turning
greenish-Blue, and flashing cascades over the rocks where the stream ran
shallow and swift.  The water was as clear as glass, and tasted absolutely
pure.  Its coolness and freshness seemed incomparable to us.  

     We were all filthy, and my blue jeans were soaked through with
perspiration.  Joseph and i wandered a little way upstream, stripped, dove in,
and reveled in the cool waters with enthusiasm and delight.  The sun was
blazing from above.  Mother and Tet found another pool somewhere else, and
probably did the same.  

     Donning our smelly clothes, we resumed our journey, plunging into the
primary forest to the east of the ra.  Here the trees stood like a massive
wall through which we passed into twilight and shadow.  On and on we trekked,
beneath the arching branches.  We crossed the Waiamiga, which also flowed
leftward across our path.  The bridges were all gone, but a few, like that
over the Waiamiga, still had some of its heavy timbers in place.  These were
kayu-besi beams that had supported the planking from below.  Some spanned deep
gullies.  If they looked like they would hold us, Joseph and i would walk
across them while mother and Tet would descend to the stream, wade through,
and climb the far bank.
The forest grew even more profusely on the far side of the Waiamiga, and we
walked through deepening gloom.  The sight of wild monkeys and unknown birds
offered excitement and relief from the monotony of the trail.  One bird was
especially interesting.  It never flew, but ran along the branches, wings
slightly open, leaping and gliding from tree to tree.  The grace and poise of
its movements were wonderful to behold!  I didn't know it at the time, but the
natives call it the "burung-yakis," or monkey-bird.  De han, at that time a
naturalist in the Moluccas, later told us that he had discovered several new
species of birds on Bacian just prior to our arrival there.  

     I think it was in this forest, beyond the ra, that i first noticed Joseph
and Tet drawing together.  Mother, at fifty-Eight, was tiring, and lagging
behind.  I was alternately falling behind and running ahead, but Joseph and
Tet remained together, and whenever i came upon them they were always deep in
conversation.  I was glad to see them so, for they did seem perfectly
matched--Joseph dark and manly, Tet fair and lovely.  The wilderness did
nothing to detract from her beauty.  On the contrary, it brought from her
something more.  Her flushed cheeks shone with perspiration.  Her clothes, wet
from more perspiration, clung to her slender form.  She was a budding bloom
just then, a mixture of virgin and woman that any man might have craved to
hold in his arms.  

     Mother grew more and more weary, and developed cramps in her lower legs. 
I kept running ahead, dropping my pack, and running back so that i could carry
hers.  Then i would push even further forward with hers, drop it, and run back
for my own.  

      so we progressed, until we came to a giant nettle patch, where it began
to rain.  The nettles were like those found in the forests of north America,
but much larger, and with a sting that burned like fire.  Try as we might, we
couldn't avoid them, for they grew all across our path.  They brought welts to
our skin wherever we touched them.  

     Soon we broke from primary to secondary forest, and the light came
streaming deliciously in.  I cannot remember there being any gardens there on
this first trek to Babang, but i remember seeing plantings there later.  At
any rate, the trail began its descent, and we caught glimpses of a large tree,
a vast and tranquil sea, and the mountains of Halmaheira rising dream-Like
along the horizon.  By this time, the rain was falling in earnest, and our
path, along with the whole slope, had become one muddy stream.  The ground was
very slick where the water streamed over the clay earth, and mother, who
already had cramps in her legs, kept falling, her dress getting covered with
mud. even i fell, as i hurried back and forth to help mother with her pack
along these last few hundred yards to the sea.  

     At last, we came out at the water.  To our left was the great tree, and a
Chinese store, and to our right, rising on stilts, the village of Babang.  We
later became friends with Kim, the daughter of the Chinese merchant.  She was
a girl of about sixteen at the time, but she was in love with an Indonesian
government official, who was being held for embezzling some ten or twenty
thousand rupiahs in government funds.  I suppose that we became Kim's friends
because of tet, who was half Chinese, while Kim, i believe, was full-Blooded. 
Tet was seventeen.  

     At the store were sold whatever essential commodities the people might
need, though i can only remember the bagea and the incense.  The incense was
little more than damar gum, but it stirred my curiosity about the beliefs of
the people.  Bagea is a very hard, brittle snack made of sago meal ground up
with canarium nuts, and baked over the fire in earthenware moulds. the flavor
is unique, and not at all unpleasant.  But to eat bagea requires very sturdy
teeth.  This bagea came in larger pieces, and had a drum-Like shape, not the
rounded cone shape we were used to in Ambon. 


     Chapter 6.

     With the raja of Babang.


     Turning right, we proceeded toward the village, where we stopped at the
very first house.  It was the home of the raja of Babang.  A fairly large
structure built out over the sea on stilts, it had a spacious verandah at the
far end commanding a view of the other houses and the hills.  An unpaved road
led on through the village, with houses on either side.  On the shore, in
front of the raja's verandah, was beached a large Galela canoe.  The sea
hardly stirred around the stilts of the raja's house.  

     We were invited to ascend the steps to the verandah, and here we made our
home for the next several days.  Babang was a Moslem village, and the raja had
four wives.  It was not recommended that one should have more.  The raja was a
small, wiry man.  Light-hearted and merry, he had a typical Arab sense of
humor.  Not that he was Arab, but he was a Moslem, and this was his cultural
propensity.  

     Later in the afternoon, a porter arrived from Labuha, also sopping wet
from the rain.  He was dressed in only a pair of shorts, and carried on his
back a rusty five-gallon biscuit tin.  Removing the round lid, he produced the
raja's mail, in good shape despite the heavy rain.  

     He showed us sores on his tough, bare feet, and said, "Pece makang,"
meaning, "the mud ate them."  The mud evidently contained some bacteria or
chemical that was eating through his skin, especially about the bases of his
toes.  

     The floor of the raja's house was paved with large strips of the tough
outer bark of the "nibong" palm.  These were arranged concave downward across
the joists, to which they were lashed in place.  Part of the house lay over
the water, and part faced onto the gravelly road.  The kitchen was situated
out over the water, far out of sight, to the rear.  This provided a convenient
means of trash disposal for the women, who had only to throw any waste out
through a back window, or scrape it through a slat in the floor, and the sea
would wash it away.  

     During the following days i spent hours on the raja's verandah, gazing out
across the hills or the sea.  Schools of small fish swarmed around the
barnacle-studded stilts that supported the house.  But the upper portions of
these poles also teemed with life, as i found later, when i put my hand on a
patch of soft, gooey fungus of some sort or other which had taken hold on the
moist wood.  

     Gazing beyond the houses of the village, i watched in awe as great white
cockatoos flew back and forth across the green backdrop of a beautiful hill,
the slopes echoing with their mighty cries.  Tet and i later found this hill
to be covered with forest, but relatively clear of undergrowth, and ideal for
hiking.  We climbed together to the summit, where we carved our names into the
base of a giant tree.  The trees there had great, protruding roots, upon which
we could sit.  Upon some of these we could beat, as on a drum, producing
resounding thuds.  

     I had mother's box camera along, and with it i took a snapshot of Tet,
sitting in the shadows beneath our great tree.  I also took a shot of the view
of the valley, and the distant hills.  It was a scene which i shall never
forget, that sea of coconut trees spreading into the distance in the afternoon
sun!

     Descending another way, we came out onto a lovely white-sand beach,
totally devoid of any other human life, and along this we walked back
northward, side-by-side, to Babang village.

     Another day, we borrowed a canoe, and mother, Joseph, Tet, and i paddled
north to Bori.  We could see Bori islet from the raja's house, and Bori was an
animist village which lay just beyond.  Paddling out across the glassy water
in the morning, we encountered other canoes near the mouth of the Saioang,
with men-folk strangely clad in the batik turbines which were so much worn
among the older Tobelo men there.  Reaching Bori islet, which we rounded to
sea-ward, we came upon the most radiant coral gardens i had ever seen in my
life.  We mused in wonder at the myriad life forms, the mid-morning sun
slanting at about forty-five degrees into the crystalline sea.  Even now, i
doubt if i have ever seen coral gardens anywhere to rival those of Bacian. 
The sea-water, too, must have been some of the clearest in the world.  We
drifted and gazed, so absorbed that i lost all awareness of anything else in
space and time.  It must have been thirty minutes to one hour before the spell
was broken, and we realized where we were, and that we'd best be pushing on.  


     Minutes later we were at Bori village, and had beached our canoe upon the
brilliant white sand.  There we were amazed to hear the sound of weeping, and
of great, heaving sobs.  Approaching, we found two sisters crying over their
brother, who had just then returned from many years absence in Obi, where he
had been cutting wood.  He wore traditional Tobelo-Galela dress, a batik
turbine wound about his head, and he was sitting just above the beach on a low
para-para, built in front of the houses.  He was weeping too, and they were
improvising a chant, or lament, in their native tongue, recounting the events
of the intervening years.  This strange sight was a beautiful example of what
i later came to know as "aloha," in Hawaii.  I also found that such chants,
together with weeping, are common to almost all peoples of the pacific area.  


     Joseph and i walked northwestward to the stream, and there we encountered
a beautiful island girl, only a sarong about her body, busily washing clothes
in the sparkling water.  I will not easily forget the glowing brown skin of
her bare shoulders and back, and above them, her dark wavy hair.  She
recognized us, and we exchanged pleasant words.

     Bori village was infinitesimally tiny in those days, and i have no idea
what it is like now.  Its inhabitants were primitive Moluccans, Tobelo or
Galela people, and they spoke a language we could not understand.  A few of
them knew some words of Malay.  The girl at the stream had spoken to us in
fluent Malay, but she seems to have been from outside.

     I will always remember the beauty of that morning, and that place.  The
people, the sea, and the white sand.

     Joseph and i walked back to where mother and Tet were, greeting people
here and there along the way.  Then we all loaded up, and pushed off once more
in our canoe.  We headed back toward Babang, this time by way of the passage
between Bori islet and the mainland.

     We stopped at a beautiful spot for our picnic lunch.  There Joseph and i
went for a swim while mother and Tet prepared our food.  The water was
incredibly clear, dropping off suddenly into depths of pure blue.  I ferreted
out a streak of cowardice in Joseph then, for he refused to dive deep where
the water was blue. indeed, the water was so blue that i was also frightened,
if nothing else, then of such a pure color.  But we didn't know what sharks
might be lurking there, and these were strange waters to us, so it was really
no wonder.  The sea was like glass, and we romped and swam freely over the
warm, shining sand.

     After lunch, we shoved off again, but suddenly the whole aspect of the
place changed. the skies grew dark and lowering, and we could see that the
water beyond Bori islet was being whipped up into whitecaps by a furious wind.
  We decided to shelter by the isle, and wait for the storm to pass.  It was
evidently one of those afternoon disturbances, complete with lightening,
thunder, and rain, so characteristic of the Moluccan islands during parts of
the year when huge strato-cumulus clouds build up over the land during the
day, then burst with a vengeance in late afternoon or evening.  We found
shelter among the mangrove trees that completely surrounded the islet.  We sat
chatting as we waited in our canoe.  Once or twice, there were sounds in the
water behind us, and Joseph brandished my light spear, but nothing harmful
materialized on the surface.  The crocodiles of Bacian were known to grow to
about thirty feet in length, and we were wary, sitting there among the
mangrove trees.  

     Much later, the storm subsided enough for us to get through, and we struck
out across the rough waters for the raja's house at Babang, were we could see
the village lying low on the water.  Arriving at dusk, we were received by the
raja and his people with some concern.

     In those days we also visited Kampung Baru, or Saioang Baru Village, a
kilometer or two northward, past Kim's father's store.  Situated on the shore,
it held a good many people.  They were animistic Tobelo tribespeople.  Many of
them had very unusual names. among the males were Manis, Cinta, and Cium,
sweet, love, and kiss, respectively.  Their ancestors had migrated to the
shores of Bacian from Halmaheira about 100 years before.  Some of their houses
were built out over the water.  Others were built on dry land.  Some of the
houses were built of bamboo-lath and plaster, but most of these were only
partially finished when we were there.  The people had a new-found affluence
from their copra plantations, and wanted cleaner, more permanent dwellings for
the future.  We prayed for one young couple, Samalang and his wife, who had
been unable to produce children.  We simply stood outside and prayed with them
in our usual way, but not long afterward, she conceived, and gave birth to a
child--boy or girl i can't recall.  I was told that later, when illness
struck, they resorted to magic, and lost this child they had received from The
Lord., she conceived, and gave birth to a
child--boy or girl i can't recall.  I was told that later, when illness struck,

they resorted to magic, and lost this child they had received from The Lord.


     Chapter 7.

     Voyage to Bibinoi.


     How it all happened i can't recall, but somehow mother and the raja
decided that we should voyage with him to Bibinoi in his large canoe.  We had
difficulty finding any kind of provisions for the journey, but we were able to
lay in a supply of bagea from kin's father's store.  As usual in the Moluccas,
we had some difficulty getting started, but it was still fairly early in the
morning when we finally did get under way.  With us were the raja and a couple
of paddlers or so.

     The raja's canoe was a large Galela canoe.  Such Galela, or maheira canoes
have deep hulls, constructed of planks pegged onto one another, and onto a
heavy dugout that serves as keel.  The hull is probably parabolic in section,
designed to cut deep into the water, and thus minimize sideways slippage under
sail.  The Moluccans drive their hardwood pegs in at cross angles, making it
virtually impossible for them to work themselves loose.  The outriggers are
supported by two great hardwood struts lashed in place by strips of rattan
skin, which pull them down toward a crosspiece deep in the bilge.  Rattan skin
is one of the strongest lashing materials available in the jungle.  These
powerful lashings help hold the whole body of the canoe together by clamping
the pegged planks down on top of one another, and onto the heavy dugout that
serves as the keel.  The outrigger floats are the only thing that keeps the
whole structure from capsizing the moment it enters the water.  Such vessels
were never meant to sail without them.  But with outriggers in place, these
large canoes are so stable that cabins are built on them, extending outboard
from the top of the hull on either side.  The raja's had ample sleeping room
for two or three people inside.  Two or three shorter struts are fastened
across the hull between the outrigger struts, and these become the joists for
the floor of the cabin.  I can't remember the exact material from which the
floor of the raja's canoe was fashioned, but it was probably of smooth planks,
or a lattice-work of bamboo lath.  The walls may also be made of boards, but a
lighter, yet very strong alternative is sago thatch, clamped in place by long
strips of bamboo lath.  The roof is made of this latter material, and has the
shape of the roof of a house, though with less slope, the ridge-pole running
fore and aft.  Such roofs are so strong that they can hold several persons
sitting, crawling, or lying on top.  The sail, when not in use, is held in
place by a fork at the aft end of the roof-ridge.  Around the cabin, and
extending still farther out from the hull, is an area of bamboo-lath decking,
very light, but Amazingly strong.  This enables the crew to move quickly about
in emergencies, and provides more room for relaxing or sleeping when the
weather is calm.  A small fire box is usually provided just forward of the
mast, somewhere near the forward entrance of the cabin.  All woodwork is worn
smooth by the elements, and by the touching of many hands.  Nautically
speaking, these vessels are capable of considerable speed when humming along
under full sail.

     To load a maheira canoe, the crew generally pushes it into the water
first, so as to minimize the effort required to move it across the sand.  Once
in the water, either partly or all afloat, the floor-boards or lattice floors
of the cabin are laid aside from the area over the hull, and cargo is lowered
between the gunwales.  Some may carry up to three tons burden.  Cargoes
include "tumangs" of fresh sago meal, coconuts, copra, pottery, china-ware,
bolts of cloth, sarongs, axes, machetes, salt fish, spices, and other items. 
A "tumang" is a container made of sago leaves, shaped like a cone with the
point cut off at the top.  When loading is complete, the flooring material is
replaced, and pandannus mats are spread.  The female passengers then put down
their soft pillows, and take up positions beside wooden traveling chests
containing valuables and clothing.  I suspect that the name, maheira, used in
north Buru, is somehow linked to the name of the island, Halmaheira, since
Galela village is situated there, and such canoes are also called "Galela"
canoes.

     We struck out across the reefs through the sparkling, shallow water, and
were entranced once again by the sights that greeted our eyes from below. 
This time, however, we saw far less splendor than on our journey to Bori, for
it was still fairly early in the morning, and the sun had not reached that
critical height needed to bring all the colors to life.  The orderly lines of
our wake were probably all that disturbed that placid sea.  As we rounded a
promontory, we were surprised by the screeching of monkeys, which were
swinging away from us along the hanging vines on the cliff face.  The scene
lasted only a moment, then all was silent as the troop disappeared into the
forest.

     We put in for a few minutes at Tawa.  As i remember it, this was a
somewhat dismal little village, near one of the points, with very few people,
and hardly anyone who could carry on much of a conversation in Malay.

     But things were happening beyond Tawa.  In those days machete fights were
so frequent as to seem almost commonplace in the Moluccas.  Now, it seems that
a duel had taken place somewhere inland which the raja would have to settle. 
We put in at some beach or other to let the raja ashore, promising to meet him
later, some distance down the coast.  At this rendezvous we later put in
again, and waited until the raja appeared, leading a burley, panting man, who
kept puffing away at his tobacco, which he rolled up in leaf cigarettes.  He
seemed to be suffering from enphusima, or asthma.  I have no idea who he was,
but the raja commanded him to paddle, so i took him for one of his subjects. 
When he slowed down, the merry raja grabbed my spear from where it was
fastened to the roof of the cabin.  This he pointed menacingly at the man, who
had a paddler's position somewhere forward of the mast.  The raja was above
and behind him.  The raja feinted at him with the spear, grimacing with great
enthusiasm, and the poor fellow's paddling tempo promptly picked up, to the
accompanyment of more huffing and puffing.  But the man seemed to take the
raja's threats with only mild concern, or else he hid his fear very well, for
he managed to keep on smiling.

     The raja and his reluctant companion had also brought with them some
large, elongate, maleo eggs.  These had been carefully wrapped in leaves to
avoid breakage.  The maleo is one of the wonders of nature, for the maleo hen
lays an egg that looks almost as large as herself.  Not only that, but the
shells are so thin that extreme care must be taken to avoid breaking them in
handling.  These eggs, about six inches in length, are deposited by the female
in a large mound of decomposing vegetable matter, in the forrest.  Buried deep
in such mounds, the eggs remain moist and warm enough to incubate and hatch on
their own.  That is, if they manage to escape their predators, not the least
of which is man.  Unfortunately, the shells are so brittle and thin, that many
eggs are broken by people digging in the mounds without ever being recovered
for food.  The mounds may be up to six feet or so in depth, so that locating
the eggs is no easy matter.  Such mounds tend to be crawling with flees, but
this doesn't seem to deter the hunters, most of whom have flees of their own. 
The maleo bird is about the size of a large pigeon, and jet black in color. 
They are often seen walking like chickens on the floor of the jungle, but they
take quickly to the air when surprised.  Once, when he was expecting ambush in
the jungle, my friend, Ama, is said to have speared one in mid air as they
surprised one another.  Since the maleo themselves are good to eat, the people
also set snares for them among their mounds.

     Our journey now took us across the spectacular bay of Songa, where there
is an area of volcanism, and tiny islets in the sea.  Striking out for
Bibinoi, which was still some miles across the water, we passed close to one
of these lovely islets.  By this time it was probably mid-afternoon.  Noting
my mother's great enthusiasm for its beauty, the merry raja said, "you like
it?  I give it to you!"  And, but for the Indonesian government and its laws,
we knew he had power to do so at his whim.  By then, i suppose mother was
beginning to wonder if our merry raja might not be considering her as possible
candidate for the position of wife number five!

     Just about then, our party got a beautiful laugh.  Joseph had curled up to
sleep in the cabin, and, dead to the world, lay sucking his thumb.  What a
strange sight, indeed, to see this powerful man curled up on the mats with his
thumb in his mouth like a baby!  It was a sight to be remembered, and it was a
long time before Joseph could live it down!

     Now the tiny wavelets started flowing with us, and, for the first time, we
hoisted our sail.  There wasn't really much wind, but it was just enough to
help us along, and make things even more lovely on that beautiful last leg of
our journey.  We sailed in a world of dreams, across the deep bay of Songa to
the village of Bibinoi.  It was the memory of this bay, many years later, that
inspired part of this poem.  Note that Bibinoi is also the name of the hill
that stands behind the village:

Before these winds we must sail,
And before these seas toil,
Until, at last,
Our long canoes we beach
On the shores of Bacian,
Never more to roam.

Through these sheets of rain,
Past this swirling foam,
Until, at last,
Our long canoes lie hidden
To the lee of Halmaheira,
Never more to roam.

Beneath the lowering skies ahead,
Across the heaving swells below,
Our long canoes must swiftly slice
Beyond the shores of Morotai,
Never more to roam.

On these long canoes must race,
Beyond this ocean's shimmering face,
Till there, in twilight silence,
Bibinoi looms,
And on the bay of Songa
Drift our long canoes,
Never more to roam.
       Waikiki, 1962.
       Partly inspired by Peter Buck's "Vikings of the sunrise."

     The ridges trailed off on either side toward the blue of infinity at the
head of the bay, where, we knew, lay the village of Songa.  We continued to
steer a southeasterly course for the opposite shore, drawing near to the land
somewhat late in the afternoon, when the rays of the tropical sun grew milder,
and took on a golden hue.  Then, quite near the village of Bibinoi, we came
upon a most remarkable sight.  It was a Butonese sailing vessel, of about
fifteen or twenty tons burden, lying peacefully at anchor near the shore.  The
sea bore a dream-like serenity, reflecting the boat, its mast, the forrest,
and the splendor of the vault above us.  The vessel itself was bathed in the
undulating golden sunlight, which was being reflected back up to her from the
oil-smooth swells.  The weather-beaten woodwork of her mast shone with a
glorious light, and boomerangs of gold danced along her hull.  She was
evidently waiting for a cargo of copra from ashore.

     In all this wilderness, there was never the sound of an engine: not of
boat, nor of plane, nor of automobile, nor of electrical generator. 
Furthermore, the transistor radio was unknown.  There was nothing to pollute,
disturb, or break the great silence and dignity of that place.  To people of
the industrialized world, i know, even the thought of such a thing may be
foolish, or meaningless.  But i have heard the silence, and i know what it is
really like, and because of this my universe will never be the same.

     Before long, the sounds of the village were reaching our ears, and the
stilt houses of Bibinoi were rising from the water before us.  Below one of
these we beached our canoe.  Bibinoi seemed to have one of the largest
populations of any of the places we had visited on Bacian, and there was that
bustling air of activity about the place, so characteristic of Moluccan
villages in their prime.  The people, again, were animists of a Tobelo or
Galela background, and spoke very little Malay.  The Moslems were already
making inroads, and there were whisperings about villagers being forced to
prayers.  I have heard such reports from many sources, but, unfortunately, the
Moluccans keep no written records, so such historical facts are quickly lost
with time.  Also, to be held responsible for revealing or documenting such
coercive activities by people in power could easily mean death.  The rulers
were in power because they were wily, literate, and intelligent, and it was
unthinkable for illiterate villagers to win legal battles before any
government against men such as these.  At any rate, by persuasion 
Or
coercion, we learned that the people of Bibinoi embraced Islam soon after we
left.

     We were given a tiny room in a house built on stilts, part of which was
suspended over the sea.  Unsatisfied by Kim's father's bagea, our stomachs
were crying for food.  But all we got was a maleo egg or two that the raja and
his wheezing companion had brought to the canoe.  The raja, on the other hand,
fared better than us, for we saw one of his party killing a chicken.  We knew
no one, and there were no stores.  We couldn't even buy sugar or rice.  I am
confident that with the experiences of later years, i might have found
something to eat in that village, but we simply didn't know enough then, and
so had to go hungry.

     At Bibinoi there was a stream, and thither Joseph and i resorted to bathe.
  There we chanced upon Hein, a man who had started coming to our meetings in
Labuha.  He was muscular and brown, and had been a rebel involved in some kind
of jungle warfare, the details of which i never learned.  Like the girl at
Bori, he spoke fluent Malay, and seemed to represent the more modern breed of
Bacian islander. the literate people of the land.  Hein was strange in many
ways.  In our meetings at Labuha, he would kneel and pray with the others. 
But Hein, staring straight ahead with wide-open eyes, seemed to laps into some
kind of trance, and mother thought he was possessed of a devil.  It was said
that Hein knew the use of the black arts, and mother associated many of the
cases of demon possession she encountered in Indonesia with "guna-guna," or
native magic.  But mother didn't seem to have the power to exorcise this demon
at Labuha in the way that she had had in other meetings in other places.  This
may have been because her own faith was at something of a low ebb there.  At
any rate, we never really got Hein delivered.  He eventually drifted off, and
i never heard of him again, though i will always remember him for the colorful
character that he was.

     After our bath, Joseph and i returned to the village.  We found the room
to which we had been assigned was so narrow that there was barely enough room
for one person to stretch out between one side and the other, and barely long
enough to sleep four bodies side-by-side in the other direction.  Thus, to
keep the boys and the girls apart, we ended up sleeping in the following
order: first Joseph, then myself, then mother, and finally Tet.  As we lay on
the mats, our bodies nearly filled the entire floor.

     In the morning, after the others had left, i found that our tiny room
could doubly very well as latrine.  The large slabs of rough-cut nibong palm
0
bark left many convenient openings in the floor.  The only disadvantage in the
design were that these same gaps let in chilly drafts of night air, and made
it very easy to loose small articles, such as knives, wrist-watches  (Not that
we ever had any wrist-watches), and matches, etc.

     Breakfast was scrambled maleo eggs by the hearth, on the deck facing the
sea.  The morning sun was spectacular, streaming in upon us from the east. 
Reflected from the sea, it struck the decking and stilts of our house with
fierce energy, and the waters came alive with movement and color.

     That evening, we held a meeting, and the people gathered about us in their
hundreds to hear the word.  Mother was deeply moved by the faces of the young
men, who appeared to hunger and thirst for truth.  Perhaps it was at this
point that Joseph first felt the desire to remain behind in Bacian.  Mother
seemed to sense a great spiritual power there, and she felt that, if we had
only had the time, many would have been won for Christ.

     But for some reason, i am not sure why, we had to leave.  Whether it was
because we were unable to find food, or housing, or transportation, or what, i
can't now recall.  At any rate, we returned to Babang with the raja in his
canoe the next day.  I remember nothing of the return journey.

     But when we arrived at Babang, mother said that we had returned none to
soon, as we were just in time to catch the next k. p. m. steamer to Ambon, if
only we could make it to Labuha in time.

     But Joseph felt that god was leading him to remain in Bacian, so that he
could minister among the Tobelo and Galela people there.  He approached mother
with this plan, and she readily agreed.  He decided to base in Kampung Baru,
or Saioang baru, already mentioned, just north of Babang.  With this in mind,
he began making contacts there.  For several reasons, i believe that Joseph
was led of the lord in this thing that he was doing.  The holy spirit seemed
to be heavy upon him, motivating his life, and he was cooperating as best he
could.

     Of course, he went with us to Labuha, where we spent another day or two
together.  During this time, he opened his heart to me, pouring out his
feelings for Tet.  It was true that only about a year before, Tet had lost her
beloved mother; and Joseph could easily see the delicate, helpless child so
needful of his protection and care.  At that time Joseph, who was only
eighteen or nineteen, had already gained a high level of mastery over his
body.  He handled the javelin and the machete with the greatest of ease, and
looked as if he could hold off an army.  Yet inwardly he was sensitive and
tender-hearted.  We spent long hours walking and talking in the evenings, and
he told me of a time when Tet had turned to him for help at Bibinoi.  She had
had to "go to the bathroom" at night, and had asked him to come along and
stand guard.  Unable to see her, he had still been to close to avoid hearing
the trickle of her urine as it fell to the water, and this had disturbed him.


     I sympathized with Joseph completely.  So completely, in fact, that his
feelings for Tet began to arouse similar emotions in me.  But my feelings were
not fully formed, and, naturally, i tried to keep them suppressed.  I also
offered myself as go-between for Joseph, something one might be expected to do
for a friend in the only culture i then knew.  I have since learned that the
custom of having a go-between is prevalent in many cultures where romance and
courtship are suppressed, as they were there.  Joseph and Tet were both my
friends, and i believed in the human principles governing their lives, and was
willing to stand with them against the world.  This in turn made me feel
important and needed.  There was no malice in any of my plans.  Joseph, with
all his male prowess, could not bring himself to express his feelings directly
to Tet, so i would explain them for him.  Thus Joseph and i wandered through
the streets of Labuha, talking of things far to sacred for anyone else to
hear.


     Chapter 8.

     Destiny.


     The next day, once again, we boarded the Kaimana, then spent hours waiting
for the time of departure.  I remember Joseph, powerful body erect, sitting
pensively in the salon, rhythmically spinning his hands in his athletic
manner.  Such movements as these he seemed to study.  I later saw the same
trait in another friend, tung ji bo, who had been a student of Chinese martial
arts.  The Kaimana's whistle blew once, then twice, and it was time for Joseph
to disembark.  So i left Bacian with a commission from Joseph for Tet.

     But Tet was another matter.  There were certain depths of her personality
that even i could not fathom, though i lived ever so near her for so long. 
And i suppose that i have never fully understood her to this day.  Was it
really true that she wasn't drawn to Joseph?  Or did she find herself yielding
to him, but feel herself too young to get involved with someone she could
actually marry?  Did she turn to me as a means of escape?  Or was what she
said strictly true, that she was going through a period of emotional crisis
caused by the death of her mother?  Probably a combination of all these
things.  At any rate, she turned to me.

     To understand the events of the next few days, let me pause to explain our
sleeping arrangements aboard the k.P.M. ship, "Kaimana."  We were now
traveling first class: not deck.  The door of our cabin opened onto the deck
to port, somewhere abaft the lounge, or salon.  Mother's bed was on the left
as one entered, while Tet and i had the bunk-beds on the right.  I had the
upper bunk.  She slept below.  The bath and restroom facilities were somewhat
forward of our cabin, and farther to port, but still a little aft of the
lounge.

     Tet and i had long discussions during those times when we found ourselves
in the cabin alone.  Our friendship deepened.  I discharged myself of my
promise to Joseph with all sincerity, albeit with somewhat less enthusiasm
than i had originally planned.  That night, i think, Tet was weeping.  I think
this was how our hands first met in the darkness, that it was with the idea of
comforting her that i first held her hand.  From then on we spent many hours
in the darkness hand-in-hand.  Perhaps neither of us knew it then, but i think
already i was wanting Tet, and she was wanting me.  I believe it was on that
cruise that i became physically a man

     She went through a period of weeping which i could but imperfectly
understand.  The only reasons she could give were her feelings of
vulnerability and helplessness after loosing her beloved mother.  She wept in
the cabin, and sobbed in the bathroom, and the Dutch officers, always
interested in young girls, pressed 
Me for an explanation.

     To them the facts were obvious--Tet and i sleeping in the same cabin with
only the old lady.  Those sobs in the bathroom, they reasoned, were sobs of
remorse for what we had done.  Yet my relationship with Tet never once
included sex.  As a matter of fact, in all the time we were together, we never
once touched one another in any place that would have been covered by our
ordinary every-day clothes.  "what did you do to her?" they probed with
lascivious curiosity, and i was unspeakably embarrassed, and filled with
loathing.  Their ways were as different from mine as those of a fish from a
bird.  How sad that they could not see our higher way of life, and mistook
mother's genius for the dotings of a silly old church-woman who was being
fooled by two youngsters making love right under her nose.  They could not see
the bond of trust that held between us.  They could not sense our purity of
spirit, or understand how it was that, among us, there was never any need for
supervision.

     This was always the mark of mother's greatness.  She had about her person
a tremendous spiritual power that always kept things right.  I cannot recall
ever being watched, or being made to abide by taboos and rules.  I was always
responsible for my own actions, and totally free.  And she somehow knew that i
would never betray her trust.  Looking back, i am still astounded at the level
of humanity she was able to evoke in the people around her, regardless of who
or what they were.  The only thing i can put my finger on is that she was
always intolerant of people who evidenced a wrong attitude, and had a way of
quickly eliminating such persons from her following.  Beyond this, all i can
say is that it was a gift from god, something i took for granted then, but
which i have never been able to find again among my fellow men.

     At any rate, Tet and i kept holding hands in the darkness, and she was
comforted.  And so we arrived back at Ambon, and on to Kate-Kate.  Things must
not have changed very much during our absence from Ambon, for it wasn't long
before mother and i and Tet were off once more on our way to the north.  Of
this next cruise, i remember nothing.

     Arriving back in Bacian, we found Derek and Marie still at Labuha, where
we had left them.  Marie had become pregnant, but nothing else had been
accomplished as far as we could see.  Of course, we were looking for progress
in the work of the lord.  They had been living off food cooked by a Chinese
caterer for most of the time we had been gone, using up the money that mother
had left in their hands.  Mother's followers had been falling off.  Or,
perhaps i should say, had been shaken off like ripe fruit from the branches of
a tree.  And Derek and Marie were the next to go.  In the end, it was mother
and i and Tet in the house beside the prison, and poor Joseph across the
island at Saioang Baru.


     Chapter 9.

     By the rivers of Eden.


     We took up our journey again to Babang, but this time we had better
facilities.  Joseph had established a foothold at Saioang Baru, and probably
through him, Mother had been able to rent a crumbling little house on the
beach between there and Kim's father's store.  The spot was perfectly idyllic.
  Before us, at the foot of the sand, spread the murmuring waters of Babang
bay.  Around us grew a plantation of coconut trees, and behind us was the
jungle.  A world war ii bomb crater marks the spot, just a little inland and
to the right (Facing inland) of where our cottage stood.

     The house itself was roofed with a thatch of sago leaves.  Its walls were
made of lengths of bamboo that had been split down one side, struck repeatedly
in a lengthwise direction with the tip of a machete so that they would split
in numerous other places, laid out flat, stripped of their partitions, and
stood on end.  The floor was of fine gravel, which made a crunching sound
whenever someone walked through the room.  There was only one room in the
house.  Entering from the beach, one first walked through the small, open
verandah.  Then in through the door to the only room of the house, which had a
bamboo bed running along its left wall.  At the back wall was another door,
which led into the kitchen, where we built our cook fires on the bare floor.


    At night, i slept in my sleeping bag, which i laid out parallel to the
beach on the gravel floor, my head to the south.  Mother and tet shared the
bamboo bed, their heads inland, toward the west.  Mother was amazed at the
coldness of the lively down-drafts from the hills, which came whizzing through
the walls in the wee hours of the morning, chilling her body through the thin
pandannus mat and the bamboo lath of her bed.

     Here we enjoyed a splEndid relationship with the Tobelo people of Saioang.
  These were lovely people indeed.  I remember especially one beautiful morning
that a couple came to our little house, bringing with them a pot of hot tea
and some tiny fried bananas, which they had prepared at home, in Saioang Baru.
  They were neatly dressed in their traditional garb,  He in his batik turban. 
They would not sit on the pandannus mat of Mother's bamboo bed,  The only
piece of furniture in the house as far as i can remember,  But turned up the
corner, and sat on the bare, split bamboo beneath.  We enjoyed the tiny fried
bananas, and the tea that they served us, and were intrigued by their strange
customs and gentle manner.  We regarded each other with mutual respect, as was
always the case in our dealings with the noble Tobelos.  It was difficult to
communicate with them, since they knew precious little Malay, and we knew no
Tobelo, but we made up for this with the polite manners and smiles that passed
between us.

     We also got to know the boys of Saioang Baru.  There was Cinta, meaning
"love," a lad of about ten.  And his older brother, Cium, meaning "kiss." 
Cinta was always puffing a cigarette, and sitting around on logs and roots,
his sarong about him, shivering with malarial chills in the heat of the day. 
Cium was becoming a hunter, like their father.  Their family name was
Palihema, one of those beautiful old Moluccan names that had a Hawaiian ring
to it.  The lad who became closest to me was Endi, of the Gulinga household. 
He was about my age, or perhaps a little younger, and exceptionally bright. 
His sister had bled to death from a cut on her finger not long before our
arrival, evidently a sufferer of hemophilia.  With Endi i entered into an
eternal pact of friendship.  He proposed that we become everlasting friends,
and that wherever our paths should cross, we should always recognize this
pact, and support one another.  I agreed, and gave my solemn word.  I have
remembered our agreement many times, but it has now been over twenty-eight
long years since i have seen Endi, and i have no idea what has happened to
him.  I only hope that someday our paths really will cross again, and we will
be able to give to one another the support of brotherhood and friendship we
once pledged.

     From time to time, we were also visited by strangers from afar.  People in
Tobelo canoes, who came sailing across the placid sea.  I especially remember
one man who came to visit us sailing in his canoe.  He was middle aged or
older, wore the traditional batik head turban, and on his finger a long and
beautiful ring. there were many gem stones in the Bacian area, "batu Bacian,"
or Bacian stones, as the people called them, but i am not certain as to just
what they really were.  Probably jasper, i suppose.  This man had one of these
beautiful stones mounted on his ring.

     One day Mother and tet and i went exploring along a splEndid "barangka,"
or dry stream bed, which ran parallel to the path to Labuha, and passed right
by the foot of the little hill that tet and i once climbed.  The lower slopes
of our hill had since been cleared of forest, and a large monkey was sitting
at the top of the clearing.  As we approached, he retreated to the cover of
the trees.  The stream bed was strewn with clean sand, pebbles and boulders in
the usual fashion.  A great stillness hovered in the air.  Mother had always
loved to look for interesting objects on the ground, and she found many
fascinating rocks.  There were many fragments of the foliated rock with the
shiny grains, which i have described before.  Tet and i found a sirih vine
growing at the barangka's edge, and sampled its inimitable fragrance.  We
returned to our little house late in the afternoon.

     One evening, we held a meeting in the village.  When an opportunity arose,
i went out and walked among the houses to see the response of the people.  I
came upon Endi's father, Bapa Gulinga, who was listening from his house, and
began to talk to him about the lord.  He accepted the things i said, and
decided to become a Christian.  This was the first time such a thing had ever
happened to me.

     The meetings at Saioang Baru were never all that successful.  Once, Mother
tried using an interpreter, but she gave up the idea immediately when she felt
that the man was either preaching his own sermon or embellishing her words
with ideas of his own, and she could not tolerate either.  One of the problems
might have been that Mother and the Tobelos were too preoccupied with the
problem of communicating on the logical level to be able to achieve any
meaningful contact on the emotional and spiritual plain.  Also, i believe,
there was too much new ground to be broken in the case of the Tobelos, who did
not have the benefit of two or three centuries in the Christian traditions.  I
believe this is precisely why Christ did not appear until about 1,500 years
after the giving of the law, which Paul called a "schoolmaster."  And this is
why the scripture says that "in the fullness of time, Christ was revealed." 
But even with a tradition of one and a half millenia under the law, Christ
still found dissatisfaction with the response of his followers,  Not to
mention the other Jews.  Without the firm foundation of the law, could we ever
have heard anything of the gospel?  I doubt it.  I think it simply takes too
long for the laws of god to sink into the hearts of men, and without the
centuries during which the principles were established, the disciples would
never have been able to apprehend the gospel as they did.

     And all this while, i was falling in love with Tet.  Surely, steadily, my
desire for her grew.  She was attractive to me physically.  Among the
fantasies of my youth i remember visions of tet standing fresh and clean in
her starched yellow blouse and batik skirt.  I was attracted spiritually to
her even more.  We were the best of friends.  I teased her often, helped her
cook, and tickled her in the ribs.  But there was no way in which i could
vocalize my feelings for her.  There were three words i simply could not say. 
And all the time she remained more and more on my mind, and i noticed her more
and more often.  Once, i saw her swimming with Mother in the late afternoon,
dressed only in her slip.  But it was not our custom to watch such things, and
i did not approach.  I felt that she was very pure, and i had no evil
intention toward her.  Yet, in fantasy, i often saw her dressed in that
starched yellow blouse and batik skirt, wrapped her body in my arms, and
pressed her bosom close to mine.  At last one day, i found the courage to
write what i dared not say.  We had pencil and paper.  She was probably 

Riting a letter, or making notes from her Bible.  My heart yearns even now for
the great loneliness and serenity of that place.  It was at a table, i
believe, on the verandah of our little house.  I wrote these words on a small
strip of paper: "i love you," in English.  I was so embarrassed i got up and
went down to the beach.  She soon followed, comforting me and assuring me that
she shared my feelings, and remarking that even had she not, we would always
have been close friends.  My emotions had been in a turmoil, but the
realization that i loved her and she loved me brought tremendous relief,
warmth, and joy.  The same day or the next, i was with her in the kitchen, and
asked her if i could kiss her.  She said i could, and i put my lips to her
cheek for the first time.  I was quite shaken by the experience.

     That night, after Mother had fallen asleep, my hand found hers in the
darkness.  We held hands and stroked each others arms farther and farther up
until we were almost to one anothers shoulders.  By this time, both of us were
literally trembling with desire.  Suddenly tet arose, making very sure that
Mother didn't hear her, an astonishing feat on a bamboo bed, stepped down onto
the gravel floor, and moved ever so cautiously to my right hand side.  There
she knelt, her left hand on my head, her right hand on my body, and breathless
and trembling kissed my upturned lips.  I did not respond, for i was afraid,
my heart surging with blood.  She returned ever so quietly, and got back into
bed without making a sound.

     Thereafter there were many kisses, and many more, without any hope of
count.


     Chapter 10.

     Creature and creator.


     I had two problems that had never been solved. these were my terrible
temper and my pride.  I had learned to fight at an early age, and cannot
remember ever running from a quarrel.  I was small but wiry, and when i was
angry, i hit hard.  I had talked back to my mother since the age of seven, and
this had become worse and worse, and no amount of thrashing could seem to
drive it from me.

     When i was nine, concerned about the problem, my brother-in-law once
offered me a magnetic compass which i wanted very much, if only i would
promise him to stop talking back to my mother.  But this i could not do.  He
thought this was because of my pride, and told the other relatives so.  But
this was not the case.  I had pride, it was true.  But i refused the compass
out of pure honesty, because i knew that it was impossible for me to stop
myself from bursting out when my pride was hurt, or when i was angry.  Many
indiscriminate lashings with the belt had not done the job, and it could
certainly not be done by any compass.  As a matter of fact, i didn't even know
it could be done at all.  Besides, i hadn't given it much thought.

     I considered myself a Christian, but i could not understand that i had not
experienced a spiritual birth, because i had no idea what it was like.  I
could see one thing, however, and that was the fact that i had never
experienced any of the spiritual phenomena.  I saw Joseph and Tet talking in
tongues all the time, just like mother.  And now i was in love with Tet, and
my exclusion somewhat disturbed me.  If Tet could have these things, and if
they were real for her, then why not me?  Something must be wrong.  Looking
back now, i don't feel that anything was really wrong.  It was simply that god
had not yet revealed himself to me.  He knew what was best for me, and was
working everything out according to his plan.  Amazingly, mother seemed to
understand this, and never made the mistake of pushing me toward spiritual
things, as i have seen other parents do, with serious consequences.  Now it
was god's own time, and he began to reveal himself to me in ways i will never
forget.

     On our first journey to Bacian, as i have said, my attitudes were
changing.  I learned to eat many new things that i would never have touched
before.  I also lived for the first time in a house with no floor.  At the
same time, i was beginning to see the beauty of what men call "nature."  My
aesthetic sensibilities were being refined, and i was drinking in the beauty
that came pouring in upon my senses.

     This perceptual development had already begun several months before at
Kate-Kate, where i began wandering for many hours through the forest alone. 
But it was honed to perfection by the expansive wilderness i encountered in
Bacian.  It was in the winds and the rains and the sun and the sands.  Not too
mention the scenes of splendor we encountered on our journeys to Babang, Bori,
and Bibinoi.  My heart leaped and thrilled to the alang-alang grass, the
slopes, and the trees; and i was moved to the depths of my being.

     I knew nothing of galaxies, black holes, or spiral nebulae.  Nor was i
aware of the dimensions of the sun.  But i began to perceive the underlying
greatness and intelligence of god, as he revealed himself to me.  I realized
that the hills had nod stood on their own.  Nor had the fishes chosen to
flourish on the reef.  Above, beyond, and behind it all was a being such as i.
  It was he who had spawned the universe in all its glory, with infinite
intelligence, love, and with pleasures for us to enjoy.  So the seeds of
praise were planted deep in my soul.

     In our little house between Babang and Saioang Baru, just as in Labuha, we
had to learn where to look for sources of food.  I cannot remember how, but
Tet and i found an old Moslem woman who had a clearing in the forest. and
there we were wont to go for the fruits of the field.  She was happy to sell. 
As i remember her, she draped her old body in black, and wore a string tied
round her wrist.  When we asked her, she said it was for her late son, and
that she would wear it as a sign of mourning until it dropped off of its own
accord.

     Her field was high in the hills somewhere behind Babang, but i can't
remember exactly where.  All i do remember is the great beauty of the place,
with its view, and the slanting rays of the sun striking the variegated hues
of the vegetation.  Here and there were patches of brown earth, and the
charred remains of tree stumps and logs.  Again i was aware of the beauty of
the material universe around me, and realized that it was god who had made it
so.  I had mounted the first great step in my knowledge of god, for i had come
to recognize him in his primary role relating to humanity--that of creator. 
Since then, i have come to see that, as far as we are concerned, the surest
way of identifying our god, a means of identification used consistently
throughout the old testament, is as creator.  "all things were made by him,
and without him was not anything made that was made." (John 1:3).  I didn't
realize the significance of this role at the time, for the reality of his
being was just beginning to dawn upon my mind.


     Chapter 11.

     A new song.


     Tet and i wanted absolutely no one to know of our love.  But there in that
vast wilderness, with perhaps some lonely cockatoo shrieking through the vault
overhead, i was free to hold her in my arms, and she me in hers.  And then we
could kiss, and look deeply into each other's eyes, our hearts pounding
together.  I was secure in her love, and she in mine, and this love seemed to
extend beyond us and into our surroundings.  I think, for example, that we had
a love for that old lady as well, and for the grass, the slopes, and the
trees.  And from there it was only a tiny step further to realize with what
love the creator had formed those rocks and clouds, the cobalt blue of sea and
sky, and the many shades of green.  So, deep within my being, perhaps still
below the level of conscious thought, i was beginning to respond to the great
love and compassion with which god had created the universe.  Again John, "god
is love.  He that loveth not knoweth not god: for god is love." --1 John 4:8.


     After some time, we returned to Labuha, where we stayed for many days. 
Each morning, before anything else except breakfast, we assembled ourselves
for Bible study and prayer.  I believe Derek and Marie were still with us at
first, for i seem to remember them being in these meetings, but it wasn't long
before they, too, had returned to Ambon, and Tet and mother and i were alone. 
From time to time, when mother saw a definite need, she would use up a good
deal of the time herself, instructing us from the word.  But mother wanted us
to learn to dig in ourselves, so she made us read through books of the Bible
that she had selected, each person reading a verse at a time, then making some
comment or explanation about the verse he or she had just read.  I was happy
to have a part, but some of the others had to be prodded.  If even mother
couldn't see how one could get much out of the particular verse we had read,
perhaps because its logic was connected to a preceding or following verse, she
would let us read another.  Then, when we had done reading, we would all spend
some time in prayer.

     It was in one such meeting that i had my first direct encounter with god. 
This first encounter, as i remember it now, was related to the sufferings of
Jesus, and was a revelation of the love of god.  Sweetly and beautifully, i
felt the love of god, and for the first time in my life i wept in a meeting.

     I had never been able to get along very well with mother since i was about
seven.  During this period my difficulties increased.  Things were changing in
my life, and our conflicts became almost unbearable.  Many times i would leave
the house, and wander alone in the forest, where i could seem to find some
sort of relief for the anguish of my soul.  There were hard words between us
again and again, and she was never reluctant to use the rod.  But she also
taught me from the Bible, and this was the outside criterion i needed to tell
me where i was.

     At the same time, my relationship with Tet continued to flourish, and i
learned many things about love.  I found that she would do almost anything for
me, wear her hair exactly the way i wanted it, etc.  And on my part, i was the
same toward her.  I found pleasure in the daily chores that would help her
around the house.  Even mother noticed this, and remarked, "you'll do anything
that girl tells you to, but you won't do what i say!"

     One day, mother and i and Tet walked down the beach toward Mandawong.  We
found much of it to be nothing but a strip of sand, separating the sago swamp
from the smooth sea.  At one point i walked up the beach to the vegetation,
looking for a clear area.  I came upon a site strewn with a layer of sago
pulp, upon which lay two of those large, aquatic lizards, evidently male and
female, side by side.  Leaving them undisturbed, i went back for Tet and
mother, who returned with me to see the sight.  They would have made a
beautiful picture, lying there motionless on the sago pulp, with the watery
swamp in the background.  It was interesting to observe their physical
differences, contrasted as they were from one another.

     On the way home, the sunlight was slanting in low over the water, and Tet
and i walked in each other's shadows.  We found that both of us were thinking
the same thought, that we were a shield to each other, even from the heat of
the sun.

     Many times i accompanied Tet to the bazaar, helping to carry her baskets. 
I also spent long hours with her in the kitchen while she was cooking, for
there were few places i would rather be.  I developed a liking for the small
tomatos that the people cultivated in Bacian, and would steal them from the
nyiru, or shallow rattan basket, in which she kept them while preparing the
food.  I also stole kisses from Tet.  Then, fearing lest mother may have
heard, i would press another tomato to my lips, making a similar sound, in
hopes that she wouldn't know.

     Sometimes, too, when pressures became too severe, i would come to Tet
there in the kitchen, tell her my troubles, and press my head upon her bosom,
and she would soothe me, and things would be alright.

     The evenings were beautiful at Labuha, and sometimes we went walking in
the moonlight.  Happy children also saw the moonlit evenings as a time for
play.  The air was cool, and the light was so clear that everything stood out
in sharp relief, almost as in daylight, but all in black-and-white.  We could
clearly see our shadows on the ground.  I remember one evening in particular,
when Tet, mother, and i strolled as far as Amasing.  Another evening, Tet and
i wandered alone along the road to Tomori.  The place was desolate, and the
moonlight was reflected resplendently from the smooth leaves of the great sago
palms.  We stopped to sit on a log in a little clearing beside the road, and
were surprised to find burning embers, indicating that someone had been there
not long before.  Later, walking hand-in-hand, we were surprised by a man who
caught up with us on his way to Tomori or Mandawong.  He was a government
official of one sort or another.  We hoped that he hadn't noticed too much,
because we had still been careful not to let anyone know about our love.

     At first, my encounters with god were far apart, and it was not until
several, perhaps many, days had passed after that first time that the holy
spirit came to me again.  But when he came, it was much as before--a sense of
overwhelming love.

     I also learned many things about my relationship with god, and as i did,
my encounters with god became more and more frequent.  Amazingly, i grew
increasingly capable of controlling my temper and holding my tongue.  Tet's
love for me was similar to my love for god.  It began to look as if i would do
anything for him.  I began to realize then that, despite the fact that i had
been around the world two times, and lived among rich and poor, educated and
primitive alike, i had never once encountered anything so wonderful as this. 
Seeing the good life possible in America, and possessing a keen interest in
physics, i had decided that i would go on to get a higher education, become an
electronics engineer, and make $2000 per month.  Now, however, i was beginning
to identify with Paul, who considered all the things of his former life and
ambitions but dung when compared with the spiritual things of his new life in
god.

     To this day, i am uncertain as to the exact hour i experienced my
spiritual birth.  That is, when i was born again.  As i have said, i had
believed in the lord since early childhood, considered myself a Christian, and
had every intention of living a moral, upright life.  I had been in many
meetings, sung many hymns, and said many prayers, in almost all of which i had
been quite sincere.  But now i was definitely changing, and becoming a new
creature from within.  I ultimately mastered my anger to the point that mother
could do almost anything she pleased, my only response being to obey and
concede.  Overwhelmed by the great love of god, i gave up my old pride.  And
the more i gave up of my old life, the more often i encountered god.  And the
more often i encountered god, the more i came to know him, and to understand
what he wanted of me, and the more capable i became of doing those things. 
Thus i gained mastery over forces i could never have controlled before, and
possessed an entirely new life in Christ Jesus.  But exactly when or where it
happened i cannot tell, except that it seemed to be on Bacian.

     At the same time, something else was beginning to happen to me.  But once
again, i don't know when or where it all began.  Perhaps it was on our first
expedition to Babang.  Or it might have been at the time i witnessed about the
lord to old Gulinga.  Whenever or wherever it was, i began to feel a burden
and a love for the souls of men, to pray for them, and to witness.

     But perhaps the most amazing thing of all was the love.  In a personal
encounter with god it is that one really comes to know what one has heard
about his attributes.  And the love of god is something that cannot be
described.  It can only be experienced and known.  I had heard about it all my
life, but i had never really come to know it, much less experience it.  The
beautiful thing was that in my encounters with god, not only did i experience
and know this love first-hand, but a little of it rubbed off onto me.  I had
never loved people so much in my life before.  I would see people coming home
from the forest with heavy loads of wood on their shoulders, and go out and
ask to share their burdens with them.  They could not understand my motives,
but, embarrassed and surprised, made room for me under their loads.  I had
received from god a tremendous, beautiful, and consuming love, and i loved it.


     And this love became channeled toward the souls of men.  I began to
realize that without Christ people were lost and going to hell, and this made
me weep for them, and drove me to witness.  I had found the most wonderful
thing in the world, and it was totally free!  Anyone at all who was willing to
receive it could have it!



     Chapter 12.

     The living stream.


     So i had found something wonderful, and i loved other people, and wanted
them to enjoy it too.  But i was frustrated by my lack of ability to witness,
and my lack of authority when i spoke.  How well i knew the teachings about
the holy spirit, for i had heard them all my life.  I began to realize my need
for the power Jesus had promised his disciples in acts 1:8, and started asking
for this power in my prayers.

     By that time i had asked for the experience of the baptism in the holy
spirit many times, of course, since my background had exposed me to an
emphasis of its importance all my life.  Until that time, however, i had been
asking mainly for myselfk  I wanted this, i wanted that, and if the holy
spirit was good for me, i wanted the holy spirit as well.  But the selfish
attitudes of my past were not in keeping with my new life, in which my prayers
and desires were becoming focused upon the interests of others, and of god.

     I pressed deeper and deeper into my spiritual struggle, and my encounters
with god became more and more frequent, until they came almost every day. 
Mother had been encouraging and coaching me, and had taught me the meaning of
praying without ceasing, and of remaining in god.  In other words, not just
coming to him when it was time to pray, but remaining with him all through the
day.

     Our humble dwelling by the prison, with its dirt floors,  was infested
with flies, and my feet and legs were covered with sores.  Many times these
flies had distracted me when i tried to pray, but i noticed that the farther i
got into the things of the spirit, the more control i had over my body, until
i could barely even feel the flies.

     Joseph Latu was there that morning, but Derek and Marie had gone.  As i
prayed, the holy spirit came upon me as before, sweet, holy, and pure.  As
usual, i wept before the lord.  Then i began praying for the souls of men with
tremendous love flowing through my being.  At that time, i could finally ask
god for the baptism of the holy spirit, no longer for myself, but for others.


     The power of god came stronger and stronger upon me, and mother and
Joseph, and Tet moved in to support me with their faith and prayers.  I began,
intermittently, to praise god with tremendous exuberance.  By then i felt as
if my whole being were in the presence of the lord.  A strange speech started
welling up within me, and i began to speak in tongues.  At first i was shaky,
afraid to yield.  But then i simply gave myself over completely, and let the
lord do with me as he would.  It was the capitulation of my intellect to the
control of my spirit, and i kneeled speaking in tongues for about an hour ere
the spirit of god was lifted somewhat, and the tongues subsided.  During that
time, the only sensation i had of anything supernatural was of a golden light
that seemed to fill my whole being.  But this was a thing of my mind, and not
as if i had seen it with my eyes.  When i grew silent, a great peace and power
hovered in the room.

     The experience had been a tremendous, mighty victory, and i could feel
that power with me as a arose and sat down.  All of us were silent.  The sun
shone bright outside the open window.  Tet stood up, walked to me, and kissed
me in public for the first and only time.  No one could say anything.

     I walked outside, and found my friends, children of the town, sitting on
our doorstep.  They were silent, as if they realized that some transcending
experience had happened to me.  If they ever doubted my belief in spiritual
phenomena before, they certainly had no doubts then.

     The glory and power of that experience was to change my entire life.


     Chapter 13.

     Walking in the sunlight.


     It was at this time that i gained control over my temper.  It would be far
from true if i were to say that i never again became angry.  No, anger was
still definitely a part of my emotional paraphernalia.  The difference was
that, whereas my anger once controlled me, now i had control of my anger.  For
anger itself is not evil, but the abuse of the emotion, anger, is what is
wrong.  To be controlled by anger as i had been was even worse.  But from that
moment on, i cannot remember ever really losing my temper as before.  Nor can
i remember ever tearing into my fellow man in a fist fight, as i had so often
done.

     The change in my ability to witness, lead meetings, and pray, was decisive
and dramatic.  Whatever education or experience embellishes my teaching and
preaching today, i still contend that it was then that i became a preacher or
witness.  For it was precisely then that i gained the authority or power of
which Jesus spoke.

     Joseph returned to Saioang Baru, and for some reason mother had to be
there by a certain time too.  In those days, i sometimes suffered from periods
of fever, which lasted up to four or five days.  I don't know what it actually
was, but at that time i called it the flu.  Now, just when it was time for
mother to go, i fell ill with the flu, and was not quite physically up to the
trip.  Since mother's mission was important to her, after voicing some
complaints, and remarking that it was not customary to leave two young people
together like this, and that she was placing a great deal of confidence in us,
she departed.  Tet and i stayed alone in the house, and there wasn't another
person in the world i would rather have been with.  She cared for me, prayed
for me, and encouraged me by reading scriptures.  We shared the 121St psalm. 
But then, just as the fever was leaving me, and i was regaining my strength,
Tet fell ill, and it was my turn to take care of her.  I can only imagine what
poor mother must have been praying and thinking during this time.

     But here was another of those principles that made mother great.  She had
an undying faith in her fellow men, as if everyone had in them some basic
good.  She said that we had an obligation to believe in people until such time
as we had some concrete indication otherwise.  She felt that if she gave
people her trust, this trust would seldom be betrayed.  She seemed to make it
a principle of her life to give people the benefit of the doubt, and believe
in them as much as she could.  But if someone betrayed her, then things were
different from then on.  And for her, amazingly, it seemed to work.

     This is why she ran the Bible institute with a minimum of rules and
regulations.  It was her feeling that the more rules and regulations there
were, the more offenses there would be.  Also, she felt that if she couldn't
trust her students while they were with her, there would be no way she could
possibly trust them when they were gone.  She had no system of punishment
whatsoever, although i did see her keep a student on campus once or twice. 
Her students could offend once or twice, but then, if she felt they were
unreliable, she would simply send them home.  For things like theft or
point-blank lies, however, she might send them home on the first offense. 
Whatever happened, they would certainly not be set to washing dishes or
scrubbing floors, a practice that became commonplace in later years.  The idea
that someone could somehow pay for something wrong was totally non-existent. 
If a person had sinned, he or she had to make it right with their fellow men
and with god.  Then, if god forgave them, and if they were forgiven by their
fellow men, they were free and clear, and accepted again by everyone.  Mother
only demanded sincerity.  And if it wasn't there, she knew that no amount of
dish-washing or drudgery could help, because that person was unfit for the
work of the lord.

     I never saw the Kate-Kate Bible institute like it was while she was there.
  The fellowship, the zeal, the sincerity of spirit, were unparalleled.  She
only asked the students to work two hours per day, and they were free to take
whatever foodstuffs they wanted from the fields, and to eat them on the spot. 
Yet such things as pineapples, bananas, and taro flourished, not to mention
the cassava and yams.  In later years, the school has demanded four hours of
work per day, plus tuition fees.  Not only that, but classes are twenty hours
per week for all students, with forced study "wajib belajar" periods in the
evenings.  It would seem as if the students would not have a moment to spare
for anything but work and study, and this is apparently what was planned. 
Regulations proliferate and abound.  Yet the students have been consistently
rebellious, deceitful, and useless for any good work.  Almost every time i
have visited the place some poor devil or other has been on probation, washing
dishes, scrubbing floors, working over time in the garden, being confined on
campus, or something else.  Food has become scarce, and the spirituality of
the place has withered away to a mere vestige of its former bloom.  Gone is
the sweet communion that we once knew.

     So, because of this principle that mother held, she was willing to leave
me alone with Tet at the house in Labuha, a thing that would have been
unthinkable to most other missionaries i have met, and which, in their case
would surely have had disastrous results.  Yet we remained true to our own
principles, and did what we knew to be right, and all was well.

     After some days, Tet recovered from her fever, and we were on our way.

     Our trek across the island was a thing of dreams.  There we were, two very
young and vulnerable human beings in that vast unknown.  Reaching the deepest
of those gullies on the "skojo," a gully still spanned by one or two of those
heave "kayu besi" timbers, Tet stationed me as sentry on the trail, and
descended to the stream for some private physical function.  I might have
accomplished my task just as well asleep, for there was never a soul who drew
near.  When all was done, i crossed over on a timber, and Tet scaled the bank
on the opposite side.  Back on the trail, i teased Tet, telling her i had
peeped.  I think for awhile i really had her worried.  She seemed to alternate
from disbelief to embarrassment to shock.  Then i assured her that i had only
been teasing, and all was well.  Her skin was light brown, it was true, but
she could sometimes flush a pretty shade of pink.

     At the ra, we paused on a pebble bar in the middle of the stream.  There i
selected some small stones, and arranged them into letters, possibly a foot
high.  And there, emerging from the random chaos of that wild river bed in the
rain were those three beautiful words again: "i love you."  I feared lest by
some means someone might somehow be able to determine what i had written
there, so i scattered the pebbles carefully before we went on.  Then,
satisfied that no trace was left, we forded to the far bank, and faced the
great forest.

     The rain was coming down heavily now, and it was already gloomy enough
without the cover of the leaves.  We paused for one last moment before moving
on to disappear into that great void, and i drew her warm body into my arms. 
I gazed deep into her dark eyes, feeling her warmth as i pressed her to me in
an ecstasy that no words could ever describe.  The chilling rain pounded down
upon our bodies, and ran trickling over our skin.  The only sound in that vast
silence was the "hush" of the falling rain.

     Then, suddenly, i spotted people, and released her, surprised and
embarrassed by a party emerging from the trees.  I hoped that i had managed to
see them first, and that they had not seen anything that might become a
reproach.  Few things could have hurt me more than to have become a hindrance
to the work of the lord.  Maybe they were kind, and closed their eyes to what
they saw, or maybe they hadn't seen at all.  I don't know.  Whatever the case,
i have never heard anything storied about myself and Tet, and not even my
mother ever seemed to know for sure if there had been anything between us.

     We entered the gloomy forest, and trudged for hours through the dreary
twilight, the mud, and the rain.  Tet was stunning under those conditions,
which seemed only to enhance her beauty.  Her warmth was powerful in the
chilling rain, and the forest itself was beautiful for the sheer glory of its
great gloom.  There was something pure and holy there in those mighty trunks,
in the tangle of leaves and vines, and the rain.

     We crossed the Waiamiga, where there was barely a break in the canopy
above.  We plunged in again, and the giant nettles stung our limbs as we waded
through the mud.

     At last the sky broke through overhead, and we were on the descent through
the secondary forest to the sea.  Even the rain had vanished, if my memory
serves me correctly.  We took the trail to the left, which led directly to
Saioang Baru.  We were surprised and amused when we came to a break, and found
a large monkey a little above us on the trunk of a coconut tree.  He was also
surprised to see us, and slithered to the ground as quickly and gracefully as
he could, then bolted for the bushes.  Soon we were with mother again in our
little house on the shore.

     During that visit, our relationship deepened with the people of Saioang
Baru.  I remember one night in particular, when the moonlight made a
dream-world of the village.  The children and young people were playing on the
bare earth of the clearing outside, the "streets" of our village.  Others sat
and talked on large, open para-paras, or bamboo platforms.  I think it was my
first real exposure to Tobelo village life.  The very atmosphere seemed
charged, and we felt like leaping or dancing.  I was surprised to find that
these young people, like ourselves, liked to fun and joke about such things as
romance.  And whenever something ridiculous or funny was said, merriment would
fill the air.  That beautiful night served to cement our relationship with the
people, for we were chatting and laughing with them, and they had accepted us
as their own.

     Some days later, after returning to Labuha, we were surprised by the news
that our little house had blown down in a wind storm.  As mother recalls, we
left at eight in the morning, and our little house blew down at about four