Ketut and the Case of the Disappearing Tourists

©2011 Rudolf Helder
See more pictures of Ubud sidewalks here.

At first the people of Ubud did not notice anything different. There were suddenly fewer tourists. Not really suddenly, but who misses a few in the beginning? It was when a whole bus of tourists went missing that people started talking and even that took time, because who wants to be the first to create a rumor? Right, no one. It was Ketut, one of the local policemen, who wanted to know more when he overheard Nyoman, a Jalan Raya Ubud shopkeeper that sold sarongs, mention to one of the waitresses at the next door restaurant that a tourist who had a moment before stood in her doorway had simply disappeared. She couldn't say, "Like snow before the sun," because that just doesn't make sense in Bali, so she said something similar in Balinese. You get the idea. And so did Ketut, but only after picking up more bits and pieces of conversations between locals.
Now, Ketut had no business in Ubud central. A few years earlier he had been delegated to his own neighborhood of Banjar Kutuh Kaja, just up the road of Jalan Tirta Tawar, where hardly anything ever happened. Maybe a stray dog causing an accident, or a foreigner renting a bungalow forgetting to re-register his passport with the police for a 30 day visa extension. That sort of thing. Nothing to write home about. Not that he would, because Ketut still lived at home and probably always would being the youngest of the family, as in Bali it's custom that the last born inherits all, thereby guaranteeing longer care for aging parents than in the case of an older sibling.

That all being beside the point, now that his curiosity was piqued Ketut decided to do some undercover investigating—which would be hard since everyone knew him. He seldom wore a complete uniform, instead opting to cover his gun and belt with an oversized T-shirt, which he reasoned made the people of the Banjar feel less intimidated by his presence and they'd speak more freely, often forgetting that he in fact represented The Law. Dressed thusly he wandered on his next day off into Ubud because Wayan, his wife, had forgotten to repair his civilian pants, which had a rip due to him having rather formidable thighs, courtesy of working out twice weekly at the Ubud Gym. That too being beside the point, it was a very alert Ketut that day who sauntered up and down Jalan Raya Ubud.
It wasn't before long that he noticed some tourists trudging along the sidewalk, hopping in and out of stores selling typical tourist stuff, like masks, batik, sarongs, silver jewelry.
Sure enough, although he wasn't too sure as he had just waved at his old schoolfriend Made, the tourists he'd been following were suddenly nowhere to be seen. He walked a few times by the places where he'd last seen them but they had simply vanished. He didn't know the expression "in thin air," but it was like that.

Still, there was no reason for panic, not for a cool-headed policeman like Ketut. Doing police work, and also from reading Mickey Spillane crime novels, he had learned that for even the most mysterious occurrence there was usually a rational explanation.
It wasn't until after turning into a side street and finding himself another tourist to shadow—a big fellow with a red complexion and a cowboy hat—that he got his first clue, even though he didn't know it at the time: a peculiar twist in the man's step. Looked more like he played a game of hopscotch, the way the tourist walked. Most curious. And as he followed the man at some distance he noticed a tourist family of five across the street doing the same thing. Tourists were so rampant in Bali that Ketut had to admit to himself that he never even paid attention to any of them unless they caused a problem. But now he stood frozen in his tracks, rubbing his chin and scratching the back of his head at the same time.
Strange, he said to himself, except he said it in Bahasa, and he preceded it with "Aduh," which is not really a word at all, but more of a verbal exclamation mark. "Aduh, aneh!"
Barely had he said those words or he realized that his ruddy-faced tourist was gone. Something strange was going on in Ubud, but exactly what it was—other than tourists disappearing ad hoc—was not clear. He turned to look at the family of five and they too were gone. Ketut rubbed his eyes as if he had just gotten out of bed, but that didn't help. People were vanishing in droves and they wouldn't reappear because he was rubbing his eyes.

Clearly, a full-scale investigation was called for, but he'd have to approach the police commissioner who'd certainly have questions of his own, like why had he left his Banjar and was messing with someone else's beat, and why had he not properly asked for permission to conduct his own investigation, and maybe most importantly, how could they keep the disappearances a secret if they went out in full force and started asking questions?
After all, every Balinese is aware that it is tourism that supplies almost everyone with a lifestyle an average Indonesian citizen could only dream of. In the course of less than twenty years almost every Balinese had acquired a motorized vehicle and new villas, bungalows, and homestays were being built at an accelerated pace to cash in on tourism.

Those and several other completely beside the point thoughts went through Ketut's mind as he walked back to Jalan Raya Ubud, keeping an eye out for tourists, of which he now realized there were remarkably few considering the time of day and season. He was so engrossed in thought that when a fast approaching minibus forced him off of the road he almost tripped over a large slab of stone that lay wedged crookedly in the sidewalk with one edge protruding dangerously above the surface, one that he had avoided since stubbing his toe on it as a boy. Immediately he had to sidestep yet another obstruction, a large hole where the sidewalk had completely caved in, which he did with a hop and a scotch of his formidable Ubud Gym-trained legs. As he continued, still thinking about the mystery of the disappearing tourists, he automatically avoided many perils on his way, until he came to a particularly deep crevice between sidewalk stones where a whole slab had deteriorated and fallen into the sewer that runs below almost every street of Ubud. The sewer and the sidewalk constructed over it were, if you thought about it, an ingenious system, one that dealt well with waters from rain storms. Ketut had wanted to become an engineer, but funds had been limited and so his education had been halted in favor of Wayan, his older brother who had gone on to study in Jakarta. Ketut was proud of getting a good job anyway, as competition to join the police was always fierce, but since the head of the Banjar was good friends with the police commissioner it had been arranged in his favor. It was a job he'd probably have for the rest of his life, one with certain prestige, and it had allowed him to marry a bit above his own caste to the one girl in school he'd always liked best.
Not that any of this mattered, but to Ketut it did, as few things were as important as being married, having babies, and providing for one's old age, which was where tourism came in, in a big way, because without it there simply wouldn't be a future for Bali and going back to planting rice was out of the question now that many of his peers had found employment in the hospitality industry. Ketut was well aware of what the word "hospitality" means, as every Balinese, every Indonesian in fact, is obliged by culture and religion to treat strangers as guests, and it was this welcoming attitude that had made Bali such a popular place in the world. Could all that be at risk, now that tourists were mysteriously disappearing around him? He could not let that happen, and so he continued his investigation on his own, more vigil than he had been earlier that morning and that was a good thing, otherwise he might have tripped on one of the drain cover grills that appears in many Ubud sidewalks every few meters. That'd be funny! Most local folks had after all developed a sixth sense for avoiding such obstacles.

The afternoon sun was already beginning to lengthen the shadows of the trees lining the streets when Ketut finally stumbled upon the break he'd been looking for. Not far after passing Jalan Bisma, where the road winded down toward the bridge at Murni's, he suddenly heard from below his feet a faint yelp. At first he thought his ears were playing tricks on him so he looked up and around instead of down, but then the cry was repeated, louder this time, and he heard, "Help. Help us, please," just as it's written here, in plain English, but with a German accent.

Ketut understood a little "Ingris," as Balinese call it. Just enough to know someone was in distress UNDER THE SIDEWALK! That fact did throw him off momentarily as it was just plain insane, the idea that someone had managed to slip under the heavy slabs of stone and concrete, but when he lowered himself on one of his formidable knees it was unmistakingly true as he spotted four boney fingers reaching out through a crack in the sidewalk. "Someone there?" he asked, immediately aware of the stupidity of the question.
"Yes," the voice replied thinly, "there's a whole busload of us here and we want out."
Ketut was not only in shock, he also realized that at this place in the road, in spite of all the cars, taxis, and mopeds racing by, he was very much alone, even helpless, and desperately needed backup. He reached for his phone, but his hands were sweaty and the thing jumped in the air like a bar of soap and disappeared into the crack.
"Thank you," someone said. "Hey guys, this phone works. Who's first?"
"Me," "No, me," "No, no, me, me, me," he heard people shouting and it seemed like a struggle commenced.
Oh, my, Ketut thought, how many are there?
By this time, he had lowered himself flat out on his belly and tried to peer through the crack in the sidewalk. At first he didn't see anything, but then a dirty face appeared briefly in the light falling through the crack. Angry hollow eyes that looked more like those of an animal than of a human being stared back at him.
"Are you going to get help, or what?" the mouth in the angry face shouted.
"Yes, yes, sebentar," Ketut mumbled, "Just one moment."
"Well, hurry up! We feel ignored and we're hungry. We've been eating nothing but rice washed down from your offering baskets, maybe a wrapped candy now and then, but mostly we've been starving. We want to go to Café Lotus and Casa Luna and have a good meal. We've been hallucinating about hamburgers, fish and chips, spaghetti, french fries, and Haagen Dasz ice cream!"
Food was important in Ketut's life. If he went half a day without nasi campur, soto ayam, or gado-gado he'd become irritable, so he could imagine how the tourists under the sidewalk felt.
"Hold on," he shouted into the crack, "I'm going to get help!"
Just then a voice above him said, "Officer Ketut, what in the name of Shiva are you doing, sprawled out on the street like roadkill?"
It was City Administrator Dewa, the eldest son of a good friend of his father and an important figure as all police salaries were being processed by his department. Ketut scrambled to his feet, saluted, and pointed at the crack in the sidewalk. "Tourists," he stammered. "Hundreds!"
"What are you talking about, Ketut?" Dewa asked. "Have you gone mad?"
"Yes sir, no sir, I mean, hundreds of tourists vanished because of cracks in our sidewalks." With his formidable hands he began pulling up one of the slabs of concrete that had been dropped over one of the enormous holes. Immediately several skinny, dirty hands appeared, grabbing Ketut by the wrist.
Dewa looked like he heard it thundering in Jakarta as he watched Ketut pull out an emaciated tourist in a tattered Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops with chew marks. He wanted to take his hat off and scratch his head, but he wasn't even wearing a hat. That's how confusing it all was.
"Impossible," he said, glad that he had found the strength to recompose himself as could be expected of someone with a pencil mustache in a handsome dark brown government uniform with his name stitched in gold on his chest. "The sidewalks, they've always been... Just there, like always. Why now...? And suddenly?"
Ketut was too busy pulling more tourists out of the sidewalk to answer. He wished Dewa would help him, but as he was of a lower caste he didn't dare summon the aloof administrator. Soon he was surrounded by a bunch of filthy, rich tourists that squinted at the daylight and began dusting one another off. Many had remnants of morning offerings in their hair. Now cars and mopeds came to a halt, their drivers gaping at the spectacle unfolding before their eyes. At Murni's a makeshift triage station was established for tourists with scrapes and bruises and those unable to walk. Weakly waving their credit cards they ordered coffee and cake for themselves and ice cream and soda for the kids that had been clamoring for them day after day, or rather, night after night, because that's how it had felt, being buried under the sidewalks.
It wasn't long before the police commissioner showed up with a couple of traffic cops in tow that began blowing their whistles and swinging their arms as only traffic cops can.

Now that the cat was out of the bag, or rather the tourists out from under the sidewalk, the gathered Balinese started talking about who was to blame as a few able-bodied tourists took them to the holes in the sidewalk that had swallowed them. When one claimed that the Ubud sidewalks looked as bad as they had 17 years earlier during his first visit it began to dawn on some that the ones responsible were each and everyone of them. They had just accepted a bad situation as the way it was and likely would always be, not thinking that it would get worse.
That is until someone uttered the word, "Karma."
Hearing that Ketut, who had momentarily stopped lifting tourists out of the sidewalk with his formidable arms in order to wipe the sweat off of his brow, found the courage to address the passive onlookers. "Brothers... and sisters," he said upon discovering his wife's face in the crowd, and he spread his arms out wide. "We ought to be ashamed of ourselves." At once it was so quiet you could hear a palm frond fall noisily, birds sing in the trees, and the river rushing under the bridge—sounds usually muted by traffic noises.
"We've taken these tourists for granted, thinking they'll always be there. We lined our pockets, sent our children to universities, built big compounds and homestay bungalows, started importing goods from Java while telling tourists we were making them ourselves, and to express our thanks for all the wealth, good health, and the grace the Gods bestowed on us we began to neglect the very fabric that brought these people to our doorsteps, the sidewalks on which they ought to walk safely without risk for life and limb. While we grew fat and lethargic we were undermining the very core of our being, our faith, by not caring anymore."
At this point Ketut looked lost as he saw everyone staring at him stupidly, but then someone started to clap her hands, a frail, elderly tourist in a torn dress and a Balinese hat who understood some Bahassa. Others joined in and soon everyone was putting their hands together and bowing to Ketut. He caught his wife's wide smile as she looked proudly at her husband. Seeing a new determination spread among his people Ketut mumbled, "Balinese are the best." Someone grabbed him by one of his formidable legs and he was hoisted up on his several shoulders and together with the freed tourists a spontaneous procession began that ended at Banjar Kutuh Kaja. People went home and quickly changed into their best garments, musicians gathered their instruments, and soon gamelan music united everyone, dirty tourists and impeccably dressed Balinese, and even the dogs barked with new-found fervor.

THE END, but not entirely. See my pictures of Ubud sidewalks here.