Bald-headed
Ch. 17

Birundasih woke up once the next morning, forced by the unrelenting sound of alarm, he rubbed his eyes, feeling the stiffness in his body. He did not sleep well, waking up every time he dreamed, and he remembered seeing the clockwork in a different position at night, as if ensuring the passage of time.

She slept in the soft shirt the man gave her, and she smelled it once more while thinking about the night they spent together.

Laughter and relaxed conversation returned, and he especially remembered the way he talked about his paintings. It was very unexpected, yet uplifting, and as the words began to replay in his mind, he realized how sorry he would have been had he decided not to see her again.

He looked out the window and saw birds chattering for food in his cage.

Sugi, he knew, the man had always been the one who got up early to welcome dawn in his own way.

She knew she liked kayaking or canoeing, and she remembered one morning she spent time with him in the canoe, watching the sun rise.

She had to sneak out her window to do that because her parents wouldn't allow it, but she didn't get caught and she remembered how Sugi slipped his arm around her and pulled her closer as dawn started to break.

"Look over there" he whispered, and he watched his first sunrise with his head on the man's shoulder, wondering if there was anything better than what happened back then.

And as she got out of bed to take a shower, feeling the cold floor under her feet, she wondered if she had been in the water this morning watching another day begin.

He's correct.

Sugi gets up before sunrise and dresses up quickly, the same jeans as last night, t-shirts, clean flannel shirts, blue jackets, and boots.

He brushed his teeth before coming down, drank a glass of milk quickly, and picked up two biscuits as he exited the door.

After Cemong greeted him with a few careless licks, he walked to the dock where his kayak was kept. He likes to let the river do its magic, relax his muscles, warm his body, clear his mind.

The old kayak, well-used and lake-stained, was hung on two rusty hooks mounted on its dock just above the water surface to prevent barnacles from nesting there.

He lifted her from the hook and placed it near her feet, examined her quickly, then carried her to the edge of the lake. In some experienced moves long mastered by habit, he did so in the water, working upstream with himself as a pilot and an engine.

The air was cool on his skin, it felt fresh, and the sky was a mist of a different color, darkening right above him like a mountain peak, then blue with an infinite range, he said, it becomes brighter until it meets the horizon, where gray replaces it. He took a few deep breaths, smelled the smell of pine trees and lake water, and began to ponder.

This is part of what she missed most when she lived in Australia. Due to the long hours of work and study, there is little time to spend on the water. Camping, hiking, paddling on the river, dating, education and work. . .

When you have the opportunity to leave. He often chooses to explore Avon Valley on foot whenever he has extra time, but over ten years when in the busiest times of his life, he had never canoeed or kayaked once. It was one of the first things he did when he came back here.

There is something special, almost mystical, about spending the dawn on the water, he thought to himself, and he does it almost every day now. Bright and clear or cold and bitter, it didn't matter as he pedaled the rhythm of the music in his head, working on the iron-colored water.

He paddled to the middle of the river, where he saw an orange glow begin to stretch over the water. He stopped pedaling violently, giving enough effort to keep him in place, staring until the light started to break through the trees.

He always likes to stop at dawn - there are times when the scenery is spectacular, as if the world is being reborn. After that he started pedaling hard, relieving tension, preparing for the day.

While he was doing that, questions danced around in his mind like drops of water in a frying pan. She wonders about Ali and what kind of man she is, wondering about their relationship. And most importantly, he wondered about Birundasih and why he had come.

By the time he got home, he felt renewed. Checking his watch, he was surprised to find that it took two hours.

However, time always plays tricks out there, and he stopped questioning it a few months ago.

He dried the kayak, wriggled it for a few minutes, and went to the warehouse where he kept his canoe. He took her to the edge, left her a few feet from the water, and when he turned towards the house, he realized that his legs were still a little stiff.

The morning fog had not subsided, and he knew his feet usually foretold rain. He looked up at the western sky and saw a storm cloud, thick and heavy, far away but there was bound to be. The wind does not blow hard, but they bring the clouds closer. Looking at the weather display, he did not want to be outside when the clouds arrived here.

How much time does he have? A few hours, maybe more. Maybe less.

He took a shower, put on new jeans, a red shirt, and put on rubber slippers, combed his hair, and went down to the kitchen. He washed the dishes from the previous night after picking them up and collecting them, then made coffee for himself, and went to the veranda.

The sky was darker now, and he checked the barometer. Stable, but will soon start to fall. The western sky promised that.

He had long since learned to never underestimate the weather, and he wondered if it was best to go outside. The rain he could handle, the lightning was a different story.

Especially if he is on the water. The canoe is not the place when the electricity is on in the humid air.

He finished his coffee, delaying the decision until later. He went to the tool shed and found his axe. After examining the blade by pressing his thumb against it, he sharpened it with a grindstone until it was ready.

"The blunt axe is more dangerous than the sharp axe" his father said.

He spent the next twenty minutes splitting and stacking the wood. He did it easily, his punch was efficient, and did not sweat. He put some wooden sticks to the side for later and brought them in when he was done, putting them near the kitchen. Then go into the living room.

He looked at Birundasih's painting again and reached out to touch it, returning a feeling of disbelief upon seeing it again.

God, what is it about her that makes her feel this way? Even after all these years? What kind of power does that woman have over her?

He finally turned around, shook his head, and returned to the veranda. He checked the barometer again. That hasn't changed. Then he looked at his watch.