It's a Jungle Out There

I continued to sit in the coffee shop with the incriminating photos tucked under the file folder page. I knew I had to get away from Jasmine, I didn't trust myself around her. I thought of heading back to Benton, but I quickly dismissed that idea. That felt too much like a public admission of failure.

And then it hit me, the timing may just be about right I thought. I quickly headed over to the ag department at Taft University.

Taft had an exchange research program with a number of universities around the world. The idea was that a visiting research assistant or professor would spend time at other colleges' agricultural departments doing research and exchanging ideas. Normally there was a minimum time commitment required. I had seen these notices frequently at Taft. I remember being interested in this as an undergraduate.

After I arrived at the university I searched out and found my supervisor, Tim Kerwin.

I explained that I was interested in an overseas research position as soon as possible.

Tim, removed his glasses, cocked his head and stared at me.

"These are normally pretty primitive posts Owen," he said to me.

I nodded, yes, I knew that.

"Aren't you still kind of a newlywed?" He asked. He had attended our wedding.

I shook my head from side to side and told him that that wouldn't matter.

"Look Owen, there are many places that would love to have you," he began, "it's just that I've seen married people try to do these exchanges and it normally doesn't work out too well. I have a responsibility to you and also our exchange partners. To be honest I wouldn't recommend it." He told me.

I took a deep breath. Finally without telling all the details I explained that my marriage would be ending shortly. I wanted to leave the area just as soon as I could. The further away and the longer the commitment, the better, I told Tim.

He looked across the desk at me, absorbing what I had told him.

"I wouldn't advise it." He said.

"Tim, one way or another," I began, "I'm getting out of here. I like Taft and I want to continue my affiliation with the university, but for now, I can't stay in this town." I told him.

He stared at me for a full thirty seconds. Finally he turned to his laptop, typed in some information and read.

"Well here's a posting everyone would want, Tuscia University in Italy but that opening doesn't start for six months," he said and continued to scroll through.

"Hmmm, there is one that is open and looking for someone as soon as possible, but.... I'm not sure." He said as he continued reading.

"Where is it?" I asked.

"It's through the University of Indonesia, but the assignment is pretty rural. There is a small village near Bima and..."

I interrupted him, "I'll take it!" I exclaimed.

He abruptly looked up and studied me.

"Here, I'll send you a link. You really need to read through this. From what I understand, the people in Bima are wonderful, but it's quite a primitive environment. I know we've had people come home early from there."

"How soon would the program start?" I asked.

"Like I said," he told me as he reread the information, "they want someone as soon as possible. The link I sent you has all the details. Do you have a current passport?" He asked.

I remembered my high school church trip to Guadalajara. "Yes." I assured him.

Later, in my office, I read through the link Tim had sent me. This would be perfect. Far away from Jasmine and the mess of my marriage.

I then unfolded the small note page that Paul had given me with the lawyer he recommended. It read 'John Scalia 618 937.... '.

I called and reached his law office. I explained what I wanted and made an appointment to meet with John the following day. His assistant in the meantime e-mailed me a list of information I was to bring. Including any proof of infidelity.

Thanks to Paul, I certainly had that.

That night at home was difficult. I didn't want all the drama of a confrontation about her infidelity. I was sad that the marriage was ending and felt like a failure because of the pending divorce. But, try as I might, I could not imagine any scenario where we could stay married.

Around the apartment I stayed quiet and withdrawn. When Jasmine would ask what was wrong, I told her I was overburdened at work.

"In fact," I told her, "I may need to go down to the farm later this week."

This was my normal in town week, but I thought it would save me the discomfort of pretending all was well with the marriage.

I also watched Jasmine as I told her about my out of town schedule. I saw her glance away as if she were calculating a clandestine plan. I also saw a small smile cross her face ever so briefly in the midst of her concentration.

I had a pretty good guess what she was thinking.

The next day I met with my divorce lawyer, John Scalia. John was pleasant but businesslike. He was darkly complected with what looked like a permanent five o'clock shadow, heavy eyebrows, and piercing serious eyes.

"Owen," he began, "why don't you give me a brief rundown of your relationship and your reasons to seek divorce."

I went through it. The flirting at Papaya, the found cigar butt, and finally the electronic surveillance conducted by Paul Gamble.

As I relayed to my attorney the fissures of my marriage he studied me and nodded, as if he'd heard this story many times before. And I'm sure he had.

"Do you have the evidence?" He asked, and I handed him the file.

He silently reviewed the pictures, no expression on his face. I explained that my investigator, Paul Gamble, had others and video.

"I know Gamble," he said, not looking up from the sexually explicit photos.

We then went over our few financial assets. We had a checking account with about four hundred dollars in it. The savings account had about thirty five hundred dollars in it. I had my old Honda Civic and she had her car that was probably worth more than the Civic.

Furniture, clothing and anything else was minimal. I provided him with a copy of our will and our life insurance policy.

John studied all the documents for several minutes and then looked directly at me.

"So here's how this will work." He began. "You transfer one half of the bank accounts into a new account in your name only. Remove only things from the apartment that are yours alone. I would advise against taking any furniture. Today is," and he glanced at a wall calendar. "Tuesday the nineteenth. When would you like her served?" He asked.

He had to explain to me how all that worked. He told me he would file a petition with the court and since in this state adultery is grounds for divorce he would include evidence of the adultery. Paul's photos.

I thought about it, why not tomorrow? I'll be gone, ostensibly to the farm tomorrow morning. Actually I'd be much further away. I would avoid any confrontation. I had decided I wanted to avoid seeing her again if at all possible.

I told Scalia this, wrote him a check, shook his hand and left. Things were in motion. With nervous anxiety I drove to campus to meet with my supervisor, Tim Kerwin, to file the papers for my overseas assignment in Indonesia.

I had already emailed Tim the application and what seemed like reams of filled out forms for the assignment. When I met him at his office he had a huge notebook for me about my assignment. And then we went over the details. First the flight to Los Angeles and then on to Jakarta. From there a small commuter flight to the city of Bima. It would be ground transportation from there.

Within the binder we're my contacts, details about my living situation, and a thousand other things. My exciting new life change was just beginning. It almost made me forget about my failed marriage. Almost.

And through it all, for the first time since this all began I began to be optimistic. This was going to be an adventure, and I was looking forward to it.

"I have made your vaccination appointments for tomorrow." Tim told me.

"Vaccinations?" I questioned.

"Owen, of course." He told me. "You are going into an area susceptible to tropical diseases. You need to be vaccinated. Your appointment is at ten AM tomorrow at the campus clinic."

Okay I thought, I'll need to switch a few things around. Suddenly a lot of things were in motion. I had to think this through. I had one more night in the apartment with Jasmine. I didn't want a confrontation, I just wanted to leave and have my lawyer take care of the divorce and be done with her.

My plan was to leave in the morning early, as I would normally do when I went to the farm to do the research. I would then go to the university clinic and get my vaccinations. I knew Jasmine would be in classes until noon. After the vaccinations I would swing back by the apartment and gather the rest of my belongings and then head to Benton.

My flight to Indonesia left on Saturday morning. I would have a family member drive me to the airport on Friday. I would stay at a local airport motel and then Saturday morning I would start a brand new chapter in my life. I was nervous, excited and sad, all rolled into this one odd emotion.

At the clinics I received several different shots and four different plastic bottles of pills. They also gave me a stack of pamphlets about potential tropical diseases and general information about health care. After that I headed to the apartment one last time.

I parked on the street. I wanted to avoid seeing Claude and certainly I didn't want to see Jasmine. Yes I know it was kind of a coward's way out but I didn't care. My feelings for her had changed. I wanted to put this life failure behind me. I was eager to begin the next chapter of my life. This last one hadn't ended well.

As I was leaving my phone buzzed. I looked at the screen, Jasmine. I ignored it.

I hustled down the alley and went up the stairs to the apartment. I had already packed my overnight suitcase as if I was going to the farm for work. I grabbed a large canvas duffle and packed the rest of my clothes. My phone buzzed again and I got several text message alerts.

I checked my phone. They were all from Jasmine. I wondered what that was all about, and then suddenly it hit me. She had been served. I had forgotten to ask Scalia to wait an extra day. With all I'd had to do in the past twenty four hours I had forgotten this detail. I needed to get out of here fast.

I quickly finished loading the duffel, double checked that I had my passport and left. I just needed to get to my car unnoticed and then I was gone.

I peered out into the alley and with great relief I saw it was empty. Duffel over my shoulder I moved quickly away from the apartment. About halfway down I saw a large familiar silhouette block the far end of the alley. Claude Francis.

My heart rate accelerated as I moved toward my exit on to the sidewalk. I had no issue with Claude, I just wanted out. I saw him, arms crossed, leaning against the brick of the building, a small mean smile on his face.

I was just going to try to ignore him and be on my way.

"Going somewhere OWEN?" He asked with a false friendly tone, emphasizing my name.

"Just heading out," I said noncommittally as I moved to get past him.

"Not so fast," he said and moved directly in my path. "I just heard from my sister, YOUR WIFE, she's pretty upset. She said you're not answering your phone." He added.

"Look Claude," I said as I tried unsuccessfully to get past him, "this is between me and Jasmine, it's not your business."

And with that he straight-arm shoved me, knocking me back down the alley. I dropped the duffel.

"I already told you," he began, "what happens to my sister is my business. Now you're going to wait while I call Jasmine and then the three of us are going to figure this all out." He told me.

I knew I needed to get out of there, quickly. I knew what a temper Jasmine had and I wanted to avoid that entire confrontation. As Claude reached for his phone I grabbed my duffel and quickly tried to slide by him. As I bumped him he dropped his phone and you could hear the screen crack as it landed.

"You motherfucker!" He was more than angry now, and he shoved me this time knocking me down.

"You broke my fucking phone," he yelled.

Once again I got up, grabbed my bag and moved to get by him.

"Claude, I'm leaving and you can't stop me." I told him, hoping what I said was true.

This time it wasn't a shove, it was a fisted punch. He knocked me down and I saw stars.

You've got to understand, I had never been in a fight in my entire life. I had no training in self defense whatsoever. I didn't know what to do. A strange feeling came over me, I had no idea how I was going to get out of my predicament, and I was afraid of what Claude could do to me physically. I just knew that somehow I had to get out of that alley and away from Claude Francis.

I thought maybe I could appeal to him man to man.

"Claude," I began, "Jasmine was cheating on me with a guy named Jerome." I pleaded.

"Fuck you!" He said and then slapped me across the face, hard, and it stung.

"Do not talk about my sister like that." He bellowed at me.

I knew I had to get out of that alley. Quickly I got up, faked to the right and tried to run by him on the left. The duffel was forgotten, it was a matter of survival now. Just as I felt I was nearly by him, his meaty hand grabbed me and I stumbled.

At that point the true beating began.

He was all over me, his punches like hammer blows. The side of my face, my kidneys, my head, anyplace I couldn't cover up. I contracted into a fetal position and absorbed the punishment. Some small survival mechanism kicked in and started calling for help.

Fortunately we were only a few feet from the mouth of the alley. Eventually two guys passing by on the sidewalk started yelling at Claude to stop his beating on me. Through the ringing in my ears I slightly perceived them saying something about the police. Claude stopped, kicking me one last time for good measure, and then he left.

I remained frozen, afraid to uncoil from my protective position. One of the guys who had stopped bent down to me.

"Hey buddy," he said, "you need help, come on, get up, that asshole is gone."

Slowly and cautiously I painfully stood. Through my bruised and bloody face I thanked the two guys. They looked like students. I bent to grab my duffel and yelped in pain.

"Buddy, let me get your bag," the other guy said. "Where do you want it?" He asked.

I nodded toward my Civic parked out on the street. As I slowly limped to my car with the two good samaritans I checked and made sure I had my phone, my wallet, my car keys, and my passport. I unlocked the door and he threw the duffel in the back.

"Thank you." I was able to get out as I painfully climbed into the driver's seat.

Shakily I started the car, half expecting someone to come charging out of Papaya to try to stop me.

Even after I had cleared city limits I continued to check my rearview mirror. Every so often I'd catch a glimpse of my own face, bloody and bruised, reflected back at me. Finally, it must have been at least fifty miles out of town, I guess I realized I was safe. Suddenly a different emotion flooded me. It was relief, coupled with sadness, anger and shame. I began to shake. I had to pull off the highway. Shaking and sobbing I sat in my used Civic trying to calm down enough to be able to safely drive.

Finally, thoughts swirling after the emotional last few days, I made myself a promise. I will never let someone beat me like that again. Somehow, someway, I was going to learn to defend myself. If I ever got in another confrontation like that I may not win but I surely was going to put up a fight. Something I knew I had not done when confronted by Claude.

As I continued my journey away from my old life I became angry. Angry at Jasmine for betraying our marriage. Angry at Claude for the physical bearing he gave me. And most of all angry at myself for my cowardly reaction. That, I vowed, would never, ever, happen again.

A few days later, with my battered body ever so slightly beginning to heal, I was at the airport on the cusp of starting the next fresh chapter of my life. I saw an email from my attorney, John Scalia.

'Your wife has been served and the petition for divorce with evidence of adultery has been filed with the court. So far no contact from your wife or any retained legal counsel. Will report all interactions - Scalia.'

I felt relief to know that my lawyer was handling all interaction with Jasmine. I really and truly just did not want to ever see her again.

Just then I heard the announcement that my flight to Los Angeles was boarding.

Many hours later the Los Angeles flight landed in Jakarta. The first thing that hit me was the humidity. It was like walking into a steam room at a health club. And then all the exotic smells. This was not like anything I had ever experienced. And I absorbed it. For so much of my life I had been sheltered, now, I was beginning to see how interesting the world can be. It was quite exciting.

And for the first time in a long time I was not thinking about Jasmine.

Bima is on the island of Simbawa and the airport is actually called Sultan Muhammad Salahuddin Airport. It was a bit confusing but English was an acceptable language and the people were quite friendly. Once I arrived I referenced the accommodations in my notebook and arranged ground transportation to where I would be staying.

The family I was assigned to live with were the Effendi's. It was a husband and a wife, two young adult sons, and a younger daughter I guessed must have been about ten. They grew primarily coffee and cocoa. My room was separated from the rest of the house, kind of like a shed on small stilts. The kitchen and the bathroom were in the main house. Mrs. Effendi did the meal preparation. Things were primitive and efficient.

I had eight different farms I worked with the furthest being around sixty kilometers away. There was a battered Toyota Kijang owned by the university that I had use of to travel to the different farms.

I began to understand why my supervisor, Tim Kerwin, cautioned me about this assignment. There were long hours, primitive living conditions, and all the challenges of living in a tropical environment, including insects, snakes, and spiders.

But I loved it. I developed a route, and all the people I worked with were so appreciative of my help, it more than made the work worth it. I was also learning some things too and began writing articles based on my research.

One night, after a long week I was in my small room at the Effendi's. All week I had worked on different farms analyzing soil, understanding fertilizer, growing trends and crop rotation. I loved the work, but then I thought of my future. My hands were permanently stained with soil. My fingernails were constantly dirty, never completely clean. The grit of wind blown dirt was always present in my scalp. Would this be my life, hands soiled forever? This was something I pondered in that and other moments of solitude.

One evening after I had returned to the Effendi's and my living quarters I saw the two Effendi brothers practicing some type of fighting, martial art. I watched them for quite some time. When they took a break I asked them about the fighting.

"It is called Silat," Eka, the older Effendi brother, told me. "We do not use weapons, just hands and feet." He told me.

Then they explained that Silat is different from most other martial arts. There is nothing spiritual about this form of fighting, it is about violence. Silat uses strikes, pressure points, and grappling. It was developed for use in war and it is all about conquering and disabling your opponent. Weapons can be involved but as the Effendi's had told me, they didn't train with weapons.