Mark squinted his eyes. "And?"
"It's nice," she replied cheerfully. "It's very nice to have a friend."
She continued, "I grew up watching for my safety anxiously. A woman travelling alone, exploring the world alone, previously invited problems. But now, the good side of this pandemic is I feel safe everywhere."
She elaborated, "In a world where a woman is seen as a property of another man, its always helpful to drag that 'owner' into a conversation to save you from imminent danger. Saying things like 'my boyfriend is just over there', or 'my father will pick me up', with hope that men won't touch you out of respect for another man."
Mark gazed down. "I . . . I never thought of it that way, sorry. I never thought that far."
She smiled. "That's fine. Now you know."
It was only fifteen minutes of rowing. They reached dry land where the old avenue stood out like an outcrop of the rocky beach in the wane of the tidal.
She followed the GPS map on her phone. It pointed them to turn right at some point. They reached the paved street, blades of weed happily unsheathed from between the pavement. Another bunch of flies. The itchy spots from mosquitoes' bites became red and swollen. Stephanie wondered why she had to leave her thin windbreaker at home.
Mark didn't follow her as quickly. His feet were planted on the soft soil, he was certain dirt filling up the gutters on his soles. His fingers traced the growing moss on the concrete columns of random gates lightly. He even took it a step further by inching his face closer to the deep green carpet that had its own mind. It covered the damp walls and left some spots bare, sometimes with interspersed black spores of fungi and mushroom caps.
"Don't go that close. The particles could go into your nose and mouth."
He pressed his eyelids shut as if that motion alone shielded him from the damp smell invading his senses.
"It's so green. It's fresh. I hadn't seen these many colours since . . ."
Stephanie noticed the telltale of budding heat in her eyes. Something as mundane, or gross even, as moss, was something her client was deprived of.
How many more times did she have to be reminded to be thankful for her life, however dull it was?
She fished out her phone and typed a simple message.
I need to book a session with you. Hopefully, Annisa would help her sort the messy feelings out.
~*~
The safe house has only one storey furnished in minimalistic style and budget. Damp and mouldy, Stephanie had to stretch up her yellow shawl to cover her mouth.
"It's magical how the spores still disperse in the air after some cleaning crew did their action last Saturday."
"You said this is safe."
"And it is."
"But why the cleaning crew?"
"They signed the NDA. Non-Disclosure Agreement. An agreement of secrecy."
"But I didn't, and you showed me this place."
"You're my responsibility. As I said, this house will be used by the people who need it the most. I know you'd appreciate your opportunity to help wronged people right away on your first few days free."
"Your words sound scary. Gentle but threatening."
"I have my ways."
Three rooms greeted them in silence, doors wide open. Few names came into Prattle's list, and for the ultimate secrecy, Stephanie couldn't share them with Mark.
"When the familial ties break, the government comes to the rescue," he mumbled.
"We have to. Otherwise, there's no way to sustain the remaining people. What we know of traditional bonds between people with a shared history or blood has gone. If nobody stepped up to take charge, we'd have chaos. Remember, make order from chaos."
"They didn't take care of the light switches," Stephanie said. Her finger flicked one of the switches on the wall.
"Must be the ants' infestation, I think," Mark chipped in.
Seeing her confused face, he explained. "When no one takes care of a house, all sorts of animal infestations can take place. Leaving them roaming freely in the house for a few years will surely cause trouble. Ants nest inside the walls. Not necessarily gutting out the timber, but they can build colonies in the gaps, like behind a flip switch."
"And shorting out the switch?"
"That's what you've got. It can trap humidity or small particles they use to build the nests."
"Gah. I don't even have an electrician to fix problems in my office."
"I can help. It's safe and easy when we have the right tools."
Half an hour later saw them arranging house tools that they found in the service area near the back of the house. It was only one box, but judging from the contents, they had everything they needed.
They soon started working. Mark unscrewed the two metal screws that held the plastic housing of the switch with a plus-head screwdriver, then pried it out of the wall using a flat-head one.
Dust and particles piled in the cavity in the wall around the red and black cables. Stephanie turned off the circuit breaker so they could work safely to clean up the hole.
"See? Ants did this. Not necessarily their nest, but part of their track and network inside the walls," he pointed the tip of the screwdriver to the astounding amount of particles made of concrete dust and crumbles.
After removing all the dirt, they installed the switch again. Stephanie did the exact steps for another switch. They wrapped up just after midday.
Stephanie offered him a lunchbox. His meal was white rice with sweet and sour tofu and steamed broccoli.
"I usually bring my own lunch every day, because we never want the clients to serve us something. I knew this morning that today you'd go with me, so I made double," she explained to the amused Mark.
His eyes glinted at the colourful presentation of the simple lunch. "How I miss eating a homemade meal."
"Let's head out to the nearest supply depot to pick your ration this week. You can cook something else, other than instant noodles. I believe the lady left you some coupons?"
It became a colloquial understanding between them that 'the lady' referred to the administrative personnel Stephanie met on the day Mark was released from prison.
~*~
Hauling a medium-sized cardboard box containing the groceries he needed for a week, they walked to the nearest bus stop. "Will I be doing this tomorrow again?" He continued, "Shadowing you."
She rubbed her chin, thinking. "I don't know. What does the DoJ ask you to do?"
"Before I left, the lady told me that I could work for supply depots around that hotel. But it's vague, it's not an order. She only gave me a recommendation letter, that's all. And my supervisor said I could be a part-time Companion, but he didn't specify the schedule. I don't know what to do, Steph. Maybe you do."
He worried his lower lip under his teeth, the silent plea of his eyes and creased forehead directed at his Companion.
An unwanted chill crept up Stephanie's spine. She barely figured out what she would like to do with her life next month, how could this guy expect her to be a map in a journey he should do alone?
Alone. The nature of the trip that she wished no one else had to endure.
"I don't know what's the best course of action that you should take. Nobody gave me a direction of what our schedule is after I finished settling you in. But, let me ask you one thing. What do you want to do with all this time in the world and a new life?"
His narrowed eyes darted across Stephanie's left and right eyes.
"What do you want to do in your life?" she asked slowly.
Tilting his head, his blank expression stabbed her heart.
She rephrased as a strategy, "What do you want to do for the next two weeks?"
Mark rubbed his nape repeatedly as if the answer would miraculously appear on the tenth stroke. "I don't know." He answered defeatedly.
"That's alright. Let's say you sleep on it tonight? And you decide after waking up tomorrow. Deal?"
"What if I wake up tomorrow and still don't know what to do with my life?"
She smiled darkly. "Me neither. But you can always alternate your time as a Companion and a supply depot worker, right? And that's what we're gonna do. You can make a pattern yourself and see where it takes you, or if you're comfortable with this arrangement or not."
His opinion was valued, the first time in Mark's life in the past decades.
"But for now," she glanced at her phone to look at the time, "if you're not opposed to it, let's go to have dinner with my friends. We'll pop in at Gema's place for quick fried rice then I can walk you home."
"What about the curfew? The little get together will be past it, I believe." His crossed arms showed traces of green material, probably from the moss. Stephanie caught herself before her stare turned to ogle on the sculptured lean muscle.
"Oh, you muppet. We can go home before seven if we leave now."
"Have you ever had a row with the new police?"
"One thing about the so-called NP or New Police here is they're dominated by helicopters and drones. And, no, if that happens, we don't call it a row. You're free or dead, no in-between."
Mark's fallen face and lookaway gaze told her all.
"Hey," she gently lay her palm on his arm. "We shouldn't worry. Now is four p.m. Everyone will leave at six forty-five, or seven at the most. We've never had a gathering that's longer than a couple of hours."
Mark nodded, and instant guilt ripped Stephanie's heart. Guilt that shouldn't have been hers to begin with. But it was a ghost, always present in her surroundings, that she had no say in creating a better environment to live in, at least for her clients.
The bus rattled and swayed all the way to Gema's house.
"Before the pandemic hit, he already lived in a fully-functioning house of his late parents with his sister and two dogs. Now, the only human in the house was him. His dogs are still alive. They're old, maybe ten or eleven years old. Did you live in a house? Or had a pet? Sorry, I didn't mean—"
"I lived with my parents. No pets. Well, if bulbul birds that greeted us every morning weren't considered pets. As per the document that you read, I'm the second child. But I don't see any point to find where my elder brother is. We never talked these past twenty years. He never visited me. My parents never visited, either."
She glanced at the sculpted jaws and neutral eyes. Whatever relationship state he was in with his family had become a stale bread that neither side was willing to eat.
"Even when they're alive?"
"Parents kicked the bucket when I was eleven years in. Got news from my warden between chuckles and gossips when they smoked cigarettes at the break time when we worked on something. Never visited the grave."
She cast a downwards glance. "Sorry to hear that."
"Nah. Been long without them. I used to grieve more in my third year when I read Mum's letter saying my girlfriend was marrying another lad from the university. Same faculty. I knew him. Bad enough to be a villain in everybody's story, the worst when you're a loser in your own story."
She bobbed her head slowly. During her time serving as a Companion, there were six times she visited an empty house. The clients had passed away between scheduled sessions. If such case happened, she would need to confirm with her counterpart in the Department of Wellbeing. The department's team usually took the charge to inform the remaining family members who didn't live under the same roof, if any. Stephanie would come home or proceed to the next appointment professionally, but at home she would spare an hour of vigil, saying her prayers for the eternal peace of the departed souls.
Those who died alone received a longer vigil from her. The Immune could get infected by air, by incidental contact with the virus that stuck on the inanimate objects such as the rations. Preventive measures had been taken at many logistic posts, but still.
Or simply her clients couldn't bear the depression. Not many people were strong enough to continue living without purposes in this dead world. No friends, no relatives. Even when they were still alive, no physical visits could be made anymore.
Stephanie only talked about her deepest feelings to Annisa. She heeded her counsels to accept that her sphere of influence was limited. People's life and death was obviously out of her control, no matter how diligent and optimistic she was in being a Companion.
In an attempt to cheer up the mood, she looked outside. He sat on the aisle side, while she was on the window.
"Bundaran HI," she pointed. 'Bundaran' or roundabout of HI, Hotel Indonesia, was one of the historical and popular landmarks in Jakarta. Not only was it surrounded by old buildings, but also it attracted many protests to be held nearby.
"The people I had worked for, those scums, used to take me here every other Sunday to cycle together. Little did I know they had a thing for a serious drugs cartel. Oh no. Oh woe. Wonder how they are. Six feet under, I think."
"You're certain?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "A long time serves as enough proof that I don't, I didn't, I never matter. I'm just a tool. Even when labouring from the prison. That's how I am. A cog in the machine."
The idiom struck her. She also thought the same. But if everyone thought they were just a little part of the big system, how would changes happen?
Wait, what changes did she think actually?
"You said this is the stop."
Stephanie read the running text on the LED board above the driver's zone.
East Tebet.
"Yeah, let's get off here."
"How long will we need to walk till his house?"
"Ten to fifteen. Hope you'd still have your breath after this morning's excursion."
He barked a laugh. "I can still walk but now you smell like a swampy alligator."
"A swam— Hey! My shoes . . . Oh, crap!" She took a good look at her knee-length boots. Their deep grey colour had blotches of dried brown mud and God forbid blades of grass sticking underneath the sole.
"I just smell of sweat, mind you. It's you who smells musty like you've just rolled across mouldy halls," she jibed back without a sting in her tone.
When was the last time she fooled around with someone?