Dances with Scorpions

By Dewi Anggraeni

I can't say I have had many confrontations with creatures other than humans. I am not in the habit of fighting with other humans, for that matter. In fact, being a social being, I like other humans. As for other creatures, I generally follow the principle of laissez faire, laissez vivre. That is of course, provided they don't propose to share a confined space with me. If they do, depending on their size, I either ask them to leave or take a walk myself. I don't see the point of starting a confrontation if I am definitely going to lose.

On this proviso, I won't confront a hungry tiger or an angry leopard, for instance, unless I have a rifle and know how to use it well.

So when I found myself in full confrontation with a scorpion in a bathroom in Yogyakarta, I was at a loss at how to apply my usual principle. To say I was startled to see the scorpion would be an understatement. But to say I was driven to hysterics would also be inaccurate. To tell the truth, fear only built up gradually, and at the end of the confrontation I was frantic enough to...

Well, I had better tell the story from the beginning.

I had been in Yogyakarta for a week, researching a part of a novel I was writing. The guesthouse I stayed in was a favorite of Australian teachers of Indonesian, with whom I felt at ease straight away. As we went our different ways during the day, every night we'd meet to go to one of the numerous restaurants nearby. During dinner we would exchange stories or adventures of the day.

One of these teachers, Bridget, was a kindly and generous woman in her mid 50s. Though generally easy to be with, she was nonetheless often so distracted we would wonder where her mind was. After seeing her every morning and night for a week, we began to know Bridget, her family and her thoughts.

Her children were all grown up, one was expecting a baby, her husband was a retired principal and she herself was only several years away from retiring. She had been to Indonesia, especially to Central Java, many times. A specific mission brought her to Indonesia this time.

She wanted to do something to repay the kindness she had received from the people over the years. While she was not overly rich, she regarded herself as a great deal better off than many in this country. She had set aside a fairly large slice of her savings and begun to find ways of using it in the most appropriate way.

That day I went to the outskirts of Yogyakarta and Solo in search of a village community on which to model my story. When I returned to the guesthouse, happy but exhausted and covered with dust from head to toe, I decided to treat myself to a body scrub with mangir, a traditional herbal paste. Stripping off at the door separating my bedroom from the ensuite, I stepped barefooted onto the barely wet tiled floor and began to apply the moistened paste on to my whole body. Under the pale light of the bathroom the scrub assumed a more muddy color. I found the strong herbal smell reassuring.

When I was entirely covered with the brown substance I looked around while waiting for the paste to dry. My eyes were immediately drawn to a thing the size of my fist near the door. When I stepped closer I saw that it moved. Startled, I stepped back. The thing moved towards me. I looked hard, and discovered that what I had before me was a scorpion. A scor... a scorpion! I brought my hands to my mouth to muffle a scream.

In that split second I remembered that I was stark naked except for the scrub. So I quickly took hold of myself and thought hard. Very hard.

In the meantime the scorpion seemed to enjoy the pas de deux with me. It moved closer still at an alarming pace. How could a thing that small move so fast? Then I saw its multiple legs. I swallowed to delay the inevitable panic. Then I grabbed the scoop from the side of the water trough and filled it with water. Aiming the scoop as if I were playing tenpin bowling, I threw the water at the beast. I was sure it moved sideways to avoid the pathetic stream, then cheerfully polkaed closer to me.

I no longer knew whether I should curse or pray. Fortunately my hand took the initiative to take another scoopful of water and, this time, aimed a little better. The scorpion seemed to enjoy the free shower, for it momentarily pulled itself in, then shook its numerous legs, flexed its muscles and puffed itself out again.

By this time my throat was too dry to even squeak, let alone shriek. The self-defense mechanism had driven the killer instinct in me. I looked around the bathroom. There was nothing I could use to kill the enemy. The plastic scoop in my hand was too small and too light, and I doubted it would cover the width of the scorpion. To compound my problem of only wearing the scrub, the scorpion had positioned itself between me and the door to my bedroom.

Years of learning martial arts finally came to fruition. I jumped over the beast and ran into my bedroom. I went straight to the corner where I kept my shoes, picked up the heaviest shoe and rushed back to the bathroom. The scorpion was still there, seemingly waiting for me to finish off our contest.

I swung my arm and descended hard on the scorpion, karate-chop style. When I lifted the shoe my heart nearly stopped beating. The horrible thing was still alive. It was moving swiftly, maybe towards me, but I didn't give myself time to work it out. I threw the shoe down again, with all my might, my wits having left me. And again. And again...

I flushed the brownish black mess down the drain, then quickly showered, not closing my eyes even when washing my hair. I was alert, looking ceaselessly around for anything that moved.

When we gathered together at the courtyard I had already calmed down, feeling fresh and well scrubbed. We all walked to yet another rather poorly-lit restaurant across the road. There I told my story.

The women gasped in horror, except Bridget, who seemed not fully with us. But Richard, one of the male teachers, couldn't help stirring me.

"Are you sure it was a scorpion? Sounds like a very intelligent scorpion to me."

"What could it have been then?" I asked, appropriately disturbed.

"A figment of your imagination?" Richard suggested. "Maybe you were suffering from sunstroke or over-exhaustion from your excursions."

"Beg your pardon, Richard!" I exclaimed, properly nonplussed, "How could I hallucinate one minute then shower and be here the next?"

"Oooh, I don't know. You writers certainly overwork your imagination!"

At this stage Heather, who hadn't said a word, butted in, "For goodness sake, Richard. That's not fair. Just because she's a writer people have to doubt all her stories?"

"I'm not saying that at all," retorted Richard. "Just that the story was a bit over the top."

"How do you know it was over the top?" asked Melanie, another teacher, "Have you ever had an encounter with a scorpion?"

"That's exactly what I was getting at," said Richard. "I've been staying at the guesthouse for over 10 days, but I've never come across a scorpion!"

"That's just typical!" exclaimed Melanie. "Would you disbelieve stories about traffic accidents just because you've never had one?" Melanie was in full swing now. "This is where some men don't believe women can be raped because they themselves wouldn't rape a woman!"

Some other women joined the discussion. As Richard was pushed further into a corner I felt disturbed. If they were going to have a political debate on gender I'd rather they chose a less personal starting case than my quickstep with a scorpion.

So I raised my arms yelling in the general direction of the debaters: "Look. You don't have to believe me. No skin off my nose whether you do or not. I know what I saw. I know what I did. Maybe the moral of the story here is, keep an eye out for anything unusual in your bathrooms, or your bedrooms for that matter!"

Suddenly we heard Bridget's voice from the other end of the table. When we all turned to her, we saw her eyes focussed on us now.

"Did you say something, Bridget?" asked Melanie.

"Yes. What was that thing you mentioned before?"

"Scorpion?" I asked.

"No. That thing you said you put all over your body."

"Oh that. Mangir. It's a traditional skin scrub, made of roots and herbs. Why?"

"Maybe you shouldn't use that again," she said distractedly.

We all looked at her, mouth gaping, trying to work out whether she was serious.

"What's that got to do with the scorpion, pray tell?" asked Richard.

"Maybe it's an hallucinogenic stuff. Or maybe the scorpion was attracted by that substance. You know, we've been here longer than you are, yet only you had the experience. The difference between you and us is, you used that mangir thing."

"Oh Bridget!" I sighed, still deciding whether to laugh or to cry, "Almost all women in Central Java use mangir regularly. Can you imagine, all the scorpions of the land would be busy visiting them in the bathrooms, or, alternately, these women would have collective hallucinations every now and then..."

"Maybe they do," said Heather.

"What?"

"All the scorpions of the land visit these women regularly. The difference between these women and you is that they don't panic."

"They dance with them?" The temperature of the conversation had dropped, that is, several degrees sillier.

At that moment, Hari, the manager of the guesthouse, walked in. He had an envelope in his hand. We all fixed our inquiring eyes on him. After throwing a smile at all of us, he approached Bridget and handed the envelope to her. Bridget took it and looked up, saying,

"A telegram."

Everyone fell silent. After a tense wait, Bridget smiled and said, "Why, I've just become a grandmother!"

A loud cheer of congratulations reverberated in the small restaurant. "A boy or a girl?"

"A boy."

"What's his name?"

"They haven't given him a name yet. They were expecting a girl. Any suggestion?"

"Yes," I said, straight-faced.

"What?"

"Dances with scorpions."

Lucky for me, everyone was in a jolly mood.

Dewi Anggraeni was born in Jakarta and lives in Melbourne. She was the Australian correspondent for Tempo and now writes for The Jakarta Post, Forum Keadilan and other publications in Indonesia and Australia. She has three books published in Australia -- two novels, The Root of All Evil (1987) and Parallel Forces (1988), and a trilogy of novellas, Stories of Indian Pacific (1993).