130.
   After a while our host broke the silence. “Come with me. I have someone you must meet.”
   It raised itself from the table and led us through the jungle to another beach off which an

old ketch was anchored. A small man in a headdress and colorful clothing sat in the sand. “This priest will tell you our terrible story. Bear its burden with respect. Carry it out into the world for the world to see!”, commanded the dragon before turning and slowly stomping back into the jungle.
   The man led us to a skiff that took us to the ketch. Only when we were well on our way did he speak. “Cousins, you have come a very long way to hear a very sad story and it is my duty to tell it. Sit with me.” We sat down on the deck. A fresh breeze blew off the sea and caressed us. He took my hand. “After the war that brought the Japanese to our islands was over, the Americans who had been so hurt by the aggressors became aggressors themselves. When we reached for independence and freedom, it seemed we would be allowed freedom in name only. Our oil, our forests, our minerals were not ours. We stood small and unarmed between China and the Soviets to the North and America and the Europeans in the West and East. But my country had something that blunted the claws of the Americans and their friends, the PKI, the third largest communist party in the world. Its existence in Indonesia along with the old oligarchy, the middle class and the international corporations was a delicate balancing act for our President Sukarno, but he had led the country out from under the yoke of the Dutch. If anyone could do it, he could.”