Mr. Ade and I made tracks for the van.
LOOKING FOR MR. CEDOK
The last thing I remember thinking before I lost consciousness was: How exactly did I let this happen?
How does anyone let himself be ferried miles out into the Indian Ocean in a canoe, knocked unconscious, turned into chum and dangled in the sea spray for the better part of four hours?
Well, he begins not by planning a fishing trip to end his life, but by planning one to end his visit to Bali. Hire a boat. Cast a net. Crack a Bintang, the beer of Indonesia. Maybe tune in a prodigal ball game bounced off an errant satellite.
Which is how I innocently came to hire my own hit man.
I found Mr. Cedok (CHED-ock) in the fishing village of Jimbaran. He is, by his own estimate, "about 24." (The Balinese year is 210 days long.) He is from infinite generations of fishermen. As Mr. Ade pointed out, cedok is an Indonesian word for "something like a spoon, used to scoop the water from the boat."
Of course, Mr. Ade begged off the excursion immediately after telling me that Cedok's very surname implies a boatful of water. I would meet Cedok alone the next morning at six.
"Tomorrow," Cedok said, "be lucky." I didn't know if it was a forecast or a command, but he said it in Indonesian. Cedok doesn't speak a word of English.
His 12-foot boat, the Lumayan, was the same sort of outrigger canoe you see on the opening credits of Hawaii Five-O. Alas, the waves in the Indian Ocean the next morning were also the same sort as on the opening credits of Hawaii Five-O. I swallowed several Dramamine as Cedok zipped us out to sea on the power of the village's lone outboard motor.