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SNOWING IN BALI

In his back garden was his oceanfront swimming pool, which provided a spectacular view from the living room, with Balinese god statues trickling water into the pool. Beyond that was the beach, then the endless blue of the sea; the house was surrounded by mountains and jungle, huge bamboo plants and scrub. It was the sort of glamour home he’d pictured back when, as a teenager, he collected the pineapple tins on the beach.

Andre was growing angry as he watched the cops still rifling through everything, coming up with what he quickly disparaged as idiotic evidence. They pulled a pile of nearly 80 green striped plastic zip lock bags out of a cupboard and turned to each other, excitedly shouting, ‘Look, look this is proof, bags to pack the cocaine.’

Andre interjected. ‘Whoa yeah, can you please open my freezer for me?’

‘Why?’

‘Open my freezer, can you?’

‘Okay, you want to show us drugs inside the freezer?’

‘No, my fish, my beef, my food, all inside those bags. What, you think I keep bags I use to pack cocaine in my house?’

After about 30 minutes, he lost patience. If he couldn’t buy his way out, there was no point being civil to these cops, and the longer they stayed in his house, the more chance they had to plant something. He wanted to get out fast; there’d be no more chitchat. He started using a new tactic – screaming like a maniac, ‘Please, please, somebody help me, please help me.’

I get like crazy, freak out. Screaming, screaming for my neighbours.
– Andre

Turning to Chief Caieron and his men, he yelled, ‘What are you fucking doing in my house? Get out of my house. Where’s your

300

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