The roads were strange and I knew neither the language nor the value of the money. At night I found myself in a veritable jigsaw puzzle of twists and turns with unlighted oxcarts blocking the way. And as for lights, my car lamps proved to be of limited use. Gleaming faces seemed to absorb them and overhanging tree branches blotted the moonlight that crept fitfully through clouds. Java was a motorists’ nightmare, and I began to realize why my Dutch acquaintances had been so dissuasive. The air at least was pleasant with a smell of wet earth and the fragrance of strange flowers.

There were many false turnings and fruitless gesticulations of inquiry to local people who couldn’t understand me any more than I could understand them. I could see that I had started my drive grossly unprepared, but it didn’t matter. I was on my way to Bali and never doubted I should arrive there.

Then at close to midnight, though it seemed later, I was jerked to a stop by a child too close to my path. I saw him quite plainly, a smiling, ragged little vagabond thumbing a lift. He had long blue-black hair and a pixy face. He couldn’t have been more than nine. And he spoke amusing pidgin English.

This must be a trick, I couldn’t help thinking. He might be a decoy for robbers. Or, if I took him into my car I might be accused of kidnaping. For what would such a little fellow be doing alone so late and so far from any village?

‘Lady,’ he said, ‘you like me? I be your eyes. I be your tongue. I get you right change for your money, and I show you right road. I protect you from evil spirits at night. And I speak English good.’

When I could interrupt his flow of speech I asked him many questions. Unexplained, he was much too unbelievable. How, for instance, had he learned such fluency in pidgin English, which could not have been his native tongue?

‘I pick it up from tourists around the hotels since as long as I can remember.’

‘And your parents?’

‘My father, he taken by Dutch soldiers to the land beyond the moon to die. My mother she die of broken heart, and her jiwa [soul] carried off by leyaks.’

‘Leyaks?’

‘Evil spirits. I told you – they roam at night.’

Pito proved an expert navigator and an excellent teacher. He knew money values and taught me the Javanese equivalents of yes, no, want, how much, too much, and other simple and useful phrases. I was in luck to have found him.