ANTENNA - And The Only Direction Is In

HOTMAN was playing hip-hop in his slick black Trans-Am -- spacey breaks erupting free and furious from the speakers. Professor Sato, secuced by the crisp air-con, relaxed into his seat, which wrapped intelligently around him. They were on the road from the airport, heading to the great SETI radio telescope situated in the mountain jungles above Medan. Beyond the smooth contours and computerised traffic flows of the greater airport vicinity (football field sized Sunsilk billboards against the smoky orange sky), the road soon deteriorated into the more urgent, tribal rythyms. It was kill or be killed, and the biggest vehicle was king. In Hotman's case, brute size was replaced by speed -- and stealth. The immaculate Batak weaved in an out of traffic like a dream, playing chicken with becak drivers and petty mini-bus drivers, dodging dogs and squatter children, one hand perched on the window frame and the other permanently glued to the horn. The miles passed. Despite all this hand activity, Hotman still managed to smoke a "kretek" cigarette. He cursed at the traffic.

<<Sensei>> Hotman, said, addressing Sato as "teacher". <<I heard you lived in America, is this true? Is it the wonderland it is toted to be, or just another fascist state?>>

Professor Sato laughed. Despite the absurdity of the situation, this homeboy in a Trans-Am, the old wizard was honestly enjoying himself. <<They used to call Singapore a "Disneyland with the death penality">> he said. <<I guess you could say America was Disneyland with the swastika. I love it, it's a great country, but it's definitely fascist, and only a wonderland to those who don't know any better. What hope is there for this world? Only from the stars perhaps -- and our salvation may be close at hand.>> Suddenly they were stuck in a queue of empty dump trucks --- Nipponese and American behemoths emblazened with Oriental characters or the twin letters "C C" in fat macho block letters. Madison pulled on to the right shoulder and zoomed past trucks for about half a kilometre. The were heading up -- Sato's ears popped once. Soon they were hemmed in by vertiginous walls of green which trapped an eternal cloud of mist, through which sparks of brilliant colour were sometimes visible. Sato couldn't tell whether they were birds or flowers.

The taxi stopped. Madison turned and looked at him expectantly. Sato thought for a moment that he had gotten lost and was looking to Sato for instructions. The road terminated here, in a parking lot mysteriously placed in the middle of the cloud forest. Sato saw half a dozen big airconditioned trailers bearing the logos of Nipponese, German and American firms; a couple of dozen cars; as many buses. Two monkeys with giant stiff penises were fighting over some booty from a Dumpster. A wall of green rose at the end of the road, a green so dark it was almost black.

<<Well, we're here>> Hotman said.

There were ice skates stuck to geta (clogs), travelling lanterns, money boxes, wooden combs and bowls for tooth blacking powder, a collapsible candlestick, a large display of festival banners and dolls, straw snow shoes and felt made out of leather with a design curiously similar to a bicycle chain. Further down, barely visible in the darkness, Sato could make out a kettle stand, mochi (rice cake) pestle, a rice winnower and a staircase with drawers built into the steps.

A staircase with drawers built into the steps? Sato looked perplexed. What kind of business was this?