The traveller, looking for Indonesian curios in Java, discovers Jl Surabaya.
Found somewhere amongst Jakarta’s gargantuan sprawl, the street suddenly materialises should a suitable visitor approach. When a secret requires sharing, only then does the Flea Market show itself.
The traveller does not sense the occult meaning of such a shift. A furtive mood pervades. Few people make eye contact in this part of Jakarta. Proprietors of stalls smile, but their gaze tells a different story. They are not of this place, and they lack the warmth of the Jakartan stallholders. Nobody seems to recognise them. The traveller does not pick up on the warning signs.
‘It’s already too late,’ they hear, a distant whine receding on the wind. The world has become opaque. Before long, the subsequent loss of perspective startles the traveller. Confused and discombobulated, they stumble down the rapidly darkening road, terrified by the clack of their footsteps.
Divine call
One by one, the judicious shadow puppets of Jl Surabaya divine and share the traveller’s secrets. The newcomer reels from the shock of these ghastly sing-song voices. The homunculi, housed in countless stalls, wield total dominion here. And just then, an unseen power, as strong as gravity, forces the traveller to their knees. The time for judgement has arrived.
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It appears first as a whisper. Words no longer have any meaning for the traveller. Their previous life became void as soon as the road chose them. But sounds have taken on new, bold intellect. The voices have grown louder, their message sharper, their intent bleaker. Echoes attack the traveller without cease. And soon, they feel themselves unravel. The maelstrom stretches into eternity, rendering the traveller dim and confused. Their cold, disbelieving eyes stay locked on the puppets as reality bends back into shape.
Jl Surabaya keeps Jakarta’s deepest secrets. Another traveller, having found the street, compliments a stall’s owner on their recent addition. The curiously lifelike form fascinates the passerby. It hypnotises them with its apparent attitude of pleading desperation. The newcomer shakes their head as if to clear away an unwanted thought. They try to excuse the puppet’s bulging eyes and fearful countenance as a trick of the light. But to no avail. ‘You get what you come for,’ mutters the proprietor with barely concealed glee. The cycle has begun again.
(2025 nb: This is a made-up, exaggerated and mutated take on a genuine walk down Jl Surabaya. Apparently, the fear of puppets is called pupaphobia. If anyone has that condition, Jl Surabaya is best avoided, for there are many different types of puppets and marionettes and masks and things like that. They’re all magnificently designed, and they likely have a fascinating backstory. In fact, Jl Surabaya is a really interesting place, and you could probably have a great time chatting to the stallholders about the stories behind their wares. But if you don’t like puppets, the whole street’ll probably give you the heebie-geebies.)
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