Merapi is a natural-born killer. Rising almost 10,000 feet
(3,000 meters) over forests and fields, it ranks among the
world's most active and dangerous volcanoes. Its very name means
"fire mountain." An eruption in 1930 killed more than 1,300;
even in less deadly times, plumes drift menacingly from the
peak. Some of the surrounding area, warns a local hazards map,
is "frequently affected by pyroclastic flows, lava flows,
rockfalls, toxic gases and glowing ejected rock fragments." As
the volcano's rumbling crescendoed in May 2006, thousands fled
the fertile slopes and settled reluctantly into makeshift camps
at lower, safer altitudes. Even the resident monkeys descended
in droves. Not Udi and his fellow villagers, who take their cues
from an octogenarian with dazzling dentures and a taste for
menthol cigarettes: Mbah Marijan, the Gatekeeper of Merapi.
Marijan has one of the more bizarre jobs in Indonesia, or
anywhere else, for that matter. The fate of villagers like Udi
and of the 500,000 residents of Yogyakar