Sarjono lay on a rattan mat in the back of the yellow pick-up, wrapped in a blood-spattered brown batik sarong and grubby purple blanket. His head was covered but his badly fractured legs protruded, giving an indication of how severe his injuries must have been.
"The doctors said they could do nothing to help him," said the driver, Winaro. With little ceremony and amid the wails and sobs of his family, the 63-year-old retired schoolteacher was laid out on the earth in front of what had once been his front terrace but was now a pile of shattered bricks and roof tiles.
Mr Sarjono's death yesterday made him the 11th person to die in Manding Trirenggo, a village of 245 homes in Bantul district, some 13km south of the ancient Javanese royal city of Yogyakarta, after Saturday's earthquake.
This area bore the brunt of the quake that killed at least 4,600 people, injured 20,000 and left 200,000 homeless. At least 80 per cent of the homes in Manding Trirenggo have been reduced to rubble and most of those still standing will almost certainly have to be destroyed.
A clock lying in the ruins of the pedicab driver Widjutomo's house gives a clue as to why so many people survived in this village; it had stopped at 6.02am, eight minutes after the 6.3-magnitude quake rocked the heart of Java for 57 seconds. "It was all a bit strange," Mr Widjutomo said.
"We all ran outside as soon as the earth started moving and the house stayed standing for a few minutes. For a moment I thought we were going to be lucky but then, almost in slow motion, everything came crashing down."
After a miserable Saturday night spent in the open being lashed by a storm that lasted for hours, many residents spent yesterday morning erecting rudimentary shelters to sleep under. "We've received no help yet at all," Mr Widjutomo said. At Bantul's main Senopati hospital, about 5km from Manding Trirenggo, scores of people were lying in the front yard yesterday morning, some attached to intravenous drips, others just slumped on the ground.
The scene inside was even more chaotic. A list on a whiteboard at the information counter said 1,200 people had been treated. "Ignore that," said one doctor as he treated a baby boy's fractured leg. "That's ancient history." The boy screamed loudly as the doctor worked.
This "operation" was taking place in the lobby since the surgical theatre was reserved for the serious cases. Only basic hygiene rules were being followed. "We don't have time to be neat or fussy," said Dr Surapto as he unwound a bandage. - (Guardian service)