Footsteps (21 page)

Silently I climbed once more into bed. She put out the light and climbed in also. She probably hadn’t eaten since afternoon.

Suddenly she embraced me: “I’m sorry, my husband. I must do this. If not those with Chinese blood, who then will work for our country? You would do the same for your country and people, yes?”

Ah, such words, such a tone of voice! The dancing flames
of jealousy inside me melted into softness. For just a while? Forever?

“You haven’t eaten yet, Mei?”

“I’m tired, sleepy.” She fell asleep, with me in her embrace until morning.

But I could not sleep. My thoughts wandered everywhere. Ah, how I admired this woman who was now my wife. She had become a part of my own self. Her hurt was also my hurt. And today, I knew, she would be more faithful to that other something far away to the north. To her hopes for her country and people. And I could not possibly go with her. How complicated and disorderly are the hearts of humankind. She still embraced me. I could not bring myself to move out of her arms. She was tired. And that small and slender body of hers, and her heart, all of it, or perhaps half, would no longer be mine.

From that morning we knew that our marriage had entered the beginning of its final stage. She would grow further and further apart from me until finally we no longer were together. Forever. She would be lost in the cauldron of enthusiasm for a victory for the Young Generation of her people.

Before I got up, I kissed her. She was still asleep. And that was the first time I had done that. It felt like a parting kiss. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

“My husband,” she called out, still half asleep. It had only been in these last few hours that she called me “my husband.” Her voice was calm, she spoke without emotion, still lying in bed. “For almost five years now our life together has been blessed with health and happiness. What woman would not be happy to be your wife? My husband, you are a man with an understanding heart. You have never done anything to hurt me. Next year you will be a doctor. I am worried that I will not always be able to be with you. I must work, I must work harder.”

She was saying good-bye.

“I understand, Mei.” I changed the subject. “You must bathe.”

“You bathe first. You must study.”

So I bathed first. When I came out I was served a breakfast of fried bananas and coffee; then Mei went off to bathe.

And when she came back and sat down beside me, I began: “I want to talk with you tonight about the possibility of a Japanese victory.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t think that is necessary. We must work. We face the Japanese bacteria. If I am not here this evening, don’t be angry. I will always be faithful to my husband. There must never be any evil suspicions that spoil the thoughts between us, as husband and wife.”

I listened to her words and it felt as if we would never be together, not that evening or ever again. I had been overwhelmed by this feeling so many times in the last few hours. Had I become so emotional and sentimental? And I sensed what was going to happen.

I watched her secretly as she dressed. She stood before me like a creature from another universe whom I had just met. The paleness had returned to haunt her lips once again. The exhaustion from last night was already threatening her health. And she did not and would not understand that it was happening.

Listlessly I walked the several hundred yards to school.

The news that I had received a letter from the governor-general’s office caused great commotion at the school. The director summoned me.

“So, sir, you have had an audience with the governor-general, representative of Her Majesty the Queen in the Netherlands Indies. May we perhaps know what he wanted you for? It may have certain consequences for our school?”

My answer greatly delighted the director, who volunteered to help me perfect the answers, using all the material that could be obtained. He suggested that the students hold a meeting to gather together everybody’s opinion on the matter. I readily agreed with the idea but was reluctant to let him find out about my writing activities. So the director volunteered to prepare a list of questions to be answered in writing by the students. Once again I agreed while, at the same time, asking permission to sleep outside the dormitory for the coming week. He quickly agreed.

The questionnaire was soon reproduced, to be given out to the students the next morning.

After I had finished writing copy for ten advertisements at the auction paper office, I went straight to Kwitang. Mei was busy writing in Chinese. There were five pages of writing on the table. Silently I came up behind her and started to stroke her hair.

“Is that you?” she asked, without raising her head. “I’ll be finished in a minute.”

My hands moved down to her chest, and she kept on writing as if nothing was disturbing her.

“It looks as if you can write too,” I said.

“These are just notes needed for the moment, not like the stories you write,” she answered.

She finished her work, went over to the corner of the room, and started to duplicate her notes, fifty copies of each page in all. She paid no attention to me.

“Hurry up, I want to talk,” I said.

“I answered you yesterday. Work! I’ve been urging you for a long time now to carry out what that old doctor suggested. And still none of you will organize. What now? Is there nothing you can do? Look at these—fifty copies to be distributed to fifty addresses. Tomorrow they will spread to fifty more and then more again. And others will start talking about what they say and so the ideas will spread farther and wider. Of course, that’s the theory. It could reach either more or less than that. Public opinion is changed this way. These too are bacteria, but not evil ones. These indeed fight gonococcus and
Treponema pallidum.
”

“People have known how to do that for a long time now.”

“Yes,” she answered, “it is indeed elementary. Even a small child could learn how to do it. But without an organization not one copy will reach an address, let alone multiply like bacteria.”

“It’s easier if you do it through a newspaper, without having to do so much work, Mei.”

“Not everyone owns newspapers. And those owned by the Old Generation will certainly oppose what I’m saying. Now, I’m sorry, I must go.”

She put the papers in her bag, which so far had carried only her clothes, stood before the mirror, put on some makeup, and combed her hair.

“I want to be with you tonight, Mei,” I said.

“I’ll try to get back.” And she left.

“She spent the whole morning and afternoon just reading and writing,” said Ibu Baldrun disapprovingly. She sympathized with me.

“There’s something she has to do. In fact, I’ve asked her to do it.”

And I too began to write, to prepare the answers to van Heutsz’s questions. The answers from the other students would be used, at most, as complementary material. Anyway, they
wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow. And what can be hoped from those whose only dream is to become a government employee, no matter in what capacity, whose life is made up only of waiting for their salary? I found it more difficult to write than if I were writing of my own will. Every sentence got stuck, entangled in issues that I didn’t fully understand. Instead, all my friends, people that I loved, appeared before my mind’s eye. And they all confronted me, unsullied by prejudice, competing for my allegiance, embracing each other, standing shoulder to shoulder in a single line.

I did not finish writing.

While I sat dazed in the middle of a sentence, Mei’s two hands slipped across my chest. When I grabbed her hands they were cold.

“Mei, you came?” I stood up, embraced and kissed her.

The pocket watch lying on the table showed twelve midnight.

“You’ve been out in the cold air too long. Remember your health, Mei.”

“I’ve brought home some Chinese food for you.”

“So I’ll eat pork?”

“No. Who said anything about pork? You’ve been so suspicious and angry these last few days. It’s midnight and you’re still up. Come on.”

We ate silently. Now and then we would steal glances at each other. She was trying to size up how I was feeling. And I was doing the same.

“You’re not jealous, are you?” she said, diving straight into my personal problem. “Jealous. I never dreamed that any husband of mine could be jealous because of me.”

We finished the food, and Mei went on: “Since a child I have been told to be
correct
, to behave
correctly.
It was implanted into me that a correct attitude was a basic requirement for all people who wanted to have relationships with other people.”

I didn’t like the way she was talking that night. She was just looking for a way to justify what she was doing.

The next day, with a pile of answers from the other students, I worked at the auction paper office. There were twenty texts that I had to work on—advertisements, that is. My boss had expanded his business to take in orders for advertising copy that would be used in the dailies as well. With these twenty texts done I would have earned enough for us to live for the next month. It wasn’t
until two in the morning that I finished and headed straight for Kwitang.

It was a dark night. People said that there had been a break in the gas pipes. All the streetlights had been turned off. Just up ahead of me were two people wearing black pajama pants. Perhaps they were criminals. I slowed down. Then one of them headed off into the lane where we lived. The other turned into a different lane. The first stopped outside Ibu Baldrun’s fence. From the way she walked and the shape of her body, it was obviously Mei.

“You’re out walking very late.” She got her reprimand in first.

“You’re only home now, Mei?”

“I waited a long time for you outside your office.”

We went inside. I was not able to study the other students’ questions. I had run out of strength. Mei had brought home some food once again so we sat down to eat. Silently.

“I hope you’re not jealous again.”

Once again I didn’t like the way she spoke, even though I understood that she was deliberately trying to goad me into facing my jealousy.

It was the next evening before I had a chance to study the other students’ answers. Mei was not there. I was alone in the room. Page by page I examined what they had written. I was right. There was nothing interesting, let alone anything actually worth studying. Page after page, I continued. Ah, here was something interesting by Wardi. There was nothing from Wilam. He had left the school after a year to go to live in India. Partokleooo’s answer was completely useless—he had no concept of present and future. Wardi’s and Tjipto’s answers were quite interesting but too personal to be used.

The next evening as I was leaving my office, I saw Mei. I decided not to go back to Kwitang but to follow her. She stopped suddenly as if deliberately allowing me to watch her. She was wearing men’s clothes, black pajama pants and a black shirt, just like a silat fighter. And my grandfather had once told me that you should beware of skinny silat fighters—the skinnier they are the better they are! I don’t know whether grandfather was serious, but I didn’t feel I had to be afraid of my own wife! Mei was met by another person. He was big and tall. They went into a restaurant together.

I also entered and ordered something to eat.

Mei, my wife, sat in the corner with this man whom I had never met before in my life. The two of them talked and laughed, chuckled and guffawed. I didn’t know what they were talking about. I could not overcome my jealousy. I hid myself in the shadows of some colonnades. A hand, with all of its five fingers, seemed to force its way down my throat to squeeze my heart in its grip.

From afar Mei looked even more beautiful, more waxen, like a dried flower ready to crumble at the touch of some rough hand. Beside her was a strong, handsome man, perhaps the player of some heavy sport.

I didn’t touch my food, I knew it was all pork. I suppressed my feelings. Mei and her friend had finished eating. The young man paid the restaurant owner. But Mei seemed to want to pay for her own food. They argued loudly in a language that was as alien to me as that which decides man’s fate. My jealousy subsided a little. She was still my faithful wife, I thought as well as prayed. Only—until when?

They left. I quickly paid my bill.

“Didn’t you like your food, sir?” asked the proprietor.

“There was not a thing wrong with it.”

“You didn’t even touch it.”

I ran after them. They were walking beside each other, but not close. Suddenly I saw him take Mei’s hand. She pulled it away. How long can you keep it up, Mei, and how long will you want to? Yes, I was jealous. But did I really love Mei? Or was I just offended because my rights were being violated?

They disappeared into a delman, which took them off in the direction of Kotta. I was left on the side of the street. There was no way I could follow them now. There were no other empty delmans about. I ambled home to Kwitang, and finished my answers for van Heutsz, reading them over and over again. Then I put them in an envelope to be posted the next morning.

Next morning, when I awoke, Mei was not there. For the first time in our marriage, she had not come home.

Her face announcing her condolences, Ibu Baldrun asked me where my wife was. I answered that I had told her to take a holiday in the country. She didn’t believe me. She said that she didn’t want her family’s name to be hurt because of the behavior of her lodgers. I convinced her that Mei was not doing anything wrong.

“Yes, before she was always a good girl. Always stayed at home at the proper times. Always helpful and obedient. But now she is hardly ever here and seems to prefer wandering about in the streets.”

She did not relent even when she saw my expression change as she said those things about Mei. Instead she warned me: “Even her own husband doesn’t know where she’s gone. Fix things up, Denmas, fix things up well. Don’t let things get out of hand.”

Yes, the joy, the happiness, the peace that our marriage had brought us was gone. And my heart reminded me that I must appreciate what I had lost. This girl, who once had been so helpless, had once again found her arena of struggle, after years of just giving private lessons. I didn’t know if she had been in contact with many people all this time. And I didn’t know any of them, not even their names! Perhaps all this time she hadn’t been giving private lessons at all. Don’t dream about the happiness of marriage. You are being burned up by jealousy, Minke. You have lost something. The hope in you still pleads for something. What else are you waiting for, Minke?