Footsteps (30 page)

“I’m not downcast at all, Ma. And anyway, I have something else now.”

“So you’ll be marrying soon?”

“No, Ma, but I’m very happy now with my new work.”

Like a mother with her child, she rubbed her delicate head up against mine.

“You mean you want to follow my example, work and do nothing else, without rest? You think I was happy in my work?
You were wrong, Child. You didn’t see everything. I had two children. Both are dead now. And now I have a grandchild. No one can say I have not worked hard enough. Even so, Child, for a woman without a husband, without a partner-in-life who is beside her always, life begins to seem more and more empty.”

Then I understood. Mama was talking about herself, using my case as the opening. She had married Jean Marais.

“Congratulations, Mama!” I offered my hand to her.

Her eyes shone with happiness.

“So you understand, Child. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

I went out to congratulate Jean Marais. He was sitting in the lounge, scrutinizing the painting, his own work of several years ago.

“Even now I feel that the painting needs nothing changed or added to,” he said, when he saw me entering.

“You two didn’t tell me. Congratulations, Jean.”

Mama came in and sat down too. She righted her husband’s crutch, which was leaning across the arms of one of the chairs.

Maysoroh came back into the room after having tidied up and also sat down with us.

“You have such a big mustache now, Uncle,” commented May in French.

“Yes, May, I’m an old man now.”

“Old? You’re handsome with that mustache, Uncle. Who said you’re old?”

“So, should I propose to you then?” I asked.

She let out a little cry and pinched me on the thigh. She was blushing with embarrassment. Mama was laughing elatedly. Jean just bowed his head shyly.

“And what would be wrong if you did?” asked Mama.

May’s father, Jean Marais, looked the other way.

“I’m going home, Uncle,” said May, continuing in French. “To Paris.”

“Is that why you won’t speak Javanese, or Dutch or Malay?” pressed Mama.

“You’re going home to Paris, May?” and I looked back and forth between Mama and Jean.

“Yes, Child, we have married and now we are going.”

“So Mama will be honeymooning in France?”

“No, Child, it’s not for a honeymoon. You see, for so long now I’ve read and I’ve heard about a country where all stand equal
before the law. Not like here in the Indies. And the story also tells that this country holds high the ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity. You know the story. I want to see the country of that story, in reality. Does there really exist such beauty on this earth of mankind?”

Mama knew, of course, that French imperialism was just as evil as any other. France too had betrayed her own revolution over and over again. But I didn’t want to spoil the atmosphere.

“Mama!” I cried.

“Yes, Nyo, we four will be moving to France.”

“See, Uncle, you heard for yourself.”

Rono Mellema was secretly watching me—perhaps enthralled by my mustache—as if I was some freak at the night market. Or perhaps he was just lost in thoughts of his own.

“And why are you so quiet, Rono?” I asked in Javanese.

“I’m going too,” he answered in Madurese.

How happy and contented this family seemed. And their departure for France was made possible by Mama’s business success.

“Wouldn’t you also like to go to France, Child? And marry May there?” asked Mama.

“Oh, Mama, you!” cried May, giving her a pinch.

“See your daughter, Jean, how happy she is to be near her boyfriend.”

“Who said he’s my boyfriend?” parried May, pinching Mama again and again. She was blushing again.

Jean Marais didn’t say anything, as if his mind were off far, far away. And I too suddenly became shy when I saw this very pretty girl steal glances at me.

Her skin was not too white, perhaps a legacy from her late mother. Her hair was long and wavy. The front wave in her hair was fixed with an emerald-studded gold comb. Her earrings and pendant were diamonds and emeralds in a gold setting. They were once worn by…ah, what’s the point in bringing all that back? She was also wearing the perfume that Annelies used to wear. Perhaps this had all been arranged by Mama to bring back certain memories.

I knew then that Mama had dressed her before leaving the ship to come here to my house so that I would see her as…

“Say something, Jean,” Mama said in Malay and then repeated it in rather awkward French.

Mama was learning French!

Jean Marais didn’t answer.

“We’ve talked about you often, Child,” Mama began again. “About you and May.”

“Those concerned have never said anything,” said Marais. “You’re the one making all the fuss.”

Maysoroh stood and ran off to her room, slamming the door behind her, like someone wanting to hide from the world and secrete herself away.

“She’ll be trying to listen from behind the door,” said Mama.

Mama wanted me to marry Maysoroh, and May knew about this. Marais didn’t seem to want to take sides.

When I glanced across at Jean, he had turned to look at the door.

“I’m too busy with my work, Ma. I’ve never thought about getting married again.”

“Listen, Child. We’ll be leaving soon. We don’t know when we’ll be back. If you truly have no desire for this, fine. But if you do, then Jean is here now. Don’t waste this opportunity.”

“Give me time to think about it, Ma.”

Mama seemed disappointed. She was well-intentioned. I myself had no objections to marrying Maysoroh. May would do whatever her father asked her. It would all depend on what I decided. But my thoughts wouldn’t keep on this track. I was worried Mama would ask me to repay the money she had sent me. And I knew better than anyone that my reserves were just about depleted.

“I have not returned all Mama’s money yet.”

“Listen, Child, your magazine is already popular, except they say there’s not enough in it. There’s too much emphasis on one topic. That’s your opinion too, isn’t it, Jean?”

“Yes,” he answered, and then went silent again.

“I’ve suggested to you that you start a newspaper. Have you thought about it?”

“No Native has ever tried to start a newspaper!”

“Then you will have the honor of being the first.”

“Too much capital is needed, Ma.”

“I’m with you too, Child! How much do you need?” she asked, daring me. “There’s no need to return the rest of what I sent you before. How would three thousand guilders be? Enough?”

I fell into silence, pondering, embarrassed at having all this witnessed by Jean.

“Enough. Good, then you agree. Then you can start working on it.”

“Yes, I believe you can do it,” Jean proposed. “You’ve got the ability. You’ve had experience with papers. You’ll succeed in anything you try.”

“Well, anyway, I failed at becoming a doctor.”

“That was just bad luck. Actually a blessing in disguise,” said Mama. “If you had become a doctor, then today you might be working in the middle of Borneo or on some government ship somewhere. You wouldn’t be editing
Medan.
And there would be no Sarekat Priyayi.”

I was glad everyone had forgotten the topic of marriage. But it wasn’t for long. Mama started again: “Our ship leaves for Europe at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. We will alight at Amsterdam, then go to Huizen. Then we will catch the train to Paris. We will leave here tomorrow morning at nine in the morning.”

“If you go to Huizen, Ma,” I asked, “then could you get the most beautiful bouquet of flowers for her, and a red ribbon with “From Betawi” written across it in silver? “Just that, Ma.”

“Of course, Child. You see we don’t have much time for talking. If you think I’m pressuring you, it’s just that I’m thinking about how little time we have. So now, with Jean here, you must say something, so I know you won’t suffer in your loneliness. Or must I speak for you and you listen?”

How aggressive she was now. Was this her real character? Turned into a matriarch as a result of her success? Was it true that she was just interested in my happiness? Or did she want to free herself of a stepdaughter? Was this really the last chance to decide this and did we really not have time to discuss things first? And why was it that I, a writer, from whose pen hundreds of thousands of words had flowed, was now unable to produce even a single word?

“Very well,” said Mama finally. “Nah, Jean, see, he does want Maysoroh as his wife. He is embarrassed to ask you for her hand. He will make your daughter happy. Look upon me as his mother. And, in any case, you already know him quite well.”

She has become so aggressive!

“Let him speak for himself.” Jean’s words were in French.

“Speak, Child. Or do you still find it difficult to speak?”

It seemed as if all the good intentions in the world were being heaped upon my head. I had known May since she was little. I used to take her by the hand when we headed off to school, and then we’d catch a bendi together. And it had to be admitted that May was a healthy, active, attractive girl with a beautiful, perfectly formed body. This would have been obvious even to those who weren’t connoisseurs of beauty. How old was she now? Seventeen. With no experience, spoiled, an only child, and with a great love for her father. Jean gave her all his love—something that guaranteed she would also have a pure and simple heart free from any difficult complexes. But what must I say to an old friend whom I suddenly now confronted as a prospective father-in-law? And why was I about to carry out Mama’s wish without thinking it through properly first?

“First of all, I ask your forgiveness, Jean. For several years we lived together as friends. It’s true that I find it difficult to talk to you now. I would be enormously grateful if you were to allow me to crown my life by taking your daughter as my wife. Don’t be angry that these are the only words I’ve been able to find.”

Jean Marais turned, drawing in a deep breath. He looked old. And I don’t think there was anything he could do. He seemed to be totally dependent on Mama. His business had gone bankrupt. I regretted now that I had bent before Mama’s will. How embarrassing it would be if my proposal was rejected—perhaps it would ruin relations between Jean and Mama. I had behaved very rashly and without principle. Why I had become like this—just a shadow in the presence of this extraordinary woman? Why am I so helpless before her? Why have I allowed myself to create more burdens for Jean? Was I basically just an opportunist? Or was it because of my debts to her?

“She is my only child,” Jean said suddenly in French. “Maysoroh has been with me since she was little. She lost her mother when she was a baby. You know that.”

“You don’t intend to return to the Indies, Jean?”

“I don’t know. Why am I thinking about myself?” he rebuked himself. He stood up, unsteady on his one leg, and cried out: “May! May! Come here, darling.”

But Maysoroh didn’t come out, neither did she answer.

Mama stood up and walked across to knock on the door, speaking in Dutch: “Come out, darling. Your father needs you.”

The door opened warily. I no longer looked at the door but at Jean. Perhaps these were difficult moments for him, the time when other hands were about to seize his beloved daughter away from him. He watched the door with eyes guarded by a worried frown.

“Why won’t you come out, May? What are you afraid of? Come on, darling.” Mama greeted May and guided her across the room and sat her beside me.

“You don’t regret your words?” asked Jean.

“If you don’t, neither do I, Jean.”

“May!” Jean spoke his daughter’s name lovingly. “You have known him since you were little. Heh, don’t bow down your head like that. Lift your head up so Papa can see your face and eyes.”

And I myself avoided May’s gaze. I still saw her as a little child, who came weeping to me after I had argued with her father. I had cradled her in my arms. And then she made me go back to make up with Jean.

“You know, May, that just now, he has asked permission to marry you. I have not yet answered. It is all up to you. I am not compelling you to answer yes or no, or even to answer at all. It is all up to you, nobody else.”

Maysoroh was silent. Would she refuse me? Would I suffer the shame? And if she did say yes, what would be her reasons?

“You can answer now, tomorrow, or later after you settle in France,” Jean added.

The atmosphere was gloomy and silent. No one spoke. Mama stood up and went out into one of the back rooms.

“I’m not proposing because of pressure from anyone, Jean,” I said, trying to change the atmosphere.

“Of course not. I agree that you need a good wife, Minke. Tomorrow we leave for Europe and I have a feeling that I won’t be returning to the Indies. There is not much time left. It’s important we make good use of what time we have together now.”

“I understand, Jean.”

“What about you, May?”

“I want to study in Paris.”

“So you won’t reply to this proposal?”

“Not yet, Papa. Don’t be angry, Papa. Don’t be disappointed in me, Uncle. I’m allowed to study, aren’t I?” she said slowly and cautiously.

Everything went dark. Maybe Jean watched my face go from white to red with shame and embarrassment.

“You won’t regret your decision, May?” Jean asked again.

“Papa, my darling Papa.” I watched May rise, go up to her father where she cuddled and embraced him. “I’d like to have Uncle as a husband. Really, Papa. But not now.”

“Tell him yourself.”

“You heard, didn’t you, Uncle?”

The sun shone once again on my universe. No, I would not have to suffer the shame I imagined. I looked calmly at May. She would be my wife. She came across to me and knelt down in front of me in the Javanese way, with her two hands resting on my right hand.

“I’d like to be your wife, Uncle, but not now. Please forgive me.”

I stood and pulled her up also and sat her down on a chair.

“Jean, May, thank you for this answer. Neither of you must think that my proposal today is a result of the prodding of anybody else. I have done it all of my own free will. And, May, if tomorrow or the next day you change your mind, please let me know. If later when you’re living in France, mixing with many new friends and your views change, remember, there is someone here who always awaits your letters.”