Footsteps (34 page)

“Why are you looking at me so strangely, Mir?”

“I’m worried, Minke. You’ve just come from the governor-general’s palace. It seems you’re close to him.”

“Not quite right, Mir. I’m a subject of the Netherlands Indies, aren’t I? That’s all.”

“Do you remember what my father and I once hoped for you? That you would be a leader of your people? Now, with this friendship with van Heutsz…we came to work together with you, as you said, not to be just an employee, just as you’re not our employer.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Mir.”

“If we came here just to be an extension of the power of the government and not to help you…”

“If that’s what you mean, Mir, there’s no need to be concerned. Van Heutsz needs my friendship so as to know what I’m thinking. He thinks I represent the thinking of the educated Natives. He’s copying Snouck Hurgronje’s behavior toward Achmad Djajadiningrat.”

“So you really are still traveling your own road?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re not keeping something from us?”

“There is one thing, Mir. Deep down inside I’m also inspired by your decision to leave Europe to work together with us here.”

“You’re being serious? You’re just not saying that?”

“Take my hand, Mir. This old friend of yours will never deceive you.”

She shook my hand. And sat back down. But she still seemed to be trying to put her thoughts together.

“I wanted to talk about other things too. It seems this is not the right time or place.” Her voice was faint.

She had some problem. Perhaps a problem with her marriage.

“Why haven’t you brought your children, Mir?”

“We haven’t any yet.”

“What about stepchildren?”

She shook her head. The electric light shone down on her thin, sharp, European face. Her head was shaped with beautiful curves. God had not allowed there to be too much in any one place, nor too little anywhere else. The pointed tip of her nose shone with the reflection of the light. More independent and older now, she had grown more attractive. Four or three years older than I. Maybe only two. Maybe she was the same age. Her skin was red from the tropical sun she had sailed under from Port Aden to Batavia. It was also covered with that unpleasant blond hair Europeans have all over their body.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m too fat?”

“No, Mir. You’re just as slim as before.”

“You’re just saying that. I’ve put on seven pounds.”

“Seven pounds is just enough to fill you out. You’re just as slim as before. A bit taller, that’s why.”

Her conversation was also different now. She used to be always trying to work out what I was thinking. Now she was seeking attention for herself.

She gave a little laugh for no reason. I joined in to be sociable. Just then Hendrik returned from his walk, a cane in his hand.

He nodded. Mir rose from her chair, went across to her husband, and patted him on the front of his shirt, which was wet from perspiration.

“Change your shirt, darling. You need time to adjust yourself to the Indies climate.”

Hendrik nodded to me and went inside with his wife.

I was left sitting in my chair, reflecting on how harmonious and close were European husbands and wives, the man not making a slave of the woman, the woman not enslaving herself to the man, as was the case with my people. How beautiful would such a marriage be. I would never find the kind of woman I hoped for from among my own people.

“You’re not finished your work yet?” asked Mir. She had sat down again, her husband beside her in his clean shirt.

“It’s not work, Mir. I was just thinking about something.”

“Minke went to medical school,” Mir said to her husband. “You can ask him about your health.”

“A failed medical student, Mr. Frischboten,” I parried quickly. “And I have never gone back to my studies.”

The lawyer didn’t respond to his wife’s comment or to mine. He just nodded mysteriously.

“You like going for strolls, Meneer.”

“Yes.”

“Doctor’s advice. Hendrik must do a lot of walking, the faster the better,” added Mir.

“Ill?”

“No, Meneer, but I need a lot of exercise.”

I was beginning to understand a little about the dynamics of this family. And the little I could understand indicated that there was something wrong there. The harmony and closeness were perhaps just an outer skin covering whatever was wrong.

“At the very least the atmosphere in the Indies will be a good influence. Isn’t that right, darling? Hendrik was born in the Indies.”

I hope it isn’t a mental problem, I prayed. Working together with him in that case wouldn’t be of much benefit. But Mama would never suggest a person who had mental problems. From his sagging cheeks I guessed he might be suffering from some kind of nervous exhaustion. He wasn’t old, forty at the most. And the exhaustion was even more evident in his eyes.

“You can rest here in Buitenzorg for as long as you want before starting work,” I said. “There’s no hurry. If you need to rest, take even one or two months. There’s no problem. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Meneer. I would never get the chance to rest before starting work in Europe.”

The evening’s conversation ended. I listened to them say “Good evening” and watched them walk off to their room. Such rapport, such harmony. But was the reality different?

Sandiman arrived with a student from the medical school. He had come to my house in Betawi several times. He was moon-faced and he had spent most of his time gazing at the
Flower of the Century’s End.

“I’m sure you haven’t forgotten me,” he said in careful Dutch.

“Of course not. But your name…I’m sorry, really, but I’ve forgotten. Forgive me.”

“Tomo, sir, Raden Tomo.”

“Oh yes, Raden Tomo,” I said, even though I had never known his name.

“I’ve come hoping to discuss some business with you, and, of course, to visit you in your new home.”

“Thank you, sir, and this is all it is.”

“It’s a very big house, much bigger than the one in Betawi.”

“Just a coincidence. This building was empty.”

“The news is that it was a gift from the governor-general?”

Whaaat! The rumors have spread that far!

“The governor-general owes me nothing. He has no reason to give me a gift.”

“They say the governor-general once thanked you openly and in public. Is that true?”

“Yes, that did happen. In a meeting with the press. But it’s going a bit far to try to connect that with my new home.”

“But you are his friend, aren’t you?”

“It’s the governor-general who wants to be friends. I am just a Native subject of the Netherlands Indies.”

“From your tone I would say that you’re not too happy to be thanked by him and to have him seek you out as his friend?”

“You can make your own judgment about that.”

Raden Tomo was quiet for a moment, thinking, then he glanced around the room.

“You don’t hang that picture any more, sir?”

“Why? Did you like it?”

“Just asking, sir. I am here on other business.”

“I hope I can be of help.”

Meanwhile Sandiman was watching us suspiciously.

“How is the Sarekat Priyayi?”

“Not so good, Meneer Tomo. It hasn’t lived up to our expectations. I went after the wrong membership. Its members are the priyayi—static, no initiative, no life in them. Their only ambition is to spend the rest of their life undisturbed working for the government. I shouldn’t have chosen them. But what can be done? It’s a mistake that has already been made.”

“Perhaps that mistake has given you a new perspective on things?”

“Yes, I’ve thought it over. I do have a new view on these things now.”

“May I ask what it is?”

“If the organization became rigid and lifeless it was because that’s the kind of members it had. We should have sought out the young, idealistic people to recruit, definitely not priyayi who have become mummified in government service, but independent and free individuals.…”

“So what will be the fate of the Sarekat Priyayi?”

“It sounds as if you’re interested in organizing?”

“Since that day, two years ago, that you first proposed the idea to us, I have followed what you have been doing and the fate of the Sarekat. I’ve thought a lot about why the organization has not even been able to carry out the things it advocates in its own constitution.”

“Or perhaps it’s my fault. I’m such a bad organizer. Isn’t that so, Sandiman?”

“A stone house cannot be built without stones, Tuan,” he answered cryptically. “And a wooden house cannot be built without wood.”

“A stone house can be built without stones. It just means that you have to make the stones first,” I answered. “If you have a capable engineer, he will be able to build the house. I’m not such an engineer. I even failed as a doctor.”

“Why don’t we stop talking about failure?” said Sandiman. “Tuan Tomo wants to talk about new initiatives.”

“Yes, Meneer. It seems that you don’t expect much more from the Sarekat Priyayi. It won’t offend you if I talk about the new initiatives—an organization being founded by young, idealistic youth?”

As far as I was concerned, the Sarekat was dead. Whether that was fair or not is beside the point. There was no reason to mourn. A deformed baby will usually miscarry.

“You cannot force things.”

“Thank you, Meneer Minke. If such a new initiative did get off the ground, would you have any objections to helping?”

“As a person with ideals it would be my duty to help.”

“If Tuan Minke promises help,” Sandiman emphasized, “you will surely receive it. Once promised it will never be withdrawn.”

“Of course, I must believe you,” whispered Raden Tomo. “The stories about your relationship with the governor-general have been exaggerated, perhaps?”

“It sounds as though you would like those rumors to be true?”

“Well, Meneer Minke, I think that if you go with the stream things are always easier.”

Sandiman’s eyes almost popped out.

“It seems that Meneer Sandiman doesn’t agree. I expected so.” Raden Tomo tried to explain his views. “Everything that wants to grow must adjust to the situation. It is the situation that must bring things forth to grow.”

“Excuse me.” Sandiman rose and left the room. He didn’t reappear.

“It seems he definitely doesn’t agree. I think my opinion is sufficiently scientific, based on the laws of life.”

“At least you have an opinion.”

“I didn’t come to this opinion lightly, Meener. In fact, I base it on my observations of what happened to the Sarekat. Are you still willing to help?”

“I’ve given my word.”

He returned to Betawi satisfied. Sandiman was disappointed however. He came out and sat down across from me.

“The reports about your friendship with the governor-general are also rife in Jogja and Solo. They say this house was a gift from him and that you have received a European housekeeper, a man and wife. Is it true, Tuan?”

“You’re beginning to distrust me, Sandiman. We have worked together all this time on the basis of mutual trust. You left for Jogja and Solo on the basis of that trust. How could you distrust me now?”

“Because I also have the right to look after my own security, Tuan.

“Am I the sort of person who could betray you?”

“At the very least, Tuan, I could meet disaster because of your orders, while you would be protected by your friendship with the governor-general.”

“It’s fully within your rights to disagree with what I say and do, Sandiman, or what anybody says and does. You think that I should have refuted Tomo when he said it was better to float with the stream than resist authority. Well, I think he’s right, at least as far as organizing goes. Once the roots and stalk are strong, they will be strengthened by storms and cyclones.”

“I do not agree, Tuan.”

“You have the right to disagree, but do not force others to
agree. Tomo doesn’t have the right to force you to agree with him either. At least he’s put a lot of time and effort into coming to his opinion, and into studying what has happened.”

Sandiman was not satisfied.

“So how did things go in Solo? That’s our work, not Tomo’s.”

“I am not sure that I should report, Tuan.”

“In that case, you needn’t report now.”

He looked angry. He excused himself to go back to my house in Betawi.

Outside my life, big things continued to happen. The last period of van Heutsz’s rule was laden with violence. In central Java, centered in the village of Klopoduwur, a peasant rebellion, calling itself the Samin movement, was also suppressed with arms. After a quarter of a century of rebellion these fifty thousand simple peasants finally knew defeat. They threw away their weapons, sharp and blunt, and drew a new, more powerful weapon from its sheath—social resistance, the refusal to obey all government laws and regulations. They refused to pay tax. They refused to do rodi, whatever the authorities called it, however they tried to disguise it. They gladly thronged into the jails and gladly thronged out of them again. They cleared forests and put up buildings without seeking permission. The government didn’t know what to do. In the end they decided to let the Samin peasants live the way they wanted as long as they didn’t threaten the government, the authorities, and their agents with armed force.

In Klungkung, Bali, the army launched a massive attack. Villages fell one after the other—Kusamba, Asah, Dewan, Satera, Tulikup, Takmung, Bukit Jimbul. The king of Klungkung, of Bali, I Dewa Agung Djambe, along with his wife and children, all his family and his people, dressed themselves in white ready to die. They came out of the palace and their houses and encircled the city—four miles in all—to await the army.

In Minangkabau, in southwest Sumatra, another rebellion broke out. The people there refused to pay taxes and do rodi.

The independent principalities, the enclaves, the pockets of power that the government called “landschap,” one by one fell into van Heutsz’s hands without offering any resistance, without there being more wars—in Sumba, Sumbawa, the interior of Timor, Central Celebes, Borneo…