The Fifth Season (3 page)

An early morning raid left Muis' father, mother, and brother dead, their headless bodies discovered dumped down a well. His three sisters, together with their offspring, all perished when Sarwo Eddie's butchers arrived and cleansed the area of any remaining signs of communist roots, or ties.

Two months passed before Muis was to learn of what had transpired in his village. He had written, asking for his father to send more funds, and when his second request also went unanswered, he caught a bus and returned home. The discovery of his family's demise sent Muis into shock.

By then marauding gangs had taken control over the countryside, as the Republic teetered on the brink of anarchy. He went to the local authorities but was shunned. It was then that he was informed that his family's land had been seized by the government. When he complained, the self-proclaimed local military head had ordered Muis to return to Surabaya or face charges of sedition. Without compensation, and without any form of income, Muis returned to college and laid his case before the faculty head who, out of consideration for the brilliant young student's talent, took him under his wing and nurtured Muis though his remaining days at the university.

The following three years did little to ease his pain nor relieve the festering hate which dominated much of his conscious mind, growing in intensity, while the rest of his countrymen struggled with their own demons and ghosts and the legacy of those horrific times. Muis became inflamed as the country emerged from its perilous era, disgusted that the United States-sanctioned New Order discouraged the growth of Moslem unity through political representation, and was incensed with the rapid spread of Catholicism and other religious faiths throughout the archipelago.

It did not go unnoticed as he became more radical in his views, that the Christian religions were making startling inroads into what were predominantly Moslem communities. He seethed when he witnessed foreign missionaries, mainly youngsters of U.S. origins blatantly canvassing the country's streets with bibles in hand, their insidious intrusion adding to his hate for all things American. He observed that the majority of Christians were of ethnic Chinese descent, and Muis clearly felt their presence, their beliefs and customs, a direct threat to his own, and in his confused mind, responsible for his family's demise.

Devoted, Muis totally immersed himself in his religious studies. The more he learned, the more he became convinced that Indonesia would never have suffered the calamitous events of recent years had the country followed the teachings of the Prophet and believed in
The One and True God
and remained pure to
His Ways
. Muis became determined that the
lintah-darat
, the blood-sucking, usurious Chinese bankers who conducted their business in contradiction to Islamic teachings, should all be destroyed.

Upon graduation, he had revisited his village. There, he discovered that ownership of his father's fields had changed hands yet again, and was now the property of the local loan sharks. He was mortified to learn that these were not only Chinese, but members of the flourishing Christian community now well established in the nearby town where they had recently constructed their church. Overcome with anger, he had returned to Surabaya where, under his mentor's guidance, he established his own religious forum for others as disgruntled as he, and within that month, declared the existence of Indonesia's newest Islamic organization, the
Mufti Muharam.

Abdul Muis now had his vehicle to drive Indonesian Christians into the sea, and extract retribution for what he believed those associated with the Church had done to his family. He roamed the countryside speaking at Mosques and schools, his messages of hate cleverly disguised, but warmly received. Muis' following grew at an alarming rate, reaching five hundred thousand within the first year, five million during the next, the exponential growth continuing until the
Mufti Muharam
finally achieved a membership of thirty million Moslems. His dream of an Islamic state finally within reach, Muis set about cultivating a relationship with the Indonesian leadership.

* * * *

The country was clearly controlled by
ABRI,
the nation's military. They in turn, followed the dictates of the aging President, Suhapto. Muis made several approaches to ingratiate himself with the First Family, but was rebuffed, his chagrin such, Muis swore he would one day settle that score.

Patiently he waited for his opportunity to strike, and this, ironically, was delivered to him by the President's ambitious, and impatient son-in-law, General Praboyo. When it became quite clear to all that President Suhapto had never intended relinquishing his crown, Muis moved to position himself for the day when Suhapto's indisputable and powerful grip on the country finally passed to another.

Abdul Muis understood the importance of securing international support for his strategies. An Islamic state would require recognition from the Arab nations and although he believed this would be forthcoming once he had demonstrated his strengths, he examined the possibilities of establishing dialogue with Middle East leaders, arranging frequent visits to their shores. It was during one such visit to Iran, that Abdul Muis fell under the influence of the
Ayatollahs
and their militant persuasions.

He became convinced that Indonesia, as the world's largest Moslem community, should never have fallen behind other nations technologically.

He sincerely believed that his country would one day be threatened by its giant neighbors, Communist China and India, both nations boasting populations in excess of one billion, both countries possessing nuclear capabilities. Muis had also come to learn that it was United States' vested interests which had prevented Indonesia from developing its own, defensive nuclear capabilities.

Under his leadership, Abdul Muis would ensure that the Indonesian people would enjoy freedom from the fear of nuclear attack, simply by arming his nation with the technology offered by his new allies, Iran, Iraq and Osama bin Ladam.

* * * *

As Muis sat pondering the future, his thoughts were interrupted by the distant cry of a bird as it winged its way across his field of vision. He looked up, surprised, and identified the fierce, black shape, then stood, waving his arms and shouting as the crow balked and changed direction.

Although devoutly religious, Muis' childhood had been peppered with village superstition. The despised crow not only wreaked havoc during harvest, and terrified children with their deep-throated cries, their presence was associated with evil and peasant folklore warned that these black couriers carried messages from the damned.

Unhappy with the ominous sign, Muis frowned, undertaking to have the local
dukun
conduct a
selamatan
to cleanse his property of any evil spirits before the first stone to his retreat had been laid. With that
,
Haji Abdul Muis strolled back to the waiting car and returned to the splendid mansion that was his in Surabaya.

‘Hong Kong,' she answered, checking her carry-on case again for reassurance. Her hand settled on the document folder containing her passport and she relaxed slightly.

‘First time?' he tried, his eyes glancing into the rear vision mirror admiringly.

‘Yes,' Mary Jo responded, hoping the conversation would stop there.

‘Traveling alone?' he inquired, impertinently, but she took no offense, half-expecting the driver to make small talk. Having lived and worked in New York's aggressive environment for several years, Mary Jo had soon fallen into step with other residents, her smooth, well-mannered, small-town response a thing of the past.

‘Maybe,' she said, the driver's eyes darting to the mirror again, wisely accepting the hint. Mary Jo leaned back as the taxi jerked its way through the Midtown traffic, contemplating what lay ahead. She was on her way to JFK and her posting to the S.E. Asia bureau. She thought about the long haul, eager to get under way, in no way daunted by the twenty-four hour flight on United to Hong Kong.

Mary Jo's thoughts were distracted by the occupant of a car traveling alongside and she smiled, observing a young woman sitting confidently 23

Kerry B. Collison

alone in the rear, her appearance reminding Mary Jo of when she had first left home in pursuit of her dreams. Then, she frowned as the image of her mother waving goodbye intruded and she recalled with some sadness that there had been no tears, only excitement and relief that she had finally managed to escape her suffocating surrounds.

This brief recollection triggered other memories sending Mary Jo back to early childhood and, as the cabby fell into silence, her mind wandered back in time.

* * * *

Mary Jo had been an only child. The exhilaration of the
Sixties
and her mother's determination to maintain her liberated status, had resulted in her parents separating before her sixth birthday. She had remained with her mother in Ohio, the memory of her father's departure deeply affecting her mind.

Mary Jo had been thoroughly confused by the absence of her father, her mother refusing to acknowledge any questions as to where he had gone.

She missed him greatly, the void in her life immeasurable after he had left.

The memory of him sitting on her bed at night, holding her hand, reading stories of faraway places and filling her mind with wonders as she drifted off to sleep, filled her eyes with tears. Mary Jo yearned for the warmth of his strong, comforting arms she remembered so well and his deep, but soft, reassuring voice.

For months after his departure, Mary Jo had cried herself to sleep at night, brokenhearted that he could have abandoned her so. Alone with her strong-willed mother, she had done little else but cry. Then, after what seemed to have been an eternity, he returned.

On that day, Mary Jo had arrived home early from school to find her father sitting in their kitchen. Her heart had skipped a beat, and she had run across the small room banging her knee painfully against the door of an open cupboard. She remembered throwing herself up into his strong open arms and burying her head deep into his chest, his reassuring words comforting the pain of her bruised limb.

But he had not returned to stay. When Mary Jo overheard her parents argue, she had feared the worst. Suddenly he was gone again, the overwhelming, fearful emptiness which followed even greater than before.

Another year passed, and Mary Jo had come to believe that her father had deserted them forever when, unannounced, he amazingly reappeared.

Against her mother's vitriolic protestations, he had carried Mary Jo off to the movies, his unforgivable absences immediately forgotten as she hugged him close, in a moment filled with joy.

That night, her father had tucked her into bed and read as he had done so many times before. With his hand gently stroking her head, his voice carried Mary Jo away on a familiar journey, the story of the Great Wall amongst her favorites. She remembered how she had visualized herself as part of the scene, walking hand in hand with her father along the forever-winding, man-made miracle through the mountains, the familiar resonance of his voice a delight, the images of Genghis and Kublai Khan no longer of frightening concern. She recalled begging him to promise to stay, his response, another hollow commitment to return. When she awoke the following morning, he was gone.

Two more years passed before Mary Jo saw his face again; this time, as he was passing through. She found the painful infrequency of her father's visits bewildering, recollections of how he looked slowly fading in her mind, until his face eventually resembled nothing more than a blur in an occasional dream. Finally, her father disappeared from their lives forever.

Her mother refused all mention of his name, and with time, Mary Jo learned not to care, and accepted that he would never return.

At first, Mary Jo had not really excelled at school, lacking motivation and the necessary concentration. Often, as the teacher's lulling, monotonous tones would cast their spell, her mind would wander, day-dreams carrying her away to distant lands and peoples, whose faces she had seen captured in still-life photographs. Her favorites were those found amongst their neighbor's National Geographic magazines, the reason she spent more time there than in her own home. Mary Jo would often sit for hours examining their collection, her hands moving across the amazing photographs, touching mountains and valleys as she imagined herself part of the wondrous scenes.

At fourteen, when their neighbors moved to California, Mary Jo joined the local library to satisfy her inquisitive mind. There she discovered an even greater world, the science of photography, her interest in still-art forms leading her to an inevitable conclusion. Having pestered her mother for months, Mary Jo received her first camera on her fifteenth birthday, and her life changed forever. After that, there was no doubt in her mind what she wished to do with her life, already consumed by the dream to become a photojournalist, and travel the world.

As fate would have it, her mother's timely remarriage provided Mary Jo with the means to attend college. With her step-father's encouragement and financial support, she applied to attend the Rochester Institute of Technology, and was accepted into the School of Photographic Arts and Sciences, one of the four schools within the College of Imaging Arts and Sciences at R.I.T. For Mary Jo, it was a dream come true. Although her mother was not overly keen about the prospect of sending her off alone, she acquiesced, and Mary Jo bade farewell, moving to Rochester to commence her studies.