Twilight in Djakarta (19 page)

‘More or less,’ said Husin Limbara. ‘And so the most important problem now is to protect ourselves from the attacks of the opposition.’

‘If so, that’s easy,’ said Halim.

Now he knew what line to follow to save himself.

‘We can only fight the opposition groups who want to stir up a scandal about us by raising one about them, much bigger than these “specials” they’re trying to pin on us. We’ll have to step up our earlier accusations that the opposition leaders were selling out our country to foreign capitalists and imperialists and implicate some big names too. Leave it to me. But, of course, this will involve a considerable sum of money. Probably about two hundred thousand for a start,’ said Halim.

He was fishing, watching the faces of Husin Limbara and Mr. Kustomo.

‘Pay him then; we’re ready!’ exclaimed Dr. Palau.

As soon as Dr. Palau had spoken, Halim knew he’d get the sum he’d asked for.

Halim didn’t stay on long after this. He excused himself on the pretext of having to finish some writing at his office for tomorrow
morning’s edition.

Outside the rain was still dripping, but in his car Halim was whistling ‘The Blue Danube’, and in his head it kept ticking – idiots, idiots, idiots.

The scandal mentioned by Husin Limbara exploded sooner than anticipated. Two days after the meeting at his house, the opposition newspapers carried in large banner headlines the news of the ‘special operations’ of some of the government parties, Husin Limbara’s in particular. Husin Limbara’s name was mentioned as ‘minister’ of financial and economic affairs behind the scenes; this was accompanied by a list of the business establishments involved and their presidents, directors or trustees – all members of government parties. The name of Raden Kaslan appeared in connection with five concerns, Husin Limbara’s with three, Suryono’s with one. Sugeng too was mentioned as involved in an import concern called Mas Mulia. According to the reports, it had been approved by the Ministry of Justice within two weeks, and had obtained its importing licence from the Ministry of Economic Affairs within five days. The names of Dr. Palau, Mr. Hardjo, Mr. Kapolo and even of Mr. Ahmad, the minister, were also mentioned as trustees of a certain bank, which, according to the opposition Press, was contrary to the existing regulations. The newspapers printed pictures of them all as well as stories about their luxurious cars and houses in the city and in the hills of the Puntjak.

Husin Limbara came to Halim’s office in person. In
self-defence
Halim started to attack, saying that he’d often warned his friends to exercise self-restraint, not to display their wealth in public by buying two or three cars, building large houses and even taking a second wife (actually he’d never said this to anyone). But now it was too late, and the only way out was to get the
counter-campaign
going. ‘And I still haven’t received the two hundred thousand you promised me!’ Halim added.

Husin Limbara immediately picked up the telephone to contact Raden Kaslan. Raden Kaslan wasn’t there. Finally he got assurances from Mr. Hardjo that the two hundred thousand would be sent to Halim by noon.

‘Nah, now it’s up to you, brother,’ said Husin Limbara as he was leaving. After closing the door of his office, Halim laughed and returned to his desk.

He sat down, put a sheet of paper into his typewriter and began writing an editorial attacking the opposition groups.

‘ … Currently the opposition groups and their newspapers are demonstrating even more clearly than before that they have absolutely no sense of responsibility towards our country and our people. With a total lack of scruples, they are flinging unfounded and indiscriminate charges and abuse at the government and the parties supporting it. And this opposition clique is shameless enough not even to hesitate in disclosing the private lives of the pro-government parties’ foremost leaders, discussing their private connections with enterprises which are in no way involved with government policies.

‘Even though the cabinet is only fourteen months old, it is being blamed for the shortages in rice, kerosene and salt – shortages for which it’s supposed to be responsible. Even the most ignorant person, if he’s any common sense left, can clearly see that it’s not the present cabinet that should be blamed for these shortages, but the preceding cabinet, which was led by the opposition parties themselves.

‘It’s quite clear from the way they’re slandering the present cabinet and undermining the prestige of the pro-government party headers, that the oppositions’ tactics and aims are just the same as the foreign capitalists’ and imperialists’ who don’t want our country to advance. As our President mentioned himself, in a speech he made a little while ago, he has received reports about
the existence of a Plan A and a Plan B for the subversive activities being conducted in our homeland by foreign elements and one about the leaders of certain political parties who are getting money from foreign powers to betray our country.

‘This newspaper therefore proposes to publish in the near future the names of these party leaders who have received money from foreign powers and to expose their connections with the subversive activities mentioned by the President.

‘The government has been patient with the opposition parties far too long, with their newspapers continually abusing the freedom of the Press and hiding behind their democratic rights to conduct activities which are endangering the state. The Attorney General should take speedy action against those who abuse their democratic rights to destroy our beloved Republic and our Proclamation of Independence.

‘It is also obvious why the attacks of the opposition on the government, and personal affairs of several individual cabinet ministers, have reached a peak just at the time when these leaders are attending the debates on West Irian at the United Nations. Their actions coincide with Dutch efforts to ruin the reputation of the Indonesian Republic abroad in order to defeat Indonesia’s international struggle to regain possession of West Irian. As to just how closely the moves of the opposition and its Press are geared to these Dutch activities, the reader can easily draw his own conclusions.

‘It is really regrettable that there are Indonesians who, because they are set on overthrowing the present cabinet, are prepared to sell themselves to foreign powers.

‘People, beware!’

Halim chuckled, re-reading his editorial, and said to himself – Two hundred thousand is cheap enough for such an editorial!

He pushed a button on his desk, and the office messenger
appeared. Halim gave him the editorial.

‘Take it to the editorial office and tell then to set it up! And tell Bung Sidompol to come here right away.’

Halim leaned back in his chair, very pleased with himself, as if he’d just finished a very good piece of work. There was a knock on the door, and after Halim called, ‘Come in,’ the door opened and Sidompol, the news editor, walked in.

‘Sit down, ’Pol!’ said Halim. ‘There’s some work to be done, along your line!’

He told Sidompol about the editorial he’d just written, linking the opposition and its Press with foreign subversive activities and hooking up Plan A and Plan B, once mentioned by the President, with certain leaders who were selling out their country.

He continued,

‘Now you compose a front-page report, as though we’d obtained it from reliable sources close to the State Investigation Service, and so on; give it a sensational headline like – Opposition Leaders Involved in Subversive Activities? Authorities Conducting Intensive Investigation. But make sure there’s nothing in it the opposition could sue us for. But the report should be suggestive enough for the readers to reach the conclusions we want. Well, that’s it!’

‘Okay, boss!’ Sidompol got up at once and left the room.

Alone in his office again, Halim opened a desk drawer, got out a bottle of whisky and poured himself a glass, adding some
ice-water
from a thermos bottle. Then he emptied the glass at a gulp.

He laughed inwardly again, thinking of Sidompol actually writing the news-story they’d just made up. Halim recalled that his was the only newspaper that had been willing to employ Sidompol. The other newspapers had refused because during the revolution he’d been a traitor. At first he’d been a journalist supporting the Republic; then later he went over to N.I.C.A., working first on van Mook’s staff and then with N.I.C.A.’s
information service. Finally he’d gone so far as to publish a paper, subsidised by N.I.C.A., which abused the Republic daily.

When Halim was reproached by his fellow journalists for being willing to employ this ex-N.l.C.A. man, he’d answer them scornfully,

‘He’s my loyal dog now. He knows mine’s the only place where he can get work.’

And Halim smiled to himself. So long as Sidompol worked for his newspaper he could make him write anything he wanted. Then, remembering something, he picked up the inter-office phone and said,

‘’Pol, don’t forget to send the report you’re writing to the other pro-government papers, our other members!’

It was noon; Saimun walked wearily home from the police office. He’d intended to ask for a form to fill out for getting his driving licence. But after half an hour, with a horde of people crowding in front of the window and hearing stories about the difficult tests one had to pass, he suddenly lost heart. He saw people dressed twenty times better than himself – he was in shorts and a
worn-out
shirt, even torn at the collar, and without shoes or sandals.

Actually he’d wandered into the police station to see what it was like there. But what he saw frightened him and he felt very small, very weak, with no hold on anything, hopeless. Aduh, it’s my fate, Saimun thought. Once you’re a little man you remain a little man always, you can’t become anything until you die. And he suddenly longed for his village; life in the village was better and happier – if only there weren’t any grombolan left to interfere. Just to smell the freshly hoed earth again and be sprayed by the falling rain, to walk at dawn on the dew-cooled grass, the dew wetting the feet, to feel the rays of the morning sun warming the whole body, to bathe in the river, to fish in the river, to snare a turtle dove, to eat a roasted corn-cob just picked from its stalk, to sleep on
the grass under a mango tree. Tears stood in his eyes, when all at once he was shocked into consciousness by a heavy shove on the shoulder and a man passing on a bicycle shouted,

‘Eh, look where you’re going, bung, didn’t you hear my bell?’

Saimun was badly shaken. Lost in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed that he’d strayed into the middle of the road. And startled as he was, he tried to run to the side of the street, and was almost run over by a passing convertible. The car brushed his thigh, not too hard, but hard enough to make him fall on the pavement. The car stopped, its brakes screeching, and Suryono got out. Several cars behind him stopped too.

‘Wait here a moment!’ Suryono said to Dahlia, who sat at his side. ‘There’s always something that gets in the way!’

Suryono was very annoyed – he had just been taking Dahlia to Tante Bep’s. And, even if he hadn’t hurt the man he’d hit badly, it would still mean explanations to the police, and who knows what else. And the day would be wasted. But as he was approaching him, the man he’d hit was already on his feet and brushing down his trousers. A passing policeman stopped and came over.

Suryono was very glad to see that the man wasn’t hurt at all, and decided not to raise a rumpus.

As he came close he heard the man say to the policeman,

‘It was my fault, pak!’

The policeman turned to Suryono, saluted him, and Suryono said,

‘It’s all right, lucky nothing happened!’

‘It’s my fault, pak!’ Saimun repeated.

Suryono took a five-rupiah note out of his pocket, feeling suddenly that the man he’d hit should be given a present. Since no harm had been done, he could continue with Dahlia straight to Tante Bep’s house.

‘It’s all right, nothing happened!’ said Suryono.

The policeman could not refrain from giving Saimun a last
bit of advice.

‘Look out, though, when you’re crossing. You’re lucky nothing happened!’

Back in the car Suryono said to Dahlia,

‘It’s lucky nothing happened to him!’ And he pinched Dahlia’s thigh which was pressed close to his own.

Saimun hastened away from the place where he’d almost been killed. His gloom changed to a kind of joy. Five rupiah in his pocket meant a lot of money to him. What a good heart the tuan who owns that car has, Saimun thought, and his appearance shows it too …. It was my fault but he wasn’t angry at me, even gave me a present, Saimun continued thinking; not like some other tuans, they’d just finish you off with their scolding. Saimun thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a master like that – whatever he’d order me to do, I’d gladly do it.

In front of the telephone building, across from the President’s palace, Saimun heard Itam’s voice calling him. Betja drivers usually stopped and gathered there around a food-vendor’s stall. Several were eating, while others sat in their betjas waiting for passengers. Some were playing paper dominoes on the ground; and others squatted, gambling for money. Itam sat on the bench before the stall, he’d just begun to eat.

‘’Mun, where’re you coming from?’

Saimun remembered that he hadn’t eaten yet, sat down near Itam and ordered a plate of nasi ramas.
1
He told Itam of his morning’s experiences.

‘Aduh, ’Tam,’ he said, ‘’t looks like I can’t become a driver if things like this. My reading also not smooth yet, and how to remember in your head all the road signs, all the rules of traffic? Just looking at the police who give examinations and we’re ’lready full of terror.’

‘But that tuan in the car, he was very good, ’Mun,’ said Itam.
‘Not often find a man like this. Most people who drive cars, ’lmost kill you – they’re so stuck-up. As if they alone own the road. We here’re just like dogs. So many times ’lready I want to fight with drivers of these showy cars. If we go slow they’re angry, keep blowing horns, we must be like machines of course, push the betja quick-quick? If not go off to side fast enough, they scold us. ’T’s sad to be a little man!’