Twilight in Djakarta (21 page)

Pranoto stopped reading when he heard a knock on the door. The babu announced that the guests had begun to arrive. He went
quickly to the front room and saw that the first to arrive was Ies.

‘Congratulations on reaching old age!’ Ies joked, and Pranoto answered,

‘I feel greatly honoured tonight, because you’re my first guest. This promises me happiness.’

He seized Iesye’s hand, and as they looked at each other Pranoto saw something in the radiance of her eyes which completely flustered him. He let her hand go and said,

‘What’ll you have to drink? I’ll go get it.’

‘Anything, so long as it isn’t alcoholic,’ Ies replied.

Pranoto went inside, still disturbed by what he’d seen shining in Ies’s eyes. And while he was pouring Coca-Cola into a glass, he suddenly remembered, he’d seen the same radiance before … in Connie’s eyes!

‘My God!’ The English expression escaped involuntarily from his lips.

Ies, for me – it’s impossible. Isn’t she with Suryono? he said to himself.

To calm himself down he lit a cigarette before he went out with the drink for Ies.

Later, after they’d eaten, several of the guests suggested that the chairs and tables be moved aside to make room for dancing. The big lamp was turned off so that the room was lit only by a small wall-lamp which cast a dim greenish light. Pranoto got the first dance with Ies. Later on, with only a few couples still dancing, Pranoto realised that he’d danced with Ies uninterruptedly through three records, the last in a slow, swinging mood. It brought back the peculiar radiance in Ies’s eyes which had so surprised him at the beginning of the evening. The night was now far gone and Pranoto, who’d had quite a few whiskies, felt as though an impulse was communicating to him from Ies’s body. It made him lower his head, brush his nose along her cheek. Ies pressed her cheek against his, Pranoto tightened his grip on her body and it came close to his
own. And so they danced in close embrace, cheek to cheek and body to body.

Pranoto was startled when the music stopped and the
remaining
guests said it was time for them to go home, it was already three in the morning.

Ies drew a long breath, looked searchingly at Pranoto for a moment as though hunting for something she’d not yet been able to discover and then, together with his other friends, she wished him a good night; and they all left, Ies escorted by the friends who left with her.

Pranoto could not fall asleep until dawn, disturbed by what he’d seen in Ies’s eyes.

If only it wasn’t for Connie, he thought.

He sighed. He’d never suspected that love and marriage could pose such difficult problems, so complicated that it was impossible to know where one was drifting with each new turn ….

On January 23
^rd
the doctor told Hasnah that she could go home the next day. Sugeng and Maryam had been visiting her daily while she was in the hospital. She was beginning to reconcile herself to the loss of her baby, particularly since it was evident that Sugeng had changed completely. Every time he saw her he assured her of his love, repeatedly asked her to forgive him – Hasnah was not to blame at all, it was his fault; everything that had happened to them was his own doing. Hasnah felt that they’d be able to start afresh.

Towards noon of the 23rd, while Hasnah lay reading, a stretcher was wheeled into her room and the nurses lifted a woman into the bed next to hers. With a shock Hasnah recognised Dahlia. Dahlia had not yet regained consciousness.

‘Aduh, this lady is a friend of mine!’ Hasnah said to one of the nurses.

‘She’ll wake up soon,’ the nurse answered, ‘and then you’ll be able to talk with her.’

‘What’s the matter with her?’ Hasnah asked.

‘Abortion. Just a small operation,’ the nurse replied. ‘She was only a few weeks pregnant.’

A few hours later, when Dahlia had come to, Hasnah said to her,

‘What a pity, this child of yours, only a few weeks! I’ve lost my child, too!’

‘Yes,’ said Dahlia.

Dahlia was inwardly cursing her own carelessness. A few days earlier she had gone to the doctor, and the doctor had confirmed that she was indeed pregnant. But her plan to ask Suryono for money had miscarried completely. He’d stopped coming to her since the beginning of the new year, and every time she
telephoned
him at the office she was always told that he was out. Similarly her efforts to reach Sugeng had been fruitless. Like Suryono, he too could never be reached at his office.

Finally Dahlia was forced to use her own savings. She had had to pay seven hundred and fifty rupiah plus the costs of hospitalisation.

‘Lucky I’m only here for a short time, the doctor says I’ll be able to go home in three days!’ said Dahlia.

‘I’ll be able to go home tomorrow,’ Hasnah told her, and asked, ‘Where is your husband? I didn’t see him.’

‘He’s out of town again,’ answered Dahlia.

But she didn’t tell Hasnah that she’d intentionally gone to the hospital only after her husband had left, having ascertained beforehand that she’d be back home before he returned.

On January 24
^th
Hasnah went home. Under the circumstances – with her just getting out of the hospital, still in a weak state of health and the loss of her baby still weighing on her mind – Sugeng was very loving and solicitous. He looked after her, kept her in bed and didn’t let her get up, he fetched water for her to drink and
served her her meals in bed.

Before going to sleep that first night at home Hasnah felt sure that they could make a new start together and regain their lost happiness.

Sugeng put Maryam to sleep by telling her a little story. When he came and lay down by Hasnah’s side she stretched out her hand, drew him to herself and kissed him slowly.

And then she fell asleep with a smile hovering on her lips.

At nine o’clock the next morning three police agents headed by an inspector came to the house to arrest Sugeng. They searched the whole house and ransacked his desk and bookcase for letters and papers. The police inspector handed Sugeng the warrant for his arrest on the charge of taking bribes while employed in the Ministry of Economic Affairs.

Sugeng told Hasnah that he’d expected this to happen, and said that he was determined to start afresh as he had said. He begged her to be patient.

In the face of the disaster that had befallen her husband and family, Hasnah, who was still sick, showed a fortitude which Sugeng had never suspected in her. Strengthened by the old hope and faith which had now returned to her (though aware that primarily Sugeng’s acts had brought catastrophe upon them), Hasnah was determined to fight with all her strength to cultivate the seeds of love now sown anew between herself and Sugeng.

‘Don’t worry, Sugeng!’ Hasnah said, as Sugeng was ready to leave with the police. ‘I will be with you, always.’

Sugeng kissed Maryam who was crying, frightened by the police.

He now felt strong enough to bear anything that could happen to him. Whatever might happen, he was sure Hasnah’s love would always sustain him. It would always be a cool, green island where one could take refuge from the bitter and painful ordeal that he now had to face.

Djakarta’s morning papers of January 25
^th
carried a report of the arrest of several officials from the Ministry of Economic Affairs, among them a man named S. no longer employed there now, but heading a business of his own. They also reported that the authorities concerned had wired abroad to the Indonesian Embassies to make Raden Kaslan return to the country. Furthermore, the police had uncovered a series of manipulations in the economic affairs ministry dealing with import licences and their certification, and that as a result Raden Kaslan, a well-known figure and prominent member of the party, was being recalled from abroad for questioning.

In the afternoon of January 25th Suryono and Fatma read the various reports in the newspapers, including the news that Raden Kaslan was being ordered to come home. One of the papers also mentioned the possibility of further disclosures of the operations of certain parties who had collected funds running into the tens of millions for election purposes.

Their departure had not materialised because Suryono had begun to waver as the result of Fatma’s cautious attitude. But after reading that his father was being recalled Suryono again started urging Fatma to leave.

‘The day after tomorrow we’ll be called as witnesses,’ Suryono said to her. ‘Come on, let’s get out of town! Anywhere!’

Fatma decided that since Raden Kaslan was now involved in such a big scandal his social position was ruined, and there was no advantage in remaining his wife any longer.

They decided to drive off to Malang in East Java the next day.

For more than a week the queues for rice, kerosene and salt had been growing with each day. During the first days they were not so long – fifteen to twenty buyers would come to a warung
1
and
that would be the end of it. But two or three days later, when it became increasingly clear that the new cabinet was set on fighting corruption, the opposition – to discredit the new cabinet – launched an intensive campaign, blaming it for these shortages. A whispering campaign was spread in the kampungs that the supplies of these goods would be exhausted in a few days, and the people were urged to stock up before it was too late.

Itam told Saimun that some strangers had come to him and other betja drivers, saying they should tell all the people in their kampungs to get out in crowds and quickly buy up as much rice, kerosene and salt as possible.

On the morning of January 26
^th
, when Suryono and Fatma were leaving Djakarta to go to Malang, they could see huge lines in front of the warungs along the road. They also saw many betjas with women and children in them, carrying empty bottles and baskets. And when they reached Djatinegara they even saw several trucks filled with women and children in rags, all of them carrying bottles and baskets too.

‘What’s all this?’ Fatma asked Suryono.

‘Who knows?’ Suryono replied. ‘All sorts of things happen in Djakarta nowadays. But whatever happens we won’t be in Djakarta any more anyway. Who cares!’

By ten o’clock the police stations all over Djakarta were flooded with telephone calls from shopkeepers and district offices asking for police protection, since the crowds waiting to buy rice and kerosene were getting out of hand.

It was reported that two shops in Djatinegara had been invaded by a mob because the owners had announced that their supply of kerosene was exhausted.

Murhalim was in a betja going to Pasar Senen,
2
when his betja was held up near the railway-crossing by several dozen other passenger-carrying betjas.

‘Come on, bung, that warung over there doesn’t want to sell us kerosene and rice. Ayoh, help the people!’ these passengers incited Murhalim’s betja driver.

The betja driver told Murhalim either to get out or to join in and help the people. Murhalim decided to join, as he was curious to see what would happen. He’d already heard during the last few days that the crowding of the rice, kerosene and salt lines was really being instigated by a political party that wanted to mess up the situation for the new cabinet. There were many stories about trucks rounding up crowds to be transported from one place to another to fill the lines, and that betja drivers were also being given money to fill up the lines. But this was the first time he could get a first-hand impression of this organised movement.

Murhalim asked the driver whether anyone was giving them orders.

‘No one’s giving orders, pak,’ said the betja driver. ‘But we little people, if we can’t defend ourselves, who’s going to defend us? Just try not to line up for rice – then, when the rice is finished, must we go hungry? Those bapaks high up, they’re always well off, though. They don’t have to stand in lines!’

They turned into an alley and all the betjas stopped. Murhalim got out. In a crowded line, about a hundred yards long, people were shouting,

‘Ayoh, hurry up, where’s the rice? Where’s the salt? Where’s the kerosene? Don’t lie! Back up the living of the little man!’

Several young men could be seen wandering up and down the line, as if giving orders. The betja drivers who’d arrived in great numbers were gathered into one group and moved up to the front, close to the warung. Among them was Itam, cheering and yelling clearest and loudest. He was very happy this morning. He’d fight for the little man. He’d fight for his own fate. They’d beat up the oppressors of the people and the exploiters of the little man. All those foreign enemies of the people would be destroyed. The little
people would come to power, and everybody would be happy ever thereafter, living in a fine house, owning land, with no difference any longer between the high tuans and the common people. All this had been conveyed to them the night before by several young men who had also given them some money because ‘tomorrow they’d not be driving their betjas, but fighting for the interests of the little man’.

The crowd in the line was becoming more excited. The people’s shouts grew increasingly threatening. From time to time one could hear, ‘Just break in! Burn! Kill!’

Murhalim stood under a tree by the roadside, looking on. He felt very worried that the warung would be invaded and its owner beaten to death by a half-crazed crowd. And there were no police in sight.

As he stood there he suddenly heard a voice near him saying,

‘A beautiful sight, isn’t it?’

Startled, Murhalim turned around. It was Achmad.

‘Achmad!’ exclaimed Murhalim, annoyed that Achmad should be joking, calling something that was so very sad a ‘beautiful sight’.

‘Don’t talk like that. These people are degrading themselves, acting almost like maddened animals, and you say – “beautiful”!’

‘Ah, as usual, you don’t understand what I mean,’ said Achmad, smiling. ‘Look at that.’ He pointed at the crowd that kept moving forwards relentlessly, like a stream of lava blazing with heat, like some wild howling animal pawing the ground and filling the air with frightening noises. ‘Isn’t that,’ said Achmad, ‘a beautiful sight? The little people who’ve never known their rights till now are finally daring to close their ranks and shout out their right to rice, salt and kerosene. That’s just a beginning, friend. Last week they wouldn’t have dreamed of doing this. Listen to what they’re shouting – “The Little People Must Eat! The Little People Must Win! Down with the Capitalists!” If they dare to do this now, they’ll
dare to do much bigger things later. And this is not the dynamism of Islam, my friend!’ Achmad added, mockingly.