Twilight in Djakarta (6 page)

Raden Kaslan swore again at Pak Idjo, but finally realised how impossible it was for this old, poor driver to pay for the damage to his car.

‘That’s that,’ he said to the police inspector. ‘Let’s go.’

He drew Fatma back to the restaurant. His joy was completely spoiled.

‘The devil,’ Raden Kaslan muttered. ‘A brand-new car, just purchased!’

The eyes of Wang Ching-kai, alias Tony, were red because he had cried all night in the detention-room of the police station, calling for his father and mother who still had not come. His cheeks were hollow, his hair dishevelled. During the night he was kicked several times by other prisoners who were annoyed with his incessant crying.

That morning he didn’t touch the coffee or other fare distributed to the arrested persons. He waited for his father and mother to come to his rescue.

At ten o’clock his name was called by a police agent, the door was opened for him and he was ushered into an office. When he entered his face lit up as he saw his father seated near the police inspector’s desk. But a moment later he became apprehensive, because his father behaved like a stranger and looked at him with such anger and loathing that he was frightened. Tony dropped his face, sat down on a chair in front of the desk as soon as he was ordered to do so.

The police inspector read the report prepared the previous night: ‘… confesses that he stabbed with a knife a woman named Siti Danijah at Kaligot, number … in a brawl about payment of money ….’

His father lowered his head, looked at the police inspector with despair and then the police inspector asked his father,

‘This is your son, tuan – is that true?’

The old man bit his lip, the words he wanted to utter, a denial that this was his son, had almost escaped; he restrained himself and said in a shaky voice,

‘That’s true, sir. But now I do not wish to acknowledge him any more as my son. I gave up trying to teach him. He was a scoundrel already at seventeen. We’re not able to teach him any more. And … did that woman die?’ asked the father fearfully.

‘No, but somewhat seriously wounded. Has been taken to a hospital. Lucky she did not die,’ replied the police inspector.

His father tried hard to show the relief he felt at the inspector’s reply. Nevertheless, gathering his courage, he then said,

‘I beg you in all earnestness, sir, to sentence this boy. We are afraid that if he goes free he will kill someone. He even once stabbed me, six months ago. At that time he stole a gold ring from his mother. He sold it in order to gamble. When I got angry at him he fought, fetched the cleaver from the kitchen and attacked me. But his elder brother arrived and so he ran away.’

His father rolled up the sleeve of his jacket and showed a scar.

‘This is the scar!’ said the old man.

‘He doesn’t want to study. If you send him to school he always runs away. His mother is afraid of him. Sir, punish him. He’s not our son any more.’

The old man stood up, walked quickly out of the room, the police inspector called after him to return, but was not heard. The old man walked on rapidly, large tears wetting his cheeks, flowing full and swift, dimming his sight.

R
ADEN KASLAN
, director of the Bumi Aju Corporation, member of the Indonesian Party, closed the door of his office in his home and turned to his visitor, Husin Limbara, chairman of the Indonesian Party.

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Now no one can listen to our conversation. Please sit down.’

Husin Limbara sat down in a dark-brown leather armchair, leaned back comfortably and said,

‘Aduh, my shoulder still hurts. None of the doctors are able to cure it.’

Raden Kaslan picked up the cigar-box from his table, said something in sympathy with Husin Limbara’s shoulder trouble and, as his visitor helped himself to a ‘555’, Raden Kaslan held up to his cigar a silver lighter made by the Jogja silverworks.

Husin Limbara inhaled deeply, puffed the smoke slowly, his eyes steadily fixed on the face of his host. For a moment Raden Kaslan felt uncomfortable, but he dispelled this feeling, after thinking: The party needs money again, and deciding for himself that this time he wasn’t going to give them more than one or two thousand rupiah. Having decided so, he felt at ease again, and said to Husin Limbara,

‘Nah, what’s on your mind? On the telephone it sounded like a very important and pressing matter.’

With a little groan Husin sat up in his chair and said, lowering his voice,

‘The executive council has taken an important decision. As you know, the general elections are very near. Our party needs a lot of money. We must establish a trade organisation to raise as much
money as possible. Of all our members we have selected you to prepare a plan, because of your long experience in the business world. We want you, brother, to prepare a plan on a really large scale, to cover all economic activities. You needn’t worry about your own money. It’s not our intention to trade, really. But if some of the arrangements could remain permanent, all the better. Our members who are in positions of authority have already received instructions to support the party’s efforts. What do you think?’

Raden Kaslan looked at Husin Limbara. He had heard already of the party’s intentions to raise this money, for quite some time he had been hoping that he would be invited to participate. Even though his name was being mentioned among the council’s members, he had not failed to solicit on his own the help of friends among the council members. And he had already spent several thousand rupiah in connection with these efforts.

‘If the members of our party in positions of authority give their support it will not be too great a problem,’ said Raden Kaslan. ‘Of all the economic sectors, the easiest to get money from is certainly the import sector, whereas the other sectors will ask for time, ask for organisation, ask for personnel – as for instance transportation, or export, or industry – the import sector will need nothing at all.

‘All it will need is a name of a corporation, and that’s all. We’re just going to sell the import licences which we obtain. I suggest that we make two plans. One for quick results, that is via the import sector of business. And the other, a permanent plan, for establishing banks, industries and so forth.’

‘Ah, not in vain do people say that Raden Kaslan is an expert in economics,’ laughed Husin Limbara.

‘No, it’s really not so difficult,’ said Raden Kaslan. ‘Importers are willing to buy their licences, particularly for ordinary goods which are public necessities, for as much as 200 per cent more. So if, for instance, the price of all licences is one hundred thousand
rupiah they could be sold for up to three hundred thousand rupiah. And we get three hundred thousand rupiah clean without investing a single cent!’

‘Good!’ said Husin Limbara and clapped his hand on the table with delight. ‘According to our calculations, our party, in order to win in the coming general elections, will need at least thirty million. Do you think we can raise this amount in six months?’

Raden Kaslan was silent a while, calculating.

‘Ah, no trouble,’ he said.

‘Good,’ said Husin Limbara again. ‘I leave it to you to prepare the plans.’

‘However, there is one more principle which ought to be settled,’ said Raden Kaslan. ‘What percentage does the party get, and how much for the people who implement the plan? This work involves risks, of course ….’

‘Ah, as for risks, don’t be afraid. Our ministers will protect them.’

‘Oh, that’s not what I meant,’ said Raden Kaslan suavely. ‘But even though these corporations we establish will be fake, there nevertheless will arise financial consequences such as taxes, certification fees and many other things.’

‘Ah, now what would be proper in your opinion, brother Raden Kaslan?’

‘I think fifty-fifty is fair. Fifty for the party and fifty for the names of the people we will use.’

‘Isn’t that too much?’ asked Husin Limbara distrustfully.

‘How come too much? The party will be sure to have the money in six months,’ Raden Kaslan answered.

‘Brother Raden Kaslan, you realise, of course, the importance of maintaining complete secrecy in this matter?’ asked Husin Limbara.

‘Ah, certainly! I will exercise the greatest caution. Isn’t my own reputation involved too?’

Husin Limbara rose from his chair, and, stooping slightly to favour his hurting shoulder, stepped to the door, then turned to Raden Kaslan and said,

‘When do you think you can bring the plans?’

‘Give me a week,’ said Raden Kaslan.

‘All right, a week. Let me know.’

On the front verandah they saw Fatma who sat in a chair reading, and at the piano in the corner Suryono, lackadaisically playing some tunes.

‘Are you going directly home, mas?’
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said Fatma. ‘Won’t you have something to drink?’

‘Ah forgive me, mbakju,
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another time. Too much work.’

‘Suryono, come here for a moment. Meet Pak Husin Limbara, chairman of the Indonesian Party. This is my son, Suryono, just returned from abroad, works in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.’

‘Ah, fine, fine! Have you joined the party too?’ asked Husin Limbara, while shaking hands with Suryono.

‘It’s quite enough with just Father in it,’ answered Suryono.

They laughed heartily, and Raden Kaslan accompanied Husin Limbara to his car waiting in the yard.

When he had re-entered and closed the door he rubbed his hands, looked in turn at Suryono and Fatma. And he laughed broadly.

‘We’re in!’ he then exclaimed in Dutch. ‘We’re made now,’ he said. Raden Kaslan sat down near Fatma, called Suryono over and spoke in confiding tones.

‘This is very secret; don’t tell anybody. A great catch for us!’

And very quickly he described to his wife and son the plans for raising money for the party.

‘Nah, it’s my intention,’ said Raden Kaslan when he had finished his tale, ‘to establish a number of corporations of different
kinds, with Fatma becoming the director of one, you, Suryono, the director of another one and so on with the other corporations, and in every one of them we must have a part interest, so that we get the largest possible share at the division of profits.’

‘Ah, I cannot participate,’ said Suryono. ‘I am a government official.’

‘Don’t worry, just quit, or ask for a prolonged leave of absence. I’ll talk about it with the party. It can be arranged.’

The three of them talked for a long time, making all kinds of plans. Something he had never suspected in himself gripped Suryono, a joy at the thought that he would dispose of so much money.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘why not? I have decided for myself that I want it. If I get tired of it I’ll make another decision, that I want something else.’

By the time they had finished talking Suryono had already convinced himself that what he was doing was in no way reprehensible.

The other parties are doing the same thing, he thought. Why shouldn’t I?

Pak Idjo lay sprawled in the semi-darkness of the room in his hut. Since the accident when his delman collided with the car his illness felled him, his whole body consumed by fever. The boils on his body caused incessant pain, and every minute Pak Idjo kept muttering,
‘La illa haillallah – la illa haillallah,’
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moaning with pain; he didn’t eat, and only from time to time asked to drink.

When high fever attacked him, he often had nightmares and cried, ‘Aduh, the motor-car is attacking me. Have pity on the old horse! Help! Help!’

His wife, Ibu Idjo, was already half-ill herself for lack of sleep, caring for Pak Idjo.

That morning his fever had subsided considerably, and Pak Idjo called Ibu Idjo,

‘How’s our horse?’ he asked in a heavy voice.

‘Amat is looking after him. He’s looking for grass.’

‘Amat is already ten years old. Tell him to look for work,’ said Pak Idjo.

‘What a pity he’s still so little, otherwise he could run the delman,’ said his wife.

‘Yes, maybe he can get some light work. Just tell him to look wherever he can. How’s the money?’

‘Saimun and Itam have paid the rent for their room. There’s still a little left.’

‘Aduh, be sparing. Who knows when I’ll be well again?’

Ibu Idjo stepped outside and called Amat.

‘’Mat, Father says you must look for work to help bapa who is still sick.’

Sugeng, slumped in his chair, was deep in thought. His face was very tense and pale. Hasnah, his wife, had shut herself up in their bedroom.

They had just had another quarrel. The usual thing. The question of moving to another house. Hasnah’s screams still rang in his ears. ‘All the promises were false. From month to month you just make promises. Look how my belly is growing. It won’t be long before the child is born. Why do you make children if you cannot provide a decent place to live? Just throw it out, this child!’

Their joy at Sugeng’s promotion did not last long. The promotion had brought new hope for a house, which had again proved futile.

‘Do you want me to become corrupt like other people?’ Sugeng had shouted, and these shouted words kept reverberating in his mind over and over.

By God, he swore inwardly, I know that until now I have fought off every temptation with all my strength. But if Hasnah must have a house, and if the only way to get a house is corruption, then I will engage in corruption. For Hasnah, for the baby who will be born, my baby!

He rested his chin on his hands.

How unjust is this world. People who want to be honest are not given a chance to remain honest. A matter of a simple house, that’s all, and a man wouldn’t need to do violence to his honour. No, not I, I will not succumb. Let Hasnah be angry, let Hasnah hate me! Yet, fused with this stream of thought, there was also the recognition that in the end he too would have to succumb. It was beyond his strength to fight with Hasnah every minute about the house.

He got up, went to the bedroom, straight to the bed where Hasnah still lay sobbing. Sugeng embraced his wife and whispered,

‘Forgive me, Has, of course I’m wrong. But this time I promise truly that I’ll get a house for us.’

He spoke with such sincerity that Hasnah, discerning this new tone in his voice, turned and embraced him. And they held each other caressingly.

Dahlia was walking along the row of shops on Pasar Baru.
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Who knows how many shops she had gone into already, she couldn’t remember herself. In each shop she had looked at all kinds of materials, but hadn’t bought a thing. She was rather discouraged by now. In one shop her chance had seemed almost within grasp. When she had been examining some cloth, a man, with the appearance of someone with money, had stood next to her. Dahlia had flashed him an alluring glance. And she had caught the response in his eyes. But, who knows why, the man had not
followed up this opening, and while Dahlia was still pretending to bargain he just walked out.

Probably he had no money, said Dahlia to herself.

Soon afterwards Dahlia had left the shop. Practically all men who passed by turned to look at her, but there wasn’t a single one who was attractive enough to her. Dahlia walked slowly, stopping before shop-windows to tidy herself up and to look at the displayed goods, alone with her fancies. Her husband would be away another two weeks, and for two weeks she would be alone, quite free.

Suddenly she was startled, uttering a little cry at the shock of someone bumping into her, and a male voice said,

‘Aduh, I beg your pardon, nyonya,
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I didn’t see you.’

Dahlia turned round and saw the man who had said it. She saw a young man, smartly dressed, carrying a package. Their glances locked, and they both smiled.

‘May I escort you, nyonya?’ said the young fellow without hesitation.

‘Thank you, if it isn’t too much trouble.’

‘Ah, not at all. My car is across the street.’

The young fellow held her elbow, helping her across the street, and brought her to a Dodge sedan.

He opened the front door for her, and then climbed in behind the wheel.

When he had started the motor he turned to Dahlia and asked her, laughing,

‘Excuse me, we’re not acquainted yet. My name is Suryono.’

‘My name is Dahlia,’ replied Dahlia, smiling.

‘A lovely name, and its bearer is as lovely as the flower,’ answered Suryono flirtatiously.

‘Ah, you’ve a glib tongue, tuan!’ retorted Dahlia.

‘You’re not working?’ she asked. ‘How come you can go shopping in the middle of the day?’

‘I actually work at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but am now on a long leave. I work temporarily in business. Playing at imports. My office is N. V. Timur Besar, in the city.’

After leaving Pasar Baru Street, Suryono turned towards Gunung Sahari Avenue.

‘Are you in a hurry to go home, Dahlia?’

‘Why do you ask?’ she answered archly.

‘Ah, if you’re in no hurry we could first take a ride to Tandjong Priok,’
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replied Suryono.

‘My husband is out of town. He won’t be back for two weeks. Hurry or no hurry, it’s all the same to me,’ said Dahlia.

‘Ha, fine, in that case we’ll go for a spin first. Is your husband a business man too?’