Child of All Nations (14 page)
Mr. Minke, the governor-general very quickly issued my discharge papers; we then left for Europe. The three of us are together as one again. Whatever has happened, my dear Mr. Minke, whatever I have experienced, it is nothing and indeed means nothing compared to what you have suffered, or what was suffered by your beloved teachers, Multatuli and Roorda van Eysinga.
All these events have come and gone so quickly. There has been almost no opportunity to follow them properly or reflect upon them.
Before we finish this letter we need to let you know that the request for a place for you at Stovia has been approved. You may start there next academic year. If you don’t wish to do so because you are still upset by the events of recent times, you only need to write to the school and cancel your enrollment.
Greetings and respects from Sarah, Miriam, and myself. May you triumph in life. Adieu.
There was a letter from Mother but I pocketed it too. I would read it later.
Miriam’s letter was different again:
Minke, I don’t feel right writing to you about serious issues while you’re still in mourning. But at a meeting of housewives
in my neighborhood, someone read out one of Raden Adjeng
Kartini’s
letters to Miss Zeehandelaar. People were dumbfounded to hear her reports of life among the Javanese. Relations between men and women seemed so strange and tense. In the discussion that followed, I concluded: Javanese women were living in darkness. Kartini’s version did differ from what I knew of the life of Javanese village women, though, of course, I never witnessed it myself. Our servants used to tell how the women would sing while planting or harvesting, and how their men would carry off the harvested paddy. And how the little children would play under the full moon singing praises to the rice goddess.… Perhaps Kartini knew nothing of all this.
But I didn’t say anything that would change the women’s response to Kartini’s letters. The gloom of the letters might make it easier for them to sympathize with the plight of Javanese women, and with Kartini herself.
Actually I had planned to bring up your case for discussion at the meeting. Father also agreed, as did Sarah too. Yours was the only such case during the whole of the nineteenth century. They would be interested. The story of the love between an educated Native and a Mixed-Blood girl, which proved to involve many issues that could just as easily have taken place in Europe itself.
I was determined to call out their Christian and European consciences. I was convinced I would succeed. I must admit: It wasn’t the time or place to divert people’s attention from Kartini and her problems.
The ladies were completely amazed to hear of a Native Javanese woman writing in their language. They had always thought of Native woman as still living in the Stone Age.
And you, my friend, how are you? Someone like you—young, strong, educated—will surely be able to face all things with great resolve. We all have faith in you. And we all believe we will meet with you again one day in circumstances much, much happier than those of today. We believe this, Minke. In the end, all was created by God for us to share. And there is no happiness without testing.
And for Kartini too, I pray that she will pass all her tests, because beyond those tests lies the garden of happiness.
You’re not bored with my letter yet, are you? And can you
sense how the length of this letter is a symptom of how I miss the Indies, how I miss Java? You can, can’t you? You surely must be able to sense it.
If I may make a suggestion, Minke, you should correspond with that extraordinary girl Kartini. It would not be difficult to find out her address, because she is the daughter of the Bupati of Jepara. I am also going to try to write to her.
Our new life in the Netherlands, just as in Java, has its ups and downs, as is the case with people’s lives everywhere. Do you know, Minke, the Germans and English and French are racing to make all kinds of machines that will help make life more comfortable for people? There are people racing to make a machine that will replace the horse carriage, not so huge as a train, and it will be able to travel on ordinary roads.
It seems that the fever to discover new things, new tools, will not allow people to be satisfied with how things are. People are entranced and possessed by everything that is new; new etiquette, new behavior. Women are beginning to lose their shyness and are riding bicycles in the evenings. New, new, new, new! People forget that life basically stays the same, the same as yesterday. New, new, new—anything that is not new is looked upon as a remnant of the Middle Ages. People have become so childish, like little schoolchildren, thinking that with these new things life will be better than yesterday. This is the modern age! Anything that is not new is looked upon as being out of date, suitable only for peasants and villagers. People have been so easily lulled they ignore the fact that behind all these shouts, these urgings, this madness for what is new, there stands a supernatural power whose appetite for victims is never satisfied. This magical power is the columns of protozoa, of figures, which are called capital.
In the Indies, Minke, it is different than in Europe. In the Indies people stand helpless before the might of authority. In Europe people collapse before these rows of constantly multiplying protozoa called capital. Under the banner of furthering science and service to humanity, there are people racing to discover how to make a machine that, together with its passengers, will be able to traverse the heavens, physically overcoming all distance. There is a report from another country that there are others who have caught a fever to make a vessel that can
take people to the floor of the oceans. There are even predictions that it will not be long before mankind not only has control over new sources of power but will have mastered vibrations to reach a certain destination.
You were right, Minke, the nature and countenance of mankind stays the same, no better than what it was before. The sermons in the churches continually remind us of that. Man remains a being that does not really know what it wants. The busier people become with their searching and their discoveries, the clearer it becomes that they are in fact being pursued by the anxiousness of their own hearts.
You still blame Europe. Naturally I could not bring myself to fault you for this after your recent experiences. If you lived in Europe for one or two years, though, perhaps your views might change. The percentage of those who are evil is probably the same as among your own people. Only the conditions of life are different. When I listen to Papa’s stories from the
Babad Tanah Jawi,
it is not rare for me to shiver in horror at the viciousness, barbarism, and cruelty: all a luxury, Minke, and all only to achieve control of that small island called Java. I am of the same opinion as Papa: There was indeed a time and an era when Europe was no different from what is described in the Babad. Only I hope you don’t forget one thing, Minke. At the time the Babad was being compiled, your people were still worshipping individual all-powerful rulers, while the European nations were gradually forming world empires. The world for your people is Java. Take a look at the names of the kings of Java, even those who still live today. Inscribed in them is always a sense of them constituting the whole universe.
What I am getting at, Minke, is that the Javanese view of things, from the very first time foreigners set foot in your country, had already been left far behind in Europe. It is not true that Java and the Indies were taken over by Europe
purely
because of Europe’s greed. The problem in the first place was the warped attitude of the people of Java and the Indies towards the world. I, of course, worry that all this stems from Papa’s opinions, because he is more accomplished in reading classical Javanese literature, but I agree with what he says.
If, for example, the Javanese and the Indies peoples had been more advanced than Europe and had sailed to Europe and
conquered it, do you think Europe would have been a happy place? I really believe, Minke, no one could doubt that any occupation of Europe by the Javanese would have been far more brutal than what you are experiencing now. The European nations have studied the character and capabilities of the Indies Natives, while on the other hand the Natives hardly know anything about Europe. Come to the Netherlands, Minke; you will be astounded to see the collection of material we have about the thinking of your ancestors, beginning with what was chiseled onto stone up until what was inscribed onto palm leaves. And none of it, not one thing, was saved by its heirs, your people, but by Europeans, Minke, Europeans.
I don’t know whether these notes of mine are representative of European thinking or not. Even so, allow me to consider them a European girl’s ideas about the Indies Natives. So, Minke, let us work together to do whatever is good for Java, the Indies, Europe, and the world. We will fight European, Javanese, Indies, and the world’s evil together. Let us provide Europe, Java, the Indies, and the world with a healthier understanding as was struggled for by the great humanists, and particularly Multatuli, who suffered so much in life.
I am now throwing myself into social and political activities. Sarah has gone on to Teachers’ College. In other letters we will discuss new issues. Like Papa, I call out to you: Be triumphant in your life! From Miriam far away near the North Pole…
How adroit was this girl. I didn’t really know what her situation was like, but I was sure life in the Netherlands would not be as easy as it was here. The three of them would have to struggle to keep their heads above water. Yet she still possessed her adroitness as well as her faith in the gloriousness of the future. She accepts all of life’s difficulties and tries to overcome them. Maybe, in that way, all troubles become a sport to exercise brain and muscles. Difficulties make her stronger, not weaker. Her resilience aroused me from my depression. She was truly clever to be able to sweep the cloud from my mind. Very well, I will accept that you represent Europe, Mir, represent Europe’s view of the reality of the Indies today. You represent the good side of Europe,
Mir. Perhaps—and this is closer to the truth—you represent your own idealization of Europe. I will answer your letter, Mir.
I don’t know how long I had been sitting thinking. Mama spoke: “What are you thinking about now, Child?”
“Ma?”
“I’ve been watching you lately. You’ve lost your liveliness. I know things have been difficult lately. Even so, I don’t think you need become a daydreamer. I’ve got an idea, Child: Have you ever thought about getting married again?”
A shameful question. I knew what she intended, of course: She was trying to stop me leaving Surabaya and Wonokromo. I was her son-in-law, but the question still struck my ears as going too far, not right or proper, as if I were someone who’d never set foot in a European school. And before I could reassert my dignity, she spoke again: “I can’t look at those eyes of yours—so depressed. You must try much harder, much, much harder to forget the past.”
This humoring of each other was beginning to seem like a game of handball.
“Does it still look like I haven’t begun to forget, Ma?”
“You don’t read seriously any more, you don’t write, you’re not your old spirited self. Sometimes you pick up a newspaper, but then only read a little bit here and there. Your thoughts are all over the place, Child.”
“Mama doesn’t seem as fresh as before,” I said, hoping to end the ball game.
“Of course. Not without reason. I was born earlier. But I have decided what to do.”
“When Panji Darman returns—”
“No need to await Panji Darman’s return. I have a suggestion, Child. Will you accompany me on a trip out of town? Perhaps our mood will change as a result.”
“Of course, Ma, I’d like that very much. In the meantime perhaps Panji Darman will return.”
“And then will you go to Betawi?”
“I think so, Ma.”
“You’re the wrong kind of person to be a doctor. You know Dr. Martinet. What was he able to do when we were in trouble? You were able to do much more than he to defend us, even though
we were defeated in the end. I value the work you do much more than the work of a doctor.”
“Let it be, Ma. At least I can study and have a livelihood at the same time.”
“You don’t really believe your own words. Panji Darman will not be returning quickly. According to his latest telegram he has had to postpone his departure again.”
“Yes, Ma, maybe it would be good if we took a holiday. Mama has never taken time off from work. But who will look after things while we’re away?”
“Darsam.”
“Darsam? What can he do?”
“Don’t be insulting. He has a lot of experience now, except in the office. I want to try him, so he begins to know what a headache it is to have to manage everything.”
“Do you dare do it?”
“He must begin sooner or later. Someone as loyal as he is must be encouraged, be given an opportunity. He has a sharp sense of who is a good foreman and who isn’t.”
“But office work?”
“He must be given a chance to do that too. The correspondence can afford to stop for a few days.”
“You really dare do it?”
For the first time a big smile appeared on Mama’s face. Her teeth gleamed. She had decided a long time ago to take a holiday. Now she wanted to carry out that decision. Do it without hesitation or doubt.
“Forget those letters. Forget them all,” she said. “What’s life for anyway? Not for taking on a whole lot of unnecessary worries.”
I
went to Jean Marais’s place to see how far he had gotten with his painting of Annelies. He had refused to copy from a photograph. “With Annelies,” he said one time, “I am going to paint her exactly as you and I knew her—not just as we saw her, but as we really knew her, when she was at her peak.” And so he painted from memory alone. A month had passed and the picture was still not ready. He was working on it when I arrived.
