Footsteps (23 page)

These words of comfort choked and squeezed my heart even more. Who else would think about her, if not me? She, who never knew father, mother, brothers, or sisters?

“Don’t dwell on her so much, Denmas. Don’t hurt yourself too much,” she said again. “Surrender everything to Him Who Gives Life. Humankind just carries out His plans.”

Those words, so often spoken when people die, now seemed full of real meaning for me, moving my emotions even more. Mei, what were you able to achieve in your short life? You were determined to work for your country and your people, so far away and abstract. A country and people who did not even know you! In illness you first met me. And in illness you are taken away from me forever. Almost five years we were married. Long enough to know that you were truly worthy of being loved. A diamond that brought brilliance into my life, that made me go crazy with jealousy. And all that is passed now that Death, the great teacher, has come, leaving behind this chaos inside me.

After the second week of mourning, my mother unexpectedly visited me. She came straight into the room and embraced me: “What terrible fate you have, Child. What is it that you have done? Twice married, twice abandoned by your wife!”

I bowed down before her, and kissed her feet.

“What’s the matter with you, Child, that it is always like this? And no children either. She was ill and you did not tell us. When you were married, the same. And now when she dies, also silence. How far apart are we now, Child. And when your father came to Betawi, you did not honor him either.”

She pulled at me, telling me to stand, and then told me to sit on the edge of the bed.

“And you have never wanted to come home.”

“No need to talk about this anymore, Mother.”

She looked at me from behind her tears.

“What has been wanting in my prayers for your safety? Your happiness? Your triumph? So that this has happened?”

“Mother, let’s not discuss it any further. Your son can deal with all this.”

She sat there silent, watching me for a long time.

“You are paler than you were before,” she began again. “I can’t bear to see you suffer like this, Child. You yourself know I suffer the most when I see you suffering. More than when I gave birth to you.”

So that things would not go on and become even more involved, I took her out of the room. She had to restrain herself more in front of Ibu Baldrun. And we sat at the bare dining table without a tablecloth.

She began to ask Ibu Baldrun about Mei’s and my life together. And the two women, neither of whom could understand each other, began talking noisily. Each going off in their own direction, one north, one south. I could tell from my mother’s eyes that she was truly saddened by my fate. Seeing that I was not translating for them, the two of them went silent.

I went back into the room. Mother followed me inside.

“Mother should not be sad because of your son,” I said finally. “I had great happiness living with Mother’s daughter-in-law. Truly, Mother. She came into my life in a proper way and she left it unsullied also. I never hurt her feelings nor her body. I stayed with her and looked after her to the last moment.”

“And you’re so thin, Child.”

“Enough, Mother. No need to keep harping on how thin I am. I am just coming out of mourning. I am leaving behind the past.”

I left the house very early the next morning. I had decided to set out to find the money to pay off my debt of almost three thousand guilders. I needed some money for capital. My boss at the auction paper, who was now running an office preparing advertising copy, had offered me a permanent job when he heard I had been dismissed from school. I had to refuse. In the meantime, he offered me an advance of twenty rupiah on my casual work and I took that. Everyone at the office was very good to me; they offered to do this and that for me, and expressed their condolences.
Everyone has been so good to me, Mei. Because of you. And I made a promise to myself, a vow, that I too would do good to all good people.

I went to the post office and sent a telegram to Wonocolo, Surabaya, reporting my failure at medical school, my dismissal, and my financial difficulties. I did not report about my marriage and the death of Mei.

Mother still kept on urging me to come home. I used every way that I knew to explain that I couldn’t go home to B—–. I would not leave Betawi. I would rebuild everything that had collapsed now about me. I wouldn’t even promise that I would go home later. I did not listen to Mother’s urgings that I marry again. I knew that she was made to suffer even more because of my attitude. To end all her urgings and pressuring, I was forced to say: “Give me another five years, Mother.”

“Five more years! And what things might happen during the next five years, Child. Your mother may be called home by the Almighty.”

“I pray day and night for a long life for you, Mother.”

On the eighth day of Mother’s stay, a bank check arrived from Surabaya to the value of three thousand five hundred guilders. After I cashed it at the bank, I went to the government cashier’s office and paid my debt. I then went to see the director to show him the receipt.

He gaped at it in amazement. And he seemed to regret the decision that had been made. He said: “That was a far too heavy fine to impose on you. And you never made any protest. Would you like me to try to get the amount reduced?”

I made no answer.

“So what will you do now after your failure here?”

“All I want to be is a free individual, Director. I will regard this dismissal as a blessing.” He returned the letter I had signed promising to repay my debt. I tore it up and threw it in the wastepaper basket.

My former school friends had assembled in the courtyard. I deliberately put on a tearless, happy front. They were all disappointed at my dismissal, with only one more year to go.

“I much prefer to be a free individual, my friends, than a government doctor. We will meet again one day out there in the real world.”

Mother returned home to B—– disappointed, not
knowing what my plans were. She knew that I could not do what she asked. Having failed to become a doctor, I now had a thousand opportunities open to me. Overcompensation was pushing me to be even more ambitious in my plans. Go out now and fight for whatever it is you want!

I deliberately rented a house just near my school, in Kampung Ketapang, where many Native students boarded. I also bought some fine furniture at an auction. I made sure everyone would know that not only did I not regret having to leave medical school, but that I was glad I was not going to be a government doctor.

I took out the portrait from its wine-red velvet cover and hung it in the sitting room. It dominated the room like a queen ruling over her empire, grander even than Queen Wilhelmina. In my bedroom I hung a portrait of Ang San Mei. It wasn’t a very good portrait. Perhaps you could even say it was a bad painting. It was painted by one of the village artists in Kwitang, a neighbor who had seen Ang San Mei several times. It took him a week to paint it. I stayed with him several hours a day while he was painting. The combination of colors wasn’t right. But that was what he was able to do. And he had got her profile right.

For the next few weeks I thought I would enjoy this beautiful freedom—no responsibilities, no ties, no need to sell my services. Kaarsen had come three times to offer me work. Three times I told him I was looking forward to a long rest. And every time he came he had to stop to admire the portrait hanging in the sitting room:
Flower of the Century’s End.

On the fourth visit, he asked: “Could I borrow that portrait, sir? Just for a week?”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“Perhaps I could rent it?”

“Also no, I’m sorry.”

“What if I hired an artist to come here and copy it?”

“It’s a pity, but I’m afraid I still must say no.”

“How much do you want for it to be copied?”

“This painting is for me alone to possess. Forgive me.”

“What a pity. It’s exactly right for the advertisement we’re doing for the show on at the Komedi Building. What are your objections? It’s just a painting, isn’t it?”

“You cannot buy its history with money, sir.”

“Very well. How is your work going?”

He reminded me of the cash advance I had received from him.

“I will return the advance to you.”

“That’s not what I’m after. Your departure has put my business in a lot of trouble; we’re operating at a loss. You rejected my offer of permanent employment. But the business has achieved such a good reputation. Now an English circus has arrived in town and has given us even more work. Well, I’ve thought a lot about what to do and here is my offer. I’d like you to become the deputy manager of my company, though holding no equity. I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Without giving it much thought, I agreed. An agreement was drawn up on the spot and we each signed it. I was to receive seventy-five guilders a month, with no payment for individual advertising copy.

When he left I sat back feeling that I had already achieved much more than even a government doctor of ten years’ standing. I looked up at the painting for a moment and then went and lay down in bed.

The picture of Ang San Mei always drew my attention. And every time I looked at it I was taken back to the times just passed. And I could still hear her reminding me: Become a doctor! I shook my head. I’ve failed, Mei. Your hopes were in vain.

Doctors were considered to be the most educated of the educated Natives. Without a sharp mind and a resolute will, you could not possibly graduate. Only a chosen few could graduate as doctors. But, Mei, a doctor is not the only good and honorable profession there is. Even writing copy for advertisements should not be considered dishonorable work, though it may perhaps not classify as an honored profession either. Then it seemed Mei refuted what I had just thought. All right, it’s not so worthy a position but at least it pays more than a government doctor who has ten years’ experience. It’s easy work. Clean. I’m not dependent on the government. I’m free, Mei. That’s more important.

The narrow eyes of my wife stared out at me, never to blink again. But, even so, in my heart they still shone strongly, like the first time she urged me to start organizing: Are you going to let your people stay bent under the burden of their ignorance? Who will begin if you don’t?

I reflected once more on everything she had said, all that she had worked for, the sacrifices she had made. She had never talked about what she had achieved. She had talked only about the Young
Generation and its great energy, its goals, and its analysis of what was happening all around. And she had spoken about them all—the bacteria that was British imperialism, its twin, Japanese imperialism, the Empress Tz’u-hsi, who was yet another kind of bacteria, the rousing summons of the old doctor, the outlook on life of the girl from Jepara…. Don’t leave that old man to cry out to the desertlike hearts of the educated Natives. He had spent his whole thirty years’ savings. I hope your heart, Minke, is not a desert, like the Sahara, the Gobi, or Kara Kum deserts.

Was it right that I was enjoying myself like this and accepting the position as number two man in the business? Even working in an auction paper you soon learn new things, like the collusion between capitalists and government officials. All at the expense, of course, of the weak and powerless. I had never imagined that auctions could be a disguised form of bribery!

It had become the custom that any government official who was being transferred to another town would auction off all his furniture before he moved. The Dutch and Chinese businessmen from his area would then calculate how important this official was to their businesses and plantations and bid for the goods accordingly. The more important he was to them, the higher they would bid. The resident of East Sumatra was able to pocket 43 thousand guilders in one such auction! An ink bottle sold for 500 guilders, a globe of the world of the kind found in a study sold for 650 guilders, a desk ruler went for 120 guilders. The buyers? Those businessmen who had dealings with the official. And the prices could go even higher if the businessmen knew that the official concerned was in a position to act even more tyrannically toward the Natives so as to be able to further help their businesses. But those who lost their land, or who lost their freedom when forced into becoming contract coolies, could do nothing, except run amok blindly or pray for the next seven generations.

All my past experiences were paraded before me. What was there that I had not yet experienced? All those I had met along the way, simple people, educated people, whether consciously or not, had brought me to where I found myself today. I felt ashamed when I remembered all the lectures, explanations, teachings, and hopes that Ter Haar had showered upon me. How people had cursed the war in Aceh, how Marie van Zeggelen had acclaimed the struggle for freedom waged by the native Acehnese and Buginese. I remembered the anonymous pamphlets telling the story
of the forced labor system and of how many people had died because of it. Of how the Acehnese had fought the Dutch for a quarter of a century—women and children too! Of Multatuli, Roorda van Eysinga, van Hoevell. Of the greed of sugar and the barbarism of the plantation administrators. Of the rebellions of the Javanese peasants which were always broken by the power of sugar. Of the Batak peasants who had also been conquered—but by tobacco and rubber! Of what I learned in
Millions from Deli
, a story written by the Dutch lawyer J. van der Brand who had worked in East Sumatra.

Brand had exposed the exploitative practices of the tobacco plantations in Sumatra. I don’t know whether he was just a good European and Christian or whether he was influenced by the thinking of the Ethical Policy being propagated by the Radicals. The Dutch government felt obliged to send an investigator, Judge J.L.T. Rhemrev, to check on the veracity of Brand’s allegations. The results of Rhemrev’s report—the tobacco plantation workers’ plight was even worse than Brand had reported. Perhaps that was why the results of his investigation were never published. The minister for colonies, J. T. Cremer, a former manager of the Deli Corporation, could only say that when he was in Sumatra there were no such practices. He said he thought that the hot tropical sun seemed to affect the morals of some Europeans who lived there.