Footsteps (7 page)

“I haven’t heard of anything like that, Your Excellency,” a journalist answered.

“We haven’t received any reports of that sort of thing,” someone else commented.

I’ve had it, I thought to myself. I must be ready.

“You’re related to a bupati, aren’t you, Mr. Minke?” asked van Kollewijn.

“You’re not mistaken, Your Excellency.”

“I’m quite amazed to hear you ask such a question, Meneer Minke. Have you perhaps been in contact with the peasants?”

“No, Your Excellency, but I did by coincidence witness such an incident.”

“Where did it happen, Mr. Minke?” asked van Kollewijn very politely.

“Sidoarjo, Your Excellency.”

“Sidoarjo!” one journalist cried out.

“You mean, Mr. Minke, that you witnessed what happened among the Sidoarjo peasants last year?” van Heutsz suddenly asked with rather excessive respect.

Something had given me the courage to bring forward this otherwise unknown incident. Meanwhile Ter Haar was nudging my foot under the table. He was obviously warning me. But it wasn’t his warnings that were foremost in my mind at that moment, rather it was the fate of those peasants and their families, and their friends. I had made a promise to them. So I told the whole story, from the beginning until the peasants’ uprising and the deaths of all the peasants.

As soon as I had finished Ter Haar hurriedly spoke out: “Excuse me,” he said, “Mr. Minke is a medical student.”

“You mean he hasn’t studied the law?”

“That is right, Your Excellency.”

I remembered all the problems I had experienced with the law in the past. And I became somewhat afraid. No doubt this god before me would seek to entangle me again with the law, and would accuse me of not reporting what I had witnessed.

The atmosphere became tense again. And I too was tense.

“Yes, it does seem that Mr. Minke here does not understand the law. You could be in trouble because of this, Mr. Minke. You should have reported what you knew before the uprising occurred; then the authorities could have acted to prevent it.”

“I am not speaking just about the uprising itself,” I spoke out, overcoming my fear. “The question is, does ‘free labor’ mean the freedom to evict farmers from their own land?”

Among all those present, only Ter Haar and Marie van Zeggelen did not seem to be offended by my question.

“Your question, and indeed your whole story, is not so important,” answered van Kollewijn, “but even so it could bring you into contact with the police. They could charge you with covering up evidence.”

“Excuse me, Your Excellency, but I do not have any business with the police.”

“But Mr. Minke, it’s very difficult for anyone to say they do not have business with the police. The security of the state is protected by the police. Therefore everyone, from the smallest baby to the oldest grandfather, has business with the police. Also, you knew of the situation before the uprising took place. And you didn’t report it.”

“Yes, it’s true, I didn’t report it to the police. But I did write a report for everyone to read, before the uprising,” I answered, and my fear disappeared with my next sentence. “But the newspaper refused to publish it; the editor was even angry with me.”

Van Kollewijn nodded, like some kind of all-knowing god.

“Furthermore,” I went on, “as far as I know—and I hope I’m wrong—the police have never taken action to investigate the eviction of those farmers by the sugar mill.”

“Do you think I could read that article of yours?” van Heutsz asked.

“Because I was so disappointed after it was rejected,” I replied, “I tore it up on the way home from the newspaper office.”

And it couldn’t have been otherwise: All eyes were now focused on the wayward child present, that is to say, me. Van Kollewijn did not answer my question. Neither did van Heutsz. And the, according to himself, all-wise host looked at me with accusing eyes: You, uninvited, a rotten Native, you have ruined this meeting, which should have been a beautiful evening.

He spoke: “The discussion has been very useful tonight. Our thanks to His Excellency the Honorable Engineer van Kollewijn and also to His Excellency General van Heutsz and to all our invited guests. Good evening.”

Everyone stood to honor the VIPs as they left. But instead they did not leave straightaway. Both van Heutsz and van Kollewijn held out their hands to me.

“I was very happy to hear what you had to say,” said van Kollewijn.

“You speak clearly and with courage and honesty,” said van Heutsz.

“Who brought you here?” asked the official host.

“Perhaps we can have a more private talk?” said van Kollewijn.

“Unfortunately I am bound by my promise to the school director to catch up with my studies, Your Excellency.”

“I judge from your attitude, Mr. Minke, that you have experienced some tragedy and disappointment in your life. Would it be all right with you if I invited you for a discussion one day?”

“If the school director permits it, Your Excellency Mr. General.”

“Good. If I get the opportunity, I’ll try to arrange it.”

They left the club. As soon as the group broke up, the host from the club attacked Ter Haar.

“And I, representing both the management of the club and all its members, condemn you for bringing a Native here. You know the rules.”

“Be as angry as you like, sir. In any case, both van Kollewijn and the general appreciated the chance to meet Mr. Minke. They have even asked for another meeting.”

“But not in this club.”

“That’s up to them.”

“Get out!”

“Yes, Minke, we don’t need to stay here any longer. What for, anyway? We don’t want to hang around haunting the place. Come on, let’s go. And thank you to our host, who has been so kind. This is the first time a Native has set foot—other than as a waiter or coolie—inside this building which was built on the land of his own ancestors. Good evening.”

So we left the old man there, muttering.

In the delman, Ter Haar began again. “Next time you must be more careful when you start talking about things that touch upon power, that is to say, Sugar. You must be fully equipped before you go into the field of battle. We were lucky the old man knew when to end the session.”

“So you’re not angry with him?”

“No need to be angry. He knew he was breaking the club rules. It was against the rules for you to come into the club. Perhaps because of his age, or because he was hoping for some kind of praise from his guests, he didn’t comment on your presence even after he saw you there. Or perhaps we just outmaneuvered him!”

“So you had some scheme in mind when you took me to the Harmoni.”

“Forget it.”

“And what I said really did put me in danger?”

“It did worry me. You joined battle without knowing the lay of the land. Don’t worry. Yes, they’re free to interpret your story any way they like. Perhaps you were in league with those peasants. You might even have been the brains behind the uprising. But don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll be by your side.”

I listened carefully to what he said, making sure that I remembered it all. Just as I had made promises to people in the past, now Ter Haar was making such a promise to me. He was a friend. And people must have friends, said my mother. It was true—friendship was more powerful than enmity. Ter Haar had proved himself a Liberal who did not bow down to Sugar, but only to the principles of humanity. How beautiful was his spirit, like an orchard in the middle of this desert.

“Mr. Minke, mixing with the powerful is like going among wild animals. They fight each other; their hunger for victims is insatiable. Their hearts are like the Sahara Desert, dry and harsh. Even the ocean would disappear in that desert. I hope you’re not offended by my giving you this advice. It is very stupid to enter a den of wild animals unarmed.”

There was no traffic. It was after eleven o’clock in the evening. Only the gas lamps along the streets were there to look up at the moon.

You, O Remus, Romulus, drink up all you can from this wolf. So you may grow into a builder of Rome. People say all the Europeans in the Indies are wolves. What is Ter Haar doing here in the Indies except that he too is after prey? Be careful, Minke! Watch out for van Heutsz too! And van Kollewijn. And beware too of that sympathizer of the Native cause, Marie van Zeggelen. Look: If the Natives today had the courage to rebel against the Dutch, like Sultan Agung, then I might be facing Ter Haar not as a friend but as an enemy—and a relentless one at that.

My first day in Betawi had been packed with so many different experiences. I would never forget it for as long as I lived.

I arrived at the dormitory. All the lights were out. There was nothing for me to eat.

P
artokleooo threw himself energetically and selflessly into the task of helping me catch up with my studies. As a trained teacher, he was able to explain very well all the lessons I had missed. He also went through with me the speech that the director delivered at the beginning of the year: “The Native people of the Indies have an average life expectancy of twenty-five years.”

You could not imagine how much this shocked me, as Partokleooo repeated it all to me, sitting there on the bed, propped up against the wall.

“Are you sure your notes are correct?” I asked.

“Yes. Do you want me to go on or not? Very well, I will continue. The majority of the Javanese die from parasitic diseases when they are still children. Short indeed are the lives of the Javanese. They lost all their ancestors’ knowledge of medicine during the chaotic times of long ago….”

“What did he mean by ‘chaotic times’?”

“A time of great natural calamities, he said, and a time of great decadence and destruction among the Native communities wherever the Dutch were not in control…. And so the Natives
lost all their healers and there was nobody to take their place…and so the people of Java fell victim to the thousands of parasites that inhabit the equatorial region. So now the government, as an act of goodwill, is providing you all the opportunity to work for humanity, to fight these diseases, to lighten the suffering of the sick….”

“Humph! How beautiful!”

“Every student who fails in his studies,” he continued, repeating the director’s speech, “is guilty of allowing his own people to die of these diseases, is guilty of inhumanity, and should be punished accordingly. Doctors make a great contribution to society. Everyone supports their work….”

And so on and so forth. I gradually caught up with my lessons. I was also helped by a fellow we called Cupid’s Bow. From his name you might think he was European or Indo, but no, he was Javanese and as Javanese as you could be. He was the son of a veterinary assistant from Ponorogo. No one ever used his real name anymore, except for the teachers. None of us ever called him either just Cupid or Bow. He didn’t like it at first and often lost his temper with us. But nobody took any notice. In the end, he had to learn to live with it.

“Why are people so strange?” sighed Partotenojo. “Look at me, nothing wrong with me at all, but just because I’m a bit shorter than other people, I get called Partokleooo as if I’m ‘loyo,’ pathetic and hopeless. But other than being short, I’m really quite handsome and attractive, aren’t I? Then look at Cupid’s Bow; he sticks out too much, even more than a European or a Jew.”

“What do you mean, ‘sticks out’? Flat as anything is more like it.”

“Flat? Yes, if we’re talking about his nose.”

“Hush!” I reprimanded him, offended. He wasn’t talking about his friend’s nose protruding, but his upper lip.

I was also almost given a nickname of my own. After I had left with Ter Haar that night, the students all got together to decide to call me Gemblung—stupid one. When I woke up the next day, I found the room empty. The shoes I had been wearing when I had collapsed into bed the night before had disappeared. The mirror revealed to me that my face had been painted in coconut oil with black and white stripes. There was a huge mustache curling right up to my eyebrows. And around my neck there hung
a necklace and a piece of cardboard on which was written my new nickname.

But this new nickname was canceled the moment they found out who I had been out to meet that night—VIPs as tall as pine trees. They then had to look at me differently, even though the reality was that I was nothing more than onion fertilizer.

And that wasn’t all that had happened. They had also taken the portrait out of its cover. It had been decorated with all kinds of comments written on bits of paper and placed around the bottom of the portrait. I don’t know how many had given their comments, but there were quite a few. But they had to take it all back too after I threatened to make an issue out of what they had done. No educated person, no matter where they are, would violate the rights of others, I said. Only barbarians engaged in that kind of behavior, and they were barbarians whether or not they had sat on school benches and could read and write. I am ready to defend my rights, I said again, if it is the case that you people do not understand about rights.

But it isn’t my intention to bore you all with stories of the misbehavior of children. Nor is it my intention to note down for you every boring, and sometimes disgusting, incident that occurred in the dormitory. In the midst of all this unpleasantness, the only bright spots were my friendships: with Cupid’s Bow, with Partokleooo, and even with Wilam.

It turned out that Wilam was not the type to hold a grudge. He was considerate and helpful. The stories that proceeded forth from his mouth, now missing two teeth, were always interesting, especially the jokes he told about the English plantation owners.

It was he who told this story for the first time: “Do you all know why it is forbidden to have a
guling
in the dormitory?” He laughed happily at his question.

“Nah, listen well and I will tell you about it. You will not find a guling, that pillow that you all like to have with you in bed, anywhere else in the world. Anyway, that’s what my mama told me. Maybe things will be different in ten years’ time, who knows? The Natives of the Indies have only been using them for a little while. They started copying the Dutch. Everything pleasant brought in by the Dutch is immediately copied, especially by those cotton-brained priyayi. The English laughed at the Dutch for using the guling.