Twilight in Djakarta (7 page)

‘Wah, if only he were a business man I’d be delighted,’ said Dahlia. ‘He’s a civil servant, inspector at the P.P. & K.
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It’s really so hard to be a government official these days, as you well know yourself, tuan. The salary gets you through just one week.’

‘Of course! How true!’ said Suryono. ‘It’s silly for anyone to want to be a government official nowadays. But if he wanted, he could get along nicely by accepting bribes.’

‘That’s what I’ve been telling my husband, and how many times. But he says, if all government officials were corrupt, where would our country be? It would go to pieces!’

‘Your husband is an exceptional person,’ Suryono replied. ‘He’s too good. He refuses to see our world here as it really is – whoever is honest goes under. Other people just go ahead.’

‘My husband doesn’t want to understand this.’

As they were passing the electric power-station at Antjol, Suryono took Dahlia’s hand.

‘Your hand is exquisite. And you’re exquisite, quite in keeping with your name. How lovely you are!’

‘You’re just fooling,’ Dahlia answered, and as she smiled her eyes flashed coquettishly.

‘Why should we really be heading for Priok, isn’t it better we go to your house if indeed your husband is not home?’

‘To our house, it’s impossible,’ replied Dahlia. ‘We’ve only two rooms, too crowded. People can see.’

‘To a hotel in the city?’ asked Suryono.

‘I’m afraid to go to a hotel,’ Dahlia answered. ‘I have never gone to a hotel.’

‘Ah, come, come,’ interrupted Suryono.

‘It’s true. Let’s go to the house of Tante
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Bep on Petodjo.’

Suryono swung the car round and headed back towards Djakarta.

‘Does this Tante Bep really have a good place?’ he asked as they were approaching Petodjo. ‘Where is it?’

Dahlia showed him the way and they finally stopped before a good-sized house.

‘This is her own house,’ Dahlia explained. ‘Tante Bep is already quite old and stays here all alone. She has a son, but in Bandung. And occasionally she’s willing to put up peop71le whom she knows well. It’s lonely here,’ she added.

Dahlia knocked at the door. Waited a moment. There were heavy, shuffling steps inside. The high voice of an old woman asked from behind the door, in Dutch,

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me, Dahlia, Tante Bep,’ answered Dahlia.

‘Oh!’ said the voice from the inside. There was a sound of a key turning, and an old woman opened the door and said to Dahlia,

‘Good morning. Come in!’

Suryono didn’t seem to exist for her, she had glanced at him fleetingly, and when he had said good morning to her, her response was very, very short. When they were seated, Tante Bep
immediately went inside.

‘Wait a moment, yes?’ said Dahlia to Suryono, and she got up and followed Tante Bep inside. Suryono, left alone, looked around the sitting-room. Though the furniture was old it was well taken care of. On the wall facing him hung a family portrait. In the centre sat a man, still young, in a K.N.I.L.
1
uniform, wearing a bamboo hat turned up at one side, and with a sergeant major’s insignia. At his side sat a young woman and two small children, a boy and a girl. Suryono, attracted by the picture, stood up to examine it closer.

Then Dahlia was back in the room, and seeing Suryono standing near the picture came up to him and said,

‘That is Tante Bep’s husband and Tante Bep herself, with their children, before the war. Her husband is dead. The daughter disappeared during the revolution. The son works in Bandung.’

Her body came close to Suryono’s, into his nostrils rose the scent of her perfume and the warmth of Dahlia’s body flowed into his own.

Dahlia drew him by his hand into an inside room. She locked the door of the room. The bedroom was very neat. The sheets on the bed were clean and white and freshly laid. In the corner stood a dressing-table. Dahlia closed the window and quickly started to undress.

‘You are really beautiful!’ said Suryono a few moments later. Sometime later Suryono loosened his embrace on Dahlia, rolled over to the edge of the bed and reached for a cigarette on the bedside table.

‘Cigarette?’ he asked Dahlia.

She nodded.

He lit a cigarette, gave it to her and then lit one for himself. Dahlia, rolling over, nestled her head between Suryono’s shoulder and neck, and whispered,

‘You’re so strong!’

Suryono was quiet. He felt very pleased. He’d had many such experiences since he had become an importer. But this time it was really exceptionally good. Usually there was preliminary haggling. Always these money negotiations. For him, the mention of money beforehand always spoiled the later pleasure. He much preferred to pay more afterwards, provided the woman did not start by discussing prices as if she were nothing but a trader.

This time, from the beginning, not a word had been said about money. He decided for himself that he would give Dahlia a round five hundred rupiah. But not yet, a little later. He had no desire to go home now. Let it get dark first.

‘How long may we stay here?’ he whispered to Dahlia.

‘As long as we like,’ answered Dahlia.

‘Till dark,’ Suryono decided.

But they didn’t stay on until dark. An hour afterwards Suryono felt that he’d had enough, and invited Dahlia to go home.

When they had dressed Suryono asked Dahlia how much he owed Tante Bep.

‘Fifty rupiah,’ said Dahlia.

Suryono took out a fifty-rupiah bill, handed it to Dahlia. As she moved to leave the room he held her back, took out five
one-hundred-
rupiah notes.

‘And this is for you!’ he said.

Dahlia looked at him and said, ‘I’m not asking for money.’

‘Yes, I know. But do accept this!’ pressed Suryono.

Dahlia smiled at him, embraced his body and kissed his mouth.

‘You really are a sweet boy,’ she whispered.

Suryono brought Dahlia to her house, and in answer to his question when they would meet again, Dahlia said,

‘Now you know where my house is. Come and ask!’

Dahlia stood at the fence until Suryono’s car disappeared
behind the street corner, and then hastened to her room.

‘Aduh, what a chic escort you had, his car is quite new,’ called Hasnah, shaking her head as soon as Dahlia appeared on the verandah.

Dahlia, turning towards her, said, smiling,

‘A new friend, Has!’

In a room of the Asrama
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of the organisation for delinquent children Sung Tjay-Yong, sixteen years of age, with an intent expression on his face, was signing a confession, witnessed by the administrator of that welfare organisation and a few other persons of the Asrama:

‘… I, Sung Tjay-Yong, aged sixteen, residing at Halimun Street, declare herewith in the presence of the Asrama Administrator as follows: I had not attended school for five months; thereafter I attended a mechanic’s school at Gang Spoor, in Kemajoran, paying sixty rupiah a month. Then I left that school also. I have companions, one, Ali, thirty years old, bicycle guard in front of the Roxy Cinema, who claims to be a member of the veteran’s organisation, on night duty. And I have known him one week. My other friend is named Idruss, aged thirty-five, residing in Djembatan Merah, and he told me he was a member of K.M.K.B.;
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also O Bung, a locally born Chinese who lives in Djatinegara and works in Pasar Baru, dealing in foreign exchange; and Sapii, who lives in Gang Mandur, a member of the night watchmen. The four of them usually kept asking me for money. Sapii once ordered me to steal money and things from my parents, and it was Sapii who sold them. I have stolen from my parents seven thousand
rupiah in cash in the course of two months. I have sold my father’s Philips bicycle, costing nine hundred rupiah, for four hundred. The money I divided with my friends, and we used it for gambling and for having fun. I have also stolen from my father a Parker fountain-pen costing one hundred and sixty rupiah and sold it for ninety-five. I have stolen from his wardrobe seven pairs of woollen trousers and sold them at thirty-five rupiah. One wristwatch which I stole from home was sold for only fifty rupiah. One pair of my father’s sharkskin trousers which I took I gave to Sapii.

‘I further confess that I began to sleep with street girls on the Gambir Plaza at the age of ten, paying ten rupiah, it was a friend of mine who had invited me. I repeated this often with money stolen from my parents. The latest was when I slept with a woman to whom I was introduced by O Bung in Gang Sadar, formerly Gang Hauber, and I paid twenty-five rupiah for a quarter of an hour. As a result I have contracted a venereal disease, bubonic syphilis. I also confess that I have spent three months in the Training Centre for Boys of the Pra Juwana at Tangerang, because I stole a
house-key
and gave that key to two betja drivers to rob the gudang
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of the coffee-shop Njan Tjan.’

‘Your father is now applying to the government and the immigration authorities in order to obtain as soon as possible the permits for sending you to R.R.T.,’ said one of the members of the administration to Sung Tjay-Yong. ‘And in the meantime you will stay here, and we hope you will not make trouble, but will behave properly.’

Sung Tjay-Yong looked at him and burst into loud laughter.

H
USIN LIMBARA
banged his fist on the table, his face purple, his voice choked with rage, ‘How did this happen? Here, read all this!’ And he pushed towards Raden Kaslan a pile of newspapers on the table. Raden Kaslan remained calm. He glanced meaningfully at Halim, chief editor of the daily,
Suluh Merdeka
.
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‘You can laugh, brother, but how about our party’s reputation?’ continued Husin Limbara. He picked up one of the newspapers, obviously reluctant to read it again, but forcing himself to do so.

‘“This is How the Leaders of the Indonesian Party Enrich Themselves,”’ he read the headline. ‘“According to a statement made by the Ministry of Economic Affairs, it has been acknowledged that the director of the import corporation Tjinta Hati is Mr. Kusuma, a member of the Indonesian Party; the director of the Barat Laut Corporation is Raden Sudibyo, and its vice-director Tjong Eng Kouw. Raden Sudibyo is also a member of the Indonesian Party. The director of the Timur Besar Corporation is Suryono Kaslan. Suryono is the son of Raden Kaslan. The Bahagia Corporation is headed by Madame Fatma. This Madame Fatma is the wife of Raden Kaslan. And Raden Kaslan is a member of the Indonesian Party. The director of the Sumber Kita Corporation is Husin Limbara, and Husin Limbara is the General Chairman of the Indonesian Party. As is known already, some time ago some members of the Indonesian Party established a bank with a board composed of members of the party’s executive council. This is how they enrich themselves.”’

‘This ruins our party’s reputation. Your plan was all wrong,’ cried Husin Limbara. ‘Patience, patience,’ answered Raden Kaslan. ‘It isn’t the plan that’s wrong. How many million rupiah have already flown into the party treasury during this time? Come on, just count them up, brother. Of course, this matter could not be kept a secret too long. However, we will counter this attack with one of our own. That’s why I have invited brother Halim of our newspaper to talk it over. He has an excellent suggestion.’

Husin Limbara looked at Halim.

‘Hm,’ said Halim, ‘I have a great deal of experience in newspaper work and in how to influence public opinion. If we just let the opposition newspapers get away with the disclosure of secrets in this manner, our reputation will certainly suffer greatly. But fire must be extinguished with fire. That’s why we must counter-attack. You, brother Husin, must release information, at a general meeting and in an interview, that there are certain groups in our country who are stooges of foreign powers, and that these foreign powers have stored secret funds, just name a sum – ten million dollars, fifty million dollars – anything will do. To mention “certain groups” is safest. People will be certain to suspect the opposition groups. But we’re not going to make any direct accusations naming the opposition groups we mean. Thus we’ll be quite safe, and we’ll be able to counter the accusations made against us.’

Husin Limbara scrutinised Halim in silence at first, then, slowly, his face lit up as if the sun had broken through a cover of dark, driving clouds. He stood up, swaying a little, grasped Halim’s hand, pumped Halim’s hand, while clapping him on the shoulder.

‘Right, you’re a genius, brilliant idea. That’s high strategy,’ exclaimed Husin Limbara.

He released Halim’s hand, rubbed his own hands, looked at Raden Kaslan.

‘Ah, forgive me, Raden Kaslan. It’s understandable that I, as general chairman of the party, think of the interests of the party first. From now on I shall trust you entirely, brother Kaslan and Halim.’

And he sat down again.

‘Ahem,’ coughed Raden Kaslan lightly. Husin Limbara glanced at him. From previous conferences with Raden Kaslan he knew only too well what that little cough portended. The cough usually preceded a demand for a higher percentage of profit from a special licence because allegedly the risk was greater or under some other pretext.

‘Yes, brother Kaslan?’ asked Husin Limbara, knowing full well what was coming.

‘Ahem, it’s really a minor matter for the party, but of considerable importance to brother Halim. And I’m speaking not on my own behalf, but for brother Halim. As you know, brother Halim is for all practical purposes almost like a member of our party, except for not holding a party card.’

‘Ah, that’s easy, tomorrow we can issue a membership card for brother Halim,’ interposed Husin Limbara. He was pleased, just a matter of a membership card, not a demand for a greater share in profits.

‘Ahem,’ coughed Raden Kaslan again. ‘You didn’t permit me to finish, so you got the wrong impression. Brother Halim proposes that in the best interests of our party’s struggle it may be advisable for him to stay out, to appear neutral. Isn’t that right?’

‘Ah, what genius, brilliant, right!’ responded Husin Limbara.

‘Nah, well then, brother, as you know, the parliamentary seat of Mr. Hadiwibrata is vacant, because, being a non-party member, he withdrew. Nah, we thought, how would it be if we proposed brother Halim to fill this seat?’

‘Genius, brilliant.’ Husin Limbara clapped his hand on the table. ‘We can arrange this with the other government parties.
Will you please excuse me now? I have an appointment with the minister.’ Husin Limbara rose, but sat down again as he heard,

‘Ahem.’ Raden Kaslan was coughing. ‘One more thing. Quite an easy matter. As you know, brother Halim’s daily owns a printing works, and this printing works has obtained a two-million-rupiah loan from the Nusa Bank, but you understand, of course, what newspaper can operate with a profit? And this is no small loan. The bank now wants to foreclose. But, if the bank seizes the plant, aren’t we going to lose an important newspaper that can support us? Therefore it is most desirable that the bank be persuaded to desist from pressing so hard.’

‘Ah, that can be arranged, too. Don’t worry, brother Halim.’

Husin Limbara stood up, shook hands with the overjoyed Halim and went out, accompanied by Raden Kaslan.

When they had left the room, the newspaper man Halim chuckled to himself.

They think they can make me serve as their tool, he was saying to himself. But I will use them for my own ends.

As soon as he heard Raden Kaslan’s steps approaching the door, Halim picked up a magazine from the table and pretended to be engrossed in it.

‘Ah, the party owes you no little thanks, brother,’ said Raden Kaslan as soon as he had closed the door.

Halim looked up at Raden Kaslan and said,

‘Ah, there is only one more small matter. The newspaper needs a little money. Only one hundred thousand rupiah. Could you help me out with a loan, for two or three weeks?’

‘Hah,’ said Raden Kaslan, ‘haven’t we helped you out already with the bank loan?’

‘The money from the bank is already used up for the purchase of machines, paying off old debts and to buy newsprint. I need the hundred thousand rupiah to buy paper and to pay the workers. Besides, it’s only a loan. Of course, if it cannot be done, well, it
doesn’t matter … but …’ And for a moment Halim looked fixedly and with significance at Raden Kaslan. As though to say, if you don’t give me that loan you know what will happen, I will not help either you or your party! And all your secrets are in my hands.

Raden Kaslan wanted to say something, wanted to refuse outright, but he stopped short, and after a moment’s thought made an attempt to bargain,

‘It’s very difficult to find one hundred thousand rupiah now. If it were fifty thousand I might be able to find it.’

‘Ah,’ said Halim, ‘why should we haggle about it? Just last week—’ Halim stopped, and looked at Raden Kaslan.

Raden Kaslan understood at once what Halim meant. Because the preceding week Halim had acted as go-between in the sale of a special licence to a foreign company, and this transaction had netted not less than seven hundred and fifty thousand rupiah.

Raden Kaslan went to his desk, took out a cheque-book from the drawer and wrote out a cheque for one hundred thousand rupiah.

As he handed it to Halim he made a strong effort to laugh, and to make it appear a hearty, open laugh, not a forced one.

‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘With someone like you, it’s hard to bargain.’

‘Thank you, and remember it’s only a loan,’ answered Halim.

He stood up and stepped to the door, after shaking hands with Raden Kaslan. As he was opening the door he turned round once more, and, looking hard at Raden Kaslan, said,

‘Remember, brother, with me there is no bargaining.’

And Halim closed the door very slowly. All sorts of feelings crept into Raden Kaslan’s consciousness. There was a great deal he didn’t like about this Halim.

Halim smiled to himself as he re-read the editorial he had just written for his newspaper.

‘… it appears that the tactics of the opposition is never to give the government a chance to resolve any of the problems which face the people. The opposition’s only aim is to bring about the downfall of the cabinet, because they are so eager to fill the ministerial posts themselves. Why are they so very eager to undermine this cabinet which has proven so progressive, so patriotic and so concerned with the people’s fate? In this connection, we would like to remind the readers of the speech made by Bung
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Husin Limbara of the Indonesian Party, which indicated that certain leaders of the opposition are being bought by funds from a foreign country. We leave it to our readers to draw their own conclusions.’

He called in one of the editors and said to him,

‘Here is the editorial for tomorrow. It must appear together with the text of Bung Limbara’s speech. The speech should appear on the front page. Give it a three-column headline: “Certain Leaders Receive Bribes from a Foreign Country!”’

Halim wrote down the headline on a slip of paper and handed it to the editor.

The telephone on the table rang. Halim picked up the receiver.

‘Hallo, this is
Suluh Merdeka
! Yes, it’s myself, speaking! Good news? Ah, it’s Bung Limbara? What’s the news? No, incredible …? Is it true? Ah, I don’t believe it! Really? I am appointed to be a member of parliament? Ah, you’re joking, bung! True? Well, many thanks! Yes, yes, we’ve begun the attack. I’ve just written an editorial linking them with probable subversion from a foreign country. Ah, it doesn’t matter. We don’t mention any names, but the public will know whom we mean. Yes, quite an easy matter. Thanks again!’

Halim replaced the receiver. He rubbed his hands. Now I’m a member of parliament, he said to himself. Satisfaction and pleasure were written all over his face.

Dahlia was fast asleep at his side; he gazed at her for a moment, and then Suryono lit a cigarette and slowly inhaled the smoke. He was very pleased. They slept in the room of Tante Bep’s house. Since Dahlia had brought him there for the first time, they had come back repeatedly. During the day and occasionally at night. In the daytime, as at this moment, it was particularly pleasant, Suryono thought. Outside it rained in streams, and Suryono let his thoughts drift. All kinds of memories came to his mind. Fleetingly, the time when he was still working in the Republic’s office in New York. Decidedly, Indonesian women win out, he thought, remembering his experiences with different American women. Then his thoughts drifted to his stepmother. Ah, there was no comparison between her and Dahlia.

For some unknown reason he then remembered his schooldays during the Japanese occupation. How furious they were when the Japanese ordered their heads shaved. Then the moment he joined the P.E.T.A.
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Took part in the Sjodantjo exercises. The Proclamation of August 17
^th
, 1945. His division then joined the T.N.I.
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And mostly he just stayed in Jogja. He had never really fought. When the Dutch occupied Jogja he discarded his military dress. Remained in the city. Then he was obliged to help friends who were constantly sneaking into the city. He didn’t do very much. Always haunted by fear of arrest by the Dutch. And later Jogja was surrendered, given back by the Dutch to the Republic. President Sukarno, Vice President Hatta, returned to Jogja. And in the confusion of the first week he managed to secure work with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Managed to create the impression that he was a much-deserving ex-guerilla. Later, in Djakarta, he was given the chance to attend the foreign service academy, and at the first opportunity he was sent out to work abroad.

Suryono pressed the stub of his cigarette hard against the
small plate on the adjoining table, extinguishing it. He got out his wallet from the pocket of his trousers which hung on a chair near the bed.

He felt with pleasure the weight of the wallet in his hand. Ah, this is a good life, went through his head. Plenty of money, plenty of women, no worries. What else could one wish?

He suddenly remembered Iesye.
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Should I ever want to marry I’ll marry Iesye, he said to himself. Then an uneasy feeling crept in – but Iesye will never agree to let me play around with Dahlia and other women. Ah, how stupid! Nevertheless— Suryono stopped short in his musings. There was something in Iesye which challenged him. Was it because Iesye was not easy to get, or was it because she put him on the defensive? Yet something seemed to compel him to want to overcome Iesye. But soon the disturbing thoughts about Iesye were pushed away. From his wallet he took out two five-hundred-rupiah notes, placed them under the little plate which had served as an ashtray and returned the wallet to the hip-pocket of his trousers.

Outside the rain poured harder, and Suryono turned over towards Dahlia, who was still asleep. He awakened her.

‘Ayuh, we’re going home, it’s evening already!’ he said to Dahlia as she stretched her young body and opened her eyes.

Dahlia threw her arms around Suryono’s neck, pulled him down, while Suryono was saying,

‘Really— really, ah, after this we go home. I have an appointment. There’s a meeting!’

‘Aduh, ’m I faint now, hungry!’ complained Saimun to Itam, as they got off the garbage truck.