Fatso still hadn’t gone out through the platform gate, so we ended up passing by him. His skin was clear, the color of langsat fruit, his face reddish. Every few moments he wiped his neck with a blue handkerchief, just as he had done in the carriage. As soon as we passed him, he moved as if he wanted to follow us.
“Greetings, Young Master!” called Darsam from beside the cart. (Mama had told him he was not to call me Sinyo.)
Fatso watched us as we climbed up into the carriage. Now I really began to be suspicious. Who was he? Why hadn’t he gone yet, why was he still watching us? And as soon as we boarded, he hurriedly rented a carriage. As soon as our cart moved, his carriage set off. It was obvious he was following us.
When I glanced back at his carriage, he was wiping his neck. He was not paying any attention to us. The second time I looked, he was looking at us.
“Hey! Darsam! Why aren’t you turning right?” I protested.
“Why to the left, Darsam?” asked Annelies in Madurese.
“I’ve got a little business,” he answered briefly.
The carriage turned left away from the station square, then to the right, passing the green field in front of the residency building. And where was Darsam off to? And he looked so serious.
“Why aren’t you turning right again?” protested Annelies. “It’s already evening.”
“Patience, Non, it’s not dark yet. A lantern has been prepared. Don’t worry.”
And it was turning out that Fatso’s carriage was indeed following our cart. When, for the umpteenth time, I glanced back he bent down, sheltering his face behind the driver’s back.
“Slow down a little, Darsam,” I ordered.
The cart entered into a low-class street, traveling slowly. The carriage behind us also slowed down. It had to—the street was too narrow. The carriage could have rung its bell if it wanted us to move over. But it didn’t. Nor did it try to overtake us.
All of a sudden our cart stopped.
“Why here?” protested Annelies.
“Just a moment, Non. I have a little business,” answered Darsam, jumping down and guiding the horse to the side of the road, tying the reins to a fence post.
Fatso’s carriage hesitated to pass, but in the end it had no choice. The passenger himself turned the other way while blowing his nose with his blue handkerchief. He didn’t look Chinese, or like a Mixed-Blood Chinese, nor like a merchant. Anyway, if he was a Mixed-Blood Chinese, he was probably an educated one, perhaps an employee at the office of the Majoor der Chinezen—the Dutch-installed leader of the local Chinese community? Or perhaps a Mixed-Blood European-Chinese returning from holidays to his workplace in Surabaya? He was clearly not a merchant. They weren’t the clothes of a trader. Or perhaps he was a cashier at one of the “Big Five” Dutch trading companies—Borsumij or Geowehrij? Or perhaps he was the Majoor der Chinezen himself? But the majoors were always arrogant, considering themselves equals with Europeans, and so wouldn’t take any notice of me, or any other Native for that matter. Or perhaps he was interested in Annelies? No. This had been going on since I left B.
“Non, wait here a moment. Darsam has a little business in this food stall,” said Darsam. With his eyes directed at me, he continued, “Young Master, could you come down for a moment?”
I climbed down. Vigilantly, of course. We entered the cafe, a bamboo shack with a tiled roof.
“What’s going on there?” asked Annelies suspiciously, from the top of the cart.
Darsam glanced back, answering:
“Since when hasn’t Noni trusted Darsam?”
I was also becoming suspicious. Fatso and his carriage had stopped some way down the road. Now it was Darsam who was up to something.
“Stay there, Ann,” I said to calm her. Yet I felt my eyes following the hands and machete of the Madurese fighter.
There was only one customer drinking coffee in the stall. He didn’t look up when we entered. It looked as if he was daydreaming. Or pretending not to notice? Or an ally too of Fatso, like Darsam perhaps?
In the manner of giving an order he invited me to take a seat on the long bench across from the other customer. He sat so close to me that I could hear his breathing and smell his sweat.
“Take some tea and cake to the carriage outside,” Darsam instructed the stall woman. His eyes scrutinized her sharply until she took the food out on a wooden tray.
His eyes shone wildly as he brought his curly mustache up close to me, and whispered in heavy and awkward Javanese:
“Young Master, something has happened at the house. Only I know. Noni and Nyai don’t. Young Master mustn’t be startled. For the moment Young Master mustn’t stay at Wonokromo. It’s dangerous.”
“What’s the matter, Darsam?”
Now his voice was calmer:
“Darsam is loyal only to Nyai, Young Master. Whoever is loved by Nyai is loved by Darsam. Whatever she orders, Darsam carries out. I don’t care what sort of order it is. Nyai has ordered me to look after Young Master, so I will do it. Young Master’s safety is now my work. You don’t need to believe everything I say, Young Master, but at least take my advice.”
“I understand your task. Thank you for being so conscientious. But what has happened?”
“Nyai is my employer. Noni is my employer too, but only number two. Now Noni is in love with Young Master. Darsam must also make sure that nothing happens to you. So I pass on this advice. Not because Darsam’s machete can’t guarantee your safety. No, Young Master. There is still something not yet clear to Darsam.”
“I understand. But what has happened?”
“In short, Darsam will take Young Master back to his room at Kranggan, not to Wonokromo.”
“I must know why.”
He was silent and closely observed the stall woman as she went by.
“Finished yet, Darsam?” came Annelies’s voice.
“Be patient, Non,” he answered without looking outside. Seeing that the stall woman had gone, he resumed his whispering. “It is Sinyo Robert, Young Master. Making many promises, he has ordered me, Darsam, to kill Young Master.”
I wasn’t at all surprised. I had already noted the signs of that youth’s ill intent.
“How have I wronged him?”
“Only jealousy, I think. Nyai is fonder of Young Master. He feels unhappy with another man in the house.”
“He can tell me to my face. Why is he going to you?”
“He thinks too little, Young Master. That’s what makes him so dangerous. Now Young Master knows, understands my advice. Don’t tell this to Nyai or Noni. Don’t ever. Let’s go.” He paid for what we’d eaten, not asking my opinion about any of this.
Fatso’s buggy had disappeared.
Our carriage set off. And in Wonokromo—if Darsam was right—someone wanted to take my life, the only one I had. Fatso had been spying on me since B. Perhaps my father’s anger with me was justified after all. And my mother’s warning that I must be ready to accept all the consequences of my own deeds was not to be wasted either.
Yes, yes, Robert Mellema had the right to look upon me as an intruder into his kingdom. At the very least I was another thing for him to worry about. He was fully entitled to think that way about me.
Annelies didn’t want to let go of my hand, as if I were a slippery fish that might jump out of the carriage at any moment. She didn’t speak. Her eyes showed her thoughts were far away.
“Ann, I found your money in my case,” I said.
“Yes, I put it there. You might have needed it. You were on an unknown journey and you had to return to me quickly.”
“Thank you, Ann. I didn’t use it.”
She laughed for the first time. But her laughter didn’t interest me. The carriage lantern didn’t throw its rays back into the carriage. Darkness. Annelies’s beauty was swallowed up by the blackness. Even if that hadn’t been so, I’d still not have been interested. My mind was preoccupied with more forbidding matters, and these matters were stealing all that
could be said to be enjoyable. My earth, this earth of mankind, had lost all its certainty. All the science and learning that had made me what I am evaporated into nothingness. Nothing could be trusted. Robert? Yes, I understood him. Fatso? I would recognize his shape, even, I think, in the dark. But it could be someone I didn’t know, someone I’d never predict, who was going to carry out this evil against me. Surabaya was famous for its paid killers—who charged only a half to two rupiahs. Every week there were corpses found sprawled on the beach, in the forests, on the roadside, in the markets, and their bodies always had knife wounds.
The carriage headed for Kranggan.
“Why are we going this way?” Annelies protested again.
What could I say to Annelies? before I’d a chance to think up an explanation, we stopped in front of the Telingas’ house. Without speaking Darsam off-loaded my things.
“Why are they being off-loaded here?” protested Annelies again.
“Ann,” I said gently, “I have to prepare for my lessons this week. So for the time being, I can’t accompany you home. I’m really sorry. Thank you for meeting me, Ann. Say sorry to Mama for me, yes? I really can’t go on to Wonokromo yet. I must stay here where I am closer to my teachers. My regards and thanks to Mama. Once I’m free again I’ll definitely come back to Wonokromo.”
“Mas hasn’t been able to study while he’s been at Wonokromo? No one bothered you. Forgive me if I’ve been a bother to you.” She was on the verge of crying.
“No, Ann, of course not.”
“Tell me if I’ve been a bother, so I know what I’ve done wrong.” Her voice trembled as she came closer to crying.
“No, Ann; truly, no.”
There was no way it could have been avoided. She cried. Cried like a little child.
“Why are you crying? It’s only for a week, Ann, only a week. After that I’ll be there again for sure. Isn’t that so, Darsam?”
“Yes, Non. Don’t cry like this at somebody else’s house.”
At that moment my sense of being a Javanese knight disappeared; a knight beyond compare, but only in my own imagination. Now I was just a coward—scared because of a report, just a report, that my life was in danger.
“Don’t get down, Ann, just sit here in the carriage,” and I kissed her on her cheek in the darkness of the vehicle. I felt wetness on her face.
“Mas must come quickly to Wonokromo,” she entreated, crying, surrendering to her feelings.
“So you understand, yes?” She nodded. “When everything is over, I will come back quickly. For the moment I hope that you will listen to me and understand my situation.”
“Yes, Mas, I’m not disagreeing,” she answered faintly.
“Until we meet again, my goddess.”
“Mas.”
I got down. Darsam was still waiting in front of the door.
It was already night and lamps were shimmering everywhere. It was only my thoughts that weren’t clear.
“Why don’t you tell Mama?” I whispered to Darsam.
“No. Nyai already has enough troubles because of her children and her tuan. Darsam must take care of this matter himself. Young Master must be patient.”
* * *
Mr. and Mrs. Telinga were on the settee waiting for me to come out of my room and tell them what had happened. Such a good and happy couple! I don’t know how they felt about me. I didn’t go out, but locked the door from inside, changed clothes, and got into bed without eating dinner. Before I put out the lamp I still needed to look up at the portrait of Queen Wilhelmina. This earth of mankind! She was secure in her palace, free of all problems, except perhaps within her own heart and mind. And me? Her subject, promised by the astrologer’s stars the same fate, yet I may glimpse at any moment, springing from out of the corners of this room, a death arranged by Robert Mellema.
The room was enveloped in darkness. The conversation in the middle room came indistinctly to my ears. No meaning. As young as this, and already there was somebody desiring to take my life. The promise of the modern age, glorious and exciting as told by my teachers, showed not a single sign or indication of its whereabouts. Robert, why are you as mad as this? Murder because of jealous love still occurs the world over—a remnant of bestiality among men. Something unique to man. Murder out of greed was another remnant from man’s bestial life. Yes? It’s true, isn’t it? But you, you’re more complex still. You hate your mother, your origins, and obtain no love from them. You beg love from your father, who pays you no heed either. You’re jealous, Robert, because your mother’s love now flows to me. Because you’re afraid that your inheritance will flow to me also—somebody who has no right to it just as depicted in European fiction. Probably in your eyes I’m no better than a criminal.
I’ve been honest to myself, haven’t I? And to the world? Look: I want no more than to enjoy what I’ve created by my own hard strivings. I need nothing else. A happy life, in my view, does not come from that which is given to one, but from one’s own struggles. My separation from my own family had taught me that—a problem more complicated than all my school lessons put together.
And you too, Darsam! Let’s hope your mouth cannot be believed. Let’s hope Robert is not as evil as that. But you too are hiding some other purpose, and an evil one.
And you, Fatso, with clear, langsat-fruit skin and slightly slanted eyes—what is your business with me? Someone as neatly dressed as you, is it possible you’re just a paid killer? Because you want the Mellema girl and the Mellema wealth?
And Sarah and Miriam de la Croix, and Assistant Resident B . . . and Association Theory . . .
My heart shriveled up. Why was I such a coward?
9
So that this story of mine runs in order, let me next relate what happened to Robert after I left Wonokromo for B in the company of that police officer.
I’ve put together the story below based on what Annelies, Nyai, Darsam, and others told me; and this is how it has ended up:
When the buggy I was traveling in disappeared, swallowed up by the morning darkness, Annelies cried, embracing Mama. (I don’t know why she was such a crybaby and so spoiled, just like a little child.)
“Quiet, Ann, he’ll be safe,” said Nyai.
“Why did Mama let him be taken away?” protested Annelies.
“That slave of the law, Ann; there’s no way we can fight him.”
“Let’s follow him, Mama.”
“No point. It’s still too early. And it’s clear he’s being taken to B.”
“Mama, ah Mama.”
“You really love him?”
“Don’t torment me like this, Mama.”
“So what should I do? Nothing, Ann. We must wait. We can’t just do whatever we feel like.”
“Do something, Mama. Do something.”
“You think Minke is just your doll, Ann. He’s not a doll. Do something, do something! Of course, I’m going to do something. Be patient. It’s still too early in the morning.”
“You’re going to leave me like this, Mama? Do you want to kill me?”
Nyai became confused. She had never heard that sort of lamentation from her daughter, who usually never complained about anything. She knew and understood that Annelies was going through a crisis. Annelies: her trusted work companion. She knew she must do everything that Annelies wanted, that Annelies considered to be her right. She took her daughter inside to let her rest in her room.
But Annelies refused. She wanted to wait for Minke until he returned.
“It’s not possible, Ann. Not possible. Maybe it’ll be the day after tomorrow or the next day before he’s back.”
And Annelies began to withdraw into silence.
Mama became even more confused. She knew that ever since Annelies was little she had never asked for anything. And now over the last few weeks she had been asking—not just asking, but urging, demanding—all concerning Minke. She had always been obedient, behaved sweetly, had been sweet-hearted. Now she was beginning to be rebellious.<
br />
Annelies demanded her doll back. And the only person she could go to was her mother.
Nyai worried that her daughter might fall ill. She began to see more and more signs that all was not well with Annelies. Could it be that this obedient child was unable to deal with personal trauma, just like her father?
And the sun slowly began to rise.
Darsam arrived to open the doors and windows. He was startled to see the behavior of his Noni. He was powerless to solve a problem requiring neither machete nor muscles.
“Yes, this is government business,” said Mama softly, in a rustling voice. “Affairs that can neither be felt nor seen, affairs of the spirit world.”
Suddenly Mama remembered her eldest child. In the next moment, she suspected him of sending an anonymous letter to the police. She suspected him! She would investigate immediately.
“Call Robert here,” Mama ordered Darsam.
And Robert came, rubbing his eyes. He stood silently. If it hadn’t been for Darsam, he wouldn’t have come. Everyone knew that. He stood without speaking a word. His eyes were dull with disinterest.
“How many times and to whom have you sent your poison-pen letters?”
He didn’t answer. Darsam went up closer to him.
“Answer, Nyo,” the fighter urged.
Annelies was clinging to Nyai, holding herself up.
“I’ve got nothing to do with any anonymous letters,” he answered viciously, his face towards Darsam. “Do I look like a poison-pen letter writer?”
“Answer to Nyai, not to me,” hissed Darsam.
“I’ve never written any, let alone sent any.” Now he faced Mama.
“Good. I always try to believe what you say. Why do you hate Minke? Because he’s better and more educated than you?”
“I’ve got no business with Minke. He’s only a Native.”
“And it’s because he’s a Native that you hate him.”
“So what’s the point of having European blood?” he challenged her.
“Good. You hate Minke because he is a Native and you have European blood. Good. It’s obvious I’m not capable of educating and teaching you. Only a European could do that for you. Good, Rob. Now I, your mother, this Native, know that people with European blood are, of course, wiser, more educated than Natives. You know what I mean. Now, I ask the Native blood in you—not the European in you—to go to the Surabaya police station. Find out what’s happened to Minke. Darsam can’t do that. I can’t either. The work here won’t allow it. You speak Dutch well and you can read and write. Darsam can’t. I want to see what you’re capable of doing. Go by horse, and be quick.”