Child of All Nations (43 page)

“Where is the original of the letter now?”

“With the prosecutor.”

The judge asked the prosecutor whether he did have such a letter. The questions and answers now revolved around the letter.

Mama became involved and explained that she had earlier
gone to the police to ask their help in contacting Robert Mellema in Los Angeles. It turned out that the sender of the letter had since died.

The bench felt the blow of the judge’s gavel again and again as Mama had to be reminded to restrict herself to answering the questions.

The proceedings became tense. So many issues came and went so fast. One witness after another was called. I was almost left behind by it all.

“Where is the letter? Why was the trial resumed if there was no new material such as the letter? And why was no more evidence brought forward in Jan Tantang’s case?” So shouted Kommer from the pages of his newspaper.

Nijman’s comments were almost the same. My dislike for him turned into vigilance. I viewed his involvement in all this as totally commercial. But as long as what he did helped us, there was no reason to hate him.

Both were trying with all their might and with great risk to themselves to ensure that the trial was not diverted from its true purpose. Who, after all, was the accused?

The comments aroused great interest among the more hot-blooded newspaper readers of Surabaya, and among all races. The courtroom became more and more crowded. On the day that the courtroom was at its fullest, the trial was adjourned for several days.

Medical school started without me.

When the trial resumed again there was a new judge, a tall, slim man, Mr. D. Eisendraht. It wasn’t clear why Mr. Jansen was replaced. Perhaps he was sick.

The trial now proceeded smoothly, and on a straight course, as though rocketing along a railway line.

The new chief judge asked to see Robert Mellema’s letter. Someone was appointed to read it out. Then the policeman who had contacted Los Angeles was summoned. He read out the telegram that was previously received from the Los Angeles police authorities, which confirmed that there had been “a patient called Robert Mellema, a subject of the Netherland Indies, who had died four months and two days ago.”

Based upon the letter, new questions were asked about the motive, but again the trial had to be adjourned because Ah Tjong
was sick. And when he reappeared again, looking paler, thinner, and broken, he surrendered and confessed to murdering Herman Mellema. He was sentenced to death by hanging. He died before the sentence could be implemented.

The Ah Tjong-Herman Mellema affair had been cleared up, with the aid of Kommer and Nijman.

And the Jan Tantang affair turned out to be a melodrama. This is the story:

Jan Tantang was a police agent, first class, from Bojonegoro. One day he was summoned before the assistant resident of Bojonegoro, Herbert de la Croix. Jan Tantang could give both the date and the time that the meeting took place. As an orderly servant of the state, he had indeed noted everything down.

As soon as he received the summons, he attended.

It was eight o’clock at night. The assistant resident was sitting in his rattan armchair. Tantang stood before him.

“You are the police agent first class that the district chief has sent me?” asked Herbert de la Croix.

“Yes, Tuan Assistant Resident: agent first class Jan Tantang.”

“Can you speak Dutch?”

“A little, Tuan.”

The assistant resident seemed disappointed that he could speak only a little Dutch.

“Can you read and write?’ He looked happy when Tantang said yes. “Who can speak proper Dutch among the police agents?”

“As far as I know, Tuan, no one.”

“I need a clever man for a special assignment. Are you willing?”

He admitted to the court he was hoping for a promotion. He had answered: “Ready and willing, Tuan Assistant Resident.”

“Good. Tomorrow you leave for Surabaya. You must keep under surveillance the son of the new bupati. His name is Minke. Do you know him, what he looks like?”

“Not yet, Tuan Assistant Resident.”

“Wait for him before he leaves for the station. An H.B.S. student. You’ll know him.”

De la Croix ordered him to report on all Minke’s habits: his schooling, his diligence in study, how he mixed with other people, and with whom, outside school as well.

“Why did Assistant Resident Herbert de la Croix give you this task?”

Jan Tantang answered that he didn’t know. He had explained what his job was. He sent back reports by letter and telegram.

“Why did you behave so suspiciously? Was that the only way you could carry out your orders from Tuan de la Croix?”

“I was given no guidelines on how to carry out my task.”

“Was acting suspiciously the only way you could have done it?”

“No.”

He went on to explain that he really wanted to become acquainted with Tuan Minke and so be able to converse and mix with him. But Tuan Minke was a student and Jan Tantang was embarrassed, and felt awkward about approaching him. He felt inferior and so kept his distance.

There was almost a disaster when he asked about my relations with Nyai Ontosoroh. He remained resolute with his answer: “I don’t know.” Several times the question was put to him in other ways, veiled, but he remained steadfast in his answer.

I reckoned he knew a lot about my relations with Mama. He was deliberately avoiding talking about our private affairs so as not to cause us harm. This moved me. Sometimes I thought he was indeed our friend, as he had told Darsam.

He sat calmly on the accused’s chair, always polite, his two hands clasped in his lap. I didn’t see his fatness so much anymore, but rather his humanity. His answers were always polite, orderly, and direct. He won my sympathy.

It was he who had been given the task of reporting on me for de la Croix’s study of educated Natives. In his race to understand the Native psyche, Herbert de la Croix did not want, it seems, to be left behind by Snouck Hurgronje. He had become a victim of his studies, and had also gotten many people involved in all kinds of problems. He himself had lost his position, and perhaps had to live off uncertain earnings in Europe.

One of the witnesses was Minem. She decided to sit next to me, so I was hemmed in by two women. Among the other witnesses was Darsam.

The questioning went on to Minem. The girl answered in Javanese.

One afternoon a fat man leading a horse passed in front of her house. “That man smiled at me. He stopped and offered me some perfume. Without even asking me, he rubbed a little on my neck. It smelled so nice.” Minem spoke fluently, completely unembarrassed and unafraid. “I asked him to come in.”

The judge asked Jan Tantang: “Why did you say your name was Babah Kong?”

“The one thing I knew I must not do was to give my own name.”

“You were no longer carrying out a task for an assistant resident.”

“I was still working for Tuan Herbert de la Croix, even though he was no longer an assistant resident.”

“And what were you doing still taking orders from him? You are an employee of the state.”

“I only used my own spare time.”

“You were paid for your services?”

“No,” he said without hesitating.

“Why were you willing then?”

“I slowly came to understand what de la Croix was trying to do, and I wanted to help him.”

“And how did you and Tuan de la Croix communicate after he was no longer an assistant resident?”

“Letters.”

“And what did he say in them?”

“They were addressed only to me, not to the court or the public.”

It looked like Jan Tantang was a man with principles. He deserved to be honored and respected.

Minem continued, “Babah Kong kept asking me about my child, where he was and who he was. I answered that his father had disappeared to parts unknown almost six months before. He asked if we were divorced. And I asked how could we be divorced if we hadn’t even been married? Babah Kong took out a little bottle of perfume, poured out a little, and rubbed it on my cheeks, pinching them too.”

The courtroom was filled with laughter. Jan Tantang bowed his head. Minem glowed happily at receiving so much attention. That young mother didn’t hide anything. Her red, thin lips kept
on talking without being stopped by either judge or prosecutor. It seemed they too enjoyed looking at this pretty village girl who spoke so frankly.

Without concealing anything, Minem announced that the child she was now suckling was the son of Robert Mellema, the son of her employer, and so was the grandchild of Nyai Ontosoroh.

Then: “It seemed Babah Kong was jealous of the father of my baby, Rono, Ndoro Judge. He kept on pressing me as to who was the baby’s father.”

“Did Babah Kong alias Jan Tantang ever propose marriage to you?”

“Babah Kong did once ask me to become his wife.”

“And why were you unwilling?”

“My child had to be taken care of first.”

“Did not Nyai acknowledge him as her grandson?”

“She has now,” she stated with energy.

Nyai was frustrated, annoyed by Minem. Once again her private family affairs were being paraded in public view. The prosecutor didn’t allow such an opportunity to go unused, and it became even more obvious that the prosecutor was out to confuse the course of the trial. Question after question was addressed to Nyai.

But the chief judge finally moved to bring a halt to the public’s pleasure in these private affairs. The questioning shifted to Darsam: “How may times in twenty-four hours would you meet Minem, Darsam?”

“I never counted,” answered Darsam, frowning sullenly.

“And you have never tried to seduce her?”

“A woman like her doesn’t need to be seduced,” he answered furiously.

“And whom would you have preferred to seduce?” asked the prosecutor, glancing at Mama.

Now it was I who as about to explode in fury.

The chief judge used his gavel again.

“This is important, to fill in the background, Your Honor Chief Judge,” objected the prosecutor. “Answer truthfully, Darsam. Why did you never try to seduce her?”

Darsam did not answer.

“You have never touched her?”

“No!” Darsam gnashed his teeth.

“Is he telling the truth, Minem?”

“Yes.”

“Did Tuan Minke ever visit you house?”

“No,” answered Minem.

“Have you ever spoken to him?”

“A few times, Ndoro Prosecutor.”

“And he never tried to seduce you?”

A tear of humiliation, of anger, dropped from my eye.

“A pity, but no, Nodor Prosecutor.”

“Why a pity? Did you have hopes in that direction?”

Minem giggled slowly. Mama shifted restlessly in her chair.

Back at home Mama didn’t say anything to Minem. I gave Mama my opinion about what the prosecutor was doing. She just smiled, explaining: “He is trying to prove that Rono is not Robert’s son, not my grandson.”

“But why, Ma?”

“If it is proved that he is Robert’s son, then Rono will have rights to a part of his grandfather’s property. It is clear now that the prosecutor is definitely in league with Maurits Mellema. But there is nothing we can do. We have no proof.”

The next few days at court were spent on the shooting incident between Jan Tantang and Darsam. It could not be proved that there was any enmity between them because of sexual jealousy over Minem. The police presented evidence of a fight.

Both Darsam and Jan Tantang admitted what happened. The motives were admitted by the court: Darsam’s suspicions. Darsam was labeled the aggressor; Jan Tantang, said the court, was defending himself.

In the end Darsam was given two years probation on condition he got into no more trouble. Jan Tantang was sentenced to eight months for acting under false pretenses and was fired from the police force.

With the end of the trial this whole convoluted affair was finally over.

O
ne morning a man arrived on horseback, dressed in a white shirt, trousers, and a white cap, but no shoes. He was a chocolate-skinned Indo. Very, very politely, he handed me two letters. Mama wasn’t in the office but was out in the back doing the work Annelies used to do.

One letter was from the government accountant confirming that the business’s finances were in proper order and that nothing was amiss—reaffirming the audit. The other letter was from Engineer Maurits Mellema. I didn’t read that one, but left it on the table for Mama.

“Tuan,” said the messenger with the letters, “allow me to meet with Minem.”

“Minem?”

“She lives here, doesn’t she?”

“What do you want with her?”

“Allow me to tell her myself.”

I opened the door that led into the front parlor and called the girl over. She came, merry as ever, carrying her baby.

“Young Master called me?” she asked gaily. Her thin lips
were all shiny; who knows what they had just eaten? She stood close and tilted her head.

“In here,” and she entered the office. She seemed a bit disappointed that there was another person there.

“This is Minem, if you’re sure that’s who you’re after.”

“Minem?” the messenger asked in Malay.

“Yes, Tuan.”

“Can you leave today?”

“Leave for where?”

“Tuan Accountant de Visch.”

“Who is that? Tuan Accoun—”

“My employer. You said you’d live with him, didn’t you?”

Minem thought for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, that tuan? Just a minute, let me take leave from Nyai first. Can you wait?”

She left the office. I was astounded. How freely she behaved, no fear, no embarrassment, not at all like most Native women. Like a European girl from the high school. This child was intelligent, I thought, but hadn’t received a proper education. Quite a daring person, game to gamble with her fate. She saw her beautiful body and pretty face as the only capital she had and she could use them to obtain some of the pleasures of life. Perhaps with a proper education, she would have grown up to be an outstanding woman.

Not long after, Mama arrived with Darsam. With no greeting for the messenger, she sat down at her desk, took out some papers, and gave them to Darsam.