Child of All Nations (46 page)

His favorite topic of conversation was the slowness with which the Netherlands Indies came to realize the need for its own navy. Didn’t that great son of the Indies, Daendels, almost a century ago, realize the same thing? Hadn’t he even recognized and indeed used Surabaya as a naval base? How quickly the Europeans in the Indies forgot! The lack of an international war for almost a century seemed to have turned them all senile.

According to another story, a Dutch seaman once asked the engineer: When the Surabaya project is finished, where will the engineer go? His answer was simple and strong: to wherever the Netherlands calls me.

Once he had to give a public talk. He talked about how the Dutch first entered South Africa. They had to face the resistance of the inhabitants, the black people who fought with spear and arrow. Do you all know how those black people fought? he asked. They crawled, wriggling along the ground, not standing, but like snakes, moving forward by using their elbows. The Europeans stood straight, rifles ready. The blacks crept forward with spear and arrow—a symbol, and not one of our own making, that the black-skinned people will always crawl beneath our feet. In war and in peace, the white-skinned peoples will always be on top, superior, always standing tall above the crawling coloreds.

Dulrakim never told me if he himself attended that lecture. He couldn’t tell me if the people there agreed with the engineer’s opinions or not. What he did know was that Engineer Maurits Mellema had been entrusted with the job of building the base for the Royal Netherlands Indies Navy on Perak peninsula, Surabaya, and had been given the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel.

Yes, he is a capable man, Dulrakim commented. He had shown this while leading his men in South Africa, people were saying; and now as a marine engineer he was equally capable at managing the construction of the base. Hundreds of men—perhaps thousands, if you count those not directly involved with the project—obediently carried out his orders. All to bring into being the Netherlands Indies Navy base!

Almost a hundred years ago Daendels knew what had to be done, Mellema was always growling.

Whether these stories are true or not, only Dulrakim knows. I was amazed at the number of stories he had stored away.

It seemed the relationship between Maurits and Herman Mellema would never again weigh on people’s minds. Except for mine and Mama’s. And it was as though Mellema’s way to us, both in my imaginings and in reality, had been swept clean and clear for him. Neither he himself nor his clothes need be dirtied or torn by walking some narrow pathway. He came as a god, the god of the Netherlands Indies Navy base project. It was the pet project of the Netherlands Indies government. It was as though all the power and facilities of the colonial state were being mobilized to ensure the project’s success. And Engineer Maurits Mellema was promoted from god of building to god of success.

In Wonokromo a woman would have to confront this double god alone. This woman had been robbed, with the aid of the law, of her child and property, the products of her sweat. She had no legal ground to stand on. She had never traveled anywhere because the Netherlands had needed her. She had at her side only a youth named Minke and a man named Darsam who could no longer swing his machete. What other strength was still stored away in these three people that could help them confront Engineer Maurits Mellema, now so triumphant in all things?

This lone woman wished only for two more friends to be with her. Just two: Jean Marais—painter, one-legged invalid, introvert; and one Kommer—a reporter from a Malay-Dutch newspaper whose writings had never been able to topple the mountainous combined power of the Indies and the Netherlands.

Mama had said Engineer Mellema was coming to kick her out. I thought the word
kick
was too strong. That engineer would never have to raise his foot. He would not have to expend the slightest
energy. With just one puff, Mama would be exiled forever from her kingdom and her throne. But Mama still felt she had value and worth. Engineer Mellema would come. He would give a little puff, and all humankind living upon the company’s land would be blown off, to flutter away like goose feathers.

Jean Marais bowed his head when he heard Nyai Ontosoroh’s request; he went pale, perhaps from fright.

“You don’t think you can do it, Jean?” I asked.

He sucked on his cornhusk cigarette, then blew out smoke-rings: “I’m only good with brush and palette, Minke.”

“All right, if you won’t come, I’m going to Kommer’s now, with the same request from Mama. I’ll drop in here on the way back.” Jean could say nothing, but his eyes watched me closely. “Perhaps you’ll have changed your mind by then,” I added.

But his face had changed when he heard Kommer was needed by Mama too. He wiped his mouth and said, “Go now. I’ll wait for you. Perhaps I’ll think differently then, Minke.”

I went.

I discovered that Kommer’s place was quite large. There were cages everywhere, with their animal occupants: pythons, some mouse deer, a bear, a leopard, forest roosters, orangutans. He himself was fast asleep in his own cage.

The woman of the house—I didn’t know if she was a Mixed-Blood or a nyai—who hadn’t given him a single child—awakened him. I sat on a rattan settee. He stuck his head out from behind a door, his eyes still bleary: “Have you been waiting long, Tuan Minke?” he asked in a sleepy voice, then disappeared.

He came out wearing batik pajamas. His face was wet and his eyes were still red, but on hearing Nyai’s request all sleepiness vanished.

“Good, let’s go,” he said. “Let me teach this Maurits Mellema a lesson. Give him a good going over, so he knows how it feels, hey?”

This woman followed the conversation from a distance. On hearing I had brought a request from Nyai Ontosoroh, I saw her face change. Her eyes shone with jealousy. She stood up and hurried away, disappearing behind an inner door.

Kommer stood up and went inside too. Not long after there were the sounds of an argument. I heard the noise of plates and cups being thrown about. A woman’s scream followed, and crying.
But in the end Kommer appeared in fresh and tidy clothes. His hair was parted on the right and shone from too much hair oil. He didn’t wear the shoes he wore most days. In their place he had put on a pair of patent leather ones from Europe, the latest fashion. On his coat, as an adornment to his watch pocket, hung a leopard’s claw and a silver-bound wild boar’s tusk, souvenirs of his proudest hunting successes. He looked handsome and dashing, not down and out, not defeated.

“Can we confront him?” I asked, pretending not to have heard what had gone on inside.

“We’ll see what happens.”

“You’re optimistic,” I said as I climbed aboard the carriage.

“All great events should be witnessed first hand, Mr. Minke, and not just so you can write about them properly for the newspapers. Apart from that…” He too climbed aboard.

“What, Tuan Kommer?”

“…it makes our own lives fuller.”

If I hadn’t known he had proposed to Mama, perhaps I might have become a devoted admirer of the man. I admired what he had just said, but only a little.

The carriage set off nervously for Jean Marais’s house.

“He’s coming at five o’clock, hey? Just under two hours,” he said as he put his watch back in his pocket.

His eyes examined me. Perhaps he was surprised that I wasn’t admiring his wild boar’s tusk and his leopard’s claw. Perhaps he was surprised that I had no questions about them. Maybe he had forgotten he’d told me the stories of those souvenirs three times before.

Sitting beside me, he emanated an aroma of perfume that sent my head swimming. I sat silently, as if he were the normally attired Kommer. Who can forbid people from falling in or arousing love? Even the gods cannot. The first few pages of the
Babad Tanah Jawi
tells of how a god fell madly in love with a woman of the earth. And even the god of Death, the absolute ruler of Time, could not hold the other back, let alone break the power of their love.

The interesting thing was that the behavior of a middle-aged man who had fallen in love was no different from that of a teenager. Both turned into heroic exhibitionists, out to get everyone’s attention. No matter how clever a man is, said my grandmother’s
maid when I was still very young, if he’s been smitten he becomes as stupid as the greatest idiot. Why should Kommer be an exception?

When we arrived at Jean Marais’s house, we were met by Maysoroh in a new dress. As soon as I climbed down, she held out her hands, wanting to be spoiled.

“You’re grown up now. It wouldn’t be right to carry you,” I said. She cuddled up to me, so I had to take her by the hand. She looked clean and very pretty. “You’re very pretty today, May. Give me a kiss.” She kissed me on the hand.

We walked inside hand in hand. Kommer was behind us. He didn’t seem interested in his surroundings. Perhaps he was busy readying himself for the big event or preparing himself to look as dashing as possible for Nyai.

And who wouldn’t have been surprised to see Jean Marais now? He rose from his chair with great difficulty. His smile was handsome. His mustache and beard had been combed.

“I combed Papa’s beard,” said Maysoroh proudly. “Isn’t he handsome now?”

Jean Marais nodded his impatience to leave straight away. His trousers had been ironed. His vest boasted silver buttons. Fantastic! Had he fallen in love with Nyai Ontosoroh too?

“Afternoon, Mr. Marais,” called Kommer.

“Afternoon, Mr. Kommer. A pity you didn’t catch that panther. A great pity that trap I designed didn’t work.”

“That panther escaped, but now we’re going after another, Mr. Marais: Engineer Mellema,” he said in Malay.

“That’s right!” answered Jean merrily.

“You’re ready for it by the look of you, Tuan.”

“Hmmmm. Let’s go.”

So it was that we set off in the carriage. I sat next to the driver; Kommer, Marais, and May sat in the back. I couldn’t quite catch what they were talking about.

“Is Nyai having a party?” whispered the driver, Marjuki.

“A party, Juki, a big party.”

The carriage sped on.

T
hat afternoon thick gray clouds hung umbrellalike over the Surabaya. There was no wind, no thunder. The air was heavy with humidity. The trees around the house sleepily awaited the rain, and the clouds would not fulfill their promise.

Kommer and Jean Marais were in the front parlor. They sat close to each other, talking like two old bachelors planning illusory adventures.

In the back parlor, I found Mama talking to Minem’s old mother, who had been given the job of looking after Rono Mellema. Darsam was standing near the back door. Rono was nowhere to be seen.

“Ya, Nyai, I don’t know what that Minem really wants. She’s a crazy girl. A baby still feeding off the breast and she leaves him like he was just a pile of rags.”

“Darsam, check the gas tanks now. Quickly bathe and then go and turn on the lamps. Put on your very best clothes. And don’t forget to tend to your mustache.”

I told Mama that our friends had arrived, all nattily dressed and looking dashing. Mama smiled happily.

“Is the office closed, Ma?”

“No, Panji Darman’s there. Wash now, Child; dress in your best. We must be at our very best when we meet Engineer Mellema.”

She herself had changed her clothes and put on her makeup. She looked very attractive. For the first time, I noticed, she wore a necklace and a simple bracelet, along with her velvet slippers with silver embroidery and a black velvet kebaya. Dressed all in black like that she looked much younger, very pretty, very charismatic. No one could guess what terrible strength she was going to throw against her enemy later. Those words of hers, which earlier had impressed me so much, now seemed ready to be fulfilled: “Now all I’m left with is a mouth.”

After bathing and dressing, I prayed that she would not resort to violence. Her order to Darsam to dress in his best clothes meant that he was to meet the engineer too. Even that instruction to Darsam gave cause enough for worry.

I did not want to see our visitor die, cut down by Darsam’s machete. Nyai needed only to move her little finger or give Darsam the slightest nod, and the young engineer would die. No, Allah, no machete must cut apart his body, no blood bubble from his veins. Ya, Allah, protect us all from that horror. Give Nyai some sign, guide her in her confrontation with the enemy. Side now, Allah, with the weak!

Sitting in the back parlor, I observed her quietly thinking. Her face was clear and bright. I thanked God. She was holding Maysoroh’s little hand, paying no attention to the girl’s prattle.

May then came over and cuddled up to me. For the thousandth time she asked again: When will Annelies come home from Europe? She stopped her prattle when she heard Nyai call Minem’s mother. The middle-aged woman entered obediently and bent to the floor.

“Bring Rono here, and his sash too, so that I can carry him,” she ordered.

“Rono’s still asleep, Nyai.”

“Bring him anyway.”

May now cuddled up to Mama. Seeing Minem’s mother hand over a baby to Nyai, May asked straight away in a loud voice:
“Who’s this, Nyai? He’s beautiful! Whose child, Nyai? Is it Annelies’s brother’s child?”

“Yes, he is a beautiful child, isn’t he?”

“Very beautiful, Nyai. A boy?”

“Of course, May. Rono, that’s his name.”

“Rono, Nyai? What a wonderful name.”

“You wanted to have a little brother, May. Think of him as your little brother now.”

Maysoroh jumped about the room excitedly. Then she took the baby’s clean little feet and kissed them.

“Give him here, Nyai, so I can have a turn at holding him,” pleaded May. Her eyes shone with great hope.

“He’s not a doll, May, he’s a little brother.”

“Come on, Nyai, let me hold him.”

And Nyai gave the baby to May to carry while still holding him herself. Then: “That’s enough, yes? Yes, that’s enough. Tomorrow you will have another chance.” Maysoroh seemed satisfied. She jumped around merrily.

“Ma,” I said slowly, “she wants a little brother or sister. She wants one very much.”