Footsteps (41 page)

When Haji Moeloek and Mas Sadikoen arrived, I had to take them to the food stall next door. And Sadikoen was right—from the very first moment, this Haji Moeloek came across as an interesting character. He wore a haji’s hat and European clothes, complete with shiny black shoes, which were clearly not locally made. His watch chain seemed very large and reminded me of a ship’s anchor chain. His whole appearance was very Indo. He wasn’t so tall though, just one or two inches taller than I, and a bit broader.

“Mas Sadikoen has told me about you,” I began.

He laughed happily, the laughter of someone who wasn’t sure about his own strengths. “I am really happy to be able to meet you, Tuan,” he said. “I have been wanting to discuss something with you for a long time now, if you would agree to hear me out.”

“It must be something quite important,” I said. “Otherwise Mas Sadikoen wouldn’t have gone out of his way to bring us together.”

“It’s like this, Tuan…” He broke off. “But first I should tell you a little about myself. I was born in Parakan, and was brought up and educated there as well. I went to primary school in Salatiga, but I always loved Parakan better. I went to the HBS school in Semarang, and another five years in HBS in Holland. While I was in Holland I attended an agricultural school where I studied about plantations, and then I came back to Java. After ten years of going from plantation to plantation, I became pretty bored with it all. So I became a sailor, and sailed with the ships of the Semprong Tiga line. We used to take the people going on the pilgrimage, sometimes from the Indies, sometimes from South Africa…. Yes, even from South Africa. They are the descendants of Moslems who were exiled from the Indies a long time ago. There were some Indians as well.”

“You are a Moslem yourself?”

“Just a muallaf,” so I knew he was a recent convert. He laughed and glanced at Sadikoen. “Isn’t that so, Doctor?”

“What does ‘muallaf’ mean?” Sadikoen asked back.

Haji Moeloek ignored his question and went on: “It’s like this, my friend the Chief Editor. I have been thinking about this for a long time, weighing up the issues, assessing them again and again. Perhaps I am in error, perhaps my evidence is flawed, full of mistakes…and if I am in error I ask you to forgive me, and if there are mistakes I ask you to correct them, Tuan.”

“What do you mean, mistaken and in error?” I asked, not understanding what he was talking about.

“In my opinion, Tuan, being in error means that from the very time you had the idea you were wrong. A mistake, on the other hand, is when you had the right idea but got things wrong when you put your ideas into practice. Am I right?” His enthusiasm for his subject had still not waned.

“Well, if that’s what you mean, you could very well be right.”

“So, Tuan. The influence of Europe on the Indies Natives is
not direct, is it? Europe and the Indies are two worlds which are completely different both in form and content. And because Europe is superior, Indies Natives have had to accommodate to this new victor. Isn’t this so, Tuan?”

“You are not in error.”

“Are we all right speaking like this, Tuan, or do you prefer Dutch?”

“Malay is fine.”

“Very well. You don’t mind either, do you, Doctor?”

“Why would I mind?” Sadikoen asked back.

“What would you like, Ndoro?” asked the woman at the stall.

“Curried goat, if that’s all right with you gentlemen,” I suggested.

“I’m sorry, I’ve had enough goat lately,” Haji Moeloek answered. “I’ve got high blood pressure, and goat is too fatty.”

“Do you have grilled chicken?” I asked the woman. “Good, grilled with
kecap
? Three!” and to Haji Moeloek, “Please continue.”

“So, Tuan, the Indies Natives take what they need from Europe via the Indos, who are quite a small group. I am not mistaken, am I? Where there are no Indos, European influence is usually blocked. In my opinion, which of course is not necessarily correct, it is the Indos who have introduced European civilization into the lives of the Natives. I am not in error, am I?”

“If that is what you think, and also what you say, then, of course, you are not wrong,” I said.

He laughed happily.

“So, sirs, I cannot really continue until you have said whether you agree or not with what I have said so far.”

“How can we agree or disagree?” accused Sadikoen. “I have never thought about this issue before. It’s your idea. You keep going.”

“You yourself are an Indo, so of course you should understand the situation of your people best.”

“Look. Take music, for example. The Indos learned to play European musical instruments, to play Indo songs. And then Natives learned from the Indos and went on to spread the skill among their people. Am I wrong?”

“You are correct,” I said, encouraging him.

“And it’s the same in other areas. Clothes, for example.
Crafts. And indeed, as far as clothes go—don’t the Natives have an extremely poor culture? All the terms that are used in tailoring, they all come from Dutch. And didn’t the Native tailors learn them all from the Indos? Even the word
pisak.
”

“What does pisak mean?”

“That’s the join between the left and right leg of a pair of trousers.”

Sadikoen burst out in laughter. I didn’t know what was so funny.

“’Pies-zak,’” Haji Moeloek repeated in Dutch for my benefit. He went on. “And it was the Indos who first put windows in their houses, to be followed then by the Natives. You gentlemen are not offended, are you?”

To be honest, what he had been saying wasn’t very pleasant to listen to. It was as if the Natives had no achievements to their credit at all. But what could I say, for I had no reply to his argument?

“Even the idea of parting one’s hair came from the Indos. And we ourselves just copied from the Pure-Bloods.”

That was going too far! Now even the parting of our hair was not a genuine Native custom!

“And it’s the same with having a forelock.”

He was getting worse and worse.

“But it’s also in relation to more important matters that the Indos have acted as disinterested go-betweens between the Europeans and the Natives. Perhaps one day, when the Indies catches up to Europe, people will erect a monument in memory of the Indos’ role as unpaid passers-on of civilization. Perhaps they may even be remembered as the civilizers of the Natives themselves,” he laughed happily. “What do you think?”

“To be honest, I don’t think I can voice an opinion one way or the other as yet,” I said, a bit cranky. “Are you finished?”

“Of course not, Tuan. Look, there are also many Natives now learning to paint. And once again their unpaid teachers are all, without exception, Indos. See, the Natives only have five colors, mixing them a little here and there. Now the Natives have learned twenty colors, both primary colors as well as combinations. It is the Indos who have also pioneered setting up social organizations. Ah! Yes, but the time will come where my people’s role as go-betweens will end, when the Natives can deal directly with the Europeans—namely, when European education has become
widespread in the Indies. Heh-heh, Tuan, do you know that human lips are now used for something that Natives never used them for?”

Now what was it with these idle lips?

“You see, before the Indos began to have their impact, the Natives never did, and indeed couldn’t, whistle.”

Sadikoen laughed indignantly. I let out a bit of a laugh, piqued. Haji Moeloek on the other hand really enjoyed his laugh, feeling that for the first time he had provoked a reaction from us.

“See, Tuan,” he went on more provocatively, “I am talking about this period we are in now, while the Indos are still needed as civilizers who don’t force people to learn new ways and aren’t paid for it either. This is a time when their pupils come to them of their own free will, voluntarily. Have you had enough of my talk yet?”

“Oh, what will you all drink? I’m sorry, I forgot to order drinks. Miss! Miss! Coffee? Tea? Lemon?”

“For me, tea please, my friend Editor Minke, strong tea,” said Haji Moeloek.

“I think I’ll have the same, please,” Sadikoen added.

“Three strong teas, please! Will the chicken be long?”

“Maybe another hour, Ndoro.”

“Do you have cigars?”

“Of course, Ndoro.” The woman presented three cigar boxes, each with a different brand of cigar.

Sadikoen didn’t smoke cigars. He wanted cigarettes.

“What about if we continue, Haji Moeloek?”

“Yes, Tuan. It’s true that the Natives have enriched their vocabulary with words gained from mixing with Indos, and this includes the names of the different tools that are used today. But the more important thing, Tuan, is that written Malay—that is, Malay written in Latin script—was also pioneered by the Indos. The publishing of Malay newspapers and magazines was pioneered by the Indos. There was one Malay publication that was started by someone else, but that was in Singapore and he was an Arab. And his Malay was written in Arabic script. The Malays and the Natives of the Indies have in fact not pioneered anything. You, Tuan, have that honor, of being the first Native to start up such a publication, by and for the Natives, and in Malay! It is only proper that you be congratulated.” He held out his hand and I shook it happily.

“That is why you are such an interesting person. You, a Javanese, who started publishing in Malay! And Malay is the language of the Indos. We use it among ourselves and when we converse with other peoples. May I ask why you didn’t publish your newspaper and magazine just in Javanese? You didn’t choose to publish in Batavia and Bandung by chance, did you?”

And I explained to him about the multiracial and multinational character of the Indies. He listened to me intently, nodding, pondering, like a truly fine play actor.

“You’re not going to say that my ideas have also come from the Indos, are you?” I asked.

“Yes, I have misjudged you. You didn’t choose Malay by accident, and you aren’t copying my people. Your ideas go much deeper than that. With ideas like that, you must have your own view of BO then?”

So I explained to him my views of this organization.

“I have tried to raise these concerns with the Council of Leaders of the congress. Their answer—we will give them our consideration” said Haji Moeloek. “After hearing your views, Tuan, I am even more glad that I use Malay. I very much agree with and support your ideas on this.”

Once more he offered his hand.

“And what about what you were talking about earlier, Tuan, what were you getting at?” I asked.

“So, my friend, Mr. Minke, you see the first Malay language paper was published in Surabaya. That was the beginning of the history of Malay language publishing in the Indies. The paper was called
Bientang Timoer
, ‘east star,’ yes? It was also started by Indos. Just think, that was thirty years ago, when the Natives couldn’t even read the Latin script yet! And the Indos pioneered such papers purely out of their love for Malay, Tuan, yes, that was it! That’s what it’s like with me, Mr. Minke. There is no language that I enjoy more, that gives me more pleasure, than Malay. It is such a beautifully free language, you can use it anywhere, under any circumstances, without feeling any loss of dignity.

“You see, Tuan, in the matter of writing short stories, it was also the Indos who pioneered writing in Malay, long before the Malays themselves began trying. The Indos had already begun! Yes, the Indos are indeed the pioneers of the Indies. This is not just boasting, is it, Tuan Minke? They wrote out of love for the language, never tiring, without pay, seeking profit from no one.
There are still no Natives writing stories in Malay. Just recently, and also out of love for the language, the Chinese have begun writing in Malay. And still the Natives have not tried. I hear that you yourself still write your prose in Dutch. If that is the case, then you too must understand what is involved in writing stories. You squeeze everything you can out of what is in your heart, holding nothing back. Isn’t that the case?”

“More or less.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Sadikoen, I know nothing about medicine.”

“This is all very interesting, Tuan Haji.”

“Thank you. Yes, well, you shouldn’t be surprised if I lecture you about the accomplishments of my people. Just look, the Pure-Bloods ignore our writing; it has not even occurred to the Natives to have a read. And so it has been all this time. You see, even until now, there has been no writer to outclass Francis. No one can rival him. What is your opinion?”

“Perhaps. I last read Francis in 1898 when his book
Nyai Dasima
was published. But I’ve forgotten what it was like.”

“His books should be studied more, and not just by the Indos. It was
Nyai Dasima
that was published in 1898, and that is considered his best work. You don’t mind my mentioning your rival, do you?” Without waiting for my reaction, he continued, “But now there are fewer and fewer people who want to write. There is no pay and little honor in writing. People enjoy reading the stories but don’t want to know who it was who strove so hard to create them. So, Tuan, what I would like to know is whether or not you would be willing to publish Francis’s stories if he were still alive. Either in book form or as a serial in your paper?”

Seeing that I was hesitating in answering, he quickly continued: “Yes, the answer is not as easy as the question. Your paper doesn’t have much space. In any case, I put this to you simply as a suggestion. It’s not just a matter of whether to print or not to print either. It is a matter of honor—a way of recognizing the so far unrecognized contributions of the Indos. Such a person as yourself, with such broad vision, must surely agree with me that the mark of a civilized people is its ability to repay debts of honor.”

At first there had been just the three of us at the food stall. Now two other people, who looked like traders, sat down and ordered. They also listened to what Haji Moeloek was saying.

From behind the stall wafted the aroma of our almost-ready chicken. Our glasses of tea had been drunk to their last drop.
Sadikoen had begun to nibble on crackers, forgetting that he was a Bendoro doctor who would never be seen eating at such a small stall as this back in Kroja.