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by Leila S. Chudori

  Andini never had problems with her homework and never intentionally would do anything to upset her parents. She didn’t make an issue of her family’s position, which meant always having to keep their heads down as a result of the political views of an uncle she didn’t even know. About the only thing that could make Andini lose her control was when her brother unleashed a torrent of complaints or began to shout in anger at their parents—which is something that happened all too often when he was a teenager. Andini was a person who believed that all people had in themselves the strength and ability to overcome and settle their own problems. She didn’t believe in weakness and she didn’t tolerate whining or sniveling behavior.

  Given their two distinct personalities, it wouldn’t be difficult to guess how the independent-minded Andini dealt with her shamefaced brother. Although Rama was five years older than Andini, it was he who more frequently pouted and moaned. The result was a never-ending civil war at home between older brother and younger sister.

  As children, whenever their family got together with the Hananto family, Rama usually kept to himself. But whenever he and Andini got into a fight, it was her “cousin” Alam who always stepped in to intervene. Because Alam was older, taller, and bigger, with a much dominant personality and the holder of a black belt in karate besides, Rama generally chose to slink away and hide inside himself rather than test his own mettle. The gulf between the children—with Alam, Andini, and also Bimo on the one side and Rama on the other—became even wider as they became adults. Alam and Bimo chose the world of activism and idealism, and Andini set her sights on an academic career. But Rama chose a much more pragmatic career path on which he could keep his distance from them. In the end it happened that Alam and Bimo, who could not abide Rama’s attitude, became surrogate brothers for Andini at the Aji Suryo home when Rama was absent. And he was often absent, not just in the physical sense but in the spiritual sense as well.

  Seeing such a principal divide within the family, Retno theorized that Andini had somehow inherited the family’s entire reserve of fortitude and resistance while Rama had somehow gotten the short end of the stick, receiving only trepidation, fear, and a sense of inferiority. It was in this state that Rama, with fragile and limited strength of heart, had found friendship with boys from families who seemed to have an abundance of wealth from questionable sources. The more closely involved Rama became with these friends of his, the more impervious he became to his parents’ guidance and supervision. In Rama’s favor, he had also inherited the height and good looks of his father and the uncle he hated, so that people who weren’t aware of his personality defects were attracted to him.

  Aji and Retno frequently asked themselves what had become of their son’s moral bearings. Aji felt that he had failed in instilling in Rama the understanding that what happens in life to a person or his family is not because of some fault at birth. He had failed in making his son understand that they were not victims; they were survivors. In Aji’s mind, the real victims of 1965 were those people who had suffered far more than they: the innocent people who had been murdered, interned, exiled, and disappeared. Aji, like his wife and daughter, too, preferred to look at the challenges they faced as a force for becoming stronger and more resilient people.

  Aji sighed sadly. Images from the episodes of the Suryo family drama suddenly vanished with the sound of Rama’s voice. The voice he heard was real, not just in his imagination.

  “Pak…”

  Aji turned his head to see Rama, who appeared to be especially well dressed for a Saturday, in a long-sleeve shirt and black trousers. With his son towering over him, Aji suddenly found himself unable to speak. He felt like he was face to face with a stranger who had no blood relation with him. Or maybe it was because he had buried the hurt he felt so deeply that he felt nothing at all.

  Rama looked nervous. Finally, feeling a jolt of pity for his son, standing there anxiously, Aji motioned for Rama to sit down.

  “This is a surprise. What’s up?” he asked.

  “I know it’s sudden…”

  “Mama made nasi uduk for you when she heard that you were coming.” Aji looked for the morning paper which he still hadn’t read.

  “I know, Pak. Pak… Could I bother you with something?”

  How respectful! Aji put down his paper and asked, “What is it?”

  “I’d like to introduce you to this girl I know. Her name is Rininta.”

  “Rininta?”

  “Yes.”

  Aji said nothing, waiting for Rama to utter the next sentence. His son was twenty-eight. Was it already that time? Alam and Bimo, who were both around thirty-three, were still single and reveling in their bachelorhood.

  “She’s my girlfriend, Pak.”

  “Well then, invite her here. Introduce her to Mama and me. That should be easy enough, right? It’s not like we’ve ever told you not to come home.”

  Rama said nothing.

  Aji felt there was nothing more to be said and he lifted the morning paper to his eyes. He took a sip of his now cold coffee and pretended to immerse himself in the news of the day, even though his ears were twitching to hear what his fickle son would next have to say.

  “Actually, I don’t want to just introduce you to her, Pak. And she’s not just a girlfriend,” Rama said cautiously.

  “Is anyone saying she’s just a girlfriend?” Aji asked rhetorically as he stared at the paper in front of him. “Obviously, if you want to introduce her to your parents, you must already have some kind of special relationship with her. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, all right then, tell your mother. I’m sure she’ll want to meet this Rininta. And don’t forget to tell your sister, too, when it is you intend to bring her here.”

  Rama looked taken aback. Aji knew that his son wanted to say more, but he was happy to end the conversation and send him off to speak to his mother. Aji concealed a smile. Let Rama know what it feels like, that he can’t just come running to his parents when he needs something. If for all this time Rama had been hiding his identity from all those “great” friends of his, then now was the time for Rama to know just how much he had hurt his parents by being ashamed of them.

  Aji felt blessed to have been surrounded in his life by good cooks. His mother had been a wonderful cook and she, his brother Dimas who had inherited her culinary skills, and his wife Retno all held the view that well-prepared food, made with good ingredients and careful attention, could be a salve for the soul and even serve as a white flag for the reduction of conflict between two opposing forces. There was no outright war between him and Rama, but there certainly was a degree of conflict that tore at his heart. He was Rama’s father, after all.

  Knowing what Retno was doing, Aji felt a little sad to see her so busy in the kitchen, shaping portions of the freshly cooked nasi uduk on squares of banana leaf and sprinkling on top of each portion crispy slivers of fried shallots and shreds of wafer-thin omelet. Next, she would add to each packet individual portions of balado teri kacang, ayam goreng kremes, and ati ampela. Proper nasi uduk was always served with such side dishes: fried anchovies and peanuts in chili sauce, coconut-coated pieces of chicken, and a mixture of cubed liver and gizzards. When all this was done, she would then wrap the individual portions in their banana leaf squares to create an envelope which she sealed shut with stick pins fashioned from palm stem. Aji again reflected that his wife was confident that good food can ease whatever tension might arise in the house.

  Aji looked at Rama, who had a smile on his face as he smacked his lips and swallowed. Then he looked at the wall clock. It was nearly eleven. “Where is Dini?” he asked, even though he knew that if Andini hadn’t gotten to sleep until seven that morning, it would be a while before she woke up.

  “Let her sleep,” Retno advised as she came to the table carrying the last two items to complete the meal: a sambal bajak chili sauce and pete goreng, fried stink beans whose name did not do justice to their succulent fla
vor.

  “Come on, Rama, go ahead and eat,” she said as she took her place at the table.

  Aji and Rama each helped themselves to one of the banana leaf packets. Opening the leaves on their plates, they began to use their right hands to mix the foods with the rice. At that moment they heard heavy footsteps dragging themselves across the floor and, looking towards the source of the sound, saw a pillow-wrinkled face.

  Andini came forward, her head down and her eyes half shut. “Mama, I could smell your chicken and the chili sauce all the way in the bedroom!” she said with a wide smile and quivering nostrils. “All this food, Papa… You must have done something right to deserve such special treatment.”

  Andini plopped on her chair, still oblivious to her surroundings, but then suddenly her eyes opened wide when she realized her brother was there, seated across from her at the table.

  “Hey! We’ve got a guest!” Andini screamed happily as she leaned her head towards her brother.

  The word “guest” caused Rama to look down for a moment, but then he raised his head, mouthed the word “Hi” to his sister, and scooped some anchovies and peanuts onto the side of his rice.

  When Andini went to pick up some of the shredded omelet with her fingers, her mother patted her on the hand. “Even if you don’t want to bathe, Dini, you should at least wash your face and brush your teeth.”

  Andini grinned, picked herself up from the chair, and traipsed towards the bathroom. Once inside, she stuck her head back out and called to her brother. “Hey, Bro, you’re looking real good. All dressed up like that. What’s happening? Are you going to propose to a girl or something?”

  Rama almost choked on his mouthful of rice. Both his parents noticed and quickly glanced at each other. Rama covered himself by swallowing a glass of water.

  Andini could be a wildly wicked tease and had a sharp tongue to match, but this time she was not conscious that with her blithe comments she had set a landmine on the breakfast table. After brushing her teeth, slapping some water on her face, and loosely knotting her hair, she rushed back to the table again, unaware that she might have said anything out of turn. Instead, she started chattering about school; the difficulty she was having in writing her thesis on The Waste Land; about Lintang, who just so happened to bring a vintage edition of Eliot’s work with her; and about the trouble she was having in tracking down her advisor, who was always out of town, while Lintang, who went to the Sorbonne, was having the opposite problem, with her advisor always getting on her back.

  “Lintang? What Lintang are you talking about?” Rama asked, not realizing he was nearing the landmine.

  “Our cousin, dummy. Do you know another Lintang?” Andini took a chicken leg and began to nibble on the crispy skin.

  Rama looked at his parents and then at his sister who was now engrossed in eating her nasi uduk. “Lintang Suryo?” he asked as if befuddled. “Where did you see her?”

  “She’s here now, visiting,” his mother answered.

  “Working on her final assignment,” Andini immediately corrected, “and she’s going to stay for a couple months.”

  Rama suddenly lost his appetite. His nasi uduk on its banana leaf—with its sprinkling of fried shallots and shredded omelet, dressed with chili sauce and anchovies and peanuts—now tasted flat. He found himself unable to raise his head; he couldn’t chew his food, much less swallow. Lintang, the daughter of his uncle, Dimas Suryo, the very person who had made his life so difficult, was here in this house?

  “Yeah, and tomorrow she’s going to interview Tante Surti,” Andini went on, either unaware of or not caring about the changed look on her brother’s face. “She’s even trying to get an interview with Pramoedya Ananta Toer!”

  Rama tried to calm his pounding heart. He took another sip of water to clear his throat, but found himself unable to begin a sentence.

  “You’re not finished already, are you Rama?” his mother asked. “If you don’t eat the food, your sister will,” she said, pushing the serving platter with several packets of nasi uduk toward him.

  Rama nodded weakly. “I still haven’t finished my first,” he said to his mother as he, pushed his rice around the plate. “So what is Lintang’s assignment about, what with her having to interview Tante Surti and all?” he asked his sister with trepidation.

  “About the victims of September 30, 1965, and its impact on victims’ families. For sure, Tante Surti will be an important source of information on the subject,” Andini answered lightly.

  Rama tried to force himself to eat. Nasi uduk was truly at the top of his list of favorite foods and he did want to show his mother his appreciation for her work, but now he was having difficulty swallowing even a grain of rice. Meanwhile, his sister continued to chatter: about the books that Lintang had brought for her and how happy she was to finally meet this cousin with whom she had traded books and corresponded for so many years, at first through letters but more recently through e-mail.

  “Remember how we used to have to wait ten days to two weeks just to receive a letter,” she said. “I did love getting all those beautiful French stamps; but now, with e-mail, you can exchange letters in a matter of seconds. Amazing, isn’t it!” she prattled on, trying to convince her mother, who had no skill in the use of electronic technology, of the wonder that was the communications systems of today.

  Her mother’s attention, however, was on Rama, who had already finished his lunch. When offered a second serving, Rama politely refused and took his used plate into the kitchen. Both of his parents were surprised by the sudden change in him: his polite and reticent behavior. Even Andini noticed the change and put a brake on her chatter.

  Rama returned to the dining room with a long look on his face.

  “Would you like some fruit, Rama?” his mother asked. “There’s papaya, bananas, and watermelon in the refrigerator.”

  “Thank you, Mama, but I think we need to talk.”

  “All right then, we’re here to listen,” she said sympathetically.

  “Uh-oh, should I make myself scarce?” Andini asked point blank. “This sounds like personal territory.”

  “No, Dini. You should be here too.”

  Aji was losing patience with his son’s reticence. “OK, Rama, tell us what it is.”

  “I came here today to tell you that I want to introduce you to Rininta,” said Rama slowly.

  “This sounds so serious.” Andini giggled to hear the formal tone of her brother’s voice.

  Her mother flashed a look at Andini, indicating the need for her to give her brother time to speak.

  Rama looked at his parents. “But this is going to be more than just an introduction. I’ve actually been seeing Rininta for a long time. More than three years already.”

  His parents looked at each other in surprise. Aji’s heart beat faster.

  “Ever since starting to work at Cita Karya…”

  “Oh, does she work there too?” Andini asked.

  “No. She’s Pak Pri’s daughter.”

  “And who is Pak Pri?”

  “Pak Priasmoro, the director of the company.”

  “The director general?”

  “No, he’s beneath the director general. He’s head of the company’s construction division. I work for him.”

  “Ohhh…”

  No one seemed to have anything more to say. Aji, Retno, and Andini of course knew that for the past four years Rama had been working as an accountant at PT Cita Karya, a state-owned construction company, and that his position was one of trust. As such, they were also certain that if Rama had been able to pass the security clearance required to work at a state-owned corporation, then he could only have done so by dropping the use of Suryo as his final name and concealing his family background.

  Aji knew that to get a job in a state-owned company, a prospective employee had to go through a barrage of bureaucratic procedures that had been established by the government specifically for the purpose of ascertaining whether the prospective emp
loyee was free from the taint of blood relations with a political prisoner or political exile. Suddenly, for Aji too, the nasi uduk on its banana leaf lost all appeal, as if it were rancid and left over; as if the fried shallots and shreds of omelet had suddenly turned black. How could the color of food change, chameleon-like, with the mood of one’s heart?

  No one—not Aji, Retno, nor even Andini—knew how to react to Rama’s announcement. Of course they should be happy and proud that he wanted to marry. But he intended to marry the daughter of a director of a state-owned company. What was the implication of this?

  “So, Rama, when would you like to bring Rininta here to introduce her to us?” his mother finally asked.

  “Anytime, Mama. Anytime the three of you are all here together, I can bring her by.”

  Aji knew there was a subordinate clause as yet unspoken. “But…?”

  “But besides introducing you to Rininta, I’d like you to meet her parents as well.”

  That was it. That was the sentence that had been sticking in Rama’s throat. That is what had forced him to come here and to make his mother work so hard preparing nasi uduk with all the fixings for him. Rama wanted the family to meet Mr. and Mrs. Priasmoro!

  “Ohmygod, ohmygod!” Andini got up to take her plate to the kitchen. “Ohmygod, ohmygod!”

  “Shut up, will you!” Rama snapped in irritation.

  In the kitchen, Andini cackled as she washed her hands. In the dining room, Aji, Retno, and Rama sat in silence as they listened to her noise. Her voice was a foghorn, loud and shrill.

  Aji pushed his chair away from the dining table and stood. Retno called to the back for Mbak Irah, the housemaid and helper, to come help her clear the table and carry the rest of the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

  Rama followed his father as he walked towards the living room, his heart beating faster.