Lunch with the Generals

by Derek Hansen

  Jan liked the fuss everyone made of Annemieke and he loved the little face looking up at him with eyes full of trust and wonder. Sometimes in the afternoons, he would get impatient waiting for Levi to finish her chores, and he’d grab his daughter and take off without her. Lita would scold him for it but nothing she said could make him change his ways.

  So when Annemieke wandered off by herself at the age of three, away from the women picking tea, Jan had nobody to blame but himself. At first they didn’t realise she was missing. The women always worked faster when the boss was around and put aside their squabbles. Of course they stopped to greet Annemieke and play with her when she first arrived. But it didn’t take them long to figure out that Jan was in one of his serious moods and they reacted accordingly.

  Everyone assumed that someone else was looking after little sister, so when Jan prepared to leave no one was particularly concerned when Annemieke wasn’t produced immediately. When all the ladies were accounted for there was still no cause for alarm.

  ‘Little sister sleeps,’ they called out, and retraced their steps, looking in the shade of the tea bushes. But as time passed and they still couldn’t find her Jan began to panic.

  There are deviates in Indonesia just as there are in every country and society. There are those who prefer little children for their pleasures. There are snakes and wild pigs, and desperate, starving dogs. There are steep gullies eroded by flash flooding, and countless streams that a child could drown in. All these thoughts took possession of Jan’s mind.

  ‘Find my child!’ he bellowed. ‘Stop what you’re doing and find my child.’

  He sent some women off searching in different directions, others he sent for reinforcements. One he sent home to fetch Andi.

  Annemieke wondered where all the people had gone. She wasn’t frightened to be alone, because there had never been anything to frighten her. Besides, she wasn’t alone. She had butterflies. Brown ones and blue ones, and lovely yellow and white ones. She wanted to look at them more closely, but they flittered away, always just beyond her grasp. She called to the birds high up in the canopy but they didn’t hear her. No matter. There were more butterflies and they led her deeper into the cool of the forest. The hill sloped away to a gully with a tinkling stream. Annemieke headed towards the sound, growing tired as she negotiated the creeper vines, and climbed over the spreading roots of the banyans. Then she spotted the cutest little playmate she’d ever seen.

  ‘Baby,’ she said.

  Jan stood by his Land Rover alone with his fears, as the women’s shouts and calls grew dim. He tried to think how far she could have gone. But how long had she been missing? Did she go up hill or down? He thought of fetching Lita but he didn’t know what he could possibly say to her. He couldn’t face her. Not yet.

  It didn’t take long for reinforcements to arrive, but all the while his darling Annemieke could be getting further and further away. Many of the new arrivals were men, and it was their way to discuss possibilities and formulate a plan before rushing off in different directions. Jan was nearly beside himself with impatience. But he’d never raised his voice to the men before, and he would not start now.

  ‘If she stays among the tea we will find her soon enough,’ they reasoned. ‘If she has fallen down and hurt herself again we will find her. If there was a dog that would attack her we would know of this dog and we do not. If a snake has found her then we can do nothing. That is God’s will. If there was one among us who would harm her we would know of him and we do not. If there was a stranger among us we would know of him also and we do not. If she has reached the forest that will be difficult, for there are many places in the forest that can hide a child. Therefore we should concentrate our search on the forest while it is still light.’

  The men ran off and Jan was again left to himself. He climbed as high as he could to where the tea reached the tree line, where he could watch the women as they combed the hillside. The thought of losing Annemieke was unbearable.

  He saw two figures rushing towards him from the homestead. His heart sank. It must be Lita and Andi. But as he watched with growing trepidation, he realised the female was too small. It was Levi. She rushed up to Jan and threw her arms around him sobbing pitifully.

  ‘Levi, I want you to help. Go as far across the hill as you can till you see the men. Try and keep me in sight. Signal me if they find little sister.’

  ‘Yes, Pak Jan,’ she sobbed, grateful to be needed.

  ‘Andi, go find the men in the forest. Help them find my child!’

  ‘As you say, Pak.’ The old man took off with purpose.

  By Jan’s reckoning an hour and a half had passed since Annemieke had wandered off when Levi called him. He raced down the hill to his Land Rover, and drove along the track towards her.

  ‘The men signal,’ she said as she climbed in. ‘By the monkey forest.’

  Jan’s heart leapt into his mouth. He couldn’t imagine how she’d got so far. Perhaps she’d seen a monkey scavenging for food the women had left behind and followed it. But that seemed unlikely because the monkeys generally kept to their own territory. Whatever the reason Jan could hardly imagine a worse place for her to go.

  The men obviously thought the same. They sent a boy to stop the Land Rover before it got too close and caused alarm. They knew what monkeys could do to a child, particularly a child who loved animals and might try to play with one of their babies. Perhaps they had already. Jan dreaded what the boy might say.

  ‘How is she? Have you found her?’

  ‘Yes, Pak Jan, we have found her. She is with the monkeys, Pak. We dare go no closer.’

  ‘But is she all right?’

  ‘She is not frightened, Pak, so the monkeys have not attacked her.’

  ‘Yet,’ thought Jan grimly. There would be little hope for his daughter if they did.

  The men silently led him as far into the forest as they were prepared to go. There was Annemieke. She was surrounded by monkeys, some posturing, some merely curious. He could hear her tinkling laugh. Little monkeys reached out to her and dashed away as soon as she moved. She clapped her hands and sent them all scurrying. But they always came back, and it was always the biggest and most aggressive that came back first.

  Jan did not carry a gun but that was what he needed. Just to scare the monkeys away. Just to give them time to rush in and rescue her.

  ‘We must go closer,’ whispered Jan.

  ‘No, Pak Jan, that will alarm them.’

  ‘We must do something!’

  ‘We must wait, Pak Jan. Little sister walked into their home. Little sister will walk out again if God wills it.’

  Jan watched and his fear grew. The biggest monkey was now becoming aggressive, and they lay watching helplessly as he faked attacks only to retreat at the last moment.

  Annemieke had stopped laughing. This monkey alarmed her. She stood up and the big ginger monkey began to shriek and beat its chest. Annemieke started to cry, they could hear her quite clearly. Hands grabbed hold of Jan and held him still.

  Two females dropped down beside the ginger monkey and started to bare their teeth and shriek at him. The big monkey slowly backed away. But not far enough for Jan’s comfort. Annemieke stopped crying to watch. One of the females had a tiny baby on its back.

  ‘Baby!’ she said.

  ‘Please don’t!’ sobbed Jan under his breath.

  As they watched, the big male suddenly charged the female with the baby, knocking it over and sending the baby flying. The female bared its teeth and cringed, its baby crying out in fear.

  ‘Bad monkey. Go way, bad monkey.’ Annemieke stepped forward, her fist clenched.

  The big male turned to face this unexpected challenge with eyes blazing.

  ‘No, Annemieke!’ One of the villagers clapped his hand over Jan’s mouth to muffle his voice. To scare the monkeys now would be disastrous.

  ‘Little sister,’ called a voice, below and away to their right, quietly, soothingly, a voice that
carried with the softness of a breeze weaving in and around the banyans and giant figs.

  Annemieke dropped her hands and turned towards the woods that whispered her name. She looked back at the baby monkey and held her arms out.

  ‘Little sister,’ came the voice once more, and again she turned. The monkeys fell silent, not alarmed but cautious.

  They heard it again, the prayer-soft sound. The whispering of trees, of flowers calling to each other when no human ear is listening.

  ‘Little sister,’ it whispered. ‘It’s time to come home.’

  ‘Bye-bye,’ said Annemieke to the monkeys, and slowly climbed over the spreading roots of the banyan trees. The monkeys watched her go, then forgot her. When the men judged Annemieke was safe, they stood.

  ‘Daddy!’ cried Annemieke. ‘Come and see. Me found monkeys!’

  The men laughed but Jan was too choked up. He ran to Annemieke and scooped her up, holding her tight, his mind still racing with thoughts of what might have been.

  To his surprise, Levi showed no concern at all and joked with the men. They all laughed and patted Andi on the back when he climbed up from his hiding place below them. It was Andi who had called to Annemieke. He demonstrated the voice he had used, over and over, until everybody was helplessly convulsed with laughter. Jan began to laugh and so did Annemieke. Why not? What might have been didn’t happen. What useful purpose could be served by dwelling on it? Jan was no stranger to this simple wisdom but the western part of him needed reminding.

  When the story was retold, the women of the village scoffed at any suggestion that the monkeys might have hurt Annemieke.

  ‘Why would they hurt little sister?’ they asked. ‘They would feel honoured by her presence. Are you insensitive? Can you not feel the peace she brings? Ah, men! Monkeys are smarter. Little sister knew they would not harm her. Did not the females protect our little sister?’

  Jan was happy to humour the women. He wanted to believe his little angel could walk into the lion’s den and emerge unscathed. But in his heart he knew he was once more in the debt of the old Bugis pirate.

  If Jan was indulgent towards Annemieke, he was equally indulgent towards the two boys who ran wild from the day they could walk. He was determined to allow them the freedom he’d enjoyed as a child. But in a community where they ran as nominal Christians among children from devout Muslim families, order and discipline came as a natural part of their lives.

  They learned to honour and respect the traditions and beliefs of their friends and elders. In this way they acquired awareness and tolerance of others, and a set of values that would stand them in good stead all their lives.

  All three children grew up speaking the local Sundanese dialect, Bahasa Indonesia, Dutch and English. At Jan’s insistence, they learned Indonesian history and geography. As Jan gathered stock for his little shop in Amsterdam, they learned about Indonesian art and artifacts: primitive carvings and weaponry from Kalimantan and Irian Jaya; antique silver and jewellery from Yogjakarta; paintings and wood carvings from Bali; beadwork from the Dayak tribesmen; and exquisite batik and ikat from all over the archipelago.

  At night Jan and Lita would put the children to bed with tales of princes and princesses, monkey warriors and evil sorcerers. There was one story Annemieke loved above all others and she would beg her parents to tell it over and over. It was the story of how the Minangkabau people got their name and the hero was a buffalo calf. Lita made a little cloth calf for Annemieke which became her favourite possession.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Such happiness could not last. It would be wrong to think that their lives on Tangkuban Perahu were quarantined from the trials which affect other mortals. They had their ups and downs. Some years were good but others were too dry or too wet. But they always salvaged something from their crop though at times they were lucky to break even. But that is the lot of farmers the world over and, all things considered, the good far outweighed the bad and they were happy.

  When the boys were old enough Jan sent them to boarding school in Bandung. He would drive in and bring them home for weekends whenever he could. That is how Jan became aware of the changes that were taking place. With the same foresight his father had displayed, he realised their days in Java were numbered.

  For five years, Sukarno propped up his power base and his ‘Guided Democracy’ by maintaining a delicate balance between the army and the PKI. On September 30, 1965, Sukarno directed his Presidential Guard to assassinate the Generals headquartered at Halim Air Base, whom he suspected of plotting to overthrow him. General Suharto, then commander of the army’s strategic reserve, saw his opportunity and used the attempted coup to gather power to himself. By evening he was in control.

  The military blamed the communists for the attempted coup. The army turned on the PKI, and neighbour turned against neighbour. More than half a million communists were dragged from their homes and executed or imprisoned. With the elimination of the PKI, the delicate balance Sukarno had used to maintain his authority was lost. He came under increasing pressure from General Suharto, who took over the presidency in March 1968. Sukarno was placed under house arrest until his death in 1970.

  Throughout it all, Jan tried to keep himself and the villages apart from politics, and to a fair degree he succeeded. His unique arrangement with the villagers was an anomaly which was barely tolerated. Jan was well aware that the slightest indiscretion could result in the appropriation of his property by the State.

  Jan welcomed President Suharto’s rise to power for he brought economic reform, stability, and foreign investment laws which guaranteed Jan’s partnership in the tea plantation. But the policies which were his salvation were also, paradoxically, his undoing. His family would not now be forced out at gunpoint but by something more insidious—progress.

  On the eve of war, when Jan had been sent home to Holland, Bandung was known as the Paris of Java. Because of its altitude, some seven hundred metres above sea level, it was spared the worst of the tropical sun. The Dutch made Bandung their administrative centre and built broad, shady boulevards, large, elegant homes that caught the cool breezes, and established a university and hospital. The population was then a modest hundred and fifty thousand.

  But now Bandung was falling victim to the government’s relentless drive towards industrialisation, and the haze which built up during the heat of the day was discoloured by pollution. The population swelled as villagers left their crowded land for the excitement and illusory affluence of the city.

  Beautiful boulevards like Jalan Asia-Afrika, once the domain of horse-drawn carriages and bicycle-powered becaks, now suffocated under the onslaught of car and motorbike. Sewers choked and drains flooded and people lived in squalor. Some inevitably rose above their neighbours to occupy the homes vacated by the Europeans. But they had no tradition of dense urban living and did little to control the spread of rubbish and filth.

  Jan began to see evidence of this everywhere he went. Indonesians had always wrapped their food stuffs and goods in leaves or baskets which they would abandon in piles outside their villages to rot and return to the soil. Now the wrappers they abandoned were plastic and foil, and they littered the countryside. Rivers, from which villagers drew their water and in which they bathed, now ran with industrial effluent. It could only get worse. Before long, Jan realised, paradise would be lost forever.

  There was another problem which he and Lita discussed incessantly. They were anxious for their children to have the best possible education. They had to concede Bandung was only a stop-gap measure, a deferral of a decision neither wanted to make. They considered sending the children back to Europe, but neither could bear to be parted from them for any length of time. Jan thought of uprooting and returning to Amsterdam but in his heart he knew he could not endure the climate or the city life. Besides, how could he ask his children to surrender the rolling hills of Tangkuban Perahu for cobblestones, and parks where it was forbidden to walk on the grass? Jan had a decision to m
ake and it could no longer be postponed.

  He took off for Europe. He had another consignment of artifacts for his shop and for dealers in France and Germany. But he had another reason for going. He would need money if they were to leave Java and set up in another country. The plantation had been good to them and they had lived well, but it had not made them wealthy. He needed money to buy a home and time to sort out his future. He hoped the little shop in Amsterdam would provide the help he needed.

  Age and arthritis kept his mother confined to her apartment now, but she maintained a keen interest in the business. She rang the shop every day and kept a sharp eye on the accounts. Only when new pieces arrived and her knowledge was needed for pricing would she venture out. She’d make a day of it and take the staff of two out to a restaurant that night. It was one of the few times she ever relaxed the purse strings.

  She had the caution of the elderly who have known hard times and fear their return. Money gave her security, and she hoarded it away in banks. Every year she gave her staff a generous bonus which reflected their efforts and the results of the year’s trading. The rest of the profits went straight into the bank.

  She lived frugally for her needs were few. Apart from her medical bills, her only other significant expense was the neighbour she paid to clean and make her meals. The neighbour, not many years younger than herself, would gladly have helped out just for the company they gave each other. But Jan’s mother was not the kind to be beholden to any other human being. When Jan told her of their need to leave Java and asked to see the accounts, she easily guessed his motives.

  ‘How much do you need?’ she asked him.

  ‘I cannot sell Tangkuban Perahu,’ he replied. ‘Who would buy it with the arrangement we have with our friends in the villages? We have them to think of.’

  ‘How much do you need?’ she asked again, and Jan was dismayed to see that she appeared to be enjoying his discomfort.

  ‘I plan to assign forty-nine per cent to the council. I will retain control and meet with them three or four times a year. It will provide a reasonable income but no capital.’