Lunch with the Generals

by Derek Hansen

  ‘How much do you need?’ she asked again, softly.

  ‘It’s hard to know exactly. Between one and two hundred thousand US dollars.’ Jan could not meet her eyes. He felt ashamed.

  She laughed and wrote him a cheque for two hundred thousand dollars. Jan was speechless.

  ‘You are just like your father. In thirteen years you have not once asked to see the books of your own shop. You have taken no salary and no dividends. I know you take a small profit from your costs and the price the shop reimburses you for stock. But that only serves to convince me of one thing. You have no more head for business than your father. You should let Lita manage your finances just as I managed his.’

  ‘Mother, I don’t know what to say. How can I ever thank you?’

  ‘It’s your own money. It’s your shop. Besides there is more than enough left to cover my needs.’

  He looked at his mother, now tiny with age and bent with arthritis. He kissed her.

  ‘One more thing, Jan. I am grooming Anke to be my successor. No, don’t say anything. I am getting old and it is becoming increasingly difficult for me to do my job. Anke is a good girl. She gets better every day and she learns quickly. You must arrange for her to become your partner. She deserves it and she will be good for you.’

  ‘Why am I so lucky?’ he asked her. ‘To have you for a mother, a perfect family of my own, and to have lived the life I have.’

  ‘It may not always be this way, Jan. If you understand that now you will find things easier to cope with when the tide turns.’

  ‘I understand, Mother,’ he said, but of course he didn’t. How could he?

  He chose the occasion of Annemieke’s fifth birthday to announce his decision.

  Annemieke had asked if she could celebrate her birthday near a thermal pool high up on the mountain where they could boil and decorate eggs. People came from all the local kampungs, bringing brightly coloured, over-sweet cakes to add to the traditional birthday fare. They cooked satays and rice, and the children played games and filled up on coloured cordials. They brought Annemieke little presents they’d made painstakingly over the preceding weeks. Nobody had any inkling that the day would be anything other than a celebration.

  Jan rose to his feet and stood before everything he loved in the world.

  ‘I have an announcement to make,’ he said, speaking in the local dialect so all could understand, ‘and it is one that causes me more pain than you will ever know.’

  The mountain fell silent. Lita took Annemieke from Levi and gazed at her husband, her face expressionless. They had discussed their options but he’d given no indication that he’d reached a decision.

  ‘The time has come for the Van der Meers to leave our home on Tangkuban Perahu, to leave Java.’

  The news, so unexpected and unwelcome, brought a gasp that set birds to flight and sent lizards scurrying.

  ‘I have decided that we will move to Australia where my children will go to school. We will keep our home here and visit whenever we can. We will never forget you. Our hearts will always be here on Tangkuban Perahu.’

  Jan was deliberately brief for he feared his voice would betray him. The lump swelled in his throat and he felt an overwhelming sadness. He stood gazing down over hillsides dark green with tea, and splashed burnt red where erosion had bared the soil. He looked over land which for seventy years the Van der Meers had been glad to call home. He did not move.

  Tears began to glisten in Lita’s eyes and flow down her cheeks. Annemieke looked at her mother’s tears, so seldom seen, and cried too. But it was Levi who gave voice to their common grief. Her sorrow echoed around the hills and forests to be taken up by the villagers. Soon the mountainside was awash with tears.

  It took them six months to tidy up their affairs and leave Tangkuban Perahu. Each village took it upon themselves to formally farewell the family so their sadness at leaving became drawn out and wearying. Andi Sose was the last to make his farewells.

  ‘The sea calls me,’ he said. ‘It is time to return to my people in Ujung Pandang.’

  ‘Goodbye, my friend,’ said Jan, and threw his arms around the old man to whom he owed so much. ‘I will look for you whenever I visit the pandanus cape.’

  ‘Ask for me at the Pautere Anchorage or Perahu Harbour. If I am not at sea that is where you will find me.’ He turned to Lita. ‘Take care of him, Nyonya, sometimes his heart is too big for his brain.’

  The old pirate shook hands with both boys, and turned to Annemieke. He reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out a silver chain. Annemieke’s eyes widened. There was something on the end of it but she didn’t have time to see it properly before he slipped the chain over her head and around her neck. She took the little pendant in her hand and examined it. It was a tiny monkey beaten out of silver.

  ‘I have made this for you, little sister. I taught myself this skill in the long hours at sea.’ He looked up to Jan and Lita. ‘We don’t always have foolish young Dutchmen, strong in the head and weak in the bowels, to amuse us. And life is dull now that we are no longer pirates.’

  Annemieke hadn’t really thought ahead to life without her friend. She could hardly remember a time when he wasn’t around to play with her. She thought of him as family. Now she was going away. Now he was going away. A great sob built up inside her and burst from her throat. She threw her arms around the old man’s neck and drenched his collar with her tears. Andi gently pulled her arms apart and held her in front of him so that she was forced to look into his eyes.

  ‘Don’t go away!’ she pleaded.

  ‘But I am not leaving you, little sister. Whenever you wear this silver chain you will think of me and I will be with you. That is why I made it. This chain joins us. We will always be together.’

  The Van der Meers arrived in Sydney seven years before the tall Argentinian who now called himself Eduardo Remigio Gallegos, but their paths were destined to cross.

  The Van der Meers found the northern beaches irresistible. The boys who had spent their lives in a sea of green now discovered the sea of blue. They threw themselves into the surf with joyful abandon to be hauled ashore by lifeguards whenever their enthusiasm outstripped their competence.

  The children also discovered sunburn. In Java they had always worn shirts and hats. Everyone did. Now their noses peeled and their backs blistered. But it wasn’t the pain of their burns that taught them the wisdom of sunscreens. It was being confined to the shade while they watched their new friends tearing the waves apart. That is what hurt most.

  Lita followed the Javanese custom and kept out of the sun. She encouraged Annemieke to do the same. Annemieke always wore a broad-brimmed beach hat and a T-shirt over her bathing costume when she swam. She clung to Lita, and Lita clung to the shade.

  It is said that children adapt more readily than adults to any change in circumstance and the boys were proof of that. But Annemieke became listless and clingy. She was easily upset. She missed Andi and she missed Levi and the other house girls. She missed the friendly, dark faces. She missed the world which had seemingly had her at its centre. She never took off the silver monkey Andi had made for her and Mong, her ragged little Minangkabau calf, was her constant companion and comfort. Every day she would ask Jan when they were going home.

  But Jan had another home in mind. Property prices had slumped following the nickel boom that had put Poseidon on the front pages of newspapers around the world. He had his eye on a large, rambling, Federation-style house in Mosman on Sydney’s lower North Shore. The house had views to Middle Harbour but, surrounded by box gums and jacarandas, it also gave them a privacy that people unaccustomed to neighbours must have. It was close to the city without being suffocated by it. And close enough to the beach to satisfy the boys. It was also close to schools, which the boys noted with mounting dismay.

  Jan bought the house and their lives soon settled into a new routine. Annemieke still pined for her home on Tangkuban Perahu but gradually succumbed to the many diversions
Sydney had to offer. She became a regular at Taronga Park Zoo, and made friends with the big, sad-eyed orang-utans and skittering monkeys. She discovered the cinemas and toy shops. And she discovered ‘Sesame Street’, ‘Play School’ and ‘Humphrey Bear’. One day she discovered she was happy and her song reached into every corner and crevice of the old house. Jan and Lita looked at their youngest child and smiled. When she tied a string of cans to the tail of the next door neighbour’s dog, any lingering doubts they’d had about their move vanished.

  But as their new life began, another ended. Jan’s mother finally succumbed to age, arthritis and the bitter northern winter. Jan was distraught. He flew to Holland immediately.

  His mother was cremated on a bleak, joyless, wintry day that reduced the world to monochrome. He thought his mother deserved better, and his opinion was shared by the small gathering that attended the short service: her few friends and neighbours; her staff from the shop; her doctor; and the bank manager who had been her friend and business advisor. It was a humble gathering. But at least there were mourners, and those who mourned her passing were genuine. She had fared better than her husband.

  Before Jan could return to his family in Australia, he had first to attend to business. He called into the shop to see Anke.

  He made Anke a proposition whereby she purchased a twenty percent holding at a value far below the real worth of the business. Then he provided her with the incentive that would make the partnership work. He set profit targets based on previous results. Profits would be split fifty-fifty and, on a points basis, increased her entitlement to purchase more shares. It was a good deal for both parties, and it guaranteed Jan a stable source of income for years to come.

  Jan would have liked to claim that he had thought of the proposal himself. He hadn’t. It was the last gift he ever received from his mother, the details handed to him by her solicitor along with her will. He suspected she had also discussed the proposal with Anke, for she showed no surprise and accepted without condition.

  He also visited the people who bought his tea. It was the last time he would do so on a business basis. Jan had discovered that Australia was a nation of tea drinkers and he had found a ready market for his medium quality black tea, which was an essential part of the blends Australians preferred. Now he had to advise his European customers to buy elsewhere.

  He returned to Australia with his mother’s ashes sealed in a tiny pewter urn. He wished with all his heart that they had shared more time together, but they had both made their choice.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Annemieke was thirteen years old when her father finally gave in to her.

  ‘It can be your birthday present,’ he said.

  ‘I love you!’ she cried, threw her arms around him, and ran off to tell her mother. ‘Mum! Mum! Guess what? Dad says I can come with you to Tangkuban Perahu. I can’t wait!’

  Her happiness filled the house. And the two boys for once didn’t complain about the interruption to their studies. Not even Pieter, who had become uncharacteristically short-tempered, under pressure to perform well in his Higher School Certificate.

  ‘You’re spoilt,’ he said, smothering his sister in a huge bear-like hug. ‘Take plenty of pictures because that’s where Tom and I are going as soon as we finish HSC. Now let me study or I’ll never get to university.’

  That night Annemieke made her father tell the story of his return to Tangkoban Perahu after the war. Annemieke knew the story by heart. When Jan reached the part where the village people came to meet him, eyes streaming with joy, Annemieke glowed and wondered what her own reception would be like.

  The little girl who, unlike her brothers, had always been small for her age, was finally beginning to grow tall. Her legs had grown so long they seemed to have a mind of their own and flopped as helplessly as a newborn foal’s. Her long fair hair fell mid-way to her waist in a cascade of honey and sunshine. Her pale olive skin glowed with health and vitality.

  She had boyfriends with whom she’d go to movies, ice skating and to parties. No matter how well supervised they were, teenagers who want to can always find the opportunity for a little petting. Even so Annemieke was careful about how far she would let her boyfriends go. When she overheard one boy at school boasting to his friends that he had gone a lot further with her than she’d ever allow, she didn’t ask him to ‘hold out hand’. She clenched her fist, set her feet and punched him in the nose with all her weight and force. She demanded an apology right then and there in front of everybody and got it. Her friends developed a sudden new respect for her. Annemieke was one girl who would never have to ask her brothers to uphold her honour.

  The girls in Annemieke’s class envied her beauty but they didn’t resent her for it. She was always the first to point out the most attractive features of others. If Annemieke said someone had nice eyes or beautiful skin, her comments were accepted as gospel, and the recipients of these compliments loved her for it. She was kind, generous and sensitive. And just as the servants had vied for the honour of holding her when she was a baby, so her school friends now vied for her attentions.

  Annemieke gave the lie to the argument that beauty is only skin deep. Her beauty also came from within and none could fail to recognise it. She had never stopped writing to the servant girls and the little village girls who had been her playmates, though the replies were becoming fewer as the years passed and more and more of them got married.

  Now she wrote to everyone she knew to tell them she was finally coming back to visit as she had so often promised. In her mind she saw her return as a replay of her father’s. During her first years at school, she was often made aware of the fact that she was different. Her friends teased her because of her funny accent and her olive colouring set her apart from them. It had hurt Annemieke to feel that she didn’t quite belong so she’d compensated by turning Java into a fantasy land where the sun always shone, and beautiful birds and butterflies filled the air. The more she thought about Tangkuban Perahu the more she came to love it. Her affection was so deep and heart-felt she couldn’t conceive of it not being reciprocated. And if that was the case, why wouldn’t the villagers welcome her back the same way they’d welcomed Jan?

  As the day of departure drew closer, she practised her Bahasa Indonesia and the traditional greetings and expressions of gratitude in the local dialect. She bought gifts to take with her. As her excitement grew, Jan realised he would have to take precautions to make sure everything turned out the way Annemieke had convinced herself it would. He took on the role of stage manager.

  At every step of their journey he called Tangkuban Perahu to update them on their likely arrival time. He made his final call from the Rindu Alam restaurant on top of the pass at Puncak less than two hours from the plantation.

  ‘All is ready, Pak Jan,’ they assured him.

  Even so, Jan and Lita were staggered by the scene which awaited them at Tangkuban Perahu.

  Indonesians love a celebration. They probably have more festivals than any other nation on earth. These festivals are not purely for pleasure. Originally, they were the means by which a people who were largely illiterate passed on their history and culture, reinforced traditions, and maintained order in their lives As education spread through the villages and all the islands, the festivals became more celebratory, an opportunity for people to dress up, make social contact, and to feast until their bellies groaned.

  The Council who now ran the estate decreed that the return of Annemieke warranted such a celebration. They saw Jan regularly and Lita once a year when she came to visit her parents. Annemieke, the blonde child of Tangkuban Perahu, was obviously special to them. But both Jan and Lita knew the reception was calculated to honour them all.

  Annemieke was oblivious to any such subtleties. All she had eyes for was the cheering, waving crowd of once familiar faces, and the banner which straddled the driveway between the tallest palms proclaiming in a delightful confusion of two languages, ‘Welkom home Annemieke’.
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  The members of the Council stood in self-conscious formality on the steps of the house. But as the car pulled to a halt, Annemieke saw Levi, now a mother herself with a baby on her hip, and her carefully rehearsed greetings evaporated. With eyes awash, she dashed from the car to embrace her sister, and the blonde-haired girl was quickly swallowed up in a dark sea of smiling faces.

  The next few days were among the happiest of Annemieke’s life. Her friends and playmates were now strangers to her, painfully shy and self-conscious in her presence. But Annemieke charmed them with her honesty and easy manner, and her lack of guile encouraged them to be more forthcoming. Her gifts were a huge success that helped build bridges. She still spoke a little of their language, but with the most comical accent they had ever heard. They began to mimic her, not unkindly, and roll around with laughter whenever she spoke.

  Jan and Lita let Annemieke rediscover her childhood at her own pace, and watched delightedly as her Sundanese blood rose like sap in spring. She relearned the customs, the courtesies and the songs that had slipped away over the years.

  The villagers told her the story of her visit to the monkey forest though now the story had grown to become a legend which she scarcely recognised. And they read special significance in the silver monkey she still wore around her neck.

  ‘You must visit them once more,’ the villagers insisted, anxious to see the legend with their own eyes. Mother monkeys would come down from the trees to offer their young to Annemieke for her blessing. The males would form a guard of honour to see that no harm befell her.

  Annemieke knew she could not charm the monkeys from the trees, though the supposed eye-witness accounts she heard confused her. She knew she had no special powers. The monkeys at Taronga Park liked her only for the peanuts she brought them. Still she liked the little creatures, and agreed to accompany the villagers to a spot where they could observe the monkeys without disturbing them.