Twilight in Djakarta

by Mochtar Lubis

  Raden Kaslan was preparing to leave for abroad at the beginning of the new year. He told Fatma that because he had been the author of the plan for the raising of funds on behalf of the party’s election campaign, it was better for him to be out of the country for the time being, and said that Fatma could join him in Europe later.

  During these last days of the year Suryono stayed mostly at home. He didn’t go to the meetings at Pranoto’s house any more since he was ashamed to meet his old friends. Practically every night he was pursued by the nightmare of the car whose brakes suddenly gave out.

  Only Fatma remained calm as if she didn’t care at all about what might happen.

  A kind of panic broke out among the leaders of Husin Limbara’s party. It was not revealed to the outside world, however. The party newspapers were ordered to continue their violent attacks on the opposition and to say that the cabinet would continue to do its duty and that no government party was planning to have the mandate returned.

  Halim’s treachery had badly affected Husin Limbara, the more so because he’d been bringing Halim’s name before the party leadership to help him get a bank loan and other financial support.

  Then, on December 30th, the Prime Minister returned the mandate to the President. Two government parties had decided on December 29th to withdraw their ministers from the cabinet as they no longer wished to be responsible for the government’s policies.

  The cabinet fell.

  City Report

  Since noon the rain had been pouring down. But it seemed to Zakaria that instead of letting up it was becoming even heavier. The sky over the city was dark and from time to time there were outbursts of deafening thunder, with flashes of lightning cutting through the heavy, billowing, murky clouds.

  Zakaria sought shelter under the roof of an ice-depot. Several other people stood there with him. Zakaria’s stomach felt very empty; hunger had been gnawing at his guts for some time.

  He was quite exhausted. He had just got a new job as an office messenger, and had to walk from his home to work and back again. It usually took him about three-quarters of an hour to get home; he usually got back by three o’clock and could then eat and still the gnawing hunger. But now it was almost five o’clock and the rain wouldn’t stop. He didn’t dare walk home in the rain for fear of becoming ill, and, more importantly, if the jacket he was wearing got wet, he wouldn’t have another dry one to put on tomorrow for work at the office, unless he just wore a shirt. But his shirt was already rather worn and had several holes.

  One after another the people who waited together with him went off, saying,

  ‘Ah, this rain won’t stop until night. So we’ll get wet!’

  Finally Zakaria was left all by himself. Near magrib time, the city was already dark, and the rain was still pouring, but Zakaria felt that it was getting lighter. By six o’clock the rain began to ease off and fifteen minutes later it stopped altogether. Relieved, Zakaria stepped out to go home. Though he felt weak, the hunger didn’t bother him any more. The street was flooded with stagnant water, and Zakaria decided to cross at once.

  But no sooner did he start crossing the street than a car was blowing its horn at him. Zakaria saw it approaching at great speed and jumped back to the pavement. But apparently the car’s driver intentionally passed close to the pavement so that the water whirled up by its wheels splashed Zakaria from head to foot. Zakaria had jumped away hoping to avoid the spray, but was too late. The front of his jacket and trousers were soaking wet, his face and his hair were dripping.

  Dumbfounded, Zakaria just stood. Then, realising that the calamity he had tried to prevent by waiting out the rain had overtaken him after all, he burst into tears which streamed down his cheeks and mingled with the rainwater splashed there already. Then a wave of violent and bitter hatred swept through his whole being. Zakaria looked at all passing cars with glaring, hate-filled eyes. And he cursed all people who had cars.

  1 Glorious Gold.

  2 Garuda Indonesian Airways.

  1 Head of a provincial sub-division: regent.

  2 ‘There is no God but Allah and Mohammed is his Prophet.’

  1 Bits of meat on small skewers grilled over charcoal.

  1 Lit. ‘covered’ in Dutch, i.e. protected.

  1 Businesslike, in Dutch.

  2 Mr. = Meester, Dutch title for lawyers.

  1 Formerly Borneo.

  1 Mixed rice, i.e. with side-dishes mixed in.

  January

  IN THE first days of the new year Hasnah’s baby began stirring restlessly in her womb, and she feared it would be born prematurely. Sugeng was seldom home now, day or night. Sometimes he stayed away all night. Hasnah felt the distance between them growing all the time. And all she could do was to cry and cry, always accusing herself – it was she who’d ruined Sugeng, she who’d caused the calamity that had befallen them. All the luxurious objects in the house served only to remind her of her trouble and make her even sadder. And tears she could not restrain filled her eyes every moment.

  The doctor had warned her to control her emotions or she might endanger herself and especially the child she was carrying. When Sugeng was home, she hardly dared to speak to him. She’d seen how it consoled him, even cheered him, to have her admit that she was the one to blame for his wrongdoings.

  Meanwhile Sugeng was busy transferring the titles of their possessions to other members of his family. He sold his car and invested the money in a business officially headed by a relative. A new house he’d just built in Kemajoran Baru was likewise registered under the name of another relative after a legal sales agreement had been drawn up, though of course no actual transaction had taken place. ‘If anything happens,’ Sugeng said, ‘we’ll at least save what little we have now.’

  One day he asked Hasnah whether she’d mind if he also sold the refrigerator and changed the big radio in the living-room for a smaller set instead.

  ‘We’ll do without a refrigerator for the time being,’ Sugeng said. ‘We’ll just buy ice.’ Then he added, ‘We’ll get at least forty or fifty thousand for it and we’ll put the money away somewhere else.’

  Hasnah left everything to Sugeng. The refrigerator and the big radio set were sold. And Hasnah was even somewhat relieved not to see them in the house any longer.

  But even so Hasnah could not stop crying.

  ‘Aduh, it’s my fault. Why did I keep asking for a house? I only asked for it so we’d be happier and love each other better. I didn’t ask for a house to make Sugeng do wrong. I wasn’t asking for luxury and riches.’

  It was beyond Hasnah’s understanding why their life had become what it now was. The days ahead seemed dark to her as the new year was coming. Something shadowy and frightening seemed to hang over their home, poised to drop down and crush them all at any moment; ready to destroy even the last sparks of their happiness, like Maryam’s hearty laughter as she played. And it was only occasionally that Hasnah managed to forget it all and cling to her memories of the warm and intimate life she’d had with Sugeng in the past. But then it had all been long ago, in a very different world, she felt. And she’d become even more dejected, bursting into tears again and again, until her eyes were red and swollen. And when Maryam stopped laughing and, coming to her, asked, ‘Why are you crying, Mother?’ it seemed as if Maryam’s world too had become very dark.

  On January 5th Raden Kaslan left the country after a farewell party given by Husin Limbara and several members of the party council. Suryono and Fatma took him to Kemajoran Airport. Returning from the airport, Suryono said to Fatma in the car,

  ‘Now Father’s gone. We’re left here. What are we going to do? I can’t stand Djakarta any longer. Especially for the next few weeks.’

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ asked Fatma.

  ‘Anywhere, who cares? But I don’t want to go alone!’ said Suryono. Then a thought struck him, and he said,

  ‘Why don’t the two of us go off together?’

  ‘Ah, and what will peop
le say?’

  Fatma smiled, challenging him. Suryono understood.

  ‘Who cares what people say?’ he answered. ‘Why stop half-way? What do we care, whatever happens?’

  Fatma smiled. She realised that if she were to go with Suryono, a new bond would grow between them. The showdown with Raden Kaslan they’d managed to avoid so far was sure to come and would have to be faced. To go off together was different from being secretly in bed together at home. If she went off with Suryono she couldn’t possibly remain Raden Kaslan’s wife. Nor could Suryono very well continue to be his father’s son. If I marry Suryono, Fatma thought, I certainly won’t lose anything. He’s young, handsome, has money. I’m rich enough myself, too. Even if we have to separate somewhere along the line I won’t have lost anything.

  ‘Why aren’t you saying anything?’ asked Suryono.

  Had Suryono ever thought of marrying her? Fatma wondered. She decided that it hadn’t entered his mind. She suspected that for him all this was still playing around. By Allah, even stealing his father’s wife was still ‘just fooling around’ for Suryono!

  ‘Don’t you want to come with me?’ Suryono pressed.

  In his unnerving state of constant doubt and anxiety, Suryono now felt that the only way for him to regain peace of mind and soul was to go off some place with Fatma, hide there from the world and find release from all the fears and premonitions of disaster which pursued him, by drowning them in an orgy of passion and lust; it was as if he could in this way freely express his real disregard and indifference to society, politics, the parties whom he considered responsible for the disasters he felt were threatening him, threatening his welfare, threatening his very life. By defying what people thought, by asserting himself, he’d be free from the standards and judgements of others.

  ‘Fatma, let’s go,’ said Suryono.

  Fatma smiled again. She knew she could now do anything she wanted with Suryono.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ she said, ‘we still have to consider what people will say.’

  ‘Why worry about people?’ retorted Suryono. ‘If we want to, we’ll do it.’

  ‘Haven’t you thought what it may lead to?’

  ‘Who cares what it leads to?’

  ‘Don’t you think of your father?’

  ‘What about Father?’

  ‘This is sure to mean our divorce.’

  ‘Ah, Father, why care about Father? When trouble came, as it did now, he just left. He’s left us in the lurch now. But earlier it was he who persuaded us to join him.’

  ‘You’re his son.’

  ‘What kind of father abandons his son when there’s trouble?’

  Inwardly Suryono now felt greatly relieved, even satisfied. Of course all this was his father’s fault. It was because of his father that he’d got involved. He himself had never dreamed of piling up money when he first returned from abroad. It was his father’s fault. Compared with what his father had done, his own affair with Fatma was nothing.

  ‘If your father divorces me, will you marry me?’ Fatma then said.

  ‘I’m ready to marry you this very moment,’ Suryono answered quickly.

  Fatma suddenly felt herself very powerful, as though a man’s fate were in her hands and she could twist it any way she wanted. The life of Raden Kaslan, her husband, and the life of Suryono, his son, were now completely in her power. It was gratifying to feel this power.

  ‘How about it, Fatma?’ Suryono urged again.

  ‘Let’s talk it over a bit more at home,’ said Fatma. ‘Why the hurry? We’ve lots of time.’

  Ever since the Prime Minister had returned his mandate, political activity in Djakarta had reached a new pitch of intensity. Though inter-party conflicts continued to rage, behind the scenes several of the parties which had supported the retiring cabinet were establishing contact with the opposition parties. It looked more than likely that a new cabinet could be formed quickly, most probably without the participation of Husin Limbara’s party.

  In Husin Limbara’s party the executive council had split in two. Some of the younger leaders at last dared to challenge the policies of the top leadership, and Husin Limbara was singled out for particularly violent attacks. In return, he even went so far as to threaten to resign if the party wouldn’t give his policies complete and unconditional support. But then, towards the end of a council meeting, Husin Limbara was suddenly seized by a heart ailment. His physician advised him to take a vacation and not to work too hard. Husin Limbara accepted his advice and, greatly relieved, left Djakarta for a rest in his native village in the mountains of East Java.

  Editor Halim changed the line of his paper completely and ordered his news editor Sidompol to interview the leaders of the opposition parties whose names were being mentioned as candidates for posts in the new cabinet. His editorials now contained criticisms of some of the old cabinet’s policies and placed the whole blame for the rice, salt and kerosene shortages at its doorstep. When a number of readers sent in angry letters reminding the editor that he’d previously defended the old cabinet to the hilt and had asserted that it bore none of the responsibility for these shortages, Halim gave orders that none of these letters were to be printed.

  The new cabinet was formed on January 12th. Husin Limbara’s party was not in it. Halim immediately wrote an editorial welcoming the new cabinet and promising to support it as long as it was going to work for the welfare of the people and the state.

  January 16th. All morning Hasnah had felt her time was very near. Sugeng had left the house early in the morning and Hasnah was waiting for him to come back and take her either to the doctor or to the hospital. If this was really the beginning of her labour, the baby would be a month early – the doctor had said it was due in February. But Hasnah had already foreseen the possibility of the baby’s premature birth because of her own poor state of health during the last few months. Towards noon Hasnah could no longer bear the pains that now came at regular intervals and decided to go directly to the hospital. She asked a neighbour to telephone her doctor, quickly packed into a small suitcase the things needed for the baby, told the babu to tell Sugeng that she’d left for the hospital and, after kissing Maryam while tears streamed down her cheeks, went off to the hospital in a betja, accompanied by her friend.

  She was taken at once to the delivery-room. The hospital doctor made a preliminary examination. And then he telephoned Hasnah’s doctor. Half an hour later he arrived. He told Hasnah that it did look as though the baby wanted to be born. His face was a bit gloomy.

  She was taken to the operating-room of the maternity ward. The neighbour who’d brought her to the hospital pressed her hand and went home.

  Sugeng only returned home at five in the afternoon. Hasnah had left about noon. When he learned about it from the babu he jumped into a betja and hurried to the hospital. As he reached the maternity ward he saw the doctor who’d been attending Hasnah, ready to leave.

  ‘How is it, Doctor?’ Sugeng asked with a heavy heart.

  ‘The mother is well, but we couldn’t save the baby,’ said the doctor, pressing his hand.

  Sugeng was overcome by a feeling of weakness.

  ‘May I see her?’ he asked the doctor.

  The doctor took him to a ‘second class’ room; a four-bed room with only two beds occupied. On one of them a woman who’d just had her child lay reading. Opposite her lay Hasnah.

  ‘Just look at her, don’t try to talk!’ said the doctor. ‘She’s too weak.’

  The doctor left Sugeng. Sugeng stood near the bed, looking at Hasnah as though he was nailed to the spot. He was very pale, all blood seemed to have been drained from his veins. His lips were as white as a sheet, and low, choking moans escaped from them. Tears welled up in his eyes, streamed down his cheeks. Then Sugeng stooped to grasp Hasnah’s hand. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and remained there silently, until Hasnah opened her eyes and looked at him. She tried to smile at him with her eyes, didn’t quite succeed and closed them again while S
ugeng whispered to her softly,

  ‘Has, Has, it was all my fault, not yours; I should have known when to stop!’

  Crushing remorse overwhelmed Sugeng till his heart felt like bursting. He remembered all his wrongdoings, starting with his yielding to the temptation to make a lot of money, and then still more money, and later playing around with women because he had too much money and didn’t really know what to do with himself. And he now saw clearly how cruelly he had treated Hasnah, piling the whole responsibility and guilt upon her shoulders because she’d been urging him to get a house for themselves. He saw now that Hasnah’s plea was but the desire of a devoted wife who longed for a good family life, undisturbed by other people; and that it was he, Sugeng, who was guilty of going far beyond what Hasnah had wished for. He remembered how happy they’d been when they were newly married, and later when Maryam came, and though they’d led a simple life they’d been at peace with no dark clouds threatening them.

  I beg you to forgive me, Has, Sugeng was murmuring in his heart. I want to start all over again; I want to start clean again; if you’ll forgive me I can face everything – whatever may happen. I won’t run away, I’ll be strong if only you’ll go on loving me.

  As though she’d heard the murmur in Sugeng’s heart, Hasnah opened her eyes and looked at him. Their eyes met, and Sugeng bent down and kissed her forehead. Then Hasnah closed her eyes again. Sugeng sat very still holding her hand, oblivious to everything that was going on around him and the bed where Hasnah lay until a nurse came, tapped him on the shoulder and said that it was time for him to leave.