by David Nesbit
Barely an hour went by without her calling me wherever I happened to be teaching so she could give me an update on what she was up to and what was happening in the intricate world of timeshare selling. It was great to see her so happy and that happiness just rubbed off on me and the two of us as a couple.
I remember after a month or so of working at Bali Party she phoned me at work one day and asked for my permission to go out with her friends that night. How about that? Asked for my permission. Although times are changing, in Indonesia the woman still somewhat defers to the man in a marriage and ‘permission’ has to be sought for pretty much even the slightest deviance from the daily routine.
Needless to say, permission was duly granted.
That night, as it happened, I managed to finish work at a reasonable hour and I called Yossy. She was, as usual, delighted at this turn of events and asked me to accompany her and her new friends. Not being the most naturally gregarious of people, I was a bit reluctant at first but she soon talked me round and so I reluctantly agreed to tag along.
As things turned out it was quite an enjoyable evening in the end. We all met up at Yossy’s office and I found myself being subjected to a long round of introductions to her friends; a group of perhaps ten or so people, all in their early to mid twenties, and evenly split gender wise. They all seemed genuinely pleased to meet me and the look in Yossy’s eye told me she was more than happy at this coming together. That was the wonderful thing about her: she always seemed to really be proud of me and to want to ‘show me off’ to people. At first I found it all a bit disconcerting and even a bit patronizing at times to tell the truth, as being an insecure sort I used to suspect ulterior motives of some kind. Quite what I was worried about, I am not sure, but in the beginning being paraded around, as I called it, felt uncomfortable to say the least. However, after a while I realized that this was just Yossy’s way and she really did merely wish for me to be happy and by her side always.
It was humbling to feel so loved.
Back to the night in question, and I was struck by how well-spoken and sophisticated all her friends seemed to be. They were all immaculately dressed, spoke fluent English and carried themselves in the way that successful, confident young professionals do.
The only slightly confusing part of this initial meeting was the way they all individually either asked permission to accompany Yossy and I, or else thanked me for inviting them. One by one they took the opportunity to sidle up to me and uttered a version of the following, ‘Hey, Neil. Thanks for inviting me. Are you sure it’s OK if I join you guys tonight? Yes? Well, thanks a lot, then.’
I was a bit perplexed to tell the truth, because as far as I knew we hadn’t actually invited anyone and it was nothing more than a night out together, so when we were together in the cab heading up to a small club in the south of the city I took the opportunity to ask her about this.
‘Don’t worry, hon,’ she said, ‘they are just being polite.’
When we reached the club it was pretty dark and there was a live band gently playing melodic rock. Finding some tables a little way back from the stage, and slightly tucked away, totally suited me because one thing that living in Indonesia had taught me was that a lone bule in the audience at an event, or amongst the guests at a gathering, would often be picked on by the MC or whoever was performing. This would lead to the poor sap either being asked to come on stage to introduce himself or else to sit and suffer while the guy entertained himself and everyone else present at his expense. With this in mind, a place in the shadows suited me just fine, thanks.
We all ordered some food and watched the group strutting their stuff. I don’t know what I was expecting from either the group or the evening in general, but both were really not bad actually and I found myself relaxing and having a thoroughly pleasant time. After a couple of hours I realized I had to be up early the next day and so I suggested to Yossy it was time to start thinking about making a move.
As the bill was being prepared, I started to get my wallet out to pay for my and Yossy’s share, but she stopped me, saying she would take care of it.
‘We all pooled our money in the office before we left.’ she told me, ‘I’ll use that.’
Who was I to argue, thought I, and finished up my drink.
On the pavement outside the club a discussion took place about whether or not to go onto a ‘real’ club or else call it a night. It turned out that the club in question was a place called Limelights. Evidently it was notorious for being a sort of rave club.
At the somewhat ancient age of 27, I felt that was the sort of place that deserved to stay in the darkest recesses of my memory and be left there. I could see Yossy wanted to tag along, though, and, after a bit of persuasion from me, she headed off into the night with her friends while I took a cab home.
Looking back, that night may well have been the catalyst for what was to follow, but for now I had to negotiate my way home in a taxi. Taking a taxi in Indonesia was a whole new ball game to anything I’d ever experienced back home. The roads were absolutely flooded with them, for a start, and everywhere you looked dozens would be out on the street at any one time. If I happened to walk any distance further than a hundred metres or so, I could be sure I would be accosted by up to half a dozen drivers of the blessed things, all beeping their horns and competing for my patronage.
The thing is, though, that practically every taxi company was nothing more than a bucket shop. Almost all the companies were the same in that their fleet of vehicles were totally decrepit and barely moved over twenty miles an hour; any AC the contraption ever possessed had long given up the ghost; there were no seat belts; the windows wouldn’t wind down, and ultimately the drivers were incompetent at best and downright crooked at worst.
It was impossible to take a simple journey without having to play the ‘taxi game’ described thus: firstly the passenger would hail a taxi, climb in and tell the driver where he or she wished to be taken. The driver would then state a price – usually exorbitant and three times what the meter would read if used for such a journey – and the passenger would then invariably either try to haggle the price down or try to insist the driver use the meter. A request for the latter would now be countered by the taxi driver informing the hapless passenger that said item was ‘rusak’ or broken. At which point any passenger with the slightest nous about them would make to get out of the taxi only for the ‘taxi-pixies’ to magically fix the meter just in time to prevent this being necessary.
So, after one fairly transparent effort to defraud or extort the passenger had failed, the sap would embark on his journey. What would follow would invariably be the world famous trick of taking the longest route possible due to ‘macet’ or ‘bad traffic’ or even ‘maaf, aku hilang’. Sorry, I’m lost. This particular rouse of course, is in no way unique to Indonesia.
However, the intrepid Indonesian taxi driver does indeed carry a few more original tricks up his sleeve. One is to switch the meter off a hundred meters or so before the destination is reached in the hope that the passenger hasn’t been paying attention and he can then overcharge him exorbitantly upon arrival, while another trick is to absolutely totally never have any change whatsoever. This is done in the hope that a passenger will simply hand over a large denomination note and tell him to keep the change. If the passenger does not do this then the driver will, very reluctantly, take the note and walk as slowly as is humanely possible around the immediate vicinity ‘trying’ to find a roadside kiosk or small shop that can provide the necessary ‘uang kecil’ small money. Invariably, though, the driver will eventually report back to the passenger, who has been waiting in the vehicle all this time, that he has been unable to find anyone to break the large note, and so the game continues.
Surabaya, November 1995
Months rolled by and Yossy became busier with her job. She worked almost as many hours as I did and when she arrived home she was often exhausted and out on her feet. She still loved Bali Party and her
friends there and seemed to be developing quite a tight group with half a dozen or so of the more outgoing and flamboyant set. I am not sure if I have got all their names correct here, but from memory there was a guy called Ari, his girlfriend, Yuni, another girl called Reina, a chap whose name escapes me, and finally a bloke called Satria. Evidently they all worked in the same department and formed a kind of ‘Dream Team’ designed to chase new clients. It all seemed a bit complicated and, although interested, I found it all a bit difficult to follow at times.
Yossy certainly seemed to be cut out for the job though. She had patience and an inherent kindness, which meant she was willing and able to assist her less able friends and colleagues with help and advice, if necessary even by telephone after she had finally returned home late into the night.
For my part I was still working hard doing what I did. Business was good and I was earning considerably more money than before. I had started doing a lot of private teaching and so was spending most of my days running around the city from place to place wherever there was a job on.
As a result, we were able to start saving quite a lot of money and earmarked the New Year as the time to buy a car, and after that the plan was to crack on and save for the deposit on a house. That, as I told Yossy, was an investment for the future and was better than renting, which we had been doing since we got married and which, although cheap, I considered to be lost money.
Although I did have my own bank account and Yossy and I had a joint one, she was the one who handled all the money. That’s the way we both decided we wanted it from the beginning as she could deal with all the bureaucratic nonsense while I played the dumb foreigner. A role I came to play all too well.
I must admit it was a role I enjoyed playing back then, though. Although able to speak basic Indonesian, having studied it fairly intensively in the year before I came out here, it sometimes played well to not let on I could understand much of what was going on and so be able to eavesdrop on what people were saying. It also enabled me to have a ready-made excuse for not doing the awkward and annoying little things I didn’t want to do.
Anyway, Yossy was happy to look after the finances. She paid all the bills and sorted out all the things such as savings, payments, utility bills and the like. I really couldn’t be bothered with all of that sort of stuff.
Then one day, all of a sudden, Yossy left Bali Party.
It all went wrong in a blink of an eye and I felt so sorry for her when it did. She was simply devastated and couldn’t stop crying. It broke my heart to see her so down and I wished there was something I could do to put things right. I was just grateful that she had such good friends helping her so much and being so supportive.
In a way, I guess it could be said that my insistence she look after our money was to blame for what happened. In January of 1996 we finally decided to splash out and buy a car. We went to the local Toyota dealer who gave us a good deal on a Kijang. Cars in Indonesia are very expensive in real terms and ours was no exception, with a ten million rupiah down payment and monthly instalments of about a million and a half rupiah for three years. So, all told it made a bit of a dent in our savings and there was a small monthly burden to consider too, but taking into consideration the amount we were both earning, it was nothing for us to worry about.
As it happened, a couple of days before the end of the month I gave Yossy the money as normal to go and pay the monthly instalment wherever she made it (I really should have known where this was, but I didn’t) and arranged to come to her office to pick her up at around 10pm as normal. When I got there, instead of the receptionist asking me to take a seat while she called Yossy, as was normal practice, she ushered me straight through. I thought this was a bit weird but didn’t really think too much of it until I caught sight of Yoss.
She was in floods of tears and was being comforted by Satria.
I took her in my arms and slowly, through her sobs, the story unfolded. It seems she put the money in her handbag which she left under her chair at some point in the day, and then when she went back to it later … well, I think you are ahead of me here.
There was no other possibility than the fact that one of her colleagues had stolen the money. She was, understandably, devastated to think that one of her so-called friends could do that to her and so was I.
We decided there and then that she couldn’t work there anymore and she quit on the spot. I personally phoned her manager in Jakarta and explained what had happened and why Yoss would be leaving with immediate effect.
Following that, my poor wife spent the next two months staying at home moping. I suggested that we should use the break to visit my family in England, as it had been almost three years since I was last there and they were yet to meet Yoss, but she seemed too despondent to think about anything other than the fact that one of her friends was a thief.
While I continued working all over the city, she spent her days at home consoling herself with phone calls and visits from her friends. She explained to me many times that she felt too heartbroken to trust anyone again for a long time and all she wanted to do was to try and forget the whole experience of Bali Party. Whilst I sympathized with her and the pain she was quite evidently going through, I couldn’t help but feel she would be able to put things behind her a bit quicker and truly move on if she didn’t spend so much time talking to her former colleagues on the phone or meeting up with them for lunch. After all, I reasoned, one of them had stolen her money and as the thief had never been caught, and certainly had never owned up to it, for all she knew she could have been talking to him or her every day.
Throughout this painful time I remained there for her always. I did my best to get home quicker than I had previously, and I made a point of calling her from wherever I happened to be working at least two or three times a day. It helped that I was now mostly teaching English in offices in the business sector of Surabaya as it meant I could avail myself of telephone facilities a bit easier and so call Yoss at set times each day.
Yossy’s spell on the sidelines dragged on for another couple of months and then something happened, or rather, I discovered something that had been happening for months, and I was cut to the very quick. In a blink of an eye the very soul and essence of my existence and being was dragged kicking and screaming out of me, leaving me an incomprehensible mess and a mere shadow of the man I had always considered myself to be.
When I first discovered what had been going on it felt every bit as painful as if she’d been having an affair. The betrayal and hurt was such that at times I truly thought I would die and on many occasions I just couldn’t breathe, I really couldn’t, and I would go into this kind of hyperventilating state of flux doubled over with my hands on my hips and my cheeks puffing out in the manner of an exhausted marathon runner.
It was not so much what had happened that was having this affect on me, more the realisation of what was not happening; namely, my life was not what I thought it was.
The sense of wellness and peaceful existence I was feeling previously was been shown up for what it was in reality all along: self-congratulatory, naive, stupid smugness.
Even now I can’t believe I was so ridiculously, gormlessly, half-wittedly trusting and blind. Well, never again, that’s all I can say. Never again am I going to be taken for a fool in that way. Never again am I just going to believe what she, or anyone else for that matter, says to me.
God, how could I have been so stupid?
There I was doe-eyeingly accepting everything she told me, never once questioning her, never once asking anything or raising any point, just wilfully accepting the fact that she was paying all our money into the bank, had been paying into the bank steadily over the past three years, when all the time she was doing nothing of the sort.
Actually, I have no idea, and no way of knowing now as I am sure she won’t ever tell me now, if she ever put any of our money in the bank in those three years, or if she had originally done so and then simply used it up over the few
months she was at Bali Party and the immediate aftermath.
All I know is instead of the supposed 30 million rupiah, or almost ten grand, she told me was in our account we actually had precisely bugger-all.
Not a brass farthing. Nothing. Nix. Nada.
What hurt more than being completely skint, at least what I think hurt more – it’s difficult to tell- was the three years of lies. Where was the truth, the honesty, the trust, and the love I thought we had? Where was the marriage?
All of a sudden I knew why she didn’t want to go to England when I suggested it back then; she knew we had no money to pay for it
All of a sudden I also knew who it was who paid for our nights out with her friends.
How could I have been so stupid???????
I only found out by accident. If I hadn’t found the last month’s phone bill I would still, even now, probably be in the dark and as blissfully ignorant and slow as she obviously had me marked down as.
After becoming unemployed, she continued to go out to meet her ex-Bali Party friends, usually at lunchtimes or at the weekends. And all the time she was spinning me the line that they were paying for it. Well, I didn’t really pay it much heed at first but when these lunches started happening with more and more frequency I did start to wonder a bit.
Anyway, her mate, Satria, lost his job a short while after Yossy quit — for reasons I was never really sure of ‑ and the two of them remained good buddies. Now, I never suspected the pair of them of getting up to anything, and I still don’t, simply because the guy is almost certainly gay.
I knew they were in constant daily contact by phone, commiserating with each other over their bad luck, and I said to Yoss a few times that I hoped she wasn’t always the one to call him as I knew he lived in a boarding house and had no landline phone there. I knew he only had a mobile phone, and if Yoss was calling him then it was bound to be very expensive.
