“No, Annelies darling,” said the doctor.
“Will you marry me, Mas?”
“Yes.”
She cried again. So slowly. Her shoulders shook. I waited until it receded. Still with her back to me, she spoke slowly, word by word, almost whispering:
“Poor Mas, not the first man. But it was not my wish, Mas, a disaster I could not avoid.”
“Who was the first man?” I asked coldly.
She didn’t answer for a long time.
“You’ll seek revenge against him, Mas?”
“Who was he?”
“So shameful.” Her back was still towards me.
Slowly but surely I realized: I was jealous.
“That animal.” She pounded against the wall. “Robert!”
“Robert!” I answered viciously. “Suurhof? It’s not possible!”
“Not Suurhof.” Once again she pounded against the wall. “Not him. Mellema.”
“Your brother?” I sat up, shocked.
She cried again. I pulled her roughly; she fell down on the bed. She covered her face with her arm. Her face was soaked with tears.
“Liar!” I accused, as if it was now my right to treat her in such a way.
She shook her head. Her face was still covered by her arm. I pulled her arm, and she pulled herself free, resisting me.
“Don’t cover your face if you’re not lying.”
“I’m ashamed, Mas.”
“How many times have you done it?”
“Once. Truly. A horrible accident.”
“Liar.”
“Kill me if I’m lying,” she answered firmly. “Then one day you’ll find out what happened. What’s the use of living if you don’t believe me.”
“Who else beside Robert Mellema?”
“No one. You.”
I let her go. I began to think over her shattering explanation. Was this perhaps the moral level of the nyai families? I almost answered yes. But I heard Jean Marais’s voice again: Educated people must be just and fair, starting with how they think. I imagined Marais pointing and accusing: Your morals are no better, Minke. And I became ashamed of myself. She, Annelies, was no worse than Minke.
We remained silent for a long time. Each busy with our own hearts. Then I heard:
“Mas, let me tell you about it.” Her voice was calm now. She needed to defend herself. Her sobbing had been replaced by a determined heart. Only she covered her eyes again with her arm.
“I still remember the day, month, and year. You can see it marked in red on the wall calendar. Almost half a year ago. Before I met you. Mama ordered me to find Darsam. People said he had gone down to the villages. I went to find him on my favorite horse. I went into village after village calling out his name. They—the village people—ran about to help me. He couldn’t be found anywhere.
“Then someone told me he was inspecting the peanut crop in the fields. I turned and headed for the peanut fields. He wasn’t there either. Even though there were no high trees, he was not visible anywhere. His clothes, always black, made it easy for people to pick him out. And indeed, he wasn’t there.
“A child I passed told me that he was on the other side of the swamp. Then I remembered: He was preparing a new field, one that was still dense with reeds. That field was to be planted with alfalfa and Job’s tears for the new cattle Mama was importing from Australia. You couldn’t see the field because it was surrounded by tall reeds.
“Do you remember that one remaining clump of reeds that I refused to go and look at with you?”
“Yes,” and a picture of the bushes emerged; they were tall and bunched up together. She had refused. I could still remember how she had shuddered.
“I turned my horse in that direction while shouting out for Darsam from across the swamp. There was no answer. I came across a narrow track, broken here and there by bunches of reeds. And it was Robert I found.
“‘Ann,’ Robert greeted me with a funny gaze. He’d thrown down his rifle and the string of birds from his morning’s hunting. ‘Darsam just passed here,’ he said. ‘He said he had to see Mama. He forgot he promised to see her at nine o’clock. He was two hours late.’
“I relaxed when I heard the explanation. ‘And how many have you caught?’ I asked. He fetched his string of birds and showed me. ‘This is nothing, Ann,’ he said again, ‘the usual. I caught a strange animal today, Ann. Come down.’
“He walked a few meters and picked up the corpse of a big black-haired wildcat. I got down from my horse.
“‘This is not just any cat,’ he said. ‘Maybe this is the wildcat they call a blachan.’
“I patted the hair of the cat-victim, which had been struck on the head.
“‘No, I didn’t shoot it. It was curled up asleep under a tree when I crept up and struck it dead.’
“His dirty hand grabbed my shoulder and I spoke angrily to him. He attacked me like a mad buffalo, Mas. I lost my balance and fell into the reeds. Had there been one sharp reed trunk, I would have been speared and would have died for certain. He fell on top of me. He held me with his left arm, at the same time covering my mouth. I knew I was going to be killed. And I struggled to be free, scratching his face. I couldn’t fight those mighty muscles of his. I called out for Mama and Darsam. My calls died under the palm of his hand. Then I remembered Mama’s warning: ‘Don’t go near your brother.’ Now I understood, but it was too late. For a long time Mama had been alluding to his greed for Papa’s estate.
“Then I realized he was going to rape me before killing me. He tore open my clothes. He kept my mouth covered. And my horse neighed loudly. How I begged that she would help me now. I closed my legs together like a vise but he prized them open with his powerful knees. I could not avoid the disaster.
“An unavoidable disaster, Mas,” and she was silent for a long time again. I didn’t say anything, but transmuted her story into images.
“My horse neighed again, came forward, and bit Robert on his bottom. My brother yelled out in pain, jumped up. The horse chased him for a moment. He ran out of the reed bush. I grabbed his rifle and ran out too. I shot at him. I don’t know whether he was hit or not. In the distance I could see blood all over his pants, running down onto his trouser legs—the wound from the horse bite.
“I threw down the rifle. My body hurt all over. I tasted the salty taste of blood in my mouth. I couldn’t climb up upon my horse, but when I neared the villagers I forced myself up on her so my disheveled clothes were hidden—”
“Annelies!” I exclaimed and I embraced her. “I believe you, Ann. I believe you.”
“Your trust is my life, Mas. I’ve known that from the beginning.”
Once again neither of us spoke for a while. It was then I had my doubts about the doctor’s advice. She was adult enough. She knew how to defend herself, even if she hadn’t been successful. She knew the meaning of death and trust.
“Didn’t you say anything to Mama?”
“What good would that do? The situation would have got worse. If Mama found out, Robert would have been eliminated by Darsam, and then everyone would have been destroyed. Mama. Me. No one would come to our business anymore. Our house would have become a house of the Devil.”
She spoke these last words strongly. But suddenly her strength disappeared: She hugged me again and cried again . . . and cried again. . . .
“Have I done wrong or not, Mas?”
I hugged her in return. And suddenly my heart pounded, whipped up by the east wind. And once again it happened; we formed a pair of prehistoric animals, until finally we rolled over on the bed again. This time there was no clot of blackness in my heart. And we lay in each other’s embrace, like wooden dolls.
Annelies fell asleep.
Indistinctly, half-consciously, I thought I heard Mama come in, stop for a second in front of the bed, chase away the mosquitoes, and mumble:
“Hugging each other, like two crabs.”
Half-awake, half-dreaming, I felt that woman pull up o
ur blankets, pull down the mosquito net, blow out the candles, and then leave, closing the door.
15
My school friends still kept away from me. The only one who began to befriend me again was Jan Dapperste. All this time he was my admirer and looked upon me as a Mei-kind, a “child of May,” a child of good fortune, a child who would never suffer failure.
He studied industriously, yet his marks were always below mine. His pocket money also came from me. Perhaps because of that pocket money he looked upon me as his elder brother. We were in the same class.
Jan Dapperste always told me of any rumor about me. So I knew all the ill-intentioned things Robert Suurhof planned against me. From Jan I also found out that Suurhof had reported me to the school director. Who cares, I thought. If they want to expel me, let them. I can’t do anything in this school anyway. Elsewhere? Free and able.
Once the school director did call me in and ask why I had become such a loner and didn’t seem to be liked by the other students. I answered that I liked them all, and that there was no way I could make them like me. He then said that there must be some reason they don’t like me. Of course, Director. What’s the reason? he asked again. I really don’t know, I answered, I only know that there have been rumors about me spread by Robert Suurhof.
“Because you’re not one of them any longer. Not a part of them, not the same as them.”
I quickly understood: This was a sign I was to be expelled. Very well—I’d prepared myself to face such an eventuality. No need to be afraid. I may not continue my studies? No matter. In the final analysis school was no more than just a way to fill in time anyway. If I could advance, good; if not, no matter.
“We hope that you can improve your behavior. You will be important one day, an official. You’re receiving a European education. You should be continuing your studies in Europe. Don’t you want to become a bupati?”
“No.”
“No?” He stared at me more sharply for a moment. “Ah yes, perhaps you want to become a writer. Or a journalist. Even so, proper behavior is still required. Or do I need to write a letter to the Bupati of B or Assistant Resident Herbert de la Croix?”
“If you feel that to write to them about me would be useful, of course there’d be no harm in doing so.”
“So you agree that I should write the letters?”
“It’s no concern of mine. That’s your affair, Director. It has nothing to do with me.”
“Nothing to do with you?” He gazed at me again, still more sharply. Then in amazement he resumed hesitantly. “So who am I talking to now? Minke or Max Tollenaar?”
“They’re the same, sir, the one individual with different names.”
He told me to go and didn’t summon me again.
Miss Magda Peters also seemed to keep her distance, though she still seemed friendly, and I met her only during classes.
The school discussions were still suspended by the director.
And amazingly, I felt that whatever was going to happen, I was dependent on nobody. I felt strong. My writings were being read by more and more people. More and more were being published—even though they hadn’t brought in a single cent all this time. If the public knew I was a Native, I thought, maybe their interest would dissolve away; perhaps they would also feel deceived. Only a Native! I was prepared to face this also. Jan Dapperste had already warned me of Suurhof’s plan to expose me to the public.
The interview with the school director was not the only thing that occurred during that month, however. Not long after Jan Dapperste’s whispered warnings, the paper S.N. v/dD. summoned me to their office. The managing editor of the paper wanted to meet me.
Jan Dapperste did not refuse my invitation to accompany me.
Mr. Maarten Nijman received us both and pushed across to me a reader’s letter. Exactly as Jan had said: Max Tollenaar is only a Native. Jan and I recognized the writing. Jan nodded knowingly.
“Have you called me to obtain recompense because of this letter?” I asked.
“So what it says is true?”
“Yes.”
“Well, indeed, we must make a claim upon you.” He smiled agreeably. “We’ve prepared our claim. You no doubt know what we are going to demand?”
“No.”
“Mr. Tollenaar, we demand that you work part-time for the paper, part-time but on a permanent basis.” He pushed across a receipt and I received an honorarium for my past writings, even though it wasn’t all that much. “From now on, as you’re now a permanent helper, you’ll receive more.”
“How can I help?”
“Write, write whatever you like; and may you have success, sir.”
The buggy took us to a restaurant. Jan Dapperste congratulated me and ate with great gusto, as if he had never eaten in all his life.
The third thing that occurred was a meeting with Dr. Martinet. It happened straight after we left the restaurant. Jan Dapperste was still with me. The doctor was waiting for me on his veranda, and said he wanted to see me.
“And, Doctor,” he addressed me, “how is your patient?”
“Well, Doctor.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s healthier now, working as before, and reads a lot in her spare time. She rides her horse when visiting the fields or the villages. She adheres strictly to the reading schedule I’ve prepared. Sometimes the three of us sit together listening to music from the phonograph.”
“True. She seems well.”
And Jan Dapperste was left alone on the veranda.
“Seems? So she’s not as well as you hoped for, Doctor?”
“It’s like this, Mr. Minke. I’ve already examined her five or six times over the last few weeks. I didn’t notice at first. But after a third examination, I realized that she always shuddered and the hairs on her neck stood up whenever I touched her. Since then I have been suspicious. What is going on inside the body of this beautiful girl? I began to think there might be something amiss in her unconscious. I quickly started to study it. At first I thought she was revolted by me. Perhaps in her eyes I looked like an animal. Perhaps I was truly revolting. I examined myself in the mirror. I examined my face in great detail. No. I hadn’t changed much over the last ten years except that I now wear a monocle in my right eye. Isn’t my face normal and indeed, perhaps, handsome, even if only a little?”
“Not just a little, Doctor.”
“Ah! A little is enough. You’re the one who is really handsome. That’s why she’s chosen you and not me.”
“Doctor!” I exclaimed, protesting.
“Yes, Dr. Minke,” he laughed. “Only after I met you did I realize that she didn’t shudder because of my appearance. It seems she shuddered because of my skin. White skin.”
“Her father was also white-skinned. A Pure-Blood.”
“Ts, ts, this is only a guess. Her father was white-skinned. Pure-Blooded. Yes. Listen, I called you to help me solve this problem. Yes, her father was a Pure-Blood European. Precisely. How many children in this world feel revulsion towards their parents? Deeply or not? Permanently or only sometimes? There are indeed no statistics, but there are such children, and not a few. This revulsion can be caused by the parents’ own behavior, for example. If her parents had the same color skin as she has, she wouldn’t be revolted by skin color.”
“Annelies is also white.”
“Yes, but with a Native softness. I myself have dreamed of her becoming mine. Funny, isn’t it, Dr. Minke? It’s a pity she’s too young for me. Only a dream! Don’t be angry. I’m not serious. The fact is that she’s revolted by me. Yes, she does have white skin. I’ll make the following guess: An outside influence, strong and beyond opposition, has given her a false image of herself. She feels herself a Native, a genuine, real Native. She has obtained a picture from her mother that all Europeans are disgusting, loathsome, and act basely. My interviews with Nyai and Annelies encourage me to come to such conclusions. Nyai is indeed extraordinary. I think everybody acknowledges th
at. I’ve said before to you that she has unconsciously self-educated herself? And because of that she failed in another field? She doesn’t understand how to bring up her children. She has placed them in the middle of her own personal conflicts. It’s not just a deficiency—it’s a failure, Mr. Minke.”
It seemed that the conversation was going to go on for a long time. I excused myself for a moment and ordered the buggy driver take Jan Dapperste home.
“That child, who knows nothing, accepts everything that is crammed into her as part of her very self,” he continued.
“But Mama doesn’t hate Europe. She does a lot of business with Europeans, and with professionals like yourself. She even reads European literature.”
“True. As long as it fits in with her interests. Just look at her relationship with Mr. Mellema. She progressed because of her master, but her unconscious always had its reservations and distrusted him. Everyone among elite circles knows the tragic story of Mr. Mellema and his concubine, except, perhaps, Annelies herself. Without being conscious of it, Nyai has molded Annelies into her second personality. That child will never show any initiative if far from her mother. Initiative, in the form of commands that Annelies cannot refuse, will always be something that comes from her mother. Have pity on that beautiful child. Her psyche is in confusion, Mr. Minke. Her mind is inside her mother’s head.”
I listened, staring, confused. It was an explanation that was involved, difficult, the first of its type that I’d ever heard, but clear and interesting. It was amazing how someone could peep into somebody’s inside like peeping into the inside of a watch.
“The mother’s personality is overwhelming, she knows so much: more than enough for her life’s needs in this jungle of ignorance which is the Indies. People are afraid to face her, afraid that they will be able to move once under her influence. I, too, often find myself at my wits’ end to know what to do. If she was only an ordinary nyai, then with that sort of wealth, with that sort of beauty, with an uncertain man, there would have certainly already been many thrushes coming around showing off their beautiful whistling. But no. None at all. None have come. None are singing—as far as I know, Pure, Indo, let alone any Natives, who most clearly of all would never dare try. They all know they would be facing a tigress. With one growl from her, such a company of crickets would disappear, tumbling head over heels in a daze.”
This Earth of Mankind Page 27
