Mr. D—. L—., LL.B, submerged himself once again in his study of the documents. My suspicion of this little finger-sized lawyer suddenly swelled to become so great that I stayed and watched his hands closely to make sure he did not secrete any of those documents.
Another hour passed. Mama came down again and entered the office. She sat beside me, across from the jurist.
“Do you still need to study them, Mr. L—.?” she asked in her old voice—one with character.
The man lifted up his head, held back a grin, and said:
“We can try, Nyai.”
“You do not believe we can win.”
“We can try.” He started his reading again.
Mama took the letters from him.
“Your fee will be sent to your office. Good afternoon.”
Mr. D—. L—. stood up, nodded to us both, and was then escorted home by Darsam.
“Minke, we will fight them. Do you have the courage, child, Nyo?”
“We will fight, Mama, together.”
“Even if we don’t have a lawyer, we will be the first Natives to oppose the European court, child, Nyo. Isn’t that also an honor?”
I had no idea of how I was to fight back, what I had to fight, who and how. I did not know either what should be my tools or through what mechanism we should endeavor. But: We’ll fight!
“Fight, Mama, fight. We will fight back.”
“If you could only get Annelies to get up and fight too, she wouldn’t always be falling into illness and incapacity like this. She would become the best of all life companions for a husband such as you.”
* * *
While waiting upon Annelies, I let loose my thoughts and allowed myself to concentrate on everything that had happened and was happening.
Engineer Maurits Mellema and his mother did indeed have reason to seek revenge on Herman Mellema. But what was happening now? Their revenge did not make them spurn his inheritance; rather they wanted to make sure they got every cent. In fact, they too had wanted Annelies’s papa to die. In their hearts they too had participated in and approved of Ah Tjong’s actions. But they would not be punished. The life of the soul and the psyche are not mentioned in official letters.
Yes, this was nothing more than a case of the white race swallowing up Natives, swallowing Mama, Annelies, and me. Perhaps this was what was called a colonial case, if Magda Peters’s explanation of things was right—a case of swallowing up a conquered Native people.
Suddenly I was reminded of the liberals who, according to my teacher, wanted to lessen the sufferings of the Natives. That, too, was what the S.D.A.P., the Dutch Social Democratic Workers Party, wanted. Ah, my good teacher. I regret now that I didn’t go to see you off. If you were still in Surabaya, you would surely hold out your hand in assistance. At the very least you would offer us some guidance to help us. And you would do so gladly.
And as I thought about Magda Peters, there arose suspicions that were perhaps too fantastic: She had been forced to leave the Indies to make the execution of the Amsterdam District Court’s decision easier! Perhaps you weren’t really exiled but just gotten out of the way for the coming case. My suspicions then took on an even clearer form: Everything had been arranged beforehand by that satanic alliance between Maurits-Amelia and the Amsterdam District Court. If it was true that Magda Peters had been gotten out of the way, then it was the school director and the other teachers who knew how close she and I were. If my suspicions were correct, this whole thing, everything, was no more than a prearranged drama whose purpose was the sadistic torment of human beings. So even my graduation as number two in all of the Indies (to be number one was out of the question) was also no more than a play, manufactured to keep the radicals or the S.D.A.P. happy.
Should I have such grandiose suspicions as this? Was my thinking, as an educated person, fair and just? Was I not both too young and too ignorant to have such suspicions? I thought it over and over again. I couldn’t avoid always coming back to the same condition: being inclined to accept my suspicions. My dismissal from school, the withdrawal of my dismissal, the closing down of the school discussions, the expelling of Magda Peters, the intervention of the assistant resident of B, the invitation that was announced by the school director at the graduation party, and his own and the other teachers’ absence at our wedding, and being represented only by the letter brought by Magda Peters. . . . No, I was not too ignorant or too young to understand. Each event was linked and entwined together so as to give victory to Maurits Mellema over the Native woman Sanikem, her daughter, and son-in-law, her wealth and property.
“You’ve got some ideas, Nyo?”
“Mama, this evening, if nothing goes wrong, my first writings on this affair will be published. If it is not greeted by common sense, Mama, we will be defeated. We need time.”
“Don’t think about defeat, Mr. L—. said, think first about the best way to fight back, the most honorable resistance. Mr. L—. was right, it was only his motives that were wrong. He only wanted bigger fees. That shrunken-up crocodile.”
“We’ll turn to the best of our European friends, Mama.”
“Don’t make any mistakes.”
That afternoon I sent a cable to Herbert de la Croix, appealing to his conscience regarding our case. Also to Miriam. If no one wanted to listen, then I would know: All that glorified European science and learning was a load of nonsense, empty talk. Empty talk! In the end it would all be nothing more than a tool to rob us of all we loved, all we owned: honor, sweat, rights, even child and wife.
That night Mama and I waited upon Annelies, who had to be drugged once again by Dr. Martinet so that she could sleep. The doctor was moved and saddened by the situation of his patient, her mother, and her husband, who were bound so tightly by manmade fate, a fate manufactured far away in the north.
“I am only a doctor, Nyai. I don’t know about the law. I don’t know about politics,” he said, expressing his disappointment in himself.
He was the second person who had mentioned the word politics.
“It’s only proper that I ask your forgiveness because I am unable to do anything to help lighten your sufferings. There are no important people among my close friends, because I have never joined any of the clubs.”
And in what a modest manner the doctor presented himself.
“My only friends are those who have needed my help. I don’t have anything more than that. I’m sorry.”
“But you feel that the way we are being treated is unjust, yes?” asked Mama.
“Not just unjust. Barbaric!”
“That is enough, Doctor, if it has come from a sincere heart.”
“Forgive me, there is nothing I am able to do.”
He left us with such a pained face. At the door he spoke in a sighing voice:
“I used to think that the only real difficulty in the world was paying one’s taxes. I never knew that under these heavens there could exist difficulties such as these.”
He disappeared into the darkness, escorted by Darsam.
Five hours had passed since I sent off the telegrams to the de la Croixs. Five hours! And still no answer had arrived. Were Herbert and Miriam de la Croix not at home? Or were they laughing at us Natives?
“Yes, child, Nyo, we must fight back, we must resist. However good and kind any European has been to us, in the end they will be afraid to face up to the risks of resisting European law, their own law, especially if it’s only to defend the interests of Natives. We need not be ashamed if we are defeated. We must know why. Look, child, Nyo, we, all the Natives, are unable to hire attorneys. Even if we have money it doesn’t mean we are able to do so. The main reason is that we don’t have the courage. And more generally still, we haven’t learned anything. All their lives the Natives have suffered what we are now suffering. No one raises their voices—dumb like the river stones and mountains, even if cut up and made into no matter what. What a roar there would be if they all spoke out as we will now speak out. Perhap
s even the sky itself would be shattered by the din.”
Mama had begun to forget her own feelings. She was placing the matter in the context of a more basic problem. She had left behind her own heart and her family, she had now brought in the river stones, the mountains, the chalk and granite rocks that were strewn all over Java, throughout all the Indies; those with mouths but no voices, and yet with hearts within them.
“By fighting back we will not be wholly defeated,” and the tone of her voice was pregnant with the knowledge of coming defeat.
“They know no shame, Mama.”
“Shame is not a concern of European civilization.” Mama stared wide-eyed at me as if she were angry with me. “You who have mixed with them all this time, how can you talk like that? You, child, Nyo, as a Native, should and must be ashamed to have such thoughts. Never again mention shame in relation to Europe. All they understand is getting their way. Never forget that, child, Nyo.”
“Yes, Mama,” I answered, acknowledging her superiority. The truth or otherwise of what she said was, of course, another matter.
“I’ve never been to school, child, Nyo. I’ve never been taught to admire Europeans. You could study for years and years, and no matter what you studied, your spirit will be educated to do the same thing: to admire Europeans without limits or end, so that you no longer know who you are and where you are. Even so, those who have been to school are still more fortunate. At the very least you get to know other races who have their own ways of thieving the property of other peoples.”
My mother-in-law took a newspaper from the table. Inside, there was an article of mine, and comments on it by the editor.
“Your writings are so gentle, like the writings of a teenage girl waiting for a husband. Have you still not become hard with all your recent experiences, let alone this current one? Uncompromisingly hard? Minke, child, Nyo,” she went on in a whisper, as if there were someone else there who was listening in on us, “now you must write in Malay, child. The Malay papers are read by many more people.”
“It’s a pity, Mama, I can’t write in Malay.”
“If you’re unable at the moment, let someone else translate for you.”
And straight away I thought of Kommer.
“Good, Mama,” I answered quickly.
“Your marriage is legitimate according to Islamic law. To nullify it is to insult Islamic law, to besmirch the laws honored by the Islamic community. . . . Ah, how I dreamed of a legitimate wedding for myself. Mellema always refused because he already had a wife. Now my child has married legitimately, more honorable than me. And it’s not acknowledged.”
“I’ll work on it now, Mama. Mama should get some sleep.”
And she went off to bed. Her strides were still strong and firm like those of an undefeated general.
It was ten minutes past three in the morning. My article was almost finished. Out of the predawn silence came the pounding of a horse’s hooves, coming closer and closer, and finally entering our grounds. Not long after Darsam was calling out from below my window.
“Young Master, wake up!”
Below, in the light of an oil lamp held by Darsam, I saw Darsam with an Indo in the uniform of a postman. He saluted, and asked in Malay:
“Tuan Minke? There is a telegram from the assistant resident of B”
He left happily with a tip of five cents. The pounding of his horse’s hooves disappeared in the distance to the accompaniment of the cock’s crows.
“Young Master has already done a lot of work. It’s already dawn. Get some sleep, Young Master. There will still be other days.”
He didn’t know a thing about what was happening. But I could sense he was anxious at seeing all the activity that was going on. Ah, Darsam, a thousand such as you, even with two thousand machetes, would be unable to help us. This is not a problem of flesh and steel, Darsam. This was a matter of rights, law, and justice—you cannot protect us with dagger and machete. Suddenly there was a reprimand: You must be fair and just, starting with how you think. Darsam the fighter with his machete, even the mute stones and rocks can help you—if you know and understand them. Never belittle the capabilities of a single person, let alone two.
“Very well, I’ll get some sleep now, Darsam.”
“Yes, go to sleep, Young Master. A new day will bring new opportunities.”
How wise too was this black-clothed man. I went upstairs and read the telegram:
A WELL-KNOWN JURIST WILL ARRIVE FROM SEMARANG THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW. TRUST HIM. MEET HIM AT THE STATION. EXPRESS TRAIN. GREETINGS TO NYAI AND ANNELIES. MIRIAM AND HERBERT.
Mother! Mother! at last my cries have been heard. And you yourself have not even heard what is happening. Sleep deeply, Mother. I will not awaken you. Not now either. And here, your beloved son will not run. He will stay and fight. He is no criminal, Mother. Your beloved daughter-in-law will not be stolen away. She will present to you the grandchildren you long for, so one day you will be able to attend their weddings as Javanese.
* * *
An article about the contravening of Islamic law by European law appeared in Dutch in S.N. v/d D. Malay versions appeared in the Malay-Dutch press. They all appeared on the same afternoon. Mr. Maarten Nijman himself came around to our house to deliver the complimentary copy.
“You have helped us a lot all this time. Now it is our turn to help you as much as we can,” he said. “But there is nothing else we can do to help lighten your own and your family’s burdens. All of the editorial staff and the workers at the paper have high regard for your resistance, and express their true and sincere sympathy—so young, like a sparrow harassed by a storm, but yet still fighting back. Another person would have been broken even before the fight started, Mr. Tollenaar.”
He borrowed a picture of Annelies to publish.
“If possible, also a picture of you and Nyai.”
Mama give him a big picture of my wife in full Javanese dress adorned with diamonds and pearls.
“It’s only a pity that we won’t be able to publish the picture soon. We’ll have to wait almost two months,” Nijman explained. “The Indies is still a wilderness. There is no factory here that can copy this picture onto tin: zincography is still not yet known here. We’ll get the negative made in Hong Kong. If Hong Kong can’t do it because of all the orders from Southeast Asia, then we’ll have to send it to Europe to get done. Longer still. If we succeed it will not only mean greater impact, but we will be the first in the Indies to publish from a tin negative.”
He talked a lot and asked to be introduced to and meet with Annelies herself. And we refused on the grounds that she was ill.
“Is Miss Annelies with child?” asked Nijman. “Forgive the question. It might seem improper, but it could change the situation. It could nullify Maurits Mellema’s decision even if the Amsterdam court’s decision still stood.”
Annelies pregnant? I had never even thought about it. I couldn’t answer. Neither could Mama; instead she looked questioningly at me.
After Nijman left, Kommer arrived, also bringing a complimentary copy of his paper.
“Nyai, Mr. Minke,” he said, “your writings will soon be in the villages. We’ve hired men to read them out to the people. People gather around and listen. Fifteen special copies with the relevant parts underlined in red have been sent off to the leading Islamic scholars. They must also speak out. I’m going to try to get their opinions tonight. You and Nyai will not stand alone. Look upon Kommer here as a friend of the family in its time of trouble.”
We set off to Surabaya together. He got off at Gunungsari. I went on to the station to meet the attorney whose name I still didn’t know. Kommer, before I left him, shook my hand from outside the buggy. His eyes shone with his enthusiasm for the humanitarian task he was undertaking. Then he waved his hands, and my buggy started off again.
The attorney I met turned out to be middle-aged. He had a calm demeanor and he smiled a lot, and liked to listen, not like Mr. D—. L—. His name was Mr..
I’ll not mention his name here either. He was a famous jurist and a very wealthy man as a result of his practice as a brilliant attorney and advocate, and his name was often mentioned in connection with many big cases.
He stayed at our house. He studied Annelies’s file all night, and asked that two scribes be hired to make copies of every document. Panji Darman, formerly Jan Dapperste, and I acted as scribes. But I was sacked in the end because of my bad handwriting and because I made so many mistakes. So Darsam had to go out that night and find a clerk from the D.P.M., who also brought the special ink used for official documents.
Mr. (whose name I don’t dare mention; and who could tell if he might be unsuccessful in this case and his practice affected) studied it all until morning. The scribes made two copies of each document. At six in the morning they had to leave for their regular jobs, so we had to hire two more people.
At seven o’clock in the morning Mr. began to write a long letter, of which the new scribes made several copies. Taking one set of the copies, he headed off to the European court in Surabaya with Darsam. He arrived back again in the evening and went straight to sleep.
We didn’t know what had happened at the court.
The afternoon news, as published by Kommer, reported that the Islamic scholars had gone to the European court at Surabaya to protest the decision of the Amsterdam District Court and its execution by the Surabaya court. They threatened to take the matter to the Islamic Religious Supreme Court in Betawi. And they were removed by the police especially brought in for that necessity.
The commentary, which seemed to have been written by Kommer himself, warned that it would be wise for those in power to act more tactfully in dealing with the Islamic scholars who were held in respect, honored, exalted, and listened to by the followers of Islam in this region. It is dangerous to play with the beliefs of the people, much more dangerous than to make fun of powerless subjects of the realm or rob them of their rightful property and their women and children.
For the second time Kommer emerged as a friend. He was so skillful at speaking for us, for our situation, and for the general conditions of the Natives. His words were so simple and moving, yet confident and full of substance. And not without risk.
This Earth of Mankind Page 37
