S.N. v/d D. published an interview between Nijman and Nyai:
For more than twenty years now I have worked my bones, building, defending, and keeping alive this business, both with and then without the late Herman Mellema. I’ve looked after this business better than I have my own children. Now it is all being stolen from me. The attitude, illness, and incapacity of the late Mr. Mellema resulted in my losing my first child. Now another Mellema is going to steal my youngest also. Through the use of European law, he is having me torn from all that is mine by right, and all that I love. If that is indeed his deliberate intention towards us, all I can do is to ask: What is the point of having all these schools if they still don’t teach what are people’s rights and what are not, what is right and what is not?
And he wrote up his conversation with me as follows:
We married of our own accord, and our marriage was approved of by the girl’s parents. Our persons are our own property; we are nobody else’s property; slavery was abolished by law in 1860, or so, at least, we have been taught in our history lessons. Now with the impending kidnapping of my wife, in accordance with the court’s decision, I wish to ask the conscience of Europe: Is that accursed slavery going to be brought back? How can human beings be looked upon purely from the point of view of official documents and without considering their essence as human beings?
Then there was an interview with Dr. Martinet:
I have known this family quite some time now. So I understand the situation of Annelies Mellema’s health, both before she married, and afterwards. With a heavy heart I have to say that this girl loves her husband, her mother, and her surroundings very much. She is very, very attached to all three. If indeed the Amsterdam District Court’s decision is executed, the life of this girl could be destroyed through the emotional turmoil that will result. Even now Annelies has to be sedated. She has lost all faith in the existence of security, certainty, and legal guarantees. Her spirit has been crammed full of fears and uncertainties. Must I continue to drug her while outside there is the sun, laughter, and joy? Why must this young angel become the plaything of decisions that have no real connection with her life and happiness? As a doctor I cannot accept the responsibility for what might happen if I have to continue drugging her.
The attorney from Semarang, Mr., read through everything that was connected with our case. He made notes but never spoke to us. Nor did we bother him with any questions. In the evening he read the papers from other towns. Only after all this did he finally begin to speak about many things.
“We must be resolute, Nyai . . . sir . . .” Then he asked Mama:
“Why, really, didn’t Mr. Mellema ever marry Nyai legally?”
Mama answered:
“I didn’t understand why Mr. Mellema didn’t want to marry either, although I often pressed him to marry me. I only realized what the situation was after the sudden arrival here, at this house, of Maurits Mellema, his son, five years ago. Only then did I understand that Mr. Mellema was still legally bound to the mother of that engineer.”
Mr. turned and looked at her in amazement.
“So they were never divorced? If that’s so then it was impossible for Mr. Mellema to acknowledge his children legally here, because such children are considered bastards and acknowledgment of them is not considered legal. But if that’s so, then Nyai’s position in this case is much stronger!”
Within Mama and me feelings of hope were awakened once again. Mama was angry: Why had not Mr. D—. L—. thought of that point? But some days later Mr. reported to us that such a defense would not help us either.
Mr. said: “After sending off a telegram to Holland checking things out, it has been shown that Mrs. Amelia Mellema-Hammers, after her husband had left her for five years without giving any address, did apply for a divorce in the Dutch courts on the grounds of desertion. After efforts to find Mr. Mellema were unsuccessful, in 1879 the divorce was granted. So the marital ties between them were already nullified when your child, Robert, was born.” Then he asked: “Did Mr. Mellema know of this divorce?”
“I don’t think so,” answered Mama. Mama thought for a moment, then exploded: “If this is all true then Maurits Mellema lied to his father when they met that time five years ago! He challenged his father to institute divorce proceedings against Mrs. Mellema on the grounds that she had been unfaithful. He destroyed his father’s spirit with that conversation.”
With fury in her eyes Mama sat silently, not saying a single word, but I saw her hands shaking because of the overflowing of her emotions. Our picture of Maurits Mellema was only getting worse. It seems he deliberately set out to destroy his father’s spirit and so speed up his death. And all for money.
The next morning Mr. returned to Semarang.
We were left without the support of an attorney, without any direct means of fighting the court’s decision.
“All right, Mama, only the pen is left,” and so I wrote, calling out, speechifying, complaining, roaring, swearing, crying out in pain, agitating.
Kommer translated them all and gave them out to those who were prepared to publish them.
And it was not without results.
The Religious Supreme Court in Surabaya issued a statement: Our marriage was legitimate and could not be disturbed or nullified. On the other hand, some of the colonial papers started flinging insults, curses, and slights at us. Nijman’s and Kommer’s papers were busy summarizing all the various statements.
While Annelies, my wife, that fragile doll of mine, was lying like a corpse on her bed. Surabaya was in a fever over her, Nyai’s, and my troubles. Kommer kept on fighting too. His paper was being read, and also read out aloud in the villages, and big crowds of people stopped to listen everywhere. Without going by way of eyes, without going by way of ears and mouth, the news had spread and had become a matter of wide public controversy.
Finally Darsam also found out what was happening without ever having to ask us. He was busy reading the Malay papers with the help of his children.
* * *
Once again Annelies and Nyai received a summons from the court. It was impossible for Annelies to go. Only Mama and I went, unaccompanied by an attorney. Dr. Martinet waited upon my wife.
The judge immediately asked where Annelies Mellema was.
“Ill. In the care of Dr. Martinet.”
“Have you brought a letter from the doctor?”
I was startled to hear Nyai answer coarsely:
“Has the court already decided that my mouth cannot be trusted?”
“Good,” answered the judge, red-faced. “Nyai should be more polite.”
“Should someone about to lose everything show politeness in the face of her loss? Just tell us what you want.”
The judge deliberately avoided a clash with the Native woman. He gave in.
“Good. In my hand is the Surabaya court’s decision regarding Miss Annelies Mellema, the acknowledged child of the late Mr. Herman Mellema. In accordance with this decision, Miss Annelies Mellema is to be transported from Surabaya by ship in five days’ time.”
“She’s ill,” answered Mama.
“There are good doctors on board.”
“I refuse to let her go. I’m her husband.”
“We have no business with anyone who claims or who doesn’t claim to be her husband. She is still unmarried, without a husband.”
There was no way to get this devil to be reasonable. He took out his pocket watch, rose from his chair, and left us.
The two of us left the building in complete anger. I asked Mama to go home first. I got in touch with Kommer and Nijman to tell them the news, and even helped in getting the report ready, right up to setting the headlines.
That afternoon the news was published.
I found Dr. Martinet waiting upon Annelies and Mama. The two of them sat silently, heads bowed. Neither of them seemed to want to talk at all.
The next morning something amazing occurred.
The Surabaya cou
rt’s decision had angered and infuriated many people and groups. A crowd of Madurese, armed with machetes and large sickles, had surrounded our house, and were attacking any Europeans or state employees who tried to enter our compound.
The traffic felt it had to stop to watch what was happening.
A Madurese, wearing all-black clothes, walked back and forth with his shirt open, showing his chest, as if it was being deliberately readied to fight anyone and face any risk. The tip of his headband with its long tail fell over his shoulder.
From Annelies’s window they could be heard continuously cursing and condemning the white court’s decision as the act of infidels, as sinful, damned in this world and the next. From early in the morning until eleven o’clock they controlled our compound.
All the activities of the business stopped. The workers dispersed in fear and went home to their villages.
Two companies of police arrived, escorted by government carriages. The ringing of their copper bells could be heard from afar. Not paying any heed to the Madurese, the carriages came straight into our grounds. We could see from our room some of the Madurese swinging their great sickles against the legs of the horses. Two carriages went out of control and into the garden, splashing into the swan pond. Out of the carriages that succeeded in entering the yard jumped uniformed men with carbines who tried to disperse the Madurese. Those under attack did not want to leave. A fight took place.
From where I was, I saw two policemen felled, bathed in blood. The uniformed men finally didn’t know what else to do and fired off their rifles into the air.
Here and there could be seen a Madurese laid out, also covered in blood.
The police commandant, a Pure-Blood, swore at his men for firing their rifles. A stone flew through the air and struck his temple. He swayed about, fell, and did not rise again. A black Dutchman, an Ambonese from the Moluccas, who seemed to take command, shouted out that the Madurese must be dealt with more harshly. His arm caught a machete and as quick as lightning his shirt turned dark red. The wailing of the Madurese shouting out the greatness of God was unexpectedly frightening. But in the end they were chased away and ran in all possible directions.
On the grass, in the yard, bloodied bodies were strewn about.
A company of Marechaussee, fresh from training in Malang, were brought in to take over from the police, who were considered to have disobeyed orders by firing their rifles, even though only into the air. The police were sworn at and insulted by the Marechaussee and ordered to leave quickly and to pull out the two carriages that had gone into the pond.
A group made up of Madurese, as well as others, charged the compound. It seems they thought the police were still in charge of the operation. Realizing that it was now the Marechaussee they were facing, they hesitated. Some even ran off before entering the compound. Indeed the whole of the Indies feared the Marechaussee, a special command made up of specially chosen troops of the Netherlands Indies Army. They only used rubber truncheons, no firearms or blade weapons. They were famous as a company of fighters.
From the window I saw their leaf-green bamboo hats with the shining copper lion symbol bob up and down amongst the new group of attackers. Their whistles sounded noisily again and again and their truncheons swung round and round, striking and poking, thrusting and thumping. The fight between truncheons and whistles and the other sharp and blunt instruments lasted about half an hour. Two Marechaussee died on the spot.
That time too the protesters were chased away. Darsam was arrested and taken away to who knows where.
After things had calmed down Sergeant Hammerstee banged on the door, wanting to enter. Mama opened it and blocked the way.
“Nyai Ontosoroh?” he asked in Malay.
“I have no business with the Marechaussee.”
“This complex is to be guarded by the Marechaussee.”
“It’s nothing to do with me. No one steps inside my house without my permission.”
“I, Marechaussee Sergeant Hammerstee, have come to request permission.”
“I do not give permission.”
“In that case we will camp in the compound.”
Nyai slammed the door shut, locked it from inside, and stood behind it for some time. Looking at me, she said:
“Give in to them once and they’ll end up doing as they please. Don’t worry. Nothing will happen. They have no papers about this house. They only believe in papers. No matter how tremendous they are, it’s all meaningless without papers. Paper determines more, is more powerful.” Her voice was bitter.
From the window too I saw Dr. Martinet have his turn in being denied entry by Sergeant Hammerstee after they argued at the main gate for a minute. Their voices couldn’t be heard from where I was. His motions indicated that Martinet wished to see his patient, but he was refused. He remained stubborn. But then the doctor climbed aboard his carriage and left.
Now we had to care for Annelies without a doctor.
* * *
In the afternoon, Annelies slowly began to awake from her sedation. She opened her big eyes, looked left and right, as if glimpsing the world for the first time ever, then closed them again, and after that opened them again.
“Ann, Annelies,” I called.
She looked at me. Her lips opened, pale and bloodless. No voice emerged. I took some chocolate milk and put the glass up to her lips. Silently she drank down almost half a glass, stopped, and sat up in bed. Mama sat silently observing her. Suddenly Mama rose and left the room. At first I guessed she went out back to supervise looking after the cows.
And not long after I heard her voice, half-shouting, in Dutch:
“Everybody may go to the Netherlands! Why can’t I?”
I took a peep outside in the garden. Nyai was speaking to a Pure-Blood European who stood with hands on hips. His voice was too soft for me to catch his words. The man shook his head for a moment, sometimes shook his finger.
“What does it matter to you if I accompany my own child? I’ll use my own money, nobody else’s.”
The visitor shook his head again.
“Show me the rules where it is written down I can’t accompany my own child.”
The visitor seemed to move his hands but not his body.
“Smallpox certificate? Health certificate? My child doesn’t have one either. On the contrary, she is ill. Get innoculated on board? I can do that too.”
I left them both there in the garden. Annelies seemed to be trying to get down out of bed. I helped her to walk. I took her over to the window because that was her favorite place. And we stood there for a long time. But it was impossible to stay silent forever. I forced myself to speak:
“You’ve never got so far as the mountains, Ann? From the top, you could see all of Wonokromo and Surabaya. We’ll go there one day.”
You couldn’t actually see the mountains. They were covered by clumps of clouds and overcast, like white coffee not properly stirred, made by some lazy person. Low-hanging clouds blocked off the usually black-green forest. Far off in the distance, I couldn’t guess how far, lightning flashed, king of the heavens, for a moment. The clouds and grayness then disappeared again to who knows where. Nature was busy with its own affairs.
And beside me, my wife let out a long breath.
Mama entered again. She sat down on the chair, silently, without speaking, as if nothing had happened. When I looked her way, she waved her hand, calling me over. I left Annelies by the window.
“Minke, you must tell her, Minke, her departure is in three days’ time.”
I had to tell her, because I was her husband. It was indeed my responsibility—a responsibility I still hadn’t carried out because of everything that had been keeping me so busy lately. Annelies had to know: We were defeated, crushed, without ever being able to defend ourselves, let alone fight back.
In the distance, nature was still miserable and was becoming more so with every flash of lightning. Under the window our swan pond had been damaged but still hadn’t
been repaired. A company village, usually visible from the window, and full of playing children, was now still, without any signs of life.
I approached my wife. I put my hands on her shoulders and placed my cheek against her cold cheek. I gathered together all my courage.
“Ann!” She didn’t look, neither was there any other response. “Ann, my Annelies, my wife, will you listen to me?”
She ignored me. The fingers of her left hand slowly scratched her neck. That beautiful neck, covered by her crumpled hair, was more perfect than nature outside.
We had only three days left together. She would leave, my darling, my most beautiful doll in the world. What will happen to you later, Ann? And what about myself? Will you be like the lightning outside, flashing for a moment, reigning supreme over all around you, only then to disappear forever? Someone who does not know you at all has suddenly judged you and punished you this way. Someone else again, they too not knowing anything, will separate you from us, and from everything that you love. You were so fragile and pale, Ann. Mama and I had become so thin ourselves.
How sad and moving you were, Ann, so beautiful, but never having had the chance to enjoy your own beauty and youth.
“Don’t you want to listen, Ann?” She still paid no heed. “Do you like the mountains over there, Ann?”
There was a hint of a nod, affirming.
“We should have gone riding there, yes, Ann? And Mama will stay at home. We’ll go by ourselves, just the two of us, Ann.”
Once again she nodded imperceptibly.
“Your favorite horse Bawuk neighs, asking after you all the time, Ann.”
She bowed her head. Then, so slowly, she turned around and looked at me and her eyes were like a pair of dreaming daytime star eyes. Her mouth remained mute, and it smelled of medicine.
Mama couldn’t hold back her feelings anymore. I could hear her crying and she left the room. About ten minutes later she came in again with another European. He walked straight to where we were standing.
This Earth of Mankind Page 38
