House of Glass

  Meneer Darman hesitated.

  “Where are your children now?”

  He let go of his embrace and turned away.

  “How are relations with Europe?”

  “Smooth and orderly,” he answered, as if reporting to a supervisor. “When will you be freed, Mas?”

  “I am not free yet.” Minke looked at me and Meneer Darman followed his gaze.

  I turned the other way and walked outside. Not long after, Meneer Darman and Minke also came out. I don’t know what else they talked about.

  Meneer Darman came over to me and in very good Dutch asked whether Minke could stay the night with him as the ship was not leaving until the next morning. He also invited me to stay at his house. I refused. And Minke himself also turned down the offer.

  Meneer Darman was still standing in the door as the taxi drove off.

  “Where to now, Meneer?” I asked.

  “Wherever you like,” he answered somewhat rudely.

  “Wouldn’t you like to dine somewhere?”

  “I want to be by myself in my room,” he answered, and this time he was being rude.

  He was upset. He was probably angry at Darman for not making a success of his family. Things didn’t seem to be quite right with Meneer Darman. . . .

  During the voyage to Betawi, Raden Mas Minke was shifted to a first-class cabin. He didn’t organize it himself and it was definitely not the work of the government. Meneer Darman had obviously arranged the move. He came to see Minke off and tried to give him a suitcase. I don’t know what was in it, but Minke refused it. Minke occupied a cabin by himself. He continued to wear Javanese clothes, even in his cabin. He would not see me.

  And so it was that we sailed to Betawi without the exchange of a single word.

  I was truly shocked when we alighted at Betawi. His luggage consisted of nothing more than a tin suitcase, small, old, dinted and dented, and most of its paint missing.

  “Nothing else, Meneer?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Let me get it.”

  “No need. I’ve brought it all in my head.”

  “Oh, I understand.”

  He didn’t need anything from me. Perhaps he thought that his businesses would still be operating the way they were five years ago. He didn’t realize just how fast the times changed in the Indies. The hot climate and humid air meant that everything rotted and broke down very quickly—people’s bodies too, and their lives. It looked as if he had not been informed about the confiscation of all his property by the government. And I knew why. The government was ashamed of what it had done. It was none other than the government itself that realized that its actions were deceitful, cruel, and uncivilized. And he didn’t know either that paid agents of the government were spreading rumors in the Sarekat that the return of Raden Mas Minke would bring disaster on the Sarekat and its members because it was Raden Mas Minke who was responsible for the attacks on the Chinese that had taken place four years earlier.

  And it didn’t stop there either. Government agents also whispered everywhere that he had been involved in defrauding a bank and that was why all his property had been confiscated. Government spies, so the whispers went, were seeking out everyone who had ever been close to him, because the government was reopening the investigation into the riots.

  And nobody knew better than I that the further the whispers spread away from me, the dirtier, darker, and more threatening they became. I knew that it was a foul, evil thing to do. But this person must be separated from his sheep. The Sarekat must remain totally loyal to Mas Tjokro.

  But don’t be angry at me, Modern Pitung. This was the kindest thing that I could bestow upon you. And if you knew anything about the past, you would know that such little presents as this were often bestowed upon your people by the Company when your ancestors still wielded some power.

  You could succeed in whatever you wanted if you understood your own strength. You had awakened your people who had been stunted and ruined by their illusions. It was so true that this people did not fully understand who you were, even though they had listened to your every word and had carried out your every order. But they remained stunted and ruined under the oppression of such illusions. Even during the next quarter of a century there would probably be no other Native able to free himself of these illusions as I had done. The government needed their illusions, and did not need people who had no illusions, such as you, Raden Mas Minke.

  I don’t think he slept at all during the voyage to Betawi. He looked tired, and seemed to be getting older. I took the way he had answered me back in Surabaya as a sign that he wanted to be free of me and everyone else. And his meeting with Meneer Darman was the first bitter harvest of disappointment since his release. There would be many more such harvests.

  Perhaps the way he had answered me was also a way of showing the servant of the government, this Pangemanann, that we could not rob him of everything. He had a big plan. And that plan was still inside his head.

  I had to listen carefully now to his every word, just as I would listen to every word of the government and the governor-general.

  The car that was there to pick us up took us straight out of the harbor without having to bother with any of the formalities. He stared full of fascination at everything he saw around him. He didn’t speak at all.

  I tried to remind him of his first visit to Betawi, which he had described in his manuscripts: “The horse tram still runs, Meneer. When you rode it for the first time you may have already heard the prediction that one day they would run without horses and without spewing out smoke. The engine wouldn’t run on petrol or steam, but on electricity!”

  He hissed. I couldn’t tell whether he had been listening to me or not. But I needed to put him in a friendly mood so as to ensure success in the task I would soon have to carry out. I had to keep talking.

  “People are still hoping that all sorts of miracles will be possible with electricity. Electricity outside the human body, Meneer . . .” I stole a glance at him and our eyes suddenly met. He was waiting for what I was going to say about electricity in the human body.

  I didn’t continue.

  The car sped past the jungle and swamps of Ancol. He still didn’t speak.

  All around Gambir Square there now stood buildings that were not there five years ago. He studied them one by one. Gambir Square looked beautiful that morning. We could see in the distance the Dutch ladies taking their babies for a ride in their strollers, accompanied too by their older children. The older brothers and sisters were running about on the open lawns like little goats. Then I saw his gaze being drawn to the music stand in the corner. He had often listened to the music along with all the lonely nyai, he and his friends from the medical school.

  Once again he was faced with the past. There must have been all sorts of thoughts passing through his mind. I could just imagine. Every time you are reminded of times past, you are also reminded of just how fast life passes by, and then you start hesitantly weighing up what you have achieved in all this time. And in Minke’s case, it was obvious that he had achieved a great many of his ideals. I too had achieved a great deal, except it was not and now never would be what I had hoped I would achieve.

  The car made its way slowly into the compound of Police Headquarters. When we stopped in front of the office veranda, we were welcomed by two police officers in official police style. Minke seemed not to be interested. He knew the salute was not for him, but for me.

  We escorted him inside. He was quickly served with coffee, milk, and his favorite cigar. The two police officers tried their hardest to be as amicable as possible. They were both Pure-Blood Europeans. Minke seemed to be trying to smile as much as he could. Yet we all had a good idea of what might really be going on in his mind.

  For a quarter of an hour the little drama continued, we playing the friendly host, he putting on all the smiles. He drank a quarter of his cup of coffee and then stopped. We talked about all sorts of things. But he still di
dn’t speak. Then at last he opened his mouth, and we went silent and listened to him. He said in Dutch, quickly, softly, almost hissing: “Good. Enough. Now what is it that you gentlemen want from me?” His eyes swept over us one by one as if issuing a challenge.

  “Meneer Raden Mas Minke,” I said, “to be frank with you, there is one thing, a very small thing, that we need from you. Just a very small thing, just your signature, and then you will be free.”

  “He-he. What is it that you want me to sign? Is there some new law or regulation about this?”

  “No, Meneer Raden Mas. All we want is a bit of a statement from you. All you have to do is sign it. We have the statement here ready.”

  “There is nothing that I need to sign. Isn’t the governor-general’s decree releasing me enough?”

  “If that is the course that Meneer thinks is the wisest course, then that certainly is up to you,” I said, threatening him, “but perhaps it is best that you also study this statement.”

  He glared a challenge at me, then at the other two policeman, each in turn. They were both silent. They didn’t interfere because this was not their area of work.

  Minke nodded and then grumbled: “There is nothing that I need to study if I do not wish to.”

  “Very well, but at least Meneer Raden Mas should know what is in it.”

  “You can arrest me again whenever you want. I don’t need to know what is in it.”

  “Very well.” I spoke again. “It is my duty to ensure that you know what is in this statement. Because you are not prepared to read it, I will read it aloud to you.”

  I read out the statement, which of course I had written myself, word by word. The two policemen listened attentively while watching Minke. But Minke himself didn’t show any sign of being interested at all; instead he just twirled his mustache as if he were back in his own house.

  “Nah, so now you have heard what is in the statement. It has been witnessed by these two police officers. So we now officially consider that you know what is in the statement.”

  “A promise not to become involved in politics or organizing,” he hissed. “Very beautiful. Just like in a palace comedy. Have you ever watched one of the palace comedies?” He shifted his gaze to each of us in turn. “So the idea is that only the government can get involved in politics or organizations?”

  None of us expected such a sharp refusal or such a question as that. We were all dumbstruck.

  “Not allowed to get involved in politics or organizations,” he whispered to himself. Suddenly his lips were pulled back into a smile, and his voice struck out clearly: “What do you gentlemen mean by politics? And by organization? And what do you mean by ‘involved?’”

  We were all still dumbstruck.

  “Do you mean that I have to go and live by myself on top of a mountain? Everything is political! Everything needs organization. Do you gentlemen think that the illiterate farmers who spend their lives hoeing the ground are not involved in politics? The moment they surrender a part of their little crop to the village authorities as tax, they are carrying out a political act, because they are acknowledging and accepting the authority of the government. Or do you mean by politics just those things that make the government unhappy? While those things that make the government happy are not political? And tell me, who is it that can free themselves from involvement in organization? As soon as you have more than two people together, you already have organization. The more people there are, the more complex and advanced the organization becomes. Or do you mean something else again by politics and organization?”

  The three of us were still dumbstruck.

  “From the time of the Prophet until today,” he lowered his voice, “no human being has ever been able to separate himself from the power of his fellow human beings, except those who have been shunted away because they were insane. Even those who become hermits, who take themselves away into the middle of the forest or the ocean, still take with them something of the influence of their fellow human beings. And while there are those who rule and those who are ruled, those who exercise power and those who are the objects of that exercise of power, people will be involved in politics. While people live in society, no matter how small that society, people will be organizing. Or do you want me to sign my own death sentence without there ever having been any trial, just as I was sentenced to exile without any trial? Or is this ridiculous letter another part of the governor-general’s Extraordinary Powers? If so, let me see proof that such new regulations have been introduced. I want to see them.”

  He knew we had lost our tongues, and he put out the cigar in his ashtray and smiled victoriously.

  “We do not have to answer,” I said.

  “Who then? Me?”

  We were even more cornered now.

  “Don’t be angry, Meneer,” said one of the policemen.

  “It is not a question of being angry or not being angry. You gentlemen are servants of the law. If I sign that letter, it will bind me in law. But the letter itself has no basis in law. I think it is better if you gentlemen sign it yourselves.”

  When he saw that we were still unable to say anything, he asked me as if he were the governor-general himself: “Meneer Pangemanann, am I still your official guest?”

  “Where will you go, Meneer?”

  “Anyway, there is no need for me to be escorted.”

  “So you will not sign this statement?”

  “Forget it, Meneer.”

  “Very well. Today you feel you cannot sign it. Tomorrow or the next day, you might change your mind,” I said. “We will keep this letter here. If at any time you feel you need it, you will find it here.”

  “As a guest to his host, I thank you for everything. Good afternoon.”

  He picked up his suitcase, which did not seem heavy. Then he strode proudly outside and walked to the main road.

  One of the policemen jumped up in amazement, while the other jumped up to restrain him.

  “A stubborn clever man,” he commented.

  “If I were he, perhaps I would have the same attitude,” I said.

  “What will we do with this document, Meneer Pangemanann?”

  “There is nobody who can force him to sign it. It was the wrong procedure. Even His Excellency couldn’t force him. Not the whole police force.”

  From the office window, we saw him hail a carriage. He climbed aboard. The carriage headed off in the direction of Senen.

  A few moments later five police agents in civilian clothes emerged from the police compound on bicycles and followed his carriage.

  13

  According to my boss, His Excellency the governor-general was very impressed with Raden Mas Minke’s attitude. He had listened to the report, nodding, and then had said, laughing: “Any self-respecting European would have done the same. Meneer Idenburg shouldn’t have taken such harsh action against him. It has only made him harder. Isn’t it true that he was not like this during van Heutsz’s time? Van Heutsz knew how to handle him.”

  It was His Excellency Governor-General Van Limburg Stirum’s view that it was not only improper but indeed immoral to use the governor-general’s Extraordinary Powers except as a last resort. Even so I don’t think it was right for him to criticize his predecessor because Idenburg faced a different situation during his rule. The world war was changing a lot of things in the Indies. Very well. Perhaps from now on the government will rely on the courts to decide these matters.

  “No person shall be punished without a decision from a court of law.”

  So he spoke, for the first and last time.

  These words of his were enough to make the staff of the Algemeene Secretariat ashamed of themselves. It meant that De Lange had died for nothing. It also meant that His Excellency would review the decisions of the De Lange Commission, if he came to know about them. And if that happened, there might be several Algemeene Secretariat staff who would decide that they should resign because of the embarrassment.

  I myself wou
ld be facing no lesser difficulties. If the government persevered with these policies, then there was a real possibility my services would soon no longer be needed. And what was the meaning of a Pangemanann with two ns if deprived of the opportunity to serve the government? The attempt to work together with the Syndicates failed. Not only did my boss have no interest in the idea, but he was also busy preparing to leave the Indies to migrate to America. In another five years, he would be able to become an American citizen. He spent most of his time sitting daydreaming, and it seemed the whole of the government was following his example, sitting daydreaming.

  To safeguard my position, it was necessary that I show how busy I was. The situation regarding my future did not look good, but on the other hand there had been no changes to my official status or the mandate that I had been given. And so I worked on as if I were somebody very important, as if the whole Indies depended on me, as if the Indies itself would have to close up shop if there were no Pangemanann.

  The voice of His Excellency Van Limburg Stirum was like the voice of an angel from heaven. But here on earth, in the Indies, things would be different. . . . And this was plain from the journey of one human inhabitant of this earth named Raden Mas Minke, a journey described in detail in many reports, which were in turn studied minutely.

  He had left us and traveled by carriage in the direction of Senen. But he stopped the carriage before arriving at Senen Markets. Carrying his suitcase, he alighted and paid the driver, who received it without protest, a sign that the payment was adequate, perhaps even more than adequate.

  He turned into an alley, walking briskly. It seemed he knew this area well from the days when, fifteen years ago, as a medical student, he wandered these alleyways. My men almost lost him. He moved quickly in and out of alleyways, obviously not looking for any particular address; then he came into a market. If he had stayed in the carriage he would have arrived there long before. It seemed he was trying to shake off any surveillance.

  He went into a covered stall and, sitting among the market coolies, devoured a meal. He sat there for some time, smoking his favorite cigar, and chatted with the coolies who all admired that cigar. Because he did not have enough, he could hand out only three of them, which the coolies then took turns at smoking.