Japan would quickly be defeated by the Russian armory, the newspaper report had said. Trainloads of medals were already on their way to decorate the soon-to-be-victorious Russian soldiers. What threat were the yellow-skinned soldiers of Asia? One sweep at them and they’d all be scampering away. A huge armada had left the northern harbors to make a journey halfway around the world, staggering all the way from a boycott by coal suppliers. Through the straits of Malacca up to Vladivostok they headed, ready to cut off Japan’s supplies from the crest of the ocean’s waves.
Japan had not been prepared to sit idly by without conquests of its own—it wanted Manchuria for itself. It had become a matter of honor for a country to be able to enslave another people, to rob and exploit another people.
And in Betawi, the Japanese shops, barbers, drink sellers, prostitutes, peddlers, all flew the flag of the Rising Sun. Japan was on everybody’s lips.
“I haven’t read any reports like that,” I said.
“It’s impossible that the report I read was a lie.”
At the medical school, none of the Dutch papers in the library mentioned any news of the war. I still didn’t really believe that the report was true.
Then about a week later the Dutch press carried a report containing just a snippet of what Mei had told me. The Malay language papers followed. The news flowed everywhere like water finding the lowest spot to rest. Everyone wanted to know who was winning in this war between the baby and the giant. Those educated in wayang tended to root for the Japanese; no new knights were born, grew, and became mighty without being tested, they said.
I too became excited. At the school no one could stop talking about what was happening, discussing what was going on. The eternally snowcapped Mt. Fuji took a hold on our minds.
Then one afternoon, when I thought I’d mastered the issues, I explained to Mei the course of the big naval battle that had taken place in the Tsushima Straits, a story of old sailors and old admirals, all of whom had sworn to deliver a victory for the czar or die.…
She was fascinated by my story. Her narrow eyes gazed out without blinking. This always aroused my passions, as she knew, but this time she just ignored the signs.
“What is there to admire?” she said coldly. “Whether Russia or Japan wins, it will be no victory for humanity. And if Russia is defeated, it will not be a defeat that benefits humanity. They are two wolves fighting over their victim.”
She went on to tell me about the rise of British imperialism, beginning with the invention of the steam engine by James Watt, opening a new chapter in the history of industry, giving rise to the accumulation of capital and the separation of labor from capital, which brought the enslavement of the colored peoples by English capital.
“Minke, I don’t think it was an accident that you told me the other day about Treponema pallidum—that’s how you say it, isn’t it?—and gonococcus. That’s what Japanese and English imperialism are like. Two bacteria, each wanting to ruin the world the way Diwan’s body has been destroyed. What? Why are you making such a face?”
“Yes, Mei, perhaps I know what you’re getting at. But there is still something that you don’t seem to want to recognize. How can you not admire an Asian people, from such a small country, so courageously taking on a European people from such a huge country as Russia?”
“Japan is not so different in size from England. Ordinary human beings eat things that are smaller than their mouths. Those bacteria, as well as England and Japan, do the opposite.” She spoke slowly and her voice was hard, inflamed with hatred, burning, tense with conviction. “Surely you remember what happened to our friend in Jepara? These bacteria eat up both the flesh and the world they live in. You of all people should understand this!” she said bitterly. “And isn’t it true that all the nations that the Europeans have conquered these last three hundred years have been much, much bigger than their conquerors? And that the small are not always defeated, and that indeed it is the big ones that are usually defeated by them? The tiny bacteria can also bring down an elephant.”
I regretted having told her the news with such enthusiasm. She had a different starting point and perspective.
“I’m sorry we differ on this matter. Look, these two kinds of bacteria that you have reported about have no nationality. Both of them are only after victims. Without victims they themselves would die. There’s no need to root for Japan. You know that we fight against the Ching dynasty, even though it is also Chinese, because they not only collaborate with those bacteria, they themselves are another kind of evil bacteria. Forgive me. Can you understand?”
Japan’s victory greatly worried Ang San Mei. The rising power of Japan had also worried my late friend in Surabaya. They may be right, I thought. Though Japan may defeat Russia and swallow up Manchuria, China would be its first real victim.
“It may not only be China that is grabbed by Japan but all the weaker countries of Asia that have not yet been conquered by Europe. And perhaps even those that have been gobbled up by Europe could also be taken over.”
Before we had properly finished our conversation, a friend from school turned up and hurried me out onto the main street. A luxurious coach was waiting there and a European dressed in civilian clothing handed me a letter, once again from the governor-general’s office. I read it quickly as he ushered me into the coach.
It wasn’t long afterward, just before sunset, that I found myself sitting on a garden chair facing Governor-General van Heutsz.
“Nah, sir,” he began, “I’m glad to be able to see you again. How are your studies going? How do you spend your time? Does your wife get any of that little time of yours? You’ve been writing so much these last few weeks. Ah, so you see, I am one of your readers, and, yes, perhaps you could also say, one of your admirers.”
“Your Excellency…”
During this unofficial meeting with the governor-general, a meeting that was completely unexpected, there were two main questions he put to me: As an educated Native, what would be my reaction to a Japanese victory—if indeed they won—and, second, what was being done by the educated Natives from and for this modern era?
These questions made me feel like a primary-school student who had forgotten to do his homework and was now called to recite in front of the class.
Van Heutsz understood my awkwardness, saying: “No need to answer now. If you prefer you can present your answers in one of your excellent articles. Whatever newspaper you write in, it will reach me. You must do this. This month. I know it may disturb your studies a little, but you are quite good at scheduling your time, are you not? And also, you know, writers can often see aspects of things which others cannot.”
The meeting lasted only a quarter of an hour. When it was over, he presented me with some of Multatuli’s books. He had them ready on the seat beside him.
I did not go home to the dormitory but went straight to Kwitang. Mei was not home—something that greatly surprised me. Ibu Baldrun repeated to me over and over again that this was the first time that my wife had gone out alone at night. She had asked Ibu Baldrun’s permission to go, saying she would be back around midnight or even later. She had taken the front door key with her.
“At first, I wouldn’t let her go,” Ibu said in a pleading tone, “but she said you would understand and would have permitted it, so I gave her permission. Forgive me if I have done wrong, Denmas.”
Ibu Baldrun did not know where Mei had gone. And I had no idea either.
I went to bed but tossed and turned unable to sleep. I was restless. Jealousy ran amok within me. Our quiet and secure life was threatened, for now and forever.
Once you are afflicted with jealousy there are no words of wisdom that can cure you.
“Such a good child as she will not do anything wrong.”
Ibu Baldrun was also beginning to get restless.
A jealous heart is like a claw whose clutch becomes deeper and deeper. That night I needed her to discuss the questions I had been asked by van
Heutsz. Very well, my plans would have to be canceled. But I would not go back to the dormitory. The governor-general’s questions had been wiped from my mind by evil imaginings about what my wife was up to.
I turned off the light and pulled down the mosquito net. As I tossed and turned I tried to humor myself. Mei would never do anything that she shouldn’t. She was a careful, calm person. But jealousy knows only its own laws. It’s like a fire that plays at burning the rice husks. Whether or not there is anything there to burn, all you know is that you can feel the burning heat. Even so, I eventually fell asleep. I woke up at three in the morning. I heard her mumble, I don’t know in what language. Perhaps she was asking who had pulled down the mosquito net. In the darkness, she started climbing into bed. She was startled to find someone else in there with her.
“Mei!” I reprimanded her. “Where have you been?”
She didn’t get in after all.
“I knew you would be angry. I’m sorry.” She lit a lamp.
“Where have you been?” I got out of bed.
“I’m sorry. But there’s no need to make a noise.”
I grabbed both her shoulders and shook her. “Answer. Where have you been?”
She looked at me calmly as if nothing had happened.
“I know that you do not want to know where I have been—and will not want to know where I will be going in the future. But you do want to know what I am doing and what my work here is.”
Then I realized that I was standing before the fiancé of my late friend—a woman who did not belong to herself, a young woman who had surrendered her youth to the ideals of her organization. Her soft and gentle face was now like stone, polished by her concern at the world’s sympathy with Japan in its war against Russia, a war going on at some faraway point on the north of the globe. She was worried about something that was abstract, but that had been made concrete by her own ideals—the fate of her country and her people.
Silently I climbed once more into bed. She put out the light and climbed in also. She probably hadn’t eaten since afternoon.
Suddenly she embraced me: “I’m sorry, my husband. I must do this. If not those with Chinese blood, who then will work for our country? You would do the same for your country and people, yes?”
Ah, such words, such a tone of voice! The dancing flames of jealousy inside me melted into softness. For just a while? Forever?
“You haven’t eaten yet, Mei?”
“I’m tired, sleepy.” She fell asleep, with me in her embrace until morning.
But I could not sleep. My thoughts wandered everywhere. Ah, how I admired this woman who was now my wife. She had become a part of my own self. Her hurt was also my hurt. And today, I knew, she would be more faithful to that other something far away to the north. To her hopes for her country and people. And I could not possibly go with her. How complicated and disorderly are the hearts of humankind. She still embraced me. I could not bring myself to move out of her arms. She was tired. And that small and slender body of hers, and her heart, all of it, or perhaps half, would no longer be mine.
From that morning we knew that our marriage had entered the beginning of its final stage. She would grow further and further apart from me until finally we no longer were together. Forever. She would be lost in the cauldron of enthusiasm for a victory for the Young Generation of her people.
Before I got up, I kissed her. She was still asleep. And that was the first time I had done that. It felt like a parting kiss. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
“My husband,” she called out, still half asleep. It had only been in these last few hours that she called me “my husband.” Her voice was calm, she spoke without emotion, still lying in bed. “For almost five years now our life together has been blessed with health and happiness. What woman would not be happy to be your wife? My husband, you are a man with an understanding heart. You have never done anything to hurt me. Next year you will be a doctor. I am worried that I will not always be able to be with you. I must work, I must work harder.”
She was saying good-bye.
“I understand, Mei.” I changed the subject. “You must bathe.”
“You bathe first. You must study.”
So I bathed first. When I came out I was served a breakfast of fried bananas and coffee; then Mei went off to bathe.
And when she came back and sat down beside me, I began: “I want to talk with you tonight about the possibility of a Japanese victory.”
“Forgive me, but I don’t think that is necessary. We must work. We face the Japanese bacteria. If I am not here this evening, don’t be angry. I will always be faithful to my husband. There must never be any evil suspicions that spoil the thoughts between us, as husband and wife.”
I listened to her words and it felt as if we would never be together, not that evening or ever again. I had been overwhelmed by this feeling so many times in the last few hours. Had I become so emotional and sentimental? And I sensed what was going to happen.
I watched her secretly as she dressed. She stood before me like a creature from another universe whom I had just met. The paleness had returned to haunt her lips once again. The exhaustion from last night was already threatening her health. And she did not and would not understand that it was happening.
Listlessly I walked the several hundred yards to school.
The news that I had received a letter from the governor-general’s office caused great commotion at the school. The director summoned me.
“So, sir, you have had an audience with the governor-general, representative of Her Majesty the Queen in the Netherlands Indies. May we perhaps know what he wanted you for? It may have certain consequences for our school?”
My answer greatly delighted the director, who volunteered to help me perfect the answers, using all the material that could be obtained. He suggested that the students hold a meeting to gather together everybody’s opinion on the matter. I readily agreed with the idea but was reluctant to let him find out about my writing activities. So the director volunteered to prepare a list of questions to be answered in writing by the students. Once again I agreed while, at the same time, asking permission to sleep outside the dormitory for the coming week. He quickly agreed.
The questionnaire was soon reproduced, to be given out to the students the next morning.
After I had finished writing copy for ten advertisements at the auction paper office, I went straight to Kwitang. Mei was busy writing in Chinese. There were five pages of writing on the table. Silently I came up behind her and started to stroke her hair.
“Is that you?” she asked, without raising her head. “I’ll be finished in a minute.”
My hands moved down to her chest, and she kept on writing as if nothing was disturbing her.
“It looks as if you can write too,” I said.
“These are just notes needed for the moment, not like the stories you write,” she answered.
She finished her work, went over to the corner of the room, and started to duplicate her notes, fifty copies of each page in all. She paid no attention to me.
“Hurry up, I want to talk,” I said.
“I answered you yesterday. Work! I’ve been urging you for a long time now to carry out what that old doctor suggested. And still none of you will organize. What now? Is there nothing you can do? Look at these—fifty copies to be distributed to fifty addresses. Tomorrow they will spread to fifty more and then more again. And others will start talking about what they say and so the ideas will spread farther and wider. Of course, that’s the theory. It could reach either more or less than that. Public opinion is changed this way. These too are bacteria, but not evil ones. These indeed fight gonococcus and Treponema pallidum.”
“People have known how to do that for a long time now.”
“Yes,” she answered, “it is indeed elementary. Even a small child could learn how to do it. But without an organization not one copy will reach an address, let alone multiply like bacteria.”
“I
t’s easier if you do it through a newspaper, without having to do so much work, Mei.”
“Not everyone owns newspapers. And those owned by the Old Generation will certainly oppose what I’m saying. Now, I’m sorry, I must go.”
She put the papers in her bag, which so far had carried only her clothes, stood before the mirror, put on some makeup, and combed her hair.
“I want to be with you tonight, Mei,” I said.
“I’ll try to get back.” And she left.
“She spent the whole morning and afternoon just reading and writing,” said Ibu Baldrun disapprovingly. She sympathized with me.
“There’s something she has to do. In fact, I’ve asked her to do it.”
And I too began to write, to prepare the answers to van Heutsz’s questions. The answers from the other students would be used, at most, as complementary material. Anyway, they wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow. And what can be hoped from those whose only dream is to become a government employee, no matter in what capacity, whose life is made up only of waiting for their salary? I found it more difficult to write than if I were writing of my own will. Every sentence got stuck, entangled in issues that I didn’t fully understand. Instead, all my friends, people that I loved, appeared before my mind’s eye. And they all confronted me, unsullied by prejudice, competing for my allegiance, embracing each other, standing shoulder to shoulder in a single line.
I did not finish writing.
While I sat dazed in the middle of a sentence, Mei’s two hands slipped across my chest. When I grabbed her hands they were cold.
“Mei, you came?” I stood up, embraced and kissed her.
The pocket watch lying on the table showed twelve midnight.
“You’ve been out in the cold air too long. Remember your health, Mei.”
“I’ve brought home some Chinese food for you.”