Footsteps

“So I’ll eat pork?”

  “No. Who said anything about pork? You’ve been so suspicious and angry these last few days. It’s midnight and you’re still up. Come on.”

  We ate silently. Now and then we would steal glances at each other. She was trying to size up how I was feeling. And I was doing the same.

  “You’re not jealous, are you?” she said, diving straight into my personal problem. “Jealous. I never dreamed that any husband of mine could be jealous because of me.”

  We finished the food, and Mei went on: “Since a child I have been told to be correct, to behave correctly. It was implanted into me that a correct attitude was a basic requirement for all people who wanted to have relationships with other people.”

  I didn’t like the way she was talking that night. She was just looking for a way to justify what she was doing.

  The next day, with a pile of answers from the other students, I worked at the auction paper office. There were twenty texts that I had to work on—advertisements, that is. My boss had expanded his business to take in orders for advertising copy that would be used in the dailies as well. With these twenty texts done I would have earned enough for us to live for the next month. It wasn’t until two in the morning that I finished and headed straight for Kwitang.

  It was a dark night. People said that there had been a break in the gas pipes. All the streetlights had been turned off. Just up ahead of me were two people wearing black pajama pants. Perhaps they were criminals. I slowed down. Then one of them headed off into the lane where we lived. The other turned into a different lane. The first stopped outside Ibu Baldrun’s fence. From the way she walked and the shape of her body, it was obviously Mei.

  “You’re out walking very late.” She got her reprimand in first.

  “You’re only home now, Mei?”

  “I waited a long time for you outside your office.”

  We went inside. I was not able to study the other students’ questions. I had run out of strength. Mei had brought home some food once again so we sat down to eat. Silently.

  “I hope you’re not jealous again.”

  Once again I didn’t like the way she spoke, even though I understood that she was deliberately trying to goad me into facing my jealousy.

  It was the next evening before I had a chance to study the other students’ answers. Mei was not there. I was alone in the room. Page by page I examined what they had written. I was right. There was nothing interesting, let alone anything actually worth studying. Page after page, I continued. Ah, here was something interesting by Wardi. There was nothing from Wilam. He had left the school after a year to go to live in India. Partokleooo’s answer was completely useless—he had no concept of present and future. Wardi’s and Tjipto’s answers were quite interesting but too personal to be used.

  The next evening as I was leaving my office, I saw Mei. I decided not to go back to Kwitang but to follow her. She stopped suddenly as if deliberately allowing me to watch her. She was wearing men’s clothes, black pajama pants and a black shirt, just like a silat fighter. And my grandfather had once told me that you should beware of skinny silat fighters—the skinnier they are the better they are! I don’t know whether grandfather was serious, but I didn’t feel I had to be afraid of my own wife! Mei was met by another person. He was big and tall. They went into a restaurant together.

  I also entered and ordered something to eat.

  Mei, my wife, sat in the corner with this man whom I had never met before in my life. The two of them talked and laughed, chuckled and guffawed. I didn’t know what they were talking about. I could not overcome my jealousy. I hid myself in the shadows of some colonnades. A hand, with all of its five fingers, seemed to force its way down my throat to squeeze my heart in its grip.

  From afar Mei looked even more beautiful, more waxen, like a dried flower ready to crumble at the touch of some rough hand. Beside her was a strong, handsome man, perhaps the player of some heavy sport.

  I didn’t touch my food, I knew it was all pork. I suppressed my feelings. Mei and her friend had finished eating. The young man paid the restaurant owner. But Mei seemed to want to pay for her own food. They argued loudly in a language that was as alien to me as that which decides man’s fate. My jealousy subsided a little. She was still my faithful wife, I thought as well as prayed. Only—until when?

  They left. I quickly paid my bill.

  “Didn’t you like your food, sir?” asked the proprietor.

  “There was not a thing wrong with it.”

  “You didn’t even touch it.”

  I ran after them. They were walking beside each other, but not close. Suddenly I saw him take Mei’s hand. She pulled it away. How long can you keep it up, Mei, and how long will you want to? Yes, I was jealous. But did I really love Mei? Or was I just offended because my rights were being violated?

  They disappeared into a delman, which took them off in the direction of Kotta. I was left on the side of the street. There was no way I could follow them now. There were no other empty delmans about. I ambled home to Kwitang, and finished my answers for van Heutsz, reading them over and over again. Then I put them in an envelope to be posted the next morning.

  Next morning, when I awoke, Mei was not there. For the first time in our marriage, she had not come home.

  Her face announcing her condolences, Ibu Baldrun asked me where my wife was. I answered that I had told her to take a holiday in the country. She didn’t believe me. She said that she didn’t want her family’s name to be hurt because of the behavior of her lodgers. I convinced her that Mei was not doing anything wrong.

  “Yes, before she was always a good girl. Always stayed at home at the proper times. Always helpful and obedient. But now she is hardly ever here and seems to prefer wandering about in the streets.”

  She did not relent even when she saw my expression change as she said those things about Mei. Instead she warned me: “Even her own husband doesn’t know where she’s gone. Fix things up, Denmas, fix things up well. Don’t let things get out of hand.”

  Yes, the joy, the happiness, the peace that our marriage had brought us was gone. And my heart reminded me that I must appreciate what I had lost. This girl, who once had been so helpless, had once again found her arena of struggle, after years of just giving private lessons. I didn’t know if she had been in contact with many people all this time. And I didn’t know any of them, not even their names! Perhaps all this time she hadn’t been giving private lessons at all. Don’t dream about the happiness of marriage. You are being burned up by jealousy, Minke. You have lost something. The hope in you still pleads for something. What else are you waiting for, Minke?

  I went back to the dormitory and did not visit Kwitang again.

  Whenever Mei wanted to meet me, she came to the office at the paper in Jalan Kramat. Her face was drawn and becoming paler. Her eyes looked yellow. It was very likely she was not getting enough sleep.

  Whenever she came I gave her all that day’s earnings. She always counted it, and noted it down in a book. She always gave me back a quarter for my own shopping.

  Month after month, for almost a year.

  Then one day she asked: “Why do you never come home?”

  “Who will I find there? Look at yourself, you’re just skin and bones. Your eyes are more and more yellow. I’m worried…. Stop for a while, Mei. Don’t go out so much. Stay at home…. But it’s up to you.”

  “Forgive me. Let me have another three months. After that I will be able to be a proper wife again. I’ve been very unfair to you these past months, not like a good Chinese should be to her husband. But I’m sure you know that I’m truly thankful that you have allowed me to make some contribution to my country and my people.”

  She went again, I don’t know where, and I went back to the dormitory.

  We both lost weight and I became a daydreamer. Every time I met Mei her eyes were more yellow. She was showing more and more symptoms of hepatitis. I truly respected her dedication
to her people. How many men have touched her without my permission or knowledge? It was impossible that this had not happened. I had thought about stopping her money. But that would not be the act of an educated person! I must be better than my parents and my ancestors. I must carry out my duties as a husband.

  “Mei, go to the doctor.”

  “Do I look sick?”

  “Yes. Don’t put it off. Just this once do as I say.”

  Then she did not appear for a week. She must be exhausted from illness, I thought. She will need me now.

  I walked slowly to Kwitang. She was lying sprawled out on the bed. Almost all of her skin had turned yellow.

  “Mei!” I shouted and embraced her. “You’re ill, Mei.”

  She cried. She knew I understood she was very ill. Her liver was inflamed and there were already signs of swelling. This illness would take her to the grave—as certain as the ticking of a clock’s hands. The science of medicine and my world would not be able to save her from her disease.

  “I thought you would not want to see me again, my husband. A wife who has divided her loyalties.” She sobbed.

  “Shush, Mei. I have always admired you so much. You have been able to do what I have not.”

  “I know you did not come to condemn me.”

  “No. Why didn’t you send news?”

  “Soon you will be a doctor. You don’t have long to go, do you? You’ve come to treat me?”

  “Of course, Mei. Have you been to a doctor?”

  I examined her—her eyes, heart, pulse, and the swelling in her stomach.

  “No, I am not going to a doctor. I know you will cure me. You, my husband.”

  “Of course, Mei, I will cure you. Where are your friends? Why is no one bothering about you?”

  “They do not know where I live. They do not need to know.”

  She needed to be looked after in a hospital. Mei, ah, Mei, my narrow-eyed girl of satin skin. Look how you are now.

  “I’ll be the one to shed the tears, my husband,” she said hoarsely. “You mustn’t shed a single tear for me. You will be a doctor. You must not fail because of any tears.”

  Ibu Baldrun no longer seemed to have any concern for Mei. Even though she knew I had arrived she did not come in to see me. When I came out of the room, she greeted me with a scowl. I knew I was in the wrong.

  “Forgive me, Ibu, causing you so much trouble all this time.”

  “Yes, what have I done, Denmas, that things should come to this?”

  “A thousand apologies, Ibu, it is all my fault.”

  “So what is going to happen now?”

  “I know you no longer like my wife, Ibu. But believe me, she has done nothing wrong.”

  “You have not been home yourself either, Denmas.”

  “Work and study have kept me busy.”

  “That’s not why you haven’t been home, Denmas.”

  “Tomorrow I will take my wife to the hospital,” I said humbly.

  Mei called me from our room.

  I went back in. She signaled me with her hand to come nearer: “I don’t want you to take me to a hospital. I want to be near you. Only you can treat me.”

  She had more faith in me than anyone else.

  “Treat me yourself, no one else.”

  Mei was asking something of me that was impossible.

  “I know you are not yet a doctor. I want to see you become a doctor. Are you listening?”

  “I’ll make out a prescription, Mei. Quiet down, now. I’ll be your doctor.”

  She wanted to see me as a real doctor. It might be her last wish.

  I wrote out a prescription and asked Ibu Baldrun’s son to take it to the apothecary.

  I stayed with her. In this helpless state, she looked even more beautiful.

  “I’ll stay with you in the hospital tomorrow, Mei. I’ll stay with you all the time.”

  “As long as I am with you,” she answered. She nodded. “You must become a doctor, my husband. A very good doctor.”

  Two hours passed. The child still hadn’t come back with the medicine. If the prescription did not get through, then I would be in big trouble. I was not yet permitted to write prescriptions. And when the boy did return, he was escorted by the police.

  “You wrote this prescription?” asked the policeman.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who is sick?”

  “My wife.”

  “You are a doctor?”

  “A medical student.”

  “So you’re not yet a doctor?”

  “Next year. I’m a student,” I said, beginning to lose my temper.

  “Very well, come with me,” he ordered.

  “My wife is very ill,” I whispered.

  “There is some explaining you have to do first.”

  “Fine. Go with him,” said Mei. “Don’t worry about me.”

  I was not ashamed to be arrested in front of Mei, even though I knew her faith in me would disappear or at least be lessened by this. Indeed, I did not yet have the right to write prescriptions. And I had not written it because of ignorance. But because I wanted my wife to have faith. Let what must happen, happen. She knows I tried everything. Let the prescription be something that changes this gloomy atmosphere.

  I was thrown into a cell. There was also an interrogation that evening, although only brief. When they realized that I was indeed a medical student, they gave me a better cell and treated me much more politely.

  The next day the director fetched me from the police station and took me back to his office. He asked me to tell him everything. I also told him how I had to look after my wife myself.

  “Don’t you realize that you have already broken more rules than anyone else?”

  “I more than realize, sir.”

  “And who will pay for your wife’s medical expenses?”

  “You must also know that there is very little hope for my wife, except if God wishes otherwise. And you must also know that I must do my duty as a husband.”

  “Where will you get the money?”

  “I will get it.”

  “You have put your studies at risk as well as written a false prescription.”

  “No, the prescription I wrote was correct. I know I did not have the right to do so, I have broken the rules, but I have not written any bogus prescription. I knew what medicine she needed.”

  “Very well, take care of your wife as best you can. You can miss classes whenever you need.”

  For two months Mei lay in bed in the hospital. The operation to draw out the infection from her stomach resulted in another infection. She got worse. Every morning when I came to see her, it was more and more obvious how weak she was becoming.

  Then on top of all this she contracted another intestinal illness.

  “Promise me truthfully, my husband, that you will become a doctor.” Those were the words she uttered every time we met. “Forgive me for all the trouble I have caused you. Promise me, my husband, you will become a doctor to your people who suffer poverty and humiliation. Cure their bodies, make healthy their souls, show them a way to live, rouse them to arise.”

  She could no longer take proteins, only glucose.

  “Shush, Mei. You’ll be better soon.”

  Meanwhile I had fallen behind in my studies, with no way to catch up, especially with my practical studies. Now I stayed with her every night, all night.

  At three in the morning, when I was sitting in a chair next to her, she moved her lips. Her voice was so weak. I held her hand, now only skin and bones.

  She died without leaving behind a word.

  I returned to my lessons. I knew I had no chance of passing the examinations. Inside, I was all churned up and in turmoil. I did what I had to do like a machine. I think it is what they call patience, having faith, and a cartload of other names. All was done because of duty, as a man and a husband, as a candidate doctor, as an educated person. I don’t think any sane person could censure me for what I had done. Getting married
before graduating? Who is it that is still so eager to judge relationships between people? That Mei met me, and I met her, each from a country so distant and so alien from the other’s, was not something I’d wished for. Nor was it something Mei had wished for.

  The other students often asked how my wife was feeling. From my sunken eyes and cheeks, they understood without needing an answer. And their sadness at my loss was also sincere and genuine. Each came up to me to offer his hand and to express condolences. One by one I shook their hands. And those hands were cold like my heart.

  Through my downcast eyes everything seemed downcast—the windows and doors, the bed and the old clothes hanging on the clothes hanger.

  The air I breathed still seemed to smell of the coconut oil mixed with jasmine and kenanga that I had rubbed into Mei’s hair while she had been ill. She was constantly in my mind’s eye, sprawled out helpless on the hospital bed. And her faint voice still echoed within me, reminding me to make sure that I became a doctor.

  Ah, Mei, I never even knew your real name. You have gone with the knowledge that I have never hurt your feelings, nor your body. For you, Mei, I have worked, studied, written a prescription before I was permitted to. And you’ve gone on before me. I never did wrong toward you, Mei. That my studies were in disarray was not your fault, neither was it mine. It was just misfortune.

  And once again what happened was different from what I had prepared myself for.

  The director sat at his desk. Before him were several sheets of paper weighted down with a bottle of ink and a ruler.

  “Mr. Minke,” he began, “please accept my condolences on the passing away of your wife. And those too of all the staff, the teachers and the students.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Even so, it seems there are still more troubles that we just cannot avoid. I know your results and your behavior here. You have shown a special, individual development. I have tried to explain to the Council of Teachers that you have even attracted the attention of the governor-general.”

  An opening speech which heralded disaster.

  “It is the opinion of the Council of Teachers that the two major breaches of the rules by you indicate that you cannot be relied upon to be a satisfactory government doctor. You are expelled from the school. At the start of these coming holidays, you must leave the school and the dormitory.”