“I have not returned all Mama’s money yet.”
“Listen, Child, your magazine is already popular, except they say there’s not enough in it. There’s too much emphasis on one topic. That’s your opinion too, isn’t it, Jean?”
“Yes,” he answered, and then went silent again.
“I’ve suggested to you that you start a newspaper. Have you thought about it?”
“No Native has ever tried to start a newspaper!”
“Then you will have the honor of being the first.”
“Too much capital is needed, Ma.”
“I’m with you too, Child! How much do you need?” she asked, daring me. “There’s no need to return the rest of what I sent you before. How would three thousand guilders be? Enough?”
I fell into silence, pondering, embarrassed at having all this witnessed by Jean.
“Enough. Good, then you agree. Then you can start working on it.”
“Yes, I believe you can do it,” Jean proposed. “You’ve got the ability. You’ve had experience with papers. You’ll succeed in anything you try.”
“Well, anyway, I failed at becoming a doctor.”
“That was just bad luck. Actually a blessing in disguise,” said Mama. “If you had become a doctor, then today you might be working in the middle of Borneo or on some government ship somewhere. You wouldn’t be editing Medan. And there would be no Sarekat Priyayi.”
I was glad everyone had forgotten the topic of marriage. But it wasn’t for long. Mama started again: “Our ship leaves for Europe at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. We will alight at Amsterdam, then go to Huizen. Then we will catch the train to Paris. We will leave here tomorrow morning at nine in the morning.”
“If you go to Huizen, Ma,” I asked, “then could you get the most beautiful bouquet of flowers for her, and a red ribbon with “From Betawi” written across it in silver? “Just that, Ma.”
“Of course, Child. You see we don’t have much time for talking. If you think I’m pressuring you, it’s just that I’m thinking about how little time we have. So now, with Jean here, you must say something, so I know you won’t suffer in your loneliness. Or must I speak for you and you listen?”
How aggressive she was now. Was this her real character? Turned into a matriarch as a result of her success? Was it true that she was just interested in my happiness? Or did she want to free herself of a stepdaughter? Was this really the last chance to decide this and did we really not have time to discuss things first? And why was it that I, a writer, from whose pen hundreds of thousands of words had flowed, was now unable to produce even a single word?
“Very well,” said Mama finally. “Nah, Jean, see, he does want Maysoroh as his wife. He is embarrassed to ask you for her hand. He will make your daughter happy. Look upon me as his mother. And, in any case, you already know him quite well.”
She has become so aggressive!
“Let him speak for himself.” Jean’s words were in French.
“Speak, Child. Or do you still find it difficult to speak?”
It seemed as if all the good intentions in the world were being heaped upon my head. I had known May since she was little. I used to take her by the hand when we headed off to school, and then we’d catch a bendi together. And it had to be admitted that May was a healthy, active, attractive girl with a beautiful, perfectly formed body. This would have been obvious even to those who weren’t connoisseurs of beauty. How old was she now? Seventeen. With no experience, spoiled, an only child, and with a great love for her father. Jean gave her all his love—something that guaranteed she would also have a pure and simple heart free from any difficult complexes. But what must I say to an old friend whom I suddenly now confronted as a prospective father-in-law? And why was I about to carry out Mama’s wish without thinking it through properly first?
“First of all, I ask your forgiveness, Jean. For several years we lived together as friends. It’s true that I find it difficult to talk to you now. I would be enormously grateful if you were to allow me to crown my life by taking your daughter as my wife. Don’t be angry that these are the only words I’ve been able to find.”
Jean Marais turned, drawing in a deep breath. He looked old. And I don’t think there was anything he could do. He seemed to be totally dependent on Mama. His business had gone bankrupt. I regretted now that I had bent before Mama’s will. How embarrassing it would be if my proposal was rejected—perhaps it would ruin relations between Jean and Mama. I had behaved very rashly and without principle. Why I had become like this—just a shadow in the presence of this extraordinary woman? Why am I so helpless before her? Why have I allowed myself to create more burdens for Jean? Was I basically just an opportunist? Or was it because of my debts to her?
“She is my only child,” Jean said suddenly in French. “Maysoroh has been with me since she was little. She lost her mother when she was a baby. You know that.”
“You don’t intend to return to the Indies, Jean?”
“I don’t know. Why am I thinking about myself?” he rebuked himself. He stood up, unsteady on his one leg, and cried out: “May! May! Come here, darling.”
But Maysoroh didn’t come out, neither did she answer.
Mama stood up and walked across to knock on the door, speaking in Dutch: “Come out, darling. Your father needs you.”
The door opened warily. I no longer looked at the door but at Jean. Perhaps these were difficult moments for him, the time when other hands were about to seize his beloved daughter away from him. He watched the door with eyes guarded by a worried frown.
“Why won’t you come out, May? What are you afraid of? Come on, darling.” Mama greeted May and guided her across the room and sat her beside me.
“You don’t regret your words?” asked Jean.
“If you don’t, neither do I, Jean.”
“May!” Jean spoke his daughter’s name lovingly. “You have known him since you were little. Heh, don’t bow down your head like that. Lift your head up so Papa can see your face and eyes.”
And I myself avoided May’s gaze. I still saw her as a little child, who came weeping to me after I had argued with her father. I had cradled her in my arms. And then she made me go back to make up with Jean.
“You know, May, that just now, he has asked permission to marry you. I have not yet answered. It is all up to you. I am not compelling you to answer yes or no, or even to answer at all. It is all up to you, nobody else.”
Maysoroh was silent. Would she refuse me? Would I suffer the shame? And if she did say yes, what would be her reasons?
“You can answer now, tomorrow, or later after you settle in France,” Jean added.
The atmosphere was gloomy and silent. No one spoke. Mama stood up and went out into one of the back rooms.
“I’m not proposing because of pressure from anyone, Jean,” I said, trying to change the atmosphere.
“Of course not. I agree that you need a good wife, Minke. Tomorrow we leave for Europe and I have a feeling that I won’t be returning to the Indies. There is not much time left. It’s important we make good use of what time we have together now.”
“I understand, Jean.”
“What about you, May?”
“I want to study in Paris.”
“So you won’t reply to this proposal?”
“Not yet, Papa. Don’t be angry, Papa. Don’t be disappointed in me, Uncle. I’m allowed to study, aren’t I?” she said slowly and cautiously.
Everything went dark. Maybe Jean watched my face go from white to red with shame and embarrassment.
“You won’t regret your decision, May?” Jean asked again.
“Papa, my darling Papa.” I watched May rise, go up to her father where she cuddled and embraced him. “I’d like to have Uncle as a husband. Really, Papa. But not now.”
“Tell him yourself.”
“You heard, didn’t you, Uncle?”
The sun shone once again on my universe. No, I would not have to suffe
r the shame I imagined. I looked calmly at May. She would be my wife. She came across to me and knelt down in front of me in the Javanese way, with her two hands resting on my right hand.
“I’d like to be your wife, Uncle, but not now. Please forgive me.”
I stood and pulled her up also and sat her down on a chair.
“Jean, May, thank you for this answer. Neither of you must think that my proposal today is a result of the prodding of anybody else. I have done it all of my own free will. And, May, if tomorrow or the next day you change your mind, please let me know. If later when you’re living in France, mixing with many new friends and your views change, remember, there is someone here who always awaits your letters.”
We had a merry evening that night once the question of May and me had been attended to. Mama as well as Jean, and I also, all wanted to talk only about the future. May stayed silent most of the time.
The evening ended with these words from Mama: “So don’t worry about anything, Child. I’m looking forward so much to reading your paper—a paper that will defend your fellow Natives, your people. You can’t just close down the weekly, of course. It has built up a good name among those looking for explanations of all the laws and regulations. But I don’t consider that to be your real work. A daily, Child, a daily! I will look for a lawyer to help, someone who isn’t two-faced. What I’ve found out about Frischboten is quite encouraging. Perhaps he’d be willing. And, Child, remember this. You must telegraph me in Paris if three thousand guilders are not enough.”
It was midnight when I went to bed. I was filled with happiness. So many good things seemed to be flowing in my direction. And all because I had dared to begin. Everything else would come my way too. All things need a beginning. And I had set off on my beginning.
Even so I was ashamed of myself. Near this woman I had once again become just a shadow of a personality. Perhaps Mr. Mellema had also been bowed down and subjugated by her iron will. Maybe he too had just become a reflection, unable to resist. Mama should have been a man. I understood, too, that Jean Marais had become putty in her hands.
As was my habit in the evening, I stopped to look at Mei’s portrait before I went to bed. And the picture wasn’t there. I looked under my bed. It wasn’t there. I found it lying on top of the wardrobe wrapped up in cloth. Mama had done it. Not under my bed. On top of the wardrobe!
Mei, you replaced Annelies, The Flower of the Century’s End. Now you would be replaced by Maysoroh Marais. Don’t be angry…. You were never the sentimental type anyway, were you?
And I put her picture back in its place. I examined her face. Like a being from another universe. Her smile (I had asked the artist to paint her with a smile), the way her eyes shone out from the corners of her eyes, it was as if all her life she had never confronted the world clearly, as if she were just glancing out at it halfheartedly. Everything seemed to be enveloped in a pallid morbidity.
I felt ashamed as I examined my heart. Had I really loved her—in the way people and the stories talked about love? Do you have to study how to love too, love in the way that everyone talks about but never has been clear to me? Can a wife die because of a lack of this kind of love, and then become just a picture which is worshiped like an idol, as I have done with the Flower of the Century’s End and now Mei?
Oh, God, teach me to understand love as other people understand it. Because, it is said, love is the source of everything.
They had left: Jean Marais, Mama (now Sanikem Marais), Maysoroh Marais, and Rono Mellema. To France!
My house and my heart felt empty.
Sandiman and Wardi agreed with the proposal to publish a paper. Thamrin Mohammed Thabrie wasn’t talking with anyone. He was still very upset about the embezzlement of the foundation’s funds. So was the Patih of Meester Cornelis.
This scandal had eroded many members’ faith in the Sarekat Priyayi. People started to say that the organization had been established simply to enrich certain individuals. We issued a special statement, inserted in the magazine, presenting an account of the use of the funds—almost all anyway. We could not state how much we were paying Mahler. But people didn’t care. They needed and wanted to read Medan. They weren’t interested in the explanations we gave about our financial situation.
I suggested we hold a conference. But no one ever supported me. We found it impossible to get people to pay their membership dues anymore. Quite a large number of people stopped sending in their payments for shares. I had to start to pay for expenses out of my own money. The organization was in trouble. And most of the priyayi showed more interest in dancing girls, dance parties, and gambling. The dues stopped coming in altogether. Our priyayi members all returned to their old ways.
On the other hand Medan was spreading rapidly. It had plenty of life left in it. People referred more and more of their problems to the magazine. People demanded we cover more matters, and still more again. People wanted to learn more about the world, as well as hoping that we would struggle for their interests. Not through an organization anymore but by trying to rally public opinion behind them when they were confronting exploitation and oppression by either white or brown colonial authorities. To do this they needed a publication that would tell the truth.
The people did need a Native daily.
“The time to publish a daily has arrived,” I told Wardi and Sandiman. “It’s a pity we can’t get the organization involved. It has lost its ability to act. I will publish the paper myself.”
Wardi agreed, but didn’t think it was possible. He didn’t really respond too much to the proposal except just to smile.
“Actually I might not be able to keep helping the weekly for much longer either,” said Wardi.
“I understand. The weekly can’t provide anyone with a decent livelihood. It’s just a labor of love.”
He didn’t stop helping me but he wasn’t as active as before.
Things kept moving along. The reading public of the Indies was following another major development.
Governor-General van Heutsz had announced openly his intention to bring into the Indies all the independent territories of the archipelago. He was demanding that the independent principalities in Aceh, the Celebes, the Moluccas, and the Lesser Sundas sign what he called the Korte Verklaring, the “short agreement.” This document was an agreement that they would all accept the authority of the Netherlands Indies government. These pockets of independence were called landschap.
The newspapers were all saying that the barbaric and uncivilized practices going on in these territories could no longer be tolerated by the Netherlands Indies authorities, who represented Christian and European civilization in this region. The laws of the Netherlands Indies must be enforced in these territories, and this would also bind their people and their leaders to the Netherlands Indies.
Behind the Korte Verklaring, which indeed comprised only a few sentences, stood the ranks of the army with their rifle and cannon and sword. War would soon be ravaging these countries that had not yet bowed down before the Dutch. The military graveyard in Kotaraja, Aceh, was a reminder of how terrible a colonial war could be. Now there would be more such wars in the Celebes, Moluccas, and Lesser Sunda Islands.
Van Heutsz wanted to see his dream of a united Indies become a reality before his term as governor-general expired the following year—even while the Bali War, which he had started in 1904, the first year of his term, had not yet ended! Though, of course, the kingdom of Klungkung was starting to break up from within. But the king of Klungkung himself stood firm.
Ter Haar had been able to write five more letters to me before news reached me that he had died of heavy wounds incurred while accompanying the army in one of its attacks on the Toh Pati fortress. I don’t know what kind of weapon killed Ter Haar. It must have been a Balinese blade or spear that killed him. He had a great sympathy for the Balinese people, but he was never able to get close to them. And he always accompanied the army. It was hard to know exactly how to classify his
death. He clearly wasn’t a hero. Neither was he an oppressor. He died only because he wanted to know the outcome of the Balinese fight to defend their nation and people! Just because he wanted to know!
One of his letters gave a little background to what had happened in Bali:
During the time of the great Empire of Majapahit in Java, Prime Minister Gajah Mada appointed four rulers. The first, Sri Juru, was crowned the king of Blambangan in East Java. The second, Sri Bhimacali, was crowned king of Pasuruan in West Java. The third, Sri Krisna Kepakisan, was crowned king of Bali. The fourth, Princess Kaneja, was crowned queen of Sumbawa, in the Lesser Sunda Islands.
Sri Krisna Kepakisan, king of Bali, had originally been the main adviser of Prime Minister Gajah Mada. Following his coronation, he left for Bali with one hundred and fourteen Javanese knights, including Arya Wang Bang and Arya Kutawaringan.
The area called Gelgel was chosen to be the center of the new kingdom. They built a palace, Swecapura palace. That kingdom has continued on down to the current king, I Dewa Agung Djambe, who held court at Asmarapuri palace in Klungkung. Four hundred and fifty years! Asmarapuri itself had become the capital in 1710 and governed over the eight smaller principalities of Bali, each of which had its own king as well.
But in 1892 the Dutch managed to incite the principality of Buleleng to break away from Asmarapuri. Buleleng was soon Klungkung’s enemy. Now, in 1908, the Dutch had managed to persuade another king, the king of Gianjar, to join the opposition against Klungkung. It was his soldiers who surrounded and overran Toh Pati fortress. And so now, with Toh Pati taken, the Dutch were in a position to march on Klungkung itself. Dutch soldiers were landed on Kusamba beach. Klungkung was attacked from three directions. And Gianjar, which had betrayed the mother kingdom, also took part in the attack.
The Colonial Army and Gianjar’s soldiers had to march four miles to reach Klungkung. Meanwhile, the king of Klungkung issued orders that every man, woman, and child, weapon in hand, must fight until no one was left standing. The sound of the gong that had been named Ki Sekar Sandat reverberated over and over again. And the sacred keris, I Pacalang and I Tan Kadang, both of which had for so long protected the kingdom, were drawn from their sheaths. The kingdom was ready to fight.…