She awoke to greet me.
“We can’t go on like this, Mir,” I said. “Tomorrow your husband will be here. I sent a telegram summoning him. I have hopes that the Chinese sinse can help him.’
“He’s just a sinse,” she said, belittling the idea.
“You yourself have already lost hope.”
“I have never heard of such an illness ever being cured.”
And I too didn’t really believe it was possible.
“Maybe, but you have never tried this before. You must give it a chance. Who knows? The Chinese are an ancient culture, and with everything written down too,” I said, humoring her.
“That’s just a hope, not a reality. It’s late.” She embraced me, and in a moment I was gasping for breath again because of her kisses.
The next day I escorted Hendrik Frischboten to the bamboo house across from the Buitenzorg markets.
“In the name of our eternal friendship, my friend, rid yourself of all prejudices,” I said.
He was reluctant to go. He had no faith at all. We had to force him to go. Mir was on my side. It was as if she had suddenly developed an unqualified faith now in the sinse. And so it was that the two of us, bearing a thin, valueless piece of paper with unintelligible Chinese writing on it, entered the bamboo house.
An old Chinese man, just like in all the pictures, with a long white wispy beard, greeted us. He was wearing a black cap. He was no more than five feet tall. He stood straight and firm, despite looking dried-up and thin. His lips were blue, which was a sign that he smoked opium.
After reading the letter from the sinse, he nodded and spoke in broken Malay: “Which one is it, Tuan?”
I pointed to Hendrik Frischboten.
Without asking for any names, he guided Hendrik into a dark and stuffy room. I went too. Like a doctor, the sinse ordered Hendrik to undress. Bowing again and again to me, he also asked that I leave the stuffy room. Hendrik emerged from the room, dressed and neat again, after three quarters of an hour. We walked home, via the other sinse’s shop. Hendrik handed over a letter that he had brought with him from the bamboo house.
Pengki nodded as he read it. While he made up the mixture he said: “If you do not feel humiliated to come at the times he has indicated, Tuan, you will be cured within a month. It’s just a problem of a weakness in the nervous system caused by not looking after yourself.” As he handed over a bottle of liquid substance, he added, “And you must drink this as indicated also. Three spoons a day. This bottle will be enough.”
How confident was this boy from yesterday afternoon in his people’s medicine!
“How much do we pay, Pengki?”
“When he is fully cured, you must come and tell us. That’s all. There is nothing to pay.”
“No, Pengki, that’s not right.”
“This is our way, Tuan. Only if you are ever writing to Encik Teacher Ang, please pass on my regards to her. I often think about her. If I get the chance to return to my country to study, I will come and get her address from you.”
As we walked home and I asked Hendrik how the blue-lipped sinse had examined him, he just shuddered.
“He stuck needles in you?”
“So you know their way?”
“I’ve heard stories.”
“There were needles around my navel, and others down both sides of my backbone, below my waist. I think there were six. I was so afraid I would get infected. But the strange thing was that there was no pain. It was a different feeling, not really pain, more a kind of prickling or smarting feeling.”
“How far did he put the needles in?”
“I couldn’t really tell. It felt as if they went just below the skin. But I don’t know. Perhaps they went in as much as the thickness of a finger.”
“Crazy.”
“Yes, well, let’s see how good this crazy doctor’s medicine is. I have to go every three days, he said.”
“You must go.”
The next morning the three of us caught the train back to Bandung. The Raja and the Princess had left earlier. When Mir had fallen asleep in the corner, Hendrik whispered: “That old opium-addicted doctor has amazed me.”
“You’re not going back then?”
“No, on the contrary. I think I can already feel a change.”
“Are you sure? So quickly?” I cried out, so surprised that my cry woke up Mir.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mir, with a startled look on her face. “What are you talking about?” she asked anxiously.
There was no one else in the carriage besides us. Hendrik Frischboten kept glancing at me and I also kept watching him. After a while he moved across to sit beside his wife.
“Why were you so startled, Mir? We were just talking about that strange Chinese doctor.”
“Oh, Hendrik. I thought you two were arguing,” cried Mir, while she embraced her husband.
I stood up and moved away. What did Hendrik’s glances mean? He knew? But was pretending not to know? My knees almost gave way, and I had to hold on to the back of the seat. I hadn’t totally recovered from my own shock when Mir had wakened so startled and worried.
Hendrik took hold of my shaking body and sat me down next to Mir. He moved back to where he was sitting before. I felt a cold sweat all over my body.
Watching the two of us sitting there silently, Hendrik smiled and asked: “Mir, why don’t you thank him? It is because of Minke that such happy things are happening to us now.”
Showing just the slightest hesitation, Mir bent over and kissed me on the cheek. I could see that her eyes were glassy, as she held back tears both of happiness and worry. “Thank you very, very much, Minke.”
Then she turned to look outside the window and didn’t look at us again. My head was full of unanswered questions. We were almost in Bandung when Hendrik spoke: “I will come down and stay at your place in Buitenzorg every three days—so I can visit the sinse. Is that all right?”
“Of course,” I said.
Hendrik and I went straight to the office from the railway station. Mir went home by herself. Did Hendrik know what had happened back in Buitenzorg? I felt so ashamed whenever I was near these two very good friends of mine.
Fifteen days later I received an invitation from the Raja and his family to visit them at Sukabumi. They also invited me to stay the night. As soon as I arrived, and after the formal greetings, I bathed. Then the Raja took me out onto the grounds at the back of the house. There were tables and chairs and a whole range of Moluccan cakes. I neither recognized nor liked any of them.
“Child,” he began, “the kontrolir has visited us, just as you predicted. He kept asking about the Princess. When will she be married? Do I have anybody in mind? If not, then shouldn’t I be looking for somebody to marry her? What do you think I should do, Child?”
“Bapak no doubt has already formed a view on this. Have you plans for Princess to marry? Do you have a prospective husband in mind?”
“Of course I always intended that she marry a fellow countryman from Kasiruta. But she is not allowed to return home. And for some time now, while we have been in Java, I have not known what to do. We have been very isolated here.”
“Yes, it’s a difficult situation. What about if Princess were to marry someone who wasn’t from Kasiruta?”
“But who? I don’t know of anyone who is suitable and soon the kontrolir will be here again asking about her.”
Anyone in my shoes at that moment, if he had been educated properly and was a gentleman, would have felt just as I did—that I shouldn’t be there with the Raja, because, in fact, I had hopes of becoming his son-in-law. I felt as if I was part of a plot to force him into allowing me to marry his daughter. It truly wasn’t right or proper that I use this opportunity.
“Perhaps you should ask Princess herself? Who knows? Perhaps she herself has given some thought as to who would make a good husband for her,” I asked.
“How deep could her understanding of this kind of thing be? She is jus
t a child, and a girl, too.”
“Well, she has had two years of European education in Bandung and seven years while she was in Ambon. Perhaps she has a better understanding of these things than her ancestors did.”
“It may be true that she knows many things that her ancestors did not know, but neither does she know anything of what they knew. She knows better the ways of the Dutch than those of her own people, those of her father.”
“From what I can see, Bapak, she is a person who is very polite, knows her place, knowledgeable, and, more than that, educated. She knows how to carry herself and has always seemed to honor and respect her parents.”
“The Dutch education! She only prays when she is here with me! I don’t believe she prays when she is staying with the Dutch family in Bandung.”
“No one knows better about such things, Bapak, than God himself. People do the best they can in accordance with their opportunities, needs, and abilities,” I said, repeating the teachings of the religious scholar Syech Ahmad Badjened. “When it comes to the relation between God and human beings, only God really knows how deep it is. It is something between God and that individual. No one else will ever know, not even that individual’s father or mother. Someone might always be seen to be praying but may have no real relationship with God, and, on the other hand, someone who is never seen to pray may be very close to Him”—another quote from Badjened.
So, as if I were someone who was learned in religion, I began dropping names from the great religious works. Then I ended: “But I believe Bapak knows more about this than I.”
“Yes, I have known all that since I was a child,” he said.
“That is why it is important that the religious books be taught to the young, so we may all benefit from it when we ourselves have to make such decisions.”
He nodded his agreement, listening intently as if he were my devoted student. After I had been silent for some time, he began again in his aging voice: “I have been giving this whole matter serious thought ever since the kontrolir’s visit. I have been weighing up all the possibilities and considering who would be a good husband for the Princess. No name or face has come to me, Child, except one. Just the one, Child. But there is one thing that worries me about him. Just the one thing, nothing else. I am afraid that perhaps, without my knowing it, my daughter could end up as the second or third wife.”
“She is the daughter of a king, a Princess, with a European education, and beautiful. It would indeed be totally inappropriate for her to be married as a second, third, or fourth wife,” I said.
“So you have the same opinion as I do?”
“I agree with you totally.”
He seemed happy, pleased.
“It’s a pity, however,” he continued. “A prospective husband should properly come to me and formally ask for permission to marry her. If you were in my place, Child, perhaps you would also feel the same way?”
“Of course,” I answered quickly.
“In the eyes of others, will it not be a humiliation for me, as a father and a king, to have to go to the man myself and ask him to marry her?”
“Everything is determined by our situation, Bapak, whatever may be our real desires. A man traveling the desert does not sail a ship, and he crossing the oceans does not ride a camel.”
Again he was very pleased with how I answered. He went silent for a moment, inviting me to take some refreshment. He stared up at the sky that was beginning to fade. His eyes wandered all about. He took a pinch of tobacco and started to roll a cigarette. Quickly I fetched a box of cigars that I had brought from Bandung as a present.
He laughed happily and thanked me several times. He put down the leaf he was using to make the cigarette, and tried to open the box of cigars. I took out my pocketknife and opened it for him. He smelled the aroma of the cigars and laughed with satisfaction. Everyone knows that smokers of home-rolled leaf cigarettes don’t like cigars. Cigars are just a status symbol.
“It’s been a long time since I have smoked a cigar, except for that time at your house, Child.”
“If Bapak really likes them, I will make sure you are sent some more.”
“Thank you very much, Child, thank you.”
Then came the sound of the magreb drums telling us it was time for eventide prayers. He cleared his throat and stared at me.
“It’s magreb, Bapak.”
“Why don’t you sit in the front room, while I pray, Child.”
“No, allow me to be Bapak’s makmum.”
After magreb prayers, we sat down in their far too small parlor. Indeed, the whole house seemed too humble for that of a king, even a king in exile. It was clear that van Heutsz was totally unconcerned about their welfare. (It was only later that I found out that they lived far better in exile than they ever did back in their own village.)
He didn’t resume talking for some time. I myself was preoccupied with my own thoughts about Princess. I was still not in a position where I felt I could honorably propose to the Raja.
“Of course,” he now spoke up, “the kontrolir came here as part of carrying out instructions from the governor-general. Isn’t that so, Child?”
“A kontrolir would never do such a thing without having his orders,” I answered. “And as well as that, the governor-general himself already told me his views about the Princess.”
“Yes, after you told us about that, I started to think…” He couldn’t go on and seemed to be gathering up courage. “I thought…” He stopped again. “Forgive this old man who cannot understand what goes on up there, Child…. But I thought, forgive me, Child, please don’t become angry with me, but I thought, yes, how good it would be if you, Child, were to become Bapak’s son-in-law.”
It was as if the whole of humanity’s happiness suddenly fell upon and enveloped me. I couldn’t speak. What had I dreamed the night before that I should be given such happinesss? Had I done so many good deeds that I should be so blessed?
“Why don’t you say something, Child? I hope you do not feel insulted or humiliated?”
“Syukur Alhamdulillah, yes, Bapak. Thank you for showing such trust and belief in me. But should you place so much trust and faith in me, having known me for such a short time, Bapak Raja?”
“I have seen no one more worthy. Moreover, you already know her and she already knows you. Indeed, I know she has both admired and respected you, Child, from afar. And even more so now that she has met you.”
“But what will people say, Bapak? You, a raja, have been exiled by van Heutsz. And everyone sees me as the friend and favorite of the governor-general.”
“I have also given thought to that matter, Child. Through your newspaper, Child, you have helped many people who have been oppressed and exploited by those in authority and with power. None of that can be wiped away because of your relationship with the governor-general. I have thought about all these things. The issue now is only what you yourself think about the idea. I have visited your home. I know you have no wife and live a proper and Godfearing life.”
His last statement opened the door to a new life for me. The Raja wanted us to marry as soon as possible.
In a meeting with van Heutsz a week later, he greeted the news by saying: “There is no one who will be more pleased than I to see you married to the Princess of Kasiruta before I leave the Indies. Congratulations. She is a woman worthy of you.”
And exactly one week later we were married. It was a big event with many guests. Father and Mother came. Several bupatis and other lesser officials also attended. One of van Heutsz’s adjutants arrived by automobile to deliver a giant wreath of flowers and presents for my wife and me. All my friends came, including Mir and Hendrik.
There is nothing worth telling about the party. There was nothing extraordinary about it. Since I had been married so many times already, it left no deep impressions on me. None. It was as if weddings had become a routine experience. Even so there were a few things that I will remember, at least three.
&n
bsp; First, my father-in-law, the Raja, was very depressed and saddened that there could be no one from Kasiruta at the wedding. Princess also seemed to be affected the same way. For at least a week they suffered this emptiness, an emptiness that would never be filled. They were far from their homeland, from their people, from the sea and air of their coast, from the beating of the Moluccan drums.
Second, I became the object of gossiped insults: Even his wife came as a present from van Heutsz, people were saying. That was an insult that did hurt. And it hurt even more because it spread throughout the community and there was nothing I could do about it. It would not have been proper to use the paper to rebut the accusation. There was nothing I could do but suffer in silence. And the insults didn’t stop there. They found their ultimate form when people started talking about me as the Prince of Kasiruta. That at least was the name that lasted longest. Others like Nalasona, or Dog Heart, were transformed by my friends into Nalawangsa, or Heart of the People. Other names like Haantje Pantoffel, which means The Shoeshiner, referring to van Heutsz’s shoes, didn’t last long either.
The third thing that happened was something that I would remember for the rest of my life.
It was like this. Mir and Hendrik Frischboten came up onto the wedding dais to congratulate us. Then, after all the guests had arrived, I went down to talk to them. When I got to Mir and Hendrik, they both stood up.
Hendrik looked strong and fresh and his eyes shone. He shook my hand for the second time. He wouldn’t let go; indeed, he was gripping my hand with both of his: “On this day of your happiness, I can also tell you our good news.” He looked at Mir, and she nodded in agreement. “It appears that your help is already bearing fruit,” and again he looked at Mir, but she turned away. His words were like lightning striking on a clear day. Beginning to bear fruit?
“My help?” I asked.
“One day I will go back to that opium-smoking doctor and give him a present—not just one or two ounces of opium, but several pounds! And for your friend Pengki too, the sinse’s helper.”
I shook his hand happily.
Again he looked at his wife, who then also shook hands with me. It seemed to me that Mir’s eyes were glassy with emotion.