Footsteps

  “We can take legal action, can’t we?”

  “Yes. The kontrolir of Kotaraja will lose, but nothing will happen to him. He will not undergo any punishment.”

  “Even if found guilty?”

  “Even if found guilty. Because he has the right to request his superiors to give him the protection of his office. And they always agree.”

  “In that case we should just publish the story then.”

  “That is the best thing to do.”

  And so it was that the case of Teukoe Djamiloen was launched in Medan. I was immediately summoned by the authorities. A preliminary investigation took place. However, they were not concerned about whether the report was true or not but rather with why I had decided to publish it. The examination wasn’t even completed, and I was further summoned to meet the assistant resident.

  “How could you believe, Meneer, that such a thing could actually happen?”

  “The man is with me now, Mr. Assistant Resident. I can bring him here if you wish. Perhaps that is the best thing to do.”

  “What is the point of bringing a madman here?”

  “Madmen are not sent into exile, Meneer.”

  “Are you prepared to bring witnesses that he is not crazy?”

  “Why not, Mr. Assistant Resident?”

  “Be careful, Meneer. Your report has already come to the notice of those above. It is better that you withdraw the story before things go too far.”

  “Medan intends to report further on this case.”

  “It’s better that you don’t, Meneer. The world is still going to go on. There is still much time ahead, and this life is so enjoyable.”

  He escorted me to the door.

  And we continued our campaign on Teukoe Djamiloen’s behalf.

  Everybody’s spirits at Medan were high because of all the victories we had won. The Syndicate was clearly not going ahead with its plan to lower its rent payments to the peasants. We had so far got away with only a mild warning from the assistant resident. The Zweep were still shut away in jail. SDI was bounding ahead—its membership had trebled.

  For me the whole world had opened up. All obstacles moved out of my way, running away in embarrassment and shame. All the Medan publications, newspapers and magazines, circulating more and more widely, were entering the minds and hearts of their readers, and were leaving behind seeds that would surely one day grow.

  Haji Moeloek’s serial was almost finished. I had begun to prepare another story, called Nyai Permana. It was also a story of the sufferings of a farmer and the unworthy behavior of the Native officials. A few years ago, the government had carried out a land redistribution. But the Native officials had grabbed the land for themselves, and had often sold it for their own profit as well. I wrote the story myself. I based it on real events but mixed in things reflecting the dreams of the girl from Jepara, especially about the rights that must be possessed by women—the right of a woman to divorce her husband, for example. Such a right should not lie only with the husband, who can then get rid of his wife whenever he likes.

  I was so involved with writing this story that all the many other major problems had to wait their turn for my attention.

  But then came our greatest trial, as I have mentioned earlier.

  As soon as I had stepped off the train in Bandung, Sandiman was there, along with Teukoe Djamiloen. Both of them seemed exhausted. Sandiman was carrying a big package. I could tell from his eyes that he was very worried.

  “This is all I could get, Tuan,” said Sandiman, opening proceedings.

  “What is it?”

  “The manuscripts and papers from your office.”

  “Why have you brought it here?”

  “We have all been evicted from the print shop and the editorial office.”

  The Zweep have moved into action again, I thought. “There wasn’t any fighting, was there?”

  “How could we fight, Tuan. They all carried rifles. The police!”

  “The police have evicted us?” I asked unbelievingly. “What for? What reason did they give?”

  “They just threw us all out. They didn’t say what it was about. The office has been locked and sealed. These papers were all I could save.”

  We left for No. 1 Naripan Street. The office was sealed. Marko was sitting on the step, his head in his knees.

  “You all go home. Keep these papers safe,” I gave orders.

  I jumped on a dokar and headed off to the assistant resident’s office. He had no other visitors, but I still wasn’t invited in from the waiting room. My legs and arms all wanted to do something. My patience was wearing thin. The assistant resident came out and pretended not to see me waiting. He went in again, having looked at me, still pretending not to know anything. That was enough. So the sealing up of the offices was on his orders. His direct orders!

  Without waiting to be summoned, I knocked on his door. He nodded, smiled sweetly, and invited me to sit down. Then he stood. I sat down and he pretended he was busy and had to go outside again. As if I didn’t know how busy an assistant resident really was!

  Now I sat waiting at his desk. There were no papers on it anywhere. There were no books of law statutes or dictionaries. Nothing. In a sideboard there were a whole lot of porcelain ornaments and a collection of pipes. When I saw them, I realized that the room was permeated with the smell of tobacco.

  Was he punishing me for knocking on his door and ignoring protocol? To hell with it, my business with him is also important. If Medan doesn’t publish, it will confuse the whole of the Sarekat and the campaigns against abuse of power will stop, because only Medan is capable of carrying out those tasks, at its own risk.

  Five minutes went by. He still hadn’t come back. Damn! Why are you avoiding me? Don’t worry, I have no power over you, do I? Or are you afraid, Meneer Assistant Resident?

  A servant came in and placed a glass of water on the desk. He pushed the glass away from me. Then he left, disappearing behind the door. It was another five minutes before the assistant resident of Priangan appeared again. There were no signs of perspiration on his neck or face. Perhaps the business he had to attend to involved nothing more than moving his pipe from hand to mouth and back again. His pipe was back in his mouth now, and he mumbled: “Forgive me, Meneer.”

  Before sitting down, he took out his pipe, picked up the glass of water, and drank it all down. It was he who was nervous. He needed something to calm himself.

  He sat down. He still didn’t speak. Slowly he knocked out the tobacco ash from the bowl of his pipe into an ashtray, and refilled his pipe. Then he lit it with matches two or three times, drawing in slowly and then exhaling even more slowly. Only then: “There is no doubt something important.”

  “More than just important,” I answered. “Why has Medan been sealed up, Mr. Assistant Resident?”

  “Why haven’t you made this inquiry through a letter?”

  “This is better. Moreover, the action that has been taken was also done without anything in writing. It’s better that we do this face-to-face.”

  “And when did this sealing up of Medan take place?” There was a glint in his eyes as he spoke, like a clown who had no more audience.

  “I suspect precisely at the time that you ordered it.”

  “Oh, yes. Was that what those there said?”

  “That is what I say, Meneer.”

  “Oh, is that right? So you want…?”

  “I want to know the grounds upon which you have sealed up Medan.”

  “Oh, is that all? You just want to know the grounds?”

  “If I find them acceptable, yes, that is all.”

  “Do you remember the report you published about Teukoe Djamiloen?”

  “So your intention is to turn me into a Teukoe Djamiloen here in Priangan too?”

  “No,” he answered uneasily. “I mean, isn’t it true that I warned you about that report? I was clear, wasn’t I?”

  “Very clear. And it turns out that there were no in
accuracies at all in that report. No one ever refuted it.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Very well, not yet, but Medan has already been sealed up.”

  He was silent a moment. He picked up the glass, but he couldn’t drink because it was already empty. He drew on his pipe, but it had gone out. He lit a match and started up the pipe again, drawing and exhaling quickly.

  “So can you explain to me what valid reasons you have for closing Medan?” I asked.

  “I warned you.”

  “That is not grounds. Neither are the ten anonymous letters I have received giving me such warnings.”

  “Are you equating the warning of an assistant resident with anonymous letters?”

  “We both know that you are the only person making such a comparison.”

  “Very well. What are your views since you have received that warning?”

  “My opinion? The government, of course, will investigate the kontrolir of Kotaraja.”

  “So your purpose is to set the government and the kontrolir against each other?”

  “That is your question, not my answer. In any case, I have come to see you, not to be examined when there is no summons, but to receive an explanation, Meneer, as to why Medan has been sealed up.”

  “Are you sure that Medan has been in fact sealed up?”

  “Why, hasn’t it?”

  “Did you yourself see?”

  “There was no need for me to see for myself.”

  “In that case, you had better check again. You don’t want to be mistaken.”

  “It seems clear that you do not want to give any reason. That’s all right, too. It seems I will have to go to higher authorities.”

  “And where will you go?”

  “I think that is my business. At least three levels above you.”

  “That’s a bit silly. Don’t you think so?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t be so quick to anger, Meneer. You see I received an order to freeze all businesses under your control in my district.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. You are only carrying out somebody else’s orders. Who asked you to do this?”

  “I’m not allowed to say. But may I ask how is your account with the Handels Bank?”

  He was looking for excuses. Our account was in quite a healthy state. But this person needed to be taught a lesson. I answered: “Perhaps the bank owes us too much?”

  He laughed, enjoying the joke. Nodded. Tapped his pipe on the table.

  “So, that’s the answer?”

  “Yes, that’s about it. You check with the bank.”

  “But the Handels Bank has no right to sequester property without discussing things first with me. We are its clients and they are our clients. The accounts aren’t always in balance, but that’s normal.”

  “Go and see the bank first, Meneer.”

  He wasn’t going to discuss it anymore. I went straight to the homes of Medan’s workers. The houses we provided for them had also been sealed up. Their inhabitants, with their belongings, were outside, huddled in groups under the trees. They all stood up when I arrived. But I was unable to give them any firm promises.

  I suggested that they find somewhere to stay for the time being with friends or relatives.

  The assistant resident’s obvious intention was to try to destroy Medan’s public and commercial standing. As soon as I left, he would have telephoned the Handels Bank, giving them instructions as to what they must do when I arrived. If that’s what he is really trying to do, he will soon be looking in a mirror and seeing his own stupidity.

  Before I set off to the bank, I remembered Hendrik Frischboten. I turned back to the workers and told them all to go to stay at the Frischbotens’. All of them!

  As soon as I entered the bank, several employees stopped working just to watch me. Then someone came out to greet me and took me straight to the director, Meneer Termaaten. He invited me to sit down, and then: “Meneer Minke, our bank serves its clients. The bank takes a neutral position in any dispute between its clients and anyone else, including the authorities. Except, of course, if there is some law that says otherwise. And even then we will also consider whether the law is acceptable or not. If we cannot accept it, then the law must concede or we will close up and move to another country.”

  “Thank you, Meneer.”

  “We also do not wish to know what has happened between Medan and the assistant resident.”

  He stopped talking and waved his hand at a clerk.

  The clerk brought over a big book. He opened the book and placed it on the table.

  “As you can see here, Meneer, Medan has a surplus of almost ten thousand guilders. Only the bank and you know this, Meneer, no one else. Outsiders have no right to know, except with your permission.”

  After visiting the bank I went straight to a warung to eat. As soon as I sat down in the corner, someone else sat down beside me.

  He cleared his throat once.

  My thoughts were still occupied by the beauty of the power game that the assistant resident had tried to play. He clearly had no legal authority over the bank. Very beautiful.

  The person next to me coughed again.

  When I turned to look at him, it was none other than Pangemanann with the two n’s. I was quite startled, and quickly put on my guard.

  There could be no doubt that somewhere nearby were the Zweep. I regretted not ordering Sandiman or Marko to accompany me. There was nothing I could do now. I would have to face this situation by myself. “Oh, Meneer Pangemanann.”

  “Good afternoon, Meneer. I saw you from afar, so I hurried along and caught up with you. Unfortunately, I have already eaten, so I cannot join you. But you don’t mind chatting a bit while you’re waiting for your meal to be prepared, do you?”

  “Please, please.”

  “So what did you think about Si Pitung?”

  “Yes, your style is very much like Francis’s.”

  “He was my teacher,” he explained. “So Meneer will publish it?”

  “Certainly,” I said. “But not yet. After Haji Moeloek’s serial finishes, there’s another story that I want to publish first.”

  He put on a disappointed look when he heard that. Crocodile!

  “No doubt a more interesting story,” he said, fishing.

  “Ah, that is up to the tastes and needs of the reader,” I replied, while trying to work out what kind of finale this chitchat was leading up to.

  “Meneer, your report about Teukoe Djamiloen was truly interesting. If it weren’t for your report, no one in the Indies would have known that there were European officials who took actions that were completely outside the law. I know truly that such behavior is contrary to the Europeans conscience.”

  “Contrary? Why?”

  “I lived in Europe for a long time, Meneer, long enough for me to become European. I know that Europe could not survive without the law. Since they are babies, Europeans are educated to follow rules. There are indeed many theories about the law, but one thing at least is clear—it is the law that has made Europe great. Then it seems that as soon as they leave their own land, many Europeans forget the education they received at home and the law that has brought them up.” He was silent a moment. Then he pretended to be startled. “Oh, what are we doing talking about the law just before eating? Ah, I see your dinner is ready. One white coffee for me, please.”

  He watched me as I was served with my food. “Hearty eating, Tuan, please, please.”

  I ate slowly. My appetite had disappeared because of this person. And I didn’t want to eat much because of the fight that I might very well have to face before this was over. All the while I was eating I tried to see outside without making him suspicious.

  He sipped on his coffee without paying me any attention.

  “With a simple warung like this people can still live decently, serving everyone who comes—everyone who has money in their pockets. Why do people go to so much trouble to seek a livelihood? But is o
ne’s livelihood the only important thing? Huh!” he sort of hissed to himself. “There are other more important things, especially for those people with ideals, of course. But there are not many of them. Not many! There are almost none in fact. But they do exist.”

  He looked at me again. “Why don’t you finish your meal, Meneer. No appetite?”

  “I can’t eat much, Meneer.”

  “Or perhaps you have lost your appetite because of the law?”

  “No.” I stood and moved across to the bench opposite, where I could see out onto the main street.

  Pangemanann seemed to turn around spontaneously to look behind out onto the main street. “It seems you like to watch the traffic, Meneer.”

  “Yes, things that are alive and moving always interest me.”

  “You won’t be bored, will you, if we talk more about the law?”

  “It seems that you are an expert in the law, heh?”

  “I know a little bit about it, yes, but that’s all.”

  “How many years did you live in Europe?”

  “Almost nine years, Meneer, in France.”

  “A beautiful country, a country of myths and legends. It’s understandable then that you like the law. And perhaps that’s also why you use two n’s.”

  “You are very clever, Meneer. With just one n, the French would pronounce the last syllable of my name ‘nang,’ so I changed it to double n, so they would pronounce it properly, ‘naan.’” He laughed, laughing to himself.

  “And perhaps Meneer does not simply like the law, but also carries it out, heh?” I asked.

  He laughed again. He neither confirmed nor denied. Suddenly: “Tell me, what is your personal opinion about what the kontrolir of Kotaraja did?”

  “As to the legality of it, I am sure Meneer would know better. But to me it seems rather odd. It is the Dutch who make the law, and it is the Dutch themselves who trample on it. A bit of a costly joke, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I think that is exactly what it is.” He shook his head. “And your opinion of the extraordinary rights of the governor-general?”