This Earth of Mankind

  All the furniture inside was new and in a style Robert didn’t recognize—had never come across. Babah asked his guest’s opinion. And Robert had no opinion except to agree that it was beautiful.

  Ah Tjong entered; Robert and Maiko followed.

  “The best furniture, Nyo. Just finished, French style in teak. Made by famous French craftsmen. Indeed Tuan Majoor likes everything French. Most expensive furnishings in the building, Nyo. In the corner is a little cupboard, on top of that little table there’s whiskey and sake, whatever Sinyo likes. Settee, sofa, and divan,” he said, pointing out each in turn. “Such a beautifully carved wooden bed makes for restful and pleasant sleeping. Yes, Maiko?”

  And Maiko answered with a bow and with a soft, fast voice, like a magpie.

  “Nyo, enjoy yourself!”

  Robert’s eyes followed Ah Tjong as he walked outside, watching his pigtail until it disappeared behind the door.

  10

  Because I consider the time sequence to be important I’ve also prepared this section from material I obtained from the court testimony later. Most of it is based on Maiko’s—given through a sworn translator and written down by me just as I heard it but in my own words.

  * * *

  I went to Hong Kong from Nagoya, Japan, where I was born. I went as a prostitute. My boss was a Japanese and he then sold me to a Chinese boss in Hong Kong. I can no longer remember the name of my second boss. Just a few weeks in his hands were not enough for me to be able to remember his name, so hard to pronounce. He sold me to another boss, also a Chinese, and so I was brought out by ship to Singapore. I knew this third boss only by the name of Ming. I knew no more than that. He was very satisfied and pleased with me because of the profit my body and the service I gave earned for him.

  My fourth boss was a Singapore Japanese. He had a great passion to own me. The bargaining went on for quite a while. Finally I was bought for seventy-five Singapore dollars, the highest price ever paid for a Japanese public-woman in Singapore. I was indeed proud that my body was more highly valued than those of the Sundanese public-women, who occupied the highest position and were the most expensive in Southeast Asia’s pleasure-world.

  But my pride in this didn’t last long—only five months. My boss, the Japanese one, came to hate me greatly. He beat me often. He even tortured me once with burning cigarettes because my customers were declining in numbers. Such was indeed the fate that could befall even the most famous prostitute: syphilis. And what I had caught was no ordinary syphilis. In this cursed world of prostitution the disease was called Burmese syphilis. I don’t know why it is called that.

  It was famous for being incurable, and the men were ruined and destroyed more quickly and more painfully. Women could go without feeling anything for a long time.

  So I was sold for twenty-five dollars to a Chinese boss, my fifth boss. He took me to Betawi. Before the sale took place, my old boss took me into a room. He beat me on my chest and back until I fainted. After I regained consciousness I was stripped naked and parts of me underwent acupuncture so as to kill all physical sexual desire. His name was Nakagawa. I was handed over to my new boss the next day.

  On the first day with my new boss, he wanted to try me. I refused. If he found out I had that accursed disease, I’d suffer still more torture. Perhaps I’d be killed. It was nothing unusual for a prostitute to be killed by her boss and the corpse destroyed or hidden who knows where. A prostitute without a protector is a weak being. Especially too as I knew that symptoms of my declining sexual desire were beginning to show. I asked my boss to hire an acupuncturist. Three times I received treatment and my sexual desire began to revive. Yet I still refused to be tried out by my boss. He was lucky he didn’t try to force me.

  It was only three months later that my boss found out I had a disease. He was angry. I could tell only from his face and the tone of his voice because I understood no Chinese. My customers dwindled away. People avoided my body and he became annoyed and bad-tempered. Night and day I prayed that he wouldn’t torment me. No. He could torment and torture me as long as he didn’t steal my savings.

  I hoped to return to Japan next year and marry Nakatani, who was waiting for me to bring home some capital.

  My boss didn’t torture me, and didn’t steal my savings either. When I changed hands to become the property of Babah Ah Tjong at a price equivalent to ten Singapore dollars, he gave me half a guilder and said in broken Japanese:

  “Actually I wanted to make you my concubine.”

  It was such a disappointment to hear those words. A concubine’s life was not so harsh as a prostitute’s; you could live reasonably, and were freer than the wife of a Japanese youth who hoped for capital from his future woman. What could be done? This accursed disease had taken root with me.

  Babah Ah Tjong lusted greatly after me. I tried to repulse him, afraid of some new disaster. If I was exposed again, the value of my body might have fallen as low as five dollars, and I’d have become street rubbish in someone else’s country. So I asked him to hire another acupuncturist. This one guaranteed I could be cured over a month with ten punctures each evening. Babah objected to the time it was going to take, and to the expense. He allowed only one treatment, as an experiment.

  Before leaving for Surabaya, I ran out of excuses to refuse my boss. I was used by him alone until I was put in his pleasure-house at Wonokromo, and I had the best room.

  If he was there, he almost always stayed in my room, not in any of the other fourteen rooms.

  Babah didn’t seem to be infected by the disease. I no longer had to worry; I was happy. There were men who were immune to the diseases of the pleasure world. Or perhaps the acupuncture treatment had made me less contagious. Who knows? And my price might go up again. Yes, I thought, who knows? If Babah had taken me as a concubine I would have been grateful and would have served him as well as any concubine could. If not, eleven months would have been enough, and I could have gone home. At the very least I would have been able to afford to redeem myself from my last boss.

  That month passed. Babah became infected with Burmese syphilis too. He didn’t know; he wasn’t acquainted with that strange disease. He didn’t accuse me straight away because there he had many other women. Neither of us could speak to each other either.

  I knew he’d been affected by the disease when, one day, he lined up stark naked all fourteen of his prostitutes, all nationalities, and questioned them one by one about their diseases. In his right hand he carried a leather whip and with his left hand he measured for suspicious temperatures in those poor women’s vaginas.

  As a Japanese, I was the only woman he did not suspect. In the pleasure-world of this earth, Japanese prostitutes are considered the cleanest and the cleverest in looking after their health. Everyone assumes they are free of disease. So he didn’t check on me.

  Three of them were taken out from the line. Ah Tjong ordered the other women, except me, to tie those three up. They were gagged. Ah Tjong himself beat them with his leather whip, and there was no noise from their gagged mouths. They were my victims. And I remained silent.

  It’s hard being a prostitute. If you contract a disease you must quickly report it to your boss, who will then oppress you. It’s best to stay silent until he finds out for himself. But the torment and oppression will still come.

  After the three women recovered from their maltreatment they were sold to a Singapore middleman to be taken to Medan, in Sumatra. I still remained unaccused in Ah Tjong’s pleasure-house. While I was servicing only him, I wasn’t too tired. I was getting back my health and energy. Also my beauty.

  Almost every wealthy Chinese has his own brothel, his own pleasure-house. In Hong Kong, Singapore, Betawi, or Surabaya, they all have the same custom, namely, to take turns visiting each other’s places. So one day it was Babah Ah Tjong’s turn to receive everyone.

  Babah’s clapping called me early in the morning. I went out. There was supposed to be gambling that morning. The afternoon
and evening would be for taking pleasure. Some guests had already arrived and were playing cards, mah-jongg, or billiards in the front room.

  I was already uneasy. It mustn’t happen that Babah Ah Tjong surrender me to one of his guests. Who knew if they might like Japanese women very much? How many must I service if Babah allowed it?

  It turned out that he did indeed order me to receive a guest: a tall, big-bodied youth, strong and handsome, healthy and attractive—of European descent. His name: Robert. My heart was moved and saddened to think of his future. I saw in a glance that he was a green one without much experience. Who wouldn’t have felt compassion knowing a boy as young as that must contract such a disastrous disease if, in a little while, he desired my body. He’d carry it all his life, perhaps he’d be deformed by it or even die an early death?

  I studied the look on Ah Tjong’s face. Was he joking or serious? It seemed he had no worries about giving me to Robert. Then I understood: He knew that it was I who had infected him with the disease. Soon he would sell me to someone else, or he’d force me to redeem myself by paying who knows how many tens of dollars. I felt very, very sad that morning.

  After Babah took Robert and me into the room and locked it from the outside, I knew I had to work, and to work as well as possible. I had to throw off all my sadness and anxiety.

  Robert sat on the divan. I quickly knelt before him and took off his boots. So early in the morning! His socks were dirty and looked as if they had not been cared for properly. I took sandals from the wardrobe. None were the right size. His feet were very big. What could be done? It was only then I pulled his socks from those strong and firm legs of his. I just placed the sandals in front of him. I didn’t put them on him. Such sandals, made from rice stalks, would be crushed under his feet.

  He didn’t put them on himself either. He seemed to be a person who thought a lot.

  Robert said nothing, but only stared at me, and everything I did, with amazement.

  I took off his shirt, which had two pockets. He was silent. I knew both pockets were empty. I invited him to stand up and I took off his riding trousers. I folded them and hung them up in the wardrobe, though I did so unwillingly as they were filthy and stank. His underclothes looked as if they hadn’t been changed for a week. So dirty. He seemed rather embarrassed.

  That was the youth Robert. He had nothing besides his youth and his health, his handsomeness and his own lust. I began to think again: Why was Babah giving me to this boy who had nothing? Perhaps he wasn’t going to sell me, or force me to redeem myself because of the accursed disease. Maybe he didn’t know about my disease after all. These thoughts made me somewhat happier and calm again.

  From inside the wardrobe I took out one of the Majoor’s kimonos. I took off Robert’s underclothes and put the kimono on him. He sat silently. I gave him a goblet of special wine to strengthen him. I didn’t want him to have any regrets in the future when he contracted the disease that would nest in his body forever. Let him have beautiful memories from that which would one day cause him unlimited misery, a beauty and enjoyment that was his right.

  He swallowed the wine, all the time watching me in amazement. I kept talking gently so as not to disturb his mood. That was one of the many aspects of my work as a prostitute.

  Of course he didn’t understand a single word. Even so I did not say a single nasty word. And what man didn’t like to hear a Japanese woman talk and pronounce her words? And watch her way of moving and walking? And enjoy her services inside and outside the bedroom?

  At eight-thirty in the morning we got into bed. Robert refused lunch. He was very strong. His body was bathed in sweat, which made it feel as if he was made from molded copper. He didn’t once let go of me. His movements were awkward, the movements of an inexperienced youth. If it wasn’t for the special strengthening wine, he would have bled and not been able to become erect by himself. Let it be. Not long and his tremendous body would be destroyed and broken. Everything he had would be destroyed: his youth, handsomeness, strength. Ah, ah, ah . . . blessings that not everybody receives. So I pricked him on parts of his body just as the acupuncturist had done to me. He didn’t know what I was up to, yet he bore it like a retarded little child, and I did it all while in his powerful embrace.

  At four o’clock in the afternoon he let me go and got down from the bed. I too got down and wiped his sweat-covered body several times with wet towels and rosewater. Five towels! All his energy was gone. His strength and handsomeness disappeared, like old clothes piled on a chair. He asked for his clothes. I fetched them and piece by piece put them on him, including his filthy, smelly socks and his heavy leather boots. After that I scrubbed his hair and I massaged his head so it would be free from aches. I combed his hair neatly. Only then did I myself dress after scrubbing my body with a wet towel too.

  He seemed very satisfied. He still availed himself of the chance to grab my arm and sit me on his lap and he spoke slowly and with a deep voice. I didn’t understand what it meant but I liked listening to the deepness of his voice. And I struggled to free myself, afraid that his lust would be awakened again. I hadn’t breakfasted or eaten lunch. I too would have been damaged if I’d serviced him again. Perhaps his stomach was empty too.

  He was so pale, as if he’d just gotten over an illness. I couldn’t bear to look at him. I fetched some more special wine for him so there’d be some blood in his face. Then I took him outside the room.

  But he hesitated and stopped in the middle of the doorway. Suddenly he turned and came inside again, embraced me and kissed me lustfully. Respectfully and politely I pushed him outside and locked the door from inside. I was very tired.

  * * *

  Below is the evidence of Babah Ah Tjong at court, spoken in Malay, and translated into Dutch by a sworn translator. I put it into order as follows:

  * * *

  At the time, I was in the office of my pleasure-house. About four in the afternoon the bell from the emperor room rang, signaling a request to unlock the door from outside.

  I myself went to look after it. Sinyo Robert was indeed my very special guest. It’s very strange that you ask why. He was the son of my neighbor, and it had long been our custom to be friendly with our neighbors. Especially as one day Sinyo Robert would be my full neighbor, not just the son of my neighbor.

  He came out. His face was pale. Everything attractive about him had dissolved away. He almost couldn’t lift up his head. He didn’t seem to know his limits. He was somebody who one day would surrender all his body and soul to lust. Even so, he looked satisfied. That was evident from his lips, which bloomed with an unforced smile. Naturally I was happy to see this.

  “Nyo,” I addressed him. “We will be good neighbors beginning today and forever, yes?”

  He suddenly looked at me with eyes wide open and full of suspicion. He shriveled up, frightened. Someone experienced like me could tell immediately: He realized he’d have to pay out a lot of money for the pleasure he had just taken.

  “Let me sign the bill,” he said hesitantly.

  “Ai, Nyo, we’ll be good neighbors. Sinyo doesn’t need to pay anything. Don’t worry. Who knows, one day we could become partners? In short you’re welcome to return any time you like. You can use any room you like, as long as it’s unlocked, without any time limits, night or day. You can choose anyone you like. If the front doors and windows are locked Sinyo can come in through the back door. I’ll tell the gardener and the watchman.”

  His hesitation disappeared. Then he answered:

  “Thank you very much, Babah. I never guessed Babah would be as good to me as this.”

  “Sinyo should have come here a long time ago. Only now you come.”

  “I’ll come back, of course.”

  “Of course!”

  I was his neighbor, I could never have turned him away. Especially as he was a youth still in his prime. So I not only had to think of ways to give him the chance to vent his lust but in the end I had to surrender Maiko to him un
til he was fully satisfied and bored.

  He took leave to return home.

  “It’s already evening,” he said.

  And I didn’t obstruct him in any way. I took him to my office first. His eyes went wild again when he saw the other women. He had changed; he was no longer the embarrassed youth of the morning. I pretended not to see—if I gave him another woman then I’d be breaking all the rules. So I called a woman, a barber, and ordered her to cut his hair according to my instructions.

  Sinyo didn’t refuse. She cut his hair in the Spanish style, with the part in the middle. His hair was rubbed with special hair oil, the most expensive. Then I ordered him to drink some palm wine from my private stock.

  “So now Sinyo looks fresh again?” I said.

  But that wasn’t all. I gave him a dollar. A pure white dollar, like the sun, without fault. He accepted it shyly, nodded in thanks, silently.

  “Babah is indeed the very best of neighbors.”

  I escorted him out through all the guests. Several stopped to ask for Maiko. Sinyo frowned and I refused them all. I accompanied him out to the yard. Only after his horse had reached the main road and turned left did I go inside again to find Maiko.

  After that I don’t know what happened to Sinyo.

  * * *

  And below is the story I’ve put together from the words of Nyai and Annelies about Robert Mellema:

  * * *

  At two o’clock Annelies awoke from her sleep. Her temperature had subsided. She asked whether Robert had returned.

  “Not yet, Ann. I don’t know where he could have got to.”

  Nyai was already very annoyed and angry with her son. She ordered Darsam not to leave his post. The delivery of the milk, cheese, and butter to the town was handed over to other drivers. Even the supervision of work out in back was delegated to people not really ready to become foremen.

  “Let me wait for him out front, Mama,” urged Annelies.