“Meditate, Gus, meditate by yourself, without my help.”
Guests started to arrive and fill up the front room, inside living room, and the pavilion set up outside. My own heart was still occupied with the deep impressions left by Mother and the ceremony she had carried out on the eve of my ascent to the wedding throne. I’d never seen a bridegroom undergo such a ceremony. It was probably Mother’s own improvisation. Maybe it was a special ceremony for a child who was a renegade in the eyes of his family, but not in the eyes of his mother.
Kommer, who received a special invitation, arrived five minutes before seven o’clock. He strode confidently up to me, put out his hand, and shook mine warmly, then he greeted Annelies, returned to me, and said:
“With this marriage, Mr. Minke, the dirty mouths outside will be silenced. But not only that. You have finished what you started. And the future? We will continue working together, yes?”
“Of course, Mr. Kommer, gladly. We can be good allies. And thank you for your congratulations.”
He was a very friendly Indo. Only the shape of his head and the pointedness of his nose manifested his European heritage. The rest was Native, including perhaps his psyche. He was much older than I, maybe ten or fifteen years older. His movements were agile. And from his face you could tell he was not used to staying inside his house.
Jean Marais and May, Telinga and his wife arrived in a hired cart. Magda Peters and my other school friends arrived in the same manner. Mr. Maarten Nijman and his wife came in their own carriage.
The school director and the other teachers did not come. They sent a letter of congratulations with Magda Peters.
One minute before seven o’clock a telegram arrived from Miriam, Sarah, and Herbert de la Croix. And once again I was amazed: How did they know about the marriage?
As I predicted, Robert Suurhof was nowhere to be seen. His absence became the subject of lively conversations amongst my H.B.S. friends.
And Jan Dapperste, always tired and still fed up with his name, was busy running around like a propeller, carrying out his duties as a volunteer waiter.
There were quite a few of my own friends. There was no other Native except for Jan Dapperste.
Mama’s customers flocked in. The recent trial, where Mama emerged as the star of the court had, perhaps, turned out to be an attractive and effective advertisement for the business.
In his usual smooth manner Dr. Martinet carried out the duties of master of ceremonies. At eight o’clock sharp he began very fluently to deliver his speech. He started off by telling of the love between Annelies and me and the great storm with which we had had to contend. Never had he heard of such a storm in any tale of love between two people—a tale well worth being made into a book. (And it was indeed because of that speech that I put together my experiences so that they became this document. . . .)
“This tale is unique,” he continued his speech. “It could never be repeated.”
One moment that fluent doctor had all his listeners mesmerized into silence, then the next moment he had them all laughing. He emphasized everything important with a movement of his hands. It was a pity he didn’t speak Malay—many people couldn’t understand Dutch.
Finished with the beautiful telling of the tale of our love, he turned to another and unexpected topic:
“Let us now all look at the portrait hanging above the throne upon which sit the happy newlyweds.”
With no less beautiful a movement of his hands, he guided the eyes of all those present to Mama’s portrait up above the two of us.
“That painting,” he explained, “is a portrait of a Native woman who indeed is extraordinary for her times. Nyai Ontosoroh, a very clever woman, mother of the bride and mother-in-law of Mr. Minke. She is brilliant individual. She is a ship’s captain who will never allow her ship to be damaged, let alone sunk. It is through her captaincy alone that this happy occasion is able to take place, the uniting of the gloriousness of a woman with the great skill and ability of a young author. Through this captaincy, two pairs of hands will now proceed forth into each other’s clasp for the rest of their lives, as this couple begins what will surely be an equally glorious life in the future.
“And you all know who painted this wonderful portrait hanging here? A painter of great talent! Not just any painter. If we examine the painting carefully we can see that the painter truly understands his subject’s spirit. He has brought out the greatness in her. I think that these words of mine are not mistaken. Is it not so, Mr. Jean Marais? Yes, the painter hails from France, a country with a great artistic tradition. Mr. Marais, please stand up.”
I saw Telinga help Jean Marais stand up, and everyone started cheering wildly. The Frenchman went red with embarrassment and quickly sat down again.
The doctor’s short speech greatly soothed us. And it seemed as if he was launching a propaganda campaign for Mama, and Jean Marais as well.
From where I was sitting, I could also see Darsam, dressed all in black, standing away in the distance. His mustache was lush and shining, and curled up at the ends. His eyes were wandering about everywhere. I couldn’t see any machete. But I was sure that there were daggers slipped down under his shirt.
Nyai Ontosoroh, my mother-in-law, sat behind the screen at the back of the wedding throne and never stopped crying. Mother stood beside her daughter-in-law and, without once stopping, kept Annelies cool with a peacock-feather fan.
Behind the screen also, Mrs. Telinga was busy looking after the other women guests.
The pile of presents under our feet grew higher and higher. Who knew from where they all came? Wreaths of flowers were lined up in rows on either side of us. As time went on the rows grew longer.
At nine o’clock the start of the party for the village people could be heard as the East Javanese gamelan bronze orchestra rang out: tayub dance! Every now and then cheering and shouting could be heard. Darsam’s men had been ordered to keep watch to make sure no rioting or fighting broke out. And there was palm wine, and it flowed all night.
At nine-thirty people began to make their way home. Dr. Martinet had to leave first because of a call from a patient. About six seconds later, a youth arrived, dressed all in black. His hair shone. A fancy handkerchief adorned his top pocket. A gold watch-chain indicated the presence of a gold watch in his pocket. He strode confidently, dashingly, among all the people preparing to leave. He made his way straight to where the two of us were seated. There could be no mistake: It was Robert Suurhof.
With great politeness, he held out his hand to me and offered his congratulations. Then to Annelies:
“Forgive me for being somewhat late, Mrs. Minke.” He bowed down even more politely.
“We’re happy you were able to come, Rob,” I said.
“Forgive all the things that have happened in the past, Minke,” he said, without relaxing his politeness, as if he were a new acquaintance. “Allow me to present a little something to your wife, in celebration of this occasion.”
Without waiting for an answer, he took out a gold ring with a very, very big diamond. He took my wife’s hand and placed the ring on her finger. He twisted the ring around so the diamond was hidden in her palm. Then he bowed down to her hand, just like in the novels about the Middle Ages. As far as I was concerned he kissed her hand for far too long. Then he faced me.
“I will not go back on a promise, Minke; I admire and respect you greatly, much more than I have ever done before,” and he handed me a little box tied in pink ribbon. “This is a little present from me on your wedding day. May you both live happily forever.”
“Thank you, Rob, for your kindness and concern.”
“I would also like to take this opportunity to take my leave of you. I’m sailing for Europe to study law.”
“Safe sailing, happy studying, and success to you.”
He walked away in that confident, dashing manner of his and joined the others about to depart for home.
Magda Peters, glassy-eyed, came to e
xcuse herself. She held my hands tightly.
“I would have liked very much to follow your development over the next three years. No matter. If you ever come to Europe—don’t forget my address.” She walked quickly away from us.
Mr. Telinga and wife, Jean Marais and child did not go home. They stayed the night. Jan Dapperste also. Jan was busy carting the presents to the newlyweds’ room upstairs and making a list of the names and addresses of all those who gave something.
Amongst the pile of presents were some things from Miriam, Sarah, and Herbert de la Croix. No one knew who had brought them. There was a little note slipped between them, in Miriam’s writing, saying:
Were you embarrassed to invite us? Or perhaps we wouldn’t have fitted in properly, my friend? We wanted to stand on either side of that angel so famed for her beauty. What can be done? All we can do now is offer out congratulations, and don’t forget to keep up our correspondence. Best wishes, and our regards and all our compliments to your wife.
In Sarah’s parcel there was a special letter:
I am leaving for Europe, Minke. I’m fortunate to be able to pass on my congratulations on your wedding day. Adieu! Until we meet again in Europe!
Miss Magda Peters’s present included several books and a brochure without the name of the author or of the publisher, and without any year of publication either. Written inside the brochure were the following words:
For a newlywed like you, Minke, the most appropriate things to give are special books not everyone can own, and I have chosen those you will like best. By the time you read this note, I will have already arrived home, and will be too busy to reflect on the happiness of a favorite pupil. May you obtain happiness as you build yourselves a brilliant life together. If at some time you happen to think of your unworthy but sincere teacher, Minke, remember: There has been in this world someone proud to have had a student who has followed in the footsteps of the great humanist Multatuli. But now, Minke, some of the students’ parents have succeeded in having me sacked from my teaching job. I have been advised to leave the Indies before I’m actually expelled. I’m leaving tomorrow on an English ship. Good-bye.
“Read this yourself, Jan,” I said to Dapperste. “Our teacher.”
“What is it, Mas?”
“The rumors have turned out to be true. The government is getting rid of Magda Peters, though in an indirect way. It moves me greatly, Ann. Even facing such great troubles, she still made time to come and see us!”
“Expelled from the Indies?” Jan whispered after reading the note.
“Yes, and you don’t want to leave Java. Will you do something for us, Jan?”
“Of course, Mas, gladly.”
“Will you see Miss Magda Peters off at the harbor, on behalf of both of us, and Mama and you yourself? And for Mother too? Such a kind person should not be allowed to leave without anyone to see her off; it must not happen.”
One small, long parcel turned out to contain a beautiful pen with a gold nib. There was a card on which someone had drawn his own picture. Then he had printed the following words:
Greetings and best wishes to the doves Minke and Annelies Mellema, with the hope that you will forgive and forget a person you do not know except by the name: Fatso.
The present fell to the floor.
“Mas!” exclaimed Annelies.
Jan Dapperste picked it up.
“This one is for you, Jan,” I said. I put the card into my pocket. I still had to decide whether I would destroy it or keep it for the trial that might resume later.
It was after one o’clock. Jan Dapperste had finished his work. After saying good night, the finale to his evening, he left the room.
I went up to Annelies.
“Now you are my wife, Ann.”
“And you are my husband, Mas.”
There was a knock on the door. I jumped up and opened it. Mama entered. Her eyes were swollen, as she had had her fill of shedding tears. She approached us and couldn’t speak. We understood her intent: to pass on her final words of advice.
“Mama, the two of us would like to thank you for everything that you have bestowed upon us so freely, everything that you have done for us, felt for us, and thought about for us. We will always remember and never forget all this.”
She nodded, and went out again.
Annelies came up near me under the gas lamp. She put out her two hands. She didn’t want, however, either to be embraced or to embrace.
“This ring, take it off.”
I took off that suspicion-arousing ring with its even more suspicious manner of placement.
“You didn’t like getting it?”
“I have never answered any of his letters.”
In one flash I at last understood how Robert had felt all this time. He too loved Annelies. I studied the ring carefully. It was twenty-two carat gold, with a diamond. It wasn’t clear whether the diamond was real or only imitation. It was too big to be a diamond; it was impossible that Suurhof had enough money to give away a present like this. I knew that his pocket money had never been more than twenty-five cents a month. And I knew his parents too—they couldn’t remotely be classified as well off. Yes, even his mother had never been seen wearing a ring. And why didn’t the ring come with its own box?
So I put it into my pocket.
“Give it back, Mas.”
“Yes, I’ll return it.”
Night marched on. Suurhof and Fatso kept on harassing my thoughts.
19
Science was giving birth to more and more miracles. The legends of my ancestors were being put to shame. No longer was it necessary to meditate in the mountains for years in order to be able to speak to somebody across the seas. The Germans had laid a cable reaching from England to India! And these cables were multiplying and spreading all over the face of the earth. The whole world could now observe the behavior of any person. And people could now observe the behavior of the whole world.
But mankind and its problems remained as they have always been. And no more so than in matters of love.
Take that box that I had in my pocket—a cardboard box lined with black linen. Only two people knew its contents: Robert Suurhof and myself. Neither riches nor money, not diamonds, and no magical charm either. Only a letter from one human being, unsuccessful in gaining a love, to another who had won that love. What can be done! Even in the modern world, how to triumph in love could not be taught in schools.
“Minke, my friend,” he wrote in large handwriting, though it was clear his pen shook as he wrote.
He asked forgiveness, expressed his great remorse that he had carried out injustices, had been dishonest, and even acted with malicious jealousy. It’s strange, he wrote; the cause of all these acts was not evil but rather a pure and hopeful love for Miss Annelies Mellema. He told how he had seen Annelies five times but had never had the chance to speak to her—even the chance to say hello had almost eluded him. He admitted that he had fallen in love and could not then accept reality. He endured great pain on seeing one Minke so easily gain entrance to Annelies’s home and heart. It was not that he had given up hope—he claimed that such surrender was alien to him. He still kept up his hopes. Using all kinds of methods, he had sent her several letters. Not one had ever been answered. He was unable to forget her.
All is over for me now. For you it is just the beginning. I admit I still feel unwilling to give up those hopes. There is no other way to ensure I forget than to leave the Indies. Yes, Minke, I must learn to forget. Even though this is so, don’t let the mistakes I have made in the past ruin our relations. . . .
Twenty days after our marriage, a letter arrived from Colombo. Miss Magda Peters reported she had set sail on the same ship as Robert Suurhof. He was working as a sailor and seemed to be ashamed of the fact. Miss advised him that such shame was inappropriate: Such a job was not a humiliation for an H.B.S. student, especially as he had such strong intentions to continue his schooling.
At the same time a letter
arrived from Sarah, telling of Singapore and all its wonders: its roadways, clean and wide; busy, yet without dust; and the ships in such great numbers it was as if the harbor did not have enough room. There were far more ships here, she wrote, than I have ever seen in Amsterdam. Even more, she wrote, than in Rotterdam.
On the other hand, a letter from Assistant Resident B told how his request to the Netherlands Indies government asking that the government help me continue my schooling in the Netherlands had been refused, even though my grades were quite high enough. The main thing required by the government was high moral character. And I didn’t fulfill that, he wrote.
That, too, was a fruit of science’s progress. Even my moral character had now been given a final unchallengeable brand. First of all by the school. Then by the reports on the course of the trial. I did not, of course, hope for much from other people, yet that brand—so final—still hurt me greatly. I had never done harm to anyone else. I had never harmed another’s reputation. I had never done away with other people’s goods. I had never dealt in contraband. How was I to defend myself from such arbitrary judgments? Perhaps only Jean Marais taught the truth on this matter: People must be just and fair, starting with what they thought. It turned out that the Europeans themselves, and not just any Europeans either, were the ones who were unjust.
And the modern world had also, perhaps, taken news of me to Europe via those German-made sea cables.
Three months passed. My daily work consisted only of writing in the office and keeping Mama company. Sometimes I also helped her.
Jan Dapperste had received his letter of determination from the governor-general through the resident of Surabaya. His name was now Panji Darman. He was then freed from that hated name of Dapperste. Slowly, gradually, his character also changed—just as he had hoped. He was high-spirited, liked to work, and was generous and open. At first he helped Mama with the office work but then he was moved across to Mr. van Doornenbosch’s office to help in running the spice business.