Child of All Nations

  Minem giggled slowly. Mama shifted restlessly in her chair.

  Back at home Mama didn’t say anything to Minem. I gave Mama my opinion about what the prosecutor was doing. She just smiled, explaining: “He is trying to prove that Rono is not Robert’s son, not my grandson.”

  “But why, Ma?”

  “If it is proved that he is Robert’s son, then Rono will have rights to a part of his grandfather’s property. It is clear now that the prosecutor is definitely in league with Maurits Mellema. But there is nothing we can do. We have no proof.”

  The next few days at court were spent on the shooting incident between Jan Tantang and Darsam. It could not be proved that there was any enmity between them because of sexual jealousy over Minem. The police presented evidence of a fight.

  Both Darsam and Jan Tantang admitted what happened. The motives were admitted by the court: Darsam’s suspicions. Darsam was labeled the aggressor; Jan Tantang, said the court, was defending himself.

  In the end Darsam was given two years probation on condition he got into no more trouble. Jan Tantang was sentenced to eight months for acting under false pretenses and was fired from the police force.

  With the end of the trial this whole convoluted affair was finally over.

  16

  One morning a man arrived on horseback, dressed in a white shirt, trousers, and a white cap, but no shoes. He was a chocolate-skinned Indo. Very, very politely, he handed me two letters. Mama wasn’t in the office but was out in the back doing the work Annelies used to do.

  One letter was from the government accountant confirming that the business’s finances were in proper order and that nothing was amiss—reaffirming the audit. The other letter was from Engineer Maurits Mellema. I didn’t read that one, but left it on the table for Mama.

  “Tuan,” said the messenger with the letters, “allow me to meet with Minem.”

  “Minem?”

  “She lives here, doesn’t she?”

  “What do you want with her?”

  “Allow me to tell her myself.”

  I opened the door that led into the front parlor and called the girl over. She came, merry as ever, carrying her baby.

  “Young Master called me?” she asked gaily. Her thin lips were all shiny; who knows what they had just eaten? She stood close and tilted her head.

  “In here,” and she entered the office. She seemed a bit disappointed that there was another person there.

  “This is Minem, if you’re sure that’s who you’re after.”

  “Minem?” the messenger asked in Malay.

  “Yes, Tuan.”

  “Can you leave today?”

  “Leave for where?”

  “Tuan Accountant de Visch.”

  “Who is that? Tuan Accoun—”

  “My employer. You said you’d live with him, didn’t you?”

  Minem thought for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, that tuan? Just a minute, let me take leave from Nyai first. Can you wait?”

  She left the office. I was astounded. How freely she behaved, no fear, no embarrassment, not at all like most Native women. Like a European girl from the high school. This child was intelligent, I thought, but hadn’t received a proper education. Quite a daring person, game to gamble with her fate. She saw her beautiful body and pretty face as the only capital she had and she could use them to obtain some of the pleasures of life. Perhaps with a proper education, she would have grown up to be an outstanding woman.

  Not long after, Mama arrived with Darsam. With no greeting for the messenger, she sat down at her desk, took out some papers, and gave them to Darsam.

  “Our regards to them all. Try to meet Jan Tantang. Tell him not to worry because he’s lost his job. As soon as he is free, we will employ him.”

  Darsam saluted, then went again. I went to her and reported that there was a letter from Mr. de Visch, the government accountant, and showed her the letter I had just finished reading.

  She read it with shining eyes. A pleasant little smile played on her lips as she nodded.

  I observed her face—still so young and fresh, as if she had never borne children. She was always dressed up and adorned, and her skin was always glowing. The events that had just taken place seemed erased from her soul and body. They had left no mark at all on the way her face glowed or on the way she moved.

  Now Engineer Maurits Mellema’s letter was in her hand. Her smile disappeared. She took her brass letter opener, but hesitated to tear the envelope.

  “The messenger awaits an answer, Ma.”

  “You brought it?” she asked the messenger in Dutch.

  “Yes, Nyai.”

  “You work for Mr. de Visch or Maurits Mellema?”

  “The former, Nyai.”

  “So this letter was with the other?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Engineer Mellema at the accountant’s office? This letter has no stamp.”

  “I don’t know, Nyai.”

  Mama knocked the edge of the envelope up and down on the desk. She tried to overcome her hesitation. She put the letter and the brass knife down.

  “Read it to me, Child,” she said softly.

  I opened the letter and read it in a whisper.

  “Yes,” she then said. “Write the reply, Child.”

  After it was written she put it in an envelope and called the messenger over: “You can take this back with you.” The messenger took the letter and then sat down again. “That’s all, you can go now, there’s nothing else.”

  “Yes, Nyai, there’s still Minem.”

  “Minem?”

  “I’m taking her with me, Nyai.”

  “Where did you meet her?”

  “Just now, here.”

  “Here?” Nyai glared, startled.

  I quickly explained what had happened. She stood up, took a handkerchief out of a drawer, and started to bite on it. Slowly she walked to the door, took a deep breath, then sat down on the settee with the messenger.

  “When did Minem meet Tuan de Visch? No, let me call her.”

  Before Mama reached the door, Minem entered without knocking, carrying Rono and a bamboo bag. She was dressed up and looked very attractive, slim but full-bodied. She didn’t drop her eyes before Mama, as she usually did, but spoke directly: “Nyai, today Minem is taking leave to go to live with Tuan—”

  “Sit down here, Minem, so we can talk calmly first. Minke, come over here, so you’re a witness, and you too. What’s your name?”

  “Raymond de Bree, Nyai.”

  So the four of us sat in a circle around the table; five of us actually—there was Rono too, asleep in his mother’s arms.

  “Minem,” Nyai began, “you have been living in this house because that was what Robert wanted. You yourself have been living here of your own free will, and because I asked you if you wanted to. Isn’t that right, Minem?”

  “Yes, Nyai.”

  “You haven’t been here long, that’s true, but no one so far has tried to get rid of you?”

  “True, Nyai. No one.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Nyai.”

  “You are not pregnant now?”

  “No, Nyai. I’m clean.”

  “Good. Have you been treated well while you’ve been here?”

  “I’ve been treated well, Nyai.”

  “Good. So you won’t say bad things about the place you’re about to leave?”

  “No, Nyai.”

  “You’re not going to regret later having gone with Tuan de Visch?”

  “No, Nyai.”

  “Think about it first. Because once you’ve left here, I will not take you back again. You understand that?”

  “I understand, Nyai.”

  “So you understand. You were taken in because of Robert’s request. Now you’re leaving of your own accord.”

  “Yes, Nyai.”

  “And what about Rono?”

  “If Nyai wants to take him, I will leave him with Nyai.”

 
“Are you sure? You’ve thought it over properly?”

  “What’s the use of keeping a baby like this without a father, Nyai?”

  “Good. Give me the child.” Rono changed embraces.

  “You won’t want the child again, will you? You won’t be visiting him? Because that would disturb us and him.”

  “No, Nyai, but give me some compensation.”

  “You mean a payment?”

  Without embarrassment, Minem nodded.

  “I will look after this child well. And I will give you some going-away money, but I will not buy my own grandchild. You yourself are surrendering him freely. You yourself were the one who got so many people to press me to acknowledge him as my grandchild.”

  The messenger looked restless. He kept shifting his position and moving his bag about. Mama humored his impatience.

  “This is about the fate of a human being, Tuan Raymond. We cannot be rash in what we do. Minem, I will give you some going-away money, but I am not a buyer of people. Tuan Raymond de Bree is a witness. You will report all this to Mr. de Visch, yes?”

  “Let Minem report it herself, Nyai.”

  “If you don’t want to be a witness, all right. I have a witness: Mr. Minke. But if anything happens in the future, I will still name you as a witness. The day, date, and time you were here and took Minem, I will note down too. You can go.”

  “But my orders to bring Minem?”

  “Take her.”

  “Come, Minem, let’s go,” invited de Bree.

  “The money, Nyai.”

  “There must be a letter, Minem,” said Nyai, “and you must put your thumbprint to it, if you agree to what it says. If you don’t, you can leave without anything. If you want to wait, I’ll draw it up now.”

  The letter was short, explaining that Minem acknowledged that she surrendered her child to Nyai Ontosoroh on the day, date, and time it occurred, with me and Raymond de Bree, the messenger of Accountant de Visch, as witnesses. And that the child was born on a certain date and was her own child with Robert Mellema born out of wedlock.

  Nyai read it out and put it from Malay into Javanese. She put her signature to it, as did I. Minem put her thumbprint on it. But Raymond de Bree refused.

  “It doesn’t matter if you refuse,” said Nyai. “Underneath your name it will explain that you heard the whole conversation but refused to sign the letter. Write that down, Minke, and that Minem was taken by Mr. Raymond de Bree, who did not give clear information where he was taking her.”

  I wrote all the additional explanation on the bottom of the letter. Nyai gave the messenger the letter for him to read.

  Raymond de Bree still refused.

  “Good, if you don’t sign it, you’ll be open one day to the accusation of kidnapping.”

  The messenger looked frightened. He still hesitated, yet he had no choice but to sign.

  They left. Minem left a kiss for her child. For a moment a tear formed, then she left with de Bree. Neither wore shoes and their toes were spread.

  “Minem,” called Mama, and the girl returned, leaving de Bree waiting under a tree.

  “What about your mother? Are you going to leave her just like that?”

  “I will come and get her another time, Nyai.”

  “Who will feed her if you leave her now?”

  She didn’t answer and excused herself, walking quickly away from the office. Rono still slept in Nyai’s arms.

  “Wanton girl!” Mama whispered harshly. “You are lucky, Rono, that you will never know who your mother is. Have you ever written about a wild girl, Child? She is a good character for you to write about. You’ve known her from close up, too.”

  That was the first time I heard that strange phrase, wild girl!

  “You can write something as a memorial to this day.”

  “It’s her right, Ma. Perhaps she feels her future here is uncertain.”

  Mama didn’t want to listen.

  “In this world there are not many women with that itch—women who seek a profit from their femininity while their breasts haven’t dropped and their cheeks haven’t drooped. But in all places and amongst all classes there are such women, and they are always disgusting. If I could write like you, Child.… Look at this baby; he meant nothing to her. A husband meant nothing to her; a home nothing; her parents nothing. Her youth is being dedicated to her wantonness. Nothing is important to her except if it will help satisfy her lust.”

  Mama let her anger overflow. I didn’t agree with what she said.

  “No one knows what fate awaits this child. I hope it’s good, yes, Rono, much better than that of your mother and your father. Your nose is certainly like Robert’s; your skin is even whiter than his when he was a baby.”

  Suddenly she remembered something.

  “At five o’clock this evening, Child, Engineer Maurits will be here.”

  I pretended not to hear her reminder. He was undoubtedly coming to order Mama to leave.

  “You look pale, Child. Don’t worry. Who knows what he wants? Perhaps he wants to kick us all out, except for the wealth we’ve built.”

  How ashamed I would be to be thrown out by somebody, kicked out from someone’s house, shown no respect. How those people who hate us will cheer and shout. But I must stay with Mama through this final trouble.

  She spoke again. “We will arrange a proper ceremony to greet him.”

  “Greet him!”

  “According to the law, he owns all this. He has profited because Robert and Annelies are gone.”

  “Mama, and what about Mama?”

  “You’re worried about me? Thank you, Child. Are you afraid that I’ll become a burden to you, that I’ll want to go with you? No. But let’s deal with this man first. You still have an account to settle with him. Indeed we can’t fight the law or him, but we still have mouths to speak with. With our mouths we will confront him. And we still have friends.”

  “What can they do?”

  “Friends with you in times of trouble are friends in everything. Never belittle friendship. Its magnificence is greater than the fire of enmity. Do you agree with me that we should call them over to help us make more merry the greeting we give Mr. Maurits Mellema? Jean Marais and Kommer?”

  I was silent as I thought over what use that would be. What could they do if the law wasn’t behind them? One shy and missing a leg, the other a journalist, speechmaker, and hunter of wild animals.

  “You don’t agree, Child?”

  “Very well, Ma. I’ll fetch them.”

  Rono jerked awake. Nyai rocked the unblanketed baby in her arms.

  “Ah, he’s wet himself, the baby. Yes, Child, call them over. That’s the best thing to do now.”

  And so I went out, putting behind me the memory of Minem, who was taking her itch away with her, and of Rono and the futility of his birth. My mind was now filled with a new puzzle from my mother-in-law. She was about to confront the man who wanted to throw her out.

  17

  So that the story runs in sequence, I have put together a selection of writings and opinions that I have heard at one time or another and which are connected with this story of my life. Some of the material I obtained several years after the events, but that is not important.

  There had been a rumor that the Netherlands Indies was going to build a navy of its own, which it would call the Gouvernements Marine. It would not be a part of the Royal Netherlands Navy. The rumor was not without foundation, and this is what it was all about:

  Japan had been given equal status with the white races. Its international position was the same as that of European countries. The Japanese had been taken off the Indies government’s alien Orientals list and shifted to the European list. The colonials could shout, roar, and protest, but the decision of the state was more decisive.

  The European Indies could hurl all the insults they liked: That the Japanese ships, for a maritime country, were old and decrepit, no better than chicken coops. Certain Japanese admitted that they
were like babies just beginning to crawl. In their hearts perhaps they were smiling to themselves—they were one people who had never bowed down and kowtowed to the Europeans, let alone slid along the floor before them—a people whose spirit could not be shaken by international criticism.

  I once saw a small poster with a lithograph picture of a fleet of Japanese ships, all in tatters as they were battered by a storm. Their cannons shivered in the cold. A Japanese flag flew on every ship, almost as big as the ships themselves. And the picture’s caption read: “In the name of the geisha’s kimono, forever forward!”

  Whatever insults might have been hurled, the Netherlands Indies military experts felt they needed to organize a meeting, a seminar, to discuss defense matters, specifically in relation to the Indies, and precisely at the time of a visit to Indies waters by a Royal Netherlands Navy force under the leadership of Admiral——. (I won’t give his name.) What was the best defense for the Indies?

  Japan was on everybody’s lips; its name reverberated around the seminar again and again. They said that the Japanese Navy was many times bigger than the fleet of the V.O.C.—Dutch East Indies Company—when it conquered Java, Sumatra, and the Moluccas. The distance between Japan and the Indies was much shorter than between the Netherlands and the Indies! The rise of Japan should not be met just with colonial insults. A country that has been able to stand up to Western supremacy should not be belittled. Such a people would be able to achieve their ideals. Science and learning had become the property of the world and were there to be used by all who were capable. In this new age, victory in war would not be determined by the color of a people’s skin, but by people rising up with weapons in their hands. No race was immune to cannon shot. Modern science and learning were not the sole property of Europeans.

  People said that Japan was clever only at imitating. But, said another voice, the imitation of worthwhile things was a sign of advancement, not something base and undignified, as some colonial opinion had it. All people and races began by imitating before they could stand by themselves. People should indeed learn to get used to new realities. Reality doesn’t go away because people don’t like it, or just because they insult it. Even the European races, before they were as advanced as they are now, could only imitate. And they could imitate the bad things as well, like smoking and sucking on a pipe just as Indians do. Imitating is only a chapter in the life of all children. But then there comes a day when children are fully grown. People should prepare themselves to confront that day. Don’t be startled, or shocked and overcome, if on that day reality rears up before you larger than you could ever imagine.