“You are Sastro Kassier?”
“Yes, Tuan Besar Kuasa.”
“You are the paymaster here?”
“Yes, Tuan Besar.”
“You have worked here a long time?”
“More than fourteen years, Tuan Besar Kuasa.”
“How many wives to you have?”
“Only one, Tuan Besar Kuasa.”
“Liar. No Javanese like you has only one wife.”
“On my life, Tuan Besar Kuasa, only one.”
“How many children?”
“Eight, Tuan Besar.”
“Good. Do you have a virgin daughter?”
Sastro Kassier sat up, startled. The father in him warned him to be careful. The beginning of some catastrophe hovered before his soul’s eye. But there was no way to avoid answering. All his children were listed in the company books. He would lose his position straight away if he was discovered to be lying. He admitted he did have one. Plikemboh asked about her age, her schooling, everything about Surati except her name.
“Good. You can go now.”
Sastro Kassier returned to his work. He was anxious. He thought of sending his daughter away to Wonokromo. Impossible. From the Eurasian-owned Malay-language press, he knew that Sanikem herself was in trouble. His youngest niece, Annelies, was under the threat of being taken off to the Netherlands under guardianship. He knew too what a big affair that had become. He had wanted to go to Wonokromo to ask about it and at least to show his sympathy. He had hesitated, and ended up not leaving. Now it was impossible to take Surati there.
In the afternoon, after work, he was summoned again by Tuan Manager. He was received in Plikemboh’s house. He was served cakes and alcohol. He couldn’t refuse any of the things offered to him, afraid of exciting Plikemboh’s wrath. All that he drank and ate there he felt was poisoning him, destroying his whole world.
Not a single person knows what they said to each other. Neither Sastro Kassier nor Plikemboh has ever spoken about it to anyone else.
It was evening when he returned home. His wife greeted him roughly—the first time he had ever been treated that way by her: “Look out, you, if you try anything crazy with that Plikemboh!” she threatened.
He realized that the whole of Tulangan knew what was happening. That night he didn’t eat, but went straight to his room. He couldn’t sleep. His eyes blinked open and shut like those of an old doll.
No paymaster was ever popular. It was the same with Sastro Kassier. The laborers suspected, correctly, that he and the foremen conspired to take a ten percent cut from their wages. None of the coolies could read or write. They could only frown, distrust, hate, make threats behind the backs of those concerned. Sastro Kassier indeed needed the extra money—for gambling and to pay for his mistresses, an honored custom among Native employees.
But one’s position—that was everything to a Native who was neither farmer nor tradesman. His wealth might be destroyed, his family shattered, his name dishonored, but his position must be saved. It was not just his livelihood; with it also went honor and self-respect. People would fight, pray, fast, libel, lie, force their bones to the limit, bring disaster down on others, all for Position. People were prepared to give up anything for Position, because, with it, all might be redeemed. The closer Position took a person to the Europeans, the more he was respected, even if all he owned was his one
blangkon
hat. Europeans were the symbol of unlimited power, and power brings money. They had defeated the kings, the sultans, and the princes of Java, the holymen and the warriors. They subjugated men and nature without the slightest quiver of fear.
The next morning Paiman alias Sastro Kassier was called before Plikemboh again. Once again their conversation remained a secret to themselves. That night Sastro Kassier did not come home. He walked and walked through the villages to the north of Tulangan, like a burglar without a job. He thought and he didn’t think. He prayed and then forgot what he prayed for. He did not make the rounds of his mistresses. He did not pick up the cards. He had resolved to cleanse himself of all such pollution. He neither
drank nor ate. He walked and walked. He did not sleep, just walked.
He went back to his office after bathing in the river and meditated on top of a rock. He would work through the day without visiting home. As soon as he unlocked the door to his office, a messenger arrived: “An order from Tuan Besar Kuasa: As soon as Ndoro Paymaster arrives he must report immediately.”
His meditation and ascetic exercises of the night before had not been blessed. Already Plikemboh was calling for him. His heart was still in turmoil. Now people would find out what the two of them talked about. A young coolie was scrubbing the office floor with carbolic acid.
“Eh, Sastro Kassier have you come up with an idea yet?”
“Not yet, Tuan Besar Kuasa,” he answered.
“Why not?” He mispronounced his Malay.
“I haven’t dared discuss it with my wife, Tuan Besar.”
“Don’t you know yet who Vlekkenbaaij is?”
“I know, Tuan Besar, I know very well.”
“How come then you haven’t spoken with your wife yet?” he said in even worse Malay.
“Afraid, Tuan Besar.”
“And not afraid of me?”
Sastro Kassier was afraid of them both. He didn’t answer.
“So then bring this wife of yours to see me. Why are you still here? Bring her to me! Get going!”
“She’s gone, Tuan Besar, gone to rest at her mother-in-law’s.”
Vlekkenbaaij’s eyes popped out. His forefinger wagged up and down as it pointed threateningly: “Watch out if you’re lying. You’ll regret it later. Get to work!”
Sastro Kassier went to his work. His anxiety did not prevent him from preparing his accounts. Tomorrow, Saturday, was payday. After finishing this, he recklessly reported sick and went home early.
His wife was not at all surprised to see her husband not sleeping at home. That indeed was the way of a man with position. She would never ask where he’d been. It was not the custom of a wife to challenge a husband who had position. Indeed even without her ever challenging him, she could be kicked out without a formal divorce. In some matters, the wife of a man with position might
dare ask something, but never concerning her husband’s “leisure.” She was silent, silent in every way, feeling indeed inadequate in her inability to serve her husband as he desired.
Now Djumilah prepared something to eat, even though the day was still young. But Sastro Kassier did not eat. He pulled his wife over and ordered her to sit on the chair beside him.
“Don’t think you can trick me.” She erected battlements around her daughter.
“He wants to see you.”
“No.” Djumilah knew she would be powerless once faced with Plikemboh himself.
“It’s true; he wants to see you.”
“I cannot. Rather than my child be sold…shameful! Times have changed. That kind of thing shouldn’t happen anymore.”
Sastro Kassier knew his wife’s answer was a challenge to divorce her. “Then you should go away.”
“No. I will defend my daughter.”
“Surati!” called Sastro Kassier. The girl came out and squatted, bowing before her father. “You know what’s happened. What do you say?”
“Pay no attention to your father!” Djumilah incited her daughter. “You mustn’t be like Sanikem, your aunt. May God forgive her.”
“Sanikem is now richer than the Queen of Solo,” Sastro Kassier contradicted. “Surati could be rich like that too. Well, Rati?”
“The mouth of Satan! Don’t answer, Child, don’t!”
“Yes, she doesn’t have to answer. But both of you have a duty to understand how things are.”
“Don’t listen.”
“Tuan Besar Kuasa,” Sastro Kassier went on, not heeding the protests of his wife, “has ordered that I hand you, Surati, over to him. He wants to take you as his mistress. That’s enough. That’s all you need to know from your father. It’s up to you whether you want to reject him or accept. If you don’t want to answer, that’s all right too.”
Surati left.
“Satan!” cursed Djumilah. “Do you think I gave birth to her so she could become someone’s concubine? You were always a man without backbone!”
“Don’t make me angry. I’m still meditating, trying to find an answer to this.” Now it was Sastro Kassier who shouted.
“Meditation! No need to meditate to know the answer:
No!
and the whole thing is over.”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“Are you afraid of becoming a farmer? A trader at the market? Ashamed? If I were the man, that would be my answer: no!”
“What does a woman know? Your world is no more than the tamarind seed. A wrong step and all of this could fall apart.”
The whole day Sastro Kassier did not eat or drink. He left the house and walked and walked as he had the day before, across the dikes around the infertile paddy land which the village people still owned. The most fertile lands, all of them, had been taken over, rented by the mill every cane season, the contract renewed every eighteen months. Peasant farmers who rebelled courted disaster; the factory also controlled the civil service right down to the village officials.
The time of the full moon had passed. The night was shimmering with the half-light of its yellowish glow. The wind blew strongly. Sastro Kassier took no notice of the wind, of the moon, of himself. A sugar-mill official was one of the elect, one of the beloved of God. If that were not so, then could not any Native become a paymaster? Now he longed for an answer, one that didn’t come from a human mouth, but from the realm of the supernatural, through some nonhuman being as an intermediary. Perhaps tonight some supernatural being was roaming the dark like him on this half-lit night. Perhaps this being might whisper the answer to him. And, indeed, if at that moment a goat had stood up on his two hind legs, or squatted, or rolled over, or sat legs tucked under as if at prayer, and spoke, and said: Sastro Kassier, carry out the orders of Tuan Plikemboh, he would carry them out no matter what the consequences. As long as Sastro Kassier himself could not be held responsible for his own deeds, did not have to use his own brain. So long as the sign did not come from a human mouth, such as his own.
And if that goat said No! he would never do what Plikemboh wanted, no matter what the cost.
For people like Sastro Kassier, Europeans were only one level below supernatural beings. And Europeans could be found about the place almost any time you wanted one. But he would never
dare contradict a European. Like the others, he preferred to hope for a supernatural being. They had to be obeyed as well, but they were much more difficult to find when you needed their advice.
Sastro Kassier had complete faith that he would not collapse or faint for lack of food or drink. Fasting too was a much-honored practice. But he came across nothing supernatural. As if nothing had happened, he turned up for work as usual the next morning. His duties at the office must be carried out as efficiently as possible.
He took out the key to his office. He started: The door wasn’t locked! He searched his mind: Had he forgotten to lock the door when leaving yesterday? He didn’t go into his office. His eyes examined the steel-latticed walls. It was impossible for anyone to get their hands through and undo the lock from inside. He could see the whole office inside. Everything was lying peacefully in its place. Who had opened the door?
He didn’t feel he’d been negligent. He had locked the door when he went home yesterday. He could still remember the click as he had turned the key in the lock and said to the attendant that he was going because he had a headache. Wasn’t it the attendant himself who had reminded him: Don’t forget the key, Ndoro?
Sastro Kassier was absolutely certain he hadn’t forgotten. Locking up was one of his many responsibilities; he could not possibly have forgotten. He turned around and found yesterday’s attendant on duty today as well—he was sitting on a bench in the corner. Sastro Kassier asked uncertainly: “Who opened this door?”
“There hasn’t been anyone, Ndoro.”
“Look, the door’s already open. The key’s still in my hand.”
The attendant went pale, and didn’t say anything.
“Go and get the night attendant.” He was sure now: Someone had entered his office without permission. Only two people had a key: himself and Tuan Besar Kuasa. It was possible Plikemboh had come in and forgotten to lock up again. But if it were someone else using a copied key, and with evil intentions?
Half an hour later the night attendant arrived.
“You were on guard last night?”
“Yes, Ndoro.”
“Who entered my office?”
“Tuan Besar Kuasa, Ndoro.”
“You saw him yourself?”
“Yes, Ndoro.”
“Watch out if you’re lying! What did he do inside?”
“I don’t know, Ndoro. I came outside to keep watch on the other doors and windows.”
Sastro Kassier felt a bit calmer; yet his suspicions could not be put at rest. He went uncertainly into the office. From his desk drawer he took out his accounting books, anxious. He knew with great certainty: People might do anything for the sake of Position.
He opened his cash box. Yesterday he had sorted the money into piles for today’s wages. All he had to do now was set it out on the table. He jumped back in shock. The cash box was empty, its lock undone, a gaping emptiness. He took another step back, his eyes wide open. He bumped into the next table.
“Attendant!” he shouted.
“Yes, Ndoro,” replied the attendant from behind the latticed wall.
“Look!” he shouted again. “You are a witness! The cash box is empty. Someone has been in here and opened the cash box. You are a witness! The night attendant said Tuan Besar Kuasa came here last night. You’re a witness! a witness!”
“Ndoro!” The attendant was shaking.
“You’re the one who guards my office. Go and report to Tuan Besar Kuasa.” The attendant, terrified, went off to find Plikemboh. “Today there will be no wages, no pay!” Sastro Kassier cried hysterically.
People gathered around outside the latticed wall gasping at the sight of the open, empty cash box.
“No wages! The cash box has been emptied! Emptied! There will be no wages today, no pay for anyone!” Sastro Kassier shouted more and more hysterically as the crowd watched.