Footsteps (60 page)

Sandiman, Marko, and all their people were mobilized to travel right around Java visiting all the branches. We did not allow our material to be sent through the post. I soon started to hear of their travels as they moved around by whatever means possible—bicycle, horse, train, buffalo cart, even by foot.

If the Syndicate continued with its plans, the SD Islam would launch an immediate and total boycott.

A letter from Jeddah, from Haji Moeloek, whispered gently to me:

I did not reply to his letter. But across the oceans and waves of the Indian Ocean I whispered to him: You will see, Tuan. Here in the Indies the weak now have a weapon. Its name is boycott. You will witness how we wield this weapon. Just wait for it to go into action, Tuan Haji, and you will hear the earth shake here in these islands of the south. The whole world will feel the tremors. Tens of thousands of SDI members will bring an end to the Sugar Syndicate. The world will be short of sugar.

The storm surrounding the Bupati of Rembang no longer had any meaning. In any case, that was only the case of one man and his family. Tens of thousands of farmers and their families
were more important. The bell would be rung to call for a boycott the moment the Syndicate implemented its plan. And that bell would sound the death knell of the Syndicate. Idenburg’s plans for increasing the country’s revenues would fly out the window and away on the tropical clouds.

And from Paris came another refreshing whisper:
You are a good child, my son. You are avenging me against Sugar.

How beautiful would that day be…No, I and all of us no longer hesitated. The girl from Jepara gave us an example of what happened when you gave in to vacillation—you became its victim. If you have to become a victim, at least do so after conquering your own hesitation.

M
y mother arrived at the newspaper office in a very agitated state. “What is going on inside you now, Child, my son?”

I took her to the Frischbotens’ house.

“Your father is very worried about you and about your safety. Tell me everything honestly, Child, before I return to your father!”

“What has made Mother so worried and anxious like this, as if you were being chased by a whirlwind?”

“You know better than I. It is you who should explain things to me.”

“What did Father say?”

“He said, Child, that your group…here, there, everywhere, is very active. He said that it was all happening on your orders. People are flocking to hear the SDI leaders so they know what your orders are. Child, my son. What is it that you want to do?”

Frischboten was at his office. Mir left us alone. Mother had forgotten that she was in a European’s house. She paid no attention to the furnishings. She was oblivious to the atmosphere there. All she cared about was her child.

“Didn’t Mother already give her blessings to my endeavors as a dalang? Mother knows too that I am a brahman and sudra together. I need not kneel to anybody nor do I need others to do obeisance to me. And neither am I a kedasih bird that sings alone.”

“But those other people can endanger you, Child?”

“They do not endanger me, Mother; it is I who bring danger to myself and to them too. They face the danger of their own accord. Not because of me, but because…” and I told her the situation that faced the farmers.

“No one has ever cared about the farmers before. It is only you who concern yourself so. No one has ever done it before. And people should listen to their superiors, because that is the purpose of having superiors, and that is the purpose of the farmers in the eyes of their superiors.”

“And who decided this, Mother?”

“They who are the most powerful among all men, that which is more powerful than all men. Have you ever seen a farmer in any wayang story? Never. Because they are just not there. There are only the kings, the knights, the priests. The closer a person works to the land, the less honor there is to him, the less he is thought about by anybody.”

“But Mother has heard my story of the French Revolution.”

“A beautiful legend, Gus, my child.”

“In China the empress has been overthrown, Mother. They do not need kings anymore.”

“In China? Those Chinese? What is it to us if something happens in China? The Chinese know nothing of Java. They don’t know how to behave.”

“Ah, Mother, do not look down on other peoples. This Java of ours is only a tiny spot on the oceans, Mother. Every people has its own greatness.”

“Of course I believe you, Child. But your error is that you have distanced yourself from the knights, and from knightliness. That is the big error you have made.”

“I am not able to insult and humiliate those who are close to the land, Mother.”

“You yourself are far removed from the land.”

“Do you remember, Mother? You used to tell me of the knight Bisma? He died on the battlefield. You told me how he would always come alive again, every time his corpse touched the
earth? He lived again, did battle again, died again, and then came alive again as soon as he touched the earth.”

“And what about Bisma, Child?”

“He lives eternally, Mother, as long as he stays in touch with the earth. And the earth is the farmers, Mother, the farmers.”

“This has nothing to do with Bisma. Listen, I am here with a message from your father.”

I sat and listened to her while my eyes roamed around the room, which was simply furnished with things from Europe. On a big sideboard I could see Chinese ceramics and copper ornaments as well. Mir’s baby cried from his crib outside in the sun. But none of this was noticed by my mother.

“I want you to think now not of what I have already heard from you, nor of me, your mother. I want you to think now of the worries your father has.”

I wanted to take her home to Buitenzorg but she refused because she wanted to return home quickly with my reply.

“I will write him a letter.”

“Good, Child. But even so, I want you to tell me yourself what you will say to him. So I can see your face as you tell me.”

“Who is it that Mother is worried about? This your son or Father?”

“Both of you. Both of you can suffer because of all this, Child.”

“Has Father received orders from his superiors?”

“How would I know? You know about those things better than I.”

I didn’t want to say anything.

“You never think about me, Gus, my child. You don’t even want to speak to me.”

I stood up and went across to take in a breath of fresh air. And my mother felt she was being ignored.

“Child, sit here—don’t leave me here by myself like this.” I went across and sat down beside her. “Now tell me what it is that you want to do.”

“Just because Father has received orders from his superiors does not mean there is anything I can say to him.”

“Nor to your mother?”

“Only that your son, Mother, will still do what he intends to do. That is all.”

“Very well. Then write that letter.’

“There is no need now. What I have said is enough.”

Now Mother was silent. She watched me closely, and there was disappointment written all over her face. Eventually she took hold of my hand. She asked: “I understand, Child. You have dreamed all this time of becoming yourself. Are you prepared to see your father fall from his position?”

“That has nothing to do with me, Mother. If Father is dismissed it is not because of me. No.”

“Then why?”

“Because he has superiors who have the power to dismiss him.”

“You are firm in your decision?”

“As Mother can see for herself.”

“You do not hesitate?”

“No, Mother.”

“You will not regret it later?”

“No, Mother.”

“Is it true that you are a kedasih who does not sing alone?” “That I am.”

“You are not wrong again, Gus, my child.”

“No, Mother.”

“Let there be no shaking of your legs. No trembling in your voice.”

“I stand resolute, Mother.”

“May you not blink when your father falls from his position.” “I will not blink.”

“Tomorrow I will go back, Child. Your mother will still pray for your safety.”

And I don’t know how many times I had done this before, but again I kneeled in obeisance before her and kissed her knee.

“Gus, my son.”

“Mother.”

“You still remember that your mother has never forbidden you anything?”

“That has always been my talisman, Mother.”

“You have knelt down enough before your mother. You need do that no longer, not ever again. Rise up.”

“Why am I not allowed to kneel before you anymore, Mother?”

“You have become yourself. Now it is your children who must kneel before you.” She spoke slowly, heavily, her voice tense with all of humankind’s concern for its children.

As I stood and lifted up my face, I saw Mir coming up the steps into the house. But she didn’t come in and I saw her go into the kitchen carrying a serving tray.

We both sat there silently. Mother’s last words truly cut within me: Now it is your children who must kneel before you. They will never kneel before me, Mother, and I wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to, but I never did. A picture of Hendrik and Mir when they were at their loneliest appeared before me. And then I heard the words of the German doctor in Bandung: You have no seed, sir; they are too weak. Then there was the scene in the sinse’s place in the bamboo house in front of the Buitenzorg markets…No, Mother, no child will ever kneel before me. And if there were children, I would never make them do such a thing, I would not allow it, because they would already be themselves, because they would be my friends in goodness, and my enemies in evil.

The next day Mother returned home, escorted by Marko.

The evening before she left, when some of us were discussing what my mother had reported, both Marko and Sandiman succeeded in convincing me that the reports about people flocking to the SDI branches could not be believed. What was closer to the truth was that the government and the Syndicate had somehow discovered the Sarekat’s plans.

1911. Inside the SDI and in my own heart there was much tumult and excitement. Outside, the government was no less busy.

Medan’s
circulation continued to rise because of
The Tale of Siti Aini.
Marko and Sandiman’s assessment of the news that my mother had brought was proved wrong. Wherever there were sugar mills and plantations people flocked in huge numbers to the SDI, all registering as members. And they weren’t just traders. Now there were farmers, government priyayi, workmen, sailors, apothecaries, and hospital laboratory workers. Then came the railway workers. The Sarekat had blossomed and its membership had trebled.

The TAI wasn’t to be seen anywhere. But something new had risen from its corpse.

It was Buitenzorg and twilight was at its zenith.

Princess and I were sitting in the garden. Quite a ways from us sat a man on a bench facing the main road—it was one of the fighters from Banten.

A hired carriage stopped before the front gate and a gentleman alighted. He wore glasses, a white buttoned-up shirt, black shoes, and no hat. He was a big man. He carried a cane. He walked confidently up to us, bowed in respect, and asked in Dutch: “Good afternoon. May I speak to you for a few moments?”

I invited him to sit down while glancing across at our bodyguard, who was sitting in the corner of the garden, his legs swinging below the bench. He was watching us closely.

“Let me introduce myself, sir. My name is Pangemanann, with a double
n
at the end.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said.

Princess stood, bowed to the guest, and withdrew inside and did not come out again.

“I have wanted to meet you for a long time now,” he said very politely.

I examined this Pangemanann for a moment. He was obviously a Menadonese. He was perhaps fifty years old. I thought he was being unnecessarily polite, as a Menadonese to a Native Javanese. He had the same official status as a European. Thus I found his behavior quite intriguing. And even more intriguing were the two
n
’s at the end of his name, and that he felt the need to mention them.

“I am one of your admirers, sir,” he spoke again, “as many are. I read
Medan
not only so I can follow your writings, sir, but also because you’ve started publishing
The Tale of Siti Aini.
Nothing can compete with
Medan
now. I, of course, will not be like everyone else and ask who Haji Moeloek is.”