The Timor Man (11 page)

 

Bambang had mixed emotions when the reports first spread through the school. He, like many of his contemporaries had become instantly excited while many of the other students were just a little frightened and confused. They had gathered together to listen to the
Voice of America
on the short-wave band, quite in violation of the government's ruling regarding foreign broadcasts, when news broke internationally for the first time.

Often the youngsters would use the village head's old cabinet set to listen to the overseas broadcasts. Its valves were always running hot, threatening to destroy the entire apparatus. Foreign pop music was just not available anywhere at that time and the boys (girls were banned from participating as they could never keep a secret) prided themselves on being able to recite the words to such fabulous songs as the Beatles
A Hard Day's Night
. They all, without exception, adored the wonderful music. Life was dull in the village and these clandestine gatherings added untold excitement to their young lives. The
lurah
would leave the boys alone in the care of his son Sutarmin, as he disliked the strange sounds and could not understand what the young men saw in the racket which blasted from his Grundig with its thirty centimetre speakers.

The old Bedford truck and this radio were the prized possessions of the village head — even he couldn't remember how both these antiquated items originally turned up in their village. Not that it really mattered. These items were his, a
warisan
, left to him by his father and no one in the
kampung
questioned their origins nor their use. The villagers would always know when the headman was returning from an outing as, during the dry season clouds of red volcanic dust would trail behind his noisy truck, distinguishing it from the government machines of Soviet manufacture.

When the old man drove down the four kilometres to the sealed highway he would load the truck with children, their parents, and their produce, and a large number of caged chickens for sale at the roadside markets. He was a good man. A simple man. But he was not a Communist.

There was a small foot track from their
kampung
which cut the distance by half to the main road and the outside world. The children took this path when walking as all they had to do was step carefully along the hardened tops of the mud-caked walls separating the paddy fields and, within the hour, they could reach the small market. When the heat was intense, just before the storms which heralded the beginning of the ‘Wet', the old man would stop and load the school children, some with their bicycles, up into the remaining space after his trip into town. He knew they would be near to exhaustion, hot and in despair climbing the last few hundred metres over the small knoll and down to their hidden corner of the world. He loved all of the village children and certainly didn't object to their using his wireless.

On this day, as he brought the Bedford to a halt he could see a large number of them, more than usual, crowded outside his hut. Immediately concerned, he approached and heard the intermittent foreign voice fluctuating across the air waves. The radio squawked sending out a signal piercing the young listeners' ears.

They sat silently trying to comprehend the words as the broadcast continued. Only Bambang and Sutarmin, due to their constant use of the radio, were capable of understanding the general gist of the commentator's message. One of their group, frustrated with not understanding the broadcast reached across and moved the large tuning dial throwing the program into another frequency, which happened to be broadcasting music, the oscillating sound waves providing a much distorted Jerry Lee Lewis singing
Shake, Baby Shake.

The smaller children laughed. Bambang whacked the errant member and quickly re-established the correct frequency. They all sat huddled together, transfixed, as Sutarmin interpreted what he understood from the foreign broadcast. And long after the news was over they continued to sit there in silence, dumbfounded, as Bambang, reality slowly sinking in, glared angrily at his close friend.

The report they had just heard was not specific with detail but the message was very clear. The Indonesian Communist Party had made its move. They were taking over the country's leadership.

Bambang, unlike his sister Wanti, was regularly involved in political rallies so he was used to political disturbances. Was it not correct for students to do so, to lead the uninformed village people through to better lives, to attempt to achieve a standard of living that was all but an impossible dream to his
nenek mojang
, his forefathers, under colonial rule?

Ah, the Dutch! Bambang would sit for hours listening to his parents rhetoric recounting the
Revolusi
. Heroic tales of untrained soldiers armed only with bamboo spears fighting the Dutch Army stabbed his heart until he, in chorus with the other children would cry out in unison
‘Merdeka
!' ‘Freedom!' each time the story gave an opportunity for their participation. Their dislike of the Dutch turned quickly to hate as each tale they heard depicted the horrors and cruelty of the War of Independence, which raged from 1945 until early 1949, and there would be tears on the cheeks of all when they listened to the sad tales of incarceration suffered by
Bung Karno
, their leader.

Bambang was the only male child and consequently cherished dearly by all. Often in trouble, but always forgiven, Bambang managed to survive his mischievous childhood ways, becoming serious with his studies as he entered senior high school. He developed into a handsome young man. Diligent at school, he was regularly selected to accompany the
gurus
when they attended political meetings. Almost without exception they participated in the President's guided democracy policy of NASAKOM - Nationalism, Socialism and Communism.

Wanti was determined to succeed. If nothing else, at least she would be able to escape the potential trap of being obliged to marry while still very young, bearing a multitude of children and remaining in an almost destitute state for the rest of her life.

Although the eldest of the children, she had started school behind her brother. Wanti had no desire to participate in the political groups. Chided by her brother, she would feign interest; however her ambitions lay elsewhere. Wanti's aim was to finish high school and hopefully study a part-time course at a secretarial college. As in most village families, money was almost never seen in their household.

The postwar economy was sluggish due to lack of investment and corruption. Wanti realized early in life that to survive she would need to leave the village and find employment in Solo — perhaps in a
Batik
factory or even in the government service. To achieve this end she would require high grades at school and some political influence in order to be accepted. Competition was enormous on this small island as the population grew dangerously close to sixty million. Her classic face and figure would not burden her and being of Javanese descent was a distinct advantage.

 

Wanti placed her bicycle in line with the hundreds of others and moved slowly towards the main school building. That day her first lessons were history and geography. She was pleased with this as Wanti enjoyed the opportunity to daydream of other places and other people. The bell had already been rung loudly, calling the children to their classrooms and she had followed, talking to others as they entered the overcrowded halls.

She had been uneasy during the morning class when rumours spread throughout the school of massive political unrest in the capital, Jakarta. The school was abuzz with excitement. None of the students understood what it all meant to them. Jakarta seemed a far away place, one that only a very few from their village would ever have the opportunity to visit. The previous evening they had listened, mesmerized by the charismatic idol, President Soekarno, as he harangued the masses packed into Freedom Square. Tears were evident — tears of pride and in some instances, fear, as their Great Leader of the Revolution, President for Life, screamed “
Revolusi kita belum selesai
!” Our Revolution is not yet finished! just moments before collapsing on the rostrum witnessed by hundreds of thousands of his faithful followers.

What happened next is history. An extraordinary and significant series of events changed the nation's course and resulted in the deaths of some half a million souls. The children had no idea at the time that they had witnessed the beginning of a very dangerous era which would scar their lives forever. Few would ever forget the events that followed.

Wanti wondered what these rumours would mean to them and their family if the reports were true. She went in search of her brother for reassurance. He would know, she thought, just how serious the rumours were. After all, was not Bambang a popular political activist himself? She hurried through the maze of corridors until finding her brother in the headmaster's office grouped with his classmates and teachers listening to
Radio Republik Indonesia's
broadcast. They were all very quiet, their eyes glued to the speaker fixed to the wall above the President's photograph. A solemn voice made the announcement over and over as throughout the country the people listened in shock.

The President had fallen ill, they heard, and might even be dead! Acting swiftly, Communist elements had initiated action to take control of the country. The capital was in turmoil. There were riots. Armed groups had taken control of the communication centres. A
coup d'etat!

There was an abrupt, crackling interruption, then the broadcast ceased. The students sat in silence, stunned. Fear gripped them all, immediately. Even this far from the city there would be trouble.

Familiar with political violence, the teachers urged the students to flee the school for the security of their homes. The younger children were ushered out bewildered by the urgency, and soon the whole school was deserted. The inherent ability of the Chinese shopkeepers to identify danger was signalled by the closed and boarded shops. Within minutes, the Chinese had retreated into their houses fearful of retaliation. For whatever historic reason their race always suffered the brunt whenever violence erupted. The simple fact that they were Chinese was usually sufficient to warrant the wrath of rioters and looters.

People everywhere returned to their homes and waited for the unknown to happen, as they knew it would. Electricity was immediately cut off to the villages and, by nightfall, an uneasy quiet descended upon the
kampungs
everywhere, throughout the nation.

The terror had begun.

 

In the weeks that followed, life developed a limbo quality for the people of Indonesia. Gangs from the cities gathered to avenge the savage deaths of their country's generals, whose bodies had been grossly mutilated. The Communists were held responsible and so too were the Chinese. None were safe to leave their homes and many were butchered without any comprehension of what their misdeeds may have been. Many groups led by students formed vigilante squads to burn out the Chinese and Communist sympathizers. Totally misguided, these groups, often supported by the military, murdered hundred of thousands of simple farmers whose only wrong was often a matter of simply being related to or merely being acquainted with a Communist follower.

General Sarwo Eddie was misquoted, or misunderstood, when he reportedly stated that the Communists should be driven from the land and their roots torn from the ground and destroyed. Tens of thousands of innocent young children were then slaughtered.

Wanti heard stories of entire villages being razed to the ground and that tens of thousands of innocent young children had been slaughtered. She realized too that Sutarmin's membership in the League and his recent scholarship would just about guarantee him a death sentence unless he could hide. What originally he had thought would be a blessing now amounted to a deadly threat to his life and family. Maybe even the village also, she thought desperately. The country had gone crazy.

Two agonizing weeks passed. Bambang and Wanti were instructed by their parents to visit the neighbouring
kampung
. Word had reached their village that rice stocks had been plundered by marauding gangs, creating shortages throughout the countryside. Without delay, the two eldest children were dispatched to bring their grandparents to safety.

They left quickly and quietly followed the small paths which zig-zagged between the paddy fields and through small streams until Bambang decided to rest close to a tall stand of thick bamboo trees. Neither spoke for fear of being overheard and shortly thereafter they continued with their journey. They were hot and thirsty but knew not to drink from the small streams.

Wanti couldn't understand why she felt so tired. Distressed at having to leave the safety of their village they plodded on, each with thoughts they wished would leave their taunted minds alone.

It had never seemed this far before, they thought to themselves. Why is it taking so long to arrive? Were they being watched and would they be safe? They were tormented by fear with every step away from the safety of their own village.