The Timor Man (38 page)

She would attend a course.

Wanti viewed her brother's uniform critically. Although two years his senior, Wanti considered her
adik
more of an older relative. He certainly looked impressive dressed in his graduation uniform. Who would have thought Bambang would become such a handsome soldier? She smiled as he adjusted his beret for the umpteenth time.

“At last, their
rejeki
had improved,” she thought, considering how their fortunes had changed for the better over the months.

Standing there, staring, not altogether conscious of the dreamy expression she displayed, Wanti's eyes slowly began to glaze over as they had so many times before. She realized that it was happening, again, and attempted to resist the sudden seizure.
No!
Wanti pleaded with herself, willing her body unsuccessfully to control the strange effects of the attack.
No, not now! not today!
she cried out silently, alarmed. Suddenly, Wanti remained very still and her mind slipped away from the reality of the moment into some dark void, as it had so many times before ever since she had witnessed the horrific aftermath of the raid on her village.

The unskilled doctors understood her trauma but could offer no remedy, no therapy to the beautiful but tragic soldier's sister. They had not received adequate training at medical school and had been unable to do anything to treat these self-induced seizures. As her mind retreated into another world closing down temporarily distancing Wanti from the reality around her, she would be transported to another plane. Her eyes would glaze over as she stared unsmilingly into space, breathing slowly, almost calmly. It was as if Wanti was not even present. There was never any panic, or so it would seem to the observer. It was just as if her spirit had temporarily departed leaving its physical semblance intact, waiting for consciousness to return.

To Bambang, who was accustomed to these trances, it was heartbreaking. For others who witnessed the incredible transformation, it was frightening. Outwardly she would appear as if day-dreaming. There was never any apparent physical movement to reflect the torment of the violent imagery flashing across her brain as she experienced scenes from a time long ago, now buried deep in her subconscious. Deep enough, almost, to prevent a total collapse.

As the headless children and mutilated torsos danced in her thoughts distancing her from whatever reality that may have triggered the turn, she would continue to experience the hallucinations and suffer extreme fear while those around her saw only the unusual, placid demeanour of the afflicted young woman.

Her brother Bambang could merely stand by and watch helplessly. She would never remember and could not therefore explain to Bambang the silent screaming terror she experienced with each of these sudden attacks, and even the doctors did not understand what triggered these relapses. Wanti would suddenly awaken, her frail body exhausted, saturated in perspiration, sometimes startling her brother with a shrill scream as consciousness returned. Wanti never had any recollection of the chilling visions.

When the first seizure occurred Bambang was terribly frightened. He'd called to her softly but when she did not respond he thought her brain had snapped like the old woman who lost her son in a bus accident during
Ramadhan
. He had shouted at Wanti to stop. He'd shaken her violently to make her snap out of the trance, but she had remained in the self-induced state. He had taken her by the hand and called her name, over and over, to no avail.

Then, suddenly, she returned to normal, blinked, looked caringly at her brother and smiled softly.

“
Kenapa, Mas?
” she'd asked, curious as to her brother's anxious expression.

At first he'd thought she'd been playing some stupid trick on him until he realized that she was not pretending. Bambang had just let her hand drop back by her side. He didn't know what to do. He prayed that her sickness might go away, naturally, with time. When several more fits occurred, he learned just to shrug them off.

As Wanti's self-induced hypnotic state started to recur regularly, he realized then that it was
Allah's
way of preventing her mind from snapping.
Allah
was
Great
and understood these things.

Bambang was a simple
kampung
boy and being such, was not equipped to understand why these attacks could occur at any time without any apparent trigger. He pleaded in his prayers for this mind sickness to go away. But it didn't.

The frequency of the seizures did, however, diminish. Fortunately Wanti never remembered any of these incidents. Whenever she regained full consciousness and returned from wherever her mind had taken her she would always respond by asking why others were staring at her.
“Kenapa, Mas?”

After this latest attack he stood with his arm around her tiny shoulders. It had been some time since her last trance. He would not tell her that it had happened today, of all days.

Wanti was suddenly aware that her brother was still staring at her. She detected the concern in his expression.

“
What is it, Mas?
”

Her brother hesitated, his eyes filled with love and sadness for his beautiful sister.

“W
anti, I am worried about you
,” Bambang slowly shook his head as he forced a smile, reassuring his sister. “
You are too attractive to take to the graduation ceremony amongst all of those good looking young soldiers
. ”

She returned his smile. Her classic features warmed his heart for she was truly a beautiful woman.

“
Bambang, ada-ada saja, You're too much
,” she laughed enjoying the flattery. “
Do you think I don't know what you boys really say about your sisters when they are out of earshot?
”

“
Ah, Wanti. If only you really knew!
” the young Javanese soldier teased, adjusting the angle of his beret again, now pleased to put this most recent attack out of his mind as there was so much to do on this important day.

He looked at her closely and, reassured that she had recovered from the spell, continued to prepare for the ceremony.

“
We should depart. I am very pleased you came to escort me to the parade Bambang, but to be late would not represent a good start for your career
. ”

“
Ayo, let's go,
” she cajoled, slipping her arm through his, feeling confident that their luck had, in fact, changed for the better at last.

That evening Wanti was excluded from the boisterous celebrations. Instead, she sat at home and contemplated her future. She understood that Bambang would no longer remain in Jakarta. It was likely that he would be sent to one of the distant Territorial Commands for practical field experience. She had managed very well alone, these past six months separated from her brother, while he attended his training courses. Living with a girlfriend and sharing a room, their incomes as primary school teachers less than that paid to a foreigner's
babu,
the attractive young Javanese girl quickly developed an understanding of how poorly paid they were in comparison to others.

They were all economic conscripts, she thought.

Now that her brother had commenced his career, Wanti understood the necessity in taking positive steps if she expected to drag herself out of these sub-standard living conditions and make something of her life. During her brother's absence she had undertaken free English language lessons conducted by the American Friendship Association. She had found the course difficult as there was little opportunity to practise. Nevertheless, the young teacher persevered and the Americans who taught as volunteers were impressed with her progress. In spite of her undernourished frame, she consistently worked hard.

‘
Who knows
,' Wanti wished for herself, ‘
maybe I will be fortunate and marry well,
'considering that marriage would, after all, be a very acceptable solution to her immediate problems.

 

A junior American Consulate Officer had spotted her in the long queue. The Information Section was running an additional program which could lead to most of the successful graduates being employed as local personnel in the Embassy. This was a very competitive opportunity and applications had been keenly sought over past days.

Wanti had waited in the queue until four o'clock on the first day. Applications were required to be submitted in person. There had been only four other girls queued ahead of her when the wire screen shutter dropped indicating that the application window was closed for the day. Her face fell and her lips trembled slightly. She had been waiting in the outside queue since early the day before. To be this close!

Determination brought Wanti back the following morning. She had argued with the others, moving far ahead of her entitled position to within view of the window. Ignoring the abuse, fighting back the tears, the beautiful young woman stood her ground and, before the morning break, was within six positions of being able to submit her application. Wanti refused to leave the queue for food or drink and, when the afternoon session commenced, she had moved forward two more positions.

One of the junior consulate officers had spotted her in the long queue the day before. He'd been disappointed when the attractive girl had disappeared with the others as the Embassy closed down for the day. And here she was again, just as radiant, just as stunning! He was struck with her natural beauty and, slipping into the information office, he spoke quietly to one of his drinking buddies who was responsible for processing the forms, pointing in Wanti's direction.

She had seen, as did many of the silent hopeful applicants, the slap on the shoulder followed by boyish laughter and smiles without understanding that she was the reason for the banter. Unbeknown to Wanti, she had just been guaranteed a position on the course.

Totally unaware that she had jumped the queue, Wanti continued waiting her turn and, when it arrived, she smiled and passed her documents to the young American. Had it been brought to her attention that she had been successful primarily because of her appearance, the young lady would have just smiled sweetly and answered, ‘
And why not?
' responding with Javanese logic, ‘
beauty is as much a gift as is one's ability to do things, such as type or manage the complicated telephones, or teach, or work in the fields, and one should not be ashamed at being selected because of that gift.
'

She was pragmatic enough to appreciate that every opportunity must be taken in order to survive. As Wanti left the building her benefactor approached and very directly asked her for a date. She blushed, unsure of how to handle herself with the
bulé
, as being asked so directly by any man let alone a foreigner was a completely new experience for her. Wanti managed to escape with a polite response, hoping that the American would not be offended.

“Thank you, sir,” she answered demurely and softly enough to send the young man's heart palpitations into overdrive, “but I am sorry. I cannot do so just now. ”

She did not wish to offend. Although she felt there was little chance of her winning the position, Wanti was astute enough to realize that upsetting one of her potential employers would rule out any possibility whatsoever of being selected for this vacancy.

As she walked away the veteran of only two months smiled to himself and made a mental note of her person. Later he checked her application and wrote down her name. The applicant's pass photo didn't do her justice but he had little difficulty identifying her picture. When Wanti returned for the first lesson he was waiting.

Again he asked her out and again she refused politely.

But the American was very persistent. In the end she agreed, accepting an invitation to a function at one of the Embassy residences. Unable to afford new clothes for this special occasion she was, nevertheless, embarrassed to wear her traditional costume. “
Wear it, Wanti
,” advised her room mate, “
show them what a beautiful Indonesian girl should look like when she dresses.
” Wanti agreed and spent hours in preparation.

 

Her escort had insisted on sending his driver to pick her up prior to the function. Wanti didn't object as she did not particularly wish the American to meet her at their lodgings. It would not do to have a
bulé
hanging around her door for the neighbours to gossip about and she certainly did not wish this fair foreigner to witness her living conditions.

The driver's attitude verged on offensive, but not enough for Wanti to outwardly react. She merely made another mental note concerning the idiosyncrasies of Indonesian drivers who had developed this strange superiority complex because they were fortunate enough to be driving foreign
tuans
, whilst earning as much as one hundred dollars per month.