Twilight in Djakarta (18 page)

Dissatisfaction with the government and the parties in power also grew more and more bitter as the difficulties in storing enough of the rice, salt and kerosene needed by the population mounted. The opposition papers carried criticisms of the government and of the government parties that became harsher every day. Several newspapers openly named one party especially, and singled out the names of those of its leaders engaged in the special operations for building up the party’s funds. The rising tide of discontent had become so threatening that Husin Limbara decided at last to invite the editor Halim for a conference on how to counteract it.

When the telephone rang at Halim’s house that afternoon he was asleep, and relishing his sleep particularly because of the heavy rain outside. When his wife woke him up, saying Husin
Limbara was asking to speak with him, Halim said, without thinking,

‘To the devil with him. Tell him I’m sleeping!’

His wife left, but was back a moment later saying,

‘He doesn’t want to go to the devil; he says he must talk with you, it’s very urgent.’

Swearing, Halim got up and went to the telephone.

‘Hallo, what is it, pak?’ he said in a changed voice which concealed his annoyance.

‘Wah, brother Halim, could you come at seven o’clock to my house? It’s rather urgent, we must confer. If we can’t fix this, all of us are in for a lot of trouble.’

Halim was shocked.

‘What happened?’

‘Just come along at seven!’

Halim put down the receiver very slowly. His sleepiness vanished with Husin Limbara’s words. His newspaper man’s instinct quickly told him what was probably troubling Husin Limbara. It was surely the precarious situation of the cabinet and the ‘special operations’ of the party.

‘What is it?’ his wife asked as soon as he re-entered their bedroom.

‘Husin Limbara is scared,’ Halim answered. He told his wife about the possibility of a cabinet crisis, or, at the very least, of a possible big scandal involving the financial activities of Husin Limbara’s party.

‘But if a scandal breaks, we’ll be involved too,’ said his wife.

‘No need to worry,’ Halim replied, ‘I’ve already figured out how we can get ourselves out of it. You see, we’re actually gedekt.
1
There’s no way of proving that the loan of several million we got has any connection at all with Husin Limbara’s party. And luckily I haven’t become a party member. The loan agreement
has been drawn up in a purely zakelijk
1
manner, and is based on our newspaper’s documented circulation of forty-five thousand ….’

‘Which is actually only twelve thousand,’ added his wife, laughing.

Halim laughed too.

‘But I didn’t lie. In the loan application I mentioned that this number was based on the Information Ministry’s allotment of newsprint – and it actually allows us forty-five thousand sheets daily.’

But Halim wasn’t at all happy to think of his newspaper’s steadily declining circulation. He blamed it on the too-active support he was giving the government, and in his conversations with Husin Limbara and other party members he never failed to stress that they had a moral obligation to compensate him properly for his losses.

‘Our losses are heavy because our circulation decreases by five or six thousand every month,’ Halim would say. ‘And only because we defend the government and the party so staunchly.’

But he never mentioned the fact that his newspaper’s circulation had actually never gone beyond twenty-five thousand, and that he’d got the newsprint permit from the Ministry of Information only by some special manipulations.

The party leaders had accepted the newsprint allowance as the basis for the loan too, and later had approved another loan for a separate export enterprise he’d also established.

All in all, his decision to help the government and to support the party, far from causing him any loss, had left him pretty well off.

Having explained all this to his wife, both of them laughed gleefully.

‘They’re really stupid,’ said Halim. ‘They think they can use us as their tools. But we’ll use them. Who cares who is in power, so
long as we get our share?’

No sooner had Halim said this than he suddenly saw very clearly the way he could dissociate himself from the scandal which, he thought, was bound to erupt around the government and Husin Limbara’s party. He slapped himself on the forehead, embraced his wife and said joyfully,

‘It’s all right. I’ve found the way to get ourselves off the hook.’

And he was so pleased that he pulled his wife off the bed and made her dance with him, turning around the room to the tune of ‘The Blue Danube’ waltz he was singing at the top of his voice.

Thus they whirled about in their bedroom, Halim singing, and his wife laughing. The rain had grown heavier and suddenly a thunderbolt shook the air outside. It felt very close, but Halim didn’t care; he laughed, picked up his wife, flung her down on the bed and then embraced her with great gusto ….

In the evening, at Husin Limbara’s house, when Halim intentionally arrived fifteen minutes late – to let them see that they needed him and not he them – he discovered that all the party’s big-shots had gathered. All eyes were on him as he entered. In a voice which was far more hospitable than usual, Husin Limbara invited him to sit down.

‘Ah, here’s our champion,’ exclaimed Mr.
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Hardjo, member of the party’s executive council, member of the party’s faction in parliament and also holding the post of director-president of a bank established by the party with government funds.

Halim took the empty chair at his side, and looked around with a gay smile on his lips.

Dr. Palau was an old party member from pre-war days, very proud of his record, always bragging about his role as chief of the united command of the Sumatran military forces during the
revolutionary struggle. Since then he had managed to become a millionaire, owner of a rubber factory in Kalimantan,
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an import concern in Djakarta, a textile factory in Surabaja and was now on the point of acquiring a Dutch motor-car importing business, also in Djakarta. He sat smoking a large cigar, his completely expressionless face giving no clue to his feelings. Next to Dr. Palau sat Mr. Kustomo, also an old party member and the party’s strong man behind the scenes, with great influence in Central and East Java, the regions where the party’s strength was concentrated. Mr. Kustomo had no official post, wasn’t director or
board-member
of anything, but Halim knew that he was receiving regular honoraria from all sides as legal counsellor for various business concerns established by party members. Halim guessed he was getting at least fifty thousand a month; and probably tax-free too, Halim thought.

Next to Mr. Kustomo sat Mr. Kapolo, a youth group leader who could have exercised a strong influence in the party had he wanted to. But, lacking a strong personality, he was inclined to look for the easiest way out of any difficulties confronting him, and so was very quick to make compromises. On two occasions at the party’s congresses he could have been elected party chairman had he been willing to fight, but he’d always been defeated and only made vice-chairman. He had no work to do in the party, but because he was well known as a youth group leader and had a reputation for honesty he was successfully used by the party for propaganda purposes. He was on the boards of three private concerns and acted as chairman of the board to a state enterprise.

At Mr. Kapolo’s side sat Sjahrusad, a former communist who had joined Husin Limbara’s party. Halim didn’t trust him; he was too good a talker. He was also a member of a state bank’s board of directors. And next to him sat Mr. Ahmad, the minister.

Looking at the assembled members of the party council,
Halim was impressed by the fact that practically all of them had huge incomes from directorships either in their own concerns or in state-owned enterprises.

‘Brothers,’ Husin Limbara opened the meeting. ‘Our conference tonight is extremely important. This isn’t an official meeting of the party’s executive council, and not all of its
members
are present – some were unable to come, prevented by other work – but still this meeting is of extreme importance. As you know very well, brothers, the opposition parties are using their sensation-mongering Press to step up their campaign to smear the reputation of the government and the parties supporting it, our party in particular. They started by raising questions about the business transactions, the enterprises, banks and so on now run by our party, in an officially approved and legal manner, of course. However, the public is easily influenced, especially since there are economic difficulties as we must frankly admit – shortages in the supplies of rice, salt and kerosene. These shortages aren’t really the present cabinet’s fault – it’s only fourteen months old – but the fault of the preceding cabinet. But it is, of course, difficult for the people to understand the true state of affairs. You should also know that the other cabinet parties have got wind of some of the special measures taken on behalf of some of our party members, and they have raised questions in the cabinet; in fact, several of their members have already approached our minister directly’ (here Husin Limbara turned towards Mr. Ahmad) ‘and asked for loans and special licences for themselves, too. And three days ago a minister of another party officially informed our minister that if they didn’t get their fair share they’d leave the cabinet. Finally, it’s quite possible that the opposition parties have by now managed to collect enough bits of information to put up a story that’ll involve the party, the government and ourselves personally in a big scandal.

‘We have assembled here tonight to discuss how to prevent this, and that’s why I’ve invited brother Halim too, as the leader
of our pro-government press association. I might add for your information, brothers, that a cabinet crisis isn’t likely to break if we manage to nip the scandal in the bud. For the time being, an eventual cabinet crisis has been postponed by the approval of some special licences for leaders of the other parties. But this can’t go on. In the end the issuing of loans and licences in such numbers will completely destroy the government’s planning.’

‘Ah, why be afraid of a scandal? What kind of scandal?’ responded Dr. Palau. ‘Why be afraid of the opposition? We’re only doing what’s going on everywhere else. The party in power always helps its own members and friends first. The same thing happens in any other country. Suppose the opposition parties were in power, wouldn’t we be left out completely? Just let them go on fuming. Aiih, Pak Husin, nothing’s happened so far yet, and here we are already terrified! Say, once you dare to do something you have to be brave enough to take the consequences!’ And Dr. Palau slapped his chest, inhaled on his cigar and let out a dense cloud of smoke.

The others laughed. They were already quite accustomed to Dr. Palau’s boastful and cocky talk. He had been made member of the council just to please the people of his region and several resistance groups who still regarded him as their leader.

‘Even though there’s some truth in Dr. Palau’s words,’ said Mr. Kustomo in a calm but authoritative voice, ‘we must still consider the problem carefully and thoroughly. Politics is a high art, and good politics means heading off trouble long before it can happen.’

‘That’s true too,’ said Dr. Palau. ‘But as for me, when an enemy comes, I’ll get him!’

They laughed again.

‘Wouldn’t it be advisable to discontinue all the activities mentioned by brother Husin Limbara as soon as possible?’ asked Mr. Kapolo.

‘Certainly, we’ve already decided to stop as soon as we reach the thirty-million-rupiah party-fund we’re aiming at. And we’re almost there. If we could work on undisturbed for another three months we’d be through,’ Husin Limbara replied.

‘If that’s the case, attack must be answered by attack, and scandal by scandal, and here’s our champion,’ said Dr. Palau, looking at Halim.

‘Hmm,’ said Halim. ‘These easy problems of yours can be difficult. Before I give you my ideas I’d like to know from you, brothers, approximately how long it will be before this cabinet is finished.’

‘Ah.’ Husin Limbara coughed, looked at Mr. Kustomo and Mr. Kustomo nodded.

‘The party hasn’t made an official decision as yet,’ said Husin Limbara and continued, ‘But even so it’s quite possible that we’ll return the cabinet’s mandate ourselves, depending on the circumstances. Because with popular dissatisfaction growing by the day, on account of the rice, salt and kerosene shortages, it’s going to be hard for the party in power to face the people at election time. People usually turn to the opposition parties in hopes of improvement. So the idea of returning the mandate on a certain pretext at a certain time before the elections, is definitely being entertained. We’ll just let the opposition parties take charge of the government for a few months before the general elections – with proper assurance of course that their power will be
short-lived
.’

The little wheels in Halim’s brain were turning rapidly and smoothly evaluating the information he just received in relation to his own interests, how best to preserve them in the face of possible catastrophe.

‘And what would happen if the opposition parties managed to improve the economic conditions while they’re in power?’ asked Halim. ‘Wouldn’t they win the general elections? Besides that,
they could influence the outcome of the elections in a number of ways just by being in power.’

‘According to our calculations, no new government could possibly improve our country’s condition within a period of six or eight months – that’s approximately the interval we’ve in mind. And we needn’t worry about the opposition parties influencing the elections. Our party has a firm hold on people in very
important
positions; in the civil service, in the information field and so on. We can’t lose this all at once. Ah, I don’t have to worry about that, at least!’

‘So generally we can assume that within about two months we should know for sure whether the cabinet will continue, or whether there’ll be a crisis?’ Halim asked.