Pramudia Ananta Toerblora

8/12/2019 Pramudia Ananta Toerblora

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B L O R A

Pramoedya Ananta ToerTranslatedbyHarold Merrill

Saudara Do youknow what every prisoner longsfor?Y oumust know Gettingoutregainingone'sfreedom,living amongfriends,relatives,and fellowhuman beings. For you,maybe these words "getting out"don'tarouse any impressions whatsoever. But forpris-oners and formerprisoners, how sweetly stirring these words are. They have the samemagical power as the national anthem.And today, saudara, how happy I am. Whyshouldn'tI be? The guards came running

into camp.Thejailerwassummoned.And allthat little commotionwassimplyfor my ownhappiness.Here'swhathappened,saudara. The jailer returned fromthe campofficeandyelled,"Pram "I yelled back in response. And he went on,"You'rebeing released. Gathertogether all your gear." Like a crow being pelted with rocks, a screech camefrommymouth,Okay,okay."I ranintomycellandpackedup myclothes, bedding,andeating utensils. Friendsrushed in urging me to exchange clothes. And there were also many who stood at the doorwith lustreless eyes. There were thosewhocongratulatedme andthere were otherswhogrumbled about their ownfates.And I was touched. Naturally, there are moments whenhuman beings will be touched no matter how materialistic they are. Especially when Iwalkedto thecampofficeandthey heldupclenchedfists,yellingfeebly, "FreedomFreedom Don't forgetthe prison Don't forgetthe struggle." Then the piercing shout that Iwon't everforgetfor as long as I live, "Cheese tastes good, bung.1And condensed milkmakes youblind "2And I couldn't respond to them one by one.IbowedmyheadIcouldn't bring myselftoconfront theeyesof mycomradeswhowere still suffering.

First published inPramoedya'scollectionofshortstories,Subuh(Jakarta:Pembangunan,1950). This translationisfrom Subuh ,3rdprinting (Bukittinggi: Nusantara, 1961). Except wherenoted,thefootnotesare thetranslator's.1"Comrade"or"buddy."2Thereferencesheretocheeseandmilkareclearly intendedtoimply complicity withtheDutch.


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52 Pramoedya nanta Toer

Thefirstiron door was opened. I passed through. Then the door was locked again. Andbehind this two-meter highbarrier,my comrades followed me with dull eyes. I handed overmyinventoried gear. And everything I was carrying was searched. What was there to behad fromme? Only the clothes that I was wearing, one other set, and a few books. Then Ireceivedaletterofdischarge thathadthis stampat thebottom:"defactokrijgsgevangenen-kamp//3And I almost made another mistake. I smiled reading those words. A sharp glarelockedup mysmile.

Fora moment I gazed at my comrades who stuck their noses between the iron bars.Ipassedthrough the second iron door. My comrades behind the door still held up theirfists. And the lustreless eyes becamefieryyellingout,"Freedom Freedom "Iarrived at the third door. Once again I looked back. Then my comradesdisappearedf romsight. On my back hung a bag made of canvas. I had made this bag in thecamp,stealing the materials when I was subjected toforcedlabor at the military repairshop. Itcontained one pair of short pants, one book by Steinbeck, one book by Weststrate, one bookby Exuperyand Tagore, and a book of French lessons that I never once picked upall my

wealth And the third door was locked behind me.And once more I looked back. Oh Secure box. For nearly two years I had been cagedinsidethat box.No,saudaraIcouldn'tbear to look again. I walked slowly. And all of asudden my heart became terribly sad. I used to believe that sadness onlyariseswhenpeople'spassions are not satisfied. But thistime,on the contrary, I became sad as mydesiresweresatisfiedin a bigway This worldisfullofsecrets And in myears rangtheshoutsof

myfriends,which always rang out to compatriots who were released."Well,what afloodinthe night this is "And Ibecame even sadder.

Now I saw the sunfreelyagain. Saw the hustle and bustle freely,too. Everything I laidmy eyes on was completely free.And I reallyfeltthat what a personseesdependsupon thestateof hisheart.Saudara,youknow whatI didafter that?Here'swhat happenedfirst: I atesateatPasar

Jatinegaraasmuchas Icould hold.And Ipaidthebill withapairofshorts.Myseconddesire was satisfied. Then this: I went to a jeweler's and sold my wedding ring. I had nochoice, saudara.If ashipis hit by astorm,aperson can't feelsentimental about losingthemainmast.Afterthat,thebooks thatIlovedfloatedaway too.Andfinally,Iwentto theticketwindow. Boughtaticket. Hopped on atrain.Itraveled, saudaraheading towardsthetownof mybirth:Blora

Imyselfdon'tunderstand, saudara, why this time the train ran sofast.And what Iremember now: the sea The sea, saudara. It had been a long time since I had seen the sea.Andsuddenly theopenseaspreadoutfromthetrain window. Onlyfor two minutes.Thenforestfollowed. Once again the sea appeared withboats,silvery on a blue back-ground. But only forfiveminutes. The train headed again into the interior.Semarang HereIhadonce stoodinlinefor aticketfor twodaysand twonights.But now Ididn'thavetoanymore. Because the Japanese had already been sentenced to death and strung upeverywhere. They who had lost the war.

Manytowns were in ashes and the broken roadways had to be connected with boat-linkedbridges.And I became even more confused as to why the trip went sofast.And "defactoprisoner-of-war camp."


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Blora 53

Bloraamoment later we arrived. In thepast,I alwaysusedto hear the hissing of enginesand shaking ofwheelsagainst the tracks. But now it just ran calm and fast.

Blora Justthesoundof itfelt sweetto mysenses.Saudara,youwould belike thattoo iffo ryears youhadn'tset foot in the land of your own birth. And the land where the parentsandrelatives whomyoulove are.Butfeelings,saudarajustlikethehinterlandshavenolasting security Because fearcame churning intomymarrow. Maybemywhole family wasalready dead. Killed byMuso'sCommunists or by the TNI4or by the Dutch. Who it was thatdestroyed thefamilywas not something to bother my head about. It was the catastropheitself thatI was scaredof.And anotherfearwas this: themopupcampaigns thatwerejustashorribleasmopup campaignsanywhereandguerrilla movements like other guerrillamovementsanywhere.Bothof them are equally violent. And now it was definitely wartime.It'sreally like this, saudara',sometimes people get sick of security and want war. When warhasbroken out, peoplegetbored withit andwant peace again. Just like you, saudara, whenyou getsickof aloverwho'salways complainingandasking formoney.But ifyourlover'sgone,youlongtohavehersitting nexttoyou. Perhaps that'sjustthe wayhuman natureis.And in all matters, too.

Blora,saudara. Blora Haveyouever beentoBlora?Thattownthatis sofamousfor itspoverty? Later on I'll tell you about it. But now, the stony Mount Kendeng has appeared.Harsh, saudara. Like the carcass of a giantthathas begun to turn yellow. And the smell of it,saudara A smell that bothers the people who live there. Thesmellpoverty.And it's like atraditionherepeoplehavetolive poor. Because here, saudara, peoplewho areableto buymeatonce a week aren't considered commonfolkany longer but are alreadysaidto be ttA>ro. 5Butbutchers aren't included in this category.

Blora,saudara And I had arrived. And just here my story begins. At first what I sawwas this:theruined station.Andthishadbeen demolishedbyAmir'sforces,6when theywere attacked by the TNI. Inf rontof the station stood rows of buildings owned by Chinese.Allof these, too, had been completely demolished. Demolished by American bullets. But Ididn'tcare who had done it.

Thepassengerslinedup to gooutside.And at theexitI saw Inah.Youdon't knowInahyet,saudara. She was the most beautiful girl in mykampung.And also the most arrogant.Youknowwhy she wasarrogant, too. Becauseshe was terribly prettyand sherejectedmyproposal. Yes,sheansweredmyletter.But herresponse,saudara,was advicelNothingbutadvice, that's all It really stung. But now she wasn't Miss Pretty like before. She had gonesoftand her body was frail.The white powder on her facewas thick and herlipswere as redas a cock's comb. Her hair was thin, her eyes wild, and her behavior flirtatious.

Mas, she greeted me.And Ibowedmy head. You yourself know the reason, don't you? I was afraid of her

asking me to marry her. And I just walked on in silence. And she called again. And Ipluggedmy ears. And she kept calling. I quickened my pace.4Tentara NasionalIndonesia,orIndonesian National Arm y5Ndoro refersto theJavanese aristocratic class.^A mi rSjarifuddin was MinisterofDefenseandlater Prime Ministerof theIndonesian Republic before joiningMusso in opposition to the Sukarno government. He was a leader of the Socialist Party (PS) in the early Republica n periodandorganized someof therevolutionary youthfactions (badan peuanga) that were active againstthe incomingDutchforces. During thisperiod,there was often fiercecompetition at the locallevel,particularlyin Central Java, betweentheIndonesian Armyand thebadanper juangan aswellasother armed groups.


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54 Pramoedya Ananta Toer

Theflat bag still rubbed up and down on my back. And the only other thing I wascarrying was a redhalfrupiah note. Suddenly she roared with laughter. The bitch I wasbeing laughed at. Andsuddenly,too,I got angry. I stopped. Turned my body around. Andshe was already being fondled by a soldier of the occupation. My angerdisappeared,dissolved, oh This was a liberated region that was being liberated.

Fora moment I sat on some rocks watching my oldheart-throb'sbehavior. She wriggledwithpleasure.And thesoldier sat,notdaringtostand,hishands gropingatwhatever partsofmy old heart-throb's body could be touched. Saudara, whether or not the sun was outthatday is not what determined the truth. What happened, that'swhat was true. And foronce truth unfolded in broad daylight: my old heart-throb was being fondled by a soldier.

Itoccurredto me tocarryherawayto joininhelping guideherbackto theworldofgoodness.So Istoodup.Began walking. Approached slowly.And she wasstill tangled upinthe fondling embrace of the cat-eyed soldier. Her loud laughter faded. Her happywriggling faded. And her dimmed eyes stared at medripping tears. She struggled hard tofreeherselffromhisembrace.Imoved closer.I wasovercome with emotion.Iheldherhandtightly.IpulledtotearInahawayf romthesoldier'scontrol.As aresultof myconcern,I gotakick in the groin.

InpainIleftsheepishly.I waswillingtobet,athreedayordealandonly then wouldthepain fromthat kick go away. I went back to the rocks I had been sitting on. I watched Inahstill struggling.Hereyes were focusedon me.Eyes that begged forsympathy. Eyes thatconveyed words aboutthecourseof herlife afterI had lefther.I am awomanwhosellsherselfwillingly? And those eyessaid,"Don't blame me for becoming likethis."

Suddenly Inahwaspulledto hischest.Herlegs were liftedup. And shestruggledharder.Sherealizedher own predicamentthebattlefieldof alifethatshehated,butthatshe had toenter.And thesoldier'schestwascoveredbyInah's body.Hewalkedto hisjeep.A faintcry could still be heard,"Mas Mas."Then the crydisappeared,drowned out bythe roar of the engine. And I kept imagining Inah, who was sofrail,with tears flowing. Aquestion suddenly came to me, saudara. Who is it that actually owns a human life?Clearlyhumansdon'town humanlife Clearly humans don't own their own lives. And who was itthatowned Inah's life?I was not able to answer, saudara. Everywhere prison air weakensthestaminatothink. Answerforyourself, saudara.

Ifollowedthe jeep with my eyes until it disappeared down onto the Lusi River bridge. Istoodup.Slowly wentof fin thedirectionof thejeep.Astrong desireto find myhomeandfamily returned.

Military vehicles went back and for th .Also bullock carts that Iusedto see when I was achild. And the ruins of stone houses. And the embers of houses. And naked childrenroaming about with bloated stomachs.Andbeggars.Theconditionof afreeterritory thathad just been occupied. And everywhere it was just the same. A deadtownatown thathad no young men.

Suddenly therewassomeone callingme:"Agus,Agus."7And I wasfacingadwarfishold woman whosefacewas all wrinkled."Agus,"she called again slowly and I was huggedwith aged strength. And with a lump in her throat she cried, "You are still alive, Gus? Iknewyouwere still alive."Javanesetermofaddress usedby anelderly person speakingto ayounger male.As isseen below, "Agus"iscommonlyshortenedto"Gus."


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Blora 55

And again I was overcome with emotion. Because I was moved. Still more moved by thestinkof my ownclothes. Partof me wasalso rememberingInah. But notcompletely.Andbelow my eyes: white hair,dissheveledand foul-smelling. Herfacewasburiedin my chest.Thenapeof herneckwas fullofscabiesand on her rightshoulderapineapple-fiber stringwas visibletied at the bottom to a palm-leaf sack. She was abeggar,saudara; actually, Idon'twantto saybeggar because everybodyis abeggar eitherinsideorout.But it iscertainly the way of theworld that this ugly nameisalways giventopeoplewhocan'ttakecare of themselves. Andwhat'smore,saudara, people whodon'thave money are notpermitted tobecome membersofsociety. Theyarecalled society's trash.Theperson in frontofme was abeggarsociety's trash.

"Who areyou, granny?"81asked, shrinking back.Hercrying intensified.Hergrip tightening,Icouldn'tgetfree fromhergrasp. BetweensobsIheard this:"Gus.Gus.Youdon'tcaretoknowmeanymore?I amyourgrandmother."M ygrandmother AndagainI wasovercome with emotion. Yes,mygrandmotherwasasdwarfishasthat.Ihuggedherwarmly.At thesideof theroad nearthestation. Thenwe

walked. Just walked.Herhanddid not let go of me. Andbecauseof hergrasp,my oldfemalefriendsdidn'tcaretoknowmeanymore. Thatwas fine,too.Westoppedat thecemetery where Motherwasburied.Acemetery that wasn'taswell-keptasbefore.It wascovered over by tall and thick weeds.Together wesearchedforMother's grave. Only with greatdifficultycouldwe find it.Thenwe pulled out the grass.IfwhatI hadseenso far wasthishorriblemyheart-throbhadbecomeasoldier'ssqueeze,my grandmother had become abeggar,the grave had become a patch of weedsit

was quite easy toguesswhat condition my home was in. And you canguessfor youself,saudara.Aswepulledout theweeds,I remembered the way thingsusedto be,saudara .This: aregimentof theDutch Indies Armyran fortheir lives whenoneJapanese section landedatLasem. Thenafiercebattle took place.Butwhatwasattacked werethegasoline tanksaround Blora.And the Japanese entered safely.And my motherdiedtwo months later.Mother'scredulity was that immense; the Dutch were going to promotefatherto"schoolopziener."9Realitytaughtherthat appointments cannotbemadebydefeated governments.Inthatsame year, month, day,hour,and minute, my youngest sister also followed her to eternity.

Mother's graveshareda plot with my youngersister's.Withweak hands I wiped offthe headstone, which was covered with dry mud, andthereappearedwritingin tarwhichsaid,"SitiSaidaand SriSusanti."Ihate praying.Butthis timeI had toprayand Iwhispered: "Bw,yourson hascome."And I imagined my mother musing while she sat under thefrontawning with her thin hairblowing in the breeze. At that time I was seventeen years old. And Isaid,"Bu, can I have a

8The Indonesian termnenek,while literally meaning"grandmother,"is commonly used as a term of address forold women. I have chosen to translate it"granny"to retain the sense of irony that Pramoedya intends when thewoman turns out to be the narrator's real grandmother.9School inspector.


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ring?''And sheresponded,"What moredo you ask fromme? I amjust waiting fordeath,Muk."And amonth later Motherdied.Since thenveneveraskedforanything.Saudara,myyounger brothers andsistersand all my relatives call me Muk.

Rightnow Idon'twanttotellyouaboutthe sun thatrisesandsetsprabout rainandstorms.I amtiredofthat. Rightnow IwanttotellyouaboutaflowerI don't know itsnametheonlyonethatgrewon thegrave.Ipickedit. Itscolorwas lightblue.Acolor thatIlike.And Istuck that floweron top of theheadstone.ForquiteawhileIgazedat it. AndGrandmotherjust kept quiet.Herhand still clutchedmyarm.

Then wewalked onagain.Eachtimewe met asoldierof theoccupation,Ibraced myself.Ifthey knewI was aformerprisonerandhadn'tyetrequested permission tocometo a newregion,Iwould certainlybearrested again.Safealways besafe.Thetownwas quitedeserted.The further we got into the kampung, the more frequently we ran into littlekids.Finallywepassedmy old school "Budi Utomo/7Topassseventhgrade,I had sat on thatbench for tenyears.Now,theschoolwas notownedby my fatheranylonger.Myfatherhadput it at thedisposalof theJapanese.And nolongerwas it thename"BudiUtomo" that wasdisplayed there.Astimes change, conditions change.

Grandmotherstill had afirmgrasp on my arm. And her step was veryslow.Now wearrived at my old kampung. But now it was someoneelse'skampung. And each face weencounteredin thestreetswastaut withfear.Looksarecheap, saudara,andlivesarethreetimes cheaper.And themore bullets thatAmerica sent,thelower thepriceofhuman lifefell.

From adistance,thehedges aroundmyyard loomedupturnedyellow.But theroofofmyhousewasgone.And thethought enteredmyhead,thecommunistsweretheones thathadburntit. Myfatherwas anticommunist,Ithought. OnceI hadaskedhim, Pfc,whatwould happenifeducationinIndonesia were adaptedto theeducation system in Russia?"Heanswered,"What would happen? Just take Indonesia to Russia and then you'll find outfo ryourself."And Ishutup. Thecoconut tree whichhadalways stood behind thekitchenandfor years hadservedto lessen Mother's expenses was now bare, a tall trunk that nolonger had leaves.

The road thatIpassedwas ofstone.But theworldof mychildhoodhaddisappeared.Therewerenomore children playing ballin themiddleof theroad with shirtsandrocksasgoalposts.Just silence. The road turned. And if you simply went on youwouldarrive at thebuffalo path which headed towards theLusi River.Fardown thatturnI saw anaked littlekid carrying a"grasshoppercatcher"by the wings. And behind him trailed his littlechicken.

Only then did my grandmother open her mouth again:"Gus,that'syour little brother.""Who?Tjuk?"Iasked.Grandmothernodded. And Icalled out.And fromadistancehewatched carefully. Then

rantowards mewithalimp.In themiddleof theroadhestopped.Thenranagain.I tooquickened my pace. Quickly I picked himup,holding him in my arms. He was only sevenyearsoldstarknaked.

"Why are you limping,Tjuk?"I asked.And hecried.Ikissedhimwhilewewalked. Slowlythechildresponded."Fathersaiditwas eaten away by a boil, Mas."


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Blora 57

Grandmother just kept quiet."Mas,MbakwKun soaks myfootin salt water every day. Then I can walk a little bit. But

nowIhavetolimp/7Hesobbed. "Canyoumakeit better,Mas?Did youbring medicine,Mas?Surelyyoubrought medicine." Histears went away."Once,youcame backandbought me a goat. Now that goat is gone, Mas. Mbak Kunsaidit was eaten by a civet. Areyou going to buy me another, Mas? You will,won'tyou, Mas "

And mylittle brother started cryingagainhecried like grandmothers do. I wasovercome with emotion again.He'smylittle brother,isn'the?Don'tIhavetherighttosharein thepainin his oneswollen foot?Tocheerhim up Ianswered, "Ofcourse."And mylittlebrotherwasquiet.

"Mas, you've brought medicine now, haven't you? They callme'the cripple.'Idon'tlikeit, Mas. But they call me that anyway. If you're here, I bet they won't dare to anymore.Right, Mas? They won't dare anymore,right?You'll beat themup forsure,like whenyoubeat up Mas Lik because he wouldn't bathe. But I always bathe, Mas. You brought medicine,right,Mas?"

"Yeah,Ibrought medicine.""Iknewit, youmust have brought medicine.""What gradeare you in,Tjuk?"Mylittle brother started crying again. It was a whilebeforehe could answer. "I'm notgoingtoschool, Mas."Hesobbed. "Father saysI'm acrybaby.I'm not acrybaby,am I,Mas?I'm not acrybaby,am I?""No," and Ikissedhim on hisfacewhich was wetfrom tearsa facethat was pale."In that case, I can go with you to Jakarta, right? Ride in a car and see Pasar Gambir?

Right,Mas?I can goalongtoJakarta,right?"Ofcourseyoucan.""I knew it. Sure I can. Where is your car now, Mas? Taken by the Japanese? I keepasking Father, you haven't come home for such a long time. Fathersaidyou were captured

byNika.11Youweren't captured, were you? You're brave,aren'tyou?""No,Iwasn't captured.""Your car wasn't taken by Nika, was it?""No.""Iknewit.Fatherlied.""You still like tosing,Tjuk?""I'm notallowed,Mas." Suddenlyhistears burst forthashardasthey could.And Ibegan kissinghimagain.

10Javanese termofreferencefor afemale,mostoftenwho has not yetmarriedand who isroughlythesameageor older thanthespeaker. NICA (Netherlands Indies CivilA dministration),thepost-war colonial administrative body inoccupiedterritories.


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58 PramoedyaAnanta Toer

"Whyare youcrying,Tjuk?Whosaysyou can't? Youusedto likesingingin hejambutree/7

"Mas, theyallforbidme tosing/'hesobbed."Andthejambu treewas burnt down.Burntby thecommunists,Mas/'Hesobbed."Now you'vecome.Imustbeallowed tosingagain."

Mylittlest brother Tjuk's eyes beamed."Mas, Mbak Kunsaid,if IsingTromthe West to the East/Nikawill comefrom the

Westand the East and burn my hurtfoot.Not any more now. I cansingagain, can'tI,Mas?"His lastsobsdisappeared. W itha clear voice he sang out at the top of hislungs,"From

theWestto..."QuicklyIcovered hismouth withthepalmof myhand.Hestruggledandcried.Myhand shook fromhis screaming."Don't. Don't cry " Iwarned.His cryingstopped.Just his sniff l ing remained. And I released my hand. How skinny

my little brother was. W i t h hatefilled eyes he looked at me. And tearswelledup in thecorners of hiseyes.In between sobshesaid,"You won't let meeither,Mas? Ah. Don't carryme. I want to go home by myself. I want to look for my chicken. Don't carry me. You'reNika, Mas You're Nika."

"No, Tjuk," I consoled him. And my eyes hadfilled."Later on I'll put some medicine onyour foot.Whenyou'reallwell,then you can sing again."Hissniffl ing eased.And Tjukbegan to cheer up again."You'll teachme the ABClater,right,Mas? Like before whenyoutaught Mbak Kus.But

you won't rap me on the head with a spoon, will you? And I can go along to Jakarta. Andridein acar, right, Mas?And seeships...""Hey, is Mbak Kus still going to school, Tjuk?""Thereisn'tanyone going to school anymore now, Mas. Mbak Kus came homefromPati

onfoot.Shesaidtherewasn'tany schooling anymore.""Where'sMas Lik, Tjuk?""Taken away by Nika, Mas. The man said he was apemuda. 12Mychest pounded. Oh, he was still a kid, only fourteen. But what's wrong with that?

Theprison thatIjustgot out of had twokids thatsame age."Where'sFather, Tjuk?""Father'sunderneath thedua ttree.""That treewasn'tburnt?""No, Mas. Father's just there, Mas, writingandrecitingverses.""Reciting what?"

A member of the revolutionary youngergeneration,whichplayed acrucialmilitaryrole in the struggleagainsttheDutch.


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Blora 59

"'Permadi'and'Subodro,'13Mas. And just writing until late atnight/'Wekept walking. Grandmother still kept quiet. The house was near, but itsroofstillwasn'tvisible. Through the gaps in the yellow hedge which was turningbrown,I saw theruins of myhouseawall and ashes. And it was just like everywhere else. Up towards thebendin theroad,I saw agroupofsoldiers quiteawaysoff,onpatrol.And mylittle brotherpointed towardsthepatrol."He'scoming again, Mas. Thetuan\uHe always comes here. I amoftengiven candy andhe likes talking with MbakKus.Fatherdoesn'tlike it. He's happy under thedua ltree, justwriting and reciting. And when the tuan comes, Mbak Kus runs to the back and cries, and I

cry too.""Why do youcry,Tjuk?""Younever came, Mas.Andtheysay thetuan wantstotake MbakKus faraway reallyfa raway.That'sher, Mbak Kus, Mas "Tjukpointedin thedirectionof apileofstones.Oh, mycutestandbrightest youngersister.She wasjust sixteen yearsold andjustin thesecond yearofjunior high schoolinPati.Inbetweenthegapsof thedead hedge,I sawthatheronce clearfacehadbecome mottled.And her light-yellow skin had now turned dark.Tjukcalled loudly, "Mbak Kus, Mbak KusMasMuk hascome."Thegirlran to theroad.She wasstillasagileas she hadbeentwoyears earlier.Immediately she hugged me. She said ecstatically, "You've come, Mas. You were in prisonforsuch a long time. You're really thin, Mas. Mas, the house was burned down. Youdon'thavearoom anymore.And thebooks thatyousent,all ofthem have been snatchedby Mas

To.""Who'sMas To?""The friendIusedto play music with.""Why were they taken?" I asked."Because, because, you and Mas Wit are Army.""He's Nika?""Communist. I can't study anymore, Mas. Oh how skinny your arms are. You still likeeatingnasijagung,15Mas?"Wewent into thefrontyard. And Iresponded,"Still do."Allmylittle brothersandsisterscame crowdinginKun,Urn, Kus, andTjuk.Father left

the duat tree carrying his book. He asked, "Are you well, Muk?""Blessings,Father."And Father went back to sit under the duat tree."Mas Muk," Kunsaid,"your letter through the Red Cross, I got it a year ago."

Permadia ndSubodrorefer toArjuna and hiswifeSembadrafrom theJavanese Mahabharata epic.14Term of reference for an adult Western male.15Nasijagung is adish madefromricemixedwithcornmeal, whichisofteneaten during periods whenrice isrelatively scarce.


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"Whydidn'tyouanswer?""I wrote fifteen times. But no more letters camefromyouanymore,"and shedrewalong breath."Inevergotthem."ThenIwhispered toKun,myyounger sisterwho was eighteen years

old and already married to a private from the Jatikusumo Division,"Whydid you letGrandmotherbecome abeggar?"

Grandmother, who had kept quiet all along, began to sob and hid herfaceinside herkain.16Thenshedrewback, sittingin themiddleof thedoorway of the riceshed,bowedover like a toad. Regret radiated from Kun's eyes.

"Mas. We eat onlyfrom the corn plants grown in the yard, whichisn'tthat big. Yourlittlebrothers andsistersare the ones who work it.Fatherjust writes under the tree anddoesn'tmove from there if the sun hasn't set. I mean, Idon'twant toforceFather to hoe theground.Infact,whenaDutch lieutenant came heretoofferhim thepositionofeducationalofficer for the Residency of Pati, I was also the one who told them, 'Father is already old. Iwon't allow him to workanymore.'Because ofthatour income has been very small andfoodhas to bedividedas evenly as possible. And Grandmother stole Tjuk's portion. Iscolded her and she left.Thekidssaid Grandmother had become abeggarat the station. Itold them to bring her home. But Grandmother refused. I myselfurgedher to come home.And shesaid,don't want to go home. I'm waiting for Gus Muk.' And Isaid,'MasMukisn't coming home. He's been capturedbyNika.'But shedidn'tpay anyattentionandkeptwaiting at the station."

Grandmotherwas crying. Sobbing deeply."Grandma," I called. But she didn't pay any attention.Slowly we went into theshed.It was empty. We sat on the mat."Kun, whereisyour husband?"Kunwas silent. Kus came carrying two black earthen plates holdingnas ijagung."Mas, eat, Mas, with Grandmother."We sat on the mat on top of the mud f loor.Thekidscrowded around."Where'syourhusband,Kun?"Iasked again.Hesitantlysheanswered,"He hasnever come back, Mas.Idon't know. Thereisn'tanynews."Tjuk,who was standing behindme,grabbed myneck,hisvoice exploding, "Liar Last

night he came carrying a rifle."Kun leapt behind me, shutting Tjuk's mouth. The little kidstruggledto defend himself

and histruth."Kun,youdon'ttrust me?"Herclasp over Tjuk's mouthwas releasedand shefellsilent.Tjukstarted crying again

andthrewhisbody down intomylap.Ikissedhimagain."Mas, I'm notlying,"hesaiddefending himself.

16A batikcloth thatiswrapped aroundawoman's lower bodyaspartoftraditional Javanesedress.


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Blora 61

Kun covered her face.And all the kids bowed their heads."Mas Jus came last night carrying a rifle and a grenade. I saw him myself, Mas.mnotlying. WhenIaskedhimwherehe wasgoing, MbakKunwrapped me upwithherkain.

And I cried. When I woke up I was scared, Mas. I was really scared.There'swar there. Idon'tknow where. But Iwasn'twrapped up anymore and Mbak Kun was chanting prayers.Justchanting. MbakUmtoo,andMbakKustoo.Fathercameandheldmetight.../'

Noneof mylittle brothersandsisters daredtolookat me. Allbowed their heads. Worryand fearwere broadcast fromtheir eyes.

"Mas,"Tjukwent on, "I don't like it here. I'm not allowed to sing. I'm not allowed toplayfaraway.If Italk with anyone, MbakKunshutsmymouth. Mas,Ijust wantto goalongtoJakarta. There I'llbeallowedtosingand toplayandtalk with you,right? I'mscared of war. In Jakarta there isn't any, right?"

"Yeah,later on I'll take you."Kun leftwithout aword.Umleftwithoutaword.Kuscame nearme. Sheasked,"You feelthebitternessof a manfromNika'sprisons,don'tyou, Mas?"Inodded."But your conviction isn't swayed, isit?"Ishookmyhead."Andyouwon't betrayus,will you?"Ishook my head. And Kustookout aknife thatwas shining silver. She dug the sharp tipinto thesoleof her foot.Blood came out.And I was taken aback."Whyare youwounding yourself?""To findout, Mas,if ithurtsornot.""Ofcourseithurts.""And I'mwillingtosuffer thepainfrom thisknife.I'mwillingfor you topealo ffmy

skinandkillmebeforeyou arekilledbyMbakKun andMbakUm, if itturnsout you are atraitor.""Mas, comeon,let'sgo toJakarta," whined Tjuk."If Ibecomeatraitor,I amreadyfor all of you tokill me,"Isaid."Ihave alreadysuffered agreat deal.Allyou've saidis: 1don't trustyou and I'mgoingtokillyou '"Then Idrewalong breathandraisedmyhead. SuddenlyInoticedtheshapeof a

withered body sitting in a large, old chair. His twolegswere missing up to the thigh. Histwohands wereintactbut fourfingers were missingon the righthand.Hisfacehadlostitsoriginal shape. His nose had a hole in between his nostrils and the base of his brow. Andthathole was pluggedup with dirtycottonwool.Fromthe plugged up hole to his ear werelinesofdeep scarsand fromhis lefteyeback,hisskinhadpeeled off.Hair onlygrewoverhalfhis skull. His right ear had been sheared off.And his eyes were watering.

Kusjoinedinlookingin thedirectionof thefigureandwithoutmyfeelingit, the knifehad gotten into my right hand."He's already been hereaweek, Mas," said Tjuk."Hejustsitsthere.Hedoesn't wantto

talk.Sometimeshetellsme to getpaperand pen andink.But hedoesn't wanttotalk."


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Thatcarcass'seyes watched mecarefullywith a gloomy stare. And tears calmlysliddown his cheek.Iwatched Kus. And the sixteenyearold girl sharpened her stare. Shesaid,"Ratherthan

your makingasacrifice likethat,it'sbetter,if youreallyare atraitor, justtokillusall.Yourhandalready holds theknife,MasMuk."

Itossed theknifeto thecornerof theshedandturned backtowatchthemutilatedfigure.ThenKussilently left theshed.Istoodup andsteppedcloser.Iextendedmyhandand mygreetingwas accepted.Itfeltlikehe waspullingme sothatIwould gocloser.And Iuttered my name, "Pram/7But hedidn'trespond. Only his hands fumbled with his threadbare shirt. He undid its buttons. He opened it, and I noticed inside asoldier'suniform. Ontheflap of hispocketwas pinnedabadge withtherank SergeantMajorof theArmy.I wasstartled enoughtoexplode.

Iwept. Saudara,now it was Imyselfwho wasweeping.HowcouldI not,saudara? Evenhard rocks are worn away by water. And thatcarcass was my ownbrother...this was myoldest younger brother, SergeantMajorWit from themilitary police.

"I know you're not a traitor, Mas Muk," he said slowly. "Even though my body hassuffered thecursesofwar,Icould easily kill you."And fromhistrousers hepulledout apitipistol.17"I'm amarksman.And fromadistanceof tenmetersI can hit the tip ofyour indexfinger,evenif you are walking."

Ibent downandasked,"You'renotafraid tocarryaweaponin anarea that'ssurrounded?"Wit laughed. "IfI've already sworn thesoldier'soath,why shouldI beafraid toweara

militaryuniformandcarryaweapon?And all of myyounger brothers have sworn thesameoath. AndhereI am,waitingfo rthefinalbattle."

"Withthatlady'spistol?"Wit laughed again.Histeeth brokeintoayellow grin."Myweaponis sufficient, MasMuk.Ihave three grenades on me. Andwithina radiusofonekilometermytroopsarestill ready."Thenhepulledat mybody.Ibent down.Witwhispered, "Tjukhasto bekilled "almost collapsed onhearing whathesaid."He's of nouse.He caneasily endangerusall. Tonightyoumust takehim to theLusiandslaughter him."And Ifel lback intoasitting position.Tjukwasagain huggingmearoundtheneck.How

skinnyhewas. Lame, too,and he had todie."I'm thecommanderinthis area,youhavetocarryout myorders,"and hispeeled face

scowled cruelly. And I shivered."Mas,let'sgo toJakarta, Mas.Rightnow," whimpered Tjukonce more."Do youhearme, MasMuk?"Ikept quiet.AndWit's eyes glittered.

7Alady's pistol (author'sfootnote).


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Blora 63

"Everything alive and dead within onekilometer'sradius is in my hands.I'llhave myrevenge.Iusedto be a manfullofcompassion.Iusedtoadmire beauty.Butthose bastardsmademelike thisand my facewasdoused with acid.Andve learnednot tohesitateto dojust thesame thing.Youmust carryout myorders/'Istoodup. IkissedTjuk.And Iknewit was alreadyset,he had todieatmyhands.

"Human love only comesfromhabit," Wit continued. "So when hedies,he'llbe easy toreplace.Afterall, people liketomake children.Theydon'thaveto beordered to. So get ridof anyloveandpity."Silence. And night still hadn't come. Suddenly Tjuksang out loudly: "ThePeople'sbloodhasbegunto flow,sufferingpainandpoverty.Nowretributioniscoming.We are

nowthe judges, we are now thejudges 18M ybrotherWitroared with laughterand hisruined facewas likethatofSukosronothedwarfish ogreof thewayang .And Tjuk fellsilent staringat me. Heasked,"Mas,I can

sing,can'tI?"Inodded. Grandmother came nearandwhispered, "GusMuk, you're safeandsound.Yo uhave come back here.Let me go. Goaway again.Idon't wanttobecomeaburden.""Where will yougo,Grandma?You'renot happy here?""Whydo Ihaveto behere, Gus? Peoplewho tiethemselves to aplace theydon'tlikeareasstupidasanimals."And shewalked away.Shedidn'tneedanyfurther response. Anddisappeared.I looked at my oldest younger brother, requesting an opinion. He shook hisheadslowlytwotimes. I stood up and moved toward the door. I was almost there whenWitcalled me back."Where are you going, Mas Muk?" he asked."TolookforFather.Istill haven't spokento him at any length.""HaveIgiven permission?""Do Ihavetofollowyour ordersin everything?""In everything," hesaiddecisively. Then, "Your lifeisn'tworth a cent compared to thethousandsofinnocent people livingin themountainsandisolated villageswhomustdie for

hostages.If youleave this placebeforegettingmyorders,you may be thecauseof hundredsofpeople'sdeaths here. Understand?""I'm stillasoldier. Istill havethe right to mylieutenant's rank.You are notallowedtogiveordersas youplease,"Iresponded assertingmyself.And Ibeganto getangry.Helaughed. Strangely,hewasn't aboutto crylike earlier.Hesaid fullofcertainty,"Soldiers who'vebeen captured and held prisoner no longer have any selfrespect. And you

nowhave cometo myhomeas aguest.Andguestshavetoobeytherulesoftheir hosts.Understand?"Once moreInoddedand helaughed again."Mas Muk,MasMuk " interruptedTjuk."I had adream once, MbakKun hadlotsofmoneylotsand lots. And there was a man saying,'Becarefulwhere you keep thatmoney,'

hesaid,'if it is taken by those bastards the breath of our resistance willdie/"8Theopening stanzaof thefamousPesindoMarchingSong.


14/14


Ilooked at my oldest younger brother. Hefrowned.Suddenly he snapped, 'That'stoomuch/'TjuklookedatWit. Thenhid hisfacein mylap.Hecriedandbeggedforprotection.Hesaid,"Mas, I'm scared of him. I'm scared, Mas.Lefs go to Jakarta, Mas, right now.""MasMuk,"warned Wit. "The time has come. His mouth has to be shut.He'llbe thecauseof adisaster."ThenhesaidinDutch, "Kill him."AsthoughTjukunderstood those words,hescreamedashardas hecould.Idirectedmy

gazetoward Wit and noticed he had drawn out a smalldaggershiningsilver. The weaponwastossedat me. Ay,pain searedthefleshof mythigh.Belowmyeyes: Tjuk's screaminghead.

"One... Witcounted f romhisseat.Ipulledout thedagger.And thebloodflowedout.Amilitaryman is amilitary man,but

Istill haveasenseofhumanity.Iwept."Two..."Mytears welledup and Iraisedtheweapon.Myinnocent little brotherhad to die by myownhand."Three " and as quick as aflashthe weapon vanished into hisside,vanished up to thehilt in Tjuk's heart. In a second, his sobs turned into a moan.Bloodgushed out. I wepthysterically.Dead,Tjuk You'redeadbymy ownhand, killedbyyourbigbrotherwho

loved you.Thesour smellofbloodfilledtheair.And Istoodupagain.Ikicked asidemybrother'scorpse and approached Wit."Now you're going to kill me, too?"Night still hadn't come. And he grinned, saying,"You'restill of use to me."Iwiped awaymytears withasleeve.Ahubbubofvoices camefrom outside."Apatrol's coming," whispered my brother. "CoverTjukwith corn."Thesound ofmarchingfeetcame louderand loudertheera of JanPieterszoon Coen

hadcome again. There wasn't time, saudara.Barelywas hishead coveredby abundleofcorn, the patrol entered the house. Someone yelled, "Kusye, Kusye," with a Friesland accent.Andsaw the blood on the ground. My brother Wit was ready, aiming hislady'spistol. Andall of the"liberationsoldiers"inside haltedintheir tracksas ifthey were suddenly nailedtotheground.Thesoldiers raised their hands.

Witordered me to stand guard outside. I walked out. Myfootbumped against a piece ofwood lyingin theway.And Iawokef rommydaydream.

I amstillinprison. Honest,I didhearthefootstepsof theguards relievingoneanother.And in twomonths' timeitwillbe twofullyears that I've beeninprison

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