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 | WARUNG ABANG | Feb 21, 2006 |
Born in Ponorogo in 1978, Dyah Merta has published short prose in a large number of anthologies, journals and mass media. Her debut novel, Peri Kecil di Sungai Nipah (Nymph of Nipah) presents a harrowing story of family intrigue, secrets and betrayals as their home village gets caught up and crushed by the unstoppable wheel of development. She currently resides in Yogyakarta where she manages an independent publishing house while researching her second novel on the malnourished idiots in her home village, a phenomenon she refers to as the "Sect of Dumbnation" and also about intersection betwen warok and gemblak. Now she still writing her second novel with a title Warung Abang. |  | KAMPUNG Abi Lahab adalah kampung paling sunyi di wilayah ini, bahkan jika air mata jatuh pun bisa didengar oleh orang sekampung. Penduduknya tenang dan bernapas dalam irama yang hampir senada. Begitu damai. Tak ada petaka selama bertahun-tahun. Penuh senyum dan keriangan. Namun tiba-tiba saja, pagi ini, kampung Abi Lahab dikejutkan oleh sebuah ledakan yang terdengar seperti tabung gas meledak. Tabung gas yang meledak, begitulah awalnya orang-orang menduga. Dugaan yang cepat sekali membesar dari satu tabung menjadi lima tabung gas dan kasak-kusuk yang selama bertahun-tahun lenyap tiba-tiba juga muncul seperti hujan meteor.
Abi Lahab adalah lurah di kampung ini. Ia lulusan terbaik sekolah pendidikan khusus pamong praja termasyhur. Tak ada seorang pun warga yang berani membicarakan sekolah terbaik itu. Sebab mereka ingin menghindar dari kenyataan bahwa di sekolah itu tempat mempelajari ilmu kegelapan yang paling baik. Apa yang akan terjadi jika lurah mereka adalah murid terbaik yang menguasai ilmu kegelapan dengan segenap jurus andalannya. Maka begitulah kampung ini bisa menjadi kampung yang tenang, setenang jenggot lurah Abi Lahab, sebab angin pun tak berani meniupnya. Jenggot itu diperolehnya dari tanah Arab demikian halnya dengan gelar Abi Lahab yang semula adalah Kawung Iprit. Begitu sohornya gelar itu sampai-sampai menggetarkan nyali setiap warga jika namanya itu disebut dan membuat mereka semua menunduk oleh sebab takut.
Ada hal lain yang sama menggetarkannya, yaitu sebuah kendi yang tak pernah diperlihatkan Abi Lahab kepada warganya, kecuali keluarga inti Abi Lahab. Kendi itu hadir bersamaan ketika dia menukar namanya. Kendi itu konon berisi jin dari Laut Merah —barangkali mirip jin Aladin, hanya saja belum ada seorang pun yang memastikan khasiat dan kemanjurannya.
Pamor kendi tak pelak telah mengusik hati Jahli, seorang pencuri yang seribu satu kali telah keluar masuk bui. Jahli geram apabila setiap kali ia mendengar Abi Lahab membicarakan tentang kemanjuran kendi yang dihuni jin dari Laut Merah. Keberaniannya yang nyaris terkubur di dalam seribu satu penjara yang sempat disinggahinya kini bangkit. Maka dipilihnya hari yang tepat, setelah ia berkonsultasi dengan seorang tukang nujum hebat dari kampung terdekat, Wong Singa, perihal keinginannya untuk mencuri di rumah Abi Lahab.
‘’Jika kau mengambilnya, jangan meninggalkan bayangan!’’ ujar Wong Singa.
Jidat Jahli berlipat sepuluh mendengar nasehat Wong Singa. Tapi tak ada kata-kata lanjutan, sebab Sang Penujum segera berdiri dan masuk ke pesanggrahan tempatnya bertapa dan hanya keluar menemui tamu-tamu yang ia maui saja.
Jahli, pencuri yang seribu satu kali telah keluar masuk bui itu pun, balik dan segera mempersiapkan seluruh perangkat yang akan membantu melancarkan operasinya pada hari yang telah diwangsitkan Sang Penujum. Tibalah hari itu, setelah selama sepekan Jahli puasa pati geni; menutup semua pintu dan jendela rumahnya tanpa menyalakan lampu, tinggal dalam kegelapan yang sempurna, tanpa memakan apapun selain hewan yang tersesat seperti laba-laba, semut, kepinding, cicak, itupun kalau beruntung. Maka pada hari ia membuka pintu, yang pertama kali akan ia kunjungi adalah rumah Abi Lahab. Sebelumnya ia merapalkan sebuah ajian pamungkas yang paling ia andalkan yaitu jurus kalong, yang tak lain adalah kelihaiannya dalam meloloskan diri. Ajian ini dalam sekejap akan menyamarkan tubuhnya serupa kalong besar dan dalam satu lompatan ia mampu merubuhkan setiap orang atau penjaga yang menghadang pelariannya. Jurus inilah yang dia amalkan ketika meloloskan diri dari seribu satu kamar bui yang pernah dihuninya. Dengan jurus kalong itu, matanya juga mampu membidik sasaran dengan lebih awas dan dalam satu hentakan tubuhnya bisa berada pada satu dahan pohon, untuk selanjutnya melompat ke dahan yang lain. Bagi mata yang awas hanya akan melihatnya seperti sekelebat bayangan besar di kegelapan. Tak heran sekejap saja, ia telah berhasil mencapai wuwungan rumah Abi Lahab.
Tak satu penjaga rumah pun yang mencium kehadirannya. Mudah pula baginya masuk dari atap setelah membuka dua pasang genteng, melipat tubuhnya, dan tiba-tiba ia sudah bergelantungan di kuda-kuda. Lalu dalam satu hentakan, tubuhnya meluncur dengan lembut dan mendarat tepat di ruang tengah, di mana sebuah kendi berada di atas meja. Pencuri itu terlongo. Tapi yang tampak bukanlah kendi seperti milik Aladin, yang berwarna keemasan dengan lehernya yang jenjang, melainkan hanya kendi gerabah biasa, yang banyak terdapat di pasar. Semula Jahli enggan mengambil kendi itu dan mengutuk dirinya sendiri. Berniat mencuri kendi keramat di rumah Abi Lahab adalah sebuah kesalahan besar, begitu yang dia pikir. Bukankah untuk memasuki halaman rumah Abi Lahab dia telah mempertaruhkan lehernya hanya untuk sebuah kendi yang biasa ini? Dan kini dia pun menyadari bahwa barang siapa yang berniat jahat di dalam rumah Abi Lahab bahkan tak dapat keluar lagi dari dalam rumah itu, tanpa sepengetahuan sang empunya rumah. Orang yang berniat jahat akan tersesat dan berputar-putar saja di halaman rumah Abi Lahab. Belum lagi dia selesai menyesali nasibnya, tiba-tiba pintu berkeriut. Jahli bersiaga. Dalam sekejap mata ia melompat ke atas rangka atap. Jurus tokek telah membuat Jahli menempelkan tubuhnya di rangka atap. Terlihat Abi Lahab masuk bersama seorang penjaga rumah.
‘’Aku mencium bau pencuri di rumahku!’’ ujar Abi Lahab sesaat setelah minum seteguk air dari kendi keramat. Penjaganya itu terkejut, lalu bersiul dengan keras. Sekelompok penjaga lain pun bergegas masuk ke ruang itu. Tanpa aba-aba tertentu, penjaga-penjaga itu memeriksa ke segala arah; mengecek semua pintu dan jendela, sudut-sudut yang mencurigakan; hingga ke kolong yang tak mungkin untuk bersembunyi kecuali untuk tikus beranak dan anak kucing meringkuk.
Jantung Jahli berdetak kencang. Beberapa penjaga mulai mengamati ke atas. Mereka waspada kalau pembobol rumah mungkin akan menerobos dari sana. Akan bodoh bagi Jahli jika ia segera menggunakan jurus kalong. Jurus itu akan membuatnya menubruk atap rumah. Genteng dan rangka atap yang terpijak bagaimanapun pasti akan menimbulkan suara. Sudah pasti akan mudah bagi Abi Lahab mencium jejak bahkan bayangannya. Dengan ajian malih rupa, Jahli berdoa semoga dirinya sewarna atap rumah lurah Abi Lahab, padahal ilmu ini baru saja diperoleh dan kali pertama diamalkannya. Entah bagaimana sepuluh penjaga yang sudah memeriksa seluruh rumah dalam jangkauan mata siaga itu tak melihatnya bertengger seperti tokek di rangka atap.
Tipuan Jahli atau boleh dibilang kesaktiannya yang mujur itu berhasil membuatnya keluar dari rumah lurah Abi Lahab tanpa tertangkap. Namun ia belum puas sebab kegagalan pertamanya ini bagaikan melumpuhkan separuh ilmunya. Demi rasa kesal yang tumbuh setiap hari itulah ia akhirnya mengulang lagi aksinya, kali ini dengan mengingat pesan Wong Singa.
Kedua kalinya Jahli berhasil. Tapi dari keberhasilan itulah petaka bermula, ketika tangan Jahli menggotong kendi itu keluar rumah Abi Lahab.
Jahli menjual kendi itu di pasar gelap dan barang langka. Alih-alih mendapat uang jutaan, seperti yang diimpikannya semula, ia malah mendapat cemoohan dari para penadah. Tapi Jahli berpikir mungkin di pasar barang bekas kendi ini akan mendapatkan tempat yang lebih baik.
‘’Satu kendi baru cuma seharga lima ribu. Mau kubeli berapa kendi bekasmu itu?’’ kata pedagang barang bekas.
‘’Jahli, setidaknya kau mencurilah kendi yang lebih baik!’’ kata penadah yang lain.
‘’Seribu lah kalau kau mau! Untuk sebatang rokok,’’ ujar Jahli putus asa.
‘’Hah, sejak kapan kau mencuri hanya untuk sebatang rokok?’’
‘’Bah, sejak aku melihat kendi ini, sejak itulah nasibku sungguh sial. Ambillah kalau kau tak mau menukarnya dengan uang seribu!’’ Jahli meradang.
‘’Jahli, pantang aku menerima barang sial. Kau pergilah dan bawa kendimu itu. Ini uang seribu untuk sebatang rokok!’’
Jahli melengos, mengambil uang seribu itu dan keluar dari pasar. Di salah satu jalan keluar dari pasar, di tengah lalu lalang dan suara-suara yang muncul hampir seperti seribu belalang itu, Jahli melihat seorang perempuan membawa barang di bakulnya. Putus asa mungkin, membuat Jahli meletakkan kendi itu di antara tumpukan bawaan perempuan itu tanpa disadari si empunya.
Dari sinilah awal mula kekacauan di kampung Abi Lahab. Pertama sekali adalah ledakan itu, yang diduga adalah ledakan tabung gas seperti yang sebelumnya kuceritakan. Ledakan itu datang dari rumah perempuan yang ditemui Jahli terakhir kali di pasar. Selidik punya selidik setelah dilakukan penyelidikan serius, tuduhan yang muncul lebih mengerikan. Ledakan itu adalah bom rakitan. Bakul-bakul itu ternyata dipenuhi bahan-bahan untuk membuat bom rakitan. Gegerlah kampung Abi Lahab akibat ledakan dan teror bom rakitan. Perempuan itu pun diseret ke kantor Koramil. Anehnya, kendi itu tak ada seorang pun yang mengetahui nasibnya. Ceritanya bahkan tidak ikut muncul sebagai pemicu kekacauan itu.
Belum lagi reda kepanikan, muncul orang-orang yang ditangkap dari perkumpulan Wong Singa dengan dakwaan menyebarkan ajaran sesat. Belum usai kehebohan ajaran sesat Wong Singa, muncul kawanan penipu di pasar yang dihajar warga habis-habisan, yang sebagian besar para penadah barang bekas. Jahli, yang terpaksa berhenti sebentar dari keahliannya mencuri setelah aksi terburuk sepanjang karirnya itu, mulai curiga. Beberapa orang yang tertangkap secara tak langsung pernah berhubungan dengan dirinya atau setidaknya dengan kendi itu. Maka kini ia punya misi baru, yaitu melacak keberadaan kendi Abi Lahab. Sebagai pencuri berkelas dan memiliki jaringan preman dan anak jalanan di mana-mana maka mudahlah bagi Jahli untuk mengetahui di mana keberadaan kendi Abi Lahab itu. Selama lolos dari tangan Abi Lahab, kendi itu selalu berada di wilayah-wilayah terburuk di kampung ini. Dalam sehari, Jahli sudah beroleh informasi yang paling bisa dipercaya. Maka segera ia menyatroni rumah Abi Lahab untuk yang ketiga kalinya.
‘’Hai, Jahli! Apa kabar kawan?’’ sebuah sapaan mengagetkannya ketika tubuhnya meluncur dari atap dan mendarat persis di depan kendi yang berada di atas meja di ruang tengah rumah Abi Lahab.
Jahli tetap berdiri tegap tanpa memalingkan muka ke arah suara yang menyapanya.
‘’Kau pikir aku tak tahu berapa kali kau bertandang ke rumahku?’’ tanya suara itu dengan kekuatan bicara yang cukup dikenal dan sangat akrab di telinganya. Suara Abi Lahab.
‘’Ki Lurah,’’ Jahli berdehem kecil.
‘’Kau sangat terlatih Jahli. Aku sangat mengagumi kelihaianmu. Kupikir tak pantas kau hidup tak layak dan terus menerus keluar masuk bui.’’
‘’Saya hanya bermaksud meminjam kendinya, kabarnya ada Jin Ifrit,’’ Jahli mencoba membuat lelucon, tapi justru malah membuat dirinya sendiri tertawa, menertawai kebodohannya sebagai pencuri terburuk abad ini.
‘’Aku Kawung Iprit tak perlu jin Ifrit, Jahli!’’ tawa berderai tersambut. ‘’Aku hanya perlu orang-orang seperti dirimu!’’ lanjutnya.
‘’Ki Lurah sungguh baik hati,’’ balas Jahli masih membelakangi muka Abi Lahab.
‘’Kau yang terbaik dari yang terbaik, Jahli. Maukah kau bergabung denganku?’’
‘’Ki Lurah yang terbaik.’’
Terdengar lagi tawa berderai. Bahu Jahli terasa ada yang menepuk. Tepukan berat dan dingin yang membuat sekujur lututnya lunglai hingga ia terjatuh. Kepalanya menunduk, terasa sungguh berat. Berkelebat ledakan-ledakan bom, gerombolan ajaran sesat, anak-anak jalanan yang terbunuh, penipu ulung, tukang tadah, dan transaksi jual beli ilegal. Berada di hadapan Abi Lahab, Jahli merasa segala kesaktiannya, termasuk jurus kalong dan tokek tidak ada gunanya. Jahli hanya bisa diam dan tunduk pada kekuasaan Abi Lahab, takluk oleh kekuatan ilmu kegelapan yang tak bisa ditandinginya. Akhirnya sepanjang masa, sepanjang sisa hidupnya, Jahli hanya berada di situ, terkurung di dalam kendi, seperti pengalamannya memasuki kembali seribu satu penjara.
Kampung Abi Lahab pun kembali damai. Penduduknya tenang dan bernapas dalam irama yang hampir senada. Bahkan jika ada jarum jatuh bisa didengar oleh orang sekampung. Sementara Jahli, sibuk mencari bayangannya yang tertinggal di kendi Abi Lahab. Tahukah kau, jika ribuan kali Jahli terus-menerus mencuri kendi itu dari tangan Abi Lahab?
Yogyakarta, awal Desember 2009 |
| | Titel : Fee in Nipah Rivier
Auteur : Dyah Merta
Verschijningsdatum: September, 2007
Categorie : Misterie en Thriller
Aantal pagina's : 293
RECENSIE
Dit boek vertelt over het sociale, antropologische en geografische toestand van een dorp, Sangir. Een dorp, die eens niet bewoond werd, groeide tot een ontwikkeld dorp dankzij de Nipah rivier, suikerrieten, een suikerfabriek, en een stroopfabriek.
Wraakneming van een ongewenst bastaard kind is de achtergrond van dit boek. Kulung, zo heet het kind, moest zijn moeder wegens schaamte verliezen. Ze pleegde zelfmoord. Door zijn oma werd hij naar zijn vader, Karyo Petir, gebracht. Zo is de ellende in het leven van Karyo Petir en zijn gezin begonnen. Geen vrede en vreugde meer in zijn huis. De ene dood werd door andere doden vervolgd, totdat er niemand meer in het huis woonde, behalve Kasemi, de trouwe hulp van het gezin.
De auteur gebruikt mithologie, geschiedenis, en volksverhalen om een onvoorstelbaar en donker verhaal te maken. Vreemde en magische dagelijkse aspecten van de dorpelingen worden gedetailleerd uitgedrukt. Daardoor laat de auteur zien dat die irrationaliteiten, dwz. de magische aspecten, ook een deel zijn van het hele dagelijkse leven. Filmische scenes en gruwelijke sferen heeft de auteur in het boek heel goed gebracht. Maar het verhaal wordt niet-chronologisch verteld. De auteur gebruikt veel flash backs. (Mv. Vini - Karta Pustaka)
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 | 1920 | Oct 7, '07 3:28 AM
for everyone |
| | A short story by Dyah Merta
Translated by Pam Allen
THIRTY days before the red sunset in Kraksaan, Kariyorejo fell ill. Struck down with fever. Kariyorejo worked as a blacksmith in the Seboroh sugar factory. If he got sick he couldn’t apply for leave of absence or report his circumstances to his manager; in those days there was no intermediary party that could help a worker in dealing with factory management, and permission for leave had to be obtained directly from the factory boss. Because of his absence from work, Kariyorejo incurred the penalty of having to work overtime on reduced pay.
TWENTY five days before the red sunset in Kraksaan, Kariyorejo, the blacksmith in the Seboroh sugar factory, didn’t return to work. On that day he went to town. According to what he himself said to an acquaintance he happened to run into, he was planning to pawn some goods there. Well, who would have guessed that Kariyorejo owned anything that could be pawned; many people shook their heads in disbelief when asked whether Kariyorejo could have been keeping a stash of valuable stuff under his bed.
After he’d come back from town his plan was to call into the market to buy rice and other necessities. But, as was his usual custom, when he met sombody he knew he was always in a hurry to be gone. He had no time for small talk or a social cup of coffee.
At the Seboroh sugar factory one could in fact buy a number of household goods, including rice, sugar and coffee, at a cheap price. But members of the Personeel Fabriek Bondi were not allowed to purchase things there. This policy made life pretty tough for members of the Personeel Fabriek Bond, including Kariyorejo.
Nobody, apart from his wife Maimun, knew that Kariyorejo had taken his son Dugel to the market. The nine year old was curled up in a basket Kariyorejo carried on his back. The basket was wrapped up in a gunnysack, so Dugel was hidden from view. Kariyorejo told Dugel he was not to get out of the basket until they were out of the village. The boy didn’t ask any questions; in fact he was quite content. He thought his father was taking him to play. Just as he’d spent the whole of the previous evening playing hide and seek with his friends. For Dugel, his father’s suggestion that they go to town, a place he’d always dreamed of visiting, made that day a very special one. So he was happy to do whatever his father told him to, if it meant he would get to see the town.
Barefoot, and wearing black drawstring pants and a wornout shirt, Kariyorejo set off for Probolinggo. Once they had left the village, he put his son down and they got onto an oxcart. When they arrived at the market in Probolinggo a stocky man wearing glasses was waiting for them. There were a lot of children lined up. Kariyorejo told his son to join the line.
“You join the line first, boy, and I’ll be able to see you from over here!” Kariyorejo said to Dugel.
“OK dad.”
The child did as he was told. Kariyorejo queued up alongside the line of children. He was given a bundle of money tied up in a rubber band. After he’d sealed the deal with a thumbprint, Kariyorejo withdrew from the queue, Dugel smiling at him all the while. Unable to bear the sight of his son lining up, Kariyorejo went over to him.
“I’m going to get a drink, boy, OK?” he said. Dugel nodded.
‘Get me a cendol,ii dad, OK?”
Kariyorejo nodded. Moving away from his son, he continued to watch until it was Dugel’s turn to be hoisted onto the oxcart. The boy struggled, calling out to his father, over and over. But he was restrained by a group of burly men. And the oxcart was soon on its way. Kariyorejo watched until the oxcart carrying his son disappeared around a bend in the road. He had no idea of its destination. According to what he had heard in the coffee shops, the oxcarts usually went to Surabaya, Semarang or to the ports on the north coast.
On the journey home Kariyorejo reflected on the events of the evening before he had set off for the city. He had gone home without having obtained permission from the boss to absent himself from work the next day on account of having to go to town. With a heavy heart he recalled Dugel’s face as he had opened the front door. Kariyorejo had been bowed down with exhaustion and his face wore a sullen expression. He felt such remorse that on that evening he had not been able to smile at his son. After collecting his sarong, he had hurried to the water spout at the back of the house, bathed and changed into the clothes his wife had hung beside the hearth. Smearing his hair with coconut oil, Kariyorejo had gone to the dinner table. The clatter of the aluminium plates offered by his wife competed with that of the cups. That evening, the little family had eaten their meal of cassava and spinach in silence. Two mice scuttled under the table, near the piles of sacks. They too were in search of food. Little bursts of flame exploded from the lamp in the middle of the table. The light from the flames was visible from outside, through the holes in the woven bamboo sheets that formed the walls of the house. Their meal over, Kariyorejo approached his wife. It being a full moon, Dugel had run outside to play with his friends. The children were usually allowed to play outside when it was full moon. Adult men, too, would often stay up half the night chatting at the guard post.
Approaching midnight, the bed creaked as Kariyorejo embraced his wife, while Dugel snuggled into his sarong in an effort to ward off the cold night air that permeated the room.
“You really don’t mind, love?” Kariyorejo asked his wife for the final time that night.
“What else can we do, dear?” replied Maimun.
And that night Kariyorejo had been unable to sleep, as he lay beside his quietly sobbing wife. He crept out of bed and looked into his son’s room. He pulled back the curtain. In the dim light cast by the dying rays of the lamp in the main room he could observe the face of his son as slept peacefully, as if the next day his life would be the same as it had been that day. Kariyorejo drew a long breath. Then he left the room. He was sleepless until dawn, kept awake by his rambling thoughts. He sat alone on the terrace, his sarong wrapped up to his neck, rolling and smoking cigarettes until all his tobacco was gone. And then he began to feel sleepy. His eyelids drooped. The moon disappeared.
Kariyorejo woke up with a start at the sound of his son’s voice in the yard.
“Where’ve you been, Gel?” he asked.
“Fetching water, dad. Are you awake yet?”
On Sunday morning the hamlet head in Wonokromo enforced heerendiensteniii for all adult men in the village. The village officials distributed his orders - all citizens were to take part in sambatan.iv The hamlet head observed all citizens who participated and instructed the officials to make a note of anyone who was absent.
At dusk the sky over Kraksaan really was turning red. A figure had been sighted disappearing into the field of sugarcane that was ready to be harvested.
Eventually, smoke billowed in the distance, fanned by a brisk dry breeze. The flames ignited the dry sugarcane. Screaming, people in the vicinity ran for their lives. Fuelled by the dry sugarcane undergrowth, the fire destroyed a hectare of land in a matter of moments. Most people in the village simply emerged from their homes, without making a fuss. They could do no more than speak in hushed tones. None of them rushed to extinguish the fire.
Kariyorejo stood calmly on the side of the road leading to the plantation, smoking a cigarette. When people asked him to join them in fighting the fire, he replied with some reluctance, ‘I’ll just watch from a distance.’
The Wonokromo village head, assisted by his officials, was busy rounding up the residents of the village. One after the other, the wooden village alarms sounded out. Some people became so engrossed in beating their alarms that they forgot that they were supposed to be fetching buckets to fill with water for dousing the fire.
‘Citizens, a massive fire is destroying the sugarcane plantation. If we don’t take action it could spread to our houses. Everyone must chip in and sambatan.’
‘Sambatan again, eh?’ replied someone in the village.
‘That’s right!’
The next day and during the following week the plantation turned black and the sugarcane became so dry that it was impossible to harvest. Everyone said that this was the biggest loss ever incurred by the owners of the private company that rented the land. Until that point in time, the Arends contract, by which the owners of the sugarcane plantations rented land from native landowners, had delivered enormous profits to the tenants. Many landowners ended up working as contract labourers or waiting for their own planting season, which in any case usually only involved subsidiary crops – and even the profits from those had to be shared with their tenants.
This wasn’t the first fire, but it was the biggest since the Kraksaan ricefields had been rented out for sugarcane plantations. It happened right at the start of the milling period, precisely three days before the harvest began. The trucks were ready, extra harvesting labour had been brought in, the milling machinery had been cranked up and a number of blacksmiths had ensured that the machines were in perfect running order; during the milling period the machines needed to run non-stop for more than three months. According to the factory workers, the agricultural labourers would harvest the sugarcane three days in advance, before it was loaded onto a convoy of trucks and taken to the factory.
Precisely three days before the huge inferno that devastated Kraksaan, Kariyorejo went back to town. On that day, in accordance with the agreement that had been sealed with his thumbprint, the convoy of oxcarts that had taken away his child would return. From his corner vantage point, he watched the rows of children being hoisted onto the oxcart. Not one child was taken off. Kariyorejo swallowed. He could not see his son. Nor could he see a child that even resembled Dugel. And he couldn’t get anywhere near the carts; the way was blocked by a number of burly men.
“I sealed the agreement with my thumbprint!” he said, trying to coax his way through the barricade of beefy men.
“Did you read the fine print of the agreement?” snarled one guard.
“I can’t read,” Kariyorejo said to himself. Admitting defeat, he slowly moved back. Several times he turned his face away in despair, until he finally decided to go home. On the homeward journey he stopped off at the market. In a warung at the edge of the market he ordered palm wine.
“Did you lose a bet or has your business gone bust, mate?” asked the warung owner when he saw Kariyorejo coming in with a thunderous face.
“Both.”
“By God, I hope you don’t come face to face with Kampret. I don’t want my warung getting wrecked again!”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this is the first time you’ve shown your face in my warung. Let me tell you, Kampret likes to beat people up at random. If you haven’t got any money on you, I suggest you get out of here right away!” the warung owner said in a hushed voice.
“Where is this Kampret!” demanded Kariyorejo.
Suddenly all eyes in the warung were wide open.
“You’ve got a death wish, have you?” growled the warung owner as he plonked a cup of coffee and a lump of brown sugar in front of Kariyorejo. Taken completely unawares, Kariyorejo suddenly felt a fist in the nape of his neck, smashing his face onto the table. The coffee spilled, splashing onto his face and hands. Glasses toppled over. Kariyorejo grimaced at the pain from both the fist and the hot coffee. His face was a mess. He flapped his hands and wiped his face with his palm. But before he could sit down again another blow struck him fair and square on the back. He didn’t fall this time, but his ribs had taken the full force of the blow. Kariyorejo swore and turned around to see a man standing there, strongly built, dark-skinned.
“Who dares utter the name Kampret in this place!” growled the man, spittle flying.
“Don’t make a fuss, mate. It’s no big deal, is it?” whispered the warung owner.
“He gets to pay for the lot!:” said Kampret.
“He can’t. He’s just lost all his money gambling and his business has gone bust. This could destroy me! Come on now mate, I’ve given you more than enough security money this month, haven’t I?” coaxed the warung owner.
“Not good enough!” growled Kampret. The warung owner took a step backwards.
Everyone in the warung was waiting on tenterhooks. The owner silently motioned to Kariyorejo to leave. But Kariyorejo took no notice. It was almost as if he wanted to die at the hands of this rampaging buffalo, a man infamous throughout the region. But who knew what was going through his head. Some of the customers waited with bated breath, others quietly slipped out of the warung in trepidation, while others appeared unconcerned and continued sipping their coffee.
Kampret, the most notorious thug in the area, flicked the ash from his cigarette and cleared his throat. Then he grabbed Kariyorejo by his shirt collar, dragged him outside and kicked him, over and over again. Kariyorejo was powerless to resist. He was simply no match for Kampret. Once Kariyorejo had fallen to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth and his face black and blue, Kampret just walked away.
“What on earth gets into you to make you rampage like a wild buffalo, mate?” asked the warung owner as he watched Kariyorejo stagger to his feet, supporting himself against the wall.
“My son!”
“What do you mean, your son?”
“He’s dead. Run over by an oxcart!”
An organisation that fought for the rights of workers on plantations and in the factories that managed the plantation crops. It was formed in Yogyakarta 1918 as a part of Adidarmo by the grandson of Paku Alam III, RM Suryopranoto
Translator’s notes:
1.Adidarmo is a reference to the Adidarmo Workers Army
2.Paku Alam (literally ‘Nail of the Universe’) is a princely title in Yogyakarta
Translator’s note: Cendol is a layered drink of palm sugar syrup, coconut milk and ice, containing gelatinous green shreds made from mung bean flour
Compulsory low-waged work, usually coordinated by village heads, aimed at building industry infrastructure such as irrigation channels, bridges, roads etc. Profits went to the business owners, especially in the agroindustry sector.
Mutual work, reciprocal assistance carried out over an unspecified period of time. No salary was involved.
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