by Nuril Basri
“How’s your fake husband?”
“His name is Inu. Not in the mood to talk about him,” I say. “How’s your pregnant wife?”
“Her name is Astrid. Belly’s even bigger now. More demanding every day. Not in the mood to talk about her.”
“You knocked her up. You’re the reason we’ve turned out like this,” I say, folding my clothes.
“It’s already happened. You don’t have to bring it up again. You think I’m not suffering?” He takes out a cigarette.
“No smoking in my room,” I say. “I’m suffering, too. What do you think it’s like, living with somebody you don’t like?”
He lights his cigarette anyway.
“So ask for a divorce,” Hans says.
I stop, mid-fold. Think for a while. Yes, that was what I thought, too. Inu and I will get divorced. I don’t love him, so why should I need to defend my sham marriage? I don’t even know the boy. But then, I don’t really know what divorce will involve. I’ve only been married a week. Can I really ask for a divorce so quickly?
“You divorce Astrid first,” I say.
“I can’t. According to Islam I’ve to wait until the baby’s born. If it wasn’t for that I’d have divorced her ages ago.”
“According to Islam?” I don’t understand.
Hans says: “I’ve converted.”
“Haaa?”
“Couldn’t help it. Astrid’s father forced me to. I’d have been beaten to death by the whole village for getting one of their girls pregnant, otherwise…” he sighs.
“So you fake-converted?”
“As fake as your marriage,” he retorts.
“Don’t you talk about my marriage.”
“So don’t talk about my religion.”
“Hish!” I say, hissing into my clothes.
“I’ve already told you, we can say whatever we need to in front of other people. But matters of the heart are ours alone. Nobody will know what’s inside, really,” he tells me.
“Ya, I get it, we can be married in the eyes of others, but not truly, in our hearts, right? We’re free. You can convert to Islam. But you don’t believe it, in your heart. That’s what you mean.”
“I can be married to Astrid, but in my heart, I’m married to you,” Hans says. At that I go a little pink, a little shy. I turn away. Don’t want to show Hans how happy that makes me. So I continue with my work: fold, folding, folded. Roll them up into little tubes so I can fit as many as I can into this Marks & Spencer paper bag I found outside my room. (The Zara bag is gone; there was a hole.)
I ask him: “When is the baby due?”
“It’s been five months. So in four months’ time. If I want a divorce, I’ll have to wait that long,” he replies.
I frown, pout. Four months, huh. Can I last that long? I mean, I don’t want to be the one to get divorced first. I don’t want to be the one waiting for Hans to be single again. Not me. He should be the one waiting! But four months. Can I live with Inu that long?
“You’re serious? You’ll get a divorce?” I have to make sure.
“What about you?”
“I don’t like Inu, I don’t think I can stand living with him. I only love you,” I say. Now I think about the look of terrible anger Inu gave me last night. It was so hurtful. I don’t want to live with him.
“Ya, do you think I love Astrid? I’ve told you from the very beginning, I married her because I was forced to.” He sucks on his cigarette. “When her baby is born I’ll divorce her and I’ll marry you right away.”
That’s music to my ears. I like it. Don’t be shy. I grin, go over to Hans, hold him. I finish packing. Before we go, Hans hands me 200,000 in cash.
“What’s this for?”
“For your room here. So you’ll continue being here,” he says.
My rent is 1,500,000 rupiah, so his money barely covers it. But that isn’t the problem really.
“Where did you get this money?” I ask. He’s never ever given me money before.
“Selling top-up cards,” he says, proudly.
I’m surprised, I’ll admit. This is the first time he’s ever managed a business and turned a profit. So it looks like he’s serious about his business. But I don’t take the money. I tell him that if he really made this money, he should put it back into his business, so it grows, gets better. And he makes more. He nods, agreeing, and stuffs the cash back into his wallet.
“I had to change my name, by the way. It’s Ahmad Fuad, now. Ahmad Fuad Mukhtar,” he tells me.
I think I’ll keep calling him Hans.
Inu and I are still not talking. At least we aren’t fighting. One day he shows me the photos he took during our
honeymoon. Seeing them makes me afraid of myself. In the photos I am leaning into Inu, holding his hand. I am smiling and flirtatious. I look like I’m having fun. One of the photos is interesting, though. This was the first one that foreigner boy took, the one who said: “Don’t be shy, don’t be shy.” In his photo we stand straight as statues, stone temple idols. Keeping an awkward distance. Our faces nervous, ashamed, two primary-school children arranged to be married.
We open the gifts Inu’s friends gave us. Some kitchenware, a teapot, and so on. The thing that attracts my attention is a diary, it comes with pencils and a brace of chicken feathers in the leaves. Inside is a message: “These feathers will grow into chickens.” Oh God, I’d never think people our age still believed in such a school-kid thing. Inu is smiling. “This is from Nilam,” he says.
It is all quite strange. I’m surprised I can stay married to this boy, while being in love with another.
One Saturday, without work, I wake up with the day already bright. Inu is dressed as usual, but he is getting his motorbike out.
“Where are you going?” I ask, still husky.
“Work,” he says.
Damn. I was hoping to go back to Bogor today. Want to see what my parents have brought home from their trip to Bali.
Later I hear a voice calling. I’d fallen asleep again. There is knocking on the door. I open it, half-aware. Squinting, I see a mesmerising vision standing before me. Silhouetted in a backlight of sun, she looks like, ya, Dian Sastro. Standing, smiling, like a radiant ad for Natur-E vitamin moisturiser.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” I reply, half-yawning. What does she want, coming here in the morning?
“Am I disturbing you?” Ferlita asks.
“No, no. Come in,” I say, though to be honest she is disturbing me. I still want to laze about in bed.
Ferlita takes a seat on the sofa and I sit down in front of her. I yawn again. “Inu has gone to work,” I tell her. She’s probably here to see him, right?
“Oh, I know. He texted me. Just wanted to visit and hang out. That okay?”
“Sure, but there’s really nothing to do,” I say, uncertainly. I look around the living room. I see the gloomy, empty white walls. Nothing to do.
“Hehe, you’re funny,” she says.
Another knock at the door. I get up and open it again. Another visitor to complete this odd picture. I half-expected her.
“Hi, morning, I’m coming in,” Nilam says, throwing her shoes off, barging in. I don’t even have time to greet her.
I tell her the same thing I told Ferlita, “Inu’s not at home.”
“Eh, why is Ferlita here?” she points at Ferlita, seated on the sofa.
“Hi, Nilam,” Ferlita says, waving. Nilam doesn’t respond.
“Inu’s not here,” I say.
She says: “Ya I know, I heard you. If he’s not home, doesn’t mean I can’t visit his house, right? I want to see what a married couple’s life is like.”
“Oh, in that case, there’s nothing special about it.”
“Going to look around, okay?” she says, inviting herself into the kitchen.
I shake my head. This crazy girl. Better for me to talk to Ferlita. She seems saner, even though she’s a little more plastic.
I ask F
erlita: “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Up to you,” she says. I am really suspicious about Ferlita coming here. What does she want from me? I can understand Nilam—she’s Inu’s cousin, after all—but Ferlita? This
means something.
I am mixing lime cordial in the kitchen when Nilam comes up to me. She scans our kitchenware. Clicks on the stove. The flame jumps to life, than fades to nothing almost immediately. She clicks the stove again. Nothing.
“You’re out of gas. What you going to do?”
“Oh, ya, I’ll go get gas later,” I answer, stirring the cups.
“Where’s the sponge for washing the dishes? No dishwashing liquid, either. What you going to use to wash the dishes? So many dirty dishes! You don’t really do any cleaning, do you? The kitchen also needs a mop,” she says, rubbing the sole of her foot on the floor.
I deny nothing. Everything she says is true.
“No water dispenser? What if Inu wants coffee? Got to boil water every time?” Nilam continues. “This glass was used, why leave it here, unwashed? Look at the ants! Ratna, you’re a slob!” She’s even got my name wrong.
“Ratu hasn’t had the time to sort stuff out yet, maybe she’s busy? They’ve only just gotten married, it needs adjustment,” Ferlita comes out of nowhere, in my defence.
“What do you mean, adjustment? These are simple, daily things,” Nilam snorts.
I do agree with her, but hearing these things coming out of Nilam’s mouth is pretty painful. I’m not lazy, and I’m definitely not a slob. I just don’t want to do all this. This isn’t my house, why should I have to deal with this? I’m just sleeping over, in the bedroom. That’s all.
“Want lime cordial?” I ask Nilam.
“Don’t want any. I might get a stomach ache,” she says, leaving the kitchen, back to the living room.
“But Nilam’s got a point,” Ferlita tells me.
I say to her: “Here are the drinks. I’ll just leave them outside? We can watch TV or something.” Can’t be bothered to entertain them. I just sit there, next to Ferlita. Maybe there’s something on.
Nilam marches out of our bedroom. “You don’t wash clothes often, ya?” she says.
“What?” I say, blindsided.
She throws something at me. It’s a piece of clothing. I catch it before it hits my face. I see it right in front of me, realise what it is; immediately I toss it as far away as I can. Ew! Gross! Inu’s underpants! What the hell? Why is Nilam throwing something like this in my face?
“Eh, it’s your husband’s, why are you so squeamish, hey?” Nilam says.
“Gave me a fright!” is my excuse. I gingerly pick up Inu’s underwear then deposit it back in the room. Ferlita is just looking at us, quizzical. I hear my heart pounding. Damn this Nilam. What is she doing? Throwing underwear at me. Crazy person!
“Inu’s clothes are in a pile, in the bathroom. All dirty! He’s got barely anything left in the cupboard and I also notice that your clothes are piling up.” She glares at me.
“Haven’t had the time to wash them,” I say, shaky-voiced. She’s accusing me of being a lazy slob. I can’t really deny it, under the circumstances.
“All his clothes are crumpled and you can stand him looking like that? He’s not used to ironing his own clothes,” Nilam tells me.
Ferlita nods at this. “Go clean yourself up! Come follow me, I’ll tell you more about Inu,” she commands.
I find myself in the bathroom, having a shower. I’m still traumatised by that thing she threw at me. Inu’s soiled underwear. Gross! I need to scrub my hands with antiseptic solution. Damn that Nilam. I don’t manage to dry my hair, even. Nilam turns off the television and yells at me to hurry up. The three of us take a taxi to a hypermarket in south Jakarta, not too far away.
“What do you need to get?” Nilam asks me, when we step inside. I look at the wide breadth of that place, and the multitudes of people walking to and fro.
“I don’t know, I don’t have any money,” I say, looking at Nilam pleadingly.
“Don’t pretend to be poor, okay? Here, use this?” She hands me a card…a credit card, I think?
“No need,” I say, not touching it. “Let’s just go.”
Nilam grabs my arm and drags me. “Come on, this is on me,” she says. She drags me to the kitchen section. Gets a trolley to push on the way. Ferlita follows, not saying a word. She’s so stylish, so classy. I don’t think she’s even been in a hypermarket. She probably has assistants to do errands for her.
“Get some detergent,” Nilam says. “Some dishwashing liquid for the sink, and a sponge. Vegetable oil, butter, soya sauce, coffee and tea bags, sugar, clothes freshener, clothes pegs, that, and this, and that.” At first I only push the trolley, as Nilam goes about grabbing stuff. But then I start getting into it too. “Get this soap, smells nicer. We need mothballs, some camphor. Insect repellent, for the ants, oh, and milk. Also I need a floor mop and some toothpicks. Oh, ya, cotton buds too.” I see that Ferlita has fetched us another trolley; this one is full already. Nilam’s not done. She pulls us towards the electronics section.
“You need an iron, to iron your clothes,” she says. I pick out a cheap one. Nilam puts it back. “Buy this. More expensive, but it lasts longer. Also get a rice cooker, so you can cook rice easily. Get a blender, to make fruit juice. Inu likes fruit juice,” Nilam tells me. “Oh, ya, just get a washing machine, while we’re here. Saves you a lot of hassle. Get a thermos, and a water dispenser. And a fan.”
My eyes get wider and wider. “Nilam,” I say. “This is too much. Why are we getting all this?”
“Come on, you need all this! Buy some combs. He doesn’t have any. Also a face towel, he’s so sweaty all the time,” she goes on. “Inu’s an orphan. Nobody takes care of him. So you need to take care of him.”
“Nilam, it’s not just a wife’s duty to take care of her husband. Her husband needs to know how to take care of himself,” Ferlita speaks up. I let her do the talking, I just vigorously nod, nod, nod.
“So that means Inu shouldn’t have married you, because you don’t want to take care of him,” Nilam says. She struggles with the stuck lid of a washing machine, slams it, then demands the hovering sales staff bring out a new unit.
Ferlita keeps her mouth shut. Actually I don’t mind taking care of a man—provided that man is somebody I really care about. I wouldn’t mind taking care of Hans, for one. I wouldn’t hesitate at all. But Inu? That, I have to think twice about. Who is he, really?
“Get a clothes rack, so you can hang out your laundry,” Nilam says.
After we pick up a toilet brush and apple-scented room freshener, Nilam heaves a satisfied sigh. “Hope we don’t hit the credit card limit. Inu will give me an earful.”
“This is Inu’s credit card?” Ferlita says, surprised.
“Ya, of course. Obviously not mine. All this stuff is for his house, after all,” she replies, looking at her as if she’s stupid. “He asked to get this stuff.”
“You can fake his signature?” Ferlita asks again.
“Of course, I’ve been doing it for a while now. Anyway, if it gets rejected, we can use his debit card. I have it here, too. I know the PIN,” Nilam assures us.
Well. If I’d known Inu was paying for all this, I’d have spent more. I want mouthwash and shoe deodorant. When we get to the checkout, the total doesn’t hit 5,000,000 rupiah, much less 10,000,000. Damn. Should’ve gotten the 11,000,000-rupiah washing machine instead. And I also want new hairclips, and a toothbrush, and nail clippers.
“Hungry. Let’s eat,” Nilam says.
It is afternoon and my stomach has been complaining for a while. But shopping tends to make me forget. The three of us sit at a fast-food restaurant. Nilam and I order hamburgers, fries and sodas. And puddings, and ice cream, and one or two additional things. Ferlita only gets a single pudding cup.
“Inu doesn’t like fast food,” Nilam tells me.
“Ya, he prefers the roadside stal
ls,” Ferlita says. “He doesn’t like sharing food, or people picking from his plate. He won’t touch his food anymore, if you do that.”
“Oh, really? But I’ve shared a single plate of kuey teow with him before. Split it in half. It was funny because he called it mee teow. We also shared dishes yesterday,” I reply.
Ferlita is shocked at this. So is Nilam, her eyes as round as her open mouth.
“He never shares food. It grosses him out,” she says.
It was his plate of kuey teow. But he didn’t really seem to mind sharing it with me, is this so special?
“Inu snores a little in his sleep, right?” Ferlita asks me.
“Ya,” I reply, a little surprised. How does she know about Inu’s snoring? She’s fooled around with him before? I would never have expected a girl as pretty as her wanting to be with him.
“Inu’s no good with shopping. Never buys his own clothes. You’ll need to go with him, or buy clothes for him. I used to have to drag him clothes-shopping,” she says.
Right out I ask: “So you two were together?”
“No, never,” Nilam blurts. “Ferlita was the one chasing him, but Inu wasn’t interested.”
At the airing of this shameful secret I imagine Ferlita flipping the table and throwing Nilam to the ground. Of course it doesn’t happen. She’s so poised, she’d never do something like that. Ferlita only sighs.
“I was really close to him, but never more than friends,” she tells me.
Nilam pouts unhappily at this.
Ferlita says: “Actually today I came over hoping to help you with your new house, it’s so empty, right?”
“Oh ya?” I say, mid-chew.
Ferlita perks up. “Interior design is a hobby of mine. Instead of the white walls, we can liven it up a bit. I was surprised that Inu decided to buy a house. He’d always wanted an apartment. Apartments are more difficult to design, maybe? And he’s only lived in shared rental houses before, so your new house is more suitable for him.”