Love, Lies and Indomee

by Nuril Basri

  “Oh ya, this morning I took some cash from your wallet: 100,000. Borrowed it, not a problem, right?” I say.

  Inu shakes his head, hard. I’ve been thinking about how I can get the money together tomorrow for Hans. To be honest, I really don’t have all that much in my account, maybe a few million left. Should I borrow from Inu? Pretend I’ve got stuff to pay off? But I’m ashamed to ask. I should have some savings from my dowry, but that’s with Mother and it’ll be a huge nuisance if I ask her. Should I steal from Inu? How much? Oh no, no. I don’t want to steal from my own husband.

  I think about this all night. And the next morning. I even consider asking the boss. But that’s probably impossible. By the time I meet Hans that evening I’ve found my answer to the problem: I cannot help him. Ya. I cannot help him this time. I’ve helped him enough these past two years. I’ve always been there when he’s needed help. I’ve done everything I could for him. Enough already. He needs to grow up. He needs to learn how to be more responsible, how to solve his own problems. He can’t keep depending on me. Remember: he got somebody pregnant, he’s got a wife now. Why doesn’t he talk to her? Why does he have to turn to me? Ah, I’m so damn stupid!

  So I get ready to face Hans at Plaza Indonesia’s south entrance, as usual. It is crowded with people, walking to and fro. I don’t have a dime on me. I will only tell him what’s on my mind and then leave with my head held high. I will be cold. I’m a police secretary, aren’t I? I’m used to being a hard bitch. But when Hans arrives, all my resolve collapses. I stare at his face—eyes red and swollen, and a patch of purple on his left cheek.

  “What happened? Did you get beaten up by your cybercafé friends?” I say, touching his bruised cheek.

  Hans doesn’t dare look at me. His eyes begin to water. I get a little teary-eyed too. When you see somebody you care about cry, you can’t help but cry yourself. It’s a pain worse than standing all day in high heels.

  Hans shakes his head.

  “What happened?”

  Very reluctantly, he replies: “Astrid.”

  “Astrid did this? She slapped you?”

  Very sheepishly, he nods.

  A fire flares up in my belly. My chest beats hard. How dare she! That pregnant bitch.

  “Why did she slap you?” I ask angrily.

  “She said…I’m not fit to be a husband. That I’m useless.” He sobs. “I’m so useless. I can’t do anything right. In her eyes, I’ve never done anything right. I don’t know what to do.”

  He’s all-out crying now. I’ve never seen or heard Hans be this vulnerable, this dramatic. I really don’t know how to make him feel better, what to say. I don’t know how to face this.

  “Well, when a woman is pregnant, it’s like that, that’s the hormones talking, don’t listen to her, she doesn’t mean what she’s saying. You’re a good guy. Everybody knows that,” I rattle out. Oh God, what am I doing? I’m even defending pregnant Astrid! I don’t mean to do that; I just want to calm Hans down.

  “Really?” he says in a strangled voice.

  “Really!” I say. And I hug him.

  “Pregnant girls are like that, ya?”

  “Ya. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m a good guy?”

  “You’ve always been a good guy. If you weren’t I wouldn’t have been with you.”

  He lets go of me and looks me in the eye. “Thanks, babe, you’ve always been the one who really gets me.”

  I mutter: “Ya. Of course.” But it felt wrong.

  Hans asks me to follow him. We talk as we follow the roads around Thamrin and Tanah Abang. “Weird that Astrid has so much energy,” I say. “Her slap gave you a purple bruise!”

  “She hit me with a ladle,” he says.

  I laugh at that, I can’t control myself. I don’t stop until I see how sad Hans is. She hit him because he was trying to take cash out of their savings for the baby. Ah, poor things, the both of them.

  Hans stops in front of one of the shops. Goes inside. I follow, curious. I look around. “You want to buy jewellery?” I ask, confused. It’s a jeweller.

  “Selling,” he says.

  One of the salespeople comes over. Hans grabs hold of the ring on his ring finger and pulls it off. “I want to sell this,” he says.

  My eyes go wide. “You serious?”

  “Ya,” Hans says.

  “That’s your wedding ring!”

  “Ya, it’s my wedding ring.”

  “You have a receipt for that?” the salesperson asks him.

  “No.”

  “That’ll bring the price down,” the salesperson points out.

  “It’s okay,” Hans says.

  The salesperson takes the ring and places it on some scales. Studies it, this side and that.

  “Five grams. So that’ll be 750,000.”

  “How’s that? It’s definitely worth more,” Hans says.

  “Well, you don’t have the receipt, so that’s a fifty per cent reduction. It’s the same anywhere you go.”

  Hans sighs, loud and long. And then, finally, he nods. The salesperson goes into the back, returns, hands him a stack of notes: 750,000 rupiah. Hans takes the money, reluctantly. We leave.

  “That enough to pay off your debt?” I ask him.

  He shakes his hand. As the door to the jewellery shop shuts, my body turns around, as if by reflex. I go back inside, to the counter. The same sales guy is still there. I take off the ring on my hand. “I want to sell this, too.”

  “No need,” Hans says, behind me.

  “It’s not an issue, you need the money.”

  He tries to grab my hand, to grab the ring and put it back on my finger. I struggle, get it back and take it off again. The salesperson just watches us, amused.

  “That’s from your husband.”

  “Ya, and it’s mine now,” I respond.

  “Don’t,” Hans says weakly. “I don’t want to cause problems for you anymore.”

  “It’s okay. It’s my choice.” End of discussion.

  Hans falls silent. I stare at him. And keep staring at him as I hand my ring to the counter guy.

  “So you’re selling this?” the salesperson asks, sounding bored. Obviously he couldn’t care less.

  “How much?” I ask.

  He examines my ring for a while. Weighs it. Looks at it again, polishing its stone with a small cloth.

  “Two-and-a-half million,” he answers.

  I stagger back. Oh my god, it’s worth that much?

  “Okay,” I say.

  The salesperson goes to fetch the cash. I watch him count it out very carefully—I worry he might short-change me. The guy doesn’t look trustworthy. I grab the money he holds out. I take 100,000 for myself, the rest of it I give to Hans. We hurry to leave, like thieves who’ve sold their ill-gotten gains. What if somebody saw us? I feel like I’m in a thriller.

  “Was that a diamond ring?” Hans asks, slipping the stack of cash into his jeans-pocket.

  “Don’t know,” I say, still surprised. The stone was a diamond? Maybe. Oh, I don’t know. And I’ve sold it away, anyway.

  Facing Hans, I say: “I’ve got to go now.”

  He is quiet. “Thank you, babe,” he says. He hugs me again and kisses me on my forehead. In public. Oh, ya, okay, enough. And it’s not like I feel much from it anymore. I mean, I love him, but, oh whatever. I need to go.

  That night I don’t build my wall of pillows against Inu. I don’t need a bolster between us anymore. It was only ever used to stop him from touching me. But, last night, I was the one who touched him. Our roles were reversed. I fired the first shot, I pulled down my defences. Do you think I’m a slut? Well, what do you know?

  Inu doesn’t say much tonight. He seems reluctant to get close to me. Is he afraid of me? Maybe he isn’t actually attracted to me. Am I not dressed sexily enough? Do I smell? I’ve just had a shower. Brushed my teeth. I’ve put on long pyjamas. Is that not sexy? Maybe I should be wearing Victoria’s Secret lingerie, that
see-through, frilly stuff. Ahhh, why am I thinking about all this? I’m even hoping he’ll make a move! Idiot that I am, I undo the top buttons of my shirt. I fan myself. “It’s so warm,” I say, faking innocence.

  And so it happens. Inu pretends to stretch and his arm and fingers falls in reach of my hair. My lovely, rebonded L’Oreal hair. Timidly, he begins to play with it. I hope the power goes out again and lightning flashes and thunder roars, so I can pretend to be afraid and jump into his arms and he’ll hold me. Hehe. Ahhh, what the hell am I thinking. Stupid girl!

  “Come here,” Inu finally says.

  I look at him. He’s made space for me. He has his arm out. He wants me to sleep with him, on his arm. My heart races. I am such a teenage girl! I’ve never felt like this before. My whole body to the tips of my ears is burning. A single question whirls around my head: What should I do? What should I do? What should I do? And finally I decide to slowly wiggle myself towards him and I let my head fall onto his arm. “Ow!” he says.

  “Uh,” I say. My head and his arm have missed each other. My hair is a blooming mess and when I try to shift it I accidentally poke his eyes. We are both such klutzes! We laugh at ourselves. Inu is no Casanova, that much is clear. When I lean on his chest I hear his heart drumming faster than my own. He’s more of an amateur than I am! Hehe. We were probably drunk, somehow, that night. Better I just forget it. (Hah! How can a girl forget something like that? It’s a big deal! I’m not a virgin anymore!)

  Tonight we don’t really do anything. We just lie there, together, and then fall asleep. Touching each other—he holds me and I stay in his arms, not saying much. We talk a little about our day and I stroke the stubble on his chin. He laughs. “It tickles!” he says. I run my palm across the bristles of his almost-beard. I’ve never done this before. It’s a pleasant feeling.

  And so we fall asleep. We sleep until the morning, until Inu wakes up to perform his dawn prayers. After his prayer, he whispers in my ear: “Wake up, love.” And I feel as if our night together was the most romantic night of my life. But maybe I’m only dreaming.

  *

  The next day I’m filled with bubbling energy. I’m happy. Joyful. Blissful! Everything will go right today. The world is a wonderful place, full of sweetness and light. I don’t feel the jostling on the bus, or mind that passengers step on my feet until my toes are bleeding. God is good and just in all His judgements. And, well, I have been blessed with my share. I have a good husband—not ugly, has a steady job, will do anything for me, romantic, and he even brings me new friends. (I need to tell Nilam I’ve changed.)

  I must be the luckiest girl in the world. Look at Lala. She’s been waiting for nine years, but she still hasn’t gotten married, she’s still waiting for her boyfriend to propose. A terrible place to be and I’ve been there. To be single—as a girl—is a horrible fate in this world. That isn’t me, not anymore! Haha. I’ve got a husband now, I need to give thanks to God. Maybe start praying more. With my husband, a good, pious man. I must be the luckiest girl in the world.

  And finally I make a decision, there, at that very second. I decide that my marriage is real. Ya, I am a woman who is married, really and truly married. I will give up half my life to this marriage (not my whole life, of course, I’ve still got my job). I will honour my marriage, I will not mess around with it. I’m serious this time. I will dream about my future with Inu. We will have children, grow old, and all the rest. This means I have to be true to him. And being true to him means letting go of Hans. (And a slight discomfort returns.) Ya, maybe it is time. After two years, I need to let Hans go and let him be with his Astrid.

  I plan to meet Hans this evening, to tell him all this. To tell him that I have decided to make my marriage with Inu work. I will tell him that Inu and I slept together—that will make him hate me. He will break up with me, I guarantee it. But when evening arrives I can’t reach Hans. His phone is turned off. So I decide to go home.

  I don’t take an ojek into our residential estate. I decide to walk, to enjoy my own feelings. I want to explore the boundaries of my new life. I want to know my neighbours, familiarise myself with the peddlers who prowl the neighbourhood. Oh, and now, definitely, it is my house. Half-mine at least. I have a right to change it to suit me. I want to remodel the bathroom, make it shinier, bigger, prettier. Maybe install a bathtub, or a jacuzzi? Hah, I’m dreaming. I’ll throw out the nonsense knick-knacks that Ferlita installed. I’ll decorate the house myself. And I will wash Inu’s clothes. That’s for sure.

  I will be the woman of the house. I’ll consider quitting my job. I’ll spend all day at home, trying out new recipes while waiting for my husband to return. It’ll be wonderful. On other days I’ll attend neighbourhood soirées or go shopping at the mall. I’ll have so many friends, because I won’t be buried in my work anymore. Ah, my life will be bliss. What joy!

  But when I get home I see Nilam pacing the yard in her Zara sweater. Behind her is Ferlita, staring at the wall.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “Eh, so she’s here,” Nilam calls. Her tone is urgent.

  “Why? You were waiting for me?” I ask, surprised. What’s up?

  “Inu, she’s here!” Nilam yells.

  Inu comes out of the room. His face is a picture of confusion. Something is wrong, very wrong. This cannot be happening. Inu looks at me and I look back at him. Not understanding.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

  “Pratu is cheating on you! She’s got a lover!” Nilam points her finger at me, right at me. Her eyes are on fire.

  “Hey,” I say. And my mouth just hangs open.

  “Inu, Pratu’s cheating on you! She’s been seeing her boyfriend. She’s been with him the last twelve years. He’s that guy, Hans Fuad, the one we met at the mall,” Nilam continues.

  I turn to Nilam. I don’t know how to stop her from talking. I turn back to Inu. His face is impassive.

  Then he asks me: “Is this true?” His voice is low, unreadable.

  I shake my head. Just shake and shake and shake. “Lies. Nilam is lying. It’s not true,” I tell him. I’m panting heavily, afraid.

  “Liar! Liar, cheater!” Nilam points at me again. Her shouts pierce the silence. Every time she opens her mouth spit spews out. “Last weekend I saw her walking around the National Monument with her lover. Holding hands! I kept quiet because I thought she would realise cheating is wrong and she would change. But no! Yesterday I saw them together in Plaza Indonesia. Kissing! In public!”

  I keep shaking my head. I keep my eyes on Inu. My eyes are full, and I want to cry. Oh, how can this be happening? This must be a dream, a nightmare. Please.

  “Is this true?” Inu asks again. His voice is shaking. Maybe it is anger.

  I am still shaking, shaking, shaking. I want to tell Inu that, yes, I was with Hans. But it was only two years, not twelve. And that we have really broken up now. I made that decision, today. And that kiss wasn’t passion, but friendship. It was just friends, kissing.

  But what I actually say, in my shaky voice, is: “Nilam, she’s lying.”

  “Eh-eh, don’t simply accuse me of lying! I’ve got proof. I took your picture! You want to see; here, here. Look at this.” She waves her phone at me, at Inu’s face. “I’ve been following you around for the last few days, okay, you just didn’t realise. Don’t you know? I’m a detective!”

  Ferlita goes to her, pats her on the shoulder to calm her.

  I glare at Nilam. So she’s been stalking me? That feeling I had, that people were watching, that was her? But there’s nothing I can do about it now. Ah, Nilam, how could you be so wicked? I just stand there, a stone statue, not knowing what to say.

  Inu looks to me for some sort of truth. He stares at me, sharply, right into my eyes. I don’t dare stare back. I bow my head and my tears spill over.

  “See, see? I’m right, aren’t I? Pratu’s been cheating on you, Inu, you need to divorce her right away!” Nilam says, needling.

  There is a
knot in my chest and I’m choking. No, no, no, no, I don’t want a divorce. I made my decision. Just today! To start a new life with Inu. But now that dream, just in front of me, is gone, crushed by this Nilam. I have to save myself. I have to save my marriage. I have to do something.

  “Inu, listen to me, I can explain everything, not everything that Nilam is telling you is true,” I hear myself, from far away, like a voice echoing from the depths of a cave.

  “So some of it is true?” Inu says.

  “Ya, but I can explain,” I say. “Nilam thinks she knows everything, but she’s wrong.” The words spill out automatically. And I see Nilam getting angry. Her eyes are wide, bloodshot. I shouldn’t have made her angry. I’m poking a hungry tiger, inviting danger.

  “Heh!” she spits. “Don’t try to trick us. I’m not wrong! Inu trusts me. He knows I’m not lying. I have proof,

  empirical proof!”

  I don’t know what to say. I want to slap her in the face, or hit her, or seal her lips shut with superglue, so she never speaks again.

  “Inu, we should talk about this, just the two of us. I have many things to tell you,” I plead.

  “Ya. You have a lot of secrets that you have been keeping from me!” Inu shouts. He is angry, so angry.

  “I don’t know much about you, either,” I say. “But…”

  “Now I understand what you said about Fey. Why you’ve been so relaxed about us. Because it’d be easy for you to cheat on me. All the time I thought you were busy at work. But you were fooling around!” he says. He is disappointed and heartbroken, filled with fury. I cannot stand to hear him like that. He stares at me with such judgement in his eyes. A thousand-fold accusations, all true. I want to hold him and scream, then beg forgiveness.

  “No, no. It’s not like that, I didn’t mean to cheat.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” he screams in my face.

  There is burning fire in his eyes. I want to tell Inu that I care for him, that I love him. Please, please, Inu, give me the chance to tell you this, to explain. But this is when Nilam pulls out her trump card.