Twilight in Djakarta

by Mochtar Lubis

  Husin Limbara came to Halim’s office in person. In self-defence Halim started to attack, saying that he’d often warned his friends to exercise self-restraint, not to display their wealth in public by buying two or three cars, building large houses and even taking a second wife (actually he’d never said this to anyone). But now it was too late, and the only way out was to get the counter-campaign going. ‘And I still haven’t received the two hundred thousand you promised me!’ Halim added.

  Husin Limbara immediately picked up the telephone to contact Raden Kaslan. Raden Kaslan wasn’t there. Finally he got assurances from Mr. Hardjo that the two hundred thousand would be sent to Halim by noon.

  ‘Nah, now it’s up to you, brother,’ said Husin Limbara as he was leaving. After closing the door of his office, Halim laughed and returned to his desk.

  He sat down, put a sheet of paper into his typewriter and began writing an editorial attacking the opposition groups.

  ‘ … Currently the opposition groups and their newspapers are demonstrating even more clearly than before that they have absolutely no sense of responsibility towards our country and our people. With a total lack of scruples, they are flinging unfounded and indiscriminate charges and abuse at the government and the parties supporting it. And this opposition clique is shameless enough not even to hesitate in disclosing the private lives of the pro-government parties’ foremost leaders, discussing their private connections with enterprises which are in no way involved with government policies.

  ‘Even though the cabinet is only fourteen months old, it is being blamed for the shortages in rice, kerosene and salt – shortages for which it’s supposed to be responsible. Even the most ignorant person, if he’s any common sense left, can clearly see that it’s not the present cabinet that should be blamed for these shortages, but the preceding cabinet, which was led by the opposition parties themselves.

  ‘It’s quite clear from the way they’re slandering the present cabinet and undermining the prestige of the pro-government party headers, that the oppositions’ tactics and aims are just the same as the foreign capitalists’ and imperialists’ who don’t want our country to advance. As our President mentioned himself, in a speech he made a little while ago, he has received reports about the existence of a Plan A and a Plan B for the subversive activities being conducted in our homeland by foreign elements and one about the leaders of certain political parties who are getting money from foreign powers to betray our country.

  ‘This newspaper therefore proposes to publish in the near future the names of these party leaders who have received money from foreign powers and to expose their connections with the subversive activities mentioned by the President.

  ‘The government has been patient with the opposition parties far too long, with their newspapers continually abusing the freedom of the Press and hiding behind their democratic rights to conduct activities which are endangering the state. The Attorney General should take speedy action against those who abuse their democratic rights to destroy our beloved Republic and our Proclamation of Independence.

  ‘It is also obvious why the attacks of the opposition on the government, and personal affairs of several individual cabinet ministers, have reached a peak just at the time when these leaders are attending the debates on West Irian at the United Nations. Their actions coincide with Dutch efforts to ruin the reputation of the Indonesian Republic abroad in order to defeat Indonesia’s international struggle to regain possession of West Irian. As to just how closely the moves of the opposition and its Press are geared to these Dutch activities, the reader can easily draw his own conclusions.

  ‘It is really regrettable that there are Indonesians who, because they are set on overthrowing the present cabinet, are prepared to sell themselves to foreign powers.

  ‘People, beware!’

  Halim chuckled, re-reading his editorial, and said to himself – Two hundred thousand is cheap enough for such an editorial!

  He pushed a button on his desk, and the office messenger appeared. Halim gave him the editorial.

  ‘Take it to the editorial office and tell then to set it up! And tell Bung Sidompol to come here right away.’

  Halim leaned back in his chair, very pleased with himself, as if he’d just finished a very good piece of work. There was a knock on the door, and after Halim called, ‘Come in,’ the door opened and Sidompol, the news editor, walked in.

  ‘Sit down, ’Pol!’ said Halim. ‘There’s some work to be done, along your line!’

  He told Sidompol about the editorial he’d just written, linking the opposition and its Press with foreign subversive activities and hooking up Plan A and Plan B, once mentioned by the President, with certain leaders who were selling out their country.

  He continued,

  ‘Now you compose a front-page report, as though we’d obtained it from reliable sources close to the State Investigation Service, and so on; give it a sensational headline like – Opposition Leaders Involved in Subversive Activities? Authorities Conducting Intensive Investigation. But make sure there’s nothing in it the opposition could sue us for. But the report should be suggestive enough for the readers to reach the conclusions we want. Well, that’s it!’

  ‘Okay, boss!’ Sidompol got up at once and left the room.

  Alone in his office again, Halim opened a desk drawer, got out a bottle of whisky and poured himself a glass, adding some ice-water from a thermos bottle. Then he emptied the glass at a gulp.

  He laughed inwardly again, thinking of Sidompol actually writing the news-story they’d just made up. Halim recalled that his was the only newspaper that had been willing to employ Sidompol. The other newspapers had refused because during the revolution he’d been a traitor. At first he’d been a journalist supporting the Republic; then later he went over to N.I.C.A., working first on van Mook’s staff and then with N.I.C.A.’s information service. Finally he’d gone so far as to publish a paper, subsidised by N.I.C.A., which abused the Republic daily.

  When Halim was reproached by his fellow journalists for being willing to employ this ex-N.l.C.A. man, he’d answer them scornfully,

  ‘He’s my loyal dog now. He knows mine’s the only place where he can get work.’

  And Halim smiled to himself. So long as Sidompol worked for his newspaper he could make him write anything he wanted. Then, remembering something, he picked up the inter-office phone and said,

  ‘’Pol, don’t forget to send the report you’re writing to the other pro-government papers, our other members!’

  It was noon; Saimun walked wearily home from the police office. He’d intended to ask for a form to fill out for getting his driving licence. But after half an hour, with a horde of people crowding in front of the window and hearing stories about the difficult tests one had to pass, he suddenly lost heart. He saw people dressed twenty times better than himself – he was in shorts and a worn-out shirt, even torn at the collar, and without shoes or sandals.

  Actually he’d wandered into the police station to see what it was like there. But what he saw frightened him and he felt very small, very weak, with no hold on anything, hopeless. Aduh, it’s my fate, Saimun thought. Once you’re a little man you remain a little man always, you can’t become anything until you die. And he suddenly longed for his village; life in the village was better and happier – if only there weren’t any grombolan left to interfere. Just to smell the freshly hoed earth again and be sprayed by the falling rain, to walk at dawn on the dew-cooled grass, the dew wetting the feet, to feel the rays of the morning sun warming the whole body, to bathe in the river, to fish in the river, to snare a turtle dove, to eat a roasted corn-cob just picked from its stalk, to sleep on the grass under a mango tree. Tears stood in his eyes, when all at once he was shocked into consciousness by a heavy shove on the shoulder and a man passing on a bicycle shouted,

  ‘Eh, look where you’re going, bung, didn’t you hear my bell?’

  Saimun was badly shaken. Lost in his thoughts he hadn�
�t noticed that he’d strayed into the middle of the road. And startled as he was, he tried to run to the side of the street, and was almost run over by a passing convertible. The car brushed his thigh, not too hard, but hard enough to make him fall on the pavement. The car stopped, its brakes screeching, and Suryono got out. Several cars behind him stopped too.

  ‘Wait here a moment!’ Suryono said to Dahlia, who sat at his side. ‘There’s always something that gets in the way!’

  Suryono was very annoyed – he had just been taking Dahlia to Tante Bep’s. And, even if he hadn’t hurt the man he’d hit badly, it would still mean explanations to the police, and who knows what else. And the day would be wasted. But as he was approaching him, the man he’d hit was already on his feet and brushing down his trousers. A passing policeman stopped and came over.

  Suryono was very glad to see that the man wasn’t hurt at all, and decided not to raise a rumpus.

  As he came close he heard the man say to the policeman,

  ‘It was my fault, pak!’

  The policeman turned to Suryono, saluted him, and Suryono said,

  ‘It’s all right, lucky nothing happened!’

  ‘It’s my fault, pak!’ Saimun repeated.

  Suryono took a five-rupiah note out of his pocket, feeling suddenly that the man he’d hit should be given a present. Since no harm had been done, he could continue with Dahlia straight to Tante Bep’s house.

  ‘It’s all right, nothing happened!’ said Suryono.

  The policeman could not refrain from giving Saimun a last bit of advice.

  ‘Look out, though, when you’re crossing. You’re lucky nothing happened!’

  Back in the car Suryono said to Dahlia,

  ‘It’s lucky nothing happened to him!’ And he pinched Dahlia’s thigh which was pressed close to his own.

  Saimun hastened away from the place where he’d almost been killed. His gloom changed to a kind of joy. Five rupiah in his pocket meant a lot of money to him. What a good heart the tuan who owns that car has, Saimun thought, and his appearance shows it too …. It was my fault but he wasn’t angry at me, even gave me a present, Saimun continued thinking; not like some other tuans, they’d just finish you off with their scolding. Saimun thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a master like that – whatever he’d order me to do, I’d gladly do it.

  In front of the telephone building, across from the President’s palace, Saimun heard Itam’s voice calling him. Betja drivers usually stopped and gathered there around a food-vendor’s stall. Several were eating, while others sat in their betjas waiting for passengers. Some were playing paper dominoes on the ground; and others squatted, gambling for money. Itam sat on the bench before the stall, he’d just begun to eat.

  ‘’Mun, where’re you coming from?’

  Saimun remembered that he hadn’t eaten yet, sat down near Itam and ordered a plate of nasi ramas.1 He told Itam of his morning’s experiences.

  ‘Aduh, ’Tam,’ he said, ‘’t looks like I can’t become a driver if things like this. My reading also not smooth yet, and how to remember in your head all the road signs, all the rules of traffic? Just looking at the police who give examinations and we’re ’lready full of terror.’

  ‘But that tuan in the car, he was very good, ’Mun,’ said Itam. ‘Not often find a man like this. Most people who drive cars, ’lmost kill you – they’re so stuck-up. As if they alone own the road. We here’re just like dogs. So many times ’lready I want to fight with drivers of these showy cars. If we go slow they’re angry, keep blowing horns, we must be like machines of course, push the betja quick-quick? If not go off to side fast enough, they scold us. ’T’s sad to be a little man!’

  In the last days of December the tensions between the government and the opposition parties, the newspapers supporting the cabinet and the opposition Press, had reached a climax. Halim’s editorial and the report he distributed provoked a violent reaction. One of the opposition papers exposed the ‘special’ game of the minister of Husin Limbara’s party, gave Sugeng’s name as the ministry official involved in these special manipulations who had later left the ministry to become director of an importing concern and mentioned also the speed with which the concern had obtained the approval of the Ministries of Justice and Economic Affairs. To this scandal a new scandal was added: one of the cabinet ministers allegedly was selling his signature, granting foreigners admission to Indonesia, and the opposition papers were asking: ‘Who is selling Indonesia to the foreigners – the government or the opposition?’

  Hasnah could do nothing but cry all day, and would hardly speak to Sugeng any more. Sugeng seemed completely distracted, saying to Hasnah every minute,

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be protected by the party!’

  ‘Aduh,’ answered Hasnah, ‘why did you join them?’

  ‘Didn’t you insist that we move to another house?’ Sugeng snapped angrily in reply, regretting it the next moment seeing how Hasnah’s expression changed to one of distress as she confessed her fault. But then Sugeng also felt a kind of pleasure in unloading the whole guilt on Hasnah.

  ‘If you hadn’t insisted on a house, I wouldn’t have done all this!’ Sugeng said.

  ‘It’s my fault, it’s my fault, I am the accursed one!’ lamented Hasnah, sobbing. ‘Aduh, why wasn’t I patient, why did I have to ask for a house, forgive me, Lord ….’

  And Hasnah wept, and wept, and wept ….

  Halim soon sniffed out that the cabinet couldn’t last any longer. Those parties within the cabinet who had apparently not shared in the distribution of ‘specials’, and were disturbed by the scandalous disclosures of clearly proven facts, pressed Husin Limbara’s party strongly to surrender the cabinet’s mandate. There was a strong probability that the Prime Minister would return his mandate before Christmas or at the beginning of the new year.

  And Halim decided quickly to dissociate himself from the collapse of the cabinet he’d supported so far. He wrote an editorial for the December 24th Christmas Eve edition of his newspaper which ran as follows:

  ‘Ever since the present cabinet was formed, this newspaper has never tired of warning and urging the cabinet to make a serious effort to secure the public good and to devote special attention to the needs of the regions outside Java. Up to now we’ve given strong support to the cabinet, because we disliked seeing cabinets change from minute to minute as in the past, and believed that this cabinet should be given proper time to prove its abilities. This cabinet has managed to obtain satisfactory results in a number of fields. This is especially true of the international world (which continues to shrink because of technical progress in air communications) where the government has won unprecedented and brilliant successes. The name of Indonesia has become famous all over the world, and in the United Nations our voice commands the attention of all countries.

  ‘However, there’s truth in the old saying, “There’s no ivory without a crack”, and although we don’t agree with all the accusations launched by the opposition newspapers against the cabinet and the parties supporting it, the government’s shortcomings in the questions of rice, kerosene and salt supplies, for instance, have to be admitted. Apart from this, the cabinet parties have not been selective and vigilant enough about their own members. As a result they have succumbed to temptations and abused their positions in order to enrich themselves.

  ‘If a cabinet crisis, as we hear, is indeed inevitable, it can’t be helped – let the cabinet fall for the sake of our country’s and people’s welfare. A further heightening of tensions between the government parties and the opposition parties, if permitted to continue, can only endanger our state and close the door to wider inter-party co-operation. Wouldn’t it therefore be only right if this cabinet did indeed surrender its mandate? A new cabinet could speedily be formed which would assure firm co-operation between the parties, and harmony and peace for the nation.’

  Halim was very satisfied with this. That morning he re-read the editorial, which had ap
peared in his newspaper, several times. Husin Limbara couldn’t be angry. I haven’t said anything that could commit me, and we’re opening up the possibility for supporting some new cabinet. Ha-ha-ha-ha, Halim laughed, extremely pleased.

  Dahlia had not been feeling well for a week and in the last few days had felt nauseous. She knew that her monthly period was a week overdue. While taking a bath, Dahlia felt her belly and decided to visit a doctor to find out whether or not she was pregnant. The trouble was that she wasn’t sure who might have caused her pregnancy – Suryono, Sugeng or maybe that Chinese whom she’d accidentally met on the street, who took her to town, paid her five hundred rupiah and then saw her home, but whom she’d never seen again since.

  If it wasn’t the Chinese it wouldn’t really matter, thought Dahlia, Idris might be quite pleased thinking he had begotten a child, but if the baby were to have slit-eyes … Dahlia laughed, amused by this possibility. She decided to go to a doctor whom she knew was prepared to perform a guaranteed abortion for a thousand rupiah flat. She’d be able to get the money from either Suryono or Sugeng, just by telling either of them that he was responsible; maybe she’d even ask both. Dahlia became cheerful again, finished her bath and attended to her body which had undergone no change as yet.