The Hidden Force

by Louis Couperus

  “I’ll go and get one.”

  “No, no! Stay here, sit outside the door…”

  “Very good, ma’am…”

  “Listen, you must get a locksmith to check the keys here… We can’t lock the bathroom… That’s ridiculous, if we have guests…”

  “I’ll see to it tomorrow.”

  “Don’t forget…”

  She closed the door. The maid squatted in front of the closed door, patient, passive in the face of the small and big things of life, guided only by loyalty to her mistress, who gave her nice sarongs and as large an advance as she wanted.

  In the bathroom, the small nickel lamp on the wall cast a dim light over the greenish marble of the wet floor and on the water in the square brick tub.

  “I think I’ll bathe earlier in the afternoon!” thought Léonie.

  She took off her kimono and sarong and, naked, glanced in the mirror at the silhouette of her milky plumpness, the curves well-versed in the ways of love. Her blond hair took on a golden glow, and a pearly dew dripped from her shoulders over her neck and down the shadowy cleft between her small, round breasts. She lifted up her hair, admiring, studying herself to see whether there was the line of a wrinkle, feeling whether her flesh was firm. One hip arched, as she stood on one leg and created a long, sculpted line of white undulating highlights, caressing her thigh and knee and ebbing away at her instep… But she woke with a start from this admiring contemplation. She quickly tied up her hair in a bun, lathered herself, and with the bucket poured the water over herself. It fell heavily in long, flat spouts—her shoulders, breasts and hips shining like polished marble in the light of the small lamp. She was keen to make haste, looking up at the window to see if the bats would fly in again… Yes, she would definitely bathe earlier in future. It was almost dark outside. She dried herself hurriedly on a rough towel and gave herself a quick rub with the white ointment that Urip always prepared, her elixir of youth, suppleness and firm whiteness. At that moment she saw a small red spot on her thigh. She paid no attention to it, thinking it must be something in the water, a dead insect. She rubbed it off. But as she rubbed herself she saw two or three larger, vermilion-coloured spots. She suddenly went cold, not knowing or understanding. Again she rubbed herself; and she took hold of the towel, on which the spots had already left an unpleasant deposit like congealed blood. A shudder went through her from head to foot. And suddenly she saw. From the corners of the bathroom—she could not tell how or from where—the spots came, at first small, then larger as if spewed out by a slavering mouth full of betel juice. Chilled to the core, she screamed. The splashes, having been spewed out as purple gobs, became thicker and swelled as they hit her. Her body was smeared with a grimy, dribbling red. One splash struck her back… On the greenish white of the floor, the filthy gobs slithered, floating on the water that had not yet run away. In the tub they fouled the water and disintegrated disgustingly. She was red all over, filthily besmirched, as if defiled by a shameful mass of filthy vermilion, which invisible betel-chewing throats scraped together from the corners of the room and spat at her, aiming at her hair, her eyes, her breasts, her belly. She screamed and screamed, driven completely out of her mind by the strange events. She threw herself at the door, tried to open it, but there was something wrong with the handle, because the door was not locked, or bolted. She could feel repeated spitting on her back; her buttocks were dripping with red. She screamed for Urip and heard the maid on the other side of the door, pulling and pushing. Finally the door gave way. Helpless, crazy, naked and besmirched, she threw herself into her maid’s arms. The servants flocked around. She could see them coming from the back veranda, along with Van Oudijck, Theo and Doddy. In her wild hysteria, her eyes wide open, she was ashamed, not of her nakedness but of her defilement… The maid had grabbed the kimono, also besmirched, from the door handle and threw it round her mistress.

  “Stay away!” she cried helplessly. “Don’t come any closer!” she shrieked crazily. “Urip, Urip, take me to the swimming pool! A lamp, a lamp… to the swimming pool!”

  “What is it, Léonie?”

  She didn’t want to say.

  “I… trod… on a toad!” she screamed. “I’m… frightened… of scabies! Don’t come any closer… I’m naked! Stay away, stay away! A lamp, a lamp… a lamp for goodness’ sake… to the swimming pool! No, Otto! Stay away! All of you stay away! I’m naked! Stay away! Bring a lamp!”

  The servants were rushing around everywhere. One took a lamp to the swimming pool…

  “Urip! Urip…”

  She clung to the maid.

  “They’ve spat at me… with betel juice!… They’ve spat at me with betel juice! They’ve… spat… at me… with betel juice.”

  “Shush, ma’am… come with me to the swimming pool!…”

  “Wash me, Urip! Urip… on my hair, in my eyes… Oh God, I can taste it in my mouth!…”

  She sobbed uncontrollably, as the maid dragged her along…

  “Urip… look… first… go and see… if they’re spitting… in the swimming pool too!”

  The maid went in, shivering.

  “There’s nothing, ma’am.”

  “Quick then, bathe me, wash me, Urip…”

  She threw off the kimono; in the light of the lamp her beautiful body was revealed as if it had been smeared with filthy blood.

  “Urip, wash me… No, don’t fetch any soap… Just with water… Don’t leave me alone! Urip, please wash me here… Burn the kimono! Urip…”

  She dived into the swimming pool and swam around helplessly; the maid, half-naked, dived in with her and washed her…

  “Quick, Urip… quick, just the dirtiest bits… I’m afraid! Soon… soon they’ll be spitting in here… Into the room, Urip… now… now wash me again, in the room, Urip! Call out and say no one must be in the garden! I don’t want to wear the kimono any more. Quick, Urip, call, I want to get out of here!”

  The maid shouted into the garden in Javanese.

  Léonie, dripping, climbed out of the water, and naked and wet hurried past the servants’ rooms, with the maid behind her. In the house, Van Oudijck, crazed with worry, came up to her.

  “Go away, Otto! Leave me alone! I’m… naked!” she screamed.

  And she threw herself into her room and, once Urip had come in, locked all the doors.

  In the garden, the servants huddled together under the roof of the veranda, close to the house. The thunder rumbled softly, and silent rain began to fall.

  3

  LÉONIE, WHO HAD BEEN ILL for several days with nervous exhaustion, stayed in bed. In Labuwangi there were rumours that the commissioner’s house was haunted. At the weekly gatherings in the municipal garden, while the band was playing, while the children and young people were dancing on the open stone dance floor, there were whispered conversations at the tables about the strange events in the commissioner’s house. Dr Rantzow was asked about it, but could only say what the District Commissioner had told him, what Mrs Van Oudijck herself had told him: the fright she had had in the bathroom was from a huge toad on which she had trodden and slipped. However, more information was obtained from the servants, but when one person talked of the throwing of stones, the spewing of betel juice, another laughed and called them old wives’ tales. Hence the uncertainty remained. But in the newspapers, from Surabaya to Batavia, there were brief, strange reports, which were not explicit but left a good deal to the imagination.

  Van Oudijck himself spoke with no one about it, not with his wife, not with his children, not with his officials, and not with the servants. But on one occasion he came out of the bathroom with wild, staring eyes. But he went calmly back into the house and controlled himself so that no one noticed anything. Then he spoke to the Chief of Police. There was an old cemetery that bordered on the grounds of the commissioner’s house. This was now guarded night and day, as was the back wall of the bathroom. The bathroom itself, however, was no longer used and people bathed in the guest bathrooms.
<
br />   As soon as Mrs Van Oudijck had recovered, she went to Surabaya to stay with friends. She never returned; without discussing it with Van Oudijck she had arranged for Urip gradually, unobtrusively, to pack all her clothes, and all kinds of knick-knacks that she was attached to. One case after another was forwarded to her. When Van Oudijck once accidentally went into her bedroom, he found it empty apart from the furniture. All sorts of things had also disappeared from her boudoir. He hadn’t noticed the dispatching of the cases, but now he understood, now he realized that she was not coming back. He cancelled his next reception. It was December and René and Ricus were due to come from Batavia for a week or ten days, but he cancelled the boys’ visit. Doddy was invited to stay with the De Luce family at Pajaram. Although as a full-blooded Dutchman Van Oudijck had an instinctive dislike of the De Luces, he gave in. They were fond of Doddy, and it would be more cheerful for her than at Labuwangi. He abandoned his dream that his daughter would not be swallowed up by the Indies. Suddenly Theo also left, having suddenly secured, through Léonie’s influence with certain captains of commerce in Surabaya, a lucrative position in an import-export business. Van Oudijck was now all alone in his big house. Since the cook and the butler had run off, Eldersma and Eva invited him to eat with them on a regular basis, both lunch and dinner. He never mentioned his house and it was never discussed. What he talked about in secret to Eldersma, as secretary, and to Van Helderen, as district controller, was never divulged by the two of them, as if it were an official secret. The Chief of Police who usually gave a brief daily report—to the effect that nothing special had happened, or that there had been a fire, or a man had been wounded—now gave long, secret accounts; the doors of the office were closed so that the attendants outside did not hear. Gradually all the servants left, departing silently at night, with their families and household effects, leaving their quarters dirty and empty. They didn’t even stay in the district. Van Oudijck let them go. He kept only Kario and the attendants; and the convicts tended the garden every day. In that way, from the outside, the house was ostensibly unchanged. But from within, where nothing was maintained, a thick layer of dust covered the furniture, white ants devoured the mats, and mould and damp patches appeared. The Commissioner never went through the house, and lived only in his bedroom and office. His face assumed a sombre expression of bitter, silent despair. He was more precise than ever in his work, and he urged his officials on most insistently, as if he thought of nothing but the interests of Labuwangi. In his isolated position he had no friend and sought none. He bore everything alone. Alone, on his own shoulders, which were stooping at the approach of old age, he carried the heavy burden of his house that was disintegrating; his family life that was a victim of the strange events that he could not fathom, despite his police, his attendants, his personal vigilance, despite all his spies. He discovered nothing. People told him nothing. No one unearthed anything. And the strange goings-on continued. A large stone smashed a mirror. Calmly he had the slivers swept up. His was not the kind of nature to believe in a supernatural origin of the events, and he did not believe. The fact that he couldn’t find the culprit or an explanation of events made him quietly furious. But he did not believe. He did not believe when he found his bed covered in filth, and Kario at his feet protested that he did not know how. He did not believe when the glass he picked up broke into little pieces. He did not believe when he heard as if above his head a constant thudding of provocative hammering. But his bed had been sullied, his glass broke, the hammering was a fact. He investigated those facts as punctiliously as he would have done in a criminal case, but nothing came to light. He remained calm in his relations with European and Javanese officials and with the Prince. No one noticed any change in him, and in the evenings he went on working proudly at his desk amid the stamping and hammering, while the garden, as if enchanted, was wrapped in downy night.

  Outside on the steps the attendants huddled together, listening, whispering, looking round timidly at their master, who was writing with a frown of concentration between his brows.

  “Do you think he can’t hear it?”

  “Of course. He’s not deaf, is he?”

  “He must be able to hear it…”

  “He thinks he can get to the bottom of it with policemen…”

  “Soldiers are coming from Ngajiwa.”

  “From Ngajiwa!”

  “Yes. He doesn’t trust the policemen. He has written to the Major.”

  “For soldiers?”

  “Yes, there are soldiers coming…”

  “Look at him frowning…”

  “He works and works.”

  “I’m frightened. I wouldn’t dare stay if I didn’t have to.”

  “As long as he’s here, I have the courage to stay.”

  “Yes… he’s brave.”

  “He’s tough.”

  “He’s a brave man.”

  “But he doesn’t understand.”

  “No, he doesn’t know what it is…”

  “He thinks it’s rats…”

  “Yes, he got them to hunt for rats up under the roof.”

  “Those Dutch don’t know.”

  “No, they don’t understand.”

  “He smokes a lot…”

  “Yes, at least twelve cigars a day.”

  “He doesn’t drink much.”

  “No… just a whisky and soda in the evenings.”

  “He’ll be asking for one any minute now…”

  “No one has stood by him.”

  “No. The others have understood. They’ve all gone.”

  “He goes to bed late.”

  “Yes. He works hard.”

  “He never sleeps at night anyway. Only in the afternoon.”

  “Look at him frowning…”

  “He just goes on working…”

  “… Attendant!”

  “He’s calling!”

  “Kanjeng!”

  “Bring me a whisky and soda!”

  “Kanjeng…”

  One attendant got up to get the drink. He had everything to hand in the guest building so he didn’t need to go into the house. The others moved closer together and went on whispering. The moon pierced the clouds and illuminated the garden and pond as if with a wet mist of enchantment. The attendant prepared the drink and offered it, squatting.

  “Put it down here,” said Van Oudijck.

  The attendant put the glass on the desk and crept away. The other attendants whispered.

  “Attendant!” called Van Oudijck a moment later.

  “Master!”

  “What did you pour into this glass?”

  The man trembled, and cringed at Van Oudijck’s feet.

  “Master, it isn’t poison, on my life, on my death. I can’t help it, master. Kick me, kill me. I can’t help it, master.”

  The glass was a yellow ochre colour.

  “Fetch me another glass and pour it here…”

  The attendant left, shivering.

  The others sat close together, feeling each other’s bodies through the sweaty linen of their uniforms and looking frightened. The moon rose gleefully, mockingly, from above the clouds, like an evil fairy; its moist, deathly still enchantment draped the wide garden in silver. In the distance, from the back of the garden, a groan sounded as if from a child being strangled.

  4

  “AND HOW ARE YOU, my dear lady? How’s the depression? Do you like the Indies a little better today?”

  Eva heard his jovial words as she saw him approaching through the garden at about eight, arriving for dinner. There was nothing in his tone but the jovial greeting of a man who has been working hard at his desk, and is now happy to see a sweet, good-looking woman at whose table he is about to sit. She was amazed and she admired him. He gave no sign of having been tormented all day long in an empty house by strange, incomprehensible phenomena. There was scarcely a wisp of melancholy on his wide forehead; scarcely a trace of concern in his broad, slightly stooped back, and the jovial lines roun
d his thick moustache were there as always. Eldersma went up to him and in his welcoming handshake there was a kind of freemasonry of shared knowledge, and Eva sensed their intimacy. Van Oudijck drank his gin and bitters as usual; mentioned a letter from his wife, who was probably going to Batavia; said that René and Ricus were staying in the Principalities with a friend, on a coffee plantation. He said nothing about why they were not all with him, why he had been totally abandoned by his family and servants. He had never mentioned it in these intimate surroundings, where he now ate twice a day. And although Eva did not ask about it, it made her extremely nervous. So close to the haunted house, the pillars of which she could see dimly through the foliage of the trees, she felt more jittery every day. All day long the servants whispered around her, and glanced timidly in the direction of the Commissioner’s haunted residence. At night, unable to sleep, she listened herself to see if she could hear anything odd: the groaning of the children. The Indies night was too packed with sound for her not to lie trembling in her bed. Through the urgent croaking of the frogs for rain, for still more rain, their constant croaking with the monotonous guttural roar, she heard a thousand sounds that kept her awake. Through it the calls of the tokays and other geckos rang out like clockwork, like mysterious chimes. She thought about it all day long. Eldersma said nothing about it either. But when she saw Van Oudijck arriving for lunch, and for dinner, she had to bite her lip not to ask him anything. And the conversation ranged far and wide, but never touched on the strange phenomena. After lunch the Commissioner walked home; after dinner, at ten o’clock, she saw him disappearing back into the shadows of the garden. With a calm gait, every evening he went back through the enchanted night to his abandoned and miserable house, where outside his office he found the attendants and Kario squatting close together, and he worked late at his desk. And he never complained. He investigated meticulously, but nothing came to light. Everything continued to happen as an unfathomable mystery.

  “And how do you like the Indies this evening, dear lady?” It was virtually always the same pleasantry, but every day she admired his tone. Courage, unshakable self-confidence, certainty about his own knowledge, belief in what he knew for certain, rang as clear as a bell in his voice. However desolate he must feel as a man who has lost all domestic intimacy and cool practicality in a house deserted by his family and full of inexplicable phenomena, there was no trace of despair or gloom in his persistent male simplicity. He went about his business, did his work more meticulously than ever—and he investigated. And at Eva’s table he was always a lively guest, talking to Eldersma about such matters as promotion, politics in the Indies, the new rage for having the Indies governed from Holland by laymen who hadn’t a clue. He talked animatedly, without getting worked up. Calmly, sociably, until Eva came to admire him more and more each day. But for her, as a sensitive woman, it became a nervous obsession. And one evening, while taking a short walk with him, she asked him. If it was not awful, if he could not leave the house, if he could not go on tour, for a long, long time. She saw his face cloud over when she raised the matter. But still he answered in a friendly tone that it wasn’t that bad, even though it was inexplicable, that he was determined to get to the bottom of all the sorcery. And he added that he really ought to go on tour, but did not go, so as not to give the impression of running away. Then he briefly pressed her hand, told her not to get worked up and not to think or talk about it. The latter sounded like a friendly command. She pressed his hand again, with tears in her eyes. And she watched him go, with his calm, manly step, and disappear into the night of his garden, where the enchantment, in order to take hold, had first to muffle the roaring cries of the frogs for rain. Then she shivered and hurried home. And she found her house, her spacious house, to be small and completely open and unprotected against the vast Indies night, which could penetrate everywhere.