“You can take that fountain pen. There is some Chinese ink where it’s usually kept,” he replied.
I took down the graph board and put it on the table. I filled the fountain pen with ink, and took a ruler ready to draw over the pencil line with ink. I wanted to find out whether he was playing around with me or not.
“Go on, put the line in. No need to hesitate,” he said.
So the SDI membership had increased. I drew the line in ink. I put the graph back up on the wall.
“Another ‘time bomb.’ That’s what you call it, don’t you?”
“You’re not wrong, Meneer,” I answered. “There is much work to do.”
“It’s not a question of being finished or not finished. I think you are becoming less and less confident in your own report, Meneer.”
“The intellectual work of Commissioner Pangemanann remains intact, Chief Commissioner. There is not one word that I would take back. But the technical implementation of these ideas is not my specialty. This is not just a matter of catching a thief. An architect is not necessarily also a good builder.”
“So who would be a good builder, then?” he cornered me.
“That’s your affair.”
“But you have been appointed to be the builder too. And you have never indicated that you are not prepared to carry out these duties. Not even now.”
“You could replace me with someone else.”
“Yes, I could. But it seems that you do not realize, Meneer Pangemanann, that your report is not for the general public. Only a very few people in the Indies and in the world have read and studied it. I was one of those who have had the privilege. You will never know, and indeed do not need to know, who else has read it. Your work of scholarship, as you like to call it, will never receive the honor of being kept in the State archives. Once everyone finished reading it, it became dust and smoke, in the safekeeping only of the devils of the night.”
His words struck right at the weakest point in my soul. They hurt, they made me feel sick.
“Don’t be angry,” the chief commissioner spoke gently. “This is the first time the Indies police has ever had to carry out work like this. All our superiors fully agree with your report. They don’t just agree with it. They value it greatly! You do not need to be discouraged. You are considered to be the only official who has the knowledge, familiarity, understanding, and the ideas to handle these new developments in the Indies. It is only Meneer who can come to the right conclusions and make the right recommendations. Before you now is laid out a great career, bright and glorious. . . . Yes, it is the only one, and it is for Meneer.”
I went home in high spirits. I felt as if my chest would explode with pride. On the other hand, I also felt very, very ashamed. How was it possible that someone who was almost half a century old could feel so proud just because of praise like that, which could even be groundless? One moment it was shame; then I was startled when, for a moment, the image of Si Pitung flashed before me. That fighter from Cibinong sneered and flung his insults: Without me, Tuan Pangemanann, Tuan would never have been promoted; yes, you would never become governor-general, but chief commissioner is just one step away.
Zihhh, get away, you, Pitung! I crossed myself, then began to examine my own soul. Why was I experiencing these sudden changes in mood? Was I going mad? Why was I letting hopes and reality confront each other like this inside me? Would I have to face that choice? My principles or my career? Morality or position? I knew for sure that I needed both. But I also knew that I could have only one, not both. That was what the problem had been all along. Not only in the life I had been living but also in my soul. And I knew for sure that this was a problem that only I could solve. And I, I wanted to have them both.
While lost in thought like this, I read André and Henri’s letters to the rest of the family and their mother. It was nice. It always made us happy to read their letters—they provided a reflection of an orderly European civilization. Any bitterness I was feeling in myself disappeared as I read out to everybody all the happy reports in the letters. All the stories were happy, though it is well known that everybody faces their own troubles. Even the baby in the womb. But this was still better than telling only stories of trouble and difficulties and keeping all the happy things to oneself, don’t you think?
Their mother was happy, their brothers and sisters were happy. Everyone knew that the children in Holland were working their guts out in their studies; studies that might never be of any use to them in their life or in their seeking a livelihood. At the most, their degrees would be just an ornamentation to their name.
After I finished reading the letters, my wife quickly repeated a prayer of thanks. We all just added an amen. It was done to keep everybody happy. And the work that was gnawing at my heart still remained for me to deal with—a responsibility that was aging me quickly. But what surprised me most of all was that the machine of civilization kept on working, and always seemed to stay young.
That evening I hardened my resolve to free myself of Suurhof. How? Any means were permissible if the end was just to get rid of a lowlife who only caused everyone trouble. The power machine often carried out this sort of thing and, anyway, what was the meaning of a Suurhof?
May my efforts be blessed. . . .
2
Robert Suurhof’s stay in jail did not at all lessen my troubles. Donald Nicolson never let up harassing me with his new data—the SDI’s membership was still growing. He was trying to trap me into taking even harsher measures against the editor of Medan.
With Suurhof a very loose cannon, and by putting more pressure on me, perhaps the commissioner thought that I could be cornered into ordering Suurhof to take even more brutal action against Minke. If we were not unlucky, then we would all be safe. But if Suurhof was caught and once again dragged before the law, where he squealed that I had given the orders, then it would be I who was the marble that rolled down the drain. My livelihood would vanish, my good name would be destroyed.
No matter what they said, there were no Pure Europeans who were happy to see a Native like me hold the position of commissioner, let alone chief commissioner. And there were very many traps to bring about my downfall. And I knew the colonial ways off by heart, and by instinct as well. To stab a fellow worker in the back and get him demoted was one way of crawling to the top.
A trap or not, an attempt to corner me or not, my job was not only to stop the growth of the SDI but to push it back as well—if possible, to get rid of it altogether. Meanwhile, the only high-caliber thugs available were the likes of Suurhof. There wasn’t one who wasn’t chalk-brained. Usually a policeman would be grateful to know that the criminals were more stupid than he. Look, what kind of work was this? And, yes, it was I who was going to carry it out.
Without Suurhof, I could do nothing.
“Very well,” said Nicolson, “we’ll wait for Suurhof to get out.”
The time that cheap hoodlum spent without his freedom was a happy time with everything being in abeyance for me. But meanwhile the commissioner ordered me to prepare a report on what would have to be done if our efforts outside the law did not succeed. Ah, there was no limit to what we could do outside the law. A brainless donkey could work that out. No need for all these reports and studies.
For the purposes of preparing this new report, I needed to meet with Meneer L—at the State archives. I needed to hear his analysis of the peoples of the Indies.
“The Natives’ way of thinking has not yet been changed by modern ideas,” he explained. “They live in the same mental world as five centuries ago. Their way of dealing with the world has not changed. Natives who have absorbed some elements of modernity are not like anyone else—such a person is half European in a Native body. Like Meneer himself. You have to approach and deal with such people in the European way. There is no need to deal with them in any other way. Meneer’s questions are related to your work, yes?”
“No, I’m just interested, that’s all,” I answer
ed.
He laughed incredulously.
“Could you explain to me a little about the form and the character of these Native organizations?” I asked.
“Oh, that?” He glanced sideways at me, then answered promptly. “Their form and character have not changed, Meneer. Perhaps their methods have changed. But the rest, the same, Meneer, the same.”
“And what is it that is the same?”
“They have no organizations like we have in Europe or the West. Their associations arose because of the lower classes’ awe of those above or because of the charisma of their superiors.”
“But these new developments don’t seem to be like that because there is no question of superiors and subordinates.”
“You have proof of this?” he asked, not really believing me.
The look in his eyes seemed to be demanding I take intellectual responsibility for what I had said. Hesitantly, I began to speak about the SDI. He listened carefully to every word.
“How does it compare to Boedi Oetomo?” he asked suddenly.
I talked about the Boedi Oetomo, and added, “Several of the nobility who joined Boedi Oetomo denied that they were doing so to assert their authority or charisma.”
“Do you know for sure that they did not join simply to advance their own interests or their group’s interests? And with the aim of manipulating the organization? This kind of development has always occurred throughout the history of humankind’s organizing, I think.”
“The history of humankind’s organizing?” I asked, quizzing him further.
“Yes, it’s the same everywhere,” he answered firmly.
“Do you really believe what you’re saying, Meneer?”
He gave some examples. He explained about how certain people rose to the top among the Papuan tribes, and among the Minangkabau in Koto Gadang, about the intrigues in implementing customary law. His words launched forth unchecked from his lips, and I studied this much younger official with respect.
“Has Meneer studied the history of Diponegoro? People also followed him because of his charisma. Half a million people were prepared to die for him. And what kind of organization did his courageous followers have? Like all such organizations. As soon as the object of their awe, the center of charisma, disappeared, either because of age, or because some disaster befell them, it all vanished into nothingness. Their organizations are different from criminal organizations, of course. Criminal organizations are built upon terror, and become dynamic also because of terror.”
I was able to understand the essence of his lecture. In dealing with Minke, the editor of Medan, some disaster had to be planned for him. Once our raden mas was no longer with us, his organization would also vanish, because organizations in the European sense did not yet exist in the Indies. And this was exactly as I had thought all along. The only problem now was to work out what kind of accident should be organized for Minke, and how drastic it should be. SDI was clearly not a criminal organization. The criminal organization was the one run by Suurhof. And there was that much bigger criminal organization run by His Excellency the governor-general, namely, the Netherlands Indies government, and I was a petty criminal among its ranks.
I did not try to protect myself and my name from my own intellectual conclusions. But I did want to protect the secret of my membership in this gang, and also the pension that I would receive in ten, or even only seven, years. And so what was my value compared to such a person as Minke? But what I did know for sure was that my wife and children must always be able to tell and write wonderful letters and stories to make me feel good, and I must be able to do the same for them. And we would silently swallow our own bitterness, unheard by any other creatures except ourselves.
How simple was life really. It was only the twists and turns in life, and their negotiation, that were complex. Millions of ants are squashed to death under the feet of human beings. Thousands of millions of insects die every second at the hands of farmers in their fields. These souls die and those who survive multiply their numbers again very, very rapidly. People also die in the fields of war, just like ants and insects. And those that survive also multiply themselves with no less rapidity. Why do we have to be sentimental about death? Only because we have been pumped full of all these fairy stories about devils, angels, heaven and hell? They are all just people’s opinions, and that’s all they will ever be. Millions of people have disappeared from the face of the earth. Even the ruins of their civilizations have disappeared because of great natural disasters. Who is going to be sentimental? Instead, people give thanks that they themselves were not victims.
And I? If I wasn’t clever in negotiating the rapids, then I would be annihilated and eaten up by all the colonial big shots, who, like sharks, need a constant flow of victims. Why shouldn’t I become a shark like all the powerful colonialists? There is no need for indulging in these petty sentiments. All those humanitarian values are of use only to those who understand and need them. The great humanist values sound beautiful when they are spoken by the great teachers of the world, and beautiful too when heard by those students with talent, but tedious to the stupid ones. Happy are the stupid students, because they are given justification to do whatever they want.
By twilight my plans were fully worked out. To the devil with all this petty sentimentality. I must be more pragmatic. Why do we have to condemn the use of terror? The colonial world is a world of terror. For two centuries now, perhaps longer, people have debated about the purposes of the law. One side says that the law is there to safeguard the rights of the people. The other side says the law is there to control the people. And for scores of other purposes as well. And what is the law really about? The law is an instrument that can be used when appropriate and when it is appropriate to your needs.
For the sake of my career, I must get rid of this Minke, the editor of Medan. And for the sake of my good name, I must also get rid of Suurhof.
I don’t know how many times Nicolson had urged me to tell him of my plans. Now I could answer in a confident and proud voice: “You need not worry, Meneer Chief Commissioner.”
He did not ask me to look again at the graph. I could see from where I was sitting that there was no new entry. The police had not received any new reports.
“But you have not told me what your plan is, Meneer.”
“As the implementation of our policy on this matter has been put in my hands, let me worry about it all.”
He smiled. I knew he was happy. He had turned me into a wretched criminal. I left the Betawi Police Headquarters feeling empty—conscious that I was a colonial official, I was a bandit, I was a terrorist.
Suurhof was now free. He was going to report to me in Kwitang, at the house of Rientje de Roo, a young prostitute whose beauty had stirred the hearts of all Betawi’s young peacocks. She was an expensive prostitute. Only bandits, corruptors, speculators, and high officials could afford to become her clients. It was Suurhof who suggested this meeting place.
She lived in a small flat attached to another house in a quiet part of Kwitang. Rientje de Roo invited me in straightaway. It seemed the rather small pendopo was deliberately unfurnished. Inside, the parlor was full of furniture that was not needed by a prostitute at all. It was all to signal to her customers that her tariffs were high.
“Meneer Pangemanann,” she greeted me sweetly, displaying all her allure for me to savor. Without any kind of preliminaries, she sat herself on my lap. What I had been taught long ago made me feel sick to see this kind of behavior by this kind of woman.
And she protested: “This is not what you desire, Meneer?”
A guffawing voice inside me laughed at me. You have quite happily turned to banditry, why do you reject this then? Hypocrite! Haven’t you already cast off all your principles for your career? Yes, and for the sake of my career also I would not be brought down by someone like Suurhof, who is using this pile of beautiful flesh to make me into his slave. Pangemanann was not as low as Suurhof.
; Rientje de Roo got up and sat across from me, quickly covering up her disappointment with a myriad of smiles.
“Just let me admire your beauty, Rien,” I said, humoring her.
The sun was almost gone and there was a quiet, relaxed atmosphere about the place. Through the curtains I saw a group of people pass by.
“You’d like something dry to drink, of course,” she suggested. “It’s humid today.”
“No, no,” I turned her down. I knew that this was all arranged by Suurhof so he could get me in his grasp.
“What about your customers, Rien? Is Robert Suurhof your favorite?”
She got up and came close to me, showing off her body in its light brown silk evening gown. She sat down on the arm of my chair. I could feel the aroma of her perfume beginning to anesthetize my brain. So sweetly, she brought her face close to mine and whispered: “I have never had a favorite. Perhaps if one day I have one, he will be a police commissioner.”
“Did Suurhof suggest you say that?”
Seeing that I was becoming friendly again, she sat down on my lap once more and I could not refuse. There was something I wanted to find out about Suurhof. I caressed her, and it turned out that the silk was not as smooth as her skin. She grew more sweet and endearing, this child who was perhaps the same age as my young daughter. “Where is Suurhof?” I asked.
“Didn’t you see me lock the front door? That means there will be no guests.”
“This is the time we agreed to meet. He should be here!”
“He will come when the time is right, Meneer. No one will disturb us here. Relax, enjoy yourself. Your work will wait for you. This will perk you up.”
It was no doubt Robert Suurhof who had stuffed these words into her mouth. This girl had never worked in her life and wouldn’t have a clue about how to make conversation about work.
“And your work would never be finished either,” I said.
She answered by pinching my cheek.
“When did you first meet Suurhof?” I asked.
House of Glass Page 5