House of Glass

by Pramoedya Ananta Toer

  And before I had a chance to put some order into my confused and topsy-turvy psyche, another disturbance occurred in the English private estate in Curuk. The leader was Bang Komeng. Once again they sent me. With a small unit of Betawi police, I suppressed these rebels, my will overwhelmed by the turmoil in my conscience. They were only a very small group, much smaller than the remnants of Si Pitung’s men. Within just three days I had cleaned up two areas. All that was left to do was make some arrests in Balaraja, Cengkareng, Tanggerang, Banten, and Serang.

  My successes meant that I was greeted with flattery whenever I arrived at the Harmoni Club, even after their amazement at hearing me hiss ziiihh. They just gossiped among themselves that this strange habit of mine was a result of my having killed too many people with the usual Asian viciousness and Inlander’s barbarism. And it is indeed probable that had I been a European I would have ordered other people to carry out such work. But I was a Native who was caught up in a European position, who built a fortress around myself through service and dedication so that I would not lose all I had because of the colonial intrigues that could easily descend to depths of contemptibility yet unknown to humanity.

  My superiors and their superiors did not just respect my success in the field. They were even more impressed with my written reports that used a combination of interrogation and interview, social research and historical background. I was able to explain the mentality of the people who lived in the estates and how it manifested itself in their actions.

  In just seven years I made great leaps upward. I was made a commissioner and no longer had to carry out field assignments or handle criminal cases. It was my wife who, of course, was the happiest of all. Her husband no longer had to risk his life in the field and now received a salary equal to that of European officials. And to a certain extent, I too was grateful that I would no longer be given the task of annihilating these outlaws. At the very least, I thought, I would have a chance to repair my image of myself. Once again I could be an educated man, who hated evil and loved good.

  A month after sitting at my new desk, I received an order from Van Dam tot Dam to make an analysis of the different kinds of groups causing disturbances, categorizing them according to their different attitudes toward the government. I won’t burden you here with that paper. What it did mean from then on, however, was that I now dealt with Chief Commissioner De Beer.

  One afternoon he invited me to come along with him to that famous club. Ziihhh, and the image of Si Pitung evaporated, chased away from those very long steps in front of the building. Inside we did not find anyone playing billiards, darts, or cards, or even sitting gossiping to each other. They were all sitting around a European. All I could see was the bald top of his head and a few strands of yellow hair that formed side-whiskers.

  Without having to see the rest of him, anyone could tell it was Meneer K—, an intellectual and lawyer who was much respected by all the leading colonial figures. He was considered the most brilliant of colonial theorists. His name was often headlined in the press. He had never written anything himself. Perhaps he didn’t know how. People could not look him in the eyes, while his voice made them crane forward to listen. He was always at the center of the attention of the colony’s elite. People waited upon his every word. He spent more time in Europe than in the Indies. It was reported that the last three governor-generals all needed to hear his advice and his views.

  The electric chandelier hanging above, with its fifteen or so bulbs all glaring, made his head reflect light in waves in rhythm with the movements of his head. A wicked caricaturist might not be able to contain his wickedness and would have to draw this rather uncommon sight.

  It seemed it had been a long time since the Harmoni Club had held a poetry reading or lecture or a concert. Cultural life was very barren in the Indies. And so the hearts of the people in the Indies were also barren. And of course there was no opera, no ballet. Even small ensemble concerts were usually available only when there was a group traveling from Europe to Australia.

  Meneer De Beer and I said good afternoon, drew up chairs, and sat down.

  It was pouring rain outside. The atmosphere in the club became murky and cold. It wasn’t as pleasant as it usually was. A cold wind swept inside along with a soft mist. And none of the guests was wearing warm clothes. There were no stories of scandals, which were the traditional fare at the club. There were just the same old stories of intrigue, but with changing players.

  It had been stormy all day. It continued on into the night. I could see the carriages in the distance looking for places to shelter their horses out of the rain. The only way to get home was to order a taxi over the telephone. But taxis were very expensive in the evening. And it had become a Dutch tradition that to squander money was a sin.

  However, the discussion began to get interesting. Meneer Lawyer K—answered every question openly. He spoke in a deep voice like a growling bear. Then I heard those words that I would never forget all my life.

  “You must all pay more attention, gentlemen. If not . . . we could have a second Philippines here in this pearl of a colony of ours. We could be kicked out. Another one of the Western countries will come in, perhaps America, perhaps Germany, or perhaps even England. Or perhaps none of them.”

  “What do you mean by a second Philippines?” one of the others asked.

  “A second Philippines! It’s very sad indeed to think that you gentlemen do not understand the case of the Philippines. It seems that none of you pays any attention to colonial developments outside the Indies. That is very bad, gentlemen. Colonial affairs in Asia are all interconnected, like links in a chain.”

  Everyone was silent, not trying to break through the wall of silence from Meneer K—. And this distinguished gentleman did not say another word until the rain eased.

  It had become an almost religious belief in the colony that the Dutch would control these islands until the day of judgment. The French and English had been able to dislodge the Dutch in the past. But the fact that the Dutch retrieved the colony later only served to reinforce the belief.

  Even when the rain had turned to drizzle, Meneer K— remained silent. Indeed, it was he who was first to stand, nod his bald head, say good night, and then lead the way out. The others followed his example. De Beer too. And I as well.

  As soon as I reached the second tier down the very long steps of the Harmoni Club, that accursed vision of Pitung spoke to me again: “Going home, Tuan Pangemanann? Is there important work for you to do, Tuan?”

  I tried to challenge him.

  But he spoke again. “Ayoh, I’ll join you.”

  Startled, I hurriedly sprayed my hiss of Ziihhh. It was very embarrassing to see everyone turn and look at me. I suppressed my awkwardness and hurried off in the other direction. I had forgotten all about De Beer.

  All the way home through the drizzle, cold and mud, I could not escape either Meneer K—’s words or the vision of Pitung. Why were the distinguished intellectuals and Pitung’s vision following on each other inside me like a pair of Manila ducks? Why even after half a dozen years was my conscience still disturbing me through these visions of Pitung? Did I still have a conscience and did I still long for it to be clear? And what would the Indies be like without the Dutch? Everything would be turned upside down in this colonial world—people, ideas, and also I myself. Nothing would be spared. And the Pitungs, in who knows how many hundreds or thousands, would be running about seeking their revenge.

  The filthy street mud started to soak into my socks. I knew that it was not healthy, mud mixed with the waste of all Betawi.

  It was now normal for me to arrive home late so my wife was not surprised.

  “So cold like this and damp and wet, darling,” she cried in French, so full of love, after she opened the door. She kissed me lovingly, as if she had been without her husband and missing him for ten years. Then she went on in French, because that was our family’s language of intimacy: “Come on, get your shoes and sock
s off quickly. Didn’t you wear galoshes?”

  I took off my shoes outside the door. The servant would clean them tomorrow. My wife would be furious if I wore such dirty shoes into the house. I entered the house barefoot, no shoes, no socks. She began to pour some hot water from a thermos into a washbasin, which she put under the chair where I sat. I did everything she asked. I sat down in the chair after I changed clothes, and soaked my feet in the basin. But my thoughts were harking back to the words of Meneer K—. Was what he said true? He held such an important position in the colonial world today, so what he said must be correct. I could be wrong. But such an important colonial figure could not be wrong. The genius of such people was the guarantee of the Dutchman’s eternal hold over these islands.

  These words of Meneer K—, which had set my mind in motion, had implications for my work. The Indies could become a second Philippines, he said. We could be kicked out!

  If I was not mistaken, Meneer K— was reminding us of how the educated Filipinos revolted against the Spanish colonizers, inviting the Americans to enter the Philippines, where they now sat as the new colonizers. The Dutch did not want to experience the same fate as the Spanish.

  His words were like a torch for me. Beware, Pangemanann, of the educated Natives of the Indies. They too could do what the educated natives of the Philippines did—invite in another colonial power to help them because of their own lack of experience.

  Pitung resumed his disruption of my thoughts, even more intensely than before. He too had rebelled in his own way. He was not an educated person, he was not capable of explaining his reasoning and his desires. He ran amok like a wild buffalo. Ah, it was so easy to defeat you, Pitung.

  Ziihhh.

  “What is it, Jacques?”

  “Nothing, it’s just cold, that’s all.”

  “Will I get some whiskey?”

  “A very good idea, thank you.”

  She moved smoothly across the room to the drinks cabinet and brought me back a tumbler of whiskey. I grabbed the tumbler and gulped it all down.

  “No, one is enough. Come on, off to bed now. It’s almost morning.”

  I stepped out of the washbasin full of hot water.

  “No, the children are all right. They’re big enough to look after themselves,” and she turned off the lights.

  Under the sheets, Madame Pangemanann embraced me and asked: “Why are you always saying ziihhh? It scares me.”

  “You ask the strangest things, my darling. Good night.”

  Soon afterward, she fell asleep.

  And still Meneer K—’s words vexed my consciousness. The educated Natives!

  They would become the eternal enemies of the power of the Netherlands Indies! Colonialism was jealous of the educated Natives! It was no coincidence that the government made education as difficult as possible for the Natives to obtain. Knowledge and learning could take simple and primitive people to a world where their ambitions could no longer be measured only in meters. So it was logical, wasn’t it, that every educated Native was indoctrinated to be loyal to the government? It was no wonder they were so spoiled, with good wages, good status, and all sorts of no less unworthy honors.

  Meneer K—’s warning had another meaning. This situation would not last forever. Sooner or later there would emerge an educated Native with strange ideals. He, or they, would not be like Pitung who knew only what he experienced in his own life. Pitung had no broader vision and so could do nothing else but evil. And evil in the end brought him new enemies. But what about educated Pitungs who refused to become the paid workers of the government, who wielded the same weapons as the government, who did not need do evil to earn a living? And who would it be that would rise before me as the first educated Pitung—a modern Pitung?

  Ziihhh! Ziihhh! It was the old Pitung whom I saw once again, in flowing white robes, guarded on either side by one of his men, one carrying his betel box, the other his rifle.

  I felt my wife hug my neck. She whispered: “Jacques. You frighten me with all your ziihhh, ziihhh. You must go to the doctor tomorrow. You’re exhausted. Sleep. Do you want me to fetch some sleeping medicine?”

  “Yes, we’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.”

  “You’re so cold and your body is bathed in sweat, Jacques.”

  She did not know that there was something gnashing and eating away at me inside. . . .

  My education did not condone hypocrisy. I believed in goodness, as I had been taught when I was small. I always thought that I had found my place in life as an officer of the law. My conscience started accusing me only after the affair with the Pitung gang. I had thought this over several times. It was Pitung who was the cause of it all. I could not lie to my inner self. Pitung was not an evil person. It was his social and economic situation that forced him into crime. He remained a man who fought back against the power of the white and yellow landlords, who were given protection by the government over and above the Natives. And now came Meneer K— bearing omens that the next challenge I would have to face was the educated Natives.

  “You’ll have time to think about things tomorrow, Jacques,” my wife chided me in a sleepy voice.

  “Yes, there’ll be time tomorrow.”

  And my wife did not sleep again that morning. She lay awake keeping her husband company, as he fought with his restless heart. She was an amazing woman. She always wanted to be with her husband, whether in good times or bad. And it was because of her love and her faithfulness that I was sinking further and further into this work that went so much against my conscience. I wanted to give her the best I could. I had to, it was a moral duty. I had wrenched her away from her country and her family just outside Lyons, in France. She was pretty and young, a peasant girl who knew nothing of the world. We met, we were both still very young, and we fell in love. We married in an old village church, witnessed by her parents, who did not agree with the marriage. She had accompanied me to foreign countries—first the Netherlands, then to the Indies. She had given me four children. Two were continuing their education in the Netherlands.

  The other two were still with us. One was called Marquis, but we shortened it to Mark, and the other Desirée, which means “she who is longed for.” We called her Dede.

  Our life was beautiful. We were happy. Such happiness could not be bought with money. And the two children who were studying in the Netherlands, one in HBS and the other in the geology faculty, promised an even more beautiful future. It was worth paying out the seventy-five guilders a month for them. Mark and Dede were also good children, obedient and clever. And it was all because of their mother who loved them and cared for them.

  But the reality of life was different. Times changed. The times forced me to change. To pay for all this happiness I had to forget all the beautiful teachings I believed in, and all the values I held. Since I was small, I was happy when people said I was a good child who knew how to perform a good deed. One time I felt so happy when I heard an old man, a neighbor, say these words: “How happy must his parents be, to have such a good boy, so kind, who behaves so nicely.”

  It was such praise that guided me through life. Yes, perhaps my parents were happy to have a child like me. It is a pity I never knew them; I was an orphan, adopted by my father’s younger brother, Frederick Pangemanan. Just as I was about to finish ELS in Menado, I was taken as the foster child of Meneer De Cagnie, a Frenchman, an apothecary. This couple liked me very much. They had no children. And so it happened that I was taken home by them to Lyons, where they owned an apothecary shop and small medicine factory.

  My life was as straight as a piece of wire pulled taut, without twists and turns. It was only since my battle with Pitung’s men that the wire had never been straight again. And now it was not just bent, but tangled. And I could not see how I could unravel the tangle. Every day I felt my throat in the tighter and tighter grip of an outside power, namely, position.

  The next day I went with Paulette to the doctor, who gave me one week’s sick leave. And it
was impossible for me to cope with having nothing to do for a week. The words of Meneer K— kept shoving me along toward the new work that I knew I would have to face soon. I would have to destroy people of the caliber of Bonifacio and Rizal of the Philippines.

  The national consciousness of the educated Native was not yet as developed as in the Philippines. Even so, I would now have to be on the lookout, like looking for a needle in a pile of paddy stalks. The needle must be found, even the paddy stalks had to be destroyed. All this even though it was a small piece of pure steel, without the rust of evil, except for that speck of idealism, that history of love of people and country, that seed of patriotism and nationalism whose final flowering could not yet be clearly seen. And you must be careful that you are not pricked by that needle yourself. For the government, and I as its instrument, must, however, look upon any such idealism as criminal. But why does my conscience keep needling me? Neither civilized humanity nor my own soul could deny that this idealism was their right, something to be exalted, representing values that raised high the dignity of humankind. And I and my family depended on my work, which was to destroy all this. I had become a paid destroyer. Now in my middle age, I did not have the strength to say no.

  As time went on I became more and more convinced that my superiors had deliberately put me in this unhappy position. And there was nowhere I could take my grievances, not even to a priest.

  My promotion, as a Native, from inspector to adjutant commissioner and then commissioner, made my colleagues not only unhappy but also suspicious. As a prisoner among all these Protestants, I felt isolated. My new rank made it very difficult for me to mix with them. Relations got worse and worse. I became a peacock among jungle chickens. Wherever I went and wherever I was, they were always watching me closely, ready to note my every mistake. So I was forced to live as vigilantly and carefully as I could.

  After the Aceh War there did seem to be an improvement in the way Catholics were treated inside the Netherlands Indies army. They had begun to demand equal treatment with Protestants. In war, death and injury do not distinguish between Catholics and Protestants. They succeeded in their demands. Catholics were no longer discriminated against in the matter of promotions. There were signs that it had been decided that Catholics would get a quota of promotions in the army and that there would be a quota for Protestants in the navy. But in the police force I was still a peacock among jungle chickens. There was no system of quotas as in the other services. Here in the police force, I was not just a peacock, but also a guinea pig, a Catholic and a Native who had been given equal status as a European.