House of Glass

by Pramoedya Ananta Toer

  They seemed disappointed.

  “What are your objections, Jacques?” asked my wife. “You have never paid enough attention to your own people all this time, and neither have Mark and Dede.”

  “Anyway,” I said, “you must continue with your efforts. It will be your efforts that determine how things will be, not old people past their prime like me.”

  And I felt free again once they went away.

  That evening I read Raden Mas Minke’s papers. My conclusions, in brief, were as follows.

  There were letters from Betawi, Solo, and Semarang and several more from Surabaya which revealed that Raden Mas Minke had been carrying out an energetic correspondence from Ambon with those towns. He did not agree with the elevation of Mas Tjokro to the leadership of the Sarekat. Haji Samadi should have consulted him first, before taking steps that would change the character of the organization. These letters also stated that Raden Mas Minke would take back the leadership when he returned from exile, which would be after five years, because exile was always either for five years or for life.

  For those who have followed the footsteps of the Modern Pitung, it will be very easy to understand what a simple man he is. He is a man who believes in the goodness of others. His world is free of those feudal intrigues that are a normal part of life in feudal circles everywhere in the world. I didn’t believe for a moment that he had ambitions to return as a leader of the Sarekat. He had already shown that he was willing to give up such a position. It was my guess that others were in fact trying to make sure that he did not return to his former position.

  It was not the police who had to find out who was spreading these rumors about Minke wanting to be leader again. The police did not yet have units for doing that kind of work. And it still wasn’t clear to me who had ordered his papers to be stolen, the second time he had suffered such theft.

  So I had to come to the conclusion, based on what material was available, that there was a group that was worried that Raden Mas Minke might return to lead the Sarekat. There was no reason for the government to take action against the Sarekat. In such matters, it was indeed I who decided such things; I knew better than anyone about this. So there was no reason either for the government to intrigue against him. I guessed that the intrigues were coming from inside the Sarekat itself.

  It was true though that the government would not like to see the Modern Pitung return to lead the Sarekat. He had given the weak in society the weapon of the boycott. He had given them that weapon. And the government had succeeded in getting them to use it, except not against the government.

  In the more recent papers, there was nothing at all to indicate that he was in communication with Java. There was no evidence of that, or at least no one had discovered any evidence. From among the twenty or thirty pages he had written, there were only a few things that I thought were important. I mean they were just his opinions on different things, not actual pointers about what nations should be doing, and some general reflections on several issues.

  About language, for example:

  We were not wrong. Public organizations in the Indies will only grow and flourish if they use nongovernment Malay, and if they base themselves among the independent layers, the free people who are not tied to the government through their office or service, and those who are tied to the government through their employment. Several times I had to work very hard to convince Samadi of this. He preferred to use Javanese. The more Malay distances itself from the way it is taught in the government schools, from the feudal circles in general, the more democratic it becomes, the more it becomes a truly invigorating means of communication, a free language for a free people. And it is only the free people, the independent layers of society, who will determine the fate of the Indies, because the only way all the different peoples of the Indies will ever unite is through getting to know each other and working together on a democratic basis.

  About capital:

  It would be good if the Sarekat were to expand into an even bigger organization and bring together into a huge concentration all the capital of the weak. That capital must be able to free them from their dependence. Private capital as a means of freeing an individual from dependence is also good, but not the best way. That kind of private, personal capital also chains you to a new dependence and drags others into dependence as well—it is the European model of capital. The result has been the absolute enslavement of almost all the peoples of the world out the continent of Europe, and the relative enslavement of the European people themselves.

  About himself:

  I too have made mistakes. I never set aside time to train people properly. The three people closest to me—Wardi, Sandiman, and Marko—were left to find their own way without any real leadership from me. Wardi had no respect for the Sarekat. I paid too little attention to Sandiman, who had real talent, so that he never was able to play the role he should have. And I let Marko drown in day-to-day work and in looking after my security.

  There was nothing among any of the papers that gave any more intimate information about his relations with those three helpers of his. And he never wrote about his wife either, as if he had banished that astonishing woman from his heart altogether.

  He did not say much more about Samadi or Mas Tjokro, even though he did follow the newspaper reports.

  As far as Wardi, Sandiman, Marko, Princess Kasiruta, Samadi, and Mas Tjokro were concerned, I knew much more about them than Minke. It is already clear what had happened to Wardi. He vanished after his leader was arrested. Marko too. The two of them seemed to be involved in the shooting and stabbing of Suurhof and his men. Raden Mas Minke’s own writings pointed to that. I could have ordered that both of them be investigated in addition to Princess Kasiruta. But that would have been dishonest. They were faced with a gang acting outside the law. There was no need then for them to be brought before the law. And it was I who held this secret to the whole affair. I would not go hunting for the three of them because of that attack.

  Sandiman and Marko fled with their very valuable freedom. Princess Kasiruta was in Sukabumi, where she spent her days just thinking about her husband. She would never be able to wreak the revenge she wanted, a revenge that would eat her up from inside. And I thought that from the point of view of my own safety it was better this way.

  Raden Mas Minke was gone from them all now. And of course I won’t burden you with all of his last notes.

  About the attacks on the Chinese:

  How could so many people be incited to attack the Chinese? Are there no educated people in the Sarekat at all? That kind of amok was nothing more than a statement that they did not believe in the future, as if God in creating Nature had not made sure there was enough for everybody. Yes, there was human greed which made others poor, but there were wiser solutions to this problem than running amok. Amok! No wonder the Westerners say that running amok is an irrational emotional explosion and flourishes in traditions that are unfamiliar with rationality. Moreover . . .

  My hand, lifting another glass of whiskey, stopped. I turned around. My wife had grabbed hold of my arm.

  “That’s enough to drink, darling. It’s sad. You are drinking more and more. You’ve been drunk five times now here at home. Have pity on your children. Don’t give them an example like that.”

  Her voice was sad and weary and her sleepy eyes were even sadder.

  I realized that she meant well. But strong drink was the only thing that could banish the tension caused by all these thoughts of mine.

  “If you didn’t want to talk about the Rukun Minahasa, why didn’t you just say so? Why did you let the discussion go on and then come in and try to get drunk?”

  I stood, embraced and kissed this woman, who had once been young, and whose skin was now wrinkled and whose body was stiff. I could hear her sobbing, perhaps for the first time in our marriage.

  “Forget about it, darling.”

  “Stop the drinking, Jacques. Go back to being the old Jacques that I kne
w, and that I miss and remember so well. I chose you, I loved you, Jacques, because you were better than most Frenchmen. You never drank, you were a teetotaler. Do you remember what I asked you before we married? Don’t you like to enjoy yourself? And you answered that in the Indies you can enjoy yourself without drink. Now you are not satisfied with whiskey and Bols, but drink it pure like this.”

  Her voice grew sadder and sadder as if the sun would never rise again.

  “Don’t torment your wife like this, Jacques. It’s as if there’s no point anymore in being your wife. You don’t care about anything anymore. You hardly ever sleep well. These days you often say things that you don’t believe in. Like what just happened with your nephew and his friends.”

  “What do you want me to do, darling?” I asked, forcing myself to continue.

  “If it is true that you no longer need your wife and children anymore, let us go back home to France. Here we are probably just a nuisance to you.”

  “There is a big war going on in Europe.”

  “Who knows? France might still need me. What is the point of being someone who is not needed like I am now, not even needed by my own husband?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “How can a wife sleep when she sees her husband like this?” There was protest, anger, frustration, and sadness, fused into one, in her voice. “You never take us to church anymore. You stay away overnight more and more. And no, I have never asked to what office you have gone. You are bored with your family now, Jacques. You don’t need us anymore. Your children need you, and you don’t even care. You used to read to us all. Now you are not even capable of reading your own heart.”

  “How must I answer, my darling?” I asked.

  “You don’t need to answer, you have no answers anymore.”

  “You are putting me on trial, darling.”

  “No, it is you who have passed sentence on us. You don’t need me anymore. I have become a burden for you. Drink is more important to you than your wife and children.”

  She kept on talking, all the while in my embrace. Sometimes I could no longer hear what she was saying. Sometimes I just heard a jumble of words whose connection one with the other I could not catch. Perhaps because I was already half drunk.

  “Darling . . .” I said, but was cut off.

  “Now it is my turn to speak. Every word you speak sprays me with whiskey, that accursed stink. The more expensive the drink you buy, Jacques, the heavier the curse. I will not let my children end up as drunkards. They have to learn to act and think with their own brains, not with whiskey.”

  “They are asleep, darling.”

  “Isn’t it true that I have never spoken as much as this in all our marriage? Perhaps this is the last time you will want to hear my words.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Tomorrow you will be worse than today. And the day after, worse still.”

  “Forgive me, Paulette, forgive me for making you suffer so much.”

  “Forgive me, Jacques, I cannot fulfill all your needs. Let me go home. I will feel happier if I can remember you while you still have some goodness left, before you have been ruined totally.”

  “No, don’t leave me by myself, alone.”

  “No, I have been watching you for months now, thinking it over. I have done everything I could. You are getting worse. Thank you, Jacques, for still wanting to keep me here, but you cannot keep me here anymore. Drink all you like. I am just a nuisance to you.”

  I grabbed her, and said we should go to bed.

  “I want to leave for Europe within two weeks, Jacques.”

  “No. You must stay here.”

  “You cannot stop me. I am going to leave. I have told you how I feel. You can continue your drinking now.”

  “You have never said anything before.”

  “You are far more educated than I, Jacques. You understand these things very well, but you haven’t wanted to understand. Let us go.”

  “What will you do in Europe?”

  “I feel I am needed by my children.”

  “I can’t afford to pay for five people in Europe.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I am used to working, however lowly the work.”

  “France is at war.”

  “Whatever else happens, I can still live in the Netherlands.”

  “The Netherlands’ fate is not certain either.”

  “Let us go. That is all I hope from you.”

  And she climbed into bed. She didn’t want to say anything more. I went back to my desk, I brushed away all the papers, and I went on drinking, glass after glass.

  * * *

  So this was how things were now. One by one I had lost everything. One by one they had left me. Was I fated to lose my own being, my self, as well, so that there would be nothing left at all?

  That woman, who had been so loyal and dutiful, was now turned into a mountain of rock that could not be moved. She departed to Europe with the children. I could not imagine what their life would be like in Europe, where war now raged, where everything would be expensive and money worth little. I gave her all that we had saved over the last twenty years. And she accepted it, but with great regret, regret that this was how her marriage was ending. I whispered to her, asking what if I was able to give up the drink? She did not believe that a drunkard could ever reform himself.

  The house was empty, still, as if I were a man who had been cursed with impotence. My only friend was the bottle. There was nobody now to try to stop me from drinking. Then I added to this friend several other new friends, one after the other, from among the friends of Rientje de Roo. But my heart remained empty and still, just like this house.

  I had been the kind of person I wanted to be for forty years. I was hard on myself. But during these last fourteen or seventeen years or so, another, greater power than I had had given me a new character, one that waged war against the man that had already come into being, that had already been formed. And now this was what I was like today, in tatters, having lost everything, one thing after the other. This is I.

  Even while I lived with the bottle and my office and the bought women, I still continued my studies of the Modern’s Pitung manuscripts. And as I studied them I began to feel even more strongly how empty was my life, how futile it had all become, how shallow the stream of life that was once so deep, how all my vision was blanketed by anxiety and restlessness and . . . and how I had no future. Even in the middle of this crisis, I kept on with my study of those papers.

  I could truly feel his disappointment and sadness. He was disappointed because he thought he had been exiled due to the editorial in Medan which, according to him, had struck at the authority and policies of Governor-General Idenburg. He couldn’t accept that he had fallen just because of a banana skin. If he had been exiled over some really major issue, he would have been happy to accept his fate.

  People become great people because their actions are great, their thoughts are great, their soul is great. The opposite is true of small people, he wrote. The punishment I received was unjust for such an insignificant article. And so how should I describe somebody who hands out punishment too great compared to the crime? In reality I have the right to use the severest of words. I have too much respect for the paper I am writing on to set down upon it the words that now go through my head. Such a heavy punishment for such a small offense! Something as unjust as this could happen and nobody among the peoples of the Indies feels that their sense of justice has been violated, not Sundanese, Madurese, Javanese, Acehese, or Balinese. I am lost among injustices. And those who have not fallen victim have still not learned to recognize what injustice is. How dark are the Indies. Van Aberon chose exactly the right name for his collection of Kartini’s letters, De Zonnige Toekomst, The Bright Tomorrow. It is the duty of every educated person to bring light into the darkness, for the sake of a brighter and clearer future, and the schools never teach that. But they are not learning from this experience either. The Boedi Oetomo ha
s been silent, and the Sarekat itself has gone mute.

  Very well, Modern Pitung, let me answer your questions. You had planted time bombs wherever there was a Sarekat branch or cell. You were not aware of what you had done, or, at least, you pretended not to know. The series of incidents against the Chinese proved that I was right. Those time bombs did exist. That was not my fault. Your own ancestors did not know anything about justice either. And time bombs don’t need to know about justice (at least according to Meneer L—). Try to find a word for justice in your mother tongue. You can look until your every hair has turned gray, and you will not find one. You only came to understand about justice from European writings, and then one day you needed it. But the thing you needed was not available. You will have to wait until all the peoples of the Indies become the diligent students of Europe before that item becomes available here. You yourself were not the best of students. Even though you had only obtained just a fingernail’s worth of knowledge from Europe, your head was already swelling so much that you quickly grew eager to confront the Europeans.

  Was not the Boedi Oetomo more correct than you? Boedi Oetomo is doing fine and thriving as it hands out the equipment that its people need to become good students of Europe. You wanted to jump ahead of developments. You had to fall. It was only my generosity that prevented you from suffering an even more cruel fate. Nah, this is my answer.

  You thought that you were exiled because of what Marko and Sandiman had done. That conclusion was without foundation. Your fate had already been decided. It was just a matter of waiting for you to make a mistake and then you would be off.

  I was exiled because I was considered to have harmed the policies and authority of the governor-general, he wrote, while those other three emotional hotheads were exiled just because they made a lot of noise about a celebration! The crime was as small as the punishment was big. Both they and myself only caused quite a small commotion! So we can be sure that many more will be marched off to exile in the future. How happy must the children of Europe be. They could condemn, they could question policies they did not believe in, and without being punished, let alone exiled. Both they who were the best of accusations as well as those who did the accusing did not lose anything—on the contrary it meant that both would advance, each correcting the other. In the Indies, it was considered an outrage that could not be accepted. But this was just the beginning.