House of Glass

by Pramoedya Ananta Toer

  I jumped up. I must not waver. I must carry through this idea. What evil is there in blackmailing as long as nobody finds out? My name must not be soiled.

  “Food!” I shouted at my servant.

  As soon as dinner was put before me, I lost my appetite.

  I felt empty. I remembered that Rientje de Roo’s body would not comfort me tonight. She had been turned into a forty-nine kilogram heap of flesh that was probably already beginning to rot. How strange life was. Yesterday all the wealthy and high-class men were lusting after her. Today not a single person would make the visit to see her.

  How fragile was human life. Yesterday people were prepared to die to be with her. Now she was just a memory to a few people who would be too ashamed to tell their families of their acquaintance with her.

  The news of Rientje de Roo’s murder was the number-one news item in all the papers in Betawi and Bandung the next day. After I read them all, I went straight to my boss, intending to ask for a loan from the office cash. But I was too ashamed to ask. All that came out of my mouth was the question: “Are there any files for me to work on?”

  “Quite a few, but they don’t need to be worked on yet.”

  Finally I asked for two days’ leave. He had no objections. I went straight to the Javaache Bank. That was the first time I ever borrowed any money. One thousand five hundred guilders. I jumped into the taxi and headed off to Betawi. And it wasn’t that easy to find Sarimin. He was out on duty all day. I sat and waited for him in his house. His wife became worried by my presence. I excused myself and said I would come back later. I left, and spent the next few hours pacing the streets. I came back but Sarimin still wasn’t home. I left again and bought an afternoon paper. There were even more sensational reports about Rientje de Roo. I bought another paper. No less fantastic. I bought a Chinese-Malay paper and its news was even more sensational. All this could spell disaster for me. All of it!

  When I returned for the third time, Sarimin was at last there.

  “The newspapers are getting more sensational all the time, Meneer.”

  “Where is it?” I asked straight away.

  “If you have brought your goods with you, then, okay, we can go for a walk to a certain place.”

  We left. I swore to myself that I would be on my guard all the time and would keep my eyes open for any opportunity.

  Walking along a dark lane, I whispered: “I should shoot you in the head right here. Nobody would ever know.”

  That was what I really wanted to do. But I would never dare do it before I knew for certain that he had the notebook with him.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking I should do to you,” he answered insolently.

  My blood began to boil.

  “Don’t get me angry.”

  “I know your type, Tuan,” he answered. “If I slipped my knife into you now, Tuan, then you too would know who is Sarimin. But we are just conducting some honest business. I need money. You need to protect your name. You need position and rank. What haven’t I done for you? I could have handed this book in to the authorities. You would be in big trouble then—your children would be ashamed of having a father like you.”

  “Very well, let’s deal with each other fairly then.”

  “How have I been unfair to you?”

  We went into a satay stall on the side of the road and ordered something to eat. We ate but all the time he was sneaking glances at me.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I whispered in between mouthfuls.

  “Let me count what you have brought first.”

  While continuing to eat, I took out from a rather heavy bag twenty-five silver coins. One at a time, again and again, I counted them out until it reached one hundred guilders.

  “You’re still short,” he reminded me. His eyes watched me closely as he pulled off another piece of satay from its skewer.

  “A hundred should do you. I’ll be bankrupted.”

  “Do you want me to up it to a thousand?” His eyes watched closely.

  I brought out four more coins. I piled them up on the bench where we were sitting, between my legs.

  “Where’s your capital?” I demanded.

  He took out a red book from a calico bag.

  “Here,” he said. “But this is only a copy.”

  “A copy?” I stopped eating and put down my spoon.

  “Don’t worry. I have the original. I don’t want anyone ever to be able to have anything on me, anything at all.”

  “You bastard!”

  “Nobody better to say that than you, Meneer.”

  My suspicions reached a climax—was he playing some trick on me?

  “I want both the original and the copy.”

  “I will burn the copy here before your own eyes, Tuan, if we can resolve everything properly,” he answered frustratingly.

  “Here!” he called to the satay seller. “Fetch me some kerosene.” He threw him a few coins.

  The satay-man went outside and the stall was left empty.

  He took a silk bag from his pocket. There seemed to be a small but quite thick book inside.

  “You will get what you want, Tuan, as soon as you put what I want in my calico bag. If you don’t believe me anymore, that’s fine too. You’ll lose the three hundred guilders you have paid me, and we needn’t have anything to do with each other anymore.”

  It looked as if I was not going to be able to cow this rotten bastard. If I had been able to use him instead of Suurhof for my other work, perhaps I would have met with more success. I was really sorry that I was meeting him only now.

  “Very well then. Take the money before the satay-man comes back.”

  He took the parcel of money and counted it into his little calico bag.

  “It’s all here, Tuan. There’s honor among bastards after all, heh, Tuan?” The words tripped insolently from his tongue. He handed over the small silk bag containing the small book. “Here it is, Tuan. I hope you are happy now.” He held out his hand to finalize the deal.

  “Just a minute.” I refused to take his hand.

  I took the book and flicked through the pages. It was indeed the writing of a woman. On the first page there were the words, “Rientje de Roo,” as well as place and date. On the other side was the handwriting of a man ordering her to note down all the details of the clients she went with. She had to note down their rank and position, as well as date, time, and place. And I recognized the handwriting. It belonged to Robert Suurhof. This was the real thing all right.

  I held out my hand. We shook hands. The satay-man returned with some kerosene. Sarimin burned the other red book, the copy, in front of us. Then he gave the warung owner a shiny silver guilder.

  The satay-man just watched everything we did without ever seeming to want to ask any questions.

  “Nah,” Sarimin began again. “You wait here for five minutes, Tuan; then you can leave. Five minutes, Tuan, just to ensure your safety, heh! You won’t forget, heh?” His voice descended to a whisper. “If you leave before the five minutes are up, Tuan, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

  He stood, nodded his respects, and walked into the darkness of the night. He vanished.

  Even during the taxi trip back to Buitenzorg, I could not throw off my amazement that the Natives could produce such a fantastic criminal! As soon as I arrived home, I telephoned police headquarters in Betawi to check on his background. It was soon revealed to me that he was the adopted son of a Eurasian family, who had all since died of tuberculosis. He proved himself to be quite a capable policeman, rising more quickly than most to the position of agent first class.

  He had absorbed European cunning, I thought. Such a crime as this had never before occurred in Native criminal history. Anyway, whether cunning or not, he had certainly cost me a lot of money.

  My name was, in fact, mentioned eight times in Rientje de Roo’s diary. Some of the other names may have been false, but there were several that I recognized and whose positions I knew. The
y were all high officials. Robert Suurhof’s name appeared only once. This was on the first page where he had written out his order that Rientje note down everything. Rientje’s diary actually contained only the names of the men she slept with and how much they paid. It also noted how much she handed over to RS, no doubt initials that stood for Robert Suurhof. These amounts had grown larger from the time Suurhof was laid up in the Bandung Hospital until the last entry.

  During the last six months she had been receiving more and more Chinese, and last week there were even more. During the last month of her life, there were only Chinese. My name, the last name to be mentioned, was the only exception. The last entry was on the day of her planned visit to Buitenzorg. She died just before she was to leave to come to me.

  I was silently grateful that I had been able to get hold of this book. Although there was nothing in the book that would have had too evil consequences for me, it would still have caused me great public embarrassment. I would now be short of money for a few months, but I would remain the same unblemished Pangemanann as always.

  Rientje! How short was your life. Woman! You passed briefly into my life, bringing with you a different story than others. But you always remained a woman. And womankind was created by God for men. And men for women. You trod your own path in giving yourself to men. Different from Madame Pangemanann. Different from the way Annelies gave herself to Minke. Or Ang San Mei to the Modern Pitung. Was it true that the Catholic Ang San Mei could give herself to the Protestant Khouw Ah Soe and then to the Moslem Raden Mas Minke? And then there was Sanikem who gave herself to Herman Mellema. How numerous were the different paths that bring together men and women. And is it correct to describe all these relationships as women giving themselves to men?

  Madame to Monsieur Pangemanann was based on mutual affection, each giving himself and herself to the other. It was the same with Annelies and Minke. Rientje gave herself to whoever could pay the money that she asked for, but the essence of the surrender was the same. Sanikem gave herself because of force majeure, because of a stronger force that acted against her will. And what about Ang San Mei? Why did she give herself to Minke? I could understand what bound her to Khouw Ah Soe—they shared the same ideals for the liberation of China. This thing they shared between them strengthened them together. But why with Modern Pitung? I would try to find out whether this story (a somewhat unconvincing story) was true or not.

  And Rientje and Suurhof? She even looked after him financially all this while, even while he was an invalid in hospital and could not engage in his usual banditry.

  How great in number are the secrets between men and women which I would never know? Well, in any case, the reality is that Rientje will never give herself to me again. Never. She had died, without my feeling any loss. Madame Pangemanann had left, and I had felt no loss then either. My children went away and I felt no loss about that either. So why was it then that I would feel a loss if my position was taken away and my reputation soiled in public?

  You have become an asocial being, Pangemanann. You think only of yourself. You have begun to get used to the world centering on you, only for you. There is nothing else but you alone. All your knowledge and learning is now mobilized for one purpose and one purpose alone—to justify yourself and your passions. You have made yourself a god. You no longer have any value even to yourself, Pangemanann. Even Sarimin, a scummy little bandit and blackmailer like that, has defeated you! These are the fruits of your life! You didn’t need to go to university just to become such a person as you are now, Pangemanann! An illiterate village child could have done just as well. Probably even better! Even Oblomov, who dreamed of paradise on earth as well as in heaven, all without having to work and strive, was perhaps even better than you. He did no harm to anyone but himself, just becoming the butt of everybody’s jokes. You are kaput, Pangemanann! Kaput! Kaput! Kaput!

  The newspaper reports on the Rientje de Roo case took up more and more of the front page. Every paper in the Indies—Dutch, Malay, and Chinese-Malay—broadcast her name, reports on the murder, and the names of all those involved. The reports reached fever pitch when the matter was brought before the court.

  Fifteen days is not a short time. I lost my appetite for the whole two weeks. I couldn’t think. My heart no longer beat regularly. There was just one sentence that I sat waiting for—the sentence that would involve me in the case. Just one sentence, a sentence that could result in my heart bursting, and this life would be over. And I would follow after Rientje into the next world. Each day I had only one prayer, the same prayer that mankind always prays—save me, yes, do not betray me, Sarimin. Please don’t betray me. Save my honor, even though it is the honor shared among bandits. Yes, Sarimin, save me, Sarimin, Sarimin.

  It was the writings of Tan Boen Kim that set my heart racing most. He used traditional police methods to get his material—research, interviews, and on-the-spot inspections. Step by step he moved closer to where I was lurking.

  I quickly requested a report on him. It turned out he was a young, poor, local Chinese who lived in a Chinese temple in old Betawi. All he did was write, nothing else but write. No one knew who taught him to read and write. Differing from Lie Kim-Hok who received a special education from the priest, Hoornsma, Tan Boen Kim did not write general articles but specialized in crime stories.

  “I don’t want to see anyone today,” I told my servant. “I do not want to be disturbed by anyone. I’ve got enough of a headache as it is. . . .” I could imagine Sarimin spying on me, and Tan Boen Kim peeping over the fence. “Even if the police come, tell them I am out, understand?”

  “Your servant, Tuan. But Tuan must not drink so much. I am tired of mopping up the floor.”

  “Isn’t that your job?”

  “Of course. But there is so much washing to do as well,” she protested.

  “Do you need some help?”

  “No, Tuan. I can handle it by myself.”

  “Enough then. Leave me alone; I want to do some work.”

  I took out the manuscript of This Earth of Mankind and was about to start reading it again for the umpteenth time. Long pencil strokes in the margin on some pages indicated the passages that I had to reread. These were all about the change from the Native way of thinking to the European way of thinking. The different ways that the change made itself felt, the transformations in tastes and views. And it always came back to Sanikem.

  I did once discuss this extraordinary woman with Meneer L—. Was it possible for somebody to jump from one era to another, somebody from a primitive society? He smiled as he observed me. And his smile reminded me of a sentence out of the manuscript by Modern Pitung himself. Never underestimate the abilities of another human being. And Meneer L— explained that with fifteen years of education even somebody from the Stone Age could achieve the same levels of learning as in the West. While in these Indies, Meneer, he went on, it is precisely women who have been behind Native society’s great achievements. It could be proved that the greatness of Majapahit was because of none other than Gayatri, the founding princess of the Majapahit dynasty, who made possible the birth of Gajah Mada, and who blessed and defended his actions.

  “I have locked the sideboard, Tuan. No more drinking until tomorrow.” I could hear my servant’s whisperings in my ear. How much power she exercised over me now. Sanikem wasn’t like this, that’s for sure. She was a dominating woman . . . and this woman wanted to dominate as well. Was it true that women had a natural tendency to subdue men and keep men in their grip? And what about Surati in Child of All Nations? And Surati’s mother? And Ang San Mei? And Minem? And Minke’s mother? What was her name? Meneer L— says that it was women who were behind all the great achievements in the Indies. But everybody in her life had forgotten the name of Minke’s mother.

  I stood up. My thoughts would be plagued forever by all this confusion.

  “I have the key to the sideboard, Tuan. I will not give it to you.”

  Hell! She had been standing behi
nd me all this time.

  She still wasn’t going to give me the key.

  I stood over her, hands on hips. She wasn’t the least afraid.

  Not the least.

  “What is your name, tell me.”

  “Tuminah, Tuan.”

  “Don’t you have a husband?”

  “Lhoh! Tuan is asking things like that, about husbands and everything?”

  I took Modern Pitung’s manuscripts into the bedroom, locked the door, and for the umpteenth time examined myself in the mirror.

  You are getting old, too, Pangemanann, Jacques. There is no one else in the world who cares anything about you except Tuminah. It is she who is taking care of all your needs in this last lonely part of your life. Everybody outside this house is trying to slash you up and swallow you.

  Ah, this little life that is left me. Why do I have to live so miserably? What for? Sarimin might even try pressuring me again. And Tan Boen Kim might one day receive a whispered message from the spirit of Rientje de Roo so that my name too would be announced in the papers. I began brooding, with myself as audience.

  The trial would continue, and you, Pangemanann, might find yourself seated there not just as a witness but also . . . Didn’t anybody know that you had an appointment with Rientje de Roo on the day of her death? You might have a dozen alibis, but it is not you in charge of the case! It is the prosecutor! There! He has a savage look on his face, and he is pointing and shaking his fist. Yes, he could do that to me! Him! And the judge grimaces, showing his canines. And Jan Tantang, Khouw Ah Soe, Darsam, the de la Croix family, Kommer, Sanikem, Surati, Minke—they all give evidence against me, accusing me, crying out and shouting.

  “God! God!”

  Then suddenly the court disappeared. There was a knocking on my door from outside.

  “Tuan! Tuan! Get up. What’s the matter? Tuan!”

  My chest was heaving with panting. I climbed off the bed. My whole body was weak. I could hardly stand. I stumbled, wobbling, across to the door and opened it.