The Vampire

By Intan Paramaditha

Read it backwards and you will find me.

We came from the same place, cramped, dark, and wet. Red. But he didn’t want me, because he thought I had been suckled by a she-wolf.

Honestly, I never dreamed of becoming a secretary. If asked about my childhood ambitions, I always said I wanted to be a doctor, like thousands of other children. But as I grew older, my mother noticed my hard working and orderly mind. I loved making lists of lessons, pocket money budgets, and shopping lists. I was obsessed with categorizing. In my room, there were special boxes for tapes with different genres of music. I even knew what outfit I would be wearing on Friday two weeks in the future. Mother said, “You’re more suited to being a secretary than a doctor.”

After high school, I enrolled in a secretarial academy. Half of my reason was to maximize my potential, the other half was that to become a doctor, I had to love biology, and the only thing I liked about the subject was the classification of plants and animals. Again, categorization and orderliness. In the end, I realized my choice to study at the secretarial academy was the right one because I graduated with flying colors.

I live in caves of pitch-black night, wrapped in gray fog, unacquainted with the morning and the dew. I dare not challenge the light because I am not like all of you. I am obsessed with red. Red that pools into rivulets with an odor like, fresh fish.

I thirst for blood.

I am a black butterfly with velvet wings, flying through corridors, swept along by the whirl of the night. He doesn’t know my suffering, my moaning, my passion. He closes all the windows to drive me away, staggering with thirst.

Now I work at a consulting firm. I always iron my work blazers and skirts until they are perfectly smooth, matching the cool mahogany floors and milk-chocolate-colored paneling of my office walls. Brown is a classic color that always looks elegant. Want to look more professional? Wear brown. Or black. Funny, I used to think that dark colors were only for evil, and light colors only for good.

Sometimes I look for mice or dogs, or anything. I’m too weak to open my eyes. Unable to endure, I am so thirsty. Ah, if only I could trade my soul for..

Blood!

My position here is the marketing manager’s secretary. My desk is neatly arranged just outside my boss’s office. His name is Irwan. He’s young, handsome, rich, and smart. Of course, he has one weakness: he’s married. For him, it’s a weakness, because he has to go to great lengths to hide his relationships with several women. (At least that’s what I heard on my first day of work). For me, it’s also a weakness because I have to try to keep my distance given the intensity of my daily interactions with him, which might lead me astray. I’ve heard about sexual behavior in offices, but I’ve never been interested in breaking the code of conduct and norms of behavior.

Irwan was born into a wealthy family, and this makes me understand his fondness for playing with power. He often assigns me tasks outside of what’s expected, like asking me to draft letters for his side hustles outside the office. I’ve even had to leave the office just to pay his credit card bills. I know I have the right to protest, but for now, I choose to stay quiet, to weigh up just how unprofessional his behavior is.

“Any plans after work?”

I looked up. That day Irwan was wearing a red tie, peeking out from behind his conservative black blazer. Something was very wrong with that tie. Maybe the color was too bright, really out of place in a work interior filled with cool colors.

Red carries heat. Red sometimes coagulates, sticky, and catches like chewing gum. Red demands acknowledgment, ack-now-ledg-ment, cannot be delayed, cannot dissolve in the drain.

“Saras?”

I shook my head.

“Then join me for coffee.”

When working for someone, you get used to the imperative mood.

I tried to guess the hidden meaning behind the coffee invitation. He must have meant a room with air conditioning while enjoying coffee without coffee grounds at the bottom of the cup, not drinking a glass of muddy coffee at a road-side stall. He must have meant a certain class, with a certain purpose, perhaps networking. Very interesting for my career development, but let me reiterate that I am not interested in deepening relationships with married men.

Hypocrite.

Is there any logical consequence if I refuse?

She wants the man but doesn’t want to be the first to be blamed.

“The Director asked for a special report that has to be finished by tomorrow,” he said. “This is extra work for me, so I hope you can help.”

Irwan seemed to read my hesitation, and tried to emphasize that his invitation was rational and professional, not sensual or sexual. I weighed it up. Then I decided to go with him.

Ah! Ah! I am the sibling who shares warmth with you in that narrow red place. I know in high school you read cheap porn about a secretary entering her boss’s office without underwear. You are a woman who blooms generously.

Come, get angry! Don’t you dream of all the raw animal energy behind your civilized skirt?

So, we went to a café that played 1950s jazz. Under a dim light, we sat on a red velvet sofa so large I felt I could sink into it. If there was no coffee, I might have fallen asleep. Why did Irwan choose a place like this to discuss office projects?

A brothel..

Butterflies like me indeed love dimness, shadows, hallucinations. A happy house in a forest of wolves. You won’t know anything until you enter inside.

We chatted for two hours, espresso replaced by cappuccino. For half an hour, he discussed his special report. Ella Fitzgerald was still seducing with her golden voice, but I listened and took notes like a professional secretary. Then I heard him ask..

“Do you still live with your parents?”

I was startled, then I said I lived alone. My parents were out of town. I was an only child. He said to me that he was the same.

Then began the dangerous ritual: the cliché story of an unhappy marriage. That his wife was busy chasing her own ambitions, that there were no children to bind their closeness.

I had to end all this. He was hunting for prey.

So was I. Is there anyone willing to give up their soul?

“I have to go home,” I decided.

It wasn’t too late, but Irwan wanted to drive me home. I said it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted.

Okay, up to the front gate.

That man knows you live alone.

You and I are really lonely creatures. I am the life-sucking vampire who is dying because red is almost extinct, ceased, stopped, period.

He asked me if he could use the bathroom. So, I let him in.

Come in, come in through the gate, O thieves. Let’s leap, don’t sneak. See what you can taste in the fruit garden. I join because I am also a thief, a thief of life and death, and I will make you..

a ghost.

Then he sat on my conventional rattan chair, drinking a glass of water. He unbuttoned one button of his shirt. Loosened his tie — the tie that was all wrong.

Look at that man’s neck. Do you like vanilla ice cream? Taste its coldness with your tongue, and it will melt in your mouth.

I heard him call my name. He seemed to mumble, but I caught his last words..

“Actually, we already know what’s happening.”

I trembled. Suddenly I realized my greatest fear was coming true. I had imagined it, and because I had been completely professional, I knew I had to push him away firmly, drive him out if necessary.

But I felt him getting closer to me. I could smell the cologne mixed with the scent of cigarettes clinging to his neatly shaved hair. I felt as if I was..

Being sucked in?

At the tip of the ice cream, there is a shiny round cherry. A tempting, dangerous fruit. Will I fall? But I want it so badly. I am the life-sucking vampire.

His neck is so beautiful. And I am so thirsty..

for blood.

6:30 a.m. The phone rings.

“Hello, Saras?” a woman’s voice on the other end. “Don’t forget to remind your boss about the client meeting at 11. This means all presentation materials have to be ready. He’s already asked you to prepare them, right?”

“He’s not coming to work today.”

Read it backwards and you will find me.

Jakarta, June 2004

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Retrieved from https://cerpenkompas.wordpress.com/2004/07/18/vampir/#more-306. [Accessed 31/05/2024] This is an unauthorized experimental translation for internal consumption only.

A little background on the author:

Profile and Interviews:

• The Guardian: An article featuring Paramaditha discussing her novel The Wandering and its themes. The Guardian, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/mar/06/the-wandering-intan-paramaditha-review-indonesian-writer-debut-novel.

Academic Background:

• Macquarie University: Faculty page with details on her academic career and research interests. Macquarie University, https://researchers.mq.edu.au/en/persons/intan-paramaditha.

Literary Contributions:

• Penguin Random House: Publisher’s page for The Wandering with a biography and summary of her works. Penguin Random House, https://www.penguin.com.au/authors/intan-paramaditha.

Recognition and Reviews:

• The Jakarta Post: An article discussing Paramaditha’s influence on Indonesian literature and reviews of her works. The Jakarta Post.
• Asia Society: A review of her collection Apple and Knife and its impact on readers. Asia Society.

Some ideas on the story.