The Guest

By Ratna Indraswari Ibrahim 

January 1965.

My name is Dara. That year I was eight years old and I had two younger brothers. Mama thought they should get more attention because they were still young. (After I got home from school I had to help take care of them.) Meanwhile mama tended to her orchids hanging from a tree at the back of our house. (Mama hoped the orchids would add a little income to help with our school fees. According to mama papa was only a civil servant and his salary was just enough to make it to the end of the month.)

There was another thing. After coming home from work, papa would just hunt through the stations on the radio, and say, very annoyed, “What the hell. What kind of radio broadcast is this? Even listening to Elvis and The Beatles is banned. And I do not like the broadcasts that are on the radio. All they contain is just propaganda.”

That evening I was plucking out papa’s gray hairs for 50 cents for each gray hair. Suddenly the phone rang. papa answered and shouted (at the time long distance connections weren’t too clear). Then papa rushed out the back to find mama who was buried in her orchids. “Daryo is already in Surabaya. Next week he’s going to visit us. His father is sick. He’s planning to apply for annual leave. And he also said he was bringing your order, Maya brand perfume.

Then mama spoke to me. “Uncle Daryo is your papa’s cousin. He’s Sinbad. A sailor. We haven’t seen each other for five years. He sent you the Teddy Bear you received five years ago. He’s been able to travel all around Europe, not like your father. He’s just a civil servant. If he was going to stay there when you’re finished college, you can  just study in the Netherlands or Europe.”

“I don’t want to go to school in the Netherlands. When I’m grown up I will go far, very far.”

Mama didn’t respond to what I said. Again I have to keep an eye on my two little brothers who had been very unsettled that afternoon.

Preparations to welcome Uncle Daryo felt like preparing to celebrate Eid after Ramadan. There were lots of ketupat and mama was wearing a very pretty pink dress (she was looking pretty that afternoon) when Simbad the sailor arrived. He gave souvenirs to each member of the family. Mama received perfume, papa received a nice watch, and I leapt up when Uncle Daryo gave me a Barbie and her boyfriend Ken.

At one point later that night mama said to papa, “papa, you have found a fantastic friend, haven’t you? Look how comfortable you feel listening to Daryo’s chatter till late in the night.”

“I don’t know. What we’re talking about is political books. Even though I don’t like that. I’m so sick even of listening to it on the radio. But, it’s also exciting listening to his chatter.”

I almost choked on a piece of bread and asked rather hurriedly, “Pa, what is a political book? I don’t like them because there aren’t any pictures.”

Mama interrupted, “I don’t like books like that either. What I like is money.”

Papa laughed and out on the front porch you could see Uncle Daryo wave his hands as he held up a few more books.

Papa was in the bathroom, I asked Uncle Daryo, “Why do you and papa like those books? What’s in them? And they don’t have any pictures.”

“When I return to Europe, I’m going to leave these books here so that when you grow up you can read them. At that time, you won’t be liking dolls anymore.”

“I will always love dolls even when I’m grown up. When I move away from this house, Barbie and Ken and I will be together.”

Uncle Daryo laughed and that night I felt happy because I wasn’t kicked out by mama as I listened to the conversation between the two men. Without realizing it I fell asleep.

The next day mama grumbled because the previous day I had fallen asleep in front of guests.

“See that’s why you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on adult conversations. You should be studying so you eventually can go up to the next class with a good grade.”

But papa had a different opinion, “Let Dara listen in so she learns from the books we’ve been discussing.”

“What discussion? For me, Dara and her younger brothers have to study their school lessons.”

It was true. The atmosphere at home felt different when Uncle Daryo was present among us. Even though mama rarely joined them late into the night, it was obvious that mama had never hated the conversations from our guest, Uncle Daryo.

True, we rarely receive guests and from those rare occasions mama sometimes did not like papa’s guests. Papa also did not really like mama’s guests or friends. But it was very clear they both liked Uncle Daryo, even though sometimes papa often said to mama, “Daryo is strange liking books like that.”

“Daryo has always been eccentric,” said mama  firmly.

Papa didn’t comment and whenever Uncle Daryo didn’t drop by even for a day, the atmosphere in the house returned to how it was before. Papa would tinker with the radio while mama tended to her orchids, and mama would tell me to take care of my little brothers.

One time when Uncle Daryo was there and was busily discussing with papa in the living room, I wanted papa to help me study math. On this occasion Uncle Daryo was the one who helped me, while papa was engrossed in reading the books. In the end my mathematics homework was finished. 

When I saw that mama had fallen asleep with my little brothers, I came out again into the living room, watching them engrossed in discussion, sometimes arguing and pointing at paragraphs in a book. They sometimes laughed together. I just listened without understanding, but it felt really exciting. Indeed ever since Uncle Daryo’s presence our house has been like an orchid that has been sprayed with water, forever fresh and strong. When the whole family got together, Uncle Daryo would tell us about the sea, about pirates and about Europe. I was fascinated as I listened to his stories about how the pirates had intercepted his ship.

Mama often asked about Europe and her eyes seemed to dream as she listened to the stories about Europe. At times like that papa would said, “I always dreamed of my children being able to go to school there. The political climate is getting more and more uncertain. A lot of people say our country is going to be controlled by the communists. The news from the overseas radio broadcasts goes back and forth, that there are other powers who wish to overthrow President Soekarno.”

If you talked about those things, the atmosphere went quiet. Mama would say calmly, “As a civil servant you’re going to receive a pension in your old age. If you do want to migrate there you have to start from zero. But you’re already 37? What do you think, Daryo?”

“I actually agree with your husband’s opinion, life in this country is becoming more and more uncertain. As long as you’re happy to be a dishwasher in a restaurant, I can try to arrange it. I have a friend who owns a restaurant who needs a dishwasher.”

Mama went quiet for a while, then said, “In that case let’s just watch the atmosphere here carefully first. I prefer Malang city, if we don’t have to move, why would we move?”  

Then Uncle Daryo interrupted, “I may not be able to return to Indonesia. My wife, Margareta, definitely can’t live in Indonesia. She’s already happy working in radio and shouldn’t I help her be happy? After all, our two sons don’t want to live with us anymore.”

“You mean you all don’t live in the same house anymore? Aren’t Ricard and Bangun still 17 and 20,” asked mama.

Uncle Daryo said, “Children in the Netherlands cannot be kept at home at that age. Because they can be independent in the sense that they can earn their own money.”

“If it’s like that I want to go to the Netherlands, so I can earn my own money.”

Uncle Daryo laughed. Of course I didn’t  continue what I was saying about that, I preferred to live with Barbie and Ken because if I lived alone, mama wouldn’t tell me to look after my fussy little brothers.  

Then papa cut off my train of thought. “Even though I’m already a Section Head, I’m willing to become a dishwasher in another country as long as the children can go to school regularly. I’ve heard on foreign radio broadcasts this country is a tinderbox. I’m worried about the children’s education.”

“Yes, I can sense your concern. When my father is better you can think about coming with me.”

That was Uncle Daryo. Maybe our joy whenever he visited was because of the way he paid attention to each of us, even to my baby sister. It felt as if the more time I shared with them the more comfortable I became sitting and listening to their discussions, without understanding what they were talking about.

So we felt that the afternoon wasn’t complete if Uncle Daryo didn’t drop by. We were sure that if he arrived we were going to spend the evening together until the dead of night. One time Uncle Daryo explained to us he was given the job of caring for his father from morning till sun down. When his younger siblings came home from work, only then his younger siblings took over taking care of their father, and mama often praised Uncle Daryo’s attitude, “Look at that, Dara. Uncle Daryo wants to stop working just to take care of his elderly father. I hope you and your little brothers are able to do the same when we’re old.”

“Of course I will look for a nurse for you, mama.”

“Uncle Daryo can do that if he wants, but he decided to take care of his father himself, Dara.”

Over the months that followed, Uncle Daryo rarely dropped into the house. According to mama, Uncle Daryo’s father was becoming very sick. With a gloomy face, papa often said, “Can you get in touch with your cousin in Malaysia? I want you and the children to go there ahead of me.”

“What are you talking about? You’re a Section Head, aren’t you? You don’t have a political party and you’re not active in any party. Up till then all papa had done with Daryo was just limited to discussions, right? Never with anyone else, right?”

“I have no idea. My position as Section Head makes a lot of people jealous, especially the people who feel they’re party people.”

September 1965.

A few days ago, our family visited Uncle Daryo’s house to pay our condolences and he said, “After the seven days ceremony for father’s death, I plan to leave to go back to Europe. Starting from now you will have to  arrange your passport and I will work on getting you a working visa. A friend of mine wants to give a letter to be responsible for you while you’re in the country.

Mama seemed to agree straight away. 

Our farewell with Uncle Daryo was deeply moving. As he hugged me, he said to papa, “I don’t know when I will be able to come back to Indonesia. I hope you get everything arranged soon and then your wife and children can follow you quickly.”

October 7, 1965.

That night I was woken up, my parents were burning the books. As she saw me, mama said, “Don’t tell anyone, dear, that we ever burned these books. So no-one thinks of your father as PKI.”

At the time, I had just turned eight years old. But as I listened to what mama was saying, I sensed that something sad was going to happen to us.

In that state of shock papa hugged me, and said, “Dara, everything will be alright. You have to remember these words.”

Amsterdam April 2004.

At a seminar in this country, I arranged to meet Uncle Daryo and Aunt Margareta. They were now around 76 years old (the same age as papa), but they both looked happy and healthy! As they both hugged me, I cried. And that night, I dreamed I met papa who said, “Dara, everything will be alright. You have to remember these words.”

I woke up from the dream, still in Amsterdam. And I remembered that on 7 November 1967 a group of people took papa away. Since then papa has never been heard from, up to today! 

***

Malang, 2004

---

Kompas Daily, 20 June 2004, Retrieved from https://ruangsastra.com/29376/tamu/.