Hunger

SB Darmawan

Like usual when he had nothing to do, old Parman the porter took a rest under the giant leafy banyan tree at the center of the market. He had already carried goods to three houses this morning, and his old body deserved some rest.

Thin and of slight build, he was no longer the first choice of people need help. Instead, they chose the young, well-built men who could haul a heavy sack onto their backs and quickly take it to its destination.

Coughing slightly, old Parman took a drag on a cigarette. The hot air mixed with a cool breeze made him sleepy. He did not care about the noise around him as he enjoyed his rest.

The wrinkled face of his wife, whom he had married almost half a century ago, slowly formed in his mind. Perhaps she was carrying their grandchild. His three sons must be either at work at the factory or pedaling their pedicabs.

"Pak (Mr.) Parman! Pak Parman!" Old Parman was startled at hearing his name called. He opened his eyes wide to see a woman standing before him. He must have drifted off to sleep because he needed to stretch slightly before greeting her.

"Oh, bu (Mrs.) Hadi!, need my help?" Parman said kindly. He knew the woman well, for she was one of his longtime "regulars".

"Please take all these goods to my house," she said.

Parman stood up, fixing his shorts and walking behind the woman as she led him to two large sacks.

"This one is a sack of rice, and the other one contains vegetables. Here is your fee. Take it, please, as I'd like to go to the mail office. Please tell my maid, Iyem, to put the vegetables in the fridge and the rice in the kitchen."

Parman nodded and took the money. Parman never counted how much the woman gave him and the woman never asked him how much she should pay him.

After wrapping his sarong round his waist to fasten his shorts, old Parman began to carry the sack containing vegetables.

"Ugh! It's so heavy even though it contains only vegetables," Parman thought. After little staggering, he began to walk to Bu Hadi's house. He turned right at the market gate and felt the heat of the paved road. The traffic was busy and Parman had to be careful in making his way.

He had to stop several times because the sidewalk was crowded with pedestrians. About a hundred meters from the market, he stopped at a T-intersection to cross the road. He stood for sometime, waiting for the traffic to clear so that he could cross. Suddenly, a motorcycle suddenly braked and a man barked at him.

Old Parman turned a deaf ear. He did not want to pick a fight, even though he knew he was not in the wrong. When he was much younger, he would have shouted back at the man, but now he was silent. Besides, he felt a nagging pain in his shoulder.

Bu Hadi's house was about two hundred meters away but now the pain was throbbing. He came to a crossroads and stopped, waiting for the light to turn green.

With difficulty, old Parman dragged his feet with his remaining energy, and finally arrived at Bu Hadi's house. He felt great relief when he put the sack of vegetables on the floor. He was perspiring profusely and used his dirty cap to fan his hot body. He rang the door bell.

"Come, let me help you, pak!" said Iyem as she opened the door. The two of them carried the sack into the house. As usual, Iyem brought him a glass of tea and a plate of fried cassava, his favorite snack. He quickly drank the tea but did not touch the fried cassava.

"I have to go to the market again. There is another sack that I have to carry back here."

Old Parman walked back to the market in the heat of the late morning. He tried to lift the sack to find out its weight. "Wow, it must be three times heavier," he thought.

Parman took a brief rest. Then, again staggering, he hauled the sack over his shoulder and began walking to Bu Hadi's house.

"When I was young, I could easily carry a burden five times heavier than this," he grumbled to himself.

About twenty meters from the market, he stopped again. The pain in his shoulder was unbearable and he had to put the sack on the ground.

"Well, I still have to walk quite a distance," he said to himself, his eyes peering at the hot and noisy road. It was so stiflingly hot that old Parman thought he saw a river flowing on the paved road.

When he put the sack on his shoulder again, his legs began to tremble. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming sense of hunger. He had not had breakfast because Parinah's food stall, where he usually ate but paid later when he had the money, was closed that day. He was too ashamed to go to another stall, because he would have to ask them to keep a tab for him.

"I should have eaten the fried cassava that Iyem offered me," he thought regretfully. "When I was young, I could go on working for hours on an empty stomach."

He walked on slowly and reached the T-intersection again. His body was drenched in a cold sweat. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and the moment the traffic was clear, he hurriedly crossed the road, the sack perched on his shoulder. He knew he had to move fast or he would suffer another verbal battering from a motorist.

Before he reached the crossroads, he stopped and put down the sack twice. He began to see stars and when he finally got to the crossroads, he needed to rest again. He waited until the traffic lights changed green. Hunger stabbed him.

He clenched his teeth and with his last drop of energy he forced himself to walk to Bu Hadi's house. To alleviate the pain in his shoulder, he took off his shirt and his sarong and placed them on his shoulder as padding.

Staggering, he put the sack on his shoulder and dragged his feet to cover the short distance left to Bu Hadi's house. But it seemed further and further away with each step.

He wanted to take another rest. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath; he could see stars swimming before his eyes. He put up his hand to cover his eyes, but collapsed with a thud.

The sun above him seemed to melt the asphalt of the road. Several pedestrians stopped when they saw the old man lying on the road. As he lay there, Parman imagined he was at Bu Hadi's house, with Iyem holding out a glass of sweet tea and a plate of steaming boiled cassava.

Translated by Lie Hua