At the Post Office<\/p>\n
By Muhammad Ali<\/p>\n
At least 10 to 15 people, men and women, stood in a long
\nqueue, which began at a counter where a piece of wooden board
\nhung with a notice written on it in white small letters: To cash
\nType C Orders. Normally, Type C money orders are under Rp 1,000.<\/p>\n
The person standing at the front of the queue, or more aptly
\nhanging on the wire bars, was a thin, bony man, who looked like
\nan empty bag on a clothes line. His head, with its badly scared
\nscalp seemed to be fixed onto the small, thin body. The most
\ndisturbing aspect was his clothes; they were too large and had
\nnot been changed for weeks.<\/p>\n
It was not surprising that the woman standing behind him
\npressed her handkerchief to her nose and kept her distance from
\nhim. Possibly it was to avoid an unpleasant situation. But the
\nman seemed unaware with her attitude, he did not even bother to
\nlook around. His attention was on the money order in his hand,
\nnot on the counter in front of him, which was still not open.<\/p>\n
Gradually the queue became longer, for those who had just
\narrived added themselves to its end. Yet the counter remained
\nclose. Some people started to grumble, some of them started to
\nmoan because the official had not appeared. So the queue grew
\nlonger and blocked the way to other counters.<\/p>\n
At last, the official they had been waiting for showed up. A
\nmiddle-aged woman, wearing glasses and an official uniform,
\ncomplete with stripes on her shoulder showing her official rank.
\nSome gray hair could even be seen among her well-kept hair. After
\nsitting at her desk she looked at the long queue for a moment, as
\nif counting them. Suddenly she frowned, and every eye in the
\nqueue looked back in surprised annoyance.<\/p>\n
"Be quick, Sir," she said to the first man as she opened the
\ncounter window. The skinny man hurriedly handed in his money
\norder. "Got an ID?" she asked him.<\/p>\n
Out of the pocket of his trousers he took a card and handed it
\nover to her. She examined the signature on the ID, then she tried
\nto compare the photograph with man's face. This seemed to
\ndisplease the skinny man. But he knew he could do nothing about
\nit.<\/p>\n
"The two signatures look different. And this photograph, is it
\nreally yourself?" she finally asked.<\/p>\n
"Why? It is a photograph of myself two years ago."<\/p>\n
"Two years? Why is it so different?"<\/p>\n
The man looked at her sharply, all the muscles in his face
\nbecoming tense. But he did not say anything. Then, maybe because
\nof his odd look, the official said, "Okay, for now, but you'd
\nbetter replace it with a new photograph. You know, people become
\nolder sooner or later. Especially as life is getting harder
\nnowadays. Well, then, how much will you receive?"<\/p>\n
"Three hundred rupiah."<\/p>\n
Then, while paying him and handing over his ID, she continued,
\n"Look. They took this photograph only two years ago, and yet I
\ncan hardly recognize you."<\/p>\n
The man took his money and ID and quietly left the queue. The
\nsecond person followed, then the third; everyone in the queue
\nmoved toward the counter and handed over their respective money
\norder, and after being served, left. Many people had been served,
\nbut the queue seemed unmoving because people came and left
\ncontinuously. Seconds rolled on like a string of beads moving
\nwith the long queue.<\/p>\n
An hour passed and the official was still busy at her desk
\nwhen suddenly the skinny man appeared again at the counter.
\n"Excuse me, Missus, for bothering you. Didn't..."<\/p>\n
"Miss." the official cut in bitterly.<\/p>\n
The man immediately shut his mouth and stared at her. He felt
\nnauseous. "I beg your pardon, Miss. I am not aware of your
\nmarital status," he said.<\/p>\n
"Okay, what's your problem?" she insisted.<\/p>\n
"It seems that you've made a mistake, when transferring to me
\nthe money, because."<\/p>\n
"Impossible." she interrupted quickly. Her eyes widened.<\/p>\n
"I should have received three hundred rupiah, shouldn't I?
\nThat was the amount written on the money order, and I'm sure I'm
\nnot mistaken."<\/p>\n
"Let me see. I still remember the number," she said, and then
\nexamined one of the columns open in front of her. Pointing to a
\nline, she said, "That's it, money order number one four seven,
\nmarked C. Three hundred rupiah. What's wrong with it? You've
\nreceived three hundred rupiah, haven't you?"<\/p>\n
"No, I have not," he said. "You've given me not three one
\nhundred rupiah notes, but four. So I received four hundred
\nrupiah."<\/p>\n
She felt something inside of her heart making her want to
\nscream, but she could not open her mouth for a moment.<\/p>\n
"Then I've made a mistake. A great one," she said timidly.
\n"You know, too much work. Moreover, the notes are real new so
\nthey stick together. So, you want to return the one hundred
\nrupiah note to me, now?"<\/p>\n
"Yes, I'll return it to you, Missus," he said.<\/p>\n
"Miss." she quickly cut in again.<\/p>\n
"Sorry. I was about to return one hundred rupiah to you. But
\non my way from home to here, I got a flat tire on my bike. I got
\nit fixed and it cost me fifteen rupiah. On top of that, I paid
\nfive rupiah for parking. So twenty rupiah taken from one hundred,
\nyou have eighty rupiah. That's what I want to return to you,
\nMiss. Eighty rupiah." Then the man handed over the money.<\/p>\n
"Eighty rupiah?" she cried. "Why only eighty rupiah? I don't
\nunderstand why you relate that flat tire with this? Oh, don't
\ntease me, please. I don't care whether the tire exploded like an
\nH-bomb. I don't care whether you parked your bike and they
\ncharged you five rupiah, or you threw your bike into the drain. I
\ndon't even know whether you own a bike. I don't care about all of
\nthese things, you see. I know for sure that you admitted before
\nme and all these people, that you've received one hundred rupiah
\nmore than you should. That's what I have to receive from you. Not
\na single rupiah less. You know that it was not my money. It's the
\ngovernment's."<\/p>\n
Her words were fired like bullets from a machine gun, hissing,
\nto make his ear red. His eyeballs seemed to roll quickly and jump
\nout of his eyes.<\/p>\n
"But, you must also understand," he said in a shattering
\nvoice, "it is not my business to come here. It's for your sake."<\/p>\n
"I've clearly told you, I don't care about it. Don't waste my
\ntime. Come on, be quick, return the money."<\/p>\n
The commotion was frustrating the long, orderly queue. Now
\neveryone grumbled in front of the counter. They had witnessed the
\nterrible row between the skinny man and the lady behind the
\ncounter. They generally agreed that it was an interesting and
\nunique event to watch, although it made them waste their time.
\nSome were indifferent, others just made their own conclusions.<\/p>\n
"She really is a blabbermouth," some of them said, almost
\nwhisperingly.<\/p>\n
"She sure is," said a tall man. "That old woman is really
\nwilling to be addressed as 'Miss'. Is she really still a virgin?
\nWell, that's not so important. It's clear that she cannot
\nappreciate honesty."<\/p>\n
"Yeah, that old hag should be content to receive half of the
\namount, since it was her mistake in counting it. At his age, one
\nwould not return, without difficulty, to the counter, just to
\ngive back the money that's already in hand." a man said behind
\nhim.<\/p>\n
"That man must be stupid, or crazy," someone else said. "Why
\nshould he return, gasping for air, only to hand over the money
\nthat could be his? Why shouldn't he spend it? One hundred rupiah
\nis something, especially during this difficult time. That silly
\nbloke does not know his place, let him learn about it."<\/p>\n
A sturdy man, who looked like the ruin of a temple, having
\njust been served at the counter, could stand it no longer and
\ntried to interfere. He asked the skinny old man, "What's your
\nmotive for traveling this far to return the money?"<\/p>\n
The man thought for a little while, trying to find the
\nappropriate words to respond to the sudden question. He said, "I
\nthink I do not deserve the money, and I must return it to the
\nowner."<\/p>\n
With that reply the sturdy man did not say anything for a
\nwhile. He felt he was in a mosque listening to a sermon, or that
\nhe had found a very impressive line from a book that he seldom
\nread. Therefore he said, happily, "I feel impressed by your
\nhonesty. Not many people are as honest as you are. We are
\nadmirers of your honesty. So we ought to appreciate you."<\/p>\n
"You are worthy to be presented with knightly dress," another
\nman said. "We should go, in procession, to the Mayor's office.
\nI'm not exaggerating, if we celebrate this lavishly."<\/p>\n
The skinny man was stunned. He hoped it was only a joke,
\nbecause he could not imagine himself in such clothing, parading
\nin a big group to the Mayor's office, and, besides, did he really
\ndeserve such a parade? He asked in his heart.<\/p>\n
"Now, keep the eighty rupiah in your pocket." the tall man
\nsaid, calmly. "I'll take one hundred rupiah to pay for that," he
\nsaid to the woman at the counter and handed over a one hundred
\nrupiah bank note. "Here's your money, Missus."<\/p>\n
"Miss."<\/p>\n
"Sorry, sweet Miss," he said. Then, to the skinny man, he said
\n"Now, you see, it's all settled. Let's go together."<\/p>\n
They left the crowd, but everyone's eyes followed those two to
\nthe door. What a pair. One was tall, young and neatly dressed,
\nwhile the other, exactly the opposite. When they came to the bike
\nshelter the old man said respectfully to his new acquaintance, "I
\nappreciate your generosity."<\/p>\n
The young man suddenly burst out laughing, which made the old
\nman hesitant. "You know, you must not thank me," he said. "That
\nwas not my money. As it happened to you, that woman gave me one
\nhundred rupiah extra, too."<\/p>\n
The old man suddenly trembled with anger. "I'm a poor man with
\na big family. I don't know if tomorrow I can buy rice or not," he
\ngroaned. "But your joke is not funny. I cannot take it. I must
\nreturn the money to her. Oh, poor woman."<\/p>\n
With that he turned around and ran through the post office
\ndoor and disappeared. The tall man stood, surprised. His question
\nwas actually very simple. Yet, in his mind, remains unanswered:
\nWas there really such an honest man?<\/p>\n
Translated by Sunaryono Basuki Ks<\/p>\n
Muhammad Ali was born in Surabaya, April 1927, and started
\nwriting during the Japanese occupation: poems, short stories and
\nplays. Among his books are Siksa dan Bayangan (Torture and
\nShadow) 1954 and Ibu Kita Raminten (Raminten, Our Mother) 1982.
\nHe also wrote a lot of movie and book reviews. This short story
\nwas first printed in Horison magazine in May 1968. The English
\ntranslation appeared in Our Heritage: 16 Modern Indonesian
\nStories.<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/at-the-post-office-1447893297",
"image": ""
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"sponsor": "Okusi Associates",
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