Grief and Sympathy<\/p>\n
By Dewi Anggraeni<\/p>\n
My palm moistens and my heartbeat quickens. I stop listening.
\nI sit down.<\/p>\n
\"Ibu*) Jauhari? Are you there?\" finally the voice, at first
\nsounding like it is coming from a different dimension, pulls me
\nback to the telephone conversation. I look down at my lap, where
\nmy hand is loosely holding the mouthpiece, and resume possession
\nof it.<\/p>\n
\"Yes, Ibu Srimurni. I am still with you. No, I wasn't aware
\nthat Puspa hadn't been attending school for the last ten days. As
\nfar as I was aware, she left home every morning, ostensibly... er
\nto go... to school.\" My mouth is so dry I feel as if the power of
\nspeech has been sapped away from me.<\/p>\n
We agree that we have to meet for a more private discussion.<\/p>\n
I ring for a taxi, because I don't trust myself to drive.<\/p>\n
All of us, Puspa, Purina, and no doubt Sofyan, have been
\nsummoning our inner strength to handle our individual and
\ncollective grief from Chaerul's death. And we are still trying to
\npiece together, with even greater pain, the circumstances of his
\ndeath. This realization made me quietly lower my eyes, as if
\nshielding myself from the glare of accusations from outside.
\nBeing the only adult, I should have taken more responsibility
\nover the situation, over how we handle our emotions. Purina is
\nbarely an adult, even though she has recently got married. And
\nher husband Sofyan is no older than herself. Yet, come to think
\nof it, Purina was the one who would have experienced the biggest
\nshock. She received the phone call. Understandably I have been
\nwatching her closely, and maybe, somehow neglected Puspa.<\/p>\n
That evening, we were all sitting around after a dinner
\nwelcoming Purina and Sofyan back from their honeymoon. By then we
\nhad learned not to miss Chaerul. We had learned that Chaerul had
\nset up house somewhere else, with someone else. The atmosphere
\nwas cheerful and chatty, even slightly silly. There was no
\nwarning of what was to come.<\/p>\n
Purina, much to Sofyan's embarrassment, was reading a rather
\nbawdy poem she had downloaded from the Internet, when the call
\ncame.<\/p>\n
She was the closest to the phone, so she answered it. \"This
\nthe Jauhari family home... Yes, you can speak with me,\" she said,
\nwith a rather bewildered expression. \"I am the eldest daughter.
\nThe only adult man in this family is my father and he does not
\nlive here.\"<\/p>\n
Puspa who had stood up, probably expecting it to be one of her
\nfriends, stopped short not because she had heard what Purina had
\njust said, but because she saw her face. We all had a glimpse of
\nit from where we each sat. As if sensing the foreboding, we all
\nbecame tense and watched Purina's face.<\/p>\n
She turned away from us, and for at least two minutes did not
\nsay a word. Then we heard her determined voice, \"I think you've
\nmade a mistake. How could you tell it was him? Yeees, but anyone
\ncould have a birthmark on his inner thigh! No! Anyone could
\nhave ...\"<\/p>\n
By this time I realized that Purina was shaking. I stood up
\nand moved toward her.<\/p>\n
\"No! I don't believe you! No! You can't speak to my mother!\"<\/p>\n
\"Purina!\" I yelled, \"give the phone to me at once!\" as I
\ngrabbed the mouthpiece from her.<\/p>\n
What I heard didn't immediately register. It was as unreal as
\nhearing that a UFO had landed in our courtyard. Then I was sure
\nit was a crank call and was on the point of hanging up, when the
\nvoice said, \"Ibu, we understand your shock. You may hang up on
\nus. When you have recovered, please call us, and ask to speak to
\nFirst Inspector Prambudi. Please write down this number...\"<\/p>\n
Later that night, after identifying what remained of Chaerul -
\nfor I was sure it was Chaerul, Inspector Prambudi and his
\nsubordinate offered to question me at home, but I refused. Puspa
\nhad to be protected from all of this at any cost. She was after
\nall only fourteen. And Purina had suffered enough.<\/p>\n
I bore the full brunt of the humiliation, admitting that my
\nhusband had left us, because he had been having a relationship
\nwith another man.<\/p>\n
\"How long ago was it?\" asked Inspector Prambudi.<\/p>\n
\"A little over two years.\"<\/p>\n
\"What was the man's name?\"<\/p>\n
\"Ronny. I don't know his full name.\" I was shaking
\nuncontrollably. One of the police officers present stood up and
\nspoke to someone outside the room.<\/p>\n
\"Mrs. Jauhari, did your husband stay with Ronny?\"<\/p>\n
\"Not as far as I know. I think they broke up about six months
\nago.\"<\/p>\n
\"Do you know if he took up with anybody else after that?\"
\nI stammered, \"I don't... know.\" I forced myself to stay sitting,
\nalthough the room had begun to move. When an office boy came in
\ncarrying a tray with a glass on it, I remembered thinking he was
\ngoing to spill the contents of it on me, so I stood up to stop
\nhim from dropping the tray. But my legs gave way and the world
\nsnapped into darkness.<\/p>\n
I refused to describe what I had seen to Purina. I knew it was
\nChaerul. Even devoid of life and physically incomplete, he was
\nstill recognizable. And no one could have an identical birthmark
\nat the exact spot.<\/p>\n
\"Is it true that they'd cut off his head, hands and feet?\"
\nasked Purina in half whisper, her eyes pleading for me to say no.<\/p>\n
\"Yes, dearest.\"<\/p>\n
Purina broke into quiet sobs. We remained in companionable
\nsilence, each with our own way of coping, intertwined in common
\nnumbness.<\/p>\n
\"Mum,\" Purina looked up, her face pale and wet, \"how did they
\nget to contact us, if there was no identification whatsoever on
\nhim?\"<\/p>\n
\"Sweetheart, I don't know if you want to hear this,\" I said
\nsoftly.<\/p>\n
\"Tell me, Mum. I need to know. I'm not a child.\"<\/p>\n
Suppressing an urge to scream from a sudden pain behind my
\nnose, I told her.<\/p>\n
\"What?\" Purina screamed, \"he had our telephone number tattooed
\non his back?\"<\/p>\n
\"Yes, sweetheart. And according to forensic, it had been done
\nsome months ago. Oh God, it appears that he'd had a
\npremonition...\"<\/p>\n
Purina staggered to the window and inhaled deeply. When she
\nreturned she collapsed into my lap and cried like a child.<\/p>\n
\"I thought he behaved strangely at my wedding, Mum. But I
\ndismissed it as emotion. He was prone to being sentimental. Mum,
\nI should've paid more attention...\"<\/p>\n
\"Hush child. Don't begin to blame yourself. You were not to
\nknow. No one was.\" The pain had descended to my chest, then shot
\nto the pit of my stomach. I should have known.<\/p>\n
Despite my protests, Purina and Sofyan stayed with us for a
\nnumber of weeks after Chaerul's funeral. During that time I was
\nrelieved to see that Purina had made a perfect choice for a
\nliving companion. Sofyan's steady and mature character was a
\ngreat help to all of us. The three of us did our best to protect
\nPuspa. We only began discussing anything remotely related to
\nChaerul's affairs when she had gone to bed.<\/p>\n
We were also grateful to the police for complying with our
\nrequest about not revealing our names to the media.<\/p>\n
I paid the taxi driver, then walked slowly towards the
\nheadmistress' office. Fortunately for me, the students were all
\nin class. With each step I pray that nothing terrible has
\nhappened to Puspa. What has she been doing every day for these
\nten days? Has she taken up with a dubious group who are into
\ndrugs and free sex? Dear God, please don't ever let that happen!
\nWhat have we done to deserve all of this?<\/p>\n
\"Please come in, Ibu,\" says the secretary, holding the door to
\nthe office open.<\/p>\n
I thank her, then step in quickly, not looking back when the
\ndoor is closed behind me. The headmistress rises from her seat,
\nshakes my hand to welcome me, and walks towards the more
\ncomfortable lounge chairs nearby. We then sit at a ninety-degree
\nangle facing each other, a very discreet position.<\/p>\n
She begins by telling me that not long after Chaerul's
\nfuneral, Puspa started to show very visible mood swings. At
\nfirst, her close friends tried to hang around and comfort her,
\nbut Puspa was not very responsive. Gradually they left her alone,
\nand she seemed to prefer it that way.<\/p>\n
\"At times she was just uncommunicative, lately she'd burst
\ninto tears for apparently no reason. Yet she wouldn't talk to
\nanyone, her friends or teachers\", the headmistress said.<\/p>\n
The door opens and a woman comes in with a tray of drinks and
\nsnacks. Srimurni, the headmistress, nods and lets her arrange the
\nglasses and plates on the table before us, then waits until we
\nare alone again.<\/p>\n
\"Her schoolwork has also suffered,\" Srimurni continues. \"She
\nwas always late with her homework. Sometimes she forgot to do it
\nat all. How has she been at home?\"<\/p>\n
I have to admit that I had not paid much attention to her
\nschoolwork, and in acknowledging that fact I felt the shame of
\ninadequacy as a parent. But I stop short of apologizing to
\nSrimurni. It is to Puspa that I have to apologize.<\/p>\n
I am glad the headmistress does not try to express
\nunderstanding of my situation, because it is not something one
\ncan easily understand. However I think she knows that I am at
\nbreaking point and want very much to end our discussion.<\/p>\n
\"At this stage, Mrs. Jauhari, I would like to offer to speak
\nto Puspa's close friends and find out what they know.\"<\/p>\n
\"Thank you, Bu. But please, no. Not yet. Let me find out from
\nPuspa herself, first.\"<\/p>\n
I left soon after that, having drunk the sweetened tea but
\nbarely touched the sweetmeats served.<\/p>\n
The backdoor opens. I hear Puspa's footsteps. Pretending to be
\nreading a newspaper when she appears, I greet her with a smile,
\nand ask her about her day.<\/p>\n
\"Okay\", she says and nothing more. I remember now that for at
\nleast two weeks she hasn't been very chatty about her days or her
\nschool adventures.<\/p>\n
When she has gone to her bedroom, I stand up, take a deep
\nbreath, and walk toward her room.<\/p>\n
I knock, then without waiting for an answer, open the door and
\npop my head in. \"May I come in?\"<\/p>\n
\"I suppose so,\" she says, without turning to look at me.<\/p>\n
I go in, pick up her dirty clothes that are strewn all over
\nthe floor, then sit down after removing some magazines from the
\nchair near the bed.<\/p>\n
\"Sweetheart, where have you been these last few days? You
\nhaven't been at school.\"<\/p>\n
To my horror, she turns and glares at me. \"What do you care?\"<\/p>\n
\"Puspa! Of course I care! You are my child, and I don't want
\nyou to get into anything destructive. Why don't you think that I
\ncare?\"<\/p>\n
\"Mum, you and Purina and Sofyan have been having huddles
\nwhenever I am not around. You think I don't know? You don't
\ninclude me in anything, its as if I don't exist. You treat me
\nlike an outsider, as if I wasn't family. If like you said, I am
\nyour child, so why do you treat me like that?\" her voice breaks
\ninto shrieking, and she is crying.<\/p>\n
I am dumbfounded. When I finally recover my faculties, I grab
\nher shoulders and sit her down on the bed.<\/p>\n
\"Puspa! We haven't been leaving you out. We haven't been
\ntreating you like an outsider. To tell you the truth, we have
\nbeen protecting you from the pain of knowing the full story about
\nyour father's death. I confess now, it was probably our, rather
\nmy, biggest mistake. And Puspa, I apologize, sincerely apologize.
\nSweetheart, I didn't know how well you could take it. Oh, if you
\nonly knew how scared I was of losing you!\"<\/p>\n
\"Losing me? How?\" Puspa is genuinely astonished.<\/p>\n
I sit beside her, holding her hand. \"I don't know. Oh
\nsweetheart, I don't know. I just know that I was scared you'd
\nfreak out when you found out how your father died.\"<\/p>\n
Suddenly Puspa turns to look me in the face. \"Mum, I know how
\nhe died. That's what cut me so much. That you guys didn't tell
\nme, and I had to learn about it from other people!\"<\/p>\n
\"Who? Did your friends talk about it?\" I am horrified.<\/p>\n
Puspa stopped crying, and despite her tear-stained, teenage
\ncomplexion, she looks somehow wizened. \"My friends? No, they
\ntried so much to protect me as well. They never said a word about
\nfather in front of me. Yet I knew they knew.\"<\/p>\n
\"How did you know that they knew?\"<\/p>\n
\"All their mothers knew that's how. Many of them came up to me
\nand said something like, oh you poor thing! Fancy discovering
\nyour father's body like that! Oh Puspa, have they found out who
\ndid it? Oh Puspa, have they found the other body parts yet? Mum,
\nthey all knew! Yet you didn't tell me!\"<\/p>\n
The following day I rang Srimurni's office, informing them
\nthat Puspa is not returning to the school.<\/p>\n
\"Mum, are you sure sending me to another school is a good
\nidea?\"<\/p>\n
\"No, I am not. But at least you don't have to be exposed to
\nthose sympathizing mothers.\"<\/p>\n
*) Ibu or Bu is Indonesian for Mrs. or Madam, literary means
\nMother.<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/grief-and-sympathy-1447893297",
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