Names<\/p>\n
Y. Wibowo<\/p>\n
The air was damp and fetid with the smell of urine, and Karyo
\nfelt uneasy.<\/p>\n
He was not sure how long he would be behind bars: Five or 10
\nyears, perhaps more. After 57 days in the cell, the resolution of
\nthe case remained unclear.<\/p>\n
It was unfair, yes: All he had done was deliver letters from
\none worker's union to another. He started it three years earlier,
\nwhen workers set up the unions with the aim of securing their
\nrights.<\/p>\n
Karyo didn't need to spend late nights following meetings of
\nthe organization he served. He only had to send letters or stacks
\nof documents when decisions were made, \"to communicate them to
\nthe other unions\", as his leader once said.<\/p>\n
Karyo had only been told about the people he was supposed to
\nsee but the contacts kept changing.<\/p>\n
\"Karyo, it's a rather dangerous task under present conditions,
\nso you've got to be careful and every letter must reach the
\naddressee,\" he had been told.<\/p>\n
Illegal union dissolved was one of the headlines when he was
\narrested. Unfortunately, his name was mentioned as the
\norganization leader who had been apprehended. He was an alleged
\ndanger to the state, a charge which left him dumbfounded.<\/p>\n
\"I never caused trouble like Parjan and Wagino, who were known
\nas the instigators among factory workers. Yes, I dared to sleep
\nwith Warti, no more! That was her fault. She would come to me
\nafter work at the textile plant to walk her home,\" he thought to
\nhimself.<\/p>\n
\"I'm bored and stressed, mas,\" she had told him then.<\/p>\n
The factory job was so tiring, with no holidays or leave
\nallowed except for illness or pregnancy, which required a
\ndoctor's note. She would face a pay cut if she was absent without
\npermission.<\/p>\n
Then she would say, \"I'm fed up and stressed, I want something
\nnew for a change.\"<\/p>\n
Warti had persuaded him to go for walks with her. The affair
\nbegan when he took her out for a stroll on the beach, and then
\ntook a room at a small hotel nearby.<\/p>\n
That room was only a memory now, for now he sat in a two-by-
\nthree-meter cell. And he was alone, only sometimes overhearing
\nthe talk from nearby cells.<\/p>\n
\"He's a political detainee,\" he heard one say once.<\/p>\n
\"Yes, he's from a radical organization,\" added another.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
Disman wandered around the crowded market, searching for that
\nsomebody who had been close to him at the factory. His visit to
\nthe capital followed the information he had heard from ex-workers
\nnow in Sumatra, transmigrant farmers like himself. Some of his
\nfriends had warned him not to go.<\/p>\n
\"Frankly I don't have the heart to tell you this: she's now
\nbecome a sex worker in the city,\" one of them told him.<\/p>\n
If that was true and he still insisted on abandoning his wife
\nand two children for her, it would be an unthinkable decision.
\nHis family had given him a living, freedom from the whispered
\nwords about his past and a new identity. His marriage had saved
\nhim indeed.<\/p>\n
\"Jatinegara, Jatinegara,\" the harsh voice of a bus conductor
\ndistracted him from his daydreams. He quickly jumped onto the
\nbus, welcomed by the conductor's broad grin.<\/p>\n
But it was not the friendly conductor that attracted him. He
\nmind was preoccupied by a crumpled street map with the address he
\nhad to find. He had brought the sheet with him in the scorching
\ncity of hot-tempered people. Then some passengers' screams caused
\nconfusion, with two long-haired youths brandishing knives and a
\nyoung woman screeching hysterically.<\/p>\n
Yes, a frenzied, sweltering city of hot-tempered people.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
Bruno relaxed in the dimly lit side of a park in the early
\nevening. The noon fracas on the bus had strengthened his resolve
\nto survive in the capital.<\/p>\n
\"Under the name Bruno, I won't be a becak driver or
\nscavenger,\" he thought.<\/p>\n
He had experienced hardship and unfair treatment, like a mangy
\ndog with water thrown on him.<\/p>\n
The roadside near the park teemed with gaudily dressed girls
\nand transvestites, who incessantly teased passers-by. He had
\nspent three months exploring the neighborhood around the
\nterminal, entering the warrens of alleys to find the house he
\nwanted.<\/p>\n
But the woman he sought was not there.<\/p>\n
He reclined against the wall under a flyover, which was filled
\nwith graffiti murals. Bruno then joined the crowd of people on
\nthe road. Emerging from their ranks, he took out a wallet,
\ncounting some banknotes before leaving for an entertainment
\ncenter, where the pulsating rhythm of house music blared to greet
\nhim.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
It was the meeting he had been waiting for six years. They had
\nagreed to meet at an Italian style restaurant in a corner of the
\ncity.<\/p>\n
He savored a helping of spaghetti while waiting for her. Out
\nof greed and nervousness, he ordered another dish before five
\nminutes had passed. But he was used to it. In the past three
\nyears having coffee or meals five or seven times a day when busy.
\nThere were lobbying sessions with officials or gatherings with
\nhis colleagues in his job as a manager for a four-star hotel
\nbusiness.<\/p>\n
He looked at his watch; 16 minutes had passed from their
\ndesignated meeting time. Had it not been that she was the one
\nhe'd kept in his heart, he would have left.<\/p>\n
Then she was before him: The woman's lips quivered as she met
\nhis gaze, and he couldn't stand waiting for her words.<\/p>\n
\"I know that tuan Darmawan is actually mas Karyo, a Jatinegara
\nguard turned boss of several hotels and amusement centers, going
\nby different names and now meeting with success,\" she said
\nquietly but firmly, not offering him a greeting or sitting down.<\/p>\n
\"Now you've got what you wanted and let me congratulate you,
\nbut please don't ever wish to make me yours, mas. The man and
\nchild over there are part of my life now, they're my family.
\nWell, I wish you all the best and send my regards to our friends
\nin Sumatra. Finally, mas, go back to your wife and children.\"<\/p>\n
Warti quickly turned and left, carrying the child in her arms.
\nBut she had set down a stash of mail on the table. He looked at
\nthe envelopes, some of which were yellowed by time. All of the
\nletters carried the same note: \"To the union chief in Sumatra.\"<\/p>\n
Translated by Aris Prawira<\/p>\n
Notes:
\nMas : Javanese term of address for a young man
\nBecak: pedicab, common in many cities but now only found on
\nJakarta's outskirts<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/names-1447899208",
"image": ""
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