Nurjanah<\/p>\n
By Jujur Prananto<\/p>\n
It seems like everybody had lost control. Long whistles
\nshrieked endlessly. The spotlight had changed to red. The sound
\nof the drum beating was thunderous. As soon as the sound of the
\nflute became audible, dozens of spectators screamed ferociously.<\/p>\n
With a light stamping, Nurjanah jumped onto the stage. Once
\nher feet landed on the stage, her body, clad in a tight sparkling
\nred dress, span once and then stopped, facing the audience in a
\ndeep bow. A long, roaring applause filled the field. Nurjanah
\npulled the microphone out of its stand and shouted loudly.<\/p>\n
\"Shall we dance till dawn?\"<\/p>\n
\"Till dawn...!!!\"<\/p>\n
\"Swaying till dawn?\"<\/p>\n
\"Till dawn...!!!\"<\/p>\n
Soon afterwards the spectators, as if following a signal,
\nswayed their bodies. One swing. One beat. One rustle. One breath.
\nThe moment one of Nurjanah's feet went up high, when she swung
\nher thigh eight times to the right and eight times to the left,
\neverybody went hot. Hysterical. Lustful.<\/p>\n
\"Look at the moon, beaming white. Let's forget a month-long
\nmisery tonight. We dance-dance-dance...don't stop! We sway-sway-
\nsway till dawn!\"<\/p>\n
The smell of the dancers' perspiration spread potently,
\nmingling with the smell of wet, perfumed tissues and various
\ncheap perfumes. On the fringes of the field, many people sat
\naround the stalls, gulping glasses of beer, drinking cheap liquor
\nand black rice wine, while their eyes never stopped stripping
\nNurjanah's body, imagining what it was like wrestling on a bed
\nwith such a pleasant woman. Everybody was dazed. Stunned. Drunk.<\/p>\n
But it didn't last till dawn, because after the third song
\nNurjanah called an end to the performance by saying, \"I've got a
\nheadache.\"<\/p>\n
It was just 15 minutes to 12. Back stage, Nurjanah immediately
\ntook off her costume and shoes. She stripped off the only red
\nstockings she owned carefully, but still a long ladder appeared
\non the left thigh.<\/p>\n
The leader of the dangdut orchestra was furious that the
\nperformance had been stopped. He ordered his men to continue
\nplaying music while he hurried to see Nurjanah and confronted her
\nwith, \"You said you would sing eight songs\".<\/p>\n
\"I've really got a headache. Why doesn't Mas Udin take over?\"<\/p>\n
\"I sing half a song and all the spectators would disappear.\"<\/p>\n
\"What about Mbak Zahro?\"<\/p>\n
\"Her voice is hoarse.\"<\/p>\n
\"Mus has just sung two songs.\"<\/p>\n
\"She is nervous. Someone asked for Putus Tali Asmara, but she
\ndoes not remember the lyrics.\"<\/p>\n
\"Come on, there's no need to sing a whole song. The important
\nthing is the swaying.\" Nurjanah immediately gathered her clothes
\nand shoes.<\/p>\n
\"May I go home?\"<\/p>\n
\"Going home or having a date with Pak Camat ...?\"<\/p>\n
\"Bullshit! Come on, give me my money. Just Rp 20,000 for the
\ncar rent.\"<\/p>\n
\"Where are you going?\"<\/p>\n
\"Dongkal!\"<\/p>\n
\"This late at night? Aren't you scared of being raped?\"<\/p>\n
\"Who cares! Too old to worry.\"<\/p>\n
Nurjanah felt something suddenly creeping stealthily into her
\nsenses. A hint that she needed to be on guard. It was almost akin
\nto something she had felt when she was on stage in front of the
\nPadaruksa market half a year ago. Suddenly, the thunderous sound
\nof the music became faint in her ears. A high pitched ringing
\nsound flooded her ears. She felt queasy. Her body was hot but
\nthere was no perspiration.<\/p>\n
At the time she could sense the one who was sending the
\nhostile signal. The person's face was clearly visible in her
\nmind. Her name was Leha, the prima donna of the Kemilau Mutiara
\ndangdut orchestra. She was taken in by rumors that she would be
\nreplaced by Nurjanah who was sexier and -- rumors had it -- \"was
\nready to do anything for the sake of popularity.\" Leha was very
\ndisturbed because Kemilau Mutiara had signed a three-year
\ncontract with a cigarette factory, Teh Poci, meaning that if she
\nleft the orchestra she would lose her financial security and
\npopularity for the coming three years.<\/p>\n
\"The important thing is I sing as a hobby, so there's no need
\nfor you to be jealous,\" Nurjanah then had told Leha in a private
\nconversation. \"Nobody will stop you from becoming a famous
\nsinger, but don't use tricks to destroy me on the stage. I'm not
\nboasting, but almost all the shamans in Banten are my teachers,
\nso don't try to use black magic on me.\"<\/p>\n
And when the village head across the river hired her for the
\ncelebration of his son's circumcision, Nurjanah had only sung two
\nsongs when she felt \"disturbed\". It was easy for her to guess who
\ncaused it. It was the village head's wife herself, whose heart
\nwent cold and then hot and then cold again knowing that her
\nhusband had fallen head over heels for Nurjanah.<\/p>\n
But now? Nurjanah felt the similar symptoms, but she could not
\npicture any face in her mind, not even a flash. Could it be Bu
\nMarsan? It seemed impossible. She was a very kind wife. From her
\nface it was hard to imagine she could be suspicious of her
\nhusband, let alone engage in black magic. She was very religious.
\nNurjanah knew her well because she was often invited to her house
\nfor any event, including religious lectures. It was Pak Marsan
\nhimself who introduced her to Bu Marsan after she sang for the
\nIndependence Day celebration in the district.<\/p>\n
Bu Marsan's kindness was torture to Nurjanah's conscience.
\nSometime ago when Pak Marsan took her along to Semarang, she
\nasked him while they were in the hotel room, \"Does Bu Marsan
\nreally not know I often accompany you?\"<\/p>\n
\"Why do you ask a question like that?\" he responded.<\/p>\n
\"I feel really uneasy if I am with ibu. It's like I'm facing
\nan angel. Her face is so innocent that in front of her I feel
\nlike I'm being tried.\"<\/p>\n
At the time, Pak Marsan fell silent for a long time. His
\nhands, which normally never stopped touching Nurjanah, remained
\nmotionless like those of a statue. Nurjanah herself did not dare
\nmove until the calls for the dawn prayers were heard again and
\nagain.<\/p>\n
Since that night Pak Marsan never asked her to go with him.
\nThe latest rumors had it that he would resign as district head
\nbecause he reportedly had to account for the failure of five
\nrural cooperatives in his area. It meant that his misfortune had
\nnothing to do with the public discovery of his love affair with
\nNurjanah. In other words, Bu Marsan was not -- or had not had --
\nany reason to resent her.<\/p>\n
\"Have a cigarette. When you've finished, put on your costume,\"
\nthe leader of the dangdut orchestra persisted.<\/p>\n
\"No, Mas, I really have a headache.\"<\/p>\n
After the music, Zahroh was forced to go on stage with her
\nhoarse voice. One by one the spectators left.<\/p>\n
Nurjanah then took a pedicab to her boarding house. The
\nstreets were deserted. A man with a crewcut riding a motorbike
\ncaught up with her and rode alongside her pedicab.<\/p>\n
\"There is a message from bapak, you are expected at the swike
\nstall at three tomorrow.\"<\/p>\n
\"Tell him I have my period.\"<\/p>\n
Nurjanah lay awake until four in the morning. She couldn't
\nsleep. Her mind was still full of questions. It was not until she
\nheard the cock crow that she realized the cause of her
\nrestlessness. She immediately washed her face and packed several
\nitems of clothing into her bag. If a while ago she had said she
\nwanted to go to her village without really meaning it, this time
\nshe was convinced she was being guided to go there.<\/p>\n
She took the Rp 20,000 from the orchestra leader out of her
\npants pocket. She took three more Rp 10,000 notes from under a
\npile of clothes in the vinyl makeshift cupboard. She put it all
\nin her wallet which already contained three Rp 1,000 notes and
\nsome coins. For a moment she looked at the pile of dirty clothes
\nin a corner of the room which had been there for three days.
\nInitially she had intended to wash it today, but her intention
\nwas overruled by an impulse to leave the house immediately.<\/p>\n
The sun had not yet risen when she arrived at the bus
\nterminal. A scalper with tattoos all over his body half shouted
\nat her, \"Janah! Ping was looking for you last night. He wanted to
\nask you for a drink.\"<\/p>\n
\"I do not need a drink. I need money,\" she replied.<\/p>\n
The scalper laughed endlessly, then, pulling Nurjanah's hand,
\nwent over to a driver of a bus to Purwokerto. \"Take care of my
\ngirlfriend. She is going to Dongkal,\" he told him.<\/p>\n
At the Randudongkal market she bought a pygmy rooster,
\nchoosing the most handsome one, and bought a lot of fresh
\ntraditional cakes. From the market she walked several dozen
\nmeters and rode an ojek to the west for about an hour.<\/p>\n
It was unusual for the front door of her home to be left open.
\nA motorcycle was parked in the yard and her father was sitting,
\nholding a long wooden stick, on a bamboo platform beside the
\ndoor. Nurjanah reached for her father's hand and kissed it.
\n\"Dad...\"<\/p>\n
\"Who is it?\" he asked.<\/p>\n
\"It's me, Nurjanah, Dad.\"<\/p>\n
\"Nur...who?\"<\/p>\n
\"Janah, your daughter.\"<\/p>\n
\"Ooo...where is your brother Warso?\"<\/p>\n
\"I don't know, Dad. I have just arrived.\"<\/p>\n
\"Darto?\"<\/p>\n
\"I haven't met him.\"<\/p>\n
\"Jumiran?\"<\/p>\n
\"I'll find her, Dad. What would you like her to do?\"<\/p>\n
\"Has she paid her school fee?\"<\/p>\n
\"I've sent the money, Dad. I'll ask if she has paid the school
\nfee.\"<\/p>\n
\"Where's my tobacco, Pah?\"<\/p>\n
\"I'm not Ipah, Dad. I'm Nurjanah, Ipah's older sister.\"<\/p>\n
\"Nur...who?\"<\/p>\n
Nurjanah left her father and hurried inside, just as her
\nmother was coming out to welcome her.<\/p>\n
\"Ipin...\" she said slowly.<\/p>\n
Nurjanah was quick to detect the bad omen. She immediately
\nheaded for her son's room. Her four younger sisters were sitting
\non the bedside, accompanying a mantri (medical aide) who was
\nexamining Ipin. The eyes of the five-year-old boy were half
\nclosed, his lips were moving, uttering unclear words. Nurjanah
\npicked up her son and kissed and embraced him tightly. His body
\nwas very hot. In the meantime the mantri packed his equipment.
\n\"Keep the wet cloth on his head,\" he said slowly before taking
\nhis leave.<\/p>\n
Less than half hour in Nurjanah's embrace, Ipin's temperature
\nlowered. His murmurs became clear.<\/p>\n
\"Pygmy chicken, Mom...\"<\/p>\n
\"Yes, I bought it. I never forget what Ipin asks for.\"<\/p>\n
\"Is it gorgeous, Mom?\"<\/p>\n
\"Yes, like Ipin.\"<\/p>\n
\"Ipin is sick, not gorgeous.\"<\/p>\n
\"When you recover, you will be gorgeous.\"<\/p>\n
\"Then Mom will go again?\"<\/p>\n
\"If I don't go, who will find the money to buy the pygmy
\nchicken?\"<\/p>\n
\"You haven't found father, Mom, have you?\"<\/p>\n
Nurjanah fell silent. She could only answer with a restrained
\nsob.<\/p>\n
Translated by Darul Aqsha<\/p>\n
Born on June 30, 1960 in Salatiga, Central Java, Jujur Prananto
\nis a graduate of the Jakarta Arts Institute. From 1985 to 1990 he
\nwas involved in the production of over ten films, including Opera
\nJakarta, Tjoet Nya' Dhien and Saur Sepuh. In between films, he
\nwrote short stories which were published in various Indonesian
\npublications. In 1990 he decided to quit the film world and
\nconcentrate on writing. His short story Nurjanah appears in Kado
\nIstimewa: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1992, and is printed here by
\ncourtesy of Kompas daily.<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/nurjanah-1447899208",
"image": ""
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"sponsor": "Okusi Associates",
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