Plakotham<\/p>\n
By Bakdi Soemanto<\/p>\n
"Mas, yesterday evening, Rina, Sita, Tutty, Bu Binny, Bu Alex
\nBu Eddy and I visited Bu Bazar, not for our monthly chat but to
\nsee her son, Plakotham, who the day before had cut off his finger
\nwith a kitchen knife usually used by his mother for peeling red
\nonions, slicing meat or chopping spinach," wrote my wife in the
\nletter I received yesterday in my office. "The wound is not deep
\nbut Bu Binny is very worried because Plakotham is just silent,
\nlying in bed, blinking," she continued.<\/p>\n
I was struck by the first sentences of the letter. Imagine,
\nPlakotham -- a friendly, intelligent, well-read and cheerful
\nyoung man. How could it be? Then I became concerned that perhaps
\nPlakotham's heart was broken because, as he had said himself in a
\nletter some months ago, Azizah, his sweet long-haired girlfriend,
\nhad decided to end their relationship. If this was right, why had
\nhe chopped off his little finger to try to kill himself? This was
\ncertainly strange. Surely Plakotham could have committed hara-
\nkiri, as a Japanese would do, by tearing open his stomach with a
\nsacred dagger or jumping from Code Bridge, but instead he just
\nchopped off his little finger.<\/p>\n
I stared out my office window. Snow was falling heavily,
\nchanging the surface of the earth rapidly to white. Some people
\nwalked by hurriedly, wearing thick clothes and hats. The trees
\nwhose bare limbs seemed naked ... Plakotham's face caught among
\nthe branches when I started thinking of Rina and Bu Binny.<\/p>\n
"According to Bu Bazar, Plakotham hasn't eaten anything for a
\nweek. At first he didn't want to eat meat because the meat was
\ncrying out as it was boiled. Soon after that he didn't want to
\neat vegetables either. We were all very worried," continued my
\nwife.<\/p>\n
I remembered in a letter some months ago, Plakotham had also
\nmentioned that he was no longer eating meat. Once he was invited
\nby Pak Toffan and Pak Wirono to eat in a small satay food stall.
\nBut as soon as he arrived at the restaurant's entrance he ran
\nhome. The roasting chicken had shouted, accusing Plakotham of
\nbeing a wild, greedy and heartless creature. That night Plakotham
\ndreamed that one million chickens, armed with exocet missiles and
\nkitchen knives with nuclear tips, had invaded his home.<\/p>\n
And not only that. Every night the telephone would ring; when
\nhe answered, chickens threatened they were going to fill each
\ngrain of rice Plakotham was about to eat with explosives. "I was
\nscared, Sully," he wrote. Of course when I read the letter I
\nlaughed loudly. I knew Plakotham very well. He had an
\nextraordinary imagination.<\/p>\n
Before I departed for the United States, Plakotham used to
\ninvite me out for a walk every Saturday evening. While we were
\neating peanuts and walking along the side of the road, Plakotham
\nwould let his imagination run wild. Once he told me that if
\nAzizah didn't accept his love, all would not be hopeless.<\/p>\n
"I will change into a thread," he said.<\/p>\n
"And then?" I asked.<\/p>\n
"I will let myself be used to sew her blouse," he continued.
\nAnother time he said it would be better if he were lipstick that
\nwould always be in contact with Azizah's lips. Then new ideas
\ncame. He wanted to become deodorant which would always be brushed
\non Azizah's underarms. Once it occurred to him that he wanted to
\nbecome a bra. And the last idea before I left: He wanted to
\nbecome a sausage.<\/p>\n
"A sausage?" I asked, trying to contain my laughter.<\/p>\n
"Yeaaah, you know, Azizah is crazy about sausage. Imagine! How
\nwonderful it would be when my body is held by Azizah's beautiful
\nfingers; then I will touch her lips; then I'll be chewed,
\nswallowed and digested by her digestive system; then I will be
\npart of her blood. And when I enter into her heart, I'll know the
\nsecret of her dreams. And if she becomes interested in other men,
\nand I'm jealous, I'll threaten to stop her heart." We both roared
\nwith laughter.<\/p>\n
Therefore the news from my wife confused me.<\/p>\n
"Plakotham has also started to hate his father, Mas,"
\ncontinued my wife in her letter. "Mas, remember, Plakotham's
\nfather is a wealthy businessman and every day he eats with other
\nvery wealthy businessmen in smart restaurants. According to
\nPlakotham, what his father does is only a manifestation of fake
\nhigh culture. People go and sit around a formally set table
\ncomplete with candles, and the people are dressed up but they eat
\ncorpses," wrote my wife. In her letter, she also mentioned that
\nPlakotham often fought with his father over the issue.<\/p>\n
"One day," my wife wrote, "Plakotham quarreled severely with
\nAzizah because he knew she was not only fond of sausage but also
\nsaren, the blood of chicken cooked into a solid form. Plakotham
\nwanted Azizah to stop eating it," continued my wife.<\/p>\n
I was more and more confused. How was it possible that such a
\ngenerous young man could become so horrible. I couldn't imagine
\nhim suddenly leaving his house and pointing out people from the
\nneighborhood as the eaters of corpses. Plakotham would be
\nreported to the police because, despite the truth of what he
\nsaid, he would be considered to be insulting human dignity. His
\nmother would be very sad because, after Plakotham's older brother
\nhad failed in school and become a drunkard, Plakotham had been
\nher only hope.<\/p>\n
I didn't quite understand but I felt a little guilty. I
\nremembered that before I left I had promised to go on a stroll
\nwith him on an evening of a full moon. I promised that I would
\nreveal the secret of how I got my beautiful wife. Recently,
\nPlakotham had been asking me how I, who am old, ugly and a
\nnobody, could have such a beautiful wife. But these plans had
\nnever been realized because I had been so busy.<\/p>\n
While I was thinking about this something else occurred to me.
\nPerhaps Plakotham was possessed by evil spirits who had dwelt in
\nthe corner of his home. According to Linus, a poet and a friend
\nwho is also expert at exorcising Satan, evil spirits should be
\ndriven away to Saturn or Mars where they cannot bother human
\nbeings. Possibly, the evil spirits had started bothering
\nPlakotham because there hadn't been time to perform the ceremony.<\/p>\n
I looked at the glass window again. I touched it lightly and
\nimagined my wife's lips, cool and fresh. I kissed my fingers and
\nimagined my wife closing her beautiful eyes like Sleeping Beauty.<\/p>\n
"According to Bu Bazar," wrote my wife, "Plakotham not only
\nhears the sliced chicken crying out but also the fruits and
\nvegetables screaming as they are chopped, boiled and cooked. Even
\nthe water laments horribly as it boils. That is why Plakotham
\ndoes not want to eat anything."<\/p>\n
I remembered, once when Plakotham and I had taken a walk he
\nmused that maybe the fundamental problem of life lies with living
\nitself. Eventually, in order to live, he said that night, "we
\nhave to eat!" This is the starting point in the destruction of
\nlife. Not only that. Humanity wants to realize its fantasies,
\nafter survival is achieved comes the further development of
\noneself. I was struck by this memory. Perhaps Plakotham was not
\nsimply possessed by evil spirits. There was something more
\ninteresting that had to be studied further.<\/p>\n
When I arrived home I was haunted by the face of Plakotham. My
\nears were full of laughter like the sound of rain. His face and
\nhis laughter didn't leave me until late into the night. I knew
\nthat if I was not successful in overcoming the feeling then my
\nconcentration would be ruined. It was then that I decided to make
\nan international phone call. I knew it would be very expensive
\nbut I was also aware that unfinished work could be much more
\ncostly. With my heart pounding, I asked the operator to connect
\nme to Plakotham's phone in my homeland. I waited a little while
\nbecause such an international call can take a long time and
\nsometimes fails completely.<\/p>\n
Bu Bazar was very surprised to hear my voice.<\/p>\n
"Pak Sully, hi!" her voice was distant but so clear. I started
\nasking about Plakotham and Bu Bazar began to explain emotionally.
\nWhen I demanded that she let me speak with Plakotham, Bu Bazar's
\nvoice stopped and then she started crying. I began to sense that
\nsomething was wrong. The truth was that Plakotham had died two
\ndays earlier, five days after my wife had written me.<\/p>\n
"All day long my son wouldn't eat anything," sobbed Bu Bazar.
\n"He said, 'Already I have been too greedy. To survive I have had
\nto steal life from other creatures and vegetables.' According to
\nPlakotham, if we have to eat to survive he would eat his own
\nflesh and not the flesh of other things. And since it was
\nimpossible to eat his own flesh. ..." Bu Bazar voice disappeared
\nand the connection was cut. I was shocked.<\/p>\n
I lit my cigarette and sat beside my soundly sleeping son.
\nMaybe Plakotham had not simply been possessed by evil spirits but
\nalso that he had been an alternative to the hatred that comes
\nfrom stealing and the desire to steal. An alternative in the
\nangry world of our time. Or maybe Plakotham was only a kind of
\nblack humor, not welcome in the feast of goat and chickens ...<\/p>\n
Glossary:<\/p>\n
Bu, Ibu: Term of respect for elderly female<\/p>\n
Pak, Bapak: Term of respect for elderly male<\/p>\n
Mas: Term of respect for adult male<\/p>\n
The writer teaches in the School of Letters at Gadjah Mada
\nUniversity in Yogyakarta.<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/plakotham-1447899208",
"image": ""
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