The River's Song<\/p>\n
By Seno Gumira Ajidarma<\/p>\n
Dawn was breaking beyond the forest. Still drowsy, I saw it
\nfrom behind the awning of the boat whose motor roared like a
\nhungry dragon. The journey still wasn't over. When had I left
\nTenggarong? The Kelinjau River twisted and turned amid the
\nforest, its banks sometimes denuded and heaped with logs. For a
\nday and a night I had lounged about in this boat. I thought we
\nwould soon arrive at Muara Ancalong. In my notebook I had written
\n\"a journey to examine my heart.\" My fantasies had evaporated,
\ntaken by the wind to wherever it would carry them. I thought of
\nJakarta, of the many-colored lights along the streets, of a
\nhostess' bawdy laugh during a disco number at a bar.<\/p>\n
A hornbill flapped its way across the river. At that very
\nmoment, Sureni, the steersman's wife, stuck her head out from
\nbehind the mosquito net.<\/p>\n
\"How far along are we?\"<\/p>\n
\"We've passed Senyiur,\" her husband, Zaelani, answered while
\nturning the tiller with his foot. A persistent mist hung over the
\nriver; the bank was dotted with bathers. I scooped a handful of
\nthe water flowing past the boat and wet my face. It wouldn't be
\ntoo long before we arrived at Muara Ancalong, I thought. That
\nmeant that we would soon be parting ways, as the boat was bound
\nfor Wahau while I was heading for Tanjung Manis. The river forked
\nafter Ancalong, one branch to Wahau and one to Tanjung Manis.<\/p>\n
The sun rose higher and the forest, which just a while ago had
\nbeen a dense black, became a cool shade of green. For millennia
\nthe forest had been unchanged. An otter peered shyly from the
\nunderbrush, while above, in a towering tree, proboscis monkeys
\nturned their heads around like people in a daze. Sureni rose with
\na start and walked, hunched over, to the stern; the boat's cover
\nwas not high enough to allow a person to stand upright. Another
\nhead appeared beside the mosquito net, followed by yet another. I
\nheard phrases of Kutai Malay, a language I could not understand
\nwell if spoken quickly. A baby cried. The two people quickly
\ntidied their mosquito net and rolled up their mattress, thereby
\ncreating an open cabin and transforming the vessel back into a
\nproper riverboat.<\/p>\n
The boat's movement created waves that rippled towards the
\nbank. I sat cross-legged on the side of the deck, trying to
\nimagine what was within the forest beyond. Viewed from the river,
\nit was difficult to get a sense of the destruction of the
\nKalimantan forest. The one or two timber camps we had passed gave
\na poor reflection of the grave destruction which had occurred. I
\nknew for certain that the impression would be far different were
\nI flying overhead in a plane chartered from Samarinda.<\/p>\n
The journey seemed endless. The engine sputtered and Zaelani
\npulled the rope above his head four times -- ting, ting, ting,
\nting -- as a sign for Bosu in the engine room to spur the engine
\nto full speed ahead. As if to make up time and reassure me, the
\nboat gathered speed. But Zaelani appeared to be uneasy, too. He
\nlooked at his wife and she stared back at him.<\/p>\n
\"What time will we get to Ancalong?\" I asked.<\/p>\n
\"Maybe another hour and a half.\"<\/p>\n
Several outboard-motor boats from the opposite direction
\nzipped past. Maybe Ancalong was not too far after all. Along the
\nriver such boats were always found near settlements. I laid back.
\nWhether quickly or slowly, we would arrive eventually. I closed
\nmy eyes, letting my thoughts fly to Mastri and her incredible
\nsmile.<\/p>\n
The boat was twenty meters long and perhaps four meters wide.
\nTwo families on board I had met in Tenggarong. Apparently they
\nwere related. I was now the only passenger headed for Ancalong;
\nthe others weren't going far, only to the nearby settlements of
\nSebulu and Muara Kaman. Zaelani and Sureni appeared to be
\nrecently married, but Sod and Risa had two children, who were now
\nfast sleep in cloth hammocks slung beneath the boat's cover. From
\ntheir facial similarities I gathered that Soda was Sureni's elder
\nbrother. Sureni was forever busy in the cook-house. Yesterday,
\nthe boat had stopped long enough to buy fish from a seiner. The
\nboat was its owner's sole source of income, taking on and
\ndropping off passengers the length of the river. In the interior,
\nthe river was the artery of communication. But the boat was
\nequally ready to become a floating home, especially so in the
\nevening, when the mosquito nets were hung, not only to ward off
\nmosquitoes, but to serve as a family room. The netting was not
\nthe see-through kind, but was made from unbleached cotton, so
\nclosely woven that one could not see what went on inside it.<\/p>\n
The sun rose higher but not a single house appeared, not even
\na notched-log ladder leading up from the water's edge to the top
\nof the bank, indicating a village. I noticed that Sureni had
\nreplaced Zaelani at the tiller. Zaelani slept soundly as though
\nnothing untoward could happen. The river current ran swifter the
\nfarther upstream one went. The forest became denser. We should
\nhave arrived at Muara Ancalong by now, I thought. But although I
\nwaited, it never appeared. I became uneasy, though the others
\nseemed quite calm.<\/p>\n
Sureni appeared from the stern. \"Join us for food,\" she told
\nme.<\/p>\n
I said nothing but moved forward, stooping as I made my way
\npast Risa, whose younger child was suckling at her breast. The
\nolder child rocked, asleep in her lap.<\/p>\n
Our meal was hard and crusty rice with a bit of fish, but I
\nate ravenously amid the roar of the engine.<\/p>\n
I started with surprise, realizing that the sun was far to the
\nwest. Where were we? I hadn't fallen asleep and however slow the
\nboat, we should have arrived by then. But there was Soda, sitting
\nquietly. He couldn't have taken a wrong course. Wahau was just
\nbeyond Ancalong; there were no alternate routes.<\/p>\n
I had to ask: \"What's taking so long to get there?\" But when
\nSoda turned towards me, the look in his eyes was one I would
\nnever forget. His eyes, as if made of glass, were motionless, not
\neven blinking, as if they had no soul. I dropped my gaze and
\nlooked around me. Everyone seemed to be in a daze, as if fatigued
\nby an exhausting task.<\/p>\n
Overhead, the sun sank closer to the horizon, but the sky's
\ngrowing beauty heightened my sense of isolation. I felt more and
\nmore uneasy. The forest grew darker and more mysterious. The
\nriver's surface shimmered red in the evening sun. Soda still
\nappeared transfixed and I tried to calm myself by thinking I must
\nhave misunderstood the journey's distance. I knew that this boat
\ndid not regularly make the trip downstream. Thus, these people
\nwere not fully conversant with the river's numerous bends.
\nPerhaps my worry was just a feeling I had, mixed with a little
\nfantasy. On a journey such as this a person can feel he is
\nfloating, suspended somewhere between joy and sadness, fear and
\ncourage, loneliness and curiosity.<\/p>\n
The motor chugged as the boat traced the river's bends.
\nTwilight was not all that red; it came in clumps of dark clouds,
\nfollowed by drizzle and wind. The awning was lowered, but not
\nbefore my trousers were wet from the sudden rain. The sky turned
\nsuddenly dark and Zaelani took over from Soda at the tiller,
\nsteering the boat confidently. The yellow light of reflective
\nlanterns tried to penetrate the darkness. Outside it had become
\npitch black; I couldn't see even a meter ahead. Now and then
\nsubmerged tree trunks scratched the boat's hull. The rain hissed
\ndown, heavier and heavier.<\/p>\n
This new phase of journey was one I had no choice but to
\nfollow through if I were to win my struggle with anxiety, this
\nnightmare of shadows. Somewhere between sleep and watchfulness I
\nheard a clear and soothing voice. Maybe it was just the sound of
\nthe water cleft by the prow of the boat, a song of constant
\nrhythm, gentle and friendly. But sometimes there were other
\nvoices. Zaelani tried to wipe the glass of the window in front of
\nthe tiller. Now the night was misty outside and the boat's
\nlanterns were turned toward the bank to help us maintain enough
\ndistance from the shore to keep us from running aground. I
\nsearched in my pockets for a kretek, my clove cigarettes, but
\nthey were gone. I remembered that in my backpack were some filter
\ncigarettes given me on the plane. They tasted foul, but I
\nsearched for them anyway. I couldn't find them.<\/p>\n
The wind howled and the infants began to cry. One, after Risa
\nput him to her breast, immediately settled down, but the other
\nchild continued to cry while crawling here and there. I tried to
\nsleep, and between the muffled sound of the engine and the murmur
\nof voices, my dreams were indistinct: each time I awoke, I found
\nmyself still on the boat in a situation not much different from
\nthat in my dream.<\/p>\n
Hours passed; I saw no sign whatsoever of habitation. There
\nwere no logging company camps. There were no villages. There were
\nno encounters with rafts of logs filling the river's course. And
\nthere were no more boats of the Dayak people with their elongated
\near lobes. There was only the interminable forest, to the right
\nand left of the river. In time the rain changed back to a
\ndrizzle. Ting, ting, the bell rang twice, a sign for Bosu to
\nreduce speed and pump the water from the bilge.<\/p>\n
If only you were here, I said to myself, thinking of Mastri
\nand wondering if this journey would have filled her with
\nhappiness or fear. She was in Bali, quite possibly dancing for
\ntourists in a big hotel at that very moment. And I was here. How
\ncould I suddenly find myself here, caught in darkness?<\/p>\n
\"An adventure is good only when you're talking about it,\" she
\ninsisted, \"not when you're experiencing it.\" That indeed seemed
\nto be the problem. An adventure is attractive after it is over.
\nAnd its attractiveness depends on the way the story is told, like
\na film you don't want to end, even after the final scene. But it
\ndoes not end, even as reality continues. And this would never
\nend. I jumped up, remembering the glassy, soulless eyes of the
\nothers.<\/p>\n
\"You'll never make it to Wahau!\" I screamed. \"Listen to me,
\nyou'll never reach Wahau! We should have arrived at Ancalong
\nyesterday!\" The others turned slowly towards me with cold looks.
\nThe drizzle had died and dull rays from the lanterns made their
\nfaces immobile, like totems. Even the two children seemed stiff.
\nFor a moment I thought they looked at me with pity, but their
\ngaze implied they didn't care. They kept silent. I felt drained
\nof strength and returned to the side of the boat, completely
\nalone.<\/p>\n
The engine continued to roar, as if all was in order. The wind
\nblew, caressing my tense face. I was tense. Yes, I did think too
\nmuch about myself. Maybe I wouldn't make it to Tanjung Manis, but
\nthat, in itself, was not important. What was the problem if I
\nnever arrived? Or if I never returned to Jakarta? To never return
\nhome. No, that was no longer important. Why did everything have
\nto end with going home? What is home? What to do?<\/p>\n
Mastri's performance was probably over. She would leave the
\nhotel and return by van to Ubud. I couldn't stop thinking of her
\ncaptivating smile, though not the one she wore when she was
\ndancing. It was a pity she was married, though that was not
\nreally a problem. Anyway, I was married too.<\/p>\n
Soda took over the tiller from Zaelani once more. Strange
\nthere was no question on their faces, as if it were not peculiar
\nthat we had not arrived at Ancalong. Sureni and Risa put up the
\nmosquito net. I spread out the rush mat which they had lent me
\nand lay down. Zaelani joined Sureni inside their tent. The air
\nseemed extraordinarily cold. I wrapped my arms around my chest,
\nhugging myself as tightly as possible.<\/p>\n
Outside, the rain came again, heavily.<\/p>\n
I didn't know how long I slept, yet, when I opened my eyes,
\nthe world was changed. I accepted that I really would not arrive
\nin Ancalong. There was no need to question the matter further. My
\nfellow passengers beamed with pleasure. Soda held the tiller in a
\nrelaxed and easy fashion. Sureni blinked happily. Slowly onward
\nchurned the boat, the sound of its engine a purr. The children
\nappeared contended and calm.<\/p>\n
The morning light shone beautifully. Zaelani was very happy.
\nWhat had taken place? I was going to ask Risa but her attention
\nwas on her baby. She looked so Madonna-like, the scene so tender,
\nI hesitated to disturb the mood. I felt I must be more resolute.
\nForest flanked the river's edge, the thick foliage gleaming
\nsilver, drenched by the morning light. Dewdrops fell, one by one,
\nspiraling downward from the leaves and disappearing into the
\nriver.<\/p>\n
No, we were not going anywhere. Certainly not upstream. This
\nriver had no headwater. There was no upstream and no longer a
\ndownstream either.<\/p>\n
Bosu's face shone so brightly. I would have no more terrifying
\nnights. Our world would be like this forever, glowing constantly.
\nThis was no adventurer's tale. This was reality itself.<\/p>\n
The river ran just as it had yesterday, just as it had since
\nits creation. When Zaelani took over the tiller from Soda, I saw
\nthat their eyes held so much passion I wasn't sure of my own
\nfeelings. Zaelani pulled the rope four times -- ting, ting, ting,
\nting -- and the boat surged forward on a sure course. Sureni
\ntidied the mosquito net which had been taken down but was not yet
\nfolded.<\/p>\n
Translated by E. Edward McKinnon.<\/p>\n
Seno Gumira Ajidarma is deputy chief editor of Jakarta-Jakarta
\nmagazine. Born in Boston, the United States, in 1958, he is also
\nknown by the name Mira Sato. The River's Song (Nyanyian Sepanjang
\nSungai) is taken from Manusia Kamar dan 14 Cerpen Lainnya, Haji
\nMasagung, Jakarta, 1988. This translation first appeared in
\nsomewhat different from in Manoa (Vol. 3 No. 1). It appeared in
\nMenagerie I and is printed here by courtesy of The Lontar
\nFoundation.<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/the-rivers-song-1447893297",
"image": ""
},
"sponsor": "Okusi Associates",
"sponsor_url": "https:\/\/okusiassociates.com"
}