The tune<\/p>\n
By Dewi Anggraeni<\/p>\n
The music started and I moved. I felt unnatural at first, sort
\nof forced, and the music seemed to play on its own, detached from
\nthe flow of my movements. I was grateful for the anonymity
\nprovided by the yellow silk veil that covered my hair and the
\nlower part of my face. The music began to gain speed, the drums
\nleading, and I moved around the room in patterns forming the
\nnumber 8.<\/p>\n
"Uncover your face now," Kaila, my dance instructor, prompted
\nfrom the side, "Good, now yank that veil off your head. That's
\nthe girl. Excellent! Throw it, and don't forget number 8 also
\nwith your torso. Lift your arms, higher! That's the girl!..."<\/p>\n
I can't recall whether the drums became so overpoweringly loud
\nthat I could no longer hear Kaila's voice, or she had indeed
\nstopped prompting. I do recall, however, that I seemed to move
\ninvoluntarily, as if under a spell. I threw the first veil to
\nKaila. She caught it. I unwound the second veil and let it fall
\noff my shoulders then wound it loosely around my body. The feel
\nof gentle silk on my belly, my face and when the chiffon skirt
\nwas drawn open, on my thighs, excited me. When the music ground
\nto a stop, I gracefully dropped myself on the floor, half lying
\non my side. The red silk veil seemed suspended in the air for a
\nmoment, then fell gently, covering my shoulder.<\/p>\n
The silence only lasted several seconds, then the studio came
\nalive with the sounds of clapping hands. Kaila and my fellow
\ndance pupils kindly applauded. I rose, panting.<\/p>\n
"I have no doubts. You will dance solo in our performance
\nnight, Mara."<\/p>\n
I looked around me, seeking moral support. "Kaila, I've only
\nbeen learning for three months! What about Rachel, she's been..."<\/p>\n
"Rachel has performed solo twice in our past productions. Your
\nturn now. Besides, what's the problem? You're not a tyro. You've
\nperformed Javanese dances. And you're a natural dancer. That I
\ncan see. Don't you agree, girls?"<\/p>\n
My fellow dance pupils yelled in agreement.<\/p>\n
The following day, as I was walking towards the lecture hall,
\nRohan, the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy who'd occupied my heart
\nand mind, rushed up and put his arm round my shoulders. I looked
\nup to him and smiled, then we entered the lecture hall together.<\/p>\n
"They want me to dance solo in next month's performance," I
\nwhispered to Rohan, leaning my cheek on his hand.<\/p>\n
Rohan tightened his embrace and kissed me on the hair. "That's
\ncool, Mara. I'm proud of you."<\/p>\n
We sat close to each other, after greeting friends around us.
\nThe psychology lecturer stepped in a little while later.<\/p>\n
It was Rohan who suggested that I learn Egyptian dance, better
\nknown here as belly dancing. His stepfather is Egyptian, and
\nRohan has always been fascinated by Egyptian culture. While I was
\nborn and brought up in Australia, I still retain Indonesian
\nculture in my blood.<\/p>\n
My mother, Ayu Purbasari, a lecturer in this university also,
\ncame to Melbourne 20 years ago, when she was carrying me. Ayu
\nnever concealed the fact that I was born out of wedlock, but
\nnever revealed who my father was. She said she'd tell me when she
\nwas ready. Occasionally I was overcome with curiosity about my
\nfamily tree, but I was aware that it was still very much a sore
\npoint with Ayu. Since my early teens, Ayu had regarded me as her
\nbest friend. We were so close that we often sensed each other's
\nmoods even when apart. When my peers began to show signs of
\nrebellion against their parents, I felt a little left out. It
\nnever occurred to me to rebel against Ayu. I was intensely aware
\nof the likelihood of hurting her, and I couldn't see the point in
\ndoing so. I did feel offended once or twice by Ayu's occasional
\noutbursts, but she never really hurt my feelings. Whenever she
\nwas able, she always tried to give me what I wanted. None of our
\nfriends, however, ever said that I was a spoilt child. And thanks
\nto Ayu also, I don't remember ever feeling inferior socially for
\nlack of a father.<\/p>\n
During my nineteen years, there were only two men who each
\nnearly became my stepfather. Both times it was Ayu who refused to
\nmarry. Of course I wanted to know the reason. But I was convinced
\nthat one day Ayu would tell me all about it.<\/p>\n
When I met Rohan in a students' function, he stared at me
\nwithout blinking, it seemed, for a full minute. Normally when a
\nboy stared at me like that, I'd feel sick. However with Rohan it
\nwas different. His clear blue eyes intoxicated me. When we
\nfinally struck up a conversation, Rohan confessed that this
\nattention had been drawn to me because he'd thought I was
\nEgyptian.<\/p>\n
"My father is Egyptian," he said.<\/p>\n
I laughed, "Your mother must be very, very fair," I said.<\/p>\n
He laughed too. "I mean my stepfather. My own father died when
\nI was very young. My sister Kendra is darker than I am, but not
\nas dark as you are, Mara."<\/p>\n
After seeing me performing a Javanese dance at a students'
\nparty, Rohan said, "Mara, your movements are so graceful you
\nremind me of an Egyptian dancer. Why don't you learn Egyptian
\ndance?"<\/p>\n
"Why not?" I replied.<\/p>\n
I put on the CD Kaila lent me. But I'd forgotten whether it
\nwas the second or the third number, so I tried the second number
\nfirst.<\/p>\n
As soon as the music began to fill the room I had goose
\npimples. No, I'd never heard it in the class. Not in the class.
\nBut the tune was so familiar. All my nerve ends responded to it.
\nI wracked my brain trying to recall where I'd heard it. When Ayu
\nstepped in, she found me on the floor hiding my head between my
\nknees.<\/p>\n
I lifted my head quickly when a warm hand touched the back of
\nmy neck. "Oh, Muumm! You gave me a fright!"<\/p>\n
We looked at each other. Ayu's moist eyes momentarily glinted.<\/p>\n
"Mum, have I ever heard this tune?" I asked.<\/p>\n
Ayu sat beside me, running her fingers through my hair, "Not
\nas far as I know. Why, darling?"<\/p>\n
I found myself unable to describe how I felt. Words just
\nweren't powerful enough. Seeing me frowning, Ayu took my hand and
\nheld it in hers, saying, "Mara, this tune was often played in
\nIndonesia when I was young. It is very possible that I've hummed
\nit once or twice." Her voice was flat. I felt she was hiding
\nsomething from me, but I wasn't sure.<\/p>\n
"Is there a name to it?"<\/p>\n
Ayu was silent for a moment, then replied, "Ya, Moustafa, Ya
\nMoustafa," while getting up.<\/p>\n
"Moustafa, who?"<\/p>\n
"That's the name of the song, Ya Moustafa, Ya Moustafa," she
\nsaid, spelling the key word.<\/p>\n
"Moustafa," I mumbled, "the name rings a bell!"<\/p>\n
"Very likely. Moustafa is a common Moslem name, just like John
\nor Jim in the English speaking world."<\/p>\n
"Mum," I said suddenly, "Kaila lent this CD for me to
\npractice. She actually nominated a different number. But after
\nhearing that one, I feel I want to dance to that tune. It seems
\njust right. It seems to have reached my soul. I'm sure my
\nmovements will be more harmonious with the music."<\/p>\n
Ayu gazed at me before forcing a smile. "As you please,
\nsweetheart," she said, walking away towards the kitchen.<\/p>\n
At the house Rohan shared with two of his friends, I showed
\nhim my costume. Rohan held it, caressed it, then lifted a flimsy
\nblue skirt from among it. He then looked at it, seemingly
\nentranced.<\/p>\n
"For goodness' sake Rohan, it's only the costume, not the
\ndancer!" I said.<\/p>\n
"Bring the dancer here!" Rohan roared, hamming the lewd
\nexpression of a nightclub gangster. He threw the skirt aside,
\nthen roughly grabbed my waist. His blue eyes were suddenly
\nlooking straight into mine, and, without warning, he kissed me
\nlustfully, forcing his tongue into my mouth.<\/p>\n
I quickly broke free. Infatuated as I was with Rohan, I was
\nrepelled by the way he treated me. He made me feel cheap. Wiping
\nmy mouth, I took several steps backwards and looked at him,
\nannoyed.<\/p>\n
Rohan realized his mistake and took control of himself. "I'm
\nsorry Mara. I don't know what came over me. The costume...was so
\nsuggestive. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."<\/p>\n
That melted my irritation. Seeing him so pale and upset I
\nrushed to him and held his arms, then leant my head on his chest.
\nHe didn't respond. Feeling awkward, I stepped back again.<\/p>\n
The tense atmosphere was still thick when I left. We had been
\nsitting stiffly away from each other, as if we each suspected the
\nother of leprosy.<\/p>\n
At home, I told Ayu what had happened. She listened
\nattentively, then looked out the window, deep in thought. When
\nshe turned to look at me again, her face was serious.<\/p>\n
"Mara, have you slept with Rohan?" she asked.<\/p>\n
"No," I replied truthfully. "But we nearly did, several
\ntimes."<\/p>\n
"Mara," said Ayu, "You probably think you're old enough for
\nit. I can't stop you. Even if I tried, if you wanted to do it, I
\nwouldn't be able to police you around the clock. You have to be
\nable to look after yourself."<\/p>\n
I reached out to hug her. Poor Ayu. She no doubt feared that
\nwhat had happened to her would happen to me. "Mum," I said
\nsoothingly. "Don't worry, I know how to look after myself."<\/p>\n
"Alright sweetheart. Just don't weaken. The consequences can
\nbe..."<\/p>\n
"I know, Mum."<\/p>\n
I remembered that when I'd been a small child, Ayu had had a
\nblack sleeveless tight Lurex top. I imagined that if I cut it
\nshort, I'd be able to use it as the top part of my costume. I
\nwent to look for it in her wardrobe. When I didn't find it, I
\nbegan to look in the trunks where Ayu kept her old clothes. There
\nI was lost in the childhood game of dressing up. I tried numerous
\nclothes, matching this with that. Suddenly my hand touched
\nsomething hard. I pulled it out. A rather tattered brown covered
\nbook came away in my hand. I opened it and looked at the first
\npage of Ayu's old diary.<\/p>\n
My heart was beating fast, my hands felt cold and numb.
\nSwallowing, I began to turn the pages. Some parts were written in
\nIndonesian and some in English. Guilt almost made me close the
\nbook and return it where I'd found it. But before I did, a
\nsentence in English caught my attention. I read, and read ...<\/p>\n
"After the meeting with Rita I rushed home. At first I wanted
\nto kill myself. Oh God! Is this your punishment? I still heard
\nRita's resigned voice, 'When I found out that Wahyuni was also
\ncarrying his child, I went straight to my doctor to terminate my
\npregnancy. I cut myself clean from any trace of him. He did try
\nto contact me, several times, but I'd made up my mind. Two months
\nafter that I heard that Wahyuni'd committed suicide, she took an
\noverdose...'"<\/p>\n
"How am I going to tell Grandma about me and M, who has had a
\nstring of women victims? No, I can't. Grandma has brought me up
\nand blown her savings to educate me."<\/p>\n
I heard the front door open, then Ayu's steps. I quickly
\nreturned the diary to the bottom of the trunk, threw some old
\nclothes on it, then closed the trunk silently. Pretending to be
\nlooking for an item of clothing, I answered Ayu's call, "I'm
\nhere, Mum. Where on earth is your red blouse?"<\/p>\n
So my father's name started with M. How many Indonesian names
\ndid I know started with M? I didn't have time to dwell on this
\nthought, because Ayu appeared in the door. "You won't find it
\nthere. I've got it on," she said, talking her jacket off.<\/p>\n
During the next few days I was preoccupied with my coming
\nperformance, yet the discovery about my father hovered in and out
\nof my consciousness.<\/p>\n
From the stage I saw Ayu sitting in the front row. Even in
\ndarkness I was able to tell how proud she was of me. After
\nseveral rounds I cast a glance again at the audience. In the
\nthird row, a little to the side I saw Rohan, seemingly pleased
\nand excited. Beside him was a middle-aged man with graying hair.
\nWhen I threw my veil at the audience, I intentionally threw it at
\nAyu, who caught it with a grin. As I slowly began to move back
\ntowards the center of the stage I saw the face of the middle-aged
\nman beside Rohan. He craned his neck forward, and his eyes were
\nglued on Ayu. His expression struck me, oh God, he looked like
\nsomeone who had just seen a ghost. The tune of Ya Moustafa seemed
\nto rise to a deafening pitch. My legs felt weak, but I continued
\ndancing. I no longer remembered the original choreography, and I
\ndanced driven by pain and emotion. My whole body ached, with each
\nnerve seeming to be frayed. When the music stopped and the
\ncurtains fell, Kaila had to lift me off the floor. My face was
\ndrenched with tears. I was only faintly aware of Kaila's and the
\nother girls' praises. I went straight to the changing room. Rohan
\nwas waiting for me with a bouquet of red roses. I ignored his
\nkiss and pushed him away, asking "Rohan, what's your father's
\nname? That was him, sitting beside you in the theater?"<\/p>\n
"Yes. His name is Moustafa Haquim. Why?"<\/p>\n
I lost control. I burst into tears again and nearly shrieked
\nwith emotion. Luckily Ayu walked in. I ran to hug her, unable to
\nutter a single word. When I lifted my face and turned to look at
\nRohan, Moustafa Haquim was standing by him. His face was white,
\nhis eyes red. I turned to Ayu again. Her eyes glazed over, as if
\nshe were no longer there. Her cheeks lost color and her lips
\nbecame blue. Suddenly Rohan rushed across and caught her before
\nshe fainted.<\/p>\n
I looked intently at my mother's face on the white pillow.
\nOvercome with affection, I caressed her wavy hair. When she
\nopened her eyes, she looked happy to see me.<\/p>\n
"Are they still here?" asked Ayu. I shook my head.<\/p>\n
"Mara. That's him. Moustafa Haquim. I was so angry with him. I
\nhated him so much I thought I'd be able to forget him in no time.
\nBut in reality, he haunted me all my life, so much so that I
\ncouldn't develop a normal relationship with any other man."<\/p>\n
I clasped her hand in mine, then rubbed my cheek on the back
\nof it. "How do you feel now? Towards him, I mean."<\/p>\n
"I don't know. But however I feel towards him has no
\nconsequences with the present situation. I won't come between you
\nand Rohan."<\/p>\n
My eyes felt warm again. "Mum," I said, "The irony is,
\naccording to Moustafa, you were the one he really loved. That was
\nwhy he requested a posting in Australia, to find you. When his
\ngovernment rejected his request, he left the diplomatic corps,
\nand came to Australia under his own steam. Then when he arrived
\nhere he couldn't gather enough courage to contact you. He hadn't
\nrealized you were pregnant."<\/p>\n
Ayu smiled bitterly. "That's all old story, Mara. It's
\ndifferent now."<\/p>\n
I didn't know exactly what she meant. But I didn't want to
\ndisturb her further. As before, I'd wait until she was ready to
\nexplain everything to me.<\/p>\n
Dewi Anggraeni was born in Jakarta, Indonesia. She lives in
\nMelbourne with her husband and two children. She was the
\nAustralian correspondent for the former Tempo magazine, and now
\nwrites for The Jakarta Post, Forum Keadilan, and other
\npublications in Indonesia and Australia. Combining her skills as
\na journalist and novelist, her works have been published in both
\nlanguages, in Australia and Indonesia. She has three books
\npublished in Australia: two novels, The Root of All Evil (1987)
\nand Parallel Forces (1988), and the third, a trilogy of novellas,
\nStories of Indian Pacific (1993).<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/the-tune-1447899208",
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