Tuyul<\/p>\n
By Dewi Anggraeni<\/p>\n
Trevor pushes the door open and walks in, leaving the key
\ndangling. Usually he would call his wife's name at this stage.
\nBut this time he deflects. The house is quiet. Why is it
\ndifferent today? Isn't he used to that, knowing that it isn't
\nMaryati's habit to listen to the radio? He flares his nostrils.<\/p>\n
He smells something strange, something foreign. It isn't the
\nusual welcoming cooking smell. Trevor takes several steps toward
\nthe bedrooms, his hand still clasping the handle of his
\nbriefcase.<\/p>\n
"Maryati," he calls softly.<\/p>\n
Suddenly he stops. Not far from the spare bedroom, the smell
\nintensifies. He approaches the door cautiously. It's ajar. No
\nnoise from inside. He starts to panic. He pushes the door
\nforcefully as if expecting resistance, his whole body stiff from
\ntension.<\/p>\n
What he sees freezes him on the spot. Mystified, his mouth
\ngapes, his eyes nearly pop. Before him, on a small coffee table
\ncovered with a batik cloth, a small urn is emanating a thin
\nsmoke, and an overpowering smell fills the whole room. In front
\nof the urn, on a small tray, are flower petals and some sweets.
\nWhat shocks him most what he sees on the floor near the table,
\nhis wife lying, seemingly unconscious.<\/p>\n
Trevor drops his briefcase, it falls with a thud on the floor.
\nHe then pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. Covering his nose
\nwith the handkerchief, Trevor falls on his knees beside his
\nwife's body. But before he touches her, Maryati has opened her
\neyes. She looks startled.<\/p>\n
"Shit, Yati!" he cries, relieved, his muffled voice thin and
\nshaky.<\/p>\n
"Ahh, Trevor," Maryati looks displeased. "You give me fright!
\nWhat you doing, cover face like that?"<\/p>\n
When his fear has passed, Trevor begins to feel annoyed as if
\nMaryati were mocking him.<\/p>\n
"What was I doing, you asked?" he exclaims, withdrawing the
\nhandkerchief, "You gave me one hell of a fright yourself. What's
\nall this about?" He is coughing from the sudden fluctuation of
\nemotions, but blames the incense. He fans the handkerchief
\ndemonstratively.<\/p>\n
Maryati quickly looks around then pulls Trevor out of the
\nroom. He doesn't resist, his throat still raspy.<\/p>\n
In the lounge, Maryati pushes him on to the sofa. Then,
\nsitting beside him, she says sweetly but seriously.<\/p>\n
"Trev, I tell you already, no? I tell you the day before
\nyesterday, I see tuyul in this house!"<\/p>\n
"Yes! Tuyul! Huh, I know! You forget, no? You never listen,
\nreal listen, when I tell you."<\/p>\n
Despite being unable to recall what she told him, Trevor feels
\na shiver in the back of his neck. For some reason, the whole
\nsituation spooks him. Maybe the sound of the word itself, tuyul,
\nhas a disturbing suggestion, or perhaps the way Maryati puts it
\nmakes him feel there is something mysterious behind it. Suddenly,
\nhe realizes what disturbs him. His wife's eyes. There is
\nsuffering in them. Whatever that tuyul is, it's made his wife
\nsuffer.<\/p>\n
"Sorry darling, what's this tuyul thing?" he asks candidly.
\nHis anger has left him.<\/p>\n
Maryati sighs and looks away.<\/p>\n
"Yati?" Trevor prompts, after waiting for a few seconds.<\/p>\n
"Tuyul," Maryati turns to him again, "a kid ghost. Kid who die
\nbefore he know the world the big people." Her eyes are moist, but
\nshe quickly controls her emotion.<\/p>\n
"Ghost? Spirit?" Trevor is momentarily incredulous, then tries
\nto conceal his mirth. "You saw a child's ghost in this house?
\nWhere?"<\/p>\n
"Few place. First I see in tree in backyard. I cooking and
\nhappen look out the window. Then .. I see kid," Maryati stops
\nthere.<\/p>\n
"A kid. You saw a kid."<\/p>\n
"Yes, I got fright."<\/p>\n
"Why'd you get a fright? There are neighborhood kids in this
\narea."<\/p>\n
"That kid not from neighborhood. I know all kid here!"<\/p>\n
"So you do. And then?"<\/p>\n
"Then I run to door, I run out. But I see no kid, kid gone.
\nThen I know, I just see tuyul." This time Maryati doesn't hide
\nthe tears welling in her eyes.<\/p>\n
Puzzled, Trevor takes her in his arms, hugging her tightly.
\nWhy is she so affected by what she saw? Even if it were true she
\nsaw the spirit of a child, why does she appear so suffer so?<\/p>\n
"Well, then you made that thing, whatever's it called?" Trevor
\ntries to discover more.<\/p>\n
"Sesajen, offering. I don't make offering straight away, Trev.
\nFirst I not sure. But yesterday I see three time. Two time in
\nbackyard, play and run, one time in house."<\/p>\n
"In the house? Where?" asks Trevor.<\/p>\n
"In spare room. He looks sleep in corner. That why I make
\noffering in that room. That his room, Trev. One day, we buy him
\nlittle bed."<\/p>\n
Trevor isn't sure he's dreaming, or awake, hearing things.
\nMaryati, his wife, saw the spirit of a child. Several times. All
\nright. If she believes that, if that makes her happy let her. The
\nspirit moved into their spare room. Okay. A bit far fetched, but
\nharmless. But buying a small bed for it?<\/p>\n
"Yati," Trevor releases his hug, then pulls her away to look
\nat her face. Again, fear creeps up on him. There's something
\nhidden behind those eyes. Trevor quickly hugs her again, hoping
\nthe impression will go when out of sight.<\/p>\n
He then sighs with relief when Maryati pulls herself away and
\nbegins to giggle.<\/p>\n
"Well, I not yet cook, Trev. I fall sleep just now."<\/p>\n
"Don't fuss, Yati. Let's go out for dinner."<\/p>\n
"Really? If so, I want to shower first," Maryati looks
\ncheerful.<\/p>\n
While waiting, Trevor tries to read the newspaper. No use. He
\ncan't concentrate. Finally he gets up and walks to the kitchen to
\nmake coffee.<\/p>\n
His mind is preoccupied with his wife's bizarre behavior.
\nWhat's happened to her, for goodness sake? Is she showing
\nsymptoms of a nervous disorder? Is she unhappy? Haven't I met all
\nher needs? Didn't I buy this house for her? All the furniture in
\nthis house is her choice. Trevor looks at the lounge. That lounge
\nsuite. I had to order it from Yogya for her. No, she can't be
\nunhappy.<\/p>\n
In the car, Maryati speaks very little. Every now and again
\nTrevor looks at her out of the corner of his eye. Her face looks
\nas pale as marble, as if she were losing physical substance.
\nEventually Trevor stops talking too.<\/p>\n
Trevor has been encouraged to chat more with his wife, now
\nthat she's able to communicate in English with him. Her English
\nis far from perfect, but much more fluent. She can even write her
\nown name and address, though her reading and writing are still
\nvery unreliable. However, considering that she's illiterate in
\nIndonesian, her achievement in English is nothing short of
\nmarvelous.<\/p>\n
At the Chinese restaurant, Maryati's mood brightens. She
\nlistens to Trevor's stories about his day in the office. She even
\ncomments how delicious the roast chicken is in the restaurant.<\/p>\n
What eludes Trevor's observation is how swiftly she looks away
\nwhen some guests come with a child of three of four years old.
\nLucky for her they're ushered upstairs.<\/p>\n
Trevor hasn't forgotten about the event earlier in the
\nevening. The impression has changed, though. He no longer regards
\nit as a big problem. The warmth of the moment has pushed the
\nevent to the far corner of his consciousness, where he puts away
\nall disturbing occasions with fading first impressions.<\/p>\n
Trevor isn't a thinker. He doesn't like dwelling on certain
\nthings. He sees it as unproductive, a waste of mental energy. He
\nbelieves everybody is equipped with intuition to judge a
\nsituation. His intuition tells him that his wife's happy now. So
\nhe's happy to stop there.<\/p>\n
Parking his car in the carport, Trevor's still feeling high.
\nHe whistles some ill-defined tune even as he walks up the path to
\nthe front door, his arm around Maryati's shoulders.<\/p>\n
As soon as the front door is opened, the smell of incense
\npulls them back to earth. Maryati's face quickly turns solemn.
\nTrevor frowns, but only for a moment. He doesn't want to spoil
\nthe good mood. Without much ado he takes off his jacket and hangs
\nit in the hall cabinet, then quietly walks to the spare room to
\nclose the door.<\/p>\n
All that doesn't elude Maryati. She doesn't say anything.<\/p>\n
In bed, Trevor finds his wife asleep quickly, so he turns over
\nand slips his hand under his pillow seeking some vague comfort,
\nthe way he always did in childhood.<\/p>\n
To Trevor's relief, no incense is burned, nor is there any
\ntalk of tuyul during the following two days.<\/p>\n
On the third day, a Thursday evening, which in Indonesian is
\noften called malam Jum'at or Friday's eve, Trevor looks forward
\nto entering his driveway. At work, everything went wrong. Two of
\ntheir reliable clients had gone bankrupt, reneging on their
\npayments. Another most revered client rang to complain about some
\nof the goods he'd received. They were imperfect and this client
\nasked Trevor to replace them immediately. Then when Trevor
\ncontacted his tradesman, instead of support, he received threats
\nof industrial action. Among all this, his boss requested a
\nmonthly report on sales.<\/p>\n
Trevor has visions of Maryati welcoming him cheerfully,
\ntelling him what's in the saucepans on the hot plate. Nothing
\nelse is on his mind but this simple pleasure as he steps out of
\nthe car. He pushes open the door, steps in and is going to call,
\nbut his nose is quicker.<\/p>\n
"Oooh," Trevor sighs audibly. He hesitates for a second,
\nlooking back at the door. His fingers are still clasping the
\nhandle of his briefcase. Then he hears his wife's footsteps from
\nthe kitchen.<\/p>\n
"Trevor," she calls cheerfully.<\/p>\n
Trevor is tossed off balance. Maryati walks up to him, takes
\nthe briefcase from him, and as usual, helps him take off his
\njacket.<\/p>\n
"Why so quiet? You not feeling well?" asks Maryati, when all
\nthe routine has been completed.<\/p>\n
"Oh, that. Yes, tonight is Friday eve. I make offering every
\nTuesday and Friday eve. I not yet tell you?"<\/p>\n
"Every Tuesday's and Friday's eve?" Trevor almost shouts.<\/p>\n
He pictures his parents and brothers' reactions, when they
\nhappened to drop in on those nights. What would he tell them?
\nThat his wife saw a tuyul? That the tuyul's moved in? That
\nthey're going to buy a small bed for it? God Almighty, what'll
\nthey think?<\/p>\n
"Wait a minute, Yati," Trevor suppresses his worry and tries
\nto smile. Twitching slightly, he says, "Yati, did you say you'd
\nburn incense every Tuesday's and Friday's eve? Is that really
\nnecessary? If it, or he, has moved in here, d'you still have to
\ndo that?"<\/p>\n
Maryati looks searchingly at her husband. "Of course I have to
\ndo that. Trev, imagine we have kid. We have to feed, look after
\nthe kid, no?" she asks simply.<\/p>\n
Trevor wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.<\/p>\n
"Yati, but this is not a real kind. This is your imagination."<\/p>\n
Maryati's face falls. "You not understand. You not believe..."<\/p>\n
"All right, all right, it's real. And the tuyul needs food and
\neverything, just like us," Trevor agrees, exasperated.<\/p>\n
"Of course not like us. But we have to make him feel good you
\nknow, like a kid. Why you so trouble? I make offering and burn
\nincense, not you. And not expensive the cost."<\/p>\n
"But Yati, I feel uncomfortable with all this smell. Imagine
\nif people found out about what you did. They'd definitely think
\nyou were a witch or a Satan worshiper."<\/p>\n
When Maryati looks at him uncomprehendingly, Trevor explains
\nwhat a witch and a Satan worshiper are. She then appears
\nsurprised. That never occurred to her.<\/p>\n
"You see, Yati? This can cause a problem. What if you do this
\nofferings bit once ... once a... once a month?"<\/p>\n
Maryati falls silent. Slowly she walks to the lounge, then
\ndrops herself into the nearest chair.<\/p>\n
"Once a month," she mutters. "Once a month. How he feel happy?
\nOnly look after once a month?"<\/p>\n
"Look, sweetheart. Twice a week, imagine. Within a fortnight
\nit'd be all over the neighborhood. While once a month, well, I
\nthink you could get away with it."<\/p>\n
She sits supporting her face with her palms, while Trevor sits
\ndown in the chair opposite, his eyes glued to her face.<\/p>\n
At last, Maryati looks up. There are tears in her eyes.<\/p>\n
"All right, Trev. Once a month." Then, silently, she gets up
\nand returns to the kitchen.<\/p>\n
Trevor is left feeling as if he'd just kicked out his own son.
\nHe's determined, however, not to weaken. Picking up a newspaper,
\nhe begins to read. When Maryati comes with a cup of coffee, he
\npulls one corner down and thanks her with a stiff smile.<\/p>\n
Maryati becomes quiet after that. Though she still answers
\nwhen asked and smiles when Trevor tries to joke, she appears to
\nhave lost her soul. Everything she does, she does mechanically.
\nTrevor watches, somewhat bewildered and extremely worried.<\/p>\n
After several days, Trevor rings up Dr. Barrow from work. He
\nhas been the family physician since Trevor was a baby. Dr. Barrow
\nis the only person he trusts with his problem.<\/p>\n
After listening attentively to Trevor's story, Dr. Barrow
\nasks, "Can you bring your wife to see me, Trev?"<\/p>\n
"I'll try doc. This evening?"<\/p>\n
Convincing Maryati to see a doctor is much easier than he
\nthought it would be, Maryati only nods when Trevor explains that
\nwants her to see a doctor, because she hasn't seemed well lately.<\/p>\n
At the doctor's surgery she's also cooperative when Trevor
\nsuggests she go on alone.<\/p>\n
He waits for half and hour, continuously changing the
\nmagazines he's reading. When Maryati comes out, he can't read her
\nexpression. Her face is like a clean sheet of paper. Empty.<\/p>\n
"Well? How was it?" Trevor asks in the car, "What'd he say?"<\/p>\n
Maryati shrugs. "He asks many question."<\/p>\n
"Like what?"<\/p>\n
"Like I eat regular, my period regular, and other question.
\nThen he look my eye, take my pressure blood, he say. But he not
\ntell many thing."<\/p>\n
That night they're both restless, but conversation still won't
\nflow.<\/p>\n
Trevor's on the phone to Dr. Barrow the following morning.<\/p>\n
"Trev," says Barrow, "When did you last take your leave?"<\/p>\n
"About fourteen months ago. Why?"<\/p>\n
"Why so long ago? Can't you take any leave this year?"<\/p>\n
"Doc, we've just bought a house. It had to be furnished. We're
\nup to our ears in down payment. Taking leave means I'll miss out
\non the bonus I get for every sale I make."<\/p>\n
"Which is more important, your bonuses or your wife's health?"<\/p>\n
Trevor heart misses a beat. "Is it that serious?"<\/p>\n
"Yes, it is." Barrow's voice is grave. "She's not pregnant,
\nI've verified that. But your wife shows symptoms of mild
\ndepression. Take your leave now, Trev, before it's too late."<\/p>\n
"All right, doc. Thanks."<\/p>\n
Trevor doesn't discuss his plans with Maryati. He wants to
\ngive her a surprise. He's been imagining her reaction when he
\nshows her the tickets to the Gold Coast, and the voucher for a
\nluxurious villa, which will be theirs for ten days. He winces
\neach time he thinks of the cost, but keeps telling himself that
\nthe cost is nothing compared to Maryati's happiness.<\/p>\n
To Trevor's dismay, Maryati looks shocked when he tells her
\nabout the trip to the Gold Coast, two days before they're due to
\nleave. She's shocked and disappointed. There's even and
\naccusation of betrayal in her eyes.<\/p>\n
Misunderstanding her action, Trevor shows her the tickets.<\/p>\n
"What you doing to me, Trev? What I done wrong? Why so cruel
\nto me?" she cries.<\/p>\n
Trevor is perplexed. He collapses into a chair. Good grief.
\nBarrow was right, it's too late!"<\/p>\n
"Yati," he tries nonetheless, "It's all for you."<\/p>\n
"For me? I never ask this. I only ask you let me look after my
\ntuyul. First you stop me give him offering two time a week. Now
\nyou want take me away. If we go, when we come back, he gone."<\/p>\n
Maryati leans against the doorjamb, crying bitterly. And when
\nTrevor tries to calm her, she pushes him away with all her force.<\/p>\n
"Don't touch me. I don't want to live here. I want go back to
\nJava!" she shrieks.<\/p>\n
When everything he does to comfort his wife backfires, Trevor
\nquickly rings Dr. Barrow.<\/p>\n
He sits in the doorway, crying into his hands, as the
\nambulance drives away, carrying his drugged wife.<\/p>\n
The house is sad and empty. Trevor paces up and down the
\nlounge, wringing his hands. Finally he's overcome by exhaustion
\nand drops himself on the sofa, propping his head with three
\ncushions. His eyes are heavy.<\/p>\n
He's floating between sleep and wakefulness, yet there's a
\ndistinct feeling he's in his lounge. In the opposite corner,
\nbelow the window, he sees a small child, naked, playing on the
\nfloor. Though he can only see its back, Trevor knows it's a boy.
\nThere's no sensation of shock or tenderness. He just wants to
\nknow what the child's doing in his house, with no clothes on.<\/p>\n
Then he's jolted by sudden wakefulness. God Almighty, did I
\nreally see it? Am I going mad?<\/p>\n
Trevor scans his telephone notebook. No, I won't ring Eni. I
\nwon't ring anyone who knows us. He looks at his watch, then picks
\nup the telephone directory.<\/p>\n
"Professor Richards? My name is Trevor. You see, I'm studying
\nJavanese culture... no, no privately. Yes, from books and things,
\nyou know ... Yes, hahaha. Well, a friend told me about tuyul,
\nsaid he saw one. But he wasn't every clear about what it is. I
\ncouldn't find it in the literature I've got. Maybe you could tell
\nme, Professor, what is tuyul?"<\/p>\n
A very careful and measured voice answers, "I'm not really an
\nexpert on tuyul, Trevor, I'm an historian specializing in
\nJavanese cultural history. But err... I know a little about the
\nsubject. I must explain here that I've never seen one. A pity?
\nQuite, quite. Now Tuyul, I gather, is the ghost of a child, some
\nsay that of an aborted fetus, or a stillborn child. How does it
\nlook? Well, like a small child usually hairless and naked ...
\nPardon? Oh sure, some might say it has hair. What it is after?
\nHmm, for Westerners like you and me, this might be a bit hard to
\nswallow ... According to my sources, a tuyul is often kept by
\nsomeone for certain purposes, such as to steal from someone else,
\nor, for a gambler, to bring inspiration."<\/p>\n
Trevor's voice shakes a little. "Is there anyone who keeps a
\ntuyul just because he likes children?"<\/p>\n
"A bit strange, don't you think? But anything is possible.
\nYes, yes. I wouldn't be surprised, especially in this field. The
\nconcept is so fluid, you see. If you like, I can give you the
\ntitles of some very useful books on the topic. Got a pen and
\npaper handy?"<\/p>\n
"Thank you, Professor. Oh, another thing. Surely there's
\nmention of how to dispel a tuyul."<\/p>\n
"Yes, of course. In those books I mentioned you'll find
\nvarious methods. However, I can quote a source on it. It sounds
\nridiculous."<\/p>\n
That night, at eight o'clock, Trevor opens his back door. The
\nfull moon in the eastern sky immediately shrouds him with a film
\nof blue light. The still chilly September air penetrates his thin
\njumper. After looking around the steps cautiously out, carrying a
\nsmall table and a brown paper bag.<\/p>\n
In the middle of the backyard he stops. He's the only moving
\npart of this still painting he's just entered. Putting the table
\non the grass, he opens his paper bag. One by one he arranges the
\ncontents on the table: a red chili, a brown onion, a piece of
\nginger, a piece of incense which he puts on a saucer, and a box
\nof matches. Muttering the sentences he's learned by heart, he
\nbegins to burn the incense.<\/p>\n
Trevor's really absorbed in what he's doing, when suddenly he
\nhears a twig break behind him. He whips around, his eyes nearly
\npop from terror. He wants to scream, but his throat seems to
\nclose.<\/p>\n
"Good god, Trev. What the hell are you doing?" his brother,
\nDouglas, asks from several feet away.<\/p>\n
"Shit Doug! What d'you think you're doing? Sneaking up on me
\nlike that?"<\/p>\n
"Me? Sneaking. Hell Trevor. Have you gone mad?"<\/p>\n
Trevor slowly straightens himself up. "Come on in. I'll
\nexplain."<\/p>\n
Douglas looks hesitant. Shifting his glance from the small
\ntable to his brother, he says, "Mum and Dad are waiting in the
\ncar."<\/p>\n
Trevor holds his head, wishing his brother to go away.<\/p>\n
Dewi Anggraeni was born in Jakarta. She lives in Melbourne
\nwith her husband and two children. She was the Australian
\ncorrespondent for Tempo weekly, and now writes for The Jakarta
\nPost, Forum Keadilan and other publications in Indonesia and
\nAustralia. Combining her skills as a journalist and novelist, her
\nstories have been published in both languages in Australia and
\nIndonesia. She has three books published in Australia: the novels
\nThe Root of All Evil (1987) and Parallel Forces (1988), and a
\ntrilogy of novellas called Stories of Indian Pacific (1993).<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/tuyul-1447899208",
"image": ""
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