A fly

By Sori Siregar

The real reason was a trifling matter. A fly perched on the rim of the cup of her husband's friend who happened to be visiting. The husband's friend did not worry about the perching fly.

On the other hand the husband was deeply embarrassed about it and all of a sudden his face turned red, as red as the color dominating the painting hanging against the wall in front of him.

To him a fly is a symbol of sloppiness. He had been living in the house for seven years and thus far a fly had never flown in or passed through.

There might be something decaying in the house, he thought. The negligence of his wife or housemaid might be the cause of this.

"You are not looking well," said her husband's friend. "Your face is so red. You didn't sleep well. I'd better go now".

The husband nodded. He let his friend leave the house.

When he thought his friend had crossed the intersection of the roads a hundred meters away, he began to give vent to his anger. He did it repeatedly. The shot of his rage did not miss the mark. His wife tried to defend herself and the housemaid.

"It was not our fault," she said.

"Garbage was piling up in the corner of the junkyard and some flies held a big party there. On their way home, one of them went astray and dropped in here. Accidentally, the fly perched on the rim of your friend's cup. It was not our fault. If you want to make a protest, address it to the City Hall, not to us."

His wife's counterattack had weakened him and he could not say anything else.

He became aware that he was venting his anger on the wrong target. He realized that his embarrassment in front of his friend had made him take out his rage on his wife and the housemaid.

With just a short explanation, he was convinced that the parties he accused of wrongdoing were innocent. Realizing his mistake, the husband was ashamed of himself and kept his mouth shut. The wife said nothing because she was offended and the housemaid remained silent because she did not know what to do.

There seemed to be a cease-fire in the silence. But peace did not emerge from the truce. The house became a quiet battlefield with no sound of anything for weeks. Finally, the husband and wife made up their minds to have separate beds, albeit still in the same room.

Enmity in silence had built up and no efforts had been made by either side to make peace either directly or through the assistance of a third party.

But they were still human. Biological needs began to disrupt their lonely nights. When the disturbances came, they usually looked at one another in the dark without realizing that one was gazing upon the other in enjoyment and lust.

Month after month of doing similar things was indeed a great torture. Consequently, the arrogance that kept them apart started to wilt.

Strategies were made by both sides to seek peace directly without the interference of a third party. That was the reason why the sixty-year-old housemaid was not required to play any role.

The strategies they had planned were more or less the same. The husband fell ill and the wife was sick at the same time. They asked for the same food, similar medicines and they groaned in pain concurrently. The composition of the groan was not an excellent composition and also boring for those who were the sources of the noise.

Their strategies for peace were a total failure and disappointment brought the husband and wife down with a true illness.

The old housemaid was upset and still did not know what to do. All kinds of medicines, from pounded betel leaves to costly capsules, had been taken by both but the illness remained without any sign of weakening its grip.

The old housemaid, who was a villager, eventually remembered the spell which could cure illnesses. She began to cast the spell on the husband and wife as if reading a long poem. What a beautiful reading. She was amazed that she could read such a great spell-like poem. However, the husband and wife were no better than before. Their illness went from bad to worst.

They grew thinner. The only flesh in their bodies became part of the skin that covered their bones. The sweet smell of their bones was enough to invite dogs from the neighborhood to gather around the house and bark now and then. They wanted to crack their bones.

The husband and wife were fully aware that the time had come for them to die, to make the long journey to the world hereafter, that was dreamed of by devout people and true believers. Had, in the critical moment, peace been achieved, it would have been useless as it would have been too late.

But they were still human. Their biological needs had surfaced again. How odd! A precedent in medical history.

"I want to make love to you once more before I die," the husband whispered on a lonely night.

"I want you to make love to me once again before I die," the wife answered in an undertone though she did not hear what her husband had said.

The unfulfilled desire had prolonged their lives until the time of writing. Meanwhile, the number of dogs gathering around the house had grown, and they had begun to bark and howl, making the once peaceful and lonely nights hard to endure.

The old housemaid had been terrified by the barking and howling. When a fly dropped in from somewhere she ran after it breathlessly, caught the fly with her palms and crushed it under one of her feet. "You are a killer," she shouted.

Later on, she opened the door to the room where the husband and wife were lying on their beds to see whether they needed anything. The husband and wife looked at her. She did not catch the meaning of their stare. She was so sad not knowing what they wanted.

"Had I known what they had had in mind they could have died peacefully," she whispered.

The time to die had still not come and the dogs were still howling incessantly.

Translated by the author.

Sori Siregar was born in Medan, North Sumatra in November, 1939, as Sori Sutan Sirovi Siregar. Since 1960 he has been a frequent contributor to Indonesia's leading journals, including Sastra, Horison, Budaya Jaya and Zaman.