A Prayer Mat

By Hawa Arofah

"Come home, quickly, Nduk. Your son wants a prayer mat. He wants to join tarawih at the mosque this month. He only wants to use a prayer mat from you," said Emak in her letter which had just arrived in the house I rented. "I would pity him if he refused to join tarawih 'cause you hadn't bought him a prayer mat."

I had difficulty breathing. Iwan, my only child, is quite an insistent boy. He does not stop asking for something until his request is granted. If he said he wanted me to give him a prayer mat, he would not take one even from his grandma.

Well, do I have to go back to my house in a remote village in East Java just to bring him a payer mat? I was confused. I had lied to my mother that I worked for a private company in Jakarta and that I could only come home for two days at Idul Fitri. She does not know that I am a sex worker.

Every time I go home for Lebaran, I lie to my neighbors about my job in Jakarta. That's why I only come home for a few days for Lebaran. I don't want them to suspect that I have taken up an improper job in the city. I have Iwan and I don't want him to feel inferior just because of my occupation. I also don't want my mother to be mentally tortured because of my job.

I decided not to return home this Lebaran. I decided to forget Iwan's nagging. After all, he's only four years old. When he grows up, he can perform his prayers along with our devout villagers.

So, I sent some money to my mother, asking her to buy Iwan a prayer mat and other things that he would need for tarawih.

"Tell Iwan I'm too busy to come home," I wrote to my mother.

Two weeks later I got another letter from my mother, saying that Iwan refused to use the new prayer mat and that he had also stopped eating.

"Come home, at once, Nduk. Take pity on Iwan," pleaded Emak in her letter.

I was exasperated but at the same time I felt sad about Iwan.

Should I go home now? I was confused. It would be difficult to return home for Lebaran.

"No way, Mother. I can't go home," I finally wrote to my mother.

I only prayed that Iwan would understand. I thought he was just behaving like a spoilt child and wanted my attention.

***

It was drizzling that night. It was cold. I had a cold and had to stay home. I was alone in the house I rented.

Suddenly, my past unraveled before my eyes.

I was quite pretty as a girl and got married shortly after I completed junior high school. My husband was a simple farmer. I had Iwan from this marriage.

Unfortunately, my husband contracted a lung disease and died when Iwan was still very small.

As a pretty widow, I attracted many men in our village. They offered me money to sleep with me. Some even wanted to make me their mistress.

As I could not bear the situation any longer, I decided to leave my village for Jakarta. Unfortunately, with my junior high school diploma I could only work as a housemaid. I earned only a pittance every month. After a few months I decided to look for a better paid job. I needed a lot of money for Iwan back home.

So, I started to earn a living as a sex worker in some hotels. First, I just sat in the lobby.

"Are you willing to accompany our guest?" a waiter asked.

I only nodded. I thought, what's so difficult about joining a man in bed? I'm a widow after all who has experienced servicing my husband in bed.

I began to earn more money. Lots of it. After a few months I was able to collect hundreds of thousands of rupiah.

"I've got a nice job at an office, Mother. Use this money to repair the house and to buy daily necessities," I wrote to my mother.

Once a year I came home for Lebaran. I was proud now I had a good house. I was relieved that my mother and my neighbors believed I was employed in an office. Every time I returned home I put on an Islamic veil.

They did not know I cried loudly in my heart. I knew I was a hypocrite and that I was lying to all these good people back home.

"Come home, at once. Iwan is seriously ill," said a cable that my mother had just sent to me.

I wept. I felt sinful. I had pinned my hope on Iwan supporting me and praying for my soul in the hereafter later.

This thought made me decide to buy a prayer mat and rush home. Iwan must not die!

***

However, man proposes but God disposes. When I arrived home, I saw a lot of people at my house. I heard my mother sobbing, calling out Iwan's name very loudly.

There, lying on the bed, was my Iwan. Stiff, cold and rigid. I hugged him and kissed him many times.

"Come on, Iwan, wake up. Mom is home now. I've brought you a new prayer mat," I said, sobbing. Still, Iwan lay there cold and stiff.

"Iwan! Iwan! Don't die my son!" I screamed before I fainted.

Every day Emak tried to comfort me.

"Don't drown in your sadness. Iwan hasn't died, he has only left us to live in beautiful Eden. Just pray so we can be with him one day," she said.

I could only weep and weep, crying over my big mistake. Day in and day out, all I could see was Iwan getting ready to go to the mosque, carrying a prayer mat. I heard him recite the Koran. He smiled at me and I smiled at him too. Again and again and again. I smiled at him.

Translated by Lie Hua

Note: * Nduk : an intimate address from a mother to daughter * Tarawih : evening prayer during Ramadhan fasting month * Lebaran : Idul Fitri, a post-fasting festivity for Muslims * Emak : mother