A Request

When the secretary told me to see the director, my heart pounded hard.

What had I done wrong? I was disciplined in observing work hours, my assignments were done on time, my debt had been repaid and I had also taken the promotion advertisement to an advertising agency.

What was up? Had someone made a bad report to the director? This was always the consequence if the general manager was aloof and preferred to report to the boss if there was something wrong with his subordinates. Then employees were ordered to see the chief executive to be reprimanded, scolded and bombarded with harsh words.

The general manager didn't want to lose prestige or get his hands dirty in dealing with subordinates. Instead, he used the hands of the most responsible executive to do his dirty work for him. He felt safe in using this method but the reality was different; most employees detested him even though he had only been in his position for one year.

I walked to the director's room in a daze. I stopped a few meters away from his door. Was it true that the director was asking to see me? The secretary might have misunderstood. It might be Ridwan, not me, that the director wanted to see. Ridwan's name and mine sound similar if mumbled.

Rattled by all the confusion, I wanted to go back to my room and recheck the name by phone with the secretary. I didn't know why I hadn't done that before.

I knocked on the director's door, and I heard him tell me to come in. When I opened the door, he was on the phone. I moved forward but then held my step. My right foot was already in the room. I was reluctant to keep on going because the director seemed to be speaking seriously in a soft voice.

Finally, I dragged my right foot back out of the room. I stood there on the threshold for about two minutes. After he finished his conversation, he gestured for me to come in and take a seat in front of him.

"Why didn't you come in after you heard my answer to your knock?"

I didn't respond because I didn't know how. After all, if his discussion on the phone was not personal, he would have gestured for me to come in.

As I came nearer to the chair before him, he extended his hand.

"Happy Idul Fitri and give me your sincere forgiveness."

"The same to you, Sir," I said.

I suddenly remembered it was the first regular workday after three days of the Lebaran holiday. I also realized that this year, as with the year before, the director had celebrated overseas, in Australia if I was not mistaken. He and his family marked the Lebaran abroad almost every year.

"How did you observe your fasting period? In its entirety?" he asked.

"Praise the Lord, yes."

"I did not fast for three days because I was not feeling well," he informed me without my asking.

Then he told me about the Idul Fitri in Sydney. He had spent his time meeting fellow Moslems there. Having celebrated Lebaran in various countries for the past 10 years, he planned to be home for the next Lebaran.

That's what he told me. Half an hour into his story, I still didn't know why he had sent for me. But I had an inkling. My initial restlessness slowly subsided because I was sure that I would not be reprimanded.

I was convinced that I had not been summoned for any mistake because he would have scolded me from the very beginning if that was the case. That's why I listened to his story comfortably. When he had no more stories to tell, he began to disclose his intention in inviting me to his office.

"I hear that you can fluently recite holy verses of the Koran."

I was stupefied. Thunder roared in my head and I sweated all over. His remark stabbed my heart.

"What do you say if after office hours you come to my house and teach my youngest kid to read the Koran?"

I gazed at the director for mercy. Please, don't torture me like this.

"If it is necessary you will be allowed to go home earlier."

Sweat drenched me. If he let me leave the room and took back his request, I would kiss his feet in thanks.

I was not a good Koran reader. Actually, I had never finished reading it. When I opened the Holy Book, I had never read the verses written in Arabic but only the translations. If I tried to read the Arabic, I would end up crawling like a baby.

"I will give you transportation expenses if necessary."

I wanted to scream because I was so frightened. How could I accept his proposal, but how could I turn it down? Was it possible for me as a subordinate to reject his request, which I considered to be basically an order?.

Suddenly, before I could answer, I thought about Mukhsin. All of this must be his doing for a laugh. He liked making jokes which sometimes got people into trouble. He must have engineered all of this so well that he had deceived even the director.

"If you have no objection, why don't you start the teaching next Monday," the director continued.

I felt like I was losing my breath. I was powerless. Though the director had said "if you have no objection", actually the decision had been made.

Mukhsin would definitely get paid back for what he had done.

Comfortable that the Koran teaching had been agreed upon, the handsome 55-year-old director changed the subject.

"It's strange. Instead of using a Vietnamese name, a strict Moslem adherent like you should have an Arabic name."

I smiled wanly because I still couldn't free myself from his request.

"Lee Duan... as far as I remember, it was the name of a former official in Vietnam."

Despite my nervousness, I nodded. After all, what is a human being looking for if not peace at heart?

"What's in a name? You know Shakespeare, don't you? He said: 'What's in a name? That we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet'"

I happened to know Shakespeare's name even though I didn't speak a single word of English. I nodded repeatedly. Watching me nodding as a sign of agreement, the director laughed, rose to his feet and told me to go back to work.