A souvenir from another place

By Ismet Fanany

Minangkabau people have long talked of their tradition of leaving home to seek their fortunes or study in other provinces or even abroad.

Gradute students from across world have studied the phenomenon. Every angle is scrutinized -- including motivations for the custom, its social and economic impact, and how it has changed over time.

However, to people in the village of Kotopanjang, these academic concerns are irrelevant. They just do not think about them.

Nobody cares about why people leave. For them the most important thing is that people with academic titles command a high price in the marriage market.

So it was no wonder that Samsir had become the talk of the village since his return from the USA a month ago. Every family with an eligible daughter dreamed of having the Harvard-graduate for a son-in-law. The younger people spoke of him well, and it was not about casual banter.

Marriage proposals had poured in since the news of his return, and Samsir was well aware of it. He knew that families of prospective brides always forwarded the marriage proposals. On his flight back home, Samsir knew he had to settle matters his own way. If nothing else, he decided he would be play a large role in his friends' marriages.

Upik called out aloud, "Khadijah.. wait up! Khadijah!" With a quickening pace, she tried to catch her friend who was several steps ahead of her. The water-fountain almost drowned out Upik's voice. "Khadijah!!!" Upik's voice almost reached a screech in mounting frustration.

"Oh God! I almost had a heart-attack," said Upik who finally caught up. With hands on her chest, she breathed heavily.

"I've been calling you and calling you and you just don't answer!! Hee, hee, hee!," she giggled.

All they could hear was the sound of water falling from the small bamboo aqueduct. As twilight fell, the rim of the Mount Merapi split the suns light across the sky.

No clouds marked the rising evening skyline, and nature seemed to brim with yellow-gold contentment. Nearby coconut trees bowed gently in the wind.

The eyes of the two girls shone with delight, and they wondered if happiness increased nature's beauty.

"Is it true, that Uda Samsir waited for you at Batusangkar after the school was over?" Asked Upik, as they both sat on a rock near the small waterfall. Small bamboo aqueducts channeled the water into bathing-spouts.

Khadijah gave a satisfying nod. "I couldn't believe it myself!"

"And?" Upik couldn't wait to hear the whole story. She felt a surge of pride that her own cousin had won the attention of Samsir, a man sought after by the entire village.

"He is taking me to Bukittinggi tomorrow." Khadijah added.

"What?!" Upik's mouth fell open.

"Really!" Khadijah replied.

"And your school?" Upik asked.

"I'll miss one day, it's ok." Khadijah said.

"Has your mother allowed it?" Upik continued, trying to regain her lost composure.

"She does not have to know. We will go home once school is over. Why should I bother mother with it!" Khadijah added anxiously.

"Why would he want you there?" retorted Upik.

"He said it was a secret. But it's obvious he's taken a liking for me, Upik!" answered Khadijah.

"How are you, Din?" asked Darmawan, who was sat next to his girlfriend, at the table opposite Udin.

"Have you met Samsir since he's back?"

The young folk of Kotapanjang seemed at rest as they played dominoes at a kiosk rather doing their usual work.

"So many times," said Udin as he slammed domino stones on the table. "He always comes home."

"I heard," added Hasan, who sat on the left of Udin, next to Ali"he has become something of a sensation in Padang".

"Not to mention haughty," continued Ali. "Especially since he bought that car."

"I think the only reason he came home was to flash that car around. Haa,haa,ha!" taunted Hasan.

"You people are just jealous," said Udin matter-of-factly. "Look at us. We were his classmates at primary school. Look at you Hasan. Ali. And look at me," Udin went on sadly. "We hardly ever change our T-shirts, and simply don our old village drapes. Come on, Ali. Your turn."

"I heard," said Darmawan suspiciously, "that the reason he always comes down ... I believe there's something behind it, my friends."

"You mean that Dijah right?" drawled Hasan as he brought down the fifth stone.

"You lost again, San, " Udin took the opportunity. "Look at that, the girl Dijah you dreamt about now belongs to Samsir. That's just it! You are a losing fisherman. In a while Samsir's going to be famous!"

"At least I'm not haughty," defended Hasan.

"What do you mean?" Ali added.

"Remember?" Hasan said excitedly. "He even changed his name. He used to be called Cin in the village."

People added a Sir or Zir to their surnames, or were simply called Cin for respect.

"In high school," continued Hasan, "because he loved English, he used to tell his friends to call him Sam. Some even called him Uncle Sam, and he actually enjoyed it! Ha, ha, ha!"

"Rumor was," Ali added, "when he took up English, he didn't want 'Sam' pronounced the usual way, as es-a-em, but wanted it pronounced es-e-em. with a long middle e, with the American accent! Ha,ha,ha," they laughed out aloud.

"At least he went to America!" said Darmawan. "And looks like he's going to score with Khadijah as well!"

"So many people have come, Cin," said her mother, Rohana, for the tenth time.

"Don't worry about it, mother," advised Samsir.

"Easy for you to say. You are in Padang. I am in the village. And life in the village never changes, it always follows the same ways. My ears burn with whispering taunts of our neighbors. Just because he has come from America. Just because he's been a teacher. Village girls aren't good enough for the boy. And living in the village, these whispers ring in my ears."

"I understand mother. Why don't you just tell them that I'm not ready to settle as yet."

"But Cin, its always been like that. I have told everybody who came to our door. But Cin, Village people out of high-school are considered fit to settle down. And then you go to college in Padang. Fine. So many people go for higher education. Graduation from college, and you are still singing the same tune. Now that you are a teacher I still get the same reason. You are back from America now. With a doctorate. You have a position in the university. You think these villagers don't know? Your excuses aren't good enough, Cin."

"Fine, mother. I'll consider settling down. Please just wait awhile. I'll give you my decision soon, mother."

In school-uniform, Khadijah was a beauty to Samsir's eye. Most of her body was wrapped in white sack cloth and a long lavender colored cloth with designs of white and pink roses donned her neck, almost touching the floor of the car heading for the mountainous town of Bukittinggi. The lavender cloth was a head- dress as well, covering her whole head. Samsir was suddenly attracted to the beautiful woman sitting beside him.

The tight outfit emphasized Khadijah's figure . The lavender cloth played with his senses, and he drifted further in his dream world.

She was in the fifth grade but her body was already voluptuous. The allure was unimaginably breathtaking, more than that of his classmates roaming almost naked in summer at Harvard.

"If someone in the village knows about this, then what shall we do, Da?" asked Khadijah shyly. She lifted her eyes to Samsir. She liked the tall young man, almost lanky, overtly staring at her.

The black framed glasses looked good against his trim moustache and dark, long and wavy hair, which almost brushed his shirt-collar.

"Maybe they already know," said Samsir. He remembered his mother's words. Villagers knew everything about everybody. "Now Dijah should know about villagers going out on dates. We are not doing anything wrong or forbidden. We are doing this openly."

"But its different in the eyes of the village people Da," Khadijah explained.

"Well.. how does this differ from Yani and Bahar walking hand- in-hand from school to their village everyday?" asked Samsir.

The road taken to Bukittinggi through Sungaitarab, Tabek Patah, and Baso was shorter than the one passing through Simabur, Batipuh and Padangpanjang.

"Dijah," spoke Samsir while the both were seated on a bench at the Panorama, enjoying the view of the Sianok Canyon. "According to our customs, your family has to forward the proposal. But I'd like to know first, what your heart says."

"And for that, Uda brought me here?" questioned Dijah.

"There is another reason. But firstly, would you like to be my wife Dijah?" asked Samsir.

The question was expected and the answer lay on the tip of her tongue,its bluntness left Khadijah tongue-tied and her face flushed.

No words were needed. The answer was clear to Samsir. "What was the other reason, Da?" asked Khadijah when she finally found her voice.

"Before your family proposes for our marriage, I'd like to propose first, Dijah. Personally. Its our marriage. Therefore I'd like to propose you first." Saying that, Samsir took out the diamond ring from his pocket, and put it on Khadijah's finger.

"Hei, Udin, it has really happened. I am not envious, not even jealous!" said Ali excitedly.

"What?" said a confused Udin.

"I was just at my nephew's wedding party in Padang. Everybody knows that Samsir has a new girlfriend there. A new girlfriend! He is satisfying his urges before making Dijah his wife!" said Ali.

"You are exaggerating, Ali," said Udin worriedly.

"Whatever for ? He must have learnt about that sort of free behavior in the United States, or been that way himself!"

"If it is true, I feel sorry for Dijah," lamented Udin.

"You know Din, Padang people are hardly ever wrong about such matters."

"But Khadijah's family have officially made the proposal, and it has been accepted by Samsir's family. Let's just see what will happen. We'll know soon enough," remarked Udin.

"Where to?" asked the coachman of the two-wheeled horsecart.

"To the Sianok Canyon. Panorama," answered Khadijah curtly. Her eyes were still moist from last night's crying, throughout the bus-trip from Batusangkar to Bukittinggi. Now, she held those tears back.

The coachman knew the girl was sad, even agitated. But he had no words to say. He looked back every now and then to look at her beautiful, young face. Khadijah noticed, and knew the young man was aware of her anxiety.

"Your horse is beautiful," said Khadijah nervously, breaking the ice.

"He is my pride and joy," said the coachman. "I'm Basir," he said. "And your name, miss?"

Khadijah gave her name, and Basir rattled on his happy story. "As you can see Ms Dijah, my horse is bigger than most of the horse-cart horses you have seen."

Khadijah joined in, "And such dark and shiny mane! You have quite a handsome horse."

"I named him Gumarang," the coachman added.

"Like the horse of Cindua Mato in the tale of Tambo," said Khadijah, surprised at herself for getting carried away. His excitement was contagious.

"Yes exactly. The key to keeping a horse healthy is simple, miss. The food should be nutritious, and given on time. Sometimes the horse should be allowed to run free, and the mane must be brushed regularly."

Suddenly Gumarang belted out a shrieking neigh, and threw its proud head backwards. Gumarang pulled the cart more forcefully. Khadijah was alarmed. "What's there, what happened?" she asked worriedly.

"Don't worry, miss. He just saw a mare he has taken fancy to!"

Khadijah alighted at Panorama, and creases of worry appeared on her smooth face. She quickly paid Basir and ran towards the bench, near the canyon. The fence put up near the bench, separating safety and a deadly fall, was of little matter to those desperate to take their own lives. The Panorama had been the venue for countless suicides. Some may have slipped and fallen before the fence was built. Nevertheless, it's notoriety was well-deserved.

Khadijah stood at the edge of the fence, both hands wavering at her side. She climbed the fence slowly. A light drizzle began. Those at Panorama were locked away in their homes. Khadijah reached the tip of the fence, and all she had to do was to climb down the other side. She felt strong hands pulling her down to the safe end of the fence. Both of them lay near the fences feet. She relented.

Basir had his face close to Khadijah's. He was out of breath and extremely worried. He had suspected the worse and had quietly followed Khadijah.

"Is he asleep?" asked her husband as he walked into the bed room.

"He is," Khadijah answered with a smile.

Their son Ilham lay on the huge bed they shared, with only his face peeping out from the sheets. Both husband and wife watched the face lovingly, lips quivering in delight as if dreaming of a glass of milk.

For the umpteenth time Khadijah longed to tell Basir about the day at the Panorama, during those drizzling moments a year-and-a- half ago.

She had gone there with a heavy heart. Samsir's affair with another woman at Padang was common knowledge to the citizens of Kotopanjang village. The engagement was broken, but Khadijah wanted to break the engagement her own way. She wanted to bury the diamond ring at Panorama, the place she had once received it with such love and pride.

When she unfolded the cloth around her neck, where she had hidden the memento, the ring fell, bouncing to the other side of the fence. She climbed the fence to retrieve the ring, and to throw it into the depths of the canyon.

But tonight, in their room, watching Ilham sound asleep, Khadijah decided against it. Not tonight she felt. Just that afternoon both Basir and Khadijah agreed to have a second baby. And soon, so that the age gap between the children should not be too wide. Their faces inched closer. Ilham seemed at peace. Under the seeping rays of the moonlight, Khadijah could once again hear a confident and an impassioned Gumarang fiercely neighing into the winds.

Translated by JLT

The author was born in the village of Kotapanjang, West Sumatra, on April 9, 1952. He is head of Language and Asian Studies of the University of Tasmania, Australia. A winner of the 1977 writing competition sponsored by the Japanese Airlines and the Indonesian Ministry of Education and Culture, for that he got a scholarship to take a summer course at the Sophia University in Tokyo.

Ismet Fanany has written several fictions and translated biographies of well known persons. This short story appears in Anjing-anjing Menyerbu Kuburan: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1997. (Dogs Raiding a Grave: Kompas Selected Short Stories 1997). It is printed here by courtesy of Kompas.

Glossary:

Uda or Da: older brother or a gentleman who is older than the speaker.