A tale of the land of 'rencong'

A tale of the land of 'rencong'

By Wildan Em Asrori

My skin was blistered from the sun and was burning like a blazing iron when I heard a loud knock on the door, almost a bang. I dragged myself out of bed, rubbing my eyes as I walked to the door. My knees suddenly began to tremble as my hand reached for the door handle. I had no idea who was out there, breathing heavily. As a settler assigned to teach at several high schools, I had received some students and their parents at my house, but they were all friendly and polite.

As I slowly turned the handle, a strange feeling came over me. My heart skipped as the door squeaked open just enough to reveal a dark-skinned, sturdy figure wielding a rencong (Acehnese dagger). The tip of the weapon flashed in the sun, filling me with fright. The story of how dozens of youths armed with rencong had forced strangers out of their homes was fresh in my mind. I opened the door wider, and the wind blew in the odor of dry earth and dust. The stranger smiled, showing his brownish-yellow teeth.

"Who are you?" I asked warily, focussing on his face. The man looked bewildered as he tried to hide the dagger in his waistband.

"Don't you remember me, sir? I'm Hamid, your former student ...," he replied, glancing at me for a second before bowing, all the while gasping for breath.

The mention of his name jogged my memory. Hamid! The memories came, as the past unfolded in my mind like a long white line. I went back in memory with trepidation, fearful of taking a wrong step. But no! I couldn't be wrong. I still remembered. Yes, I did. Around three years earlier, Hamid was one of my brightest students. Because of his intelligence, I was closer to him than most of my other students. Why had I forgotten him? I was disconcerted at the thought that senility was already setting in at my age.

"Ah, I almost forgot. How are you getting on, Hamid?" We shook hands. His hand was so cold, as if it had been in a refrigerator. Then I grasped his shoulder, which was as hard as an iceberg.

Hamid raised his head to look at me. I thought he was going to say something, but no sound came from his mouth. He just gave a reserved smile and nodded, as if trying to say he was fine. His face was chiseled with deep lines, like a construction worker.

"Come in, Hamid!" He just stood at the door not moving, so I grabbed his arm. It was cold, too. "It's not good to talk in the doorway .... "

I left Hamid in the living room as I prepared some drinks. I couldn't let him go thirsty. His perspiration-soaked clothes showed that he needed something to drink.

"You're alone? You haven't brought any friends?" I said, trying to break the ice as I set two glasses of water on the table. But Hamid paid no attention to my words.

Hamid started shaking his head. He sat restlessly. Gazing into space, his eyes glinted, sparkling like his rencong. Now and then his stare frightened me. I noted that Hamid had changed quite a bit since I knew him. He was no longer the gifted and well- mannered student I knew. Three years had passed, a period long enough to change someone. What did I recognize in Hamid after three years? Nothing. My first encounter with Hamid in three years was one of unfamiliarity.

"Sorry if my visit disturbs you, sir," Hamid broke the silence abruptly, speaking in a deep, trembling voice, his face wrought with anxiety.

"I am only executing an order ...," he was unable to continue, his lips moving mutely. His face became strained, like a convict reacting to a death sentence.

"An order? From whom?"

"My friends," he answered briefly. A tiny muscle under his left eye twitched as he spoke. His chest was heaving. I sensed imminent tragedy. "As you know, all of the settlers have left this area except you. So, I hope you will leave this place, otherwise ... "

Again, Hamid failed to finish his sentence. His lips quivered like a person chilled to the bone. His face became more distressed, turning bright red.

"Leave?" I breathed deeply and stared at the ceiling. "I've lived here for over 15 years. I feel like this is my home village ... "

"Sorry!" Hamid interrupted, shaking his head. His forehead was glistening with sweat. "I have come to perform a sacred mission. I have to kill you, sir!"

The words flowed from his mouth like hot lead piercing my ears, while a strange coldness came over my body. "Hamid," I said with a choked voice, rising from my seat. "It is impossible for me to leave. Now, you had better just kill me ... "

I closed my eyes. I calculated the risks, including the likelihood that Hamid would kill me.

There was no answer. I heard him breathing heavily like a drunken man. I also heard his hand reach for the weapon at his waist. My eyes remained shut. It was pitch black. But I could feel his rencong near my throat. I could feel a cold draft as it skimmed past my ears. "Just do it, Hamid! Do it!" I cried out, with my eyes still shut.

***

I ran swiftly when Azam told me that somebody was hurt on the playground. He and several other students were rushing toward the playground. The vast green expanse seemed deserted and more desolate than usual. From afar, dozens or even hundreds of people were watching the open area, some hiding behind trees. I rubbed my eyes as I tried to locate the injured person. But I saw no one.

"Who is hurt? Where are they?"

The man standing next to me looked surprised at my question. He pointed straight to a spot in the middle of the playground. "There, he's over there! Under the flagpole," was his unemotional reply.

My eyes followed the direction of his arm. He was right, a man was lying on the grass under the flagpole in the middle of the ground. I ran toward him. I wondered why nobody went to the dying man.

"Hamid!" I gasped as soon as I reached the flagpole and looked down at the man. My heart fell. I lifted the cold head of Hamid, who was dead.

"He wanted to lower the flag."

"No. He was just going to salute it."

"Really?"

"That's right."

Dozens of people now crowded around, filling the air with the hum of their words. My last encounter with Hamid played over in my mind -- the moment he dropped his rencong on the floor and sobbed loudly at my feet. "There's only one flag in this country. Only one!" Hamid shouted before going home.

As his former teacher, I was proud of his words. Sadly, I would hear no more from him now. A bullet had shattered his skull. A rencong had slashed his chest. I knew the owners of the weapons. What a tragedy ...

Translated by Aris Prawira