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