Amaryllis

Korrie Layun Rampan

I felt old in an instant.

Bambang, my only son, told me he would introduce me to his future wife.

"She's very nice, dad," he said, bowing his head before me. "I bet you'll like her. She's gentle, dynamic, smart and motherly."

I felt even older as Bambang continued. "We're serious. I'm just waiting until her graduation. If you agree, I'd like you to propose marriage on my behalf."

As an engineering graduate of a prestigious university and now 25, Bambang was a popular catch, especially in his road construction job, with bright prospects. I also thought that, like myself, he had a special gift for romance, although I felt I had fallen in love only once.

Was he like me, too?

I did not want him to follow me in choosing the one he would spend his life with, but I hoped he would be very happy with the woman of his dreams.

"You're free to decide for yourself, if your choice makes you happy," I said, my voice clear but deliberate. "You can select from many but once you make your pick, there's only one."

"Yes, she's the one I want you to meet, dad," he smiled, like he did when I carried him in my arms, after the death of his mother. "From all the girls I've known so far, she's my first and last choice."

Her name was Amaryllis, also the name of the great love of my life.

Now I felt even older.

Two years earlier, when I attended his graduation, I felt very young. Now, at 45, I suddenly felt my age, with the prospect of a married son and grandchildren.

Life went on so fast as I only got older, with the ultimate destination of a casket.

It seemed as if Bambang had only been born yesterday, but mortality makes everything grow old, while eternity maintains youth and life. Did my wife enjoy an eternal existence after leaving me and our only child, while we continued living in an unequal race against time? Could we really stave off aging, retain our youth and live to a ripe, productive old age?

I had spent the past few years trying to nurture affection in my heart, but the image of Amaryllis kept haunting me even after Bambang's birth, and my wife was only with me three years before the accident on a tour of Central Java, when the bus carrying her collided with a train.

Bambang was only a year old when she was killed.

I had not even experienced how I should have loved her, and I buried her, instead of the image of Amaryllis.

I thought my life was complete because Bambang was there, even if I could not fulfill my wish to make Amaryllis mine. I heard she had moved to another city after my wedding and later married a sailor.

I often regretted how I sacrificed my own will and principles of life. Why had I been stupid as to give in to the local customs and tradition as well as the wishes of others, making myself suffer?

I was pleased with Bambang's choice although my delight at his transition in life made me feel older.

For I adored Amaryllis.

Not the one who would be my daughter-in-law, but rather the Amaryllis I had known more than 25 years ago. My affection for the beautiful, kind Amaryllis of today made my love for the memory of the past grow, making me feel even older and feebler.

I knew my old friend Amaryllis as I did the song we had frequently sung together, Salomo. It's about beauty beyond all the accessories ever made in the world. It's a wonderful song of lilies of the valley, telling about immortality and that like from eternal true love, life will be immortal in the hereafter. The wisdom packed verses of the Prophet sounded even more meaningful if conveyed in the exquisite voice of Amaryllis, whose vocal range spanned five octaves.

When she sang solo to my piano accompaniment, my heart would listen, and when we appeared in a duet, I felt the harmony that bound our spirits. We sang it with the thrill of love filling our hearts and souls.

What is more beautiful than love? Life exists out of love. It is delightful because life manifests love. Once in a while, life is painful but true love never dies as it combines compassion and sacrifice. It prevails with forgiveness because it knows no selfishness.

It remains in every hope and struggle because it illuminates life. It's this true love that engulfs fervent romance, pervading one's heart and body like a soul.

What could be more beautiful than true love?

Is there anything firmer than teak or iron wood, stronger than steel wire and sharper than a razor blade? Love is indeed sharper than words because it transcends sound and voice. It will soothe the heart and lull the feelings as it roams between separated individuals, uniting aching souls.

I was proud of Bambang despite him making me feel old.

And I knew my only son had made the right choice. If time could be reversed, I would have introduced her to my parents had I found the same girl, just like the moment my Amaryllis met them. The arrogance of tradition and my noble descent, however, made me unable to convince my parents, and I submitted to custom in order to avoid bringing disgrace on the family.

I knew I was weak and obedient, while I was also aware that I did not demand the freedom that I should have enjoyed. Custom and tradition had no feelings whereas my love had an innermost heart and sensitive emotion that lived on.

I never knew what became of Amaryllis. Had she gone with her husband to ports in Ambon, Banjarmasin, Palembang or Medan?

The graduation of Bambang's Amaryllis was over and the time was fixed to arrange the marriage proposal. Amaryllis stayed at our home several times and I was delighted to regard her as my own child; she wasn't awkward and her beauty had not made her so arrogant as to refuse to help around the house.

When she returned to her family home in Pekanbaru, Bambang missed her and I knew it was time to make the marriage proposal official by calling her parents.

After the two of us and a servant had taken care of the house for more than 20 years, Amaryllis brought that special, much missed feminine touch to the house, one of neatly placed pictures, decorations, furnishing and vases filled with flowers.

I couldn't help envying Bambang's happiness, something beyond my imagination. If only the same luck had been on my side.

But that's what he was destined for, my son who was part of the present while I belonged to the past.

"So, this is the phone number of Amaryllis?" I said, gazing at him. His eyes were as bright as mine at 20. "I want to tell her the date of my visit."

I picked up the phone and dialed. It was a distant but familiar voice on the end of the line, and then came our introductions.

Suddenly the words poured forth between us, making up for lost time.

"Dad, it's one o'clock," Bambang said. "You've got to get the flight to Singapore. Come on Dad..."

I put down the receiver with feelings of warmth and intimacy as well as joy, like the moment I expressed my love for the first time to Amaryllis and kissed her before a large mirror in her home. We had blushed as I squeezed her tender fingers and gazed at the curve of her bosom.

"I'm not going after all, because it's time to make preparations for your wedding next month. And also for mine."

"Dad, you'll be married, too? To whom?" he said, shocked.

"Amaryllis."

"Amaryllis?"

I stopped for a moment, overcome by my elation, trying to catch my breath. Now I knew everything about my long-lost Amaryllis, her husband, family, home address and even her parents. She had only one child, Bambang's Amaryllis, and her husband died many years ago in a shipping accident.

"To Amaryllis, the mother of Amaryllis who'll be your wife," I finally said, my eyes gleaming.

"Amaryllis' mom? Where did you meet her, dad?"

I did not want to tell him the full story now, choosing to enter my bedroom and lying on the soft mattress. I though about the dual invitation with our names on it.

When I closed my eyes, I seemed to hear a tender, loving voice saying, "It's late, dear, take a rest. Having more trouble with your sleep as you get older?"

My chest trembled harder, and suddenly my heart felt it was being crushed.

Note:

* Amaryllis: A lily, which in Indonesia is known for its flowers in six different colors, ranging from deep red to snow white.

Translated by Aris Prawira