Beneath Him

By Dewi Anggraeni

Miranda looked out the window of her beautiful kitchen. She could see a dot of a blue car turning off into their long, winding driveway. Staring at the vegetables on the bench before her, she began to rehearse her speech. It was going to be hard breaking the news to Frank and Margaret. Well, she and Keith were Brett's parents, and parents were always faster to accept the situation. It was the aunts and the uncles that would have to be subdued in this confrontation.

Miranda had always regarded herself as tolerant and broad-minded, yet she had been taken aback at first when Brett had told her about Talania. When she and Keith had sent Brett to boarding school in Melbourne, she'd half expected him to meet a girl not of their kind, not of their class, rather.

But Talania was not only not of their kind or class, she was Asian! Whoops, I mustn't say Asian, Brett would be annoyed, she thought. Indonesian. That's what she is. Indonesian.

"Oh please," Brett had retorted in exasperation. "I tolerate other people lumping all these nationalities into Asian, as if there was one nation called Asia. Asia is as diverse as Europe and Africa, for heaven's sake! I want my own Mum and Dad to be more enlightened than those ignoramuses."

Keith had looked meaningfully at his wife, checking an amused smile, taking in their son's tirade in a conspiratorial silence.

"Here come Frank and Margaret," Keith said as he walked into the kitchen holding a bottle opener. "It'd be wise to tell them now before the lovebirds arrive. I'd hate to see their faces when they see Tal...what's-her-name."

"Talania! For God's sake, Keith, memorize that name. Engrave it on your wrist! Don't let me hear you mispronounce her name! You hear me?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Now, what's more important, are you going to tell them now?"

"No, you are. They're your family. Mine has been told, without the slightest hitch. It's yours that's problematic."

Keith winced. Miranda was right. Frank would be the toughest, because he was the only one still clinging to their family's past glory as the wealthiest graziers in the district. Keith and Kay had broken away, he by starting a winery and Kay by marrying a schoolteacher and living in town.

Over scotch and brandy, Keith finally told his brother and sister-in-law that Brett, their only son, was bringing his new girlfriend to meet them all.

"Oh, what's she like?" Margaret asked.

"Very nice, we hear," Keith replied.

Miranda could no longer contain herself. Putting her glass on the coffee table beside her, she began, "She's not ... not of...," not knowing how to complete the sentence.

Frank lowered his glass on to his knee, waiting. After a few seconds, he knew he had to put his sister-in-law out of her misery. "I see. You mean she's not from a farming family."

Miranda looked up rather surprised. "Actually I don't know that part. She may be. What I mean is, she's not Australian."

Frank cleared his throat. "An Eastern European refugee?" he asked, almost jovially.

"Frank, don't be so glib!" Margaret snapped.

Keith moved. Every head turned to him.

"She is an Indonesian girl," he said, sounding remarkably casual and satisfied at the same time.

Frank looked at his glass, and Margaret forced a whisper, "Why, that's different... I mean, wonderful," which fell flat and was instantly forgotten.

Everybody was still waiting for Frank's reaction. After what appeared to be a full five minutes, Frank looked up with a half smile.

"Well, Brett has always been the kind type."

Miranda nearly dropped her glass. "I wish you hadn't used that phrase, Frank. Honestly, it sounds like our Brett's bringing in a sick kitten or something."

Frank shot a vaguely apologetic look at his sister-in-law, suppressing his disappointment. "I didn't mean it unkindly, Miranda! I mean..."

"Hush! Here they come!" Margaret came to her husband's rescue.

When Keith opened the door, all eyes went straight to a petite young lady in a black pantsuit with a flowing green silk throwover on her shoulders. Her black, shiny hair was cut rather short but was unerringly feminine and curiously stylish. She was fairer than they'd all expected, with fine facial features. Behind her glasses, her dark brown eyes were bright, reflecting intelligence and easy self-confidence.

"Well, can we come in?" asked Brett. The half circle on the inside of the door dispersed with smiles and laughter. The introduction was surprisingly smooth and relatively painless.

During the before dinner drinks, and over dinner, the oldies tried very hard not to stare at Talania, who did not seem awkward in the least.

"So, what are you studying, Talania?" Frank asked finally, after he'd heard the name mentioned at least half a dozen times.

"Media communications."

Frank thought better than to ask what that entailed, and instead shifted his focus to her family.

"My mother teaches and my father has a newspaper business," she said. "I have a younger brother who is doing post-graduate studies, also in Melbourne."

Everyone except Brett nodded repeatedly, as if it were the most interesting piece of information needing a few moments of contemplation. Conversation only flowed again when Brett began discussing with Frank the success of blending wool with denim in a new fabric, and how that would help sell wool in the international market.

After dessert, Miranda invited the guests to move to the lounge for coffee and liqueur.

Margaret helped Miranda clear the table. In the kitchen Miranda whispered, "Well, what d'you think?"

Margaret looked toward the lounge as if she were able to see Talania from there. "She's not exactly an oil painting. Don't get me wrong Miranda. I mean she's not the stereotypical long-legged blond beauty. But who wants those anyway? But I will say this Miranda. She is obviously intelligent and well brought up."

Miranda nodded. "Good family, by the sound of it. Not quite well endowed, I mean, a newspaper shop owner and a school teacher, they must be working themselves to the bone to send their kids to universities in Australia."

"Yes, I think you should be pleased for Brett. You mustn't worry about Brett marrying beneath him, provided it's a good match. And they seem so happy and well suited."

"You're right. It's okay for a man to marry beneath him, don't you think? It's more problematic for a woman, I mean later on, when the romance has worn off. Like Auntie Doreen, remember her?"

"How could I forget? But this girl is something else, Miranda. There's something about her that shows that she's at ease with us. I like that."

The dinner was a great success. Even Frank reluctantly gave his approval the following day when they spoke on the phone.

The following week, when Keith came in from his winery showroom, he saw Miranda reading a holiday brochure.

"I got this from the travel agent. Holiday in Indonesia."

"Hmm. Who's going on holiday?" he asked.

"I thought we deserved a holiday. We've worked very hard."

"I see." He came up to her and put his arm round her shoulders. Then squeezing her arm, he said, "Darling. This is not really a holiday, is it? You want to suss out Talania's family, don't you?"

Miranda smiled resignedly. "I can tell when my boy is serious. And he is, with her. I want to make sure it's the right choice, Keith. Brett is our only son. His happiness is very important for me. You will come, won't you?"

Keith studied her face for a while, then sighed.

"When are you thinking of going? I need to make plans and brief my staff. And darling, be tactful with Brett. He'd be mortified if he knew you wanted to suss out his lady love's family."

Miranda woke up when the pilot's voice came on announcing that the plane was beginning its descent into Jakarta. She looked out the window and saw the outline of the north coast blurred by layers of floating clouds.

The realization immediately gripped her with apprehension. The only place in Asia she and Keith had ever been before was Singapore. They'd always gone to the United Kingdom or Europe. Being relatively conservative, they didn't like the unknown. And to them, Asia was the unknown. And trust Brett to thrust his parents into this new realm with hardly any preparation.

Being business class passengers and decidedly middle aged, Miranda and Keith sailed through immigration while the economy class plebs formed several indolent lines dotted with backpacks and toddlers in arms. Their luggage, decorated with "priority" tags, also came out first. This was too much for them. They didn't have time to acclimatize culturally.

Outside there was a cluster of well-dressed men holding up placards with various names. Keith was first to spot the one with their name, and from that moment on, they didn't have to think, enough to follow that man.

They sat in the hotel car, silent and wide eyed, taking in the surroundings. The sprawling suburbs, the contrast of skyscrapers and shanty towns, and the sheer density of the population, weighed upon their consciousness still lagging behind in their spacious land, where grapes were ripening on acres and acres of vines.

The service at the five-star hotel was reassuring. The staff spoke English. After a brief rest, Miranda was sitting on the bed near the telephone reading the instruction leaflet.

"Darling, you're not going to ring them straight away, are you?" asked Keith alarmed. "What's the rush?"

"Well, there's no harm telling them that we're here and make arrangements to meet, maybe sometime this evening. We can invite them to one of the restaurants in this hotel."

Keith rolled his eyes heavenward, but didn't make any further comment. He began reading about the city from booklets and brochures provided in the room, half listening to his wife's conversation on the phone.

"No? Do you know what time he will be back?" he heard his wife speaking slowly and clearly to the mouthpiece. "Yes, could you ask him to ring back Mr. and Mrs. Heath at their hotel please. Yes, here's the number..."

"Well?" asked Keith when Miranda had replaced the phone in its cradle.

"He's out." She looked at her watch and worked out the local time. "I've got her mother's work number. I'll try there."

Keith sat beside her and watched. At first he saw his wife's surprised face as she repeated, "Professor? Professor Mariam Suhardi? Yes, that's the name. The director is not available at the moment? Pardon me, so Professor Mariam Suhardi is the director? I see. Yes please. Alright, thank you."

There was a stunned, even eerie look on Miranda's face when she replaced the telephone. "When Talania said her mother teaches, I didn't realize she was a professor, and the director of the school of education in a major university at that. Oh Keith, I feel such a fool! The secretary there must have thought I was such a dingbat. I wish that girl had told us the truth."

Miranda was so distraught Keith had to hold both her shoulders to calm her. "Darling, she didn't tell us a lie. You can't blame the child. She was just being ... understated."

Miranda shot him an angry look. "Understated indeed!"

"Let's go downstairs and have a drink at the piano bar. I could do with a nice pina colada. You might want a nice cocktail to recover, too!"

The fountain in the middle of the floor cooled the room and the nerves of the drinkers, who lounged and chatted in studied nonchalance in expensive designer clothes. Keith's eyes suddenly lit up when he heard "boutique wine" in the conversation at the table nearby.

"For goodness sake, Keith, we're on holiday!" Miranda frowned. "You could've fooled me. It feels like an investigative assignment to me."

Suddenly a hotel receptionist came to their table.

"Mr. and Mrs. Heath? There's a phone call from Mr. Dahlan Suhardi for you."

Keith got up and took the call, and Miranda followed. She heard him speak in a friendly but businesslike tone, and began wondering what the other man sounded like. Returning the phone to the receptionist and thanking him, Keith said to Miranda, "That's it then. They'll send their driver to collect us."

On the way back to their table they passed a newspaper stand. Keith picked up a rather serious looking broadsheet and whispered to his wife, "See this? He's the editor-in-chief of this newspaper."

"How d'you know?"

"When I took the call, his secretary said the editor-in-chief wanted to speak to me."

"Then how d'you know it's this newspaper?"

"Because he said, just come down when you're ready, then go to the car call booth and asked for driver Darsono from Jakarta News. Elementary, my dear Watson."

Back in the room, Miranda laid all her clothes out on the bed and kept fingering each piece. "I wish I'd brought that blue silk dress."

"Darling, you look lovely in any of those clothes."

Twenty minutes later, when Keith came out of the bathroom, he saw his wife sitting on the bed, thinking.

"What now?"

"Keith, d'you think they'll find us good enough? I don't want them to think that their daughter's marrying beneath her."

After a momentary, stunned silence, Keith collapsed on to the chair opposite her, engulfed in laughter.

The author was born in Jakarta, Indonesia, and lives in Melbourne. She was the Australian correspondent for Tempo and now writes for The Jakarta Post, Forum Keadilan and other publications in Indonesia and Australia. She has three books published in Australia -- two novels, The Root of All Evil (1987) and Parallel Forces (1988), and a trilogy of novellas called Stories of Indian Pacific (1993).