Dad's Felt Cap

By Manaf Maulana

Dad had a weathered peci (felt cap). Its black color had turned brownish but he would still wear it every day. In fact, he had bought a new cap, but when attending a wedding party, for example, he would not part with the old one.

It was Mom who criticized him most about his worn-out cap, hoping that he would feel embarrassed and throw the old cap away.

"Your cap is fit only for the dustbin. Or else, you should put it on a scarecrow in the rice field," she snapped.

Dad simply turned a deaf ear. One night, however, Mom, out of desperation, hid it under a heap of clothes in our wardrobe.

The next morning, Dad was furious and accused Mom of hiding the cap. "You must have hidden my cap! Give it back, or else, I won't wear a cap any more so that my bald head will make me the butt of everyone's jokes and laughter!

Mom gave up and returned the faded cap to Dad. She didn't want him to go about showing off his baldness, which was only the size of a glass top right on the crown of his head.

Once my younger siblings and I told Dad we would buy his old cap for Rp 100,000.

"I won't sell it even for a million rupiah," he retorted

We gave up but then began to feel suspicious that this old cap might have some supernatural property that Dad needed very much. Perhaps, wearing it made him healthy and immune to any attack.

Although he never took any modern or traditional medicine, Dad remained healthy. Sometimes he did not feel well, but a rub with a coin along his back would get him up and about again.

One day we told him about our suspicion.

"Come on, don't cook up something out of nothing and believe in superstition. It will lead you to polytheism," he asserted.

We remained suspicious, though, and even started to believe that the cap must have been given some special incantations. Didn't Dad spend some time in a pesantren (Islamic boarding school) when he was young?

He must have a powerful master with supernatural powers. Or perhaps he got the cap as a prize from a kiai.

"Your Mom bought it for me," he said when we asked him how he came to possess the cap.

Mom confirmed Dad's statement.

So, although we were not quite happy seeing him wear the cap, we decided not to make a fuss about it anymore. Perhaps Dad had his own reasons or he might have sworn to wear the cap to the end of his days.

"You really enjoy nurturing weird ideas," Dad snarled at us, when the following year we again badgered him with our questions about the cap.

"If you must know this cap fits my head very well. It's very comfortable to wear, not like that new cap," Dad finally gave us a sensible reason.

We found the reason acceptable.

"Let your Dad wear his old cap! No more protest! Most important of all the cap covers his bald patch," Mom said, jokingly.

Father laughed heartily and so did we.

"There was an incident too hard for me to forget in relation to this cap," Dad said, gazing at the ceiling, abstractly.

We were startled. For a brief moment, silence reigned in the living room.

In early 1965, so Dad began his story, when we were still small children, Dad was kidnapped by some communists and kept in a forest along with some anti-communist students of traditional Islamic schools in the area.

In front of Dad's eyes, the members of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) cruelly tortured the students before finally killed them all and dumped them into a big hole just like animal carcasses.

Then when it was Dad's turn to be tortured, the communists got frightened as they were dazzled by a green light radiating from the cap. Dad was left alone in the forest.

When it was time to crush the communists, Dad, wearing the cap, led a group of Islamic students to undertake this job.

"Look, I have never thought that this old hat had any magical property. I have never used it as a talisman. I simply love it because it once saved me from the cruel hands of the communists," he said, apparently forbidding us to think about something that would lead us to believe in magic.

We nodded but Mom looked scornfully at Dad.

That very night, when it was past twelve, my siblings and I were woken up by a loud row.

My parents were quarreling about Dad's story about his cap. Mom was afraid that the story would make us believe that the cap really had magical power or was a talisman. Dad refuted that, saying that we were old enough and would not believe in superstition so easily. Mom even went as far as suggesting that Dad burn the cap, an idea that Dad quickly dismissed as unnecessary.

"Well, listen to me, our children will not vie for this cap," he said, adding that he would write a will saying that upon his death, this old cap had to be buried along with his body.

Mother protested still, saying that the will was against their religion and that she was sure the children would still have their eye on the old cap.

Dad kept quiet and we went back to sleep.

The next day, after breakfast, Dad summoned all of us.

"You must have heard what your parents were quarreling about last night. I hope you all rely on your common sense. I've decided to wear this cap until my last breath. When I die, bury it along with my body!"

We protested and shared's Mom's objection. This went against our religion.

Dad simply chuckled.

"All right, I'm proud that all of you are firm in your religious beliefs. Forget my will." he said.

As soon as he had finished speaking, Mom suggested burning the cap. We supported this idea.

Dad left the room. He made a fire in our backyard and then threw the cap into the flames. In a matter of minutes, the cap disappeared, swallowed by the fire. We were all happy.

Suddenly Dad held his head and groaned in pain. Swaying, he tried to enter the house. We panicked and helped him to his room. Dad had a severe headache. He groaned and groaned, mentioning God's name in between.

Mother thought a coin treatment would help him. But it didn't help at all. He kept groaning in pain and got weaker and weaker. We decided to take him to hospital but Dad disagreed.

"I don't want to be hospitalized. You'd better read the Yasin verse," he said very softly, as if whispering.

We complied.

Dad listened while we recited the Yasin verse and looked peaceful.

Close to midnight that day, he took his last breath. We were sure he did not die because he had burned his cap, but that his hour of death had finally arrived.

Glossary:

kiai = a term of reference for a venerated scholar or teacher of Islam; pesantren = school of Koranic studies for children and young people, most of whom are boarders; Yasin = chapter 37 of the Koran, often read while somebody is dying.

Translated by Ismiarti and edited by Lie Hua