Fatimah

Fatimah

Korrie Layun Rampan

Had it not been due to the insistence of Totot Walahualam, a
fellow journalist from Timbul Tenggelam (rise and sink) -- a
local tabloid appearing on and off, as its name suggested -- I
would have had no aversion today to Jantur Mapan waterfall.

"But the scene of people gambling and girls openly soliciting
amid a sacred belian1 ritual will be a juicy report for Jakarta
readers," said the reporter, known for his good sense of humor.

"They're fed up with demos and violence. They abhor
politicians' grandstanding. They just want to read something
unique, particularly regional reports on typical events not found
on TV," said the stage actor, who spent his evenings drinking at
cheap cafes in Ngenyan and Jaras.

"It's about how morality is pitted against ancestral
tradition. How customs and sacred ceremonies are seen as the law
of virtue. But then see how lofty traditions are being smashed by
the wave of moral degradation!"

Totot's offer was too enticing to resist. As a reporter on
regional assignment, I covered events now and again. But this
story promised to be something special, telling of the depraved
activities of brothel owners.

Totot told me my story should begin in Jantur Mapan!

***

By motorcycle, Totot and I set out to find stories. We had
been observing a gambling den, a dancing belian1 in the healing
arena, a coal mine, a barren cattle grazing center and a brothel
full of pretty girls.

It was here that I was shocked to see Fatimah.

"You're here, Tim?" I said, choking on my words.

"Because Jakarta made me suffer. Jakarta traumatized me!" she
blurted out.

"Life turns out to have twists and turns of its own sometimes.
But you mustn't stay here. You must return to Jakarta with me."

"No! I can't."

"Why not?"

"If you want to know why, we can meet at Jantur Mapan."

"Jantur Mapan? When?"

"Tonight."

***

Totot and I did not return to Barong Tongkok because of my
date with Fatimah. It would be improper to talk about something
important in the brothel with pimps and guards listening in.

I was determined to coax Fatimah into returning. At least I
wanted her to leave the place so we could get married. I did not
care about her past.

I had long resolved to make her my woman. It might just be
mainly encumbered by time, because time created events. And it's
events that had separated us.

I took Totot to cover a log base camp located in the direction
of Intu Lingau. Incredible! I had never seen such tall stacks of
meranti and kruing wood. In Jakarta, even sawn timber was
expensive, let alone logs one to two meters in diameter.

"Where do you get them from?" I asked the camp's field manager
in charge of production. "Haven't they stopped extending the
concessions?"

"We're using the local community's forest exploitation permits
after no more concessions are granted. We only make up for the
production shortage. The heyday of the timber business is now
past."

"But they say the community keeps felling meranti."

"We just buy logs according to contracts. We don't collect any
quantity beyond our concession."

"It means the government and local people suffer losses."

"We follow the law and business ethics. Who's prepared to bear
the losses of others? We're not a social institution!"

The manager seemed annoyed at my questions. But I remembered
watching people cut down trees with Totok in the upper reaches of
Piraq River near the Betietn rapids the day before. Totot's
records -- from loggers' reports -- listed the felling of 200,000
trees, based on verbal agreements with companies.

The forests were falling with nobody to say stop.

And Fatimah?

I finally met her face to face. The rumblings of a falling
stream and the dark surroundings dominated the scene. Only
flickering lights from houses upstream of the waterfall dimly lit
our rendezvous. A new structure built by the local tourism office
seemed lost in the gloom, although it retained the sharp smell of
ironwood.

Fatimah spoke sharply to me.

"I can't bear to stay in Jakarta, Jaka. I was raped!"

"By whom?"

"During the May riots. You didn't know that my real name was
Mey Hwa."

"All I know is that you're Fatimah Jarkasi."

"That was something new, when I went to college. I did it for
my protection."

"But you still feel unsafe?"

"I was raped repeatedly. No protection. Nobody dared to stop
it. Our home was looted of everything. My parents were trapped in
the house when it was set on fire by the rioters."

"I tried to find you. I myself panicked, wondering how I could
help you."

"Nobody could."

"But you still have my respect, Tim. You're just like the
first time we met on campus."

"Nobody will respect me except myself."

"You didn't look for me, Tim. So you didn't believe I could
help?"

"Where? How? I had been violated. I felt wretched. No money.
No clothes, all were burned! What could I eat to survive? It's
not because I didn't trust you!"

I felt powerless to reason with her.

"I slept anywhere, ate anything, until a man helped me, only
to make me his sex slave."

I felt as if I was falling apart as I listened to her story.

"I was well fed day and night, only to be sexually enslaved.
He would rape me whenever he wished!"

"I was treated as a mere plaything, an object. Only my soul
and breath made the difference."

My pounding headache worsened.

"Once I managed to escape. I ran away but the man's guards
recaptured me and sent me to the brothel."

My throat was dry and I could say nothing.

"The whorehouse extended my life but I had to serve anybody.
There's was no let up. I felt like one of those comfort women
during the Japanese occupation."

Totot, standing a few meters, also remained silent, looking
into the distance.

"I was dumped in another place after losing clients. Had they
heard rumors I had AIDS? Syphilis? I was desperate and wanted to
kill myself!"

"Unexpectedly, I was sent outside Jakarta. I reached Central
Java, Surabaya. Next it was Bali; they called me a 'chicken'
there!"

"Later I was taken to Timika, then Medan. And I didn't realize
when I had arrived in Balikpapan."

"Do you remember the syndicate that sent you around?" was my
remark after being silent. "Do you know anything about it?"

"I don't know any names but I remember certain people."

"Those who brought you here?"

"I was flown by a chopper to the interior. I wasn't told
where. On arrival, I saw the brothel!"

"You recognize the people?"

"They're just lackeys, errand boys."

"So you've given up the desire for vengeance?"

"I''ll get my revenge soon. I want to kill all those who did
this to me."

"It's hard to find one culprit, let alone many of them.
Impossible, Tim."

"What's impossible in this world? Why could they force me to
become a prostitute? Why can't I kill those men?"

"You'll be jailed."

"It's better, Ka. I can't bear the long suffering!"

"Let me suggest that you should return to the right path.
We'll be married, build a house and lead a happy life."

"Don't dream of romantic idealism, Ka. Your life is smooth.
Mine? It's a traumatic experience."

"We can heal it. You'll recover. How about getting married
immediately and moving abroad without delay? You can carry on
your studies. I can teach or work as a professional writer."

"You'd better stop having such a sweet dream. I said I
wouldn't leave before killing those who made me suffer."

"It means you don't love my anymore. You yield to something
evil while I'm trying to help restore your respectable life."

"But I hate my life. I've been made to suffer beyond limits of
humanity."

"It's no use to only have regrets. It's rewarding to change
oneself. Doesn't success often result from trauma or failure?"

"You words are only pleasant to hear, Ka. They're just useful
for inexperienced dupes. You don't feel my pain as you haven't
undergone the misery. You're a man. Isn't the world dominated by
men?"

"But it's worthier for you to be back. Let's be man and wife,
live modestly and happily, Tim. Are you listening to me?"

The roar of the waterfall seemed to be hailing the world of
illusion with a soothing melody. The voice of Fatimah was like a
tragic monologue.

"I'm listening to what you say. But I must avenge myself
first. I will remain while all of them die."

"Their lives aren't in your hands, Tim. It's important to take
care of yours. You're no angel or God."

"But I must crush those wicked people. Hypocrites acting as
officials, tycoons never satisfied with their wives, gamblers and
farmers never realizing their positions, have all enjoyed my body
with their disgusting lust."

"I don't understand. Are you crazy?"

"Don't scoff at me, Ka."

"But your idea is crazy. You have no thought for your future."

"I'm preparing my future, Ka. Don't trifle with me. Now look
at this," she pointed at Totot Walahualam. "This guy was the
first to lead me to slavery here. He brought officials and
businessmen. He got money from hell."

"So you know Totot Walahualam?"

"More than that. He, too, raped me."

"Totot Walahualam?"

She rushed over to him, starting to choke the slight man.
Totot, caught unawares, was unable to throw her off him. He fell
back, striking his head on a log.

Fatimah continued to strangle him, even as I shouted for her
to stop.

"See for yourself. He's dead!"

***

Nobody would believe that I hadn't killed Totot when we were
found lying outside the new tourism building. Totot died from
strangulation and I had passed out, and we were taken to hospital
in Tering. After regaining consciousness I was rushed to
Tenggarong as a murder suspect.

And Fatimah? In the previous year -- before the construction
of tourist spots -- the dead body of a young woman aged around 25
was found. The corpse was floating in a pool under Mapan
waterfall. The police found no traces of torture. Autopsy results
showed that she was pregnant and died from a drug overdose.

The female corpse remained a mystery. Who disposed of the body
in the pond? Nobody knew her, or her identity. She was buried in
the public cemetery in Mapan village, her headstone without a
name.

"I did not kill him," I said before the judges. "It's
impossible for me to kill my own friend. Fatimah strangled Totot
Walahualam."

"Fatimah? Who's Fatimah?"

I gave lengthy description of Fatimah, from the moment I saw
her in the brothel, the date in Jantur Mapan that night, to the
last thing I witnessed. The presiding judge and prosecutor shook
their heads.

"Take the defendant to see a psychiatrist," ordered the judge.
"He is delusional!"

I loathed Jantur Mapan and all it had brought on me.

Translated by Aris Prawira

Note:

Belian : a healing ritual in East Kalimantan; the shaman in this
ritual