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