From Kota to Harmoni

From Kota to Harmoni

By Idrus

The tram was packed with people, baskets, empty and filled
containers, goats and chickens. The day was hot, and the people
and animals were soaked with sweat. The tram stank from sweat and
terasi. The window ledges were speckled with the tomato-red
stains of betel juice.

Breathing was difficult in the tram, but people smoked just
the same -- to overcome the stink of seat and shrimp paste. A
young woman, a Eurasian, took out her handkerchief, small as a
lemper wrapping leaf, and put it to her nose. "Who on earth
brought that terasi on the tram," she complained, "You'd think
they would know better. This is first class, after all."

A Chinese man, fat as Churchill, retorted angrily: "Oh, shut
up. It's 'co-prosperity' time now, not just for the Dutch." He
then bent over and took a small packet from his vegetable basket.
"Here's the terasi!" he said, shoving the packet towards the
woman. "Now what are you going to do about it?"

An old woman, stooped and thin, whose blouse was so full of
holes that it looked like a lace bedspread, was being berated by
the conductor: "This is first class. What are you doing here?
Move to the back! If you don't, you'll have to pay the extra."

"But it's too crowded back there," the old woman begged,
"There's no room for me, sir."

"If you don't move you'll have to pay the extra," the driver
insisted.

The old woman retreated slowly to second-class. Looking back
at the conductor she muttered angrily, "Look at the airs he puts
on! He gets a little power from the Japs and this is the way he
acts! With an old woman, he acts tough. But you can bet if I were
Japanese, he'd be bowing and scraping. Well, piss on him!"

A muscular man, who was wearing no shirt, stood up. "Shut up
and sit down!" he snapped.

The tram came to a halt at a tram stop. Outside the people
crowded around. "Disembarking passengers, get out, first!" the
ticket seller began to scream. "Come on, hurry it up!"

For a brief moment, the people inside could breathe, but a
second later the tram was packed again. And then, from outside,
came the strident voice of a Japanese: "Let me through, you
idiots!"

The crowd jammed closer together to make way for the Japanese.

A younger man looked at the Japanese and frowned: "It doesn't
matter if you're first or second class. They still treat you just
the same - like animals!"

But when the Japanese came to stand next to him he suddenly
had no more to say and looked away. When the Japanese put his arm
up to hold on to the leather strap attached to the ceiling of the
tram, from his short-sleeved shirt there came the distinct smell
of shrimp paste. The young man took out his handkerchief and
covered his nose.

Midway down the line the tram suddenly stopped. Perplexed, the
passengers thought for sure the tram had broken down or there had
been an accident. Everyone looked out and there they saw, in the
middle of the tracks, three Japanese holding up the tram. Afraid
of losing his own head, it seemed, the tram driver had stopped
the tram.

The tree Japanese boarded the train, scratching the
passengers' arms and hands with the hilts of their sword as they
pushed their way in. Once inside they released a laugh of
victory.

The tram started off again, squeaking like a rusty pulley. On
the curves the people swung to the side. A young woman landed on
a young man's lap. As if it happened all the time, the young man
hugged the woman around her waist and hoisted her to her feet -
but he didn't give up his seat.

By this time the smell of sweat had become intolerable and
everyone had begun to complain.

"Make one remember the old days..." said an Indonesian man in
a finely-made shirt who, every so often, would brush the dust
from his shirtsleeves.

No one responded to the man's comment; it seems his words were
commonplace.

At the next stop, a young man and woman got on. Their faces
were red from the heat but they laughed and gabbled in Dutch.
"Hmm, it's really nice in here," the young man said, "just like
in a chicken coop!"

"Still, it's better than walking," the woman said as she took
her handkerchief and clapped it over her hooked nose.

"What time is it?" the man asked.

The woman raised her left arm to look at her watch. She tried
pushing up the sleeve of her kebaya, but it wouldn't move. When
she looked again, her watch was sticking out from a hole in the
sleeve. "It's 1:30," she said, embarrassed.

The conductor walked through the coach. "Tickets, any more
tickets?" he called while passing by the old woman in second
class.

The woman watched the conductor pass and when his back was to
her she stretched the side of her mouth to the right. "Look at
that monkey," she muttered.

The other passengers found themselves staring in surprise at
the woman's mouth.

At the Harmoni Building the tram stopped again. From Kota
Station to Harmoni, it had taken twenty minutes.

An Indonesian man wearing Javanese headdress and English-made
shoes looked angrily at his watch. "It used to take only fourteen
minutes!" His voice was shrill, like the rustle of old coconut
palm leaves. "Everything's gone to hell these days."

"Why don't you get rid of those people on the running board,"
he complained to the ticket seller. "Aren't there any rules any
more. You should tell them that it's forbidden, that they'll fall
off."

The ticket seller stared at the man in astonishment, then
contemptuously turned his back on him and blew his whistle.

"Wait!" a number of passengers yelled, "We want to get off."

The tram, which had already begun to move, suddenly stopped
and the shoving started again. People were still trying to get
off.

The man in the headdress and English shoes grabbed the ticket
seller by the shirt. "What are you doing?" he screamed. "Do you
do whatever comes into your head? Look before you start blowing
your whistle."

The ticket collector grew more astonished. "Who does he think
he is?" he mumbled under his breath. He turned away again, but
this time not contemptuously. Who knows? Maybe the man was a
member of the legislature.

The tram started again. There weren't so many passengers now
and only a few remained standing in the aisle. In first class,
there wasn't a single Japanese.

A fat woman, who was short like a Japanese, wiped the seat
from her neck. "If I didn't have to, I wouldn't ride the tram at
all," she grumbled. "But they took my car, and still haven't paid
for it. Why don't they just admit that they're thieves. At least
that would be more honest."

"Who took your car?" the man who was seated next to the woman
inquired.

"Who else?"

The man laughed in understanding. "Be patient. The great day
will come." The words came as easily as sweat drops on skin.

"What? 'Be patient,' you say? If I weren't patient, I would
have been in the nut house a long time ago..." The woman paused
momentarily, then sighed, "Times are hard. It was hard in the
twenties, too, but not like now."

A man laughed in understanding. "Be patient. The great day
will come." The words came as easily as sweat drops on skin.

"What? 'Be patient,' you say? If I weren't patient, I would
have been in the nut house a long time ago..." The woman paused
momentarily, then sighed, "Times are hard. It was hard in the
twenties, too, but not like now."

A man in dirty shorts leaned towards the woman and whispered,
"Better not to talk like that or you might be sorry later."

Near Pasar Baru the tram stopped in front of the theater. More
people got on and off. Several people began to climb in through
the window. One was a Japanese in civilian clothes.

One of the passengers yelled at the man, "What are you doing?
Climbing in through the window like that! Haven't you any
manners?"

The Japanese stuttered a few words in broken Indonesian. The
Indonesian turned scarlet, suddenly realizing that the man he'd
just yelled at was Japanese. But now, being humiliated in front
of the other passengers, he plucked up the courage to continue:
"That's no way to get in. You shouldn't climb in through the
window."

The Japanese man kept on climbing in and once inside the tram,
he roared at the Indonesian, "Where do you work? How dare you
tell a Japanese what he can't do."

Though inside, the Indonesian man's heart had shriveled to the
size of a Japanese cloth after washing, he still didn't want to
give in.

"And you, sir, where do you work?" he asked. "I work at the
Ministry of Interior."

They argued, but the Japanese refrained from laying a hand on
his opponent. Standing not far away was a military policemen.

The policeman than said a few words in Japanese to the
Japanese civilian. His words seemed sharp and angry. He then
turned to the Indonesian and said ingratiatingly, "I've
reprimanded him. After all, he was in the wrong."

The Indonesian felt immensely pleased for having won a
glorious victory.

Translated by Thomas John Hudak

Glossary:

Terasi: condiment made from pounded and fermented shrimp or small
fish.

Lemper: snack made of steamed glutinous rice usually with meat
and wrapped in a banana leaf.

Kebaya: traditional blouse.