Going Home

Going Home

By Budi Wahyono

Sitting on a bamboo bench in his shabby hut under the overhang of a building, Komar found himself again staring in bewilderment. The sun was shining down on him, urging him to hurry to work.

But what work? The question struck him abruptly.

He had been jobless for almost a year, ever since his dismissal for being caught stealing 10 liters of oil.

He lived like a squirrel, hopping from one job to another, willing to do anything, anywhere.

"So I'm not completely unemployed, in fact," whispered Komar, as if talking to one side of his heart. But the other side retorted: "I'm running out of money, ain't I?"

Such queries stabbed at him like a knife, inevitably giving him a headache. A multitude of domestic troubles promptly crammed into Komar's head.

As the post-fasting Lebaran holiday was nearing, didn't his wife and two children badly need new clothes, even shoes, if possible?

But weren't all these together worth about a million rupiah?

Not to mention the traditional cooking, opor and ketupat, meaning more money.

Komar became ever more dazed.

***

"Come on! Hurry up! Semarang, Solo, Yogya, Purwokerto!"

Ticket scalpers were shouting noisily at a bus terminal under the scorching sun of Jakarta, laying the pressure thick on Komar.

The clamor soon felt like bullets whizzing past, even growing into hammers pounding away at him, as was frighteningly illustrated in headache drug ads.

The situation, unsurprisingly, triggered Komar's dominant male instinct to act amid the hardship -- after all he was family head.

"Wake up, buddy! Be a real man. By any and all means, retain your dignity as a father! Never go home empty-handed. Your family lives in distress while they have to face your neighbors' affluence!" the devil's persuasion sneaked into Komar's thoughts all at once. His mind was dragged further and further into contemplating evil designs.

The sun was now soaring higher in the sky, and to Komar, the day felt burning hot. The throngs of people leaving the market with various goods prompted him to quicken his step.

The devil again slipped into him, making him unable to escape.

It's impossible for him to work decently and honestly in order to please his family.

"You must work as a robber!" The imp, with its terrifying face, kept talking him into it.

A robber? Wasn't it too ambitious for a petty thief like himself? Komar doubted.

He imagined a gang of thugs of a bygone time. It's organized crime, he thought, and hesitated again.

Komar had no guts to rob a house. He preferred the simpler method of bag-snatching, something he found too tempting to resist.

"In the market now?" his idea popped out.

"No! The woman may scream as you're snatching her things, and you'll get beaten up black and blue by the market crowd!" his conscience objected.

Komar became increasingly uncertain. He racked his brain for some alternatives.

After a short while, he wiped his forehead with his palm. Another idea had sprung up.

"Why go to so much trouble? Take a plastic bottle of mineral water and drop in a sleeping pill. Have a chat with a passenger on the bus 'till the drink makes them sleep, and then act. Strip the victim of all her valuables and money!"

Komar smiled. It's a bright scheme, he thought.

Without further consideration, he was determined to carry out the plan. Full of confidence, Komar wanted to put it into action right away.

***

In the afternoon, with some change in his pocket, Komar went straight to the Pulogadung bus terminal. There, he kept an eye out for easy prey, particularly among the female crowds.

Then a plump woman emerged, one of the heavy-sleeper type. She looked like a rich lady. Her dress, handbag and accessories all gave away her wealth.

But would she be willing to sit beside him? Komar was unsure.

"Ah, there's no choice in such conditions. It's lucky if I can get on a bus at all," he made up his mind.

Trying to make good on the opportunity, he followed the wealthy-looking woman, who appeared to be taking a Yogya-bound bus. Komar was no less agile as she waded into a swarm of travelers.

Unexpectedly, he found himself sitting down haughtily into the seat next to hers. He was acting, pretending to be drowsy.

"Are you heading to Yogya?" the words came from her beautiful lips. She was friendly and gullible, Komar believed.

"Yes, bu. We're lucky we could get on the bus," he said, as a polite reply.

The woman started chatting endlessly, with Komar responding only now and again. She offered a drink, which he accepted so as not to offend her.

Right on schedule, the bus left the terminal. It moved very slowly, like a caterpillar creeping along green leaves as it passed through Jakarta's busy streets.

Komar and the woman watched countless people on the roads, walking in rows like ants. These throngs all had the same purpose: back, back to their hometowns.

***

Dark was descending, and the small towns were teeming with buses.

The trendy lady yawned many times, displaying her sleepiness in an obvious fashion.

"Don't sleep too early...," Komar warned.

She took it as a sympathetic reminder. "But I'm too sleepy to stay awake, pak," she replied.

Komar smiled, thinking, it's funny, she broke the ice again.

The bus kept speeding along.

Komar recalled his own wife as he stole glances at the clothing and jewelry on the sturdy woman. When his children crossed his mind, his greed nearly grew out of control.

He was waiting for the right moment to act.

"Oh, it's very hot, I'm thirsty," complained the woman.

Komar smiled again, remembering the sedative-laced drink he had prepared in his hut at noon.

"I've only got this bottle of mineral water. Please drink it, if you like," Komar opened his bag and offered the water.

She grasped the half-liter bottle of water, unscrewed its cap and gulped it all down to satisfy her thirst.

Komar didn't care.

"You'll be asleep in half an hour! You'll be a victim of your vicious impulse!"

Komar's hidden urge leapt in anticipation.

The bus conductor came by to examine passengers' tickets. With this obligation met, some of them went to sleep.

Komar took a peek at the woman, who was nodding. In half an hour, she would be in a deep sleep. When Komar pressed his arm against hers, she didn't react. She had apparently succumbed to the drug.

"This is the time! Strip the woman of her jewels, grab her handbag and order the bus driver's assistant to let me off. I want to get away!" Komar's inner voice was resolute.

Again, he saw flashes of his family.

It was too dim in the bus. In his own way, Komar pulled off her gold necklace. Perhaps it weighed five to seven grams. Her handbag, containing a camera-cell phone, was worth over a million rupiah. Or so he estimated. Silently, the bag, too, changed hands.

He glanced to his left and to his right. With a number of the passengers asleep, it was a good time for him to make a move and tell the bus crew to let him off.

Komar stood up. His heart was pounding. He left his seat and hurriedly moved to the rear of the bus.

"I'm getting off here, mas!" Komar approached a crew member, a fierce look on his face.

The driver's assistant became instantly suspicious. Nobody had asked to be dropped off in a village near Cirebon, so why was this man suddenly insisting in such a great hurry?

"I don't care where I stop, I just want to get on another bus!" thought Komar.

The driver's assistant stared at him more warily.

"Halt! A passenger's getting off!" the assistant's booming voice awakened the passengers from their sound sleep. Some were so alarmed that they simultaneously groped for their belongings.

As did the fashionable lady.

"Stop, stop!" a shout arose.

Komar was puzzled. Many people were trying to find their possessions in a panic.

"Mas, there's a thief! My things are gone!!" screamed the woman in the seat next to Komar's.

A man promptly rose without a single hint of fear, blocking Komar's way. Komar was taken by surprise and without resistance, just as lights were turned on and the bus was brought to a halt.

"What's wrong, bu?" asked another woman sitting nearby.

"My bag, my necklace, it's all gone! Where was the guy who sat beside me?!" she looked around, searching faces.

"Here you are, bu. Is this your bag?" the brawny man holding Komar snatched it from him.

Komar was befuddled. By now, several passengers were gripping him tightly.

"Yes, yes, that's mine! Why was it stolen?!" she cried.

Some of her fellow travelers punched Komar in the face without mercy. Blood oozing from his nose, Komar groaned.

The driver deftly turned his bus toward a police station. Komar was dragged down the steps. His case was handled fast.

Still moaning in pain, Komar had sudden visions of his wife and children in a dreary gloom. He imagined a dark, stuffy cell.

Komar was going home, to the cell that now awaited him.

-- Translated by Aris Prawira

* opor: a kind of stewed chicken curry
* ketupat: rice cake cooked in coconut milk
* ibu/bu: term of address for mother/older woman
* bapak/pak: term of address for father/older man
* mas: Javanese term for an older male