JP/8/STORY

JP/8/STORY

THE HOMECOMING

By Claudine Frederik

Ingkan stole a glance at her traveling companion who had been
talking for the past three hours since the plane took off from
Soekarno Hatta Airport in the early morning hours. Thank God, her
friend had dozed off. She was grateful for the break in the
conversation as she had tried to follow the stories of her friend
with great difficulty.

Her mind was preoccupied with other things since she had
decided to embark on this trip to visit the graves of her
parents. It had been too long since her last visit to North
Sulawesi. It had been more than a decade ago.

How time flies, she thought. It felt like only yesterday when
she had transported the remains of her mother to her last resting
place. She wondered if she would find her parents' grave sites
well cared for.

"We will be landing soon, ma'am," the stewardess' voice broke
her train of thoughts. The view outside the plane's window
offered nothing much but a deck of white clouds; heavy and
impermeable, blocking the view of the land below. The plane
shuddered slightly as it gradually descended.

She swallowed rapidly as her ears started to fill with air; it
always happened during landing.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven local time," she answered her friend who woke
up from a fitful slumber. Right up front a red light warned
passengers to fasten seat belts.

The voice of the captain crackled through the mike as he de
scribed the plane's approach to Mapanget Airport. The plane, at
an altitude of 5,000 meters was flying above a clear blue sea
with the island Menado Tua making an impressive background.

"We will be landing in about five minutes at Mapanget
Airport," the voice of the captain announced. True to his word,
the wheels of the plane hit the ground in less than five minutes.
The Boeing 737 trundled at a leisurely pace toward the building
at the far end of the landing strip.

Ingkan could hardly suppress a feeling of impatience. All of
a sudden, she could not wait to get home. She loosened the
seat belt and got up from her seat and reached for her overnight
bag on the rack above.

"Where will you stay?," asked Diana. "You can stay at my
place," she offered. " Thanks, but I have my own place," Ingkan
said.

"Are you sure you can cope with the inconvenience of staying
in an old place?" Diana looked at her with unbelieving eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure," she said, fully understanding what Diana
meant. Her parents' place held great value to her, in spite of
the inconveniences of staying in a traditional wooden house.

The passengers shuffled in long lines toward the exit where
two stewardesses waited to bid them goodbye.

Nobody was at the airport to welcome her. Of course not, after
all she had not sent her aunt word of her arrival.

"Well, let me give you a lift then," Diana insisted.

After a drive of about 20 minutes, Diana's van grounded to a
halt in front of her parents' place. The front windows were
tightly closed, also the bedroom shutters, giving a cheerless
impression to passersby. Nobody was busy in the rickety back
quarters either.

"There is no one there. How can you stay here? Come with me,
you can visit your aunt later," Diana pleaded.

"No, I'll wait," Ingkan decided. "She might have gone to the
market."

" Whatever you say. If you change your mind, you know how to
reach me." Diana waved a hand in the air and told her driver to
move on.

Ingkan stepped hesitantly toward the short flight of wooden
steps that led to the front door of the house that held so many
memories of her youth.

She carefully stepped over a hole in one of the steps before
she reached the front door. She peered through the glass panel
inside but the house seemed empty. In the back quarters she
noticed on arrival a single wooden chair in front of the kitchen.

Ingkan went down the steps and headed straight for the kitchen
at the back. There was no smell of smoke in the dark place, nor
could she detect fresh ash on the traditional bench which still
held the remnants of a stove made of stone.

As she looked at the antiquated cooking facilities, giggles
and the happy voices of her sisters in their teens, trying to
make cinnamon sugar filled pancakes, rang in her ears.

How time flies, she thought again. A stream of sunlight fell
on the old cooking bench. Ingkan looked up and noted a gap in the
corrugated roof over the kitchen.

"Ingkan, is that you?" Ingkan turned around and saw a frail
figure, her back hunched over, in the doorway. She had not heard
her aunt returning from the market. Her aunt had aged
considerably since she had seen her last. "Aunt Wulan," Ingkan
walked swiftly to the old lady and embraced her.

"How are you doing? I'm sorry I did not let you know that I
was coming."

"I am glad you came as I need to talk to you. But, it can wait
till later. You will be staying I'm sure." The old lady took her
by the hand and together they went into the house.

Inside she found everything as her mother had left it before
she joined her children in Jakarta.

There was the easy chair in which she used to sit and there
were the pictures on the wall. Her parents wedding picture and
her own. She did not think that her aunt would display her
wedding picture. After all, her wedding did not work out for her,
it ended in an ugly divorce with both parties pointing the finger
at one another.

Ingkan looked away from her wedding picture on the wall with a
pained expression on her face.

"Have you had lunch? I cook my food myself. It is very hard to
find a good and trustworthy servant nowadays. There are
practically no more servants here in Manado. And besides, I could
not afford one, even if there was one. But, tell me, what brings
you here?"

"It came to me all at once that I have not been to Mom and
Dad's graves for ages. I want to visit their graves."

"That is good of you. You will be blessed if you keep the
memory of your parents alive. Only, I don't know if their graves
have been properly taken care of. If the grass is not cut
regularly, you might have a hard time looking for their graves. I
have not visited them for quite some time myself. Nowadays, I
have all sorts of aches and pains in my bones, especially in my
feet and legs."

"I'd like to pay my respects today. I am leaving the day after
tomorrow. How can I charter a van to go to the mountains?"

"That's easy. You just have to catch one of those public
minivans. They will take you into town where you can charter one
of those vans. You just wait in front of the house until one of
those minivans passes by. It is quite convenient for me, you
know. I don't need to walk so far."

"Do you want to come along with me, Aunt Wulan? You can tell
me what I need to know then."

"Yes, I suppose I could. But, who will cook dinner for us if I
come along. "

"I don't want you to worry about dinner tonight. We'll catch
something on our way home. I want you to relax today."

Ingkan's parents were laid to rest in the hilly grounds of
Tondano, a lakeside town in the mountains. Both hailed from the
same town, a rustic town which seemed to have escaped the touch
of today's developers. Many of the houses still date back to the
colonial days with traditional wooden homes dominating the
landscape.

Ingkan inhaled the unpolluted air, expanding her lungs fully,
as they neared the lake town and cruised along a vast expanse of
green rice fields.

A cold wind caressed her face which reminded her of the days
when she used to roam the paddy fields with long forgotten class
mates.

"You better put on your blazer, Aunt Wulan. This is nippy
weather."

"Yes. I'd better. I don't want to worsen those aches in my
bones. It is cold and damp out here, isn't it? How could your
mother and I have stood it in those days!"

At the cemetery, they had to walk further inside before they
got to the graves. Ingkan planned to say so many things to her
parents, but, when she finally stood before their graves, she
could not find anything to say. All the words seemed to have
stuck in her throat. She could not even say a prayer.

In the end, Aunt Wulan who had looked at her with hopeful
eyes, said: "Let's pray in our hearts. Words are so superfluous
in such situations. God reads what is in our hearts."

They did not stay long since the wind was blowing with a more
biting force through the weathered tombstones in the cemetery.
Aunt Wulan had begun to shiver in spite of the blazer she wore.

" Bye Mom, bye Dad," Ingkan said silently. Where were those
words that she had wanted to say? She shook her head, half angry
for not being able to come up with a reason or answer.

Aunt Wulan nudged her arm. "Let's go now. I'll freeze to death
here."

After that the driver of the chartered van introduced them to
a small restaurant serving local food close to the town's market.
The eatery offered a wide variety of freshwater fish, chicken and
pork dishes. There was not much choice in veggies, except for
swamp spinach (kangkung), string beans and bean sprouts.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me Auntie?" Ingkan took a
sip of her unsweetened tea and looked over at her aunt from her
place. Aunt Wulan swallowed uneasily and looked on her plate. She
wiped her lips with a serviette.

"Ah yes, I've wanted to write to you about it for quite some
time. But, it was not easy. Now, that you are here, I am sure you
will understand when I tell you that I have decided to enter an
old people's home. There is a good one here that is very
reasonable. And it is managed by friends of mine."

"Why do you want to move away Aunt Wulan? Why would you
prefer to stay in one room instead of having a whole house to
yourself?"

"That's it, Ingkan. I can't manage this home any longer. It is
too much and too large for me now. Since I have lost my agility,
I find the household work too burdensome for me. I told you
before, there should be someone who is able to clean the house
and take care of the garden. I am no longer fit to do that. You
have to find yourself another caretaker for the house, Ingkan."

Ingkan sat still as she tried to digest the news. This was
totally unforeseen. Yes, it certainly would be a problem since
there was no one at the moment she could leave the house to with
a peaceful mind.

On the other hand, Aunt Wulan was quite old, she deserves to
enjoy her last days without having the burden of doing housework.
She smiled at her aunt and reached for the old lady's wrinkled
hand. "I fully understand Auntie. Don't worry."

"What will you do about the house Ingkan? Are you going to
sell it?"

"Selling the place is the last thing I want to do. I can see
that I will have problems finding a trustworthy caretaker like
you, Auntie. I have to make a decision soon."

That night when Ingkan slept in her old room, she dreamt of
her father.

They stood on opposite sides of a river. Her father waved and
smiled at her, but said nothing. Bursting with gladness, Ingkan
ran with open arms toward her father. But, before she could reach
him, he seemed to evaporate into thin air.

Aunt Wulan was already up when she woke up at six in the
morning. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the cramped
dining room. The soft glimmer of a low wattage bulb cast a warm
light over the table on which two steaming mugs of coffee were
ready to drink.

Ingkan told her aunt about the dream.

"Your Dad had something to say to you," Aunt Wulan said
convincingly.

"He did not speak at all," Ingkan protested.

"Nevertheless, he had something to say," her aunt insisted.

"I have made a decision about the house, aunt."

Aunt Wulan watched her closely with expectant eyes. "And what
have you decided?"

"I am not going to sell the house. I will repair the place and
give it a good and friendly interior. I will take care of the
place myself Aunt Wulan."

Eyes shining, Aunt Wulan, smiling broadly, said jubilantly:

"That is what your father meant to say to you, Ingkan."

*****