Kampar Calamity

Kampar Calamity

By Hudri Hamdi

Abang was very busy working when I first stepped into Kampar. Together with his fellow workers, Abang was busy sawing up a giant tree in this eerie wilderness close to Pekanbaru, Sumatera. They were working very energetically; beads of perspiration dripping from their bodies. All the while they were singing merrily to the movement of the saw. The sound of the singing and the saw was echoing from other places in Kampar, as far as my eyes could see. At the eastern corner the workers were busy cleaning the rest of the leaves from the branches. These branches - and they were not small ones - were scattered everywhere. They were jumbled up with the scattered leaves, forming a green carpet on the hilly land. Both big and small logs were strewn on the ground. But at the western corner the logs were neatly arranged where a truck was ready to transport them.

And it was the giant tree, just as the sun was about to set in the west, which was the source of the calamity for Abang. When the tree was about to fall, a strong wind suddenly swept the area and I screamed loudly, "Watch out, Mas!" And Abang instantly ran to avoid it. So did his fellow workers. The tree fell with a thunder. But one of its branches ... precisely at that moment a thunder broke from the cloudy sky.

Putri wanted Abang, his fellow workers said. More comments came from other workers.

"Last night she took Marno, but she is not satisfied yet."

"Damn Putri. What does she want?"

"Poor Mu'id."

"Yes, poor guy."

"I hope he can recover from this."

"We should not forget to pray before working."

"We should always remind them to pray, Mas."

"Yes, we must remind each other."

***

Broken bones or crushed bones or instant deaths under fallen trees in the eerie jungle did not only happen once or twice. Accidents had become a common occurrence there. In addition, there were workers who were shredded, eaten by savage Sumateran tigers. Abang almost died last year when the king of the jungle suddenly appeared at the tent's door ...

So far, sixteen out of one hundred and twenty workers had been unlucky. Three people were ripped apart by tigers; they died in an instant; and thirteen people collapsed under giant trees. And Abang was one of the victims. His hip was broken. At that time I could hear Abang whimper, "Agghh ...!" His body convulsed for a moment, his face buried in the chest and soon after his body became motionless. Abang was laying sprawled, his condition was heart-wrenching. I grit my teeth. And I was unable to hold back my tears among the throng of small workers, small people, noble people who had a strong sense of solidarity.

And Abang's unlucky fate apparently was an endless one. Three months had passed and he had not yet recovered from the wound. The surgery to connect his bone using a piece of platinum seemed unable to re-attach the broken parts. His flesh was rotting. The gap in the bone caused him extraordinary pain whenever he moved. His face was contorted with the pain every time he moved the wounded part of his body.

Abang, oh, Abang. Abang was very unlucky. There was no room for pity. In search of a livelihood he had ended up with a burden. But my admiration for him had not diminished. Although he used a stick and suffered, his smile had not left him. And he continued to care for his family. It was Abang who paved the way for his younger brothers to work, creating jobs, saving up money, preaching harmony and keeping his working spirit high. Urip musti gawe, was a piece of his advice which I always keep in mind. But for Abang, Kampar seemed very cruel. It did not know pity. Meanwhile, Pekanbaru was no longer sensitive to moans to allow me to express my deepest feelings. I hated this weak feeling, this dull feeling. But now I felt like I had been crushed to pieces.

On my second arrival Pekanbaru still did not smile. It did not offer any hospitality. It was as if it was putting aside any restlessness and sadness. Pekanbaru was not satisfied with Abang's broken leg. It wasn't satisfied with moaning. Complaints that had been lodged for months passed like the wind before Gulliver's eyes. A response came only after the small people managed to convince Gulliver of the real situation in Kampar. But, Abang's greatness did not subside. His attention for his family remained as before.

"How are Mother and Sri?" Abang asked in the hospital, before he underwent more surgery.

"They are fine, Mas."

"Do they still run the warung?"

"Yes, they do, Mas."

Abang nodded.

"Is Mother still sickly?"

"No, she isn't. She only had a cough and a cold two weeks ago. Now she has recovered."

"Praise God," Abang nodded, relieved.

"Does the becak still run?"

"Yes, it does, Mas. Wasdi runs it."

"Does Marlan still hawk his goods?"

"Yes, he does, Mas. He sells bamboo baskets, fans, rice steamer, etc."

"Then what do you do?"

"Well, like you told me to, I make bamboo handicrafts. Like the goods Marlan sells. I also drive the becak, sometimes."

Abang nodded.

"Are you in good health?"

"Praise God, I'm in good condition. Pray for me, Man, that I recover immediately."

Abang's great attention to the family was beyond doubt. All the family's activities at home in Gresik started with the money Abang routinely sent every month. The activities then became a kind of business and developed. The house which it at first was a hut had changed gradually. Part of its wall was now made of planks. Another part had a brick wall. And the stall which at first was part of the house was now in front, in the yard. Abang had not once seen this renovation.

It was not an exaggeration if I called Abang a pioneer, like a hawk which remembers its net, although his first job was as a becak driver. Yes, a becak driver! The becak belonged to juragan Tohir. Abang took the double rental fee system. If he paid the daily rental fee of Rp 1,000, the becak would remain with his employer. But, if he paid Rp 2,000 a day for five months, the becak would be his. And Wasdi has been driving the becak since Abang left for Sumatera. So did I, although rarely. It is Wasdi who often drives the becak. We remember our Abang's advice: Be grateful if you are paid a small fee. The main thing is to pedal and pedal the becak. God be with people who are grateful, Abang said. The result, praise God, has not been not bad. We collect some money everyday.

We never fail to deposit the money in the rural savings unit of a state-owned bank. The savings from the becak, the stall and the handicrafts business could be used to propose marriage. All three brides at once: mine, Wasdi's, and Abang's. Unfortunately, father after all his hard work did not have the chance to see our happiness.

Abang had been in treatment for a week. Waiting for his condition to improve for surgery. I did not know. I did not understand why the first one failed. The whole thing had left me in a daze. I started to imagine things, how the platinum was being removed, the cutting of flesh. Have mercy, God!

Abang's condition was pitiful. How long fate took to decide. Poor Abang. He often looked sad. It was apparent that he forced a smile in front of me and that left me trying to imagine the pain he must be feeling.

"Man, Saman," Abang called when I was busy with my own thoughts.

"Yes?"

"The doctor said that one of my bones would be cut to connect my broken thigh bone."

"Ughh ...!" I said, shocked. I was unable to answer. Suddenly a feeling of pity enveloped me. The only thing I could feel was my breathing, up and down...

"When I recover, my right leg will be shorter," Abang continued with a smile. Another smile, and yet another. A clear smile, a smile as clear as that of a one year-old infant.

"It doesn't matter, Mas. The important thing is you can recover immediately," I forced myself to cheer up.

"Yes, please pray for me."

"Mother, Sri, Wasdi, and Marlan will surely pray for you, too."

"Yes ...," Abang's head nodded repeatedly. "Thank you," he said softly.

Time then silenced us. For quite some time. Abang looked tired, docile; at times he kept his head down. My mind was flying again, feeling how painful it must be for him.

"Man," Abang's voice was soft.

"Yes?"

"They have taken the tests on my blood pressure, heart, lung, and urine and the results are good, the doctor said. And today I go for surgery. Please pray for me, Man."

My heart suddenly beat rapidly. Each heartbeat seemed to race one another. I had no thoughts.

"And, forgive me for failing to find happiness in Pekanbaru."

"Ah, Mas, Mas don't think of such things."

"Mu'i ...d," a nurse called Abang. Interrupted our conversation.

"Yes," Abang replied, turning towards the nurse. The nurse nodded. The signal to enter. Abang then looked at me, slapped my shoulder repeatedly before walking to the room to meet the nurse.

The call was a signal for the surgery to be conducted immediately. I was banned from the room, and left to wait outside. I looked at Abang closely ... I felt as though my heart was being stabbed. I lowered my head. Praying to God to give Abang strength. For Abang's recovery.

While waiting my heart fluttered. Heartbeats chased each other thunderously. The question of whether it would be a successful operation or a failure was haunting me. And my mouth repeatedly called, "Mas, Mas ..." I had no thoughts. It was as if I could not feel.

In fact, I waited for aq long time. Waiting for the uncertainty of the result of the operation. I did not understand everything, only the obvious: That Abang was undergoing surgery. It means his bone was being cut, his flesh sliced and blood ... Oh my God! All sorts of questions jammed my brain. Would it be successful? Would it fail? Or ...? Oh, my God, Gusti Allah he nurse who came out of the operating room only answered, "Be patient", when I asked her. I was fed up, annoyed. My embittered feeling was not satisfied. My heart was beating rapidly. I felt my mind jammed with fear. With all sorts of questions about Abang. The family hero. The family's pride. Then, I could imagine mother passing out. The younger brothers and sisters who would cry, be sad. Suppose that ... Oh, Abang!

Night was far advanced when the nurse with her innocent face came out. I looked at her. She looked back. And she still looked at me although her face was only an inch from mine. I suddenly felt a creeping feeling all over my body. I was scared. My mind flew to Abang. And ... that Abang would be treated, cured, in a hospital in Jakarta, she said. Oh, Gustii ... "What are they going to do with Abang now...!" I said slowly. I had no thoughts, I did not understand.

Looking at Abang lying with his body wrapped in a piece of cloth, I felt my life was being shaken very hard. Terrified. All the more so as Abang's eyes glistened with tears when he looked at me. Spiritless and very pitiful. And my body felt weak when I looked at Abang. I did not know where the strength came from, but tears did not drop from my eyes.

The small people then visited Abang, accompanied him to the airport and prayed for Abang's recovery. Abang in their eyes was not different from mine. Abang's honor was beyond doubt, undeniable. Accompanying my slow steps to the aircraft which would fly me to Jakarta. And on the plane, the first one I ever boarded without having to pay, I looked at Abang repeatedly while saying to my self: No matter what, Abang had given all his honor for the family. An honor very meaningful for life and the future.

Translated by Darul Aqsha

The short story Kampar calamity is a translation of Petaka Kampar which appears in Kado Istimewa: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1992.

Note:

Abang = elder brother

Mas = elder brother or a common address to a Javanese male.

Putri = a creature from the other world in the shape of a beautiful woman, with long hair. The workers who had been taken to her world (at night) regained consciousness after they had walked far enough. The workers believed it was the Putri who caused the calamity.

juragan = employee

Urip musti gawe is a Javanese saying, meaning to live is to work

warung = stall

Becak = pedicab