Looters

By Yusrizal KW

The 14-inch TV set for which Karam still owed Pak Polan several installments was on in the living room. His wife and children were watching the main feature that evening. Karam was smoking a cigarette which he had obtained on credit from Pak Bakir's shop. Karam and his wife had amassed numerous loans over the past two months after he was laid off from his job at a shoe factory after the monetary crisis started to bite.

Since then he had earned no income. Any money the family had came from the sale of their valuable possessions like his wife's ring, but in these expensive times even the money which this raised was next to insignificant.

Karam's wife had informed him earlier in the morning that the debts owed to Pak Bakir's shop and Bang Jupri's booth, both run up through the purchase of basic essentials, had grown considerably and both men had requested immediate payment. The dark shadow of having nothing to eat hovered over Karam's thoughts.

Karam inhaled deeply on the cigarette obtained on credit. The smoke rose, his thoughts became vague: how frightful life in poverty and debt was. The TV he had bought four months earlier from Pak Polan when he was still working and had promised to pay for in installments. Now even daily food was almost unaffordable, let alone payments for the television.

Karam imagined the cynical faces of Polan, Bakir and Jupri when they asked him for their money. Karam's spirits sank. He stubbed out the cigarette and lit another. The smoke curled up. He though off Anto, his eldest child in the second grade of junior high. Pikit, his second child whose school uniform was torn. And his youngest who wanted to drink condensed milk like the child next door.

"Father, the school fees for the last three months are still due and the exams are soon. If we don't pay the fees I cannot sit the exam. The principal said so," Anto had told him the previous morning. Karam imagined Anto quitting school.

"I want to drink milk like Mimi," said Anis, the youngest.

Meanwhile, in the living room, his wife and two eldest children were clapping their hands and shouting while watching a program on the television set. The program was probably entertaining. Karam was happy and also sad, because the magic box was capable of giving joy to his wife and children. It also gave him a bitter sort of contentment -- the demands to repay the family debts were his responsibility as a husband, as a father.

Karam was sometimes puzzled. It was as though his wife and children had no worries. Sometimes they even said: "Tomorrow take another loan, Pak, please look for another job!" Karam remained silent, but unexpectedly they took his thin, ironic smile as a sign of approval.

Although the sun was shining brightly the next morning, Karam's fears of the night before came to fruition. Pak Bakir came to demand his money. Rice, vegetables, salted fish, cooking oil and onions were all unpaid for. The bill Rp 133,200.

Later Bang Jupri too presented a bill for Rp 97,150, run up for cigarettes.

"Your family cannot have any more goods from my shop. The sum of Rp 133,200 must be paid two days from now at the latest. The debt has been outstanding for two months!" said Pak Bakir.

"My capital is thinning out, Pak Karam. Settle your debt immediately. Otherwise I will take that TV set," Bang Jupri insisted.

Not long afterward, when his children were watching a dangdut program on TV, Pak Polan arrived with a sturdily built man.

"Pak Karam, that TV set ... you have to pay three installments tomorrow. Otherwise, I will take it back and you will lose the money you have already paid," said Pak Polan.

Karam did not feel well in the increasing heat of the afternoon. He watched the news on TV and saw many students demonstrating to demand reform. There was shooting. There were demands for the president to resign. Demands for this and that which he saw as a struggle for people like himself who were always in need. When there was work, the pay was low. If there was no work then their was nothing for him to fall back on.

He did not watch the program closely. In the cities and on the streets he saw waves of people demonstrating. In his mind he saw Pak Polan becoming increasingly unkind, not at all like the kind man who allowed him to pay for the television in installments. His wife and children had demanded the TV and he felt it might help them to forget their poverty. Now he was thinking more of his fate and what they would get to eat the next day.

The frightening images of Pak Bakir, Bang Jupri and Pak Polan grew in his head.

Karam's house was not far from the city center. The center was full of ostentatious shopping centers, posh hotels, automobile showrooms, shop-houses, department stores, discotheques, cinemas, banks and other sumptuous buildings which Karam and his likes could not possibly enter.

That afternoon Karam went out without any purpose. The sun was setting and he felt nervous.

He left the poor area and walked into the city center. There were many soldiers. A crowd had gathered. The streets were blocked. Fear was in the air.

He could hear the sound glass breaking. Stones were thrown and the doors of shop-houses were forced open. Reddish black clouds surged into the air from some far away point in the city and the sound of firearms and sirens filled the air.

A group of people collided with Karam but he did not fall, instead moving forward as one with the crowd. Some fell and were trodden underfoot. Cries for help filled the air. Angry shouts.

He saw crowds of people leaving a department store carrying VCDs, TV sets, clothes, fans, tape decks. Seizing the moment, Karam pushed aside the people in front of him and entered the store.

He heard somebody shout, "Do not set fire to the building! Just take the goods!"

Finally, after a struggle with others, Karam seized a 17-inch TV set, two tins of milk and one fan. He clasped them with all his strength. He felt he had extra power although he had not yet eaten and wondered how he could lift all those things without any strain.

Not far off a building was burning. People were hurling stones at other buildings, the street was littered with broken glass and the air was full of tear gas. The detonation of firearms did not worry the crowd.

Karam searched for a route home as the rioting continued. The sky turned black as if night had fallen and fires burned everywhere.

As Karam carried his booty home he wondered if he was a thief. He was anxious, but he remembered that security personnel were there but did not apprehend him, so he could not be a thief. Also, somebody had said, "Just take the goods, do not set fire to the building!"

The repercussions of the riots reached Karam's neighborhood. Some of his neighbors closed their homes and left. The neighborhood watch was revived. People were afraid of more riots and civil war.

At home Karam was lying on a mat on the floor. His neighbor's radio was blaring. His wife was watching TV. His youngest child, after having drunk some of the milk he brought home, had fallen asleep like the two elder children.

"Where did you steal the TV set and the milk from?"

"I did not steal them."

His wife took a deep breath and frowned.

The neighbor's radio was pointing an accusing finger and Karam was suddenly tense.

"...Riots broke out in every corner of the city. Crowds looted shopping centers and torched the buildings. Some of the looters have been trapped in the fires and others have been caught by the security forces."

Karam's heart stopped beating and his wife became suspicious.

"Did you join in the looting?"

Karam lit up. That night sleep eluded him and his virility did not respond when his wife came close to him and touched him. He was afraid he would be caught.

Karam was up very early the next morning. He switched on the television. His wife and children joined him to watch the morning news.

Soon the main item came on the screen. Riots. First, the news reader said thousands were involved. Victims had fallen and looting had taken place. Pictures of buildings and automobiles burning. The masses moved angrily. Karam was struck by a great fear. His lips went pale and his heart pounded.

Karam saw the department store he looted on the screen. He saw people pushing their way in and out the store. Entering empty- handed and leaving heavily laden with goods.

"There's dad carrying a TV set!" Anto was pointing at the TV. Pikit joined him, "Yes, dad is on TV. Dad is carrying a TV set!"

Karam looked like he had been electrocuted. He sat rigid like a statue. He saw himself on TV leaving the store and pushing his way through the crowd. The TV set terrorized him. It upset him more deeply than Pak Polan's intimidation.

Click!

Karam switched off the television. His children protested. His wife looked at him in anger. He got more frightened when he and the others were called looters by the news reader.

He feared the police would come soon.

At 10 in the morning Pak Polan appeared. He was standing in the doorway. Karam burst out in a cold sweat and saw poverty through his overcast eyes.

"I saw looting. The TV set you took is bigger than the one you bought from me. Where are your installment payments?" Pak Polan said.

"I am sorry. I have no money yet!" Karam replied trembling.

"Just pay with the set you stole yesterday, the one I saw on the news this morning."

"But..."

"There are no buts. Or shall I show the police where you live."

In deep fear Karam handed over the TV set to Pak Polan who smiled in disdain. Before he left Polan said, "I can have somebody else pay for this set in installments. It will fetch a high price! Your debt is settled, Karam."

Karam's wife and children were dumbfounded.

Not long afterward, the neighborhood chief arrived.

"That TV set you took during the riots, you'd better return it to its owner or the police when things have calmed down. Your action was tantamount to stealing...," said the chief.

Karam acquiesced but said to himself, "But chief, Pak Polan has taken the TV set."

Karam saw in his imagination Pak Bakir and Bang Jupri taking away his TV set if he did not settle his other debts. He imagined the police catching him.

He was terribly worried. He wanted to go after Pak Polan and take the TV back.

In the distance a siren wailed near an emergency situation. It was probably from a fire, or only his feeling of great fear for life.

Translated by SH

The writer was born in Padang, West Sumatra, in 1969. Since 1986, his short stories have been published in national and local newspapers. One of his works, Pistol Perdamaian, was published in the 1996 selection of Kompas best short stories. His poetry collection, Interior Kelahiran, was published by Angkasa Bandung last year.

Glossary: Bang: term of respect for an adult male, Jakarta dialect Pak: term of respect for elderly male Dangdut: popular music of Indian influence