Lost

Lost

By Yusrizal KW

There seemed to be less peace in our village these past few
days. Some people felt their lives were threatened. Someone
saying he hailed from the city and had a close relationship with
ministers and government officials, also with highly placed
military officers, wanted the land of our village on the northern
hill slope for a golf course. The person was known to us by the
name of Pak Jihin. He was a businessman.

Pak Jihin came to our village in a luxurious car in the
company of his staff. Later on, our village head Pak Jolong was
always seen in his company. Pak Jolong incessantly coaxed the
villagers to sell their land at a cheap price.

"When the golf course is ready, there will be many rich people
and high-ranking officials coming here. The village will gain in
prestige. What are people going to say? 'Bukit Siraya village led
by Pak Jolong is an important place. Just look at the number of
important visitors.'

"You will play a part. You can open stalls. Your work will not
be limited to the field. Field work is exhausting. Moreover,
fertilizers are very expensive. Well, why do you object to
selling your land to Pak Jihin?" Pak Jolong was speaking at the
village hall where he had invited the owners of land north of the
hill.

However, none of those present were attracted to sell their
land. Because, said Pak Kardi, the Bukit Siraya villagers were
destined to labor the land or to cultivate the rice fields. It
was not possible to become traders, to open stalls or whatever to
welcome a golf course. My father was even more determined to
oppose the idea. "My friends, let us not sell our land. A golf
course is a venue for other people to enjoy life on our
suffering, the suffering of helpless people because of power and
money. Who knows, the village head may have a share in it ..."

All eyes were directed to my father, then to Pak Jolong. I was
there with my father and felt that my heart was trembling. Pak
Jolong's face turned scarlet. The fire in his eyes was ready to
flare up. He remained silent. The meeting came to an end without
the villagers reaching an agreement to sell their land.

"Pak Rustam," Pak Jolong was addressing my father while we
were about to leave the hall. My father stopped and turned to the
village head.

"What's up?" asked my father.

"If you do not want to sell your land, do not influence other
people. I do not like your style!" said Pak Jolong emphatically.

After the event Pak Jolong hated my father. Pak Jolong's men
even threatened to kill my father. Pak Jolong continued to
convince the villagers, except my father, to sell their land to
Pak Jihin. Some among them were coerced into selling their land:
Pak Anas, Pak Syahrul, Pak Ambo, Pak Zakir and a widow Bu They
Rauda. They signed an agreement to sell their land very cheap to
Pak Jihin through Pak Jolong.

However, some villagers persisted in their refusal. They must
have said, "We do not want to sell our land. We agree with Pak
Rustam."

Those who agreed with my father, Pak Rustam, had already the
same opinion during the meeting at the village hall. Pak Jolong
who felt his efforts were being thwarted by my father, hired with
the help of Pak Jihin ominous-looking people unknown to the
villagers. They went to the houses of landowners with terror,
threats, etc. Those who got frightened promised to meet Pak
Jolong's wishes. But finally Pak Jolong's efforts were useless
after my father managed to convince them who felt threatened.

"We are on the right track. We own the land, we are fully
entitled to the land. Whether we want to sell it or not, that is
our right. They cannot force us to sell our land. We are not
afraid to die for it. We will defend our land until our last drop
of blood," said my father with a fist in the air.

My father became the example for the villagers to hold on to
their land. When Pak Jolong made bids on the land, I heard their
refusal, "We do not want to sell our land. We agree with Pak
Rustam. If he sells his, we will also sell ours."

This reply led Pak Jihin to take things in hand. One
afternoon, Pak Jihin neatly dressed, a cigarette between his
thick lips, came to see my father.

"I have a special offer for your land. Ten times the price I
am offering to other owners. I hope you will not refuse again.
This is in the interest of many people, Pak Rustam. You must
remember, that the golf course is in the interest of the Bukit
Siraya villagers, besides several important officials have a
stake in it. Pak Rustam, you must be the pioneer. Others will
follow you. What do you think of my offer?" said Pak Jihin.
Important government officials. Who could they be? Pak Jihin
might be throwing his weight around by using the names of high
officials, ministers, military dignitaries, etc., I thought. But,
I was not sure.

"I will agree if the others also get paid ten times like me!"
said my father. Pak Jihin frowned. His face turned scarlet. He
was breathing heavily. He put out his cigarette with force in the
ash-tray.

"It is impossible. Do you agree or not to my offer?"

"No!" my father replied firmly.

The village was calm the next few days. Nothing was heard of
Pak Jolong anymore forcing landowners to sell their land. Pak
Jihin did not appear either in his shiny automobile in Bukit
Siraya village.

One rainy evening my father got an attack of asthma. My mother
made him the traditional medicine to cure the attack. I sat down
beside my father's bed. My father was breathing with difficulty
as if somebody was choking him.

There were several knocks on the door. My mother looked at me,
signaling there was a visitor. I hurried to the door.

When I opened it I was startled to see five heavily built men.
They entered the house with a rough gesture without saying a word
and went straight to the room where my father was lying. I had
hardly recovered from my fear when those people took my father by
force out of the house. My mother and I were dumbfounded as if
hypnotized, and could only look at my father being taken away in
a dark automobile into the rainy night.

My father was defenseless, besides, a pistol was held against
his temple. He looked resigned while his asthma was vehemently
rocking his body.

I did nothing, except when the car started moving with a loud
noise of the engine, I shouted, "Father ..."

It took only a moment for my father to disappear. I ran into
the muddy road and returned home. I found my mother had fainted.

I went to the police station and reported the case. The
atmosphere in the village was threatening. The villagers were
speaking of my father's abduction by strongly built people
pistols in hand.

One week passed. My father did not return. I had bad dreams.
My asthmatic father who was allergic to cold and dust, was being
taken to an inhospitable place. I also imagined that my father's
body was penetrated by several bullets and discarded in a rice
field north of the hill slope, the place wanted by Pak Jihin for
a golf course.

My mother got weaker. After my father had gone, she did not
want to eat. She only said, "Just sell the land north of the hill
slope. Just sell it!"

The owners of the land north of the hill slope came one by one
to Pak Jolong's house. I heard that finally not one landowner
objected to selling his land. Meanwhile, there was no news from
my father.

One day, Pak Jihin and Pak Jolong came to see my mother and
me.

"Take courage. Ask for God's help. I feel sad and angry about
the cruel action. Let us pray. Let us hope the police will
succeed in saving Pak Rustam ..." said Pak Jihin while Pak Jolong
nodded in approval.

I could only take a long breath and look angrily into the eyes
of Pak Jihin and Pak Jolong.

Glossary:
Pak: term of respect for an older man, in general usage
Bu: term of respect for an older woman, in general usage

Yusrizal KW was born in Padang, West Sumatra, in 1969. Since
1986, his short stories have been published in national and local
newspapers in his home province. 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.