Love boat

By Kuntowijoyo

George Hastings no longer worked. He was retired and stayed at home. He had lost his speech in a car accident, so, unable to communicate properly, had tendered his resignation from the marketing division of the real estate company where he used to work. Only his wife really understood the indistinct sentences he emitted. Neither their son and daughter nor their children-in-law could catch the meaning of his words. During the Christmas holidays his wife became his translator. His grandchildren thought he was unable to speak, so their mothers were compelled to explain that their grandfather had been able to speak, and that his "silence" was the result of a car accident. They went on to say: "So, remember you should never drive too fast."

There was a lake with an islet in the middle behind George's house. Few people apart from George ever ventured onto the lake because, apart from George's house, the was surrounded by offices and a race track. He did not know when his family had acquired the house.

It could have been in the 18th century, when the Hastings family first came over from Holland. It was rather unusual and few Americans liked it. When criticized George would say, "Remember, I am Dutch." He seemed to take pride in his ancestry. His friends used to praise him as being a perfect man in a perfect place.

George was close to his young nephew Bill, perhaps because he saw him as a replacement for his grown-up children. He regularly told his nephew, with his wife interpreting: "Come here with your wife-to-be." In fact he had a plan. It involved a boat he rarely used. Sometimes he rowed it round the lake with his wife. At such moments he always remembered how years ago he had liked to row for hours with his then future wife.

He would stop at the island where grass and yellow flowers grew. The flowers had witnessed how he courted his future wife. He did not forget to take along bread and butter made by his mother. And the boat was then in its prime, as he was. "You are as strong as a wild buffalo," his wife used to tell him. She had said it ever since they had first courted because a thick crop of brown hair grew on his chest. He trusted that his wife's praise was sincere even though he was now old and disabled. George decided he would ask his nephew to row the boat with his fiancee, as he had done with his children.

If Bill answered his uncle that he preferred to stay single and enjoy life, his aunt would always signal to him that his uncle did not like to hear that answer. Bill said he did not want to get married yet because a wife and children would only be a burden to him. He had only finished secondary school and now worked in a cable factory. He thought his income would only be sufficient for himself and not to provide for a family.

To please his uncle, however, he would say, "Yes, some time." His uncle George, through his aunt, would say, "When is some time? Tomorrow is some time, next month is some time, next year is some time." In short, his nephew's reply angered him.

So, when in the spring, his nephew told him he had a fiancee, George was elated. They soon agreed on the day for the boat trip. George called it D-day and H-hour. He wanted to scream for joy. But he knew that his cries would be closer to Brown's whinings and his old age had made him wise enough to resist his impulse. George's old age, however, did not deter him from expressing his joy in a different form. He got up very early. His wife knew very well that he intended to whistle although the sounds emanated would only be muffled. "Where are you going, George?" his wife asked. "Anywhere I like." His wife knew by that answer that he did not want her to join him.

George went to a paint shop. He chose pink because that was the most suitable color for people in love. And he opted for blood red to paint a heart pierced by an arrow. He wanted to spend money on the event. When he returned home with the cans of paint, his wife merely reminded him to eat his breakfast first.

He walked out of the back of the house to the lake. The boat was upside down under the willow tree whose branches almost touched the water. He put his paint alongside the boat. He looked at the paint in the cans to ascertain that it was sufficient for the task. He smiled. He was satisfied. He was no professional, but the quantity of paint was adequate for the boat, some leftovers would be alright. They would do for the next time. He was lucky because his wife, who was fussy, left him alone with his work. Painting was a man's work, not a woman's. His wife just called him an old-fashioned romantic or some such similar name. She would certainly ask why pink and not blue. Blue was the color of a blue sky, full of hope, was it not? And the picture, why a heart and not a boat with twin sails symbolizing two young people starting a new life?

He finished his work in the afternoon, after a quick lunch break. He did not take his senior citizen's right to take a siesta in an easy chair. He asked his wife to inspect his handiwork. Surprisingly, his wife commented rather coolly: "That is an act of goodness, George. Do not be disappointed if goodness is not rewarded." To this he only said, "Ah, you are an incurable pessimist."

D-day arrived. George got up very early and dressed immediately. He was so enthusiastic that his wife said, "Who is going on a date, you or Bill?"

At last Bill appeared with a woman. She was rather old for him. But George and his wife did not mind. They both thought that if the two were predestined for each other, what the heck! Coffee, rolls and cheese were on the table. Having chatted for some time they walked to the back garden. Looking at the color of the paint and the picture of the heart, the woman, whose name was Jeanne, said, "Are you serious, Bill?"

When George and his wife were not looking, Bill said to Jeanne, "Can you shut your mouth?" It was rude, but what could be expected from a person who worked the whole day with cables?

Jeanne was too old for Bill, but she was a handsome woman. The way she parted her hair, moved her lips and flashed her eyes showed that she had great sex appeal. George's wife told Bill, "You are lucky to have such a gorgeous woman." But to herself she said, "She looks like a wanton woman."

George's wife - at her husband's order, surely - had prepared lunch for two people on the island. The elderly couple accompanied the two younger people only as far as the boat. The two quickly started their boat trip. Apparently Bill was impatient. They rowed to the island. True, like George said, there was grass, yellow flowers, and stones to sit on. George forgot to say that the island also had bushes which were very ideal for hiding courting couples. Alighting from the boat, Bill headed straight for the bushes with Jeanne in tow. At Bill's initiative they soon indulged in a session of passionate lovemaking.

At lunch time - which was somewhat earlier than most people would eat it - Bill quickly had his fill of the food, like someone having done a hard day's work. Shortly afterward the couple reappeared at George's house.

"That was quick," George said. He had hoped they would have been out rowing until late in the afternoon, and beyond. "You ran out of things to talk about, perhaps."

George visualized how in his young years it was enough just to spend the whole day on the island doing nothing but holding hands.

When George bid the two of them farewell, he told them to return and apologized for any shortcomings in receiving them. That was rather unusual for George who used to behave coarsely. His wife who saw the change in her husband's behavior, said, "Having been your wife for so long, I only know now that you can also be tender." Upon which George said that one should rejoice when seeing other people happy.

However Bill telephoned his aunt the next morning and asked if George had overheard his conversation with Jeanne. When his aunt said "no", Bill said she should apologize for him to George because the person with him the day before was not his girl friend or fiancee, but a person totally different from what George had imagined.

"Do you mean to say that she is a professional, a woman whose profession is just being a woman?" The aunt could not bring herself to ask him if the woman was a prostitute, because that would wound her own heart. The voice at the other end replied, "More or less so." "But I guarantee she is not a street hooker. She has class, for sure. It was only to take the tension off uncle. He had always put the pressure on me."

Realizing that her nephew had brought an "entertainer" to her house, her neck hair stood on end. She could only scream: "Bill!" down the telephone before she replaced the receiver. She had never imagined that some day a prostitute would come to her house. She could understand if her nephew was going steady or cohabiting with a girl. But not with a person one could buy.

It was rather difficult for her to tell her husband the news. Would he let things go just like that? Her husband obviously knew about it, but from whom? For a couple of days she watched George eat without his usual gusto and sleep only fitfully. At last she asked him. "What are you thinking of, George?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing."

"If there is nothing, why are you restless? Is it about Bill?"

"How do you know?"

"Remember, I am your wife. Of course I can read your thoughts."

"If so, try me."

"Bill, oh, I mean that woman is a ..."

Nearly at the same time, they said,

"A whore!"

The next morning George opened the door of their tool shed. It was not his habit to do so.

He seized an ax and went to the lakeshore. Like an enraged and savage buffalo he smashed the boat to smithereens.

Translated by SH.

Kuntowijoyo was born in Yogyakarta on Sept. 18, 1943 and obtained his Ph.D. in history at Columbia University, USA in 1980. He is a lecturer in the School of Letters and the School for Postgraduate Studies at Gadjah Mada University, Yogyakarta. His short story Sampan Asmara (Love Boat) appears in Pistol Perdamaian: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1996 (Pistol of Peace: An Anthology of Kompas Short Stories 1996). It is printed here courtesy of Kompas.