Maria
Maria
By AA Navis
Batang Antokan river flowed swiftly from Lake Maninjau to the
Indian Ocean. I could clearly hear the clamor it made from the
spot where I stood. During the colonels' rebellion, popularly
known as PRRI, at the end of the 1950s, many dead bodies were
thrown into this river by both sides of the warring factions. One
of them was Maria, a friend of mine.
The first time I saw her my heart whispered, "she is different
from other women". The second time, the words were "she is
special". Today I still have the same feeling for Maria.
That afternoon when I was strolling with Cok, the young woman
was coming from the opposite direction and we were on a different
side of the street.
"Look, her style is different. She looks like a newcomer
here," said Cok, nudging my waist with his elbow. I agreed with
him as I also admired her beauty.
As she was passing by I turned to get a better view of her. I
thought she was the kind of woman that everybody could not just
glance at once. Her biggest attractions were the "challenging"
gait that made her breasts shake provocatively, and her slightly
plump body.
The other pluses were her attractively curled hair, red lips
and eyebrows which looked like two crescents. But from a distance
it was her scarlet overcoat which was so prominent.
Initially, like Cok, I also believed she was a newcomer or
someone who was staying for just a couple of days. But at that
time girls who came from other towns always donned the "New
Look", a frock which hangs from shoulders to calves. But this
woman was not in that dress, and was no newcomer.
She was also tall. The second time I saw her was at a movie
theater. My eyes took over the job of the laser technology to
search for her distinct beauty. "Look, she is really unlike other
girls," I told Cok, who was with me at the time.
The crowd who rushed out of the theater gave way while staring
at her. I was under the impression that Maria was very much aware
that she was the center of public attention. She walked as though
thrusting out her breasts.
Some young men tried to act as if they were unintentionally
brushing against her, or preened and strutted like a male turkey
courting its female.
I did not remember how I and Cok developed a friendship with
her. I was also curious myself as to why we were attracted to
her. Imagining myself a sculptor, I wanted to make her a model of
a beautiful woman. From her face I saw no qualifications for a
model. Her nose? Nothing special. Her lips could not even hide
her protruding teeth. Her jaw was rather square and her skin
would never be mentioned by a novelist writing about romantic
beauty.
Her full name was Maria Yusran. The surname was in fact a
combination of her father's and mother's names. Although just 23
years old, she always claimed to be a mature woman.
Before I knew her better, I used to think she was mischievous.
I got the impression from her own statements, saying she did not
hesitate to do what were considered taboo for other women; she
did not want to do what was believed to be specifically women's
tasks. But the lists did not include house cleaning and cooking.
"I want my house and garden clean. But don't take keeping
everything clean and cooking as special jobs for women," Maria
said when we discussed husbands and wives obligations at home and
outside.
"Men and women are only different biologically, not socially,"
she added.
I refrained from saying anything, although I believed it was
the biological differences that distinguished social jobs between
the two sexes. Even in our region of the Minangkabau in West
Sumatra, where women and men shared equal rights, household tasks
were the responsibility of women. Only henpecked husbands were
willing to do the household chores.
"After you," she would say every time people opened the door
for her. "Such gallantry is already outdated," Maria said,
arguing it was a product of a culture in which women were
regarded as the weaker sex. "I just don't like it one bit."
One day when we were climbing the slope of Merapi mountain,
she slipped and fell. But she refused the help we offered.
"If a woman has a mishap, every man offers his helping hand,
but when a man experienced the same, other men did nothing to
help him," she added.
"Yes, it is too much," I said. "But in this custom, women have
to be blamed. They just remain idle when someone -- male or
female -- has an accident because they believe it is the men's
duty to help the unfortunate."
Maria was reluctant to agree with my statement. Usually when
she felt insulted she would beat the person, but this time she
remained impassive.
However, when she got involved in serious discussions she sat
upright with face lifted, eyes burning bright and lips
protruding, and her laughter sounded different. But it was
melodious to others' ears.
During our friendship, I failed to dig up further her plann
for the future, be it career, marriage, the ideal husband or the
number of children she wanted.
I had the impression that she did not want to discuss anything
about her past or future. For her, if today is Wednesday,
yesterday was also Wednesday, and so was tomorrow.
One day I found her depressed at home. She was sitting with
her hand supporting her chin, looking straight ahead. She did not
pay attention to my presence and answered all my questions
curtly.
I did not believe she was disturbed by my visit. She seemed to
be in need of someone to talk to. That was why I waited patiently
until the ice melted.
Maria worked at an office, which had never previously employed
any female employees. But in what looked like a desire to change
with the times, the office recently accepted three young women.
The new secretary to the director was Rita. There was also Delly,
secretary to the deputy director while Maria was assigned to the
general staff.
Maria and Delly developed a close friendship. They went to
work and returned home together. Later, they also shared the same
room in a boarding house. At the office, they were also closely
involved because the workload was too little and there were too
many employees.
For Maria, working with so many male employees was not
pleasant. She said mixing with men of the same age was just like
being with the feeble minded, while being close to elders was
nothing different from hearing dirty jokes everyday.
If you keep a distance from them they would connect you with
many negative things. But Maria had taken all this with no hard
feelings. Sometimes she told her experiences of the day just like
cracking a joke.
Sometimes she had to accompany her boss to out of town for an
assignment, occasionally with a driver but sometimes just the two
of them. During the journeys the boss always behaved like a
responsible father to his daughter.
But as time passed, especially when they were alone in the
car, he slowly changed and lately behaved like a sugar daddy, his
hand wandering to different parts of her body.
Initially, Maria said she had zero tolerance for the boss's
unwanted sexual attention. But all she could do was scold him not
to go further.
"It is not easy to have deal with such a naughty boss," she
said.
The boss did not stop his behavior.
Returning from a trip one night, Maria also had to worry about
the presence of the driver.
"On the way home the old man did try to kiss me," she said.
"He must have thought that I would not scream because I would be
ashamed in front of the driver. "I did not scream, but I did
scratch him with my long fingernails."
Maria said the boss moaned in pain but did not cry for help.
While the driver seemed unaware of what was happening, the boss
stopped grabbing her.
On the following day when they met at the office, he did not
show any emotion. "If all women here acted like cats everything
would be under control," he said.
Maria had no regrets working at the office. Nor did she blame
Delly's boss, who behaved as badly to that friend of hers. But
Delly's reaction was different. She did not scratch the boss's
face, she threatened to report his harassment to his wife. The
boss stopped right there.
Maria told me that she hated the general belief that female
employees were tolerant of sexual harassment in the office.
"Why do the male bosses believe they have to wield their
sexual power? Don't male and female employees have equal rights
because both are paid by the government? Why don't men look at
women from a social point of view?
"Falling in love among them is normal but sexual abuse is
another thing," she would say.
Meanwhile, Delly was pregnant, Maria said in answering my
question why she had looked sad that day.
"I'm let down. I'm terribly disappointed by Delly and her
boss. She had always claimed nothing happened between her and
Tajak," she said.
Although Maria and Delly shared the same room, she was shocked
to hear that her friend was six months' pregnant.
Maria felt she had been cheated by Delly. But, for her it was
nothing. She only regretted Delly's position. "If she was in love
with the boss why she had not asked him to marry her? And if the
man really loved her why he should have abused her?" Maria said.
I was no less surprised to hear Maria's story. But I remained
indifferent. Maria said that she felt very bitter at Tajak's
answer to her question about the possible marriage between him
and Delly.
"I really have no reason to marry Delly, but her condition has
forced me to think about it," Maria quoted Tajak as saying. Tajak
had only planned to keep Delly as his mistress if she had not
fallen pregnant.
"That guy is a real bastard," she said.
I asked Maria why Delly had waited for six months to reach the
decision, and she replied they had planned an abortion but to no
avail. So now they were talking about marriage.
"Just imagine if she had the abortion and it killed Delly,
what Tajak would do? I'm disgusted," Maria said.
"If women did not show positive signals to men's advances or
did not flirt nothing would happen," I said.
Maria was irked. "Men always put the blame on women, as if we
have demolished the whole world, we have been the root of corrupt
practices in the bureaucracy, have pushed men into sexual
scandals, have breached all people's trust," she said.
She also said that men had always claimed that women were
synonymous with vices -- gambling, drunkenness, drug abuse and
theft.
"Men, including you," she said, "have also said that they are
polygamist by nature."
Now, Maria added, no men would take care of Delly's heartache
after she had been seduced and abused by the boss. "To talk about
this matter makes me sick," she said.
I told Maria that our culture had been created by men to try
to calm her down. Men are biologically much stronger than women.
That is why all norms and laws have been made from the male point
of view and for men's interests.
I added that although there were so many laws that gave equal
rights to women, women had been treated as subordinates to men
and not as their partners in their implementation.
"Stop giving me a sermon," she said with fire in her eyes.
Maria and my friend Cok got married after a two-year
relationship. Several days before the wedding day, Maria told me
with her cheerful countenance:"Do you remember when we started to
know each other? I enlisted you and Cok as candidates for my
husband.
"But at last I dropped you because Cok had the courage to give
me instructions. Do you remember at another meeting one day? The
room where we met was so dirty and Cok showed me a broom to clean
it. Do you remember that?"
"But it never came to my mind that an emancipated woman like
you still needed a man to give her instructions," I said, and my
comment upset her.
According to a story of a friend, Cok was detained one day for
his alleged involvement in the rebellion, and one week later was
imprisoned. Apparently, he grew a beard and looked like Fidel
Castro of Cuba.
In jail he was interrogated and tortured before he was taken
to this river for execution.
Maria, who did not want to be separated from Cok, hugged him
closely when he was about to be shot. During the war, nobody
wanted to use rational or healthy thinking.
When the gun went off, Maria and Cok died instantly and their
bodies tumbled into the fast-flowing river
"Nobody knows whether their bodies were found or not," said
Johor, my friend who told me the story.
I pondered their deaths at the Antokan river for a long time.
I asked myself why people had the heart to kill someone in a
civil war who had surrendered after losing another war.
Translated by TIS
The author was born in Padang Panjang, West Sumatra, on Nov.
17, 1924. He started his career during World War II in sculpture,
painting and music, but finally focused his activities on poetry
and radio drama.
He later worked in the Department of Arts, Ministry of
Education and Culture. His short stories have been published in
Robohnyya Surau Kami (The Fall of Our Prayer House) in 1963,
Bianglala (Rainbow) in 1963 and Hujan Panas (Hot Rain) in 1963.
He also wrote Kemarau (Dry Season), a novel in 1967, and
Saraswati Dalam Sunyi (Saraswati in Loneliness) in 1970, for
which he won a UNESCO/IKAPI award. Some of his short stories have
been translated into foreign languages.
The short story Maria appears in Anjing-anjing Menyerbu
Kuburan: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1997 (Dogs Raiding A Grave: Kompas
Selected Short Stories 1997). It is printed here courtesy of
Kompas.
By AA Navis
Batang Antokan river flowed swiftly from Lake Maninjau to the
Indian Ocean. I could clearly hear the clamor it made from the
spot where I stood. During the colonels' rebellion, popularly
known as PRRI, at the end of the 1950s, many dead bodies were
thrown into this river by both sides of the warring factions. One
of them was Maria, a friend of mine.
The first time I saw her my heart whispered, "she is different
from other women". The second time, the words were "she is
special". Today I still have the same feeling for Maria.
That afternoon when I was strolling with Cok, the young woman
was coming from the opposite direction and we were on a different
side of the street.
"Look, her style is different. She looks like a newcomer
here," said Cok, nudging my waist with his elbow. I agreed with
him as I also admired her beauty.
As she was passing by I turned to get a better view of her. I
thought she was the kind of woman that everybody could not just
glance at once. Her biggest attractions were the "challenging"
gait that made her breasts shake provocatively, and her slightly
plump body.
The other pluses were her attractively curled hair, red lips
and eyebrows which looked like two crescents. But from a distance
it was her scarlet overcoat which was so prominent.
Initially, like Cok, I also believed she was a newcomer or
someone who was staying for just a couple of days. But at that
time girls who came from other towns always donned the "New
Look", a frock which hangs from shoulders to calves. But this
woman was not in that dress, and was no newcomer.
She was also tall. The second time I saw her was at a movie
theater. My eyes took over the job of the laser technology to
search for her distinct beauty. "Look, she is really unlike other
girls," I told Cok, who was with me at the time.
The crowd who rushed out of the theater gave way while staring
at her. I was under the impression that Maria was very much aware
that she was the center of public attention. She walked as though
thrusting out her breasts.
Some young men tried to act as if they were unintentionally
brushing against her, or preened and strutted like a male turkey
courting its female.
I did not remember how I and Cok developed a friendship with
her. I was also curious myself as to why we were attracted to
her. Imagining myself a sculptor, I wanted to make her a model of
a beautiful woman. From her face I saw no qualifications for a
model. Her nose? Nothing special. Her lips could not even hide
her protruding teeth. Her jaw was rather square and her skin
would never be mentioned by a novelist writing about romantic
beauty.
Her full name was Maria Yusran. The surname was in fact a
combination of her father's and mother's names. Although just 23
years old, she always claimed to be a mature woman.
Before I knew her better, I used to think she was mischievous.
I got the impression from her own statements, saying she did not
hesitate to do what were considered taboo for other women; she
did not want to do what was believed to be specifically women's
tasks. But the lists did not include house cleaning and cooking.
"I want my house and garden clean. But don't take keeping
everything clean and cooking as special jobs for women," Maria
said when we discussed husbands and wives obligations at home and
outside.
"Men and women are only different biologically, not socially,"
she added.
I refrained from saying anything, although I believed it was
the biological differences that distinguished social jobs between
the two sexes. Even in our region of the Minangkabau in West
Sumatra, where women and men shared equal rights, household tasks
were the responsibility of women. Only henpecked husbands were
willing to do the household chores.
"After you," she would say every time people opened the door
for her. "Such gallantry is already outdated," Maria said,
arguing it was a product of a culture in which women were
regarded as the weaker sex. "I just don't like it one bit."
One day when we were climbing the slope of Merapi mountain,
she slipped and fell. But she refused the help we offered.
"If a woman has a mishap, every man offers his helping hand,
but when a man experienced the same, other men did nothing to
help him," she added.
"Yes, it is too much," I said. "But in this custom, women have
to be blamed. They just remain idle when someone -- male or
female -- has an accident because they believe it is the men's
duty to help the unfortunate."
Maria was reluctant to agree with my statement. Usually when
she felt insulted she would beat the person, but this time she
remained impassive.
However, when she got involved in serious discussions she sat
upright with face lifted, eyes burning bright and lips
protruding, and her laughter sounded different. But it was
melodious to others' ears.
During our friendship, I failed to dig up further her plann
for the future, be it career, marriage, the ideal husband or the
number of children she wanted.
I had the impression that she did not want to discuss anything
about her past or future. For her, if today is Wednesday,
yesterday was also Wednesday, and so was tomorrow.
One day I found her depressed at home. She was sitting with
her hand supporting her chin, looking straight ahead. She did not
pay attention to my presence and answered all my questions
curtly.
I did not believe she was disturbed by my visit. She seemed to
be in need of someone to talk to. That was why I waited patiently
until the ice melted.
Maria worked at an office, which had never previously employed
any female employees. But in what looked like a desire to change
with the times, the office recently accepted three young women.
The new secretary to the director was Rita. There was also Delly,
secretary to the deputy director while Maria was assigned to the
general staff.
Maria and Delly developed a close friendship. They went to
work and returned home together. Later, they also shared the same
room in a boarding house. At the office, they were also closely
involved because the workload was too little and there were too
many employees.
For Maria, working with so many male employees was not
pleasant. She said mixing with men of the same age was just like
being with the feeble minded, while being close to elders was
nothing different from hearing dirty jokes everyday.
If you keep a distance from them they would connect you with
many negative things. But Maria had taken all this with no hard
feelings. Sometimes she told her experiences of the day just like
cracking a joke.
Sometimes she had to accompany her boss to out of town for an
assignment, occasionally with a driver but sometimes just the two
of them. During the journeys the boss always behaved like a
responsible father to his daughter.
But as time passed, especially when they were alone in the
car, he slowly changed and lately behaved like a sugar daddy, his
hand wandering to different parts of her body.
Initially, Maria said she had zero tolerance for the boss's
unwanted sexual attention. But all she could do was scold him not
to go further.
"It is not easy to have deal with such a naughty boss," she
said.
The boss did not stop his behavior.
Returning from a trip one night, Maria also had to worry about
the presence of the driver.
"On the way home the old man did try to kiss me," she said.
"He must have thought that I would not scream because I would be
ashamed in front of the driver. "I did not scream, but I did
scratch him with my long fingernails."
Maria said the boss moaned in pain but did not cry for help.
While the driver seemed unaware of what was happening, the boss
stopped grabbing her.
On the following day when they met at the office, he did not
show any emotion. "If all women here acted like cats everything
would be under control," he said.
Maria had no regrets working at the office. Nor did she blame
Delly's boss, who behaved as badly to that friend of hers. But
Delly's reaction was different. She did not scratch the boss's
face, she threatened to report his harassment to his wife. The
boss stopped right there.
Maria told me that she hated the general belief that female
employees were tolerant of sexual harassment in the office.
"Why do the male bosses believe they have to wield their
sexual power? Don't male and female employees have equal rights
because both are paid by the government? Why don't men look at
women from a social point of view?
"Falling in love among them is normal but sexual abuse is
another thing," she would say.
Meanwhile, Delly was pregnant, Maria said in answering my
question why she had looked sad that day.
"I'm let down. I'm terribly disappointed by Delly and her
boss. She had always claimed nothing happened between her and
Tajak," she said.
Although Maria and Delly shared the same room, she was shocked
to hear that her friend was six months' pregnant.
Maria felt she had been cheated by Delly. But, for her it was
nothing. She only regretted Delly's position. "If she was in love
with the boss why she had not asked him to marry her? And if the
man really loved her why he should have abused her?" Maria said.
I was no less surprised to hear Maria's story. But I remained
indifferent. Maria said that she felt very bitter at Tajak's
answer to her question about the possible marriage between him
and Delly.
"I really have no reason to marry Delly, but her condition has
forced me to think about it," Maria quoted Tajak as saying. Tajak
had only planned to keep Delly as his mistress if she had not
fallen pregnant.
"That guy is a real bastard," she said.
I asked Maria why Delly had waited for six months to reach the
decision, and she replied they had planned an abortion but to no
avail. So now they were talking about marriage.
"Just imagine if she had the abortion and it killed Delly,
what Tajak would do? I'm disgusted," Maria said.
"If women did not show positive signals to men's advances or
did not flirt nothing would happen," I said.
Maria was irked. "Men always put the blame on women, as if we
have demolished the whole world, we have been the root of corrupt
practices in the bureaucracy, have pushed men into sexual
scandals, have breached all people's trust," she said.
She also said that men had always claimed that women were
synonymous with vices -- gambling, drunkenness, drug abuse and
theft.
"Men, including you," she said, "have also said that they are
polygamist by nature."
Now, Maria added, no men would take care of Delly's heartache
after she had been seduced and abused by the boss. "To talk about
this matter makes me sick," she said.
I told Maria that our culture had been created by men to try
to calm her down. Men are biologically much stronger than women.
That is why all norms and laws have been made from the male point
of view and for men's interests.
I added that although there were so many laws that gave equal
rights to women, women had been treated as subordinates to men
and not as their partners in their implementation.
"Stop giving me a sermon," she said with fire in her eyes.
Maria and my friend Cok got married after a two-year
relationship. Several days before the wedding day, Maria told me
with her cheerful countenance:"Do you remember when we started to
know each other? I enlisted you and Cok as candidates for my
husband.
"But at last I dropped you because Cok had the courage to give
me instructions. Do you remember at another meeting one day? The
room where we met was so dirty and Cok showed me a broom to clean
it. Do you remember that?"
"But it never came to my mind that an emancipated woman like
you still needed a man to give her instructions," I said, and my
comment upset her.
According to a story of a friend, Cok was detained one day for
his alleged involvement in the rebellion, and one week later was
imprisoned. Apparently, he grew a beard and looked like Fidel
Castro of Cuba.
In jail he was interrogated and tortured before he was taken
to this river for execution.
Maria, who did not want to be separated from Cok, hugged him
closely when he was about to be shot. During the war, nobody
wanted to use rational or healthy thinking.
When the gun went off, Maria and Cok died instantly and their
bodies tumbled into the fast-flowing river
"Nobody knows whether their bodies were found or not," said
Johor, my friend who told me the story.
I pondered their deaths at the Antokan river for a long time.
I asked myself why people had the heart to kill someone in a
civil war who had surrendered after losing another war.
Translated by TIS
The author was born in Padang Panjang, West Sumatra, on Nov.
17, 1924. He started his career during World War II in sculpture,
painting and music, but finally focused his activities on poetry
and radio drama.
He later worked in the Department of Arts, Ministry of
Education and Culture. His short stories have been published in
Robohnyya Surau Kami (The Fall of Our Prayer House) in 1963,
Bianglala (Rainbow) in 1963 and Hujan Panas (Hot Rain) in 1963.
He also wrote Kemarau (Dry Season), a novel in 1967, and
Saraswati Dalam Sunyi (Saraswati in Loneliness) in 1970, for
which he won a UNESCO/IKAPI award. Some of his short stories have
been translated into foreign languages.
The short story Maria appears in Anjing-anjing Menyerbu
Kuburan: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1997 (Dogs Raiding A Grave: Kompas
Selected Short Stories 1997). It is printed here courtesy of
Kompas.