Matias Akankari

Matias Akankari

By Gerson Poyk

It was a parachutist who produced Matias Akankari from the
jungles of Irian Jaya. In the dead of night he jumped and fell
back to earth and had come to rest, dangling from the branches of
a tall tree. With great effort on his part he managed to
extricate himself. Then he rested. And, upon regaining his
strength, he set out on foot to find his companions. Before
finding them however, he met up with a young Irian male called
Matias Akankari.

Matias had taken ill and the parachutist administered some
medicine whose therapeutic effect soon had Matias back on his
feet again. But this did nothing to quell the parachutist's
dismay when he realized that the young native was wholly
incapable of speaking Indonesian. Yet it was this Matias who
turned out to be an extremely dependable guide and who guaranteed
the parachutist's safe return to Jakarta.

Unlike the other boys from Jakarta who had also done Irian
service, the parachutist returned to Jakarta without a
television, an icebox or the other requisites for luxurious
living left behind by the Dutch in their former colony. No, this
parachutist brought back to Jakarta, Matias. Matias who had been
his boon companion through all sorts of trails and tribulations
and whose friendship he could not forget.

But keeping Matias proved to be more expensive than
maintaining an inanimate luxury item. Three plates of food a
sitting, a daily total of nine plates of food, was going down
that alimentary canal. The parachutist grew alarmed. As a soldier
on soldier's pay, how would he be able to keep up with such a
rich diet?

But the parachutist was blessed with a nimble mind. He dressed
Matias in expensive haberdashery he had purchased in Irian: a
wool suit, dress shirt, tie and pinching shoes of foreign
manufacture. Then he and Matias rode off in a borrowed jeep
towards the bustling center of the city.

Newly come to town, this being the third day of his sojourn in
the capital city, Matias was agog, amazed by the brilliant neon-
light show, astonished by the height and number of buildings.
What's more, he was dismayed by the forest of human beings.
Nobody looked like him. His eyes blinked furiously and his head
twisted back and forth, left and right, as he tried to capture
all that was the urban marvel scattering in the wake of the
swiftly-moving Soviet made Gaza jeep.

Finally, they arrived at the Senen shopping district. The
parachutist took Matias to a movie theater. There for the first
time in his life, Matias was going to see a film. A new
experience; he focused all his powers of concentration on the
movie screen. Thus when a certain parachutist casually made his
exit, Matias was so engrossed he did not sense the deed.

"I want to see something," the parachutist said to a fellow
parachutist who was outside the theater, waiting to see the same
film. "I left Matias Akankari in there to watch the movie by
himself. I want to see just how a primitive makes out in this
city. Who knows? Maybe I can make some money from a book about
him," the man boasted to his peer before jumping into his jeep
and zooming off.

The film ended and Matias opened his eyes wide to engage in
his surroundings. His heartbeat quickened, yet he did not utter a
sound because he could not speak Indonesian. His means of
expression was his eyes. They stood out, red against the
blackness of his skin, rolling in their sockets as he scanned the
jostling mass of bodies for his friend. It was hopeless. He let
himself drift with the current of humanity moving out of the
theater.

Outside, his heartbeat quickened, the parachutist, the sole
mainstay of his urban existence, who he had encountered in his
friendly green jungle, had vanished. And now Matias was by
himself, alone, in the middle of a forest of tall lamps, jostling
human bodies, a jangling forest full of the commotion made by the
whirling wheels of automobiles and pedicabs. His present
surroundings could not compare to his own jungle's hospitable
tranquility. He drifted along, a lone sojourner.

Suddenly Matias heard the sound of a loudspeaker. Ah, a thing
he had seen in West Irian on the occasions of visiting
dignitaries from Jakarta. The thing cackled fiercely. A pity
though that he could not understand what it was communicating.
That he drew closer to this dissonance was simply in response to
the memories of a remote jungle village where people similar to
himself would have drawn together around this sound-giver in
order to listen to their own lovely language. But the people
around him now were unlike him, and their language was not his
own.

For a view of the speech-giver, he nudged his way slowly into
the center of the human crush. He is sure to be a companion to
the people who come to Irian, Matias said to himself in his own
language. But in his present straits, sound was useless. What he
really needed was someone who would lead him to a home. Oh, to go
home, to be under a roof, to have place to sleep and food
prepared for him to eat ... These were the things only a
protector could guarantee.

Implausibly hopeful of such a desirable fate, Matias
anticipated a helping hand. And a helping hand did condescend. A
soft and friendly creature came to his aid. She spoke to him and
an alluring expression on her face made his heart beat joyfully.
This invitation, for that it was, was followed by a flip of the
pointed hand. A pedicab pulled up, and he and this gentle
creature left for yet another unknown part of the city.

Upon entering the sleeping quarters of this feminine creature,
Matias was immediately entwined and made one with her small body.
Big and strong as he was, he was overwhelmed by her power and
could not do otherwise since he was the one in need of a friend
or a house, or even better yet a small island giving safe harbor.
It was finally his. He rejoiced to pass the night sleeping next
to this woman who was so kind to him. He woke early the next day.
Food and drink were ready on a bedside table.

After breakfast, he was entwined and overpowered again. But
there had to be limits to this sort of human activity which
Matias had never experienced before; and once it was reached,
another form of play ensued. Sitting face to face with this
woman, Matias was treated to a pantomime. His jaw slack, his
mouth agape, he watched her go through a set of motions for an
inordinate length of time. Only when she thrust a handful of
paper at him and jabbed her forefinger at his breast and then
stabbed herself in her breast with the same forefinger did he
finally grasp her intent.

Matias wagged his hand and shook his head to signify that he
was not in possession of such papers. The constricting
habiliments he wore were the only things he had. So the woman
clutched his jacket and pointed her finger at her breast. Matias
understood the significance of this gesture. He took off his
jacket and handed it to the woman. Whereupon the soft petite
creature turned crude and rude. She pulled him over to the door,
shoved him out as hard as she could and slammed the door shut.
Apparently it was time for her to rest.

Matias turned his body to the left then to the right. There
was nobody that he knew. He had been thrown back into the
wilderness that was not friendly like his Irian jungle.

He began to walk, a remarkable thing to do in city where
walking for several hours just to walk would be a feat in itself
for people used to getting through life on a set of wheels. But
it was nothing for Matias; in his own, friendly, jungle he was
used to walks lasting for days.

Matias continued his sojourn, and by the by he found himself
at the great church just as evening was approaching. No other
path seemed open to him except this one leading to the
expurgation of the sin that he had unintentionally committed with
that woman the night before. He entered the church to pray for
Christ's forgiveness. It was dark when he came out so he sat down
on the church steps and reminisced about his village.

Once on another island, so far away from him now, he went to
church naked but for his penis-sheath. He belonged to the choir,
and the choir would stand before the missionary in a happy jostle
and sing. He had joined the choir as a small boy. Few of its
members could read or write, but church songs the world over are
easy to learn by heart. It was during one of their musical
offerings that Matias performed the unpardonable act that had
gotten him expelled from the sheath-clad choir. Matias was at the
head of the choir and, swept away by the melody of the hymn, he
pulled off his penis-sheath and began to wield it as if it were a
pendant flute. Avidly the congregation listened to this novel
form of accompaniment before collapsing in a fit of merriment.
The worshipful spirit had been destroyed. Matias was reprimanded
by the missionary and inveighed against by the other members of
the choir. He was kicked out of the choir. Nevertheless, he liked
to keep his penis-sheath with him at all times. Wherever he went
so did it. Presently he reached inside his shirt, took it out,
and began to blow into it softly and gently.

Darkness progressed yet Matias could see, in the distance, a
bobbing figure coming his way. He observed the growing shape more
carefully; it was a young man with a portfolio in his hand. As
the figure grew closer, Matias discerned the reason behind the
man's curious gait; the soles of this person's shoes had come
lose, thus compelling the man to lift each leg up high before
setting it down before him. Yet hampered as he was, this man had
come to church. The man went in. After a while he came back out.

"This church is always open; it's different from the other
churches in this city," the young man commented as he sat down
next to Matias. Although he was carrying a portfolio, his clothes
would have been better consigned to the ragpicker. Matias on the
other hand was turned out in the best sort of haberdashery: an
imported long-sleeved dress-shirt, a tie and woolen trousers

Matias did not understand a word, but the young man did not
know this and kept on talking. "I'm so tired. I walked all over
the city today and now the soles of my shoes are flapping like
lizards' tongues. I have a college degree but I can't find myself
a job," he said as he tried to clamp the shifty lizard-tongues
shut.

Matias observed him. Then he took off his shoes and proffered
them to this unemployed college graduate. "These shoes do torture
me," Matias declared in native elocution. "No shoes did I wear in
the great jungle, even there, where many thorny and prickly
plants grow among the trees. My feet bled not. Yet these shoes do
now make my feet bleed. Here, take them away from me."

To the young man's ears, Matias' words were gibberish, but
with his eyes he came to understand that a new pair of shoes were
being transferred to his feet.

From the church stoop, the two men walked to Banteng Field.
Wordlessly they laid themselves down to sleep under the colossal
statue there of another young Irian male but who had been caught
for posterity's sake in the act of breaking free the shackles on
his wrists. They slept soundly.

The college graduate woke early the next morning but was
afraid to wake Matias. If he were to do so he would be obliged to
keep him by. What a pair they'd make. They would create a
sensation wherever they went. So in manner of leave-taking, he
slipped a letter into Matias' shirt pocket.

When Matias woke up, his friend was not there. He noticed that
he had a piece of paper on his person. He turned the piece of
paper this way and that, but could make nothing of it since he
was an unlettered man. He crumpled it up and threw it as far away
as he could, then returned to his sleep on the cold marble tiles.
Gusts of wind crossing Banteng Field feathered and chilled him in
his sleep.

When he next woke, Matias found that the day had turned to
night. Hunger reigned in his belly, but he could still walk.

He passed into an area full of homeless beggars. In this place
he came upon a woman pregnant and lying on a heap of paper
refuse. She was about to give birth. He remembered how the
Christ-child was born over a pile of straw and was swaddled in
rags. Now here was another Christ-child coming into the world but
over a pile of refuse. It started to rain as the woman waited
phlegmatically for her child to come out. She was fortunate; she
had a piece of plastic which she then draped over herself. That
was her roof; beneath her was still paper.

Matias peeled off the clothes which were binding him and gave
them to this woman who was about to bring forth a child into the
world. "Thank you, thank you...," she said to Matias who had
returned to his original dress. His penis-sheath was back in
place. In this manner he waited on her. The rain, coming down
harder and harder, turned into a deluge. But he waited until she
came out of labor. Then he could do no more for her. He resumed
his walk under the heavy downpour.

And that is how he arrived at the city's greatest
thoroughfare, Thamrin Boulevard, barricaded on both sides by tall
multi-layered buildings. The boulevard led him nearer and nearer
to Hotel Indonesia. His wonderment grew over the host of
automobiles that were beginning to collect about him. Even though
it was raining these speeding vehicles had to slow down and some
of them even stopped for a closer look at him. One of the
automobiles contained a dark-colored man, a man like himself, who
was wearing a suit and sitting next to a beautiful girl. As the
automobile came to a stop its passenger turned to look at him.
Matias found himself staring back at a person who was like
himself. He sprung onto the rear of the automobile and clung on.
The automobile roared forwards but to no avail. Matias had a good
grip on it. The automobile rushed into the drive of Hotel
Indonesia and stopped under the porte cochere where it disgorged
the dark-skinned man. Matias had guessed wrong. The man was not
one of his own people. The man was an American negro.

A host of uniformed men appeared. Their bodily motions and
circling tactics told Matias that they were intending to capture
him. He ran back into the pelting rain. Maybe because they were
afraid to get wet, the groups of uniformed men gave up the chase.

Matias had escaped but then he sensed that he was still being
pursued. Indeed, a man in a raincoat was now running after him.
So like an arrow zinging away from a taut bow, Matias ran faster
down the great boulevard until he found himself before one of the
great multi-layered buildings. He dashed inside, sighted the
small narrow room open to him, and spurted in. The room closed
shut, and when its doors opened, another room slid into view.
This room was cavernous but dimly lit except for the far end
where there was an illuminated platform and a group of women
dancing on it. They wore body-covering exactly they way he did
except theirs were not of the prominent sort. They were doing a
wonderful new interpretation of the dances of his own village. He
relished that. Matias step-hopped to the stage, just as he was,
in his penis-sheath, and joined the women in their dance. The
sound of applause rose from the shadows.

With that episode, his sojourn drew to a close. The city
dailies featured the story of how Matias was recovered by his
benefactor, the parachutist. Intended in the only way it possibly
could, serendipituously. In fact, Matias was given a goodly sum
of money. With this he was able to secure a return back to his
beloved village.

At home they all wanted to hear his story. And he told them
that in Jakarta, the "high class" was replicating what they, in
Irian, already had. Folks just like to wear penis-sheath.

Translated by Mary Lou Wang

Born in Namodale, Roti, Timor, in 1931, Gerson Poyk is one of
Indonesia's prolific writers. The short story Matias Akankari was
first published by Balai Pustaka in 1975. The English translation
first appeared in Menagerie I and is published here with courtesy
of The Lontar Foundation.