My wife's driver

By A.D. Donggo

Parlin's letter arrived three days ago. Parlin and I were friends 30 years ago. We have never met since. I was anxious. Imagine, 30 years! Since then so many things have happened, both happy and sad, in lives of the community as well as the lives of those in power. Nothing is eternal in the world, only God's power is.

Parlin wrote that he got my address from our common friend, Richard, who called on him while he was traveling. Neither Parlin nor I had met Richard in the last 30 years. In reading Parlin's letter images of events of 30 years ago came to my mind. The three of us and a few other friends formed a small dot in memories of the past. A time when old values were deemed misleading were destroyed, and replaced by values bringing new truths. The change of values did not always go smoothly. That is an undeniable law. The three of us and our friends were people who lost the fight to defend the truth according to our convictions.

Thirty years ago we three were reporters for a daily newspaper in Jakarta. What could be said? Disaster struck. In the shifting of values our newspaper was closed down. Some people took it in their stride, because in the change of power in every country there are always victims. Others, however, had difficulty in accepting that reality. They grumbled, looking for scapegoats, blaming everyone. Why did one not fight to defend one's convictions? Why did one give up and become a coward?

In such circumstances some people suffered serious traumas and went crazy - victims of shifting of values or power. We three tried to understand the circumstances. We succeeded. We were not shaken. We endeavored to look to the future and not to bemoan the past.

After the demise of the newspaper, we were unemployed, of course. We did not try to apply for jobs as journalists with the newspapers which supported the new truth because we were aware that we were on the losing side and we were not popular. For some time we remained idle in Jakarta. Parlin chose to return to his village in North Sumatra. I stayed in Jakarta, between jobs, sometimes without meals. Richard, a talented poet, just disappeared. He was probably detained. He might have opted to wander aimlessly. I was hoping at the time to come across his poems in magazines or newspapers if he was still writing. Later I realized the impossibility of newspapers or magazines publishing his poetry. I was most surprised he knew my address to give it to Parlin on his long journey. A journey to where? The poet seemed to build mystery around himself.

In his letter Parlin related his experiences of returning to his village 30 years ago. What most hurt him was the accusation that he was a member of a banned party and had fled from Jakarta seeking refuge in his village. One can guess what happened to a suspect at that time. He was beaten black and blue. He was imprisoned. There was no guarantee he would live. Everything was uncontrollable. Circumstances supported the actions taking place. Nobody could be blamed. Yes, circumstances were to blame.

Parlin was interrogated through the day and night. He was a mess. He was mainly accused of being a member of a banned party. There was no proof. A former senior high school classmate who went into the army came to his rescue. The friend was assigned to the area around Parlin's village. He was quite courageous, acting as guarantor for Parlin, stating that the latter was not a member of the banned party but of another party which was not prohibited. In their student days, he was a member of the party's student organization.

Initially the investigators did not believe the friend's testimony. He was threatened and asked whether he dared to use his rank as a wager if his information was not correct and Parlin proved to be a member of the banned party. The friend said firmly that he would take responsibility.

Parlin could not believe his friend's courage. To defend somebody else? Impossible at the time. People dared to lie and betrayed their conscience by saying that they did not know somebody close to them. Even a wife acted as if she did not know the man who was actually her husband. For one's own safety one was willing to become a hypocrite and to betray friends. Those were the circumstances.

Thanks to his friend, Parlin was finally cleared of all accusations. He was indeed not a man who deserved to be suspected. Then, what was he going to do? A question difficult to answer at the time. To become a reporter or to write was certainly not possible. Neither newspaper nor magazine would accept him. Using a pen name? His conscience would not let him. He was not a thief. And he was never taught to do things covertly. That was his conviction.

And then? What work could he do? His parents owned a vegetable garden which was not big, but its yield was sufficient to meet the family's needs. Five children. Parlin was the eldest. The vegetable crops helped him to finish social studies at a university in Jakarta.

There was no other way; Parlin decided to become a vegetable grower. That was the work open to him at the time. When he relayed his decision to his father, his father remained silent for some time.

"No," his father said, "you cannot become a farmer."

"I must. I may need time to adapt myself."

"Look for other work that is in accordance with your education," his father insisted.

"It is not possible. At the moment all roads are closed."

"But you have not tried."

"I'd better not try, because it will be useless."

It was not that his father did not understand Parlin's position in the circumstances. He just wanted to find out his son's reaction. He complied with Parlin's request, albeit half- heartedly. His father had hoped that Parlin would become a community leader in accordance with his education. What could be said; the shifting of circumstances foiled all hopes. He was disappointed but it did not take him long to overcome the feeling. He was most understanding in accepting his son's return.

After three years, Parlin had become a fully-fledged vegetable grower. There had been no significant obstacles. His physical condition matched his determination perfectly. After some time things started happening. He tried to dissuade vegetable brokers from acting at will in pricing the produce. He convinced the farmers that to sell their produce to middlemen long in advance of the harvest was very disadvantageous. Because the farmers were burdened with debts, it was not they who determined prices but the middlemen. This situation had been known for a long time. His father admitted the undesirable situation. The farmers were always on the weaker side.

In facing this problem Parlin could not do anything. The farmers were in great need of money for their daily needs as well as for clothes, children's school fees, and so. To obtain cash they turned to middlemen. These brokers usually lent money gladly with the view of making a profit in the future. That was the problem.

One bright morning two people went by Parlin's vegetable garden, a white man and an apparently young woman. Parlin was clearing away undergrowth and loosening the soil in his garden. The two of them approached him. Parlin ignored them. There was nothing strange in people looking at a vegetable garden. They were usually curious or acted as tourists. Their purpose, however, was often not known.

"I heard a long time ago that you have returned to stay," the woman said.

Parlin looked up and moved his bamboo hat, directing his glance to the place the voice came from. He was strongly surprised. He looked at the woman and tried to remember her.

"Sorry to have disturbed you," she apologized.

Parlin remained dumbfounded.

"Three years is not a long time for somebody to recognize a friend. I am Arni," the woman said.

"Arni?" Parlin could not believe it. "Arni who used to be in Jakarta?" Parlin made an effort to remember.

"Yes."

"We went our own ways," Parlin emphasized. He suddenly remembered the hectic past. The new powers struck ferociously at the old powers. Parlin finally returned defeated to his village. And that woman came here to ridicule him as a farmer?

"It's correct," the woman said.

"Why are you here? You want to make fun of me?" Parlin's said gruffly. "Why have you brought that white man with you? Is he your husband?" Parlin said, the last sentence in English because he thought the man did not understand Indonesian.

Arni and especially the white man were startled on hearing Parlin speak English. He had no idea that the vegetable grower could speak English. Apparently Arni had not explained to him who Parlin actually was.

"I am not her husband," the white man said in English because he did not speak Indonesian.

"What is the purpose of your visit?" Parlin asked. The conversation between the two men was in English.

"This lady has invited me to take a walk here. She said there is a vast vegetable garden here. And the view is magnificent," said the white man.

"Are you a tourist?"

"No. I have come to Indonesia as an observer of the development of political parties, mainly in North Sumatra."

"And this lady has been assigned to accompany you. It is agreeable."

"No. It is only temporary."

"What are your impressions?"

"I am not sure yet. Apparently one single force will emerge in Indonesia in the future."

"You mean the force which the lady has joined?" Parlin was probing.

"Apparently you understand about parties," the white man did not answer Parlin's question. "But why have you become a vegetable grower?" He wondered aloud.

"Ask this lady why," Parlin retorted.

Arni then explained who Parlin was. He was a former journalist who got eliminated during the change of power.

"Now it is clear to you, sir," Parlin said. "I am somebody who has lost and my newspaper was closed. It is not possible for me to work as a journalist again. That was my experience. Why I have turned into a vegetable grower? I think it may be interesting to you to know what really happened here," Parlin explained.

"Parlin, I ask you not to revive the past," Arni interrupted. She did not like Parlin's cynical tone. "I came here only to see you with a sincere heart. I heard a long time ago that you had returned and become a vegetable grower. We were indeed differently oriented. But as friends, though not intimate ones, I keep remembering you. I came here with this white man with no intention at all of making fun of you," said Arni.

"And you knew that I had been interrogated most severely and violently, but you had done nothing," Parlin said cynically.

"I could not have done anything."

"No. It was because you had no conscience. To hell with friendship," Parlin accused her.

"Forgive me."

Indifferently, Arni asked the white man to go, leaving Parlin to himself. The white man was flabbergasted seeing Arni's behavior. But he just followed her like a buffalo which had been tickled in the nose. Parlin eyed their departure without emotion.

Early the next morning Arni was in the vegetable garden. She seemed to take things with suppressed anger, especially because her visit yesterday had not met with any welcome from Parlin. Parlin had even resuscitated the past which she herself did not wish to recall, especially when she met with Parlin. They were indeed of different orientation, but there was another feeling surfacing from her heart when they met. Parlin never felt this.

Yesterday Parlin had even accused her of having no conscience. She understood and tried not to be hurt.

Parlin was not there when Arni arrived. She was in turmoil. She was anxious that she would not be able to see Parlin that day. She asked another farmer whether Parlin would come or not. The man assured Arni that Parlin would be there; there was no need to worry.

Indeed, from the north, Parlin was approaching. Parlin could not believe his eyes for some time. Was the woman standing in the garden Arni or somebody else? Arni was looking bright-eyed.

"I have been waiting for you for some time," Arni said trying to be intimate.

Parlin remained silent scrutinizing Arni's face.

"I have been waiting for you a long time. Did you hear me?" Arni said again, haltingly.

"And then?" Parlin asked.

"It is me. I beseech you not to revive old matters and not to throw accusations at me. I know you suffered a lot and your career was destroyed. But I have not come here as a winner. I am here as a friend, as a younger sister," Arni spoke in a trembling voice.

"Do not talk nonsense. I think everything is clear now. I am the loser; you are the winner. You have a good position now. That is only fitting for somebody who has worked so hard to join in the destruction of the old values," Parlin reminded her.

"I ask you not to talk that way. Don't bear a grudge."

"No, I have no grudge. It is the reality. You have come to trap me. You coax me by pretending to love me. Then, I give in to your wishes. That's your aim," Parlin said rudely.

"You are cruel," Arni nearly shouted. She was stunned but said: "It was a mistake on my part to give you more attention. But you should know that I was truly sincere," she said in a different voice.

She was about to leave Parlin. She hoped he would prevent her from going. In fact he did just that.

"Listen," said Parlin, "I have never been afraid. You came yesterday to check if I was really here or not. Report to whoever that I am here seeking safety. I pretend to be a farmer. Please leave this place. Make your report, I will not run," Parlin said bitterly.

Arni could hardly believe her ears as she listened to Parlin's painful suspicions. She had never thought of acting cruelly against Parlin. She came to see him because another feeling had grown in her since their stay in Jakarta. Strangely that feeling had never weakened since and during that time she had never taken interest in another man. But what could be said. Parlin did not want to understand. Worse, he was suspicious of her.

Finally, hurt and irritated, Arni said goodbye to Parlin.

At the end of his letter Parlin wrote that he rejected Arni's love although she was really interested in him without regard for their different orientation. Parlin married a woman who understood him and whom he really loved. His wife worked in a plantation company and had an adequate income. They even owned an automobile.

Parlin went on to say that after his marriage he continued growing vegetables, but he was not in the garden the whole time. He had become his family's driver, taking care of the transportation of his wife to her office and of his children to their school. "That is my job now," he wrote. He did not forget to mention that he had now one grandchild.

His wife's driver? I was somewhat taken aback, because my work now is similar to his. I know, that not only Parlin and I have such a job. Quite a few of our friends were compelled to become their wives' drivers. (A fragment extracted from a long story.)

Translated by S.H.

A.D. Donggo was born in Bima, Sumbawa, West Nusa Tenggara, on Dec. 21, 1931. He has been writing short stories, essays and novels since 1953. He has worked as journalist and editor at several newspapers and magazines. He is now a freelance writer and novelist.