Necklace

By Chairil Gibran Ramadhan

I'd lived in this teeming city for six months, alone. It was my choice after nothing else could support me here.

All I'd had was gone: my beloved job after the bankruptcy of the firm where I'd worked, my close friends, who left and forgot me after my slide from prosperity into poverty, and my girl, who got married to one still dependent on his dad. It was obviously too much to expect a complete recovery from total devastation by a quirk of fate.

So I finally rented this small room. I knew several people here, at least those around my dwelling place. I'd learned to speak their language a little, though usually I made them smile, even laugh at my accent. There was nothing I could do in the city apart from relieving my head of lingering distress.

I planned to stay here for a long time.

Sheer boredom and disgust almost made me insane. But I didn't want to die in vain by hanging myself or drowning in the sea just to clear my head of these troubles, even though I lacked the fortitude to face the ordeal.

I chose to survive here.

Then I got close to a girl. I began to get acquainted with her on my fifth day in this city. She was pretty, as pretty as the daughters of noble families I'd seen in monochrome pictures in history books about this city. But I was aware that she was just an ordinary girl.

"Want my company, Mas? It's cheap for a night."

I simply shook my head. The situation had grown increasingly outrageous. Sex workers were soliciting openly on the streets. Visiting red light districts or whispering to pimps to procure girls was no longer necessary for horny men. A variety of services were available to attract and satisfy customers. In the next 10 to 15 years hookers might perhaps offer their services door to door. Humph!

"How old are you, Mbak?"

"Why d'you ask?"

"How old are you?"

"Mm ... almost 20."

"You've got no other work to do apart from this?"

"I just need money, Mas. If you don't like it, that's all right by me, but you needn't preach at me."

"You need money? You don't get much for a night, do you?"

She made no reply.

"But I'll give you the sum, plus a handsome tip." I moved toward her. "Yes?"

She stared at me. I knew she wouldn't refuse.

"But where?"

"We can find a place."

"Come on."

"Let's take our leave of Mas Codot first." She glanced sideways at the man sitting not far from where we stood. I recognized this guy. In this profession there has always been such a man. Even call girls at luxury hotels charging customers millions of rupiah for their bodies also have pimps to take care of them. They are happy to see their girls receive guests because some percentage of every transaction will find its way into their pocket.

"Where to?" asked the sturdy man, raising his face while remaining seated on a long bench. The deep lines on his face indicated the tough life he must have led.

"It's up to her. I've no idea where to find a room. I'm a newcomer to this city."

"Don't forget to bring her back. Mind you don't act foolishly. I'll remember your face."

"She'll be safe with me." I gave him Rp 5,000 merely to calm him down. "If anything happens, you can find me in Wirobrajan. Just ask people there where Bu Suarjono's lodgings are. I'm Is."

***

"My name's Is."

"I heard that." The girl took off her shoes and set down her small shoulder bag.

I turned on the fan and sat down on a small stool. "What's your name, Mbak?"

"Ning."

"Just Ning?"

"Naning Pratiwi. But call me Ning as others do, not Mbak."

"Okay."

"You want it straight away, or a shower first?" She gazed at me while unzipping her dress.

"What are you doing?"

"We're here to make love, aren't we?"

"Sit down for a while, Ning."

She took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed and zipping up her dress again, apparently annoyed by my words. "Don't waste your time, Mas."

"I stick to my word." I took a Rp 50,000 note from my wallet. "It'll cover the fee plus the tip I promised." I gave it to her.

She looked at the money. "I don't want to receive charity. I'm accustomed to getting paid after somebody has enjoyed my services."

"Your body, Ning, not your services."

She went silent.

I observed her. She cast a furtive glance at me.

"I only need someone to talk to, Ning. So let's have a chat."

Now she stared at me.

"Just take it that you've satisfied me. So I've given you a generous tip."

"I've never had this experience."

"You have now, Ning."

But she was only gazing at the banknote.

We had quite a long chat.

I had a long chat with her that night. We exchanged our past stories. She had been working after dark only for the last two weeks -- and I'd trusted her eyes -- after graduating from high school and failing to get a proper job. The paddy fields were no more in her village with the rapid surge in housing development. Continuing her studies at a private college was just a dream as educational institutions had become gold mines by charging exorbitant tuition fees, while the opportunity to enter a state university was highly dependent on good luck.

As a factory worker she would have been only a milk cow of greedy employers. Any attempt to demand the fulfillment of labor rights might have made her another Marsinah, a labor activist found dead after struggling for the same cause, or might have led to her dismissal for disturbing the peaceful slumber of the bourgeoisie.

With the high-cost city life she had to cope with, what kind of employment could she secure as a high school graduate except work as a salesgirl or shop assistant? Or would she be prepared to work as a housemaid who might be raped at any time by her employer or fed like a cat and beaten for burning the cooking? Soliciting on the streets in any city was therefore the easiest way.

Ning was a Bimbi, a Roxanne.

Until we left the room, she kept rejecting the money I'd offered. But I insisted she accept otherwise she'd be beaten by Codot. I crammed the money into her palm.

We maintained contact only to chat and gaze at each other. I thought it was absurd, odd and uncommon because of the absence of lust. But there was nothing exceptional about that either. Many couples have had romantic relations for years only through correspondence. We were not joined together in exactly the same way, but merely noticed such couples in passing.

But we did love each other.

Ning would see me in the afternoon as she went to "work". She took care of me when I had a high fever for six days and suffered from fits of vomiting. I was sure two or three men in the lodging had once seen Ning in the place of our first encounter. I could sense it when I saw their glances every time Ning came to my room. But I liked those people in the city. They never intruded on other peoples' affairs.

***

Ning had not turned up for two days. She was gone without notice and nobody knew of her whereabouts. Sutrisno, alias Codot, even suspected me of hiding her. He came to me in an angry state after a heavy drinking bout. He gripped my arms. "Where is she? Ning! Where's Ning?"

"I'm also looking for her, Mas." I tried to loosen his grip.

"Ah! You must be hiding her!"

"What for? And where? She last saw me three days ago, telling me about a Dutchman who had manhandled her."

"Dutchman?"

"Ning said the man had kept urging her to serve him."

"Those damned Dutch."

"They are damnable indeed, Mas. Hundreds of years back their ancestors colonized this country and others too. But now their grandchildren are advocating human rights everywhere and visiting here as tourists to see traces of their progenitors' misdeeds. Just take a look at how they treated native Africans and Asians. They are damned, Mas."

Mas Codot cast a curious look in my direction. "Are you drunk?"

I felt ill at ease.

When Ning last visited me, she cried. I let her sob until she stopped; then I began to say something I'd prepared for several days. Cautiously, I asked her to quit her job. "Be my wife, Ning ..." I presented her with a gold necklace. It wasn't expensive, just an ordinary one.

She looked at me, saying nothing for a while.

"If you're ready, I'll ask my parents to propose the wedding."

She bowed her head. There was silence for a few moments.

"Ning?"

She raised her head. "They know what I do?"

"I've never told them. Anyway, they are from an older generation and you know how they would react. I simply said I'd found someone to be my wife, someone who loved me."

She was bent over, stole a glance at me and bowed again. Silence again prevailed.

It rained abruptly. A downpour. The roof was rumbling.

Her head lifted, she asked, "Are you serious?"

"I'm not treating this as a joke."

She stooped again, glanced and remained silent.

"Let's hope my capability and university diploma will be useful in this city." I sat beside her. "Otherwise, I'll do whatever I have to for us to survive. I've been taught to drive a becak (pedicab) by Mas Walidi. I've some money left; I'll build a small cigarette kiosk for you. Be my wife, Ning. Let's live together in peace."

Ning smiled, though her gaze was as melancholic as usual. I'd never seen her beaming with bright eyes. She stroked my hair, weeping, "Thank you ..."

Then I put the gold jewelry around her neck.

"It's the Dutchman, right?" Codot distracted me with his cigarette smoke on my face.

"Ning told me so."

"It must be Sebastian! Damned!" He left my room, hurriedly. "The poor Dutchman seems bold enough to challenge me! He's a devil!"

I put on a T-shirt hanging behind the door, following him.

"Where are you going?" he turned to me.

"Following you to find Ning."

"Going with me?"

"Yes."

Codot gave me a crash helmet. "Sebastian is crazy!"

***

Dark clouds covered the skies of Sukoharjo. The leaves of kamboja trees were falling on a grave. A burial had just taken place. Those attending the ceremony were leaving the cemetery.

It was silent and deserted.

"I wonder how they could have treated my daughter that way," said a stooping woman, wiping her tears with her palm, with two men supporting her.

I looked at them with a warm expression. My throat was dry.

"Are you Is?" asked the old woman, now standing before me.

"Yes." I nodded, my voice choking slightly.

The woman held my shoulder. "Ning told me a lot about you. She once said you would propose to her ... very soon."

I was unable to speak. Compassion filled my eyes and my throat got drier. Everything I'd planned was now buried along with Ning's body. I was alone again. I thought it was better that way because I didn't want to lose anybody else.

(A week later the police seized Sebastian. A knife and a gold necklace wrapped in a blood-stained batik cloth were found under the bed of a cheap hostel where he had spent the night. It was the necklace I'd presented to Ning. The police kept it as evidence. I never saw it again after that. They would certainly have sold it and split the proceeds as usual. I'll just have to get over it, I suppose.)

Mas : Javanese term of address for an older male

Mbak : Javanese term of address for an older female

Translated by Aris Prawira