Offering

By Ode Barta Ananda

In the heavy downpour, the night looked gloomier. A woman sat on the terrace of an empty mosque, a baby on her lap. It was an unusual sight.

Suddenly, a well-dressed man approached her.

"Why are you here? Where do you live?"

"Beg your pardon?" the woman asked.

"I asked where you live," the man said, this time louder, as he tried to make his question audible above the din of the rain.

The woman, Pessy, looked askance. She was visibly tired but still beautiful.

After a few moments, she said in a pitiful voice: "I don't know."

"But why?" the man said, with an expression of sympathy. "Have you fallen out with your husband?"

The woman did not say anything. She unbuttoned her blouse, lowering the bra to allow the nine-month-old baby, which looked pale, to feed. The baby's lips, trembling with hunger, failed to grasp the nipple several times.

Beron, the man in the shiny shoes and cute tie, gazed at the woman without saying anything. He found her captivating. After a few moments, he spoke in a carefully controlled voice.

"So, if there is no problem, why are you here?"

She did not reply immediately as the baby began to cry. She took a blanket from her bag and covered the quivering infant.

"I was thrown out by my landlady because I hadn't paid rent in two months."

"How about your husband?" Beron asked, coming nearer to the woman to hear her answers more clearly.

"I've come to this town to find him," she explained while tenderly caressing the baby's head. "According to his letter, the one I received before the baby was born, he worked at a tissue factory here." Before she finished the sentence, she began to sob.

She continued that she checked with the factory and was told her husband had been laid off. "Nobody had any idea where he had gone."

"So what is your plan?" Beron asked as he tried to hug her.

She pushed his hand away.

The woman inched toward the wall and looked around anxiously to find someone for help. She suspected the man had bad intentions.

But the mosque was deserted after the evening prayer. It was quiet except for the noise of the rain bouncing off the tin roof of the mosque. The woman sobbed miserably and the baby began to wail.

Beron lit a clove cigarette as he looked at the woman's face. He tried hard to suppress the passion stirring within him. His heart reminded him: "Remember, you have an important task to do here."

The woman stood up. She held the baby in one arm, and a bag in the other.

"I apologize if I have upset you," Beron said, raising one foot. He threw his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his shoe.

"I have no intention other than to offer you help. I have a car. I can offer you a lift if you want to go somewhere. I'm afraid the rain will soak you and your baby to the bone if you walk."

Since the woman did not give an answer but started to walk away, Beron showed her his business card.

"If you have any suspicion about me, I hope this card will change your mind," he said.

The woman glared at the card. After she had read it, she put her bag on the ground.

"But what is a bank official doing here?"

"I don't know exactly. But, on impulse, I offered you help. It is my sense of humanitarianism speaking."

He continued: "I live with a sister, who has been left by her husband. She also has a baby. She might be able to exchange experiences with you, or at least be your friend."

The woman was still suspicious, but she also had to answer her own questions: "If I reject his offer, is there another choice? Must I go home to Sumatra bearing this feeling of shame?"

Seeing she was indecisive, Beron asked: "What do you think?"

The woman still did not answer. Her heart whispered go home. But how? She was broke.

She thought about whether she could telephone her father to send her money for the airfare or a bus ticket.

Beron picked up her bag. "Come on, before it is too late. Look, it is getting darker."

He went to his car, parked not far from the mosque, and returned with an open umbrella.

The woman was still thinking. If she went home with a baby but no husband, the whole village would laugh at her.

Women there would cry: "Look, a graduate of a school of economics was tricked by her husband, a factory worker."

***

She was not surprised by the fragrance of Beron's house. What surprised Pessy was there was no sign of the baby Beron had told her about at the mosque.

Curious, she asked Beron's sister: "Where is your baby?"

"What do you mean?" said the woman, who introduced herself as Tantri.

"We should know each other better before discussing things," she added. She deliberately left her answer dangling after Beron, who was standing on the other side of the room, signaled to her. Tantri went over to discuss something with her brother.

Pessy felt something was strange but she was too tired to ask more questions. She placed her baby in a cot and sat near an aquarium, watching the fishes swimming and playing.

"You can change your dress now," Tantri told Pessy, holding up a red nightgown.

Pessy returned to the bedroom for a while. When she came out, she repeated her question: "I heard you had a baby."

"I do, but it is now at a nursery. Otherwise, I would never have time to work."

Pessy went to the bathroom to change her dress. Tantri followed and stopped at the bathroom door, shouting: "It would be better for you to let the nursery take care of your baby, too, so that you can get a job at Beron's office."

"Will Mas Beron give me a job?"

"Sure. But what is your educational background?"

"I majored in economics."

"That's great."

Pessy came out of the bathroom. She looked different now, more beautiful. She proceeded to the mirror to do her hair while Tantri watched from behind.

"You have a big plus, Pessy. Your beauty."

While Pessy was dressing her baby, Tantri said: "Tomorrow morning, Beron will take you to his office to arrange your application for a position there. Let me take the baby to the nursery."

"I think it would be better if both of us took her," Pessy said.

"That wouldn't be practical," Tantri said. "Beron only has time tomorrow. The day after he will be off to the United States on business."

"OK, no problem. But can I see my baby from time to time at the nursery?"

Pessy no longer felt doubtful about Beron and his sister's sincerity. She came to realize that suspicion only made one indecisive, making an eventual wrong decision more likely.

"You can always do that, Pessy," said Tantri. "But don't stand too long in front of that mirror, it could break!" she added with a laugh.

"We'll have dinner and write an application letter," Tantri said.

"But I think you have to go to work tomorrow. How can you take the baby to the nursery?"

"No. I'll ha ..." Tantri stammered. She pretended to cough in an apparent effort to hide her nervousness.

"I'll ask permission from my office for one day in order to help," Tantri said smiling broadly.

***

Early the next morning, Pessy and Beron left for his office. After driving for one hour, Beron asked her: "Would you come along with me to America?"

Pessy did not answer. In her heart, this man was sleazy.

Beron drove faster and changed the subject.

Arriving at a bank, Beron parked his car in the underground garage and opened the door for Pessy. They walked to a waiting room without exchanging a word. He asked her to wait there until he returned.

Beron went up to another floor to see the director of the bank.

The man asked urgently: "Have you got the baby?"

"Everything went as planned. Tantri has taken the baby to Mbah Suro."

"That is fine, you can leave for the States today."

"But I promised the woman a job at our company. She is now waiting downstairs," Beron said.

"Damn," the director banged the desk in rage. "Don't be stupid! Leave her down there, and go out through the back door."

"But can't we use something else as an offering for the advancement of our bank instead of baby's blood?" asked Beron.

"That is none of your business," the boss shouted with his hands on his hips. "Get out."

After waiting for two hours, Pessy began to feel uneasy. She asked the receptionist the location of Pak Beron's room.

"Pak Beron?" the receptionist asked, frowning. "There is nobody called Beron here."

Pessy was confused. She felt tricked, and left hurriedly. She took a taxi to Beron's house.

She told the taxi driver to wait. She rushed to the gate, and was shocked to see the sign: House for rent. Please call for more information.

She could say or do nothing but on sit on the ground, her face in her hands.

"What is the matter, miss?" the driver asked.

Pessy got up and ran away, screaming.

Translated by TIS

Glossary:

Mas: term of respect for an older man, Javanese in origin but now in general usage.

Mbah: term of respect for an elderly person of either sex, literally "grandfather" or "grandmother", Javanese in origin.

Pak: term of respect for an older man, in general usage.

The writer lives in a small village in Sawahlunto Sijunjung regency, West Sumatra. Kompas daily and Horison literary magazine are among the newspapers and journals which have published his works.