One morning in Hasnah's life
One morning in Hasnah's life
By Diani Savitri
Hasnah is a simple woman with a seemingly simple life to live.
In the morning she goes to work as a wash lady for three
households that are comparatively better-off than their mixed-
class neighbors. She goes home in the afternoon and does her home
chores, cooks a tiny bit of food bought from a nearby traditional
market (she never buys it from roaming peddlers as prices are
more expensive) and then waits for her husband to come home. She
wants to get some more work for more money. It is just that her
weak body never allows her to do much physical activity. The
activities never vary from day to day - except for some unlikely
day, like today.
As usual Hasnah gets up at dawn, boils just enough water for
her husband's morning tea. Several chunks of fried cassava she
bought last night from a street hawker are steamed for his
breakfast. Nothing for her in the morning - as since childhood
her stomach has been used to being empty until noon. She washes
herself with water drawn from the well last night and filled in
the plastic bucket, always caring not to waste an unnecessary
amount of water, then carries out her morning prayers.
She prays very quickly and ritualistically, reciting the
verses known by heart, the meanings of which are mostly not
understood. When she finishes the rite in a sitting position
Hasnah rises quickly again. No need for a personal prayer where
people usually send their personal wishes to God. Praying is
nothing personal for Hasnah. It is something obligatory, if not
habitual.
The water boils and Hasnah prepares tea with no sugar. She
knows exactly how many tea leaves she should use through her
habit of preparing and by taking to heart her husband's yelling
and swearing whenever he thinks the tea is too dark or too light.
She prepares a towel for her husband, a well-worn and
discolored one. She always takes a bath after her husband, as
they only have one towel and she wants it perfectly dry for her
husband's use. Unlike herself, who always takes care not to use
water excessively, her husband likes to use abundant water and
splashes it all around their unadorned outdoor bathroom walled by
corrugated iron sheets. His habit leaves her with two
consequences: a very wet towel and an empty bucket for her to
refill.
Next, Hasnah gets her broom and sweeps the earthen floor. She
watches from outside their bedroom, separated only from the other
space in the house by a ragged curtain already drawn to one side.
Her husband wakes up, first stretching his darkened and well-
built body from years as a physical laborer. Lately, he often
complains about how their mattress had become so thin it gives
him a painful back and how there are too many bed bugs that give
him skin rashes. She is very quiet while sweeping the floor,
anticipating his increasingly frequent blaspheming of the day.
But no, he is also quiet. Hasnah feels uneasiness creep in her
heart.
She hands him the towel and this time he does not snatch it
with aimless anger as usual, but takes it with obvious ignorance.
He walks slowly to the back door as if unwillingly. Hasnah's gaze
follows his trail.
When he finishes bathing he does not come back in right away,
some moments pass from the second Hasnah hears the bathroom door
open to the second he steps in. After putting on his clothes in
their bedroom he takes a seat on one of the two wooden chairs
facing one another, separated only be the only table in the house
in their dining area. From the spot where she stands sweeping
Hasnah secretly steals a glance at his face, then immediately
turns her back on him. She is mentally judging that unusual
disgusted look on his face thrown at the steaming cassava on an
old aluminum plate.
"You don't have to go to work today,"
Hasnah freezes upon hearing him. A hot flush crawls down her
back.
"You help me pack, you hear me? I move in with her tonight,
you're listening?"
She slowly nods, but realizing how recently he never looks at
her when speaking to her Hasnah replies softly, "Yes".
"So it's settled then. I'll give you money for this week, on
Tuesdays I sleep here and I'll bring you money each time. You
don't have to work, you hear me? You're so skinny you make me
feel sick just by looking at you. You rest, you understand?"
"For now, I'll work only for Mrs. Situmorang. I promised her
to work for her at least until Lebaran, (the Muslim post-fasting
holiday). Then I can quit,"
"Whatever else, you go to the hospital again and you get cures
for your womb. We'll have enough money."
"Is she with a child?"
Widow Tayem is about ten years older than the 26-year-old
Hasnah and is not half as pretty. But Tayem has flirtatious
giggles and a voluptuous body. A three-time divorcee with five
kids, among whom only the youngest lives with her, she is a well-
paid house-to-house masseuse for rich families in an exclusive
and detached real estate near their locality. Her personally
owned brick-walled and tile-floored house is three-houses away
from Hasnah's rented house.
"You'll give me a baby too, you hear me?" His voice gives away
a slight quiver.
So Hasnah knows it must have pained him too, this man she is
married to for almost ten years now, to yield to this
arrangement.
"A slight change, you know? We'll be fine."
Her husband stands up to go outside too hurriedly that he
almost makes his chair stumble. Tea and breakfast are untouched.
Hasnah rests the broom on the bamboo-cane wall, careful not to
let it fall, walks to their bedroom, packs his things, leaves
only one shirt and one pair of underwear in the box placed under
their bed.
Hasnah smooths one of his shirts, her eyes shed tears she does
not intend to hold back. It's going to be all right, she talks to
herself in her head. Tomorrow is going to be a new day, with
slight changes as her husband said. She will work for one
household only. She does not have to prepare tea or breakfast or
the towel for her husband. She does not have to wait for him in
the evening.
But those are the only changes, she realizes. He is right.
Everything else will remain the same. She can live her normal
life as usual. And maybe now with more money from Tayem to
consult her physical problems with the doctors at the hospital,
she will get better and eventually bear him a child whom they
have been waiting for almost ten years now. ***
By Diani Savitri
Hasnah is a simple woman with a seemingly simple life to live.
In the morning she goes to work as a wash lady for three
households that are comparatively better-off than their mixed-
class neighbors. She goes home in the afternoon and does her home
chores, cooks a tiny bit of food bought from a nearby traditional
market (she never buys it from roaming peddlers as prices are
more expensive) and then waits for her husband to come home. She
wants to get some more work for more money. It is just that her
weak body never allows her to do much physical activity. The
activities never vary from day to day - except for some unlikely
day, like today.
As usual Hasnah gets up at dawn, boils just enough water for
her husband's morning tea. Several chunks of fried cassava she
bought last night from a street hawker are steamed for his
breakfast. Nothing for her in the morning - as since childhood
her stomach has been used to being empty until noon. She washes
herself with water drawn from the well last night and filled in
the plastic bucket, always caring not to waste an unnecessary
amount of water, then carries out her morning prayers.
She prays very quickly and ritualistically, reciting the
verses known by heart, the meanings of which are mostly not
understood. When she finishes the rite in a sitting position
Hasnah rises quickly again. No need for a personal prayer where
people usually send their personal wishes to God. Praying is
nothing personal for Hasnah. It is something obligatory, if not
habitual.
The water boils and Hasnah prepares tea with no sugar. She
knows exactly how many tea leaves she should use through her
habit of preparing and by taking to heart her husband's yelling
and swearing whenever he thinks the tea is too dark or too light.
She prepares a towel for her husband, a well-worn and
discolored one. She always takes a bath after her husband, as
they only have one towel and she wants it perfectly dry for her
husband's use. Unlike herself, who always takes care not to use
water excessively, her husband likes to use abundant water and
splashes it all around their unadorned outdoor bathroom walled by
corrugated iron sheets. His habit leaves her with two
consequences: a very wet towel and an empty bucket for her to
refill.
Next, Hasnah gets her broom and sweeps the earthen floor. She
watches from outside their bedroom, separated only from the other
space in the house by a ragged curtain already drawn to one side.
Her husband wakes up, first stretching his darkened and well-
built body from years as a physical laborer. Lately, he often
complains about how their mattress had become so thin it gives
him a painful back and how there are too many bed bugs that give
him skin rashes. She is very quiet while sweeping the floor,
anticipating his increasingly frequent blaspheming of the day.
But no, he is also quiet. Hasnah feels uneasiness creep in her
heart.
She hands him the towel and this time he does not snatch it
with aimless anger as usual, but takes it with obvious ignorance.
He walks slowly to the back door as if unwillingly. Hasnah's gaze
follows his trail.
When he finishes bathing he does not come back in right away,
some moments pass from the second Hasnah hears the bathroom door
open to the second he steps in. After putting on his clothes in
their bedroom he takes a seat on one of the two wooden chairs
facing one another, separated only be the only table in the house
in their dining area. From the spot where she stands sweeping
Hasnah secretly steals a glance at his face, then immediately
turns her back on him. She is mentally judging that unusual
disgusted look on his face thrown at the steaming cassava on an
old aluminum plate.
"You don't have to go to work today,"
Hasnah freezes upon hearing him. A hot flush crawls down her
back.
"You help me pack, you hear me? I move in with her tonight,
you're listening?"
She slowly nods, but realizing how recently he never looks at
her when speaking to her Hasnah replies softly, "Yes".
"So it's settled then. I'll give you money for this week, on
Tuesdays I sleep here and I'll bring you money each time. You
don't have to work, you hear me? You're so skinny you make me
feel sick just by looking at you. You rest, you understand?"
"For now, I'll work only for Mrs. Situmorang. I promised her
to work for her at least until Lebaran, (the Muslim post-fasting
holiday). Then I can quit,"
"Whatever else, you go to the hospital again and you get cures
for your womb. We'll have enough money."
"Is she with a child?"
Widow Tayem is about ten years older than the 26-year-old
Hasnah and is not half as pretty. But Tayem has flirtatious
giggles and a voluptuous body. A three-time divorcee with five
kids, among whom only the youngest lives with her, she is a well-
paid house-to-house masseuse for rich families in an exclusive
and detached real estate near their locality. Her personally
owned brick-walled and tile-floored house is three-houses away
from Hasnah's rented house.
"You'll give me a baby too, you hear me?" His voice gives away
a slight quiver.
So Hasnah knows it must have pained him too, this man she is
married to for almost ten years now, to yield to this
arrangement.
"A slight change, you know? We'll be fine."
Her husband stands up to go outside too hurriedly that he
almost makes his chair stumble. Tea and breakfast are untouched.
Hasnah rests the broom on the bamboo-cane wall, careful not to
let it fall, walks to their bedroom, packs his things, leaves
only one shirt and one pair of underwear in the box placed under
their bed.
Hasnah smooths one of his shirts, her eyes shed tears she does
not intend to hold back. It's going to be all right, she talks to
herself in her head. Tomorrow is going to be a new day, with
slight changes as her husband said. She will work for one
household only. She does not have to prepare tea or breakfast or
the towel for her husband. She does not have to wait for him in
the evening.
But those are the only changes, she realizes. He is right.
Everything else will remain the same. She can live her normal
life as usual. And maybe now with more money from Tayem to
consult her physical problems with the doctors at the hospital,
she will get better and eventually bear him a child whom they
have been waiting for almost ten years now. ***