Oppressed

Oppressed

Manggar Maulana Mahabana

It was only natural for Tugimin to dream of having educated
children. For he himself was unschooled, his parents lacking the
funds to put him through school.

"The father may be uneducated, but not the children," he would
say to his fellow pedicab drivers.

"My kids must be office workers, or even company directors. As
a bank director, they would be rich. I will be on easy street if
my kids are wealthy!" he would say, his eyes bright, as they
waited at the market for their next rides.

Tugimin's favorite customer was Mrs. Neli, the wife of a local
bank office chief. She looked beautiful and clean, her body
fragrant with perfume. She lived in a mansion, but every day she
took his pedicab instead of her family's sedan.

"It is nicer taking a pedicab as I can feel the fresh morning
air," she would say to him.

She was kind, often giving him her used dresses for his wife
or the old pants of her husband Pak (Mr.) Gunadi. He was a very
busy man, leaving early in the morning and returning home late at
night.

When Tugimin and his wife donned the used clothes, they felt
like they were the village chief and his wife ready to go out to
visit their neighbors.

And when he looked at the example of Mrs. Neli and her
husband, Tugimin became more determined to give his three kids
the best education possible. He worked hard to put them through
school, and would see that they went to university.

Tugimin also had a calf. Before he came home in the late
afternoon, he would find grass to feed the calf. When it was old
enough, he would take it to market so he would have more money to
pay for his children's education.

His wife, Wagiman, also sold boiled corn from their house to
supplement their income.

"We have to save a lot of money and live frugally, but once
our kids finish their education and get good jobs, we will have a
much better life!" he would always say to himself.

***

As usual, Tugimin went to Mrs. Neli's house to take her to the
market. He was surprised to find that the house was quiet, and
the doors and windows were still shut.

Mrs. Neli was nowhere to be found.

One of the neighbors came close to him. "They are all in a
mental hospital," she said conspiratorially to him.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Pak Gunadi!"

The day before, the woman said, right after Pak Gunadi
returned home from the office, he had suddenly acted
irrationally. He beat his wife and destroyed everything he could
lay his hands on. The police were called, and he was taken away.

Tugimin was dumbfounded; why would such a kind, generous man
have done such a thing?

"The bank where he works has gone bankrupt, he is out of a
job," the woman said in answering his unspoken question.

Tugimin left, his mind spinning with thoughts about what had
happened.

"You are early, Pak?" Wagimah asked.

"I feel dizzy!" Tugimin said curtly as he went into his
bedroom.

"You must need a coin treatment, Pak," said Wagimah, following
him into the room.

Tugimin was quiet, curled up on the bed.

"Need a coin treatment?" Wagiman said again.

"Or perhaps you need some medicine?"

"I feel dizzy because there is too much on my mind," Tugimin
finally answered.

Wagimah chuckled. "What are you thinking about, Pak? Stop
thinking about politics, will you. We are just the little people.
We just follow what our leaders say! Several general elections
will not change our destiny, Pak."

"Keep your mouth shut, will you!" Tugimin shouted.

Wagiman was still chuckling. "Come on, Pak. What is it you
have been thinking about?"

Tugimin slowly told his wife about Pak Gunadi's breakdown.
Wagimah listened quietly, her eyes telling her feelings of
sympathy and sorrow.

"I know now that having a respectable job carries serious
risks. If you lose it, you may end up in a mental hospital!"
Tugimin said.

"Of course, Pak. The higher you climb, the harder the fall."

"That's why I have begun to feel worried about our kids."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid that if our kids fail to earn a university degree
or don't get good jobs after graduating from university, they
will go crazy from despair and frustration."

"Let's just hope that this will not happen to our kids."

"We are poor people. I can see that our kids cannot compete
with the children of rich people."

"So, what had we better do, Pak?" Wagiman asked, her voice
heavy with a sense of burden.

"I think our eldest son should not go to the university after
finishing senior high. Let him take care of our calf. Then he can
always join the army ..."

"No, Pak. You have to spend a lot of money to join the army.
Look at Yanto, Pak Somad's son. He was rejected by the army and
has ended up emotionally traumatized. Do you want to see our
eldest like that, laughing to himself night and day?"

Tugimin did not say anything, for he knew it was true.

"Well, the son of a pedicab driver must also be a pedicab
driver," Wagiman said.

"But I have always encouraged our kids to study hard and earn
a university degree!" Tugimin said.

"That is just your aspiration, Pak. But you must accept the
reality of our lives."

Tugimin sighed, long and deep.

"Come on, Pak. Don't think too much or you will get sick."

Tugimin felt sure his kids would never want to be a pedicab
driver like him. They would roam the streets in the city, taking
their diplomas and application letters, seeking jobs from one
company to another.

But they would never succeed, beaten out by children of
affluent fathers who could pay their way.

It was close to midday and Wagimah was busy in the kitchen.
Tugiman was still lying in bed, deep in thought.

After midday, his children returned home. His eldest told them
he needed some money for the diploma and a farewell party at
school. His second eldest also needed money for a study tour
during the school holiday.

"We have to make a donation for the construction of a new
school building," his wife said when their youngest son came in
the door.

Tugimin's mind spun into a dizzying swirl of confused
thoughts. He walked slowly into the bedroom, took a mirror in his
hands and slammed it to the ground. He was only getting started.

Translated by Lie Hua