Pistol of Peace

By Kuntowijoyo

Father told me it was time to open the case grandfather had left us as a legacy; a case full of weapons such as kris, cundrik (small kris) and spears.

I immediately started looking for space. I thought those weapons could be decorative if they were judiciously placed on walls. My wife, however, objected to having them in the bedroom, the front room, the dining room and the living room.

She was afraid, she said, of having weapons in the bedroom, because I might suddenly wake up and take one of the weapons. She fell short of saying that I might suddenly get up and slay her. As for the sitting room, it would not be good if people knew that we kept weapons. She would also not allow them in the dining room, because they might evoke war. The living room was not good either, because the children should not grow up under a culture of violence. When I argued that violence was also shown frequently on television, my wife simply said the weapons were too manifest.

In other words, my wife was afraid of weapons. The reason that I was sufficiently old enough to own a weapon and to be chosen as chief of our neighborhood was rejected on the grounds that I should not change our marriage agreement, which did not mention any ownership of weapons.

Finally it was agreed that I put the weapons inherited from grandfather in the library upstairs. There were two advantages: The weapons would be protected from dust because they were to be placed in a glass-fronted cupboard, and they would be on display for ready viewing.

It is known that sharp weapons are rare and sought after. There is a prerequisite, however: There must be harmony between the user and the object. A bureaucrat must have a kris of dedication; he will be liked by his superiors and respected by his subordinates. A teacher should not use the precious metal belonging to a rebel, because he will become quarrelsome. So, misuse can lead to a disaster, if not for its user, perhaps for the people surrounding him.

To know its compatibility, a weapon must be subjected to tayuh. In other words, we must sleep with the weapon. We will then have a dream; for example, there is somebody wanting to come with us. If a dog or a tiger makes an appearance in our dream, it signals the weapon will make us quarrel or fight with exactly the same temperaments as those seen in the dream. Do not forget to tayuh, because negligence in doing so may result in the incompatibility of the weapon.

I only took leave of my wife if I slept out in the village. It would not be possible for my wife to accompany me because she had to work the next morning. Surely I would not tell her that I would tayuh. She would not allow me on account of superstition, sinful polytheism, or inviting evil spirits. I did not believe in mysteries either, but I was practicing custom.

So I went to bed taking with me one kris, one spear and one pistol. I accepted the pistol because my relatives had rejected it. `What was the useless product for?' they said. Their children's toys were more threatening.

My relatives told me a wide variety of stories. Some said an old man approached them, others spoke of an old woman, still others about a very young girl. I did not dream anything. Maybe I was too rational or I knew by heart the history of the weapons because I always helped my grandfather when he was cleaning them during the month of Suro.

I returned home with the kris, spear and pistol and stored them in the library cupboard.

In fact, it was rather a pity that such beautiful things -- I thought about the kris, with inlaid diamonds in the handle -- were not shown to others. My wife's decision remained firm. She had once studied pedagogy. It was understandable that she did not like art products or history. She said: "There is no art of violence. There is no history of war. No way."

Indeed, they were all weapons. But it was not true that all of them were stained with blood. The kris, for example, was often used by my great grandfather when he went to the keraton (palace). One day, inexplicably, the kris was on top of a coconut tree close to the pendopo (open veranda serving as audience hall). Another person also lost his kris. Apparently, both kris had a rendezvous up in the coconut tree.

Such was the power of the kris. My wife had a different opinion, however. She said "It showed that the king was all- powerful. Even great grandfather had such a powerful kris, let alone the kris owned by the king." The name of the kris was Kiai Samudra. It could invite rain. The tip of it was wrapped in white cloth that was replaced each year. There used to be hair at the tip, but now there was none. This was a story of violence. In ancient times, many generations back, somebody came to challenge a village chief in combat. The aforementioned ancestor took up the challenge. In short, the challenger lost and surrendered his spear. The man was allowed to go, but some of his hair was cut off. Because the man came from Sela village, located between Mount Merapi and Mount Merbabu, the spear was named Kiai Sela.

The spear served its master well. When a buffalo ran amok close to the bridge of the village border, the ancestor heard a voice saying that the buffalo could only be defeated by somebody carrying Kiai Sela. So the spear was lent to somebody. The buffalo, whose hide was immune to blows and sharp weapons, could not resist the thrusts of Kiai Sela.

But my wife still had the last word on the spear. She said "It is the remains of agrarian culture." She continued, "In agrarian culture, the buffalo symbolized a strong man because of its tough skin or an evil man or a rebel due to its black color." She knew a lot, after all. When I asked her where she heard all that, she replied, "I just know."

We have now come to the story of the pistol. The pistol came on its own. It was the time of the Japanese occupation. Grandfather was sitting in the kelurahan (subdistrict) office.

There was suddenly a commotion. An object was thrown away. Grandfather came nearer and somebody said to the lurah (subdistrict chief), "You are my witness. It is not my pistol."

At that time, it was forbidden to carry weapons. Only soldiers could have them. Others carrying them could be classified as rebels. Grandfather took the castaway object and stored it. To report it to the government would only wake up sleeping dogs.

So, during the Revolution, grandfather always carried the pistol but did not use it. Nobody knew the pistol was unloaded. In 1965, grandfather had it with him when making the night rounds in the neighborhood, and our village was safe. There were no killings. With pride, grandfather called it "pistol of peace".

Apparently, my wife was afraid of weapons. There was indeed a regulation that one should have a special permit for possessing firearms. She said it was not the regulation that frightened her. But a voice. What voice?

My wife said loud sounds could be heard from the library at night, adding that the kris and spear were in combat with the pistol. I thought the noise came from mice. But no. My wife said the noise occurred nearly every night. "It is real. It cannot be a mere illusion." Indeed, I often accused her of thinking with her feelings and not with reason. Whether it was subjective or not, if peace in the home was put in the balance, I would give in.

"The kris and the spear originate in agrarian culture, while the pistol is a product of industrial culture. With the kris and the spear, one knows the murdered person. With the pistol, one can kill from a distance."

"But two cultures flow in our blood, so learned people say."

"But is there a learned kris? Is there a spear studying mathematics?"

My wife was very convinced of the incompatibility between the kris and the spear on the one hand and the pistol on the other. It was decided that one of them had to be thrown away. I readily chose to keep the kris and the spear, because there are no factories manufacturing them, while pistols are still produced and many of them are more sophisticated. Finally, I was to throw away the pistol. It was a pity in fact. Moreover, it was a legacy. But never mind.

At night, I wrapped the pistol and threw the package in the dust bin. I thought my duty was accomplished and our house would be free from noisy sounds. But no. In the morning, the neighborhood administrator and two dust men came. The two men swore that they did not own prohibited goods. They had found the pistol. The pistol was handed to me to be processed according to the prevailing procedure. After they had left, I showed my wife the pistol. She said I had not thrown it away far enough from home. After serious efforts, one could only say that it was destiny. I was told to get rid of the pistol again, but farther from home. Again I had to kiss the pistol good luck, but now outside the housing complex at night. For the next few days, the pistol was not a subject of discussion anymore. Just for a few days!

In a meeting at the subdistrict office, after discussions on IDs and a building tax had come to an end, the lurah (subdistrict head) opened some wrapping paper and stated: "I think I should give this to our friend, who is a historian." He handed me a package. It contained a pistol. Oh God! The pistol I had thrown away had returned!

I showed the pistol to my wife, saying that it was perhaps predestined for us to keep the weapon. It was strange that the noise from the library has since vanished.

Translated by SH

The author was born in Yogyakarta on September 18, 1943. He obtained his PhD in history at Columbia University in 1980. He is a lecturer at the School of Letters and the School for Post- Graduate Studies, Gadjah Mada University, Yogyakarta. His short story Laki-laki yang Kawin dengan Peri was named as 1995's best short story by the Kompas daily. Pistol Perdamaian appears in Pistol Perdamaian: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1996 (Pistol of Peace: An Anthology of Kompas Short Stories 1996). It is printed here by courtesy of Kompas.