Ray of Hope

By Elan Mufti

For the 39-year-old Hendra Tjahjadi, his dream of extending the Cahaya Watch Shop went up in smoke along with what was left of his shop after the fire. The aftermath of the May 14 riot was too much of a disaster for him. Nine years of hard labor completely vanished in less than 24 hours. He never understood how such things could happen. Nor could his wife Wati.

"Don't worry, my husband, just consider this the darkest chapter of our lives," she told Hendra. His eldest brother, Halim, was also there looking at the wreckage.

The only parts of his shop that remained standing were the columns, and even they were not straight because they had lost their support beams. The building was now only a shell of what it was: one of the most elegant shops in Pasar Minggu. Its light, brownish yellow paint was charred black by the fire.

At a glance, the Cahaya Watch Shop in Pasar Minggu seemed a transit place for ghosts. But for Hendra, it was unfair; the ghosts at least had a place to shelter, while the Tjahjadi family had not the slightest idea where it could find a new roof to put over their heads.

They found their loss unbelievable. The Tjahjadis had always been nice to customers. Hendra never cheated nor treated individual customers differently. He had always remembered the philosophy of "Those who don't know how to smile, don't think of opening up a business." Beside, he'd never experienced any significant ethnic disturbances before. The worst that he could recall was an incident that occurred seven or eight years ago.

Hendra could still remember when scores of young thugs "proudly" demonstrated their kung fu techniques in front of his shop, complete with Bruce Lee-like cries and rubbing dust on the tip of noses with their thumbs.

Others would pass his shop and give the unfriendly "Chinese" stereotyped salutation of haiyaah, with strong, deep vowels.

Hendra, who was the salesman and watch repairman, and Wati who helped out part time, thought it was normal and would pass in time. And they were right, until last May 14.

When that "darkest chapter" occurred, Hendra sent his wife and their three young children to stay with his eldest brother in Pontianak. Hendra's other brothers and sisters did the same. They stayed there for less than two weeks.

The eldest Halim welcomed them with open arms. It was a rare pleasure for Halim and his wife to see their nephews and nieces roaming around their tangerine farm. When the children had all returned home, Halim decided to visit Hendra.

He had heard that the Jakarta riots had been worse than an earlier riot in Medan. And he also heard that Hendra had been the most affected among his siblings.

"From looking at your shop this morning, I don't know Hendra. I don't know if you can rebuild your business." Halim's discouraging remarks deepened Hendra's self-pity.

"Koh Halim, I am asking you with respect and honor. Wati and I will work harder. And that can only be realized with the help of a loan from you." Hendra clutched his fists together and stretched them toward his eldest brother.

"Yes, my husband is right Koh, this is Jakarta. Everyone must work hard to survive."

Halim took a deep breath and stared at the couple. He then got up from the sofa, looked out the window and clasped his hands behind his back like a soldier at ease.

"You know that when a crime is committed by someone, that someone has the tendency to repeat the crime, even after being punished. So I think this unfortunate incident ..."

"It will not happen again, I'm sure of that." Hendra cut off Halim's words.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Koh, the people that looted thought we were all well-off. I think it was social jealousy. Lucky for the well-to-do, they went to Australia, Singapore, or even the United States. So we were left behind to be ruined."

"Yes, Koh, and now we're trying to start to rebuild our lives all over again." Wati supported her husband.

"Aren't you worried that this will happen again? If it does, don't you know that you'll be in the abyss of disgrace? You and your family."

"Those who are afraid of dying never learn to live, Koh."

Halim Tjahjadi was silent for a while, then raised his head.

"Alright, Hendra. This is my suggestion. Why don't you, Wati, and the children come with me to Pontianak? I'll give you a modest plot of my tangerine farm, and you can rebuild your lives from there. You can export tangerines to Sarawak, or maybe who knows, you might later set up a beverage business. You know, after we are out of this monetary crisis, the government will pay more attention to local producers, be it indigenous or otherwise."

"My apologies Koh, I'm not really interested in bombastic ideas. Besides, all I know are watches. I don't know how to cook, and I don't know how to farm."

Halim's eyes widened and his heart beat faster when he heard his younger brother's words.

"You are a pest which only feeds on carcasses! I'm trying to help you out of the dirt!"

Wati thought that it was time for her to intervene.

"Koh, please. My husband is only trying to say that selling and repairing watches is the only profession we both master well. If you suggest we dive into other fields, like farming or agribusiness, then it's like throwing a bucket of fresh water into the sea."

"Hmm, this is difficult. After seeing those burned out buildings, I admit I'm a little phobic." Halim then stared at Hendra. "Tell me, young brother, what if all the others were stubborn and wanted to rebuild their lives like you do? I'm not a bank, you know."

"Koh, the bank is holding my mortgage, and they could take my house away. As for the others, I'm sure they'll understand and I'm sure they'll find a way."

Loud knocks started to echo through the house. All discussion stopped. The Tjahjadi children stormed into the living room as if they were raiding it.

"Who is it, father?" asked the eldest.

"Excuse me, anybody home?" The voice reddened the faces of the occupants inside the Rp 95 million-worth house.

Not a single soul among them could imagine what to say. But questions occupied their minds as to who was on the other side of the door. Hendra walked slowly toward the window.

Through the thin, coarse curtain, he could see a group of people in front of his door. And his neighbors started to creep out of their houses in curiosity.

"Oh, no, We're doomed," said the soft voice of his eldest brother behind him.

The Tjahjadis panicked. They went to their rooms and started to pack everything they could. Soon, nearly the whole house was a mess. And then a second knock sounded and more calls came.

"Hendra, I suggest we call the police!" The desperation in Halim's voice caused Hendra's senses to flinch.

"I'm sorry Koh, I haven't paid fees for the last month."

"What!"

Halim's rough, desperate voice, mixed with Hendra's uneasiness, led Wati into a state of hysteria, and she slowly fell like an old tree.

"Mother!" The screeches of the children were like rivaling stray cats.

The children and the panic-stricken brothers rushed to the unconscious Wati. Then a third knock came.

"Pak Hendra. This is Haji Sobirin. Please open the door. No harm will come to you or your family. You have my personal guarantee."

Sudden relief came upon Hendra and the children, and it felt like rain pouring on fresh, green leaves. But just as Hendra started for the door, Halim grabbed his arm.

"No, don't."

"Let go of my arm, Koh, please. Haji Sobirin is the RW (neighborhood unit head) around here. Beside, he said we have his personal guarantee."

When Hendra opened the door, he noticed that his neighbors had already abandoned their positions as onlookers. This revived his senses. Only Haji Sobirin and the group of people remained.

"I apologize Pak Hendra, if we troubled you."

"Oh, no, no trouble at all. What can we do for you Pak Haji?"

Haji Sobirin turned toward a middle-aged man who seemed to be the group's leader, to whom Haji Sobirin gestured.

The man spoke up. "Koh, we were among the crowd that looted in Pasar Minggu. We are returning the things that are rightfully yours. That is our only intention in coming here."

Neither Hendra nor Halim Tjahjadi could find the right words or actions to show their appreciation at the sudden turn of events. Even though the group was only returning three plastic bags full of merchandise, to the family it was like a gift from the gods.

"We apologize though, Koh, not all of your watches and clocks are there."

Wati, now conscious, could not dam the tears that had started to gush down her cheeks.

"We have some iced water if you people would like a drink."

"Oh, no, thank you, Cik. We cannot stay here long."

Hendra turned toward the group of people

"People, we just don't know how to thank you. And we cannot give you anything except our gratitude and sympathy. Once again, thank you from the depths of our hearts."

After politely taking their leave of the Tjahjadis, the group and Haji Sobirin moved along and dispersed.

The members of the group were not candidates for sainthood though. No. The Tjahjadis realized later that they must have faced the same difficulties as themselves. Looking at the worsening economy after the riots, Hendra knew that it would be much more difficult now to sell watches, for both himself and those people.

"Well, I guess there is a ray of hope for your watch shop in the future," said Halim, quoting the name of their shop, Cahaya (light).

Hendra and Wati got the message. And the couple gave Halim three respectful bows.

Hendra had not the slightest idea that Halim would change his mind so quickly after the unexpected visit of the looters. But Hendra guessed that his eldest brother must have realized that both the indigenous and nonindigenous were on the same Titanic.

Glossary:

Koh, Engkoh: Older brother, term of respect for ethnic Chinese male adult.

Cik, Encik: Older sister, term of respect for ethnic Chinese female adult.

Pak: Term of respect for male adult.

Haji: Title for a Moslem man who has gone on pilgrimage.