Rencong

Maria Magdalena Bhoernomo

My husband came back from the office, carrying a rusted old rencong about half a meter long.

An avid collector, he would place it next to the many krises and spears of various shapes and sizes in our home.

"There's no harm in collecting antiques. It's profitable because their value soars with each passing year," he would argue when I asked him about the expense of spending most of his salary on the purchases.

"This rencong is very expensive," he said, gently rubbing the blade with a cloth dipped in alcohol, part of his Sunday and holiday routine.

After our breakfast, my husband would get to work cleaning the weapons. When the job was done, he would take pride in placing it in the cabinet with all the rest.

***

My husband always bought new weapons right after payday. But it was not the case after he brought home the Acehnese dagger. Instead, he would take it out, caressing it and even kissing it lightly, seemingly in love with this old piece of metal.

At first, I was amused by his love for it, but gradually I became irritated.

"Has it driven him nuts?" I muttered with anxiety. I had no idea where he had got the rencong from. Could it have been given by a pretty woman as a remembrance or a bond of love?

Worry and jealousy made me increasingly distressed and I could no longer sleep at night. On Sunday morning, as he was absorbed in cleaning the dagger in the living room, embracing and kissing it now and again, I confronted him.

"Where did you get it from, mas?" I asked, sitting beside him.

"It's a secret," he answered smilingly.

"Nobody must know where it came from, except me!" he said, his tone suddenly firm.

My anxiety grew.

He glanced at me stealthily. "Even though you're my wife, you can't know where it came from," he said.

"Ugh, there's no point in making such an ugly rencong such a mystery," he said.

"Don't you scorn the dagger, eh! You'll get cursed!"

"It didn't came from a saint, did it? And don't believe in black magic, mas, you'll go insane."

He smiled after staring at me for a long time.

"You're smart enough. You want to know everything about it by trying to regard it with contempt. It's just not to be shared with anybody!"

I grabbed his arm. "If you refuse to tell me, I won't sleep with you again!" I blurted out, more a bluff than an actual threat.

He laughed heartily.

"Do you ever dare to sleep alone?" he remarked.

I was bothered even more because it was true: I had never gone to bed alone since the first night of my marriage. Perhaps I had become too romantic? Didn't I have the guts to be alone in bed, I never allowed him to take out of town jobs or work overtime till dawn. Yes, I had never slept alone since the first night.

***

That night, I awoke suddenly. To my surprise, my husband was not beside me.

"Mas!" I screamed in fear. Then I searched the next room to find him. He turned out to be sleeping there, clasping the rencong tightly.

"Mas!" I shouted again.

He was startled and woke up, looking at me with amusement.

"So you don't dare sleep without me?" he teased.

"You're getting weird, mas, sleeping like that cuddling that hideous weapon!" I protested. Then I hurried to the bathroom.

When I looked for him again, he was in the living room with the dagger in his lap.

"Sit down here," he said seriously.

I followed his orders.

"I slept with this rencong in my embrace because of a special purpose. I wished to get a message from it," he said earnestly.

"What message?" I asked dejectedly. "Don't invent an excuse. Just admit that you got it from a girlfriend. Right?" I could hide my jealousy no more.

"Are you suspicious about me? Don't you believe I'm faithful to you?"

"But you are acting so strange, mas," I growled.

"What do you mean?"

"Hugging the rencong in bed, don't you think it's odd?!"

"No, not to me. I've got to clasp it while asleep in order to communicate with it."

I laughed.

"Who said so, mas? Just be honest with me, you must be longing for the woman who gave you the weapon and that's why you are sleeping with it!"

His face clouded over. "Don't pick a fight! I don't like all your accusations!"

I stopped talking. It was not a good idea to get him angry, especially late at night. I rose and left for the bedroom.

He followed promptly, lying down beside me, still holding his rencong tightly.

"I hate seeing you with your arms around it, mas!"

"All right, don't talk too much. It's very late already. This bed won't break in two just because I'm cuddling the dagger."

I tried to close my eyes and go back to sleep but I could not. I was worried by many things, including that he might abruptly stab me with the dagger while I dozed off.

I repeatedly stole glances at him, but he seemed fast asleep with the weapon next to him.

He smiled at me when he awoke.

"You must have had trouble sleeping, I can tell from your red eyes," he said, rising from the bed. Then he kissed the antique dearly before placing it in the cabinet.

"I couldn't sleep because of the damned dagger!" I cried out, getting up.

"Eh, don't hate it!" my husband said as he went in to the bathroom.

I suddenly looked at his underpants tossed into the laundry basket. There were traces of fluid on them and a distinctive sickly-sweet smell.

"What I believed has proved right," I declared bitterly as he came out of the bathroom. "You sleep with the rencong because it reminds you of that woman."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"No, I'm not. I saw the semen on your underpants!"

"I swear, I've never masturbated."

"Whose sperm is it, then, mas? Could it have come from your dagger, perhaps?"

"Calm down. Our neighbors may overhear us," he nervously remarked.

My eyes were full of tears.

"Come on, let's talk in the living room," he led me by the arm and I followed him.

"Last night I was making love to you in my dream," he said as we sat on the sofa.

"It was a very beautiful dream. You appeared like a graceful bride. I looked like a bridegroom clad in Javanese traditional attire, but the kris that should have been on my back was a rencong. It's the one I cuddled."

I sneered in disbelief.

"To be honest, I love collecting antiques, including the rencong because I want to be a faithful husband, even though our marriage has been childless," he said.

I began to sob. Something had been lost from our life after we were declared infertile.

My husband kissed my cheek tenderly.

"I think it's more sensible to collect ancient objects than to raise roosters, dogs, cats or snakes, don't you?" he said quietly.

I put my head in my hands and sobbed with shame at my mistake.

Translated by Aris Prawira

Note:

Rencong - traditional dagger from Aceh with a curved handle. Mas - Javanese term of address for a man, often used by women for their husbands.