Rong
By Gendut B. Riyanto
Rong, a famous Indonesian poet who is a chronic alcoholic notorious for his disgraceful social behavior, took his very sick wife to Doctor Rajit one evening.
He had to trundle four kilometers over heavy slick mud in a storm, with a flashlight as his only means of illumination. In addition to all that, he carried Rah, his wife of the last 30 years. She felt like a broken doll in his arms.
His rubber sandals often sank in the mud, and Rah's sandals were constantly dangling and falling off. One drop of rain felt like a thousand steel arrows. It hurt and it also pained his heart. People he met on the way averted their eyes. Others hurriedly clamped their doors and windows, shutting him off in the intimacy of the darkness around him.
"Stop moaning, Rah," he hissed, spewing the strong odor of alcohol from his mouth.
"Doctor Rajit will take care of your problem. You know that there is not one patient who does not praise his skills. Just a few steps more... mmm...then we will cross the river and there, transportation will be waiting..."
Lightning cleaved the sky with a white light. For a moment Rong and Rah stared wide-eyed in the night.
"Oh God... See for yourself. This evening He will be on our side. He will scold Doctor Rajit if the doctor refuses to open the door for us. This will anger God, especially if... if that old doctor is going to scream: 'Go! Leave this garden! Who do you think I am, A slave watching over and nursing devils! You are out of line. Come in the morning, don't come in an evening like this and in a mad storm!'
Oh, my dear wife. Don't worry, because I will speak up immediately and his stone heart will start to melt.
'Wise doctor who loves people. I ask only this once, I implore you. Believe me, I will pay for living a harmful life and do good this evening. God who is noble will bless you, Doctor.'" Rong uttered a long stream of words and endless sentences. He did not care if Rah heard him in the din of thunder and rain.
"Rong!" It was as if he heard Doctor Rajit shouting into his ear. Lightning struck a coconut tree in front of him. Flames spurted from the crown, alighting the palm leaves like fiery witch hair. The fire spread quickly from leaves to stems.
"You keep saying, just this once, and for once I am going to heal this life that is in shambles. But, before your arrival, I'm sure that you have finished at least two bottles of cheap whisky in some foodstall. Right?"
"Right, clever and loving doctor of mankind. What you said about me is so right. But, look at my wife Rah. Since this evening I have stopped hitting and hurting her. Ask her yourself. Or ask the people living on the same road in our village. I am not like a cold stone from the river. I am not like a milk cow too, that has not been milked for ages. So, give me time to do good for people, to my wife Rah who has suffered all her life because of my relentless wrongdoing that lasted for so long."
Rong and Rah were soaked to the skin. The river they had to cross flowed in front of them.
It was pitch dark, the only light coming from intermittent shafts of lightning. Rong sensed it as God's light which had led them to the banks of the river. But what did they see?
The rising waters slapped the banks with a painful, sighing sound, that made by tortured people. It seemed to express the hardship experienced by raft men, to whom the river is a source of income, by thieves and cruel robbers, all these people had to soothe their qualms before they could cross the angry river.
"You must strengthen your heart, Rah. I believe that the rain will be over soon and the river level should be as before. Do you see that thing in the distance? Is not that point of light nothing but the lights of a city bus?"
The storm did not seem to subside. Rong and Rah were stranded on the riverbank like two brittle bamboo poles, There was no sign of human life, except that Rong's chest, heaved up and down, breathing laboriously. Hope that they might be able to make the river crossing shone in his eyes. Hope of meeting doctor Rajit also. Meet him?
How could he expect from the doctor some time to open his door for a lowly poet in a stormy, pitch black night? It could not be enough.
First, that famous doctor, old and bloated though he may be, did clean Rong's alcohol poisoned stomach. After that, he had to face the unpleasant fact that Rong did not have enough money to pay for medical treatment. This degraded the doctor's standing even more when he realized that he had treated an immoral drunkard. That alone was reason enough to chase these two people away from his garden.
"But, doctor. My poems are full of love and feeling to lonely women. To cheap whores who are unable to find customers. To unfaithful men ridden with syphillis. To the bandits and corrupt security guards in the markets who repented for walking the illegal path. To the doctors who have fallen on hard times. I have to mention that... yes, sorry for that, doctor. Slumming has caused all this. Changing sleeping partners, the wives of friends. Mistreating my children and leaving them to starve, so they leave home. Leaving years of burden, ill effects and scoldings of this old wife. Letting syphilis consume her body, too. Piling rot on rot, that contaminates the blood and nervous system all through the brain."
Too late. The dispute has taken on a different shade, like a broken dyke being swamped by a giant wave. A different kind of intoxication evolved in a situation of unending infiniteness between dreams and self-consciousness.
Dark days are escaping the tomb. Sadness is kicked back in a flat stomach. He had felt his free, scintillating spirit all his life. It was like a long lasting drinking binge, free of sadness and mirth. He was not aware of disappointment or a feeling of sin when he slammed his fist into the face of his wife yesterday evening. Not to mention the cursing.
Stinking spittle and the lashes of a leather belt rained unrelentlessly on Rah's body. She who had no more strength to make a sound. Everything went smoothly, for the umpteenth time, until this time. This time, it went over the line.
Yesterday evening had been a frightful one for Rong. Rah's body lay as stiff as the trunk of a banana tree. She gazed at him with empty eyes and she felt cold as an iron bar. Corpse, his heart screamed. In the 30 years they were together, this was the first time Rong saw something strange in his wife. This was serious.
"Rah!" he yelled. But Rah did not move. Rong's voice drowned in the dark. The kerosene lamp above swayed wildly. The wind from the northern mountain slope blew around his collar. But, Rah remained stiff.
Fear had prevented Rong from looking at Rah since he left the house and braved the storm.
"The hell of alcohol and mistreating Rah are gone forever after tonight, doctor. Please, open the door for this old wife of mine, good and wise, doctor. I will pay you with the most beautiful poem of all my work. Or, just mention what you like and love best, I will give all that to you and it would not cost you a cent. Antique ivory from Brazil? Medical books unavailable in this country? Boris Pasternak's novels? Kurosawa's films or prose of Kawabata? It is all up to you. Except for one thing, don't let Rah suffer in this way."
The doctor would undoubtedly laugh his heart out. Standing at the door with his arms akimbo, he would say, "I like to hear that, shabby poet. But, I hate your false dreams. I have no right to reject or to receive you. It is your wild lifestyle that I cannot stand. Because of your fame, your wife is hiding under a hotel bed with you. The regent's daughter who has no future prospects because you made her pregnant. Then, there is that teacher, who I had to help out with an abortion. What more do you want?"
"But, but, doctor. I have ditched all that. I have buried those dark days. Help me just this once to stay away from court for my immoral acts. Give me tonight some time to repent for past sins. Believe me, doctor. Believe in the ray of light within me. It is the light of goodness, for the sake of Rah's life. It is not always in the interest of my self."
Rong mumbled constantly, the words pouring out in the same intensity as the rain. Cold and fatigue had long since crossed chronic alcoholic limits. But Rong was not an ordinary person. Even if both his feet were shaking in a frightful way and he felt his grip around Rah's back weakening.
No! He must not falter tonight. He adjusted Rah's hands and corrected his embrace. And in all that time, he had not once looked at Rah. When he touched the arm of the old woman, it felt like a mossy stone from the river. Hard, stiff and slippery.
"Rah," Rong hissed without turning his head. "Rah, are you asleep? Rah?" His suspicions bolted and they were stronger than his aversion for the sight of the woman who bore his children.
"Rah!" he roared against the sound of thunder. He shook the taut body repeatedly.
"Oh no, how can you die this quick, Rah. Oooh...! Doctor, doctor! I did not mean to neglect and kill her. Believe me. Examine my heart. Honestly, I have only good intentions this evening. It is not like the other nights which lasted for 30 years. No, doctor. God will bless you, if you believe my heartfelt words... ah... Rah. I tortured you for 30 years. And this once when I wanted to do good for you, you die on me, Raaaah..!
Rong's wailing startled nature.
It was not emotion or sadness which drove Rong to ear shattering howling. It was disappointment and aggravation. He had just started to be good, but his wife was the first person to keep him from doing that. It was as if all the villagers and people from the city had closed their doors and windows on him.
A stonelike load exerted pressure on his head. The shadows were paling as a grey-white blur seemed to engulf him. A voice from the bottom of his inner self grew stronger: Doctor Rajit.
Oh, thank you, doctor...," the words he had wanted to say very much did not get further than his throat. The shadows around him became more clear. Doctor Rajit stood three steps away from him. Rong tried to smile as he was overcome with gladness. Once again, his lips refused to move. But the wave of happiness engulfing him was stronger than his sense of failure. He wanted to jump and embrace Doctor Rajit.
"At last, you've come doctor. Yes, the Lord in heaven is everywhere. I honor his heart and he will bless the doctor's life. Forgive me...," but not one word, nor sound, came out of his lips. His mouth sagged, and both his hands and feet remained motionless. "Oh dear! Why am I pinned to my place?" he wondered in his heart.
"The villagers brought you here," said Doctor Rajit. "After they buried your wife, Rah. It seems that last night's storm, and a nervous breakdown, has paralyzed your body and silenced your voice..," Doctor Rajit handed a piece of paper and a ballpen to him to write down his thoughts.
Loving doctor of mankind. God will bless you. Tell me, how long will I be paralyzed and dumb like this?"
"Maybe...," Doctor Rajit rubbed his cheek, then replaced his glasses on his nose. "Maybe... forever.."
Rong stared with wide open eyes as if he had just encountered an apparition. He wrote more: aside from my hands, would I be able to make a living?"
"In about two weeks your hands would have enough strength to type. But why are you in a hurry to make money?"
"I owe money to three publishers. I have to settle overdue rent on the house. The burial costs of my wife and your fee, doctor. Unless, I am allowed to settle all bills with my poems."
Doctor Rajit's eyes bored into his as if to dig up more secrets from him. He then told the villagers slowly, "Bring him home again", as he moved from his place and disappeared behind a white screen.
"Doctor..!" yelled Rong. But his mouth remained in the same sagging position. The villagers who stood around him were startled too, and their mouths gaped in surprise.
Outside the morning breeze lightly caressed hills and shrubs.
Translated by Claudine Frederik.
Gendut B. Riyanto was born in 1955 in Surakarta. He graduated from the Indonesian Arts Institute (STSRI) in Yogyakarta in 1980. Since 1975 he has written poems, short stories and essays. His collection of poems Matahari Sepi (Lonely Sun) was published in 1976, and another, Habislah Gelap Terbitlah Gelap (Light Comes after Dark), in 1994. He is an art director and copywriter for an advertising agency in Jakarta.