Santet

By Dewi Anggraeni

The heat is becoming increasingly oppressive though relief from the late afternoon's humidity is slowly descending. Bob and Riyadi leave the modest building which serves as their clinic, each carrying his case. Riyadi stops to take his cigarette pack out of his trouser pocket. Bob, still puzzled by the day's events, slows down to let Riyadi catch up with him.

This morning when he came to the clinic, Rohana, his nursing aid, was talking to the cleaner, Udin. From Rohana's slightly irritated voice, Bob suspected that she was admonishing Udin. Being aware of the pecking order in the establishment, Bob didn't find it strange, though he did not look around for the source of her dissatisfaction. Not finding anything out of the ordinary, Bob casually dismissed the incident from his mind and went about his work.

Bob takes his work seriously. Twenty-six and full of ideals, he joined Australian Volunteers Abroad five months ago, and was sent to the small town of Tulungagung in East Java. There he works with another medical doctor from Yogyakarta, Riyadi. Tulungagung has suffered from a series of natural disasters and the people are suffering from malnutrition.

Though Bob has a fair mastery of the Indonesian language, he often finds himself unable to communicate with the Tulungagung townsfolk, especially those from the outskirts. He's grateful for the company of Riyadi, who has been able to interpret for him when necessary. He has now learned a few Javanese words for basic communication.

Riyadi, a recent graduate from Gadjah Mada University, is completing his first year of working away from his hometown, Yogya. To him, going to Tulungagung was almost as daunting as going to another country. During the years of his studies, he only went to big cities for medical students' seminars. Born into a middle class family, he spent his childhood and youth amongst his class, while contacts with people of working class were incidental and peripheral. The only constant contacts were with his domestic servants.

When he met Bob Fairchild, he was amazed at Bob's willingness to work in conditions, he imagined, far below the sophistication he had been accustomed to. Being his junior, in age and in experience, Riyadi had been prepared to learn from him. But Bob humbly admitted that his knowledge of local illnesses was only based on books and medical literature, while Riyadi had had two years of practical experience in the general hospital of Yogya karta. This and the fact that he speaks Javanese, has given him the comfortable feeling of being Bob's host.

Riyadi quickens his pace to catch up with Bob. They walk silently toward their lodgings, which are two doors away from each other.

"Di, what is santet?' Bob asks suddenly.

Riyadi doesn't answer immediately. He looks at Bob through the haze of his cigarette smoke, wondering.

"Why do you ask, Bob?"

Bob begins by telling about Riyadi Rohana's apparent annoyance with Udin this morning. "I didn't attach much importance to the incident at first. But I couldn't help noticing the way she became sharp with some people each time they mentioned the world santet. And she'd furtively look at my head when she thought I wouldn't notice. When I asked her once or twice what was bothering her, she wouldn't tell me. She said there was nothing bothering her. I knew damned well there was! So what is santet?"

Riyadi was half aware of what happened during the day, because they were only separated by a thin curtain. He heard almost everything that was said in Bob's cubicle, but of course he couldn't see them.

"The townsfolk are getting scared, Bob. Every day there are people dying."

Bob is suddenly overcome by a sense of powerlessness. He and Riyadi can only help the situation by giving the people vitamin supplements and antibiotics when they are needed. But these are only temporary solutions. Their bodies have become so weak from malnutrition, that only the correct nutrition will help in the long run.

"Is that what they've been discussing with Rohana?"

Riyadi nodded. "Lately they've also been angry, because amongst the victims there have been children."

"So what is santet?" Bob becomes restless.

"Santet is a sort of witchcraft, Bob. In their hysteria, the townsfolk believe that some people have been practicing it, killing children for sacrifice."

"What? How'd it start?"

Bob stops walking. He is almost a head taller that Riyadi, who has to tilt his head to look at his face. To Bob's discomfort, Riyadi seems to stare at his hair, though only for a moment. He makes a self-conscious gesture of running his fingers through his honey-colored hair.

"I'm not sure. I was too busy to enquire. We were flat out."

"Di!" Bob says earnestly, "We must stop this rumor. It's not true, and it'll only detract from the real issue, malnutrition!"

"How do you stop it?" asks Riyadi.

Bob looks flabbergasted. "Di! Fancy you asking me that! We'll plan another series of information sessions. We must dispel that irrational fear. You'll take the major role, Di. You are Javanese, and the authority. They'll trust you!"

Riyadi shakes his head calmly. This kind of Javanese unaffectedness often exasperates Bob.

"You must understand. I have their trust when it concerns curable illnesses. When it comes to mysterious, incurable illnesses, such as malnutrition, they place their faith in doctors of a different dimension, the dukuns. Besides, I don't think they trust me fully, especially in this sensitive area. I am not a local. I'm from Yogyakarta, remember?"

Saying that, he starts walking again, leading Bob, who still looks incredulous at Riyadi's apparent acceptance of the ghastly situation. His friend's slight build and his mop of thick dark wavy hair disguise his real age. Bob wonders whether this young and frail frame also houses a rather carefree young mind.

In front of Bob's lodgings, Riyadi turns around and hesitates before saying, "Bob, we've had a heavy day. Maybe you should take it easy now and have an early night. Don't come out again tonight."

After his patronizing thoughts about Riyadi, what he said seems so incongruous to the extent of being amusing. "Yes, chief," he said, almost laughing with condescension. Of course he has no intention of following Riyadi's advice.

After his shower, he asks Sakiyem, his domestic help, if she has pressed his cotton jacket. Instead of answering his question, Sakiyem looks concerned, then timidly inquires, "Are you going anywhere, sir?"

Bob flushes. He nearly chides her for being impudent, when he checks himself and realizes that the day's events have put a strain on his nerves. "I might go out after dinner, Sakiyem. Anything wrong with that?"

Sakiyem's face becomes expressionless. She looks at Bob's head, then at the floor and says, "No sir. But you look tired."

Bob feels a shiver run down his spine. He doesn't know whether it is caused by impatience or apprehension. Why does everyone show so much concern about his physical well-being? He remembers even Rohana said something similar. Do I really look that bad? I don't feel particularly tired. Not more than usual.

"I'm alright, Sakiyem. Just bring me that jacket, will you?"

Now he feels more determined than ever. He has to go out, even if only to prove to himself that he is fit and well.

The night air grips his face as soon as he walks out of the house. Bob can't remember such a chilly night since he arrived in Tulungagung. After hesitating for a minute, he decides to turn north, away from Riyadi's place. But he has only taken a few steps when he hears his name called. Looking over his shoulder he sees Riyadi running towards him. Though he hadn't intended to seek his company, Bob quietly welcomes Riyadi's presence. They begin walking north, towards the outskirts. Neither comments on the unusualness of this walk, as they usually walk to the town square on their evenings off.

As they stroll further away from the town center they meet and greet fewer people. The full moon follows them into a lane between dry patches of land where, in better times, there were rice fields. There are dilapidated huts which look like they have been carelessly thrown there by a bad tampered God from his heavenly carriage. The sight depresses Bob. He feels like an alien who landed on a planet deserted by human love. Buttoning his jacket up he looks toward the sky. It is so clear, Bob starts looking for Orion the Hunter.

"Di, look! That's Orion. In Australia, we call that constellation The Saucepan. I reckon the Greeks are more romantic, don't you?"

Suddenly they both look puzzled. "A meteorite!" exclaims Bob, following what he thinks is a meteorite with his eyes. It moves fast high above their heads, then takes a dive into a cluster of houses in town.

"That, that was not a meteorite, Bob!" Riyadi stutters, excitedly.

Bob is astonished, he has never seen Riyadi excited before. In fact, he thought that because of his refined middle class background, Riyadi could never become excited.

"What was it then?"

"It was....oh God. I've only seen one of those once before, when I was fifteen. I was sitting on the verandah with my grandmother. Then we saw it. My grandmother took me inside the house straight away. Then she and my mother had an excited talk about some evil dukun casting a spell. 'It went in the direction of the kepala kampung, the head of the community. Someone obviously wanted to get rid of him.' I heard my grandmother say. The next day we heard that the kepala kampung was ill. Bob, I know it sounds fantastic to you. But I think we'd better get back home, whatever you think!"

Riyadi starts heading for the town without waiting for an answer, with Bob close behind him.

They arrive panting at Bob's door. Sakiyem appears and looks relieved to see them. When they burst in and collapse into chairs she leaves them to make some hot drinks.

Bob stands up and takes his jacket off. "I know it sounds ridiculous, Di. But I know how you felt then. I felt it too!"

"You were scared?" asks Riyadi, taking out a cigarette. "Yes. Scared! It wasn't only your story, Di. The whole place was sort of eerie. No joke!"

They feel much better after the ginger drinks that Sakiyem made them. Riyadi feels tired. His body seems to slow down after such an uncharacteristic flow of adrenalin. He stands up, stretches and yawns.

"Enough excitement for one night, children!" Bob has recovered enough to joke about the situation.

Riyadi becomes alert as soon as he leaves Bob's place. Looking over his shoulder he rushes to his lodgings. Mentally running through what he heard at the clinic, he changes into his pajamas.

He remembers an old woman's voice discussing Bob in local Javanese. "The doctor's hair is the color of the hair on the corn. That's what they say your hair becomes when you practice santet."

Rohana's voice was terse. "Not santet again! The doctor has nothing to do with santet! His hair has always been that color!"

The next significant mention of santet came from a rather young farm laborer who lost his job through the long drought.

"It is not malnutrition that kills the children. The last drought didn't claim that many young victims. Don't you remember?"

Rohana gave a non-committal "Hmmm," then, as if she had just remembered, she asked, "And what do you think kills them, then?"

The young man lowered his voice, though still audible, "We believe some people are practicing santet. They fast until their hair turns that color, then they start claiming children for their sacrifice."

Rohana gasped, "How horrible! Are you sure of this?"

"My father is a dukun. He knows about these things."

"Does he know who these people are?" asks Rohana.

"He has a rough idea. So have many people around here. They're recognizable by their hair color. That's why they're all in hiding."

Riyadi goes to the bathroom to wash his face. After what he saw on his walk, he is not so ready to dismiss the young man's account as primitive superstition. Throughout his medical studies, he was trained to think scientifically, to reject illnesses caused by witchcraft as psychosomatic. He thus felt that he was impervious to anything related to witchcraft. He never though that a simple meteorite could arouse his primeval fear. Maybe in every sophisticated person's mind, there is a well of primeval intuitions, yet still accessible when he or she is not mentally alert? He shakes the excess water from his face and neck before pulling his towel off the hook, hoping to shake off these absurd thoughts from his mind as well.

Sitting on his bed smoking, his eyes wander to his desk where a booklet from the WHO on malnutrition is left untouched. He grabs the booklet and starts reading it until his brain refuses to take in any more information. He then puffs up his pillow and gratefully lays his head on it.

Riyadi jumps. The mob bursts through his front door, past the front room and bursts into his bedroom. He catches a glimpse of Bob's honey colored hair and hears his cry for help before the whole mob attacks him. Riyadi watches helplessly as the men, young and old, swing their improvised weapons on the limp body on the floor. The angry mob now turns on him. Excited, violence- inspired faces surround him, hissing and yelling. Fear, real fear suddenly wakes him. The young doctor is sweating and suffocating.

Groggily sitting up and sweeping his feet around the floor looking for his thongs, Riyadi becomes vaguely aware of angry voices trailing off into the distance. His fear returns, mixed with confusion of not knowing whether he is awake or asleep.

He is jolted into full wakefulness when his feet feel the cold of the tiled floor. Scrambling with his thongs half-on half-off, he reaches the front door and runs out of the house.

Bob wakes up from a surrealistic dream, suffering with a dry throat. He gets up to pour himself a drink of cold water from the jug Sakiyem always leaves on the table near his bed. The first sip has barely wet his mouth when he is jolted by frantic knocking on the front door.

Riyadi flings himself on him, muttering, "Alhamdulilah, alhamdulilah! I'm glad to see you, Bob!"

Bob pulls himself away out of the urgency to find out what has brought Riyadi in such a state. Seeing Riyadi's face, he gasps.

"Bloody hell! What happened to you?"

"I.... I had a horrific dream. Oh God! They must've. Oh no! They can't have, I couldn't have heard them. No. I was still dreaming."

"Di! What the hell's going on?" asks Bob, extremely anxious by now.

Riyadi helps himself to Bob's glass of water, then sits down holding his head. He's still shivering slightly.

He begins to tell Bob of his dream, but is interrupted by a knock at the door.

Four security officials are standing on the small verandah. One of them, who speaks Indonesian, greets Bob.

"Doctor Bob, I'm glad you are up. Oh, Doctor Riyadi! Here you are! We went to your place but..."

"What happened, Pak Giarto?" asks Riyadi.

Giarto clears his throat. For Bob's benefit he explains their visit in Indonesian. "There has been an unfortunate happening. A man and his daughter have been mobbed by an angry crowd from the neighboring kampung. We might need your help."

"What? Where are they?" asks Riyadi.

"In Kampung Papan, Doc."

Both Bob and Riyadi recall that Kampung Papan is on the northern outskirts of Tulanggan, where they had a walk several hours ago.

They all pile into the old Morris Minor, which coughs and shakes its way northward.

In the car Giarto tells Riyadi and Bob that the crowd was convinced that the two victims were practicing santet, because a seven-year-old child had died a short time beforehand.

The little bomb takes them past the dry patch of land where they saw the dilapidated huts on their walk. A few hundred metres later it sputters to a stop. For a while Bob thinks they are going to see the poor father and daughter lying on the side of the road. But a security official comes out from a cluster of dry banana trees and welcomes them. They find the dwelling place, as small, woebegone looking hut behind the dead trees. Bob and Riyadi walk in first. They lift the rags that cover the two bodies and Bob winces. He can't help noticing, even in the kero sene light, that their hair, matted with congealed blood, is light brown.

"Innalilahi wa'ina ilaihi ro'jiun", he hears Riyadi whisper.

Two days later, in a Jakartan newspaper, a small article tells the story of a poor farmer and his daughter who were mobbed to death by angry kampung dwellers on the outskirts of Tulungagung in East Java. "The kampung dwellers believed that they were practicing santet, proven, they said, by the light brown color of their hair. However, according to the two doctors practicing in the town, Doctor Riyadi and Doctor Robert Fairchild, the discoloring of the hair was only a symptom of malnutrition."

On the same day, Maureen Fairchild in the Melbourne suburb of Eltham in Australia, receives a telegram from her son, "EVERYTHING OK STOP UNHURT STOP WILL WRITE SOON LOVE BOB."

Puzzled, she rings up her husband at work. "Ted, what's happened in Indonesia? Was there a riot or something?"

Dewi Anggraeni was born in Jakarta, Indonesia. She lives in Melbourne with her husband and two children. She was the Australian correspondent for the former Tempo magazine, and now writes for The Jakarta Post, Forum Keadilan, and other publications in Indonesia and Australia. Her works have been published in both Indonesian and English, in Australia and Indonesia. She has three books published in Australia: two novels, The Root of All Evil (1987) and Parallel Forces (1988), and the third, a trilogy of novellas, Stories of Indian Pacific (1993).