Sphinx

By Umar Kayam

The sphinx is a mythological creature from ancient Egypt, Greece and Middle Eastern countries. The creature takes its form as a human being with a lion's head. In Egypt, the sphinx stands guard near the burial places of the pharaohs at the pyramids.

Many believe the sphinx's head is the portrait of the pharaohs. But with the absence of a smile, or expressions of anger, threat or an invitation to a dialog, its features are inscrutable. The face of stone is as stiff as the material.

This is the story I heard from my teacher in high school. A dropout of a Roman Catholic school, he taught us history in a spellbinding way. He retold the stories from world history as if he was involved in them. He made his students feel like they were being carried away with the historical events.

He also told a poignant tale about Napoleon's farewell meeting with his generals before he departed to his exile on the St. Helene. And he vividly related the story of the Dutch colonial troops' inhumane acts in trapping Prince Diponegoro, who led a war against the colonists in Java from 1825 to 1830.

Almost everyone in our class was depressed on hearing the fate of the two heroes we loved so much. Almost everyone but Sutarto.

Sutarto registered no emotion when he listened to the stories. Nor did he show any reaction to the anecdotes about the lives of world leaders. The whole class was confused by his behavior.

"What kind of creature is he?" we used to ask ourselves. He never smiled, much less laughed. Our teacher also told rich stories about ancient Egypt, particularly about pharaohs, Cleopatra and Nefertiti, the pyramids and the sphinx, with its stony face.

"The sphinx is Sutarto," we said to ourselves. His face was that of the sphinx and he was the ancient creature.

Sutarto was always neatly dressed. He wore a white shirt, neatly ironed trousers, sparklingly polished Bata shoes. His hair was trimmed short. His skin was dark brown, the standard color of the Javanese.

He came to school and went home punctually by the bicycle -- a Fongers -- he had inherited from his father. By 6:30 a.m. he was already in the classroom, but a moment after school was finished he was on the street pedaling his Fongers home.

Sutarto finished his homework on time and was always first to complete an exam. He always got a grade of six for each of his assignments, meaning he was just an average student. Sutarto received the corrected works from the teachers without emotion and did not hesitate to show them to his classmates when they insisted.

In the play during the annual school celebration, Sutarto was always given the same role and the same dialog. He played a guard shot at his post who cried "Ah, I'm dead" as he was dying. Every time he played this role, Sutarto stopped being a sphinx and acted like a real soldier.

His acting ability was warmly applauded by the audience, who shouted "Bravo sphinx, bravo sphinx". After the performance, Sutarto became a sphinx again.

Time passed. We left high school and went on to higher education in college. We said our goodbyes. Later we got married and were busy with our families. We did meet on certain occasions for another round of goodbyes. Sometimes I remembered Sutarto with his sphinx face and tried to guess what was he doing.

One day I read in a morning newspaper and later watched a TV report of Sutarto making a statement about an alleged corruption scandal at his office. I shouted, "Oh, that Sutarto, the sphinx, sphinx, sphinx".

My wife, who was sitting beside me, was disturbed by my shouts.

"What's the matter with you?"

"It is the sphinx, honey. That is him, the sphinx."

"Sphinx what?"

I told her that what I meant by sphinx was Sutarto, the high- ranking official who was telling journalists that there was no corruption in his office.

"Then, why do you call him a sphinx. He looks normal. I found him almost handsome."

I told my wife the whole story about how Sutarto had earned his nickname.

"Weren't you all a bit unkind to give him that name? He is so articulate and was able to make such a convincing statement," she said.

"No, honey. We were far from being cruel. We were just realistic. Did you notice his face when he closed his mouth after speaking to the press? Now, look at the way he closed his mouth and pay attention to his eyes. Look at the way he looks. He has an empty gaze, right? And look at all his features. He is looking nowhere; that is a sphinx."

My wife laughed and I knew she did not believe what I said. She probably thought I had made up the story.

That night my wife slept soundly, but I was still very much awake until the wee hours. Sutarto filled my mind. Where had he been? I remembered a friend of ours who once told me that after graduating from high school, Sutarto enrolled in the Public Administration Academy, or something like that.

If that was true, it meant that he must have become a district officer or regency staff. And he must have a high position now.

I compared his position with mine. I had slowly crawled up from the bottom since graduating from college. Other friends of mine had the same complaints. As far as career is concerned, sphinx is much further ahead than us. But how could this be? At high school he was just an average student. But his present position was wonderful.

I felt I had to meet Sutarto to pay him a courtesy call or find out whether he could help me and my friends whose careers had floundered.

"Don't try to kiss his ass when you meet him," my wife warned me during breakfast. "Shame on you if you do."

"Who will kiss whose ass?" I asked.

"Thank God you said that. But I'm sure you have something in mind."

"Sure I have. I want to rekindle our old friendship, that's all."

I had told her a lie. During school, none of us wanted to befriend Sphinx. How could anyone? Sphinx was difficult to communicate with.

At Sutarto's office I was met by a secretary who was suspicious about my visit. This might have been caused the way I identified myself as "Sutarto's good friend".

I also told her about our schooldays. But she still did not believe what I said. Perhaps the problem was my appearance. I was only a civil servant and my manner was not convincing enough. Everybody there was wearing a tie.

She was finally willing to inform her boss about my visit. She ushered me into a room.

It was adjacent to a meeting room where Sutarto was with reporters, some of whom were busy taking his photograph. At the end of the meeting room, Sutarto sat like a real, perfect sphinx. He looked straight forward with an empty gaze. It seemed the reporters were nonexistent to him.

"You said that the alleged collusion between your staff members and Jonggingslaka officials never happened,Pak?"

"No, never."

"But there is corruption in the financing of the Kebon Ciut dam, Pak?"

"No, there is no such thing."

"Could you elaborate?"

"It is not necessary."

"So there is no corruption?"

"Absolutely none."

"Don't you feel pity for the people who have been evicted to make way for the dam?"

"Yes, I do."

The reporters wanted to ask more questions but Sutarto rose from his seat and said: "That is all for today."

He entered his room. His secretary followed behind and said, "Sir, an old friend of yours wants to see you".

I saw Sutarto staring at me. I tried to smile broadly but did not know how to address him. Should I say Pak (sir), Bung (brother) or what?

Sutarto continued to stare at me without any expression. Suddenly he motioned for me to enter.

Inside he showed me to a seat.

"Aqua?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

After sipping our water we looked at each other again.

"You must be Umar, no?."

"Yes, the same old Umar. But you still look young and you are in a grand position," I said.

"It is all right."

When the telephone rang, Sutarto quickly picked up the receiver. He repeatedly said yes in the conversation. As he talked, he jotted something in a small notebook. He tore the sheet of paper off and handed it to me.

It was a check for Rp 5 million.

The actual purpose of my visit was to inform him that our friends were planning to hold a high school reunion. We needed funding. I was surprised that sphinx already knew about our plan.

He rambled on in his telephone conversation with a flood of yes, yes, yes. Sutarto did not want to be interrupted and he waved his goodbye to me.

The secretary entered as I was leaving to inform him that the U.S. ambassador had arrived and was waiting in the library.

In the street, I saw a lot of people waiting for the bus. All of them looked the same, like a sphinx. Each and every one of them resembled Sutarto. On the corner of the street, there were huge billboards. All of them carried the stony faces of sphinxes.

P.S. I forgot to continue the sphinx story of our teacher. In Greece, a sphinx is believed to have the personality of a fortune-teller who would pose an awkward question to each of his clients. He did not hesitate to kill those who failed to answer it.

His question to Oedipus the king was: "What do you call the animal which has four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon and three in the evening?"

Oedipus' answer: human beings who crawl when a baby, walk when adult and need the support of a stick when old.

When he heard this, the sphinx committed suicide.

As this part of the story crossed my mind, I was suddenly eager to see Sutarto again. I wanted to ask him if he remembered this fragment of the story, too.

Translated by TIS

The writer is a retired professor of literature and sociology from Gadjah Mada University in Yogyakarta. Born in the East Java town of Ngawi on April 30, 1932, Umar started writing for magazines when he was a senior high school student. He had yet to become a seasoned short story writer when he studied at New York University and Cornell University between 1961 and 1965. His short story Seribu Kunang Kunang di Manhattan (A Thousand Fireflies in Manhattan) was selected as the best Indonesian story of 1968 by Horison magazine.

Upon his return from the U.S., he was appointed director general of radio, television and film of the Ministry of Information. He also wrote for domestic and foreign magazines. His book The Soul of Indonesia, A Cultural Journey, first published by the Louisiana University Press in the U.S., has been published here in Indonesian.

This short story appears in Anjing Anjing Menyerbu Kuburan: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1997 (The Dogs Stormed the Grave). It is printed here courtesy of Kompas daily.