Susuk

By Dewi Anggraeni

"Absolute nonsense!" Russel blurted out, irritated. "Nothing more, nothing less. Utter nonsense!"

Russel was offended. Martinus and Ratna, two of his trusted colleagues, had just slandered the love of his life, Rika Juwita.

"Rika ...," Ratna had said, " ... has a susuk. Haven't you noticed, Russ, she is actually not pretty. However, no matter where she goes, she becomes the center of attention. All her superiors fall under her spell, except Sunarti. And that's because Sunarti's a devoutly religious person."

Ha! thought Russel, she's jealous. He was intrigued nonetheless, how a person with such integrity as Ratna would stoop that low.

Just then, Martinus took over. "We have thought about this, Russ. Believe me, we're not in the habit of intruding on our friends' private affairs, that's why we didn't bring this up until now. However we noticed that you were getting really serious with Rika. My wife, Korina, finally persuaded me to talk to you. Ratna happened to agree we should see you about it."

Russel looked incredulously at Martinus. "You too, Martinus?" asked Russel, his voice turning falsetto from emotion. "You, a good Christian, believe in susuks?"

Martinus was momentarily thrown off-balance, then quickly gathered himself. "Russ, you are new to this land of ours. There's a great deal you've yet to learn, about the people and the mores. Susuks exist, Russ. Many people have them, men and women. And as a Christian, I regard them as the craft of the devil. That's why I'm concerned about you."

Martinus and Ratna finally looked at each other, then meekly excused themselves. They saw they'd get nowhere, with Russel standing his ground and refusing to listen to them.

After his friends had left, Russel walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of whisky. Sipping it slowly he found a corner on the couch and sat down, thinking.

Martinus was wrong. Of-course he knew a lot about Indonesians and their mores. Hadn't he read a number of books about Indonesia before coming here? Hadn't he learnt the language, made acquaintances with Indonesians who lived in Sydney? Of-course, he hadn't gone so far as to read Clifford Geertz, or Margaret Mead. Well, he didn't come here to do anthropological research, did he? He came as a quality assurance consultant for PT Plasmak!

Huh, fancy Martinus and Ratna giving me advice about women. What does Martinus know about women? All his life he has never left the precinct of his church! And Ratna, trouble with that woman is, she's too intellectual. That's what happens when women are top-heavy he mused.

The more he thought of the conversation, the angrier he became. Suddenly, he smirked. Trust women. No matter how intellectual, they are not beyond petty jealousy. She may be more senior in position, but Rika is definitely more successful socially. He sculled the rest of his drink, and rose to get ready to pick up Rika. He'd arranged for them to have dinner at home, his home. He had given careful instructions to his cook, Siti, to cook Rika's favorite dishes.

Russel was a little disappointed when Rika's mother opened the door. He'd expected to see his love, beautiful and ready. Suppressing his annoyance, he followed Rika's mother in and accepted her offer of a cool drink.

"Rika's still in the bathroom," the middle-aged woman explained, continuing with small talk.

But Russel was unhappy. She told me to come at half past six. She should have been ready then. Still bathing indeed! he thought.

Rika's mother, her voice made unsteadily staccato by her asthma, telling him about the difficulty she had in finding reliable and hard-working domestic help, only irritated Russel further. He hardly took notice of what she was saying, and his eyes didn't shift from the passage that separated the front of the house from the bedroom area.

Forty minutes later, when Russel was on the point of giving up, Rika appeared in the passage. She was wearing a white velour, tight, mini skirt with dark blue borders at the hem, and a pale blue lace top. Her hair glimmered under the neon light. No doubt she spent ages on that hair, while I waited here listening to her mother's waffling passed through his mind.

But his irritation slowly disappeared, and in its place was a kind of giddiness he experienced whenever his love approached. The sway of her body, the easy smile on her lips. Oh, so inebriating. And he felt good about himself, about everything.

"Ready?" asked Rika coquettishly.

"Ready?" Russel asked back. No matter how he tried to show his annoyance at being made to wait, his voice sounded meek, even pleased.

Just then, he saw Rika's likeness to her mother, yet there was no trace of beauty in her mother. He didn't remain mystified for long, however, Rika tugging at his sleeve, saying goodbye to her mother.

Russel opened the car door for Rika, then rushed to climb in himself. He wanted to leave that narrow lane. It made him feel claustrophobic. When his car entered Jalan Thamrin, he turned to look at Rika. His love, who was aware of his gaze, raised her chin slightly, then smiled flirtatiously at him. Russel felt so stirred he nearly crashed into the car in front.

"You're beautiful. Very beautiful, Rika," he honestly stated. Suddenly, Russel remembered the glimpses he'd caught at Rika's house, how much his love looked like her mother. How could she be so beautiful, when her mother was not? His musings were interrupted by Rika's voice singing and humming the latest pop songs.

Udin, his gardener, shot up like lightning to open the gate as soon as he heard his master's car horn. He then quickly closed the gate behind them and watched the car enter the garage. When Rika stepped out, the gardener cast a surreptitious glance at her, and looked away when the young lady raised her head toward him. He looked again when she turned to enter the house, with Russel's hand pushing gently on the small of her back.

Russel prepared a non-alcoholic drink for Rika. His love didn't drink alcohol. Russel had never asked for any explanations, being broadminded and accepting of people's various likes and dislikes. This evening however, he couldn't help asking, "Won't you try a bit of Bacardi? Just a few drops, for a lift?"

Rika was uncompromising. "No. I thought you knew consuming alcohol was against my religion."

"Dancing is not?" teased Russel.

Rika just smiled.

Siti announced that dinner was served. Barbecued chicken, vegetables in coconut milk, salad and satay.

"Hmm. Smells delicious," Russel lavished Siti with praise as she was walking back to the kitchen. Siti smiled contentedly, keeping her head low.

Rika sat on the chair that Russel pulled out for her, without saying a word.

"What do you think? I told Siti to cook the chicken and vegetables for you. The satay and salad are my favorites."

Again Rika only smiled. She picked up her cutlery elegantly, fully aware of Russel's adoring look.

"Russ," she said, picking up a piece of chicken, "What were the directors' reactions when you announced your plans to contact the clients, and offer them compensation for the defective parts?"

Russel didn't reply immediately. He didn't like talking shop with Rika outside their working environment.

"Most of them disagreed. But Hamid proposed we modify the approach."

"How?"

"Hamid suggested we contact the clients, but instead of offering compensation, we should offer them extra parts, free of charge. He said, since the clients don't know the parts were defective, let them think we're being generous, instead of dishonest."

Rika laughed. "You may be an expert in quality assurance, but Hamid is the true entrepreneur."

Russel wanted to end the conversation quickly. He was particularly eager to know about Rika this evening.

"The satay is especially delectable tonight, Rika. Won't you try it ? This is a chicken satay, sweetheart, you like chicken don't you?"

Rika shook her head.

"No, thank you. Just because I like barbecued chicken it doesn't mean that I like chicken in any dish. Russ, tell me, who disagreed with you?"

Russel raised his head and looked at Rika, just when she was opening her mouth. He was put out because she kept asking about the directors' meeting. It was, after all, a closed meeting. Maybe, because of his misgivings, the girl looked momentarily plain. Her eyes were not entirely symmetrical, her nose looked too wide for the slim face, and her mouth was too thin.

"I'd rather you didn't persist with those questions, Rika. It was a closed meeting."

Rika looked shocked. She stopped chewing. Her eyes moistened. Russel instantaneously regretted what he'd said. He shouldn't have talked to her in that tone.

He reached for Rika's hand and apologized.

"I want to talk about personal things with you, darling. I'm at home now, not at work."

Rika squeezed Russel's hand in response.

Now it was her turn to be reluctant in answering his questions.

"I was born in Sukabumi, and went to school there until Year 9, then I came to Jakarta with my mother. Why do you suddenly want to know, Russ?"

"I want to know you better," replied Russel. "So, when you came to Jakarta, where did you live?"

"In Jatinegara," replied Rika curtly.

The evening didn't quite come off. Something had driven a wedge between them. The following day, Russel attended another directors' meeting. When they'd finished they went to the restaurant across the road for lunch. Hamid, who held center stage at the meeting, maintained his star status at the restaurant. He was gregarious and always ready with jokes.

"No, sweetheart," he said to the young waitress who brought him a plate of satay, "I don't eat satays. They don't agree with my susuk." He then winked to the others.

Everybody laughed, except Russel. The waitress became flirtatious and asked, "What's the susuk for, Uncle?"

"Oouuch! She called me Uncle! My susuk doesn't work!"

Everyone continued laughing.

Russel flushed, but tried to pretend he was busy having a drink.

"Hey, Mid! Which dukun gave you the susuk? The one from Ancol?" asked Surya, the Managing Director of PT Plasmak.

"Arh, of course not!" Hamid answered with a grin, "Mine is a high caliber dukun, from the South Coast, near Sukabumi!"

Hearing Sukabumi mentioned, Russel nearly choked. He quickly raised his glass.

On the way home from work that evening, he intentionally took the front seat, beside the company driver.

He began engaging Mahmud in small talk, about custom and tradition in Jakarta. Then, with studied nonchalance, he asked, "Is it true, Mahmud, that a lot of people in Jakarta use susuks?"

Though taken aback, Mahmud answered calmly, "Yes, a lot, Sir."

"How many?" asked Russel.

"Wah, hard to give an exact number, Sir, because they usually keep it a secret."

"If they keep it a secret, how do other people know?"

"Ooh Sir," Mahmud smiled meaningfully, "People know. These things show after a while."

"What do you mean, show?"

"Hard to explain Sir, but people here usually can tell."

Russel stopped. He didn't want Mahmud to become suspicious.

When they arrived at his house, Udin opened the gate and Russel walked in. He wanted to stop, to chastise his gardener for the way he had looked at Rika last night, but quickly changed his mind. He was doubting if he had really seen Udin look lasciviously at Rika. I'm getting touchy about Rika, he thought.

On Saturday night, Russel and Rika were invited for dinner by Ann and Peter Wood, Russel's friends from Sydney who worked at the Prambanan Hotel. The Woods had also invited Malik, a diplomat from Egypt.

All evening, Malik's eyes were focussed on Rika, who openly enjoyed the attention. If at first Russel was flattered that his partner was the center of attention, the novelty soon wore thin. Malik seemed to only talk to Rika, and after every joke he told, he winked at Rika, responding coquettishly.

Russel couldn't stop drinking. His vision was increasingly blurred. Sometimes he saw Rika's face as plain and unattractive, yet when he blinked, the face became radiant once again, with a very seductive smile. His stomach tightened as he saw the smile wasn't directed at him.

"Rika, Malik is married with several children," Russel said coolly as soon as they'd left the Woods' house.

"So?" asked Rika, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Huh," Russel retorted crossly, "You two behaved as if you were thg only people alive!"

Rika turned angrily at Russel. "I was only making up for your rudeness. You were sullen, ignoring his stories and his jokes. Then you sat in the corner drinking yourself silly, your face dark and sour. So you wanted me to join you there sulking. What would Ann and Peter have said?"

"I already know what they're saying about you!" he shouted.

Rika left the car in front of her house, slamming the car door, and Russel planted his foot on the accelerator, roaring off.

They hadn't spoken for two days, and Russel hadn't been very chatty with anyone else, either. Finally, Hamid, who along with their other colleagues had been watching him, came to see him.

"What's going on between you and Rika, Russ?"

Russel looked up from his desk, then answered, "Nothing."

"Let's go across the road for a drink, Russ."

Russel accepted gratefully. He had been dying for a drink, but had been reluctant to ask anyone, and he never liked drinking alone.

As soon as they entered the bar, Russel felt better. He saw other Caucasians inside.

Hamid tried to catch a waitress' attention, in vain.

"Stand-offish little floosy!" Hamid whispered, annoyed.

Russel laughed. "The power of your susuk is waning, eh?"

Hamid turned to him. "Maybe you're right."

Russel finally ordered drinks for them, and when they were more relaxed, Russel broached the subject again. "You're not serious about your susuk, are you Hamid?"

Hamid laughed. "If I didn't have a susuk, how could I be so successful in business?"

"Hey, I'm serious. What is this thing susuk, in fact?"

"Why do you want to know?" asked Hamid, sounding serious.

"Just curious. I'm always interested in things that are regarded as weird in the West."

"Susuk is actually a piece of jewel, which a particular dukun implants in your body."

"Whereabouts in your body?"

"Depends on what you want from the susuk. If a man wants his arm to be strong and powerful for instance, he might have one implanted in his elbow. Whatever he does with that arm will always bring him success."

"What about women?"

"A woman usually has a susuk implanted in her face, for instance the cheek, the chin, the forehead, in order to appear attractive and be able to influence powerful people. I imagine there are women with susuks in their breasts, or other places, who knows?"

Russel looked at him, disbelieving. "If this thing is so hot, Hamid, why doesn't everyone have one?"

"First, not all susuks have the desired power. Depends on the dukun. Secondly, the cost is extremely high."

"What do you mean?"

"To be honest with you, I'm not very well versed about the consequences of susuks. What I know is this. People with susuks in their bodies would have difficulty dying, no matter how sick or injured they are. The susuks have to be extracted first, and I hear only the dukuns who implanted them can extract them."

Russel was fascinated by Hamid's explanation. After taking another sip from his drink, he asked, "What do you mean, when you said you don't eat satays because of your susuk?"

"Oh, that!" Hamid laughed, "People with susuks have to stick to certain conditions. These depend on the type of their susuks and dukuns. Generally they must abstain from satays."

"And from alcohol?"

"Well, yes. Some from alcohol I'm sure. Maybe other things as well."

"Is it true that people here can tell someone with a susuk?"

Hamid thought for a while, then nodded slowly. "Yes, generally we can, though we can never be a hundred percent sure. Because usually, these people are successful, or charismatic, or simply downright attractive."

Russel looked ponderously at Hamid's face, then said teasingly. "Well, who knows, you maybe have a susuk!"

"Of course I do. Haven't I always told you so?"

They were still laughing when they stepped into the office, turning heads in their wake.

Around three o'clock, Ratna came to see Russel with their modified designs. As one of the company lawyers, Ratna was involved in the legal side of all company designs.

They discussed the designs at length, until Russel was satisfied no aspect of the quality was compromised. Before she left, Ratna wanted to say something, but hesitated. She studied Russel's face, sighed, then turned to leave.

Russel waited until she had disappeared behind the door, then picked up the phone to ask his secretary to bring in a cool drink. When his secretary walked in with the drink, he was pacing up and down.

Russel gulped down his drink, then walked out, heading for Rika's desk. He cleared his throat and Rika raised her head. After a momentary silence, she smiled a little. Russel longed to grab her hand, but quickly controlled himself. I don't care, he thought. To me, she's beautiful.

"Are you..., are you busy tonight?" he asked, his heart beat racing.

Rika looked down for a second, then raised her head. "No. I'm not."

Dewi Anggraeni was born in Jakarta. She lives in Melbourne with her husband and two children. She was the Australian correspondent for Tempo, and now writes for The Jakarta Post, Forum Keadilan, and other publications in Indonesia and Australia. Combining her skills as a journalist and novelist, her works have been published in both languages, 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). She has also contributed articles and short stories to several anthologies.

Note: dukun = soothsayer/sorcerer