Telephone

Sun, 13 Feb 2000, 00:00 WIB | Source: The Jakarta Post

Telephone

By Mukti Sutarman Espe

"Morning, four-four-two-five-four-eight?"

"Yes, it is."

"Could I speak to Bu Ratni?"

"Speaking. Who's calling, please?"

"Am I really speaking to Bu Ratni?"

"Yes."

"Happy birthday, Rat. May you live a long life."

The telephone conversation stopped briefly. Bu Ratni knitted
her brow. Who is on the other end? The voice seems very familiar.

"Who is calling, please?" Bu Ratni asked again, very curious.

"Happy birthday, Rat. May you ..."

"Yes. Thank you. But who is calling?"

"I'm afraid that as soon as you realize who I am you will hang
up."

Bu Ratni said nothing. She was racking her brains. A number of
names, once familiar to her, sprang to mind. Pak Amran, Mas Beno,
Pak Tarigan, Dik Handri, Mas Prayit, but, well, the voice on the
telephone did not belong to any of them.

"Is my name important, Rat?" suddenly the caller asked.

"Yes, very. You are the first person to wish me a happy
birthday. And your voice is very familiar to me, but ..."

"But is it forgotten?" the man on the other end said,
laughing.

Bu Ratni's heart beat harder than usual. She also found his
laugh very familiar. Very familiar and close. But who is he?

"Hello, hello!" Bu Ratni said, her voice rising in pitch a
little. There was no answer. Well, he had hung up.

Reluctantly Bu Ratni put down the receiver. She became very
disappointed, she did not know why. Slowly she realized that the
voice and the laugh of the man who had just called her had made
her restless. She spent almost the whole afternoon wondering who
had called her in the morning. For a while she neglected her
routine job as the principal of a senior secondary school. She
simply looked vacantly at a number of letters which she had to
sign.

A face suddenly came to mind. Bu Ratni's heart missed a beat.
Mas Wenas, could it really have been him? Ah, impossible. It was
impossible that her former fiance would call her. On several
occasions they happened to meet, but he had never condescended to
greet her. He had even cut her dead! Why would he be telephoning
her? Impossible.

But the voice and the laugh of the man who had called her that
morning? Bu Ratni knitted her brow again. Yes, Mas Wenas! She was
sure it was Mas Wenas. She was pretty sure it was Mas Wenas, she
now recognized the voice and the laugh because dozens of years
ago were very dear to her.

Bu Ratni cleared her throat. Her face became a little cloudy.
Adnan Ruwenas, how she wanted to hate this man. Hate him all she
could. This man had almost destroyed her life, her past. She had
built up hope for years but the whole thing simply crashed into
pieces when this man, whom she dearly loved, moved into the hope
and dreams of another woman.

Indeed, Bu Ratni wanted dearly to hate Mas Wenas. However, she
could never hate him, never, because, undeniably, she loved him
very much. She loved him dearly despite his sins and betrayal.

The telephone rang again. Bu Ratni jumped to her feet. Her
mind told her it was Mas Wenas. She was hoping it was him.

"Hello, could I speak to Bu Ratni?"

She held her breath. When she heard the voice of the caller,
her eyes beamed.

"This must be Mas Wenas, right?" she said, her voice full of
enthusiasm.

The caller laughed.

"Finally you remember my voice, Rat."

"It is not like you to telephone me, Mas. What's up?"

"Just wanted to say happy birthday to you."

"Only that?"

"Oh, no."

"Then?"

"I have quite a few things to ask you."

"Well?"

Very soon the two of them, both middle-aged, were engaged in
an intimate conversation that went on for hours. God knows what
they talked about and what feelings were expressed during those
hours. They did not care much about where they were when they
talked for so long on the telephone. On Bu Ratni's side, she was
obviously deaf to the noise the students made during their break,
or to the jokes and laughter of the teachers and the school
administration personnel. On the other end, where Mas Wenas was
supposed to be, people saw a strange sight. There was nobody in
the telephone booth but the door was closed and could not be
opened.

"OK, Rat. Until Saturday."

"OK."

"Careful and make sure that your husband knows nothing about
it."

"Of course."

Saturday morning, close to 10 a.m., Bu Ratni was sitting on a
bench in a cool tourist spot, some 30 kilometers to the south of
where she lived. Once in a while, she looked at the gate. Once in
a while her heart throbbed. She had been married to Mas Pur for
nine years and this was the only time she had considered being
unfaithful. Mas Pur is too good to betray. I have come here not
to have an affair. I have come here just to listen to, and, if I
can, help him. He has told me that he has a lot of complicated
problems. Well, I chose this place, which is more suitable for a
rendezvous, simply for reasons of privacy. So, she heaved a sigh
several times.

A gentleman passed. Bu Ratni looked at him closely. No, it is
not Mas Wenas. She looked at her watch -- it was 11:15 a.m. She
began to feel restless. She took The Jakarta Post but she could
not make herself read the paper, which she had bought at one of
the supermarkets in her town. She could not concentrate; the
newspaper, the gate and her wristwatch.

The sun rose higher. There was no sight yet of Mas Wenas. Bu
Ratni was really restless. She began to suspect him of this and
that. Perhaps he just wanted to trick her. Perhaps he was afraid
that his wife would learn of this secret meeting. Perhaps he had
been involved in a road accident. A number of possibilities came
to mind.

At 12 p.m. her restlessness reached its peak. She looked
around the park gain. Mas Wenas was still not in sight. She was
ready to leave. She stood up, but then hesitated. She sat down
again. After a few minutes, she hurried out of the park, without
even turning back. Her restlessness suddenly turned into
annoyance.

"To hell with Ruwenas!" she said angrily. In strides, she left
the park. She kept condemning the man. Ah, Ruwenas, you are
really a bastard.

***

On a bus taking her back home, she tried to reconstruct what
had happened over the past few days. On Thursday she got a phone
call from a man who used to be her fiance. On Saturday they were
supposed to meet and ...

She shook her head several times. Suddenly she was ashamed of
herself. She was going on 40 and whatever the reason, going out
with another man was really improper. What if her husband found
out?

She felt guilty. Mas Pur had everything that a wife could hope
for. He was a small angel that had lifted her from solitude. In
the first years after Wenas left her, she was really a lost soul.
Pain, embarrassment and insult were part of her life. Her
neighbors and even her own family seemed to have dumped her. She
found life very bitter. When she was at her lowest, Mas Pur
turned up, confronting and accompanying her. Although at first
she did not quite love him, his sincerity finally got her to
accept him with open arms.

"Ah, Mas Pur, please forgive me." Ratni covered her face. She
felt guilty and very sorry.

The bus suddenly came to a stop. A woman got on. Bu Ratni
caught sight of the woman. Neither of them could believe their
eyes and shouted in joy.

"Mbak Ratni!"

"Dik Atik!"

Atik took a seat beside Bu Ratni. Then the two women, who had
not met each other for many years, exchanged stories: children,
husbands, jobs and past friends. They talked happily, their
conversation interspersed with chuckles, laughter and jokes.

"Mbak Ratni, have you heard about Mas Wenas?" Atik suddenly
asked.

Bu Ratni's heart missed a beat. She tried to smile in order to
hide her feelings.

"You have, haven't you, mbak," Atik asked again, serious.

"About what?" Bu Ratni said, nervous.

"Very tragic, mbak."

"What do you mean?"

"So, you haven't heard about him, have you?"

Bu Ratni shook her head. She was waiting, full of attention,
for an explanation from her former campus friend.

"It is really tragic, mbak. He was killed upon the order of
his own wife."

"Tell me you are serious,Dik," said Bu Ratni, becoming more
nervous than ever.

"I am, mbak. Mas Wenas was murdered. Reportedly, the murder
was masterminded by his own wife."

"When did it happen?"

"A week ago."

Suddenly Bu Ratni's face turned pale. He was killed the week
before, but then who telephoned her the day before? Who wished
her a happy birthday then?

Bu Ratni closed her eyes. Indistinctly, amid the roaring sound
of the bus engine, she seemed to hear the telephone ring. Then
the voice of Mas Wenas and afterward his laugh.

Glossary:
Bu : Mrs.
Pak : Mr.
Dik : a term of address used for a younger person
Mas : a Javanese term of address for an older male
mBak : a Javanese term of address for an older woman

-- Translated by Lie Hua