The Final Party

By Nini Tiley-Notodisuryo

Jeremy parked the car on the eastern side of Te Papa, the famous New Zealand new museum located near the sea. The sixty-odd steps outside the building, climbing up to the function room were beautiful to look at. I imagined a woman wearing a long white dress, led by her partner holding her hand. To make it perfect, the weather had to be right -- with the moon shining and the wind at a lull.

Jeremy's quick steps made me fall back farther and farther behind him and he did not even look back to check if I was all right. After living with him for about five years I had learned that in the western world a man should walk behind a woman when climbing a staircase. But that evening he ignored his good manners, as if he wanted to catch something before I did. My internal grumbling was soon overtaken by an enchanting view of the sea. I stopped to admire the beauty.

My dark, long hair was dancing wildly in the famous Wellington wind and the thick shawl covering my bare shoulders started to lose its ability to keep me warm. I looked around and Jeremy was not there. Then I saw an entrance with people going in. I followed them through the door which I later on named the door of distress and confusion.

People were chatting with glasses in their hands. I felt uneasy, as I knew nobody there. My eyes, searching for any familiar faces, caught sight of some very informal outfits. It had taken me a while to accept and adjust myself to the informality of this country. People wearing jeans to a cocktail party I had become used to, but wearing a sports shirt for an annual dinner? That I still found difficult to accept.

"Gita, where have you been?" Jeremy's voice was sharp.

"Well ... mm, I fell down and an angel took me away to test if you cared about me."

"Don't say such silly things again!"

I ignored him.

"The angel showed me a beautiful view," I continued, "and a handsome prince gave me his hand and treated me like a lady, leading me into this building full of strangers."

"Enough!" His loud voice made people near us stop talking and look in our direction.

Jeremy's round and chubby face, which suited the belly he carried, was red and angry. He was cross with me and with the crowd, but never with himself. He turned and walked away from me. I was left alone in the middle of an unknown land. When someone offered me a drink I held onto the glass of orange juice, giving me the chance to gather my strength for the next move.

"Quiet, please ... quiet! ... please!" The call through the loudspeaker was forceful enough to stop the hum of the crowd of about two hundred people and all heads faced the direction of the voice. From above it must have looked like green water-weed following in the direction of the current.

"On behalf of the management I would like to welcome you to this annual gathering with your spouses (partners ?) and wish you a happy Christmas ..."

"OK ... OK ... why's it so formal ... we're hungry ..."

Everybody laughed when someone from the audience suddenly raised his voice. The formal tone of the speaker changed; he laughed with the crowd.

"All right folks ... before you attack the table full of yummy food, I would like you to sit at the table of your choice. Look at the number in the middle of your table, because I'll call out that number when it's your turn."

Interesting!. When the audience rejected the formality, the speaker changed not only his tone but also his choice of words. I still could not see him, even though I was 1.7 meters tall, taller than Jeremy. I moved with the crowd to find our table, but Jeremy was still not by my side. A person next to me said 'hi' and I returned the greeting.

"That smells delicious," I opened the conversation, "I wonder what they've prepared for us".

"It could be French ... or ... Italian" he answered and then continued: "I'm not sure, but I heard that the food here's highly recommended. Have you tried the restaurant called Icon in this museum?'

"No ... no, I haven't," I answered, but my eyes were sweeping the area in view without turning my head. Jeremy was nowhere to be seen.

"My name is Andrew," the man beside me broke into my outward silence.

"And mine is Gita."

"Gita?" ... he confirmed.

"Yes, Gita."

"Who do you ... 'belong to'?" He stressed the words 'belong to' with a teasing look. "I'm sure you don't work at our office."

"You're right, I'm not working at your office. Did you say 'belong to'? Oh what an expression. I don't belong to anybody."

He laughed with me.

"I'm Jeremy's wife. At least, officially I'm his wife."

"Jeremy's ... wife?" He stuttered a little then continued: "You're lucky. He is such a nice man."

"Lucky?"

The slowness of the crowd finding their seats made me impatient, but I was trained to hide it. Andrew asked me if I would like to sit with him at a table which was at the far end from the entrance. Who was this Andrew? My curiosity was aroused. Jeremy had never mentioned his name, but of course we hardly talked lately. Almost any word from our tongues was like a poisonous arrow. The tension was so high, a fly could be killed if it passed between us.

"Is it all right sitting with your back to the stage, Gita?"

"Yes, that's fine. We're facing the food though. It keeps my appetite up."

"You must be hungry."

"Aren't you?"

"We'll keep one chair for Jeremy, the one on your left. Where is he by the way?"

"I'm not sure ... Have you worked with Jeremy long, Andrew?"

"About a year."

Andrew, tall and slim, pulled out the chair for me and then sat himself down beside me. I noticed that he was rather restless. There was a slight unmanly manner that prevented me from seeing him as the perfect man. He might have been brought up among girls, I thought.

The group from the table nearest to the food started to serve themselves. The buzz of voices was like a swarm of bees and its monotony was broken here and there by the noise of laughter or the tinkling of serving spoons against the dishes. And still Jeremy was not there.

"Is this chair free?" A young man asked.

"No, that's Jeremy's place," Andrew answered.

"Is he here? I haven't seen him."

"He'll be here soon."

"Are you going to introduce your charming lady to me, Andrew?"

"Gita, this is Bill." And to Bill he said: "Bill, this is Gita, Jeremy's wife."

The three of us chatted for a while before our table was called. Just when we were about to stand up to join the queue I saw Jeremy enter. I was not sure if he was looking for me, but Andrew waved at him and went and brought him to our table. He just sat down beside me without a single word. The rest of the table had gone to get their food.

"Hi, Jeremy," I greeted him.

"Hi," he answered without looking at me.

Andrew said "Where have you been, my friend, you left your wife alone. And I was worried about you".

"I forgot something in the car, so I went down. But ... I'll tell you later."

"Are you all right?" Andrew's tone was very concerned.

"Yup, I'm OK."

When we had collected our food the music suddenly became very loud, as if to give us a chance to do something other than gossiping and pretending to be sociable. I looked around appreciating the architecture of the museum which had been open for just two years. The ceiling was high and the outside wall was made completely of colorful glass. Behind my back there were colorful carvings forming part of a modern Maori meeting house. People were going up to have a closer look. When we had our coffee some tables were moved aside to give room to dance.

Jeremy's head looked heavy, his eyes were red and he could not sit straight. He did not say a word. Andrew and I continued chatting with each other, lips to ear in turn, trying to compete with the noise. The gentle fragrance of male perfume tickled my imagination. When the lighting started to show off its glaring colorful beams and the volume of the music increased, we could not talk any further.

Andrew stood up and said something in Jeremy's ear, then invited me to dance and I accepted. I did not like the sort of unrefined movement which was called a dance, but sitting next to Jeremy like a statue would have been painfully stressful. It must have been already a year since Jeremy had asked me for a dance. The music was getting wilder, and Andrew and I could only smile at each other. When I was facing Jeremy, I saw his belly going up and down as if he was content after dinner. I noticed that Andrew kept looking at him.

Later that evening the crowd on the dance floor was thinning. Those who had young children had to rush home before the baby- sitters went home. My feet started to get tired, but sitting next to a sleeping man was not a better option.

Towards midnight only six of us were still on the dance floor and another few who were resting at one table started to leave. When there were only four of us dancing, I gave a sign to Andrew that I wanted to stop. I went to Jeremy and tried to wake him up. He did not react. I was shocked and then I panicked.

"Andrew, help!" I said loudly. "There's something wrong with Jeremy."

Andrew shook him and shouted to the disc jockey.

"Stop the music! Someone call an ambulance!"

Suddenly the hall was quiet but busy with the running of the staff. The dazzling lights accompanying the disco music disappeared in an instant, replaced by bright ceiling lights touching every corner of the hall. Jeremy's face was peaceful, contrasting sharply with the fear shaking me inside. The burden was so intense, I did not know what to do. Some strong men laid Jeremy's heavy body on the floor. And some who were familiar with first aid tried to pump his chest. My trembling hands tried to take off his shoes without success.

The sound of the ambulance siren lifted my hopes. Sitting next to Jeremy, my first tears dropped. The years of our life appeared in my head, the happy and the turbulent times, jumbled up like the patterns and color combinations created by a painting novice. It was painful to try to separate everything and put it into a clear sequence. I felt like tearing the screen of my memory, crumpling it and burning it with the rays of the sun. I was about to scream when a hand rested on my shoulder, but no voice accompanied it. I realized then that Andrew was next to me.

Andrew and I were sitting in the waiting room at the hospital while the doctors examined Jeremy. Time moved so slowly in those moments of uncertainty, balanced by the lively, light steps of the nurses. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. Andrew put his hand on mine every now and then.

"We have put Mr Trotter in intensive care," a young nurse informed us.

"Is he all right?" It was Andrew who asked.

"The doctor said that his condition is stable, but he is's still unconscious."

I did not say a word, but I was relieved that he was alive.

"I'll let you know when he's awake," the nurse said in a matter of fact way and left briskly.

Through the window the passing time was shown by the purple pink scattered through the clouds of the summer morning. My body started to show its tiredness.

"How did you meet Jeremy, Gita?" Andrew's voice ripped the delicate membrane which encased my private life. But I answered his question, as if by talking some inner burden could be lifted.

"I met him in the Jakarta office where I used to work, ... he was there for an eighteen-month assignment and I happened to be the secretary in that office."

He looked at me, waiting for me to continue.

"He fell in love with me," I said and my feelings were suddenly connected to the happy past. "But I needed time to accept his love."

"Why did you need time?"

"I don't know, I guess I'm a perfectionist. I think too much and too long, that's why I kept losing my steady boy friends."

"What made you finally realize that you love him?"

"He never gave up, even though it was a platonic love until we got married. It was pressure at home that quickened our marriage."

"Pressure at home?"

"Yes, my stepmother was not happy that I was still staying with her. I was then twenty-seven. I think she was wondering if I would ever get married, if she would ever be the mistress of the whole house."

"Did you move here soon after?"

"We got married six months before his assignment in Jakarta was finished." I smiled, remembering that wonderful time. "Six months of happy married life."

One of the nurses interrupted our conversation, offering us coffee. Andrew stood up to accept the offer. The way he walked disturbed my feelings, for a second.

"Do you like living in Wellington?" he asked, sitting down with two cups of fresh coffee in his hands. The aroma cleared my mind a little.

"Mm ... Wellington offered me various experiences. Living away from my family was not easy in the beginning; there was nobody to listen to the fullness inside me the way there used to be. The change of lifestyle was a shock to me. There was no maid to do the housework. The first year was tough, really tough."

"But after a while you got used to living here I'm sure."

"Oh, yes, especially when I started working and made a few friends."

My first sip of coffee was cut off abruptly by the quick steps of a nurse asking us to go to the intensive care unit. I sensed something serious had happened and I could not stand up.

"Come, you have to be strong, Gita."

Andrew helped me and put his arm around my waist and half carried me as my weak legs supported my trembling body. My confused mind left me almost paralyzed. The walk to the intensive care unit was slow and heavy.

Jeremy was lying helplessly. All sorts of tubes were connected to his chest, head and arms like an oddly patterned spider's web. His heartbeat had weakened, but I did not see anything different about his face, which looked just as if he was asleep. I put my hand on his arm. He reacted as if he knew, but it might have been only my imagination.

Even when our closeness started to fade we used to hold hands in bed until we fell asleep, giving each other strength through our touch. I looked at his face, remembering our earlier happy life, and my feelings toward him became clearer. I wanted to try once again. I gently removed my hand and stood in front of the window to clear my mind. Then I sat on a chair in the corner of the room and started a prayer.

"God, if you let him live I'll try hard to win him again. Please return him to me and ..."

"No! ... Jeremy! Don't leave me!" A voice I recognized well shook the whole room, followed by uncontrollable sobbing. Once again I felt my body melt like asphalt in the heat of the tropics. I felt weak and boneless. I opened my eyes and saw Andrew kneeling, his face close to Jeremy's, his body shaking as his cries cut deeply through my feelings. A gap between those around the bed showed me the nurses' faces. My prayer was too late; my fears confirmed. I had not been the only one in Jeremy's life.