The Finger

By Bakdi Soemanto

Zowan's left index finger loomed in front of him when he stretched out his arm. Two weeks ago, his father told him to go to the hospital to have it operated on.

"Why?" Zowan asked surprisingly. "My finger is all right. It is hale and healthy, safe and sound!"

"Just this morning, you were called by your superior to his office, weren't you?" his father asked.

"Yes ... How did you know that, pak?"

"How I know is not important. But tell me what he said to you," his father said calmly, but seriously.

"I was requested ..."

"No," his father interrupted quickly, "You were not requested but rather admonished by him to keep your left hand in your pocket, were'nt you?"

"Er, yes ... But how did you know that, pak?"

"How I know is anything but important. Now, tell me -- Why did he ask you to do that?" His father was getting furious.

"I don't know. I haven't done anything wrong. I go to work as usual every day, type payrolls, fill in tax forms of the high- ranking officials, have chats about Jayabaya's prophecy with colleagues, nothing else."

"What else?"

"Nothing. I swear!" Zowan insisted.

"He said you're scary! Why?"

"I don't know. I don't know," Zowan almost screamed.

"You don't know? You don't know why your superior didn't want to see your left palm?"

"No. I don't. I didn't do anything with my left palm. I haven't even uttered a single rude word. When my superior is in my office, I usually keep silent and just say yes, yes and yes, pak. I swear!"

"Remember," the father said sternly, "actions speak louder than words."

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about your finger. Your left index finger. It always points at the heart of your superior. It has been threatening him since you first began working in the office. It has made him sleepless ..."

"Oh, my God. I didn't know that." Zowan was silent for a moment, his head bent down. "I'm so sorry for that," he finally said.

"Tomorrow, you have to go to the hospital. Your finger should be seriously examined by specialists."

"No!"

"Certainly yes! I'll take you there. You know why? You appear to be too timid, but you can show a surprising spirit. Even a worm will turn!"

Zowan did not exactly know what was wrong with his left index finger. He then became aware of its strangeness as it moved by itself, pointing at people. Two months ago, his father took him to the superior, asking him to give a recommendation for Zowan to the personnel official. He graduated from The General Education Department of the Teacher's Training College, but he didn't want to be a teacher. To Zowan, a teacher was really a hero. They had to be quite dedicated to their students by sacrificing their self-esteem, as they were not well-read because they lacked the money to buy books and had no time to read newspapers. Teachers were to him tragic heroes who only knew what was written in the textbooks transferred prescriptively to students' brains, which had been abounded with general and timely information. There was no way for teachers to catch up with students' level of knowledge because their salaries were low. Look, he once thought, most students own handphones and have computers in their rooms. They talk about the Internet, which teachers are not familiar with. Some students in Jakarta, Semarang, Surabaya, Medan, Padang and Ujungpandang had an opportunity to visit the world's big cities because their parents took them around during the holidays. What happened to teachers when they explained about New York, Paris, London, Singapore, Tokyo and Hong Kong, which they only knew about from simple textbooks? Teachers were supposed to be the most decent creatures in the world who students referred to morally. They were supposed to teach the standard language, but students preferred the prokem (jargon of youth) language so those outside their circle could not understand what they talked about.

Once during a meeting, a teacher asked if her colleagues knew what was meant by the word dagadu. None of them answered properly until Pak Zamrud, who was responsible for serving them tea, snacks and lunch, came into the conference room to announce that all was served. He said that particular word meant "your f... eyes".

"What?!" the principal screamed. He suddenly remembered he rebuked a student found smoking a cigarette in the backyard. Throwing the cigarette away, the student uttered dagadu laughingly. Hearing that, he laughed too. He thought the word meant something funny because the student always used to joke in class.

"My goodness!" He suddenly felt faint and was sweating.

Since Zowan was one of the few graduates in the office, he was entrusted to complete his superiors' tax forms.

Each of them advised him not to list all their possessions, instructing him to record that they earned no more than one million rupiah per month.

In fact, his superiors were wealthy persons. Most of them had more than one car. They had land, houses and bungalows, in addition to being shareholders of many companies. The subordinates in the office called one of them Pak Lemah Amba, meaning "large amount of land" because he owned thousands of hectares of land acquired from poor peasants for a small amount of money. He was now thinking of selling the plots for 10 times as much to wealthy people in Jakarta who planned to establish a big mall in the area. Besides, condominiums were also being planned for the surrounding area.

"He knows too much," one of them said at the meeting.

"Everybody in this office knows about us," the other added.

"Yes, right. But Zowan is the dangerous one. Did you see his left index finger?"

"No."

"You must pay close attention to it!."

"I don't understand."

"Look! The finger always points at me as though I were a thief!"

"But you are, aren't you? We are ... we're thieves, aren't we?" One of them said laughingly. "And, money does not smell. Pak Kampret said so!" They burst into laughter except the one who became frightened.

"But the finger, the finger!" He screamed loudly. "I'll take care of it myself."

"What are you going to do with Zowan's finger?"

"It must be amputated. Otherwise, he'll be fired!" he said.

"Please don't say that. It's ridiculous."

"We're not in the business of spoiling the young man, are we? I'll write his father a letter. I know him well. He owes me a lot."

Early in the morning, Zowan's father took him to the hospital with him. The doctor said there was something wrong with a nerve in that finger. He recommended that Zowan be hospitalized for a week to give specialists the opportunity to examine it more closely.

"Don't worry about the money. I'll pay for that," the superior said after hearing the report from Zowan's father. The following night, the finger was operated on. The doctor said there was a mysterious tumor in the finger that should be removed.

"No amputation?" the father asked softly. The doctor shook his head. Since it was complicated surgery, he had to be anesthetized.

"No visitors will be allowed until he recovers from the effects of the anesthetic," the doctor remarked. His father just nodded smilingly to cover his fear.

"When?"

"Tomorrow evening," the doctor answered.

The superior was happy to learn about Zowan's operation, despite his disappointment over it not being amputated.

"He'll be all right, pak. He will be a good official for you. Give him the chance to do his best for you, pak," Zowan's father implored as he presented himself before the superior.

"Zowan has been waiting for years to get a job. Please don't fire him, pak ..." he added beseechingly.

"Shut up! I'll see him tomorrow to check whether he's really all right. You must come with me," the superior said sternly, without smiling. "Get out of here!" he added, as he pointed to the door.

Being a very important and wealthy man in town, the superior was allowed to enter the hospital two hours before the visiting period. Accompanied by Zowan's father, the superior rushed into the medical center. He found Zowan sound asleep. His left palm was wrapped with a white bandage. It appeared swollen. Yet Zowan was smiling.

"Zowan, Zowan, are you all right?" his father said softly. Zowan gave no verbal response, but raised his right hand. His right index finger stood erect. He moved his finger left and right, looking for the target. Facing the superior, the finger, which was like the point of a flaming arrow to him, moved forward and aimed at the center of his heart, uncovering the secrets of his bad deeds.

"Fire! fire! Help! Heeeeelp! I'm not a thief! I'm not a thief! Heeeeeeelp!" He covered his face with both of his hands. The whole hospital ward was in confusion.

Bakdi Soemanto is a staff member of the Center for Studies of Cultural and Social Change at Gadjah Mada University in Yogyakarta.