The Interview

By Sori Siregar

He read all the written questions. Then he gazed at me. A moment later he read them again.

"How long have you been working as a reporter?" he asked me.

"A year," I answered.

"A year?"

"Yes, Sir".

"Mmm," he murmured under his breath.

He leaned against the back of the chair. His eyes kept on reading the piece of paper held in his hand. Five minutes later, he put the paper on the desk between us. Then I became the focus of his gaze for two or three minutes.

I didn't have the guts to look him in the eyes. I bowed my head. When I began to muster up enough courage to lift my head, I heard his soft voice.

"Everything begins from the brain or head," he said.

I didn't understand what he meant. I was waiting for the next statement while continuing to look at him. I couldn't help wondering why I had suddenly dared to stare at his unfriendly face.

"You based your questions on suspicion and prejudice, not on good judgment from your head," he said.

His remark startled me. How could he have come to that conclusion? All the questions I had given to him were the result of a discussion with my editor, who was in charge of the crime column. Even before I submitted the questions to the man I was now facing, I showed them to my editor.

Actually, such written questions were no longer necessary as I had ended up conducting a direct, or person to person, interview. Beforehand, I proposed to send the written questions to him so that he could read them thoroughly and prepare to answer the questions articulately when I visited.

On the phone he said, "Please come for a direct interview, but don't forget to bring along the written questions." What an odd person.

"From your questions I realize that you have actually come to a conclusion. You have just come to see me for confirmation. Haven't you?"

I couldn't answer spontaneously because I had never expected such a question. As a matter of fact I couldn't answer the question.

"In your conclusion I am a culprit. I have collaborated with Triad and Yakuza. And I am safe because I have the backing of someone. Isn't that it?"

I was uneasy. Why did he jump to the conclusion? I was in a tricky situation. Finding myself cornered in such a way I would have liked to take the questions back from him and read them again. Unfortunately I didn't dare do that.

"This is the weakness of mediocre reporters. You know the meaning of mediocre, don't you? Second rate. Mediocre reporters always lead their interviewees to the direction they want. For that purpose, mediocre reporters have no reluctance to push, to set up and even to force."

Feeling I had been judged and insulted unfairly I was eager to leave the man right away. But if I did that it would mean I was a loser and his accusation was right. I was aware that it was time for me to defend myself and rebut his allegation.

"Sir, the information we have heard and the details we have received place you in a bad position. Nothing positive has been said about you. It is all negative. As a media organization which is trying to be fair, we haven't accepted the information as definitive. We are verifying the truth with you directly. If we were a sensationalist media company, or only looking for profit, we could write a long article about you just using the information available."

He was surprised with my response flowing smoothly from my mouth. He tried to conceal his surprise by smiling.

"In fact I am not a member of the Mafia, Triad or Yakuza," he said.

"We have never charged you with being a member of those organizations," I interrupted.

Realizing that I dared to interrupt, he looked upset. His dislike was reflected in his sharp gaze. After a moment of silence I heard his voice.

"My business is clean. Funds for my loan installment are available. My bookkeeping has been examined by a public accountant. Rumors that my company has been involved in smuggling and drug trafficking have only been fabricated by my competitors. They are envious because their businesses have lagged behind compared to mine. Besides, would it be that easy to smuggle and sell drugs if I had the backing of someone?"

Since I considered the question was only rhetorical, I did not respond.

"What a heck of a guy my backer must be if he can paralyze the country's security forces."

He took a cigarette, lit it, and then inhaled its smoke calmly.

"My answers are clear, and I think we should end this meeting right now."

Without waiting any longer I turned off my cassette recorder and took my leave. In the bus on the way back to my office I tried to contemplate what I had done.

The businessman I had just interviewed was a figure who had been the target of many allegations. He had been called a dirty and bad person. That he could operate his business smoothly because there had been strong hands of support, which could save him anytime he wanted. Invisible hands with amazing power. In the written questions I offered him, not one of them mentioned the Mafia, Triad or Yakuza. Why should he link my questions with the three notorious criminal organizations? Only he could give the answer.

Once again I had come across a stumbling block. It was true that in many cases reporters flounder when carrying out their duties. But I didn't want to stop here. I would finish my job by making a thorough investigation.

It was not an easy job. A number of reliable sources, who knew him well and could provide necessary information, had preferred to keep their mouths shut. They put safety as their first priority. They couldn't be blamed and I was aware of that.

Information we had received in the office arrived bit by bit and was very convincing. However, those who submitted the information were unable to verify whether it was true or not. That was the reason why we should check it with the man who was pushed to the corner. Unfortunately, his reaction had not been sympathetic and he treated the rumor lightly.

My failure to uncover reliable information and data had caused my editor to temporarily postpone the case.

***

One night the businessman telephoned me up and asked me to visit him for an interview.

I went to see him right away. He began to tell a long, long story after I turned my cassette recorder on. I didn't even ask any questions -- he didn't give me a chance. All I did was sit and listen to a very interesting story, events told in sequential order, full of suspense, frightening, often unbelievable. A story that scared me.

The next day I let my editor listen to the recording. He shook his head repeatedly.

"It will make a very interesting feature," he said. "Those mentioned in the story should remain anonymous. And tell our readers that this story occurred somewhere else in the world, in a fairyland.

I understood what he meant. The story was not qualified enough for publishing. There had been a number of reasons for that: its quality was below standard, the source was incompetent, unreliable and ... dangerous.

After a few weeks the businessman called me on the phone. He was wondering why the story had not yet appeared in my newspaper.

"When will the story appear? I am impatient to read it. I was going to give additional information to make the story more complete. How? When will you see me?

I only heard the voice coming from the other side. I was unable to answer his question. For me, every word that came out of his mouth was an insult, a mockery.

Why I was feeling insulted and derided I can't explain to you because I am unable to reveal the information on the recording. Possibly it was because I was afraid. Perhaps because I thought it was nonsense. Or possibly because every possible harm might befall me. Possibly... ***