The man in the rain
The man in the rain
By Teguh Wiharso AS
The night was pitch dark as the electricity was out. The
floodwater began to surge into the house, forcing Darsi and
Binhar to hurriedly climb up into the attic. With their faces
still smeared with grime, they curled up under a dingy, dull-
looking blanket. The two skinny children at times trembled with
hunger and cold, oblivious that their books, uniforms, shoes,
schoolbags had all been washed away or torn apart by the raging
torrent. They had been trapped there for twenty-four hours after
the water had suddenly surrounded their home.
The water had nearly reached the ceiling when Darsi and Binhar
fell into a deep slumber. Claps of thunder occasionally pierced
the silence of the night, followed by more heavy rain.
The water surging through the house slapped against the walls,
slowly creeping up and licking the wooden floor of the attic. The
floorboards creaked and moaned eerily under the strain. The two
fell asleep from hunger, oblivious now to the pouring rain,
creaking floorboards or the splashing, slowly rising floodwaters.
At midnight Darsi woke up moaning, rubbing her belly as her
stomach began to rumble. "I'm hungry. Has dad come home yet?"
Darsi's hoarse voice was muffled in her throat. Her lips, dry and
cracked, trembled. Her eyes blinked trying to see through the
night. Next to her, Binhar was snoring -- the 12-year-old boy was
sleeping like a log. Not wanting to wake him up, Darsi pulled the
blanket up to cover herself and tried to go to sleep again.
A few mosquitoes buzzed around her ears and at times dived
onto her face. She tried to slap them away but to no avail.
Binhar woke up with a start, rubbing his eyes. Peering through
the dark, he was able to make out the figure of his sister
sitting beside him. He slipped out of the blanket and sat next to
her. Scratching his head, he asked. "You're still awake, eh?" The
pouring rain almost drowned out his mournful voice. Darsi, who
was busy with the mosquitoes, did not answer him immediately.
"I'm hungry," Darsi said, her face pitiful. "Why hasn't dad
come home?"
"He'll be back in a minute, go back to sleep." Binhar took a
deep breath, trying to reassure his sister. "Dad will bring some
food for us."
"Is dad going to swim again like he did when he was leaving
home?"
Glancing at Darsi he shook his head, smiling. "No, he will
come in a boat to take us out of this house. Unfortunately, our
house is a bit isolated so the rescue team couldn't reach us."
His face showed a little disappointment while Darsi's looked sad
and blank.
The rain kept pouring down. The heavens seemed to be furious.
The floodwaters that licked her feet made Darsi jump up and
scream. However, Binhar was quick to act. With his remaining
strength, he pushed the long table in the corner toward the other
table, making them into a bigger and safer bed to sleep on. He
gestured to his sister to climb up on the table. Darsi obeyed.
But her blanket, lying on the floor, was now soaked. Then Binhar
followed up on to the table.
The floor was completely covered with dirty, splashing water.
Her blanket drifted away. At times, Binhar felt the table move
under him. At other times, he heard strange sounds from the thick
bamboo stems clacking against each other in the strong wind.
Wrapping his sister in his arms, Binhar recorded the sounds in
mind.
"What if the water keeps rising? I'm scared."
Binhar held his sister tighter. "No, the flood is going to
recede soon," he assured her.
To his relief, he saw the rain begin to ease off outside.
Binhar wanted to go back to sleep. But he did not feel sleepy
anymore, and now his eyes were wide awake. Feeling worried,
Binhar recalled that his dad had been gone since sunset. "Has dad
forgotten his way home because the neighborhood is all under
water? Is it too dark for him to see his way?" He remembered his
father swimming away from the house to get some food and find a
boat to rescue them as it began to get dark. "It must have been
hours ago." Binhar was not able to figure out the time, but he
knew it was already very late.
Worn out, he tried to close his eyes. Cold drafts of wind
started to blow in, piercing his skin. He fell asleep, curled up
without a blanket. Beside him Darsi lay fast asleep also, her
face deathly pale.
In the drizzle a man, his face black and blue, bathed in
blood, was crawling on the ground. Around him stood dozens of
angry people holding clubs and stones staring at him. Some pieces
of bread, a few packs of noodles, cigarettes and matches lay
scattered and trodden on the street but the passers-by were more
interested in his smeared and swollen face. The blood oozing from
his wounds glistened under the street lights.
More people began to crowd around, shouting and yelling
hysterically at him. They took turns at beating and kicking him,
turning the cold night into a hot, tumultuous inferno of hate.
The commotion woke people up from their sleep. They rushed
outside to see what was happening. He moaned in pain, begging for
mercy, but muscular hands and arms kept raining blows down on.
"Don't spare the life of a thief."
"Cut his hands off."
"Kill him, hang him up."
Throught his extreme pain, he vaguely heard the maniacal yells
of the enraged mob. It was not death he was afraid of but the
fate of the children he had left behind. The fear of losing them
flashed through his mind. Suddenly he felt strong as if there was
no more pain from the wounds. He stopped crawling. Some of the
people looked astounded but others became even more hysterical.
With an expression of submission, he tried to take all the blows
and kicks. From a gas kiosk nearby, a man with tattoos on his
arms carrying a jerry-can of gasoline came shouting:"Set him
alight, burn him alive."
A woman's yell from amid the crowd suddenly prevented him
from unscrewing the cap. Panting and pushing her way through the
mob, she yelled. "Stop it, stop it! Don't do it!" The crowd
looked at one another in surprise.
"But he's a thief. He must be killed!"
"Do not take the law into your own hands, young man!" the
woman said, looking into his eyes. Trembling she said, "I heard
he stole something from my shop. It's no problem for me, but take
him to the police."
The crowd grew quiet. A police car with its siren wailing
arrived at the scene and the crowd dispersed, sticks and stones
suddenly hidden.
In the back seat, the torn and bloodied man sat handcuffed,
his head nodding. The gaping wounds more horrendous, but the man
did not even wince.
***
He was happy as the police set him free the next day. Even the
owner of the shop, who also went to the police station on the
night he was caught, took pity on him after hearing his story.
She then gave him some food to take home.
With a bagful of food on his back, the man staggered toward
his home in the drizzle. At times he looked upwards to the skies
to check if it was going to rain heavily again.
The flooded street was deserted. He waded down it against the
swift current of the turbid floodwater. Occasionally he tripped
and almost fell, but he tried his best to keep the food in his
bag dry. To him the food meant much more than his wounds or even
his life.
On an elevated spot in the street, he stood gazing around at
his flooded village. Smiling a small smile and mustering all his
strength, he swam back toward his house. Despite his efforts, he
could not locate it. Time and again, he rubbed his eyes, now red
and smarting from the dirty water. To his shock, he suddenly
realized that his village had turned into a big lake of rippling,
brown-colored water. No house nor roof was visible.
The bag of food tied on his back broke loose. Along with it,
went his strength and his spirit to survive. He hobbled toward
the bridge. The water under the bridge roared like thunder. With
great care he climbed up, keeping a tight grip on the steel
girders. He stood there long enough, observing. He was not really
looking for where his house had been, but rather waiting for the
right moment to end it all. His body fell through the air for a
few seconds before plunging into the torrent. There was a
momentary swirl and then he was no more. No one saw it happen. No
one!.
Translated by Faldy Rasyidie
By Teguh Wiharso AS
The night was pitch dark as the electricity was out. The
floodwater began to surge into the house, forcing Darsi and
Binhar to hurriedly climb up into the attic. With their faces
still smeared with grime, they curled up under a dingy, dull-
looking blanket. The two skinny children at times trembled with
hunger and cold, oblivious that their books, uniforms, shoes,
schoolbags had all been washed away or torn apart by the raging
torrent. They had been trapped there for twenty-four hours after
the water had suddenly surrounded their home.
The water had nearly reached the ceiling when Darsi and Binhar
fell into a deep slumber. Claps of thunder occasionally pierced
the silence of the night, followed by more heavy rain.
The water surging through the house slapped against the walls,
slowly creeping up and licking the wooden floor of the attic. The
floorboards creaked and moaned eerily under the strain. The two
fell asleep from hunger, oblivious now to the pouring rain,
creaking floorboards or the splashing, slowly rising floodwaters.
At midnight Darsi woke up moaning, rubbing her belly as her
stomach began to rumble. "I'm hungry. Has dad come home yet?"
Darsi's hoarse voice was muffled in her throat. Her lips, dry and
cracked, trembled. Her eyes blinked trying to see through the
night. Next to her, Binhar was snoring -- the 12-year-old boy was
sleeping like a log. Not wanting to wake him up, Darsi pulled the
blanket up to cover herself and tried to go to sleep again.
A few mosquitoes buzzed around her ears and at times dived
onto her face. She tried to slap them away but to no avail.
Binhar woke up with a start, rubbing his eyes. Peering through
the dark, he was able to make out the figure of his sister
sitting beside him. He slipped out of the blanket and sat next to
her. Scratching his head, he asked. "You're still awake, eh?" The
pouring rain almost drowned out his mournful voice. Darsi, who
was busy with the mosquitoes, did not answer him immediately.
"I'm hungry," Darsi said, her face pitiful. "Why hasn't dad
come home?"
"He'll be back in a minute, go back to sleep." Binhar took a
deep breath, trying to reassure his sister. "Dad will bring some
food for us."
"Is dad going to swim again like he did when he was leaving
home?"
Glancing at Darsi he shook his head, smiling. "No, he will
come in a boat to take us out of this house. Unfortunately, our
house is a bit isolated so the rescue team couldn't reach us."
His face showed a little disappointment while Darsi's looked sad
and blank.
The rain kept pouring down. The heavens seemed to be furious.
The floodwaters that licked her feet made Darsi jump up and
scream. However, Binhar was quick to act. With his remaining
strength, he pushed the long table in the corner toward the other
table, making them into a bigger and safer bed to sleep on. He
gestured to his sister to climb up on the table. Darsi obeyed.
But her blanket, lying on the floor, was now soaked. Then Binhar
followed up on to the table.
The floor was completely covered with dirty, splashing water.
Her blanket drifted away. At times, Binhar felt the table move
under him. At other times, he heard strange sounds from the thick
bamboo stems clacking against each other in the strong wind.
Wrapping his sister in his arms, Binhar recorded the sounds in
mind.
"What if the water keeps rising? I'm scared."
Binhar held his sister tighter. "No, the flood is going to
recede soon," he assured her.
To his relief, he saw the rain begin to ease off outside.
Binhar wanted to go back to sleep. But he did not feel sleepy
anymore, and now his eyes were wide awake. Feeling worried,
Binhar recalled that his dad had been gone since sunset. "Has dad
forgotten his way home because the neighborhood is all under
water? Is it too dark for him to see his way?" He remembered his
father swimming away from the house to get some food and find a
boat to rescue them as it began to get dark. "It must have been
hours ago." Binhar was not able to figure out the time, but he
knew it was already very late.
Worn out, he tried to close his eyes. Cold drafts of wind
started to blow in, piercing his skin. He fell asleep, curled up
without a blanket. Beside him Darsi lay fast asleep also, her
face deathly pale.
In the drizzle a man, his face black and blue, bathed in
blood, was crawling on the ground. Around him stood dozens of
angry people holding clubs and stones staring at him. Some pieces
of bread, a few packs of noodles, cigarettes and matches lay
scattered and trodden on the street but the passers-by were more
interested in his smeared and swollen face. The blood oozing from
his wounds glistened under the street lights.
More people began to crowd around, shouting and yelling
hysterically at him. They took turns at beating and kicking him,
turning the cold night into a hot, tumultuous inferno of hate.
The commotion woke people up from their sleep. They rushed
outside to see what was happening. He moaned in pain, begging for
mercy, but muscular hands and arms kept raining blows down on.
"Don't spare the life of a thief."
"Cut his hands off."
"Kill him, hang him up."
Throught his extreme pain, he vaguely heard the maniacal yells
of the enraged mob. It was not death he was afraid of but the
fate of the children he had left behind. The fear of losing them
flashed through his mind. Suddenly he felt strong as if there was
no more pain from the wounds. He stopped crawling. Some of the
people looked astounded but others became even more hysterical.
With an expression of submission, he tried to take all the blows
and kicks. From a gas kiosk nearby, a man with tattoos on his
arms carrying a jerry-can of gasoline came shouting:"Set him
alight, burn him alive."
A woman's yell from amid the crowd suddenly prevented him
from unscrewing the cap. Panting and pushing her way through the
mob, she yelled. "Stop it, stop it! Don't do it!" The crowd
looked at one another in surprise.
"But he's a thief. He must be killed!"
"Do not take the law into your own hands, young man!" the
woman said, looking into his eyes. Trembling she said, "I heard
he stole something from my shop. It's no problem for me, but take
him to the police."
The crowd grew quiet. A police car with its siren wailing
arrived at the scene and the crowd dispersed, sticks and stones
suddenly hidden.
In the back seat, the torn and bloodied man sat handcuffed,
his head nodding. The gaping wounds more horrendous, but the man
did not even wince.
***
He was happy as the police set him free the next day. Even the
owner of the shop, who also went to the police station on the
night he was caught, took pity on him after hearing his story.
She then gave him some food to take home.
With a bagful of food on his back, the man staggered toward
his home in the drizzle. At times he looked upwards to the skies
to check if it was going to rain heavily again.
The flooded street was deserted. He waded down it against the
swift current of the turbid floodwater. Occasionally he tripped
and almost fell, but he tried his best to keep the food in his
bag dry. To him the food meant much more than his wounds or even
his life.
On an elevated spot in the street, he stood gazing around at
his flooded village. Smiling a small smile and mustering all his
strength, he swam back toward his house. Despite his efforts, he
could not locate it. Time and again, he rubbed his eyes, now red
and smarting from the dirty water. To his shock, he suddenly
realized that his village had turned into a big lake of rippling,
brown-colored water. No house nor roof was visible.
The bag of food tied on his back broke loose. Along with it,
went his strength and his spirit to survive. He hobbled toward
the bridge. The water under the bridge roared like thunder. With
great care he climbed up, keeping a tight grip on the steel
girders. He stood there long enough, observing. He was not really
looking for where his house had been, but rather waiting for the
right moment to end it all. His body fell through the air for a
few seconds before plunging into the torrent. There was a
momentary swirl and then he was no more. No one saw it happen. No
one!.
Translated by Faldy Rasyidie