The Position

By Sori Siregar

The distance from the editorial section to the kitchen is only five meters. Whoever needs a cup of coffee or tea can walk to the kitchen and ask the office boy to prepare it for him. Reporters, particularly young ones, would usually walk to the kitchen and get the drink they wanted.

That is why many of them are fed up with Diham. The slightly built editor always prefers shouting to call the office boy for a drink, to collect a plate and cutlery from his desk after he finishes his meal or order him to buy cigarettes.

This yelling is also a nuisance to me. The same is true for his repeated use of the telephone with his disturbingly loud voice. As his supervisor, I am eager to reprimand him for his unacceptable behavior. Yet, each time I want to call him for a talk in the meeting room, I realize once again who he is.

He is a noted poet who has been invited to read poems on many occasions. Themes of his poetry are usually screaming protests and denouncements of injustice. No one doubts his sympathy for the poor and those that have been abandoned and trampled on. The poems appear in various media, including the prestigious literary magazine ARGOSY. Many might look upon him as a fighter for the goals contained in his poems.

How can I reprimand him? People say writers are easily offended and outraged. I suppress my feelings and try to turn a deaf ear when I hear his damned shouting.

Since there were only two office boys in our office, a lot of work was left undone. To keep everything running as it should, we hired another.

The new office boy, Legiman, works diligently with an ever- smiling face. All reporters are fond of him.

One day, after Legiman had worked three months with us, I asked him to buy a pack of cigarettes. When he returned and it seemed there was nothing for him to do, I chatted with him.

He liked working in our office. Young reporters would give him tips for his services. These tips, collected over a month, amounted to a lot of money.

"More than your salary?" I asked him.

He gave me a perplexed look. Since there was no answer, I repeated my question. After a long silence, he responded softly.

"I am not on the payroll, sir".

"Excuse me?" I said in surprise.

"Mr. Diham said I would receive no wages during the probationary period. I am on a six-month-long probation. Only after I pass my next three months will I be promoted to the position of employee and receive a salary."

My blood seethed and my heart pounded hard. I kept my mouth shut for quite a while. After I handed him Rp 1,000, I let him go back to his tasks in the kitchen.

I called the slightly built poet to see me. I asked him why Legiman had not been paid, and who had made that decision.

Calmly and without any show of guilt, Diham made his argument.

Legiman is the younger brother of Ronggo, who has been working in our office for a time. Legiman is employed upon the request of Ronggo. For Ronggo, the fact that Legiman got a job was the most important thing, even if Legiman was not paid for his work.

"In response, I gave him a charitable offer," Diham said. "Legiman could start working on the basis of a six-month probationary period. When the six months is over, he will work as a full employee with regular pay."

I shot the poet an angry look.

"You have no right to make such an offer. I decide who will be employed and what the level of his pay is. You know full well that I was appointed by the board of directors to temporarily take over the duties of the head of the human resources department during his leave.

"You recruited Legiman because Ronggo begged you and stooped so low to get the job. You didn't make a report to me about his probationary employment. And then you work him to the bone without any compensation. Are you so heartless? That's extortion. You should assist such a vulnerable person, not the other way around."

I clenched my fists and spat out the last words in anger. He seemed to know how hard I was trying to control my fury.

There was a long silence. To end the conversation, I spoke in a low voice.

"When the board of directors asked me about your performance and achievements, I gave a good evaluation and recommendation. It is the reason why you remain in your present position. I never imagined that your position could change you completely to be one of those you condemn in your poems."

Legiman has received his three-month pay and he works more diligently now.

Diham seemed to be changed, at least for several weeks. He frequently went to the kitchen and only once in a while would he shout to get the office boy's attention.

Later, he returned to his old, bad ways, but I did not reprimand him. This poet, who never before had a regular job in an office, really enjoyed the trappings of his position.

The member of the board of directors and I who recommended Diham for the job had in fact destroyed his identity. It was understandable how he had misinterpreted what it meant to be a boss or someone in a higher position.

One night, he was still in the office, preparing for a poetry reading. Three sheets of his poems lay on his desk as he changed clothes in the bathroom.

I caught a glimpse of them as I passed by his desk.

These were impassioned verses voicing the suffering of the abject, destitute, suppressed, marginalized and abandoned. Words declaring war against injustice, greediness and evil.

I felt sick and spat on the floor.

Jakarta, Oct. 6, 1997.

The writer was born in Medan, North Sumatra, on Nov. 12, 1938. A participant in the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa in 1970-1971, he worked as an international broadcaster for the Indonesian section of BBC radio for a two- year stint beginning in 1972. He has contributed extensively to magazines and journals, and is the author of six novels. A new collection of his short stories, Myth, will be published this year.