The Wife of The City Planner

The Wife of The City Planner

By Sirikit Syah

Lestari was elegantly dressed: She wore a modified Madurese
sarong and a peach silk blouse with a pearl necklace and earings.
She was ready for an appearance.

"So you've decided to attend the exhibition without consulting
me," her husband said. He was lying on their giant bed, half-
naked.

"I am not just attending, I am going to open the exhibition.
That is what the invitation and the newspapers say," she
answered, rather bitterly.

"It is too risky, you must know that."

"Risky for whom?"

"You know that next week, the gallery will be torn down."

"Everybody in town knows that. That won't stop me from opening
the exhibition and meeting the artists."

"You've ruined my reputation."

"Come on. You don't need me for that. Don't you read
newspapers these days? Don't you realize what people say about
you? For what I know, you create the trouble yourself."

Lestari hurriedly took her handbag and left the room. She
couldn't stand talking to her husband anymore, especially if the
subject was the cultural center, where she was heading right now.

Most of the cultural center was flattened to the ground. Huge
machinery was working day and night, destroying the rest. The
Gallery was located in the south end of the complex, and was the
only building left.

When her BMW arrived, the crowd approached it. There were
reporters, artists and young people welcoming her warmly at the
entrance. She smiled at them, trying hard to look calm, while she
felt pain inside. "These people are going to lose the gallery
next week. This exhibition is one way of surviving and
protesting," she thought.

Many years ago, she had been among those artists. She had
learned how to paint and had dated famous musicians and painters.
It had been the happiest time in her life. Being an artist had
seemed like a very interesting profession to her, so she had
decided to seriously pursue it, and had gone abroad to study more
about painting. But fate had decided differently. She had met a
bright, young and handsome engineer in London. Her future husband
had obtained a scholarship from the government to study city
master planning. For two years, they had dated and studied, and
they came back to Indonesia as a married couple. When people
asked her what attracted her to her husband, since they obviously
led different kinds of lives, she simply said, "His energy. He's
obsessed with creating a future city. I hope I can live
comfortably in his dream city, in the future."

Lestari had never expected that people she cared about would
be sacrificed in order to realize the completion of the city,
which would be supported by modern technology and efficient
mechanisms.

"People will do business and live nicely in my city," her
husband said many times. One day, Lestari saw the blueprint of
the master plan, which her husband was supposed to present to the
city mayor the next day, and she felt betrayed. The cultural
complex would be erased from the city's landscape.

"How could you do that?" she protested.

"In the future, people will not need a cultural complex.
Whenever you want to go to a gallery or museum, just click on
your computer and you can go whenever and wherever you like.
Everything is provided by the Net. You know that, you lived
abroad for years."

"Yes, but they are not people. Sometimes people want to meet
people, don't they?"

"Lestari, do not exaggerate things. The cultural complex has
not been destroyed. It will be moved to a more appropriate
location."

"You mean 50 km from the city?"

"But it is useless now. The complex occupies a very precious
area. If it stayed as a cultural complex, it would serve only a
small number of people. In fact, that area would best serve
people as a business center."

It had been a long time since Lestari visited the complex.
When she went there one day, more educated, more rich and as the
wife of a senior official, her friends at first found it a little
difficult to start a conversation with her. But Lestari proved to
be the same person they had known her as. She chatted and joked
with them. She ate the same food as she did when she was still
nobody. When she left, she gave Rp 50,000 to Cak Mung. Cak Mung
was the one who had taught her to paint and it seemed that now he
was experiencing hard times. Friends said he had lost his wife,
who ran off with a doctor, and he supported himself and his three
children just by giving a Sunday course at the complex.

Lestari also met Hermin, her buddy when they were practicing
drama during their school days. Hermin was divorced and now
dating a junior painter. She couldn't hide her happiness at
seeing Lestari again.

Because of her status as the wife of a senior official, people
began to flood her with invitations and proposals. She attended
almost every event, and said yes to most of the proposals. She
was very excited being able to do something for her friends, for
people whose passion was art and culture. She had never been
happier. The people and the press loved her. But her husband was
worried. He stopped receiving money from donations. Then Lestari
started selling her jewelry.

Lestari never hated her husband until the day she found the
master plan. After that, newspapers featured headlines such as
Art Complex To Be Destroyed or Gallery Replaced By Five-Star
Hotel, etc. She tried to talk with her husband, but he never
listened. She wanted to fight him and the city administration,
but she didn't know how. She just increased her activities and
involvement with the cultural society, especially those being
held at the center.

Tonight, she listened to the cheers from the crowd. Some who
had the courage approached her and shook her smooth hand. Many
just looked on from a distance and admired her beautiful smile.
She was going to open the exhibition, maybe the last one in their
complex, by cutting the flower chain at the entrance of the room.
But before it happened, she suddenly heard shouting outside. A
crowd of young people marched towards her. Their faces were full
of rage. They were yelling as well. Surrounding them were banners
and posters protesting the destruction of the complex by the city
administration. One protester caught Lestari and threatened her
with a knife.

"Journalists, come here!" the young man shouted. Reporters
quickly gathered around.

"I am announcing that we are holding this woman as our
hostage. We demand that the plan to destroy this complex be
canceled, and that this complex must be renovated
immediately ..."

He had not finished with the list of demands when suddenly
there was an explosion from behind the building. After that, a
fire quickly spread throughout the building, where precious
paintings were hung. Many people were injured. The building and
the paintings were burned to ashes.

Lestari laid on her hospital bed. She had severe burns on many
parts of her body, and one of her arms was broken. But her face
still looked angelically innocent and beautiful. A doctor told
her she might loose her arm, and her skin was damaged.

"It will take serious therapy and big money to give you back
your smooth skin," the doctor said. She didn't think about that
now. Her mind was working hard reviewing what had happened last
night.

At dawn, Cak Mung, arriving on his old bicycle, visited her.
"We weren't the ones who burned down the building, and caused you
this." Tears were in his eyes.

"We just wanted to protest and propose some demands. We wanted
to be listened to. We wanted them to invite us to talk about what
would become of this city. This is our city too. We need to know
whether we still have a future in this city. Especially if
culture is considered unimportant, even useless."

Lestari couldn't say a word.

"You must believe us. We would never burn our own works. We
would never burn you. It was a horrible thing to do."

Lestari wanted to say that she believed him, but she preferred
not to say anything. Cak Mung left after telling her what he came
to tell.

Now, in front of her was her husband. A very important person,
with his official uniform. He looked concerned, of course.
Whether it was acting or not, it didn't matter. Lestari saw a
monster instead of the handsome, mature, intellectual man she had
fallen in love with on a foggy day in London. A monster who
sucked his own wife's blood to make his dream come true.

Sirikit Syah is a freelance reporter and a president of the
Surabaya Arts Council. She also writes short stories and poetry
for local newspapers.