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.