Vendor of Tears

By Prasetyohadi

The compound housing the building of the People's Consultative Assembly and the House of People's Representatives (MPR/DPR) was noisy with students crowding the yard, filling up the stairs and even perching in great numbers on the roof. They hoisted flags and stretched out banners, shouting in a loud voice that dealt the sky a hard blow. Laymen crowded the street, taking a position very close to the front fence. A young woman asked to be allowed some space to display her wares.

"What are you selling, Sister?"

"Tears!"

In a moment people crowded round the girl that looked like an office staffer. She was wearing a light blue blazer, covered with a thin jacket, blue pants and low-heeled shoes. She was fair- skinned and her soft face always wore a charming smile. She had with her a box-shaped plastic thermos bottle where she kept her special wares.

"These are human tears, the latest perfume ever made. More fragrant than the tears of a mermaid. Come on, look, now smell a little of the tear."

As if hypnotized, the people rushed forward trying to bring their noses close to the small bottle in the girl's soft hand. The Vendor of Tears then told of a girl of Chinese origin who, riding pillion with her boyfriend, passed the Kapuk area toward Cengkareng. On the way they met a mob. Uncontrollable, the mob seized the motorcycle and burned it. The boyfriend lay down helpless after being hit black-and-blue. The girl tried to resist, though in vain. She was dragged by a number of fierce young men to an empty house.

"Raped. Now she is in a mental hospital. Smell her tears. The fragrance of a blooming young girl so suddenly and abruptly cut short by the scythe of evil and then losing her youthful vigor."

A middle-aged man took the perfume of tears and gave three Rp 5,000 banknotes in exchange. The girl took one piece politely and through the fence gave the other two banknotes to the students inside the compound of the MPR building.

"Please give this money to the committee to buy packaged rice for the students."

"Come on, it is still early now. This is a special price for first comers."

People began to leave the TV, which had just broadcast the morning news. The TV broadcast was boring as it contained news from Cendana, the palace and the DPR/MPR building. No more reports about the beautifully tense and gripping atmosphere of the riots. Sparks of fire flew following the sound of gunfire, followed by shouts of panic and loud cheering. People rushed here and there trying to get hold of and push forward looted goods.

The pretty girl picked up a site to sell her wares at the crossroads of a compound of luxury houses.

"Sister, you travel round the city, selling the perfume of tears. You must have made a big profit, am I right?"

"I am not seeking a profit, ma'am. Although I only ride a motorcycle, traveling round the city despite the burning sun, I want to be the best vendor. It is only later that I may make a profit, ma'am."

"Whose tears are these, Sister?"

"Oh, these are the tears of the rector of a famous university. He cried out in joy after witnessing that the struggle waged by the students had finally reached its destination. Just 10 thousand."

The sun got higher and began to send out burning rays. Women had to get into the house in order to appear neater. They had to see to work in the kitchen and then wait for the children to come home from school. The Vendor of Tears went to an office compound. Burned spots where cars were set on fire were still seen on the road. A number of soldiers were still standing guard below the flyover.

The Vendor of Tears began to offer her wares at a high-rise office building on Jl. Thamrin. Toward the lunch hour, employees came to see her out of curiosity.

"Do you have the tears of a business tycoon, Sister?" a pretty girl asked, forcing her way closer to the vendor.

"I've got several bottles. Let me find them."

Only small bottles with an average volume of 5 cc in a variety of shapes. They were neatly arranged inside the thermos bottle at a fixed temperature. The Vendor of Tears lifted one and put it above her head: it was clear and pristine. The tears of a business tycoon with an obsession to make Jakarta a coastal city. All residential houses, offices, amusement centers should look out to the sea because this was a maritime country. With the community's declining purchasing power, it was short-term loans for long-term projects.

The night in Jakarta felt kinder than usual. People relaxed for cheap amusements and the red-light center at Kramat Tunggak. There had long been a plan to demolish the area but the plan was still a plan. The election campaign promised the abolition of this red-light area and the head of the municipality campaign issued a promise that the area would be moved somewhere else. Well, it was still there and people still came.

The Vendor of Tears offered her wares at a parking lot. She began when it was already rather late in the afternoon. Comfort girls crowded around here. They came from the northern coastal areas of West Java up to Central Java. A miserable and poor life in the village made them try their luck in Jakarta. The price of unhusked rice was up, but the prices of fertilizer, seedlings and pesticide were also up.

"Whose tears are these, Sister? A strange smell. The smell of a forest or spices?"

"These are the tears of a woman who stayed in a boarding house in Mangga Besar. The discotheque where she used to work was destroyed. The rich man who kept her as his mistress ran away to Singapore. Her room was ransacked by hoodlums. They took away all her belongings. Well, the tears have some magic charm, Sister."

"Okay, I'll buy a bottle."

The dangdut music was blaring from all the bars. The girls adopted their best pose in front of their working places, trying to lure passing men. They lured, enticed, pulled and even hugged and kissed the men to make them drop in and spend their money.

Some of the men already had their regular place to visit and regular girls to accompany them until they got drunk. Other groups chose to move to another place. They walked along the alleys, savoring the thighs generously shown by the vendors of love. Lights were intentionally dim, interrupted by the uniform flashing light of the billboards advertising soft drinks and beer.

The Vendor of Tears had not put away her wares when a number of men came up to her. They walked briskly, looking at her sharply. Without saying anything, they took the Vendor of Tears and dragged her along the dark alleys.

"This is an educational dorm. You will be educated to become a human being with high morality."

"Am I to be made a migrant worker? Please don't send me to Bangkok, just to Saudi Arabia, Sir."

"You have no right to ask, you must perform your obligation."

An educational dorm was not an open place that would allow you to mingle with the surrounding community. This bad dorm was encircled with a high fortress-like structure and in the rear part it bordered on an extensive bamboo forest, a forest always whispering something to you. A bamboo stem or two went into the dorm, their ends stroking the walls of the fortress-like structure.

The Vendor of Tears met a number of young women but did not feel free to talk to them. There were more guards than the women residents. All action was tightly monitored and everywhere you went you would be escorted. The Vendor of Tears was sure it was not somewhere in Tanjung Priok because it was cool. After being taken away, she was taken for a car ride for a long time, blindfolded.

"Tonight we will start work. Do your job just as in the service procedure."

What was referred to as work and procedure were simply returning human instinct to the essence of body and sex. For days and nights she had been trained to serve the guards. She was turned into a machine to satisfy sexual desire, a machine whose screws were all ready to give sexual stimulation. Bastard.

That night she found herself in a hotel room, God knows where, to serve a middle-aged man who was very polite and attentive. He reminded her of the man who bought the tears in front of the DPR/MPR building. But the man shook his head. He asked her where she came from and wanted to know about her past and also her ambitions. All questions were answered in conformity with the service procedure taught to her. She came from a poor hamlet on the north coast of Java.

"I know you are lying. What is most important is that I can help you run away from this syndicate. Get out of the hotel from the back door. Stop a taxi, and get off at Kota railway station and then sleep in an empty carriage. The next day it is up to you to go as you like. This is some money for you. Don't think too much."

Life in Jakarta was back to normal. Newspaper boys shouted reports from new ministers. Students demanded total reform, the community demanded that governors, regents, subdistrict heads and village heads should step down. Prices of daily necessities continued to rise. The number of unemployed people also rose; life was becoming more and more difficult.

The Vendor of Tears got off at Pasar Minggu station and left the station, heading to a terminal with the crowd. The shopping compound along the road was just like a deserted town abandoned by the residents for dozens of years. Burned black without the roofs.

"Kalibata! Kampung Melayu!"

She took a mikrolet, and sat in front to be able to chat with the driver. Everybody complained. The Vendor of Tears thanked God, although she had lost everything. Her motorcycle, her wares of tears and even her dignity had been looted by unknown people. Yet she still had her spirit to live again and her enthusiasm to share things with other people.

"In this country there are still many people who cry. There are even more of them now. I will have a lot of tears to sell. I'm sure I can be successful," she said to herself.

She got off at Kalibata and stood looking at an imposing monument in the Heroes' Cemetery. She could not help crying. Finally she sobbed. She wiped her nose and touched the corners of her eyes. She was shocked: she no longer had any tears.***

-- Translated by Lie Hua

The story, first appeared in Kompas daily under the title of Penjual Air Mata, and later in Derabat, Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1999 (Derabat, Kompas Selected Short Stories 1999). It is printed here courtesy of Kompas.