Vendor of Tears

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.