When daddy comes in...

When daddy comes in...

By Joko E.H. Anwar

I am sitting on my rattan mat, the same mat I have practically
lived on for five years. Five full years. For all this time the
mat has been here in front of the door to my apartment. Well, not
exactly mine. If I ever admit this is my apartment, it means I
lose and they win.

They burned down my house five years ago, together with many
other houses, they took away my land and then they built this
cheap nine-story redbrick apartment block on it.

They did not give me any money for my land, instead they gave
me an apartment on the eighth floor. But it can never be a
substitute for my old house.

Not because my house they burned was large. In fact, rich
people wouldn't even consider it a house. It was small with cheap
wood walls and a corroded iron roof. But I built it with my bare
hands.

It was my masterpiece. The only masterpiece I ever created. I
was only a pedicab driver then. There weren't many chances for me
to make a masterpiece.

My marriage is certainly not a masterpiece. My wife is stupid
and I am stupid. We never know how to communicate. We never went
to school. Maybe that's why.

My three kids are certainly not masterpieces. My oldest son
has already disappeared. He stabbed someone when he was 14 and
was arrested. I don't even know whether they released him from
prison or not.

My second son stays at home, all the time. He is 19 now and
doesn't do anything. He doesn't eat, he doesn't go to school.
None of my kids go to school. Maybe that's why.

My 17-year-old daughter is the youngest. Well, she is close to
what you could call a masterpiece. She has a beautiful smile,
dark skin, she is very pretty despite never being able to use
cosmetic products. What cosmetics, my family struggles just to
get food.

My wife does laundry for several people who live in the
apartments. I never see her doing it but I guess she does it with
her bare hands.

Those people should be grateful because my wife is here so
they can go to work without having to worry about their dirty
laundry.

Yeah, those people. They bought their apartments cheap from
the people who originally lived here. People from my old
neighborhood and people from other parts of Jakarta whose houses
were burned down too.

Most of the original occupants have left, mostly because they
didn't feel comfortable living among these people who work in
offices. They did not know how to speak to these educated, rich
people.

I can't help looking into their apartments sometimes. They
have nice furniture, big televisions sets, refrigerators, even
VCD players.

The size of their apartments are the same as mine, five-by-
five meters with a small bathroom and a tiny kitchen, but somehow
they manage to make them look luxurious.

I never had the chance to arrange the interior of my ...
family's apartment. I have never stepped foot in the apartment.
Never. As long as I live I will never go in. If I do, it means I
lose and they win. So I stay out here on my mat. Every three days
I go downstairs to have a bath in a public toilet. I also use the
facilities to take care of my other needs.

Sometimes I take a walk, but as the days pass I feel I'm
growing weaker and weaker. I am little more than bones wrapped in
dark skin. My family still feeds me and they make me coffee and
tea, but I keep losing weight.

People think I have gone crazy. My family thinks I have gone
crazy. Maybe they're right, I don't know anymore. I have not
spoken a single word to anybody for five years, since the took my
property from me.

Most people pretend I don't exist. Most people prefer not to
walk past me, and if they have to they do not even have the
courage to look at me, or maybe they don't want me to feel
embarrassed. Embarrassed? Yeah, right. Those people who took away
my land and house, they're the ones who should be embarrassed.

However, I am sure that my family is embarrassed by me.
Especially today.

***

My daughter has found a suitor. He is a motorcycle taxi driver
during the day, and in the evening he sells martabak from a cart
in front of the apartments.

He has been here several times. He is a short guy, has darker
skin than most Javanese men. There is really nothing about him
that would help him pass as handsome, but he has a business.
That's good for my daughter.

He and his family are supposed to come to my family's
apartment to ask for her hand in marriage from my wife, and
supposedly from me.

My family knows they can't expect too much from me, but they
have been bugging me to at least go inside the apartment when his
family arrives.

But if I do, it means those people win and I lose. As long as
I'm alive I can't allow that.

"Just come in for a couple of hours. When they leave you can
go back to your mat," my wife said again this morning.

My son was harsher.

"Maybe you just want to go take a walk when his family
arrives," he told me, as if he could not see that I have had a
fever for the last two days.

"Do it for your daughter for God's sake," my wife added. She
sounded more upset than ever.

My daughter. Yes, I love her. I always knew that she was the
one who would turn out to be something significant. She will have
a husband who owns a good business. Maybe he will be able to make
her a wheeled-cart of her own, so she can also sell martabak. I
can only imagine how much money they will be able to make every
day.

They will be able to afford a house, have kids and send them
to school. Ah, what a bright future ahead of them. But first,
they have to get married. This means that today's meeting between
his family and mine has to go smoothly. It means I have to come
inside.

But if I do, it means those people who burned down my house
win and I lose.

It's two hours before my daughter's future in-laws arrive. I
am still undecided. Is there any way that I can do something to
help my daughter without giving up and going inside?

I can force myself to talk a walk, but that would not look
good, would it? My daughter's future in-laws will wonder where I
am. They might even think I'm avoiding them.

The clock keeps ticking. I can hear my wife cooking something
for our guests. Once in a while she comes out to tell me to come
inside, take a bath and make myself presentable. I am still here,
sipping my coffee from last night.

My son has scolded me several times. Today everybody is
suddenly showing their annoyance at my existence. But I am sure
my daughter will not be bothered. I know she will understand. I
know she will be able to make her future in-laws understand.

***

I haven't seen her since this morning. Maybe she went to a
beauty salon. But she doesn't need to go to a beauty salon. She
is beautiful already.

Finally, I see her coming. Yeah, she's been to a beauty salon.
She looks even more beautiful. She walks gracefully toward me.

I know she will understand and let me stay on my mat.

"Oh my God, Dad. You're still here? What are you trying to do,
repel my future in-laws?" She sound angry.

I am shocked. Even my own daughter, who I have always been so
proud of, doesn't understand.

She goes inside. I can hear her complaining to my wife.

But I understand. Today is very important for her future and I
shouldn't be selfish. What should I do? What should I do?

Finally I stand up. I can see the sun shining brightly at the
end of the hallway, which leads to a balcony where I go to look
over the city once in a while.

I feel weak but I force myself to walk over there. I walk
slowly, but finally I get there. Ah, it's so beautiful today.
This is a good day to make a sacrifice for my family.

The rail is not that high. It's easy to climb it. Woops. Now
I'm up here. There's no doubt. This is what I have to do. As long
as I'm alive I will never go into the apartment. If I'm dead, I
won't know if they carry me inside, right?

One ... two ... three, I make the leap and I'm free-falling
down from the eighth floor. Everything seems to be in slow
motion. Maybe because I'm so light.

Did I lose or did I win? I'm not sure. Either way, I don't
think anybody will miss me.

For an old man who never steps foot into his apartment