When Two Pensioners Met

By Martin Aleida

"Sir, why don't you stick your stamp in a neater way? There is glue available on the desk," a Central Post Office employee asked me from behind the window after he saw me licking the back of a stamp with my tongue.

The employee's words upset me really, but I continued sticking the stamp on the right hand corner of the envelope.

"Don't say that again. I would like to know where you were trained." I said. "You know that in advanced countries the glue on the back of the stamp is sweetened with various sweet and sour fruit flavors, such as apple, strawberry and lemon, so the stamp users feel refreshed. The flavor also stimulates their hobby of writing. Haven't you seen a westerner sticking stamps?"

The employee smiled but shrugged his shoulders. I continued sticking my stamps while waiting for my change.

"Mmm, it's tasteless," I grumbled. "By the way," I continued, "I fully understand the current economic crisis but I still want to tell you that my method of sticking a stamp is universally accepted." After dispensing my advice I took all my letters and inserted them into a letter box.

Before I left, I saw a man, of approximately my age, approaching me with a thin smile.

"I really cannot understand, how the Central Post Office can be short of thousand-rupiah stamps? Only stamps of a lesser value are available. The problem is I want to send a letter to my friend in the United States. I think he will be shocked to see most of my envelope covered with stamps. It will surely look like a childish whim," he said chuckling. The man looked straight into my eyes with an amicable expression. He seemed to be seeking friendship.

"Old chap, there is no need to feel ashamed. The envelope will only look weird, a true of picture of our busted country today. The Americans will sure find it exotic," I said in response to his friendliness. Then together, we left the post office.

After further conversation I was informed that the man had just collected his pension from the government pension office not far from the post office where we met.

The man said he was sad to see the people who had to queue up in a long line to collect their pension payment. The situation looked abhorrent amid the noisy yells of the sidewalk vendors plying their trade. On the other hand roaming pickpockets and muggers made best use of the situation. Many pensioners have reportedly fallen victim to these criminals. The pensioners' sufferings have been slightly reduced lately after authorities opened more branch offices for the payment of pensions.

"Now how about yourself, why don't you collect your pension payment at a nearby branch office?" I asked the man. "The way you collect your pension is very risky, I think."

"I don't want to do just what other people do. And who can guarantee that the criminals would not stalk us after collecting our pension at the new office?" he retorted.

"I will continue to collect my pension payment here, he said. "I have my own tactic to outwit criminals. You know, to live in this perilous world you have to create you own strategy. So far nobody has robbed me. I hope I'll always be safe," he said.

The man said he was a pensioner of the now-defunct ministry of information. Not long after retiring he fell sick and doctors diagnosed he had cardiac trouble. So he was send to a cardiac center. But was lucky because before a cardiologist decided to operate on him he was examined by a nutritionist who concluded that he lacked nutrition. Another doctor said he had hemorrhoids. So he was saved from the surgeon's knife.

The man seemed to suffer as a pensioner after 30 years of work. Since the first day of his retirement he had nothing to other than think and blink. He didn't eat regularly and got hemorrhoids which have been worsening ever since.

But since he got a part-time job in the documentation section of a privately-owned TV station he felt a new lease of life.

"Where do you work, sir," he asked me.

"I retired six months ago. I believe my situation is better than yours although it is no less difficult. You received your pension right away while I have been waiting for six months to get mine. Today I still do not know what lies ahead," I said.

"Were you an employee of a private company?"

"Yes, but not really a private corporation. It is a United Nations agency."

"I can't believe the administration is that bad," he commented.

"The ideals of the organization are noble but the implementation depends on the people who run it. Initially I thought my pension would come right after I retired just as my predecessors had. When I asked the director of the office he later explained that the head office was revamping the pension payment system. He himself was one of the victims of the bureaucratic chaos. He had not received his salary for three months. The headquarters in New York had apologized for the inconvenience caused and allowed him to borrow some money from the office. I think that is crazy."

"How can that be possible?", he queried.

"Yes, I think it is a disease of a huge organization. When I was employed by the office several years ago I was so happy because that was the organization I had dreamt of. A small staff consisting of a director, a secretary, a library staff and a driver. I thought this office must be free from gossip and intrigue. What I forgot was that the headquarters in New York employed 50,000 staffs throughout the world."

"I sympathize with you, my friend.", said the man.

"I can't believe what I'm facing now. Six months is a long time. I have run out of savings. I have been forced to sell my bicycle to make ends meet. But if the situation remains like this of course I will have to sell my other belongings."

"That is beyond my comprehension," he said.

Our conversation turned then into a monologue. I felt I had nobody to discuss my fate with except this pensioner whom I had just got acquainted with.

"You look younger than me but you have retired", he commented.

"In fact I had two or three more years to go but I decided that now is the best time for me to retire. I was totally prepared for that so why should I wait for retirement? I knew then how painful it would be to stop doing the job which I had performed with great dedication for decades. But, sir, I wanted to decide my own fate, and would not let others decide it for me."

I also told him about the injustice I had endured at my workplace. Once, after the beginning of the economic crisis here which led to Soeharto's downfall, the Indonesian staffs were invited to attend a discussion on the latest political developments. The meeting discussed ways to evacuate expatriate staffs from Indonesia in case the situation got worse. It is still fresh in my mind. An Indonesian staff then suddenly stood up and said: "What is the logic behind this meeting. You invite us, local staffs, to discuss your own evacuation. This is completely unacceptable to us. The protest became a rallying point for many of us, such that the meeting was adjourned.

"You know who had spoken like a wounded fighting bull at the meeting?"

"No, who?"

"A local staff who was later appointed minister of agriculture by President Abdurrahman Wahid. I have no idea how those, who had allowed themselves to be degraded at the meeting, now think."

I continued my story by telling the pensioner of the ministry of information how I was insulted to see the UN agencies, who had given awards to Soeharto, had not felt the moral obligation to apologize to the Indonesian people. The UN agencies have ill- advisedly honored a person whom the world's nations had called a heartless tyrant who was leading one of the world's most corrupt countries.

Only one month before the monetary crisis which almost devastated our nation, a representative of the World Bank here in a closed door meeting which I attended, spoke in a bright tone -- just like brilliant jewels falling down from heaven -- about the Indonesian economic prospects. And when later the world witnessed the fall, the opportunistic conglomerates and profiteers did not feel the obligation to apologize to this nation. Now we have seen the same UN agency which awarded Soeharto for his success in the fight against poverty, come back to give President Abdurrahman Wahid aid to combat more serious poverty. Had these awards or aid not been presented by the same person it would have been a good laugh. But this is a shameful farce. All these ugly incidents paved the way for my retirement.

I looked at my new-found friend, who listened attentively to my tale of disappointments. Perhaps he was expecting to witness my balloon deflate in mid air.

"OK, Let's go, or I'll continue with my pointless tale," I said realizing that I had started to become a bore. He said he would catch a bus at the bus stop in front of Istiqlal Mosque, while I myself wanted to go to nearby Pasar Baru.

We descended the post office staircase and turned right. In front of the cathedral he ran across the street because the passing motorcyclists were driving at high speed as if they were the sole owners of the road. I walked slowly to the right dragging my legs because of a shooting pain which had started to throb. Suddenly I heard someone shouting, "Pickpocket, help." I saw my friend, who just reached the bus stop across the road, trying to come back across the road in my direction while shouting for help.

"Somebody has picked my pocket," he said

I immediately hugged him and said: Calm down, Pak, nobody is after you," I said after I felt his heart beating fast. Across the road the people were watching three men run and jump onto a passing bus.

"Help me, I'm so scared," he said.

"Calm down, nothing will happen," I said trying to reassure him.

"Why don't you come with me to Pasar Baru? There you can calm yourself, down." I said.

"Yes, all right, I will," he replied.

We walked side by side. We, a pair of ill-fated pensioners, I thought to myself. Looking at the church on the right side of the road I stared at a sculpture standing on a tall pedestal. It was Jesus Christ who looked as if he had just landed from heaven. He looked toward the busy road below and the people who were in a great hurry. But I saw Christ's hands peacefully pointing in the direction we had to go in, to a place where we would feel peace in our hearts.

At Pasar Baru, which is one of the oldest shopping centers in the city, I led my friend to an ice-cream restaurant, which looked like a bygone resting place furnished with classic rattan chairs.

"Please help me, my friend," he said, his face still fearful.

"Of course, I will help you," I said.

"The pickpockets must be very angry with me. Next month they will surely come here to avenge me and kill me for beguiling them."

"You are their victim, how can they be angry with you?", I asked incredulously.

He took out an envelope from the back pocket of his trousers and said: "This is my pension money. The envelope they stole from my other pocket contained only bogus 50,000 rupiah notes. They belong to the political party of which I'm a member. So, please help me..."