Wiryo's Victim

By Widya Prasetyanti

Pak Joko, or more often addressed to as Mas Joko, was no stranger in our house. He was a teacher and a bachelor. He had rented one of the six rooms forming a row behind my room since last year. Mas Joko was actually a good man, at least that was my mother's opinion. He was mature, kind and helpful. I did not know what the reason was, but I spoke little to him compared to the other five boarders.

But I could not get close to Mas Joko, as close as to the others. Maybe it was because he was the oldest and the only one among us who had a job. Or perhaps I was jealous of him because he could win my mother's heart. I felt my mother paid more attention to him than to me, her own son. Of late I saw that Asih, my only sister, also got intimate with the man who said he came from Sragen in Central Java.

One day when I was absorbed in reading a new book, my mother called me to have a talk. It was rather unusual for her to talk to me during rest hours, but it was on the subject of Mas Joko. My mother was well aware that I was not on intimate terms with the man whose age was about the same as that of my late and only brother, Mas Ranto.

"Tan, do you remember Pak Dewo?" asked my mother as she knitted from two huge rolls of wool on her lap. I tried to revive my memory to find Pak Dewo. Dewo ... Dewo, Pak Dewo, yes, surely Pak Dewo, my father's friend who once came here with durian, my favorite fruit. At that time he was indeed close to me.

Before I could reply, my mother continued. "Pak Dewo came here today. He is now an important person. He is with the police now. If your father were still alive, he would have been at least as important, would he not?" I did not want to say yes to her question because it would make her appear pathetic.

My father died when I was in the second year of elementary school and Asih was in kindergarten. Even more saddening was that he died 10 days after my only brother Ranto died after being run over by a truck belonging to Juragan Rahno. I felt sorrow for her. Every time friends of my father's and of Mas Ranto's came for a visit, my mother would shed tears, even though the accident happened 17 years ago.

My mother said that Pak Dewo had just paid a courtesy call. "He was asking about you all the time, your lectures, your activities. He wanted to see you, but forgot to ask about your sister Asih." However, my mother said, having seen Mas Joko, he asked a lot about him. "At the time Joko had just returned from work. Pak Dewo said that he had once seen Joko but could not remember where." When I gave no reaction to her story, my mother continued, "When Pak Dewo had gone home and had promised that he would return in two days to see you, I asked Joko some questions." It was strange, according to her, that Mas Joko did not want to admit that he knew Pak Dewo and had met him before. "Perhaps there is somebody who resembles me, so Pak Dewo feels he has met me, Bu," Mas Joko replied. My mother did not pursue the matter. "Yes, yes. Pak Dewo may be wrong. The day after tomorrow when Pak Dewo comes again, I shall introduce you to him, Jok."

When the rooster next door started to crow the following morning, I still could not sleep. I was not used to having sleepless nights. My thoughts were still with the lodgers' stories in the afternoon. I overheard one of them saying that Mas Joko was a fugitive from the police. He was suspected of the murder of a number of girls. He hailed from Surabaya, East Java, not Sragen as I was given to understand. My suspicions increased when he remained silent when I passed his room. Usually he addressed me with a few words although I mostly remained silent showing I did not care.

Recalling the lodgers' stories, I felt increasingly anxious. What would happen if my mother heard their stories? The night before my mother spoke to me about Mas Joko's intimacy with Asih. I had never imagined that their closeness inspired my mother to ask Mas Joko to become her son-in-law. And this was serious. I saw that Asih was becoming inseparable from him. Actually I was not too concerned who her fianc or future husband would be. Her face as well as her brains were better assets than mine. I was her only sibling. Without any guidance, she was able to assess her own ability in choosing a boyfriend.

Today I intentionally skipped my lectures and did not go anywhere. But just now I went out to buy food for the fish in my aquarium. Afterwards I sat down and watched TV, read newspapers. There was nothing to it. I did not want to miss the opportunity to meet with a particular person. Some people are difficult to find, my father used to say. This was in my opinion the right moment to satisfy my curiosity about the mysterious Mas Joko. The person who had promised to come today was none other than Pak Dewo?

That was not the only reason for my absence from class -- it was my turn to guard the house while Asih was in school and my mother went to cash my father's pension. On such days my mother was very elated to go out, well into the afternoon, making a stop at the big market.

"Tanto, these are the snacks to be served to Pak Dewo. If he agrees to have lunch, let Lik Jiyem buy Pak Mul's soup!" she told me before leaving.

I was daydreaming when I suddenly heard, "It is still morning and you have started daydreaming!" Pak Dewo was addressing me. I felt nervous looking at Pak Dewo. He had gained a lot of weight since I last saw him eight years earlier. He was not alone. Two young men were accompanying him. Pak Dewo introduced them to me as his aides. It was strange, I thought.

I was still surprised when Pak Dewo explained in detail the purpose of his visit. He wanted to inquire further on a certain person named Wiryono alias Joko, an acquaintance of mine. I remained open-mouthed when Pak Dewo said that Joko was a fugitive suspected of murdering several girls in Surabaya two years ago.

I got suddenly anxious about Asih who went together with Mas Joko this morning. "What is the matter, Tan? You have turned pale!" Pak Dewo saw my fear. I was even more frightened when I remembered that my mother had told Mas Joko of Pak Dewo's planned visit. It meant that he knew all about it.

"I want to see his room. Who knows there is something that can help the investigation," Pak Dewo continued. I hurried to fetch the duplicate keys of the rooms and accompanied the three visitors to Mas Joko's room. The closer I came to the plastic cupboard in the room, the more I trembled. There was something that made me want to know the contents of the cupboard.

The cupboard was empty but for a pile of old newspapers and hangers without clothes. I began to panic when one of Pak Dewo's aides discovered some rumpled sheets of paper under the mattress with the writing: "She is beautiful and intelligent. She speaks to my heart. I must get her by any means. I will take her away like I did with the others ...For my beloved: Asih."

Reading the letter I became faint. What was I going to tell my mother when she returned? I could not lie to her. However painful, I must talk to my mother. But Asih, my kid sister, my only sibling, my mother's youngest child, where are you now?

Glossary:

Pak: term of respect for elderly male

Mas: term of respect for adult male, Javanese

Bu: term of respect for elderly female

Juragan: master

Lik, Bulik: aunt, Javanese

-- Translated by SH

The writer is a graduate student of the School of Letters, Sanata Dharma University in Yogyakarta.