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“Almost all of the universities are setting up free-speech platforms on their campuses to discuss the increase in fuel prices,” Bimo added as he stole a look at Rama as well.

Lintang returned to the room to join the circle with a serious look on her face.

“What is it, Lintang?”

“Maman called to ask about the news, but also to tell me that Ayah is having problems with his liver and that he's refusing to go to the doctor. She wants me to give him a call.”

Aji gave Lintang a look of concern. “What's wrong with his liver?”

“A few weeks back, Ayah collapsed at the Metro station,” she started to explain. “He went to the hospital for tests and had everything checked out, and they gave him some medicine to take.”

“And so?”

“He's in out-patient care for now, but it looks like he needs to
go back in again. To tell you the truth, I don't know what's wrong. I never saw the results of the tests, and Ayah refuses to talk about his health.” Lintang conveyed this news with a heavy look.

“Still as hardheaded as ever,” Aji muttered. “Well, I'll give him a call. You three can have dinner here tonight,” he then added, looking at Lintang, Alam, and Bimo in turn. Then he stood and asked Rama to follow him into the dining room.

Once in the dining room, he reminded Rama what he had told him earlier. “Remember this, Rama: you have two choices.”

“I want to marry Rininta,” Rama said to his father. “And all I want from you and Mama is for you to be my parents.”

“And all I want from you is to be my son—to admit to being the son of Aji Suryo and the nephew of Dimas Suryo.”

Aji then went to the telephone stand, intending to call his brother.

“Wait, Papa!” Rama said loudly, stopping his father from picking up the telephone receiver.

Aji turned back. “Is there something else?” “I also came here to invite you to a dinner with Rininta's parents.”

“When?” Aji asked with a frown.

“Tomorrow, Papa. For the whole family. I'm sorry it's so sudden. They told me last week but I didn't come before because…”

“Because you weren't sure whether you wanted to invite your family,” Aji stated. He didn't know whether to be angry, insulted, or disappointed. Maybe it would best if he could feel nothing at all. Wasn't he already immune to emotion? Aji glanced at the calendar but all he could think of was that this was the end of a peaceful weekend. He took a deep breath. He knew that his wife, even if she were angry or upset, would still try her best to accommodate her son's wishes.

“Ask your mother. I have just two requirements: one, that you tell them about us, and two, that Lintang comes along.”

“But, Papa…”

“Lintang will come with us. She's family too!” With that said, Aji left Rama standing alone in his confusion. At the moment he felt it far more important to call his brother and persuade him to go to see the doctor than to deal with his son's personal issues.

Rama bowed his head. How was he going to explain his family history to his girlfriend and her family before the next evening?

Aji pulled his van to a stop directly in front of a two-story house at the end of a street in the residential area of Lebak Bulus, South Jakarta. He didn't immediately remove the key from the ignition. Retno, who would usually be checking her face in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car, this evening sat silently lost in thought as she twisted her wedding ring round her finger. In the back seat, Andini and Lintang waited for their elders to make a move. Through the front window, Aji and Retno could see Rama's car parked directly in front of their Kijang van. Through the side rear window, Lintang studied the Priasmoro family home, an affluent-looking home with a large front yard, a water fountain, a high protective fence, and a watchman's post on the corner of the street where the house sat.

“Well, are we going to get out?” Andini asked loudly.

Aji took a breath. “Can you see Rama anywhere?”

Andini pointed toward the house where her brother was standing in the front portico.

“Watch your tongue, Dini,” Aji said in warning as he turned towards his bright but saucy daughter.

Andini giggled and stuck out her tongue, causing her father to laugh.

The van's occupants opened the doors of the van and got out slowly, as if there were chains on their ankles.

Rama, when seeing his family come up the walk towards the house, almost wanted to fly away, but he made himself stand in place. Next to him was his girlfriend, Rininta, who was dressed that night in long loose black slacks and a white satin blouse—a striking young woman with the beauty and delicacy of a smooth and flawless porcelain vase.

“Mama, Papa, this is Rininta.”

Rininta immediately took Rama's parents' right hands and kissed them lightly with her lips.

Andini and Lintang gave each other a questioning glance.

“This is my sister, Andini, and my cousin, Lintang.”

“Rama said you just came in from Paris,” Rininta said to Lintang.

“That's right,” Lintang said, smiling politely.

“I've only been there twice, on trips with my parents to Europe,” Rininta said. “I look forward to talking to you,” she added amicably. Lintang smiled and nodded.

Once they had been ushered inside, the house, with its high ceilings, seemed even larger and more spacious than it had from the outside. Lintang felt like they were ants trapped at the bottom of a huge and empty upturned bucket. The quartet of guests stood in place, unsure if they'd be able to stop themselves from gaping at the large hanging chandelier overhead, falling over at the sight of the immense display of family photographs covering the room's walls, or sinking into the soft plush carpet beneath their feet. But before Lintang could even to try to guess how rich Rama's future in-laws must be, Mr. and Mrs. Priasmoro appeared before them
and greeted them warmly.

Mrs. Priasmoro, with perfectly coiffed hair and emitting the scent of expensive perfume, kissed Tante Retno on her left and right cheeks. They were then led into the living room, which looked to be half the size of a soccer field. Lintang doubted her ability to guess its actual size, but what she really couldn't figure out is why, from the outside, the house hadn't looked to be so immense.

The older couples immediately engaged themselves in friendly conversation. Lintang listened as they talked about topics she found to be on everyone's tongue ever since she had arrived in Jakarta a few days before: the terrible traffic jams caused by the daily demonstrations and the increase in prices for almost everything, even though there still had been no official rise in the price of fuel.

When Rininta began to ask Lintang about Paris, she didn't quite know how to answer her questions and comments. “Why is it so rare in Paris to find discounts on brand-name shoes and purses?”
What?
“How does one get front row seats at the fall fashion shows?”
Are you kidding?
“If I ever go there again, we can go together to see the sights. I don't like the pictures I have of me standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.”
Excuse me!

Lintang feared that she appeared to be stupid, but she really didn't know how to respond. And Andini, not helping in the least to help smooth the crinkles in the conversation, made matters worse by giggling so much that she was soon bowed over with laughter. Andini was obviously thinking to herself how tragic it would be for her to have a sister-in-law whose only concerns were how to pose in front of the Eiffel Tower and where to sit at Paris fashion shows. Meanwhile, as Andini tried to stifle the laughter, Rama looked increasingly irritated. He glared at his sister, his eyes begging for her to be polite; but Andini's wicked streak got
the best of her and she kept asking more questions about Europe and pretending to be in awe when Rininta spoke of her shopping sprees and her search for clothing, shoes, and jewelry in the countries she visited.

“So you visited London, Amsterdam, Berlin, Bonn, Paris, Milan, and Brussels and all you did was shop?” Andini asked, as if in wonder of the idea.

“Well, yes, of course,” Rininta said with a smile. “I mean it's so cheap over there. The branded items available here are always much more expensive and out of season besides. I mean, take for instance this limited-edition LV purse that Mama bought—it was so much cheaper there. We should have bought two because now I have to borrow it from her. You should the visit the Champs-Élysées. Mama and I just love shopping there!”

Hearing this conversation, Lintang smiled politely, or as best she could, but she was groaning inside. “Branded”? What in the world did she mean? O,
mon Dieu
. And “LV”? Was LV the abbreviation for Louis Vuitton? Champs-Élysées? Was Rininta really talking about brand names of goods that were so expensive only big-name celebrities, children of royalty, and wives of international tycoons could afford to buy them? There was, Lintang realized, a kind of irony—or was it parody?—that was apparent here. She had always thought of Indonesia as a developing country, one trapped in an endless cycle of spiraling debt; yet now she could see that a tiny percentage of people, at the very top of the population pyramid, were able to shop for Louis Vuitton purses and shoes in Paris.

Trying to be polite, Lintang did her best not to judge; but Andini held her eyes wide open in feigned amazement as she listened to Rininta's tale of traveling from one boutique to the next with a group of her friends. Lintang knew her cousin was
torturing Rininta without the pretty young woman being aware of it at all. Fortunately, dinner was announced, and Lintang went to the table feeling relieved that the night's circus had come to an end. Or so she thought.

The dining table was immense and the array of dishes fantastic: In addition to two kinds of rice (steamed and fried), four kinds of shrimp crackers (curled, long, brown, and multi-colored), and three different kinds of
sambal
, there were, for the main course, a huge fish—a kind that Lintang didn't recognize—in a turmeric sauce; braised chicken in a chili and shrimp-paste sauce; beef roulade; fried duck in butter sauce; goat satay with soy sauce dressing; stuffed calamari; grilled spiced prawns; and stir-fried mixed vegetables, simmered asparagus, and stink beans… My God, how many cooks and assistants did this family have to prepare all these things? Lintang thought of her father and of Yazir and Bahrum who would have had to jump through hoops in order to prepare a meal as grand as the one this evening.

Mr. Priasmoro invited them to take a seat at the table. As is usually the case in Indonesia, where no matter how official the meal might be, place cards are rarely used, none were on the table that night. This was something Lintang liked; it made meals much more familial—and she didn't feel forced to have to sit beside someone she didn't know. Tonight, on her left was Rininta and on her right was Tante Retno. Across the table in front of her were Rama and her uncle Aji. Meanwhile, at the one end of the table to her far left were Mrs. Priasmoro and Andini. Naturally, Mr. Priasmoro, director of Cita Karya, dressed in a purple silk batik shirt with a bird motif that glowed in the light of the room, sat at the head of the table.

“You first, Lintang. Please go ahead,” Mrs. Priasmoro beckoned.
“This isn't like in France, I'm sure; it's just whatever we had on hand. I hope the food's not too hot for you.”

Mrs. Priasmoro's lilting voice soothed her guests. They all took turns serving themselves rice as the two kinds went around the table. Then they began to serve themselves the other dishes, taking one and then passing that dish to the person on their left. Lintang complimented herself on her choice of dishes: white rice, some of that fish with the turmeric sauce, green chili
sambal
, stuffed calamari, and simmered asparagus.

As she tried the various foods she'd taken, Lintang politely listened to Rininta chatter on about ever-rainy London and French people who refused to speak English. Lintang paid little attention to this talk, as she was more interested in trying to discern the spicing for the fish. The taste of the yellow sauce was unique: very piquant, a fantastic blend of different spices. She wanted to find out the recipe for her father.

“This fish is wonderful,” Lintang enthused, unable to hide her curiosity.