Twilight in Djakarta (12 page)

‘I agree, of course, with the substitution of modern technology for the term Western technology,’ said Iesye, ‘but, in spite of the change of label, the actual influence of modern technology on society and on the spirit of our people will still be the same as if we used the term Western technology. This will certainly revolutionise our people’s mind and spirit and will shake the very foundations of their traditional values.’

‘And what is the harm in that?’ Suryono interpolated. ‘Why should we be afraid if the traditional foundations of our society are shattered?’

‘I didn’t mean to say that I’m afraid,’ Iesye replied quickly. ‘On the contrary, our society is so backward and lacking in initiative that I’d be only too glad to see a drastic change. Then perhaps, because of modern technology, the Indonesians will become a people able to stand on their own feet, master nature and assume their responsibilities to the nation and to humanity at large.’

‘That’s a very nice statement,’ said Yasrin, ‘but it’s not likely to lead to any definite conclusion. We reject the Japanese methods of adopting modern technology, that is using dictatorial means under the aegis of the Tenno Heika
1
as they did before the Second World War. Nor can we accept the dictatorship of the proletariat, as practised in Soviet Russia or in the People’s Republic of China, to introduce modern technology to build up the country. The Indonesian nation has chosen the way of democracy. And we must have the courage to bear the consequences of this choice. Once modern technology has been introduced, let social development in our country take its own course, whether Islam possesses enough dynamism to further the penetration of modern technology, or the socialist ideology paves the way, or the Oriental soul is strong enough to support it. However, I must frankly admit to you, brothers, that I’m not a bit clear about what is really meant
by the Oriental soul. Personally, I have no objections to the drastic changes which the introduction of modern technology may bring about in the basic values of our society or the spirit of our people, provided, however, that we do not destroy the principles of democracy. These changes are actually essential if our nation is to develop rapidly.’

‘Ah, I don’t agree with brother Yasrin’s view that modern technology can just be allowed to penetrate and that one can rely on subsequent developments to shape the future of our homeland,’ Murhalim cut in. ‘I am convinced that Islam, with its dynamism rediscovered, will provide a solid base for receiving modern technology!’

‘May I just make a comment?’ asked Suryono, and continued, ‘While listening to your talk, I got the impression that the real problem for our nation is not modern technology, whether from West or East. Since Kipling wrote “East is East and West is West …” the world has changed a good deal. Modern technology is not the exclusive monopoly of the West. An Eastern nation has been able to master it too. The problem we face is on what basic principles our country’s development should be directed. On the present democratic basis, which does not satisfy us? On Islamic principles as proposed by brother Murhalim? On a dictatorial basis as the admirers of the people’s democracies want? Even the Islamic basis that Murhalim wants carries the seeds of dictatorship in its exclusiveness and rejection of all alternatives. As we can see today, the attempt to develop our country and people along democratic lines has failed. Isn’t it possible that this has happened not because of the failings of the democratic system, but because too many of our people are still unprepared for democracy?

‘One of the basic assumptions in a democracy is that every person living in it must have enough intelligence to make conscious choices. How many of our people really understand what it is that they must choose? In our country a skilful demagogue
can easily mislead the masses. In my opinion the problem is one of leadership. If the leadership of our country, which used to be so united, were to re-establish its unity, and on the strength of this unity govern the country, following the gradually developing ability of the people to build democratic institutions, that would be the best answer to the problem of our country’s leadership.’

‘So you agree to dictatorial methods?’ interposed Iesye.

Suryono looked gratefully at Iesye for this sign of her attention, and said,

‘Yes, but only for the initial phase. What are ten years, twenty years, in the history of a nation? Let people like Sukarno, Hatta, Sjahrir, Natsir and others like them, stay in power to guide the development of our state and nation.’

‘You mean a sort of collective leadership?’ asked Pranoto.

‘Yes, and I think that a collective leadership corresponds to the instincts of our people. In the villages, where life is based on the gotong royong
1
system, one can find the predisposition for such collective leadership.’

‘The question is whether personal and party antagonisms have not now become so sharp as to make it impossible for the leaders to re-establish their unity,’ said Pranoto.

‘That certainly is an important factor,’ replied Suryono. ‘And, the way I see it, it is pretty unlikely that our leaders will unite again.’

‘In that case the alternative is that some group will emerge and take over the leadership of the state,’ said Pranoto.

‘The communists?’ asked Murhalim.

‘Or possibly the Moslem group,’ Pranoto answered.

‘It would be difficult for the Moslem group, since they’re badly split, and neither do they have a militant organisation ready to act like the P.K.I.
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has,’ said Murhalim.

‘Another possibility is complete anarchy,’ interrupted Sugeng suddenly, who had just been sitting and listening all this time.

‘That also is quite a possibility,’ added Pranoto, ‘which implies disintegration of the state for which the lives of so many of our young people have been sacrificed.’

Pranoto then looked at his watch and said, ‘It’s really a pity, but our time has run out just as our discussion was getting to the most interesting and thought-provoking basic problems. I suggest that each of us make a deeper study of the problems we have touched upon. We could ask Murhalim, for instance, or another friend with enough interest and time, to formulate the conception of a state based on Islamic principles.

‘It’s true, of course, that too many of Islam’s foremost representatives only cling to Islam’s ancient glory without trying to make use of Islamic principles to solve our contemporary problems. So also, perhaps, we could ask Suryono to elaborate further the principle of collective leadership for our country. The consequences of the introduction of modern technology into Indonesian society could be examined more closely by comparisons with what happened in Japan, for example.’

After having taken Sugeng home Suryono took Iesye for a drive in his car, and on a quiet street in Kemajoran Baru he stopped the car, took Iesye’s hand and drew her close to him.

‘Ies …’ Suryono whispered.

He kissed her ear, his lips moved to Iesye’s cheek, then with his hand he slowly turned Iesye’s face until his lips met the girl’s lips and then their mouths were locked in a strong, deep kiss.

Suddenly Iesye withdrew and moved away from Suryono, as his hand tried to clasp her breast.

‘Don’t, Yon,’ said Iesye.

‘Why?’ asked Suryono.

‘I’m not sure about you yet,’ Iesye said.

‘Not sure how?’ Suryono retorted. Dahlia flitted through his mind. Somewhat perturbed, he thought, does Iesye know?

‘As I listened to your talk just now, I believed I could trust you. And I felt as though I cared for you,’ said Iesye. ‘But then I began to wonder once again if you weren’t just playing with words. And then, you are still young, but suddenly you’re wallowing in money. It seems abominable that young people should spend their time just trying to get rich while our people are in such a desperate condition. I don’t know what to think of you, Yon.’

Suryono was still, staring into the night through the
windscreen
, and admitting to himself – You’re right, Ies, you know me. I don’t know myself who I am and what I want. I’ve lost hold, I’m full of anxiety and fear.

Suryono turned the ignition key, started the engine and drove off.

‘Come, I’ll take you home,’ he said abruptly.

‘You’re not angry?’ Iesye asked.

Suryono turned to her, again he felt their closeness and bending his head he caressed Iesye’s cheek with his lips.

‘How could I be angry with you?’ he said.

Iesye held his hand, and the car rolled back into Djakarta.

Tony and Djok ordered the betja driver to stop at the corner when they noticed Suryono’s car alone in the deserted street. They short-changed the betja driver who drove off swearing at them, and proceeded to hide themselves behind a dark tree.

‘This is good pickings, Djok,’ said Tony, grinning. His large, strong teeth glistened in the darkness. Tony adjusted his
pistol-holster
inside his shirt behind the belt, and Djok clutched the handle of his knife.

‘Let them get going first,’ said Tony. ‘It’s easier to rob them
when they’re in the middle of it. They’ll be scared stiff and give up their wallets fast, and then scoot when we tell them to get out.’

‘Nah, now, almost,’ said Tony when they saw Suryono drawing Iesye close to himself and then the two kissing.

Tony and Djok cautiously moved closer to the car, Tony’s hand ready to pull out his pistol.

Then Iesye withdrew, Suryono started the motor and before Tony managed to decide on a new plan of action the car had rolled away and was out of sight.

‘Ah, shit! Maybe they saw us coming,’ said Tony.

‘Looks like they didn’t make it.’

A
DRIZZLING
rain had been falling incessantly since early dawn. The morning wind was blowing in hard from the sea. The wind whirled up dry leaves, darkening the mist which billowed in the streets. The wind sneaked into the houses, making Raden Kaslan press Fatma’s young and warm body closer to his own; making Suryono sink into deeper slumbers in his room while dreaming of Iesye; the wind blew into editor Halim’s room, who was sleeping apart from his wife because the night before they’d had another quarrel; disturbed Sugeng’s sleep, filled with nightmares; made Husin Limbara’s afflicted shoulder ache more painfully in the morning chill; and caused the sago-palm leaves on the thatched roof of Pak Idjo’s hut to rustle; and, having penetrated inside, hovered around Ibu Idjo and Amat who sat chilled near the balai-balai, the morning wind swept by.

Ibu Idjo sat very still near the balai-balai; Amat sat very still near the balai-balai. They had shed all their tears since Pak Idjo had drawn his last breath at ten o’clock the preceding night. The oil lamp had long since gone out.

Ibu Idjo’s sorrow at the loss of her husband was mixed with relief. At last he was liberated from the torture of an illness which they had been unable to cure because they never had enough money to go to a doctor and buy the necessary medicines.

Now only she and Amat were left with the children. And Ibu Idjo was confident that she and Amat would manage to carry on. There was still the horse, and the delman cart was still there. Amat was working already, as a garbage coolie. All that remained to be done now was to bury Pak Idjo.

The atmosphere in Raden Kaslan’s workroom had been tense for some time. Raden Kaslan had been silent for a long while, unwilling to participate further in the discussion. Halim sat looking at Husin Limbara with a cruel smile playing on his lips. Then, with studied slowness, he took a cigarette out from a pack on the table, put it into his mouth, replaced the cigarettes on the table, took a match from the table, lit his cigarette, then inhaled deeply and puffed the smoke upwards. Raden Kaslan watched Halim’s gestures with terror in his heart. Husin Limbara said to himself that the man was dangerous but could be bought, and decided to pay Halim’s price.

‘Brothers,’ Halim then said in a cold voice, ‘the government which we are supporting at the moment is not popular in the eyes of the people. If I wanted to, I could write even more sharply and violently about this government than the opposition does. The opposition newspapers don’t know even one half of what I know and have seen with my own eyes as to the doings of this government.’ And Halim looked sharply at Husin Limbara and Raden Kaslan.

Raden Kaslan lowered his eyes. Husin Limbara, with great calm, looked fixedly at Halim and in the end it was Halim who averted his glance.

‘My newspaper has suffered great losses as the result of supporting the government. But every time I ask for support I am put off as if I were a beggar. I am tired of begging from you, gentlemen. Why should I be begging from you? It’s you, gentlemen, who’re indebted to me.’

‘But how about the bank loan for the printing plant, and the several hundred thousands we have given …?’ said Raden Kaslan suddenly.

Halim turned to Raden Kaslan and said, smiling,

‘What does this loan of six million for the printing plant amount to? And the few hundred thousand rupiah – they’re
chicken-feed. Especially if we compare it to the hundreds of millions you’ve been making on all these deals …!’

‘What you really want then, brother, is …’ asked Husin Limbara coolly.

‘I refuse to be merely your tool,’ said Halim. ‘If we’re to work together I must be treated as an equal.’

‘But you’ve already got a seat in the parliament!’ said Husin Limbara.

Halim laughed sarcastically.

‘How generous your gracious gift! A seat in a provisional parliament soon to be dissolved, after the general elections only a few months hence. Of what significance is that?’

‘But you asked for it yourself, brother,’ Husin Limbara retorted.

‘Of course! But surely you realise that this isn’t enough and is only temporary anyway,’ Halim shot back.

‘Ah, if you wish, we can include you in the list of party candidates for the elections,’ said Husin Limbara. He felt somewhat relieved – so that’s what’s worrying Halim. ‘This I can guarantee, don’t worry,’ Husin Limbara added.

‘That’s of no use to me,’ said Halim. ‘You know as well as I do that it’s better for our plans if I’m known in public as a non-party man.’

‘Brother Halim wants a greater share of the money,’ said Raden Kaslan. A light smile appeared on Husin Limbara’s lips. As chairman of the party he’d had considerable experience in dealing with people like Halim. Here he felt on firm ground once more. If the problem was one of money he, Husin Limbara, could settle it.

‘Ah, is that all?’ he said. ‘But you know yourself, brother Halim, that we have to be very cautious in such matters just now. Every day the opposition’s newspapers persist in tearing into the various special licences. The party itself doesn’t know how much longer it can shield the minister concerned without getting embroiled in
difficulties with the other government parties.’

‘All right, brother, just listen to a little proposition I have for you here,’ said Halim. ‘Through my connections I have reliable reports that the opposition parties have worked out a plan of campaign for attacking the government in their Press. If you examine carefully the content of the opposition papers over the last few weeks, you will see that their campaign against the government is quite systematic. One of the opposition papers exposes something, it is then picked up and exaggerated in the headlines of the other newspapers, and, being centrally directed, all this does not fail to make a strong impression on the public. In contrast, the pro-government Press isn’t co-ordinated at all. Each newspaper goes its own sweet way, expressing its own reactions; in short, the voice of the government Press is neither united nor strong, but disjointed and ineffective in combating the opposition’s campaign.’

‘This, alas, is very true, brother Halim,’ said Husin Limbara. He had become interested in Halim’s argument and forgot about the money problem still to be settled.

And inwardly Raden Kaslan too had to admit the merit of Halim’s expert analysis of the press problem.

‘I have worked out a plan of how the pro-government Press should co-operate to fight the opposition,’ Halim continued, ‘and I want to propose that within the shortest possible time a meeting be arranged between the editors-in-chief, the directors of the pro-government Djakarta Press, the leaders of the government parties, and the more important cabinet ministers. At this meeting the basic policies for our campaign to fight the opposition should be outlined. As the famous military saying goes, “attack is the best form of defence”. Similarly the pro-government Press should take the initiative and attack, and not, as at the present, just react defensively every time the opposition takes the offensive. So far the majority of the pro-government newspapers, with the
exception of mine, have merely reacted to the contents of the opposition Press. This is a mistake. We can’t win over public opinion in this way. Look what’s happening now. One has to admit frankly that the average circulation of the pro-government newspapers is going down, while that of the opposition Press is growing steadily. The government papers cannot survive without organised support. My idea is that we must establish a press service to collect, prepare and distribute systematically materials for our press campaign. These materials will then be published in all the newspapers which support the government, either as news reports, news comments, interviews and so forth.’

‘Very good, very good,’ said Husin Limbara.

‘But we must launch it under the guise of an independent press organisation and not one tied to the party,’ continued Halim. And that’s why the organisation will need a budget, an office and a staff of its own. According to my estimates, about five hundred thousand will do for a start, including the purchase of equipment such as typewriters, desks and so on, and salaries for the employees.’

‘The financial part we can discuss with our colleagues,’ said Husin Limbara. ‘As for the plan, it’s very good. Excellent.’ And he rubbed his hands.

And once again Raden Kaslan mentally had to applaud Halim’s skill in making so persuasive a presentation.

‘Apart from this feature service, I also want to propose the establishment of several other friendly newspapers,’ Halim continued. ‘So we can emerge as the leading press organisation. Our voice simply doesn’t count in the one which exists now.’

‘Good, good. This can easily be arranged,’ said Husin Limbara.

‘Nah,’ said Halim, ‘if you agree, I can start making the preparations right away if the money is made available immediately. But, all this aside – as I’ve already indicated, my
own newspaper continues to suffer losses because it supports the government’s cause. I’m fed up with begging for support. To avoid any further quibbling about money, I’m asking for a loan of at least eight million to finance my newly established import firm – it’s already been approved.’

Halim picked up his briefcase from the floor by his chair and took out an issue of the
State News
.

Husin Limbara took the sheet from Halim and read the item on the chartering of the import firm Ikan Mas.
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‘Leave this with me, brother,’ he said. ‘I’ll discuss the loan with the ministers concerned.’

‘I’m confident,’ said Halim, ‘that you’ll succeed. Because, if not, I’ll no longer be in a position to continue my support for you.’

Husin Limbara laughed, and then suddenly said,

‘Wouldn’t it be better not to invest the whole eight million in this one import corporation? You must realise that the import field is now the main target for opposition attacks. Why don’t you start up some other enterprise, some mines or a factory for instance, and divide the loan, drawing it under two names?’

‘You’re quite right there, brother,’ Halim replied, laughing. ‘Provided I’m sure of getting the loan, there’ll be no trouble dividing it up later.’

‘So where do we stand now?’ asked Raden Kaslan, who had been silent throughout this interchange. ‘Does it mean that from now on I’m no longer to be involved in the financing of Halim?’

Husin Limbara was quiet for a moment, turning things over in his mind. Then he said,

‘Yes, I’ll see to it that brother Halim’s request is met. As for co-ordinating the pro-government Press, I can settle it at once; you can go ahead with the preparations immediately. The cost isn’t too heavy.’ He then stood up, saying, ‘Nah, I hope we’ve finished
our discussion, and our co-operation will be even firmer than it was before.’

Halim rose too, picked up his briefcase and said to Husin Limbara,

‘My car may not have come yet. Could you give me a lift to my office?’

‘Certainly, certainly,’ Husin Limbara responded.

Halim’s car had in fact not arrived, and they left Raden Kaslan behind to marvel at Halim’s slickness. Just imagine, the fellow talked for just half an hour, and managed to wheedle out over eight and a half million ….

In the car Halim was saying to Husin Limbara,

‘Raden Kaslan didn’t seem very happy during our discussion ….’

‘Ah, he’s getting old. And given to changeable moods. He’s put in an application to have a Dutch car-importing firm transferred to him and it hasn’t been approved yet.’

‘But he’s got so much already, and still he isn’t satisfied,’ said Halim. ‘Import firms by the dozen, in his own name, the name of his wife, his son and whoever else. It’s really amazing how greedy people can be. Who knows how much more goes into his pockets than goes into the party treasury?’

Inwardly Husin Limbara was saying, Yes, but you, my friend, are you any less greedy than that scoundrel Kaslan? You had a bank loan for the printing works, hundreds of thousands for your newspaper, a seat in parliament and are now due to get over eight million – if that isn’t greed!

But he smiled at Halim and said,

‘Well, there’re all sorts of people in the world. No one’s satisfied. The rich ones want more power, the rich ones want more wealth. Just look at the opposition parties. What are they shouting for? They’ve got no responsibility whatever for the welfare of our
country and the people. Continually harassing the government, without a let-up, so the really important work of building up the country gets held up because we’re forced to deal with an opposition that’s gone off the track. How can the government do its work if it’s constantly harassed?’ Husin Limbara sighed, deeply deploring the sordid ways in which these others played politics.

Ah, just keep talking to your heart’s content, do you really imagine you can pull the wool over my eyes? Halim grinned to himself. Large-scale looting is what you’re perpetrating in the name of the people. Well, you think
you’re
using me, but it’s me who’s using you. And laughing softly, Halim said,

‘You’re right, of course, brother, the leaders of the opposition are all stooges of the capitalists and colonialists. They should all be wiped out.’

Then the car, its brakes screeching and its tyres squealing on the pavement, came to a sudden stop as the driver just managed to avoid colliding with a betja.

Husin Limbara and Halim were thrown forward, Husin Limbara’s glasses fell on the floor. Halim, being younger, quickly regained his balance and said,

‘Lucky we didn’t hit him.’

‘Hell!’ swore Husin Limbara, and as the car passed the betja, whose driver stood waiting in fear, Husin Limbara stuck his head out of his newly polished Cadillac. ‘Look first before you cross, lu! Follow the traffic rules!’

And then he said to Halim, ‘And betja drivers should be wiped out, too. They’re just causing traffic accidents.’

‘Moreover, they’re a blot on the dignity of man!’ said Halim mockingly. Husin Limbara looked at him, caught the joke in Halim’s remark and laughed. His annoyance with the betja driver disappeared, and he said,