Chapter Five.

Aryanti

My mother is not only good at making cakes. She can cook anything well. When I go to Fajar's family's house, I try not to notice that they have very poor food they cook the fish together with the vegetables and they don't properly mix the chilli and salt and sugar. They cook everything for too short or too long a time. The rice is not washed or stored properly. The food is not good quality, which does not help, but my mother says a poor workman blames his tools you can cook any simple thing well. It is a matter of taking your time and having a clear idea about the final product before you start. In spite of saying this, Ibu1 never follows any recipe and only uses her hands and one old cup to measure things. I usually cook the rice and the vegetables while she makes sauce and sambal and uses oil for cooking tofu and meat. While she is cooking, she talks, and pays no attention to what she is doing, as if her mind and her fingers were staying in two different houses.

We always cooked in harmony and enjoyed shaking our heads at the daily bickering that went on between my father and brother, until the day that Fajar came to visit. My mother had been working that day, and she was not consulted before Father gave him permission to court me. As soon as she got home and heard the news she began complaining to my brother and scolding my father, but he stood up for himself that time.

You should trust in your husband's judgements, he told her. Because my body is sick it does not mean I am no longer the man of this household.

At first this was a good sign for me, because it meant that he had decided to dig his heels in and Ibu would be unable to force him to change his mind. But then she tried another way. It was I who should tell my father that I had changed my mind. I told her no, straight up and no beating around the bush. Then she believed she had been disrespected and began to get impatient.

You are usually such a sensible girl, she complained. What has happened to you?

I was surprised by my own disobedience, but felt pleased and powerful at the same time.

What makes you so sure of him? He has not asked for your hand in marriage yet, she added.

He will, Ibu, I answered.

In fact, Fajar and I had already made many plans together for our wedding and our future family. It was I who had been pus.h.i.+ng him to choose the right day to speak to my parents. I was unhappy that he seemed content to leave our future to wait as soon as he felt sure of my heart.

At first I thought Ibu's objections were simply because the match was not her own idea, but later I suspected the problem was with Fajar himself, and I gathered up the courage to ask her about it.

That boy's family has no father and the eldest brother is not liked, she said.

But I thought there was more to it. It was not her habit to blame people for their misfortunes and every family has its black sheep, especially if there are twelve children. I finally pushed her to tell me the truth.

She swallowed hard and looked uncomfortable, which is something I had rarely seen from her before, but her answer was even more surprising than her look.

He is very handsome, she said.

Do you think that's why I want to marry him? I replied. I do not look at him for handsomeness.

It isn't what you are looking at, but other girls, and Fajar also.

Is this the big problem, Ibu? He doesn't look at other girls. He looks at me.

How do you know what he does when you are not there?

Shall I ask Father to find me an ugly husband?

Ugly or handsome is beside the point, she said, contradicting herself.

You need a good husband. One who does not have all this debt to worry about.

The discussions went around and around and father and brother had to listen to our squabbling for a change.

In the end everybody got tired of it. We struck a deal with Father in the middle, keeping the peace. When Fajar had finished paying his bike then I could marry him.

He has not even asked yet, I reminded them.

Only two days later, as fate has a way of driving everybody crazy, Fajar suddenly decided that he must speak to my parents about our marriage as a matter of urgency. He was disappointed when I told him about the deal I had struck with my mother, but not put off. At that time, I did not tell him the reasons for our arrangement, so as to avoid trouble between them later on after we were married. n.o.body wants to be the unhappy meat in the sandwich of son-in-law and mother-in-law.

In my head, I had begun to prepare our future the way my mother prepares the food ahead of time. Where we would live was the biggest problem, as I did not want to live with Fajar's brother, and also not in their very small house, but I did not want to insult his family by asking Fajar to come and live with my parents. We decided to rent our own house and live together without parents. It would cost money, but we would both work and we could afford it if he had already paid the bike.

Again fate came to laugh at us, because very soon after all this was agreed and everybody was calm and peaceful, he lost the job.

He came to my house and I could see straight away that something was wrong. There was a small bruise on his cheek and a big scratch down the side of his face. He told me the story, waving his long arms around in fury.

My mother has never seen this temper of his and she would certainly not approve, as n.o.body gets angry like that in our household. I told her the story but left out the parts where she could blame him.

Ibu surprised me at that time by saying: I don't want to make you unhappy. Let us give him some time to find a new job.

But three months later he had not found a job and she was very upset to walk past him one day, laughing and smoking, in the line with the ojek drivers.

This man does not have any way to support you. It will be up to his mother and your own parents to feed your child after you are married, while he stands idle in the street. Is that what you want? she asked.

Ibu, what do you want him to do stay home and cry, or try to find some driving work? I answered.

I could see that this time there would be no fighting with her. She wanted me to call Fajar to a meeting with my father, but instead I went over there to see him alone. A meeting with my parents would make it final and there would be no way to fix it later, if a way could be found. I wanted my parents to believe that I was obeying them, but I told him: Let us break and wait until later when you have found some work. Then you can visit my parents and we will marry quickly.

He refused the plan. He did not want to break with me at all. I said no to him many times before he stopped calling me.

In truth, I did not want to marry a man without a job, but I did not want to break with him either. I was tired of everybody always telling me what they want what Ibu wants, what Father wants, what Fajar wants, and, of course, we also had to consider his mother, and his eldest brother, and then his eldest brother's wife would like to add her unwanted opinion.

My mother and I stopped fighting aloud, but we were mostly silent when we were together in the house.

Fajar

Suddenly I felt that I was really a man. This woman became a drum beating inside me. She did not have shame about anything. She would even take my p.e.n.i.s in her mouth like some kind of special sweet, which no Muslim girl will ever do for any reason, even after she is married. She spent her s.e.x and her money, and did not save it or deal it out in modest portions, and she would stand before me naked and sleepy and touch my face, eyes, lips, softly, like a blind woman.

At first I told myself it was for the bike, and then to make me feel stronger, because Aryanti had broken with me. I was a little afraid to be with a woman who worked for the government and thought it might cause me some trouble, but she laughed when I told her that. She was very calm and sure about everything and sometimes I wondered if she was laughing at me.

She would also give me money. I told myself again it was for the bike but then I was thinking about her all the time and began to go to see her when I had not planned to.

One day my mother asked me to paint the house and I told her: I have no time to do this. I must work.

She looked at me sideways.

What kind of work do you do for this woman?

Driving. Shopping. Many kinds. Is it better I don't bring home money? And is it better I don't pay my bike, like before?

She looked at me carefully and then said: Leave the painting. Only go and buy the paint now, and bring it back. Then you can go.

But I went to Vic's first and brought her rose apples and chocolate. It was hours later when I remembered the paint, and rushed to buy it and bring it home. My mother was very angry and began to watch me very closely after that. A few weeks later I fell asleep and Vic couldn't wake me up, so I had to return home in the morning; this time my mother and sister and older brother were waiting for me. I told them I had stayed at Budi's house because I had eaten some bad food and was too sick to return. My mother only said: Do not forget that it is Friday, to remind me to go to the mosque.

It was clear they had been talking, and they would watch me together. I wished I could be like Satiya, and ignore all of their questions, but for some reason that doesn't work with me. Perhaps because I am the youngest.

I decided it would be easier to see Vic less often. I was still working ojek in the daytime, when she was at work, and going down to the river with Budi at night, but not as often as before. I had started to put bigger money on the races, which Budi had been pretending not to notice, but when I pulled out my new phone he couldn't help himself.

What the h.e.l.l is going on with you, man? Did you rob a bank? What kind of money does she pay you?

I looked off into the stars.

It depends on how much work I do, how much she pays me. Anyway, the phone was a gift, not payment.

And what kind of work did you do last night at eleven o'clock?

I just brought some food to her.

What kind of food?

Budi, have you been making cakes and talking with my mother? I brought her some food!

But he knows me better than a brother and he wouldn't let up until I told him everything. In truth, it was a relief, and I was proud of his excitement.

You have got to be kidding me! A bule! You should marry her, man get the h.e.l.l out of this s.h.i.+tty hole!

She says she is too old for me to marry.

How old is she?

She is thirty years old, I told him, and he whistled through his teeth. But I was not telling the truth. She is older than that.

In fact, she was just as shocked as me when we revealed our ages to each other. It was when she showed me a picture of her friend and I asked her: How old is she?

Well, she is one year younger than me. She is thirty-eight, she replied carefully.

My first thought, after the panic subsided, was that this woman would be too old even for Satiya, and then I realised she was the same age as Rhamat's wife. Although his wife is a little younger than him, Rhamat is twenty years my senior it was impossible!

Then it was her turn to be surprised. She would not even believe me until she had seen my ident.i.ty card. After that we stared at each other closely for a few seconds. I leaned forward to kiss her but she moved away asking: Aren't you afraid to kiss me now?

She looked thoughtful and worried.

I thought she would not want me to come back after that, and the next morning I stayed away, but the phone rang as I was taking coffee with my mother.

Where the f.u.c.k are you? I'm late for work!

I drove her to work and later home again. She asked to stop and buy some fresh limes on the way home and when we got back she filled two gla.s.ses with ice and cut-up limes and then poured and mixed something from a blue bottle that smelled like perfume and handed it to me.

Bottoms up, my friend.

What is it, Vic?

It's an old-lady drink, honey, called a gin and tonic.

I traced the line of her soft, pretty mouth with my finger and said: Vic, you are a beautiful woman, not old.

And not a lady, she laughed.

No, I said. You are a naughty woman.

Why thank you, Imam.

I did not know why she would call me that, which is the name for a priest in our country.

It's a little thing called sarcasm, she explained. Like a joke.

At that time I didn't understand, but I said: You are a very funny woman also.

Yes, I'm hilarious, she replied, which means very funny.

Write it down for me.

Not now. Drink your gin.

We didn't talk about age again after that for a long time.

The way she looks at me is the way she looks at animals sometimes like the monkeys and the dogs in Bali: she would look at them sternly and casually pick up a stone and they would scatter immediately. Then she would laugh at me for being afraid.

There were dogs everywhere in Bali, and also the disgusting sight of roasting baby pig could be found on the street. Even worse, on the last night the villagers killed a pig right next door to us in the middle of the night. At first it was squealing and screaming, but then its throat filled up with blood and it was gurgling, dying in the rain. She was very sorry, both for me and the pig, but I was simply disgusted with the Hindu ways.

When it was time to go back from my first real holiday, I was happy for that because I had heard the pig. I wanted to go back where everything was not new and where I could sit and smoke and make conversation with my friends. But when we got home I missed the clean blue water and the strange calls coming from the jungle at night.

On her birthday, Vic told me to meet her and that I must bring chocolate and a flower. I bought a large bunch of flowers and was getting on the bike when I saw Aryanti standing with her sister on the other side of the road. I was wearing a new s.h.i.+rt, which Vic had given me, a soft check that fit my body well and the sleeves reaching all the way down to clasp my wrists. I knew she could not cross over to me because it would be too shameful, and so I covered the pink flowers carefully with my jacket and drove away without looking back. It had been some months since she had broken with me and I was glad that she could see that I still had the bike.

A few days later Aryanti called me and asked me to meet her that day. I was waiting to go shopping with Vic, who was in the shower, and I felt a great wave of victory rus.h.i.+ng up from my feet.

I am very busy, I said, reminding myself of my something my friend Budi had said: What kind of girl will leave you at the first sign of bad luck? Is this the woman you want by your side in life?