Short stroy: Father

By Abrar Yusra   |  Sun, 03/30/2008 10:59 AM  |  Bookmark

I was playing marbles with Akhra when my mother was not at home, perhaps she was washing at the water spring. A nephew of my father, Uda Bujar, was picking me up. He said my father wanted me to come. I was asked to wear fine clothes.

Uda Bujar took me to my father's parents' home near the local market, called bako in the Minang tongue. The old wooden house, which was usually dark with its small windows shut, was brilliantly lit. It was the first time I saw pressurized kerosene lamps brightly shining in the daytime. There was a large gathering in the house under the dazzling lights. It was undoubtedly a party or a big feast.

What amazed me most was not the lamps nor the hectic crowd below them. Rather it was the electrifying performance of the village musical group. Resembling Jakarta's traditional tanjidor musical troupe, the band played all kinds of melodies, which astonished me, then a six-year-old.

The group played in the corner of a spacious room. I had only ever been able to watch such a show from a distance, but now I could get closer to the musicians.

I joined the other kids around the band, which played songs in various rhythms from Malay and desert to march beats.

The musical instruments looked like magical tools, keeping the audience in high spirits and then producing distressing tones. I could not fathom why such fascinating people and devices filled the world. I didn't even understand why music existed on earth.

As I watched, each musician demonstrated their unique individuality. The trumpeter boasted his tunes, changing from strong, rapid beats to soft tones that made us lost in thought. The violinist ably played his slim instrument to create different moods while the double bassist plucked his instrument's big strings with confidence, now and again looking odd and appearing to be doing it for fun. It was also the first time I had witnessed such a cheerful musical occasion. It carried my emotions away.

The Sunday party made me forget my mother and my empty stomach. Unexpectedly, a woman brought me some food. No one forbid me from doing anything in the house even though it was jam-packed.

But something even more surprising and stunning appeared.

It was dusk and people were crowding to see the bride and groom come out. I was reluctant to leave the musical entertainment as much as I was eager to see the couple's glittering attire -- in a wedding party, newlyweds would normally wear gorgeous apparel.

If I'd been asked to imagine a king, I would have surely pictured him like the valiant groom in the spotlight.

After wading through the crowd, I finally reached a spot one and a half meters from the bride and groom. I yelled joyfully, not knowing how I could be so happy. Then I realized the groom was just my father.

He was so gallant, appearing hefty although his physique was actually small.

"Daddy," I piercingly screamed.

The guests burst into laughter.

I didn't quite expect at first the small king-like guy was daddy. I became flabbergasted and decided to follow him wherever he went.

"Dad, I'm going with you," I shouted and again the visitors were laughing. I didn't grasp why they jeered when I was proud of myself for having a bridegroom father.

"Not now," father replied.

I couldn't quite understand why I wasn't allowed to follow my father on the wedding night.

I also had no idea why I couldn't see my mother, who should have been the bride. I thought my mother was unlucky because she should have been beside my father. And it made me so sad. But I was satisfied because father had promised to pick me up to stay with him.

So I hid in the old house, from which I went to school. Every time my mother came to find me, I hid with Uda Bujar helping to put me out of sight. But she left some clothes for me.

By the time I went to bed, images of the astounding groom haunted me. I was proud of my dad, but I regretted, and still couldn't figure out why, my mom had not been the bride.

***

Several days later father indeed did take me to the big house of Aunt Jarlini, my stepmother. She lived with her elderly mother. The house was around the corner in another village.

The people there were complete strangers. But father was very kind to me and so was Aunt Jarlini, who gave me cakes and delicious meals, unlike the food served in mother's home. All this increased my admiration for my father and I got determined to stay with dad for good.

Every night, father and Aunt Jarlini slept in a nice room whilst auntie's mother slept in a room out the back, separate from the main building. I was too small to sleep alone in the large house, which was still alien to me. Therefore, father allowed me to sleep in his bed.

I had to wait for quite a while. We entered the bedroom very late because that's when grown-ups go to bed and I wouldn't dare to enter or go to bed first. When the guests had left and the kerosene lamps were put out, the three of us went into dad and auntie's bedroom. It was nicely decorated with artificial flowers. The bed was very large and covered with a pink, sweet-smelling mosquito net.

I was told to sleep right away. With my father in the middle, I lay near the wall and Aunt Jarlini was on the other side.

Owing to the large building and my strange feeling, I was frightened and finding it hard to fall asleep. The slightest click-clack inside or outside the big house would create wild hallucinations. I thought the noise might have come from eerie ghosts. So I always held father's neck in my arms. I felt some warmth and intimacy. Soon all the ghosts, evil spirits and indistinct fears were out of my mind and gradually I fell into a deep sleep.

But the affectionate association with my father and his second wife did not last long. I was to continue living with my father. He had also promised to send me to another school so I wouldn't be afraid of my mother's constant hunt. Yet it was not the case. An experience in our bed hurt me most and changed my attitude toward my own dad.

As it had happened, we already lay on the broad mattress covered with the pink flowery net. Dad and auntie were not immediately drowsy. When I hugged father's neck tightly, Aunt Jarlini and dad continued chatting, chuckling and giggling once in a while. I was not disturbed because I knew what they were talking about.

That's how we spent the first few nights. I fell asleep so easily while dad and auntie were talking in our bed.

The following nights we saw less and less visitors. Even if we had guests, they left sooner. Naturally, we went to bed earlier.

Father and Aunt Jarlini were still awake, chatting and giggling, with me embracing my dad's neck. I fell asleep quickly, as soon as they were absorbed in their talk.

One evening, however, there were strong winds and it was raining heavily, which seemed to be pouring incessantly. We entered the bedroom much earlier that night. My eyes wouldn't close easily, as I heard the rumbling winds with intermittent sounds of cracking tree branches. I was scared and awoke each time such noises arose outside.

To overcome my fear of apparitions in the rainy and stormy night, I pretended to be sleeping. I closed my eyes, but my arms remained around my father's neck. My hug became even tighter as the cracks and rumbles grew more dreadful.

Under these circumstances, because neither were aware of my wakefulness, Aunt Jarlini removed my arms from Dad's neck. At first, there was nothing wrong and I cuddled again as if I was unaware.

Then something I could never forget in all my life took place: Aunt Jarlini rid father's neck of my arms with a harsh grab. And when my tiny arms tried another embrace with difficulty, I found Aunt Jarlini already clasping the neck in her arms. Again she got rid of my hands. I though something I had never thought before: my father was no longer mine, rather he belonged to auntie. Father seemed to agree.

Deep in my heart I hoped daddy would be on my side, but it did not happen. Father rose, and through my furtive glance I saw him put out the small oil lamp that lit the room. Then the two were hugging each other, giggling joyfully. I felt like I was being forsaken in a far-off land, in my own world. I felt isolated or even abandoned.

I thought father did not love me. At least he loved Aunt Jarlini more. With the incident, I felt my dad was a stranger to me. So, at dawn I got away from the house of my stepmother and returned to my mother.

It was a very shameful experience. I never told anybody because it would only invite scorn. I failed to excuse the painful episode for a long time. But I simply had no way of forgetting it completely.

--Translated by Aris Prawira

Copyright © 2008 The Jakarta Post - PT Bina Media Tenggara. All Rights Reserved.