Old Friends

Two aging Indonesian men of the arts came together recently for a fond reunion. Kunang Helmi-Picard was there.

When 84-year-old poet Sitor Situmorang visited Paris in early April, he and his wife Barbara Brouwer, a retired Dutch diplomat, asked me to accompany them to Salim’s home.
Salim has been living at 186 Avenue Charles de Gaulle, Neuilly, for as long
as I can remember. In 1986, I began to hear stories about this Sumatra-born painter, lithographer and book illustrator. My father was Sumatran, so I was interested in learning more about him.

When I first interviewed him almost 20 years ago for Radio Indonesia of German Deutsche Welle, small birds flew freely around Salim’s small flat with its netted windows, perched high up on the sixth floor above the Parisian suburb’s metal roofs.

The last time I saw Salim was in January 2007 at Pasar Malam, the Franco-Indonesian Association gathering for visiting Sundanese poet and writer, Ajip Rosidi.

Salim, now in his 100^th year and going blind, together with his wife, Helene, both superbly old and dignified, attended.

When I visited the apartment this time with Sitor and Barbara, there were no small birds, but one lone tortoise that shuffled over to me, mewing softly and slowly shaking its head. It, along with a companion, had been present every time I visited Salim over the years. This time its companion was nowhere to be found.

Our small get-together was not just a nostalgic chance to go down memory lane. For these two men have been privileged participants and witnesses to Indonesian and world history, and thus should be recognized for their contributions.

Both remain vigorous champions of human rights and are still involved in current affairs, with Salim making TV and radio appearances.

Helene, herself 90, in the past would exit gracefully when people came to talk to her husband. This time she stayed with us. During our animated conversation, Salim whispered clearly, “I am so old and want to leave, but who will look after Helene?”

Barbara took photos, and began discreetly to film a video on her small digital camera.

Sitor and I were already quite emotional before arriving for the reunion, but did not say much. Sitor warned us beforehand: “We should leave after an hour because
Salim is so old and fragile.”

But Salim could not be silenced, and his voice became stronger as he remembered many important events from the past. He immediately recognized my voice when we came in, although he could barely see me: “Is that you Kunang? I did not know you were coming!”

I talked to Helene directly for the first time while Barbara continued to film. The pair were seated on opposite sides of the table. Sitor asked me to translate his latest poem, written on April 1 about Lake Toba, into French. It is a beautiful poem, but difficult to translate directly upon sight into French.

The poem was short and lyrical, and spoke volumes about his memories of childhood. It must have struck a chord in Salim’s heart. Salim gave away postcards of his paintings and little lithographs; he was never rich in the financial sense, but he was rich in experience:

”Kunang, I did not know you were coming so I did not prepare anything for you.”

”It is alright, Salim, you have given so much already.”

I noticed that the easel was no longer there and boxes were being packed. Were they going to move to an old people’s home?

It is difficult to believe that Salim witnessed most of the past century, based mainly in Paris (he also lived for a time in the Netherlands). He knew French painter Fernand Leger, who came from a Norman farming family and was renowned for his industrial structural oil paintings; and others in the 1920s and ‘30s in that cosmopolitan area of Paris, Montparnasse.

He was apparently adopted by German foster-parents in Medan when he was very young; he remembers when he docked at the German port of Hamburg with them.

He left for Paris in 1919 from Amsterdam with hardly anything in his pocket. To pay for painting lessons, he cleaned the teaching studios of Leger and Amadee Ozenfant.

He was so handsome then, and today he still talks firmly. Even before his time as a volunteer during the Spanish Civil War, he always wore the air of a proud Spaniard, including on this Parisian afternoon in his peci Indonesian cap.

Salim can still quote and sing in many languages, such a rich character although always living in straitened circumstances. One of happiest periods of the painter’s life was in Sete, on the sunny Provence coast. Many of his paintings, executed there, have remained in Jakarta after a show some decades ago.

During the get-together, Sitor and I were close to crying at times, but Barbara continued to film quietly. Sitor finally could not bear it any longer.

But Salim then began singing in three languages and also quoted a poem of Sitor’s that the author himself had forgotten.

It was a poignant but spiritually enriching atmosphere. As we left, we realized Salim and his companion had given us a priceless gift of love.

Photos courtesy Barbara Brouwer

Back to The top page