Short Story: The Hunter

Lutfi Fadila   |  Sun, 07/05/2009 11:26 AM  |  Short story

"Do you think Desir follows the haunt this time?"

"Desirina!" Kurnia straightened my curled tongue, which was unable to speak correctly; she did not appreciate me using our friend's name so negatively.

I ignored her. "It was a chance she had been waiting for two years for," I blinked at our surroundings, our rivals surrounded us - not only honorarium employees and voluntary staff, but also new graduates and educated job seekers who were crossing their fingers in hopes of being accepted into the civil service.

"I don't think she can follow. She's an expectant mother now," Kurnia said hesitantly, waiting for her number to be called.

Turbulence in my chest made me drop my file holder, but fortunately my files did not spread everywhere. I glance sternly toward her.

"Well, she said she had a gastric problem: stomachache, queasy, vomiting, for about a month,"

She nodded. "Wait!" She stood up quickly after her number reverberated around the wide backyard of the municipal office and took all of her stuff in a yellow file holder to an empty cross-examination desk.

I shook my head; I could not believe what she'd said. Desir told me that her husband did not want to have another baby yet. But, if it happened accidentally, I could not think of the ill-fate she would meet.

I also wondered why an educated girl like Desir would want to be a second wife without legal registration. If she had been the mistress of a well-known wealthy man, it would have explained that she was a reasonable smart girl. However, she married a father whose salary was only enough for a wife and his three little children. I could not understand why she was so desperate.

As the only child of civil service parents she always lived in comfort and never had trouble financially or emotionally. Never did I hear her complain about her family life. That was until after graduation, when job seeking frustrated her. Just like the other inexperienced fresh graduates, she made reputable companies her first priority when job hunting and was disillusioned when she did get the positions she wanted.

After being rejected many times she became depressed. Moreover, both of her parents passed away at the same time, which took her way out of her comfort zone. Getting a house, heirlooms, and some pension money, she found life as she knew it in danger, as she thought her savings would be thinner if she did not get any job soon. Then she decided to go to Malaysia to work as a laborer, knowing her distant cousin had made many Ringgits. The pounding of my heart never ceased when she approached me; I tried so often to get her to reconsider her crazy, impulsive hunting.

One day, two weeks, three months never did she haunt me like she did then. She came to me again after her decision to go to Malaysia and cried out loud as the man who promised her good job in Malaysia didn't come though, leaving her with no money. The wood had become a chair, there was no good regretting the past affair. All I could do was tell her to be patient; at least she had a house she could live in.

Six months after the incident she came to me and told me she would be married. We talked more than three hours.

"874's been called," said someone near me.

I realized it was mine when I checked my queue number. Quickly I came to the cross-examination desk and handed in my application files. After that I was given computerized biodata paper. Then I went back to my seat and heard Kurnia talk on her cell phone.

"Yes, she's with me now." Kurnia caught my eyes and gave a right earphone to me, "Desirina's got a problem and she needs our support."

Hesitantly, I put it on my ear as my heart beat faster and every inch of my nerves tinged. Soft weeping on the far side, which I am used to hearing lately, did not help me listen calmly.

"Pals, I'm pregnant. Mas Yusup wanted me to abort my baby," she sobbed. Her sobbing punched my belly down into a sudden perilous stomachache. "Honestly, I want the baby and I'm eager to take after it. But I also want Mas Yusuf. I love my child. If I still choose the baby, I'm afraid my child will never meet his father. Pals, please don't judge me as a killer-mother. I love my child. I need your support. I'm a loving mum. I love my child. I love my child." She cried so badly that I realized she absolutely regretted her abortion. "Don't blame me because of my love, pals." She could not control her emotion and cried aloud.

"Desir," I tried to give her my opinion about her husband's irresponsible decision. I punched my fist into the chair. How could he marry her after such a threat: marriage without having a child? That is obviously intimidation, spousal abuse; an infringement of human rights.

Kurnia seemed to understand what I was about to say. She shook her head and took my hand to unravel my fist.

"We understand how much you love the child. I won't blame you."

"Thanks, Nia. I had thought all of the things. I promised."

I could not stand it anymore and let my ear free of her excuses and sobbing. It was hard to see someone at her lowest. The hardest thing was that I could not help her at all. I cried for the victim: the unborn baby whom other parents might have seen as blessing instead of a problem. Two warm lakes poured down my cheeks and dripped onto my computerized white paper. I quickly dried them with a napkin; I did not want to be eliminated from taking the CPNS test.

"I'm sad too." Kurnia said. "Just because I never gave her advice didn't mean I didn't care *bout her. I never complained about her desire from the beginning because I couldn't help her from the beginning. All of her satisfaction could only be fulfilled by him, and not my advice."

I hold up my anger and emotions. Kurnia was right, we were not able to help her as we had not helped ourselves when it came to job hunting. Meanwhile, financially, we still worked as volunteers, fighting against thousands of others seeking to improve their lives.

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