O

ne evening, following high school graduation in the morning, a male classmate dressed more like a rocker than
a student came to my house.

He produced a sheet of paper with instructions in Chinese and English and, perhaps because I got an '€œA'€ in English, asked me to translate the English instructions.

I knew him and his girlfriend quite well and was quite happy to help. I asked him to give me time to read the instructions. He watched me cautiously. Soon, I realized why '€” I was to translate instructions on how to abort a pregnancy using Chinese medicine.

I felt uneasy but concealed my feelings. But soon, the seemingly innocent face of his girlfriend came to mind. It was then that I realized for the first time how deceiving appearances can be.

None in my class, not even my teachers, were aware of her pregnancy. Now, after high school, perhaps they thought the burden of being seen as morally and ethically correct students had been lifted from their shoulders.

I said to myself that it was none of my business and tried to appear indifferent as if there was nothing wrong with being complicit in premeditated murder.

My friend'€™s body language, facial expressions and the way he looked at me signaled a message that what he did with his girlfriend was, after all, what young lovers normally do.

After looking up the meaning of some words in a dictionary, I interpreted the instructions for him. He thanked me and quickly went away.

I never expected my first translating job to be like that. I felt relieved, but at the same time I felt guilty for corroborating in the murder of an unborn baby.

After high school, I went to Jakarta to pursue a higher education and had not heard anything about the couple or what happened to the baby '€” until a high school reunion.

I could not go due to my busy schedule, but a friend who attended the reunion told me that the innocent looking girl had become a grandma.

The news made me curious and glad because it could only mean that her attempt to abort had failed and that her first-born had a son.

However, I was not 100 percent sure.

After obtaining her cell phone number from the friend who went to the reunion, I decided to text her.

At first, everything went well. I succeeded in breaking the decades-old ice between us. But when I started to touch the thorny issue, as expected, she became angry.

She accused me of unnecessarily bringing back the ghost of the past, and at one point even threaten to report me to the police for helping her husband try to get rid of the baby.

Well, if she did that, she and her husband would certainly not get off scot-free either.

But apparently, she hurled this empty threat out of irritation and ire.

After telling her that I wanted to come clean with this issue and be free of any feelings of guilt, she seemingly started to see my sincerity.

'€œDid you take the pills?'€ I asked her again.

After a long silence, finally came the reply I wanted to hear: '€œYes, but they had no effect. On the contrary, it made my baby grow up to be a clever child.'€ To which she quickly added, '€œThat was because of your incorrect translation!'€

I felt insulted by her words, but I was in no mood to defend myself. I let her say whatever she wanted. After all, it was better to be accused of making a mistake in translation rather than in effect being partly responsible in their abortion scheme.

Feeling relieved, I thanked her for letting me know what had happened to the baby and told her that if one day I should meet her first-born, I would say nothing.

She happily responded by asking me to call her when I happened to be in her city. '€œI will call some of our friends and we can have a small reunion.'€ However, I still felt the need to call her husband for confirmation about two months later.

When I made the call, the voice on the other end of the line was carefree and, unlike his hesitant wife, he told me in a direct manner that the abortion pills had been ineffective and yes, she gave birth to a baby boy '€” his first son who was now the father of his seven-month-old grandson.

'€œI am a grandpa now,'€ he laughed. He then told me his first-born studied industrial engineering at a Yogyakarta university.

His confirmation brought me peace. I thanked God for His miraculous intervention that prevented us from being murderers.

And then, we talked about many other things, of things past, of our high school days and friends and got so absorbed in the conversation as if time had turned back and we were school boys once more.

'€” Andono