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Authors: Pramoedya Ananta Toer
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a builder of Rome. People say all the Europeans in the Indies are wolves. What is Ter Haar doing here in the Indies except that he too is after prey? Be careful, Minke! Watch out for van Heutsz too! And van Kollewijn. And beware too of that sympathizer of the Native cause, Marie van Zeggelen. Look: If the Natives today had the courage to rebel against the Dutch, like Sultan Agung, then I might be facing Ter Haar not as a friend but as an enemy—and a relentless one at that.
My first day in Betawi had been packed with so many different experiences. I would never forget it for as long as I lived.
I arrived at the dormitory. All the lights were out. There was nothing for me to eat.
3
P artokleooo threw himself energetically and selflessly into the task of helping me catch up with my studies. As a trained teacher, he was able to explain very well all the lessons I had missed. He also went through with me the speech that the director delivered at the beginning of the year: “The Native people of the Indies have an average life expectancy of twenty-five years.”
You could not imagine how much this shocked me, as Partokleooo repeated it all to me, sitting there on the bed, propped up against the wall.
“Are you sure your notes are correct?” I asked.
“Yes. Do you want me to go on or not? Very well, I will continue. The majority of the Javanese die from parasitic diseases when they are still children. Short indeed are the lives of the Javanese. They lost all their ancestors’ knowledge of medicine during the chaotic times of long ago….”
“What did he mean by ‘chaotic times’?”
“A time of great natural calamities, he said, and a time of great decadence and destruction among the Native communities wherever the Dutch were not in control…. And so the Nativeslost all their healers and there was nobody to take their place…and so the people of Java fell victim to the thousands of parasites that inhabit the equatorial region. So now the government, as an act of goodwill, is providing you all the opportunity to work for humanity, to fight these diseases, to lighten the suffering of the sick….”
“Humph! How beautiful!”
“Every student who fails in his studies,” he continued, repeating the director’s speech, “is guilty of allowing his own people to die of these diseases, is guilty of inhumanity, and should be punished accordingly. Doctors make a great contribution to society. Everyone supports their work….”
And so on and so forth. I gradually caught up with my lessons. I was also helped by a fellow we called Cupid’s Bow. From his name you might think he was European or Indo, but no, he was Javanese and as Javanese as you could be. He was the son of a veterinary assistant from Ponorogo. No one ever used his real name anymore, except for the teachers. None of us ever called him either just Cupid or Bow. He didn’t like it at first and often lost his temper with us. But nobody took any notice. In the end, he had to learn to live with it.
“Why are people so strange?” sighed Partotenojo. “Look at me, nothing wrong with me at all, but just because I’m a bit shorter than other people, I get called Partokleooo as if I’m ‘loyo,’ pathetic and hopeless. But other than being short, I’m really quite handsome and attractive, aren’t I? Then look at Cupid’s Bow; he sticks out too much, even more than a European or a Jew.”
“What do you mean, ‘sticks out’? Flat as anything is more like it.”
“Flat? Yes, if we’re talking about his nose.”
“Hush!” I reprimanded him, offended. He wasn’t talking about his friend’s nose protruding, but his upper lip.
I was also almost given a nickname of my own. After I had left with Ter Haar that night, the students all got together to decide to call me Gemblung—stupid one. When I woke up the next day, I found the room empty. The shoes I had been wearing when I had collapsed into bed the night before had disappeared. The mirror
My first day in Betawi had been packed with so many different experiences. I would never forget it for as long as I lived.
I arrived at the dormitory. All the lights were out. There was nothing for me to eat.
3
P artokleooo threw himself energetically and selflessly into the task of helping me catch up with my studies. As a trained teacher, he was able to explain very well all the lessons I had missed. He also went through with me the speech that the director delivered at the beginning of the year: “The Native people of the Indies have an average life expectancy of twenty-five years.”
You could not imagine how much this shocked me, as Partokleooo repeated it all to me, sitting there on the bed, propped up against the wall.
“Are you sure your notes are correct?” I asked.
“Yes. Do you want me to go on or not? Very well, I will continue. The majority of the Javanese die from parasitic diseases when they are still children. Short indeed are the lives of the Javanese. They lost all their ancestors’ knowledge of medicine during the chaotic times of long ago….”
“What did he mean by ‘chaotic times’?”
“A time of great natural calamities, he said, and a time of great decadence and destruction among the Native communities wherever the Dutch were not in control…. And so the Nativeslost all their healers and there was nobody to take their place…and so the people of Java fell victim to the thousands of parasites that inhabit the equatorial region. So now the government, as an act of goodwill, is providing you all the opportunity to work for humanity, to fight these diseases, to lighten the suffering of the sick….”
“Humph! How beautiful!”
“Every student who fails in his studies,” he continued, repeating the director’s speech, “is guilty of allowing his own people to die of these diseases, is guilty of inhumanity, and should be punished accordingly. Doctors make a great contribution to society. Everyone supports their work….”
And so on and so forth. I gradually caught up with my lessons. I was also helped by a fellow we called Cupid’s Bow. From his name you might think he was European or Indo, but no, he was Javanese and as Javanese as you could be. He was the son of a veterinary assistant from Ponorogo. No one ever used his real name anymore, except for the teachers. None of us ever called him either just Cupid or Bow. He didn’t like it at first and often lost his temper with us. But nobody took any notice. In the end, he had to learn to live with it.
“Why are people so strange?” sighed Partotenojo. “Look at me, nothing wrong with me at all, but just because I’m a bit shorter than other people, I get called Partokleooo as if I’m ‘loyo,’ pathetic and hopeless. But other than being short, I’m really quite handsome and attractive, aren’t I? Then look at Cupid’s Bow; he sticks out too much, even more than a European or a Jew.”
“What do you mean, ‘sticks out’? Flat as anything is more like it.”
“Flat? Yes, if we’re talking about his nose.”
“Hush!” I reprimanded him, offended. He wasn’t talking about his friend’s nose protruding, but his upper lip.
I was also almost given a nickname of my own. After I had left with Ter Haar that night, the students all got together to decide to call me Gemblung—stupid one. When I woke up the next day, I found the room empty. The shoes I had been wearing when I had collapsed into bed the night before had disappeared. The mirror
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