of the news that today, in the 1997 presidential elections in Indonesia, President Soeharto was chosen in an uncontested election to serve a seventh five-year term. We are not surprised by the news; just bored. The news is like the soundof mosquitoes at twilight in Solo: ever constant, never changing. Much more interesting for us is the additional bit of news that in the wake of the elections, student demonstrators have taken to the streets throughout the country, and that even the traditionally cowed news media have begun to express public disgruntlement about the fact that the presidentâs new cabinet is filled with his cronies. Even his eldest daughter, Siti Hardiyanti Rukmana, was awarded the position of Minister for Social Affairs. We look around at one another. Risjaf turns off the television.
Together and without a wordâperhaps all of us feeling the need to think of happy times and be consoled by the memories of younger days when we were naïve and full of loveâwe go from the lower floor of the restaurant to its ground floor and there stretch out on the chairs and listen to the song âAls de Orchideeën Bloeien,â which Risjaf plays on his harmonica. The song stirs and pierces the heart.
As the chords of âThe Orchids Are Now in Bloomâ float through the open window of the restaurant into the spring air, all of us there are thinking of another orchid, one who went by the name of Rukmini. Rukmini, the orchid⦠Sipping on small glasses of rum to warm the body, our minds travel back in time to a place forty-five years ago.
JAKARTA, JANUARY-OCTOBER 1952
Three flowers, three young and beautiful women, transformed Jakarta into a garden of delight. Ningsih was a red rose of arresting beauty who made every manâs heart beat faster; Rukmini, a purple orchid whose color never faded with the passing of the seasons; and Surti Anandari, a white jasmine who left her lingeringfragrance wherever she went. Men who fell in love with her could almost not function when she was not in their sight.
These three young women were members of the freshman class in the Faculty of Letters and Philosophy at the University of Indonesia in Jakarta. Risjaf, Tjai, and I, being junior classmen, felt ourselves to be much more knowledgeable and superior, and we liked to tease them. The three women rented rooms at a boarding house on Jalan Cik di Tiro. My friends and I lived, as we had for the past three years, in a boarding house for men on Jalan Solo just a few hundred meters away. Across the street from our lodgings was the home of a Mr. Bustami who rented out his paviliunâ a semi-detached annex of his homeâto Mas Nugroho and Mas Hananto, older friends of ours who had recently begun to work at the Nusantara News office.
For Tjai, Risjaf, and me, the paviliun across the road became our place of recreation. Compared to our own small rooms, the paviliun was quite spacious, with a separate living room, where we could lounge about or play chess on the comfortable but louse-infested sofa. Mas Nugroho and Mas Hananto, who seemed much more mature than the three of us, frequently lent us their booksâanything from anthologies of European poetry to titillating titles with pictures of men and women engaged in a myriad variety of sexual acts. Risjafâs eyes would open widely in surprise when he flipped through the pages of these books, as if incapable of believing that that women could wrap their bodies in such positions. Mas Nug even made it a point to lend such books to Risjaf, because he got such a kick from seeing this younger and more naïve manâs reactions. Although Risjaf was the best-looking man among us, when it came to women, he was the most inexperienced.
At first I wasnât too interested in pursuing these three newfreshman girls, not as girlfriends, anyway. To my mind, they seemed excessively cheerful and sweet-natured. Further, with all their fine clothes and makeup, they
Together and without a wordâperhaps all of us feeling the need to think of happy times and be consoled by the memories of younger days when we were naïve and full of loveâwe go from the lower floor of the restaurant to its ground floor and there stretch out on the chairs and listen to the song âAls de Orchideeën Bloeien,â which Risjaf plays on his harmonica. The song stirs and pierces the heart.
As the chords of âThe Orchids Are Now in Bloomâ float through the open window of the restaurant into the spring air, all of us there are thinking of another orchid, one who went by the name of Rukmini. Rukmini, the orchid⦠Sipping on small glasses of rum to warm the body, our minds travel back in time to a place forty-five years ago.
JAKARTA, JANUARY-OCTOBER 1952
Three flowers, three young and beautiful women, transformed Jakarta into a garden of delight. Ningsih was a red rose of arresting beauty who made every manâs heart beat faster; Rukmini, a purple orchid whose color never faded with the passing of the seasons; and Surti Anandari, a white jasmine who left her lingeringfragrance wherever she went. Men who fell in love with her could almost not function when she was not in their sight.
These three young women were members of the freshman class in the Faculty of Letters and Philosophy at the University of Indonesia in Jakarta. Risjaf, Tjai, and I, being junior classmen, felt ourselves to be much more knowledgeable and superior, and we liked to tease them. The three women rented rooms at a boarding house on Jalan Cik di Tiro. My friends and I lived, as we had for the past three years, in a boarding house for men on Jalan Solo just a few hundred meters away. Across the street from our lodgings was the home of a Mr. Bustami who rented out his paviliunâ a semi-detached annex of his homeâto Mas Nugroho and Mas Hananto, older friends of ours who had recently begun to work at the Nusantara News office.
For Tjai, Risjaf, and me, the paviliun across the road became our place of recreation. Compared to our own small rooms, the paviliun was quite spacious, with a separate living room, where we could lounge about or play chess on the comfortable but louse-infested sofa. Mas Nugroho and Mas Hananto, who seemed much more mature than the three of us, frequently lent us their booksâanything from anthologies of European poetry to titillating titles with pictures of men and women engaged in a myriad variety of sexual acts. Risjafâs eyes would open widely in surprise when he flipped through the pages of these books, as if incapable of believing that that women could wrap their bodies in such positions. Mas Nug even made it a point to lend such books to Risjaf, because he got such a kick from seeing this younger and more naïve manâs reactions. Although Risjaf was the best-looking man among us, when it came to women, he was the most inexperienced.
At first I wasnât too interested in pursuing these three newfreshman girls, not as girlfriends, anyway. To my mind, they seemed excessively cheerful and sweet-natured. Further, with all their fine clothes and makeup, they
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