Schattensprache

Song for a Good-Hearted Woman Before Her Fiftieth Birthday

A motel in Kampung Bali
a little upmarket, the sign says 'Wisma'
a woman nearly fifty, waiting for his lover
inside a room, three-thousand rupiah a night, stuffy.
The ceiling fan's broken again
grey mold inside the bathtub, but the water is clean.
Yellow plastic ladle, blue bedsheet,
grimes on the wall next to the lampswitch, dust everywhere,
under it in permanent marker, "Romeo and Julia"
under it, "Cicih and Iman", the picture of a heart
and two arrows striking through it.

She doesn't mind waiting, but is a little bothered
insulted perhaps
by the motel owner who let her
run upstairs with a big question mark on his face:
"This rich woman, she must be waiting for his man again,
why is she always hurrying?"
From outside, the sounds of the street,
bajaj, baso, the welding man,
rise and fall and creep in. She listens
to a grandmother swearing at grandchildren
throwing dirt on her laundry.

She doesn't mind waiting, though he's late again
what is it this time?
She sits down, throws herself into bed, clutching a pillow,
bites it. In her mind everything she doesn't need:
"Lover, I miss you, I need you,
don't betray me this time
though I know you've grown used to
betraying your wife—
this is not just an affair, we've been doing this
far too long—this is the only thing
that makes me happy, ah,
this is as good as it gets!
But what if he's woken up to his senses
and gone back to his wife, he's still got things
to sort out there too:
"I've been faithful, I've been good,
raise the kids, a pay rise every semester
pay back the mortgage faster,
I get on well with my in-laws, though not the cousin in-laws
they've forced me to take in!
Sundays, Lebarans, Thanksgivings, Tupperware dinners,
once in a while a movie for two, trading gossips
about the neighbours, listening between the lines,
that means something too ..."

"Why am I still here?
—pathetic!—he must've gone back to his wife!
What am I doing? I shouldn't be waiting
for someone else's husband—"

She gets up, ah, no, the bed has swallowed her
as the door creaks and he comes in
puts down his Echolac and: no more waiting,
no more thinking of unnecessary things, no greetings,
hugs, kisses, waste of time, because the two of them
past the prime of their lives, still have to go the length between
the north and south poles to meet
in this bed, amongst the sleaze of dust, these silent witnesses,
to taste the honey of life.
No longer young, they wear scars like proud epaulettes,
they caress, kiss each other where thorns, a blade,
whatever life has thrown at them, have drawn blood,
and in an hour or two, they are gone
as if by magic—
It's true
never for very long
until someone knocks on the door:
"The room is paid for, here's your change,
and your towels,
you want to order any drinks?"

'80

Toety Heraty

(From Nostalgi = Transendensi, Jakarta, Grasindo, 1995, pp. 113-115)

Ballad of Middle Age

In a hostel in the area of Kampung Bali,
one respectable enough to be called a hostel,
a woman of middle age awaits her lover
in a three-thousand rupiah room
stuffy, with its ever-stalling fan,
a mildewed bath, but the water is clean
a yellow plastic bathing dipper
a mattress with blue-colored spread
and grimy walls
with felt-tip markings:
"Romeo and Juliet"
and beneath that "Cicih and Iman"
in a heart pierced by two arrows

Waiting is no problem — but it had been irritating
or, perhaps, offensive would be the better word
to see the hotel owner, who had directed her to the
stairs, shake his head in wonder while asking himself:
"This is a call girl? You couldn't tell by the way she's
dressed. She's early besides; looks embarrassed too."

the sounds of the street outside are audible
calls of pedicab drivers, noodle vendors, and smiths
rise up and enter through the window
an old woman bitches how her wash has been dirtied
by the children playing outside

Waiting is no problem—
though it has been quite a while
what could possibly have delayed him
and so she sits, then lies down,
clutching the pillow anxiously
driving away untoward considerations:
"I want you and need you so much
don't ever betray my trust
no matter how customary it might be
for you to betray your wife —
this is not just another tryst,
we've known each other too long —
I long to taste a little of life's sweetness
this is the basic human right for which I long"

God forbid he's regained his good sense
and gone back home to his wife,
where there, too, are other considerations:
"Haven't I proved myself devoted
raising the children, helping with the income
we've paid off our debts
I get along fairly well with the in-laws
even those who, goddammit, still live in our home
Sundays and Holidays together,
feast days and club meetings too
every once in a while a film,
talking about the neighbors,
these too are a kind of bond..."

"Why am I waiting here?
don't I have any shame? he's gone back home for sure
what am I hoping for, even I know it's not proper
to be waiting for someone's husband..."

She moves, but is too late
the door creaks, and she is caught on the bed
as he enters, briefcase in hand
no need to delay
considerations no longer matter
no need for small talk, even kissing and hugging
is a waste of time, because the bed
which earlier had been a continent
somewhere between the North Pole and Antarctica
has now been crossed
by two persons of middle age
who, amid the grime, a silent witness, sip nectar —
lives no longer so young
and now so very scarred, unite
and kisses on wounds made by thorns and other foils,
all the sundry scores of life,
are in the space of one or two hours of time
miraculously healed
no, there's not much opportunity
and then another knock on the door
"You paid for the room, here's the change
and a change of towels as well
would you like to order something to drink?"

(Translation by John H. McGlynn, in A Time, A Season: Selected Poems of Toety Heraty, Jakarta, The Lontar Foundation, 2003, pp. 94-101.)

posted by lo! @ 8:08 PM