Leila Chudori - Home

“Are you all right, ma chérie ?” Nara asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “And you?” My voice sounded stilted even to me. Even though Alam had turned his body away from me and was now busy at the laptop on his desk, I could tell that he and all the other people in the room had suddenly pricked up their ears, even Ujang, who should have been going out to buy our lunches. I heard Mita tell him to get a move on.

“I’m lonely. I miss you. There’s only men around here.”

“Umm, here too …”

What a stupid answer that was. “Here too?” In a normal situation I would have snapped at such a sexist statement. But I was feeling witless. And in an emergency situation such as this one, the safest thing to do is to repeat or agree to whatever the other person was saying, even if the answer sounds stupid.

“How about your interviews? All finished?”

“Yes, I’ve finished almost all my interviews. Maybe just one or two more people to do. But you know what’s been happening here, don’t you?”

“Of course. There’s been news of it in Le Figaro and Le Monde— even though it was on the inside pages. You really must come home, ma chérie . As soon as you finish your interviews, come home. I’m worried about you.”

“My deadline is still some time away. I’ve sent a report to Professor Dupont on what I’ve done,” I answered in somewhat of a panic. “And the airport isn’t back in full operation yet. Only part of it. The expatriates and some of the diplomatic staff here are preparing to move.”

“Well then, I am just going to have to come to see you!”

“Oh …”

Silence.

“Don’t you want me to come?”

I could hear the disappointment in Nara’s voice. “Of course, Nara.”

I felt all eyes looking at me. Alam stepped away from his desk but didn’t leave the room.

“It’s just that the situation is so bad here. People are trying to leave this place and you want to come?”

“Are you forgetting that I am Indonesian too?!” Nara sounded offended.

“ D’accord … Of course you are. That’s not what I meant.”

It was beginning to feel as if I couldn’t say anything right.

“Listen, Lintang…” Nara’s voice sounded like he wanted to change the subject. “I was actually calling not just to ask about you, but also to tell you the news that I finally got an answer from Cambridge. I’ve been accepted and will be moving to England at the end of August, because the program starts in September.”

“ Félicitations , Nara!” This time I was speaking honestly. I truly was happy that he was going to realize his ambition of pursuing a higher degree at Cambridge. He had always dreamed of going there.

“ Merci … But, Lintang, I also wanted to ask you if your mother ever told you what is wrong with your father?”

“Some kind of infection of the liver, she said. Why?”

“Oh, nothing.” He seemed to be holding back something. “OK then, finish your work and come home as soon as you can. We all miss you. Not just me, but your parents as well.”

I said nothing for a moment, then, “ D’accord .”

“ Salut , Lintang.”

“ Salut .”

When I clicked off my cell phone, all the eyes and ears that had been opened extra wide just a second before suddenly turned their attention back to whatever it was they were supposed to be working on. Alam took the keys to Gilang’s jeep and then yelled to Gilang that he was going to take the vehicle.

“But here’s the meal you ordered,” said Ujang, who was coming towards us with a tray full of our luncheon orders. There was a look of irritation on his face as he watched his “big brother” leave the office with the keys to Gilang’s jeep jangling in his hand.

Gilang scurried after Alam, but returned quickly with a confused look on his face. “Earlier he said we’d go to Salemba together after lunch. What got into him?”

Mita, Bimo, and Odi looked at me, as if I could provide the answer. I busied myself with my documentary footage, silently hoping that Alam would sulk for only a few hours.

MAY 18, 1998

For two days now Alam hasn’t spoken to me. Hasn’t called or stopped by, much less touched me. After the “Nara incident,” he’s been so busy it seems that I’ve barely caught sight of him at Satu Bangsa. There’s been so much news in the air and rumors flying about meetings of various power holders and interest groups, but their common thread seems to be the same: a request for President Soeharto to resign.

I was sure that Alam was avoiding me so, finally, I decided to interview the last two people on my list of respondents on my own. But while I was conducting the interviews, talk about the hardships of 1965 invariably turned to the recent unrest and ongoing student demonstrations. I had to constantly remind myself of Professor Dupont’s message to me: focus. Don’t be swayed by news of today. It was fine for me to record the historical events of today out of personal interest, but I had to be able to separate my emotions from the theme of my final assignment.

Then suddenly, after all my interviews were over, I felt relieved. For the first time since my arrival in Jakarta, I really wanted to go home to Paris in order to edit and finish my assignment and turn it in to Professor Dupont. Even more important for me, I wanted to go home to see Ayah and Maman. But just a second. I had just referred to Paris as the place I was “going home to.”

Was Paris really my home?

My cell phone rang. Mita. She ordered me to meet her at Parliament where the rest of the staff was heading. The students were on the march and heading to Parliament to occupy the building.

On the way there in a taxi, between urging the driver to get me to Parliament as fast as he could, I kept asking myself why Alam was persisting in his silent treatment towards me. Was it only because of Nara’s call?

When I finally made it to the building, its grounds were full of students and public figures — almost a repeat of the scene at Trisakti several days previously. Every speaker was saying the same thing: a demand for reformasi and Soeharto’s resignation. I wandered the area with a light feeling. It was so odd, the atmosphere that afternoon outside the clam-shaped parliament building seemed almost festive. It was hard to believe that such despicable and widespread horrors had taken place in this country just a few days before.

Free box meals were being handed out. Women in food vans appeared from out of nowhere to give food and beverages to the student orators and their crowd, who were clapping and singing songs I didn’t know but whose most oft-repeated phrase was “down with the government.” Young couples held hands and hugged each other, as if they were on a date. I thought of my parents’ first meeting and imagined the atmosphere here in Jakarta at the moment to be much like it was in Paris at the time of the May Revolution in 1968. There was a heady mixture of politics and arts along with a celebration in the freedom of hormonal urges.

I caught sight of Mita waving her arm in the distance, standing in a group with Alam, Gilang, Andini, and Bimo on the low sloping series of stairs leading to the main entrance of the building. I smiled when I saw Andini.

“Hi …”

Bimo gave me a big hug. “How are you? It’s been days since I’ve seen you.” He shot a glance at Alam. “And somebody else has been missing you too.”

Alam smiled faintly but didn’t greet me. After just a momentary glance at me, he returned his attention to the speakers’ stage.

“You owe me a story,” I whispered to Andini. As usual, she started laughing. Then she pinched Alam’s arm. “Here she is! You’ve been telling Mita to call her all morning and now that she is here you don’t say anything.”