Leila Chudori - Home

Given their two distinct personalities, it wouldn’t be difficult to guess how the independent-minded Andini dealt with her shamefaced brother. Although Rama was five years older than Andini, it was he who more frequently pouted and moaned. The result was a never-ending civil war at home between older brother and younger sister.

As children, whenever their family got together with the Hananto family, Rama usually kept to himself. But whenever he and Andini got into a fight, it was her “cousin” Alam who always stepped in to intervene. Because Alam was older, taller, and bigger, with a much dominant personality and the holder of a black belt in karate besides, Rama generally chose to slink away and hide inside himself rather than test his own mettle. The gulf between the children — with Alam, Andini, and also Bimo on the one side and Rama on the other — became even wider as they became adults. Alam and Bimo chose the world of activism and idealism, and Andini set her sights on an academic career. But Rama chose a much more pragmatic career path on which he could keep his distance from them. In the end it happened that Alam and Bimo, who could not abide Rama’s attitude, became surrogate brothers for Andini at the Aji Suryo home when Rama was absent. And he was often absent, not just in the physical sense but in the spiritual sense as well.

Seeing such a principal divide within the family, Retno theorized that Andini had somehow inherited the family’s entire reserve of fortitude and resistance while Rama had somehow gotten the short end of the stick, receiving only trepidation, fear, and a sense of inferiority. It was in this state that Rama, with fragile and limited strength of heart, had found friendship with boys from families who seemed to have an abundance of wealth from questionable sources. The more closely involved Rama became with these friends of his, the more impervious he became to his parents’ guidance and supervision. In Rama’s favor, he had also inherited the height and good looks of his father and the uncle he hated, so that people who weren’t aware of his personality defects were attracted to him.

Aji and Retno frequently asked themselves what had become of their son’s moral bearings. Aji felt that he had failed in instilling in Rama the understanding that what happens in life to a person or his family is not because of some fault at birth. He had failed in making his son understand that they were not victims; they were survivors. In Aji’s mind, the real victims of 1965 were those people who had suffered far more than they: the innocent people who had been murdered, interned, exiled, and disappeared. Aji, like his wife and daughter, too, preferred to look at the challenges they faced as a force for becoming stronger and more resilient people.

Aji sighed sadly. Images from the episodes of the Suryo family drama suddenly vanished with the sound of Rama’s voice. The voice he heard was real, not just in his imagination.

“Pak…”

Aji turned his head to see Rama, who appeared to be especially well dressed for a Saturday, in a long-sleeve shirt and black trousers. With his son towering over him, Aji suddenly found himself unable to speak. He felt like he was face to face with a stranger who had no blood relation with him. Or maybe it was because he had buried the hurt he felt so deeply that he felt nothing at all.

Rama looked nervous. Finally, feeling a jolt of pity for his son, standing there anxiously, Aji motioned for Rama to sit down.

“This is a surprise. What’s up?” he asked.

“I know it’s sudden…”

“Mama made nasi uduk for you when she heard that you were coming.” Aji looked for the morning paper which he still hadn’t read.

“I know, Pak. Pak… Could I bother you with something?”

How respectful! Aji put down his paper and asked, “What is it?”

“I’d like to introduce you to this girl I know. Her name is Rininta.”

“Rininta?”

“Yes.”

Aji said nothing, waiting for Rama to utter the next sentence. His son was twenty-eight. Was it already that time? Alam and Bimo, who were both around thirty-three, were still single and reveling in their bachelorhood.

“She’s my girlfriend, Pak.”

“Well then, invite her here. Introduce her to Mama and me. That should be easy enough, right? It’s not like we’ve ever told you not to come home.”

Rama said nothing.

Aji felt there was nothing more to be said and he lifted the morning paper to his eyes. He took a sip of his now cold coffee and pretended to immerse himself in the news of the day, even though his ears were twitching to hear what his fickle son would next have to say.

“Actually, I don’t want to just introduce you to her, Pak. And she’s not just a girlfriend,” Rama said cautiously.

“Is anyone saying she’s just a girlfriend?” Aji asked rhetorically as he stared at the paper in front of him. “Obviously, if you want to introduce her to your parents, you must already have some kind of special relationship with her. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, all right then, tell your mother. I’m sure she’ll want to meet this Rininta. And don’t forget to tell your sister, too, when it is you intend to bring her here.”

Rama looked taken aback. Aji knew that his son wanted to say more, but he was happy to end the conversation and send him off to speak to his mother. Aji concealed a smile. Let Rama know what it feels like, that he can’t just come running to his parents when he needs something. If for all this time Rama had been hiding his identity from all those “great” friends of his, then now was the time for Rama to know just how much he had hurt his parents by being ashamed of them.

Aji felt blessed to have been surrounded in his life by good cooks. His mother had been a wonderful cook and she, his brother Dimas who had inherited her culinary skills, and his wife Retno all held the view that well-prepared food, made with good ingredients and careful attention, could be a salve for the soul and even serve as a white flag for the reduction of conflict between two opposing forces. There was no outright war between him and Rama, but there certainly was a degree of conflict that tore at his heart. He was Rama’s father, after all.

Knowing what Retno was doing, Aji felt a little sad to see her so busy in the kitchen, shaping portions of the freshly cooked nasi uduk on squares of banana leaf and sprinkling on top of each portion crispy slivers of fried shallots and shreds of wafer-thin omelet. Next, she would add to each packet individual portions of balado teri kacang, ayam goreng kremes , and ati ampela . Proper nasi uduk was always served with such side dishes: fried anchovies and peanuts in chili sauce, coconut-coated pieces of chicken, and a mixture of cubed liver and gizzards. When all this was done, she would then wrap the individual portions in their banana leaf squares to create an envelope which she sealed shut with stick pins fashioned from palm stem. Aji again reflected that his wife was confident that good food can ease whatever tension might arise in the house.

Aji looked at Rama, who had a smile on his face as he smacked his lips and swallowed. Then he looked at the wall clock. It was nearly eleven. “Where is Dini?” he asked, even though he knew that if Andini hadn’t gotten to sleep until seven that morning, it would be a while before she woke up.

“Let her sleep,” Retno advised as she came to the table carrying the last two items to complete the meal: a sambal bajak chili sauce and pete goreng , fried stink beans whose name did not do justice to their succulent flavor.

“Come on, Rama, go ahead and eat,” she said as she took her place at the table.