Eka Kurniawan - Man Tiger

Warm rice, bawal fish, and coconut and vegetable soup were set out on the dining table. It wasn’t often that his mother started so early. He had only expected to find last night’s leftovers, and was amazed by the sudden change at home. He whispered Mameh to ask if something had happened, but she was just as baffled, despite being home so much. They checked the calendar and the Weton list of holidays, but it was just an ordinary day. They gave up and assumed that her good mood wouldn’t last beyond sundown, but they were wrong. Nuraeni became happier every day, despite retaining every ounce of bitterness toward Komar.

With time, her belly gave her away, and Margio realized what was really going on. Nuraeni was pregnant. He also had a feeling that the baby was a girl because, as people said, that’s how it is when a woman suddenly becomes exceptionally beautiful during pregnancy. Popular wisdom would be proved right when Marian was born.

Nuraeni craved odd foods, like raw cacao, and Margio roamed all over the bankrupt plantation looking for a tree that still bore fruit. On another occasion she asked for banana-heart soup, and it was Mameh who cooked it for her.

In truth their mother’s pregnancy irked Margio and Mameh. Think about it, said Margio to his sister. He was almost twenty years old, and now suddenly he was about to have a raw, red baby sibling. But the radiance of his mother’s face persuaded Margio to be extra-attentive. He worried she might be too old to bear a child safely. How old was she now? Margio calculated she was at least thirty-eight. Still fairly young, and the twinkle in her eyes had restored some of her youth. She could still get pregnant two or three times more, thought the boy.

Nuraeni’s behavior toward Komar didn’t change. He saw her talking to the stove and the pan still, and although now her tone was cheerful and teasing, his indifference to her was so great he didn’t notice anything unusual. He was the last to find out.

For a long time, she had been going to Anwar Sadat’s home to help with housework, and she didn’t stop until the birth. Komar allowed her to help at Anwar Sadat’s because there was so little to do at home. Major Sadrah’s wife would often ask Nuraeni to cook when her children visited or military guests came to dinner, and she would be allowed to take some of the food back with her. She worked in a shop cooking and making cakes, too. But where she worked most often was at Anwar Sadat’s place, which was next-door. Kasia had to go to the hospital every day, and was always busy when she got home. Her daughters meanwhile were nothing more than parasites. Nuraeni would help by cooking rice and vegetable dishes. She’d wash and iron their laundry, sweep the floor and the yard, and take care of Maesa Dewi’s little baby.

Every day, after Komar had his breakfast and pedaled his bicycle to the shade of the tropical almond tree in the market, Nuraeni would hurry to Kasia’s house and enter without even knocking, first to bathe the little baby, then to carry dirty clothes to the bathroom while Maesa Dewi and Laila lay sprawled on the couch, munching potato chips, and Anwar Sadat swayed in his rocking chair, smoking a clove cigarette. Nuraeni would then cook lunch while the dirty clothes were soaking in soapy water. Being pregnant didn’t stop her doing all these chores, and that was one reason why Komar didn’t realize they were about to have a third child.

Actually, Margio was the first in the family to hang out at Anwar Sadat’s house, where he was often asked to do odd jobs. It began when he had just moved to number 131. Margio was told by his father to learn to read the Koran under the supervision of Ma Soma. These classes were a sweet excuse for Margio to escape his boring house and offered a place to make new friends. He also discovered another attraction.

After the Isha prayers, he’d huddle with some of the other kids on Anwar Sadat’s front terrace, beside the large windows. There were no televisions in most local homes, but Sadat had one and let Margio and the others watch it. Sometimes older men, puffing clouds of tobacco smoke, would also come to watch the television, seated on coconut-wood chairs lined up on the terrace. The little kids were timid about going inside, because there, in front of the television set, the family would be sitting quiet and unperturbed, with the girls munching green peas. It wasn’t proper to disturb such tranquillity, so peeping through the windows was as close as they got.

On certain occasions, however, Anwar Sadat would let them in. In a commanding tone, he would tell them to sit on a braided mat, which took the place of chairs, or on the sofa. Sometimes they listened to him, except when they had chores to do. However, they would definitely comply when there were signs that Anwar Sadat was going to show a video. The man often went to a video rental shop in the hotel by the beach, especially on Saturday nights, and would let the children from the surau watch. This was how Margio became as familiar with Kungfu Shaolin as he was with Rambo .

One evening Margio sat alone outside Anwar Sadat’s window. It was raining heavily, so the other kids had run home, but not Margio. All that afternoon Komar had been beating Nuraeni, and he didn’t want to see it going on into the night. He planned to start his evening watching television and conclude it by sleeping at the surau. Anwar Sadat’s family shot the breeze until one of them complained about being hungry, and Margio understood they hadn’t prepared anything for supper. Seeing Margio sitting on the terrace, Anwar Sadat approached him and asked if he was willing to go buy food at the market. Although it was late, there would usually still be vendors around, offering fried tempeh, chicken satay, and even grilled fish. Before Margio could say yes, Maharani, the youngest daughter, stepped out of the house and told her father she would go, too. They shared an umbrella, braving the rain and the dark.

That was how Margio started doing odd jobs for Anwar Sadat and, more important, the beginning of his magical relationship with Maharani. They were the same age.

As Anwar Sadat had no son and was the only male in the house, every time he faced a job that was physically demanding he would go to number 131 and ask Margio for help. Margio could carry sacks of rice to the storeroom, fix a leaking roof gutter, and chop back shrubs in the house’s front yard. For these chores Anwar Sadat gave him money, or even asked him to dine with them, and on Lebaran gave him new pants and shoes. Finally one day Anwar Sadat asked if he could call his mother to help cook, and so he fetched Nuraeni.

And so Anwar Sadat offered a means of escape to another member of the family, freeing Nuraeni from a home life that was beyond repair. Even if Kasia didn’t pay her, she liked going to Anwar Sadat’s place, no matter how much work needed doing there. A bowl of soup and a few slices of meat was enough. At Anwar Sadat’s she could listen to the sad songs he played from his office and enjoy the sight of his beautiful, self-indulgent daughters. She was never annoyed with these girls, especially Laila and Maesa Dewi, no matter what they asked her to do. Laila would repeatedly request a massage and Maesa Dewi would want some noodles, and Nuraeni would comply with pleasure. In this house Nuraeni never talked to the stove; she recovered some of her former sweetness.

With time, these chores became such a part of her routine that Anwar Sadat and Kasia had no need to call for her any more. Instead she appeared all of a sudden as though having fallen through the ceiling, sometimes at dawn, and ask if Kasia wanted help with cooking that morning. Kasia normally ruled the kitchen at breakfast time, but if she felt lazy she would happily hand over to Nuraeni.