Eka Kurniawan - Beauty is a Wound

“It’s like an angel is teaching you,” Rosinah wrote to Beauty.

“Yes, an angel is teaching me.”

The angel didn’t necessarily come every single day, but Beauty was sure he would always come at certain times, whenever he felt like it, to teach her something. She didn’t need any other friends, who didn’t want her because she was ugly. She didn’t need to leave her house to play, because she could play inside the house. She didn’t want to bother anyone by showing her disgusting self, so she was never bothered by anyone showing up to see her. It was the house that made her happy and content, because a kind angel lived there and had become her dear companion.

“I can even teach you how to cook, even though I never learned how to cook.”

I can even teach you how to cook, even though I never learned how to cook .

So she learned how to cook and was soon an expert at mixing spices. It didn’t stop there, she also began to knit, sew, and embroider, and maybe she would have even been able to do some auto repair and plow the fields if she had been given the opportunity. She learned everything she knew from that kind angel, who taught her with such patience and diligence.

“If you never learned how to do any of this, then how do you know how to do it, and how can you teach me?” asked Beauty.

“I steal from the people who know how.”

I steal from the people who know how .

“What do you know how to do without having to steal it from anyone else?”

“Pull a cart.”

Pull a cart .

And that was how she grew up in that house with Rosinah, who soon grew accustomed to all the strange and supernatural qualities the girl exhibited. Beauty had been given a quite adequate inheritance from her mother, all Rosinah had to do was figure out how it could sustain their life together. She went to market every day to shop for their daily needs, while Beauty stayed at home. There was a ghost in this house, just as Dewi Ayu had once said, but he didn’t seem to bother anyone. If in fact it was true that he had taught Beauty everything she knew, then you could say that the ghost was a good ghost. So Rosinah didn’t need to worry about anything when she left Beauty alone.

Even the kids who sometimes grew curious and peeked in from behind the fence in fear didn’t need to worry. Beauty would never show herself to them, because she was a kind girl and she knew it would frighten them half to death. She only showed herself to Rosinah, who had known her since the day she was born. She was so kind that she sacrificed herself and her desire to have the kind of life most people enjoyed. Her life was limited to the house: her bedroom, the dining room, the bathroom, the kitchen, and sometimes she went out into the yard in the dark of night. She was so kind to sacrifice herself, or punish herself, by leading a monotonous and terribly boring existence, but she seemed to be quite content with it.

“Now I am going to give you a prince,” said the good angel.

Now I am going to give you a prince .

She had grown into a young lady and so of course longed for a man who would fall in love with her, and whom she would fall in love with. This began to depress her, because she was certain that no man would ever want to love her. She wasn’t made to be loved. She was a hideous girl with nostrils that looked like an electrical outlet, with skin like jet-black soot. She was a frightening girl who made people feel nauseous and puke all over, faint from terror, piss in their pants, and run away as if possessed, but didn’t make people fall in love.

“That isn’t true. You will get your very own prince.”

That isn’t true. You will get your very own prince .

That was impossible. No one had ever even seen her, so no one even knew her, and there was no way that someone could fall in love with her without knowing her.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Have I ever lied to you?

No.

“Wait on the veranda at dusk, and your prince will come.”

Wait on the veranda at dusk, and your prince will come .

She would often sit out on the veranda once night had fallen, to breath in the fresh air without having to worry that her monster face would bother people. In the dark she felt quite safe, and the nighttime was like her best friend. Sometimes she even got up early in the morning, before the sun set everything ablaze, in order to sit outside and look up at the pinkish star the angel called Venus. She loved it because of its beauty. Just like her name.

Now she sat on the veranda in order to wait for the prince who had been promised her. She didn’t know how he would arrive. Maybe he would be riding a dragon that came from Venus, or maybe he would appear from underground, popping out of the earth in some astonishing fashion. She didn’t know he would come, but she would wait for him. That first night passed without any prince walking by her house. Not even a beggar walked by.

But she believed the angel wouldn’t lie, so she waited again for a second night. There was one funeral procession that passed by, but no prince. There was also a bajigur seller who passed by, but he didn’t stop to say hello or even turn his head to look at her. There was no prince, until finally she fell asleep exhausted in her chair and Rosinah came and picked her up, carried her inside, and put her to bed.

On the third night, still nobody came. Rosinah would ask her why she was sitting out on the veranda every night and Beauty would reply, “I am waiting for my prince to come.” Rosinah began to understand that the girl had entered puberty. She knew that the girl was already menstruating, and now she wanted a lover. She was sitting on the veranda hoping that someone would see her and fall in love with her. Rosinah felt sad to think about this and went into her room, weeping over the misfortune of ugly Beauty, who hadn’t even realized that no one would ever love her, maybe for as long as she lived. There was no prince for her.

But Beauty was still waiting on the fourth night, and the fifth, and the sixth. On the seventh night a man appeared from behind the bushes on the edge of the yard, startling her. He was quite handsome and she immediately felt sure that this was her prince. He was about thirty years old, with a gentle gaze, his hair neatly combed back, wearing clothes that were dark and sombre. He was holding a single rose, walking toward her, and then he handed her that rose hesitantly, as if afraid of being rejected.

“For you,” said that man, “Beauty.”

Beauty accepted it with a flowering heart, and then the man disappeared. He appeared again the following night, with another rose to give her, and then disappeared again. Only on the third night, after he had given her another rose, and Beauty had accepted it, did the man say:

“Tomorrow night I am going to knock on your bedroom window.”

That whole day she waited for night to come and for her prince to appear at her bedroom window, like a girl eager for her first date. She wondered what dress to wear, and fussed over her outfit in front of the mirror. She forgot about her hideous face and tried to adorn herself with everything that was on her mother’s old dressing table, even borrowing some things from Rosinah’s vanity. Rosinah herself didn’t know about the man’s visits, and every time Beauty came in with a rose she simply thought the girl had picked it herself. But Rosinah grew perplexed, or saddened, when she saw Beauty making herself up in a fuss all day.

“Like a frog trying to dress herself up like a princess,” she thought to herself while rubbing her wet eyes.