Eka Kurniawan - Beauty is a Wound

Meanwhile, Shodancho had returned to his house next to the military headquarters and was reclining with the photos of Alamanda in his hand, looking at them with a clammy gaze that seemed to penetrate the surface of the paper. One by one he placed the photos face down on his bare chest and then folded his hands behind his head.

He daydreamed about the girl’s beauty, and her body, and he found himself lost in a desire that was practically exploding with impatience, so that his hands again moved to clutch the photographs, caressing the paper as if it was the girl’s very body, tracing the outline of her body with his fingers, and then he was even more dissolved in lust, like a dog in heat, his eyes clouded over with longing, and his lips began to mutter the girl’s name. A half hour passed in this discomfort until the photos of the girl that he had obtained through the secret conspiracy with the photographer’s wife began to look smudged and greasy, so finally he got up and placed all the photos in a drawer, put on his uniform, and walked out of his room toward the soldier who was tasked with being on duty in the “monkey cage” next to the entrance gate of the Halimunda Military District Command.

“Good afternoon, Shodancho,” said the soldier.

“Where are the prostitutes in this city?”

The corporal laughed and said that there were many whores in Halimunda but there was only one who was any good, and he told him all about Mama Kalong’s whorehouse. “I can take you there later tonight, if you would like.”

Shodancho only laughed, not surprised that his underlings already knew about the brothels, and he quickly agreed: “We will go later tonight.”

“If that’s what you would like, Shodancho, of course we will go.”

And that was when he visited Mama Kalong’s whorehouse and slept with Dewi Ayu, and the next day Maman Gendeng was angry and came to his office to threaten him.

After that criminal paid his visit, Shodancho quickly realized that he now had an enemy in Halimunda. In the following days his men went out looking for information, and he soon learned the man’s reputation and his name: Maman Gendeng. It seemed that there was no reason to return to the whorehouse and make love to Dewi Ayu again, because there was no good reason to get involved with that man. What’s more, visiting a whorehouse was a really stupid thing for a man to do when he was trying to impress his potential future wife.

He was all the more determined to have Alamanda, the one woman he believed had been created just for him: a woman who would be warm in bed, elegant at parties, charming at public events, and imperious enough to stand beside him during military ceremonies. But he couldn’t deny his uneasy feelings when the men who reported on Maman Gendeng’s reputation also reported on Alamanda’s: a young man-eater who laughed to see men brokenhearted and suffering in their unrequited love, plagued by her image. The only man who had ever won her heart was a communist youth named Comrade Kliwon.

“But that man went to the capital to study at university, so it seems as though their relationship is over.”

At least the information revealed that the girl had once been vanquished and had once fallen in love, which made him feel a little bit relieved. And it was hard to believe that she would be so bold and uncouth as to play with a man who had absolute power in the city — unless of course it was the case that she had fallen in love for the second time, and Shodancho quite preferred this second possibility.

Shodancho’s belief was only further confirmed when one afternoon during his visit, the girl noticed some stitching that had come unraveled in his uniform. Alamanda said, “A thread in your uniform has come loose, Shodancho. If it wouldn’t be a bother, I’d like to mend it for you.”

That sounded so incredibly sweet to his ears that his heart floated up to seventh heaven. He quickly took off his jacket, now wearing only a green undershirt, and gave the uniform to Alamanda, who brought it into the sewing room. Above all it was this incident that convinced him Alamanda returned his affections as she should. Now all he needed to do was speak more seriously about their relationship: Shodancho even hoped that they could discuss their wedding, and he complained to himself about how slowly the time seemed to pass.

The opportunity to speak his heart came one bright afternoon when they were walking together in the forest on an excursion to find the old guerrilla routes. The man showed the girl the hut where he had lived for many years, the caves where he had hidden and meditated, and the caches of leftover weapons, mortars, guns, and gunpowder. He also showed her the defense forts that the Japanese had built. Then the couple sat looking out at the sea, in the yard right in front of the guerrilla hut, on the very stone chairs and table where he once held meetings with his troops. The weather was warm and an eastern wind was blowing pleasantly.

“Would you like to drink some fruit juice here at the seaside? “asked Shodancho, and Alamanda replied, “Yes, that would be quite delightful.” She had imagined that a guerrilla hideout would have been much scarier. Shodancho went back to the truck that had brought them both to that spot and returned with a thermos.

The scattered fishing boats that had headed out to sea that late afternoon bobbed softly out in the ocean, floating like lotus flowers on a pond. There were two or three fishermen on top of those boats and they all sat facing one another. They didn’t wave or shout, they just sat there looking all around and chatting with their friends.

The fishermen wore thick clothes with long sleeves, sarongs tied around their shoulders, cone hats, gloves, and their feet in tennis shoes, all to protect them from the fierce cold ocean air which would gradually weaken them with rheumatism in their old age. Shodancho commented that in the future, individual fishermen would slowly go extinct; big fishing vessels that could match the catch of fifty fishermen would replace these boats that were so small and vulnerable against storms, and their captains would never have to worry about getting rheumatism. Alamanda only replied that the fishermen had been friends with the sea for too long to be frightened by storms or rheumatism, and maybe they didn’t want to catch any more fish than they needed each day — she’d heard that from Kliwon.

Shodancho chuckled, and then they began talking about which kinds of fish were good to eat. Alamanda said that grouper was the most delicious and Shodancho said that he liked squid and then Alamanda protested because squid weren’t really fish since they didn’t have scales or fins. Hearing that, Shodancho laughed again. They both then fell silent for a moment, and then Shodancho poured some fruit juice from the cold thermos he had brought into Alamanda’s empty glass. That was when Shodancho said what he wanted to say, or rather asked exactly what he wanted to ask:

“Alamanda, do you think you might like to be my wife?”

Alamanda was not at all surprised. She had heard that question asked by so many men, in so many different variations, that over time it had lost its power to shock her — she could even guess more or less when the man was going to pop the question. In her experience, there were always signs that a man was about to confess his love to a woman, even though the signs were different for each man. She felt that a woman just knew these things, especially if, like her, that woman had already refused twenty-three men and had accepted the twenty-fourth. Now Alamanda was scheming how to mire the twenty-fifth in a fever of unrequited love.

She stood and walked toward the edge of the cliffs, watching two fishermen slowly paddling their boat, and then said without looking at Shodancho, “A man and a woman must love each other if they are to get married, Shodancho.”