Eka Kurniawan - Beauty is a Wound

Shodancho drew in a long breath, and complained that the soldiers weren’t paid enough by the national government, and that his businesses with the military and the city forces lost most of their profits to the general in the capital. “So my dear friend, I am going to make you an offer that might not seem so enticing at first but will help us find a solution to this complicated problem,” said Shodancho finally.

“Please tell me.”

“Maybe my friend,” said Shodancho, “it can be agreed upon that your thugs and goons surrender a portion of what you earn to the soldiers, so that they might pay their whores and get satisfactorily drunk.”

Maman Gendeng thought for a moment and saw no problem with skimming a little bit off the top of whatever his minions obtained, if promised the soldiers wouldn’t bother the preman no matter what happened, and would agree to live in a mutually profitable peace.

And so an accord was finally reached after whispers that no one in the market could hear, as the people looked on, full of curiosity. Maman Gendeng and Shodancho sent their most trusted men to spread the news that a cease-fire would begin at four o’clock that afternoon. The soldiers would return to their posts, and the preman would return to their old haunts. Now Maman Gendeng and Shodancho were the only ones left, still sitting in the middle of the market, each breathing sighs of relief as if he had been freed from a tiger’s mouth, leaning back in their chairs, until Shodancho asked:

“Do you know how to play trump?”

“I often play trump with my friends at the bus terminal,” replied Maman Gendeng.

So they invited the salt-fish seller and the coolie back to play trump with them, and that was the beginning of their strange friendship at the card table. Many matters affecting the soldiers and the preman were taken care of quietly there by the two of them. They started a new routine of meeting at that same card table three times a week. It wasn’t a secret that they always tried to trick one another and always wanted to win, but the cost wasn’t too high, only a few coins difference whether they won or lost. Sometimes they played with the clothing seller’s husband, and sometimes with medicine peddlers, coolies, becak drivers, butchers, salt-fish sellers, or couriers — anyone they could find in the market who knew how to play trump.

But if Shodancho was there at the table then Maman Gendeng would be there, and vice versa. A strange friendship, it’s worth repeating, because in their hearts they didn’t like each other. Maman Gendeng still held a grudge against Shodancho for his effrontery in fucking the whore he loved, and Shodancho still held a grudge against the impudent man across the table from him for daring to threaten him in his very own office not caring a whit that he was the local military district chief and had even been appointed great commander by the president of the republic.

Their friendship made the people’s heads spin. They were thankful that all of the city’s problems could be solved so easily at the card table, but they were also pretty annoyed once they understood that there was a cunning conspiracy between the soldiers and the preman to enjoy the money extorted from the city folk. They also realized, along those same lines, that now they didn’t have anyone to whom they could complain. And don’t think they could ask the police for help, because all the police ever did was blow their whistles at busy intersections.

That was when the Communist Party became the only place they could go, and they turned, above all, to Comrade Kliwon. At this time those two — Comrade Kliwon and the Communist Party — had the best reputation in Halimunda.

Meanwhile, the friendship between Shodancho and Maman Gendeng continued. As time went on, the trump table was no longer only used to discuss fighting between soldiers and the preman or the fairest way to share their spoils — Shodancho also began to lament his problems as if unburdening the contents of his heart to an old friend. That was what they usually talked about, after they’d finished their card game and after the merchants in the market began closing up their kiosk doors and heading home. Sometimes they talked about Comrade Kliwon too. Shodancho still believed the man wasn’t a real communist, but was just avenging his beloved Alamanda. Maman Gendeng laughed, hearing of this drama (even though he actually already knew all about it) and he put forth the opinion that a man shouldn’t steal someone else’s sweetheart. That was why he’d been so hurt to hear that Shodancho had slept with Dewi Ayu. At that, Shodancho’s face turned red and his eyes welled up like a little kid who has lost his mother.

“I’m the loneliest fucking person in this tumultuous world,” he said. “I entered Japanese military training in the Seinendan troop when I was barely a teenager, before becoming a shodancho. I rebelled against them in a guerrilla war that lasted for months after they’d already surrendered. My life has been one war after another, including a war against pigs. I’m tired of all that.” Maman Gendeng gave Shodancho the handkerchief that Maya Dewi always slipped into his pants pocket, and Shodancho dried his eyes. “I want to live like other people. I want to love and be loved.”

“Your men love you very much,” said Maman Gendeng.

“But you know full well there is no way I can marry them.”

“Well, at least we both have beautiful wives now.”

“Yeah, but it’s my bad luck to marry a woman who loved another man first, with the kind of love that might never fade.”

“That could be true,” said Maman Gendeng. “I’ve seen Comrade Kliwon, in front of a group of fishermen. He is quite sympathetic and works hard to remedy the misfortunes of others. Sometimes I envy him. Sometimes I even think that he’s the only person in this city who looks toward the future with hope.”

“That’s what communists are like,” said Shodancho. “Pathetic people who don’t realize this world is destined to be the most rotten place imaginable. That’s the only reason God promised heaven, as a comfort to the wretched masses.”

They would get so caught up in their conversation that they wouldn’t notice day turning into night. Once they realized the time, they would quickly stand and give each other a hug and say see you later before heading home in opposite directions. Each to his own home and his own wife. One day some bad luck came: Mirah and Sapri decided to stop working in Maman Gendeng’s house because all of a sudden they realized they were in love and now they wanted to get married and live in a village as farmers. Maman Gendeng was at a loss as to how he was going to get a new servant, and his wife was still just a snot-nosed kid. But it turned out differently than he expected. The first day without the servants, when he returned home after playing trump with Shodancho and it was already dark, he found dinner prepared.

“Who cooked all this?” he asked, confused.

“I did.”

That’s when he realized his wife’s extraordinary talent for homemaking. She didn’t just neatly iron and perfume his clothes, she also cooked all their food, and he found everything delicious and just to his liking. Dewi Ayu had been training her ever since she was a little girl, Maya Dewi explained. She was even an excellent baker, always trying out new recipes for cookies and cakes and sharing them with their neighbors. Maya Dewi had become the family ambassador, the one who maintained friendly relations with the neighbors, because Maman Gendeng could never hope to change his bad reputation. Those cookies and cakes brought the family a lot of good fortune, because the neighbors soon started ordering them for their sons’ circumcision celebrations, and the orders kept on coming. Maya Dewi made them in the afternoon after school and so, whatever happened, the family would never have to worry about their economic situation.