Child of All Nations (10 page)

For several moments Nijman sat numbed, his gaze riveted on the door now closed behind his guest. Then, realizing his condition, he turned to me, saying, “Yes, Mr. Minke, write up the interview in English. It looks like he is hiding quite a lot. He says he’s from north China, but he has a southerner’s name. Says he has never been to Japan but is unable to rid himself of Japanese customs like that bowing of his.…” He didn’t go on with his grumblings.

I began to write it up. Less than an hour later I left the office. I still had time to pick up May. I dropped into a shop: I had to buy something for the little girl. I found a doll that looked very much like Annelies.

May’s school hadn’t finished for the day. I had to wait a few minutes. As soon as school was over, May caught sight of my buggy, ran to us, climbed aboard, and called out to some of her friends to join her. So we had no choice but to transport this gang of little chatterboxes to their homes. May’s house was the last one.

As she was about to climb down from the buggy, I opened up the box and handed her the doll. She jumped up and down in excitement. She kissed me over and over again. She kissed the plump, pretty doll too.

“Climb down, May. I have to go straight on.”

“No, I don’t want to climb down!” she rebelled.

“Ah, you’re being naughty. I’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

“Everyone’s got a lot of work to do. Me too. Come on, come in.”

“No, May.”

She went silent. Her eyes moistened, then she cried in French: “Here’s your doll. I’m giving it back. Uncle doesn’t like Papa anymore.”

“You’re getting more and more spoiled, May,” I said, but the words kneaded my heart. How great was this child’s love for her
father; she didn’t want to see her father lose a friend. “All right then, I’ll take you inside.”

I climbed down ahead of her, carrying her schoolbag. She carried the doll herself. She ran inside. “Papa!” she shouted. “May was given a doll by Uncle Minke. Isn’t Uncle Minke kind, Papa?”

I came in and saw the child cuddle up to her father. I heard Jean Marais answer, “Very kind, May.”

I avoided looking at the paintings. My heart was troubled by the girl’s behavior, which had thrown my feelings into confusion. In a flurry she brought in some drinks. After putting the glasses on the table she gave me a long look, then those big eyes of hers gazed at her father.

“Why doesn’t Papa talk to Uncle Minke?” she demanded.

“That painting is finished now, Minke.”

The child observed her father, then me.

“Are there other things that you want to paint, Jean?”

“Yes, there are many more.”

“Why isn’t Uncle laughing, or smiling and grinning as you usually do?” May demanded.

So I laughed and laughed until I felt my jaw would drop off. Seeing all this, Jean Marais also laughed boisterously. May was the only one who didn’t laugh. All of a sudden she embraced her father, and wouldn’t let go.

Jean Marais and I went silent on seeing the child’s strange behavior.

“What is it, May?” She let go of her papa and ran into her room. We heard her howling; it seemed she would never stop.

I ran into her room. She was hiding her face under her pillow and her arms were hugging the edges of the mattress of the small wooden divan.

“May, May, what’s the matter?”

I took the pillow from her face and caressed her head. Slowly the crying faded. I sat her up; she didn’t resist.

“Don’t cry, May. Don’t make Papa and Uncle Minke sad.” She didn’t want to look at me. Jean Marais came in, limping, and sat on the divan.

“The two of us don’t understand, May. What is it?” I asked. Still she wouldn’t look at either of us.

“Do you love your papa?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Do you love Uncle Minke?”

She nodded again.

“We both love you very, very much. Don’t cry!”

But she started howling again. Between her sobs she protested: “You’re lying to me. You’ve become enemies.”

Later in the evening, having convinced May that the two of us hadn’t become enemies, I was able to go home.

Soerabaiaasch Nieuws van den Dag
hadn’t yet published my interview with Khouw.

The next afternoon the much-awaited report finally appeared. It wasn’t a headline, but it was placed in a prominent corner with an attention-getting title: “A Meeting with a Member of the Chinese Young Generation.” I was tremendously pleased that my first work in English was good enough to be used by Nijman. I would enjoy it after dinner.

After dinner I sat with Mama in the front room. Seeing her so busy with all kinds of calculations, I quickly said: “It’s late, Ma. Give them here; let me do them.”

“No, this is very personal. That wolf wants fifteen percent. I’m only prepared to let him have five.”

I knew the wolf was Mijnheer Dalmeyer, an accountant. There was no need for me to interfere. Why bargain over percentages? But my curiosity was aroused and I asked about it.

“Just read your newspaper.”

Now and then I caught a glimpse of the figures on the sheets of paper. Figures and totals with six digits. I made a quick guess: the value of the whole business. She didn’t take much longer to finish her work; then she told me: “Tomorrow I’m going to withdraw Annelies’s money from the bank, Minke. I want to know how you feel: Do you feel I’m violating your rights by doing that?”

“Mama! What are you saying? I don’t have any such rights!”

“No, Minke. No matter what, you are my own son, the same age as Robert. And you know that this business is going to be taken over by somebody that the law says has a greater right to it. I want to start another business. I need Annelies’s money. Her savings from the last six years aren’t all that much. She saved all of it—less than three thousand. I can invest that money in your name.”

“No, Mama, thank you very much. But no.”

I began to read. But what was this? From the very first line, there was no similarity to the interview that had taken place. It read like this:

What I had transcribed was nowhere to be found; there wasn’t even the slightest similarity. One thing was clear however: Khouw Ah Soe would be in great difficulty as a result of this article.

“Why are you gasping like that?” asked Mama.

I told her what had happened. She also read the report.

“How could they lie in an article like this? Something that should be respected because it’s going to be read by thousands of people?” I exclaimed.

Mama looked at me with pity in her eyes.

“Don’t be sentimental. You’ve been educated to respect and even deify Europe, to trust in it unreservedly. Then, every time you discover reality—that there are Europeans without honor—you become sentimental. Europe is no more honorable than you, Child! Europe is only superior in the fields of science, learning and self-restraint. No more than that. Look at me, an example that is near to you—me, a villager, but I can hire Europeans and their skills. You can too. If they can be hired by anyone who can pay them, why can’t the devil hire them too?”

Why can’t the devil hire them? I lifted my eyes to look at her. Nyai was standing before me. She looked so tall, like a giant, like a mountain of coral. What kind of person was she? The whole world admired Europe because of its glorious history, because of its extraordinary achievements, its literary works, because of Europeans’
abilities, their forever-new creations, and their newest creation of all: the modern age. My thoughts flew quickly to that anonymous tract that Magda Peters had given me. Among other things, it had said: The Natives of the Indies, and especially the Javanese, who have been defeated again and again in battle for hundreds of years now, have not only been forced to acknowledge the superiority of Europe, but have also been forced to feel inferior. And the Europeans, wherever they saw Natives not contracting the disease of inferiority, viewed them as a fortress of resistance that must be subjugated.

The tract went on to say: Is the European colonial view appropriate? It is not only unjust, it is not right. But colonial Europe doesn’t stop there. After the Natives have fallen into this humiliation and are no longer able to defend themselves, they are ridiculed with the most humiliating abuse. Europeans make fun of the Native rulers of Java who use superstition to control their own people, and who are thereby spared the expense of hiring police forces to defend their interests. The Powerful Goddess of the South Java Seas is a glorious creation of Java whose purpose is to help preserve the authority of the native kings of Java. But Europe too maintains superstitions—the superstition of the magnificence of science and learning. This superstition prevents the conquered peoples from seeing the true face of Europe, the true nature of the Europe that uses that science and learning. The European colonial rulers and the Native rulers are equally corrupt.

“So why are you still so easily surprised?” asked Nyai, as if she had just finished reading that anonymous tract which, in fact, she had never seen. “Not only newspapers, Child, but also the courts, and the law itself, can be and are used by criminals to carry out their purposes. Minke, Child, don’t be so easily swayed by names. Wasn’t it you yourself who told me that our ancestors used great and splendid names in order to impress the world with their magnificence—an empty magnificence? Europe’s show of magnificence isn’t based on names; Europeans strut around with their science and learning. But the cheat remains a cheat, the liar remains a liar, even with his science and his learning.”

Her voice was pregnant with anger. I could understand why: Her already destroyed family was soon to lose all its property. It was about to be confiscated by the person the law said was the
only heir, Engineer Maurits Mellema. I mustn’t rub salt into her wounds.

“If they can, and indeed do, do such things to us, why shouldn’t they treat the Chinese boy in the same way?” she said.

“That anyone would lie in a newspaper report, Ma—”

“In everything they can get their hands on, Child. The predicament of that Chinese boy is the same as ours. He can’t defend himself either. There was a time when mankind was oppressed by kings, Child; now he is oppressed by Europe.”

“It looks like Khouw Ah Soe is in real trouble,” I said, turning the conversation, “not only with his own people, who don’t want to see the end of the pigtail, but also with the police, because of the accusation that he entered the Indies illegally.”

“So now you know
your
newspaper, Child.”

“It is not
my
newspaper, Ma.”

“I’m glad to hear that. But you must have the courage to bear the risks, Child.”

“What risks, Ma?”

“What risks? At the very least, that Chinese boy will suspect you of being involved in this shameless lie.”

“Maybe he will come here.”

“If he suspects you of being a liar and accomplice in all this, he won’t come here.”

“I hope he won’t think that, Ma.”

“If he doesn’t, and he comes here, he is to receive our protection. He can stay in Darsam’s house.” She sat down again. “He mustn’t stay in this building. He mustn’t be seen. Give him a good welcome, Child. No doubt his customs and manners will be different. But you will still be able to learn from him, from other ideas that aren’t European.”