Beauty Is a Wound (20 page)

“Don’t ever hope to die just to be remembered,” he said to his remaining soldiers as they raised the flag in mourning back at the guerrilla stronghold. “Believe me, not many people are prepared to remember anything that isn’t their immediate concern.”

He plotted an act of vicious revenge. One night, he led an ambush against a military post and stole some ammunition before killing six Japanese soldiers and throwing their corpses into the street. They blew up a truck and then disappeared before the morning cock crowed. The six Japanese corpses strewn in the street threw the city into an uproar the next day, and the people wondered who had done such a thing. But the Japanese and the
daidan
, including Sadrah, quickly realized: Shodancho was still alive, and he had declared a never-ending war.

The Japanese from the Kempeitai retaliated in a blind rampage, and soon lost the trace. Soldiers ransacked people’s houses, looking for Shodancho and his men, but got no answers. On the third day after the murder of the six Japanese, a warehouse worth of food and a truck were stolen, and the two Japanese guarding it were killed. The truck was found plunged into the river but all of the food was gone. The Japanese combed the length of the river and found nothing.

Two days later, a courier came one night to Shodancho’s guerrilla hut and told him that news of their insurgence had reached almost everyone on Java. Their uprising had already inspired a number of other small rebellions in a number of
daidan
, and even though all had failed, the Japanese were gravely concerned and it had even been rumored that Peta was going to be dispersed and all their weapons stripped.

“That’s the risk of keeping a hungry tiger as a pet,” said Shodancho.

Four days later they blew up a bridge just as five Japanese trucks loaded with soldiers were driving over it. That isolated Halimunda for months, and the guerrillas were safe in their hideouts.

On one bright unforgettable morning, Shodancho had just finished taking a shit in a coral reef when he came across a man’s corpse, tossed ashore by the waves. The corpse, already so swollen that it looked like it was about to explode, was wearing nothing but a loincloth. Shodancho and his men pulled the corpse of this drowned man onto the beach and inspected it. There was a deep wound in his stomach.

“That’s the slash of a bayonet,” said Shodancho. “He was killed by the Japanese.”

“He’s a rebel from another
daidan
,” said a soldier.

“Or maybe he slept with Kaiser Hirohito’s mistress.”

All of a sudden Shodancho fell silent, looking at the corpse’s face. He was obviously a native—his face was gaunt as if he hadn’t had enough to eat, like most of the natives, and looked slippery without a mustache or beard. But that wasn’t what interested him, it was the odd shape of the man’s mouth. He finally came to the conclusion, “This man is sucking on something.” With significant effort and the help of another soldier, he pried open the corpse’s stiff jaws with his fingers.

“There’s nothing there,” said the soldier.

“No,” replied Shodancho, and he groped around in the corpse’s mouth and removed a scrap of paper that had almost completely disintegrated. “He was killed for this,” said Shodancho. He spread out the paper on top of a warm piece of coral. It looked like a leaflet, printed by a mimeograph machine. The seawater that had leaked into the corpse’s mouth had caused the ink to fade and run, but Shodancho could still make it out. Everyone’s heart was pounding, expecting an important message, because no one would be killed for carrying some meaningless old wadded-up leaflet. With his fingers trembling (and not from the frigid air or from hunger), Shodancho held the piece of paper with tears streaming down his face. Before his confused soldiers had the chance to ask him anything he spoke first, asking them, “What date is it today?”

“The 23rd of September.”

“So we are more than a month late.”

“For what?”

“For the celebration.” Then he read them what was printed on the dead man’s leaflet. “
PROCLAMATION: WITH THIS WE THE PEOPLE OF INDONESIA DECLARE OUR INDEPENDENCE . . . AUGUST 17, 1945. IN THE NAME OF THE INDONESIAN PEOPLE, SUKARNO & HATTA.
”

There was a moment of silence, before they broke out into a cacophony of whoops and shouts. Except for Shodancho, they all ran and danced in front of their guerrilla huts as if possessed, singing victory songs. Without one order, they gathered up their things and started packing, as if everything had come to an end. They were ready to run out of the jungle and burst into the city to bring the joyful news, but Shodancho quickly headed them off before the insanity spread any further.

“We have to have a meeting,” he said.

They complied and gathered in front of the hut.

“There are still many Japanese in Halimunda,” said Shodancho, “and they must already know about this, but they have chosen to remain silent.” He quickly came up with a strategy. Half of them had to carry out a lightning attack on the post office, taking hostages if necessary, which wouldn’t be too dangerous because all the post office employees were natives. There was a mimeograph machine there and they had to print up the dead man’s note and disseminate it to the entire city as quickly as possible. “Use the mailmen!” he said confidently. The other half of them had to infiltrate the
daidan
and tell them what had happened, disarm the Japanese, mobilize the masses, and hold a huge gathering at the soccer field. After that quick and concise meeting, they emerged from the jungle.

The simple fact of their arrival in the city put everyone into a frenzy, even before the leaflet printed at the post office was swiftly shared. Shodancho was able to commandeer a truck and circle the city shouting, “Indonesia declared independence on August 17, Halimunda followed suit on the 23rd of September!” Everyone standing on the edge of the road froze, as if turned to stone. A barber almost snipped off his customer’s ear, and a Chinese
bakpao
seller lost control of his bike and went rolling along with his steamed buns. They all looked at the passing truck in disbelief, and then snatched up the scattered leaflets and read them. Rejoicing broke out—the elementary school kids began dancing by the side of the road, and then all the grown ups joined in.

The Japanese came out of their offices, including the army commander Sidokan. They were helpless when they found out what had happened, and put up no protest when the Peta soldiers from the
daidan
appeared to strip them of their weapons. Without the proper ceremony the rebels lowered the Hinomaru while yelling in the faces of the Japanese, “Eat this accursed flag!” They then exchanged it for the Red and White in a solemn ceremony, singing the anthem
Indonesia Raya
.

People began to gather in the soccer field, emaciated and dressed in rags, but still looking radiant. Never in their lives, and never in their grandparents’ or great-grandparents’ lives, had there ever been independence. But that day they heard it for themselves: Indonesia was free, and so of course was Halimunda. Shodancho led another flag-raising ceremony in the afternoon, again reading the proclamation, while the people of the city sat cross-legged on the grass and the members of the military stood at attention, tall and stiff. Starting that year and for many years to come, only schoolchildren and the army commemorated the proclamation every August 17. The citizens still conducted their own private rituals on September 23, and after a while the schoolchildren and the military joined in. That day they did not just salute the flag and read the text of the proclamation while singing
Indonesia Raya
, but also sent each other gift baskets of food and held a street fair. And if a stranger asked, or if a teacher asked his pupils when Indonesia gained its independence, they would always say, “The 23rd of September.” The central government made a number of attempts to clear up the confusion about the delay in information in the year 1945, but the citizens of Halimunda swore to the death that they would always celebrate Independence Day on September 23. After a while nobody made a big deal about it anymore.

A commotion broke out when a group of people came dragging the
daidancho
and it appeared that he was to be viciously executed on the grounds of committing treason during the rebellion. They were ready to hang him under a catappa tree that grew in a corner of the soccer field, but Shodancho put a stop to their proceedings. He released the
daidancho
and brought him to the center of the field. He already knew about the man’s treason, and for that he gave him a revolver. Heard by all the people who swarmed around them, he said:

“We were both educated by the Japanese, so you know as well as I do what a traitor must do.”

The
daidancho
put the pistol to his head and ended his own life. Even still, Shodancho ordered all the soldiers to conduct the ritual of the final salute, and the corpse was wrapped in a flag and buried in a plot of land not far from the city hospital, the precursor to their military cemetery. His was the only death that day. Shodancho took over all the
daidan
’s power, quickly sent a number of couriers to gather more information, and working with the city folk, he fixed the bridge that he himself had once destroyed. Two days later the couriers returned, saying that Peta had been disbanded and all the
daidan
had been turned into the Agency for the Safety of the People.

So they formed the Agency for the Safety of the People. But two days after that, another courier came and said that the Agency for the Safety of the People had already been disbanded and changed into the Army for the Safety of the People.

“If it gets changed again,” Shodancho said annoyed, “Halimunda is going to go to war against Indonesia.”

The central government made decisions about the distribution of rank. Shodancho, surpassing the commanders from the other
shodan
, was given the rank of lieutenant colonel and his dumb friend, Sadrah, felt satisfied as Major Sadrah. But Shodancho didn’t pay too much attention to such matters, and told everyone, “I prefer to remain just Shodancho.” A few weeks later, another courier came bringing a parcel containing a letter, which seemed to have been written many months ago and was only just now arriving at its destination, from the president of the Republic of Indonesia, addressed to Shodancho. Pretty soon everyone in the city knew what it said: the president had designated Shodancho as the great commander of the Army for the Safety of the People with the rank of general, in recognition of his heroism in leading the February 14 Rebellion.

While the city folk were celebrating his nomination as great commander, Shodancho disappeared to his old guerrilla hideout. That whole day he fished and swam in the ocean alone, meditating while floating on the surface of the water as if he himself was a drowned corpse. He didn’t want to think about the nightmare of becoming the great commander of the Army for the Safety of the People. Before his departure, he said to Major Sadrah, “How sad to know that I was the first person to rebel, and because of that I was chosen to become the great commander. I have wondered what kind of army we have, to choose a man who hasn’t ever even seen a woman’s private parts up close as a great commander.” As day turned into night, his friends discovered him and brought him home.

A while after that, he got news from another courier, which came as a welcome relief. Noting that the great commander’s chair had not been sat upon by Shodancho even once, the division commander and the commander of the islands of Java and Sumatra held a powwow to look for his replacement. “The president of the republic has already chosen Colonel Sudirman as commander of the Army for the Safety of the People with the rank of general,” announced the courier.

“Praise God,” Shodancho said. “That position is only good for those who really want it.”

While all the citizens of Halimunda were saddened to learn he’d been replaced, Shodancho was floating on unimaginable joy.

The Army for the Safety of the People was then renamed the Army for the Salvation of the People. They had just switched all of the nameplates when the news arrived: The Army for the Salvation of the People would now be called the Army of the Republic of Indonesia.

“Are we going to go to war against Indonesia?” asked Major Sadrah.

Shodancho laughed and shook his head. “There’s no need,” he said comfortingly. “As a new country, we’re just now learning how to come up with names.”

The Japanese army had not even left yet and the people had not yet had the chance to experience an era of peace when Allied planes began flying in the Halimunda sky. In just a few days, English and Dutch troops arrived. The KNIL prisoners of war were freed and rearmed themselves and began stripping the native army of their weapons. Shodancho immediately took emergency measures, calling all the soldiers back into the forest. This time he sent them out in the four compass directions, himself leading the troops that would fortify the jungles in the south. He decided to fight another guerrilla war, this time against the Allied troops and especially the NICA, the Netherlands Indies Civil Administration. But it wasn’t just the guerrillas who went to the jungle; civilians, the majority of them young men, trailed after, swearing their loyalty to Shodancho. He split up all of his soldiers so that they could each lead a small unit of guerrillas, mostly made up of these civilians—some were the same men who raped Dewi Ayu and her friends before the English soldiers arrived.

This new guerrilla war lasted two years, and the guerrillas experienced the pain of defeat more often than victory. But even though they knew he was in the jungle on the cape, the KNIL soldiers never found the man they hunted: Shodancho. The jungle was filled with guerrillas, who knew the region better than anyone, sheltering in the old Japanese fort prisons. The KNIL soldiers, aided by the English, never had the courage to enter the jungle: they chose to hold their positions in the city. And for their part the guerrilla soldiers found it difficult to enter Halimunda. The KNIL soldiers blocked the flow of food and weapons, but that was pointless because the guerrilla soldiers planted their own rice fields in the middle of the jungle, and they were already accustomed to making war without ammunition. They tried conducting air raids, but the Japanese had taught the guerrillas how to evade those.