Beauty Is a Wound (28 page)

“In five years,” said Comrade Kliwon, “we will meet again under this almond tree.”

Then he ran and leapt onto the train that was beginning to pick up speed, seen off by Alamanda’s waving hand and her tears at his departure, as she stood in the same spot until the train’s caboose was out of sight.

And now on to the next game, with the most famous man in Halimunda as the contestant and victim, the head of the military district who once led the most infernal rebellion against the Japanese: Shodancho. Like an old fisherman who catches a big marlin on a tranquil day at sea, the girl’s feelings were all in an uproar to think that she might capture such a big prey, perhaps the biggest of her entire life, and she would always remember her days of conquest, step by step, all the way back to the first offensive in the pig-fighting arena. She was aware that the man had been lured by her beauty the night of that event, and all she had left to do was yank on the snare to trap him.

One year had already passed since Alamanda had stopped being a young temptress who seduced men only to destroy them, just as Kliwon no longer had wandering eyes. They loved each other, and day by day that love had been planted deeper and deeper until they had vowed never to betray one another. But now Kliwon had gone to the capital to start university and Alamanda was getting bored. She had no intention of betraying her lover, because her love for him was still as high as the mountains and as deep as the ocean, she just wanted to have a little fun like she used to—flirting with men without having to love them.

What she didn’t realize was that she was now facing a man who was truly in a class by himself, a man who had become a fugitive hiding from the Japanese army for months after a rebellion during the war, a man who had led five thousand troops in a battle against the Dutch, a man who in the time of military aggression had gained experience in many offensives, a man who had briefly been a great commander and was way more decorated than any other soldier, and the only man trusted to lead a city where large-scale smuggling operations were carried out on the hush-hush. Sooner or later, Alamanda might come to know about that man, but up until the era of her regret, she didn’t realize that Shodancho was not the kind of prey to be casually toyed with.

Just as Alamanda had guessed he might, a few days after their meeting at the
orkes melayu
concert, Shodancho appeared at her house. He came alone, driving his jeep, and was greeted by her mother, which made him seem like a snot-nosed kid on his very first date. They got embroiled in a conversation about city matters, but Alamanda knew for sure that he hadn’t really come for that, because he had brought a bouquet of flowers, which he gave to Alamanda and which she brought to her room and tossed out through the window right into the trash heap in the backyard before returning to join her mother and Shodancho with a charming smile.

That went on for days. Every time he came by, Shodancho brought flowers that were immediately tossed into the garbage heap, even though their bearer didn’t know it. And it wasn’t only flowers; on the third day he brought a stuffed panda bear that he had ordered directly from China, then he brought a ceramic vase, and the next day he brought a pile of American pop records, which Alamanda decided not to throw out.

She hadn’t played a game like this in a whole year and, feeling proud that her ability to make men look stupid and foolish remained quite impressive, she played those records and danced alone in her room, imagining that she was dancing with her sweetheart. Dancing with Kliwon to the records that Shodancho had given her, now
that
was quite an amusing idea. She laughed at the idiocy of that city hero, but later that night she dreamed that Kliwon knew about everything and he got so angry that he wanted to murder her, and she woke up gasping for breath underneath a blanket drenched with cold sweat. She cursed that nightmare and reassured herself that she was not at all betraying her sweetheart, because her love for him hadn’t changed one bit.

The next day she received a letter from her beloved. Alamanda was a little nervous about it and wondered whether it had any connection to her nightmare. She went into her room and lay down, at first not daring to open the envelope, worried that her bad dream would come true, but then feeling that she had to know what the letter said.

It turned out that her worries were totally groundless, there was no suspicion and no consequences at all. Kliwon said that he had started university, that his studies were not as difficult as he had imagined they would be, and that everything was going fine. Alamanda believed that the man would never have any difficulty with anything he put his mind to, and she felt proud to have such a clever lover. When Kliwon reported that he had become a roving photographer and was also working part-time in a laundry, tears trickled down her cheeks and she whispered that the future would be better for both of them. She kissed the paper the letter was written on, still crying, before falling asleep with the letter pressed against her cheek.

When she awoke two hours later, from a beautiful dream of a joyful wedding to her sweetheart, she realized that she hadn’t yet read the letter through to the very end. In between the pages of the letter there was a photograph of her lover, and the explanation that he himself had taken it, so if the picture was crooked or his face looked ridiculous, he asked her forgiveness.

Alamanda laughed to see the photo and kissed it affectionately—eight times, plus three bonus kisses—clasped it to her chest, and then placed it to the side while she finished the rest of the letter, which wasn’t very interesting, because Kliwon was just talking about Party matters. Alamanda wasn’t interested in that kind of talk and she was thankful that Kliwon didn’t write more than one paragraph before closing with a request for a picture of her. Alamanda smiled again, and said aloud, as if he were standing there before her: “I’ll send you, the handsomest guy in the world, a picture of the most beautiful girl in the world.”

That afternoon Alamanda made herself up to look lovely and was getting ready to go to see the photographer when she came upon Shodancho chatting with her mother in the front room as usual. Her man-eating instinct quickly reared its head and she smiled sweetly at Shodancho. Shodancho abruptly trailed off, thinking that the girl was all dressed up just for him, and he silently recited prayers of deepest gratitude to the king of the heavens when right at that moment Alamanda said she wouldn’t be able to join them in their chat because she was going to see the photographer.

The girl saw Shodancho slump over in disappointment (realizing the makeup was for the photographer and not for him), but he quickly took control of the situation and offered to drive her there. Alamanda hadn’t thought of this, but what was wrong with him driving her to the photographer, or with her taking advantage of the kindness of some sucker loser to make a portrait for her lover? She smiled again and glanced toward her mother, who was visibly upset by her daughter’s bad behavior.

So Shodancho took Alamanda to the photography studio that had been around since the colonial era, at first belonging to a Japanese spy but now belonging to a Chinese couple. He sat in the waiting room facing the display window, and he told the photographer’s wife to print two copies of each picture without telling the young girl he was with about it. The photographer’s wife gave him an understanding nod.

Meanwhile Alamanda entered the studio with the photographer. She was first photographed standing gracefully in front of a screen with a picture of a lake with herons swimming across it and blue mountains in the background, then sitting on a fake rock that was there, and then the background screen was exchanged for a scene of a river with a footbridge and some trees, and exchanged again for a strange wintry scene from China. The photographer took her photo ten times, and when she went to pay, she discovered that Shodancho had already paid for all of them. She was thrilled to be sending her photograph to her lover on the man’s dime, but Shodancho took her acceptance of the gift as a good omen for their relationship.

Shodancho himself delivered up the prints four days later, pretending that he just happened to be passing by the photography studio. Alamanda accepted them with pleasure and quickly retired to her room, enjoying the pictures of herself. She chose her four favorite ones, and began to write a letter to her sweetheart, telling him all about Shodancho and his foolishness, and frankly admitting that Shodancho seemed interested in her. She reassured her beloved that she was in no way interested, that she still felt just as before and her love was only for him alone, and that she had no intention whatsoever of betraying him. If she spoke of that man in her letter, it wasn’t to make him jealous but to show him that there were no secrets between them. Alamanda was sure that Kliwon trusted her, so it was no problem to tell him about Shodancho. She sprinkled a little face powder on top of the letter so that her sweetheart could inhale the scent he used to smell on her body, and she even painted her lips with a thin layer of lipstick and plastered them on the bottom of the letter next to her signature, as a symbolic kiss of longing from afar. She put the letter and the photos into an envelope and smiled to imagine her man receiving it in a few days’ time.

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.