Beauty Is a Wound (34 page)

Makojah didn’t leave Edi Idiot any inheritance except the house and yard where they had been living all this time. No one knew where all the money she made from the interest on her loans went. Edi Idiot himself couldn’t have cared less about the money, but the people of the city cared because they felt like it rightfully belonged to them. So for years afterward, people kept hunting for Makojah’s money. It was said that she’d had an underground vault, so some people tried to dig a tunnel from a neighbor’s house. They didn’t find anything, but one of the diggers died from inhaling sulfurous smoke and they closed that tunnel right back up.

The people’s joy didn’t last long. They thought that now that Makojah had died, Edi Idiot would turn into a good kid, or at least make himself scarce for a couple of months to mourn. But it didn’t turn out that way. Instead, he brought some girls home with him to sleep with, while their fathers went looking for them near and far and then gave up the search. He demanded food from any open kitchen, sitting down at the table and devouring whatever was there, before the cook could sample her own cuisine. And this isn’t even counting the murders and bus stick-ups.

When Shodancho came down from his guerrilla post in the jungle, many of the city folk hoped that he wouldn’t just take care of the pigs, but that he would also take care of all the
preman
in the city. But Shodancho declined.

“They are like turds,” said Shodancho, “the more you stir them, the more they stink.” He didn’t explain any further, but the people quickly understood: if Edi Idiot and his posse were messed with, they would only become an even bigger bother to the city.

That was a time when many people in Halimunda sat on their verandas with exhausted faces. The occasional mischievous visitor might ask, “What are you guys doing?” And they would reply:

“Waiting for Edi Idiot’s coffin to pass by.”

Their prayers were never answered. Not because Edi Idiot didn’t die, but because he didn’t have a funeral, and he was never buried. He drowned, and his body was eaten by a pair of sharks.

Yes, a stranger arrived one morning, Maman Gendeng, and killed Edi after a legendary brawl that lasted seven days and seven nights. At first nobody believed that the hardheaded kid was truly dead, but then it was like they were awaking from a bad dream: Edi Idiot was mortal, just like anybody else. The city folk were incredibly thankful to that stranger, and Maman Gendeng was quickly accepted as one of their own.

To celebrate, the people threw a party, unrivaled by any celebration before or after. Even the 23rd of September celebration of Halimunda’s independence had never been as festive. There was a night fair that lasted for an entire month, with a travelling circus full of elephants, tigers, lions, monkeys, snakes, little girl contortionists, and of course midget clowns. In every corner of the city people could enjoy
sintren
and
kuda lumping
trance performances for free. The young men and women went out together to enjoy their romances, without being afraid that Edi Idiot’s posse would bother them. The chickens roamed about freely again in people’s yards and kitchen doors were no longer locked up tight.

So when Maman Gendeng pronounced that no one except he himself could sleep with the whore Dewi Ayu, the people weren’t all that upset, although clearly it was a huge loss. They thought it was an appropriate enough tribute to be given to the hero who had killed Edi Idiot, Makojah’s infuriating son.

But then one day, in the tropical heat, Maman Gendeng got up from the mahogany rocking chair that he’d inherited from Edi Idiot and walked from the bus terminal to the closest store with a whooshing and buzzing sound in his ears. He demanded one crate of cold beer, because of the damned hot weather, but the shopkeeper only gave him one bottle. Maman Gendeng went nuts, smashed the shop window to smithereens, and took a whole crate of beer after berating the shop owner who, according to Maman Gendeng, was not one bit civilized. He returned to his rocking chair and killed that parched feeling with the hijacked beer.

With this event the realization hit home that, as far as the citizens of Halimunda were concerned, nothing had changed. Edi Idiot was dead, but a new scoundrel had arrived. His name was Maman Gendeng.

After Alamanda’s festive wedding celebration, Dewi Ayu had ordered the newlyweds to move into their new house. She was quite upset by all the recent events, and by how they’d affected her oldest child. She had time and time again warned Alamanda about her horrible way of treating men, but Alamanda had inherited a certain stubbornness from who knows which family member, and now she was suffering the repercussions.

Dewi Ayu had never imagined that she would give birth to beautiful but wild girls who would chase men only to toss them aside. But she had known about Alamanda’s bad behavior ever since the girl had first discovered boys, and now it seemed that Adinda shared her sister’s bad temperament. She used to be a total innocent, preferring to spend time at home rather than roaming about, but ever since Alamanda’s sudden wedding, she was disappearing more and more often. Look at the girl, now to be found wherever the Communist Party was having one of its raucous celebrations. And Adinda began to chase the man who once belonged to Alamanda: Comrade Kliwon. Dewi Ayu didn’t know what Adinda was thinking, but she suspected the girl wanted to get revenge on her sister through that man. It was really quite upsetting.

Men hunt my privates
, she told herself,
and I gave birth to girls who hunt men’s privates
.

So she worried even more about her youngest child, Maya Dewi, who was twelve years old. She was afraid the child would imitate her two delinquent older sisters. Right now she was a good and obedient child who didn’t at all appear to be reckless. Her hands were busier than anyone else’s in that household, making everything pleasant and comfortable. She picked roses and orchids to arrange in the flower vase that she placed on the front room table every morning. She swept away all the cobwebs from the ceiling of the house every Sunday afternoon. Her teachers reported on her good behavior and she opened her textbooks every night, finishing all her homework before going to bed. But all that could change, as had happened with Adinda, and this was what really worried Dewi Ayu.

“To marry someone you don’t love is way worse than living as a whore,” she instructed her youngest.

Dewi Ayu thought she should marry Maya Dewi off as quickly as possible, before she grew up and went wild. For years she had always solved her problems with quick thinking, and the first idea that popped into her head was always the very thing that she did next. She didn’t want to see Maya Dewi grow up to face the same tragic fate that had befallen Alamanda and might yet befall Adinda. But she didn’t know who to set up with her twelve-year-old, because she didn’t intend to give her away to just anybody.

She wanted to talk it over with her lover, Maman Gendeng. One Sunday, the three of them went to a public park. They relaxed there all day, snacked all they wanted, fed the tame deer, and went on the swings. Dewi Ayu watched Maman Gendeng leading Maya Dewi here and there by the hand, pointing out the peacocks hiding in the shrubbery and throwing nuts to the gangs of monkeys. Dewi Ayu didn’t even care that they seemed to have forgotten she was there. She watched them walk to the edge of the sea cliffs and try to count the seagulls flying.

After they had all returned home and Maya Dewi went off with her neighborhood pals, Dewi Ayu finally spoke to Maman Gendeng.

“Why don’t you two get married?”

“Who?” asked Maman Gendeng. “Me and who?”

“You and Maya Dewi.”

“You’re crazy,” said Maman Gendeng. “If there is any woman I want to marry, it’s you.”

Dewi Ayu explained her worries over a glass of cold lemonade. They sat together on the veranda in the warm afternoon air. They could hear the waves pounding in the distance and the sparrows making a din in their nest on the roof. The pair had been lovers for many months now, one a prostitute and the other the customer who held a monopoly on her. Dewi Ayu insisted that Maya Dewi had to be married off to somebody, and because there was no one else close to her, the only man she could be married off to was Maman Gendeng.

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to sleep with me anymore?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Dewi Ayu. “You can still visit me at Mama Kalong’s whorehouse just like everyone else’s husband, if you’re not too embarrassed.”

“I would have to think something like this over, maybe for many years,” Maman Gendeng muttered.

“Try considering other people for once! The men of Halimunda are going insane. They are practically half-dead because they’ve been forbidden to touch my body, just because of some tough guy like you. If you let me go, you’ll be their hero. And in exchange you’ll get a girl who will never disappoint you, the youngest daughter of the most beautiful whore in the city.”

“She’s only twelve years old.”

“Dogs get married at two years old and chickens get married at eight months.”

“But she’s not a dog or a chicken.”

“You just think like that because you’ve never been to school. Every human is a mammal, just like a dog, and walks on two legs, just like a chicken.”

Maman Gendeng already knew this woman’s character, or at least he thought he did. He knew that Dewi Ayu would not give up on any idea, no matter how crazy. He drank his cold lemonade and felt himself shiver, as if he had to cross a bridge only seven strands of hair wide with all hell spread out below him.

“But I’ll never be a good husband,” he protested.

“So be a terrible husband if you want.”

“And it’s not yet certain that she will agree.”

“She’s an obedient young girl,” said Dewi Ayu. “She listens to everything I say, and I truly don’t believe that she will have any trouble with marrying you.”

“There’s no way I would sleep with such a young girl.”

“You’d only have to wait about five years.”

It was as if it were already decided. Even though he was a thuggish
preman
, Maman Gendeng trembled violently, imagining the gossip about such a marriage. They would say that he had raped the girl and was being forced to marry her.

“Marry her out of your love for me,” said Dewi Ayu finally, “if for no other reason.”

That was like a judge’s sentence for Maman Gendeng. It was as if there was a bee buzzing inside his skull and dragonflies flitting around in his stomach. He finished his lemonade but couldn’t rid his insides of all those creatures. Then he felt like there was a wild thicket growing in his chest, with thorns stabbing everywhere. Like a weakling loser, he collapsed against the chair with his eyes half-closed.

“Why’d you go and spring this on me all of a sudden?” he asked.

“Whenever I had said it, it would have felt just as surprising.”

“Give me a place to sleep, I want to lie down for a minute.”

“My bed is always open to you.”

Maman Gendeng slept soundly for almost four hours, snoring softly. That was the only way to survive all of this bee and thicket and dragonfly nonsense. Dewi Ayu passed the afternoon freshening up in the bathroom and sitting in the front room with a cigarette and a cup of coffee, waiting for the man to wake up. At that moment Maya Dewi appeared, saying that she wanted to bathe, but her mother asked her to wait a moment and told her to sit down across from her.

“Child, you are going to be married soon, just like your older sister Alamanda,” said Dewi Ayu.

“I’ve heard that getting married is easy,” said Maya Dewi.

“That’s quite true. What’s difficult is getting divorced.”

Then Maman Gendeng reappeared, coming out of the bedroom with the pale face of a sleepwalker, and sat in a chair, reluctant to look at the little girl sitting next to her mother. “I had a dream,” he said. Neither Dewi Ayu nor Maya Dewi responded, because they were waiting for him to continue. “I dreamed I was bitten by a snake.”

“That’s a good omen,” said Dewi Ayu. “You two will soon be married. I am going out to look for a village headman.”

That was how Maman Gendeng, about thirty years old, married Maya Dewi, who was twelve, in the same year that Alamanda married Shodancho. Their brief and simple wedding ceremony was celebrated by cheerful gossip throughout the city about what had
really
happened. But at least the marriage made the Halimunda men quite happy, because they could once again visit Dewi Ayu at Mama Kalong’s whorehouse.

Dewi Ayu left her house and two servants to the newlyweds, while she and Adinda moved to a complex of newly renovated homes left behind by the Japanese. Dewi Ayu liked those houses because the Japanese had big tubs, almost as big as swimming pools.

“If you want to get married too, just say the word,” she told Adinda.

“Oh, I’m not in such a hurry,” said Adinda. “The apocalypse is still quite a ways off.”

Before they left for good, Dewi Ayu prepared a luxurious room for the newlyweds, with the scent of jasmine and orchids floating in the air. The new bed that she had ordered, the best mattress in the city with the latest spring-bed technology, had arrived directly from the store that afternoon and was surrounded by an elegantly pleated pink mosquito net. The walls of the room were decorated with crepe-paper flowers. But this was all sort of pointless, because those newlyweds didn’t really spend their first night together then.

Instead, Maya Dewi, who was wearing her pajamas, jumped on the bed with the lightheartedness of a child. She wanted to test out its springs, just as her mother had done so many years ago at the brothel for the Japanese. When she tired of admiring the mattress and the splendorous room she lay down, hugging a bolster and waiting for her groom. Maman Gendeng appeared in a state of indescribable awkwardness. He did not jump into bed, embrace his wife’s body and ravage her mercilessly like so many careless new husbands do. Instead he just pulled up a chair to the side of the bed and sat there looking at the little girl’s face with the tortured gaze of a man watching his lover die. Her miniature beauty was really quite charming. Her black hair shone, unfurling beneath her atop the pillow. The eyes that returned his gaze were clear and innocent. Her nose and her lips and everything about her was marvelous. But see, everything was still so tiny and adorable. Her hands were still the hands of a young girl, as were her calves, and underneath her pajamas her breasts were not yet full grown. There was no way he could sleep with such a little girl.