The Hidden Force (16 page)

“But why didn’t Saina tell me?” asked Eva angrily. “I had no idea!”

“Shy…” said the cook, apologetically. “Forgive me,
nyonya
.”

These were small incidents in her daily life as a housewife—anecdotes from her household. But they made her bitter because she felt them as a division, which was always there between her and the people and things in the Indies. She did not know the place and she would never know the people.

And the small disappointment over those episodes filled her with as much bitterness as the larger one of her shattered illusions, because her everyday life among the recurring trivialities of her household was itself growing smaller and smaller.

T
HE MORNINGS WERE OFTEN COOL
, washed clean by the abundant rains, and in the sunshine of the early morning hours a soft haze rose from the earth, a bluish
blurring
of any line or colour that was too sharp, so that Long Avenue with its villas and enclosed gardens was shrouded in the charm and vagueness of a dream avenue: its pillars rose ethereally like a vision of serene columns, the lines of the roofs ennobled by their vagueness; the tints of the trees in silhouette were refined into soft pastel washes of hazy pink, and even hazier blue, with an occasional yellow glow, and a distant streak of dawn, and over all this breaking day was a dewy freshness that spurted upwards out of the drenched ground and whose droplets were caught in the childlike softness of the very first rays of the sun. It was as if the earth began for the first time every morning and as if human beings were only then created, in a youth of naivety and paradisaical ignorance. But the illusion of this daybreak lasted only briefly, no more than a few minutes: the sun, rising higher, broke through the virginal haze, its proud halo of piercing rays pouring forth burning gold sunlight, divinely proud to rule for a brief moment, since the clouds were already gathering, approaching in a grey mass
like battle-ready hordes of dark spirits, ghostlike and bluey deep black, their thick and heavy lead grey overwhelming the sun and crushing the earth under white torrents of rain. And the evening twilight, grey and hurried, one shroud falling on another, was like an overwhelming sadness falling over earth, nature and life, in which that second of paradise in the morning was forgotten; the white rain rushed down like a drowning gloom; the roads and the gardens drank in the waterfall until they glowed like swamp pools in the falling dusk: a chill, spectral mist rose like the movement of languid ghostly garments, which floated over the ponds and the houses, dimly lit by smoking lamps around which clouds of insects swarmed, plummeting to their death with scorched wings. The air was filled with a chill melancholy, a shadowy anxiety about the approaching threat from outside, about the omnipotent hordes of clouds, about the boundless immensity that wafted rustling from the far, unknown distance: as big and wide as the firmament, against which the houses did not seem protected, in which the people—with all their culture and science and inward emotion—were small and insignificant, as small as writhing insects, helpless against the interplay of gigantic mysteries borne from afar.

Léonie van Oudijck, in the half-lit back veranda of the Commissioner’s house, was talking in a soft voice to Theo, with Urip squatting down beside her.

“It’s nonsense, Urip!” she said in irritation.

“No, it isn’t,
nyonya
, it isn’t nonsense,” said the maid. “I hear them every evening.”

“Where?” asked Theo.

“In the banyan tree in the grounds behind the house, on the highest branches.”

“They’re wildcats!” said Theo.

“They’re not wildcats,
kanjeng
!” the maid maintained. “
Massa
, goodness me! As if Urip didn’t know how wildcats miaow! Creeow, creeow, is the sound they make. What we hear every night now are the ghosts! They are the little children crying in the trees. The souls of the little children crying in the trees!”

“It’s the wind, Urip…”

“Goodness me,
nyonya
. As if Urip couldn’t hear the wind! Boo-oh is how the wind goes, and then the branches move. These are the little children moaning in the highest branches and the main branches do not move. Then everything is deathly quiet… This spells doom, ma’am.”

“And why should it spell doom…”

“Urip knows, but dare not say. Ma’am is bound to be angry.”

“Come on, Urip, out with it!”

“It’s because of the
tuan kanjeng
, the
tuan
commissioner.”

“Why?”

“Recently at the fair on the square and the fair for white people, in the town park…”

“Well, what about it?”

“The day wasn’t properly calculated, according to the almanacs. It was an unlucky day… And with the new well…”

“Well, what about the new well?”

“There was no ritual offering of food. So no one uses the new well. Everyone draws their water from the old well… Even though the water is not good. Because the woman with the bleeding hole in her breast rises from the new well… And Miss Doddy…”

“What?”

“Miss Doddy saw him, the white
haji
! That is not a good pilgrim, the white pilgrim… That is a ghost. Miss Doddy has seen him twice, at Pajaram and here… Listen, ma’am.”

“What?”

“Can’t you hear? The children’s souls are moaning in the topmost branches. There is no wind at the moment. Listen, listen, they are not wildcats! The wildcats go cree-ow, creeow when they are on heat! That is the souls!…”

All three listened. Instinctively Léonie pressed closer to Theo. She was deathly pale. The spacious back veranda, with the table permanently set, stretched away in the gloomy light of a single hanging paraffin lamp. The waterlogged back garden was dimly visible against the blackness of the banyans, from which a stream of droplets was falling, but whose impenetrable, velvety masses of foliage were immobile. And an inexplicable, scarcely perceptible groaning, like a faint secret of tormented young souls persisted high above, as if in the sky, as if in the topmost branches of the trees. At times it was a short cry, at others a faint sobbing as if of tortured girls…

“What kind of animals can they be?” asked Theo. “Are they birds or insects?…”

The groaning and the sobbing were clearly audible. Léonie was as white as a sheet and was trembling all over her body.

“Don’t be frightened,” said Theo. “They must be animals…”

But he himself was as pale as a ghost, and when they looked into each other’s eyes, she realized that he was afraid, too. She squeezed his arm tightly and pressed up against him. The maid squatted humbly, hunched up, as if accepting whatever fate brought as an inexplicable mystery. She would not take flight. But in the eyes of the white people there seemed to be a single thought, to flee. Suddenly the two of them—the stepmother and the stepson who were bringing shame on the house—felt fear, a single fear, as if of punishment. They didn’t speak, they said nothing to each other, just stayed resting against each other, understanding each other’s trembling, the two white children of the mysterious Indies earth—who from their childhood onwards had breathed the mysterious air of Java; unconsciously they had heard the vague, softly approaching mystery, like ordinary music, a music that they had not heeded, as if mystery were ordinary. As they stood trembling and looking at each other, the wind got up and brought with it the secret of the souls, and carried them away; the branches moved about wildly and fresh rain poured down. A chilly breeze filled the house; a gust extinguished the lamp and they were left in darkness for a moment. She, despite the openness of the veranda, almost in the arms of her son and lover; the maid cringed at their feet. But then
she disengaged herself from him, disengaged herself from the black oppression of darkness and fear through which the rain roared; a chilly wind blew and she stumbled indoors, almost fainting. Theo and Urip followed her. The central gallery was lit, and Van Oudijck’s office was open. He was working. Léonie stood there indecisively, with Theo, not knowing what to do. The maid disappeared, muttering under her breath. It was then that Léonie heard a whooshing sound and a small round stone flew through the veranda and fell somewhere. She gave a cry and stepped behind the screen that separated the office where Van Oudijck was sitting at his desk, then she cast caution to the winds and again threw herself into Theo’s arms. They stood shivering and clinging to each other. Van Oudijck had heard her, stood up and came out from behind the partition. His eyes were blinking rapidly, as if tired from working. Léonie and Theo regained their composure.

“What is it, Léonie?…”

“Nothing,” she said, not daring to say anything about the souls or the stone, afraid of the imminent punishment. She and Theo stood guiltily, both white as a sheet and trembling. Van Oudijck, with his mind still on his work, saw nothing.

“Nothing,” she said. “The mat is worn, and… I almost stumbled. But I wanted to mention something, Otto…”

Her voice was trembling but he didn’t hear it, blind and deaf to her as he was, still absorbed in his documents.

“What?”

“Urip suggested to me that the servants would like to have an offering, since a new well has been sunk in the grounds…”

“The well that is two months old?”

“They don’t draw water from it.”

“Why not?”

“They’re superstitious, you see; they don’t want to use the water until the offering has been made.”

“Then it should have been done immediately. Why didn’t they let me know through Kario? I can’t think of all that nonsense by myself. But I would have arranged an offering at the time. Now it’s like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted. The well is two months old.”

“It would be good in any case,” said Theo. “Papa, you know yourself what the Javanese are like: they won’t use the well if they aren’t granted an offering.”

“No,” said Van Oudijck stubbornly, shaking his head. “Making an offering now would be quite senseless. I would have been happy to do it, but now, after two months, it’s absurd. They should have asked straight away.”

“Come on, Otto,” begged Léonie. “Why don’t you make the offering. As a favour to me.”

“Mama has already half-promised Urip…” said Theo with gentle insistence.

They stood before him, trembling, white as a sheet, like supplicants.

But, worn out as he was, and with his mind on his
documents
, he was filled with a stubborn reluctance, though he could seldom refuse his wife anything.

“No, Léonie,” he said firmly. “You must never promise anything you’re not sure of…”

He turned away, went round the screen, and sat down to continue his work.

They looked at each other, the stepmother and her stepson. Slowly, aimlessly, they moved from where they were onto the front veranda, where a damp darkness floated between the imposing pillars. They saw a white figure approaching through the sodden garden. They were alarmed, frightened of everything now, each silhouette reminding them of the strange punishment that would befall them so long as they remained in the parental home on which they had brought shame. But when they peered more closely they recognized Doddy. She said that she had been to see Eva Eldersma. In fact she had been walking with Addy de Luce, and they had sheltered from the rain in the native quarter. She was very pale and shivering, but Léonie and Theo couldn’t see it in the dark front veranda, just as she couldn’t see that her stepmother was pale, and Theo too. She was shivering so violently because she had been pelted with stones in the garden—Addy had left her at the gate. She thought of an impudent Javanese, who hated her father and his house and his family, but on the dark front veranda, where she saw her stepmother and brother sitting silently close together, as if helpless, she suddenly felt—she knew not why—that it had not been an impudent Javanese…

She sat down with them in silence. They looked out onto the dark, damp garden, over which night approached as if
on giant bat’s wings. And in the wordless melancholy that filtered between the stately white pillars in the grey dusk, all three of them—Doddy alone; her stepmother and stepson together—frightened to death and crushed by the strange event that was about to happen…

D
ESPITE THEIR FEAR
, Theo and Léonie sought each other out even more often, feeling drawn by what was now an unbreakable bond. In the afternoons he would slip into her room and they would embrace wildly and then remain close together.

“It must be nonsense, Léonie…” he whispered.

“All right, so what is it then?” she whispered back. “I heard the groaning, didn’t I? And the stone whizzing through the air…”

“And so…”

“What?”

“If it is something… suppose it’s something we can’t explain.”

“But I don’t believe that sort of thing!”

“Nor do I… But just…”

“What?”

“If it is something…
if
it’s something we can’t explain, then…”

“Then what?”

“Then it’s
not
because of us!” he whispered almost
inaudibly
. “Didn’t Urip say so herself. It’s because of Papa!”

“Oh, but it’s too silly…”

“I don’t believe in that nonsense either.”

“The groaning… must be animals.”

“And that stone must have been thrown by some wretch, one of the servants, someone with big ideas… or who has been bribed…”

“Bribed? By whom?”

“By… the… Prince…”

“Oh, Theo!”

“Urip said that the groaning came from the palace…”

“What do you mean?”

“And that they wanted to taunt Papa from there…”

“Taunt?”

“Over the Prince of Ngajiwa’s dismissal.”

“Did Urip say that?…”

“No, no, she didn’t say that. I’m saying that. Urip said that Prince Sunario has magic powers. That’s nonsense of course. The fellow is no good… He’s bribed people… to torment Papa.”

“But Papa isn’t aware of anything…”

“No… And we mustn’t say anything. That’s the best thing to do… We must ignore it.”

“And the white pilgrim, Theo, that Doddy has seen twice… And when they make the table turn at Van Helderen’s place, Ida sees him too…”

“Oh, of course he’s another of the Prince’s men.”

“Yes, I expect he is… But it’s still horrible, Theo… My Theo, I’m frightened!”

“Of that nonsense! Come now!”

“If it is something, Theo… it’s not because of
us
?”

He laughed.

“Of course not. Because of us! It’s foolery by the Prince…”

“We shouldn’t see each other any more…”

“Oh yes we should. I love you, I’m mad about you.”

He kissed her violently and they were both afraid, but he put a brave face on it.

“Come on, Léonie, don’t be so superstitious…”

“When I was a child, my nursemaid told me…”

She whispered a story in his ear. He turned pale.

“Oh, what nonsense, Léonie!”

“There are strange things, here in the Indies… If they bury something of yours, a handkerchief or a lock of hair… then… using just charms… they can make you fall ill and waste away, and die… without a doctor having any idea what the disease is…”

“That’s rubbish!”

“It’s absolutely true!”

“I didn’t know you were that superstitious!”

“I never used to think about it. I’ve only been thinking about it recently… Theo, do you think there
is
something?”

“There’s nothing… except kissing.”

“No, Theo… be quiet, don’t. I’m frightened… It’s getting late. It’s getting dark so soon. Papa’s already up, Theo. Go now, Theo… through the boudoir. I want to take a bath. I’m frightened when it gets dark these days… With those rains
there is no dusk… It takes you by surprise, the evening… The other day I had no light taken into the bathroom… and it was already so dark in there… and there were two bats flying around; I was frightened they would get tangled up in my hair… Quiet… is that Papa?”

“No, it’s Doddy… playing with her cockatoo.”

“Go now, Theo.”

He left through the boudoir and walked into the garden. She got up, threw a kimono over her sarong that she had knotted loosely under her arms, and called Urip.

“Bring the bath things!”

“Ma’am!…”

“Where are you, Urip?”

“Here, ma’am…”

“Where were you?…”

“Here in front of your garden door, ma’am… I was waiting!” said the maid, meaningfully, implying that she was waiting until Theo had gone.

“Is the
kanjeng
tuan
up yet?”

“Already up… has already had bath, ma’am.”

“Bring me my bath things then… Light the lamp in the bathroom… The other day the lamp-glass was broken, and the lamp wasn’t filled…”

“Ma’am never used to bathe with a light on…”

“Urip, did anything… happen… this afternoon?”

“No… everything was calm… But, oh dear, when night falls… All the servants are afraid, ma’am. The cook doesn’t want to stay.”

“Oh, what a fuss… Urip, promise her five guilders… as a present if she stays…”

“The butler is frightened too, ma’am…”

“Oh, what a fuss… I’ve never known so much fuss, Urip…”

“No, ma’am.”

“I’ve always been able to organize my life so well… But these are things!…”

“What can we do, ma’am?… Things more powerful than mankind…”

“Do you really think they aren’t wildcats… and a man throwing stones?”

“They’re no such thing, ma’am.”

“Well… just bring my bath things then… And don’t forget to light the lamp…”

The maid went out. Darkness was already filtering from the rain-shrouded air. The commissioner’s mansion lay deathly quiet in the pitch darkness of its giant banyans; the lamps had not yet been lit. On the front veranda, alone, Van Oudijck was drinking tea, reclining on a wicker chair in pyjama bottoms and jacket… In the garden, deep shadows were accumulating, like swathes of black, airy velvet falling from the trees.

“Lamp boy!” called Léonie.

“Ma’am!”

“Light the lamps! Why are you so late? First light the lamp in my bedroom…”

She went to the bathroom… She passed the long line of storerooms and servant’s rooms that closed off the garden
at the back. She looked up at the banyan where she had recently heard the groaning of the souls in the top branches. The branches were not moving. There was not a breath of wind, the air was oppressively close with a threatening rainstorm, a storm too heavy to break. In the bathroom Urip lit the lamp.

“Did you bring everything, Urip?”

“Yes, ma’am…”

“Didn’t you forget the big bottle of white perfume?”

“And what’s this then, ma’am?”

“Right then… In future you must give me a finer towel for my face. I always tell you to give me a fine towel. I don’t like those rough ones…”

“I’ll go and get one.”

“No, no! Stay here, sit outside the door…”

“Very good, ma’am…”

“Listen, you must get a locksmith to check the keys here… We can’t lock the bathroom… That’s ridiculous, if we have guests…”

“I’ll see to it tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget…”

She closed the door. The maid squatted in front of the closed door, patient, passive in the face of the small and big things of life, guided only by loyalty to her mistress, who gave her nice sarongs and as large an advance as she wanted.

In the bathroom, the small nickel lamp on the wall cast a dim light over the greenish marble of the wet floor and on the water in the square brick tub.

“I think I’ll bathe earlier in the afternoon!” thought Léonie.

She took off her kimono and sarong and, naked, glanced in the mirror at the silhouette of her milky plumpness, the curves well-versed in the ways of love. Her blond hair took on a golden glow, and a pearly dew dripped from her shoulders over her neck and down the shadowy cleft between her small, round breasts. She lifted up her hair, admiring, studying herself to see whether there was the line of a wrinkle, feeling whether her flesh was firm. One hip arched, as she stood on one leg and created a long, sculpted line of white undulating highlights, caressing her thigh and knee and ebbing away at her instep… But she woke with a start from this admiring contemplation. She quickly tied up her hair in a bun, lathered herself, and with the bucket poured the water over herself. It fell heavily in long, flat spouts—her shoulders, breasts and hips shining like polished marble in the light of the small lamp. She was keen to make haste, looking up at the window to see if the bats would fly in again… Yes, she would definitely bathe earlier in future. It was almost dark outside. She dried herself hurriedly on a rough towel and gave herself a quick rub with the white ointment that Urip always prepared, her elixir of youth, suppleness and firm whiteness. At that moment she saw a small red spot on her thigh. She paid no attention to it, thinking it must be something in the water, a dead insect. She rubbed it off. But as she rubbed herself she saw two or three larger,
vermilion-coloured spots. She suddenly went cold, not knowing or understanding. Again she rubbed herself; and she took hold of the towel, on which the spots had already left an unpleasant deposit like congealed blood. A shudder went through her from head to foot. And suddenly she saw. From the corners of the bathroom—she could not tell how or from where—the spots came, at first small, then larger as if spewed out by a slavering mouth full of betel juice. Chilled to the core, she screamed. The splashes, having been spewed out as purple gobs, became thicker and swelled as they hit her. Her body was smeared with a grimy, dribbling red. One splash struck her back… On the greenish white of the floor, the filthy gobs slithered, floating on the water that had not yet run away. In the tub they fouled the water and disintegrated disgustingly. She was red all over, filthily besmirched, as if defiled by a shameful mass of filthy vermilion, which invisible betel-chewing throats scraped together from the corners of the room and spat at her, aiming at her hair, her eyes, her breasts, her belly. She screamed and screamed, driven completely out of her mind by the strange events. She threw herself at the door, tried to open it, but there was something wrong with the handle, because the door was not locked, or bolted. She could feel repeated spitting on her back; her buttocks were dripping with red. She screamed for Urip and heard the maid on the other side of the door, pulling and pushing. Finally the door gave way. Helpless, crazy, naked and besmirched, she threw
herself into her maid’s arms. The servants flocked around. She could see them coming from the back veranda, along with Van Oudijck, Theo and Doddy. In her wild hysteria, her eyes wide open, she was ashamed, not of her
nakedness
but of her defilement… The maid had grabbed the kimono, also besmirched, from the door handle and threw it round her mistress.

“Stay away!” she cried helplessly. “Don’t come any closer!” she shrieked crazily. “Urip, Urip, take me to the swimming pool! A lamp, a lamp… to the swimming pool!”

“What is it, Léonie?”

She didn’t want to say.

“I… trod… on a toad!” she screamed. “I’m… frightened… of scabies! Don’t come any closer… I’m naked! Stay away, stay away! A lamp, a lamp… a lamp for goodness’ sake… to the swimming pool! No, Otto! Stay away! All of you stay away! I’m naked! Stay away! Bring a lamp!”

The servants were rushing around everywhere. One took a lamp to the swimming pool…

“Urip! Urip…”

She clung to the maid.

“They’ve spat at me… with betel juice!… They’ve spat at me with betel juice! They’ve… spat… at me… with betel juice.”

“Shush, ma’am… come with me to the swimming pool!…”

“Wash me, Urip! Urip… on my hair, in my eyes… Oh God, I can taste it in my mouth!…”

She sobbed uncontrollably, as the maid dragged her along…

“Urip… look… first… go and see… if they’re spitting… in the swimming pool too!”

The maid went in, shivering.

“There’s nothing, ma’am.”

“Quick then, bathe me, wash me, Urip…”

She threw off the kimono; in the light of the lamp her beautiful body was revealed as if it had been smeared with filthy blood.

“Urip, wash me… No, don’t fetch any soap… Just with water… Don’t leave me alone! Urip, please wash me here… Burn the kimono! Urip…”

She dived into the swimming pool and swam around helplessly; the maid, half-naked, dived in with her and washed her…

“Quick, Urip… quick, just the dirtiest bits… I’m afraid! Soon… soon they’ll be spitting in here… Into the room, Urip… now… now wash me again, in the room, Urip! Call out and say no one must be in the garden! I don’t want to wear the kimono any more. Quick, Urip, call, I want to get out of here!”

The maid shouted into the garden in Javanese.

Léonie, dripping, climbed out of the water, and naked and wet hurried past the servants’ rooms, with the maid behind her. In the house, Van Oudijck, crazed with worry, came up to her.

“Go away, Otto! Leave me alone! I’m… naked!” she screamed.

And she threw herself into her room and, once Urip had come in, locked all the doors.

In the garden, the servants huddled together under the roof of the veranda, close to the house. The thunder rumbled softly, and silent rain began to fall.