“The gates of hell that unfold before your eyes are a nightmare that should never materialize for you.”
~ Rouzel Soeb ~
Buntek Alley, Bandengan, West Jakarta, May 13, 1998, 11:30 AM
The noise of a group of people stomping around echoed from the space beyond Kemala Fatimah’s house, or as everyone called her, Mala. She was just an eleven-year-old still rocking the sixth grade. Mala had ditched school for the day, and there she was, strolling up to her front door, ready to snoop through the window blinds.
“Has Marwan been found?!”
Mala heard the voice of a woman from outside. Since morning, their neighborhood had been buzzing with news about the neighbor’s son, Marwan. He hadn’t returned home from campus since a clash between students and the police erupted at Trisakti University in Grogol the day before.
“Not yet, *Enyak!” replied another person from outside in the same thick Betawi accent. “They said many people dispersed during the riots yesterday. Maybe Marwan just hasn’t come home yet. Plus, he’s not a Trisakti student, there’s no way he was involved in the riots yesterday!”
“He’s always chilling at Trisakti, scouting for cute girls. How certain are his folks that Marwan didn’t swing by there yesterday?”
“I don’t know,” the second voice replied, a hint of resignation in his tone. “Right now, I’m just trying to track down the others. They’re saying shops are being looted everywhere. Wouldn’t hurt to snag a sack of rice! Everything’s so pricey these days, Enyak!”
“Do you really think that’s your mom and dad’s stuff? It’s best to stay away from the looting; getting involved could spell trouble for you and others. Your mom and dad would be stressed because of your actions!”
No response came from the second person, only the fading laughter in the distance. Mala took a deep breath after catching all of that from behind her curtains. She then headed towards the table in the cramped front room of her house, ready to dive back into her studies in preparation for the upcoming final stage of school exams.
“Mala? Mala …?”
The voice of the woman who had been chatting outside her house reached Mala’s ears once again. The little girl glanced up at the door, and in a matter of seconds, she hoisted herself off the floor to make her way to the front and swing the door open.
“Mala, is your dad still sick?” asked Enyak Juri, their neighbor right next door, standing at the doorstep.
“Yes, he is,” Mala replied, her eyes meeting Enyak Juri’s concerned gaze.
“Did you get any food today?” she asked, peering inside Mala’s house. “Your dad hasn’t worked for four days because he’s sick. Last I heard, he was almost out of rice. I’m worried for you and your dad if you’re just eating rice and salt every day.”
“Dad bought two liters of rice yesterday morning,” Mala replied with a smile. “This morning I also wanted to buy some vegetables for my father, but the neighborhood stalls everywhere were closed.”
“People are afraid to open their stalls today. It’s chaotic everywhere!”
Enyak Juri then handed a small black plastic bag to Mala. “I’m also struggling, but I have some leftover tempeh and spinach that I bought yesterday. Give it to your sick dad for lunch, okay?”
“What about your family?” asked Mala hesitantly.
Enyak Juri immediately waved at Mala as she walked away. “I’m still raising chickens and cultivating cassava in the back alley. You take care of your dad. Don’t let his condition worsen.”
“Th-thank you, Enyak Juri,” Mala exclaimed quickly before Enyak Juri’s back disappeared from her sight.
Despite being quite chatty and often overly curious about her neighbors’ lives, Mala considered Enyak Juri and her entire family to be very kind. In the midst of the monetary crisis, which had made life difficult for almost everyone in Indonesia, the woman still shared with others, even though she herself was struggling.
Perhaps because Warih, Mala’s father, had also been sharing with others when he had more money, Enyak Juri was more attentive to Mala’s family. Often, she provided side dishes or shared rice with Warih, and vice versa.
The tradition of sharing in times of hardship indeed persisted at the lowest levels of society. In a world dominated by egocentricity, individuals who could empathize with others’ difficult situations were rarely seen hesitating to share their limited possessions.
Mala’s father, Warih, was just an illegal parking attendant on the streets. After his wife’s death, Warih and Mala were left alone and depended on the man’s daily bread as a parking attendant. So what Warih earned every day was basically just enough to fulfill their modest daily needs.
Therefore, when the father was unable to work for days due to illness, they would certainly have difficulty buying even a side dish or a bunch of vegetables to eat, let alone… rice, which was rising in price. Despite their hardship, there was always some sustenance that came their way – no matter how small.
Even on a day when there was only a little rice and a small packet of crackers left in their house, Enyak Juri, their neighbor, suddenly appeared in front of Mala’s house to provide her and her father with a side dish.
Mala didn’t understand how her father could make it that far with his meager income from the parking lot. She also couldn’t comprehend how, in their challenging living conditions, her father could still cover all of Mala’s needs and monthly school fees. But one thing Mala knew for certain was that her father had worked tirelessly for her sake.
“Dad …? Dad?”
Mala knocked on the door of Warih’s triplex room and lingered on the doorstep, straining to hear her father’s voice. Once she caught some indistinct mumbling from inside the room, Mala pushed open the door and gazed up at her father, who lay still with a pale face.
“Are you still in pain?” asked Mala with a worried look.
“A little,” Warih honestly replied to her daughter, “but… I’m okay now.”
“You still got the medicine from the health center yesterday, right?”
“Yep, still got it,” said Warih. In truth, his medicine had run out since yesterday afternoon. “Just stay calm and focus on your studies. Don’t worry about me; it’s a usual thing. My condition will improve on its own.”
Just as Warih finished saying that, he and his daughter suddenly heard a commotion from outside. A group of the most mischievous youths in their area were strolling down the alley in front of Warih’s house, proudly discussing the items they had looted from a store.
Warih, who had been peeping at them from inside his house, now let out a sigh with a visibly upset expression on his face.
“They mastered the art of stealing before acquiring the skills to earn a living,” Warih muttered in a hushed tone. “At this rate, the streets will turn into a haven for criminals. Remember, Mala, don’t step out without my permission. I don’t want you mingling with people like that at all.”
“Yes, Dad I know. I didn’t open the door earlier, except to receive tempeh from Enyak Juri,” the daughter replied.
“Good,” Warih replied, pushing himself to swallow his food again. “If criminal acts are openly boasted like that, there’s a good chance they’ll soon be competing to be the most evil.”
6:00 PM
The sound of the Maghrib Call to prayer and the noises from outside suddenly roused Warih from his sleep. The man opened his eyes in what seemed to be a dimly lit room, his own body already soaked in sweat. His head felt unusually heavy, and his breathing sounded rhythmically shorter than usual.
Warih let out a soft groan as he immediately felt pain in his thigh when attempting to move. However, when he focused on the door of his room, the man fell silent with a stunned expression. Somehow, his bedroom door was already slightly ajar, and he couldn’t see any light from outside the room.
Did Mala fall asleep?
The man questioned in his mind with a perplexed look. He then attempted to call out to his daughter from inside the room. Not receiving any response, Warih immediately forced himself to move towards the edge of his bed.
“Mala…?” he called again, raising his voice, while attempting to step out of his bed. “Mala, are you… sleeping?”
There was still no sound of any response from outside. Therefore, Warih grabbed his cane and quickly walked towards Mala’s room, enduring the pain in his leg.
He anticipated that upon opening the door to his daughter’s room, he would find her sleeping there, surrounded by books as usual. Unfortunately, Mala was not in her room.
The man then turned and walked towards the front room, kitchen, and bathroom. However, he did not find his daughter anywhere.
Anxiety instantly gripped Warih. He glanced at all of Mala’s books still scattered on the front room table, attempting to maintain a positive mindset. He did manage to calm down a bit afterward until he suddenly heard a loud bang echoing in the distance.
Not finding his daughter inside the house, the man quickly opened the front door and peered outside.
Warih was on the verge of heading towards his neighbor’s house – Enyak Juri – to ask about his daughter. Unexpectedly, the neighbor was also opening her front door, still clad in a mukena.
“What’s that?!” shouted Enyak Juri as she looked toward the end of their alley. “I was praying when I heard that sound, and I was startled!”
Warih didn’t react to the bang. Instead, he walked closer to Enyak Juri with his face still pale.
“Enyak, did you see Mala?”
Enyak Juri, who had just noticed Warih standing in front of her house, quickly turned her head and frowned.
“Mala? No…,” she replied, still with an unfocused look on her face. “Isn’t Mala at your house?”
“No, Enyak. When I woke up, my house was already dark and empty. When I checked Mala’s room, she wasn’t there.”
“Huh? Are you serious?” asked Enyak Juri with a shocked look on her face. “Mala rarely goes out. I’ve never seen her wandering around like my daughter, Epi.”
“Did Mala go to *Nyai Imas’ stall at the back of the alley?” murmured Warih, as if asking himself, even though he was sure his daughter didn’t have enough money to buy anything.
“Warih, there are no stalls open this time of day,” Enyak Juri said quickly. “I’m sure Mala also knows there are no stalls open since morning. Most likely, she’s just watching the commotion in Jembatan Tiga.”
“Mala doesn’t usually do this,” Warih mumbled with a hint of doubt. “If I don’t give her the green light, she won’t go out, Enyak. Plus, she’s usually focused on her studies and gave me her word she wouldn’t go anywhere.”
“Even if Mala goes out, as long as she stays in our neighborhood… you don’t have to worry. Everyone around here knows you and your daughter. You should go back to sleep and wait for Mala. Your face is so pale; I’m afraid you’ll faint again! The hospital is crowded, Rih!”
“Yeah, maybe Mala was just wandering around here because she suddenly got bored. I hope so.”
“There you go! Following the motivational words of Westerners… ‘positive thinking’ first. There’s no way Mala would dare to travel so far. That child rarely goes out. People say there are terrible things out there. Rumor has it that Chinese girls and women are being targeted and assaulted on the streets, but I don’t know if it’s true or just a hoax!”
“Huh…?!” Warih’s face suddenly changed completely.
“Don’t you know? The riot yesterday has now spread to other places, and all Chinese people are being blamed,” said Enyak Juri as she turned around to go back inside her house. “I’m really upset if it’s true that Chinese women are being harassed. I hope Mala doesn’t go too far. The child’s face and skin look a bit like Chinese because her mother is from South Sumatra and you are from West Java.”
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