My name is Anggi. I work as a maid in a Dutch household. Today is just another sunny day for the family. Mr. Bercht will go to work, his son and three daughters will go to school and Mrs. Ans will meet her friends, wives of officers just like her. My people tell me I am lucky to be employed by the Dutch because I get money, food, and shelter in exchange for my service. True, but they do not know the other side. They do not know how it is a torture for me to serve the family of a senior officer in the Dutch Military. It has been a long time since the Dutch came and took over in Batavia. It is 1942. “Ferdi, Ima, Nora and Rhetta! Hurry and get your breakfast. I swear your dad spoils you all too much!” Mrs. Ans calls her children. Her blonde hair is curled backwards, showing her smooth heart-shaped face. Her freckles are conspicuous comparing to her full make-up face. She wears a green dress with red heels. She is half-way to getting ready for her appointment.
“I don’t spoil them, do I, Anggi?” Mr. Bercht with his signature curled up moustache turned to me as he sips his morning black coffee. His dark brown hair is combed backwards. All officers have that slick back hair. He is in his usual grey uniform which is adorned with his medals and badges of achievements. I put my gaze down, bowing. A maid is never in position to agree nor disagree. My ears catch the sound of toasts jumping out of the machine. Immediately I walk into the kitchen which is just a few steps away, to get them and serve them to the empty plates for the children who are rushing downstairs. It is their usual morning breakfast. However, it is all a planned breakfast. After serving the toasts and tea, I stood silently behind them. Soon enough, Mr. Bercht is ready to leave. He stands up and approaches Mrs. Ans to give her a quick peck on her temple. He places his cap on his head and off he goes to Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie. He mentioned about having details to check in trading list yesterday. Five minutes after Mr. Bercht has left, someone knocks on the door claiming to be the postman. I recognize his voice. It makes me slightly nervous in case Mrs. Ans goes to get it. “Anggi, get the postman, would you?” Mrs. Ans is too busy preparing her children for school. She always makes sure they are extra neat. “Yes, Madame.” I sighed in relief mentally as I get to the door. Opening the door, I see Keichi. The Japanese man who promises me that I will get my revenge done. Keichi swiftly passes a piece of paper onto my palm and hides it with newspaper on top. He gives a confident smile and leaves. Putting the paper in my apron’s pocket, I enter the conspicuous red house. With its vibrant red, everybody in the neighbourhood knows that this house belongs to Mr. Bercht and slaves fear to get near. I give the newspaper to Mrs. Ans who asks me to put it on the telephone desk. The family thought I am illiterate but I can read thanks to Keichi who has been sending simple guide to learn Dutch over the past few months. 40 locals died; VOC Construction comes to a halt. Clenching my teeth as not to make any sound towards the newspaper, I ball my fists to assert self-control. “Anggi, escort my children to the door. I will be doing my make up.” Mrs. Ans orders as she takes the stair next to the dining table to go up. The children look at me emotionlessly. Quickly, I stride forward to the door. Opening it for them, they skip their way out. “Hey Ferdi. You know next class’ Cendana?” Nora asks as she fumbles with her pigtails. “Why?” Ferdi tosses his bagpack to his back as he looks at Nora. “We took her homework book. Guess what will happen today?” Ima giggles. Seeing how they are enjoying their little bullying towards an Indonesian classmate makes me realize that everything must be done today and this day. Everything will end by this evening. Shutting the door, I turn around only to be startled by Mrs. Ans. I do not expect her to finish her make up routine in such speed. She is putting on her watch by her left wrist. Her freckles disappear and her lips are in rose red. “What are you doing? Open the door, Anggi.” She demands. I do as she says and there, she leaves. “Oh, don’t forget to go to the market. We have special guest coming tonight.” Once the door is shut, I take out the piece of paper from my apron pocket. Warehouse address to Dutch’s weapons. After memorizing it, I ripped it into pieces and toss them into a rubbish bin. Quickly I move to the dining room and run up the stairs to second floor. The corridor stretches left and right. The carpet also extends according to the length of the corridor. The master room is at the end of the corner to the left. There is a locked drawer at the desk. I enter and go directly to locate the locked drawer. Five years of service has taught me plenty. Three men died over the years trying to break this drawer open. They did not know it requires a secret lever to unlock it. To my right is the bed and to my left is the desk. I overheard a hatch opening from left when I delivered sandwich to Ferdi whose room is beside the master room three months ago. The lever must be among the books on the shelves behind the desk. I put my hands to work as I touch each book on the shelves. I end up with the lowest row, fourth book from the left. Pulling it out, I hear sound of a lock behind me. Immediately, I turn around to check whether the drawer has been unlocked. Praise fortune goddess, it is open. I open it and scan the documents inside for ‘warehouse’ word. After a moment of scanning, I found it. I etch the address into my mind before I put the documents back. Mr. Bercht always arranges papers or documents to the left. I arrange it accordingly and shut the drawer as well as putting the lever back in place. I get myself out of second floor and return to first floor, fearing that Mrs. Ans can return in any moment because it is rare for her to be going out. I write the address on a piece of paper and hid it in my breast pocket. Grabbing the shopping bag and purse, I leave the house in red and walk my way towards the market. As I come near the market, I do not, however, enter the area. I drop by a photography store. “Have you found it?” Keichi asks. The photography store is his business. We met six years ago when he calls me out for a shot when I was on my way back from shopping. I agreed and ever since, we became close. “Yes. Here it is.” Passing the note to Keichi, there is a hint of triumph on his face. I feel it too. The joy of having my revenge accomplished. Keichi tells me that he knows how to manipulate the Dutch to leave Batavia and free my people, the slaves, from forced work. All I need to do is to be patient. I return to my routine. I purchase ingredients for a feast tonight and I cook them. Mrs. Ans returns later than I have expected. Her children, too, return with no suspicion at all. Finally, Mr. Bercht comes home. He scans around for anything out of the place but he finds none. Behind him, a man with superior air around him follows. They settle down at the dining table as they chat. I serve the meals and wait behind next to the telephone. Half-way through the dinner, the telephone rings. I pick it up but I try not to make it obvious that I am waiting for a sign. “Hide when the clock hits 7:30 precise.” Keichi says and hangs up. “What is it Anggi?” Mrs. Ans turns her gaze to me. “No sound.” I shake my head and place the telephone back. What does he mean hide? Why must I hide? I thought he is going to manipulate the Dutch to leave with the information he receives from me. Curious, I convince myself to stay. With anxiety pounding on my heart, I keep waiting for the clock to do its job. ‘Tick!’ the clock turns to 7:30. Precisely that moment, Japanese soldiers barge into the house and fire their rifles at the whites. Seeing blood spurts out of their body, I finally understand. This is triumph. With joy filling my heart, I can’t help but to smile after years of being emotionless. There is another thing that I understand when the Japanese men aim their rifles at me too. Keichi did not inform them of my existence that’s why he told me to hide. There is never manipulation because it has always been force. Regardless who you are, they all want my Batavia and my people. What a traitor I have become for believing in Keichi. I am sorry, Batavia.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorI am an amateur author and this is my web where i will spread my stories in the vast world called internet. Nice to meet you everyone! Archives
January 2018
|