out. The box-like sedan chairs were for ladies, and only the Koperasi had HC transport. My shoes were ruined. The wash boy at the inn claimed he “couldn’t understand” trousers, and returned my clothes crumpled and mysteriously sticky. I refused to be forced into native dress. Each day I made my round of the delegations, the states of Timur and the regions of Jagddana (I did not approach Gamartha). Naturally only a conservative element had come to Canditinggi. Even my own part of federated Timur was represented by families I had scarcely heard of: secluded, reactionary inlanders. I spoke to countless wizened boys in picturesque livery, never the same boy twice at any reception desk. I got nothing from them but that infuriating smile of tradition— for all your education, truth evades you….
Buffalo boy remained my bodyguard, there was nothing I could do about that. Childlike, he had become involved in my quest and didn’t seem to notice a certain conflict of interest. He pointed out that we were missing an opportunity. For if we went to Gamartha, and said that Jagdana did not want a Timurese observer, surely that would be more effective. I said we would not try that. It would be useless. Gamartha people were too old-fashioned.
Buffalo boy lowered his eyes. He said mildly, “You are not Timurese, originally?”
“No. I am adopted.”
I don’t think he understood the term, but he understood. He never pressed me again about the delegations I chose to avoid. I had meant to move out of the inn, but there was nowhere to go. So I went on watching Derveet patiently chipping away at the bandits. It was embarrassing to think how I had sympathised with the Aneh in this little quarrel. If Derveet could break the hold of the KKK, and therefore of the Siamangs, over the brigands, the Dapur would know it instantly in this fevered town. It might disturb the whole balance of the debate. Gusti Ketut’s election rested on the fact that the women knew whom they were supposed to choose, like it or not. But a whole princedom full of politically dissatisfied criminals might seem even worse than Koperasi displeasure.
However, I soon realised there was no danger. Man-like, the bandits enjoyed the attention they were getting, but it was clear they would stick with the KKK. They were just playing, toying with the idea of making a noble stand. As this became more and more obvious I began to get annoyed with Derveet, illogically. If she really believed that the choice between Siamang and Sadia was a choice between death and life, couldn’t she be more forceful? If she really believed we were facing genocide, surely it was not a case for gentle persuasion. I began to have a dream about Derveet watching a tree growing, while in the darkness around her the world was falling apart. I had given up remembering dreams and all the interpretation business, quite deliberately and successfully, when I left my first home. But I couldn’t get this one out of my head. Derveet’s patience was agonising, for the most detached observer.
She was as friendly as ever; in fact, we talked a good deal. It was puzzling and depressing to find someone who, like me, had no reason to respect tradition, supporting it so obstinately. She would like to see a world without boys, she said. She would like to see women and men living freely together as equals: sometime. But her faith in the Dapur was unshakeable.
Silent, secret, slow: the Debate went on. I walked about the streets looking at closed gateways, and wondered if it was true that only eyes were moving in there, never mouths. Derveet had made me uneasy. I wondered if even the progressive Timur delegates could be trusted to represent Timur’s real wishes, in this insidious Dapur atmosphere. Derveet told me that I only seemed to be shut out. In some mystical way my opinion was being counted. The debate’s only purpose was to reflect accurately the decision of the people, which would somehow be carried in the
Buffalo boy remained my bodyguard, there was nothing I could do about that. Childlike, he had become involved in my quest and didn’t seem to notice a certain conflict of interest. He pointed out that we were missing an opportunity. For if we went to Gamartha, and said that Jagdana did not want a Timurese observer, surely that would be more effective. I said we would not try that. It would be useless. Gamartha people were too old-fashioned.
Buffalo boy lowered his eyes. He said mildly, “You are not Timurese, originally?”
“No. I am adopted.”
I don’t think he understood the term, but he understood. He never pressed me again about the delegations I chose to avoid. I had meant to move out of the inn, but there was nowhere to go. So I went on watching Derveet patiently chipping away at the bandits. It was embarrassing to think how I had sympathised with the Aneh in this little quarrel. If Derveet could break the hold of the KKK, and therefore of the Siamangs, over the brigands, the Dapur would know it instantly in this fevered town. It might disturb the whole balance of the debate. Gusti Ketut’s election rested on the fact that the women knew whom they were supposed to choose, like it or not. But a whole princedom full of politically dissatisfied criminals might seem even worse than Koperasi displeasure.
However, I soon realised there was no danger. Man-like, the bandits enjoyed the attention they were getting, but it was clear they would stick with the KKK. They were just playing, toying with the idea of making a noble stand. As this became more and more obvious I began to get annoyed with Derveet, illogically. If she really believed that the choice between Siamang and Sadia was a choice between death and life, couldn’t she be more forceful? If she really believed we were facing genocide, surely it was not a case for gentle persuasion. I began to have a dream about Derveet watching a tree growing, while in the darkness around her the world was falling apart. I had given up remembering dreams and all the interpretation business, quite deliberately and successfully, when I left my first home. But I couldn’t get this one out of my head. Derveet’s patience was agonising, for the most detached observer.
She was as friendly as ever; in fact, we talked a good deal. It was puzzling and depressing to find someone who, like me, had no reason to respect tradition, supporting it so obstinately. She would like to see a world without boys, she said. She would like to see women and men living freely together as equals: sometime. But her faith in the Dapur was unshakeable.
Silent, secret, slow: the Debate went on. I walked about the streets looking at closed gateways, and wondered if it was true that only eyes were moving in there, never mouths. Derveet had made me uneasy. I wondered if even the progressive Timur delegates could be trusted to represent Timur’s real wishes, in this insidious Dapur atmosphere. Derveet told me that I only seemed to be shut out. In some mystical way my opinion was being counted. The debate’s only purpose was to reflect accurately the decision of the people, which would somehow be carried in the
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