I’d love to tell you about all the other interviews I’ve conducted, but there is not enough time for that right now, plus I think it will be more satisfying to watch my documentary film, which will both give a bigger picture and be more in-depth than anything I could put down on paper.
I was happy to hear that you had dinner with Nara at the restaurant. What did you cook for him? I hope it wasn’t too spicy. I’m guessing that he will come to the restaurant often now that I’m away.
Give my love to Maman, Om Nug, Om Tjai, and Om Risjaf. Take care of yourself and remember that I always love you.
Your loving daughter,
Lintang Utara
BEKASI, MAY 1998
That day was a fateful one. It started in the afternoon when Alam took the time to accompany me to Bekasi, to the east of Jakarta, and to the home of “Mrs. D,” a former member of the Kediri branch of GERWANI, the leftist Indonesian Women’s Movement. Although I know the woman’s real name, I think it best not to reveal it because of the trauma she continues to feel. Mrs. D is a woman of about sixty, but still in quite good physical shape: she walks erectly, her eyes are clear, and she’s able to speak in a clear and crisp voice.
In my interview with Mrs. D, she told me that when she was a member of GERWANI, her job had been to teach village women to read and write. After the events of September 30, she and her husband, who was a member of the Kediri branch of the Indonesian Farmers’ Front (BTI), were arrested and imprisoned in separate incarceration facilities for nine years. After their release in 1974, they came to see firsthand the difficulty their entire extended family was having in finding and keeping steady employment, all because they had relatives — Mrs. D and her husband — whose identification cards included a numerical code indicating that they were former political prisoners.
Her father, Mrs. D said, was imprisoned for two years simply because of his relationship to her; her brother, who was also arrested, was sent to Nusakambangan prison and not released until sometime in the early 1970s. (She wasn’t sure of the year.) Except for their home, almost all their goods and belongings had been confiscated by the military.
My interview with Mrs. D lasted for almost four hours, after which she invited Alam and me to share a simple meal with her. Finally, when we were ready to go, she gave both Alam and me a hug.
After saying goodbye and leaving her house, Alam and I headed back toward the main street to look for transportation back to Jakarta. Suddenly Alam tapped me on the shoulder and whispered for me to walk faster. Even though I didn’t know why, I did just what he said and began to walk at a much faster pace, as if in pursuit of something. Looking around furtively, I saw, next to a cigarette vendor’s stall, two men sitting down. Both had crew cuts and were dressed in civilian clothing — obviously undercover military personnel assigned to tail us. Fortunately, they hadn’t seen us leave Mrs. D’s house. But when we arrived at the intersection that led to the main road and started to hail a taxi that was coming our way, we saw the men suddenly jump to their feet and start walking quickly in our direction. As soon as the taxi stopped in from of us, Alam yanked open the back door, pushed me inside, jumped into the taxi himself, then slapped the driver on the shoulder and ordered him to go and to step on the gas.
For the first few minutes of the ride, neither of us could speak, and Alam kept turning around, looking out of the rear window, until the taxi merged with traffic on the main road. Only then did he start to relax. He took my hand and kneaded it with his.
“Do you think they were watching me?” I asked.
Alam paused before answering. “Jakarta is on the move. Actually, I’m guessing they were watching me.”
“But you’re going to be OK, aren’t you?” I truly was worried about him.
Alam smiled and said, “I’m just fine,” then put his arm around my shoulder.
When we arrived at Satu Bangsa, Bimo informed us that three “flies” had come to the office looking for me. I was shocked — I’d never before had dealings with intelligence agents — but the surprising thing was that it didn’t disturb me.
“What did they say?” Alam asked.
“Basically, they know who Lintang is,” Bimo replied, “and they came here to check her travel documents and to see whether she had obtained official permission to make a film.”
Now, I was taken aback. What pesky flies they were! “And so…?”
Bimo spoke as if I wasn’t present. “I told them Lintang was just a visitor to this office and that they couldn’t meet her here.”
I broke into a cold sweat. “How did they find out so fast what I’ve been doing here?”
“Don’t let them get to you,” Bimo said to me with a smile. “What do you think flyswatters are for?”
Alam rubbed my shoulders with his hand. “Just be calm. Let them do their own thing. Want to order something to eat?”
Bimo looked at us, shaking his head: “Be careful, Lintang. You’ve got one rabid and hungry dog on your leash.”
Odi then stuck out his head from behind his computer to shout at me: “Yeah, you listen to what Bimo says. Be careful. Alam has an attention span of two weeks. After that, it’s ngehe. Yup, it’s just bye-bye!”
“Or maybe, just maybe,” I sparred, “I’m the one who’s stringing him along! Ever think of that?”
At this, Bimo, Odi, and Mita clapped their hands and whooped so loudly that Alam started swearing under his breath, “Bangsat, bangsat, bangsat—you sons of bitches!” When I took out my notebook to write down this new word for me, Bimo grabbed the pad and began to read out loud all the slang words that were written there: “Nyokap, bokap, yoi, yoa, nyosor, koit, asoy, bokep, jajaran, ngehe, bangsat…” Bimo choked with laughter. “These are Alam’s words.” I grabbed the notebook from his hand.
“As they aren’t to be found in the dictionary, I’m interested in looking into their etymology.”
“One is pretty and the other one is crazy,” Mita said. “No wonder you get along!” She then took the film cassette of my interview with Mrs. D from my hand and returned to her room, where she helped me writing down the time-coding into my footage so we could begin to edit it. From her room, I could hear Alam and Bimo still mocking each other, sounding like high school children.
“You’re the one who says ‘bokep’ for ‘porn flick,’” Alam grumbled at Bimo.
“I say bokep, because you act like you’re in a blue film,” Bimo retorted.
My collection of interviews and notes was growing and beginning to look very well organized — all thanks to Mita, who was an incredibly gifted editor. Even with all the other work she had to do — handling film footage from demonstrations, public rallies, and the free-speech platforms, all of which she had to time-code and index — she kindly took time to help me. She probably felt sorry for me, knowing that in addition to editing the film footage, I also had to transcribe the interviews and translate the written transcripts into French and into English as well, as per the request of Professor Dupont.
That night we worked until late, dining at the work table on nasi uduk that Ujang bought for us. By midnight, I was bushed and decided to go home; but, because I still had a lot of work to do, I decided to leave my equipment at the office. I would be back first thing in the morning. Besides, I trusted that when Mita went home, she would lock the cabinets and drawers where I put my things. I simply was too tired to lug all my things back to Om Aji’s house.