Oleander Flowers
The translation of Putu Fajar Arcana’s Indonesian short story “Bunga Jepun” by Tjahaja.
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A month after the bomb exploded in Legian, Luh Manik hadn’t decided anything. Every evening, she still liked to walk along the path, passing several rice fields and banana plantations, to arrive at an open building where she used to practice dancing. In the past, around the last rice field, near a small temple, Luh Manik used to pick oleander flowers. She didn’t have to climb up the tree. A bamboo stick, complete with hooks for flowers, had been placed by the trunk by whoever. Then, the white oleander flowers, after being hooked, would rotate down like a helicopter propeller before touching the ground.
Luh Manik imagined herself on an airplane traveling abroad. “I should be dancing abroad,” she always ended her fantasies with those words. She hurriedly picked up the flowers that had fallen on wild briars.
At that time, Luh Manik was really enjoying her carefree days. In the evening, after picking the flowers, usually with her ensemble waiting for her in the bamboo open building, she left for Nusa Dua. She was always given a seat next to the driver with another dancer. Meanwhile, instrument players crammed into the truck bed, mixing with the gamelan instruments. In rainy weather, they were never afraid. Simply pull up the tarp and use it like a roof, and they would be protected from any rainfall. The journey from Poh Village to Nusa Dua usually took two and a half hours. Along the way, the players kept singing popular Balinese pop songs. While beating the kendang, they sang songs by Widi Widiana, the popular Balinese pop singer.
Although only given an honorarium of between Rp7,000 and Rp10,000, Luh Manik and her joged bungbung group, Teruna Mekar had been having merry evenings for almost three years now. At least the lives of the average residents of Poh Village, who only depended on banana plantations and rain-fed rice fields, were somewhat helped by contract dancing in several hotels in the Nusa Dua tourist area. Some people always came earlier and sat in the open building while waiting for the pickup. Sitting in the building was like waiting for sustenance to flow to Poh Village. The arrival of the truck was like the arrival of a savior god who lifted them out of their economic slump.
This evening, the road was slippery. In November, Bali’s villages were in the drizzling season. This was sign that the rainy season would soon arrive. The shrubs that had fallen during the drought had not yet fully grown. The dusky ground glistened with lightning from the sky to the west of the village. Near the oleander tree, Luh Manik paused, tracing the round, jagged trunk, branches and twigs all the way to the top. The white oleander flowers seemed to be too lazy to bloom. The bamboo stick that was always used to hook the flowers was no longer there.
“Ah...” the teenage girl sighed. She could not hide her anxiety. Every evening, after the bomb exploded in Legian, Luh Manik would climb the trunk of the oleander tree to find flowers. The soft trunk seemed to feel the friction of Luh Manik’s smooth skin. They were like two lovers long separated. And today, in the cold evening, the two hugged each other to let go of their longing. The oleander leaves swaying in the wind brushed Luh Manik’s hair. The two whispered to each other about the good old days.
“I still remember when you picked dozens of my flowers,” said the tree.
“I also remember when you dropped the flowers, flying down like airplane propellers…” Luh Manik replied.
“Then…. then you always feel like you’re dancing in a land far away from this village with my flowers in your hair.”
“I’ve always dreamed of dancing abroad, like the dancers from the city.”
“Isn’t dancing at the hotel also for those foreigners?”
“But… I want to enjoy the flapping of the propeller that spreads fragrance until it takes me to the land of snow.”
“Doesn’t the mouths of the foreigners who kiss you after dancing always spark a fragrant wine? Then, you put my flowers in their ears?”
“Not anymore. We’re just flowering shrubs who always dreamed of going abroad together.”
Luh Manik picked a flower and tied it to her long hair. While running a little on the bund, she entered a path under a grove of banana plantations.
There were always a few men in the open building, languidly beating the bamboo keys of the gamelan. Its sound could be heard shuffling through the gaps in the banana trunks where Luh Manik was walking. From twenty-five meters away, the field in front of the building where Luh Manik used to practice dancing was already overgrown with grass. The bamboo rod used to hang a lantern in the center of the field was also tilted. In fact, had there not been a rock to hold it, it might have collapsed long ago.
Luh Manik looked out into the evening. The sky in the west was still misty. The drizzle had just stopped. Smoke curled up from the coconut leaf roofs of some of the villagers' houses. It was only late in the evening that they decided to boil young bananas. Since the dance contracts at the hotels were terminated, most of the villagers seemed to have lost their grip. They were already dependent on Teruna Mekar's activities.
“I heard you’re going to work in Jakarta, Luh?” asked the middle-aged man who used to beat the kendang at Teruna Mekar. Luh Manik, who was greeted with questions as she entered the building, choked up. She thought about how quickly the news had spread. In fact, she only mentioned the plan to Kadek Sukasti, a fellow dancer.
“We totally understand,” said the other man.
“Life here is almost hopeless. We are also thinking of selling this gamelan,” said the man who beat the bamboo keys in a desperate tone.
“But that decision of yours, I think, is very selfish. Yesterday, I heard that you wanted to stay in the village no matter what. Both your parents are gone, Luh. Why be desperate to live in a rough city like Jakarta?” said the young man, deeply emotional.
“Yesterday, when I passed by the oleander tree at the edge of the rice field, I decided to just leave,” Luh Manik replied firmly. Although only in her teens, Luh Manik was much more mature in her speech. Maybe it was because she had used to living independently. She never felt uncomfortable talking with a group of men who were much older than her.
“I also heard you start talking while hugging the oleander tree at the edge of the rice field. It’s best, Luh, that you stay here and calm down while you think about the next step…” this time said an old man who was considered the elder of the Teruna Mekar group.
Luh Manik was silent. She felt she was on trial. Men, she thought, were often too selfish on behalf of the group. In fact, they were afraid of losing their grip, afraid of losing a woman like her who had been the belle of Teruna Mekar. They were also afraid of losing their livelihood, so they had to face everything together.
For her, it was the oleander tree that best understood the hardships of the people of Poh Village. Over the years, the oleander tree had given up their flowers to be picked, arranged and attracted tourists. The bladed shape could be an interesting accent when pinned up in the hair or put on the ears. As a joged bungbung dancer, Luh Manik was well aware that she would not be able to dance well without oleander flowers.
“Luh, we are all stressed right now. But we ask you to calm down first; don’t go with your mind still chaotic…” added the old man.
“Thank you, Grandpa,” Luh Manik always called the old man “grandpa”. “I’m just trying to find new possibilities from this life. Life must go on, even if we’ve almost lost our footing.”
“So, you still want to go to Jakarta without thinking about our fate?” the man said again emotionally.
“Our fate is in our own hands, not in the bamboo keys of the gamelan. They are only things and tools to improve the fate of…” Luh Manik said. These words just rolled off the lips of this waist-length-haired woman without any thought. In fact, at the end of her words, Luh Manik was often surprised why she spoke so fluently and wisely, even more so than the old man.
The conversation finally came to an end as the drizzle had poured darkness into the building. Luh Manik hurried back to her house. The night fell asleep to the rustling sound of crickets, occasionally accompanied by the howling of dogs in the distance. The sound faintly drifted through the trees. The frail Poh Village was like an old man shuffling through the black night.
Grandpa went to Luh Manik’s house early in the morning. From the gap in the guava tree, Kadek Sukasti could also be seen grumbling behind him. A group of chickens that were scavenging for food in the yard jumped up. However, after Grandpa and Kadek Sukasti passed by, the chickens gathered again to fight over the dried cassava that Luh Manik had scattered.
After passing through a row of bushes on the path west of Luh Manik’s house, it became clear that both of their faces were very tense. In fact, Grandpa’s head seemed to shake as he forced himself to run a little. His bundle of clothes was in disarray, nearly falling off his bony waist.
With trembling lips, Grandpa said, “Luh… this time, our only hope is gone. They have decided to sell the gamelan. The villagers refuse to tell you. And last night, a man from the city took it. Everything, right down to the mallets. He said for his collection... something like that.”
“... If it’s the only way to continue living, why not?” Luh Manik replied lightly. Their conversation took place in the courtyard, just as the sun glistened through the tops of the old coconut trees to the east of the house.
“Luh…!” Grandpa uttered Luh Manik’s name with eyes wide with disbelief. “Wasn’t it you and your father who insisted on reviving this joged group? And you were willing to become a dancer at a time when it was difficult for us to find dancers. In fact, you are willing to quit school to seriously pursue dance. Why do you seem to give up now when we face difficulties…?”
“Grandpa, what can I do anymore if it’s already their decision. And I don’t think this village gives us any other option to stay alive.”
“That’s not the case. I do not know for sure who had created the gamelan instruments for the joged. I only know that the gamelan was already stored in the building, so we have no right to sell it, Luh…”
Although shocked, Luh Manik tried to act naturally. She wants to think realistically… “Perhaps you mean that the gamelan is an inheritance from our ancestors?”
“Maybe so.”
“Grandpa, try to give them the option to move on. It’s not the inheritance that matters right now, right? We’ve all become so dependent on the contract that we’ve forgotten to take care of the farm.”
“Then you have cut the tree of life in this village down to its roots. In fact, gamelan is our lifeline. Who knows, the situation in Nusa Dua will quickly recover… and contracts will resume?”
“That’s a case for later, Grandpa. The situation now continues to be urgent. They need to eat today!”
Irritated, disappointed, and angry, Grandpa took the end of his cloth and walked away from Luh Manik without saying a word. Before disappearing behind a grove of trees, he could still be heard grumbling. “What a child…! Taking serious matters lightly.”
Kadek Sukasti, meanwhile, chose to stay and sit on the veranda, accompanying Luh Manik. She was also thinking of taking her job search to Jakarta. Coincidentally, according to her father, a distant relative who used to live in Denpasar had moved to Jakarta for two years. She could have stayed there while she waited for a job.
Luh Manik gazed into her eyes as if she couldn’t believe what she had just said. When Kadek Sukasti touched her hand, Luh Manik’s eyes glazed over. Now, she wasn’t so sure that selling the gamelan was the only way out of the hardships of life here. Grandpa was right; she had cut the tree down to its roots, so there was nothing for the villagers to rely on.
Over the years, villagers had abandoned the habit of tilling the soil. They truly believed that dancing brought more results. Aside from the money, at least the sound of the gamelan and the swaying of Luh Manik and Kadek Sukasti as they danced became a solace for their poverty. The behavior of foreigners who danced with Luh Manik always made them laugh. In fact, often the tall stature of an average foreign man was made fun of as Rahvana stalking Sita. Bursts of laughter could then be heard from the truck bed as they returned to the village.
After briefly entering her room, Luh Manik took Kadek Sukasti’s hand. “Let’s go for a walk…” she invited. Kadek Sukasti did not refuse. She followed Luh Manik down the path before disappearing behind a grove of bamboo.
The figures of the two young women looked small and frail from the hill south of the rice fields. They occasionally grabbed each other to avoid the slippery downhill path. Luh Manik wrapped her long hair around her neck.
In the last rice field, the two of them sat down while leaning their bodies against the trunk of the oleander tree. An oleander flower that fell free from a branch spun around like a helicopter propeller before finally touching Luh Manik’s lap.
“What’s your plan, Luh?” asked Kadek Sukasti to break the silence. Luh Manik did not immediately respond. She was still paying attention to the wilting blades of the oleander flower on her lap.
“Are you going to Jakarta, Luh?”
“As I said, I’ll go with Mrs. Lin’s brother, who owns a shop in Negara. His brother also owns a motorcycle parts shop in Jakarta. Maybe I’ll work there…”
“So, a maid?”
“Become a shop assistant.”
Luh Manik’s hand squeezed the oleander blossoms, which were floating and swirling, like the airplane that used to carry her in her dreams of snowy lands. She dreamed of dancing in front of hundreds of foreigners in glittering clothes, receiving applause and kisses scented with fragrant wine…
Jakarta, November 2002
