Become a Fan
By Saut Situmorang
Friday, December 13, 2002
I returned there that night. I longed for my girl, my sweet girl, so skilled at soothing one's soul. Quickening my step, I turned into the last laneway and headed for the entrance to the little quarter where my girl lived. It was so quiet there. A few kids were playing chase-y and two or three girls stood facing in my direction. They greeted me and I responded with a nod.
My girl's house was on the fringes of this quarter. It was a small house. It consisted of no more than a bedroom and a bathroom. There was no kitchen so my girl would buy her food at the food stall outside her quarter, or from one of the meatball or sate sellers who frequently entered it. As I remembered my sweet girl I unconsciously quickened my pace.
Only one hundred metres from her house, I stopped suddenly. I saw a man appear in her doorway. He stood there for a while, as if he were looking out for something, then he went inside and shut the door. I was astounded. Had my girl not promised to reserve this night especially for me? Had she not assured me that no-one would disturb us? I was still lost in my perplexity, trying to remember exactly what my girl had said the week before, when the door opened again and the same man reappeared at the threshold. Again, he looked as if he were looking out for something before going inside and shutting the door behind him. My curiosity got the better of me and I decided to visit her house anyway.
At first, I was going to just go in the front door, where the man had been standing, but then I thought better of it. I decided to try to find out who this man was, and why his behaviour was so strange. I would have to spy on him, to see what he was up to in my girl's house. I was also perplexed as to why my girl had herself failed to emerge. Was she not at home, and was the man waiting for her to return? Perhaps the man was the impatient type, and didn't like to wait...
Just as I reached out my hand to touch the outside wall of my girl's house, I heard the man's voice inside. I was convinced it was the voice of the man I had seen come to the door. He had a heavy, rough voice. It sounded like he was angry. But who would he be angry at?
Eventually, I found a little hole near the window. I put my eye to the hole and tried to see what was going on inside the house. Straight way, the man came into my field of view. He was sitting on my girl's bed, facing towards me. I felt I knew this angry, middle-age man. I tried to think where I knew him from, but I just couldn't remember. I looked again at his round, robust face and I was sure I knew him from somewhere. But I just couldn't remember his name. Then I tried to locate my girl. I looked in the chair by the mirror on the wall but it was empty. She often liked to sit in that chair while fixing her hair. My curiosity was mounting. I took my eye back to the bed.
The man was still sitting there. Then suddenly, he got up and went to the door. And then my girl came into view. She was lying face down on the bed. Her face was buried in the pillow. Her back was heaving sporadically. She was crying. But why? Why was she crying and why did the man look so angry and on edge? Who was the man and what was going on here?
The man shut the door again and walked towards the bed where my girl was lying face down, weeping. When he reached the end of the bed, he raised his hand to my girl's head. Then he took hold of my girl's long hair. My girl screamed with pain but tried to hold back so that no-one would hear. Her face was wet with tears. I felt the fire of rage rise up within me. I was getting hot. I wanted to break down the door and lay into the man who was hurting my girl. My body started shaking. Letting go of her hair, the man began shouting insults at my girl, who by this time was sitting on the bed, sobbing. The man called her "a shameless whore", "a filthy pro" and "a two-faced bitch", and other such words that should never be uttered in the presence of a woman, especially a woman like my girl, my sweet girl, so skilled at soothing one's soul. My girl didn't utter a word in response, but continued to weep, while lying on the bed and hiding her face in her hands. Once he had finished abusing her, the man yelled at my girl to stop her crying, look at him and answer his questions. She did as she was told - stopped crying and lifted her face to look at the man. Her face was wet and swollen. He asked who "that man" was and warned my girl to answer him honestly. My girl said nothing. Not one sound came out of her mouth. The man repeated his question. My girl still didn't respond. So he asked her the same question again. Still receiving no answer, the man lifted his hand and struck my girl across her right cheek.
Wack! She fell backwards and let out a little shriek. The man yanked her hair and pulled her back onto the bed. Then his hand went to work again on my girl's face, which was already bleeding. I could see that her lip was split and there was blood on her face, her nightgown, her sheets and on the man's right hand. The man then reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled something out. A small pistol! I was stunned. He pointed that small pistol at my girl's chest, who by this time was looking at him through terrified eyes. I didn't know what to do. There was no way I could force my way in now. Through the hole near the window I saw the man smile! Was he mad? He could smile while pointing a pistol at the chest of a terrified woman!
This guy was too much! What an animal! He even threatened to kill my girl if she continued to refuse to answer his question. He said better the girl was dead than his position as mayor be put in jeopardy.
Mayor! At that point, I remembered. I remembered that the man was the mayor of my town, the mayor I often read about in the local paper and saw on the local tv. He also frequently attended seminars on my campus.
I remembered who he was now. This bastard of a man, who from now on I will call the mayor, extended his left hand towards my girl's breasts and began to caress them, smiling all the while. He caressed them so hard that my girl began to writhe about in pain. But she still didn't answer his question. The mayor repeated the question. But my girl didn't say a word. Seeing that my girl was never going to answer him, even under the worst kind of torture, the mayor began to lose patience. He roughly ripped off my girl's clothing. He ripped and ripped until she was, but for her bra and underpants, stark naked, sitting on the bed in front of him. Then he made her take them off too. Out of fear, she complied with the mayor, who was by that time also beginning to undress.
Then the mayor raped my girl, holding the pistol to her head.I closed my eyes tight. My girl's cries and my own anger belted at the insides of my head. I tried to calm down. I tried to control my anger, because if I broke down the door and surprised the mayor, I would endanger my girl's life. I didn't want my girl to be murdered after having been tortured and raped. The mayor would have to be made to suffer for his sins. I also didn't know who was the man who had made the mayor so angry that he was doing this to my girl. I mustn't lose it, I mustn't put my girl's life in danger...
I don't know how long it was before I heard some soft knocking noises come from within the house. Then I heard someone walking very carefully, open the door and walk into the yard. Then everything was quiet. I didn't hear anything more.
I tried to look into the house through the little hole. My girl was on the bed, naked. The mayor was nowhere near her. He wasn't on the chair by the mirror, either. The mayor wasn't inside anymore. I walked towards the door, tried it, and found it was open.
Then I saw that there was blood everywhere in my girl's house! On the bed I found my girl was dead, her eyes were wide open, and near her bloodied head was the little pistol which was also smudged with blood. I let out a loud cry. I turned around to go and chase the mayor, only to find that the head of the neighbourhood, a policeman, and the mayor himself were already standing there in the doorway. Then I heard a crowd gathering outside and...
"Knock! Knock! Knock! With these three pounds of the gavel, we the judges convict the accused to ten years jail for killing a woman by shooting her twice in the head with..."
Amongst the audience at the trial, I spotted the mayor, smiling at me, mockingly!
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