The Timor Man. Kerry B Collison

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СКАЧАТЬ ’ But often, even these life giving trees threaten man’s handiwork. Overhead telephone and power lines, hanging like huge strands of black spaghetti, were often caught up in the trees or tangled between the supporting poles, further exacerbating the already hopeless state of the power and telephone systems.

      Traffic was normally light during the early mornings — not that country town congestion was of any great consequence. Most vehicles were registered to the government offices or military and, although fuel was merely five cents a gallon, mechanical transport was used only when really necessary. Kerosene was even more important, for this was the fuel of the nation. The peasants were dependent on this low grade product for some of their cooking and most of their lighting. Charcoal was, of course, more commonly used in the villages; however the townspeople were developing a preference for the new fuel in their more modern kitchens. The country in general did not appreciate that this essential item on the basic commodities list was heavily subsidized as was most fuel, by the government, although not to the same extent.

      These, and other economic problems which continued to plague the Republic, were of little concern to the young students as they peddled their way to their respective schools. They cruised together, chatting, discussing what may have been considered banal nonsense to others but, to them, represented essential dialogue. Their lives were isolated from the faster moving city communities.

      There was no television in the village. Some listened to radios, but the majority read their books, read them over and over again until the flimsy paper became so worn that pages often needed to be glued back into place as they were passed on down to younger students. There exuded a sense of pride of achievement as many of these children were the very first in their families to be educated to read and write. Illiterate parents were still obliged to stand before an official whenever a signature was required, and first place their thumbs on the purple pad used for such purposes, before affixing their print on whatever document demanded their identification.

      The emphasis on education had, understandably, become a priority with both the cities and rural communities. Kampung Semawi was no different. In this village all of the children went to school. One of the families which struggled even more than the others to achieve this aim now had two of its older offspring well advanced along the educational highway. Both had achieved exemplary results and enjoyed a certain kudos within their small community.

      Even the old nasty woman (some said she practised witchcraft!), her head tied in towelling, her lips and toothless mouth bright red from chewing betel nut, would no longer whack them belligerently as she had done when they first raced across the small muddy stretch in front of her shanty in the years before. These days she would giggle like some inebriated soul, squatting still as before, but kinder to the two students whose legs would now only attract a token, but still accurate, flick of the willow branch as they passed.

      Bambang and Wanti both knew that the village folk were proud of their achievements. They realized also that in an agrarian state such as theirs, the opportunity for advancement beyond secondary school was practically impossible unless one’s family had the funds to pay for the university, or a scholarship provided the necessary access and ongoing financial support.

      The column continued to grow as more and more students joined the throng. Several of the older male students moved into position on each side of Wanti. Popular at school with both the faculty and her class mates, Wanti personified the concept of beauty and intelligence. She was well motivated and never failed to achieve a leading position in her class. She was rarely outspoken. Wanti’s observers were all in agreement that, given the right opportunities, she would succeed easily in life, even without her obvious intelligence, as her soft beauty was apparent even before she had turned sixteen.

      On this day she was being teased by two of her classmates for sitting together with an older boy at school.

      “When are you getting married, ‘Ti ?” The cyclist on her left taunted, using the familiar abbreviated form of her name.

      “Ya, ja, ‘Ti,” enjoined the other, “when’s the big day?”

      Wanti eased her machine slowly to the left forcing the first lad to reduce his speed placing him then behind the much sought after girl. She feigned ignorance of what they referred to and just smiled, pleased that the school would no doubt be abuzz with gossip concerning her. The boy in question was Sutarmin, a close companion to her brother, Bambang, and he was as handsome as they came, or at least Wanti thought so. The taunting continued as the first boy regained his position, although he was now content just to ride alongside without any response from the girl. Both were happy just to be seen talking to her, accompanying the popular student to school. She had become conscious that recently the boys had begun paying more and more attention to her.

      She flicked her head deliberately, causing her glossy hair to move across her back. She knew the effect this would have on her two admirers. Wanti ignored the two alongside as she continued towards the school. Her brother would have arrived already to prepare for those meetings he attended each day, she thought.

      Bambang, although an excellent student, was far too outspoken and often hard-nosed about his own opinions. He had leadership qualities and had his own small following of young ladies who would just love to snare the ambitious young Javanese. At the end of that semester he would graduate. Bambang was severely disappointed that he would not be attending university. The resentment he felt was not just for himself but also for Wanti and the others in his disadvantaged family.

      Tertiary education was only available to those with the finances or political affiliations which would see them through the arduous five and six-year courses. His family, not unlike most of the others from his class, were poor and, although he knew he should be grateful that he had been given the opportunity to reach as far as he had, Bambang still felt bitter that he was limited by what was effectively his caste. He had discussed this with his best friend, Sutarmin, on many occasions.

      ‘Min had the foresight to anticipate his own funding problems and the year before, despite Bambang’s heated objections, joined the Young Communist League, hoping that this would enhance his position when applying for one of the several scholarships the Party provided annually to students at their school.

      ‘Min had been lucky. He had been informed just the day before of his scholarship and upon learning this news he’d grabbed his best friend, lifting his well developed body off the ground, and whooped loudly with excitement.

      Bambang was, of course, pleased for his close friend but unhappy with himself when he admitted that the slight pangs of jealousy were real, and not just anger at the system, as Sutarmin’s grades were well below his own. His friend had acknowledged the reaction and later that day decided that, although it was too late for Bambang it was not necessarily so for his sister. And so, without discussing the matter with his classmate, Sutarmin went in search of Wanti, finding her sitting with friends gossiping between classes.

      As she cycled along she remembered with a wry smile that the meeting was not at all romantic as her girl friends had imagined. Wanti was extremely pleased to have a senior approach her and invite her to walk with him to discuss something, in private. Especially when her girl friends, without exception, thought that the handsome ‘Min was unapproachable considering the strong competition from the older ladies in year twelve.

      Sutarmin sat her down near the teacher’s room under the loudspeakers which blasted forth each morning with what had become a very scratchy recording of the national anthem, Indonesia Raya .

      He was still shaking with excitement.

      “‘ Ti ,” Sutarmin commenced, “I have won the scholarship!”

      Wanti’s eyes opened СКАЧАТЬ