State of Siege Read online

  We were still on the floor and she hastily crawled away to the bed to smother her laughter. I stayed by the window, and, some seconds later, about a dozen leaflets fell on the terrace. One was within a yard of me and, when I saw that the men were not picking all of them up, I reached out and got it.

  The same message was printed on both sides in Malay and English. Rosalie had recovered now and I took it over to show her.

  It was not long. It was addressed: “To All Loyal Citizens of The Republic of Sunda.” It said:

  “During the past thirty-six hours, a terrorist criminal organisation calling itself the People’s National Freedom Party, and led by a former officer named Kamarudin b. Sanusi, has taken advantage of the absence of the Republican Army on manoeuvres to occupy certain public buildings in Selampang and other towns in the Southern Provinces, including newspaper offices and premises used by Radio Sunda. Statements put out by the terrorists, both by radio and in certain newspapers, indicate that it is their intention to attempt, in contravention of the provisions of the Constitution of the Republic, to overthrow the elected Government of the Republic by force. By my lawful authority as President of the Republic, a State of Emergency has, therefore, been stated to exist, and the said Kamarudin b. Sanusi and his associates are declared to be enemies of the Republic.

  “Under the Public Security Law of 1948, any person giving aid to a declared enemy of the Republic or permitting such aid to be given by others, may be punished by death. The Army of the Republic will now proceed to administer justice. The innocent, who have nothing to fear, will welcome their defenders. It is likely, too, that there are some persons who now regret their part in the disorders that have taken place. Providing that they surrender immediately to the advancing troops and give them all assistance, such persons will be treated leniently. This applies also to members of the so-called T.K.R., or People’s Army of Security. Failure to obey promptly all orders issued by, or in the name of, the Officer Commanding the Army of the Republic, General Ishak, will be an offence punishable by death. We fight for Freedom and the Constitution.”

  There followed the printed signature of President Nasjah and the date. The ink smudged off on my fingers. Presumably, they had been printed in Meja during the past twelve hours; but someone had had the forethought to have stereos of the signature ready in advance. In dealing with its enemies, at least, the Government could be efficient.

  I remarked on the fact to Rosalie. She shrugged.

  “No doubt there are others like Major Suparto. It is said this swine Ishak is intelligent. What do you think that they will do to us before they kill us?” It was said quite evenly, but there was something in the tone of her voice that should have warned me to be careful. It did not, however; I was re-reading the leaflet.

  “To us?” I said vaguely.

  “Of course. It says that we are criminals now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pointed to the leaflet. “You have helped them with the radio. I am with you. We have taken part. We shall not be able to surrender. Perhaps it will be better if we are killed here.”

  “Let’s hope we won’t be killed at all.”

  “Hope? That is amusing, I think.”

  “There’s not much else we can do.”

  “We can kill ourselves.”

  Two minutes earlier she had been laughing because some men were jumping about, making fools of themselves. The change was so fantastic that I smiled. The smile was a mistake.

  “Are you afraid?” Suddenly, she was breathing quickly and her eyes were gleaming with hatred. “It would be quite simple. We could jump from the terrace. It would be quick and not painful. But if you are afraid, I will do it myself.”

  She started up and I gripped her arm. “Rosalie, listen to me.”

  “What does it matter if a filthy Indo dies?” Then, she broke into Dutch and I could not understand much of what she said.

  “Rosalie, listen!”

  She hit me in the face and tried again to get away. I grabbed her arms, swung her round and forced her down on to the bed.

  “For God’s sake, stop it!” I said angrily.

  She spat at me; then, for about a minute, she fought like a maniac; a maniac with closed eyes who cursed me savagely all the time in Dutch. When, at last, she went limp, I thought that she had fainted or that it was a trick to make me release my hold; but it was neither. After a moment, she caught her breath in a sob and began to cry helplessly. I took my hands away and sat down on the other bed to wait.

  The leaflet lay crumpled on the bed beside me. After a bit, I picked it up and looked at it again. To me it had been no more than a smudgy proclamation of martial law; but to her it must have brought the smell of death. I tore it into small pieces, and wished that I could deal with my memory of the street-fighting sergeant in the same way.

  She was quiet now. I fetched her a glass of water. She had pulled her hair down over her face so that I could not see her. When she had taken the glass from me, I turned away and began to pick up the fresh bits of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling.

  The sounds of the battle had changed perceptibly. The attack was still coming from the west, but it had become possible to distinguish the firing of individual guns. At intervals there was the short, sharp crack of an eighty-eight. The destroyer was silent again. There was nothing new to be seen. Smoke from burning buildings had drifted across the whole area. I thought of the people in the crowded kampongs along the canal banks near the firing, and wondered what was happening to them. Were they swarming out, trying to get away towards the centre of the city, or were they huddled trembling inside their houses, waiting for the terror to pass them by? The latter, I hoped. The tanks and guns would stay on the metalled roads as much as they could, and the defenders would choose solid buildings from which to fight back rather than canal banks. Later, perhaps, when the defenders broke and the mopping-up process began, it might be wise to join in the killing and so demonstrate one’s loyalty to the victors; but, for the present, it would be safer to remain passive.

  I heard Rosalie put the empty glass down and move over to the mirror. I finished picking up the plaster and glanced at her. She was brushing her hair. She saw me in the mirror, looking at her, and stopped brushing. I went over to her and put my hands on her shoulders. She turned to face me.

  “You do not dislike me now?”

  “No.”

  “You are not pretending because you feel sorry for me?”

  “No.”

  “If you were angry and beat me for what I said, I should feel more certain.”

  “Most of what you said I didn’t understand.”

  “It was not polite.”

  “I know. There was something about my skin.”

  She flushed. “You understood that? I am sorry. I said it to humiliate myself.”

  “Does a European skin disgust you?”

  “Sometimes.” She looked up at me defiantly. “You see, I do not pretend with you. And sometimes, my own skin disgusts me because it is so dark. My father’s was light, much lighter than yours. You are nearly as brown as I am. I like to touch and smell your body and to feel the strength of it. I do not think: ‘He is a European, I am an Indo.’ I think: ‘It is good to be a woman with this man.’ ” She paused. “But sometimes it is different. You know how these men here can feel about me. That is how I can feel about myself. Part of me is European. Sometimes I hate it and want to kill it.”

  “What made you feel like that just now? Was it the leaflets? They don’t really alter anything, you know.”

  “Perhaps not. I do not know. But I laughed at those officers dancing about like little boys when someone is throwing them coins, and forgot to be frightened. Then, when you showed me what was on the paper, it was worse than it had been before. It was like waiting for the pemoedas to come, and I wanted us both to die.” She looked at me anxiously. “Do you understand?”

  “Not altogether. Perhaps you have to be an Indo to understan
d completely.”

  She nodded. “Yes, perhaps you do.” She hesitated. “It is curious to hear you use that word.”

  “You used it.”

  “And you do not dislike me for what I said?”

  “No.”

  “Put your arms round me.”

  A few minutes later she said: “I do not really mind if I have to die, but I am afraid of being hurt.”

  “I know. So am I. The men in the next room are. The men firing those guns are. Everyone is-Indos, Sundanese, Europeans-everyone. There’s nothing special about you.”

  “That is not polite.”

  “I don’t have to be polite to you. It was part of the arrangement.”

  She smiled then. “You remember? That is very businesslike.”

  “Certainly. And dying was no part of the arrangement. If one of us is to be killed or wounded because we happen to be here, that is another matter, but we are not going to kill ourselves.”

  “It is not much to kill oneself.” She was still smiling.

  “It is to me. Whatever happens, don’t get that idea again, will you?”

  Her smile faded and she looked up at me curiously. “Does it truly matter to you?”

  “Yes, it matters.”

  After a moment she nodded. “Then as long as you are here, I will not think of it.” She gathered up her hair and began to twist it into a bun on top of her head. “There is still water left in the bathhouse,” she remarked; “perhaps we should use it while we can.”

  It was such a determined change of subject that it made me laugh.

  She raised her eyebrows. “It will not be amusing if we cannot wash.”

  “You’re right. It won’t.”

  “Do you wish to go first?” She was still uneasy because I had laughed at her.

  “No, you go ahead. If you use too much water, I shall beat you.”

  She smiled. I had made a feeble joke and she had regained face. All was well.

  “May I wear your bathrobe?”

  “Of course.”

  When she had gone, I ate a slice of papaya, lit a cigarette and went out on to the terrace. The bow-legged officer was standing at the far end, looking out gloomily at the smoke haze. He nodded curtly when he caught sight of me, and I nodded back. We did not speak.

  The firing had slackened off considerably and there were only occasional flurries of activity. It was as if both sides were weary of the argument, but could not quite make up their minds to abandon it. I found that a comforting notion. Unfortunately, I could not altogether conceal from myself the fact that what sounds there were seemed to come from very much nearer than they had an hour earlier.

  Down in the leaflet-strewn square there was feverish activity. Fox-holes were being dug and the two-pounders were being manoeuvred into sandbagged pits so that they could cover the two western approaches to the square. One of the bomb craters was being used as a headquarters, another as an ammunition dump. Sounds from the Ministry of Public Health next door suggested that it, too, was being placed in a state of defence. Immediately below, beside the crater that had flooded the generator room, some men were unloading three-inch mortars from a truck. There were other men sitting on the ground fusing grenades. As far as I could see, there was only one small group of men in the entire square to whom a tank commander would have given a second thought. They were squatting under the trees, placidly scooping rice out of their bowls with their fingers. Laid out neatly on a groundsheet beside them were two American bazookas.

  Someone came into the living room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bow-legged officer turn and then go in quickly. A moment later I recognised Suparto’s voice. There was a lot of firing going on just then and a truck down in the street below was spitting and back-firing as the driver revved it up, so I went back into the bedroom to see if I could hear what he was saying through the door.

  It was not much better there. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was giving orders, but that was all. Then, there was a pause, and I heard steps on the terrace. I had just time to move away from the door before Suparto came in by the window.

  He nodded to me and glanced quickly round the room.

  “She’s bathing,” I said.

  He nodded. “That is as well. I have not much time and what I have to say is private.”

  “You might be heard in the next room.”

  “For the present, there is no one in the next room. Sanusi is shortly transferring his headquarters there.” He sat down wearily and stretched his legs. His cheekbones stood out sharply and his skin was the colour of parchment. I realised that it was probably three days since he had slept. His uniform, however, was as neat as ever.

  “May I know what’s happening out there?”

  “There will be an official statement issued at the first opportunity. Colonel Roda is writing it at this very moment.”

  “No jokes, Major, please.”

  He smiled. “My apologies. I was indulging myself. The thought of Colonel Roda, whom I greatly dislike, trying bravely to misrepresent a situation which is already hopeless is very enjoyable.”

  “Are you sure there’s nobody in there who can hear you?”

  “I can see that you are nervous this morning, Mr. Fraser.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I admit that this waiting is disagreeable. As far as I know, the present situation is this. General Ishak’s troops broke through the outer defence positions without difficulty. Some rebel troops, however, were commanded with more skill than he expected. Instead of waiting to be swallowed up, they moved. As a result, General Ishak’s teeth met on nothing, and he will have to take another bite.”

  “You said that the situation was already hopeless.”

  “It is. The rebels have postponed defeat by a few hours, that is all. They cannot get out now.”

  “Does General Sanusi know that?”

  “Not yet.” He paused. “That is what I wanted to tell you about, Mr. Fraser. During the next few hours Sanusi is going to discover some very disagreeable facts, and there is going to be a moment when he realises what has happened. He is a misguided man, but not a fool. He will look at the faces of those about him and wonder whom he has to thank for his defeat. He will think back over the past two years and try to remember all that has been said and done, and relate it to the present situation. You understand?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “He is not, as I have said, a fool, and it may be that he will come to a correct conclusion. If he does and I am there, he will be looking into my face. In that case, I have no doubt that I could kill him before he killed me, but I would certainly be killed myself a moment later. Do you still understand?”

  “I think so. You’ve done your job. You’re getting out.”

  He eyed me carefully. For the first time, I felt sorry for him. He was a brave man who had taken nerve-racking risks to serve his country’s government; and although I knew nothing of his motives, I found it hard to believe that personal ambition figured very prominently among them. It was even possible that he was a patriot. But patriot or no, he was not sufficiently insensitive to enjoy that moment of success. It was understandable that he should suspect me of irony.

  “You do not seem surprised, Mr. Fraser.”

  “Why should I be? You’ve been risking your life because you felt it necessary. Why go on doing so when the need no longer exists?”

  “These things cannot always be decided so logically. I ask you to believe me when I say that treachery does not come naturally to me.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t. I said that you were a humane man. But, forgive my asking, why did you take this risk? Supposing Sanusi had succeeded. Would it have been such a disaster? The present Government may have your loyalty, but I cannot believe that it has your approval.”

  “Approval? Mr. Fraser, I dislike the Nasjah gang quite as much as I dislike Colonel Roda. Sanusi is right about some things. We did not win our independence from the Dutch. Force of circumstanc
es delivered it into hands which were unfit to receive it. But we do not have hands that are fit. Revolution is therefore pointless. What this nation must have is time to learn about government. Meanwhile, we must choose between evils. The Nasjah Government is corrupt and incompetent, and foreigners laugh at us for it. But you have heard Sanusi. He is not himself an evil man. As a commander in the field he is excellent. As a Minister of Propaganda he might perform useful service. But what has he to offer as the leader of the nation? More mosques in Selampang? Excellent. But what else? Only the discipline of men like Roda, men hungry for power. I prefer the Nasjah gang. They are weak, but with them, at least, the machinery of representative government is preserved and gradual change is possible. In the end, if the Americans and you British do not interfere, there will be fresh, healthy growth. But we must have time and patience.”

  “It may not be the Americans and British who do the interfering.”

  “Communism? That is your bad dream, not ours. Ah yes, I know. You see the propaganda in the kampongs. But that is all you see, and all there is. If I could believe that among all the ordinary people of Sunda there were enough able and determined men to create one effective district political organisation of any kind, I should be happy.”

  “Then I wish you luck, Major. How are you going?”

  He stood up. “I shall decide to make a reconnaissance of the situation in the city. Sanusi’s troops are falling back to the centre here and there is a certain amount of confusion. It will not be difficult to walk through their lines. And I am expected.”

  “I see. It’s good of you to come and tell me.”

  “That was not the only reason I came. Of course, I shall inform the commander of the assaulting forces of your detention here, so that the troops may be warned that you are friendly.”