Javanese Tectonics

By evening it was the tears that remained as the strongest impression from the morning. Exceedingly rare the outflow of such feeling here. Anger, tears, despondency, grief, the rattiness and aggression of the unhinged were not in evidence in the Malay world. Almost not once on Java. 

         This morning riding in the becak with Paijo the young couple possibly still in their teens standing by the side of one of the narrow roads we took near the Tugu monument, where again innumerable handsome Javanese houses were found. The fine and handsome houses came first, both the monied often and the older more modest and simple. It surprised how quickly open space unfolded behind with nasi fields ranging from young plants under water right the way to desiccated stalks sheared close to the ground. In a couple of fields emprit came in small flocks for the grain that was visibly bending the slender leaves in the breeze.

         — Look. Emprit, called Paijo.

         A few weeks earlier Paijo had been unable to find huda—the horse-flesh for which he had a hankering — at the usual stall and settled instead for emprit. The bird resembled a sparrow of the smaller size, with a dash of white plume in this case and possibly more rapid flight. On the skewer at the pushcart the soft cloudy pearls of meat suggested innards of some kind.

         There were fish ponds with darting ribbons of exotic colours, canals, water channels and drains. In the older, more tightly packed kampung housing metre length hollowed logs hung on ropes in little clearings and rang out at the lightest finger-taps. Cows hid in their paddocks; chooks, roosters and ducks roamed widely. Around the fields the hanging cages of songbirds were less in evidence.

         For the narrowest passages within the tight housing settlements Paijo needed assistance threading his path past motor-cycle handles and mirrors, water-pipes and fencing. An old granddad at one place was showing the way with a young heavily feathered and droop-eyed owl chick for a gathering of keen children. With the Ramadan holidays children peered from every corner. Small little cupboard shop-stalls of the usual kind. Easy, warm greetings throughout and no sense of intrusion. Mari, mari, welcome, welcome.

         Happening upon the young teens standing beside a wall in one of the narrow roadways the trouble was apparent from a distance. A clearly sounded whimper that might have produced the first tears of an outburst. With it the girl had stamped her feet; she may have stormed off without the restraining hand of the lad. One clasp was enough and the entry of the becak possibly worked in the boy’s favour.

         Both were helmeted, the lad straddling a motorcycle and girl in the tight space against the wall.

         Paijo must have averted his eyes too, pedaling on in the same rhythm and no word passed.

         Almost six months on Java altogether; almost the very first such example of the kind.

         The abstinence from alcohol was one significant factor; Islam and faith more generally another. A traditional culture inculcating deference and authority perhaps. A newcomer continues to revolve the added matter of life beneath the volcanoes.