Touched

After some calculation at Beringharjo this afternoon Andi the dishwasher suggested eight for the cloud burst today. (Only lightest grimis, drizzle last number of days.) Setting out for Semesta mid-morning the usual diviner in the gang up from the Losmen reckoned three at the earliest, the same as his erroneous prognostication the day before.

         Through the wire grill Antok in the parking lot cadged for another Es teh – Ice tea, on this particular occasion and for the first time pushing his luck wanting to include a couple of pals. How many was that on offer: satu, dua, tiga?... Ah! Fair enough Antonius. The generosity had been too narrow these many weeks. How was Antok—Antonius sometimes from the Drinks-stand man—to bear up with his workmates without even trying?  

         Shortly before the blind man, the buta had passed, escorted and having his order taken by Andi. There he was again now at the cashier, again escorted. Truth to tell, the blind minstrels had been dodged under the verandas many a month. It was easy. They relied on people coming up to them particularly. Many of the elderly women were difficult to dodge, even the graceless ones shamelessly pressing their demand. In the end rarely were these able to be denied. OK. Enough already. One could not buy three hale and hearty young lads heaving motor-bikes there and allow the buta to pass unrecognized.

         Finally, after the others and somewhat behind his usual time, the baik kawan, good friend regular. A little touched, a little lumpy, baseball cap and songkok  Fridays, glasses, a mumbler and expansive conversationalist with a seeming antagonist of some kind every so often—finger-pointing, nodding, hand-waving dismissals. Out on the street once or twice the man was struck directing traffic like so many other self-appointed civic-minded wardens in this region; another time selling some kind of Muslim somethings from a tray hung around his neck.

         Chap opposite just leaving must have struck him previously or known him from the neighbourhood. Greetings, handshakes. Fellow wide-mouthed looking on with surprise when he saw the same extended to the foreigner in the nice hat, the bule, White. Touch to the heart that the other may not have in fact received.

         A pause. The usual place in front of the mirror on the edge of the first table was occupied today. Chap remained in place standing, a nod given. There may have been a hand flicked out quickly, or a shoulder bent.

         On the table the kacang packets, roasted peanuts. Plastic sachets holding about two dozen shelled peanuts with some fried garlic fragments and lightly salted. Crunchy and tasty. As Amri the owner of the eatery said, full of cholesterol, but Gee, whole-hog discipline all along the line could not be sustained. Chap liked them too taking away for later; acquired a taste for the treats.

         Most afternoons when our times coincided a pack passed to him. It was forgotten how it had started. Certainly the chap had not brazenly asked for one such as in this present case. As we often found each other at the prime table nearest the servery and alongside the passage, when the kacang was fished out from the jar one sideways to the expectant, appreciative hand.

         In the weeks previous, in the last two trips to Jogja, the sign, the warning sometimes given for the special individual, one touched or not right, had been difficult to read. Often it was signed in the immediate presence of the person concerned, as if he or she were blind as well as slow, directly under their noses. Rapid often, easy to miss or pass over. Often the sign was given with a smile if not outright leer that made the signer appear somewhat suspect themselves.

        During the course of such encounters one had picked up a new word, bodoh, usually translated as the harsh “stupid”; the accompanying sign had slipped previously in such exchanges. This afternoon the matter clearly established beyond any doubt. The chap departing had lent over the table for the information offered, the sharp term omitted on this occasion. Hand raised, right fore-finger brought over the brow above the right eye, up at an angle where it crossed the amygdala presumably. A kind of incomplete salute, no mistaking this afternoon.

         There had been a little laugh when the fellow saw the packet passed across; it had explained the brief stand-off previously that had puzzled the man. This was explanation and apology perhaps on behalf of his tribe.

NB. Rp37,000, all up, which included the author’s own gado gado, teh and three peanut packs. About four dollars Australian currently.