As We Waited for the Servant: Forgive Me, Father, for I Will Sin

Transcription 0009.1

West Java, August 21th 1967, 08:40 AM

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[Matchstick igniting]

[Cigarette burning]

[Collar rubbing]

[23 seconds silence]

Servant

Today is Monday. Date... August 24th, year 1970. Morning, hour eight, minute forty. I have replaced the battery, of a device which seems to never get off the slip of my collar. But, due to that, perhaps I should get accustomed to talking to myself. After all, I can just consider this recording as a daily journal.

[Scooter passing]

[Birds chirping]

[133 seconds silence]

Servant

I've read the morning newspaper. There was my name. A victim of fire in a marketplace. Whether or not the fire was intentional, I would rather be in the blind. And whether or not there were other victims beside... me, I do not know, and do not want to know.

[Footsteps of more than one person going nearer]

[Voices of Achmed Sofyan and Noor Basriah. Conversation too muddled to be caught by the recorder]

[Footsteps of more than one person going further]

[66 seconds silence]

ServantThe day before yesterday, I visited mother in Central Java. Seeing that wooden house once more, with wooden floor as well. That house in which, whenever I wanted to take water for a bath, I would go to the well. It feels so long ago, bathing with well water. So too, about mother. It feels so long ago, visiting her. Though it was only two Eid Al-Fitrs ago. And, yesterday's fire... I can never meet her again.

[28 seconds silence]

ServantDamn. It feels weird talking like this. How about I give you a name? Little device, easily hidden, and needs to change its battery once a day. Like a kitten. Little, likes to hide, and must be fed at least once a day. What if I just call you Molly? A friend to talk to. Besides, Sir Death won't forbid it.

Alright, Molly. That's your name now.

Since I was a little boy, Molly, mother was always loud. Every time father went to the field, she would always search for someone to talk to. If not with neighbors, then with other farmers. If not with merchantresses, then with me who still couldn't shit in the toilet properly. As father went home from the field, rather than getting the rest he needed, he'd be rained down by words coming out of mother's mouth. It was so annoying back then, but now... I missed it.

When my three brothers followed father's path, mother forbade him to make me the fourth farmer. She said, I should travel out of the countryside. Perhaps becoming a merchant or a banker. Yet she also said, I have a voice too tender for that sort of work. Maybe becoming a singer instead, or a teacher. Until one day, mother saw me fighting with my second brother. Then, finally, with excitement, as she was tending my brother's wound, she said that I was fit to be a soldier.

When I went to the army, Molly, I couldn't see her as often. Once, it was everyday, and then suddenly, once a year at Eid Al-Fitr. Her foul-smelling djenkol which I once hated, slowly became a nostalgic dinner. That tiny wooden house slowly shadowed my mind at night so I would feel comfortable sleeping like a batch of sardines in the barracks. Her neverending voice from dusk till dawn, slowly entered my ears in every silence. And when I could at last meet her, her voice deafened my brothers, and I would listen to it like a song.

[187 seconds silence]

[Snuffling noise]

ServantMolly... I have to make peace. Make peace with fate. With destiny. Her voice will become tears, till they dry out and then silence. Silence, as if waiting for something. Silence, as if remembering something. The other three sons can never replace her youngest. And I have to make peace, because I will be there. I will be there, witnessing my absence in her life. Mother, whose djenkol will never again be tasted by me. Mother, whose kitchen will never be set foot by me. Mother, whose smile will never be about me. Mother, whose tears will always be about me.

I have to make peace. I have to make peace. I have to make peace. I have to make peace. Molly, help me make peace. Help me make peace, Molly. Help me.