Kisah Singkat tentang Kolonisasi Estella
Tiffany Tsao
Diterjemahkan oleh Norman Erikson Pasaribu
Ilustrasi oleh Chandra Bientang
Kolonisasi Estella dimulai dengan semangat yang kentara, tepatnya setelah semester dua di Berkeley dimulai, selepas Leonard kembali melanjutkan kuliahnya di USC. Ia mulai menelepon Estella dari pagi ke sore, dan ketika aku akhirnya menyadari kebiasaan ini Estella dan Leonard sudah biasa mengobrol sampai lewat tengah malam. Setelah kami pulang dari kuliah, mawar dan bunga matahari, juga lili dan gladiola, menyembul menyapa di keset pintu depan—mereka timbun-menimbun macam piramid. Tak jarang upeti ini datang bersama cokelat, boneka binatang, dan balon helium warna-warni.
Leonard adalah lelaki pertama yang mengejar Estella mati-matian, dan cara pendekatannya begitu agresif sampai-sampai Estella seolah tak punya pilihan lain selain berpikir bahwa ini memang cinta. Dan kami kakak-beradik sudah belajar dari film-film Hollywood dan bahkan jadi saksi hidup kekecewaan ibu kami, bahwa cinta adalah antitesis dari barang-barang oplosan yang selama ini Papa tawarkan. Cinta sudah semestinya ngotot dan obsesif, juga royal dan pencemburu. Dan cinta tak pernah terima jawaban tidak. Sebaliknya, ia menyesap objek yang dikasihinya sampai si objek menyadari jawaban yang benar adalah iya. Jadi ketika tanda-tanda bahaya mulai bermunculan, Estella dengan gampangnya menganggap mereka sekadar sirop asam, yang juga bagian tak terpisahkan parsel tahun baru ini, parsel idaman bernama “pacar-memacari.” Sirop-sirop asam itu meliputi Leonard memberondongnya dengan pertanyaan soal Estella yang mengobrol dengan mahasiswa laki-laki ketika piknik bersama Asosiasi Mahasiswa Asia; juga Leonard marah ketika Estella harus memutuskan sambungan telepon karena ada kelas. Contoh lebih gawat: sekali Leonard bilang Estella kelihatan cantik dengan rambut digerai, kemudian ia pun mulai menuntutnya dengan pertanyaan soal rambut Estella ketika mereka mengobrol di telepon. Dan jawaban yang pasti salah adalah “digelung”. Sedikit saja tanda bahwa Estella tak menumpahkan seluruh perhatiannya kepada segala hal, Leonard pun menghantuinya dengan mendung sarkasme tak berkesudahan.
Kenyataannya, setiap hari semua orang hanya dapat dua puluh empat jam, dan barangkali nol menit apabila ada orang lain memaksa menempati slot yang ada. Dan meskipun Estella sudah berusaha untuk menavigasi agar Leonard dan aku tak perlu berinteraksi, ruang untukku mengerucut dan mengkerut, hingga akhirnya kudapati diriku di luar hidup Estella, sendirian dan cuma ditampari angin dingin.
Menuju akhir tahun pertama kami di kampus, hubungan mereka sudah sampai ke tahap berikut yang niscaya: rentetan kunjungan akhir pekan, kadang melebar dari Kamis atau Jumat hingga Senin atau Selasa. Awalnya Leonardlah yang berkunjung, terbang dari Los Angeles. Ia tidur di kamar tamu, mulanya, dan seperti yang bisa diduga: suatu malam, ia tak lagi tidur di situ. Estella mulai sering absen dari kelasnya. Nilai-nilainya terjun bebas.
Estella masih bercerita kepadaku soal hal-hal baru di hubungannya dengan Leonard kapanpun ia sempat. Dan mengenai apa pun yang ia terlalu malu untuk ceritakan, kubiarkan khayalanku menyemen semua celahnya. Kupetakan tahap-tahap hubungan mereka—dari pembibitan, ke mekarnya yang terlalu mengembang, terlalu semerbak, terlalu menarik perhatian, hingga ke akhir busuknya yang terduga—seolah cinta mereka menumpang hidup di urat sarafku, dan pelan-pelan menyusup ke lubuk hatiku yang paling dalam. Estella tak bisa dicopot dariku dengan mudahnya—paling tidak, belum. Sayangnya, kalau kau pikir, kita justru merasa jari tangan kita sendiri sungguh nyata ketika ia memar karena dipukul, berluka bakar karena sundutan rokok, atau berdarah karena pisau dapur. Aku seolah bisa mendengar badan Estella gemetaran ketika Leonard akhirnya melamarnya, dan secara efektif akhirnya memutus lepas Estella dariku. Dan yang kudengar begitu intensnya aku tak bisa menahan diri untuk tidak pergi.
Ciuman pertama. Ini terjadi pada kunjungan kedua Leonard, setelah mereka pergi ke Yoshi di Oakland, kencan Sabtu malam bergelimang musik jazz dan sushi. Leonard berkeras untuk menyetir (ia selalu begitu) meskipun itu mobil Estella dan aku, meskipun ia baru saja minum empat gelas koktil sake cuma dalam waktu dua jam, meskipun saat itu hujan deras. Ia salah ambil belokan, masuk ke jalur satu arah, dan hampir menabrak mobil, sebelum akhirnya menepi ke pinggir. Mobil-mobil menodongkan klakson, berulang-ulang dan cepat, tepat ke lubang telinga mereka. Estella tak bisa bergerak, tak bicara, duduk diam saja di joknya, sementara dunia seolah dicuci luntur oleh air yang memukuli atap dan kaca depan mobil. Dan, tanpa peringatan, mulut Leonard menyeruak dari dalam gelap mobil. Tak ada bibir, hanya mulut dan lidah yang menghuninya: kentara menginginkan, gerah, dan maskulin.
Sesi raba-meraba pertama? Sesi berpojokan pertama? Mustahil untuk menunjuk tepat awal dari segala hal di antara mereka; aku hanya bisa membayangkan di mana dan bagaimana: pastilah saat malam, setelah makan, setelah minum-minum, setelah menonton di bioskop, setelah konser—selalu ‘setelah’, ketika rasa lelah sudah memancing berahi dan membelokkan agenda ke urusan intim di kursi VVIP bioskop, ke sofa empuk di ruang tamu kami, di kursi belakang mobil, di atas karpet di kamar Estella, dan di ranjang Estella yang seolah menelan mereka bulat-bulat.
Kemudian: hubungan seks pertama. Barangkali tidak di malam pertama Leonard tidur di kamar Estella. Barangkali kesempatan keempat, mungkin kelima, ketika semua perabot seolah tertidur. Putar sekali mendekat, putar sekali memanjat. Tangan-tangan bergerak melepas kancing, menyusup masuk ke bawah piyama, membelai lembut, sebelum akhirnya tegas dan bersemangat. Kantuk yang mau melawan kalah kepada kantuk yang lelap.
Semakin Estella menurut, semakin Leonard meminta, hampir mirip dengan monster tanaman rumah yang tumbuh melimpah keluar dari pot. Sempat aku berharap, meskipun pesimis, bahwa perbedaan lokasi karena jeda musim panas akan mengerem Leonard sedikit. Ia menghabiskan hampir seluruh waktu liburnya magang di Goldman Sachs di New York, menuruti permintaan ayahnya. Estella dan aku membagi waktu kami antara Jakarta dan Salzburg, pada waktu yang terakhir ini kami menginap cukup lama bersama orangtua kami, di vila milik suami Tante Margaret—kini sudah mantan. Namun, mulainya tahun kedua kami cuma membawa permintaan baru dan lebih mencekik. Kenapa, Leonard bertanya, kenapa selalu aku yang harus pergi ke Berkeley untuk melihatmu, Estella? Apakah tidak lebih adil kalau Estella main ke LA sama banyaknya untuk melihatku? Estella pun langsung terbang ke sana hanya untuk memadamkan amarah Leonard, dan mulailah migrasinya yang lebih jauh lagi, setelah itu, dan Leonard terbang ke Bay Area tiap dua minggu sekali.
Kemudian: Kenapa cuma di akhir pekan? Leonard tak bisa menahan untuk tak jauh dari Estella, bagaimana bisa Estella tahan berpisah dariku sebegini lama? Kenapa kamu bisa begini dingin, begini tak intim? Hari begini, siapa yang butuh kuliah? Dua akhir pekan sekali pun berubah menjadi satu minggu penuh dari dua pekan—enam hingga delapan hari aku mesti bersabar dengan keberadaan Leonard, diikuti enam hingga delapan hari sendirian di rumah yang kosong.
Pada titik ini orangtua kami sudah tahu mengenai hubungan Leonard dan Estella. Mama bukan kepalang senangnya. Siapa yang tidak, kalau anak perempuanmu menjalin hubungan serius dengan putra keluarga Angsono—maksudku, Keluarga Angsono, dengan K besar. Ketika itu keluarga Leonard sedang di puncak suksesnya. Mereka punya banyak saham di nama-nama kunci di industri kayu, komunikasi, properti, dan kretek (dan ini baru yang kelihatan jelas di koran, bagaimana pun, mereka keluarga gurita dengan tangan tak terhitung yang sibuk mengurusi mainan yang juga tak terhitung). Namun, barangkali, yang paling signifikan adalah bahwa ayah dan om-om Leonard punya kontak langsung dengan jenderal dan pejabat yang biasa keluar-masuk istana, termasuk Soeharto sendiri.
Kerjasama berupa pernikahan dengan keluarga Angsono tentu akan mendatangkan uang bagi keluarga kami. Hal ini sudah seperti peletakan batu pertama dari kongsi dagang antarkeluarga dan juga kerjasama dengan keluarga besar Leonard, dan bahkan memberikan kami kanal komunikasi pertama dengan para penghuni dunia yang lebih di atas, yang lebih berkuasa dan berpengaruh. Estella memberitahu Mama soal Leonard setelah laki-laki itu mulai berkunjung di akhir pekan (meskipun Estella tidak bilang bahwa Leonard menginap di tempat kami, meskipun betul Mama tidak pernah tanya). Ibu kami cepat-kilat memberitahu hal ini kepada Opa, yang langsung memberikan lampu hijau. Mama pun mengumumkan kabar ini kepada para om dan tante, yang menyambut berita ini dengan gegap gempita.
Namun, tak ada yang lebih bersemangat mengenai hal ini selain Mama, dan sesungguhnya, kukira bukan hanya karena Leonard adalah anak dari keluarga Angsono. Hubungan Estella dan Leonard juga memberikan Mama kesempatan untuk buang muka sedikit dari nyeri menahun yang adalah pernikahannya sendiri, untuk sesaat melupakan laki-laki kusam yang dulunya pernah seorang yang ia cintai. Aku tahu keegoisan Mama tidak berarti ia tidak mencintai kami—tetapi itu berpengaruh kepada cara ia menunjukkan rasa sayangnya. Apa yang ia pikir akan paling baik untuk masa depan kami selalu dibumbui apa yang juga ia senangi, termasuk apa pun yang ia inginkan apabila ia yang duduk di kursi kami sekarang. Bagi Mama, Estella sudah menjaring ikan paling besar di laut, calon pewaris takhta raksasa Sono Jaya yang begitu murah hatinya menghujani pacarnya dengan hadiah-hadiah, yang bahkan tak bisa ditinggal sebentar; yang, untuk ulang tahun Estella, memesan seluruh meja di satu restoran Prancis agar mereka bisa makan berdua saja dan sebelum malam berakhir menghadiahi Estella tujuh kotak biru dari toko perhiasan ternama Tiffany’s—setiap kotak berisi sepasang anting untuk setiap hari dalam seminggu.
Mama seperti tertimpa durian runtuh. Dan makin kentara ketika akhirnya ibu Leonard menelepon untuk mengobrol remeh-temeh dan secara tersirat mengatakan bahwa minat putranya kepada Estella sudah direstui keluarga mereka. Dua perempuan ini pun mulai saling kirim hadiah seolah sudah sewajarnya begitu: kue bulan dari toko kue prestise, alias gourmet; menjelang Natal tiba, kue kering dari hotel-hotel bintang lima; buah persik Jepang, daging ham Ibérico, dan bertoples-toples saus XO dari Hongkong.
Dari Papa kami tak dengar banyak komentar mengenai hubungan Estella. “Semua oke, kan?” ia langsung bertanya kapan saja Mama menyorongkan telepon ke telinganya, dan setelah mendengar jawaban yang meyakinkan, Papa langsung mengembalikan telepon kepada Mama sambil seperti hampir berbisik, “Baguslah.”
Sementara itu, meskipun terus mengirimi hadiah-hadiah mahal sebagai kode-kode romantis, perilaku Leonard terus memburuk. Ia menekan Estella untuk mengabarinya setiap saat. Kapan saja Estella mencoba fokus kembali kepada kuliahnya, Leonard akan langsung menuduhnya tak lagi peduli kepadanya. Namun, tentu, Estella tak menunjukkan satu usaha pun untuk putus. Mau bagaimana lagi? Untuk setiap isu yang muncul, ibu kami, seperti perawat yang sigap siang-malam (supaya tidak kedengaran terlalu sinis), membawamu kembali ke mimpi terdalam. Soal obsesi Leonard kepada Estella, yang mewajibkan Estella harus tersedia setiap saat, ibu kami mengatakan bahwa itu adalah rasa cemburu yang sehat, tanda-tanda bahwa ia akan mencintai Estella dengan begitu berbaktinya. “Memangnya kamu mau dia lebih memilih untuk cuek, tidak peduli kemana kamu pergi, sama siapa kamu jalan?” Mama menantang. Kemudian, murka Leonard soal Estella yang mengganti model rambutnya pendek dan bob tanpa seizin Leonard diralat Mama menjadi isyarat bahwa Leonard paham soal gaya dan fashion: “Darling, kamu tuh sungguh beruntung. Susah lho cari laki-laki yang peduli terhadap urusan ini. Papamu barangkali bakal cuek-bebek bahkan kalau Mama potong kepala.” Mama bahkan bertingkah tidak heran ketika mendengar Leonard yang merobek-robek buku-buku kuliah Estella setelah ia nekat mencoba belajar ketika mereka sedang menonton TV. “Uh, Mama berharap lho Papa punya setengah saja kepedulian Leonard, dan khawatir sedikit kalau Mama harus kerja terus,” Mama menghela napas dramatis.
Aku masih ingat betul malam ketika aku sadar bahwa akhir Estella sudah dekat: Saat itu tahun kedua kami di kampus hampir rampung, dan malam itu kami menghabiskan waktu berdua saja—yang sudah jarang terjadi. Kekonyolan Leonard sudah begitu parahnya hingga ia tak mengizinkan Estella melakukan apa pun tanpa ditemani olehnya—dan ketika itu sebetulnya Estella sudah tak lagi punya kegiatan lain yang tak direcoki Leonard. Tuntutannya yang tak berkesudahan agar Estella hanya mencurahkan hidup kepadanya sudah mencekik mati kehidupan sosial Estella, yang sejak mula sudah kecil-mungil. Namun, malam itu, Leonard kebanyakan minum dan tertidur di sofa kami, pipi bayinya kembang-kempis pada tiap dengkurannya, tubuhnya yang agak gemuk jadi saksi bisu kredit film Bruce Willis yang baru ia tonton.
Estella mengecilkan suara televisi dan berjalan diam-diam ke dapur, tempatku biasa belajar.
“Dia lagi tidur,” suaranya seolah menjelaskan, sambil meletakkan jari telunjuk ke bibirnya sendiri. Estella kemudian menyeduh sari jahe manis sachetan, yang biasa kami beli di toko bahan pangan Asia.
Ia duduk di bangku di hadapanku, menyeret buku mikroekonomi ke arahnya, dan mulai membaca secara acak.
“Aku juga ambil kelas ini, kan ya?” tanyanya.
“Pastilah,” kataku dengan nada putus asa yang cukup kentara. “UAS-nya minggu depan.”
Sambil melihat-lihat halaman demi halaman, sesekali Estella menghela napas. “Aku ketinggalan banget, aku bahkan enggak paham ini soal apa.”
Aku kembali ke bukuku sambil mengangkat bahu.
Ketika kucoba melirik Estella, ia sedang menangis—diam-diam, dan terasa terlalu cepat untuk dibilang tangisan normal, seolah-olah ia cuma ingin menggenapkan tugasnya. Ada jendela di sebelah meja makan kami, dan Estella tengah berdiri di situ, menempelkan pipinya ke kaca yang dingin. Airmata membanjiri pipinya, jatuh cepat seperti apel dari pohon.
“Oh, Stell,” aku berbisik iba. “Kamu enggak bisa putus dari dia?”
Pelan-pelan Estella menggelengkan kepalanya yang masih menempel di kaca, seolah ia tak punya lagi energi bahkan untuk melepaskan dirinya dari kaca berperekat. Aku pun menemaninya menangis.
“Bagaimana bisa kau suka orang macam dia?” aku bertanya, marah, kepada Leonard, dan juga kepada diriku sendiri. Dan ketika ia tak langsung menjawab, kuganti pertanyaanku. Amarah ada di setiap inci suaraku. “Lihat nasibmu sekarang, Stell. Bayangkan apa yang dia lakukan nanti setelah kalian kawin. Ini cuma awal. Coba pikir, kok bisa kamu sampai terjun ke jurang begini?”
Ia melihat lesu ke arah pintu ruang tamu, di mana Leonard sedang tidur mabuk. “Ia cinta padaku, Dol,” kata Estella, akhirnya. “Ia cinta banget. Cinta macam begini enggak datang dua kali. Kalau dibuang, ia enggak akan kembali.”
Punggungku merinding. Mustahil, kan, Estella senaif ini?
“Ini bukan cinta, Stell. Ini entah apa, tapi bukan cinta.”
Estella kini melihat ke halaman belakang, dan di kaca aku melihat wajah ditempeli senyum nelangsa. “Bisa apa kita soal cinta, Dol?”
Estella dan Leonard menikah pada suatu siang Juli 1993, dengan pemberkatan khusus keluarga dan kawan dekat di gereja keluarga Leonard—katedral dengan tiga menara, di Jakarta Pusat. Upacara teh tradisional Tionghoa dilakukan kedua keluarga menjelang sore, diikuti oleh resepsi malam dengan kurang-lebih seribu tamu—sama sekali kalah tanding dengan resepsi pernikahan zaman sekarang yang suka kentara berlebihan, tetapi lumayan bergengsi untuk ukuran 90-an.
Dua gambar dari malam itu membekas di benakku. Pertama, dan ini cukup memalukan, adalah potret usahaku untuk memanjakan diri: bayangkan, aku berdiri di kamar mandi di kamarku di hotel, tepat setelah upacara teh, menangis sampai kantung airmataku habis, hanya agar tak ada yang tumpah pada seluruh sisa acara malam harinya. Wajahku berantakan dan mataku seperti bernanahkan tinta, tetapi kukuatkan diri untuk mencuci muka dan menelepon makeup artist profesional yang sudah dipesan siap-siaga untuk keadaan darurat. Menunggu mereka sampai, air garam di wajahku sebetulnya terasa cukup enak. Menyegarkan, meskipun bedak pondasi jadi encer dan mengering macam semen, begitu tebalnya sampai aku heran aku bisa merasakan kulit wajahku.
Gambar kedua lebih jahat, dipantik oleh jeritan-jeritan ketakutan dari taman di balik pintu kaca aula resepsi. Kejadian dan insiden tumpang-tindih: para satpam dan pelayan pesta berlarian berkerumun macam burung, bersama dengan beberapa tamu yang lebih berani dan penasaran. Sebelum dilarang, aku dengan sigap ikut keluar untuk melihat—aku juga terkejut dengan aksiku ini. Pusat bencananya ada tepat di tepi jalan batu di sisi jauh taman, dan lebih pas dibilang “itu”, ketimbang “si anu.” Pecah macam bas. Lepehan-lepehan daging, basah dan merah-darah dengan corak biru-berkilau. Bulu-bulu di buntut korban disebar di sekelilingnya dan di atas tumpukan daging itu, begitu juga organ dalamnya—keindahan yang sungguh ngeri. Dan untuk menyempurnakan semuanya, bulu unggas yang sungguh panjang dan mentereng ditancapkan macam bendera upacara, tepat di tengah gundukan—pinggirannya yang berwarna nila dan pirus keperakan mengkilap mencolok di taman yang remang, seperti mata anak kecil yang berbinar. Bulu-bulunya yang hijau berkibar seperti pohon palem remaja bergoyang-goyang karena angin malam. Di kejauhan dua orang berlari mendekat, dada condong ke depan, memegangi terpal plastik besar di dua sisi berlawanan, seolah si merak masih hidup dan mereka mencoba menjalanya. Baru ketika terpal jauh ke atas gundukan merak kulihat di dasar gundukan kardus bertuliskan spidol merah tua, atau barangkali darah.
POTONG ORANG CINA MASAK DI KUALI
Seseorang dengan segera mengarahkanku kembali ke aula resepsi.
© Tiffany Tsao
Terjemahan bahasa Indonesia © Norman Erikson Pasaribu
THE ASSAULT ON ESTELLA
Tiffany Tsao
The assault on Estella began in full force shortly after our second semester at Berkeley had started, and immediately after Leonard resumed his own classes at USC. He began calling her all the time, and before I knew it, my sister and Leonard were talking for hours every night. Pyramids of roses and sunflowers, lilies and gladiolas greeted us on our doorsteps when we returned from campus. Sometimes the arrangements came accompanied by chocolates, stuffed animals, or foil balloons.
Leonard was the first guy who’d ever pursued Estella, and he did so with such aggression that she had no choice but to believe it was love. We had learned from the movies and our disappointed mother that love was the opposite of the watered-down stuff our father had to offer. Love was forceful and obsessive, extravagant and jealous. It never took no for an answer. Instead, it wore its object down until said object realized the right answer was yes. So when the first warning signs came, Estella merely thought them part and parcel of what should happen in a romance: Leonard grilling her about an outing with the Asian Students Association crowd and expressing his irritation that she’d spoken to other guys; his annoyance when she cut short their phone conversation because she had to go to class. Once, he mentioned how pretty she looked with her hair down, then began asking how she was wearing it whenever they spoke (the wrong answer was “up”). The slightest hint that she wasn’t paying close attention would spawn a suffocating cloud of sarcasm.
There is only so much room in a person’s life, and none if someone else insists that he take up all of it. And though Estella tried to keep Leonard and me in separate compartments, my allotted space shrank until I found myself out in the cold.
Toward the end of our first year in college, their relationship reached the inevitable next stage: a series of back-to-back weekend visits, sometimes extending to the surrounding Thursdays and Fridays, Mondays and Tuesdays. Initially Leonard was the one who would fly up from Los Angeles. He stayed in the guest room at first, and then one night he didn’t. Her class attendance dwindled. Her grades went into a nosedive.
Estella kept me updated whenever she had the chance. And what she was too embarrassed to tell me, my imagination filled in. I charted the progress of their relationship—its budding, its blossoming, its quick overflowering into sweet decay—as if it were running through my own nerves, insinuating its way into the chambers of my own heart. Estella’s soul could not be ripped from mine so easily—not yet. It is when a part of your body is being bruised, seared, sliced, that you are most alive to its existence. It was when Leonard was engaged in tearing Estella from me that I could sense her every tremor with an intensity that I could hardly bear.
The first kiss. It happened during Leonard’s second visit, after they went to Yoshi’s in Oakland for a romantic night of sushi and jazz. Leonard insisted on driving (he always did) even though the car belonged to Estella and me, even though he’d had four sake cocktails in the space of two hours, even though it was pouring sheets. He turned the wrong way onto a one-way street, nearly hit an oncoming car, and swerved to a stop by the side of the road. The sound of the other car’s horn, monotonic and urgent, rang in their ears. Estella didn’t move, didn’t speak, sat there trembling to the rat-a-tat-tat of the rain pelleting down so hard and fast on the roof and windshield that it felt like the whole world was being washed away. Then, without any warning, came Leonard’s mouth. No lips. Only a mouth and its resident tongue, aroused and muscular and hot.
The first fumblings? The first strokings and squeezings? It is impossible to pinpoint their beginning; I can only imagine where and how: always at night, after dinner, after drinks, after a movie, after a concert—always after, when fatigue awakens lust and stirs it to languorous action in the plush, muffling seats of a movie theater, the recesses of our sofa, the back seat of our parked car, the carpet of Estella’s room, then the yielding surface of Estella’s bed.
The first sex. Probably not that first night he stayed in Estella’s room, nor the second. Maybe the fourth or fifth, amid the dead of sleep. A rolling toward and a rolling on top. Hands slipping buttons free, sliding under elastic, rubbing gently, then more firmly. Sleepy half protestations giving way to sleepy submission.
The more Estella gave Leonard, the more he required, like a monstrous houseplant spilling out of its pot. I hoped against hope that the physical separation imposed by the summer break would slow him down. He spent most of his vacation period doing an internship his father had arranged for him at Goldman Sachs in New York. Estella and I split our time between Jakarta and an extended stay with our parents at Tante Margaret’s then-husband’s holiday home near Salzburg. But the commencement of our sophomore year only brought a fresh and frightening demand. Why, he asked, was it always he who had to come up to Berkeley to see Estella? Wasn’t it only fair that she travel to LA equally often to see him? She flew down immediately for the sake of appeasing him, and continued her migrations from then on, alternating them with his fortnightly trips to the Bay Area.
Then: Why limit their visits just to weekends? He couldn’t bear to be away from her, how could she take being apart from him? How could she be so loveless, so cold? Who needed to go to classes anyway? Alternating weekends turned into alternating weeks—six to eight days during which I had to endure Leonard’s presence followed by six to eight lonely days in an empty house.
By this point, our parents knew about Leonard and Estella. Our mother was beyond ecstatic. Who wouldn’t be, to have a daughter in a serious relationship with a son from the Angsono family—the Angsono family? In those days the success of Leonard’s family was at its peak. They were the owners of vast and lucrative holdings in timber, telecommunications, banking, real estate, and cigarettes (those were the main ones; they were a large family with countless fingers in countless pies). Perhaps most crucially, Leonard’s father and uncles were on an amicable footing with high-ranking government and military officials, including President Suharto himself.
A marriage alliance with the Angsonos would benefit our fortunes. It would pave the way for joint ventures and favorable partnerships with Leonard’s clan, and give us access by association to the powerful inhabitants of the sphere just above ours. Estella told Ma about Leonard once he’d started visiting on weekends (though she didn’t mention that Leonard was staying with us, nor did Ma ever ask). Our mother immediately relayed the information to Opa, who responded with an approving nod. Ma then told our aunts and uncles, who greeted the news with delight.
But no one was more excited than Ma, and in all fairness, I don’t think it was just because Leonard was an Angsono. The courtship gave her a chance to escape the flaccidity that was her marriage, to forget the colorless man that the love of her own life had morphed into. Our mother’s self-absorption didn’t mean she didn’t love us—but it did affect how she expressed that love. Her views on what would serve us best were always tinted by what would serve her, and what she believed she would want if she were in our shoes. From our mother’s point of view, Estella couldn’t ask for a better catch: a scion of the Sono Jaya empire who showered his girlfriend with gifts and couldn’t bear to have her out of his sight; who, for her birthday, booked out an entire French restaurant so they could dine alone and presented her at the night’s end with seven tiny sky blue boxes from Tiffany’s—a pair of earrings for each day of the week.
Our mother was head over heels. Even more so when Leonard’s mother called to say hello and thus discreetly confirm that her son’s interest in Estella was family-sanctioned. The two women began exchanging gifts: gourmet mooncakes in autumn; hotel-bakery Christmas treats in December; Japanese peaches, Ibérico ham, and jars of XO sauce just because.
From our father we heard not so much as a peep about the whole affair. “Everything all right?” he’d ask whenever our mother put him on the phone, and upon receiving an answer in the affirmative, he’d pass the phone back to her with a faint and receding “Good.”
In the meantime, despite Leonard’s lavish presents and gestures, his behavior continued to worsen. He demanded to know what she was doing at all times. Whenever she tried to get back on track with her studies, he accused her of not paying attention to him. Still, Estella made no attempt at flight. How could she? With every concern that sprang up, our mother did too, like a vigilant nursemaid, to lay it gently, maternally to rest. Leonard’s obsession with always having Estella at his side, Ma explained, was a healthy jealousy, an indication of his complete devotion. “Would you rather he didn’t care at all about where you went, who you were with?” Ma asked. Similarly, Leonard’s rage over Estella getting her hair cut short into a bob without his permission signaled his knowledge of fashion and style: “Darling, you’re so lucky. It’s so rare to find a man who cares about such things. Your father wouldn’t notice if I decided to cut off my head.” Ma wasn’t even fazed by Leonard’s destruction of Estella’s textbook after Estella had dared to open it while they were watching TV. “I wish your father worried half as much about me overworking myself,” Ma sighed.
I still remember the night I knew it was all over for Estella. It was toward the end of our sophomore year, and one of the rare times when she and I were alone together. Leonard’s ridiculousness had reached the point where he refused to let Estella do anything without him—not that she had that many other options. His constant demand for her undivided attention had strangled what little social life she’d had. But that night, Leonard had drunk a tad too much and fallen asleep on our sofa, his baby cheeks quivering with every snore, his slack body bathed in the light of the end credits from the Bruce Willis movie he’d been watching.
Estella had muted the television and crept to the kitchen, where I was studying, as usual.
“He’s asleep,” she’d explained, putting her finger to lips. And she made us hot, sugary ginger drinks from sachets we’d purchased at an Asian grocery store.
Lowering herself into a chair, she shifted my microeconomics textbook toward her and began flipping through it.
“I’m taking this class, aren’t I?” she asked.
“I suppose so,” I said with a disconsolate shrug. “You know, the final exam is next week.”
She sighed as she scanned one page after another. “I’m so behind, I have no idea what’s going on.”
I averted my eyes and shrugged again.
When I looked up, I saw that Estella was weeping—quietly, almost hastily, as if she were trying to get through it as quickly as possible. The table where we sat was next to the window, and she pressed her cheek flush against the cool of the glass. Tears slid across her face, following gravity’s tilt.
“Oh Stell,” I whispered. “Can’t you leave him?”
Slowly, she shook her head, rolling it against the glass back and forth as if she didn’t have the energy to lift it even for a moment. And I began to cry too.
“Why do you love him?” I asked, mad at her, at him, at myself. And when she didn’t answer right away, I rephrased the question, voice vibrating with fury. “Look what he’s done to you, Stell. And think about what he’ll do later. This is only the start. How can you let this happen?”
She cast a weary glance in the direction of the doorway, beyond which Leonard dozed. “Because he loves me,” she said finally. “He loves me so much. You can’t take love like that for granted. You can’t just throw it away.”
A shiver ran through me. She didn’t really believe that, did she?
“It’s not real love, Stell. It can’t be.”
She was looking out at the garden now, and in the glass I saw a rueful smile flicker across her lips. “What choice do we have about the form love takes?”
Estella and Leonard tied the knot in July of 1993, in a mid-morning ceremony for close relatives and friends at Leonard’s family church—an enormous three-spired cathedral in central Jakarta. A traditional Chinese tea ceremony was conducted for both families in the early evening, followed by a dinner reception for a thousand guests—nothing in comparison to the over-the-top weddings of this day and age, but more than respectable by early-nineties standards.
Two scenes from that night stand out in my mind. The first, to my embarrassment, is a portrait of self-indulgence: Me standing in the bathroom of a hotel room just after the tea ceremony, crying myself completely dry so I will be bankrupt of tears for the remainder of the night. My face is a mess and my eyes look like they’re hemorrhaging ink, but I’ll wash up and ring the professional makeup artist we’re keeping on call for an emergency redo. In the meantime, the salt water running down my cheeks feels good. Refreshing, even though my foundation is caked on so thick I’m surprised I can sense anything at all on the surface of my skin.
The second scene is more sinister, sparked by a bloodcurdling scream from the garden beyond the ballroom’s glass doors. There’s a flurry of activity: security guards and waitstaff flocking to the area, along with the bolder and more curious of the guests. I surprise myself by trotting outside to take a look before anyone can stop me. It’s by the footpath on the far side of the lawn, and not so much “it,” but “they.” Many pieces. Chunks of meat, slimy and bloody and plumaged in iridescent blue. The victim’s tail feathers are strewn around and on top of the pile of flesh, as are the organs—a riot of violated beauty. To cap it all off, a very long, fine-looking feather has been skewered erect into the center of the heap, its gold-rimmed iris of indigo and turquoise gleaming in the dim garden lights like an incongruously merry eye, its delicate green hairs waving back and forth like a baby palm frond in the night breeze. In the distance are two running figures, looming closer, holding a plastic tarp stretched between them, as if the peacock is still alive and they’re trying to bring it into captivity. Only as the tarp descends over the heap do I catch a glimpse of the message propped at its base, scrawled on cardboard in marker, or possibly blood.
POTONG ORANG CINA MASAK DI KUALI
Someone escorts me back into the ballroom.
© Tiffany Tsao
Leah Diprose photography
TIFFANY TSAO is a writer and literary translator. She is the author of the novel The Majesties (originally published in Australia as Under Your Wings) and the Oddfits fantasy series. Her translations from Indonesian to English include Norman Erikson Pasaribu’s poetry collection Sergius Seeks Bacchus, Dee Lestari’s novel Paper Boats, and Laksmi Pamuntjak’s The Birdwoman’s Palate. Her translations of Norman’s poetry have won the English PEN Presents and English PEN Translates awards. Born in the United States and of Chinese-Indonesian descent, her family returned to Southeast Asia when she was 3 years old. She spent her formative years in Singapore (8 years) and Indonesia (6 years) before moving to the US for university. She has a B.A. in English literature from Wellesley College and a Ph.D. in English literature from UC-Berkeley. She now lives in Sydney, Australia with her spouse and two children.
NORMAN ERIKSON PASARIBU is an award-winning poet, fiction writer, and literary translator. He was born in Jakarta, 1990. His collection of stories, Hanya Kamu yang Tahu Berapa Lama Lagi Aku Harus Menunggu, came out in 2014 and was shortlisted for Khatulistiwa Literary Award. One story was included in Best Kompas Stories 2012. His collection of poems Sergius Mencari Bacchus won first prize at the Jakarta Arts Council poetry manuscript competition 2015 and was a finalist of Khatulistiwa Literary Award for Poetry. His poems have appeared in Asymptote, Modern Poetry in Translation, Asia Literary Review, and Cordite Poetry Review. He is based in Jakarta.
CHANDRA BIENTANG began her writing career as a content writer. Her debut novel, Dua Dini Hari, was published in 2019 by Noura Publishing. The novel received translation support from the Indonesian National Book Committee through the LitRi Translation Funding Program. In the same year, she was selected as a notable emerging writer by the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival. She studied Philosophy at the University of Indonesia, which strengthened her desire to become a writer. Currently, she is working on an anthology of short stories. Get to know Chandra more closely through her Instagram @chandrabeea and the Chandra Bientang Facebook Page.