Midnight Theater, 14 March 2008

I have a story for you.

Listen closely.

Window

I was ten, when this happened.

I lived in a lively neighborhood in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, one that has no excessively rich people, nor excessively poor. It was not particularly big, but then, it was my whole world. I knew enough people to get me by, for I was not an active kid; I seldom go out of my house, and there was always home works and chores to do.

I allowed myself several friends, one of which lived next door to me. His name was Sukma, and he was a lively kid, if not a bit over-active. Another one, which lived one block away from me, went by the name Edwin. He was a nice enough kid, who always made jokes and pulled pranks at everyone. We were close friends, as close as ten-year old kids can be. We would always play by the field to the east, by the small river. We would talk about girls and our parents, and we would always go home with a smile on our face, knowing that the next day we would always have something new to talk about, something exciting to do.

That ended just a week before my eleventh birthday.

Normally after school , I would help my mother cook or clean the house. But it was a Saturday, and my mother had finished cooking and cleaning, and I had no home works for the week after.

So after my lunch, I asked my mother whether I can go out and play with Sukma and Edwin.

“Come back before Maghrib,” she said. I nodded reluctantly.

I met Sukma and Edwin at the field.

I asked Edwin, who was always the one who came up with fun ideas, of what we should for the day.

“I don’t know,” Edwin said. He was as tall as I was, and I was considered tall for a boy my age. He had a black hair with a slight twinge of red, which was cut just above his eye brow.

He did not look as happy as usual, and I asked him why.

He said, “I got scolded by my teacher and my parents. I didn’t finished my homework.”

While that may sound like a small problem, for kids at the age of ten it was quite a big deal. Getting scolded by your parents and teachers means that you will be the butt end of a joke for the next week or so, and it was the worst thing that can happen to a ten year old kids in my hometown.

So I told him that it will be okay, and next time he should just try finishing his homework.

“You and your advices,” he said with a grimace on his face.

“Well, he is right, you know. You have been spending too much time in front of the TV.” Sukma said. He was grinning, which accentuates his round cheek. He had a dark skin, and a hair that looked like it had not been combed and washed for days.

“Shut up, Mom,” Edwin said. But he was grinning too.

So I asked them again what we should do that day.

“Well, we can play hide and seek I suppose.” Edwin was toying with his hair.
“I’m bored of hide and seek,” Sukma said.

For a moment we were silent. Finally Sukma said,

“I want to check out that old house by the banana tree.”

The house was just a normal house, if you look at it from afar. It was white, like any other houses in the neighborhood, and it was built near a big banana tree. The tree, they said, was already there before houses were built in the area.

The house was empty, as far as I knew. It was the first house built there, and it was a lone house; nobody built anything near it.

They said it was haunted.

So I told Sukma that I was not stupid, and I did not want to go near that house. Even Edwin shook his head, and shuddered slightly.

“Well then I can tell the girls how much of a man you guys are,” Sukma said, with a snicker.

As I said before, by the age of ten, being the butt end of a joke was the worst thing that can possibly happen to me. I already was the unpopular guy at school, and the prospect of being labeled a coward was all it took to make me change my mind.

Edwin was still hesitant, however. He looked around, as if expecting his parents to call him back home at any minute. He was, to Sukma’s delight, afraid.

So I told Edwin that it was going to be fun, that we were just going to look around the house, and maybe break a window or two. Sukma laughed at that, and he gave me a mischievous look which meant that he was going to do so much more than that.

After a moment of reluctance, Edwin finally agreed.

“But we won’t go inside the house,” he said. I nodded, but Sukma merely smiled.

The house was not a long walk from the field. The road to the house was not pleasant however, for the grass and weed grew knee-high, and it was full of strange insects and mosquitoes.

The banana tree was peculiarly big, bigger than any banana tree I have ever seen. It bore no fruit, and it was dirt yellow in color. Just a few paces ahead of it stood the old house.

The house itself had no fence, and wild plants were growing on the walls. The air surrounding the house had a strange feeling of foreboding.

Edwin tugged at his shirt mercilessly, eyes darting from left to right. Even Sukma looked uneasy.

I put on a brave face and approached the house. There was only one window, and it was so dusty that I could not see anything inside the house. The door was closed, and it had 3 separate padlocks. As if that was not secure enough, somebody had nailed boards diagonally across the door.

I frowned at this. Surely that was quite unnecessary, I thought.

“I don’t like this house,” Edwin said. He was still tugging his shirt furiously. I did not dare say anything.

“Well we’ll just look at what’s inside then,” Sukma said as he bent down to pick a big round stone. He took a stance, ready to throw the stone at the window.

“No, Sukma!” Edwin exclaimed. I only watched as Sukma hurled the stone at the window.

The stone broke the window glass, but it did not make any sound. Sukma had a big grin on his face.

“Gentleman, let’s take a look!” he said, making it sound as if it was the most exciting thing in the world. I walked to the window. Edwin nodded weakly.

The three of us stood by the window, uncertain. A cold draft blew from inside the window.

We looked at each other. Sukma said, “on the count of three.” Edwin and I nodded.

By the count of three we were already on our tiptoe, looking through the broken window.

The inside of the house was dark, so dark that I couldn’t quite see anything beyond a few feet of the window. Edwin and Sukma was squinting hard, and I coughed a few times from the dust.

I still remembered seeing a banana leaf, cut square with some food on top of it. There was a pot of incense near, though the house smelled like nothing in particular. The food was half eaten. There was nobody in the house.

I sighed in relief, though for what I was not really sure. I looked at Edwin and Sukma.

Edwin was gaping, mouth wide open, and Sukma’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. They were staring at something, in the house. I turned around to look.

It turned out that there was someone inside the house after all. I did not understand how I could have missed her, but there she was. A female was standing a few meters away from the window. She was garbed in a dress so white that I can’t even think of anything that is comparable to it. It was just simply white. And it was not just her dress, for I could see that her hands and feet, which were bare, was pale.

Her hair was black, and it hung down on her face, covering it quite thoroughly. I suppose I should be thankful for that, since her forehead was stark white, and honestly I can hardly bring myself to recount even that particular feature of her face. Her shoulder was slumped forward. I thought I saw a piece of a thick rope dangling on her chest.

I froze for what seemed like an eternity, until she began to whisper, softly, like the song of the wind in a midnight breeze.

“Aku urip neng kene, aku mati neng kene.”

I ran away from the house as fast as I possibly could, when I saw her raised her bony hand and whispered again, this time louder.

“Jenengmu sapa?”

I turned around to see her by the window, her hand waving back and forth. Edwin and Sukma was already paces ahead of me. I screamed.

Later that night I could not sleep. In my dreams I saw a women with a rope around her neck, her hand waving at me. I woke up screaming and shouting. My parents asked me why I was having such a bad nightmare, and I said I did not know.

The next day Edwin and her parents moved. I have not seen him since that day. Sukma was not as cheerful as he used to be, and I perfectly understand why.

I wish I can tell you the history of the house. I wish I can tell you that there was a girl who hung herself there, whose body was never found. I wish I can tell you that the food on the floor, the sesajen, was there to prevent her from disturbing the people of the neighborhood. I wish I can tell you that in the end the house was bought by a newly wed couple, and how they went mad after a few days and killed each other.

I wish I can, but I cannot, because I do not know.

I do know what the meaning of the word she whispered to us that day, and occasionally I can still hear it at night, every time I look over my window to the night sky and beyond.

“I lived here, and I died here,” she said.

“What is your name?”