Fallen Leaves That Erase Wounds

Fallen Leaves That Erase Wounds
written by: Darju Prasetya
WHAT you always pay attention to every morning you wake up in your
lonely house are the leaves that fall in front of your house that
reminisce about you fifty years ago when you were still living with
your parents. Now you have long left memories in your village that
used to seem calm but that night you were startled by the sound of
people screaming from outside.
“Soon you are out! We are waiting!” Shouted the voice. Your body is
shaking because you believe that a kidnapper is on standby in front of
your house. After all, the previous afternoon there were rumors that
you were on the list as the person to be eliminated. They have accused
you of being involved in the organization of the K party.
“This is utter slander! This has gone against democracy!” you growled
to hear the fascists roaming your village which at first seemed calm.
You are silent, and it seems your parents are looking at you with
sorrow. That was more than fifty years ago, and you have now left your
homeland because you fled abroad. After all, the fascists continued to
hunt you down. Luckily at that time, you could save yourself from the
fascist army chase. If you couldn't get out of the country, you might
now be in the name. Maybe you have been recorded in the gravestones
or, more sadly, you can be eliminated and anonymous. Maybe you will
get hit by bullets and your body will fly with the other prisoners who
couldn't save themselves.
“If you remember that time it feels like these tears have run out!”
Your story to me that afternoon with sorrow. I visited your beautiful
residence in a suburb of Amsterdam. You have lived there for decades
and as a student, I heard about Indonesians who had become victims of
the fascist government and I could write down your name for me to
write into a story.
“If the fascist government were still in power I might not be able to
publish a book about you!” I said and you seemed to be smiling. Your
hair has turned all white and the wrinkles on your face have also
covered your face.
“How many years have you lived in this suburb of Amsterdam?” I asked.
It looks as if you are remembering those turbulent times that have
passed through your heart.
“Yes, since the coup and the fascist government was in power!” you say, and you seem far away. As if there is bitterness, there remaining in
your eyelids.
“How did you get here?” I ask you. And you seemed speechless.
“The journey is long, Mas! I was rescued by an international amnesty
and brought me here! You know at that time my name was a target to be
eliminated because I was a writer who was considered to be affiliated
with the K party!” His story and it seemed that his eyes were filled
with sadness.
“Then what about your family in Indonesia?” I asked Mr Suto.
“I lost contact at that time, Mas!” he replied.
“I wish that during this reform era I can visit the people I miss!
Maybe now many of them are old and maybe many are dead, but that
doesn't stop us from visiting our country. I already miss everything!
I want the fascist government to collapse! Because millions of people
have experienced mental suffering as a result of the one-sided truth
claim ruled by fascist authorities!” he said in a slightly halting
voice. Mr Suto looks that his face has experienced a long life
suffering. Even during his flight in the Netherlands at first, he
started to experience life's untold trials. He once wandered into these
windmills land just to make a living. Can you imagine how he suffered
when he was in the sixties without relatives in this European country?
“Every night at that time all I thought about was the state of my
family!” said Mr Suto in a slightly sobbing voice. I saw water
droplets soaking his eyelids. I looked at this old man with a touch of
heart.
“When my parents are gone, or when my child or wife is gone, I just
want to see the dead leaves on his grave! Maybe that alone is enough
for me to heal all soul wounds!” Again a sound like choked from Mr
Suto's throat. He seemed to be looking at me with relief even though
his heart had deep wounds. Maybe because we are fellow nationals.
Maybe also because he saw me as a new generation of people who were
wiser in seeing the dark history of their nation's past.
It can be seen from the old eyelids that there is still some light there.
I saw that Mr Suto's house also looked beautiful, which was the home
of his hard work in the Netherlands.
“May you be always healthy and have a long life, sir!” My prayers
continued to slide from my lips. []