Anindita Siswanto Thayf was born in Makassar, April 5, 1978. Her love for books began when she was in kindergarten. She started to write because she likes to let her imagination run free. She chose to become a writer as she got tired waiting for some company to hire her. The original of Daughters of Papua, Tanah Tabu won the 2008 Dewan Kesenian Jakarta (Jakarta Arts Council) Novel Competition.

Anindita holds a degree in Engineering from Universitas Hasanudin, Makassar. Public speaking makes her nervous. For the sake of her imagination and writing process, she now lives at the tranquil slope of Mt. Merapi, surrounded by salak pondoh plantations. She lives with her husband, Ragil N.

She can be reached at bambu_merah@yahoo.com.

Copyright © 2015 Anindita S. Thayf. Published with permission from the author. Translation copyright © 2015 by Stefanny Irawan

***

Nyai Dan Noni

(Nyai)

Malam sudah datang lagi, yang kesepuluh, kau mendesah. Kakimu tertuntun menuju tempatmu yang biasa: pojok paling dalam. Relung paling hangat dan tersembunyi dimana kau selalu setia menunggu kunjungan subuh. Kau duduk sambil menajamkan pendengaran, cerabih binatang malam membuatmu merasa seolah sedang menyaksikan pagelaran wayang, bukannya berada di tempat yang menakutkan. Ada suara khas sang dalang. Nyanyian mendayu para sinden. Alunan gending yang akrab. Sesekali, kau bahkan merasa bisa mendengar seruan penonton dan gema tepuk tangan mereka. Semua itu memesonamu. Menghanyutkan sadar sampai tiba-tiba secubit rasa geli menyentilmu. Rupanya, ada yang sedang mengerikiti kakimu. Kecoak! Sertamerta kau bergerak menjauh. Tapi hanya sebatas itu. Tidak sampai menjerit panik—sebab itu bukan kau.

Kau memang seorang perempuan, tapi tidak seperti dia yang datang empat hari lalu. Yang cengeng dan manja. Yang peka dan perasa. Dia yang kau benci karena telah memaksamu berbagi tempat sempit ini. Lebih daripada itu, kau membenci semua yang ada pada dirinya; rambut pirang yang mengingatkanmu pada masa kejayaanmu dulu, bola mata yang membiru gundu dan terlihat begitu angkuh, juga kulit sewarna roti gandum, bahkan suaranya yang mirip dengkur palsu kucing.

Uhh! Kau sangat membenci yang terakhir itu—dasar bangsa penipu! Membuatmu kerap disesaki keinginan untuk mencekiknya. Menguburkan kuku-kukumu pada daging pucat leher jenjangnya. Kau yakin bisa membunuhnya. Mematahkan batang lehernya dengan cepat. Bukankah tanganmu terbukti cukup kuat karena terbiasa mencabut rumput dan memeras cucian? Bukankah pula tubuh perempuan itu tampak serupa tunggul pisang kering, yang besar tapi rapuh?

Tanpa sadar, bibirmu memainkan ringis kemenangan. Dengan membunuhnya, kau berharap mendapat sedikit kesenangan. Mendadak, tanganmu bergerak begitu cepat. Langsung menuju sasaran. Dan…

Plakk! Kriek!

Denyar kematian seketika terasa. Ada yang mati tanpa sempat lari. Kecoak itu. Kau tersenyum senang. Kebencianmu sedikit terlampiaskan.

***

(Noni)

Sebenarnya, kau sangat suka malam. Remang-remangnya kau anggap romantis. Dinginnya menuntunmu pada pendiangan cinta yang membara. Apalagi ketika sinar purnama menyirami tubuh dan rambut pirangmu maka saat itulah mimpi terindahmu menjadi nyata.

Kini, yang terjadi adalah sebaliknya. Kau sangat membenci malam. Malam telah mewujud monster mimpi buruk paling seram. Yang mendatangkan dingin dan mampu meradangkan tulang. Yang mengundang sejumlah makhluk kecil menjijikkan untuk berpesta di luar sarang. Namun, yang paling mengerikan adalah kengerian yang membuatmu selalu berjaga-jaga setiap kali sore mulai mengajak matahari melarikan diri seperti saat ini.

Kau sudah hapal, angin yang lembab akan datang dari arah kiri. Karena itu, kau sengaja memilih duduk di sudut kiri ruangan paling luar. Merapatkan tubuh letihmu pada dinding. Mencoba memulung sisa kehangatan yang masih ada, tapi sia-sia. Tempat terhangat di ruangan ini sudah dikuasai oleh perempuan itu. Yang kasar dan tidak beradab. Si pemarah yang keras kepala. Dia yang kau benci karena membuatmu merasa selalu terancam. Lebih daripada itu, kau membenci semua yang ada pada dirinya; rambut hitam mengikal, bola mata sewarna jelaga yang menyorot tajam, suara yang sekeras salakan anjing, juga kulit kecoklatan milik pribumi, mengenangkan kau pada masa lalu mu.

Uhh! Kau sangat benci pada bangsa itu—dasar bangsa rendahan! Kau tiba-tiba ingin menggigit lehernya. Menanamkan geligimu yang putih-kuat di sana, tepat di urat besar. Kau yakin bisa membunuhnya. Membuat darahnya meruah.

Ayahmu adalah seorang dokter yang sering membagi ilmunya tentang bagian tubuh manusia yang mematikan jika terluka. Kebiasaan perempuan itu duduk sambil menutup mata. Mudah sekali menyerangnya.

Tanpa sadar, ujung bibirmu menukik aneh. Dengan membunuhnya, kau berharap mendapat sedikit ketenangan. Kau baru saja ingin menyusun sebuah rencana ketika tiba-tiba…

Plakk! Kriek!

Ada yang bergema dari sudut ruang tempat perempuan itu bertahta. Suara nyaring yang mengusir hening dan menggerakkan kepalamu untuk berpaling. Di sana, dalam remang, kau menyaksikan pemandangan yang membuatmu bergidik. Di atas lantai, seekor kecoak terkapar mati dengan perut pecah. Dan, di telapak tangan perempuan itulah terlihat isi perutnya.

Huekk! Tak tahan, kau muntah.

***

“Sudah cukup! Kau telah membuat sabarku habis. Benar-benar perempuan sial, Kau. Sial!” terdengar teriakan kesal si perempuan berambut hitam pada perempuan berambut pirang, yang langsung disusul dengan terjangan penuh kemarahan. Gerakan anjing pendendam.

“Tunggu dulu! Tunggu! Ada apa denganmu?! Kau mau membunuhku, ya? Dasar gila! Kau sudah gila!” pekik panik si pirang berhamburan tanpa sela. Dia benar-benar tidak menduga. Serangan si rambut hitam terlalu kalap untuk dihentikan. Sebagai anak dari keluarga terhormat yang selalu menjaga sikap, situasi ini baru baginya. Ia tidak pernah terlibat perkelahian. Para penjaga selalu ada. Tapi kini, dinding penjara Jepang telah mengurungnya. Dia bukan lagi noni terhormat seperti dulu. Dia terbuang di sini. Tidak berarti.

“Kau telah menghinaku, Perempuan Sial! Kau barusan muntah di depanku. Apakah kau sengaja, hah?!” perempuan berambut hitam balas menjerit sepenuh paru-paru. Saat ini, dia merasa telah mencapai puncak jemu. Emosinya membumbung. Inginnya terus mengamuk. Keluwesan sikapnya yang dulu mampu menggaet hati seorang meneer hingga menjadikannya nyai, dipaksa menguap oleh kejamnya penjara Jepang. Dia bukan lagi nyai meneer Administratur tersayang seperti dulu. Dia terbelenggu di sini. Tidak bernilai.

“Tidak! Tidak begitu. Kau salah paham. Salah!” Si pirang masih mencoba menghentikan serangan. Tapi, si rambut hitam sudah gelap hati. Serangannya makin menyakiti. Serangan pelampiasan.

“Kau telah mengotori tempat ini dengan bau busuk sisa makananmu, Juffrouw! Kau akan kubunuh. Kubunuh!” Si rambut hitam lantas menduduki perut si pirang. Berusaha menjepit tubuh lawannya, yang terus memberontak, dengan kedua kakinya yang kuat hingga meletupkan serangkaian jerit histeris dari mulut si pirang.

“Godverdomme. Perutku! Perutku!!!”

Mendengar umpatan dalam bahasa asing itu, perempuan berambut hitam malah semakin kalap.

“Pikirmu, aku tidak tahu apa yang kau katakan itu, hah?! Dasar perempuan asing tidak tahu diri. Penjajah sialan! Kafir!”

“Kaulau bangsa jongos yang tidak tahu diri. Perempuan bodoh! Mulut kotor! Kau yang kafir!”

Tak terhindarkan, ruang penjara sempit itu berubah menjadi kancah pergumulan. Tubuh-tubuh bergelut dalam amuk. Mencoba saling remuk dengan gigi dan kuku. Kulit pun terkuak. Daging terkoyak. Rambut-rambut tercerabut. Semuanya menghamburkan darah. Hingga…

Disertai pekik marah, tiga orang sipir penjara berkulit kunyit dan bermata kuaci menyerbu masuk ke tengah arena pergumulan. Mencoba memisahkan kedua perempuan yang lepas kendali itu dengan kasar. Dengan pangkal popor senapan dan sepatu lars. Dengan tamparan dan makian. Sebagai balasannya, erangan demi erangan saling bertalun. Jerit kesakitan pecah. Rintihan ampun menyela. Sebagai jawaban, caci maki dan suara tamparan diterima oleh perempuan-perempuan itu.

“Tutup mulutmu, Pelacur! Beginilah kalian akan selalu diperlakukan jika terus membuat kacau. Anjing-anjing betina gila!”

Malam kembali sepi ketika derap tiga pasang sepatu itu bergerak menjauhi penjara, meninggalkan dua sosok tubuh yang terkapar kesakitan dalam paluh darah.

***

(Nyai)

Kau memaksa membuka matamu yang bengkak. Rasanya berat dan perih. Tapi kau ingin melihat, meskipun hanya merah yang pertama kali tampak. Darah. Dengan menahan sakit, kau mencoba bergerak—tidak bisa. Lalu, kepalamu berusaha berputar—ternyata bisa. Sedikit gerak memutar ke kanan. Dan, saat itulah kau melihat dia. Si pirang.

Dia terbaring meringkuk serupa bayi dalam rahim. Terlihat selemah kulit jagung. Wajahnya menengadah ke arahmu; pucat, penuh lebam, bernoda darah. Noda yang memudarkan kecantikannya dan menyembunyikan matanya yang terpejam. Kau melirik bagian bawah tubuhnya yang bermandikan darah. Sudah matikah dia? Tanpa diundang, ibamu muncul.

Entah apa yang telah membawa seorang gadis pirang cantik sepertinya masuk ke dalam neraka dunia ini. Dalam hati, kau mencoba menebak. Apakah dia tidak sempat kabur bersama keluarganya saat Jepang menyerbu? Ataukah, dia diculik dari rumah?

“Ah, keluarga. Rumah,” desahmu pilu. Lalu, terbayanglah kisah hidupmu.

Seandainya Belanda tidak pernah kalah perang dan Jepang tidak menemukan negeri ini, kau meramalkan kalau hidupmu akan bahagia selalu. Dimanja oleh tuanmu. Dilayani para babu. Dibanggakan bapak-ibu. Sungguh indah hidupmu dulu, meskipun hanya menjadi nyai.

Tapi hidup memang penuh kejutan. Ketika Jepang datang, suamimu malah pergi. Kembali ke negaranya tanpa mau membawamu. Alasannya, tidak ada tempat untukmu di sana. Ah, betapa laki-laki itu telah melukai setiamu. Membiarkanmu menjadi harta rampasan perang bersama barang peninggalannya yang lain.

“Dasar kafir!” begitulah makimu selalu. Sejak itu, kau sangat membenci setiap orang berkulit pucat, termasuk si perempuan berambut pirang. Namun kini, keadaannya tidak jauh beda darimu. Haruskah kau tetap membencinya?

***

(Noni)

Kau tidak bisa bergerak. Tak mampu merasakan apa-apa. Mungkin tubuhmu melumpuh atau kau sudah mati. Tapi rasa hangat bercampur nyeri yang datang kemudian dari arah selangkang menyadarkanmu bahwa kau masih hidup. Tapi…

“Perutku,” kau mendesis lemah dengan kekhawatiran meraja. Bayimu yang baru berusia dua bulan sedang tertidur lelap di dalam sana. Kau bertanya-tanya bagaimana keadaannya; semoga ia selamat. Namun, kesakitan yang merebak jelas dari balik kulit perutmu langsung memberikan jawaban.

“Tidak ada. Dia sudah tidak ada!” Kau memekik lirih. Matamu dipaksa membuka oleh kucuran air mata yang menderas. Saat itulah kau melihat dia. Si rambut hitam.

Dia terbaring terlentang dengan wajah menengok ke arahmu. Begitu mengenaskan; bengkak, penuh darah kering, bibirnya sobek. Matanya terbuka setengah dan terlihat hampa sinar. Sudah matikah dia? Tanpa diduga, rasa kasihanmu timbul.

Entah apa yang membuat seorang perempuan pribumi menjadi tawanan Jepang. Dalam hati, kau mencoba menebak. Apakah dia seorang mata-mata yang dikhianati seseorang? Atau, apakah dia telah melakukan kesalahan?

“Ah, pengkhianatan. Kesalahan,” gumammu penuh sesal karena teringat kisahmu sendiri.

Seandainya kau mau mendengar perkataan orang tuamu dan tidak menuruti gelora cinta muda, tentulah kini kau sudah berada di atas kapal menuju daratan Kincir Angin bersama mereka. Tapi cinta telah meniupkan jampinya kepadamu.

Kau terbius kejantanan seorang laki-laki pribumi. Terpesona sopan santunnya sebagai pegawai ayahmu yang setia. Kau pun nekat melanggar batas. Menjalin kasih terlarang. Memasrahkan diri pada dosa…. hingga kau hamil. Dengan terpaksa, semuanya berjalan sesuai keinginanmu. Kalian akan dinikahkan seminggu lagi. Sungguh indah jika rencana itu terwujud, begitu pikirmu, meskipun harus mengorbankan mereka yang kau cintai: keluarga.

Namun, hidup selalu punya rencana rahasia. Kemenangan bangsa kuning. Kekalahan bangsa putih. Seluruh keluargamu bergegas mengungsi, kecuali kau, yang lebih memilih mengikuti pribumi itu. Calon ayah bayimu. Sang cinta sejati. Sebagai balasan, tanpa malu, dia mengabdi pada Saudara Tua berkulit kuning yang baru dikenalnya. Tanpa cinta, dia menyerahkanmu sebagai bukti kesetiaan.

“Dasar pribumi!” begitulah makimu selalu. Sejak itu, kau sangat membenci setiap penduduk asli, termasuk si rambut hitam. Tapi kini, keadaannya tidak jauh berbeda darimu. Haruskah kau tetap membencinya?

***

Kedua perempuan itu masih sibuk dengan luka dan pikirannya masing-masing. Di saat yang sama, derap langkah berpasang-pasang sepatu terdengar mendekat. Para sipir membuka pintu, mendekati dua sosok tubuh yang tergeletak lemah di atas lantai. Satu per satu, tubuh-tubuh itu digerayangi dengan kasar.

“Air. Air,” si rambut hitam mengerang.

“Dokter. Aku perlu dokter,” si pirang meminta.

Namun, sejak dulu, hidup memang tidak pernah adil kepada kaum perempuan. Tanpa setahu keduanya, kengerian yang sebenarnya baru saja akan terjadi. Tangan-tangan berkulit kuning itu merobek pakaian mereka satu per satu. Sejumlah laki-laki dengan mata-mata sipit yang memerah dan menyorotkan nafsu liar mulai memperkosa keduanya. Nyai dan noni terlambat untuk menyadari bahwa seharusnya mereka tidak saling membenci seperti ini; bahwa sebenarnya musuh mereka tiada lain adalah laki-laki.

Stefanny Irawan is a published short story writer and freelance editor and translator. Her first short story collection, Tidak Ada Kelinci di Bulan! (No Bunny on the Moon!), was published in 2006. She is passionate about theatre and got her Master’s degree in Arts Management at State University of New York (SUNY) at Buffalo under the Fulbright scholarship. She is currently an adjunct lecturer at Petra Christian University, Surabaya, Indonesia.

She can be reached at stef.irawan@gmail.com.

***

The Mistress and the Lady
by
Anindita Siswanto Thayf

(Nyai / Mistress)

Darkness fell on the tenth night. You sighed. Your feet moved to your usual place: the deepest corner, the warmest hidden nook where you faithfully wait for the break of dawn. As you sat with closed eyes and expectant ears, the sound of nighttime animals made you feel as if you were at a wayang show instead of this creepy place. You recognized the dalang’s distinctive voice, the enchanting singing of the sinden, and the familiar gending music. Every now and then, you even heard the cheering audience clap their hands. All of that amazed you. It took you to another place, until suddenly a ticklish tingle on your foot snapped you back to reality. A cockroach! Shocked, you jerked away immediately. That was it. You didn’t scream in panic. That was so not you.

Yes, you’re a woman, but you’re not like she who arrived four days ago. The spoiled, crybaby woman, emotional and over-sensitive. You hated her for making you share this tiny place. More than that, you hated everything about her, the blonde hair that reminded you of your past golden era, the arrogant look in a pair of round, blue eyes, her wheat-colored skin, and her voice that sounded like the false purr of a cat.

You especially hated hypocrisy; what a deceitful race she belonged to! She often filled you with the urge to strangle her, to bury your nails deep into her pale, long neck. You were sure you could kill her in an instant by snapping her neck. Your hands were strong from pulling weeds and wringing out the laundry. Her body looked like a dry banana stump—big yet fragile.

Your lips folded into a victorious grin. You expected a little fun from this killing act. Your hand suddenly moved fast, right on the target.

Whack! Splat!

The aura of death filled the room instantly. The cockroach had died an inevitable death. You smiled, happy to have released some of your hatred.

***

(Noni / The Lady)

You actually loved nighttime. You found its dusk romantic. Its coolness guided you to the smoldering furnace of love. You liked it best when the full moon illuminated your body and blonde hair and your most wonderful dream came true.

But now, it was the complete opposite. You hated everything about the night. Nighttime had turned into the most terrifying monster in your nightmare. The one that summoned cold and inflamed the bones. The one that lured a number of disgusting little creatures out of their nests. The most frightening thing, though, was the terror that kept you constantly on your toes every time the sun escaped the afternoon sky.

You knew by now that the humid wind would come from the west. That’s why you chose to sit at the farthest left corner of this room, leaning your body closely against the wall to pick up what was left of the warmth. But your attempts were to no avail. The other woman occupied the warmest spot in this room. That rude, uncivilized woman; the grumpy and stubborn one. You hated her for making you feel threatened all the time. You hated everything about her. The dark, wavy hair, the piercing, coal-black eyes, her loud, bark-like voice and brown skin, were like the other indigenous people of this land, and reminded you of your past.

You truly hated the people of this country. They were a cowering nation. You suddenly wanted to bite her neck, bury your white teeth deep into the vein. You were confident you could kill her, make her blood flow all over. Your father, a doctor, had taught you about the vulnerable areas of the human body. Attacking her would be easy. She was in the habit of sitting with her eyes closed.

The corners of your lips curled. You hoped to get some peace by killing her and started to formulate a plan.

Whack! Splat!

The noise came from the corner where that woman reigned. The silence-shattering noise made you turn toward her. Through the darkness you witnessed a bloodcurdling scene. A cockroach lay dead on the floor, its entrails smeared on the woman’s palm.

Unable to hold it any longer, you vomited.

***

“That’s it! You drive me to the limit of my patience. Damn you, woman! Damn!” the black-haired woman shouted before she charged at the blonde like a vengeful dog.

“Wait a second! Wait! What’s wrong with you? Are you trying to kill me? You’re crazy,” the blonde woman screamed, frantically. She had not seen the attack coming and was unable to stop it. As a daughter of a respected family, she had never been involved in a fight, and this situation was completely new to her. Then, her bodyguards were always around. But now, these Japanese prison walls surrounded her. She was no longer an honorable noni, a young lady. Exiled here, she felt worthless.

“You insulted me, bitch! You puked in front of me. It wasn’t an accident, was it?” the black-haired woman yelled at the top of her lungs. She had had enough. Her emotions soared, and she wanted to rage on. Her graceful mannerisms, which had won the heart of a meneer, a Dutch gentleman who had made her his mistress, had dissolved within the walls of this cruel Japanese prison. She was no longer the nyai, the mistress, of her beloved meneer administrateur. She was shackled here, meaningless.

“No! You misunderstood. You’re wrong!” The blonde still tried to stop the attack, but the black-haired woman went berserk.

“You ruined this place with the foul stench of your vomit, juffrouw, miss! I’m going to kill you. I’ll kill you!” The black-haired woman planted herself on the blonde’s stomach. She used her two strong legs to squeeze the still-struggling woman so hard it made the blonde scream hysterically.

“Godverdomme, damn! My stomach! My stomach!”

The Dutch swearword set off the black-haired woman even more. “You think I don’t know what you said, huh! You ungrateful foreigner! Colonialist bastard! Infidel!”

“You ungrateful servant nation. Stupid, foul-mouthed woman! You’re the infidel!”

The tiny cell transformed into a fighting arena. The two women wrestled furiously and tried to destroy each other with their teeth and nails. They tore each other’s flesh and pulled locks of hair. Blood splattered everywhere.

Three wardens with turmeric skin and watermelon-seed eyes rushed into the middle of the arena. They tried to separate the two uncontrollable women with force using their rifle butts and boots, slaps and curses. Groan after groan answered them. Painful screams. Mercy-pleading whimpers interrupted them.

“Shut up, whores. This is what you get for causing chaos here. Crazy bitches!”

The night was silent once again after the stomping boots moved away from the cell where two figures were left writhing in pain and blood.

***

(Nyai / Mistress)

You forced your swollen eyes open. It was difficult and painful. You wanted to see more, even though all you saw at first was only red. Blood. Holding back your pain, you tried to move. You couldn’t. Then you tried to turn your head. You succeeded in turning a little to your right and saw her, the blonde.

You wondered what brought a pretty blonde girl like her to this hell on earth. You tried to guess, Was she not quick enough to escape with her family when the Japanese attacked? Or did they kidnap her from her home?

“Ah, family. Home,” you whispered sadly and thought about the story of your life.

If only the Dutch had not lost the war and Japan had never come to this country, you figured your life would have always been happy. Your blond keeper would have spoiled you, your maids would have served you, and your parents would have been proud of you. What a wonderful life you once had, even though you were just a nyai, the mistress of a Dutch man.

Life is indeed full of surprises. When the Japanese came, your keeper left. He went back to his country without bringing you along. He said there wouldn’t be a place for you there. Ah, how that man betrayed your loyalty, leaving you among the war spoils for the Japanese.

“Infidel,” you cursed him. From then on, you hated every pale-skinned person with all your heart, including the blonde woman. Her situation is not much different from yours now. Should you still hate her?

***

(Noni / The Lady)

You couldn’t move or feel a thing. You wondered if you were paralyzed or had died. The warmth and pain surging from between your legs a moment later made you realize you were still alive.

“My stomach,” you whispered faintly as your worry escalated. The fetus of your two-month-old pregnancy had been sleeping soundly inside your belly. You wondered how he was doing, if he had survived. The pain that spread underneath the skin of your stomach provided the answer.

“Gone. He’s gone!” You let out a hushed cry. The growing stream of tears forced you to open your eyes. That was when you saw her. The black-haired lady.

She lay on her back looking at you. Her face was swollen, blotched with dried blood, her lips split. Her half-open eyes seemed empty. Was she dead? Unexpectedly, you felt pity for her. You didn’t know what made an indigenous woman a Japanese prisoner. You tried to guess. Was she a spy and had someone turned her in? Had she made a mistake?

“Ah, betrayal. Mistake,” you murmured as you recalled your own story.

If only you had listened to your parents and hadn’t followed the foolish passion of young love, you surely would have been on the ship with them and, by now, heading to the Land of Windmills. But love cast its spell on you.

The masculinity of an indigenous young man had captured your heart. He was your father’s loyal guard and charmed you with his good manners. You steeled yourself to break the boundaries and engaged in a forbidden relationship. You succumbed to sin until you became pregnant. Everything then was forced to be the way you wanted it. You were to be married in a week. How wonderful would that be, you thought, even though you had to sacrifice those you loved, your family.

Life always has a secret plan. The victory of the yellow-skinned people. The defeat of the whites. All members of your family quickly moved away, except you who preferred to be with the indigenous man, the father of your child, your true love. In return he shamelessly served the yellow-skinned Older Brother he just met and handed you to them as proof of his loyalty.

“Indigenous scumbag!” That was how you cursed him. Since then, every inch of you hated every indigenous person, including the black-haired woman who now shares your predicament. Should you still hate her?

***

The two women were still occupied by their wounds and their thoughts when the stomping of boots came closer. The jail keepers opened the cell door. They approached the two weak women on the prison floor and forcefully groped their bodies.

“Water. Water,” the black-haired one groaned.

“Doctor. I need a doctor,” the blonde pleaded.

History had proven that life never treated women fairly. Little did either woman know of the terror about to happen. When yellow hands ripped their clothes, and the men with red, alcohol-induced, passion-ridden slanted eyes, proceeded to rape them, it was too late for the nyai and noni to realize they shouldn’t hate each other. They shared a common enemy: men.

(Merapi slope, 2014)