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Blood Moon Over Aceh (Chapter 20)

Maya Denisa Saputra has a bachelor’s degree in accounting and finance from the UK-based University of Bradford in Singapore. While holding a position in the accounting department of a family business, she pursues her interests in writing, literary translation, and photography.

Maya’s writings and translation work have appeared in the Buddhist Fellowship Singapore’s newsletter, “Connection,” an online platform that gathers writings about physical and mental wellness, as well as in “B.Philosophy,” and “LitSync,” online communities of aspiring fiction writers, and “Intersastra,” a literary translation initiative.

She can be reached at: maya.saputra@gmail.com

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Chapter 20

Units under command of the resistance movement’s Vice-Commander for the Pasai Area, Ahmad Kandang, attacked small groups of soldiers that passed by the main road and threw homemade bombs in front of the police stations in Lhokseumawe.

On Tuesday, February 4, 1997, radios broadcast news about a robbery at the Bank Central Asia at the heart of Lhokseumawe.

Three armed rebels had shot dead a security officer and cashier. A driver and three military police officers were wounded.

I could not get get tired listening to the repeating broadcast and brought along my radio to the field. I sat for a while in the dangau contemplating the situation. I was afraid the government would send the military to the villages again.

When I saw Zulaiha walk into her field, I immediately turned off the radio and jumped down from the dangau.

Zulaiha smiled sweetly.

We went to pick mung beans together. I looked at the cluster of pods I had just picked. Each pod was about the size of my index finger and held ten to fifteen beans. When I looked up, gray clouds filled the overcast sky and a flock of birds fluttered between the treetops.

Suddenly, Zulaiha asked, “What are your plans for the future?”

I did not understand her question. “What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t everyone have a plan?”

I thought for a while, trying to figure out what she meant. Finally I said, “I don’t know what my plans for the future are.”

“Don’t you plan to propose to someone?” Zulaiha’s voice trembled, and the hand that continued to break off clusters of mung beans shook.

Guessing what she was driving at, I answered, “Of course I do,” and continued, “but I can’t right now.”

Zulaiha bowed her head. The rim of her straw hat covered her face.

I watched her nervously roll a mung bean pod between her thumb and index finger. I wanted to say something to her that weighed heavy on my heart, but I did not know how to say it. There were too many problems I had to face but could not talk about now. I did not feel prepared to enter into a marriage. Other than being too young, I planned to join Ahmad Kandang’s unit. I was compelled to drive away the criminals who had killed Ayah, raped Baiti, and murdered thousands of villagers. There was no way I would tell Zulaiha this. Also, if I were to take up arms against the military, I would always be chased by the police officers and soldiers. How would that affect her, Ibu, and Zuhra? Who would take care of the orchards and work in the field?

After a long silence, she asked, “When will you?”

Zulaiha’s question was not answered until mid-March.

After my meeting with Ahmad Kandang, I began to understand the nature of Mahmud’s employment. It turned out that he did odd jobs on an as-needed basis. Sometimes he was asked to take provisions such as rice and fish to a hideout; at other times, he worked as a courier, delivering messages from one rebel to another, and sometimes he was asked to pick up or deliver money. He did not know anything about weapons, let alone carry one. The only time he touched a weapon was when he was told to wipe the disassembled parts. Ahmad Kandang paid Mahmud by the job. That income was enough to meet his daily needs for a week or two.

A group of soldiers came to Alue Rambe, looking for two fugitives involved in the Lhokseumawe bank robbery. They arrested five men at Leman’s stall.
While chasing a villager in the alley in front of my house, they released some shots in the sky. Baiti, who had only recently recovered from her trauma, huddled with Ibu in the kitchen.

Mahmud, who was home, rushed out through the back door and headed for his parents’ house in Seuneubok Drien. He stayed there until the next day. When Mahmud returned, he said, “I can’t be seen too often by the soldiers.”

I thought he was correct to stay away from the soldiers, even though he had such an innocent face, the soldiers most likely would overlook him. During a road inspection, people like Mahmud were usually ignored by the soldiers.

Meanwhile, early in 1997, some people from political parties started preparing their campaigns for the election of delegates to the central and regional House of Representatives at the Buloh Blang Ara market. Most villagers favored the Green Party with a Kaaba cubic logo even though the Yellow Party, with the banyan tree logo, put a lot of pressure on them. While the soldiers by rights could not be involved in political matters, they played a big role in promoting the Yellow Party, which I heard was under the direct command of President Soeharto.

 

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