From Atjeh to Mejong Lodaja,part four reading time: approx 8 min
Willem rediscovered his interest in Tjoet's horse riding skills when his first tiger ride ended in a fiasco. He had to pay far too much money for the porters, as Tjoet had warned, and he had employed an incompetent tracker who led the party everywhere, but not to the tiger. His wealthy client had lost his patience and withdrawn without paying a cent. Not in the least discouraged, he made new plans. 'That soesah with those porters was indeed too much of a hassle,' he had to agree with his wife. 'I'm going to approach it completely differently. Narrower. No more dragging tents and boxes through the bush. Just me, with a good tracker.' 'And where do you want to find it?' 'I'll track one down,' he joked. He planned to design a tiger trap that he could assemble at the spot where his tracker suspected a tiger and then dismantle it once the tiger was captured. He would develop several prototypes and experience would teach him which one was best suited to his purpose. His only problem was a lack of money, his grandmother's inheritance had shrunk considerably after the failed safari adventure. Annoyed, he realized that he would have to put his plans on hold until he had enough money again. That brought his thoughts back to his first day in Aceh. He remembered how Tjoet, like a cunning horsewoman, had taken his money bag from him. That skill served him well. Tjoet didn't mind storming the port area at a wild gallop from time to time. The thrill of a quick robbery still excited her, but with a small child at home she did not go out as often as Willem would have liked and his financial resources were replenished more slowly than was desirable. But time was on his side. The political complications after the opening of the Suez Canal came over the country like a tidal wave and Willem, the opportunist, only had to let himself be carried along. He knew how to play with the quarreling oeleëbalangs and ulama's and with his smooth talk he also managed to penetrate the circles of the white domestic government, where he presented himself as a counselor. He enjoyed the game and always had the winning cards in his hands.
When Arie Bontje came to visit him unexpectedly, he felt more confident than ever. 'How about it, do you know how to appreciate a good glass of whiskey now?' 'Man, we haven't seen each other in eight years, you must have forgotten that I became a Mohammedan! Not a drop of alcohol comes into this house.' 'Well, I'll just finish that bottle myself, on the front porch. Are you sure you're not joining in?' Of course Willem took a drink so as not to disappoint his friend, but the sharp liquid still brought tears to his eyes. 'We haven't heard from each other in so long,' Arie began, 'apparently neither of us are letter writers. I started to wonder how you and little Tjoet were doing. Are you still together?' 'Yes, indeed, and what's more, we have a daughter.' 'Congratulations. But you do realize you have to take care of a son too, right?' That was a subject that Willem did not want to discuss, he took a different approach. 'You got fat, man. I'm sure that Yajoek is taking good care of you?' Arie chuckled. 'Yajoek is the best thing that could have happened to me.' 'You married her?' 'Ha, ha, no, of course not. I only know one who fell for that.' With a mocking laugh, Arie refilled the glasses. After the second glass Willem became light-headed and after the third glass his tongue came loose. When Aries asked how he filled his days, he bragged that he was now a board advisor. That sounded pretty pretentious but it wasn't too far from the truth. And it was better than the story about his safari fiasco. Arie raised an eyebrow appreciatively. 'Well, well, I knew back then that you weren't really interested in trading and I've often wondered how you made your living, but I didn't expect this.' 'Oh, the trade... It depends on who I have in front of me. I'm not averse to a little transaction. I know the native officers who secretly smuggle all kinds of things and I am happy to mediate in their transactions. But the diplomatic circles are more exciting.' He jumped up from his chair enthusiastically and made his speech with broad arm gestures. 'I have worked as an intermediary for the sultan and for foreign leaders who all want a piece of the Acehnese pie. I have been to the Turkish representative and to Racchia, the diplomatic agent of Italy. I spoke to William Read in Singapore, who is the Consul General of the Netherlands, you know, not a small boy.' 'Yes, I know who William Read is'. It got dark quickly. Arie knocked a mosquito off his cheek and Willem turned up the Petromax lamp. 'I even offered my services to Studer, the American consul,' he continued to bluff. Arie listened patiently, although occasionally there was a skeptical look around his mouth. 'That sounds like something came up somewhere. You talk in the perfect tense.' The fourth glass of whiskey made Willem more open-minded than he would have liked to be after the third glass. 'Well, to be honest, I recently got out. Ha, ha, it was a lucrative business, but when the higher-ups realized that they were not getting anywhere with it, I quickly withdrew from the diplomatic scene.' 'You overplayed your hand?' 'Yes.But my money bag is well filled again and with the occasional additions from Tjoet I can afford to stay in the shadows for a while.' Arie looked around at the simple house with the small garden. 'What do you need all that money for? In any case, you don't spend it on a decent house. You do know that we have to hold our ground here in the Indies, don't you?' 'Oh, I don't attach much importance to that. Let other Dutchmen hold their ground.' The comment on Willem's house was a minor dissonance that nevertheless detracted from the open-minded atmosphere. It seemed as if Arie had waited for this moment to broach a more serious subject. 'Sudah. I didn't come all the way to Meulaboh to talk about your house. You have been keeping your distance for a while and that is probably why you have not noticed how urgent the problems have become.' Willem fanned himself with the newspaper that lay on the table. 'I read the newspaper.' 'This has not yet been reported in detail in the papers. You know that things are becoming increasingly restless inland. The sultan's power is crumbling and the principalities are seeking each other's lives.' 'Yes, yes, I know all about that: the sultan hands out trade facilities to consolidate his position of power. I make sure that I stay informed of the balance of power at the courts. That knowledge has done me no harm so far.' 'I hear you, I hear you, but there is more to it. Since the opening of the Suez Canal, tensions have increased. Piracy in the waters of Strait of Malacca has never been so bad and the Netherlands is trying to get the sultan to put an end to it. But the sultan is not cooperative.' Willem had sunk into his chair like a deflated balloon and could no longer show much interest, but Arie managed to get him back on track with his next comment. 'You also have it on your conscience, what's going on.' 'Huh? I?' Willem jumped up again. 'Yes, you with your intrigues. Rumors have it that the sultan wants to conclude a treaty with America and these rumors have been fueled in part by you and your visit to the American consul. This has made the Dutch so nervous that they are considering annexing Aceh.' 'Oh, I'm sure they won't do that,' Willem said listlessly. 'But if they do,' Arie insisted. 'Then whose side are you on?' 'I don't take sides at all.' 'You'll have to. If the Netherlands invades Aceh, we must join the fight. On the Dutch side, that is.' Willem took another sip of whiskey to quell his confusion. 'Okay okay. Then I'll join in.' 'The Dutch troops need our support when they come ashore here. We know the country, we know its customs. We know how the Acehnese will defend themselves. Their fighting spirit is greatly underestimated.Our armies will not be prepared for women to resist as fanatically as men.' 'Yes, yes,' said Willem, but Arie was not finished yet. 'You may think that you have settled in here, but nothing could be further from the truth. We are outsiders here. We are belandas and we do not have the same faith. We will always have to walk on eggshells because the Acehnese are hostile to us. Our entire stay here has been based on the farce that we have something to offer, which is not the case, in fact we only come to take away. As soon as the princess sees through our game they will cut our throats without further ado.' With the bottom of the bottle in sight, their gloomy reflections gave way to lighter topics of conversation and before falling asleep they sang emotionally of Holland's blond dunes, but when Willem woke up the next morning with a hangover, he still preferred Sumatra's blue shores by far. 'Fighting for the belandas? Serious?' Tjoet snapped at them when she found the ragged men on the front veranda. He should have known that the thin walls of the house had not hidden their drinking match from her, and that she had followed the course of the conversation with increasing indignation. But no matter how much Arie warned about a sudden change in Acehnese loyalty, Willem did not see the urgency. He had become a Mohammedan, he had been circumcised and he had married a prince's daughter. Nothing would happen to him.