With a bottle full of chicken blood, she bathed the Lieutenant in red, from head to toe.
July 25, 2024
Translator’s Note
I don’t remember ever seeing books about Papua written by Papuans in major Indonesian bookstores. The ones available are written by those who are not Papuan: Tanah Tabu by Anindita S. Thayf, Lengking Burung Kasuari by Nunuk Y. Kusmiana, Isinga by Dorothea Rosa Herliany. Tanah Tabu was later translated by Stefanny Irawan into Daughters of Papua, and was published by the U.S.-based Dalang Publishing in 2014. More well-known Papuan writers, on the other hand, publish their work through indie publishing: Aprila Wayar, John Waromi, to name some. John Waromi book’s Harvesting the Storm, translated by Sarita Newson, was published by the U.K. publisher Monsoon Books in 2019.
When the Black Lives Matter movement rose in the United States in 2020 after the murder of George Floyd, a similar movement started in Indonesia: Papuan Lives Matter. Unlike BLM, however, where efforts to educate the larger American public about its long history of racism included reading lists, it was difficult for Papuan Lives Matter organizers to recommend easily obtainable books so the general Indonesian public could educate themselves regarding the history of state violence in Papua, much less Papuan contemporary lives.
In October 2022, I chanced upon “Gila,” a short story by Papuan writer and educator Topilus B. Tebai on the literary blog Sastrapapua.org. The story instantly sent me to dark places. The night I first read it, I couldn’t sleep and decided to cry-translate the story. I then emailed a friend I knew via Instagram, Ligia Giay. Through her, I was connected to Topilus, who then gave me permission to translate his short story.
Later, Topilus sent me an email containing his stories, and it was then that I found out that he had published several books of fiction—all through micro-publishers: Aku Peluru Ketujuh (Gerakan Papua Mengajar, 2017), Nemangkawi (Penerbit Matoa, 2020), Perempuan Penyembah Malaikat (Sulur Pustaka, 2023). His work was captivating and daring. Topilus wrote with brutal honesty but with a gentle eye that silently observed our humanity.
“Gila” translates to “madness,” and it chronicles the last day in the life of a Papuan woman named Maria, and her anger and rebellion toward the state’s regional control through military power. It was written in the genre known as sastra koran (newspaper literature) and that was one of the reasons the short story was so compact. The story is powerfully haunting, nonetheless.
I made some small additions and revisions in the translation—giving the text partitions, for example—to better capture the fluidity of the original language. After thinking about it for a long time, I decided to add the question “Will Maria do the same?” to amplify the author’s intention of exposing the horror and irreversible effect of military violence. I hope these additions I made are nothing but useful.
Lastly, please read this translation as a humble invitation to read more literary work by Papuans.
—Norman Erikson Pasaribu
Gila
DARI AWAL aku memang mencurigai bahwa kegilaannya itu adalah buatan. Dia dahulu temanku sebangku saat kami di SMP YPPK Santo Fransiskus dari Asisi Moanemani. Aku memang kenal perempuan ini.
“Suanggi datang …” lalu semua pengunjung pasar tumpah berlarian masing-masing menjauh ke segala arah. Maria namanya, dia yang mereka takuti.
Aku lihat rambutnya yang acak-acakan. Pakaiannya lusuh dan kotor. Tampak dari sorot matanya, ia kurang istirahat. Wajahnya tegang. Seperti diperintah atasanku, aku bergegas menggerakkan kaki mendekati sahabat lamaku itu.
“Maria …”
Aku menegurnya. Dia tetap tidak mendengarku. Aku pikir, Maria mendengarku dan berpura-pura tidak mendengar.
“Maria…”
Dari dekat, aku memanggil namanya. Dia menoleh ke arahku. Aku kemudian menatapnya. Maria tersenyum menyeringai, memandang ke sekelilingnya, memaki dan mengutuk manusia-manusia di sekeliling kami yang mengutuki, mencaci dan memperlakukannya bagai binatang itu, dan kemudian dia lemas jatuh ke depanku.
Spontan aku memeluknya dan ini menjadi tontonan menarik dan bahan olokan super enak bagi mereka. Makian, teriakan dan cemoohan datang tanpa diundang dan aku seakan menjadi kebal dengan semua itu. Aku papah perempuan itu menuju rumahku.
Tindakanku ini awalnya bahkan belum aku rencanakan. Terbersit di benak pun tidak. Ini semua spontan. Maria telah menutup matanya dan aku memapahnya menuju rumah, melewati kerumunan orang.
Sampai di rumah kubaringkan Maria di tempat tidur dan kemudian aku ke dapur untuk mempersiapkan makan malam buatku. Tanpa seorang isteri seperti hidupku saat ini memang enak-enak susah. Aku hanya optimis bisa menjalani ini semua, sambil berharap suatu saat Tuhan mengirimkan malaikat untuk menjadi pendamping hidupku.
Mengenai Maria, kabar keganasannya dalam kegilaannya telah aku dengar bahkan sebelum aku pulang dari Makassar. Selama aku kuliah di sana, aku dengar banyak hal mengenai kegilaan Maria.
Pernah suatu saat seorang kepala Distrik datang ke pasar hendak belanja. Kemudian Maria ini datang mengambil lumpur dari tempat sampah dan kemudian melempari sang kepala distrik tepat di dadanya sambil berteriak, “Kau pengisap darahku, urat nadiku, ko pergi saja ke tanah airmu di sana,” dan sambil menunjuk arah barat dengan tangannya, “jangan kau injakkan tanahku ini lagi.”
Atas perlakuan ini, pasukan SatPol PP bekerjasama dengan polisi menangkap Maria, menyiksa dia dengan lumpur, air dan strom listrik di depan sang kepala distrik yang memandanginya dengan senyum, dan kemudian dilepaskan.
Setelah lepas, giliran sang kepala distrik yang jatuh sakit, hampir meninggal. Dia memanggil dukun, dan kemudian sembuh. Tapi kabar yang beredar juga lain. Menurut kabar burung, Kepala Distrik sembuh lantaran meminta maaf kepada Maria atas siksaan dari Polisi dan Satpam itu dan itu sesuai petunjuk sang dukun yang mengobatinya.
Entalah. Yang jelas, Maria, perempuan yang ‘kurang waras’ itu ada di rumahku. Aku memang agak menyesal mengambil tindakan demikian.
Aku juga pernah dengar perihal tingkahnya. Maria, kata teman kuliahku ketika aku di Makassar, Dia pernah membongkar sebuah kios milik pedagang Jawa. Banyak versi yang aku dengar mengenai cerita ini. Ini cerita yang berawal dari seorang perempuan tua yang menjual cabai.
Ketika proses jual beli itu terjadi depan kios, seorang penjaga kios menertawai perempuan tua itu lantaran dia menggunakan bahasa Mee dan mencampurnya dengan bahasa Indonesia yang agak patah-patah, dengan maksud agar si penjual ini memahami maksudnya yang ingin menukar langsung cabai dengan garam dan minyak, tidak dengan uang.
Tertawaan ini yang akhirnya menjadi malapetaka. Maria mendobrak pintu dan masuk dan menampar perempuan yang menertawai perempuan tua itu. Tidak hanya menampar, Maria kemudian menendangnya sambil menangis.
“Kurang ajar kau. Ko pergi sudah ke ko pu tanah. Ko makan, tinggal hidup di tanah sini baru, ko tertawakan orang sini lagi, ko pergi sekarang juga,” begitu sahabatku menirukan kata-kata Maria kala itu.
Ketika aku menginjakkan kaki di sini, Moanemani, aku lihat dua pandangan berbeda soal Maria dan kegilaannya.
Banyak orang menilai Maria awalnya sebagai seorang yang gila, dan seperti orang gila pada umumnya, mereka memaklumi tindakan-tindakannya yang tidak seperti manusia waras. Mereka umumnya acuh tak acuh dengan semua yang dilakukan Maria.
Kelompok kedua malah menilai Maria sebagai pahlawan. Mereka tampaknya menilai Maria dari tindakannya, perkataannya dan sikapnya yang kadang lebih berpihak kepada masyarakat Moane yang kecil dan difabel.
Kelompok ini makin lama makin besar, apalagi setelah aksi Maria beberapa bulan lalu di kantor bupati itu, yang berakhir dengan hukuman penjara sehari untuk Maria disertai ancaman hukuman yang lebih berat lagi. Hal itu terjadi karena Maria mencegat bupati yang hendak pulang dari kantor jam 10 pagi, setelah ke kantor jam 8 pagi.
“Tidak bisa. Bapak harus kerja di kantor sampai jam 2. Tidak bisa. Bapa tidak boleh lewat. Saya pilih bapak itu untuk apa?” begitu teriak Maria kala itu. Dan kalimat itu kemudian berkumandang di seantero Moanemani, dari mulut ke mulut, menjadi buah bibir masyarakat.
KEMARIN, aku lihat Maria melumuri tubuhnya dengan darah, dan di depan banyak orang, dia memeluk Letnan Sudardjo, pimpinan Kopassus di Moanemani, hingga darah ayam yang penuh di seluruh tubuhnya mengenai tubuh sang Letnan.
Aksinya tidak sampai disitu. Maria menghilang, dan balik ke tempat sang Letnan sibuk membersihkan tubuhnya dari darah tersebut dengan sebuah botol penuh darah. Penutup botol dibuka, dan darah dimandikannya ke tubuh sang Letnan, dari kepala hingga ke ujung sepatu. Darah tercecer di seluruh tubuh Letnan. Bau amis darah menyebar.
“Lihat sudah. Marius dia yang bunuh. Lukas juga, dia yang bunuh. Sabinus yang di Pugatadi dia juga yang bunuh. Yang dia pu mayat kamu temukan di pinggir kali Tuka itu, Petrus, itu dia juga yang bunuh. Lihat dia pu tanggungan darah itu,” begitulah Mari berteriak.
Dan sambil menunjuk sang Letnan, Maria memaki dan terus memaki. Sang Letnan kemudian berlari menuju Maria dan cabut pisau sangkurnya, tetapi masyarakat yang ada di situ menahan sang Letnan dan mengantarnya ke markas.
Kata mereka, sang Letnan memaki dan memaki Maria hingga dia tiba di markas. Aku tidak tahu kelanjutannya. Aku bawa Maria ke rumah dinasku. Setelah masak, saya ajak Maria makan.
Dia makan dengan cepat. Sehabis makan, Maria memandangku agak lama.
“Johannes, ko saya punya teman SMP. Kita satu bangku. Terimakasih atas ko pu makanan ini. Ini makanan terakhir yang akan membuatmu tidak akan melupakan saya.”
Kalimatnya mirip kata-kata terakhir Yesus Kristus sebelum menderita sengsara, wafat, dimakamkan, sebelum akhirnya mengalahkan maut dengan bangkit dari antara orang mati pada hari ketiga.
Tepat setelah kalimatnya berakhir, pintu diketuk. Maria menyalamiku, dan dengan bergegas membuka pintu. Kelebat kulihat manusia berbaju loreng, dengan senjata di tangan. Aku gemetar. Wajah dia yang telah ‘dibaptis’ maria dengan darah di tengah pasar itu kemudian terlintas di benakku.
Esok harinya, mayat Maria ditemukan terapung di kali Tuka, tepat di pinggir pasar mama-mama Moanemani, dekat gorong-gorong.
“Gila” first appeared in Sastra Papua, April 23, 2021.
Madness
- From the beginning, I suspected that her madness was a performance. Years ago, in our Catholic school here in Moanemani, she sat beside me during classes. And, yes, I was certain that the woman here was indeed the Maria that I knew.
- The uproar at the market yesterday began with someone announcing her arrival: “The witch! The witch! She’s here!” And all the people in the market started running around restlessly. People were known to start acting strange whenever Maria appeared.
- I looked at her for a long time. She sat on a plastic chair and we surrounded her. Her hair was messy. Her dress—it was filthy, soiled here and there. And from her eyes, it was clear that she very much needed rest. As instructed by my boss, the owner of the shop where I worked, I moved closer to her.
“Maria.”
She, my old friend from years ago, didn’t respond. I thought: Maria, I know you are there, I know you are listening. I moved even closer and tried whispering her name again.
“Maria.”
She turned her head to look at me. I looked at her eyes. Maria grinned at me. She stared at us, the people around her, and then started shouting and cursing at us for treating her like an animal. Then, in front of me, she fell to the floor.
Without thinking, I went to her and held her. We quickly became an attraction for the people in the market. They started jeering at us—but I suddenly became immune to all of that. I helped Maria stand up. And, that day, I took Maria to my house.
- If one asks me about it now, I didn’t put much thought into that decision. It was really off the cuff. Maria’s eyes were shut while we were trying to push past the people in the market. We moved very slowly.
When we arrived at my house, I immediately put Maria on my bed. I went to the kitchen and started cooking as it was near dinner time. I didn’t have a wife at that time—but my life was pretty much okay. Every day, I was just trying to be optimistic about life, hoping that one day God would send an angel to accompany me.
- About Maria’s madness: I already heard about it even before I came back from Makassar. Even during my college years there, the news from home often included her bizarre behavior. There was the time the District Head visited the market when Maria was around. Maria took mud from the ground and threw it at the woman’s chest. “You bloodsucker, you drained us of our blood. You—go back where you came from and leave us alone!” She shouted while pointing west. “Don’t you live on this land again.”
- For this, the local police arrested her. People said they tortured her by throwing mud at her, dousing her with cold water, and, of course, giving her the electric shock. And it was said that the District Head was there to witness all of it, looking at Maria with a big smile on her face. In the end, though, they let Maria go.
- People also said that after that, the District Head got very sick. A coworker of mine in the shop said that the District Head went to a local healer and recovered. Other versions of the story surfaced, though. It was said that her illness was cured only after she begged forgiveness from Maria for using the police to torture her. It was said that this was indeed what the healer specifically instructed. From then on, the rumors of Maria having supernatural powers started.
- I had no idea if I believed it or not. One thing was certain, though: Mad Maria was in my house that day. In the kitchen while cooking, I honestly started feeling regret that I brought a person everyone despised to my house.
- A friend in Makassar, also a college student from Papua, told me another story about Maria’s madness. He said that she went into a kiosk owned by someone from Java and started tearing down everything inside it. Regarding this story, when I came back here, I heard even more versions. However, it was generally agreed that it started with an old woman who was selling red pepper to a kiosk.
It was said that the old woman wanted to exchange some red pepper with salt and cooking oil—a common way to trade in Moanemani. The kiosk’s owner, or perhaps the keeper, sneered and laughed at the woman because she used broken Indonesian, mixing it with some Mee words. However, who would’ve thought that the sneer would summon such a catastrophe: the Mad Maria.
People said that she got inside the kiosk by smashing the side door. She ran to find the kiosk owner, or keeper, and slapped her. And she started kicking her.
“How dare you. Go back where you came from. You came here, lived like kings, and you treated us like shit. Go! Go!” And that was how my friend mimicked Maria’s words.
- When I finally finished my studies and came back to Moanemani, I discovered two different opinions regarding Maria’s madness.
Many people saw Maria as a madwoman. And because of this, they tolerated her. In general, they ignored her and anything that she did. This was the first group. The second one saw Maria as a hero. They saw her behavior, her words, and her actions as siding with the often-marginalized and less-abled Moane people.
- The latter group grew in terms of numbers. Even more so after what Maria did in the Regent’s office a few months ago. Maria intercepted the Regent who was leaving the office to come home at 10:00 a.m.
“Can’t. Have to stay at the office until at least 2:00 p.m. Can’t. You can’t pass through. Then why did I give you my vote?” Maria shouted. And these words of hers spread through Moanemani.
- Yesterday, before all these, Maria smeared herself with chicken blood. And, in front of so many people in the market, she ran to the head of the local special police forces, Lieutenant Sudardjo. She hugged him.
She didn’t stop there. She moved away, hid, and came back to where the Lieutenant was cleaning himself up. With a bottle full of chicken blood, she bathed the Lieutenant in red, from head to toe. The air suddenly smelled of rotting flesh.
“Take a look at him. Marius, he killed. Lukas, he killed. Sabinus in Pugatadi, he killed. Petrus, the body we found beside the Tuka River, he killed. All of that blood, because of him,” Maria shouted.
While pointing to the Lieutenant, Maria came up with one curse after another. The Lieutenant eventually ran to Maria, taking out his bayonet knife. The people there stopped him, calmed him down, and took him back to the headquarters.
The people who were there with him said he cursed Maria nonstop until he arrived at the headquarters. I didn’t know what happened after. I brought Maria back to my house. After I finished cooking, I asked Maria to eat with me.
- She ate so quickly, so voraciously. After she was finished, she went silent and looked at me.
“Johannes, you are my friend from middle school,” she said in a relaxed manner. “We sat beside each other. Thank you for this dinner. This will be my last meal, and this will make you never forget about me.”
Her words reminded me of what Jesus said before he was put on the cross, before he died, before they buried him—before he overpowered his terrible fate, rising from the dead on the third day. Will Maria do the same?
Right after that, someone knocked on my door. Maria held my hand for a moment, and left the table to open the door. From where I sat, I saw a man in army clothing, with a rifle in his hand. I suddenly shook terribly. The Lieutenant’s red face—the one that Maria baptized by blood in front of everyone in the market yesterday morning—came to my mind.
The next day, Maria’s body was found in the Tuka River, just right beside the Moanemani market, near the water tunnel.
