I received terrible news on Saturday. Budi Darma, the Indonesian author whose short story collection I recently translated, had passed away. He had been battling with covid for weeks. I had been receiving updates from someone at his publisher (Noura Books) about his condition and had been hopeful because one of the more recent updates said that he was showing some progress, though still had a persistent cough. Then on Saturday morning, I received news that his blood pressure had plummeted and he was unconscious. Worried, I texted an Indonesian writer friend. A few seconds later, she received a text from her own editor at another publisher that Budi Darma was gone. I received further confirmation from someone else that it was true.
The news of his death travelled at lightning speed, as death news does in Indonesia. Within minutes of his passing, official publisher accounts had made posts in his memory. People were sharing tributes on social media. I received a text request from a newspaper reporter for quotes for his obituary. I received another request that I write an obituary, which I turned down, saying sorry, I was too sad. My husband and I had been in the process of driving our kids to a nearby park. He took the kids to the playground and let me sit in the car and grieve. I couldn’t believe the news.
I still can’t. Still in my head were, are, the conversations that we had over email and WhatsApp about my translation of his short-story collection, Orang-orang Bloomington / People From Bloomington. And also the conversational parts of those conversations: his memories from his time in Bloomington, how he was adapting to teaching his students online, the interest he took in my own writing and history (my departure from academia, how I ended up in Australia). Something that gnaws at me in particular was his initial disappointment that the English edition was only coming out in April 2022, not this year. Why so long, he asked over text in April earlier this year. I said Penguin Classics probably wanted to have more time to prepare good marketing and publicity. At the back of both our minds, I believe, were fears of what bad things might happen in the span of twelve months. Budi Darma was just about to turn 84.
There is one conversation we had in particular that has been haunting me – mainly because it was about growing old. And accepting old age and its frailty. And death. I’d like to share it with you.
I also hope that, since our exchange had to do with the elderly characters of People from Bloomington/Orang-orang Bloomington, it will be of interest to those who have read or will read the collection.
The original Indonesian-language exchange follows the English-language version. Excuse both my flawed Indonesian and my hasty English translation.
(Note on the image above: this illustration accompanied the story “Mrs. Elberhart” [“Ny. Elberhart”] in the original 1980 edition of People from Bloomington [Orang-orang Bloomington]. The artist is Susthanto.
From my letter to Budi Darma, on 13 August 2020
. . . Pak Budi, may I ask a question that tends a bit more toward the personal regarding PFB [People from Bloomington]? Apologies in advance if you find it offensive. This isn’t my intent, and if you don’t feel comfortable responding, hopefully you can just forget I asked at all. But, if I may ask: there are many old characters in the stories of PFB: Mrs. Elberhart, Charles Lebourne, Mrs. Ellison, the three old women in The Old Man With No Name, and of course, the eponymous Old Man himself. These days, you aren’t as young as you used to be (this is the case with us all, of course), and not as young as when you wrote the short story collection. What has it been like to re-read the elderly characters you created when you were younger? Sorry again if this is an impolite question. Feel free to ignore it if you don’t feel like answering it.
From Budi Darma’s reply on 14 August 2020
. . . This is an excellent question and not offensive at all.
Why so many old people in PFB? Because when I was in Bloomington, I enjoyed taking walks, to the point where I had all the streets memorised, including the alleys. Whenever I went walking, I would almost always cross paths with old people. Of these many old people, some were friendly, some were proud, and some didn’t care about me at all, a.k.a. give a damn. There were even old people who would “chase” me to tell me stories. One of them told me that in his younger days he had been a sheriff. With a note of pride, he showed me his sheriff’s badge. There was also someone who told me that in his youth, he was part of a band and had toured various states with his fellow band members. He told me that, one by one, all his friends had died (apologies, Kak Tiffany. If you had met him yourself, you probably would have been struck by the extent to which his story was tinted with morbidity).
I’ve probably already told you about the old people who would shop and such to kill time. They would drive to the supermarket just to buy a single item, go home to rest, then go to another supermarket to buy something else. After resting, they would go out again to yet another supermarket to buy yet another item.
I had the impression that they were torn between wanting to guard their privacy on one hand and feeling lonely on the other.
You used to live in Boston, didn’t you, though perhaps not in the city itself? It seems to me that old people in Boston are similar to old people in Bloomington, except their loneliness mightn’t be as “dire,” perhaps because Boston is such a busy city. But precisely because Boston is a busy city and, as a result, has a higher crime rate, the elderly people of Boston are sometimes “a little suspicious” of people whom they don’t know well.
Now, why are there so many sick people in PFB? One of the reasons is because my host parent was a surgeon. He would invite me over for dinner and tell many stories about his past trips to Indonesia. Before I left for Bloomington, a number of my friends in Indonesia had said, if you ever meet a doctor don’t bring up your health (unless you’re their patient); most doctors won’t like it.
But by coincidence, he offered his services if I ever felt unwell, saying I should call. I did call him, eventually, and he told me to go to the hospital the next day for a check up. The results were fine.
Then, when any of my friends were sick, they would usually ask me to visit them in the hospital. Once, I witnessed a very sorrowful sight indeed. A young woman was checking into the hospital, I don’t know why. The person attending her had prepared a room (what the room number was I don’t recall). The woman tottered, and she began to cry, refusing to take the room because that was the room where “my dad died.”
How do I feel now? I used to think that 70 was sooo old, and now, 70 seems sooo young. I attended a seminar once, in Bukittinggi, West Sumatra, if I’m not mistaken. Sutan Takdir Alisjahbana (the writer of the novel Layar Terkembang) was one of the keynote speakers. Pak Takdir was 70 years old. I thought, wow, Pak Takdir is sooo old.
Then came Pak Takdir’s turn to approach the podium. His body swayed as he spoke. Many people in the audience held their breath. A few began to whisper that someone should stand next to him. Luckily, he was able to finish the presentation of his brilliant thoughts.
It’s like this, Kak Tiffany. To me, ageing is only natural, and as such should be greeted with wholehearted acceptance. I once took a friend older than me to an opthamologist named Dr. Herschel Smith for an eye exam. No one can prevent old age, the doctor said. This doctor passed away a long time ago, but it seems that his polyclinic has grown under the care of his colleagues (you can find pictures of it on the internet).
As such, Kak Tiffany, I seek to accept everything with the appropriate grace. Heh heh.
Cuplikan surat saya kepada Pak Budi pada 13 Agustus 2020
. . . Pak Budi, boleh saya tanya satu pertanyaan yang lebih ke arah “personal” tentang OOB. Maaf sebelumnya kalau Pak Budi merasa tersinggung. Ini bukan maskud saya, dan kalau Pak Budi tidak nyaman menjawab, mudah-mudahan pertanyaan ini bisa lenyap saja dari ingatan Pak Budi. Tapi, boleh saya tanya: ada banyak tokoh tua di cerita-cerita OOB – Ny. Elberhart, Charles Lebourne, Ny. Ellison, ketiga perempuan tua di Laki-Laki Tua Tanpa Nama, dan tentu saja, si Laki-Laki Tua sendiri. Sekarang, Pak Budi tidak semuda dulu (sama dengan kita semua sih), dan tidak semuda sewaktu menulis kumcer OOB. Bagaimana pengalaman Pak Budi jika membaca ulang tokoh-tokoh tua yang diciptakan Pak Budi pada waktu Pak Budi lebih muda. Maaf sekali lagi, Pak, kalau pertanyaan ini kurang sopan. Diabaikan saja kalau Pak Budi kurang sudi jawab ya.
Dari balasan Budi Darma pada 14 Agustus 2020
. . . Pertanyaan ini sangat bagus dan sama sekali tidak menyinggung perasaan.
Mengapa banyak orang tua dalam OOB? Karena waktu itu saya mempunyai hobi jalan-jalan, sampai akhirnya saya hapal hampir semua sudut jalan, termasuk gang-gang tikusnya. Selama saya berjalan-jalan, hampir selamanya saya bertemu dengan orang-orang tua. Di antara sekian banyak orang tua itu ada yang ramah, ada yang sombong, ada juga yang tidak pedulian alias cuek. Bahkan, ada juga orang tua yang “mengejar” saya untuk berbagi cerita. Satu di antaranya bercerita bahwa pada masa mudanya dia adalah sheriff. Dengan nada bangga dia tunjukkan bintang sheriffnya. Lalu ada juga yang bercerita bahwa ketika masih muda dulu, dia mempunyai band, dan dengan anggota bandnya mereka merantau ke berbagai negara bagian. Dia bercerita, bahwa satu persatu temannya meninggal (maaf, Kak Tiffany, mungkin Kak Tiffany sangat terpukau kalau bisa bertemu dengan orang ini, sebab ceritanya diwarnai oleh unsur morbidity).
Mungkin saya sudah bercerita kepada Kak Tiffany mengenai orang-orang tua yang berbelanja antara lain untuk membunuh waktu. Mereka naik mobil ke sebuah supermarket hanya untuk membeli satu item, pulang untuk beristirahat, lalu pergi ke supermarket lain untuk membeli item lain. Setelah beristirahat, mereka keluar lagi ke super market lain untuk membeli item lain.
Ada kesan, bahwa mereka itu “terjepit” antara menjaga privacy di satu pihak, dan rasa kesepian di pihak lain.
Kak Tiffany kan pernah tinggal di Boston, meskipun mungkin tidak di kotanya. Tampaknya orang-orang tua di Boston mirip dengan orang-orang tua di Bloomington, tapi rasa kesepian orang orang tua di Boston tidak “separah” orang-orsng tua di Bloomington, mungkin karena Boston kota yang sangat sibuk. Tetapi, justru karena Boston kota sibuk dassnn karena itu mungkin angka kriminalitasnya lebih tinggi, maka orang-orang tua di Boston kadang-kadang “agak curiga” dengan orang yang belum dikenalnya dengan baik.
Lalu, mengapa dalam OOB banyak orang sakit? Antara lain karena host family saya seorang dokter bedah. Dia pernah mengundang makan malam, dan banyak bercerita mengenai pengalaman kunjungannya ke Indonesia. Beberapa teman di Indonesia, sebelum saya ke Bloomington, pernah berkata, kalau bertemu dengan dokter janganlah berbicara mengenai kesehatan (kecuali kalau jadi pasiennya), sebab kebanyakan dokter merasa tidak senang.
Tetapi kebetulan, dia menawarkan diri kalau saya merasa tidak enak badan, saya diminta untuk menilpunnya. Akhirnya memang saya menilpun, saya diminta untuk ke rumah sakit keesokan harinya, check kesehatan, hasilnya baik.
Lalu, kalau ada teman sakit, biasanya teman-teman mengajak saya menengok ke rumah sakit. Saya pernah menyaksikan pemandangan yang memancing rasa iba. Ada seorang perempuan muda yang akan masuk ke rumah sakit, entah karena apa. Oleh petugas dia disediakan sebuah kamar (entah nomor berapa). Perempuan ini badannya beroyang-goyang, menangis, menolak keras diberi kamar itu, karena “my dad died” di kamar itu
Bagaimana perasaan saya sekarang? Dulu saya merasa usia 70 tahun itu tuaaa sekali, sekarang, umur 70 tahun rasanya mudaaa sekali. Pada suatu hari ada sebuah seminar, kalau tidak salah ingat di Bukittinggi, Sumatra Barat, Sutan Takdir Alisjahbana (penulis novel Layar Terkembang) menjadi salah satu pembicara kunci. Usia Pak Takdir 70 tahun. Saya pikir, wah, Pak Takdir ini sudah tuaaa sekali.
Tibalah giliran Pak Takdir untuk menuju ke podium. Waktu Pak Takdir berbicara, tubuhnya bergoyang-goyang. Hadirin banyak yang menahan nafas. Beberapa orang berbisik-bisik supaya Pak Takdir didampingi. Untunglah, Pak Takdir bisa memaparkan pikirannya yang cemerlang sampai tuntas.
Begini, Kak Tiffany, saya menganggap menjadi tua adalah alamiah, dan karena itu diterima saja dengan ikhlas. Saya pernah mengantar teman yang lebih tua daripada saya untuk memeriksakan matanya ke ophthalmologist, Dr. Herschel Smith. Dokter ini bilang, tidak satu orang pun yang bisa mencegah ketuaan. Sudah lama dokter ini meninggal, tapi tampaknya oleh teman-temannya, poliklinik ini dikembangkan menjadi lebih besar (bisa ditengok di internet)
Dengan demikian, Kak Tiffany, semuanya saya terima secara wajar, hehehe