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Respect Our Existence
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The Price of Freedom

D. C. Weiser

    Oei Tiong looked up from his invoices to see Chu-Li standing before him. Quite distraught, she said: “My father is sick. I need to visit my home kampong.”
    “Of course. Do you need anything? Money?”
    With downcast eyes, she said uncertainly: “No.”
    Oei Tiong opened a drawer and dropped a handful of gold coins into a small leather pouch with drawstrings. “Here. Take this,” handing the pouch to Chu-Li. “Just in case.”
    She bowed to him. “Thank you.”
    Chu-Li walked toward the door.
    “Chu-Li?” he said. She turned around. “Take as much time as you need.”
    Nodding, she turned and left.
    The sudden rush of air as the door closed left a certain vacuum in her wake.
#

    It was night before she arrived at her village. Before she could reach her family’s thatched hut, Chu-Li was accosted by the wraith-like figure of a woman. “Chu-Li?” came the hoarse whisper.
    “Sun-Ying?” Chu-Li asked incredulous; she had barely recognized her childhood friend. Her hollow eyes and gaunt expression told of pain and loss. Chu-Li took her hands in her own. “What has happened?”
    “I was living with a wealthy merchant. A young Englishman. I thought he was a good man. But—” Sun-Ying’s lips trembled as she spoke, “after living with him for two years as his concubine, he has thrown me out. Cast me aside for a European woman, a Dutch woman, I believe.”
    Chu-Li squeezed her friend’s hands tightly.
    “I am ruined. My own family will not take me in. They say I am little better than a whore.”
    Chu-Li found Sun-Ying’s dull monotone even more distressing than what she said. “Here,” taking the pouch from her pocket. “Take this and take care of yourself.”
    For a moment Sun-Ying looked shocked; then her tearful eyes and broken smile were a peep of sunshine through rainclouds. “Thank you, Chu-Li. Thank you. Thank you.”
    She turned and fled with the pouch clutched tightly to her breast, her clothes like tattered rags whipped by the strong breeze.
    Chu-Li hurried to the house of her mother and father.
#

    In the same village, not a mile away, police chief Kirk Dekker met with a headman. Dekker was there to collect the Dutch administration’s share of the profits from the legal opium revenue farm. “Ten-thousand guilders,” the Dutchman said when he had counted and packed up the loot. “Not bad for a week.” The lurah nodded and smiled. They made small talk for a few minutes.
    It was not easy for Dekker to find Drake for the Crown’s take from the illegal opium smuggling and prostitution. The spy and informant had been drinking and gambling. He led Dekker to a nearby house, where he set the money out on the table. Before Dekker could pick it up, Drake put his hand over it. “You sure you wouldn’t rather have Al-Chen or ChangChang for the night? They’ll do anything you want.”
    Dekker hit him hard in the face, a right hand blow that knocked him back over a chair to the floor. The Dutchman dragged him up to his knees and began flaying his face with punches: left, right, left, right...Then Dekker dragged him outside by his hair and the seat of his pants, sat him up on his knees once more, holding him by the hair, and kicked him as hard as he could in the back of his head. A few teeth shot out of Drake’s mouth. Dekker dropped him face down in a rain-soaked ditch. Stooping, he then went through the man’s pockets carefully, confiscating all the man’s cash. He stuffed it inside his jacket pocket and went inside to retrieve the money on the table.
#

    Chu-Li’s mother was used to a hard life. She stood wringing her hands when she saw her daughter approach. They kissed and hugged and wept. Her mother made tea and they sat, catching up on things in the village.
    “Things aren’t as bad as they could be,” the old woman began. She sipped her tea.
    “Famine is the worst. Debts are mounting. Suicides are frequent. The young people are fleeing to the cities in search of work.”
    They shared a bowl of rice and some chicken.
    “How is father?”
    “He’s fine,” the old woman said tartly. “He’s sleeping.”
    Chu-Li was exhausted and wanted to go to sleep. Her mother was tired, too.
    “Opium addiction is rampant, too,” her mother added, a final note.
#

    Dekker hung up his gun and holster, his baton, and placed his Terai hat on its peg on the wall.
    After washing his hands, he seated himself at the dinner table. A native Malay woman brought him food, which she served to him silently. Dekker ate his supper in silence. When he had finished, he got out a bottle of brandy and two tumblers. He filled each glass with brandy. The Malay woman entered the room and took a seat in front of one of the tumblers. They held their drinks in their right hands. Dekker said something: “Proost!” She said nothing but showed a weary smile. It was painfully evident that they had no language in common beyond a handful of Dutch and Malay words; perhaps they found comfort in the distance this situation afforded them both. “Good dinner,” Dekker said to her, then gave her a quick awkward glance. She gazed uncomprehendingly at him, then sipped her brandy. They drank quickly and in silence. When they had finished their drinks, Kirk rose from his chair, picked her up, fondled her breasts, and coveredher mouth with hungry kisses. They separated and she walked away, presumably to the bed they share. Dekker followed her out of the room, loosening his trousers.
#

    The next morning, Chu-Li visited her father at his bedside. “Rama,” she said, pulling a stool next to his bed. “What is the matter with you? Why are you ill? Is it fever?”
    Hollow-eyed and listless, “Donya iki, putrid,” he said. “Urip iki.”
    Depressed, he whispered: “There’s no point. We are ground underfoot. It is too late.” He looked at her with sunken eyes “Too late.”
    Chu-Li tried to reason with him. “Rama,” she said, “Father, listen to me. You have to fight, fight this. You can’t give up.” She bit her lip, seeing him like this. He exuded resignation.
    “Save yourself, my beautiful...” but his voice traile off and he could not finish his sentence. He looked at her one last time across a void of despair. “Chu-Li,” he said in a barely audible voice. “Go.” Her father closed his eyes and eased back into the bed.
    Hopeless. He had lost the will to live.
    Chu-Li departed. Hiding her watery eyes, she fled the compound, with its revenue farm, its rice paddies, its despair. She passed a small gutter between two buildings at the edge of the kampong but continued looking straight ahead.
    She did not notice the body lying there or recognize it as her childhood friend. Sun-Ying had spent all the gold coins on opium, then slit both her wrists with a kris.
#

    Chu-Li’s heart raced with anxiety and she could not concentrate her mind. She did not know how she was going to break the news to her master about Ji-Suomong, who would soon have the money to buy her freedom from Oei Tiong Sien. At the fish market she found calamari, oysters and abalone, special food that she knew he liked...That might be a way! She would prepare a grand feast for him that evening. Chu-Li went about the rounds of her shopping, dreaming of the future life she would share with Ji-Suomong, his love for her. Interspersed with these came images of Oei Tiong, anticipations of the dinner she would prepare for him, her love for Ji-Suomong...
    Oei Tiong Sien didn’t know what to do about Chu-Li. A wealthy silk merchant of the Jung-Lum clan in Nanking and a prominent member of the kongsi, Be Hong Lum was pressuring Oei Tiong to marry his daughter. From a business point of view, the match would be a good one, he reasoned, despite the fact that Nahia Lum was fat and dull. She would probably make a good mother and a dutiful wife. Oei Tiong frowned.
    His appointment to the kongkoan or Chinese Council was imminent, Oei Tiong felt certain; it would solidify his position with the Dutch and give him unlimited control over trade arteries throughout Java, unparalleled access to routes from the island’s agricultural heartland to the various ports of Java.
    When he got home, Oei Tiong found the dining-room table set with a fabulous supper awaiting his arrival. Chu-Li poured him wine and he insisted that she join him. As their enjoyment of the meal proceeded, Oei Tiong Sien began noticing little oddities about her behavior—she avoided eye contact, appeared intermittently nervous and distracted. Finally, he asked her: “What is the matter, Chu-Li?”
    She said, haltingly, that she needed to speak with him but doesn’t know how to begin.
    Oei Tiong’s curiosity overcame his mild irritation. “Have I ever given you a reason to be afraid?” This calmed Chu-Li. “No,” she admitted, and her anxiety washed away.
    “Whatever is on your mind, just tell me. You have nothing to fear from me.”
    Oei Tiong Sien listened patiently as Chu-Li told him of her love for Ji-Suomong and their plans to marry as soon as he has earned enough money to repay Oei Tiong for his purchase of Chu-Li and restore her freedom. He gently questioned her about the young man until he was satisfied that their love was genuine. Oei Tiong smiled at Chu-Li; in one way, he was relieved, for this would certainly solve his concern over what to do about her. He toyed with the idea of teasing Chu-Li about his “investment” in her, but thought better of it as he saw the way her face lit up when she spoke of her young man. “Your price will be fixed at what I originally paid for your freedom.”
    Chu-Li brightened at this news.
    “How soon will your young man have enough money to repay me?”
    “In another moon,” she tells him.
    “There should be no problem,” Oei Tiong Sien assured her. He poured himself some more wine.



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