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by Putu Oka Sukanta

That morning' she had time to observe the rice store house properly. The brightness of the sun's rays had gilded the east side of its root but the old corrugated iron protecting it same way, her own face had lost its smoothness, and a crop of dark blotches and wrinkles had replaced her youthful freshness and inner plow She was sitting on the steps of her house and had started out thinking over what she was going to do that morning, the condition of the rice store had diverted her attention. Even the wooden walls had wholes in them, destroyed by age and insects. Often as she passed under it she would be sprayed by a shower of wood powder.

She sighed to herself as she remembered how in the past she'd played shop-keepers with her friends on the neatly woven bamboo mats, and how she'd assembled offerings. And it was here too that her father had cut up the special Inzvar meat for festival days. Often the screen for a shadow puppet performance had been stretched between two poles, and people had played cards there. At the moment the mat was dotted with chicken droppings and was covered with a thick layer of dust. Several strands had broken and hadn't been replaced. Only the six pillars which supported the rice store remained strong and free of borers.

The granary pavillion was like a stage. In the old days when crowds of people had come to the house she'd sometimes slept there, and the rooms and platforms had been filled with guests and whatever was required for making offerings. Visitors had sat around together there, while the space under the granary was used by sprawling pigs, their endless squealing company for her while she slept. When her mother wanted to take down some rice from the store she was forbidden to go up with her, ?or tear she'd tall down. they were more worried she'd disturb Dewi Sri, the goddes' who ruled over the piles of rice grains which the store contained. that was in times past, long ago.

Now the granary was like a dog-eared purse, full of rat-holes: nothing of any consequence ever passed through it anymore. All that was over. The same as her fame as an ar;ui dancer.

Sometimes it seemed that her parents had held her naming ceremony for no purpose. They had given her the name Sekarwati or rather her grandmother had suggested using Sekar which meant flower. She'd had a round
baby face, shining eyes, thick hair and eyebrows, and fresh golden skin, like a pretty flower bursting forth from a bud. Yet as things had turned out that name had only been used for six months at school, written in her report card. Mustly she had simply been called Luh Galuh, because she had won everyone's hearts when she'd played the role of the girl Galuh in the popularnr/a drama. She had accepted the name and her heart had been touched with pride at being given it. Yet Luh Galuh was like any other insignificant human - unable to determine her own fate. She'd been ground down like powder, miss-managed, misled, dismissed, mis-this-ed, dis-that-ed with no choice at all. Choice was a luxury she couldnt afford.

At this moment she felt as if there was something gnawing away inside her. Scratching at her ribs. Her fingers felt around the spaces between the bones as if she were touching the gaps in the mats on the platforms; Though she scratched away she couldn't find any bugs or white ants there. The itch moved to the calves of her legs, and she scratched the lump of flesh that protruded from her shin bone which was covered in wrinkled, dry scaly skin. She scratched down her leg to her ankle, her finger nails leaving white marks where she'd removed layers of skin. She spat on her hand and rubbed the spit into the stinging scratches. The marks started from her soles and went all over her feet which were bloated with a fluid that couldn't be eliminated by urinating or sweating. She carefully rttbbed her foot with rice paste every evening, and the colour of her skin was hidden by a thin cracked layer of the paste. She felt very sorry for herself. Ever since her foot had swollen it required so much energy just to put one foot in front of the other. Her misfortunes had dulled the brightness of her eyes. All the ordinary work she used to do needed so much more effort. And now even those jobs had often been stolen away by foreign machines that had come like mad things.

Her eyes remained fixed on the rice store. She could still clearly see the rice-pounding logs which reminded her of fishing boats that had overturned in the sea and lost their owners. Once, those wooden pounding poles had seemed to sing to the rice they were pounding. Now they were mere skeletons, the remnants of a life which progress had passed by. The same applied to the two half-buried logs which lay with their mouths agape, having had nothing to grind for so long. They held great significance for Luh Galuh: for as long as she had the strength she'd earned a living through them. For this she'd received not just a share of rice also the right to rice powder. Very few others in her village had such a good reputation for honesty and this was because she never cheated others out of their rightful husked rice, even though she pounded rice in her
own pounding log far from the home of the owner of the rice.

When it came time to harvest the rice crop in her village, Luh Galuh would work as a cutter. now so many rice fields had given way to tall buildings, or tennis courts or bus terminals. that she had lost her means of earning a living. At one stage she had followed in Made Siti's footsteps and worked as a builder's labourer, that only lasted a few months. She was no match for the younger workers who were faster and sexier. Despite all this there were still a few people from her village who owned some of the remaining rice fields, so Luh Galuh could hope to get some work pounding rice for them. That was until the rice mills came and stole this way of earning a living too. Nowadays people preferred to send their grain to the rice hulling mill, because it was faster and cleaner and cheaper too. The only work that remained for the likes of Luh Galuh was to bring the grain to and fro, between the homes of the owners and the rice mill. In any case this type of work couldn't be expected continuously. So Luh Galuh decided to take a risk and borrow some money from her nephew and take up selling vegetables in front of her house. A lot of people bought her goods she took very little money as most customers bought on credit. She only lasted three months at this before her capital ran out, and because she wasn't able to pay her nephew back, their relationship had been severed until the present day.

She had three brothers and a dozen nephews all of them with work. One was a doctor in Java, and several had important jobs overseas or in their home districts. her hopes of receiving help from any of them never became a reality. For a while she had worked as a domestic, and she continued to rely on her own muscle and bones to earn a living. Long ago she had been married her husband had disappeared without a trace at the time when people, as though in a trance, had murdered others who were believed to be on the wrong side politically. Then because she was a widow she had been allowed back to live with her parents - an act of generosity which was very rare.

Once both her parents had died, Luh Galuh lived alone without any inheritance because all the goods and rice fields they left went to her brothers. She had been conscious of her lack of rights ever since she had realised what it was being horn a woman. And now she was merely a visitor in the house and nothing more.

Her legs had begun swelling after she was invited by her brother who lived in the town of D to come to make the offerings for the tooth filing ceremony of his third child. This took almost ten whole days, though she worked hard day and night to get everything prepared. It was at times like this that she was most called upon as no one else in her family was such a good worker. And as well, she knew how to make all the different types of offerings. Everybody praised her work. If she wasn't there they had no one else to ask for advice. So it was only at such times that she felt she had any real meaning. Yet she went home with a limp, her legs aching and her back stiff and painful. They recompensed her with her bus fare, three or four days worth of rice and some left-over food. From her nephew she received a used batik cloth and a faded silk-screend T-shirt which hadn't even been ironed. Gifts which had to be regarded as a payment, and for which she was expected to feel grateful.

Time passed by with no recognition of the needs and wishes of the powerless. People like Luh Galuh could always keep on hoping, but there was no sign of their hopes being fulfilled. The days went by, as if she didn't exist. Nobody cared!

Luh Galuh got up from where she'd been sitting. Only she knew the frustration that raged inside her. She took a basket from the kitchen which had had no fire in it since the morning. Then stepping off the verandah she raised her cloth to her knees. Her right hand reached for a pillar to hold on to. Her left hand balanced the basket perched on her head. Her joints trembled to maintain the angle of her body as she cautiously guided her right hand from the pillar to her knees which were bent so that she didn't fall as she placed her left foot on the ground. Once she could stand upright, she grimaced at the feeling of pain in her tendons and rubbed her aching back. Then, warily she took the few steps to the main gateway giving on to the main road.

Cars and motorbikes raced to and fro. This was a new phenomenon which in the last few years had cost quite a number of lives. There were also many new conveniences, however. For example to get to the beach three kilometers away she no longer had to walk because there was a bemo every five minutes. And the same to get to the rivers and even easier to get to the customs office or the market. It only cost 50 rupiah to go almost anywhere in or around the town.

Consequently many of the horse-cart drivers ate air rather than passengers fares. There were far fewer of them too. To go to the foot of the mountains there were plenty of vehicles queuing. [people didn't have to walk. And at night it was no longer necessary to shine a torch to see your way because all the homes were lit by electricity. Streets that had been muddy now gleamed with asphalt, even though they soon got holes in them. And the handpushed carts used to transport goods had been pensioned off and were now rotting beside their owners' homes. Villagers' little stalls in the suburbs closed too because each day a number of pick-up trucks would come offering all kinds of goods for sale ranging from fish paste to lipstick. There were mobile stalls where you could buy on credit too. It seemed that women preferred to buy make-up rather than toothpaste, and found flavounisers more pleasant than a piece of fish.

Luh Galuh stood stiffly at the compound gateway. She looked around dully as though I trying to recognise her own village. So much L had disappeared: the trees at the side of the road, the women and children who crowded around the public water-tap to get water, groups playing the gamelan in the neighbourhood meeting halls. A sense of companionship was in shorter supply. Shade was more difficult to find.

Despite there being so much public transport making mans' things more convet~ient, Luh Galuh, remembering that Nyornan Madni had work at the river, began heading there on foot - placing one foot in front of the other. She had no money to pay for a Demo. She didn't dare to walk on the slippery road surface however. Motor vehicles swept past every instant as though they had all the rights to the main roads. Pedestrians had to go off to the side to the rocky paths at the edge of the water channels. And even these were not completely safe, because when two trucks passed each other, people walking had to leap to the other side of the gutter.

As Luh Galuh walked she started to think of postponing her idea of a meeting with Nyoman Madri. Nyoman earns a living by carrying sand from the river bank to the main road. Luh Galuh realised that this sort of work wasn't suitable for her with what was left of her strength, what else could she do?

As she moved hesitatingly forward, she noticed two men walking towards her. They had just crossed the road and she hadn't time to think before they were right in front of her.

"Aunty Luh, this man would like to take a photo of you, said the brown-skinned one.

"But I'm old and wrinkled. I'd be too embarrassed," Luh Galuh said quickly, covering her face with the towel hanging over her shoulder.

However, the tourist, without waiting for her permission, had already clicked the shutter several times, close up and at a distance.

"Tidak apa-apa - that's OK" - the tourist said in broken Indonesian.

"I'm embarrassed," she murmured again. she let go of the end of the towel and allowed him to take as many photos as he liked.

"Who are you?" Luh Galuh asked the young brown-skinned Balinese.

"I'm Ketut Mendra Patih's son."

"Oh you've grown so much," she exclaimed and reached out her hand to touch his arm.

Ketut Mendra Patih was a friend from the same aria drama group she'd performed with. The title patih meaning minister - had been added to his real name because that was the role he had often played. The young Balinese briefly told the tourist about what Luh Galuh had been when she was young, and the tourist nodded his head like a hen given rice to eat.

Then, speaking in English to the young Balinese, he expressed his wish to interview Luh Galuh the next day. When Luh Galuh heard this she too started nodding, shyly. The light in her eyes, which for years had been
dulled by sadness, seemed like the sun's rays breaking through black clouds.

"Ask him to pay me a little money," she said Looking the man in the face. The three of them Fell silent as though something had caught in their throats. Then suddenly the tourist felt around in his pocket and handed a five hundred rupiah note to Luh Galuh.
"Thank you. sir
"Don't forget about tomorrow, he reminded her.
Luh Galuh continued on her way feeling more lighthearted. In her mind she saw the face of the tourist as though it was floating. Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn, she would get ready for him in the best clothes she owned .

And who was the sharp-eyed tourist so interested in Luh (galuh? I-Ic certainly seemed to have found what he'd been looking for. Without wasting a moment he'd already taken some photos of her. He was thinking how good they would look - a skin-ny Balinese woman caked in dirt, who'd formerly been a well-known dancer. Yet still showing her determination to struggle through life with her basket on her head, her sarong up to her knees, her legs bowed, and wearing an old T-shirt screen-printed with the word PARADISE.

Luh Galuh kept walking, feeling a little confused. She had very mixed feelings.

Embarrassment. Pride. Awkwardness. Fear and uncertainty. She looked back. The two me. were getting into a bemo. The bemo took off. farting out its filthy exhaust smoke. And Luh Galuh continued on her way.

Translated by Vern Cork
Illustration by Agus Mulyndi.

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