The Coffee Verse

2019/01/02

This is an English translation for “Ayat Kopi”, an Indonesian short story that appears in the newspaper Kompas on 9 December 2018. // Ini terjemahan bahasa Indonesia untuk “Ayat Kopi” karya Budi Darma yang terbit di Kompas, 9 Desember 2018. // Original text: here.

Coffee shops show up everywhere these days, but Madame Trinil’s coffee shack is still my favourite. Her coffee packs the most punch; I have already felt it blessing my soul.

I can meet and chit-chat with all sorts of people in Madame Trinil’s coffee shack. That afternoon, for instance, I met a man in blue batik shirt whose name was Marbangun. “Just call me Brother Bangun,” he told me.

Marbangun told me that, at the moment, he was trying to get his life in order. He’d spent the last few years of his life searching for a livelihood in the the world of politics, but his labour had so far born no fruit. He had twice taken the plunge and nominate himself to become part of the legislative body in his town, and twice he had failed.

“I pray that you never fall into politics. Politics is hard, full of chicaneries. An innocent youngster like you will be doomed.”

He had sacrificed a great deal of his wealth in the name of his ambition. He’d sold his land and his cows in his home village, he’d sold his cars, his furnitures, any objects of value he had. “If I have a cat,” he said, “I’d even sell that cat too.”

After being met with a string of failure, Marbangun decided to leave the rest up to God. He kept himself away from worldly needs. He wanted to help build a society of faithful, respectable people.

“There’s nothing else I can sell,” he said. “The only thing left to sell is…”

With a hurry, Marbangun got up from his seat, paid for his meal, and bade me farewell. He said he was going to visit and pray for a friend who had fallen ill. At the same time, the pungent smell of fart emanated throughout the room. A couple of the customers, myself included, looked at each other with suspicion, as if investigating who among us was the one who had released that soundless fart. Pinching her nose, Madame Trinil pointed her finger at Marbangun as he was leaving. “That man farts in all the wrong places.”

Home from Madame Trinil’s coffee shack, I prepared the welcoming party for Uncle Yusi, my senior. My friends and I called him “Uncle” because of his fatherly attitudes and his strong dedication as a teacher and spiritual mentor to young writers.

Uncle Yusi had just arrived home from America. After going through his six months residency, he had suceeded at finishing a novel which had been years in the making–a novel thicker than the Bible, a novel which, to be read and absorbed into your soul properly, required at least a month of sabbatical.

Uncle Yusi often asked a couple of his friends to come over to my apartment for a coffee and poetry party whenever he received good fortune. Of course, it was also Uncle Yusi who was responsible for our stock of coffee, cigarettes, roasted peanuts, cassava, and fried banana.

This silly activity which he had begun gained the attention of a couple local teenagers. They sometimes joined us, and we were cool with it.

It seemed like those teenagers were infliced by the poetry virus too. They even memorized my poetry line: More or less, every good fortune must be celebrated with a cup of joe. I don’t know which of them changed it to Celebrate every good fortune with coffee so your life will be happy. These words they sung and chanted everywhere they go. We were just happy that our attempts to soften the soul through sharing literature with the youth has started to bear fruit.

Uncle Yusi held another poetry and coffee party at my place when his thicker-than-the-Bible novel was released. Unlike all the previous parties, none of the local teenagers joined in. They must be busy studying for school exams.

In the middle of our joyful celebration, a hoard of young men from the neighbourhood suddenly came to us while yelling words that sounded like threats. Apparently they wanted to meet me and arrest me. I was thought of and accused to have spread satanic teachings.

I was dumbfounded. What satanic teachings? The commander of the youth showed me a scrap of paper with the words, Celebrate every good fortune with coffee so your life will be happy.

“Oh, that’s poetry, not a teaching,” I explained.

The commander’s answer: “Whatever it is, because of this verse, you’ve ruined the soul of our youth.”

“Poetry alleviate the soul, Sir, not ruin it,” I added.

“Alleviate how? Because of this verse, everyone here is addicted to coffee. Whatever the time, coffee. Kids stay up all night because of their coffee, then they wake up late. Then we have trouble getting them up for school. We give them money to pay for school, they use it for coffee.”

Uncle Yusi glanced at my direction and pretended to cough. I have no idea what he’s trying to say.

“Even the adults are addicted. Men wasted their pay on coffee. Women used up their shopping money for coffee. Everything’s ruined.”

Subagus, our friend who’d taken the the role of the security guy, listened anxiously. Good thing he was wearing dark sunglasses. No one could see the tension in her eyes.

“If you receive good fortune, the thing to do is to praise the Lord, not to have coffee! The only one who can bring you happiness is God, not coffee!”

I was speechless.

“The point is, I want you to take responsibility! We can bring the police on you.”

When I heard the words “the police”, I was shaken. I started to imagine all the bad things that can happen to me.

Uncle Yusi gave a sign to Subagus to deal with the commander of the youth, quickly.

Subagus got up from his seat and asked the commander of the youth to talk, just between the two of them. The commander of the youth took him to meet the leader of the movement. He was waiting across the road, under the mango tree. Dear God, it was Marbangun, that handsome man in the blue batik shirt.

I didn’t know what sort of negotiation they were having. I only saw Subagus speaking with the leader of the movement and the commander of the youth while holding his finger sideway on his forehead: the sign to indicate that someone’s insane. He must be calling me crazy, a madman. I also saw him putting his hand in his pockets.

After a grueling negotiation, the leader of the movement ordered the commander of the youth to disband the hoard.

Maybe because they all thought me crazy, after that moment I was ignored by everyone. Only a few teenagers still respect me. I managed to ask them if people were really getting addicted to coffee because of my poetry. They told me they don’t know.

When one afternoon I went out looking for air and a cigarette, I saw Marbangun chilling out, sipping coffee, eating fried banana at Madame Trinil’s shack.

One day, after I was gone for days to work on a writing project for a documentary film, I visited Madame Trinil’s shack for a cup of coffee. Madame Trinil was happy to see me again. She thought I was leaving to never return.

Madame Trinil told me that while I was away, something shocking happened.

“A man who wasn’t wearing any pants appeared at the police box. It was scary! His genital was all bruised and bleeding. He moaned in pain, It hurts, General! It hurts!”

“Oh, end pee man.”

“End pee man?”

“Yeah. That’s an end pee man. NP man. No-Pants Man.”

Mrs. Trinil laughed heartily.

“When he was about to get caught, that demon ran to an alley. They ran after him and got him surrounded but he got away.”

I took a sip of coffee.

“The next night he showed up in Marbangun’s house. Marbangun was terrified and screamed, but the man just laughed and laughed.”

End pee man, it was said, appeared in the middle of the night and blocked Marbangun’s way as he was going to the bathroom. He taunted him: Piye kabare? Ngeri zamanku to? How do you do? It’s scarier in my time, yeah? End pee man then pinched his cheeks while yelling, Give me coffee! Give me coffee!

I was not surprised by Mrs. Trinil’s story.

One night, while he was acting in a play, my father was picked up by a couple of unknown strangers. I never saw him again. There was a movement at the time to cleanse the world of everyone thought of to be part of the left. Afterwards, I heard stories about the artists and activists who were abducted, tortured, and even had their genitals cut off. My father was caught by recommendation of his friend who had a personal vendetta on him. In truth, my father was just an innocent man who liked to act in a play.

I met end pee man–blood coagulating at the tip of his genital–while I was trying to get into the bathroom about an hour before dawn. He moaned, It hurts, General! I looked at his pleading face. He looked at me all bewildered. I bent down and said a verse, We are the love who crusades against trauma. Afterwards, he disappeared.

It seemed like end pee man was a really haunting figure for Marbangun. He had trouble sleeping and he didn’t dare go to the bathroom alone at nights. As suggested by Mrs. Trinil, Marbangun quietly went to see me. He had an idea that end pee man’s appearance in his house had something to do with me.

“That demon yelled Give me coffee! Give me coffee! so I was reminded of the coffee verse that you made and spread to those kids.”

Marbangun asked me if I know how to exorcise the end pee man.

“Brother Bangun, I think you got the wrong guy. I’m a madman, remember? I wouldn’t know how to exorcise a demon.”

“Forget that. It’s not me who said you’re mad.”

Well, all right then. I just told Marbangun, “If end pee man showed up again, welcome him warmly, give him respect, then make him a cup of coffee. After that, promise that you’ll be pray properly, that you’ll find wealth ethically, that you don’t fart carelessly.”

Marbangun went quiet.

I had thought that after Marbangun came to see me, the whole business with end pee man would be over. Apparently, there was a sequel.

That night, the people at Madame Trinil’s coffee shack were bewildered to see Marbangun running there while yelling for help as if he was being chased by someone. He said that he was going to be caught by end pee man. The people were puzzled because they didn’t see the man who was chasing him.

Marbangun then ran to my apartment. He asked for my protection. He went and hid in my room. A moment later, end pee man came by. “Where’s Marbangun? Where’s Marbangun?” I welcome him warmly. I asked him why he wanted to catch marbangun. Apparently he was just going to return the wallet which he found in front of the ATM. I accepted Marbangun’s wallet from end pee man and said my thanks. After that, he went away laughing.

Marbangun was awestruck as he tried to calm his beating heart. It was at that moment that he affirmed his vow to follow a clean spiritual path and to only report good deeds to others. I supported his noble intention.

Marbangun’s noble intention began to be visible the next day, when he invited me for a cup in Madame Trinil’s coffee shack. Madame Trinil was baffled to see me arrive with Marbangun. But, deep inside, I was cautious. His kindness might just be a ruse.

My cautious attitude was proven right. In the middle of our enjoyment–us, the customers at Madame Trinil’s shack–as we drank our coffee and dined on fried bananas, the pungent smell of fart suddenly emanated throughout the room. Even if the aroma was a little different, I was sure that it was Marbangun’s doing. At that moment all the respect I had for him disappeared. People like him are difficult to change.

As I was about to leave, Madame Trinil quickly held my hand and said to me, quietly, “Oof, I’m sorry about that. I couldn’t hold it in. My stomach felt awful. It’s a good thing it didn’t make any sound.”