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Joko makes his way through a massive crowd of students out on the yard of the high-walled campus on Jalan Ahmad Yani. The sun is pale against the metallic sky and the city is brimming with heat and exhaust fumes.
It is not yet eight in the morning.
He finds Mara somewhere at the back of the crowd, leaning against a rusty iron pole near the pair of tall speakers through which the voice of their student organization leader rips across the yard, past the rows of students donning silver jackets and hats.
Mara glosses her lips with a pink-colored ChapStick and listens intently. She has on a pair of bright green sneaker pumps. Her hair has been washed and blow-dried and it smells of strawberries. She doesn’t usually wear tights under her skirt, but today is an exception. And instead of the mandatory alma mater jacket, she puts on a washed-out denim vest. Joko almost laughs at the irony of it all.
“You’re late,” she says as he stands next to her.
“How long has he been up there?” he asks.
“About an hour,” she says. “Why are you late?”
“The bus was late,” he says. “Have you been here the whole time?”
“I didn’t want to miss the party.”
He can’t take his eyes off her.
“You look great,” he says.
“Thanks.”
“The shoes are a nice touch.”
“Shut up.”
He smiles. “It’s going to be a very long day.”
“So I gather,” she says.
“You should know these things never end well.”
“Don’t be a prick.”
“I can’t help it.”
“It’s a monumental day for all of us.”
“You should’ve stayed home.”
“You’re an ass.”
“I’m just saying. You could get hurt.”
“It’s a risk. Life is all about taking risks.”
“What is that?”
“What is what?”
“Life is all about taking risks,” Joko moans in jest.
“Oh, he said that.” Mara nods at the senior student on the podium who is facing the crowd and chanting the word ‘justice’ repeatedly into the mic. “He opened his oration with life being about taking risks.”
“He’s an idiot,” says Joko. “And the idiot is going to get us all killed.”
“Stop it.”
“You could get hurt.”
“So could you.”
Joko tilts his head heavenward, sees the patches of clear blue here and there in the dust-colored sky. Someone shakes their fist in the air to make a point and everyone else erupts into a wave of cheers. Mara claps her hands enthusiastically.
Their university is among the last few to join a string of student rallies held across the nation in the past couple of months. There are stories going around, all the time. Soon, Joko thinks: the crowd will be led to the other side of the yard, past the brick buildings — toward the gates. And as they make their way out of campus, they will begin the long and carefully planned march across town toward the Parliamentary Complex.
They will march in files: the sound of their footsteps against concrete a staccato of expectation, aspiration, delusion, idealism and foolishness.
They will cross bridges, ignore curious onlookers, wait out the traffic and appreciate the warm weather.
“I heard it might rain,” says Joko.
Mara sticks out her hand into the air as if to test the level of moisture. “It’s too warm.”
“It still might rain.”
“So let it rain.”
Members of the student organization take a few steps toward the podium and begin the procession of raising the country’s flag at half mast. The crowd belts out the national anthem. Joko lights up a cigarette and thinks of the way things burn and crackle and turn to ashes. This is their moment in the sun. This is the day they will attempt change, for better or worse.
“I’ve never had to stand up for anything in my life,” says Mara. She is staring ahead at the podium where their seniors turn sideways to salute the flag. “I think we should all be given the opportunity — or at least the option — to stand up for something.”
“I don’t see the point,” says Joko.
Mara smiles. “I know you don’t.”
They will set up rally points and shout out their demands on live television a few hours from now: Impeach the President! Reform the Government!
They will look like ants six, seven thousand feet from the air.
They will be met with a fierce resistance from the army’s batallions, trained soldiers in uniforms, fully armed with shields and mallets and guns.
They will be asked to turn around and go home, like children.
They will lock arms and refuse to be driven away.
Though — at some point — they will run. They will not have the chance to stop as the bullets come raining down and the beating and the arrests follow. They will struggle to find each other amid the stampede and the panic and the loss. They will know fear. They will know despair. And nothing else.
When it gets dark and the streets are spilled with the blood of fallen friends, they will try to remember the feeling they had at the beginning of things. They will try to remember the reason and weigh that against the price they have to pay. Yet, all the same, they will not know where or how to draw the line.
It will be the longest day of their lives.
The crowd begins to move toward the gates. Mara picks up the roll of banner she has rested against the pole. There is hope in her eyes. Yes, that’s it. Hope. What a silly thing. Joko drops his cigarette to the ground, crushes it underfoot and takes Mara’s hand in his.
“Stay close to me,” says Joko. “Don’t stray too far.”
The gates are opened. The sun is high. Beyond them, the city lies idle, in wait, as smog slowly fills up the air.
Maggie Tiojakin is an Indonesian journalist and short story writer. Her debut short fiction collection, Homecoming, was published in 2006. This year, her second collection, Ching-Ching’s Ballads, will be published in Bahasa Indonesia.
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12 Responses to “THE LONG MARCH • by Maggie Tiojakin”
Comments
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February 5th, 2012 at 5:53 am
- This was a good idea for a story and it was constructed to build up to the point when they burst out the gates, which I thought was also a good idea. This piece had special interest to me as I’ve been on the side with the guns and batons before(does any military carry ‘mallets’?).
- I’m afraid that the character of Joko was something of a void throughout though. Mara’s character is defined through Joko’s observations, but Joko himself just isn’t there. He is written as an observer without opinion. He very clinically itemizes the violently colorful events that are coming: ‘they’re going to shoot some of us, beat us, arrest us’, but he expresses no excitement, fear, or anticipation. He does express that the whole thing is pointless and that she is silly.
- In short, what you’ve written as his actions is very good and shows why he’s involved, but when you go into his head, you yank the reader out of the story’s action and relegate them to a position of distant observer.
February 5th, 2012 at 7:04 am
It’s strange how by the time you get to the exchange of short sentences without dialogue tags, you’ve introduced the characters so well that I had absolutely no doubt about who was saying what. Very well done.
And yes, hope is worth the price, always.
Wonderful to read and very engaging – thank you, Ms. Tiojakin.
February 5th, 2012 at 9:47 am
Rob – Thanks for your comment. To answer your question, our military didn’t use to carry batons, though our police force does. The mallets were found/used during the ’97-’98 demonstrations in Jakarta after the masses got involved in the riots. Thanks again.
Debi – Thanks for your comment. I really appreciate it
February 5th, 2012 at 9:58 am
I liked the fluidity of the style here, from Joko’s grounded observations to the floating, unattributed dialogue section, to the unexpected distance of the omniscient narrator’s chilling future-summary. I’m not sure any of that should have worked, but it certainly did for me! A great example of how breaking the rules for effect can pay off.
February 5th, 2012 at 10:25 am
I liked it.
But having an extra one or two speech tags in the first long dialogue interchange would help me.
the rest of the sentence about “…marching in files…” is a bit of a mouthful, a bit difficult to appreciate each noun.
repeated use of the word “will” in the end third of the piece brings up a great feeling of expectancy.
well done.
February 5th, 2012 at 10:38 am
I really enjoyed this story. Just the excitment of the protest was enough to draw me in. I gues I’m a little like Mara that way. I didn’t mind Joko’s characterization at all, he was supposed to be the skeptic and he did a good job at it. I wiah them luck with their protest. Four stars.
February 5th, 2012 at 2:15 pm
Oh my. I couldn’t stop reading. I was worried for them and moved by their passion. I love writers who allow the reader enough space to use their imagination, and create a situation where they find commonality with the characters, (and root for them!) even if they have nothing in common with them in “real” life. 5/5.
February 5th, 2012 at 7:15 pm
I loved the story, and I love your blog. The layout is great and the comment system is nice and easy.
February 6th, 2012 at 5:39 am
Very nice. I liked the detached attitude of Joko, especially when contrasted with him going through with the march and urging Mara to stay close. I like how he is revealed to be a complex, conflicted character in very little description and clever use of dialogue.
Is he going through with the march because in spite of his ‘I don’t see the point’ comments, he also has some inner flame of hope and a desire to take the risks to make things better? Or are his feelings and concern for Mara (even down to whether she’s wearing sensible shoes) simply driving himself to try to keep her safe against overwhelming odds? To get that much meat into a piece of flash fiction is very impressive!
Very nicely crafted, Maggie!
February 6th, 2012 at 10:33 am
I agree with everything Chris Fries says, especially with respect to Joko’s motivation. I interpreted his actions as stemming from his care for Mara and nothing else; he’s jaded, but careful not to stomp on her idealism. And he wants to protect her if he can.
I also think that the Long March for Joko will be an internal one – from his detached stance toward Mara’s idealistic hope. I think he realizes that, if he sets off with her, idealism is where he’ll end up.
February 7th, 2012 at 2:06 am
Some of the sentences ran on a bit, and there were a couple of unnecessary typos that made me feel a further edit was needed.
An engaging enough tale, though.
February 7th, 2012 at 4:03 am
Thank you, everyone, for your amazing comments and suggestions!