The whitewashed buildings of the government headquarters reflect the sunlight with an intolerable glare as we swing up the path from the road. At the door of the assistant’s office we are greeted by an obsequious Ambonese in regulation white. His trousers are very short, though whether by design or because of repeated shrinkings, I am not prepared to say. On his head he wears a batik turban one corner of which seems to flirt with us in feminine coquettishness as he bows and scrapes. The “Residentee” is awaiting our pleasure, he informs us. From the cool semi-darkness of the office comes a voice in soft Malay telling the man to show the Tuans in, and forthwith we enter. After the terrific glare of out-of-doors we grope 46momentarily, but our eyes soon accommodate themselves to the grateful dimness and we see before us a little brown-skinned man of some forty years, with bristling mustachios, extending a friendly hand.
He is filled with the importance of the occasion. Are we well? Do we like Merauke? Are we sufficiently comfortable in the passangrahan? Have we recovered from the ennui of our long voyage? He showers us with solicitation as to our welfare and immediately we feel that we are among friends. It is a habit that these foreign officials have, to make one at home upon the instant.
Greetings over and assurance given that all is as it should be, we, running true to American form, get down to business. This is distinctly painful to the “Residentee,” for as yet we are not really acquainted. He lifts his hands in remonstrance and exclaims, “Ah, these Americans!” and shakes his head as though nonplussed at our bustling impetuosity. “Hurry, hurry, hurry!” he remarks audibly, but really to 47himself; then to us: “You must slow down over here or you will not last; the heat, it is too much.” He tells us this with a sage-like shake of his head.
His desire to please, however, outweighs his scruples against talking business in the first ten minutes of an acquaintance and he asks us what he can do for us, in the manner of one who will give anything yet secretly fears that he may be asked the impossible. These Americans, you know, think that just anything can be done. A wave of the hand and presto, it is!
What we want is really a good deal, so, taking a fresh grip on our nerve and with a deep breath to go on, we request in a low, dulcet voice: “The loan of the government schooner and crew for a few weeks. We are very much interested in the Kia Kias and should like to study them in their homes, far away from outside influences. Will you be so kind as to let us have the schooner for a trip around the western end of the island, where the really wild tribes live?”
The Assistant heaves a sigh of relief. “What 48could be easier!” he exclaims. His slim brown hand taps a bell on the desk before him and a “boy” of fifty slides into adamantine immobility beside the doorway of the sanctum. In a few terse words the captain of the Nautilus is summoned. It seems that our little Assistant is something of a martinet with his men. When within range of his eye they straighten up with ramrod stiffness. In his domain his word is law; rather, he is the law.
Ula, skipper of the Nautilus, has been lounging in the shade of the Chinese toko, or general store, near the dock. The toko is but a few rods from the Assistant’s office, and the man sent for the skipper readily finds him. The two enter together and stand at attention while the Assistant delivers himself of a long harangue in Malay that flows in so rapid a stream that our unaccustomed ears catch only a small part of it.
Ula does not seem inordinately happy over the prospect. From the mention of prampoen and the assistant’s angry tone as Ula utters the word, we gather that he has a new sweetheart who is 49occupying his time at present. The conversation dies away in a moment, and the Assistant later tells us that Ula wanted to know whether he might take the girl with him to finish his courting.
Ula departs disconsolately for the schooner. The Assistant has ordered it made ready for us to-morrow morning. He waves a deprecating hand at our effusive thanks and says that he is only sorry that he cannot do more for us. He asks us about America, meaning the United States, and we chat for an hour. As the time for his siesta draws near we rise to go, for in the islands one must never interfere with another’s midday sleep; it isn’t done.
Before we take leave of the obliging little man he asks us to be permitted as an especial favor to ship a party of five Kia Kias up the coast a little distance on “our” schooner. They are some natives that have just finished a one-month term in the local hoosgow or jail. The offense was trivial. There had been a disagreement in their village with a visitor and when 50the argument ended the visitor was deceased.
“We have to check them a little,” remarks the Assistant. “We could not fix the blame exactly, so we gathered up three men who were implicated and two of them brought their wives.”
After further assurances on the part of the Assistant that the natives shall in no way interfere with our convenience on the schooner, and from us many expressions of our gratitude, we depart. As we walk down the sweltering roadway along the riverfront we congratulate ourselves on the success of the interview. The Nautilus will save us many heartbreaking miles of grueling jungle travel.
In the passangrahan Moh has a “rice-taffle” ready for us. Rice-taffle! No wonder these Dutch gentlemen indulge in an all-afternoon siesta! Every noon—rice-taffle! A tremendous bowl of rice, chicken cooked in four or five different ways,—boiled, fried, roasted, and I don’t know how to describe the others,—two or three varieties of fish; a peppery soup-like sauce with which to drench the heaped-up contents of the 51platter, and a dozen different sweetmeats, condiments, and garnitures. It is so good that one invariably overeats and repletion, together with the sultry heat of midday, brings a drowsiness that makes bed welcome. Even the ever-businesslike Chinese closes his toko and sleeps until four o’clock. At that hour, or shortly after, every one wakes up and the splashing in the bath-house is prodigious. The evening coolness brings the hour of the promenade and the streets and byways are gay with the varicolored sarongs that the Malay women affect. The men come forth in suits of white drill fresh from the dhobie and saunter along with cigarettes aglow, leading by the hands naked kiddies for whom they have a very genuine fondness.
Many of the little girls of, say, three to six years wear, suspended from a single cord around their plump little loins, a pendant that serves both as covering and ornament. This usually takes the form of a gold or silver heart of possibly three-inch length and proportionate width. It is amusing to watch a group of these 52innocents at play. Sometimes a small girl’s heart becomes displaced, and hangs unnoticed for a time upon her hip. This is not at all disconcerting to her or to her infant male companions. When she discovers the disarrangement of this sole article of her apparel she will stop play and readjust it with the utmost unconcern and charming na?veté. Play is then resumed. Her manner is precisely that of one of our high-school girls who pauses between sets in tennis to powder her nose.
As we pass the people in the promenade, all from elders down to the little naked tots, greet us with “Tabe, Tuan,” and the elders smile in fond amusement at their offsprings’ baby lisping of the greeting. We like the Malays very much; and the Chinese, too, for they are always pleasant to us.