Stories from Deli

The central hospital at Tebing Tinggi was blazing in the morning sun, which at that early hour was already spreading heat as on a hot Dutch summer day. The extensive lawns surrounding the building complex were completely withered by the prolonged drought, and the crotons in the beds let their leathery, variegated leaves hang limply. The trees and shrubs along the access roads were covered with a thick layer of dust, and not a breeze of wind brought relief from the ever-increasing temperature of this tropical day, which in that respect would be equal to the many similar ones that exist at this time of the year. the workers in this hot country had to be lived through. 

The large leaves of the coconut trees and of the banana trees hung motionless around the houses of the Malays opposite the hospital, and the residents sat quietly in the shade, cooking their meals, not thinking about doing any work. Each time a cart, strung with two large Bengal draft oxen, would drive into the hospital yard to deliver patients sent from the surrounding estates to be treated by the capable hands of a European doctor. Almost all of them were seriously ill, who sometimes had to be transported for a few hours in this uncomfortable means of transport without springs, after having already spent a few days in the small hospitals at the companies. But the treatment of the sick there in those days of the old Deli was very dilettant and belonged to the task of the youngest assistant, who as a rule had no idea even of ‘first aid for accidents’. 

On the estate every morning, even before sunrise, that assistant, with a smoky kerosene lamp in hand, went past the rows of coolies, all squatting on the road, with the appropriate mandoers in front, to make an appeal; then he had to divide the different shifts according to the instructions he had received from the clerk the previous evening. In the meager glow of light he would call out the names from the mandur booklet of each team and those who called in sick were set aside. The rest went with a note, on which their number and the mandur were noted down to the relevant department of the company, where they were put to work by the department assistant. Thus shift after shift disappeared in the twilight of the morning, and the sick remained, who were taken to the small shed which served as a hospital, where the singkeh, the novice, followed them. He already knew from experience that strict action had to be taken here too, because the temptation was very great to be able to lie quietly on a sleeping table for a few days instead of having to do a hard day’s work in the scorching sun. You could fool such a tuan baroe, such a new gentleman, that you had a severe stomach ache or that you couldn’t work because of pain in your loins. Especially the latter was very popular, because you would then be rubbed with camphor piritus and did not have to swallow anything, which would only upset your stomach. 

There was a chance, that without further investigation, the entire hospital crew was loaded into oxcarts and taken to the central hospital, where the real tuan doctor got your hands on you. If it was then found that this or that was fine, it would not come off graciously, but that happened only rarely, and so there were a certain number of sick every day, much to the chagrin of the tuan besar, the administrator, ‘who not a single coolie could miss. 51 For example, every morning after the roll call the young man went to the hospital and had the patients come one by one in a small dressing room. In the center of it was a sloping table with a zinc top on which the patient had to sit. First came the injuries that occurred frequently. All kinds of ulcers, pustules, cuts and the Chinese toucan obat, the caretaker, worked abundantly with sublimate, hellish stone and iodine, without regard to the reaction of the patients who had to undergo this treatment. Blood and pus poured down the zinc table top into an old kerosene can, into which the used dirty cotton wool was also thrown. Then the wounds were bandaged again with the bandages, which the patients must have washed themselves and then they stumbled back to their sleeping tables. Seeing all that filth, the assistant always had trouble suppressing a rising sense of disgust, but he had to get used to this too. 

Then came the turn of the internal diseases and for this a ‘paper doctor’ was at his disposal in the form of an old, dirty booklet, in which the symptoms and the medicines were indicated. Sakit proet, stomach ache, was simple; Castor oil was invariably given against this. Sakit panas, fever, went too; in such a case a quinine drink was available, which had a miraculous effect. But at a vague indication of pain here or pain there, such a young man was confused, and usually he was inclined to direct it directly to the central hospital. But the administrator sometimes thought otherwise. When he stepped into the hospital and saw all the sleeping tables occupied by men, who would gladly give a mouthful of castor oil or quinine drink for a nice rest, his voice thundered through the room. That singkeh let those guys trick him! That had to be out. Work had to be done and he had nothing to do with all the talk of sakit this or sakit that. He would then stand in the aisle between the sleeping tables and give orders: all the patients on the left, castor oil, and all on the right quinine, regardless of the nature of their indicated illness. 

And tomorrow exactly the other way around: on the left quinine and on the right castor oil and whoever thought they were ill the day after tomorrow, went to the large hospital. As a rule, the result of this action was that a number of ‘sick people’ had already left that same evening and two days later the really sick remained, who were transported in an ox-cart. Thus, patients from all sides would enter the central hospital and squat under the canopy at the entrance, awaiting their turn to be examined by the doctor. This, a solidly built Swiss, every day faced the difficult task of ascertaining the nature of the disease among the numerous new arrivals and distributing them among the different halls. What drove him to leave the cool mountains of his homeland and devote himself to his humanitarian task in this remote part of the globe, no one has ever learned. But those reasons must have been very serious, for he was a very art-loving man, an excellent musician himself, and there was no possibility of hearing good music in place of his current job. But many evenings he sat in front of the grand porch of his spacious house, in the midst of the many palms and chevelures, which were everywhere in colorful chinese pots and then the sick remained about the rhapsodies and sonatas through the silent tropical night. 

He was highly regarded among Europeans as well as among the coolies and natives, the Bataks and the Malays, because of his open nature and his unrestricted willingness to provide assistance wherever it was needed. In addition, he was a skilled physician, so that many natives turned to him to seek treatment in cases where the medicine men ‘hocus pocus and the kampong’s clothons failed. He always had a kind word to say about his numerous patients in the expanded hospital, and he took an interest in their suffering as he walked around the sleeping tables every day. This was something the coolies never heard from the tobacconists. On the kebons there was only interest in their work performance, which was pushed to the limit, and kindness to the workers was not in the dictionary of those old Delians. It was no wonder, then, that this tuan doctor was highly regarded. He was also busy that morning. The number of new patients was large and one by one they entered the examination room, where he made a preliminary diagnosis. He left the treatment of the numerous injuries and ulcers to the Chinese sitters, whom he had trained for this work, but he handled the more serious cases personally. 

He continued to work until after noon and when the last patient was well taken care of, he went to his house to enjoy the rice table and then have a well-deserved afternoon rest. He bathed, dressed only in a sarong and a thin jacket, had his afternoon drink come and lay comfortably on a rattan lounger when the telephone rang. There was a vague suspicion in him that this did not bode well for his afternoon rest. With a sigh he got to his feet, picked up the receiver, and heard the voice of the controller, the administrative officer of that area. ‘Are you there a doctor? You’re talking to the inspector. I have a curious request to make to you. ‘ ‘Good afternoon, Controller. How are you? And what is that peculiar request? ‘ “Well, I have hesitated to knock on your door with this, but I don’t know any other way. In the Batak kampong a great crowd has arisen and from far and wide the Ba are streaming towards it because of the miracle that has happened there. ‘ -luts’ A miracle, you say and what is that then? ‘ “There’s a woman there who claims she gave birth to a white hen.” “What do you say about a white chicken fallen?” ‘No. Gave birth, give birth to a white hen! ‘ “Hahaha, and should I be involved in that?” ‘a, look, doctor, that’s how it is now. That guy of hers has spread that talk all over the place and added all kinds of wonder stories to it. 

He taught those Bataks there that the feathers of this wonder chicken make them invulnerable and now there is a rush of people who want to buy a feather from that chicken for the price of a dime and then carry it with them as an amulet. That is quite a commotion there and you can understand that I have to intervene there, because you do not know where such a conviction of invulnerability will end. ‘ 

‘That’s a fine story, Controller. Everything is possible in this wonderful country. But I don’t understand what I’m dealing with yet. ‘ ‘You are the only one who can help me. If I asked the planters around there to get involved, some of them would go over, beat that guy, and throw that bitch out of the house with her hen, but the turmoil would last. be enlarged. Everyone in my region knows Your ability and respects You. You would be doing me a great service if You went to that kampong and made people understand that a woman cannot give birth to a chicken, and that it is all a scam and cheating belongs to that guy with the aim of knocking their dimes out of their pocket. As I have already said, it is an odd request that I make only hesitantly, but I see no other way. The doctor had to think for a moment before answering this nonsensical call that was being made upon him. Should he lend himself to telling grown-ups that women don’t give birth to white chickens? Couldn’t that inspector do that himself? He looked at his cool front porch and the scorching heat of the tropical afternoon beyond; it was more than two hours’ drive on his buggy to that kampong and all efforts would not be in vain…? “What do you think, Doctor,” the phone rang. “I understand that you have serious objections, but let yourself be persuaded this time.” ‘It is indeed a strange story, Controller, and I do not want to deny that I feel badly about it and that I am not convinced of the favorable result that you apparently expect from my arrival in that kampong. But, I will do it. After the rice table, I drive off and we will hope for the best. ‘ Thank you very much, Doctor. You arrive at my place on the way back for a cold split; I wish you good luck. See you tonight then. ‘ He was tied to that. During dinner he grumbled that he would have done better, that he had told that administrative officer that he could not interfere with such nonsense, or that he could not be missed in the hospital. But he had promised it once, so he dressed again after the rice table, mounted the buggy, and drove off in the blazing heat of the afternoon. 

On the way he passed some plantations, where the work continued uninterrupted. The assistants walked in the 57 fields with sweaty clothes and the coolies worked as if there was no heat that could take someone’s breath away. He dismounted a few times to take a break in an administrator’s house and enjoy a cool drink, and it appeared to him that the rumor of the miraculous event in that Batakkampong had already spread everywhere. When he arrived, his arrival caused some commotion among the many Bataks, who squatted by one of the houses built on stilts and who were waiting their turn to get mighty also one of those feathers of that wonder hen. On the way he had already drawn up a plan and he immediately had the kapala kampong, the kampong chief, called. He knew this man well, had even healed him once from a serious injury, and he trusted that he had enough preponderance to convince him right away that this nonsense was nothing but cunning deception to be stopped as soon as possible. That old Batakker came with the necessary sembahs, bows, to the doctor and asked what gave him the honor of his visit. This went directly to his goal. 

He said that he had not expected an old and wise man like the Kapala Kampong to believe in the possibility that a woman would give birth to a white hen, and that the feathers of that animal would have a wonderful effect. He had come here to find out if there was indeed childbirth and if so he would spread the fame of this miracle everywhere, but if it turned out to be a fraud, the tuan controller would send a large number of policemen to take him and that couple into custody and a heavy fine would be imposed on him. He now had to explain to the assembled Batakkers why the big tuan doctor blanda here… ran down the stairs with a half-bald plucked chicken under his arm. had come and what he intended to do and then he would go into the house for the examination. The cunning kampong chief, who was probably involved in the plot and received his share of the dimes, thought for a moment. He knew that this doctor had full confidence in his people, and when he declared that there was no childbirth and that they had all been cheated, his position was also lost. So he turned to the crowd of men who had gathered around the house in question and told them what the doctor had instructed him to say. He was first heard in silence, but then there was a murmur and voices were heard, that the great tuan doctor blanda had to go ahead, because they did not want to be deceived. 59 He had watched the course of events with tension and was now approaching the house in question. And then … then a second miracle happened … . 

He had not yet reached the shaky staircase that led to the entrance when a skinny, filthy woman emerged from the door and ran down the stairs with a half-bald plucked white chicken under her arm, followed by her equally filthy husband. However, the group of Batakkers blocked their way, and with loud shouting and clamor it was signaled to them that they must return all the dimes, because it had now become apparent that they were afraid of the examination of the great tuan-doctor blanda, and that the whole story had been a fraud. They were temporarily detained by the kampong chief until a few native police came to fetch them, to bring them before the magistrate, in order to undergo their just punishment. The doctor had enjoyed this thrilling spectacle and concluded that this episode in his Delian career had been worth sacrificing his afternoon rest.