Stories from Deli

The Art offered to planters in old Deli was as strange as any other entertainment in their daily life. They generally had no need for it and no time for it. The one who had brought back from the motherland a spark of longing for artistic pleasure in the depths of his soul, soon saw it extinguished by the uninterrupted hard work on the enterprises. 

They had to settle for the displays of the Chinese wayang and the Malay bangsawan, both very primitive art forms. It was a very curious case with that wayang, because it was closely related to the recruitment of Chinese workers at the companies. The Chinese field coolies contracted for only one year and would be a free man again, —orang preman — after that contract period. if some very cunning attempts were not made to make them sign again, thus re-tying them to the company. At the end of the harvest they were paid the money that they had earned after deducting the advances. As long as they had access to that money, they generally did not feel like re-contracting. So it was all a matter of time for them to spend that money again and to get them back into debts, if possible, which they could only pay off with the advance that came into their hands when they were re-employed. 

A never failing method was found for this, which was applied to every Delian company. During the sorting period, all the Chinese workers were housed in large barracks on the yard. During the day they were busy sorting and bundling the many millions of tobacco leaves in the fermentation shed, but in the evening they just fool around. The chief tandil, who was held responsible for the number of re-engagements, now took advantage of his people’s many spare time, giving them the opportunity to indulge their ardent passion for the game. A special shed was then built for that purpose, in which numerous gaming tables were placed, where they could gamble to their heart’s content. Since the head tandil as supreme banker earned a certain percentage of each bet, all the players’ money eventually flowed into his pouch. If they had forfeited their money in this way, advance payments were made to continue playing, provided they signed a contract. 

In addition, another advance was made, which paid off the debt to the main toad, and the conclusion was that everyone was satisfied: the coolies had been able to gamble for a few months, the main toothil had made a lot of money, and the enterprise retained its labor! In order to increase the attraction of the ‘playroom’ even more, a complete Chinese theater play of ancient Chinese sagas and legend-teacher troupe was placed on the estate, which performed the den. At the end of the shed a high stage was set up with a floor of rough planks, on which the artists dressed in precious silk and gold brocade moved and uttered incomprehensible sounds. To the left and right of the own stage it was a big mess, between which usually a few fellows were sleeping or quietly outwitting a pipe of opium, despite the hellish noises. which attracted some strings and wind instruments from their instruments. 

The play that was performed lasted at least a week, and each evening started simply where it had left off the previous evening. There were no seats and the spectators listened to what was offered or walked back and forth. At the back of the shed were the numerous tables on which gambling was done. It was customary for the Europeans of the company to be invited once to attend the performance and to experience this artistic pleasure. 

A high scaffolding had been built for the touans, where they were received and served with due honors, but they could not stand it for more than an hour at this cacophony, the less because they did not understand what those beautifully dressed boys were on the scene.

The Malay bangsawan was occasionally honored with a visit from a group of planters when they went out in search of entertainment in Medan after a heavy drink and an abundant meal. They entered the hall noisily, where the audience, consisting of Malays and Javanese, watched the adventures of Genoveva as they were performed on stage. The accompanying krontjong music could still be heard, but the pale painted nonna, who played the lead role, worked with her screeching and strange body twists on the nerves of the tobacconists to such an extent that they threw rijksdaalders onto the stage from pure ball, with as- Prominence ringgits, followed by a big grabbing game, much to the amusement of the spectators. 

Yes, Art on the East Coast was still very sad, and the older planters hardly knew what that word actually meant. It was therefore a risky undertaking for a European artist to come to this country and only a few managed to provide the planters with what they liked. Most were wrong. So it happened to a young man who had announced in the Medan newspapers that he would perform the next hari besar in the White Society as the singer of ‘life songs’. The planters wanted to hear that guy, and the flow of tobaccos to the capital that day was even greater than usual, came in kareta-sewah’s, hired cars of course. 

A very strange, but generally common model in Deli. The occupant passenger had barely half a square meter at his disposal, which space he still had to share, with the seice, the Malay coachman who sat partly in the carriage and partly on a plank that lay over the two trees, his legs dangled off board. The rock-hard leather seat cushion offered no convenience, and the only good thing about it was the fiery Batak horse, tirelessly pulling its load along the often very bad roads. But inconvenient as these commonly used karetas were, they were very solid and never overturned; No matter how deep the holes and potholes the wheels fell into, they remained upright and if the occupant braced himself enough, nothing could happen to him. 

The clerks, the tuan besars, arrived in high buggies with a slender Australian in front, and it would be many years before the oldest assistants dared to purchase such a vehicle. The highest in the planters world, the chief administrators, the HAs, drove cars, nice expensive cars with the handbrake and the gear lever mounted on the side on the outside. Two brightly polished, copper carbide lanterns increased the impression entirely, which was also the intention. -amazing

Thus on that hari besar numerous vehicles rode into Medan from all sides. The two hotels on the spot were completely taken over by those noisy men, so that the good Medans citizens did not show themselves there that day. Moreover, the language and manners of those planters were such that it was better to stay at home. The fact that they unbuttoned the coats to their bare chests and ran their index finger along their sweaty foreheads, so that a trickle fell on the floor, was still until then, but that they just threw the food from the plates over to each other. to other tables, it was still too harsh: you couldn’t be there with your wife! And then drink that! When there were eight of them sweating at a table, each of them gave a round in turn! That just shouted: Boy! kassi lagi delapan pait! (bring eight more drinks). 

So each of them drank only eight drinks for a short while and then the necessary beers at the table and what was added later in the evening! And everything on the receipt; they never paid! The mandur of the hotel presented them with a receipt and they signed it; no wonder those planters were all so deeply in debt and their entire profit was spent when it came to paying. 

No, at hari besar you could not get to the Boer or the Medan hotel … The consequence of those views of the Medans bourgeoisie was that the tobacconists on that particular day had the empire alone, before they moved in droves to the Witte, where the man of the song of life would perform. Some civilians had also ventured into the hall and sat with the authorities, as was customary, in the front rows. But the vast majority of the audience consisted of a rowdy troop of red-burnt men, who clumped together in their throbbing, once-white pakeans, one of sense and one of joy, and full of anticipation of ‘the song of life’ that will soon be coming off the stage. would sound. 

The screen went up and a neat little gentleman stepped forward from a side setting, who, after a slight bow, began to give a speech about the song of life in general and the Dutch in particular. Because of that chatter the audience was already getting restless and exclaiming like: ‘Just hurry up’; and, ‘is there anything to come of it?’ already sounded out loud. The artist did not seem to care much about it and started with a song about love and happiness, to which the criticism erupted loudly: ‘Stop your trumpet’ was shouted, ‘you don’t know any lightning’, another filled in. On; “Better go and bake pancakes,” recommended another with great laughter; “Choke on your love,” a deep voice called out from the back of the room. 

For a moment the singer was stunned by such an unusual reaction, but when his second and third songs were of the same sentimental quality, the long-suffering of most of the auditorium came to an end. In the midst of a sweet chorus, a couple of tough guys stormed onto the stage, grabbed the bewildered singer by the collar and signaled to him that it didn’t seem like anything; that he was the greatest shit that had ever come here from Holland and that he had to ask an excuse for his audacity to perform here for a high entrance with such shitty songs. They wouldn’t let themselves be fooled here, if only he knew that! The utterly startled young man felt utterly helpless in the grip of the giant next to him and waited without hesitation what would be decided about him. He did not have to wait long struggling, because another tobacconist jumped on the scene and observed, that now that they were here so cozy pray each other, they could make it a happy evening themselves. He politely requested the “dear audience, including the front rows” to remain seated. The professional artist was deposited in the front row and then the amateurs signed up! They sang with a shriek and the mood rose as more ‘artists’ performed. 

The most foolish songs were played and never had such an evening full of joy in the posh White Society in Medan. The singer who had come over from Holland received the entire receipts, after deduction of the costs, and also received a lesson at the start of his tour through the Indies, which was priceless! Shortly afterwards, a reputable Dutch performance artist came to these regions and although the planters understood that it was going to be ‘a dead end’, given the published program, they had emerged in large numbers. They wanted to see and hear that national celebrity. 

The day was passed in the usual way. First do several shopping at Soei Tek Bie or Seng Hap, then have the hair cut, order pakeans, buy shoes, go to Huttenbach and then have a drink and eat. The hall of the Witte was completely occupied with, as usual, the high omes in the front rows and then all the planters, who were aware that things were now getting serious and kept themselves as quiet as possible. The famous man entered and was introduced to the public by none other than the resident, who considered it a great honor for Deli that an artist like him had undertaken the great journey to make his countrymen enjoy his great art in these distant regions. 

Loud applaus followed, because when it came to blows, the tobacconists were there! Then the great man stepped forward and declared that he demanded the most perfect silence in the hall during his recitation of ‘De Kruissprook’, which was now to follow as the first number. “What kind of ghost?” someone whispered in the planter rows. ‘Shut up, man; do I know? ‘ his neighbor muttered. “He says the house is haunted,” knew another. ‘That could be a funny piece! I like such a hantoe! ‘ Several whispering remarks were made and the hall was far from silent, so that an imperious ‘hush’ sounded from the front rows. The performance artist waited anxiously and then suddenly, in a loud voice, began to say the first words: ‘Come along, come along…’ It shocked them – there was shuffling and soft exclamations at the back of the hall, so that the reciter broke off suddenly and furious looks looked into the hall… ‘If part of the audience cannot keep quite still during the lecture, then I ask those gentlemen to leave as quietly as possible,’ he exclaimed indignantly. “I can’t give my speech at such a commotion!” 

Some authorities and HAs had stood up and scoured the lines to find the bells, but all those red, sun-burnt heads looked innocently ahead! They found that artist a visit! If only they had stayed with De Boer! It was indeed very quiet in the hall when the artist started again, but the effect of those first words of the Fairy Tale of the Cross was as unexpected as catastrophe. No sooner had he thrown the opening words back into the room: ‘come along, come along, everyone comes…’! or he was interrupted, by a voice that shouted: ‘Come on guys, do that.

Come along, come along, everyone comes along we: all come along… but as quietly as possible…’ As if it had been the agreed work, the indignant artist saw how all those planters stooped, took off their shoes and in a parade, in their socks with shoes in hand, walked out of the hall, always shouting, yes cheering: ‘come along, come along, everyone come…!’ It became a big uproar. The high lords cried that it was a shame; the artist was far from the wings but collapsed from the front gallery bordering the hall, a thunderous laughter and a startling noise into the now almost empty hall. There could be no question of further finishing the program and the famous man left Deli shortly afterwards with the belief that demonstrating his art there was like throwing pearls before swine. 

Indeed! Those old Delianas did not like Art with the great K. if it was served in this way. Yet if a traveling circus once landed on the East Coast, there were too few seats! Seen from a European point of view, such a circus was actually nothing special; at most a troop, as appears at the Dutch fairs. But here in this country it was soon good enough, especially with the necessary horses and riders. The planters were always a grateful, if noisy, crowd. They were not frugal with their signs of approval or disapproval, which were loudly presented with the necessary commentary and good advice, and it was often a commotion far beyond the tune produced by a pair of poor wind players as an orchestra. Especially when what was offered was not to the liking of the spectators, this was indicated unambiguously. 

The main number of the paltry performance was that night when a wild horse was brought up and awarded a hundred guilders to the person who could ride around the arena three times on that unsaddled steed. The circus boss did not have to announce this twice, because the lovers of all rows came to register for that naughty bit. ‘Just give that beak here,’ they cried, ‘we will learn mores about it, ‘and one of them was chosen to show his skills. It was not easy for him to mount that tomboy, however, for the horse thrashed about and turned in all directions. The tobacconist kept approaching cautiously, but as soon as he wanted to jump on it, the horse darted sideways. “Come on, Jan, don’t let yourself know, dude,” they shouted, “jump on it anyway!” “As long as I finish it first, then the matter will be over,” he called back, “but that bitch won’t give me a chance.” With one hand he held the animal by the mane and with the other patting it soothingly on the neck, he got it gently with the flank against a shot, so that it could not go out. Then he took the plunge and… it succeeded! Steige – turning away and beating with the hind legs, the horse tried to throw off that burden, but the rider remained seated and began to ride his first lap to thunderous applause from the whole audience. 

Especially the highest ranks, crammed with Malay Javanese, Chinese, Klingaleese and other Asians, lived mead excited with the spectacle and uttered loud tuan ‘ the horse had mastered. women among them, hardly dared to look or uttered hysterical screams of ‘djangan tuan, djangan …’ fear that this wild combination would end up in their midst from the arena. So the whole circus looked like a witch at its center, that sun-tanned tobacco on that Sabbath with wild horse. The first and probably toughest lap he had meanwhile completed, and it seemed as if the horse, feeling that it was controlled by a will and a force more powerful than he, was becoming less fierce, for at times it trotted quite normally. The circus director, who had positioned himself in the middle of the ring, sometimes clapped his long whip at the horse’s legs as if to strengthen it in his resistance, but whatever jumps the animal made as a result, the Delian remained seated and thus began the final round, to deafening acclaim from the audience. But then something happened that no one had expected. 

The circus boss, noticing that he was about to lose his hundred doll, could no longer control himself and when the third round was nearly over, he lifted the long whip and let a smashing blow fall, not on the horse but on the rider… Whether it was intentional or not has never been decided, but he would remember the effect of that vicious whiplash for a long time. Everyone had seen it and it was as if all the devils had broken free from hell. Throngs of planters rushed into the arena excitedly; others hurled the chairs from the boxes to the circus boss and the other staff, who rushed to the aid of their director. It became a formal battle among the loud of “colored” ranks, who unanimously chose par – cries of encouragement from the tide for “kita poenja toean” *. ‘Hantam sadja, hantam sadja’, they screamed, ‘ini tida patoet, hantam sadj a…!’ 

The rider had fallen off the horse by that unexpected whip and had thrown himself upon his attacker, while the horse was nowhere to be seen. Others had come to blows with the groomsmen, acrobats, and the rest of the circus staff, or invaded the bite-tents. A small burly clown had jumped on the back of a tall planter, but was just as quickly disarmed by a masterful punch from another. The same fate befell the animal tamer, who also proved unable to cope with the odds, and so one adversary after another was put out of action by the furious tabakers, who thus avenged the reproach, inflicted on one of them. Suddenly a voice called out, ‘Come on guys, we’ll cut the ropes of the tent outside; then the whole thing will collapse! ‘ That was the signal for a general sauve-qui-peut of the spectators of the fight, who screeched anxiously towards the exits to escape the disaster that would result from the falling of the heavy poles and the tent cloth. 

“Wait a minute, guys,” cried a deep voice, “we’ll talk to that bastard first,”. The utterly devastated ringmaster, who, with a closed eye and a bloody nose, could barely stand on his feet, begged not to destroy his tent. It was an accident, you would of course pay that hundred guilders, but be sure and that had to be over now. A loud hurray arose from the heated heads of the planters, who had also not come off unscathed; many a turtleneck jacket was tattered and here and there the noses were bleeding equally. But when one of them chanted the song, so popular at the time: ‘The peasants have conquered, hip, hip, hooray’, it was enthusiastically sung by all, so that the fierce fighters of just now suddenly turned into a group of men cheerfully dancing and cheering . 

When they got hold of the hundred doll, they left the arena singing, leaving the battered circus boss and his equally damaged staff amid a chaos of broken chairs, planks and shreds of clothing. Accompanied by his eager companions, the victor was taken to the Medan hotel, where the party continued into the early morning, and where the hundred pops so dearly won were barely enough to pay for the first round of champagne that the plucky rider delivered. donated … That was an episode…