Stories from Deli

His leave was coming to an end. He had fully exploited the six months of vacation granted him after eight years of service in Deli, and had tasted all the pleasures that Europe could offer a single man who dared to live as he pleased. After those eight years of loneliness and tough work ‘in the tobacco’, he had immersed himself head and ears in the bustling life. But he had also enjoyed the intimacy of the domestic circle, which he had been without for so long, and it took him a great deal of effort to break free from all this and to embark on the return journey to that distant land, where the strict discipline of labor would once again rule his life. 

An old friend, willing to volunteer for this, would spend the last hours of his leave in Paris with him. Farewell from home had taken difficult moments, but when they were well and truly on the Parisian train, with a thunderous last evening ahead, the sorrow was soon forgotten. With a firm resolve not to let themselves be discouraged and to make this evening an unforgettable one, they strolled along the boulevards, had another hearty drink on the terrace of a café, then descended the steps of Olympia. Their stout stature, far above average, caused quite a stir among the ladies gathered there; such guys were worth it! But the attention was certainly also aroused by their clothing. For they had considered that they might end up in institutions where ‘evening toilets’ were mandatory. But the Delian had not afforded the luxury of purchasing such a dignified black suit for those few months of leave that he could not use in Deli anyway. He had therefore borrowed a ‘dress coat’, a garment at the time in the province that was considered a dignified garment, and his friend had also dressed himself out of solidarity in such a long dress that reached to the knees, and they had their jacket in their hotel changed for these clothes. But when, in the midst of the Parisian jofferen, they had taken off their overcoats and were now showing off in that provincial gentry, they caused the greatest pleasure. Undaunted, however, they planted themselves widely on one of the side benches and loudly answered the comments of the assembled crowd. Two of them came unabashedly to their table to check what that was a couple. They were beautiful women. The giant hats with hanging ostrich feathers, the pleureuses so sought after at the time, artistically covered their well-trimmed heads and her figure and clothing were nothing to be desired. 

The two friends scorned her with connoisseur looks and then decided to go straight with these two. As best they could, they said that they intended to party all night long, for one of them was to leave for the wilderness in the morning for many years. But they had no time and no sense of other jokes; they wanted to eat and drink and be merry and the girls had to take them wherever there was a party. “Oh Ia, la!” Mimi cheered; that will be okay; come along and la charming Andrée was also delighted with this catch. Four persons boarded a private taxi, see a two persons stopped in front of an imposing building, climbed the heavily walked stairs and dropped off their overcoats in the cloakroom. But as they entered the banquet hall, a young man with many small buttons on his tunic shot up at them and said politely: ‘votre pardessus messieurs; le cloakroom est la… ‘. ‘What? my overcoat? I have already handed them over. ‘ But the boy pointed to their long, dressed coats, which he took for a pardessus. “Espèce d’imbécile,” laughed the Delian, “just look what a practical overcoat this is.” To thunderous laughter he took off his coat and in his shirt sleeves stepped into the stately hall, where numerous dressed gentlemen and beautiful women followed this incident with pleasure. 

The gérant saw with an expert’s eye, what a beautiful couple he received with that foursome. He showed them a little table, made a fuss with the two beauties, and soon the Pommery frothed in the glasses. The ‘Stehgeiger’ of the Tzigane orchestra was soon involved; they were immediately the center of attention. Especially when the burly Delian dared to dance on the smooth dance floor with the slender Mimi, of which he had no idea, loud cries of encouragement were heard from all sides, which he promptly answered. yes, he would let himself be boxed in there by those lads! La charming Andrée threw herself into the arms of the professional dancer in time before her boyfriend decided to take a chance and did not return until the men announced loudly that they had had enough and wanted to leave, because here it was much too chic! ‘And bien, que veux-tu maintenant? ‘ Mimi inquired. ‘To a tent where people sing; such an old-fashioned Parisian cellar or attic; but it must be fun there, ‘her bea clear became and so they ended up after another cozy ride in a rather stuffy room, where the smoke could be cut, but where there was a good mood. 

They settled in and the girls made sure that the necessary drinks were served. Mimi beckoned the conférencier, who came to their table in his wide velvet trousers and ditto coat, and urged him for the song, “Non tu ne sauras j amais,” a waltz song, then entirely new. “Ecoute, chéri, écoute,” she gasped in the Delian’s ear, leaning against him half swooned, listening to the sentimental melody and lyrics of the song that now sounded through the room. ‘Then I’ll show you something else, he boasted when it was over! Unexpectedly, he stepped onto the small stage, chatted for a moment with the man behind the piano, who could play anything, and to loud cheers from those present, who did not know what to think of that tan boy in that crazy coat, he sang his powerful vote all the verses of the: Montmartre iedj e: En vingt ans pour être heureux On even sa sommière. “Encore, encore,” the guests roared. “That’s good, but then I’ll get my bottle here on stage first because I’m choking with thirst,” he shouted in unadulterated Dutch. “Otez votre pardessus,” they cried; that elegantly dressed coat was a stumbling block here too, and he took that thing off. The conférencier came in with his velvet jacket and everything was all right. 

As if it were daily work, he stood there on that little stage and sang one song after another, accompanying himself with a guitar he had got hold of. “Un chanson hollandaise,” they called from the audience.Non,' antwoordde hij,pour finir, un chanson de la Frize, ‘and then, for the first time in this Parisian room and through the walls over Boulevard Clichy it shook: Rolj e, rolj e wetterweagen Rólje, brüz om’ t tilde Grou ‘Tu est merveilleux , chéri; quel success! ‘ Mimi cheered excitedly and gave him a resounding kiss, which was underlined with applause by all those present. ‘Que jet’ aime! take me to that distant land; I want to stay with you… What good is ces femmes noires la bas… ”He screamed! Just the idea! He could already see himself landing with this purebred Parisienne with her little girls and being greeted by the cheering crowd of his friends who were about to pick him up! And then in his primitive wooden house on the kebon, where seldom anyone came and where she would sweat in the tropical heat where her make-up would run off her face, with never a little music or a dance and chicken every day! Nom de nom, what got such a lady into the head! 

He tried to explain to her that it wouldn’t work; that she had no understanding of life there… until his speech was interrupted by the manager, who gave him a round in appreciation for his performance and made him the necessary compliments. “Allons,” he cried, “well, I want to go to a simple pub in a working-class neighborhood, where you can get a good bottle of wine and a bite of ordinary food.” When they came out again they squeezed themselves into a carriage and after a long ride they stopped in front of an insignificant house, went through a bar, where many workers used a morning drink and ended up in an ach. Sprinkled by an unforgettable good-at-the-house Barsac, they ate the most impossible foods here, with lots of camembert and lots of fruit. They glued and talked, singing and having fun, forgot about the time, until his friend went outside for a moment and then realized that it was full day. In less than an hour the train to Genoa left the gare de Lyon and there was no way he could go to the hotel to change into a jacket or get his suitcase! In this corner of Paris there was no taxi to be seen at that early hour, and with difficulty they got hold of a carriage into which the four of them entered, for the two girls, who had contributed so much to the success of this last night, stood there. to take their friends away. 

At a gallop it went to gare de Lyon, where the big PLM train was waiting. All over the platform their excited reflections were heard about the fact that he would come aboard in that frock coat and wear that suit at least as far as Port Said, where his white suits were taken from the suitcases that had been brought on board in Amsterdam. could attract. They just had time for a hearty goodbye. Good Mimi and Andrée stood there with tears in their eyes, as if one of their dearest was leaving. ‘Oh, chéri; quand you to reverras? Ne pars pas… Je t ‘aime sincèrement,’ Mimi began again, but he swore not to make a scene at the last moment after such a night of joy. He kissed the girls, shook hands with his old mate, and boarded the train, which left immediately. For a moment he saw from the wide compartment window how they waved and shouted, but then it was over … He threw himself on the sofa, dead from the emotions, food and drink of the last twenty-four hours. The train controller interrupted the beginning of a sweet dream and left with a thick pour-boire, before which he lowered the compartment’s blinds, wished him a bonne-nuit in the early morning and locked the door firmly. He slept until he was awakened for dinner in the dining car, and when he arrived in Genoa in the early night, he went looking for a hotel to freshen up and recover. 

However, being without any baggage, he was unable to do so. The hotel porters mistrusted this nightly unshaven guest in those weird attire and then, after being shown the door a few times, he stretched out on a bench in anticipation of dawn, which took a long time in February. He was full of plans to get the most out of the last hours on European soil. Information revealed that the boat would not leave until noon, so he sauntered into town to buy a few things to replace the indispensable things he should have left behind in Paris. Wandering through the oldest part of Genoa, where the narrow streets resemble crevices in the stone mass of houses, he ate minestrone in a sailor’s pub and an hour later spaghetti in a large restaurant. He tramped the city from one end to the other, absorbing himself, as it were, with the city life that passed him by. He walked into old churches, where old ladies knelt devoutly. In the harbor district, he entered an opportunity with harmonica music and there met a number of drunken sailors who were making fun of half-undressed women on their knees and where it was pointed out to him that someone in such attire did not belong there. In this way he collected the last impressions of the bustling European life, which he was about to leave, as snapshots that he would later look at many more times, if he were to sit alone on his plant road near the jungle. He came aboard without any baggage and soon found that his fellow passengers regarded him as a kind of missionary; why not let them think so for the time being? 

The disclosure of the situation he found himself in, as far as his clothing was concerned, would be all the more surprising. Playing that role was not easy right away, because when he looked down over the railing of the tall nave, where numerous boats with mandolin players, sellers of fruits, cloths and all kinds of trinkets sailed around, he felt like a kind of super-bailey and got an irresistible desire to see those guys there in that to spit boats on their heads, as true bar clerks usually do. But a reverend does not, and so he went to the bank of the deck. Here the walkway was overtaken. The heavy roar of the steam whistle boomed across the town, the ropes loosened, and slowly a few tugboats pulled the boat from the shore and out of the harbor. The strip of water separating it from good old Europe became increasingly wider… Only a few drop-offers stood on the quay to wave a few passengers off… Farewell! He went to his cabin, determined not to come back on deck until they were in the high seas. The fun was now finally over, although this sea voyage of a few weeks could still be a nice finale. But for the time being he was ‘screwed up’. 

His cabin mate was a driller who went back to the petroleum fields in Aceh and left his wife and children in Holland, so his mood was not too good either. From his trunk that had been loaded in Amsterdam, he dug up a few things that he had been very lacking these last days, took a nice warm bath and would have felt like a normal person if he had now been able to put on a light jacket. But his suitcases only contained white tropical suits. In the evening he found at the table, in addition to his cabin mate, a civilian naval officer, with destination Surabaya and a commercial employee, who made the trip to India for the first time. 

In keeping with his attire, he portrayed the modest Christian teacher who returned to his post in the Batak lands. But this camouflage was so contrary to its true nature that the joke could not last more than a few days. That he did not pray before meals was already considered suspicious and every now and then an expression escaped him which was not expected of someone who had to put the pagan Batakkers on the right path. A few days had passed, when one evening the passengers gathered in the music lounge, where there was a cheerful mood. The farewell that each of them had undergone had faded into the background and the good food and drink on board did the rest. The piano was played and sung, which revived everyone. He had been sitting with a group of people in his moody black coat with a black tie at the front, but the music and singing had such a good influence on him that the comedy had to end now. He dignifiedly strode to the piano, took a guitar standing there, while the many in attendance wondered in amazement what that tall missionary was up to now. They were in no mood at all to hear serious songs or exhortations, and all waited suspiciously for things to come. He struck a few chords, adjusted a little and said in a voice as timidly as possible: `Ladies and gentlemen, let me make a small contribution to this artistic evening, by reciting a song, which I hope your taste will be. I ask for the utmost leniency for a performance that is in no way consistent with my office. ‘ 

The company stared at him in silence. What got into that man? It would be a bit solemn, that contribution… ‘May I start then,’ he continued more forcefully, ‘with a song that most of you will know, one of Speenhof’s first, in his’ best suit’. It got louder in the room; heads were put together. What kind of eccentric was that, who had been walking around in that same dressed coat for a few days now and now started singing that song? A few powerful chords on the guitar and then his voice filled the room, arguing: I don’t feel comfortable because I’m in my best suit! The support was hesitant; still they did not know what to make of it. ‘Go on,’ they called from his table, to which he replied: ‘Friends, what I have just sung, is a painful reality and because I must feel at ease first of all, before continuing, I will be free to take off this camouflage,’ and the deed adding the word, pulled now, now we can begin, he took off his jacket and waistcoat, took off his collar and tie, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and shouted: ‘Okay, now we can start, and just hang on stuck! ‘ It caused quite a stir; but above all the noise now came his strong voice with the song

The Deli planters have given the most beautiful life. By the gods, They are always glad; They are very skilled in all kinds of things, In taking and giving, Believe that freely! Anyway, Is growing tobacco a very good thing trala lala lala lalallala… Because if you don’t want to grow very well, don’t spray Tuan Allah, Or do you have a lot broken, Or a storm wind blows over your department, And messes up your dogs, Or an accident … Then you are to be blamed In all those matters, And you get a surat with all kinds of tralalala lalalaala… After eight years, yes go to the Dutch lands, And there you can get married, But you can’t either. You will regret it later on, Because with those women You don’t fit there! Because in your talk, your doings and don’ts, There is such a sure tralala lala lalalalala… And the Grim Reaper finally comes to get you, To stop you in the grave without delay. 18 Then the nephews and nieces come to take the inheritance, but that is a bald one, They don’t like that … Then you hear them hum Well damn A Deli uncle is just tralala lala lalalala …

When the excitement caused by this unexpected song had subsided, he briefly explained why he these clothes, which, moreover, had only been borrowed, had to walk and how he had only regained himself when he had taken them off. It was a thunderous evening; the captain gave a tour in honor of the Deli planters and many songs were still sung. That good mood remained throughout the rest of the journey. After Port Said he was finally able to put on his white suit and with this the connection with Europe was broken for good. He had become completely Delian again! 

In Sabang he disembarked with a few others, after a warm farewell to his traveling companions, who were on on to Java. He walked slowly up the hill to the hotel and, after a few splits, slid back behind the mosquito net of the real iron Indian bed. The mosquitoes sang a welcome song as he lay there sweating in the oppressively hot night. The party was over for good! The next morning they left for Belawan by package boat. At three o’clock in the night the boat swerved to the Aceh coast, under the constant bellowing of the steam whistle, in the direction of a poor light that was barely visible in the pitch-black night. Well off the shallow shore the boat stopped and waited for a sampan to approach slowly. He came to fetch his cabin mate, the driller; a handshake, a congratulation and the sampan disappeared in the dim morning twilight with his passenger, one of those big Dutch boys, who drilled the oil treasures out there in Idi. 

“Be tough, dude,” they called after him, to which the answer promptly came: “You bet!” After breakfast the famous Deli coast loomed, the fishing huts on stilts, the lightship and they slid into the mouth of the Deli river. A few friends picked him up, came on board and while enjoying the last bottles of champagne they told each other their experiences. The next day he sat in an empty house on the company’s passar satu and began with fresh courage the responsible task that lay before him. He was re-engaged in the great labor process that had to bring the Deli tobacco onto the world market from a handful of seeds, the incomparable product. Now that he had returned there, he immediately felt completely at home in that country of strength, hubris, humor and tragedy where the Lied van de Arbeid sounded so loud. Europe with all its pleasures, but also with all its constraint lay behind him, and before him again lay the wide fields, the rough life and the great space. 

The second round had started, in which period he had to reach the position of tuan-besar, or, if possible, even higher. Gleefully humming a Paris’ cabaret song, the old planter’s hat on his head, the familiar rattan cane in his hand, the socks over his trouser legs, the turtleneck half open on his chest, he stepped out of his house into the fields … again and top Delian! “Tandil,” he called out loudly to the Chinese overseer, “mari sini, old binatang! Ikoet! ‘ … Come here, come with … and before him again lay the wide fields, the rough life and the great space.