The Spy

What should have been a source of joy for any woman--the birth of her children--would become a nightmare for me. After I recovered from the pain of childbirth, my life was filled with meaning the first time I touched my daughter's tiny body. Rudolf improved his behavior for a few months, but soon he returned to what he liked best: his local lovers. According to him, no European woman could compete with an Asian woman, for whom sex was like a dance. He told me this without any shame, perhaps because he was drunk, or perhaps because he deliberately wanted to humiliate me. Later, Andreas shared that, one night when the two of them were on a meaningless expedition from nothingness to nowhere, Rudolf said in a moment of alcoholic candor:

"I'm afraid of Margaretha. Have you noticed how the other officers look at her? She could leave me at any moment."

It was this sick logic, one that turns men afraid of losing someone into monsters, that made him grow even worse. He called me a whore because I wasn't a virgin when I met him. He wanted to know the details of every man he imagined I'd once had. Sobbing, I told him the story of the principal in his office. Sometimes he'd beat me, saying I was lying, and other times he masturbated and demanded more details. Given that it had been a nightmare for me, I was forced to invent these, not quite understanding why I was doing it.

He went so far as to send a servant with me to buy something that looked like the school uniform I'd worn when he met me. Whenever he was possessed by some unknown demon, he'd order me to wear it. He took the most pleasure from reenacting the rape scene; he would lay me down on the desk and penetrate me violently as I cried out, so all the servants could hear and assume that I loved it.

Sometimes I had to behave like a good little girl, who endured the rape; other times he made me scream for him to be more violent, like I was a whore and liked it.

Gradually I lost sight of who I was. My days were spent caring for my daughter, shuffling about the house with a vacant look on my face. I concealed the scratches and bruises under extra makeup, but I knew I wasn't fooling anyone.

I fell pregnant again. I enjoyed a few days of immense happiness caring for my son, but he was soon poisoned by one of his nannies, who never even had the opportunity to explain her actions; the other servants killed her the same day the baby was found dead. In the end, most said it was deserved retaliation, as the nanny had been constantly beaten, raped, and burdened by endless working hours.

Now I had only my daughter, a house that was always empty, a husband who never took me anywhere for fear of being betrayed, and a city so beautiful it felt oppressive; here I was in paradise, living my own personal hell.

Then one day, everything changed. The regiment commander invited the officers and their wives to a local dance performance meant to honor one of the island's rulers. Rudolf could never say no to a superior. He asked me to buy something expensive and sensual to wear. I understood the reason for "expensive," which spoke more to his possessions than my own personal endowments. But if--as I learned later--he was so afraid of me, why would he want me to dress sensually?

We arrived at the venue. The women looked at me with envy, the men with desire, and I noticed that that excited Rudolf. It looked like the evening would end badly, with me being forced to describe what I had "imagined doing" with each of the officers as Rudolf penetrated and beat me. By any means possible, I had to protect the only thing I had left: myself. And the only way I was able to do that was by striking up a long conversation with Andreas, whose wife watched me with terror and amazement. I kept my husband's glass full, hoping he would fall over drunk.

I would like to finish writing about Java here, this instant; when the past dredges up a memory capable of opening old wounds, suddenly other wounds appear and make the soul bleed more deeply, until you have to kneel down and cry. But I cannot stop until I bring up the three things that would change my life: my decision, the dance we watched, and Andreas.

My decision: I could no longer accumulate problems and live so far beyond the limits of human suffering.

As I thought about this, the group that was preparing to dance for the local ruler began to take the stage, nine people in total. Instead of the frenetic, joyful, and expressive rhythms I had seen on my few visits to the city's theaters, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. At first I was bored to death, but was then overtaken by a kind of religious trance, as the dancers let themselves get carried away by the music and assumed impossible poses. In one, their bodies bent forward and backward, forming an extremely painful S; they remained there until, suddenly, they'd snap out of their stillness like leopards ready to ambush.

They were all painted blue and dressed in sarongs, the typical local attire. Across their chests, they wore a silk ribbon meant to emphasize the men's muscles and cover the women's breasts. The women, in turn, wore handcrafted tiaras decorated with precious stones. Moments of tenderness alternated with imitations of battles, where the silk ribbons served as imaginary swords.

I grew increasingly entranced. For the first time I understood that Rudolf, Holland, my slain son, all of these things were part of a world that had died and was being reborn, like the seeds my mother had given me. I looked to the sky and saw the stars and the palm leaves. I was ready to let myself be swept away to another dimension and another space when Andreas's voice interrupted:

"Do you understand everything?"

I thought I must, because my heart had stopped bleeding and was now beholding beauty in its purest form. Men, however, always need to explain something, and he told me this kind of ballet came from an ancient Indian tradition that combined yoga and meditation. He failed to understand that dance is a poem, one where each movement represents a word.

With my mental yoga and my spontaneous meditation interrupted, I found myself obliged to engage in any kind of conversation so as not to appear impolite.

Andreas's wife was watching him. Andreas was watching me. Rudolf was watching me, Andreas, and one of the leader's female guests, who returned his courtesy with a smile.

We talked for a while, despite the dirty looks coming from the Javanese because none of the foreigners were respecting their sacred ritual. Perhaps that is why the show came to a close earlier than expected, with all the dancers filing out in a procession, eyes fixed on their fellow countrymen. None of them looked at the white barbarians with their well-dres

sed wives, their raucous laughter, their Vaseline-coated beards and mustaches, and their terrible manners.

After I filled his glass once more, Rudolf walked toward the Javanese woman who had smiled, and she looked at him without any fear or intimidation. Andreas's wife came over, grabbed his arm, smiled in a way that said "He's mine," and pretended to be most interested in her husband's pointless commentary about the dance.

"All these years I have been faithful to you," she said, suddenly interrupting the conversation.

"You are the one who commands my heart and my actions, and, God is my witness, every night I ask for you to return home safe and sound. If I had to give my life for yours, I would do it without any fear."

Turning to me, Andreas excused himself and said he had to leave, that the ceremony had been very tiring for everyone. But his wife said she would not budge; she said it with such authority that her husband did not dare make another move.

"I waited patiently for you to understand that you are the most important thing in my life. I followed you to this place. While beautiful, it must be a nightmare for all the wives, including Margaretha."

She turned to me then, her big blue eyes pleading for my agreement, for me to follow in that ancient tradition women had of always being one another's enemy and accomplice. But I didn't have the courage to nod.

"I fought for our love with all my might, but today it's run out. The stone that weighed on my heart is now a rock that will no longer let it beat. And my heart, with its last breath, told me there are other worlds beyond this one, worlds where I don't have to always beg for the company of a man to fill these empty days and nights."

Something told me that tragedy was coming. I asked her to calm down; she was very dear to everyone in that group, and her husband was a model officer. She shook her head and smiled, as if she'd already heard it many times. And she continued:

"My body can keep breathing, but my soul is dead. I cannot leave here, nor can I make you understand I need you by my side."