“Because we are ethnic Chinese. We’re targets. It’s already happening in Medan and other cities. They loot the shops before setting fire to them. They even kill and rape. They say it’s Jakarta’s turn tomorrow.”
“But who is they? Who is doing this? How do you know all this?”
“Sorry, I can’t talk anymore. We are boarding the flight. Leave soon and stay safe.”
“Wait. Where are you going?”
The phone went dead.
Read also: Painting Mania – Short Story by Theodora Sarah Abigail (The Jakarta Post, August 13, 2018)
I curse my husband for leaving me alone with two young children and the store behind. He died of cancer four years ago, just one month after I gave birth to our second child. I curse myself even more for not taking Halim’s advice. I sensed yesterday something was wrong when I saw some neighbors vacating their stores and loading stuff onto trucks.
What’s the worst that could happen, I asked myself yesterday. I wished someone had said something then.
Leaving the shop would mean leaving our only means of livelihood. I have rebuilt the grocery business from near ruins after we spent almost all our money and savings on my husband’s medical treatment.
I had taken loans from anyone willing to lend money, including two from loan sharks, just to keep the business running. With my husband gone, this became our family’s sole income source. Before, we had the store and the big monthly paycheck he earned working in a bank.
Now that the store is more or less settled financially, I am not going to give it up. I need this shop to raise my two children, to send them to college one day. There must be a way to protect my store, or so I foolishly thought after the conversation with Halim.
Besides, where would we go? My relatives live in Semarang, while my husband’s parents are in Surabaya.
Read also: A Family Portrait – Short Story by Rachel Diercie (The Jakarta Post, July 30, 2018)
I have called John, my husband’s younger brother who lives in Jakarta, several times since last night, but there’s no answer.
“Ibu, Pak Dayat and Pak Ismail are just outside,” my daughter, still by the window, startles me from my deep thoughts.
The two men are among our regular customers whom we have come to know quite well, or so I thought. They are residents from the kampung just behind the main street.
