Father's Decision to Become a Thief

Dawn had not yet risen. But mother was already awake, sitting on the porch. Restless. She stared at a glass of hot coffee and fried bananas that were specially prepared for father. The coffee was cold, but father had not come home yet.

"Hopefully, father is safe. Pray for him," said the mother in a deep voice.

“But, sir, you’re out stealing, right? Why should you pray?” I said quietly.

"Thieves also have the right to be prayed for," said the mother, sharply.

I kept quiet, out of respect for my mother. But I still couldn't understand why "a thief should be prayed for". As for safety or harm, let father decide. Father has the right to determine his own destiny.

“Just accept him as he is. That’s it! Don’t argue.”

Morning came with birds flying. Then, the sound of a motorbike was heard. A motorcycle taxi driver dropped off the father in front of the yard door.

Mother smiled but did not hug father. I did not greet father either. I immediately went into the house. I did not want to know what things father had stolen. Let him enjoy his own happiness.

***

Actually, I really disagree, my father decided to become a thief. He followed in the footsteps of many villagers who dared to exchange their idle days by becoming thieves. For them, stealing is exciting and promising. It stirs adrenaline, they say. Although sometimes it is also terrifying. If caught and jailed, that's normal. But the hardest thing is when judged by the masses. The term is direncak or "eaten" by many people. Some were even burned. Dozens of thieves from our village have been turned into charcoal. However, the horror did not make them turn around, shrink back and lose their courage. They are steadfast and walk upright on the dark road. One thief dies, a thousand thieves, pickpockets, robbers, and muggers grow.

Our village youth also prefer to grow up on the streets, because school is considered boring and torturous. Not to mention the cost. Getting drunk is a routine ritual. If they can't afford to buy drinks, they steal. Because they feel good, they preserve their career as thieves. They "work" in groups. This is different from my father who pursued a solo career as a thief.

My father admitted that he used to be a pious child. Smart. Diligent in worship. Memorized the contents of the Holy Book. His schooling was also smooth. He was able to graduate with a bachelor's degree. Then he worked at a lemonade factory. But only for a few months. He then jumped to become a high school teacher. Taught history. Bored. He tried to sell fruit, then clothes, cellphones, and antiques. But all failed. He then tried to apply for a job at a garment company. Accepted. Placed in the personnel department. Doubled up for a promotion. He lasted for 20 years. However, the company went bankrupt. There were massive layoffs. My father was immediately declared unemployed.

Hanging around, chatting in coffee shops, fishing in the river, cycling around and all sorts of activities to kill time were already done by my father. But his stress did not subside. He also heard that many unemployed people were successful as thieves. My father became curious.

Dad also met Mr. Tosanaji, the senior thief in our village. He has been a thief for more than fifty years. His career was brilliant. He was highly respected because he was rich and philanthropic.

Father told the story of when he first met Mr. Tosanaji.

”Why are you here? You're a graduate. Smart and pious. Meanwhile, I'm dirty. "It will definitely become the crust of hell," said Mr Tosanaji.

Dad blushed.

“You need rice? Just take as much as you want. Also soy sauce, noodles, cooking oil, coffee, sugar, wheat….”

Dad shook his head. “I just want to be a thief.”

Mr. Tosanaji was shocked. He stared closely at his father's face. His father stared back.

"Are you serious?"

Father nodded. “Teach me to be a thief...”

"Are you serious?"

Father nodded.

“What about your wife, your children, your brothers? They must be upset and ashamed.”

Father shook his head. “I have the right to choose my own destiny.”

"Are you serious?"

Suddenly, my father spoke loudly, very loudly. “I’m serious! Whatever the risk! If you don’t believe me, let’s fight. You slap me first, or I slap you?! Answer!!!”

Mr. Tosanaji did not get angry, but instead laughed. "You have quite a lot of guts.... Not bad. Tomorrow we will start stealing lessons...."

***

Father never told in detail, what knowledge and skills he learned from Mr. Tosanaji. Only a few things he said: nyirep or making the owner of the house, the potential victim, sleepy. Also the ability to run as fast as the wind and disappear. Not to forget, about the katosan kanuragan, prime physical strength to the point of being impervious to bullets and swords.

In order to obtain all these abilities, the father had to fast pati geni, live in a room alone, without light, without eating and drinking for forty days. The father also had to take a bath and kungkum, soak in seven river springs. The ritual of asceticism was closed by visiting the graves of ancestors who were legendary in the world of thieves.

I smiled when I heard that there were ancestral figures in the history of the kingdom era who were thieves.

“Do you think all our ancestors were holy? Many of their hands were dirty. Are you surprised? Or ashamed?”

I pretended to understand.

“All that you consider noble is not important. I just want to be a good husband and father. Understand?!”

I smiled, wryly.

Dad's face turned red. His breathing was labored. I was worried that he was having a heart attack. I quickly gave him some water. I rubbed massage oil on his chest.

Father held my hand. Tightly. Very tightly. It was as if he was asking for my approval of his choice to become a thief. Full of hope, he looked into my eyes. I could only answer with two rivers that split my cheeks.

***

Our family life got better after my father pursued a career as a thief. The rice in the jar never ran out. Also sugar, cakes, cooking oil, soy sauce, food ingredients, and anything else that was needed. Paying electricity, paying health insurance installments, paying land and building taxes, and motorbike taxes were always done. The savings were also quite a lot. However, I was the only one who never asked for money.

“Don’t act holy, you,” Dad’s eyes widened.

"Sorry, even if it's just a little, I can earn my own money."

"Since when have you been independent?"

"Since you chose to be a thief...."

Father's hand slammed the table. He slammed the glass of hot coffee. He lifted and pulled the tablecloth. All the food and drinks spilled. A mess. Father went into the room. Followed by my two brothers.

Mother cried. Picking up the things scattered on the floor. "I've told you many times, this is not about morals. But you still don't want to accept the situation," said mother.

I helped my mother pick up the things. Then I put them in the trash.

“This house will never be peaceful as long as you blame Dad.” Mother held back her tears.

My chest is tight. My heart is cut.

“No one can blame you. Yes, the president, ministers, governors, mayors, regents, religious preachers.... As long as they can only curse but not give way, people like your father will remain thieves. Also those poor villagers...,” said mother as she went to the kitchen.

***

As usual, at night, father always sneaks out of the house. His face is wrapped in black cloth. He also brings a screwdriver, a jackhammer, pliers, a drill.... All put in a bag. His mouth is muttering, reciting a mantra.

Before father left, mother said there would be tough action against thieves.

"Who did you know from?"

"Mr. Danuri told me…. There is a group that claims to be a certain religion and wants to wipe out the thieves. They have been approved by the village government. They operate at night until dawn. Anyone suspected of being a thief will definitely be arrested and beaten," said the mother.

Dad just smiled. “Relax, I’m sure I can handle them….”

“But you must not die,” my mother sobbed.

"Pray for me to always be safe. Thieves also deserve God's grace..."

Honestly, I'm not worried about my father's safety. I feel more sorry for my mother. She looks thinner. Pale. And, often sick.

“Just let it go, Mom. Let Dad choose his own path.”

Mother was silent. Her eyes stared at me, sharply.

***

Before dawn had risen, suddenly there was a commotion outside the house. From the gap in the window I saw people carrying a man, while shouting the greatness of God's name. I was worried, maybe the man who was being carried away was my father.

They entered our yard. Then they banged on the door. When we opened the door, we saw my father's face was battered, his head was bleeding, his body was badly injured. My father could only groan in pain when those people cursed, slandered, and insulted him. I also wondered, why was my father injured? He said he had magical powers. So where did all the knowledge and magic that Mr. Tosanaji gave him go? Where?

I was angry. But I couldn't do anything. My mother and two older siblings were crying. They immediately grabbed my father's body and brought him into the house. With a trembling voice, my mother asked the people to leave.

My father's body was slumped on the floor. Covered in blood. My mother asked me to call the hospital and ask for an ambulance. But my father forbade it.

"Let me enjoy all this pain..." said the father, softly.

Father was having more and more difficulty breathing. We tried to help him as best we could. Father's body slowly writhed. Then, it froze. Stiff. I put my ear to his chest, but I couldn't hear his heartbeat. We hugged him while he burst into loud cries. Very loud.

Indra Tranggono, short story writer and essayist, lives in Yogyakarta. Dozens of his short stories have been included in several editions of the book Short Stories Selected by Kompas. Four books of his short story collections have been published: The Accused, Iblis Ngampuk, Menebung Pohon Silsilah, and The Woman Edited by Waves.

Vy Patiah, born in Jakarta, studied fine arts at the State University of Jakarta. Often a contributor in various collaborations, such as filling book illustrations, book covers, denim painting products to action figures. Actively participates in a series of art exhibitions. The ideas for his work are issues about things that are familiar to him. In November 2024 he held a solo exhibition at Bentara Budaya Jakarta entitled Partly Lost Shape.