Dinner Ritual

Ama sat near the fire pit that was still sending smoke to the kitchen loft. Within arm's reach, we sat cross-legged on the mat while receiving food from her hands. After distributing the food, Ama turned her body towards an empty plate located to her right. The plate was larger than our plates. It was yours. It was always present at every evening feast. But you were not there.

In the center of the plate, an image captures a fragment of your face. A face that is no longer connected to the other parts of the body. But that is just an image. Your true face was discarded who knows where on a night, five years ago.

In just the blink of an eye, the plate was piled high with rice, stir-fried water spinach, and grilled salted fish. Once the large plate was filled with food, Ama's mouth moved in a chant reminiscent of a shaman before a sick person. She recited words that none of us could hear. At the end of her incantation, she greeted you with a phrase that she repeated every night, "Enjoy your meal, Maun." As usual, Ama's eyelids were soon filled with tears that quickly fell onto the mat before she could wipe them away with her hand.

"Enjoy your meal, Maun." That was a call that was heard very clearly and firmly. A call that froze our conversation. Although Ama did not speak again just to remind us, we knew that the call was a sacred sign marking the beginning of a dinner without conversation. The kitchen suddenly fell silent. Our mouths simultaneously became mute like a radio that was abruptly turned off. Neither Ameta, nor Agali, nor I could break this silence ritual. During dinner, only the geckos, rats, and the dogs fighting under the kitchen floor were allowed to make noise.

For five years, we have adhered to the discipline set by Ama. Except for us, only Tio Bendito can interrupt this ritual. Tio Bendito, as you know, is someone who never runs out of words when he speaks. His mouth flows like a river that continuously streams water. Occasionally, amidst his conversation, he laughs at and even mocks Ama's habit of serving you food even when you are not present. And if his heart is in turmoil—mostly caused by fierce arguments with Tia Alberta at his home—he comes to our kitchen, bursts through the door, and mercilessly flips your plate, scattering food everywhere.

Tio Bendito often entered our kitchen at midnight. Midnight was the time Ama usually spent frying bananas that I would sell at school the next day. Occasionally, one of us, at other times one or two, and sometimes all at once, would wake up and gather in the kitchen upon hearing Tio's voice. However, Ama always greeted us with a special look. A look that implied an order for us to return to our rooms to continue sleeping.

"This is for Julio, Ameta, and Agali's school fees," Tio Bendito exclaimed while squeezing Ama's breasts.

"It is for the school fees of Julio, Ameta, and Agali," Ama replied, accompanied by tears streaming down her face. She appeared like a robot that could speak.

"This is for the sake of the rickety house and the small land that you received for free," Tio Bendito continued while slapping Ama's buttocks.

"It is for our dilapidated house and the small piece of land that we received for free," Ama replied without moving an inch. My chest felt hotter than the cooking oil on that blazing stove.

Lastly: for the sake of your lives and future in this country. Put out the fire quickly, you idiot!

"The banana is ripe, Maun. I will take it out first," Ama slowly released her body from Tio Bendito's embrace and tidied up everything on the stove.

"The last thing: for your lives and future in this country. Quickly extinguish the fire, you fool!" Ama immediately complied with her brother-in-law's command. Then, roughly, Tio Bendito pulled Ama back, crushing her lips, and undressing her. I ran to the room, pulled the blanket, and covered my entire body, which suddenly felt cold. From night until morning, I closed my eyes but could not fall asleep. It was as if I could see Ama and Tio Bendito even though my eyes were shut, my face was covered with cloth, and the walls of the room blocked my view. Where were you that night? Did you see it? Why did you allow that humiliation to befall Ama?

Moreover, what can I do in front of Tio Bendito? Since the first day we set foot in this village, you know, our lives have been entirely in his hands. He is the one who deals with the government when managing the allocation of housing for the refugees. The piece of land that underlies this house, he is the one who arranged it so that we could inhabit it. We reside here, but the name listed on the certificate paper is Bendito Baros da Cruz, Tio Bendito.

Since your departure, we have been like a herd of unherded cattle. One pillar of the family has vanished, and Ama—the remaining pillar—is too fragile to support the household you established twenty years ago. Merely for the sake of a life that is said to be peaceful, and to escape the terror of swords and militia rifles, Ama brought us in the embrace of Tio Bendito to Indonesia.

You disappeared before the demon army broke into the house.

You disappeared before the demon forces stormed into the house. That night, we ran to our cornfield. There, there was your old hut that could shelter us. Under the torchlight, we followed the path in search of a safe place to breathe in the scent of comfort. However, in that field, it was not comfort that we inhaled. Instead, an odd metallic smell filled our nostrils.

The twilight before that cursed night, you returned home. You thought that the results of the referendum, which had been reported two days earlier, would allow you the freedom to show your face in front of the militia. You also believed that they would forgive you after you escaped from the first arrest a month prior. In reality, you were mistaken. Tio Bendito did not embrace you as his brother when he arrived at the house. The heated conversation I overheard from behind my room exuded an aroma of hostility that would not dissipate until one of you chose to concede.

Enough! Maun said what? All the years I was fed? What are you fed? Bread? Meat?

“Alin, I don’t know from which side you see the future of this dregs country. What do you still expect from a land that can give you nothing but poverty? What can you rely on from fellow citizens who are full of confidence in wanting to build a house on the sand, heh?”

"Want to...."

”Rona ha’u, Alin! The nation you hate is a great nation. It has a strong government system. It has abundant resources. It has a history of amazing victories over colonialists. You have been fed by it for years. And it will continue to feed you until you die. So what is lacking that you choose to live in this comparative country with an unclear future? Let alone staying, imagining a country supported by 78.5 percent of the population that is stupid and poor, under the regime of wild creatures raised on forest fruits, I can’t, absolutely can’t, Alin.”

"Enough! Maun said what? For years I was fed? What was I fed? Bread? Meat?"

"Alin!!!"

”Rona ha’u, Maun! We were indeed born from the same womb. However, that does not mean that we must always hold the same stance. Maun fights for integration, go ahead! That is Maun’s right. But, never force me to follow in your rotten footsteps. Do not forbid me from continuing my struggle. No matter how poor this land is, I will continue to stand on it, loving it, even though Maun and all your militia bastards, a group of lafaek who have forgotten their homeland, tear it up and inject death poison into my body and my family. I will stay here, hanoik frog!”

"Oh, now you dare raise your head in front of me, heh? Why didn't I remove your rocky head along with your poor index finger and little finger before you ran away that day?"

“Because you guys would rather eat fingers than human heads, right?”

"Oh, okay, Alin. In a moment, we will eat human heads."

Scholasticate of the Heart of Mary, February 2025

Petrus Nandi, was born in Pantar, Flores, in July 1997. He is active in writing short stories, poems, and essays. His works have been published in several media, such as Tempo, Basis, Basabasi.co, Suara Merdeka, and Mata Puisi. He is a member of the Congregation of the Claretian Missionaries. He is active in the Bekasi Poetry Class.

Tamar Saraseh, born in Sumenep in 1966, a multi-talented artist who studies fine arts, literature, and theater. She began her education at IKIP Malang (now UM) and was once an illustrator for the literary magazine Horison and the newspaper Tempo. Since 2006, she has focused on fine arts. In addition to solo exhibitions, she has participated in several national and international group exhibitions, such as the Face to Face International Art Exhibition in India (2022).