Eka Kurniawan - Kitchen curse : stories

Stories

Eka Kurniawan

Translated by
Annie Tucker and Others

This collection first published by Verso 2019

Translation, unless otherwise noted Annie Tucker 2019

Translation Caronang Tiffany Tsao 2019

Translation Making an Elephant Happy Maggie Tiojakin 2019

Translation The Otter Amulet, Graffiti in the Toilet

Benedict Anderson 2019

Grateful acknowledgment is made to the editors and publishers of LONTAR, in which Caronang first appeared in English translation, and to the White Review, in which Dimples first appeared in English translation. Indonesian originals were originally published in Corat-coret di Toilet (Yayasan Aksara Indonesia, 2000; reissued by Gramedia Pustaka Utama, 2014); Gelak Sedih (Gramedia Pustaka Utama, 2005); Cinta Tak Ada Mati (Gramedia Pustaka Utama, 2005, reissued 2018) and Perempuan Patah Hati yang Kembali Menemukan Cinta Melalui Mimpi (Bentang Pustaka, 2015).

All rights reserved

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Verso

UK: 6 Meard Street, London W1F 0EG

US: 20 Jay Street, Suite 1010, Brooklyn, NY 11201

versobooks.com

Verso is the imprint of New Left Books

ISBN-13: 978-1-78663-715-4

ISBN-13: 978-1-78663-716-1 (UK EBK)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78663-717-8 (UK EBK)

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress

Typeset in Electra by MJ&N Gavan, Truro, Cornwall

Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd., Croydon CR0 4YY

CONTENTS

Pilate answered, What I have written I have written.

John 19:22

He pushed open the door of the toilet, enjoying the smell of still-fresh paint. Then he closed the door, locked it from the inside, and, a few moments later, standing in front of the toilet-hole, undid his pants. With a hiss, the liquid sprayed into the hole, giving off an ammoniac scent. The kid smacked his lips, grinning with satisfaction. When he was done, he shook what he was holding and bathed it with a few splashes from the dipper, tossing the rest of the water down into the hole. Then he buttoned up.

The kid, twenty years old, dressed punk-style, stood there admiring the unspotted walls of the toilet. They had just been painted a tempting cream. He gave a little laugh, revealing four bad teeth, then groped in his backpack till he found what he was looking for: a felt-tip marker. With a triumphant grin, he wrote on the wall: Asshole! Reformasis a total flop, Comrade! Lets complete the democratic revolution!

At seven in the morning, before the students had begun to make a racket in their classrooms, a kid had already attacked the toilet, located precisely beneath the staircase. There was something wrong with his urinary system, maybe because he drank too much coffee or took too little exercise, so he had to go all the time. After finishing his boring morning ritual, he stared at the graffiti on the shimmering wall with mildly sadistic pleasure. With a pen, he scrawled an arrow aimed away from the first sentence. But the tip of the pen was too sharp to make the arrow very visible. Putting one hand into his bag, he fumbled around in search of something that would make the lines thicker. But he found nothing and had to make do with his pen. Someone banged on the toilet door, so he faked a groan, to let whoever it was know the toilet was occupied and the occupant didnt want to be disturbed. Feeling fairly sure whoever it was would be patient, he retorted, in small but still legible letters, Blabbermouth! Provocateur! The revolution was already dead in your grandpas time. Our nation loves peace, and a lunchtime nap. Lets hunt up a wild girl and find the revolution in bed!

The next to show up was a tomboy with a hitchhikers knapsack. She was wearing very tight jeans and an oversize singlet. Sometimes the neckline would drop down, once or twice showing what was bra-less inside. She hated peeing, because it was such a hassle to undo her pants. She had once tried peeing standing up, mimicking the bad habit of boys, for conveniences sake. The result wasnt at all satisfactorythe annoying liquid sprayed out all over, and some of it dribbled onto her pants. But in this world everyone is condemned to pee, so she squatted down on that toilet, even though it was a hassle.

As had happened with most of the toilets visitors, her eye was caught by the scribbles on the wall, and she felt tempted to add her own commentary. She fumbled for a felt-tip in her bag, but all she found was her lipstick. Before adding to the graffiti, she paused for a moments reflection. She searched in her bag for a small mirror but with no luck. She didnt normally carry a mirror, even though she always had the lipstick. It didnt matter. She applied the lipstick to her lips and then kissed the toilet wall. She smiled as she stared at the print from her lips, but then started to feel her message wasnt clear enough. So, she wrote in lipstick, You gotta be a henchman of the military! New Order running-dog! Feudalist, bourgeois, reactionary moron! Blabbermouth full of bullshit, get ready for the revolution!

For the next two days, nothing much happened in the toilet, until another kid stopped by. He took down his pants and squatted over the hole. Plop! Plop! He was startled by how loud it was. Very embarrassing! So, he opened the tap to let the whoosh of the gushing water compete with the disgusting plop-plop noise. While enjoying these stinking moments, the kid started to read the three comments on the toilet wall. He smiled at the last of them, trying to imagine what kind of girl had written it. After washing his behind, he stood and pulled up his pants, still staring at the rows of letters on the toilet wall. With a lewd smile, he leaned over and kissed the lipstick lips. Holding his own lips between two forefingers, perhaps asking himself what kind of warmth he should be feeling, the kid took out his pen and excitedly added his own contribution. Hi, gorgeous! I like your red lips, as red and as hot as the spirit of a wild animal. I bet they feel good toowanna know how mine feel?

Later, and in broad daylight, another girl showed up, a different type. A hedonist, and dressy. Her backpack was really much too small and filled with the usual this-and-that small arms of a girl who likes to flirt. Her appearance in the toilet obviously had nothing to do with peeing or conducting a Plop! Plop! concert or even with washing her hands or spitting. She visited the toilet almost every day simply to renovate her face, which would be a mess after several hours exposure to the soot-filled air. She wasnt very self-confident, and naturally always had to fix her make-up.

The girl stood by the little tank, staring at her reflection in the little mirror in her hand. She sprinkled her facewhich she would never admit was filthywith a pretty thick layer of powder and redid her eyeshadow. Nor did she forget to rouge her cheeks. Then she recombed her tangled hair and fixed it in place with a ribbon and a clip. As for her ashen lips, she swabbed them with blazing red lipstick, as red as the national flag. Just at that moment, she read all the splenetic comments on the wall. With a flirtatious laugh, she made her own contribution, also in lipstick: