The Rainbow Troops (20 page)

THEY CALLED themselves the
Societeit de Limpai
, or more simply: the
limpai
group.

The Limpai is a legendary, terrifying, supernatural animal in Belitong's mythology. It is an interesting legend, since many folk stories give contradicting definitions of the mysterious creature. Coastal people think it's a fairy that lives in the mountains. Mountain people believe it is an enormous, white, mammothlike animal. Malays living in lowland plains know it as a wind—a wind that, if angry, could fell trees and rice stalks. In the backcountry, limpai means the same as
bogey
, a big black ghost. The young generation has it all wrong. For them, limpai is an urban legend, an incubus or a death omen able to disguise itself as anything.

These are misunderstandings, because the limpai story actually has its roots in ancient Belitong teachings passed on from generation to generation so that people wouldn't exploit forest and water resources. Those teachings hold a persuasive power, making people afraid of bad luck because the forests and water are guarded by the Limpai ghost.

Truly educated adults see limpai as nothing more than haze wafting in the heads of stupid, feeblefaithed gossipers without enough work to do; that's limpai.

The
Societeit
operated secretly. It was an underground organization. It was unknown when and where they gathered, or what they discussed. If they were caught by surprise, they'd quickly change their topic of conversation and even pretend not to know each other. That's how they masked their actions. It wasn't because they were on a dangerous, anarchic, communistic or lawbreaking mission. It was to avoid mockery because of their nonsensicality. The
Societeit
was nothing more than a bunch of useless human beings with too much love for the mystical world.

There were nine members of the
Societeit
. The requirements to become a member were exceptionally strict. The oldest member of the group, a retired harbormaster, was 57 years old. The youngest members were two preteens. The other six consisted of a Bank Rakyat Indonesia local branch teller, a Chinese who worked with gold plating, an unemployed person, a lone electone player, an electrical engineering dropout who had opened a bike shop, and Mujis, the mosquito sprayer.

The strangest thing was that the head of the
Societeit
was its youngest member. He was the founder of the organization, respected by its members for his wide knowledge of the dark world and his comprehensive collection of rumors and foolish news. He was none other than the phenomenal Mahar. The other preteen I mentioned earlier, of course, was Flo.

The
Societeit's
activities were very hectic. They went on expeditions to eerie places, investigated mystical happenings, and mapped Malay mythology. One way of looking at them was that they were brave individuals anxious to dig up the secrets of the realm with an uncompromising skepticism—they wouldn't believe it unless they saw and felt it for themselves.

Mahar and Flo brilliantly incorporated limpai into the name of their gang. Because the creature is metaphoric, depending on who was looking at it, the
Societeit
could be seen as a group of scientific, crazy people or of religious heretics. Its philosophy was just like the differing perspectives of the meaning of limpai.

They carried out their crazy pursuits outfitted with electronic instruments. under the supervision of the dropout, they assembled an electromagnetic field detector that could read waves in observation areas ranging from two to seven miligauss because they believed that was the range where spirit activities could be observed. They also made a frequency sensor that could detect extremely low frequencies, below 60 hertz. According to their abnormal thinking, those were the frequencies in which ghouls conversed. They also equipped themselves with incense, aloewood, monitor lizard egg charms, and a wild dwarf chicken, the use of which was considered the quickest way to detect the approach of devils.

One time, they went to the Genting Apit Forest, the most forbidding place in Belitong. That forest hid thou sands of eerie tales, the most prominent being that of the
ectoplasmic mist
phenomenon. The mist talked to itself and naturally—perhaps satanically—transfigured itself into human figures, animals, or giants. It was no rarity to capture these shapes on ordinary camera film. Drivers passing through the Genting Apit area were strongly advised not to look in their rearview mirrors because valley ghosts would often hitchhike for a while in the backseat. This is the sort of spooky area where the
Societeit
did their research.

To make a long story short, this underground organization was very busy and demanded a schedule for admin istration, funds and props—they needed a secretary.

When Mahar offered me the position, I immediately seized it. Even though there was no payment whatsoever, I felt honored to be appointed secretary by a bunch of people who were friends with ghosts. I was also happy because the offer showed I had enough integrity to hold onto the money. At the very least, it meant I could be trusted, even if it was only by people who couldn't think straight. Now, my friend, if the job mentioned could be called a career, then my chest would overflow with pride—so if I may, becoming the secretary of this invisible organization, the
Societeit de Limpai
, was my first career.

My task was simple and could be arranged through a register book. My responsibilities included recording member dues, keeping the money, and making note of personal items that members would sell or pawn to buy equipment and fund expeditions. Other duties, according to orders from my bosses—Flo and Mahar—were to arrange the secret meetings and to pour tea for the attending members at the secret meetings. In this capacity, it would be fair to call me a waiter.

UPON returning from their mystical journeys, Flo and Mahar would always bring exciting stories to school. One day, they told us that in the middle of a dark forest, they had discovered some graves, measuring three by six meters with a distance between tombstones of at least five meters. Since Malays believed in placing tombstones at the head and tips of the toes, it could be inferred that the corpses buried beneath the tombstones belonged to exceptionally large human beings.

Flo began the story with her finding of unbroken plates and pots near the graves. She coolly stated that she slept closest to the tombstones and wasn't the least bit afraid. She related the hairraising experience to us as if she were telling a sparkling anecdote about the Persian cat at her house. I wanted to tell her that the archaeological wares may not have been broken, but her brain was.

On the other hand, Mahar's version was much more interesting. He gave additional information about the relationship between the gigantic ancient graves in Belitong and the theories of famous archeologists like Barry Chamis and Harold T. Wilkins. Those archeologists believed that at one point in time, giant humans roamed the earth.

Mahar drew an enthralling and logical inference that included a time analysis, relating the Belitong graves to the giant
pasnuta
human skull found in Omaha and the incomplete skeletons exhumed from an ancient gravesite in the Golan Heights. When reconstructed, the skeletons formed a human almost six meters tall.

Mahar's stories always contained knowledge. He may have been an eccentric boy who straddled the gray area between reality and imagination, but he was undoubted ly bright, with both a vast knowledge of the paranormal world and a wellstructured way of thinking.

Flo and Mahar sat casually on a low branch of the
filicium
, like storytelling priests from a Sikh temple, while we, Laskar Pelangi, squatted brighteyed and astonished on our heels in a circle as we listened to their miraculous findings in the magical world.

Their most amazing story was about an adventure to a cave on an isolated island.

"We investigated the cave. When we held up our oil lamp, we were surprised to see a Paleolithic painting depicting naked people eating raw cave bats," Flo recalled.

The amazing thing wasn't so much the discovery of the painting itself but rather, as Mahar recounted, the whisperings that came from the Paleolithic painting as he lay halfsleeping, halfawake.

"Lemuria, Lemuria," Mahar moaned. "The paintings hissed in my ear like a
manau
snake. Do you guys know the legend of Lemuria?"

Mahar trembled with fear.

"The whispers entered me like a premonition. It was a scary prediction that a power in Belitong will soon fall!"

Mahar's behavior always confused us, it was even annoying sometimes. He liked to exaggerate. Within minutes of talking to him, anyone would quickly understand that he was a true fantasizer with his own world in his head. However, it was undeniable that his nonsense was sometimes, sooner or later, proven true—this had been demonstrated time and again.

So I took Mahar seriously. Would the people of Belitong disappear like those of Babylon and Lemuria? What made me apprehensive was Lemuria. Many people believed the tale of Lemuria to be nothing more than a fairytale, just like Atlantis. However, if Mahar's premonition proved true, would the tale of Lemuria also be proven true? The scary word
lemures
haunted me.
Lemures,
the root of the name Lemuria, means vanished spirits. What disaster lay ahead of Belitong Island?

In another world, Bu Mus' head was dizzy thinking about the direction of Mahar's development. He had plunged into the mystical world, not toward artistic achievement, as his plan A should have been. With the presence of Flo, the wasting of that talent increased.

And today, Bu Mus really got a headache—she received a letter from PN warning to halt studying activities at our school because three dredges would soon come to dig up the tin beneath it.

EQUIPMENT milled about. Construction workers began building barracks for coolies around our school. The sounds of roaring dredges drawing closer to our school rattled us.

Even though she had already been warned, Bu Mus was still determined to teach. Sometimes she had to shout while explaining something just to compete with the noise of the machines.

Bu Mus had already responded to the warning letter with a plea to the highest PN authority not to knock down our school. She also asked for the chance to speak with him personally. Not one person paid heed to her letter.

We were faced with one trial after another. The heaviest burden was shouldered by Bu Mus. Since the passing of Pak Harfan, it was her duty to teach all of the lessons, overcome the school's financial difficulties, prepare for exams, face Mister Samadikun's threat, and now the biggest problem of them all: the menace of the dredges. That young girl faced all of this alone.

Although we were in a critical situation, Bu Mus stood tall. If we were being pessimistic, she'd invite us to talk about our two trophies and would remind us that those were awards for people who weren't given to complaining. Our spirits lifted, and we returned to being lost in the euphoria of school with Bu Mus.

But the euphoria didn't last long, because in the distance we heard the terrifying sputtering of a muffler. Mister Samadikun!

We scrambled about, preparing ourselves. Bu Mus hurried to make sure everything was in order. Mister Samadikun's final inspection, which we had worried about so much, had finally come. If we failed, we wouldn't have to wait to be pulverized by the dredges. Our fate was in Mister Samadikun's hands.

This time, however, we were more optimistic. Everything was complete: first aid kit, even though it only contained APC pills and worm extract syrup, OK. A chalkboard and new eraser had just been bought with money from the carnival. Bathroom, while not that great—its interceptor consisted only of a sunken barrel—meant that the students no longer had to answer nature's call in the bushes,
check
.

The students had all of their shirt buttons. Hair was neatly combed. Everyone had something on their feet, even if it was only
cunghai
sandals made from car tires. Not one of us wore a slingshot. Clothes were still stained—that is, mine, Kucai's and Syahdan's—but just vaguely with some sap. Harun's report card had also been prepared. We had specifically taught Harun that the correct answer to two plus two is four. But every time we quizzed him, he still held up three fingers.

Bu Mus even fulfilled Mister Samadikun's trivial and finicky requirements: calculator, compasses, and crayons. She was able to buy a few compasses and some crayons with money from her sewing. And because calculators were very expensive, she bought an abacus instead. The important thing, however, was that we now had two trophies that would certainly impress Mister Samadikun.

Bu Mus ordered us to move the glass display case from the corner and place it next to her desk so that Mister Samadikun would see the trophies right away. Sahara ran like crazy to the well and returned with a rag and bucket. She viciously wiped our glass display case so that our trophies could be better seen.

Now we were ready to greet Mister Samadikun. Bu Mus lined us up on the left and right of the glass display case, she even instructed us to smile proudly close to the trophies. Those two trophies were the mainstay of our effort to persuade Mister Samadikun to put away his intentions to close down our school.

We were tense but ready. Bu Mus smiled wide. She looked around to see if anything was missing. Suddenly, her neck stiffened as she looked at the wall above the chalk board. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost. Her once bright face instantly turned pale. The rest of us followed her gaze. Oh no! We immediately became aware that we had forgot ten the pictures of the President, VicePresident, and the state symbol—Garuda Pancasila!

This had happened because we hadn't yet received them from
Cahaya Abadi
, the school supplies store in Tan jong Pandan. We often asked the shop owner about our order, and he said they were all out and awaiting a new shipment from Jakarta.

Those pictures were the most important requirements. Without them, everything else meant nothing. Mister Samadikun would not be willing to accept our excuse. To him, it was we who were negligent.

The sputtering of the muffler stopped. Mister Samadikun was already out front. Earlier we were ready to go, but now we were now limp and hopeless. Bu Mus stood stupefied. Sahara sobbed. Kucai, as class president, let out a bleak sigh. Our exhausting efforts to fulfill the requirements and win the trophies were all in vain. Our school would surely be closed by Mister Samadikun.

We could hear him parking his motorbike. Soon he would enter our classroom. We were on edge. Suddenly, as our critical situation was reaching its low, Mahar ran and leaped over the desks. Then, like a monkey, he balanced against the side wall. One of his hands clung to the wall; the other took down the Bruce Lee and John Lennon posters and the newlywed photo of Trapani's parents, and grabbed all the nails. We looked on, baffled. Mahar whirled around, jumped back over the desks, then swooped down and seized the eraser. While on his tiptoes on a desk he'd pushed up against the wall, he skillfully hung the pictures above the chalkboard. He drove in the nails with the eraser.

Mahar hung the posters triangularly in the fashion that our patriotic symbols are normally hung. Centered in the highest position, the normal spot for the Garuda Pancasila, he hung the newlywed photo of Trapani's parents. Below and to the right, a smiling Bruce Lee exuded Presidential authority. Beside him, John Lennon filled the position of VicePresident.

Mahar returned to his place in line. We were unable to digest what he had just done because we were too afraid of Mister Samadikun and imagining the fate of our school, which was sure to be run aground in a matter of minutes. Our old school, almost one hundred years old, would fall today. In our state of painful panic, Mister Samadikun suddenly stood before us.

No one made a peep. Bu Mus trembled.

Mister Samadikun took out his folder with his check list. His gaze swept the room from corner to corner, and then he began taking notes. He didn't speak. His face was cruel as usual. He placed the facility inspection form on the table in front of us; we could see what he wrote.

In the column for chalkboard and furniture, he raised his previous
E) Bad
to
C) Fair
. Our scores even got better in the columns for student conditions, toilet and lighting facilities, first aid kit, and visual aids. At the basic level, there was no problem. But we were worried when he arrived at the national symbols column. He looked up above the chalkboard. It seemed like he had to try very hard to see up there. His eyes were squinted. He took off his thick glasses, pulled a handkerchief out of his bag, wiped off his glasses, and put them back on. He rubbed his eyes, straining once again to inspect the pictures above the chalkboard. It was only then that the genius of Mahar's ruse dawned on us. He knew that Mister Samadikun suffered from severe near sightedness and wouldn't be able to clearly see the pictures displayed high above the chalkboard.

Mister Samadikun returned to his form. In the column for national symbols, our score was raised from
F) Nonexistent
to an impressive
A) Complete
. Mister Samadikun had no idea that the sovereign government of the Republic of Indonesia had been taken over by Bruce Lee and John Lennon.

Mister Samadikun put his form away and smiled. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile. His smile grew wider when he saw our trophies. He still didn't speak, but he nodded his head. Then he excused himself. The nod meant that he appreciated our continuous hard work to hold onto our school, and that we had succeeded in proving ourselves so much that he—or even the Indonesian Minister of Education—couldn't shut down our school.

After Mister Samadikun left, we stared at Mahar with admiration. As usual, he did his annoying but amusing sig nature gesture. He smiled at his idol Bruce Lee in the altered
dragon kung fufight to the death
poster. Bruce Lee smiled back at us. When Mahar had asked Bu Mus to hang the Bruce Lee poster, he had theorized that destiny is circular, and that one day the poster would be useful. Today, his ridiculous theory was proven correct.