A Story on the Train

“My name is Deni, a Political Science student.” I introduced myself to a neatly dressed man in a white shirt standing to my right.

“I’m Roy, I work at Microsoft,” he said, emphasizing the word Microsoft.

“Microsoft? You’re joking, right?” I said, making people around us turn their heads. Who would believe a Microsoft employee would take public transportation—unless maybe he was a new hire.

It was only his second week working at Microsoft, he said. Getting stuck in traffic all the time had made him want to try taking the train.

“I should’ve majored in computer science. Politics gives me a headache,” I said. Though honestly, my headache wasn’t caused by politics—it was caused by financial problems.

“But everyone needs politics… right?” Roy said hesitantly. I guessed he wasn’t the kind of person who liked talking about politics.

“Yeah, everyone needs politics,” I replied just as uncertainly, reflecting my own doubts about politics in this country.

We fell silent for a moment, watching buildings rush by, glancing at the traffic jams below, thinking how lucky we were to be on the train.

Roy’s phone rang. He pulled it from his left pants pocket and answered. He looked serious while talking, his right hand moving as if he were explaining something. I secretly listened while trying to guess his position in the company. He seemed like someone in marketing or client relations. But the outdated phone he was using didn’t seem suitable for meeting clients. Or maybe he had another, better phone that he didn’t bring to a place full of pickpockets like this.

Roy ended the call with a satisfied expression. “Client,” he said with a smile, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “You know, you can become a computer expert without studying it at university.”

“Oh yeah?”

“All you need to do is keep up with the latest developments in technology. Find a good course. Or better yet, you can learn from books or the internet.”

I nodded, pretending to understand. I already knew that much. What I really meant was whether Microsoft had job openings. I didn’t know much about computers, except that the field developed rapidly. Aside from technical work, I could do anything—be a driver, a janitor, or maybe even someone in marketing.

More passengers boarded at every station, making us more tightly packed together.

“Hold on tight. A bigger wave is coming soon.”

Just as I said, at the next station, a huge crowd boarded. I struggled to stay standing. My foot got stepped on, a large man pushed me from behind, but I managed to hold my ground. Roy’s face turned red as he endured the pressure of passengers behind him.

The train moved slowly at first, then suddenly accelerated. The abrupt acceleration threw passengers toward the back of the carriage, as if a giant magnet were pulling them. Those at the rear struggled to resist before pushing back. We, stuck in the middle, were caught between two opposing forces while bearing the weight on our backs. Meanwhile, Roy clung to the luggage rail with one hand, sweat pouring down his face, veins bulging at his temples.

We stayed like that for about five minutes until the train braked suddenly at Klender Station—which could have sent us flying if we hadn’t been holding on tightly. Quite a few passengers got off there, and we were finally able to talk comfortably again.

“You’ll get used to it eventually,” I said.

“How long have you been taking the train?” Roy asked. His hair was messy, and his white shirt was soaked with sweat.

“Five years.”

“I’m buying a car next month.”

“Oh yeah?”

“COP. Car Ownership Program. My office will pay for it. I’m getting a fifty percent subsidy.”

If only I worked at Microsoft.

I don’t like talking about things I don’t understand. I remembered what my uncle once said: Master the conversation, and you will master the situation.

“The economy is a mess.” I tried to provoke Roy into commenting on the current state of the country. “Mass layoffs… demonstrations.”

“Yeah.”

“Actually, I’ve been observing how our leaders react—how they behave when making decisions. I see our president as restless, rushed, and emotional.”

“Yeah.”

“I try comparing him to leaders in developed countries. Have you ever noticed how they make decisions? I don’t mean the decisions themselves, but their character. Have you ever paid attention?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you notice?”

“They’re great people—calm and not emotional,” Roy answered confidently.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think so. They’re the same. Look at how America bombed Iraq.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Again, he said “yeah.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think of the people here?”

Roy looked around, then at me. “What do you mean?”

“Are people here bad?”

“What do you mean?”

“Most people here don’t know each other. I wouldn’t know you if no one had started this conversation. What would you think of me if we didn’t know each other?”

“I don’t know. But I think you’re a good person.”

“You think I’m a good person?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?”

“You make friends easily.”

We became closer. I told him about my dream of opening a café—a bookstore café, to be exact. But Roy wasn’t a good listener. He preferred dominating the conversation. I let him go on and on about his academic achievements, his prestigious university, girls on campus, his uncle’s textile company, and his niece who had become a soap opera actress. He spoke in such an entertaining way that I followed along as if listening to a fairy tale.

Outside, dry winds blew dust and leaves through the air. It was the dry season. The sun would only grow hotter, hot enough to ignite anyone’s temper, making people easily offended—where even a small mistake could start a fight. I always tried to remain patient and calm, two things my uncle constantly advised me to be. He succeeded because of his patience and composure.

The train stopped at Jatinegara Station and half the passengers got off. Even so, we still couldn’t get seats.

“Is Dukuh Atas still far?” Roy asked.

“Two more stations,” I answered. Actually three, because the train didn’t stop at Mampang Station.

“Danke.”

The train stopped for quite a while. Roy stayed busy with his phone—sending text messages, then making calls. At Manggarai Station, many passengers boarded, making the carriage crowded again. After that, the train sped past the empty Mampang Station and finally arrived at Roy’s stop.

“Dukuh Atas,” I said.

Roy smiled. “Thank you.” He shook my hand, and we parted ways.

He joined the line of passengers getting off, slowly making his way toward the exit. I watched him as he stepped off the train and walked toward the escalator. He glanced at me and waved as the train began moving.

Once the train was far enough from the station, I pulled Roy’s worn brown leather wallet out of my jacket pocket. Inside were three worn-out bills—barely enough for a cheap lunch—an ID card, an ATM card, and a business card from a talent agency for soap opera actors.

Luckily, the person I pickpocketed was a liar.

I can’t stand seeing people suffer—especially myself.

It looked like there were many well-dressed people in the front carriage taking the train for the first time. Maybe my little “help” could assist them in finding their station.

Damn. My uncle had advised me not to spend too much time in the capitalist world.

I felt a vibration in my pocket and pulled out Roy’s phone. The loud ringtone from its broken speaker blared. I pressed the answer button, held the speaker to my ear, and heard a shrill woman’s voice screaming:

“Hello? … Mulyono! … Hello? … Answer, damn it—answer!”✦