Bambang was the last in the house to learn that Jamal had become Ratri’s personal assistant. That night, he had just come home from the office when he ran into Jamal as the youth was leaving Ratri’s room. Jamal bowed in fear, not daring to meet the searching gaze of the master of the house. Ratri appeared behind him and challenged Bambang’s look. She said, ‘Jamal gives wonderful massages.’

Ratri thought Bambang would fly into a rage and hurl Jamal out, not from jealousy, but to assert control over his territory. She was wrong. Bambang said nothing and continued on to his room, leaving Ratri with the still-shaking Jamal. Her husband was overly close-mouthed, perhaps because she was not as valuable to him as the Mercedes Tiger. It was also possible that Bambang had concocted a plan that she could not hope to guess at.

The next day, Bambang came home early. Through the crack of her bedroom door, Ratri saw that the door of Bambang’s room was open. He was wearing a black silk kimono that made his sagging belly more prominent. Not long after, Jamal appeared at the stairs.

‘Let’s see how good at massage you really are,’ he said to the boy in a husky tone.

Jamal vanished within and the door closed.

Jamal wasn’t fired. But things changed after that night. Jamal’s mind seemed elsewhere when he made love to Ratri.

‘What is it?’ asked Ratri. ‘Do you have a girlfriend in your kampung now?’

She regretted fitting him out with new clothes that would have made him more handsome in the eyes of the kampung girls. But something else seemed to be afoot. He still visited her but only touched her robotically. He no longer told her about himself. Instead, he hid his thoughts from her. And then, one day, Jamal faced Ratri, his eyes full of trepidation. He told her he could no longer be her special assistant.

Ratri let the boy stay on to work in the house – sweeping, mopping, washing Bambang’s car. And every night, Jamal climbed the stairs and slipped into a bedroom to offer a massage. Not Ratri’s room, but Bambang’s. He would not leave until the following morning.

—

Ratri was no longer sure what Jamal was to her: gardener, slaker of lust or simply a young man the same age as Anton? She had lost a great deal: the pleasure of presenting new clothes to him, preparing special meals for him and, most of all, soaping his back whenever the two of them soaked in the bathtub together. Ratri remembered how eagerly she would listen to his tales.

‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ said Ratri as her fingers glided over his skin. She reminded him that she had asked, once, why he wanted to become a chauffeur.