The woman’s face was like a rough chunk of meat. It was difficult to say where her nose ended and her cheeks began. Her left eye was swollen and red, like an inflamed ulcer. If it wasn’t for her straight hair I wouldn’t have been sure she was human. She was a tumour come to life, covered in pustules and obscene.

I prayed that God would rescue me from this horrible joke but it was too late. I had already shoved the thick wad of rupiah into my bag and now fled the office, jumped into my car and drove away, feeling frantic. A car behind me honked and pulled past, its occupant cursing. That’s when I realised what had escaped me earlier. The name on the contract, Siti Ariah, was the name of the Beauty of Ancol Bridge. I’d signed a contract with a devil woman.

—

That damned contract landed me in the darkness of a sturdy teak wardrobe with carvings on both doors. I was sweating beneath the guard uniform she’d instructed me to wear. I held my breath when I heard footsteps enter the room. My heart had never pounded as hard as it did on that first day of work. I didn’t feel like a rapist – I was more like a submissive bull, fearful of being led into the slaughterhouse.

She and I were close, separated by nothing but the timber of the antique wardrobe. It was time. One, two, three. I burst through the door. She was dressed in batik and a white Javanese blouse embroidered with small flowers. She was removing her veil. My throat constricted when I caught sight of her wasted face.

She instructed me to say her name. Ariah. Her eyes narrowed. She faced me, impatient, as I stood fixed in place before her. I knew I had to act fast. My hands trembled as I took her shoulders and started shaking them. She slapped me hard.

‘Say you want to rape me, you son of a bitch.’

The slap jolted me, drove me to throw her onto the bed. Ariah writhed and kicked at my thighs. Breathing hard, I pinned her hands and ripped off her blouse.

When I laid eyes on her body I gasped. It wasn’t mutilated at all. I’d never beheld such curves. What kind of joke was this? The scene was bizarre, disorienting, like an unfinished painting. I felt ill.

If nothing else, the sight of her body made my own react: I became the son of a bitch she wanted. Unwilling to let her prey escape, she ordered me to look her in the eyes. I ravaged her, not once turning away from that horrid face of hers, sobbing all the while.