The sound of Mr. Gani's palm striking the surface of the old teakwood table in the living room created a sharp boom that rattled the flowerpot in the corner. The fifty-five-year-old man stood ramrod straight, his sturdy frame topped by a slightly protruding belly. His square face was adorned with a thick mustache stretching stiffly across his thin upper lip. His sharp, eaglelike eyes radiated explosive anger, while the veins in his neck bulged beneath skin already wrinkled and darkened by the sun.
In front of him, Juriah bowed her head deeply.
The twenty-one-year-old girl trembled violently on the wooden chair. Her long, jet-black hair hung loose and disheveled, framing her deathly pale oval face. Tears kept streaming down her narrow cheeks, dripping onto the batik sarong covering her lap. Her fingers clenched the frayed hem of the worn cotton dress wrapped around her thin body.
"No arguing, Juriah! You have to marry Mr. Broto's son!" Mr. Gani shouted hoarsely, his shrill voice breaking the silence of night as it began to settle over the village.
Juriah slowly looked up. Her swollen, reddened eyes tried to meet her father's hard gaze. They held overwhelming fear, but also the last remnants of courage she was trying to gather from the depths of her soul.
"Father, please ... Juriah doesn't know Bambang. Juriah doesn't love him," she whispered, her trembling voice raw.
Mr. Gani sneered. His thin lips pulled sideways, revealing a row of yellowing teeth. He took one step toward his daughter and bent down until his rough face was only a few inches from Juriah's. His calloused, thick-skinned hands suddenly clamped down hard on both her shoulders.
"Love?" Mr. Gani scoffed with a discordant laugh. "Love isn't going to feed us! Mr. Broto's family owns land everywhere. Their rice fields stretch for miles, and they have dozens of cows! What can a poor man from the other island like Ardi give you, huh?"
"Ardi is a good man, Father. He works hard. He promised he would ..."
"Shut up!" Mr. Gani cut her off, shoving Juriah's shoulders until her back slammed against the wooden chair. He pointed his rigid index finger right in front of her nose. "Don't you ever mention that worthless young man's name in this house again! Do you hear me, Juriah? If you dare keep seeing Ardi, I'll make sure that boy never has a moment's peace in this town. I can send him back to that remote village of his in Sumatra!"
At the threat, Juriah's eyes widened. The courage that had been flickering inside her went out instantly, replaced by a suffocating horror that gripped her throat. She knew her father never made empty threats. Mr. Gani was both respected and feared in their village because of his volatile temper and powerful influence.
Ms. Siti—Juriah's mother, who had been standing in the kitchen doorway the whole time—could only rub her tight chest. The middle-aged woman, with her light-brown skin and smooth face, looked at her daughter with deep regret. Her eyes glistened with tears, but she didn't have the courage to oppose her authoritarian husband.
"Enough, honey ... don't be so rough with your own child," Ms. Siti said softly, her voice nearly drowned out by Mr. Gani's ragged breathing.
"You stay out of this, Siti!" Mr. Gani barked without turning toward his wife. His gaze remained locked on Juriah, who was now crying silently, her shoulders rising and falling as she fought to contain her emotions. "Listen carefully, Juriah. Mr. Broto's family is coming next week to make the formal marriage proposal. Don't you dare bring shame to this family!"
Without waiting for his daughter's reply, Mr. Gani abruptly turned around. His heavy footsteps pounded against the wooden floor of the stilt house as he walked toward the front porch, leaving the living room's atmosphere scorching and frozen with despair.
Juriah hurriedly got to her feet. With what little strength she had left, she ran toward her room at the back of the house. She pulled the carved wooden door shut, then locked it from inside by sliding an iron bolt into place.
The girl sank down behind the door, drew both knees to her chest, and buried her face there. Her sobs pierced the darkness of the room, lit only by the dim glow of an oil lamp on a small table. The wooden plank walls felt like the cold, thick walls of a prison, trapping her in helplessness.
After drowning in deep sorrow for a while, Juriah wiped the tears from her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve. Then she remembered something.
Her hand groped beneath the pillow, and her slender fingers touched a neatly folded sheet of paper. Juriah slowly pulled it out. Her heart pounding, she unfolded the paper.
"Juriah, come with me tonight. I'll wait for you at the city bus terminal at exactly midnight. We'll go far away to Sumatra and start a new life there. Bring only what clothes you need. Don't be afraid. I'll protect you with everything I have."
Juriah pressed the letter to her chest. Her tears began to fall again, wetting the black ink until it blurred slightly. "Ardi ..." she whispered.
Juriah glanced at the antique clock hanging near the wardrobe. The hands showed nine o'clock at night. Only three hours remained before the last bus to Sumatra left the terminal.
She rose and stepped toward the bedroom window. Juriah lifted the cloth curtain slightly. Outside, the darkness wrapped the village road in a heavy black shroud. "If I stay here, I'll become a prisoner in my own home. I'll marry a man I've never loved and regret it for the rest of my life," she whispered.
Juriah looked down from the window. The distance from the windowsill to the ground outside wasn't very high, only about five feet.
The girl slowly climbed onto the windowsill and extended both legs outside first. Once her body was hanging from the edge of the window, Juriah closed her eyes and silently prayed for protection before letting go.
Thud.
Both feet landed softly on the wet ground. She staggered slightly on the slippery surface, but quickly regained her balance.
Juriah turned and looked for a moment at her bedroom window, which was still wide open.
Then she began jogging down the asphalt road toward the bus terminal, where Ardi—and her future—were waiting.