THE STORYTELLER by Livia Hilda

During our visit to Ganesha University in Singaraja, Bali, students from the RMIT Professional Writing & Editing Associate Degree collaborated with Indonesian students studying Creative Writing at Ganesha. We split up into small groups and focussed on editing a short story written in English by the Indonesian students. During this short process, RMIT’s Mikaelie Evans and I were able to connect with Livia and her piece, which enabled us to help translate and polish this beautiful story.

Walking around historical places was such a nice thing for me, especially the beach near my house. An abandoned harbor called Ex-harbor, to be exact. I loved to explore by myself, walking on the old bridge, sitting at the end of the dock, staring at the monument.

The statue of a handsome muscular man stood on top of the very high monument. He might have been a fighter back then, fighting against the Dutch colonialists. He held a flag and pointed at something across the ocean that I could not see. I wondered who he was. Why did people build a monument for him? My imagination was running wild. Was he a fighter at that time? He looked like a brave man. His face revealed his brave soul. His finger pointed at the colonialists and his mouth was wide open as if he was yelling. Commanding the people to attack; commanding the people to fight.

An old man came by. I did not hear what he said. I was in my daydream.

“Hey!” He tapped my back, surprising me. “Did you not hear me? Why don’t you go home? It’s night already. It is not safe for a kid like you to be hanging around at this time.”

Now I heard him.

“My house is nearby, it’s ok,” I answered as if nothing bad would happen to me.

“Where do you live? Who are your parents?” he asked, as though it was an interrogation.

“I am the granddaughter of Lie.”

This was a template answer that I had memorized. I always mentioned it when people asked who my parents were. My mom said my grandfather was famous in this city for his loyalty.

He was shocked. “You are the granddaughter of Lie? Oh my, how old are you? Is your grandfather still alive? It’s been a very long time since I last saw him.” He stared at me like I was someone from the future. “You know what? Lie and I were best friends when we were your age. We played together, loved the same girl, and worked together.”

This time, it was my turn to be shocked. This was the first time I had heard that story about my grandfather. I knew his name, but not much more.

“You see that old bridge? I used to fish with Lie there. We caught so many big fish back then.”

He laughed when he told me this. I was amazed.

“Now, you see that old building? That was our office. We worked there together, managing the trading ship schedules. The house behind that building is mine. Your grandfather used to sleep over at my house. And the dock! That was your grandfather’s spot to see the sunset.”

Oh God, my favorite place was also my grandfather’s favorite place. I could imagine my grandfather running on the bridge, looking for his friend. I also could imagine him sitting at the end of the dock and gazing at the setting sun just like me. Like grandfather, like granddaughter!

“Anyway, is Lie still alive?” he asked, eyes sparkling with hope.

“No. He died years before I was born.”

His eyes looked sad. “The last time I saw him was when the colonialists came. Lie had gone to a place I’ll never know. Maybe China, Surabaya, I don’t know.”

I asked, “How about you? Did you stay here during the war?”

“Yes. I watched so many things happen. They burned the houses, killed the people and sank the ships. Everything.”

My thoughts flew back to the statue. I pointed. “Who is that man?”

The old man followed my finger.

“Was he a leader of the people?” I asked again.

He laughed strangely. “Why do you ask?”

Man, I just wanted to know!

“He was just a sweeper in my office. He accidentally got stabbed in the stomach during the war.”

“What? He was not a leader? Or even a fighter?” His answer shocked me. It could not be like that. Why did people build a statue for him then?

“No, little girl. He was just a sweeper!” He looked so serious, but I could not believe him. The statue looked so brave. He really looked like a fighter. Oh, God. Who was he? He wasn’t fighting the colonialists? He was only fighting for cleanliness?

The old man’s story about my grandfather was amazing, but as for his story about that statue? I would rather believe my own imagination.

About the Writer

Livia Hilda is a student of the English Language Education Department at Ganesha University of Education. She was born in Jakarta, 27th of November 1998. She currently lives in Singaraja, Bali. She likes to write short stories.