Escape Part 1: The Kecapi

I have violated my bedrest and exited my residence in Southern Mars exactly two times. Both of them were to play kecapi (a 20-string Sundanese zither). The first was to practice at the house of my teacher, Pak Yeng. That was the day after the doctor’s orders. At the time, I figured that I’d already rested 24 hours and taken my medication. What harm could sitting in his house with a kecapi at my lap do? Besides, Pak Yeng had promised that he would invite a bunch of his friends over so that way I could practice with a full group of musicians, including gong, drum, suling (flute), and sindhen (female singers). We were preparing for a performance the following week, and he wanted to make sure I didn’t get confused with more commotion than just the sound of a second kecapi, the way we usually practiced together. Pak Yeng is a sweet man in his mid-70s that is excited to share his musical traditions with anyone, let alone a foreigner. How could I let him down?

Almost as soon as I entered the taxi, I immediately regretted my decision to come. The road conditions, with potholes every two feet in all directions, not to mention the countless speedbumps on the smaller roads, are simply not conducive to someone with holes in their intestines and continuing abdominal pain. Trust me; you feel everything, and it all hurts. I hid my eyes under my headscarf to trick myself into imagining I was still in bed.

When I entered the house, though, the regret faded as quickly as it had come. There was a gong in one of the entryways, and the normally quiet rooms were crawling with Sundanese musicians. A wave of excitement filled me. The gong player looked ancient, as if he’d been sitting beneath the gong for centuries—a relic waiting to be photographed and commoditized by Indonesia’s booming tourist industry. We played kecapi kawih (genre of music) for two hours until finally one of the singers had to pick up her daughter, and the group dissembled into chatting, mostly in Sundanese, discussing which song sounded better in which mode. I stayed as long as I could, trying to put off the return journey as long as I could… an hour-long taxi-ride by the way, that I thought was outrageously expensive. 55,000 Rupiah…almost $6! (Translating the figure into American dollars always makes me feel better when I feel like I’m wasting my money.) I left Pak Yeng’s house, agreeing that we would meet the morning of the performance, between 6 and 7am. In my heart of hearts, I hoped I would be feeling better and could attend.