Triskaidekaman
from S*lent, a Novel without the Letter I
Translated from the Indonesian by Stephen J. Epstein
Rare Men of Letters: Sasha 2027
The day has come.” Thus spoke Soloman the Most Awesome.
Slowly, and as carefully as always, he set the coffee mug down on the coaster. Nonetheless, Sasha Barbarov, Adjutant of Verbal Control, could tell from the despot’s body language that an unprecedented moment was upon them. Sasha coughed—two sharp hacks were enough. Cough number one had been an affected gesture, but the phlegm clotted, and the chest ache that he felt was now all too real. Soloman cupped a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. The Adjutant, a most loyal follower, gulped down some water. Glug. An oval Adam’s apple rose and fell.
Once Sasha’s breath had returned to normal, he perforce turned around—Ask once more. Be absolutely sure that you heard correctly.
“M-majesty, you mean? . . .”
“We can no longer put off what must be done, Sasha. We need to enact the ban today. By the afternoon. That Letter must be expunged from our land. We can no longer avert such a move.”
Sasha made no response.
Now turned towards the Adjutant, Soloman spoke sharply, “You’ve had almost endless chances to contemplate the path we must follow. Surely you can produce a full array of arguments that support the ban.”
Sasha’s escape routes had now evaporated: there was no room to flee, no space for delay, no assurance that the reasons he had chosen would persuade anyone. And the result? He could only nod. Sasha’s brow grew damp and he drew the back of a hand over a clammy forehead. He knew well that the ban would be effected. The only debate would be over exactly when. And yet, an obstacle stood before them: how could Soloman enact such a broad measure, when the ban rested upon matters of personal concern to the despot? Sasha had therefore been set a key task: to produce excuses that would make sense to others. For Sasha, however, the endeavor had proved enormously burdensome, even absurd when the full consequences were contemplated.
“Sasha, you’ve now analyzed our language closely. What data can you share about the problems you’ve unearthed?”
Sasha struggled to muster mettle, and a message. “Majesty, my team has carefully observed speech patterns among the people of Luhurjaya. We have been scrupulous. We surveyed all usage and combed through books and brochures, journals and newspapers, songs and poems. Ads. Flyers. Banners. Cable TV programs. Even posts on Facebook and other platforms of that nature. Our study of language use shows that the youth of Luhurjaya have become arrogant. They now only show concern for themselves, and all act as though they are the noblest, the smartest, that they can never be wrong. When censured, they become outraged. How can Luhurjaya progress, Majesty?”
“Amen, Sasha. And so?”
“We have also found that That Letter shows up most frequently among the curses and terms for beasts that young people use when they chat. We’ve noted that That Letter pops up regularly for such exchanges, the way mushrooms do after summer showers.”
“Hold on a moment,” Soloman cut Sasha off. He’d wanted to clutch a phrase Sasha uttered but held back. Soloman, thoughtful and eyes skyward, rested a palm on a cheek. “That Letter above all, you say?”
“Absolutely. After all, That Letter also ranks among the most common of our tongue. Not only that, Majesty, as a result of exposure to the global ver- nacular, whose terms and whose names are so often borrowed by Luhurjayans, young people now employ That Letter alone as a pronoun, as a slang form of self-reference. That Letter thus undoubtedly encourages a shallow focus upon the ego. Just look at the ever-greater consequences we can observe amongst our youth as a result. We must be wary not to allow our fellow countrymen to succumb to thoughtless and self-centered acts.”
“Hmmm. Yes, well spoken.”
“But, Majesty, as for the ban on names . . . The extended laws have only been present for a matter of months now. Don’t you judge that . . .”
“Sasha! Can you see advantages that have accrued from the name ban? Where are these advantages, pray tell? Have there been any? No! Not one! Countrymen who have had obscene names bestowed upon them by parents compose most of our labor force. Even as we demand name changes, those coarse terms are not forgotten. These people are often addressed by the older tags, not the new ones they’ve taken on for legal purposes. The ban has not helped Luhurjaya’s global stature at all. Surely that tells us we must go well beyond that decree. We need to lay down a further ban! A ban that produces prompt results, so that the world treats us as honorable, Sasha! You understand, don’t you?”
Sasha had long known that advantages from the Ban on Personal Names Drawn From Obscene Words, Vulgar Phrases and Beasts would only become apparent at a far future date. An age cohort or two would need to come and go. That would take some twenty years at the very least; perhaps several cycles would be necessary. Moreover, the ban had been made to apply only to personal names and on legal documents, not language use at a day-to-day level. Sasha, concerned that Soloman lacked the perseverance demanded to see the changes through, had already conveyed the unease he felt, but to scant account. Soloman, as suggested by the name he had adopted as despot, was not one to heed others regularly.
“But, Majesty, are you sure that the new ban would help Luhurjaya?” “We shall at least try. How shall we ever know unless we make an attempt?” “Majesty, you must understand the arduous task that we face should we attempt to expunge That Letter.” “What do you mean?”
“The sheer volume of what we need to both amend and emend would be enormous, Majesty. We would need to destroy books, for example, and demand that they be composed from scratch. Delete ads, create replacements. Ban songs, alter the words. Update the content of newspapers. And the Glossary! We would be forced to change The Great Glossary and Thesaurus of Luhurjaya, Majesty! Such an endeavor would take months, years even!”
“But a leader such as myself can foresee advantages. And the expungement shall offer these advantages even before the name program does!”
“What about matters subsumed by other areas, Majesty? Surely they shall become muddled. Have you pondered how barren our language may become, the problems our people shall face, were we to place a blanket ban upon the use of That Letter? And what about work from other languages? How shall our translators manage such a task?”
“Pfft!” Soloman snorted. “They’ll learn to cope.”
“As you prefer, Majesty. Should such be your command.”
Sasha and Soloman had often clashed before. “Sasha, what makes you challenge me so?”
“Majesty, should your goal be our country’s progress, my sense suggests that both programs can offer advantages. But were your central purpose only that people stay unaware of Bagus and the poetry that . . .”
“SASHA! Don’t you ever dare speak of That Person or That Book here!”
Soloman slammed a hand forcefully upon the glass table. A slew of objects vaulted above the flat surface; The Adjutant’s shoulders also lurched upwards. Soloman grabbed Sasha’s collar by that same hand: heed-my-orders-or-that’s- the-end-of-you.
“My dear Adjutant of Verbal Control, Mr. Sasha Barbarov, please set these words down as the text of the decree. We hereby place a total ban upon the use of That Letter amongst our people. That’s your only response for now. You shall obey!”
Sasha fell speechless once more, and for far longer. “Sasha?”
“Yes, Majesty. You appear sure of your course, and thus we shall arrange an announcement of the decree.”
Now came Soloman’s turn to fall mute. He felt no need to reply. He would brook no protest.
The two men merely stared at each other. Thus would end the frequent debates—fervent debates—between Sasha and Soloman.
“Do not forget your other duty, Sasha.” “Other duty, Majesty?”
“Ferret out the prototype of That Book and oversee the total erasure of the text from Luhurjaya. Even better, let us oversee a complete purge from the face of the earth. Don’t allow even one copy to rest among us, or you shall be chopped to a hash!”
“And destroy all records related to That Person and your past, Majesty?” “You already know the answer, Sasha. Do you really need me to repeat myself?”
“Ready, Majesty. As you command.”
Just a decree, Sasha thought as he drew back from Soloman.
The task should be easy.
Decree #1
Beloved brethren of Luhurjaya,
As your leader, Soloman the Most Awesome hereby announces a ban upon the use of the below, whether from our language or from the global vernacular, as names for new-born Luhurjayans:
coarse words and curse words;
personal names drawn from terms for beasts;
lewd or obscene phrases of any other sort.
The ban shall take effect as of today, July 1, 2020 for all Luhurjayans, regardless of where they are born.
Moreover, Luhurjayans who currently hold names that draw upon curses, obscene phrases or terms for beasts must complete a change of name form at the Bureau of Local Demography no later than June 30, 2021. Those under the age of legal consent must be attended by a parent or other adult trustee (twen- ty-one years old or above). From July 1, 2021, every Luhurjayan who refuses to change a name deemed lewd or unacceptable shall be hunted down by the Green Beret Corps and forced to renounce the foul term under duress.
Members of the Luhurjaya populace who seek judgment on whether a name shall be regarded as coarse or obscene, about the extent of change nec- essary, or who have any other concerns should contact the Bureau of Local Demography.
Soloman the Most Awesome looks forward to your teamwork as we all work together to promote a joyful and prosperous Luhurjaya.
Our warmest thoughts on your behalf,
Soloman the Most Awesome (Yet Approachably Humble) Grand Leader of Luhurjaya
07/2020
The Gospel of Pete: Garden of Books
Now, as the end approaches, let me do my best to note my thoughts and record what has happened. Maybe such a document can help others, from Luhurjaya or elsewhere, rather than cause a man’s downfall. May my story serve to warn the world of dangers that lurk for us all. And, at last—and at least—my own status as an author can be cemented.
We met at a campus eatery; that’s where our story starts.
The Faculty of Psychology’s canteen was favored by our student cohort. The canteen was roomy, and power outlets adorned the walls. The atmosphere there, to the rear of the Garden of Books, lured those of us who had to rely on free resources to prop ourselves up and not constantly harass our parents for cash. We’d use coursework as an excuse to spend hours there at no cost. As the Garden of Books and the canteen made no attempt to vet students who showed up, those from other majors flocked there too. Commerce students followed, even though they had to walk rather far.
And then there was me, another commerce student, who’d only entered the faculty out of a lust to become the next Warren Buffett—made of money, the sort of man who could do parents proud. A Warren Muppet, so to speak. The problem, though, was that the journey to wealth demanded far more than a commerce degree. When my heart at last accepted that a knack for commerce wasn’t among my talents—or even a subject that attracted me, the courses for my last year had already begun. A change of majors wasn’t work- able, and my hunger had evaporated. Word play and verbal art had all been much more my style, but by the same token, fancy books rarely grabbed me, so a proper career path was hard to see. To struggle as some offbeat author held no appeal.
And so, my only goal was to embark upon a venture of some sort. Each day was spent on the hunt for a gap that a web company could make use of. Taxes on net-based commerce had yet to travel past zero, so people took full advantage of the status quo. Shops of all sorts sprouted, a remarkable array. But bafflement over what would succeed cast a shadow over my days. Lethargy won out, my sloth grew severe. Although a stack of assessments lay ahead, my resolve to complete them only came at the eleventh hour. My work for my Commerce Law course followed that pattern: there was only a day left, but the project had proved far harder than expected. So off to the canteen for me. A half-dozen books from the stacks were soon settled on the empty bench to my left. That’s when she caught my eye.
Lunch was near, and the canteen was full. The young woman struggled to locate a vacant spot, and as the only free space was next to me, she eventually had to ask my help.
“Sorry, would you be able to . . . ?” She gestured towards the bench.
“Ah, sure. Be my guest.” The words came out of my mouth before she completed her sentence.
My hands removed the books, but my eyes stayed glued to the document on a bootlegged copy of MS Word. The screen was blank. Doubts arose: better to focus on the task, but not reject the young woman, or chat? For reasons that escape me, alarm that we wouldn’t meet on another day stole over me.
Before long, the young woman held up a hand to flag down a server. The server took down the order and dashed away; she pushed upon a galley door and was gone.
The two of us gazed at each other awkwardly, deer stunned by a car’s headlamps.
“You won’t be bothered to have me eat here?” “Not at all. Please feel free.”
The coursework was brutal: the greater my attempts to concentrate, the less coherent my thoughts became. No good ways forward came to me, and the screen stayed blank. The prospect of a chat won out.
“Call me Pete. From Commerce.” My outstretched hand offered welcome.
She volunteered her own, and then added her name.
At the start of my freshman year, everyone from Luhurjaya had been forced to remove any reference to sexual organs, any lewd double-entendre, any beast etymology from the names they legally held. And so, the last letter was lopped off from my name--a slash of the scalpel, and my proud Peter became naught but a Pete. For the young woman, a change was equally easy. Her older name stayed crystal clear; no great thought was needed on my part to work out what had happened. One letter had changed and she became Peggy.
The name that her parents had chosen for her drew upon a mammal, warm-blooded, good-natured and gentle. Lazy, perhaps, but that doesn’t matter much; the creature was not a cat, temperamental and bossy, nor a dog that yap yap yaps even when alone, nor a rooster that crows at the crack of dawn. A hog’s gene structure resembles ours, so much so that researchers say that adjustments to a hog’s chromosomes may be able to treat syndromes that affect humans. Nonetheless, these creatures are also blasphemed, treated as slovenly. Greedy. Grubby. The slurs have been perpetuated by Soloman, the despot who rules our land. Although Luhurjaya parents loved names that had a pork-related etymology, whether from our own tongue or the global language, they were among those that Soloman banned by the decree of 2020. Peggy, and hundreds of others who shared her name, would be forced to take on one that was new.
Alas, her parents flouted the updated rules. The couple had yet to fully comprehend the checks that had been placed on the fancy of Luhurjayans, and the severe laws that had been enacted. Peggy’s parents were adamant that names that recalled a beast were best for a beloved daughter. As the cut-off for name changes approached, a letter showed up by post that held an awful threat: should the parents stubbornly refuse to alter the daughter’s name, all three would be hunted down and put to death. The young woman’s mother was aghast. So the parents proposed the smoothest adjustment that occurred to them; they hoped to hold on to at least the aroma of the beast, a feature that showed respect for sows.
And so, they chose to spell her name as Peggy, although they pronounced her name as before at home. One could argue that the name stayed safe after 2027, but Soloman was thought to detest and reject names that betrayed what he regarded as fraud, those that were not pronounced as they were spelled. My gut told me that the despot had only bluffed, so such words ceased to bother me. The server appeared and told us that the gas tube that fed the canteen’s stove had cracked. They had no spare on hand; the food Peggy had just ordered wouldn’t be ready for an hour or two.
The news pleased me; such good fortune would not come another day. The delay allowed me to learn much more about her. She told me that she planned to become a nurse and had entered the Faculty of Health and Human Anatomy, the faculty that produced doctors and nurses, a faculty well-regarded because of the deep knowledge and lengthy study demanded. My respect for the young woman grew.
“Wow, that’s awesome!”
“Thanks. But my level three courses only just started. There’s a long way to go.”
“Same here, level three.”
We’d graduated from secondary school the same year. Not only that, as we chatted further, we found out that we’d been students at the same academy, although my focus on cultural subjects, and hers on zoology and botany meant that we’d never come across each other. She nodded at my remark that no one from her faculty was among my contacts.
That had not really been true, but there was no need for me to dredge up the past when the two of us had just met.
Actually, a talented student from zoology and botany had been part of my peer group. We’d entered the academy together, and let me confess now that she very much captured my fancy. But eventually we lost touch as our study tracks ran to opposed subjects. Everyone from my class was sure that the young woman would earn a grant to study whatever she wanted. But unfortunately, she wasn’t selected as an award student for the Faculty of Health and Human Anatomy, so she chose psychology, a new subject for her. As soon as entrance exams opened for Luhurjaya students to UK and US colleges, she took them on the sly, and passed. Supposedly, Soloman had sent her to study language and letters at Oxford.
She seemed to have already departed when the next school year rolled around. Her Facebook page featured photos of her set under a clear blue sky at Carfax as she soaked up the stately atmosphere of St. John’s College. My attempts to contact her after she left had no success; my messages were marked as seen, but she never responded. My hunch grew stronger that she’d chosen to forget me, even though we’d been close enough. Aware that my fate resembled a banana peel, tossed away after the sweetness has been consumed, my resolve grew not to become a martabak as well and offer up a sweet surface, as someone scorches you below. My memory of her needed to be erased. And so, she was deleted. Peggy came along to help plug the gap.
That’s how we got together.
One, two, three years went by; Peggy’s study progressed more and more smoothly, whereas my own stagnated. Half a decade wasn’t enough to complete my bachelor’s degree. Doubts gnawed at me. Not only had my sense that commerce was the wrong major for me sharpened, but the outlook for Luhurjaya’s economy grew darker. Commentators had forecast that 2025 would see a hefty boost to our GNP, but when the Year of the Wood Snake eventually came, the currency plummeted. Young people between 25 and 30 became more eager to flea jump, to leave the posts they held for better pay. When asked about expected salary, though, they’d often make senseless demands. The gaps between offers and employees’ requests were too large for agreement, so jobs stayed vacant far longer than usual. “Better to open a café than be a corporate slave,” my peers would declare, as they turned up noses at colleagues who’d once been pals. Workplaces began to empty out. Many sectors of the economy suffered. Even though Peggy would soon graduate and have the state’s stamp of approval as a nurse, we sweated over how we’d earn her parents’ agreement and start our own household.
One odd fact leapt out at me, however. Supposedly, the annual revenue from the banana trade had grown at a rate threefold beyond overall costs, even though bananas had always been the Luhurjayan staple.
An awkward fact. My scant acumen and my knowledge of commerce from college study couldn’t account for the anomaly. All one could do was ask ba- nana experts how the unusual state had come to be. Fortunately, one of my regular haunts on the net was a platform for web-based commerce that had a forum frequented by sharp young entrepreneurs.
The forum acted as a market that never closed. The members bustled about, happy to serve as someone else’s analyst—others’ concerns became en- joyable subjects for debate. One area of the forum targeted those who handled produce. Apparently three months ago someone had already put forth the conundrum on the Banana web page. The top answers were dull, but towards the end of the thread a novel argument appeared: the banana market had grown because a newspaper had released an anthology of old poems by Bagus Goodman at the start of the year. The newspaper had gone under shortly thereafter. Follow-up comments were equally odd. Clearly, the name Bagus was well-known to those who bartered bananas but unwelcome to the Luhurjaya government. He’d been accused of treason, and the themes and concepts that he favored were treated as Far Askew. News outlets weren’t allowed to carry the poet’s work. The newspaper’s downfall was treated as proof. The account presented holes and puzzles galore but was enough to leave traders perplexed. Eventually, the mystery boosted banana sales, or so some argued.
Regardless, my way forward was now clear, to start up a web-based shop to barter bananas. Exams kept Peggy busy on her own path to graduate as my plans took shape over the next several weeks. Other brokers from the forum remarked that Bagus had put out a book. Granted, the volume would be among those tomes that only show up at flea markets. They noted that the book may have had useful commentary about bananas. All that made me reflect that Peggy could be called a keen reader, although, to be frank, her preferences weren’t fully clear to me. Perhaps she could offer some useful thoughts? Over a meal one day, Bagus’ name came up.
“Have you ever heard of Bagus?” “Bagus who?”
“Bagus Goodman.”
Peggy shot me a look of nauseated fury. The anger she projected would be hard to convey.
“You bastard! Pete, how do you know about that man?” “What’s the matter? Why are you so angry all of a sudden?” “Don’t ever even say that name.”
“What’s wrong? Tell me!”
“Don’t ask, Pete, or that could be the end of you!” “Okay, okay. Sorry.”
The atmosphere between us had been relaxed moments ago. Why would a reference to Bagus destroy that peace? Best to keep mum or hold off for when she’d be busy, or at least calm, once more. As soon as we changed the subject, Peggy’s face returned to normal.
A week later, my search for the volume of Bagus’ poetry began at some bookstores and second-hand dealers known to me. No luck. Next came a check of the Garden of Books by the Psych Faculty canteen; we weren’t even allowed to say the name Bagus there. My hunch grew that the book had been banned by Soloman, and that no book sellers had the guts to put the poet’s work on the shelves. However, my thoughts soon called me back to greater self-awareness: my current task was to earn enough money from the barter of bananas to see me through my capstone project that year. There was no room to read for pleasure generally, let alone novels or poetry.
My forecast had proved correct. Before long, banana brokerage generated a decent salary, enough to cover the down payment on a very small house. My capstone project was complete at last, not long before the ceremony to graduate. As for Peggy, she had already taken up an entry job as a nurse at Luhur- jaya’s federal health center. Once a bachelor’s degree of commerce belonged to me, a proposal became reasonable. Peggy’s father, who’d been concerned that nobody would marry her, could hardly oppose the match. We were allowed to dwell at the wee house from the end of July 2027.
One day at the end of June, the two of us planned to use my student card that would soon need to be returned. We wanted to meet for lunch at the can- teen, by the Garden of Books. All should have gone smoothly: Peggy had the day off from work, the fees for my degree had been taken care of, and she’d just collected a generous paycheck.
Unfortunately, bad luck lurks at every turn. Luhurjaya was overwhelmed by freak heavy showers. By dawn, floodwaters had come up to knee level, enough to wreak havoc as everyone went about what they needed to do. As there was no way to escort Peggy by motorcycle, we chose to walk. After all, a walk helps blood move and couples bond. The canteen was as busy as ever when we got there, but we had good luck and found two empty seats just below a large screen. Everyone cheered when a server turned on the TV.
Dozens of eyes held themselves fast at what was shown.
A chorus appeared, a half-dozen men, a half-dozen women, faces flat, but able to produce a cascade of harmony as they sang. They began to perform Luhurjaya’s anthem. The style of the hymn, that of a march, recalled the laws set by Soloman—laws that made themselves felt through the ether, unseen yet present and dangerous.
Noble Luhurjaya, always blessed!
Weave together efforts, calmly mesh mutual support.
Become eternal, relentless as the eons pass.
Lofty Luhurjaya, always blessed!
Obey and honor leaders, battle all betrayal.
Be calm, countrymen, adored by Soloman.
Lovers of your land, uphold the Luhurjaya legacy
Lofty Luhurjaya,
Noble Luhurjaya, always blessed!
We knew very well that the anthem would be followed by some noteworthy act from Soloman, a speech, perhaps, or a decree. Soloman once regularly gave speeches. We’d rarely take heed when he spoke; after all, before long an announcement would appear to the exact same effect. As the years went by, though, Soloman addressed the Luhurjayan people less and less often. After the anthem, all that appeared on the screen were several sentences, black letters upon a blank background. No sound, no movement, no face of Soloman emblazoned upon the screen. We’d grown used to that.
But the content of that afternoon’s announcement was powerful. The format may have been the same as usual, but when we pondered what was meant and the forces that would be unleashed, we grew alarmed.
And then more fearful as each moment passed.
Decree #2
Esteemed brethren of Luhurjaya,
Your leader, Soloman the Most Awesome, hereby announces that one letter shall soon be removed from the alphabet of Luhurjaya. Henceforth, we shall only make use of the vowels A, E, O, and U. The ban shall hold for all forms of contact and exchange that occur among our countrymen, whether spoken, on paper or through computers, from July 1, 2027.
The ban follows upon the 2020 decree related to Personal Names Drawn From Obscene Words, Vulgar Phrases and Beasts. Should That Letter be pres- ent among the characters of your name, you must carry out an adjustment. For further counsel, contact the Bureau of Local Demography no later than August 31, 2027. Please also note that should your name need an update but you do not make a report to that effect, the Green Beret Corps shall be deployed to enforce the amendment from September 1, 2027.
As for the central reference work of our language—namely The Great Glossary and Thesaurus—the new arrangement of our alphabet shall be handled by a team of experts whose competence covers all areas of knowledge.
Furthermore, lest one assume that sub rosa use of That Letter may be condoned, be aware that a squad of the Green Beret Corps has been set up to track and control all forms of exchange. Those who contravene the ban and seek permanent use of That Letter, shall be arrested and sentenced. Penalty for offense shall be meted out as follows:
1st Degree Offense: removal of one to seven teeth, mouth sewn shut for one week;
2nd Degree Offense: removal of the tongue, neck lanced, stomach lanced; 3rd Degree Offense: penal custody, death penalty (gas chamber or gallows).
Such are the bounds of what can be shared among the populace for the moment. My warmest thoughts for the people of Luhurjaya, always blessed.
Soloman the Most Awesome (Yet Approachably Humble) Grand Leader of Luhurjaya
06/2027
A translator’s note is available here.