Footsteps Read Online Free PDF

at me with those questioning eyes. He followed on behind me.
    “No one else need know about the painting,” I said.
    “How is she now?”
    “She died, Parto.”
    “May her soul be received by Allah,” he pronounced, and asked no further questions.
    The dining room was full of students from all grades. They all wore Native dress. It was only the Menadonese and Indos who wore European clothes. The Javanese and Sundanese were different only in the kind of destars they wore. There was only one Malay; he wore a
songkok
and a short sarong. The destars were in the majority.
    It looked as though news about the incident in the dormitory had spread quickly. As soon as I entered, all eyes were on me. Here and there people started whispering. I took no notice and sat down with Partokleooo. Just as I sat down, a message boy came in: “Mr. Minke?”
    Partokleooo waved him over. He spoke very politely to Partokleooo: “There is someone asking whether a student arrived by ship from Surabaya today.” He held out a torn piece of paper with some writing in pencil on it.
    I grabbed quickly before Parto could get a look.
    “Yes, that’s me,” I said. “Who is it asking for me?”
    Both the messenger and Partokleooo were observing me. And the messenger answered politely: “A Dutchman, a Pure-Blood; he’s talking with the director at the moment.”
    “Very well, I’ll come when I’ve finished lunch.”
    Partokleooo never tired of staring at me. I think he really wanted to know more about the woman in the painting. But I didn’t pay him any heed.
    I didn’t eat much. I’d lost my appetite after the fight. I left the dining room and went straight to the sitting room. The visitor was none other than my journalist friend from
De Locomotief
, Mr. Ter Haar, whom I’d met on the boat to Semarang a year ago.
    “It’s good to meet you again, sir.” Smiling, he held out his hand. He explained that he had just arrived by train from Semarang. He’d received my letter a little time beforehand. He’d gone out to the harbor to meet me but I’d already left by tram for Weltevreden.
    He talked on in his usual friendly manner until the director came back and joined us. He introduced himself to me as if he wasn’t the director at all. He asked: “How many pen names have you used?”
    I laughed.
    “I’m proud to have a student who can write. But your task here is to study. What if you want to write again? Won’t that disturb your studies?”
    “Writing, with so many experiences, of the world and of the soul,” my friend defended me, “I think he’ll turn out to be quite an advanced student.”
    “Yes, true, but medical school is different. Mr…. so I should use Mr…. ?”
    “Minke is fine, sir.”
    “So, Mr. Minke, no matter how clever a student is, no matter how rich his experiences have been, he must treat his lessons seriously. Everything must be studied in detail. You must follow things as the second hand follows the seconds. A lost second can mean a lost life. You’ve arrived late too. You’ll have to work hard to catch up.”
    “Mr. Director,” began my friend, “if he were to be another couple of days late, it wouldn’t matter, would it? I would like to ask your permission to take him away today. Mr. Minke cannot miss such a great opportunity. What do you think, Mr. Director?”
    “Opportunity?”
    “Yes. I myself have come up from Semarang to take advantage of the same opportunity, Mr. Director, to meet the Honorable Member of the House of Representatives in the Netherlands, Mr. Engineer H. van Kollewijn.”
    “One of my students will meet with a member of parliament?”
    “Tonight the God of the Liberals, the Radical God of the Liberals, will be holding an invitation-only meeting in the Harmoni Club,” my friend continued. “Minke can’t miss this opportunity.”
    “Nah, just what I said. You haven’t even started your studies yet and your private activities are already intruding. What will happen to