The Century Carver

By Oka Rusmini

Kopag dropped his sharp chiselling knife, almost slicing open his own leg- and all because
he’d detected a strange smell coming from the direction of the door, an aroma of dry leaves and
damp wood. Odd, where was it coming from, this smell that made him feel so agitated? It wafted
closer.
Who’s there?
“It’s me, Srenggi.”
“Srenggi? Srenggi who? ” Kopag was trembling with trepidation now. The smell was coming
closer and he was finding it hard to breathe. His hands were bereft; he needed his chiselling tools.
His mind conjured up images of sharp knives. Kopag trembled as the smell exposed him to the
reality of being a man.
“Tell me who you are!”
“I am the one who will serve all your needs- from this moment on, till the end of time.” The
voice sounded nervous.
“What did you say your name was?” Kopag began to calm down a little.
“Srenggi,” the voice quivered. It was the voice of a woman. What was happening to him?
Kopag cursed himself. He had the strange sensation of suddenly being submerged in the ocean. The
voice seemed to be full of honesty, compassion and sincerity. Kopag was sure his judgement was
right: this was the one, the woman he’d been seeking for centuries. And now God had sent her for
him. A woman, was that really the voice of a woman?
When Kopag went to pick up his cane, Srenggi quickly stepped into help. Their hands
touched, increasing Kopag’s anxiety. The woman skin felt like bark. Surely her beauty rivalled that
of a tree trunk, she was more beautiful than the most sacred pile of timber.
For the first time Kopag felt able to enjoy life. He was able to provide an objective evaluation
of the living creature known as man. Usually he was treated as an object, merely subject to the
decisions of the people closest to him, submitting to whatever was said by those around him. This
time he felt that he had encountered a truth that was different from that developed people who
used their own truth as a personal yardstick.
“Is truth always manifested on earth in a homogeneous form?” Kopag had asked this
servant Gubreg with a trembling voice. “Even when I’m judging beauty, do I have to use their
criteria?”
“Their criteria? I’m not convinced that they’re capable of genuinely seeing in beauty of life!”
Kopag’s voice was tense; his thoughts in a muddle!
Kopag was aware, intensity aware. Although, of curse, it was no cause for celebration to
have been born blind. His eyes would never see a woman. But are people born complete with all
their senses capable of capturing all the secrets of these life-secrets that are held onto and kept
hidden by nature? Would it be wrong if Kopag were suddenly to encounter extraordinary beauty in
Srenggi? A beauty that he could see with his thoughts and feelings? Would that be wrong?
The beauty of this young woman was extraordinary. The indentions of her body and her
face resembled those in a piece of timber. She was timber of exquisite beauty. It was odd that the
other people were unable to see her loveliness to appreciate the beauty that nature had entrusted
to her. Even old Gubreg made no comment when Kopag praised the prettiness of this eighteen-year-
old girl. What was wrong with the criteria he had used to judge her beauty?
As a boy, life had imposed the label” Ida Bagus Made” onto Kopag, so that people would
recognize him and be able to distinguish him from others. He was the second son in the richest
family in the compound. The title” Ida Bagus” indicated that he was of the brahmana caste, the
highest case in the Baliness social structure. His father was a highly respected man who held an
important government position. He also owned dozens of painting and sculpture galleries.
Unfortunately he had a wandering eye. He was an animal, an appalling one. People used to say that
any woman was fair game for him. It didn’t bother him whether she was beautiful or not, heathy or
not; for Kopag’s father, any creature with a hole could be entered.
One day, after an absence of any months, he came home in a sickness state. He was thin and
pale. Before long his debts began to mount. His wealth evaporated. And in those circumstances he
forced his wife to have sex with him. She resisted. She knew he would impregnate her with a seed
of an animal. But what is the power of a woman? Especially since, from an early age, she had been
educated to become a noble woman who would respect her husband. She became pregnant- and
died giving birth to a baby boy.
Being born blind was redemption of a kind, considering the circumstances of his birth. How
miraculous it would be if life could be acted out, turned into a performance. Like a piece of timber
with its captivating curves, Srenggi’s body was where life was created for this man who, ever since
his first encounter with the aroma of the earth and life, could feel only darkness as his language, his
life. The life that Kopag so frequently cursed turned out to be quite democratic in fact. It gave him
qualities that others could not possibly possess. He could transform a piece of dry wood into a work
of art that attracted the elite of the art world. Kopag had reinvented the idea of artistic endeavour.
He didn’t just carve wood; he carved his thoughts, his brain, and his dreams as well. For the first
time, nature had surrendered to his power, just as Kopag had surrendered to the blindness that was
his constant companion.
 Kopag drew a deep breath. He touched the dry wood that always accompanied him
wherever he went. To be honest, Kopag loved this wood that had introduced him to his world. The
world he wanted. Solitude fenced in by beauty- without the sound of sister-in-law harping.
“What can that bind brother of yours do? Tell me? He’s a bloody nuisance!” The young
woman’s voice always set his nerves on edge. She was always making a fuss about something. He’d
trodden on the plants in the side garden, or his cane had got tangled up with the bougainvillea that
the gasbag of a woman had just planted, or the plates and glasses were in the wrong place in the
kitchen.
His sister-in-law’s voice constantly rang in his ears. How could a woman that everyone said
was so beautiful and elegant speak with such a foul mouth? Her screech was enough to blunt his
chiselling knives. Her name was Ni Luh Putu Sari but because she hadn’t been born into a brahmana
caste she had had to change her name to Jero Melati. A member of the commoner sudra caste, she
had married Kopag’s brother and had thus become the member of their noble family.
Outsiders only knew her extraordinary physical beauty and her much-lauded skin; in short,
her body was one that all the men talked about. Kopag often wondered whether human beings
could ever share a genuinely objective set of views. How could this incredibly crude and carping
woman be the one all the men adored?
In Kopag’s view, she was the perfect example of a play actor. She had been focused on
joining the brahmana family. In her absolute commitment to assuming the role of the wife of a
brahmana, she had to demonstrate to everyone in the village her right to join the family. Kopag had
sensed this the first time his sister-in-law greeted him. Her hands felt like those of a rotting corpse.
Everytime she had opened her mouth, Kopag could smell the rancid stench of blood, a smell that
leaped from those lips that were apparently so sweet, so red, so perfect. Even Gubreg, the faithful
servant who had looked after Kopag since he was child, commented on how lucky his brother was
to have married the most beautiful girl in the village.
Gubreg also talked about the beautiful skin of Ni Luh Putu Sari, now known as Jero Melati,
on account of her having married into a high caste family. Her bearing, he said, resembled that of
the daughters of the Balinese King.
“She really is extraordinary beautiful.”
“Describe her to me, Gubreg. Tell me everything in detail. I want to know what she’s like,
and I want to feel it too. For the moment, I’ll trust your eyes.”
The old man fell silent. He looked deep into Kopag’s eyes. A pain fluttered in his chest. Ida
Bagus Made Kopag had a very fine body. He was tall and exceptionally skilled with his hands. Since
he’d been a small boy, his grandfather alone had taught him how to work with wood, to better
acquaint him with life. On occasion, a teacher would be brought in to teach him to read.
“The boy is blind, Gubreg. He’s paying for the sins of his father. When I watch his
development I am constantly reminded of the things that my son did. His karma has fallen to his
own son. My grandson will know darkness for all eternity. I still believe that we can learn from such
a life. You see it, don’t you? Life has given him an extraordinary gift. My grandson is in possession of
all the eyes of everyone on this earth. See how he produces perfectly carved statues. Look after him
well, Gubreg. Think of him as your own son!” That had been Ida Bagus Rai’s last instruction before
he passed away.
“Gubreg, you haven’t answered my question. Tell me what she’s like. Is she like this piece of
banyan wood-cold, but still appealing? Can you see, Gubreg, how it moves me? Gubreg, what is this
feeling that overcomes me so often, is that what it feels like to be a man? Is that a sign of
masculinity?” Kopag spoke softly.
God in Heaven! Master of the universe! Kopag had grown up; he was approaching his
twenty-fifth birthday. He loved reading his Braille books. And from time to time, the Frenchman
Frans Kafkasau would pay him a visit.
The middle-aged Kafkasau got on Gubreg’s nerves, with all the things he always brought
him. Sometimes he would read foreign books to Kopag, book’s he’d translated, abut Michelangelo
Buanorotti who Frans said was a famous Renaissance sculptor.
It was hard, too hard. Ever since he’d gotten to know Frans, Kopag would ask Gubreg all
manner of questions.
“Aren’t you going to answer my questions, Gubreg?”
“Don’t ask me weird things, master. I can’t explain things like Frans can. Why don’t you ask
him?” Gubreg’s voice was heavy with envy.
The oldman was quick-tempered these days. It didn’t take much to fire him up. A single
sound uttered by the Frenchman was enough to male his stomach chum. It made him so mad!
Kopag no longer have anytime to talk about things. The Frenchman had given him a new sort of
education, a different perspective on the world. Kopag didn’t need Gubreg anymore.
The old man felt that something was missing inside him. Kopag had always been as much a
part of him as his own breath. Ever since Kopag was a child, it was Gubreg who had taught him
about the texture of the wood. He transferred everything he knew about carving to the body of the
powerless little boy. It was Gubreg who taught Kopag that all things have souls, including his rows
of chiselling knives. And Gubreg taught him how to bring out the best in the knives and savor the
aroma of their sharpness. He still remembered Kopag’s cry when he first touched those naked
knives; he had been seven years old at that time.
 “Gubreg, I tremble everytime I touch these knives. Their sharpness, it’s so beautiful, so
mysterious. It’s extraordinary, Gubreg.”
The sun’s rays flashed off the edges of the chiselling knives. Gubreg noticed how the
powerful rays scattered and died away the moment they touched the sharp edge of each knife. The
knife’s brilliance seemed to challenge that of the sun. In Kopag’s hands the knife became cold,
arrogant, and hungry.
Despite pondering it until almost midnight, Gubreg couldn’t answer the question abouy
what it means to be a man. What were these feelings struggling inside Kopag’s body? Gubreg was
afraid- afraid of answering the question about the true meaning of masculinity.
Kopag was already in his studio bright and early in the morning.
“I need to talk to you.” Kopag’s voice was laden with curiosity.
“About what, master? ”
“About the beauty of a woman. ”
“I…I can’t talk to you about the beauty of a woman. Everyone makes their own judgement about it.
A woman…”
Gubreg’s voice broke off. He drew several breaths. He understood. He knew what was
happening. He too was a man and felt the strings of desire upon first encountering his first
humanness. It was such an onerous thing, so unsetting, when his body began to need, to crave the
body of another to feast upon. That feeling suddenly reemerged in his own brain and his brittle
bones began to connect him to his past once more.
At the time Gubreg was a disheveled fourteen-year-old. He was often given the task of
escorting Dayu Centaga when he went to bathe in the Badung River. Her body was like a snake,
encircling and squeezing his body. His legs would cramp every time her wet body emerged from the
water, encased in a sarong. Her white feet made his brain explode. And on top of all that, she would
always get Gubreg to scrub her back with a river stone.
Until this day Gubreg could still sense her aroma on his body, a scent that could not be
erased by the borrowed time that he lived on. Overtime Gubreg was wracked by extraordinary pain.
He was anxious, wounded from a sort of misplaced hunger. As a commoner male he knew that he
could never possess the body of a brahmane woman. A woman he had put on a pedestal, a woman
he greatly respected. There wasn’t soul with whom he could talk about his anxiety; he was no body,
a man who lived off the compassion of Dayu Centaga’s family. Everytime he thought about the
barriers between himself and Dayu Centaga, Gubreg felt as if someone was boring holes into his
body. Often he would wake up in the middle of the night, breathing fast. Gubreg realized that his
hunger could no longer be contained. He became pale. The brahmana family sought out a balian for
him.
The old ritual healer cast her spells. Gubreg’s body was encircled by smoke which restricted
his breathing. The balianed explained tha Gubreg had thrown rubbish on the river’s edge. The river
god happened to be resting at that time. The balian went on to say that the river god had also
wanted to get his hands on Dayu Centaga. Thanks to Gubreg’s efforts, she had been unharmed. And
Gubreg incurred the wrath of the river god. In order to restore Gybreg’s health, the brahmana
family took an offering to the river god.
Gubreg could not talk about his male yearnings. He did not resist when the balian bathed
him at the edge of the river. She said it was so that evil spirits would leave the family be. Out of
respect for the brahmana family, Gubreg was prepared to undergo the ceremony.
Nobody knew that the healer’s communications with the spirits world were false. Gubreg
was not sick, and he hadn’t been possessed by an evil spirit. He could feel the changes in his body,
the current within him no longer resembled the flowing of a river, it was more like floodwater. And
Gubreg knew that the water in his body needed an estuary. He felt a deep and powerful love for
Dayu Centaga. It was a love that rendred him rigid, cold, and no longer able to enjoy normal human
diversions. To this day, approaching his seventy-fifth birthday, Gubreg was still faithful to the Griya
family, without a wife, without the passion of a man.
So Gubreg could understand why Kopag was asking about beauty. Nature had entrusted
something awe-inspiring to him.
Gubreg looked closely at Kopag’s body as he finished his carving.
“Gubreg, you haven’t answered my question yet,” said Kopag slowly. He took several
breaths. “Gubreg, do you remember what Frans said?”
“What in particular?”
“He said that my wild manner of creating the human form from wood reminded him of
Picasso’s Guernica. Basically I’m curious, Gubreg. Why does the wood always drew me into a
discussion, a dialogue, encourage me to debate, to think? It’s consuming curiosity that overwhelms
my brain, my hands, and my body, and even works its way into my dreams, dreams of the tree with
its growing branches and its body, until in the end its timbers find themselves in my hands. I have
my own dreams, too, about those fragments of wood. Frans and one of his friends once told me that
my carvings of women are perfect. Very surrealistic, they said. The beauty of the women that I
portray in a wood reminded Frans of the passion of Martha Graham, who used her whole body to
bring onto being the character she was playing. I feel the beauty of the women through my
fingerstips, Gubreg. Wood and knives have given me different eyes.”
Gubreg said nothing. He was trying to come to terms with the very private and very
profound thing that Kopag was trying to convey. Kopag had been taught to endeavour to
understand life.In fact Gubreg was willing to left the boy steal, page by page, the secrets of the
journey and pain he himself had endured as a man whose whole life had been dedicated to serving
others.
Thanks to Kopag, the extended family managed to recover from the debts. Kopag’s curved
statues were in great demand and drew a great deal of interest from both local and overseas
collectors. And now all was calm within the family. Jero Melati had stopped her nagging; she was
liberty to spend Kopag’s money however she pleased. Kopag’s brother had even been able to open
a big sculpture gallery, which was the most highly regarded in Bali, on account of the rigorous
selection process it subjected potential exhibits to. Last month, the gallery had received funding
support from Germany and France.
Gubreg never knew what Kopag wanted. The young man never attached any meaning to
having money, or not having it. The only thing that Gubreg had picked up on was that Kopag needed
a woman.
“We need to find a wife for the boy, “Gubreg’s voice was very guarded. Jero Melati smiled
when she heard Gubreg’s words.
“How about he marries the girl I’ve picked out for him.”
“You’ve already chosen someone?”
“I have. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”
“Who? ”
“My sister,” she replied seriously. Gubreg stared sharply at the woman. For the first time he
sensed that her beautiful body was eveloped by an evil force. Kopag was right; she was not a good
woman. She was driven by a desire for status.
“Surely you can convince him that my sister is the right woman for him.” The tone of her
voice verged in command. Gubreg did not respond. He knew that Jero Melati’s sister was a wild and
wicked woman. Rumor had it that she sold her own body.
Unthinkable! But she was very beautiful. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tolerate being poor.
Whereas, poverty, if one makes a commitment to it, has its own beauty.
“Gubreg, I want to talk to you!” This time Kopag’s voice was serious. Gubreg did his best to
figure out where the conversation was headed. Five minutes passed with not a word. Pacing the
room, Kopag seemed distracted.
“My Lord, what is it you want? Don’t be afraid. You seem very distressed.”
“I am Gubreg. I want to get married.” Kopag’s voice was very serious indeed.
“I hope you’ll forgive me, my Lord, but I’ve already discussed this with Jero and your
bother.”
“And what did they say?”
“They agree. In fact they’ve chosen a future wife for you.”
Gubreg raised his head, keen to see Kopag’s face light up. But strangely, the face remained
as impassive as tone.
“I’ve already chosen my wife. And this time nothing will change it!”
“Who is it?”
“Srenggi! ”
“My Lord…?” Gubreg felt as if he was suffocating. Srenggi…? Were his old ears deceiving
him? Wasn’t Srenggi the woman who attended to all Kopag’s needs, cleaned his studio, prepared his
meals and fetched his chiselling knives for him? She wasn’t a woman. She was more like a horrible
monster- lame, stooped over, with a hump on her back. And she had but one good eye; all that
remained of her left one was the socket. Her face was a pitiful sight. Her skin was rough. God in
Heaven! What had possessed Kopag? Did he no idea of the meaning of beauty? Gubreg took a deep
breath and clutched his chest.
“I’ve been taking her to bed every night, Gubreg. Her body is a hollow in a piece of wood.
Her skin is bark. Do you know that when I feel into her body, I was swallowed up and disappeared?
She is the most beautiful woman, even more beautiful than my timbers. When she was naked, no
knife can rival her sharpness. She is the one who honed this male body of mine.”
Gubreg collapsed a chiselling knife in his body chest.