At the station, Theo waited only a few minutes before the train from Surabaya arrived. He saw Mrs Van Oudijck at once, with her personal maid Urip and the two little boys, René and Ricus, who unlike himself were dark-skinned, and whom she had brought with her from Batavia for their long holidays.
Theo helped his stepmother off the train as the station-master stepped up to greet her respectfully. She nodded in reply with her unique smile, like a benevolent queen. With the same ambivalent smile she allowed her stepson to kiss her on the cheek. A tall woman, white, blond, in her thirties, with the languid elegance of women born in the Indies of European parents, she had a quality that immediately attracted attention. It lay in her white skin, her milky complexion, her very light blond hair and her eyes that were a strange grey colour, and which sometimes narrowed momentarily and always had an ambiguous expression. It lay in her eternal smile, sometimes sweet and engaging, and often intolerable, irritating. At first one couldn’t tell whether there was anything hidden beneath that look and that smile — any depth, any soul — or if it was nothing but looking and smiling, both with the same slight ambivalence. However, one soon noticed her smiling, non-committal indifference, as if she didn’t care even if the heavens fell, as if she would greet such an event with a smile. She walked slowly, dressed in a pink piqué skirt and a bolero, a white satin ribbon around her waist, and a white sailor hat with a white satin bow; her summer travel outfit was very smart compared with that of some of the other ladies on the platform, strolling along in stiffly starched wrap-arounds — like nightdresses — and tulle hats topped with feathers! The only touch of the Indies in her extremely European appearance that distinguished her from a woman newly arrived from Holland was perhaps her slow gait, that languid elegance. Theo had offered her his arm and she allowed herself to be conducted to the carriage—“the coach”—followed by the two little dark-skinned brothers. She had been away for two months.
She had a nod and a smile for the stationmaster, a glance for the coachman and the groom, and took her seat slowly, languidly, still smiling, like a white sultan’s wife. The three stepsons followed her; the maid travelled behind in a cart. Mrs Van Oudijck glanced outside and felt that Labuwangi looked exactly the same as ever. But she said nothing. She withdrew slowly and leant back. She exuded a certain contentment, but most of all a glowing, smiling indifference, as if nothing could affect her, as if she were protected by a strange power. There was something strong about this woman, whose power derived from her pure indifference: she had an invulnerable quality. She looked as if life had no hold over her, not over her appearance and not over her soul. As if she were incapable of suffering, her smile so content because for her there was no such thing as disease, suffering, poverty or misery. She had an aura of radiant egoism. And yet she was mostly amiable. She generally charmed, won people over because she was so pretty. Whatever else people might say about her, this woman, with her glittering self-satisfaction, was loved. When she spoke, when she laughed, she was disarming. Indeed, she was engaging. This was despite and — perhaps — precisely because of her unfathomable indifference. She was interested only in her own body and in her own soul; everything else, everything else was indifferent to her. Incapable of giving anything of her soul, she had never felt for anyone but herself, but she smiled so harmoniously and winningly that people always found her amiable, adorable. Perhaps it was because of the line of her cheeks, the strange ambiguity in her look, her indelible smile, the grace of her figure, the sound of her voice and words, always so appropriate. If people at first found her insufferable she seemed not to notice and, on the contrary, became even more engaging. If people were jealous, she again seemed not to notice and was full of praise; whether intuitively or indifferently she couldn’t care less what someone else considered a defect in themselves. She could admire with the sweetest expression an outfit that she considered ghastly, and from pure indifference she did not change her opinion later but stuck by her admiration. Her boundless indifference was her main source of vitality. She had become accustomed to doing whatever she felt like doing, and she did it with a smile. However people talked behind her back, she remained so proper, so enchanting, that people forgave her. She was not loved while she was not present, but the moment people saw her, they were completely won over again. Her husband worshipped her, her stepchildren — she had no children of her own — couldn’t help loving her, involuntarily, despite themselves; her servants were all under her spell. She never raised her voice; she gave a brief order and it was carried out. If something went wrong, if something got broken, her smile would fade momentarily… and that was all. And if her own spiritual and physical interests were in danger, she was usually able to avert it and settle things as advantageously as possible, her smile barely fading. She had wrapped her personal well-being so closely around her that she was usually in full control. Nothing seemed to weigh on this woman. Her indifference was utterly radiant — without contempt, without envy, without emotion: her indifference was, simply, indifference. And the seemingly effortless tact with which she lived and controlled her life was so great that if she were to lose everything she now possessed — her beauty or her position, for example — she might still perhaps have retained her indifference, her inability to suffer.
The carriage drove into the District Commissioner’s compound, just as the hearing of the police cases began. The Javanese magistrate was already in Van Oudijck’s office: the magistrate and the police attendants led the procession of the accused. The natives held on to each other by the hem of their jackets and tripped along, but the few women among them walked by themselves; under a banyan tree, at some distance from the steps leading to the office, they all crouched down expectantly. An attendant, hearing the clock on the front veranda, rang twelve-thirty on the large bell at the attendants’ lodge. The loud stroke reverberated through the scorching midday heat like a bronze organ reed. But Van Oudijck had heard the carriage trundling along and made the magistrate wait while he went to meet his wife. His face brightened. He kissed her tenderly, effusively, and enquired how she was. He was happy to see the boys again. And, remembering what he had been thinking about Theo, he had a kind word for his eldest child, too. Doddy, still sulking, kissed her mama, who allowed herself to be kissed, while smiling with equanimity and calmly returning the kisses, without warmth or coolness, but just doing what was required of her. It was plain to see that her husband, Theo and Doddy all admired her. They told her how well she looked; Doddy asked where she had got her nice travelling outfit. In her room Léonie saw the flowers and, knowing it was Van Oudijck who always ensured they were there, she stroked his arm briefly.
The Commissioner went back to his office, where a magistrate was waiting; the hearing began. Pushed along by a police guard, the accused came and squatted on the threshold of the office, while the magistrate squatted on a mat and the District Commissioner sat at his desk. As the first case was being heard, Van Oudijck continued listening to his wife’s voice in the central gallery, while the accused defended himself with a loud cry:
“No, no!”
The Commissioner frowned and listened attentively…
In the central gallery the voices fell silent. Mrs Van Oudijck had gone to change into a sarong and a loose jacket for the rijsttafel lunch, consisting of mixed dishes served with rice. She wore the garments coquettishly: a sarong from Solo, a transparent jacket, jewelled brooches, and white leather slippers with white bows. She had just dressed when Doddy came to her door and said: