(“AFTERWORD,” GOENAWAN MOHAMAD, 1973) PARIS, MAY 1997 THE SOUND OF RAVEL’S “MIROIRS” was a constant in Lintang’s apartment. Narayana knew very well that Ravel was always able to soothe Lintang’s soul and heal her wounds. Nara took a video cassette and inserted it in the player As the video began to play, he saw the somewhat blurred image of a younger Dimas from ten or more years previously. Facing the lens, Dimas was giving instructions to the person holding the video camera. “Don’t come too close or you’ll blur my face.” Dimas now stuck his head towards the lens to give instructions. The lens turned away from him. Only then Nara realized that the person who had been holding the camera was Lintang. Look at her, how young she is: only nine or ten years of age. But she was a beauty even then, this Eurasian girl with starry eyes. “Bonjour. This camera is a gift from my ayah. Today is my birthday and I am, I am…” “Ten years old!” came the sound of Dimas’s voice, announcing his daughter’s age.
