He paused, even he seemed to hesitate, even he recoiled from what he was about to say.
“No other alternative than—what?” asked Meidema, with something of the listlessness of despair.
“Than to consider you the guilty man and to hold that your family are in conspiracy with you.”
“Resident!”
“Be calm, pray be calm! Remember it is not I who choose the alternative—you yourself force it upon me. Once again, let me remind you of your financial difficulties; let me remind you of the animosity which, in your report, you plainly show to Lim Ho. In that paper you eagerly seize upon every little circumstance which can possibly be adduced to prove him guilty; and you as carefully avoid everything which might point to Ardjan as the culprit. In fact you screen the Javanese in every way you possibly can. Taking all these things into consideration, the words spoken just now by the opium-farmer must needs give us food for reflection. You remember what he said, do you not? His words were blunt and cruel, I admit; but he seems to have had justice on his side. ‘He wants,’ said the Chinaman, ‘to keep for himself the greater part of the present which I offered to the njonja, and he intends in addition to secure the fine which Lim Ho will have to pay if he be found guilty.’ A fine which we know could not be screwed out of Ardjan. And when, in connection with those words we come to examine the 23rd clause of the Opium Act, why, then I do not think that many words will be needed to convince you that you must not venture to reckon upon either my sympathy or my support.”
Meidema, poor wretched man, was utterly crushed and annihilated. Without uttering a sound, he sat vacantly staring at his chief.
“No, no,” continued van Gulpendam, “I can see no alternative. Either you are guilty or your wife is guilty, perhaps both are equally culpable. You have, however, still time to make a choice; it is not yet too late, but that choice must be made quickly, now, at once; for I have made up my mind to telegraph to headquarters this very day.”
To telegraph! Poor Meidema only heard the one dreadful word “telegraph.” He knew well what that word implied; he knew well in what an arbitrary and off-hand way the fate of subordinates is decided at Batavia. Already he saw himself dismissed and disgraced, shunned as a social leper by every respectable man; his wife and children wandering about in poverty, exposed to hunger and untold misery. Just then, as if he had been able to read the unhappy man’s thoughts, the Resident said: “Come, Mr. Meidema, decide, make up your mind, there must be no delay.”
“What must I do, Resident?” moaned the poor man, now fairly at his wits’ end.
“What must you do? It is clear enough what you have to do. There is your report; it has just been handed to me along with the other papers relating to the business of the Court at which on Tuesday next I intend to preside. Take it; here it is; do with it what you will.”