Fatma was jerked forward. She turned angrily to Suryono. “God! My face almost hit the windshield! Why did you stop so suddenly?”
Suryono rested his head on the steering wheel and held it between his hands.
“Are you ill?”
Suryono began to moan and then suddenly burst out crying. When Fatma tried to massage his head, he slapped her hand away.
For about ten minutes, Fatma let him be, not saying anything at all. Finally, softly she asked again, “Are you ill?”
Suryono merely shook his head, his eyes looking straight ahead. His head, neck, and back then stiffened into a rigid upright line and he said, “We’re going back to Jakarta.”
“But we’re supposed to be going to Malang. What’s the matter with you?”
“We’re going back to Jakarta,” Suryono said again, “and I can’t drive. My head is killi
