Free Footsteps by Pramoedya Ananta Toer

become much more confident since we had become friends and he was protected from being bullied. He was only ever bullied before because he didn’t know how to defend himself.
    And I myself? It was only my friendships that provided relief from all this boredom.
    It took me only four months to catch up in my studies. It was true that there weren’t really any subjects that were difficult for me. Even so, I soon began to feel that medicine wasn’t for me. From the very beginning, our studies took the form of learning rules and categories. We were forced to bow down to things, dead and living, so that you disappeared among all that you learned. The learning you received made you feel worthless, drowning your personality. Perhaps it was true what some people had said—I was not meant to be a doctor.
    Most of the students had to study Dutch, except for me and two others. On the other hand, we were obliged to learn one of theregional languages. I chose Malay. I was also freed from studying English, German, and French.
    I had no chance to do any writing. Every hour was taken up by study. There was no time left for enjoying life. Buy a bicycle? No time, let alone for learning to ride one! It would have been wonderful to be able to go to a shop and learn to ride. My savings remained frozen in their hiding place.
    In the sixth month of study, all first-year students began to get Saturday afternoons off. Students in the two preparatory years did not receive that privilege. Anyway, as soon as Saturday afternoons became free, everyone went off to have a good time. Except a student named Sikun. After going with the other students a few times I became bored. I started to spend the afternoon in the library and was still there when my friends arrived back at the dormitory.
    So, as time passed I understood better and better that I was becoming a person alone among all my studies, among the jokes and laughter, the temptations and games, boasting, cynicism, and insults.
    The medical school was not for me.
    Among the Javanese students there were only two who held the title raden mas. There were four raden. Most were just mas. There was only one person with no title at all—Sikun.
    Sikun had been a clerk in the Tegal District Administration Office with a wage of 175 cents a month. He had worked for five years without any raise in his pay. A butcher took him as his son-in-law and he soon had two children. The butcher was very proud to have a son-in-law who was an office worker. He showered everything upon his son-in-law. He paid for private tutoring that Sikun received from a bankrupt Dutchman. Sikun studied Dutch and the other subjects in the
HBS
so that he could sit for the HBS graduation examination. He went to Semarang to sit for the examination and passed with the lowest marks in the exam. And now he found himself at the medical school with a salary of ten guilders a month. He had brought his wife and children to Betawi. He used every opportunity available to visit his family in Tanah Abang, where he could escape from the insulting barbs of his titled fellow students.
    The children of the upper echelons of the Native Civil Service did not generally wish to become doctors, to engage in work that involved working for one’s fellow human beings. They preferredto govern, to wield power, to toady, and, most important, to be toadied to. My brother once came to me in Betawi. He said straight out that he was sorry for me because I had not applied to join the Native Civil Service. His attitude made me study even harder. After he had been appointed a police supervisor, he became even worse. Oh well, good-bye. People, even brothers, go their own way down the road of life.
    Most of my friends also felt sorry for me: I had thrown away the chance to be a bupati—the highest position that any Native can achieve! And what would be my salary after I graduated from medical school? I would start with a mere eighteen guilders a month. I would have to work