Free The Rainbow Troops by Andrea Hirata

glasses and a tiny body, his forehead broad and shiny. The pulsing veins on his brow gave the impression that he often forced his agenda upon others. The fact is, people who are used to reproaching others usually lose their grasp on good manners. He was famous for his inability to compromise. One word from his mouth and an entire school could be shut down. As easy as a snap of his fingers, a school principal could be fired, a teacher could be kept from being promoted until the day of his or her retirement, or a teacher he disliked could be exiled to an isolated island—one that didn't even appear on maps—to teach primitive children and short-tailed macaques. The sight of his glasses made all the teachers in Belitong tremble. He was, none other than Mister Samadikun—the School Superintendent.
    Previously, we managed to slip through Mister Samadikun's fingers when Harun saved us the first day by becoming our tenth student. Mister Samadikun was not happy when that happened.
    The truth is, Mister Samadikun had wanted to shut down our school for quite some time now—it was troublesome extra work for the officials in the administration office of the Department of Education and Culture. Those officials repeatedly pushed for our school to be banished from the face of this earth. Mister Samadikun himself once bragged to his superior, "Ah, let me take care of the Muhammadiyah school problem. With one kick I could bring them down. I wouldn't even have to do that—a strong wind could finish off the school. In no time at all, it'd be flattened to the ground."
    In my fantasy, after those arrogant statements, Mister Samadikun and the highlevel education authorities made a toast, clinking each other's glasses filled with sugar palm milk. Sugar palm milk usually came as a bribe from teachers who wanted to be promoted to principal or transferred out of isolated areas, or for their school to be deemed a model school.
    So Mister Samadikun created an elegant and diplomatic condition to shut down our school. The condition was ten students, a condition dramatically fulfilled by Harun at the last minute. Mister Samadikun was extremely irked by our school, and especially by Harun.
    He wasn't just irked by us because of the pressure from his higher-ups. He was personally responsible for making sure we took our exams at another school because they considered our school incapable of administering its own examinations. In other words, we were extra work for him. He also was unhappy with us because we didn't have any awards. In today's competitive education system, schools like ours could render the entire system inefficient. In that case, Mister Samadikun was right. But doesn't the future belong to God?
    Bu Mus was as white as a ghost when Mister Samadikun arrived for the surprise school inspection. To make matters worse, she was by herself. Pak Harfan had been out sick for the past month. The traditional healer said he was sick because his lungs inhaled low-quality chalk dust for dozens of years.
    Mister Samadikun peeked into the classroom. As soon as he saw the completely empty glass display case, a belittling expression came across his face, as he was used to seeing achievement trophies in the display cases at other schools.
    Because she was so nervous, Bu Mus made a fatal mistake before anything else even happened. "Please come in, Pak," she said politely.
    Mister Samadikun glared at her and snapped, "Call me Mister!"
    It was common knowledge: He didn't want to be called Pak Samadikun. Maybe it was an influence from his Dutch teachers, or perhaps it was to maintain his authoritative image, whatever the reason was, one thing was clear: he wanted to be called Mister.
    Mister Samadikun took out the facility inspection form. He sneered and shook his head repeatedly to make his disappointment known. In the column for chalkboard and furniture he was forced to add a new choice: below E) Bad , he added F) Extremely Bad . In the column for national