They're coming! They're here!

"The unusual has become the usual."

Louise, Australia.

"We'll never be the same again -- Thank God!"

The steady stream of people carrying boxes of clothing from the bedrooms to a store room -- and our non-Subud friends calling the transformation of our house a miracle; and it was.

Etta taking her precious vacation to help me get the house ready ... and putting the mirrors on the closet doors ... everyone hanging pictures all over the newly painted walls ... arranging flowers ... the house looking beautiful.

Matthew and his gardening crew of Subud members and our son putting the finishing touches on the new rose garden minutes before the time to leave for the airport to meet Bapak and his family.

Masnafiah cooking Matthew and Tuti cooking sate on the charcoal grill ... Muti making marvelous dishes for Bapak ... nine women cooking at once in my smallish kitchen ... Mardiwati's gado-gade sauce ... the forgotten chicken left in the oven ... the loyal breakfast crew arriving every day at dawn.

Steve taking Tuti, Muti, Lely and Rahayu to see Star Wars ... may the force be with us all!

Bapak and party joining in my birthday celebration.

Bapak typing on his new portable ... Judi typing ... Sjarif jogging ... Sjarif laughing about his too short bed.

We'll never be the same again -- Thank god!

Melanie , U.S.A.

"They're coming! They're here!"

"We'll step out and pull down the garage door -- they shouldn't see the muddle and smell heaps of vegetables under the work tables

"They're coming! They're here!"

We lined up. No time to close the door so we covered the entrance with our bodies. I stayed back, wondering why I avoided his handshake, avoiding their eyes while trying to learn their faces - that's Rahayu, which one is Muti? They vanished. (We had imagined a more dignified role, showing them to their rooms -- but the vision of quiet gave way at once to helter-skelter).

The eternal questions from our warren: Where are they? When are they driving out? When returning? Are they awake? Asleep? Finished eating? Listening for the motors to dwindle so we could make our run upstairs, change the linens clean the bathroom, check the condition of flowers, remove last night's pot of tea, run the washer ("did you find my wedding ring?").

"They're coming!" Disappear like elves at dawnlight.

But we clattered the dishes at 2 a.m., having left them after dinner to get to the talks, and our due-any-day sister ironed herself to exhaustion but the hampers were still full, and I scorched a blouse, and the chicken came late and was underdone, and the breakfast shift had to tiptoe up and down getting the butter and milk and we were spending $100 a day and suddenly there were bugs in the water

Muti (Or was it Tuti?) came down. "Bapak says you mustn't work so hard, you are too tired. (Dozing in the talks.) The latihan shot from her eyes and pierced me. "Yes," I said with my whole being.

Hadith, U.S.A.

"How many people were coming? Nobody seemed to know."

All you have to do is look at me to see that I'm a lazy person. My wife recently described my daily routine as moving from chair to chair -- with breaks for meals and snacks. It is important you understand this, because the story I want to tell involves working hard, getting up early in the morning, and feeling glad about it.

My wife was asked by someone involved in "planning" for Bapak's visit (planning isn't the right word -- it's more like deciding what you, personally, will do when the earthquake starts) whether she'd like to help out with the cooking one night, at the house where Bapak would be staying. Miriam said she'd love to cook for Bapak and company.

Somehow, we weren't surprised when, a few weeks later, we discovered that Miriam was expected not to cook part of a meal for Bapak and his family, but to co-ordinate all meals for all people coming to Long Island for Bapak's New York visit. This included working with a local caterer for hot dinners that some people had signed up for in advance, maintaining a snack bar for those who hadn't, and someone had promised that pre-dawn breakfasts would be provided for those observing the Ramadan fast!

How many people were coming? Nobody seemed to know. What facilities would be at our disposal? Nobody seemed to know. Who would be there to help us? Nobody, it seemed.

Miriam's instinctive response to crisis situations is to begin baking, and making huge quantities of soup. As it happens, Miriam had received from her family the very soup recipe which has permitted the Jews to survive for 5000 years.

Thinking it over, I realized that this was the only response apt to be of much help. Having made what preliminary moves we could, we had to make sure that there would be food for however many people arrived on the first day of Bapak's visit. Having no experience with the history of Subud snackbars. we decided that the thing should be self-supporting, and end up showing a profit for Subud.

Appointed cook's assistant, I spent the better part of forty-eight hours carving parsnips and turnips, stacking loaf upon loaf of home- made bread, wrapping, labelling, and losing my head in the swirl of incredible fragrances that filled our house. A good brother who works in his family's restaurant loaned us huge containers, and before we set out for Long Island, every refrigerator in our apartment building was holding foodstuffs for our enterprise.

Our capacious automobile (a converted taxicab) was utterly full when we arrived at Coindre Hall, where the Subud manifestations of the next week would take place. In addition to our improvised field kitchen, the vats of soup, bread, and other impedimenta, we had our own clothes and sleeping gear. At the last minute we had taken on the job of Subud-night-watchmen for the art exhibit which was to be hung in the gymnasium. We figured that we would be there anyway. This way a couple of cots were provided for our use.

At the exact moment when people were beginning to gather at the airport to welcome Bapak's plane, we arrived at Coindre hall to discover the first Subud members arriving in search of a meal. Has anyone reading this ever had the experience of feeding wild birds and being swamped, overwhelmed?

My own contention is that even had we been operating in the center of a town, with plenty of restaurants, Miriam's soup would have put the competition to rout. But as it was, isolated in the suburbs, we were the only game in town.

Just as things began to get out of hand help arrived in the form of our sweet sister and brother. Mark and Lynn. The soup held out and everybody got fed. By two in the morning, when we closed our first day's operation, we had made back the money we laid out to get the project started, and taken in enough for the next day's provisions. We washed up, swept up, and went to bed tired and full of confidence. We had faced what we thought was a major onslaught and handled it. So we thought.

The next day it got heavy. Someone once told me that when Bapak comes around, just before he begins his activities, the nafsu make their last stand. It's as good a theory as any. All I can report is what I saw from my side of the counter. Subud members! Hungry Subud members! The worst kind! Many of them having fasted all day! Many of them having just negotiated the 48-mile drive from New York City in heavy rush-hour traffic. Mean! Ugly! HUNGRY! And Bapak scheduled to arrive for a talk in half an hour.

It would be nice -- and in the tradition of Subud stories -- if I wrote here that leaves and fishes were somehow distributed, and everything was amazingly orderly; that at the expiration of half-an- hour everyone had eaten, was satisfied, and sitting quietly when Bapak walked in. Well, what actually happened is that we telephoned Bapak's house and asked him to come a little late, as the people refused to stop eating. This Bapak did. He also set back his schedule for the rest of his visit, to accommodate the needs of members who had to travel from the city.

There are one or two poignant memories. A brother I love very much, and who loves me, had been working hard all day. It was an especially hard day, and he has an arduous job. He'd been fasting. He had a flat tire on the Long Island Expressway (a road that isn't any fun in good conditions). He arrived at Coindre Hall just before Bapak was scheduled to arrive, and made for the snack bar.

"Tuna fish!" he said.

Apparently I had, or he thought I had, promised to make him the biggest and best tuna fish sandwich in the world when next we met. I had no recollection of any of this. Anyway, the tuna fish had just run out, and I told him so. I shall never forget the look of reproach he gave me. I didn't know whether he was going to cry or jump across the counter at me.

Another Subud member had somehow dragged a number of fine marble sculptures of his own making across several states, to share with his brothers and sisters in Long Island. He had a particular table in mind to display his sculptures on -- the same table from which we were serving. In the midst of the surging crowd in their feeding frenzy, appeared his innocent face.

"That's my table."

A discussion ensued which went along these lines: "Art is more important than food!" "Food is more important than Art!"

Later apologies were exchanged. There were lots of incidents. Feelings were running high.

While I was dealing with these delicate matters of customer relations, Miriam, Mark and Lynn were spooning, slicing, pouring, making change, and dealing with questions about Kosherness, organicness, price, discounts, whether this food had been prepared by people enjoying a state of inner calm and why we had only sour pickles and not sweet pickles.

Did I let any of this get to me? Did I get upset? Did I get angry? I did. Did I accept, surrender, and so forth? I did not. Then Bapak arrived, and gave his first talk in Long Island.

Things began looking up. After Bapak's talk, God gave me the sense to call for help -- and the guidance to call to the right person. We needed help, so I went to a National helper. Some assistance was rounded up -- people who were willing to work, and able. Then we heard that Bapak had suggested he'd like to take a boat ride the following day and wanted all the people who had been doing the heavy lifting and carrying in preparation for the meeting to be invited to come along. We qualified, were duly invited, and having sat up till three in the morning briefing our replacements, were able to leave the snack bar in good hands.

As it happened, we found ourselves in a car early the next morning, along for the ride on a tour of inspection of the boat we'd all be using a little later in the day. The brother who had organized the tour had done all his work over the telephone. He wanted to have a look at the boat, just to make sure everything was all right. At the wharf we found two boats. On the right was a dreamy, super-deluxe pleasure boat, brand-new, fully equipped, with a well-furnished cabin, deep carpets, picture windows. It was something from a Hollywood movie about the ultra-moneyed set. On the left was an old hulk with pieces of plywood crudely nailed to the sides, the name of the vessel shakily painted on with shoe polish, and the occasional fish-head and empty beer can bouncing against the scuppers.

"Obviously," said the trip organizer, "the boat on the right is the one for Bapak." He felt this was so obvious that it was unnecessary to hunt up the boat rental man to double-check. After all, how could we take Bapak for a ride in that old tub? I declined a side-bet offered by another brother.

When we came back at the time appointed, there was only one boat waiting at the wharf. On board, the charter captain was whistling as he swept the fishheads overboard and set up folding chairs on an old tarpaulin. "MY God!" said the trip organizer, "It's the wrong boat!"

"What does Bapak say about this?" someone asked.

An inquiry was made.

"Bapak wants to know if the boat runs."

Perfectly reasonable. After all, he didn't want to buy the boat, just go for a ride. The charter captain started the engine by way of demonstration. Everybody followed Bapak on board.

The boat ride, through the little harbors of the North shore of Long Island and out into Long Island Sound, was pure bliss. The best of sunny afternoons in the Northeastern United States take place at the very end of summer, and this was the best of those afternoons. Quiet conversation and private contemplation occupied us as the little boat, which seemed the most perfect of conveyances, skirted the varied shoreline, encountering views of stately mansions, wild and rocky cliffs and beaches, and former fishing villages which now house Pleasure craft in their little harbors. It is difficult to express, but those four hours had the effect of a long and perfect vacation, the most complete relaxation I have ever experienced.

We returned to our snack bar to find that it had been considerably improved and streamlined by the National Helper substitute staff. Moreover, we had able and continuous assistance from various brothers and sisters (God bless them!) for the rest of the visit. The nineteen-hour work day began to suit us, and we found that we were operating on reserves of strength that were inexhaustible, and came not from within, but flowed through us, to our amazement and delight.

At the point of returning from the boat ride, I entered upon my second crisis of the week. (The first having been my unfavourable view and unfavourable response to being confronted by hordes of wild and hungry brothers and sisters). Now I fell deeply in love with everything and everybody. I couldn't stop smiling. Miriam relieved me of complicated duties, like making sandwiches, because of a tendency I had to rhapsodize, marvel at, and shed tears over -- say, a tomato that I was supposed to slice. Fortunately, the first latihan was that same night, and I came out of it with my usual self somewhat restored. That is, I again had moments of tolerance, love and decency, set in a rich background of bad temper, stupidity, and all the things I recognize as my everyday personality.

As the days of the visit passed we could hardly remember ever being anywhere else, or doing anything else. Situated near the food, we got to meet and talk with just about everybody. Not only had we mellowed considerably, it appeared that everybody had. The extempore restaurant was open from noon until two in the morning, and people would show up at that time to help with the cleaning up. In the morning, we would return from marketing to find people waiting around the kitchen to begin preparing the day's food. There was time to take a walk down the sloping lawn from Coindre Hall for a look at the harbor, and a chat with whoever we met relaxing by the water.

A raffle to raise funds for the Francis Von Kahler Scholarship Fund had been organized, and the ladies in Bapak's party, with the exception of Ibu Mastuti, drew the first four prizes, with Bapak in attendance. Each of the names drawn was that of someone who had worked in the course of the visit -- driven, carried, cooked, cleaned, attended to registration -- that sort of thing.

I haven't commented in this account on the talks and latihans. These are things we've all experienced, and what can one say on those subjects?

The aspect of the visit that I can deal with in my own mind, and in some part convey, has to do with the experience of interacting with so many of my dear brothers and sisters; of taking on a job I knew nothing about, and learning a little; of working with my wife, and especially important for me, acknowledging her superior gifts and being her willing subordinate in this particular context. These are all things that I feel will help me to grow, accept, and surrender. All of these experiences were given a heightened reality, compressed and intensified in a way I can't understand, much less write about, by the presence of Bapak.

Daniel, U.S.A.

"No squabbling, no jealousies, no friction."

: . (I think this) is the secret of why they really did enjoy their visit in spite of all these dumb things happening ... there was no squabbling, no jealousies, no friction ... and by golly when someone did show up, what a blessing it was!"

Mardijah, Hawaii.

'I felt ashamed."

Would I really send even an ordinary visitor to Britain out in this manner? Indeed, I felt ashamed, for whom could I blame but myself? My little team were last-minute conscripts.

Simon, England.

"I ran to a telephone. The line was engaged. The telephone wouldn't work. I lost my only coin."

As part of the London driving team I thought things were going smoothly. It was true that the first car we had hired for Bapak had a badly torn interior and that the second car had several seat springs either missing or loose but definitely squeaking. However, after cleaning the second car and driving back and forth across London and Loudwater and Heathrow we had finally managed to get a very nice third car. We even had a few hours to spare.

The sixth day was full of action. With three cars we left London early for the long drive to Norwich. Three hours later we missed the rendezvous car but at least found a chemist that Sjarif had been looking for. As we stopped the rendezvous car nearly ran into the back of us. Still, it did find us.

Feeling tired after that long journey we parked the cars and went into the hall. To our amazement there was Bapak, looking very fresh and strong, launching into a two-hour talk. We had recovered enough after lunch to make the return journey. I knew I shouldn't wear my red shirt to drive Bapak, but I did and the dye ran and ruined my new cream suit.

The following morning I awoke fresh and eager for the day's events. Feeling calm unhurried, I allowed myself the luxury of washing the car at home, even stopped on the way to buy petrol.

As I drove up to Subud house, I noticed several people outside signalling frantically. There was panic on the face of our transport co-ordinator, Simon. Bapak, after the long previous day, had decided to make an early start. His entire party had descended to the waiting cars -- to find none. He was now waiting in the garden.

Really the day started as I arrived. People waved and pointed at me and said they were still two cars short. Two reserve cars were summoned, another left Subud House to get petrol, while a new recruit to the driving team hurriedly drove a spare car around the block for practice.

At that moment Bapak came out of the house again. Now there was only one car! More panic, confusion, and then the spare car returned, the party got into the two cars, and we drove away to go shopping. The other cars all arrived just too late.

The rest of the day flew by in a dream, interspersed with moments of acute reality which I shall always remember.

We were to meet the party in a coffee shop within two hours. I went for a walk in a park, but was physically forced to return to the coffee shop one and a half hours early. Bapak and Mastuti were there on their own.

I headed for another corner of the room to let them be in private but bumped into Mastuti.

The rest of the party had gone to look for Bapak's special sugar. I (just happened) to have some on me and gave it to Mastuti.

Now, Bapak wanted to return to Subud House and Mastuti was going to continue shopping. That meant two cars needed and the second driver was one and a half hours away. I ran to a telephone. The line was engaged. The telephone wouldn't work. I lost my only coin. The operator wouldn't check the line or interrupt the engaged line. I got very frustrated and angry and spent too long not listening and ignoring the feeling that would tell me what to do when I was working near Bapak.

I hurried back to the coffee shop. There sat Mastuti and Tina. Bapak had gone home with the others in a taxi. Now we would go shopping.

We had thought things were going so smoothly. Bapak showed us the reality, as he always does.

Elwyn, England.

"He likes to move along, you know, doesn't like people to think it's a funeral procession."

The cars pulled up at the railway station and were supervised into prime positions ready for the arrival of Bapak and his party. We all quietly and patiently received the news that the train would be about 15 minutes late. I was surprised at my own calm feelings.

At one time I was really a bit scared of being close to Bapak. Such powerful vibes would surely reduce me to a quivering wreck, I thought. Nevertheless, there I was. I had obviously changed to some degree, I was no longer frightened to be near him.

Our visitors arrived and seemed to glide toward us, even though they must have been tired by the long journey in a hot train.

We had planned the moves to guide Bapak, Mastuti and Sharif into the lead car. It worked a treat, they were settled, "let's go," signalled Bapak.

I sensed that nobody liked the idea of me wearing a safety belt. Bapak seemed to laugh as I put it on. If I hadn't been so calm I'm sure I would have blushed. Later consideration of the incident made me decide not to wear the belt when Bapak was in the car. If a tragic accident did occur I certainly did not want to be left to explain to mankind the reason why I was left behind.

The plan was that we should all travel in convoy to where Bapak was staying. It seemed an age since Bapak's command to move off so I carefully eased the car into motion and we set off down the road.

If ever you are fortunate enough to be asked to drive Bapak's car, rest assured that it is a wonderful experience and there seems to be an untold wealth of helpful advice from the Brotherhood which will ease things for you. "He likes to move along, you know, doesn't like people to think it's a funeral procession," said one helpful chap. "Seemed happiest when we were doing 70 mph on the motorway, said another. "Prefers to have you young fellows behind the wheel rather than some of the older, more spiritual chaps." All reassuring stuff. At least Bapak apparently preferred to have a headache from me rather than one from a more 'switched-on' Subud brother. And, of course, he liked to break every speed limit in sight.

In spite of all the advice and the nightmarish thoughts of what might happen, the journey went very smoothly. The prompt start by Bapak left one or two members of the convoy floundering and I believe that one driver got hopelessly lost. We hadn't planned on that!

In the course of my everyday work I do quite a lot of driving, I suppose 500 to 1000 miles in some weeks. However, the geography of the area where Bapak was staying was alien to me. As the Irishman said : "If I was going there, I wouldn't start from here."

During the course of Bapak's week with us the short uneventful trips went reasonably well. The major journey had yet to come. The Journey To The Airport -- about an hour and a half away.

It was the vision of me leading one hundred cars into oblivion that made me drive over the route the day before, not to mention the thought of having to tell Bapak that we had missed the plane. Some people might call it inner guidance, but really I was terrified of the consequences of a wrong turn. My caution paid off since the sign- posts ran out on two occasions as they always do. When alone such carelessness is of little concern, but imagine my embarrassment if I hadn't known which way to turn.

When Bapak, Mastuti and Sharif got out of the car for the last time I just couldn't help myself continually bowing and saying thank you. I must have looked like a very humble Japanese chauffeur but I felt like a million dollars -- which isn't bad for an Englishman!

Anon

"The only rule is that there are absolutely no rules."

Actually the Swanwick experience is instructive as it underlines what most of us who have to plan for Bapak have come to realize: the only rule is that there are absolutely no rules. Virtually 'total flexibility' is the only essential ingredient that must be present at all times.

I have noticed that even Bapak's family are by no means infallible forecasters of what Bapak is likely to require the next day -- or even any day. If we are told that Bapak is "unlikely to emerge tomorrow much before 10:00 a.m.", it is a sure sign that one must arrange to have 3 cars with drivers available on the dot of 8:00!

Following precedents, every house (or hotel room) had been provided with at least one colour television set. However, I gathered that (in the U.K. at least) Bapak didn't watch any T.V. on this tour chiefly because in his leisure hours he is busy working on a history of Java.

Edward, England

"Bapak is on his way to the Farm -- for lunch."

It was 8:45 on Sunday morning, and I had just overslept! I was drowsily groping my way to the bathroom when the phone rang. Halimah answered it, and there was silence for a minute or two. Then Halimah appeared at the door -- white faced -- trying to tell me calmly: "Bapak is on his way to the Farm -- for lunch."

The ladies, thank goodness, had saved the day by being prepared for Bapak's visit, even though none of us thought it was going to happen.

Hadrian, with help from Alton and Irma, England.

"If you have never knocked a hole in the outside wall of an early Victorian house then my advice is don't."

It was realized that when Bapak and his party stayed at the Uxbridge Road house the central heating would probably have to be called upon to combat the rigours of the English summer. The system had been put in about fifty years ago, and was fired by various fuels ranging from coal and coke to old cardboard boxes and unwanted furniture. Volunteers to stoke the furnace were not eager, as its uncouth cell below stairs often became flooded when it rained, and one had to doff shoes and stockings and paddle about in a foot of water. Rather late in the day we decided to replace this venerable apparatus by something more reliable.

The new boiler eventually arrived. Gordon Grant, who is a professional plumber, set to work putting it all together in the kitchen annex. I worked in and out of the house doing odd jobs and occasionally hindering him in a truly helpful and brotherly way.

The days passed, and then quite suddenly it dawned on us that we had just one day to finish. A chimney had to be installed; a lot of pipes needed replacing; goodness knows how many nuts and bolts needed tightening; and all the floor boards were up in the kitchen so no one could get in there. Like greyhounds in the slips a team was waiting to put down some snazzy linoleum and the girls, needless to say, were muttering a bit. They were agog to get cracking on the gado gado sauce, and other culinary arrangements.

Gordon was a model of calm throughout all this hectic time.

Hameed, our chairman, turned up, and made a noble effort to look unruffled too, but I must say he looked like at any moment he might roll about on the floor (if there had been one) and start chewing the carpet.

In a rash moment I offered to put in the chimney. We decided to poke it through the window, but after measuring it all up I found it would not go through. "Well," I said, "I'11 just alter the angle of the bends.

"Easy, but illegal," said Gordon, somewhat sotto voce, as he had his head in the boiler. "It may not be more than 45 degrees. Just get a hammer and chisel, and knock a hole in the wall."

If you have never knocked a hole in the outside wall of an early Victorian house then my advice is don't. They built very thick and solid in those high and far off times. Perched on the boiler like a mountain goat I hacked away. Gordon, working immediately underneath, got the debris. His attitude remained philosophical throughout, remarkably so as I dropped half a brick on his toe not once, but several times.

At last the job was done. The iron tongue of midnight had tolled some time before, and our once demure. sisters now resembled a monstrous regiment. As for the linoleum layers they looked not so much like greyhounds, as like hounds-of-the-Baskervilles. Things perked up when Gordon announced that it was time to switch on.

Breathless silence was broken by a "click".

Then nothing. "The old gravity heater went for fifty years," said Gordon "but this thing will not even start. The plumbing is all right, but I'm not an electrician, so I can't say what to do next."

Hameed began to roll his eyes between the drawer where the knives and forks are kept and the carpet. I didn't know if he was going to roll on the carpet or eat it. With admirable self-control he restrained himself, and with the rest of us began wiggling all the various switches and dials on the boiler, and giving advice.

Then Simon remembered he had heard a sound in the attic. We rushed upstairs. The sound was Erland, our electrician, checking some wiring. In a jiffy we extracted him through a trap door, and soon he was poring over the intricacies of the boiler. At 2:30 a.m. there was a whirring sound and the heater began to function. Now constant hot water began to be available from some most unlikely places all over the house. Yells from the watchers brought Gordon whizzing upstairs to effect lightning repairs. In time the linoleum was laid, and the girls attacked the problems of commissariat -- instead of us.

The drama was over.

As the great hunter of the East touched with light the horizon, I marvelled at Gordon, the chief actor. His calm was out of this world -- mystic, wonderful.

I suppose that years of arriving in the middle of the night at houses where everyone is paddling about in their pyjamas amidst cascades of unwanted water breeds a built-in calmness that remains unruffled during even such a photo finish as we had just experienced.

Oliver, England.

"Bapak is glad it is cold in England."

It's cold outside and inside, Bapak sits down and we can hardly believe our ears when Bapak says, "Bapak is glad it is cold in England as Athens was even hotter than Jakarta.

Patricia, England.

"Four inches of thick, cooling snow."

Muti told some of us this happy little story:

It seems that Bapak has been feeling the heat lately, and even in England's winter asked members to turn off the radiators and open the windows! In Tokyo, however, the heat was affecting Bapak so much that he asked for the next day's program to be cancelled so that he and his party could visit the cool mountains, some hours' drive away. Snow was what Bapak wanted more than anything else just then.

That night the whole party slept well, anticipating the holiday and woke feeling delightfully lazy and at rest. Soon Bapak asked everyone to hurry and get ready to go to the mountains, so Muti and the others slipped out of bed and wandered over to open the curtains. To their stunned and joyous amazement, snow had fallen in the night. Four inches of thick, cooling snow.

Sydney Newsletter Australia January 1978

"Who is going to pay?"

The Chairman usually gets to know what is amiss with the arrangements during a Bapak visit, and so it was on the second day of century heat, when word came that Sjarif was suffering. I went to see my Vice Chairman, Hussein, to ask him what he thought we could do. He offered to lend his new air conditioner, and we went to collect it while Sjarif was at lunch.

While we were deciding on the best position for it, Muti went to see the ladies in the kitchen, "Bapak says he's just seen two men carrying an air conditioner across the garden. If this is so, can it please be put in Bapak's bedroom? If it is not so, then it doesn't matter."

Just then, someone opened the door of Sjarif's room where we were hunting for the power point. Raising her arms in delight, Muti exclaimed "There really is an air conditioner -- Bapak wants it." But when Hussein explained it was worked by water evaporation Muti agreed it wasn't the right type for Bapak. So we left it for Sjarif.

But this put us in a spot! Now we knew that a refrigerated air conditioner was really needed for Bapak's bedroom. There was one in the living room but plainly this was not enough. Hussein took the phone, dialed a discount store, found out the price of what we wanted and told them he'd be round in ten minutes. "But," I asked faintly, as I thought we were all broke, "who is going to pay?" "That's okay," said Hussein. Ten minutes later we were looking at a sleek little Japanese item and an hour later it was protruding from the window of Bapak's bedroom.

That night it rained heavily and next day was cooler. By the time we were assembled to see Sjarif's S. Widjojo film, hail was hitting the tin roof of our latihan hall so hard that Sjarif stopped talking and gazed enquiringly upwards until it eased off a bit. Bigger than moth balls! The next night escorting Bapak in more rain under a huge beach umbrella, he said something laughing to me: Sjarif translated "Bapak asks did you see the hail stones?"

Of course there was no trouble about the money when the members heard. As usual donations flowed in and now we have a nice new air conditioner. No one gained from this little exercise but ourselves --that's always the way with Bapak isn't it?

Sofjan, Australia.

Footnote from the kitchen:

After the hail the weather was pleasantly cool for the party. When they had left us for Adelaide and Perth we were interested to hear that the weather in Perth was unusually cool for this time of year.

Halimah

"Queensland has been without rain for a very long time."

There have been rumours floating around Subud circles for years about Bapak's influence on the weather. We are not quite sure about the breaking of our drought. Queensland had been without rain for a very long time. This is most unusual in a semi-tropical area where we normally have our wet season and our dry season. Before Bapak left the rain started and we were so happy to step into puddles on our way to the airport to bid him farewell.

The only snag to this story is that our State Premier had asked the populace to pray for rain about four days before Bapak's arrival. Perhaps it's enough to say that the rain caused floods further north from Brisbane and a week after Bapak's departure there were letters to the Editor suggesting that perhaps it was now time to start praying for the rain to stop.

Louise, Australia