House Of A Thousand Doors

Roll up, roll up, to the house of a thousand doors. Step right up, step right up, to the house of a thousand doors. Walk this way, slide along, glide along, but don't knock on any old door, and
don't go down the left corridor, I repeat, don't go down the left corridor, keep to the kanan, then tirus, tirus tirus tirus, don't go to the left, I repeat, don't go down the left…

Some doors you can open some doors you cannot, lie down on cool flagstones when the weather is hot, walk right up, walk right through, come after dark, come on the full moon, come when the shadows are bright and gloom is washing the colours out…

 Follow your guide beneath torch-light, ascend the landing, gaze in awe, at the big stained glass window, say a prayer for those who happened to die right there, hear their screams as they plunged the blade, listen to the air rushing past, the last gasp of a ventricle sliced in half, hear their moans, skulls split and slide, and blood spurts across marble white...

And the shuffle below of one who survived, the hunched old frame who saw it all, who knew what went on behind each closed door, saw the Dutch, saw the Japs, all the snivelling traitors, collaborators, torturers, interrogators, but the Javanese spirit would not be cowed though thousands died in cellars dark, and local warriors played their part, he a lowly houseboy saw it all, now a bent old man, he shuffles around, dosses down, in a room out the back on a mattress of grass, now he is the master of the house…

The house of a thousand doors.

Roll up, roll up, glide up, slide down, ride the bannisters all around, leap off balconies, canoodle and collude, a lot of collusion lies here in this stone, these bricks, tiles, fine teak all colluding away when the little Hitler's had their day, and when their day came for punishment, some say it was meant to be, some say it was destiny. Dutch men and women, Belanda blonde, interred in camps by rule of Nippon, their pretty young girls taken away, to be used by soldiers in unimaginable ways,
but whose come-uppance was a-coming any day…

In the house of a thousand doors

Roll up, glide up, slip up, slide along, leave your socks on for sock skating fun, in long wide corridors filled with glory and sorrow, for sorrow will follow when glory is borrowed, is taken from those who trust in a future, but when it is glorious for only a few, then you better watch out, you better beware, fate will find you and settle his score with you there…

In the house of a thousand doors.

Roll up, roll up, warm up, sidle up, sing a tune as you go, a sad song, patriotic song, a love song, a warrior song, a song of shame, a song of defeat, a song that has everyone tapping their feet, fill the halls with arias, rooms with concertos, the ceilings so high, the acoustics are perfect, raise your voice, lift it up to the roof, and call up the ghosts if you need any proof and watch as they float tall through the French doors, and click, click, clop, clop across stone chequerboard floors, and if you are scared open adjoining doors to the next room the next, and open them all to the balcony so wide and grand, lean yourself out to the court yard below and imagine it all in times long ago..

 The house of a thousand doors

Walk up, roll up to the house of a thousand doors, but don't, I say don't, proceed down the left corridor, if you are scared, need some proof, watch the caretaker shine his torch on the floor, walls catch a glimmer of a figure tall with blond hair so long it becomes her dress and covers, not covers, her nakedness, the Belanda who visits late every night when his shift is done and shoulders are tight, she appears to him when he goes for a shower and his wife wonders why he always takes hours..

In the house of a thousand doors.

Walk right in, step right up, come on in, you never know your luck, you only have to spend a buck to take the tour, just a measley few pence to see, which ghost is in residence…

Is it Promoedya who walks the land still, the people's hero with more stories to tell, his dark side buried deep, his secrets only for him to keep and if you dare knock upon his door you might find more than you bargained for…

In the house of a thousand doors

And what of all those slaughtered alive in the horrible purge of Sixty Five, with no museum displaying the skulls, no killing fields for tourists to come, for there was not just one field, every town had a well, where bodies were thrown, left to rot, as history prefers to remember them not, you can say a prayer for them here…

In the house of a thousand doors

And Munir and Wiji and others too, who risked their lives to save a few strong principles they couldn't live without, they couldn't live another day without saying what they had to say and knowing full well what they had to lose  - their wives, their children who bear the news and carry the flame for years to come, they live with ghosts, everyone…

In the house of a thousand doors

And there is Rendra lying in state, his words immortal, did he know his fate and what of his children left to grieve the strange circumstance of his death, did silver and sand really pour from his pores, find out all…

 In the house of a thousand doors

What of your life, the one you live now, you know its beginning  but how will it end, you imagine scenarios, run them through, is it heart or liver or kidney for you, is it accident, do you just fall down, a silly slip, a poisonous dip, a wrong turn, a choking moment, a nasty cancer long and slow, a career cut short, bad luck in sport, and when it does do you say, ah this is it, this is the ending that ends it all, the moment I was heading for, then it is gone, it's over and done, the story ended for you and everyone, just like in…

In the house of a thousand doors, the house of a thousand doors

the house 

of 

a 

thousand


dooooooooooooors




(c) Jan Cornall 2012