Calabai

Cerpen Emil Akbar
Juara 2 LMCR LIP ICE-Selsun Golden Award 2007 PT ROHTO


Dewata, aku mencintainya. Kurasakan telaga asmara yang tidak kutemukan pada seorang gadis yang menaruh hati padaku. Maka dari itu, aku tak pantas menjadi seorang bissu. Kesucian telah kunodai. Pantangan pernah kuperbuat. Kodrat dan tradisi sudah kulanggar. Aku tidak mau hidup gila atau mati sia-sia!
Lantas, masih adakah pengampunan di sana?

Pagi yang luka. Bunga kuncup diselimuti kabut. Embun meretas pada tepian rumput, terinjak basah meruapkan bau tanah. Langkahku gontai di subuh yang buta. Menapaki hutan, pepohonan yang mengggigil. Menuju Sungai Segeri.
Aku tak pernah tahu kalau hidupku menimbulkan petaka!

Kata orang-orang aku ditemukan mengeak di keheningan malam di lego-lego Mak Rappe, sanro di kampung ini. Aku diasuh, dirawat, dididik, dan dibesarkan olehnya. Menemani masa tuanya yang melajang hingga sekarang aku dewasa.

Mak Rappe adalah putri bangsawan bergelar Andi Petta. Dulu di masa mudanya pernah jatuh cinta dengan lelaki dari golongan rakyat jelata. Ia tak bisa menikah dengan belahan jiwanya itu, lantaran keturunannya nanti tidak akan mewarisi darah birunya. Sebab lainnya, lelaki itu lebih memilih menjadi orang suci yang berdarah putih. Menjadi keturunan Dewa di bumi.

Tetapi kini mereka berdampingan. Mak Rappe telah menjabat sebagai Puang Lolo, menyertai Puang Matoa Rala, kekasihnya itu di setiap upacara. Mereka adalah bissu titisan Datu Patoto yang diakui dan disegani oleh segelintir orang di tanah bugis.
Dan aku tak perlu tahu siapa orang tuaku, karena alam begitu setia menyimpan rahasia.
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Tamat dari Madrasah Aliyah aku langsung dikurung di bola arajang, diajarkan adat-istiadat yang telah lama dilupakan orang, ajaran pribumi. Aku magang dalam waktu yang lama, sampai aku bermimpi sebagai penanda aku direstui Dewata untuk menjadi seorang bissu. Dalam mimpiku roh leluhur mendatangiku dengan pakaian serba bercahaya, berkilauan membuat mataku silau. Berbicara dengan basa torilangi yang tidak kumengerti. Meludahi mulutku sebelum pergi ditelan kelam. Ketika aku bangun, Puang Matoa Rala sudah berada di sampingku dan segera memberitahukan pada seluruh penghuni bola arajang bahwa aku sudah siap irreba, ritual yang harus kulalui untuk ditahbiskan menjadi bissu sejati. Kuhindari tatapan Muharram yang menghunjam penuh arti namun sulit kutafsirkan. Ah, Aram, matamu begitu runcing menusuk sanubari.

Esoknya Mak Rappe datang bersama Mak Rabia dan Maulida. Berlinang air mata ia merasakan kebahagiaan tiada tara sambil menyerahkan harta benda untuk upacara adat ini. Aku diwajibkan berpuasa selama tujuh hari sebagai awal prosesi irreba dan diasingkan di sebuah rakit berbentuk gubuk di tengah danau. Menginap tanpa makan, minum dan bergerak. Di sini aku bertapa, merasakan nestapa.

Betapa di hari-hari yang menyedihkan ini, aku butuh kehadiran Maulida, lalu bercerita bahwa aku tidak bahagia dengan semua ini. Bukan ini yang kuinginkan. Tapi apa yang bisa kuperbuat? Semua orang mencemoohku karena aku calabai, laki-laki yang berperangai seperti perempuan. Kata mereka aku pembawa sial, 40 hari 40 malam tidak mendapatkan rezeki serta amal baiknya tidak diterima pahalanya oleh Allah, akan menimpa mereka yang melihatku. Aku jadi bahan olok-olokan, diusir dan dilempari batu di jalanan bagai orang gila. Banyak orang sepertiku dan diperlakukan sama. Bahkan dianggap lebih najis dari anjing, yang layak disiram dengan air comberan.

Para pengiringku telah pergi. Di sini aku berkawan sepi dan sunyi ketika malam. Di ruang pengap ini tak ada pagi, siang, dan sore bagiku karena kukatupkan mata. Gelap adalah kehidupanku sebelum cahaya memancar di wajahku. Aku mencoba menyatu dengan semesta, tapi tak bisa. Terlalu banyak peristiwa yang berkelebat di pikiran. Mungkin tulus hatiku belum murni.

Terus terang aku melakukan semua ini untuk Mak Rappe. Sebagai anak terbuang yang dipungut, sudah sepantasnya aku balas jasa. Besar harapan aku bisa mewarisi kesaktiannya, mempertahankan adat ini sebagai penerus. Agar aku tidak diremehkan. Tujuannya sangat mulia, mengangkat derajatku supaya aku punya siri, harga diri dan kehormatan yang telah tanggal semenjak aku lahir.

Sungguh, semangatku membuncah mengikuti bimbingan Puang Matoa Rala saat Muharram, keponakannya, tinggal bersamaku di bola arajang. Kedua orang tuanya meninggal di tanah suci Makkah. Puang Matoa Rala kemudian menjadi walinya dan memegang kendali harta warisnya. Kenangan di masa-masa sekolah dulu terulang kembali. Pertemuan-pertemuan rahasia kami tak ada yang tahu. Begitu pula dengan perasaan kami yang saling jatuh cinta. Ia berjanji akan mendampingiku sebagai toboto setelah aku menjelma bissu yang sakti. Diam-diam aku menggunakan naga sikoi, jimat pekasih untuk mempererat hubungan kami. Kuucapkan mantra,
�Tubunna Aram tellengi ritubukku, atinna Aram tellengi riatikku, nyawana Aram tellengi rinyawaku, papujinna Aram rialeku mapada papujinna nyawae ritubue.�
Akan tetapi, semuanya hancur berkeping-keping ketika Puang Matoa Rala mencium kelakuan kami. Rapat digelar. Mereka berembuk tentang hukuman apa yang patut kami terima sebab telah mengotori bola arajang, biar para leluhur tidak murka.

Disepakati Muharram akan dinikahkan dengan Maulida, lalu aku dikucilkan di danau ini!
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Muharram dan Maulida adalah temanku sejak kecil. Kami selalu bersama; bersekolah, bermain, dan mengaji. Muharram siap membela jika ada yang mengusiliku. Maulida akan menghiburku ketika tak bisa kutahan tangis yang bercucuran.

�Calabaimi ropale wasetongi anadara...!�

Begitu para pemuda mengejekku. Dan kedua sahabatku ini senantiasa ada untukku.

Pulang dari sekolah kami sering berkumpul di rumah Mak Rabia untuk mengaji. Sebelum mengaji, kami diberi tugas masing-masing. Muharram mencari kayu di hutan dan memikulnya di bahu. Aku mengambil air seember di pancuran bambu yang lumayan jauh dari rumah Mak Rabia, dan membawanya dengan cara menjunjung di atas kepala. Sedangkan Maulida menumbuk beras atau tepung di lesung batu di kolong rumah. Kerap kali antara aku dan Maulida berganti tugas. Kadang kala juga ikut mencari ranting kayu di hutan, memungut dahan-dahan pohon yang jatuh kering. Setelah itu kami berwudu, memakai sarung lalu mengaji.

�Alefu riasena� A, alefu riawana� I, alefu dafenna� U, aaa iii uuu! Ba riasena� Ba, ba riawana� Bi, ba dafenna� Bu, baa bii buu!�

Begitulah mulut mungil kami mengeja huruf-huruf hijaiyyah.

Mak Rabia adalah mak Maulida serta makku juga karena kami saudara sesusuan. Ia seorang janda. Suaminya mati hangus terkena lette ketika membajak sawah di hujan yang membadai. Itu sebabnya Maulida tak melanjutkan sekolah karena tak ada biaya. Aku masuk pesantren Muhammadiyah. Sementara Muharram di sekolah negeri. Persahabatan kami agak renggang sewaktu tumbuh dewasa dan berubah menjadi perasaan yang lain.
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Malam merayap gulita. Nyanyian binatang kelam berirama dengan gemericik air yang dimainkan ikan di sekelilingku. Danau angker ini dikerumuni bakau dan berlumpur. Sangat jelas kudengar letupan mata air yang bergelembung serta jalan kepiting yang merangkak. Ada kodok memimpin keriuhan malam. Sesekali lolongan anjing menimpali, meraung-raung di kejauhan. Barangkali ada babi hutan mengamuk di tengah rimba mengorek-ngorek mencari makan. Ini malam yang terakhir, besok aku dijemput.
Tiba-tiba, bunyi kecipak air disampan mengusik telingaku. Dadaku berdebar saat seseorang memanggil namaku.

�Sangkala aku datang...!�

Meremang bulu romaku. Bukan karena takut. Bukan pula karena leluhur mendatangiku.

�Buat apa kau ke sini?�

Kain tanpa jahitan yang membungkus tubuhku tersibak. Rambut panjangku luruh menjuntai sampai ke bahu menghiasi parasku. Cenning rara melingkupi. Matanya menjilati kepolosanku.

�Untuk membuktikan cintaku padamu!�

Lelaki kekar itu mendekat, ingin menyentuh wajahku. Kutepis dengan gerakan lemah tak bertenaga. Ia berhasil merenggut rambutku membuat mukaku mendongak. Ia milik sahabatku yang kukagumi.

�Pergilah Aram, Maulida menunggumu.�

�Kau salah! Dia menampikku. Aku butuh....�

Aku tidak menolak ketika Muharram mengikuti dorongan nalurinya menyelusuri tubuhku yang meremang ini. Aku hanyut terbawa arus perasaan yang lena. Kuresapi kenangan, memasuki lorong waktu. Kami selalu mencuri-curi kesempatan di hari libur, mandi bersama di sungai di balik semak belukar, setelah badannya yang berotot menampung segukku. Sikapnya yang peduli, perhatian, dan rela mendengarkan keluh kesahku, membuahkan perasaan tak terbendung, menyelinap pada dawai hati yang berdebar. Aku menyukai aroma peluhnya sehabis kerja di sawah. Kulitnya yang legam sangat berbeda dengan kulitku yang seputih gading. Kami berpandangan dalam diam waktu itu. Kemudian saling menyentuh tanpa kata-kata. Dan kini, kuteguk kenikmatan yang sama ketika keperkasaannya membobol tubuhku dengan cairan metahnya. Oh Dewata, aku takut mendapat karma. Bayang-bayang siksaan mencambuk hatiku. Cemas tak berujung. Muharram menatapku lekat.

�Aku akan merantau, ikutlah denganku.�

�Tidak Aram. Aku tidak mau lepas dari tanggung jawab. Semoga para makhluk menutup mata saat kita melakukannya. Ini rahasia kita dengan para leluhur, dan aku perlu berbagai ragam ritual untuk memohon ampun.�

Dini hari ia meninggalkanku dengan goresan luka di hatiku. Aku sangat mencintainya. Namun kehidupan dunia tak mengijinkan. Aku berharap, kelak di negeri khayangan Batara Guru merestui hubungan kami.
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Melihat diriku yang lusuh; kain koyak, rambut awut-awutan, aku disangka telah dimasuki roh makhluk halus. Aku digiring kembali menuju bola arajang. Tiba ketika malam makin larut.

Rumah panggung beratap rumbia berbentuk segi empat dengan dinding anyaman bambu sudah tampak ramai seperti ada perhelatan. Tiang-tiang penyangga rumah berdiri kokoh dihiasi lampu minyak. Di kolong rumah pagenrang menabuh gendang menghentak-hentak mengiringi langkahku menaiki rumah. Aku disambut dengan suka cita. Dilempari butiran beras disetiap tangga yang kudaki.

Dalam rumah, para jennang berkeliaran menyiapkan upacara. Tikar terhampar. Panati mengatur sesajen berupa dupa, minyak bauk, tana bangkala, sokko patanrupa, tiga butir telur, beberapa sisir pisang, ayam masak yang telah dicabut bulunya, diletakkan di lempengan besi berwarna emas berbentuk piring berbagai ukuran. Sebuah anca, pohon buatan yang terbuat dari pucuk ijuk menjuntai, menaungi sesajen itu. Aku duduk pasrah serupa tersangka yang hendak dihakimi. Di hadapanku Puang Matoa Rala bersila membaca kitab kuno dengan basa torilangi. Mengenakan pakaian kebesarannya lengkap dengan topi bertanduk seperti kerbau. Dandanannya menor dengan badik pusaka bersanding di pinggang. Kualihkan pandangan, kulihat Maulida di sudut ruang bermata sayu. Aku yakin Muharram melarikan diri. Cepat atau lambat semua orang akan tahu ia janda perawan. Suatu waktu ia pernah berkata padaku.

�Sangkala, kau yakin dengan jalan hidupmu?�

�Entahlah. Aku cuma bisa pasrah dengan nasibku.�

�Tidak inginkah kau beranak pinak?�

�Apa maksudmu?!�

�Tak ada maksud. Aku hanya mau mengatakan pernahkah kau jatuh cinta?�

Aku ragu menjawab.

�Aku tahu kau mencintai seseorang. Ya, hidup ini memang tidak berpihak. Kita senasib. Aku harus kawin dengan orang yang tidak kucintai.�

Kupandangi Maulida, lama. Mencoba menerka bilik hatinya yang redup. Ia memberikan isyarat yang tidak kutemukan muaranya.

Aku mattinjak, bernazar selama tiga hari tiga malam untuk bersedia diperlakukan seperti mayat, dimandikan dan dikafani. Kemudian disemayamkan di rakkeang, loteng bagian depan bola arajang. Sebuah guci berisi air doa menggantung di atasku, yang akan dipecahkan nanti setelah malam ketiga sebagai wujud pengesahan. Atap rumah terbuka hingga penglihatanku tembus ke langit penuh bintang gemintang. Aku mati suri. Di bawah sana iringan musik sakral terus dibunyikan.
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Apakah ini mimpi? Aku melihat seorang gadis berjalan dalam gelap mengikuti lentera yang ada di hatinya. Melangkah hati-hati seperti berharap tak ada telinga yang terusik atau mata yang terjaga. Mendatangiku yang sedang diterpa kemuliaan cahaya bulan, untuk memenuhi hajatnya. Lalu aku mengendus bau betina jarak tiga ayunan kaki sampai aku tersadar kafanku koyak. Aku bugil. Nafsu binal menggerayangi tubuhku. Ia menggeledah hasratku hingga aku berahi.

�Apa yang kaulakukan?�

�Aku mencintaimu. Aku rela makhotaku kau renggut. Akan kutanam benihmu di rahimku.�

�Kau gila!�

Ia tertawa geli.

�Sangkala, kau tak sebanci yang kukira.�

Ia melesat pergi ibarat angin lalu mengabarkan berita. Menciptakan prahara, guncangan yang terlalu hebat. Kuambil satu keputusan, angkat kaki dari kehidupan ini.
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Tuhan, inikah takdirku? Menorehkan sejarah untuk dijadikan pelajaran agar nanti manusia tidak melakukan kesalahan yang sama atau sebagai peringatan? Tak ada gema suara Tuhan membalas. Namun, burung Alo yang hinggap dan bertengger angkuh di pohon bertuah tepat di atasku menjadi jawaban. Burung langka itu yang tidak sembarang orang melihatnya menimbulkan firasat di benakku.

Telah habis kususuri hutan. Tibalah aku di padang ilalang yang bergoyang disapu angin seperti orang tarekat. Sekilas mataku menangkap ada anoa berjingkrak riang, berlari-lari lincah bagai rusa dikejar macan. Di ujung sana sungai Segeri mengalir deras. Aku berjalan terlunta-lunta menerobosi ilalang laksana musafir yang kehausan. Langit tetap biru berawan. Matahari mendaki puncak. Bukit-bukit membatu.

Kutanggalkan pakaian lalu berendam. Riak air sungai menyergap kulitku. Menjernihkan sukma. Di kejauhan, sayup-sayup kudengar suara azan mendayu-dayu lantang menyentuh nurani. Masjid itu terlihat menyembul di balik pohon rimba mirip semak-semak. Aku sempat mendalami ilmu agama di sana. Tapi aku tak betah. Para santri sering menghujatku; kaum Luth yang dilaknat Allah! Pedih. Mungkin perih. Salahkah wajahku yang rupawan tapi cantik? Suaraku yang unik? Atau gerakanku yang kemayu? Bukankah itu pemberian-Mu juga? Ah, sepertinya kebahagiaan tak pernah berpihak padaku. Aku tidak diterima di mana pun. Lebih baik aku....

�Celaka! Sala dewi.�

�Bunuh saja!�

�Jangan, kita nikmati dulu.�

Entah dari mana datangnya, tiga orang pemuda menghampiriku, menyeringai bengis. Aku tak bisa apa-apa. Berteriak pun siapa yang mau dengar?

�Mari kita bermain-main, sayang....�

Mereka menceburkan diriku berkali-kali membuat aku megap-megap, kehilangan napas. Mencemariku beramai-ramai, berganti-gantian tak puas-puas. Lalu dengan keji, aku dikebiri seperti seorang kasim. Air keruh berubah warna merah. Mereka kabur saat melihat makhluk bersisik mendekat.

�Buaya!�

Aku terjepit dilema. Tak ada pilihan. Mulut hewan itu sudah menganga. Gigi taringnya menerkam dan mencabik-cabik tubuhku menjadi remah-remah daging. Tuhan, masih bisa kulihat nama-Mu menjulang ke langit. Setitik cahaya di kalbuku bermukim di bukit itu.
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Hampir dua bulan kemudian.

Ditemukan mayat mengambang di tengah laut, menggembung, membusuk, dan tinggal separuh. Semua warga bertanya-tanya tentang perbuatan kotor apakah yang dilakukan jasad itu semasa hidupnya?

�Anak kita jadi tumbal atas dosa yang pernah kita perbuat,� kata Mak Rappe terisak, terkulai di pundak Puang Matoa Rala selesai upacara nilabuang, menenggelamkan jenasah ke dasar laut. Hati berkabung dibelai duka.

Sementara itu, di sebuah rumah panggung, seorang perempuan duduk di muka jendela menggeraikan rambutnya. Termangu, mata nanar memandang di luar sana. Tak lama berselang, senyum penuh luka tersungging di bibirnya. Ia mengusap-usap perutnya yang berisi janin.

�Ana beang....�

Daftar istilah

Dewata: para Dewa.
Calabai: asal kata sala baine, bukan perempuan; Waria.
Bissu: pendeta agama bugis kuno pra islam, kebanyakan waria atau putri bangsawan
Lego-lego: beranda rumah panggung.
Sanro: dukun
Puang Matoa: ketua bissu
Puang Lolo: wakil ketua bissu
Datu patoto: Sang Penentu Takdir
Bola arajang: rumah penyimpangan pusaka kerajaan, tempat tinggal bissu.
Basa torilangi: bahasa yang digunakan para bissu untuk berkomunikasi dengan Dewa
Batara guru: nenek moyang orang bugis
Toboto: kekasih bissu sesama jenis
Cenning rara: aura kecantikan.
Lette: petir
Pagenrang: penabuh gendang
Jennang: beberapa wanita tua bukan bissu yang mengatur rumah tangga rumah pusaka
Panati: seorang wanita yang mengatur tata upacara adat
Minyak bauk: minyak wangi berwarna merah
Tana bangkala: tanah suci tempat awal turunnya nenek moyang orang bugis
Sokko patanrupa: beras ketan empat warna, merah, kuning, hitam, putih
Anoa: sapi kecil khas sulawesi
Sala dewi: bukan dewi

Menangkap Kupu-Kupu

Cerpen Sakti Wibowo
Juara 1 Sayembara Penulisan Karya Sastra, Dewan Kesenian Melayu � Riau 2007


Sudah beberapa hari Ayah tidak pulang, tadi kulihat bayangannya memasuki ladang dengan kaus kelam kotor. Dari gerakan tubuhnya aku tahu dia sangat lelah. Bau keringatnya khas. Kulihat di tangannya plastik hitam yang ujungnya diikat erat dan samar-samar terdengar dengung anak lebah; Ayah pulang membawa madu.
�Mana ibumu, Gunta?� tanyanya kasar, seraya membanting tubuh ke balai-balai. Bau keringat bercampur aroma hutan dan semut rangrang memenuhi ruangan.
Aku berlari ke belakang, menemukan Ibu tengah meniup-niup bara di tungku.
�Macam awak dengar suara ayahmu. Apa dia pulang?�
�Ya,� jawabku, mematung di pintu, menarik ujung kaus kumalku dan menggigit-gigitnya. Aku tak tahu harus bergembira atau bersedih karena Ayah pulang. Tapi, Ibu pasti gembira. Aku bisa menyimpulkan hal itu dari gegas langkahnya menuju pintu.
�Lanjutkan membuat air panas, Gunta,� pesan Ibu. �Mungkin ayahmu mau membersihkan badan. Sudah malam, dingin kalau mandi di pancuran.�
Aku menggantikan Ibu meniup bara di tungku. Bunga api memercik ke muka saat kutiup, dan asap sabut sawit membuat mataku perih sehingga berair; tak jelas apakah ini air mata karena sedih atau karena perih. Ayah selalu menghina kebodohanku membuat api dan itu membuatku sedih.
�Semakin susah mencari madu di hutan,� gerutu Ayah saat kami semua bergabung di ruang tengah. Ayah sudah selesai membersihkan badan, dan Ibu menghidangkan ubi menggalo rebus di meja. Aku, meringkuk di belakang Ibu.
�Jasmiran semalam pulang bawa sawit,� kata Ibu di tengah kebisuan antara kami. �Dapat sekeranjang,� lanjutnya, �dijuallah itu sawit ke pasar. Tadi ada mobil hijau dari kota Duri. Jasmiran dapat dua ratus lima puluh ribu.�
Ayah masih diam, memantik api dan menyulut ujung gulungan tembakau yang diambil dari saku celananya yang lusuh. �Patroli makin ketat, tak bisa sembarangan memetik sawit.�
�Ya, aku dengar begitu,� sahut Ibu, mengangsurkan gumpalan gula aren untuk Ayah mencicip kopi. �Hansip-hansip perkebunan sekarang tak bisa ditakut-takuti. Minggu kemarin tiga ninja ditangkap, dibawa ke kota, tak tahu apa nasibnya.�
�Hidup makin susah. Untuk maling saja susahnya setengah mati, apalagi berburu kancil. Madu juga makin jarang. Harus berani masuk ke tengah hutan yang jauh baru bisa ketemu madu.�
Ibu menebah tanganku memintaku bangkit dari meringkuk di belakangnya, sambil terus mengobrol dengan Ayah, �Habis panen ini, kita harus mencari ladang baru. Sudah tiga tahun kita di sini.�
Ayah berdehem. �Susah mencari ladang baru, do! Sudah habis hutan dibuka diganti akasia dan sawit. Tambang-tambang makin banyak, dan ikan-ikan raib.� Ayah mencecek ujung gulungan tembakaunya ke asbak. �Seminggu awak tak pulang. Miko dengar kabar Ogek? Sebelum awak berangkat, dia bilang nak ke kota.�
�Bersama orang-orang bathin, to? Tak ada kabar sampai sekarang.�
�Dia bilang mau unjuk rasa.�
�Demo, katanyo. Minta pabrik kertas membayar ganti rugi pencemaran sungai. Air sungai sekarang tak bisa dipakai mandi, bikin kulit gatal-gatal.�
�Jadi belum pulang, ko?�
�Belum. Satu pun belum.�
Ayah menghela napas. �Kalau pulang, mereka banyak uang,� kata Ayah sambil merebahkan badannya ke dipan. �Capek sekali, macam habis diremuk-remuk tulang awak. Nak tidur dululah. Bawa budak ko tidur di dalam.�
Ibu kembali menebah lenganku memintaku bangkit, lalu membimbingku menuju dipan kayu di bagian dalam.
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Ruangan ini sederhana tanpa barang-barang berharga. Hanya bilik dengan dinding kulit kayu dan atap rumbia. Kalau malam aku bisa mencuri langit dari sela rumbia yang tidak menutup rata dan berfungsi sebagai tempat matahari menyambangi ruangan kala siang.
Ruang ini terasa luas saat Ayah tak ada. Aku leluasa merajuk, berlari ke sana kemari, dan Ibu hanya akan berpesan supaya hati-hati. Kalau jatuh atau celaka aku tak boleh menangis. Sedangkan bila Ayah ada di rumah, aku hanya berani meringkuk di dekat Ibu, takut Ayah marah. �Budak dungu! Jangan berlarian tak keruan macam lebah begitu. Bikin pusing kepala. Diamlah kau barang sekali. Meledak kepalaku kalau kau ribut begitu.�
Bagaimana ruangan tidak menjadi sempit bagiku sedangkan aku hanya berani meringkuk di dipan sebelah dalam, di sampingku Ibu yang tak henti membujukku supaya tidur.
�Ayah sudah tidurkah?� tanyaku.
�Ssst...! Jangan keras-keras. Nanti ayahmu bangun kau nak dimarahi.�
Aku tak kunjung bisa tidur, ingin bermain keluar memandang bulan tapi pasti Ayah tak bolehkan itu. Apalagi kalau sampai membangunkan tidurnya yang mendengkur halus itu. Lalu aku menggarit-garit dinding dengan ujung kuku. Kuku itu menghitam, terlihat samar-samar, hitam karena getah damar waktu bermain ke hutan siang tadi sementara ibu menangkap ikan di sungai.
Ibu menebah tanganku lagi memintaku tidur. Tebahannya kini lebih keras sehingga lampu teplok di dinding ikut bergoyang-goyang. Kutarik tanganku dari dinding dan kini aku diam terlentang. Sepi sekali. Suara angin basah musim hujan bergerak pelan, dan burung deruk bersiul-siul di tempat jauh.
�Cepatlah tidur!� bisik Ibu lagi. Kali ini dengan suara lebih lunak. Dengkur Ayah semakin keras di dipan sebelah. �Kalau tak tidur, kau nanti macam burung deruk, menangis sendirian sepanjang malam.�
�Kasihan burung itu, Bu!�
�Itu akibatnya kalau susah dibilangi orang tua.�
�Apakah burung itu susah dibilangi orang tuanya? Ibu bilang dulu, burung-burung itu menyanyi mencari kekasihnya yang terbang ke bulan.�
�Nyanyiannya mengganggu orang tidur, makanya ia banyak tidak disuka orang.�
�Burung itu sekarang sendirian, tidak ada kekasihnya, kata Ibu. Ia sendirian seperti Ibu kalau Ayah pergi ke hutan.�
�Tapi ayahmu pulang bawa madu, besok dijual ke pasar Duri, jadi duit, dapatlah kau makan enak. Nak makan apa kau, rupanya?�
Aku menggeleng. Pikiranku masih bertumpu pada burung deruk yang bersiul-siul. Ibu bilang itu bukan bersiul tetapi merintih. Entah mana yang benar. Tapi, suaranya memang lebih mirip rintihan, seperti aku waktu didera Ayah karena tak sengaja menumpahkan kopinya.
�Tak pingin kau nasi pecel?� lanjut tanya Ibu. �Pisang goreng?�
Aku kembali menggeleng. �Ibu, burung deruk itu, adakah anaknya kecil seperti aku?�
Ibu menatapku lama, lalu mengusap rambutku. �Kenapa kau tanya macam tu? Dia punyalah anaknya kecil, tidur di rumah. Ibunya pergi mencari makan. Besok pulang, anak-anaknya kenyang.�
�Yang di bulan itu bapaknyakah?�
�Tentulah itu bapaknyo. Kalau ibunya, tak akan sangguplah ia jauh lama-lama dari anak-anaknya yang kecil.�
�Kalau ditinggal pergi, apakah anak-anaknya tidur tenang atau main perang-perangan?�
�Mereka tidur tenang, do! Maka kau tidurlah juga yang tenang.�
Aku heran dengan burung-burung itu. Siangnya tak bangun, lalu malam pun tidur tenang. Pagi-pagi makan kenyang. Kapan mereka bermain? Seperti aku yang setiap pagi bermain di hutan? Tak ada temanku sebaya jadi aku selalu bermain dengan Ibu. Setiap pagi Ibu ke hutan untuk mencari rotan dan damar. Kadang-kadang menangkap ikan untuk dimakan atau dijual ke pasar Duri. Kalau hari baik, Ibu tak perlu ke pasar Duri, ada mobil hijau milik tengkulak yang datang ke ladang-ladang untuk membeli barang dari petani.
Ibu mungkin menyangka aku tidur, sehingga tak lagi menebah tanganku. Aku juga memilih diam walaupun mataku masih memicing. Aku menikmati betul-betul suara burung di hutan belakang itu. Aku ingin bisa merasakan kesedihannya.
Ayah bangun tengah malam. Ibu menghampirinya, cukup lama. Aku ditinggalkan seperti anak-anak deruk. Dalam sendiri itu aku menikmati embus angin yang menyelusup dari sela dinding. Lampu teplok telah lama mati, mungkin kehabisan minyak. Sore tadi seingatku kuisi penuh.
Lalu kudengar bisik Ibu, �Makin hari, Gunta makin tak kenal denganmu.�
Aku baru menyadari bahwa Ayah dan Ibu telah saling berbisik sejak beberapa waktu lalu dan namaku disebut.
�Ke hutan tak cukup sehari. Kau tahu sendiri, do! Seminggu baru bisa dapat madu.�
�Tentu tak perlu seminggu kalau tidak pakai mampir ke rumah Ningsih.�
�Apa pula tengah kau pikir, he? Masih juga cemburu sama orang Rawas tu. Awak sudah bilang, sudah tidak ada hubungan apa-apa dengannyo. Awak sudah tidak ketemu lebih dari tiga tahun.�
Aku dengar Ibu mendengus, tak menanggapi. �Kalau sesekali pulang, kasihlah perhatian sikit anakmu. Tegurlah budak tu! Ajak dia bicara. Apa miko suka darah dagingmu takut padamu?�
�Dia selalu lari pada saat awak datang.�
�Bagaimana tak lari macam tu kalau miko selalu berkata kaso dan menakut-nakuti?�
�Laki-laki tak boleh gampang takut. Tak boleh cengeng. Besar sedikit ia harus bisa memanjat sawit, menganyam damar dan rotan, lalu menggarap ladang.�
�Gunta pengin sekolah seperti pamannya di kota Duri.�
�Ah, mau pakai apa kau nak sekolahkan dia? Tak usahlah mimpi terlalu siang! Besak dia dapat jodoh, mengolah ladang, beranak pinak, selesai!�
�Selesai dia. Selesai kita. Tapi anak-anaknyo, anak-cucu kita belum selesai. Hutan semakin sempit. Kancil hilang, ikan-ikan raib. Madu saja miko perlu seminggu untuk memperoleh. Besok lusa miko butuh sebulan. Anak-anak kelak perlu setengah tahun baru bertemu madu.�
Ayah diam, tak terdengar suaranya, sampai Ibu kembali menyambung, �Gunta nanti nak sekolah. Kata Ogek, banyak anak Bathin yang sekolah dibiayai pemerintah.�
�Pemerintah?� dengus Ayah. �Macam mana nak kau bentuk anakmu tu? Disekolahkan pemerintah macam orang laut itu, begitu pandai bekerjalah dia di perkebunan jadi sipir. Gunta nanti jadi hansip perkebunan, centeng perusahaan, dan dia pula agaknya yang akan menangkap ayah dan orang-orang seladangnya.�
�Zaman menuntun demikian, do!�
�Tidak! Zaman tetap sama. Bedanya, sekarang banyak orang rakus. Hutan itu pusaka nenek moyang orang Bathin. Orang-orang rakus itu harus dihentikan dari memakan hutan dan ladang-ladang milik orang Bathin. Kalau hutan kembali aman, kita bisa hidup tenang seperti nenek moyang kita.�
�Buktinya hutan makin habis. Tanah ulayat mengecil. Orang-orang Bathin sengsara hidupnya. Perusahaan-perusahaan pengolah kayu dan kertas lebih suka mempekerjakan orang Jawa dan Bugis. Orang Bathin dianggap bodoh karena tidak ada yang sekolah.�
Ayah kembali mendengus, lebih keras. Tak kudengar jawabnya menimpali kalimat Ibu. Mungkin percakapan mereka telah berakhir. Lalu aku melihat Ayah bangkit. Ibu menyusulnya, kemudian menyalakan lampu teplok. Aku pura-pura memejamkan mata, takut Ibu tahu kalau aku belum tidur.
�Kemarin Jasmiran pulang bawa sawit? Di mana dia petik sawit tu?�
�Tak tahulah awak! Cuma kulihat dia bawa sawit sekeranjang. Dibeli mobil hijau dua ratus lima puluh ribu.�
�Kalau begitu, biar awak cuba malam ini memetik sawit.�
-----
Semalam, saat aku pura-pura memejamkan mata, akhirnya aku benar-benar tidur. Pagi bangun, Ibu sedang di belakang meniup-niup bara di tungku. Ibu merebus ubi menggalo. Rupanya sudah tidak ada padi di rumah. Padi yang ditanam juga belum saatnya dipanen. Masih hijau. Tapi, beberapa emprit sudah mulai berdatangan. Kalau siang, Ibu mengajakku mengusir burung emprit dan gelatik yang memakan bulir-bulir padi.
Pagi ini Ibu mengajakku kembali mencari damar dan rotan. Kata Ibu, aku harus belajar menganyam mulai sekarang. Tapi aku malas sekali. Aku masih ingin bermain-main. Kebetulan, aku melihat seekor kupu-kupu berwarna merah kuning yang hinggap di atas daun alang-alang. Aku mendekatinya pelan, mengintipnya dengan saksama dan bergerak dengan sangat lambat agar kupu-kupu itu tidak curiga.
�Hap!� aku menangkapnya. Terkena di dua lembar sayapnya yang bawah. Dua sayap yang di atas menggelepar-gelepar.
�Buat apa kau tangkap kupu-kupu macam tu? Tak enak pula dia dimakan. Lebih baik biarkan terbang,� kata Ibu yang melihatku melonjak-lonjak girang.
�Mengapa dilepas, Ibu? Aku ingin menjadikannya mainan. Aku tak punya banyak mainan.�
�Dia punya nyawa juga macam kau. Kasihan kalau dijadikan mainan. Pakailah mainan barang-barang yang tidak bernyawa.�
Aku tercenung, memerhatikan kupu-kupu yang pasrah di tanganku itu. �Ibu, apakah kupu-kupu ini lelaki atau perempuan?�
�Perempuanlah pasti,� kata Ibu. �Tak kau lihatkah ia bersolek dengan warna yang menarik? Indiak ado laki-laki yang bersolek macam tu.�
�Kalau begitu, apakah dia masih anak-anak ataukah sudah besar?�
�Dia sudah besar do! Anak-anak tak ada yang main sendirian, pasti ditemani ibunya.�
�Kalau kupu-kupu itu sudah besar, apakah dia ada juga anaknya kecil seperti aku?�
Ibu diam sejenak, menghela napas, dan menggeleng-gelengkan kepala. �Ya, dia ada anaknya kecil yang sedang kelaparan di rumah. Karena itu, lepaskankan kupu-kupu itu biar bisa pulang membawa makanan.�
Aku segera melepaskan kupu-kupu itu. Ia langsung terbang tinggi dan hilang di antara pepohonan hutan. Aku segera mengikuti Ibu yang berjalan bergegas menaiki jalan setapak menuju hutan. Aku berharap mudah-mudahan Ibu menemukan sarang lebah dan bisa memanen madu. Ibu pernah memperolehnya di pokok pohon yang tinggi. Ibu memanjat pohon itu dengan berani, dan baru pertama kali itu aku melihat Ibu ternyata pandai memanjat pohon, tak kalah dengan lelaki.
-----
Sebenarnya aku enggan belajar menganyam, tapi Ibu tetap mendudukkan aku di tepi ladang sambil mengusir burung emprit. Tangannya beberapa kali mempraktikkan cara membuat anyaman dari daun pandan. Cara memulai anyaman, kata Ibu, bergantung pada jenis benda yang ingin dihasilkan. Anyaman tikar misalnya, boleh dimulai di tengah-tengah ataupun di bucu. Tetapi, tudung saji mesti dimulai di puncaknya yang berbentuk kon.
Terampil sekali kulihat tangan Ibu membuat kelarai anyaman dengan pelbagai motif. Ada kelarai bunga atur, berembang, cengkih dan cengkih beranak, bunga tanjung, pucuk rebung, dan tampuk jantung pisang.
�Perhatikan jumlah mata dan langkah bilah daun yang dirangkai, Gunta,� kata Ibu. �Kalau kau sudah bisa membuat kelarai seperti ini, nanti kau segera belajar membuat kelarai belah ketupat, kisar mengiri, beras patah dan madu manis.�
Aku masih tidak berselera untuk belajar menganyam. Rupanya Ibu menyadari, dan segera menghentikan tangannya yang sibuk membuat kelarai. �Kau tak ingin membuat anyaman?�
Aku menggeleng. Pada Ibu, aku berani menggeleng. Tidak dengan Ayah.
�Kenapa?�
�Kelarai ikan dan kupu-kupu di atas tudung saji itu, apakah dia perempuan atau laki-laki?� tanyaku.
Ibu tak menjawab, kembali menganyam pandan. Beberapa saat kemudian dia bergumam, �Besok ada mobil hijau ke ladang. Kalau selesai membuat tikar dan tudung saji, besok bisa kaujual, dapat uang, lalu beli nasi pecel. Kau nak beli apa? Nasi pecel atau pisang goreng?�
Aku tak menjawab. Tak kuhiraukan pertanyaan Ibu. Aku berganti melihat ke segerombolan burung emprit yang menyambangi ladang. Dengan ketepil, aku mengusirnya hingga beterbangan menjauh. Lalu aku melihat bubungan asap di kejauhan. Kata Ibu dulu, itu adalah asap dari pabrik pengolahan kayu.
-----
Sampai malam hari Ayah tidak kelihatan pulang. Aku baru sadar bahwa sejak tadi pagi saat aku bangun tidur, Ayah sudah tidak terlihat di rumah. Mungkin Ayah ke hutan lagi mencari madu.
Malam hari, bulan purnama bulat penuh. Ibu menggelar tikar di halaman dan melanjutkan menganyam pandan untuk dijadikan tikar. Aku meringkuk di sampingnya sambil menatap bulan, menikmati angin basah dan mendengar nyanyian burung deruk dari hutan di belakang rumah.
Di langit, aku melihat bintang berkelip-kelip. �Indah nian bintang-bintang tu,� kataku.
Ibu menghentikan sejenak tangannya yang menjalin daun pandan. �Sudah malam. Udara semakin dingin. Sebaiknya kau segera tidur di dalam. Udara malam tidak baik. Nanti kau sakit.�
�Apakah Ibu juga sakit?�
�Tidak. Ibu tidak sakit. Ibu bekerja, jadi tidak takut angin malam.�
�Kalau begitu aku bantu Ibu bekerja, biar tak sakit kena angin malam.�
Ibu menatapku sejenak, lalu tangannya meraih beberapa lembar pandan dan mengangsurkannya padaku. �Anyamlah. Kalau sudah lelah dan mengantuk, segeralah tidur di dalam.�
�Aku nak menganyam sambil melihat bintang,� jawabku. �Lihat, Ibu, bintang-bintang itu begitu indahnya. Apakah ia bintang-bintang itu punya nyawa seperti kupu-kupu?�
�Tidak. Bintang-bintang itu tidak bernyawa.�
�Kalau begitu, bolehlah aku memetiknya satu untuk kujadikan mainan.�
�Tak bisa. Tanganmu kecil. Nanti kalau sudah besar dan menjadi orang pintar, kau bisa memetiknya satu. Mau kau apakan bintang-bintang itu?�
Aku menggeleng, malu mengatakannya. Aku ingin menggantungkan bintang itu di telinga Ibu biar wajahnya cantik. Orang-orang dari kota Duri memakai anting-anting di telinganya dan itu membuat mereka tampak cantik. Kalau Ibu memakai anting bintang-bintang itu tentu wajahnya lebih cantik.
�Kapan aku besar dan menjadi orang pintar?�
�Kalau kau menjadi anak yang baik, kemudian sekolah yang rajin.�
�Aku ingin sekolah. Besok apakah aku bisa sekolah?�
�Besok belum. Tunggulah beberapa saat lagi. Ibu akan membeli seragam sekolah dulu. Besok kita jual tikar, dapat uang banyak buat beli baju seragam.�
Tak berapa lama kemudian, Ibu mengemasi tikar pandan yang baru diselesaikannya. �Ayo, berangkat tidur. Tikarmu di dalam sudah menunggu.�
Aku bergegas bangkit. Sebenarnya enggan karena aku masih ingin melihat bintang-bintang yang indah dan mimpi tentang sekolah. Aku akan belajar di sekolah dengan memakai baju baru. Pasti menyenangkan.
-----
Sudah lama Ayah tidak pulang. Ibu terus membuat anyaman tikar pandan sambil menunggu padi panen. Kata Ibu, sehabis panen kami akan pindah ke ladang yang baru. Tapi, aku ingat kata-kata Ayah malam itu bahwa sekarang susah mencari ladang baru. Sudah banyak hutan dibuka dan semakin sedikit ladang yang bisa ditempati. Di tempat ladang-ladang itu banyak berdiri pabrik-pabrik pengolahan kayu.
Kata Ibu, hutan-hutan ditebang, kayunya dibuat kertas. Kertas dipakai untuk membuat buku. Buku-buku dipakai untuk belajar, biar anak-anak menjadi pintar.
... lalu hutan-hutan habis. Bekas ladang yang dibuka, dibakar. Asapnya membubung tinggi. Kalau malam, bintang-bintang hilang. Kata Ibu karena tertutup asap. Tapi aku khawatir bintang-bintang itu benar-benar hilang.
�Aku ingin lekas sekolah,� kataku. Tanganku menggarit-garit dinding. Kuku-kuku tanganku menghitam samar bekas getah damar.
Ibu menebah tanganku, memintaku tidur lekas-lekas. Tapi susah sungguh untuk pejam ini mata.
�Besok, apakah boleh aku sekolah?�
�Belum. Tunggulah sekejap sampai ayahmu pulang.�
�Aku ingin cepat besar, biar bisa memetik bintang-bintang. Aku takut bintang-bintang itu hilang.�
�Kalau sudah tidak ada asap, bintang-bintang itu akan kembali terlihat. Kau tak usah takut. Tidurlah. Tak ada yang mencuri bintang-bintang itu.�
�Apakah Ayah akan pulang kalau sudah tidak ada asap?�
�Ya. Karena itu tidurlah segera.�
Aku diam. Hatiku tidak tenang sehingga aku tetap tak bisa tidur walaupun mataku kupaksa pejam. Lalu, tengah malam, aku menyadari Ibu bangkit dari dipan, mematikan lampu teplok di dinding. Ibu duduk sejenak di tepi dipan. Kubuka sedikit mataku, sangat sedikit, biar Ibu tak tahu aku belum tidur. Kulihat Ibu memandangiku. Wajahnya sedih. Apakah Ibu seperti burung deruk yang merintih di hutan belakang rumah itu, memanggil kekasihnya yang ada di bulan?
... nyatanya burung deruk itu tetap merintih meskipun bulan hilang ditutup asap, kekasihnya hilang dari pandangan.
Ibu mengusap rambutku sayang, lalu mencium keningku lama. Embus napasnya hangat. Lalu ada air yang meleleh jatuh di keningku. Pasti Ibu menangis; kekasihnya hilang dari pandangan.
Ibu melangkah menjauh dari dipan. Aku meliriknya. Aku mengingat-ingat sudah berapa lama Ayah tidak pulang. Sudah sangat lama, sejak malam ia datang, dan pergi sebelum pagi. Diam-diam, aku rindu juga pada Ayah, pada dengkurnya yang halus serta bau keringat yang bercampur aroma hutan dan semut rangrang.
... kulihat, Ibu membuka pintu dan melangkah pergi. Aku sendirian di rumah ini, sepi. Burung deruk masih merintih di hutan belakang. Burung deruk itu, ada anaknya kecil seperti aku, kata Ibu. Anak-anak deruk itu pasti sedang menunggu ibunya pulang, sedang ayahnya bermain di bulan.
-----
Sampai siang hari Ibu tak pulang. Ada ubi menggalo di meja dan kujadikan sarapan. Setelah itu, aku bermain-main ke ladang sendirian. Di ujung jalan, orang-orang berkumpul mengerubungi mobil hijau dengan sepasang lelaki perempuan dari kota Duri. Mereka membeli barang-barang dari orang ladang. Beberapa hari yang lalu, Ibu menjual dua lembar tikar pandan dan membelikanku baju seragam. Bajunya putih bersih, pas sekali di badanku. Celananya agak kebesaran berwarna merah indah. Aku akan memakainya saat nanti sekolah.
Orang-orang ladang sama berciap seperti ayam, menawar ini menawar itu, membicarakan apa saja.
�Tak ada yang menjual sawit?� tanya si orang kota Duri.
�Tak ada yang punya sawit. Ada patroli lagi tadi malam,� jawab salah satu orang ladang.
�Ya! Dengar-dengar, semalam ada dua ninja sawit ditangkap dan dibawa ke kota,� sahut orang ladang yang lain. �Katanya, salah satunya perempuan.�
Segerombolan burung emprit menyambangi ladang. Aku bergegas meraih ketepil dan mengusir burung-burung itu. Di atas alang-alang, kulihat kupu-kupu hinggap, warnanya indah putih dan merah, serupa betul dengan seragamku sekolah. Kudekati hendak kutangkap. Tapi, aku ingat ia ada anaknya kecil seperti aku, tengah menunggu ibunya pulang membawa makanan.
... lapar sekali perutku. Ibu belum pulang. Ayah juga belum pulang.

Rawamangun, 27 September 2007, 00:38.

A Friend of the Wind

Short story by Hamzah Puadi Ilyas
Published in The Jakarta Post | Sun, 07/31/2005



""Mom, can you tell me again about daddy?"" begged five-year-old Fayi, asking again about where her father had gone.

Laela took a deep breath. She felt utterly bewildered every time Fayi asked the question. So as not to disappoint her beloved daughter, Laela had made up a story about Fayi's father, Har, and that he had gone to a place far above in the sky.

""Who did he go with, Mommy?"" Fayi's voice was slowing, a sign that she was getting sleepy.

""He went there with the wind.""

""Can I be the wind's friend, too? So I can go to daddy? I miss his Cinderella,"" said Fayi.

Hearing this, Laela was deeply touched. She wanted to cry, but she held it in, not wanting to shed tears in front of her daughter.

""You certainly can, honey. But wait until you can fly a plane like your daddy."" Laela touched Fayi's hair tenderly. After Har's death, Fayi was the only one Laela cared about -- her life was dedicated to Fayi.

""Can I fly a plane like daddy some day?""

""Of course, dear. But you have to promise Mommy to be a good girl and study hard. So later, when you fly a plane, the wind won't disturb you because it is your friend.""

""I will, Mom.""

Fayi stretched and yawned.

""Now, it's time for bed,"" Laela cooed.

Her eyes half open, Fayi murmured, ""I want to hear about Cinderella. I want to hear about her beautiful glass shoes.""

Laela gave in to her daughter's wish and picked up a book from the nightstand. She opened it and started to read in a soft voice.

About 20 minutes later, Fayi's breathing became heavy, and she fell into a deep slumber. Slowly, Laela put the book back on the nightstand. She tucked a striped blanket around Fayi and gave her a good-night kiss on the brow. Then she turned off the lights, leaving Fayi with her beautiful dream about the wind.

It was the dead of night, but Laela could hardly close her eyes. An image of Har seemed to float on the bedroom ceiling. It was so clear, as thought he was trying to contact her.

She tried to concentrate, making an effort to follow the image as it moved to and fro. Har's face was so calm and peaceful. He even looked more handsome than in life. Laela's eyes were glued to the pattern it made on the ceiling. Strangely, it left a faint trace of words, a farewell.

Quick as a flash, she got up. Was it just a dream? But why was it so clear?

***

She recalled a moment with Har, in a fancy restaurant at a five-star hotel, celebrating their second anniversary. Har didn't talk much then, and simply said that he was deeply in love with her.

""Will you love me for the rest of your life?"" Har asked.

""Yes, of course Mas. I loved you from the first moment I saw you,"" Laela said.

Har didn't reply, but his eyes shone with happiness, and he took something out of his pocket. It was a diamond ring.

""This is a gift for being my soul mate,"" he said.

Laela was surprised and overjoyed. ""Ooh, Mas Har, it is really beautiful.""

It fit her finger perfectly.

""Mas, I'd like to tell you something -- something I've been hiding from you,"" Laela teased.

""What is it, dear?""

""I'm two months pregnant.""

""What?? Really?? Oh, bless the Lord. I'm going to be a father!"" Unable to control his joy, Har clasped his wife's hand and kissed her long.

It was absolute happiness. Life was so good.

Seven months later, Laela delivered a healthy baby girl, whose nose was pointed like her mother's, and her round eyes took after her father's. They named her Fayi, which was Arabic for sweet fragrance. Laela and Har wanted her to grace those around her with her sweetness.

As she grew, they could see Fayi was a smart child. During his days off, Har spent all his time with Fayi, reading Cinderella to her.

Life is like a rainbow, thought Laela -- full of bright colors, beauty and mystery. We can't touch it, no matter how hard we try. In the end, it disappears, its cheerful and lively colors gone for good.

***

Day by day, Fayi grew under her parents' undivided attention, and had already started kindergarten.

One week before the shocking news came, Laela often caught sight of Har, who had become fond of watching Fayi as she slept. Laela was curious about this, but she was reluctant to find out what had caused the change in behavior.

Another unusual thing she noticed was Har's face. It looked sallow and drawn, losing its radiance. It was like the moonlight, how it disappeared gradually as the morning sun rose to show off its power.

The day before he was to fly, Har didn't say goodbye as he usually did. Kissing his wife on the forehead, he then drew Laela to his chest, whispering in her left ear: ""Please take care of Fayi and be strong."" That was the last thing he said. It sounded strange to her, but Laela just nodded, as a loyal wife should. Then Har went to Fayi's bedroom and kissed her goodbye on both cheeks.

Two days later, Laela's life was shattered: Jumbo jet flown by Capt. Hariman falls into Indian Ocean.

The cause was a violent storm. Everyone on the plane was missing. Why did this happen to me? Not now, it's too soon. We'd just started to be a family, facing our future together. He is a good husband. Fayi still needs a father who can drive away the evil spirits at night. She still needs Cinderella, and ... and ...

Be strong Laela, his words reverberated in her ears.

Days went by without Har. Silent, gloomy, dull.

Like a sunrise that was too shy to rise and erase the night, in her heart, Laela was unwillingness to let Har go. She was afraid whether she could raise Fayi on her own. What she should answer when Fayi asked about her father. Doubt cast a shadow over Laela's future.

Be strong Laela. There it was again.

***

Leaving Fayi's bedroom relieved Laela for a moment. It had taken several times for her to compose the story about Har's journey to the sky with the wind.

Fayi never tired of listening to the same story, again and again, and she seemed to have become obsessed with the wind ever since she heard the story.

Laela went into the living room, gazing at the big family portrait of the three of them, Fayi in between her and Har, smiling her childish smile.

Laela stepped closer to it and touched the figures in the picture one by one, including herself. That time was all too brief, but it was full of happiness.

Touching Har's face, Laela's spirit revived gradually. She remembered her last promise to him.

Let the past be buried. The future was for Fayi and Laela. From this point forth, Laela vowed in front of Har's smiling face, nothing would separate them.

A sudden loud noise came from Fayi's bedroom. Laela came back to herself, waking from her thoughts. Hurrying, she went into her daughter's room to see what was going on.

Stopping just inside, Laela couldn't believe what she was seeing.

The window was wide open, the wind gently blowing into the room. Fayi was on her bed, her arms stretched out, and the wind surrounded her as though it was protecting her from the dark night and evil spirits.

-- Jakarta, April 24, 2005

The writer is an English teacher at LBPP-LIA Slipi, and is taking English Literature and Creative Writing courses at the Jakarta International School of Foreign Languages (STIBA) in Ciputat, South Jakarta.

Mother's hair

Short story by Hamzah Puadi Ilyas
Published in The Jakarta Post | Sun, 05/20/2007



Mother changed out of the blue. She was fond of combing her hair.

Almost every time -- morning, noon, night -- she sat by the window, combing her hair with an implement made of buffalo horn, her eyes staring at the sky. At night she observed the moon intently, whereas in daylight she eyed the sun.

She seldom talked to anyone, including me. She merely spoke as she needed. But when she talked, her words sounded very cool and tranquil.

There was a feeling gently caressing my heart, such that I was not capable of questioning her abrupt change of behavior.

To begin with, her change did not thoroughly tease my heart because I was still a small kid. I was busy as a bee, flying kites with friends after school, finding eels in the paddy fields that then we baked together, and sometimes chasing the white herons until reaching the neighboring village.

In that village, according to some, I had a new mother. They said my father had married a rich widow.

I heard through the grapevine that my father simply wanted to get rich by exploiting his handsome appearance. They also said that by tying the knot with her, my father did not need to work as an ojek (motorcycle taxi) driver anymore.

*****

""Tunggal, my son, go to the guava tree beside our house. The tree has borne fruit."" Suddenly my mother told me upon my arrival at home after chasing kites. She was by the window, combing her long hair.

I headed directly toward the tree. Soon I climbed its sturdy trunk. My tiny body did not make it sway, the tree steadily standing erect.

In its boughs, I saw the fruit with light yellow skin. I imagined their pink edible flesh. Quickly, the fruit filled my hungry stomach.

From the tree I saw a woman walking hastily, looking morose. She seemed to burn with anger. I kept watching her, and it turned out that she headed toward my house.

In front of the door she called out to my mother with filthy words. Then she pounded on the door. It flew open and hit the wall. Again, the woman yelled and she looked as though she were possessed by an evil spirit.

I saw my mother, calmly combing her beautiful hair and staring at the afternoon sun through the open window. When finally the woman found her, my heart beat hard. What would she do to my mother?

Then I saw a black shadow pulling at mother's hair, accompanied by a howl, like a wolf.

I was so scared that I shut my eyes and ears. But my fingers managed to open the eyelashes that were trying to unite. I could see what was happening.

My mother's hair was being repeatedly dragged. But it seemed that she didn't feel anything. She played it cool. There was an urge to assist her, but it was as though a tree hugged me tightly.

Besides, the tree, suddenly flapping backwards and forwards in the wind, made me afraid.

A few moments later I heard my father's voice. His figure appeared in the mother's room. Father quickly hugged the woman, trying to separate her from mother.

With great difficulty, he finally succeeded. He drew her away from mother, also our house. The woman kept howling, but apparently he did not care. Gradually her long loud cry of anger was gone.

Immediately afterwards I climbed down the tree. Running fast and almost crying, I went to see my mother. Entering her room, I saw her sitting and combing her tousled hair in a composed manner. Her face did not express the sense of grief at the incident.

""Who's that woman, Mom?"" I cried, then put my head on her lap.

""Tunggal, my beloved son. That woman is your father's new wife. They have united to oppose me. Their life is imbued with wickedness. Don't be like them. In a very short time, they will reap what they have planted.""

Mother's eyes still stared at the sun, not blinking as always. Her hair was already tidy and she looked gorgeous.

*****

I heard mother's voice, singing a song whose meaning I did not understand. Her voice was very gentle and heaved in a slow rhythm as though it followed a breath of wind moving around the leaves of a guava tree.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, with men's voices calling my mother's name. Having just finished eating, I stepped to the living room. There had been three men standing there, worn-out and sweating.

""Where's your mother, Tunggal?"" Asked one of them politely. I could hear his breath, panting.

I pointed at my mother's room, the door standing ajar. I could see her, still combing her hair and reciting the song. Strangely, the three men became still, and they looked in awe of her. Their presence did not disturb her.

Then, one of them said softly, ""Madam Sirah. Tunggal's father and his new wife died. The motorcycle they were riding fell into a river when crossing a bridge in the neighboring village. Now, their bodies are in her house.""

Mother didn't say a word. She kept combing her hair, reciting the song that sounded softer. Her eyes gazed at the sun, whose light was becoming dimmer. Dusk was falling. Before long, her eyes would stare at the moon. Then, the moonlight would move to mother's beautiful eyes.

*****

I grew up without the guidance of a father, but everything I needed was on hand all of a sudden. Gradually I felt my life was a bit dull. Only mother's chant did I hear.

She never changed, always combing her handsome hair. The change was just the color of her hair. Brownish.

Once I mustered up the courage to talk to her. ""Mom I've grown up already. I'd like to go to the big city."" I kneeled down on the ground in front of her, what I always did when talking to her.

""Tunggal, my son. You may go as you like. This world is vast. Wherever you go, you'll see the sun. That's the source of life given to us. Watch it as often as possible. Later on, its light won't blind your eyes. Spread kindness wherever you live, and don't take a false step.""

I put my face on her lap. I cried, her hands stroking my head. Up till now I'd never expressed gratitude for her sincere care of me.

""Tunggal, my son. Here are two strands of my hair. Keep them. Later, you'll know they will be beneficial for you. You may throw them away if they don't shine again.""

A week later I was in the big city, working in a factory. I saved up. Life here was very different. Everything could be seen easily, but it was hard to get.

It was completely different when I was still with my mother. Everything seemed easy.

When I longed for her or I had a problem, I would turn to look at the two strands of her hair. The picture of her combing her hair and reciting a song appeared. It made me calm. But strangely, when the picture was gone, the light of her hair gradually faded.

A year went by. I had thrown away mother's hair because it had no light at all. I decided to see her. I would give her all the money I had saved.

""Tunggal, my son. Keep the money; I don't need it."" She slowly combed her hair with her fingers, then pulled two strands out. ""Here are the new strands of my hair. Keep them. Later, you'll know they will be beneficial for you.""

Shakily I took her hair. It was brown, but beautiful and shiny.

I got back to the city, working as usual. I got along with many people from various walks of life, men and women. One of the women attracted me. Her name was Indah. It seemed that she also had a crush on me.

Day by day we got closer. Finally we pledged to sail together in the ocean of love, aiming to reach the promised land.

*****

I had thrown away the hair since it did not shine anymore. I got married without telling my mother. But there was a strong feeling that she knew and blessed our marriage.

It seemed that she was always in my step. Sometimes I felt she wanted me to stop it, so I canceled something. Often, days later, I'd realize that my intended action would have turned out ugly.

Suddenly appeared the willingness to see mother, after my daughter named Wangi was born. Wangi had thick, black, beautiful hair. Like me, Indah was confused how Wangi could have such good hair even though neither of us had it.

I always told her that it might have been caused by her habit of eating mung bean porridge during her pregnancy.

I could not resist the feeling anymore. Together with Indah and Wangi, I went home. I wanted to show my mother that her granddaughter, Wangi, also had beautiful hair. Wangi was asleep on my back, her hair hanging loosely.

The feeling of excitement mingled with that of longing when I was at the front door. Indah was behind me. I called mother while walking toward the living room. From the half-opened door I saw mother sitting and combing her hair, a soft hum plus rhythmic movement.

""Mom, I'm home. Please forgive me. I haven't been here for ages."" I said. Wangi was still in a peaceful slumber. Mother said nothing. I felt sinful. Indah stood still next to the door. Mother's hair had turned white but it was still beautiful and shiny.

""Tunggal, my son."" Suddenly she muttered. ""You did not do any wrong. I restrained you from coming home until your daughter was born. Now, this is the time for me to go. Look at your daughter's hair. That is my soul. You'll find it there for good.""

Her words were very quiet. Gradually, her comb that loyally accompanied her slowed down, running through the strands of her hair. Every inch it passed, the color turned whiter. Finally it fell to the floor without a sound.

Mother stayed put, breathing her last. With a feeling tearing at my heart, I knelt down, weeping. Indah took Wangi from my back. Then I put my head on mother's lap.

I felt as if half of my body was gone. I would never let her go. I never made her happy. I was an insubordinate son.

All of a sudden, the sunlight entered the room through the open window, touching my mother's hair. Her wind-blown hair shone like a polished diamond, my eyes not blinking.

""Grandma,"" Wangi said in her sleep, her lips smiling and her hair sparkling.

A Husband for Mother

Short story by Hamzah Puadi Ilyas
Published in The Jakarta Post | Sun, 04/06/2008

Woman, Javanese, 31, 163/54, bachelor's degree, employee, polite; needs a man/widower, 31-40, 165/proportional height, min. academy graduate, full-time worker/entrepreneur, loyal, responsible, non-drinker and non-gambler, ready to marry.

The words arranged in the Matchmaking Contact column in a well-known newspaper was the answer to a mother's wish for her daughter. That was what Trie did to make her mother happy.

Her mother lay weakly in hospital, suffering from heart disease and elevated blood pressure, which she'd had for a few years.

Trie knew she would feel remorseful in the future if she hadn't made her mother happy. She seized the day, taking the last opportunity to sacrifice her life for her mother before the old woman shut her eyes for good. Trie remembered how her single mother looked after a hard day's toil to fulfill their daily needs, including her and her two sisters' tuition fees.

"Think it over, Trie!" said her mother again. "Look! Your two sisters are very happy with their husbands and children. Even now, Dodi, your nephew, has graduated from a high school and will soon go to university. Don't you envy them?"

Trie was quiet, trying to be polite and respectful by not refuting her mother's arguments. Trie's hand still fed her mother, her mouth still talking, even though her voice was weak.

Actually, her mother didn't know Trie's sisters often turned to Trie with their problems. They looked happy, but in fact they had hidden troubles. Trie's first sister had problems with her husband's family so she often thought about divorce, and Trie's second sister had a problem with her husband, who liked to chase young women. It was true she was well-to-do, but she was internally unhappy.

Trie was like a counselor to her sisters. She often heard of their domestic upheavals. It was impossible for them to talk to their mother since she was ill. They were afraid telling her such family problems would aggravate her condition. So, as far as Trie's mother knew, they had happy families -- so she insisted Trie get married soon.

***

The message in Matchmaking Contact got a reply. A thin and tall man was sitting on the couch in front of Trie. He was tidy and looked educated. He arranged his words in such a manner that he showed his intellectual capability. Unfortunately, he underestimated Trie's role.

The man had the opinion a wife had to be ready to take care of all her husband's needs and to accept all his decisions. And the most painful opinion of his was women had to be willing to be second wives because the number of women outweighed the number of men in the world.

Indeed, he didn't directly say he intended to be polygamous, but Trie abhorred the idea.

That was the first meeting with Indra. The first impression wasn't gratifying. There were contradictory principles that could be dangerous for both of them in the future if they married. They were like heaven and earth.

The next day, Trie met some other men, but unfortunately there was always a disagreement. Finally, she simply let it go and let destiny take its action.

***

"Mom, this is Feri," said Trie.

The old woman's eyes turned toward Feri's face. He wasn't really handsome, but attractive. He was average in height, not muscular but proportional. She smiled and raised her arm to shake hands. Politely, Feri extended his both hands and kissed her fingers.

"Good evening Mrs. Budiman." His smile was so sweet. The old woman asked Trie and Feri to come closer.

It had been a week since Trie's mother was hospitalized. The doctor treating her said she was under stress. She had a psychological problem that could worsen her disease.

With Feri coming, the cheerfulness came back to drive away the scratches of gloom from her old wrinkled face, bringing back the good looks of her young age. They got along very well straight way, like two empty hearts complementing each other.

Feri skillfully attracted the old woman's sympathy. She seemed to forget about her illness when she laughed so hard her body shook. Trie would stand up to sooth her mother's cough but it seemed that happiness defeated the old woman's frail body.

Out of the blue, Feri took a ring out of his pocket. In front of the sick old woman, he proposed to Trie and said he would be ready to take care of Trie and be her soul's blanket, sailing the ocean of marriage in happiness and sorrow. Trie's mother was stunned. That fast? Witnessing the sparkles in Trie's mother's eyes, Feri put the ring on Trie's finger. Happy smiles blossomed on both their faces, spreading a sweet fragrance all over the room.

***

Trie and Feri saw one another in the library of literature at university. Trie covered her heartbeat by pretending to seriously be reading Pearl S. Buck's novel, The Good Earth. Her mind was not on the words in the book.

The next day, they saw each other again. Then Feri approached her, pretending to need a highlighter. He said he needed to pinpoint the important parts in his note book for next week's mid-term test. The talk developed into a friendship, then changed into intimacy.

Their intimacy opened Trie's eyes that all this time there was a charming boy named Feri. He was two semesters above her. She realized that the campus life was not always about books.

Trie thought Feri was hers, even though she never heard "I love you" from the boy's mouth. Trie felt their closeness meant they were a couple. Love doesn't have to always be expressed with words, she thought at the time.

Two of Trie's friends warned her not to fall in love with Feri, a campus playboy and literature student who was good at writing poems to attract girls. There were a lot of girls suffering from a broken heart because of his cute and innocent look. But it was clear Trie didn't care. Love's flowers were in full bloom.

One day, Trie saw Feri sitting very close to a new student on the bench under a leafy tree next to the cafeteria. They were holding hands intimately. Trie decided she would no longer meet him. The next day, Trie got back to her books, making her become the best graduate from the school of literature.

That was more than ten years ago. They were united again through Matchmaking Contact. The last remnants of love sparked again, entwining the loose ropes of faded affection.

***

Dusk was falling, evening replacing the day. Its dim glow could be seen through the glass of the office building. In one room on the fourteenth floor, Trie took a long deep breath, feeling somewhat exhausted after working for nine hours. Suddenly, she heard a knock at the door. "Trie, you've got a guest. She's been here since three o'clock. She said she wanted to see you after you finished work."

"Who is she?" Trie asked the new receptionist.

"Her name is Dyah."

Trie's mind tried to remember a Dyah. There was no woman named Dyah in her mind and no meeting arranged with a client that day.

"What company is she from?" Trie asked.

"She said it was a personal affair."

Trie frowned, a little bit confused. But her curiosity overtook her confusion and her heart was racing.

"Well, ask her in."

A woman came into Trie's room. Trie asked her to sit on the brown couch next to the desk. They sat side by side. The woman was beautiful, but rather plump. She also looked dubious. Her face looked neither cheerful nor angry.

"May I know the purpose of your coming here?"

"I am sorry to disturb you." Dyah's voice was soft and it sounded sad, "I am Feri's first wife." Then Dyah started to cry her heart out.

Trie looked like she'd heard a thunderclap that struck a big tree and crashed it down.

A few minutes later, speaking in a halting voice, Dyah told Trie that she met Feri at campus. She still loved him, even though she knew Feri was close to several beautiful girls on campus.

All of a sudden, Trie remembered that Dyah was the girl she saw sitting next to Feri, holding hands; an event that had tormented Trie's heart at the moment she was enjoying the melody of love songs.

Dyah said after graduating from the university, they got married because she was pregnant. With Feri getting a promotion, they had more money. But gradually, Feri started coming home late, using business meetings as an excuse. Later, Dyah knew Feri had a new wife and a child. Since then, Dyah always kept an eye on his steps.

"Please forgive me. I'm doing this for your own sake so you are not shocked. But if you want to be his third wife, it's up to you." Dyah's tears rolled down her cheeks. Trie moved closer to her and hugged her.

The two women were embracing, both hurting for different reasons. The had both become the victims of an egotistical man who just wanted to fulfill his own desires.

Trie couldn't hold back her emotions. A tear fell down her face and touched her engagement ring. The tear moved around the ring's surface. Then, the image of her mother emerged. In a few days, the old woman would leave the hospital. What should I say to my mother? Trie's conscience screamed with pain and sorrow.

An Angel by the window

Short story by Hamzah Puadi Ilyas
Published in The Jakarta Post | Sun, 09/28/2008

I didn't want to call my wife an angel anymore as I used to, when she managed to cool of the blaze in my chest that could stop my horse breathing.

She was already gone, away with a man of golden teeth. I was convinced, now she was enjoying the gold's glitter in his tight embrace. I hoped their corpses were found in a cheap hotel room.

Thinking about them, I became sorrowful, mad and disappointed. The cute palace I had built was useless. I had worked my fingers to the bone while she was at home being served by a maid. She said her skin could get burnt cooking, her palm of hands could get coarse when washing clothes, and her body could gradually be hunchbacked when sweeping the floor.

In fact, to get her, I went through many obstacles, competing with one thousand men to satisfy my thirst for love. I sacrificed everything.

But after being with her, she started showing peculiarities. She said she was bored to tears with an empty house and her uncovered body. She said there was gold wound around the necks, arms, fingers, and legs of our neighbors. Their houses were also cool and full of expensive furniture.

I said she had to be patient. I would fill the house step by step. Deduction from my monthly wage wasn't yet finished. I used the money to build what I called a palace, but she called it a sheep's pen.

I got into a rage, so I slapped her face. She cried, taunting me with vile languages. She said she bitterly regretted choosing me as a husband.

I committed an error. I felt very sorry and asked for forgiveness.

But she did not take my apology. Instead, she committed adultery. Some neighbors said she always received a visitor, the man of golden teeth, when I worked.

Initially I did not believe, but when I saw a golden ring on her ring finger I had a sneaking suspicion. Then I asked her about the ring. She said she bought it using her savings from the money I gave her every month.

I did not trust her straightaway. Then I made a plan. She had a big smile on her face when I told her I would have a four-day training program in Puncak. Actually I hid in one of my neighbor's houses. All day long I peeped from behind a window curtain.

Finally, a man approached my house. My neighbor signaled to me that it was the man who often visited my wife. I saw her smile. The man smiled too. Glitter spouted from his mouth. I came to realize that the glitter was from his golden teeth. My wife closed the door.

Furiously I walked toward my house. I kicked the door vigorously. I saw her holding a golden necklace and the man putting his arms around her tightly. As quick as a flash, my right hand balled up into a fist. The fist hit him exactly on the mouth. He backed up several steps, his mouth open. Some of his golden teeth fell to the floor. Then he lunged toward me and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

I observed my wife intently, my emotion being filled with a sense of outrage. Then I commanded her to pick up the golden teeth spread on the floor. Surprisingly, she said they were a gift for me who never gave her glittery jewelry. Quickly she went into the room and came back again with a big bag, leaving me without saying a word.

***

I sold my house, my palace, leaving all memories that have colored my life. I wanted to find a new color in another place.

I ventured out of my place with no direction by taking a bus. Arriving at a bus station, quickly I moved to another bus without asking where it would go. I roved for weeks until my money was running low. Then I decided to stay in a small city. I did not know its name.

I rented a house with only a bed and bathroom. The house could be reached from the main road by going through an alley. On the right side of the alley was a wall two and a half metres high, while on the left side was an old house with a damaged wire fence. The old house faced the main road and cassava tress grew beside it.

In the daytime, when looking for a job, I always saw the window of the old house through the cassava trees. The window looked gloomy, making the house wall, which peeled off here and there, duller. But I felt quite attracted to knowing what was behind the window.

Going through the alley for days, I always turned my face to look at the window. There were no sign of life, only the wind which swayed the cassava trees once in a while. In the end, I thought the house was unoccupied.

Finally I got a job at a restaurant. I was so pleased that I often went home late. I just wanted to show the restaurant owner that I was a good employee.

One midnight I went home tired and sleepy. When going through the alley, as always I turned to the old house. The wind blew in the stiff breeze, I drew my jacket tighter. The wind blew harder, swinging the cassava trees. Suddenly I saw the window open. In the twinkling of an eye, I saw a girl waving her hand. I was surprised, and then tried to find a better position to see her. When the cassava trees swayed again, I could see her clearly.

The girl was still waving her hand. I looked to the right and left. Nobody was around in the alley. Again I looked at the window. The girl was still waving her hand as though she asked me to come closer to her.

I pulled the damaged fence wire in order to enter. Stooping down and walking among the cassava trees, I heard the girl's voice, asking me to go faster. Her voice was so sweet. I imagined that she had the face of an angel.

It was true, she was gorgeous. She had long black hair with bright eyes, a sweet smile coming from her red lips. My hands held the window sill.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"It's Angel."

"Is that your real name?"

"That's right."

"Your name is as beautiful as your face."

She smiled again. I felt like drinking a cup of love wine. My body didn't feel anything, only the flame which was getting hotter. She stuck out her hands. I reached for them quickly. They were as soft as cotton.

"Please come in, if you want." She said.

Out of the blue, I was already beside her.

***

I found a new angel in my life. I was not wrong to have chosen this small city. Seeing myself in the mirror, I always said what a lucky man I was. Life was so beautiful and I became a real man again. I was working harder and the restaurant owner raised my salary. He said he was very happy to have me as one of his employees.

For several days I had not seen Angel. As usual, the window was closed. I longed for her. Was the time not appropriate? So, one day I decided to go home at midnight to repeat that beautiful and unforgettable moment.

The sky was without the moon, I was alone in the alley. People must have been in a deep slumber. I was standing, staring at the window and hoping Angel would open it.

I looked forward to the wind that swayed the cassava trees, but even the smallest blowing did not happen. My hands held the wire fence for more than one hour, the window was kept shut. After the pounding in my heart subsided, I left the place bitterly disappointed.

A small coffee shop near my rented house was still open. Empty glasses containing coffee grounds were scattered along a long wooden chair. I sat down after cleaning the chair's surface from nutshells. The shop owner was half asleep. I woke him up to buy a cigarette.

"Work overtime, Mas?" he asked.

I nodded.

I inhaled the smoke very deeply, the imagination of Angel appearing. The shop owner sat beside me.

"Who is the owner of the house with many cassava trees?" I asked, the smoke from my mouth billowing upwards.

"Is it the house beside the alley, Mas?"

"Yes."

"Ooh, that's an empty house."

I turned to him in a sudden brief shock, swallowing a clump of cigarette smoke.

"Three years ago a married couple rented the house. But the wife committed suicide after knowing her husband had an affair with a very young woman. The husband has been gone ever since. In fact, the owner of the house wants to sell it, but up to now nobody wants it. So, he just plants the side yard with cassava trees."

I coughed uncontrollably and incessantly, my hands trembling.

"What was the wife's name?"

"Angel. If I am not mistaken."

"Angel?"

My mouth wide open, the nape of my neck as cold as ice, sending shivers down my spine. I felt as though fingers as soft as cotton were stroking my chest, then the top of the fingers dropped blood. The blood smelled rancid.

Laras the butterfly

Short story by Hamzah Puadi Ilyas
Published in The Jakarta Post | Sun, 01/11/2009

Kamil, a thin black man, met long-haired Laras in the deep of the night at a deserted bus stop near a pedestrian overpass.

Kamil was in his masculine prime while Laras was desperately in need of shelter to protect her slim frame dressed in a thin green blouse from the bite of the night wind.

Night brought a different charm from daytime. The whispers of the heart teased a hidden passion. Anything could happen, in the blink of an eye. After the first burst of passion, more suspect seductions would follow, moving through the blood until a sigh was heard. Kamil and Laras felt it.

Laras looked so attractive under the beam of street lamps, Kamil just wanted to embrace her tightly. Moreover, the night wind kept blowing harder, making the air colder. He imagined her soft skin and sweet-smelling long black hair. They would be taste enhancers for his loneliness, especially in the dark nights.

Laras appeared beautiful in Kamil's eyes when they arrived at Kamil's small, dirty rented house. Laras smelled that ordinary musty aroma that hangs in the rooms of economy inns or frugal lodgings.

Laras saw a guitar in the corner of. A sudden urge to hear the strumming of guitar's strings struck her.

"Can you sing?" Laras asked.

"Of course," replied Kamil. "I'm a street singer. I sing every day on the bus."

Laras stood up and walked slowly to the corner. Her soft hand reached for the guitar. She brought it back to Kamil who couldn't keep his eyes from her long black hair. His eyes did not blink, his mouth hung open as he gazed admiringly at her.

"Sing for me," said Laras. Her gaze returned Kamil's unblinking stare. She smiled, her lips red and her teeth pearly white.

As if bewitched, Kamil took the guitar and started to strum a tune. He began singing the lyrics to his favorite song.

That girl with the long black hair Walks under the moonlight, Toward the moon's circle, That will bestow peace upon her. She turned into a butterfly Flitting everywhere 'Cause she belongs to no one.

Laras clapped her hands. Softly she said, "Did you know? That the song is about me, but nobody knows and cares. You sang it very melodiously."

Kamil did not hear what Laras said. He was already blind drunk on love wine, being unable to say a word and staring at every inch of Laras' body.

Seeing Kamil, Laras smiled with pleasure. It was the sweetest smile he had ever seen. He kept staring at her body. Night crawled, he could control his heartbeat no longer. It beat harder and harder, sounding like a wild ox that sees a waving red cloth. The pounding finally left when morning light broke.

"Stay here with me forever." Kamil's voice trembled when there was no more space between their bodies.

"But I am a free creature," said Laras. "I do not serve human beings."

"I don't care," Kamil said.

"And I am a butterfly which is bound up with the moon."

"Still, I don't care," said Kamil. "Even if you are a caterpillar."

Kamil pulled Laras' fingers to his chest so she could feel his heartbeat through her fingertips, which had reached tranquility now. His long-faithful beloved -- loneliness -- had been far away.

Gradually, without raising Laras' fingers from his chest, Kamil brought her fingers to his dark brown lips. He played them around his lips. Laras was simply quiet, giving a chance for Kamil to satisfy his thirst and hunger of a woman. Every night, Kamil dreamt of a woman sleeping beside him.

"I'll do anything you want as long as you stay here with me, becoming my spouse, my soul mate," Kamil begged.

Laras smiled. Her wings understood. It was not yet the right time to flap and fly to the full moon. It was still very far away. So she nodded. Seeing that, Kamil looked as though he had seen heaven unrolled in his future life. He felt he was the real man now.

The next few days became more beautiful for Kamil. Singing songs on the buses seemed more enjoyable. In the morning, there was a glass of coffee before working, and in the evening, arriving at home, he found a plate of rice complete with its side dishes.

His work schedule was already fixed, and he was very delighted when the time to go home had come. His longing always reminded him what time it was. Having a spouse in life was perfect and completed his life, everybody's dream.

Kamil became less choosy about which bus to ride. After he was done busking in one, he moved to another straightaway. There was always money coming into the plastic bag he'd been using for ten years. He thought Laras had brought him luck.

***

Months passed. Laras started to get bored by the unchanging atmosphere of the slum, the cry of neighbor children, quarrels between neighbors. All day was the same: the sound of food vendors and water hawkers, seeing tradespeople selling goods on credit going from one house to another, with vistas of laundry lines decked out with cheap, old and worn-out clothes.

"I'll give you what you want. Just tell me," said Kamil when he saw Laras' gloomy face one morning. Laras was thinking about the musty places which used to imprison her, before she would finally be free when the full moon shone.

"I am a butterfly who came from a caterpillar and a cocoon," she said amid the jangle of cooking pots the next-door neighbor was washing. "Here I feel like going back to the cocoon. It's hot and close. I don't feel at home."

"Don't worry, I'll buy you a fan so you don't feel the heat."

Kamil did not understand.

Ignoring Laras who was trying to say something, Kamil went out carrying his guitar. He thought to work harder to earn more money. He sang very seriously so his voice became sweeter, and the bus passengers started passing him more coins. He economized, eating a simple meal to save more money.

Passing a market, Kamil stopped in at an electronics store and asked the price of a standing fan. It cost more than 100,000 rupiah. Kamil was convinced he could collect that much money in a week if he worked much harder.

Coming out of the store, Kamil met an old friend who worked loading and unloading trucks at the market. Kamil asked him his wage, and got interested because it was more than he made trading song for coin. He would also get free meals and cigarettes. He decided to join his friend.

Inexperienced working by relying on his physical power, after the first few hours Kamil felt aches and pains all over his body. He could shoulder only a few sacks of rice before exhaustion hit.

"You'll get used to it," his friend said.

Because he wanted to buy Laras a fan, Kamil kept at it. In the evening when he got his wages, he felt as if his body had cracked.

"Save this money to buy a fan," Kamil said, passing his earnings to Laras.

Laras just followed Kamil's instructions because she thought it was useless to talk to him. Kamil would never understand who she really was.

Actually, Laras sense her wings would appear soon because the full moon was due to appear in a few more days. The wings had started to irritate her soul, urging her to go to the moon. Her heart had been away in a different place, a place that induced tranquility.

That day, Kamil could not budge from the bed. His body was sore all over, with the slightest movement. In his mind he recounted the money already saved to buy a fan.

The next day, Kamil decided not to keep working as a day laborer. He felt God had created him to be a street singer. Imagining a fan in his mind, Kamil sang so seriously he earned plenty.

At dusk, Kamil counted his bills and coins. His eyes gleamed when he realized the money would be enough to buy a fan along with the savings Laras was holding. He hurried home. Hearing Laras taking a bath, he silently took the savings and went on to the electronics store.

***

Laras finished her bath. Then she stared out the window intently. Her heart pounded as she waited for the full moon to rise.

Slowly her wings grew as the first arc of the moon appeared. The wings opened fully when the moon formed a complete circle above the horizon, radiating its cool light. Moonbeams touched all parts of the room. Laras could not resist letting her wings pump, throb and fill.

That girl with the long black hair Walks under the moonlight, Toward the moon circle, That will bestow peace upon her. She turned into a butterfly Flitting everywhere 'Cause she belongs to no one.



Kamil arrived home and called for Laras, fan in his hands. But the house was quiet. No lights were on. All was dark and dead. Groping in the air, he managed to enter his bedroom.

Opening the door, Kamil saw the trail of moonlight crossing the room. He dashed to the window and pushed it wide open.

Kamil stared at the full moon, its golden light gradually fading. Unconsciously, Kamil's right hand dropped the fan and reached for the butterfly flapping its wings as it rose in the direction of the moon.

"Laras." Kamil's lips trembled, the corner's dripping with tears.

He at last understood Laras was really a butterfly.

Two Women with a Similar Face

Short story by Hamzah Puadi Ilyas
Published in The Jakarta Post | Sun, 04/05/2009

All of a sudden, Prio was no longer interested in the two lumps on Elda's chest. Blazing desire quickly abated as though it had been rained on with iced water. Sweat, starting to appear under scarfskin, died away and was disinclined to become visible. Everything faded and became feeble - slowly growing cold - as cold as the night wind that was compelled to penetrate a room ventilator covered by a mosquito frame full of dust.

Elda seemed to understand, but no words came from her mouth.

"Why did you do this, Elda?" asked Prio. "Why? Do you think I don't belong to you any more?"

Prio's eyes did not focus on Elda. His eyes were facing the moon, starting to make a full circle through the window glass not covered by the red curtains. As always, they left the curtains open until the husband and wife ritual was done, a wild horse's breath stopped at the finish line.

Elda simply bowed her head, she softly covered her naked body with an evening outfit once bought by Prio as a token of affection. He had bought it during his training abroad. It was a well-known brand. But at this moment her slim body was like a piece of meat, having lost its attractiveness and fragrance. Prio used to be crazy about it, like a hungry cat offered baked fish.

Slowly, Elda's face lifted and saw Prio's back. Her lips, whose shape had already changed, tried to smile. The lips were thicker and fuller than before. She stretched her fingers and started to creep them along Prio's pajama-less back. It was very cold, like the surface of an ice block.

Elda made an attempt to spread honey with sweet words, dripping from her lips. Prio used to be fond of her lips when they first met at a caf* after office hours, but the words sounded unmelodious to his ears, false and hoarse. Again, the palms of her hands tried to give the sweetest touch to his dark brown back, but there was no explosion to arouse his passion.

Prio kept staring at the moon that people said had been touched by human feet. The moon seemed to amuse his deeply disappointed heart, as if it said there was another moon that had not been defiled. He could still find that moon, somewhere else.

Realizing there was no response, Elda stopped her guerilla.

"Forgive me, Mas."

Finally, there was a word of remorse from her. But Prio got up, without paying any attention to it. He went to the bathroom and not long afterward there was the sound of the shower.

Elda threw herself down on the bed, regretting what she had done. It was a silly thing to do that she thought would have made her husband happy. Elda looked toward the window. The sky was getting dim, the moon covered by a thick bank of clouds.

***

Prio ordered the taxi driver to race. He wanted to see Elda now, the pretty woman who had been his wife for three years. He longed for her nose, eyes, cheeks, chin and lips. He had been away for training, and had been on duty in various areas for about three months.

He could hardly wait. The cab seat was as if full of lice scrambling to bite his buttocks. He kept giving instructions to the driver, making the old man nervous and he shook his head several times, but Prio did not care.

At last, the cab entered a housing complex with big horse statue at the main gate and, two minutes later, the cab stopped in front of a comfortably small house with Palm trees along the fence. As quick as lighting, Prio got out without asking for change. The driver was very pleased - his peevishly annoyed look now gone.

Prio knocked on the door and called to his wife. His heart beat raced with his impatience to meet his beloved wife. It had been so long!

"Welcome home, my handsome man." The door opened wide and a woman whom Prio hardly recognized stood before him. The nose, chin, cheeks and lips which he had longed for had changed. Only the big eyes with the long eyelashes were the same.

"Elda.??!!"

The woman smiled, but the smile was different, as though there was a line around her mouth. Her nose was more pointed than before and her cheeks more sunken. Her chin was like the tip of knife.

"Hug me, Mas. I know you've missed me."

Prio's hand unconsciously dropped the gift. He did not embrace his wife's waist which was narrower. He was perfectly still, just like a statue, his eyes not blinking.

***

The faces of some of the women at the Arisan* gathering were similar, especially their noses, lips, cheeks and chins. Three women were wearing sexy dresses that made their breasts (bigger than before) more visible.

Subsequent to deciding the winner, the group spread themselves out around the house, enjoying expensive refreshments. In one corner, Elda and a woman wearing glittering jewelry were talking.

"Jeng Elda, look at Mrs. Alex. The wrinkles around her eyes are gone, her nose is more pointed."

The woman's hand - with a beautifully expensive bracelet coiled around her wrist and a jewelled ring on her finger - pointed to a woman across the room.

"You know, Jeng. That's the work of Doctor James."

Elda saw the beautiful woman, who always smiled from a distance.

"Jeng Elda, don't be old-fashioned." The woman gulped down her drink. "It's time to please your husband so he won't have an affair with a younger woman. You know, there are lots of beautiful and sexy women out there.

"If we cannot compete with them, our husband will not feel at home," she said and giggled.

Elda nodded, her sight moving from one woman to another. They all looked beautiful and classy.

"Have you ever visited Doctor James?" asked Elda.

"Of course, if you saw my pictures from three years ago, I looked like a hick." She laughed and covered her mouth with her left hand,

"Now my husband loves me a lot." She laughed once again, her eyes blinking. There were no wrinkles on her forehead, even though she was already 47 years old.

"By the way, how much is it?"

"Not too expensive Jeng." Then she whispered. "Well, he is the best plastic surgeon in Indonesia - maybe in Asia. He graduated from the best university in America. I'm sure you won't regret it. You know, most Indonesian celebrities go to Doctor James to make them look more beautiful."

Again, Elda nodded, her thoughts hovering. The sound of the chatter sounded like the buzzing of bees. Prio's face abruptly appeared. He was smiling, the sweetest smile she had ever seen in her life.

***

Prio smiled when he saw a very natural face. The face looked like Elda's old face. It radiated charm and shine, making his apparently dead heart beat again.

The shine coiled around his body so that he could not move it, and kept following where it went. It turned out the owner of the shine lived in a beautifully quiet village, in a small house made of bamboo near a river.

In the beginning, Prio had difficulty talking to her. There was doubt trying to restrain his desire. But because of his masculine seduction, he plucked up his courage to drop by every time he had a chance, bringing several different kinds of gifts. Eventually, he managed to express his feelings.

"Will you keep me company for the rest of my life?" Prio asked.

She smiled. God! Her lips were naturally beautiful. Her nose, chin and cheeks reminded him of his love, lost because of human interference.

Begging, Prio repeated his proposal. A few seconds later he saw a nod of agreement. A few days later, his job auditing a branch office finished. He went back to Jakarta and reported to his superior.

"Are you sure you want to be placed at the branch office?"

"I am, Sir." Prio answered, looking more cheerful.

"Tell me why."

Prio thought for a moment. "The branch has a lot of potential. If not managed professionally, it will suffer a loss. And I'm ready to develop it to make it the most profitable branch." Prio said looking at his superior, waiting for comment.

"Besides, I'm already bored with the noise of Jakarta."

"No wonder, you look weary lately."

The man laughed while stroking his beard. He took a quiet moment to think.

"Ok, your wish is granted."

"Thank you very much, Sir." said Prio. They shook hands.

***

Prio left without leaving any message for Elda. He had already taken possession of Elda's old face in a village girl. The girl had filled his empty heart. After tying the knot, he carried her off to the capital city of the province.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. That afternoon, Prio was on the porch, sitting on a rocking chair and enjoying a cup of hot tea. The surroundings were very pleasant, the afternoon breeze blowing gently. From afar, he saw a woman walking toward his house. She was getting closer and closer. When she was only three meters from him, Prio recognized it was Elda. The nearly forgotten memory began to surface.

Prio did not move.

Soon, Elda ran and put her face in Prio's lap.

"Please forgive my mistake, Mas." Elda cried, but Prio kept still, looking at the green grass. The feeling of guilt slowly disturbed him, remembering how he had left without saying anything.

The village woman showed up, her hands holding a plate of fried banana and a cup of hot coffee. She stopped, seeing there was a woman's head in her husband's lap. Suspicious feelings mingled with compassion and prejudice.

Prio was unable to talk. Elda raised her head, her eyes still filled with tears. Slowly, Elda's face seemed to change as though her lips, chin, and nose had returned to their original shape. Prio turned to the village woman, staring at her face. After that, he saw Elda's face. Their faces looked alike.

The afternoon sky was suddenly overcast. Rain was about to fall. Prio was totally bewildered, unable to think clearly, because there were now two women with a similar face in front of him. What would he do with two wives?

*A regular social gathering for women at which every participant contributes a certain amount of money. At each meeting there is a lottery and the winner gets all the money. At the next meeting the previous winner doesn't participate in the lottery

An Orange in Your Mouth

Short Story by Hamzah Puadi Ilyas
Published in The Jakarta Post, Sun, 08/09/2009 11:35 AM

Marina started to dislike playing with children in her neighborhood. She was often offended by them. They said her mother was crazy about orange. She didn't really know whether her mother really liked eating orange or not. When Marina asked her friends from whom they knew that her mother liked eating orange, they said they knew from their own mother.

Soon curiosity emerged. Arriving home from school and knowing that her mother was not in the house, Marina directly went into her mother's bedroom. There was a big wooden wardrobe beside the bed. She opened its door. It was locked. Hopelessly, she sat on the bed, her legs swaying. Suddenly her right heel touched something under the bed.

Marina got out of the bed. When pushing aside the bed sheet, she saw a dark wooden box. She pulled it quickly. Opening it, she found golden oranges. She counted the fruit. There were twenty-five. Why does mother keep these oranges under the bed? Marina thought.

The longer she looked at the oranges, the more golden the color was. They were blinking. There was attractiveness to eat the fruit. They must be very sweet. Before much longer, one orange had been in Marina's grip. When she wanted to peel, she heard the roar of a car coming to the house.

Marina quickly put the orange back, pushed the box, ran out of her mother's room, and closed the door. She went into her bedroom and pretended to be asleep. She could hear the steps, more than one person.

The steps approaching her room, Marina moved her body. Her back faced the door. Then the door was slowly open. She knew that it must be her mother, checking whether or not she was sleeping. She regulated her breath as though it sounded sleeping. Then she heard the door was closed.

Marina could hear her mother's voice talking to a person. Their talk alternated with giggle. Marina tried to not care but she couldn't sleep. She moved her body several times, her eyes staring at ceiling. Suddenly she remembered oranges in her mother's room and her friend's ridicule about her mother's fondness for orange. Again, her curiosity emerged. She wanted to see with her own eyes when her mother was eating the fruit and how she ate the fruit.

Marina went out of her room. The living room was quiet. She looked closely at her mother's bedroom. Its door was open a bit. Then she could hear a hushed voice coming from the room. It could be mother's voice eating oranges, thought she. Her curiosity grew stronger.

Tiptoeing, Marina came closer to the door. It was slightly open. The sound coming from her mother's room was more audible-murmur and moaning. What sound was it? Marina really wanted to know what was happening inside the room. Peeping into the room, she could vaguely see her mother's white back and shoulder-length hair.

Next, Marina slowly pushed the door. She was rather taken aback by what she saw, her mother being naked and tightly hugging a stark naked young woman. They were laughing happily while feeding an orange each other. The smell of oranges was so strong. Marina seemed to feel faint. She saw stars on the ceiling.

***

Marina missed her father a lot. She felt her mother no longer paid attention to her. Her mother stopped picking her up at school. The distance between school and her house was certainly not too far, but she was envious to other kids who were accompanied by their mothers or fathers.

Marina's father came home once in four months. Once her mother said her father was working in the middle of ocean, sometimes in the middle of jungle. But she still remembered her father's story saying that he was a hunter. He hunted sharks in the middle of ocean and tigers in the middle of jungle. He sold them to pay Marina's tuition fee.

Marina strongly believed him. When her teacher asked every student to tell what their father did, Marina told that her father was a great hunter. He brought a rifle and spear everywhere he went. Her teacher just smiled listening to the story.

That morning Marina was sitting in the dining room. On the table in front of her were bread, boiled eggs, and milk. Her mother came in and sat across her. The color of her mother's lips was similar to the color of orange skin. Her body also smelled the fruit of orange.

"Mom, why do you like oranges so much?" asked Marina.

Her mother was surprised, her eyes widely open and her eye brow rising. Her hand that would reach bread stopped.

"How do you know?"

"The kids told me," answered Marina. "Their mothers told them."

Her mother tried to smile, but her face showed that she was mad. "Don't care about what they are saying. They're just jealous and they don't understand that orange is very good for our health. It can make us stay young. When you grow up, you can choose any fruit you like."

All kinds of fruit -melon, watermelon, apple, grape, mangosteen, pineapple, guava, salak, durian, and jackfruit sketched in Marina's mind. But she would not choose those fruit, she preferred banana.

After having breakfast, Marina wheedled, asking her mother to accompany her to school. But her mother said she was in a hurry to workplace. Marina kept wheedling and asked her mother not to work that day.

"If I don't work, we'll never have a new car. Your father's wage is not enough. Tomorrow we'll have a maid. Every day you will be accompanied by her. And I don't have to cook and take care of the house by myself any longer. I am busy and tired."

Frowning, Marina went to school. Her look was full of sullen resentment. Arriving at school, she didn't want to enter the classroom, just playing on slides. Her teacher's persuading her was in vain. When the school principal talked to her, she cried. Finally they gave up and let her play alone until study hour ended.

The house was quiet. Marina still felt displeased. She had planned to go into her mother's bedroom and throw away all oranges under the bed. When opening the gate, she saw her father sitting on veranda. Her resentment gone out of the blue, she ran toward him, yelling excitedly. Seeing her, he stretched his arms and then hugged her.

"You're growing up."

Marina asked. "Were you managed to catch shark and tiger?"

"Of course, Dear! I even caught a very big whale. Now I have a lot of money," he said, "by the way, where is your mother?"

Then Marina told him that her mother already worked. She no longer accompanied her to school even though she already had a new car. The man was quiet for a moment. His look was strange to Marina.

"All right," he said. "Let's go to our favorite restaurant, and you may eat as much as ice cream you want."

Along the way, actually Marina really wanted to tell him that presently her mother liked eating orange very much, her body smelled orange, and her lips' color was like the color of orange skin. But there seemed to be like something that stopped her telling about her mother.

They went back home when the color of sky was black. Marina was very sleepy because she didn't sleep after school. Her mother was not home yet. She directly went into her bedroom without taking off her shocks and fell asleep. She didn't know what his father was doing.

After sleeping for several hours, Marina was waken up by a loud noise. She could hear her mother's scream, followed by her father's yell. Marina got out of bed. She wanted to see what was going on. But when getting closer to the door, she heard shocking sound - something was banged on the floor. She became scared, got back to bed, covered her body with blanket, closed her eyes, and tried to sleep.

Marina got up in the morning. No sound was heard. She went to the living room. There were pieces of broken things on the floor. She carefully stepped to avoid them. She saw her father sleeping on the sofa. All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door. She didn't move. The knock was heard again, his father waking up. He stood up and opened the door lazily.

A very plump woman and a young woman stood. The older woman nodded and said today she already promised to introduce a new maid to Marina's mother. Marina's father looked confused and looked toward Marina who was standing still among the pieces of broken things. Then he asked them to wait and sit on the veranda.

***

It had been almost one year since Marina smelled orange and saw her mother. She asked her father why her mother never came home, but he simply said that Marina didn't need to remember her mother again.

"Why?" asked Marina.

"Because your mother is very busy enjoying her oranges."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't ask again." Said he. "One day you'll understand."

Now Marina lived with her father and a maid named Marni. And her father no longer worked in the ocean. But once in a while Marina missed her mother who was good at making baked bread with different kinds of jam.

That day Marina went home alone. Marni went to her hometown for four day because her older sister got married. Since the teacher was sick, the class was sent home earlier. Upon arriving at home, Marina smelled long lost aroma. Yes, she remembered - the smell of oranges. Soon she tried to find out where the smell came from. It turned out that the smell came from her father's room. The room used to belong to her mother.

When approaching the door of the room, Marina heard the sound of groaning and moaning. The smell of orange was getting strong. She remembered what her mother did with younger woman. Is she already home now? Marina thought. Her longing to her mother quickly appeared. She wanted to eat baked bread filled with strawberry jam and baked banana. Her mother's cooking was the most delicious of all.

Marina held the door handle and slowly pushed it. In fact, it was not her mother but her father. He was completely naked, hugging a man who looked very young. The young man was also without clothes at all. There was an orange with golden skin in their mouth. They were laughing happily. Some were scattered on the bed.

Marina's body was numb with shock. She was tongue-tied albeit she really wanted to utter something. The sentence only reverberated in the bottom of her heart, "Daddy, why is there an orange in your mouth? I hate that fruit."

The smell of orange was getting more powerful, making her very dizzy. Marina couldn't endure any longer, feeling very much giddy. In the blink of an eye, everything changed grey then black. In a few second, she completely fainted. The very strong smell of oranges had been present in every part of the house.