A Game Again

Spring was just in the corner. The flowers bloomed so beautifully, making the newborn greenish view even livelier. As lively as the day, some couple in Hereford, county town of Herefordshire, England, took a stroll and started talking about their next summer plan. The men in their the sober sack suits and Norfolk jackets and the women in their long, slightly tight  dresses with high necks and puffed sleeves enthusiastically arranged dates to attend the entertaining performances held during the weeks. The names such as grand opera composer Michael Balfe, musical theater performer Arthur Sullivan, and circus player Pablo Fanque were, a lot, mentioned at talks.

A 20-year-old man with a good looking, clean-shaven face, short, dark brown hair, and blue big eyes kept enjoying loneliness at the back of one of the sash windows in the mini library of his three-floored house. His sight stopped at one spot outside, at a young lady in a deep-rate dress, who is possible at the age of 17, prettily sitting on the bench across the street. Nobody knew whom she was waiting for, so did herself.

            “It is the time, Sir” a servant broke the silence in the full-of-books room, brought a cup of hot tea and put it on the table.

            “Is it?”, the young man ascertained lustlessly.

            “Absolutely, Sir. Johnny” , the servant answered, “Oh, that book. Mr. Ouseley had read it a couple of times. He was so inspired by the masterpiece.”

            “I do believe it. He was a warm-hearted person”, the young man put down a Charles Dickens’ novel entitled Oliver Twist on the table and reached a case prepared by the loyal servant.

            “Alright, I’ll go. But, don’t you think that a cup of your best-in-taste tea will be so helpful for the lady outside? She has been there for two hours now” the man suggested.

            “It is her own fault to be there, Sir, to be the Great Social Evil”, the servant answered.

            “Is it?, the man passed by the servant and said nothing.

The young man was Johnny Ouseley, the only son of Frederick Ouseley, both a musician and a founder of choir and music schools at St. Michael’s College, who just passed away a month ago. The musician was a respectable figure of the town but had no wife throughout his life. Ouseley adopted small Johnny and passed down his musical craftsmanship to his. He expected Johnny to be the second Ouseley or even more.Today Johnny was a well-known musician and a music teacher for upper-class children.

Not so long, Johnny arrived in front of a great house designed with slate roofs, stone details and modest decoration and kept walking through a neatly designed gardening area. 

            “Good evening, Teacher” a 16-year-old lady in a dark green dress suddenly stopped his walk, bringing some stalks of flowers.

            “Good evening, Miss. Rosella. If I am not mistaken, we should have a lesson today”, Johnny asked politely.

            “We should. But, I don’t think that we have to miss this beautiful day inside. Look, these are yours. I still have some for others” The lively lady left him alone without even waiting for his response. Her red-colored hair shone by the sunshine.

Some minutes later, a middle-aged couple delivered a greeting.  They are the hosts of the house, Mr. and Mrs. Disraeli. Actually, Rosella was their niece, but after an accident that killed both of her parents they adopted 5-year-old Rosella. 

            “It is a really nice day, isn’t it?”Mr. Disraeli said.

            “Yes, Sir. Miss Rosella gave me the flowers. If permitted, I would like to place them in the vase over the piano” Johnny politely asked.

            “It is a nice idea. Seems our Rosella has had her own plan today. But, we will soon bring her to you. If you do not mind, please, go inside. There sits Annabelle.”

            “Alright, Mrs. Disraeli.”

Annabelle was sitting on a stool at the open room next to the garden. Annabelle was an introvert lady, she rarely talked to others out of the family. Owing to this personality, she was never in a relationship. Only to Johnny, she started talking and sharing her feeling. She fell in love in this young man, from the first time they met.

            “Nice flowers” Rosa commended and bowed.

            “You can have them, if you want” Johnny handed over the flowers.

            “ Really? I would love placing them in my room” she reached the flowers and gave a persimmon pudding, “I hope you want to taste it”

            “With some new ingredients?”

            “As usual, for you” she got ashamed and her cheeks turned into red.

The time went by, leaving plenties of stories behind. For Johnny, there lived only on a story to tell about, entitled “Guilt and Love”. The story only required one setting, Mr. Disraeli’s house, and two characters: Rosella and Annabelle. From time to time, Annabelle more intensively paid attention to him through her cooking, her handmade clothing, and all. 

But love could not lie. By the time he spent with Rosella, something bloomed as the flowers in the spring. This was an invisible note he never knew he played, called Love. The days got more and more colorful with Rosella’s humorous, lively traits. He knew it sounded impossible to make a relationship with his student at that young. But, he believed impossibility was nothing, similar to his life.

            “You play the note much better, Miss Rosella” Johnny complimented his young lady student.

            “Thank you, Sir. May I leave now?”

            “Yes, Of course. You are a busy lady. It seems you still actively get involved in the charitable organization” Johnny smiled nicely.

            “Yes.” Rosella held the right hand of her teacher and said nothing again. In a few minutes, she had been in her carriage.

            “Hope, I can play this note of love to you”

A carriage arrived in a big public house. A young lady in her dark-colored dress got off and entered a high, rustic, but sturdy door in front of her. Her casual appearance was not able to hide her aristocrat look from the poors. But her way of talking so much said that she  was a friend. She gracefully walked through the narrow, stuffy alleys and rooms with a bad sanitation. Her feet stopped in a room of the olds. She walked toward a bed in the corner and greeted an old couple there.

            “You, two, look better, Mr. and Mrs. Brown”

            “Perhaps. You look beautiful as usual”

            “You are so kind. Let’s have an evening walk, the weather is so nice”

            “I do not know if I can. This cholera is weakening me so much. And, the master must not allow us to go out”, the old man politely refused.

            “I have taken care of it. No problem”, the young lady helped the two old to walk through the narrow, stuffy alleys and rooms with a bad sanitation.

In a distance, a young man in a black suit that was much bigger for his body kept an eye on these three persons. He casually smoked a cigar and went somewhere. No one knew the man and his cold smile.

One day, Rosella just arrived at the entrance gate of her house, Johnny stood outside the gate, accompanied with cold and warm breezes that come at different times.

            “Good evening, Miss Ross”

            “Evening Mr Johnny. What are you doing here? It is cold outside”

            “Yes. But, would you mind accompanying me to walk around for a while?”

            “Honestly, it is a strange request. But it is okay.” The lady got off from the carriage and walked side by side with the man in silence. In order to break the ice, the man started a conversation.

            “It has been 5 years since I first met you in the spring like this. It must need a special reason to be that long, isn’t it?”

            “Sorry? What are you supposed to mean, Mr. Johnny?”

            “Nothing. Happy birthday, Miss Rosella.” The man suddenly held the lady’s right hand and left a smaller wooden box in her hand.

            Rosella noticed the unusual act of her teacher. In her room, she opened up the box and found an old handkerchief with a floral pattern on it as well as a letter. There is written, a latent, dark memory and the true feeling of Johnny toward her in words. With the box in hands, her mind got more complicated and questions uncontrollably keep popping up in her mind. Until the next 5 days, Mr Johnny did not come to teach her as usual.

            “How can I help you, lady?” A servant greeted a guest of her host.

            “I need to meet Mr. Johnny. Is he available?” a young lady asked politely when a young man went to out and reached the door.

            “What are you doing here, Miss Ross?”

            “Could I come in? It’s cold here” The lady responded him briefly.

            “Yes, please.” The young man asked the young lady to come in and follow him to his favorite mini library. Right after he closed the door of the room, small hands hugged him from the back. Johnny got shocked but did nothing for a while.

            “I do not ever think I will say it to a 20-year-old music teacher,” The young lady took a deep breath and continued, “I felt the same as yours. For years, I was worried if you loved Annabelle instead of me, if Annabelle was my rival. I am now sure you were the young man who saved me when the accident happened. I didn’t notice that I lost my handkerchief, this handkerchief.”

            “I can say nothing again.”

            From the time, they ran a secret, intimate relationship. Thanks to the regular schedules of the music lesson, they could meet more often. The relationship between Johnny and Mr. Disraeli’s family got closer as a family. At times, Johnny stayed overnight in the house and had meals together.

One day, when the sun lite so bright and the warm breezes came out from its some-month hiding. Disraeli’s family and Johnny involved in a garden party. Fresh salmon, pastas, and fruits were served on some silverware; chilled gin and champagne was poured into glasses by the ladies. All looked fine until an unexpected question was asked by Mr. Disraeli.

            “Your father and I were best friends. When he was alive, he ever asked my opinion about the soon marriage of Rosella and you. I think the time is my turn to answer his question. You must understand what I said.”

            “Sorry, Sir. I have nothing to say now.”

            “Let me know the answer at the end of the week”

            “Alright, Sir”

Some days later became much more complicated for Johnny. He often said nothing, staring outside one of the windows of his favorite mini library. As usual, a lady was prettily sitting on the bench, waiting for whom she did not know. Annabelle felt a difference in this young man. Getting involved in this awry situasion,  she stated her anxiety on Johnny.

            “I am sorry.”

            “That’s fine”

            “But, you aren’t. It has been some days you just come and talk less. Really unusual.”

            “I only need a time of thinking”

            “A honorable man as you must find it hard to choose the will of your father or love, Rosella” Tears ran down her while, pale cheeks.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I know about your secret affair with her. You, two, cannot cheat on me”

            “…” The young man moved closer to the lady and unpredictably landed a kiss on the lips of her, “I never love Rosella, but you”, the man hugged the lady tightly for a short moment and left her alone.

The days later are the best moments ever for Annabelle. She spent much time with Johnny. The marriage was arranged, the riches and the respectable ones were invited, the wedding dress and suit were designed for the soon-in-marriage ones. The wedding had been a spotlight of the town for weeks.

            A lady was walking through the street in a silent cry. Her woolen coat could not be able to refrain the night breeze from touching her white, smooth skin. The eyes of her were without happiness, hope, and warmth. She dared herself to step up the stairs in front of a nearby house and knocked the door of the house.

            “Is Mr. available?”

            “Yes, please. He is waiting for you inside”

            “Thank you” the lady came in and sat on a chair.

Not long after than a young man in his casual apparel came out and landed a kiss on the right hand of the lady. He smoothly hugged the lady.

            “You are evil” The lady cried and forcely finish the cold hug.

            “No. I am not. What happened? I think you are worried on my sickness”

            “I am pregnant”

Suddenly another young man appeared and impolitely joined the conversation.

            “It should not that way, John. That’s a fault, really bad fault.” The new man argued.

            “How can…? I must hallucinate.” The lady was extremely shocked seeing two identical young men in a same look argumentating in front of her.

            “Sorry, Ross. I can explain” The first man tried to cool down the lady.

            “Who are you all?” Lady angrily asked.

            “Hear me, Ross. This is my twin. My family and I came from a rural village when I was 10. Our pristine land was damaged by the establishment of government-funded factories. My parents could cultivate nothing and my brother and I could hunt nothing again. All had been industrialized. But, our migration to this town resulted nothing but sacrifaction. My parents were placed in a urban house while we are in a separate orphanage house. Thanks to Mr. Frederick Ouseley who picked me up from the poor house and taught me music, I am here.” The first man stopped telling.

            “But, these separated twins met again a week after the funeral ceremony of his Godfather. With all Mr Ouseley has, we afford to take our parents out, but we don’t. We want to save others too by taking an opportunity to marry a daughter of the most affective person of the town, Mr Disraeli.” The second man spoke out.

            “So, you have fun on my family, and now my pregnant.” The lady cried louder.

            “No, it’s fault. Annabelle is our target, the one who will soon get the inheritance and the authority of your family, not you. But this idiot messes up the whole game by loving you.”

            “What should I do now. I do not want to be a fallen woman, but I am. I will never let you marry Annabelle.” She looked at the first man angrily.

            “I won’t. Never.” The first man interrupted.

            “You lie again, Mr Johnny. You show your love to Annabelle in hundreds of times during these weeks.

            “How could it be? I was here for weeks suffering from this sickness. That must be him. Johnnie, say something. I want all to get over” The first man commanded the second one, but another one only gave a cold smile.

            “I better die with this sinful pregnancy”

            “Stop, you all. Let’s play a game again and all will be fine.” The second one lit a cigar and went to somewhere.

The summer was just in the corner. The leaves fell down so elegantly, making the brownish garden look dramatic. As dramatic as the day, a wedding was held in the house of one of the most affective persons in the town. The handsome groom Johnny and the beautiful bride Annabelle were tied in love and God, in front of tons of aristocrats. There, Mr and Mrs. Disraeli happily sat side by side with another old couple in their really simple dress and suit. The smile of happiness bloomed on the bride’s face, the smile of win bloomed on the groom’s face.

On a ship, another couple was hand in hand, seeing the incredibly gorgeous ocean sightseeing.

“Is it okay to let him alone there?” The lady asked.

“No, problem. He knows what he does, and Miss. Freedom will keep an eye on him.”

“Who is she?”

“The one who is waiting for someone whom she does not know.”

“It is not an answer, my dear Teacher.”

“She is who told me about where people like us can pursue the happiness, in the land of freedom, America.”

By R.T.

Gene passes down traits. Environment shapes traits. Which one is the dominant one? No one knows the answer so obviously. Even after some researchers show that both work side by side, still no one, so does the doer, knows which one is dominant the most until they reveal the veil of life in a really time-consuming journey. Timotti realizes it! Yet unpurposefully. 

Born in Maine, a state that is called the most peaceful one in New England, Timotti has, more than just enough, all the criteria of being a with-happy-childhood child. It is Rose Taylor or Rose Nelson, a San Antonio-descent woman, who delivered the baby Timotti 19 years back and accompanied him during the age of looking for self-identity. Not to touch on the old hurt of Timothy and his mother, his father, James Nelson, was died at the right time the core family was on a vacation in Canada to celebrate the Timithy’s entry to a vocational school. 

Like other healthy, happy teenagers, Timotti spent much time amongst his friends and families, if it was a weekend. He as well did a lot of sports with neighbors. Yes, the neighborhood where he lived was so friendly, which means all people mostly knew each other and held a local party at times. They did, really, in tens of times when it came to a long holiday. With seafood cuisine or BBQ, they, which mostly come from Asia and Europe, ‘plunged’ into a long conversation.

The time went by, so did Timotti and the people surrounding him. Her mother, who suffered from a breast cancer since he was 15, passed away after 2-month intensive treatment in Maine Medical Center, Cancer institute. The young Timotti was the one who was deeply hurt by the incident. Though some relatives asked him for staying with them, he decided to not go with anyone there. Starting his first journey alone, Timotti migrated to San Franscisco, California. Well, he believed that there had to be many things there to erase the sadness of him after losing his lovely mother.

He was right, for a while. At the time, the thing that he didn’t know was he actually went wrong. He tried to consume much alcohol and get addicted to it. Not even satisfied with this kind of quite heavy beverage, he started playing with drugs. For around a single year, he was able to level up his seat from a drug user to a drug dealer. He seemed successful in losing his sadness and something he never knew he had, traits.  

From one state to another, Timotti moved on and on just to ensure he was safe enough to hide from the policy’s eyes. He was safe, but it was not something guaranteed. When he was just in New Mexico for some days, a friend of him told that he was in a ‘wanted’ status. There was no person who better understood that this time was going to happen than Timotti, himself. But still, it did make him ready. He tried to trace the small paths that were usually near to the borderline of two areas, just keep being far from the crowds and of course the police. 

Around the clock, Timotti wearing a worn-out black T-shirt, a buttoned denim jacket, and a with-some-rips trouser was struggling to be unpaid attention too, or also unseen if possible. What was going on later was out of his expectation. In more than a half of New Mexico - San Antonio way, he got sick. With all of the power left, he dared himself to knock the door of the first house he found on the way. 

It was a cottage, small but antique. The hardwood flooring porch combined with a set of two rustic benches and a table, a rocking chair, and lots of hanging potted plants and vines seemed like telling an old person was just inside, sitting near the firewood and knitting or drinking a cup of tea (It was spring, getting cold anytime).

One or two knocks were sounded, no person came. The weakening Timotti was fainted. Two or three hours later, he opened his eyes and found out himself lying on a bed. A bowl of chicken soup was just on the top of a side bed cabinet. He was so thankful and looking for the one who treated him with a really warm welcome like that way. He then went outside to the porch and sat at one of the benches. From there, he was able to see around and enjoy the small garden in front of the cottage. Not long after that, an old, healthy-looking woman was walking towards him from the obsolete wooden fence to the towards-porch stairs. She was smiling, and nothing could be done by Timotti except to smile back at the person who might have treated me in the past hours.

He was right, at least for the this time. The old woman was the one who owned the cottage, the one who helped him. Timotti and the woman were joining a small talk at the porch. Until he questioned the name of the woman. He politely asked, “Sorry for being rude, how should I call you, Madame?”. With the warm gaze looking at Timotti, the woman answered him, “ People around here call me Rosa Taylor”. 

This name made him push the true Timotti’s spirit to get one important name back, his mother Rose Taylor, and to see the truth - what was unseen so far. This freedom-like life was not what he was looking for. Not to wait for a long time, the heathier Timotti moved the journey with the in-his-childhood sounds of someone reverberating in his mind. This time, he was not again walking through the rural, remote paths. He turned out his way to the city. Right at the corner of the street where a building of a government-funded rehab drug center, he stopped his way and came near the entrance door. Directly, he dropped his two bags and passed by the street to somewhere.

One day after the time Timotti stood in front of the rehab center, the newspaper seemed to get a quite lot news to be either broadcasted or printed. “Mexico – Once again, a drug dealer arrested in the neighbor state”, “San Antonio – millions dollars left by an unknown philanthropist in front of a rehab drug center”. This is the note left by the unknown philanthropist: “Please, use the money as it should be to support the youngs to get free from the drugs. By R.T”

Image credit: borderlessnewsandviews.com

Saat Itu

Pagi ini begitu berbeda. Walaupun jam dinding di kamarku masih menunjukkan pukul 05.30 WIB tetapi, rumah mungil ini, tepatnya rumah kakek nenek ku, telah begitu ramai. Bukan ramai seperti keramaian di pasar atau terminal tetapi, ramai handai taulan saling berbincang di ruang tamu. Sepintas aku mendengar percakapan mereka. Tidak jauh dari berbagai pengalaman dan keadaan satu sama lain di rantau. Tidak semua berbincang memang. Sebagian malah mengantri kamar mandi. Wajar saja keluarga besar dari Tangerang, Solo, dan Surabaya berkumpul semua di rumah berukuran dua puluh kali tiga puluh meter yang hanya memiliki dua kamar mandi ini.

Para kepala keluarga duduk di ruang tamu saling berbalas kata sambil sesekali menghisap rokok mereka. Dapat aku lihat asbak di atas meja ruang tamu tidak luput dari abu rokok mereka. Para ibu sibuk saling membantu menghangatkan ketupat dan masakan lainnya yang sudah disiapkan satu hari yang lalu. Sungguh akrab. Sesekali canda tawa terdengar riuh. Apalagi banyak warga-warga kecil(dibaca: anak-anak kecil) di sini. Tepatnya lima anak balita di sini. Walau tidak banyak yang dapat mereka lakukan. Akan tetapi tingkah mereka terkadang mengundang gelak tawa dari semua yang ada di sana. Sungguh menyenangkan dapat memulai hari dengan begitu banyak kebahagiaan di tengah orang-orang yang berbahagia.

Pagi pun tidak sudi kehilangan momen indah lebaran kali ini. Cuaca begitu cerah. Indah. Masih dapat kudengar kicauan burung-burung kecil yang menempati sangkar di salah satu batang pohon jambu di depan rumah. Suara percikan air terjun buatan di sebelah kanan rumah seperti instrumen alam yang menambah indahnya momen ini. Sesekali suara deru mobil terdengar mengeras dan kemudian mengecil lalu hilang bak alunan biola. Suara gesekan alas kaki beradu saat waktunya tiba untuk kami pergi ke masjid. Aku masih di sini sambil melihat kembali penampilanku di jendela terasku. Pagi ini begitu hijau. Tak hanya alam sekitarku yang masih asri. Hanya saja keluarga besar kami memakai baju yang sewarna, hijau toska. Inilah satu lagi yang jarang kualami di hari biasanya. Aku merasa hawa kekerabatan begitu kental. Seperti kami ini selalu bertemu setiap hari dan bercanda bersama.

Minal Aidin Wal Fa Idzin. Satu kalimat yang selalu menggema di telingaku saat ini. Satu kalimat yang selalu diucapkan mungkin oleh seluruh muslim di dunia untuk mulai meninggalkan tahun yang lama dan menyambut tahun yang baru. Aku di sini sekarang. Berada di sebuah rumah yang tidak terlalu besar namun teduh di tengah kota Semarang yang panasnya bukan main. Aku melepas lelah setelah hampir dua jam sejak pukul 06.30 pagi tadi berada di luar untuk sholat Id dan saling berkunjung ke sanak saudara dan tetangga.

Duduk di atas sebuah bangku plastik mungkin tidaklah terlalu nyaman seperti kursi sofa di rumahku. Namun, cukup nyaman untuk mensirnakan lelahku. Teras ini tidak terlalu luas. Mungkin hanya berukuran empat meter kali enam meter dengan lantai berkeramik hijau lembut. Hanya saja di sinilah momen terpenting itu terjadi. Aku dan keluargaku saling mengucapkan minal aidin wal fa idzin satu sama lain. Bangku yang aku duduki ini adalah bangku yang tadi nenekku duduki saat acara sungkem kami lakukan. Beliau duduk di sini tanpa ada yang menemani di sebelahnya. Kakek sudah tiada sejak tiga tahun lalu. Walaupun begitu masih dapat kulihat seberkas kebahagiaan dan senyum di wajah nenek yang renta. Secara bergilir kami sungkem pada beliau. Dimulai dari anak-anak nenek, termasuk papa. Kemudian dilanjut oleh para menantu, lalu kami cucu-cucunya. Sepintas hal ini tampak biasa. Aku hanya perlu berlutut dan mencium tangan nenekku itu. Tetapi aku merasakan hal yang lebih dari itu. Tiba-tiba saja dadaku terasa sesak dan mata ingin menangis. Saat kusentuh tangan keriput nenek, hal yang tidak biasa terbersit dipikiranku. Nenek begitu baik padaku. Apa aku masih sempat membalas kebaikannya pada waktunya nanti. Aku merasa jahat memikirkan itu. Saat nenek mencium keningku kubiarkan pikiran itu berlalu dengan sendirinya. Yang jelas semua bahagia dan akupun harus bahagia.

Kukembalikan pikiranku ke teras ini. Teras yang setiap sudutnya berdiri kokoh beraneka macam suplir yang indah. Kadang tegak tangkainya, kadang merunduk kekanan atau kekiri mengikuti tiupan angin. Mungkin inilah cara alam saling bersilahturahmi. Pikirku jahil. Berderet tanaman euporbhia dan kamboja mengelilingi setengah dari teras ini. Dari kananku hingga depanku, lalu dibatasi sebuah pot suplir. Bagian yang tak dibatasi euporbhia atau kamboja adalah tempat jalan masuk menuju ke ruang tamu. Hanya selebar satu setengah meter. Di sini tenang dan sejuk. Sangat signifikan dengan jalan raya di depan rumah ini yang panas dengan pasirnya yang bertebangan menyusuri setiap jengkal aspal kering itu. Di depanku berdiri kokoh sebuah pohon jambu batu yang sudah tua. Tahun lalu saat aku ke sini pohon ini sedang berbuah. Namun tidak untuk tahun ini. Setiap alur di batangnya makin menunjukkan betapa tua umurnya. Dahannya bercabang tiga di atas, membuatnya seperti manusia besar yang mengadahkan tangan menyapa yang kuasa. Daun-daunnya yang besar sesekali jatuh menjatuhi jalan berbatu dan euphorbia di bawahnya. Batangnya yang kokoh berongga-rongga menjadi rumah semut-semut merah yang dari tadi berbaris menyusuri pohon jambu batu yang tua.

Aku menundukkan wajahku. Kulihat jalanan berbatu itu tidak lagi sama seperti saat pertama kali kulihat. Batu-batu yang disusun sendiri oleh almarhum kakek saat beliau masih sehat walafiat. Sekarang batu- batu kecil yang tersusun rapi itu telah menyatu dengan lumut-lumut hijau yang lembut. Terlebih lagi di batu-batu yang paling ujung dekat tembok itu. Tempat sebuah pancuran kecil mengairi kolam yang lebih rendah darinya. Bau lumut dan air begitu terasa. Rindangnya pohon membuat lumut menjadi mendapatkan kebebasannya. Percikan air di kolam semakin menyemarakkan suasana.

Aku berlalu masuk ke pintu menuju ruang tamu di sebelah kiri terasku. Ku temukan makanan-makanan kecil tersaji rapi di dalam toples-toples kaca yang lucu dengan tutup berwarna emas berpita di atasnya. Sepintas kulihat kacang mede kesukaanku tersaji di antara toples-toples itu. Ingin kucicipi namun suara ibu yang lembut telah memanggilku untuk segera berkumpul di ruang keluarga. Kulewati beberapa bangku yang berjajar di sekeliling meja kayu itu. Kusibakkan tirai kerang yang membatasi ruang tamu dan ruang keluarga. Hmm. Belum juga kulangkahkan kakiku ke ruang keluarga hidungku sudah dapat mencium aroma berbagai masakan lebaran yang kutunggu. Cepat-cepat kuhampiri sebuah meja di sudut kiri ruangan itu. Wow. Begitu banyak sajian hidangan lebaran terhidang di sana. Hampir-hampir tidak cukup meja kayu itu menampung begitu banyak makanan itu. Dari kiri ke kanan kulihat sambal goreng, opor ayam, rendang, sayur lodeh, sate kambing, sate ayam. Di pojok sekali sebaskom penuh lontong yang masih utuh dengan kulitnya menggunung. Tepat di sebelahnya, berjejer piring-piring besar yang sudah dikupas dan dipotong. Di pojok kanan sepiring besar ketupat tersedia. Agak ke kanan toples-toples kerupuk ikan, emping, dan bawang goreng telah terbuka tutupnya, menunggu untuk dicoba. Hanya satu yang kupikirkan. Masakan apa yang akan kucoba pertama…

LILIN terangi CAHYO dalam Gelap

Dinginnya pagi ini begitu menusuk tulang. Awan mendung yang berarak tak sudi untuk meniadakan keagungannya di atas ibukota Jakarta. Mentari tak kunjung mengambil alih angkasa itu. Lembab. Sungguh lembab hingga bau tanah bercampur lumut terasa sungguh menusuk hidung. Bagi spora mungkin inilah karya-Nya utuk memperingan jalan hidupnya. Namun bagi seorang bocah tujuh tahun  yang dinaungi sebuah rumah kardus di bawah Jembatan Pasar Ayam tidaklah demikian. Sebutlah dirinya sebagai seorang Cahyo. Hidup bersama adiknya Iin yang masih berumur lima tahun, membuatnya harus mendewasakan dirinya sebelum dewasa. Seperti pisang-pisang muda yang diberi karbit,  itulah gambaran hidupnya selama ini. Tubuhnya yang tak lebih dari seratus sentimeter itu sangatlah kurus dengan  kulit kelam yang tak beraturan hitamnya. Entah hitam sengatan matahari yang sangat atau hitam borok-boroknya yang membusuk termakan waktu. Rambutnya berantakan dan kotor.Terkadang sarang laba-laba tergantung di sana. Sungguh mengenaskan melihat perpaduan warna kulit dan rambutnya. Kulit wajah yang hitam legam disambut rambut merah akibat terbakar matahari di atasnya. Wajahnya jauh dari kata lucu seperti kebanyakan anak-anak seusianya. Wajahya yang tirus memamerkan tonjolan tulang pipinya membuatnya terlihat tua di usia mudanya. Ironis. Matanya yang mungil lesu, dihisasi kantung mata yang lebih gelap dari warna di sekitarnya. Pandangan matanya yang redup seperti ingin mengatakan ‘untuk beginikah aku dilahirkan?’

Kakinya yang penuh kutu air melangkah dari kardus besar rokok mallboro yang basah dan cokelat ulah air rembesan hujan di luar rumah kardusnya. Dengan bertelanjang kaki bocah mungil itu mulai mencari-cari sesuatu di atas bangku reyot yang ia temukan mengapung di sungai yang melintasi jembatan beberapa hari lalu. Itulah satu-satunya perabot yang berharga – jika boleh dikatakan seperti itu - yang dapat digunakan untuk terhindar dari basah air luapan sungai ataupun rembesan air hujan. Bukan untuk dirinya,  bukan pula untuk Iin, tetapi untuk setumpuk koran yang akan dijajakannya pagi ini. Terdengar bodoh memang. Tetapi itu setimpal daripada ia harus menghadapi Janet, agen koran yang notabene bekas preman di Stasiun Senen itu, tanpa membawa uang gara- gara korannya basah tak terjual. Ditariknya perlahan sebuah koran yang terlihat agak lecek. Republika 18 Maret 2005. Sudah lewat. Ia ambil satu lembar koran itu dan di selimutkannya ke Iin yang meringkuk kedinginan dalam tidurnya. Hatinya miris melihat adiknya yang harus tidur beralaskan kardus yang hampir menyatu dengan tanah becek di bawah jembatan itu.

Walaupun tak ada yang dapat dibanggakan dari rumah kardusnya itu, ia tetap senang menempati tempat berukuran dua meter kali tiga meter itu. Rumah yang tak luput dari basah kala hujan atau sungai meluap. Dan keras layaknya batu saat kemarau datang. Rumah itu kokoh. Begitu setidaknya menurut Cahyo. Ia membuatnya 6 bulan yang lalu, bermodalkan kardus-kardus bekas di Tempat Pembuangan Akhir(TPA) sekitar satu kilometer dari jembatan itu. Untuk menyatukannya pun tak perlu lem powerglue atau pun lem aibon sekalipun. Ia hanya perlu melubangi pinggir kardus dan mengikatnya dengan tali raffia atau bahkan akar-akar kecil yang masih sedikit lembab. Dan akhirnya jadilah.

Cahyo memandangi setiap lekuk wajah adiknya yang oval itu, matanya terpejam sesaat lalu dibalikkan badannya dan menjauh dari sana. Pagi itu mentari enggan tampak. Dan rintik-rintik gerimis bersuka ria membasahi apa saja yang menghalangi jalannya bertemu Bumi. Rumah. Pohon. Tiang jalan. Lampu. Halte. Semuanya, termasuk jalan yang ditapaki kaki kecil Cahyo. Bajunya yang basah meliarkan angin menggigilkan tubuhnya yang kurus. Bibirnya sesekali menggretak tanpa izin. Tangannya kaku tergenggam. Pasrah. Yang terpenting, koran itu telah ditutupinya dengan plastik bermotif belang hitam dan putih yang rapat. Walaupun giginya beradu tak mau diatur, ia cobakan untuk bersuara. Ia paksa mulutnya utuk berteriak-teriak menjajakan koran-koran yang masih tertata rapi di dalam plastik.  Tak kurang dari dua jam ia menyelip-nyelip d iantara mobil dan motor yang berhenti di lampu merah. Tapi tak satupun korannya terjual. Wajar karena gerimis, enggan ada pengguna jalan yang mau melihat keberadaan penjaja koran apalagi Cahyo yang pendek itu. Mobil-mobil enggan membuka kaca. Pengendara sepeda motor hanya memperhatikan kapan lampu merah itu berubah hijau. Pastilah yang ada di benak mereka hanya ingin cepat sampai di tujuan. Cahyo yang letih dan pucat itu tak dapat lagi menahan dinginnya pagi yang merambat ke seluruh tubuh. Ia letakkan koran-koran itu di trotoar dan ia biarkan badannya yang kecil bersandar duduk di bawah lampu merah. Kepalanya pusing. Penat. Rasa kantuk luar biasa memaksa matanya tertutup sesaat. Walaupun ia cobakan untuk tetap terbuka rasa kantuknya membuat ia terus menguap dan tertidur…dan…Gelap itu datang…

Tiba-tiba badannya tersentak keras. Sebuah tangan besar dan kuat berhiaskan  sedikit bulu yang sangar menarik tubuh kecilnya. Matanya tertutup dan terbuka tidak konstan. Seperti mimpi. Mimpikah? Telinganya seperti mendengar ada yang teriakan, deru mobil, motor, tangisan. Sekali lagi badannya tersentak oleh tangan itu. Ia kaget dan mulai sadar. Ia membuka matanya. Rasanya kantuk yang tadi menghampirinya telah hilang terbawa angin. Namun, seperti tahu bahwa ada yang tidak beres. Ia ringankan langkah dan berusaha lari namun tak sanggup. Ia hanya tersungkur tak berdaya oleh tangan besar tadi. Seorang bapak dengan kumis yang seperti salah satu pelawak yang pernah dilihatnya di koran. Tetapi ia lupa siapa. Bapak itu berbadan besar dan pendek. Tidak terlalu pendek sebenarnya hanya saja perutnya yang seperti menyimpan begitu banyak lemak itu membuatnya tampak lebih pendek. Jidatnya yang jenong begitu orang menyebut dahi yang agak maju membuat bapak itu seperti orang jahat yang ada di lembar pencarian orang yang buron. Cahyo berusaha berontak. Korannya terhambur karena tertendang kakinya. Plastik pembungkusnya robek. Tak apa. Yang ada di pikirannya hanyalah pergi dari bapak berbaju cokelat itu……..Tunggu! Cahyo melihat lagi dengan jelas pakaian bapak itu. Di hilangkannya sesaat niat untuk kabur. Pegangan bapak itu melunak namun saat sudah tahu siapa bapak itu, hasrat untuk kabur justru datang lebih dahsyat lagi. Terlambat. Ia kalah dari polisi itu. Ya, ternyata bapak itu polisi. Karena kantuknya ia jadi tidak sadar siapa bapak itu. Terlebih lagi bapak itu menggunakan jaket kulit legam yang menutupi pakaian dinasnya. Mungkin untuk melindungi badannya dari dingin yang amat sangat saat ia bertugas.

Iin, bagaimana dengan keadannya? Keadaan Iin menjadi pertanyaan besar yang berkecamuk di hati kecilnya. Cahyo terkena razia oleh polisi. Yah begitulah negeri ini. Polisi seperti kucing garong yang siap mencengkram rakyat kecil dan anak kecil seperti nya. Begitu pikirnya. Tak banyak juga yang ia pelajari tentang ilmu pengetahuan alam, bahasa inggris, ato apalah. Asal bisa menghitung ribuan dan sedikit membaca  itu sudah lebih dari cukup untuk seorang penjaja koran seperti dirinya. Dan teks latihannya untuk membaca adalah untaian kecil, padat, merayap tulisan di koran. Darisana ia melihat begitu tak adil dunia. Bukan Tuhan yang tak adil tetapi orang yang berada diatas gedung-gedung  beratap hijau itu yang tak adil.. Banyak pedagang besar seperti pedaganh hutan, pedagang pulau, pedagang lautan milik negara tidak ditangkap. Tetapi dia yang bahkan pedagang pun bukan. Ia yang hanya penjaja koran kecil-kecilan. Ditangkap. Apa mungkin karena ia pedagang jalanan ini tidak membayar upeti ke pemerintah. Begitu pikirnya. Sejenak ia akhiri pikirannya yang mulai ngawur kemana-mana. Kini ia hanya bisa duduk tegang di bangku dari kayu berderet empat di samping polisi yang sedang mengetik- ngetik dengan alat berisik yang mereka sebut mesin ketik. Tidak terpikir olehnya untuk berbicara dengan sesama anak yang terjaring razia. Pikirannya melambung jauh ke rumah kardusnya yang dingin, ke Iin yang sedang menantinya kelaparan. Biasanya Cahyo akan mendapat upah tiga ribu rupiah per hari. Itu cukup untuk dua air minum mineral yang gelas dan dua roti seharga lima ratus rupiah. Terkadang yang harga seribu pun boleh kalau cukup. Andai sisa, itu berarti ia dan Iin  dapat makan sore dengan gorengan seharga lima ratus rupiah untuk berdua.

Lamunannya buyar saat sebuah suara yang berat menggelegar. Meneriaki dirinya untuk masuk ke sebuah mobil yang seperti mobil pengangkut barang. Namun di bagian belakang terdapat sebuah bangku memanjang saling membelakangi menghadap ke jalan. Panas matahari tetap mengenai kulit hitamnya karena penutup mobil yang seadanya. Setelah larut dalam pikirannya tentang Iin tiba-tiba mobil terhenti di sebuah rumah hijau yang menyambung dengan rumah di sebelahnya. Bertuliskan rehabilitasi anak jalanan “orang  tua”. Jantungnya berdegup. Akalnya berontak. Cahyo sadar dirinya akan di tinggalkan di sana entah untuk berapa lama. Keringat dingin bercucuran. Kembali ia larut dalam lamunan sampai secara tak sadar sebuah batu bata pembatas taman tertendang olehnya. Badannya goyah. Brukk. Badan kurusnya jatuh tak berdaya. Hampir saja kepalanya itu membentur sebuah dinding pembatas. Lubang. Ia melihat lubang tembok menganga di sana. Sepertinya itu adalah sebuah pintu untuk anjing penjaga. Dibangkitkannya dirinya dan mengikuti semua instruksi semua yang diberikan oleh pemimpin panti rehabilitasi, Bu Ratih namanya.

Malam pun tiba. Tak sanggup ia jelaskan bagaimana cemsnya ia memikirkan Iin. Semua sudah terlelap. Ia perlahan mengintai ruangan. Kakinya jalan berjinjit berirama. Tak seperti jantungnya yang berdegup liar tak terkendali. Ia berjalan menyeret badannya yang lusuh menyisiri tembok. Berjaga-jaga andai ada penjaga yang lewat. Kadang langkahnya lebar. Kadang langkahnya kecil. Hanya pos penjagaan yang perlu ia lewati untuk menuju keluar. Sebelum ke sana ia perlu melewati lorong selebar satu meter yang berbatu batu besar di kanan kirinya. Perlahan ia berjalan zig- zag dari pohon kiri ke pohon kanan dan begitu seterusnya. Menyembunyikan tubuhnya yang mungil. Sedikit lagi. Satpam terlihat sedang menggosok pentungannya. Setidaknya ada kesempatan. Walau sedikit. Tapi bagaimana agar tidak ketahuan. Pikirnya. Lewat belakang pos tidak mungkin. Tembok. Ia tiba-tiba berpikir untuk merayap. Merayaplah ia sambil menahan bunyi napasnya yang tersengal-sengal saking takut. Akhirnya ia berhasil lewati satpam itu. Dan langsung berlari menuju lobang itu. Ya, lubang tadi siang. Sejak melihat lubang itu, sudah terpikir olehnya untuk memanfaatkannya untuk kabur. Ia cobakan kepalanya masuk. Namun kurang besar untuk pundaknya. Teringat olehnya kebiasaan anjing mengorek tanah. Ia pun mengorek tanah di bawah lubang itu. Tangannya berdarah tepat di kuku karena terkadang pecahan beling dan batu bercampur dengan tanah yang basah akibat hujan itu. Setelah cukup ia rasa, ia masuki lubang itu. Berhasil. Ia bangkit dan berlari sekuatnya ia bisa. Senyum tak pernah lepas dari bibirnya. Sudah dibayangkannya Iin yang cemas menunggu di depan rumah kardusnya yang ‘nyaman’ akan berlari ke arahnya melihatnya pulang. Brak. Dirinya tersungkur. Sebuah sepeda motor telah berlalu di belokan jalan. Baginya...Gelap datang kembali...