A S Laksana. How to Find True Love & Other Stories. Translations by Andy Fuller

A S Laksana

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A S Laksana

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A S Laksana

How to Find True Love & Other Stories Translations by Andy Fuller

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A S Laksana How to Find True Love & Other Stories Copyright to Indonesian language stories © 2015 A S Laksana Copyright to all English-language translations © 2015 Andy Fuller Copyright to this edition © 2015 The Lontar Foundation All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from The Lontar Foundation Jl. Danau Laut Tawar No. 53 Jakarta 10210 Indonesia www.lontar.org

Contents

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Publisher’s Note Introduction

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How to Find True Love

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Murjangkung’s Founding of a City and His Untimely Death 23 Farewell to Hindia

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BTW is an imprint of the Lontar Foundation Editorial Team: John H McGlynn (Senior Editor) Yusi Avianto Pareanom (Indonesian-language Managing Editor) Nirwan Dewanto & Nukila Amal (Co-editors) Pamela Allen (English-language Managing Editor) Saira Kasim & Wikan Satriati (Editorial Assistants) Publication of this book was made possible, in part, with the generous assistance of BNI 46 Design and layout by Emir Hakim Design Printed in Indonesia by PT Suburmitra Grafistama ISBN No. 978-602-9144-52-9

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How We Escaped from the Dutch and so on God, the Rain Master, and the Battle that Ended in a Draw The Messenger Who Cut off the Ear of a Javanese King

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by the way… (a note from the publisher)

Bagaimana Murjangkung Mendirikan Kota dan Mati Sakit Perut

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Bagaimana Kami Selamat dari Kompeni dan Sebagainya

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Teknik Mendapatkan Cinta Sejati

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Tuhan, Pawang Hujan, dan Pertarungan yang Remis

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Seorang Utusan Memotong Telinga Raja Jawa

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The Translator

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iince its establishment in 1987, the Lontar iFoundation of Jakarta, a non-profit organization devoted to the promotion of Indonesian literature, has focused on the goal of creating a canon of Indonesian literature in English translation. With that as its mission, the Foundation has published close to 200 books containing translations of literary work by several hundred Indonesian authors. In its 28 years of existence, Lontar has published numerous significant and landmark works. By the end of this year, 2015, for instance, Lontar’s Modern Library of Indonesia series will contain fifty titles by many of Indonesia’s most important authors, with representative literary work spanning the entire twentieth century and beyond. These titles, together with The Lontar Anthology of Indonesian Drama, The Lontar Anthology of Indonesian Short Stories, and The Lontar Anthology of Indonesian Poetry–the latter two of which will be published this year–will make it possible to teach and foster appreciation of Indonesian literature anywhere in vii

the world through the medium of English. Further, with changes in print technology, Lontar’s titles are now available throughout the world in a matter of days and for a fraction of the cost in former times. The authors whose work Lontar has published are recognized by both foreign and Indonesian literary critics and literati as some of the best writers Indonesia has ever produced. Naturally, however, given the scope of time covered by Lontar publications (from the late nineteenth century to the present) many of these authors are now elderly or already deceased. Which is why Lontar has now developed a new imprint, BTW Books, through which the Foundation will now begin to introduce to the world other talented Indonesian writers whose work is hardly known outside the country’s borders yet has been deemed by both literary critics and Lontar’s editorial board to be worthy of international attention. (In general, authors who already have one or more books available in translation, either in English or another major international language, were not considered for inclusion in this, the first stage, of the series.) Because of the abundance of talented Indonesian authors, the selection of the first 25 viii

authors was difficult to make, but Lontar’s hope is that if the series proves successful in achieving its goal, the Foundation will then be able to produce translations by another 25 authors and then another 25 authors and so on in the years to come. Because of the not-for-profit nature of Lontar’s work, none of Lontar’s numerous ventures would be possible without the generosity of others. In the case of BTW Books, Lontar is especially grateful to BNI 46 for its generosity in underwriting a large percentage of the cost of this series’ publication. Lontar is also grateful to the authors in this first stage of the series who, in their knowledge of the promotional nature of this series, agreed to forego royalties and other forms of monetary recompense. Lontar must also thank Emir Hakim and his design team; the many talented translators who contributed much valuable time to this project; and, last but not least, my editorial board and staff who selflessly devoted themselves to the goal of making this project a success. John H McGlynn

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Introducing AS Laksana

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iS Laksana was born in Semarang, Central Java iin 1968. He holds a degree in Communication Studies from Gadjah Mada University in Yogyakarta. He teaches creative writing and writes a column, titled “Ruang Putih” or “White Space” that is published every Sunday in the Jawa Pos.

His collections of short stories—Bidadari yang Mengembara [Wandering Angel], published in 2004, and Murjangkung, Cinta yang Dungu dan Hantu-hantu [Murjangkung, Puppy Love and Ghosts], published in 2013–were acknowledged by Tempo magazine as the best literary works in the years in which they were published. The four stories in this collection, taken from Murjangkung, Puppy Love and Ghosts, are all examples of postmodern tales. The narrator is always “I” who addresses the reader who is always “you”. As such, it feels that we enter an oral narrative, but we also are immediately aware of Laksana’s skill in creating a writerly narrative. His sentences are x

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neatly constructed; they are multilayered and based on precise judgements. Some of the narrators appear from the story’s beginning; while others only make their presence felt at the end. The narrator might encourage readers to enjoy themselves, or encourage them to be sceptical of the story’s plot. The narrator might also state that he himself has problems with the story that is being told. The postmodern qualities of AS Laksana’s stories are also found in that story telling is also an act of lying. The act of lying is both implied and explicit. When the stories contain a portrait of reality (for example, about a family in Java), they also invite the reader to question whether or not that is reality. Laksana’s tales also make fun of both realist literature (which puts too much faith in the social qualities of humankind) and absurdist literature (which emphasizes man’s isolation). Laksana’s characters strengthen the “art of lying”: Murjangkung, the commander of an army of “giants with baby-like skin” is an extreme parody of Jan Pieterszoon Coen, head of the Dutch East Indies Company, the VOC, in the 17th century. xii

Others include the storyteller who feels himself to be the messenger of Kublai Khan to the Singosari Kingdom of the 13th century; the magician who turns into someone who can control the rain in order to attract a girl; and the young man who inherits his father’s ability to tell stories and then becomes an illustrator who works in front of a post office. Laksana’s stories also contain black humour that is quite anthropological. For example, there is the younger sibling who is addressed as “water buffalo” by his older brother. (In Indonesia, water buffaloes are considered to be a symbol of stupidity). Her brain considered to be buried along with her placenta in the yard. There is also a story whose setting is the city of Semarang that is not only flooded in the rainy season, but, it is also flooded in yellow; the colour identified with the ruling party of the New Order era. The socio-political commentary in Laksana’s stories feels strong because of the casual manner in which it is conveyed; it is a part of digression of done by the narrator. Laksana gives his stories a strong basis in composition, which makes their fictionality clear at the same time. Nirwan Dewanto xiii

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How to find True Love

Do you know what to do if you have to hate someone you love? That was the question that came to Seto one Monday morning when he woke up. Things around him were a bit fuzzy and his thoughts were still hazy and his little sister’s stupid face appeared before him. Seto knew that she was always going to look like that. His mother was wrong. When he was two, his sister had grabbed her mother’s hairpiece, which had fallen to the floor, and put it in her mouth. Then she walked out onto the veranda nibbling on the hairpiece. “Oh how cute!” his mother said. “She’s eating my hairpiece. So cute.” Seto was sixteen when that happened. In his view, eating a hairpiece wasn’t particularly cute, even if the person doing it was only two years old. It was clueless. Clueless; just clueless. And the kid never referred to Seto with any of the respectful terms for ‘older brother’. Now the little donkey was nineteen, and was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking more clueless 2

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than ever. Things on the home front were becoming a little worrisome. Their parents had gone back to their village to work out matters pertaining to land that they had inherited. Meaning that for a whole week Seto would have to put up with her. If his younger sibling had had an ounce of intelligence, Seto would have just flippantly answered the question she asked that morning with, “Just change your religion.” It would be a sincere answer. Seto had changed religion three times since finishing his studies. After all, all religions are good, aren’t they? Changing religion is nothing but moving from one good thing to another. And anyway, all religions can be followed according to personal whim. When he was a Muslim, he never went to the mosque; when he was a Christian, he didn’t go to church. And when he was an animist he never meditated. It’s true that going back and forth between religions can cause a few problems. But there are some basic tactics to overcome those problems. On his ID card Seto always had the same religion, as if he really was a devout follower of that religion. It was for administrative purposes, because Seto 4

himself had never organised his own identity card. He had just paid one of the local council clerks and it was ready in two or three weeks. He didn’t want to get involved in a long conversation about religion. For the last six months, inspired by a novel he had read, and knowing that all religions are good, Seto had been following three religions simultaneously. He was a Muslim, a Christian and a Jew and it gave him a sense of inner calm. When Christians and Muslims were killing each other in different parts of the world, the two religions remained reconciled within himself. He didn’t have to defend one and blame the other. Neither did he need to abuse Jews. By becoming a Jew, he could enjoy his life as one of the chosen people, wandering around looking for the Promised Land. You know, by following three religions at the same time (and he was currently studying Buddhism and Hinduism), he felt that he was deeply loved by God. Of course, he couldn’t write the three religions on his ID card, but God was the All-Knowing, so it didn’t matter. He knew what was in his heart and He would certainly understand matters of local administration. 5

Godly matters had never really been too difficult. Unlike having to deal with the donkey, who was the complete opposite of God. The donkey was both a complete ignoramus and a serial pest. It was a real test for Seto. The donkey was too stupid to get what you were saying, but would constantly follow you around till you answered her questions. Seto turned his back on his little sister. He closed his eyes and fell asleep a moment later. When he woke up for a second time, he saw the donkey still in the same position: like some ancient rock, like a Stone Age curse. He closed his heavy eyelids again; these last three days had been so tiring. Seto thought he might have low blood pressure. The previous day, he had felt like a body without bones. On the Saturday morning, when he was taking a piss, it felt as if the floor was shaking; his heart was racing and he had pins-and-needles in his head. One should never dismiss circumstances such as these. We’ve all heard stories of someone fainting in the bathroom and ending up in hospital as a result of hitting their head on the bathtub or the edge of the toilet. But he knew what to do. He knew the safe way to piss when his blood pressure was low. 6

At first, he would do what adult men do: piss onto the side of the tub. If he felt unstable he would lean against the bathroom wall, waiting for his heart to return to normal and for the sensation of pinsand-needles to go away. After pissing, he would put his willy back in its nest. There would usually be at least one drop left after it was put back in. That was totally predictable. One more drop. “So what should I do?” his sister asked again. Seto stretched a little and wandered out of his room. When he got to the door, without stopping or looking back, he answered, “Change religion.” And just like that, he fell into the trap. The donkey looked dumbfounded for a moment. Pretty much the way she always looked. Then she followed Seto to the bathroom and waited for him there. “Are you for real?” she asked, as soon as Seto opened the door after he had finished pissing. They could hear the broom seller mournfully announcing his wares in the street. Seto didn’t answer his little sister. He had already made up his mind not to indulge her. But, just like the first question, the subsequent question was a serious one. When Seto was in his office, preparing the 7

draft of a paper to be presented to his supervisor and academic committee, the donkey phoned to ask him another, longer, question. “So you would really change your religion to enable you to hate someone you love?” In the name of God the All Knowing, this was not a question. It was a conundrum. Hating the person one loves is a conundrum. Or even worse: it is an abnormality. Seto realised that life needed normality and clear rules. If someone should be hated, then hate them wholeheartedly. If someone should be loved, love them wholeheartedly. The same principle goes for other matters: if you are hungry, eat. Don’t run a marathon if you’re hungry. Your mother wouldn’t make you drink when you are sleepy. The philosophers might say “Love your enemies” but I don’t think they would blame you if you were unable to love someone you really hated, or unable to hate someone you really loved. Long before the donkey put that question to him that morning, Seto had already written a paper on how to live and maintain a satisfying life. The gist of the paper was pretty much: Imagine that 8

someone asks you, “Why do you love such-and-such a person?” and you answer, “Because I hate them.” They’d think you were a weirdo. On the other hand, why do you hate such-and-such a person? You answer, “Because I love them.” The white coats would come to get you. The donkey’s question gave Seto an opportunity to repeat a discussion he had had several years ago. Unfortunately the donkey was not a good candidate for such a discussion and he had his own principles. She was always demanding answers to her questions. She popped up again one night when Seto was reading a book on quantum teaching. As a result he couldn’t read or sleep all night. The following morning he almost fainted in the bathroom. It was a Tuesday but it felt like a Monday. The donkey was still there, outside the bathroom door, asking, “So, you are for real?” “Why are you so complicated?” barked Seto. “Because I love him so much,” said his sister. “And you hate him because you love him so much?” 9

“So you think I should change my religion?” “You should have gone back to the village with mum and dad.” The donkey said nothing. Seto went to the washing line, took his towel, threw it over his shoulder and went back to the bathroom. The donkey just stood outside the bathroom door and continued the conversation. Or to be more precise, she embarked on a monologue. Seto took his shower in silence. “You see, Seto, he does have a different religion,” said the donkey “And I truly hate him because of that. Do you really mean it? Must I really change my religion? It’s impossible... I’ll hate him even more if loving him means I have to change my religion. And mum and dad will be really upset if I change my religion. And in their view the man that I love isn’t a good man. He’s married...” There was a brief pause. Seto finished his shower. “So what do you really want?” asked Seto. “I really love him,” she said. See: he was back to the start. The donkey would just wallow there for ages, too. Seto was 10

convinced that his sister’s brain had been left behind in her mother’s womb at birth and ended up being buried in the front yard of their house along with her placenta with a light shining down on them, as is Javanese tradition. And that was why she grew up like an animal; literally. If you regard a human being as a creature capable of thought, then she was an animal when she wasn’t capable of thought. “So you would truly change your religion, if you were me?” “Why on earth would I think about becoming you?” “What I mean is, if you were in my position...” “Oh shit! Why should I aspire to being so clueless?” “You’re my older brother, right? I just want to know what you would do if you were in my position.” Seto was a bit thrown by this. The donkey continued. “Actually, I already know what I should do. But you are my older brother and I want to know your opinion. Father 11

said he is not a good man. Is it wrong of me to love a bad man?” “Just do what you have to do,” said Seto in a softer tone. “I’m prepared to be his second wife,” said his sister. “But his religion doesn’t let him have two wives.” That was the crux of the problem. Seto became angry again. One minute the donkey softens him up by saying, “You’re my older brother, aren’t you?”; a moment later she follows it up with a stupid statement. “Oh, my truly wise little sister,” said Seto. “It’s not your place to say such a thing. It is the wife of that scoundrel who should say what you just said.” “You’re my brother. Why are you always blaming me?” Seto knew that there was no use in trying to set a person straight if they didn’t know the difference between right and wrong. He even regretted his off-the-cuff comment about telling her to change religions. Now, the donkey had her mind set on whether or not she should change religions. 12

If only she weren’t so foolish. After all, this could be an interesting discussion. Seto could clearly explain about changing religions and the justification for it. He could give realistic and valid answers; he could explain beyond the cliché that ‘all religions are good’ by giving examples from his own experience. Seto’s decision to always change religions started from a trivial incident. It was kind of a step on the path to enlightenment. You know, Newton was inspired by a falling apple and Archimedes by water that was evaporating in his bathtub. In Seto’s case, the trivial incident was his crush on the ticket-seller at the Cilandak cinema. Since then, he spent a lot of time in front of the mirror practising what he would say. But Seto felt that the situation was becoming increasingly difficult. Every time he arrived at the counter–and he would always choose unpopular films, so that the queues were short–he couldn’t find the right sentence to say to her. In the end he concluded that she was not the one for him. So in the end, to seal that fate, he decided to change religions, so they would have different 13

religions. And miraculously that decision led to him being far more relaxed and fluent from the moment he arrived at the ticket counter. “Hi,” he said. “Good evening,” she said in a formal and professional manner. Then she showed him the layout of the cinema and Seto picked a seat at random. When the other members of the audience had gone into the cinema, Seto returned to the ticket counter. “There is something I want to say to you,” he said.

as the ticket seller. He changed his religion three times, to prove that his love was rejected because of their different religions and not because of other reasons; such as him being not good looking for example. If you want to copy his method, go ahead. Seto’s technique is a sure-fire guarantee against rejection. What I mean is, if a woman rejects you, but you have the same religion, that could be the end of the world for you. Why is she rejecting me? We have the same religion. She will say that you are not her type. Or, “Let’s just be friends, ok?” Or, “I’m not thinking about getting serious.” Or, “I’m still happy by myself.” Whatever the answer, you need to know that it’s just a euphemism for the fact that she does not find you attractive.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Can I speak frankly?” “Yes.” “You are truly beautiful. But unfortunately we are of different religions. If we had the same religion, I would have proposed to you long ago.” The matter was finished that night. The girl smiled, neither rejecting nor accepting him. It was just a smile: professional and formal.

So follow Seto’s method, so that you can hold your head up high and so that girls don’t need to beat around the bush. Anyway, if she really does love you, she will sacrifice herself by changing her religion to fit yours and you will live happily ever after, with your new religion.

On subsequent occasions, Seto did the same thing with women whom he regarded as beautiful

“So people can solve their problems by changing religion?” asked his sister.

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“You don’t even need to have a religion,” said Seto. To himself, he added, “What use does a water buffalo have for religion?” Sasi, the donkey, smiled. She was nineteen according to Seto, but twenty-two according to her birth certificate. She should have gone to Austria last month with three of her friends to finish her last year at university. It was an exchange scheme between her university and an Austrian university. But she had cancelled her plans. Her brother’s condition had deteriorated after their parents were killed three years ago in a car accident in Tegal on their way to Semarang. Sasi didn’t have the heart to leave her brother on his own; Seto would frequently faint in the bathroom. That is why she would always wait for him at the door whenever he went to the toilet. You might say that Sasi was living out her life as a virgin, sacrificing herself to a brother fourteen years older than herself. The difference between the two of them was that Seto had never been a good Samaritan.

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Murjangkung’s Founding of a City and His Untimely Death This is a story about a bunch of drunkards. Make yourself comfortable. If you live with someone who is a little noisy, then perhaps you should find a quiet space where you can enjoy the story. Maybe you can go to the toilet and pretend to shit; without letting on that you just need a little time to yourself. And, if you find a space as quiet and peaceful as your toilet, just breathe in deeply and relax. Or, you can stay amongst the noise, while imagining that you are in a garden of flowers. This is all just a means of organising our thoughts: after all, ghosts exist because we imagine they do. The same goes for gardens of flowers. You’ve read the title of this story, right? I chose it after coming up with a few other titles. Some time ago, I read a book about hypnosis. It kept me up at night and I was obsessed with thinking about a title that would make the reader feel completely relaxed and just a little sleepy. It doesn’t matter if you fall asleep after reading the title. After all, some people 17

can absorb knowledge while sleeping and you might just be one of them. So, maintain your serenity while reading this story about a bunch of drunkards. The drunkards arrived 243 years before their country invented the toilet. They landed with the intention of getting some drinking water and buying some arak, the local rice wine, from the Chinese community on the western side of the river. But five years later they landed again and decided to stay for good. The landing was led by Captain Murjangkung, a giant baby, who bought six thousand square meters of land on the eastern side of the river. He built a house and put a high white wall around his land. He decorated his fence with cannons. Afterwards, the drunkards enjoyed their lives behind the walls. They liked the Chinese arak that was spiced with sultanas. If they let it ferment for a few days, it would look like Portuguese wine. The difference was that this arak was sweeter and only a tenth of the cost. “The Portuguese can go to hell!” they shouted during one of their arak parties. “They’ve got such poor taste.” According to the archives, the first people to have lived within the walls were the craftsmen and 18

itinerant traders who had gone broke in their own countries. So they put their fate in the monsoon winds that took them eastwards. They would fall in love with the locals of the places at which they stopped. Murjangkung himself was a silversmith who had fallen into unfortunate circumstances at a young age. Because he had a strong resolve and went to church regularly, he was entrusted as the captain of the ship that was manned by other broke traders. “They’re rather curious, no? Just like babies but so tall,” said The Prince after Murjangkung and several other drunkards met him upon landing. Several of The Prince’s closely trusted advisors told him to be careful in dealing with them. But, The Prince just laughed: “There’s no need to worry about these kids,” he said. “Their skin is still red.” The Prince, who owned a broad expanse of land and who was the leader of several thousand people, held no fear towards Murjangkung and the drunkards who accompanied him. He even thought that he would be able to use the giant kids who stayed on his land as a means of frightenimg his enemies from the east and west, who would occasionally attack and threaten his power. 19

And so The Prince and Murjangkung came to an agreement that started off smoothly but caused trouble in the following years. “I have bought this land and I don’t need to pay anything more,” said Murjangkung. The Prince was annoyed. “I am only renting this land to you,” he replied. “Now you have to pay me for the coming year. If you don’t, I will order my people to destroy your property.” “You’re annoying me,” said Murjangkung. And he pointed his cannons towards The Prince’s wooden palace. The Prince gave up when he realised that the giant kids weren’t as cute as he had initially thought. But his mood improved when the next bunch of drunkards arrived on his shore. He gave them the land on the left bank of the river, not far from where the Chinese made their arak. And there they built their warehouses, which were as strong as Murjangkung’s on the other side of the river. The residents of the two communities that faced each other all liked to party. They would pay the children of the village to hurl insults at one another. So if Murjangkung’s people were partying, 20

they would pay the children of the village to abuse those on the west bank. And when those on the west bank were partying, they would pay the same kids to insult Murjangkung’s people. A drop of spit was enough to cause a fight between the two groups. This is no joke: the reason for Murjangkung’s order to destroy the other village was based on a drop of spit that landed flush on his forehead. The incident happened one day when Mr Mur had just finished his prayers and was enjoying the morning air in his yard while humning songs of praise. He wiped off the spit and smelt its horrible odor. And, as if receiving a direct order from God, Mr Mur shouted his command: “Prepare the cannons!” That is the short story of Murjangkung became the chief of the city that he founded. About the spit, well apparently, that was the spit of one of the locals. People said that the person who spat had spent seven months in the middle of a river, building up his inner strength by meditating in the strong current. He was able to perform impossible feats. And that was the reason why the people on the western bank paid him to spit directly 21

on to Murjangkung’s forehead. He was able to spit a distance of several kilometers. He was always able to hit his target, no matter the size of it. The problem was, however, that such a story about these people who were able to perform such seemingly impossible feats cannot be found in any archives. Indeed, it is true that Murjangkung destroyed the region and then established himself as the leader, but such an event didn’t originate from a spitting incident. According to the archives, the destruction was started by the arrival of another group of people in the aforementioned area. They were the relatives of the residents on the left bank and they arrived under the guidance of an old and senile sea captain. This captain believed the myth that the sun had never set in his land and for dozens of years had lived on the sea, engaging in acts of piracy. In his later years he heard reports of an increasingly heated conflict between the residents of two buildings and decided to drop by to see if he could be of assistance. But, in truth, he didn’t help much. He wasn’t thinking straight and his hands shook uncontrollably. 22

The Prince greeted the arrival of the old pirate with a sincerity that caused some suspicion. The pirate immediately agreed to form an alliance with the residents of the left bank. At the same time, he also brought within his embrace his cousins who were also his long term enemies. Subsequently, with different plans in their heads, the three parties agreed to attack Murjangkung’s buildings. They waited for days, encircling his buildings and hoped for him to surrender. But he was able to escape from their surveillance, leaving behind his juniors with a short instruction that they never followed. “Burn this building down if you need to!” Then, he set sail to the east, under the angry gaze of the pirate who was pacing back and forth on his ship near the estuary. The pirate didn’t do anything, nor did he realise that four months later Murjangkung would come back with an armada with a crew of drunkards and slaves from the east, and destroy those who had encircled the building and save those in the building, who by then were famished. After winning the battle, Murjangkung immediately inspected the books and punished his juniors who had become weak in the mind during 23

their period of incarceration. Apart from being rigid and pious, Murjangkung was also very strict about his book keeping. He quickly realised that some goods were missing and an amount of money was unaccounted for. What made him angriest of all, however, was the fact that some of those people who were a little weak in the mind had been bold enough to go through his belongings in the large safe. “We didn’t think you were ever coming back,” they said during the hearing. He exiled them in a far off place so that their weak minds wouldn’t infect those who still had their marbles intact. He reinforced the rules of the warehouse and put the books in order. And from there, accompanied by a number of drunkards who, relatively speaking, were still of sound mind, Murjangkung started to plan a city from where he could control half of the world. He convinced those who had run away when the destruction had occured and were living out of the walls to come back. And when they did so, he made them pay a tax. The city grew according to plan but, to be frank, it was a boring place. Within the walls, there 24

were only a few women. The drunkards were feeling lonely and were starting to show rather worrying symptoms. To overcome the rise of peculiar behaviour amongst his workers, Murjangkung decided to build them a church. “They’re lonely, Murjangkung,” said one of his juniors. “I know,” he replied. “That is why I built them a House of God.” “They want women.” “So, it is better if I built them a brothel, rather than a House of God?” Murjangkung replied angrily. The conversation ended abruptly and his underling started to feel uneasy and forgot what he was going to suggest to Murjangkung. He had been preparing for his meeting with Murjangkung for days, but as soon as he met him and spoke to him for a moment, his mind turned to jelly. A little while after the church had been built and the men were still longing for women, Murjangkung ordered the digging of a trench and a canal and made a law regarding how the canal could be used 25

during the daytime and at night. A new sense of enthusiasm emerged amongst the people within the walls. During the day, they used the canal as a place for pleasure rides on their boats, looking at the view and looking for potential mistresses on the other side of the canal. At night, they used the canal as a place to throw their rubbish and waste. No one reported any misuse of the canal. No one shat in the canal during the daytime. And that is how the city grew. The population on the inside of the walls increased and Murjangkung controlled them with the intensity of a shepherd who believed in the purity of his flock. “Donkeys must stay with donkeys,” he said. “Boars mustn’t be allowed to mix with water buffaloes.” He didn’t believe in mixing because it made things harder to control. But apparently that wasn’t the only reason. Rumor had it that he thought that the tapir was a result of a mixing between an elephant and a boar and it was something that made him ashamed. He had hated tapirs ever snce. “I will tolerate neither tapirs nor mixed breeds in this city,” he declared. To ensure that his orders were followed, he appointed one person to represent each race and to enforce the law and collect the taxes. 26

In this way relations with people outside the walls didn’t ever become too difficult. In fact, they were easy to manage, as long as they were within range of the cannons. There was one incident, however. One of the residents from outside the wall was the victim of a spell and took it upon himself to dig a tunnel to the other side of the wall. “We’ll take their luxury goods and their bread through the tunnel” he said. The man put his plan into action and died in the tunnel with two fellow travellers. That night they had planned to continue the digging of the tunnel. The person at the back tripped and pushed the person in the middle over, who then pushed the person in the front over. They got soaked in oil from the torch they were carrying and the three of them burned to death. This incident is noted in the city’s archives. Several hundred years later, when the people with the baby-like skin had returned to their home countries, a monument was built on top of where the tunnel had been built. The monument was of a large flame as testament to their spirit. Murjangkung still considered some other kinds of behaviour of the locals to be a little odd, but all of them were easily taken care of. 27

What was in fact difficult to manage was the rubbish and faeces that got thrown into the canals by his own underlings. The city quickly become a hotbed of disease. Many died from malaria: particularly the young officers who had recently arrived from their homeland. Others were severely affected by dysentry and beri-beri. The elderly, who took their pleasure trips during the day and shat in the canal at night were impervious to the smell. They would only occasionally go to the hospital, for example if they were affected by worms and had started to display the symptoms of disease.

the walls crept into the field with plans to bring down the sculpture of the lion. But they quickly cancelled their plans. They realised that there was no point in destroying the sculpture. It was not a lion as they had initially though, but a poodle standing upon a huge replica of a ball of cheese. Nonetheless, people always referred to the square as Lion Square. Maybe because Poodle Square sounded plain ridiculous. But in the interest of accuracy (after all, a poodle is not a lion), the mistake was rectified a little later. Now the square is known as Bull Square.

The problem reached its peak when Murjangkung himself was affected by worms, then dysentry and then died of an incurable stomach ailment. Murjangkung Jr, his replacement, was afraid of facing a similar fate, so he moved the site of governance to an open field and ordered a sculptor to build a statue in the square. In order to memorialise someone who had died from an upset stomach, they built a sculpture of a lion embracing the world. Just a little arrogant, no? And, all forms of arrogance should be opposed, right? So, one night, a group of people from outside 28

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How We Escaped from the Dutch and so on Every storyteller tries to enthral the reader with the first sentence. That is my aim too, although in the end I’ve only been able to come up with a pathetic sentence: According to folk wisdom, Chinese are happy when it rains heavily on New Year’s Eve. And if it doesn’t rain they will be somewhat wary for the rest of the year. A rainy New Year’s Eve is a good omen for them. Heavy rain on the roof and a flooded yard is a symbol of good fortune. But every time it rained our house would get flooded and the earthen floor would turn to mud. “You could grow rice here,” our neighbour would say, joking: of course you can’t grow rice indoors. The only thing that grew indoors was mold; in our decaying cupboards or on the weatherboard walls or in the dark spaces under tables. The rain would always leave an unpleasant odour in our home. And there was another problem. The backyard toilet would overflow when it rained and there 30

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would be faeces all over the place. For weeks on end, or until the end of the rainy season, we would have to shit in our neighbour’s toilet. They were as poor as us, but their yard was on higher ground and didn’t overflow when it rained. We didn’t feel bad about using their toilet. We weren’t bold enough to ask our richer neighbours.

hear anything that the neighbours said. So she

But we stopped using their toilet after we overheard them talking one day. “They keep their food for themselves but they share their shit.”

saint, doing things that other people were unwilling

From then on I was anxious about eating too much. My father decided to shit in the river. And everyone followed his example. The river was far enough from our house. So each morning we would depart our house like a flock of birds, in search of a spot to place our asses so that we could shit in comfort. We would have to take some gravel just in case we couldn’t hold it in any longer and needed to cover our waste. Ours was such a pitiful little convoy. I didn’t feel like taking part in it. And so I started to eat less, so I would only have to shit once every four days. My mother thought I had worms. Only my grandmother didn’t follow my father’s decision. She was deaf and as such didn’t 32

kept on shitting at their place. Indeed, it was my grandmother who always appeared to be ready for anything at any time of the year. She could return the over-flow of the toilet to where it came from when it flooded. Apart from being deaf, she couldn’t smell anything. But, whatever the case, she was a to do. She also enjoyed any sort of gardening. She planted three cotton plants and an orange tree. She also planted some guava. All of her plants grew, but they never produced any fruit. That was because it was difficult to grow anything in our yard. The fisherman who had rented the back part of our house always brought oysters home for dinner. His wife would cook the oysters and throw the shells in our backyard. The shells remained there after they left, and now it was difficult to grow anything in the yard. But my grandmother planted her cotton, her orange and her guava. And she would shout at the children who climbed the guava tree. My friends would say, “Your grandmother is so grumpy.” But I thought they were saying, “Your grandmother is so stingy.” 33

There was nothing out of the ordinary about this. Other adults also got angry with children. The owner of the cherry tree on the other side of the kampung was more frightening than my grandmother. Fortunately, she had no children and therefore no grandchildren who would feel ashamed at having such a nasty grandmother. Her husband was equally mean. But the cherries were too tempting. One didn’t care about whether or not the owner of the tree was frightening or whether or not it was true that eating too many cherries would cause dysentery. We would occasionally be sick, but that would have been the case even if we didn’t eat cherries. And so we continued to climb the cherry tree.

and they hadn’t called him inside when dusk fell. “I could see people walking past, below me. But they didn’t see me,” he said. “My chest was tight and so I couldn’t shout for help.” He told that story over and over again, always in a hesitant kind of way. We would always listen to him and then afterwards we would make fun of him. Years after the event, he still stutters and takes a long time to tell his stories. “So, you could have called for help at that time?” I asked “I could speak by the age of seven months,” he said.

Then came the story of the ghost. Apparently, a ghost lived in the cherry tree. The children weren’t scared of dysentery or angry adults but they were afraid of ghosts. A friend of mine had been choked by a mysterious long tongue that lived in a jackfruit tree. That was at a time before we had electricity in our kampong and before our drains also were cemented. He was only a year and a half old.

“But over time it became difficult to talk about it?” asked someone else.

I heard that it was the parents who were to blame. The boy was not yet walking confidently

“It’s possible,” he said. “I’ve heard about a baby who could talk since birth.”

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“That’s because my neck was twisted by a ghost.” “Maybe your father’s neck was also twisted by a ghost. He talks just like you,” said someone else. “I heard your father could talk since the day he was born,” I added.

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We laughed, but he wasn’t wrong. Our religious instructor had told us the same story about a baby who emerged from his mother’s womb, able to talk. We were prepared to believe our religious teacher, but we didn’t believe our stammering friend who told us about how his father could talk since birth, the friend left with a stutter because of his neck being twisted by a ghost. My father wasn’t happy about us laughing like that. He was very wise and he warned us not to make fun of ghosts. I didn’t tell him what we were really laughing about. I’m sure he also wouldn’t have approved of us laughing at another person’s stutter. My father was an earnest man. Perhaps because he knew so much. He knew about the tongue-ghost, he knew about all kinds of magic, and he knew about the ghost of the Prophet Sulaiman who had once lived in our kampung. I would often hear him telling that story to people who visited our house after dusk. They would listen attentively in his presence but afterwards–I knew–they would laugh about him. It was like when we egged the stutterer on to tell us his stories, and then laughed behind his 36

back. Occasionally I felt like telling him to stop his story telling, to tell him that they would be laughing behind his back later. But I didn’t know how to tell him, so he just kept on telling his stories. To anyone who would listen. Especially the story about the ghost of the Prophet Sulaiman. “People would get invited by the ghost to go for a walk,” he said. “But that was a long time ago. Before you were all born. I heard this story from my father. And my father heard it from his father. And so on.” And now I was hearing the story about the Prophet Sulaiman’s ghost from my father. The ghost had arrived in our kampung before my grandfather was born: around the time that the Dutch and the military still liked to make their presence felt in our kampung. Of course, their aim was to take control of our kampong, but of course their ambitions were foiled by the pet ghost of the Prophet Sulaiman. My father said that the Dutch generals were invited to play on the swing . “It’s a really big swing,” he said. “You start swinging here on Monday, you end up over there on Thursday and then end up here again on the following Monday.” 37

By the time the general had finished playing on the swing, all of his juniors had gone back to their country under the sea. All he found in the barracks was a bunch of rowdy midgets. They talked so loudly. I don’t think the Dutch general liked being shouted at by midgets. And so he decided to follow his juniors home. I’m sure that not many people knew the things my father knew. And would you have known about the Prophet Sulaiman’s pet ghost if I hadn’t told you about it? That giant saved us from being taken over by the Dutch. Not long after the soldiers left, the ghost left our kampung. Its departure was much regretted. It should have stayed a little longer. When the army of midgets arrived, he was gone. And that emboldened the midgets to order our parents around, as if they were naughty orphans. The midgets claimed to be long lost relatives but their behaviour suggested otherwise; at least based on the stories that I had heard. So said my father. And you can never know how a talent is handed down. One day on the way home from school, I told a story that I had heard from my father to one of my 38

classmates. He was the son of a rubbish collector. He was a year older than me and he looked just like his father, although he hadn’t started to cough like him. We were good friends and he had started to work in a t-shirt factory. “I got the job without taking the test,” he said. His older brother worked in the factory too. I guess you don’t need to take a test if your brother’s on the staff. He married someone he met the factory and then took over a room at his father’s house so that he could live there with his wife. Nowadays, we don’t see much of each other. In fact we’ve rarely hung out together since high school. Around the time of our exams I had started to hang out with friends who were also interested in comics. My father had seen me drawing cartoons and decided I had a talent for drawing. He started telling people that I was going to become an architect. Then I became interested in writing poems and started to send them to radio stations. But my father persisted in believing that I would become an architect. He was wrong. In senior high school, I came up with a great idea about combining drawing and poetry and making money from it. And so before I 39

finished school I had set up a stall in front of the post office. People could come and order a personalised greeting card. I would do them a watercolour painting and write a poem that would suit their needs. Of course, they could write their own poem if they wished. Or they could just stop by without ordering a card.

ghosts and the Prophet Sulaiman’s pet ghost. About the Dutch and about playing on the swing and about my grandfather who didn’t become a prophet. So now it’s only fair that you pay me now, right? I am the only one, in this line of storytellers, who has had the courage to make money out of his talent.

Quite a few people stopped by just to hear my stories, without ordering a card. I had inherited many stories and I thought it wasn’t good to not use my inheritance, in the manner of my forebears. My grandfather, for example, had many stories but he became a carpenter. He enchanted many people with his stories, but he never became a prophet, although there was a precedent of a carpenter who collected a lot of stories and turned himself into a prophet. My grandfather just became a member of the PKI, the Communist Party. My father had many stories, many people came to hear them, but he never had any work. Luckily enough for him, his wife was a good businesswoman. I have a lot of stories and I have told you some of them. I have stories about the Chinese, abut rain, about my toilet and about my grandmother. About 40

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God, the Rain Master and the Battle that Ended in a Draw The first and unavoidable fact was that the girl was cute. This made him nervous and also aware of the importance of talent. The second fact was that motivational speakers always tell you that to become this or that you don’t need to have talent. That was what Alit believed when he decided to study to become a magician. But he has stopped being seduced by that idea. He now believes in talent. “If you have a talent as a monkey-keeper,” he says, “you will be more successful as a monkey-keeper than if you force yourself to become a writer or a typist. And if you develop in accordance with your talent, in the future you might progress to become a keeper of gorillas.” The girl appeared a little disshevelled on account of her clothes being a little worn and faded, her messy, unwashed hair; she gave the impression of not caring too much about her appearance. After all, she was only 13 years old. Alit didn’t find fault with her appearance, and he was sure that he was still on the ball when it came to determining who 42

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was and who wasn’t good looking. An attractive girl will still be attractive even if her clothes haven’t been washed for three days or if she hasn’t washed her hair for more than a month. And if you feel a little nervous upon making eye contact for the first time, that might just mean that you have fallen in love at first glance. Alit was 24 years old and he had felt nervous like this on several occasions.

sat stony faced, as if they were being lined up for inspection. I think that Alit would have been very happy if one of the soldiers had suddenly gone berserk and shot him dead. But that didn’t happen and he had to endure the worst moments of his life, wit no laughter. At the height of his humiliation, he bowed. The commander clapped. This was then followed by clapping from the rank and file soldiers.

The girl’s beauty remained in Alit’s mind for years afterwards, He believed that beauty–just like talent–was a gift from God. Thanks to meeting that girl, Ali realised that he didn’t have the talent to become a magician. It was simple: a talented magician would not become nervous if he saw that there was an attractive-but-somewhat-disshevelled girl watching his performance.

Despite his lack of talent, he continued to work as a magician, until he was brought to his senses by the cute but disshevelled girl who made him just a little nervous. A week after meeting her he stopped working as a magician. And on the eighth day he felt compelled to become a rain master. It was a compulsion that emerged while he was watching a rain master at work during the wedding of one of his neighbors; the compulsion became stronger the following day.

It turns out that he was more talented as a rainmaster. It took six years for him to realise this, after consistently failing to entertain children with his tricks. During his six year career as a magician he had tried his hand at being a clown and on one occasion endured the torture of performing at the army barracks. Throughout the one hour performance– which felt like it was going on for years–the soldiers 44

“I want you to teach me how to control the rain,” said Alit when he went to meet the rain master at his home. “It’s not difficult, if you have the talent,” said the old rain master, speaking through his toothless gums. 45

“I’m not sure what my talent is,” said Alit. The man stared at the young man; it was as if he was inspecting his bones. “I think you have talent,” he said. Alit believed the old man’s words. He was a rain master, and ugly as hell, like all rain masters. Even before the man had taught him the skill, Alit had started to imagine himself controlling the clouds, summoning them or sending them away or using them as umbrellas to keep him cool on a hot day. While preoccupied with such thoughts, he suddenly regretted letting go of his skill as a magician, even though he would learn how to become a rain master. He felt that the skill of controlling the clouds would led to a pretty awesome outdoor performance. He would make the clouds scratch at each other like kittens playing, or make them prance around in an effeminate way. And it shouldn’t have been that difficult for a magician to enchant a beautiful but disshevelled girl. But, as if he reading Alit’s mind, the rain master warned him that it was forbidden to treat the clouds as if they were a part of some kind of 46

performance. The warning brought Alit back to earth and he became subservient once more. “I just want to occasionally be sheltered by the clouds.” “In that case you should go home now,” said the rain master. Alit yielded and did not go home. The old man got up and left him. Standing in the doorway, he turned around and said, “Only prophets are sheltered by clouds.” “If you were to do so, people would think that you were a false prophet.” He went into his room and did not come back out. The following day Alit visited the old man’s house again and told him that he was willing to give up his intention to play tricks. He may have been lying; it was hard to tell. But the rain master believed him and seven months later, when the old man was on his death bed, Alit used his skill for the first time to chase away the rain. The first attempt went smoothly even though he found it a little difficult to remember his mantra. Several weeks later he was struck by nerves as again saw the cute-but-disshevelled girl amongst his 47

onlookers. He almost felt as if he didn’t have any talent. But the third attempt went very smoothly and he showed off his skill at chasing away the rain. The old man was darn right about Alit’s talent. He died a week after Alit’s fourth attempt at chasing away the rain. So Alit’s fifth attempt was to keep away the rain on the day of the burial of his teacher. You can imagine how much of a fight the clouds put up on that day, wanting to get their revenge on the old master. But, after a fierce battle, Alit was able to keep them away and bury the old master. Alit worked as a rain master successfully for seven years; continuing the old man’s good work. Then, the cute girl, who had matured somewhat, returned and reduced him to a bundle of nerves. Alit was almost 32 when he saw the girl–now almost 21–one Saturday afternoon. She was like an angel who had been cursed. She was marrying a man who absolutely wasn’t right for her. He was an old bachelor. Alit had been asked to keep the rain away from their wedding. He recited the mantras with a stiff jaw and a burning throat. It was humiliating.

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He was dying to ruin the wedding plans by making it rain for a whole night. But of course he didn’t do so as he didn’t want to break the oath that he had made as a rain master. But what was the point of such an oath and of behaving honourably, if that beautiful girl ended up marrying an old bachelor? For the first time since realising his talent as a rain master, he felt that God had given him the wrong talent. Despite being able to control the clouds he couldn’t make that beautiful girl fall in love with him. And yet he felt so close to her. In the last four years they had always been together and the girl had often expressed her gratitude to him. Three years after Alit stopped working as a magician, the girl took to the stage and performed various tricks. She was very good at fooling people and she also had a habit of wearing clothes which looked too small for her. The men liked her tricks and were provoked by her clothing. And Alit, full of deep love for the girl, would keep the rain away whenever she was on stage. “Thanks,” she said once after performing. “You’re welcome,” and he decided to always keep the rain away during her performances.

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“I used to be so impressed by your performances,” she said. “I didn’t have any talent,” Alit replied. “You were a great magician,” said the girl. “I felt as if I had lost something when you became a rain master. So I started to practice the tricks, since I couldn’t watch you perform them.” The girl had all the great qualities a woman can have: she was beautiful, she was polite and she was a good liar. Alit didn’t believe her, but he was happy to hear what she said. “You’re more talented as a magician, and I’m better off being a rain master,” said Alit. “I’m happy if I can prevent your stage from being soaked with rain.” Alit quietly cursed himself because the stage collapsed during the girl’s first perfomance. It was the worst thing she ever experienced. There was strong wind and rain and Alit himself was more than a hundred kilometers from the stage. A large tree fell and struck the stage. The girl fell and sprained her writst, and couldn’t perform her tricks. 50

“Sorry that I wasn’t there for you,” he said to himself when he saw the girl from afar a few days later. “I won’t let you be alone next time.” Alit kept his promise. Even during the chaotic days when the old man started to hang around, Alit still didn’t leave her alone. Alit didn’t like him. They said he was a politician, but for Alit he was just a lascivious old man. Politician or lecher, it made no difference. It was hard to believe that the girl could fall in love with such a man. He had faith in the girl until he started seeing her regularly going out with the old guy. What a useless talent God had given him. A talent that wasn’t able to attract the girl, nor save her from the sleazy old man. God had decided that the girl was to be paired with that old man. There was no choice: he must issue a challenge to God and His mistaken decision. God had hurt him in matters of finding love, so, Alit decided to challenge God in an area that He felt he controlled: death. He swore that he would never let his own death be God’s doing. He wanted to die when he thought it was the right time. So one night

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he jumped from a river into the water below. And he didn’t die.

mistake. And a mistaken decision can’t just be left as it is.

There had to be something up. Alit was sure that he should have died that night. But God had cheated by sending an angel in the form of a beggar to prevent him from dying. The battle had ended in a draw. He didn’t die of his own accord and God didn’t take his soul after scuppering his efforts to kill himself.

So he decided to recite his mantra at midnight. But he fell asleep before midnight and the following morning I was the only one there beside the river. But I fully supported his plan. And I didn’t think it would be difficult for him to present the three corpses as offerings to the little fish, and to send their souls to God. “Let God and the fish know that I didn’t like his mistaken decision and his cheating ways,” he had said before he fell asleep.

After that draw, Alit never again tried to kill himself. After being cared for by the beggar for two days, he departed on a long journey upstream to a high plane, where he started to plan his next battle. God had once made it rain for 40 days and had made a flood that reached as high as the mountain tops. Alit felt sure he could break that record, by making it rain for 41 days. But, he didn’t feel like doing it. It would be enough to just make it rain for two days upstream and then the rising waters would wash God’s beggar away from under the bridge where he lived. It would also be enough for him if

I came down the stream in the morning and Alit was nowhere to be seen. I’ve not laid eyes on him since that day. As for me, you know, I’m just an untalented magician who doesn’t have the tricks to make it rain. And I’m still waiting for him. Waiting for him to wash away God’s beggar and the sleazy old man and the magician girl who weren’t God’s messengers.

the flood swept away the old man and the cute girl who were on their honeymoon. They hadn’t been sent from God of course, but their marriage was a 52

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The Messenger Who Cut off the Ear of a Javanese King Finally, I can convey the news, good news that has been delayed for so long, good news about great work, which has been delayed for so long. As you know that all great work demands patience and can in fact begin with a trivial incident. In this case: an unexpected meeting with an old friend, someone who had once been a good friend but who, after an absence of several years, turned out to be quite annoying. The person I’m talking about is Seto. We met, after a gap of 22 years, in front of a fruit shop near Pekojan. He still looked inscrutable, just like in the past when we would listen to cassettes of speeches of the Great Leader. He asked me how I was and I told him I was well and then he asked me if I was still in touch with our friends from high school. And then the conversation, interrupted by his constant texting, stalled a bit. I got the impression that he wanted to appear busy. He left before the conversation dried up completely. “Let’s stay in touch!” he said. That’s 54

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just small talk, isn’t it? I was sure we wouldn’t keep in touch. I wandered around for a moment, looking at and picking up the fruit. I smelled the sweet scent of the mangoes. My grandmother had a bad cough and craved mangoes. I bought her the cheapest ones I could find. In my view, as long as you choose well, you can find cheap mangoes that are as good as the expensive ones. Anyway, an old lady with a cough wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. After that meeting, I was often in Jakarta for work but I didn’t visit him, even though he had given me his address. I hated the name of his kampung. For some reason I couldn’t quite explain he also made me feel vaguely uneasy. I mentioned this to Jiwo, who we used to call Lizard when we were in junior high school. He is still small just he always has been. When he was at uni his friends called him Condom. I didn’t go to the same uni as him, so I continued to call him Lizard. He went back to Semarang without having finished his studies, grew his hair long and became a fortune teller in Kampung Kali, a small settlement by the river. Nowadays people venerate him with the title Old Man. 56

“How can you say you don’t want to go back to Seto’s house when you’ve never actually been there before?” he asked. “It’s not that. I don’t feel right about going there,” I said. “That shows that you have been there, but in a different life, and you experienced something unfortunate there that has made you reluctant to go back,” he said. I hoped he wasn’t a bogus fortune teller, even though I was sure he was mistaken. Apart from that uneasy feeling, there was actually something else that made me reluctant to go there. I have already said that Seto had changed and had become rather annoying. He’d been sending me very long text messages, all of which ended with tragic pleas like “the revolution isn’t finished” and “we have to take back the people’s sovereignty” and “support me, okay.” Seto was using a mobile phone–a tool once used only by the crew on the Starship Enterprise in the TV series, Star Trek–to sell second hand goods. Although we used to listen to recordings of speeches together, to be honest I wasn’t keen on the 57

stuff he was peddling. As I was telling all of this to Lizard, I received the seventh revolutionary SMS from Seto.

What a hoot if I were to say that in a past life I was Kubilai Khan, Genghis Khan’s grandson who was the conquerer from the great plains?

Avoiding the topic of Seto’s SMSs, Lizard started rabbitting on about deja vu and experiences in our past lives. He told me that in a former life he had been a small girl who fell from a guava tree in someone’s backyard. Her back had broken in the fall and now, in his current life, he always felt that there was something not quite right with his back. I thought he was nuts. Imagine: a girl falling from a guava tree and being reborn as Lizard. How unlucky can you get!

Lizard seriously considered what I had said. This made me feel uncomfortable and forced me to keep up the pretence. “I often feel have nose problems.”

“I once went to the hospital for an x-ray,” he said. “And the doctor said that there was nothing wrong with my back.” He also said that he trembled whenever he saw a guava tree and his back would hurt even more for a brief moment. He was convinced that this was something he had inherited from the past. I thought he was a loony. “I think I was once in the Mongolian army,” I said. “I hate that Javanese king who cut my nose.”

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He told me to leave Java as soon as possible, on the grounds that this land brought back bad memories and that was why I had an impulse to hate the Javanese, an impulse that had emerged from my experiences in my previous life. What could I do? I had to take responsibility for what I had said. There was nothing I could do to rescue Venerable Lizard. And so I decided to indulge his craziness. I had gone too far already and I thought that I would never visit him again anyway. I asked him, just out of curiosity, whether the Javanese king would return and slice off my nose again if I met him again. He replied, “Maybe.” But I said to him that maybe the Javanese king is no longer living in Java. “There’s a precedent: in the past I was a Mongolian soldier but

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now I’m a Javanese. “Maybe the Javanese king who sliced off my nose is now a citizen of Uganda.” “Could be,” he replied. “So what should I do about this nose of mine?” I asked. “Must I go to war against all Javanese to satisfy my revenge against a Javanese king who could be living in Uganda for all I know?” “Leave Java,” he remained steadfast in his advice. “And don’t have any relations with anyone who is Javanese.” That was impossble. I was born in Trenggalek in East Java from parents who were Javanese. My first girlfriend was Javanese and my second girlfriend was from Tegal; Javanese also even though her language was a little odd. I didn’t know whether I would ever go out with another Javanese girl. At 11:30 PM I said goodbye–“See you later”–but in my heart I was saying goodbye to him for good. But as it turned out it wasn’t our last meeting. Another time, when Seto had sent me several of his revolutionary text messages and I was looking for a friend to talk to, I met Lizard again. He greeted me as if I had come back from the dead and we talked 60

until the early hours of the morning. He was like someone who was sleeptalking. I never went to his place again. We did talk around eight months later when he phoned me and told me about his plans to live in Africa. Go ahead, Venerable Lizard: I can tell you’re channelling Mr Columbus with your desire to discover new continents. “I wish you all the best in your new life,” I said. I didn’t go anywhere. I just stayed in Semarang, a city whose hills and beaches should make it a pretty nice place. Not every city has both hills and beaches, but Semarang has them both. But it’s not a very nice city. It floods all the time. It is flooded with rain during the wet season, flooded with insects during the dry season and flooded with posters and banners during the election season. Once, the city was submerged beneath a sea of yellow paint when all the plants along the side of the road had to be painted yellow. I never found a satisfying girlfriend or job in Semarang, but, I still couldn’t say goodbye to the place. My grandmother was very old and her cough 61

was serious at night and I felt that she could die at any moment. There was no-one else for her except for me. Supposing that Lizard could be believed, I hoped my grandmother would become a cute girl in her next life. I felt that the men in her next life would still be looking for cute girls, even if they had incurable coughs. Grandma, maybe it’s best if you die soon and transform into a cute girl. And let those men, in all their diversity, come to you and tell you of their pure intentions to serve you and look after you: you, the cute girl with the incessant cough. There’s really nothing to fear from beautiful women with minor illnesses. You should pay little heed to those tales you hear. It’s always the beautiful woman who ends up with the prince, before she even has time to have a bath or wash her face. If she is subject to a really annoying mother-in-law, she will be helped by angels who will make her a carriage–from a pumpkin, perhaps, or whatever is handy–and she’ll get her prince. It is also a fact that a cute girl is a bringer of good fortune. Ask her to kiss a frog and that frog will immediately turn into a prince. So you should never 62

be jealous when you see a beautiful girl holding hands with an ugly man. I must stress this because you probably curse inwardly when you see such a seemingly odd couple. Remember that in the middle of the night when the woman kisses the brow of the man, the ugly man will become handsome. So I hope that my grandmother is more fortunate in her next life. The louder she coughs, the stronger my prayers: make her beautiful in her next life. Do I sound like someone who only praises the surface and doesn’t believe in God’s justice? If so, I apologise. I believe that God is the All-Fair. I believe that ugly women can have good fortune, for example, she might become a comedian and endure being humiliated. She might become a vegetable seller, a prosperous one. If she becomes a housemaid, she will probably be safe from lascivious bosses. I’m just being honest. I believe that’s how things work out in life. Every being gets what they deserve. I believe in justice while hoping that a beautiful woman will come my way and kiss my forehead, that the skin on my face will instantly peel off and the miracle will unfold and I will transform into a handsome boss. 63

But I’ve been in this city for so long and I’ve never been granted such a miracle. I’ve had two girlfriends and both ended in tears. I’m still longing for that sincere kiss from a beautiful girl that can turn a frog into a boss, but something else is destined to happen. And you cannot avoid what is destined to happen. Seto’s invitation arrived on my phone in the middle of the night, when I was praying for my grandmother. I read his brief message: “Our friends in Jakarta are planning a reunion. Come along, bro.” So how were our friends doing? Even though it didn’t feel right, I decided to go along. The train arrived at Senen a little later than expected. It was 8:30 AM and I took the bus to Lebak Bulus. Three people got on at one of the stops and one of them started to tell us his life story. I’m telling you, it was extremely boring. I’ll summarise what they carried on about. They claimed that they were criminals who had been released from jail two months ago. They claimed that they didn’t want to repeat their crimes; they just wanted to busk and didn’t have any money to buy a guitar. Then, “Are you willing to help us?” One of them leant against 64

the seat in front of me. He didn’t say anything, he just shoved a shard of broken glass into my face. I hate those preachy types. I hate those who ask for money. I hate those who threaten others with knives. They give me the heebie jeebies. What were they going on about, what the hell did they want? Unconsciously I touched my nose, feeling a pain that had been long withheld. I felt a cold wind enter through my ass and go up to my head, freezing my brains. Whether or not I was some kind of messenger, whether he was Kertanegara or someone else, I wouldn’t let him slice off my nose for the second time. No way. The man stood there pointing the glass at me. And I wasn’t able to control my anger. But, you know, we become wise based on previous bad experiences. I didn’t let anger get the better of me and my head remained clear. I hit his hand; I grabbed his weapon; I held him by the collar. “What do you want?” I asked. Before he could answer, I let go of him, grabbed him by the ear and sliced it off. The traffic was dense; the bus was moving slowly and it was easy for me to jump off. I should have cut off his nose, 65

but, that’s a tricky thing to do on a bus. An earlobe is easier. With a slice of ear in my grasp, now I could calmly go home. Oh no, I couldn’t! A nose must be repaid with a nose. I have to cut as many Javanese noses as possible. I will show the great Kaiser that I have taken revenge and restored the great name of the soldiers of the vast plains.

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Teknik Mendapatkan Cinta Sejati

Jika harus membenci orang yang sangat kaucintai, apa yang akan kaulakukan? Pertanyaan itu datang Senin pagi ketika Seto baru bangun tidur. Masih samar benda-benda, masih remang pikirannya, dan tampang dungu adiknya sudah bercokol di depan mata. Seto tahu bahwa adiknya akan tampak seperti itu kapan saja, dan mungkin selamanya. Ibunya salah dalam hal ini. Pada umur dua tahun, adiknya memungut konde palsu ibunya yang, entah bagaimana, jatuh ke lantai dan memasukkannya ke mulut. Lalu ia jalan sempoyongan ke teras rumah sambil menggigit konde. “Papa, lihat dia!” kata ibunya. “Dia makan konde. Lucu sekali.” Seto enam belas tahun saat kejadian itu. Menurutnya makan konde, meski itu dilakukan oleh anak dua tahun, bukanlah tindakan lucu. Itu dungu. Selamanya dungu. Dan anak itu bahkan tak pernah memanggil Seto dengan sebutan kak atau mas. Sekarang si kerbau, yang kini 19 tahun, duduk di tepi tempat tidurnya, dekat kaki. Anak itu terlihat 68

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lebih dungu dari biasanya dan situasi di rumah agak mencemaskan. Ayah dan ibunya sedang pulang kampung sampai minggu depan untuk mengurus tanah warisan. Artinya, dalam seminggu si kerbau akan sepenuhnya menjadi urusan Seto. Kalau saja adiknya sedikit berakal, Seto merasa akan gampang menjawab pertanyaan yang diajukannya pagi itu. Ia akan bilang, “Pindah agama saja.”

tidak mengurus sendiri pembuatan KTP-nya. Ia membayar orang kelurahan dan tinggal tunggu beres dalam dua tiga minggu dan ia tidak ingin ada pembicaraan panjang dengan orang itu soal agama. Setengah tahun terakhir, karena ilham dari sebuah novel, dan karena semua agama adalah baik, Seto memeluk tiga agama sekaligus—Islam, Kristen, Yahudi—dan ia merasa lebih tenteram.

Itu bukan jawaban main-main. Seto pernah berpindah agama tiga kali sejak berhenti kuliah: semua agama baik, kautahu. Dengan berpindah agama, kau sekadar berpindah dari satu kebaikan ke kebaikan lain. Lagipula semua agama bisa dijalankan begitu-begitu saja. Ia tidak pernah ke masjid ketika Islam, tidak pernah ke gereja ketika Kristen, tidak pernah bertapa ketika menganut kepercayaan.

Ketika para pemeluk Islam dan Kristen saling bunuh di beberapa tempat, kedua agama itu tetap damai di dalam dirinya. Ia tidak harus membela yang satu dan mengalahkan yang lain. Ia juga tidak perlu mengutuk Yahudi. Justru dengan memeluk Yahudi, Seto bisa menikmati dirinya sebagai bagian dari suatu kaum yang meyakini diri sebagai pilihan Tuhan, yang hidup menyebar di mana-mana sembari terus-menerus merindukan tanah yang dijanjikan.

Memang akan ada sedikit persoalan jika kau bolak-balik pindah agama. Tapi itu bisa diatasi dengan siasat. Di kartu tanda penduduk Seto selalu mencantumkan agama yang sama, seolah-olah ia memeluk agama itu secara kukuh. Itu demi kemudahan administrasi, karena Seto

Kautahu, dengan memeluk tiga agama sekaligus (dan sekarang ia juga sedang menekuni Budha dan Hindu), Seto merasa Tuhan sangat mengasihinya. Memang ia tak bisa mencantumkan ketiganya secara bersamaan dalam KTP, tetapi Tuhan maha mengetahui. Dia tahu apa yang

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ada dalam hati dan Dia pasti paham juga urusan administrasi kelurahan. Dan sesungguhnya urusan dengan Tuhan tak pernah terlalu rumit. Beda ketika kau berurusan dengan si kerbau. Ia berkebalikan dari Tuhan. Si kerbau maha tidak tahu dan ia pemburu yang pantang menyerah. Dan itulah ujian yang nyata bagi Seto. Maksudku, anak itu terlalu dungu untuk diladeni, tetapi ia akan terus mengejarmu sampai mendapatkan jawaban. Seto membalikkan tubuh membelakangi adiknya. Ia kembali memejamkan mata dan tertidur lagi tak lama kemudian. Ketika bangun untuk kali kedua, dilihatnya si kerbau masih duduk seperti semula, seperti batu tua, seperti kutukan dari masa prasejarah. Ia katupkan lagi kelopak matanya yang tiga hari belakangan memang terasa layu dan berat. Seto yakin tensinya sedang merosot saat itu. Sehari sebelumnya ia seperti hidup tanpa tulang. Pada Sabtu pagi, ketika ia kencing, ia merasa lantai kamar mandinya goyah dan debur jantungnya meracau dan kepalanya seperti kesemutan. Situasi begini tak bisa kauanggap remeh. Kautahu, sering ada kabar orang terjengkang di 72

kamar mandi dan harus dirawat di rumah sakit karena kepalanya bocor menghantam sudut bak mandi atau bibir kloset. Pasti karena tensi yang rendah. Sudah beberapa kali Seto mengalami keadaan seperti itu. Namun ia selalu baik-baik saja. Ia tahu cara kencing yang aman di saat tekanan darahnya sedang rendah. Mula-mula ia akan melakukan hal yang biasa dilakukan oleh lelaki dewasa, yakni menyemburkan air kencingnya ke dinding bak mandi. Jika ia merasa limbung, segera ia akan menyandarkan tubuh pada dinding kamar mandi sampai debur jantungnya kembali beres dan rasa kesemutan di kepalanya hilang. Selesai kencing ia kandangkan kembali burungnya. Biasanya ada satu tetesan sisa yang masih keluar setelah burung itu masuk kandang. Selalu begitu. Selalu ada tetes kencing terakhir yang keluar saat burung itu sudah dikandangkan. “Jadi apa yang akan kaulakukan?” tanya adiknya sekali lagi. Seto menggeliat dan bangkit dengan gerak malas dan kemudian melangkah keluar dari kamarnya. Di pintu kamar, tanpa berhenti dan tanpa menoleh, akhirnya ia menjawab juga sambil 73

lalu, “Pindah agama.” Dan begitulah ia masuk perangkap. Si kerbau tercenung beberapa waktu. Mungkin ia memang selalu tampak tercenung. Kemudian ia mengikuti langkah Seto menuju kamar mandi, menunggui kakaknya di depan pintu. “Kau sungguh-sungguh?” tanyanya saat Seto membuka pintu kamar mandi sehabis kencing. Dari arah jalanan, suara penjual sapu terdengar panjang dan sedih menawarkan dagangannya. Seto tidak menjawab. Ia sudah memutuskan tidak akan meladeni adiknya lebih panjang. Tetapi, seperti pertanyaan pertama, pertanyaan susulan itu rupanya sangat serius. Melalui telepon siang harinya, ketika Seto sedang di kantor menyiapkan draf makalah untuk disampaikan di depan guruguru bimbingan dan penyuluhan, si kerbau mengejarnya dengan pertanyaan yang kini lebih panjang, “Jadi kau sungguh-sungguh akan pindah agama jika kau harus membenci orang yang sangat kaucintai?” Demi Tuhan yang maha mengetahui isi hati dan urusan administrasi, itu bukan pertanyaan. Itu keruwetan. 74

Membenci orang yang sangat dicintai adalah keruwetan. Lebih parah lagi, itu abnormal. Sudah beberapa waktu Seto menyadari bahwa hidup membutuhkan kewarasan dan aturan yang jelas. Jika seseorang sepatutnya dibenci, bencilah ia sebaik-baiknya. Jika seseorang sepatutnya dicintai, cintailah ia sebaik-baiknya. Ini sama dengan hal-hal umun yang lain: jika kau lapar, makanlah. Orang tidak harus berlari maraton pada saat ia lapar. Ibumu tak akan menyuruhmu minum saat kau mengantuk. Mungkin para pertapa akan menyarankan, ”Cintailah musuh-musuhmu!” tetapi kurasa mereka tak akan menyalahkanmu seandainya kau tidak sanggup mencintai orang yang sangat kaubenci, atau membenci orang yang sangat kaucintai. Jauh sebelum si kerbau mengajukan pertanyaan pagi itu, Seto bahkan sudah pernah menulis makalah untuk sebuah diskusi tentang hidup waras dan alasanalasan pendukungnya. Ringkasan presentasinya begini: Sekarang bayangkan seseorang menanyaimu, “Kenapa kau menyayangi orang itu?” dan kau menjawab, “Karena aku membencinya.” Oh, kau pasti dianggap tidak genap karena jawaban itu. Sebaliknya, 75

kenapa kau membenci orang itu? Kaujawab, “Karena aku menyayanginya.” Ini juga jawaban yang membuatmu perlu dibawa ke Puskesmas. Bagi Seto, pertanyaan si kerbau sebetulnya memberi kesempatan untuk mengulang diskusi beberapa tahun lalu. Sayangnya si kerbau tidak memadai untuk sebuah diskusi dan anak itu memiliki prinsipnya sendiri, yakni menagih jawaban. Ia kembali muncul pada malam hari ketika Seto sedang mulai membaca Quantum Teaching. Dan itu membuat Seto gagal membaca dan tak bisa tidur hingga setengah empat dinihari. Besoknya hampir saja ia terjengkang di kamar mandi. Itu terjadi hari Selasa tetapi seperti hari Senin. Si kerbau masih berdiri di muka pintu kamar mandi dan mengajukan pertanyaan, “Jadi kau sungguhsungguh?” “Kenapa kau ruwet sekali?” bentak Seto. “Karena aku sangat menyayanginya,” kata adiknya. “Dan kau membencinya karena kau sangat menyayanginya?” 76

“Jadi menurutmu aku harus pindah agama?” “Mestinya kau ikut pulang kampung saja.” Si kerbau diam. Seto melenggang ke rak jemuran, mengambil handuk, menyampirkannya ke pundak, dan masuk lagi ke kamar mandi. Si kerbau tetap berdiri di depan pintu kamar mandi, lalu melanjutkan pembicaraan, atau tepatnya bermonolog karena Seto hanya mandi selama adiknya bicara. “Kautahu, Seto, dia memang beragama lain,” kata si kerbau. “Dan sekarang aku betulbetul membencinya karena dia beragama lain. Dan apakah kau sungguh-sungguh? Aku harus pindah agama? Oh, itu tidak mungkin.... Aku akan semakin membencinya jika rasa sayangku padanya membuatku sampai harus bertukar keyakinan. Dan pasti ayah dan ibu akan sangat terpukul jika aku pindah agama. Lagi pula menurut mereka, orang yang sangat kusayangi itu bukanlah lelaki yang baik. Ia sudah punya istri....” Jeda beberapa saat. Seto selesai mandi. “Jadi apa sebetulnya maumu?” tanya Seto. “Aku sangat menyayanginya,” kata adiknya. 77

Lihatlah, ia balik ke kalimat semula. Seekor kerbau memang akan berkubang di situ-situ juga. Ada setengah keyakinan pada Seto bahwa otak adiknya tertinggal di rahim ibu pada hari ia dilahirkan dan kemudian ikut ditanam di pekarangan depan rumah bersama ari-ari, diterangi nyala lampu minyak setiap malam. Karena itulah ia tumbuh menjadi hewan. Benar-benar hewan dalam pengertian yang agak harfiah. Jelasnya begini, jika kau membenarkan definisi bahwa manusia adalah hewan berpikir, maka ia benar-benar hewan ketika tidak sanggup berpikir. “Jadi kau benar-benar akan pindah agama jika kau menjadi aku?” “Untuk apa aku berandai-andai menjadi kamu?” “Maksudku, jika kau menjadi aku....” “Ya, ampun! Kenapa aku harus berandai-andai menjadi dungu?” “Kau kakakku, kan? Aku hanya ingin tahu apa yang akan kaulakukan seandainya kau menjadi aku.” Seto agak terpukul. 78

Si kerbau melanjutkan, “Sebenarnya aku sendiri sudah tahu apa yang harus kulakukan. Tapi kau kakakku, aku ingin tahu pendapatmu. Ayah bilang ia orang yang tidak baik. Apakah aku keliru mencintai orang yang tidak baik?” “Lakukan saja yang harus kaulakukan,” kata Seto, sedikit melunak. “Sebenarnya aku rela menjadi istri kedua,” kata adiknya, “tetapi agamanya tidak membolehkan ia beristri dua.” Kurasa di sinilah letak persoalannya. Seto kembali mengeras. Baru saja si kerbau membuatnya bungkam dan agak terharu ketika mengatakan, “Kau kakakku, kan?” Tetapi sebentar kemudian anak itu sudah mengeluarkan pernyataan yang terdengar bebal. “Oh, adikku yang maha cerdas,” kata Seto. “Kau tak pantas bilang begitu. Yang harus rela mestinya istri bajingan itu.” “Kau kakakku, kenapa selalu menyalahkan aku?” Kali ini Seto tahu tak ada gunanya meluruskan orang yang tidak paham salah-benar. Ia bahkan menyesali jawaban pindah agama yang kemarin 79

ia sampaikan sambil lalu. Sekarang si kerbau terus mencecar apakah ia perlu pindah agama. Kalau saja ia tidak bebal.... Mestinya urusan itu bisa menjadi diskusi yang menarik. Seto bisa menjelaskan dengan amat jernih mengenai pindah agama dan alasan-alasan pendukungnya. Ia akan memberikan alasan yang valid dan realistis, di luar kenyataan bahwa semua agama baik, dengan contoh kasus dirinya sendiri. Memang harus diakui bahwa keputusan Seto untuk berpindahpindah agama mulanya didasari oleh peristiwa yang sangat remeh. Itu gejala yang lazim dalam munculnya berbagai bentuk pencerahan. Kautahu, Newton terilhami oleh apel yang jatuh dari pohon dan Archimedes oleh air yang meluap di bak mandinya. Dalam pengalaman Seto, peristiwa remeh itu adalah rasa cintanya pada gadis penjual tiket di gedung bioskop Cilandak. Sejak itu secara sungguhsungguh ia melatih diri di depan cermin, beberapa kali sehari, untuk menyampaikan kalimat-kalimat. Namun, Seto merasa makin hari situasinya makin sulit. Setiap kali berada di depan loket (Seto memilih film-film yang tidak diminati penonton sehingga loket itu sepi antrian), ia merasa kalimat-kalimatnya 80

selalu tidak tepat. Akhirnya ia menyimpulkan bahwa gadis itu bukan ditakdirkan untuknya. Lalu, demi mempertegas takdir itu, ia memutuskan berpindah agama sehingga kini agama mereka berbeda. Dan, ajaib, keputusan ini justru membuatnya lebih santai dan lebih fasih ketika suatu malam ia berdiri di depan loket pada jam pertunjukan terakhir. “Hai,” katanya. “Selamat malam,” jawab gadis itu dalam nada resmi dan profesional. Lalu ia menunjukkan denah tempat duduk dan Seto memilih sembarang tempat duduk. Ketika para penonton lain sudah memasuki gedung pertunjukan, Seto kembali ke loket. “Sebenarnya ada yang mau saya sampaikan,” katanya. “Silakan,” kata gadis itu. “Boleh saya berterus terang?” “Silakan.” “Anda cantik sekali. Sayang agama kita berbeda. Jika kita seiman, saya pasti sudah melamar anda dari dulu-dulu.” 81

Urusan beres malam itu. Si gadis tersenyum, tidak menerima, tidak menolak. Hanya tersenyum, resmi dan profesional.

dirinya dengan berpindah agama mengikuti agamamu dan kalian akan menjadi pasangan yang berbahagia selama-lamanya, dengan agama baru.

Pada kesempatan-kesempatan berikutnya, Seto melakukan hal serupa dengan gadis lain yang menurut ia sama cantiknya dengan gadis penjual tiket itu. Tiga kali Seto berpindah agama karena perempuan: untuk membuktikan bahwa cintanya ditolak karena mereka berbeda agama, dan bukan oleh sebab-sebab lain. Kurang tampan, misalnya.

“Jadi orang bisa menyelesaikan masalah dengan cara pindah agama?” tanya adiknya.

Jika kau ingin menirukan caranya, lakukanlah. Teknik Seto akan membuatmu terhindar dari penderitaan akibat penolakan. Maksudku, jika seorang gadis menolakmu padahal agama kalian sama, itu bisa seperti kiamat bagimu. Kenapa seorang gadis menolakmu padahal kalian seagama? Ia akan bilang kau bukan tipenya. Atau, “Kita temenan saja, deh?” Atau, “Aku belum kepikiran untuk serius.” Atau, “Maaf, ya, aku masih ingin sendiri.” Apa pun jawabannya, yakinlah itu sinonim belaka dari fakta bahwa kau tidak menarik baginya. Maka tirulah Seto agar kepalamu bisa tetap tegak dan gadis itu tak perlu berbelit-belit. Di luar itu, jika ia benar-benar mencintaimu, ia akan mengorbankan 82

“Kau bahkan tidak perlu beragama,” kata Seto. Dalam hati ia melanjutkan, “Apa gunanya agama bagi seekor kerbau?” Sasi, si kerbau, tersenyum. Usianya 19 menurut Seto, tetapi 22 menurut akte kelahiran. Seharusnya ia berangkat ke Austria bulan lalu, bersama tiga kawannya, untuk menempuh tahun terakhir kuliahnya. Itu program kerjasama antara kampusnya dengan kampus di sana. Tetapi ia membatalkannya. Situasi kakaknya terus memburuk sejak kedua orang tua mereka meninggal tiga tahun lalu. Mereka mengalami kecelakaan di Tegal dalam perjalanan ke Semarang. Sasi tak pernah sampai hati meninggalkan kakaknya sendirian—beberapa kali Seto pingsan di kamar mandi. Karena itulah setiap kali kakaknya ke kamar mandi ia selalu menungguinya di depan pintu. Kau bisa mengatakan bahwa Sasi kini menjalani hidup serupa perawan suci, dengan satu-satunya 83

anak lelaki yang usianya empatbelas tahun lebih tua darinya. Bedanya, Seto bukan juru selamat.

Bagaimana Murjangkung Mendirikan Kota dan Mati Sakit Perut Ini cerita tentang para pemabuk tetapi kau bisa membacanya dengan pikiran tenang menurut caramu sendiri. Jika kau tinggal serumah dengan orang yang bising, kurasa ada baiknya kau menyingkir sebentar dari dia dan mencari tempat yang nyaman bagimu untuk menikmati sedikit waktu. Mungkin kau bisa masuk ke kamar kecil, pura-pura berak, padahal kau hanya memerlukan ketenteraman hati untuk sebuah cerita. Dan ketika kau menemukan tempat setenang kakusmu, kau bisa menarik napas panjang dan merasa lega. Atau kau bisa tetap menyandingi kebisingan sambil membayangkan dirimu berada di taman bunga. Ini sekadar bagaimana cara kita menata pikiran. Hantu ada, kau tahu, karena kita memikirkannya. Begitu pun taman bunga. Kau sudah membaca judul cerita ini, bukan? Ia kupilih dari berbagai kemungkinan yang bisa dipilih dan dibuang. Beberapa waktu lalu aku membaca

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sebuah buku tentang hipnosis dan itu membuat aku tak bisa tidur dan aku sempoyongan mencari judul yang kupikir bisa membuatmu benar-benar merasa rileks—dan mungkin mengantuk. Tak ada masalah jika kau tertidur ketika membaca judul itu. Kau tahu, ada orang-orang tertentu yang bisa menyerap pengetahuan dengan baik ketika ia mendengkur dan kau bisa menjadi salah satu dari mereka. Maka, pertahankan ketenanganmu menghadapi cerita para pemabuk itu. Mereka datang 243 tahun sebelum negeri mereka menemukan kakus. Mula-mula mereka singgah untuk mengisi air minum dan membeli arak dari kampung Pecinan di tepi barat sungai; lima tahun kemudian mereka kembali merapatkan kapal mereka ke pantai dan menetap di sana seterusnya. Tuan Murjangkung, raksasa berkulit bayi yang memimpin pendaratan, membeli dari Sang Pangeran tanah enam ribu meter persegi di tepi timur sungai. Di sana ia mendirikan rumah gedong dan memagar tanahnya dengan dinding putih tebal dan menghiasi dinding pagarnya dengan pucuk-pucuk meriam. Sejak itu, kau tahu, para pemabuk menjalani kehidupan yang riang di dalam pagar. Mereka menikmati arak kampung 86

Pecinan yang jika dibubuhi kismis dan disimpan beberapa hari akan berubah warnanya menjadi serupa anggur bangsa Portugis. Bedanya, arak ini sedikit lebih manis dan harganya sepuluh kali lebih murah. “Persetan dengan Portugis-Portugis sialan itu,” teriak mereka di tengah pesta arak. “Mereka orang-orang berselera rendah.” Menurut arsip, orang-orang pertama yang tinggal di dalam tembok pagar itu adalah para pengrajin dan pedagang keliling yang bangkrut di negeri mereka sendiri. Mereka lalu mengikhlaskan nasib pada angin muson yang mendorong kapal mereka menyusuri pantai negeri-negeri timur dan memikat hati para penduduk di tempat-tempat mereka singgah. Murjangkung sendiri adalah pengrajin perak yang jatuh melarat sebelum usianya tua. Karena bertabiat kaku dan taat ke gereja, ia dipercaya maskapai untuk memimpin pelayaran yang diawaki oleh para saudagar putus asa itu. “Mereka lucu-lucu, seperti bayi tapi tinggi sekali,” kata Sang Pangeran setelah Murjangkung dan beberapa pemabuk datang menemuinya di hari pendaratan. Beberapa orang kepercayaan Sang Pangeran mengingatkan agar ia berhati-hati 87

menghadapi rombongan itu, tetapi Sang Pangeran tertawa. “Tak perlu khawatir terhadap bayi-bayi itu,” katanya. “Kulit mereka saja masih merah.”

“Kau membuatku kesal,” kata Murjangkung. Dan ia mengarahkan pucuk-pucuk meriamnya ke istana kayu Sang Pangeran.

Sang Pangeran—penguasa tanah luas dan rawa-rawa dan nyawa beberapa ribu penduduk yang tinggal di atas tanah dan rawa-rawa itu— sungguh tidak menyimpan gentar secuil pun terhadap Murjangkung dan para pemabuk yang mengiringinya. Ia bahkan berpikir akan menggunakan bayi-bayi raksasa yang menetap di wilayahnya itu untuk menakut-nakuti musuh dari barat dan timur yang sewaktu-waktu bisa menyerang dan menelikung kekuasaannya.

Putus asa menghadapi raksasa bayi yang ternyata tidak selucu dugaannya, Sang Pangeran murung beberapa waktu dan kembali bahagia ketika ada rombongan pemabuk berikut yang singgah di pantainya. Kepada para pemabuk yang datang belakangan itu ia menyerahkan tanah di tepi barat sungai, tak jauh dari rumah-rumah orang Cina pembuat arak, dan di sana mereka membangun rumah gedong yang sama kuatnya dengan gedong Murjangkung di seberang.

Maka, ia dan Murjangkung membuat permufakatan yang berjalan mulus pada mulanya dan memancing keributan pada tahun berikutnya. “Aku sudah membeli tanah ini dan tidak perlu membayar apa-apa lagi kepadamu,” kata Murjangkung.

Para penghuni dua gedong yang saling berhadapan itu sama-sama suka berpesta dan mereka saling melempar caci melalui mulut anak-anak kampung yang mereka bayar. Jadi begini: jika orangorang Murjangkung berpesta, mereka akan membayar anak-anak kampung untuk mencaci para pemabuk di barat sungai. Sebaliknya, jika para pemabuk tepi barat berpesta, mereka akan membayar anak-anak yang sama untuk mencaci orang-orang Murjangkung.

Sang pangeran tidak senang. “Aku hanya menyewakan tanah ini,” balasnya. “Sekarang kau harus membayar lagi uang sewanya untuk setahun mendatang atau kuperintahkan orang-orangku untuk membongkar rumah gedongmu.” 88

Dan, di antara dua kelompok yang saling mencaci itu, seciprat ludah sudah cukuplah untuk 89

mengobarkan pertempuran. Ini bukan kiasan, sebab perintah penghancuran yang dikeluarkan oleh Murjangkung konon disebabkan oleh semburan ludah yang melayang dari seberang sungai dan hinggap tepat di dahinya. Peristiwa itu terjadi pada hari Minggu ketika Tuan Mur baru selesai berdoa dan menghirup udara pagi di pekarangan sambil menggumamkan dalam hati lagu-lagu pujian. Ia mengusap cairan di dahinya dan mencium bau bacin pada cairan itu dan, seperti mendapatkan perintah langsung dari Tuhan, Tuan Mur seketika menyerukan komando, “Tembakkan meriam!” Begitulah riwayat ringkas penghancuran dan bagaimana Murjangkung akhirnya menjadi penguasa di kota baru yang ia dirikan. Perihal ludah itu, konon itu adalah ludah pribumi. Orang itu pernah berendam tujuh bulan di pusaran arus kali dan ia mendapatkan kekuatan tenaga dalamnya dengan jalan itu dan ia mampu melakukan hal-hal yang muskil bagi kebanyakan orang. Karena itulah para penghuni gedong barat membayarnya untuk menyemburkan ludah tepat di jidat Murjangkung dan itu bukan pekerjaan sulit bagi pribumi itu. Dengan tenaga dalamnya, kau tahu, ia 90

mampu melontarkan ludah sejauh berkilo-kilometer; dengan ketajaman mata batinnya, ia mampu meludahi sasaran meskipun jarak mereka begitu jauh. Sialnya, riwayat macam begini dan kehadiran pribumi yang mampu mewujudkan kemuskilan itu tak pernah bisa kautemukan dalam arsip mana pun. Memang benar bahwa Murjangkung menghancurkan daerah itu dan kemudian menjadikan dirinya penguasa, tetapi peristiwa itu tidak diawali dengan semburan ludah. Penghancuran itu, menurut catatan-catatan tua, dimulai prosesnya oleh kedatangan rombongan lain lagi di wilayah tersebut. Mereka kerabat para penghuni gedong tepi barat, datang di bawah pimpinan bajak laut tua yang sudah pikun. Orang ini, yang meyakini takhyul bahwa matahari tak pernah terbenam di negerinya, sudah berpuluh tahun hidup di lautan merompak kapal-kapal. Di hari tuanya, ia mendengar kabar tentang perseteruan yang kian memanas antara penghuni dua gedong dan memutuskan singgah untuk memberi bantuan yang diperlukan. Namun sesungguhnya ia tidak banyak membantu: pikirannya sudah tumpul saat itu dan tangannya gemetaran karena buyuten. 91

Sang Pangeran menyambut kedatangan bajak laut tua itu dengan ketulusan yang mengundang curiga dan sesaat berikutnya ia setuju membangun persekutuan dengan orang-orang gedong tepi barat. Secara bersamaan ia juga merangkul sepupu yang sekaligus musuh abadinya, sang pangeran penguasa wilayah barat. Selanjutnya, dengan rencana berbeda di kepala masing-masing, tiga pihak yang bersekutu itu mengepung gedong Murjangkung. Berhari-hari mereka mengepung dan berharap Murjangkung akan sukarela menyerahkan diri, tetapi si jangkung lolos begitu saja dari kepungan, meninggalkan anak-anak buahnya dengan pesan singkat yang tidak pernah mereka patuhi, “Bakar gedong ini jika kalian terdesak!” Lalu ia melayarkan perahunya ke timur, melaju di bawah tatapan mata buram bajak laut tua yang mondar-mandir di kapalnya dekat muara. Si tua tidak melakukan apa-apa dan tak pernah menyadari bahwa empat bulan kemudian Murjangkung akan kembali lagi membawa armada berawakkan para pemabuk dan budak-budak dari timur, menghancurkan para pengepung, dan menyelamatkan anak-anak buahnya di dalam gedong yang sudah menjadi kurus-kurus. 92

Setelah memenangi pertempuran, Murjangkung

segera

memeriksa

pembukuan

dan

menghukum anak-anak buahnya yang menjadi lemah akal selama dalam pengepungan. Kau tahu bahwa Murjangkung, selain kaku dan taat, adalah orang yang teliti dengan pembukuan. Ia cepat menyadari barang-barang apa saja yang hilang dan berapa jumlah uang di gedong yang digelapkan oleh anak-anak buahnya. Yang paling membuatnya kalap adalah fakta bahwa orang-orang yang lemah akal itu rupanya sudah berani pula membongkar lemari besarnya. “Kami tidak pernah menyangka Tuan Mur akan kembali lagi,” kata mereka di persidangan. Murjangkung membuang mereka jauh-jauh agar kelemahan akal mereka tidak menjangkiti orang-orang lain yang masih waras. Ia menegakkan lagi aturan di gedong itu dan merapikan pembukuannya. Dari tempat itu, didampingi oleh para pemabuk yang masih bisa dianggap waras, Murjangkung merancang sebuah kota dari mana ia nanti akan mengendalikan separuh dunia. Ia merayu lagi orang-orang yang lari ketika terjadi penghancuran untuk kembali tinggal di luar pagar; 93

dan mereka datang lagi; dan Murjangkung menarik pajak dari mereka.

mereka bertemu dan bercakap sebentar, ingatannya menjadi kocar-kacir.

Kota berjalan tertib dan, terus terang saja, menjemukan. Di dalam pagar, kau tahu, hanya ada beberapa gelintir perempuan. Para pemabuk yang tinggal di sana merasa sangat kesepian dan menunjukkan gejala-gejala mengkhawatirkan. Untuk mengatasi berjangkitnya perilaku ganjil di kalangan anak-anak buahnya, Murjangkung mempersembahkan kepada mereka sebuah gereja.

Beberapa waktu setelah gereja dibangun dan orang-orang tetap merindukan perempuan, Murjangkung memerintahkan penggalian parit dan kanal dan membuat peraturan tentang bagaimana cara menggunakan kanal di siang hari dan bagaimana memanfaatkannya di malam hari. Pada saat ini tumbuhlah gairah baru di antara para penghuni dalam pagar. Pada siang hari, sesuai peraturan, mereka menggunakan kanal untuk pelesiran dengan perahu-perahu mereka, menikmati pemandangan dan mencari perempuan luar pagar untuk mereka jadikan nyai. Pada malam hari mereka menggunakan kanal itu untuk membuang sampah dan kotoran. Tidak satu catatan pun melaporkan adanya pelanggaran: tak ada satu orang pun membuang berak di kanal pada siang hari.

“Mereka kesepian, Tuan Mur,” kata salah seorang anak buahnya. “Aku tahu,” kata Murjangkung. “Karena itulah kuhadirkan Tuhan bagi mereka.” “Mereka menghendaki perempuan.” “Jadi lebih baik kubangun rumah bordil ketimbang rumah Tuhan?” hardik Murjangkung. Percakapan itu berhenti beberapa saat dan si anak buah merasa hatinya tidak enak dan ia lupa saran apa yang hendak ia sampaikan kepada Murjangkung. Sesungguhnya ia sudah menyiapkan itu berhari-hari dan mencari kesempatan untuk menyampaikannya kepada Tuan Mur, tetapi begitu 94

Demikianlah cara tumbuhnya sebuah kota. Orang-orang yang tinggal di sana semakin banyak dan Murjangkung mengendalikan orang-orang luar pagar dengan ketegasan gembala pemuja kemurnian ras. “Keledai harus dikumpulkan 95

dengan keledai,” katanya. “Babi hutan tidak boleh satu kandang dengan kerbau.” Ia tidak menyukai persilangan sebab baginya itu akan mempersulit pengendalian. Tetapi alasan sebenarnya konon bukan itu. Menurut cerita, ia pernah menyangka bahwa tapir adalah hasil persilangan antara gajah dan babi hutan dan ia malu atas kekeliruan itu; dan sejak itu ia membenci tapir. “Pokoknya tidak boleh ada tapir atau peranakan campuran di kota ini,” katanya. Demi memastikan bahwa perintahnya ditaati, ia lantas menunjuk satu orang dari masingmasing ras untuk menjadi kapten suku yang bertugas menggertak dan memungut pajak. Dengan cara itu, urusan dengan orang-orang luar pagar menjadi tidak terlampau rumit— dan pada dasarnya mereka memang mudah dikendalikan, terutama jika masih berada di dalam jangkauan peluru meriam. Memang pernah ada juga kejadian menggemparkan di luar pagar, yakni ketika salah seorang penduduk dijangkiti oleh khayalan muluk-muluk untuk menggali terowongan dan menyusup ke wilayah dalam pagar. “Kita akan mengangkut barang-barang mahal dan roti-roti mereka ke luar pagar melalui terowongan,” katanya. 96

Orang itu melaksanakan rencananya dan mati di terowongan bersama dua orang lain yang terpukau pada gagasannya. Malam itu mereka hendak melanjutkan pekerjaan menggali terowongan yang baru setengah jalan dan mereka melangkah berurutan memasuki terowongan yang mereka gali. Orang yang paling belakang tersandung dan terhuyung-huyung menubruk orang yang ada di tengah; orang di tengah terhuyung-huyung dan menubruk orang di depan. Mereka bertiga jatuh dan tersiram minyak obor yang mereka bawa dan mereka bertiga mati terbakar. Kejadian ini tercatat dalam arsip pemerintahan kota. Beberapa ratus tahun kemudian, ketika orang-orang berkulit bayi sudah kembali ke negeri mereka, di atas terowongan itu didirikanlah sebuah tugu dengan nyala api dari emas untuk mengenang semangat kepahlawanan para penggali terowongan. Masih ada lagi beberapa perbuatan yang oleh Murjangkung dianggap sebagai perangai buruk dari orang-orang pribumi yang kurang berakal. Semuanya mudah dibereskan. Yang tidak mudah ia tangani justru sampah dan tahi yang dibuang di kanal oleh anak-anak 97

buahnya sendiri. Kota segera menjadi sarang bau dan penyakit. Banyak orang di dalam pagar yang mati oleh malaria, terutama opsir-opsir muda yang baru datang dari negeri mereka. Beberapa yang lain sempoyongan dihajar disentri dan beriberi. Orang-orang tua, yang pelesiran di siang hari dan membuang berak di malam hari, sudah kebal terhadap bau dan sengatan malaria. Mereka hanya kadang-kadang perlu ke rumah sakit karena cacingan dan mulai menunjukkan tingkah laku mengada-ada akibat pengaruh cacing di perut mereka. Masalah bau dan membusuknya kanal itu mencapai puncaknya ketika Murjangkung sendiri akhirnya terserang cacingan, lalu disentri, lalu mati ketika sakit perutnya tak tersembuhkan. Murjangkung Jr., sang pengganti, karena takut terserang sakit perut, memindahkan pusat pemerintahan di depan sebuah tanah lapang dan memesan patung perunggu kepada seorang pemahat untuk ditegakkan di lapangan tersebut. Lihat, betapa angkuhnya mereka. Demi mengenang orang yang mati sakit perut, mereka membuat patung singa memeluk dunia.

98

Dan, kau tahu, setiap jenis keangkuhan tentu saja patut dilawan. Maka, pada malam yang direncanakan, beberapa penduduk luar pagar mengendap-endap ke tanah lapang untuk merobohkan patung singa itu, tetapi mereka lantas mengurungkan niat baik mereka. Pada saat itu mereka sama menyadari bahwa patung itu tak ada harganya untuk dirubuhkan; ia bukanlah singa angkuh seperti kelihatannya, melainkan hanya seekor anjing pudel yang berdiri di atas bulatan keju. Meski demikian, orang-orang tetap menyebut lapangan itu sebagai Lapangan Singa. Mungkin karena lidah orang sulit ditekuk dan kedengarannya memang tak enak mengubah Lapangan Singa menjadi Lapangan Anjing Pudel. Namun, demi kebenaran (karena anjing pudel bukanlah singa), kekeliruan itu diperbaiki beberapa waktu kemudian. Kini orang-orang menyebut lapangan itu dengan nama Lapangan Banteng.

99

Bagaimana Kami Selamat dari Kompeni dan Sebagainya Setiap tukang cerita pastilah berniat memukau orang sejak kalimat pertama. Itu pula niatku meski pada akhirnya hanya bisa kudapatkan kalimat pertama yang amat sepele: Kata sahibul hikayat, orang-orang Cina menyukai hujan lebat di tahun baru. Dan konon mereka akan meratap setahun penuh jika hujan lebat tidak turun di awal tahun. Mereka menanam prasangka baik pada hujan awal tahun. Air yang jatuh deras dari langit mereka bayangkan sebagai uang berlimpah, mengguyur atap rumah dan membeceki pekarangan. Tapi rumah kami selalu terendam jika hujan turun amat deras dan lantai tanahnya akan menjadi lumpur. “Kalian bisa menanam padi,” kata salah satu tetangga kami. Ia hanya bergurau, kautahu, sebab ia mengatakannya sambil tertawa dan ia pasti paham bahwa padi tidak tumbuh di dalam rumah. Hanya jamur yang mengembang di lemari kayu yang melapuk, atau di dinding papan, atau di kolong-kolong yang lembap. 100

101

Rumah kami menjadi langu setelah direndam banjir. Dan masih ada urusan lain; kakus jumbleng di pekarangan belakang akan mbludak di saat banjir dan tahinya merayap ke mana-mana. Selama berminggu-minggu kemudian, atau sampai habis musim penghujan, kami harus menumpang berak di kakus tetangga sebelah. Mereka sama miskinnya dengan kami tetapi pekarangan mereka lebih tinggi dan kakus mereka tidak meluap oleh banjir. Hanya di sini kami tenteram menumpang; di tempat tetangga kaya, kami tidak berani. Kami berhenti menumpang ketika ada yang mendengar tetangga itu mengatakan, “Makanannya dimakan sendiri, tahinya dibagi-bagi.” Sejak itu aku tak berani makan terlalu kenyang. Ayahku memutuskan berak di kali dan semua mengikuti keputusannya dan kali itu lumayan jauh dari rumah. Setiap pagi kami seperti sekawanan burung yang terbang gugup mencari tempat hinggap di kakus umum. Kau harus mengantungi kerikil jika mulasmu tak tertahankan; dengan begitu sampah di perutmu tidak akan bobol di jalan. Ini terasa seperti arak-arakan yang menyedihkan. Aku 102

tak ingin setiap pagi mengikuti arak-arakan itu. Karena itu kukurangi makanku agar perutku bisa tahan menyimpan sampah hingga tiga atau empat hari. Ibuku mengira aku cacingan. Di rumah kami, hanya nenekku yang tidak mengikuti keputusan ayah; ia sudah tuli dan tidak mendengar apa yang dikatakan oleh tetangga kami dan ia tetap enak saja numpang di kakus mereka. Memang hanya nenekku yang kelihatannya paling siap menghadapi urusan apa pun di segala musim. Ia dengan enteng akan mengembalikan luberan kakus ke tempat semula ketika banjir surut, sepertinya— selain tuli—hidungnya juga tersumbat. Tetapi sebenarnya ia memang paling sabar dalam urusanurusan yang orang lain enggan melakukannya. Dan ia suka bertanam apa saja. Ia menanam kapas, tiga batang; ia menanam jeruk dan jarak, masingmasing sebatang; ia juga menanam jambu biji. Semua tanamannya tumbuh meskipun tidak subur. Itu karena tanah pekarangan kami memang sulit ditanami. Nelayan yang mengontrak bagian belakang rumah kami hampir setiap hari pulang dengan sekantung tiram. Istrinya memasak tiramtiram itu, sebagian untuk dimakan sendiri dan 103

sebagian untuk dijual, dan mereka membuang cangkang-cangkangnya begitu saja di pekarangan belakang. Cangkang-cangkang tiram itu terus tertanam di sana ketika si nelayan pindah rumah dan tanah pekarangan kami menjadi tidak subur ditanami apa saja. Tetapi nenekku berhasil menanam tiga pokok kapas, sebatang jeruk dan jarak, dan sebatang jambu biji; dan ia selalu membentak anakanak yang memanjat pohon jambu bijinya. Temantemanku bilang, “Simbahmu galak banget.” Dalam pikiranku, mereka pasti mengatakan, “Simbahmu pelit banget.” Sesungguhnya itu bukan hal aneh di muka bumi; orang-orang tua yang lain juga galak pada anak-anak. Pemilik pohon kersen di kampung sebelah malahan lebih mengerikan ketimbang nenekku. Untungnya ia tidak punya anak dan karena itu tidak punya cucu yang akan merasa malu jika simbahnya galak. Suaminya, si penganyam keranjang bambu, juga sama mengerikan. Namun buah-buah kersen selalu menggiurkan, tidak peduli bahwa pemiliknya galak, tidak peduli bahwa buah itu, kata ibuku, akan membuatmu dihajar disentri jika kau makan terlalu banyak. 104

Kami memang kadang sakit perut, tetapi orang tua juga kadang begitu meskipun tidak makan kersen. Karena itu kami tetap memanjat kersen. Hanya kemudian muncul siluman itu—mereka bilang pohon kersen itu dihuni siluman. Meskipun anak-anak tidak takut pada disentri dan bisa menyiasati orang tua yang galak, mereka takut pada siluman. Seorang temanku pernah dibelit oleh lidah panjang yang tinggal dipohon nangka. Waktu itu tiang-tiang listrik belum dipancangkan di kampung kami dan selokan belum disemen. Dan temanku baru satu setengah tahun. Kudengar orang tuanya yang salah. Anak itu belum lancar berjalan dan mereka tidak membawanya masuk ketika datang maghrib. “Aku melihat orang-orang lalu lalang di bawahku, tetapi mereka tidak melihatku,” katanya. “Dadaku sesak sehingga tak bisa berteriak minta tolong.” Ia sudah berulang kali menceritakan pengalamannya itu, dengan cara bicara yang gagap, tetapi kami selalu mendengarnya dengan senang dan sesudah itu menertawainya. Sampai sekarang, bertahun-tahun setelah peristiwa itu, ia tetap bicara

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gagap dan ia selalu memerlukan waktu lama untuk menyelesaikan ceritanya. “Jadi kau sudah bisa minta tolong waktu itu?” tanyaku. “Aku sudah lancar bicara pada umur tujuh bulan,” katanya. “Tapi lama-lama kurang lancar?” tanya yang lain. “Itu karena leherku dililit hantu.” “Mungkin ayahmu juga dulu dililit hantu. Ia bicara seperti kau bicara,” kata yang lain lagi. “Kudengar ayahmu sudah bisa bicara sejak lahir,” aku menimpali. “Mungkin,” katanya. “Dulu ada juga bayi yang bisa bicara sejak lahir.” Kami tertawa meskipun ia tidak keliru. Guru agama kami juga mengatakan begitu; dulu ada bayi yang bisa bicara begitu ia keluar dari rahim ibunya. Kami percaya pada guru agama tetapi tidak pada si gagap dan kami tertawa-tawa mendengar cerita tentang ayahnya yang sudah bisa bicara sejak lahir dan kini menjadi gagap karena dililit hantu. 106

Ayahku tidak senang jika kami tertawa-tawa seperti itu. Ia tahu banyak hal dan ia mengingatkanku agar jangan meledek hantu-hantu. Aku tidak mengatakan kepadanya siapa yang sebenarnya kami tertawai. Kurasa ia pasti juga tidak suka jika kami menertawai kegagapan orang lain. Ayahku orang yang selalu bersungguhsungguh, mungkin karena ia tahu banyak hal. Ia tahu tentang hantu lidah, tentang semua siluman, dan tentang jin Nabi Sulaiman yang dulu pernah tinggal di kampung kami. Aku kerap mendengar ia menceritakan itu semua kepada orang-orang yang datang ke rumah kami sehabis maghrib; mereka tampak senang di depannya, tetapi aku tahu bahwa di belakang ayahku mereka tertawa. Itu seperti kami meminta si gagap bercerita dan kemudian menertawainya. Kadang-kadang aku ingin menyuruh ayahku berhenti bercerita dan mengatakan bahwa orangorang itu, yang tampaknya senang mendengar ceritanya, sesungguhnya suka meledek di belakang punggung. Tetapi aku tak tahu bagaimana cara mengatakannya dan ayahku tak pernah berhenti bercerita. Ia bangga menyampaikan apa saja, terutama cerita tentang jin Nabi Sulaiman. 107

“Dulu pernah ada yang diajak jalan-jalan oleh jin itu,” katanya. “Tapi itu sudah lama sekali, sebelum kalian semua lahir. Aku mendengar ini dari ayahku, dan ayahku mendengar dari ayahnya, dan seterusnya.” Dan, sekarang, aku mendengar cerita tentang jin piaraan Nabi Sulaiman itu dari ayahku. Ia tiba di kampung kami sebelum kakekku lahir, pada masa ketika kompeni dan marsose masih suka mondarmandir keluar masuk kampung. Tentu kompeni yang suka mondar-mandir itu juga berniat menguasai kampung kami, tetapi niat itu mereka urungkan karena komandan mereka diambil dan dibawa bermain-main oleh jin piaraan Nabi Sulaiman. Kata ayahku, jenderal kompeni itu diajak bermain ayunan. “Besar sekali ayunan itu,” katanya. “Ia berayun dari ujung sebelah sini hari Senin, tiba di ujung sebelah sana hari Kamis, dan kembali lagi di ujung sebelah sini hari Senin minggu berikutnya.” Ketika si Jenderal selesai bermain ayunan, kautahu, semua anak buahnya sudah pulang ke negeri mereka di bawah lautan. Di tangsi ia hanya mendapati orang-orang kate yang berisik; tentaratentara kerdil itu berbicara seperti membentak108

bentak. Kurasa jenderal kompeni itu tidak suka dibentak-bentak oleh orang-orang kate, karena itu ia memilih pulang menyusul anak-anak buahnya. Apa yang diketahui oleh ayahku ini, aku yakin, tak banyak diketahui oleh orang-orang lain. Dan jika tak kusampaikan kepadamu sekarang ini, apakah kau akan tahu bahwa jin piaraan Nabi Sulaiman pernah tinggal di kampung kami? Raksasa itu menyelamatkan kami dari penjajahan kompeni. Tak lama setelah soldadu-soldadu itu pergi, jin meninggalkan kampung kami. Itu kepergian yang patut disesali; mestinya ia bisa sedikit lebih lama lagi. Pada saat tentara-tentara kate datang, ia sudah tidak ada lagi. Karena itu para kate berani membentak-bentak orang tua kami, seolah-olah orang tua kami adalah anak-anak panti asuhan yang bandel-bandel. Kate-kate itu mengatakan bahwa mereka adalah saudara tua, tapi tabiat mereka seperti saudara tiri yang bengis dalam cerita-cerita mengharukan yang pernah kaudengar. Begitulah kata ayahku. Dan kau tak pernah tahu bagaimana bakat diwariskan. 109

Suatu hari sepulang sekolah aku meneruskan apa yang kudengar dari ayahku kepada teman sebangkuku, anak si tukang sampah, yang tak pernah membantah ceritaku. Ia setahun lebih tua dari aku dan wajahnya mirip sekali dengan ayahnya, namun ia belum mengidap penyakit batuk. Kami berkawan dekat dan sekarang ia bekerja di pabrik kaus. “Aku masuk tanpa dites,” katanya. Di pabrik itu kakaknya bekerja. Kurasa kau juga tak perlu dites untuk bekerja di mana pun jika kakakmu ada di sana. Ia menikah dengan teman pabriknya dua tahun lalu dan menyekat kamar tersendiri di rumah ayahnya untuk ia tempati bersama istrinya. Kini kami sudah jarang bersama-sama. Sebetulnya sejak aku masuk SMP, kami sudah jarang bersama-sama. Menjelang ujian sekolah, aku meluaskan pergaulanku dengan bergabung ke sanggar kartun. Beberapa bulan aku tekun mengartun dan ayahku mengira aku berbakat menggambar dan kepada orangorang ia mengatakan bahwa aku akan menjadi arsitek. Kemudian aku tertarik menulis puisi dan mengirimkannya ke radio-radio. Ayahku tetap mengatakan bahwa aku akan menjadi arsitek. 110

Itu keliru. Di SMA aku memiliki gagasan besar untuk menggabungkan gambar dan puisi dan mendapatkan uang berlimpah dari sana. Maka, sebelum tamat sekolah, aku sudah menggelar terpal di depan kantor pos; kau bisa datang kepadaku dan memesan kartu ucapan yang kaukehendaki. Aku menggambar sendiri kartu itu dengan cat air dan menuliskan puisi karanganku di kartu yang kau pesan. Tentu saja kau boleh mengarang sendiri puisimu untuk orang yang kausasar. Atau kau bisa datang begitu saja tanpa memesan kartu. Beberapa orang juga datang hanya untuk mendengar cerita-ceritaku tanpa memesan kartu. Aku mewarisi banyak cerita dan kupikir tidak baik menyia-nyiakan warisan itu sebagaimana yang telah dilakukan oleh para pendahuluku. Kautahu, kakekku memiliki banyak cerita dan ia menjadi tukang kayu. Ia memikat banyak orang dengan cerita-ceritanya tetapi ia tidak menjadi nabi meskipun dulu pernah ada tukang kayu yang bisa mengumpulkan banyak orang dan mengembangkan dirinya menjadi nabi. Kakekku hanya menjadi PKI. Ayahku memiliki banyak cerita, mendatangkan orang-orang, dan tidak pernah bisa mendapatkan

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pekerjaan; beruntung ia mendapatkan istri yang pandai berdagang. Aku memiliki banyak cerita dan sebagian sudah kusampaikan kepadamu: tentang orang-orang Cina dan hujan, tentang kakus dan nenekku, tentang siluman dan jin Sulaiman, tentang kompeni yang bermain ayunan dan kakekku yang tidak menjadi nabi. Kini kau harus membayarku, bukan? Sebab hanya akulah satu-satunya lelaki di garis leluhurku yang bertekad menjadikan kekayaan turun-temurun keluarga kami sebagai sumber penghasilan.

Tuhan, Pawang Hujan, dan Pertarungan yang Remis Fakta pertama, gadis itu cantik dan itu membuat Alit kikuk dan itu membuatnya tiba-tiba menyadari betapa pentingnya bakat. Fakta berikutnya, para penjual motivasi selalu mengatakan kepadamu bahwa untuk menjadi ini dan itu kau tidak memerlukan bakat. Alit pernah meyakininya ketika ia memutuskan belajar sulap, tetapi belakangan ia tidak terlalu percaya pada bujukan itu. Ia kembali yakin pada bakat. “Jika bakatmu adalah pawang kera,” katanya, “kau pasti akan lebih beruntung menjadi pawang kera ketimbang memaksakan diri menjadi penulis atau menjadi tukang ketik. Dan jika kau mengembangkan diri menurut bakatmu, suatu saat kau bahkan bisa meningkatkan diri menjadi pawang gorila.” Gadis itu sedikit kusam, mungkin karena pakaian yang dikenakannya sudah lapuk dan warnanya pudar, mungkin karena rambutnya awut-awutan belum dikeramas, atau mungkin ia memang tidak terlalu peduli pada penampilan—

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usianya baru tiga belas. Alit merasa tak ada masalah dengan penampilan gadis itu dan ia yakin bahwa matanya masih awas untuk membedakan antara cantik dan tidak. Seorang gadis cantik akan tetap membuat matamu terpaku sekalipun pada waktu itu ia mengenakan pakaian yang belum dicuci tiga hari atau ia belum mengeramas rambutnya dalam sebulan terakhir. Dan jika kau merasa kikuk tanpa sebab pada pertemuan pertama, itulah barangkali yang disebut jatuh cinta pada pandangan pertama. Alit berusia 24 tahun dan sebenarnya sudah beberapa kali kikuk. Kecantikan gadis itu bertahan di pelupuk mata Alit hingga bertahun-tahun kemudian dan Alit yakin bahwa kecantikan, seperti halnya bakat, adalah anugerah Tuhan. Berkat kehadiran gadis itu, Alit mulai sadar bahwa sesungguhnya ia tidak memiliki bakat menjadi tukang sulap. Alasannya sepele, seorang tukang sulap berbakat mestinya tidak akan bertingkah kikuk ketika menyadari ada gadis cantik sedikit kusam di tengah orang-orang yang menonton atraksinya. Ternyata ia lebih berbakat menjadi pawang hujan dan ia baru tahu itu setelah enam tahun 114

menyulap dan berkali-kali gagal menghibur anakanak dengan permainan sulapnya. Di antara enam tahun menyulap, ia pernah membadut dan mendapati siksaan paling menggiriskan ketika membanyol di markas tentara. Selama pertunjukan, yang berlangsung satu jam namun terasa seperti bertahun-tahun, para prajurit terus memasang tampang kaku seperti ketika mereka sedang berbaris. Kurasa Alit akan sangat berterima kasih seandainya saat itu ada tentara yang mendadak gila dan menembaknya tepat di jantung. Namun itu tak terjadi dan ia harus terus membadut, melewati menit-menit terberat dalam hidupnya, tanpa ditertawai. Di puncak kesengsaraan, ketika ia membungkukkan badan mengakhiri badutannya, sang komandan bertepuk tangan dan setelah itu barulah para prajurit berpangkat rendah ikut bertepuk tangan. Demikianlah, tanpa bakat yang memadai ia kembali menyulap, sampai ia disadarkan oleh kehadiran gadis kusam yang membuatnya kikuk. Seminggu sesudah kejadian itu ia berhenti menyulap dan pada hari kedelapan ia merasa terdorong menjadi pawang hujan. Dorongan itu mula-mula muncul ketika ia menyaksikan seorang pawang 115

hujan bekerja pada pesta pernikahan tetangganya dan keesokan harinya ia merasakan dorongan itu menguat. “Aku ingin belajar mengusir hujan padamu,” kata Alit ketika ia datang menemui pawang itu di rumahnya. “Tidak sulit jika kau punya bakat,” kata orang tua itu, suaranya menyusup dari celah gusi-gusi yang sudah gundul. “Aku tak tahu bakatku,” kata Alit. Lelaki itu menatap anak muda di depannya, seperti memeriksa susunan tulang belulang rangkanya. “Tampaknya kau punya bakat,” katanya.

melepaskan keahliannya sebagai tukang sulap sekalipun ia nanti sudah mewarisi ilmu si pawang hujan. Ia merasa bahwa atraksi mengendalikan awan-awan di langit akan menjadi pertunjukan luar ruang yang ampuh. Ia akan membuat awanawan saling cakar seperti anak-anak kucing atau melenggok selucu banci. Dan mestinya tak sulitsulit amat bagi pesulap ampuh untuk memikat gadis cantik berpenampilan kusam. Namun, seperti mampu memergoki pikiran Alit, si pawang mengingatkan bahwa seorang pawang hujan pantang mempermainkan awan, apalagi untuk tujuan-tujuan atraksi. Peringatan itu membuat Alit memperbaiki silanya dan menunduk. “Aku hanya ingin sesekali dipayungi awan,” katanya.

Alit percaya pada kata-katanya: ia pawang sakti dan, kau tahu, tampangnya seperti setan.

“Kalau begitu kau pulang saja,” kata si pawang.

Bahkan sebelum orang itu menurunkan ilmunya, Alit sudah membayangkan dirinya mengendalikan awan-awan di langit, memanggil atau mengusirnya atau menjadikannya payung yang melindunginya dari panas matahari. Saat memikirkan itu, tiba-tiba ia merasa sayang untuk

tua meninggalkannya, menoleh ke arah Alit

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Alit tetap menunduk dan tidak pulang. Si ketika ia berada di pintu kamarnya. “Hanya nabi yang berjalan dipayungi awan,” katanya. “Jika kau melakukan hal itu, orang-orang akan menganggapmu nabi palsu.” Ia masuk kamar dan tak keluar-keluar. 117

Keesokan harinya Alit datang lagi ke rumah orang itu dan mengatakan bahwa ia siap melupakan atraksi sulapnya. Mungkin susah menduga apakah Alit berbohong atau tidak dengan pernyataannya. Tetapi pawang tua itu menerimanya dan tujuh bulan kemudian, ketika si tua sekarat di tempat tidurnya, Alit untuk pertama kalinya bekerja mengusir hujan. Penampilan pertamanya berjalan sempurna meski ia masih tersendat-sendat merapalkan mantra. Beberapa minggu kemudian ia lebih tersendat-sendat karena matanya menemukan lagi si cantik yang awut-awutan di antara orang-orang yang mengerumuninya. Ia hampir merasa tidak berbakat lagi, tetapi pada penampilan ketiga dan seterusnya ia lancar sekali merapalkan mantra dan menunjukkan bakat cemerlangnya mengusir hujan. Si tua benar tentang bakat Alit dan ia mati seminggu setelah muridnya melakukan pekerjaan keempat. Maka penampilan kelima Alit adalah bertarung menghadapi awan-awan yang datang menyesaki pemakaman gurunya. Kau tahu, mereka seperti kaum usiran yang kembali untuk merayakan kematian orang yang selama hidup telah mencampakkan mereka. Pertarungan berlangsung alot dan Alit akhirnya mampu mengusir barisan 118

awan yang datang untuk membenamkan jenazah si pawang tua. Mewarisi ilmu si tua, Alit menapaki tujuh tahun perjalanan cemerlangnya sebagai pawang hujan. Lalu gadis kusam itu, yang kini sudah matang, kembali membuatnya payah. Alit sudah hampir 32 saat itu dan pada hari Sabtu sore ia melihat si gadis, usianya sudah hampir 21, tampak seperti bidadari yang dijatuhi kutukan. Kau tahu, gadis itu menikah dengan lelaki yang sama sekali tidak pantas untuk dibilang jodohnya, seorang duda tua, dan Alit diminta mengusir hujan pada pesta pernikahan mereka. Alit merapalkan mantra dengan rahang kaku dan tenggorokan panas—mungkin saat itu ia tampak sangat memalukan. Ia ingin sekali mendatangkan hujan deras semalaman untuk menggagalkan pesta pernikahan gadis itu. Tentu saja ia tidak melakukannya; itu akan menyalahi sumpahnya sebagai pawang hujan dan itu bukan tindakan terpuji. Tetapi apa ada gunanya mempertahankan sumpah dan tindakan terpuji jika gadis itu jatuh ke tangan duda tua? Untuk pertama kali selama menjalani kepawangan, ia merasa Tuhan telah memberinya 119

bakat yang keliru, atau bakat yang tak ada gunanya. Dengan bakat cemerlangnya menghalau awan-awan, ia toh tidak mampu memikat gadis yang membuatnya kikuk sejak pandangan pertama. Padahal, ia merasa sudah begitu dekat dengan gadis itu. Dalam empat tahun terakhir mereka memang selalu bersama dan gadis itu berkali-kali mengucapkan terima kasih kepadanya. Tiga tahun setelah Alit berhenti menyulap, kau tahu, gadis itulah yang kemudian naik panggung; ia mengubah dirinya saat itu juga menjadi bidadari yang luwes memainkan pelbagai tipuan sulap. O, ia benarbenar pandai menipu dan ia selalu mengenakan pakaian yang tampaknya kekecilan. Para lelaki menyukai tipuannya dan tertantang oleh pakaian yang dikenakannya. Dan Alit, dengan penuh kasih kepada si gadis, mengusir hujan setiap kali gadis itu naik panggung. “Terima kasih, ya,” kata gadis itu suatu kali ketika ia selesai manggung. Alit menjawab, “Sama-sama,” dan memantapkan tekatnya untuk selalu menjaga panggung gadis itu dari serbuan hujan. “Dulu aku terpukau pada permainanmu,” kata gadis itu.

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“Aku tidak berbakat,” kata Alit. “Kau pesulap yang hebat,” kata gadis itu. “Aku merasa kehilangan ketika kau menjadi pawang hujan. Karena itu aku lantas berlatih; aku harus memainkannya sendiri sebab tak mungkin lagi melihat sulapmu.” Lihatlah, gadis itu memiliki segala kualitas terbaik sebagai perempuan: ia cantik, ia santun, dan ia tahu cara berbohong yang baik. Alit tidak terlalu percaya pada apa yang diucapkannya, tetapi ia senang mendengarnya. “Kau lebih berbakat menyulap dan aku lebih cocok seperti sekarang,” kata Alit. “Aku senang jika bisa melindungi panggungmu dari guyuran hujan.” Alit pernah diam-diam mengutuk dirinya sendiri karena panggung gadis itu ambruk pada penampilan pertamanya. Penampilan itu sekaligus menjadi pengalaman paling menyedihkan yang pernah dialami oleh gadis itu di atas panggung. Hujan turun begitu deras dan anginnya kencang dan Alit berjarak seratus kilometer lebih dari panggung itu. Sebatang pohon besar roboh menimpa panggung. Gadis itu meloncat dan jatuh

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dan tak bisa menyulap beberapa waktu karena tangannya terkilir. “Maafkan aku tidak mendampingimu,” katanya dalam hati ketika ia melihat gadis itu melintas di kejauhan beberapa hari setelah kejadian. “Lain kali aku tak akan pernah meninggalkanmu.” Dan Alit menepati ucapannya. Bahkan pada hari-hari kalutnya ketika ia melihat gadis itu mulai sering didekati oleh si duda tua, Alit tak pernah meninggalkannya. Ia tidak menyukai lelaki itu— orang-orang mengatakan bahwa dia seorang politisi, menurut Alit dia hanyalah bandot. Dan keduanya, baik politisi maupun bandot, sangatlah mudah jatuh cinta, namun Alit tidak percaya bahwa bidadarinya akan jatuh cinta pada bandot tua yang mendekatinya. Ia terus mempercayai gadis itu sampai kepercayaan itu akhirnya berubah menjadi rasa tegang di tengkuk ketika gadis itu mulai makin sering jalan dengan si duda. Sungguh Tuhan telah memberinya bakat yang tidak berguna, bakat yang tak mampu menarik hati gadis pujaannya, bakat yang tak mampu menyelamatkan gadis itu dari pesona si bandot. Sungguh Tuhan telah membuat keputusan yang 122

keliru karena menjodohkan gadis pujaannya dengan bandot itu. Maka, tak ada jalan lain, Tuhan dan keputusan-Nya yang keliru harus dilawan. Tuhan telah menyakitinya dalam urusan perjodohan, maka Alit memutuskan bertarung dengan Tuhan di wilayah lain yang Dia merasa paling berkuasa—soal kematian. Ia bersumpah tak akan pernah membiarkan kematiannya menjadi urusan Tuhan; ia hanya mau mati karena ia sendiri yang menghendaki kematiannya. Karena itu pada suatu malam ia terjun dari jembatan, menenggelamkan diri di sungai keruh. Dan ia tidak mati. Pasti ada yang tak beres dalam pertarungan ini. Alit yakin bahwa ia mestinya sudah mati malam itu—artinya ia yang menang—tetapi Tuhan telah bertindak curang dengan cara mengirimkan malaikat berupa pengemis untuk menggagalkan upayanya. Pertarungan berakhir remis. Ia tidak mati oleh kehendaknya sendiri dan Tuhan pun tidak mengambil nyawanya setelah menggagalkan upayanya membunuh diri sendiri. Setelah pertarungan yang remis itu, Alit tidak pernah lagi berniat mencabut nyawa sendiri. Dua 123

hari ia dirawat oleh si pengemis. Pada hari ketiga ia meninggalkan sang utusan itu dan berjalan sepanjang sungai ke arah hulu dan di sebuah dataran tinggi ia merencanakan lagi pertarungan berikutnya.

orang itu kepada ikan-ikan kecil dan mengirimkan nyawa mereka kepada Tuhan. “Biar Tuhan dan ikan-ikan tahu bahwa aku tidak menyukai keputusan yang keliru dan pertarungan yang curang,” katanya sebelum tidur.

Dulu Tuhan pernah menurunkan hujan 40 hari dan mengirimkan banjir yang menenggelamkan pucuk gunung. Ia yakin bisa menumbangkan rekor itu dengan menurunkan hujan 41 hari, tetapi ia tidak ingin melakukan itu. Cukup baginya menurunkan hujan lebat dua hari di hulu sungai dan banjir akan menyapu kolong jembatan dan menyeret pengemis utusan Tuhan ke lautan. Cukup pula baginya jika banjir itu menghajar bandot tua dan gadis pesulap yang sedang berbulan madu. Keduanya memang bukan utusan Tuhan, tetapi pernikahan mereka

Aku turun dari hulu sungai pada siang hari dan tak pernah menemukan Alit hingga sekarang. Aku sendiri, kau tahu, hanyalah tukang sulap yang tidak berbakat dan tak menguasai tipuan untuk menurunkan hujan. Kini aku masih menunggu kedatangannya. Bagaimanapun, aku tetap ingin melihat ia menghanyutkan pengemis utusan Tuhan dan politisi bandot maupun gadis pesulap yang bukan utusan Tuhan.

adalah kekeliruan. Dan, menurutnya, keputusan yang keliru tak pantas dibiarkan. Maka ia memilih tengah malam untuk merapalkan mantranya. Tetapi ia tertidur sebelum tengah malam dan pagi harinya aku hanya menemukan diriku sendiri di hulu sungai. Padahal aku sangat menyetujui rencananya, dan kurasa tak akan sulit baginya untuk menghidangkan mayat tiga 124

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Seorang Utusan Memotong Telinga Raja Jawa Akhirnya bisa kusampaikan kabar ini, kabar baik yang tertunda sekian lama, kabar baik mengenai pekerjaan besar yang tertunda sekian lama. Kautahu, setiap pekerjaan besar memang selalu menuntut kesabaran dan ia bisa dimulai dari peristiwa yang amat sepele: sebuah pertemuan tak sengaja dengan teman lama—teman baik di waktu lalu, yang agak menjemukan setelah beberapa tahun tak ketemu. Yang kumaksud adalah Seto. Kami bertemu lagi 22 tahun kemudian, di toko buah dekat Pekojan, dan ia masih tampak runyam seperti dulu ketika kami sembunyi-sembunyi memutar kaset pidato Pemimpin Besar. Ia menanyakan apa kabar dan kujawab baik dan ia menanyakan apakah aku masih sering ketemu teman-teman SMA. Setelah itu pembicaraan kami, yang berselang-seling dengan kesibukannya mengirim dan membaca pesan singkat, berlangsung tersendat-sendat; kurasa ia ingin kelihatan banyak urusan. Ia meninggalkan 126

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toko buah itu sebelum pembicaraan kami benarbenar mampet. “Kontak-kontak, ya!” katanya. Itu hanya basa-basi, kan? Aku yakin kami tak akan pernah saling kontak.

dengannya dan tetap memanggilnya Kadal.

Aku berkeliling sebentar, melihat-lihat dan memegang-megang jeruk dan apel segar dan mencium-cium mangga matang pohon. Nenekku batuk-batuk dan bertingkah seperti orang ngidam; ia minta dibelikan mangga matang pohon. Aku memilihkannya lima butir mangga paling murah yang ada di sana. Menurutku, asal kau pintar memilih, mangga murahan pun akan seharum mangga matang pohon dan orang tua yang batukbatuk kurasa tak akan bisa membedakan keduanya.

memanggilnya Simbah.

Setelah pertemuan itu, aku beberapa kali ke Jakarta untuk urusan pekerjaan tetapi tidak pernah mampir ke rumah Seto meskipun ia memberiku alamat. Aku benci nama kampungnya; ia seperti memberi perasaan tidak enak yang aku sendiri susah menjelaskannya. Kuceritakan hal ini kepada Jiwo, si mungil yang dipanggil Kadal ketika kami SMP dan tetap mungil ketika kami sama-sama kuliah di Yogya. Oleh teman-teman di kampusnya ia dipanggil Kondom; aku tidak sekampus

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Kadal kembali ke Semarang tanpa menamatkan kuliah; ia memanjangkan rambutnya dan menjadi cenayang di Kampung Kali. Sekarang orang-orang “Kau belum pernah ke rumah Seto tetapi tak ingin kembali lagi ke sana?” tanyanya. “Bukan begitu. Aku merasa tak nyaman ke sana,” kataku. “Itu menunjukkan bahwa kau pernah ke tempat itu, pada kehidupan yang lalu, dan mengalami kejadian tidak menyenangkan di sana dan itu membuatmu tidak ingin ke sana lagi,” katanya. Kuharap ia bukan cenayang gadungan, namun aku yakin ia keliru. Selain perasaan tak nyaman yang kurasakan, sesungguhnya ada hal lain yang membuatku enggan bertandang ke sana. Sudah kukatakan tadi bahwa Seto berubah menjadi agak menjemukan. Berkali-kali ia mengirimiku pesan singkat yang panjang sekali dan diakhiri dengan imbauan menyedihkan tentang “revolusi belum selesai” atau “kita harus rebut kembali kedaulatan rakyat,” atau “dukung aku, ya.”

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Lihatlah, Seto menggunakan telepon genggam, benda yang dulu hanya dimiliki oleh awak pesawat Enterprise di serial Star Trek, sekadar untuk mengasongkan barang-barang tua. Memang kami dulu sama-sama suka mendengar pidato, tetapi, terusterang, saat ini aku bukanlah kolektor yang cepat terangsang pada mumi yang ia dagangkan. Pada hari aku menceritakan soal ini kepada Kadal, aku sudah menerima pesan revolusi ketujuh dari Seto. Mengabaikan tujuh pesan singkat Seto, Kadal mengoceh tentang déjà vu dan pengalamanpengalaman dari kehidupan masa lalu. Ia mengatakan bahwa ia sendiri di masa lalu adalah seorang gadis kecil yang terjatuh dari pohon jambu di pekarangan belakang. Tulang punggungnya patah waktu itu dan, di kehidupan sekarang, ia selalu merasakan ada yang tidak beres dengan tulang punggungnya. Kurasa ada yang tidak beres juga dengan otaknya. Bayangkanlah seorang gadis kecil terjatuh dari pohon jambu dan ia terlahir kembali di kehidupan selanjutnya sebagai Kadal. Gadis yang malang! “Aku sudah pernah ke rumah sakit untuk dironsen,” katanya, “dan dokter mengatakan tidak 130

ada persoalan apa pun dengan tulang punggungku.” Ia juga mengatakan bahwa ia selalu gemetar melihat pohon jambu biji dan punggungnya akan ngilu seketika. Dan rasa ngilu itu ia yakini sebagai warisan dari kehidupan masa lalu. Kurasa sebentar lagi ia gila. “Aku merasa di masa lalu aku adalah tentara Mongol,” kataku sekenanya. “Aku benci kepada Raja Jawa yang telah mengiris hidungku.” O, bukankah lebih seru jika aku mengatakan bahwa di masa lalu aku adalah Kubilai Khan, cucu Jenghis Khan, sang penakluk yang muncul dari hamparan semak dan padang alang-alang? Si Kadal bersungguh-sungguh menanggapi omonganku. Aku menjadi tidak enak sendiri dan itu memaksaku untuk berlagak serius seolah-olah segala yang kuomongkan adalah benar. “Aku sering merasakan hal yang mengganggu pada hidungku,” kataku. Ia menyarankan aku agar segera meninggalkan tanah Jawa. Sebab, katanya, tempat ini memberikan kenangan buruk kepadaku dan mungkin ada dorongan dalam diriku untuk selalu membenci 131

orang Jawa—sebuah dorongan yang lahir begitu saja karena pengalaman buruk di kehidupan masa laluku.

“Tinggalkan tanah Jawa,” ia tetap kukuh pada nasihatnya. “Dan jangan pernah berhubungan dengan orang Jawa.”

Apa boleh buat, aku benar-benar harus mengikhlaskannya. Mbah Kadal ini tampaknya tak tertolong lagi.

Kautahu itu saran yang musykil. Aku lahir di Trenggalek dari orang tua yang keduanya Jawa; aku berpacaran pertama kali dengan orang Jawa dan yang kedua dengan orang Tegal, Jawa juga meskipun bahasanya begitu, dan aku tidak tahu apakah aku masih akan berpacaran lagi dengan orang Jawa. Pukul setengah dua belas malam aku pamitan, “Sampai ketemu lagi,” tetapi dalam hati kubilang selamat tinggal.

Karena itu kuputuskan untuk melayani saja kegilaannya karena sudah telanjur dan kupikir aku tak akan pernah datang lagi padanya. Kutanyakan kepadanya, sekadar iseng, apakah raja Jawa itu akan kembali mengiris hidungku jika aku bertemu lagi dengannya dan ia menjawab, “Bisa jadi.” Namun kukatakan bahwa raja Jawa itu mungkin sekarang tidak lagi tinggal di Jawa. “Buktinya aku prajurit Mongol di masa lalu dan pada kehidupan sekarang aku menjadi orang Jawa,” kataku. “Mungkin raja Jawa yang memotong hidungku itu kini menjadi warga Uganda.” Ia menjawab sama, “Bisa jadi.” “Jadi apa yang harus kulakukan dengan hidung gompalku di masa lalu?” tanyaku. “Apakah aku harus memerangi semua orang Jawa untuk menuntaskan dendamku pada raja Jawa yang kini tinggal di Uganda?” 132

Namun itu rupanya bukan pertemuan terakhir kami. Pada malam yang lain, ketika Seto beberapa kali lagi mengirimkan pesan revolusinya dan aku memerlukan teman bicara, sekali lagi aku menemui Kadal. Ia menyambutku seperti orang yang hidup lagi sehabis mati dan kami bercakap-cakap hingga dinihari. Ia tampak seperti orang mengigau. Setelah itu aku benar-benar tidak pernah mengunjunginya lagi. Kami baru bercakap-cakap lagi kira-kira delapan bulan kemudian ketika ia meneleponku dan menyatakan keinginannya tinggal di Afrika. Silakan, Mbah Kadal, mungkin 133

saat ini Mr. Columbus yang sedang menginap di tubuhmu dan ia berhasrat menemukan lagi benuabenua baru. “Selamat menempuh hidup baru,” kataku. Aku tidak ke mana-mana dan tetap di Semarang, sebuah kota yang mempunyai bukit dan pantai dan mestinya bisa menjadi kota yang bagus. Kau tahu, tidak setiap kota memiliki bukit dan pantai dan Semarang memiliki keduanya, namun ia berkembang menjadi kota yang tidak bagus dan gampang terendam. Ia terendam oleh banjir di musim hujan, terbenam oleh rob di musim kemarau, dan tenggelam oleh poster-poster dan spanduk-spanduk di musim kampanye. Dulu ia pernah karam secara menyedihkan ketika seluruh pokok tanaman di tepi jalan dan pagar rumah harus dicat warna kuning. Semarang tidak memberiku pacar yang memuaskan dan penghasilan yang baik tetapi aku tidak bisa meninggalkannya. Nenekku sudah sangat tua dan suara batuknya mengerikan di malam hari dan ia bisa sewaktu-waktu mati. Ia tak punya siapa-siapa lagi selain aku. Sekiranya Kadal bisa dipercaya, aku berharap nenekku menjadi 134

gadis cantik di kehidupan barunya nanti, agar peruntungannya membaik. Kurasa para lelaki di kehidupan mendatang pun tetap akan memburu gadis cantik sekalipun gadis itu mengidap penyakit batuk yang tak sembuh-sembuh. Matilah cepat-cepat, Nek, dan jadilah gadis cantik. Dan biarkan para lelaki, dengan berbagai variasi tampang, datang kepadamu dan menyodorkan niat baik mereka untuk mengabdikan jiwa raga demi merawatmu: gadis cantik yang terbatuk-batuk. Sungguh tak ada yang perlu dicemaskan pada perempuan cantik yang sedikit penyakitan—dalam dongeng yang kaudengar atau dalam keseharian yang kausesali. Kau tahu, yang berjodoh dengan pangeran selalu gadis cantik. Jika ia tertidur bertahun-tahun, ia akan dibangunkan oleh pangeran tampan yang segera memperistrinya sebelum ia sempat mandi atau cuci muka. Jika ia disiksa oleh ibu tiri, ia akan ditolong habis-habisan oleh peri dan dibuatkan kereta, mungkin dari dari sebutir labu atau gentong, tergantung apa bahan yang tersedia, dan dijodohkan dengan seorang pangeran. 135

Kenyataan lain, seorang gadis cantik pada hakikatnya adalah makhluk pembawa keberuntungan. Mintalah ia mencium kodok, maka kodok itu akan berubah seketika menjadi pangeran. Karena itu kau tak perlu cemburu jika suatu saat berpapasan di jalan dengan lelaki buruk rupa yang sedang menggandeng tangan perempuan jelita. Perlu kutegaskan nasihat ini karena kau mungkin pernah memaki dalam hati ketika melihat lelaki buruk berpasangan dengan perempuan cantik. Ingatlah bahwa pada tengah malam nanti, ketika si perempuan mencium kening lelaki itu, si buruk akan menjadi tampan. Jadi, sekali lagi, kuharap nenekku beruntung di kehidupannya mendatang. Semakin keras ia menggonggongkan batuknya, semakin khusyuk doaku: cantiklah ia kelak. Apakah aku terdengar seperti orang yang memuja permukaan dan tak mempercayai keadilan Tuhan? Maafkan aku jika terasa olehmu seperti itu. Aku sangat percaya bahwa Tuhan mahaadil. Aku yakin bahwa perempuan pesek pun tetap bisa mendapatkan nasib baik, misalnya jika ia menjadi pelawak di televisi dan sedikit tahan malu. Jika ia menjadi tukang sayur, ia juga bisa menjadi tukang sayur yang bernasib 136

mujur. Jika ia menjadi pembantu rumah tangga, ia mungkin akan selamat dari gerayangan majikan bermata keranjang. Aku berbicara jujur dan kurasa memang begitulah keadilan berlangsung di muka bumi. Segala makhluk mendapatkan nasib baiknya masing-masing. Aku sendiri meyakini keadilan itu sambil berharap akan datang perempuan cantik suatu saat; ia mencium jidatku, lalu kulit mukaku mengelupas seketika, lalu keajaiban bekerja saat itu juga, lalu aku berubah menjadi majikan tampan. Namun aku sudah lama sekali berada di kota ini dan langit malam tidak kunjung menurunkan kepadaku mukjizat itu. Aku berpacaran dua kali dan dengan keduanya aku berakhir ribut. Aku tetap merindukan ciuman itu, ciuman tulus perempuan cantik yang bisa mengubah kodok menjadi majikan, tetapi sesuatu yang lain harus terjadi. Dan kau tak bisa menghindari sesuatu yang harus terjadi. Undangan Seto masuk ke telepon genggamku pada suatu tengah malam ketika aku sedang mendoakan nenekku. Kubaca pesan singkat itu, “Teman-teman kita di Jakarta berniat reuni di rumahku. Datanglah, Bung.” Oi, apa kabar teman137

teman sekarang? Meskipun tetap merasa tidak nyaman, akhirnya kuputuskan datang. Kereta tiba di stasiun Senen agak kesiangan; pukul setengah sembilan aku naik bis kota menuju Lebak Bulus. Tiga orang naik dari sebuah halte dan salah seorang mulai mendeklamasikan riwayat mereka. Kautahu, itu perbuatan yang tidak menghibur sama sekali. Karena itu aku akan meringkaskan saja apa yang dideklamasikan. Mereka mengaku sebagai para bajingan yang baru dua bulan dibebaskan dari penjara, tidak ingin mengulangi kejahatan mereka, ingin mengamen saja, tidak punya uang untuk membeli gitar. Lalu, “Sudilah kiranya membantu kami.” Salah seorang menyandar pada kursi tepat di depanku; ia tak bicara dan hanya mengasah sembilu dengan beling pecahan botol. Aku benci pada si juru deklamasi. Aku benci pada si penadah uang. Aku benci pada si pengasah sembilu; orang ini membuatku rusuh. Demi segala yang tak masuk akal tentang kehidupan lalu atau apa pun, mau apa dia? Tanpa sadar aku meraba hidungku, merasakan bangkitnya kengerian yang sepertinya sudah kupendam sangat lama. Aku 138

merasakan hawa dingin merambat naik dari bokong ke kepala dan membekukan otakku. Entah aku utusan itu atau bukan, entah ia Kertanegara atau siapa pun, tak akan kubiarkan ia mengiris cuping hidungku. Tidak untuk kali kedua. Orang itu terus mengasah dan aku tak mampu menahan amarahku. Tetapi, kautahu, kita menjadi bijak oleh kejadian buruk di masa lalu. Aku tidak kalap oleh kemarahanku dan kepalaku tetap jernih untuk membuat perhitungan. Kupukul tangannya yang memegang beling; kurebut sembilunya; kucengkeram kerah baju kumalnya. “Kau mau apa?” geramku. Sebelum ia menjawab, aku sudah melepaskan cengkeramanku dan menjewer telinga kanannya dan memotongnya dengan sembilu. Jalanan mulai padat dan bis agak merambat dan aku meloncat turun amat mudah. Demi keadilan seharusnya kupotong hidungnya, tetapi kau akan sulit melakukannya di bis kota. Daun telinga lebih gampang dan itu pun lumayan untuk mengobati rasa pedih berabadabad. Dengan sepotong telinga di genggamanku, kini aku bisa tenteram pulang ke tempat asalku. O, tidak! Bagaimanapun hidung dibalas hidung. Tetap 139

harus kupotong sebanyak-banyaknya hidung orang Jawa. Akan kutunjukkan kepada kaisar junjunganku bahwa aku telah membalaskan rasa sakit hatiku dan mengembalikan nama baik prajurit pengembara padang alang-alang.

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The Translator

Andy Fuller is the author of Sastra dan Politik: Membaca Karya-karya Seno Gumira Ajidarma (Literature and Politics: Reading the Work of Seno Gumira Ajidarma, published by Insist Press of Yogyakarta in 2011), The Struggle for Soccer in Indonesia: Archives, Fandom and Urban Identity (Yogyakarta: Tan Kinira, 2014), and Playing Cities Making Sport (Yogyakarta: Tan Kinira, 2014). He is the translator of Afrizal Malna’s poems as collected in Anxiety Myths (Jakarta: Lontar, 2014) and is a co-editor of the forthcoming Lontar Anthology of Indonesian Short Stories.

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ISBN 978-602-9144-69-7

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