Yusi Avianto Pareanom

Yusi Avianto Pareanom

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Yusi Avianto Pareanom

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Yusi Avianto Pareanom

Grave Sin #14 & Other Stories Translations by Pamela Allen

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Yusi Avianto Pareanom Grave Sin #14 & Other Stories Copyright to Indonesian language stories © 2015 Yusi Avianto Pareanom Copyright to all English-language translations © 2015 Pamela Allen 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 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)

Contents

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Publisher’s Note

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Introduction

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Grave Sin #14

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Edelweiss Pays her Condolences in Ciputat

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The Death of Anwar Sadat in Cempaka Putih

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Elena and the Trickery of the Golden Weasels

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Dosa Besar No. 14

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Edelweiss Melayat ke Ciputat

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Ajal Anwar Sadat di Cempaka Putih

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Muslihat Musang Emas dan Elena

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Publication History

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. 978-602-9144-73-4

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The Translator

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by the way… (a note from the publisher)

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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

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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 Yusi Avianto Pareanom

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iusi Avianto Pareanom was born in Semarang, iCentral Java, in 19–something and completed his tertiary education at Gadjah Mada University, Yogyakarta, in geodetics engineering. For several years he worked as a journalist for Forum Keadilan magazine, followed by a stint at Tempo magazine. He now runs Banana Publishing. He was involved in the creation of two graphic novels, The Expedition of the Borobudur: The Cinnamon Trail and The Daily Express Train, and he was editor of the novel Lenka, a joint project of the Black Ear Writers’ Collective. His short story anthology is titled Rumah Kopi Singa Tertawa [The Coffee House of the Laughing Lion, 2011]. Yusi Avianto Pareanom’s fictional characters in this collection are inseparable from their environment, their past and their cultural norms. Yusi’s descriptions are very detailed; we can sense the smells, the colors, the sensations and the sounds of Indonesia on every page. But Yusi in fact has no x

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interest in depicting what is normal, what is sane: he offers us the things that are beyond the reach of common sense. There is an element of madness in Yusi’s stories, both in the social lives and in the private lives he depicts. A happy marriage, for example, suddenly dissolves because the husband becomes an Islamic fundamentalist. And that’s not all. His second wife, a fellow fundamentalist, is murdered and her body chopped into little bits. But Yusi never describes such domestic dramas in a dramatic way: in his understated style he satirizes the urban middle class who are obsessed with religion. On another occasion, the middle class urbanite is not satirized by others; rather, he satirizes himself. A young man, divorced, falls in love with a woman who turns out to to be a man who has undergone a sex change. As he is about to declare his love for her, it transpires that the woman is a lesbian. The man tries to be philosophical about his situation, relating his tale to the narrator in a wry tone. Yusi Avianto Areanom’s idiosyncracies are quite original. Take, for example, the story of the young blind boy whose parents send him to an institute for xii

the blind and who subsequently, through coaxing and flattery, becomes a football player and a beggar in the market. The idiosyncracy of this story then becomes both normalised and moving: without exaggerating the issue of blindness, the story focuses on the friendship between two boys; one blind and one sighted. The plots of these stories are no less idiosyncratic than their themes. The above story about the blind boy, for example, is told as a flashback by the sighted boy when, as an adult, he is phoned by an insurance agent. In another story we meet two characters who are linked by death: the first character is killed in a mob attack as he is passing the second character in the street; it transpires that, as children, the first character had caused the death of the driver of a car in which the second chartacter was a passenger. This prevalence of coincidences is a deliberate part of the structure of the stories. A framing story that begins with a message about blindness (in “Grave Sin No. 14”); or a mini-anthology of three or four stories, one of which discusses whether coincidence is an acceptable device in story-telling (in “The Death of Anwar Sadat in Cempaka xiii

Putih”). These are all strategies of the author, who we might argue is satirizing the notion of realism, with its dependence on causality and teleology. With their focus on the urban environment, on the lifestyle of the middle-class, and on popular culture, and also their gentle dig at the art of storytelling, the four stories by Yusi Avianto Pareanom in this selection will appeal to readers of both serious and popular literature.

Nirwan Dewanto

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Grave Sin #14 

They’ve made comic strips about blind boxers, they’ve made films about blind samurai, they’ve written poems about blind swimmers, and there was even a rock opera about a blind kid who was a whizz at pinball. Some of that stuff is quite good; some of it just does your head in. But there’s something about blind people, or about blindness, that inspires us, that moves us, that astonishes us. It’s kind of like encountering courage in the depths of darkness. Manik couldn’t go along with all the hype. At least not during the past week he couldn’t. It was partly because he couldn’t abide the overromanticising of blindness. He couldn’t help laughing at some of the cheesy sub-text, like ‘it’s better to be blind in one’s eyes than blind in one’s heart’. So clichéd. The other reason, and probably the more significant one, was because of something that had happened years ago, which had suddenly re-surfaced and unsettled his equilibrium. 2

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Once, when he was a little boy, he had hit a blind boy on the head. It was 30 years ago, and Manik would have completely forgotten about the incident if it hadn’t been for that damned insurance salesperson. The Insurance Agent One night the previous week Manik had worked late and it was after midnight before he got to bed. He dreamed that he owned a black slave girl. Dispensing with formalities, she approached him as he lay on the couch. Smiling broadly, she removed the top part of her dress, a tasselled affair the colour of butter. “Master,” she said sweetly. Manik was instantly aroused by her comehither smile and her sleek naked torso. He sat up and pulled her towards him. Dreaming still, he promised her he would set her free once they had finished. But they had barely got started when... Mein Herz Brennt! His cell phone rang. Shit, he cursed. He’d forgotten to set it to silent. The ringtone, which he’d deliberately set to full volume so he could scare the crap out of his friends, was a 4

song by the industrial metal band Rammstein. Now it had sabotaged his own beautiful dream. “Mr Lengkawamanik, good morning,” said a female voice at the end of the phone. If his brain had been functioning properly, Manik would have immediately hung up and gone back to sleep. But the combination of thwarted desire, throbbing heavy metal music and the sound of someone saying his full name–it had been ages since anyone had addressed him using it–had muddied his brain, and he replied, “Morning.” The woman introduced herself as a marketing agent for an insurance company and said that Manik had been identified as a potential client for an accident policy. Again, because he was not fully awake, Manik mindlessly muttered, “What do you mean?” A moment later it dawned on him what was going on, but it was too late. The insurance agent mentioned the name of Manik’s friend who had provided the recommendation, and went on to rattle off all the benefits that would accrue should Manik die in an accident. 5

“It’s a significant amount, sir, around 200 million rupiah.” “And what use would that be to me if I’m dead?” “Well your family can use it.” “And what use would that be to my family if I’m dead?” “Come on now, don’t be so flippant.” Manik said nothing. For three seconds. “And you don’t have to die in order to receive the benefits,” the agent went on. “We can guarantee a payout for disability.” “What do you mean?” “For example if a client were to lose a limb or to go blind...” Manik realised that he wasn’t going to win this debate. At this point we should give him credit. Instead of swearing from frustration or annoyance– which would have been the response of many people–he chose to apologise and asked the woman to email him the information so he could read the details. He gave a false address. His strategy worked and the woman hung up. 6

Manik turned off his phone and tried to go back to sleep. He hoped that his slave girl might still be waiting for him. No luck. Typical. He couldn’t sleep. He was really pissed off at the friend who had casually dropped his name. He would take him to task next time he saw him. And, feeling irritable and cranky, he recalled the insurance agent’s words “for example if a client were to lose a limb or to go blind”, and he couldn’t get them out of his head. And suddenly, shit, like getting an electric shock, he remembered the sin he had committed. Supriyono The child’s name was Supriyono, Supri for short. He lived in a well-known institute for the blind in Manik’s hometown of Semarang. The children there were taught to read Braille, and the older residents were taught massage. At the time Supri hadn’t been at the institute for very long. He was 11, the same age as Manik. He had attended primary school until grade two when his eyes had started to cause him trouble, and eventually he went completely blind. The question that the village kids would always ask the new kids in the institute: “Is it better to be blind or to be able 7

to see?” never raised a smile on Supri’s lips. But they always asked it, after the preliminary question “When did you go blind? Or were you born that way?” Kids can be so insensitive. But they asked because they genuinely wanted to know. After the introductions, which were always awkward–at least for the children who lived in the institute–all the children would usually play together, regardless of whether they were blind or not. The daily routine served to draw them together. Manik and his friends would guide the blind children to the morning and evening prayers, which were conducted in a prayer house about fifty meters down the road from the institute. The blind children were actually quite capable of walking there unaided, but they enjoyed the companionship. The local kids would also often bring food to share, or they’d invite the children from the institute to watch TV in the village head’s house. The institute kids would join in the cheers when, for example, Rusty’s cavalry, along with the brave, clever dog Rin Tin Tin, succeeded in driving away a band of wild Indians (who, 8

in their ignorance, the village kids referred to as ‘Dayaks’, alluding to the reputation of the Borneo tribe for savagery). Supri was different. He had been morose from day one. And he seemed to always have a new excuse for continuing to be morose. One day Manik, who found himself sitting beside Supri as they were all watching Little House on the Prairie, asked him, “How come you’re so sad all the time? Don’t you like being here with all your friends?” “I miss home. I miss my brothers and sisters. I miss my mum. I miss my dad,” said Supri. “That’s a lot of things to be missing.” “I miss the stories my dad used to tell me,” Supri added. “Well what about all the stories on TV?” Manik asked. “I can’t see. I don’t understand them.” “Is your father good at telling stories then?” asked Manik. Supri said that his father, who was a niyaga, a performer in the local gamelan percussion orchestra, 9

was an excellent storyteller. Nobody ever told him stories at the institute. “I can tell you stories if you like,” said Manik. “Shadow puppet stories?” asked Supri, his face lightening up. “Comic book stories. Tarzan, Zorro, Gundala. I know some stories about Petruk and Gareng but they’re not from the shadow puppet stories, just regular clown stories. Oh, and I do know one shadow puppet story–Arjuansasrabahu,” said Manik. “Yes please, tell me a story.” And so from that day on Manik would read stories from his comic collection. Not that it was a very big collection; he only had 18 comic books. But it was enough to entertain his new friend. He could read a comic over and over again. Supri’s favourite was the one in which Tarzan fought against creatures whose bodies were no more than a big round head with a hand sticking out of each side. They were champion sword fighters and they were very fierce. “Could there really be creatures like that?” said Supri every time Manik read the story to him. 10

“Yes there are, Pri, the world is an amazing place.” Manik would always say the same thing, even though he really didn’t know what he was talking about. Budiman and the Blind Football Game In Manik’s village there was a boy named Budiman. He was three years older than Manik. His parents had been somewhat optimistic in giving him the name Budiman, which means ‘wise man’ in Indonesian. Budiman completely failed to live up to his name. The children thought he was bad to the bone: he never performed his prayers, he never fasted, he was a liar and a glutton (he would grab five snacks, but claim he only had one) and he would spy on the girls in the shower. And this was all before he had even been circumcised. The thing that really galled the other kids was his habit of turning up at people’s houses right on mealtime. In Manik’s village, if you were eating and somebody happened to be close by, it was customary to acknowledge what you were doing and implicitly offer to share your food by announcing, “Time to eat, mate.” In response, it was enough for the person 11

being addressed to simply nod and say, “Please, go ahead.” Budiman was different. Because he was stupid or ignorant or greedy, his response to such an announcement was to grab a plate and pile it high with food. He was known for eating his host out of house and home. “I’ve heard that he even asks for seconds,” one of the children said. “He’ll eat pork too if you offer it to him,” said another. “Pork, dog, he’s not fussy. He just shovels it in. Have you seen his pot belly?” said another. It wasn’t about the endless plates of rice or the dog meat, it was about his impudence. People were prepared to laugh it off once or twice. But when it kept happening, everyone got sick of it. It was Budiman who had eventually caused the rift between Manik and Supri. But something else happened first. In Semarang, football games were held at the Diponegoro Stadium, which also had a surprisingly good cycling velodrome. Other events were held 12

there too, and they proved as popular as the football and the cycling. Once there was a performance of a man eating live chickens. It was for real. They said the guy was from Kalimantan. Back in the 1970s an event like this was a real spectacle; people were prepared to buy tickets to see it, and the audiences were huge. One day an events promoter organised a football game for the blind. Maybe his logic was that given the popularity of regular football, blind football would surely be a hit. So two teams were hastily put together, comprising players from two blind institutes in Semarang. They picked older players; if not adult they had to at least be in their late teens. But because their institute was short of players, Supri and one of his friends were told to play, on account of them being bigger and taller than the other kids their age. As it turned out, the size of the audience didn’t quite live up to the promoter’s expectations. The big hit of the day was the players’ uniforms. One team wore loud green and red strips and their opponents wore equally loud yellow and black, accompanied by a kind of tasselled fez. Obviously 13

the different uniforms were purely for the benefit of the spectators. From the looks on their faces, the players were excited and apprehensive in equal measure. The ball was filled with tiny bells. Guided by the sound of the bells, the players would chase the ball and endeavour to give it an almighty kick. You couldn’t really call it a match. The players would often tackle their own players as they heard the ball approaching. This meant that they were often kicking each other’s legs rather than the ball, and scuffles kept breaking out, either among players on the same side or between opponents. The spectators found it hugely entertaining. Behind each goal there stood a bell ringer whose job it was to ring the bell as a guide for the players when they were going for goal. But more often than not the ball would just roll randomly across the field. And if a player did happen to kick it in the general direction of the goal, the crowd would start jeering, “Get him off, he’s a fraud! He’s not blind at all!” At the 29th minute the ball rolled towards Supri. Alerted by the sound of the bells, Supri showed that he still knew how to run. He pushed 14

the ball forward and kicked it as hard as he could with his right foot. The spectators still declare that on that day they witnessed one of the best long kicks in the history of the game. Like Brazilian player Roberto Rivelino’s banana shot, only better. From a distance of 27 meters, the ball sped through the air into the right hand corner of the goal. Goal! Even if the keeper hadn’t been blind, it would have been an almost impossible save. The entire crowd erupted into thunderous applause. The players on the field still wore those excited-apprehensive expressions on their faces, not comprehending what had happened. From that moment on Supri became a sort of local hero. The other kids and their parents were forever coming up to him and slapping him on the shoulder. One boy who would often ask Supri to play was Budiman. Apart from scabbing food from people’s houses, Budiman’s other annoying habit was ingratiating himself with people who were in the limelight for some reason. As Budiman got closer to Supri, the other children began to distance themselves from him. And Budiman began to exert a sort of control over Supri. He would take him home without 15

getting permission from the Institute. He infuriated everyone, but just laughed it off. Supri was happy; he got to see his family. And then Budiman persuaded Supri to beg in the market. The carers at the Institute were furious. Budiman responded with a sneer. Although Manik and Supri were not really friends–Manik mostly hung out with his sighted friends and Supri tended to stick around the Institute–Manik could not help missing Supri. He liked the feeling of being needed; he liked the idea that Supri was waiting for him, so he offered to tell stories to Supri. But every time he did, Supri knocked him back. “I’m waiting for Budiman,” he would say. One day Manik had had enough. “What has Budiman ever done for you? The best he can do is take you begging. It’s degrading,” said Manik. “It’s fun. I get money from doing it. It’s cool. Not like your stories. They’re not very exciting. They’re boring. I’ve heard them all. I’m waiting for Budiman.” Tuuak!

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Manik’s knuckle struck Supri on the head. It wasn’t a heavy blow, but it took Supri by surprise and he began to cry. Manik too was shocked at what he had done. He fled. For days afterwards Manik did not dare go near the Institute. When he finally plucked up the courage a week later, Supri had gone. They said his family had picked him up. They said Supri’s father was furious when he found out that Supri had been begging in the market. Mortified, Manik sobbed silently. The List of Sins Manik was at his computer, going over and over the list he was compiling. After three hours, he reached his conclusion: striking Supri on the head ranked 14th on the list of grave sins he had committed in his life. He was agonising over how he could have so readily done such a thing. There was some compensation to be gained from the fact that he had only been a child when he did it. Furthermore– although Manik couldn’t completely convince himself of this–Supri, regardless of the fact that he was blind, in some ways deserved a smack on the head for hanging out with an idiot like Budiman.

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There was a story behind each of the other sins, too, but that’s for another time. Manik went to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. As he was stirring it, he asked himself what had become of Budiman. Should he go home to Semarang and find Supri so he could ask his forgiveness? Maybe he would do that. Or not. Probably not. He didn’t think he could do it. He went back to his computer. So, sin number 23...

Edelweiss Pays her Condolences in Ciputat Sunday, 10-10-10. Some people chose to marry or give birth on this numerically auspicious day. It was the day Aya’s body was found, cut up into ten pieces, stuffed into four large black plastic bags and left on the median strip on the main road in front of Ciputat Market in South Tangerang. For three days the bags were mistakenly assumed to be garbage.

Edelweiss heard the shocking news ten hours later, in her home in Nitiprayan, Jogjakarta. At the time she was enjoying a leisurely dinner in front of the television after a full day painting in her studio. As she ate, she idly channel-surfed, the remote in her free hand, which still smelt of paint. In a newsbreak on one of the channels, she heard Aya’s name mentioned. She put the remote down. According to the report, a suspect had been taken into custody. The suspect was a housewife who had been a relative of Aya and who lived in

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the neighborhood. Three days ago Aya had asked this friend to repay a loan of 10 million rupiah. According to the accused, when she asked for a bit more time Aya became enraged, and pushed her. The accused then instinctively defended herself. Aya sprawled backwards, striking her head on the marble table in the living room. The accused then chopped up Aya’s body in the bathroom and hid the pieces in the kitchen. She waited till midnight, by which time her husband and children were asleep, and then she made two trips on her motorbike to take the bags to the market. She was banking on the bags being tossed into the garbage truck the next morning.

was Aya’s husband. Five years ago he had been Edelweiss’s husband.

Edelweiss remained glued to the television, absent-mindedly shovelling food into her mouth. As

Edelweiss knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door and went in after Danae answered, to find her busy doing her maths homework. She tousled the girl’s hair and peered over her shoulder at the maths problems that seemed to her to be much too difficult for a grade four student. Danae’s demeanor suggested that she hadn’t heard the news. Like Edelweiss, she wasn’t that fond of watching

the story progressed, she stopped chewing and by the time the report had finished, she was attempting to swallow the rendang without chewing it. Hastily she assisted the process with a few mouthfuls of tea, only to rush to the bathroom to throw the lot up. She was in a fragile state when she came out of the bathroom. The first thing she asked herself was why Pandan hadn’t contacted her. Pandan 20

“He’s been at the police station all day. He said they’re interrogating him,” said Pandan’s maid, adding that Pandan had reported Aya’s disappearance to the police two days ago, but they had told him to wait. Edelweiss went out to the front garden for a quick cigarette. And then she had another one. It occurred to her that Danae might have heard the news. Aged nine, Danae was her only child, and Pandan was Danae’s father. Edelweiss and Danae lived alone in their big house.

television. “I have to go to Jakarta to see your father.”

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Danae’s face brightened. “Can I come too; I miss my little sister.” Edelweiss shook her head and, choosing her words carefully, conveyed the bad news without alluding to murder, let alone mutilation. Danae wept.

Edelweiss tried to get an early morning flight to Jakarta but there was nothing before ten. Danae pleaded to be able to go with her. Edelweiss refused and took Danae to stay with her cousin in Kaliurang Street. During the journey, Edelweiss’s most powerful memory of Aya was their last meeting at the Ciputat house. She had gone to collect Danae, who had spent the Lebaran holiday there. In truth, she hadn’t been in the mood to go inside the house she’d once lived in but, as usual, Danae had to be dragged away because she didn’t want to be separated from Zulaika. Danae’s eighteen-month-old stepsister was very cute. It was only pride that prevented Edelweiss from throwing her arms around the child and smothering her in kisses.

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“Danae, you still remember what I told you, don’t you?” Aya had said as they were saying goodbye. Danae nodded. Edelweiss was curious. “What did you tell her?” “Just a story about how we should model our behaviour on that of the prophets,” said Aya. Edelweiss shrugged and took her leave with a smile. In the taxi to the airport, Danae had begun to chatter. “Mama Aya told me that a statue is just like an idol, so it must be destroyed. That’s what the Prophet Abraham did.” “So do you think the statues I make are idols?” “No, as long as we don’t worship them. That’s a strange question.” Edelweiss took some comfort in her daughter’s response. For a moment she had been about to ask the taxi driver to turn around and take them back to Ciputat. The impertinence of Aya, attacking her, and trying to manipulate Danae as well. But the next day was a school day for Danae, and she

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had also arranged to meet a tobacco merchant from Temanggung who wanted to buy some of her paintings.

was so sad. This was the man that she had once adored, he had been her sunshine, he had been her best friend.

But she wasn’t about to let the incident go. She called Pandan from the airport. As she anticipated, her ex-husband first demanded a full account of what happened–just like a government bureaucrat engaging in stalling tactics when asked a simple question–and then he went on to steadfastly defend his new wife. He said that Aya had meant no harm, that in fact she was trying to do the right thing by strengthening Danae’s faith.

Another incident that Edelweiss had never forgotten had occurred six months previously, also when she was collecting Danae. On that occasion she hadn’t minded sitting for some time on the terrace while Danae played with her little sister. And then she heard Aya singing to Zulaika.

Edelweiss’s irritation turned to rage when Pandan said that it was not good for their daughter that she had statues in her house in Jogja, and that he would prefer that Danae not be drawn into the lifestyle that her mother led. In a hushed voice, not wanting Danae to hear and cause a scene in the departure lounge, Edelweiss told Pandan that if he didn’t take back what he had said, she would not allow Danae to come back to Ciputat. Pandan was shocked by this and the tone of his voice changed. He became emotional as he apologised. Edelweiss’s anger swiftly turned to heartbreak. It 24

“Jews are cursed by God, America is cursed by God...” Hearing the lyrics repeated over and over, Edelweiss could not contain herself. “Why are you singing that song?” “It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” said Aya. “It’s over the top.” “Children need to be taught from an early age about who the enemy is.” “For goodness sake, why do we have to have an enemy? And anyway who are the Jews you’re referring to?” “All of them.” 25

“The nation or the religion?” “All of it.” “Including prophets like Isaac, David, Solomon, Moses, John the Baptist, Jesus?” asked Edelweiss. “Don’t be cute, they’re Muslims.” “Their religion may be Muslim, but their nation and their blood is Jewish.” “If they’re Muslim, how can they be Jewish?” “For pity’s sake. OK, so you think that all Jews will be cursed, do you?” “Yes.” “God is unjust then.” “They will always be opposed to Allah. So they deserve to be cursed. Americans as well.” Edelweiss knew that she could never win a debate with someone like Aya, but this didn’t mean she should let it go, even if Danae could hear their conversation. But Edelweiss felt that if she were forced to hang around for a minute longer, she would burn the house down. So she hastily took her leave.

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If it hadn’t been for Danae whinging about missing her sister, Edelweiss would never have taken her daughter back to the house in Ciputat. One thing was for certain, since the conversation about the Jews, she had avoided talking to Aya, a bit like the way Hemingway studiously tried to avoid using adjectives, or a good chef consciously avoids using MSG. The statue incident transformed Edelweiss’s dislike of Aya into hatred, tinged with pity. She began to fantasise about how satisfying it would be if one day she heard that Aya had been captured by a tribe of cannibals, boiled over a fire and eaten in a communal meal. This wicked thought suddenly came back to her on her flight to Jakarta, making Edelweiss feel sick to her stomach.

The forty-five minute journey from Jogja to Jakarta seemed to sharpen and focus Edelweiss’s memories of Aya. The more she tried to remember the good things about Aya, the more reasons she found to dislike her. It wasn’t because Aya, fifteen years her junior, had married Pandan, or that she had stolen

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him from her. Aya and Pandan had married almost three years previously, two years after Pandan and Edelweiss had divorced. At first, Aya’s demeanour towards Edelweiss was a mix of deference, subservience and currying favor. Edelweiss was sure that this was not because she was one of Indonesia’s most wellknown contemporary artists, whose work was in great demand among Indonesian and overseas collectors. None of this would have even entered Aya’s consciousness; her attitude was due to two simple facts: first, Edelweiss was Pandan’s ex-wife, and second, she was technically half-owner of the Ciputat house. Although Pandan had inherited the house, it was Edelweiss who had bought the land on either side and built an extension. When they separated, Edelweiss had not given a thought to the house; she simply took Danae and left. Edelweiss just assumed that this would be the way things stayed, if not forever then at least for the foreseeable future. What she didn’t realise was that Aya was actually unceremoniously removing the artworks that she had left behind in the house, and dumping them in the shed. 28

Edelweiss didn’t want to rock the boat; she blamed herself for what Aya had done, and she organised for the works to be sent to Jogja. The thing that did upset her though was that Pandan had done nothing to stop Aya, whereas he had been the one who had always encouraged Edelweiss in her artistic endeavours, and had helped her refine her ideas. The works that she had left at Ciputat were very personal ones, pieces that she would never sell because she had made them for Pandan. Not that she’d ever explicitly told him that. As she was packing up the artworks, Edelweiss asked herself what had happened to the funny, gregarious Pandan she used to know. She remembered how they could spend a whole night talking about some trifling matter that had tickled their fancy. Once they had talked about Bruce Lee all night. Pandan pointed out the comical errors in the ending of his film Game of Death. The scene begins with Bruce Lee entering the enemy’s pagoda at night, and then suddenly it is broad daylight when the martial artist, in his yellow outfit with black stripes, engages in combat with the NBA basketball star Kareem Abdul Jabbar. You can see that it’s daylight when Bruce Lee punches a hole in the 29

wall and the sun beams in, blinding his opponent. And then when he comes out of the pagoda, it’s nighttime again. “Pluk, what do you reckon: which mythical creature would win a fight; the little dragon, or the giant with the frizzy hair?” asked Pandan. Pluk, or Pudgy, had been Pandan’s pet name for Edelweiss. “Are you serious? I dunno. What do you think?” “I don’t know either. But what I do know is that, of all Bruce Lee’s adversaries, Chuck Norris is the best. In a real fight, Chuck Norris would win, no doubt about it.” “How come?” “You don’t know? There are some magicians that can walk on water, but Chuck Norris can swim on land. He’s not just a champion; he’s got supernatural powers. They say his tears can cure cancer and other serious diseases.” “Bullshit.” “It’s true; but unfortunately Chuck Norris never cries.” 30

At that point in their relationship Edelweiss was convinced she would spend the rest of her life with Pandan, through thick and thin. She was not to know that her optimism was misplaced. One year before they had separated, Pandan’s father in Semarang fell ill. He died soon after. Pandan had only been able to visit his father once during his illness, because he was very busy working on a consultancy for a company that was about to go public. After his father’s death, Pandan was so wracked by guilt that his work began to suffer, and eventually he resigned. Almost immediately he joined an Islamic prayer group of the same ideology that his father had followed. At first, Edelweiss understood. Grief is an intensely personal thing, and Edelweiss rationalised to herself that if Pandan could derive some solace from this new activity, then that was a good thing. What she hadn’t anticipated was the penchant this particular group had for banning things. And the things they banned seemed so random. They wouldn’t allow the reading of the Yasin, for example, 31

the surah from the Koran that is usually read to the dying. Whenever Edelweiss objected to their weird prohibitions, Pandan’s excuse would always be that his group was faithful to the holy book. They never really fought in the sense of having a screaming match. They never said cruel things to each other. They never threw things at each other. And Pandan never demanded that Edelweiss follow the path he had chosen. But Edelweiss eventually felt suffocated by the tension that suffused the house. She felt unable to breathe; she also began to find it hard to distinguish colours. And she wasn’t a bus driver who only needed three colours: red, yellow and green. She was no longer able to paint in her own house, and she was supposed to be preparing for an upcoming solo exhibition in Singapore. The divorce was quick. Their friends and neighbors were devastated, even more so when Edelweiss left and took Danae with her. After she had left, every few months Edelweiss would bring Danae back to stay in Ciputat for a while. She did so not because Pandan didn’t want to go to Jogja, but because she didn’t want him there. Pandan had visited her once and it had been terribly awkward. 32

While Danae was staying at Ciputat, Edelweiss would spend her time in Jakarta visiting clients and friends, or just eating out at her favourite restaurants. In the early days she would call in on her old neighbours in Ciputat, but she got annoyed by their constant questions about the ownership of the house, and eventually she decided to avoid them as far as possible. Edelweiss also found it hard to stay in the house for very long, because her heart would ache every time she saw Pandan. Her ex was in good physical shape, but his movements seemed to her to be somehow feeble. His eyes had lost the wicked sparkle she used to know. He no longer called her Pluk; he addressed her formally as Bunda Danae, Danae’s mother. The first time he used that term, something inside her died. And so when Pandan told her he was going to marry Aya, a kindergarten teacher, Edelweiss, despite a twinge of jealousy, genuinely hoped that he would be able to find happiness again. Her hopes were dashed when she discovered that the marriage had been arranged by the leader of his prayer group: Aya worked in the kindergarten that the group ran. 33

Aware that Pandan was still unemployed and living off his savings, Edelweiss suggested that he build a small student boarding house on the fairly extensive piece of land on the western side of the Ciputat house. Pandan agreed, and the newly built housing meant that he was bringing in a reasonable income. It was a big enough income that Aya was able to lend money to the friend who then cut up her body into ten pieces.

The mourners continued to arrive until the evening. Some of Aya’s friends were visibly uncomfortable because both the victim and the perpetrator were part of their community. In the late afternoon Edelweiss retreated to the back garden. She picked a custard apple from the tree she had planted. It was so sweet. This was where she had been allowed to cuddle Zulaika for the first time.

Aya had already been buried by the time Edelweiss arrived at the Ciputat house at noon. As soon as

The prayer class ended at nine. Edelweiss joined in for a while, hoping to hear something enlightening. She was disappointed; it was uninspiring.

the body was released from the hospital, Pandan had chosen to bury her immediately rather than bring her home for the mourning period. Edelweiss regarded that as appropriate. When she arrived, after a momentary awkwardness, Edelweiss hugged Pandan. He wept on Edelweiss’s shoulder for what was probably a minute but to Edelweiss felt like hours. A number of the neighbours were also in tears. Some of the members of his prayer group looked enquiringly at them but no one said anything. Edelweiss greeted Aya’s parents, but she was unable to say a word. 34

Exhausted, Edelweiss rested in Danae’s room, which until now had only ever been used when Danae came to stay. She had no idea of how long she had been asleep when she woke to see Pandan sitting in a chair by the bed. Despite his fatigue he tried to smile. Edelweiss got up and embraced him. Pandan wept again. A few moments later, driven by an emotion that neither of them understood, they undressed and made love. Edelweiss was aware of Pandan’s tears on her shoulder. When it was over, Pandan fell asleep. 35

Edelweiss looked at her watch; it was one in the morning. She got dressed and washed her face in the bathroom. She couldn’t fathom what had just happened. Was it just sympathy sex? She tidied herself up and left the room. There was nobody in the hallway. She picked up her bag and walked out of the house. In the front yard she lit up a cigarette. She walked to the main road to find a taxi.

The Death of Anwar Sadat in Cempaka Putih Anwar Sadadat died on the very day he arrived in Jakarta from Semarang. He was 28. His father had named Anwar after Egyptian President Muhammad Anwar El Sadat. His father had his reasons for choosing that name and not Gamal Abdul Nasser or Hosni Mubarak. A week before the birth of Anwar from Semarang, Sadat the president had been assassinated by one of his own soldiers. According to the news reports, the death could have been avoided if Anwar Sadat had agreed to wear a bulletproof vest, as recommended by his advisors. He refused, saying that bulletproof vests were for pussies. “He was a brave man, that’s for sure,” said Anwar from Semarang’s father admiringly. And so when the baby was born he honoured the Egyptian president by naming his son Anwar Sadat. He decided against the names that he’d been contemplating in the preceding weeks: Franz, Johan, Mario, and Diego Armando. Those names were too posh for a humble villager, anyway.

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Despite his father’s hopes, Anwar Sadat from Semarang did not develop into quite the hero that his tragic namesake had been. He was of a delicate disposition, which incurred the mirth of his friends. He was always on the margins of whatever game they happened to be playing. When he was ten, his mother and father took Anwar to Surabaya by train. He was as white as a sheet throughout the entire journey. His parents assumed it was because he had skipped a meal. In actual fact, it was because every time they crossed a bridge, Anwar felt as if his soul was leaving his body. When it was time to go home Anwar pleaded with them to take the bus. Anwar suffered from a sort of gephyrphobia; the fear of bridges, based on the belief that they would collapse. Ordinary bridges didn’t bother him, but railway bridges scared the bejeezus out of him. Neither Anwar nor his parents knew that there was a name for this condition; all they knew was that Anwar would get into a state whenever he saw a bridge. His suffering was intensified because he was also plagued by a number of other fears, from the common ones such as fear of blood 38

(hemophobia), fear of doctors (iatrophobia) and fear of confined spaces (claustrophobia) to the rarer ones such as fear of raindrops (ombrophobia). At least, although it was a small consolation, Anwar didn’t suffer from optophobia, the fear of opening one’s eyes, a condition that can lead to the sufferer clawing his own eyes out, with his own hands, a nail or a fork. It was no doubt because of his various phobias that Anwar was happy to ensconce himself at home, and rarely left town. He was perfectly content just looking after his father’s humble grocery shop. A few weeks before Anwar died, a relative in Jakarta phoned his father to say that he knew of a young woman, aged 24, widowed but childless, who would be a good match for the unattached Anwar Sadat. “She’s a good girl, fair-skinned, quiet, thrifty, likes gardening, likes knitting, good cook, knows the Yaasiin chapter of the Koran off by heart,” reported the relative. This was a pleasing turn of events for Anwar’s mother and father. They suggested he go to Jakarta. He and the woman could get to know each other first, and if they got on well, maybe a relationship 39

would follow. If not, well at least they would have established a friendship. Ever the obedient son, Anwar set off for Jakarta. He was terrified, but he didn’t want them to think he was a wuss. And the idea of maybe meeting his future wife did have its appeal. Overcome by a mixture of anxiety and excitement, he couldn’t sleep the night before he left. So when he boarded the bus very early the next morning, he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. But he was afraid to go to sleep for fear of what might happen during the journey. Anwar arrived at Pulogadung Terminal at two thirty in the afternoon. As he had been instructed to do, he caught a minibus to Senen. His relative’s house was in Kramat. Once he was in the minibus his tiredness got the better of him. He woke with a start to find someone shaking him by the shoulder, saying “Come on mate, time to change buses.” They were in Cempaka Putih. Groggily Anwar got off. The shouting of a minibus conductor ten metres away put the wind up him. He’d only gone five metres when his sandal– Lily brand–slipped on some fine sand, and Anwar 40

went flying. If only he’d let gravity do its thing, he would have been okay. But Anwar tried to resist the motion and as he awkwardly tried to regain his balance he collided with a woman coming out of a laneway between two minibuses. Anwar’s hand brushed the woman’s breast. Both of them, equally taken aback, screamed. Still groggy, Anwar’s hand slipped onto the woman’s waist. “Pickpocket!” shrieked the woman. Anwar couldn’t fathom what was happening; he just smiled. “You bastard!” yelled one of the men who were hanging around on the street. When a group of men approached him, Anwar burst into tears, suddenly overcome with longing for his mother’s chicken soup and beef fritters, for his father’s tall stories, and for the smile of his future wife, whom he had yet to lay eyes on.

Lena Mareta didn’t see the first punch that struck Anwar on the head. She was already in a taxi by

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that time. Precisely three seconds after Anwar had collided with her, she had spied a taxi and immediately flagged it down. Understandably, she was still extremely annoyed about the uninvited touch of a man’s hand on her body. But there was something else, something even more troubling, that made her want to get out of there fast. “Is it ok if I smoke?” asked Lena. “Actually, it’s not,” said the driver, watching her in the rear vision mirror. Lena opened the window and lit up a cigarette. It would have been a pleasant evening if only that dumb pimply-faced kid hadn’t stuffed it up for her! Lena had been looking forward to this evening. She’d even taken a day’s leave. She’d had a bath when she got up, and another one after lunch. She never wore much make-up, but she did like to keep her nails painted. So, after the second bath she opened her box of nail polishes. There were four rows, with ten colors on each row. On the first row: pink, and nine shades of red: the red of a freshly slaughtered cow’s heart, the red of an onion, the red of the Harajuku shopping complex in Tokyo,

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the red of the Mangga Besar mall, the red of cordial syrup, the red of a girl’s first period, maroon red, the red of betelnut spittle and the red of The Joker’s lipstick. On the second row: salted egg blue, samurai blue, the blue of an early winter sky, the blue of the Chelsea football team, the blue of a bruise on a thief who got nabbed, the blue of sex, greenish blue, the blue of lapis lazuli, the blue of a Pilot classic ballpoint and the blue of Cibaduyut stonewash jeans. On the third row: sunflower yellow, durian yellow, the yellow of young rice plants, moss green, turmeric orange, citrus orange, coal brown, the brown of strong tea, the white of an egg sunny side up, and ivory white. On the fourth row: nine bottles of black like Joan Jett’s hair and one bottle of clear polish. Lena chose the latter. The previous evening Lena’s boyfriend Jamal had returned home from a three week climbing expedition at Mount Elbrus in Russia. She’d not been able to meet him at the airport, so she’d been keen to go and see him that morning but held off because Jamal told her he’d probably still be asleep. Lena and Jamal had been going out for four months. They had slept together nineteen times.

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By the second month Lena had become aware that they were incompatible on a number of grounds. It wasn’t because of Jamal’s age–at 21 he was six years younger than her–but rather because she found him uninspiring to talk to. Lena was of the view that youth did not give a person licence to prattle on about nothing. But the sex was always good. She wanted that to continue. Once she was in his room, everything proceeded as Lena imagined it would. But her happiness was short-lived. As she was about to undo her bra, her hand stopped mid-air when she saw Jamal sitting naked on the bed, waving his hand over his genitals like a conductor in full flourish. “Miss Lena, you’ve met these three before, but you’ve never been officially introduced. This is John, these are George and Ringo,” laughed Jamal, pointing at his penis and both testicles. “Where’s Paul?” asked Lena, grinning. “What do you mean?” “How come he’s been left out?” “I’ve only got two balls, Len.”

“Ha, he’s the one that destroyed the band!” They argued. Lena was angry. For her, there would have been no Beatles without Paul McCartney, no matter how brilliant John was. It was because of Paul that Lena had fallen in love with the Beatles. Her father had died when she was quite young, and the slow Beatles songs–the ones that Paul had composed–were of great comfort to her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like John; she had a great deal of respect for him in fact. It was just that Paul was her first love. So she wouldn’t countenance any criticism of Paul from Jamal. When Jamal realised that this was one argument he wasn’t going to win, and tried to make amends by demonstrating how ready his own John was for a wrestle of a different kind, it was too late. Lena stormed out of the room in a big sulk. It wasn’t until after the second cigarette that Lena allowed herself a smile. Why should I get so mad about this? Wouldn’t it actually be an insult if that young punk were to name his thing after Paul? She wanted to go back to him but her pride got in the way. “To Ragunan, to the zoo,” she said finally. At first she’d just said “Drive” to the driver.

“Why isn’t Paul the pillar?” 44

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“It’s late Miss.” Lena didn’t reply and the driver wasn’t game to say any more. Apart from Paul’s songs, the other thing that had always comforted Lena was watching the animals at the zoo. Her favourite used to be the tapir because it was such a difficult creature to classify. Her mother couldn’t tell her what species of animal it was, and none of her family was any help either. Another thing that intrigued Lena about the tapir was its torpor. Once she’d grown up it was easy enough for her to find out about the tapir for herself, and it ceased to be of interest to her. These days it was the giraffe that captivated her, for one reason alone: the giraffe had no vocal cords. A neck that long, but condemned to silence.

The driver had not been mistaken in reminding Lena that it was late; the ticket seller at Ragunan told her the same thing. It was only forty minutes until closing time. That didn’t bother Lena; she just wanted to look at the giraffe, and its enclosure wasn’t far from the entrance.

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Because of low cloud it was darker than usual. After ten minutes Lena had had enough. As she was about to move away, a woman–who Lena estimated to be in her seventies–caught her attention. The woman was repeatedly looking up at the sky and then looking at the shrubbery in front of her. What Lena didn’t know was that the woman was testing herself on meteorological botanomancy, which is the science of predicting weather conditions based on the movement of plants. It’s a difficult science, even for a woman who is practised in fructomancy (divining by the shape, movement and response of fruit), dendromancy (interpreting trees), phyllomancy (interpreting leaves) and xylomancy (interpreting the trunks and branches of trees). Lena kept staring at the woman, trying to recall who she reminded her of, until finally she felt confident enough to approach her. “Are you Ibu Reni?” The old woman smiled. “No, I’m Esti. Reni is my twin.” Lena approached the woman and kissed her hand. This was totally unexpected: meeting the

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twin of the woman who had been so important to her family. Twenty years ago, after Lena’s mother had suffered a serious stroke, it was Ibu Reni who had cured her, using herbal medicine and massage.

“There are so many coincidences in your stories, teach!” The man they were addressing laughed. I was sitting beside him; I laughed too. There were five or six of his students in front of us. I say ‘five or six’ because the teacher had told me that, of the six students who were learning creative writing from him, one had officially enrolled but only turned up to one of the twelve sessions. Another was not enrolled and came along because her friend had brought her; from the second week of classes she’d then taken advantage of the teacher’s good nature to get herself free tuition. “Didn’t I hear you say that coincidences really do happen in real life?” said the teacher, as the laughter died down. During the journey to get here, the six of them had been talking at length–or gossiping to 48

be more precise–about a young guy, a singer in a punk band, who one of them had once been in a relationship with. Their talk ranged from the songs he’d liked and played to the colour of his skin; clear and pale when he was in a relationship and dark when he was not. They couldn’t remember how they had got on to this topic of conversation. But what happened next came as a complete surprise to them. When they were stopped at the traffic lights, a motorbike pulled up alongside them. One of them casually glanced out the window and yelled out in surprise because the motorcyclist was none other than the guy they’d just been talking about. The incident had actually been a bit more convoluted than that, but they wanted to use the key points in the stories they were writing. The teacher had smiled and told them that he would make up a story with the odd coincidence here and there, and get them to judge how effective it was. He asked the students to give him a couple of hours. They were happy to comply, and went off to watch Inception. I went with them. While we were away he composed the story about Anwar Sadat and Lena Mareta. 49

They listened as he related the story and then one asked, “So what happened next, teach?” “Well I was actually hoping that you would each have a go at telling the rest of the story.” All six of them grumbled but did as they were told. Three of them were working on laptops; the others were scribbling on paper napkins that were almost as thick as writing paper. After twenty minutes, one of them handed his napkin over to the teacher. I read over his shoulder. Here’s how his story went. “Anewar, come on, get ready!” Anwar Sadat was trembling. This ditch on the side of the highway was the last place he wanted to be. But his friends were pressuring him. One of them held out a slingshot to him; another was busy making bullets from clay. The village kids loved being part of this new game: firing clay bullets at passing cars from their slingshots. The kids got such a kick out of seeing the startled looks on the faces of the drivers or passengers. And it was even better if the driver actually got out of the car and chased them. 50

Anwar had joined in because Tamsi, the boy who had suggested he come and hide in the ditch, had promised he would protect Anwar at school. In grades one and two, Anwar had been bullied constantly on account of his obesity. So the promise of the tall slender Tamsi was enough to persuade him to grab the slingshot. In less than three minutes they were all ready and armed. When an Impala sedan approached from the north, Tamsi tapped Anwar on the shoulder; code for ‘your turn’. Anwar shut his eyes and fired. The clay bullet struck the right wing of the driver’s glasses. It didn’t injure him, but he got the shock of his life. Two passengers, a woman and a girl, screamed when the driver suddenly swerved and slammed into a tree. They could hear a loud noise, but it wasn’t coming from inside the car. After being rooted to the spot for about ten seconds, the other kids fled. Anwar remained transfixed; Tamsi grabbed his hand. The driver was covered in blood; his head was smashed in. The woman passed out; the girl looked around and began to cry. Her name was Lena Mareta. 51

Elena and the Trickery of the Golden Weasels “Hey, Don, here’s something we should think about doing: setting up a new religion,” I said to my cousin Donny. “Run that past me again?” We were having a coffee in a little place in the Kalibata City complex, where Donny lived. I’d dropped by to see him and we were having our usual chat. We began, as always, by catching up on family gossip, and then our conversation took a different tack. I told him what had happened to a businessman friend of mine. The story began when he was walking through a market in Beijing and happened to see a pair of shoes that took his fancy. He was sure they’d sell well in Indonesia, so he ordered a few pairs in different sizes, paying for them then and there. His order arrived a month later. You can imagine his consternation when he discovered 52

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that the shipment consisted solely of left shoes. He was immediately on the phone to the merchant in China. He was gobsmacked by the guy’s response: “Well the shoe you pointed to in the shop that day was the left one.” He had no choice but to place another order, this time for the same quantity of right shoes. What else could he do; he couldn’t sell a bunch of single shoes. He wasn’t exactly in a position to bargain; there were countless cottage industries in China that could make countless left shoes and still not go broke just because a poor sod like him refused to order the right shoe as well.

“And the connection between that and a new religion is...?” asked Donny. “Well, if I wasn’t so short of cash, I’d love to make that same ‘mistake’ over and over again. I’d just like to know how long that guy in China would go on sending just left shoes. I’d like to find out how far I’d need to push him before he crumbled. And if we got to 113 shipments of left shoes, I’d admit defeat. I’d set up a new religion and appoint him as god. Someone with absolutely no sense of fear 54

is surely a god. And you can use your photography skills to record the process of setting it all up,” I said. Donny just grinned. He didn’t laugh like the other friends I’d told my story to. “It’s not such a big deal.” “Don’t shit me, it’s trickery of the highest order.” “Wait till you hear my story,” said Donny. It took Donny two hours to tell me his story. Here is my retelling of it.

The doorbell on Donny’s apartment rang two minutes into the playing of Elton John’s song “We all Fall in Love Sometimes”. Donny had already listened to the song three times that morning and there was a strong likelihood that he would listen to it again. He was no great fan of the British diva (a title no other English singer deserved more), but Sir Elton’s song resonated with him that day. It was a courier delivering his Japanese World War II uniform, which he had ordered from a specialist boutique in Bandung. He stroked the 55

yellowish green fabric and then he attached the captain’s insignia. He needed the uniform to wear to the wedding of two members of the New Jakarta Re-enactment Society, an amateur group that got together to re-enact events from various bygone eras. The couple that were getting married had asked the other members of the group to wear World War II costumes. The prize for the best costume is to come on our honeymoon with us was the message they sent out, signed off with five different emoticons. Of course Donny knew they were kidding, but he also knew that his friends wouldn’t miss the chance of fully dressing the part. “I’m going to wear a Nazi officer’s uniform,” said Elena, reading the invitation in the coffee shop where she and Donny were sitting, “and I bet there’ll be nobody there with lipstick brighter than mine.” “What shade of red?” asked Donny. “Like in one of those old-time movie posters,” said Elena. Donny went easy on Elena’s inability or reluctance to be more specific about the shade of 56

red lipstick she was going to wear. If it had been anybody else, he would have kept on at them about which film poster, which country it came from, were they referring to the poster or the film, and on and on. He was a bit OCD like that. But he made a conscious effort not to nag someone he had a soft spot for, and Elena definitely fell into that category. “You’d better not chicken out on me,” said Elena. “What do you mean?” “Don’t you dare turn up wearing ordinary civilian clothes and saying that that was what civil servants wore back then. And don’t think you can get away with wearing a torn shirt and declaring that you’re a guerrilla fighter. You have to make an effort.” “You’re not serious.” “And you have to leave home wearing your costume. You can’t just get changed in the bathroom at the reception hall. And you’re not to come by taxi or bring your own car, like last time. That’s cheating. You live in Kalibata City, right? So you can get the train if it’s too much of a hassle to catch a local minibus.” 57

“And what’s my prize if I do all this?” “Prove yourself first, we’ll discuss rewards later,” said Elena. Donny had no doubt that Elena would turn up with the promised uniform. Who knew what wacky outfit the bridal couple would deck themselves out in. Donny lacked Elena’s outrageousness; there was no way he could have donned a Gestapo uniform. He remembered almost dying of embarrassment once, when a group of Europeans had abused some of his friends for wearing an SS officer’s uniform in public. A Japanese officer’s uniform seemed like a safe option, and it was quite a smart uniform too. He also had sentimental reasons for his choice. Twenty-five years ago, as a kid in Semarang, Donny had been completely enthralled by watching his brother play the role of a cruel Japanese officer in a play about the Indonesian declaration of independence. In the lead-up to the performance his brother, a senior high school student at the time, would captivate people watching the rehearsals with the way he so convincingly uttered the Japanese expletive bagero. Everyone began to eagerly await the rehearsals and 58

every time he spat out the word bagero the crowd would erupt into enthusiastic applause. That may have been the reason that on the night of the actual performance his brother managed to say bagero more than fifty times in a performance that only lasted thirty minutes. His brother, who had always protected him as a child, had died four months ago. That was why Donny had chosen the Japanese soldier’s uniform. He knew that if he were still alive his brother would have got a buzz out of becoming a part of the New Jakarta Re-enactment Society; he would have been a huge hit. Donny had joined the re-enactment society because of Elena. He hadn’t been invited to become a member, but because Elena kept talking about it he joined up so that he would see more of her. Equally, if Elena had mentioned the Mortar and Pestle Fanciers Society or the Velvet Underground Worshippers Sect, he would have signed up in a flash. He had met Elena three months previously at a fundraising night for a local environmental group whose members, like the members of most other 59

community groups, followed the trend of giving themselves an English language name. They were the Mangrove Addicts. He wasn’t overly interested in mangroves. Well of course he thought they should be protected. But if anyone had asked him to actually do something about protecting the mangroves, he’d have made some excuse and hightailed it out of there. He’d joined the mangrove society, and various other societies prior to that, with one sole purpose: to meet a girl.

It had all begun a year before. Recently divorced, Donny had been content to hide away in his apartment. He turned down a number of big jobs. His three close friends–Herman, Kandar and Sinyo– got pissed off with him, and suggested he go along with them to various community activities in Jakarta. “Why?” asked Donny. “To have a bit of fun, lighten up a bit, mate,” said Kandar. That just served to make Donny cranky. But in the end he went along, just to stop his three mates 60

from nagging him. It wasn’t until they were at their third function that Donny twigged that they were looking for dates. Despite himself, he had to laugh when Kandar told him that their group had a name, the Golden Weasels. Trickery Guild. ‘We used to be called the Guild for Services to Wayward Women, mate, but the Golden Weasels Trickery Guild has a better ring to it,” said Sinyo. They told him that the sort of women you met at these sorts of events weren’t the easy type– although of course they were not necessarily saintlike–and that was what made the chase so interesting. At first Donny was sceptical, if not downright dismissive, but eventually he took up the challenge. Not because he was particularly interested in the outcome but rather because he decided that the chase itself–successful or not–would be a distraction for him. He was so often miserable because he was denied access to his daughter. She had gone with his ex-wife, who despised him. If the chase did happen to lead to a sexual encounter, then he’d be grateful. He needed sex. While there was always the option of a prostitute, 61

it wasn’t to his taste, having given it a try once. Selfgratification was the easy option, but these days the physical relief was immediately followed by a feeling of deep despair. They’d been to seven different functions and Donny was still out of luck. He knew it was his own fault. He always got so tongue-tied around women, no matter how kind they were to him. His three friends were getting fed up with him. “Don, can’t you see they’ve go the hots for you?” said Herman. “You must be kidding,” said Donny. “You’re the smoothest of us all. And you’re the one who knows the right things to say,” said Herman. “In a past life maybe.” Since his divorce he’d lost the confidence to speak to women. His ex-wife had managed to destroy his self-belief after a succession of particularly nasty arguments before the divorce. The thing that had hurt most was when she told him she had never loved him because he didn’t deserve to be loved. 62

The eighth event was a meeting of the Haruki Murakami fan club. Donny knew the name, and he’d seen a movie based on a Murakami novel, but he’d never read anything the guy had written. Again he went along because it was better than sitting at home staring at the walls. And who would have thought it; Murakami changed his luck, at least indirectly. At the end of the evening, Donny was sitting waiting for his three friends to stop chatting up girls when a girl, twenty-ish, clear-skinned, suddenly sat down beside him. She took a pill from her bag and swallowed it. “Are you sick?” Donny blurted out. “Nah, it’s just my monthly pill.” “Have you got period pains?” “No. It’s my monthly protection. I take it at exactly the same time every time so I won’t forget it. If I had to rely on my partner to use protection, I’d be in a state of constant anxiety.” She then flashed him a smile and left. Donny wasn’t an idiot. He knew what she’d taken. He got to wondering if she’d been sending him a signal, 63

and he’d been a bit slow on the uptake. He didn’t regret it though. Her frankness to him, a complete stranger, suggested that there was still some hope for him.

one by one. Herman found a girlfriend in the philately club, Kandar got a new job in Myanmar and Sinyo–the only one of them who was actually hitched–piked when his wife started to get suspicious.

It was that incident that helped him lighten up a bit. When they moved on to the next function he was less tongue-tied, and he soon made the acquaintance of a girl. Deep down, he acknowledged that his friends were right: he wasn’t too bad looking. The kinds of acquaintances he was making could lead to bed, could lead to a job, could lead to both, or could go nowhere at all.

Donny thought about quitting his association with the various societies. A society with just one member isn’t much fun. To add to that, he’d begun to feel uneasy after he’d been on a date with a woman. There was nothing wrong with the sex, but he felt like a fraud, and that bothered him. He yearned for a relationship that was more sincere, more honest.

Donny wasn’t too bothered. He just enjoyed being in the moment. He never boasted to his friends when he dated a socialite or a famous model: two categories of women you could meet in any community. His friends were envious, but to Donny they were just regular dates who happened to be well-known names. He’d dated models and film stars before he was married, and his ex-wife had won the Miss Jakarta title. Donny would have happily plodded along contentedly if the members of the Golden Weasels Trickery Guild hadn’t withdrawn from the group, 64

To be honest, Donny had no interest in attending the mangrove society’s fundraising night. Not only was he not a genuine fan of the mangrove, his interest had dwindled with the absence of his three friends. But one of the organisers of the society, a guy who always came across as being a bit effeminate, had asked Donny to help out with some of the paperwork. He agreed to do it because the guy had once placed a large order with him. Besides, he had nothing better to do with his time.

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Donny felt his heart flutter the minute he laid eyes on Elena, who that night was wearing a loose white shirt, jeans and black leather boots. He’d not seen her at any of the previous mangrove fundraising events. To him, her simple outfit was stunning. This is dangerous, he thought; don’t go falling in love at first sight. But he was too scared to say anything. The smooth-talking tongue that had resurfaced during the preceding months suddenly abandoned him. He couldn’t even pluck up the courage to take a close-up photo of her. He was immobilised by nerves. When he got home that night he looked closely at the photos he’d taken of Elena. He figured she was in her early thirties, about his age. She had quite a strong jawline and she was flat chested, not Donny’s type at all. But he couldn’t sleep that night for thinking about her. He saw her again the next day, when the event continued at Cilincing. In her mini skirt and T-shirt she appeared smaller than she had the previous evening. Donny had never been attracted to a woman with such petite features. But that fluttering in his heart persisted. 66

To Donny’s surprise, Elena came over to him. He noticed the swelling beneath her T-shirt. Not exactly buxom, but enough to satisfy Donny. “Hey, look at that, it’s massive, it would make a great photo,” said Elena, pointing at something on the water’s surface. Donny loved the way she laughed. What Elena was pointing at was a human turd of gigantic proportions. How on earth a human being could have produced such a thing–long and sickle-shaped–was beyond him. Impressed, Donny laughed. He took a photo of it. If Elena had asked him to wrap it up for her as a memento, he would have done it. Their exchange that morning was brief, but Donny was over the moon. He got her number. During the course of the day he kept trying to surreptitiously take her photo. She knew what he was up to but didn’t seem to care. But Donny was getting ahead of himself. Things took a different turn. “Do you like Elena?” asked the effeminate guy. Donny grinned. “It’s that obvious, is it?”

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“Hm, there’s something I need to tell you, Don...” The effeminate guy told Donny that Elena had been born Martin Manurung, a name she still bore. She had had a sex-change operation eight months previously, but her application to have her status legally changed was still in train. “I just think you need to know, Don,” he said. Donny bought a bottle of whisky on his way home from Cilincing, and drank it alone in his apartment. He tried in vain to get drunk. What he did succeed in doing was weep. He tortured himself by imagining how his ex-wife would piss herself laughing if she found out. He couldn’t bring himself to contemplate the reaction of his family and friends if he were to get serious about Elena. Donny cursed himself for a week. Then for another week. The week after that he was still cursing but with a little less intensity. His feelings for Elena had not diminished. If anything, they were getting stronger. He began to wonder if Elena was some sort of sorcerer. And that got him cursing again.

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And then he did something he never would have imagined himself doing: he drew up a list of pros and cons, like some pimply teenager encountering love for the first time. This is what he wrote in the cons column: being humiliated by his ex; his mother’s heartbreak if she found out; his friends’ incomprehension, which they would disguise as understanding, which would result in everything turning to shit again; unsolicited sermons from anyone who considered themselves close to him; dark skin; slight build; flat chest; fake vagina. He stopped there even though plenty more pitfalls were racing through his head. Pros: fringe; honeybee tattoo on her right hand; I like her; I like her; I like her... He then promptly tore the piece of paper to bits. He couldn’t lie to himself. He had fallen in love. He had seen Elena as a woman first. And that’s what she was, right? He tried to convince himself with the thought that everyone has baggage. Who was he to judge another person? One day he contacted Elena and asked her to have lunch with him. He made out that he just happened to be doing business in the building

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where her office was. He even went there two hours in advance of their date.

“You do know I’m a fake woman, right?” Elena asked. “Don’t put it like that.” “Aah, you’re a good man,” Elena said. “Don’t feel you have to talk about personal

“I don’t get it.” “I wasn’t happy with my body. And it’s difficult for an unhappy person to make other people happy.” “How many men have you dated?” Elena punched Donny on the shoulder. “Bastard! What sort of girl do you think I am?” “So you’ve never done it with a man?”

things.”

“Mind your own business.”

“You’re a new friend. I don’t want you to find out from someone else.”

“Seriously, you’ve never done it?”

Elena went on to say that she had stopped feeling like Martin when she was thirteen. She hadn’t had the nerve to wear women’s clothing until she was at uni, after her father had passed away. After her mother died the previous year she had undergone the operation in Bangkok.

“I’m yet to find one I’m attracted to.”

“Did you date girls when you were at high school? Oh, sorry, that was a pretty crass question,” said Donny.

Donny smiled. He allowed himself the thought that he might just be the first man to enter Elena’s body. That made him a happy man. But that wasn’t the reason that he wanted to keep seeing Elena. He felt a genuine connection with her, this woman who worked as a financial adviser. She had such profound insights; to his shame Donny sometimes had to pretend he understood what she was on about.

“Just chill. I went out with plenty of girls, and I enjoyed it, or at least I did in the beginning,” said Elena.

The next time they met, Donny was in no doubt that he had fallen hard for her. Elena could always make him laugh about trivial things, as she

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had when she pointed out the giant turd in the river. So Donny sought out every opportunity he could to be with her, including joining the re-enactment society. The only problem was, even after they’d been out together several times, Donny couldn’t bring himself to tell her how he felt. To be honest, he was hoping that Elena might tell him first. He would have no problem with that. But it didn’t happen.

Finally Donny bit the bullet and decided he would tell Elena how he felt about her at the wedding they were going to, he decked out in his Japanese officer’s uniform. He couldn’t wait any longer. He didn’t care if the world laughed at him; or rather he did care, but he would try to suck it up. As corny as it sounded, his heart had spoken. And he was sure Elena felt the same way about him.

The wedding reception, held at the National Archives Building, was a lively affair. The groom came dressed as General Douglas McArthur, the bride as Winston Churchill. 72

After looking for her for an hour, Donny finally saw Elena make her entrance. True to her word, she was dressed in an SS uniform. True to her word also, she was wearing sexy siren-red lipstick, reminiscent of an old-style movie poster. When she waved to him, Donny just wanted to kiss her. With Elena was a woman in a Marlene Dietrich costume. “Don, this is my friend Lisa. Lisa, this is Donny, the new friend I’ve been telling you about,” said Elena. They made small talk for a while and then Lisa excused herself to go to the bathroom. Elena moved closer to Donny; his heart pounded. “What do you think, Don, are we compatible? I’ve been chasing her for a while but I’ve never found the right time to make my move. Tonight’s the night.” If Donny had accessorised his outfit with a cutlass, he would have stabbed himself through the heart right there and then. “So when was this party?” I asked. “Two days ago.” 73

I would have liked to have a chat to Donny about gender and sexuality. But, judging by the forlorn look on his face, I don’t think he would have been up for it. I tousled his hair. “How come you always get so lucky, Don?” “Get fucked. This is doing my head in.” I took him to a bar in Kemang. After his fourth whisky, Donny said, “Instead of setting up a new religion, let’s set up a Society for the Brokenhearted. Membership limited to those whose hearts have been crushed by unbearable circumstances.”

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Dosa Besar No. 14 

Orang membuat komik tentang pendekar buta, film tentang samurai buta, sajak tentang perenang buta, bahkan opera rock tentang anak muda buta yang jago main pinbol. Sebagian karya ini disuka, sebagian lagi membikin pening kepala. Namun, orang buta atau kebutaan tampaknya mudah menerbitkan ilham, haru, dan kagum. Sepertinya, ada kegagahan dalam kegelapan, semacam itulah. Manik tak bisa ikut arus besar itu. Setidaknya dalam sepekan terakhir. Sebagian karena sejak dulu ia merasa karya-karya itu terlalu meromantisir kebutaan. Ia sering tertawa bila menjumpai pesan yang terlalu telanjang, seperti lebih baik buta mata ketimbang buta hati. Baginya itu sungguh terdengar seperti kata-kata mutiara kelas tiga. Sebagian lagi, yang lebih pokok, karena kejadian lama yang telah terkubur bertahun-tahun mendadak bangkit dan membuat lidahnya getir. Sewaktu bocah, ia pernah menggetok kepala anak buta. Ini terjadi 30 tahun yang lalu, dan Manik 76

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benar-benar sudah melupakan dosanya kalau saja tak ada agen asuransi celaka itu.

kawan-kawannya, malah menyabotase sendiri mimpi indahnya pagi itu.

Agen Asuransi

“Bapak Lengkawamanik, selamat pagi,” kata seorang perempuan di seberang saluran.

Sepekan lalu Manik tidur pagi hari setelah lembur semalaman. Ia bermimpi mempunyai seorang budak perempuan kulit hitam. Tanpa suatu awalan yang jelas, si budak mendekatinya yang sedang istirahat di pembaringan. Lalu, dengan senyum lebar, budak itu membuka begitu saja bagian atas gaun rumbai-rumbai berwarna kuning durian mentega yang dipakainya. “Tuan,” katanya manis. Senyum mengundang dan tubuh legam yang terbuka itu kontan menggairahkan Manik. Ia bangkit dan meraih pinggang budak itu. Masih dalam mimpinya, ia berjanji bakal memerdekakan si budak setelah ia selesai. Namun, baru dua ayunan... Mein Hertz Brent! Telepon selulernya berdentam. Anjing, makinya kaget. Ia lupa menyetelnya dalam mode tanpa suara. Nada panggil selulernya, lagu keras dari Rammstein, yang volumenya ia polkan, yang sengaja ia pilih untuk iseng mengagetkan 78

Jika saja otak Manik sudah bekerja dengan beres, tentu ia akan segera menutup telepon dan kembali tidur. Tapi, paduan hasrat yang terputus, hantaman lagu metal, dan penyebutan namanya secara lengkap—sudah lama ia tidak dipanggil begitu—membuat otaknya macet sehingga otomatis ia menjawab, “Pagi.” Si perempuan itu lalu memperkenalkan dirinya sebagai staf pemasaran perusahaan asuransi dan menyebut Manik terpilih sebagai calon klien untuk polis kecelakaan. Lagi-lagi, mesti disebutkan di sini, karena Manik masih belum sepenuhnya mendusin, mulutnya tanpa sadar mengucap, “Maksudnya?” Sedetik berikutnya ia tersadar tetapi sudah terlambat. Si pegawai asuransi itu menyebutkan nama kawan Manik yang memberi rekomendasi, lantas ia memberondongkan manfaat yang bakal diperoleh sekiranya Manik meninggal dunia karena kecelakaan. 79

“Besar lho, Pak, 200 juta.” “Apa untungnya dapat manfaat atau duit itu kalau saya meninggal?” “Kan bisa dipakai keluarga, Pak.” “Apa untungnya keluarga saya kalau saya meninggal?” “Aduh Bapak ini, jangan bercanda, dong.” Manik terdiam. Tiga detik. “Tidak perlu sampai meninggal kok Pak untuk dapat santunan,” kata agen itu melanjutkan, “cacat tetap juga dijamin pasti dapat.” “Maksudmu?” Manik sudah memaki-maki dalam hati, tetapi pertanyaannya disalahartikan. “Semisal klien kehilangan anggota tubuh atau buta...” Manik mafhum bahwa ia tak bakal menang bicara melawan agen asuransi itu. Bagaimana mungkin? Pada titik ini marilah kita mengangkat topi untuk Manik. Alih-alih memaki langsung karena frustrasi atau gusar—yang mungkin bakal

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dilakukan banyak orang—ia memilih mengucap maaf dan meminta perempuan itu mengirimkan informasi melalui surat elektronik agar bisa dipelajarinya lebih lanjut. Ia memberi alamat palsu. Siasatnya berhasil dan perempuan itu memutus pembicaraan. Manik menonaktifkan selulernya dan berusaha tidur lagi. Ia berharap budak perempuannya masih menunggu. Sia-sia. Tentu. Ia tak bisa tidur. Hatinya jengkel betul kepada kawannya yang seenaknya menyodor-nyodorkan namanya. Ia berniat memakimaki kawannya itu nanti. Ketika dibelit kegusaran itulah kata-kata ‘semisal klien kehilangan anggota tubuh atau buta’ dari si agen menyerbu lagi dan tak mau tanggal dari kepalanya. Dan, anjing, seperti kesetrum, tiba-tiba ia ingat dosa itu. Supriyono Anak buta itu bernama Supriyono, biasa dipanggil Supri. Ia tinggal di panti khusus tuna netra yang berada di kampung Manik di Semarang. Di panti ini anak-anak diajari membaca dan mengaji huruf Braille, sementara penghuni dewasanya diajari

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keterampilan memijat untuk mencari nafkah. Panti ini cukup terkenal di Semarang. Saat itu Supri penghuni baru. Usianya 11 tahun, sebaya dengan Manik. Ia sempat bersekolah sampai kelas dua SD sebelum matanya bermasalah dan akhirnya benar-benar buta. Pertanyaan rutin anakanak kampung kepada setiap anak baru penghuni panti, “Enak mana bisa lihat atau tidak?”, sudah pasti tak mendatangkan senyum kepada Supri. Tapi, pertanyaan itu tetap saja terlontar setelah “Kapan kau tak bisa melihat? Sejak lahir atau bagaimana?” Anak-anak memang bisa sangat tidak peka. Tapi, mereka bertanya karena murni ingin tahu. Setelah perkenalan yang selalu tidak enak itu—paling tidak bagi penghuni panti, anakanak yang melek maupun yang buta biasa main bersama. Ada rutinitas harian yang mendekatkan mereka. Sebelum dan sesudah salat Maghrib dan Isya, Manik dan kawan-kawannya biasa menuntun anak-anak buta berjalan menuju dan dari langgar yang jaraknya sekitar lima puluh meter dari panti. Sebetulnya, anak-anak panti bisa berjalan sendiri, tapi mereka senang dituntun karena hati mereka terasa hangat.

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Anak-anak kampung juga sering membagi makanan yang mereka bawa, atau mengajak anakanak panti beramai-ramai menonton televisi di rumah Pak RK. Anak-anak panti senang dan ikut berteriak semisal pasukan kavaleri Rusty dan anjing pintar perkasa Rin Tin Tin berhasil menghalau serbuan gerombolan Indian liar—yang oleh orang kampung Manik dengan semena-mena karena ketidaktahuan disebut sebagai Dayak. Supri lain. Sejak hari pertama ia betah murung. Ia seperti punya alasan baru lagi segar untuk terus murung. Suatu hari, Manik, yang kebetulan berada di samping Supri saat anak-anak menonton Little House on the Prairie, menanyainya. “Kamu kok sedih terus? Apa tak senang banyak teman di sini?” “Kangen rumah. Kangen adik-adikku. Kangen ibuku. Kangen bapakku,” kata Supri. “Banyak banget kangennya?” “Kangen dongeng bapakku,” ujar Supri lagi. “Lho, di televisi kan ada ceritanya juga?” tanya Manik. “Aku tak bisa lihat. Aku tak paham.”

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“Bapakmu pintar mendongeng?” tanya Manik. Supri berkata bahwa ayahnya yang niyaga, pemain gamelan, di Wayang Orang Sri Wanito sangat pintar bercerita. Di panti tak ada yang mendongenginya. “Kalau kau mau, aku akan mendongeng untukmu,” kata Manik. “Cerita wayang?” tanya Supri. Wajahnya menunjukkan minat. “Cerita komik. Tarzan, Zorro, Gundala. Ada Petruk-Gareng tapi bukan wayang, dagelan biasa. Wayang ada satu, Arjunasasrabahu,” ujar Manik. “Mau, mau.” Begitulah, sejak hari itu Manik sering membacakan cerita dari koleksi komiknya. Judul yang Manik miliki tak banyak, hanya 18, tapi ini sudah cukup menghibur hati kawan barunya. Satu judul bisa dibaca berulang-ulang. Yang paling disukai Supri adalah kisah Tarzan melawan makhluk-makhluk yang tubuhnya hanya terdiri atas kepala bulat besar seperti bola dunia dengan sepasang tangan yang menempel di kiri kanan. Mereka jago pedang dan ganasnya bukan main. 84

“Kok ada ya yang seperti itu,” kata Supri. Kata-kata ini selalu diulanginya setiap kali komik itu selesai dibaca Manik. “Ya ada tho, Pri, namanya juga dunia,” Manik juga selalu mengulang baris yang sama sekalipun saat itu ia tak tahu arti omongannya. Sepak Bola Orang Buta dan Budiman Di kampung Manik ada seorang anak bernama Budiman. Yang disebut terakhir ini lebih tua tiga tahun ketimbang Manik. Orang tua Budiman sepertinya terlalu optimistis ketika memberikan nama itu kepada anaknya. Budiman kemproh, nakal, dan tak tahu aturan. Di mata anak-anak, Budiman benar-benar tidak halus budi: tidak pernah sembahyang, tidak pernah puasa, kalau jajan suka menipu—ambil penganan lima bilang satu—dan, ini yang sungguh keterlaluan, senang mengintip perempuan mandi padahal disunat saja belum. Yang tak kalah menjengkelkan hati anak-anak adalah kebiasaan Budiman menumpang makan di rumah orang lain. Di kampung Manik, ketika orang sedang makan dan kebetulan ada orang lain di dekatnya, 85

orang yang makan akan selalu bilang, “Makan, Mas” dan sejenisnya tergantung siapa yang diajak bicara. Pernyataan ini lebih bersifat pemberitahuan. Bukan pelit atau apa, persoalan kepraktisan saja. Orang-orang maklum bahwa untuk makan sehari-hari sepantasnya dilakukan di rumah masing-masing, sedang sama-sama hidup susah ini. Oleh karenanya, orang yang ditawari makan biasanya cukup mengangguk dan bilang, “Ya, silakan.” Budiman lain. Mungkin karena terlalu bodoh atau terlalu girang atau terlalu rakus, ia selalu menanggapi pemberitahuan itu dengan bergegas mengambil piring dan menyendok nasi banyakbanyak. Tak jarang lauk-pauk si empunya rumah ia tandaskan. “Setahuku ia sering tak malu minta tambah,” kata seorang anak. “Waktu ditawari babi ia juga mau,” kata anak yang lain. “Daging babi, daging anjing, semuanya ia mau. Ambil banyak lagi. Kaulihat perutnya yang buncit?” kata anak yang lain lagi.

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Persoalannya bukan sepiring nasi benar, atau daging anjing, melainkan kepantasan. Satu dua kali orang masih tertawa. Kalau terus-terusan, keterlaluan namanya, begitu pikir anak-anak. Budiman inilah yang akhirnya memutus kedekatan Manik dan Supri. Tapi, sebelumnya ada peristiwa lain yang mendahului. Begini ceritanya. Kota Semarang mempunyai Stadion Diponegoro, tempat pertandingan sepak bola dan balap sepeda—velodromnya cukup bagus untuk masa itu. Yang tak kalah seru adalah acaraacara lain. Misalnya, pernah ada pertunjukan orang makan ayam hidup-hidup. Asli. Si pemakan hemat bumbu ini dikabarkan datang dari sebuah suku di pedalaman Kalimantan. Pada 1970-an, yang seperti itu disebut tontonan, dikarciskan, dan yang datang ramai pula. Suatu hari seorang promotor menggelar pertandingan sepak bola antarorang buta. Mungkin promotor itu berpikir kalau sepak bola biasa saja sudah ramai, sepak bola istimewa ini pasti lebih meriah lagi. Dua kesebelasan orang buta pun dibentuk dadakan. Para pemainnya diambil dari dua panti tuna netra di Semarang. Yang dipilih

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adalah mereka yang sudah dewasa atau setidaknya remaja. Karena panti tempat Supri kekurangan pemain, Supri dan seorang lagi kawannya yang sama-sama bertubuh lebih besar daripada anakanak yang lain disuruh ikut. Ternyata, penonton tak seramai yang diharapkan promotor. Yang meriah justru seragam para pemainnya. Yang satu hijau-merah menyala, lawannya kuning-hitam menyala pula, ditambah dengan kupluk bertali. Perbedaan seragam ini tentu untuk kepentingan penonton. Wajah para pemain sendiri terlihat giranggirang cemas. Bola yang dipakai untuk pertandingan khusus itu diisi kelintingan kecil di dalamnya. Berdasarkan bunyi ini, para pemain mengejar dan berusaha menendangnya sekeras mungkin. Pertandingannya sendiri sama sekali tak bisa disebut pertandingan. Bagaimana mungkin? Pemain satu tim sering berebut sendiri begitu bola mendekati mereka. Akibatnya, yang lebih sering kena tendang adalah kaki sehingga perkelahian kecil pecah beberapa kali, sesama kawan atau dengan lawan. Penonton ketawa senang. Di belakang setiap gawang berdiri pemegang lonceng. Mereka membunyikan lonceng sebagai 88

ancar-ancar sasaran yang harus dibidik para pemain. Tapi, bola lebih banyak menggelinding sekenanya. Kalau ada satu pemain yang kebetulan bisa menendang dengan pas ke arah gawang, penonton langsung berteriak, “Weee, bukan buta itu! Palsu! Palsu!” Pada menit ke-29, bola bergulir ke arah Supri. Bunyi kelintingan menyiagakannya. Tubuh Supri rupanya masih ingat bagaimana berlari. Ia menyongsong bola dan menendangnya sekuat tenaga dengan kaki kanan. Penonton hari itu berani bersumpah bahwa mereka menyaksikan salah satu tendangan jarak jauh terbaik di dunia. Mirip tendangan pisang Roberto Rivelino dari Brasil, hanya lebih bagus. Dari jarak 27 meter, bola meluncur deras masuk ke sudut atas kanan gawang. Gol. Seandainya kipernya bukan orang buta pun, bola itu tetap sulit terbendung. Seluruh penonton bertepuk tangan gemuruh. Para pemain di lapangan masih berparas girang-girang cemas, tak paham apa yang terjadi. Sejak saat itu Supri populer di kampung Manik. Anak-anak dan orang tua sering mendatanginya dan menepuk bahunya. Salah seorang anak yang 89

kemudian sering mengajak main Supri adalah Budiman. Si penggemar makan cuma-cuma di rumah orang ini memang suka mendekat-dekat ke anak atau orang dewasa yang sedang menjadi pusat perhatian. Sejak Budiman mendekati Supri, anak-anak lain menyingkir. Budiman pun makin mendominasi Supri. Ia berani mengantar pulang Supri tanpa izin pengasuh panti. Budiman kena marah, tapi ketawa saja. Supri sendiri senang karena bisa ketemu keluarganya. Budiman selanjutnya nekad mengajak Supri mengemis di pasar. Pengasuh panti lebih murka lagi. Tapi Budiman, seperti biasa, ketawa cengengesan. Sekalipun Manik dan Supri tidak benarbenar bersahabat—Manik masih lebih sering bermain dengan kawan-kawannya yang tidak buta, sementara Supri juga lebih banyak tinggal di dalam panti—tak urung Manik merasa kehilangan. Perasaan dikagumi, diharap-harap, membuatnya betah mendongeng untuk Supri. Ajakan Manik kepada Supri selalu ditolak. “Aku sedang menunggu Budiman,” begitu katanya. Suatu hari Manik tak tahan juga. “Apa enaknya main sama Budiman? Paling-paling kamu diajak ngemis lagi. Bikin malu,” kata Manik. 90

“Malah enak. Dapat duit. Seru. Nggak kayak dongengmu. Itu-itu melulu. Membosankan. Sudah sana, ah. Aku menunggu Budiman.” Tuuak! Bebuku jari Manik menghantam kepala Supri. Tidak terlalu keras. Tapi Supri sangat kaget dan kemudian menangis. Manik juga terkejut dengan perbuatannya sendiri. Ia langsung lari. Berhari-hari setelah itu Manik tak berani berada dekat-dekat panti. Ketika seminggu kemudian ia ke sana, Supri sudah tak berada di tempat itu lagi. Kata orang panti, Supri dijemput keluarganya. Katanya, ayah Supri marah-marah setelah tahu anaknya diajak mengemis di pasar. Manik menyesal dan menangis diam-diam. Daftar Dosa Menghadap komputer, Manik berkali-kali menyusun ulang daftar yang sedang dikerjakannya. Setelah tiga jam, keputusannya bulat: pemukulan kepala Supri jatuh di urutan ke-14 dari dosa-dosa besar yang dibuatnya. Yang memberatkan sudah jelas, anak buta kok seenaknya digetok kepalanya. Yang meringankan, perbuatan itu dilakukan 91

ketika ia masih anak-anak. Yang menurutnya juga meringankan, sekalipun tak terlalu meyakinkan bagi dirinya sendiri, Supri—buta atau tidak— sedikit banyak pantas mendapat pemukulan itu karena bergaul dengan anak macam Budiman. Dosa-dosa besar lain juga memiliki cerita, tapi bukan di sini tempatnya. Manik pergi ke dapur, membuat kopi. Saat mengaduk-aduk, ia bertanya-tanya. Ke mana Budiman sekarang? Apakah ia sebaiknya ia pulang ke Semarang, mencari Supri dan meminta maaf ? Mungkin ia akan melakukannya. Mungkin juga tidak. Besar kemungkinan tidak. Ia merasa tak mampu. Ia menghadap komputernya lagi. Dosa besar nomor 23...

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Edelweiss Melayat ke Ciputat

Minggu, 10-10-10. Beberapa orang memilih menikah atau melahirkan pada hari bertanggal biner itu. Aya ditemukan pada hari tersebut dengan tubuh terpotong sepuluh dalam empat kantong plastik hitam besar yang ditaruh di pembatas jalur di jalan raya depan Pasar Ciputat, Tangerang Selatan. Selama tiga hari, kantong-kantong ini sempat dikelirukan sebagai sampah yang banyak bertumpuk di sana.

Edelweiss mendengar kabar mengejutkan itu sepuluh jam kemudian di rumahnya di Nitiprayan, Jogjakarta. Ia sedang istirahat makan malam setelah seharian melukis di studio. Ia makan sambil iseng menonton televisi, tangan kirinya yang masih berbau minyak cat memindah-mindahkan saluran. Breaking news di sebuah stasiun menyebutkan nama lengkap Aya, dan Edelweiss meletakkan remote control di meja.

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Berita itu menyebutkan bahwa tersangka sudah tercokok, seorang ibu rumah tangga yang masih kerabat Aya dan tinggal di kawasan Ciputat juga. Pagi tiga hari yang lalu Aya menagih uang yang dipinjam kerabatnya itu, jumlahnya Rp 10 juta. Menurut pengakuan tersangka, ketika ia minta tempo lagi, Aya marah dan menyerangnya sehingga ia refleks membela diri. Aya kemudian terdorong jatuh, kepalanya menghantam meja marmer di ruang tamu. Tersangka memotong-motong tubuh Aya di kamar mandi dan menyembunyikan hasilnya di dapur. Ia menunggu sampai tengah malam sampai anak-anak dan suaminya tidur lalu dua kali bersepeda motor menaruh potongan tubuh Aya di depan pasar. Ia berharap kantong-kantong itu langsung terangkut truk sampah keesokan paginya. Edelweiss tanpa sadar mengikuti awal berita ini dengan masih menyendokkan makanan ke mulutnya. Tapi, begitu narasi berjalan, ia berhenti mengunyah. Ketika berita selesai, rendang yang belum betul-betul lumat di mulutnya malah meluncur ke tenggorokannya tanpa ia maui. Ia cepat-cepat mendorongnya dengan teh tawar untuk kemudian lari memuntahkan semuanya di kamar mandi. 94

Masih lemas, ia keluar kamar mandi. Pikiran pertamanya setelah itu adalah mengapa Pandan tak langsung menghubunginya. Pandan adalah suami Aya. Lima tahun yang lalu, laki-laki itu masih suami Edelweiss. “Bapak dari tadi siang belum pulang dari kantor polisi, Bu. Diperiksa, katanya,” kata pembantu rumah Pandan. Pembantu itu juga bilang bahwa Pandan pada kemarin lusa sudah melaporkan hilangnya Aya ke polisi. Tapi, saat itu Pandan disuruh menunggu. Edelweiss keluar ke halaman depan, menyalakan sebatang rokok dan mengisapnya dengan cepat. Ia menyalakan sebatang lagi sampai habis sebelum masuk rumah. Ia mulai menduga-duga sekiranya Danae sudah mendengar berita tersebut. Danae adalah anak tunggal Edelweiss dan Pandan, usianya sembilan tahun. Edelweiss dan Danae tinggal berdua saja di rumah mereka yang besar. Edelweiss mengetuk pintu kamar anaknya dan masuk setelah anaknya menyahut. Danae sedang mengerjakan tugas matematika. Ia mengusap kepala anaknya dan dari belakang sekilas membaca soal-soal yang ia rasa terlalu rumit untuk anak 95

kelas empat SD. Dari sikap Danae, Edelweiss yakin anaknya belum tahu. Seperti dirinya, anaknya tak begitu gemar menonton televisi. “Ibu mesti ke Jakarta, ketemu ayahmu.” Wajah Danae langsung gembira. “Ikut, kangen adik.” Edelweiss menggeleng. Lalu, dengan amat berhati-hati ia menyampaikan kabar duka itu tanpa menyinggung sama sekali tentang pembunuhan, apalagi mutilasi. Danae menangis.

Edelweiss mencari tiket pesawat paling pagi ke Jakarta. Tapi, ia baru bisa mendapatkan penerbangan pukul sepuluh. Danae sebetulnya berkeras ikut, Edelweiss melarang dan memilih menitipkan Danae ke rumah kakak sepupunya di Jalan Kaliurang. Di atas pesawat, ingatan tentang Aya yang paling kuat menyerbu Edelweiss adalah pertemuan terakhir mereka di rumah Ciputat. Saat itu ia menjemput Danae yang berlibur Lebaran di sana. Ia sebetulnya malas jika harus masuk ke rumah yang dulu pernah ia tempati, tapi seperti biasa 96

Danae harus benar-benar ditarik karena anak itu sangat tak rela berpisah dengan Zulaika. Adik tiri Danae yang baru berumur satu setengah tahun itu lucu dan benar-benar menggemaskan. Gengsi belaka yang mencegah Edelweiss ikut memeluk atau mencium-cium anak itu. “Kak Danae, masih ingat pesan Mama Aya, kan?” tanya Aya kepada Danae ketika mereka berpamitan. Danae mengangguk. Edelweiss penasaran. “Pesan apa, memangnya?” “Sekadar cerita kok, Kak, bagaimana kita meneladani perilaku nabi-nabi,” kata Aya. Edelweiss mengangkat bahu dan pamit dengan senyum basa-basi. Di dalam taksi yang mengantar mereka ke bandara, Danae buka mulut. “Mama Aya bilang patung itu sama saja dengan berhala, jadi mestinya dihancurkan. Nabi Ibrahim melakukannya.” “Menurutmu, patung yang Ibu buat itu berhala?” “Enggaklah, kan tidak disembah-sembah. Ibu aneh tanyanya.” 97

Jawaban anaknya menenangkan Edelweiss. Sesaat tadi, kepengin betul ia meminta sopir taksi memutar haluan kembali ke Ciputat. Aya sudah berani menyerangnya, mencoba memanipulasi Danae pula. Tapi, keesokan harinya Danae mesti bersekolah dan ia juga punya janji ketemu dengan seorang juragan tembakau asal Temanggung yang ingin membeli karya lukisnya periode 2000-an awal. Namun, tak mungkin Edelweiss membiarkan insiden itu begitu saja. Di bandara, ia menelepon Pandan. Seperti yang sudah ia duga, bekas suaminya itu pertama-tama meminta permakluman, persis seperti pegawai pemerintah daerah yang tak punya jawaban lain saat ditanya mengapa banjir tak kunjung bisa dicegah, kemudian membela istri barunya itu mati-matian. Kata Pandan, Aya tak punya maksud buruk, mulia malah, karena ingin mempertebal iman Danae. Edelweiss yang sudah gusar semakin marah ketika Pandan kemudian menyebut bahwa kehadiran patung-patung di rumah Jogja memang kurang baik bagi anak mereka, dan sebaiknya Danae tak diajak ikut gaya hidup ibunya. Dengan suara tertahan karena tak ingin didengar anaknya 98

dan membuat drama di ruang tunggu, Edelweiss bilang bahwa jika Pandan tak menarik kata-katanya ia tak akan sudi mengizinkan Danae datang lagi ke Ciputat. Pandan kaget dan nada suaranya mulai berubah. Laki-laki itu lalu minta maaf mengibaiba. Kemarahan Edelweiss dengan cepat berubah menjadi rasa nelangsa. Ia betul-betul sedih. Dahulu, lelaki itu sangat dipujanya, mataharinya, teman terbaiknya. Sekarang, sepertinya kualitas terbaik yang dimiliki Pandan adalah mudah terharu. Insiden lain yang masih membekas pada Edelweiss terjadi setengah tahun sebelumnya, juga saat ia menjemput Danae. Saat itu ia masih bersedia duduk di teras berlama-lama menunggu Danae bermain-main dengan adiknya. Ketika itulah mendengar Aya menyanyikan lirik ini kepada Zulaika. “Yahudi laknatullah, Amerika laknatullah...” Pertahanan diri Edelweiss jebol ketika lagu itu diulang-ulang. “Mengapa menyanyikan lagu seperti itu?” 99

“Kan bagus, Kak,” jawab Aya. “Berat sekali.” “Sejak kecil kan anak mesti diajarkan siapa saja musuhnya.” “Aduh, mengapa harus punya musuh, lagi pula siapa Yahudi yang kaumaksud?” “Ya semuanya.” “Bangsanya atau agamanya?” “Semuanya.” “Termasuk para nabi seperti Ishak, Daud, Sulaiman, Musa, Yahya, Isa, dan masih banyak lagi?” tanya Edelweiss. “Kakak lucu ah, mereka kan Islam.” “Kalaupun agamanya Islam, bangsa dan darah mereka tetap Yahudi.” “Kalau Islam ya tak mungkin Yahudi dong, Kak?” “Ampun. Oke, jadi, menurutmu semua Yahudi bakal kena laknat?” “Iya.” “Tuhan tidak adil, dong.” 100

“Mereka kan selalu melawan Allah, Kak. Pantas kena laknat. Orang Amerika juga.” Edelweiss tahu bahwa ia tak mungkin menang omongan dengan orang semacam Aya, tapi bukan berarti ia harus membiarkannya, apalagi kata-kata itu diucapkannya di depan Danae. Hanya saja, kalau memaksa bertahan lima menit lagi, Edelweiss yakin bakal membakar rumah itu. Maka ia pun cepat-cepat berlalu. Kalau saja bukan karena Danae yang selalu merengek rindu kepada adiknya, tak mungkin Edelweiss sudi mengantarkan lagi anaknya ke rumah Ciputat. Yang pasti, sejak obrolan soal Yahudi itu ia mulai berupaya menghindari bercakap-cakap dengan Aya lebih dari sepuluh detik seperti halnya Hemingway berusaha keras menghindari pemakaian kata sifat dan juru masak yang baik menghindari monosodium glutamat. Insiden patung membuat Edelweiss yang sudah tidak suka kepada Aya menjadi makin benci sekaligus mengasihani. Ia kemudian kadang membayangkan betapa nikmatnya bila suatu hari mendengar kabar Aya tertangkap suku kanibal dan direbus dengan api kecil terlebih dahulu sebelum dimakan beramai-ramai. 101

Pikiran jahat yang mendadak teringat pada penerbangan pagi itu membuat perut Edelweiss mual.

Perjalanan udara Jogja-Jakarta yang hanya 45 menit itu ternyata mampu mengeduk dan memampatkan kenangan Edelweiss akan Aya. Semakin ia berusaha mengingat hal-hal baik tentang Aya, semakin banyak alasan yang ia dapatkan untuk tidak suka. Bukan karena perempuan yang lebih muda lima belas tahun darinya itu menikahi atau bahkan merebut Pandan. Pernikahan Aya dan Pandan berlangsung hampir tiga tahun yang lalu, dua tahun setelah perceraian Pandan dan Edelweiss. Edelweiss awalnya menilai perilaku Aya di depannya adalah campuran rasa sungkan, minder, dan setengah menjilat. Sikap Aya ini Edelweiss yakini muncul bukan karena ia salah seorang perupa kontemporer terdepan Indonesia yang karyanya dibicarakan dan diburu kolektor dalam dan luar negeri—ia yakin hal ini tak masuk dalam hitungan Aya—melainkan karena dua fakta sederhana, ia bekas istri Pandan dan juga boleh dibilang setengah pemilik rumah Ciputat. Sekalipun rumah itu 102

adalah warisan yang diterima Pandan, Edelweisslah yang kemudian dengan uangnya membeli lahan di samping kanan dan kiri dan mendirikan bangunan rumah baru. Ketika berpisah, Edelweiss tak pernah menyinggung-nyinggung soal rumah itu dan pergi hanya dengan membawa Danae. Edelweiss mengira sikap sadar posisi Aya akan bertahan selamanya, atau setidaknya cukup lama. Yang tidak ia ketahui dan perkirakan, Aya berani menggusur karya-karyanya yang masih tersisa di rumah Ciputat ke gudang dengan cara menumpuknya begitu saja. Edelweiss tak mau ribut dan lebih menyalahkan dirinya dan segera mengirim karya-karya itu ke Jogja. Tapi, ia betul-betul terluka mengetahui bahwa Pandan tak berusaha menahan sedikit pun. Padahal, dulu laki-laki itulah yang paling bersemangat mendorong Edelweiss berkarya dan selalu memperbarui gagasannya. Karya-karya yang ia tinggal di rumah Ciputat adalah karya yang sangat personal, yang tak akan pernah ia jual karena ia buat khusus untuk Pandan sekalipun ia tak pernah menyatakannya secara langsung. 103

Saat mengepak karya-karya itu Edelweiss bertanya-tanya ke mana perginya Pandan yang dulu periang dan lucu. Ia ingat bahwa mereka dahulu bisa semalaman berbual-bual tentang soal remehtemeh yang menggembirakan hati. Tentang Bruce Lee, misalnya. Pandan menunjukkan bagaimana bagian akhir film Game of Death berisi kesalahan yang menggelikan. Adegan yang dimulai dengan Bruce Lee masuk ke pagoda musuh pada malam hari tiba-tiba berubah menjadi siang ketika si pendekar berkostum kuning setrip hitam ini bertarung dengan bintang basket NBA Kareem Abdul Jabbar. Hal itu terlihat saat Bruce Lee melubangi dinding agar sinar matahari masuk mengganggu mata lawannya yang peka. Ketika Bruce Lee turun dari pagoda, suasana di luar sudah malam kembali. “Siapa tahu ia ketiduran sampai malam,” kata Edelweiss, geli. “Pluk, menurutmu, kalau tarung beneran, siapa yang menang: si Naga Kecil atau Raksasa Kribo?” tanya Pandan. Pluk, atau Cempluk, adalah panggilan sayang Pandan kepada Edelweiss. “Serius? Tidak tahu. Menurutmu?” 104

“Aku juga tidak tahu. Tapi, yang kutahu, dari sekian musuh Bruce Lee di film, yang paling hebat adalah Chuck Norris. Aku yakin, kalau berkelahi sungguhan, Chuck Norris yang menang.” “Masa?” “Kau tidak tahu? Ada pesulap yang bisa berjalan di atas air, tapi Chuck Norris mampu merenangi daratan. Ia tidak saja jago tetapi juga sakti. Air matanya dipercaya bisa menyembuhkan kanker dan penyakit gawat lainnya.” “Ngawur.” “Betul, sayang Chuck Norris tak pernah menangis.” Edelweiss tak pernah tertawa sekeras malam itu sebelumnya. Pada detik itu ia yakin bisa hidup bersama sampai mati dengan Pandan, apa pun keadaannya. Ia tidak tahu bahwa ia terlalu optimistis saat itu.

Setahun sebelum mereka berpisah, ayah Pandan di Semarang sakit-sakitan. Tak lama kemudian, ia meninggal dunia. Selama ayahnya sakit itu, Pandan

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hanya sempat datang sekali karena sibuk menjadi konsultan sebuah perusahaan pengembang yang akan go public. Kematian itu menyulut rasa bersalah Pandan sehingga pekerjaannya di kantor terbengkalai dan ia kemudian mengundurkan diri. Ia lantas mengikuti kelompok pengajian yang alirannya sama dengan yang diikuti almarhum ayahnya. Mula-mula, Edelweiss memaklumi yang dilakukan Pandan. Rasa berduka sangat pribadi, dan kalau Pandan bisa mendapatkan penghiburan lewat kegiatan barunya, tak apa, demikian pikir Edelweiss. Yang tak disangka Edelweiss, kelompok yang diikuti Pandan sangat senang melarang ini dan itu. Betul-betul ini dan itu. Bahkan, menggelar Yasinan pun tidak boleh. Kapan pun Edelweiss keberatan, Pandan selalu berdalih pilihan kelompoknya selalu bersandar pada kitab suci. Mereka tak pernah bertengkar hebat dalam artian yang satu berteriak dan yang lain membalas dengan jeritan. Tak ada kata-kata kasar yang keluar. Tak ada pula barang-barang yang pecah terbanting. Pandan juga tak menuntut Edelweiss melakoni apa yang ia jalani. Tapi, ketegangan yang merambat 106

setiap hari ini mencekik Edelweiss. Ia sesak dan mulai merasa tak bisa membedakan warna. Padahal, ia bukan sopir angkot yang hanya butuh paham tiga warna: merah, kuning, dan hijau. Ia tak bisa berkarya di rumah itu, sementara saat itu dalam waktu dekat ia mesti menyiapkan pameran tunggal di Singapura. Perceraian mereka berlangsung cepat. Banyak kerabat dan tetangga yang menyayangkan. Mereka juga sedih ketika Edelweiss pergi membawa Danae. Selanjutnya, setiap berapa bulan sekali Edelweiss mengantarkan Danae menginap di Ciputat. Ia melakukannya bukan karena Pandan tak mau datang ke Jogja melainkan karena ia memang tak ingin. Pandan pernah mengunjunginya sekali, dan ia benar-benar merasa tak nyaman. Selama Danae di Ciputat, Edelweiss biasanya menggunakan waktunya di Jakarta untuk bertemu klien, kawan, atau sekadar memuaskan makan di tempat-tempat yang ia senangi. Awalnya, ia masih bertandang ke tetangga-tetangga lamanya di Ciputat, tapi pertanyaan-pertanyaan mereka seputar kepemilikan rumah nyaris seperti hasutan sehingga ia memilih menghindari mereka sebisa mungkin. 107

Edelweiss juga tak betah berlama-lama di rumah Ciputat karena setiap kali melihat Pandan hatinya perih. Fisik bekas suaminya itu baik-baik saja tetapi seluruh geraknya tampak lembek di matanya. Tak ada lagi sorot mata yang dulu sering bersinar nakal. Tak ada lagi panggilan Cempluk untuknya, yang ada hanyalah Bunda Danae. Tujuh belas samurai merana, maki Edelweiss dalam hati ketika pertama kali sapaan itu ia dengar. Maka, ketika Pandan berkata akan menikah lagi dengan Aya, seorang guru taman kanak-kanak, Edelweiss sungguh-sungguh berharap kegembiraan Pandan kembali sekalipun ia menyimpan cemburu. Harapan Edelweiss pupus begitu tahu bahwa Pandan menikahi Aya karena dijodohkan ketua kelompoknya, dan Aya bekerja di taman kanakkanak yang dikelola kelompok itu. Mengingat saat itu Pandan tak lagi bekerja dan hidup dengan mengandalkan tabungan, Edelweiss memberi saran agar Pandan membangun koskosan di lahan kiri rumah Ciputat yang masih cukup luas. Pandan menurut. Berkat rumah-rumah petak yang kemudian dengan cepat bertambah dua kali lipat itulah Pandan beroleh penghasilan 108

yang lumayan. Penghasilan yang memungkinkan Aya meminjamkan uang kepada kerabatnya yang kemudian memotong-motongnya menjadi sepuluh bagian.

Aya sudah dimakamkan ketika Edelweiss sampai di rumah Ciputat pada tengah hari. Begitu jenasah boleh keluar dari rumah sakit pada pagi hari, Pandan memilih langsung memakamkannya ketimbang menyemayamkannya di rumah. Edelweiss merasa itu pilihan yang bijak. Saat datang, setelah kecanggungan dua-tiga detik, Edelweiss memeluk Pandan. Laki-laki itu menangis di pundak Edelweiss, semenit mungkin. Edelweiss merasakannya berjam-jam. Beberapa mata tetangga ikut basah. Beberapa mata anggota kelompok pengajian menatap bertanya, tapi mereka tak angkat suara. Edelweiss juga bersalaman dengan kedua orang tua Aya, tak keluar kata-kata apa pun dari mulutnya. Sampai malam para pelayat masih berdatangan. Beberapa kerabat Aya terlihat kikuk karena korban dan pelaku adalah anggota keluarga besar mereka. Sejak sore Edelweiss 109

memilih menyingkir ke halaman belakang. Ia menyempatkan memetik dan memakan srikaya supermanis yang dulu ditanamnya. Di sini pula ia untuk pertama kalinya memeluk, menggendong, dan mencium-cium Zulaika yang sebelumnya dipegang pengasuhnya. Pengajian selesai pukul setengah sembilan malam. Edelweiss sempat ikut sebentar. Ia sebetulnya agak berharap mendapatkan pengajian yang menggetarkan hati. Ia keliru, acaranya berjalan datar.

Edelweiss melihat jam tangan, pukul satu dini hari. Ia mengenakan pakaiannya, membasuh muka di kamar mandi. Kepalanya belum sanggup mencerna yang baru saja terjadi. Penghiburan? Ia merapikan diri dan keluar kamar. Di lorong depan kamar tak ada siapa pun. Ia mengambil tasnya dan berjalan keluar rumah. Di halaman depan, ia menyalakan rokok. Ia melangkah ke arah jalan raya mencari taksi.

Kelelahan, Edelweiss beristirahat di kamar Danae, kamar yang sampai sekarang hanya digunakan jika anak itu datang menginap. Edelweiss tak tahu sudah berapa lama ia terlelap. Ketika terbangun, ia mendapati Pandan sudah duduk di kursi tak jauh dari ranjang. Mata laki-laki itu letih tetapi bibirnya mencoba tersenyum. Edelweiss bangkit dan memeluknya. Pandan menangis lagi. Beberapa menit kemudian, digerakkan oleh perasaan yang ganjil bagi keduanya, mereka membuka pakaian dan melakukannya. Edelweiss merasai air mata Panda di bahunya. Setelah selesai, Pandan tertidur. 110

111

Ajal Anwar Sadat di Cempaka Putih Anwar Sadat menemui ajalnya pada hari pertama ia menginjakkan kaki di Jakarta. Ia datang dari Semarang. Usianya pada hari naas itu 28 tahun. Anwar dinamai ayahnya mengikuti Presiden Mesir Muhammad Anwar El Sadat. Ayahnya memiliki alasan mengapa ia memilihkan nama itu dan bukannya Gamal Abdul Nasser atau Husni Mubarak. Sepekan sebelum Anwar dari Semarang lahir, Anwar Sadat yang presiden tewas diberondong peluru oleh tentaranya sendiri. Menurut berita, kematian itu sebetulnya bisa dihindari jika Anwar Sadat bersedia mengenakan rompi antipeluru seperti usulan penasihatnya. Sang presiden menolak karena menganggap hanya pengecut yang memakainya. “Sungguh laki-laki pemberani,” kata ayah Anwar dari Semarang dengan kagum. Maka, begitu anaknya lahir nama itu langsung ia pilih dan banggakan. Ia menyisihkan nama-nama

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mewah untuk ukuran kampungnya yang jauh hari sebelumnya sudah ia siapkan: Franz, Johan, Mario, dan Diego Armando. Meleset dari harapan ayahnya, Anwar Sadat dari Semarang tumbuh tak seheroik presiden bernasib celaka itu. Pembawaannya halus sehingga sering dijadikan olok-olok temannya. Dalam permainan apa pun perannya selalu sebagai anak bawang. Ketika usianya sepuluh tahun, Anwar diajak berkereta api ke Surabaya. Sepanjang perjalanan ia pucat pasi. Orang tuanya mengira anaknya sakit karena telat makan. Sebetulnyalah, Anwar merasa nyawanya nyaris melayang setiap kali kereta melintasi jembatan. Perjalanan pulang Anwar merengek sehebat-hebatnya meminta naik bus. Anwar menderita gephyrphobia—takut menyeberang jembatan karena prasangka bangunan itu bakal runtuh—sebagian. Jembatan biasa tak menakutkannya, tapi jembatan kereta api benar-benar merampas nyalinya. Ketidaktahuan Anwar ataupun orang tuanya mengenai nama kondisinya tak mengurangi gemetar dengkul Anwar tiap kali jembatan kereta api terlihat. Derita Anwar 114

makin bertambah karena ia juga mengidap sekian ketakutan lain, dari yang umum seperti hemophobia atau takut darah, iatrophobia atau takut dokter, claustrophobia atau takut ruang sempit, sampai yang sedikit melankosis yaitu ombrophobia atau takut rintik hujan. Setidaknya, kalau bisa disebut demikian, Anwar tak terjangkit optophobia, takut membuka mata, kondisi yang memungkinkan penderitanya mencakar atau mencungkil matanya sendiri, baik dengan tangan kosong, paku, atau garpu selada. Sekian ketakutan itu tak pelak membuat Anwar lebih senang berkutat di rumah dan kotanya. Ia cukup bahagia bekerja menjaga warung kelontong milik ayahnya. Beberapa pekan sebelum kematian Anwar, ayahnya mendapat telepon dari kerabatnya di Jakarta. Katanya, ada seorang perempuan muda, 24 tahun, janda ditinggal mati tanpa anak, yang cocok dipasangkan dengan Anwar Sadat yang masih lajang. “Anaknya baik, putih, pendiam, hemat, suka berkebun, suka merajut, pintar masak, hapal Yaasiin pula,” kata kerabat ayah Anwar berpromosi. Ayah Anwar senang sekali, ibu Anwar setali tiga uang girangnya. Anwar diminta datang ke 115

Jakarta. Kenalan dulu, sekiranya cocok hubungan bisa diteruskan. Sekiranya tidak, silaturahmi sudah terjalin. Anwar mematuhi perintah orang tuanya dan berangkat ke Jakarta. Sebetulnyalah ia jeri pergi sendiri. Namun, ia malu jika dianggap penakut dan ia agak gembira juga membayangkan punya pasangan hidup. Malam sebelum perjalanan, kecemasan dan kegembiraan tak berhenti bertamu sehingga ia tak berhasil tidur sama sekali. Maka, ketika akhirnya Anwar berangkat dengan bus paling pagi, kantuk yang hebat menyerangnya. Sialnya, kantuk ini ternyata tak berhasil ia musnahkan dengan tidur karena kecemasan apa yang bakal terjadi sepanjang perjalanan. Pukul setengah tiga sore Anwar sampai di Teminal Pulogadung. Sesuai petunjuk, ia kemudian berganti metromini menuju Senen. Rumah kerabatnya berada di kawasan Kramat. Di metromini, tanpa ia maui rasa kantuknya tak tertahankan lagi. Ia terbangun ketika seseorang mengguncang bahunya dan berkata, “Mas turun, kita dioper ke metromini depan.” Mereka berada di kawasan Cempaka Putih. 116

Grogi, Anwar turun tergesa-gesa. Seruan kondektur metromini yang berjarak sepuluh meter di depan makin membuatnya gugup. Ketika sandal kanan merek Lily yang dipakai Anwar menapak titik yang jaraknya tepat lima meter dari awal, sandal kirinya yang berada di belakang menginjak pasir halus. Anwar tergelincir. Kalau saja ia membiarkan grativasi bekerja, nasibnya mungkin lebih baik. Tapi, Anwar berusaha melawannya dan saat berjalan terhuyung-huyung menyeimbangkan diri itu ia menabrak seorang perempuan yang baru saja berjalan keluar dari mulut jalan kecil yang terletak di antara dua metromini. Tangan Anwar mampir ke dada perempuan itu. Sama-sama kaget, keduanya berteriak. Masih grogi, tangan Anwar justru menggelincir ke pinggang perempuan itu. “Copet!” teriak perempuan itu. Kebingungan, Anwar tersenyum. “Kurang ajar!” seru satu dari sekian laki-laki yang duduk bergerombol di depan jalan. Ketika gerombolan orang itu mendatanginya, Anwar mengeluarkan air mata. Ia mendadak rindu 117

kepada sup ayam dan perkedel daging buatan ibunya, dongeng-dongeng ayahnya, dan senyum calon istri yang belum pernah dijumpainya. Lena Mareta tak sempat melihat pukulan pertama yang mendarat di kepala Anwar. Ia sudah naik taksi saat itu. Tepat tiga detik setelah Anwar menabraknya sebuah taksi terlihat dan ia langsung melambai dan membuka pintu. Tentu saja ia masih kesal karena ada tangan laki-laki tak diinginkan singgah di tubuhnya. Tapi, ada hal lain yang lebih menggusarkannya yang membuatnya ingin segera berlalu dari tempat itu. “Boleh merokok?” tanya Lena. “Sebetulnya tidak,” kata sopir taksi, matanya melirik Lena melalui spion. Lena membuka kaca jendela dan menyalakan rokoknya. Semestinya sore ini menyenangkan kalau si anak bau susu tolol itu tak bikin gara-gara! Sesungguhnyalah Lena menantikan sore ini. Bahkan, ia mengambil cuti. Pagi ia mandi, setelah makan siang ia mandi lagi. Ia tak terlalu suka bersolek tetapi sangat senang mewarnai kukunya. 118

Maka, setelah mandi yang kedua, ia membuka kotak pemulas kukunya. Ada empat baris dengan sepuluh warna setiap barisnya. Baris pertama: merah jambu biji, merah ungu bawang Brebes, merah hati sapi yang masih segar, merah Harajuku, merah Mangga Besar, merah setrup soda gembira, merah haid pertama, merah marun, merah ludah campur sirih, dan merah gincu Joker. Baris kedua: biru telur asin, biru samurai, biru langit awal musim dingin, biru kostum Chelsea, biru memar maling kena bogem, biru mesum, biru kehijauan, biru lapis lazuli, biru tinta bolpen Pilot klasik, dan biru jins stonewash Cibaduyut. Baris ketiga: kuning bunga matahari, kuning durian mentega, kuning padi muda, hijau lumut, oranye kunyit, oranye jeruk pontianak, coklat batu bata, coklat teh kental, putih telur ceplok, dan putih pualam. Baris keempat: sembilan hitam rambut Joan Jett dan satu transparan berkilauan. Lena memilih yang terakhir. Malam sebelumnya, Jamal, pacar Lena, pulang dari perjalanan tiga minggu pendakian Gunung Elbrus di Rusia. Lena tak sempat menjemputnya. Lena sebetulnya sudah ingin mendatangi rumah pacarnya di Cempaka Putih itu tadi pagi, tapi ia

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menahan diri karena Jamal bilang ia pasti masih tidur. Lena dan Jamal sudah berpacaran selama empat bulan. Mereka sudah tidur bersama sembilan belas kali. Pada bulan kedua, Lena sebetulnya sudah sadar bahwa banyak ketidakcocokan di antara mereka. Bukan karena usia Jamal yang baru 21 tahun, lebih muda enam tahun darinya, melainkan obrolan dengannya benar-benar tak mendatangkan ilham. Bagi Lena, kemudaan bukan alasan seseorang boleh terus-menerus berkata tolol. Hanya saja, Jamal tak pernah mengecewakannya untuk urusan yang satu itu. Lena masih ingin menikmati sekaligus digarap Jamal. Di kamar Jamal, awalnya, semua berjalan seperti yang dibayangkan Lena. Namun, Lena girang kepagian. Tangan Lena yang hendak menjangkau kait bra di punggung terhenti saat ia melihat Jamal yang sudah duduk telanjang di ranjang melambaikan tangan kanan di atas perabotnya seperti seorang konduktor selesai beraksi. “Nona Lena, kau sudah sering bertemu, tapi belum kenalan resmi. Ini John, ini George dan 120

Ringo,” kata Jamal tertawa-tawa sembari menunjuk batang, biji kiri, dan kanannya. “Mana Paul?” tanya Lena, tersenyum. “Apa maksudmu?” “Masa ia ditinggalkan?” “Bijiku cuma dua, Len.” “Kenapa bukan ia yang menjadi tiang?” “Perusak band itu, yang benar saja!” Pertengkaran pecah. Lena sakit hati. Baginya, tanpa Paul McCartney tak akan ada The Beatles, sehebat apa pun John Lennon. Lena jatuh cinta kepada Beatles karena Paul. Sewaktu kecil, ketika ia sedang sedih-sedihnya karena kematian ayahnya, lagu-lagu slow Beatles yang dikarang Paul yang paling menghiburnya. Ia bukannya tak suka kepada John, ia menghormatinya malah, tapi cinta pertamanya tetap kepada Paul. Maka, ketika Jamal mencela Paul, ia tak terima. Saat Jamal, betapa pun lambannya dia, menyadari bahwa pertengkaran itu tak ada gunanya dan ia ingin berbaikan karena si John miliknya betul-betul kepengin segera bertanding, semua sudah terlambat. Lena kadung mutung dan meninggalkan kamarnya. 121

Setelah rokok kedua habis, senyum pertama Lena terbit. Kenapa aku harus marah? Bukankah malah menghina kalau Paul dijadikan salah satu nama perkakas anak ingusan itu? Lena ingin balik tetapi gengsi menghalanginya.

Sopir taksi tak salah ketika bilang hari sudah sore

“Ke Ragunan, Pak, kebun binatang,” kata Lena, akhirnya. Semula ia hanya mengatakan ‘jalan’ kepada sopir taksi.

tak jauh dari pintu masuk.

karena petugas penjualan tiket di Ragunan juga mengatakan hal yang sama. Waktu yang tersisa tinggal empat puluh menit saja. Lena tak keberatan, ia hanya ingin menengok jerapah yang kandangnya Sore menjadi lebih gelap ketimbang biasanya karena mendung. Ternyata, setelah sepuluh menit Lena sudah bosan. Ketika ia ingin beranjak, seorang

“Sudah sore, Mbak.” Lena tak menjawab sehingga sopir itu pun tak berani berkata-kata lagi. Selain lagu-lagu Paul, yang paling menghibur Lena sejak kecil adalah menonton hewan-hewan bengong di kebun binatang. Dahulu favoritnya adalah tapir karena ketidakjelasan masuk keluarga hewan yang mana. Ibunya tak bisa memberi keterangan, pula kerabatnya. Tapir juga mempesona Lena karena tampak sedemikian malas. Ketika beranjak besar, Lena dengan mudah bisa mencari tahu keingintahuan masa kecilnya dan tapir tak lagi menggelitiknya. Saat ini Lena sedang senang jerapah karena satu fakta: jerapah tak memiliki pita suara. Leher sepanjang itu, tapi betapa pendiamnya.

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perempuan—mungkin beumur 70 tahunan, pikir Lena—menarik perhatiannya. Sebentar-sebentar perempuan itu bergantian memandang langit dan perdu di depannya. Yang tidak Lena ketahui, perempuan tua itu sedang menguji pengetahuannya tentang meteorological botanomancy, menebak gejala langit melalui perubahan gerak tanaman. Ilmu ini sangat sulit, bahkan bagi perempuan yang sudah menguasai fructomancy atau tafsir bentuk, pergerakan, dan reaksi buah-buahan, dendromancy atau tafsir pepohonan, phyllomancy atau tafsir dedaunan, dan xylomancy atau tafsir batang dan cecabang pohon ini.

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Lena mengamati terus karena wajah perempuan tua itu mengingatkannya kepada seseorang. Akhirnya, Lena memberanikan diri. “Ibu Reni?” Perempuan tua itu tersenyum. “Bukan, saya Esti. Reni kakak kembar saya.” Lena berjalan mendekat dan mencium tangan Esti. Ia tak menyangka bisa bertemu adik kembar orang yang pernah sangat berjasa kepada keluarga mereka. Dua puluh tahun yang lalu, ketika ibu Lena terserang stroke parah, Ibu Reni yang berpraktek di Semarang yang menyembuhkannya dengan gabungan pengobatan herbal dan totok jari.

“Guru, ceritamu sungguh penuh dengan kebetulan!” Laki-laki yang dipanggil guru itu tertawa keras di tempat duduknya. Aku yang berada di sampingnya ikut tergelak. Di hadapan kami duduk lima atau enam muridnya. Aku menyebutnya demikian karena guru itu sebelumnya bilang kepadaku bahwa dari enam orang yang belajar mengarang kepadanya yang seorang terdaftar resmi tetapi hanya ikut sekali dari dua belas pertemuan 124

sementara yang seorang lagi tak terdaftar dan iseng ikut atas ajakan temannya dan lantas memanfaatkan kebaikan guru itu untuk masuk kelas terus dengan percuma sejak pekan kedua. “Bukankah kalian yang bilang bahwa kebetulan bisa betul-betul terjadi dalam kehidupan nyata?” kata guru itu setelah reda tawanya. Dalam perjalanan sebelum bertemu kami, enam orang itu membicarakan panjang lebar— ngrasani, tepatnya—seseorang laki-laki muda, vokalis band punk, yang pernah dekat dengan salah seorang dari mereka. Mulai lagu-lagu yang pemuda itu sukai dan mainkan sampai, bahkan, warna kulitnya yang semasa pacaran terlihat cerah dan sesudah putus menjadi lebih gelap. Mereka lupa siapa yang memulai pembicaraan. Hanya saja, mereka sama sekali tak menduga kejadian berikut. Ketika mobil mereka berhenti di lampu merah, sebuah sepeda motor berhenti di samping kiri mereka. Salah seorang yang kebetulan menoleh langsung berteriak kaget karena yang ia lihat tak lain adalah laki-laki yang sedang mereka bicarakan. Laporan soal kejadian itu masih panjang lagi tetapi intinya mereka ingin agar kebetulan boleh 125

mereka pakai dalam cerita-cerita mereka. Guru itu tersenyum dan bilang akan membuat cerita dengan kebetulan di sana-sini dan meminta lima atau enam muridnya menilai bagus tidaknya. Di sini, sebetulnya aku ingin menuliskan bahwa setelah mendengar protes muridnya guru itu mengambil napas, memejamkan mata, mendengarkan bisikan angin dan burung di kejauhan, lalu meluncurkan kisah di atas. Aku ingin membuat guru itu terlihat keren karena banyak upaya yang sudah ia lakukan untuk tampil demikian—termasuk memirangkan rambut, memakai anting berlian di kuping kiri, dan memakai sepatu dan topi yang serasi dan sewarna—sama sekali tak berhasil. Tapi, rasanya gambaran itu jadi kurang masuk akal karena kami sedang berada di sebuah kafe di Senayan City. Yang terjadi adalah guru itu meminta waktu sekitar dua jam, murid-muridnya gembira menurutinya dengan menonton Inception. Aku ikut mereka. “Lantas, bagaimana kelanjutannya, Guru?” “Kebetulan, aku ingin kalian yang meneruskan.” 126

Enam orang itu bersungut-sungut tetapi patuh. Tiga orang bekerja dengan laptop sementara sisanya mencoret-coret di atas tisu yang kebetulan cukup tebal untuk ditulisi. Setelah dua puluh menit, seorang yang menulis di atas tisu menyerahkan karyanya kepada guru itu. Aku ikut membaca dari balik pundaknya. Begini ceritanya.

“Anwar, ayo siap!” Anwar Sadat gemetar. Ia sama sekali tak ingin berada di selokan di tepi jalan raya itu. Tapi, teman-temannya memaksa. Salah seorang segera mengangsurkan katapel kepada Anwar, yang lain sibuk membuat peluru dari tanah liat. Anakanak kampung Anwar sedang senang-senangnya melakoni permainan baru, menembaki mobil yang melintas dengan katapel mereka. Kalau ada pengemudi atau penumpang yang kaget, girang betul hati anak-anak itu. Apalagi kalau pengemudinya marah dan turun mengejar mereka. Anwar ikut karena janji Tamsi, anak yang mengajaknya bersembunyi di selokan, bahwa 127

anak itu bakal melindunginya di sekolah. Semasa kelas satu dan dua SD sebelumnya, Anwar selalu jadi sasaran ejekan kawan-kawannya karena berat badannya yang sangat berlebih. Janji Tamsi yang berbadan jangkung itulah yang membuatnya memberani-beranikan diri ikut memegang katapel.

pingsan, sementara si anak perempuan tersadar dan mulai menangis. Anak itu bernama Lena Mareta.

Tak sampai tiga menit, semua anak sudah siap. Ketika sebuah sedan Impala melaju dari arah utara, Tamsi menepuk pundak Anwar sebagai pengganti ucapan ‘sekarang giliranmu’. Memejamkan mata, Anwar menembak. Peluru tanah liat itu tepat menghantam gagang kaca mata kanan si pengemudi. Tembakan itu tak melukai tapi sangat mengagetkan laki-laki yang memegang setir itu. Dua penumpang, seorang perempuan berwajah pucat dan seorang anak perempuan bersama-sama menjerit ketika pengemudi itu membanting setir dan sedan itu menghantam pohon. Terdengar suara keras, tak ada suara dari dari dalam mobil. Setelah sepuluh detik terpaku, anak-anak segera kabur. Tamsi menarik tangan Anwar yang masih mematung. Pria yang memegang setir berlumuran darah, keningnya pecah. Perempuan yang berparas pucat 128

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Muslihat Musang Emas dan Elena

“Kita punya peluang mendirikan agama baru, Don,” kataku kepada Donny, adik sepupuku. “Kok bisa begitu, Mas?” Kami berdua sedang ngopi di salah satu kedai di kompleks Kalibata City, tempat tinggal Donny. Aku mengunjunginya dan kami mengobrol. Awalnya, seperti biasa, kami ngrasani kerabat-kerabat kami yang lain sampai akhirnya obrolan berbelok. Aku lalu bercerita tentang peruntungan seorang kawanku yang pengusaha. Kisah bermula ketika ia jalan-jalan ke sebuah pasar di Beijing. Di sana ia melihat sepatu yang modelnya menarik. Ia yakin sepatu macam itu bakal laku di Indonesia. Ia akhirnya memesan sepatu itu dalam berbagai ukuran dan membayar di tempat. Sebulan kemudian pesanannya tiba. Alangkah kagetnya ia ketika melihat sepatu yang datang satu kontainer ternyata kiri semua. Segera ia menelepon si pedagang sepatu di Cina. Jawaban yang ia terima 130

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sungguh membuatnya melongo. “Lho, yang kamu tunjuk di toko kan memang sepatu kiri,” kata si pedagang sepatu. Terpaksa ia memesan lagi, kali ini sepatu kanan dalam jumlah yang sama. Tak mungkin ia menjual sepatu sebelah saja. Ia sadar posisi tawarnya lemah, di Cina banyak industri rumah tangga yang bisa mengerjakan sepatu kiri semua berapa pun banyaknya tanpa harus rugi jika si tertipu menolak memesan pasangannya.

“Hubungannya dengan agama baru?” tanya Donny. “Begini, kalau uangku tak berseri, aku ingin membuat kekeliruan yang sama berulang-ulang. Aku ingin tahu sampai berapa lama si pedagang sepatu itu tahan mengirimkan sepatu kiri semua. Aku ingin membeli rasa sungkannya. Jika sampai pemesanan yang ke-113 ia tetap mengirimkan sepatu kiri, aku menyerah. Aku akan mendirikan agama baru dengan menjadikannya sebagai tuhan. Ia yang tak punya takut niscaya tuhan belaka. Dan kau sebagai fotografer bisa merekam berdirinya agama baru ini,” kataku.

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Donny meringis. Ia tidak tertawa sebagaimana kawan-kawan yang lain yang mendengar cerita itu. “Cerita biasa, Mas.” “Anjing, ini penipuan ajaib.” “Kau belum dengar yang ini,” kata Donny. Donny bercerita selama dua jam. Berikut kisahnya yang kususun ulang.

Bel apartemen Donny berbunyi tepat pada menit kedua lagu “We All Fall in Love Sometimes” dari Elton John berputar. Lagu itu sudah Donny mainkan tiga kali pagi itu dan mungkin akan ia putar lagi. Ia bukan penggemar berat diva Inggris itu—ya, baginya tak ada penyanyi Britania yang lebih layak disebut diva ketimbang Sir Elton—tapi lagu pop itu pas betul dengan suasana hatinya. Yang datang adalah kurir yang mengantar pesanannya, seragam serdadu Jepang Perang Dunia II. Ia membelinya dari butik khusus di Bandung. Tangannya mengelus-elus seragam hijau pupus itu sebelum memasangkan tanda pangkat kapten. Seragam itu modalnya datang ke acara pernikahan

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dua orang anggota New Jakarta Reenactment Community, kelompok yang gemar berkumpul dan berlakon secara amatiran memerankan adegan dari berbagai masa. Pasangan yang akan menikah itu meminta anggota yang lain datang mengenakan kostum masa Perang Dunia II. Yang kostumnya paling heboh bakal diajak ikut bulan madu, begitu bunyi pesan mereka dengan tambahan lima macam emoticon. Donny tahu mereka sedang bercanda. Tapi, ia tahu juga bahwa teman-temannya yang lain tak akan melewatkan kesempatan berdandan habis-habisan. “Aku mau pakai seragam perwira Nazi,” kata Elena, ketika membaca pesan itu bersama Donny di sebuah rumah kopi, “dan aku jamin lipstik merahku bakal tak ada yang mengalahkan terangnya di pesta nanti.” “Merah yang bagaimana?” tanya Donny. “Seperti yang di poster film lama,” kata Elena. Donny memaafkan Elena yang tak bisa atau tak mau merumuskan secara spesifik warna merah gincu yang ia ingin pakai. Kepada orang lain ia akan mengejar dengan pertanyaan poster film 134

apa, film negara mana, lama di sini merujuk ke posternya atau filmnya, dan sebangsanya. Ia punya kecenderungan seperti itu. Tapi, hatinya dari dulu lemah terhadap orang yang ia taksir, dan keceketeran ini menjadi-jadi di hadapan Elena. “Awas, jangan jadi pengecut pas datang ke kondangan nanti,” kata Elena. “Maksudmu?” “Jangan pakai baju yang biasa-biasa saja dengan alasan itu pakaian pegawai negeri tahun segitu. Jangan cari gampangnya juga dengan pakai baju sobek-sobek terus bilang dirimu laskar pejuang. Pokoknya mesti usaha.” “Aduh.” “Kau harus pakai busanamu sejak dari rumah. Jangan pakai di kamar mandi tempat resepsi. Jangan pula coba-coba naik taksi atau bawa mobil sendiri seperti dulu. Nggak seru, tahu. Kau tinggal di Kalibata City, kan? Naik KRL saja kalau angkot rerlalu repot.” “Bakal dapat hadiah apa kalau aku berani?” “Buktikan dulu, baru nanti kita bicara soal hadiah,” kata Elena. 135

Donny percaya bahwa Elena akan benarbenar muncul dengan seragam yang ia janjikan. Mungkin sepasang pengantinnya akan berdandan lebih heboh lagi. Donny tak berani seperti itu, mengenakan seragam prajurit Gestapo terlalu ekstrem. Ia pernah jengah setengah mati ketika ada beberapa orang kulit putih memaki-maki temannya yang mengenakan seragam perwira SS ketika mereka berkumpul di kawasan Kota. Pilihan baju serdadu Jepang ia rasa aman dan cukup keren. Ia punya alasan lain yang sedikit sentimentil. Dua puluh lima tahun yang lalu, ketika ia masih kanak-kanak, Donny pernah begitu terpukau melihat kakaknya berlakon sebagai perwira Jepang yang kejam dalam pementasan tujuh belasan di kampung mereka di Semarang. Jauh hari sebelum pentas, kakaknya yang saat itu masih duduk di bangku SMA sudah berhasil memikat orang-orang kampung yang menonton latihan dengan pengucapan makian bagero yang sangat meyakinkan. Latihan-latihannya lalu sangat ditunggu dan untuk setiap bagero yang keluar dari mulutnya penonton bertepuk tangan. Mungkin karena antusiasme itu, pada malam pentas kakaknya akhirnya melontarkan bagero lebih dari 136

lima puluh kali untuk pertunjukan yang hanya tiga puluh menit. Kakaknya itu sangat melindungi dirinya semasa ia kecil. Kakaknya meninggal dunia empat bulan bulan yang lalu. Itulah alasannya memilih seragam serdadu Jepang. Ia membayangkan seandainya kakaknya masih hidup kakaknya pasti senang bergabung dengan komunitas pelakonan ulang dan bisa jadi bintang di sana.

Donny ikut komunitas pelakonan ulang karena Elena. Ia tidak diajak, tapi karena Elena menyebutnyebut tentang komunitas ini, ia bergabung supaya punya alasan untuk sering bertemu. Jika saja Elena menyebut tentang Komunitas Penggemar Cobek dan Ulekan atau Komunitas Perawat Gambar Umbul atau Sekte Penyembah Velvet Underground ia bakal bergabung juga tanpa berpikir dua kali. Ia bertemu Elena tiga bulan yang lalu pada malam amal komunitas pecinta hutan bakau—para anggotanya, seperti anggota komunitas-komunitas lain, lebih senang menamai kelompok mereka dengan bahasa Inggris: Mangrove Addicts. 137

Ia sebetulnya tidak terlalu peduli pada bakau. Tentu, ia suka jika bakau terjaga. Tapi, kalau diminta benar-benar berkeringat untuk perbakauan, ia akan mlipir sebelum melarikan diri. Ia bergabung dengan komunitas bakau dan juga dengan komunitaskomunitas lain sebelumnya karena alasan tunggal: mencari teman kencan. Semua berawal dari setahun yang lalu. Donny yang saat itu baru saja bercerai betah mengurung diri di apartemennya. Beberapa pekerjaan yang nilainya besar ia tolak begitu saja. Tiga kawan dekatnya—Herman, Kandar, dan Sinyo—jengkel. Mereka lalu mengajaknya ikut acara berbagai komunitas di Jakarta. “Untuk apa?” tanya Donny. “Seru-seruanlah, Bung,” kata Kandar. Jawaban itu menjengkelkan Donny. Tapi, ia akhirnya ikut juga karena ketiga temannya tak berhenti mengajaknya. Baru pada acara ketiga Donny mafhum kalau teman-temannya itu ternyata sedang berburu teman kencan. Donny tak bisa menahan tawa ketika Kandar bilang bahwa kelompok mereka punya nama, Sarekat Muslihat Musang Emas. 138

“Dulu namanya Sarekat Jasa Khilaf, Bung. Tapi, Sarekat Muslihat Musang Emas lebih nyeni,” kata Sinyo. Menurut ketiga kawannya, perempuanperempuan yang mereka temui bukan jenis yang gampangan—sekalipun bisa khilaf tentunya—dan justru itu yang membuat perburuan menarik. Donny yang awalnya mencibir akhirnya tertantang. Bukan karena bakal ada imbalan seks jika perburuan berhasil, melainkan karena perburuan—sukses atau tidak—ia yakini bisa menghiburnya. Sebelumnya, ia banyak murung karena sulit menemui anak perempuannya yang ikut mantan istrinya. Mantannya itu memusuhinya. Kalau perburuan bisa berlanjut ke ranjang, ia akan bersyukur. Ia membutuhkan seks. Ia tahu bahwa untuk urusan seks ia bisa memakai jasa perempuan penghibur tetapi ia tak suka setelah pernah mencoba sekali. Ia tahu juga bahwa memuaskan diri sendiri adalah jalan keluar yang mudah. Tapi, hari-hari itu, kalau ia melakukannya, hatinya malah sering nelangsa setelah hajatnya selesai. 139

Sampai acara ketujuh yang ia ikuti, Donny belum beruntung. Ia menyalahkan dirinya sendiri. Ia benar-benar gagu di tengah perempuanperempuan yang bersikap sangat ramah kepadanya sekalipun. Ketiga kawannya gemas. “Don, mereka itu ngebet sama kamu lho,” kata Herman. “Mosok?” tanya Donny. “Kamu itu kan paling paling mbois di antara kita. Paling pintar bermulut manis pula,” kata Herman. “Itu dulu.”

mengenal nama Murakami, ia pernah menonton sebuah film yang diangkat dari novel Murakami, tapi sebetulnyalah ia belum pernah membaca satu pun tulisannya. Ia ikut lagi-lagi karena ketimbang bengong di rumah. Siapa nyana, Murakami mengubah peruntungannya—secara tidak langsung. Donny sedang duduk menunggu ketiga temannya selesai berhandai-handai setelah acara ditutup ketika seorang perempuan yang Donny taksir berusia 20-an akhir duduk begitu saja di sampingnya. Perempuan berkulit cerah itu mengeluarkan pil dari tasnya dan meminumnya. Spontan, Donny bertanya, “Sakit, Mbak?”

Keberaniannya memulai percakapan dengan perempuan mengempis semenjak perceraiannya. Mantan istrinya benar-benar berhasil merusak kepercayaan dirinya setelah serangkaian pertengkaran buruk sebelum mereka bercerai. Yang paling melukai Donny adalah ketika perempuan itu bilang tak pernah mencintainya karena ia memang tak layak dicintai. Acara kedelapan yang ia ikuti adalah pertemuan para penggemar karya Haruki Murakami. Donny 140

“Ndak, ng... ini pil bulanan.” “Sakit bulanan?” “Bukan. Ini pil biar aman tiap bulan. Tahu sendirilah, Mas. Saya minum teratur pada jam yang sama supaya ndak lupa. Kalau ngandelin pasangan pakai pengaman kok masih was-was.” Perempuan itu kemudian berlalu setelah tersenyum. Donny bukan laki-laki dungu. Ia tahu apa yang diminum perempuan itu, setidaknya demikian jika pengakuan itu benar. Donny sempat 141

memikirkan sekiranya perempuan itu melemparkan isyarat dan ia kurang sigap. Ia tak terlalu menyesali jika benar demikian. Keterbukaan perempuan itu kepadanya, si orang asing, menyadarkan dirinya bahwa ia masih punya harapan. Insiden itu membuat Donny bisa rileks. Pada acara-acara berikutnya kefasihan lidahnya sudah kembali. Dengan cepat ia beroleh kenalan baru perempuan. Dalam hati, Donny juga membenarkan dengan malu-malu perkataan teman-temannya, bahwa parasnya memang oke. Perkenalan-perkenalan itu ada yang berlanjut ke ranjang, ke pekerjaan, ke keduanya atau tidak berlanjut sama sekali. Donny tak terlalu risau. Ia menikmati yang bisa ia dapat. Ia tak pernah membanggakan kepada teman-temannya jika yang ia kencani kebetulan seorang sosialita atau model yang punya nama— dua kelompok yang selalu ada saja di komunitas mana pun. Teman-temannya iri, tapi bagi Donny perempuan-perempuan itu teman kencan biasa, kebetulan saja nama mereka dikenal banyak orang. Ia pernah berpacaran dengan model dan bintang film sebelum ia menikah. Mantan istrinya juga salah seorang juara ajang Abang None Jakarta. 142

Donny masih akan terus nyaman dengan situasinya jika anggota Sarekat Muslihat Musang Emas tidak mengundurkan diri satu per satu. Herman bertemu pacar di komunitas filateli, Kandar mendapat pekerjaan baru di Myanmar, dan Sinyo—satu-satunya anggota yang bukan lajang— terhinggapi ciut nyali setelah istrinya mulai curiga. Donny sempat berpikir untuk menyudahi saja ikut acara komunitas ini dan itu. Sarekat yang anggotanya seorang saja jelas tak asyik. Terlebih, ia mulai terjangkit perasaan tak nyaman yang sering ia dapatkan setelah kencan. Ia tak mengeluhkan seksnya, tapi ia merasa menjadi penipu dan ia terganggu. Ia ingin hubungan yang lebih tulus dan serius.

Sebetulnya, Donny tak berminat datang ke malam amal komunitas bakau. Selain bukan pecinta sejati bakau, minatnya juga sudah luntur garagara ketiga temannya absen. Tapi, salah seorang pengurus komunitas itu, seorang laki-laki yang selalu tampak aleman, memintanya membantu urusan dokumentasi. Donny bersedia karena yang memintanya pernah memberinya orderan besar dan kebetulan juga ia sedang agak luang. 143

Hati Donny berdesir begitu melihat Elena yang malam itu mengenakan baju putih longgar, celana jins biru, dan sepatu but kulit hitam. Ia tak pernah bertemu Elena pada acara komunitas bakau sebelumnya. Di mata Donny, paduan busana sederhana itu terlihat sangat serasi. Gawat, pikirnya, jangan-jangan ia jatuh hati pada pandangan pertama. Tapi, ia tak berani bilang apaapa. Kefasihan lidahnya yang sudah kembali dalam beberapa bulan terakhir menghilang lagi malam itu. Bahkan, sebetulnyalah ia tak berani memotret Elena dari dekat. Ia terlalu gugup. Sepulangnya dari acara, Donny melihat-lihat lagi gambar Elena yang ia ambil. Ia menaksir usia perempuan itu tiga puluhan awal, tak beda jauh darinya. Rahang Elena sedikit tegas dan dadanya

perawakan sekecil itu sebelumnya. Tapi, desir di hatinya menjadi. Tanpa Donny duga, Elena datang mendekatinya. Donny melihat ada tonjolan di balik kausnya. Tidak besar tetapi cukup menenteramkan hati Donny. “Mas, lihat itu deh, besar sekali ya, kalau difoto lucu,” kata Elena, menunjuk sesuatu di atas permukaan sungai. Tawanya terdengar merdu di telinga Donny. Yang Elena tunjuk ternyata kotoran manusia yang ukurannya aduhai. Entah manusia macam apa yang bisa mengeluarkan kotoran sedemikian pulen: besar, panjang, dan melengkung seperti bulan sabit.

boleh dibilang rata, bukan tipe kesukaan Donny. Tapi, semalaman ia tak bisa tidur memikirkan Elena.

Donny kagum dan ikut tertawa. Ia memotretnya. Seandainya Elena memintanya membungkus kotoran itu untuk kenang-kenangan, ia akan patuh.

Keesokan harinya, pada acara lanjutan di Cilincing, ia melihat Elena lagi. Elena yang pagi itu mengenakan rok mini dan kaus oblong terlihat lebih kecil daripada malam sebelumnya. Donny tak pernah tertarik kepada perempuan dengan

Obrolan mereka pagi itu singkat, tapi Donny sudah girang bukan kepalang. Ia mendapatkan nomor Elena. Sepanjang acara ia berkali-kali mencuri mengambil gambar Elena yang sepertinya juga tahu dan tidak keberatan.

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Namun, Donny girang kepagian. Hari yang menggembirakan itu berkelok. “Kau suka kepada Elena?” tanya pengurus komunitas bakau yang meminta jasanya. Donny menyeringai. “Kelihatan sekali, ya?” “Hm, begini lho, Don...” Si lelaki aleman itu bercerita kalau Elena terlahir sebagai Martin Manurung dan masih menyandang nama itu. Elena memang sudah berganti kelamin delapan bulan sebelumnya, tapi permohonan pergantian status hukumnya belum selesai. “Kurasa kau perlu tahu, Don,” kata si lelaki aleman. Sepulang dari Cilincing, Donny membeli sebotol wiski dan minum sendirian di apartemennya. Ia ingin mabuk tetapi tak berhasil. Yang datang justru air matanya. Ia jengkel setengah mati membayangkan mantan istrinya yang pasti akan menertawainya pol-polan jika tahu situasinya. Ia juga belum sanggup membayangkan reaksi keluarga dan teman-temannya jika ia ingin serius dengan Elena. 146

Selama sepekan Donny menyumpah-nyumpah sendiri. Sepekan berikutnya Donny menyumpahnyumpah lagi. Sepekan berikutnya lagi ia masih menyumpah-nyumpah, tapi serapahnya mulai goyah. Rasa sukanya kepada Elena masih kuat. Semakin malah. Ia sempat berpikir jangan-jangan Elena adalah tukang jampi-jampi. Dan, ia pun menyumpah-nyumpah lagi karena alasan yang berbeda. Ia lalu melakukan sesuatu yang sebelumnya tak pernah ia pikir bakal lakukan saat akan mendekati orang yang ia taksir, membuat daftar pros and cons seperti pemuda-pemudi unyu yang pertama kali mengenal cinta. Ia menulis yang masuk ke dalam kantung cons terlebih dahulu: hinaan mantan istri, ibu yang nelangsa jika tahu, ketidakpahaman kawan-kawan dekat yang disarukan sebagai permakluman sehingga membuat semuanya lebih anjing lagi, kotbah tak diundang dari siapa pun yang merasa kenal dengannya, kulit gelap, bodi kecil, dada rata, vagina palsu. Donny berhenti di vagina palsu sekalipun masih banyak lagi yang terlintas di kepalanya. Pros: poni, rajah lebah madu mungil di tangan kiri, suka, suka, suka.... Semenit kemudian Donny merobek kertas berisikan daftar sialan itu. 147

Ia tak bisa membohongi dirinya sendiri. Ia sudah jatuh hati. Ia pertama kali melihat Elena sebagai perempuan. Dan, memang kenyataannya Elena seorang perempuan, bukan? Ia meyakinyakinkan dirinya lagi dengan pemikiran bahwa semua orang membawa sejarahnya masing-masing. Memangnya siapa ia yang boleh menghakimi seseorang? Ia pun mengontak Elena suatu siang dan mengajaknya makan bersama. Ia pura-pura kebetulan sedang ada urusan di gedung kantor Elena berada. Ia sengaja ke sana dua jam sebelumnya.

“Kau tahu aku perempuan jadi-jadian, bukan?” tanya Elena siang itu. “Jangan bilang begitu, ah.” “Ih, kau baik ya,” ujar Elena. “Kau tak perlu bercerita yang pribadi-pribadi.” “Kau kawan baru. Aku tak ingin kautahu dari orang lain.” Elena lalu bercerita bahwa ia merasa dirinya bukan lagi Martin sejak usia tiga belas tahun. Ia baru 148

berani mengenakan baju perempuan semasa kuliah setelah ayahnya meninggal. Ia menjalani operasi di Bangkok setelah ibunya meninggal setahun lalu. “Dulu waktu sekolah sempat pacaran dengan cewek? Eh, sori, jadi lancang,” kata Donny. “Santai saja. Sama cewek sih sering, dan aku menikmati, setidaknya awalnya,” kata Elena. “Kok?” “Aku tidak happy dengan tubuhku. Dan, orang yang tidak bahagia sulit bikin orang lain senang.” “Sudah pacaran dengan berapa laki-laki?” Elena meninju bahu Donny. memangnya aku perempuan apaan?”

“Sialan,

“Belum pernah?” “Mau tahu saja.” “Serius nih, belum pernah?” “Belum ada yang menarik sih.” Donny tersenyum. Siang itu ia sempat berpikir bahwa ia mungkin akan menjadi laki-laki pertama yang memasuki Elena. Ia pulang dengan rasa bungah. Namun, bukan harapan akan beroleh 149

yang semacam itu yang membuat Donny ingin terus bertemu Elena. Ia merasa benar-benar nyambung dengan Elena yang bekerja sebagai penasihat keuangan itu. Wawasan Elena luas dan diam-diam membikin Donny sedikit malu saat pura-pura paham omongan Elena.

akan ia hadiri dengan seragam serdadu Jepang itu. Ia tak bisa menunggu lebih lama lagi. Ia tak peduli jika dunia menertawakannya—atau lebih tepatnya ia masih peduli tetapi akan mencoba menabahnabahkan diri. Seperti ungkapan klise, hati sudah bicara. Ia yakin Elena juga suka kepadanya.

Pada pertemuan berikutnya, Donny yakin bahwa ia memang sudah jatuh hati sejatuhjatuhnya. Elena selalu bisa membuatnya tertawa karena perkara remeh-temeh, serupa saat perempuan itu menunjuk kotoran berukuran besar di Cilincing. Maka, Donny pun mencari-cari alasan untuk bisa sering bertemu dengan Elena, termasuk ikut komunitas pelakonan ulang.

Pesta pernikahan di Gedung Arsip Nasional malam itu meriah sekali. Sang pengantin lakilaki berdandan ala Jenderal Douglas McArthur sementara si pengantin perempuan memilih bergaya ala Winston Churcil.

Hanya, sampai beberapa pertemuan selanjutnya, Donny masih belum berani menyampaikan isi hatinya. Ia sedang menabung keberanian. Sebetulnya ia berharap dan tidak keberatan sama sekali jika Elena yang bilang duluan. Sayangnya hal itu tak terjadi.

Donny akhirnya berketetapan akan menyatakan isi hatinya kepada Elena pada pesta pernikahan yang

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Donny mencari-cari Elena. Setelah satu jam, baru ia melihat Elena masuk ruang pesta. Benar, Elena mengenakan seragam perwira SS. Benar, lipstiknya merah menggairahkan seperti dalam poster film lama. Donny ingin mencium perempuan itu saat itu juga. Elena melambaikan tangan kepadanya. Bersama Elena datang seorang perempuan yang berdandan ala Marlene Dietrich. “Don, kenalkan ini Lisa, temanku. Lisa, ini Donny, teman baruku yang baik yang sering kuceritakan itu,” kata Elena.

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Setelah mereka berbasa-basi sejenak, Lisa pamit ke kamar kecil. Elena merapat ke Donny yang langsung berdebar. “Menurutmu kami cocok tidak, Don, aku sudah lama naksir dia tetapi belum punya kesempatan nembak dia. Malam ini akan aku coba,” kata Elena.

Malam itu aku mentraktirnya minum di sebuah bar di Kemang. Setelah menenggak sloki wiski keempatnya, Donny berkata, “Ketimbang bikin agama baru, bikin Komunitas Hati Remuk Karena Sebab-sebab yang Tak Tertanggungkan saja, Mas.”

Sekiranya Donny membawa pedang pendek sebagai pelengkap kostumnya, barangkali ia akan menyobek perutnya malam itu juga di tempat pesta.

Kapan memangnya pesta itu?” tanyaku. “Dua hari yang lalu, Mas.” Aku sebenarnya ingin mengajak Donny bicara tentang gender dan seksualitas. Tapi, saat melihat wajahnya yang kusut aku tahu ia takkan berminat bicara soal itu. Aku mengacak-acak rambutnya. “Nasibmu kok cemerlang sekali, Don?” “Matamu, Mas. Kepalaku pecah ini.” “Malam ini tak cukup kopi, Don,” kataku.

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Publication History

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Grave Sin #14

Grave Sin #14

Rumah Kopi Singa Tertawa. Jakarta: Banana Publishing, 2011

Edelweiss Mourns in Ciputat

Edelweiss Mourns in Ciputat

“—”

The Death of Anwar Sadat in Cempaka Putih

The Death of Anwar Sadat in Cempaka Putih

“—”

Elena and the Trickery of the Golden Weasels

Elena and the Trickery of the Golden Weasels

BERKAS, a Jakarta Biennale periodical, issued as a part of the Jakarta Biennale 2013

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The Translator

Pamela Allen teaches Indonesian language and literature at the University of Tasmania. She has translated and published a wide range of literary genres from Indonesian to English, including short stories, novels and poetry. She is the English translator of Ayu Utami’s award-winning novel Saman and is currently translating Cerita Cinta Enrico [Enrico’s Love Story], another novel by the same author. She regularly interprets and translates for the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival in Bali and has for many years served as a translator and editor for the Lontar Foundation. Most recently she served as the English-language managing editor for Lontar’s new BTW book series.

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ISBN 978-602-9144-69-7

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