Blarak
Yanusa Nugroho - 8 Februari 2009
Yanusa Nugroho - 8 Februari 2009
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| image soure: blarak |
I woke up because the leaves fell. With a little stuttering, I removed the dried leaves from my face. I saw Mbah (grandpa, old people) Tuhu's face brightly looking at me.
Hehehe ... let's go home, it's late ... "he said, moving from his seat which was not far from me lying down. "From before, I actually wanted to wake up until now, but ... how come it looks really good, can't bear it, me. Uh, even the leaves are waking up to the side ... heheheheh ... "
I just smile. Fresh. I've never woken up from sleep feeling like this. Without much talk, we immediately followed the moor. Quiet. Insects start singing. The earth cools and soon, the fog will surely go down.
"We'll all look for blarak (palm young leaves) later to cook ..." he said a few moments later.
I've been here for two days. I don't know where this name is, I don't really understand. Previously, I was a creature born and raised in a "concrete forest" called Jakarta. Mbah Tuhu is still a relative of mine, which - this is strange - I just learned a few days ago. Imagine, during my life, approximately 35 years, I never knew that having relatives came from this region, suddenly — very absurd — the name appeared and made me 'dragged' to this small hamlet.
Hehehe ... let's go home, it's late ... "he said, moving from his seat which was not far from me lying down. "From before, I actually wanted to wake up until now, but ... how come it looks really good, can't bear it, me. Uh, even the leaves are waking up to the side ... heheheheh ... "
I just smile. Fresh. I've never woken up from sleep feeling like this. Without much talk, we immediately followed the moor. Quiet. Insects start singing. The earth cools and soon, the fog will surely go down.
"We'll all look for blarak (palm young leaves) later to cook ..." he said a few moments later.
I've been here for two days. I don't know where this name is, I don't really understand. Previously, I was a creature born and raised in a "concrete forest" called Jakarta. Mbah Tuhu is still a relative of mine, which - this is strange - I just learned a few days ago. Imagine, during my life, approximately 35 years, I never knew that having relatives came from this region, suddenly — very absurd — the name appeared and made me 'dragged' to this small hamlet.
Last month, we — I mean, my wife and I, got bad news from the doctor: my wife had cancer in her womb. You must have known our reaction, especially my wife. And since we heard the news, his body withered.
Between the business trips I had to do, I invited Grace to various international hospitals. However, nothing could make me believe that Grace's condition improved. Colleagues, business partners, acquaintances, anyone who has provided assistance, whether it's a sympathy shake or hospital referral. All in vain. Last month, Grace resigned. I can't do anything, even I can't afford to be sad anymore.
That Sunday morning, when I accompanied Grace watching Kurosawa's Dreams, my phone rang. For a moment, I still had time to see on the screen, dancing a fairy peach tree in front of a small child. I then rushed to the telephone table while grumbling.
"Haloo? Mas (brother) Yos? "From there there was a strange voice in my ear. But he knows my name.
"Right ... sorry with whom, sir?"
After I heard his laughter, I heard he mentioned his name, then what was the connection with me. I just realized that he was one of my uncles who lived in Cirebon. I don't know, when I last got in touch with him, I didn't know.
"That's right, uncle ... yes, that's how it is, we've given up ..." I said, when he asked Grace's condition. I secretly thank you, whether to whom I have to say, that someone who has never even been in my memory, gives his sympathy to me. Suddenly there was a feeling of regret that was suffocating my chest. I don't know what else he was talking about, actually I didn't really care, because at that time I was like being pulled into a vortex of regret that was somewhere in the end.
"Try there ... maybe just ..."
"Sorry, where to go?"
"Mbah Tuhu ... he is still our relative ..."
Then I arrived here. Two days ago, on a motorcycle taxi, then on foot, we arrived at this house. Quiet, at that time, because the owner of the house was not in place. Quiet. Only the mountain wind carries the scent of wood smoke burning, faintly out of nowhere. Grace sat on a bamboo couch in front of the house. He smiled - and I just realized - that was his first smile since the 'verdict' was given. Almost my tears dripped as Grace's smile bloomed like a fresh rose.
Between the business trips I had to do, I invited Grace to various international hospitals. However, nothing could make me believe that Grace's condition improved. Colleagues, business partners, acquaintances, anyone who has provided assistance, whether it's a sympathy shake or hospital referral. All in vain. Last month, Grace resigned. I can't do anything, even I can't afford to be sad anymore.
That Sunday morning, when I accompanied Grace watching Kurosawa's Dreams, my phone rang. For a moment, I still had time to see on the screen, dancing a fairy peach tree in front of a small child. I then rushed to the telephone table while grumbling.
"Haloo? Mas (brother) Yos? "From there there was a strange voice in my ear. But he knows my name.
"Right ... sorry with whom, sir?"
After I heard his laughter, I heard he mentioned his name, then what was the connection with me. I just realized that he was one of my uncles who lived in Cirebon. I don't know, when I last got in touch with him, I didn't know.
"That's right, uncle ... yes, that's how it is, we've given up ..." I said, when he asked Grace's condition. I secretly thank you, whether to whom I have to say, that someone who has never even been in my memory, gives his sympathy to me. Suddenly there was a feeling of regret that was suffocating my chest. I don't know what else he was talking about, actually I didn't really care, because at that time I was like being pulled into a vortex of regret that was somewhere in the end.
"Try there ... maybe just ..."
"Sorry, where to go?"
"Mbah Tuhu ... he is still our relative ..."
Then I arrived here. Two days ago, on a motorcycle taxi, then on foot, we arrived at this house. Quiet, at that time, because the owner of the house was not in place. Quiet. Only the mountain wind carries the scent of wood smoke burning, faintly out of nowhere. Grace sat on a bamboo couch in front of the house. He smiled - and I just realized - that was his first smile since the 'verdict' was given. Almost my tears dripped as Grace's smile bloomed like a fresh rose.
"Delicious, right?! Here ... smell it, doesn't it smell of firewood ...?" He said while still sniffing the smoke-scented wood of firewood. "What wood is burned, huh?"
"Weeeeh, hehehe ... have you come, to? Come on in, come in ... "suddenly a rather bald man appeared from nowhere, immediately carrying our bags lightly and pushing the door. "I don't lock it, bro ... hahahahaha ... let's go in ..."
That night, the three of us had dinner. Mbah Tuhu has been widowed for thirty years and has no children. Rice with clear vegetables, chili sauce and salted fish, made my excitement rise. "Tasty, huh? Hahahaha ... sorry, Mbah never cooks ... come on, with Grace, add more ... "
"The vegetables are delicious, mbah ... fresh ..." Grace said, spooning the clear vegetable.
"Good, good ... spend it, it's really for Grace ..."
"Is this vegetable mbah?"
"What is it, huh? Hehehe ... if here, people call it lompong. That is, like taro, but small, and growing on the edge of the river ... "
"Ooo ..." I said because I really didn't know what to do.
A moment later I remembered that I must immediately convey our intentions here. However, I never got the chance to say it, because Mbah Tuhu continued to chatter and every chatter made Grace smile, even chuckle.
"Her daughter's grandmother, was a friend of mine."
"Grandmother Mimi?"
"Yes, the Mimi ... He called me, bro, because I am a pakdenya child. Wow, the wayward is asking for forgiveness ... One time, yes, really ... he jumped on a juwet tree ... "
Grace frowned, then looked at me.
"Mmm, juwet it ... um, what, huh?"
"Wow, if I speak Jakarta, I don't understand ... heheheh ..." and after giving enough explanation about what is juwet, Mbah Tuhu continues his story about Eyang Mimi. Grace laughed off when the story arrived at the Mimi Eyang screaming in the branches of the tree because it couldn't go down: afraid of caterpillars.
And today, even until our second day at Mbah Tuhu's house, I haven't been able to convey the purpose of our arrival.
Today, as yesterday, I joined Mbah Tuhu to his field. He calls his field with 'alas' (forest). I am also happy to try something that I have never done in my life — even I consider it despicable. All of my theories are about perseverance, the intensity of work, which I learned from thick books on my campus, there is no end to the nail of Mbah Tuhu's life. He lovingly, patiently, knows exactly how to treat his fields. There are peanuts, there are also some coffee stalks, some coconut stalks and somehow I don't know. I can't imagine, it even crossed that Mbah Tuhu must be wrong, when he mentioned that the yield of his field last year could reach one and a half tons of peanuts. How could it be, a land that was only less than three hundred meters long, including the south slope, could produce that much peanut?
When there are withered leaves, not yet completely dry, which are piled on the edge of the field, and I intend to burn them, Mbah Tuhu prevents them. "Ora ilok (not ethics). Let it dry first ... Don't ever burn leaves that still look green ... ora ilok. "
I stopped there. I don't know, I suddenly obeyed his words. Where is my 'critical' power all this time? Where do humans not want to believe this answer? Why is it that only in simple and very illogical terms can I be silenced?
On the way home, we passed a number of other people, which I actually did not know the boundaries of, except from the words of Mbah Tuhu. Every time he mentions this belongs to someone or someone, I try hard to find something called 'limit', but in vain. Let alone 'limits', even a single coconut that has dried out, Mbah Tuhu can recognize that it is not from his coconut tree. Strange.
"Weeeeh, hehehe ... have you come, to? Come on in, come in ... "suddenly a rather bald man appeared from nowhere, immediately carrying our bags lightly and pushing the door. "I don't lock it, bro ... hahahahaha ... let's go in ..."
That night, the three of us had dinner. Mbah Tuhu has been widowed for thirty years and has no children. Rice with clear vegetables, chili sauce and salted fish, made my excitement rise. "Tasty, huh? Hahahaha ... sorry, Mbah never cooks ... come on, with Grace, add more ... "
"The vegetables are delicious, mbah ... fresh ..." Grace said, spooning the clear vegetable.
"Good, good ... spend it, it's really for Grace ..."
"Is this vegetable mbah?"
"What is it, huh? Hehehe ... if here, people call it lompong. That is, like taro, but small, and growing on the edge of the river ... "
"Ooo ..." I said because I really didn't know what to do.
A moment later I remembered that I must immediately convey our intentions here. However, I never got the chance to say it, because Mbah Tuhu continued to chatter and every chatter made Grace smile, even chuckle.
"Her daughter's grandmother, was a friend of mine."
"Grandmother Mimi?"
"Yes, the Mimi ... He called me, bro, because I am a pakdenya child. Wow, the wayward is asking for forgiveness ... One time, yes, really ... he jumped on a juwet tree ... "
Grace frowned, then looked at me.
"Mmm, juwet it ... um, what, huh?"
"Wow, if I speak Jakarta, I don't understand ... heheheh ..." and after giving enough explanation about what is juwet, Mbah Tuhu continues his story about Eyang Mimi. Grace laughed off when the story arrived at the Mimi Eyang screaming in the branches of the tree because it couldn't go down: afraid of caterpillars.
And today, even until our second day at Mbah Tuhu's house, I haven't been able to convey the purpose of our arrival.
Today, as yesterday, I joined Mbah Tuhu to his field. He calls his field with 'alas' (forest). I am also happy to try something that I have never done in my life — even I consider it despicable. All of my theories are about perseverance, the intensity of work, which I learned from thick books on my campus, there is no end to the nail of Mbah Tuhu's life. He lovingly, patiently, knows exactly how to treat his fields. There are peanuts, there are also some coffee stalks, some coconut stalks and somehow I don't know. I can't imagine, it even crossed that Mbah Tuhu must be wrong, when he mentioned that the yield of his field last year could reach one and a half tons of peanuts. How could it be, a land that was only less than three hundred meters long, including the south slope, could produce that much peanut?
When there are withered leaves, not yet completely dry, which are piled on the edge of the field, and I intend to burn them, Mbah Tuhu prevents them. "Ora ilok (not ethics). Let it dry first ... Don't ever burn leaves that still look green ... ora ilok. "
I stopped there. I don't know, I suddenly obeyed his words. Where is my 'critical' power all this time? Where do humans not want to believe this answer? Why is it that only in simple and very illogical terms can I be silenced?
On the way home, we passed a number of other people, which I actually did not know the boundaries of, except from the words of Mbah Tuhu. Every time he mentions this belongs to someone or someone, I try hard to find something called 'limit', but in vain. Let alone 'limits', even a single coconut that has dried out, Mbah Tuhu can recognize that it is not from his coconut tree. Strange.
"Yes, taken away, Mbah ... it has fallen, it means our sustenance, please ..."
Mbah Tuhu laughed while shaking his head. He still forbade me to pick up the dried coconut. "Ora ilok ..." he added.
"Yes, already, that, just that coconut branch, the dry one ... it says for fuel at home ..."
Mbah Tuhu looked at me softly, then ... "well, but later we have to tell the owner ..."
"Yes, yes ... but, then, stop by at Giman's house first ..."
"?"
"" Why, yes, ask permission first, to ... this is his own ... "he replied as he walked ahead of me.
"Mbah, this, right, just dried coconut leaves and midribs ... have fallen too ..."
"Tetep has to get permission from the owner ... this is the one who planted his father Giman, and Giman also lives on this coconut ... this is a valuable item, Le ..."
While dragging dry coconut fronds, I still don't think. How could even the items that had been wasted not be taken without the owner's permission?
That night, we had dinner. This time, Grace is cooking. Even though the cooked one was the same vegetable as yesterday, there were other feelings that developed, so I felt my food was so ravenous. In the cold air of the mountains, my sweat melted, full of delicious chili made by my wife. Before I hugged my wife in bed, we had a chance to talk about the things I had experienced that day, including asking permission for the coconut midrib to Mr. Giman.
"Know, isn't Giman's answer?" I whispered, "... please Mbah, just take it, if I don't, I'll send it again ..." I added, laughing at what I thought was ridiculous.
Grace just smiled. Then sobbed and looked at me closely.
"What is wrong?"
"Know, no? It's only been two days here, I just found out that I miss you ... "
And until the following year, when Grace's birthday, the events at Mbah Tuhu's house did not evaporate from my life. What was remarkable was that Grace's illness disappeared somewhere. Even stranger, our doctors were surprised, because only this time the cancer could disappear to its roots.
We convey the good news to the families present, including Eyang Mimi. We convey all the series of events to everyone present.
"Hmmm ... for a moment, I remember ..." interrupted Eyang (old people, usually still relative) Mimi. "Tuhu, Tuhu ...? Who is this? The child is pakde (older uncle)? As far as I know I have a pakde that is close to us, but don't have children ... Who can you get from to his house? "
"Uncle Legawa, who is in Cirebon ..." I replied confidently.
"Sukma Legawa?"
"Yes, grandparent."
Mbah Tuhu laughed while shaking his head. He still forbade me to pick up the dried coconut. "Ora ilok ..." he added.
"Yes, already, that, just that coconut branch, the dry one ... it says for fuel at home ..."
Mbah Tuhu looked at me softly, then ... "well, but later we have to tell the owner ..."
"Yes, yes ... but, then, stop by at Giman's house first ..."
"?"
"" Why, yes, ask permission first, to ... this is his own ... "he replied as he walked ahead of me.
"Mbah, this, right, just dried coconut leaves and midribs ... have fallen too ..."
"Tetep has to get permission from the owner ... this is the one who planted his father Giman, and Giman also lives on this coconut ... this is a valuable item, Le ..."
While dragging dry coconut fronds, I still don't think. How could even the items that had been wasted not be taken without the owner's permission?
That night, we had dinner. This time, Grace is cooking. Even though the cooked one was the same vegetable as yesterday, there were other feelings that developed, so I felt my food was so ravenous. In the cold air of the mountains, my sweat melted, full of delicious chili made by my wife. Before I hugged my wife in bed, we had a chance to talk about the things I had experienced that day, including asking permission for the coconut midrib to Mr. Giman.
"Know, isn't Giman's answer?" I whispered, "... please Mbah, just take it, if I don't, I'll send it again ..." I added, laughing at what I thought was ridiculous.
Grace just smiled. Then sobbed and looked at me closely.
"What is wrong?"
"Know, no? It's only been two days here, I just found out that I miss you ... "
And until the following year, when Grace's birthday, the events at Mbah Tuhu's house did not evaporate from my life. What was remarkable was that Grace's illness disappeared somewhere. Even stranger, our doctors were surprised, because only this time the cancer could disappear to its roots.
We convey the good news to the families present, including Eyang Mimi. We convey all the series of events to everyone present.
"Hmmm ... for a moment, I remember ..." interrupted Eyang (old people, usually still relative) Mimi. "Tuhu, Tuhu ...? Who is this? The child is pakde (older uncle)? As far as I know I have a pakde that is close to us, but don't have children ... Who can you get from to his house? "
"Uncle Legawa, who is in Cirebon ..." I replied confidently.
"Sukma Legawa?"
"Yes, grandparent."
"As I recall, Legawa had died almost ten years ago ... where's his wife going home, don't know; because it's an official house ... "
At that point, Grace and I fell silent. We just tried to be brave, concluding, that the memories of the Anniversary of Mimi were indeed completely unreliable.
At that point, Grace and I fell silent. We just tried to be brave, concluding, that the memories of the Anniversary of Mimi were indeed completely unreliable.
Pinang, 982
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