Kisah Muram di Restoran Cepat Saji, penerbit Gramedia Pustaka Utama, 13 Desember 2012

Sinopsis : Kisah Muram di Restoran Cepat Saji Mereka selalu tahu semboyan “pelanggan adalah raja”. Sebuah semboyan yang mendunia, membumi, baik di restoran kaki lima sampai restoran mewah di hotel berbintang lima. Ia pun melayani raja-raja itu dengan cekatan, cepat, dan tentu saja ramah. Bukankah ia pelayan di sebuah restoran cepat saji? Semua harus cepat dihidangkan, menu harus masih panas dan segar, kalau tidak, raja akan mengeluh dan marah. Apabila raja mengeluh apalagi marah-marah, maka manajernya akan memberikan sepucuk surat cinta bernama surat peringatan. Mengerikan! Sementara di Indonesia, orang mau makan suka kebingungan sendiri ketika sudah berada di depan meja kasir. Mereka terlongo-longo sambil bergumam, mau makan apa ya aku? Mau makan saja bingung dan harus berpikir, bagaimana memikirkan negara yang makin korup. Berpikir soal makan saja kelimpungan. Cerita “Kisah Muram di Restoran Cepat Saji” menampilkan potret mengejutkan dari balik dapur restoran yang selama ini tidak kita ketahui. Bersama empat belas kisah lain, buku ini menampilkan karya Bamby Cahyadi dalam beragam tema juga gugatan penulis terhadap ketimpangan sosial yang terjadi di sekitar kita. Kepiawaian Bamby memilih simbol dan memainkan imajinasi menunjukkan bahwa kisah-kisah di buku ini tidak dimasak a la cepat saji namun telah dipersiapkan dengan matang.***

Malaikat Mungil dan Perempuan Lolipop

Malaikat Mungil dan Perempuan Lolipop Oleh: Bamby Cahyadi Tak ada cara terbaik menikmati perjalanan selain membiarkan dirimu tersesat. Ketika berhadapan dengan jalan yang tampak tak berujung dan jembatan serupa yang membingungkan. Terus saja berjalan. Setiap belokan setiap sudut, menghadirkan misteri tersendiri. Tersesat adalah anugerah, karena dirimu tak tahu apa yang menanti di balik tiap kelokan. Bukankah begitu dengan kehidupan, bahkan kematian sekalipun? Menjelang Kematian Perempuan bertubuh mungil ini mungkin salah satu malaikat pencabut nyawa yang modis, keren dan jauh dari kesan seram yang dikirim Tuhan. Ia kini duduk di sofa depan televisi di apartemenku dengan rambut pixie cut yang ikonik, ia telah mencuri perhatianku. Aku masih tak percaya. Ia datang dengan rambut pendek nyaris cepak, lengan bertato, kaus tak berkerah dengan bentuk yang unik, persis permen. Mulutnya kini penuh mengunyah croissant yang belum sempat kusantap. Ia mempresentasikan dirinya sebagai gula-gula, maka tak cukup mengejutkan ia memakai kaus yang menyerupai permen. ”Semua orang menyukai permen!” teriaknya lantang, ketika aku mengomentari soal busananya. Aku terkaget-kaget mendengar suaranya yang nyaring, tak sesuai dengan bentuk tubuhnya yang mungil. Ia menatapku lekat. ”Apakah kamu tahu, kalau daddy longlegs adalah laba-laba paling beracun di dunia?” tanyanya sambil melebarkan matanya yang bulat. Ia berkata sambil meneguk kopi dari cangkirku yang belum kusentuh. Meskipun ia mengaku punya ketakutan tersendiri terhadap spesies berkaki delapan itu. Tapi ia menikmati pembicaraan tentang itu. Kami sudah mengobrol soal arachnids. Selanjutnya sedikit soal sastra dan parfum. Aku hanya terpana. Mengapa ia bicara tentang laba-laba? Kenapa pula malaikat ini takut pada laba-laba? Aneh. ”Giginya terlalu kecil untuk menembus kulitmu, artinya ia tidak bisa menyebarkan virus ke dalam tubuhmu. Tetapi kalau ia menggigit tubuhmu di luka terbuka, kamu bisa meninggal seketika,” dia tertawa terbahak-bahak. Lucu dan menggemaskan cara dia tertawa. Aku kini terpesona. Malaikat macam apa si Cepak ini? ”Aku tidak tahu secepat apa kamu mati. Aku mungkin berbohong soal itu,” ia kembali terkekeh melanjutkan kata-kata. Aku tersenyum-senyum sendiri. Faktanya, ia memang sedang mengarang sebuah cerita. Semua itu, atau paling tidak hal itu benar bagi seseorang yang berhasil dikelabuinya. Tidak bagiku. Aku masih tersenyum-senyum melihat malaikat aneh ini berbicara. ”Sudahlah, kita akan pergi ke lapangan berlumpur, minum bir sambil tertawa kencang, bermain bola lalu pulang ke apartemenmu dalam keadaan jorok dengan pakaian penuh noda lumpur,” celotehnya, membuyarkan gerombolan balon-balonan sabun di atas kepalaku. Aku tergeragap dibuatnya. ”Apartemenmu sedikit berantakan, tidak seperti dalam gambar yang pernah kau kirimkan padaku,” ujarnya. Bicara apa lagi ia? ”Kamu suka membaca?” Aku mengangguk. ”Buku-buku sastra klasik, macam Leo Tolstoy, Jorge Luis Borges dan Gabriel Garcia Marques, ” jawabku kalem menyebut sejumlah nama. ”Menarik!” Ia berdecak. Lalu ia melanjutkan, ”Kamu pasti tahu, bahwa cerpen Gabriel Garcia Marquez, atau yang lebih baru Roberto Bolano, itu sudah terbit dalam bentuk buku, saking menariknya, diterbitkan lagi di majalah New Yorker.” ”Oh ya?” ”Tak usah jauh-jauhlah, cerita AS Laksana yang dimuat bersambung di koran, lalu dimuat lagi sebagai cerpen di Koran Tempo. Artinya, karena cerita itu menarik untuk dibaca!” Aku mengangguk-angguk. Ia pasti banyak membaca, pikirku praktis saja. Ia tiba-tiba mengendus-endus, cuping hidungnya merekah. ”Hei, kamu memakai Hugo!” ”Dari mana kamu tahu?” ”Ya, ampun... Kamu memakai parfum bermerek Hugo, parfum itu merupakan percampuran sentuhan modern dan klasik, meyegarkan sekaligus maskulin, hmmm...,” ia mengendus lebih dekat dan dalam di bawah ketiakku. Membuatku kikuk. Meski ia benar-benar malaikat, ia kan perempuan. ”Aromanya diawali dengan harum ice cold mint kemudian bersambung ke freesia dan basil. Dan diakhiri dengan molekul musk cashmeran, woody dan wangi rempah-rempah. Sempurna. Aku suka lelaki berparfum, wangi!” pungkasnya. Ia menyentuh ujung hidungku dengan telunjuknya yang lentik. “Jadi kamu benar-benar malaikat, ya?” ”Ya, ampun... Kamu belum percaya?” Matanya melotot menatapku. ”Aku heran saja,” ucapku pelan. ”Aku ke sini untuk mengambil nyawamu, tapi kamu tak akan mati digigit laba-laba yang kuceritakan tadi,” ujarnya tersenyum misterius. Saat ini, aku besama perempuan bertubuh mungil dengan kaus serupa permen. Ia mengajakku bermain bola di lapangan berlumpur dan minum bir. Aktivitas menjelang ajal yang benar-benar aneh. Lamat-lamat kulihat dari lengannya yang bertato, terbentuk serumpun bulu-bulu unggas yang terus mengembang menjadi sepasang sayap yang kokoh. Sayap itu lantas mengepak-ngepak membawaku entah kemana... Sebentar! Ia membawaku ke sebuah kafe. Setelah Kematian Pernahkah kamu melihat seorang perempuan muda yang tampak begitu rapuh? Pernahkah kamu melihat seorang perempuan yang tampak begitu kesepian? Perempuan itu, duduk sendirian di satu sudut gelap di sebuah kafe sambil menjilati permen lolipop kegemarannya. Ujung lidahnya bergerak-gerak pada permen berwarna-warni itu. Dia menjilati lolipopnya, menikmati rasa buahnya, sembari berpura-pura tak memikirkan apa pun. Tapi kepura-puraan tak memikirkan apa pun tak bisa meredam kecamuk yang berdesak-desakkan dalam syaraf otaknya. Kecamuk itu tergurat jelas pada wajahnya yang muram. Perempuan itu sebenarnya berwajah cantik, tapi kemuraman menutupi pesona keayuannya. Kabut hitam menyelubungi pikirannya, mengunci benaknya hingga terpusat hanya pada satu hal: Kematian. Pikirannya melesat bagai peluru yang meletus menembus seluruh bagian-bagian tubuhnya. Menyeruak melewati langit-langit kafe hingga lepas menghujam atap. Meledak. Dalam keremangan pandangan yang samar-samar lantaran cahaya lampu yang minim dan tertutup asap rokok yang diembuskan oleh mulut seluruh pengunjung kafe, dia melihat ruhnya lepas dari tubuhnya dan terbang ke langit. Dia ingin mengejarnya, tapi tak dilakukan. Bukankah kini dia menjelma sebagai ruh yang keluar dari tubuhnya dan terbang ke angkasa? Dia gembira bukan kepalang menyadari dia bisa terbang, mengapung-apung di angkasa. Serasa mimpi memang, tapi ini nyata. Dia terbang. Dia melesat dengan kecepatan tinggi bagai kilat halilintar. Ketika itu dia melihat rembulan begitu benderang. Bulan tampak lebih besar, lebih emas dan begitu dekat. Tatapan matanya menjelajahi tubuh rembulan, sepertinya dia ingin menelanjangi tubuh bulan. Seharusnya dia tak menatapnya seperti itu, karena bulan tak pernah mengenakan baju apalagi celana. Lagi pula, bulan belum tentu berkelamin. Perempuan itu ingin menuju matahari, namun dia mengendus sesuatu. Wangi bunga melati tercium tajam di udara, nyaris memabukkan dirinya. Dia merasa aneh, kenapa tiba-tiba dia mencium aroma wangi melati di langit malam. Sejenak dia tercenung. Merenung sebentar, lantas dia teringat halaman yang dipenuhi oleh bunga-bunga itu. Pemakaman. Wangi melati menggiringnya menuju sebuah apartemen dengan atap yang luas di pusat kota yang hiruk-pikuk. Dia memperlambat laju terbangnya, lantas dengan hati-hati dia mendarat di atap salah satu apartemen itu. Napasnya sesaat tercekat di paru-parunya, dan dia bergidik. Dia mendengar suara tangisan para perempuan, batuk para manula, dan bunyi langkah kaki telanjang hilir-mudik dari dalam apartemen itu. Orang-orang melantunkan ayat-ayat suci dan bergumam-gumam merapal doa-doa berbaur dengan aroma tubuh manusia. Bau parfum yang membuai, bau ketiak yang menusuk dan bau kemenyan yang mistis. Perempuan itu menerabas pintu apartemen yang terkuak. Melewati kerumunan orang-orang, hingga tatapan matanya menancap pada sebuah tubuh yang telah dikafani. Wajah pemilik tubuh yang telah membeku itu sangat dia kenali. Dia mengertakkan rahangnya berusaha memendam rapat kata-kata yang ingin diteriakkannya. Dia mengerjapkan matanya. Matanya hitam, bagai sepasang kolam tak berdasar. Matanya menusuk bagai hendak menembus tubuh tak berjiwa yang terbujur di hadapannya. ”Mati main bola,” seseorang berbisik kepada seseorang yang baru saja tiba di ambang pintu apartemen. ”Bukan, kebanyakan minum bir,” bisik yang lain. Perempuan itu melihat kelebatan cahaya berwarna putih dengan cepat menyelinap keluar apartemen menuju langit malam. Dia dengan sigap mengikuti kelebatan cahaya berwarna putih itu. Kelebatan cahaya itu menuju sebuah kafe. Perempuan itu tertegun. Di panggung kafe, liukan tubuh perempuan penyanyi kafe senada dengan irama musik yang berdentam menggelegar, penyanyi itu mengangkat tangannya ke atas kepala, lalu dia menggerakkan tangannya menyisir rambutnya yang panjang tergerai bergelombang menuruni punggungnya. ”Jakarta digoyaaaaannngggg!!!” Jeritnya histeris. Perempuan penyanyi itu mengajak pengunjung kafe bernyanyi dan berjoget bersamanya. Musik berdentum-dentum keras melatari pembicaraan beberapa pengunjung kafe yang tengah menikmati malam minggu. Di sebuah sudut gelap kafe, duduk sendirian perempuan yang terlihat berwajah muram, sedang menjilati permen lolipopnya, sembari sesekali dia menenggak sebotol minuman bersoda. Aku mendekati perempuan yang kesepian itu, untuk sekadar memberi kehangatan dan gurauan agar ia tak bersedih. Perempuan itu mengendus. ”Wangi Hugo,” gumamnya. ”Ya, aku di sini,” sergahku. Perempuan berwajah muram itu tetap saja dalam diam. Tetap saja menjilati lolipop. Tetap saja mencengkeram leher botol minuman bersoda. Dan menangis. Perempuan lolipop itu kekasihku. Bulan depan kami berencana menikah. ”Mana si Mungil?” Sedikit menoleh ke belakang. Dari arah toilet perempuan bertubuh mungil dengan rambut pixie cut yang ikonik, datang mendekat. Dia telah mencuri segenap perhatianku, bahkan nyawaku. Dia memberi isyarat dengan kedipan mata, agar aku segera mengikutinya. Perjalanan sepertinya segera dimulai. ”Ke mana?” ”Main bola!” ”Dan, minum bir, ha.. ha.. ha..!” *** Jakarta, 11 Juni 2012 Bamby Cahyadi, lahir di Manado, 5 Maret 1970. Bergiat di Komunitas Sastra Jakarta (Kosakata). Kumpulan Cerpennya Tangan untuk Utik (Koekoesan, 2009) Dimuat di Jawa Pos

Nama-nama Cerpenis Terbaik Pilihan Kompas 2011

Jakarta, 28 Juni 2012 Malam Anugerah Cerpen Terbaik Pilihan Kompas 2011 yang diadakan di Bentara Budaya Jakarta (BBJ) pada 28 Juni 2012, inilah nama-nama cerpenis yang terplih: 1. Dewi Ria Utari 2. Gus Tf Sakai 3. Andrei Aksana 4. Doni Jaya 5. Mashdar Zainal 6. Toni Lesmana 7. Guntur Alam 8. Sanie B. Kuncoro 9. Triyanto Triwikromo 10. Lie Charlie (Almarhum) 11. Eko Triono 12. Sungging Raga 13. Seno Gumira Ajidarma 14. GM. Sudarta 15. Agus Noor 16. Yanusa Nugroho 17. Gde Aryantha Soethama 18. Damhuri Muhammad 19. Sori Siregar 20. Bakdi Soemanto Berhubung buru-buru, judul cerpennya akan diberitakan menyusul. Yang pasti ada seorang cerpenis yang dua cerpennya terpilih dalam satu buku. Selamat untuk semua.

NEVER ENDING NIGHTMARE DREAMS

Waking up from her tempestuous nightmare that comes every night in her sleep makes her seem castaway in the dark world. The pieces of her nightmares dance in her eyes. She could feel the dark shadow with blood blotches just like the dark sky in the winter season filled by bloody wounds. Stefani got chilled. She froze in her night sleep as she never wears any clothes when she sleeps. She only covers her naked body with a woolly-warm blanket. Her warm blanket, that night, suddenly fell to the floor, and made her suddenly awakened from her sleep by the dark-nightmare dream that filled her night sleep and her senses. The sounds of fighting swords, shoes steps on the aisle, demon laughs and beheaded head rolled on the floor still remained her mind. Stefani sat and hold her feets, grabbeld her blanket to her chin, and tried to keep her body warm. She looked at her dark room ceiling; then she massaged herself her nape. ”My sleep has finished,” she said to herself weakly. She raised her back and got off from her bed. She took out a cigarette from its box from her meja rias table. ”Hope this cigarette may calm my mind from that damn dream!” she cursed her nightmare dream by burning the tip of the cigarette. Stefani put her head against the edge of the wall and she contemplated in the darkness of the dawn. She kept sucking her cigarettes and blew the smoke to the windows. The smoke formed thin cloud blocking her sight. From the smoke that slipped out from her sexy lips, Stefani seemed to see somebody’s last breath before the death angel took the breath away from that body. If only the death could be taken by smoking, then her grandma and her mother would have died happily and there’d be many people choosing to die instead of continuing this damn life. So does she. She remembered her grandma. When her grandma was still alive, she was ever told from her grandma several horrific stories that could raise her goosebumps. The story was about dreams. She dreamed lots of cold-blooded demons that beheaded men’s heads. She assumed her grandma’s horrific stories were only horrific stories for her. Strangely, she always felt happy with the terror scenes of her grandma’s nightmare dreams. She never felt scared, instead she was curious by the next scenes of each of her grandma’s stories the next day. Almost all of her grandma’s stories full of screams and deaths in every bloody scene. Her grandma’s said that all here dreams were just the same and repeating. Even if there were new dreams, but there were always bloody dreams. And her grandma was always awakened by her nightmare dreams. Finally, that old and sick lady who liked telling me her nightmare dreams, tried to suicide at sixty years old. Her suicide trial by taking many sleeping pills failed and ended with nothing. Her grandma was killed in a flight accident when she was about to have her medical treatment in the Netherland. Her mother was also killed in the same accident. She was 13 years old. A year after her mom and grandmother’s deaths, Stefany keeps getting nightmare dreams up to today. The bloody dreams always raided her night sleeps. To cast out the craziness, and being afraid of following her grandma’s suicide trial-and or consuming narcotic, so she translated them into paintings. Stefani painted any of her dreams on canvas. She translated what she saw in her dreams into painting to get rid of it from her subconscious. Now, she got the answer why her grandma always told her her nightdreams, just to get rid of it. So, grandma could get rid of from mental illness. Stefani finished her last sucking before she put the cigarette into her drink that she put at the side of the window. The curved window’s glass faces to the wide balcony. She opened the window with one hand. Her skin was bitten by the cold air that blew swiftly before she had time to cover her body with her blanket. The snow that fell to the earth dancing before her windows and entered the room. ”I need fresh air even though it is so cold,” she mumbled. Stefani brushed her hair and rub her cheeks with her palm. The cold air seemed to freeze her beautiful face. She closed her windows and walked out from her room. She stood by one of her canvas that she hadn’t painted it with red, black, and other dark colors. Few minutes later, she melted into painting. Her fingers played the paintbrush agilely on the canvass. She moved her nightmare dreams to the canvass, and her feeling slowly calm. Stefani’s painting was dominated by the colors of blood red and black that made it amazing as well as raised people’s goose-bump. *** One day, she showed off one of her paintings to her best friend, Patrick. He was so amazed by her painting. The painting was about the an angel with spreading black wings flying in the blood red sky. Then, Patrick asked for seeing other paintings, so then Stephani led him to a room that is was looked like a store room. The walls were painted by Stephanie’s nightmare dreams. There was painting of a fire tounge licking men’s feet, they cried and their bloody tounges were stretched out. Near a big polished cabinet, there was a painted laid against it. Patrick was gasmped and almost screamed seeing that painting, but he could control himself. ”Well, that’s the look of a demon,” Stephani explained. A picture of a face with light-red-eyes. Its mouth bubbled and was biting a bible. Patrick who is a painting curator like thought that he finding found a hidden treasure. He stared open mouthed and his tounge touched the roof resulted the sound of tsk like a lizard having sex. Patrick was really amazed by the painting. So then, he organized a painting exhibition for Stefani’s paintings. At first she refused Patrick’s offering for the exhibition, but finally she agreed to have one. The exhibition was held in an art galery on Salihara street, in Pasar Minggu. There were many people came to see the exhibition, and some of her paintings were sold out. Out of the blue, there were many people who didn’t like Stefani’s paintings got angry and threatened to burn all the paintings if the exhibition continued. Probably, those people found out the exhibition from a media coverage. ”For God’s sake, they are the paintings of evil!” shouted those people who were wearing turban, cap, and white clothes. They pointed to the painting of a face with red eyes and foamedfrom their mouth produced foam and it mouth bitesing a bible. But, those peopleTheir face looked more wicked and devilish than the paintings itself. ”Kill the artist!” shouted the rests. Stefani smiled cynically before she finally decided to walk out from the galery crying and filled by hatred.

Penulis, Penyair dan Seniman HERU EMKA Meninggal Dunia

Pada hari Kamis, 3 Mei 2012, melalui twitter Ana Mustamin saya mendapat kabar Mas Heru Emka meninggal dunia. Inna Lillahi Wainna ilahi rojiun, semoga almarhum mendapat tempat yang layak di sisi Allah SWT. Amin. Berikut ini, tentang Heru Emka, yang ia tulis sendiri di Blog Kajian Budaya Heru Emka. Saya (Heru Emka) mungkin terlahir sebagai orang yang menyukai banyak hal. Selain membaca, saya senang menulis, mendengar musik, melihat gambar-gambar / visual yang indah, termasuk foto dan lukisan. Jadi saya punya hobi koleksi yang cukup beragam. Di samping menyimpan banyak buku (kutu buku berat), juga menyimpan banyak komik (dari komik impor hingga komik jadul), menyimpan musik (dalam format kaset, CD dan MP3 - hampir semua genre musik), mengkoleksi film (ada sekitar 3000-an judul, dalam format VCD dan DVD). Saya pernah bekerja sebagai penyiar radio, wartawan, copy writter, tim kreatif di sebuah production house (yang memproduksi TV Talk Show Jaya Suprana Show, yang disiarkan di stasiun TPI selama 130-an episode. Saya juga menulis banyak buku. Dari yang serius, seperti buku kumpulan puisi, buku tentang musik (Berjudul Grindcore dan Thrash Metal sebagai Musik Alternatif - buku tentang musik keras yang pertama terbit di Indonesia - Medayu Press) juga buku cerita anak, serta berbagai buku psikopop remaja, dan buku humor untuk just for fun saja. Selamat jalan Mas Heru Emka. Mas pernah menelepon saya untuk ketemuan di TIM, sayang sekali saya berhalangan. Aku akan selalu mengenangmu dan karya-karyamu. Jakarta, 3 Mei 2012

I HAVE NEVER CUT MY ARMS FOR UTIK

I really wanted to give an arm for Utik. Might be, I was taking a pity on her, a little girl with handicap, and her age was not yet five years old. Utik was born without arms. She was an orphan, but not really an orphan. Her parents were whereabouts unknown. I assumed that her parents left her in the street after they found out that their daughter born incomplete physically. She was born without arms. It was ibu Irah who found her laid on the pavement covered with sarong. Since then, Ibu Irah took care of her. Ibu Irah sold pecel in her own small and very modest booth across my house. Ibu Irah who had taken care of her with love gave her name, Utik. Ibu Irah could accept Utik sincerely even she has physical abnormality. I really wanted to give my arms for Utik, but I was confused how. I am one year older than Utik, and I am a boy. I considered giving my left arm for her for I always use my right hand to do my activities. So, my left arm would fit for her. Every time I played with her, I always attached my arms to her left armless. I always stood behind her, laughed, and extended my left arm to her. When she turned her head and saw my left arm, her face changed glimmered. Her eyes brightly changed. And I like doing this to her again and again. The more I often did that to her, the happier and brighter she became. I was sure that she wanted to have arms and hands like other normal children. Ah, I really wanted to give my left arms, but how? By touching her left armless part with my left arms that I did wittingly from behind, I gained my guilty feeling for being fake to her. And I became more embarrassed. I couldn’t keep doing this. Somehow, I was worried to hurt her one day. Sometimes, Utik pushed me to do that but I couldn’t bear it. Utik looks really enjoy imagining to have two arms. Her smile is so cheerful. Her laugh expressed her happiness. Weirdly, I always felt happy if I could make her smile happily even last for few minutes. One day, I felt there was something different, even though I did what I did with her from behind. Utik was more excited. She asked me to clench my fists like a boxer, which I thought her request was so weird but I did it for her anyway. In a minute, I imagined the fists clench of Mike Tyson, Oscar De Lahoya, or Julio Cesar Chavez. Ah, Chris John’s fists clench seemed right to me. Chris John is an Indonesian boxer champion that successfully maintains his title for ten times in a row. I am very proud of him. Then, I clenched my fists tightly like Chris John does. ”I wanted to boxing like Muhammad Ali,” Utik said. I was stunned. But her eyes were looked pitiful. Then, I acted like a pro boxer. Jab. Uppercut. Jab again, uppercut again. I felt so weird boxing like Muhammad Ali, his style that we always saw in pirated VCD. My father said, the actor who acted as the legendary boxing icon was not the real Muhammad Ali. Muhammad Ali has been old and is suffering from Parkinson. Anyway, it was not important. The most important thing was to make her happy, laugh. That’s all. Thus, I pretended boxing like Muhammad Ali. Utik laugh out loud until her tears pooled at the edge. ”Oh, she must be imagining if she had complete hands,” I talked to myself. Utik was so cheerful. Her foots moved to the front and back, left and right. I followed her moves by making various boxing styles. Jab-uppercut-jab-hook-jab-hook-uppercut-jab. Utik was so happy. She cried happily. Finally, I was so exhausted. I stopped boxing. I was wet by the sweat, my breath seemed to end. I lost my stamina. ”If you are tired, take a break,”said Utik. ”But, please clap your hands,” she asked again. And I clapped my hand enthusiastically. Utik cried happily. I could feel the happiness she expressed through her laugh. It seemed it was her who did boxing and clapping. There was an energy that entered and filled my soul. “What Energy? I don’t know.” And my willpower and desire became greater to give her my left arm. I didn’t mind losing my left hand for her. ”I still have my right arm,” I talked to myself. *** “TIK, I am going to give my arm for you,” I told her when were sitting on the grass at the back side of my house. Utik was shocked. “Are you sure?” I nodded. Assuring her. ”But.., how are you going to do that, Din?” “That is what I have been thinking since yesterday, Tik. How to do it? But...” ”But… why?” I silenced. ”Are you doubt?” I shook my head. ”Then, why?” ”I don’t know how to give you my arms.” “But, are you really serious to give your left arm for me?” “I am very serious, Tik!” We silenced. No talks, no sounds, but the sound from the leaves of rambutan tree that break the silence sometime. I was speechless. Utik was speechless too. We were beyond our own thoughts, the thoughts that swimmed in the ocean of our thought. Utik smiled. I smiled back to her. We looked each other and shared the new hope. I was worried, and so does Utik. ”What should I do to give and attach my left arm to Utik?” Suddenly, I got a crazy idea passing through my mind. I hold my breath. “What if I cut my arm with a seesaw?” I yelled and raised my body from my sitting position. “Haaah?” Her eyes widely opened hearing my idea. “After cutting my left arm, let me attach and stitch it to your left arm,” I said convincible. “It’s up to you, Din.” And it was not difficult to get a seesaw. I could get a seesaw only by opening toolbox in my father garage. We both back to the back yard of our home. We sat under the rambutan tree. The sun rise reflected to the edge of the seesaw. Sparkling. Dazzling. It made our eyes deprived of sight. ”It might have been so painful at the last seconds of this seesaw successfully cut the bone of my arm. It seems I could hear the sound like the sound of wood cut by it. I have no idea of the sound in my ear and the pain I could feel when it touches and cuts my bone,” I said to myself. Suddenly, I feel worried in my self. What if this seesaw is not sterilized? What if this seesaw broken in the middle of the cutting process? Then, spontaneously, I looked down, caught the light of the sun sparkled at the edge of this seesaw. I was trying to reject my doubts. This seesaw is very sharp. I am sure. I was ready to cut my arm. The first thing I did was to fasten my arm’s joint using rope to avoid massive blood torrent. Then, I started cutting my left arm. The blood torrent squirted swiftly. The smell of blood flourished in the air. I could smell fishy blood. Utik got panicked. She shut her mouth. Did nothing. Said nothing. She only stared at my arm. Her eyes opened and closed many times. She opened her eyes, then, closed them again. She kept doing that while watching me cutting my arm. And I kept cutting my arm. The eyes of the seesaw touched my arm, resulted rattling sound. I got sweat and tried to resist the pain. Finally!! CRASSSSS! My left arm finally cut. I put the seesaw in a hurry and picked my arm from the grass, then I ran to Upik to attach it to her left shoulder. I stitched it perfectly at Utik’s arm. Utik was very happy. ”Finally I succeeded,” I hissed. “Finally, I can make her smile. She smiled because I gave her my arm,” I said to myself. “Diiinnn....!” The pain I suffered from my left arm become more suffering. My arm was still dripping with blood. It kept dripping. Suddenly, my world blackened. “Diiinnn...!” I heard indistinct voice at my ear. I recognized the voice. Utik’s voice. Yes, Utik. She must be want to thank me. “Ah, it’s ok. You don’t have to thank me,” I said to her. “I helped you genuinely.” “Diiinnn....!” This time the voice became clear. Very clear. I woke up. I touched my left arm spontaneously to where I cut my arm. But..ah! My left arm is still attached to my shoulder. Then, what happened with the cutting process? What did I do with the seesaw? Utik gave me an obscure smile and stood two meter from where I laid. And her arms.. She still has no arms. No left arm from me. Utik smiled and asked me to rise. *** My lovely childhood daydream. That dream had passed for twenty-five years, but I still had it in my memory. Her picture is still in my mind; standing one meter before me. I really wanted to give her my left arm. “O, no.. no.. I am giving her a pair of arms.” After twenty-five years passed, I still asserted my self to give her a pair of arms. When I was a kid, I wanted to give my left arm. “Now, I am giving her the pair of arms. But, not my arms. It’s a pair of fake arms that I have bought for her.” I went with my driver to her house. My memory flashed back passing through the road to her house. It’s like a movie that I play several times. I flashed back to my childhood memory, when I was 10 years old. Then, my father should move for a duty in another town, I had to leave her behind. And Utik should let me go. It was so sad to move to another place. I did many things to show my disagreement. I did demonstration like students always do: I refused to eat, so that Utik and Ibu Irah were asked by my father to soften my action that finally I gave up and moved with my parents. Since then, I never met and played with Utik. I couldn’t extend my arm to her pretended to be her arm. And, of course, my dream to give my left arm to her. “Sorry Sir, we have arrived.” “Ah… what?” I asked my driver, Pak Kirman. “We have arrived. Where should I park my car?” I got dumbfounded. “At the front of that white house,” I pointed to the house that was formerly my house. Pak Kirman slowed the car and parked right in front of my former house. I got off from my car, brought the arms along with me that I was giving to Utik. Across the road, at Ibu Irah’s booth, I saw a woman playing with two children. ”That’s Utik,” I said to myself. ”Yes, that’s Utik.” “Utik?” “Didin?” I ran to her. Utik ran to me. We hold each other on the roadside. My tears ran down and dripped on my hands. “There are still no arms,” I said to myself. I cried. Utik cried. Then, I addressed my eyes to the two children who were comfort to join with us. And Utik could read what passed in my mind. “They are my children, Din.” ”Twins?” ”Yes. The girl is Dita, and the boy is Dito,” Utik mentioned their names to me. They shook my hands and drove my hand to their head. “They are so cute, Tik.” “Yes, they are now my left and right arms,” Utik explained to me with a happy face. And I put the package of arms I brought for her without telling her. Utik, now, has got her own arms.*** Translated by Irene Prabandari

TATTO by Bamby Cahyadi

TATTOO


HAVE YOU ever really flattered like what I feel when there is a woman who preserves your kindness, sincerity, and love by puncturing her body? That’s what I’ve got. A woman, in the name of love tattoos her body for me. The pictures are set on her beauty and delicacy back and arm.

She tattooed two pictures, one on her beauty and delicacy back, and another one is on her arm. She did that without telling me first when she was on her holiday in Lombok.

It wasn’t easy at first to get her on leave permit from her boss. She cried out once to me and assumed that her boss would never let her have leave of absence. But the fact, she was wrong. Her boss approved her leave permit, which I regarded that her boss realized of her boredom stage that makes her working performance bad, so she finally got her time for a vacation.

She chose Lombok as her holiday place to kill her boredom.
Today, she had finished her exciting days off. I picked her up at the Airport, a crowded big terminal that is most like a traditional market instead. And it’s also looked like a bus terminal where there are many scalpers who give several services like resell tickets, black taxi, porter, perfume sellers and may act as an illegal money changer. A “One stop services” as I can mention about this terminal.

She walked out with the trolley full of her big suitcases and her other bags. Her face looked so cheerful with her suntanned skin that might be caused by the sunbathing she did lots of time at Senggigi beach. The sun has burnt her skin. But she still looks beautiful with her beauty thick lose long hair. As she stood in front of me, she played her hair and kissed me. Not kisses on my cheeks like a normal kiss when you meet somebody, but on my lips. Yes on my lips. She kissed and nibbled my lips in public at the airport.

“I’ve been missing you,” she said and looked at into my eyes deeply, and cuddled me.

And she landed her lips on mine wildly, before I even got a chance to say a word. I’ve been missing you too; deep in my heart I said the same. Ardently. Passionately. Still in public. Then, calmly, I ended her kiss.

“Bite, bite...” somebody shouted loudly with plebeian way.
I glanced at him by the corner of my eye and really wanted to yell back at him. That man turned his sight from me when he caught my eyes. A stupid-look perfume man. He offered me once an unoriginal perfume with high price.

“Monik, I parked my car right over there, let me handle the trolley,” I gave her a hand to push the trolley. I wanted her walking freely. We walked to my car. She still put her arm on my shoulder.
”Do you miss me, Monik?”

”I do very much, hone,” she said with way.

Inside the car, her sensual lips told me story the beauty of beaches in Lombok. That’s true that Bali is not the only island that provides beauty exotic nature. She chose Lombok and it was the right choice.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t accompany her to walk on the white sand or even driving around the beautiful Mataram town. She knew the reason why I couldn’t be there with her.

“Honey…”

Suddenly I saw her lips were trembling. It seemed that she wanted to say something, but suddenly she said nothing. She acted strange. Not like before when she talked many things about beach, mountain or accessories and cosmetics. What made her silent? What was wrong with my lovely girlfriend?

“I am telling you at home about everything,” she said.

She just said those words. Then, we just enjoy our travelling in Jakarta toll road. The toll road is supposed to be free from traffic jam for we have to pay some cash to passing through this toll road. But, the fact is the traffic jam often happens in toll road, where we must pay for the service!

She was playing with her hair, her eyes on the road, then, she looked at me.

“How is your project? Is everything working well?” she asked to break the silence.

“Everything works well, nothing really matters, and hope next month the project will finish,” I answered her question and looked at her deeply. To be honest, I was missing her so much.

“Good then!” she said.

“Are you starting to work tomorrow?” I asked.

“Ya, but I am not going to the project site for I have to work on the administration matters first that I have left for my vacation,” she explained.
She started to grope me on the groin part and caress my crotch that suddenly stimulated. Ah, Monik. Please wait until we are at your place, not in my car. She glanced. She understood. It might be because I tingled and my face turned reddish. She likes teasing me. Her hand was playing around my genital part.

Finally, we passed through the traffic jam.

We entered an alley and reached her house.
A middle age female maid wearing Javanese traditional cloth (kebaya) opened the minimalist style of the gate. I wondered why she always wears kebaya. Does she really want to be looked a real maid? Like maids who serve princess in Keraton (A palace in Java).

“That’s not important,” she said. “Let’s get inside and talk more of important thing.”

“Hone, just put my luggage over there,” she pointed to the corner side of the living room.

“Where are my souvenirs?”
“Of course, there is hone,” she said, then, she grasped my hand and dragged me to her room.

My loneliness moment without her around last week now is mended. Smelled her room, felt her bed and stepped on her Persian carpet. The breeze from the air conditioner touched my cheek gently. This time was my turn to kiss her passionately. I am sorry, I feel more confident to kiss you inside your room, Monik. She kissed me back more passionately. She slipped her tongue into my mouth. Entwined. Twisted. Ah, sorry I wanted to bite your lips. She hissed. I was so rippled. She became inpatient. I started to be harsh. My fingers worked wildly to undress her. Open the buttons of her shirt wildly.

Then, gently, she shook my hand. “Hone, how is your wife?” She asked as she walked away from me, and tidy up her button shirt.

“Fine. Fine. She’s fine. Why?” I asked her back and laid my body on the bed to take a breath.

“It seems that I’ve been a long time not to see her,” she said.
Should you meet her, Monik? Please, just don’t spoil this moment! Our relationship has been so complicated,” I said to myself.

“Hone, I want to talk something that I hadn’t told you in your car,”

“What was it about? Talk to me.”

“I rendered this to you,” she said. Slowly she took off her shirt.
Slowly she button off her shirt one by one. I asked with lust. Oh, my blood flowed fast. That shirt hasn’t taken off completely from her body. Her breast covered by the blinking black bra made my heart pounded. And Monik opened and took off the bra as well. Her breast is so plump. The nipples are bigger than my wife’s. They are ones of the reasons I am in love with her. Ah, why should you play my libido? I didn’t think she did it in purpose. There must be something else that she wanted to show me.

“Tarraaaaa…..!” she yelled cheerfully.

She turned her body, so her back faced me as she took off her shirt as well. Oh! I was a bit shocked; but might be that was my first time to see her back with a picture.

“Hone, I made this tattoo for I love you so much,”

On the back that was clean and delicate, now there’s a picture of a couple with wings. The man was lying and the woman was flying on the top of the man. Isn’t that a picture of angels? Yes right. That’s a picture of an angel couple. What were they doing? Why should they be naked? Oh no. They are really naked.

There’s still a leaf; it might be a perdu leaf that covers the penis of the man and a scarf covers the female angel’s breasts. Monik painted her smooth back. And the tattoo would remain there. It’s not like a canvas where a paint is painted using oil paint and able to disappear easily when the painting is wiped using thinner.

“There’s another one, hone. It’s a sign of eternity,” she continued telling me, ”This one was made by a tattoo artist at the Senggigi Beach fringe while I was waiting for the sunset”

A small tattoo on her right arm. A picture of two hearts penetrated by an arrow with small size of printed names of hers and mine. I don’t have to spell out my name here. She dedicated those two tattoos for me. A high dedication that makes me flattered, and considers having her as mine.

Have you ever been flattered like this as well as had a guilty feeling? ***

Jakarta,5 Februari 2012

Translated by Irene Prabandari

Ucapan Terima Kasih pada tanggal 5 Maret 2012

Tanggal 5 Maret 2012, aku hanya ingin mengucapkan terima kasih yang setulus-tulusnya untuk orang-orang yang begitu sangat menyayangiku. Terima kasih atas ucapan selamat ulang tahun dan doa-doa yang dipanjatkan untukku melalui berbagai media, sebagai berikut:

Ucapan secara langsung menyalami dan menciumku saat bangun tadi pagi, istriku Ida Chi.

Ucapan melalui telepon, ibundaku tercinta. Dan kakakku, Moh. Barasanjaya melalui BBM serta adikku, Egiyanti melalui SMS.

Ucapan melalui status BlackBerry: Khrisna Pabichara

Ucapan melalui inbox (messages) Facebook:

1. Saut Poltak Tambunan
2. Kurnia Effendi
3. Olle Ollank
4. Senja Aditya Fajar
5. Yo Sugianto
6. Boedi Ismanto SA
7. Joan Aroem
8. Fira Rachmat
9. Handoko F. Zainsam
10. Judith JJ
11. Sussy Purwanti
12. Abey Nasution
13. Lelly Maria Yohana
14. Sajuri Sheva
15. Taufik Ahmad
16. Nani Mariani
17. Zelfeni Wimra
18. Iis Natamiharja
19. Kartika Catur Pelita Pelita
20. Ery Niswan
21. Inna Morota
22. Syanne Muhamad
23. Lanang Sawah
24. Ab Riau
25. Luhung Gandasapari
26. Muhammad Sayuti
27. Yunita Hidayanti
28. Riza Multazam Luthfy
29. Thony Mukharrom IA
30. Ilenk Rembulan
31. Enton Supriyatna Sind
32. Nurul Fauziah
33. Schooloflight Indo
34. Penulis Surat Pembaca
35. Aba Mardjani
36. Elang Jaladara
37. Indah Purnamasari
38. Lina Vega
39. Ivonne Cornelia
40. Yahya Andi Saputra
41. Ernita Gayatri
42. Renny Saraswati
43. Cepi Husada
44. Eti Puji
45. Tata Sumitra Wirasasmita
46. Yanusa Nugroho
47. Yulinda Hafni
48. Sari Novita
49. Jun Joe Winanto
50. Budi Afandi
51. Sang Rembulan
52. Ricardo Marbun
53. Arie Rafa
54. Wa Ode Wulan Ratna
55. Lia Salsabila
56. Vita Balqis
57. Nuruddin Asyhadie
58. Tova Zen
59. Engel Bertha
60. Noviana Kusumawardhani
61. Luigi Pralangga
62. Asti Moechiddin
63. Abednego Afriadi
64. Epri Tasqib
65. Bernard YH Datta
66. Fatih Kudus Jaelani
67. Aduy Garage
68. Nurdiyana Munir
69. Darmini MA
70. Elis Maria Lestari
71. Robby Eebor
72. Muhammad Azrin Thayib
73. Words Traveler
74. Imrizal Pratama
75. Wendy Fermana
76. M. Yusuf Asni
77. Rini Garini Darsono
78. Teguh Kurniawan
79. Prasetyo Samandiman
80. Sakura Arizuki
81. Ayuek Virgo
82. Caca Kartiwa
83. Rika Indrawati
84. Novie Basri
85. Sandy Faizal
86. Tie Fatiawati
87. Engkoh Liend

Ucapan melalui komen di status:

1. Nancy Paskalina
2. Ilham Wahyudi
3. Febby Sahla
4. Ovy Noviardhyani
5. Hasudungan Rudy Yanto Sitohang
6. Maulana Yudiman
7. Bhre Jimbaran
8. Gatot Zakaria Manta
9. Yaya Haryadi
10. Nuthayla Anwar
11. Djuni Wati Vincentia
12. Shinichi Kudo
13. Rae Sita Patappa
14. Yadhi Rusmiadi Jashar
15. Bernadetta Ari Marwanti
16. Imeld Hasibuan
17. Joya Dian S Hatta
18. Nita Tjindarbumi
19. Etty Karyati
20. Soesmiaty Aruf
21. Iksaka Banu
22. Cindy Lapida Kirana
23. Netty Budiman
24. Budi Prasetyo Wr
25. Ilenk Rembulan
26. Leliana Lesmana
27. Endah Sulwesi
28. Rangga Umara Nh
29. Hanna Fransisca
30. Prasodjo Chusnato Sukiman
31. Oktavia Erwantoro
32. Mahdy Harly
33. Wahyu Setioko Koko
34. Riza Ricardo Pahlevi
35. Heryanti Adya Septinia
36. Stella Alexandria
37. M. Hari Hariadi
38. Helvy Tiana Rosa
39. Thalia Damayanti
40. Ferry Fath
41. Delvi Yandra
42. Rina Mahfuzah Nasution
43. Syahreza Faisal
44. Nie Niez
45. Wika Fitriana
46. Emur Paembonan
47. Sigit Susanto
48. Dewiez Arcturus
49. Kartika Catur Pelita Pelita
50. Iwan Laksana Arianto
51. Mamas S. Mahayana
52. Arif Maulana
53. Elis Tating Bardiah
54. Wija Wijayanto
55. Ubaidilah Muchtar
56. Yan Hermawan
57. Zabidi Zay lawanglangit
58. Olle Ollank
59. Pangestoo Mulya Arif
60. Ikha Ismawatie
61. Azli Muhmmad
62. Sandi Boy Ahmad
63. Nurul Rizqiah
64. Tina Chi
65. Yusri Wardani
66. Kedoy Alfajri
67. Sayuri Yosiana
68. Nanang Saputra
69. Prito Windiarto
70. Melodhita Handi Sastradirtja
71. Willy Aryanto
72. Nurhadi
73. Ikhwan Ramadhan
74. Sam Edy
75. Ari Andriansyah
76. Muna Masyari
77. Abu Waswas
78. Bunga Padang Pasir
79. Ika Andriani Karim

Ucapan melalui foto: Meiria Nurphi

Ucapan melalui wall to wall:

1. Sasqia Haryanthie
2. Wina Bojonegoro
3. Yandigsa Saja
4. Susilawati Rusnandi
5. Fajar Alam Siliwangi
6. Dewi Murni

Ucapan melalui SMS:

1. Benny Arnas
2. Luhur Satya Pambudi
3. Mardi Luhung
4. Nurdiyana Munir
5. Sukma Nurmala
6. Dewi Yanthi Razalie
7. Zahra Publishing
8. Hesti Kusumah
9. Atisatya Arifin
10. Septia Surya

Ucapan melalui Twitter;

1. @ArifMaulana
2. @ms_renny
3. @labulucu
4. @Peri_Mati
5. @andyputera
6. @eviwidi
7. @1bichara
8. @WandaLeopolda
9. @ady_azzumar
10. @anamustamin
11. @nadia_adzani
12. @peribicara
13. @dadan_erce
14. @ie_bon

Ucapan melalui BBM:

1. Aulya Elyasa
2. Helga Worotitjan
3. Indra Prayana
4. Nurdin Ahmad Zaky
5. Fahri Asiza
6. Johann Saputra
7. Didiet Sutedja
8. Sekar Mirah
9. Chatrine Indartuti
10. Guntur Alam
11. Eriez Lee
12. Yandigsa
13. Nurcholis
14. Indah Purnamasari
15. Baihaqi
16. Mimi Sianturi
17. Netty Budiman
18. Ucu Suwarliani
19. Nunik Dwiniasari
20. Irene Prabandari
21. Yaya Haryadi
22. Komara Mijaya
23. Widhi Widagdo
24. Erlin Rissa
25. Ilham Wahyudi
26. Atisatya Arifin

Sekali lagi terima kasih untuk kalian semua, mohon maaf apabila terdapat kesalahan dalam penulisan nama, atau ada nama yang tak tertulis di sini (dirangkum sampai jam 21.30 Wib). Semoga Allah Swt membalas kebaikan teman-teman semua. Amin.


Jakarta, 5 Maret 2012 pukul 21.30 Wib

TENTANG MAYAT YANG SEDANG TERSENYUM
Oleh: Bamby Cahyadi


Ya, mayat itu ayahku.

Hari Jumat, menjelang sore. Setelah menempuh perjalanan udara dengan pesawat terbang, kami telah sampai di rumah nenek. Di sebuah kota di mana matahari terlampau dekat di ubun-ubun kepala sehingga cahaya teriknya selalu membuat mata silau.
Sebuah tenda besar berdiri sunyi di pekarangan rumah, kursi-kursi lipat dibentangkan dan disusun berjajar. Karangan bunga berjejer rapi dari mulut jalan hingga ke pintu rumah. Beberapa bendera kertas berwarna kuning berkibar-kibar sendirian di setiap ujung jalan.

Wajah ayah tampak pucat, warna kulitnya serupa kapas, putih dan bersih, ketika kami membuka tutup peti jenazah di mana ayah terbaring dengan tenang. Aroma formalin langsung menyeruak berhamburan di antara bau kembang melati dan bubuk kopi.

Ekspresi wajah ayah sungguh memukau, ia terlihat hanya sekadar tertidur lelap. Tapi ia juga tampak seperti tersenyum. Sudut-sudut bibirnya membentuk lekukan indah yang sangat kami kenal dengan baik. Senyuman tulus dan penuh kehangatan.

Mana mungkin senyum mayat yang beku bisa melumerkan suasana kesedihan yang mengental ini menjadi sebuah keriangan yang menghangatkan? Aku menyusut airmata yang kembali meleleh membanjiri pipiku dengan punggung tangan. Ibu menatap tanpa berkedip pada wajah ayah yang sedang tersenyum itu. Tatapannya kosong. Hampa. Penuh kepedihan, pun penuh pengharapan.

Aku tahu, ibu berharap ayah akan membuka kelopak matanya, menggerakkan kepala, tangan dan kakinya. Lantas ayah melompat dari peti itu dan ia berbicara pada kami dengan candaan khasnya dan tentu saja diselingi tawanya yang keras. ”Hei, kenapa kalian bersedih?” Aku pun mempunyai pengharapan seperti yang ibu dambakan. Kulihat kakakku bersimpuh di depan peti jenazah, ia menudukkan kepala sangat dalam, ia enggan melihat ayah yang sedang tersenyum. Mungkin kakakku terlampau sedih, ia pasti berharap yang dialaminya hanya mimpi buruk yang terjadi saat tertidur.

Celakanya kami tak sedang tidur, apalagi bermimpi. Kenyataannya ayah telah mati tadi malam, jantungnya tak berdetak lagi, kini ia terbujur kaku dalam peti mati. Sebentar lagi tubuhnya akan musnah ditelan bumi. Dilumat tanah dan dimakan cacing.
Pelayat yang lain mulai terisak-isak, mereka memandang ayah dengan mata nanar yang sekujur tubuhnya telah dikafani itu. ”Ia orang baik,” gumam beberapa orang sambil memegang pundak dan kepalaku. Aku makin sedih, aku kembali menangis tersedu-sedu. Ayah telah mati. Nenek memelukku untuk memberi kekuatan.

”Jangan sedih, jangan sedih! Ikhlaskan ayahmu,” kata nenek dengan suara tegas bergetar. Tapi airmata nenek malah berlinang-linang, sekelebat aku melihat kesedihan yang sama di bolamatanya ketika kakek meninggal tiga tahun yang lalu.

***
Rabu sore. Wajah ayah tampak sumringah, ia banyak tersenyum hari ini, hingga bibirnya yang kering tertarik lebar. Sesekali ia tergelak dengan suara tawa yang membahana di ruang tamu yang tak begitu luas. Ibu pun tak mampu menyembunyikan rasa bahagia, berkali-kali ibu mengucapkan kata syukur. Ibu menyeduh segelas kopi untuk ayah dan sirup jeruk untuk kami. Ya, ayahku baru saja naik jabatan menjadi Kepala Bagian di kantornya.

Aku dan kakakku bersorak-sorai, kami melonjak-lonjak kegirangan di ruang tamu sambil berteriak-teriak senang. Tentu saja kami sangat gembira, ayah naik jabatan berarti uang jajan kami akan bertambah. Kurasa itulah yang membuat aku dan kakakku bersorak-sorai. Dengan tambahan uang jajan, setidaknya aku bisa nonton film lebih sering di bioskop dengan teman-teman tatkala liburan sekolah. Kakakku akan lebih banyak membeli buku-buku bacaan sebagai koleksinya.

Ayah lantas berceloteh tentang fasilitas tambahan yang akan ia terima. Mobilnya yang semula Katana akan diganti jadi Avanza. Paling tidak, aku dan kakakku tak akan lagi sembunyi-sembunyi dan diam-diam menyelinap naik mobil saat ayah menjemput kami. Begitu kata ayah.

Ya, memang. Terkadang aku begitu keterlaluan, karena mobil ayah hanya sebuah jip Katana, saat ayah menjemput aku pulang sekolah apabila ada pelajaran tambahan, aku suka sembunyi-sembunyi sambil mengendap masuk ke dalam mobil tersebut. Maklum, sekolahku sekolah favorit, sekolah anak-anak orang kaya dan pejabat. Saat bubaran sekolah, mobil-mobil mewah berseliweran menunggu jemputan. Mobil ayah akan tampak butut di tengah kemegahan mobil-mobil yang lain. Terus terang aku malu.

Ayah pun maklum, apabila ia menjemputku, ia akan parkir di ujung jalanan sekolah. Sebenarnya, aku lebih suka pulang naik kendaraan umum seperti naik bus atau mikrolet, sesekali naik taksi. Tapi apabila ayah tak bermain tenis bersama teman-temannya di sore hari, maka ia dengan senang hati menjemputku pulang sekolah ketika aku ada pelajaran tambahan.

Mobil baru ayah, akan diserahkan besok oleh pihak kantor. Ayah berencana akan menjemputku besok tepat di depan gerbang sekolah dengan mobil baru. Aku dan ayah tampaknya tak sabar menunggu hari esok tiba. Kukira ibu dan kakakku pun berharap hari ini lebih cepat bergulir. Kami berharap hari Kamis segera menjelma. Karena hari esok adalah sebuah harapan baru bagi perjalanan karir ayah di kantor.
Namun sebelum tidur, aku berpikir untuk mengubah rencana.

***
Sekarang matahari telah tenggelam di ufuk barat. Pendar warna senja mulai melindap. Langit menjadi temaram dan kegelapan malam mulai membutakan segalanya.

Tubuh manusia bisa musnah ketika ia tak bernyawa lagi. Seperti tubuh ayah. Tubuh ayah diangkat oleh beberapa kerabat dari dalam peti ke atas kasur yang telah diselimuti kain batik warna gelap bercorak kelam. Di sudut-sudut ruangan bubuk-bubuk kopi ditabur dalam mangkok-mangkok terbuka. Seikat kembang melati tertata rapi di sebuah vas keramik berwarna putih. Beberapa kelopak melati gugur di atas karpet-karpet yang digelar di lantai.

Suara orang-orang mengaji tumpang-tindih dengan suara isak tangis kerabat dan saudara yang baru saja datang melayat. Mereka tak menyangka ayahku berpulang secepat ini. Aku dan kakakku duduk bersila kelelahan di lantai. Kami belum tidur sejak semalam, di pesawat terbang tadi, akibat badai yang menerjang, kami benar-benar terjaga sepanjang perjalanan udara yang menyedihkan itu. Rasanya kami pun masih belum percaya, kami berada di rumah nenek untuk mengantar ayah ke liang lahat.
Padahal empat bulan lalu, kami berkumpul di tengah ruangan ini dengan suka-cita, merayakan lebaran bersama nenek dan sanak-saudara dari pihak ayah dan ibu. Makan ketupat, opor ayam dan berebutan uang angpao lebaran. Kini kami bersimpuh dalam duka-cita. Oh, pantaslah sewaktu di pesawat tadi kami sepakat berdoa bersama agar pesawat yang membawa kami jatuh terhempas badai. Agar kami mati bersama ayah. Agar kami tetap menjadi keluarga yang utuh walaupun di alam kematian. Bukankah, jiwa tak pernah mengenal mati? Biarlah, jiwa-jiwa kami lepas dari jasad dan kami bertemu dalam kehidupan yang abadi. Bersama ayah.

Dengan suara lirih aku mulai bercakap-cakap dengan kakakku. Kami berbincang-bincang, sambil mengingat-ingat kejadian hari Rabu sore kemarin ketika ayah menyampaikan kabar ia dipromosikan menjadi Kepala Bagian.

”Kak, aku rasa hari Rabu kemarin adalah hari yang sangat membahagiakan,” kataku. Kakak memandangku. Kakakku tak menjawab, ia diam, tapi bibirnya tampak bergerak-gerak.
”Justru aku merasa hari itu hari yang sangat menyedihkan,” lirih kakakku.
”Kenapa begitu, Kak?” tanyaku.
”Terus terang waktu kita berteriak-teriak kegirangan, mendadak hatiku begitu pilu. Aku tiba-tiba merasa suasana yang mencekam, Dik,” jawab kakakku.
”Kenapa Kakak tidak cerita padaku, atau cerita pada Ibu?” sergahku.
”Aku tak mau merusak kebahagiaan kabar baik dari Ayah, itu saja. Mungkin juga itu firasat,” tandasnya, sambil memeluk lututnya.
”Kak, aku menyesal pulang terlambat,” kataku tercekat.
”Sudahlah, Dik, semua telah terjadi,” gumam kakakku.
Kami pun bergeming dengan pikiran masing-masing. Rasa penat tak kuasa kutahan. Kelopak mataku begitu berat karena kelelahan menangis sepanjang hari. Lepas magrib nanti, jenazah ayah akan dikebumikan di pemakaman keluarga yang hanya berjarak dua kilometer dari rumah nenek.
Tiba-tiba suasana menjadi hening. Aku mendengar suara misterius dari ruangan ini. Suara itu jelas terdengar dari tempat di mana mayat ayah terbaring. Aku segera menengadahkan wajah, memandang ke arah suara itu berasal, dan aku melihat sesuatu yang membuat darahku beku. Sesuatu yang serba putih berkelebat.
Darahku seperti terkesiap, aku melihat dengan jelas ayah bangkit dan bergerak cepat melintas di ruangan, ayah mendatangi ibu lalu memeluk dan menciuminya. Mendatangi nenek dan mencium tangan nenek, ayah terus bergerak cepat seolah khawatir keberadaannya diketahui seseorang. Ia lantas mendatangi kakakku, ayah memeluk kakakku dan mencium dahinya penuh kasih sayang. Kini tiba giliranku.
Aku melompat ke arah ayah tanpa menunggu ayah menghampiriku, aku ingin memeluknya, aku ingin minta maaf padanya. Aku memang nakal dan suka merepotkan dirinya. Aku hanya ingin bilang padanya, ”Ayah jangan mati. Kami membutuhkanmu!”
Jantungku berdetak dengan cepat ketika ayah melangkah ke arahku, kakinya begitu ringan, wajah ayah yang pucat kini tampak bercahaya, terang-benderang. Dan menghilang! Aku tersentak. Ruangan kembali gaduh oleh orang-orang mengaji diselingi isak tangis para pelayat. Di beranda, keranda telah disiapkan. Suara sirine meraung-raung dari mobil jenazah menuju pemakaman.
”Ayah! Ayah! Ayah!” jeritku histeris. Ketika tubuh ayah tertimbun tanah di liang lahat.
***
Kamis pagi. Kami sarapan bersama, seperti biasa ibu dengan cekatan menyiapkan menu sarapan. Tiga butir telur ayam kampung setengah matang, nasi goreng sosis, beberapa tangkup roti berselai cokelat. Minuman untuk ayah secangkir kopi panas, untuk kami masing-masing segelas susu krim. Minuman sehat yang terkadang membuatku mual ingin muntah. Tapi ibu selalu setia menyediakan segelas susu untuk kami. Demi pertumbuhan kami, begitu kata ibu.
Ayah tampak bersemangat mengunyah roti berselai cokelat sambil menyeruput kopinya.
”Kamu nanti Ayah jemput ya, pakai mobil baru, hehehe,” ujar ayah tertawa senang.
Sesuai rencana yang telah kupikirkan semalam, ayah tak perlu menjemputku pulang sekolah setelah pelajaran tambahan nanti. Aku malu, nanti teman-temanku menyangka aku pamer-pamer mobil baru pada mereka. Apa kata Yopi, Turman dan Panca, ketika melihat mobil Katana berubah menjadi Avanza. Ya, sudahlah, kupikir ayah tak perlu menjemputku nanti.
”Yah, aku nggak usah dijemput. Aku pulang pakai bus bareng teman-teman,” kataku.
”Lho, kamu gimana sih? Katanya ingin merasakan mobil baru,” balas ayah tersenyum. Ia terdiam sejenak memandangiku seolah ingin meyakinkan perkataanku padanya. Aku mengangguk. ”Ya, sudah, jadi kamu nggak perlu Ayah jemput,” lanjut ayah. Aku menjawabnya dengan senyuman.
Ayah lantas beranjak, menemui ibu. Ayah pamit menuju kantor. Karena arah sekolah kami tidak searah dengan kantor ayah, maka aku dan kakakku ke sekolah menggunakan bus atau mikrolet dari depan komplek rumah.
Begitulah, saat sarapan pagi itulah aku terakhir menyaksikan ayah sebagai tubuh yang bernyawa.
Aku tak menyangka, akibat ulahku pulang terlambat selepas pelajaran tambahan di sekolah, kini aku kehilangan sosok yang sangat kusayangi. Aku tergoda bujukkan Yopi, Turman dan Panca mengajakku jalan-jalan ke mal dan nonton film.
Karena aku terlambat pulang hingga larut malam, ibu sangat cemas, maka ibu menyuruh ayah menjemputku. Tapi aku sudah lebih dulu menuju mal untuk nonton. Ketika ayah tiba di sekolah, halaman sekolah telah kosong dan hari telah gelap.
Saat itulah seseorang mendekati ayah, lalu orang tersebut mengajak ayah berbincang-bincang. Entah bagaimana caranya, orang itu ikut masuk ke mobil baru ayah, lantas mengajak ayah berputar-putar.
Rupanya orang tersebut berniat jahat, ia hendak merebut mobil ayah. Mungkin ayah melawan. Beberapa tusukan senjata tajam menghujam ulu hati ayah. Saat ayah tak berdaya, orang tersebut membuang ayah selayak sampah tak berguna di pinggiran jalan. Mobil ayah pun lenyap bersama nyawanya.
Kabar tersebut diceritakan secara kronologis oleh petugas kepolisian, berdasarkan asumsi sementara di tempat kejadian perkara, usai kami menemui ayah yang terbaring kaku di ruang Unit Gawat Darurat rumah sakit dengan perutnya yang penuh genangan darah. Kami hanya bisa menangis sejadi-jadinya.
Baiklah. Itulah kisah yang dapat kututurkan pada kalian, apabila kalian bertanya, ”Kenapa ayah meninggal?”
Ya, ayahku mati dibunuh. Ditikam. Ulu hatinya berlubang!
Suatu perasaan pilu yang tak bisa kuberi nama. Sebuah kehilangan yang takkan bisa tergantikan. Ayahku meninggalkan kenangan yang tak pernah pupus dalam ingatan. Ia masih sempat membentuk lekukan senyum di sudut-sudut bibirnya, meskipun sebagai mayat.***

Jakarta, 11 -1-11

About the Author

Bamby Cahyadi is a pen name and his real name is Bambang Cahyadi. A man who was born in Manado on 5 March 1970 works as an Operation Manager in Food and Beverage company in Jakarta. His seriousness to writing short story has been starting in 2007. Bamby started to write his stories on the internet in his blog. Currently, he writes various short stories in several newspapers such as Koran Tempo, Suara Pembaruan, Republika, Seputar Indonesia, Suara Karya, Pikiran Rakyat, Lampung Post, Tribun Jabar, Riau Pos, Batam Pos, Berita Pagi Palembang, Jurnal Bogor, Harian Global (Jurnal Medan), Radar Tasikmalaya, Analisa Medan, Majalah Horison, Femina, Story, D’sari and Esquire Indonesia. Writing essays in Media Indonesia, Pikiran Rakyat, Pramuka Magazine and Tabloid Eksponen, and he is active to manage Jakarta Literature Community (Kosakata) with his friends.

In his childhood, his parents moved from one town to another town due to their duty, thus he studied in different town every year. His kindergarten school was in Manado, his elementary school was in Bitung and Ampana, and graduated from elementary in SD Negeri 26 in Tegal. Then, he graduated his Junior High School in SMP 1 Medan and graduated from High School at SMA Negeri 1 Tasikmalaya. He graduated his bachelor degree in Economy from Siliwangi University, Tasikmalaya. Then, he got a degree as Bachelor of Hamburgerology from McDonald’s Hamburger University Sydney, Australia.

Tangan untuk Utik (Koekoesan Publisher, 2009) is his prime collection of his. Furthermore, he involved in the Anthology making of Bob Marley and 11 Sriti.com selected short stories (Gramedia Pustaka Utama, 2009), potpourri of short story Si Murai dan Orang Gila (DKJ & Kepustakaan Populer Gramedia, 2010) and potpourri of short story Temu Sastrawan Indonesia IV Ternate (TSI IV, 2011). Finally, his novel he wrote with other 11 writers titled Sengatan Sang Kumbang (2011).

The Police, the Pistol, and Me

A short story by Bamby Cahyadi
Translated by Annie Tucker


My father died suddenly. A heart attack. According to the doctor, he suffered from cardiovascular disease. Cholesterol built up like layers of wax inside his veins, making his heart unable to beat. I didn’t really understand, to me he looked just fine.

My father worked as a detective. A low-level policeman, Dad was scrupulously honest, pure, not corrupt, and of course, poor. He never accepted bribes from the criminals that he arrested. So the day he died, he didn’t leave any inheritance—no property, no assets, no nothing.

After he was buried, in a simple fashion befitting his position as a low-level member of the reserves, I truly felt the loss of my father. I became an orphan. My mother was already long gone from our lives. That woman couldn’t bear to stay with a poor policeman like my dad.

I had been sitting and ruminating for a long time in my father’s old room when my gaze was drawn to a black box under his bed frame. Intrigued, I opened it.

Shocking! I found a pistol. Just a standard pistol for a poor detective, I thought. Nothing like the fancy FBI pistols I saw all the time on television. The pistol felt cold in my hand. But wait a minute, this pistol was filled with bullets, the magazine was still full. Was it possible that Dad had never shot this pistol, not even at the criminals he captured?

My Dad worked himself half to death, until he truly died (and all of a sudden at that) because he was struggling to earn money for me. When I was just a little kid, I was diagnosed with epilepsy. Whenever my sickness relapsed, I became like a crazy person, like a person possessed. So maybe it’s not so shocking that my dad would handcuff me whenever I had a fit.

Truthfully, I feel tormented by this epilepsy. Maybe pretty soon I’ll have another episode but up until now, with the night dissolving into morning, I haven’t had any fits. I desperately hope that I’ve recovered for good.

The pistol that I found in the black box was now in my hand. I pointed and aimed it all around like a cowboy. “Hands up!” I shouted at the mirror. Then I laughed aloud to myself, with my hands on my hips.

Then I twirled the pistol with my fingers. And I blew on its muzzle. The pistol allured me more and more. I forgot all the feelings of sadness and isolation that had overwhelmed me at Dad’s grave earlier that afternoon. I had a new friend now, the pistol my father left me.

Out of nowhere, the pistol barked. No, sorry. The pistol greeted me, out of the blue.

“Good evening, you haven’t gone to bed yet?”

Of course, I was shocked. The pistol could talk? But I answered the pistol’s greeting.

“Not yet, I’m not tired yet. These days I can’t fall asleep until almost dawn. It’s possible that in addition to having epilepsy, I also suffer from acute insomnia. So, seriously, you can talk?”

“Of course I can, I’m one of God’s creations, of course I can talk and what’s more, I can feel. Oh man, I’m really sad that Father Detective died.”

“Thanks for your condolences.”

“I’m sad because Father Detective died in such a common way, just like an ordinary person.”

“Hey wait a minute, my dad dropped dead out of the blue, and you’re saying the way he died was ordinary?”

“ Yeah! I remember Father Detective, your dad, wanted to die in the most heroic way possible. He wanted to die, at the very least, shot by a bad guy he was pursuing. But, your dad was such a clever policemen, he always managed to capture bad guys empty handed, and even some of the thugs he caught surrendered without a fight. So obviously I was almost always left to laze around unemployed.”

“My dad was an amazing policeman dammit!”

“Yes, clearly he was an amazing man. He was honest, but poor. It’s really a pity.”

“Why would you pity my father?”

“Of course I feel pity when I think of your father’s fate. The fact is, even your own mother fled into the arms of another man. Your mom, she couldn’t stand to be poor. And you, you have epilepsy. He talked about you all the time, when he was on a break at the station. Your dad, he didn’t have a lot of friends. All the other detectives were afraid to hang out with your dad, they thought he was a spy placed undercover by the regional chief of police, to trap other policemen who misbehaved.”

“Sorry, but I’m really not interested in hearing about my dad’s job. Why don’t you tell me what else he said about me?”

“OK, listen up.”

***

I feel that God really isn’t just. Never in my whole life have I felt truly happy. My life is full of suffering, suffering that never ends, like a story that’s always “to be continued.” But, I’m not the type of guy who just surrenders himself to fate or destiny. I fight. I fight, until at some point, I give up.

God created suffering upon endless suffering. I only have a little education. I only got through middle school. But luckily, I was accepted into the Police Academy. I made sure of that, even if I was given the lowest position. And even though I was just a low-ranking officer, in the eyes of a woman, all policemen are attractive and captivating. And I don’t have to explain, how policemen are seen in the eyes of the people. You know all about that.

Karmila. She was a woman who was totally drawn in by the glamour of the force. So, when I asked her to marry me, she was more than ready. She was so proud to have a husband who was a policeman, even just a low-ranking officer.

We weren’t married for very long when Karmila got pregnant. We were blessed with a son. I was so proud, and Karmila was so happy to have a little baby boy who was chubby and strong. But not very soon afterwards it turned out my child was sick. He would stiffen up and foam at the mouth. People said we were cursed. What kind of curse, I wanted to know. People said Karmila was cursed because she wasn’t pure. And it turned out that the gossip about my wife was true. She snuck out and cheated on me while I was on night duty. She didn’t care if her child had a fit while she ran away from home.

I raised Kartiko myself. Sometimes, I almost gave up trying to care for my child all alone. Especially with his condition that was getting worse and worse. It seemed that as he approached adolescence, the older he got the more fits he had.

When he had a fit, what I did was handcuff him. I didn’t want him to hit anyone, including me, when he relapsed. With a stinging and bitter heart I tied up Kartiko’s hands and feet. I never treated any of the criminals I caught as roughly or as degradingly as I treated Kartiko.

But when he was healthy and doing fine, he was a really bright kid. He was smart even though he didn’t go to school. I took care of his need for education by buying him a television. He learned all he needed to know from the shows and movies he watched.

I scraped together some money little by little, just enough to treat my only child. No more than that. Of course there was a lot of temptation, especially when I arrested a high-class criminal. Sometimes, when I was grappling with a big-time crook, all of a sudden the pockets of my leather jacket would be filled with money. If you added it all up, it might be tens of millions. Maybe it was even hundred of millions of rupiah, like the time I arrested a killer who had been paid by a national official. I returned it all via my supervisors. I never knew, whether that money was returned to the state or just went into my supervisors’ coffers.

But even if I came up short, so be it, I didn’t want to support Kartiko with illegitimate money. Let me live a poor life, as long as I make my fortune in a righteous way. I made sure the blood that flowed through Kartiko’s veins was blood from food that was obtained in a halal manner.

Whenever I remember Kartiko or talk about him, I feel melancholy. All of sudden I feel sad. My heart gets misty. He’s already a teenager now, but of course kids grow up. He’s 17 years old. I’m sure he already understands how life goes. And understands his dad’s life too. It goes without saying, I wish he had a girlfriend. I want him to be able to hold hands with a woman, to know how it feels to kiss his girlfriend on the lips.

These days, my chest hurts all the time. Maybe because I smoke too much, or maybe because I too often find myself chasing criminals through these polluted streets. But the pain in my chest quickly subsides if Kartiko greets me when I come home in the evening.

You know, you are my faithful friend. You’re like a brother, you’re my flesh and blood, just like Kartiko. Tell him that I really care about him. I feel that working as a detective I have a slim chance of survival. My obsession is that my life will end while I’m at work. I want to die in the middle of combat, by getting shot by one of the criminals I’m apprehending. Maybe, that’s the most heroic way to die. The most respectable way to die.

But why does my chest still hurt all the time? I even stopped smoking three weeks ago. I traded my cigarettes in for mint-flavored gum that I chew every day. And I’ll keep chewing it, every day, until my teeth turn white again.

I hope you’re not too bored with me spilling my guts to you all the time. I don’t have any good friends. You’re the closest to me. Tell that to Kartiko some day.


***
The pistol barked at me again. No, no, sorry. The pistol addressed me again. It seemed I was swept away by what I had just heard. I was speechless.

“Hello, are you still paying attention?”

“Do I have to 100% believe your story?”

“That’s up to you my friend. I mean, if you hadn’t opened that black box where I was sprawled out sleeping, maybe we never would have even had this conversation.”

“You’re right! Pistol, did my dad ever use you to kill anybody?”

“I already told you, as long as I have been in the hand of Father Detective, I never killed anybody.”

“Do you want me to shoot one of the bullets from inside your body into somebody else’s brain?”

“Of course! Being a pistol, that’s something that I have waited for my whole life.”

“What do you want to shoot?”

“Well first of all, your mother, who ran off with another man. She’s a woman who really doesn’t know her place!”

“And after that?”

“A criminal… No, to be exact, corruptors. I really want to shoot each one of them in the head, so that the bullet goes straight through their brains.”

“Anyone else?”

“Maybe writers. Writers that make fiction seem like fact. They ruin normal people’s imagination, basically ruin people in general.”

“It’s really too bad, my friend, but I can’t kill even one of those people. Shoot them in your dreams!”

“What do you mean?”

The pistol really barked. Breaking the silence for just a second. Then immediately quieting in stillness, like the beating of bat’s wings when they land on the roof of a house on their journey home. The dawn sky was turning grey. The scent of gunpowder lingered in my nose. It smelled amazing, truly enchanting.

In the corner of the room, near the cupboard. A mouse that would never squeak again, its body destroyed like a firecracker that that just exploded.

“Disturber of the peace!” I cursed, while blowing on the muzzle of the pistol over and over. Over and over. Over and over.

Jakarta, 11 March 2010

Bamby Cahyadi Penulis Cerpen Keren

Bamby Cahyadi adalah nama pena dan panggilan akrab dari pemilik nama asli Bambang Cahyadi. Pria kelahiran Manado, 5 Maret 1970 ini sehari-hari bekerja sebagai Operation Manager di perusahaan Food and Beverage di Jakarta. Keseriusannya menulis cerpen berawal sejak tahun 2007. Bamby memulai menulis cerpen di dunia maya dan blog pribadi. Saat ini, ia menulis berbagai tema cerita pendek di Koran Tempo, Suara Pembaruan, Republika, Seputar Indonesia, Suara Karya, Pikiran Rakyat, Lampung Post, Tribun Jabar, Riau Pos, Batam Pos, Berita Pagi Palembang, Jurnal Bogor, Harian Global (Jurnal Medan), Radar Tasikmalaya, Analisa Medan, Majalah Horison, Femina, Story, D’sari dan Esquire Indonesia. Ia pun pernah menulis esai di koran Media Indonesia, serta aktif mengelola Komunitas Sastra Jakarta (Kosakata) bersama teman-temannya.

Karena mengikuti orang tuanya yang berpindah-pindah tempat dinas, Bamby pernah bersekolah di Manado (TK), Bitung (SD), Ampana (SD) dan lulus SD di SD Negeri 26 Tegal. Lalu masuk SMP Negeri 1 Tegal, dan lulus di SMP Negeri 1 Medan. SMA di SMA Negeri 1 Tasikmalaya dan menyelesaikan Sarjana Ekonomi di Universitas Siliwangi, Tasikmalaya. Meraih gelar Bachelor of Hamburgerology dari McDonald’s Hamburger University Sydney, Australia.

Tangan untuk Utik (Penerbit Koekoesan, 2009) adalah buku kumpulan cerpen perdananya. Terlibat dalam Antologi Bob Marley dan 11 cerpen pilihan Sriti.com (Gramedia Pustaka Utama, 2009), Bunga Rampai Cerpen Si Murai dan Orang Gila (DKJ & Kepustakaan Populer Gramedia, 2010) dan Bunga Rampai Cerpen Temu Sastrawan Indonesia IV Ternate (TSI IV, 2011). Novel Bersama 11 Penulis Sengatan Sang Kumbang (2011).

Bedah Buku 2 Album Dangdut dan Sekotak Cokelat di Spinelli Coffee

Hari Sabtu, 28 Januari 2012 di Spinelli Coffee Citywalk Jakarta