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