ABHIMANYU WORLD

Chapter VIII: Larasati bint Turonggo

Warm sunlight barged in through the room window. I inhaled oxygen deeply, filling the chest cavity. It is very different from the air of the village with the air of Surabaya. Here there are still many trees, as abundant oxygen producers. There are no factories or motor vehicles that poison the air.

Look that!

The finches are free to fly on the branches of mango trees. While the moaning of cows sounded from the cage behind the house.

What favors of God are you denying?

“Biiiiii..! Biiii..!” mom shouted from the kitchen.

“Iya, Mak!” I hurriedly approached my mother who was slicing red onions. I saw him repeatedly rubbing his watery eyes.

Ah, you red onion!

“Help your father to drink a cow first, Bi!”

“The hope is not yet available to Mak?”

“It's there first! Soon breakfast!”

To me, my mother's orders are the word of the queen that cannot be denied. I'm heading to the cow pen behind the house. He had three cows. Two females and one male. For us, cows are similar to investments that are not worth the price. In the month of Hajj, cows will sell at a fairly high price. The sales money will be saved by the father for my tuition and Weni school fees.

Sometimes mothers also sulk want to buy a necklace so that it is the same as other neighbors. But firmly, my father refused.

“Create what to? They wear mbok yes justin! Mending money used another,” said father one day.

He was leyeh-leyeh while listening to the broadcast of wayang kulit in RRI.

“Gold can be sold again to Sir!” answer mother.

“Already. Later if there is sustenance do not buy it. Right now the most important thing is the school kids”

Mom fell silent. I've never seen my mother refute my father's words. He grew up in a strong Javanese tradition, which holds the principle of uploading it so thick. For him, respecting your husband is everything.

Really, that's what became my mind. I always expected a tough woman, but had a good attitude towards her husband.

Like mom.

Before long, I could also enjoy the special rawon made by my mother. It's amazing at home. These are the times to make nutritional improvements. After days of being beaten to eat instant noodles in Surabaya. The cooking at home is special. My mother felt sad when I came home, and saw my body thin. He thought I rarely ate well.

Yes it is, Mother!

I think my mom is the greatest chef I've ever met. I've tried rawon se-Surabaya, but nothing beats the taste of rawon made by mother. The sauce is thick black, combined with tempting sprouts and salted eggs. The rice of one basket can run out because of this. Not only rawon, any cuisine processed by mother tastes so perfect. If it's a little sexier, I think you'll be on par with Chef Farah Quinn.

After eating that phenomenal rawon, I was called mother. He handed me a packet of raw plastic.

“Please deliver to Mr Turonggo yes!”

“Which Turonggo Pak, Mak?”

“Whose house is next to the village hall, paint the house green,” said mother.

“Oh, whose friend father in the rice field is yes?” my many.

Suddenly I remembered a fierce face with a whisker running over his lips. That's Mr. Turonggo. When I was a child, Mr. Turonggo often helped me find gold beetles in the rice fields.

Immediately I borrowed my father's butut motorcycle to take rawon to Pak Turonggo's house. I don't think it's worth calling a motorcycle. This item is already worth entering the museum rather than being used for vehicles. I love this motorcycle. One time my mom told me to sell the bike. But he refused completely. He said that this motorcycle is a symbol of his struggle in the past. So it can't be sold.

Gawk. It was the father's prerogative not to sell his favorite motorcycle.

Arriving at Mr. Turonggo's house, I was greeted by Mr. Turonggo himself. Actually I want to go home quickly but he told me to sit down first. Even Bu Turonggo makes thick black coffee.

Usually I never drink black coffee like this. I prefer coffee mixed with cream, so the taste is not so strong. But out of respect for the host, I drank that coffee too.

“Ngopi to?” ask Mr. Turonggo.

“Sometimes Sir,” I reply with a sigh.

“Boy people don't coffee! How's college?”

“Aalhamdulillah's. Smoothly.”

Mr. Turonggo took a cigarette. It begins to suck it deep, then exhales it into the air. I was actually very disturbed by this, but had to keep Adab in front of him.

“Do not smoke first if it has not worked,” he said again.

“Nggeh, Sir!”

“Have a girlfriend?”

“But”

Mr. Turonggo was grinning with a smile. Something was hidden behind that smile. I've never studied psychology, but of course I understand the meaning of that smile.

“Laras! This is the new Mas Abi coming from Surabaya!” suddenly Mr. Turonggo called out loudly.

“Iya sir!” a soft voice came from inside the house.

A sweet girl suddenly came out from inside the house. The clothes are simple, with a pink veil.

By Allah!

The girl looked charming. Her skin is pure white. His eyes glanced timidly.

As usual, I was the one who looked awkward as it was unusual to face a woman.

But my memory was suddenly thrown into the past. As a child, I saw him several times. I remember this girl. Name Larasati. She was shy and didn't talk much. As if a butterfly, it is now metamorphosing to be so perfect. Lusi's charm became neglected at once.

For a moment I was hypnotized.

“It Larasati. Still remember, right? I used to invite you to the rice fields as well.”

“Iya Sir. I still remember.”

Larasati sat beside her father timidly. Her smile was neatly tucked away behind her tightly clenched lips.

Whether intentionally or not, Mr. Turonggo suddenly left us both.

“For a while, I didn't see the cows just”

I'm nodding.

For a long time, we kept quiet. The atmosphere is awkward. My brain feels frozen, can't think of anything. My old illness recurred when faced with women. I'm at a loss for words. Suddenly his mouth tightened.

“When come from Surabaya, Mas?” tanya Laras broke the ice between us.

Ow hell! Lose one more step!

“Tast night, Race. Where do you go to school now?”

“I'm in college, Mas. My father said I was taking the course. After high school I will return to the kitchen as well,” Laras explained.

“What course, Race?”

“Suturing course. Alhamdulillah, have not passed the course there are already some who ask for help sejahitkan.”

“Oh, nice it!”

Suddenly I remembered some of my torn pants at home.

In my heart, I feel very sorry for this girl. But the average mindset of people in my village is. There are not many parents whose children go to college outside the city. They do not consider education too important for their children. Especially women. Some of them even chose to marry their children at a young age.

I am secretly grateful to have parents like my father and mother. He is a village, just like everyone else. But I have to admit that their thinking is one step ahead. You don't want your children to live as hard as they are.

Excuse me for coming home, when we were completely out of words. There's not much we're talking about. Just asking each other's circumstances. We also exchanged phone numbers. I was too embarrassed to ask for his number.

Am I a guy what?

“Often-frequently stop by ya?” mr Turonggo.

“God willing, Sir!”

“Send my regards to your mother and father.”

“Nggeh, Pak”

With a flowery feeling I rode the motor back home. The girl's face began to haunt my mind.

Duh, Larasati bint Turonggo!

Actually I don't want to think about it. But how does his face dance in my mind? Then suddenly the look on Lusi's dimpled face also appeared uninvited?

What else is this?

Am I talented to be a playboy?

Of course not. I am the one who is overreacting!

***