COBBY

Tenth Nem

The air was a little warm this afternoon, leaving a thin mist of pure white. Purbo walked to settle the sediment into the front yard while carrying a clay jug containing wedang parem.

Purbo occasionally looks into the house. Wailing like a thief who watches the surroundings. Slowly he threw the parem water in a jug into the front yard. Leave some, and put the pitcher back on the living room table.

After which, Purbo sat down to relax on the wooden chair. Open the drawer and take out a small pendant from under the pile of newspapers. He looked at the beautiful woman in the photo. There was a sense of longing, even Purbo's chest felt trembling every time he saw the image plastered inside the small pendant.

"Who are you?" murmured Purbo alone.

There was a little presumption in Purbo's heart. He may not have been a loyal man. When his wife was pregnant, he had another woman. If so, what a sin Purbo had on his wife.

But Purbo felt he had never seen a female figure in the photo in the residential area of the village. So, it was possible that the woman was from another village. The more Purbo thought and tried to remember, his head felt throbbing.

"Sir, the parem has been drunk?" tanya Mak Nah arrived. The old woman was at the end of the living room, watching Purbo sitting daydreaming.

"Ah, it's Mak," replied Purbo a little surprised. He immediately put the pendant back in the drawer.

Mak Nah walked over. Lifting jugs on the living room table. And it seems light. Mak Nah smiled with relief. He believed his employer had drunk his wedang parem. So, back to the kitchen.

After Mak Nah left, Purbo went into the room. Early in the middle of falling asleep with knitted threads lying on his lap. Purbo was feeling pity, he was sure his wife was actually bored of having to constantly lie on the bed.

With tiptoes, Purbo opened the closet and took a key behind a pile of clothes. He did not want to disturb his wife's sleep. Purbo tried not to make any noise.

Holding a key in his hand, Purbo stepped out of the house. He remembered his car that had been abandoned a few days on the side of the road. Purbo wants just a way out of the village to drive out boredom while heating the car engine.

The steep and slightly wet village road made Purbo's footrest several times almost slip. Until this moment he still felt astonished, how could he possibly be at home living in such a remote area? If all this time he was a painter with a fairly high price of his paintings, why not try to raise money to buy a house in an urban area?

Question after question somehow comes from where it just pops up. Purbo's brain and mind today feel clearer. It may be the effect of not drinking wedang parem this morning. All thanks to Jasman, so thought Purbo.

While continuing to pay attention to the steep road before him, Purbo again remembered the wound on Jasman's face. As he remembered yesterday Purbo had visited Jasman's rawon stall, and there was only Mbak Ajeng there. Where did Jasman go? Where did Jasman get that wound on his face?

In daydreams, Purbo's footsteps had already passed through the village gate. The gate looks very old and unkempt. Mosses and vines so lush cover the welcome writing with the Javanese script.

From the opposite direction, in the thin white fog appeared a figure carrying a sickle in his right hand. Purbo stopped the move. There was fear in Purbo's heart, because the face of the person holding the sharp weapon was seen in a thick black mustache. His eyes stared hard at Purbo. But not a single sentence was uttered from his blackish lips.

Expressionless, the man crouched not far from where Purbo was standing. Purbo gulped, speechless, watching what the stranger was doing.

The black crackle pack opened slowly. A fragrant aroma that was quite familiar smelled in the air. Tobacco aroma. A few sheets of papir paper appear to be poking out between piles of tobacco. Also dried cloves in containers of used paper are in the crackle.

The stranger sat on the side of the road, busy rolling his own concoction cigarette. Purbo sighed. He felt guilty for prejudging a man who was looking for grass.

"Good day sir" Purbo said.

The man remained silent, not saying. I didn't look at Purbo. He was busy smoking his concoction. White smoke billows after a cigarette is successfully lit. The man smiled in satisfaction, enjoying the pungent-scented carbonmonoxide.

"Yoh yoh, the work of the boat becomes the cattle. Cows defecate not cleanin, hungry yes do not find grass, sleep in a mosquito bed ya unprepared mosquito repellent burn, kok ya not rich rich to yoo. Wife every day ngomeeelll continues. Cigarettes must be self-covered. Ask him to lipstick the same powder that is improt. Husband watches lesehan on the grass, it's good to eat pret ciken. Beacute!" The stranger's complaint arrived. His voice sounded raucous.

"Sorry Sir? By talking to me?" ask Purbo not understand. The stranger was silent. Nor did he look at Purbo.

Purbo can only shake the head. He continued his footsteps this time. Leaving behind that strange man who still occasionally grumbled alone.

"Because the neck is goosebumps constantly. Where does the smell of jasmine flowers smell. I smell like a bride. Ingsun was just here to start a grass shop. This is straight back. Don't bother me" said the stranger after Purbo left.

Now Purbo has reached where his car is parked. Under the shady acacia tree the car looked dusty. Purbo observed the condition of the car at a glance and only realized a lot of mud is still wet in 4 parts of the wheel.

Purbo started the car a few minutes. He leaned his head on the back seat of the wheel. But then he realized something that upset him. Like a dazed man, Purbo forgot how to drive. He only knows how to start, but he doesn't understand how to run his car.

"Damn! Stupid me," Purbo slammed the car door from the outside after the engine shut off.

Purbo murmured, setting his foot back on the steep road leading to the house. Just a moment of stepping, he returned to cross paths with the foreign man earlier. The man carried a green and fresh gajahan grass.

"It's over, sir?" Purbo tried to go stale. But it still seems ignored.

"You smell again" the stranger murmured. Then he quickened his pace.

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