Legionaries

Rama Lazuardi's

September 18th, 2018

At 05.03

The MAN was wearing a white singlet T-shirt and short color pants. The age of twilight has robbed the fertility of his scalp. However, the remains of athletic curves in some parts of his body are enough to describe how dangerous he was in his youth. His arms are still filled with a number of muscular biceps. Both of his shoulders still looked field and sturdy. From its familiar physical characteristics, anyone who inhabits this apartment will not be difficult to recognize it. Mr. Peter, the landlord of the flats, appeared this morning again with his hideous form and aura.

It is natural that men the age of Mr. Peter spend a lot of time in the morning by drying themselves in the sun. At the age I thought stepped on the head of six, he needed an intensive supply of vitamin D to maintain the strength of his bones and joints. Although my description just reflected the robustness of his body in old age, it was still unable to disguise his weakened physical condition. Anyone would definitely think the same when looking at the way it went a bit slow.

At first glance, there is nothing strange about the scene that is currently taking place. Personally, I do not mind Mr. Peter's sunbathing habits, except for one thing that is very disturbing, the way his eyes look at me. That look never changed, it always managed to mentally intimidate. There was not the slightest hint of hospitality in the arid wrinkle of his face. The glint of his eyes is dazzling like an ultraviolet beam that can paralyze the function of the retina. I'm not talking too much. If you were with me this morning, you'd believe me. (This time you're right, Rama.)

Because I felt uncomfortable, I tried to turn my attention to the other scenery around the main stairs. In particular, I was trying to restore my foresight to continue my steps down the stairs. But apparently that's not enough help. Once you meet Mr. Peter, your heart will not be calm until you are completely out of this flats, it departs from my experience of many years of living in a row with him. No matter how great my intention was to ignore it, my eyes were tempted to turn back to the top. And, it turned out to be a big wrong decision. On the top floor, the eyes of the owner of the stacking house are even more sharp! (It's okay, Rama. Come on, keep fighting. Don't lose to him.)

Never mind, I admit defeat. I tried to avoid her gaze again. But again, that doesn't help much. Precisely now there is an uncomfortable feeling that runs through the nerve muscles all over my body. I was already exposed to the virus that was spread through both eyes. Suddenly my steps were awkward. The unfortunate situation finally pushed me to recklessly challenge the look in his eyes. Fuck those! I've been wet bitch!

"Rama!" I was shocked to death. This time because of a different voice. The voice suddenly appeared from behind. Spontaneous, I turned my head and again I was surprised by the continued sound that followed. "For what? How can you not look ahead?" Typhoon, my neighbor who lives in the next room, suddenly appeared behind me. Your dark samber, Pan, my inner being, could have surprised me twice in a row.

"Ah, no," I responded to the Typhoon's question as I glanced back towards the top floor. At the end of there, the two eyeballs of Mr. Peter are still faithful to watch my movements like the spotlight of a lighthouse. Want to not want, Typhoon was also provoked to look up.

"Ooooh... Mr Peter?" As I raised my eyebrows, I stepped down the stairs again. The typhoon followed while smiling lightly. "New people know."

"Where are you going, Pan?" my question, pleasantries.

"Regular. Go to work. Where else are you going?" Presumably the Typhoon read my alkaline intentions. "You know for yourself, factory workers must leave early in the morning. I don't want to take any chances. Five minutes late, my salary could be subject to circumcision" he replied, still with the same smile. "Where are you going?"

"Yes the same. This time I have to work first before going down to the field.” Unwittingly, I also read the Typhoon question which was nothing more than a mere pleasantry. “You together?" (Oh, no. This time your pleasantries have gone overboard.)

"Ah, no. I'll just take the bus. Our route is not in the same direction. If I do, I can trouble you back and forth." The Typhoon smiled knotfully, while I was secretly grateful for the Typhoon's refusal.

I have to admit, Typhoon is not the type of person that is suitable for me to chat even though we both quite often involved in unintentional chatter, he said, both when passing and when coincidentally met on the balcony of the third floor to smoke. However, however, when alluding to the indifference of the residents of this flats, Typhoon is one exception. I think he's one of the few neighbors I've always cared about.

The profession of Typhoon who is a factory worker instant noodle manufacturer is not as flashy as my profession, but it does not make him feel hesitant to exchange views with me. Of all the topics he discussed, he was most enthusiastic when talking about politics. Although he is only a Vocational High School graduate, all this time I actually know Typhoon as a figure who has broad insight in the field of politics. It also made me a bit less connected to chat with him because I did not like politics too much.

However, even though we have spoken often enough, I still do not dare to interfere in his personal affairs. It is mainly about his relationship with Rana, his roommate who is also a man. A little bit I quite understand their closeness that does look special. My ears are still quite sensitive to hearing strange sounds coming from inside their room.

"Oh, yeah. I'd like to ask your opinion about next year's election. Who do you support?" On our way down the stairs, Typhoon began to offend political chatter. Suddenly, my steps became heavy. In fact, the journey down the main stairs was completed and now we just walk to the main door of the flats. Please, Pan. Not now.

"Not yet, Pan. Besides, next year I'm not necessarily still living in the capital."

"You mean?" I realized the Typhoon question was only intended to provoke certainty of information directly from my mouth. To the Typhoon, several times I expressed my plans to emigrate from the capital.

"Oh, that plan," Typhoon was silent for a moment as he paused his steps which now had been tracking the front yard of the flats. "Have you found a suitable place?"

"It has. I want to move to Karam Island. Maybe another year," I said, steady. "I have an old friend who lives there. He promised to help me find a new job and a new place to live. I think it's a good opportunity."

"Caram Island?"

"Yes. You must have heard it, right? It is located in the Northwest area, close to the border of Singalaya state. What I heard recently, the economic condition there is growing rapidly. There are many jobs available there."

"I've heard of it. It is said that there is intelligence that the government of Singalaya state plans to apply for territorial property rights against the island. Simple reason. The island is located in a strategic area for a trade zone. I think the decision to stay and settle there is very risky, Ram."

"What's the matter, Pan?" My face water changed instantly.

"Sorry, Ram. Not that I want to kidnap you, but that place is in the category of disputed territory. Of course, the government of this country will not stay silent to see one of our islands annexed by another country. There's potential conflict there, Ram."

Hearing the reason for the Typhoon that was quite reasonable, my steps suddenly really felt heavy. Although somewhat disappointed to hear the explanation, I have to admit the superiority of Typhoon's insight. In fact, a number of Typhoon predictions about recent political developments are often accurate. After all, this is not the first time I have heard the information he just described about Karam island. As a media officer, I know that too.

It seems the Typhoon read my change of attitude. "That's a new possibility, Ram." While returning to continue the journey, the man tried to shake off my disappointment. "But if I may suggest, it's good that you reconsider your decision. If your move is still a year away, then you still have plenty of time to think about a backup plan."

Again, just for the sake of pleasantries, I nodded to simply respond to his suggestion. Our conversation finally came to a halt in the parking area of the flats.

"Recurely, huh? You don't want to be together?" (Stupid! Why are those pleasantries coming out of your mouth?)

"No, Ram. Thanks though. Next time."

(Thank God, Pan. You are an understanding friend.)

"So, is anyone jealous?" This time, on the back of an intention to be a fad, I tried to tease her for a short talk about her roommate, Rana.

However, the Typhoon seemed reluctant to respond excessively. The political worker only replied to my sloppily with a knotty smile. After nodding lightly at me as a farewell gesture, he continued his journey towards the bus stop which was only a few meters across the road. Within minutes, his thin figure disappeared in the morning breeze.

(Rama, wakey. Ramah!)

My eyes blinked. Uh! I daydream again. A few seconds of my time were wasted. In fact, I realized the deadline for attendance that became the Metropolis office provision would not wait for me. While glancing at the watch, I approached my motorbike which was not far from where I was daydreaming just now.

What time is it now?