Mom's Not a Prostitute
The Taste Planted into the Writing
I realize this is not true, but I hope that his writing truly represents his heart.
---
I've been in this new job for almost two months. I still always leave with Siska, although occasionally forced to go alone on a motorcycle taxi if our jobs are opposite. Siska is still teaching me. In addition to singing techniques, attitudes must also be maintained. He always reminded us that the night world we are in is not healthy. I feel lucky to know Siska. Behind his mischievous appearance, his heart was extremely noble.
I'm comfortable living all this. Despite having to work nights and being forced to leave the Tiara frequently, it is far better than having to give up the body for an indeterminate man to enjoy. I can't forget those days. Daeng Hasan's face still appears often, even occasionally incarnate nightmares. There is no word from Daeng Hasan. It seemed like the fake mask he kept didn't make him brave enough to come pick me up and drag me back into his world. I hope he never shows up in front of me again.
I'm concerned about Tiara. As a child, he lost the figure of a father. Sometimes he asked me where the amba was, and I often ran out of words to answer. Although sometimes I take a job outside the city that requires me not to go home for two days, I don't want Tiara to also lack the affection from me.
After receiving the first honor, the first place I went was the wartel. I have to call Daeng Ida and tell her everything. Including the status of Mak's house that was taken over by people was not necessarily. Hearing the barrage of suffering I experienced, Daeng Ida could not say much, he was just as much as across there. As for Mak's house, just like me, Daeng Ida did not expect Puang Sudi to be that big. When there is time, she and her husband will come to confirm the authenticity of the will.
***
I was amazed by Dahlan's appearance this early in the morning. Not usually.
"Good morning" she said as I was busy drying laundry in the yard.
"Eh, you. How, tumben? No kerjaki?" I stopped all activities, tidied up the end of the shirt and hair dangling irregularly. His name is also a man who washes, must be a mess. However, I don't know since when I always wanted to look neat in front of Dahlan. Don't ask why.
"I deliberately asked for an early vacation. It means to make sure you and Tiara go for a walk when they like."
"Gee. In what order, huh?"
"Call you remember I told you about the short story writing contest back then?"
"My forerunner is first," his dream jumps for joy.
"Seriously? Whoa, terrific. Congratulations, yes!" Unknowingly, I also jumped. We were like little kids who had just been ballooned.
After realizing this ridiculous behavior, we laughed at each other. Then he gave me the magazine that had loaded the short story. Proudly he explained that his short story was automatically selected as the main short story and the title appeared on the cover of the magazine. His eyes sparkled, his face beaming as he showed it to me. Here I really see Dahlan's love for writing. Writing makes him find happiness. No wonder he was so depressed when his ambiance was trying to get in the way.
"This magazine is specifically about the female world, so just for you. Lots of interesting info in it, which might be useful for you. If there is time, my short story is also read, yes," Dahlan's pinta with a line of slanted smiles that lately often cross my mind.
"definitely. I'll keep this magazine well."
***
Although I was actually quite tired after the gig last night, I couldn't possibly reject Dahlan's invitation. After all, with the man with the big nose, there are always things that I find difficult to explain. It has been about an hour since we circled the Watampone Central Market. Dahlan bought some necessities, as well as souvenirs for his mother. Later in the afternoon he will return to Atapange. He also intends to buy me something, he said do not hesitate. But a large teddy bear for Tiara was enough. Tiara was very happy, despite seeming overwhelmed carrying a doll larger than her body. At first he insisted on holding the doll himself, but after being tired he finally gave up too. I replaced him with his doll, while he rested himself on Dahlan's back. The people who saw us thought we were a family enjoying our time together. I myself was unnaturally able to suppose Dahlan to be Tiara's ambassadors. This life must feel perfect.
After shopping, we did not go straight home, instead stop at the Arung Palakka Flower Park. I was relieved when Dahlan invited me to stop here, because he did not want this togetherness to end quickly. Again I don't understand the reason. We sat on a bench, in the shadow of a lush tree. He asked about my work. I told him without anything being covered up. The conversation continued by discussing about his dream to become a famous writer someday. He even aspired to set up a book publishing business. Dahlan never got tired of expressing his dream, even though it had been many times. I was secretly amazed by his determination. Sometimes I suddenly misbehave when unnatural gurgles compete in the chest. So I immediately exploded by pretending to observe Tiara who was running to and fro while holding her new doll.
With Dahlan, time passed. The afternoon has come and will soon change. I arrived home, and Dahlan was probably preparing to return to Atapange. Tiara went straight to Bu Hasna's house to show off her new doll to Imran. I went into the room, broke down and my heart was still filled with the remains of the sensation of being with Dahlan. Suddenly I remembered the magazine he gave me this morning. I took a moment to pick it up in the closet. I went back to sleep after finding the position of the page where Dahlan's writing was. A short story titled Women Envoy of Rain. I read it carefully. The beat in the chest was raging when I found the short story even told of our first meeting at that time, the meeting which was set back by the rain. Dahlan's writing drifted me away, as if coming into the story. In the end the man in the story liked the woman he met in the rain. I foolishly smiled to myself, hoping that what Dahlan wrote in the short story was really our story, even with the same feeling of a male character as his feelings. I rushed to remove the taste that just hit it. This is unnatural. I must realize, I'm still a wife. Besides, Dahlan couldn't possibly like a girl like me, like the guy she told me about in her short story. He was inspired by our meeting. Not more!
***
[Connected]
