NADIRS

Nadir ~ Cafes

Dawn just dawned on the horizon. Appears soft fissures as clear as the silk of paradise. The message of the Lord is that this morning it will not rain. The dew blanket slowly scattered, evaporating slowly by the light cracks that slipped in the crevices of the leaves. Squirrels jump up and down in excitement, pigeon birds squeak boisterous, rumbling with the magpies of rocks on the hillsides, even nature smiles, issuing a similar peace. Welcoming the new season. Because, the rainy season has moved along with the arrival of April. And that means, the harvest is just counting the days.

I, since the dawn of the Adhan echoed to the top of this hill, have awakened. My Ama³ is the same. He is never uprooted by a biting cold whenever duty calls. While my body trembled as the rainwater we were holding in the wooden tub swept across my skin, Ama simply smiled. Then he offended in the most cryptic beautiful sentence; “Ala could be because ordinary..” he said. As a Muslim, I am grateful to have an Ama who always used me to draw closer to Yang Esa. This is what will make me survive later.

While Ama is busy in kitchen―actually not the kitchen, but under the house that is deliberately designed Ama like the kitchens of citizens in general―aku neatly arrange the baskets tamalang⁴, mngaitkannya on the rope pikulan. I'll take it to Mangge⁵ Hanif in the village. I calculated once again, making sure that the order quantity wasn't wrong.

I smile. “Pas!” muttered. I stared at the series of curved bamboo slats without breaking, watching the parts clamping each other, holding each other tightly as if not wanting to let go of each other, admire a small hexagon-patterned hole deliberately created to add a beautiful impression. Is beautiful. Oh, how very skilled Amaku's hands are. I'm sure, out of ten Amas, there is only one, Amaku who is endowed with this kind of skill.

“Well, you take a shower first, Uti⁶, you'll be late for school!” Ama screamed from the kitchen.

I hurried to reach for the holster, towards the wooden tub that ran alongside the house. Actually, we have a well that is much clearer and fresher than just rainwater. But said Amaku, if the tub is still filled, can not bathe in the well, it is for drinking water.

I hissed as water spilled from the half-slanted mouth of the dipper, a few inches above my head. In order to ward off the cold that makes my legs and lips tremble at times, I sing. If it is still cold, I shout out the poems I write. Hardly, barking, like an angry man.

I

If it's my time

I want no one to seduce

Neither are you

No need for that sedan

Bleb... tangle my body once again, I still bite.

I am an animal ******

From his group of outcasts

Let the bullet go through my skin

I keep staring down

Look, my friend, how great Chairil Anwar's poem is, even cold can be expelled. It's not wrong that I idolized him. I sat all over my body, hissing.

Wound and I can take him running

RUNNING.. (i stand up, clenching my fist into the air, I don't know what the max is).

Until it was lost pain

And I don't care more

I want to live another thousand years

The cold that made me tremble, now turned cold, refreshing. Kusiram. I enjoyed my long shower. The procession that should invite the spirit of the heroes as well as the literati in my chest. Many times I have soaked my body, not content. I rubbed it with a stone, let it disappear all the legs. Even though my skin was peeled off, I didn't care. Isn't cleanliness part of faith?

“Uti!” Amaku. “It's enough to take a shower, later you catch a cold!” said.

“Iya, little more, Ama!” I grabbed the holster I attached to the lip of the tub. I wrapped my body, before the cold slipped back. I ran straight up the stairs.

“Quick change your clothes, Uti. You just drank hot water!” (Sorry, what hot water means here is coffee).

I packed all my school supplies. Books, pencils, pens, erasers, I put in a bag―not a real bag, more than a sack that Ama made, similar to a school backpack in general. It's just that this bag isn't branded, other than small writing; it's a net weight of 10 Kg.

I went out of the room, accompanied Ama who was enjoying bitter coffee plus palm sugar on the terrace table. Especially accompanied by boiled yams. Oh, scrumptious. You guys should try it once in a while. You guys are easily addicted. Amens.

“There are all your school supplies, Uti?”

“Iya, Ama.”

“Then, you'd better leave now. Those baskets you just give to Hanif, later you take the money again if you're home from school. You buy the items in this note at Raden's kiosk, later.” hatur, Ama.

“Good, Ama!” I kiss Ama's hand, I kiss her for a long time.

“Be careful you're on the road, Uti.” His message.

“Iya, Ama. Assalamualaikum.”

“Waalaikumussalam.”

I put the bag and the crackle bag with my school uniform in the basket. After the pikulan was quite balanced, I immediately moved. There is a heavy feeling in my heart every time I leave Ama at home alone. Kulirik once again Ama's face that released me with a smile up there. Heart aches. But I have to. Ama said, I am her only hope.

I descended the earthen stairs that Ama had made with hoes, split open the expanse of cassava and chilies, and broke off at the edge of the garden. Next is the forest. The expanse of trees that grow reaches the sky, covering the back of the soil that is still wet from the sunlight with its canopy. So that I have to take off the sandals, so as not to slip.

No less than a kilometer, this descending, wet path I walked through. But, I'm used to it. The roots of the tree, the rope of the forest, were comrades who dared to catch my hand as I slipped down. The burden I carry today is nothing. The hope of Ama is far greater than the bamboo baskets I carry. Although I have to sweat, I do not recede. I have to go to school. I should be proud of Ama who raised me without ever complaining―despite my daily test scores, minus.

At the foot of the hill, I was greeted by a flock of *** who were looking for food. Another kilometer ahead, through the gardens owned by my citizens reached the center of the village. Every now and then I spread my gaze, probing the expanse of corn, staring at the leaves dangling half wet by the morning dew. I found the pee playing around in the weeds. Not playing this beautiful nature. Thank You for giving me the opportunity to be grateful.

Every time I meet people, I say hello. They reply with a smile.

“Oi, Mangge Raga!” my sap saw Mangge straying the grass between his clove trees.

“Oi, Uti. Bring what are you?” tanyakanya.

“Bakul, order Mangge hanif!” I answered half screaming.

“Oh, I don't think anyone has ordered yet!” said.

“If Mangge wants, can directly meet Amaku!” i'm offering.

“Iya, I'll meet him.”

I'm happy, whenever anyone wants to order a basket made by Ama. Before I continue my journey, I would like to thank Mangge Raga for appreciating Amaku's work.

Luckily I met Mangge Sobu who was loading Pak Kades coconuts with his cow cart. I stopped for a while to help raise some of the remaining coconut seeds into the cart. He gave me a ride. I am happy, my energy can be more efficient without having to bother walking to carry the burden of the basket.

“How's Amamu, Uti?" ask Mangge Sobu.

“Alhamdulillah, fine, Mangge.”

“Not harvest, dia?”

“Not yet, maybe another week.”

“Oh, just then.. happened to be ten days away, Mr. Kades wants to hold a thanksgiving event, I was told to meet Amamu to order a sweet potato five cans.” Unmistakably.

“Oi, a lot, Mangge, indeed Mr Kades would like to give thanks what?”

“That, his son Pak Kades who studied in Jakarta just became a bachelor, ten days later he came home.”

“Oh.” I'm mangosteen.

“Then you will deliver the order of Mr. Kades sweet potatoes to Amamu later. Next week I'll take it!” said.

“Iya, Mangge, I'll deliver.”

The two cows that were shoveling pulled us in, plus a load of many kilos of coconuts, roaring alternately as they entered the settlement. The soils look bright due to the free sweep of the sun. I scream every time I meet up with friends who have just gone to school. Many of them walked, cheerfully.

“Those balls you want to take where, Uti?”

“Ke his home Mangge Hanif.”

“Oh, then I'll take you there.”

“Thanks, Mangge.”

The cows were spanked with a lidi enau, increasing the speed of the wagon which continued to scream over the flatter road. I hissed, looking at the fate of the cow. In my heart I protested that the merciless attitude of Mangge Sobu continued to whip them sadistically, to the point that the cows were urinating, in pain. And even worse when Mangge Sobu stopped the pace of his wagon, the cows shouted hoarsely with their heads turned up, because if they resisted, the pull of Mangge Sobu could tear their noses.

“Well, we've arrived, Uti. Get down, I want to deliver these coconuts to Mr. Kades' house as soon as possible.”

“Iya, uncle. Thanks, the ride!” I said, jumping up and lowering the baskets from the top of the cart.

“Sama-sama.” He said, straight up the cows. I sizzled again.

After meeting Mangge Hanif, I immediately ran to school. I'm afraid I'm late on Monday like this. My friends are gathered in the yard. I rushed into the room, kept my bag on the table, then returned to the field. The consecrated flag ceremony is about to begin. You see, the principal and two other teachers are crying. I know, they are unsung heroes who really love this country with“brand” Indonesia. Their spirit of patriotism, not their great play. Anyone would envy those who are able to look far into times of struggle. Every day of a ceremony like this, their cheeks were always wet, reminiscent of the merits of the warriors of immortality, before. As soon as I conclude. And as students, if God is being kind, we cry too. Haru's.

Today, the duty of the Hero presides over the ceremony. My friend. Best friend of all good―intentionally I emphasize, as you know, this friend of mine who has important services in my life later. His voice was loud, shrill, yet firm. He deserves to be made a leader, as he is today. Just look at how he shrunk the guts of Mr. Hambali, our principal, when delivering the ceremony report. I was proud to see my friend who stood tall and dashing in front of me.

He was a miracle child to me. Amanya, who has long been a fanatical fan of Bastian Tito's Wiro Sableng comics, is the main mastermind of the uniqueness of Wira Sasono's name. The Wira family is very famous in this village. Let us not be, Mr. Kades was also disinclined by him. In addition to having a large plantation land, a luxurious house with a zinc roof arranged, shiny, Kiosk Serba Ada (Kiserba) which is the heart for all villagers to owe, he said, the one and only family that has that glory. And again, his brother Wira was a soldier. Lieutenant rank. If you imagine, it feels good to be a hero.

But unfortunately, Wira Sasono is not like Amanya's expectations. He was not powerful and was able to let out a solar blow to defend the truth. A great friend in all the chaos. Wackiness. Not infrequently Amanya must attend the call of teachers just because of the behavior of Wira “Sableng”. Her father too, in every instance of that, I must have been involved.

To me, Wira is a royalex glass glass newly purchased from the store. Clear, empty, unoccupied. There was no mate-matics formula or the names of great inventors in his head. Nothing, other than crazy magical ideas. The madness that was able to make us run across the forest as the Village Chief chased us with a machete, for stealing ombou⁷ in his garden. Or the madness that can make us dried all day in the schoolyard by Pak Rano Karno, Mate-matika teacher, because he was caught cheating during the replay. The hero is the cheating party, I'm the cheating one. ‘One commits the fault of two who get punished; Cause and effect is one entity; two heads after.’ That is the theory of Mr. Rano Karno who is not an artist.

But remember, once again I reiterate, he is my friend. A friend who stays up in the sun. Just listen as he rattles all participants of his speech with one command.

“BREAK IN TEMPAAAT... GRAAK!”

Mr. Hambali grabbed the toak. Pause for a moment, then turn it on. We grimaced for a moment, hearing the shrill scream that was coming from the mouth of the toak. Desonance.

“Ehem... Assalamualaikum warahmatullahi. Greetings to all of us.”

Mr. Principal confirmed his position for a moment. Patience friend, you will soon hear the man standing on the podium screaming in his burning speech.

“If today Indonesia Raya is a tide engineer, tomorrow this country will be a copyright engineer..” thrilling opening sentences, although every Monday, we must have heard from him.

“You are the engineers who create it later. You are the noble generation, the proud generation of the nation. Not only that, in your hands are also the destruction of our village.” Mr. Hambali paused for a moment, swallowing his saliva. Expel the hoarseness that stuck in his throat. His breath was breathless because of the spirit that exploded sharply from the mouth of the toak.

“See your parents who have to bash all day between the bushes. Facing sweat, the skin was getting burned in the hot sun. Will you see them all your life like that?! How could you let them live that hard to death?!” Mr. Kades asked rhetorically. Spreading his sharp gaze, piercing to the heart, sweeping all of us, students.

“You see these two noble people standing behind me?” he pointed at our two teachers who began to look down, our eyes went where the direction of the index―even though our eyes could not be separated.

“They sincerely impart their knowledge to you, all. Will you disappoint your great teachers?

“My children, you are the hope of many. Nation's hopes. In your hands and head that is the face of change. If not you, who else will! So, learn.. learn. Do not go back to studying. Hang your ideals as high as a pole above your head, reach for it, reach for it. No matter the transverse aral.. do not waver the storm hit. Fly... fly, be as high as you!”

My chest swells. My body was lifted deep into the air. My eyes are starting to sink. I don't understand what's punishing my feelings. I wept. Haru's. Only Ama's smile every time I walk away to school looms in the eye.

In the middle, in front of the flag-waving pole, my great friend was also bowed. Body vibrates. I know he was also swept up in Mr. Hambali's speech. Not only that, the noble teacher also wiped his eyes, including Mr. Hambali himself. It was only then that I realized that we were all immersed in this sacred ceremonial novelty.

Closing the ceremony that morning, Wira and I wiped off the thirst under the Javanese wood tree next to the school building.

“It's true Mr. Hambali, man. I cried it made!” wira.

“You're right, man.”.

Our eyes glared blankly at the back of the blue sky that day. Like someone was hanging there. Beautiful files in rainbow colors. Is that the goal that I have to achieve? Oh, it's so far up there.

I kept thinking about Hambali's words until I got home. “You are the engineers of that creation...” My spirit is driven, my ambition is upset, I don't think the distance of two kilometers―one kilometer through the forest, another kilometer to climb―that I reached. I ran fast, climbed the earthen stairs to the house, met Ama immediately. I want to convey the great words of Mr. Hambali to him.

۝

Notes :

Footnotes are in the last section, Episode 1..

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