The Model Vs Ustadz
04 - Tragedy
Adhan shubuh has been rumbling since five minutes ago. A man stood in front of a door while continuing to knock on it slowly.
“Atlanta!” call Azam, but Atlanta won't open the door.
Azam's annoyance knocked him even tighter, and eventually the knock turned into a bang that irritated Atlanta's ears.
Chequek!
The open door revealed the figure of Atlanta who looked far from the word neat. Her hair was disheveled, her tanktop and hotpants were already very tangled. Seeing him made Azam shake his head, not out of thought with his wife's behavior.
“Ngapain, anyway? It's still dark, here. Sleepy,” Atlanta said without opening her eyes.
Azam. "Mandy. After that prayer shabuh berjamaah.”
“Shalat mulu feelings. Yesterday, it was.”
“That isya prayer, Atlan,” reply Azam anxious. “Now different again. Come cepet.” Azam pulled Atlanta's body into the bathroom and pushed her inside.
“No shower, ah. Cold.” Atlanta held the door that Azam was about to close.
“Ndon't want to know. Two minutes.”
Atlanta clucked but did not stop obeying the orders of her annoying husband. Azam was waiting by the bathroom door. I don't know what he's doing. He just wanted to stand there. Suddenly a voice came from inside the bathroom, making Azam turn his head quickly towards the closed door.
Bruk!
There was a voice crying from inside. Azam who heard it immediately banged on the door with a huff.
“Atlan, are you okay?”
There's no answer.
“Away from door!”
Brak!
Azam saw Atlanta sitting on her knees, bleeding. He walked over to his wife and squatted in front of her.
“Ngapain pake fall all, anyway?” tanya Azam who was immediately stared at sharply by Atlanta.
“Okay, many questions! If you want to please do not need a lot of cingconb deh! Pain in my knee!”
Without saying anything else, Azam immediately carried Atlanta to the living room sofa and took a P3K box to treat the wound.
“Plan-slow!” atlanta snapped as Azam too tightly pressed his wound.
Instead of apologizing Azam even more pressing the wound on the knee Atlanta made the master screamed loudly and hit Azam's head.
“Lo is nothing, anyway!”
“Lagian you early in the morning like make drama,” reply Azam no less cynical.
“Drama says lo? I've fallen bloody like this you say drama? This real blood isn't a lie like it's on tv. I'm part of a model if not a soap opera artist,” said Atlanta excited.
Azam shrugged his shoulders. “No matter either. Because all I know now is that, you're my wife and I'm your husband. I only wish I was married once in a lifetime and there would be no separation in my life dictionary.”
Atlanta grunting.
Azam stood up because he had finished treating the Atlanta wound. He reached out his hand hoping that Atlanta would welcome him.
“Ngapain?” albania asked confused.
“I help you stand up. You pray while sitting, but we keep congregating. Come on, daylight hunt.”
“Should ya pray?” ask Atlanta.
Azam took a slow breath and sat down beside his wife. “Shalat is obligation. So obligatory is a lot of lightening if we again have udzur.”
“Example?”
“If we cannot pray while standing, praying while sitting can also be done. If you can't sleep either. In fact, there are those who pray using the blink of an eye signal,” said Azam.
“If you can't too?”
Azam grunting. “Yes dyshalatin.”
“Died dong?”
Azam nodded. “Eat it let's pray. The hunt will be picked up by an angel, right, not good. I haven't even found our word between me and you.”
Atlanta looked at Azam. She found a glimmer of care in her husband's eyes. Azam is too good for Atlanta. He felt guilty for taking advantage of the incident just to protect her.
...*****...
The next few days there was still no change between Atlanta and Azam. The two still often quarrel because of trivial matters. Atlanta's attitude is still the same, stubborn and lazy. Every breakfast, lunch or dinner is always Azam who prepares.
Both are currently having breakfast. There was no conversation between the two, as they were both busy with their respective activities. After breakfast, Azam left the house without his usual permission. Atlanta is also accustomed to it, but he also does not care about Azam activities outside or inside the house.
For the next twenty minutes, the door opened wide followed by a heavy sound that echoed to the rest of the house.
“Assalamualaikum.” Azam circulated his gaze looking for his annoying wife.
“Atlanta!” call Azam louder.
“Iya,” say Atlanta with tanktop and hotpants as usual. He approached Azam, who had called him an evil man.
Nah!
“Dateng-dateng play aja, tau pain,” grumbled Atlanta while rubbing his forehead.
Azam did not answer. With his annoying face, he thrust a brown paper bag at Atlanta.
“Aaan, here?” asked Atlanta while looking at the contents in the paper bag. He then pulled out a black dress with a simple motif and a hood syar’i colored maroon.
“What's this, Zam?” he asked as he unfolded the shirt in front of Azam who was sitting on the chair.
“Shirt,” reply Azam.
Hearing Azam's reply, Atlanta clucked. “Iya, I know this shirt.”
“Terus?”
“What do you mean?”
“Yes make dipakes. I have a study today, Kiyai Sholeh asked me to take you. There is no way if I invite you to continue wearing your clothes. Broken eyes.”
“I'm wearing this shirt?”
Azam nodded.
“But this is kegedean, it is impossible to fit on my body.”
“Muat.”
“But--“
“I don't want to debate with you anymore. Now you go in the room and go out wearing that shirt. Two minutes.”
Atlanta stomped her feet while continuing to grumble. He entered the room and pushed open the door. He's very upset. Azam always forced. Whatever Azam said he could never refuse.
Five minutes passed. Atlanta came out of the room with a robe and a veil giving Azam also a thin makeup that adorns his face. Azam looked at his wife from the ground up. True Azam's estimate, the shirt fits perfectly in Atlanta's body. Moreover, the color of the shirt contrasts with the white skin. Atlanta is more beautiful than women in general. His face is crossbred between Indonesia-Europe, Azam believes one of his parents is the descendants of the western nation there.
“Azam!” Atlanta's voice broke Azam's daydream. “No comfort, yes, wear this shirt. Very coquettish. Here, loi.” Atlanta turned her body around so Azam could see the whole thing.
“Nggak.” Azam.
Feeling something strange, Azam took the time to look back.
“Astaghfirullah. Lift it not up high, Atlan,” said Azam saw Atlanta lift his robe as far as the thigh.
“When I fall, Zam. Here's the hood to gini's ass. Very long, heavy.” Atlanta again grumbled.
Azam ignored Atlanta. He continued to open the door and turn on a motorbike that was parked in front of the house. Supra x motor black noise when turned on.
“This is whose motor, anyway, Zam? Ugly,” maki Atlanta.
Azam did not answer. He gave Atlanta the keys to the house.
“Lock the door.”
Atlanta clucked but did not stop obeying Azam's orders.
“This is really us riding this motorbike? Shame, Zam. Many people see for sure."
“Good!” Azam ignored Atlanta.
“Now!”
“Good!” Tell Azam to be harder.
Atlanta snorted and then climbed onto the motorbike with great force.
While on the way, the two just fell silent without anyone willing to start a conversation. Arriving on the streets that are rather quiet, Atlanta just opened its voice.
“Your study place is still far away, Zam?”
Azam did not answer. He focused on the street in front of him.
“Azam reply.”
“Azam!”
Atlanta kept talking until Azam was caught off guard.
“Don't talk near my nape,” said Azam making Atlanta's forehead wrinkled.
“Why?”
“Kalo I said don't, yes, don't.”
“Iya, but why first?”
Azam did not reply making Atlanta feel astonished. Isn't every ban an order? Therefore Atlanta even deliberately sniffed the nape of Azam. Initially Azam was silent because he could still hold it. But over time he could not stand it anymore. Azam stopped his motorbike in the middle of the deserted road...
Cup.
...*****...
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