THUNDERBOLTS

chapter 3 lightning

2001

Bandung

M

AAF, what was his name, brother?"

"Electra."

"Like a James Bond girl? The World Is

Not Enough" he smiled cleverly. Trying to pull a simpa-

tiku and show that behind the tie is striking and

mismatched shirt, behind his shiny eel

because of the oil and sweat in broad daylight, in

despite the strange variation of his trade, he still followed

the development of Hollywood films. Not to miss Agent 007.

"Yes." Yeah." I nodded and I let the salesman go

gia with the idea because the day must have been very difficult.

Electra. Rarely does anyone know the real reason. My father

an electrician, or, chm, electronics expert, named

Vijaya. It was written on the front sign of our house

previous: Wijaya Electronics - Service and Repair.

Living in Bandung makes my name not beautiful. I

hope the pronunciation of "Elektra" can roll gracefully like

skier's foot on a frozen river, with letters

"a" is gaping perfectly as we say "goose".

However, my name was uttered a bunch of raw emping chips

with the letter "k" hanging shyly at the end.

Electra. Like "sister".

If my name is Elektra and my father is an electrician, can I

you guys guess what my brother's name is? Wattis. Yep. With two "t".

There's nothing happier than a lissman

tricks when his son comes crying because of electro-toy

niknya's broken. "Daddy, the music doesn't want to go," whined

Watti while depositing plastic toys in the form of radio

with an orange knob that when played will menden-

sing the song "Hickory, Dickory, Dock". Then,

Daddy-or more suitable "Dedi because there are also letters

"the faint-sounding "k" at the end of the word will soon be teng-

gelam in its tooling. Then, it appeared again like

the magician who got up from the coffin was halved. Simsalabim.

Our toys are back.

That was how it went until we realized that never

there's a new toy. He always managed to fix everything. All we have are soulful seniors

youthful. New cable, new IC, new battery. The picture itself

faded. The orange color disappeared, changing into cream

pale within twenty years, but the song continues

kicking. bickory, dickory, dock, the mouse ran up the clock,

the clock struck one, the mouse ran down to this day.

By-by of Aunt Yu Lien, our most ka-by relative

from America, 1981.

I miss Dedi a lot. Still reflected his movements

in white singlet sweatshirt and tennis pants, san-friction sound

dal clamp it on the tile. And, I can still smell the solder

dusting

which always piled up due to invited terrain

Since Dedi died of a stroke, nothing

willing or even interested to continue this place.

Both of his daughters do not like electricity, ogah set

employees, let alone take care of the bookkeeping.

Watti prefers to join her husband on staff duty

medical in Freeport. He always talks about Tembagapura. Tem

bagapura is indeed an ideal place for domestic women such as

Wattis

yang

still waiting for her husband to come home while knitting

warm clothes on the sofa in the family room. The small American town

the height of 2000 meters above the sea provides the

activities, ranging from foreign language courses to fitness club.

Company offerings for housewives

so that they do not trouble her husband with hormonal imbalances or time that is too spare. Time

money, but time too free

other forms of poverty. And the poor can be

recontact

siphon

afraid of losing anything.

I have a personal problem with electricity. Age

I hadn't even turned eight that year, being engrossed in bells

teach tying up shoe tall. Not that I'm a broken kid

kang, the age of eight years can just mengalikan shoes, shoes,

that was the first time I had shoes. Ha

sil labored for years whining to Dedi. Se

not to mention, my shoes are constant the same: The black Big Boss who

buttoned one. All things that look like thread or rope

I consider the means of training, including the electrical cables that

juntai-juntai decorated my house like a tree root in hu-juntai

mowgli. On that shitty afternoon, I picked kabe!

wrong, and instantly my body floundered.

There is no way to describe it correctly.

However, imagine that there are ten thousand piranha fish

ambush you directly. You can't possibly think. Tak

maybe saying goodbye sentences let alone membah

testament. Forget to part with sweet and

as in the movies. Electricity kills you inside

sensationalise. So terrible, you can only droop

limply. You are tempted to die.

While Dedi-o-ho!-- Dedi has been in a relationship of sud

with electric. He once told me to touch the testpen to his body, and believe it or not, the test-pen is on! Although it only twinkled weakly, there was a flow of electricity

which shines from his body.

His electric marriage took place while Dedi was

working on electrical installations for the largest bank building project in Bandung. With his fate he fell over a naked cable that fell swinging. The term dedi was electrocuted

the three phases are far more terrible than mere electrocution

outlet at home. He was convulsing violently, fainting, and survived like nothing had ever happened! Since then, though,

with a flat face while humming "Under the Full Moon Rays", he did not even turn off the switch when moving the electrical point on the ceiling. Like holding

hot cup of tea, he flicked his fingers first, as if greeting, "hi, dear" or "hoi, child child". After the electricity greeted him back by giving small shocks, they began to mingle, and

there is no problem between the two.

Witnessing Dedi's familiarity with electricity often tempted me, but horrified to try. Maybe electricity was also in my presence