GOD SEES THE TRUTH, BUT WAITS*

In the town of Vladimir lived a young merchant named Ivan Dmitrich Aksionov. He had two shops and a house of his own.
Aksionov was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow, full of fun, and very fond of singing. When quite a young man he had been given to drink, and was riotous when he had had too much; but after he married he gave up drinking, except now and then.
One summer Aksionov was going to the Nizhny Fair, and as he bade good-bye to his family, his wife said to him, "Ivan Dmitrich, do not start to-day; I have had a bad dream about you."
Aksionov laughed, and said, "You are afraid that when I get to the fair I shall go on a spree."
His wife replied: "I do not know what I am afraid of; all I know is that I had a bad dream. I dreamt you returned from the town, and when you took off your cap I saw that your hair was quite grey."
Aksionov laughed. "That's a lucky sign," said he. "See if I don't sell out all my goods, and bring you some presents from the fair."
So he said good-bye to his family, and drove away. When he had travelled half-way, he met a merchant whom he knew, and they put up at the same inn for the night. They had some tea together, and then went to bed in adjoining rooms.
It was not Aksionov's habit to sleep late, and, wishing to travel while it was still cool, he aroused his driver before dawn, and told him to put in the horses.
Then he made his way across to the landlord of the inn (who lived in a cottage at the back), paid his bill, and continued his journey.
When he had gone about twenty-five miles, he stopped for the horses to be fed. Aksionov rested awhile in the passage of the inn, then he stepped out into the porch, and, ordering a samovar to be heated, got out his guitar and began to play.
Suddenly a troika drove up with tinkling bells and an official alighted, followed by two soldiers. He came to Aksionov and began to question him, asking him who he was and whence he came. Aksionov answered him fully, and said, "Won't you have some tea with me?" But the official went on cross-questioning him and asking him. "Where did you spend last night? Were you alone, or with a fellow-merchant? Did you see the other merchant this morning? Why did you leave the inn before dawn?"
Aksionov wondered why he was asked all these questions, but he described all that had happened, and then added, "Why do you cross-question me as if I were a thief or a robber? I am travelling on business of my own, and there is no need to question me."
Then the official, calling the soldiers, said, "I am the police-officer of this district, and I question you because the merchant with whom you spent last night has been found with his throat cut. We must search your things."
They entered the house. The soldiers and the police-officer unstrapped Aksionov's luggage and searched it. Suddenly the officer drew a knife out of a bag, crying, "Whose knife is this?"
Aksionov looked, and seeing a blood-stained knife taken from his bag, he was frightened.
"How is it there is blood on this knife?"
Aksionov tried to answer, but could hardly utter a word, and only stammered: "I--don't know--not mine." Then the police-officer said: "This morning the merchant was found in bed with his throat cut. You are the only person who could have done it. The house was locked from inside, and no one else was there. Here is this blood-stained knife in your bag and your face and manner betray you! Tell me how you killed him, and how much money you stole?"
Aksionov swore he had not done it; that he had not seen the merchant after they had had tea together; that he had no money except eight thousand rubles of his own, and that the knife was not his. But his voice was broken, his face pale, and he trembled with fear as though he went guilty.
The police-officer ordered the soldiers to bind Aksionov and to put him in the cart. As they tied his feet together and flung him into the cart, Aksionov crossed himself and wept. His money and goods were taken from him, and he was sent to the nearest town and imprisoned there. Enquiries as to his character were made in Vladimir. The merchants and other inhabitants of that town said that in former days he used to drink and waste his time, but that he was a good man. Then the trial came on: he was charged with murdering a merchant from Ryazan, and robbing him of twenty thousand rubles.
His wife was in despair, and did not know what to believe. Her children were all quite small; one was a baby at her breast. Taking them all with her, she went to the town where her husband was in jail. At first she was not allowed to see him; but after much begging, she obtained permission from the officials, and was taken to him. When she saw her husband in prison-dress and in chains, shut up with thieves and criminals, she fell down, and did not come to her senses for a long time. Then she drew her children to her, and sat down near him. She told him of things at home, and asked about what had happened to him. He told her all, and she asked, "What can we do now?"
"We must petition the Czar not to let an innocent man perish."
His wife told him that she had sent a petition to the Czar, but it had not been accepted.
Aksionov did not reply, but only looked downcast.
Then his wife said, "It was not for nothing I dreamt your hair had turned grey. You remember? You should not have started that day." And passing her fingers through his hair, she said: "Vanya dearest, tell your wife the truth; was it not you who did it?"
"So you, too, suspect me!" said Aksionov, and, hiding his face in his hands, he began to weep. Then a soldier came to say that the wife and children must go away; and Aksionov said good-bye to his family for the last time.
When they were gone, Aksionov recalled what had been said, and when he remembered that his wife also had suspected him, he said to himself, "It seems that only God can know the truth; it is to Him alone we must appeal, and from Him alone expect mercy."
And Aksionov wrote no more petitions; gave up all hope, and only prayed to God.
Aksionov was condemned to be flogged and sent to the mines. So he was flogged with a knot, and when the wounds made by the knot were healed, he was driven to Siberia with other convicts.
For twenty-six years Aksionov lived as a convict in Siberia. His hair turned white as snow, and his beard grew long, thin, and grey. All his mirth went; he stooped; he walked slowly, spoke little, and never laughed, but he often prayed.
In prison Aksionov learnt to make boots, and earned a little money, with which he bought The Lives of the Saints. He read this book when there was light enough in the prison; and on Sundays in the prison-church he read the lessons and sang in the choir; for his voice was still good.
The prison authorities liked Aksionov for his meekness, and his fellow-prisoners respected him: they called him "Grandfather," and "The Saint." When they wanted to petition the prison authorities about anything, they always made Aksionov their spokesman, and when there were quarrels among the prisoners they came to him to put things right, and to judge the matter.
No news reached Aksionov from his home, and he did not even know if his wife and children were still alive.
One day a fresh gang of convicts came to the prison. In the evening the old prisoners collected round the new ones and asked them what towns or villages they came from, and what they were sentenced for. Among the rest Aksionov sat down near the newcomers, and listened with downcast air to what was said.
One of the new convicts, a tall, strong man of sixty, with a closely-cropped grey beard, was telling the others what be had been arrested for.
"Well, friends," he said, "I only took a horse that was tied to a sledge, and I was arrested and accused of stealing. I said I had only taken it to get home quicker, and had then let it go; besides, the driver was a personal friend of mine. So I said, 'It's all right.' 'No,' said they, 'you stole it.' But how or where I stole it they could not say. I once really did something wrong, and ought by rights to have come here long ago, but that time I was not found out. Now I have been sent here for nothing at all... Eh, but it's lies I'm telling you; I've been to Siberia before, but I did not stay long."
"Where are you from?" asked some one.
"From Vladimir. My family are of that town. My name is Makar, and they also call me Semyonich."
Aksionov raised his head and said: "Tell me, Semyonich, do you know anything of the merchants Aksionov of Vladimir? Are they still alive?"
"Know them? Of course I do. The Aksionovs are rich, though their father is in Siberia: a sinner like ourselves, it seems! As for you, Gran'dad, how did you come here?"
Aksionov did not like to speak of his misfortune. He only sighed, and said, "For my sins I have been in prison these twenty-six years."
"What sins?" asked Makar Semyonich.
But Aksionov only said, "Well, well--I must have deserved it!" He would have said no more, but his companions told the newcomers how Aksionov came to be in Siberia; how some one had killed a merchant, and had put the knife among Aksionov's things, and Aksionov had been unjustly condemned.
When Makar Semyonich heard this, he looked at Aksionov, slapped his own knee, and exclaimed, "Well, this is wonderful! Really wonderful! But how old you've grown, Gran'dad!"
The others asked him why he was so surprised, and where he had seen Aksionov before; but Makar Semyonich did not reply. He only said: "It's wonderful that we should meet here, lads!"
These words made Aksionov wonder whether this man knew who had killed the merchant; so he said, "Perhaps, Semyonich, you have heard of that affair, or maybe you've seen me before?"
"How could I help hearing? The world's full of rumours. But it's a long time ago, and I've forgotten what I heard."
"Perhaps you heard who killed the merchant?" asked Aksionov.
Makar Semyonich laughed, and replied: "It must have been him in whose bag the knife was found! If some one else hid the knife there, 'He's not a thief till he's caught,' as the saying is. How could any one put a knife into your bag while it was under your head? It would surely have woke you up."
When Aksionov heard these words, he felt sure this was the man who had killed the merchant. He rose and went away. All that night Aksionov lay awake. He felt terribly unhappy, and all sorts of images rose in his mind. There was the image of his wife as she was when he parted from her to go to the fair. He saw her as if she were present; her face and her eyes rose before him; he heard her speak and laugh. Then he saw his children, quite little, as they: were at that time: one with a little cloak on, another at his mother's breast. And then he remembered himself as he used to be--young and merry. He remembered how he sat playing the guitar in the porch of the inn where he was arrested, and how free from care he had been. He saw, in his mind, the place where he was flogged, the executioner, and the people standing around; the chains, the convicts, all the twenty-six years of his prison life, and his premature old age. The thought of it all made him so wretched that he was ready to kill himself.
"And it's all that villain's doing!" thought Aksionov. And his anger was so great against Makar Semyonich that he longed for vengeance, even if he himself should perish for it. He kept repeating prayers all night, but could get no peace. During the day he did not go near Makar Semyonich, nor even look at him.
A fortnight passed in this way. Aksionov could not sleep at night, and was so miserable that he did not know what to do.
One night as he was walking about the prison he noticed some earth that came rolling out from under one of the shelves on which the prisoners slept. He stopped to see what it was. Suddenly Makar Semyonich crept out from under the shelf, and looked up at Aksionov with frightened face. Aksionov tried to pass without looking at him, but Makar seized his hand and told him that he had dug a hole under the wall, getting rid of the earth by putting it into his high-boots, and emptying it out every day on the road when the prisoners were driven to their work.
"Just you keep quiet, old man, and you shall get out too. If you blab, they'll flog the life out of me, but I will kill you first."
Aksionov trembled with anger as he looked at his enemy. He drew his hand away, saying, "I have no wish to escape, and you have no need to kill me; you killed me long ago! As to telling of you--I may do so or not, as God shall direct."
Next day, when the convicts were led out to work, the convoy soldiers noticed that one or other of the prisoners emptied some earth out of his boots. The prison was searched and the tunnel found. The Governor came and questioned all the prisoners to find out who had dug the hole. They all denied any knowledge of it. Those who knew would not betray Makar Semyonich, knowing he would be flogged almost to death. At last the Governor turned to Aksionov whom he knew to be a just man, and said:
"You are a truthful old man; tell me, before God, who dug the hole?"
Makar Semyonich stood as if he were quite unconcerned, looking at the Governor and not so much as glancing at Aksionov. Aksionov's lips and hands trembled, and for a long time he could not utter a word. He thought, "Why should I screen him who ruined my life? Let him pay for what I have suffered. But if I tell, they will probably flog the life out of him, and maybe I suspect him wrongly. And, after all, what good would it be to me?"
"Well, old man," repeated the Governor, "tell me the truth: who has been digging under the wall?"
Aksionov glanced at Makar Semyonich, and said, "I cannot say, your honour. It is not God's will that I should tell! Do what you like with me; I am in your hands."
However much the Governor! tried, Aksionov would say no more, and so the matter had to be left.
That night, when Aksionov was lying on his bed and just beginning to doze, some one came quietly and sat down on his bed. He peered through the darkness and recognised Makar.
"What more do you want of me?" asked Aksionov. "Why have you come here?"
Makar Semyonich was silent. So Aksionov sat up and said, "What do you want? Go away, or I will call the guard!"
Makar Semyonich bent close over Aksionov, and whispered, "Ivan Dmitrich, forgive me!"
"What for?" asked Aksionov.
"It was I who killed the merchant and hid the knife among your things. I meant to kill you too, but I heard a noise outside, so I hid the knife in your bag and escaped out of the window."
Aksionov was silent, and did not know what to say. Makar Semyonich slid off the bed-shelf and knelt upon the ground. "Ivan Dmitrich," said he, "forgive me! For the love of God, forgive me! I will confess that it was I who killed the merchant, and you will be released and can go to your home."
"It is easy for you to talk," said Aksionov, "but I have suffered for you these twenty-six years. Where could I go to now?... My wife is dead, and my children have forgotten me. I have nowhere to go..."
Makar Semyonich did not rise, but beat his head on the floor. "Ivan Dmitrich, forgive me!" he cried. "When they flogged me with the knot it was not so hard to bear as it is to see you now ... yet you had pity on me, and did not tell. For Christ's sake forgive me, wretch that I am!" And he began to sob.
When Aksionov heard him sobbing he, too, began to weep. "God will forgive you!" said he. "Maybe I am a hundred times worse than you." And at these words his heart grew light, and the longing for home left him. He no longer had any desire to leave the prison, but only hoped for his last hour to come.
In spite of what Aksionov had said, Makar Semyonich confessed, his guilt. But when the order for his release came, Aksionov was already dead.

by: Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910)

*) from : hxxp://www.shortstoryarchive.com/t/god_sees_the_truth_but_waits.html

A Clean, Well-Lighted Place*

It was very late and everyone had left the cafe except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the cafe knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he was a good client they knew that if he became too drunk he would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him.

"Last week he tried to commit suicide," one waiter said.

"Why?"

"He was in despair."

"What about?"

"Nothing."

"How do you know it was nothing?"

"He has plenty of money."

They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door of the cafe and looked at the terrace where the tableswere all empty except where the old man sat in the shadow of the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind. A girl and a soldier went by in the street. The street light shone on the brass number on his collar. The girl wore no head covering and hurried beside him.

"The guard will pick him up," one waiter said.

"What does it matter if he gets what he's after?"

"He had better get off the street now. The guard will get him. They went by five minutes ago."

The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his saucer with his glass. The younger waiter went over to him.

"What do you want?"

The old man looked at him. "Another brandy," he said.

"You'll be drunk," the waiter said. The old man looked at him. The waiter went away.

"He'll stay all night," he said to his colleague. "I'm sleepy now.I never get into bed before three o'clock. He should have killed himself last week."

The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from thecounter inside the cafe and marched out to the old man's table. Heput down the saucer and poured the glass full of brandy.

"You should have killed yourself last week," he said to the deafman. The old man motioned with his finger. "A little more," hesaid. The waiter poured on into the glass so that the brandy slopped over and ran down the stem into the top saucer of the pile."Thank you," the old man said. The waiter took the bottle back inside the cafe. He sat down at the table with his colleague again.

"He's drunk now," he said.

"He's drunk every night."

"What did he want to kill himself for?"

"How should I know."

"How did he do it?"

"He hung himself with a rope."

"Who cut him down?"

"His niece."

"Why did they do it?"

"Fear for his soul."

"How much money has he got?" "He's got plenty."

"He must be eighty years old."

"Anyway I should say he was eighty."

"I wish he would go home. I never get to bed before three o'clock.What kind of hour is that to go to bed?"

"He stays up because he likes it."

"He's lonely. I'm not lonely. I have a wife waiting in bed for me."

"He had a wife once too."

"A wife would be no good to him now."

"You can't tell. He might be better with a wife."

"His niece looks after him. You said she cut him down."

"I know." "I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing."

"Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling.Even now, drunk. Look at him."

"I don't want to look at him. I wish he would go home. He has no regard for those who must work."

The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters.

"Another brandy," he said, pointing to his glass. The waiter who was in a hurry came over.

"Finished," he said, speaking with that omission of syntax stupid people employ when talking to drunken people or foreigners. "Nomore tonight. Close now."

"Another," said the old man.

"No. Finished." The waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and shook his head.

The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leathercoin purse from his pocket and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip. The waiter watched him go down the street, a very oldman walking unsteadily but with dignity.

"Why didn't you let him stay and drink?" the unhurried waiter asked. They were putting up the shutters. "It is not half-past two."

"I want to go home to bed."

"What is an hour?"

"More to me than to him."

"An hour is the same."

"You talk like an old man yourself. He can buy a bottle and drinkat home."

"It's not the same."

"No, it is not," agreed the waiter with a wife. He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a hurry.

"And you? You have no fear of going home before your usual hour?"

"Are you trying to insult me?"

"No, hombre, only to make a joke."

"No," the waiter who was in a hurry said, rising from pulling down the metal shutters. "I have confidence. I am all confidence."

"You have youth, confidence, and a job," the older waiter said."You have everything."

"And what do you lack?"

"Everything but work."

"You have everything I have."

"No. I have never had confidence and I am not young."

"Come on. Stop talking nonsense and lock up."

"I am of those who like to stay late at the cafe," the older waitersaid.

"With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night."

"I want to go home and into bed."

"We are of two different kinds," the older waiter said. He was now dressed to go home. "It is not only a question of youth and confidence although those things are very beautiful. Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the cafe."

"Hombre, there are bodegas open all night long."

"You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves."

"Good night," said the younger waiter.

"Good night," the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with himself, It was the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that isprovided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not a fear ordread, It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all anothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived init and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y naday pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give usthis nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine.

"What's yours?" asked the barman.

"Nada."

"Otro loco mas," said the barman and turned away.

"A little cup," said the waiter.

The barman poured it for him.

"The light is very bright and pleasant but the bar is unpolished,"the waiter said.

The barman looked at him but did not answer. It was too late at night for conversation.

"You want another copita?" the barman asked.

"No, thank you," said the waiter and went out. He disliked bars and bodegas. A clean, well-lighted cafe was a very different thing. Now, without thinking further, he would go home to his room. Hewould lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it's probably only insomnia. Many must have it.

By : Ernest Hemingway

*) from : hxxp://www.mrbauld.com/hemclean.html

The Killers*

The door of Henry’s lunchroom opened and two men came in. They sat down at the counter.

“What’s yours?” George asked them.

“I don’t know,” one of the men said. “What do you want to eat, Al?”

“I don’t know,” said Al. “I don’t know what I want to eat.”

Outside it was getting dark. The streetlight came on outside the window. The two men at the counter read the menu. From the other end of the counter Nick Adams watched them. He had been talking to George when they came in.

“I’ll have a roast pork tenderloin with apple sauce and mashed potatoes,” the first man said.

“It isn’t ready yet.”

“What the hell do you put it on the card for?”

“That’s the dinner,” George explained. “You can get that at six o’clock.”

George looked at the clock on the wall behind the counter.

“It’s five o’clock.”

“The clock says twenty minutes past five,” the second man said.

“It’s twenty minutes fast.”

“Oh, to hell with the clock,” the first man said. “What have you got to eat?”

“I can give you any kind of sandwiches,” George said. “You can have ham and eggs, bacon and eggs, liver and bacon, or a steak.”

“Give me chicken croquettes with green peas and cream sauce and mashed potatoes.”

“That’s the dinner.”

“Everything we want’s the dinner, eh? That’s the way you work it.”

“I can give you ham and eggs, bacon and eggs, liver—”

“I’ll take ham and eggs,” the man called Al said. He wore a derby hat and a black overcoat buttoned across the chest. His face was small and white and he had tight lips. He wore a silk muffler and gloves.

“Give me bacon and eggs,” said the other man. He was about the same size as Al. Their faces were different, but they were dressed like twins. Both wore overcoats too tight for them. They sat leaning forward, their elbows on the counter.

“Got anything to drink?” Al asked.

“Silver beer, bevo, ginger-ale,” George said.

“I mean you got anything to drink?”

“Just those I said.”

“This is a hot town,” said the other. “What do they call it?”

“Summit.”

“Ever hear of it?” Al asked his friend.

“No,” said the friend.

“What do they do here nights?” Al asked.

“They eat the dinner,” his friend said. “They all come here and eat the big dinner.”

“That’s right,” George said.

“So you think that’s right?” Al asked George.

“Sure.”

“You’re a pretty bright boy, aren’t you?”

“Sure,” said George.

“Well, you’re not,” said the other little man. “Is he, Al?”

“He’s dumb,” said Al. He turned to Nick. “What’s your name?”

“Adams.”

“Another bright boy,” Al said. “Ain’t he a bright boy, Max?”

“The town’s full of bright boys,” Max said.

George put the two platters, one of ham and eggs, the other of bacon and eggs, on the counter. He set down two side dishes of fried potatoes and closed the wicket into the kitchen.

“Which is yours?” he asked Al.

“Don’t you remember?”

“Ham and eggs.”

“Just a bright boy,” Max said. He leaned forward and took the ham and eggs. Both men ate with their gloves on. George watched them eat.

“What are you looking at?” Max looked at George.

“Nothing.”

“The hell you were. You were looking at me.”

“Maybe the boy meant it for a joke, Max,” Al said.

George laughed.

“You don’t have to laugh,” Max said to him. “You don’t have to laugh at all, see?’

“All right,” said George.

“So he thinks it’s all right.” Max turned to Al. “He thinks it’s all right. That’s a good one.”

“Oh, he’s a thinker,” Al said. They went on eating.

“What’s the bright boy’s name down the counter?” Al asked Max.

“Hey, bright boy,” Max said to Nick. “You go around on the other side of the counter with your boy friend.”

“What’s the idea?” Nick asked.

“There isn’t any idea.”

“You better go around, bright boy,” Al said. Nick went around behind the counter.

“What’s the idea?” George asked.

“None of your damned business,” Al said. “Who’s out in the kitchen?”

“The nigger.”

“What do you mean the nigger?”

“The nigger that cooks.”

“Tell him to come in.”

“What’s the idea?”

“Tell him to come in.”

“Where do you think you are?”

“We know damn well where we are,” the man called Max said. “Do we look silly?”

“You talk silly,” A1 said to him. “What the hell do you argue with this kid for? Listen,” he said to George, “tell the nigger to come out here.”

“What are you going to do to him?”

“Nothing. Use your head, bright boy. What would we do to a nigger?”

George opened the slit that Opened back into the kitchen. “Sam,” he called. “Come in here a minute.”

The door to the kitchen opened and the nigger came in. “What was it?” he asked. The two men at the counter took a look at him.

“All right, nigger. You stand right there,” Al said.

Sam, the nigger, standing in his apron, looked at the two men sitting at the counter. “Yes, sir,” he said. Al got down from his stool.

“I’m going back to the kitchen with the nigger and bright boy,” he said. “Go on back to the kitchen, nigger. You go with him, bright boy.” The little man walked after Nick and Sam, the cook, back into the kitchen. The door shut after them. The man called Max sat at the counter opposite George. He didn’t look at George but looked in the mirror that ran along back of the counter. Henry’s had been made over from a saloon into a lunch counter.

“Well, bright boy,” Max said, looking into the mirror, “why don’t you say something?”

“What’s it all about?”

“Hey, Al,” Max called, “bright boy wants to know what it’s all about.”

“Why don’t you tell him?” Al’s voice came from the kitchen.

“What do you think it’s all about?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you think?”

Max looked into the mirror all the time he was talking.

“I wouldn’t say.”

“Hey, Al, bright boy says he wouldn’t say what he thinks it’s all about.”

“I can hear you, all right,” Al said from the kitchen. He had propped open the slit that dishes passed through into the kitchen with a catsup bottle. “Listen, bright boy,” he said from the kitchen to George. “Stand a little further along the bar. You move a little to the left, Max.” He was like a photographer arranging for a group picture.

“Talk to me, bright boy,” Max said. “What do you think’s going to happen?”

George did not say anything.

“I’ll tell you,” Max said. “We’re going to kill a Swede. Do you know a big Swede named Ole Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“He comes here to eat every night, don’t he?”

“Sometimes he comes here.”

“He comes here at six o’clock, don’t he?”

“If he comes.”

“We know all that, bright boy,” Max said. “Talk about something else. Ever go to the movies?”

“Once in a while.”

“You ought to go to the movies more. The movies are fine for a bright boy like you.”

“What are you going to kill Ole Anderson for? What did he ever do to you?”

“He never had a chance to do anything to us. He never even seen us.”

And he’s only going to see us once,” Al said from the kitchen:

“What are you going to kill him for, then?” George asked.

“We’re killing him for a friend. Just to oblige a friend, bright boy.”

“Shut up,” said Al from the kitchen. “You talk too goddamn much.”

“Well, I got to keep bright boy amused. Don’t I, bright boy?”

“You talk too damn much,” Al said. “The nigger and my bright boy are amused by themselves. I got them tied up like a couple of girl friends in the convent.”

“I suppose you were in a convent.”

“You never know.”

“You were in a kosher convent. That’s where you were.”

George looked up at the clock.

“If anybody comes in you tell them the cook is off, and if they keep after it, you tell them you’ll go back and cook yourself. Do you get that, bright boy?”

“All right,” George said. “What you going to do with us afterward?”

“That’ll depend,” Max said. “That’s one of those things you never know at the time.”

George looked up at the dock. It was a quarter past six. The door from the street opened. A streetcar motorman came in.

“Hello, George,” he said. “Can I get supper?”

“Sam’s gone out,” George said. “He’ll be back in about half an hour.”

“I’d better go up the street,” the motorman said. George looked at the clock. It was twenty minutes, past six.

“That was nice, bright boy,” Max said. “You’re a regular little gentleman.”

“He knew I’d blow his head off,” Al said from the kitchen.

“No,” said Max. “It ain’t that. Bright boy is nice. He’s a nice boy. I like him.”

At six-fifty-five George said: “He’s not coming.”

Two other people had been in the lunchroom. Once George had gone out to the kitchen and made a ham-and-egg sandwich “to go” that a man wanted to take with him. Inside the kitchen he saw Al, his derby hat tipped back, sitting on a stool beside the wicket with the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun resting on the ledge. Nick and the cook were back to back in the corner, a towel tied in each of their mouths. George had cooked the sandwich, wrapped it up in oiled paper, put it in a bag, brought it in, and the man had paid for it and gone out.

“Bright boy can do everything,” Max said. “He can cook and everything. You’d make some girl a nice wife, bright boy.”

“Yes?” George said, “Your friend, Ole Anderson, isn’t going to come.”

“We’ll give him ten minutes,” Max said.

Max watched the mirror and the clock. The hands of the clock marked seven o’clock, and then five minutes past seven.

“Come on, Al,” said Max. “We better go. He’s not coming.”

“Better give him five minutes,” Al said from the kitchen.

In the five minutes a man came in, and George explained that the cook was sick.

“Why the hell don’t you get another cook?” the man asked. “Aren’t you running a lunch-counter?” He went out.

“Come on, Al,” Max said.

“What about the two bright boys and the nigger?”

“They’re all right.”

“You think so?”

“Sure. We’re through with it.”

“I don’t like it,” said Al. “It’s sloppy. You talk too much.”

“Oh, what the hell,” said Max. “We got to keep amused, haven’t we?”

“You talk too much, all the same,” Al said. He came out from the kitchen. The cut-off barrels of the shotgun made a slight bulge under the waist of his too tight-fitting overcoat. He straightened his coat with his gloved hands.

“So long, bright boy,” he said to George. “You got a lot of luck.”

“That’s the truth,” Max said. “You ought to play the races, bright boy.”

The two of them went out the door. George watched them, through the window, pass under the arc-light and across the street. In their tight overcoats and derby hats they looked like a vaudeville team. George went back through the swinging door into the kitchen and untied Nick and the cook.

“I don’t want any more of that,” said Sam, the cook. “I don’t want any more of that.”

Nick stood up. He had never had a towel in his mouth before.

“Say,” he said. “What the hell?” He was trying to swagger it off.

“They were going to kill Ole Anderson,” George said. “They were going to shoot him when he came in to eat.”

“Ole Anderson?”

“Sure.”

The cook felt the corners of his mouth with his thumbs.

“They all gone?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said George. “They’re gone now.”

“I don’t like it,” said the cook. “I don’t like any of it at all”

“Listen,” George said to Nick. “You better go see Ole Anderson.”

“All right.”

“You better not have anything to do with it at all,” Sam, the cook, said. “You better stay way out of it.”

“Don’t go if you don’t want to,” George said.

“Mixing up in this ain’t going to get you anywhere,” the cook said. “You stay out of it.”

“I’ll go see him,” Nick said to George. “Where does he live?”

The cook turned away.

“Little boys always know what they want to do,” he said.

“He lives up at Hirsch’s rooming-house,” George said to Nick.

“I’ll go up there.”

Outside the arc-light shone through the bare branches of a tree. Nick walked up the street beside the car-tracks and turned at the next arc-light down a side-street. Three houses up the street was Hirsch’s rooming-house. Nick walked up the two steps and pushed the bell. A woman came to the door.

“Is Ole Anderson here?”

“Do you want to see him?”

“Yes, if he’s in.”

Nick followed the woman up a flight of stairs and back to the end of a corridor. She knocked on the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s somebody to see you, Mr. Anderson,” the woman said.

“It’s Nick Adams.”

“Come in.”

Nick opened the door and went into the room. Ole Anderson was lying on the bed with all his clothes on. He had been a heavyweight prizefighter and he was too long for the bed. He lay with his head on two pillows. He did not look at Nick.

“What was it?” he asked.

“I was up at Henry’s,” Nick said, “and two fellows came in and tied up me and the cook, and they said they were going to kill you.”

It sounded silly when he said it. Ole Anderson said nothing.

“They put us out in the kitchen,” Nick went on. “They were going to shoot you when you came in to supper.”

Ole Anderson looked at the wall and did not say anything.

“George thought I better come and tell you about it.”

“There isn’t anything I can do about it,” Ole Anderson said.

“I’ll tell you what they were like.”

“I don’t want to know what they were like,” Ole Anderson said. He looked at the wall. “Thanks for coming to tell me about it.”

“That’s all right.”

Nick looked at the big man lying on the bed.

“Don’t you want me to go and see the police?”

“No,” Ole Anderson said. “That wouldn’t do any good.”

“Isn’t there something I could do?”

“No. There ain’t anything to do.”

“Maybe it was just a bluff.”

“No. It ain’t just a bluff.”

Ole Anderson rolled over toward the wall.

“The only thing is,” he said, talking toward the wall, “I just can’t make up my mind to go out. I been here all day.”

“Couldn’t you get out of town?”

“No,” Ole Anderson said. “I’m through with all that running around.”

He looked at the wall.

“There ain’t anything to do now.”

“Couldn’t you fix it up some way?”

“No. I got in wrong.” He talked in the same flat voice. “There ain’t anything to do. After a while I’ll make up my mind to go out.”

“I better go back and see George,” Nick said.

“So long,” said Ole Anderson. He did not look toward Nick. “Thanks for coming around.”

Nick went out. As he shut the door he saw Ole Anderson with all his clothes on, lying on the bed looking at the wall.

“He’s been in his room all day,” the landlady said downstairs. “I guess he don’t feel well. I said to him: ‘Mr. Anderson, you ought to go out and take a walk on a nice fall day like this,’ but he didn’t feel like it.”

“He doesn’t want to go out.”

“I’m sorry he don’t feel well,” the woman said. “He’s an awfully nice man. He was in the ring, you know.”

“I know it.”

“You’d never know it except from the way his face is,” the woman said.

They stood talking just inside the street door. “He’s just as gentle.”

“Well, good night, Mrs. Hirsch,’ Nick said.

“I’m not Mrs. Hirsch,” the woman said. “She owns the place. I just look after it for her. I’m Mrs. Bell.”

“Well, good night, Mrs. Bell,” Nick said.

“Good night,” the woman said.

Nick walked up the dark street to the corner under the arc-light, and then along the car-tracks to Henry’s eating-house. George was inside, back of the counter.

“Did you see Ole?”

“Yes,” said Nick. “He’s in his room and he won’t go out.”

The cook opened the door from the kitchen when he heard Nick’s voice.

“I don’t even listen to it,” he said and shut the door.

“Did you tell him about it?” George asked.

“Sure. I told him but he knows what it’s all about.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“They’ll kill him.”

“I guess they will.”

“He must have got mixed up in something in Chicago.”

“I guess so,” said Nick.

“It’s a hell of a thing!”

“It’s an awful thing,” Nick said.

They did not say anything. George reached down for a towel and wiped the counter.

“I wonder what he did?” Nick said.

“Double-crossed somebody. That’s what they kill them for.”

“I’m going to get out of this town,” Nick said.

“Yes,” said George. “That’s a good thing to do.”

“I can’t stand to think about him waiting in the room and knowing he’s going to get it. It’s too damned awful.”

“Well,” said George, “you better not think about it.”

By : Ernest Hemingway

*) from hxxp://www.geocities.com/cyber_explorer99/hemingwaykillers.html

Lonceng *

Jam dengan merk Junghun itu belakangan ini menyengsarakanku. Istriku menjadi perempuan yang bawel. Ini karena ulah jam itu. Padahal barang itu kami beli untuk menambah kebahagiaan istriku dan aku. Tinggi jam itu setinggi tubuhku. Bila loncengnya berbunyi, maka terdengarlah sebuah nyanyi. Nyanyian ini mengisi kalbu istriku dan kalbuku sendiri.

Walaupun akhirnya mengesalkan, tetap saja aku mencoba memetik kenangan lama yang indah setelah jam Junghun itu mengisi ruang tengah rumah kami. Kami dulu mempertimbangkannya cukup lama untuk memutuskan di mana harus diletakkan jam yang sebesar itu. Jika ditaruh di ruang tamu, kelak tamuku akan cepat pulang, sebab kehadirannya merasa dikontrol oleh jam. Sedangkan kami berdua membutuhkan tamu.

“Sebentar lagi kita akan merayakan ulang tahun perkawinan kita yang kedua puluh lima, ya Sam?” ujar istriku suatu sore. Sore itu, aku dan Ina sedang duduk-duduk berdua sembari minum teh dan makan jeruk. “Hari itu ulang tahun perkawinan perak kita.”
“Kamu tentu ingat tanggalnya, Ina,” kataku.

“Betul, Sam. Kita menikah pada 10 November dua puluh lima tahun yang lalu.”

“Kalau begitu tinggal 4 hari lagi.”

“Ingat enggak, siapa yang datang pada pesta kita itu?”

“Mantan pacarmu,” kataku.

“Juga mantan pacarmu,” katanya.

Kami ketawa bersama. Kami suka mengulangi lelucon yang sama itu setiap ada bekas teman sekelas hadir. Tentu lelucon ini menambah semarak suami-istri. Orang yang kurang rasa humor mungkin heran. Mereka harus diberitahu, bahwa mantan pacar istriku adalah aku, dan mantan pacarku adalah istriku Ina.


Kuingat sekali, hanya untuk perkawinan perak itu saja kami berdua sangat sibuk.
Kami telah pergi ke Pasar Glodok untuk mencari sebuah barang yang bisa dipajang di rumah dan punya kesan abadi. Setelah dua tiga toko kami masuki, tak ada satu pun benda yang berkenan di hati kami berdua. Ketika kami lewati beberapa toko, secara mendadak dan serentak langkah kami berhenti. Terdengar satu nada indah mirip lagu yang menyentuh perasaan kami. Aku dan istriku saling menatap.

“Kita menemukan pilihan jam antik,” ujar istriku.

“Ini benar-benar abadi,” kataku.

“Tanyakan harganya, Sam,” kata istriku. Makin larut perkawinan kami, makin sering aku disuruh istriku dengan nada setengah memerintah. Apa suami-suami yang lain di dunia ini juga seperti itu, aku tak tahu dan tak perlu tahu.

Istriku melotot setelah aku sebutkan harga yang diberitahukan pemilik toko jam itu.

“Merknya Junghun,” ujar sang pemilik toko. "Merk ini nomor satu. Di toko saya cuma tinggal satu ini.”

“Ya kurangilah separohnya,” ujar istriku.

Kebiasaan istriku adalah sama dengan kebiasaan banyak perempuan di jagat ini: menawar terlalu rendah dan berlama-lama untuk jenis satu barang. Kadang sudah pergi kembali lagi ke toko sebagaimana terjadi pada hari itu.

“Coba Nyonya cari di seluruh Glodok ini. Cuma saya yang jual merk Junghun ini, dan ini juga satu-satunya.”

Istriku telah dikunci tanpa alternatif. Lalu, ketika uang dihitung, kurang sedikit. Sebagaimana biasa, aku menggenapi kekurangan itu. Ketika setiba di rumah, istriku bilang, “Sebenarnya aku menguji apakah kau masih kikir. Maka kutinggalkan beberapa lembar di tasku agar kamu ikut membayar juga, Sam.”

Memang begitu. Dari masa berpacaran dulu, kami menganut aliran navy-navy. Kami meniru para pelaut yang suka bayar masing-masing bila makan di restoran. Kebiasaan ini bukan selalu buruk. Kami justru menciptakan humor baru ketika harus ber-navy-navy.
Jam Junghun telah kami taruh di ruang tengah. Dia selama tiga hari kami tunggu berbunyi. Saat itu adalah pukul 00.00 pada hari 10 November.

Ketika loncengnya berbunyi menyanyikan irama indah itu, aku meremas jari tangan istriku. Ketika loncengnya berbunyi 1 kali, remasanku lebih kuat lagi. Dan ketika gema 12 kali masih mendengung, aku dan istriku berpelukan.

Lonceng jam itu memberikan zat rohaniah pada diri kami. Kebetulan kami berdua menyukai musik klasik. Tapi irama lagu lonceng jam ini melebihi seluruh musik klasik kesukaan kami.

Bertahun-tahun kami menikmati duduk berdua menunggu lonceng jam itu bernyanyi setiap seperempat jam. Ketika pada seperempat jam, dia menyanyikan satu bait saja. Ketika setengah jam, dia menyanyikan dua bait. Ketika tiba tiga perempat jam, tiga bait, dan pada waktu satu jam, empat bait komplit.

“Kita tak pernah merasa tua oleh lonceng jam ini ya, Sam?” kata istriku.

“Ya. Padahal jam ini sudah 15 tahun di rumah kita,” kataku.

“Mungkin kamu betah di rumah karena lonceng ini,” kata istriku lagi.

“Tapi aku betah di rumah bukan karena lonceng jam ini. Aku betah di rumah karena sudah memasuki pensiun, dan terutama karena adanya kamu.”

“Sudah gaek masih gombal,” kata istriku.

Pernah juga istriku bertanya, “Kenapa kamu tidak kawin lagi saja, Sam?”

Makin tua dia masih pencemburu seperti dulu. Tetapi pertanyaan itu agak aneh di telingaku.

“Aku tahu, ketika aku harus berhenti sewaktu kita menikah sudah pasti ada seorang gadis yang senang,” katanya.

”Si Aimah,“ sambungnya.

Peraturan kantor memang, jika ada dua orang menikah di satu ruang kerja, yang perempuan harus diberhentikan dengan hormat. Jadi Ina cuma berdinas 1 tahun kerja saja.

Orang yang sama sekelas di SMA, sama pula di perguruan tinggi, dan sama pula selesainya, akan sama nasibnya jika melamar di kantor yang sama di bidang yang sama pula: jika menikah, yang perempuan harus mengalah menjadi penunggu rumah.

“Kalau aku bicara soal si Aimah, kamu suka membisu. Padahal dia amat mencintaimu, Sam.”

Aku memilih diam. Akhirnya aku bertengkar juga karena dia lagi-lagi menyebut nama Aimah.

“Kalau kamu kawin sama Aimah, mungkin kamu sudah punya anak dan cucu. Perkawinan kita 40 tahun tanpa anak dan cucu,” ucapnya. Dan inilah yang bikin aku marah dan kami bertengkar.

Ketika pertengkaran itu terjadi, lonceng jam menyanyikan lagu itu. Sebelum empat bait lagu itu bergetar, aku dan Ina sudah berpelukan.

“Kita tak perlu bertengkar lagi. Yang ada di sini adalah aku, kamu dan jam dengan loncengnya itu.”

Tetapi, ajaib sekali. Biasanya kalau jam itu mati, aku bisa memperbaikinya. Yaitu menaikkan kerekan rantai tiga bandulan itu, lalu menyetel jarum panjang dan jarum pendeknya untuk menyesuaikan waktu. Kali ini loncengnya berbunyi tidak cocok lagi dengan waktu. Dia tidak berbunyi 12 kali pada waktu pukul 12.

“Kau bilang dulu kamu menguasai ilmu listrik. Tapi kenapa betulin jam saja sudah salah. Bahkan ngawur. Pukul 12 bunyinya 6 kali.”

“Sudahlah. Jangan jadi nenek sihir lagi, Ina,” kataku.

“Itu logis saja, Sam. Aku kan tidak bilang kamu tolol.”

“Sudah, diam kamu. Kamu makin tua makin cerewet.”

“Kamu makin tua makin tolol.”

“Aku mau keluar.”

“Mau cari Aimah?”

“Bawel kamu.”

Aku mencari ahli jam. Menurut pemilik toko di Glodok itu, ada orang Arab di Tanah Abang, namanya Mahboub Assegaf, ahli pembetulan jam dan piano. Ketika aku tiba di rumah Arab itu, orang di rumah itu mengatakan, bahwa “Ami Assegaf” sudah wafat. Kalau mau beli buah kurma dan kismis, ada dijual di sini.

“Aku tak bertemu dengan orang Arab itu,” kataku pada Ina.

“Oh si Aimah itu turunan Arab ya?”

“Coba tenang, Ina. Kita jual saja jam Junghun ini. Kita beli yang baru,” kataku.
Dia marah. Bahkan mencak-mencak. Dia katakan, "Jam ini penuh kenangan. Bertahun-tahun dia membuat kita berdua menikmati irama loncengnya yang pernah bernyanyi merdu. Jangan, Sam, kita tak boleh merusak kenangan yang diberikannya.”

Aku mengalah. Tapi itu tidak berarti aku tak 'kan bertengkar lagi dengan Ina. Dan aku gigih terus memperbaikinya. Dan istriku terus pula menertawakan kegagalanku walau tanpa perkataan “tolol”.

Dua tahun menjelang ulang tahun perkawinan emas kami, aku terus berusaha agar jam Junghun itu bisa menyanyi lagi, dan bunyinya harus tepat 12 kali pada pukul 00.00 tengah malam 10 November. Dimulai dengan cekcok mulut lagi, aku pergi ke Jatinegara. Seorang tukang arloji kubawa ke rumahku. Istriku senyum mencemoohinya.

“Tenang dulu, Ina. Dia ini ahli jam generasi penerus ayahnya. Bahkan dia mengenal Ami Mahboub Assegaf,” kataku ketika memperkenalkan tukang arloji itu kepada Ina.
Istriku mendehem. Anak muda itu bekerja keras. Keringat membasahi bajunya, sekaligus menyebarkan bau ketiaknya di ruang tengah kami yang nyaman. Akhirnya dia berkata putus asa: “Maaf, jam ini berbunyi 36 kali."

“Cukup, Nak. Memang dia gila,” kata istriku.

Yang mulai menjadi korban jam Junghun adalah Ina. Dia mulai berlangganan dokter spesialis penyakit dalam. Ia menderita tekanan darah tinggi. Suatu malam dia menjerit karena satu mimpi buruk. Katanya, jam gila itu berbunyi 120 kali.
“Sabar, Ina. Kita jangan panik. Manusia tidak boleh ditaklukkan oleh benda yang bermerk Junghun. Aku akan coba perbaiki sendiri. Manusia harus mengalahkan benda mati ini,” kataku yakin.

Istriku menyebut lagi perkataan “tolol” itu. Ini menambah semangatku, sampai aku berhasil! Aku merayakan pesta emas 50 tahun perkawinan kami. Tengah malam pukul 00.00 jam itu bernyanyi empat bait komplit, lalu mendentingkan loncengnya 12 kali. Sayang, saat itu istriku tidak mendengarnya, dan tak 'kan pernah mendengarnya.

Ya, kurayakan pesta emas perkawinan itu seorang diri, diiringi kemerduan lonceng jam Junghun yang amat sangat indah.***

Oleh : Motinggo Busye

*) Dimuat dalam Horison, September 1999

Kura - kura *

Saya baru saja pindah rumah—dan kura-kura saya ikut. Sudah berapa
kali saya pindah rumah? Mula-mula karena pindah dari kontrakan satu
ke kontrakan yang lain, kemudian setelah punya rumah, masih juga
dipersilakan pindah oleh banjir, yang memang datang berkali-kali
tanpa tanda-tanda akan berhenti.

Dalam semua peristiwa itu, kura-kura tersebut selalu ikut. Waktu
banjir besar tahun 2002 maupun 2007, kura-kura itu selalu
menghilang, tetapi selalu kembali lagi, merayap melalui pintu depan
setelah air surut. Bukankah banjir memang tak menjadi masalah bagi
seekor kura-kura?

Dialah satu-satunya dari empat kura-kura yang masih bertahan dalam
gerusan waktu. Dua ekor langsung mati setelah dua minggu, yang dua
bertahan lama bersama-sama. Sekarang, mungkin setelah 25 tahun,
tinggal satu ekor. Sebetulnya itu bukan kura-kura saya, melainkan
kura-kura anak saya. Saat pemiliknya mengepakkan sayap dan
meninggalkan rumah, kura-kura itu tetap tinggal, tetap selalu
menatap saya dengan pandangan seolah-olah mengerti.

Apakah yang bisa dimengerti oleh seekor kura-kura? Entahlah. Namun,
ada yang saya coba mengerti dari pengalaman saling menatap selama 25
tahun itu.

Misalnya bahwa ia hidup sendirian dalam beberapa tahun terakhir,
karena satu-satunya kura-kura yang menjadi teman hidup telah
dibunuhnya. Mereka memang selalu berebut makanan. Selalu saling
menyakiti sehingga terlalu sering terpaksa saya memisahkannya. Teman
yang satunya itu selalu kalah dan selalu tertindas, tetapi selalu
melawan agar tetap mendapat makanan.

Pertanyaan saya, apakah survival of the fittest ini masih harus
berlaku ketika satu-satunya kolam hanya dihuni oleh dua kura-kura
itu saja? Istilah “dunia milik kita berdua” bagi manusia tidak
berlaku bagi kura-kura.

Apakah arti hidup bagi kura-kura yang telah menguasai dunia itu,
jika sisa hidup, yang barangkali masih akan lama, dijalaninya
sendirian saja? Apakah dia puas dan bisa menikmati kekuasaannya,
ataukah dia kesepian? Melihatnya berenang sendirian, berjemur diri
di bawah matahari, atau menyeret tubuhnya di antara kaki-kaki kursi
di dalam rumah, saya melihat suatu paradoks: Di satu pihak, ia
bagaikan seorang penguasa tunggal dalam dunianya; di lain pihak, ia
tak lebih tak kurang hanyalah makhluk lemah, yang tentu saja tidak
menyadari kelemahannya sama sekali.

Tapi, tidakkah kita semua kadang-kadang begitu?


oleh : Seno Gumira Ajidarma
*) Harian Kompas. edisi Selasa, 18 Desember 2007

DERABAT *

Di desa saya ada seorang pemburu bernama Matropik. Sebenarnya dia bukan penduduk asli. Dia pendatang entah dari mana, dan dia masuk karena di tempat-tempat lain dia sudah tidak mungkin berburu, dan semua sudah mati di tangan dia

Sekarang, di desa saya, dia sudah mulai gelisah. Segala macam binatang sudah hampir punah. Dan kami, penduduk asli, dalam hati mengharap ia agar dia segera enyah.

Memang, sebenarnya , semenjak dia datang, kami sudah membenci dia. Kami membenci dia bukan karena kami adalah orang-orang yang tidak baik, tapi karena dia selalu menciptakan suasana yang tidak enak. Perilaku dia sangat kejam Dalam berburu, dia tidak sekadar berusaha membunuh, namun menyiksa sebelum akhirnya membunuh. Maka, begitu banyak binatang telah menderita berkepanjangan, sebelum akirnya dia habiskan dengan kejam. Cara dia makan juga benar-benar rakus.

Bukan hanya itu. Dia juga suka mabuk-mabukan. Apabila dia sudah mabuk, maka dia menciptakan suasana yang benar-benar meresahkan dan memalukan. Dia sering meneriakkan kata-kata kotor, cabul dan menjijikkan. Dalam keadaan mabuk dia suka telanjang, lari kesana kemari, mengejar-ngejar apa saja. Terutama perempuan

Bukan hanya itu. Dengan sadar dan terang-terangan, dia berusaha keras untuk merusak anak-anak muda. Dia ajak mereka untuk ikut-ikutan minum, dia didik mereka untuk bertutur kata kotor, dan dia suntikkan kepada mereka jiwa tidak puas terhadap keadaan, dan juga, kalau perlu berkelahi dengan cara-cara curang

Karena didikan dia, maka banyak anak-anak muda mulai bertingkah-laku kurang aja. Mereka cenderung tidak menghormat siapa pun, tentu saja kecuali terhadap dia (Pemburu Matropik), suka melawan, dan bernafsu untuk selalu menang. Dan dengan uang pemberian dia, mereka ikut-ikutan mabuk. Sementara itu saya tahu benar sebelum dia datang, penduduk sama sekali tidak pernah mengenal minuman haram

Karena dia tidak selamanya memberi uang, mereka akhirnya cenderung untuk mencuri. Mula-mula mereka mencuri di rumah sendiri, lalu meloncat ke rumah-rumah tetangga. Dan akhirnya tentu saja akhirnya mereka menggerayangi desa-desa lain.

Memang selama ini, orang desa-desa lain tidak dapat membuktikan bahwa anal-anak muda dari desa saya mencuri, tetapi mereka dapat merasa siapa sebenarnya pencuri-pencuri yang menggerogoti harta mereka. Namun, mereka tidak dapat membuktikan tidak berarti tidak dapat membenci. Terhadap kebencian mereka, dengan sendirinya, kami hanya sanggup menyalahkan diri sendiri

sementara itu, hukum alam justru sering bertindak culas. Orang-orang jahat, oleh alam, justru diberi wibawa besar. Karena itulah, perang sering berkecamuk, orang-orang jujur sering menjadi korban, dan orang-orang yang semestinya digilas habis oleh alam justru dipuja-puja. Maka,barang siapa berani melawan pemburu Matropik, pasti kena sikat. Bahkan setelah dia berhasil mengganggu istri sekian banyak penduduk, dan memperkosa beberapa gadis, kami tetap tidak mempunyai pilihan lain kecuali diam

hukum alam, sementara itu, terus berlanjut. Makin diam dan makin menyerah kami., makin girang pemburu Matropik. Tindakan-tindakan dia semakin sewenang-wenang, dan kekejaman dia semakin menjadi-jadi. Dan makin dipujalah dia oleh anak-anak muda.

Sementara itu, saya setiap hari saya tetap melakukan pekerjaan saya. Setiap malam saya berangkat, membawa pedati. Memang saya adalah anak turun penarik pedati, satu-satunya di desa saya. Dan karena nenek moyang saya penarik pedati hukum turun-temurun juga menjadikan saya penarik pedati. Seluk beluk pedati, dengan demikian saya benar-benar tahu. Bagaimana membongkar dan memasang pedati, merawat kuda, dan menghadapi berbagai marabahaya di jalan, hukum turun-temurun telah menjadikan saya penarik pedati yang benar-benar andal.

Demikianlah, setiap malam saya berangkat. Dalam kegelapan, saya harus bergerak melalui jalan-jalan buruk untuk menuju ke pelabuhan ikan terdekat. Dan pelabuhan itu tidak dekat, tapi benar-benar jauh.

Sebelum fajar datang, saya sudah tiba di pasar ikan. Beberapa orang menghampiri saya, sambil menggotong keranjang, keranjang berisi ikan segar. Setelah semua keranjang tertata rapi dalam pedati, dan setelah semua perhitungan dan pembayaran beres, saya meloncat ke pedati, siap menuju kota terdekat. Dan kota terdekat tersebut sebetulnya juga tidak dekat. Begitu pedati berjalan pasti saya mengambil kendi terbuat dari besei peninggalan nenek-moyang, lalu minum. Kalau sudah mencapai jalkan sepi saya turun sebentar untuk membuka satu keranjang ikan segar, agar burung-burung sahabat saya nanti dapat mengambil beberapa ikan segar dengan mudah.

Demikian inilah pekerjaan saya sehari-hari, selama beberapa tahun terakir. Sebelumnya memang saya pernah bekerja ini dan itu, juga sebagai pengangkut barang dengan pedati. Semua pekerjaan saya lakukan dengan sukacita. Dan saya meninggalkan pekerjaan ini itu untuk kemudian menjadi pengangkut ikan segar tidak lain karena pilian saya sendiri, tanpa keluhan terhadap pekerjaan-pekerjaan saya sebelumnya.

Selama bekerja, bekerja apa pun, segala sesuatu selalu saya kerjakan sendiri. Saya memang tidak mempunyai apa-apa selain pedati dan segala macam perlengkapannya termasuk kuda. Dan saya memang tidak mempunyai siapa-siapa. Ayah dan ibu saya sudah meninggal, demikian juga saudara-saudara saya. Entah mengapa, semua meninggal, semua saudara saya meninggal ketika mereka masih muda. Mungkin, karena tidak ada satu pun saudara perempuan saya yang berminat untuk menjadi istri penarik pedati, dan karena tidak ada satu pun saudara laki-laki saya yang berminat untuk menjadi penarik pedati.

Demikian inilah, sekali lagi, pekerjaan saya sehari-hari. Setelah pemburu Matropik datang, pekerjaan saya juga sama. Memang secara tidak langsung saya mendengar, dan kadang-kadang juga menyaksikan, tindakan-tindakan kurang ajar pemburu Matropik. Namun selama ini, saya tidak pernah terganggu secara langsung.

Yang mengganggu saya selama beberapa bulan terakhir ini, justru seekor burung. Bukan burung-burung yang telah sekian lama menjadi sahabat saya, tetapi seekor burung jahanam. Entah burung apa dia, saya tidak tahu. Dia sangat besar, sangat hitam, dan sangat cekatan. Matanya menyorotkan sinar jahat, nafsu mencuri, dan dorongan untuk merusak serta mencelakakan siapapun, karena siapa pun baginya adalah benar- benar musuh. Sebelum bertemu burung ini, saya tidak pernah membayangkan bahwa di dunia ada burung sehitam ini, sekuat ini, selincah ini dan sekeji ini.

Entah mengapa, begitu saya melihat burung ini untuk pertama kalinya, saya berteriak, ”Derabat!” Apa makna teriakan ini saya tidak tahu. Namun, burung ini kemudian melongok ke arah saya. Lalu meluncur dengan cepat, dan berusaha menyerang wajah saya. Untung, saya sudah siap dengan kelincahan tubuh untuk berkelit, dan dengan cemetiuntuk menghajar, kalau perlu.

Sebagai penarik pedati, tentu saja saya mengenal berbagai macam burung. Sudah begitu banyak tempat yang saya kunjungi, dan sudah begitu benyak jalan yang saya lalui. Di berbagai tempat dan di berbagai jalan, entah pagi, entah siang, atau pun malam, begitu banyak burung yang pernah saya jumpai. Perilaku mereka pun sudah benar-benar saya kenal. Bahkan tanpa melihat, dan hanya dengan mendengar kepak sayap mereka dari jauh, saya sudah tahu siapa mereka. Bau tubuh mereka pun, sudah saya kenal dengan baik. Hukum turun-menurun penarik pedati memang telah melengkapi saya dengan penciuman yang tajam pula.

Sementara itu, sebagai pengangkut ikan segar, apalagi sudah bertahun-tahun, saya hafal benar sekian banyak macam burung pemakan ikan segar. Bagaimana cara mereka berkelebat untuk kemudian menukik dan mengambil ikan segar dari pedati, saya tahu benar. Dan memang, saya bersahabat dengan mereka. Silahkan mereka mengambil ikan segar saya sebab saya tahu benar mereka sama sekali tidak serakah. Dari gerak-gerik mereka saya juga tahu bahwa mereka berusaha untuk mengucapkan terima kasih. Dan mereka juga memberi tanda-tanda bahwa mereka siap menolong saya, manakala saya menghadapi bahaya.

Berhadapan dengan Derabat atau semacam Derabat, sekali lagi, saya benar-benar belum pernah. Derabat selalu menyerobot ikan sebanyak-banyaknya. Andaikata semua ikan itu dia makan, atau katidakanlah, dibawa terbang jauh untuk diberikan kepada para kerabat, kalau dia punya, saya tidak berkeberatan. Namun ikan-ikan itu dia buang-buang di berbagai tempat di jalan yang saya lalui. Dan dia sanggup memilih ikan-ikan yang bagus dan besar

Jadi, mula-mula dia berkelebat gagah, kemudian menukik tajam. Dengan kecepatan yang sulit dibayangkan, dia ambil ikan yang paling bagus. Lalu, dia berkelebat menjauh, sekejap kemudian dia datang lagi, mencuri lagi. Demikianlah seterusnya, sampai berkali-kali. Lalu, dengan sikap sangat mengejek dia meninggalkan saya, untuk mendatangi saya lagi keeseokan harinya.

Sebenarnya hukum turun-temurun penarik pedati sudah mengajarkan saya untuk mempertahankan diri dan untuk mempertahankan harta benda, khususnya dalam perjalanan. Saya tahu bagaimana saya harus mempertahankan diri, dan bagaimana saya harus menggempur musuh, baik dengan tangan kosong maupun dengan cemeti, belati, gada, dan apa pun juga yang dapat saya pergunakan. Semua perlengkapan sudah saya siapkan dengan baik.

Namun, saya percaya, kekerasan adalah jalan terakhir. Saya yakin bahwa dengan kasih sayang, saya harus mampu membuat siapa pun, termasuk binatang-binatang kurang ajar, untuk menjadi sabat. Dan selama ini, hanya satu kali saya gagal. Sudah berpuluh-puluh kali saya dirampok dalam perjalanan. Semua perampok, kecuali satu, dapat saya buat yakin bahwa merampok sama sekali tidak baik. Saya ajak mereka bicara, saya jamu mereka dengan bekal makanan saya, dan saya kasih mereka uang dengan tulus. Akhirnya, mereka tidak pernah mengganggu saya. Beberapa di antara mereka, bahkan, pernah menolong saya pada saat saya menemui kesulitan.

Sekali lagi, hanya satu kali saya gagal, yaitu ketika saya berhadapan dengan perampok juling. Sudah berkali-kali saya berusaha untuk mengajak dia berbicara, tapi dia tetap ngotot melancarkan serangan-serangan yang benar-benar mematikan. Setelah benar-benar saya yakin bahwa dia memang suka menyakiti, memperkosa, dan membunuh, saya tidak mempunyai pilihan lain kecuali mengirim dia ke neraka.

Dengan penuh penyesalan karena tidak mempunyai pilihan lain, saya lempar bangkai dia di tempat yang tidak mungkin dilacak oleh siapa pun kecuali oleh anak-turun penarik pedati yang benar-benar hormat kepada nenek moyang mereka, bangga akan pekerjaan mereka sebagai penarik pedati, cerdas, cerdik, terlatih, dan berpengalaman luas.

Berhadapan dengan Derabat, saya juga bersikap sabar. Akan saya anggap dia sebagai manusia jahil, dan akan saya dekati dia dengan jalan baik-baik. Tidak terlintas di pikiran saya bahwa saya akan menyakiti dia. Bahkan, setelah dia menyerang wajah saya, dan jelas mengincar mata saya untuk dicabut oleh cakar dia, saya masih terus bersabar. Saya memang berkelit dan menghantamkan cemeti bukan untuk melukai dia, tapi untuk memberi tahu agar dia jangan berbuat kurang ajar lagi.

Namun, pada suatu hari dia mulai menghilang. Selama beberapa hari dia tidak pernah tampak. Kemudian ketika muncul kembali, dia hanya berkelayapan di atas sana dengan sikap yang sangat manis. Karena dia sangat besar, tubuh dia juga melempar bayang-bayang yang amat besar dibanding dengan bayang-bayang burung-burung lain. Benar-benar menakjubkan.

Tapi karena dia bersikap manis, dengan sikap manis pula saya berteriak, ”Derabat, turunlah! Mengapa kamu tidak mengambil ikan? Silahkan!”

Dengan sikap sopan dia melesat, kemudian menghilang.

Selama beberapa hari, dia tidak tampak lagi.

Namun beberapa hari kemudian, saya merasa ada sebuah suasana yang benar-benar tidak enak. Tidak seperti biasa, langit sepi tanpa burung, semua sahabat saya tidak ada.

Barulah beberapa saat kemudian, ketika pedati saya sedang melesat dengan kencang, saya melihat pemandangan yang benar-benar mengharukan. Di tengah jalan, tampak bangkai seekor burung. Bahkan dari jauh pun saya sudah tahu bahwa bangkai itu tidak lain adalah burung sahabat saya. Setelah menguburkan bangkai sahabat saya, saya segera melanjutkan perjalanan. Kuda saya pacu lebih cepat, supaya tidak terlambat.

Ternyata, saya menemukan bangkai lain. Demikianlah, pada jarak-jarak tertentu, saya menemukan bangkai-bangkai burung. Dan semua itu adalah bangkai-bangkai sahabat saya.

Dari semua bangkai itu, saya tahu siapa yang telah berbuat begitu keji. Tidak lain dan tidak bukan, dialah derabat. Dia bunuh sahabat saya satu per satu, kemudian dia letakkan bangkai-bangkai sahabat saya di tempat-tempat tertentu yang akan saya lalui.

Setelah yakin tidak akan menemukan bangkai lagi, saya pacu kuda keras-keras. Saya tidak boleh terlambat menyerahkan ikan segar kepada saudagar ikan langganan saya. Dan setelah menyerahkan ikan dan meyelesaikan semua perhitungan, saya putuskan untuk tidak pulang.

Malam itu, setelah merawat kuda dan menyembunyikan pedati, saya menginap di sebuah hutan. Untuk menjaga diri ter hadapberbagai bahaya, saya tidur di sebuah pohon tinggi. Dan agar kuda saya tidak terganggu oleh apa pun, kuda itu itu saya perintah untuk tidur tidak jauh dari pohon. Kalau ada apa-apa, saya bisa segera meloncat ke bawah. Cemeti dan belati sudah saya siapkan dengan baik. Dan di tempat tersembunyi dalam pedati, sudah saya siapkan sebuah gada ampuh peninggalan nenek moyang.

Saya sempat bermimpi. Dalam mimpi saya melihat, bahwa Derabat tidak lain adalah Matropik, dan Matropik tidak lain adalah Derabat. Kalau saya berhasil melumpuhkan salah satu di antara mereka, berarti saya dapat melumpuhkan kedua mereka sekaligus.

Demikianlah, selama beberapa malam saya tidur di hutan-hutanyang berbeda. Saya berpindah-pindah dengan alasan yang saya sendiri tidak bisa tahu. Dan saya tidak pulang hanya hanya karena saya belum tertarik untuk pulang. Tapi kuda dan pedati saya tetap saya rawat dengan baik. Dan pekerjaan saya sebagai pengangkut ikan segar juga berjalan biasa-biasa saja.

Setelah beberapa hari tidak pulang, pada suatu malam saya merasa tidak enak. Tapi saya berjalan terus. Dan memang, ternyata tidak ada apa-apa.

Tapi, mungkin saya keliru. Mungkin pemburu Matropik sedang menciptakan kesengsaraan-kesengsaraan baru di desa saya. Andaikata benar, alangkah terkutuk saya. Seharusnya saya ada di sana, dan menjadikan pemburu Matropik penghuni kubur. Saya sadar bahwa ternyata selama ini saya bersikap diam, kendati kalau perlu seharusnya saya sanggup berhadap-hadapan dengan pemburu Matropik. Andaikata benar-benar terjadi, alangkah menarik.

Maka, saya putuskan untuk kembali, segera setelah pekerjaan saya selesai.

Demikianlah, segera setelah mengambil ikan segar di pelabuhan, seperti biasa saya menuju kota. Seperti biasa, jalan sepi. Namunm, tidak seperti biasa, di langit sama sekali tidak ada burung.

Ternyata, di sebuah ujung jalan ke kota, di sebelah sana tampak ada sebuah sosok berdiri sambil menenteng senapan. Dia menunggu pedati saya mendekat. Dan dia tidak lain adalah pemburu Matropik.

”Ke mana kamu minggat selama beberapa hari ini, penarik pedati anjing?” tanya pemburu Matropik

”Mengapa kamu bertanya, pemburu Matropik?”

”Karena kamu telah berbuat dosa, penarik pedati buduk”

”Apa maksud kamu, pemburu Matropik?”

”Setelah semua burung kamu bunuh, saya tidak mempunyai mangsa untuk saya buru”

”Saya tidak pernah membunuh burung, pemburu Matropik”

”Saya tidak perrrlu penjelasan kamu, penarik pedati anjing”

”Kalau begitu, pemburu Matropik, minggirlah kamu”

”Saya akan minggir, setelah saya puas menembak kepala kamu”

”Untuk apa, pemburu Matropik?”

”Kamu sudah lama ridak pulang, anjing buduk”

”Lalu?”

”Berarti, semua keuntungan kamu sedang kamu simpan dalam pedati”

”Dan kamu menginginkan semua penghasilan saya, pemburu Matropik?”

”Jangan banyak omong, anjing. Saya memerlukan kedua-duanya. Kepala kamu, lalu harta kamu”

”Bodoh benar kamu, pemburu Matropik. Kamu pemburu, tapi kamu tidak tahu. Saya hanya penarik pedati, tapi saya mencium bau sesuatu dan mendengar sesuatu”

bau inilah yang sebenarnya saya cari. Dan suara ini pulalah, yang sebetulnya juga sudah saya tunggu-tunggu. Tanpa mendongak ke sana-sini saya tahu bahwa sebetulnya Derabat sedang melayap di atas sana.

Benar, saya kemudian merndengar Derabat menukik ke bawah, namun pemburu Matropik sama sekali tidak sadar.

Seperti biasa, Derabat memang cerdik. Dia berusaha untuk tidak menimbulkan suara kendati saya tetap mendengar suara dia menukik. Dan dia juga mengambil ancang-ancang dari tempat yang tepat sehingga tubuh dia tidak menampakkan bayangan di tanah.

Ketika pemburu Matropik sadar, sudah terlambat. Derabat sudah berkelebat menuju ke arah pemburu Matropik, dengan kecepatan yang benar-benar tinggi. Pemburu Matropik, dengan senririnya, sudah tidak mempunyai kesempatan untuk berbuat apa pun.

Demikianlah dengan gerak yang sangat jitu, Derabat menghajar wajah pemburu Matropik. Senapan melesat, dan saya ikut melesat. Senapan segera saya tangkap, saya buang pelurunya, kemudian saya hantamkan ke sebuah batu besar. Rusak.

Derabat segera melesat ke atas, tapi dengan kecepatan melebihi kilat dia merangsak, kembali menyerang pemburu Matropik. Tampak pemburu Matropik benar-benar kelabakan. Namun, sama sekali saya tidak mempunyai minat untuk menyaksikan apa yang akan terjadi. Karena pemburu Matropik tidak lain adalah Derabat, dan Derabat tidak lain adalah pemburu Matropik, mereka pasti akan saling memusnahkan. Biarlah iblis bertempur melawan iblis.

Oleh : Budi Darma

*) Dimuat di harian Kompas. Terpilih sebagai Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1999