Mata di Bibir Subuh

Artie Ahmad, lahir di Salatiga 21 November 1994. Saat ini tinggal di Yogyakarta. Selain menulis cerita pendek, dia juga menulis novel. Beberapa bukunya seperti, novel ‘Sunyi di Dada Sumirahterbit di Penerbit Buku Mojok, cetakan pertama 2018 dan cetakan kedua terbit 2020, kumpulan cerita pendek ‘Cinta yang Bodoh Harus Diakhiri’ diterbitkan Penerbit Buku Mojok, cetakan pertama tahun 2019 dan cetakan kedua tahun 2020, novela terbarunya berjudul ‘Manusia-Manusia Teluk’ terbit 2020 di Penerbit Buku Mojok. Cerita-cerita pendeknya dimuat media massa seperti koran Tempo, Jawa Pos, Republika, Solopos, Kedaulatan Rakyat, Tribun Jabar, Minggu Pagi, Haluan, Detik.com dan beberapa media massa lainnya.

Artie bisa dihubungi di adekartie@gmail.com.

Terbit bulan Juni 2020. Hak cipta ©2020 ada pada Artie Ahmad. Terbit atas izin dari penulis. Hak cipta terjemahan ©2020 ada pada Oni Suryaman.

 

 

Mata di Bibir Subuh

 

Suara azan Subuh terdengar, merambat dari corong pelantang suara di masjid. Bergetar masuk ke dalam gendang telinga orang-orang yang masih terlelap. Suara Pak Modin yang terdengar lantang itu juga ditangkap telinga Muzaini. Azan masih terdengar, menggelitik telinga Muzaini. Tapi, meski azan itu masuk ke telinga dan mengetuk-ketuk gendang telinganya, Muzaini seakan tak berdaya. Matanya seolah terkena getah nangka. Lengket, sulit untuk dibuka. Muzaini berusaha membuka mata, namun rasa kantuk yang dirasakannya sangat keterlaluan. Muzaini tak kuasa melawan, dia kembali bergelung di tilam.

Suara azan Pak Modin telah lesap, Subuh telah lama lewat. Dalam mimpi di kepalanya, Muzaini menangkap bayang Wak Rohim. Dulu saat dia masih anak-anak, Wak Rohim gurunya mengaji di surau desa. Dalam gambar di mimpinya itu, Wak Rohim berdiri membawa rotan yang dipergunakan untuk memukul pantat para muridnya yang hanya main-main saat mengaji. Muzaini tergagap, ketika melihat Wak Rohim berjalan ke arahnya. Rotan di tangannya diayun-ayunkan. Bibirnya tersenyum simpul. Tapi begitulah wajah Wak Rohim ketika hendak menghukum muridnya.

“Muz! Kau tak menjalankan perintah Allah dengan baik ya? Kau meleng ya?” Suara Wak Rohim terdengar lantang.

Muzaini tak kuasa menjawab. Dia hanya menggeleng-geleng. Wajahnya pucat pasi, keringat dinginnya mengalir.

“Kau, Muzaini Samsyudin! Berani tak menjalankan perintah Gusti Allah? Muridku yang dulu berjanji akan menjadi manusia baik. Kau bohong denganku?” Wak Rohim semakin dekat. Kumisnya yang melintang dengan jambang lebat itu semakin menambah kesan angker di wajahnya.

“Bukan begitu, Wak Guru. Saya sudah berusaha bangun. Tapi tak kuasa. Mata saya lengket seperti kena getah nangka,” Muzaini menggigil.

“Alasan saja kau, Muz. Menyesal aku dulu tak memukulmu lebih keras dengan rotan ini. Kini kau jadi seorang pembangkang.” Wak Rohim mengangkat rotannya tinggi-tinggi.

Muzaini ingin berlari menghindar, tapi tak bisa. Tangan kiri Wak Rohim menggamit lengannya. Tangan itu mencengkeram Muzaini erat-erat. Napas Muzaini tersengal, tapi dia seolah tak memiliki tenaga untuk lari dari Wak Rohim.

“Oh, Muz. Betapa berubahnya engkau sekarang ini? Aku tak menduga kau akan berubah seperti sekarang,” Wak Rohim menurunkan tangannya yang memegang rotan, cengkeraman di lengan Muzaini mengendur, lalu dihempaskan begitu saja.

“Tak ada yang berubah di diri saya, Wak Guru. Tak ada yang lain saya rasa. Saya hanya sering kelelahan setelah bekerja di kota,” Muzaini menatap Wak Rohim dengan getar suara yang tak bisa ditahan.

Wak Rohim mengangkat wajahnya, ditatapnya Muzaini lekat-lekat. Seringai di bibirnya terlihat.

“Tak ada yang berubah dengan dirimu? Kau bercanda! Kini kau lalai akan semuanya. Sembahyangmu tak lagi sebaik dulu. Dan, kau lupa akan janjimu,” Wak Rohim berdiri di depan Muzaini dengan gagah. Sarungnya yang putih bersih dengan corak bunga-bunga kecil berwarna hitam berkibar-kibar ditiup angin. “Dulu, kau bilang jika sudah banyak uang dan dapat pekerjaan bagus, kau akan membantu merawat gubuk kecil tempat anak-anak desa mengaji. Tapi seolah kau lupa dengan janjimu itu. Jangankan membantu merawatnya, bahkan kau pun tak lagi mau menengoknya.”

***

Muzaini terbangun dari tidurnya. Matanya sudah leluasa dibuka meski agak berat. Muzaini tak mengerti, mengapa Wak Rohim datang di mimpinya hari ini, dengan keadaan yang membuatnya bergidik pula. Sudah lama sejak dia bekerja di luar kota, orang-orang di desanya teramat jarang berkunjung ke mimpinya. Muzaini saban malam memang bermimpi di saat tidur, tapi itu bukan memimpikan orangorang di desanya yang telah lama dia kenal. Di mimpi Muzaini selepas kerja di kota besar ini, yang sering bertandang adalah kawan-kawan kenalannya, atasan di kantor yang sering mengejar-ngejar tenggat waktu pekerjaan, pemilik kamar sewa yang suka menagih padahal belum waktunya, atau yang kerap datang di mimpinya seorang Manisa. Manisa, kawan sekantornya yang berwajah manis dengan perangai lembut itu. Wajah yang menjadi kembang tidur Muzaini bahkan selepas pertama kali mereka berjumpa.

Tertegun Muzaini mendengar ucapan Wak Rohim. Dia tepekur beberapa saat. Matanya nyalang menatap lantai. Bibirnya bergetar. Dia ingat sekarang, memanglah dulu dia sempat bernazar apabila telah mendapat pekerjaan dengan gaji yang baik, dia akan membantu merawat surau kecil untuk mengaji yang sering disebut gubuk oleh Wak Rohim. Tapi, sudah lebih lima tahun bekerja dengan gaji yang baik, belum pernah dia membagi rezekinya untuk surau kecil tua tempatnya mengaji dulu. Entah hari baik apa yang didapatkannya, hari ini Wak Rohim datang ke mimpinya, dan seolah menagih janji yang telah sekian lama tak juga dia tepati.

***

Sepanjang hari, mimpi itu lekat di ingatannya. Di kantor, di warteg tempat dia makan siang, ingatan tentang mimpi bertemu Wak Rohim selalu bertandang. Bahkan ketika dia bertemu dengan Manisa pun, untuk kali pertama Muzaini tak tertarik untuk menanggapi perempuan muda itu. Muzaini merasa lesu. Bahkan ketika pulang bekerja, dia langsung mengurung diri di kamar sewa. Muzaini berdiam diri di tilam kamarnya. Sampai akhirnya dia lelap. Tertidur sampai azan Subuh berkumandang.

Kali ini Muzaini begitu leluasa membuka mata. Tak lama setelah terjaga dia menyeret kakinya masuk ke dalam kamar mandi, dia menunaikan wudu lalu bersembahyang Subuh. Selepas sembahyang itulah, pikiran jernih itu muncul. Tiga pekan lagi dia akan libur panjang selama satu pekan, saat itu kesempatan baik untuknya pulang guna menemui Wak Rohim untuk membayar tunai janjinya dulu.

***

Mata Muzaini terbuka. Subuh menjalar masuk ke bus yang dia tumpangi. Suara azan dari masjid-masjid di pinggir jalan terdengar. Muzaini mengejap-ejapkan kedua matanya. Sebentar lagi bus antar kota yang dia naiki akan sampai ke pemberhentian terakhir, terminal yang paling dekat dengan desanya.

Sesampai di terminal, dengan semangat Muzaini memanggil ojek yang mangkal di sekitar terminal. Meski masih sedikit merasa kantuk lantaran kelelahan setelah menempuh perjalanan selama 12 jam perjalanan, Muzaini sangat bersemangat untuk pulang ke desanya kali ini.

Di dalam ranselnya, Muzaini telah menyiapkan sebuah amplop berisi uang yang akan disampaikannya untuk Wak Rohim guna memperbaiki suraunya. Surau yang mungkin kini sudah bertambah reyot lantaran aus dimakan usia. Muzaini pun tahu, bagaimana keuangan guru mengajinya itu. Anak-anak yang diajar mengaji tak ditarik bayaran, apabila ada yang memberikan uang, banyak kesempatan Wak Rohim menolaknya. Baginya, menerima uang dari orangtua muridnya yang memiliki nasib keuangan seperti dirinya hanya akan menambah sengsara kedua belah pihak. Orangtua murid akan sengsara lantaran anggaran untuk hidup berkurang, dan Wak Rohim akan sengsara lantaran batinnya tak tenang menerima uang dari orangtua muridnya yang juga kesusahan.

Muzaini berjalan ke rumahnya. Dia mengurungkan diri untuk terus ke rumah Wak Rohim yang rumahnya di batas desa tetangga. Turun dari ojek, dia merasakan sangat letih meski semangatnya untuk bersua dengan Wak Rohim masih berkobarkobar. Pintu belakang tak terkunci. Muzaini mencari-cari ibunya, tapi yang dicari tak ada. Mungkin ibunya sedang ke pasar. Pesan kepulangannya telah disampaikan ke ibunya sejak beberapa hari yang lalu, namun Muzaini tak mengatakan bahwa dia perlu juga bertemu Wak Rohim.

Lepas siang Muzaini baru berkesempatan untuk pergi keluar rumah. Ibu sedang ada tamu untuk membicarakan pekerjaan. Mungkin itu pembeli yang akan membeli beras hasil panen milik ibu. Diam-diam Muzaini pergi ke rumah Wak Rohim. Tapi di tengah jalan dia bertemu beberapa orang. Mereka berduyun-duyun berjalan ke arah rumah Wak Rohim. Muzaini melihat mereka dengan tatapan bingung. Seorang anak muda berusia belasan tahun juga turut berjalan ke arah rumah Wak Rohim, dengan cepat Muzaini bertanya.

“Adik, mau ke mana kalian ini? Kenapa beramai-ramai?” Muzaini bertanya sembari tersenyum ramah.

“Oh, Bang Muz. iya, kami akan melaksanakan kenduri,” sahut pemuda itu sembari menyalami Muzaini.

“Kenduri? Kenduri di mana?” Muzaini bertanya lagi.

“Kenduri ke rumah Wak Guru Rohim.”

“Kenduri untuk apa?” Muzaini semakin kebingungan. Ada acara apakah sampai dilaksanakan kenduri di rumah Wak Rohim.

“Kenduri untuk memeringati empat puluh hari kepergian Wak Guru Rohim menghadap Gusti Allah.” Sahut pemuda itu sembari menatap Muzaini dengan tatapan terheran-heran. Dia menatap Muzaini dengan keheranan, sepertinya dia tak menyangka, kalau Muzaini belum tahu bahwa Wak Guru Rohim sudah meninggal.

Muzaini tak bisa berkata-kata. Kepalanya mendadak terasa pening. Kabar yang dia terima seolah menggetarkan hatinya. Dengan langkah yang seakan limbung, Muzaini berjalan ke arah rumah Wak Rohim. Di sana orang-orang sudah banyak yang datang. Doa dihantarkan untuk Wak Rohim. Tangis Muzaini tak bisa ditahan. Penyesalannya semakin menjadi, ketika melihat surau kecil tempat Wak Rohim mengajar mengaji telah rubuh.

“Muzaini, kau juga ke sini ternyata?”

Muzaini menoleh, ibunya sudah berdiri di belakang tubuhnya.

“Ibu kenapa tak berbagi kabar jika Wak Rohim meninggal?” tanya Muzaini masih terisak.

“Ibu lupa mau berkabar denganmu. Tiap kali ibu telepon, kau selalu cepatcepat menutup lantaran sibuk. Setelahnya ibu selalu lupa mengabarimu.” Ibunya mengamati Muzaini dengan iba.

Mata Muzaini menyapu rumah Wak Rohim dan surau tempatnya mengaji dulu. Surau itu kini hanya tinggal puing-puing yang menyisakan kayu-kayu tua yang sudah lapuk. Tangis Muzaini tak bisa berhenti, dengan erat tangan kanannya mencengkeram amplop berisi uang untuk membantu mengurus surau kecil tempat Wak Rohim mengajar.

“Maafkan saya, Wak Guru. Maafkan saya karena sangat terlambat menemuimu.” Isak Muzaini sembari memandang surau kecil tempatnya belajar mengaji dulu yang kini hanya menyisakan puing-puing.

***

A Revelation at Dawn

Oni Suryaman berlatar belakang pendidikan teknik, tetapi jiwa sastra mengalir di dalam tubuhnya. Di sela-sela waktu luang mengajarnya, ia menulis esai, resensi buku, dan fiksi. Ia juga menjadi penerjemah lepas untuk penerbit Kepustakaan Populer Gramedia dan Kanisius. Baru-baru ini ia menerbitkan buku anak berjudul I Belog, sebuah penceritaan kembali cerita rakyat Bali, yang sadurannya dipertunjukkan dalam AFCC Singapura 2017.

Beberapa risalah dan ulasan bukunya dapat dibaca di: http://onisur.wordpress.com dan http://semuareview.wordpress.com

Ia bisa dihubungi lewat surel oni.suryaman@gmail.com.

 

 

 

 

 

A Revelation at Dawn

 

Pak Modin’s call to the dawn prayer blared from the mosque’s loudspeaker. The sound vibrated in the eardrums of people still asleep. The muezzin’s call to prayer also reached Muzaini. But although the call entered Muzaini’s ears and knocked at his eardrums, Muzaini couldn’t move. His eyelids felt as if they had jackfruit sap on them. They were sticky, difficult to open. Muzaini tried very hard to open his eyes, but he was overcome by extreme drowsiness. Unable to fight the feeling, Muzaini curled up again. Pak Modin’s call to prayer faded away and the dawn prayer time passed.

In his dream, Muzaini caught a glimpse of Wak Rohim’s shadow. Wak Rohim had been his religious teacher at the village mosque when he was a child. Wak Rohim carried the rattan swish he used to spank students who didn’t pay attention during the Quran recital lesson.

Muzaini cringed when Wak Rohim walked toward him, waving the swish in his hand.

Wak Rohim smiled. He always smiled when he was about to punish his students. “Muz!” Wak Rohim called loudly. “You’re not obeying God’s commands, are you? Are you not paying attention?”

Muzaini turned pale and could not answer. Sweating, he just shook his head.

“You, Muzaini Samsyudin! My student, the one who promised to become a good person. How dare you disobey God’s commands! Did you lie to me?” Wak Rohim came closer. His curly moustache and bushy beard made him even scarier.

“It’s not like that, Wak Guru, teacher,” said Muzaini, trembling. “I tried to wake up. But I could not open my eyes. It was as if they were glued shut by the sap of a jackfruit.”

“That’s just an excuse, Muz. I’m sorry that I didn’t hit you harder with my rattan swish in the past. Now you have abandoned your faith.” Wak Rohim raised his swish high in the air.

Muzaini wanted to flee but couldn’t.

Wak Rohim grabbed Muzaini’s arm and held him tightly.

Muzaini gasped, but he lacked the energy to run away.

“Oh, Muz. How you have changed! I didn’t expect you to become like this.” Wak Rohim lowered the swish and relaxed his grip on Muzaini’s arm. Then, he simply let Muzaini go.

“I have not changed, Wak Guru. I am still the same.” Muzaini could not stop his voice from shaking as he looked at Wak Rohim. “It is just that I always feel tired after working in the city.”

Wak Rohim smirked and looked closely at Muzaini. “You have not changed? You must be kidding! You neglect everything. You miss your daily prayer. And you forgot your promise.” Wak Rohim stood tall in front of Muzaini. His plain white sarong, with a small black flower motif, fluttered in the wind. “You promised that when you had a decent job and a lot of money, you would help take care of the small hut I use for the children’s religious study. But you seem to have forgotten about it. You don’t even visit it, let alone help take care of it.”

***

 Muzaini woke up. He opened his heavy eyelids. Why had Wak Rohim appeared in his dream in such a way? He shuddered.

Muzaini had been working in the city for a long time and people from his village rarely visited his dreams. Although Muzaini dreamed almost every night, it wasn’t about the people from his village — the folks he had known all of his life. No, the people who visited his dreams most often were his city colleagues, his boss—who chased after him to meet a deadline for work—his landlord, trying to collect the rent before it was due; or Manisa. Ah, Manisa, his gentle and sweet-faced coworker. Her face started entering his dreams from the moment they met.

Muzaini was stunned by the words Wak Rohim spoke in his dream. He stared at the floor and thought deeply for a while with wide-open eyes. His lips trembled. Yes, he remembered now; he had promised that when he had a job with a good salary, he would help take care of the small mosque that Wak Rohim often referred to as a “hut,” where he taught religion.  Although Muzaini had earned a good salary for more than five years now, he had never shared his good fortune or sent money to the small old mosque where, as a child, he studied religion. He wondered how he deserved the blessing of Wak Rohim appearing in his dream and reminding him of his unfulfilled promise.

All day long, the dream lingered in his mind. In his office and in the food stall where he ate his lunch, Muzaini kept thinking about his dream and meeting with Wak Rohim. And for the first time, he wasn’t interested in speaking with Manisa,

Muzaini felt weary. When he came home to his rented room from work, he immediately shut himself in and stayed in his room until he fell asleep and, at dawn, heard the call for the morning prayers.

This time, his eyes opened easily. He left his room, entered the bathroom, performed wudu, ritual ablution, and prayed. Only after praying was he able to see things clearly. In three weeks, he would take a full week of vacation, meet with Wak Rohim, and fulfill his promise.

***

Muzaini’s eyes were wide open. The light of dawn entered the intercity bus he rode. He heard the azan, the call to prayer, from the mosque on the roadside. He blinked. The bus would soon arrive at the last terminal, the one closest to his village.

At the terminal, Muzaini excitedly hailed an ojek, motor bike taxi, circling the terminal. Even though he was still a bit sleepy and tired after the twelve-hour busride, Muzaini looked forward very much to returning to his village.

In his backpack, he carried an envelope of money for Wak Rohim to repair the mosque.  Surely by now the small mosque was worn out by age. Muzaini knew his teacher’s financial situation. Wak Rohim didn’t charge any tuition, and when a student’s parent offered him money, he usually rejected it. To Wak Rohim, receiving money from someone in the same financial situation as himself would only make them both suffer: The parent would suffer from lack of money to support the family, and Wak Rohim’s conscience would suffer after taking money from a needy parent.

Muzaini walked to his childhood home. He had changed his plans and decided to go home first instead of going directly to Wak Rohim’s house at the border of the neighboring village. Even though Muzaini was still very eager to meet Wak Rohim, he felt really tired from his long trip. .

The backdoor of his house was open. Muzaini looked for his mother, but he could not find her. Maybe she had gone to the market. He had told his mother, several days ago, that he was coming home , but he hadn’t told  her that he also wanted to see Wak Rohim.

In the early afternoon, Muzaini finally had a chance to leave his house. His mother had a visitor, and they were talking about business.  Perhaps the visitor wanted to buy rice from his mother’s harvest.

Muzaini quietly left for Wak Rohim’s house. He met several people on his way. They were all walking in the direction of Wak Rohim’s house. Muzaini looked at them, confused. He saw a teenage boy also heading for Wak Rohim’s house, and Muzaini quickly approached him. “Why are there so many people?” Muzaini asked with a friendly smile. “Where is everyone going?”

“Oh, hi.” The young boy took Muzaini’s hand and, in accordance with Indonesian custom, slightly bowed to him while saying, “We’re going to have a celebration.”

“A celebration? Where?”

“At Wak Guru Rohim’s house.”

“What is the occasion?” Muzaini was even more confused. What was going on at Wak Rohim’s house?

“We are commemorating Wak Guru Rohim’s forty-day departure to Almighty God.” The teenage boy looked at Muzaini with surprise. He obviously didn’t expect that Muzaini didn’t know that Wak Guru Rohim had died.

Muzaini was speechless. Shaken by the news and suddenly dizzy, he staggered the rest of the way to Wak Rohim’s house. Many people had already arrived. They prayed for Wak Rohim’s soul. Muzaini could not hold back his tears. His regret deepened when he saw that Wak Rohim’s teaching mosque had already fallen into ruin.

“Muzaini, you are here, too.”

Muzaini turned; his mother stood behind him.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Wak Rohim had passed away?” Muzaini asked, sobbing.

“Every time I called to tell you the news, you always hung up quickly because you said you were busy. After a while, I just forgot to tell you.” His mother looked at him with concern.

Muzaini looked at Wak Rohim’s house and the small, collapsed mosque where he used to study religion. There was only debris and rotten wood at the building site. Muzaini burst into tears again, his right hand clasping the envelope filled with money to help Wak Rohim repair the small mosque.

“Forgive me, Wak Guru. Forgive me because I am way too late to see you.” Muzaini wept, looking at what was left of the small mosque where he used to study religion.

***