Stories: Notes in the Paddy Field

Is the memorials which advise me to see that kapok tree. Bay located about ten meters to the left of the village entrance. The branches like the arms of the past. I'm tempted to bend the steps to get there. Tiptoe lush brushed waist-high weeds.

Ohoi, kapok tree, here he is the prodigal son. Lama had he not come home. Greet and hug her all my memories, like video Cut Tari - Ariel.

Kutelisik the back side of the cotton stems. Many years ago, using my grandfather's dagger that I'd borrowed without his permission, I and some friends took turns carving our names in there. No more carving our names. I just smiled ruefully realized my folly. Did not kapok tree continued to grow as guliran time? I put the butt in the moist soil. Leaned back in the thick cotton stems. Kuhela breath emotion. The smell of humus and thatch besieged from all directions.

From the tree so this ward boundary with the village opposite, I saw the morning writhing again. Slowly lit the eastern horizon. I remembered a picture postcard sunrise peeking out from behind the back of skyscraper buildings. A friend sent it from a far country. It is said that he now became a yacht sailor. Whether in the world where he is now located. Still remember him on this kapok tree? Remember him in Pak Narto, our teacher first? If he knew he had died, could he folding distance and time that can come to take his departure?

Yesterday afternoon, amid the roaring mill machine, my old cell phone to vibrate. A foreign number blinking nervously. I was shocked to hear the voice of Job. He's one of my best friends in the village. "Mr. Narto died!" he screamed from the other side. Before ending the conversation in a hurry, Job for help to the sad news that I delivered in sequence to other friends.
Kutimang phone with giddy. Memories of my hometown so jerk.
***

I was stunned looking at the house of Job. The walls of the board. On the left side was a pile of firewood. Plant ornamental fence in his home. There are hibiscus and jasmine flower blooms only. Unsightly eye. In front of the bale-bale house has bamboo. Ruas-ruasnya already tenuous. Kuucap greeting at the front door half open. There was the reply, hurried steps, and the creak of a door that dikuak.

"Man!" He was stunned. I smiled. Had long since we were not met. At that moment, time seemed to stop when we were hugging each other.

"Just come? Well, I overlook. Grease you right now. It seems to be a person. Ah, I forgot. Let's go." Series sentence. She pat me on the shoulder and arm. I sat in the living room wicker chairs. I placed a small bag on the cement floor. Ayub called his wife. Introduced to me as he asked for it make two cups of coffee.

Job's face as fresh as the morning quickly remove letihku. Secretly kucermati figures. He wore a white shirt and black pants worn. Solidly built. Her skin jet. Arm veins sticking out. When a smile or talk, his white teeth were lined up neatly. With a life full of innocence he dedahkan now.

Of all the names carved on the trunk cottonwoods, just a Job, which is still loyal to this village. Others have gone fight fate into town, to the other side of the island, even to the country people. Job's life of taking care of fields of rice and heritage parent. He said, though could be attacked pests aphis, harvest two months ago is quite good. The results are used to turn a vacant lot behind the house, so pond. He is looking after a goldfish and carp to increase income.

I ache when Ayub told me to stay at his house. The offer was intrusive thought. I do not have anything here anymore. Half of tiger after Mother Abah followed to the grave, I and three brothers agreed to sell the rice fields and houses. We want to migrate. Looking for a better fate. After the proceeds divided equally, we were split up into corners of the eyes of the wind.

How to describe the situation on the Job? I only textile factory workers on the island across from the salary each month sold out to his wife and four small children. Our rented cabin not far from the factory area. Coincide with other beds. Slum environment, surrounded rotten sewers and landfills. We are used to line up a shower, defecate, or washing clothes in a public toilet that was in every corner of the cabin.

Job stunned to hear my story. With a giggle she interrupted, "Let alone experienced it, I could not have imagined it."

Dismissed troubled, I picked up the glass. Kuseruput Job's wife served coffee. Ah, the coffee taste more delicious fried itself. As he lit a cigarette, Job said, "Why not just go home, man? Buy a rice field. Bertani. Continuing the tradition of our family first."
I choked. So long at the shoreline, so far away with my hometown, it never dawned on me to go home.
***

All the way to the funeral home, we recalled the old comrades. Maryamah, innocent girl who once I kesengsem him, the orchestra is now a dangdut singer. His name was changed so Martha. Job said, do not expect him to see if it was called by the name of the original. Darto, the smartest in our class, so a pedicab driver in the city. Once a month he came home to visit his sick mother older. I was shocked to hear the fate Sumarno. He gets bitch. Ngamen in train carriages. Then I remembered Abas. Job said she ketiban months. His life is now prosperous. Abas-in-law of the rich in the city districts. Abas was assigned to manage the cooperative. The opportunity was not wasted Abas. He lent money to people with high interest. Abas still remember jokes about first. If you see a snake Abas and rice at the same time, it is better to kill Abas first, because culasnya exceed the snake. And the Ahmad, quiet and pious child, now nyantri in a boarding school in Madura.

Ah, the time has changed everything. The Story of old friends made me wonder, wonder, mixed with sadness. Until he felt the place we were headed is in sight. After praying at the side of the late Mr. Narto, we shuffled out of the living room. Sitting on a bamboo pole across the street near a decorated yellow cloth. The higher the sun, more and more mourners come. I stared funeral home. There is a large umbrella tarup pages. Full of plastic chairs were filled. From what I've heard the whispers, Marta tarup paying rent and the chair. He was not coming to the funeral.

Citizens of this village used to be full of harmony and humble life. Although there was no blood relationship, we felt you deserved. How hard life is slowly batulah which forced us to choose. Wander so our choice, young children at the time.

As far as flying, the people of this village must be going home every Lebaran. I just rarely go home since there was nothing left here. Likewise, if someone dies, we are in abroad must be notified. But, somehow, until the body of Mr. Narto berkalang common ground in the cemetery at the corner of the village, only a handful of friends who I meet. Is the figure of a tall skinny guy that has gone from friendly their memory? Is routine makes them no longer had time for just a peek of the past?
***

Second day in the village. Job took me to the field. Bund-bund had been impatiently waiting for your trail, he joked. On the road, we passed by people who want to field or fields. There are walking while carrying a hoe on his shoulder. There are menggoes bike. I'm touched. They still remember me and take a moment to chat.

Precisely this village youth that made me embarrassed. Several times I saw them drive motorcycles as they pleased. Speeding on a rocky dirt road. Leaving the dust long before my eyes.

Job Wetland several hundred feet up ahead, near a banana tree hedge. When I was a carpet of green carpet looked ngungun it, Job took me down. When was the last time I climbed the embankment? How much time left.

Job pitch without worry about slipping into the mud fields. I'm far behind in the rear. Stepping haltingly as he stretched out his hand for balance.
Lir ilir, lir ilir. Wis Tandure breezy. No green-Royo Royo. No sengguh temanten Anyar ...

The cold blew my neck when I heard the songs of Sunan Bonang was composition. Had dawned to follow Job's groove along the dike. However, for some reason, my lips felt numb.

From thatched shifting cultivation, witnessed Job wallow in the middle of rice fields. Rice stalks bend. Rustling noise when rubbing against each other. A pair of orioles flying in the vastness of the sky. Fife voice sounded faint glaucous-up. Whether anyone peniupnya. Heard it, I inhaled and misguided though in the past.

We got home late afternoon. Round the village street. Although farther away, but I do not mind. We're going to the river where they used to swim. When I got there, we disembarked careful management cliff moss. I miss washing the face with river water. Kutangkupkan kucelupkan palms and into the water. Job giggle to see a child-like behavior. Having our fresh home. Just a few hundred steps down the deserted street, Job suddenly grabbed my shoulder. Her hands pointed to lush grass moving suspiciously. I remember, Job never shoot birds with slingshots. His aim was the most potent among us. The bird fell from a tree branch. Flutter in the bushes. We skulk. What a surprise we caught the scene. There are a pair of teenagers were enjoying making out responsibilities.

Job scold them. I was floored. Feeling caught, face both pale and red. They hurried up the clothes and half-ran towards the parked motorcycle. We again move on. Job faces stiff. Along the way he's grouchy behavior curse had two children.
***

Flowers fragrant coffee crawl in the wind. Scattered stars in the sky longer. Jangkerik voice and musical frogs so natural. I felt like was in heaven.
"Kampung we've changed, man," said Ayub, staring at the light of fireflies that emerge and disappear in the dense reeds.

"Yes, I'm like a stranger here," my voice was shaky.
"All our friends went to leave. So TKI, babu, or workers like you. Elders of the village died one on one. Especially since modern technology to attack. Kampong we are increasingly losing their identity. Just so you know, what you see on the river was not the worst ... "

Job last sentence makes me worried. I was reluctant to speak more. I have to know yourself. After selecting a human is so urban, I do not have any more power here.
***

Licensed four-day vacation was over. Condolence three consecutive nights at the home of the late Mr. Narto have attended. I should go home this morning. Homesickness has kutebus with things painful. But let it be swallowed in the liver only.

With his old bike, Job took me to the market in the village next door. There was a trayeknya rural transport to the city terminal. From the terminal that would connect me to travel across the island.

Just when we passed the kapok tree, again Job mengimbauku to go home. Actually there is nothing else to say. But just entertain yourself, I say to Job that I had a simple dream. One day, if there is money, I want to go home. Buy rice. Farming while raising quail and ducks. Eating the sweat of his own. Live peacefully with my wife and kids.

Job promised someday my dream will charge. While I imagine that just bullshit I say, can only smile giris ...