Melasthi

If there had not been so many words came out of Gus Tu’s mouth-the guide who was provided by the hotel, the meal on my plate would not be as much as trash heap of TPS Gebang Surabaya. I was not interested with his saying because it was just the same for all years. His jokes were out of date since they had already been in humor sites for several years.

I just sat down on the terrace of the hotel which was located near Denpasar’s town square because sitting down silently and enjoying wet after rain morning could be enjoyed once a year only, that was when I had odd semester’s holiday like that day, after wrestling with books for weeks, and also test papers, report notes, and administration stuff, forcing eyes opened until two o’clock in the early morning so that my research could be finished, or even staying awake whole night if there was demand from the publishers to finish handout writing, and holding breath up for a while in the morning and in the evening when I was caught in traffic jams in four crossings to the school where I had been teaching for eight years.

The hotel where I stayed was not different with others. Not more than coconut tree high building-as it was stated in local government regulation, many rooms, hall, swimming pool, lobby, and of course a small simple chair-like praying stair with flowers and food and burnt incense that spread bad smell but I was used to it. Well taken care of garden along the corridor to the guest rooms and the sound of flowing rainfall to the ditch-I wish I could have such a clean ditch at my hometown-aggravated my muse on something which always took me in to this biggest three living cost cities in Indonesia.

It was not obvious to me, or actually, I knew it but I was too embarrassed to confess it. I had it in the past, ten years ago, every day every second, in the tidy line melasthi to the holy water, in the young coconut leaves arrangement for food and flowers offered to God, and in every thread of silk which cover the bodies. It was there in the prayers of pedandas that was heard over miles. It was there in every step of the tourists all around the world, but could not be picked off. Yes, it was, something like the one in my heart, but I would find a way to keep it secret.

“We’re leaving for Benoa in a few seconds, Sir,” said Gus Tu, “It’s your favorite place, isn’t it?”

I gave him sign to leave me alone.

He was not false. Selling words had been his job. He had also been a good friend to me for these five years. It was just, that time, I wanted to be alone for a while and enjoyed my missing to something.

***

 photo by Ovie

“I. G. A. A. Made Prina Dewi...What a difficult name,” said I smiling, ”What do I-G-A-A stand for?”

“I Gusti Agung Ayu...”answered she while grabbing the book with her name on.

“We should meet again one day,” said I to myself.

That was my first meeting with a Balinese girl whose name as long as train and whose dimples and thick-bent-end eyebrows. That time, ten years ago, I was the leader of Field Practice group in which the girl was the member. The members were from various faculties so that it was acceptable when a leader did not know the members well.

She was tender, not chitty-chatty, patient, and loving to her surrounding. Even though she was not beautiful, for me she was marvelous. It was true, although physically she was nothing compared to the ladies living around me-for I was a freelance photographer in a fashion magazine.

It was not her, her heart it was, and her tenderness, which had made me falling in love.

I never let go my moments with her, like the wind which hunt the clouds from mountains, take them around the country, dance for a while above the sky, and then made her fall like rain drops to the meadow and then woke up as misty fog in the early dawn, like waiting for the sun to take it away to the sky for many times. My moments with her were as warm as the air of Sanur beach which made the birds rush to build their nests on the old coconut tree along the beach. It was as tender as the caress of the waves to the beach, which never refuses it. It was as beautiful as the rainbow, which decorates the west morning sky.

“Watch out, Sir...”screamed Gus Tu waking me up from my fantasy. I almost stepped in a hole on the sideway. Such an international tourism place still had a hole on the sideway.

“Sir, where are we going?” asked him eagerly. He was still following me.

“Dalung...”answered me shortly while walking in a rush.

I know he must be confused to see me walking instead of getting on a cab.

I suddenly stopped. The Badung’s jewel which I had been looking for was only ten steps away from me. She was still beautiful, marvelous, and remarkable. She was holding two little rascals in her hands.

“Gek...” called me with almost held-in-throat voice.

She did not hear it. I needed time to collect the courage, but she would enter her car.

“Gek Prina!” loudly called I.

She looked at me. Surprised.

We stared each other for a moment. There was a deep missing feeling projected from her eyes.

Gus Tu’s wide eyes in front of me ruined the romantic moment.

“Gus Tu, I finally found what I’ve been searching for...”said I confidently, holding his upper arms, “Gus Tu, this is the woman I’ve been looking for. I....”

I had not finished speaking when suddenly my jaw felt hurt, my cheeks felt hot, and my eyes felt dizzy for hundreds of punches from Gus Tu. It was surprising. The man whom I considered my own brother would hit me until I was almost dying.

A few moments after I gained my consciousness, Gek Prina told me that Gus Tu had married her three years ago and the two little rascals were his sons.

I went home, -actually, I was forced to leave- with a smile along the way. The two rascals were exactly looked exactly alike me.

Denpasar, 21 February 2009

 This short story is written by Jazilatur Rizqiyah.