tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90951756396182786222023-11-15T21:52:26.853+07:00Short Stories and MoreRusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-64854983831341695532008-04-15T12:20:00.001+07:002008-04-15T12:22:24.277+07:00The Darlingby Anton Pavlovich Chekhov (1860-1904)<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Olenka, the daughter of the retired collegiate assessor, Plemyanniakov, was sitting in her back porch, lost in thought. It was hot, the flies were persistent and teasing, and it was pleasant to reflect that it would soon be evening. Dark rainclouds were gathering from the east, and bringing from time to time a breath of moisture in the air.<br /><br />Kukin, who was the manager of an open-air theatre called the Tivoli, and who lived in the lodge, was standing in the middle of the garden looking at the sky.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br />"Again!" he observed despairingly. "It's going to rain again! Rain every day, as though to spite me. I might as well hang myself! It's ruin! Fearful losses every day."<br /><br />He flung up his hands, and went on, addressing Olenka:<br /><br />"There! that's the life we lead, Olga Semyonovna. It's enough to make one cry. One works and does one's utmost, one wears oneself out, getting no sleep at night, and racks one's brain what to do for the best. And then what happens? To begin with, one's public is ignorant, boorish. I give them the very best operetta, a dainty masque, first rate music-hall artists. But do you suppose that's what they want! They don't understand anything of that sort. They want a clown; what they ask for is vulgarity. And then look at the weather! Almost every evening it rains. It started on the tenth of May, and it's kept it up all May and June. It's simply awful! The public doesn't come, but I've to pay the rent just the same, and pay the artists."<br /><br />The next evening the clouds would gather again, and Kukin would say with an hysterical laugh:<br /><br />"Well, rain away, then! Flood the garden, drown me! Damn my luck in this world and the next! Let the artists have me up! Send me to prison! -- to Siberia! -- the scaffold! Ha, ha, ha!"<br /><br />And next day the same thing.<br /><br />Olenka listened to Kukin with silent gravity, and sometimes tears came into her eyes. In the end his misfortunes touched her; she grew to love him. He was a small thin man, with a yellow face, and curls combed forward on his forehead. He spoke in a thin tenor; as he talked his mouth worked on one side, and there was always an expression of despair on his face; yet he aroused a deep and genuine affection in her. She was always fond of some one, and could not exist without loving. In earlier days she had loved her papa, who now sat in a darkened room, breathing with difficulty; she had loved her aunt who used to come every other year from Bryansk; and before that, when she was at school, she had loved her French master. She was a gentle, soft-hearted, compassionate girl, with mild, tender eyes and very good health. At the sight of her full rosy cheeks, her soft white neck with a little dark mole on it, and the kind, naïve smile, which came into her face when she listened to anything pleasant, men thought, "Yes, not half bad," and smiled too, while lady visitors could not refrain from seizing her hand in the middle of a conversation, exclaiming in a gush of delight, "You darling!"<br /><br />The house in which she had lived from her birth upwards, and which was left her in her father's will, was at the extreme end of the town, not far from the Tivoli. In the evenings and at night she could head the band playing, and the crackling and banging of fireworks, and it seemed to her that it was Kukin struggling with his destiny, storming the entrenchments of his chief foe, the indifferent public; there was a sweet thrill at her heart, she had no desire to sleep, and when he returned home at day-break, she tapped softly at her bedroom window, and showing him only her face and one shoulder through the curtain, she gave him a friendly smile …<br /><br />He proposed to her, and they were married. And when he had a closer view of her neck and her plump, fine shoulders, he threw up his hands, and said:<br /><br />"You darling!"<br /><br />He was happy, but as it rained on the day and night of his wedding, his face still retained an expression of despair.<br /><br />They got on very well together. She used to sit in his office, to look after things in the Tivoli, to put down the accounts and pay the wages. And her rosy cheeks, her sweet, naïve, radiant smile, were to be seen now at the office window, now in the refreshment bar or behind the scenes of the theatre. And already she used to say to her acquaintances that the theatre was the chief and most important thing in life and that it was only through the drama that one could derive true enjoyment and become cultivated and humane.<br /><br />"But do you suppose the public understands that?" she used to say. "What they want is a clown. Yesterday we gave 'Faust Inside Out,' and almost all the boxes were empty; but if Vanitchka and I had been producing some vulgar thing, I assure you the theatre would have been packed. Tomorrow Vanitchka and I are doing 'Orpheus in Hell.' Do come."<br /><br />And what Kukin said about the theatre and the actors she repeated. Like him she despised the public for their ignorance and their indifference to art; she took part in the rehearsals, she corrected the actors, she kept an eye on the behaviour of the musicians, and when there was an unfavourable notice in the local paper, she shed tears, and then went to the editor's office to set things right.<br /><br />The actors were fond of her and used to call her "Vanitchka and I," and "the darling"; she was sorry for them and used to lend them small sums of money, and if they deceived her, she used to shed a few tears in private, but did not complain to her husband. <br /><br />Enter your search terms<br /><br />web<br />classicshorts.com<br />Submit search form<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> They got on well in the winter too. They took the theatre in the town for the whole winter, and let it for short terms to a Little Russian company, or to a conjurer, or to a local dramatic society. Olenka grew stouter, and was always beaming with satisfaction, while Kukin grew thinner and yellower, and continually complained of their terrible losses, although he had not done badly all the winter. He used to cough at night, and she used to give him hot raspberry tea or lime-flower water, to rub him with eau-de-Cologne and to wrap him in her warm shawls.<br /><br />"You're such a sweet pet!" she used to say with perfect sincerity, stroking his hair. "You're such a pretty dear!"<br /><br />Towards Lent he went to Moscow to collect a new troupe, and without him she could not sleep, but sat all night at her window, looking at the stars, and she compared herself with the hens, who are awake all night and uneasy when the cock is not in the hen-house. Kukin was detained in Moscow, and wrote that he would be back at Easter, adding some instructions about the Tivoli. But on the Sunday before Easter, late in the evening, came a sudden ominous knock at the gate; some one was hammering on the gate as though on a barrel -- boom, boom, boom! The drowsy cook went flopping with her bare feet through the puddles, as she ran to open the gate.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> "Please open," said some one outside in a thick bass. "There is a telegram for you."<br /><br />Olenka had received telegrams from her husband before, but this time for some reason she felt numb with terror. With shaking hands she opened the telegram and read as follows:<br /><br />"IVAN PETROVITCH DIED SUDDENLY TO-DAY. AWAITING IMMATE INSTRUCTIONS FUFUNERAL TUESDAY."<br /><br />That was how it was written in the telegram -- "fufuneral," and the utterly incomprehensible word "immate." It was signed by the stage manager of the operatic company.<br /><br />"My darling!" sobbed Olenka. "Vanka, my precious, my darling! Why did I ever meet you! Why did I know you and love you! Your poor heart-broken Olenka is alone without you!"<br /><br />Kukin's funeral took place on Tuesday in Moscow, Olenka returned home on Wednesday, and as soon as she got indoors, she threw herself on her bed and sobbed so loudly that it could be heard next door, and in the street.<br /><br />"Poor darling!" the neighbours said, as they crossed themselves. "Olga Semyonovna, poor darling! How she does take on!"<br /><br />Three months later Olenka was coming home from mass, melancholy and in deep mourning. It happened that one of her neighbours, Vassily Andreitch Pustovalov, returning home from church, walked back beside her. He was the manager at Babakayev's, the timber merchant's. He wore a straw hat, a white waistcoat, and a gold watch-chain, and looked more a country gentleman than a man in trade.<br /><br />"Everything happens as it is ordained, Olga Semyonovna," he said gravely, with a sympathetic note in his voice; "and if any of our dear ones die, it must be because it is the will of God, so we ought have fortitude and bear it submissively."<br /><br />After seeing Olenka to her gate, he said good-bye and went on. All day afterwards she heard his sedately dignified voice, and whenever she shut her eyes she saw his dark beard. She liked him very much. And apparently she had made an impression on him too, for not long afterwards an elderly lady, with whom she was only slightly acquainted, came to drink coffee with her, and as soon as she was seated at table began to talk about Pustovalov, saying that he was an excellent man whom one could thoroughly depend upon, and that any girl would be glad to marry him. Three days later Pustovalov came himself. He did not stay long, only about ten minutes, and he did not say much, but when he left, Olenka loved him -- loved him so much that she lay awake all night in a perfect fever, and in the morning she sent for the elderly lady. The match was quickly arranged, and then came the wedding.<br /><br />Pustovalov and Olenka got on very well together when they were married.<br /><br />Usually he sat in the office till dinner-time, then he went out on business, while Olenka took his place, and sat in the office till evening, making up accounts and booking orders.<br /><br />"Timber gets dearer every year; the price rises twenty per cent," she would say to her customers and friends. "Only fancy we used to sell local timber, and now Vassitchka always has to go for wood to the Mogilev district. And the freight!" she would add, covering her cheeks with her hands in horror. "The freight!"<br /><br />It seemed to her that she had been in the timber trade for ages and ages, and that the most important and necessary thing in life was timber; and there was something intimate and touching to her in the very sound of words such as "baulk," "post," "beam," "pole," "scantling," "batten," "lath," "plank," etc.<br /><br />At night when she was asleep she dreamed of perfect mountains of planks and boards, and long strings of wagons, carting timber somewhere far away. She dreamed that a whole regiment of six-inch beams forty feet high, standing on end, was marching upon the timber-yard; that logs, beams, and boards knocked together with the resounding crash of dry wood, kept falling and getting up again, piling themselves on each other. Olenka cried out in her sleep, and Pustovalov said to her tenderly: "Olenka, what's the matter, darling? Cross yourself!"<br /><br />Her husband's ideas were hers. If he thought the room was too hot, or that business was slack, she thought the same. Her husband did not care for entertainments, and on holidays he stayed at home. She did likewise.<br /><br />"You are always at home or in the office," her friends said to her. "You should go to the theatre, darling, or to the circus."<br /><br />"Vassitchka and I have no time to go to theatres," she would answer sedately. "We have no time for nonsense. What's the use of these theatres?"<br /><br />On Saturdays Pustovalov and she used to go to the evening service; on holidays to early mass, and they walked side by side with softened faces as they came home from church. There was a pleasant fragrance about them both, and her silk dress rustled agreeably. At home they drank tea, with fancy bread and jams of various kinds, and afterwards they ate pie. Every day at twelve o'clock there was a savoury smell of beet-root soup and of mutton or duck in their yard, and on fast-days of fish, and no one could pass the gate without feeling hungry. In the office the samovar was always boiling, and customers were regaled with tea and cracknels. Once a week the couple went to the baths and returned side by side, both red in the face.<br /><br />"Yes, we have nothing to complain of, thank God," Olenka used to say to her acquaintances. "I wish every one were as well off as Vassitchka and I."<br /><br />When Pustovalov went away to buy wood in the Mogilev district, she missed him dreadfully, lay awake and cried. A young veterinary surgeon in the army, called Smirnin, to whom they had let their lodge, used sometimes to come in in the evening. He used to talk to her and play cards with her, and this entertained her in her husband's absence. She was particularly interested in what he told her of his home life. He was married and had a little boy, but was separated from his wife because she had been unfaithful to him, and now he hated her and used to send her forty roubles a month for the maintenance of their son. And hearing of all this, Olenka sighed and shook her head. She was sorry for him. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"Well, God keep you," she used to say to him at parting, as she lighted him down the stairs with a candle. "Thank you for coming to cheer me up, and may the Mother of God give you health."<br /><br />And she always expressed herself with the same sedateness and dignity, the same reasonableness, in imitation of her husband. As the veterinary surgeon was disappearing behind the door below, she would say:<br /><br />"You know, Vladimir Platonitch, you'd better make it up with your wife. You should forgive her for the sake of your son. You may be sure the little fellow understands."<br /><br />And when Pustovalov came back, she told him in a low voice about the veterinary surgeon and his unhappy home life, and both sighed and shook their heads and talked about the boy, who, no doubt, missed his father, and by some strange connection of ideas, they went up to the holy ikons, bowed to the ground before them and prayed that God would give them children.<br /><br />And so the Pustovalovs lived for six years quietly and peaceably in love and complete harmony.<br /><br />But behold! one winter day after drinking hot tea in the office, Vassily Andreitch went out into the yard without his cap on to see about sending off some timber, caught cold and was taken ill. He had the best doctors, but he grew worse and died after four months' illness. And Olenka was a widow once more. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> "I've nobody, now you've left me, my darling," she sobbed, after her husband's funeral. "How can I live without you, in wretchedness and misery! Pity me, good people, all alone in the world!"<br /><br />She went about dressed in black with long "weepers," and gave up wearing hat and gloves for good. She hardly ever went out, except to church, or to her husband's grave, and led the life of a nun. It was not till six months later that she took off the weepers and opened the shutters of the windows. She was sometimes seen in the mornings, going with her cook to market for provisions, but what went on in her house and how she lived now could only be surmised. People guessed, from seeing her drinking tea in her garden with the veterinary surgeon, who read the newspaper aloud to her, and from the fact that, meeting a lady she knew at the post-office, she said to her:<br /><br />"There is no proper veterinary inspection in our town, and that's the cause of all sorts of epidemics. One is always hearing of people's getting infection from the milk supply, or catching diseases from horses and cows. The health of domestic animals ought to be as well cared for as the health of human beings."<br /><br />She repeated the veterinary surgeon's words, and was of the same opinion as he about everything. It was evident that she could not live a year without some attachment, and had found new happiness in the lodge. In any one else this would have been censured, but no one could think ill of Olenka; everything she did was so natural. Neither she nor the veterinary surgeon said anything to other people of the change in their relations, and tried, indeed, to conceal it, but without success, for Olenka could not keep a secret. When he had visitors, men serving in his regiment, and she poured out tea or served the supper, she would begin talking of the cattle plague, of the foot and mouth disease, and of the municipal slaughterhouses. He was dreadfully embarrassed, and when the guests had gone, he would seize her by the hand and hiss angrily:<br /><br />"I've asked you before not to talk about what you don't understand. When we veterinary surgeons are talking among ourselves, please don't put your word in. It's really annoying."<br /><br />And she would look at him with astonishment and dismay, and ask him in alarm: "But, Voloditchka, what am I to talk about?"<br /><br />And with tears in her eyes she would embrace him, begging him not to be angry, and they were both happy.<br /><br />But this happiness did not last long. The veterinary surgeon departed, departed for ever with his regiment, when it was transferred to a distant place -- to Siberia, it may be. And Olenka was left alone.<br /><br />Now she was absolutely alone. Her father had long been dead, and his armchair lay in the attic, covered with dust and lame of one leg. She got thinner and plainer, and when people met her in the street they did not look at her as they used to, and did not smile to her; evidently her best years were over and left behind, and now a new sort of life had begun for her, which did not bear thinking about. In the evening Olenka sat in the porch, and heard the band playing and the fireworks popping in the Tivoli, but now the sound stirred no response. She looked into her yard without interest, thought of nothing, wished for nothing, and afterwards, when night came on she went to bed and dreamed of her empty yard. She ate and drank as it were unwillingly.<br /><br />And what was worst of all, she had no opinions of any sort. She saw the objects about her and understood what she saw, but could not form any opinion about them, and did not know what to talk about. And how awful it is not to have any opinions! One sees a bottle, for instance, or the rain, or a peasant driving in his cart, but what the bottle is for, or the rain, or the peasant, and what is the meaning of it, one can't say, and could not even for a thousand roubles. When she had Kukin, or Pustovalov, or the veterinary surgeon, Olenka could explain everything, and give her opinion about anything you like, but now there was the same emptiness in her brain and in her heart as there was in her yard outside. And it was as harsh and as bitter as wormwood in the mouth.<br /><br />Little by little the town grew in all directions. The road became a street, and where the Tivoli and the timber-yard had been, there were new turnings and houses. How rapidly time passes! Olenka's house grew dingy, the roof got rusty, the shed sank on one side, and the whole yard was overgrown with docks and stinging-nettles. Olenka herself had grown plain and elderly; in summer she sat in the porch, and her soul, as before, was empty and dreary and full of bitterness. In winter she sat at her window and looked at the snow. When she caught the scent of spring, or heard the chime of the church bells, a sudden rush of memories from the past came over her, there was a tender ache in her heart, and her eyes brimmed over with tears; but this was only for a minute, and then came emptiness again and the sense of the futility of life. The black kitten, Briska, rubbed against her and purred softly, but Olenka was not touched by these feline caresses. That was not what she needed. She wanted a love that would absorb her whole being, her whole soul and reason -- that would give her ideas and an object in life, and would warm her old blood. And she would shake the kitten off her skirt and say with vexation:<br /><br />"Get along; I don't want you!"<br /><br />And so it was, day after day and year after year, and no joy, and no opinions. Whatever Mavra, the cook, said she accepted.<br /><br />One hot July day, towards evening, just as the cattle were being driven away, and the whole yard was full of dust, some one suddenly knocked at the gate. Olenka went to open it herself and was dumbfounded when she looked out: she saw Smirnin, the veterinary surgeon, grey-headed, and dressed as a civilian. She suddenly remembered everything. She could not help crying and letting her head fall on his breast without uttering a word, and in the violence of her feeling she did not notice how they both walked into the house and sat down to tea.<br /><br />"My dear Vladimir Platonitch! What fate has brought you?" she muttered, trembling with joy.<br /><br />"I want to settle here for good, Olga Semyonovna," he told her. "I have resigned my post, and have come to settle down and try my luck on my own account. Besides, it's time for my boy to go to school. He's a big boy. I am reconciled with my wife, you know."<br /><br />"Where is she?' asked Olenka.<br /><br />"She's at the hotel with the boy, and I'm looking for lodgings."<br /><br />"Good gracious, my dear soul! Lodgings? Why not have my house? Why shouldn't that suit you? Why, my goodness, I wouldn't take any rent!" cried Olenka in a flutter, beginning to cry again. "You live here, and the lodge will do nicely for me. Oh dear! how glad I am!"<br /><br />Next day the roof was painted and the walls were whitewashed, and Olenka, with her arms akimbo walked about the yard giving directions. Her face was beaming with her old smile, and she was brisk and alert as though she had waked from a long sleep. The veterinary's wife arrived -- a thin, plain lady, with short hair and a peevish expression. With her was her little Sasha, a boy of ten, small for his age, blue-eyed, chubby, with dimples in his cheeks. And scarcely had the boy walked into the yard when he ran after the cat, and at once there was the sound of his gay, joyous laugh.<br /><br />"Is that your puss, auntie?" he asked Olenka. "When she has little ones, do give us a kitten. Mamma is awfully afraid of mice."<br /><br />Olenka talked to him, and gave him tea. Her heart warmed and there was a sweet ache in her bosom, as though the boy had been her own child. And when he sat at the table in the evening, going over his lessons, she looked at him with deep tenderness and pity as she murmured to herself:<br /><br />"You pretty pet! ... my precious! ... Such a fair little thing, and so clever."<br /><br />" 'An island is a piece of land which is entirely surrounded by water,' " he read aloud.<br /><br />"An island is a piece of land," she repeated, and this was the first opinion to which she gave utterance with positive conviction after so many years of silence and dearth of ideas.<br /><br />Now she had opinions of her own, and at supper she talked to Sasha's parents, saying how difficult the lessons were at the high schools, but that yet the high school was better than a commercial one, since with a high-school education all careers were open to one, such as being a doctor or an engineer.<br /><br />Sasha began going to the high school. His mother departed to Harkov to her sister's and did not return; his father used to go off every day to inspect cattle, and would often be away from home for three days together, and it seemed to Olenka as though Sasha was entirely abandoned, that he was not wanted at home, that he was being starved, and she carried him off to her lodge and gave him a little room there.<br /><br />And for six months Sasha had lived in the lodge with her. Every morning Olenka came into his bedroom and found him fast asleep, sleeping noiselessly with his hand under his cheek. She was sorry to wake him.<br /><br />"Sashenka," she would say mournfully, "get up, darling. It's time for school."<br /><br />He would get up, dress and say his prayers, and then sit down to breakfast, drink three glasses of tea, and eat two large cracknels and a half a buttered roll. All this time he was hardly awake and a little ill-humoured in consequence.<br /><br />"You don't quite know your fable, Sashenka," Olenka would say, looking at him as though he were about to set off on a long journey. "What a lot of trouble I have with you! You must work and do your best, darling, and obey your teachers."<br /><br />"Oh, do leave me alone!" Sasha would say.<br /><br />Then he would go down the street to school, a little figure, wearing a big cap and carrying a satchel on his shoulder. Olenka would follow him noiselessly.<br /><br />"Sashenka!" she would call after him, and she would pop into his hand a date or a caramel. When he reached the street where the school was, he would feel ashamed of being followed by a tall, stout woman, he would turn round and say:<br /><br />"You'd better go home, auntie. I can go the rest of the way alone."<br /><br />She would stand still and look after him fixedly till he had disappeared at the school-gate.<br /><br />Ah, how she loved him! Of her former attachments not one had been so deep; never had her soul surrendered to any feeling so spontaneously, so disinterestedly, and so joyously as now that her maternal instincts were aroused. For this little boy with the dimple in his cheek and the big school cap, she would have given her whole life, she would have given it with joy and tears of tenderness. Why? Who can tell why?<br /><br />When she had seen the last of Sasha, she returned home, contented and serene, brimming over with love; her face, which had grown younger during the last six months, smiled and beamed; people meeting her looked at her with pleasure.<br /><br />"Good-morning, Olga Semyonovna, darling. How are you, darling?"<br /><br />"The lessons at the high school are very difficult now," she would relate at the market. "It's too much; in the first class yesterday they gave him a fable to learn by heart, and a Latin translation and a problem. You know it's too much for a little chap."<br /><br />And she would begin talking about the teachers, the lessons, and the school books, saying just what Sasha said.<br /><br />At three o'clock they had dinner together: in the evening they learned their lessons together and cried. When she put him to bed, she would stay a long time making the Cross over him and murmuring a prayer; then she would go to bed and dream of that far-away misty future when Sasha would finish his studies and become a doctor or an engineer, would have a big house of his own with horses and a carriage, would get married and have children ... She would fall asleep still thinking of the same thing, and tears would run down her cheeks from her closed eyes, while the black cat lay purring beside her: "Mrr, mrr, mrr."<br /><br />Suddenly there would come a loud knock at the gate.<br /><br />Olenka would wake up breathless with alarm, her heart throbbing. Half a minute later would come another knock.<br /><br />"It must be a telegram from Harkov," she would think, beginning to tremble from head to foot. "Sasha's mother is sending for him from Harkov ... Oh, mercy on us!"<br /><br />She was in despair. Her head, her hands, and her feet would turn chill, and she would feel that she was the most unhappy woman in the world. But another minute would pass, voices would be heard: it would turn out to be the veterinary surgeon coming home from the club.<br /><br />"Well, thank God!" she would think.<br /><br />And gradually the load in her heart would pass off, and she would feel at ease. She would go back to bed thinking of Sasha, who lay sound asleep in the next room, sometimes crying out in his sleep:<br /><br />"I'll give it you! Get away! Shut up!"</div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-48620567995678840012008-04-15T11:25:00.000+07:002008-04-15T11:26:28.196+07:00Eva Is Inside Her Catby Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1928 -____)<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">ALL OF A SUDDEN SHE NOTICED that her beauty had fallen all apart on her, that it had begun to pain her physically like a tumor or a cancer. She still remembered the weight of the privilege she had borne over her body during adolescence, which she had dropped now--who knows where?--with the weariness of resignation, with the final gesture of a declining creature. It was impossible to bear that burden any longer.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;" class="fullpost"><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">She had to drop that useless attribute of her personality somewhere; as she turned a corner, somewhere in the outskirts. Or leave it behind on the coatrack of a second-rate restaurant like some old useless coat. She was tired of being the center of attention, of being under siege from men's long looks. At night, when insomnia stuck its pins into her eyes, she would have liked to be an ordinary woman, without any special attraction. Everything was hostile to her within the four walls of her room. Desperate, she could feel her vigil spreading out under her skin, into her head, pushing the fever upward toward the roots of her hair. It was as if her arteries had become peopled with hot, tiny insects who, with the approach of dawn, awoke each day and ran about on their moving feet in a rending subcutaneous adventure in that place of clay made fruit where her anatomical beauty had found its home. In vain she struggled to chase those terrible creatures away. She couldn't. They were part of her own organism. They'd been there, alive, since much before her physical existence. They came from the heart of her father, who had fed them painfully during his nights of desperate solitude. Or maybe they had poured into her arteries through the cord that linked her to her mother ever since the beginning of the world. There was no doubt that those insects had not been born spontaneously inside her body. She knew that they came from back there, that all who bore her surname had to bear them, had to suffer them as she did when insomnia held unconquerable sway until dawn. It was those very insects who painted that bitter expression, that unconsolable sadness on the faces of her forebears. She had seen them looking out of their extinguished existence, out of their ancient portraits, victims of that same anguish. She still remembered the disquieting face of the greatgrandmother who, from her aged canvas, begged for a minute of rest, a second of peace from those insects who there, in the channels of her blood, kept on martyrizing her, pitilessly beautifying her. No. Those insects didn't belong to her. They came, transmitted from generation to generation, sustaining with their tiny armor all the prestige of a select caste, a painfully select group. Those insects had been born in the womb of the first woman who had had a beautiful daughter. But it was necessary, urgent, to put a stop to that heritage. Someone must renounce the eternal transmission of that artificial beauty. It was no good for women of her breed to admire themselves as they came back from their mirrors if during the night those creatures did their slow, effective, ceaseless work with a constancy of centuries. It was no longer beauty, it was a sickness that had to be halted, that had to be cut off in some bold and radical way.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">She still remembered the endless hours spent on that bed sown with hot needles. Those nights when she tried to speed time along so that with the arrival of daylight the beasts would stop hurting her. What good was beauty like that? Night after night, sunken in her desperation, she thought it would have been better for her to have been an ordinary woman, or a man. But that useless virtue was denied her, fed by insects of remote origin who were hastening the irrevocable arrival of her death. Maybe she would have been happy if she had had the same lack of grace, that same desolate ugliness, as her Czechoslovakian friend who had a dog's name. She would have been better off ugly, so that she could sleep peacefully like any other Christian.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">She cursed her ancestors. They were to blame for her insomnia. They had transmitted that exact, invariable beauty, as if after death mothers shook and renewed their heads in order to graft them onto the trunks of their daughters. It was as if the same head, a single head, had been continuously transmitted, with the same ears, the same nose, the identical mouth, with its weighty intelligence, to all the women who were to receive it irremediably like a painful inheritance of beauty. It was there, in the transmission of the head, that the eternal microbe that came through across generations had been accentuated, had taken on personality, strength, until it became an invincible being, an incurable illness, which upon reaching her, after having passed through a complicated process of judgment, could no longer be borne and was bitter and painful . . . just like a tumor or a cancer.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It was during those hours of wakefulness that she remembered the things disagreeable to her fine sensibility. She remembered the objects that made up the sentimental universe where, as in a chemical stew, those microbes of despair had been cultivated. During those nights, with her big round eves open and frightened, she bore the weight of the darkness that fell upon her temples like molten lead. Everything was asleep around her. And from her corner, in order to bring on sleep, she tried to go back over her childhood memories.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">But that remembering always ended with a terror of the unknown. Always, after wandering through the dark corners of the house, her thoughts would find themselves face to face with fear. Then the struggle would begin. The real struggle against three unmovable enemies. She would never--no, she would never--be able to shake the fear from her head. She would have to bear it as it clutched at her throat. And all just to live in that ancient mansion, to sleep alone in that corner, away from the rest of the world.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Her thoughts always went down along the damp, dark passageways, shaking the dry cobweb-covered dust off the portraits. That disturbing and fearsome dust that fell from above, from the place where the bones of her ancestors were falling apart. Invariably she remembered the "boy." She imagined him there, sleepwalking under the grass in the courtyard beside the orange tree, a handful of wet earth in his mouth. She seemed to see him in his clay depths, digging upward with his nails, his teeth, fleeing the cold that bit into his back, looking for the exit into the courtyard through that small tunnel where they had placed him along with the snails. In winter she would hear him weeping with his tiny sob, mud-covered, drenched with rain. She imagined him intact. Just as they had left him five years before in that water-filled hole. She couldn't think of him as having decomposed. On the contrary, he was probably most handsome sailing along in that thick water as on a voyage with no escape. Or she saw him alive but frightened, afraid of feeling himself alone, buried in such a somber courtyard. She herself had been against their leaving him there, under the orange tree, so close to the house. She was afraid of him. She knew that on nights when insomnia hounded her he would sense it. He would come back along the wide corridors to ask her to stay with him, ask her to defend him against those other insects, who were eating at the roots of his violets. He would come back to have her let him sleep beside her as he did when he was alive. She was afraid of feeling him beside her again after he had leaped over the wall of death. She was afraid of stealing those hands that the "boy" would always keep closed to warm up his little piece of ice. She wished, after she saw him turned into cement, like the statue of fear fallen in the mud, she wished that they would take him far away so that she wouldn't remember him at night. And yet they had left him there, where he was imperturbable now, wretched, feeding his blood with the mud of earthworms. And she had to resign herself to seeing him return from the depths of his shadows. Because always, invariably, when she lay awake she began to think about the "boy," who must be calling her from his piece of earth to help him flee that absurd death.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">But now, in her new life, temporal and spaceless, she was more tranquil. She knew that outside her world there, everything would keep going on with the same rhythm as before; that her room would still be sunken in early-morning darkness, and her things, her furniture, her thirteen favorite books, all in place. And that on her unoccupied bed, the body aroma that filled the void of what had been a whole woman was only now beginning to evaporate. But how could "that" happen? How could she, after being a beautiful woman, her blood peopled by insects, pursued by the fear of the total night, have the immense, wakeful nightmare now of entering a strange, unknown world where all dimensions had been eliminated? She remembered. That night--the night of her passage--had been colder than usual and she was alone in the house, martyrized by insomnia. No one disturbed the silence, and the smell that came from the garden was a smell of fear. Sweat broke out on her body as if the blood in her arteries were pouring out its cargo of insects. She wanted someone to pass by on the street, someone who would shout, would shatter that halted atmosphere. For something to move in nature, for the earth to move around the sun again. But it was useless. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> There was no waking up even for those imbecilic men who had fallen asleep under her ear, inside the pillow. She, too, was motionless. The walls gave off a strong smell of fresh paint, that thick, grand smell that you don't smell with your nose but with your stomach. And on the table the single clock, pounding on the silence with its mortal machinery. "Time . . . oh, time!" she sighed, remembering death. And there in the courtyard, under the orange tree, the "boy" was still weeping with his tiny sob from the other world.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">She took refuge in all her beliefs. Why didn't it dawn right then and there or why didn't she die once and for all? She had never thought that beauty would cost her so many sacrifices. At that moment--as usual--it still pained her on top of her fear. And underneath her fear those implacable insects were still martyrizing her. Death had squeezed her into life like a spider, biting her in a rage, ready to make her succumb. But the final moment was taking its time. Her hands, those hands that men squeezed like imbeciles with manifest animal nervousness, were motionless, paralyzed by fear, by that irrational terror that came from within, with no motive, just from knowing that she was abandoned in that ancient house. She tried to react and couldn't. Fear had absorbed her completely and remained there, fixed, tenacious, almost corporeal, as if it were some invisible person who had made up his mind not to leave her room. And the most upsetting part was that the fear had no justification at all, that it was a unique fear, without any reason, a fear just because.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The saliva had grown thick on her tongue. That hard gum that stuck to her palate and flowed because she was unable to contain it was bothersome between her teeth. It was a desire that was quite different from thirst. A superior desire that she was feeling for the first time in her life. For a moment she forgot about her beauty, her insomnia, and her irrational fear. She didn't recognize herself. For an instant she thought that the microbes had left her body. She felt that they'd come out stuck to her saliva. Yes, that was all very fine. It was fine that the insects no longer occupied her and that she could sleep now, but she had to find a way to dissolve that resin that dulled her tongue. If she could only get to the pantry and . . . But what was she thinking about? She gave a start of surprise. She'd never felt "that desire." The urgency of the acidity had debilitated her, rendering useless the discipline that she had faithfully followed for so many years ever since the day they had buried the "boy." It was foolish, but she felt revulsion about eating an orange. She knew that the "boy" had climbed up to the orange blossoms and that the fruit of next autumn would be swollen with his flesh, cooled by the coolness of his death. No. She couldn't eat them. She knew that under every orange tree in the world there was a boy buried, sweetening the fruit with the lime of his bones. Nevertheless, she had to eat an orange now. It was the only thing for that gum that was smothering her. It was the foolishness to think that the "boy" was inside a fruit. She would take advantage of that moment in which beauty had stopped paining her to get to the pantry. But wasn't that strange? It was the first time in her life that she'd felt a real urge to eat an orange. She became happy, happy. Oh, what pleasure! Eating an orange. She didn't know why, but she'd never had such a demanding desire. She would get up, happy to be a normal woman again, singing merrily until she got to the pantry, singing merrily like a new woman, newborn. She would,even get to the courtyard and . . .</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Her memory was suddenly cut off. She remembered that she had tried to get up and that she was no longer in her bed, that her body had disappeared, that her thirteen favorite books were no longer there, that she was no longer she, now that she was bodiless, floating, drifting over an absolute nothingness, changed into an amorphous dot, tiny, lacking direction. She was unable to pinpoint what had happened. She was confused. She just had the sensation that someone had pushed her into space from the top of a precipice. She felt changed into an abstract, imaginary being. She felt changed into an in corporeal woman, something like her suddenly having entered that high and unknown world of pure spirits.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">She was afraid again. But it was a different fear from what she had felt a moment before. It was no longer the fear of the "boy" 's weeping. It was a terror of the strange, of what was mysterious and unknown in her new world. And to think that all of it had happened so innocently, with so much naivete on her part. What would she tell her mother when she told her what had happened when she got home? She began to think about how alarmed the neighbors would be when they opened the door to her bedroom and discovered that the bed was empty, that the locks had not been touched, that no one had been able to enter or to leave, and that, nonetheless, she wasn't there. She imagined her mother's desperate movements as she searched through the room, conjecturing, wondering "what could have become of that girl?" The scene was clear to her. The neighbors would arrive and begin to weave comments together--some of them malicious--concerning her disappearance. Each would think according to his own and particular way of thinking. Each would try to offer the most logical explanation, the most acceptable, at least, while her mother would run along all the corridors in the big house, desperate, calling her by name.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And there she would be. She would contemplate the moment, detail by detail, from a corner, from the ceiling, from the chinks in the wall, from anywhere; from the best angle, shielded by her bodiless state, in her spacelessness. It bothered her, thinking about it. Now she realized her mistake. She wouldn't be able to give any explanation, clear anything up, console anybody. No living being could be informed of her transformation. Now--perhaps the only time that she needed them--she wouldn't have a mouth, arms, so that everybody could know that she was there, in her corner, separated from the three-dimensional world by an unbridgeable distance. In her new life she was isolated, completely prevented from grasping emotions. But at every moment something was vibrating in her, a shudder that ran through her, overwhelming her, making her aware of that other physical universe that moved outside her world. She couldn't hear, she couldn't see, but she knew about that sound and that sight. And there, in the heights of her superior world, she began to know that an environment of anguish surrounded her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Just a moment before--according to our temporal world-she had made the passage, so that only now was she beginning to know the peculiarities, the characteristics, of her new world. Around her an absolute, radical darkness spun. How long would that darkness last? Would she have to get used to it for eternity? Her anguish grew from her concentration as she saw herself sunken in that thick impenetrable fog: could she be in limbo? She shuddered. She remembered everything she had heard about limbo. If she really was there, floating beside her were other pure spirits, those of children who had died without baptism, who had been dying for a thousand years. In the darkness she tried to find next to her those beings who must have been much purer, ever so much simpler, than she. Completely isolated from the physical world, condemned to a sleepwalking and eternal life. Maybe the "boy" was there looking for an exit that would lead him to his body.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">But no. Why should she be in limbo? Had she died, perhaps? No. It was simply a change in state, a normal passage from the physical world to an easier, uncomplicated world, where all dimensions had been eliminated.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Now she would not have to bear those subterranean insects. Her beauty had collapsed on her. Now, in that elemental situation, she could be happy. Although--oh!--not completely happy, because now her greatest desire, the desire to eat an orange, had become impossible. It was the only thing that might have caused her still to want to be in her first life. To be able to satisfy the urgency of the acidity that still persisted after the passage. She tried to orient herself so as to reach the pantry and feel, if nothing else, the cool and sour company of the oranges. It was then that she discovered a new characteristic of her world: she was everywhere in the house, in the courtyard, on the roof, even in the "boy" 's orange tree. She was in the whole physical world there beyond. And yet she was nowhere. She became upset again. She had lost control over herself. Now she was under a superior will, she was a useless being, absurd, good for nothing. Without knowing why, she began to feel sad. She almost began to feel nostalgia for her beauty: for the beauty that had foolishly ruined her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">But one supreme idea reanimated her. Hadn't she heard, perhaps, that pure spirits can penetrate any body at will? After all, what harm was there in trying? She attempted to remember what inhabitant of the house could be put to the proof. If she could fulfill her aim she would be satisfied: she could eat the orange. She remembered. At that time the servants were usually not there. Her mother still hadn't arrived. But the need to eat an orange, joined now to the curiosity of seeing herself incarnate in a body different from her own, obliged her to act at once. And yet there was no one there in whom she could incarnate herself. It was a desolating bit of reason: there was nobody in the house. She would have to live eternally isolated from the outside world, in her undimensional world, unable to eat the first orange. And all because of a foolish thing. It would have been better to go on bearing up for a few more years under that hostile beauty and not wipe herself out forever, making herself useless, like a conquered beast. But it was too late. </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">She was going to withdraw, disappointed, into a distant region of the universe, to a place where she could forget all her earthly desires. But something made her suddenly hold back. The promise of a better future had opened up in her unknown region. Yes, there was someone in the house in whom she could reincarnate herself: the cat! Then she hesitated. It was difficult to resign herself to live inside an animal. She would have soft, white fur, and a great energy for a leap would probably be concentrated in her muscles. And she would feel her eyes glow in the dark like two green coals. And she would have white, sharp teeth to smile at her mother from her feline heart with a broad and good animal smile. But no! It couldn't be. She imagined herself quickly inside the body of the cat, running through the corridors of the house once more, managing four uncomfortable legs, and that tail would move on its own, without rhythm, alien to her will. What would life look like through those green and luminous eyes? At night she would go to mew at the sky so that it would not pour its moonlit cement down on the face of the "boy," who would be on his back drinking in the dew. Maybe in her status as a cat she would also feel fear. And maybe in the end, she would be unable to eat the orange with that carnivorous mouth. A coldness that came from right then and there, born of the very roots of her spirit quivered in her memory. No. It was impossible to incarnate herself in the cat. She was afraid of one day feeling in her palate in her throat in all her quadruped organism, the irrevocable desire to eat a mouse. Probably when her spirit began to inhabit the cat s body she would no longer feel any desire to eat an orange but the repugnant and urgent desire to eat a mouse. She shuddered on thinking about it, caught between her teeth after the chase. She felt it struggling in its last attempts at escape, trying to free itself to get back to its hole again. No. Anything but that. It was preferable to stay there for eternity in that distant and mysterious world of pure spirits. </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> But it was difficult to resign herself to live forgotten forever. Why did she have to feel the desire to eat a mouse? Who would rule in that synthesis of woman and cat? Would the primitive animal instinct of the body rule, or the pure will of the woman? The answer was crystal clear. There was no reason to be afraid. She would incarnate herself in the cat and would eat her desired orange. Besides, she would be a strange being, a cat with the intelligence of a beautiful woman. She would be the center of all attention. . . . It was then, for the first time, that she understood that above all her virtues what was in command was the vanity of a metaphysical woman.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Like an insect on the alert which raises its antennae, she put her energy to work throughout the house in search of the cat. It must still be on top of the stove at that time, dreaming that it would wake up with a sprig of heliotrope between its teeth. But it wasn't there. She looked for it again, but she could no longer find the stove. The kitchen wasn't the same. The corners of the house were strange to her; they were no longer those dark corners full of cobwebs. The cat was nowhere to be found. She looked on the roof, in the trees, in the drains, under the bed, in the pantry. She found everything confused. Where she expected to find the portraits of her ancestors again, she found only a bottle of arsenic. From there on she found arsenic all through the house, but the cat had disappeared. The house was no longer the same as before. What had happened to her things? Why were her thirteen favorite books now covered with a thick coat of arsenic? She remembered the orange tree in the courtyard. She looked for it, and tried to find the "boy" again in his pit of water. But the orange tree wasn't in its place and the "boy" was nothing now but a handful of arsenic mixed with ashes underneath a heavy concrete platform. Now she really was going to sleep. Everything was different. And the house had a strong smell of arsenic that beat on her nostrils as if from the depths of a pharmacy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Only then did she understand that three thousand years had passed since the day she had had a desire to eat the first orange.</span> </div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-55913355142649755312008-04-15T09:47:00.002+07:002008-04-15T11:27:39.122+07:00Split Cherry Treeby Jesse Stuart (1906-1984)<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I don't mind staying after school," I says to Professor Herbert, "but I'd rather you'd whip me with a switch and let me go home early. Pa will whip me anyway for getting home two hours late."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"You are too big to whip," says Professor Herbert, "and I have to punish you for climbing up in that cherry tree. You boys knew better than that! The other five boys have paid their dollar each. You have been the only one who has not helped pay for the tree. Can't you borrow a dollar?"</span></div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;" class="fullpost"><br /><br />"I can't," I says. "I'll have to take the punishment. I wish it would be quicker punishment. I wouldn't mind."<br /><br />Professor Herbert stood and looked at me. He was a big man. He wore a grey suit of clothes. The suit matched his grey hair.<br /><br />"You don't know my father," I says to Professor Herbert. "He might be called a little old-fashioned. He makes us mind him until we're twenty-one years old. He believes: 'If you spare the rod you spoil the child.' I'll never be able to make him understand about the cherry tree. I'm the first of my people to go to high school."<br /><br />"You must take the punishment," says Professor Herbert. "You must stay two hours after school today and two hours after school tomorrow. I am allowing you twenty-five cents an hour. That is good money for a high-school student. You can sweep the schoolhouse floor, wash the blackboards, and clean windows. I'll pay the dollar for you."<br /><br />I couldn't ask Professor Herbert to loan me a dolIar. He never offered to loan it to me. I had to stay and help the janitor and work out my fine at a quarter an hour.<br /><br />I thought as I swept the floor, "What will Pa do to me? What lie can I tell him when I go home? Why did we ever climb that cherry tree and break it down for anyway? Why did we run crazy over the hills away from the crowd? Why did we do all of this? Six of us climbed up in a little cherry tree after one little lizard! Why did the tree split and fall with us? It should have been a stronger tree! Why did Eif Crabtree just happen to be below us plowing and catch us in his cherry tree? Why wasn't he a better man than to charge us six dollars for the tree?"<br /><br />It was six o'clock when I left the schoolhouse. I had six miles to walk home. It would be after seven when I got home. I had all my work to do when I got home. It took Pa and I both to do the work. Seven cows to milk. Nineteen head of cattle to feed, four mules, twenty-five hogs, firewood and stovewood to cut, and water to draw from the well. He would be doing it when I got home. He would be mad and wondering what was keeping me!<br /><br />I hurried home. I would run under the dark, leafless trees. I would walk fast uphill. I would run down the hill. The ground was freezing. I had to hurry. I had to run. I reached the long ridge that led to our cow pasture. I ran along this ridge. The wind dried the sweat on my face. I ran across the pasture to the house.<br /><br />I threw down my books in the chipyard. I ran to the barn to spread fodder on the ground for the cattle. I didn't take time to change my clean school clothes for my old work clothes. I ran out to the barn. I saw Pa spreading fodder on the ground to the cattle. That was my job. I ran up to the fence. I says, "Leave that for me, Pa. I'll do it. I'm just a little late."<br /><br />"I see you are," says Pa. He turned and looked at me. His eyes danced fire. "What in th' world has kept you so? Why ain't you been here to help me with this work? Make a gentleman out'n one boy in th' family and this is what you get! Send you to high school and you get too onery fer th' buzzards to smell!"<br /><br />I never said anything. I didn't want to tell why I was late from school. Pa stopped scattering the bundles of fodder. He looked at me. He says, "Why are you gettin' in here this time o' night? You tell me or I'll take a hickory withe to you right here on th' spot!"<br /><br />I says, "I had to stay after school." I couldn't lie to Pa. He'd go to school and find out why I had to stay. If I lied to him it would be too bad for me.<br /><br />"Why did you haf to stay atter school?" says Pa.<br /><br />I says, "0ur biology class went on a field trip today. Six of us boys broke down a cherry tree. We had to give a dollar apiece to pay for the tree. I didn't have the dolIar. Professor Herbert is making me work out my dollar. He gives me twenty-five cents an hour. I had to stay in this afternoon. I'll have to stay in tomorrow afternoon!"<br /><br />"Are you telling me th' truth?" says Pa.<br /><br />"I'm telling you the truth," I says. "Go and see for yourself."<br /><br />"That's just what I'll do in th' mornin'," says Pa. "Jist whose cherry tree did you break down?"<br /><br />"Eif Crabtree's cherry tree!"<br /><br />"What was you doin' clear out in Eif Crabtree's place?" says Pa. "He lives four miles from th' county high school. Don't they teach you no books at that high school? Do they jist let you get out and gad over th' hillsides? If that's all they do I'll keep you at home, Dave. I've got work here fer you to do!" <br /><br /> "Pa," I says, "spring is just getting here. We take a subject in school where we have to have bugs, snakes, flowers, lizards, frogs, and plants. It is biology. It was a pretly day today. We went out to find a few of these. Six of us boys saw a lizard at the same time sunning on a cherry tree. We all went up the tree to get it. We broke the tree down. It split at the forks. Eif Crabtree was plowing down below us. He ran up the hill and got our names. The other boys gave their dollar apiece. I didn't have mine. Professor Herbert put mine in for me. I have to work it out at school."<br /><br />"Poor man's son, huh," says Pa. "I'll attend to that myself in th' mornin'. I'll take keer o' 'im. He ain't from this county nohow. I'll go down there in th' mornin' and see 'im. Lettin' you leave your books and galavant all over th' hills. What kind of a school is it nohow! Didn't do that, my son, when I's a little shaver in school. All fared alike too."<br /><br />"Pa, please don't go down there," I says, "just let me have fifty cents and pay the rest of my fine! I don't want you to go down there! I don't want you to start anything with Professor Herbert!<br /><br />"Ashamed of your old Pap are you, Dave," says Pa, "atter th' way I've worked to raise you! Tryin' to send you to school so you can make a better livin' than I've made.<br /><br />"I'll straighten this thing out myself! I'll take keer o' Professor Herbert myself! He ain't got no right to keep you in and let the other boys off jist because they've got th' money! I'm a poor man. A bullet will go in a professor same as it will any man. It will go in a rich man same as it will a poor man. Now you get into this work before I take one o' these withes and cut the shirt off'n your back!"<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> I thought once I'd run through the woods above the barn just as hard as I could go. I thought I'd leave high school and home forever! Pa could not catch me! I'd get away! I couldn't go back to school with him. He'd have a gun and maybe he'd shoot Professor Herbert. It was hard to tell what he would do. I could tell Pa that school had changed in the hills from the way it was when he was a boy, but he wouldn't understand. I could tell him we studied frogs, birds, snakes, lizards, flowers, insects. But Pa wouldn't understand. If I did run away from home it wouldn't matter to Pa. He would see Professor Herbert anyway. He would think that high school and Professor Herbert had run me away from home. There was no need to run away. I'd just have to stay, finish foddering the cattle, and go to school with Pa the next morning.<br /><br />I would take a bundle of fodder, remove the hickory witheband from around it, and scatter it on rocks, clumps of green briers, and brush so the cattle wouldn't tramp it under their feet. I would lean it up against the oak trees and the rocks in the pasture just above our pigpen on the hill. The fodder was cold and frosty where it had set out in the stacks. I would carry bundles of the fodder from the stack until I had spread out a bundle for each steer. Pa went to the barn to feed the mules and throw corn in the pen to the hogs.<br /><br />The moon shone bright in the cold March sky. I finished my work by moonlight. Professor Herbert really didn't know how much work I had to do at home. If he had known he would not have kept me after school. He would have loaned me a dolIar to have paid my part on the cherry tree. He had never lived in the hills. He didn't know the way the hill boys had to work so that they could go to school. Now he was teaching in a county high school where all the boys who attended were from hill farms.<br /><br />After I'd finished doing my work I went to the house and ate my supper. Pa and Mom had eaten. My supper was getting cold. I heard Pa and Mom talking in the front room. Pa was telling Mom about me staying in after school.<br /><br />"I had to do all th' milkin' tonight, chop th' wood myself. It's too hard on me atter I've turned ground all day. I'm goin' to take a day off tomorrow and see if I can't remedy things a little. I'll go down to that high school tomorrow. I won't be a very good scholar fer Professor Herbert nohow. He won't keep me in atter school. I'll take a different kind of lesson down there and make 'im acquainted with it."<br /><br />"Now, Luster," says Mom, "you jist stay away from there. Don't cause a lot o' trouble. You can be jailed fer a trick like that. You'll get th' Law atter you. You'll jist go down there and show off and plague your own boy Dave to death in front o' all th' scholars!" <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"Plague or no plague," says Pa, "he don't take into consideration what all I haf to do here, does he? I'll show 'im it ain't right to keep one boy in and let the rest go scot-free. My boy is good as th' rest, ain't he? A bullet will make a hole in a schoolteacher same as it will anybody else. He can't do me that way and get by with it. I'll plug 'im first. I aim to go down there bright and early in the mornin' and get all this straight! I aim to see about bug larnin' and this runnin' all over God's creation huntin' snakes, lizards, and frogs. Ransackin' th' country and goin' through cherry orchards and breakin' th' trees down atter lizards! 0ld Eif Crabtree ought to a-poured th' hot lead to 'em instead o' chargin' six dollars fer th' tree! He ought to a-got old Herbert th' first one!"<br /><br />I ate my supper. I slipped upstairs and lit the lamp. I tried to forget the whole thing. I studied plane geometry. Then I studied my biology lesson. I could hardly study for thinking about Pa. "He'll go to school with me in the morning. He'll take a gun for Professor Herbert! What will Professor Herbert think of me! I'll tell him when Pa leaves that I couldn't help it. But Pa might shoot him. I hate to go with Pa. Maybe he'll cool off about it tonight and not go in the morning."<br /><br />Pa got up at four o'clock. He built a fire in the stove. Then he built a fire in the fireplace. He got Mom up to get breakfast. Then he got me up to help feed and milk. By the time we had our work done at the barn, Mom had breakfast ready for us. We ate our breakfast. Daylight came and we could see the bare oak trees covered white with frost. The hills were white with frost. A cold wind was blowing. The sky was clear. The sun would soon come out and melt the frost. The afternoon would be warm with sunshine and the frozen ground with thaw. There would be mud on the hills again. Muddy water would then run down the little ditches on the hills.<br /><br />"Now, Dave," says Pa, "let's get ready fer school. I aim to go with you this mornin' and look into bug larnin', frog larnin', lizard and snake larnin', and breakin' down cherry trees! I don't like no sicha foolish way o' larnin' myself!" <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Pa hadn't forgot. I'd have to take him to school with me. He would take me to school with him. We were going early. I was glad we were going early. If Pa pulled a gun on Professor Herbert there wouldn't be so many of my classmates there to see him.<br /><br />I knew that Pa wouldn't be at home in the high school. He wore overalls, big boots, a blue shirt and a sheepskin coat and a slouched black hat gone to seed at the top. He put his gun in its holster. We started trudging toward the high schoo1 across the hill.<br /><br />It was early when we got to the county high school. Professor Herbert had just got there. I just thought as we walked up the steps into the schoolhouse, "Maybe Pa will find out Professor Herbert is a good man. He just doesn't know him. Just like I felt toward the Lambert boys across the hill. I didn't like them until I'd seen them and talked to them. After I went to school with them and talked to them, I liked them and we were friends. It's a lot in knowing the other fellow."<br /><br />"You're th' Professor here, ain't you?" says Pa.<br /><br />"Yes," says Professor Herbert, "and you are Dave's father."<br /><br />"Yes," says Pa, pulling out his gun and laying it on the seat in Professor Herbert's office. Professor Herbert's eyes got big behind his black-rimmed glasses when he saw Pa's gun. Color came into his pale cheeks.<br /><br />"Jist a few things about this school I want to know," says Pa. "I'm tryin' to make a scholar out'n Dave. He's the only one out'n eleven youngins I've sent to high school. Here he comes in late and leaves me all th' work to do! He said you's all out bug huntin' yesterday and broke a cherry tree down. He had to stay two hours atter school yesterday and work out money to pay on that cherry tree! Is that right?"<br /><br />"Wwwwy," says Professor Herbert, "I guess it is."<br /><br />He looked at Pa's gun.<br /><br />"Well," says Pa, "this ain't no high school. It's a bug school, a lizard school, a snake school! It ain't no school nohow!"<br /><br />"Why did you bring that gun?" says Professor Herbert to Pa.<br /><br />"You see that little hole," says Pa as he picked up the long blue forty-four and put his finger on the end of the barrel, "a bullet can come out'n that hole that will kill a schoolteacher same as it will any other man. It will kill a rich man same as a poor man. It will kill a man. But atter I come in and saw you, I know'd I wouldn't need it. This maul o' mine could do you up in a few minutes."<br /><br />Pa stood there, big, hard, brown-skinned, and mighty beside of Professor Herbert. I didn't know Pa was so much bigger and harder. I'd never seen Pa in a schoolhouse before. I'd seen Professor Herbert. He'd always looked big before to me. He didn't look big standing beside of Pa.<br /><br />"I was only doing my duty," says Professor Herbert, "Mr. Sexton, and following the course of study the state provided us with."<br /><br />"Course o' study," says Pa, "what study, bug study? Varmint study? Takin' youngins to th' woods and their poor old Ma's and Pa's at home a-slavin' to keep 'em in school and give 'em a education! You know that's dangerous, too, puttin' a lot o' boys and girIs out together like that!"<br /><br />Students were coming into the schoolhouse now.<br /><br />Professor Herbert says, "Close the door, Dave, so others won't hear."<br /><br />I walked over and closed the door. I was shaking like a leaf in the wind. I thought Pa was going to hit Professor Herbert every minute. He was doing all the talking. His face was getting red. The red color was coming through the brown, weather-beaten skin on Pa's face.<br /><br />"I was right with these students," says Professor Herbert. "I know what they got into and what they didn't. I didn't send one of the other teachers with them on this field trip. I went myself. Yes, I took the boys and girIs together. Why not?"<br /><br />"It jist don't look good to me," says Pa, "a-takin' all this swarm of youngins out to pillage th' whole deestrict. Breakin' down cherry trees. Keepin' boys in atter school."<br /><br />"What else could I have done with Dave, Mr. Sexton?" says Professor Herbert. "The boys didn't have any business all climbing that cherry tree after one lizard. One boy could have gone up in the tree and got it. The farmer charged us six dollars. It was a little steep, I think, but we had it to pay. Must I make five boys pay and let your boy off? He said he didn't have the dollar and couldn't get it. So I put it in for him. I'm letting him work it out. He's not working for me. He's working for the school!"<br /><br />"I jist don't know what you could a-done with 'im," says Pa, "only a-larruped im with a withe! That's what he needed!"<br /><br />"He's too big to whip," says Professor Herbert, pointing at me. "He's a man in size."<br /><br />"He's not too big fer me to whip," says Pa. "They ain't too big until they're over twenty-one! It jist didn't look fair to me! Work one and let th' rest out because they got th' money. I don't see what bugs has got to do with a high school! It don't look good to me nohow!"<br /><br />Pa picked up his gun and put it back in its holster. The red color left Professor Herbert's face. He talked more to Pa. Pa softened a littIe. It looked funny to see Pa in the high-school building. It was the first time he'd ever been there.<br /><br />"We were not only hunting snakes, toads, flowers, butterflies, lizards," says Professor Herbert, "but, Mr. Sexton, I was hunting dry timothy grass to put in an incubator and raise some protozoa."<br /><br />" I don't know what that is," says Pa. "Th' incubator is th' new-fangled way o' cheatin' th' hens and raisin' chickens. I ain't so sure about th' breed o' chickens you mentioned."<br /><br />"You've heard of germs, Mr. Sexton, haven't you?" says Professor Herbert.<br /><br />"Jist call me Luster, if you don't mind," says Pa, very casual like.<br /><br />"All right, Luster, you've heard of germs, haven't you?"<br /><br />"Yes," says Pa, "but I don't believe in germs. I'm sixty-five years old and I ain't seen one yet!"<br /><br />"You can't see them with your naked eye," says Professor Herbert. "Just keep that gun in the holster and stay with me in the high school today. I have a few things want to show you. That scum on your teeth has germs in it."<br /><br />"What," says Pa, "you mean to tell me I've got germs on my teeth!<br /><br />"Yes," says Professor Herbert. "The same kind as we might be able to find in a living black snake if we dissect it!"<br /><br />"I don't mean to dispute your word," says Pa, "but I don't believe it. I don't believe I have germs on my teeth!"<br /><br />"Stay with me today and I'll show you. I want to take you through the school anyway! School has changed a lot in the hills since you went to school. I don't guess we had high schools in this county when you went to school!"<br /><br />"No," says Pa, "jist readin', writin', and cipherin'. We didn't have all this bug larnin', frog larnin', and findin' germs on your teeth and in the middle o' black snakes! Th' world's changin'."<br /><br />"It is," says Professor Herbert, "and we hope all for the better. Boys like your own there are going to help change it. He's your boy. He knows all of what I've told you. You stay with me today."<br /><br />"I'll shore stay with you," says Pa. " I want to see th' germs off'n my teeth. I jist want to see a germ. I've never seen one in my life. 'Seein' is believin',' Pap allus told me."<br /><br />Pa walks out of the office with Professor Herbert. I just hoped Professor Herbert didn't have Pa arrested for pulling his gun. Pa's gun has always been a friend to him when he goes to settle disputes.<br /><br />The bell rang. School took up. I saw the students when they marched in the schoolhouse look at Pa. They would grin and punch each other. Pa just stood and watched them pass in at the schoolhouse door. Two long lines marched in the house. The boys and girls were clean and well dressed. Pa stood over in the schoolyard under a leafless elm, in his sheepskin coat, his big boots laced in front with buckskin, and his heavy socks stuck above his boot tops. Pa's overalIs legs were baggy and wrinkled between his coat and boot tops. His blue work shirt showed at the collar. His big black hat showed his gray-streaked black hair. His face was hard and weather-tanned to the color of a ripe fodder blade. His hands were big and gnarled like the roots of the elm tree he stood beside.<br /><br />When I went to my first cIass I saw Pa and Professor Herbert going around over the schoolhouse. I was in my geometry class when Pa and Professor Herbert came in the room. We were explaining our propositions on the blackboard. Professor Herbert and Pa just quietly came in and sat down for awhile. I heard Fred Wutts whisper to Glenn Armstrong, "Who is that old man? Lord, he's a rough-looking scamp." Glenn whispered back, "I think he's Dave's Pap." The students in geometry looked at Pa. They must have wondered what he was doing in school. Before the cIass was over, Pa and Professor Herbert got up and went out. I saw them together down on the playground. Professor Herbert was explaining to Pa. I could see the prints of Pa's gun under his coat when he'd walk around.<br /><br />At noon in the high-school cafeteria Pa and Professor Herbert sat together at the little table where Professor Herbert always ate by himself. They ate together. The students watched the way Pa ate. He ate with his knife instead of his fork. A lot of the students felt sorry for me after they found out he was my father. They didn't have to feel sorry for me. I wasn't ashamed of Pa after I found out he wasn't going to shoot Professor Herbert. I was glad they had made friends. I wasn't ashamed of Pa. I wouldn't be as long as he behaved. He would find out about the high school as I had found out about the Lambert boys across the hill.<br /><br />In the afternoon when we went to biology Pa was in the class. He was sitting on one of the high stools beside the microscope. We went ahead with our work just as if Pa wasn't in the class. I saw- Pa take his knife and scrape tartar from one of his teeth. Professor Herbert put it on the lens and adjusted the microscope for Pa. He adjusted it and worked awhile. Then he says: "Now Luster, look! Put your eye right down to the light. Squint the other eye!"<br /><br />Pa put his head down and did as Professor Herbert said. "I see 'im," says Pa. 'Who'd a ever thought that? Right on a body's teeth! Right in a body's mouth. You're right certain they ain't no fake to this, Professor Herbert?"<br /><br />"No, Luster," says Professor Herbert. "It's there. That's the germ. Germs live in a worId we cannot see with the naked eye. We must use the microscope. There are millions of them in our bodies. Some are harmful. Others are helpful."<br /><br />Pa holds his face down and looks through the microscope. We stop and watch Pa. He sits upon the tall stool. His knees are against the table. His legs are long. His coat slips up behind when he bends over. The handle of his gun shows. Professor Herbert pulls his coat down quickly.<br /><br />"Oh, yes," says Pa. He gets up and pulls his coat down. Pa's face gets a little red. He knows about his gun and he knows he doesn't have any use for it in high school.<br /><br />"We have a big black snake over here we caught yesterday," says Professor Herbert. "We'll chloroform him and dissect him and show you he has germs in his body, too."<br /><br />"Don't do it," says Pa. "I believe you. I jist don't want to see you kill the black snake. I never kill one. They are good mousers and a lot o' help to us on the farm. I like black snakes. I jist hate to see people kill 'em. I don't allow 'em killed on my place."<br /><br />The students look at Pa. They seem to like him better after he said that. Pa with a gun in his pocket but a tender heart beneath his ribs for snakes, but not for man! Pa won't whip a mule at home. He won't whip his cattle.<br /><br />"Man can defend hisself," says Pa, "but cattle and mules can't. We have the drop on 'em. Ain't nothin' to a man that'll beat a good pullin' mule. He ain't got th' right kind o' a heart!"<br /><br />Professor Herbert took Pa through the laboratory. He showed him the different kinds of work we were doing. He showed him our equipment. They stood and talked while we worked. Then they walked out together. They talked louder when they got out in the hall.<br /><br />When our biology class was over I walked out of the room. It was our last class for the day. I would have to take my broom and sweep two hours to finish paying for the split cherry tree. I just wondered if Pa would want me to stay. He was standing in the hallway watching the students march out. He looked lost among us. He looked like a leaf turned brown on the tree among the treetop filled with growing leaves.<br /><br />I got my broom and started to sweep. Professor Herbert walked up and says, "I'm going to let you do that some other time. You can go home with your father. He is waiting out there."<br /><br />I Iaid my broom down, got my books, and went down the steps.<br /><br />Pa says, "Ain't you got two hours o' sweepin' yet to do?"<br /><br />I says, "Professor Herbert said I could do it some other time. He said for me to go home with you."<br /><br />"No," says Pa. "You are goin' to do as he says. He's a good man. School has changed from my day and time. I'm a dead leaf, Dave. I'm behind. I don't belong here. If he'll let me I'll get a broom and we'll both sweep one hour. That pays your debt. I'll hep you pay it. I'll ast 'im and see if he won't let me hep you."<br /><br /><br />"I'm going to cancel the debt," says Professor Herbert. "I just wanted you to understand, Luster."<br /><br />"I understand," says Pa, "and since I understand he must pay his debt fer th' tree and I'm goin' to hep 'im."<br /><br />"Don't do that," says Professor Herbert. "It's all on me."<br /><br />"We don't do things like that," says Pa, "we're just and honest people. We don't want somethin' fer nothin'. Professor Herbert, you're wrong now and I'm right. You'll haf to listen to me. I've larned a lot from you. My boy must go on. Th' worId has left me. It changed while I've raised my family and plowed th' hills. I'm a just and honest man. I don' skip debts. I ain't larned 'em to do that. I ain't got much larnin' myself but I do know right from wrong atter I see through a thing."<br /><br />Professor Herbert went home. Pa and I stayed and swept one hour. It looked funny to see Pa use a broom. He never used one at home. Mom used the broom. Pa used the plow. Pa did hard work. Pa says, "I can't sweep. Durned if I can. Look at th' streaks o' dirt I leave on th' floor! Seems like no work a-tall fer me. Brooms is too light 'r somethin'. I'll jist do th' best I can, Dave. I've been wrong about th' school."<br /><br />I says, "Did you know Professor Herbert can get a warrant out for you for bringing your pistoI to school and showing it in his office! They can railroad you for that!"<br /><br />"That's all made right," says Pa. "I've made that right. Professor Herbert ain't goin' to take it to court. He likes me. I like 'im. We jist had to get together. He had the remedies. He showed me. You must go on to school. I am as strong a man as ever come out'n th' hills fer my years and th' hard work I've done. But I'm behind, Dave. I'm a little man. Your hands will be softer than mine. Your clothes will be better. You'll allus look cleaner than your old Pap. Jist remember, Dave, to pay your debts and be honest. Jist be kind to animals and don't bother th' snakes. That's all I got agin th' school. Puttin' black snakes to sleep and cuttin' 'em open."<br /><br />It was late when we got home. Stars were in the sky. The moon was up. The ground was frozen. Pa took his time going home. I couldn't run like I did the night before. It was ten o'clock before we got the work finished, our suppers eaten. Pa sat before the fire and told Mom he was going to take her and show her a germ sometime. Mom hadn't seen one either. Pa told her about the high school and the fine man Professor Herbert was. He told Mom about the strange school across the hill and how different it was from the school in their day and time.</div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-47496184670432214882008-04-15T09:36:00.001+07:002008-04-15T09:40:34.392+07:00Markheimby Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">"Yes," said the dealer, "our windfalls are of various kinds. Some customers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend on my superior knowledge. Some are dishonest," and here he held up the candle, so that the light fell strongly on his visitor, "and in that case," he continued, "I profit by my virtue."<br /><br />Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyes had not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in the shop. At these pointed words, and before the near presence of the flame, he blinked painfully and looked aside.</div><div style="text-align: justify;" class="fullpost"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The dealer chuckled. "You come to me on Christmas Day," he resumed, "when you know that I am alone in my house, put up my shutters, and make a point of refusing business. Well, you will have to pay for that; you will have to pay for my loss of time, when I should be balancing my books; you will have to pay, besides, for a kind of manner that I remark in you to-day very strongly. I am the essence of discretion, and ask no awkward questions; but when a customer cannot look me in the eye, he has to pay for it." The dealer once more chuckled; and then, changing to his usual business voice, though still with a note of irony, "You can give, as usual, a clear account of how you came into the possession of the object?" he continued. "Still your uncle's cabinet? A remarkable collector, sir!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on tip-toe, looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his head with every mark of disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with one of infinite pity, and a touch of horror.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"This time," said he, "you are in error. I have not come to sell, but to buy. I have no curios to dispose of; my uncle's cabinet is bare to the wainscot; even were it still intact, I have done well on the Stock Exchange, and should more likely add to it than otherwise, and my errand to-day is simplicity itself. I seek a Christmas present for a lady," he continued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the speech he had prepared; "and certainly I owe you every excuse for thus disturbing you upon so small a matter. But the thing was neglected yesterday; I must produce my little compliment at dinner; and, as you very well know, a rich marriage is not a thing to be neglected."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">There followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed to weigh this statement incredulously. The ticking of many clocks among the curious lumber of the shop, and the faint rushing of the cabs in a near thoroughfare, filled up the interval of silence.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Well, sir," said the dealer, "be it so. You are an old customer after all; and if, as you say, you have the chance of a good marriage, far be it from me to be an obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady now," he went on, "this hand-glass--fifteenth century, warranted; comes from a good collection, too; but I reserve the name, in the interests of my customer, who was just like yourself, my dear sir, the nephew and sole heir of a remarkable collector."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting voice, had stooped to take the object from its place; and, as he had done so, a shock had passed through Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, a sudden leap of many tumultuous passions to the face. It passed as swiftly as it came, and left no trace beyond a certain trembling of the hand that now received the glass.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"A glass," he said hoarsely, and then paused, and repeated it more clearly. "A glass? For Christmas? Surely not?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"And why not?" cried the dealer. "Why not a glass?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable expression. "You ask me why not?" he said. "Why, look here--look in it--look at yourself! Do you like to see it? No! nor I--nor any man."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The little man had jumped back when Markheim had so suddenly confronted him with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was nothing worse on hand, he chuckled. "Your future lady, sir, must be pretty hard favoured," said he.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I ask you," said Markheim, "for a Christmas present, and you give me this--this damned reminder of years, and sins and follies--this hand- conscience! Did you mean it? Had you a thought in your mind? Tell me. It will be better for you if you do. Come, tell me about yourself. I hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable man."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was very odd, Markheim did not appear to be laughing; there was something in his face like an eager sparkle of hope, but nothing of mirth.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"What are you driving at?" the dealer asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Not charitable?" returned the other, gloomily. "Not charitable; not pious; not scrupulous; unloving, unbeloved; a hand to get money, a safe to keep it. Is that all? Dear God, man, is that all?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I will tell you what it is," began the dealer, with some sharpness, and then broke off again into a chuckle. "But I see this is a love match of yours, and you have been drinking the lady's health."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Ah!" cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity. "Ah, have you been in love? Tell me about that."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I," cried the dealer. "I in love! I never had the time, nor have I the time to-day for all this nonsense. Will you take the glass?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Where is the hurry?" returned Markheim. "It is very pleasant to stand here talking; and life is so short and insecure that I would not hurry away from any pleasure--no, not even from so mild a one as this. We should rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at a cliff's edge. Every second is a cliff, if you think upon it--a cliff a mile high--high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature of humanity. Hence it is best to talk pleasantly. Let us talk of each other; why should we wear this mask? Let us be confidential. Who knows? we might become friends."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I have just one word to say to you," said the dealer. "Either make your purchase, or walk out of my shop."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"True, true," said Markheim. "Enough fooling. To business. Show me something else."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the glass upon the shelf, his thin blond hair falling over his eyes as he did so. Markheim moved a little nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his greatcoat; he drew himself up and filled his lungs; at the same time many different emotions were depicted together on his face--terror, horror, and resolve, fascination and a physical repulsion; and through a haggard lift of his upper lip, his teeth looked out.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"This, perhaps, may suit," observed the dealer. And then, as he began to rearise, Markheim bounded from behind upon his victim. The long, skewer-like dagger flashed and fell. The dealer struggled like a hen, striking his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on the floor in a heap.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Time had some score of small voices in that shop--some stately and slow as was becoming to their great age; others garrulous and hurried. All these told out the seconds in an intricate chorus of tickings. Then the passage of a lad's feet, heavily running on the pavement, broke in upon these smaller voices and startled Markheim into the consciousness of his surroundings. He looked about him awfully. The candle stood on the counter, its flame solemnly wagging in a draught; and by that inconsiderable movement the whole room was filled with noiseless bustle and kept heaving like a sea: the tall shadows nodding, the gross blots of darkness swelling and dwindling as with respiration, the faces of the portraits and the china gods changing and wavering like images in water. The inner door stood ajar, and peered into that leaguer of shadows with a long slit of daylight like a pointing finger.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim's eyes returned to the body of his victim, where it lay, both humped and sprawling, incredibly small and strangely meaner than in life. In these poor, miserly clothes, in that ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so much sawdust. Markheim had feared to see it, and, lo! it was nothing. And yet, as he gazed, this bundle of old clothes and pool of blood began to find eloquent voices. There it must lie; there was none to work the cunning hinges or direct the miracle of locomotion; there it must lie till it was found. Found! ay, and then? Then would this dead flesh lift up a cry that would ring over England, and fill the world with the echoes of pursuit. Ay, dead or not, this was still the enemy. "Time was that when the brains were out," he thought; and the first word struck into his mind. Time, now that the deed was accomplished-- time, which had closed for the victim, had become instant and momentous for the slayer.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and then another, with every variety of pace and voice--one deep as the bell from a cathedral turret, another ringing on its treble notes the prelude of a waltz,--the clocks began to strike the hour of three in the afternoon.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb chamber staggered him. He began to bestir himself, going to and fro with the candle, beleaguered by moving shadows, and startled to the soul by chance reflections. In many rich mirrors, some of home design, some from Venice or Amsterdam, he saw his face repeated and repeated, as it were an army of spies; his own eyes met and detected him; and the sound of his own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the surrounding quiet. And still, as he continued to fill his pockets, his mind accused him with a sickening iteration, of the thousand faults of his design. He should have chosen a more quiet hour; he should have prepared an alibi; he should not have used a knife; he should have been more cautious, and only bound and gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he should have been more bold, and killed the servant also; he should have done all things otherwise. Poignant regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the mind to change what was unchangeable, to plan what was now useless, to be the architect of the irrevocable past. Meanwhile, and behind all this activity, brute terrors, like the scurrying of rats in a deserted attic, filled the more remote chambers of his brain with riot; the hand of the constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, and his nerves would jerk like a hooked fish; or he beheld, in galloping defile, the dock, the prison, the gallows, and the black coffin.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Terror of the people in the street sat down before his mind like a besieging army. It was impossible, he thought, but that some rumour of the struggle must have reached their ears and set on edge their curiosity; and now, in all the neighbouring houses, he divined them sitting motionless and with uplifted ear--solitary people, condemned to spend Christmas dwelling alone on memories of the past, and now startingly recalled from that tender exercise; happy family parties struck into silence round the table, the mother still with raised finger--every degree and age and humour, but all, by their own hearths, prying and hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hang him. Sometimes it seemed to him he could not move too softly; the clink of the tall Bohemian goblets rang out loudly like a bell; and alarmed by the bigness of the ticking, he was tempted to stop the clocks. And then, again, with a swift transition of his terrors, the very silence of the place appeared a source of peril, and a thing to strike and freeze the passer-by; and he would step more boldly, and bustle aloud among the contents of the shop, and imitate, with elaborate bravado, the movements of a busy man at ease in his own house.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">But he was now so pulled about by different alarms that, while one portion of his mind was still alert and cunning, another trembled on the brink of lunacy. One hallucination in particular took a strong hold on his credulity. The neighbour hearkening with white face beside his window, the passer-by arrested by a horrible surmise on the pavement--these could at worst suspect, they could not know; through the brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could penetrate. But here, within the house, was he alone? He knew he was; he had watched the servant set forth sweet-hearting, in her poor best, "out for the day" written in every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone, of course; and yet, in the bulk of empty house above him, he could surely hear a stir of delicate footing; he was surely conscious, inexplicably conscious of some presence. Ay, surely; to every room and corner of the house his imagination followed it; and now it was a faceless thing, and yet had eyes to see with; and again it was a shadow of himself; and yet again behold the image of the dead dealer, reinspired with cunning and hatred.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the open door which still seemed to repel his eyes. The house was tall, the skylight small and dirty, the day blind with fog; and the light that filtered down to the ground story was exceedingly faint, and showed dimly on the threshold of the shop. And yet, in that strip of doubtful brightness, did there not hang wavering a shadow?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentleman began to beat with a staff on the shop door, accompanying his blows with shouts and railleries in which the dealer was continually called upon by name. Markheim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. But no! he lay quite still; he was fled away far beyond earshot of these blows and shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of silence; and his name, which would once have caught his notice above the howling of a storm, had become an empty sound. And presently the jovial gentleman desisted from his knocking and departed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get forth from this accusing neighbourhood, to plunge into a bath of London multitudes, and to reach, on the other side of day, that haven of safety and apparent innocence--his bed. One visitor had come; at any moment another might follow and be more obstinate. To have done the deed, and yet not to reap the profit, would be too abhorrent a failure. The money--that was now Markheim's concern; and as a means to that, the keys.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where the shadow was still lingering and shivering; and with no conscious repugnance of the mind, yet with a tremor of the belly, he drew near the body of his victim. The human character had quite departed. Like a suit half- stuffed with bran, the limbs lay scattered, the trunk doubled, on the floor; and yet the thing repelled him. Although so dingy and inconsiderable to the eye, he feared it might have more significance to the touch. He took the body by the shoulders, and turned it on its back. It was strangely light and supple, and the limbs, as if they had been broken, fell into the oddest postures. The face was robbed of all expression; but it was as pale as wax, and shockingly smeared with blood about one temple. That was, for Markheim, the one displeasing circumstance. It carried him back, upon the instant, to a certain fair-day in a fishers' village: a gray day, a piping wind, a crowd upon the street, the blare of brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice of a ballad singer; and a boy going to and fro, buried overhead in the crowd and divided between interest and fear, until, coming out upon the chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth and a great screen with pictures, dismally designed, garishly coloured--Brownrigg with her apprentice, the Mannings with their murdered guest, Weare in the death-grip of Thurtell, and a score besides of famous crimes. The thing was as clear as an illusion He was once again that little boy; he was looking once again, and with the same sense of physical revolt, at these vile pictures; he was still stunned by the thumping of the drums. A bar of that day's music returned upon his memory; and at that, for the first time, a qualm came over him, a breath of nausea, a sudden weakness of the joints, which he must instantly resist and conquer.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from these considerations, looking the more hardily in the dead face, bending his mind to realise the nature and greatness of his crime. So little a while ago that face had moved with every change of sentiment, that pale mouth had spoken, that body had been all on fire with governable energies; and now, and by his act, that piece of life had been arrested, as the horologist, with interjected finger, arrests the beating of the clock. So he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no more remorseful consciousness; the same heart which had shuddered before the painted effigies of crime, looked on its reality unmoved. At best, he felt a gleam of pity for one who had been endowed in vain with all those faculties that can make the world a garden of enchantment, one who had never lived and who was now dead. But of penitence, no, not a tremor.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found the keys and advanced toward the open door of the shop. Outside, it had begun to rain smartly, and the sound of the shower upon the roof had banished silence. Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the house were haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and mingled with the ticking of the clocks. And, as Markheim approached the door, he seemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the steps of another foot withdrawing up the stair. The shadow still palpitated loosely on the threshold. He threw a ton's weight of resolve upon his muscles, and drew back the door.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor and stairs; on the bright suit of armour posted, halbert in hand, upon the landing; and on the dark wood-carvings, and framed pictures that hung against the yellow panels of the wainscot. So loud was the beating of the rain through all the house that, in Markheim's ears, it began to be distinguished into many different sounds. Footsteps and sighs, the tread of regiments marching in the distance, the chink of money in the counting, and the creaking of doors held stealthily ajar, appeared to mingle with the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing of the water in the pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon him to the verge of madness. On every side he was haunted and begirt by presences. He heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, he heard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with a great effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before him and followed stealthily behind. If he were but deaf, he thought, how tranquilly he would possess his soul! And then again, and hearkening with ever fresh attention, he blessed himself for that unresting sense which held the outposts and stood a trusty sentinel upon his life. His head turned continually on his neck; his eyes, which seemed starting from their orbits, scouted on every side, and on every side were half rewarded as with the tail of something nameless vanishing. The four and twenty steps to the first floor were four and twenty agonies.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">On that first story, the doors stood ajar--three of them, like three ambushes, shaking his nerves like the throats of cannon. He could never again, he felt, be sufficiently immured and fortified from men's observing eyes; he longed to be home, girt in by walls, buried among bedclothes, and invisible to all but God. And at that thought he wondered a little, recollecting tales of other murderers and the fear they were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. It was not so, at least, with him. He feared the laws of nature, lest, in their callous and immutable procedure, they should preserve some damning evidence of his crime. He feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitious terror, some scission in the continuity of man's experience, some wilful illegality of nature. He played a game of skill, depending on the rules, calculating consequence from cause; and what if nature, as the defeated tyrant overthrew the chess-board, should break the mould of their succession? The like had befallen Napoleon (so writers said) when the winter changed the time of its appearance. The like might befall Markheim: the solid walls might become transparent and reveal his doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout planks might yield under his foot like quicksands and detain him in their clutch. Ay, and there were soberer accidents that might destroy him; if, for instance, the house should fall and imprison him beside the body of his victim, or the house next door should fly on fire, and the firemen invade him from all sides. These things he feared; and, in a sense, these things might be called the hands of God reached forth against sin. But about God himself he was at ease; his act was doubtless exceptional, but so were his excuses, which God knew; it was there, and not among men, that he felt sure of justice.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">When he had got safe into the drawing-room, and shut the door behind him, he was aware of a respite from alarms. The room was quite dismantled, uncarpeted besides, and strewn with packing-cases and incongruous furniture; several great pier-glasses, in which he beheld himself at various angles, like an actor on a stage; many pictures, framed and unframed, standing, with their faces to the wall; a fine Sheraton sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, and a great old bed, with tapestry hangings. The windows opened to the floor; but by great good fortune the lower part of the shutters had been closed, and this concealed him from the neighbours. Here, then, Markheim drew in a packing-case before the cabinet, and began to search among the keys. It was a long business, for there were many; and it was irksome, besides; for, after all, there might be nothing in the cabinet, and time was on the wing. But the closeness of the occupation sobered him. With the tail of his eye he saw the door--even glanced at it from time to time directly, like a besieged commander pleased to verify the good estate of his defences. But in truth he was at peace. The rain falling in the street sounded natural and pleasant. Presently, on the other side, the notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, and the voices of many children took up the air and words. How stately, how comfortable was the melody! How fresh the youthful voices! Markheim gave ear to it smilingly, as he sorted out the keys; and his mind was thronged with answerable ideas and images: church-going children, and the pealing of the high organ; children afield, bathers by the brookside, ramblers on the brambly common, kite-flyers in the windy and cloud-navigated sky; and then, at another cadence of the hymn, back again to church, and the somnolence of summer Sundays, and the high genteel voice of the parson (which he smiled a little to recall) and the painted Jacobean tombs, and the dim lettering of the Ten Commandments in the chancel.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was startled to his feet. A flash of ice, a flash of fire, a bursting gush of blood, went over him, and then he stood transfixed and thrilling. A step mounted the stair slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was laid upon the knob, and the lock clicked, and the door opened.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew not--whether the dead man walking, or the official ministers of human justice, or some chance witness blindly stumbling in to consign him to the gallows. But when a face was thrust into the aperture, glanced round the room, looked at him, nodded and smiled as if in friendly recognition, and then withdrew again, and the door closed behind it, his fear broke loose from his control in a hoarse cry. At the sound of this the visitant returned.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Did you call me?" he asked, pleasantly, and with that he entered the room and closed the door behind him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. Perhaps there was a film upon his sight, but the outlines of the new comer seemed to change and waver like those of the idols in the wavering candle-light of the shop; and at times he thought he knew him; and at times he thought he bore a likeness to himself; and always, like a lump of living terror, there lay in his bosom the conviction that this thing was not of the earth and not of God.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And yet the creature had a strange air of the commonplace, as he stood looking on Markheim with a smile; and when he added, "You are looking for the money, I believe?" it was in the tones of everyday politeness.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Markheim made no answer.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I should warn you," resumed the other, "that the maid has left her sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim be found in this house, I need not describe to him the consequences."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"You know me?" cried the murderer.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The visitor smiled. "You have long been a favourite of mine," he said; "and I have long observed and often sought to help you."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"What are you?" cried Markheim; "the devil?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"What I may be," returned the other, "cannot affect the service I propose to render you."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"It can," cried Markheim; "it does! Be helped by you? No, never; not by you! You do not know me yet; thank God, you do not know me!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I know you," replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity or rather firmness. "I know you to the soul."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Know me!" cried Markheim. "Who can do so? My life is but a travesty and slander on myself. I have lived to belie my nature. All men do; all men are better than this disguise that grows about and stifles them. You see each dragged away by life, like one whom bravos have seized and muffled in a cloak. If they had their own control--if you could see their faces, they would be altogether different, they would shine out for heroes and saints! I am worse than most; myself is more overlaid; my excuse is known to me and God. But, had I the time, I could disclose myself." </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"To me?" inquired the visitant.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"To you before all," returned the murderer. "I supposed you were intelligent. I thought--since you exist--you would prove a reader of the heart. And yet you would propose to judge me by my acts! Think of it--my acts! I was born and I have lived in a land of giants; giants have dragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother--the giants of circumstance. And you would judge me by my acts! But can you not look within? Can you not understand that evil is hateful to me? Can you not see within me the clear writing of conscience, never blurred by any wilful sophistry, although too often disregarded? Can you not read me for a thing that surely must be common as humanity-- the unwilling sinner?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"All this is very feelingly expressed," was the reply, "but it regards me not. These points of consistency are beyond my province, and I care not in the least by what compulsion you may have been dragged away, so as you are but carried in the right direction. But time flies; the servant delays, looking in the faces of the crowd and at the pictures on the hoardings, but still she keeps moving nearer; and remember, it is as if the gallows itself was striding towards you through the Christmas streets! Shall I help you--I, who know all? Shall I tell you where to find the money?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"For what price?" asked Markheim.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I offer you the service for a Christmas gift," returned the other.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter triumph. "No," said he, "I will take nothing at your hands; if I were dying of thirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I should find the courage to refuse. It may be credulous, but I will do nothing to commit myself to evil." </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> "I have no objection to a death-bed repentance," observed the visitant.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Because you disbelieve their efficacy!" Markheim cried.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I do not say so," returned the other; "but I look on these things from a different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. The man has lived to serve me, to spread black looks under colour of religion, or to sow tares in the wheat-field, as you do, in a course of weak compliance with desire. Now that he draws so near to his deliverance, he can add but one act of service: to repent, to die smiling, and thus to build up in confidence and hope the more timorous of my surviving followers. I am not so hard a master. Try me; accept my help. Please yourself in life as you have done hitherto; please yourself more amply, spread your elbows at the board; and when the night begins to fall and the curtains to be drawn, I tell you, for your greater comfort, that you will find it even easy to compound your quarrel with your conscience, and to make a truckling peace with God. I came but now from such a death-bed, and the room was full of sincere mourners, listening to the man's last words; and when I looked into that face, which had been set as a flint against mercy, I found it smiling with hope."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"And do you, then, suppose me such a creature?" asked Markheim. "Do you think I have no more generous aspirations than to sin and sin and sin and at last sneak into heaven? My heart rises at the thought. Is this, then, your experience of mankind? or is it because you find me with red hands that you presume such baseness? And is this crime of murder indeed so impious as to dry up the very springs of good?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Murder is to me no special category," replied the other. "All sins are murder, even as all life is war. I behold your race, like starving mariners on a raft, plucking crusts out of the hands of famine and feeding on each other's lives. I follow sins beyond the moment of their acting; I find in all that the last consequence is death, and to my eyes, the pretty maid who thwarts her mother with such taking graces on a question of a ball, drips no less visibly with human gore than such a murderer as yourself. Do I say that I follow sins? I follow virtues also. They differ not by the thickness of a nail; they are both scythes for the reaping angel of Death. Evil, for which I live, consists not in action but in character. The bad man is dear to me, not the bad act, whose fruits, if we could follow them far enough down the hurtling cataract of the ages, might yet be found more blessed than those of the rarest virtues. And it is not because you have killed a dealer, but because you are Markheim, that I offer to forward your escape."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I will lay my heart open to you," answered Markheim. "This crime on which you find me is my last. On my way to it I have learned many lessons; itself is a lesson--a momentous lesson. Hitherto I have been driven with revolt to what I would not; I was a bond-slave to poverty, driven and scourged. There are robust virtues that can stand in these temptations; mine was not so; I had a thirst of pleasure. But to-day, and out of this deed, I pluck both warning and riches--both the power and a fresh resolve to be myself. I become in all things a free actor in the world; I begin to see myself all changed, these hands the agents of good, this heart at peace. Something comes over me out of the past--something of what I have dreamed on Sabbath evenings to the sound of the church organ, of what I forecast when I shed tears over noble books, or talked, an innocent child, with my mother. There lies my life; I have wandered a few years, but now I see once more my city of destination."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"You are to use this money on the Stock Exchange, I think?" remarked the visitor; "and there, if I mistake not, you have already lost some thousands?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Ah," said Markheim, "but this time I have a sure thing."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"This time, again, you will lose," replied the visitor quietly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Ah, but I keep back the half!" cried Markheim.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"That also you will lose," said the other.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The sweat started upon Markheim's brow. "Well then, what matter?" he exclaimed. "Say it be lost, say I am plunged again in poverty, shall one part of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to override the better? Evil and good run strong in me, hailing me both ways. I do not love the one thing; I love all. I can conceive great deeds, renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be fallen to such a crime as murder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts. I pity the poor; who knows their trials better than myself? I pity and help them. I prize love; I love honest laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earth but I love it from my heart. And are my vices only to direct my life, and my virtues to lie without effect, like some passive lumber of the mind? Not so; good, also, is a spring of acts."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">But the visitant raised his finger. "For six and thirty years that you have been in this world," said he, "through many changes of fortune and varieties of humour, I have watched you steadily fall. Fifteen years ago you would have started at a theft. Three years back you would have blenched at the name of murder. Is there any crime, is there any cruelty or meanness, from which you still recoil? Five years from now I shall detect you in the fact! Downward, downward, lies your way; nor can anything but death avail to stop you."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"It is true," Markheim said huskily, "I have in some degree complied with evil. But it is so with all; the very saints, in the mere exercise of living, grow less dainty, and take on the tone of their surroundings."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I will propound to you one simple question," said the other; "and as you answer I shall read to you your moral horoscope. You have grown in many things more lax; possibly you do right to be so; and at any account, it is the same with all men. But granting that, are you in any one particular, however trifling, more difficult to please with your own conduct, or do you go in all things with a looser rein?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"In any one?" repeated Markheim, with an anguish of consideration. "No," he added, with despair; "in none! I have gone down in all."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Then," said the visitor, "content yourself with what you are, for you will never change; and the words of your part on this stage are irrevocably written down."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Markheim stood for a long while silent, and, indeed, it was the visitor who first broke the silence. "That being so," he said, "shall I show you the money?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"And grace?" cried Markheim.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Have you not tried it?" returned the other. "Two or three years ago did I not see you on the platform of revival meetings, and was not your voice the loudest in the hymn?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"It is true," said Markheim; "and I see clearly what remains for me by way of duty. I thank you for these lessons from my soul; my eyes are opened, and I behold myself at last for what I am."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">At this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rang through the house; and the visitant, as though this were some concerted signal for which he had been waiting, changed at once in his demeanour.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"The maid!" he cried. "She has returned, as I forewarned you, and there is now before you one more difficult passage. Her master, you must say, is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but rather serious countenance; no smiles, no overacting, and I promise you success! Once the girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity that has already rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this last danger in your path. Thenceforward you have the whole evening--the whole night, if needful--to ransack the treasures of the house and to make good your safety. This is help that comes to you with the mask of danger. Up!" he cried; "up, friend. Your life hangs trembling in the scales; up, and act!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. "If I be condemned to evil acts," he said, "there is still one door of freedom open: I can cease from action. If my life be an ill thing, I can lay it down. Though I be, as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I can yet, by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. My love of good is damned to barrenness; it may, and let it be! But I have still my hatred of evil; and from that, to your galling disappointment, you shall see that I can draw both energy and courage."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovely change: they brightened and softened with a tender triumph, and, even as they brightened, faded and dislimned. But Markheim did not pause to watch or understand the transformation. He opened the door and went downstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His past went soberly before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous like a dream, random as chance medley--a scene of defeat. Life, as he thus reviewed it, tempted him no longer; but on the further side he perceived a quiet haven for his bark. He paused in the passage, and looked into the shop, where the candle still burned by the dead body. It was strangely silent. Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into his mind, as he stood gazing. And then the bell once more broke out into impatient clamour.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a smile.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"You had better go for the police," said he; "I have killed your master."</span> </div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-61939408753123483272008-04-15T09:29:00.000+07:002008-04-15T09:30:48.372+07:00Leiningen versus the Antsby Carl Stephenson (1893-1954)<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">UNLESS they alter their course and there's no reason why they should, they'll reach your plantation in two days at the latest."<br /><br />Leiningen sucked placidly at a cigar about the size of a corncob and for a few seconds gazed without answering at the agitated District Commissioner. Then he took the cigar from his lips, and leaned slightly forward. With his bristling grey hair, bulky nose, and lucid eyes, he had the look of an aging and shabby eagle.<br /><br />"Decent of you," he murmured, "paddling all this way just to give me the tip. But you're pulling my leg of course when you say I must do a bunk. Why, even a herd of saurians couldn't drive rne from this plantation of mine."</div><div style="text-align: justify;" class="fullpost"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The Brazilian official threw up lean and lanky arms and clawed the air with wildly distended fingers. "Leiningen!" he shouted. "You're insane! They're not creatures you can fight--they're an elemental--an 'act of God!' Ten miles long, two miles wide--ants, nothing but ants! And every single one of them a fiend from hell; before you can spit three times they'll eat a full-grown buffalo to the bones. I tell you if you don't clear out at once there'll he nothing left of you but a skeleton picked as clean as your own plantation."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Leiningen grinned. "Act of God, my eye! Anyway, I'm not an old woman; I'rn not going to run for it just because an elemental's on the way. And don't think I'm the kind of fathead who tries to fend off lightning with his fists either. I use my intelligence, old man. With me, the brain isn't a second blindgut; I know what it's there for. When I began this model farm and plantation three years ago, I took into account all that could conceivably happen to it. And now I'm ready for anything and everything--including your ants."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The Brazilian rose heavily to his feet. "I've done my best," he gasped. "Your obstinacy endangers not only yourself, but the lives of your four hundred workers. You don't know these ants!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Leiningen accompanied him down to the river, where the Governrnent launch was moored. The vessel cast off. As it moved downstream, the exclamation mark neared the rail and began waving its arms frantically. Long after thc launch had disappeared round the bend, Leiningen thought he could still hear that dimming imploring voice, "You don't know them, I tell you! You don't know them!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">But the reported enemy was by no means unfamiliar to the planter. Before he started work on his settlement, he had lived long enough in the country to see for himself the fearful devastations sometimes wrought by these ravenous insects in their campaigns for food. But since then he had planned measures of defence accordingly, and these, he was convinced? were in every way adequate to withstand the approaching peril.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Moreover, during his three years as a planter, Leiningen had met and defeated drought, Hood, plague and all other "acts of God" which had come against him-unlike his fellow-settlers in the district, who had made little or no resistance. This unbroken success he attributed solely to the observance of his lifelong motto: The human brain needs only to become fully aware of its powers to conquer even the elements. Dullards reeled senselessly and aimlessly into the abyss; cranks, however brilliant, lost their heads when circumstances suddenly altered or accelerated and ran into stone walls, sluggards drifted with the current until they were caught in whirlpools and dragged under. But such disasters, Leiningen contended, merely strengthened his argument that intelligence, directed aright, invariably makes man the master of his fate.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Yes, Leiningen had always known how to grapple with life. Even here, in this Brazilian wilderness, his brain had triumphed over every difliculty and danger it had so far encountered. First he had vanquished primal forces by cunning and organization, then he had enlisted the resources of modern science to increase miraculously the yield of his plantation. And now he was sure he would prove more than a match for the "irresistible" ants.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">That same evening, however, Leiningen assembled his workers. He had no intention of waiting till the news reached their ears from other sources. Most of them had been born in the district; the cry "The ants are coming!'" was to them an imperative signal for instant, panic-stricken flight, a spring for life itself. But so great was the Indians' trust in Leiningen, in Leiningen's word, and in Leiningen's wisdom, that they received his curt tidings, and his orders for the imminent struggle, with the calmness with which they were given. They waited, unafraid, alert, as if for the beginning of a new game or hunt which he had just described to them. The ants were indeed mighty, but not so mighty as the boss. Let them come!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">They came at noon the second day. Their approach was announced by the wild unrest of the horses, scarcely controllable now either in stall or under rider, scenting from afar a vapor instinct with horror.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It was announced by a stampede of animals, timid and savage, hurtling past each other; jaguars and pumas flashing by nimble stags of the pampas, bulky tapirs, no longer hunters, themselves hunted, outpacing fleet kinkajous, maddened herds of cattle, heads lowered, nostrils snorting, rushing through tribes of loping monkeys, chattering in a dementia of terror; then followed the creeping and springing denizens of bush and steppe, big and little rodents, snakes, and lizards.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Pell-mell the rabble swarmed down the hill to the plantation, scattered right and left before the barrier of the water-filled ditch, then sped onwards to the river, where, again hindered, they fled along its bank out of sight.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This water-filled ditch was one of the defence measures which Leiningen had long since prepared against the advent of the ants. It encompassed three sides of the plantation like a huge horseshoe. Twelve feet across, but not very deep, when dry it could hardly be described as an obstacle to either man or beast. But the ends of the "horseshoe" ran into the river which formed the northern boundary, and fourth side, of the plantation. And at the end nearer the house and outbuildings in the middle of the plantation, Leiningen had constructed a dam by means of which water from the river could be diverted into the ditch.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">So now, by opening the dam, he was able to fling an imposing girdle of water, a huge quadrilateral with the river as its base, completely around the plantation, like the moat encircling a medieval city. Unless the ants were clever enough to build rafts. they had no hope of reaching the plantation, Leiningen concluded.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The twelve-foot water ditch seemed to afford in itself all the security needed. But while awaiting the arrival of the ants, Leiningen made a further improvement. The western section of the ditch ran along the edge of a tamarind wood, and the branches of some great trees reached over the water. Leiningen now had them lopped so that ants could not descend from them within the "moat."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The women and children, then the herds of cattle, were escorted by peons on rafts over the river, to remain on the other side in absolute safety until the plunderers had departed. Leiningen gave this instruction, not because he believed the non-combatants were in any danger, but in order to avoid hampering the efficiency of the defenders. "Critical situations first become crises," he explained to his men, "when oxen or women get excited "</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Finally, he made a careful inspection of the "inner moat"--a smaller ditch lined with concrete, which extended around the hill on which stood the ranch house, barns, stables and other buildings. Into this concrete ditch emptied the inflow pipes from three great petrol tanks. If by some miracle the ants managed to cross the water and reached the plantation, this "rampart of petrol,' would be an absolutely impassable protection for the beseiged and their dwellings and stock. Such, at least, was Leiningen's opinion.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He stationed his men at irregular distances along the water ditch, the first line of defence. Then he lay down in his hammock and puffed drowsily away at his pipe until a peon came with the report that the ants had been observed far away in the South.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Leiningen mounted his horse, which at the feel of its master seemed to forget its uneasiness, and rode leisurely in the direction of the threatening offensive. The southern stretch of ditch--the upper side of the quadrilateral--was nearly three miles long; from its center one could survey the entire countryside. This was destined to be the scene of the outbreak of war between Leiningen's brain and twenty square miles of life-destroying ants.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It was a sight one could never forget. Over the range of hills, as far as eye could see, crept a darkening hem, ever longer and broader, until the shadow spread across the slope from east to west, then downwards, downwards, uncannily swift, and all the green herbage of that wide vista was being mown as by a giant sickle, leaving only the vast moving shadow, extending, deepening, and moving rapidly nearer.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">When Leiningen's men, behind their barrier of water, perceived the approach of the long-expected foe, they gave vent to their suspense in screams and imprecations. But as the distance began to lessen between the "sons of hell" and the water ditch, they relapsed into silence. Before the advance of that awe-inspiring throng, their belief in the powers of the boss began to steadily dwindle.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Even Leiningen himself, who had ridden up just in time to restore their loss of heart by a display of unshakable calm, even he could not free himself from a qualm of malaise. Yonder were thousands of millions of voracious jaws bearing down upon him and only a suddenly insignificant, narrow ditch lay between him and his men and being gnawed to the bones "before you can spit three times."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Hadn't this brain for once taken on more than it could manage? If the blighters decided to rush the ditch, fill it to the brim with their corpses, there'd still be more than enough to destroy every trace of that cranium of his. The planter's chin jutted; they hadn't got him yet, and he'd see to it they never would. While he could think at all, he'd flout both death and the devil.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The hostile army was approaching in perfect formation; no human battalions, however well-drilled, could ever hope to rival the precision of that advance. Along a front that moved forward as uniformly as a straight line, the ants drew nearer and nearer to the water ditch. Then, when they learned through their scouts the nature of the obstacle, the two outlying wings of the army detached themselves from the main body and marched down the western and eastern sides of the ditch.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This surrounding maneuver took rather more than an hour to accomplish; no doubt the ants expected that at some point they would find a crossing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">During this outflanking movement by the wings, the army on the center and southern front remained still. The besieged were therefore able to contemplate at their leisure the thumb-long, reddish black, long-legged insects; some of the Indians believed they could see, too, intent on them, the brilliant, cold eyes, and the razor-edged mandibles, of this host of infinity.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It is not easy for the average person to imagine that an animal, not to mention an insect, can think. But now both the European brain of Leiningen and the primitive brains of the Indians began to stir with the unpleasant foreboding that inside every single one of that deluge of insects dwelt a thought. And that thought was: Ditch or no ditch, we'll get to your flesh!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Not until four o'clock did the wings reach the "horseshoe" ends of the ditch, only to find these ran into the great river. Through some kind of secret telegraphy, the report must then have flashed very swiftly indeed along the entire enemy line. And Leiningen, riding--no longer casually--along his side of the ditch, noticed by energetic and widespread movements of troops that for some unknown reason the news of the check had its greatest effect on the southern front, where the main army was massed. Perhaps the failure to find a way over the ditch was persuading the ants to withdraw from the plantation in search of spoils more easily attainable.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">An immense flood of ants, about a hundred yards in width, was pouring in a glimmering-black cataract down the far slope of the ditch. Many thousands were already drowning in the sluggish creeping flow, but they were followed by troop after troop, who clambered over their sinking comrades, and then themselves served as dying bridges to the reserves hurrying on in their rear.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Shoals of ants were being carried away by the current into the middle of the ditch, where gradually they broke asunder and then, exhausted by their struggles, vanished below the surface. Nevertheless, the wavering, floundering hundred-yard front was remorselessly if slowly advancing towards the beseiged on the other bank. Leiningen had been wrong when he supposed the enemy would first have to fill the ditch with their bodies before they could cross; instead, they merely needed to act as steppingstones, as they swam and sank, to the hordes ever pressing onwards from behind.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Near Leiningen a few mounted herdsmen awaited his orders. He sent one to the weir-the river must be dammed more strongly to increase the speed and power of the water coursing through the ditch.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">A second peon was dispatched to the outhouses to bring spades and petrol sprinklers. A third rode away to summon to the zone of the offensive all the men, except the observation posts, on the near-by sections of the ditch, which were not yet actively threatened.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The ants were getting across far more quickly than Leiningen would have deemed possible. Impelled by the mighty cascade behind them, they struggled nearer and nearer to the inner bank. The momentum of the attack was so great that neither the tardy flow of the stream nor its downward pull could exert its proper force; and into the gap left by every submerging insect, hastened forward a dozen more.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">When reinforcements reached Leiningen, the invaders were halfway over. The planter had to admit to himself that it was only by a stroke of luck for him that the ants were attempting the crossing on a relatively short front: had they assaulted simultaneously along the entire length of the ditch, the outlook for the defenders would have been black indeed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Even as it was, it could hardly be described as rosy, though the planter seemed quite unaware that death in a gruesome form was drawing closer and closer. As the war between his brain and the "act of God'' reached its climax, the very shadow of annihilation began to pale to Leiningen, who now felt like a champion in a new Olympic game, a gigantic and thrilling contest, from which he was determined to emerge victor. Such, indeed, was his aura of confidence that the Indians forgot their stupefied fear of the peril only a yard or two away; under the planter's supervision, they began fervidly digging up to the edge of the bank and throwing clods of earth and spadefuls of sand into the midst of the hostile fleet.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The petrol sprinklers, hitherto used to destroy pests and blights on the plantation, were also brought into action. Streams of evil-reeking oil now soared and fell over an enemy already in disorder through the bombardment of earth and sand.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The ants responded to these vigorous and successful measures of defence by further developments of their offensive. Entire clumps of huddling insects began to roll down the opposite bank into the water. At the same time, Leiningen noticed that the ants were now attacking along an ever-widening front. As the numbers both of his men and his petrol sprinklers were severely limited, this rapid extension of the line of battle was becoming an overwhelming danger.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">To add to his difficulties, the very clods of earth they flung into that black floating carpet often whirled fragments toward the defenders' side, and here and there dark ribbons were already mounting the inner bank. True, wherever a man saw these they could still be driven back into the water by spadefuls of earth or jets of petrol. But the file of defenders was too sparse and scattered to hold off at all points these landing parties, and though the peons toiled like madmen, their plight became momentarily more perilous.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">One man struck with his spade at an enemy clump, did not draw it back quickly enough from the water; in a trice the wooden shaft swarmed with upward scurrying insects. With a curse, he dropped the spade into the ditch; too late, they were already on his body. They lost no time; wherever they encountered bare flesh they bit deeply; a few, bigger than the rest, carried in their hind-quarters a sting which injected a burning and paralyzing venom. Screaming, frantic with pain, the peon danced and twirled like a dervish.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Realizing that another such casualty, yes, perhaps this alone, might plunge his men into confusion and destroy their morale, Leiningen roared in a bellow louder than the yells of the victim: "Into the petrol, idiot! Douse your paws in the petrol!" The dervish ceased his pirouette as if transfixed, then tore of his shirt and plunged his arm and the ants hanging to it up to the shoulder in one of the large open tins of petrol. But even then the fierce mandibles did not slacken; another peon had to help him squash and detach each separate insect.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Distracted by the episode, some defenders had turned away from the ditch. And now cries of fury, a thudding of spades, and a wild trampling to and fro, showed that the ants had made full use of the interval, though luckily only a few had managed to get across. The men set to work again desperately with the barrage of earth and sand. Meanwhile an old Indian, who acted as medicine-man to the plantation workers, gave the bitten peon a drink he had prepared some hours before, which, he claimed, possessed the virtue of dissolving and weakening ants' venom.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Leiningen surveyed his position. A dispassionate observer would have estimated the odds against him at a thousand to one. But then such an on-looker would have reckoned only by what he saw--the advance of myriad battalions of ants against the futile efforts of a few defenders--and not by the unseen activity that can go on in a man's brain.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">For Leiningen had not erred when he decided he would fight elemental with elemental. The water in the ditch was beginning to rise; the stronger damming of the river was making itself apparent.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Visibly the swiftness and power of the masses of water increased, swirling into quicker and quicker movement its living black surface, dispersing its pattern, carrying away more and more of it on the hastening current.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Victory had been snatched from the very jaws of defeat. With a hysterical shout of joy, the peons feverishly intensified their bombardment of earth clods and sand.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And now the wide cataract down the opposite bank was thinning and ceasing, as if the ants were becoming aware that they could not attain their aim. They were scurrying back up the slope to safety.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">All the troops so far hurled into the ditch had been sacrificed in vain. Drowned and floundering insects eddied in thousands along the flow, while Indians running on the bank destroyed every swimmer that reached the side.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Not until the ditch curved towards the east did the scattered ranks assemble again in a coherent mass. And now, exhausted and half-numbed, they were in no condition to ascend the bank. Fusillades of clods drove them round the bend towards the mouth of the ditch and then into the river, wherein they vanished without leaving a trace.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The news ran swiftly along the entire chain of outposts, and soon a long scattered line of laughing men could be seen hastening along the ditch towards thc scene of victory.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">For once they seemed to have lost all their native reserve, for it was in wild abandon now they celebrated the triumph--as if there were no longer thousands of millions of merciless, cold and hungry eyes watching thern from the opposite bank, watching and waiting.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The sun sank behind the rim of the tamarind wood ancl twilight deepened into night. It was not only hoped but expected that the ants would remain quiet until dawn. "But to defeat any forlorn attempt at a crossing, the flow of water through the ditch was powerfully increased by opening the dam still further.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">In spite of this impregnable barrier, Leiningen was not yet altogether convinced that the ants would not venture another surprise attack. He ordered his men to camp along the bank overnight. He also detailed parties of them to patrol the ditch in two of his motor cars and ceaselessly to illuminate the surface of the water with headlights and electric torches.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">After having taken all the precautions he deemed necessary, the farmer ate his supper with considerable appetite and went to bed. His slumbers were in no wise disturbed by the memory of the waiting, live, twenty square miles.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Dawn found a thoroughly refreshed and active Leiningen riding along the edge of the ditch. The planter saw before him a motionless and unaltered throng of besiegers. He studied the wide belt of water between them and the plantation, and for a moment almost regretted that the fight had ended so soon and so simply. In the comforting, matter-of-fact light of morning, it seemed to him now that the ants hadn't the ghost of a chance to cross the ditch. Even if they plunged headlong into it on all three fronts at once, the force of the now powerful current would inevitably sweep them away. He had got quite a thrill out of the fight--a pity it was already over.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He rode along the eastern and southern sections of the ditch and found everything in order. He reached the western section, opposite the tamarind wood, and here, contrary to the other battle fronts, he found the enemy very busy indeed. The trunks and branches of the trees and the creepers of the lianas, on the far bank of the ditch, fairly swarmed with industrious insects. But instead of eating the leaves there and then, they were merely gnawing through the stalks, so that a thick green shower fell steadily to the ground.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">No doubt they were victualing columns sent out to obtain provender for the rest of the army. The discovery did not surprise Leiningen. He did not need to be told that ants are intelligent, that certain species even use others as milch cows, watchdogs and slaves. He was well aware of their power of adaptation, their sense of discipline, their marvelous talent for organization.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">His belief that a foray to supply the army was in progress was strengthened when he saw the leaves that fell to the ground being dragged to the troops waiting outside the wood. Then all at once he realized the aim that rain of green was intended to serve.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Each single leaf, pulled or pushed by dozens of toiling insects, was borne straight to the edge of the ditch. Even as Macbeth watched the approach of Birnam Wood in the hands of his enemies, Leiningen saw the tamarind wood move nearer and nearer in the mandibles of the ants. Unlike the fey Scot, however, he did not lose his nerve; no witches had prophesied his doom, and if they had he would have slept just as soundly. All the same, he was forced to admit to himself that the situation was far more ominous than that of the day before.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He had thought it impossible for the ants to build rafts for themselves--well, here they were, coming in thousands, more than enough to bridge the ditch. Leaves after leaves rustled down the slope into the water, where the current drew them away from the bank and carried them into midstream. And every single leaf carried several ants. This time the farmer did not trust to the alacrity of his messengers. He galloped away, leaning from his saddle and yelling orders as he rushed past outpost after outpost: "Bring petrol pumps to the southwest front! Issue spades to every man along the line facing the wood!" And arrived at the eastern and southern sections, he dispatched every man except the observation posts to the menaced west.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Then, as he rode past the stretch where the ants had failed to cross the day before, he witnessed a brief but impressive scene. Down the slope of the distant hill there came towards him a singular being, writhing rather man running, an animal-like blackened statue with shapeless head and four quivering feet that knuckled under almost ceaselessly. When the creature reached the far bank of the ditch and collapsed opposite Leiningen, he recognized it as a pampas stag, covered over and over with ants.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It had strayed near the zone of the army. As usual, they had attacked its eyes first. Blinded, it had reeled in the madness of hideous torment straight into the ranks of its persecutors, and now the beast swayed to and fro in its death agony.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">With a shot from his rifle Leiningen put it out of its misery. Then he pulled out his watch. He hadn't a second to lose, but for life itself he could not have denied his curiosity the satisfaction of knowing how long the ants would take--for personal reasons, so to speak. After six minutes the white polished bones alone remained. That's how he himself would look before you can--Leiningen spat once, and put spurs to his horse.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The sporting zest with which the excitement of the novel contest had inspired him the day before had now vanished; in its place was a cold and violent purpose. He would send these vermin back to the hell where they belonged, somehow, anyhow. Yes, but how was indeed the question; as things stood at present it looked as if the devils would raze him and his men from the earth instead. He had underestimated the might of the enerny; he really would have to bestir himself if he hoped to outwit them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The biggest danger now, he decided, was the point where the western section of the ditch curved southwards. And arrived there, he found his worst expectations justified. The very power of the current had huddled the leaves and their crews of ants so close together at the bend that the bridge was almost ready.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">True, streams of petrol and clumps of earth still prevented a landing. But the number of floating leaves was increasing ever more swiftly. It cou]d not be long now before a stretch of water a mile in length was decked by a green pontoon over which the ants could rush in millions.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Leiningen galloped to tlhe weir. The damming of the river was controlled by a wheel on its bank. The planter ordered the man at the wheel first to lower the water in the ditch almost to vanishing point, next to wait a moment, then suddenly to let the river in again. This maneuver of lowering and raising the surface, of decreasing then increasing the flow of water through the ditch was to be repeated over and over again until further notice.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This tactic was at first successful. The water in the ditch sank, and with it the film of leaves. The green fleet nearly reached the bed and the troops on the far bank swarmed down the slope to it. Then a violent flow of water at the original depth raced through the ditch, overwhelming leaves and ants, and sweeping them along.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This intermittent rapid flushing prevented just in time the almost completed fording of the ditch. But it also flung here and there squads of the enemy vanguard simultaneously up the inner bank. These seemed to know their duty only too well, and lost no time accomplishing it. The air rang with the curses of bitten Indians. They had removed their shirts and pants to detect the quicker the upwards-hastening insects; when they saw one, they crushed it; and fortunately the onslaught as yet was only by skirmishers. Again and again, the water sank and rose, carrying leaves and drowned ants away with it. It lowered once more nearly to its bed; but this time the exhausted defenders waited in vain for the flush of destruction. Leiningen sensed disaster; something must have gone wrong with the machinery of the dam. Then a sweating peon tore up to him--</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"They're over!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">While the besieged were concentrating upon the defence of the stretch opposite the wood, the seemingly unaffected line beyond the wood had become the theatre of decisive action. Here the defenders' front was sparse and scattered; everyone who could be spared had hurried away to the south.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Just as the man at the weir had lowered the water almost to the bed of the ditch, the ants on a wide front began another attempt at a direct crossing like that of the preceding day. Into the emptied bed poured an irresistible throng. Rushing across the ditch, they attained the inner bank before the slow-witted Indians fully grasped the situation. Their frantic screams dumfounded the man at the weir. Before he could direct the river anew into the safeguarding bed he saw himself surrounded by raging ants. He ran like the others, ran for his life.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">When Leiningen heard this, he knew the plantation was doomed. He wasted no time bemoaning the inevitable. For as long as there was the slightest chance of success, he had stood his ground, and now any further resistance was both useless and dangerous. He fired three revolver shots into the air--the prearranged signal for his men to retreat instantly within the "inner moat." Then he rode towards the ranch house.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This was two miles from the point of invasion. There was therefore time enough to prepare the second line of defence against the advent of the ants. Of the three great petrol cisterns near the house, one had already been half emptied by the constant withdrawals needed for the pumps during the fight at the water ditch. The remaining petrol in it was now drawn off through underground pipes into the concrete trench which encircled the ranch house and its outbuildings.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And there, drifting in twos and threes, Leiningen's men reached him. Most of them were obviously trying to preserve an air of calm and indifference, belied, however, by their restless glances and knitted brows. One could see their belief in a favorable outcome of the struggle was already considerably shaken.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The planter called his peons around him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Well, lads," he began, "we've lost the first round. But we'll smash the beggars yet, don't you worry. Anyone who thinks otherwise can draw his pay here and now and push off. There are rafts enough to spare on the river and plenty of time still to reach 'em."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Not a man stirred.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Leiningen acknowledged his silent vote of confidence with a laugh that was half a grunt. "That's the stuff, lads. Too bad if you'd missed the rest of the show, eh? Well, the fun won't start till morning. Once these blighters turn tail, there'll be plenty of work for everyone and higher wages all round. And now run along and get something to eat; you've earned it all right."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">In the excitement of the fight the greater part of the day had passed without the men once pausing to snatch a bite. Now that the ants were for the time being out of sight, and the "wall of petrol" gave a stronger feeling of security, hungry stomachs began to assert their claims.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The bridges over the concrete ditch were removed. Here and there solitary ants had reached the ditch; they gazed at the petrol meditatively, then scurried back again. Apparently they had little interest at the moment for what lay beyond the evil-reeking barrier; the abundant spoils of the plantation were the main attraction. Soon the trees, shrubs and beds for miles around were hulled with ants zealously gobbling the yield of long weary months of strenuous toil.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">As twilight began to fall, a cordon of ants marched around the petrol trench, but as yet made no move towards its brink. Leiningen posted sentries with headlights and electric torches, then withdrew to his office, and began to reckon up his losses. He estimated these as large, but, in comparison with his bank balance, by no means unbearable. He worked out in some detail a scheme of intensive cultivation which would enable him, before very long, to more than compensate himself for the damage now being wrought to his crops. It was with a contented mind that he finally betook himself to bed where he slept deeply until dawn, undisturbed by any thought that next day little more might be left of him than a glistening skeleton.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He rose with the sun and went out on the flat roof of his house. And a scene like one from Dante lay around him; for miles in every direction there was nothing but a black, glittering multitude, a multitude of rested, sated, but none the less voracious ants: yes, look as far as one might, one could see nothing but that rustling black throng, except in the north, where the great river drew a boundary they could not hope to pass. But even the high stone breakwater, along the bank of the river, which Leiningen had built as a defence against inundations, was, like the paths, the shorn trees and shrubs, the ground itself, black with ants.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">So their greed was not glutted in razing that vast plantation? Not by a long shot; they were all the more eager now on a rich and certain booty--four hundred men, numerous horses, and bursting granaries.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">At first it seemed that the petrol trench would serve its purpose. The besiegers sensed the peril of swimming it, and made no move to plunge blindly over its brink. Instead they devised a better maneuver; they began to collect shreds of bark, twigs and dried leaves and dropped these into the petrol. Everything green, which could have been similarly used, had long since been eaten. After a time, though, a long procession could be seen bringing from the west the tamarind leaves used as rafts the day before.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Since the petrol, unlike the water in the outer ditch, was perfectly still, the refuse stayed where it was thrown. It was several hours before the ants succeeded in covering an appreciable part of the surface. At length, however, they were ready to proceed to a direct attack.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Their storm troops swarmed down the concrete side, scrambled over the supporting surface of twigs and leaves, and impelled these over the few remaining streaks of open petrol until tlhey reached the other side. Then they began to climb up this to make straight for the helpless garrison.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">During the entire offensive, the planter sat peacefully, watching them with interest, but not stirring a muscle. Moreover, he had ordered his men not to disturb in any way whatever the advancing horde. So they squatted listlessly along the bank of the ditch and waited for a sign from the boss. The petrol was now covered with ants. A few had climbed the inner concrete wall and were scurrying towards the defenders.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Everyone back from the ditch!" roared Leiningen. The men rushed away, without the slightest idea of his plan. He stooped forward and cautiouslv dropped into the ditch a stone which split the floating carpet and its living freight, to reveal a gleaming patch of petrol. A match spurted, sank down to the oily surface--Leiningen sprang back; in a flash a towering rampart of fire encompassed the garrison.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This spectacular and instant repulse threw the Indians into ecstasy. They pplauded, yelled and stamped, like children at a pantomime. Had it not been for the awe in which they held the boss, they would infallibly have carried him shoulder high.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It was some time before the petrol burned down to the bed of the ditch, and the wall of smoke and flame began to lower. The ants had retreated in a wide circle from the devastation, and innumerable charred fragments along the outer bank showed that the flames had spread from the holocaust in the ditch well into the ranks beyond, where they had wrought havoc far and wide.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Yet the perseverance of the ants was by no means broken; indeed, each setback seemed only to whet it. The concrete cooled, the flicker of the dying flames wavered and vanished, petrol from the second tank poured into the trench--and the ants marched forward anew to the attack.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The foregoing scene repeated itself in every detail, except that on this occasion less time was needed to bridge the ditch, for the petrol was now already filmed by a layer of ash. Once again they withdrew; once again petrol flowed into the ditch. Would the creatures never learn that their self-sacriflce was utterly senseless? It really was senseless, wasn't it? Yes, of course it was senseless--provided the defenders had an unlimited supply of petrol.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">When Leiningen reached this stage of reasoning, he felt for the first time since the arrival of the ants that his confidence was deserting him. His skin began to creep; he loosened his collar. Once the devils were over the trench there wasn't a chance in hell for him and his men. God, what a prospect, to be eaten alive like that!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">For the third time the flames immolated the attacking troops, and burned down to extinction. Yet the ants were coming on again as if nothing had happened. And meanwhile Leiningen had made a discovery that chilled him to the bone-petrol was no longer flowing into the ditch. Something must be blocking the outflow pipe of the third and last cistern-a snake or a dead rat? Whatever it was, the ants could be held of3 no longer, unless petrol could by some method be led from the cistern into the ditch.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Then Leiningen remembered that in an outhouse nearby were two old disused fire engines. Spry as never before in their lives, the peons dragged them out of the shed, connected their pumps to the cistern, uncoiled and laid the hose. They were just in time to aim a stream of petrol at a column of ants that had already crossed and drive them back down the incline into the ditch. Once more an oily girdle surrounded the garrison, once more it was possible to hold the position--for the moment.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It was obvious, however, that this last resource meant only the postponement of defeat and death. A few of the peons fell on their knees and began to pray; others, shrieking insanely, fired their revolvers at the black, advancing masses, as if they felt their despair was pitiful enough to sway fate itself to mercy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">At length, two of the men's nerves broke: Leiningen saw a naked Indian leap over the north side of the petrol trench, quickly followed by a second. They sprinted with incredible speed towards the river. But their fleetness did not save them; long before they could attain the rafts, the enemy covered their bodies from head to foot.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">In the agony of their torment, both sprang blindly into the wide river, where enemies no less sinister awaited them. Wild screams of mortal anguish informed the breathless onlookers that crocodiles and sword-toothed piranhas were no less ravenous than ants, and even nimbler in reaching their prey.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">In spite of this bloody warning, more and more men showed they were making up their minds to run the blockade. Anything, even a fight midstream against alligators, seemed better than powerlessly waiting for death to come and slowly consume their living bodies.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Leiningen flogged his brain till it reeled. Was there nothing on earth could sweep this devil's spawn back into the hell from which it came?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Then out of the inferno of his bewilderment rose a terrifying inspiration. Yes, one hope remained, and one alone. It might be possible to dam the great river completely, so that its waters would fill not only the water ditch but overflow into the entire gigantic "saucer" of land in which lay the plantation.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The far bank of the river was too high for the waters to escape that way. The stone breakwater ran between the river and the plantation; its only gaps occurred where the "horseshoe" ends of the water ditch passed into the river. So its waters would not only be forced to inundate into the plantation, they would also be held there by the breakwater until they rose to its own high level. In half an hour, perhaps even earlier, the plantation and its hostile army of occupation would be flooded.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The ranch house and outbuildings stood upon rising ground. Their foundations were higher than the breakwater, so the flood would not reach them. And any remaining ants trying to ascend the slope could be repulsed by petrol.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It was possible--yes, if one could only get to the dam! A distance of nearly two miles lay between thc ranch house and the weir--two miles of ants. Those two peons had managed only a fifth of that distance at the cost of their lives. Was there an Indian daring enough after that to run the gauntlet five times as far? Hardly likely; and if there were, his prospect of getting back was almost nil.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">No, there was only one thing for it, he'd have to make the attempt himself; he might just as well be running as sitting still, anyway, when the ants finally got him. Besides, there was a bit of a chance. Perhaps the ants weren't so almighty, after all; perhaps he had allowed the mass suggestion of that evil black throng to hypnotize him, just as a snake fascinates and overpowers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The ants were building their bridges. Leiningen got up on a chair. "Hey, lads, listen to me!" he cried. Slowly and listlessly, from all sides of the trench, the men began to shuffle towards him, the apathy of death already stamped on their faces.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"Listen, lads!" he shouted. "You're frightened of those beggars, but you're a damn sight more frightened of me, and I'm proud of you. There's still a chance to save our lives--by flooding the plantation from the river. Now one of you might manage to get as far as the weir--but he'd never come back. Well, I'm not going to let you try it; if I did I'd be worse than one of those ants. No, I called the tune, and now I'm going to pay the piper.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"The moment I'm over the ditch, set fire to the petrol. That'll allow time for the flood to do the trick. Then all you have to do is wait here all snug and quiet till I'm back. Yes, I'm coming back, trust me"--he grinned--"when I've finished my slimming-cure."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He pulled on high leather boots, drew heavy gauntlets over his hands, and stuffed the spaces between breeches and boots, gauntlets and arms, shirt and neck, with rags soaked in petrol. With close-fitting mosquito goggles he shielded his eyes, knowing too well the ants' dodge of first robbing their victim of sight. Finally, he plugged his nostrils and ears with cotton-wool, and let the peons drench his clothes with petrol.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He was about to set off, when the old Indian medicine man came up to him; he had a wondrous salve, he said, prepared from a species of chafer whose odor was intolerable to ants. Yes, this odor protected these chafers from the attacks of even the most murderous ants. The Indian smeared the boss' boots, his gauntlets, and his face over and over with the extract.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Leiningen then remembered the paralyzing effect of ants' venom, and the Indian gave him a gourd full of the medicine he had administered to the bitten peon at the water ditch. The planter drank it down without noticing its bitter taste; his mind was already at the weir.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He started of towards the northwest corner of the trench. With a bound he was over--and among the ants.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The beleaguered garrison had no opportunity to watch Leiningen's race against death. The ants were climbing the inner bank again-the lurid ring of petrol blazed aloft. For the fourth time that day the reflection from the fire shone on the sweating faces of the imprisoned men, and on the reddish-black cuirasses of their oppressors. The red and blue, dark-edged flames leaped vividly now, celebrating what? The funeral pyre of the four hundred, or of the hosts of destruction? Leiningen ran. He ran in long, equal strides, with only one thought, one sensation, in his being--he must get through. He dodged all trees and shrubs; except for the split seconds his soles touched the ground the ants should have no opportunity to alight on him. That they would get to him soon, despite the salve on his boots, the petrol in his clothes, he realized only too well, but he knew even more surely that he must, and that he would, get to the weir.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Apparently the salve was some use after all; not until he reached halfway did he feel ants under his clothes, and a few on his face. Mechanically, in his stride, he struck at them, scarcely conscious of their bites. He saw he was drawing appreciably nearer the weir--the distance grew less and less--sank to five hundred--three--two--one hundred yards.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Then he was at the weir and gripping the ant-hulled wheel. Hardly had he seized it when a horde of infuriated ants flowed over his hands, arms and shoulders. He started the wheel--before it turned once on its axis the swarm covered his face. Leiningen strained like a madman, his lips pressed tight; if he opened them to draw breath. . . .</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He turned and turned; slowly the dam lowered until it reached the bed of the river. Already the water was overflowing the ditch. Another minute, and the river was pouring through the near-by gap in the breakwater. The flooding of the plantation had begun.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Leiningen let go the wheel. Now, for the first time, he realized he was coated from head to foot with a layer of ants. In spite of the petrol his clothes were full of them, several had got to his body or were clinging to his face. Now that he had completed his task, he felt the smart raging over his flesh from the bites of sawing and piercing insects.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Frantic with pain, he almost plunged into the river. To be ripped and splashed to shreds by paranhas? Already he was running the return journey, knocking ants from his gloves and jacket, brushing them from his bloodied face, squashing thern to death under his clothes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">One of the creatures bit him just below the rim of his goggles; he managed to tear it away, but the agony of the bite and its etching acid drilled into the eye nerves; he saw now through circles of fire into a milky mist, then he ran for a time almost blinded, knowing that if he once tripped and fell.... The old Indian's brew didn't seem much good; it weakened the poison a bit, but didn't get rid of it. His heart pounded as if it would burst; blood roared in his ears; a giant's fist battered his lungs.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Then he could see again, but the burning girdle of petrol appeared infinitely far away; he could not last half that distance. Swift-changing pictures flashed through his head, episodes in his life, while in another part of his brain a cool and impartial onlooker informed this ant-blurred, gasping, exhausted bundle named Leiningen that such a rushing panorama of scenes from one's past is seen only in the moment before death.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">A stone in the path . . . to weak to avoid it . . . the planter stumbled and collapsed. He tried to rise . . . he must be pinned under a rock . . . it was impossible . . . the slightest movement was impossible . . . .</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Then all at once he saw, starkly clear and huge, and, right before his eyes, furred with ants, towering and swaying in its death agony, the pampas stag. In six minutes--gnawed to the bones. God, he couldn't die like that! And something outside him seemed to drag him to his feet. He tottered. He began to stagger forward again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Through the blazing ring hurtled an apparition which, as soon as it reached the ground on the inner side, fell full length and did not move. Leiningen, at the moment he made that leap through the flames, lost consciousness for the first time in his life. As he lay there, with glazing eyes and lacerated face, he appeared a man returned from the grave. The peons rushed to him, stripped off his clothes, tore away the ants from a body that seemed almost one open wound; in some paces the bones were showing. They carried him into the ranch house.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">As the curtain of flames lowered, one could see in place of the illimitable host of ants an extensive vista of water. The thwarted river had swept over the plantation, carrying with it the entire army. The water had collected and mounted in the great "saucer," while the ants had in vain attempted to reach the hill on which stood the ranch house. The girdle of flames held them back.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And so imprisoned between water and fire, they had been delivered into the annihilation that was their god. And near the farther mouth of the water ditch, where the stone mole had its second gap, the ocean swept the lost battalions into the river, to vanish forever.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The ring of fire dwindled as the water mounted to the petrol trench, and quenched the dimming flames. The inundation rose higher and higher: because its outflow was impeded by the timber and underbrush it had carried along with it, its surface required some time to reach the top of the high stone breakwater and discharge over it the rest of the shattered army.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It swelled over ant-stippled shrubs and bushes, until it washed against the foot of the knoll whereon the besieged had taken refuge. For a while an alluvial of ants tried again and again to attain this dry land, only to be repulsed by streams of petrol back into the merciless flood.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Leiningen lay on his bed, his body swathed from head to foot in bandages. With fomentations and salves, they had managed to stop the bleeding, and had dressed his many wounds. Now they thronged around him, one question in every face. Would he recover? "He won't die," said the old man who had bandaged him, "if he doesn't want to.''</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The planter opened his eyes. "Everything in order?'' he asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"They're gone,'' said his nurse. "To hell." He held out to his master a gourd full of a powerful sleeping draught. Leiningen gulped it down.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">"I told you I'd come back," he murmured, "even if I am a bit streamlined." He grinned and shut his eyes. He slept.</span> </div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-8623106858123235802008-04-15T09:04:00.000+07:002008-04-15T09:08:39.112+07:00The End of the Partyby Graham Greene (1904-1991)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Peter Morton woke with a start to face the first light. Rain tapped against the glass. It was January the fifth.<br /><br />He looked across a table on which a night-light had guttered into a pool of water, at the other bed. Francis Morton was still asleep, and Peter lay down again with his eyes on his brother. It amused him to imagine it was himself whom he watched, the same hair, the same eyes, the same lips and line of cheek. But the thought palled, and the mind went back to the fact which lent the day importance. It was the fifth of January. He could hardly believe a year had passed since Mrs Henne-Falcon had given her last children's party.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br />Francis turned suddenly upon his back and threw an arm across his face, blocking his mouth. Peter's heart began to beat fast, not with pleasure now but with uneasiness. He sat up and called across the table, "Wake up." Francis's shoulders shook and he waved a clenched fist in the air, but his eyes remained closed. To Peter Morton the whole room seemed to darken, and he had the impression of a great bird swooping. He cried again, "Wake up," and once more there was silver light and the touch of rain on the windows.<br /><br />Francis rubbed his eyes. "Did you call out?"' he asked.<br /><br />"You are having a bad dream," Peter said. Already experience had taught him how far their minds reflected each other. But he was the elder, by a matter of minutes, and that brief extra interval of light, while his brother still struggled in pain and darkness, had given him self-reliance and an instinct of protection towards the other who was afraid of so many things.<br /><br />"I dreamed that I was dead," Francis said.<br /><br />"What was it like?"' Peter asked.<br /><br />"I can't remember," Francis said.<br /><br />"You dreamed of a big bird."<br /><br />"Did I?"<br /><br />The two lay silent in bed facing each other, the same green eyes, the same nose tilting at the tip, the same firm lips, and the same premature modelling of the chin. The fifth of January, Peter thought again, his mind drifting idly from the image of cakes to the prizes which might be won. Egg-and-spoon races, spearing apples in basins of water, blind man's buff.<br /><br />"I don't want to go," Francis said suddenly. "I suppose Joyce will be there ... Mabel Warren." Hateful to him, the thought of a party shared with those two. They were older than he. Joyce was eleven and Mabel Warren thirteen. The long pigtails swung superciliously to a masculine stride. Their sex humiliated him, as they watched him fumble with his egg, from under lowered scornful lids. And last year ... he turned his face away from Peter, his cheeks scarlet.<br /><br />"What's the matter?"' Peter asked.<br /><br />"Oh, nothing. I don't think I'm well. I've got a cold. I oughtn't to go to the party."<br /><br />Peter was puzzled. "But Francis, is it a bad cold?"<br /><br />"It will be a bad cold if I go to the party. Perhaps I shall die."<br /><br />"Then you mustn't go," Peter said, prepared to solve all difficulties with one plain sentence, and Francis let his nerves relax, ready to leave everything to Peter. But though he was grateful he did not turn his face towards his brother. His cheeks still bore the badge of a shameful memory, of the game of hide and seek last year in the darkened house, and of how he had screamed when Mabel Warren put her hand suddenly upon his arm. He had not heard her coming. Girls were like that. Their shoes never squeaked. No boards whined under the tread. They slunk like cats on padded claws.<br /><br />When the nurse came in with hot water Francis lay tranquil leaving everything to Peter. Peter said, "Nurse, Francis has got a cold."<br /><br />The tall starched woman laid the towels across the cans and said, without turning, "The washing won't be back till tomorrow. You must lend him some of your handkerchiefs."<br /><br /> "But, Nurse," Peter asked, "hadn't he better stay in bed?"<br /><br />"We'll take him for a good walk this morning," the nurse said. "Wind'll blow away the germs. Get up now, both of you," and she closed the door behind her.<br /><br />"I'm sorry," Peter said. "Why don't you just stay in bed? I'll tell mother you felt too ill to get up." But rebellion against destiny was not in Francis's power. If he stayed in bed they would come up and tap his chest and put a thermometer in his mouth and look at his tongue, and they would discover he was malingering. It was true he felt ill, a sick empty sensation in his stomach and a rapidly beating heart, but he knew the cause was only fear, fear of the party, fear of being made to hide by himself in the dark, uncompanioned by Peter and with no night-light to make a blessed breach.<br /><br />"No, I'll get up," he said, and then with sudden desperation, "But I won't go to Mrs Henne-Falcon's party. I swear on the Bible I won't." Now surely all would be well, he thought. God would not allow him to break so solemn an oath. He would show him a way. There was all the morning before him and all the afternoon until four o'clock. No need to worry when the grass was still crisp with the early frost. Anything might happen. He might cut himself or break his leg or really catch a bad cold. God would manage somehow.<br /><br />He had such confidence in God that when at breakfast his mother said, "I hear you have a cold, Francis," he made light of it. "We should have heard more about it," his mother said with irony, "if there was not a party this evening," and Francis smiled, amazed and daunted by her ignorance of him.<br /><br />His happiness would have lasted longer if, out for a walk that morning, he had not met Joyce. He was alone with his nurse, for Peter had leave to finish a rabbit-hutch in the woodshed. If Peter had been there he would have cared less; the nurse was Peter's nurse also, but now it was as though she were employed only for his sake, because he could not be trusted to go for a walk alone. Joyce was only two years older and she was by herself.<br /><br />She came striding towards them, pigtails flapping. She glanced scornfully at Francis and spoke with ostentation to the nurse. "Hello, Nurse. Are you bringing Francis to the party this evening? Mabel and I are coming." And she was off again down the street in the direction of Mabel Warren's home, consciously alone and self-sufficient in the long empty road.<br /><br />"Such a nice girl," the nurse said. But Francis was silent, feeling again the jump-jump of his heart, realizing how soon the hour of the party would arrive. God had done nothing for him, and the minutes flew.<br /><br />They flew too quickly to plan any evasion, or even to prepare his heart for the coming ordeal. Panic nearly overcame him when, all unready, he found himself standing on the doorstep, with coat- collar turned up against a cold wind, and the nurse's electric torch making a short trail through the darkness. Behind him were the lights of the hall and the sound of a servant laying the table for dinner, which his mother and father would eat alone. He was nearly overcome by the desire to run back into the house and call out to his mother that he would not go to the party, that he dared not go. They could not make him go. He could almost hear himself saying those final words, breaking down for ever the barrier of ignorance which saved his mind from his parents' knowledge. "I'm afraid of going. I won't go. I daren't go. They'll make me hide in the dark, and I'm afraid of the dark. I'll scream and scream and scream."<br /><br />He could see the expression of amazement on his mother's face, and then the cold confidence of a grown- up's retort. "Don't be silly. You must go. We've accepted Mrs Henne-Falcon's invitation."<br /><br />But they couldn't make him go; hesitating on the doorstep while the nurse's feet crunched across the frost-covered grass to the gate, he knew that. He would answer: "You can say I'm ill. I won't go. I'm afraid of the dark." And his mother: "Don't be silly. You know there's nothing to be afraid of in the dark." But he knew the falsity of that reasoning; he knew how they taught also that there was nothing to fear in death, and how fearfully they avoided the idea of it. But they couldn't make him go to the party. "I'll scream. I'll scream."<br /><br />"Francis, come along." He heard the nurse's voice across the dimly phosphorescent lawn and saw the yellow circle of her torch wheel from tree to shrub. "I'm coming," he called with despair; he couldn't bring himself to lay bare his last secrets and end reserve between his mother and himself, for there was still in the last resort a further appeal possible to Mrs Henne- Falcon. He comforted himself with that, as he advanced steadily across the hall, very small, towards her enormous bulk. His heart beat unevenly, but he had control now over his voice, as he said with meticulous accent, "Good evening, Mrs Henne-Falcon. It was very good of you to ask me to your party." With his strained face lifted towards the curve of her breasts, and his polite set speech, he was like an old withered man. As a twin he was in many ways an only child. To address Peter was to speak to his own image in a mirror, an image a little altered by a flaw in the glass, so as to throw back less a likeness of what he was than of what he wished to be, what he would be without his unreasoning fear of darkness, footsteps of strangers, the flight of bats in dusk-filled gardens.<br /><br />"Sweet child," said Mrs Henne-Falcon absent-mindedly, before, with a wave of her arms, as though the children were a flock of chickens, she whirled them into her set programme of entertainments: egg-and-spoon races, three-legged races, the spearing of apples, games which held for Francis nothing worse than humiliation. And in the frequent intervals when nothing was required of him and he could stand alone in corners as far removed as possible from Mabel Warren's scornful gaze, he was able to plan how he might avoid the approaching terror of the dark. He knew there was nothing to fear until after tea, and not until he was sitting down in a pool of yellow radiance cast by the ten candles on Colin Henne- Falcon's birthday cake did he become fully conscious of the imminence of what he feared. He heard Joyce's high voice down the table, "After tea we are going to play hide and seek in the dark."<br /><br />"Oh, no," Peter said, watching Francis's troubled face, "don't let's. We play that every year."<br /><br />"But it's in the programme," cried Mabel Warren. "I saw it myself. I looked over Mrs Henne-Falcon's shoulder. Five o'clock tea. A quarter to six to half past, hide and seek in the dark. It's all written down in the programme."<br /><br />Peter did not argue, for if hide and seek had been inserted in Mrs Henne- Falcon's programme, nothing which he could say would avert it. He asked for another piece of birthday cake and sipped his tea slowly. Perhaps it might be possible to delay the game for a quarter of an hour, allow Francis at least a few extra minutes to form a plan, but even in that Peter failed, for children were already leaving the table in twos and threes. It was his third failure, and again he saw a great bird darken his brother's face with its wings. But he upbraided himself silently for his folly, and finished his cake encouraged by the memory of that adult refrain, "There's nothing to fear in the dark." The last to leave the table, the brothers came together to the hall to meet the mustering and impatient eyes of Mrs Henne- Falcon.<br /><br />"And now," she said, "we will play hide and seek in the dark."<br /><br />Peter watched his brother and saw the lips tighten. Francis, he knew, had feared this moment from the beginning of the party, had tried to meet it with courage and had abandoned the attempt. He must have prayed for cunning to evade the game, which was now welcomed with cries of excitement by all the other children. "Oh, do let's." "We must pick sides." "Is any of the house out of bounds?"' "Where shall home be?"'<br /><br />"I think," said Francis Morton, approaching Mrs Henne-Falcon, his eyes focused unwaveringly on her exuberant breasts, "it will be no use my playing. My nurse will be calling for me very soon."<br /><br />"Oh, but your nurse can wait, Francis," said Mrs Henne-Falcon, while she clapped her hands together to summon to her side a few children who were already straying up the wide staircase to upper floors. "Your mother will never mind."<br /><br />That had been the limit of Francis's cunning. He had refused to believe that so well- prepared an excuse could fail. All that he could say now, still in the precise tone which other children hated, thinking it a symbol of conceit, was, "I think I had better not play." He stood motionless, retaining, though afraid, unmoved features. But the knowledge of his terror, or the reflection of the terror itself, reached his brother's brain. For the moment, Peter Morton could have cried aloud with the fear of bright lights going out, leaving him alone in an island of dark surrounded by the gentle lappings of strange footsteps. Then he remembered that the fear was not his own, but his brother's. He said impulsively to Mrs Henne-Falcon, "Please, I don't think Francis should play. The dark makes him jump so." They were the wrong words. Six children began to sing, "Cowardy cowardy custard," turning torturing faces with the vacancy of wide sunflowers towards Francis Morton.<br /><br />Without looking at his brother, Francis said, "Of course I'll play. I'm not afraid, I only thought ..." But he was already forgotten by his human tormentors. The children scrambled round Mrs Henne- Falcon, their shrill voices pecking at her with questions and suggestions.<br /><br />"Yes, anywhere in the house. We will turn out all the lights. Yes, you can hide in the cupboards. You must stay hidden as long as you can. There will be no home."<br /><br />Peter stood apart, ashamed of the clumsy manner in which he had tried to help his brother. Now he could feel, creeping in at the corners of his brain, all Francis's resentment of his championing. Several children ran upstairs, and the lights on the top floor went out. Darkness came down like the wings of a bat and settled on the landing. Others began to put out the lights at the edge of the hall, till the children were all gathered in the central radiance of the chandelier, while the bats squatted round on hooded wings and waited for that, too, to be extinguished.<br /><br />"You and Francis are on the hiding side," a tall girl said, and then the light was gone, and the carpet wavered under his feet with the sibilance of footfalls, like small cold draughts, creeping away into corners.<br /><br />"Where's Francis?"' he wondered. "If I join him he'll be less frightened of all these sounds." "These sounds" were the casing of silence: the squeak of a loose board, the cautious closing of a cupboard door, the whine of a finger drawn along polished wood.<br /><br />Peter stood in the centre of the dark deserted floor, not listening but waiting for the idea of his brother's whereabouts to enter his brain. But Francis crouched with fingers on his ears, eyes uselessly closed, mind numbed against impressions, and only a sense of strain could cross the gap of dark. Then a voice called "Coming", and as though his brother's self- possession had been shattered by the sudden cry, Peter Morton jumped with his fear. But it was not his own fear. What in his brother was a burning panic was in him an altruistic emotion that left the reason unimpaired. "Where, if I were Francis, should I hide?"' And because he was, if not Francis himself, at least a mirror to him, the answer was immediate. "Between the oak bookcase on the left of the study door, and the leather settee." Between the twins there could be no jargon of telepathy. They had been together in the womb, and they could not be parted.<br /><br />Peter Morton tiptoed towards Francis's hiding-place. Occasionally a board rattled, and because he feared to be caught by one of the soft questers through the dark, he bent and untied his laces. A tag struck the floor and the metallic sound set a host of cautious feet moving in his direction. But by that time he was in his stockings and would have laughed inwardly at the pursuit had not the noise of someone stumbling on his abandoned shoes made his heart trip. No more boards revealed Peter Morton's progress.<br /><br />On stockinged feet he moved silently and unerringly towards his object. Instinct told him he was near the wall, and, extending a hand, he laid the fingers across his brother's face.<br /><br />Francis did not cry out, but the leap of his own heart revealed to Peter a proportion of Francis's terror. "It's all right," he whispered, feeling down the squatting figure until he captured a clenched hand. "It's only me. I'll stay with you." And grasping the other tightly, he listened to the cascade of whispers his utterance had caused to fall. A hand touched the book-case close to Peter's head and he was aware of how Francis's fear continued in spite of his presence. It was less intense, more bearable, he hoped, but it remained. He knew that it was his brother's fear and not his own that he experienced. The dark to him was only an absence of light; the groping hand that of a familiar child. Patiently he waited to be found.<br /><br />He did not speak again, for between Francis and himself was the most intimate communion. By way of joined hands thought could flow more swiftly than lips could shape themselves round words. He could experience the whole progress of his brother's emotion, from the leap of panic at the unexpected contact to the steady pulse of fear, which now went on and on with the regularity of a heart- beat. Peter Morton thought with intensity, "I am here. You needn't be afraid. The lights will go on again soon. That rustle, that movement is nothing to fear. Only Joyce, only Mabel Warren." He bombarded the drooping form with thoughts of safety, but he was conscious that the fear continued. "They are beginning to whisper together. They are tired of looking for us. The lights will go on soon. We shall have won. Don't be afraid. That was someone on the stairs. I believe it's Mrs Henne- Falcon. Listen. They are feeling for the lights." Feet moving on a carpet, hands brushing a wall, a curtain pulled apart, a clicking handle, the opening of a cupboard door. In the case above their heads a loose book shifted under a touch. "Only Joyce, only Mabel Warren, only Mrs Henne- Falcon," a crescendo of reassuring thought before the chandelier burst, like a fruit-tree, into bloom.<br /><br />The voice of the children rose shrilly into the radiance. "Where's Peter?"' "Have you looked upstairs?"' "Where's Francis?"' but they were silenced again by Mrs Henne-Falcon's scream. But she was not the first to notice Francis Morton's stillness, where he had collapsed against the wall at the touch of his brother's hand. Peter continued to hold the clenched fingers in an arid and puzzled grief. It was not merely that his brother was dead. His brain, too young to realize the full paradox, wondered with an obscure self- pity why it was that the pulse of his brother's fear went on and on, when Francis was now where he had always been told there was no more terror and no more--darkness.</div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-40722553322286234332008-04-15T08:54:00.002+07:002008-04-15T09:09:35.531+07:00The Baron of Grogswigby Charles Dickens (1812-1870)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">The Baron Von Koëldwethout, of Grogzwig in Germany, was as likely a young baron as you would wish to see. I needn't say that he lived in a castle, because that's of course; neither need I say that he lived in an old castle; for what German baron ever lived in a new one? There were many strange circumstances connected with this venerable building, among which, not the least startling and mysterious were, that when the wind blew, it rumbled in the chimneys, or even howled among the trees in the neighboring forest; and that when the moon shone, she found her way through certain small loopholes in the wall, and actually made some parts of the wide halls and galleries quite light, while she left others in gloomy shadow. I believe that one of the baron's ancestors, being short of money, had inserted a dagger in a gentleman who called one night to ask his way, and it was supposed that these miraculous occurrences took place in consequence. And yet I hardly know how that could have been, either, because the baron's ancestor, who was an amiable man, felt very sorry afterwards for having been so rash, and laying violent hands upon a quantity of stone and timber which belonged to a weaker baron, built a chapel as an apology, and so took a receipt from Heaven, in full of all demands.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br />Talking of the baron's ancestor puts me in mind of the baron's great claims to respect, on the score of his pedigree. I am afraid to say, I am sure, how many ancestors the baron had; but I know that he had a great many more than any other man of his time; and I only wish that he had lived in these latter days, that he might have had more. It is a very hard thing upon the great men of past centuries, that they should have come into the world so soon, because a man who was born three or four hundred years ago, cannot reasonably be expected to have had as many relations before him, as a man who is born now. The last man, whoever he is - and he may be a cobbler or some low vulgar dog for aught we know - will have a longer pedigree than the greatest nobleman now alive; and I contend that this is not fair.<br /><br />Well, but the Baron Von Koëldwethout of Grogwig! He was a fine swarthy fellow, with dark hair and large moustachios, who rode a-hunting in clothes of Lincoln green, with russet boots on his feet, and a bugle slung over his shoulder, like the guard of a long stage. When he blew this bugle, four-and-twenty other gentlemen of inferior rank, in Lincoln green a little coarser, and russet boots with a little thicker soles, turned out directly; and away galloped the whole train, with spears in their hands like lackered area railings, to hunt down the boars, or perhaps encounter a bear: in which latter case the baron killed him first, and greased his whiskers with him afterwards.<br /><br />This was a merry life for the Baron of Grogzwig, and a merrier still for the baron's retainers, who drank Rhine wine every night till they fell under the table, and then had the bottles on the floor, and called for pipes. Never were such jolly, roystering, rollicking, merry-making blades, as the jovial crew of Grogzwig.<br /><br />But the pleasures of the table, or the pleasures of under the table, require a little variety; especially when the same five-and-twenty people sit daily down to the same board, to discuss the same subjects, and tell the same stories. The baron grew weary, and wanted excitement. He took to quarrelling with his gentlemen, and tried kicking two or three of them every day after dinner. This was a pleasant change at first; but it became monotonous after a week or so, and the baron felt quite out of sorts, and cast about, in despair, for some new amusement.<br /><br />One night, after a day's sport in which he had outdone Nimrod or Gillingwater, and slaughtered "another fine bear", and brought him home in triumph, the Baron Von Koëldwethout sat moodily at the head of his table, eyeing the smoky roof of the hall with a discontented aspect. He swallowed huge bumpers of wine, but the more he swallowed, the more he frowned. The gentlemen who had been honoured with the dangerous distinction of sitting on his right and left, imitated him to a miracle in the drinking, and frowned at each other.<br /><br />"I will!" cried the baron suddenly, smiting the table with his right hand, and twirling his moustache with his left. "Fill to the Lady of Grogzwig!"<br /><br />The four-and-twenty Lincoln greens turned pale, with the exception of their four-and-twenty noses, which were unchangeable.<br /><br />"I said to the Lady of Grogzwig," repeated the baron, looking round the board.<br /><br />"To the Lady of Grogzwig!" shouted the Lincoln greens; and down their four-and-twenty throats went four-and-twenty imperial pints of such rare old hock, that they smacked their eight-and-forty lips, and winked again.<br /><br />"The fair daughter of the Baron Von Swillenhausen," said Koëldwethout, condescending to explain. "We will demand her in marriage of her father, ere the sun goes down tomorrow. If he refuse our suit, we will cut off his nose."<br />A hoarse murmur arose from the company; every man touched, first the hilt of his sword, and then the tip of his nose, with appalling significance.<br /><br />What a pleasant thing filial piety is, to contemplate! If the daughter of the Baron Von Swillenhausen had pleaded a preoccupied heart, or fallen at her father's feet and corned them in salt tears, or only fainted away, and complimented the old gentleman in frantic ejaculations, the odds are a hundred to one, but Swillenhausen castle would have been turned out at window, or rather the baron turned out at window, and the castle demolished. The damsel held her peace, however, when an early messenger bore the request of Von Koëldwethout next morning, and modestly retired to her chamber, from the casement of which she watched the coming of the suitor and his retinue. She was no sooner assured that the horseman with the large moustachios was her proferred husband, than she hastened to her father's presence, and expressed her readiness to sacrifice herself to secure his peace. The venerable baron caught his child into his arms, and shed a wink of joy.<br /><br />There was a great feasting at the castle, that day. The four-and-twenty Lincoln greens of Von Koëldwethout exchanged vows of eternal friendship with twelve Lincoln greens of Von Swillenhausen, and promised the old baron that they would drink his wine "Till all was blue" - meaning probably until their whole countenances had acquired the same tint as their noses. Everybody slapped everybody else's back, when the time for parting came; and the Baron Von Koëldwethout and his followers rode gaily home.<br />For six mortal weeks, the bears and boars had a holiday. The houses of Koëldwethout and Swillenhausen were united; the spears rusted; and the baron's bugle grew hoarse for lack of blowing.<br /><br />Those were great times for the four-and-twenty; but, alas! their high and palmy days had taken boots to themselves, and were already walking off.<br /><br />"My dear," said the baroness.<br /><br />"My love," said the baron.<br /><br />"Those coarse, noisy men --"<br /><br />"Which, ma'am?" said the baron starting.<br /><br />The baroness pointed, from the window at which they stood, to the courtyard beneath, where the unconscious Lincoln greens were taking a copious stirrup-cup, preparatory to issuing forth, after a boar or two.<br /><br />"My hunting train, ma'am," said the baron.<br /><br />"Disband them, love," murmured the baroness.<br /><br />"Disband them!" cried the baron, in amazement.<br /><br />"To please me, love," replied the baroness.<br /><br />"To please the devil, ma'am," answered the baron.<br /><br />Whereupon the baroness uttered a great cry, and swooned away at the baron's feet.<br /><br />What could the baron do? He called for the lady's maid, and roared for the doctor; and then, rushing into the yard, kicked the two Lincoln greens who were the most used to it, and cursing the others all round, bade them go - but never mind where, I don't know the German for it, or I would put it delicately that way.<br /><br />It is not for me to say by what means or by what degrees, some wives manage to keep down some husbands as they do, although I may have my private opinion on the subject, and may think that no Member of Parliament ought to be married, inasmuch as three married members out of every four, must vote according to their wives' consciences (if there be such things), and not according to their own. All I need say, just now, is, that the Baroness Von Koëldwethout somehow or other acquired great control over the Baron Von Koëldwethout, and that, little by little, and bit by bit, and day by day, and year by year, the baron got the worst of some disputed question, or was slily unhorsed from some old hobby; and that by the time he was a fat hearty fellow of forty-eight or thereabouts, he had no feasting, no revelry, no hunting train, and no hunting - nothing in short that he liked, or used to have; and that, although he was as fierce as a lion and as bold as brass, he was decidedly snubbed and put down, by his own lady, in his own castle of Grogzwig.<br /><br />Nor was this the whole extent of the baron's misfortunes. About a year after his nuptials, there came into the world a lusty young baron, in whose honour a great many fireworks were let off, and a great many dozens of wine drunk; but next year there came a young baroness, and next year another young baron, and so on, every year, either a baron or baroness (and one year both together), until the baron found himself the father of a small family of twelve. Upon every one of these anniversaries, the venerable Baroness Von Swillenhausen was nervously sensitive for the well-being of her child the Baroness Von Koëldwethout and although it was not found that the good lady ever did anything material towards contributing to her child's recovery, still she made it a point of duty to be as nervous as possible at the castle at Grogzwig, and to divide her time between moral observations on the baron's housekeeping, and bewailing the hard lot of her unhappy daughter. And if the Baron of Grogzwig, a little hurt and irritated at this, took heart, and ventured to suggest that his wife was at least no worse off than the wives of other barons, the Baroness Von Swillenhausen begged all persons to take notice, that nobody but she, sympathized with her dear daughter's sufferings; upon which, her relations and friends remarked, that to be sure she did cry a great deal more than her son-in-law, and that if there were a hard-hearted brute alive, it was that Baron of Grogzwig.<br /><br />The poor baron bore it all, as long as he could, and when he could bear it no longer lost his appetite and his spirits, and sat himself gloomily and dejectedly down. But there were worse troubles yet in store for him, and as they came on, his melancholy and sadness increased. Times changed. He got into debt. The Grogzwig coffers ran low, though the Swillenhausen family had looked upon them as inexhaustible; and just when the baroness was on the point of making a thirteenth addition to the family pedigree, Von Koëldwethout discovered that he had no means of replenishing them.<br /><br />"I don't see what is to be done," said the baron. "I think I'll kill myself."<br /><br />This was a bright idea. The baron took an old hunting-knife from a cupboard hard by, and having sharpened it on his boot, made what boys call "an offer" at his throat.<br /><br />"Hem!" said the baron, stopping short. "Perhaps it's not sharp enough."<br /><br />The baron sharpened it again, and made another offer, when his hand was arrested by a loud screaming among the young barons and baronesses, who had a nursery in an upstairs tower with iron bars outside the window, to prevent their tumbling out into the moat.<br /><br />"If I had been a bachelor," said the baron sighing, "I might have done it fifty times over, without being interrupted. Hallo! Put a flask of wine and the largest pipe, in the little vaulted room behind the hall."<br /><br />One of the domestics, in a very kind manner, executed the baron's order in the course of half an hour or so, and Von Koëldwethout being apprised thereof, strode to the vaulted room, the walls of which, being of dark shining wood, gleamed in the light of the blazing logs which were piled upon the hearth. The bottle and pipe were ready, and, upon the whole, the place looked very comfortable.<br /><br />"Leave the lamp," said the baron.<br /><br />"Anything else, my lord?" inquired the domestic.<br /><br />"The room," replied the baron. The domestic obeyed, and the baron locked the door.<br /><br />"I'll smoke a last pipe," said the baron, "and then I'll be off." So, putting the knife upon the table till he wanted it, and tossing off a goodly measure of wine, the Lord of Grogzwig threw himself back in his chair, stretched his legs out before the fire, and puffed away.<br /><br />He thought about a great many things - about his present troubles and past days of bachelorship, and about the Lincoln greens, long since disappeared up and down the country, no one knew whither: with the exception of two who had been unfortunately beheaded, and four who had killed themselves with drinking. His mind was running upon bears and boars, when, in the process of draining his glass to the bottom, he raised his eyes, and saw, for the first time and with unbounded astonishment, that he was not alone.<br /><br />No, he was not; for, on the opposite side of the fire, there sat with folded arms a wrinkled hideous figure, with deeply sunk and bloodshot eyes, and an immensely long, cadaverous face, shadowed by jagged and matted locks of coarse black hair. He wore a kind of tunic of a dull bluish colour, which, the baron observed, on regarding it attentively, was clasped or ornamented down the front, with coffin handles. His legs too, were encased in coffin plates as though in armour; and over his left shoulder he wore a short dusky cloak, which seemed made of remnant of some pall. He took no notice of the baron, but was intently eyeing the fire.<br /><br />"Halloa!" said the baron, stamping his foot to attract attention.<br /><br />"Halloa!" replied the stranger, moving his eyes towards the baron, but not his face or himself. "What now?"<br /><br />"What now?" replied the baron, nothing daunted by his hollow voice and lustreless eyes, "I should ask that question. How did you get here?"<br /><br />"Through the door," replied the figure.<br /><br />"What are you?" says the baron.<br /><br />"A man," replied the figure.<br /><br />"I don't believe it," says the baron.<br /><br />"Disbelieve it then," says the figure.<br /><br />"I will," rejoined the baron.<br /><br />The figure looked at the bold Baron of Grogzwig for some time, and then said familiarly,<br /><br />"There's no coming over you, I see. I'm not a man!"<br /><br />"What are you then?" asked the baron.<br /><br />"A genius," replied the figure.<br /><br />"You don't look much like one," returned the baron scornfully.<br /><br />"I am the Genius of Despair and Suicide," said the apparition. "Now you know me."<br /><br />With these words the apparition turned towards the baron, as if composing himself for a talk - and, what was very remarkable, was, that he threw his cloak aside, and displaying a stake, which was run through the centre of his body, pulled it out with a jerk, and laid it on the table, as composedly as if it had been a walking-stick.<br /><br />"Now," said the figure, glancing at the hunting-knife, "are you ready for me?"<br /><br />"Not quite," rejoined the baron; "I must finish this pipe first."<br /><br />"Look sharp then," said the figure.<br /><br />You seem in a hurry," said the baron.<br /><br />"Why, yes, I am," answered the figure; "they're doing a pretty brisk business in my way, over in England and France just now, and my time is a good deal taken up."<br /><br />"Do you drink?" said the baron, touching the bottle with the bowl of his pipe.<br /><br />"Nine times out of ten, and then very hard," rejoined the figure, drily.<br /><br />"Never in moderation?" asked the baron.<br /><br />"Never," replied the figure, with a shudder, "that breeds cheerfulness."<br /><br />The baron took another look at his new friend, whom he thought an uncommonly queer customer, and at length inquired whether he took any active part in such little proceedings as that which he had in contemplation.<br /><br />"No," replied the figure evasively; "but I am always present."<br /><br />"Just to see fair, I suppose?" said the baron.<br /><br />"Just that," replied the figure playing with the stake, and examining the ferule.<br /><br />"Be as quick as you can, will you, for there's a young gentleman who is afflicted with too much money and leisure wanting me now, I find."<br /><br />"Going to kill himself because he has too much money!" exclaimed the baron, quite tickled: "Ha! ha! that's a good one." (This was the first time the baron had laughed for many a long day.)<br /><br />"I say," expostulated the figure, looking very much scared; "don't do that again."<br /><br />"Why not?" demanded the baron.<br /><br />"Because it gives me pain all over," replied the figure. "Sigh as much as you please; that does me good."<br /><br />The baron sighed mechanically, at the mention of the word; the figure, brightening up again, handed him the hunting-knife with the most winning politeness.<br /><br />"It's not a bad idea though," said the baron, feeling the edge of the weapon; "a man killing himself because he has too much money."<br /><br />"Pooh!" said the apparition, petulantly, "no better than a man's killing himself because he has none or little."<br /><br />Whether the genius unintentionally committed himself in saying this, or whether he thought the baron's mind was so thoroughly made up that it didn't matter what he said, I have no means of knowing. I only know that the baron stopped his hand, all of a sudden, opened his eyes wide, and looked as if quite a new light had come upon him for the first time.<br /><br />"Why, certainly," said Von Koëldwethout, "nothing is too bad to be retrieved."<br /><br />"Except empty coffers," cried the genius.<br /><br />"Well, but they may be one day filled again," said the baron.<br /><br />"Scolding wives," snarled the genius.<br /><br />"Oh! They may be made quiet," said the baron.<br /><br />"Thirteen children," shouted the genius.<br /><br />"Can't all go wrong, surely," said the baron.<br /><br />The genius was evidently growing very savage with the baron, for holding these opinions all at once; but he tried to laugh it off, and said if he would let him know when he had left off joking, he should feel obliged to him.<br /><br />"But I am not joking; I was never farther from it," remonstrated the baron.<br /><br />"Well, I am glad to hear that," said the genius, looking very grim, "because a joke, without any figure of speech, is the death of me. come! Quit this dreary world at once."<br /><br />"I don't know," said the baron, playing with the knife; "it's a dreary one certainly, but I don't think yours is much better, for you have not the appearance of being particularly comfortable. That puts me in mind - what security have I, that I shall be any the better for going out of the world after all!" he cried, starting up; "I never thought of that."<br /><br />"Dispatch," cried the figure, gnashing its teeth.<br /><br />"Keep off!" said the baron, "I'll brood over miseries no longer, but put a good face on the matter, and try the fresh air and the bears again; and if that don't do, I'll talk to the baroness soundly, and cut the Von Swillenhausens dead." With this the baron fell into his chair, and laughed so loud and boisterously, that the room rang with it.<br /><br />The figure fell back a pace or two, regarding the baron meanwhile with a look of intense terror, and when he had ceased, caught up the stake, plunged it violently into its body, uttered a frightful howl, and disappeared.<br /><br />Von Koëldwethout never saw it again. Having once made up his mind to action, he soon brought the baroness and the Von Swillenhausens to reason, and died many years afterwards; not a rich man that I am aware of, but certainly a happy one: leaving behind him a numerous family, who had been carefully educated in bear- and boar-hunting under his own personal eye. And my advice to all men is, that if ever they become hipped and melancholy from similar causes (as very many men do), they look at both sides of the question, applying a magnifying glass to the best one; and if they still feel tempted to retire without leave, that they smoke a large pipe and drink a full bottle first, and profit by the laudable example of the baron of Grogzwig.</div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-74322941537563638252008-04-04T14:35:00.002+07:002008-04-07T08:54:41.623+07:00Batas Langit<div style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cerpen : Rusiman</span><br /><br />Senja merangkak beranjak menuju malam, sayup-sayup suara adzan magrhib dari kejauhan mengalun memanggil-mangil umat muslim untuk menunaikan kewajibannya. Waktu terus berjalan, puntung rokok yang masih tersisa ditanganku aku matikan, aku beranjak kekamar mandi mengambil air wudhu untuk menunaikan kewajibanku menjalankan sholat magrib.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Usai sholat kutengadahkan tanganku sembari berdo’a, Ya Allah Kau hidupi aku dengan rizkiMu, Kau beri aku beribu-ribu nikmat yang tak dapat aku menghitungnya, puji syukur Ya Allah atas segala nikmaMu yang Kau berikan. Ya Allah ampuni aku atas segala lumuran dosa-dosaku yang melekat dihatiku, tanganku, kakiku, mulutku,telingaku dan suluruh ragaku, karena hanya Engkaulah yang Maha Pengampun, Beri aku petunjukMu kejalan yang Engkau ridhai Ya Allah, cukupi aku dengan rizkiMu dan selamatkan aku dari siksa api neraka. Amin.<br />Lega rasanya setelah menggugurkan kewajibanku, tak ada lagi ganjalan dihati atau dikejar-kejar waktu.<br /><br />“Papah, papah”, anaku memanggil-manggilku. ”Ada apa nak?”, jawabku.<br />”Aku belikan tas cangklekan ya, tasku udah jelek tuh!”, di merengek minta dibelikan tas baru. ”Iya-iya nanti kalau papah udah punya uang yah?”, kataku. ”Dasar anak kecil gak tahu kondisi orang tua, tahunya minta-minta aja”, kataku dalam hati. Dia memang masih kecil usianya baru empat setengah tahun baru duduk di TK kecil, memang sih tas yang aku belikan dulu kini kondisinya sudah lusuh, maklum dia masih kecil sehingga belum bisa menjaga barang-barangnya sendiri.<br /><br />”Ah, papah sukanya janji-janji aja”, kata dia. ”Iya nanti langsung papah belikan kalau udah pegang uang yah, sekarang pr-nya dikerjakan dulu sana!”, perintahku.<br />”Tapi ajari, aku gak bisa kalau gak di ajari”, pintanya.<br />”Ya, mari papah ajari, ambil bukunya”, kataku. Dia pun mau aku ajari belajar menulis abjad, maklum masih TK belum banyak pelajaran yang diberikan ustadzahnya.<br /><br />Tak terasa habis mengajari anaku, waktu telah menunjukan pukul 20.30 WIB. Aku bergegas menuju pintu depan. Diluar suasana sudah sepi hanya sesekali terdengar bunyi gerobak para pedagang keliling yang menjajakan daganganya seperti mie ayam, bakso, siomay dan sebagainya sambil memukul-mukul sesuatu. Ada yang bunyinya tingting-tingting suara piring yang dipukul-pukul, toktok-toktok, dan macam-macam tergantung apa yang dijajakannya.<br /><br />Aku duduk diteras menghadap ke tanaman-tanaman bunga di samping teras rumahku, tercium bau harum bunga kenanga menyengat hidungku. Sengaja disamping teras aku sisakan tanah untuk ditanami bermacam-macam tanaman untuk menyejukan halaman termasuk bunga kenanga. Selain tanaman juga aku buat kolam kecil untuk memelihara ikan kesayanganku.<br /><br />Aku menengadahkan pandanganku ke langit, tanpa sengaja aku melihat seperti bintang jatuh kearah timur. Kebetulan kala itu tanggal 27 Muharam 1428 H, sehingga pada tanggal tersebut tidak terlihat rembulan. Namun langit sangat cerah tidak tertutup awan sehingga terlihat jelas bintang-bintang yang bertebaran dilangit bagaikan permata yang berkilauan. Bentuknya pun bermacam-macam ada yang seperti layang-layang, kalajengking (scorpio) dan sebagainya. Ada yang berkedip-kedip seperti tahu kalau aku sedang memandanginya.<br />Semakin jauh aku menjelajahi cakrawala, seolah aku sedang terbang diangkasa. Setiap lorong aku langkahi setiap bintang aku singgahi, kemudian terbang lagi dari bintang yang satu ke bintang yang lain. Pada suatu bintang yang teramat jauh dari bumi aku coba berhenti, lalu dalam hati aku bertanya dimanakah batas angkasa ini?, dimanakah langit ini batasnya? Aku coba terbang lagi lebih jauh dari bumi, jauh dan semakin jauh, jauuuuuuuuh dan jauuuuu.......uuh, kini aku sudah menghilang dari bumi tempatku berpijak, entah berada dimana aku ini sekarang, tetapi tetap tidak aku temukan batas langit itu. Akhirnya aku berhenti melayang dan hinggap pada sebuah bintang yang nyaris tak terlihat. Dalam kondisi kebingungan dalam hati ada yang berbisik padaku, ”Sampai kapanpun kamu melayang menyusuri angkasa ini tak akan kau temukan batas yang kamu cari, sesungguhnya batas langit itu ada pada matamu, dan ada pada pikiranmu”.<br /><br />Aku termenung mencoba mengartikan apa yang dibisikan dalam hati, setelah aku pikirkan kata-kata itu ternyata ada benarnya. Sesungguhnya manusia itu sangat terbatas, terbatas pandangannya, terbatas pemikirannya dan terbatas semuannya. Tak akan mampu aku mencari batas langit karena pandangan mataku terbatas, tak akan mampu aku memikirkan mengapa cakrawala tak ada batasnya karena pikiranku terbatas.<br /><br />”Pah, kok melamun disitu, lagi mikirin apasih?”, tiba-tiba aku dikagetkan oleh suara istriku.<br />”Udah malem lho, pintu mau ditutup”, sambung istriku, memecahkan lamunanku.<br />“Oo, Eu, anu , ini aku baru melihat bintang-bintang dilangit”, kataku sambil begegas masuk rumah. Aku lihat jam dinding yang menepel di dinding ternyata sudah menunjukan pukul 23.25 WIB. Setelah sholat isya akupun beranjak ke peraduan untuk beristirahat.<br /><br />Semarang : 4 April 2008.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-84663185911118544782008-04-03T16:38:00.000+07:002008-04-03T16:39:30.148+07:00Nyanyian Malaikat<span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">Cerpen: Sunlie Thomas Alexander</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">MALAIKAT akan senantiasa bernyanyi. Mengiringi orang-orang memetik sahang(1, kata nenek sembari menghisap kreteknya dalam-dalam. Amir mencoba membayangkan rupa malaikat itu.<br /><br />Cantik, berhidung mancung, berbibir tipis yang selalu merekah basah, dan bermata cemerlang sebiru laut. Mengenakan gaun panjang putih bersih berenda-renda yang menjuntai sampai ke tanah. Dengan sepasang sayap putih yang berpendaran kemilau, mengepak-ngepak lembut. Seperti gambar di buku cerita yang pernah dilihatnya di perpustakaan sekolah. Dalam bayangannya, malaikat itu hinggap di pucuk-pucuk junjung(2 sahang, melayang-layang di atas ladang, sambil bersenandung lirih dan bermain harpa. </div><div class="fullpost"><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Berminggu-minggu sejak itu, ia selalu memasang telinga menunggu nyanyian itu terdengar, seperti kata nenek, menyelinap di antara gemerisik daun-daun lada, kicau burung-burung, senda gurau para perempuan memetik sahang, dan suara riak air sungai yang tersibak dilewati kapal-kapal pengangkut kayu dan biduk sampan. Setiap pulang sekolah, tanpa berganti pakaian ia sudah berlari-lari ke ladang. Ikut membantu emak dan ayuk(3 Siti mengumpulkan biji-biji sahang yang sudah berwarna merah, jingga, dan kuning ke dalam kaleng-kaleng untuk kemudian dituangkan ke dalam karung-karung goni bekas beras, sebelum dibawa direndam di pinggiran sungai, sambil membuka telinga lebar-lebar berharap nyanyian itu akan melintas.<br /><br />Tetapi sampai masa panenan berakhir dan orang-orang kembali mulai menebang junjung, menanam bibit-bibit baru, nyanyian itu tak kunjung didengarnya. Apakah nenek berbohong? Sebagaimana juga cerita tentang peri hutan yang suka mandi di kolong(4 pada petang hari saat hujan gerimis, kuntilanak-kuntilanak yang sering begagit(5 di pohon Aro belakang rumah, atau hantu Mawang yang bisa menyamar sebagai manusia, menyerupai siapa saja yang dikehendakinya.<br /><br />"Nenek tidak bohong, Cung.(6."<br /><br />"Lalu kenapa Amir tidak pernah mendengarnya, Nek?"<br /><br />"Suatu saat Amir pasti akan mendengarnya."<br /><br />"Apakah suara malaikat itu merdu, Nek?" tanyanya belum puas.<br /><br />"Ya, merdu. Merdu sekali."<br /><br />"Semerdu suara emak?"<br /><br />"Ya, semerdu suara emakmu." Nenek kembali menghisap kreteknya. Amir suka sekali mendengar emak menyanyi. Dulu sebelum menikah dengan ayah, emak adalah seorang penyanyi pada organ tunggal milik Mang Jurik. Emak menyanyi dalam pesta-pesta hajatan orang-orang kampung, bahkan jauh sampai keluar kampung. Sebagai seorang biduanita, emak memang menjadi primadona. Bukan hanya karena suara emak yang begitu merdu, sehingga tak tertandingi oleh penyanyi-penyanyi lainnya, tetapi juga karena emak pintar berjoget. Kata pakwo(7 Hendi, goyangan emak selalu membuat penonton bertepuk riuh dan tak tahan untuk tidak ikut berjoget. Setiap kali organ tunggal Mang Jurik tampil, orang-orang selalu datang berduyun-duyun dari pelbagai kampung. Tua-muda, laki-perempuan, besar-kecil. Itulah sebabnya setelah menikah dengan ayah dan memutuskan berhenti menyanyi, Mang Jurik kalang-kabut dan bolak-balik membujuk emak agar mau kembali manggung. Tentu saja dengan berbagai tawaran manis. Namun emak tidak bergeming.<br /><br />Amir jadi merindukan suara emak menyanyi. Nyanyian yang selalu meninabobokannya dalam mimpi indah tentang bidadari-bidadari yang cantik dan baik hati, taman-taman bunga yang terbentang luas dengan lembah-lembah hijau nan sejuk dan sungai-sungai yang mengalir jernih. Tetapi kini Amir telah kehilangan nyanyian merdu itu. Amir tidak tahu sudah berapa lama emak tidak pernah lagi bernyanyi dan mengapa emak tidak lagi menyanyi. Padahal betapa dia ingin mendengar emak menyanyi. Dulu rasanya tidak pernah ada hari yang dilewati emak tanpa menyanyi. Ketika mandi dan mencuci di kolong, ketika menemaninya tidur, ketika merajut baju, ketika menisik atap rumbia di beranda, ketika memetik sahangà<br /><br />Sejak ayah pergi membawa kapal motor pengangkut kayu gelondongan ke Jakarta lewat sungai besar yang membelah kampung dan tidak pernah kembali, emak tidak pernah lagi bernyanyi. Kata Oom Taufiq, anak buah ayah yang membawa pulang kapal, ayah menghilang entah ke mana dan tidak pernah ditemukan saat kapal bersandar di Kali Baru untuk membongkar muatan. Dia hanya membawa pulang buntalan pakaian milik ayah. Emak cuma bisa menangis. Berbulan-bulan, orang-orang yang disuruh mencari ayah selalu pulang dengan gelengan kepala, yang membuat emak semakin tenggelam dalam kemuraman wajahnya yang dulu senantiasa berseri-seri. Berbulan-bulan, berbilang tahun, emak masih menanti, berharap ayah suatu hari akan tiba-tiba muncul di kampung, tetapi hal itu tidak pernah terjadi. Tidak ada seorang pun yang tahu apa yang terjadi sesungguhnya dengan ayah. Sejak itulah, Amir tidak pernah lagi mendengar emak bersenandung. Pernah suatu hari, Amir meminta emak menyanyi, tetapi dia malah dibentak dan dicacimaki emak dengan kata-kata yang kasar. Baru sekali itu emak memarahinya sedemikian rupa.<br /><br />***<br /><br />"MALAIKAT itu selalu bergerak seperti cahaya. Sehingga mustahil bagi mata kita untuk dapat melihatnya." Amir tercenung mendengar kata-kata Pak Haji Faqih, orang tua yang selalu mengajarinya dan anak-anak kampung lainnya mengaji, belajar mengeja alif bata di surau.<br /><br />"Tapi kata nenek, kita bisa mendengar suara malaikat menyanyi, Wak(8?" Amir langsung mengangkat tangan bertanya. Pak Haji Faqih hanya tersenyum tipis, disapunya wajah lugu murid kecilnya itu. Anak yang selalu paling banyak bertanya. Dan ketika berhenti di mata anak itu yang berbinar-binar menunggu jawabannya, ia seperti melihat sesuatu yang bergejolak. Dia dapat merasakan ada sesuatu yang lain pada diri anak tersebut. Entah apa.<br /><br />"Hanya nabi yang pernah mendengar suara malaikat, Nak," tukasnya lembut. "Tapià" Pak Haji Faqih tidak langsung meneruskan, namun kembali menelusuri wajah anak di hadapannya dengan agak ragu, "Mungkin saja nenekmu benar."<br /><br />Amir menyimpan jawaban mengambang itu lekat-lekat dalam benaknya. Membawanya ke dalam tidur. Tidur yang tak lagi dihantar nyanyian emak yang membelainya dengan hangat. Tetapi dalam tidurnya malam itu, ia bermimpi mendengar lagi suara emak menyanyi. Dalam mimpinya, emak menyanyi sambil memetik sahang di ladang. Merdu sekali. Betapa sudah sekian lama ia tidak pernah mendengar suara semerdu itu. Betapa rindunya ia pada nyanyian emak. Tiba-tiba, di tengah suara nyanyian emak yang mendayu-dayu di antara gemerisik daun-daun lada, ia mendengar suara seperti kelepak sayap burung. Kelepak yang kemudian menimbulkan angin keras. Menggoyangkan daun-daun lada, membuat rok emak tersingkap. Disusul suara nyanyian tak kalah merdu, teramat merdu yang menimpali suara nyanyian emak. Terkejut, ia mendongak. Seorang malaikat yang cantik jelita dengan rambut terurai kemilau laksana cahaya sedang hinggap di atas salah satu batang junjung sahang sambil menyanyi dan memetik harpa. Wajahnya memancarkan tujuh warna pelangi. Mengenakan gaun panjang putih bersih berenda-renda yang berjuntai hingga ke tanah, bersayap putih lembut bagaikan salju yang terang-benderang, seperti dalam bayangannya selama ini. Sepasang mata malaikat itu yang sebiru samudera menatapnya dengan lembut seperti tatapan nenek.<br /><br />Dalam tidur, Amir tersenyum bahagia. Sedemikian lelap dalam mimpi yang indah itu. Sehingga tidak didengarnya sedikit pun suara dengus, rintihan, dan erang tertahan sampai subuh menjelang dari kamar sebelah, di mana tubuh emak sedang ditindih sesosok lelaki yang diharuskan oleh emak dipanggilnya ayah.<br /><br />***<br /><br />INI bukan pertama kali ia menyaksikan lelaki itu menempeleng emak. Seperti yang sudah-sudah, disusul makian kotor dan barang-barang dibanting. Amir terbelalak di belakang pintu kamar ketika melihat bagaimana lelaki itu meraih okulele tua kesayangan ayah yang tergantung di dinding ruang tamu lalu membantingnya ke lantai. Dia ingin berteriak, tetapi tidak ada suara yang keluar. Okulele mengkilap yang dulu sering dipetik ayah sore-sore mengiringi emak menyanyi itu pecah berantakan. Emak meraung keras. Tanpa sadar Amir mencengkeram daun pintu kuat-kuat, mata dan dadanya terasa panas. Sementara ayuk Siti menangis terisak-isak di atas tempat tidur. Meringkuk pucat.<br /><br />"Babi kau Taufiq! Anjing!" emak menangis tersedu-sedu memeluk okulele yang pecah itu. Lelaki itu menyeringai lebar lalu tertawa terkekeh.<br /><br />"Pokoknya besok kalau Ko(9 Akhiong datang, ladang itu harus jadi dijual!" tukasnya sambil melotot besar lalu menyalakan sebatang rokok.<br /><br />"Sekali aku bilang tidak, tetap tidak, lelaki tak tahu diuntung!" emak balas melotot tak kalah galak.<br /><br />"Perempuan bagak(10! Tanah itu mengandung banyak timah, tahu! Harganya tinggi! Lagi pula buat apa kau mempertahankan lagi ladang itu? Masih mau nanam sahang?" lelaki itu tersenyum sinis. "Kau pikir harga sahang agik pacak(11 naik? Ka dak nengok, di mane-mane urang nanam sahang saro bae! Mane pupuk lah mahal, junjung lah dak tahu agik nek nebang di mane!"(12<br /><br />"Kalau aku tetap tidak mau jual, kau mau apa?" suara emak melengking.<br /><br />"Tetap akan kujual."<br /><br />"Bangsat! Apa hak kau menjualnya? Itu ladang peninggalan Muis, lakiku!" emak menjerit.<br /><br />"Hei, yang jadi suamimu sekarang itu aku! Aku!" bentak lelaki itu sambil memukul-mukul dadanya sendiri.<br /><br />"Kalau begitu sekarang juga aku minta cerai! Rugi aku mau menikah denganmu! Aku minta talak tiga!" emak menjadi kalap.<br /><br />Amir mencengkeram daun pintu semakin keras. Keringat deras membasahi seragam sekolah yang masih dikenakannya. Sungguh tidak dapat dibayangkannya ladang itu akan dijual. Terlintas olehnya malaikat jelita yang bernyanyi dan memetik harpa di atas junjung sahang itu. Masih tergiang olehnya suara nyanyiannya yang merdu di antara suara nyanyian emak, kicau burung-burung Punai, gemerisik daun-daun lada tertiup angin, dan aroma merica yang begitu harum. Kedua tangannya mengepal. Gemetar. Perlahan ia membuka pintu kamar. Diliriknya parang bersarung papan yang tergantung di dinding. Parang yang biasa dibawa emak ke ladang. Lututnya terasa goyah. Lelaki itu kembali membentak emak. Tangannya menjadi dingin. Secepat kilat ia menyambar parang itu, mencabutnya dari sarung. Lelaki itu kaget. Emak berseru tertahan. Creeesssà.!! Lelaki itu berteriak meraung. Suaranya memecah kelenggangan petang. Mata parang itu berubah merah.<br /><br />***<br /><br />HUJAN rintik-rintik menjadi deras. Masih terdengar olehnya suara-suara ramai berseru tegang di belakang, juga suara emak yang menjerit-jerit ketakutan dan menangis tersedu-sedu. Dengan nafas terengah-engah didayungnya sekuat tenaga sampan kecil miliknya yang dulu dibuatkan ayah. Menjauhi pinggiran kampung. Kampung di tepi sungai besar itu, orang-orang lebih senang menyebutnya Kute, dan konon merupakan kota pertama di pulau Bangka. Kampung kecil yang selalu ramai disinggahi kapal-kapal pengangkut kayu dan kelapa sawit dari Sumatera daratan dan pulau Jawa.<br /><br />Tiba-tiba terdengar olehnya sayup-sayup suara nyanyian itu. Semakin keras bersamaan dengan semakin jauh sampan yang dikayuhnya bergerak membelah riak sungai. Sedemikian indah, sehingga ia terpana. Nyanyian itu seperti diiringi suara semacam tiupan terompet, namun lain. Bunyinya membahana lantang, bergema di langit petang yang semakin gelap. Kuning keungu-unguan. Suara alat musik apakah itu? Amir tidak pernah mendengarnya. Tapi seketika ia jadi teringat pada cerita yang pernah dituturkan nenek, dan terkesima. Apakah itu bunyi tiupan sangkakala? Dia ingat nenek pernah mengatakan, malaikat Israfil akan meniup sangkakala pada hari kiamat.***<br /><br />Yogyakarta, Lebaran 2003 </div></div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-56843923939126903572008-04-03T16:32:00.000+07:002008-04-03T16:33:31.552+07:00Sang Pengembara<em>Cerpen: Antoni</em><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">CINTA membuatku bodoh. Sebetulnya aku membenci keadaan ini. Sudah lama aku tidak jatuh cinta. Dan tiba-tiba makhluk gaib itu datang, menyergapku dari belakang, membantingku dengan kasar, jatuhlah aku ke pelaminan.<div class = "fullpost"><br /><br />Aku seorang pengembara, tapi kini aku terjerat tali pernikahan. Bayangkan. Seorang pengembara terjerat tali pernikahan! Pernikahan tanpa janur kuning melengkung, tanpa kelapa gading menggelantung, tanpa setandan pisang raja, melati dironce-ronce, apalagi gending Kodok Ngorek, tidak ada sama sekali. Semua berlangsung tawar, tidak semerbak, abu-abu, persis mendung menggantung.<br /><br />"Ini pernikahan resmi kan, Ma?" tanyaku kepada ibu mertuaku, setelah semua tamu pulang.<br /><br />"Resmi…!" Alis matanya agak menaik. "Ada naib dan petugas KUA. Sah<br />menurut hukum dan agama. Emangnya kenapa?"<br /><br />"Ya alhamdulillah, merasa bahagia saja…," jawabku. Aku memang seorang muallaf sejak Agustus 2003. Jadi maklum belum begitu paham.<br /><br />Kami pun kembali terdiam. Ibu mertuaku asyik memisah-misahkan jepitan rambut yang tadi dipakai istriku. Ada yang besar ada yang kecil, dipisahkan satu dengan lainnya. Lalu disimpan di kotak kecil-kecil. Sambil menyulut rokok, aku sandarkan punggung ke tiang kayu penyangga rumah limasan ini. Tidak ada penutup atap. Gentingnya terlihat dari bawah. Lonjoran-lonjoran bambu tampak jelas.<br /><br />Aku tercenung sejenak. Teringat mendiang ibuku yang meninggal November tahun lalu. Seandainya masih hidup, tentu ia bahagia sekali menyaksikan pernikahanku. Wasiat terakhir untukku hanya satu: ia ingin melihatku bahagia.<br /><br />Rambutku terasa sedikit naik. Angin bukit batu yang kering, bersirobok masuk dari pintu depan. "Aku mengalami kebahagiaan hanya pada saat berdoa saja, Bu…," gumamku dalam batin.<br /><br />Pernikahan, terus terang, memang membuatku bahagia. Meski perhelatannya berlangsung sangat sederhana. Pernikahan memaksaku berhenti mengembara. Puluhan tahun aku melintasi jalanan sepi dan gelap, berteman rindu dan harapan. Kakiku melangkah tanpa kepastian. Akhirnya aku dihentikan oleh kekuatan yang tidak pernah aku pahami. Jodoh membuatku berhenti melangkah.<br /><br />Sebagai pengembara, sungguh tak pernah aku mempelajari apa itu hakikat perkawinan, rumah tangga bahagia, keluarga sakinah dan sebangsanya. Jadilah aku manusia paling bodoh. Mengalami ketergagapan budaya dalam berumah tangga. Sebuah ritual tradisional yang dijalankan turun temurun oleh seluruh umat manusia di dunia ini. Dan aku tidak mengenalinya sama sekali.<br /><br />Dulu, aku merasa takut menghadapi pernikahan. Dalam bayanganku, semua keperluan rumah tangga harus dipersiapkan terlebih dahulu, seperti rumah, penghasilan tetap dan kendaraan. Sejak usia 18 tahun, sudah tiga kali aku membangun rumah, hanya untuk memahami elemen-elemen pernikahan itu. Rumah pertama, mungil tapi permanen, terpaksa aku jual karena pindah ke Surabaya. Dan calon istriku pergi jadi pramugari. Terbang, selamanya.<br /><br />Rumah kedua, sebetulnya aku tidak begitu berminat membangunnya untuk tujuan berumah tangga, meski pacarku cintanya tak terbatas untukku. Kubangun di pinggir jalan besar, di sebuah desa yang tenang. Aku tinggal di situ setahun lamanya, sambil menyelesaikan buku keduaku tentang meditasi. Aku jual lagi. Pacarku ke Singapura bekerja di sana.<br /><br />Setelah itu, aku tidak membangun rumah lagi. Tapi membelinya. Di daerah sentra pariwisata di Jogja. Sebuah rumah joglo tua dan angker. Kubuat galeri<br /><br />kecil, lumayan juga. Lukisan-lukisan karyaku sempat dibeli turis Belanda dan Belgia. Akhirnya, karena jenuh dan ada peristiwa bom Bali, aku memutuskan<br /><br />mengembara lagi. Rumah itu kujual secara tergesa-gesa.<br /><br />Kini, aku punya istri yang setia tapi tidak punya rumah. Dulu aku punya rumah tapi hidup sendiri tanpa istri. He..he…he, ironis kan? Sementara ini istriku tinggal bersama mamanya. Ia memang anak yatim yang didera penderitaan hidup berkepanjangan.<br /><br />Aku letakkan puntung rokok terakhirku ke asbak. Ibu mertuaku ternyata sudah sejak tadi beranjak dari duduknya. Lamunanku tentang peristiwa pernikahan ini, membuatku tidak memahami lingkungan sekitarku. Aku pun beranjak, mencari istriku di bilik sebelah, bersekat tripleks.<br /><br />Istriku cantik sekali. Tercantik di dunia. Ia tampak sedang sibuk memberesi pakaian pengantinnya, bedaknya dan segala tetek bengek perlengkapan gaun pengantin. Bau parfum Drakkar Noir dari Calvin Klein masih tertinggal, di ujung hidungku. Tadi, seusai resepsi, kucium dia di tengkuknya. Jadi aroma parfumnya ikut juga. Memang, itu parfum cowok. Tapi mau bagaimana lagi? Adanya cuma itu. Aku membelinya di drugstore Bandara Juanda, Surabaya dua tahun lalu, sepulang dari Makassar.<br /><br />Aku cium lagi tengkuknya. Ia tersenyum manja. Kebahagiaan terpancar di wajahnya. "Mau ngopi lagi, Mas?" tanyanya. Aku menggeleng, kudekap dia dari belakang, kemudian kita saling menempelkan pipi dan mematut-matut di depan cermin. Sepasang pengantin baru yang menikah diam-diam. Aku lihat matanya berbinar-binar. Ia bahagia.<br /><br />Makna kebahagiaan bagiku hanyalah setetes warna yang lebih bersinar di antara warna-warna lain yang kusam. Setiap orang yang mampu meraih segala sesuatu yang diidam-idamkan, tentu merasa bahagia. Begitu pula aku. Seringkali aku merasa lelah mengembara dan ingin hidup layak seperti pada umumnya orang dengan menikah, berkeluarga, dan beranak pinak seperti yang disampaikan Allah kepada Nabi Ibrahim.<br /><br />Dua minggu menjelang pernikahan, secara khusus memang aku memohon kepada kekuatan Yang Maha Dahsyat. Kekuatan paling purba, sebelum bumi dan tata surya ini tercipta. Di bawah pohon tua berumur ratusan tahun, di atas bukit kecil yang lembab, tepat tengah malam dan purnama penuh di angkasa, aku sampaikan permohonan keramatku itu. "Aku tidak butuh kekayaan, aku butuh istri dan sebuah keluarga," begitu doaku. Kun fayakun, terjadilah segala sesuatunya secepat kilat.<br /><br />Pernikahanku juga berlangsung kilat. Memang, ketemunya sudah lama, dua tahun silam di acara pernikahan seorang artis dangdut top ibu kota. Belum ada getar-getar cinta kala itu. Pertemuan kedua terjadi di Jogja, di pinggir lapangan golf Hyatt Regency, Bogeys Teras. Biasa saja, semuanya berlangsung biasa. Cuma di tengah dentuman musik classic rock yang mengalun, dia mengatakan kepadaku setengah berbisik: "Kalau mau sama aku, harus serius…," katanya.<br /><br />Langsung saja aku melamarnya malam itu juga. Ia pun mencium punggung tangan kananku. Resmilah kita mengikat janji. Sepuluh hari setelah malam "bertabur bintang" itu, terjadilah pernikahanku ini. Tanpa surat undangan dan wedding taart.<br /><br />Perjalanan pernikahanku memang terkesan begitu indah. Tak ada cacat,<br />semua berjalan baik dan tenang. Ombaknya kecil, landai, dan bisa pasang layar sesuka hati. Langit biru tampak bersahabat di ujung cakrawala dan matahari bersinar ramah.<br /><br />Kunikmati pernikahanku. Sedikit unik. Biasanya jok sebelah kemudiku selalu kosong. Paling, terisi dokumen pribadi dan beberapa bungkus rokok. Kini ada wanita cantik dengan rambut tergerai, tawa yang renyah dan sangat suka memakai aksen…gitu loh. "Liya gitu loh….," katanya menegaskan bahwa Liya beda dengan Lia.<br /><br />Aku jadi mudah tertawa dibuatnya. Segala kata jadi berbunga-bunga, dan kita selalu mengurung diri di kamar berdua. Bercanda, berantem kecil-kecilan, saling merajuk dan tentu saja, bercinta.<br />"Aku pengin punya anak 9," kataku.<br />"Dua saja….Capek," jawabnya sambil menepuki perutnya.<br /><br />Lalu kita berpelukan lagi. Seolah tidak ada cakrawala untuk luapan kegembiraan dan kebahagiaanku. Tidak ada yang membatasi. Tidak ada garis lurus yang memisahkan. Tidak seperti langit dan bumi yang dibelah di cakrawala. Segalanya serba los, bebas dan tak terbatas. Luar biasa. Aku selalu merindukan setiap menitnya.<br /><br />Tawa ceria dan segala canda itu ternyata tidak berumur lama. Begitu cepat perginya. Sama cepatnya dengan proses pernikahanku. Kebahagiaan, agaknya, tidak pernah berpihak kepadaku. Segala sesuatunya berbalik 180 derajat. Sirna seketika. Berubah serba hitam. Galau. Gelap. Bergemuruh. Menghentak-hentak dan menyambar-nyambar. Setiap kata jadi bersayap-sayap. Salah paham muncul silih berganti. Kecemburuan, kecurigaan, dan pembicaraan-pembicaraan yang penuh teka-teki pun berebut mengganggu.<br /><br />Salah ucap sedikit, menjelma jadi bara api. Berkilat-kilat. Aku sampai tidak sempat berdoa karena pikiranku tersita sepenuhnya untuk istriku. Kelakuannya berubah-ubah, sulit dipahami.<br />"Aku ingin sendiri," katanya pelan, tapi kurasakan seperti halilintar.<br />Menggelegar.<br />"Kita ini menikah, bukan pacaran. Ini Suro…harus serba hati-hati," kataku<br />mengingatkan.<br /><br />"Hasyaahhhh….." Mukanya jadi cemberut dan bibirnya jadi tambah lancip.<br />Rambutnya yang dikucir bergoyang-goyang. Meski marah, kuakui, dia tetap saja menggemaskan.<br /><br />Sambil menjentikkan abu rokok ke asbak, ia pun berargumentasi tentang pernak-pernik kegalauan perasaannya. Dari soal sepele sampai besar. "Aku tuh sukanya mobil-mobilan dan korek api, bukan bunga…Sabunku juga bukan yang itu, shamponya yang ini….." Mimik mukanya agak berkerut-kerut, ketika aku bawakan setangkai red rose yang dikemas plastik cantik.<br /><br />Aku berusaha menyelami segala sesuatunya dengan hati-hati. Termasuk soal rumah, yang berkali-kali dilihat masih kurang cocok di hati. Kadang jengkel juga. Namun pernikahan tidak boleh terganggu dengan perasaan-perasaan yang tidak berguna seperti itu. Pernah aku berpikir kenapa harus begitu tergesa-gesa menikah?<br /><br />"Aku sudah lelah dan jenuh dengan kehidupanku selama ini. Jadi aku<br />memutuskan untuk cepat menikah," katanya ketika itu.<br /><br />Argumentasinya itu membuatku merasa menemukan wanita yang sudah matang. Masa lalu yang carut marut memang harus diakhiri ketika pernikahan terjadi. Ketika baju pengantin dikenakan dan akad nikah ditandatangani, maka masa lalu berakhirlah di situ. Pernikahan adalah sebuah lembaran baru yang serba bersih, sehingga kita bisa menuliskan apa pun di sana sesuka hati, tanpa harus dihantui lembaran-lembaran hitam masa lalu. Kisahnya harus dibuat sesuai tata nilai yang berlaku di masyarakat. Ditata seperti mengatur sebuah taman bunga. Agar segalanya serba semerbak dan mewangi. Sampai akhirnya lembaran pamungkasnya ditutup sendiri oleh Sang Khaliq. Pemilik hak atas seluruh hukum kehidupan. Ah, lumayan juga teoriku ini.<br /><br />"Hanya kematian yang bisa memisahkan sepasang pengantin," kataku kepadanya. Ia tercenung beberapa jurus. Matanya yang indah terdiam beberapa saat. Lalu bola matanya berubah jadi abu-abu. Ia pun meledak-ledak lagi. Ada bau parfum yang berbeda dari tubuhnya, ketika ia berdiri sambil bersungut-sungut. Aku terhenyak. Berangkat kantor tadi pagi, memang ia sudah terlihat kusut. Tapi aku tidak memikirkannya terlalu dalam. Sewaktu turun mobil, ia hampir lupa mencium tanganku.<br /><br />"Aku suamimu bukan?" tanyaku pelan, sambil kusodorkan tangan kananku.<br />Ia pun menciumnya. "Nanti dijemput jam berapa?" tanyaku lagi.<br />"Jam empat sore. Mundur satu jam," jawabnya, sambil bergegas turun.<br /><br />Prahara itu pun dimulai. Bau parfum yang berbeda sepulang kantor, menjadi puncak dari seluruh masalah yang bertumpuk. Padahal sepulang kantor tadi kami sempat melihat sekali lagi rumah yang akan kami tempati.<br /><br />"Besok aku mau naik bis kota saja. Nggak usah diantar jemput lagi," ujarnya sambil membanting tubuhnya ke kasur. Ia memunggungiku. Tampak jengkel.<br /><br />Aku berharap keadaan itu hanya sementara saja. Seperti permasalahan-permasalahan kecil yang terjadi di hari-hari kemarin. Ternyata tidak. Besok-besoknya lagi, tetap sama. Terus-menerus begitu. Sehari dua hari. Seminggu dua minggu. Seluruh saluran komunikasi ditutup. Ia pun ganti nomor hand phone. Aku takut membayangkan kenyataan yang bisa membuatku bersedih.<br /><br />"Ini hanya sementara…," katanya ketika aku nekat menemuinya, di siang yang terik. "Sementara…," itulah kata-kata yang aku jadikan pegangan. Meski berat dan dipenuhi ribuan teka-teki, aku berusaha meyakini janjinya itu.<br /><br />Kehidupanku pun limbung. Aku kembali melangkah tanpa kepastian, tak ada teman selain rindu dan harapan. Keinginanku untuk menjalani kehidupan masa lalu kembali menggelegak lagi. Mengembara. Ya, mengembara. Akulah, pengembara itu!<br /><br />Aku harus kembali berteman dengan alam, dengan orang-orang yang hidup<br />sederhana di ujung-ujung desa, di pegunungan dan di pinggir-pinggir pantai. Bertemu orang-orang yang tulus mencintaiku, menerimaku dengan tangan terbuka, tanpa rasa curiga, saling pengertian dan tidak mengkhianati. Aku merasa bahagia. Apalagi kalau mereka berduyun-duyun di belakangku, mengikutiku berdoa.<br /><br />"Tapi ya Allah, apakah Engkau tidak mengizinkan aku memiliki sebuah keluarga, keturunan, dan generasi pewaris?" gumamku ketika aku datang lagi ke pohon besar di atas bukit yang lembab itu.<br /><br />Selang beberapa saat, tiba-tiba melodi Songete mengalun dari hand phoneku. Debur ombak Laut Selatan hampir membuatku tidak mendengarnya. Ada SMS masuk, dadaku berdebar.<br /><br />"Jeleeeeeeeeeeeeeek…where are u? Aku kangen tho sama Jelek. Ke sini tak buatin kopi…..!" begitu bunyi SMS-nya. Dari istriku.<br />Ah, ternyata itu SMS yang pending sejak empat minggu lalu. ***</div></div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-55653993507034926292008-04-03T16:23:00.002+07:002008-04-03T16:27:13.427+07:00Mimpi Terindah Sebelum Mati<div style="text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cerpen Maya Wulan</span><br /><br />RAMADHANI, sekalipun sedang sekarat, aku masih ingat dengan ucapanku pada suatu kali. Di satuan waktu yang lain, berkali-kali kukatakan kelak aku akan lebih dulu pergi darimu. "Mati muda," kataku datar. Dan kau selalu saja mengunci mulutku dengan cara mencium bibirku. Memutus kata-kataku yang menurutmu tidak pantas. Hanya saja pada satu waktu, sebelum akhirnya kita harus berpisah untuk meluncur dihembuskan ke perut bumi, kau sempat menampar pipi kiriku ketika lagi-lagi aku mengulang kalimat tentang kematian itu. Tidak ada lagi ciuman seperti biasanya. Aku berpikir mungkin kau sudah tak bisa bersabar menghadapiku. Atau kau terlalu takut? Padahal aku sudah begitu sering bicara tentang daun yang bertuliskan namaku di ranting pohon itu. Bahwa dia, kataku, sedang menguning dan beranjak kering untuk kemudian bersegera gugur. Usianya sangat pendek, tidak akan sampai menyaingi usia kita di sana.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Tetapi kemudian kita bertemu lagi di tempat yang kita sebut kehidupan. Hanya saja situasi yang ada sangat berbeda. Kita masih seusia, tetapi tidak bisa dikatakan sebagai seorang yang dewasa. Bicara saja kita masih tidak tertata rapi. Ke sana kemari, khas bahasa anak-anak. Semua sangat berbeda dengan apa yang pernah kita lalui bersama di satuan waktu yang lampau. Sebelum kita berdua tertiupkan ke alam ini.<br /><br />NAFASKU terpatah-patah. Aku merasa sangat lelah. Seperti seorang perempuan renta yang sedang menunggu masa tutup usia. Berjalan hanya dalam khayal yang sesungguhnya kedua kaki tak pernah melangkah kemana pun. Tapi aku memang belum tua. Meski juga tak bisa berlari-lari. Aku hanya terus berbaring dan berbaring. Sejak kepergian ayahku ke surga. Mataku masih menampung sekian banyak buliran bening yang belum mendapat giliran untuk tumpah. Aku terlanjur tertidur. Dan kini, aku bermimpi.<br /><br />Ayahku berdiri dalam nuansa yang begitu lembut namun terkesan asing bagiku. Aku mencoba memanggilnya, tetapi suaraku tersumbat di tenggorokanku yang kering. Sudah lama sekali aku tidak minum air lewat mulutku. Hanya selang infus itu yang terus menembus tangan kananku selama ini. Ayahku begitu sunyi, seolah tak melihat kehadiranku di sini. Barangkali debur rindu di dadaku yang membuncah tak cukup keras untuk menjadi tanda keinginanku bertemu dengannya?<br /><br />Aku melihat lagi gambaran ketika ayahku meninggalkanku dan ibuku. "Ayah harus ke luar negeri," kata ibuku padaku suatu malam.<br /><br />"Untuk apa?" tanyaku.<br />"Untuk bekerja," sahut ayahku. "Ayah janji tidak akan pergi lama. Kau bisa menandai hari dengan terus mencoreti setiap penanggalan di kalender meja kerja ayah. Setiap hari. Dan tanpa kau sadari, ayah sudah akan kembali di sini."<br /><br />Aku memasang wajah tak percaya, "Ayah janji?"<br />Ayahku mengangguk mantap. Ibuku tersenyum melihat tingkahku. Dan aku mengantarkannya ke bandara dengan berat hati.<br /><br />Selanjutnya, aku disibukkan dengan mencoreti kalender milik ayahku. Tetapi ayahku pergi begitu lama. Sampai aku kelelahan menunggu dan mulai malas mencoreti kalender seperti yang pernah diminta ayah. Aku mulai menangis dan marah pada ibuku, juga semua orang. Tubuhku melemah karena aku selalu menolak makanan bahkan minuman. Aku enggan bicara, termasuk pada teman sepermainanku, Ramadhani. Sampai suatu hari ibuku mengatakan kalau ayahku tidak akan pulang lagi. "Ayah sudah terbang ke surga," katanya.<br /><br />Sejak itu aku sangat membenci angka-angka. Aku benci penanggalan dan tidak mau melihat kalender terpajang di rumah. Aku benci menghitung sesuatu. Aku juga mulai suka melukai diriku sendiri. Hingga akhirnya aku jatuh sakit dan harus terbaring di rumah sakit yang bagiku baunya sangat tidak enak.<br /><br />Bayangan ayahku dan nuansa lembut itu perlahan-lahan memudar. Aku mencari-cari dan menajamkan pandanganku, tetapi percuma. Di hadapanku, suasana berganti menjadi demikian putih dan rapat oleh kabut tebal yang mengeluarkan hawa dingin. Satu sosok laki-laki dewasa tampak berjalan menembus kabut menuju padaku. Tubuhnya jauh lebih tinggi dariku. Dia tersenyum dan menggandeng tanganku. Kulit tangannya terasa begitu halus di telapakku.<br /><br />Sambil mengajakku untuk duduk, laki-laki itu bercerita tentang langit dan menyebut-nyebut surga. Aku teringat pada ayahku dan bertanya kepada laki-laki di sebelahku, "Apa ayahku ada di sana?"<br /><br />"Benar," jawabnya.<br />"Di mana?"<br />"Di langit ke tujuh."<br />"Apa kita bisa ke sana?" tanyaku tak sabar.<br />"Kelak kita akan ke sana. Tapi, ada syaratnya."<br />"Apa syaratnya?" sahutku semangat.<br />"Kau terlebih dulu harus bisa menghitung jumlah langit itu. Kalau tidak, kau tidak akan bisa sampai ke tempat ayahmu. Karena kau akan tersesat."<br /><br />"Kalau begitu lupakan! Aku tidak mau menghitung. Aku benci angka-angka!" aku berteriak.<br />"Di langit, kau juga bisa menghitung bintang-bintang."<br />"Aku tidak mau menghitung langit atau apa pun."<br />"Percayalah, kau akan menyukainya."<br />"Untuk apa aku menghitung bintang-bintang?"<br />"Mungkin di sana ayahmu juga sedang menghitung bintang-bintang."<br />"Benarkah?"<br /><br />Laki-laki itu mengangguk. Aku memeluknya tanpa ragu-ragu. Suasana begitu hening mengurung kami berdua. Aku menyandarkan kepalaku ke dada laki-laki itu. Tidak ada suara apa pun di tempat ini, kecuali detak jantungku sendiri. Degup yang sudah cukup lama ini terasa sangat lemah. Aku menikmati detak jantungku yang menjelma nada indah tersendiri bagiku.<br /><br />"Apa kita bisa menghitung suara ini?" kataku menunjuk bunyi jantungku.<br />"Ya, tentu. Hitunglah. Akan sangat menyenangkan kalau kita menghitung sesuatu yang kita sukai."<br />"Apa suara ini akan selalu berbunyi selamanya?"<br />"Tidak. Dia akan berhenti, kalau kau sudah mati."<br />"Mati? Pergi ke surga, seperti ayahku? Begitukah?"<br />"Ya."<br />"Kalau aku mati, apa aku bisa bertemu ayahku?"<br />"Tentu saja."<br />"Aku ingin sekali suara ini berhenti berbunyi," kataku pelan.<br />"Ibumu akan bersedih jika kau meninggalkannya," jawab laki-laki itu.<br /><br />"Jangan beritahu ibuku kalau aku mati. Berjanjilah untuk diam. Seperti yang dilakukan ibu padaku dulu, ketika ayah meninggalkan kami."<br />"Bagaimana dengan temanmu, Ramadhani?"<br /><br />Aku terhenyak. Ramadhani? Ah, aku melupakannya. Apa aku tega meninggalkannya begitu saja? Tapi…bukankah aku sudah mengatakan hal ini kepadanya dulu, di satuan waktu yang lain? Tentu dia akan mengerti.<br />Aku baru saja akan mengatakan pada laki-laki itu bahwa Ramadhani akan baik-baik saja jika harus kutinggalkan, tetapi dia telah lenyap dari pandanganku. Aku tidak lagi berada dalam pelukannya. Suasana yang putih berkabut kini berganti dengan taman yang sangat indah dan penuh bunga. Aroma wangi dari kelopak-kelopak yang bermekaran memenuhi tempat yang belum pernah sekalipun kutemui ini.<br />Saat itu, di kejauhan, aku kembali melihat sosok ayahku berdiri sendiri. Kali ini dia menatap ke arahku dan tersenyum. Aku membalas senyumannya dengan berjalan menujunya. Tetapi pandanganku mendadak mengabur. Aku berjalan terus sampai semuanya semakin tak terlihat olehku. Aku menghentikan langkahku dengan rasa kecewa.<br />Aku teringat pada teman kecilku. Ramadhani, kalau setelah ini aku harus pergi, maka semua yang kulihat barusan akan menjadi satu mimpi terindah sebelum matiku. Kataku dalam hati.<br /><br />AKU lihat kau duduk di samping pembaringanku. Matamu teduh tetapi berkaca-kaca. Ruangan rumah sakit ini lebih tampak seperti kamar mayat. Dingin, sepi, dan jiwa-jiwa yang beku. Aku masih tertidur. Sesekali berteriak menyapamu, tetapi kau tak mendengarku. Mimpi yang kulihat masih tersisa dengan kaburnya. Kau takkan percaya, Ramadhani, aku bertemu ayahku dalam mimpiku.<br /><br />Aku teringat dunia yang lain. Waktu kau, Ramadhani, menciumi bibirku ketika aku bicara tentang mati. Tapi kini kau tampak sedikit berbeda. Wajahmu terlihat sangat ketakutan seolah sedang menonton opera kematian. Dan, ah, Ramadhani, lihat! Ayahku datang lagi. Mimpiku jelas kembali. Dengan cepat aku menenggelamkan diri di gambaran mimpiku.<br /><br />Di belakangku, ayahku merentangkan tangannya untukku. Dadaku penuh rasa rindu yang tak tertawar lagi. Dan…di arah yang berlawanan, "Hei, itu kau, Ramadhani. Kau juga di sini?" tanyaku. Tapi kau diam. Kaku. Tak lama kemudian kau memanggil namaku dengan sangat pelan. Nyaris tak terdengar olehku. Sebenarnya kau mau aku datang padamu atau tidak?<br /><br />Aku tak bisa memilih. Antara ayahku dan kau, dalam mimpiku. Napasku sudah total terengah-engah. Ini melelahkan, Ramadhani. Tetapi juga menyenangkan. Pengalaman unik yang tak bisa sembarangan diceritakan. Aku yakin sekali ini jauh lebih menarik daripada menghitung langit atau bintang.<br /><br />Kemudian semua terpastikan. Seseorang di atas kepalaku, menarik sesuatu dari tubuhku. Ada yang terlepas dengan begitu lekas. Sangat cepat, tetapi sempat membuatku tercekat.<br /><br />Aku lupa semua mimpiku. Tiba-tiba ayahku sudah memelukku dengan eratnya. Sementara kau menangis di pelukan ibuku, di ujung pembaringanku. Dokter mencabut selang infusku. Aku berteriak untukmu, "Aku akan merindukan ciumanmu, Ramadhani." Tapi lagi-lagi kau tak dapat mendengarku, melainkan hanya terus menangis. ***</div></div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"><br /><br />Sidoarjo-Yogyakarta, 2004-2005 </div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-82506654817903717902008-04-03T16:20:00.001+07:002008-04-03T16:22:18.755+07:00Kupu-Kupu Tidur<span style="font-style: italic;">Cerpen Wawan Setiawan</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Kupu-kupu itu bersayap kuning, terbang ke sana kemari di tanah samping. Coba lihat, ia sedang mencari sesuatu, di balik daun bunga sepatu. O, ternyata benar, ia sedang menitipkan telurnya. Nanti telur-telur itu jadi ulat. Ulat-ulat itu merayap dari daun ke daun. Memangsa daun-daun itu, nyaem nyaem nyaem, ia besar, gemuk, lalu masuk ke kepompong. Nah sudah. Coba lihat, dari satu ujung lubang kepompong, lepaslah seekor kupu-kupu, warnanya kuning, seperti induknya.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br />Aku mengimajikan proses itu. Sebuah proses alami. Alam telah menyediakan segala sesuatunya, agar semuanya dapat berproses, tentu secara alami pula. Kupu-kupu kuning tadi telah pergi, ke halaman rumah tetangga. Di samping rumah ada sirsak, pisang, mangga, dan pepaya. Ada juga bluntas dan gambas. Di bawah pohon dan perdu itu, sedikit menghampar rumput hijau, halus, enak di kaki. Di halaman depan, sama, ada rumput hijau. Di atasnya, ada pepaya, alamanda, cemara pipih, dan melati. Tanaman itu mengisi hari-hariku, ya di tengah-tengah alam semesta yang besar dan "tenang" ini, aku ditimpa keraguan, kebimbangan.<br /><br />"Hesti, aku sudah mempertaruhkan hidupku, tapi jalan hidup ternyata lain. Aku tak sanggup lagi mampir di rumah kita, yang konon bertabur bintang berjuta. Berbulan bundar, persis harapanku. Tapi bulan dan bintang di rumah kita adalah milikmu. Aku ditakdirkan tidak memilikinya."<br /><br />Itu ucapan Sapto. Lelaki itu kemudian tak lagi kembali. Sapto telah pergi, lenyap ditelan kebiruan gunung. Sapto mengembara dari gunung ke gunung yang konon wilayah warisan nenek moyangnya.<br /><br />"Ya, Sapto, bila itu jalan hidupmu, pilihanmu, setialah pada janjimu, pada dirimu. Aku tak kuasa. Jalan hidup kita memang beda. Memang telah kuserahkan diriku padamu, tapi tampaknya tak dapat penuh. Kuserahkan diriku hanya separuh, dan kau menerimanya juga dengan separuh dirimu. Kita sama-sama mengerti. Dan akhirnya memaklumi. Di tengah alam semesta yang besar ini, aku akhirnya sendiri. Bapak ibuku sudah pergi. Adik satu-satuku sudah dibawa suami. Di rumah ini, bagai seorang paranormal, aku merajut masa depan yang gambar-gambarnya samar-samar."<br /><br />Tak kusadari air mata menetes, tak banyak, hanya satu dua. Tapi itu sudah cukup. Keterharuanku pada jalan hidupku membuatku mengerti, bahwa setiap orang akan digiring kepada jalan hidupnya masing-masing. Ada yang ikhlas menerima, ada yang memberontakinya.<br /><br />Lelaki itu dulu kutemui di bangsal sebuah gedung teater. Saat itu ada latihan drama. Saat itu aku baru lulus sarjana akuntansi. Meskipun aku suka hitung-menghitung, aku juga suka nonton drama. Bahkan latihan sebelum main, kutonton juga. Itu seperti kita kalau makan kue Hari Raya yang akan dipanaskan dalam van. Rasanya sudah enak, dan memang sudah bisa dinikmati. Dalam kisah drama yang kutonton, ada bagian peristiwa yang menampilkan sisi kehidupan seorang paranormal. Dikisahkan, paranormal pamit pada istrinya untuk bertapa di sebuah lereng gunung di selatan kota. Tapi pertapanya gagal karena tergoda seorang wanita. Sang pertapa kemudian kembali lagi menjadi orang biasa. Entah dari mana Sapto tahu ada latihan drama di Gedung Pemuda pusat kota itu. Sapto sendiri hanya tamat SMA. Ia memilih belajar sendiri dari hal-hal yang dia sukai, dan sangat antusias dengan astronomi, astrologi, serta ekonomi makro. Selain itu, ia menggandrungi puisi dan pijat refleksi. Mungkin background inilah yang mendorongnya datang ke Gedung Pemuda.<br /><br />Waktu itu, entah bagaimana, aku dan Sapto terlibat diskusi perihal paranormal yang tergoda tadi. Dari diskusi itulah, perkenalan berlanjut. Sapto ternyata orang yang sangat menyayangi tubuhnya. Setelah pernikahan, ia pelit berhubungan seks. Alasannya, tubuh adalah kuil Tuhan, rumah ruh berdomisili. Dan jika ruh menempati sebuah tubuh, itu merupakan perjuangan yang sangat berat, sungguh berat. Sang ruh harus bernego dulu dengan para malaikat pengurus kelahiran. Karena begitu banyak ruh yang ingin atau harus lahir di bumi, maka negosiasi sungguh alot. Dihitung dulu talenta, kemungkinan-kemungkinan prestasi, fleksibilitas dengan cuaca tempat tubuh dilahirkan, atau komplikasi-komplikasi yang mungkin muncul dengan keluarga inti, keluarga besar, suku, dan masyarakat luas. Melihat kesulitan negosiasi, dan kecermatan seleksi di dunia sana, Sapto sangat bersyukur telah bisa lahir ke bumi. Karena itu, sekali lagi, Sapto sangat menghormati tubuh. Tubuh tak boleh semena-mena dikorbankan demi sensasi seks yang tak kunjung habis.<br /><br />Hernowo? Ya, dialah itu, Hernowo. Lelaki itu adalah suami keduaku. Aku bertemu dengannya, lagi-lagi, ketika ada acara latihan drama. Waktu itu pagi nan dingin, di pinggirian kota, sebuah kelompok teater sedang berlatih pernapasan. Aku diajak seorang teman, aku ikut namun sekadar menonton; sambil baca-baca koran pagi, kudengar mereka teriak-teriak. Mereka disadarkan oleh Hernowo: baik ketika udara masuk atau keluar, yang bergerak hanyalah Tuhan. Dengan sugesti itu, mereka tak hanya diingatkan oleh pentingnya udara, namun juga oleh pentingnya "Tuhan".<br /><br />Hernowo adalah seorang suami yang nafsu seksnya kuat. Mungkin dampak dari latihan pernapasan digabung dengan bawaan dari sono-nya. Tak seperti Sapto yang kikir seks, Hernowo boros. Sehingga sering aku dibikin kewalahan.<br /><br />"Hesti, kecerdasanku adalah maksimal. Namun tampaknya aku kewalahan meladenimu diskusi. Semangat hidupku terlalu besar, sayang kurang diimbangi daya intelektual." Demikian pengakuan Hernowo suatu malam, setelah melakukan hubungan suami istri entah yang ke berapa ribu kali.<br /><br />"Tapi kau pelaku yang baik, man of action. Kamu mampu menghimpun orang-orang, menggerakkan mereka, meski gerakan mereka di atas panggung. Aku lega dipertemukan Tuhan bersuamikan dirimu." Demikian hiburku pada malam yang lain sambil melap-lap tubuhnya yang penuh keringat. Kusuapi dia dengan STMJ khas diriku seperti yang diminatinya.<br /><br />Sebenarnya aku sudah mulai bisa tinggal di dalam hatinya. Dia juga sangat kerasan hidup di hatiku. Tapi sayang seribu sayang, melalui cerita seorang teman, dan juga aku pernah tahu sendiri, Hernowo masih punya waktu berpacaran dengan salah satu anak buah teaternya. Kerinduanku pada keindahan romantisme perkawinan pupus sudah. Mungkin karena dia menganggapku janda yang kesetiaannya sudah terkoyak.<br /><br />"Sudahlah, sudah. Kau bisa bayangkan sendiri, di sudut kamarmu yang remang-remang, bahwa akhirnya aku bercerai dengan Hernowo. Hernowo itu terlalu alamiah. Termasuk dalam hal bercinta. Tak apalah. Biarlah semua mengalir, Pantha Rei. Aku mengalir. Sapto mengalir. Hernowo juga mengalir."<br /><br />Kembali mataku menangkap kepak kupu-kupu kuning itu dengan kesepianku yang lengkap. Aku tak mau lagi jadi ulat. Aku ingin jadi kupu-kupu. Ulat merayap dari daun ke daun. Kupu-kupu itu terbang dari bunga ke bunga, taman ke taman. Aku ingin terbang. Dan ini yang penting, aku tak ingin memakai dua sayap yang di situ ada Sapto dan Hernowo. Dulu aku terbang dengan sayap Ibu dan Bapakku. Kemudian aku terbang dengan sayap Sapto dan Hernowo. Aku ingin menciptakan sayap sendiri, sayap khas Hesti. Mungkin bahan bakunya dari Ibu, Bapak, Sapto, dan Hernowo, atau yang lain.<br /><br />Dalam kesepianku, kini, aku menekuri diriku yang sibuk merajut sayap. Tak apa, mumpung angkasa masih menyediakanku ruang. Diriku belum sama sekali hampa. Lingkunganku masih tertawa dan terbuka. Kotaku, meski tetap angkuh, toh masih mau menyapa.<br /><br />Kulihat diriku menekuri diriku. Di sela-sela berbagai daunan berembun, bagai peri, aku mulai melesat dari daun ke daun. Dan kulihat dari pohon ke pohon. Sedang di atas angkasa membuka mulutnya yang tak bertepi, dibanjiri sinar mentari.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><br />Surabaya, 2005</div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-47890048067362194722008-04-03T06:42:00.000+07:002008-04-03T06:43:13.363+07:00Legenda Pantai Karang Nini<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Konon pada sebuah kampung yang bernama Emplak atau Karangtunjang, tinggalah sepasang kakek dan nenek samti (aki dan nini) bernama Ambu Kolor dan Arga Piara yang hidup dalam ikatan cinta kasih abadi. Aki yang memiliki kegemaran memancing di laut, suatu hari tak kunjung pulang dan si Nini menunggu di rumah dengan harap-harap cemas.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br />Haripun beranjak petang namun si Aki tidak juga muncul kembali ke rumah. Si Nini yang tidak sabar menunggu, akhirnya berangkat mencari Aki ke tapi pantai, namun betapa malangnya, karena sampai siang berganti malam yang dicari tak kunjung datang.<br /><br />Sepanjang tepian pantai Nini memanggil-manggil Aki, tapi suaranya hilang ditelan gemuruh ombak. Para tetangga yang ikut mencari akhirnya semua kembali ke rumah masing-masing dan tinggalan Nini sendirian merenungi nasib diri.<br /><br />Dengan kesaktiannya si Nini memohon kepada sang Ratu Laut Selatan Nyi Roro Kidul, agar dapat dipertemukan kembali dengan sang kekasih.<br /> <br /><br />Permohonan tersebut ternyata dikabulkan. Tidak lama kemudian munculah dihadapan di Nini sebuah karang dalam keadaan mengambang, sebagai perwujudan jasad si Aki (sekarang batu karang tersebut dinamakan Bale Kambang dan siapa pun orang yang berdiri di atasnya akan terasa bergoyang).<br /><br />Sebagai bukti dari cinta kasih dan kesetiannya, si Nini tak mau beranjak pergi dan ia kemudian bersemedi memohon kembali agar dirinya dapat selalu berdekatan dengan si Aki. Permohonan itu dikabulkan, karena tidak beberapa lama si Nini pun akhirnya menjemla menjadi batu karang yang persis menghadap ke arah Bale Kambang dan kemudian orang menamakannya Karang Nini.<br /><br />Sampai berabad-abad kemudian, dua buah batu karang yang berhadap-hadapan itu tetap kokoh di tempatnya menjadi simbol cinta dan kesetiaan. Hanya saja pada tahun 1918 bagian karang yang menyerupai kepada si Nini putus disambar petir menyisakan bagian yang sekarang kita nikmati.</div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-25652770849783127912008-04-03T06:35:00.001+07:002008-04-03T06:38:43.956+07:00Legenda Lutung Kasarung<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Di Jawa Barat pada jaman dahulu kala ada sebuah Kerajaan Hindu yang besar dan cukup kuat, yaitu berpusat di kota Bogor. Kerajaan itu adalah Kerajaan "Pajajaran", pada saat itu raja yang memerintah yaitu Prabu Siliwangi. Beliau sudah lanjut usia dan bermaksud mengangkat Putra Mahkotanya sebagai penggantinya.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br />Prabu Siliwangi mempunyai tiga orang putra dan satu orang putri dari dua Permaisuri, dari permaisuri yang pertama mempunyai dua orang putra yaitu: Banyak Cotro dan Banyak Ngampar. Namun sewaktu Banyak Cotro dan Banyak Ngampar masih kecil ibunya telah meninggal.<br /><br />Maka Prabu Siliwangi akhirnya kawin lagi dengan permaisuri yang kedua, yaitu Kumudaningsih. Pada waktu Dewi Kumuudangingsih diambil menjadi Permaisuri oleh Prabu Siliwangi, ia mengadakan perjanjian, bahwa jika kelak ia mempunyai putra laki-laki, maka putranyalah yang harus meggantikan menjadi raja di Pajajaran.<br /><br />Dari perkawinannya dengan Dewi Kumudaningsih, Prabu Silliwangi mempunyai seorang putra dan seorang putri, yaitu: Banyak Blabur dan Dewi Pamungkas.<br /><br />Pada suatu hari Prabu Siliwangi memanggil Putra Mahkotanya, Banyak Cotro dan Banyak Blabur untuk menghadap, maksudnya ialah Prabu Siliwangi akan mengangkat putranya untuk menggantikan menjadi raja di Pajajaran karena beliau sudah lajut usia.<br /><br />Namun dari kedua Putra Mahkotanya belum ada yang mau diangkat menjadi raja di Pajajaran. Sebagai putra sulungnya Banyak Cokro mengajukan beberapa alasan, antara lain alasannya adalah:<br /><br />• Untuk memerintahkan Kerajaan dia belum siap, karena belum cukup ilmu.<br /><br />• Untuk memerintahkan Kerajaan seorang raja harus ada Permaisuri yang mendampinginya, sedangkan Banyak Cotro belum kawin.<br /><br />Banyak Cotro mengatakan bahwa dia baru kawin kalau sudah bertemu dengan seorang putri yang parasnya mirip dengan ibunya. Oleh sebab itu Banyak Cotro meminta ijin pergi dari Kerajaan Pajajaran untuk mencaari putri yang menjadi idamannya..<br /><br />Kepergian Banyak Cotro dari Kerajaan Pajajaran melalui gunung Tangkuban Perahu, untuk menghadap seorang pendeta yang bertempat di sana. Pendeta itu ialah Ki Ajar Winarong, seorang Pendeta sakti dan tahu untuk mempersunting putri yang di idam-idamkannya dapat tercapai.<br /><br />Namun ada beberapa syarat yang harus dilakukan dan dipenuhi oleh Banyak Cotro, yaitu harus melepas dan menaggalkan semua pakaian kebesaran dari kerajaan dengan hanya memakai pakaian rakyat biasa. Dan ia harus menyamar dengan nama samaran "Raden Kamandaka"<br /><br />Setelah Raden Kamandaka berjalan berhari-hari dari Tangkuban Perahu ke arah Timur, maka sampailah Raden Kamandaka kewilayah Kadipaten Pasir Luhur.<br /><br />Secara kebetulan Raden Kamandaka sampai Pasir Luhur, betemu dengan Patih Kadipaten Pasir Luhur yaitu Patih Reksonoto. Karena Patih Reksonoto sudah tua tidak mempuunyai anak, maka Radenn Kamandaka akhirnya dijadikan anak angkat Patih Reksonoto merasa sangat bangga dan senang hatinya mempunyai Putra Angkat Raden Kamandaka yang gagah perkasa dan tampan, maka Patih Reksonoto saangat mencintainya.<br /><br />Adapun yang memerintahkan Kadipaten Pasir Luhur adalah "Adi Pati Kanandoho". Beliau mempunyai beberapa orang Putri dan sudah bersuami kecuali yang paling bungsu yaitu Dewi Ciptoroso yang belum bersuami. Dewi Ciptoroso inilah seorang putri yang mempunyai wajah mirip Ibu raden Kamandaka, dan Putri inilah yng sedang dicari oeh Raden Kamandaka.<br /><br />Suatu kebiasaan dari Kadipaten Pasir Luhur bahwa setiap tahun mengadakan upacara menangkap ikan di kali Logawa. Pada upacara ini semua keluarga Kadipaten Pasir Luhur beserta para pembesar dan pejabatan pemerintah turut menangkap ikan di kali Logawa.<br /><br />Pada waktu Patih Reksonoto pergi mengikuti upacara menangkap ikan di kali Logawa, tanpa diketahuinya Raden Kamandaka secara diam-diam telah mengikutinya dari belakang. Pada kesempatan inilah Raden Kamandaka dapat bertemu dengan Dewi Ciptoroso dan mereka berdua saling jatuh cinta.<br /><br />Atas permintaan dari Dewi Ciptoroso agar Raden Kamandaka pada malam harinya untuk dating menjumpai Dewi Ciptoroso di taman Kaputren Kadipaten Pasir Luhur tempat Dewi Ciptoroso berada. Benarlah pada malam harinya Raden Kamandaka dengan diam-diam tanpa ijin patih Resonoto, ia pun pergi menjumpai Dewi Ciptoroso yang sudah rindu menanti kedatangan Raden Kamandaka.<br /><br />Namun keberadaan Raden Kamandaka di Taman Kaputren Bersama Dewi Ciptoroso tidak berlangsung lama. Karena tiba-tiba prajurit pengawal Kaputren mengetahui bahwa di daalam taman adaa pencuri yang masuk. Hal ini kemu kemudian dilaporkan oleh Adipatih Kandandoho.<br /><br />Menanggapi laporan ini, maka Adipatih sangat marah dan memerintahkan praajuritnya untuk menangkap peencuri tersebut. Karena kesaktian daan ilmu ketangkasan yang dimiliki oleh Raden Kamandaka, maka Raden Kamandaka dapat meloloskan diri dari kepungan prajurit Pasir Luhur.<br /><br />Sebelum Raden Kamandaka lolos daari Taman Kaputren, ia sempat mengatakan identitasnya. Bahwa ia bernama Raden Kamandaka putra dari Patih Reksonoto.<br /><br />Hal inii di dengar olehh prajurit, dan melaporkan kepada Adipatih Kandandoohho. Mendengar hal innii maka Patih Reksonoto pun dipanggil dan harus menyerahkan putra nya . Perintaah ini dilaksanakan oleh Patih Reksonoto, walaupun dalam hatinya sangatlah berat. Sehimgga dengan siasat daari Patih Reksonoto, maka Raden Kamandaka dapat lari daan selamat daaripengejaran para prajurit.<br /><br />Raden Kamandaka terjun masuk kedalam sungai dan menyelam mengikuti arus air sungai. Oleh Patih Reksonoto dan para prajurit yang mengejar,, dilapoprkan bahwa Raden Kamandaka dikatakan sudah mati didalam sugai. Mendengar berita ini Adipatih Kandandoho merasa lega dan puas. Nmun sebaliknya Dewi Ciptoroso yang setelah mendengar berita itu sangatlah muram dan sedih.<br /><br />Sepanjang Raden Kamandaka menyelam mengikuti arus sungai bertemulah dengan seorang yang memancing di sungai. Orang tersebut bernama Rekajaya, Raden Kamandaka daan Rekajaya kemudian berteman baik dan menetap di desa Panagih. Di desa ini Raden Kamandaka diangkat anak oleh Mbok Kektosuro, seorang janda miskin di desa tersebbut.<br /><br />Raden Kamandaka menjadi penggemar adu ayam. Kebetulan Mbok Reksonoto mempunyai ayam jago yang bernama "Mercu". Pada setiap penyabungan ayam Raden Kamandaka selalu menang dalam pertandingan, maka Raden Kamandaka menjadi sangat terkenal sebagai botoh ayam.<br /><br />Hal ini tersiar saampai kerajaan Pasir Luhur, mendengar hal ini Adipatih Kandadoho menjadi marah dan murka. Beliau memerintahkan prajuritnya untuk menagkap hidup atau mati Raden Kamandaka .<br /><br />Pada saat itu tiba-tiba datanglah seorang pemuda tampan mengaku dirinya bernama"Silihwarni" yang akan mengabdikan diri kepada Pasir Luhur, maka ia permohonannya di terima, tetapi asalkan ia harus dapat membunuh Raden Kamandaka. Untuk membuktikannya ia harus membawa darah dan hati Raden Kamandaka.<br /><br />Sebenarnya Silihwarni adalah nama samaran. Nama itu sebenarnya adalah Banyak Ngampar Putra dari kejajaan Pajajaran, yaitu adik kandung dari Raden Kamandaka.<br /><br />Ia oleh ayahnya Prabu Siliwangi ditugaskan untuk mencari saudara kandungnya yang pergi sudah lama belum kembali. Untuk mengatasi gangguan dalam perjalanan, ia dibekali pusaka keris Kujang Pamungkas sebagai senjatanya. Dan dia juga menyamar dengan nama Silihwarni, dan berpakaian seperti rakyat biasa.<br /><br />Karena ia mendengar berita bahwa kakak kandungnya berada di Kadipaten Pasir Luhur, maka ia pun pergi kesana. Setelah Silihwarni menerima perintah daari Adipatih, pergilah ia dengan diikuti beberapa prajurit dan anjing pelacak menuju desa Karang Luas, tempat penyabungan ayam.<br /><br />Ditempat inilah mereka bertemu. Namun keduanya sudah tidak mengenal lagi. Silihwari berpakaian seperti raknyat biasa sedangkan Raden Kamandaka berpakaian sebagai botoh ayam, dan wajahnya pucat karena menahan kernduan kepada kekasihnya.<br /><br />Terjadilah persabungan ayan Raden Kamandaka dan Silihwarni, dengan tanpa disadari oleh raden kamandaka tiba-tiba Silihwrni menikam pinggang Raden Kamandaka dengan keris Kujang Pamungkasnya. Karena luka goresan keris itu tersebut darahpun keluar dengan deras. Namun karena ketangkasan Raden Kamandaka , iapun dapat lolos dari bahaya tersebut dan tempat ia dapat lolos itu dinamakan desa Brobosan, yang berarti ia dapat lolos dari bahaya.<br /><br />Karena lukanya semakin deras mengeluarkan darah, maka iapun istirahat sebentar disuatu tempat, maka tempat itu dinamakan Bancran. Larinya Raden Kamandaka terus dikejar oleh Silihwarni dan prajurit. Pada suatu tempat Raden Kamandaka dapat menangkap anjing pelacaknya dan kemudian tempat itu di berinya nama desa Karang Anjing.<br /><br />Raden Kamandaka terus lari kearah timur dan sampailah pada jalan buntu dan tempat ini ia memberi nama desa buntu. Pada akhirnya Raden Kamandaka sampailah disebuah Goa. Didalam Goa ini ia beristirahat dan bersembunyi dari kejaran Silihwarni. Silihwarni yang terus mengejar setelah sampai goa ia kehilangan jejak. Kemudian Silihwarnipun dari mulut goa tersebut berseru menantang Raden Kamandaka.<br /><br />Setelah mendengar tantagan Silihwarni, Raden Kamandaka pun menjawab ia mengatakan identitasnya, bahwa ia adalah putra dari kerajaan Pajajaran namanya Banyak Cotro.<br /><br />Setelah itu Silihwarnipun mengatakan identitasnya bahwa ia juga putra dari Kerajaan Pajajaran, bernama Banyak Ngampar. Demikian kata-kata ayang pengakuan antara Raden Kamandaka dan Silihwarni bahwa mereka adalah purta pajajaran, maka orang yang mendengar merupakan nama versi ke-2, untuk goa jatijajar tersebut. Kemudian mereka berdua berpeluka dan saling memaafkan.<br /><br />Namun karena Silihwarni harus membawa bukti hati dan darah Raden Kamandaka, maka akhirnya anjing pelacaknya yang dipotong diambil darah dan hatinya. Dikatakan bahwa itu adalah hati dan darah Raden Kamandaka yang telah dibunuhnya.<br /><br />Raden Kamandaka kemudian bertapa di dalam goa dan mendapat petunjuk , bahwa niatnya untuk mempersunting Dewi Ciptoroso akan tercapai kalau ia sudah mendapat pakaian "Lutung" dan ia disuruh supaya mendekat ke Kadipaten Pasir Luhur, yaitu supaya menetap di hutan Batur Agung, sebelah Barat Daya dari batu Raden.<br /><br />Suatu kegemaran dari Adipatih Pasir Luhur adalah berburu. Pada suatu hari Adipatih dan semua keluarganya berburu, tiba-tiba bertemulah dengan seekor lutung yang sangat besar dan jinak. Yang akhirnya di tangkaplah lutung tersebut hidup-hidup.<br /><br />Sewaktu akan dibawa pulang , tiba-tiba Rekajaya datang mengaku bahwa itu adalah lutung peliharaannya, dan mengatakan beredia membantu merawatnya jika lutung itu akan dipelihara di Kadipaten. Dan permohonan itu pun dikabulkan.<br /><br />Setelah sampai di kadipaten para putri berebut ingin memelihara lutung tersebut. Selama di Kadipaten lutung tersebut tidak mau dikasih makan. Oleh sebab itu akhirnya oleh Adipatih lutung tersebut disayembarakan yaitu jika ada salah seoraang dari putrinya dapat memberi makan dan diterima oleh lutung tersebut maka ia lah yang akan memelihara lutung tersebut.<br /><br />Ternyata makanan yang diterima oleh lutung tersebut hanyalah makanan dari Dewi Ciporoso, maka "Lutung Kasarung" itu menjadi peliharaan Dewi Ciptoroso. Pada malam hari lutung tersebut berubah wujud menjadi Raden Kamandaka. Sehingga hanya Dewi Ciptoroso yang tahu tentang hal tersebut. Pada siang hari ia berubah menjadi lutung lagi. Maka keadaan Dewi kini menjadi sangat gembira dan bahagia, yang selalu ditemani lutung kasarung.<br /><br />Alkisah pada suatu hari raden dari Nusa Kambangan Prabu Pule Bahas menyuruh Patihnya untuk meminang Putri Bungsu Kadipaten Pasir Luhur Dewi Ciptoroso dan mengancam apabila pinangannya ditolak ia akan menghancurkan Kadipaten Pasir Luhur.<br /><br />Atas saran dan permintaan dari Lutung Kasarung pinangan Raja Pule Bahas agar supaya diterima saja. Namun ada beberapa syarat yang haarus dipenuhi oleh raja Pule Bahas. Salah satunya ialah dalam pertemuan pengantin nanti Lutung Kasarung harus turut mendampingi Dewi Ciporoso.<br /><br />Pada waktu pertemuan pengantin berlangsung, Raja Pule Bahas selalu diganggu oleh Lutung Kasarung yang selalu mendampingi Dewi Ciptoroso. Oleh sebab itu Raja Pule Bahas marah dan memukul Lutung Kasarung. Namun Lutung Kasarung telah siap berkelahi melawan Raja Pule Bahas.<br /><br />Pertarungan Raja Pule Bahas dengan Lutung Kasarung terjadi sangat seru. Namun karena kesaktian dari Luung Kasarung, akhirnya Raja Pule Bahas gugur dicekik dan digigit oleh Lutung Kasarung.<br /><br />Tatkala Raja Pule Bahas gugur maka Lutung Kasarung pun langsung menjelma menjadi Raden Kamandaka, dan langsung mengenkan pakaian kebesaran Kejajaan Pajajaran dan mengaku namanya Banyak Cotro. Kini Adipatih Pasir Luhur pun mengetahui hal yang sebenarnya adalah Raden Kamandaka dan Raden Kamandaka adalah Banyak Cotro dan Banyak Cotro adalah Lutung Kasarung putra mahkota dari kerajaan Pajajaran. Dan akhirnya ia dikawinkan dengan Dewi Ciptoroso.<br /><br />Namun karena Raden Kamandaka sudah cacat pada waktu adu ayam dengan Silihwarni kena keris Kujang Pamungkas maka Raden Kamandaka tidak dapat menggantikan menjadi raja di Pajajaran.<br /><br />Karena tradisi kerajaan Pajajaran, bahwa putra mahkota yang akan menggantikan menjadi raja tidak boleh cacat karena pusaka Kujang Pamungkas. Sehingga setelah ia dinikahkan dengan Dewi Ciptoroso, Raden Kamandaka hanya dapat menjadi Adipatih di Pasir Luhur Menggantikan mertuanya. Sedangkan yang menjadi Raja di Pajajaran adalah Banyak Blabur. </div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-32520486201372171432008-04-03T06:27:00.000+07:002008-04-03T06:31:50.092+07:00Legenda Pesut Mahakam<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Pada jaman dahulu kala di rantau Mahakam, terdapat sebuah dusun yang didiami oleh beberapa keluarga. Mata pencaharian mereka kebanyakan adalah sebagai petani maupun nelayan. Setiap tahun setelah musim panen, penduduk dusun tersebut biasanya mengadakan pesta adat yang diisi dengan beraneka macam pertunjukan ketangkasan dan kesenian.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br />Ditengah masyarakat yang tinggal di dusun tersebut, terdapat suatu keluarga yang hidup rukun dan damai dalam sebuah pondok yang sederhana. Mereka terdiri dari sepasang suami-istri dan dua orang putra dan putri. Kebutuhan hidup mereka tidak terlalu sukar untuk dipenuhi karena mereka memiliki kebun yang ditanami berbagai jenis buah-buahan dan sayur-sayuran. Begitu pula segala macam kesulitan dapat diatasi dengan cara yang bijaksana, sehingga mereka hidup dengan bahagia selama bertahun-tahun.<br /><br />Pada suatu ketika, sang ibu terserang oleh suatu penyakit. Walau telah diobati oleh beberapa orang tabib, namun sakit sang ibu tak kunjung sembuh pula hingga akhirnya ia meninggal dunia. Sepeninggal sang ibu, kehidupan keluarga ini mulai tak terurus lagi. Mereka larut dalam kesedihan yang mendalam karena kehilangan orang yang sangat mereka cintai. Sang ayah menjadi pendiam dan pemurung, sementara kedua anaknya selalu diliputi rasa bingung, tak tahu apa yang mesti dilakukan. Keadaan rumah dan kebun mereka kini sudah tak terawat lagi. Beberapa sesepuh desa telah mencoba menasehati sang ayah agar tidak larut dalam kesedihan, namun nasehat-nasehat mereka tak dapat memberikan perubahan padanya. Keadaan ini berlangsung cukup lama.<br /><br />Suatu hari di dusun tersebut kembali diadakan pesta adat panen. Berbagai pertunjukan dan hiburan kembali digelar. Dalam suatu pertunjukan ketangkasan, terdapatlah seorang gadis yang cantik dan mempesona sehingga selalu mendapat sambutan pemuda-pemuda dusun tersebut bila ia beraksi. Mendengar berita yang demikian itu, tergugah juga hati sang ayah untuk turut menyaksikan bagaimana kehebatan pertunjukan yang begitu dipuji-puji penduduk dusun hingga banyak pemuda yang tergila-gila dibuatnya.<br /><br />Malam itu adalah malam ketujuh dari acara keramaian yang dilangsungkan. Perlahan-lahan sang ayah berjalan mendekati tempat pertunjukan dimana gadis itu akan bermain. Sengaja ia berdiri di depan agar dapat dengan jelas menyaksikan permainan serta wajah sang gadis. Akhirnya pertunjukan pun dimulai. Berbeda dengan penonton lainnya, sang ayah tidak banyak tertawa geli atau memuji-muji penampilan sang gadis. Walau demikian sekali-sekali ada juga sang ayah tersenyum kecil. Sang gadis melemparkan senyum manisnya kepada para penonton yang memujinya maupun yang menggodanya. Suatu saat, akhirnya bertemu jua pandangan antara si gadis dan sang ayah tadi. Kejadian ini berulang beberapa kali, dan tidak lah diperkirakan sama sekali kiranya bahwa terjalin rasa cinta antara sang gadis dengan sang ayah dari dua orang anak tersebut.<br /><br />Demikianlah keadaannya, atas persetujuan kedua belah pihak dan restu dari para sesepuh maka dilangsungkanlah pernikahan antara mereka setelah pesta adat di dusun tersebut usai. Dan berakhir pula lah kemuraman keluarga tersebut, kini mulailah mereka menyusun hidup baru. Mereka mulai mengerjakan kegiatan-kegiatan yang dahulunya tidak mereka usahakan lagi. Sang ayah kembali rajin berladang dengan dibantu kedua anaknya, sementara sang ibu tiri tinggal di rumah menyiapkan makanan bagi mereka sekeluarga. Begitulah seterusnya sampai berbulan-bulan lamanya hingga kehidupan mereka cerah kembali.<br /><br />Dalam keadaan yang demikian, tidak lah diduga sama sekali ternyata sang ibu baru tersebut lama kelamaan memiliki sifat yang kurang baik terhadap kedua anak tirinya. Kedua anak itu baru diberi makan setelah ada sisa makanan dari ayahnya. Sang ayah hanya dapat memaklumi perbuatan istrinya itu, tak dapat berbuat apa-apa karena dia sangat mencintainya. Akhirnya, seluruh rumah tangga diatur dan berada ditangan sang istri muda yang serakah tersebut. Kedua orang anak tirinya disuruh bekerja keras setiap hari tanpa mengenal lelah dan bahkan disuruh mengerjakan hal-hal yang diluar kemampuan mereka.<br /><br />Pada suatu ketika, sang ibu tiri telah membuat suatu rencana jahat. Ia menyuruh kedua anak tirinya untuk mencari kayu bakar di hutan.<br />"Kalian berdua hari ini harus mencari kayu bakar lagi!" perintah sang ibu, "Jumlahnya harus tiga kali lebih banyak dari yang kalian peroleh kemarin. Dan ingat! Jangan pulang sebelum kayunya banyak dikumpulkan. Mengerti?!"<br />"Tapi, Bu..." jawab anak lelakinya, "Untuk apa kayu sebanyak itu...? Kayu yang ada saja masih cukup banyak. Nanti kalau sudah hampir habis, barulah kami mencarinya lagi..."<br />"Apa?! Kalian sudah berani membantah ya?! Nanti kulaporkan ke ayahmu bahwa kalian pemalas! Ayo, berangkat sekarang juga!!" kata si ibu tiri dengan marahnya.<br /><br />Anak tirinya yang perempuan kemudian menarik tangan kakaknya untuk segera pergi. Ia tahu bahwa ayahnya telah dipengaruhi sang ibu tiri, jadi sia-sia saja untuk membantah karena tetap akan dipersalahkan jua. Setelah membawa beberapa perlengkapan, berangkatlah mereka menuju hutan. Hingga senja menjelang, kayu yang dikumpulkan belum mencukupi seperti yang diminta ibu tiri mereka. Terpaksa lah mereka harus bermalam di hutan dalam sebuah bekas pondok seseorang agar dapat meneruskan pekerjaan mereka esok harinya. Hampir tengah malam barulah mereka dapat terlelap walau rasa lapar masih membelit perut mereka.<br /><br />Esok paginya, mereka pun mulai mengumpulkan kayu sebanyak-banyaknya. Menjelang tengah hari, rasa lapar pun tak tertahankan lagi, akhirnya mereka tergeletak di tanah selama beberapa saat. Dan tanpa mereka ketahui, seorang kakek tua datang menghampiri mereka.<br />"Apa yang kalian lakukan disini, anak-anak?!" tanya kakek itu kepada mereka.<br />Kedua anak yang malang tersebut lalu menceritakan semuanya, termasuk tingkah ibu tiri mereka dan keadaan mereka yang belum makan nasi sejak kemarin hingga rasanya tak sanggup lagi untuk meneruskan pekerjaan.<br />"Kalau begitu..., pergilah kalian ke arah sana." kata si kakek sambil menunjuk ke arah rimbunan belukar, "Disitu banyak terdapat pohon buah-buahan. Makanlah sepuas-puasnya sampai kenyang. Tapi ingat, janganlah dicari lagi esok harinya karena akan sia-sia saja. Pergilah sekarang juga!"<br /><br />Sambil mengucapkan terima kasih, kedua kakak beradik tersebut bergegas menuju ke tempat yang dimaksud. Ternyata benar apa yang diucapkan kakek tadi, disana banyak terdapat beraneka macam pohon buah-buahan. Buah durian, nangka, cempedak, wanyi, mangga dan pepaya yang telah masak tampak berserakan di tanah. Buah-buahan lain seperti pisang, rambutan dan kelapa gading nampak bergantungan di pohonnya. Mereka kemudian memakan buah-buahan tersebut hingga kenyang dan badan terasa segar kembali. Setelah beristirahat beberapa saat, mereka dapat kembali melanjutkan pekerjaan mengumpulkan kayu hingga sesuai dengan yang diminta sang ibu tiri.<br /><br />Menjelang sore, sedikit demi sedikit kayu yang jumlahnya banyak itu berhasil diangsur semuanya ke rumah. Mereka kemudian menyusun kayu-kayu tersebut tanpa memperhatikan keadaan rumah. Setelah tuntas, barulah mereka naik ke rumah untuk melapor kepada sang ibu tiri, namun alangkah terkejutnya mereka ketika melihat isi rumah yang telah kosong melompong.<br /><br />Ternyata ayah dan ibu tiri mereka telah pergi meninggalkan rumah itu. Seluruh harta benda didalam rumah tersebut telah habis dibawa serta, ini berarti mereka pergi dan tak akan kembali lagi ke rumah itu. Kedua kakak beradik yang malang itu kemudian menangis sejadi-jadinya. Mendengar tangisan keduanya, berdatanganlah tetangga sekitarnya untuk mengetahui apa gerangan yang terjadi. Mereka terkejut setelah mengetahui bahwa kedua ayah dan ibu tiri anak-anak tersebut telah pindah secara diam-diam.<br /><br />Esok harinya, kedua anak tersebut bersikeras untuk mencari orangtuanya. Mereka memberitahukan rencana tersebut kepada tetangga terdekat. Beberapa tetangga yang iba kemudian menukar kayu bakar dengan bekal bahan makanan bagi perjalanan kedua anak itu. Menjelang tengah hari, berangkatlah keduanya mencari ayah dan ibu tiri mereka.<br /><br />Telah dua hari mereka berjalan namun orangtua mereka belum juga dijumpai, sementara perbekalan makanan sudah habis. Pada hari yang ketiga, sampailah mereka di suatu daerah yang berbukit dan tampaklah oleh mereka asap api mengepul di kejauhan. Mereka segera menuju ke arah tempat itu sekedar bertanya kepada penghuninya barangkali mengetahui atau melihat kedua orangtua mereka.<br /><br />Mereka akhirnya menjumpai sebuah pondok yang sudah reot. Tampak seorang kakek tua sedang duduk-duduk didepan pondok tersebut. Kedua kakak beradik itu lalu memberi hormat kepada sang kakek tua dan memberi salam.<br />"Dari mana kalian ini? Apa maksud kalian hingga datang ke tempat saya yang jauh terpencil ini?" tanya sang kakek sambil sesekali terbatuk-batuk kecil.<br />"Maaf, Tok." kata si anak lelaki, "Kami ini sedang mencari kedua urangtuha kami. Apakah Datok pernah melihat seorang laki-laki dan seorang perempuan yang masih muda lewat disini?"<br />Sang kakek terdiam sebentar sambil mengernyitkan keningnya, tampaknya ia sedang berusaha keras untuk mengingat-ingat sesuatu.<br />"Hmmm..., beberapa hari yang lalu memang ada sepasang suami-istri yang datang kesini." kata si kakek kemudian, "Mereka banyak sekali membawa barang. Apakah mereka itu yang kalian cari?"<br />"Tak salah lagi, Tok." kata anak lelaki itu dengan gembira, "Mereka pasti urangtuha kami! Ke arah mana mereka pergi, Tok?"<br />"Waktu itu mereka meminjam perahuku untuk menyeberangi sungai. Mereka bilang, mereka ingin menetap diseberang sana dan hendak membuat sebuah pondok dan perkebunan baru. Cobalah kalian cari di seberang sana."<br />"Terima kasih, Tok..." kata si anak sulung tersebut, "Tapi..., bisakah Datok mengantarkan kami ke seberang sungai?"<br />"Datok ni dah tuha... mana kuat lagi untuk mendayung perahu!" kata si kakek sambil terkekeh, "Kalau kalian ingin menyusul mereka, pakai sajalah perahuku yang ada ditepi sungai itu."<br /><br />Kakak beradik itu pun memberanikan diri untuk membawa perahu si kakek. Mereka berjanji akan mengembalikan perahu tersebut jika telah berhasil menemukan kedua orangtua mereka. Setelah mengucapkan terima kasih, mereka lalu menaiki perahu dan mendayungnya menuju ke seberang. Keduanya lupa akan rasa lapar yang membelit perut mereka karena rasa gembira setelah mengetahui keberadaan orangtua mereka. Akhirnya mereka sampai di seberang dan menambatkan perahu tersebut dalam sebuah anak sungai. Setelah dua hari lamanya berjalan dengan perut kosong, barulah mereka menemui ujung sebuah dusun yang jarang sekali penduduknya.<br /><br />Tampaklah oleh mereka sebuah pondok yang kelihatannya baru dibangun. Perlahan-lahan mereka mendekati pondok itu. Dengan perasaan cemas dan ragu si kakak menaiki tangga dan memanggil-manggil penghuninya, sementara si adik berjalan mengitari pondok hingga ia menemukan jemuran pakaian yang ada di belakang pondok. Ia pun teringat pada baju ayahnya yang pernah dijahitnya karena sobek terkait duri, setelah didekatinya maka yakinlah ia bahwa itu memang baju ayahnya. Segera ia berlari menghampiri kakaknya sambil menunjukkan baju sang ayah yang ditemukannya di belakang. Tanpa pikir panjang lagi mereka pun memasuki pondok dan ternyata pondok tersebut memang berisi barang-barang milik ayah mereka.<br /><br />Rupanya orangtua mereka terburu-buru pergi, sehingga di dapur masih ada periuk yang diletakkan diatas api yang masih menyala. Didalam periuk tersebut ada nasi yang telah menjadi bubur. Karena lapar, si kakak akhirnya melahap nasi bubur yang masih panas tersebut sepuas-puasnya. Adiknya yang baru menyusul ke dapur menjadi terkejut melihat apa yang sedang dikerjakan kakaknya, segera ia menyambar periuk yang isinya tinggal sedikit itu. Karena takut tidak kebagian, ia langsung melahap nasi bubur tersebut sekaligus dengan periuknya.<br /><br />Karena bubur yang dimakan tersebut masih panas maka suhu badan mereka pun menjadi naik tak terhingga. Dalam keadaan tak karuan demikian, keduanya berlari kesana kemari hendak mencari sungai. Setiap pohon pisang yang mereka temui di kiri-kanan jalan menuju sungai, secara bergantian mereka peluk sehingga pohon pisang tersebut menjadi layu. Begitu mereka tiba di tepi sungai, segeralah mereka terjun ke dalamnya. Hampir bersamaan dengan itu, penghuni pondok yang memang benar adalah orangtua kedua anak yang malang itu terheran-heran ketika melihat banyak pohon pisang di sekitar pondok mereka menjadi layu dan hangus.<br /><br />Namun mereka sangat terkejut ketika masuk kedalam pondok dan mejumpai sebuah bungkusan dan dua buah mandau kepunyaan kedua anaknya. Sang istri terus memeriksa isi pondok hingga ke dapur, dan dia tak menemukan lagi periuk yang tadi ditinggalkannya. Ia kemudian melaporkan hal itu kepada suaminya. Mereka kemudian bergegas turun dari pondok dan mengikuti jalan menuju sungai yang di kiri-kanannya banyak terdapat pohon pisang yang telah layu dan hangus.<br /><br />Sesampainya di tepi sungai, terlihatlah oleh mereka dua makhluk yang bergerak kesana kemari didalam air sambil menyemburkan air dari kepalanya. Pikiran sang suami teringat pada rentetan kejadian yang mungkin sekali ada hubungannya dengan keluarga. Ia terperanjat karena tiba-tiba istrinya sudah tidak ada disampingnya. Rupanya ia menghilang secara gaib. Kini sadarlah sang suami bahwa istrinya bukanlah keturunan manusia biasa. Semenjak perkawinan mereka, sang istri memang tidak pernah mau menceritakan asal usulnya.<br /><br />Tak lama berselang, penduduk desa datang berbondong-bondong ke tepi sungai untuk menyaksikan keanehan yang baru saja terjadi. Dua ekor ikan yang kepalanya mirip dengan kepala manusia sedang bergerak kesana kemari ditengah sungai sambil sekali-sekali muncul di permukaan dan menyemburkan air dari kepalanya. Masyarakat yang berada di tempat itu memperkirakan bahwa air semburan kedua makhluk tersebut panas sehingga dapat menyebabkan ikan-ikan kecil mati jika terkena semburannya.<br /><br />Oleh masyarakat Kutai, ikan yang menyembur-nyemburkan air itu dinamakan ikan Pasut atau Pesut. Sementara masyarakat di pedalaman Mahakam menamakannya ikan Bawoi.***</div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-87181461424735400322008-04-03T06:22:00.001+07:002008-04-03T06:23:52.597+07:00Legenda Sangkuriang<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Berasal dari hasrat, keinginan, cinta, dan kemarahan Sangkuriang, Meletusnya Gunung Tangkuban Parahu, hingga sekarang menjadi sebuah kota...<br /><br />Ini adalah cerita pendeknya...<br /><br />Ada sebuah kerajaan di Tanah Priangan. Hiduplah sebuah keluarga bahagia, sang ayah dalam wujud seekor anjing (bernama Tumang), seorang ibu (bernama Dayang Sumbi), dan seorang anak bernama Sangkuriang. Tumang adalah jelmaan dewa yang memiliki kekuatan sihir.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br />Suatu hari, Dayang Sumbi meminta anaknya untuk pergi berburu di hutan terdekat dan mencari hati rusa. Maka Sangkuriang pergi berburu dengan anjing kesayangannya, Tumang, untuk menyenangkan hati ibunya. Setelah berburu seharian penuh tanpa hasil apapun, Sangkuriang mulai putus asa dan khawatir. Tanpa pikir panjang, Sangkuriang mengambil panahnya dan memanah anjingnya. Kemudian dia mengambil hati atau daging anjingnya dan dibawa pulang.<br /><br />Dia memberikan hati atau daging anjingnya tersebut kepada ibunya. Tidak lama kemudian Dayang Sumbi mengetahui bahwa Sangkuriang berbohong padanya. Dia mengetahui bahwa Sangkuriang telah membunuh Tumang. Maka, dia menjadi sangat marah dan memukul kepala Sangkuriang. Sangkuriang terluka dan memiliki sebuah tanda. Sangkuriang dibuang jauh dari rumah mereka.<br /><br />Tahun-tahun berlalu, Sangkuriang telah berkelana ke banyak tempat dan pada suatu hari, dia sampai di sebuah desa yang dulu adalah rumahnya. Dia bertemu dengan seorang wanita cantik yang sebenarnya adalah ibunya dan jatuh cinta padanya.<br /><br />Cinta mereka tumbuh dan pada suatu hari, saat mereka membicarakan rencana perkawinan mereka, Dayang Sumbi tiba-tiba menyadari bahwa ciri-ciri pada kepala Sangkuriang sama dengan ciri anak satu-satunya yang telah menghilang dua puluh tahun lalu. Bagaimana mungkin dia dapat menikahi anaknya sendiri? Tapi dia tidak mau mengecewakannya dengan membatalkan perkawinan tersebut. Jadi, meskipun dia setuju untuk menikahi Sangkuriang, ada syarat yang harus dipenuhi yaitu membuatkan sebuah danau dan perahu agar mereka dapat berlayar saat matahari terbit pada hari pernikahan mereka.<br /><br />Sangkuriang menerima syarat tersebut dan membuat sebuah danau dengan membendung sungai citarum. Dengan waktu yang semakin singkat dan perahu yang hampir selesai, Dayang Sumbi menyadari bahwa Sangkuriang akan memenuhi syarat yang dia minta. Dengan kekuatan supernaturalnya, dia menerangi horison bagian timur dengan sinar. Tertipu oleh hal itu, ayam jantan berkokok dan petani bersiap untuk sebuah hari baru.<br /><br />Dengan pekerjaan yang belum selesai, Sangkuriang menyadari bahwa harapannya telah sirna. Dengan marahnya, dia menendang kapal yang telah dia buat sendiri. Perahu tersebut jatuh dan terbalik, dengan demikian menjadi gunung TANGKUBAN PARAHU (dalam bahasa Sunda, TANGKUBAN berarti terbalik, dan PARAHU berarti perahu). Dengan hancurnya bendungan, air yang tertampung dalam danau mengering dan menjadi sebuah dataran yang luas sehingga sekarang menjadi sebuah kota yang disebut BANDUNG (dari kata BENDUNG, yang artinya Dam/bendungan/waduk).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-26814560347843925472008-04-03T06:16:00.003+07:002008-04-03T06:35:10.894+07:00Legenda Telaga Pasir<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Kyai Pasir dan Nyai Pasir adalah pasangan suami isteri yang hidup di hutan gunung Lawu. Mereka berteduh di sebuah rumah (pondok) di hutan lereng gunung Lawu sebelah timur. Pondok itu dibuat dari kayu hutan dan beratapkan dedaunan. Dengan pondok yang sangat sederhana ini keduanya sudah merasa sangat aman dan tidak takut akan bahaya yang menimpanya, seperti gangguan binatang buas dan sebagainya. Lebih-lebih mereka telah lama hidup di hutan tersebut sehingga paham terhadap situasi lingkungan sekitar dan pasti dapat mengatasi segala gangguan yang mungkin akan menimpa dirinya.</span><div class="fullpost"><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Pada suatu hari pergilah Kyai Pasir ke hutan dengan maksud bertanam sesuatu di ladangnya, sebagai mata pencaharian untuk hidup sehari-hari. Oleh karena ladang yang akan ditanami banyak pohon-phon besar, Kyai Pasir terlebih dahulu menebang beberapa pohon besar itu satu demi satu.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Tiba-tiba Kyai Pasir terkejut karena mengetahui sebutir telur ayam terletak di bawah salah sebuah pohon yang hendak ditebangnya. Diamat-amatinya telur itu sejenak sambil bertanya di dalam hatinya, telur apa gerangan yang ditemukan itu. Padahal di sekitarnya tidak tampak binatang unggas seekorpun yang biasa bertelur. Tidak berpikir panjang lagi, Kyai Pasir segera pulang membwa telur itu dan diberikan kepada isterinya.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Kyai Pasir menceritakan ke Nyai Pasir awal pertamanya menemukan telur itu, sampai dia bawa pulang.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Akhirnya kedua suami isteri itu sepakat telur temuan itu direbus. Setelah masak, separo telur masak tadi oleh Nyai Pasir diberikan ke suaminya. Dimakannya telur itu oleh Kyai Pasir dengan lahapnya. Kemudian Kemudian Kyai Pasir berangkat lagi keladang untuk meneruskan pekerjaan menebang pohon dan bertanam.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Dalam perjalanan kembali ke ladang, Kyai Pasir masih merasakan nikmat telur yang baru saja dimakannya. Namun setelah tiba di ladang, badannya terasa panas, kaku serta sakit sekali. Mata berkunang-kunang, keringat dingin keluar membasahi seluruh tubuhnya. Derita ini datangnya secara tiba-tiba, sehingga Kyai Pasir tidak mampu menahan sakit itu dan akhirnya rebah ke tanah. Mereka sangat kebingungan sebab sekujur badannya kaku dan sakit bukan kepalang. Dalam keadaan yang sangat kritis ini Kyai Pasir berguling-guling di tanah, berguling kesana kemari dengan dahsyatnya. Gaib menimpa Kyai Pasir. Tiba-tiba badanya berubah wujud menjadi ular naga yang besar, bersungut, berjampang sangat menakutkan. Ular Naga itu berguling kesana kemari tanpa henti-hentinya.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Alkisah, Nyai Pasir yang tinggal di rumah dan juga makan separo dari telur yang direbus tadi, dengan tiba-tiba mengalami nasib sama sebagaimana yang dialami Kyai Pasir. Sekujur badannya menjadi sakit, kaku dan panas bukan main. Nyai Pasir menjadi kebingungan, lari kesana kemari, tidak karuan apa yang dilakukan.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Karena derita yang disandang ini akhirnya Nyai Pasir lari ke ladang bermaksud menemui suaminya untuk minta pertolongan. Tetapi apa yang dijuumpai. Bukannya Kyai Pasir, melainkan seekor ular naga yang besar sekali dan menakutkan. Melihat ular naga yang besar itu Nyai Pasir terkejut dan takut bukan kepalang. Tetapi karena sakit yang disandangnya semakin parah, Nyai Pasir tidak mampu lagi bertahan dan rebahlah ke tanah. Nyai Pasir mangalami nasib gaib yang sama seperti yang dialami suaminya. Demikian ia rebah ke tanah, badannya berubah wujud menjadi seekor ular naga yang besar, bersungut, berjampang, giginya panjang dan runcing sangat mengerikan. Kedua naga itu akhirnya berguling-guling kesana kemari, bergeliat-geliat di tanah ladang itu, menyebabkan tanah tempat kedua naga berguling-guling itu menjadi berserakan dan bercekung-cekung seperti dikeduk-keduk. Cekungan itu makin lama makin luas dan dalam, sementara kedua naga besar itu juga semakin dahsyat pula berguling-guling dan tiba-tiba dari dalam cekungan tanah yang dalam serta luas itu menyembur air yang besar memancar kemana-mana. Dalam waktu sekejap saja, cekungan itu sudah penuh dengan air dan ladang Kyai Pasir berubah wujud mejadi kolam besar yang disebut Telaga. Telaga ini oleh masyarakat setempat terdahulu dinamakan Telaga Pasir, karena telaga ini terwujud disebabakan oleh ulah Kyai Pasir dan Nyai Pasir.</span></div></div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-82004225740411447412008-04-02T20:50:00.005+07:002008-04-02T21:00:26.485+07:00Prabu Kian Santang<div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">Prabu Kian Santang atau Pangeran Walangsungsang atau Sunan Rohmat atau Sunan Godog atau Ki Samadullah atau Abdullah Iman atau Pangeran Cakrabuana atau Hurang Sasakan atau Sri Mangana atau Gagak Lumayung atau Maulana Ifdil Hanafi atau Haji Tan Eng Hoat dilahirkan sekitar tahun 1423 M merupakan anak pertama dari tiga bersaudara yaitu Nyai Rara Santang atau Nyai Hajjah Syarifah Mudhaim lahir sekitar tahun 1426 M dan Raja Sangara lahir sekitar tahun 1428 M. Dari hasil perkawinan antara Prabu Siliwangi dan Nyai Subang Larang atau Nyai Subang Karancang.</div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;" class="fullpost"><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Sejarah hidup Prabu Kian Santang juga terdiri dari beberapa versi, akan tetapi sejarah hidup beliau yang paling terkenal terutama oleh kalangan masyarakat Jawa Barat adalah awal mula beliau memeluk agama Islam.<br /><br />Dalam Babad Godog diceritakan bahwa Kian Santang muda saat itu adalah seorang yang sangat sakti, sampai-sampai beliau tidak pernah melihat darahnya sendiri. Jiwa mudanya yang bergelora membawa beliau berkelana mencari orang yang sanggup mengalahkan beliau sampai beliau dapat melihat darahnya sendiri, hingga pada suatu saat beliau mendengar bahwa di daerah arab ada seorang yang sangat sakti mandra guna. Dengan ilmu ”napak sancang”nya (dapat berjalan di atas air) beliau sampai di wilayah arab dan bertemu dengan orang tua di pinggir pantai, dan singkat cerita mereka bertemu dan berkenalan sehingga orang tua tersebut mengajak beliau ke rumahnya dan orang tua tersebut berjanji akan mempertemukan dengan orang sakti yang dicarinya, dalam perjalanan ke rumah, tongkat orang tua tersebut tertancap dipasir, dan orang tua tersebut meminta bantuan Kian Santang untuk mengambilkannya, akan tetapi walaupuan seluruh ilmu kedigjayaan yang beliau miliki digunakan untuk mencabut tngkat tersebut, tetap saja tongkat tidak dapat diambil, sampai akhirnya keluar darah dari pori-pori tangan kian santang.<br /><br />Dari kejadian tersebut Kian Santang baru menyadari bahwa orang tua yang bertemu dengannya adalah orang yang dicarinya, orang tua tersebut adalah Syaidina Ali bin Abu Thalib ra., akhirnya beliau pun insyaf atas kesombongannya dan memeluk agama Islam.<br /><br />Dalam cerita lain pula ada yang menyebutkan bahwa beliau memeluk Islam dibai’at langsung oleh Rasulullah SAW., kedua kisah tersebut jika dirunut berdasarkan periode waktu beliau di lahirkan dengan periode Rasulullah dan para Sahabat sangat terpaut jauh periodenya yaitu sekitar kurang lebih delapan abad. Wallahualam…<br /><br />Berdasarkan sumber lain di ceritakan pula bahwa beliau sudah memeluk agama Islam sejak kecil/lahir, karena beliau adalah cucu dari Syekh Quro dari karawang, ayah dari ibunya yaitu Nyai Subang Larang. Kemudian beliau belajar agama Islam pada Syekh Datuk Kahfi di Cirebon, dan pergi ke tanah suci untuk melakukan haji sekaligus memperdalam ilmu agama Islam bersama adiknya yaitu Nyai Rara Santang.<br /><br />Setelah kembali ke tanah Jawa, beliau mendirikan kerajaan Cirebon dan menyebarkan agama Islam, sampai suatu waktu beliau mengajak ayahnya yaitu Prabu Siliwangi untuk memeluk agama Islam, tapi walau pun Prabu Siliwangi sudah menyadari bahwa agama Islam adalah agama yang benar, karena Nyai Subang Larang istri Prabu Siliwangi, Ibunda Kian santang Sendiri adalah seorang muslimah, akan tetapi ayah beliau Prabu Siliwangi belum diberikan hidayah oleh Allah SWT. untuk memeluk agama Islam.<br /><br />Sampai terjadilah suatu kejadian yang terkenal pula kisahnya dikalangan masyarakat Jawa Barat yaitu kisah dikejar-kejarnya Prabu Siliwangi oleh Kian Santang dan dalam proses pengejaran itu masing-masing menggunakan ilmu ”nurus bumi” yaitu berlari dibawah tanah. Sampai di sebuah hutan di daerah Tasikmalaya yang bernama hutan Sancang mereka bertemu dan bertarung mengadu kesaktian.<br /><br />Akan tetapi Prabu Siliwangi kalah dalam pertarungan tersebut dan Prabu Siliwangi dengan kebijaksanaanya mempersilahkan pengikutnya untuk mengikuti ajaran Kian Santang, cerita ini termaktub dalam Uga Wangsit Prabu Siliwangi.<br /><br />Perjalan panjang hidup Kian Santang yang berkelana antara wilayah tatar Sunda dan Cirebon, hal ini lah menjadikan makam beliau ada dimana-mana yaitu diantaranya di komplek pemakamam Gunung Jati - Cirebon, di daerah Godog - Garut - Jawa Barat, di daerah hutan Sancang - Garut - Jawa Barat, dan dibeberapa tempat lainnya. Dan untuk makam asli beliau tidak ada yang tau pasti, tapi jika mengikuti perjalanan sejarah, makam yang berada di komplek pemakaman kesultanan Cirebon yang ada di wilayah Gunung Jati, yang lebih mendekati kebenaranan.<br /><br />Makam yang berada ditempat lain hanya merupakan suatu sibol yang dibuat oleh masyarakat diwilayah tersebut yang menunjukan bahwa beliau pernah ke wilayah tersebut (patilasan [sunda: bekas singgah]). Hal ini sama seperti makam-makam seorang nabi yang berada di beberapa tempat.</div></div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-80387318753918778202008-04-02T20:42:00.001+07:002008-04-02T20:45:58.732+07:00Nenek Apoi<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Pada suatu ketika dahulu, terdapat seorang Ketua Kaum Idahan yang mempunyai kekuasaan yang sangat besar bermula dari Sungai Kinabatangan sehinggalah ke perairan Pulau Temburung di Daerah Semporna. Beliau bernama " Nenek Apoi" yang bermaksud " Api " dalam Bahasa Idahan. Nenek Apoi juga merupakan seorang Wira ataupun Pahlawan dikalangan Suku Kaum Idahan ketika itu.</span><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;" class="fullpost"><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Nenek Apoi mempunyai seorang isteri yang Bernama Liungayoh yang bermaksud 'Perempuan Besar" dalam Bahasa Suku Kaum Idahan dan menurut cerita ia mempunyai Tiga Orang Anak yang tinggal di Sungai Segama, Sungai Tungku dan juga Sapagaya. Ini bererti Nenek Apoi tidak menetap di suatu kawasan, ia sering pergi ke tempat tinggal anak-anaknya.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Pada suatu hari isteri Nenek Apoi yang tengah sarat mengandung telah mengidam ingin memakan Hati Payau. "Apoi, aku mahulah makan Hati Payau, kata isterinya Liungayoh". Nenek Apoi pun bersetuju. " Kalau begitu kenalah aku pergi memburu Payau tu Liun" kata Nenek Apoi. Pada keesokan harinya Nenek Apoi bersama anjing kesayangannya yang bernama Siyud Rapot bertolak dengan berbekal sebilah Tombak dan makanan serta minuman yang dibekalkan oleh isterinya Liungayoh.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Nenek Apoi pun pergilah berburu, sehari suntuk Nenek Apoi berjalan namun tidak terlihat olehnya kalibat seekor pun Payau padahal dia tahu binatang ini muda dicari. Siang bertukar malam, malam bertukar siang, Nenek Apoi mengira hari. " Aduh, sudah lima hari aku berburu, mana payau ni, hairan juga tidak nampak seekor pun. Bisik Nenek Apoi, anjing kesayanag Siyud Rapot pun keletihan.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Pada hari yang ketujuh, Nenek Apoi begitu letih. Nenek Apoi sungguh hairan kenapa tidak ada seekor pun Payau yang dia temui. Ketika asyik berfikir, Nenek Apoi tertidur. Tiba-tiba anjing Nenek Apoi, Siyud Rapot menyalak tidak berhenti-henti. Nenek Apoi terkejut, lalu melihat apa yang disalak oleh Siyud Rapot. Percaya dengan tidak, Nenek Apoi tergamam seketika kerana bersama dengan Siyud Rapot adalah seekor Payau tetapi yang menghairankan Nenek Apoi kenapa warna kulit Payau tersebut berwarna Emas. Dengan segera Nenek Apoi pun berlari ke arah Payau Emas tersebut. Kejar mengejar pun berlaku. Payau Emas tersebut sungguh pantas, namun Nenek Apoi lebih pantas bersama anjingnya Siyud Rapot.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Tiba-tiba, Payau Emas tersebut berhenti tiba-tiba, apa lagi Nenek Apoi pun membaling Tombaknya ke arah payau Emas tersebut dengan kepakaran dan ketangkasan Nenek Apoi, lembing tepat terkena payau Emas tersebut. Nenek Apoi pun mencabut parangnya lalu ingin memotong Payau Emas tersebut.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Belum sempat Nenek Apoi mahu menyembelih leher Payau Emas tersbut tiba-tiba Payau Emas itu berkata " Tolong, jangan bunuh aku, tolonglah aku", Payau Emas itu merayu. Apa lagi, Nenek Apoi pun melompat, "kau kah yang bercakap?, tanya Nenek Apoi. "Ya, aku" tolong lepaskan aku, jawap Payau Emas itu. Nenek Apoi berfikir sejenak. " Tapi, kalau aku tak bunuh kau, macam mana aku hendak membawa pulang hati kau, kerana isteri aku ingin memakan hati Payau, sudah tujuh hari tujuh malam aku berburu, sudah dapat, mana boleh aku lepaskan", kata Nenek Apoi.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Payau Emas merayu lagi, " baiklah, kalau kau lepaskan aku, aku akan berikan kau harta yang amat berharga untuk selama-lamanya sehingga anak cucu kau, ia tidak akan habis", jawab Payau Emas tersebut. "Harta!, aku tidak mahu harta, aku mahu hati kau untuk isteri aku yang mengidam" kata Nenek Apoi. "Harta itu ada didalam Gua ini, kau masuklah lihat sendiri" balas Payau Emas itu.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Nenek Apoi pun melangkah masuk, belum sempat Nenek Apoi melangkah seterusnya, bila Nenek Apoi mahu bertanya kepada Payau Emas, Payau Emas itu telah lenyap, tiada kesan darah kalaupun Payau Emas itu melarikan dirinya. Nenek Apoi pun masuk ke dalam Gua tersebut.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Sejak hari itu, harta yang dimaksudkan oleh Payau Emas itu adalah Sarang Burung Layang-Layang yang mendiami Gua tersebut, nama Gua itu ialah Gua Madai terletak di daerah Lahad Datu yang terkenal dengan panghasilan Sarang Burung sehingga keperingkat antarabangsa sehinggalah hari ini kesan darah daripada percikan darah Payau Emas terkena tombak Nenek Apoi masih kelihatan dan kesan tapak kaki serta tangan Nenek Apoi masih lagi dapat dilihat.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Begitulah cerita rakyat Daerah Lahad Datu bagaimana Nenek Apoi berjumpa dengan Payau Emas dan bertemu dengan Gua yang bernama Gua Madai.</span></div></div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-34843203120312092862008-04-02T20:31:00.002+07:002008-04-02T20:37:07.866+07:00Kisah Tsabit bin Ibrahim<p> </p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;">Seorang lelaki yang saleh bernama Tsabit bin Ibrahim sedang berjalan di pinggiran kota Kufah. Tiba-tiba dia melihat Sebuah apel jatuh keluar pagar sebuah kebun buah-buahan. Melihat apel yang merah ranum itu tergeletak di tanah membuat air liur Tsabit terbit, apalagi di hari yang panas dan tengah kehausan. Maka tanpa berpikir panjang dipungut dan dimakannyalah buah apel yang lezat itu. akan tetapi baru setengahnya di makan dia teringat bahwa buah itu bukan miliknya dan dia belum mendapat ijin pemiliknya. </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> <div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;" class="fullpost"> Maka ia segera pergi kedalam kebun buah-buahan itu hendak menemui pemiliknya agar menghalalkan buah yang telah dimakannya. Di kebun itu ia bertemu dengan seorang lelaki. Maka langsung saja dia berkata, "Aku sudah makan setengah dari buah apel ini. Aku berharap Anda menghalalkannya". Orang itu menjawab, "Aku bukan pemilik kebun ini. Aku Khadamnya yang ditugaskan merawat dan mengurusi kebunnya". </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Dengan nada menyesal Tsabit bertanya lagi, "Dimana rumah pemiliknya? Aku akan menemuinya dan minta agar dihalalkan apel yang telah kumakan ini." Pengurus kebun itu memberitahukan, "Apabila engkau ingin pergi kesana maka engkau harus menempuh perjalan sehari semalam". </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Tsabit bin Ibrahim bertekad akan pergi menemui si pemilik kebun itu. Katanya kepada orang tua itu, "Tidak mengapa. Aku akan tetap pergi menemuinya, meskipun rumahnya jauh. Aku telah memakan apel yang tidak halal bagiku karena tanpa seijin pemiliknya. Bukankah Rasulullah Saw sudah memperingatkan kita lewat sabdanya : "Siapa yang tubuhnya tumbuh dari yang haram, maka ia lebih layak menjadi umpan api neraka" </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Tsabit pergi juga ke rumah pemilik kebun itu, dan setiba di sana dia langsung mengetuk pintu. Setelah si pemilik rumah membukakan pintu, Tsabit langsung memberi salam dengan sopan, seraya berkata," Wahai tuan yang pemurah, saya sudah terlanjur makan setengah dari buah apel tuan yang jatuh ke luar kebun tuan. Karena itu maukah tuan menghalalkan apa yang sudah kumakan itu ?" </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Lelaki tua yang ada dihadapan Tsabit mengamatinya dengan cermat. Lalu dia berkata tiba-tiba, "Tidak, aku tidak bisa menghalalkannya kecuali dengan satu syarat." Tsabit merasa khawatir dengan syarat itu karena takut ia tidak bisa memenuhinya. Maka segera ia bertanya, "Apa syarat itu tuan ?" Orang itu menjawab, "Engkau harus mengawini putriku !"<br />Tsabit bin Ibrahim tidak memahami apa maksud dan tujuan lelaki itu, maka dia berkata, "Apakah karena hanya aku makan setengah buah apelmu yang keluar dari kebunmu, aku harus mengawini putrimu ?" </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Tetapi pemilik kebun itu tidak menggubris pertanyaan Tsabit. Ia malah menambahkan, katanya, "Sebelum pernikahan dimulai engkau harus tahu dulu kekurangan-kekurangan putriku itu. Dia seorang yang buta, bisu, dan tuli. Lebih dari itu ia juga seorang yang lumpuh!" </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Tsabit amat terkejut dengan keterangan si pemilik kebun. Dia berpikir dalam hatinya, apakah perempuan seperti itu patut dia persunting sebagai istri gara-gara setengah buah apel yang tidak dihalalkan kepadanya? Kemudian pemilik kebun itu menyatakan lagi, "Selain syarat itu aku tidak bisa menghalalkan apa yang telah kau makan !" </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Namun Tsabit kemudian menjawab dengan mantap, "Aku akan menerima pinangannya dan perkawinanya. Aku telah bertekad akan mengadakan transaksi dengan Allah Rabbul 'alamin. Untuk itu aku akan memenuhi kewajiban-kewajiban dan hak-hakku kepadanya karena aku amat berharap Allah selalu meridhaiku dan mudah-mudahan aku dapat meningkatkan kebaikan-kebaikanku di sisi Allah Ta'ala".<br />Maka pernikahan pun dilaksanakan. Pemilik kebun itu menghadirkan dua saksi yang akan menyaksikan akad nikah mereka. Sesudah perkawinan usai, Tsabit dipersilahkan masuk menemui istrinya. Sewaktu Tsabit hendak masuk kamar pengantin, dia berpikir akan tetap mengucapkan salam walaupun istrinya tuli dan bisu, karena bukankah malaikat Allah yang berkeliaran dalam rumahnya tentu tidak tuli dan bisu juga. Maka iapun mengucapkan salam ,"Assalamu'alaikum..." </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Tak dinyana sama sekali wanita yang ada dihadapannya dan kini resmi jadi istrinya itu menjawab salamnya dengan baik. Ketika Tsabit masuk hendak menghampiri wanita itu , dia mengulurkan tangan untuk menyambut tangannya . Sekali lagi Tsabit terkejut karena wanita yang kini menjadi istrinya itu menyambut uluran tangannya. </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Tsabit sempat terhentak menyaksikan kenyataan ini. "Kata ayahnya dia wanita tuli dan bisu tetapi ternyata dia menyambut salamnya dengan baik. Jika demikian berarti wanita yang ada dihadapanku ini dapat mendengar dan tidak bisu. Ayahnya juga mengatakan bahwa dia buta dan lumpuh tetapi ternyata dia menyambut kedatanganku dengan ramah dan mengulurkan tangan dengan mesra pula", Kata Tsabit dalam hatinya. Tsabit berpikir, mengapa ayahnya menyampaikan berita-berita yang bertentangan dengan yang sebenarnya ? </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Setelah Tsabit duduk di samping istrinya , dia bertanya, "Ayahmu mengatakan kepadaku bahwa engkau buta . Mengapa ?" Wanita itu kemudian berkata, "Ayahku benar, karena aku tidak pernah melihat apa-apa yang diharamkan Allah".<br />Tsabit bertanya lagi, "Ayahmu juga mengatakan bahwa engkau tuli. Mengapa?"<br />Wanita itu menjawab, "Ayahku benar, karena aku tidak pernah mau mendengar berita dan cerita orang yang tidak membuat ridha Allah. Ayahku juga mengatakan kepadamu bahwa aku bisu dan lumpuh, bukan ?" Tanya wanita itu kepada Tsabit yang kini sah menjadi suaminya. Tsabit mengangguk perlahan mengiyakan pertanyaan istrinya. Selanjutnya wanita itu berkata, "aku dikatakan bisu karena dalam banyak hal aku hanya menggunakan lidahku untuk menyebut asma Allah Ta'ala saja. Aku juga dikatakan lumpuh karena kakiku tidak pernah pergi ke tempat-tempat yang bisa menimbulkan kegusaran Allah Ta'ala". </p><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> Tsabit amat bahagia mendapatkan istri yang ternyata amat saleh dan wanita yang memelihara dirinya. Dengan bangga ia berkata tentang istrinya, "Ketika kulihat wajahnya... Subhanallah , dia bagaikan bulan purnama di malam yang gelap". </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> Tsabit dan istrinya yang salihah dan cantik itu hidup rukun dan berbahagia. Tidak lama kemudian mereka dikaruniai seorang putra yang ilmunya memancarkan hikmah ke seluruh penjuru dunia. Itulah Al Imam Abu Hanifah An Nu'man bin Tsabit.</span> </p></div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-47887165954759286692008-04-02T16:21:00.000+07:002008-04-02T16:23:11.602+07:00Bidadari Diujung Senjaauthor : dedy kebajoran.baroe.22.06.06<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">ini cerita tentang ibuku,<br />timbul sayapnya di kedua bahu,<br />lalu dia pergi,<br />katanya untuk menantang matahari,<br />agar esok tak terbit lagi.<br />ini cerita tentang aku,<br />berlari mengejar bidadari,<br />kujumpai dalam diam,<br />ibu marah; warna memerah,<br />senja terbit kembali.<br /></span>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-36808722357838265012008-04-02T16:18:00.000+07:002008-04-02T16:20:08.262+07:00Lelah….<div style="font-style: italic;" class="entry"> <p>Kujalani hidupku tanpa kepastian</p> <p>Kulewati hariku dengan keraguan ….</p><div class="fullpost"> <p>Mungkin suatu kebaikan atau juga keburukan</p> <p>Mungkin suatu kebahagian atau juga kesedihan</p> <p>Hanya ada ketidaktahuan atas kemungkinan dan juga kepastian</p> <p>Adalah kejutan dalam hidup yang penuh tantangan</p> <p>Kurasakan apa yang bisa kurasa …..</p> <p>Kulihat apa yang dapat kulihat …..</p> <p>Kujalani apa yang mampu kujalani….</p> <p>Kupeluk , kuraih dan kusembunyikan “ apa”</p> <p>Jauh …. Jauh dalam hati dan jiwaku</p> </div></div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-10274089692142615692008-04-02T16:13:00.000+07:002008-04-02T16:17:50.855+07:00Cinta<h2 id="post-419"><span style="font-size:78%;">Karya dari Khalil Gibran</span></h2> <div style="font-style: italic;" class="entry"> <p>kenapa kita menutup mata ketika kita tidur?<br />ketika kita menangis?<br />ketika kita membayangkan?<br />itu karena hal terindah di dunia tdk terlihat</p> <p>ketika kita menemukan seseorang yang<br />keunikannya sejalan dengan kita, kita bergabung<br />dengannya dan jatuh ke dalam suatu keanehan<br />serupa yang dinamakan cinta.</p><div class="fullpost"><br /><br /><p></p> <p>Ada hal2 yang tidak ingin kita lepaskan,<br />seseorang yang tidak ingin kita tinggalkan,<br />tapi melepaskan bukan akhir dari dunia,<br />melainkan suatu awal kehidupan baru,<br />kebahagiaan ada untuk mereka yang tersakiti,<br />mereka yang telah dan tengah mencari dan<br />mereka yang telah mencoba.<br />karena merekalah yang bisa menghargai betapa<br />pentingnya orang yang telah menyentuh kehidupan<br />mereka.</p> <p>Cinta yang sebenarnya adalah ketika kamu<br />menitikan air mata dan masih peduli terhadapnya,<br />adalah ketika dia tidak memperdulikanmu dan<br />kamu masih menunggunya dengan setia.</p> <p>Adalah ketika di mulai mencintai orang lain dan<br />kamu masih bisa tersenyum dan berkata<br />” aku turut berbahagia untukmu ”</p> <p>Apabila cinta tidak bertemu bebaskan dirimu,<br />biarkan hatimu kembalike alam bebas lagi.<br />kau mungkin menyadari, bahwa kamu menemukan<br />cinta dan kehilangannya, tapi ketika cinta itu mati<br />kamu tidak perlu mati bersama cinta itu.</p> <p>Orang yang bahagia bukanlah mereka yang selalu<br />mendapatkan keinginannya, melainkan mereka<br />yang tetap bangkit ketika mereka jatuh, entah<br />bagaimana dalam perjalanan kehidupan.<br />kamu belajar lebih banyak tentang dirimu sendiri<br />dan menyadari bahwa penyesalan tidak<br />seharusnya ada, cintamu akan tetap di hatinya<br />sebagai penghargaan abadi atas pilihan2 hidup<br />yang telah kau buat.</p> <p>Teman sejati, mengerti ketika kamu berkata ” aku<br />lupa ….”<br />menunggu selamanya ketika kamu berkata ”<br />tunggu sebentar ”<br />tetap tinggal ketika kamu berkata ” tinggalkan aku<br />sendiri ”<br />mebuka pintu meski kamu belum mengetuk dan<br />belum berkata ” bolehkah saya masuk ? ”<br />mencintai juga bukanlah bagaimana kamu<br />melupakan dia bila ia berbuat kesalahan,<br />melainkan bagaimana kamu memaafkan.</p> <p>Bukanlah bagaimana kamu mendengarkan,<br />melainkan bagaimana kamu mengerti.<br />bukanlah apa yang kamu lihat, melainkan apa<br />yang kamu rasa,<br />bukanlah bagaimana kamu melepaskan melainkan<br />bagaimana kamu bertahan.</p> <p>Mungkin akan tiba saatnya di mana kamu harus<br />berhenti mencintai seseorang, bukan karena orang<br />itu berhenti mencintai kita melainkan karena kita<br />menyadari bahwa orang iu akan lebih berbahagia<br />apabila kita melepaskannya.</p> <p>kadangkala, orang yang paling mencintaimu adalah<br />orang yang tak pernah menyatakan cinta<br />kepadamu, karena takut kau berpaling dan<br />memberi jarak, dan bila suatu saat pergi, kau akan<br />menyadari bahwa dia adalah cinta yang tak kau<br />sadari</p></div></div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-30084755950729747492008-04-02T16:08:00.000+07:002008-04-02T16:09:32.540+07:00Kampung Mantra<div class="post-date">March 26th, 2008 by <a href="http://www.puisi.org/author/wizurai/" title="Posts by wizurai">wizurai</a> under <a href="http://www.puisi.org/tags/puisi-alam/" title="View all posts in Alam" rel="category tag">Alam</a></div> <div class="entry"> <p>‘<span style="font-style: italic;">Pedang’ meladang parang</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> ‘kapak’ menapak tapak</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> ‘galah’ membelah kalah</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> ‘bocah’ memecah lincah</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic;">‘kampung’ dikurung gunung<br />’sawah’ di bawah kawah<br />‘lumbung’ menggembung cembung<br />‘padi’ menjadi kendi</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">kapak kapak selicin pedang<br />banyak dipakai orang</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">bocah bocah bermain galah<br />berkelahi tak mau mengalah</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">sawah sawah melengkung di kampung<br />berkumpul di kaki gunung</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">padi padi menggunung di lumbung<br />di lambung hama pak tani murung</p> </div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9095175639618278622.post-55287006900365704732008-04-02T16:04:00.000+07:002008-04-02T16:07:52.325+07:00Hujan<div class="post-date">Oleh <a href="http://www.puisi.org/tags/puisi-alam/" title="View all posts in Alam" rel="category tag">Alam</a></div> <div style="font-style: italic;" class="entry"> <p>Mungkin sekarang memang sudah waktunya berganti musim<br />Hari mulai hujan terus<br />Didahului dengan langit hitam kelam<br />Ada sedikit rasa takut dalam diriku<br />Sendiri…</p><div class="fullpost"><br />Kesepian…<p></p> <p>Kemudian turunlah hujan<br />Manusia dengan sejuta kegagahannya<br />Menjadi tidak berarti apa-apa disaat hujan<br />Hanya bisa diam,<br />Mungkin merenung.<br />Banyak memori yang tiba-tiba keluar<br />Berloncatan disaat hujan<br />Sejuta kenangan yang tanpa permisi<br />Memenuhi seluruh isi Kepala<br />Perasaan-perasaan yang hanya di dapat<br />Pada saat hujan turun.<br />Hujan deras,<br />Ada yang memilih mencermati,<br />Mengagumi, membiarkan diri<br />Beristirahat sejenak dari hiruk pikuk dunia<br />Ada juga yang marah karena aktivitasnya terhenti.<br />Terputus dari sesuatu yang disebut dengan peradaban<br />Sebagian merasa takut,<br />Merasa hujan seperti badai yang menghampiri<br />Seluruh hidupnya.<br />Kadang seseorang merasakan ketiganya…<br />Tetapi Sore ini,<br />Entah mengapa hujan menjadi punya makna,<br />Selalu ada pelangi setelah hujan,<br />Awan selalu kembali cerah,<br />Anak kecil, tukang jualan, hingga para<br />Pekerja kembali memenuhi jalanan.<br />Hujan ternyata bukan untuk selamanya,<br />Kadang memang panjang,<br />Kadang teramat panjang.<br />Tapi semua itu kembali normal,<br />Masih ada kehidupan setelah hujan…<br />Masalah itu ibarat hujan,<br />Betapa pun berat,<br />Betapa pun sakit,<br />Menyesakan,<br />Membuat mual dan ingin muntah,<br />Suatu hari…<br />Pasti akan berakhir<br />Bersabar, menunggu, mungkin merenung.<br />Sambil menanti hujan usai<br />Tidak perlu menembus derasnya hujan,<br />Membiarkan diri bertambah sakit<br />Atau basah kuyup.<br />Sedikit lagi….<br />Matahari akan kembali bersinar.<br />Sedikit lagi…<br />Keceriaan akan kembali mengisi hari.<br />Sedikit lagi…</p></div> </div>Rusimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00919758951325110727noreply@blogger.com0