Cerpen : Mawar Terakhir

MAWAR TERAKHIR

Karya Annisa Maulidya

Jam masih menunjukan pukul enam tepat, tapi rumah niken sudan terlihat sepi. Hanya Niken dan Bi minah yang tengah menyiapkan sarapan pagi untuk satu-satunya penghuni rumah─yang biasanya terbuang percuma.
    Niken tengah terdiam disudut tempat tidurnya sejak lima belas menit yang lalu. Tanganya tidak berhenti memekan-nekan pundaknya yang benar-benar terasa kaku. Diliriknya jam disudut kamar, pukul enam lewat lima menit. Dengan malas diambilnya tas selempang yang hanya berisi dua buku tulis. Langkahnya cepat menuruni anak tangga. Dilewatinya ruang makan tanpa melirik sarapan yang disiapkan Bi Minah, menuju garase.
”Non tidak sarapan dulu?” ucap Bi minah yang tengah menyapu halaman depan
”Nggak bi. Kalau bibi mau, makan aja. Saya nggak laper bi” ucap Niken lemas.
    Bi Minah hanya bisa terdiam dan melanjutkan pekerjaanya. Sudah hal yang biasa bila Niken tidak melirik apalagi menyentuh sarapan paginya. Ia tau niken tidak memiliki selera makan bila dirumah.
    Dipacunya motor hitam itu melewati jalanan yang masih sepi.
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    Riko terdiam kaget ketika melihat salah satu motor yang terparkir di area parkir gedung B SMA Triutama. Bagaimanapun terasa janggal bagi Riko jika motor itu sudah terparkir disana sepagi ini.
    Ia tau persis siapa pemilik motor itu. Niken Satria Andriani. Salah satu murid yang selalu datang tepat waktu—dalam artian yang ”benar-benar” tepat— dan sesuai jadwal, yaitu beberapa detik sebelum gerbang utama ditutup. Biasanya mereka yang tepat waktu inilah yang akan mendapatkan sumpah serapah paling banyak dari siswa lain. Selain karena motor mereka yang masuk dalam salah satu motor yang paling diincar polisi—karena pake knalpot yang bising banget— dan sering bikin kesal siswa lain karena dengan terpaksa mereka harus menghindar dari jalan utama supaya nggak kena tabrak sama mereka-mereka yang biasanya sering ugal-ugalan, ditambah lagi biasanya gerbang akan langsung ditutup sesudah mereka masuk.
     Riko berjalan santai menuju kelasnya dilantai dua gedung B. Dilewatinya anak tangga itu satu persatu. Mencoba menikmati udara segar yang masih tersisa pagi ini.
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    Niken duduk terdiam disudut kelasnya. Fokus matanya lemah menatap keluar jendela. Badanya sakit dan pikiranya benar-benar terasa kacau. Lapar diperutnya sama sekali tak dihiraukanya.
    Niken masih terdiam saat Riko memasuki ruangan kelas 11 IPA 2 itu. Diletakanya tas selempang yang hanya berisi dua buah buku itu dan langsung dihampirinya sahabat karibnya yang tengah terdiam seperti mayat hidup
”Pagi ken” ucapnya sambil menarik salah satu bangku terdekat dan diletakanya disamping Niken yang masih terdiam tanpa suara. Sepertinya pikiranya sedang tidak ditempat.
”Aw!!” teriaknya kesakitan ”sakit begok!” gerutunya lagi
”Mentang-mentang dapat nilai bagus terus walaupun cabut hampir tiap hari. Gue dibilang begok. Tega banget” Riko cemberut.
”Eeeeh. Elo rik. Gue kira siapa. Sorry-sorry. Jangan ngambek yaaa. Pleasee” niken yang tadi diam kini berubah menjadi lebih bersuara.
“Tau ah. Gue ngambek” riko memalingkan muka dengan senyum geli.
“Ih. Kayak gitu banget lo sama gue? Maaf dong rik. Lo itu yang salah. Badan gue pada sakit semua gara-gara balapan semalam ” gerutunya
”Kok jadi elo yang ngambek? Gue Cuma bercanda aja kok ken. Perasaan biasanya kalau habis balapan lo baik-baik aja deh ken”. Nada heran terdengar dan tergambar jelas diwajah riko. Niklen sudah biasa mengikuti balapan liar, tapi baru kali ini ia mendengar sahabatnya ini sakit hanya karena balapan.
Niken menarik nafas panjang dan menghelanya secara perlahan.
”Semalem gue nggak konsen. Kepeleset, terus jatuh ” jawab niken pelan.
”Nggak konsen? Kok bisa? Biasanya lo semangat banget kalau balapan? Apa lo lagi ada masalah? Jangan bilang kalau lo ribut lagi sama rendra?” Riko melontarkan beberapa pertanyaan dan mencoba menerka jawabanya sendiri. Rasa heran dalam pikiranya semakin tinggi. Bagi Niken, balapan adalah salah satu hobi, bukan tempat pelampiasan rasa frustasi yang selalu menghantui. Penghapus rasa sunyi dan pedih yang selalu menghantui dengan pisau es yang dingin.
”Kok lo tau?” pertanyaan aneh itu terlontar dari mulut Niken.
”Jelaslah.” ucap Riko tandas. ”Nggak mungkin banget kalau masalah lo bersumber dari bokap lo. Kalian berduakan kayak orang yang nggak kenal satu sama lain. Buktinya, lko balapan aja dia nggak peduli. Yang ngejemputin lapor lo pas akhir tahun ajaran aja juga bukan dia.”
”Haha, bener banget. Itu orang nggak pernah peduliin gue” Niken hanya tertawa geli mendengar pernyataan Riko tersebut. Bagaimanapun Niken dan ayahnya memang tidak terlalu dekat—seperti yang dibilang Riko— mereka seperti orang yang tidak kenal satu sama lain. Hal ini sangat berbeda dengan suasana keluarga mereka waktu masih utuh. Ayah Niken sibuk dengan pekerjaanya sebagai direktur salah satu perusahaan swasta ternama di daerah Jakarta Pusat. Sedangkan Niken, dia lebih banyak meghabiskan waktu dengan teman-temanya sesama bomber—sebutan untuk pembuat Grafiti— dan team balapnya.
”Mau cerita masalahnya apa?” tanya Riko santai. Bagaimanapun ia tidak ingin memaksa sahabatnya ini untuk menceritakan semuanya sekarang.
Niken melirik jam ditangan kirinya seiring dengan makin banyak teman sekelasnya yang datang.
”Hmm, kayaknya ntar aja deh rik. Udah rame banget nih” ucap niken lemah.
”Ya udah deh. Terserah lo aja. Gue nggak maksa kok. Betewe nih, lo udah makan belum?”
”Belum sih. Lo gimana?” ucap Niken sembari memegang perutnya yang mulai keroncongan.
”Kok keras banget bunyinya ken?” riko tersenyum geli, membuat wajah Niken menjadi cemberut. ”Semalam lo pasti nggak makan ya? Masih ada lima menit lagi. Makan yuk. Gue yang bayarin.”
”Tumben lo traktir gue? Biasanya gue terus yang traktir lo?” Niken tertawa.
”Sekali-sekali gue yang bayarin kan nggak apa-apa. Ayolah. Lebih cepat, lebih baik. Gue udah laper banget nih.”Riko berjalan meninggalkan Niken menuju kantin.
”Riko... Tungguin gue napa? Jangan main ninggalin gitu deh. Gue juga laper nih” Niken berteriak lengking. Hampir semua murid lain dikelas menutup telinga mereka yang paling dekat dengan sumber suara. Riko tetap berjalan tanpa menoleh kebelakang. Bahkan kini langkahnya lebih cepat dari pada yang tadi. Akhirnya dengan tangan memegang perut, Niken berlari mengejar Riko yang sudah melai menuruni anak tangga.
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    Hari ini kelas 11 IPA 2 benar-benar berbeda dari biasanya. Kelas itu lebih hening dan tentram karena murid yang biasanya membuat kelas itu hingar-bingar, mendadak menjadi diam tanpa suara.
    Jam pelajaran pertama dilalui Niken dengan pikiran yang benar-benar kacau. Gelisah dan rasa sesak akan kekecewaan membuat dadanya terasa sakit. Hampir tiap sepuluh menit Niken mengubah pandangannya, dari keluar jendela, kemudian kedepan, keluar jendela lagi, dan begitu seterusnya.
    Riko memperhatikan gerak-gerik Niken yang semakin lama semakin aneh dan membuatnya kawatir. Diraihnya ponsel disakunya dan langsung diketiknya sebuah pesan singkat.
Gelisah bngt ken?
Lo baik2 aja kan?
Gue kwatir...
    Dikirimnya sms itu keorang yang tidak begitu jauh darinya. Semenit kemudian, sms balasan dari Niken masuk ke ponsel Riko
Gue fine2 aja kok
Nggak ada yg perlu lo kwatirin
    Niken menoleh kearah Riko dan tersenyum tipis. Senyum yang mengandung banyak makna.
    Sepeluh menit sebelum jam pelajaran kedua berakhir. Wajah Niken masih terlihat kosong. Pikirannya masih melayang entah kemana. Tidak ada setitikpun pelajaran yang ditangkapnya pagi ini. Buku catatannya pun masih sama seperti kemarin, tidak ada tambahan dari materi yang sudah dijelaskan ibu fika yang dicatatnya. Diliriknya jam tangan hitamnya. Kemudian diraihnya ponsel yang berada dilaci meja. Dengan cepat diketiknya sebuah sms.
Riko.. gue mau cabut ni
Lo ikut kagak?
Gue harap sih iya
Ada hal penting yg pengen gue omongin ma elo.
    Sms itu mendarat tepat pada ponsel Riko. Niken menoleh kearah riko dengan wajah yang memelas sendu. Rasa segan dan sedih bercampur dihatinya. Dengan berat dianggukanya kepalanya dua kali tanda setuju.
Kita cabut waktu jam istirahat pertama aja
Biasanya jam segitu satpamnya lagi makan
Pagar juga nggak kekunci
Jadi bisa lebih mudah
    Riko kembali menganggukan kepalanya dua kali tanda setuju. Walaupun hari ini ia ingin sekali  mengikuti pelajaran full sampai sore. Tapi ia sama sekali tak habis hati jika harus membiarkan sahabatnya dalam keterpurukan yang mengerikan seperti saat ini. Yaitu keterpurukan yang telah membuat Niken berubah seratus delapan puluh derajat.
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    Bel istirahat pertama berbunyi nyaring. Membuat puluhan murid mulai berlari meninggalkan kelas dan meuju kantin. Hanya Niken dan Riko yang berjalan menuju area parkir gedung B.
”Mau cabut kemana?” Tanya Riko penasaran.
”Lo ikutin gue aja. Susah kalau neranginya sekarang. Lo nggak bakalan tau.” ucap Niken tandas.
”Oke, terserah lo aja”
    Keduanya memacu motor mereka keluar area sekolah dengan hati-hati. Satpam yang biasa berjaga sedang istirahat dikantornya. Niken mengarahkan motornya kearah puncak, diikuti dengan Riko dibelakangnya. Jalanan yang tidak begitu ramai membuat Riko lebih mudah menyesuaikan kecepatan motornya dengan Niken. Walaupun begitu, ada banyak pertanyaan dalam benak Riko yang akan terjawab ketika mereka sampai.
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    Kurang dari waktu tempuh sewajarnya, Niken dan Riko sampai ditempat tujuan mereka. Riko melepas helm yang melindungi kepalanya. Dingin udara gunung segera memeluk tubunhnya.
    Dengan bingung Riko mengikuti Niken yang sudah berjalan terlebih dahulu melewati sebuah gapura yang ditutupi tumbuhan merambat. Dirinya benar-benar kaget dengan penataan bentuk dan tata ruang bangunan dibalik gapura itu. Hanya saja tempat ini jelas tidak terawat karena telah lama tidak didatangi pemiliknya.
    Niken duduk bersila diatas sebuah pondok dengan fokus mata menatap kearah kolam ikan. Hening. Hanya gemerecik air dan kicau burung yang terdengar mengisi sunyi.
    Riko hendak melontarkan pertanyaan kepada Niken, namun langsung diurungkanya niat itu ketika dilihatnya niken pucat pasi. Tubuhnya seperti tidak dialiri darah sama sekali. Fokus matanya pun terlihat begitu kosong dan hampa. Diputuskanya untuk juga diam dan bersila disamping sahabatnya itu.
”Riko. Kalau andai kata selama ini ada hal yang gue tutupin ke elo. Lo marah nggak sama gue?” setelah beberapa menit diam, akhirnya Niken membuka mulutnya.
”Nggak. Gue nggak bakalan marah kok sama lo” jawabnya sambil tersenyum.
”Janji?”
”Janji! Emangnya ada apaan sih ken?” tanya Riko penasaran.
”Gue kanker darah ko” ucap niken lemah. Ada nada perih bercampu ragu terdengar didalamnya. Ada penyesalan dan keinginan agar itu tak pernah terjadi.
”Hah? Kanker darah?“ Riko benar-benar kaget dengan kenyataan itu. ”bercanda lo nggak lucu ken” Riko murung.
”Gue serius banget ko. Gue, Niken Satria Andriani. Menderita Leukimia—Kanker darah— stadium empat.” Ucapnya dengan intonasi yang ditekankan pada bagian tertentu.
    Riko terdiam hening. Matanya menatap lekat dan kasihan kepaa sahabatnya ini. Niken bukanlah cewek yang berfisik lemah. Jenis olahraga banyak diikutinya dengan telaten. Nilainyapun termasuk dalam kategori sangat baik. Rengking empat walupun cabut hampir tiap hari dalam seminggu.
”Bokap lo tau?” tanya Riko datar.
    Niken tak menjawab. Ia hanya menggeleng-gelengkan kepalanya petanda tidak. Riko merasa bodoh telah melontarkan pertanyaan yang seharusnya ia tau jawabanya apa.
”Yang tabah ya ken” dirangkulnya tubuh Niken. Rasa dingin terasa dibagian tangan yang tersentuh oleh jemari Riko. Niken tersenyum getir. ”Hmm... Ada masalah apa lagi lo sama Rendra?”
Niken menarik nafas panjang. Kemudian dengan mata tetap terfokus pada kolam, dihempuskanya kembali dengan berat dan pelan. Ia berusaha untuk sebisa mungkin rileks.
”Nggak ada, Gue Cuma lagi break aja sama tu anak”
”Kok bisa? Siapa yang mintak?”
”Gue yang mintak rik. Habisnya akhir-akhir ini dia mulai berubah drastis. SMS gue udah jarang dia bales. Kalau telponan pun palingan cuma lima menit. Padahal biasanya bisa sejam. Dua hari yang lalu, gue minjam ponselnya dia, juga nggak dapet sama dia.” jelas Niken dengan nafas yang terdengar berat.
    Pertahananya mulai runtuh. Topeng yang selama ini melindunginya tidak mampu menutup retakan kecil yang sudah ada semenjak tadi pagi. Alhasil pertahanan Niken runtuh dan satu air mata mulai jatuh dan menetes kedalam. Riko sadar dengan keadaan temanya dan akhirnya memilih untuk diam.
    Lama terdiam didalam pikiran dan emosi masing-masing. Akhirnya Niken memutuskan untuk kembali ke Jakarta. Riko hanya ikut dengan ajakan Niken, walaupun dirinya kawatir dengan keadaan Niken. Emosional dan pikiranya terlalu kacau untuk bisa membawa motor dijalanan yang mulai padat. Pucat diwajahnya masih belum hilang sedikitpun.
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    Rendra dan Tiva memilih untuk makan siang disebuah cafe dijalan lintas Jakarta-Bogor. Mereka terlihat benar-benar dekat. Bahkan sepertinya lebih dari teman. Mereka PACARAN!!!.
    Rendra memilih kursi didepan cafe dibawah pohon peneduh cafe tersebut. Senyum sumringah tercetak diwajah Rendra dan Tiva. Mereka memang sudah saling menyukai semenjak awal bertemu di pesta ulang tahun Rakha. Tapi bagaimanapun, saat itu Rendra adalah pacar Niken—sampai sekarangpun masih— yang notabene adalah temanya.
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    Masih setengah jalan dari Bogor menuju Jakarta, Perut Niken dan Riko sudah merasa keroncongan. Maklum, sudah masuk jam makan siang dan ditambah lagi salah satu hal yang tidak pernah diam jika jadwalnya telambat adalah perut.
    Akhirnya mereka berhenti disebuah cafe, yang ternyata bersebrangan dengan cafe temnpat Rendra dan Tiva berada sekarang. Sekilas Riko melihat kalau itu adalah Rendra. Tapi ia masih ragu. Akhirya keraguan itu terhapus ketika Niken melihat mereka berdua tengah asyik bemesraan diseberang sana.
    Dengan cepat niken memencet nomor-nomor diponselnya. Membentuk deretan angka yang berjumlah dua belas. Langsung di tekanya tombol call.
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    Ponsel Rendra tiba-tiba berbunyi. Niken Memanggil. Dengan cepat diangkatnya panggilan itu agar Niken tidak curiga. Sungguh itu semua sia-sia.
”Halo ken” ucap Rendra tenang.
”Halo ren. Lo lagi dimana sekarang? Bisa ketemu nggak?” Niken bertanya seolah-olah ia sama sekali tidak berada diseberang jalan itu.
”Lagi dirumah temen gue ken. Kayaknya gue nggak bisa deh. Sibuk” Rendra berbohong.
”Ya udah deh. Bye” telpon itu terputus. Wajah Niken berubah menjadi merah padam. Emosinya benar-benar bergejolak.
”Ternyata kalian berdua benar-benar hebat. Pacar yang paling gue percaya, selingkuh sama teman gue sendiri. Biadab” desis nya kesal. Riko hanya diam dan tak ingin ikut campur.
“Riko, kita pulang aja. Selera makan gue hilang. Gue kenyang ngeliat mereka” Niken berdiri dan langsung menghidupkan motornya.
“Iya-iya. Tunggu bentar.”
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    Malam semakin larut. Keriuhan kota Jakarta kini berubah menjadi suara-suara kecil dibawah remang-remang lampu jalanan. Niken duduk terdiam ditengah hutan kota itu semenjak satu jam yang lalu. Sesekali diambilnya batu kecil dan dilemparkanya ketengah danau yang memantulkan cahaya bulan. Perih dihatinya benar-benar tidak dapat terobati. Rasa sesak semakin menghimpit hulu hatinya. Menciptakan rasa teramat sakit.
    Lama duduk terdiam ditengah taman itu, Niken sama sekali tidak menyadari jika jam telah menunjukan waktu pertukaran hari. Dengan lemah Niken berjalan menuju motornya yang terparkir tidak jauh dari sisi danau. Tanganya beruasaha menekan tengkuk kepalanya yang terasa benar-benar sakit. Darah segar mengalir dari hidungnya dan jatuh ketanah.
”Sial. Kenapa harus sekarang?!” desisnya pelan.
    Ditinggalkanya taman sunyi itu sendiri ditengah remang-remang cahaya lampu taman. Dipacunya motornya secepat mungkin dengan salah satu tangan dihidungnya. Ia berusaha menghentikan darah yang terus mengalir.
    Fokus mata Niken mulai memudar. Jalan didepanya menjadi memudar dan berubah gelap. Tanpa mampu ditahanya, badan itu kini jatuh kepelukan bumi. Motornya jatuh kesisi yang berlawanan.wajah Niken benar-benar pucat. Darah dari hidungnya mulai berhenti. Hal terakhir yang diketahuinya hanya bulan yang sinarnya ditutupi awan. Setelah itu tidak ada hal yang ia ketahui. Niken kehilangan kesadaranya
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Keesokan harinya...
    Pagi ini Riko tidak melihat motor Niken terparkir di area biasanya cewek itu memarkirkan motor hitamnya. Benar. Hingga jam pelajaran pertama usai, niken sama sekali belum melihatkan batang hidungnya. Riko kawatir apakah temanya itu baik-baik saja.
    Pertukaran jam pelajaran pertama dimanfaatkan Riko untuk menelpon Niken.
”Halo, selamat pagi. Ini siapa?” yang menjawab sama sekali bukan niken.
”Nikenya ada bi? Kok hari ini dia nggak masuk ya bi?” tanya Riko kawatir.
”Non Niken sakit mas. Dia dirawat dirumah sakit Harapan Bunda mas.” ucap bi minah datar
”Kalau gitu terima kasih bi” telpon itu kemudian terputus. Satu-satunya yang terpikirkan dalam otak Riko adalah penyakit Niken.
    Akhirnya Riko tidak bisa konsentrasi belajar. Hingga jam pelajaran kelima dirinya meminta izin untuk pulang kepada guru piket. Dipacunya motornya menuju Rumah sakit Harapan Bunda yang letaknya tidak jauh dari SMA Triutama.
    Niken terbaring lemah disina. Ayahnya berdiri disampingnmya sambil mengelus kening putri bungsunya yang selama ini tidka peernah ia pedulikan. Rasa bersalah terlihat jelas diwajah sang ayah.
    Riko membuka pintu kamar itu dan melihat Niken yang dalam keadaan terbaring lemah. Niken terbangun sesaat setelah Riko datang. Dimintanya sang ayah untuk meninggalkan mereka berdua disana.
”Riko, Ada yang mau gue titipin ke elo. Tapi sebelumnya lo bisa sms Rendra bentar? Bilang kalau gue lagi dirumah sakit” ucap Niken lirih.
”Oke-oke. Emang lo mau nitip apa?”
”Diloker gue ada kotak. Dalamnya da mawar merah sama surat kecil. Nanti selepas gue pergi. Lo kasihin kotak itu ke Rendra ya rik. ” suara Niken mulai terbata-bata.
”Iya nanti gue kasihin ke dia. Sekarang lo istirahat dulu aja ya ken.”
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    Rendra datang lima belas menit kemudian. Dia berlari menyusuri koridor menuju ruangan tempat Niken dirawat. Tepat didepan pintu langkahnya dicegat oleh Riko.
”Niken mana?” tanya Rendra tandas.
”Buat apa lo masih datang kesini? Lo Cuma bikin dia sakit!” rendra kesal.
”Maksud lo?” Rendra sama sekali tidak memahami apa yang dibicarakan Riko.
”Niken kecelakaan gara-gara elo begok!” nada suara Rendra meninggi.
”Loh? Kok gue sih?” Rendra masih merasa tidak memiliki kesalahan yang mampu membuat Niken menjadi seperti ini.
”Lo nggak sadar sama kesalahan lo? Lo nggak sadar kalau kemaren Niken ngeliat lo jalan berdua sama Tiva?” Nada Riko meninggi.
”Suka-suka gue dong. Ngapain lo yang sewot? Udah minggir sana” Rendra tidak ambil pusing dengan penjelasan Riko. Dicobanya menerobos pembatas hidup itu. Mustahil. Dia gagal.
”Apa?” Riko memegang kerah baju Rendra. ”Lo masih bisa bilang kayak gitu? Emangnya lo kira Niken itu apa? Permen karet? Habis lo bikin dia cinta mati sama lo, lo duain dia kayak gitu? Kejam banget tau nggak!” dengan emosi tertahan, Riko menggenggam kerah baju Rendra. Membuat badan cowok itu sedikit terangkat.
”Coba lo pikir. Berapa banyak pengorbanan dia buat elo hah? Tapi lo Cuma bisa ngebalesnya dengan cara kayak gini? Gue kecewa!” Desis Riko geram.
    Rendra hanya terdiam. Hening. Rasa bersalah terlihat dari raut wajah dan matanya. Ia menyesal. Namun penyesalan itu tak akan berguna. Niken telah pergi tepat sesudah penyesalan itu datang merasuki jiwa Rendra.
    Riko berlari memasuki ruangan itu ketika ayah Niken berteriak memanggil nama anaknya. Niken telah pergi. Ia pergi dengan membawa tangisan kedalam alam sana. Pedih hatinya tidak terobati sampai detik terakhirnya. Bahkan orang yang benar-benar diharapkanya sama sekali tidak sadar dengan kesalahanya. Begitu malang nasib cewek tomboy yang selalu berusaha tegar.
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    Uapara pemakaman Niken diiringi dengan tangisan dan rasa kehilangan di hati teman-temanya. Bagaimanapun Niken adalah pribadi yang unik. Meskipun ia termasuk anak yang memiliki tingkat kasus terparah. Tapi jauh dari itu semua Niken adalah sosok yang baik. Sosok yang selalu tegar dengan segala masalah. Sosok yang selalu membuat orang tersenyum. Sosok yang dapat diandalkan dalam segala bidang.
    Riko menyerahkan kotak yang dititipkan Niken kepada Rendra setelah acara pemakaman selesai. Rendra menerimanya dengan perasaan bersalah dan beribu tanda tanya.
”Niken nitip itu ke gue. Katanya itu buat lo. Gue nggak tau apa isinya. Yang jelas satu pesan gue. Lo ngebacanya pake hati. Jangan pake lidah” ucap Riko datar.
    Rendra menerima kotak itu dengan suara tecekat ditenggorokan. Ia sama sekali tidak tau apa yang harus ia ucapkan saat ini. Bagaimanapun rasa bersalah telah membunuh rasa bahagianya. Hanya senyum tipis yang getir yang dapat diperlihatkanya pada Riko.
    Riko beranjak pergi, sama seperti pelayat lain yang juga telah mulai meninggalkan rumah duka. Kini hanya ada sang ayah yang juga tercekal rasa penyesalan dan bersalah.
☼ ☼ ☼
    Rendra bersila diatas tempat tidurnya. Fokus matanya tertuju kepada kotak yang terbungkus kertas berwarna merah muda. Rasa perih dan bersalah begitu menekan dadanya hingga sesak. Semua bayangan akan kenangan saat masih bersama Niken─yang selama ini telah ”mati suri” ─ hidup kembali. Menyarang sistem pertahanan yang dengan susah payah dibangunya kembali.
    Perlahan tapi pasti, dibukanya kertas yang menutupi apa yang ada didalam kotak itu. Tiga tangkai bunga mawar merah, beberapa lembar foto paparazi dirinya dan tentunya sepucuk surat dari sang kekasih yang kini telah pergi untuk selamanya.
    Dengan pertahanan dan kesadaran yang masih tersisa setengah, Rendra membuka surat yang terdapat ddidalam kotak tadi. Ada keraguan dan sesak yang langsung menghujam jantungnya ketika dibukanya amplop surat itu.
Untuk yang pernah ku cintai dan menyakitiku
Rendra Wijaya Putra.
 

Semoga kamu hidup bahagia sekarang. Tentu saja kamu bahagia tanpa aku yang selalu merepotkan kamu. Aku yang selalu cerewet. Aku yang selalu mengatur mu dengan semua aturan-aturan itu.

Rendra, andaikan kau tau. Betapa hatiku merasa sakit ketika melihat kau bersama tiva. Entahlah. Mungkin dia memang lebih baik dari diri ini. Aku tau itu. Rendra, aku sayang sama kamu. Aku berharap kita bisa selalu bersama. Namun harapan itu hilang ketika kamu pergi dengan  Tiva. Aku bersyukur pada tuhan karena mencabut nyawaku sekarang. Dengan begitu aku tak akan menahan sakit yang lebih lama lagi. Tapi bagaimanapun aku tidak akan pernah balas dendam akan apa yang telah kau lakukan padaku. Aku akan menganggap itu sebuah kenangan.

Rendra, ada mawar yang kusimpan dalam kotak ini. Mungkin ini adalah mawar pertama dan mawar terakhir ku untukmu. Aku minta maaf atas semua kesalahan ku. Dan aku juga sudah memaafkamu terlebih dahulu..

                            Salam hangat dan sayang
                                Niken
Tanpa disadarinya air mata Rendra jatuh mengalir dipipinya. Penyesalan semakin membuatnya terpuruk dan menyesakan dadanya yang memang sudah terasa sesak. Kekecewaan yang dibawa mati oleh Niken menjadi beban yang teramat berat baginya. Bagimanapun Niken telah pergi, bersama kenangan yang juga dibawanya pergi.

Untuk dia yang telah berusaha dengan semua senyuman. Untuk dia yang telah berusaha tegar. Untuk dia yang selalu menerima dengan ketulusan hati. Untuk dia yang kini dipeluk bumi. Untuk dia yang kini terdiam dalam tidurnya. Selamat jalan..

Cerpen : Bapak Bukanlah Ombak

BAPAK BUKANLAH OMBAK

Karya : Kartika N. Nugrahini

Untaian ombak berlari ke daratan. Mendesir-desir dan terkadang terdengar dentuman air yang bertabrakan. Burung-burung berterbangan menyambar ikan yang muncul di permukaan. Tanpa menunggu datangnya panggilan, sosok lelaki bertubuh hitam menghampiri pikiranku. Lelaki yang mengajariku dengan tidak banyak bicara melainkan bertindak. Lelaki itu kini tengah berbaring di ranjang yang semakin lama semakin reyot. Kemudian datang pula bayangan dinding yang masih berupa tempelan bata merah. Di kotak-kotak itu terdapat belasan, bahkan mungkin puluhan kata tertulis menggunakan kapur putih. Setiap malam bapak mengajariku bagaimana cara menulis huruf yang aneh dan kata apa yang terbentuk olehnya. SAPI, BAPAK, MACAN, IBU, SAPU, BUKU dan deretan kata lain. Ada tulisan yang tersusun rapi, tetapi ada juga yang tidak. Dan pastilah itu coretan jemari mungilku. Aku belum tidur jika belum menengok kotak-kotak itu. Karena bagiku kotak-kotak itu  adalah pintu utama untuk menemui mimpi yang indah.
Suatu ketika, aku dan kakak  tidur hingga larut malam. Mungkin sekitar  jam sebelas. Kami tidak tidur karena tidak ada yang menemani. Bapak sedang ronda. Biasanya bapak meminta tolong  kepada saudara untuk  menemani tidur kami. Tetapi entah kenapa dia tidak datang malam  ini. Rumah kami tidak berjauhan, mungkin hanya sebelas meter. Tetapi kami tidak memiliki keberanian untuk menyusul. Aku dan Kak Dita hanya mengerjap-kerjapkan mata. Guling sana guling sini ditemani rengekan jangkrik dan binatang malam lain. Aku ikut merengek karena takut.
Kak Dita, yang pada waktu itu masih berumur delapan tahun mencoba menenangkanku. Dia menceritakan kegiatan yang dilakukan seharian itu. Setelah habis menceritakan dirinya, dia melempar pertanyaan kepadaku tentang apa yang aku lakukan seharian itu. Aku bercerita dengan terbata-bata. Maklum, aku masih berusia enam tahun. Lambat laun, kurasakan juga kantuk itu. Aku dibawa terbang oleh dewi mimpi. Kulepaskan segala kelelahan yang kudapat dari jalan, kebun dan halaman tetangga.
Ketika kelelahan belum kulepaskan secara tuntas, …”Aaa!”. Kakakku menjerit! Seketika itu aku terjaga dari tidur.  Kudapati ia menangis sambil melotot ke arah jendela. Aku mengikuti arah pandang matanya. Ada makhluk besar yang mengintai dari balik jendela, kemudian menerobos masuk kamar. Kami menjerit bersamaan. Rasa takut tidak dapat kami hadapi. Mungkin secara tidak sadar, saat itu kami  sudah panas-dingin dan gemetaran. Entahlah, sosok itu lebih menyeramkan dari bapak. Kueratkan pelukan ke tubuh Kak Dita, begitupun dia. Kami bersembunyi di balik selimut berwarna hitam. Semua air mata kami tumpahkan sehingga membuat bantal menjadi basah. Naluriku sebagai anak yang baru saja lepas dari balita, sangat ingin mendapatkan perlindungan orang tua. Tetapi bapak belum juga menolong kerena biasanya setelah meronda, dia langsung menjemput ibu. Iya, ibuku bekerja sampai larut  jika mendapat giliran jaga malam. Bapaklah yang selalu menjemput di tempat ibu bekerja.
Pada waktu itu gaji guru tidaklah cukup untuk memenuhi kebutuhan keluarga, apalagi bapak harus membayar cicilan motor. Menderitanya hidupku ini. Kami menangis hingga akhirnya terdengar suara kunci pintu. Pastilah itu suara tangan ibu yang membuka kunci. Tetapi kami tidak mendengar suara motornya. Mungkin sudah dimatikan sebelum masuk kampung karena takut suara motor yang seperti mesin gergaji itu menganggu para tetangga yang sudah lelap.
Mendengar kedua anaknya menangis, ibu berjalan cepat untuk mengetahui penyebabnya. Pintu yang tadinya hanya memperlihatkan sebagian dari kamarku, kini terbuka lebar sehingga membuat udara dingin masuk diantar nyamuk-nyamuk. Malam itu mulut kami masih kaku seperti ada es yang memenuhinya.  Hanya tangis yang lambat laun berhenti ditemani belaian seorang ibu yang sangat lemah lembut. Aku duduk di pangkuan. Tangan kirinya mengelus kepalaku, sedangkan yang kanan untuk memijit kaki Kak Dita. Seharusnya kami yang memijit ibu. Beliau pasti sangat lelah. Bekerja banting tulang demi kata cukup. Meskipun usianya termakan waktu, wajahnya selalu bening, sebening embun pagi yang ditangkap matahari.
Malam itu semuanya terlihat berbeda. Wajah ibu lebih pucat dan kusam. Rambutnya yang dipotong pendek tidak dapat menutupi telinga yang tanpa anting. Emas itu dijual ketika kenaikan kelas Kak Dita. SPP menunggak hingga enam bulan. Memang, pada masa itu SPP hanya sepuluh ribu setiap bulan. Tetapi apalah artinya sepasang anting yang dijual itu? Uangnya tidak cukup untuk memenuhi semua kekurangan. Hutang sana-sini sudah ibu lakukan meskipun sebenarnya ibu tidak ingin memiliki hutang yang menumpuk karena takut tidak dapat mengembalikan. Sebenarnya, bukan belaian ibu yang meredakan tangsiku. Tetapi karena bapak mengambil sapu lidi  yang siap dilayangkan ke arah kami, aku dan kakakku. 
Bapak tidak pernah melukai ibu. Saat aku memandang ibu, yang kulihat hanya tatapan iba. Kami tahu, ibu sangat ingin membela kedua putrinya.Tetapi gambaran seorang kepala rumah tangga yang ganas mengalahkan rasa ibanya. Dia buang jauh-jauh perasaan itu agar kami tidak berharap. Andai saja waktu itu ada bidadari cantik yang akan mengubah bapak menjadi badut, tentu aku akan bergelak tawa. Atau paling tidak, ada seorang peri yang mengubah bapak menjadi lelaki berwajah tampan dan berhati tampan pula. Tetapi semua itu tidak terjadi. Aku hanya terlalu banyak bermimpi dan berharap mimpi itu suatu saat akan menjadi bagian dari cerita nyata di hidupku.
Malam itu sangat kelam. Cahaya-cahaya lampu membuat hati semakin menciut karena buram, bahkan hampir mati. Pelan-pelan, Kak Dita menceritakan apa yang baru saja terjadi .  Kak Dita terpejam, entah mengapa. Tidak lama kemudian, “Aaa!! Ibu, takut!!”. Terciptalah  tangisan yang meledak-ledak karena listrik padam secara tiba-tiba. Kini, tidak hanya rumah kami yang gelap, tetapi juga semua rumah di kampung. Kejadian ini bukanlah hal asing lagi bagi para warga. Hampir setiap malam dilakukan pemadaman. Padahal kami selalu membayar langganan listrik dengan tertib. Katanya, energi disimpan sebagai warisan untuk anak-cucu.
Pagi harinya bapak berkata, “Yang kalian lihat semalam bukan maling, tetapi salah satu penunggu rumah kita, mungkin. Mereka tidak akan mengganggu kelangsungan hidup kita jika memiliki keteguhan iman. Tertibkan salat wajibnya. Jika ada waktu, luangkan untuk berjamaah ke masjid. Tidak usah menunggu Bapak atau Ibu yang menyuruh. Besok kalau kalian rajin salat, setan-setan pasti takut untuk mendekati rumah kita karena penghuninya adalah anak-anak manis yang taat kepada Allah”. Aku menatapnya dengan pandangan kosong karena tidak mengerti dengan apa yang dikatakan. Kak Dita mengangguk berkali-kali. Makhluk yang selalu dianalogikan dengan wajah buruk rupa, besar dan jahat itu sudah aku lihat.  Aku menjadi teringat kepada perkataan guru mengajiku bahwa Allah menciptakan kehidupan lain selain di bumi. Dan satu-satunya yang muncul dipikiranku adalah setan. Bukan tumbuhan atau hewan. Mengapa aku tidak memilih allien? Karena aku belum mengenal istilah itu. Dalam hati aku selalu bertanya, apakah maksud bapak mengangkat sapu lidi  dan bahkan sering memukulkan ketubuh aku dan kakakku? Sejahat itukah dia? Sekasar itukah cara dia mendidik anaknya? Bahkan aku sempat berpikir bahwa bapak satu saudara dengan setan.
Masa kecilku memang tidak berkecukupan. Dan aku tidak pernah  sama dengan teman sejawat. Misalnya saja, jika dengan leluasa mereka memakan mi instan tanpa direbus, aku harus mengambilnya secara sembunyi-sembunyi dari dapur dan kemudian aku bawa lari ke kebun yang jaraknya seperempat kilometer dari rumah. Itupun jika ada persediaan di dapur. Aku memakannya bersama teman-teman perempuanku di kebun jambu biji yang salah satu pohonnya roboh. Pohon jambu biji memiliki batang yang kuat dan lentur. Kami selalu bermain ayunan di atasnya. Jika pohonnya berbuah, kami akan memetiknya meskipun masih keras. Terkadang kami juga bermain di pohon jambu monyet. Tetapi tidak untuk ayunan. Karena meskipun batangnya besar dan berwarna coklat tua, ia tidak mampu menahan beban yang berat. Satu hal yang selalu aku ingat, aku tidak pernah memakai celana panjang atau rok karena kulitku sudah licin. Apa hubungannya? Karena dikebun itu ditumbuhi tanaman yang jika bunganya sudah mengering, maka akan lancip seperti paku. Jika mengena kulit pasti akan terasa sakit dan agak gatal.
Panasnya matahari membakar kulit yang sudah sawo matang. Selain tidak leluasa memakan mie yang masih mentah, aku juga tidak memiliki sepeda kecil seperti milik Rina, Wati ataupun Dewi. Mereka memiliki sepeda yang bagus. Milik Rina berwarna biru, Wati berwarna merah muda dan milik Dewi berwarna kuning. Aku selalu berharap kelak bapak akan membelikanmu sepeda baru yang berwarna merah atau hitam. Setiap hari mereka bersepedaan menyusuri jalan desa atau mengelilingi lapangan. Dan aku berlari, berlari dan berlari. Mengejar agar tetap bersama. Ibu tidak pernah tahu penderitaanku. Ia selalu bekerja, bekerja dan bekerja. Kalau bermain petak umpet, aku selalu menjadi penjaga. Mereka selalu bergerombol dan bermain curang. Iya, para lelaki di desaku tidak pernah mau menerimaku menjadi teman yang baik. Bahkan mereka memprovokasi teman-teman perempuan. Aku selalu menangis. Kak Dita pun tidak bisa menolongku karena dia harus ikut bersembunyi. Aku tahu, mereka seperti menyekap Kak Dita agar tidak muncul untuk mengalah. Karena emosi yang tidak tertahankan, aku berlari pulang masih dengan tangisan. Jika mereka mengetahui niatku, mereka akan mengejar dan menyorakiku. Tangisku semakin menjadi. Tapi mereka tidak juga punya hati. Di mana Rina, Dewi dan Wati ketika aku dipermalukan dan diinjak-injak hatiku? Persahabatan monyet, mereka melupakan janji yang berucap dan mengikat.
Di rumah, aku masih menangis. Rasa sakit hatiku belum hilang. Melihat anaknya yang cengeng, lagi-lagi monster rumah tangga mengambil sapu lidi dan mencambuknya dipungggngku. Sakit sekali. Tapi kesakitan itu membekap mulutku. Air mata mengalir di pipi yang memerah menahan sakit hati dan raga. Dipukulnya aku sekali lagi, tetapi di kakiku yang masih kotor. Aku menutup muka dan menelungkup. Tidak lama kemudian, Kak Dita datang dan memelukku. Ternyata dia juga menangis meskipun belum dicambuk. Sapu itu melayang dipunggung Kak Dita. Semua gara-gara aku. Setelah memukul, bapak keluar dari kamar entah akan pergi kemana. Kak Dita mengelus-elus punggung dan kakiku yang dicambuk. Sebenarnya aku lelah menangis. Hampir setiap hari aku menangis. Semua itu tidak akan terjadi jika bapak tidak memukulku, semua itu tidak akan menimpaku jika aku tidak bermain dengan bocah-bocah curang. Tangisku berhenti ketika aku tertidur.
Ketika aku terbangun, lampu redup sudah menyala, suara azan dikumandangkan. Mungkin azan maghrib. Ibu datang dan menyingkap bajuku. Dia melihat bekas cambukan itu. Memang tidak luka, tetapi memerah. Ibu tidak pernah mencium kening ataupun pipiku. Tetapi aku tahu kalau dia sangat mencintaiku. Itulah kehebatan seorang ibu. Ibu mencintaiku dibandingkan bapak. “Bu, aku belum mandi”. Tanpa aku bilang pun, sebenarnya ibu tahu bahwa aku belum mandi. Dia sudah merebus air. Setelah mandi, ibu memberiku sebutir jeruk. Jeruknya tidak mulus. Ada satu bagian yang busuk. Kata ibu, itu tidak busuk, hanya bonyok karena terlalu masak. Di lain waktu ibu memberiku pear atau apel. Pasti ada bagian yang terlalu masak. Aku tidak menyebutnya bahwa buah itu hampir busuk. Hanya sedikit bonyok. Bapak tidak pernah memberi kejutan kecil membahagiakan seperti itu. kejutan yang ia beri hanya cambukan. Bapak jarang berkata, melainkan sering bertindak. Itulah hal yang aku benci dari dia. Mengapa dia tidak bisa berkata lembut seperti ibu? Mengapa dia tidak memiliki wajah bening, sebening wajah ibu.
Di lain kesempatan, Kak Dita berkata kepadaku, “Dek, aku bilang sama ibu kalau Bapak sering memukuli kita ketika ibu sedang bekerja. Aku juga bilang kalau kamu ingin memiliki seorang kakek yang kaya sehingga dapat meminta uang untuk membeli chiki atau es lilin. Aku ceritakan semua kepada ibu waktu kamu tidur”. Aku tidak merespon semua perkataan itu. Masih terlalu kecil untuk meraba ketidakadilan yang melekat dihidupku.
Kakek? Aku lupa kalau ternyata masih memiliki seorang kakek di sini. Dia tidak pernah hadir di langkah-langkahku. Setelah Kak Dita mengingatkanku tentang seorang kakek, aku mencari rumahnya yang berada di samping rumahku. Aku masuk melewati dapur. Ruangannya gelap dan masih bertanah, seperti rumahku. Tetapi rumah kakek lebih menyeramkam. Sawang tertempel di langit-langit dan sudut ruang. Lampu teplok mengayun di gantungannya. Ketika aku mencari, dia tidak ada. Betul bukan, kakek tidak pernah ada untukku meskipun ia masih hidup. Aku mengambil gelas di rak, kemudian menuangkan air teh. Pahit. Mungkin kakek kehabisan gula pasir. Teh itu aku ganti dengan air putih. Setelah meminumnya, aku meletakkan gelas dan berlari keluar mencari teman bermain. Aku ke rumah Rina, tetapi ternyata dia sedang tidur siang. Dewi sedang diajak saudaranya ke kebun binatang. Wati? Aku tidak terlalu suka dengannya. Dia sangat usil dan congkak. Aku memilih pulang untuk tidur siang. Aku tertidur sangat lama. Samar-samar aku mendengar bentakan dan teriakan hebat.
“…. Apa kamu tidak bisa bersikap lembut kepada anak-anak? Mereka semua anak yang baik, tetapi kamu selalu melakukan kekerasan untuk menghukum sedikit kesalahan yang wajar dilakukan oleh anak seumurannya. Apakah dulu bapakmu juga memperlakukan kamu seperti itu? Mana, mana bekas cambukan itu? Anak-anak sudah cukup bisa mengingat apa yang setiap hari kamu lakukan. Jika kamu tidak berhenti memperlakukannya seperti itu, mereka akan trauma dan kesalahanmu akan mereka bawa sampai mati. Tinggalkanlah kesan yang baik agar mereka menghormatimu bukan karena takut, tetapi karena sayang!”.
“Mereka anak-anak yang nakal! Kerjaannya hanya bermain dan menangis. Aku juga mengajari mereka banyak hal, bukan? Setiap sebelum tidur, aku melatih mereka untuk membaca dan menulis, meskipun hanya di tembok”. Terdengar suara sanggahan dari bapak yang nada suaranya lebih tinggi. Haruskah orang dewasa menyelesaikan masalah dengan teriakan dan bentakan? Apakah orang tua Rina, Wati dan Dewi juga sering bertengkar seperti ini?
“Apakah hanya itu yang dapat kau berikan? Dari dulu, sikapmu tidak pernah berubah! Aku sudah tidak mampu lagi mempertahankan rumah tangga ini! Kembalikan aku ke orang tuaku. Akan aku bawa anak-anak”. Perkataan ibu sangat mengagetkanku. Aku menangis karena tidak tahu permasalahan yang sebenarnya. “Mbak Dita, bawa tasnya keluar. Ayo kita ke rumah simbah di Solo. Kamu sudah lama tidak berkunjung, bukan?” kata ibu dengan suara rendah.
Aku duduk di bibir kasur, menunggu apa yang akan ibu lakukan. Aku melihat bapak berjalan ke arah pintu dan menguncinya. Ibu berkata “Bobo, Dik”. Tetapi aku hanya menggelengkan kepala. Tidak mungkin aku dapat tidur dalam situasi seperti ini. Aku, Kak Dita dan ibu berdiam diri di dalam satu kamar. Sedangkan bapak keluar untuk ronda, kata ibu. Ini baru selesai maghrib. Sebenarnya mau kemanakah Bapak? Kami dikunci di dalam rumah. Aku melihat ibu menundukkan kepalanya. Dia meneteskan air mata. Mengapa? Kami bertiga menangisi kejadian malam itu. Kak Dita masih memeluk tas berisi baju-baju.
Setelah pertengkaran hebat itu, bapak lebih sering mengajak kami ke masjid. Kami tidak pernah melihat lagi ia mengangkat sapu atau sekedar membentak. Tidak pernah kami rasai lagi kesakitan di tangan, kaki ataupun punggung. Telinga kami juga tidak memerah. Seiring menghilangnya kebiasaan bapak, aku juga membuang jauh rasa benci dan takut kepada makhluk itu. Kebencian itu seperti ombak yang berlari ke arahku, tetapi kembali dilempar ke lautan. Jika aku ditanya “apakah kamu belajar mengarungi kehidupan dari ombak?” Maka aku akan menjawab, “Ya. Aku selalu memandang lautan di kala senja setelah badan bapak ambruk dimakan usia. Dari perenunganku ini, aku mendapat pesan dari alam agar aku belajar dari ombak. Bukan belajar dari sesuatu yang hidup karena yang hidup selalu mencari kekurangan. Senja juga mengajariku untuk menutupi segala keburukan yang dimiliki orang lain,” kataku tanpa pikir panjang.
“Keburukan orang lain? Mengapa kamu hanya menutupinya, buang saja semua keburukan orang lain. Maka pikiran kita akan berkurang,” kata seorang lelaki yang tiba-tiba membuyarkan lamunanku. Apakah tadi aku berkata dengan keras?
“Tidak, aku lebih suka menutupi dan menyimpan keburukan orang lain karena dari hal itu aku akan selalu mengingat mana yang baik untuk aku lakukan dan mana yang harus aku jauhkan. Aku sudah merasai semua kesakitan hidup, dan aku tidak mau jika orang lain merasakannya karena tindakanku,” sanggahku seketika.
“Baiklah. Apakah kamu belajar sesuatu juga dari bapakmu? Tadi kamu menyebut namanya”.
“Tidak, karena bapakku hidup,” lelaki itu tercengang ketika mendengar jawabanku.
Baru aku ketahui belakangan bahwa lelaki yang menghidupi keluargaku itu bukan bapak kandungku. Bapakku meninggal tanpa sebab yang pasti. Setelah mengetahui silsilah bapak tiriku, sikapku tidak berubah. Tidak semakin benci, tidak juga memaklumi. Mungkin Kak Dita sengaja tidak pulang ke Jogja karena tidak ingin menemui bapak meskipun dia belum mengetahui bahwa bapak yang sekarang bukanlah induk kami yang sebenarnya. Kakakku bekerja di Gorontalo. Dia terlalu sakit hati. Selain mengalami kekerasan fisik, bukankah dia juga mengalami kesakitan psikis. Dia sakit hati bukan karena bapak sering memukulnya, tetapi karena memukulku. Itulah isi surat terakhir yang dikirimkan Kak Dita lima tahun yang lalu. Senja itu aku akhiri dengan percakapan singkat. Ombak berbisik kepadaku agar aku segera pulang. Burung-burung seperti mengantarku sampai ke parkiran. Hanya ada beberapa motor yang tersisa. Tetapi penjaja makanan dan souvenir belum menutup barang dagangan.

Cerpen Inggris : The Boscombe Valley Mystery

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY

  

   We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this way:
      Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from the west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy. Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15.
      "What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me. "Will you go?"
      "I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present."
      "Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes's cases."
      "I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack at once, for I have only half an hour." My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station.
      Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by his long gray travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap. "It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "It makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets."
      We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack. "Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.
      "Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."
      "The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so extremely difficult."
      "That sounds a little paradoxical."
      "But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they have established a very serious case against the son of the murdered man."
      "It is a murder, then?"
      "Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able to understand it, in a very few words.
      "Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned some years ago to the old country. One of the farms which he held, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down they should do so as near each other as possible. Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to have avoided the society of the neighboring English families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the neighborhood. McCarthy kept two servants—a man and a girl. Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families. Now for the facts.
      "On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been out with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told the man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at three. From that appointment he never came back alive.
      "From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was William Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight at the time, and the son was following him. He thought no more of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had occurred.
      "The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers. She states that while she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his hand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when she reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to fight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He was much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son's gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the body. Under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' having been returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next Assizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court."
      "I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked. "If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here."
      "Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered Holmes thoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several people in the neighborhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, the daughter of the neighboring landowner, who believe in his innocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with 'A Study in Scarlet', to work out the case in his interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home."
      "I am afraid," said I, "That the facts are so obvious that you will find little credit to be gained out of this case."
      "There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," he answered, laughing. "Besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to Mr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am boasting when I say that I shall either confirm or destroy his theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing, or even of understanding. To take the first example to hand, I very clearly perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand side, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have noted even so self-evident a thing as that."
      "How on earth—"
      "My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness which characterizes you. You shave every morning, and in this season you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less and less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until it becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated than the other. I could not imagine a man of your habits looking at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a result. I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and inference. Therein lies my metier, and it is just possible that it may be of some service in the investigation which lies before us. There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which are worth considering."
      "What are they?"
      "It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts. This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the coroner's jury."
      "It was a confession," I ejaculated.
      "No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."
      "Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most suspicious remark."
      "On the contrary," said Holmes, "It is the brightest rift which I can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the circumstances were very black against him. Had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and firmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day so far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty on."
      I shook my head. "Many men have been hanged on far slighter evidence," I remarked.
      "So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged."
      "What is the young man's own account of the matter?"
      "It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive. You will find it here, and may read it for yourself." He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this way:
      Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called and gave evidence as follows:
      "I had been away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3d. My father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he had driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after my return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he was going. I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit warren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I had no idea that he was in front of me. When about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of 'Cooee!' which was a usual signal between my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing by the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows, for my father was a man of a very violent temper. Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returned towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me to run back again. I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter."
      "The Coroner: 'Did your father make any statement to you before he died?'
      "Witness: 'He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to a rat.'
      "The Coroner: 'What did you understand by that?'
      "Witness: 'It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was delirious.'
      "The Coroner: 'What was the point upon which you and your father had this final quarrel?'
      "Witness: 'I should prefer not to answer.'
      "The Coroner: 'I am afraid that I must press it.'
      "Witness: 'It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed.'
      "The Coroner: 'That is for the court to decide. I need not point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case considerably in any future proceedings which may arise'
      "Witness: 'I must still refuse.'
      "The Coroner: 'I understand that the cry of "Cooee" was a common signal between you and your father?'
      "Witness: 'It was.'
      "The Coroner: 'How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?'
      "Witness (with considerable confusion): 'I do not know.'
      "A Juryman: 'Did you see nothing which aroused your suspiclons when you returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured?'
      "Witness: 'Nothing definite.'
      "The Coroner: 'What do you mean?'
      "Witness: 'I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be something gray in color, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it was gone.'
      "'Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?'
      "'Yes, it was gone.'
      "'You cannot say what it was?'
      "'No, I had a feeling something was there.'
      "'How far from the body?'
      "'A dozen yards or so.'
      "'And how far from the edge of the wood?'
      "'About the same.'
      "'Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?'
      "'Yes, but with my back towards it.'
      "This concluded the examination of the witness."
      "I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "That the coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father having signalled to him before seeing him also to his refusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and his singular account of his father's dying words. They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son."
      Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been at some pains," said he, "to single out the very strongest points in the young man's favor. Don't you see that you alternately give him credit for having too much imagination and too little? Too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from his own inner consciousness anything so outré as a dying reference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young man says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this case until we are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be there in twenty minutes."
      It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognizing Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for us.
      "I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime."
      "It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes answered. "It is entirely a question of barometric pressure."
      Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.
      "How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the carriage to-night."
      Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, already formed your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a very positive one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothing which you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door."
      He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern. "Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to the other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to tell you so. I know that James didn't do it. I know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each other since we were little children, and I know his faults as no one else does; but he is too tenderhearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him."
      "I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes. "You may rely upon my doing all that I can."
      "But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that he is innocent?"
      "I think that it is very probable."
      "There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."
      Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said.
      "But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was concerned in it."
      "In what way?" asked Holmes.
      "It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and—and—well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."
      "And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favor of such a union?"
      "No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favor of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.
      "Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your father if I call to-morrow?"
      "I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."
      "The doctor?"
      "Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria."
      "Ha! In Victoria! That is important."
      "Yes, at the mines."
      "Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner made his money."
      "Yes, certainly."
      "Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to me."
      "You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you will go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him that I know him to be innocent."
      "I will, Miss Turner."
      "I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." She hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.
      "I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after a few minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel."
      "I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said Holmes. "Have you an order to see him in prison?"
      "Yes, but only for you and me."
      "Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have still time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"
      "Ample."
      "Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."
      I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the day. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts?
      I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone hail been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from behind. That was to some extent in favor of the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call Holmes's attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. And then the incident of the gray cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes's insight that I could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young McCarthy's innocence. It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.
      "The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down.
      "It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy."
      "And what did you learn from him?"
      "Nothing."
      "Could he throw no light?"
      "None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart."
      "I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "If it is indeed a fact that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this Miss Turner."
      "Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all that he has suffered."
      "But if he is innocent, who has done it?"
      "Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are the crucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow."
      There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool.
      "There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It is said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired of."
      "An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.
      "About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."
      "Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.
      "Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about here speaks of his kindness to him."
      "Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?"
      "We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said Lestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies."
      "You are right," said Holmes demurely; "You do find it very hard to tackle the facts."
      "Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth.
      "And that is—"
      "That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."
      "Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes, laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley Farm upon the left."
      "Yes, that is it."
      It was a widespread, comfortable-looking building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of lichen upon the gray walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes's request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.
      Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of Baker Street would have failed to recognize him. His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow.
      Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous, while I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the conviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a definite end. The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich landowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees land the reeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by the fall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.
      "What did you go into the pool for?" he asked.
      "I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon or other trace. But how on earth—"
      "Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of the same feet." He drew out a lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself than to us.
      "These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here are the father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again—of course that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?" He ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighborhood. Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost.
      "It has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked, returning to his natural manner. "I fancy that this gray house on the right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done that, we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab, and I shall be with you presently."
      It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in the wood.
      "This may interest you, Lestrade," he remarked, holding it out. "The murder was done with it."
      "I see no marks."
      "There are none."
      "How do you know, then?"
      "The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few days. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It corresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon."
      "And the murderer?"
      "Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a gray cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search."
      Lestrade laughed. "I am afraid that I am still a sceptic," he said. "Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed British jury."
      "Nous verrons," answered Holmes calmly. "You work your own method, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return to London by the evening train."
      "And leave your case unfinished?"
      "No, finished."
      "But the mystery?"
      "It is solved."
      "Who was the criminal, then?"
      "The gentleman I describe."
      "But who is he?"
      "Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a populous neighborhood."
      Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," he said, "And I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard."
      "All right," said Holmes quietly. "I have given you the chance. Here are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I leave."
      Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in a perplexing position. "Look here, Watson," he said when the cloth was cleared "just sit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don't know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar and let me expound."
      "Pray do so."
      "Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young McCarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favor and you against him. One was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry 'Cooee!' before seeing him. The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son's ear. Now from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true."
      "What of this 'Cooee!' then?"
      "Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within earshot. The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But 'Cooee' is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used between Australians. There is a strong presumption that the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in Australia."
      "What of the rat, then?" Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the table. "This is a map of the Colony of Victoria," he said. "I wired to Bristol for it last night." He put his hand over part of the map. "What do you read?"
      "ARAT," I read.
      "And now?" He raised his hand.
      "BALLARAT."
      "Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat."
      "It is wonderful!" I exclaimed.
      "It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down considerably. The possession of a gray garment was a third point which, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a certainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an Australian from Ballarat with a gray cloak."
      "Certainly."
      "And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander."
      "Quite so."
      "Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the ground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that imbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal."
      "But how did you gain them?"
      "You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles."
      "His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length of his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces."
      "Yes, they were peculiar boots."
      "But his lameness?"
      "The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped—he was lame."
      "But his left-handedness."
      "You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind that tree during the interview between the father and son. He had even smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indian cigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and written a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in Rotterdam."
      "And the cigar-holder?"
      "I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife."
      "Holmes," I said, "You have drawn a net round this man from which he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the direction in which all this points. The culprit is—"
      "Mr. John Turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor. The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.
      "Pray sit down on the sofa," said Holmes gently. "You had my note?"
      "Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to see me here to avoid scandal."
      "I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall."
      "And why did you wish to see me?" He looked across at my companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already answered.
      "Yes," said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. "It is so. I know all about McCarthy."
      The old man sank his face in his hands. "God help me!" he cried. "But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at the Assizes."
      "I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes gravely.
      "I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It would break her heart—it will break her heart when she hears that I am arrested."
      "It may not come to that," said Holmes.
      "What?"
      "I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. Young McCarthy must be got off, however."
      "I am a dying man," said old Turner. "I have had diabetes for years. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a jail."
      Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper before him.
      "Just tell us the truth," he said. "I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson here can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the last extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed."
      "It's as well," said the old man; "It's a question whether I shall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell.
      "You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil incarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. I'll tell you first how I came to be in his power.
      "It was in the early '60's at the diggings. I was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party is still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.
      "One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England without being suspected. There I parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice. Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.
      "I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in Regent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot. "'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll be as good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and my son, and you can have the keeping of us. If you don't—it's a fine, law-abiding country is England, and there's always a policeman within hail.'
      "Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing which I could not give. He asked for Alice.
      "His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step into the whole property. But there I was firm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over.
      "When we went down there I found him talking with his son, so smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a man as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and a desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Both could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more than I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred."
      "Well, it is not for me to judge you," said Holmes as the old man signed the statement which had been drawn out. "I pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation."
      "I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?"
      "In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe with us."
      "Farewell, then," said the old man solemnly. "Your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which you have given to mine." Tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.
      "God help us!" said Holmes after a long silence. "Why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say, 'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.'"
      James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a number of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past.

Sinopsis : Novel Menuju Titik Nol Karya Agatha Cristie

Sinopsis

MENUJU TITIK NOL

Karya Agatha Cristie

Kisah berawal ketika Nevile Strange memutuskan untuk mengajak istrinya Kay Strange dan mantan istrinya Audrey Strange, untuk bertemu di suatu tempat selama dua minggu dengan maksud mencairkan hubungan ketiganya yang kian memburuk. Mereka bertemu di rumah ibu angkat Nevile, Mrs. Camelia Tressilian.

Awalnya rencana itu tidak disetujui oleh semua orang, selain karena mereka tidak ingin menyakiti Audrey, mereka juga tidak ingin melihat keributan yang bisa saja diakibatkan oleh tabiat Kay Strange yang dikenal amat buruk. Tetapi Neville Strange bersih keras akan mempertemukan kedua wanita itu. Ia berdalih bahwa itu semua demi keutuhan keluarganya.

Akhirnya tibalah saat itu, Audrey dan Kay bertemu, duduk, makan dan tidur dalam satu atap. Seluruh keluarga berkumpul, mereka menyaksikan betapa Kay sangat membenci Audrey, dan betapa tingkah lakunya selama berada di kediaman Mrs. Whithfield sangat berusaha untuk mengintimidasi Audrey. Tetapi Audrey tetap sabar dan tidak berniat untuk membalas tingkah laku Kay.

Suatu malam, Mrs. Camelia Tressilian mengundang teman lamanya untuk makan malam di kediamannya, pria itu bernama Mr. Treves. Dan di malam kunjungannya itulah Mr. Traves menceritakan berbagai hal yang terjadi selama hidupnya. Dan semua orang sangat menyukai cerita Mr. Traves yang patriotis itu, sampai pada sebuah cerita yang entah mengapa membuat suasana ruangan itu agak berbeda. Cerita itu mengenai pembunuha yang dilakukan oleh seorang anak yang masih dibawah umur, anak yang tidak diketahui siapa namanya itu membunuh temannya ketika mereka berdua secara  tidak sengaja melepaskan anak panah dari busur yang sedang mereka mainkan. Hakim memutuskan anak itu tidak bersalah, karena kematian temannya itu murni kecelakaan. Tetapi Mr. Traves meragukan keputusan hakim tersebut, karena faktanya ada saksi yang menyatakan ia melihat anak lelaki itu berlatih menggunakan busur, setiap sore di pekarangan yang jarang di lewati orang.

Di akhir kunjungannya Mr. Traves berkata bahwa ia akan mengenali lelaki yang melakukan pembunuhan yang lolos dari hukuman itu, meskipun waktu nya telah berlalu lebih dari 20 tahun yang lalu. Hal itu dikarenakan bocah kecil itu memiliki ciri tubuh yang akan membuatnya akan langsung dikenali.

Keesokan harinya, mereka yang tinggal di kediaman Mrs. Tressilian dikejutkan dengan kabar kematian Mr. Traves. Polisi menyatakan kejadian itu murni kecelakaan.

Beberapa hari kemudian, Neville Strange mengemukakan niatnya untuk menceraikan Kay Strange dan kembali pada Audrey Strange. Hal ini sangat mengejutkan semua orang, termasuk Mrs. Tressilian yang merupakan orang tua angkat Neville. Audrey menolak niat Neville, dan Kay sangat murka. Suasana di kediaman Mrs. Tressilian malam itu sangat kacau, dan sangat bisa diprediksi. Tetapi mereka tidak habis pikir, setan apa yang membuat Nevile mengambil keputusan bodoh seperti itu. Bukankah dulu ia sendiri yang menyia-nyiakan Audrey untuk menikahi perempuan binal seperti Kay. Lalu mengapa sekarang ia sendiri yang sepertinya menyesali keputusannya sendiri??

Keesokan harinya, suasana yang sudah kacau balau itu semakin bertambah kacau dengan ditemukannya mayat Mrs. Tressilian. Terbaring kaku di atas ranjang dengan luka-luka fatal yang diakibatkan oleh benda tumpul.

Polisi segera datang, mereka segera melakukan penyelidikan. Diketahui bahwa senjata yang digunakan oleh pelaku adalah tongkat golf, diketahui juga bahwa pelaku memukul korban dengan menggunakan tangan kiri, itu berarti pelaku adalah pemilik tangan kidal.

Penyelidikan berlanjut kepada motif, karena ternyata tidak terdapat tanda-tanda pencurian yang dilakukan oleh orang luar, artinya pembunuhan ini dilakukan oleh orang dalam yang sangat jelas dikenal dekat oelh Mrs. Tressilian. Neville Strange, Kay Strange, Audrey Strange, Mary Aldin, Thomas Royde, Ted Latimer dan semua orang yang tinggal dirumah Tressilian diselidiki, termasuk semua pembantu.

Inspektur Battle yang menangani masalah ini memikirkan motif yang menjadi satu-satunya motif yang memungkinkan. Yaitu : UANG. Dan orang-orang yang mendapat keuntungan dari kematian Mrs. Tressilian adalah Neville Strange, Audrey Strange, dan Marry Aldin. Dalam surat wasiat Mrs. Tressilian dikatakan ketiga orang itu akan mendapatkan peninggalan berupa uang dengan ketentuan-ketentuan yang tidak bisa diganggu gugat. Neville dan Audrey akan mendapatkan warisan sama besar, yakni sebanyak 50 % dari seluruh harta yang dimiliki oleh Mrs. Tressilian. Begitupun dengan Mary Aldin, ia merupakan asisten kesayangan Mrs. Tressilian, dan apabila Mrs. Tressilian wafat, Marry Aldin akan mendapatkan beberapa ratus ribu dolar dari uang peninggalan Tressilian.

Fakta mengenai surat wasiat itu membuat polisi lebih mengintenskan penyelidikan kepada ketiga orang tersebut. dan ternyata bukti-bukti menunjukan bahwa Neville Strange-lah yang membunuh Mrs. Tressilian. Tetapi penyelidikan tidak berhenti sampai disitu, polisi juga menyelidiki kemungkinan-kemungkian lain. Dan mereka menemukan kemungkinan-kemungkinan lain tersebut, ternyata semua bukti yang mengacu pada keterlibatan Neville Strange atas pembunuhan Mrs. Tressilian adalah bukti rekaan, yang sengaja disiapkan oleh seseorang untuk memfitnah dan menjebloskan Neville ke dalam penjara. Dan bukti-bukti kedua menyatakan bahwa orang yang memfitnah Neville Starnge adalah Audrey Strange, mantan istri Neville.

Motifnya sudah jelas, sakit hati dan dendam. Audrey dan Neville sudah menikah selama 8 tahun ketika tiba-tiba Neville jatuh hati pada Kay dan memutuskan untuk menceraikan Audrey. Dan Audrey kemungkinan merencanakan semua pembunuhan ini untuk membalaskan sakit hatinya terhadap Neville.

Tetapi Inspektur Battle merasakan ada yang janggal dalam kasus ini, ia terus melakukan penyelidikan. Benarkah Audrey yang melakukan pembunuhan ini?? Suatu malam ia bertemu dengan seorang pria bernama Andrew MacWirther yang ternyata telah mengetahui sesuatu yang selama ini terlupakan oleh Inspektur Battle. Bahwa jika bukti yang pertama merupakan rekaan dari seseorang untuk menjebak Neville Strange, bukan tidak mungkin bukti kedua yang mengacu pada Audrey Strange-pun adalah rekaan untuk menjebak Audrey Strange.

Akhirnya inspektur Battle bekerjasama dengan Andrew MacWhiter untuk menemukan pembunuh yang sebenarnya. Dan ternyata fakta yang berhasil mereka peroleh sangat diluar dugaan. Mereka menemukan identitas pembunuh tersebut tepat sebelum niat pembunuh itu tercapai. Tetapi bukti yang mereka peroleh kurang kuat, sehinngga bukti-bukti itu tidak akan cukup untuk menjerat pembunuh. Akhirnya mereka memutuskan untuk membuat bukti-bukti kondisional yang akan membuat pelaku mengakui semua tindakannya. Penjebakan.

Detail Novel 
Judul Terjemahan : Menuju Titik Nol
Judul Asli           : Toward Zero
Penulis               : Agatha Cristie
Penerbit             : Gramedia Pustaka Utama
Edisi                  :  Soft Cover
ISBN                :  979403391x
ISBN-13          :   9789794033913
Tgl Penerbitan   :   1988-01-00
Halaman            :   320
Ukuran              :   110x180x0 mm

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Senja Pada Stasiun Pemberhentian

Oleh Iyah Nahifah

Ku disini karena kau memilihku

Merengkuh janji pada senja di setiap kereta

Merapal diri pada pandang jejal manusia

ku disini karena tak pernah ragu akan janjimu

Janji datang kembali

Pada stasiun pemberhentian ini

Janji menjumput bahagia pada datangnya kereta

Janji mengukir sejarah terpanjang didunia serta mengantar peluk terpanjang pula

Pada senja...

Aku merapal penantian

Aku Menunggumu pada deretan bangku panjang stasiun pemberhentian kejaksaan kota cirebon ini. Stasiun yang pernah mengukir sejarah pertemuan terakhir kita.

Karena katamu, senja ini kau akan datang menjemput rindu yang tertampung beku dalam hati yang bergemuruh, katamu juga kau akan menuangkan kesunyian karena keberjarakan. dan akan merayakannya dalam peluk erat serta terpanjang pada sejarah alam manusia. Hingga senja ini... ku rapalkan romantisme bayang saat jumpa.

Senja ini ku tunggu dirimu pada deretan bangku panjang stasiun pemberhentian kejaksan. Berharap-harap cemas pada kereta yang tandang di hadapku. menjelajahkan pandang pada semua orang yang terlihat letih akan perjalanan panjangnya. Karena katamu, kau sengaja tak memberitahukanku kereta apa yang kau naiki sebagai kejutan.

Senja ini menjadi senja terpanjang bagiku kasih...

Pipi merona jingga yang bertabik dari langit itu, tak mampu ku nikmati dari suara bising serta bau pesing yang keluar dari kereta. Namun demi mu, aku tetap bertahan dalam penantian di bangku persegi panjang ini. Sama seperti yang lainnya, menanti kedatangan seseorang pada kereta yang membawa kekasih hatinya pulang.

Waktu terasa berputar lambat, bahkan amat sangat lambat, hingga aku mampu sekedar bercecar dengan pedagang asongan atau menyapa orang-orang di sampingku. Namun tak nampak juga hadirmu di hadapku kasih,,, pada bangku persegi panjang aku rapalkan kembali senyum manismu dari ingatan.

Aku tak sadar diri, senja kian sirna terkulum malam, malam yang kian gelap pekat dengan dering sunyinya.

Pun juga ku pandangi baju yang melekat telah kusut, mukaku kuyu, kulitku hitam lekat berbaur debu. Ternyata... senja ini tak mampu membawamu pulang,,,

Kini sunyi menyelimuti kembali...

***

“aku mau pergi ke ibu kota samirah...”

“kenapa mas?!”

“disini aku tak mampu mengidupi diri ku sendiri?”

Suaramu nampak mengalun berat, beriring jengah pada realitas yang menggilas...

“bukankah apa yang kau kerjakan di sawah serta kuli rumah sudah cukup untuk makanmu?”

“tidak samirah!... aku ingin lebih dari itu. Aku ingin meminangmu, jadi aku harus mengadu nasib di kota mencari kerja”

Samirah terdiam,,,

“aku tak ingin kamu jauh dari ku mas, apa yang akan kau kerjakan di ibu kota sana?”

“entahlah,,, yang pasti aku akan mencari banyak uang di sana dan kembali untuk dirimu samirah... untuk meminangmu”

Sangat berat melepasmu saat akhir perdebatan kita kasih, waktu itu aku takut, takut tak menemukanmu kembali di ujung penantian. Namun kau meyakinkanku akan kembali dengan membawa sejuta nyata yang kita impikan. Hingga aku melepas kepergianmu...

Begitulah perdebatan terakhir kita saat kau berpamit tiga tahun yang lalu. Dirimu pergi merantau jauh ke ibu kota, hanya ber via pos kita menuangkan segala rasa.

***

Seperti pagi tadi. Aku sangat senang mendapat surat yang di antarkan kurir post itu. Aku sudah menebak surat dari siapa, langsung ku buka karena tak sabar menjemput sayangmu pada goresan tinta didalamnya.

Surat itu berisi “ aku pulang senja ini dengan uang yang sengaja ku tabung untuk melamarmu, berdandanlah cantik untukku kasih, ku ingin. Kau amat sangat cantik menjemputku senja ini di stasiun kejaksan”. Di belakang suratpun ada bingkisan kado yang sengaja kau persiapkan untuk pernikahan kita. Saat ku buka. Kado itu adalah gaun putih anggun dan amat sangat indah, ukurannya pun cocok di badanku, dan aku sangat menyukainya. Sengaja ku gantung dalam lemari biar tak kusut.

Aku bergegas mandi. Tak sabar untuk menunggu senja ini dan menanti hadirmu di hadapku, sengaja ku taburkan lulur dan berendam bunga setaman. Aku bertabur bedak dan ku oleskan lipstick warna merah jambu (yang baru sengaja ku beli) agar aku tampak ayu, serta akupun mengenakan baju yang terbaik hari ini, pada cermin aku yakin berbalut keanggunan.

Aku berangkat ke stasiun kejaksan naik angkotan kota, di dalam angkot. Aku berharap cemas menuju stasiun itu, ada perasaan yang berdebar berbaur cemas. Entah kenapa?! Sebagai perempuan jawa aku sangat takut firasat buruk. Dan aku yakin firasat buruk akan terjadi sesuatu. Sesuatu tidak diinginkan, tapi semoga tidak.tidak ada yang terjadi padamu kasih...

Sesampainya di stasiun aku langsung menuju bangku panjang persegi ini. Hingga akhir senja tiba kemilau keemasaannya menguasai kegamangan dunia, warna emasnya, menyulam sudut penanti dalam paut.

Senja menyapa... aku mencarimu di tiap kereta.

banyak, yang datang kereta dari ibu kota. Namun rautmu tak nampak juga disana, mataku berjelajah mencarimu kesana kemari, tapi tak nampak pula rautmu dari jejalan orang – orang yang turun dari kereta itu. Aku lelah....

kereta telah tiada, malam pun kunjung tiba...

***

Itulah senja tiga tahun yang lalu kasih, aku tak pernah beranjak dari staiun pemberhentian ini, sampai sekarangpun aku masih tetap menanti.

“lihat perempuan itu?!”

“perempuan gila tu maksudmu mas?!”

“iya.”

“kenapa dengan dia?!

“lihatlah! Tiap kereta datang dia akan berdiri dan bersihkan baju dengan tangan, lalu dia akan tersenyum.

“Dia selalu melakukan itu pada setiap kereta berhenti?”

“Tidak. Dia hanya melakukannya pada kedatangan kereta ibu kota.”

“kau tau kenapa?”

“dari desus semua orang. Katanya dia menunggu kekasihnya, tapi sudah tiga tahun ini perempuan itu di bangkunya. Gila bukan? Karena cinta dia rela melakukan penantian sepanjang itu.”

“wus!!... mas itu. Gak boleh berkata menghakimi ah”

Kau dengar sayang?! Kedua peron itu mengatakan aku gila?!. Aku tidak gila sayang, tak ada yang gila dalam cinta. Aku hanya berharap menemukannmu dalam stasiun pemberhetian ini dan menjemput bahagia. Bukankah kau berjanji akan datang pada suatu senja di stsiun ini, dan pulang dengan banyaknya kasih yang akan kita ukir dalam sejarah panjang kehidupan manusia?

Aku tau... aku tak lagi cantik seperti tiga tahun yang lalu saat aku tiba pada stasiun ini, tiga tahun sudah rambut ini tak tersentuh sisir, badan tak berbaur air, bajupun bergumul debu. Aku tau kau pasti tetap mencintaiku meskipun aku dalam keadaan seburuk apapun.

Semua orang mengiraku gila kasih, semua orang menjauhiku bahkan tak mau mendekat di bangku panjang stsiuan ini, semua orang mencibirku, bahkan keluargaku sempat mengajakku pulang dan bercerita baju pengantin kirimanmu telah berwarna abu-abu, lemarinya terlumat rayap. Tapi aku tetap tak mau beranjak kasih... aku tak goyah pada yakinku. Aku tak mau ketika kau datang kau tak menemukan senyumku. Karena ku yakin, kau pasti datang dengan iringaan senyum manis dan senja di akhir kereta...

Aku yakin itu... aku akan menemukanmu, sampai saatnya tiba. Aku tak akan beranjak dari stasiun pemberhentian kejaksan ini...

13 :30

Jum’at. 21. 07. 2011