FIZAH (Female Kolong Garbage)

FIZAH (Female Kolong Garbage)
PART 174 "Mosaic 2"

*Nizami's Ibban


I'll be right after Gus Fakhar gets home. Ba'da magrib I immediately slid to Banyuwangi. As Fizah asked this afternoon, I must go home immediately and return the patrem to Mustika. Actually I'm not so sure about the return of the patrem, the problem will be solved. I'm getting myself ready. Whatever happens. The second mandate from Abah I must always multiply the salawat. Kuperbanyak salawat nariyah and munjiyat. The rhythm runs slowly along the way. Silit changed to the song al-hubbu fi shumti (loving in silence).


After eight hours of traffic-free travel, I rested at a food stall that had been open since two in the morning. Stall lights seized my attention who was looking for a place to eat. I was so hungry and tired. Lately I quite often travel far in a less fit body condition. Like today. When my stomach had not fully recovered, I forced myself to go home. Because after yesterday's incident, I feel increasingly desperate to return it immediately. I don't think it was Mustika who was looking for the patrem, but Ki Dalang who probably didn't want it.


While resting for a while, I opened my salary. No call notifications or incoming messages from mom. Usually mom would call me stuff once if I should have come, but I haven't got home yet.


I put that patrem on the table. I noticed it in a few minutes. Objects that some people believe are still thick with mystical beliefs. Have magical powers. But, in my hands this thing did not harm me at all. For some reason I was suddenly so curious about the origin of this patrem. It is true, this patrem should not be in the hands of just anyone. It'sit's nothing. But the more I get here the more awkward I feel. Also the behavior of the Judge who suddenly came to convey an important message. He came alone to convey good intentions. I need to see Mustika. I will prove it again that the patrem was given to me not for any particular purpose, such as revenge because I had rejected his love.


The awkwardness swirled in my head. I hold Nyai Sekar Wangi's patrem. Unfortunately I myself never want to know about heirlooms like this. I was never interested. But this time my curiosity sprang up.


"Mas, you know, you have keris like that, Mas?"


I thought who he was talking to. Apparently with. I'm turning.


"Oh, here, sir. Aye." Yeah."


The man who could already be called the father shifted his chair after finishing food and cigarettes. He dumped his butt in the ashtray on my desk.


I put that keris.


"Can I see, Mas?"


"Mongos!"


Analyzing views. Eyebrows converge. He's mangosteen.


"This could be in your hands ngopo (why), Mas?"


I was quite surprised. The question is on target. But I didn't answer it directly. It seems he still wants to continue speaking.


"Which woman gives this kind of special keris?"


Again on target. He looked at it properly. Means the possibility is that I am too lay knowledge babagan keris. In fact, there are people who just once see it can describe two questions that are quite surprising to me.


"Patremes. A special keris for women. Patrem is an abbreviation, Mas. From the javanese language. Patrem, which means grill and damel tentrem. Yes, it means to make a peaceful heart for the owner or for anyone who takes it."


I who do not know also immediately listen to his delivery.


"Seech funny! It's keris luk 3." By the way he showed, I could understand the plot in question was the anatomy of the keris.


"Nglimpa. Plain dance. And, see the way up!" He's holding the keris handle."


"Ukir ulir kembang. Just like this warangkanya." Then open the keris holster. Model engraving sarong keris or so-called warangka earlier and upstream kerisnya carved flower. In line with his name, Nyai Sekar Wangi. Sekar which means flower.


"Yes, Sir. Someone already gave me this little keris. She's a dancer."


"Dancers? Who her? Is it young?"


With me calling the owner a dancer, it seems he has started to dream of guessing Mustik is the owner. Mustika himself as the son of a mastermind, he is clearly known by most of the people of Banyuwangi. Mustika is a young dancer who is known to be very good at dancing and understanding culture. It's just that she is not a modern woman who should be an ambassador of young people who encourage Banyuwangi cultures to the wider arena.


"Who's the dancer?" Questions began to search. His face became serious.


"Ah, it's nobody, sir. He's just..."


"He's your future wife?"


"Oh, not not. Just a good friend."


"Keris like this must have carried a certain meaning if it had been given to men like sampeyan. I look around this sampeyan looks like a pious man. Santri, Mum? Have you ever been a nyantri?"


Is it because of this white skullcap in my head that makes him guess I'm a santri?


"Ear, Sir."


"I'm actually just a collector. So, you know a little bit about kris. What if I buy this keris, Mas? I'll pay you dearly."


That kris I held for a moment.


"This I'm going to give back to the owner, sir. Please forgive. I can't sell it."


"Oh, so. Too bad. I wonder who the dancer who gave you that kris."


I wanted to switch the conversation, but the man kept repeating and persuaded me to say. I wanted to leave the shop, but I ordered food.


Hapeku rings. Thank goodness I called. I can lengthen the time. Perhaps the man did not saber, then left this stall.


📞"Snap, Buk. I'm still in the stall. Hungry, Buk."


📞"New bus pray, Zam. Batin Ibuk kok durung (not yet) home. Yes, if you are in the shop. What will you ask for?"


📞"Submit Ibuk only."


📞"Ojo whatever."


📞"As usual, Buk."