FIZAH (Female Kolong Garbage)
PART 23 “Repeat” Request

*Rabi’ah Al-Adawiyah

Ning Rahil was about to get off. I put Gus Ray's shirt and jacket in the old crackle on the chair. Then, Ning Rahil told me to go to the room instead. No more of my duties. But, Gus Ray still called me. Calling Ning Rahil too. He threatened to punish me if no one would take his shirt. Ning Rahil approached the door and said no clothes had fallen off. Instead of having Gus Ray quickly get out of the bathroom, you have to hurry to meet the guests in front. It's not polite if your kids don't say hello. But, Gus Ray forbade me from being in the kitchen. He wouldn't have come out if I was still there. Ning Rahil also gestured for me to leave immediately. I brought the crackle with a cheerful heart. If I give it to the santri in the room, then I auction it at a high price they will. Even the dirty clothes of a learned man bring blessings. Unfortunately it's just my jail mind. There's no way I'm doing it because it's not my right. Finally, I washed it that night.

Tomorrow is about half four in the morning. My room which happened to be facing the kitchen door ndalem, making it easier for Gus Ray to bang on the door of my room which is still locked. No one's saying. Bell the activities that after that become the target. My husband and I put my ears on properly. Wonder why the bell sounds like it's playing. I don't think it was the manager. Suddenly I remember the clothes and jacket of Gus Ray that I accidentally sun in front of the room. Because if I sunbathe with clothesline santri it will be very funny. I want to sunbathe in ndalem, that night ndalem also closed. But, I was relaxed facing Gus Ray. I opened the door slowly. Gus Ray reflexes his legs backward so as not to know the santri who are still sleeping inside.

Ask why. Gus Ray held out his hands, looked back, pointing at the hanger and jacket that were still wet. Then, he asked me why I should also wash his clothes that he was looking for last night. He's doctored me as an impolite santri. Dare to carry his clothes without permission. I actually know the reason for being angry like that. More precisely because it should not be just anyone who touches the goods given by his lover, Ning Khumza. I held him back from taking him away immediately. Still wet I said. But, he ignored. Take off his jacket and shirt.

Now, how's Gus Ray doing? Is she married to Ning Khumza? A beautiful girl who grew up in Cairo until the age of ten, just moved to Indonesia with her parents. Unfortunately, I was in a hurry to move to the boarding school before making sure they were happy at the airport. But, what is the possibility that makes them have to postpone the marriage if both families have agreed and both prospective brides are also ready to sail the household ark?And, I heard first they'll also build a business together. Backed by the likes of Gus Ray and Ning Khumza who both love fashion. In fact, if not, I want to ask my brother to propose to Gus Ray. Gradually, my feelings faded with my busyness to study the sciences in pesantren and surf memorization. I suddenly remember those funny memories. However, Gus Ray seems unlikely to remember the story five years ago.

“Mbak La, Mbak La, calling Abahmu.”

“Tumben,” thought.

Mbak Nura gave his goal.

“La, this week can go home three days?”

“Duko ngggeh, Bah. Try asking Ummik Nur.”

Translated: (Don't know, yeah, Bah. Ask me about it to Ummik Nur)

“Hemmm..but, is Abi the only one that is mature?”

“Memange wonten nopo, Bi?”

Translation: (What's up, Bah?)

“Business shop. It's a request Ummikmu.”

“Boutique business, Bah?” It looks like there's something else, but Abi kept it a secret from me.

“Iya. Anyway, later if Abah has paid to Ummik Nur, you have to go straight home, La. Understand?”

*Nizami's Ibban

I read the sugar boiler that Mustika gave me this morning. She is quite interestingly referred to as a cultured village woman. Even if there are cultural ambassadors who are involved in the local sphere, he has met the criteria. The background is very supportive. But, after I read carefully, she seemed to be conveying her innermost feelings despite some vocabulary that I did not understand. What if she really responded to the attitude of the mother who seemed to want her to be a daughter-in-law? As the woman who had been proposed, and then sent the work that I thought was very melancholy, it raised a question in my head. However, my hope is that he will only look at the man he was betrothed to as the most worthy man. I'm not the one who's still busy with business other than marriage.

I saw a picture of Dad. I put my two-handed head under my chin.

“When your son wants a wedding. No one can really tie. But, there were two women who were now trying to get close. His name is Rubia El-Hazimah and Rabbi’ah Al-Adawiyah. I don't know yet which of them really fits my and Ibuk's criteria. They are both santri and of course also moral. Sometimes they look balanced. Yes Allah, my inner”.

“So morning I forgot,” muttered me later.

I called the cottage.

“Assalamu’alaikum?”

“Ya wa’alaikumsalam, Ustadz.”

“Mbak Ala no activities? I want to talk to him.”

“Today afternoon she came home, Tadz.”

“Oh, so?”

“Ngapunten what does she need her personal number Mbak Ala?”

“Bby, Mbak.”

“Shortly, Tadz.”

A few seconds quiet.

“Tadi before going home, Mbak Alanya also entrust her number maybe njengan intend to contact.”

He read out the number of Ma'am Ala.

“Same-sama, Ustadz. ***....”

He paused my salutation.

“Why?”

“Ngapunten really, Tadz. Ummik Nur told me another if after teaching, he was told to ndalem.”

“Ngghe. Before moving insyaallah I will sowan.”

“Nggeh, Tadz.”

“OK. Thanks, Ma'am. Assalamu’alaikum.”

Someone knocked on the front door. The door was opened immediately. I thought mom, but it turns out that the moaning voice then belongs to a guy—Mas Bayu?

Nurin in front of the television added a voice.

I got up to meet him.

Mas Bayu sungkem on ibuk. Momentarily decays crystal balls for her son who failed to build a household— without being spoken.

“Which friend, Yah?” Nurin. He ran to the doorway who knew he was still outside.

“Nothing, Dad? Nurin kangen.”

“Here, Rin!” Mas Bayu waved Nurin. He told Nurin to sit on his lap.

“Daddy want to nginep here? But, Mom wasn't invited, Dad? Where to go?”

Me and my mom looked at me.

Nurin tightly hugged Mas Bayu's waist from the side. It leads to the suitcase.

“That should.. Mom invited Dad here. Sleeping with Nurin and Dad. Are you still scolding Mamah again?” Then, his face looked up.

“Besok Mamah is here to see you, Rin.”

“Daddy promise?” Nurin put on a look—don't till dad lies.

Mas Bayu nodded.

“Zam, a friend of my coworkers there wants to find a mate. You don't exist yet, do you?”

Nurin said, “Paklek already have kok, Yah.”

I smiled thinly.

“Aduh, Paklek, don't pinch my butt dong.”

“Who is Paklek?”

“Kak Mustika.”

“Wardah Mustika Rahayu the dancer?” Mas Bayu's gaze ran towards me, then at my mother.

No one answered. Mas Bayu terbahak later.

“Why, Bayu?” ask ibuk.

“I don't think your taste is dancer, Zam, Zam. I think your taste is santri or kyai's son. Etdaaah He laughed again. Screaming.

“Numbered, Yu. Nizam has no candidates. What kind of woman do you mean?”

“She's veiled. Santri was also. Ordinary traveling abroad. He's a rich kid. Have a very advanced convection business. Since he used to be a santri, I dare to offer you, Zam. Santri, right, your demenan?”