FIZAH (Female Kolong Garbage)
PART 38 "Attending Invitations"

*Rubia El - Hazimah

"Where is this house?" ask Mr. Faith on the phone. Loudspeakers.

"Still far?" Mr. Ibban's voice was not heard. The sound system across from her tapped into her voice.

"Where? Don't listen," replied Mr. Iman using a higher tone.

Me and Mr. Faith were in one car. The original intention was to drive alone, but Mr. Iman offered. Coincidentally papa also allows on condition that the situation must remain safe. If it wasn't with Mr. Faith, I wouldn't be willing. So far, he's been keeping up with a woman.

Our current position is not far from Mr Ibban's house. We choose the route according to which it is directed in the chat. Said Mr. Ibban across the phone, not long after. Mr. Iman nodded after being told we had to go by which side. The previously directed route is closed. So, you have to choose another route, which is a little further.

Mr. Faith turned the steering. Turn around in the spacious citizens yard.

I opened my watch gallery. I want to recall the first moment I captured two days ago, in the cafe. I played the video over and over again while doing college work. I still want to hear it again and again.

I happen to not be wearing a headset. Mr. Faith responded. "The sound is good."

"That's, Sir. Yesterday all visitors liked it. Students until your request."

"Aren't you asking?"

"Sir Ibban is in a hurry to get off the stage. It's not good, sir, if you tell me to come back."

"For you what, anyway, ma'am who is not supported." Mr. Faith smiled at me.

"Sir, thank you for a few days of food."

"Yes, Sir. You welcome. Where's the house, by the way?"

"Front there. He said Mas Ibban wants to get out of our nyamperin."

"okay."

I saw Mr. Ibban waving his hands. Giving a cue where Mr. Iman should park his car.

Mr. Faith opened the glass. Bend his head out. "There?" his yell.

Mr. Ibban raised his thumb.

"Sir Rubi has never been here?"

"Evertime. But, forget the road."

We got out of the car.

"Where is Mr Ibban's mother?"

"It's at home. Want to stop by first?"

"May be." I turned to look at Mr. Faith. "Sir, go to Mr. Ibban's house first, yuk!"

Mr. Iman looked at Mr. Ibban. "Still start long?"

"Half hour. Monggo if you want to go home."

"Yes, that's it. Come on!"

Two grown men walked in front of me. They talked without involving me. Their steps stopped later. We accidentally met a beautiful woman with makeup and typical dancer clothes. I thought he was alone. Four friends behind him followed.

"Mustika?" call Mr. Ibban.

The woman was silent. Wrapping up the scarf to cover his open shoulder. Seemed embarrassed as we tried to stare at him. Especially I was watching him from head to toe. The woman left, leaving a smile for the one who greeted her.

"Who is he?" my many.

"Wardah Mustika Rahayu. Sinden and the village's mainstay dancers. The son of Dalang Jatmiko."

"Plancess, yes." I'm mangosteen.

"I think I saw him getting uncomfortable or how was that? Aren't you?" Mr. Iman is as I thought.

"He may be ashamed to dress like that in front of us."

"Don't the dancers have to be like that?" my many.

"The thing is he wants to stop being a dancer. But he knows his position. Want not. She's a nice, obedient girl. His nari and nyinden ability has been recognized by everyone in this village."

"It seems Mr. Ibban already knew him very well. Yes, because she is known to many. It's only natural that Mr. Ibban sounds eloquent to explain, "my mind so that the heart does not be jealous. Makes me want to see that woman's appearance. Is that what Mr Ibban said?

"Mongos, monggos!" Mr. Ibban invited us in. House deserted. His mother has not yet come to greet us.

"Where's his mother?"

I sit.

"Drink what is this? I made it."

"No need, Mas" replied Mr. Faith.

"Who's the show?" ask Mr. Faith then while sitting down.

"The mother was that woman."

"I guess you are, Mom."

"Long story. Initially it was an organization. Yeah but the one who handled all the shows wasn't us. The mastermind was hard to compromise. And, in fact, I invited you without their consent."

"I've seen puppet shows. Quite often fit in Jogja first," I said adding.

"Community entertainment or events?"

"At the art shows, sir."

"There's a guest, apparently?" ask Mr Ibban's mother.

Me and Mr. Faith shake hands.

"Sir Rubia and who is this?" Sit over.

"You got an invitation?"

"We've been invited by Mas Ibban, Mom." Mr. Faith explained.

"This you say isn't open to the public, Zam? Kadung Ibuk not so ngundang conco-koncone (friends) Ibuk who like puppets. I heard the welcome of his future father-in-law Wardah."

I interjected, "Whose name was Mustika?"

"Yes, Rubi. If said Ibuk, anyway, Dalang Jatmiko was asline wanted to introduce directly his besan to the community. Ironically it's an artist whose home is Sleman."

"What's her name? I know you, Mom."

Mr. Iman focused on lowering his gaze to the mobile screen.

"Infranet."

"That means I know. Pretty popular there. His son if his name is not wrong.. ehm...who, huh? Gums.. Gumelar or who. One univ with me at the time. He himself is pretty famous. As I recall, he was also the founder of the art community on campus."

"Pantesan, yo, Ma'am" said his mother Pak Ibban.

"Kas Iman kok can be together with Mbak Rubia what is his house close?"

Mr. Faith looked. "So I picked him up. Instead of motoring itself, ma'am."

"But, Mas Iman and Mbak Rubia this is nothing to do, right?"

Me and Mr. Faith suddenly clumsy.

"Friends of fellow lecturers, Buk." I'm grabbing answers rather than the first Mr. Faith.

"Alhamdulillah then."

"Huh yeah?"

"Oh, yes, thank God." He looked to the right side. "Alhamdulillah, right, Zam?"

Mr. Iman was busy watching the phone again. I'm just worried Mr. Iman is feeling uncomfortable.

"It's hard to pray later Mas Iman get a woman like this Rubia Ma'am. Beautiful and smart. Sunny."

Between yes and no. Mr. Iman did not immediately confirm or guarantee the prayer. However, his face looked flat. And, it seemed that he was talking. He was different from the time he was in the office. Then, he suddenly got up and asked for permission to pick up the phone. Either deliberately set aside or there really is self-interest. I was so sad.

Precisely by staying three of us in the living room, his mother Pak Ibban asked me, "Mbak Rubia is the criterion of what kind of future husband?"

"My criteria, Mom?" I smiled awkwardly.

"Just answer, Ma'am. I really want to know. You know, right, Nizam's still a single barrel vat."

"Yes as usual, Mom. Um.the salih."

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Sorry, three days not up. I was chasing an event at the next PF. DL mefet and I'm still writing some episodes. 😅😅🙏🙏