Love of the Journalist
59. Chained Inundated Miss

...59. Chained Inundated Miss...

- Gorontalo

The first week at the company, he chose as an intern. He still refused the commissioner's office. He did not want to be considered to simply enjoy power without effort.

He just wanted to help Baapu. Even if just a little or even troublesome people? The proof in the first three days he was still confused to learn how to manage cargo and the world of shipping. But he continued to learn and learn.

It is far from the science that he has been studying. But he did not give up. Assisted by Uncle Dambea, as well as Jefri's secretary baapu. He really learned the new thing seriously.

Then in the second week he studied with Aunt Kabila in the warehouse.

“You sure it will work here?” Kabila asked as they had exited the warehouse.

He nodded, “Ya.”

“You have much to learn again. But, dear ...your eyes cannot deceive. If you're here just for the escape for what?”

He gasped at Aunt Kabila's words.

In the afternoon, he returned to the port. But Aunt Kabila can't keep her company. Because you have to meet important clients. For the sake of filling the time he went to pier 2. KM cargo ship. DEMAS who was sailing to Java Island has arrived in Jakarta. The ship was sailing back to Gorontalo.

As far as the eye could see Tomini Bay from the end of the pier, he curled his lips upwards. His hair that looked longer was fluttering in the wind. This time he let her go free.

The reflection of sunlight that began to sink in the western horizon refracted the very beautiful horizon. Rippling sea water glittered into an unusual sight.

He closed his eyes. For the sake of feeling the wind as well as the sunlight that began to dim on his face and skin. Both of his hands gripped the strong iron that became the guardrail.

“I wish you were here ...”

“Will you be all mine?”

“I’ve fallen for you .. since the park.”

“I love you ...”

Instantly his eyes opened hearing the whispers of words that were very imprinted in his heart.

Heart's rustling. There was a gaping wound that he himself did not know the cure. Love, longing ..hate and pain that he feels simultaneously collide with each other.

His hand was getting stronger gripping the iron handle. Until his knuckles turn white.

What is he doing right now?

But soon after, he shook his head. Trying to cast off his shadow.

“If you are not comfortable with your current job, why force it? Work should be sincere. To your heart and desire!” Someone shouted from behind him.

He turned his body. His eyebrows raised next door, “Bang Laira?” He said like a mutter.

Looking at the man who ....

How could Bang Laira be one place with him? He still doesn't understand.

“Sori .. surprise you,” said Laira when she was close to him.

“I miss my hometown ...” Imbuh Laira, while publishing a smile.

He shook his head, “Abang the Gorontalo?” Ask me not to believe.

“Yup,” they approached the iron fence barrier. Look at the rising sea water.

“I didn't think, Brother is here.” His eyes were straight at the ocean.

“And I didn't think you were here,” Laira said.

“I've been long-time resigned.”

“Very unfortunate ...”

“There are things I need to finish.” Reasonably.

“But if it makes you uncomfortable for what to force?”

“Work it from here ...” Laira pointed at his chest.

He glanced at the man, then threw him straight back.

**

On Sunday morning, he sat in the back garden feeding the baapu koi.

Accompanied by a cup of tea and papoco cake that looks like traditional princess bath food. But according to Asti, the domestic assistant here, papoco cake comes from wheat flour, eggs, coconut milk, and other additives such as salt, sugar and vanilla.

“Adu’olo (thank you),” he told Asti. He understands a little Gorontalo language that is simple, such as thank you, excuse me, greetings and conversations of people with short sentences. He could not speak the same language. Because his tongue is still stiff with his pronunciation.

“Saaya (yes),” reply Asti. “Mbak Rei did not join Mr Idrus jogging?” Asti asked after putting down the second cake.

“I don't know Asti.” His lips are a little pouty. Had he known baapu and neene jogging, would have come along. He has been with me several times. Indeed, if you are healthy and fit, baapu and neene jogging almost every morning before doing the activity.

“This is what cake again?” Ask. His eyes looked at the cookies-like cake. He had seen even a tasting while in Aunt Kabila's room. But at that moment he was just enjoying. And I don't think it's being asked. Tasty, crunchy and fits on his tongue. Especially fitting to be a friend with tea or coffee.

“Kue karawo.” Asti replied, the woman of Javanese-Bone descent has been working in the house of Baapu since graduating Madrasah Tsanawiyah, 6 years ago.

“Kue special here too, Mbak.” Asti sat nearby, after he gave a code of patting an empty chair next to him.

“This is indeed the motive deliberately like embroidery so, yes?” Beautiful and unique motif with colorful icing she thought.

“Iya, Ma'am. That is unique. Karawo is a typical Gorontalo embroidery cloth. Careful and long process. Hence the result is also good and unique.” Asti Said.

He was grizzled, chewing on cake.

“Karawo it comes from the abbreviation kaita-tantheya-wo’ala’ which means chain-link and disassembly. The same is true if we are embroidering karawo cloth. Hence the name karawo.” cake Bright Asti who has mastered Gorontalo language since childhood. Because both parents migrated to the city of Gorontalo from Bone where his father came from.

“Enyak ...” He said as he gave the thumbs of his hands with his mouth busy chewing.

“Eh, Ma'am ... Mr. Idrus has come,” Asti turned a moment back. “I'm saying back.” Asti had moved on, then left without waiting for his answer.

He looked back and stood up to welcome the baapu. Because the garden chair that turns back to the terrace door and faces the pool.

“Baapu .. neene, where?” He saw Baapu alone approaching him.

“In the kitchen,” Baapu sits his body in a chair. He sat next to Baapu.

“Baapu tega, Rei left alone. Not invited to jog.” Spoiled sung.

The elderly man chuckled, his granddaughter is indeed adorable. “You're still asleep, so it's worth leaving. If the girl wakes up it must be morning, and do not sleep again.” Tukas.

It was his fault, this morning after dawn, he went back to sleep. Drowsiness that whack because he sleeps late. Chatting via video call with Ken. To the extent that he doesn't know when Ken ended the video call.

“Mistaken Ken!” He was looking for justification.   

“Rei ... Rei,” Baapu shook his head.

“Your nature is not much different from your father,” Baapu leaning his back to the back. Breathe in slowly.

“How are you related to Danang?”

His face changed instantly.

“Rei .. as far as Baapu is concerned, your father used to be close to your father. Several times Baapu saw the two of them. And, yes ... several times also your father sent a letter to neene via Bagas.”

He moved from his sitting position to upright.

Baapu eyes glare at the events of a few years ago, “Dulu Baapu blindfolded. Be hard-hearted. Don't want to hear your father's explanation, but your father is not wrong. Your father's determination is so strong that all are against him. No matter she had to leave everything that should have been hers ...” Baapu's eyes look glazed.

The man he called Baapu told of his father's youth. When Demas suffered a disaster became a victim of brawl and was helped by Bagas. Then some days Demas did not return home because he quarreled with him because his father still chose to continue his studies in Java Island. And through the Baapu confidant said Demas was staying at the police dormitory where Bagas was.

Even when he was in Surabaya, Demas sent a letter to Neene several times. Baapu secretly sees Bagas delivering a letter from Demas to his wife. Even secretly read the letter without his wife's knowledge.

Baapu shrank the corner of his eyes that had been wet.

“Your handsome father wore his campus alma mater jacket,” the old man's face changed sedu. Remembering the son who is actually very dear to him is proud of his family until the end of his life.

“However, Baapu's ego remains unconquerable.” There is a sense of bitter and arrogant simultaneously.

“So dad and papa have been friends for a long time?” Ask.

“Iya ..” Neene who had just come with Asti behind her brought a biluhuta strap. A kind of chicken porridge but made from corn and coconut grater. Plus suwiran skipjack fish, shrimp and vegetables. Then watering the spiced soup.

Smells fragrance. Best served hot. Suitable for breakfast menu.

Asti put 3 bowls of bamboo biluhuta on a square table. 3 Cups filled with water.

Neene was sitting in the other seat right next to her.

“They're old friends.”

“Meanings Neene is not sure if your papa was involved with your father's death.” Tukas.

He told me the problem he was facing. Even if only in outline.

“Bagas good guy. Even when your father married, your father was our representative. Neene still saves their photos.”

“Bagas also takes care of all your father's funeral.”

Then, neene called Una. The longest-serving domestic assistant worked here. The middle-aged woman from Unauna-Central Sulawesi Island was seen sweeping the terrace, “Una! Please bring a photo album in the room. In the bottom nightstand drawer.” Neene's orders.

Una nodded then passed.

While the baapu devoured the already warmed up binte biluhuta.

“Eat first mumpung still warm,” advice neene.

They enjoy a bowl of binte baruta. While occasionally reminiscing about the father when young.

Una has returned with a photo album. Put it on the table. The album cover looks old. Where the plastic that became the wrapper has been torn. Then on the cover color also indicates inedible age, looks fade. On its edge there are yellowish patches.

Neene put down the bowl that still contained half of it. The album then opened the album slowly. Like wanting to feel back to the time where the photo was taken.

He was seen lingering sheet after sheet of Demas photos of babies. His old hand was palpating slowly.

“This is your father as a baby,” kekeh neene, “similar to you, Rei.” Neene's eyes sparkled happily.

“Kirei version Demas now.” Babu chirps also chuckles.

He was impatient, putting a bowl that was just a little bit of stuff on the table. Then leaned his body to see the photo album that was slowly being broadcasted.

“This is your father entered Kindergarten school, this one entered SD... then this is SMP.” Point neene one by one photo sheet that displays school uniforms according to their level.

Several times received an award certificate as an outstanding student. Also immortalized.

“This is when dad SMA.” The canal. Seeing a higher father. Standing between Uncle Tilamuta and Aunt Kabila.

“Ya .. This is when we vacation in Manado.” Neene. “Your father was still class 1 back then.”

“After stepping on class 2, Demas has been difficult to photograph. And rarely get together again. He prefers to work collecting used items. He sold it and the money went to his less fortunate friends. His empathy and sympathy for others is so great.”

“Padahan, he easily asked for neene but ... he wanted to help with his own sweat results.”

He nodded in agreement. Dad is different. The one who made himself proud to be the son of a Demas.

“And this ...” Neene gently rubbed a photo of the father wearing his campus alma mater coat.

Neene shrank the corner of her eyes that had piled up. There is a newness that is stirring.

Even with him who can feel it. There's vibration in the chest. Proud. Haru's. Mournfully. Longs. Mixed into one.

“.... The third letter Bagas brought to Neene. Inside there is this photo.” Neene's voice sounded trembling.

He grabbed the woman. Shrinking her tears that had dripped just like that.

“This ...” Neene's hand slipped into the plastic wrap. Trying to take a photo that sticks in place. Trouble, because the old photo has been firmly attached. Like refusing to be removed.

Kreeet.

Finally the photo was taken. Neene slammed into him.

There he could see the wedding photos of his father and mother. Then flanked by Papa Bagas and Mama Anita when young. This photo is not in the wedding album that you saved. And ....

Boys aged about 1-2 years old who carried the father. A picture of a young boy tucked away on the sideboard of Mama Anita's house.

His forehead shriveled.

Lips clenched.

His heart is beating fast.

A thousand questions in the chest. Why is it so important that he does not know it?

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