ONE LOVE, TWO CONTINENTS
Well, Just the Room Wall
It has entered the seventh day since the mother died, Syahrel was more locked himself in the room. No one can meet him, both fellow journalists who want to interview, the publishers who want to continue with the employment contract, always the same answer that Jama’ received.
“Mas Syahrel can not be disturbed, there is a script that he is making”, that's the only answer that Jama’ is able to give. The rest, about the death of the mother who is as proportionate as possible he can explain. As far as questions about Syahrel's life, Jama’ does not want to provide information.
For one week Jama’ only once saw Syahrel out of the room. It was only to pay Jum’at prayers. To the extent of the impropriety it riled Jama’ to ventured to open the door of Syahrel's room.
“After a week Aa did not leave the room, I was afraid something happened to her. Maafin urang geus nyaloncong.” Pork! Room door many times Jama’ open by force. True what feared Jama’, Syahrel was helplessly bowed. Syahrel's entire body was sweating cold sweat, his face was pale with dry lips, his pulse was so slow. Jama’ immediately asked for help and took Syahrel to the hospital to get first aid.
The results of laboratory tests and examination Syahrel suffered from acute liver disease.
“After examination it turns out Mr. Syahrel has liver disorders and has entered the stage of sirosi or active net death in lever”, explained Dr. Setiawan as an internal medicine specialist.
“Can I recover Doc?” Jama’ is so worried about his foster brother.
“The only way is a liver transplant.”
“What is Doc?”
“Liver transplant. But it takes a donor and a specialist in diseases.”
“Let me be a donor.”
“The cost is great Mas," added doctor Setiawan.
“I'll try to find help.”
Jama’ began to collect as much money as possible, ranging from asking for royalties and donations of several co-workers Syahrel, until finally collected the amount of money requested by the medical. Zahra was so diligent in taking care of Syahrel after work. Although his body feels tired but he feels obliged to take care of Syahrel.
“Include, this is doctor Putik, he will help the operation process.” They also greet each other.
Previously he did not think that the patient who would be grafted his heart was Syahrel. Putik tried to make sure again that the man he faced was a man he knew and met several times.
“Syahrel?!” The girl from Jambi was surprised to see the body that was rolled in front of her; a writer who almost all of her work she had, a man who a few months ago routinely met her.
Some doctors do briefings before the surgery process, all preparations and risks that may occur have been analyzed. Putik asked for ten minutes to pray sunnah and sterilize the body. This has become his habit when he will perform high-risk operations because humans can only plan and try, the rest of God who determines everything.
ooo oo
Stressful moments not only in the operating room, outside also many who worry about the state of Syahrel. Some fellow artists and writers also visited. Ink coolers also monitor every time they do not want to be left behind information. Hundreds of Shahrel fans bowed, praying solemnly.
Twelve hours of operation. Whether or not it works depends on the patient's physical condition. If the physical is weak, the possibility of Syahrel is not able to pass the critical period and vice versa.
“How is Syahrel Man, Doctor Ma'am?” Ask some fellow journalists.
“New possibilities and need enough rest.”
Entering the second day after the operation, Zahra accompanied Syahrel. He gave her everything she needed, medicine and food. In addition to Syahrel's closest people, Zahra is also a doctor. So there is no need to worry about Syahrel recovery.
“Have been taken the medicine?” That voice sounded faint.
“Who?” Syahrel was curious by the soft voice that greeted him.
Suddenly he appeared behind the white curtain of the room divider. A doctor, his hand holding a stethoscope.
“Hah? A spin?! How do you know I'm here?”
“Hai, how are you? Already improving? Who doesn't know a writer is being treated at this hospital?”
“Alhamdulillah, fine. Introduce this Zahra, she is also a doctor.”
The two girls held each other. Zahra's gaze bowed and returned to concentrate on concocting medicine for Syahrel.
“You practice in this hospital too?”
“Hm, yes. You are also a writer. So it's not just my gut feeling that you're a writer.”
“The author is not as famous as the artist and not as noble as the duties of the doctors, only certain people know. So there is no high position for a writer and writer in this country, another case if in Germany and European countries, the writer is almost the same as the historian and artists in his country.”
“Ah not really, maybe in another careful position of a writer is the same as celebrity”, said Putik.
“Means?”
“Author has a great position for his fanatical readers.”
“Hahaha, it could be the mother of this one doctor," Syahrel was able to smile even though his condition was still weak.
“Aw..," Syahrel groans. The scar of the operation stretched the effect of laughing, Zahra was so worried. Putik's eyes see different signs of his way of caring for Syahrel.
“You're his wife Bung Syahrel huh?”
“Bu, not.”
Zahra was so engrossed in her activities, as if she had not heard their conversation, that her face harbored a feeling of jealousy. Likewise with Putik who hid other feelings to Syahrel.
“Can I ask permission for you to take a break?”
Hearing Syahrel's request, the two left the room. Putik back berkatifitas and Zahra also berampit go home.
“Then I also want to say back to work.”
As quickly as possible Zahra turned her body around, as if some annoyance was left behind.
“Zahra," Syahrel called him back.
“What's Ka?”
“Sorry if there are wrong sister words.”
“Oh, it's okay. I'm leaving, right? Assalamu’alaikum.”
Syahrel replied with a raucous voice,”Wa’alaikum salam. Be careful on the road.”
Syahrel had been in the hospital for almost a month and only today was he allowed to go home. Although back again quiet but there is a sense of calm that he has. Jama’ still faithfully accompanies all the bitter life that Syahrel naturally. He is the great dictionary of his life, some of the diary of the story of Syahrel almost followed.
Seeing the condition of his adoptive brother Jama’ was so worried, as if he did not want to pass a minute without paying attention to the state of Syahrel. The buskers alternated, including Zahra and Putik who seemed to compete for the attention of Syahrel.
After performing the tahajjud prayer, Syahrel felt longing for Mother. Her tears flowed in every prayer she prayed.
It is inevitable, that the Mother who became solace, seeing her face as an antidote to fatigue for Shahrel, she was both Mother and Father to him.
“Mother, I miss. It is not enough to shed tears and prayer. I want you here, accompany my solitude caress the skin of my face. I miss the wet lips of Mother who can not be separated pray for me. Now it's just quiet enveloping my nights that feel so long. There is no more advice and chants of holy verses that I hear every day after praying. No one woke me up for the qiyamul layl. Now I do everything myself.
O God, give me strength to face all this. Teach me how to be thankful in disaster and feel enough of Your gifts. Help me, this helpless servant. Forgive all my mistakes and mistakes. I'm sure without me asking you to give. O owner of the heart, do not turn my heart back when my faith is solid and return me fitrah as before when I was born from the womb of my Mother. O lovers whose love perfection is the most beautiful award for a pious and worship expert like a baby who longs for his mother's milk.
O Rabb, my solder and my water-blocker…
Don't let this weakness be an excuse for me to refuse to prostrate. And do not let the devil deceive my day to protest to You, blaspheme the heavens and hate to be born into the world, for the misfortune that befalls the lifeline that you have written with gold ink in the sheets of my life. I am just a man of the last days who is not as good as Ali ibn Abi Talib and not as brave as Abu Dharr Alghifary. Pin for me the souls of the heroes of Badr who are able to incline your great name to the stomach in the fighting ground,
God, if this were my last night…
Dampen my lips with Your holy heart, strengthen my heart to face the pain of the dead saccharotul whose rosules alone can not withstand the pain. Let not my departure be a deep sorrow and let not what I leave be slander and calamity. If my request is granted, I'm sincere to return.
"O quiet soul, return to your Rob with pleasure and fear, and enter into My servant's company and enter My heaven."
Not far from his bed Jama’ looks asleep. Syahrel is trying to reach a laptop that always wants to hear all the complaints and difficulties so far. Start he press the power button, wait for a moment and press the microsoft word icon, before a new worksheet appears.
His fingers again danced on the keyboard after a long time drooping weak. His body is still leaning above
pillows with a sitting position and legs that are left stretched because the more swollen days.