The Angkara Murka
The Book of Soldiers Verse Eight
"I've never seen you cry, not once. Never before had a tear drop fallen and seeped on her cheek. He considers himself a real man" said the young man.
Soemantri Soekrasana. Shit, thought. Just now that he was nauseous hearing Satria Piningit's sentimental story the other day, now he had to listen to one more story.
No. gabe. He could not stop or avoid the man from telling stories. It became his curse.
There was clearly a reason behind the attachment of certain supernatural beings to him even though he was not called. Usually they have a certain connection with his life so inevitably he must serve them. Ghosts love to tell stories.
As it is now. He was urinating in a bar after a bottle of beer he had finished. Wong Ayu decided to return to the Anggalarang apartment to rest.
Soemantri Soekrasana had just washed her hands in the sink when from the mirror reflection, at the very end of the urinoar. His face was invisible, dark, though the toilet lights were bright.
Soemantri Soekrasana immediately understood that the creature was a young male ghost.
As he realized that Soemantri Soekrasana understood he was there, without further ado, the ghost immediately told him.
“'True men never cry!' father Said. Those words that keep ringing in my ears to this day. From the time I couldn't walk until my mouth could swear, those words were what guarded me, waiting for me, even stalking my every behavior.
"That's the father with his upbringing. I'm not surprised actually. Especially after then gradually I understood who the father really was. His body is resilient and rough by the formation of his activities. He did not have a large and terrible body, on the contrary, his body was slim but nimble. Jago silat.
"His physical strength and ferocious, violent, and frightening behavior at the same time as well as being authoritative for many makes him a small ruler among the workers in terminals, stations or markets.
"Small and mass clashes often occur between groups that support and under the Father with groups that are opposite to him. If it is emotional and drowned by anger, the father will not just hit, kick or beat all out the people he hated, but also read, snatch, stab or even kill even though.
"Therefore, not infrequently since childhood I often saw the Father coming home with injuries all over his body. After that, the mother whose nature and behavior are in stark contrast to the father, will treat the father's wounds, bandage him with kisses and peace. They married young. Even you are not shy to admit that my mother impregnated you before marriage.
"And with any kind of wound you never cry" the voice of this male ghost floated in the air. Near but also far away.
"What can you do, you're a thug. Father educated me hard, typical of a thug, 'If you want to live with this kind of situation, you must be strong and not crybaby', he said,” continued the ghost.
"Every time I cry he will silence me with punches, slaps and other harsh treatment. But when I was done with my crying, he suddenly got better, treated me lovingly, gave me whatever food I wanted, clothes or whatever I wanted - which of course was from the money from his thuggish work, or he will give me to the mother who, of course, is kind and sweet to me, more than kind and sweet to the husband.
"Sometimes I ask in my heart, why do you want to bother to live as a thug, a person who is hated by the public, feared, but also often used by state officials for their personal interests? Isn't living like that too hard, risky and completely unpleasant? However, eventually during my period of growth and physical and mental development, I finally got the answer. Dad had no choice.
"From childhood my life was so difficult, poor, and hard. He had to change his standard of living, but he had no other abilities and skills, other than martial arts, physical strength and ferocity of character that had been formed from the situation he faced. Be a thug.
"It was not easy to get the power and authority that way. You no longer take to the streets to bill security money or to pump entrepreneurs with their entertainment businesses. He has hundreds of people ready to do it for him.
"Every day there is income from legal and illegal workers. Millions of Rupiah will come by itself into the pocket of the father every month. Many areas controlled by Father. It was the money that my father used to raise and support me. There are so many obstacles faced by the father, but with capital did not cry that he managed to become the king of the kingdom as he wanted.
"Like many other thugs, none of them wanted their children to follow in their footsteps. They want their children to study hard, so that they become straight people and do not get into trouble. But what is it possible to make, as a single boy educated with illicit money and spoiled with power, my life revolves back like the Father: I can't choose my own way of life except to follow in my footsteps.
"In contrast, I grew up to be a crybaby and a weak man, in contrast to my father. I often cry and complain to the Father when there are problems in my life. After that my father will defend me, help me with all his strength. I formed into a fussy boy.
"Mom knows this is happening. But he loved you so much that he could not bear to disturb the method of affection and the way you treat and educate me. Every day I know only women and ****, drugs, and petty fights while drunk. I don't care about my school and my education, but I know exactly how to waste money and use my father's power for the things I want.
"Until I finally saw my father cry for the first time. He cried loudly, blindly, mixed with anger, hate, and sadness. I saw with both eyes of my head, tears flooding my Father's dark and rough face. Tears are like a flood ready to sink you into the deepest suffering.
"I can't do anything, so did the mother who had been silent next to my body that was stiffened.
"My breathing faltered, my gaze became faint and darkened. Blood kept flowing from my chest that was pierced by hot lead. I'm starting to not see everything that's going on. Yet I could still hear the sound of Mr.'s cry like the howls of wounded wolves and chunks of words, he said,
'True men never cry!' over and over again and then slowly disappeared," Soemantri Soekrasana saw a blood liquid, dark red, inundating the floor.
The male ghost was already standing beside Soemantri Soekrasana, but his face was still invisible.
"I think the police officer deliberately shot me in the back, not my legs, until it went to the chest when he saw me running. I was caught throwing a drug party at one of my friends' rented houses that can still continue his education until college.
"The policeman who shot me knew that I was the father's son, a man he hated and feared and all his colleagues" said the young ghost.
Soemantri Soekrasana took a breath and looked at the ghost closely. "Your father's name is Affandi?" abugn.