THE RELIGIOUS SHORT STORY GROUP
THE GUY IN THE AISLE OF THE HOSPITAL

"Hoaafmm .... "

Back I yawned accompanied by heavy drowsiness that hooked the eyelids. Many times stumbled to almost hit the edge of the bed, where the figure of my mother was stretched out above. Complete with bandages and infusion hose that hit the arm veins.

"Hoaafmm .... "

Not that they do not want to sleep, but confused about where to curl up. No mats or pillows. There were only a few sickly beds that were still empty behind and in front of me. I could have used it to rest last night. 

I don't know, reluctant to have to lie there, because the occupants just died this afternoon, on top of the two beds.

While Mother looked sound, lulled in the influence of drugs that flowed along the pulse. His eyes were tightly closed, since his arrival at noon.

"Mom, I'm out for a second, okay?" I leave her forehead full of love. "Mother rest first and hopefully quickly re-humanize, healthy and soon to go home."

I rushed outside the room, passing through several loud hospital beds with the sounds of heart rate detection devices. There are a lot of patients with the same condition as my mother.

Not far from there, there is a long bench that is firmly imprinted on the edge of the hallway. As quiet as no one occupies. Only a few passersby, carrying a large tote and occasionally passing by hospital staff, pushed the patient train.

I sat alone on a nearby long bench, breathing in the cold air that pierced through the pore. Instantly this drowsiness began to become. 

"May you sit here, Young Man?" One voice shocked me on the verge of consciousness starting to split. 

An old man smiled, as I could see, revealing his brownish, leafy row of teeth with a whitened whisker. "Oh, of course, sir. Please."

"Thank you" he said, sitting not far from me. "Waiting patients?"

"Yes, my mother is being cared for inside, sir," I replied clumsily. "Self father?"

The old man smiled again. "Same, I'm in room IV," he pointed to the next room where the mother was being treated.

"Oh, mother in room III, sir. He was just there this afternoon."

The old man nodded. "What's your mom hurting, son?"

I took a breath before replying, "Heartache."

He nodded slowly back.

"Father himself ... Who is waiting for? Child, wife, or .... "

" ... I was waiting for someone .. "he said softly with a look forward.

I'm stunned, "Someone?"

The old man nodded for the umpteenth time.

"Who, Sir?" I was curious, to forget the drowsiness that whack a moment ago. "O, yes. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Burhan. But it doesn't stand for Owl, does it, sir?"

I was trying to joke, but it didn't seem funny. The old man only grinned for a moment. It's not because of my jokes either.

"Call me ... Prawiro .. "he said starting the story and I immediately recorded the name in my mind. "My wife has long died, precisely since the age of our only daughter, Wulan, was a toddler first. Uh, you don't mind, do you, if I tell you a little?"

I flinched, "Oh, of course, sir. I will listen to you with pleasure."

I thought it was going to be a long night, and a friend was talking at this very moment.

Mr. Prawiro smiled for a moment with blank eyes, like he was returning the remains of memories he had long stored. "Wulan my daughter, now she's grown up. The little girl I cared for and grew up lovingly, complete with the order of religious knowledge I had. Since long ago he was so obedient to parents, until one day .... "

The old man stopped his story with his eyes beginning to glaze over. I feel guilty, asking him not to continue talking or even forcing the burden of his heart a little less? But before I reveal, Mr. Prawiro resumed the story that had been delayed for a while.

"My daughter fell in love with a young man. What makes me most sad, since knowing the man, Wulan has dared to take off the hijab that has never been separated to cover her hair ... " Pak Prawiro bowed down sadly, making me feel pain and immediately remembered Risma, my sister, who recently only deigned to wear a hijab, after a long time we always advised. "His behavior really changed drastically, sometimes even daring to fight me with his painful attitude."

Unknowingly, I patted her shoulder to give her strength to be patient in the face of the sadness that was being felt. "May Allah guide the Father's son and strengthen him in his trials. I can only wish you the best for your family, right?"

Mr. Prawiro wiped his tears. "Thank you, son. Sorry, I'm so venting?"

"It's okay, sir," I replied suddenly feeling sad. "I'll listen to your story until it's over .... "

I hope Mr. Prawiro will soon continue the story of his life, so that it will not leave a curiosity in this heart. Thank God, my prayer was answered apparently, after a moment of silence decorated with the sobs of the old man.

"The young man was named ... Albert. Someone who was wrong to be made a prospective household priest for Wulan, because of differences in belief .. " continued Pak Prawiro interspersed with tears.

*     *     *     *     *

"What's wrong with loving each other, sir? Isn't there no prohibition for a fellow creature of God to fall in love?" Wulan insisted on continuing his relationship with Albert, although Mr. Prawiro had expressed reservations.

"Wulan darling .. in religion we are taught to love our fellow human beings, regardless of social status or differences of belief, but not until as Wulan does this." Mr. Prawiro is still trying to be patient with his daughter. "Please love each other, just need to remember Wulan .. there are separate restrictions that have been set by our religion, son."

"Wulan's an adult, sir. Wulan has the right to determine his own path. Whatever Wulan does, it's all her own responsibility. You do not need to interfere in the affairs of Wulan's life," said Wulan annoyed. "After all, Albert is very good, sir. Unlike most of the men Wulan has known .... "

Mr. Prawiro took a deep breath. "It's not enough, son. Good in the eyes of man, not necessarily good in the eyes of God," replied Mr. Prawiro. "You are the only daughter of my father. Your responsibility to you is not only limited to world affairs, but also to the hereafter, son. I don't want you to accuse us at the end of the day. It's a very heavy affair."

"So much of Wulan!"

"Father doesn't rule your life, son, but you rule our lives. This is not the Father's rule, but God's command." Pak Prawiro stared at the child. "Even when a child has dared to leave his duty, you are authorized to beat, but you have never done it because you love him, son."

Wulan grunting. "Father has been lecturing too much, Wulan is tired of hearing it, sir. Can't .... "

"Wulan, until you get married one day, your duty is to the Father, son."

"Meanwhile Wulan is married to Albert, you have no authority, do you?" Wulan did not want to lose the argument.

Mr. Prawiro again took a deep breath with weight. "The problem .. if the man who became the future priest of your household was like Albert, how could you freely release the authority that you still have today, son. Just look now, how your future husband can be responsible until the afterlife, if in the world alone can make you far from religion ... "

Mr. Prawiro watched his son from the bottom to the head. "Look, how you look now, son. Where's the veil that's been covering your aura all this time?"

"The hijab is not mandatory, sir. There is even a religious figure who says so. What is it for hijab anyway, if his heart is still bad? It will only create a negative stigma of religion alone," Wulan murmured while removing his views from Pak Prawiro.

"Astaghfirullahal'adziim ... " The old man rubbed his face. "It is up to the person to interpret the word of God in accordance with the level of human science itself, son, but it is obligatory. You convey what you have learned from the first. He only carried out God's command to guard the Father's family from prosecution and the torment of hell. You already know, right, the sound of the verse?"

Wulan fell silent.

"Whatever side of life a Muslimah, closing the aurat is an obligation. If the hijab can worsen the judgment about religion, then what about the Muslim woman who always shows her aura? God judges a person by faith, not just by kindness. How could you be able to keep quiet, if your daughter has begun to deviate from the teachings that have been applied?" Long-term Mr. Prawiro advises Wulan. "Father didn't forbid you to love Albert, son. Love is one of God's most beautiful gifts. But not to a greater extent, before you both bow in the same direction."

The conversation stopped instantly as Wulan got up from her seat, half-running while sobbing into the room. Mr. Prawiro did not try to pursue or detain his daughter.

In the days since that incident, Wulan has never returned home. The girl disappeared somewhere. Mr. Prawiro lost track and didn't know where to look. His life was empty, lost his spirit to fall ill from the disease he had always hidden from Wulan, the heart.

*     *     *     *     *     *

"I hope Wulan returns home and becomes the good boy she used to be ... " Prawiro sir ended the story. "Whatever happens, I forgive all the mistakes he has made. It's a prayer I never forget to say every night."

I stroked my chest hearing the heartwarming story of the old man. "So ... who is sick is the son of Father named Wulan?"

Mr. Prawiro did not reply, he just patted me on the shoulder for a while, then said goodbye to go back to the IV hospital room. "I'm sorry, son. I live here alone. I must return .... "

"Please, sir," I replied as I looked at her frail figure who was stumbling along.

I saw the watch, it was almost midnight. The cold air increasingly feels pore. I walked into the room where my mother was still lying. Inadvertently I heard some time ago, there was the sobbing sound of a young woman in a room on the edge of the patient's bed, accompanied by a young man her age.

"Sir, forgive Wulan, sir .. "the hysterical woman wept over the figure lying in front of her.

"Wulans?" My steps stopped and tried to remember like I had heard that one name. "Is Wulan Pak Prawiro's son? Impossible .... "

With curiosity I entered room IV, approaching the figure of a woman who was crying bitterly.

"Yes Allah .. That, right, Mr Prawiro?" I watched the pale face of the patient who was lying stiff in front of the woman.

"You know this father?" asked the young man standing next to the crying woman, to me.

"Oh, sorry .. I only know his name. Just a moment ago, we had a lot of conversations out there . "I answered. 

Suddenly the woman's cry came to a halt, she turned to me with strange eyes. "A few moments ago? Did you talk to my dad a while ago? How's it possible?"

I was astonished. "How is it possible, Ma'am? I met Mr. Prawiro outside. He .... "

"Mas, my father has been treated here for a week in a state of unconsciousness and has never woken up. Besides, I've been by your side since this afternoon. If you wake up, surely the person who knows it is me, not this Mas. " cried the woman with a hoarse voice.

I was silent for a moment. "This boy's name is Wulan, right?"

The woman nodded slowly.

"Wulan daughter Pak Prawiro?"

 "How did you know?"

I shook my head while turning to look at the male figure standing beside Wulan. " ... and this Mas .. must be Albert, right?"

"That's my old name before I changed my name to Muhammad Abdullah . "the man replied shakingly.

I smiled looking at both. "I just want to convey a message from Mr. Prawiro, he has forgiven Mbak Wulan and hopes Mbak returns as he was once known."

Wulan closed her eyes after listening to the message I delivered, while fixing the location of the long-stretched hijab to cover her chest. Albert or Muhammad Abdullah rubbed the woman's shoulders gently, intending to give her the strength to be patient and steadfast. 

I couldn't stay there for long, because I had to go back to the original room I had lived in.

The drowsiness is held tightly to hook the eye pelupuk. Then slowly lay down on a sickly bed, hunting down a dream that had been delayed.

*     *     *     *     *     *

"Who's looking, Mom?" ask a nurse when there is a pair of women and men who are looking for in room III. They are Wulan and Muhammad Abdullah.

"I was looking for a man who had just entered room IV, he had entered this room," Wulan said staring fixedly at a bed next to an elderly female patient, he was stretched out with bandages and an infusion hose on his arm.

The woman slowly approached the bed which read the patient's name 'Burhan'.

"Burhan?"

"You know that patient named Burhan, Mom? Just been treated this afternoon along with the old woman who was beside him. According to the information we got, both were victims of traffic accidents. Until now they both have not realized and we are still waiting for his family. Mother, the family of this patient?" the nurse looked at the two couples.

"No way! The man had just met me and delivered the last message from my father. I still have a bad feeling with his face. She was indeed the patient .. " said the long-veiled woman while approaching the edge of the patient's bed named Burhan. "Whoever you are, I'm so grateful that you've been willing to deliver that message, Mas. Now, I can live a quieter life and promise to realize your wishes, with people who are in accordance with his wishes."

"Innalillahi wainnailaihi raaji'uun .. " muttered Muhammad Abdullah while pointing to the figure of Burhan who had stopped breathing.

"Why, Mas?" ask Wulan in shock.

"Mas Burhan is dead, Dek .... "

Wulan closed her eyes while chanting a prayer.

"Mom, I took care of a patient named Burhan and the old woman next to him, and my father's body in room IV. Everyone, let it be the responsibility of both of us" said Wulan to the nurse who was still standing with them.

"Innalillahi wainnailaihi raaji'uun."

FINISHED