The Staircase
Old Opelet

The two elongated seats are tanned black face-to-face inside the old opelet, adjacent parallel to the dull glass side. Chairs that are similar to used chairs are colonized, peeling and rusty. Rust like permanent paint, termites are reluctant to approach it. Even my name that is often identified with the elderly; Aki, a name that is often a joke-shifted slightly, avoiding its rust.

Aki, a strong, brave, and tough man; this is my affirmation whenever anyone makes fun of my name.

I stared at the chair intently which looked indeed apprehensive. Occasionally my hand closes the hole with the rope that came out hanged— hid it into a hole that is oval, round, and wide.

Holes like the result of irresponsible hand-pulling are everywhere. Even everywhere. Some of the other chairs are only left with hard wood and nails that stick firmly. Beside me there was something made like a seat to relax, completely unsuitable in the narrow, stifling old opelet.

The ideal number of opelet passengers is actually eight to ten adults, but the opelet we are currently riding is more than that. In the front seat there is a driver and slim-bodied mothers holding their babies. The elongated seat on the right right in front of the opelet door is the temperamentally warring fathers. Beside the temperament fathers lined up my two teenage daughters, who were about three years old and above, the mothers were fattened with their teenage daughters, and I'm the one my mother holds. The other elongated chair on the left is right next to the opelet door; there is a kernet that occasionally goes back and forth from front to back-sitting in the chair like that lounging place, the talkative mothers, the, the men in hats, the brothers in white-and-blue school uniforms, and the brothers in white-red school uniforms. We were all sitting with great caution, taking pains to balance the body as the old opelettes shook violently.

Feels harsh. Everyone sitting in that chair must be trying to endure the pain. It was evident on the faces of those who saw my gaze with a slight smile. By compulsion? Sure oes. Because I've never seen a smile with that line of responsibility. Moreover, the old opeletic vibrations that could have made the eyebrows curl and the forehead wrinkle; the lips vibrate like an erratic seismograph movement - increasingly tormenting them.

The old Opelet tells him he is being damaged through a groaning sound in the corners. Without caring or just to rest for a moment. Until a great slam followed by a thunderous shout as the sound of screeching and the pull of gas fully drove above the maximum speed.

“Horeee!” Two of my bouncing boys were shouting loudly.

“Shut! Don't make a fuss." Sergey the fathers fought against that temperament while widening his eyes. The two boys were silent at once.

"Don't be happy just yet. Our journey is still far.” The protest of mothers.

Perhaps if there were horses at this time, passengers would have thought twice: riding an old bus or riding a horse? I'm sure they'll choose the second question, because I feel the same way, even though my mom's in my arms.

“Bring that plastic bag over here!” Pinta the fat-bodied mother to the kernet in front of her. He withstood the nausea from the great shock of the old opelet. It repeatedly closed its mouth when it felt like its stomach was starting to react. The fat-bodied mother was only able to survive the interval of a few minutes. Then give up when the black plastic bag that hangs on the ceiling of the opelet is exhausted. When you say, stop! Old opelet instantly sluggish.

In a hurry. The fat-bodied mother headed for the old opelet door, although the opelet had not completely stopped. Nothing held him back, so his daughter who was beginning to enjoy the ride had to tail behind her mother in disappointment.

The opelet driver doesn't say much. Calling his kernet with sign language. Waving his hands, then the kernet approached him. The driver whispered softly followed by a nod of the head of the up-and-down kernet. Cigarette smoke the kernet leaves it rolls with sliced tobacco in it, steaming. The wind flew back, approaching me. It disappears for a while and leaves only the smell of incense.

“This is a cake-not a cake. Don't take!" Grab those two boys on my beach.

“Feel!” The sound of the newspaper. Followed by sobs.

Old opelet is getting less and less clamor. Items tumbling-overlapping.

My narrowed eyes blinked just as fast as the seconds hand of the clock on the front of the opelet. The clock is very small. It does not appear what number the clock is pointing at. I'm just guessing in my heart right now it's nine in the morning. My guess may not miss. If it's wrong then— isn't far from the number I just called. For I see and confirm absolutely that the sun is still one third from the east.

A white-bearded grandfather and a sulky head suddenly stood at the opelet door right in front of the temperament fathers. Grandpa glared at me. The seriousness of his profound gaze felt rhythmic with the soft blink of my eyes that he also did. Without giving the slightest response. Though the blink of my eyes already tried to tell him that I did not like his gaze! Just stop! The orders of the fat mothers who were drunk on the bus I repeated again in my heart.

Grandfather's eyes grew even more glaring like they were stalking me. The thing is, no one cares about it. Even the fathers of temperament did not shift in the slightest to just offer him a seat even though he had to stumble.

Grandpa's hands tightly clasped the opelet handle to balance his body that was fluttering to and fro - not making him give up. He remained standing with his sharp, terrifying gaze.

I glanced at him with an angry and annoyed look. Then I looked away, enjoying the journey. I whistled in my heart until I felt a little calm. While leaning against my mother, followed by a long sigh. I exhaled through my mouth while smiling broadly at everyone who instantly looked at me in astonishment.

A few seconds later, there was a huge circular hole in the middle of the road as if it was driving away every vehicle that passed through it. But today no opelet or other vehicle is passing by other than this rusty opelet. Neither did the pedestrians. The road we walked down. Only the trees were waving quietly. Unmaintained bush. Everything looks different. This place is not a village, nor is it the earth. Totally foreign to my eyes.

The opelet driver lost control. That big hole is inevitable. One of the tires on the front was hit hard, followed by a whining sound under my feet.

“Please.!” My boating boys and talkative mothers screamed with their eyes tightly clenched. The baby in the front seat was crying. The brother in the white-red uniform grabbed the hair of the brother in a white-and-blue uniform, complaining of pain. The hats of the men in front of me fell on the bus floor. Head bald. The talkative mothers had unintentionally shouted, bald. He hurriedly took his hat.

Some things were thrown out. Paper and cloth fly like a butterfly losing one wing.

They tried to maintain their respective positions with their feet ready to save themselves from sudden, shocking situations.

"Dead you, dead!" Maki's mothers talk in front of me while clinging to the opelet seat. Two of my bouncing boys giggled softly.

The driver stopped the opelet, examined it for a moment. Passengers take care of their lost luggage and fly outside.

“Quick grab!” Two boys on my beach came out of an old opelet and chased a newspaper that floated in the wind. They jumped up and down with all their might, caught the newspaper and brought it into the old opelet with a smile of relief.

I remembered the elder chief sully glaring at me earlier. I was still upset and scared of him. My eyes wandered around the opelet, a little wary. I was astonished at myself who was busy being intelligence searching for the grandfather. I looked for her either out of fear of something happening to her, or because I was afraid that she would suddenly disappear and appear instantly in front of me, taking me away from my mother? But the truth is, I'm looking for her because I'm scared. Anticipations. I murmured in my heart.

“Why. What's the matter?" Ask the men in the hats. He was holding his hat.

The opelet driver looked confused. Repeatedly stomping his foot on the gas pedal. Old opelet moves slowly. The opelet driver clenched his legs again. Suddenly the opelet came to a halt instantly, its roar screeching until it was buzzing in my eardrum.

Kernet out, check opelet. His footsteps passed very quickly. His hands were tightly clenched, forming enlarged muscles. His hands appeared irregularly. Sweat dripped down the hardened red soil and large rocks.

We mute as we watch through the dull glass behind, left and right of the opelet. The kernet passed next to the dull glass, but all we saw was a glimmer of black shadow. The shadow is down.

"Berinsk. Long time he. Try the fast driver." Said the temperament gentlemen sitting in front of the opelet door. He almost moved, probably would spurn anyone who tried to mess up our trip.

The opelet driver opened the door, then followed to the back. From the dull glass we saw there were many black shadows approaching the opelet.

As the sound of creeping over the rocks, “Lari...!” The opelet driver shouted, shrinking.

All the panicked passengers did not get stuck. They are both old, young, children to babies, crying and screaming so on. My mother was shaking, she got up from her seat while carrying me.

“Woi...where's your brain!” Shouted the fathers of temperament. Two boys on my beach just pushed out through the opelet door, then ran as fast as they could.

My mom started looking for a way to get out of the old opelet. His hands and feet were ready for the door. Stand by waiting for the right time. Even a little grip tightly his hands never stretched. It made me feel like a thousand guards armed with tranquility.

Opelet is getting tossed. All the passengers panicked. The opelet door was very small, but they were scrambling to get out. Even forced themselves through the door. The temperament fathers were impatient, he hit a dull glass while out the window.

My mother headed to the old opelet door, footing on the ground like jumping over two steps. Without the ba-bi-bu, he ran all his might towards the way home. I was shaken very hard in his trunk.

The old opelet behind us got further and further by about a hundred meters. Suddenly my mother stopped her footsteps and pecked. My mother's eyes looked forward. I took a lot of trouble turning my head. In front of us there was a rampage of tens or even hundreds of prisoners who were chasing with old opelet passengers. They're spreading out into the woods. The fathers of temperament were helplessly beaten, shouted, pulled and surrounded. My mother didn't budge. I stared fixedly, in front of it; the old chief sula grandfather was standing relaxed with a big smile.

I looked up, looking at my mother's stiff face like I was about to say a few words. I'm starting to not calm down. His carriage instantly turned into chaos.

My mother's eyes are glazed. Clear, clean water came out from the end of his eyes. The water slowly descends to the chin, damming for a moment until it gets bigger. My eyes follow his movements. My mother was getting closer and closer to me who was still struggling in her arms. I could not dodge, the water from his eyes plunged straight into my face until it burst apart. I close my eyes tight.

“Build, son. Wake." A faint voice from another world resounded in my ear. My body shook the more violently. I opened my eyes, apparently riding on an old opelet, the smile of the elder sister and saw that the tantrums were just dreams. But the water that soaks my face is real.

Mother pulled my hand forcefully, "We're moving beds now." His insistence.

I staggered while wiping my face with a blanket. I sat in the middle room. Staring at the light in front of me that looked like a red flower. Dimmed. The light from our little lamp illuminated the cold darkness of the night. I heard the rhythm of the rain falling on the roof of the leaves.

Mom and Dad moved the bed. The mat made from the mendong leaves knitted by my mother's hand is torn and worn. It was the only mat that reliably protected us from the roughness of the plank floor. As well as three pillows containing used clothes, the average weight per pillow tastes almost one kilogram. If you throw a cat with the pillow, of course the mouse also stopped at the house next door, uncle's house. That's our pillow, a place to lay your head, and eliminate fatigue.

Mother spread out a mat on the stepped floor that sounded exactly like the sound of an opelet driver screaming in my dream. The board tiptoed following my mother's footsteps. Storing.

I moved my seat, approaching my father by the middle room door. Dad had just finished helping mom move her mosquito nets, blankets, and pillows. Father embraced and looked at me briefly while smiling bitterly. A smile that seemed to say, I'm sorry, son. Makes me think what's right about me so dad looks at me like that?

Dad turned his eyes towards the lamp. It was as if the flame of the lamp could comfort and obliterate all unpleasant smiles. My father's blink of an eye was as slow as holding back something he shouldn't have been able to stand.

The three of us looked at the lights of the lamps dancing in the wind that entered through the sidelines of the already fragile board walls. Almost all corners on the wall of the board there are gaps. Gap because there are not enough boards for this house, and honey beehive gap.

So engrossed in dancing, the fire extinguished. The whole house went dark. Dad moved me aside from his lap. He looked for a match in the kitchen. Walk like a blind man. Groping into the walls of the house.

"Awas, I can't see. Give me a way. Forgive me if you accidentally step on your feet or bump your head.” Dad chuckled shrinking as if giving warning lights in the darkness of the night.

After the lamp is lit, "Come, son!” Mom called me while patting a pillow that sounded like kicking a ball.

I walked slowly closer to my mother with slightly spoiled staggered footsteps. As if in a drunken state, I relaxed my body which was then warmly welcomed, and embraced calmly.

I lay down, looking up at the father who was supporting his head with his right hand.

I looked up at the ceiling of the house. The rain water increasingly penetrates the roof of the leaves in the room. The leaf roof in the living room also occasionally leaked; but as quickly as lightning father inserted the skull leaf between the roof.

My mother's hand was soft and affectionate. Gradually my body began to feel heavy, the hard pillow seemed to pull my head deeply.