The Staircase
Tibetan Pak Vegetable

Padded mattress like a polar opposite mangnet that pulls my body to bad luck. If it were not noisy out there bargaining between buyers and sellers, I might not have woken up until noon. My mother grew up not nagging, usually waking up late even though the clock on the wall pointed at the number seven; the mother was unceasingly nagging.

The first day of moving house made me awkward. In our old house, this afternoon if not incised, yes, play. But one hour lying on the bed and opening my eyes, I was getting lazy. I want to close my eyes again, go to sleep. The sound of plates clinking in the kitchen, I don't need to be sure, obviously it's my mother. But where is dad? I asked in my heart.

Class hike holidays. I remember third grade soon. In third grade there will be new people, new classes, new teachers, everything new, I'm not ready. But mom said my days would be nice if I enjoyed them. If I don't count the hours and dates every time I get bored, then counting the hours and dates will make me even more bored. Mom's right. A day at home was a dozen times I looked at the calendar and wall clock in the room. An hour feels a year. Whereas in our old house, one or even five hours felt very short. Even to this day, I feel like I'm still a first-class kid. Not rejecting the old, but it feels like just yesterday I went to school. I'm nine years old soon.

"Where's the father, ma'am?" This is the question of children to parents who are at home. If dad's at home, then mom's the one I asked. Conversely, if the mother is at home, then the father I ask. Although the answer, do not know, the question is as if a morning ritual or when new to the house that must be asked.

But this time the mother replied, "Father in the market." Since when are hobbyists in the market? My patriarchal nature is soaring, astonished. "Guardie." Mother continued. I nodded in understanding.

Mom said, I sell vegetables belonging to Tibetans at the market. Dad woke up early, dawn around four, even later if the holiday season could be the father of selling at three or even one. At the market at such hours people shop.

Uncle's right. Education does not determine the success of a person. Tibetans who did not finish Elementary School could care about my father who finished. Even when you wake up at dawn selling vegetables at the market, Tibetans may still be snoring in beds that are no less soft than our mattresses.

Remember the word uncle, I don't think I want to continue school. I want to be a Tibetan. Study business, manage the garden, seek experience. Especially moving house like this. Adapting to new people and new worlds will certainly make me difficult. In the past, I could confidently write with a book whose cover was pink. Later, I will be very embarrassed if faced with a rich boy whose book cover is famous and expensive.

"Where's dad's stall, ma'am?" Mom's busy packing up a house like a shipwreck. How not? This house is a mess. Platters and cups were scattered in the kitchen.

"Not far from this house. Dad's lap is the fifth row from the side of our house on the right" replied the mother while wiping the table.

I opened the door after washing my face and brushing my teeth, wearing a little torn shirt around my neck. I remember the Tibetan sir appearing simple, wearing flip-flops, hair ruffled, but the money was a lot. I want to imitate the style of the Tibetan sir. What is.

I caught up with Dad at the market. Counting in my heart every stall I pass. Until the count of four, in front of me my father was sitting waiting for a buyer. I came closer, making Dad surprised as if he woke up from his sleep. Dad seems to be holding back the sleepiness. Vegetables in the leftover father's field a little, the market is open until twelve, crowded back around three in the afternoon, meaning there are still a few hours to peddle vegetables at the father's field this afternoon.

"Remain here? Good to help your mom at home. I'll be home soon." Said Dad saw me get close to him.

"I want to learn to sell, Dad." Smile wide and confident.

"It's not easy, son. You see father from dawn until noon like this there is still no one who has not practiced. That means it takes patience, not to mention facing a chatty buyer. Scuff and wither just a little of the vegetables we sell, they are reluctant to buy it." Obviously dad, makes me think hard.

"How much is this, bang? There's a tie that's a little bigger no?" Ask prospective buyers at the father's stand. Big mothers with one daughter next to him, choose vegetables. Twirling the vegetables, I believe in the hearts of the mothers are giving an assessment. Not long after, the big-bodied mothers put the vegetable to its original place while sneering, dissatisfied.

"It's three hundred rupiahs one tie, if two tie five hundred rupiahs. Nothing is bigger, brother. We're all packed with the same bond." Answer me, start the promotion.

The mothers passed by without a sound, of course, no interest in buying vegetables at the father's stand. The mothers headed for another field at the end of there, lifted the same vegetable and then paid for it. I was disappointed to see it. Dad's face looked sad.

"Not to mention a lot of competition. You have to be patient if you want to sell." Then my father asked for his explanation earlier. I nodded flexibly.

Patient capital, I sure can. I cried in my heart. I stood beside Dad. Yelling as hard as possible to promote vegetables that have not been sold about three more vegetable ties. I said the vegetables you sell are taken from your own natural plantation, and of course healthy. Not long after a young pregnant mother came over, looking at the vegetables in the father's yard.

"I bought this one, yeah. How many?" Ask the young pregnant women. Dad immediately snatched, calling the same price as the big-bodied mothers earlier. Finally, the vegetable in the lapak father ludes. Young pregnant mothers buy dad's vegetables.

"There's still some vegetables, bang?" The big-bodied mothers asked again, the daughter was still trailing behind her.

I'm worried about the lap, "It's over, brother." Answer me, gently.

"Okay, the other stalls are all gone too." Word's weakening.

Big mothers do not get the vegetable part. It is fitting that he returned to my father's field, it turns out that in another field he did not find vegetables. Only one vegetable tie he can take home, this means the market needs more vegetable suppliers. Tibetans would be happy, not to mention the results of my father selling vegetables today quite a lot.

"This is what you've been doing every day since our house burned." It's worth it dad's rarely home, leaving at dawn, coming home at night. I get it now. This time I will not force my father to take my report card again, even if the compulsion is still not obeyed, but the look on the face of the father who seemed to feel guilty - I feel sinful. But there's a chance I'll quit school. I have mastered how to sell even if only a little.

My first day at the market was really fun. Especially when calculating the sales results with Tibetans.

That afternoon the Tibetan sir came to visit at home, bringing freshly harvested vegetables with his car. The car tub is almost full, various types of vegetables Tibetan pack bring; ferns, kale, yam leaves, spinach, mustard, even tomatoes, chili and a bunch of banana kepok there.

"Twenty percent for you. If you can sell some of this afternoon first, at dawn will sell everything. Don't forget to water it to keep it fresh." Tibetans split the sales. Dad got twenty percent of the total sales of two hundred thousand rupiah.

I'm glad I didn't stumble. After the Tibetans came home, my father divided the percentage of the vegetable sales to my mother. Twenty thousand rupiah he gave to the mother, twenty thousand rupiah again to buy rice and kitchen needs.

"For school. Next week the Tibetans bring a certificate of transferring schools." Answer father.

"I don't want to go to school, Dad. I'm just gonna sell. School is just a waste of money, mending money for us to pay rent or make a house."

"Son, are you sure selling on the market can last decades? What if there are more competitors? Or did the Tibetan sir fail the harvest? We can also consider if later this market becomes a modern market, the skills and experiences that we have added again without a diploma, we will be eliminated." Mother explained the possibility that could happen in the market. Dad nodded in agreement. I glanced at Dad as if asking for a defense.

"But says sales dads need patience, ma'am?" My objection. Dad brought his eyes.

"Patience is not enough without capital." Mother appealed to her presentation just now.

"You can help me after school, son." Dad chimed.

Dad got up from his seat, pulled the gunny sack from the doorway into the house. Arrange vegetables on a wooden shelf that is deliberately made to extend, watering the vegetable with water. Dad put some vegetable bundles in a plastic bag, then prepared to sell them again at the market.

"I'm coming, dad." Almost out of the seat. The carpet-lined cement floor was attached to my feet as if holding me back from going to the market.

Justright. Dad forbid me. "Ear afternoon. I sell until night. You at home just help your mom make fried bananas."

It's only fitting that the Tibetan sir brought a banana. Mom peels the banana in the kitchen. Stir the flour, add it with the concoction seasoning yourself. Start a fire in a gas stove. At first my mother was afraid to turn the tonjokan on the gas stove which was shaped like a radio volume player father last year. Mother ventured herself until finally the stove fire lit up. Similarly, when turning on the electric light, the mother was so afraid that she was surprised to see the entire room that was immediately bright as the day was already noon.

The lamp bottles we brought from our old house are now just sitting under the gas stove cabinet, no longer in use. Unless the lights go out, the new lamps are functionalized.

I helped my mom in the kitchen. The fried banana is dipped in hot oil, flipped over until cooked and then drained on a plate. Mother dipped the other banana in oil, turned around, astonished. The ripe banana, gone.

"It must be Aki." He said while looking for me in the middle room.

I'm embarrassed to be found out by my mom, huh. His mouth. Back to the kitchen again. Seeing the fried banana is already charred. I laughed out loud.

Eight o'clock in the night; me, father and mother gathered in the living room. A day selling vegetables at the market makes dad tired. Mother's fried banana dish seemed to pay for that tiredness.

"Well, these fried bananas are savory. It feels good too. Must be sold." Like a top judge, dad gave a satisfied assessment for mom's first homemade fried banana.

Indeed, if the taste problem can not be denied anymore. One hour I could spend three fried bananas at a time until the satiety. Mom smiled happily.

"Tomorrow at dawn I'll make it again. This is specifically for us, who knows there are less able to directly comment on it. I'll make something better. How much do you think it's worth?"

"If I think three hundred rupiah according to taste and capital." Answer father.

"It's five hundred rupiahs, yeah. It tastes better and better than other banana fritters." I made a positive comment. Even so, the father and mother felt too much.

"If such a price can not sell, son. A thousand was equivalent to two bowls of porridge. Buyers will choose two bowls of porridge rather than one fried banana. Buyers are like sellers. If we do not want our trade to lose, then the buyer also does not want the one he bought is not in accordance with the standard price of market competition." Straight dad. Market competition pricing standards? I wondered in my heart.

"The market has its standards, son. If the stall on the left sells vegetables five hundred rupiah per ikat, while the stall on the right one thousand rupiah per ikat. Where are you going to buy?" Ask dad.

"Left side, yeah. Cheaper than the right." Reply quickly.

"True, that's the standard price of market competition. We can sell at the same price, for example, one fried food is three hundred rupiah, there is also three hundred rupiah; but when people try to fry your mother, it is, they will think many times which fried foods are worth buying." Dad took off his coffee while chewing on a banana fritters. "If in terms of price we are the same, but in terms of quality, taste and service will certainly be considered by the buyer." Continue father.

Mother agreed. "What if the vegetables wither, yeah?" I asked to remember the buyers who did not go to the vegetable section this afternoon.

"Well, if it depends on the stock of vegetables in the market. If only we sell vegetables, then people will still buy our vegetables." Dad, relax.

"If there are many who sell vegetables, huh?"

"Don't be surprised if the vegetables we sell a lot that we will take home. That is why we need quality and service. But remember, if you want business, business, and working with people, you have to be able to lead yourself first." Fry the banana still left one on the plate. If only I hadn't been satisfied, I would have taken it from my father. "You must be able to control your emotions, review your potential, recognize your identity, and be able to distinguish what you need or want. Get along a lot with successful people, business people, entrepreneurs, and genuine workers." Three hours passed, father at length chatted with me until the fried banana ludes were not left.

"Have it, don't teach him to put in effort, it's good to think about how he can go to school. Sleep again. It's late at night." Mom was raising my curiosity.