The Staircase
The attack of owls and fire ants

The sun has changed color to reddish orange, leaning towards the west. The crescent moon has also been bent from the east in place of the sun that will sink. We'll be home soon. I remained excited, holding tightly to the cars my father and mother had bought.

My legs are sore, my body is crumbling, my legs are tired too far. My spoon broke, I came home with my bare feet.

From far away our house looked creepy, dark, behind it were many towering trees. The stage house was rickety to the side. Still a little better uncle's house than ours. Uncle occupied his house four years earlier than us. Previously our house was inhabited by a Tibetan family. But now the Tibetan family has moved to the city. This afternoon, uncle was not at his house. The door looks locked with a padlock.

"Let's go in. It's not good the afternoon is still hanging around outside the house." Mother rebuked me who was busy playing cars in the yard.

I did not comment on my mother's reprimand - still fun playing cars. The tiredness I felt instantly disappeared. I finally entered the house after remembering the events of two years ago.

Right in the doorway where I was standing right now, I witnessed two strange things that haunted my mind to this very moment. If I remembered those two strange things, I would be afraid to be alone. My mother used to busy me with my fear. Want to *******did ask my mom. Even sleep must be accompanied. Unless I fall asleep, my mother leaves me, continuing her activities.

First. I was two years old and didn't know anything. In the afternoon, I lay under the doorway of the house. This door was once fenced in. Dad said let me not go out alone.

I often do it in the afternoon - leaning against the gate fence while looking at the yard, occasionally straightening the front view, imagining fun playing outside the house. Without me realizing my body suddenly felt stiff, silenced by two people in white clothes passing in front of our house. I wanted to scream to tell my mother who was cooking rice in the kitchen, but my mouth was hard to open. The two men in white clothes simply passed towards the road leading to the old grave, without turning their heads. They're walking very fast. About half a minute after the two men in white clothes passed, I was still silenced. My mother doesn't know about this. I never told him because I thought what I felt was just a nightmare even though I was sure I wasn't asleep. Adults don't believe everything a child says. They always say, maybe it's just your hallucination.

The old graveyard I'm referring to is quite far from our house, but it's one lane from the highway if you want to get to this house. There are many graves there. You could even say a collection of ancestral graves. The uncle said. He's been there, and knows more about everything that's ever happened in the house we live in today. Father and mother would have known it because uncle often talked to them when I still did not understand the language of adults at that time.

I was born and raised in this house. Said the father, three village midwives as well as helping my mother give birth at that time. Even my mother was barely saved when she gave birth to me.

This house is like being separated from the crowd. Naturally, because it used to be a rubber garden cottage, then made a residential house. Although the shape until now still not much different from the cottage, at least we can live in. Coincidentally it wasn't just us who lived here, there was still an uncle who occasionally made me feel a little calm, safe, and comfortable here.

Second one. Same age but on a different day. A large snake crept slowly in front of the door about two meters away from where I was standing at the moment, the place where my mother and I were joking at the time. Mom stood up, pulled my right hand back.

The snake came from the direction of uncle's house towards the bush beside our house. Mother chased away the snake by wagging her hands forward like pushing dirt on the bottom of the water while saying, don't disturb us. From then on I never again saw a snake pass in front of our house.

I continued playing the cars in the house while turning my mouth to imitate the sound of the car. I enjoyed every push of my right hand as it passed through the straight lines of our plank floor, as if a road dividing line. Straight lines formed due to the distance between the boards. If I step on the board, then the board at the end there is a scream, slightly up. The board is pliable, but fortunately does not break when stepped on. Except for my mother, she's been mired in broken boards. Precisely in the kitchen, many boards are weathered because they are often exposed to water.

"Quick shower. If you don't take a shower, I'll take your toy." I didn't speak to my mother, busy playing. "Look, yeah. Your son won't listen to me." This complaint is very powerful. I ran to my room, put my toys in a pile of clothes and took a towel.

"Mother lied, dad. I'm gonna take a shower now." Shouting as he headed for the water barrel in the kitchen.

Dad just chuckles softly. I know that I'm afraid of being scolded by you. Not that I'm not afraid of my mother. But that's how my mother let me obey her orders. Complaining to my father when my father is not angry and nagging like him.

Three centongs to wet the body, five centongs to clean the soap. That's the water-saving formula that dad and I use every day.

After dinner, without listening to the radio session because dad forgot to buy his battery - we slept in the room. It was quiet, just the noise of crickets. There was no routine of turning on the radio before going to bed, dad looked restless.

I keep the cars over my head. The cars were there that had broken the rear tire frame. I accidentally pushed too hard on the back of the car until the rear tire fell into the hole of the board, the sound, the krekk, broke. But I can still wear it.

"Pa used to go to school. Graduation of sixth grade Primary School. Not going to school because the school house is far away and there is no money to buy school supplies." Caressing my head while throwing away the rubber debris that was still attached. After the bath, my mother smeared my hair with coconut oil, she said so that my hair would not stick together anymore.

"In school we didn't dare to fight teachers, even meeting teachers we had to bow deeply, say excuse me. We are afraid of teachers. Their training is very hard. Wrong slightly hit with a wooden ruler. A slight storm is immediately thrown with chalk or a whiteboard eraser. We don't even have books or pencils. We write at a desk with chalk that our teachers share. One chalk for one pupil for a month. We went to school six times a week, but Dad often didn't come in because of being late, being sick, tired, roadblocks like rain, flooding and many other obstacles. The subjects at that time were more about counting. Without a calculator, we'd count with a coconut lid that's bolted and cut short." Dad told me non-stop.

"We are required to be able to count without tools and must remember each subject quickly. Because after writing numbers or letters on the table, we delete the writing so that there is room for the next material. We went to school on foot for an hour. Tracing the forest, sometimes in groups with peers, sometimes alone. There were no shoes at the time. We went to school barefoot. Not like it used to be, mom."

"Yes, yeah. School supplies are now widely sold in stores." Mom chimed in on dad's story.

"Well, that's it. Later if you are six years old you must be diligent school." Continue father. This means I'll be going to school for two more years. I don't feel like the rubber stuck in my hair has run out. My hair is not stiff anymore.

Not long after, we heard a strange sound behind our house. Mom and Dad were silent. The sound was getting closer and closer. It sounds, skin-to-skin, skin-to-skin, many times. There was a sound like a drum, but we were far from the crowd. The sound of the owl was earthy from the east, south, and I knew no more because of the sheer number of them. The strange sound was getting closer like it was perched on the roof of our house.

I woke up to the kitchen. Clik. The sound of kitchen door locks opened. "Run you. This is our house not a perch." The sound of throwing wood. Instantly the sound of such a diverse owl moved away and was silent.

Dad went back to the room. "What are you throwing?" Ask mother.

Fortunately it didn't rain tonight. "Tomorrow we're incising again, Dad?" I asked after Dad put his head on the pillow. I faced my father, my back to my mother. I hope you continue the story.

"No. Less water lately. The price goes down." Pulling blanket.

"Well, there's another story, isn't there?" I hugged my dad.

"We'll continue tomorrow, yes. It's night." It's night."

"Yes, yeah." Answer lethargic. It turns out that dad's story only throws owls.

Dad snored so hard I couldn't sleep hearing it. Every night my dad snores. Sometimes delirious, kicking and punching walls. I sat still, looking at the room. Straightening my gaze towards the ornamental fish that my uncle gave me, I kept in the living room.

"Why, son?" Ask mother.

"I can't sleep, ma'am. Daddy noisy. I want to see my fish there, ma'am." Almost out of bed.

"Don't it be night. Come here, sleep." Waving hand.

I went back to the hard pillow and the mat of leaves looked up, pulling my blanket up to the neck. Dad's still snoring. I forced my eyes, shut them tightly, hoping to fall asleep soon. For hours, my eyes finally clenched.

"Oh." I complained of pain while fumbling my left big toe which felt like it was being touched by fire, heat, pain and mixed with itching. I scratched it and felt something firmly stuck to the itchy skin. I picked it up and saw with the illumination of a makeshift lamp fire, it turned out to be the head of a fire ant.

"Mom. There's fire ants, ma'am." Wiggling my mother's torso behind me. I woke him who was asleep.

"Oh, quickly move into the living room." She was also bitten by a fire ant.

Dad woke up immediately. The three of us came out of the room like we touched a fire. Strike away from the fire ant colonies that have surrounded us. The room was filled with fire ants. There were creeping on the walls, on the floor, and on the mosquito nets. Fire ants crawling on the floor followed us to the doorstep of the room

Dad took the lamp. Opening the lid of the lamp whose fire is still burning, then turning kerosene from the bottle into his palm while sprinkling kerosene towards the fire ant colony. Sprinkle the kerosene many times.

I retreated backwards, looking at my ornamental fish while rubbing my still foggy eyes. One fish has died. Two more left because I haven't had time to feed him this past lunch.

"I forgot to smear this house pole with kerosene." Said Dad as if explaining why fire ants can enter the room.

It is usually before the night of father and mother around the house. He bowed to the poles while carrying a bottle of lamps. At first I thought they were reciting incantations for this house. Now I know the benefits of every afternoon routine that my father and mother did. It is appropriate that at every pole of our house be tied with cloth. The fabric does smell of kerosene. No wonder also the stock of kerosene one liter can only last one week. Because I thought, if only for one lamp at home, that one-liter kerosene can last two or even three weeks. The routine of smearing house poles with kerosene is wasteful. But this is what happens if you forget or do not grease it with kerosene.

Before the cock crowed, the fire ant had already returned to its habitat. The kerosene becomes a panacea weapon to repel fire ants. But unfortunately the kerosene was thrown away until little was left. I put the lamp back to where it was.

"All that, yeah?" Ask mom while looking at the room.

"There's one or two more tails." Answer me after confirming the room.

I sat in the living room, scratching my swollen big toe. Mom also occasionally scratches her feet. Then grease it with kerosene and also smear my feet until slowly it has improved.

After the chickens crowed, my mother and I went back to sleep in the room, which smelled like sleeping in a lamp bottle, smelling kerosene. The sound of the chicken was too short. Usually more than five times. But now it's just twice.

Dad sat in the living room, pensive. Not sleeping. I can sleep fast because there is no snoring.

The next morning, I was surprised by one more problem. "God. Until so strong they."

"Surely Ruyuk only crows twice." Reply father mentioned the name of his favorite chicken.

Ten of our chickens died being gnawed at by fire ants. Not including the newly hatched child. The fire ant left only one male and two females incubating its eggs.