The Virgin Corpse Assignment
Section 74
...THE VIRGIN CORPSE...
...Author by: David Khanz...
...Section 74...
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“Don't ask much! Just apply it on your wound!”
“I mean .. this wound on my waist, Ki,” the czech man explained. “As I recall, this wound does not yet exist.”
Ki Jarok did not answer clearly. He just said without wanting to look back at the look in Basri's eyes that looked still confused, “There are many things that you do not understand about the magical world, Young Man. Later, sooner or later you will know.”
“Indeed, Ki. Including the figure of Sukaesih last night there.”
“Huh, that's again what you're talking about!”
“If only Sukaesih was really alive, then ... whose grave did I dig, Ki? Is it really the cemetery of Sukaesih? Then why is he now in another realm?”
Ki Jarok glared.
“I want to eat first,” said the old man while getting up and rushing out of the hut. “If you intend to go home, return to your home now.”
“Ki! Aki has not answered my question!”
The old shaman didn't budge.
‘Ah, dammit!’ rutuk Basri is upset. ‘He won't answer. Did she really not know or was there something she deliberately did not want to reveal to me? But ...’ He did not continue his murmur. For a moment this man's eyes hit something lying on the pottery. Exactly where Ki Jarok was sitting. ‘What is this?’ The collection of the object, then carefully considered. ‘Tear of fabric ...’ murmured Basri, then trying to think and remember. ‘There are many types and patterns of fabrics like this. One of them is owned by Lastri. Then ... Why is it here? What does Ki Jarok have to do with this rag tear? Was it precisely him who brought her here?’
Quickly Basri put the torn cloth into the pocket of his dumpling. Then try to be calm, as if you never found anything there.
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That afternoon, Mbah Jarwo seemed to be sitting casually in front of the house after returning from the garden. Carrying a little fruit hands in the form of a few cassava stems, the results of the plant a few months ago.
“Prepare hot water, Mom,” said the old man before stepping outside to look for a fresh breeze, on his wife Emak Sari. “Today, Sarkim will come to home.”
“You're talking about a problem, sir? Still about the demolition of Sukaesih's grave?” mother Sari asked with a sharp look. “Still not finished too, huh? Keep the business of the same Mr Sadam before, how?”
“Indeed why is it?” He asked Mbah Jarwo. “I'm the Head of the Village, Mom. It is appropriate to take part in dealing with things that happen in the community of Sirnagalih.”
“Continue the result?”
The old man was confused to answer.
“Already, Sir,” added Emak Sari back. “Forget it. After all, Juragan Juanda himself has forgotten the problem, ‘kan? Better, Mr. urucin tuh our son, the Abas.”
“Basri?” Suddenly Mbah Jarwo so remembered the figure of the child alone puppet.
“Iya, who else?” Sari's mother still looked at her husband deeply. “Try to reconcile with the child, sir. He's our only child, you know. We're both, now, both old. Who else will receive the wealth of our rice fields and gardens, except him.”
“Try ... give him a little capital,” added Emak Sari continued his speech earlier, “so he has his own business. We must not leave Elas with our grandchildren. That's right, Mr.”
“I-iya, Mom. Later I think that,” reply Mbah Jarwo just wanted to let Mother Sari no longer talk about it.
“Call from now, when else, sir? Inget, you know, that age no one knows.”
“I-iya, we will discuss that again later yes, Mom,” the old man later said. “Now, I'm ready just hot water to make coffee. Sarkim is coming soon. Today I asked him to do.”
Sari's mother pouted, then said, “Ah, This father. Every time I talk to you about a child, you're trying to stay up. Discuss this ... discuss that .. kayak there is no more important business, other than about our son, the Abas.”
Mbah Jarwo took a deep breath for a moment, then chimed in, “Iya, Mom. Last ‘kkan I have spoken, the matter of Abas later we continue the chat. Now I have other business first with Sarkim.”
“Sarkim again ... Sarkim again,” ruk Emak Sari upset. “Keep about the Abas when?”
Mbah Jarwo snorted loudly.
“Bu, last few months yesterday we ngunjungin them, I saw for myself ‘kan how our son's life is? According to Lastri, Abas now has a good job. Gajinya. Proven ‘kan, at his home now already have good items. Then again boro-boro.”
“Iya, Sir. But ‘kan still have to leave behind our grandchildren, you know. Pity Iyan and Iyam. What if suddenly there is nothing ama them, while the Abas again is not at home?”
“Mom thinks it's too far away and crap, sih.”
“Not to mention, Sir,” timpal Emak Sari do not want to lose. “Yaaa .. reasonable dong as parents, we worry about them.”
“Lha yes. Rightly so. That is why there is so much prayer. That's enough, kok.”
“Kalo about prayer anyway, don't worry, Paaakkk! I always knock them out all the time. But the problem is, Mr. same Abas who belom can make peace. Try sometimes we who are losing for the sake of the child. That Abas is no one else, sir. He's our only child.”
“That said Abas was someone else's son, who?”
“Dih, This Father. He was asked to talk even ngawur.”
“Already, later we continue this chat,”, Mbah Jarwo said trying to divert the conversation. “Now fast there ready for hot water. Attend the hunt dateng the Sarkim, the coffee belom ready.”
“This father ...” Sari's mother is getting sullen. Piqued. “Ya, already. Take care of yourself, Sarkim. Care about her. Don't think about our son anymore.”
“Be careful, Mom, the words of parents with their children can be a prayer,” Mbah Jarwo reminded.
“Lah the Father himself talked laen-laen about the Abas.”
“Laen-laen what? I didn't mention Abas's ugliness. Ija nyerocos himself not karu-karuan.” The atmosphere is getting heated. Mbah Jarwo's haste to dodge. “Already, ah. Don't talk about nothing. It will be a storm again. Shame, Mom, we're old.”
“Bapak himself who fussed. Same kid himself just don't want to give.”
“Yes, Allah ... Ma! Istighfar!”
...SERIATE...