People
CALLED me atheist. I just got a lot of god, one of them like a morning coffee
on the terrace of the house. Want to know who is god? That is you. Hey, why
surprised? Don’t you like I call you god? Don’t you stronger than anyone, and
strongest is god. Personally, I would rather if god is you. For me, the other
just nonsense! How could god ask to be worshiped? Did that I who should be
aware to worship god, didn’t I? That's what I like about you.
But, I’m only human. Who always
using common sense when I thinking, not just admit that you are god of all gods,
there should be research on it, arguments and clear references. There is thesis
evidence that strengthen god who likes to drink coffee on the porch of my house
is a god. So, every day I gave poison in the coffee, bitter coffee that you
like most. However, you never die.
”Bitter
taste must be owned by anyone. Never shy away from a bitter taste, because bitter
is medicine. Hahahahaha ...," you said.
That is what you always said when
take a sip of the bitter coffee I made you. Now, I know why the poison in the
coffee neutral, because the bitterness. And I like you more.
My eyes on the sky-blue color illustrated how
close the distance. Yes, the distance between the earth and the sky. Recently,
many people are planning to stay on Mars, chemist, physicist, mathematician,
biologist are working together to make a big deal that the huge gas is feasible
to inhabited by humans. Perhaps this is what smart human proud of, that
everything can be measured.
“No question today?” you ask,
breaking my mind.
I shook my head and then sit down next to you
who sipping coffee, melodious voice in the ear. After that, you take a piece of
cigarette and then turn it on. The smoke is billowing from your mouth into the
sky and turned into clouds. Just like that, nothing is very difficult for you
to create something.
“Comfortable, isn’t it? In here…
cool. You such a smart person to found a great place for house, hahaha...”
“I’m just looking for quiet place to
think.”
“Thinking? What a serious…”
“Hey? Human should thinking, because
if human thinking they are real?”
“Don’t need to think...you still be
exist. Hahaha....”
I’m
looking at you—while you are sitting with comfort on the rocking chair,
swinging as the life need to swing, to make a balance, between up and down then
created a pleasure in that swing.
“Have you finished your short
story?” you asked.
“Not yet...I’m stuck on the
storyline,” I answered.
“Don’t make it hard.”
“Uhmm…I want to send it to the
newspaper then the editor selects it.”
“Hahahaha…Why should expect chosen?
Good story is not being selected but remembered forever. So don’t have to make
too nice storyline, simple ..."
“I’ll don’t have money if it’s not
accepted, right?”
“Money? Hahahaha… Money….Money…
Money… hahahahaha…. What a pulp head! Hahahahaha…”
You
move from the rocking chair, and then walk up to the sky, as there is a ladder
that connects earth and the sky, your voice still echoed in my ears. That is,
you come and go as you want, the way you speak also digress, who is say people
don’t need money? Money could be everything! Prayers need money too, what a
silly god! Then I step into the house, sitting at my work desk. Turn on the
computer, and start typing a short story, to sending to Kompas, who knows it
accepted. Big salary! Then I throw money to the face of god. Let he know the
feeling.
***
It’s been days, god refused to show
his face in my porch. In fact I just finished my short story, a task from god.
Somehow there is a feeling of longing to hear his laugh, hearing sound of he
take a sip of the coffee and discuss with him. I suddenly feel the need, of you
god. However, at this time my lord is you. So, I have to ask for approval for
what would I do, including sending this short story to Kompas.
I
paced in the porch of the house, restless heart waiting for god's presence.
Looks like human are never separated from the interference of god, but
strangely I feel the need of god today. When I'm in dire need of enlightenment,
when need money for my life. If you agree this short story sent to Kompas, I'm
sure it will immediately be accepted, because you're a god, only say kunfayakun. I have the money.
But god isn’t shown up yet. How if god is
dead? Yes, you definitely die because the poisons that I put in your bitter
coffee are high doses, who know it react in the next few days? Ouch, I’m sinful
because I was killed a god. Your worshipers must be angry at me, even worse
protested and tell me to move out from this house, the house that I have built
with sweat and blood.
“Khairil! Why do you still paced?”
Seno asked.
“Waiting for God,” I answered.
“Oh my Goodness… Crazy kid!”
After that, is silent—my eyes stared
around, only emptiness. Then my eyes on the sky, blue just like before. Clotted
clouds there, white marched as give some news about your death.
***
The
violin’s sounds playing in my ears that night. I feel my body is filled by the
soul. It looks like it was a violin sound’s soul looking for bodies. They are
flying and fill anyone's body, I become someone else. Hear, see and feel the
suffering souls. Apparently, not all melodious voice has a beautiful form. Even
the common suffering is coming from melodious voices. That is always say hope,
promise and believed to be religious.
Do I have a religion? Supposedly, that religion is not a science, because
religion is not science even though there is a science of religion.
Although human beings learn, but religion is a belief, and belief can be true
without knowledge, one's faith will continue to grow, but the more
knowledgeable person doesn’t warrant conviction grow stronger, even more
fragile.
The violin’s tones getting louder,
souls continue jumping, running for the body. I don’t know which is required in
advance, the soul or the body? All I know, the body will not moving if not
driven by soul, and the soul will not intangible anything without the body. The
violinist is understands how to move the soul so the sound of the violin become
relaxing, helper for deserted bodies.
The
tones which are intangible soul are something that is needed, is that god all
we need? Needs would be owned by the strong or weak, needs to stand alone. He
is a requirement for all his people. Yes, my lord now is him.
Suddenly the violin’s sound is
stopped.
“I have no progress!”
“Such a bad play! Yanusa. Don’t play
Gundul-gundul pacul please!”
“Oh man… there’s nothing to do with
it you know! Hmmm… Let’s Seno knows about this, how about that Gus?”
“Will he care or not?!”
“We’ll see! Hey, ought we to bring
Khairil’s short story?”
“No.”
The sound of the violin is not heard
anymore, I alone looked at my body without a soul in front of the mirror.
Waiting for god, to give all my needs!
***
A cup of black coffee for god still
there on the table, I don’t dare to drink, as well as people who are here.
Never dared to touch it! Because god is very sensitive! Very irritable if his
pleasure is disturbed. Yes, gods. They always have a personal pleasure for
those who want the pleasure of it. Everyone is tempted to have the pleasure of gods,
vying with each other, fight each other and slander each other, again...again...and
again.
People obsessed to be free after
having those pleasures, as if their life is for freedom, and freedom is the
highest authority for them. But I think, no one is free here, because when they say as a free man, in fact
they are bound by the mind.
My
eyes always looked up to the sky, waiting for you, him, god or whoever. I don’t
really care, because now my job is completed, make a short story to be
discussed, isn’t very beautiful if a task carried out by the sense of
responsibility? Likewise, god-given task!
“Khairil… Khairil… too ambitious to
make your short story accepted until you get mental illness like this.” Seno
put down the Kompas letter on desk and leaving the Mental Illness Hospital.
I stared at him who walks far and
far, he wearing cowboy hat, getting to Yanusa and Gus at the gate, then leave
to somewhere I don’t know. Sunday Kompas newsletter still next to a cup of
bitter coffee, my hand slowly reached it. But, there’s another hand grabbed it
first, I’m shocked.
“Hahahahaha…. So this is your short story?” ask god, then
sit down and read it.
 |
| Nana Sastrawan |
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