Bisera (Part Two)

I rarely speak with Mr. Henky anyway. I mostly dealt with Bambang and Bisera. Mr. Henky often going out of the country. Usually to Kuala Lumpur or Singapore. Sometimes accompanied by Mrs. Rini, his wife from Sampang. Mr. Henky’s wife was very georgeous, grace and pretty. She had her own business on Matraman region. As a civil engineer from Bandung Institute of Technology, she had a construction business with several of her companions. I happen to know that the construction business was named PT Inti Perkasa Delta.

Sometimes Mrs. Rini come to our company’s building. She brought dishes from the restaurant for all the employees here. Sometimes I had got it, but sometimes I missed as well. There are thirty-six employees in PT Delta Central Perkasa.

Mrs. Rini had about the same age with me. Whether she graduated from Department of Civil Engineering at the Bandung Institute of Technology, then I graduated from the Department of Mechanical Engineering, University of Gadjah Mada. My university located on Yogyakarta. But I was not so close with Mrs. Rini. I deliberately kept our distance as well. I did not want to fall in love with her. How ridiculous if you fell in love with your boss’s wife, didn’t you?.

“Let’s go,” Bisera commanded me. She brought her beloved laptop.

“All right,” I replied, “But I’ll say goodbye to Mr. Bambang first.”

“Bambang went to Singapore.”

“Oh, for what matters?” I asked.

“Come on, let’s go, it’s none of your business anyway”

I followed behind her. Bisera walked with grace and confidence. Her chin slightly raised upwards. Having simple makeup but interesting. Her lips was so natural with a thin sweep of lip-gloss. Actually, this girl was pretty enough, I thought. But her grumpy was like a kind of devil.

We went down the stairs to get to the court office. When we got there, Mr. Sonny, one of the company’s driver who managed to fetch the staff already heat up the car. A diesel-powered Suzuki Panther. The car seemed well maintained. For a company engaged in our field, the impression on the customer was extremely important. For that reason, our performance should be kept outstanding on front of them. Including the performance of the car that drove us.

(pict by Astungkara Wiguna)

“Sepur Tumbuk’s” Driver (Part One)

Chapter I

“Sepur Tumbuk’s” Driver

My mother hooking my red shorts rights carefully, then put a short-sleeved shirt over my sweatshirts. That’s my first uniform. My mother had sewed that shirt and pants herself with a sewing machine my father had bought , several days after their wedding. The shorts was dark red and my shirt had white based color with flowered with batik motifs matching with my pants. The smell of the wax was still adequate from the shirt.

“I don’t want to go to school,” I said to my mother.

“Why?,” she asked.

“My goal right into sepur tumbuk driver,” I replied.

“And sepur tumbuk driver does not need school.”

“As mother said,” I continued.

Sepur tumbuk is a term introduced by my mother to the heavy equipment used to surface on the work of transportation civil engineering. At the time the road in front of my parents rented house being paved. I often watched the cylinder back and fort the street to harden it. I admire the cylinder. What a dashing riding it.

“Yes,” she replied patiently.

“To be the driver of sepur tumbuk does not need to go to school,” she continued.

Then she took my hand and led me to the first school. Kindergarten Laboratorium IKIP Malang in Jalan Simpang Bogor Malang. To get to the school my mother asked for help on pedicab driver. IKIP Malang was the former name of UM. UM stands for Universitas Negeri Malang, a state university on East Java.

Mother covered my brothers’ face with jarik she used to carry. Jarik is a sheet of batik, it also could be used to hold a baby besides its primary function to cover lower part of the body. My brother fell asleep in my mother’s arms. She also holding my sisters’ arm, and was pregnant fourth sister. Already completed her suffering, she was pregnant, hold and holding. Fitting is a term used by neighboring countries for the maternity hospital in Indonesia. For the same purpose they use the term Rumah Sakit Korban Lelaki or in Bahasa means Male Victims Hospital. And it’s absolutely true.

After locking all the doors and windows of our rented house, my mother then took all her care to the junction near my house to meet rickshaw driver.

“We want to go to Jalan Simpang Bogor, Sir”, she said in a rickshaw driver who was lying on his pedicab. The man was immediately rose from his sleep and fix a tattered hat perched on his head.

“Yes Ma’am, please.”

“How much?,” Asked my mother to the rickshaw fare which will delivered us.

My mother was not a fussy person whith any bid, then after a brief conversation with the pedicab drivers, we immediately boarded his rickshaw down all the way to Jalan Simpang Bogor, my first school.

(to be continued)

pict by Iwan J Prasetyo