The class became quiet. And there was Henny’s loud voice roaring.
“Poem without any title,” I became alarmed.
Then she continued,
Langkah kakiku semakin perlahan.
Tikas cahaya yang kupandang pun meredup.
God, is not that my poem for Ita, my class junior?. It felt like my ears were hot and red. There was no way she could memorize the poem. Especially reading it for the reclamation contest at school. I watched her more closely.
Ramai orang mengatakan.
Tumor yang bersemayam di tubuhku.
Sedih nian tak terkatakan.
Tengadah tangan memohon ampun padaNya.
God, Henny really memorized my poem for Ita without text. I have translated this poem in English at the previous chapter. I became annoyed, I immediately got out of the class with red face and hot ears. On the way to the house I thought, thought about what should I do with that my grating younger sister whether she came home later. It must be something very evil.
That afternoon, my mother was talking to mBak Ida. Mbak is a common call for older women or used as a form of homage. Together with her husband, mBak Ida was a new resident in our hutment. They occupied a house belonging to Mr. Nasikin across the street. At that time, mBak Ida was walking around holding her three-month-old baby.
“Get your son on the street seeing, mBak Ida?.”
“Yes Ma’am,” answered mBak Ida, smiling.
“What’s your son’s name?.”
“Boy or girl?,” asked my mother again.
“He’s a boy?,” mBak Ida answered. Smiling again.
“You must be happy!.”
Once again mBak Ida smiled at my mother. Then my mother continued her conversation with mBak Ida. My mother approached the baby Giovani which was in her mother’s arms. She stroked the stubborn baby’s head when tried to talk to him. The presence of baby Giovani in our environment makes me happy. Imagine, I got a friend, Javanese with an Italian name.