My fingers joined in the dancing and unraveling the bamboo pieces that I was making into a lukah. Lukah that I curvedsss to organize and continue the day. Lukah I made it from rattan rod or the reed I made and tied up to form an object that represents a hope for my future. Lukah has size of one meter with the center line 20 centimeters. At the end of the Lukah, there is a hole called injap like a horse’s neck to allow fish to enter where there is a pointy, sharp rattan blade. I live around the bamboo heaps and the rustling of the river that has become my day’s keeper with my mother and sister. The friction of bamboo rhythm always raises the harmony of the tone of anxiety underwent a clink of time. As I danced my fingers stringing bamboo, my eyes always looked at an old Lukah that always hung on my old house’s bamboo wall. A message from our mother that always we keep about the old Lukah.
“Do not you touch, even you move it. If you do that, you do not care about me, ” said emak.
I always ask why the message should be obeyed. Our mother usually silent while looking at the old Lukah. The messages for us as a testament that always fences our behavior not to touch and move the always-hanging piece of it. A story flows on the lips of emak who have begun to lose its red color as the heavy time passes through.
“It becomes the last legacy of your abah (red: father). Abah was always excited about fishing in the river for our daily meals. Abah died dragged by the current during heavy rain and his corpse was found while hugging the lukah. ”
Mother gets more frail with the teardrops that moisten her frail cheeks. Usually when she stopped crying, she will sit for long while looking at the lukah accompanied by silence. My brother and I do not dare and do not want to disturb the mother who was enjoying a piece of memories with him.
I understand why she loves very much the dull painting that began to be dull at eating age. Every guest who came was always amazed and wanted the painting hanging on the wall. I can only say, “It’s a relic of the deceased abah, if you want me to make the exact same as the painting, I will do with pleasure.”
But it always creates a special attraction for those who come in and they always say it is not the same thing that I have made even as closely as possible with that hanging on the wall.
“It’s like a force that always makes us want to keep looking at and have it.” That is the praise I always hear and emak with her decisiveness refuses anyone who wants to own it.
“Nobody I will let touch it, even have it,” said emak.
I am always amazed every time when the full moon, the hanging painting never sticks to the wall. Firstly, I do not too concerned. But in every next full moon round, it is always not in the place. Curiosity prompted me to investigate. I was surprised when I saw Emak brings the old painting into the room and I heard slowly emak is calling for a voice softly. Sounded faintly in my ears. I put my ears on the wall of the room adjacent to the room of emak. Slowly, in order not to sound rowdy considering the walls of my room made of bamboo that will easily be thrilled when touched. Silence with the sound of night insects. The novelty bursts when I hear a repetitious word from emak.
”Abah … abah … abah …”
I can only imagine the longing that is so quiet out of Emak’s mouth. When I have mentioned the name repeatedly I feel the same longing. Looking back to the days when he taught me to make a painting, put on a painting, and take care of a painting. I so remember the message of abah to make the painting not merely as an inanimate object.
“You will feel why the fish in the river will come to our paintings if you take care of the painting with the hope that the fish will come to this painting. Give it a touch of love, kid. “I always remembered the message.
“I understand why the painting is so meaningful to my mother,” I quietly leave my mother with her longing call on abah.
Since that incident I slowly began to forget the usual painting is always hanging on the wall. Again I played my fingers stringing bamboo to make better paintings. I learned from experienced people how to make a better painting. My spirits produced many people’s ordered fishes for fishing. However, it becomes disturbed again when the river at the end of our village which is used to be a source of income to get fish to be reduced. There always painting mounted not produce many fishes.
“Do we have to do the tradition of painting?” As I heard from old people who used to hang out while enjoying coffee at the diner.
I still remember when abah still alive always use the painting that is currently hanging on the wall is used for the tradition of painting. It remains in my mind how the painting looks so solid and has always been a compliment to the villagers.
Tradition of the usual painting held in my village became a piece of my memories with abah and lukah. The tradition I always look forward to see with my friends because of the crowd. A tradition that is not just a ritual but has become an ever-anticipated game. A game involves at least three adult males. It takes a size of about a meter of painting with sarong or used clothes like a puppet in the middle of a field. Beginning with the burning of incense and incense by the black-clad handler. Accompanied by drum and drum blows, the handler starts with smoky-wipe the painting. I heard a rhyme that I memorized every time I followed this game.
”Ilek langkah mudik langkah.
Jumpe bemban betali-tali.
Bukan mudah perkare mudah.
Tengok lukah pandai menari”
The story of the hanging abah has become the subject of conversation in every corner of the village. Somebody is sure who can have that painting will always get a lot of fish if we put it in the river.
”Kindly ask your mother, maybe the painting (red: abah’s) can hook fishes to come to us.”
I’m in a good pull to try to catch the fish with the painting or forget it due to message of emak. I stare at the bed. Staring at the lights of the moonlight coming through my bamboo wall. Between breaking the orders of emak or fulfilling the wishes of the villagers to bring the fish by using the painting of abah.
My confuseness brings myself face to face with the paint hanging on the wall. Twilight yelled by night. I looked at the painting in the shadows. I have decided on the one thing I prepared to pay for. The skeptic doubts my mind attempted to shed by imagining the fishing of the fish under the long-lost hood. I still remember my sister’s wishes that once said, “When will we eat fish again? My sister really wants to”. Our mother could not say a word, I know she wanted to express the same desire with my sister. I already understand the language of tears of emak. I still remember when abah finished to catch the fish, emak will be happy to cook the fish into spicy acid, our favorite foods.
I searched the banks of the river I used to walk. I put the painting on the river side with a big hope. The drama of silence on the edge of the forest and the rustling of the river made me fall asleep for a moment. In my sleeping, abah is giving smile to me. A smile that always longs for me. I woke up from this longing when the gentle rhythm of the river became chaotic. I approach the painting that turns out dozens of fish scramble to get out of the mouth of the painting. Immediately I pulled the painting and I am so happy to see dozens of fish that have long not come to the other paintings.
“This is my dream meaning. Is this from you (fishes), abah? ”
I am increasingly convinced that this painting is already familiar with the river environment here, so that the fish would gladly drop in and play around for a while in the painting.
I followed the moon’s shadow toward my bamboo house. An awesomeness in my imagination imagined a smile and my sister saw a fish that had not been a daily dish. Happy steps that have been striving to bring the fish stomping when a call is deafening.
“You have not obeyed me!”
I was surprised to be struck by prolonged when the falling painting from my hand was forcibly seized. The atmosphere became silent at the same time the silence of the nightly insects that frightened the shouts of emak that rarely heard.
My mother brings the painting to the room and immediately slams the door. My ears were clogged with the door slams.
“What’s up bang?” My sister came out of the room looking around questioningly. I could not bring myself a word to answer my sister’s question.
My heart stops taking me to sleep. The night gets thicker. Clouds intertwined to form a stifling blob. A lightning is joined by another lightning. Rain is like just spilled on my house. The ordinary roof of rumbia able to withstand the rain attack is now torn apart with water that forms droplets from various sides. The ground floor of my bamboo house became muddy everywhere. A shout I heard from my sister’s room.
”Emakkkk….!!”
I went over to my trembling sister in front of the open door of my mother room.
“No mother in her room, bang?!” asked by my sister.
I’m confused by this unfamiliarity. My mind went straight through the memory labyrinth repeating the words she once delivered.
“Your father died while hugging the painting on the river.”
The roar of the rain and the thunder of lightning and the cries and cry of my sister. I am desperate and follow the whisper of my heart.
“I have to go there.”
I just follow the voices of the heart that tell me to go there soon. No rain and lightning. I brought this guilt and sin to meet my mother. My screams burst into a strong wind but I still screamed. At the end of the river I saw the body of emak embracing the painting watered by rain. My guilt evaporated and hugged her frail body. I rocked and felt stiff and frozen.
“Emakkkkk ….. forgive me emakkk.”
Bambang Kariyawan Ys., a teacher. WA: 08117595971.