Tuesdays at Ten

The Man in the Hat

Pria Bertopi

The lost-property office at Kyoto Station is in the basement, behind a long row of lockers, in a place most travellers only find once they have lost something. There is a counter there, a bell that nobody uses, and two chairs for people waiting, on which almost nobody ever waits. Behind the counter, shelves reach up to the ceiling, and on the shelves lies whatever the city forgets each day.

Bagian barang hilang Stasiun Kyoto terletak di lantai bawah tanah, di belakang deretan loker yang panjang, di tempat yang biasanya baru ditemukan penumpang setelah mereka kehilangan sesuatu. Di sana terdapat sebuah loket, sebuah lonceng yang tak pernah digunakan siapa pun, dan dua kursi tunggu yang hampir tak pernah diduduki. Di belakang loket berdiri rak-rak setinggi langit-langit, dan di rak-rak itu tergeletak apa pun yang dilupakan kota ini setiap hari.

Haruka Mori had worked at this counter for twenty-three years. She was fifty-two, wore her glasses on a thin chain and had a system that nobody but her fully understood. Gloves went to the left, keys into the small boxes under the window, umbrellas into the tall stands on the back wall, sorted by colour. Anyone looking for a black umbrella – and in Kyoto everyone was looking for a black umbrella – had to be patient.

Haruka Mori telah bekerja di loket itu selama dua puluh tiga tahun. Usianya lima puluh dua tahun, memakai kacamata dengan rantai tipis, dan memiliki sistem kerja yang tak sepenuhnya dipahami siapa pun kecuali dirinya sendiri. Sarung tangan ditaruh di sebelah kiri, kunci-kunci di kotak-kotak kecil di bawah jendela, payung-payung di wadah tinggi dekat dinding belakang, tersusun menurut warna. Siapa pun yang mencari payung hitam—dan di Kyoto semua orang mencari payung hitam—harus bersabar.