Twelve Rounds a Night

Daniel Osei knew Hollin Bridge the way other people know a song they have heard too often: not by thinking about it, but in his hands. Twelve rounds a night, eight years. The hump in the road outside the swimming baths that made the whole bus sigh. The traffic light by the town hall that stayed red for ninety seconds even when there was nobody within a mile. The fox that crossed Mill Road at twenty past one, every night, with the air of someone late for an appointment.

Daniel Osei mengenal Hollin Bridge seperti orang lain mengenal lagu yang terlampau sering mereka dengar: bukan dengan memikirkannya, melainkan di jemarinya. Dua belas putaran semalam, delapan tahun. Polisi tidur di jalan luar pemandian umum yang membuat seluruh badan bus mendesah. Lampu lalu lintas di dekat balai kota yang terus menyala merah selama sembilan puluh detik bahkan saat tak seorang pun berada dalam jarak satu mil. Rubah yang menyeberangi Mill Road pada pukul satu lewat dua puluh, setiap malam, dengan lagak seseorang yang terlambat untuk suatu janji temu.

He knew his passengers too. Not their names, mostly, but their shapes. The nurses going home from the late shift, who slept with their heads against the window and woke exactly at their stops as if an alarm had gone off inside them. The cleaners going in. The lonely ones who rode the whole route twice because the bus was warm and the driver said hello. Once, for a month, a very old man who got on at the hospital every night at two and got off at the cemetery gates, and then one night did not get on any more.

Ia juga mengenal para penumpangnya. Sebagian besar bukan nama mereka, melainkan sosok tubuh mereka. Para perawat yang pulang dari giliran kerja larut, yang tidur dengan kepala menempel di jendela dan terbangun tepat di halte mereka seolah-olah sebuah weker berbunyi di dalam diri mereka. Para petugas kebersihan yang berangkat kerja. Orang-orang kesepian yang menempuh seluruh rute sebanyak dua kali karena busnya hangat dan sang pengemudi menyapa ramah. Pernah, selama sebulan, seorang pria yang amat tua yang naik di rumah sakit setiap malam pada pukul dua dan turun di gerbang pemakaman, lalu pada suatu malam tidak pernah naik lagi.

That was the thing about the night, Daniel had found. People were more honest in it. Whatever they were carrying, they carried it more openly at three in the morning, as though the dark gave them permission. He had chosen the night shift eight years ago so that he could see Grace in the afternoons. He had stayed on it, he sometimes suspected, because in the daylight he had never been sure what to do with himself, and in the dark he always knew. Drive. Stop. Open the doors. Say hello.

Itulah hal menarik tentang malam, menurut Daniel. Orang-orang lebih jujur di dalamnya. Apa pun yang mereka bawa, mereka membawanya secara lebih terbuka pada pukul tiga pagi, seolah-olah kegelapan memberi mereka izin. Ia telah memilih giliran kerja malam delapan tahun lalu agar bisa bertemu Grace di sore hari. Ia bertahan di situ, kadang ia menduga, karena di siang hari ia tidak pernah yakin harus berbuat apa dengan dirinya sendiri, sedangkan di dalam kegelapan ia selalu tahu. Kemudikan. Berhenti. Buka pintu. Sapa orang.