Si Tukang Pos

Lima belas hari untuk menemukan sebuah nama, dan satu ide: siapa pun yang mengantar jawaban-jawaban itu pasti sudah ada di alun-alun sebelum pukul delapan.

Fifteen days to find a name, and one idea: whoever brought the answers had to be out on the square before eight.

Jadi pada hari Selasa, tanggal delapan Desember, saya bangun pukul lima.

So on Tuesday the eighth of December I got up at five.

Alarm ponsel saya tidak membangunkan saya. Saya tertidur terus, jadi saya juga menyetel jam weker tua dari masa kecil saya, yang punya dua lonceng di atasnya, yang saya temukan di laci meja saya. Bunyinya seperti alarm kebakaran. Di seberang lorong, Karim berteriak sesuatu yang kasar dalam bahasa Arab. Saya berpakaian dalam gelap: dua sweter, mantel cokelat muda saya, syal hijau kebiruan saya, dan sepasang sepatu bot tua milik ayah saya, yang kebesaran dan sangat hangat.

My phone alarm didn’t wake me. I had slept through it, so I had set the old alarm clock from my childhood too, the one with two bells on top, which I found in my desk drawer. It rang like a fire alarm. Across the landing, Karim shouted something rude in Arabic. I got dressed in the dark: two jumpers, my camel coat, my teal scarf, and a pair of my father’s old boots, which were too big and very warm.

Alun-alun pada pukul setengah enam pagi adalah tempat yang berbeda. Gelap, kebiruan, dan sunyi sekali. Salju sudah berhenti semalam, dan salju baru terhampar halus dan bersih di atas segalanya: tangga, pondok-pondok pasar, atap-atap mobil. Lampu-lampu di pondok mati. Hanya satu jendela yang menyala, jendela toko ayah saya, karena mobil roti datang pukul lima, dan ayah saya selalu ada di sana untuk menyambutnya.

The square at half past five in the morning was a different place. It was dark and blue and completely quiet. The snow had stopped in the night, and the new snow lay smooth and clean over everything: the steps, the market huts, the roofs of the cars. The lights on the huts were off. Only one window was lit, the window of my father’s shop, because the bakery van comes at five, and my father is always there to meet it.

Saya duduk di halte bus di ujung atas alun-alun, dekat gereja. Dari sana saya bisa melihat hampir semua pintu. Saya membawa kopi dalam gelas kertas dari toko, kedua tangan saya memeluknya, dan buku catatan saya ada di lutut. Saya merasa seperti detektif dalam film lama. Saya juga merasa dingin sekali.

I sat in the bus shelter at the top of the square, by the church. From there I could see almost every door. I had a coffee in a paper cup from the shop, and my hands round it, and my notebook on my knee. I felt like a detective in an old film. I also felt very cold.

Pukul enam kurang sepuluh, sebuah lampu menyala di rumah di sebelah kiri. Pukul enam, lonceng gereja berbunyi sekali. Pukul enam lewat lima menit, seorang laki-laki berjalan masuk ke alun-alun dari jalan di belakang gereja.

At ten to six, a light came on in a house on the left. At six, the church bell rang once. At five past six, a man walked into the square from the street behind the church.

Dia memakai jaket merah dan membawa tas besar yang disandang di dadanya. Seorang tukang pos. Dia berjalan cepat, dengan langkah panjang, dan bersiul menyanyikan sesuatu. Lagu Natal, dengan nada yang kurang tepat. Dia pergi ke rumah pertama di sebelah kiri, mengambil setumpuk surat dari tasnya, dan memasukkannya lewat lubang surat. Lalu rumah berikutnya. Lalu rumah berikutnya lagi.

He was wearing a red jacket and carrying a big bag across his chest. A postman. He walked fast, with long steps, and he was whistling something. A Christmas song, badly. He went to the first house on the left, took a pile of letters out of his bag and pushed them through the letter box. Then the next house. Then the next.

Saya melihatnya mengantar enam rumah. Lalu saya berdiri dan berjalan melintasi salju untuk menemuinya.

I watched him do six houses. Then I got up and walked across the snow to meet him.

Dia melihat saya datang ketika saya sudah di tengah alun-alun. Dia berhenti bersiul. Dia memandang saya, sepatu bot besar saya, kopi saya, dan wajahnya berubah. Dalam sekitar satu detik, wajahnya dari ramah menjadi waspada.

He saw me coming when I was halfway across the square. He stopped whistling. He looked at me, at my big boots, at my coffee, and his face changed. It went from friendly to careful in about one second.

“Pagi,” katanya.

“Morning,” he said.

“Selamat pagi,” kata saya. “Anda tukang pos.”

“Good morning,” I said. “You’re the postman.”

“Jaketnya sudah memberi tahu, ya?” Suaranya enak, hangat, dengan logat alun-alun ini. Umurnya sekitar sama dengan saya, mungkin sedikit lebih tua, dengan rambut merah pendek, mata biru, dan pipi yang merah muda karena dingin. “Dan Anda Leila Yousef.”

“The jacket gives it away, doesn’t it?” He had a nice voice, warm, with the accent of the square in it. He was about my age, a little older, with short red hair and blue eyes and cheeks that were pink from the cold. “And you’re Leila Yousef.”

Itu mengejutkan saya. “Bagaimana Anda tahu?”

That surprised me. “How do you know?”

“Semua orang tahu. Putri Pak Hamid pulang dari Toronto. Itu kabar paling besar di alun-alun sejak toko roti mengganti rotinya.” Dia memasukkan beberapa surat ke pintu berikutnya. “Lagi pula, Anda menggigit sepupu kecil saya, Danny, di pesta ulang tahun tahun 2001. Bekasnya masih ada.”

“Everybody knows. Hamid’s daughter is home from Toronto. It’s the biggest news on the square since the bakery changed its bread.” He pushed some letters through the next door. “Also, you bit my little cousin Danny at a birthday party in 2001. He still has the mark.”