A Reason to Stay

On Christmas Eve my column was in the paper in Toronto. Dana had put it on the front page after all, in the space she had kept for me, small, at the bottom, under a photograph of a snowstorm. Nobody would share it. My father printed it out on the old printer in the back of the shop. He read it standing up, with his glasses on his nose. Then he folded it and put it in his wallet, behind the photograph of my mother. He didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t need to.

Pada malam Natal kolom saya terbit di koran di Toronto. Dana akhirnya memasangnya di halaman depan, di ruang yang dia simpan untuk saya, kecil, di bagian bawah, di bawah foto badai salju. Tidak ada yang mau membagikannya. Ayah saya mencetaknya di printer tua di belakang toko. Dia membacanya sambil berdiri, dengan kacamata di ujung hidung. Lalu dia melipatnya dan menaruhnya di dompet, di belakang foto ibu saya. Dia tidak berkata apa-apa tentang itu. Dia tidak perlu.

At five o’clock the children’s play began in the church. I had never seen a nativity play go so wrong. The stable shook. The star fell on one of the kings. A shepherd was sick. And at the end, the angel with the big line stood up and froze. So the angel next to her took her hand, and a shepherd who had no lines at all said it with them: “Do not be afraid.” The whole church laughed and cried at the same time. The shepherd was Amara.

Pukul lima, drama Natal anak-anak dimulai di gereja. Saya belum pernah melihat drama kelahiran Yesus yang begitu kacau. Kandangnya bergoyang. Bintangnya jatuh menimpa salah satu raja. Seorang gembala muntah. Dan di akhir, malaikat yang punya kalimat panjang berdiri dan membeku. Jadi malaikat di sebelahnya memegang tangannya, dan seorang gembala yang tidak punya kalimat sama sekali mengucapkannya bersama mereka: “Jangan takut.” Seluruh gereja tertawa dan menangis sekaligus. Gembala itu adalah Amara.

After the play, the children walked across the square to the hospital in their costumes, through the snow. Their parents went with them, and Father Tom, and a bishop in a tall hat. I walked with them, at the back. Clara Novak had got her yes from the hospital after all. I had phoned them three times to help, and Father Tom had asked the bishop, and here we were.

Setelah drama, anak-anak berjalan melintasi alun-alun menuju rumah sakit dengan kostum mereka, melewati salju. Orang tua mereka ikut, dan Father Tom, dan seorang uskup dengan topi tinggi. Saya berjalan bersama mereka, di belakang. Clara Novak akhirnya mendapat jawaban “ya” dari rumah sakit. Saya sudah menelepon mereka tiga kali untuk membantu, dan Father Tom sudah meminta kepada uskup, dan di sinilah kami.

The ward was on the fourth floor. There were eight beds. In the one by the window was a big man, with something hard under his blanket that held his back straight. His face, when he saw the children come in, changed completely. Amara ran to him in her shepherd’s costume, with a tea towel on her head.

Bangsalnya ada di lantai empat. Ada delapan tempat tidur. Di tempat tidur dekat jendela ada seorang laki-laki besar, dengan sesuatu yang keras di bawah selimutnya yang menjaga punggungnya tetap tegak. Wajahnya, ketika dia melihat anak-anak masuk, berubah sama sekali. Amara berlari kepadanya dengan kostum gembalanya, dengan lap piring di kepalanya.

The children sang “Silent Night”, the oldest of all the carols, to the whole ward. Some of them sang it well, and most of them sang it loudly. The nurses stood in the doorway. The man in the next bed cried, and said it was his cold.

Anak-anak menyanyikan “Malam Kudus”, lagu Natal tertua dari semuanya, untuk seluruh bangsal. Sebagian dari mereka menyanyi dengan bagus, dan kebanyakan menyanyi dengan keras. Para perawat berdiri di ambang pintu. Laki-laki di tempat tidur sebelah menangis, dan berkata itu karena pilek.

When the song was over, Amara came and found me at the back. I don’t know how she knew me. Maybe she had seen me on the square. She was holding a cream envelope, soft from being opened many times.

Ketika lagunya selesai, Amara datang dan menemukan saya di belakang. Saya tidak tahu bagaimana dia mengenal saya. Mungkin dia pernah melihat saya di alun-alun. Dia memegang sebuah amplop krem, lembut karena sudah sering dibuka.

“Saint Nicholas wrote to me,” she said. “He said Christmas would come to my dad. Look.” She pointed at the children, the nurses, her father laughing with a king. “It came.”

“Sinterklas menulis surat kepadaku,” katanya. “Dia bilang Natal akan datang kepada ayahku. Lihat.” Dia menunjuk anak-anak, para perawat, ayahnya yang tertawa bersama seorang raja. “Natal sudah datang.”

“So it did,” I said.

“Benar sekali,” kata saya.

“Do you think he really is Saint Nicholas?” she asked. “The one who writes?”

“Menurutmu dia benar-benar Sinterklas?” tanyanya. “Yang menulis itu?”

I thought about Edith at her round table, with her eyes closed, thinking for a long time before she answered. I thought about Ben with the pen. I thought about Mr Doyle, who didn’t want to know.

Saya teringat Edith di meja bundarnya, dengan mata tertutup, berpikir lama sebelum menjawab. Saya teringat Ben dengan pulpennya. Saya teringat Pak Doyle, yang tidak mau tahu.