Dia Tahu

Untuk waktu yang lama, tak satu pun dari mereka bergerak. Pecahan cangkir tergeletak di anak tangga di antara mereka, dan teh mengalir perlahan di atas kayu lalu menetes ke kanal. Di balik pohonnya, Ana menahan napas. Dia bisa melihat kedua wajah mereka dalam cahaya kuning dari perahu: wajah gadis itu, pucat dan diam, dan wajah pria itu, yang tampak seolah-olah baru saja dipukul seseorang.

For a long moment neither of them moved. The broken pieces of the mug lay on the step between them, and tea ran slowly over the wood and dripped into the canal. Behind her tree, Ana held her breath. She could see both their faces in the yellow light from the boat: the girl’s, white and still, and the man’s, which looked as if someone had just hit it.

“Foto itu,” kata Jess. Suaranya sangat tenang, terlalu tenang. “Di atas mejamu. Pria dengan bayi itu. Siapa dia?”

“The photo,” Jess said. Her voice was very calm, much too calm. “On your table. The man with the baby. Who is it?”

Michael membuka mulutnya. Ana melihat dia sempat berpikir untuk berbohong. Dia melihat pria itu memikirkannya selama satu detik, lalu dia melihatnya memutuskan untuk tidak berbohong. Dia melangkah turun ke jalan setapak, melompati cangkir yang pecah, dan berdiri di depan putrinya. Dia jauh lebih tinggi daripada putrinya, tetapi dia terlihat lebih kecil.

Michael opened his mouth. Ana saw him think about lying. She saw him think about it for one second, and then she saw him decide not to. He stepped down onto the path, over the broken mug, and stood in front of his daughter. He was much taller than her, but he looked smaller.

“Itu aku,” katanya. “Dan itu kamu. Waktu itu umurmu delapan bulan. Ibumu mengambil foto itu pada suatu Minggu pagi, di luar toko. Kamu baru saja memakan satu roti bulat utuh sendirian, dan kamu sangat bangga.” Suaranya tercekat. “Namaku bukan Mick, Jess. Namaku Michael. Michael Bell. Aku ayahmu.”

“It’s me,” he said. “And it’s you. You were eight months old. Your mother took the photo on a Sunday morning, outside the shop. You had just eaten a whole roll by yourself, and you were very proud.” His voice broke. “My name isn’t Mick, Jess. It’s Michael. Michael Bell. I’m your father.”

Jess tidak menangis. Dia tidak berteriak. Dia menatap pria itu seperti dia melihat jembatan tua tadi siang, dengan saksama, seakan-akan sedang mencoba melihat di bagian mana jembatan itu miring. “Kamu menyanyikan lagu itu,” katanya. “Di perahu. Kamu menyanyikannya untukku waktu aku masih bayi. Aku ingat itu. Aku tidak ingat wajahmu, tapi aku ingat itu.”

Jess did not cry. She did not shout. She looked at him the way she had looked at the old bridge that afternoon, carefully, as if she was trying to see where it leaned. “You sang that song,” she said. “In the boat. You sang it to me when I was a baby. I remember it. I don’t remember your face, but I remember that.”

“Setiap malam,” kata Michael. “Pukul empat, di dapur, sementara rotinya mengembang. Kamu tidak mau tidur tanpanya.”

“Every night,” Michael said. “At four o’clock, in the kitchen, while the bread was rising. You wouldn’t sleep without it.”

“Lalu kamu pergi.” Sekarang suaranya mulai bergetar. “Kamu membakar toko roti Kakek, dan keesokan harinya kamu naik kereta, dan kamu tidak pernah kembali. Lima belas tahun. Kamu mengirimi Kakek kartu setiap tahun, dengan satu huruf di atasnya. Kamu tidak pernah mengirimiku apa-apa. Tidak satu kartu pun. Tidak satu patah kata pun. Kamu tahu rasanya seperti apa?”

“And then you left.” Now her voice began to shake. “You burned down Grandad’s bakery, and the next day you got on a train, and you never came back. Fifteen years. You sent Grandad a card every year, with one letter on it. You never sent me anything. Not one card. Not one word. Do you know what that’s like?”

“Ya,” kata Michael dengan tenang. “Kurasa aku tahu.” Dia tidak berusaha membela diri. Dia tidak menjelaskan apa-apa. Dia hanya berdiri di sana di tengah udara dingin, dengan sweter biru tuanya, dan membiarkan kata-kata putrinya menghantamnya satu per satu.

“Yes,” Michael said quietly. “I think I do.” He did not try to defend himself. He did not explain. He just stood there in the cold, in his old blue jumper, and let her words hit him one by one.

“Mengapa kamu di sini?” tanya Jess. “Mengapa sekarang?”

“Why are you here?” Jess asked. “Why now?”

“Untuk makam nenekmu. Lalu untuk roti di anak tangga itu.” Dia menunduk menatap cangkir yang pecah. “Dan kemudian untukmu. Aku melihatmu setiap pagi, Jess, dari jalan setapak sungai, lewat jendela dapur. Sedang makan roti panggang sambil berdiri. Aku tidak bisa pergi setelah itu.”

“For your grandmother’s grave. And then for the bread on the step.” He looked down at the broken mug. “And then for you. I saw you every morning, Jess, from the river path, through the kitchen window. Eating toast standing up. I couldn’t leave after that.”

Jess terdiam lama. Sebuah kereta lewat di kejauhan. Lalu dia menanyakan pertanyaan yang telah ditakuti Ana selama berminggu-minggu. “Siapa lagi yang tahu? Kakek tahu kamu di sini? Priya tahu? Ada yang tahu?”

Jess was silent for a long time. A train passed in the distance. Then she asked the question that Ana had been afraid of for weeks. “Who else knows? Does Grandad know you’re here? Does Priya? Does anybody?”

Michael tidak langsung menjawab. Ana melihat dia menatap jalan setapak yang gelap, dan sesaat yang mengerikan dia mengira pria itu melihat lurus ke pohonnya. “Kakekmu tidak tahu,” katanya perlahan. “Aku tidak bisa memberitahunya. Priya menebaknya.”

Michael did not answer at once. Ana saw him look at the dark path, and for a terrible second she thought he was looking straight at her tree. “Your grandfather doesn’t know,” he said slowly. “I couldn’t tell him. Priya guessed.”