Packing

All the way along the river, Ana tried to put Helen’s words in order, the way she put loaves on a tray. Half the bakery belonged to Michael. The sale needed his signature. Walter was going to Leeds on Friday. And Michael, who had just been told by his own father to stay away, probably had no idea that the whole future of Bridge Street was waiting for him to pick up a pen. She walked faster.

Sepanjang jalan di tepi sungai, Ana berusaha menyusun kata-kata Helen dalam pikirannya, seperti saat ia menyusun roti di atas loyang. Separuh toko roti itu milik Michael. Penjualan itu membutuhkan tanda tangannya. Walter akan pergi ke Leeds pada hari Jumat. Dan Michael, yang baru saja disuruh ayahnya sendiri untuk menjauh, mungkin sama sekali tidak tahu bahwa seluruh masa depan Bridge Street sedang menunggu ia mengambil pena. Ia berjalan lebih cepat.

By the time she reached the canal, Ana was out of breath and the light was already going. The ducks were settling for the night under the old bridge. On one of the boats somebody was frying onions, and the smell drifted along the water. Everything looked exactly as it always did, which seemed unfair.

Ketika tiba di tepi kanal, napas Ana terengah-engah dan hari sudah mulai gelap. Bebek-bebek mulai menetap untuk tidur di bawah jembatan tua. Di salah satu perahu, seseorang sedang menggoreng bawang bombai, dan aromanya melayang di atas air. Semuanya tampak persis seperti biasa, dan rasanya itu tidak adil.

The Second Chance did not look as it always did. Its side doors were open, and there were cardboard boxes on the path next to it, some taped shut, some still empty. The little stove was out. The hatch over the engine at the back had been lifted, and Michael was kneeling beside it with a torch and an oily cloth, his sleeves pushed up to the elbows.

The Second Chance tidak terlihat seperti biasa. Pintu sampingnya terbuka, dan ada kotak-kotak kardus di jalan setapak di sebelahnya, beberapa sudah direkatkan rapat, beberapa masih kosong. Kompor kecil sudah mati. Penutup mesin di bagian belakang telah diangkat, dan Michael sedang berlutut di sampingnya dengan senter dan kain berminyak, lengan bajunya digulung sampai ke siku.

He looked up when he heard her steps. For a moment his face did nothing at all. Then he went back to the engine. “If you’ve come to say sorry,” he said, “don’t. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I asked you to lie for me, and you did, and it cost you everything you had here. If anyone should apologise, it’s me.”

Ia mendongak saat mendengar langkah kakinya. Sesaat wajahnya tidak menunjukkan ekspresi apa pun. Lalu ia kembali mengurus mesin. “Kalau kamu datang untuk minta maaf,” katanya, “jangan. Kamu tidak perlu minta maaf untuk apa pun. Aku yang memintamu berbohong untukku, dan kamu melakukannya, sampai kamu kehilangan semua yang kamu miliki di sini. Kalau ada yang harus minta maaf, itu aku.”

“You’re leaving,” Ana said. It was not a question.

“Kamu akan pergi,” kata Ana. Itu bukan sebuah pertanyaan.

“Tomorrow, if this engine agrees. It takes nine days to get back to Manchester at walking speed, so nobody will notice when I’m gone.” He wiped his hands on the cloth, very slowly. Then he reached into his back pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. “Priya brought me this yesterday. She cried while she gave it to me, which didn’t help.”

“Besok, kalau mesin ini setuju. Butuh sembilan hari untuk kembali ke Manchester dengan kecepatan jalan kaki, jadi tidak ada yang akan sadar saat aku sudah pergi.” Ia menyeka tangannya pada kain itu, sangat lambat. Lalu ia merogoh saku belakangnya dan mengeluarkan selembar kertas yang terlipat. “Priya membawakan ini untukku kemarin. Dia menangis saat memberikannya kepadaku, dan itu tidak membantu sama sekali.”

Ana unfolded it. It was a page torn from the bakery’s order book. On it, in Walter’s big, shaking handwriting, there were only seven words: Stay away from my family. W. Bell. The last letters of his name ran off the edge of the line, as if the pen had slipped.

Ana membuka lipatan itu. Itu adalah halaman yang robek dari buku pesanan toko roti. Di atasnya, dengan tulisan tangan Walter yang besar dan bergetar, hanya ada tujuh kata: Jauhi keluargaku. W. Bell. Huruf-huruf terakhir dari namanya keluar dari tepi garis, seolah-olah penanya telah tergelincir.

“Fifteen years,” Michael said, “and the first thing my father writes to me is seven words, and four of them are an order. That’s very Walter.” He tried to laugh and did not quite manage it. “And Jess doesn’t want to see me either. I waited outside her school yesterday afternoon. She walked straight past me with her friends, as if I was a lamp post.”

“Lima belas tahun,” kata Michael, “dan hal pertama yang ditulis ayahku kepadaku adalah tujuh kata, dan empat di antaranya adalah perintah. Itu sangat khas Walter.” Ia mencoba tertawa, tetapi tidak benar-benar berhasil. “Dan Jess juga tidak mau bertemu denganku. Aku menunggu di luar sekolahnya kemarin sore. Dia berjalan melewatiku begitu saja bersama teman-temannya, seolah-olah aku ini tiang lampu.”