What Really Happened

Inside, the Second Chance was half packed and very cold. Books were stacked in boxes along one wall; the little table had been pushed against the stove. Michael lit the stove with a match and some newspaper, and for a few minutes neither of them said anything while the fire caught and the boat slowly began to warm up. Ana noticed that his hands shook while he did it.

Di dalam, kapal Second Chance setengah terkemas dan sangat dingin. Buku-buku ditumpuk di dalam kotak di sepanjang satu dinding; meja kecil telah didorong merapat ke kompor. Michael menyalakan kompor dengan korek api dan beberapa lembar koran. Selama beberapa menit, tak satu pun dari mereka berbicara saat api mulai menyala dan perahu perlahan terasa hangat. Ana memperhatikan bahwa tangan Michael gemetar saat ia melakukannya.

He made two mugs of tea and sat down opposite her. He did not look at her. He looked at the small window, where the curtain still did not quite close, and at the dark canal beyond it. When he began to speak, his voice was flat and careful, as if he had practised the words many times but never said them aloud.

Ia membuat dua cangkir teh dan duduk di seberang Ana. Ia tidak memandangnya. Ia menatap ke jendela kecil, tempat tirainya masih belum tertutup rapat, dan ke arah kanal yang gelap di baliknya. Ketika ia mulai berbicara, suaranya terdengar datar dan berhati-hati, seolah-olah ia telah melatih kata-katanya berkali-kali tetapi tidak pernah mengucapkannya dengan keras.

“You have to understand what he was like after my mother died,” he said. “People think grief is crying. It isn’t, not with men like my father. He just went quiet. He stopped singing in the kitchen. He stopped going to the pub on Fridays. He worked, and he slept, and in between he sat at that old table and stared at the wall.”

“Kamu harus mengerti bagaimana keadaannya setelah ibuku meninggal,” katanya. “Orang-orang berpikir duka itu menangis. Padahal tidak, setidaknya tidak bagi pria seperti ayahku. Ia hanya menjadi pendiam. Ia berhenti bernyanyi di dapur. Ia berhenti pergi ke pub pada hari Jumat. Ia bekerja, lalu ia tidur, dan di antara waktu-waktu itu ia duduk di meja tua itu dan menatap dinding.”

“About a year after the funeral, I came down early one morning and found a bottle of whisky in the flour cupboard. Behind the sacks, where nobody would look. I didn’t say anything. I thought it was just for the bad nights.” He turned his mug slowly round on the table, exactly the way his father did. “By the time Jess was born, there was a new bottle behind the flour every week.”

“Kira-kira setahun setelah pemakaman, aku turun pagi-pagi sekali dan menemukan sebotol wiski di lemari tepung. Di balik karung-karung, tempat yang tidak akan dilihat siapa pun. Aku tidak berkata apa-apa. Kukira itu hanya untuk malam-malam yang berat.” Ia memutar cangkirnya perlahan di atas meja, persis seperti yang biasa dilakukan ayahnya. “Saat Jess lahir, ada botol baru di balik tepung setiap minggu.”

“He never drank in front of anyone. Never in the shop, never in the day. He drank alone, at night, at the kitchen table, between midnight and three, before he started the bread. Karen knew a little. Priya, I think, guessed. Nobody said a word. In a small town, you don’t. You just buy your bread and look the other way.”

“Ia tidak pernah minum di depan siapa pun. Tidak pernah di toko, tidak pernah pada siang hari. Ia minum sendirian, pada malam hari, di meja dapur, antara tengah malam dan pukul tiga, sebelum ia mulai membuat roti. Karen tahu sedikit. Priya, kurasa, bisa menebak. Tidak ada yang berkata sepatah kata pun. Di kota kecil, kita tidak membicarakannya. Kita hanya membeli roti dan memalingkan muka.”

Ana thought of the store room, the bags of flour on the left, the burnt sign hidden behind them. She thought of the ring of keys, and the key for the flour cupboard among them. She did not interrupt.

Ana teringat pada ruang penyimpanan, karung-karung tepung di sebelah kiri, dan papan tanda terbakar yang tersembunyi di baliknya. Ia teringat pada gantungan kunci, serta kunci untuk lemari tepung di antaranya. Ia tidak menyela.

“The night of the fire was in January. It was very cold. He had turned the oven on at about one, to heat it up for the first bread. He always did that. Then he sat down at the table with his bottle, as usual. And at some point he fell asleep with his head on his arms.”

“Malam terjadinya kebakaran itu terjadi pada bulan Januari. Waktu itu sangat dingin. Ayah menyalakan oven sekitar pukul satu untuk memanaskannya bagi roti pertama. Ia selalu melakukan itu. Lalu ia duduk di meja dengan botolnya, seperti biasa. Dan pada suatu saat, ia tertidur dengan kepala di atas kedua lengannya.”

“There was a cloth hanging on the oven door. A thick cotton one, like the one you use for the trays. It must have slipped onto the hot metal. Next to the oven, on the old wooden shelves, we kept the paper bags. Hundreds of them, folded and stacked.” His mouth twisted. “Paper bags. Of all the things to burn.”

“Ada kain lap yang tergantung di pintu oven. Kain katun tebal, seperti yang kamu gunakan untuk baki. Kain itu pasti merosot ke logam yang panas. Di sebelah oven, di rak kayu tua, kami menyimpan kantong-kantong kertas. Jumlahnya ratusan, terlipat dan bertumpuk.” Mulutnya berkedut. “Kantong kertas. Dari segala benda yang bisa terbakar.”