Pukul Tiga Pagi

Lama sekali tidak ada yang terjadi. Ana berdiri di anak tangga dalam udara dingin dengan tangan masih terangkat. Dia berpikir mungkin Walter tidak mendengar, atau mendengar lalu memutuskan untuk mengabaikannya. Kemudian gerendel bergeser dengan suara berat, dan pintu terbuka beberapa sentimeter. Udara hangat dan bau tepung keluar ke malam yang dingin.

For a long time nothing happened. Ana stood on the step in the cold with her hand still raised, and she thought that perhaps Walter had not heard, or had heard and decided to ignore it. Then the bolt slid back with a heavy sound, and the door opened a few centimetres. Warm air and the smell of flour came out into the night.

Walter melongok keluar melalui celah itu. Dia memakai celemek putihnya, dengan tepung di tangan dan di bagian depan kemejanya. Wajahnya kelabu dan tampak lebih tua daripada seminggu yang lalu. Ketika melihat siapa yang datang, raut wajahnya langsung mengeras, seperti pintu toko yang ditutup.

Walter looked out through the gap. He was in his white apron, with flour on his hands and on the front of his shirt. His face was grey and older than it had been a week ago. When he saw who it was, something closed in it at once, like a shop shutter coming down.

“Aku sudah bilang agar kamu pergi,” katanya. “Aku bersungguh-sungguh. Pulanglah ke mana pun kamu tidur.”

“I told you to go,” he said. “I meant it. Go back to wherever you’re sleeping.”

“Aku tahu tentang kebakaran itu, Walter.”

“I know about the fire, Walter.”

Dia tidak merencanakan cara mengatakannya. Dia telah berjalan menyusuri sungai selama lima jam, dan selama itu dia tidak menemukan cara yang lebih baik daripada cara yang paling sederhana. Jadi dia mengatakannya lagi, lebih pelan. “Aku tahu apa yang sebenarnya terjadi. Michael memberi tahu aku malam ini. Semuanya. Botol di belakang tepung. Kain di pintu oven. Anak tangga itu.”

She had not planned how to say it. She had walked the river for five hours, and in all that time she had not found a better way than the simplest one. So she said it again, more quietly. “I know what really happened. Michael told me tonight. All of it. The bottle behind the flour. The cloth on the oven door. The step.”

Walter tidak mengatakan apa-apa. Dia juga tidak menutup pintu. Dia hanya berdiri di sana, dengan satu tangan berlumur tepung di kusen. Ana melihat wajahnya kehilangan sisa-sisa warnanya. Kemudian, perlahan sekali, pintu terbuka lebar. Dia keluar ke anak tangga dan duduk di samping kantong kertas cokelat, seolah-olah kakinya yang memutuskan untuknya.

Walter did not say anything. He did not shut the door, either. He simply stood there, with one floury hand on the frame, and Ana watched his face lose the last of its colour. Then, very slowly, the door opened all the way, and he came out onto the step and sat down on it, next to the brown paper bag, as if his legs had decided for him.

Ana ragu-ragu. Lalu dia duduk di sebelahnya. Mereka duduk berdampingan dalam kegelapan, seorang pria tua dan seorang perempuan muda, dengan kantong roti di antara mereka. Di belakang mereka, Crumb mendekat ke pintu yang terbuka lalu berbaring melintang sambil menghela napas panjang, seperti yang dilakukannya pada malam pertama Michael duduk di sana.

Ana hesitated. Then she sat down next to him. They sat side by side in the dark, an old man and a young woman, with the bag of bread between them. Behind them, Crumb came to the open door and lay down across it with a long sigh, as he had done the first night Michael sat there.

“Aku terbangun di sini,” kata Walter akhirnya. Suaranya sangat pelan dan serak. “Di anak tangga ini. Aku tidak tahu di mana aku berada. Begitu dingin sampai wajahku sakit, dan aku bisa mendengar seseorang berteriak di dalam, dan asap mengepul di atas kepalaku. Aku pikir aku sedang bermimpi. Lalu aku mendengar Jess menangis di lantai atas.”

“I woke up here,” Walter said at last. His voice was very quiet and rough. “On this step. I didn’t know where I was. It was so cold that my face hurt, and I could hear somebody shouting inside, and there was smoke coming out over my head. I thought I was dreaming. Then I heard Jess crying, upstairs.”

“Aku masuk kembali. Aku tidak tahu bagaimana caranya. Aku tidak bisa melihat apa-apa karena asap. Lalu ada Michael di tangga sedang menggendongnya, berselimut kain tebal, dan dia mendorong Jess ke pelukanku sambil berkata, bawa dia keluar lewat depan, Ayah. Jadi aku melakukannya.” Dia menatap tangannya yang kini gemetar hebat. “Dan ketika aku keluar ke jalan bersamanya, semua orang ada di sana, dan mereka semua mengira aku telah menyelamatkannya.”

“I went back in. I don’t know how. I couldn’t see anything for the smoke. And there was Michael on the stairs with her in his arms, wrapped in a blanket, and he pushed her into mine and said, take her out the front, Dad. So I did.” He looked down at his hands, which were shaking badly now. “And when I came out into the street with her, everyone was there, and they all thought I had saved her.”

“Priya memberi tahu aku hal itu,” kata Ana. “Dia bilang kamu keluar lebih dulu sambil menggendong Jess.”

“Priya told me that,” Ana said. “She said you came out first, carrying Jess.”

“Lima belas tahun mereka menceritakan kisah itu. Walter Bell, sang pahlawan Bridge Street.” Dia tertawa, dan suaranya terdengar mengerikan. “Aku begitu mabuk sampai anakku harus menyeretku keluar dari dapurku sendiri seperti sekarung tepung. Dan keesokan paginya, ketika petugas asuransi bertanya siapa yang bertanggung jawab, aku duduk di toko itu sambil menatap lantai dan membiarkan anakku mengaku bahwa dialah orangnya.”

“Fifteen years they’ve been telling that story. Walter Bell, the hero of Bridge Street.” He laughed, and it was a terrible sound. “I was so drunk that my son had to drag me out of my own kitchen like a sack of flour. And the next morning, when the man from the insurance asked who was responsible, I sat in that shop and looked at the floor and let my boy say it was him.”