Empat Nada pada Pukul Setengah Sebelas

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Pada awal Oktober, Inês Rocha pindah ke Beco do Relógio, sebuah gang kecil di kawasan Graça di Lisboa. Apartemen itu murah, terang, dan hanya sepuluh menit dari halte trem. Masalahnya hanya satu: Inês bekerja di bandara dan harus bangun pada pukul setengah lima pagi. Karena itu, dia tidur setiap malam pada pukul setengah sepuluh.

Inês Rocha moved into the Beco do Relógio at the beginning of October, a small lane in the Graça district of Lisbon. The flat was cheap, bright and only ten minutes from the tram. It had just one problem: Inês worked at the airport and had to get up at half past four. So every evening she went to bed at half past nine.

Pada minggu pertama setelah pindah, dia tidur sangat nyenyak sampai tidak mendengar apa-apa. Pada minggu kedua, dia mulai mendengarnya. Pada pukul setengah sebelas, malam demi malam, seseorang memainkan empat nada dengan terompet: dua nada rendah, satu nada tinggi, dan satu nada yang lebih tinggi lagi. Setelah itu suasana sunyi. Bunyinya tidak terdengar indah. Bunyinya terdengar seperti seorang pria lelah yang mengucapkan kata yang hampir dia lupakan.

In the first week she slept so deeply after the move that she heard nothing. In the second week she heard it. At half past ten, night after night, someone played four notes on a trumpet: two low ones, a high one and an even higher one. Then it was quiet. It did not sound beautiful. It sounded like a tired man saying a word he had almost forgotten.

Setelah malam ketiga, Inês mengetuk dinding dengan gagang sapu. Setelah malam kelima, dia berbaring terjaga sampai pukul dua dan menghitung berapa jam tidur yang tersisa untuknya. Keesokan paginya, dia berdiri di tangga dengan mata merah.

After the third night Inês knocked on the wall with a broom. After the fifth she lay awake until two and worked out how many hours of sleep she had left. The next morning she stood in the stairwell with red eyes.

Di depan pintunya yang terbuka di lantai dasar, Dona Amélia duduk sambil merajut, seperti biasa setiap pagi. Umurnya sudah lebih dari delapan puluh tahun dan dia tahu semua hal yang terjadi di gang itu.

In front of her open door on the ground floor sat Dona Amélia, knitting, as she did every morning. She was over eighty and knew everything that happened in the lane.

“Wajahmu pucat, Nak,” katanya. “Aku kurang tidur,” jawab Inês. “Siapa yang bermain terompet di sini setiap malam?” “Pak Duarte, lantai tiga, di seberang. Sejak awal September.” “Sejak September! Dan tidak ada yang mengeluh?” Dona Amélia menghitung rajutannya lalu tersenyum. “Ada, semuanya mengeluh. Tapi tidak ada yang bertanya.”

“You look terrible, child,” she said. “I’m sleeping badly,” Inês answered. “Who plays the trumpet here every night?” “Mr Duarte, third floor, across the way. Since the beginning of September.” “Since September! And nobody has complained?” Dona Amélia counted her stitches and smiled. “Yes, everybody has. But nobody has asked.”

Pada sore hari, Inês menelepon pemilik gedung, Pak Matos. Pria itu mendengarkan lalu menghela napas. “Saya dengan senang hati menulis surat untuk Pak Duarte,” katanya. “Tapi pihak pengelola hanya menerima keluhan yang ditandatangani oleh tiga tetangga. Itu aturannya.”

In the afternoon Inês phoned the landlord, Mr Matos. He listened and sighed. “I’ll gladly write Mr Duarte a letter,” he said. “But the management only accepts complaints that three neighbours have signed. That’s the rule.”

Hal itu mudah. Rui dan Sofia dari lantai dua langsung menandatanganinya. “Akhirnya!” kata Sofia. Pak Lopes dari lantai empat menandatangani sambil menghela napas, menggunakan pulpen yang macet. Hanya Dona Amélia yang menolak. “Mataku sudah rabun,” katanya sambil memasukkan benang ke lubang jarum yang sangat kecil.

That was easy. Rui and Sofia on the second floor signed at once. “At last!” said Sofia. Mr Lopes on the fourth floor signed with a sigh and a pen that did not want to write. Only Dona Amélia refused. “My eyes are bad,” she said, threading a piece of thread through a tiny needle as she spoke.