For a month, Marno hadn't spoken. His eyes were red like the roses in Mother's room. His face was pale, and for three days, no food had passed his lips. Father had run out of words to coax him—and so had Mother. I couldn't do anything, but I knew the fear that gripped Marno's soul.
Father had forbidden it, but he was still stubborn. The bamboo tree in the yard brings bad luck, he said. No one had the slightest intention of buying this house after looking at the clump of bamboo. They said the bamboo was frightening, that it didn't bring peace of mind; from its nodes, dark mist seemed to pour out and billow into the sky.
Marno felt the same way. Hearing all that, Marno's patience began to run out. Immediately, he sharpened his machete. Father couldn't hold back Marno’s intention to cut down the tree. Swear words came out of Father's mouth. Father was afraid Marno would be struck with a supernatural curse if he cut down the tree. I saw Mother crying; her body slumped limply on the wooden chair. I knew that the tears were not for the supernatural curse Father spoke of. But it was about their days, which, with each passing day, grew less harmonious and peaceful.
Marno came out of the kitchen with his sharpened machete. He immediately headed toward the tree in the yard. A few drops of rain fell wherever they pleased—on his shoulder and head as well. The sun still cast its glow. But Marno was not in the least afraid or swayed from his intention, which he had made clear to us.
Marno stood for a long time in front of the bamboo tree. His shoulders rose and fell. Mother and I watched from behind the door. Father no longer paid him any mind.
A machete, he swung. Slashing recklessly at the bamboo's nodes. Marno kept swinging his machete, taking a breath, then swinging it again and again. Mother ran to her room with a cloth over her mouth. Father watched him, crossing his arms over his chest. I saw Father's lips mutter. His eyes were sharp, accusing Marno.
Again, and again, Marno battered the body of the bamboo tree until he was exhausted. There was not a single mark from the machete on the tree’s body. Marno stepped back. He sat down on the wet ground. His breath was puffed. Suddenly, lightning tore through the sky and struck the tree. A flash of light filled our eyes. Marno was thrown. He lay on the ground under the heavy rain that kept beating down on his body.
—
BACK THEN—my peers—we used to play in the yard every afternoon. Chasing each other, playing marbles, hopscotch, rubber band skipping, galah, or anything that made us happy. Our laughter filled the air in the yard. It also made Mother often smile when she saw her children lose. But, ever since Arom—the neighbor’s child—lost his genitals, silence came to our yard and buried our afternoon joy.
I don't remember which afternoon it was, before Arom lost his genitals. He had been holding his pee for a long time because of the excitement of the galah game we were playing. Perhaps, because he was truly at the breaking point, he ran behind the bamboo tree. The girls snickered and covered their faces, unlike the boys who cracked up laughing at him. Arom also laughed along while playing with his pee, spraying everywhere.
The next day, Mrs. Ramsun shrieked. Seeing that her son's genitals were gone. The widow with one child was swarmed by anger. She—with her hair like a lion's mane and a machete in her right hand—hurriedly came to our house. A crowd of people trailed behind her. Mrs. Ramsun screamed that she would cut down the bamboo tree. She believed her son's genitals were taken by the evil spirit that guarded the bamboo tree. She was absolutely certain after hearing the confession from the other children that Arom had peed on the tree yesterday afternoon.
With a full-force wind-up, the machete—which looked dull and full of rust—in her right hand was swung at the bamboo tree. But fate had other plans. No bad luck is ever planned, nor does anyone know who it will befall. Sometimes it's like an age that doesn't know when its end will come. The machete instead turned around, twisting and sticking into her neck. Blood soaked our yard. Everyone was dumbfounded watching Mrs. Ramsun's neck become the headwaters for the pool of blood on her body and legs. Since that moment, no children have played in the yard again, and people seemed afraid to visit our house.
FATHER often told stories about a man in a black robe who frequently visited his dreams. Father said he had lived in that bamboo tree long before Father's grandfather's grandfather was born. The man was still related by blood to our family, but Father didn't know who the man was or what his lineage was.
The man had a message: his home should not be disturbed. A curse would surely befall anyone who dared to bother it. With the evidence of Mrs. Ramsun's family, Father became more convinced that the man who often visited his dreams was real.
One night, Father woke up with sweat pooling on his shirt and sarong. We woke up and saw Father carrying incense and a glass of black coffee outside the house. Father lit the incense with great care and placed the glass of coffee near the bamboo tree. He did this while kneeling with his face toward the ground. No one dared to ask Father anything.
After that night, every Wednesday night, Father diligently lit incense and placed a black coffee near the tree. Marno—my brother—was truly furious with Father's increasingly irrational behavior.
Father once smeared the entire bathroom with salt water. He said it was an order from the man who often visited his dreams. Then on another night, he once rubbed garlic on every doorway in the house. With Father's behavior getting worse, Marno coaxed Mother to move.
But what was there to hope for or say. Our family no longer had the money to buy a house. Realizing that Father worked as a stone breaker with an uncertain wage, and Marno was an unemployed teaching graduate. The only way was to sell the house. Father looked sad and disappointed after hearing the conversation between my brother and Mother. Once, there was a young entrepreneur who intended to buy our house; Father immediately chased him away with a sickle he waved into the air. Several other people who intended to buy were treated the same way by Father.
Marno couldn't stand Father's changed attitude anymore. Ever since he started obeying the man in his dreams, his behavior was like that of a madman. And there was something that made Mother and Marno even angrier: Father rarely prayed. Marno often argued with Father, and it always ended with Mother's tears calming their anger.
I understood Mother's feelings, because maybe my feelings were the same. Like a calm river, you never know how deep it is. All this complication stemmed from that bamboo tree.
—
In the middle of the loneliness in the house, I stared at the tree. I lit the incense and brewed the black coffee. While kneeling in front of the tree, I begged its guardian to return Marno’s genitals.
Murdhi Fida Alfaaz atau lebih sering disapa Murdhi merupakan seorang lulusan S1 pendidikan bahasa inggris kelahiran Tasikmalaya, 10 September 2002. Minatnya pada dunia bahasa dan terjemahan sudah tumbuh sejak duduk di bangku sekolah menengah atas. Instagram @murchiavelli.
*Diterjemahkan dari cerpen "Pohon Bambu Halaman" karya Mufidz At-thoriq S. Dapatkan bukunya di sini untuk mendapatkan potongan harga.
