UNIFORM

The tall, bright-faced man who opened the door looked amazed when he recognized me. Of course he didn’t expect my sudden arrival at all. 

When later with unpretentious hospitality he invited me in, without hesitation I chose to go straight to the amben¹ across the room. It was nice to sit on the bamboo halls with pandan mats. He then sat down too, but his gaze was instead directed out the window, at the clove trees that lined up like the rows of students from our class when we attended the flag ceremony every Monday. I understand, this surprise must have filled his heart with an emotion that cannot be expressed in words. He needed to neutralize it for a bit.

He is my best childhood friend. Almost 25 years ago we separated because my family had to move to the city where my father worked at a new place outside the island until he returned a few years later to settle in the district town. I told him about that, as well as apologized for not having visited him at all since then.

“So, what brings you here?”

“Memory.”

“False! If it’s just a matter of memories, there’s no need to wait for 10 years after your family returns and settles 30 kilometers away from here.”

I smiled. There was only a moment of awkwardness between us before the words of chatter flew like bullets scrambling out of a magazine.

Meeting him, couldn’t help but remind us of our past experiences. The experience that made him always stays in my memory although not every time. Of course, he remembers it too. In fact, I’m sure the feeling he had had a bigger effect. Because as a friend, he was clearly much more sincere and loyal than me.

That night I was here, watching him study. The tablecloth that lit up the room was placed on the table, almost coming close to his face when he bent down to write. On the amben, his father casually smoked. Turn on the lighter every now and then when the hot coals of the rolled-up cigarette meet large chunks of cloves or frankincense that are not soft enough to slice. His mother, a woman who laughs a lot, was in the corner working twisting coconut husks into ropes. Moments like that plus any conversations that might take place between us almost every night I enjoy. It made me feel closer to the simplicity of his family’s life.

After studying, he told me to go home because he was going to look for crickets. I immediately said I wanted to go, but he objected. His father and mother forbade it. Often, I hear children going to the fields after evening prayer to look for crickets. The crickets obtained later can be sold or just as a collection, placed in a box, then occasionally tickled with a stick or a piece of palm fiber to make it creak loudly. From what I’ve heard, the search process is very exciting. Unfortunately, Dad never allows me. But that night I was desperate and my best friend finally could not refuse.

“You don’t change your clothes?” I asked in surprise as soon as he took the lead to leave. It was Friday. The brown Scout uniform he had worn since this morning would still be used for another day of school. I know he doesn’t have many clothes so the school uniform is usually worn all the time. But wearing it to go to the fields looking for crickets, it’s really, really bad.

“Happened,” he answered.

While grumbling displeasedly, I took the torch from his hand. We then walked along a large embankment in the rice fields a few dozen meters after passing the garden and the carp pond behind his house. In the distance, there were several points of torch light belonging to cricket seekers besides us. Feeling calm. The dry season, the cracked rice fields, the real darkness plus the wind blowing in the open area do give a strange sensation. I don’t think I would dare to be there alone.

We descended along the rice fields to the far west. In just a few minutes, two crickets had been caught and put in a roof tied with a raffia rope around my friend’s waist. I followed enthusiastically, but the flip-flops made it difficult for me because the dry soil made them slip, snag, or even squeeze in between the cracks. The stump of the remaining rice stalks can penetrate and hurt the soles of the feet. But seeing her calm even though she wasn’t wearing shoes, I didn’t complain because I was embarrassed.

It felt like we hadn’t been there too long and the bamboo cylinder had just filled up with a few crickets when suddenly the wind changed its temper. The swaying tongue of fire licked my face that was bowing down. I was shocked. I lifted the butt of the torch so high that the oil pushed the wick off. The flames quickly moved to burn my back!

“Roll over! Roll!” heard him scream as he took off his brown uniform to smack me in the back. I obeyed in panic. I didn’t feel the harshness of the rice fields or the stumps of rice stalks pricking my body and face when I rolled over. My mind was only focused on the fire and didn’t have time to think that at that time I would be able to get more damage from that movement. It’s hard to describe the fear I felt. The night that I thought would be fun turned into a terrifying terror!

When the fire finally went out, I felt an excruciating pain radiate from my back to my neck. One-third of the clothes I was wearing were gone, while some of the charred cloth blended with the skin. My best friend was responsively covering my body with his brown uniform when he saw I started crying and shivering between pain and cold. Then with a trembling voice, he tried to make a gesture with his mouth. Unfortunately, no one approached and he himself later admitted that we had gone too far. Realizing I needed help urgently, he carried me on his back, then ran while coaxing me to stay calm. His breath caught in exhaustion, but a great sense of responsibility seemed to give him multiple powers. Unfortunately, when we got home, he got nothing but curses from Mom and Dad. His cheek was also slapped by my angry father.

I was immediately rushed to the district health center. The Scout’s brown uniform that covered my body was removed from somewhere by the orderlies. It never crossed my mind to ask Dad to replace it after that. From what I heard for almost a month without going to school, several times he was forced to skip school on Fridays and Saturdays because he couldn’t afford to buy a new uniform.

”It was your own fault, you didn’t ask for a replacement,” I said after we remembered the incident.

“By inviting you was already a mistake. I was afraid your father would get more angry later. My dad didn’t want to trouble about your dad’s slap, let alone the uniform. He preferred to buy a new one even if he had to wait a few weeks.”

We laughed. Laughing and laughing as if the whole series of events that eventually became a lasting reminder of our friendship was not an escape from death because time had erased all the horrors.

He then took me to the backyard where we used to make a carp pond together. The pool is no longer there, it was buried long ago and turned into a warehouse where now he is creative in making handicrafts from bamboo. The results of his skillful hands plus the distribution of profits from other people’s fields have supported his wife and two children to this day.

His father and mother are dead, but a serious problem is now ensnaring him. He told me that the certificates of the house and land inherited from his parents were actually pawned.

“My brother, he’s still the same character as you used to know him. Only now, the older he gets the less self-conscious.”

“His doing?”

He nodded.

“You know, this house and this meager piece of land are our most valuable possessions. But I have no power to resist his will to seek business capital loans by pledging everything. I trust him, care about him. But, he doesn’t have the same feelings towards me. He betrayed my trust. His efforts failed and now the weight is on my shoulders.” Imagine the figure of his older brother, a teenager who dropped out of school who always troubled his parents with his mischief. Now that he is getting old, he is still bothering his only little brother.

“We’ll hold on,” he smiled as he let go of me after the afternoon. There was earnestness in his voice.

All the way home, my mind never left my good friend. I was ashamed. As a friend, I feel like I’ve never been kind to him. Nor was I sure I would be able to do as he did to help me that night. He has proven that courage and a great sense of responsibility can come from a genuine friendship.

My eyes then glanced at the official uniform draped on the back seat. As a prosecutor who has just handled a civil case, the uniform has not been able to make me proud. The value is clearly far less than the value of friendship that I get from a Scout brown uniform. But he didn't know, with that official uniform, I would be the one to execute the clearing of his land and house.

¹Amben is a traditional bed made of bamboo(bamboo divan)

source : https://cerpenkompas.wordpress.com/2012/08/12/seragam/

image : Photo by Ron Lach from Pexels