One Frame Left

On Wednesday afternoon, Uzma found an old camera on the windowsill of the dance studio. It was not hers, and it was not Clara's. A small window on the top showed the number one.

Pada Rabu sore, Uzma menemukan sebuah kamera tua di ambang jendela studio tari. Kamera itu bukan miliknya, dan bukan milik Clara. Sebuah jendela kecil di bagian atas menunjukkan angka satu.

The studio was on the first floor, above a pharmacy. Uzma had worked there for exactly nine days. Before that, she had been an accountant for six years. She had quit her job because she wanted a life with music in it. Now she was afraid of her first class.

Studio itu terletak di lantai satu, di atas sebuah apotek. Uzma baru bekerja di sana tepat sembilan hari. Sebelumnya, ia menjadi akuntan selama enam tahun. Ia berhenti dari pekerjaannya karena ingin hidup yang ada musiknya. Sekarang ia takut menghadapi kelas pertamanya.

Clara was leaving on Thursday morning for a three-week dance course in another city. That meant Uzma would lead the beginners' class alone on Thursday evening. There would be twelve students and no one to help her.

Clara akan berangkat Kamis pagi untuk mengikuti kursus tari tiga minggu di kota lain. Itu berarti Uzma akan memimpin kelas pemula sendirian pada Kamis malam. Akan ada dua belas murid dan tak seorang pun yang membantunya.

"Whose camera is this?" she asked, holding it up.

"Ini kamera siapa?" tanyanya sambil mengangkatnya.

Clara looked up from her bag of shoes. "I have never seen it. It must belong to a student."

Clara mendongak dari tas sepatunya. "Aku belum pernah melihatnya. Pasti milik salah satu murid."

"The film counter says one. That means somebody has taken thirty-five photos and left one picture empty." Uzma turned the camera over in her hands. "Nobody leaves a camera like that by accident."

"Penghitung filmnya menunjukkan satu. Artinya seseorang sudah mengambil tiga puluh lima foto dan menyisakan satu gambar kosong." Uzma membolak-balik kamera itu di tangannya. "Tak ada yang meninggalkan kamera seperti ini tanpa sengaja."

"Then find out who it is," Clara said with a smile. "You are good with numbers, and you need something to do besides worry about tomorrow."

"Kalau begitu cari tahu siapa pemiliknya," kata Clara sambil tersenyum. "Kamu pandai dengan angka, dan kamu butuh kegiatan selain mengkhawatirkan hari esok."

Uzma wanted to say that she was not worrying, but it was not true. Instead, she sat on a wooden bench and looked at the camera carefully. It was heavy and black, with a worn leather strap. On the back, somebody had stuck a piece of tape. On the tape, in blue pen, was one short sentence: "Do not waste the last one."

Uzma ingin mengatakan bahwa ia tidak khawatir, tetapi itu tidak benar. Sebagai gantinya, ia duduk di bangku kayu dan mengamati kamera itu dengan saksama. Kamera itu berat dan hitam, dengan tali kulit yang sudah aus. Di bagian belakang, seseorang menempelkan sepotong selotip. Di atas selotip itu, dengan pena biru, tertulis satu kalimat pendek: "Jangan sia-siakan yang terakhir."

"That is clue number one," Uzma said. "The owner is careful. Or very stingy."

"Itu petunjuk nomor satu," kata Uzma. "Pemiliknya berhati-hati. Atau sangat pelit."

She opened the little leather case that hung from the strap. Inside there were two things. The first was a crumpled sweet wrapper that smelled strongly of mint. The second was a small piece of paper with pencil writing on it.

Ia membuka sarung kulit kecil yang tergantung pada tali itu. Di dalamnya ada dua benda. Yang pertama adalah bungkus permen yang kusut dan berbau mint yang kuat. Yang kedua adalah secarik kertas kecil dengan tulisan pensil.

"Clue number two and clue number three," she said, and she read the paper aloud. "'Tuesday, seven forty. Shelf three. Two centimetres.' What does that mean?"

"Petunjuk nomor dua dan nomor tiga," katanya, lalu ia membacakan kertas itu dengan keras. "'Selasa, pukul tujuh empat puluh. Rak tiga. Dua sentimeter.' Apa maksudnya?"

Clara came over and read the paper over her shoulder. "Tuesday at seven forty is our jumping exercise. The whole beginners' class jumps, and the floor shakes."

Clara datang dan membaca kertas itu dari balik bahunya. "Selasa pukul tujuh empat puluh itu latihan lompat kita. Seluruh kelas pemula melompat, dan lantainya bergetar."

"So somebody measures something at seven forty on Tuesdays. Two centimetres of what?" Uzma frowned. "And why would a student write down the shelf?"

"Jadi seseorang mengukur sesuatu pukul tujuh empat puluh setiap Selasa. Dua sentimeter apa?" Uzma mengerutkan kening. "Dan kenapa seorang murid mencatat raknya?"

"Maybe it is not a student at all."

"Mungkin dia bukan murid sama sekali."

They looked at each other. Then Uzma put the camera on the bench and walked to the middle of the floor. She jumped once, as hard as she could. The wooden boards creaked under her feet, and the mirror on the wall made a thin, buzzing sound.

Mereka saling berpandangan. Lalu Uzma meletakkan kamera di bangku dan berjalan ke tengah lantai. Ia melompat sekali, sekeras yang ia bisa. Papan kayu berderit di bawah kakinya, dan cermin di dinding mengeluarkan bunyi dengung yang tipis.

"Everything moves a little," she said. "Even the walls."

"Semuanya bergerak sedikit," katanya. "Bahkan dindingnya."

"And under us there is only one place with shelves." Clara pointed at the floor. "The pharmacy."

"Dan di bawah kita hanya ada satu tempat yang punya rak." Clara menunjuk lantai. "Apotek."

Uzma laughed out loud for the first time that day. She picked up the camera again, took the mint wrapper between two fingers, and walked downstairs.

Uzma tertawa terbahak-bahak untuk pertama kalinya hari itu. Ia mengambil kamera itu lagi, menjepit bungkus permen mint di antara dua jari, lalu turun ke bawah.

The pharmacy was quiet and smelled of soap. Behind the counter, a man in a white coat was arranging boxes of cough drops. When he saw the camera in her hand, he stopped, and his face changed.

Apotek itu sunyi dan berbau sabun. Di balik meja kasir, seorang pria berjas putih sedang menata kotak-kotak permen pereda batuk. Ketika melihat kamera di tangannya, ia berhenti, dan wajahnya berubah.

"You found it," he said. "I looked for it all morning. I thought I had left it on the bus."

"Anda menemukannya," katanya. "Saya mencarinya sepanjang pagi. Saya kira tertinggal di bus."

"It was on our windowsill." Uzma put the camera on the counter. "Excuse me, but I have to ask. What is on shelf three?"

"Ada di ambang jendela kami." Uzma meletakkan kamera itu di meja. "Maaf, tapi saya harus bertanya. Apa yang ada di rak tiga?"

The man looked at the ceiling, and then at his own shoes. After a long moment, he pointed to the wall behind him. On the third shelf stood a row of bottles with blue labels. One bottle stood a little apart from the others.

Pria itu menatap langit-langit, lalu sepatunya sendiri. Setelah lama terdiam, ia menunjuk dinding di belakangnya. Di rak ketiga berdiri sebaris botol berlabel biru. Satu botol berdiri agak terpisah dari yang lain.

"That is the cough syrup," he said. "For eight months, I have been watching it. Every Tuesday evening, at about seven forty, it walks."

"Itu sirup batuk," katanya. "Selama delapan bulan saya mengamatinya. Setiap Selasa malam, sekitar pukul tujuh empat puluh, botol itu berjalan."

"It walks?"

"Berjalan?"

"It moves two centimetres across the shelf. Then I put it back on Wednesday morning, and the next Tuesday it walks again." He sighed. "I thought the shelf was crooked. I thought the building was crooked. I even bought a small level to check the floor."

"Botol itu bergeser dua sentimeter di sepanjang rak. Lalu saya mengembalikannya Rabu pagi, dan Selasa berikutnya botol itu berjalan lagi." Ia menghela napas. "Saya kira raknya miring. Saya kira gedungnya miring. Saya bahkan membeli alat pengukur kerataan kecil untuk memeriksa lantai."

"And the camera?"

"Dan kameranya?"

"I took a photo every week, to prove that I was not imagining it. Thirty-five photos of a bottle." He looked embarrassed. "Yesterday I went upstairs to take the last picture of the dancers, to show the owner. But a customer came, and I ran down and forgot everything."

"Saya memotret setiap minggu, untuk membuktikan bahwa saya tidak berkhayal. Tiga puluh lima foto sebuah botol." Ia tampak malu. "Kemarin saya naik ke atas untuk mengambil foto terakhir para penari, untuk ditunjukkan kepada pemilik gedung. Tapi seorang pelanggan datang, dan saya berlari turun dan melupakan segalanya."

Uzma tried not to laugh, but she could not stop herself. "The bottle walks because we jump on it. It is the beginners' class."

Uzma berusaha menahan tawa, tetapi ia tak mampu. "Botol itu berjalan karena kami melompat di atasnya. Itu kelas pemula."

"I understand that now." The man laughed too, and his shoulders relaxed. "I have had a different theory every week. Last month I believed it was a ghost."

"Sekarang saya mengerti." Pria itu ikut tertawa, dan bahunya mengendur. "Setiap minggu saya punya teori yang berbeda. Bulan lalu saya yakin itu hantu."

"I am sorry about the ghost. I am sure it was not there."

"Saya minta maaf soal hantu itu. Saya yakin hantunya tidak ada."

"I am glad about the answer," he said. "I did not want to complain. I only wanted to know."

"Saya senang mendapat jawabannya," katanya. "Saya tidak ingin mengeluh. Saya hanya ingin tahu."

He pushed the camera back across the counter. "Please keep it until tomorrow. If I take the last picture myself, I will feel silly. The mystery is finished, and I would rather spend the film on something better."

Ia mendorong kamera itu kembali melintasi meja. "Tolong simpan sampai besok. Kalau saya sendiri yang mengambil foto terakhir, saya akan merasa konyol. Misterinya sudah selesai, dan saya lebih suka memakai film itu untuk sesuatu yang lebih baik."

Uzma took the camera upstairs and put it on the bench. Clara had gone home, and the studio was empty. For a long time, she sat there and listened to the pharmacy door opening and closing below.

Uzma membawa kamera itu ke atas dan meletakkannya di bangku. Clara sudah pulang, dan studio itu kosong. Lama sekali ia duduk di sana dan mendengarkan pintu apotek terbuka dan tertutup di bawah.

On Thursday evening, twelve students arrived at the studio. Uzma's hands shook as she turned on the music. She told them the story of the walking bottle before they started. The class laughed, and for some reason that made her feel stronger. When they did the jumping exercise, a few people waved at the floor. Someone shouted a polite hello to the man below.

Pada Kamis malam, dua belas murid tiba di studio. Tangan Uzma gemetar saat ia menyalakan musik. Ia menceritakan kisah botol yang berjalan itu sebelum mereka mulai. Kelas itu tertawa, dan entah mengapa itu membuatnya merasa lebih kuat. Saat mereka melakukan latihan lompat, beberapa orang melambai ke lantai. Seseorang berseru menyapa dengan sopan kepada pria di bawah.

At the end of the class, the students put on their coats and said goodbye. Uzma stayed alone in the studio. She stood at the door, held the camera up to her eye, and looked through the small window.

Di akhir kelas, para murid memakai mantel dan mengucapkan selamat tinggal. Uzma tinggal sendirian di studio. Ia berdiri di pintu, mengangkat kamera ke matanya, dan melihat melalui jendela kecil itu.

The mirror held the last of the evening light. The floor was smooth and quiet, and a pair of forgotten dance shoes lay near the wall. She waited a moment, then pressed the button, and the camera clicked once.

Cermin menyimpan sisa cahaya senja. Lantainya halus dan sunyi, dan sepasang sepatu tari yang terlupakan tergeletak dekat dinding. Ia menunggu sejenak, lalu menekan tombol, dan kamera berbunyi klik sekali.