Page Forty-One Leaves the Van

The mobile library van made its rounds of the valley every summer, and Elan and Ozan had been hired to help. Their jobs were small. They stamped the cards, stacked the returns and carried the heavy boxes of picture books up the steps.

Van perpustakaan keliling itu menyusuri lembah setiap musim panas, dan Elan serta Ozan dipekerjakan untuk membantu. Tugas mereka kecil. Mereka mencap kartu, menumpuk buku-buku yang dikembalikan, dan mengangkat kotak-kotak berat berisi buku bergambar menaiki tangga.

On the second Friday, a book came back that Elan had never seen before. It was thick and brown, with a cracked spine and a title in faded gold: The Hearth Atlas of Salt and Smoke. The woman who returned it said she had borrowed it for a week and cooked from it twice.

Pada Jumat kedua, sebuah buku yang belum pernah dilihat Elan dikembalikan. Buku itu tebal dan cokelat, dengan punggung retak dan judul berwarna emas pudar: Atlas Perapian Garam dan Asap. Perempuan yang mengembalikannya berkata ia meminjamnya seminggu dan sudah dua kali memasak dari buku itu.

"Both meals were wonderful," she said. "But the last pages are a little loose, I am afraid."

"Kedua masakannya luar biasa," katanya. "Tapi halaman-halaman terakhirnya agak lepas, sayangnya."

Elan thanked her and set the book on the desk. After the van had pulled away from the stop, he opened it to check for damage, and he turned the pages one by one. Near the middle, he stopped.

Elan berterima kasih kepadanya dan meletakkan buku itu di meja. Setelah van meninggalkan perhentian, ia membukanya untuk memeriksa kerusakan, dan membalik halaman satu per satu. Di dekat bagian tengah, ia berhenti.

"Ozan, come and look at this," he said.

"Ozan, kemari dan lihat ini," katanya.

Ozan leaned over his shoulder. Between page forty and page forty-two there was a ragged stub of paper, as if a page had been torn out in a hurry. The edge was still slightly damp, and when Elan touched it, the stub gave off a faint smell of woodsmoke.

Ozan membungkuk di atas bahunya. Di antara halaman empat puluh dan empat puluh dua ada sisa kertas yang compang-camping, seakan sebuah halaman dirobek dengan tergesa-gesa. Tepinya masih sedikit lembap, dan ketika Elan menyentuhnya, sisa itu mengeluarkan bau samar asap kayu.

"Nobody tore that," Ozan said. "Look at the stitching. The page just left."

"Tak ada yang merobek itu," kata Ozan. "Lihat jahitannya. Halamannya pergi begitu saja."

Elan laughed, and then he saw that Ozan was not joking. The librarian who drove the van had warned them on the first day that some of the old books on the shelf were unusual. She had said the Atlas was one of them, but she had not explained how.

Elan tertawa, lalu ia melihat bahwa Ozan tidak bercanda. Pustakawan yang mengemudikan van itu sudah memperingatkan mereka pada hari pertama bahwa beberapa buku tua di rak tidak biasa. Ia mengatakan Atlas itu salah satunya, tetapi ia tidak menjelaskan bagaimana.

They found out the rest from a note slipped inside the back cover. It was written in a neat hand: "The pages of this book are not content to stay bound. If one goes missing, follow the road it was carried along. It will always end up with the person it belongs to."

Sisanya mereka ketahui dari sebuah catatan yang terselip di sampul belakang. Catatan itu ditulis dengan tulisan tangan yang rapi: "Halaman-halaman buku ini tidak rela tetap terjilid. Jika ada yang hilang, ikutilah jalan tempat ia dibawa. Ia akan selalu berakhir pada orang yang menjadi pemiliknya."

"That sounds like a joke," Elan said.

"Kedengarannya seperti lelucon," kata Elan.

"Then it is a joke that smells of smoke," Ozan replied, and he reached for the route map.

"Kalau begitu itu lelucon yang berbau asap," jawab Ozan, dan ia meraih peta rute.

The woman had returned the book at the crossroads by the beekeeper's farm, the last stop before this one. The page could have slipped out there, and Ozan remembered seeing something pale flutter across the yard.

Perempuan itu mengembalikan buku di persimpangan dekat peternakan si peternak lebah, perhentian terakhir sebelum ini. Halaman itu bisa saja terlepas di sana, dan Ozan ingat melihat sesuatu yang pucat berkibar melintasi halaman.

They asked the librarian for ten minutes and ran the length of the lane. They found the beekeeper sitting on an upturned crate with a sheet of paper in her gloved hands.

Mereka meminta sepuluh menit kepada pustakawan dan berlari menyusuri jalan sempit itu. Mereka menemukan si peternak lebah duduk di atas peti terbalik dengan selembar kertas di tangannya yang bersarung.

"I found this on the gate," she said when they asked. "I read it twice. It is a recipe for a fish soup, which makes no sense, because I have never eaten fish in my life."

"Saya menemukan ini di gerbang," katanya ketika mereka bertanya. "Saya membacanya dua kali. Ini resep sup ikan, dan itu tidak masuk akal, karena seumur hidup saya tidak pernah makan ikan."

She frowned at the page. "Every time I try to read the ingredients, the words slide away. It is plainly meant for somebody else."

Ia mengerutkan kening pada halaman itu. "Setiap kali saya mencoba membaca bahan-bahannya, kata-katanya meluncur menjauh. Jelas ini dimaksudkan untuk orang lain."

Elan thanked her and took the page. It felt warm, like a stone left in the sun. But as soon as he reached the road, it tugged gently against his fingers, and a gust of air lifted it out of his hand.

Elan berterima kasih kepadanya dan mengambil halaman itu. Rasanya hangat, seperti batu yang dibiarkan di bawah matahari. Tetapi begitu ia sampai di jalan, halaman itu menarik pelan jari-jarinya, dan embusan angin mengangkatnya dari tangannya.

"It is leaving again!" Ozan shouted.

"Dia pergi lagi!" teriak Ozan.

They chased it down the hill, through a gap in a hedge and along the riverbank to the little ferry landing. The page skimmed across the water, and a mechanic wiping oil from his hands caught it neatly against his chest.

Mereka mengejarnya menuruni bukit, melewati celah di pagar tanaman dan menyusuri tepi sungai sampai ke dermaga kecil penyeberangan. Halaman itu meluncur melintasi air, dan seorang montir yang sedang menyeka oli dari tangannya menangkapnya dengan cekatan di dadanya.

"Is this yours?" the mechanic asked. He read the first line aloud, and then he frowned.

"Ini milik kalian?" tanya si montir. Ia membaca baris pertama dengan suara keras, lalu mengerutkan kening.

"I cannot make sense of it. It describes a kitchen, I think, but the roof is a ship's deck. Whoever wrote this was not from around here." He glanced at the sky. "The ferry leaves in five minutes. If I had the time, I would help you look. A girl was waiting at the school gate earlier, and she was staring at everything that flew by."

"Saya tidak bisa memahaminya. Kelihatannya menggambarkan sebuah dapur, tapi atapnya geladak kapal. Siapa pun yang menulis ini bukan orang sini." Ia melirik langit. "Feri berangkat lima menit lagi. Kalau ada waktu, saya akan membantu kalian mencari. Tadi ada seorang gadis menunggu di gerbang sekolah, dan dia menatap semua yang melintas terbang."

He pressed the page into Ozan's hand. For a moment, it lay still, the ink glimmering as though it were wet. Then it slipped between his fingers, drifted up over the roof of the ferry house and went sailing away across the fields.

Ia menekan halaman itu ke tangan Ozan. Sejenak, halaman itu terbaring diam, tintanya berkilau seakan masih basah. Lalu halaman itu menyelinap di antara jari-jarinya, melayang naik di atas atap rumah dermaga, dan pergi melaju menyeberangi ladang-ladang.

"We must have let go too early," Elan panted, as they ran. "That is the second time!"

"Pasti kita melepaskannya terlalu cepat," Elan terengah-engah sambil berlari. "Ini kedua kalinya!"

"Third time lucky," said Ozan, who had never run so fast in his life.

"Percobaan ketiga biasanya beruntung," kata Ozan, yang seumur hidupnya belum pernah berlari secepat itu.

The school gate stood at the end of the valley road, where the van was due to stop at four o'clock. It was a quarter to, and a thin line of children was already waiting. Some of them were reading and some were arguing. One was holding a sheet of paper over her head like a flag.

Gerbang sekolah berdiri di ujung jalan lembah, tempat van dijadwalkan berhenti pukul empat. Saat itu pukul empat kurang seperempat, dan barisan tipis anak-anak sudah menunggu. Sebagian membaca dan sebagian berdebat. Salah satunya memegang selembar kertas di atas kepalanya seperti bendera.

She was about ten years old. She was wearing a coat too big for her and a pair of shoes that had been polished for a different town. When she saw the two boys, she held the page out with both hands and looked up at them without speaking.

Ia berumur sekitar sepuluh tahun. Ia memakai mantel yang terlalu besar untuknya dan sepasang sepatu yang telah disemir untuk kota yang lain. Ketika melihat kedua anak laki-laki itu, ia mengulurkan halaman itu dengan kedua tangan dan menengadah menatap mereka tanpa berkata apa-apa.

"Is that yours?" Elan asked, as gently as he could.

"Itu milikmu?" tanya Elan, selembut yang ia bisa.

The girl shook her head, and then she nodded, and then she said, in a very small voice, "I do not know. It showed me our kitchen."

Gadis itu menggeleng, lalu mengangguk, lalu berkata dengan suara sangat kecil, "Aku tidak tahu. Halaman ini menunjukkan dapur kami kepadaku."

"Your kitchen?" Ozan asked.

"Dapurmu?" tanya Ozan.

"At the harbour. Before we moved."

"Di pelabuhan. Sebelum kami pindah."

She turned the page toward them. The ink had rearranged itself into small handwriting that neither boy could read, but the picture beside it was clear enough. It showed a table by a window, a pan on a stove and a long grey ocean in the glass. "I have not eaten properly since we came here. Everything tastes of paper. But when I read this, I could smell the soup my mother makes, and I was not hungry any more. I was home."

Ia membalikkan halaman itu ke arah mereka. Tintanya telah menyusun ulang dirinya menjadi tulisan tangan kecil yang tak bisa dibaca kedua anak laki-laki itu, tetapi gambar di sampingnya cukup jelas. Gambar itu memperlihatkan sebuah meja di dekat jendela, sebuah panci di atas kompor, dan lautan abu-abu yang panjang di kaca. "Aku belum makan dengan benar sejak kami tiba di sini. Semuanya berasa kertas. Tapi ketika aku membaca ini, aku bisa mencium sup yang dibuat ibuku, dan aku tidak lapar lagi. Aku merasa di rumah."

For a minute, nobody said anything. The other children had gone quiet too. A bell rang inside the school, and the van rumbled around the corner and stopped with a sigh of brakes.

Selama semenit, tak ada yang berkata apa-apa. Anak-anak lain juga menjadi hening. Sebuah bel berbunyi di dalam sekolah, dan van itu bergemuruh di tikungan dan berhenti dengan embusan rem.

Elan took a breath. "The book belongs to the library," he said slowly. "But I think this page belongs to you. If the librarian agrees, you can keep it. We will tell her it found its owner."

Elan menarik napas. "Buku itu milik perpustakaan," katanya perlahan. "Tapi kurasa halaman ini milikmu. Kalau pustakawan setuju, kamu boleh menyimpannya. Kami akan bilang halaman itu sudah menemukan pemiliknya."

The girl folded the page carefully, as if it might break, and tucked it inside her coat. Then she smiled for the first time, and it was a surprisingly wide smile. She said that she would come to the van every week, and that she would bring a bowl of the soup to share.

Gadis itu melipat halaman itu dengan hati-hati, seakan bisa pecah, dan menyelipkannya di dalam mantelnya. Lalu ia tersenyum untuk pertama kalinya, dan itu senyum yang mengejutkan lebarnya. Ia berkata bahwa ia akan datang ke van setiap minggu, dan akan membawa semangkuk sup itu untuk dibagi.

Ozan laughed. "I will hold you to that bowl," he said.

Ozan tertawa. "Aku akan menagih semangkuk itu," katanya.

That evening, after the last stop, the two boys sat in the back of the van. The Atlas lay open on the desk between them. The librarian had read the note and nodded, saying that it had happened before and that it always ended well. Elan held the book up to the lamp, and he looked once more at the stub where the missing page had been.

Malam itu, setelah perhentian terakhir, kedua anak laki-laki itu duduk di bagian belakang van. Atlas itu terbuka di meja di antara mereka. Pustakawan sudah membaca catatan itu dan mengangguk, katanya hal itu pernah terjadi dan selalu berakhir baik. Elan mengangkat buku itu ke arah lampu, dan ia memandang sekali lagi sisa kertas tempat halaman yang hilang dulu berada.

The stub was not empty. A line of fresh ink had appeared along the torn edge, written in the same neat hand as the note in the back cover. It was a short line.

Sisa itu tidak kosong. Sebaris tinta baru muncul di sepanjang tepi yang robek, ditulis dengan tulisan tangan rapi yang sama seperti catatan di sampul belakang. Itu baris yang pendek.

"The next page is already on its way," Ozan read aloud.

"Halaman berikutnya sudah dalam perjalanan," Ozan membacakan dengan suara keras.

Elan closed the book and slid it carefully onto the highest shelf. Then he glanced at the window, which he was almost certain he had shut.

Elan menutup buku itu dan menyelipkannya hati-hati ke rak tertinggi. Lalu ia melirik jendela, yang ia hampir yakin telah ia tutup.