Seven O'Clock on the Stairs

The sign on the lift says, "Out of order. Back soon."

Tulisan di lift berbunyi, "Rusak. Segera kembali."

Three weeks is a long time for soon. Every morning, Malika reads the sign again. Every evening, it says the same thing. The lift stays dead, and the stairs stay long.

Tiga minggu itu lama sekali untuk kata "segera". Setiap pagi, Malika membaca tulisan itu lagi. Setiap sore, bunyinya tetap sama. Lift tetap mati, dan tangga tetap panjang.

Malika lives on the ninth floor of a tall grey building. She is fifteen. Every day she climbs nine floors with her school bag. Her legs hurt, and her bag feels like a rock.

Malika tinggal di lantai sembilan sebuah gedung tinggi berwarna abu-abu. Usianya lima belas tahun. Setiap hari ia menaiki sembilan lantai sambil membawa tas sekolah. Kakinya sakit, dan tasnya terasa seperti batu.

On the stairs, people complain. They complain on the second floor and on the fifth floor. They complain to each other and to the walls. Nobody calls the building office. Everyone thinks that someone else does it.

Di tangga, orang-orang mengeluh. Mereka mengeluh di lantai dua dan di lantai lima. Mereka mengeluh kepada satu sama lain dan kepada dinding. Tidak ada yang menelepon kantor pengelola gedung. Semua orang mengira ada orang lain yang melakukannya.

Every evening at seven, Malika hears slow steps below. Then Omar climbs past her door. He is sixteen, and he lives on the eleventh floor. He carries a big steel pot with two handles. He holds it with a pair of thick yellow oven gloves. Steam comes out from under the lid. The smell of spiced rice fills the stairs.

Setiap sore pukul tujuh, Malika mendengar langkah pelan dari bawah. Lalu Omar naik melewati pintunya. Ia berusia enam belas tahun, dan tinggal di lantai sebelas. Ia membawa panci baja besar dengan dua pegangan. Ia memegangnya dengan sepasang sarung tangan oven kuning yang tebal. Uap keluar dari bawah tutupnya. Aroma nasi berempah memenuhi tangga.

Malika stands in her doorway each evening. She tells herself it is for the smell. Omar always says, "Hello." Malika always says, "Hello," very quickly. Then he goes up, and she goes in.

Setiap sore Malika berdiri di ambang pintunya. Ia berkata pada dirinya sendiri bahwa itu karena aromanya. Omar selalu berkata, "Halo." Malika selalu menjawab, "Halo," dengan sangat cepat. Lalu Omar naik, dan ia masuk ke dalam.

The stairs smell of paint, dust, and other people's dinners. Each landing has a small window. Each window shows a bit more of the city. Malika knows every crack in the wall.

Tangga itu berbau cat, debu, dan makan malam orang lain. Setiap bordes punya jendela kecil. Setiap jendela memperlihatkan sedikit lebih banyak dari kota. Malika hafal setiap retakan di dinding.

On Monday, Omar stops on her landing for a short rest. His face is shiny from the heat of the pot. He nods at her, and she nods back. That is all. On Tuesday, the same thing happens. On Wednesday, he nearly drops a glove, and she nearly speaks. "Nearly" is the best word for Malika this week.

Pada hari Senin, Omar berhenti sebentar di bordesnya untuk beristirahat. Wajahnya berkilat oleh panas dari panci. Ia mengangguk padanya, dan Malika membalas anggukan itu. Hanya itu. Pada hari Selasa, hal yang sama terulang. Pada hari Rabu, Omar hampir menjatuhkan sebelah sarung tangannya, dan Malika hampir berbicara. "Hampir" adalah kata terbaik untuk Malika minggu ini.

The neighbours talk about him. They do not talk to him.

Para tetangga membicarakannya. Mereka tidak berbicara kepadanya.

The man from the fifth floor speaks first. "Why does he carry hot food up eleven floors?"

Si bapak dari lantai lima yang pertama bicara. "Kenapa anak itu membawa makanan panas sampai sebelas lantai?"

"And why the oven gloves?" says the woman from the fourth. "On the stairs? Like a cook in a film."

"Dan kenapa pakai sarung tangan oven?" kata si ibu dari lantai empat. "Di tangga? Seperti juru masak di film."

"Strange boy," says the man.

"Anak yang aneh," kata si bapak.

They say it to each other, never to Omar. Malika hears every word. She has the same questions. They sit in her chest like small stones.

Mereka mengatakannya satu sama lain, tidak pernah kepada Omar. Malika mendengar setiap kata. Ia punya pertanyaan yang sama. Pertanyaan-pertanyaan itu mengendap di dadanya seperti batu-batu kecil.

At school, her friend notices. "You look odd today," she says.

Di sekolah, temannya menyadari sesuatu. "Kamu kelihatan aneh hari ini," katanya.

"There is a boy in my building," says Malika. "He carries a pot up the stairs. He wears oven gloves. Nobody knows why."

"Ada seorang cowok di gedungku," kata Malika. "Dia membawa panci naik tangga. Dia pakai sarung tangan oven. Tidak ada yang tahu kenapa."

"So ask him."

"Ya tanya saja dia."

"What if he is rude?"

"Bagaimana kalau dia kasar?"

"What if he is not?" says her friend. She eats a fruit and shrugs. "It is only a question, Malika. He will not hurt you."

"Bagaimana kalau tidak?" kata temannya. Ia makan sepotong buah dan mengangkat bahu. "Itu cuma pertanyaan, Malika. Dia tidak akan menyakitimu."

That night, Malika lies in bed and thinks about the question. It is easy to say in her head. In her mouth, the question is too big. It will not come out.

Malam itu, Malika berbaring di tempat tidur dan memikirkan pertanyaan itu. Di dalam kepala, pertanyaan itu mudah diucapkan. Di mulutnya, pertanyaan itu terlalu besar. Tidak mau keluar.

On Thursday, Omar arrives at seven. His steps are slower than usual. He reaches the ninth floor. He puts the pot down on the top step and breathes hard. His oven gloves are wet with steam.

Pada hari Kamis, Omar tiba pukul tujuh. Langkahnya lebih lambat dari biasanya. Ia sampai di lantai sembilan. Ia meletakkan panci di anak tangga teratas dan terengah-engah. Sarung tangan ovennya basah oleh uap.

Malika is in her doorway. Her heart beats fast. She takes one step out.

Malika berdiri di ambang pintunya. Jantungnya berdebar kencang. Ia melangkah satu langkah keluar.

"Can I ask you something?" she says.

"Boleh aku tanya sesuatu?" katanya.

Omar looks up. He seems surprised. "Yes?"

Omar menengadah. Ia tampak terkejut. "Ya?"

"Why do you carry a hot pot up the stairs? And why do you wear oven gloves?"

"Kenapa kamu membawa panci panas naik tangga? Dan kenapa kamu pakai sarung tangan oven?"

For a second he says nothing. Then he laughs. It is a short, tired laugh, but a real one.

Selama sesaat ia tidak berkata apa-apa. Lalu ia tertawa. Tawanya pendek dan lelah, tetapi tulus.

"Three weeks," he says. "I pass this door every night, and nobody asks me anything. They only look."

"Tiga minggu," katanya. "Setiap malam aku lewat pintu ini, dan tidak ada yang bertanya apa pun padaku. Mereka cuma melihat."

"I am sorry," says Malika.

"Maaf," kata Malika.

"No, it is good. Thank you." He wipes his forehead with his arm. "Our cooker broke on the same day as the lift. The building has a cooking room in the basement. Any family can use it. So I cook down there and carry dinner up."

"Tidak, justru bagus. Terima kasih." Ia menyeka dahinya dengan lengan. "Kompor kami rusak di hari yang sama dengan liftnya. Gedung ini punya ruang masak di ruang bawah tanah. Keluarga mana pun boleh memakainya. Jadi aku masak di bawah dan membawa makan malam ke atas."

"Eleven floors," says Malika.

"Sebelas lantai," kata Malika.

"Eleven floors. Twice, if I forget the spoons." He holds up his hands and wiggles his yellow fingers. "And the gloves? The handles of this pot are hot enough to cook an egg. These are the only things I have that can hold them."

"Sebelas lantai. Dua kali, kalau aku lupa sendoknya." Ia mengangkat kedua tangannya dan menggerak-gerakkan jari-jarinya yang kuning. "Dan sarung tangannya? Pegangan panci ini cukup panas untuk memasak telur. Cuma ini yang kupunya yang bisa memegangnya."

Malika laughs. She cannot stop herself. It is a loud laugh. It goes up and down the stairs.

Malika tertawa. Ia tidak bisa menahan diri. Tawanya keras. Menggema naik turun di tangga.

"Nobody helped you?" she asks, when she can speak.

"Tidak ada yang membantumu?" tanyanya, begitu ia bisa bicara lagi.

"Nobody asked if I needed help." He shrugs. "And I did not ask them. It is hard to ask. Especially when everyone sees a strange boy with a pot."

"Tidak ada yang bertanya apakah aku butuh bantuan." Omar mengangkat bahu. "Dan aku juga tidak meminta pada mereka. Susah minta tolong. Apalagi kalau semua orang melihat seorang cowok aneh dengan sebuah panci."

Malika thinks about her three weeks of staying silent in the doorway. She thinks about the small stones in her chest. They feel lighter now.

Malika memikirkan tiga minggunya yang diam di ambang pintu. Ia memikirkan batu-batu kecil di dadanya. Sekarang batu-batu itu terasa lebih ringan.

"Two floors left," says Omar. He bends and takes the pot by its handles. The steam rises again. The warm smell of rice and spice fills the air. Malika's stomach makes a loud sound.

"Tinggal dua lantai lagi," kata Omar. Ia membungkuk dan mengangkat panci itu pada pegangannya. Uap naik lagi. Aroma hangat nasi dan rempah memenuhi udara. Perut Malika berbunyi keras.

Omar hears it. He smiles. He stops, and he takes one glove off his hand. Then he holds it out to her.

Omar mendengarnya. Ia tersenyum. Ia berhenti, dan melepas sebelah sarung tangan dari tangannya. Lalu ia mengulurkannya kepada Malika.

"The pot has two handles," he says. "One glove each. Do you want the front handle or the back?"

"Panci ini punya dua pegangan," katanya. "Satu sarung tangan untuk masing-masing. Kamu mau pegangan depan atau belakang?"