The Anonymous Book Boxes

The first box arrived at the Elm Street School library on a Monday in October. Aoife found it on her desk, wrapped in brown paper, with no note, no invoice and no return address.

Kotak pertama tiba di perpustakaan Sekolah Elm Street pada suatu hari Senin di bulan Oktober. Aoife menemukannya di mejanya, terbungkus kertas cokelat, tanpa catatan, tanpa faktur, dan tanpa alamat pengirim.

Inside were twelve brand-new paperbacks. They were not the prize-winners she would have chosen. They were short novels in large print, graphic stories, a thin mystery with chapters only two pages long, and a book about trains.

Di dalamnya ada dua belas buku saku yang masih baru. Buku-buku itu bukan pemenang penghargaan yang akan ia pilih. Isinya novel-novel pendek berhuruf besar, cerita bergambar, sebuah cerita misteri tipis dengan bab-bab yang hanya dua halaman, dan sebuah buku tentang kereta api.

She shelved them anyway. By Friday, nearly every one had been borrowed, mostly by students who had never taken anything home before.

Ia tetap menatanya di rak. Pada hari Jumat, hampir semuanya sudah dipinjam, kebanyakan oleh murid-murid yang belum pernah membawa pulang buku sebelumnya.

The next box came on the first Monday of November, and another followed in December. The principal knew nothing about them, and neither did the parents' association. Aoife began to wonder who had been watching her shelves so carefully.

Kotak berikutnya datang pada hari Senin pertama bulan November, dan satu lagi menyusul di bulan Desember. Kepala sekolah tidak tahu apa-apa soal itu, begitu pula perkumpulan orang tua murid. Aoife mulai bertanya-tanya siapa yang telah mengamati raknya dengan begitu saksama.

The only clue was the delivery slip. It had been stuck to the paper with a strip of tape, and it showed a courier stamp, a reference number and a sender code. One evening, after the children had gone home, she phoned the courier company and read out the code.

Satu-satunya petunjuk adalah slip pengiriman. Slip itu direkatkan ke kertas dengan sehelai selotip, dan tertera cap kurir, nomor referensi, dan kode pengirim. Suatu malam, setelah anak-anak pulang, ia menelepon perusahaan kurir itu dan membacakan kode tersebut.

"That account belongs to a small joinery," the clerk said. "On Ridge Road, behind the old cinema. I'm afraid I can't give you a name."

"Akun itu milik sebuah bengkel kayu kecil," kata petugasnya. "Di Jalan Ridge, di belakang bioskop lama. Maaf, saya tidak bisa memberikan namanya."

On Saturday, Aoife walked there. The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish. A man of about thirty-five was sanding a table leg, and he looked up at her with an expression that was not quite surprise.

Pada hari Sabtu, Aoife berjalan ke sana. Bengkel itu berbau serbuk gergaji dan pernis. Seorang pria berusia sekitar tiga puluh lima tahun sedang mengamplas kaki meja, dan ia menengadah menatapnya dengan ekspresi yang tidak persis terkejut.

"You must be the librarian," he said.

"Anda pasti pustakawannya," katanya.

"I am. And you are…" She hesitated, because she knew his face from somewhere, and then the years slid away. A boy at the back of the library, eating his lunch behind the atlases, every single day for two winters.

"Betul. Dan Anda…" Ia ragu, karena ia mengenali wajah itu dari suatu tempat, lalu tahun-tahun itu seakan menyingkap. Seorang anak laki-laki di bagian belakang perpustakaan, makan siang di balik atlas-atlas, setiap hari selama dua musim dingin.

He had been unable to read aloud in class without his stomach hurting. The canteen had been too loud, and the playground had been worse. So she had written him a pass in pencil that said "Lunch in the library," and she had never asked why.

Dulu ia tidak bisa membaca keras-keras di kelas tanpa perutnya sakit. Kantin terlalu bising, dan lapangan bermain lebih buruk lagi. Jadi ia menulis sebuah surat izin dengan pensil yang berbunyi "Makan siang di perpustakaan", dan tidak pernah bertanya mengapa.

"I still have it," the man said. He took out his wallet and, from behind a bank card, unfolded a small square of paper, soft as cloth. Her own handwriting looked back at her.

"Saya masih menyimpannya," kata pria itu. Ia mengeluarkan dompetnya dan, dari balik sebuah kartu bank, membuka lipatan sepotong kertas kecil persegi, selembut kain. Tulisan tangannya sendiri menatap balik kepadanya.

"I couldn't read a menu until I was fifteen," he explained. "The first book I ever finished was a thin one with short chapters. I thought, if I ever could, I'd send those to the next kid."

"Saya tidak bisa membaca menu sampai usia lima belas tahun," jelasnya. "Buku pertama yang pernah saya selesaikan adalah buku tipis dengan bab-bab pendek. Saya berpikir, kalau suatu hari saya bisa, saya akan mengirimkan buku-buku seperti itu untuk anak berikutnya."

"They are the most borrowed books in the building," Aoife said.

"Itu buku-buku yang paling banyak dipinjam di seluruh gedung," kata Aoife.

"Please don't tell anyone it's me. I'd rather they think it's magic."

"Tolong jangan beri tahu siapa pun bahwa itu saya. Saya lebih suka mereka mengira itu sihir."

She kept her promise. On the first Monday of the next month, a new box appeared on her desk. She shelved all twelve books and slipped a small card inside each cover. It said, in her careful pencil: "A gift from a reader."

Ia menepati janjinya. Pada hari Senin pertama bulan berikutnya, sebuah kotak baru muncul di mejanya. Ia menata kedua belas buku itu di rak dan menyelipkan kartu kecil ke dalam setiap sampulnya. Isinya, dengan tulisan pensilnya yang rapi: "Hadiah dari seorang pembaca."