The Blue Door in the Frame

Orla was seventy-two years old. Her daughter Kira gave her a photo frame. It was a birthday gift. It was a thin, white screen. It showed a new picture every minute.

Orla berusia tujuh puluh dua tahun. Putrinya, Kira, memberinya sebuah bingkai foto. Itu hadiah ulang tahun. Bingkai itu berupa layar putih yang tipis. Setiap menit layarnya menampilkan gambar baru.

"It shows your old photos," said Kira. "I put three hundred pictures inside."

"Bingkai ini menampilkan foto-foto lama Ibu," kata Kira. "Aku memasukkan tiga ratus gambar ke dalamnya."

Orla loved it. She showed it to her friends. She put the frame on the shelf in her kitchen. In the evenings, she drank tea and watched it. She saw her husband in a blue boat. She saw Kira as a baby. She saw her old dog, Bean.

Orla menyukainya. Dia memamerkannya kepada teman-temannya. Dia menaruh bingkai itu di rak dapurnya. Pada malam hari, dia minum teh sambil memandanginya. Dia melihat suaminya di sebuah perahu biru. Dia melihat Kira waktu masih bayi. Dia melihat anjing tuanya, Bean.

But one photo was strange.

Tetapi ada satu foto yang aneh.

Every night at nine, the frame showed a blue door. It was a plain wooden door. It had a brass number, 14. There was a yellow flower pot on the step. There was no person in the photo.

Setiap malam pukul sembilan, bingkai itu menampilkan sebuah pintu biru. Pintu kayu yang sederhana. Ada nomor kuningan di atasnya, 14. Ada pot bunga kuning di anak tangga. Tidak ada orang di foto itu.

Orla did not know the door. She did not know the house. She did not know the street. She looked at it for a long time. The photo stayed on the screen for a whole minute.

Orla tidak mengenal pintu itu. Dia tidak mengenal rumahnya. Dia tidak mengenal jalannya. Dia memandanginya lama sekali. Foto itu bertahan di layar selama satu menit penuh.

On the third night, she called Kira.

Pada malam ketiga, dia menelepon Kira.

"I see a blue door every night," she said. "Number fourteen. Did you put it in the frame?"

"Setiap malam aku melihat pintu biru," katanya. "Nomor empat belas. Kamu yang memasukkannya ke bingkai?"

"Maybe," said Kira. "I used a big box of old photos. It was in Dad's desk. I did not look at each one."

"Mungkin," kata Kira. "Aku memakai kotak besar berisi foto-foto lama. Kotaknya ada di meja Ayah. Aku tidak melihat satu per satu."

"Whose door is it?"

"Itu pintu siapa?"

"I do not know, Mum," said Kira. "Sorry."

"Aku tidak tahu, Bu," kata Kira. "Maaf."

Orla sat in the kitchen and thought. She did not know the street. She did not know the flower pot. But the door felt like a very old song. She could almost remember it. It made her heart beat fast.

Orla duduk di dapur dan berpikir. Dia tidak tahu jalan itu. Dia tidak tahu pot bunga itu. Tetapi pintu itu terasa seperti lagu yang sangat lama. Dia hampir bisa mengingatnya. Jantungnya berdebar kencang.

The next morning, she looked at the frame. There was a small button. She pressed it. The screen showed some words under the photo. It said, "Maple Street, 1958."

Keesokan paginya, dia memperhatikan bingkai itu. Ada sebuah tombol kecil. Dia menekannya. Layar menampilkan beberapa kata di bawah foto. Tertulis, "Jalan Maple, 1958."

"Maple Street," Orla said. "Oh!"

"Jalan Maple," kata Orla. "Oh!"

Her mother's voice came into her head. "Come home, Orla. Dinner is ready." Her mother stood in a door. A blue door.

Suara ibunya terdengar di kepalanya. "Pulang, Orla. Makan malam sudah siap." Ibunya berdiri di ambang sebuah pintu. Pintu biru.

That afternoon, Orla put on her coat. She took a bus across the town. She walked up Maple Street slowly. The houses were old and tall. The trees were big. A boy rode past her on a bike. He rang his bell.

Sore itu, Orla mengenakan mantelnya. Dia naik bus melintasi kota. Dia berjalan pelan menyusuri Jalan Maple. Rumah-rumahnya tua dan tinggi. Pohon-pohonnya besar. Seorang anak laki-laki melewatinya dengan sepeda. Dia membunyikan belnya.

At number fourteen, she stopped. The door was not blue now. It was green. The step was the same. But the flower pot was gone.

Di nomor empat belas, dia berhenti. Pintunya sekarang tidak biru lagi. Warnanya hijau. Anak tangganya masih sama. Tetapi pot bunganya sudah tidak ada.

Orla stood there for a minute. Then an old woman opened the door.

Orla berdiri di sana selama semenit. Lalu seorang perempuan tua membuka pintu.

"Hello," said the woman. "Can I help you?"

"Halo," kata perempuan itu. "Ada yang bisa saya bantu?"

"I lived here," said Orla. "A long time ago. I was five."

"Dulu saya tinggal di sini," kata Orla. "Lama sekali. Waktu itu saya lima tahun."

"Come in," said the woman. "I have tea. I can show you the kitchen."

"Silakan masuk," kata perempuan itu. "Saya punya teh. Saya bisa menunjukkan dapurnya."

Orla looked at the green door one more time. She wiped her eyes and smiled. She walked inside. The floor still made the same small sound.

Orla memandangi pintu hijau itu sekali lagi. Dia menyeka matanya dan tersenyum. Dia melangkah masuk. Lantainya masih berbunyi kecil seperti dulu.

That night at nine o'clock, she sat in her kitchen. The frame showed a new picture. It was a red door with the number twenty-two.

Malam itu pukul sembilan, dia duduk di dapurnya. Bingkai itu menampilkan gambar baru. Sebuah pintu merah dengan nomor dua puluh dua.

Orla put down her cup. She looked at the photo. Then she went to find her coat.

Orla meletakkan cangkirnya. Dia memandangi foto itu. Lalu dia pergi mencari mantelnya.