The Fourth String

Bjorn made his promise on his first morning at Hale and Daughter. He had not even hung up his coat.

Bjorn membuat janjinya pada pagi pertamanya di Hale and Daughter. Ia bahkan belum sempat menggantung mantelnya.

The shop was small, with a green door and three sewing machines in a row by the window. The tailor, a calm man with silver pins in his sleeve, stood on a chair. He was reaching for a violin in a faded blue case. Bjorn counted its strings. There were only three.

Toko itu kecil, dengan pintu hijau dan tiga mesin jahit berjajar di dekat jendela. Sang penjahit, seorang pria tenang dengan jarum-jarum perak tersemat di lengan bajunya, berdiri di atas kursi. Ia sedang meraih sebuah biola dalam kotak biru pudar. Bjorn menghitung senarnya. Hanya ada tiga.

"Careful!" said Bjorn, and he held the chair with both hands.

"Hati-hati!" kata Bjorn, dan ia memegangi kursi itu dengan kedua tangan.

"Thank you," said the tailor. He climbed down and looked at the violin with a worried face. "The fourth string broke last month. My daughter comes home on Friday for the shop's birthday. She plays this violin better than anyone, and I told her it would be ready."

"Terima kasih," kata sang penjahit. Ia turun, lalu memandangi biola itu dengan wajah cemas. "Senar keempatnya putus bulan lalu. Putriku pulang hari Jumat untuk ulang tahun toko ini. Dia memainkan biola ini lebih baik daripada siapa pun, dan aku sudah bilang padanya biolanya akan siap."

"Then you need a new string," said Bjorn.

"Kalau begitu Bapak butuh senar baru," kata Bjorn.

"The music shop is on the other side of town. It closes at six, and I close at half past." The tailor sighed. "Every evening I think, I will go tomorrow."

"Toko musiknya ada di sisi lain kota. Tutup pukul enam, sedangkan aku tutup pukul setengah tujuh." Sang penjahit menghela napas. "Setiap sore aku berpikir, besok saja aku pergi."

Bjorn was new, and he badly wanted to be useful. "I'll go for you," he said. "I promise. You will have your string by Friday."

Bjorn masih baru, dan ia sangat ingin berguna. "Biar saya yang pergi," katanya. "Saya janji. Bapak akan mendapatkan senarnya sebelum hari Jumat."

"That is very kind of you." The tailor wrote a note in neat handwriting and gave Bjorn two coins. Bjorn put them in his pocket and patted it twice, so he would not forget.

"Kamu baik sekali." Sang penjahit menulis catatan dengan tulisan tangan yang rapi dan memberi Bjorn dua koin. Bjorn memasukkannya ke saku dan menepuk saku itu dua kali agar tidak lupa.

Bastien had watched all of this from his stool by the cutting table. He was seventeen, and he had worked at the shop for a year. He liked to give advice slowly.

Bastien telah memperhatikan semua itu dari bangkunya di dekat meja potong. Usianya tujuh belas tahun, dan ia sudah bekerja di toko itu selama setahun. Ia suka memberi nasihat dengan perlahan.

"Never promise anything in this shop," he said, when the tailor had gone. "Something always happens."

"Jangan pernah berjanji apa pun di toko ini," katanya, setelah sang penjahit pergi. "Selalu saja ada yang terjadi."

"What could happen?" asked Bjorn.

"Memangnya apa yang bisa terjadi?" tanya Bjorn.

Bastien only smiled and threaded a needle.

Bastien hanya tersenyum dan memasukkan benang ke lubang jarum.

On Tuesday, the tailor sent Bjorn across town with three coats. He came back after the music shop had closed. On Wednesday, a customer arrived at five with a torn jacket and a very long story. Bjorn stayed to hold the cloth. On Thursday, he ran all the way to the music shop and reached it at ten past six. The door was locked, and a man inside was turning off the lights.

Pada hari Selasa, sang penjahit menyuruh Bjorn menyeberangi kota dengan membawa tiga mantel. Ia kembali setelah toko musik tutup. Pada hari Rabu, seorang pelanggan datang pukul lima dengan jaket robek dan cerita yang sangat panjang. Bjorn tinggal untuk memegangi kainnya. Pada hari Kamis, ia berlari sepanjang jalan ke toko musik dan tiba pukul enam lewat sepuluh. Pintunya terkunci, dan seorang pria di dalam sedang mematikan lampu.

"Tomorrow morning," Bjorn told himself. "First thing."

"Besok pagi," kata Bjorn pada dirinya sendiri. "Hal pertama yang kulakukan."

On Friday he stood outside the music shop at five to nine, with the coins in his fist. At nine the door stayed shut. At ten past, he noticed a card in the window. It said, in thick black letters, CLOSED ALL DAY FOR COUNTING. BACK ON MONDAY.

Pada hari Jumat ia berdiri di depan toko musik pukul sembilan kurang lima, dengan koin-koin di genggamannya. Pukul sembilan, pintu tetap tertutup. Pukul sembilan lewat sepuluh, ia melihat sebuah kartu di jendela. Tertulis dengan huruf hitam tebal: TUTUP SEHARIAN UNTUK MENGHITUNG STOK. BUKA KEMBALI HARI SENIN.

Bjorn read it three times. Then he sat down on the step.

Bjorn membacanya tiga kali. Lalu ia duduk di anak tangga.

His promise had one problem: it was now ten o'clock, and the tailor's daughter was arriving at one. The shop's birthday party began at four. A violin with three strings would be a sad thing to put on the table.

Janjinya punya satu masalah: sekarang sudah pukul sepuluh, dan putri sang penjahit akan tiba pukul satu. Pesta ulang tahun toko dimulai pukul empat. Biola dengan tiga senar akan menjadi pemandangan yang menyedihkan di atas meja.

He walked back slowly. When he came through the green door, Bastien looked up from a sleeve.

Ia berjalan pulang dengan lambat. Ketika ia masuk lewat pintu hijau, Bastien mengangkat kepala dari sebuah lengan baju.

"You have no string," said Bastien.

"Kamu tidak punya senar," kata Bastien.

"The shop is closed."

"Tokonya tutup."

"I told you. Something always happens." Bastien put down his needle, though, and he did not look pleased with himself. "Where is the tailor?"

"Sudah kubilang. Selalu saja ada yang terjadi." Meski begitu, Bastien meletakkan jarumnya, dan ia tidak tampak bangga pada dirinya sendiri. "Di mana Pak Penjahit?"

"He went to meet his daughter. He will be back at half past twelve."

"Beliau pergi menjemput putrinya. Beliau akan kembali pukul setengah satu."

"Then we have two hours." Bastien stood up. "Let me think. What is a string?"

"Kalau begitu kita punya dua jam." Bastien berdiri. "Biar kupikir dulu. Apa itu senar?"

"A string is a thing you buy at the music shop," said Bjorn.

"Senar itu sesuatu yang dibeli di toko musik," kata Bjorn.

"No. A string is something thin and strong that you pull very tight." Bastien walked to the shelf of thread and picked up a fat brown spool. "The tailor uses this for the buttons on winter coats. It would hold a horse."

"Bukan. Senar itu sesuatu yang tipis dan kuat yang ditarik sangat kencang." Bastien berjalan ke rak benang dan mengambil gulungan cokelat yang gemuk. "Pak Penjahit memakai ini untuk kancing mantel musim dingin. Benang ini sanggup menahan seekor kuda."

Bjorn stared at him. "You want to put sewing thread on a violin?"

Bjorn menatapnya. "Kamu mau memasang benang jahit di biola?"

"I want to keep your promise," said Bastien. "Fetch the violin."

"Aku mau menepati janjimu," kata Bastien. "Ambil biolanya."

They tried one strand first. Bastien tied it to the little peg and turned it. The thread went tight, and then it snapped with a sharp twang and flicked him on the nose.

Mereka mencoba satu helai dulu. Bastien mengikatkannya pada pasak kecil dan memutarnya. Benang itu menegang, lalu putus dengan bunyi twang yang tajam dan menyentil hidungnya.

"Ow," said Bastien. He rubbed his nose and looked thoughtful. "Too thin. Let's use six."

"Aduh," kata Bastien. Ia mengusap hidungnya dan tampak berpikir. "Terlalu tipis. Kita pakai enam helai."

They twisted six strands together on the cutting table, turning them like a rope. Bjorn held one end while Bastien held the other. The result was thick and a little hairy, and it looked nothing like a real string. Bastien rubbed it with the tailor's block of wax. Then he rubbed it with chalk, so that the bow would grip it.

Mereka memilin enam helai benang menjadi satu di atas meja potong, memutarnya seperti tali. Bjorn memegang satu ujung sementara Bastien memegang ujung yang lain. Hasilnya tebal dan agak berbulu, dan sama sekali tidak mirip senar sungguhan. Bastien menggosoknya dengan balok lilin milik sang penjahit. Lalu ia menggosoknya dengan kapur, supaya busurnya bisa mencengkeram.

"Why chalk?" asked Bjorn.

"Kenapa kapur?" tanya Bjorn.

"Because I have no better idea," said Bastien.

"Karena aku tidak punya ide yang lebih baik," kata Bastien.

He tied the new string to the violin. For half an hour he turned the peg, a little at a time. He played the guitar at home, so he knew how to tune by ear. He hummed a note, plucked the thread and frowned. Then he turned the peg again. Bjorn brought him water and did not say a word.

Ia mengikatkan senar baru itu pada biola. Selama setengah jam ia memutar pasaknya, sedikit demi sedikit. Di rumah ia bermain gitar, jadi ia tahu cara menyetel dengan telinga. Ia bersenandung satu nada, memetik benang itu, dan mengerutkan kening. Lalu ia memutar pasaknya lagi. Bjorn membawakan air untuknya dan tidak berkata sepatah kata pun.

At twelve, the thread finally sang the right note.

Pukul dua belas, benang itu akhirnya menyanyikan nada yang tepat.

Bjorn lifted the bow and drew it across the four strings. The sound was warm and slightly rough, like a voice that had just woken up. It was not perfect, but it was a violin.

Bjorn mengangkat busur dan menggesekkannya melintasi keempat senar. Suaranya hangat dan agak kasar, seperti suara orang yang baru bangun tidur. Suaranya tidak sempurna, tetapi itu sebuah biola.

"It works," he whispered.

"Berhasil," bisiknya.

"Look at the shelf," said Bastien.

"Lihat rak itu," kata Bastien.

A fine white cloud was drifting up from the new string. Every stroke of the bow shook loose a little more chalk. It settled on the violin, on the table and on Bjorn's sleeve.

Awan putih halus melayang naik dari senar yang baru. Setiap gesekan busur melepaskan sedikit kapur lagi. Kapur itu mengendap di biola, di meja, dan di lengan baju Bjorn.

"Oh," said Bjorn.

"Oh," kata Bjorn.

"It is only chalk," said Bastien. "We will brush it off."

"Itu cuma kapur," kata Bastien. "Nanti kita sikat."

They had just started to brush when the green door opened. The tailor came in with a young woman. She had his calm eyes and a bag on her shoulder. Behind them, the other workers carried in a cake and paper cups for the party. Everyone stopped in the doorway.

Mereka baru mulai menyikat ketika pintu hijau terbuka. Sang penjahit masuk bersama seorang wanita muda. Ia memiliki mata tenang seperti ayahnya dan menyandang tas di bahunya. Di belakang mereka, para pekerja lain membawa masuk kue dan gelas kertas untuk pesta. Semua orang berhenti di ambang pintu.

"I have to tell you something," said Bjorn, and his voice shook a little. "I promised you a string. The music shop was closed, so I did not buy one. This one is made of button thread."

"Saya harus mengatakan sesuatu," kata Bjorn, dan suaranya sedikit bergetar. "Saya berjanji akan membawakan senar. Toko musiknya tutup, jadi saya tidak membelinya. Yang ini terbuat dari benang kancing."

The tailor looked at the violin, and then he looked at the white dust on Bjorn's sleeve.

Sang penjahit memandang biola itu, lalu memandang debu putih di lengan baju Bjorn.

"You had a promise to keep," he said slowly. "And you kept it in a way I would never have thought of."

"Kamu punya janji untuk ditepati," katanya perlahan. "Dan kamu menepatinya dengan cara yang tidak akan pernah terpikir olehku."

His daughter put down her bag. "May I?" she asked.

Putrinya meletakkan tasnya. "Boleh aku coba?" tanyanya.

Bjorn handed her the violin. She tucked it under her chin, tested the new string and laughed softly. Then she began to play. It was a simple tune, quick and light, and the room grew quiet. Bastien stood very straight beside the cutting table.

Bjorn menyerahkan biola itu kepadanya. Ia menyelipkannya di bawah dagu, mencoba senar baru itu, dan tertawa pelan. Lalu ia mulai bermain. Lagunya sederhana, cepat dan ringan, dan ruangan menjadi hening. Bastien berdiri sangat tegak di samping meja potong.

With each long stroke, a small white puff rose from the fourth string. It floated over her hands and landed on her sleeve and her chin. By the end of the first verse, she had a white moustache.

Pada setiap gesekan panjang, segumpal kecil putih naik dari senar keempat. Gumpalan itu melayang di atas tangannya lalu hinggap di lengan baju dan dagunya. Pada akhir bait pertama, ia sudah punya kumis putih.

One of the workers started to laugh. Then another did, and then the tailor had to sit down. His daughter kept playing, with chalk in her hair and tears of laughter on her cheeks. She finished the whole tune.

Salah seorang pekerja mulai tertawa. Lalu yang lain ikut, dan kemudian sang penjahit harus duduk. Putrinya terus bermain, dengan kapur di rambutnya dan air mata tawa di pipinya. Ia menyelesaikan seluruh lagu itu.

"It's the best violin I have ever played," she said at last, wiping her chin. "It just needs a brush."

"Ini biola terbaik yang pernah kumainkan," katanya akhirnya sambil mengelap dagunya. "Hanya perlu disikat."

"Hale and Daughter has a violin that sneezes," said the tailor.

"Hale and Daughter punya biola yang bersin," kata sang penjahit.

The party was loud and happy. The chalk string lasted all afternoon, and the daughter played three more tunes. Each time, a white cloud followed the bow, and each time the guests cheered.

Pestanya meriah dan penuh kebahagiaan. Senar kapur itu bertahan sepanjang sore, dan sang putri memainkan tiga lagu lagi. Setiap kali, awan putih mengikuti busur, dan setiap kali para tamu bersorak.

When everyone had gone home, Bjorn stayed to sweep the floor. He took a clean cloth and wiped the white dust from the top shelf. Then he laid the violin in its faded blue case. He left the lid open.

Ketika semua orang sudah pulang, Bjorn tinggal untuk menyapu lantai. Ia mengambil kain bersih dan mengelap debu putih dari rak paling atas. Lalu ia membaringkan biola itu di dalam kotak biru pudarnya. Ia membiarkan tutupnya terbuka.