The Lines on the Field

Every Friday evening, Freya paints the football lines. She is fifty-five. She works for the town club. Nobody sees her work. By Saturday morning, the white lines shine in the grass. The players run onto the field. Nobody says thank you.

Setiap Jumat sore, Freya mengecat garis lapangan sepak bola. Usianya lima puluh lima tahun. Ia bekerja untuk klub kota. Tidak ada yang melihat pekerjaannya. Pada Sabtu pagi, garis-garis putih itu berkilau di atas rumput. Para pemain berlari ke lapangan. Tidak ada yang mengucapkan terima kasih.

Freya does not mind. She likes the quiet. First, she pulls a string from one corner to another. Then she walks slowly behind her little paint machine. The line comes out straight and white. The sun goes down. The air smells of cut grass.

Freya tidak keberatan. Ia suka suasana yang tenang. Pertama, ia menarik tali dari satu sudut ke sudut lain. Lalu ia berjalan pelan di belakang mesin catnya yang kecil. Garis putih yang lurus keluar dari mesin itu. Matahari terbenam. Udara berbau rumput yang baru dipotong.

One Friday, a boy sits on the fence. He is about ten years old. He has a big football under his arm. He watches her for a long time. "Why do you do this?" he asks.

Pada suatu Jumat, seorang anak laki-laki duduk di atas pagar. Umurnya sekitar sepuluh tahun. Ia membawa bola sepak besar di bawah lengannya. Ia memperhatikan Freya cukup lama. "Kenapa Ibu melakukan ini?" tanyanya.

"Do what?"

"Melakukan apa?"

"Paint lines. Nobody looks at them."

"Mengecat garis. Tidak ada yang melihatnya."

Freya stops her machine. She thinks for a moment. "Players look at them," she says.

Freya menghentikan mesinnya. Ia berpikir sejenak. "Para pemain melihatnya," katanya.

"They just do not know it."

"Mereka hanya tidak sadar."

"I do not look at them," the boy says.

"Aku tidak melihatnya," kata anak itu.

"You do. When you play, you know where the goal is. You know when the ball is out. The lines tell you."

"Kamu melihatnya. Waktu bermain, kamu tahu di mana gawangnya. Kamu tahu kapan bola keluar. Garis-garis itulah yang memberi tahu kamu."

The boy shrugs. "My name is Cyrus. I play on Saturdays."

Anak itu mengangkat bahu. "Namaku Cyrus. Aku main hari Sabtu."

"I know," says Freya.

"Aku tahu," kata Freya.

"You are the small one who never passes the ball." Cyrus goes red.

"Kamu anak kecil yang tidak pernah mengoper bola." Wajah Cyrus memerah.

"I pass sometimes."

"Kadang-kadang aku mengoper."

"Not often," she says. She smiles.

"Jarang," katanya. Ia tersenyum.

"But you run fast."

"Tapi kamu berlari cepat."

The next Friday, Cyrus is on the fence again. He brings a bottle of water for her. Freya drinks half of it and gives the rest back. She shows him how to hold the string. Cyrus holds one end at the corner. She walks to the other end and pulls it tight.

Jumat berikutnya, Cyrus kembali duduk di pagar. Ia membawakan sebotol air untuk Freya. Freya meminum setengahnya dan mengembalikan sisanya. Ia menunjukkan cara memegang tali. Cyrus memegang salah satu ujungnya di sudut lapangan. Freya berjalan ke ujung yang lain dan menariknya kencang.

"Do not move," she says.

"Jangan bergerak," katanya.

"I will not."

"Tidak akan."

"Not even if a bee lands on your nose." He tries hard. A bee does land near his hand. He does not move. The line is done. He looks at the field and says, "Wow."

"Bahkan kalau ada lebah hinggap di hidungmu." Cyrus berusaha keras. Seekor lebah memang hinggap di dekat tangannya. Ia tidak bergerak. Garisnya selesai. Ia memandang lapangan dan berkata, "Wow."

"What?"

"Kenapa?"

"It looks different when it is straight."

"Kelihatannya beda kalau lurus."

On the third Friday, it rains all afternoon. Freya has a bad cold, so she stays home. The field is wet, and the paint cannot go on. She feels sad. The game is tomorrow, and the field has no lines.

Pada Jumat ketiga, hujan turun sepanjang sore. Freya sedang pilek berat, jadi ia tinggal di rumah. Lapangan basah dan cat tidak bisa dipakai. Ia merasa sedih. Pertandingan diadakan besok, dan lapangan belum punya garis.

On Saturday morning, she goes to the field anyway. She wears a thick coat. She stands behind the fence and looks. The lines are there.

Pada Sabtu pagi, ia tetap pergi ke lapangan. Ia memakai mantel tebal. Ia berdiri di balik pagar dan memandang. Garis-garis itu ada di sana.

They are not white. They are made of yellow sand and pieces of rope. Someone put them down in the wet grass. They are crooked, and some are too short. The goal box is almost round. At the center, a small circle looks like an egg.

Garis-garis itu tidak putih. Garis-garis itu terbuat dari pasir kuning dan potongan tali. Seseorang meletakkannya di atas rumput yang basah. Garisnya bengkok dan beberapa terlalu pendek. Kotak gawangnya hampir bulat. Di tengah lapangan, ada lingkaran kecil yang mirip telur.

Cyrus stands in the middle of the field. He holds a bucket of sand. His shoes are dirty and his hair is wet. "I could not use the machine," he says. "It is too heavy. So I used what I have."

Cyrus berdiri di tengah lapangan. Ia memegang seember pasir. Sepatunya kotor dan rambutnya basah. "Aku tidak bisa pakai mesinnya," katanya. "Terlalu berat. Jadi aku pakai apa yang aku punya."

Freya walks onto the field. She follows the center line with her eyes. It leans to the left. She looks at the egg circle. She looks at the long, crooked side line. She likes it more than a hundred straight lines.

Freya berjalan ke lapangan. Matanya mengikuti garis tengah. Garis itu miring ke kiri. Ia memandang lingkaran yang mirip telur itu. Ia memandang garis tepi yang panjang dan bengkok. Ia menyukainya lebih daripada seratus garis yang lurus.

"Is it bad?" Cyrus asks.

"Jelek ya?" tanya Cyrus.

"It is terrible," Freya says.

"Sangat jelek," kata Freya.

"The goal box is round."

"Kotak gawangnya bulat."

"I can fix it."

"Aku bisa memperbaikinya."

Freya looks across the field. The players arrive. They stop, one by one, and look at the lines. They start to laugh, but not in a mean way. A few of them kneel down and touch the sand.

Freya memandang ke seberang lapangan. Para pemain berdatangan. Satu per satu mereka berhenti dan memandang garis-garis itu. Mereka mulai tertawa, tetapi bukan tawa yang jahat. Beberapa dari mereka berlutut dan menyentuh pasir itu.

"Leave it," Freya says. She puts her hand on his wet hair. "Today, we play on these." The whistle blows. Cyrus passes the ball on his first touch.

"Biarkan saja," kata Freya. Ia meletakkan tangannya di rambut Cyrus yang basah. "Hari ini, kita bermain di atas garis-garis ini." Peluit berbunyi. Cyrus mengoper bola pada sentuhan pertamanya.