The Sand Trail to Berth Four

The ticket office at Harbour Point is a wooden hut with one window facing the quay and one facing the water. Aksel has run it for six years. He knows the timetable by heart, the price of every crossing and the exact sound the cash drawer makes when it is closed properly. That is why the numbers bother him so much.

Kantor tiket di Harbour Point adalah sebuah gubuk kayu dengan satu jendela menghadap dermaga dan satu lagi menghadap air. Aksel sudah mengelolanya selama enam tahun. Ia hafal jadwal di luar kepala, harga setiap penyeberangan, dan bunyi persis laci uang saat ditutup dengan benar. Itulah sebabnya angka-angka itu sangat mengganggunya.

For three weeks, the last ferry of the evening, which leaves from berth four, has gone out with one more passenger than the tickets sold. The count at the gangway says thirty-seven. The till says thirty-six. And every morning, Aksel opens the cupboard where the spare ticket rolls are kept. One single ticket has been torn off the end of a roll, very cleanly, as if with a ruler.

Selama tiga minggu, kapal feri terakhir setiap malam, yang berangkat dari dermaga empat, berlayar dengan satu penumpang lebih banyak daripada tiket yang terjual. Hitungan di tangga naik menunjukkan tiga puluh tujuh. Kas menunjukkan tiga puluh enam. Dan setiap pagi, Aksel membuka lemari tempat gulungan tiket cadangan disimpan. Satu tiket telah disobek dari ujung gulungan, sangat rapi, seakan memakai penggaris.

"It is not much money," Marit says on Tuesday, as she hangs her coat on the hook. She works the afternoon shift and keeps the books. "Seven pounds a night. Maybe a hundred and fifty so far."

"Uangnya tidak banyak," kata Marit pada hari Selasa sambil menggantung mantelnya di pengait. Ia bekerja pada shift siang dan memegang pembukuan. "Tujuh pound semalam. Mungkin seratus lima puluh sejauh ini."

"It is not the money," Aksel says. "Only two people have keys to this hut. One of them is me. And I know I have not been selling tickets to myself."

"Bukan soal uangnya," kata Aksel. "Hanya dua orang yang punya kunci gubuk ini. Salah satunya aku. Dan aku tahu aku tidak menjual tiket kepada diriku sendiri."

"Then it is me?" Marit says, with a small laugh.

"Jadi aku?" kata Marit sambil tertawa kecil.

"No. Which is exactly what bothers me." He rubs his forehead. "Somebody is getting in, taking one ticket and walking onto the ferry with a smile. And I cannot work out how."

"Bukan. Justru itu yang mengganggu." Ia mengusap dahinya. "Ada orang yang masuk, mengambil satu tiket, lalu naik ke feri sambil tersenyum. Dan aku tidak bisa memahami caranya."

Marit puts down her pen. She has a way of going very still when she is thinking, like a cat at a mouse hole.

Marit meletakkan penanya. Ia punya kebiasaan menjadi sangat diam saat berpikir, seperti kucing di depan lubang tikus.

"Then we stop guessing and we catch the footprints," she says. "We do not need to sit up all night. We need to see who walks in."

"Kalau begitu kita berhenti menebak-nebak dan kita tangkap jejak kakinya," katanya. "Kita tidak perlu begadang semalaman. Kita hanya perlu melihat siapa yang masuk."

They make their first plan that afternoon, between the departures. It is a simple plan. Marit buys a bag of white chalk dust from the hardware shop across the road. After the last crossing, she will spread a thin layer of it over the floor between the back door and the ticket cupboard. In the morning, whoever has been creeping around will have left a clear print of every step.

Mereka menyusun rencana pertama sore itu, di sela keberangkatan. Rencananya sederhana. Marit membeli sekantong bubuk kapur putih dari toko perkakas di seberang jalan. Setelah penyeberangan terakhir, ia akan menaburkan selapis tipis bubuk itu di lantai antara pintu belakang dan lemari tiket. Pagi harinya, siapa pun yang mengendap-endap akan meninggalkan jejak yang jelas dari setiap langkahnya.

At half past nine, with the quay empty and the boats rocking quietly at their ropes, Marit carries out the plan. She sprinkles the dust with a kitchen sieve, in a smooth, even carpet, from the back door to the cupboard and under the window. Aksel watches from the doorway with his arms folded.

Pukul setengah sepuluh malam, dengan dermaga yang kosong dan perahu-perahu bergoyang pelan pada talinya, Marit menjalankan rencana itu. Ia menaburkan bubuk dengan saringan dapur, membentuk karpet yang halus dan merata, dari pintu belakang ke lemari dan sampai ke bawah jendela. Aksel mengamati dari ambang pintu dengan tangan terlipat.

"It looks like a freshly made bed," he says.

"Kelihatannya seperti tempat tidur yang baru dirapikan," katanya.

"Do not step on it," Marit says. "Not even by accident."

"Jangan menginjaknya," kata Marit. "Bahkan tidak sengaja pun jangan."

They lock up at ten, and they walk home in opposite directions, pleased with themselves.

Mereka mengunci tempat itu pukul sepuluh, dan berjalan pulang ke arah yang berlawanan, puas dengan diri mereka sendiri.

The plan collapses at seven the next morning. Aksel unlocks the hut, switches on the lamp and stops in the doorway. The floor is clean. It is not merely clean; it is shining. A faint smell of lemon hangs in the air, and in the corner, a mop is leaning against the wall with a bucket underneath it.

Rencana itu gagal pada pukul tujuh pagi berikutnya. Aksel membuka kunci gubuk, menyalakan lampu, dan berhenti di ambang pintu. Lantainya bersih. Bukan sekadar bersih; lantainya mengilap. Bau lemon samar tercium di udara, dan di sudut, sebuah pel bersandar di dinding dengan ember di bawahnya.

"No," he says out loud.

"Tidak," katanya keras-keras.

Marit arrives at eight. She takes one look at the floor and puts her hand over her eyes.

Marit tiba pukul delapan. Ia melihat lantai itu sekali dan menutupi matanya dengan tangan.

"The night cleaner," she says. "Nobody told her about the chalk. She comes at midnight, and she has done the whole building."

"Petugas kebersihan malam," katanya. "Tidak ada yang memberitahunya soal kapur. Ia datang tengah malam, dan ia sudah membersihkan seluruh gedung."

"So every footprint is gone," Aksel says. "And the ticket?"

"Jadi semua jejak kaki hilang," kata Aksel. "Lalu tiketnya?"

He opens the cupboard. The roll has been torn again, as neatly as ever. Behind his back, Marit makes a small sound, somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

Ia membuka lemari. Gulungan itu telah disobek lagi, serapi biasanya. Di belakangnya, Marit mengeluarkan suara kecil, antara rintihan dan tawa.

"Whoever it is," she says, "they have a better schedule than we do."

"Siapa pun dia," katanya, "jadwalnya lebih baik daripada jadwal kita."

All morning they argue about what to do next. Aksel wants to fix a camera above the door. But the camera would cost more than the stolen tickets and would take a week to arrive. Marit wants to tell the harbour manager. But the manager will certainly say that it is nothing, and he will ask why two adults are losing sleep over a handful of paper.

Sepanjang pagi mereka berdebat tentang apa yang harus dilakukan selanjutnya. Aksel ingin memasang kamera di atas pintu. Tetapi kamera itu akan lebih mahal daripada tiket yang dicuri dan butuh seminggu untuk sampai. Marit ingin memberi tahu manajer pelabuhan. Tetapi manajer itu pasti akan bilang itu bukan apa-apa, dan ia akan bertanya kenapa dua orang dewasa kehilangan tidur gara-gara segenggam kertas.

It is late in the afternoon when Aksel sees the bucket.

Menjelang sore, Aksel melihat ember itu.

It hangs on a hook beside the back door, an old fire bucket, painted white and stamped with the word SAND. It was retired years ago because the bottom has rusted through. There is a hole in it about the size of a coin. Aksel takes it down and turns it over. A trickle of dust runs out through the hole, as thin and steady as water from a tap.

Ember itu tergantung pada sebuah pengait di samping pintu belakang, ember pemadam kebakaran tua, dicat putih dan bercap kata PASIR. Ember itu sudah dipensiunkan bertahun-tahun lalu karena dasarnya berkarat dan berlubang. Ada lubang di sana sebesar koin. Aksel menurunkannya dan membaliknya. Seuntai debu mengalir keluar dari lubang itu, setipis dan sestabil air dari keran.

He stands there for a long time, watching the dust fall onto the floor, and an idea arrives in his head.

Ia berdiri di sana lama sekali, memandangi debu jatuh ke lantai, dan sebuah gagasan tiba di kepalanya.

"Marit," he says. "What would happen if we used this?"

"Marit," katanya. "Bagaimana kalau kita pakai ini?"

"It has a hole in it," she says. "It is rubbish."

"Ember itu berlubang," kata Marit. "Itu barang rongsokan."

"Exactly. It is a hole that leaks slowly and evenly. I fill it and hang it on a string from the ceiling hook, right above the cupboard door. Then anyone who opens that door will knock it, and it will swing. A sand bucket that swings and leaks will draw a line on the floor." He draws an invisible circle in the air with his finger. "Not chalk. Real sand, heavy enough to hold a print. And this time nobody will be allowed to clean up after us."

"Justru itu. Lubang yang bocor pelan dan merata. Aku mengisinya dan menggantungnya dengan tali dari pengait langit-langit, tepat di atas pintu lemari. Lalu siapa pun yang membuka pintu itu akan menyenggolnya, dan ember itu akan berayun. Ember pasir yang berayun dan bocor akan menggambar garis di lantai." Ia menggambar lingkaran tak terlihat di udara dengan jarinya. "Bukan kapur. Pasir sungguhan, cukup berat untuk menahan jejak. Dan kali ini tidak seorang pun boleh membersihkan setelah kita."

"She will mop it at midnight," Marit says.

"Ia akan mengepelnya tengah malam," kata Marit.

"Not if we ask her to skip the hut tonight," Aksel says. "We tell her the floor is being treated."

"Tidak kalau kita minta ia melewatkan gubuk ini malam ini," kata Aksel. "Kita bilang lantainya sedang diberi perawatan."

Marit thinks about it. Then she smiles slowly.

Marit memikirkannya. Lalu ia tersenyum perlahan.

"It is a terrible plan," she says. "Let us do it."

"Itu rencana yang buruk sekali," katanya. "Ayo kita lakukan."

That evening they fill the bucket to the brim with sand from the old bin on the quay. Aksel climbs onto a chair and ties the handle to the ceiling hook with a length of fishing line. Then he sets the bucket swaying, just enough to test it. Sand spills in a pale curve across the floorboards and stops when the swinging stops. Marit ties the other end of the line to the cupboard door, so that the first person to open it will set the bucket moving.

Malam itu mereka mengisi ember itu sampai penuh dengan pasir dari kotak tua di dermaga. Aksel naik ke atas kursi dan mengikat gagangnya pada pengait langit-langit dengan seutas tali pancing. Lalu ia membuat ember itu berayun, secukupnya untuk mengujinya. Pasir tumpah membentuk lengkungan pucat di atas papan lantai dan berhenti ketika ayunan berhenti. Marit mengikat ujung tali yang lain pada pintu lemari, sehingga orang pertama yang membukanya akan membuat ember itu bergerak.

They lock up at ten again, and this time Marit has a word with the night cleaner, who agrees to skip the hut. Then they go home.

Mereka mengunci tempat itu pukul sepuluh lagi, dan kali ini Marit berbicara dengan petugas kebersihan malam, yang setuju untuk melewatkan gubuk itu. Lalu mereka pulang.

At seven the next morning, Aksel unlocks the door very slowly.

Pukul tujuh pagi berikutnya, Aksel membuka pintu dengan sangat perlahan.

The bucket hangs motionless from the ceiling, almost empty. A broad arc of sand lies on the floor beneath it. In the middle of the arc, as clear as a signature, there is a footprint.

Ember itu menggantung diam dari langit-langit, hampir kosong. Sebuah busur lebar pasir terhampar di lantai di bawahnya. Di tengah busur itu, sejelas tanda tangan, ada sebuah jejak kaki.

Marit comes in behind him and kneels down.

Marit masuk di belakangnya dan berlutut.

"It is bare," she says. "A bare foot. And it is wet."

"Telanjang," katanya. "Kaki telanjang. Dan basah."

There is a second print beside it, and then a third. The line of prints leads across the floorboards, from the window that faces the water, to the cupboard, and back again. Aksel follows them with his eyes to the windowsill. The glass is shut and locked from the inside. Under it, on the wooden ledge, lies a thin trail of seaweed.

Ada jejak kedua di sampingnya, lalu yang ketiga. Barisan jejak itu membentang di atas papan lantai, dari jendela yang menghadap air, ke lemari, dan kembali lagi. Aksel mengikutinya dengan matanya sampai ke ambang jendela. Kacanya tertutup dan terkunci dari dalam. Di bawahnya, pada tepian kayu, tergeletak seuntai rumput laut tipis.

"That window has not been opened for years," he says.

"Jendela itu sudah bertahun-tahun tidak dibuka," katanya.

"Then they did not need to open it," Marit says quietly.

"Kalau begitu mereka tidak perlu membukanya," kata Marit pelan.

She bends lower over the last print, the one nearest the sill, and she goes quiet. Beside the print of the large foot, half hidden under the edge of the sand, there is another. It is much smaller. It is the print of a child's foot, and it is pointing in the opposite direction, towards the sea.

Ia membungkuk lebih rendah di atas jejak terakhir, yang paling dekat dengan ambang jendela, dan ia menjadi diam. Di samping jejak kaki yang besar, setengah tersembunyi di bawah tepi pasir, ada jejak lain. Jauh lebih kecil. Itu jejak kaki seorang anak, dan arahnya berlawanan, menuju laut.