Twelve Small Windows

The dance studio sits above a pharmacy. To reach it, Adaeze climbs a narrow stair. It smells of soap and cough sweets. At the top, a wooden door opens onto one long room. It has mirrors on three walls.

Studio tari itu berada di atas sebuah apotek. Untuk mencapainya, Adaeze menaiki tangga sempit yang berbau sabun dan permen pelega tenggorokan. Di puncaknya, pintu kayu membuka ke satu ruangan panjang dengan cermin di tiga dindingnya.

Adaeze started dancing here at nine. Calla started the same week. They stand side by side at the barre. They know each other's steps by heart.

Adaeze mulai menari di sini sejak umur sembilan tahun. Calla mulai di minggu yang sama. Mereka berdiri berdampingan di palang latihan. Mereka hafal langkah satu sama lain.

Today the room feels too big. Calla's bag sits by the door, next to a small cardboard box.

Hari ini ruangan terasa terlalu luas. Tas Calla tergeletak di dekat pintu, di samping sebuah kotak kardus kecil.

"My mother says the truck leaves at noon," Calla says.

"Kata ibuku, truknya berangkat tengah hari," kata Calla.

"I know," says Adaeze. She looks at her feet.

"Aku tahu," kata Adaeze. Ia menatap kakinya.

"Don't be like that." Calla opens the box and takes out a glass jar. It is full of tiny brown seeds, dry and light like dust. There is no label on it.

"Jangan begitu." Calla membuka kotak dan mengeluarkan sebuah toples kaca. Toples itu penuh biji-biji cokelat kecil, kering dan ringan seperti debu. Tidak ada label di sana.

"What are they?" Adaeze asks.

"Itu apa?" tanya Adaeze.

"I don't know." Calla laughs. "My neighbour gave them to me last week. She said they come from her mother's garden. She did not remember the name."

"Aku tidak tahu." Calla tertawa. "Tetanggaku memberikannya minggu lalu. Katanya biji-biji ini dari kebun ibunya. Ia tidak ingat namanya."

"Then why give them to me?"

"Lalu kenapa kamu memberikannya padaku?"

"Because I want you to promise something." Calla holds the jar with both hands. "Plant them. Make them grow. When the first flower opens, send me a photo."

"Karena aku ingin kamu berjanji sesuatu." Calla memegang toples itu dengan kedua tangan. "Tanamlah. Buat mereka tumbuh. Kalau bunga pertama mekar, kirimi aku foto."

Adaeze stares at the jar. She does not have a garden. She lives in a flat on the fourth floor. It has one small balcony and no soil.

Adaeze menatap toples itu. Ia tidak punya kebun. Ia tinggal di flat di lantai empat. Ada satu balkon kecil dan tak ada tanah.

"That's a big promise," she says.

"Itu janji yang besar," katanya.

"I know. That is why I trust you." Calla puts the jar in her hands. It is cold and heavier than it looks. "Promise."

"Aku tahu. Makanya aku percaya padamu." Calla meletakkan toples itu di tangannya. Toples itu dingin dan lebih berat daripada kelihatannya. "Berjanjilah."

"I promise," Adaeze says.

"Aku berjanji," kata Adaeze.

Then the stair creaks, and Calla's mother calls from below. The two girls hug for a long time. Then Calla runs down the steps. The door at the bottom closes with a bang.

Lalu tangga berderit, dan ibu Calla memanggil dari bawah. Kedua gadis itu berpelukan lama sekali. Kemudian Calla berlari menuruni anak tangga. Pintu di bawah menutup dengan bunyi keras.

Adaeze stands alone in the long room. The jar sits in her hands like a small, silent question.

Adaeze berdiri sendirian di ruangan panjang itu. Toples itu berada di tangannya seperti pertanyaan kecil yang membisu.

That night, she asks the pharmacist downstairs. The pharmacist is a kind, tired woman who asks no questions. She fills a paper bag with soil. It is from the big pots by her door. "Good luck," she says.

Malam itu, ia bertanya kepada apoteker di lantai bawah. Apoteker itu seorang perempuan yang baik dan lelah, yang tidak banyak bertanya. Ia mengisi sebuah kantong kertas dengan tanah dari pot-pot besar di dekat pintunya. "Semoga berhasil," katanya.

Adaeze fills a cracked blue bowl. She presses most of the seeds into the soil and covers them. She keeps a spoonful in the jar, only in case. She puts the bowl on the studio windowsill. The sun comes in all morning.

Adaeze mengisi sebuah mangkuk biru yang retak. Ia menekan sebagian besar biji itu ke dalam tanah dan menutupinya. Ia menyimpan satu sendok di dalam toples, hanya untuk berjaga-jaga. Ia meletakkan mangkuk itu di ambang jendela studio. Matahari masuk sepanjang pagi.

She waters it every day. She waters it twice when she feels worried.

Ia menyiramnya setiap hari. Ia menyiramnya dua kali saat sedang cemas.

A week goes by. Nothing happens.

Seminggu berlalu. Tidak terjadi apa-apa.

Two weeks go by. The soil stays flat and dark. The teacher looks at the bowl and shakes her head.

Dua minggu berlalu. Tanahnya tetap datar dan gelap. Guru menatap mangkuk itu dan menggeleng.

"Too much water," she says. "You give them too much."

"Terlalu banyak air," katanya. "Kamu memberinya terlalu banyak."

Adaeze stops watering for three days. Then the soil cracks and turns to dust. She starts again, but a little at a time. She is afraid to do it wrong.

Adaeze berhenti menyiram selama tiga hari. Lalu tanahnya retak dan menjadi debu. Ia mulai lagi, tetapi sedikit demi sedikit. Ia takut salah.

On the twentieth day, a smell comes from the bowl. It is bad and wet. Adaeze lifts a spoon of soil. The seeds are soft and grey. They are dead.

Pada hari kedua puluh, tercium bau dari mangkuk itu. Baunya busuk dan lembap. Adaeze mengangkat satu sendok tanah. Biji-bijinya lembek dan kelabu. Biji-biji itu mati.

She sits on the floor, and her eyes burn. She does not cry, but she wants to. Her phone shows a message from Calla. It says, Any news? Send a picture!

Ia duduk di lantai, dan matanya perih. Ia tidak menangis, tetapi ia ingin. Ponselnya menampilkan pesan dari Calla. Isinya, Ada kabar? Kirim foto dong!

Adaeze does not answer. She puts the phone face down on the floor.

Adaeze tidak menjawab. Ia meletakkan ponsel itu telungkup di lantai.

The door opens. A small voice says, "Why are you sitting there?"

Pintu terbuka. Sebuah suara kecil berkata, "Kenapa Kakak duduk di situ?"

It is Pim, one of the little ones from the Saturday class. She is seven, and she wears a pink tutu over her jeans. Behind her stand eleven more children, all in a line.

Itu Pim, salah satu anak kecil dari kelas Sabtu. Umurnya tujuh tahun, dan ia memakai tutu merah muda di atas celana jinsnya. Di belakangnya berdiri sebelas anak lain, berbaris rapi.

"I'm fine," Adaeze says. "Class starts in a minute."

"Aku baik-baik saja," kata Adaeze. "Kelas mulai semenit lagi."

"You look sad," Pim says. She walks over and looks at the bowl. "Is that a dead garden?"

"Kakak kelihatan sedih," kata Pim. Ia berjalan mendekat dan memandang mangkuk itu. "Itu kebun yang mati?"

"Yes. It is a dead garden."

"Ya. Itu kebun yang mati."

"Why?"

"Kenapa?"

Adaeze takes a breath. Then she tells her the whole story. She tells her about Calla, the truck and the promise. She feels silly telling a seven-year-old. But Pim listens with her mouth open.

Adaeze menarik napas. Lalu ia menceritakan seluruh kisahnya. Ia bercerita tentang Calla, truk, dan janji itu. Ia merasa konyol bercerita kepada anak tujuh tahun. Tetapi Pim mendengarkan dengan mulut ternganga.

"Do you have any more seeds?" Pim asks.

"Kakak masih punya biji lagi?" tanya Pim.

Adaeze almost says no. Then she remembers. That first night, she kept a spoonful of seeds in the jar. She did not know why. She only thought, in case.

Adaeze hampir menjawab tidak. Lalu ia teringat. Malam pertama itu, ia menyimpan satu sendok biji di dalam toples. Ia tidak tahu kenapa. Ia hanya berpikir, untuk berjaga-jaga.

She gets the jar from her bag and shakes it. About fifty seeds rattle inside.

Ia mengambil toples itu dari tasnya dan mengocoknya. Sekitar lima puluh biji berkelontang di dalam.

"That is not enough for a garden," she says.

"Ini tidak cukup untuk sebuah kebun," katanya.

"It is enough for a cup," says Pim. "Everybody has a cup."

"Cukup untuk sebuah cangkir," kata Pim. "Semua orang punya cangkir."

The other children come closer. They look at the jar with big, round eyes.

Anak-anak lain mendekat. Mereka memandang toples itu dengan mata bulat yang lebar.

Adaeze thinks about it. A promise is a promise. But nobody says she must keep it alone.

Adaeze memikirkannya. Janji tetaplah janji. Tetapi tak ada yang bilang ia harus menepatinya sendirian.

She tears twelve small squares of paper from her notebook. She puts four seeds on each. She folds them like little letters. Then she gives one to every child.

Ia merobek dua belas kotak kecil kertas dari buku catatannya. Ia menaruh empat biji di masing-masing kertas. Ia melipatnya seperti surat-surat mungil. Lalu ia memberikan satu kepada setiap anak.

"Plant it in a cup at home," she says. "Put it in a sunny place. Water it a little, not a lot. And bring a photo when something grows."

"Tanam di cangkir di rumah," katanya. "Taruh di tempat yang kena matahari. Siram sedikit saja, jangan banyak-banyak. Dan bawa foto kalau ada yang tumbuh."

"What if nothing grows?" a boy asks.

"Bagaimana kalau tidak ada yang tumbuh?" tanya seorang anak laki-laki.

"Then tell me," Adaeze says. "We will try again."

"Kalau begitu beri tahu aku," kata Adaeze. "Kita coba lagi."

Weeks pass. Every Saturday, the children tell her the news. One cup grows nothing. One cup grows a tall green shoot that falls over. One boy waters his cup with orange juice by mistake. Adaeze laughs until her side hurts.

Minggu-minggu berlalu. Setiap Sabtu, anak-anak menyampaikan kabar mereka. Satu cangkir tidak menumbuhkan apa-apa. Satu cangkir menumbuhkan tunas hijau tinggi yang roboh. Seorang anak laki-laki tak sengaja menyiram cangkirnya dengan jus jeruk. Adaeze tertawa sampai perutnya sakit.

But slowly, twelve small windows in the city begin to turn green.

Tetapi perlahan, dua belas jendela kecil di kota itu mulai menghijau.

Then comes a Saturday in the spring. Pim runs up the stairs with her phone held high. Her cup has a yellow flower, as round as a coin.

Lalu datanglah suatu Sabtu di musim semi. Pim berlari menaiki tangga sambil mengangkat ponselnya tinggi-tinggi. Cangkirnya memiliki bunga kuning, sebulat koin.

"Look!" she shouts.

"Lihat!" teriaknya.

By the end of class, there are more. A white one, as soft as paper. A purple one that looks like a small bell. A tall orange flower with a dark middle. A pink one that opens only in the afternoon. They are all different. Nobody knows what any of them is.

Menjelang akhir kelas, bunga yang lain bermunculan. Sebuah bunga putih, selembut kertas. Sebuah bunga ungu yang tampak seperti lonceng kecil. Sebuah bunga oranye tinggi dengan bagian tengah gelap. Sebuah bunga merah muda yang hanya mekar di sore hari. Semuanya berbeda. Tak ada yang tahu apa nama satu pun dari bunga-bunga itu.

Adaeze looks at the photos on her phone. Her chest feels tight. Calla's seeds were not one flower. They were many.

Adaeze memandangi foto-foto di ponselnya. Dadanya terasa sesak. Biji-biji Calla bukan satu jenis bunga. Biji-biji itu banyak jenis.

She sits on the studio floor. She puts all the pictures in one message. She writes only a few words. Here is your garden, finally.

Ia duduk di lantai studio. Ia memasukkan semua gambar itu ke dalam satu pesan. Ia hanya menulis beberapa kata. Ini kebunmu, akhirnya.

She holds her thumb above the screen. Then she presses send.

Ia menahan ibu jarinya di atas layar. Lalu ia menekan kirim.