2 porsi rib eye masing-masing seberat 1 pon
1 porsi dada kalkun seberat 1 pon (diiris tipis)
12 lembar daging babi asap
2 hamburger besar dengan mayo, bawang bombay, dan selada
2 porsi kentang bakar dengan mentega, krim asam, keju, dan kucai
4 lembar keju atau setengah pon keju cedar diparut
1 chef salad dengan minyak bumbu blue cheese
2 tongkol jagung rebus
1 pin es krim dengan taburan coklat mint
4 Coke vanila atau Mr. Pibb

 

—Santapan terakhir yang diminta Stanley Baker, Jr., 35 tahun, terpidana mati kasus pembunuhan, sebelum eksekusi pada 20 Mei 2002 di Austin, Texas, Amerika Serikat.

 

MAUT itu rahasia. Tapi, tidak selalu begitu. Beberapa orang tahu bagaimana dan kapan kematiannya akan tiba. Seorang ninja, misalnya, sangat paham bahwa ia hanya bisa mati di tangan ninja lain jika tak ingin meninggal dunia karena sebab-sebab alami. Jika sudah bosan bernyawa, ia tinggal cari gara-gara dengan sesamanya yang lebih lihai.


Dalam eksekusi terpidana mati, kapan dan bagaimana kematian datang malah bisa diketahui beberapa orang sekaligus, para penjatuh hukuman dan si sial. Nasib penderita penyakit terminal kurang lebih sama dengan derajat kepastian yang lebih longgar.


Sebelum cerita ini berlanjut, marilah pertama-tama bersepakat bahwa kau tak akan mengajakku berdebat dengan membawa-bawa paham eksistensialis. Jika, misalnya, aku bilang, “Orang itu mati karena serangan jantung,” tak perlulah kau menukas, “Bagaimana kautahu serangan jantung yang menyebabkan kematiannya? Yang tepat adalah orang itu mati setelah terkena serangan jantung.”


Perdebatan semacam itu menarik dan layak ditulis tersendiri, tapi tidak kali ini. Sekarang, ini pertanyaannya: apa yang akan kaulakukan jika tahu bagaimana dan kapan kematianmu datang?


Stanley Baker, Jr, seperti catatan di atas, tak ingin mati dengan perut lapar. Aduhai betul, bukan? Orang mungkin bertanya-tanya, sekiranya menit-menit jelang eksekusi itu Baker merasa mulas, apa yang lebih merisaukannya, belum sempat ke belakang atau sebentar lagi bakal mampus?


Clarence Ray Allen tidak bisa sesantai Baker Junior menerima kematian. Sebelum dikirim ke kamar eksekusi pada 17 Januari 2006 di California, Allen sudah berkali-kali meminta pengampunan. Ia bilang dirinya terlalu tua dan terlalu sakit untuk dieksekusi. Ia tidak bohong. Saat itu ia sudah berumur tujuh puluh enam tahun, buta, setengah tuli, dan lumpuh pula karena penyakit kencing manis. Agar permohonannya makin meyakinkan, pengacara Allen juga menyebut-nyebut bahwa perilaku kliennya lumayan terpuji dalam tahun-tahun terakhir.


Negara Bagian California tak sudi melunak. Allen dijatuhi hukuman mati bukan karena dulunya ia seorang bedebah nomor wahid. Banyak orang yang seperti itu dan tak harus dihukum mati. Sebelum vonis jatuh, Allen sebetulnya sedang menjalani hukuman seumur hidup karena terbukti membunuh pacar anak lelakinya pada 1974. Alih-alih bertobat, selama di penjara ia justru mengatur tiga pembunuhan berencana lain. Rangkaian kejahatan inilah yang membuatnya dihukum mati.


Ketika permohonan ampunan terakhirnya ditolak, Allen merajuk. Ia bilang kamar eksekusi tak memiliki akses untuk kursi roda. Dengan ulahnya ini ia mau bilang bahwa tidak seharusnya ia dihukum mati oleh California karena eksekusi sangat mungkin membunuhnya. Sinting? Tunggu dulu. Beberapa bulan sebelum eksekusi, jantung Allen sempat berhenti tetapi ia selamat karena ditolong petugas medis penjara. Allen tak boleh mati oleh sebab alami. Bagaimana dan kapan ia harus mati sudah ditetapkan oleh para penghukumnya.


Aku tak berani bilang bahwa suntikan mati membuat Allen tak menderita. Tapi, setidaknya, ia ditidurkan dulu dengan suntikan pembius sebelum cairan beracun diinjeksikan ke tubuhnya. Bahkan, asal kautahu, dokter penjara juga mengusapkan alkohol ke lengan Allen sebelum menyuntik. Bukankah ini tanda kemurahan hati karena ia tak ingin Allen yang sebentar lagi mampus terkena infeksi? Bayangkan jika California memberlakukan salah satu eksekusi terkejam yang pernah sangat digemari penguasa Tiongkok kuno: orang hukuman diikat di lapangan, ditelanjangi, kemudian buah zakarnya digigit sampai putus oleh orang kate. Sangat tidak aduhai, bukan?

 

 

AGUS Taswin, kakak iparku, merasa punya kedekatan khusus dengan para terpidana mati. Beberapa waktu yang lalu rongga atas perutnya terasa nyeri. Seminggu sesudahnya ia kena penyakit kuning. Awalnya ia tenang-tenang saja karena satu-satunya penyakit yang namanya mengikuti warna primer ini tak sungguh-sungguh membuatnya kesakitan.


Namun, dokternya curiga, dan setelah pemeriksaan yang lebih menyeluruh terhadap Agus Taswin, vonis datang: adenocarcinomas. Sepintas mirip nama penulis naskah drama Yunani kuno, tapi ini salah satu kanker pankreas. Seperti kebanyakan penderita, Agus Taswin terlambat periksa, bibit kankernya ternyata sudah ada sejak lima tahun lalu. Dokter bilang bahwa usia Agus Taswin tinggal enam atau tujuh bulan lagi.


“Yang pasti saja, Dok. Nanti setelah lewat enam bulan saya jadi tak tahu mesti senang atau cemas.”


“Maunya Pak Taswin?”


“Tujuh ya, Dok, angka bagus. Langit ketujuh, tujuh turunan, tujuh bidadari yang diintip Jaka Tarub, nomor punggung Robson, Cantona, Beckham, Ronaldo.”


“Saya ikut berdoa. Penggemar MU, ya? Saya lebih suka Arsenal.”


Agus Taswin tak tahu mengapa ia sempat-sempatnya bercanda. Tapi, itu reaksi spontannya karena ia belum membaca buku Bagaimana Semestinya Kau Bereaksi dalam Situasi Tak Terduga, Semisal Ketika Doktermu Menyebut Usiamu Tinggal Enam atau Tujuh Bulan Lagi.

 

 

SEPEKAN kemudian Agus Taswin datang ke kantorku dan menceritakan kunjungannya ke dokter. Seperti yang mungkin kaubayangkan, aku kaget dan melontarkan seruan, “Apa?” Klise memang, seperti adegan sinetron. Tapi, dalam situasi seperti itu, percayalah, kau akan terbelit kekikukan yang sangat tak mengenakkan dan kefasihanmu menghilang.


“Aku ingin kau nanti yang mengurus kematianku,” kata Agus Taswin.


“Aduh, jangan omong begitu, Mas Taswin, pamali,” kataku, “pasti ada jalan lain.”


“Harapanku juga begitu. Aku masih empat puluh sembilan tahun. Kalau dokter memintaku terapi kemo, radio, atau bahkan operasi, pasti kujalani. Aku juga mau cari pengobatan alternatif. Aku tidak menyerah kok. Tapi begini lho, aku tak mau merepotkan banyak orang. Jika mesti bikin susah, dengan berat hati, dan sangat berharap, aku ingin kau yang mengurusku.”


Aku mengangguk dan tanpa bisa kubendung mataku basah. “Anak-anak bagaimana, Mas?”


“Pada saatnya aku akan bicara. Sekarang rahasiakan dulu.”

 

 

MAUT itu rahasia. Biasanya begitu. Tiga tahun yang lalu, Ratna Dyah Wulansari, kakakku satu-satunya, istri Agus Taswin, meninggal dunia tanpa sakit suatu apa terlebih dahulu. Sungguh, ia perempuan tersehat yang pernah kukenal.


Setiap pagi Ratna berbelanja sayur di perempatan jalan dekat rumahnya tempat pedagang langganannya yang mangkal. Pagi itu akan menjadi seperti pagi-pagi yang lain sebelumnya jika saja tidak ada tukang ojek yang memacu motornya sedemikian kencang dan kemudian membanting stang ke kanan untuk menghindari seekor kucing hitam yang mendadak melintas. Motor menghantam Ratna. Tukang ojek jatuh terguling sementara penumpang ojek dan Ratna terpental.


Ratna jatuh dengan kepala bagian belakang menghantam aspal. Ketika melayang di udara, dalam satu detik—mungkin juga satu setengah—Ratna sempat memekik kaget, “E, tobil!


Jika Ratna tahu bahwa sebentar lagi kesadarannya menghilang, bahkan nyawanya tanggal, mungkin ia tidak akan melontarkan seruan yang seremeh itu: nama anak kadal. Gara-gara seruan terakhir itulah beberapa tetangga bilang bahwa Ratna matinya kurang bagus. Si penumpang ojek yang ikut sial dijemput maut pagi itu dianggap orang lebih beruntung karena sempat mengucap asma Allah, bahkan lengkap membaca Al Fatihah sebelum napasnya putus.


Lalu, ada tetangga yang bicara bahwa kematian karena kucing hitam yang kulitnya sudah terkelupas di sana-sini adalah ilapat buruk. Agus Taswin terluka saat mendengarnya.


“Engkau percaya amal perbuatan manusia hanya ditimbang berdasarkan detik-detik terakhirnya?” tanya Agus Taswin ketika itu.


“Tidak, kalau begitu tidak adil,” kataku.


“Masih ingat kisah orang yang terluka di peperangan yang jelang kematiannya ada yang menawarinya minum?”


“Ya, ya. Ia menerimanya walaupun menurut si pencerita orang yang menawarkan minum itu sebetulnya iblis dan kemudian seluruh amal baik orang yang terluka itu terhapus. Miriplah dengan ungkapan panas setahun dihapus hujan sehari.”


“Itu pasti hujan yang luar biasa,” kata Agus Taswin.


“Mas, aku yakin Tuhan bukan akuntan yang pencemburu. Tidak ada yang salah dengan saat-saat terakhir Mbak Ratna. Ia orang baik, Mas, sangat baik. Mas tak perlu khawatir,” kataku.

 

 

PERCAKAPAN tiga tahun yang lalu itu hadir lagi di kantorku. Berbeda dari Ratna Dyah Wulansari yang tak tahu kedatangan ajalnya, Agus Taswin kurang lebih tahu kapan dan bagaimana ia harus meninggal dunia.


“Apa aku sekarang harus lebih banyak mengaji atau semacamnya?” tanya Agus Taswin.


“Tidak ada salahnya sih, Mas. Tapi kok seperti ngejar setoran?” ujarku, spontan. Aku lantas merasa sungkan sendiri dengan kata-kataku barusan. Kurang patut.


“Kawin lagi?”


“Masa sengaja mencetak janda?”


Melihat Agus Taswin tak kehilangan selera humornya, aku pun berani mengimbangi.


“Bagaimana kalau gila-gilaan?”


“Terlalu Hollywood. Bukan gaya Mas.”


“Benar, benar,” kata Agus Taswin. Setelah itu ia terdiam lama dan kemudian pamit.

 

 

BERHARI-hari Agus Taswin tak menghubungiku. Telepon dariku pun tak dibalasnya. Aku cemas. Maka, sepekan setelah pertemuan di kantorku itu aku mendatangi rumah Agus Taswin.


Agus Taswin sedang duduk di teras belakang memegang buku ketika aku tiba di sana. Ada beberapa buku lain di meja. Yang sedang dibacanya adalah The Catcher in the Rye karya J.D. Salinger.


“Maaf membuatmu cemas, telepon sengaja kumatikan,” kata Agus Taswin. “Aku benar-benar sedang ingin membaca. Buku-buku ini utang yang ingin kubayar sebelum mati. Aku dulu beli untuk membacanya, tidak menimbun.”


“Catcher kan sudah kaubaca berulang kali, Mas?” tanyaku.


“Betul, tapi tetap ciamik. Mungkin Mark David Chapman memang sinting, baca buku bagus gini malah nembak John Lennon. Tapi, Chapman benar tentang satu hal saat menggemakan Holden Caulfield, menjadi palsu itu memuakkan.”


“Lantas?”


“Usiaku menurut dokter tinggal beberapa bulan lagi. Hal terakhir yang kuinginkan adalah menjadi orang palsu,” kata Agus Taswin.


“Oh,” kataku. Aku langsung bangkit dan memeluknya. “Sekali manusia asyik tetap asyik, Mas.”


“Tak terlalu buruk, bukan? Tapi, eh, kenapa kau sekarang jadi cengeng begini?”

 

 

MAUT itu rahasia. Dan biasanya memang begitu. Sembilan bulan setelah vonis kematian, Agus Taswin tampak sehat dan bungah. Inilah yang kulihat ketika aku mampir ke kantornya hari ini. Sepertinya, gabungan beberapa pengobatan dan pemanjatan doa yang dilakukannya cukup mustajab.


Tiga bulan yang lalu Agus Taswin tidak seceria ini. Ketika itu, dua anak kembarnya, Bambang Ekalaya dan Ratna Setiaboma—yang lebih muda tujuh menit, langsung pulang meninggalkan studi mereka di luar negeri begitu kukabari bahwa ayah mereka akan dioperasi. Ekalaya dari Swiss, sementara Ratna Setiaboma dari Amerika Serikat. Si kakak belajar menjadi chef profesional, adiknya mengejar gelar PhD biologi molekuler.


Agus Taswin sebetulnya tidak terlalu suka dengan kehebohan semacam itu. Katanya, selama dua puluh empat tahun usia anak-anaknya, ia tak pernah merasa punya masalah, artinya tak ada ganjalan yang harus dibereskan sebelum dirinya meninggal dunia.


“Jangan terlalu keras, Mas, anak-anak memerlukan ini, Mas juga,” kataku saat itu.


Bambang Ekalaya dan Ratna Setiaboma menemani Agus Taswin sepanjang operasi. Mereka kemudian juga tinggal selama dua minggu sebelum pamit berangkat lagi.


“Titip Bapak, ya Om,” kata Ratna Setiaboma.


“Jangan khawatir, bapak kalian sekuat banteng. Jangan-jangan ia yang nanti mengurus Om,” kataku.


“Kok Om omongnya begitu?” tanya Ekalaya.


“Tidak, sudahlah, yang penting bapak kalian sudah pulih sekarang.”

 

 

BEGITULAH. Ketika aku singgah hari ini Agus Taswin terlihat sedang tertawa-tawa menghadap layar komputer di ruangan Tan Kok Siong, staf muda di kantornya. Penasaran, tanpa diundang aku ikut melongok.


Walah. Ternyata Agus Taswin dan Tan Kok Siong sedang membuka situs porno Jepang. Awalnya Tan Kok Siong yang membuka dan ia tak sempat menutup layarnya ketika Agus Taswin masuk tanpa permisi dan tahu-tahu sudah berada di sampingnya. Tan Kok Siong tak punya pilihan selain pamer sekalian.


“Cantik-cantik tetapi mau main film ginian, edan,” kata Agus Taswin.


“Justru karena mereka cantik itu, Bos,” ujar Tan Kok Siong.


“Jadi, ndak itu ya yang namanya terlalu cantik untuk film porno?” tanyaku.


“Justru karena mereka cantik itu, Bos,” ujar Tan Kok Siong, mengulang.


“Bintang laki-lakinya, aduhai, itunya kecil banget,” kata Agus Taswin.


“Iya, untung betul mereka,” ujar Tan Kok Siong. Dari nada suaranya sepertinya ia gemas, tapi mungkin juga geram atau malah dendam.


“Milih mana, barang kita segumprit, tapi lawannya mainnya indah-indah kayak mereka atau barang kita sebesar perabot kuda tapi dapatnya cuma perempuan rongsokan?” tanyaku.


“Sialan, pertanyaan menarik itu,” kata Agus Taswin.


Kami bertiga tertawa berbarengan. Tapi, tak lama kemudian kami terdiam dan menelan ludah, juga berbarengan. Adegan di depan mata terlalu sayang untuk tidak dinikmati secara saksama. Lalu, mungkin karena ingin memuaskan kami sebagai tamu tak diundangnya, mungkin juga biar urusan menghadap layar berjamaah ini cepat tuntas, Tan Kok Siong membuka berkas-berkas terbaik yang sudah diunduhnya. Ada Sora Aoi, Maria Ozawa, Nanami Takase, Takako Kitahara, Kirara Asuka, Riko Tachibana, Rio Hamasaki, dan beberapa nama lagi. Dengan malu-malu aku menghapalkan nama-nama itu dan mengancam bakal segera mengunduh sendiri begitu sempat.


“Siong, kamu mau nggak dikasih main tiga kali sama . . . katakanlah Sora Aoi, atau salah satu dari merekalah, terus dibikin mati?” tanya Agus Taswin.


Tan Kok Siong garuk-garuk kepala, lalu menjawab, “Mainnya sih kebayang enaknya, Bos. Pengin sih ngrasain. Tapi ngapain juga, Bos, dapat yang biasa-biasa juga oke, asal tidak mati. Mati tidak enak, tidak bisa lihat yang bagus-bagus.”


“Dasar pandir, lu! Kau kan bisa main dua kali terus pulang,” kata Agus Taswin.


Kami bertiga tertawa lagi. Gara-gara omongan Agus Taswin itu aku jadi sempat berpikir tentang Make a Wish, yayasan yang sering membantu mewujudkan impian terakhir seseorang sebelum mati, biasanya anak-anak yang ingin ketemu bintang idola mereka atau ingin menonton film aksi yang belum diputar di bioskop. Jika saja yayasan ini membuka layanan kepada terpidana mati yang sudah pernah menonton film porno Jepang, mungkin bintang-bintang JAV akan kewalahan menerima permintaan. Apakah jika diberi kesempatan seperti itu aku akan mengambilnya? Bohong besar jika aku bilang tak kepengin. Bintang-bintang itu begitu elok, begitu surgawi, dan alangkah penurutnya — setidaknya di tayangan yang kulihat. Satu-satunya yang mungkin menghalangiku memutus sepenuhnya hasrat lama kepada Latina jelita seperti Paz Vega atau Monica Belluci adalah fakta bahwa wanita-wanita Sakura yang cantik itu selalu saja dirujak habis-habisan dengan alat-alat aneh oleh aktor-aktor yang ukuran penis, bentuk tubuh, serta rupa cecongor mereka menggelikan.

 

 

MAUT itu rahasia. Biasanya begitu. Dan aku seharusnya tahu itu. Setelah puas, capai tepatnya, memelototi layar komputer, kami bertiga turun untuk makan siang di restoran Padang di samping kantor mereka. Menu pilihan kami siang ini adalah rendang bebek, telur balado, dan terong panggang cabai hijau. Semua menu pedas dan sedap bukan main. Kami masih melanjutkan obrolan seputar kedahsyatan bintang-bintang Jepang dengan tawa di sana-sini ketika kemudian terdengar suara dentuman keras dari arah dapur. Sepertinya ada tabung gas yang meledak.


Tanpa peringatan, tiba-tiba jantungku seperti diremas oleh tangan yang mengenakan sarung berduri. Perih sekali.


Aku terbangun dengan perasaan ganjil. Lamat-lamat kudengar suara Agus Taswin.


“Saya kakaknya, Dok. Saya yang akan mengurus jenazahnya.”

 

 

2 16 oz. ribeyes
1 lb. turkey breast (thinly-sliced)
12 strips of bacon>
2 large hamburgers with mayo, onion, lettuce
2 large baked potatoes with butter, sour cream, cheese, chives
4 slices of cheese or ½ pound of grated cheddar cheese
1 chef’s salad with blue cheese dressing
2 ears of corn on the cob
1 pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream
4 vanilla Cokes or Mr. Pibbs

 

—The last meal requested by Stanley Baker, Jr., 35-year-old, convicted of murder before his execution on May 20, 2002, in Austin, Texas, USA.

 

DEATH is a secret. But not always. Some do know how and when death will arrive. A ninja, for example, knows well that he can only die at the hands of another ninja, if he doesn’t want to die of natural causes. If he’s tired of life, he only needs to look for trouble with a more skillful ninja.


In the execution of death row inmates, when and how death comes can be known to more than one person at once; the executioner and the unfortunate. The fate of terminally ill patients is more or less the same, only with a lesser degree of certainty.


Before continuing this story, let’s first agree that you won’t argue with me about existentialism. If, for example, I say, “That person died of a heart attack,” you shouldn’t say, “How do you know if the heart attack is what caused his death? You only know the man died after a heart attack.”


Such a debate is interesting and deserves to be written about, but not for this occasion. Now, here’s the question: what would you do if you knew how and when your death is going to come?


Stanley Baker, Jr., as noted above, didn’t want to die on an empty stomach. Nice, isn’t it? One might wonder, if Baker had a stomachache in the last minutes before his execution, which would worry him more; that he hadn’t had a chance to shit or that he would soon die?


Clarence Ray Allen wasn’t as calm as Baker Junior when it came to accepting his death. Before being sent to the execution room on January 17, 2006, in California, Allen repeatedly asked for forgiveness. He said he was too old and too sick to be executed. He didn’t lie. He was 76 years old, blind, half-deaf, and paralysed by diabetes. In order to make his petition more convincing, Allen’s lawyer also mentioned that his client’s behavior was fairly commendable in recent years.


The State of California didn’t want to compromise. Allen was sentenced to death not because he was a bastard. Many people are bastards, and yet are not put to death. Before the verdict was pronounced, Allen had been serving a life sentence for murdering his son’s girlfriend in 1974. Instead of repenting, he plotted another three murders during his time in prison. It was this series of evil deeds that put him to death.


When his last wish for forgiveness was rejected, Allen sulked. He said the execution room didn’t have wheelchair access. He wanted to say that he shouldn’t have been sentenced to death by California because the execution would have very likely killed him. Crazy? Wait a minute. A few months before the execution, Allen’s heart stopped, but he survived because of the intervention of prison medical officers. Allen must not die from natural causes. How and when he should die had been established by his executioners.


I won’t say the lethal injection helped Allen escape suffering. But, at least, he was put to sleep first by anesthetic injection before poisonous fluid was injected into his body. In fact, as you should already know, the prison doctor also rubbed alcohol on Allen’s arm before administering the injection. Was this not a sign of generosity, because he didn’t want Allen to get an infection? Imagine if California had imposed one of the cruelest executions, favoured by ancient Chinese rulers: the punished tied up in a field, stripped naked, his balls left to be bitten away by midgets. Very unpleasant, isn’t it?

 

 

AGUS Taswin, my brother-in-law, felt a special affinity with death row inmates. Some time ago, his upper abdomen got sore. A week later, he got jaundice. At first, he was calm because the disease—which in Indonesian is sakit kuning, yellow disease, the only illness ever named after a primary color—didn’t really make him sick.


However, his doctor was suspicious, and after a more thorough examination of Agus Taswin, the verdict came: adenocarcinomas. At a glance, the word resembles the name of an ancient Greek playwright, but it’s actually a kind of pancreatic cancer. Like most patients, Agus Taswin found out about his illness too late. His cancer was five years old. The doctor said that Agus Taswin only had six or seven months left.


“Give me an exact number. After six months, I won’t know whether to be happy or anxious.”


“So what do you want, Pak Taswin?”


“Make it seven, Doc. It’s a good number. The seventh heaven, the seven descendants, the seven angels that Jaka Tarub spotted, and the jersey number of Robson, Cantona, Beckham, and Ronaldo.”


“I’ll pray for you. So you’re a Manchester United fan, huh? I prefer Arsenal.”


Agus Taswin didn’t know why he had the time to joke. But that was his spontaneous reaction because he hadn’t read the book How You Should React in Unexpected Situations, Such As When Your Doctor Says You Only Have Six or Seven Months Left.

 

 

A WEEK later, Agus Taswin came to my office and told me about his visit to the doctor. As you might imagine, I was shocked and exclaimed, “What?” So cliché, like a scene from a soap opera. But, in such a situation, believe me, you get caught up in a very uncomfortable stutter and your eloquence disappears.


“I want you to take care of my death,” said Agus Taswin.


“Oh, don’t say that, Mas Taswin, it’s taboo,” I said, “there must be another way.”


“I hope so too. I'm still 49 years old. If the doctor told me to go for chemo, radio, or even surgery, I'd do it for sure. I’m also looking at alternative medicine. I’m not giving up. But, you see, I don’t want to bother too many people. If I must become a burden, then my heavy heart aside, I hope you will take care of me.”


I nodded, couldn’t stop my eyes getting wet. “What about your children, mas?”


“I'll talk to them in time. But for now, keep it a secret.”

 

 

DEATH is a secret. Usually so. Three years ago, Ratna Dyah Wulansari, my only sister and Agus Taswin’s wife, passed away without any pain whatsoever. Really, she was the healthiest woman I’d ever known.


Every morning Ratna shopped for vegetables at a crossroads near her home where her usual vegetable seller peddled his goods. That morning would have been like any other morning if there weren’t an ojek driver who rode his bike so fast and then slammed the handlebar to the right to avoid a black cat suddenly passing by. The motorbike hit Ratna. The ojek driver fell while his passenger and Ratna were flung into the air.


Ratna landed, the back of her head hitting the asphalt. While floating, in a split second—or perhaps a second and a half—Ratna had shrieked in shock, “E, tobil!”


If only Ratna had known that soon, her consciousness would disappear, and her life would be over, perhaps she wouldn’t have made such an insignificant exclamation: the name of a baby lizard. Because of her last words, some neighbors said that Ratna died in an unfortunate way. The unlucky ojek passenger who also passed away that morning was considered more fortunate because she had the time to say Asma Allah, and even recited Al Fatihah completely before she breathed her last.


Then, there was a neighbor who said that death caused by a black cat whose skin was flaking was a bad sign. Agus Taswin was hurt when he heard that.


“Do you believe that human deeds are only weighed by the final seconds in their lives?” Agus Taswin asked then.


“No, that wouldn’t be fair,” I said.


“Remember the story of the wounded man in the battle who was offered a drink on the brink of death?”


“Yes, yes. He accepted it even though, according to the narrator, the person who offered the drink was actually a demon, and then, all the good deeds the wounded man did were erased. Just like the proverb panas setahun dihapus hujan sehari. A year-long dry spell is erased with a day’s worth of rainfall,” said Agus Taswin.


“Mas, I'm sure God is not a jealous accountant. There was nothing wrong with Mbak Ratna's last moments. She was a good woman, mas, very good. Mas need not worry,” I said.

 

That conversation from three years ago came up again in my office. Unlike Ratna Dyah Wulansari who did not expect the arrival of death, Agus Taswin more or less knew when and how he must die.


“Do I now have to pray a lot more or something?” asked Agus Taswin.


“Nothing wrong with doing that, mas. But why does it feel like you’re rushing to make a deposit?” I said, spontaneously. I then felt guilty about my words just then. They were improper.


“What about getting remarried?”


“Are you planning to leave a widow?” Seeing Agus Taswin hadn't lost his sense of humor, I was brave enough to joke with him.


“What about doing crazy things?”


“Too Hollywood. Not your style, mas.”


“True, true,” said Agus Taswin. After that, he paused and then said goodbye.

 

 

A FEW days passed and Agus Taswin didn’t contact me. My call to him went unanswered. I got worried. So, a week after the meeting in my office, I went to his house.


When I got there, Agus Taswin was sitting on the back porch holding a book. There were several other books on the table. He was reading The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger.


“Sorry to make you worry. I deliberately turned my phone off,” said Agus Taswin. “I really want to spend time reading. These books are the debt I want to settle before I die. I bought them to read, not to hoard.”


“Haven’t you read Catcher a number of times, mas?” I asked.


“Yes, but it’s still good. Maybe Mark David Chapman was crazy; reading such a good book and then shooting John Lennon. But Chapman was right about one thing when he echoed Holden Caulfield. Being fake is sickening.”


“So?”


“According to the doctor, I only have a few months left. The last thing I want is to be a fake person,” said Agus Taswin.


“Oh,” I said. I immediately got up and hugged him. “Once a good man, always a good man, mas.”


“Not so bad, is it? But, uh, why are you sobbing now?”

 

 

DEATH is a secret. At least usually. Nine months after the death sentence, Agus Taswin looked healthy and happy. This was what I saw when I stopped by his office today. Apparently, the combination of several treatments and prayer had been quite effective.


Three months ago, Agus Taswin hadn’t been this happy. At that time, his twins, Bambang Ekalaya and Ratna Setiaboma—who was seven minutes younger—went straight home as soon as they learned that their father would be undergoing an operation, even though they were studying overseas. Ekalaya came from Switzerland, while Ratna Setiaboma came from the United States. The older brother was learning to be a professional chef, while his sister was pursuing a PhD in molecular biology.


Agus Taswin didn’t really like that kind of fuss. He said that for the past twenty-four years, the age of his children, he had never felt like he had any problems, meaning there was nothing left to be done before he died.


“Don’t be be too hard, mas. Your children need this. Mas needs it too,” I said at the time.


Bambang Ekalaya and Ratna Setiaboma accompanied Agus Taswin throughout the operation. They then stayed on for two more weeks before returning overseas.


“Take care of my father, om,” said Ratna Setiaboma.


“Don’t worry, your father is as strong as a bull. Who knows, maybe he’ll be the one who will take care of om,” I said.


“Why are you talking like that, om?” asked Ekalaya.


“Nah, never mind. The most important thing is that your father has now recovered.”

 

 

OR something liked that. When I stopped by today, Agus Taswin was laughing, facing the computer screen in Tan Kok Siong's room, the young employee in his office. Curious, I went to take a peek.


Geez. Apparently Agus Taswin and Tan Kok Siong were looking at a Japanese porn site. At first, it was Tan Kok Siong who’d opened the website and hadn’t had time to close the browser when Agus Taswin had entered the room without permission and somehow, suddenly, had stood next to him. Tan Kok Siong had no choice but to show off.


“They are so beautiful, yet they star in these kinds of movies. Crazy,” said Agus Taswin.


“It’s precisely because they’re beautiful, boss,” said Tan Kok Siong.


“So, there’s no such thing as too beautiful for porn movies?” I asked.


“It’s precisely because they’re beautiful, boss,” repeated Tan Kok Siong.


“But the male star, huh, the thingy is so tiny,” said Agus Taswin.


“True, they’re so lucky,” said Tan Kok Siong. From the tone of his voice, he seemed exasperated, but perhaps also furious or even vengeful.


“Which one do you prefer, having a tiny dick but screwing beautiful women like them, or having a cock as big as a horse’s but only banging ugly women?” I asked.


“Damn, that’s an interesting question,” said Agus Taswin.


The three of us roared with laughter. But soon, we were silent and swallowed, also in unison. The scene in front of our eyes was too awesome not to be enjoyed thoroughly. Then, perhaps because he wanted to satisfy us, his uninvited guests, or maybe also to let the party in front of the screen quickly disperse, Tan Kok Siong opened the best files he had downloaded. There was Sora Aoi, Maria Ozawa, Takase Nanami, Takako Kitahara, Kirara Asuka, Riko Tachibana, Rio Hamasaki, a few more names. Shyly, I memorized the names and swore to download them myself once I had the time.


“Siong, if you’re given a choice to bang… let’s say, Sora Aoi, or any one of those women… three times… but after that you have to die, would you still do it?” asked Agus Taswin.


Tan Kok Siong scratched his head, then replied, “That would be one hell of a fuck, boss. Of course I’d want it. But why would I agree to something like that? The average fuck is good enough, as long as I don’don't need to die. Dying is no fun. I won’t be able see nice stuff like this anymore.”


“You fool! You could have fucked twice only and then, just gone home,” said Agus Taswin.


The three of us laughed again. Because of Agus Taswin's talk, I thought of Make a Wish, a foundation that helps people realize their last dream before dying, more often than not children who want to meet their idols or want to watch an action movie that hasn’t been screened in the cinema. If the foundation were to open a service to a death row inmate who had watched a Japanese porn movie, maybe JAV stars would be overwhelmed by their requests. If given such a chance, would I take it? It would be a big lie if I said I didn’t want it. Those stars are so beautiful, so heavenly, and how submissive they were—at least from what I saw on screen. The only thing that might prevent me from completely breaking my age-old desire for a beautiful Latina such as Paz Vega or Monica Belluci was the fact that the beautiful Sakura women were constantly assaulted with strange tools by actors whose penis sizes, body shapes, and mugs looked ridiculous.

 

 

DEATH is a secret. Usually so. And I should know that. Once satisfied with, or to be precise, tired of staring at the computer screen, the three of us went down for lunch at the Padang restaurant next to the office. Our selection this afternoon was duck rendang, eggs with chili sauce, and roasted eggplant with green chili. All the dishes were spicy and delicious. We were still continuing our conversation about the awesomeness of the Japanese stars, laughing here and there, when a loud bang came from the kitchen. Sounded like a gas cylinder exploded.


My heart felt like it had been squeezed by a hand in a thorny glove. Extremely painful.


I woke up with a strange feeling. Softly, I heard Agus Taswin's voice.


“I'm his brother, Doc. I'll take care of the body.”

 

Clarissa Goenawan: Translating Yusi’s short story was my maiden attempt at literary translation. My main concern during the process was whether I could do the original text justice. Word choices were one thing I kept on mulling over; nuance was another. Some questions constantly came into my mind: “Is this in line with the author’s intention?” I have to admit I was very nervous when suggesting to the author to choose another word for the title—as a writer, we all know how important the title can be—and was pleasantly surprised that he was very open-minded about it.

 

In the end, I feel that, just like writing, translation is a craft and an art. There is probably not one single right approach to everything. I started to view translation as a collaborative effort, and in the process, I grew an even deeper appreciation for the beauty of languages.

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