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Sample translations submitted: 5
English to Indonesian: Anne of Green Gables General field: Other
Source text - English Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde's Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.
There are plenty of people in Avonlea and out of it, who can attend closely to their neighbor's business by dint of neglecting their own; but Mrs. Rachel Lynde was one of those capable creatures who can manage their own concerns and those of other folks into the bargain. She was a notable housewife; her work was always done and well done; she "ran" the Sewing Circle, helped run the Sunday-school, and was the strongest prop of the Church Aid Society and Foreign Missions Auxiliary. Yet with all this Mrs. Rachel found abundant time to sit for hours at her kitchen window, knitting "cotton warp" quilts--she had knitted sixteen of them, as Avonlea housekeepers were wont to tell in awed voices--and keeping a sharp eye on the main road that crossed the hollow and wound up the steep red hill beyond. Since Avonlea occupied a little triangular peninsula jutting out into the Gulf of St. Lawrence with water on two sides of it, anybody who went out of it or into it had to pass over that hill road and so run the unseen gauntlet of Mrs. Rachel's all-seeing eye.
She was sitting there one afternoon in early June. The sun was coming in at the window warm and bright; the orchard on the slope below the house was in a bridal flush of pinky- white bloom, hummed over by a myriad of bees. Thomas Lynde-- a meek little man whom Avonlea people called "Rachel Lynde's husband"--was sowing his late turnip seed on the hill field beyond the barn; and Matthew Cuthbert ought to have been sowing his on the big red brook field away over by Green Gables. Mrs. Rachel knew that he ought because she had heard him tell Peter Morrison the evening before in William J. Blair's store over at Carmody that he meant to sow his turnip seed the next afternoon. Peter had asked him, of course, for Matthew Cuthbert had never been known to volunteer information about anything in his whole life.
And yet here was Matthew Cuthbert, at half-past three on the afternoon of a busy day, placidly driving over the hollow and up the hill; moreover, he wore a white collar and his best suit of clothes, which was plain proof that he was going out of Avonlea; and he had the buggy and the sorrel mare, which betokened that he was going a considerable distance. Now, where was Matthew Cuthbert going and why was he going there?
Had it been any other man in Avonlea, Mrs. Rachel, deftly putting this and that together, might have given a pretty good guess as to both questions. But Matthew so rarely went from home that it must be something pressing and unusual which was taking him; he was the shyest man alive and hated to have to go among strangers or to any place where he might have to talk. Matthew, dressed up with a white collar and driving in a buggy, was something that didn't happen often. Mrs. Rachel, ponder as she might, could make nothing of it and her afternoon's enjoyment was spoiled.
"I'll just step over to Green Gables after tea and find out from Marilla where he's gone and why," the worthy woman finally concluded. "He doesn't generally go to town this time of year and he NEVER visits; if he'd run out of turnip seed he wouldn't dress up and take the buggy to go for more; he wasn't driving fast enough to be going for a doctor. Yet something must have happened since last night to start him off. I'm clean puzzled, that's what, and I won't know a minute's peace of mind or conscience until I know what has taken Matthew Cuthbert out of Avonlea today."
Accordingly after tea Mrs. Rachel set out; she had not far to go; the big, rambling, orchard-embowered house where the Cuthberts lived was a scant quarter of a mile up the road from Lynde's Hollow. To be sure, the long lane made it a good deal further. Matthew Cuthbert's father, as shy and silent as his son after him, had got as far away as he possibly could from his fellow men without actually retreating into the woods when he founded his homestead. Green Gables was built at the furthest edge of his cleared land and there it was to this day, barely visible from the main road along which all the other Avonlea houses were so sociably situated. Mrs. Rachel Lynde did not call living in such a place LIVING at all.
"It's just STAYING, that's what," she said as she stepped along the deep-rutted, grassy lane bordered with wild rose bushes. "It's no wonder Matthew and Marilla are both a little odd, living away back here by themselves. Trees aren't much company, though dear knows if they were there'd be enough of them. I'd ruther look at people. To be sure, they seem contented enough; but then, I suppose, they're used to it. A body can get used to anything, even to being hanged, as the Irishman said."
With this Mrs. Rachel stepped out of the lane into the backyard of Green Gables. Very green and neat and precise was that yard, set about on one side with great patriarchal willows and the other with prim Lombardies. Not a stray stick nor stone was to be seen, for Mrs. Rachel would have seen it if there had been. Privately she was of the opinion that Marilla Cuthbert swept that yard over as often as she swept her house. One could have eaten a meal off the ground without overbrimming the proverbial peck of dirt.
Mrs. Rachel rapped smartly at the kitchen door and stepped in when bidden to do so. The kitchen at Green Gables was a cheerful apartment--or would have been cheerful if it had not been so painfully clean as to give it something of the appearance of an unused parlor. Its windows looked east and west; through the west one, looking out on the back yard, came a flood of mellow June sunlight; but the east one, whence you got a glimpse of the bloom white cherry-trees in the left orchard and nodding, slender birches down in the hollow by the brook, was greened over by a tangle of vines. Here sat Marilla Cuthbert, when she sat at all, always slightly distrustful of sunshine, which seemed to her too dancing and irresponsible a thing for a world which was meant to be taken seriously; and here she sat now, knitting, and the table behind her was laid for supper.
Mrs. Rachel, before she had fairly closed the door, had taken a mental note of everything that was on that table. There were three plates laid, so that Marilla must be expecting some one home with Matthew to tea; but the dishes were everyday dishes and there was only crab-apple preserves and one kind of cake, so that the expected company could not be any particular company. Yet what of Matthew's white collar and the sorrel mare? Mrs. Rachel was getting fairly dizzy with this unusual mystery about quiet, unmysterious Green Gables.
"Good evening, Rachel," Marilla said briskly. "This is a real fine evening, isn't it" Won't you sit down? How are all your folks?"
Something that for lack of any other name might be called friendship existed and always had existed between Marilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel, in spite of--or perhaps because of--their dissimilarity.
Marilla was a tall, thin woman, with angles and without curves; her dark hair showed some gray streaks and was always twisted up in a hard little knot behind with two wire hairpins stuck aggressively through it. She looked like a woman of narrow experience and rigid conscience, which she was; but there was a saving something about her mouth which, if it had been ever so slightly developed, might have been considered indicative of a sense of humor.
"We're all pretty well," said Mrs. Rachel. "I was kind of afraid YOU weren't, though, when I saw Matthew starting off today. I thought maybe he was going to the doctor's."
Marilla's lips twitched understandingly. She had expected Mrs. Rachel up; she had known that the sight of Matthew jaunting off so unaccountably would be too much for her neighbor's curiosity.
"Oh, no, I'm quite well although I had a bad headache yesterday," she said. "Matthew went to Bright River. We're getting a little boy from an orphan asylum in Nova Scotia and he's coming on the train tonight."
If Marilla had said that Matthew had gone to Bright River to meet a kangaroo from Australia Mrs. Rachel could not have been more astonished. She was actually stricken dumb for five seconds. It was unsupposable that Marilla was making fun of her, but Mrs. Rachel was almost forced to suppose it.
"Are you in earnest, Marilla?" she demanded when voice returned to her.
"Yes, of course," said Marilla, as if getting boys from orphan asylums in Nova Scotia were part of the usual spring work on any well-regulated Avonlea farm instead of being an unheard of innovation.
Mrs. Rachel felt that she had received a severe mental jolt. She thought in exclamation points. A boy! Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert of all people adopting a boy! From an orphan asylum! Well, the world was certainly turning upside down! She would be surprised at nothing after this! Nothing!
"What on earth put such a notion into your head?" she demanded disapprovingly.
This had been done without here advice being asked, and must perforce be disapproved.
"Well, we've been thinking about it for some time--all winter in fact," returned Marilla. "Mrs. Alexander Spencer was up here one day before Christmas and she said she was going to get a little girl from the asylum over in Hopeton in the spring. Her cousin lives there and Mrs. Spencer has visited here and knows all about it. So Matthew and I have talked it over off and on ever since. We thought we'd get a boy. Matthew is getting up in years, you know--he's sixty-- and he isn't so spry as he once was. His heart troubles him a good deal. And you know how desperate hard it's got to be to get hired help. There's never anybody to be had but those stupid, half-grown little French boys; and as soon as you do get one broke into your ways and taught something he's up and off to the lobster canneries or the States. At first Matthew suggested getting a Home boy. But I said `no' flat to that. `They may be all right--I'm not saying they're not--but no London street Arabs for me,' I said. `Give me a native born at least. There'll be a risk, no matter who we get. But I'll feel easier in my mind and sleep sounder at nights if we get a born Canadian.' So in the end we decided to ask Mrs. Spencer to pick us out one when she went over to get her little girl. We heard last week she was going, so we sent her word by Richard Spencer's folks at Carmody to bring us a smart, likely boy of about ten or eleven. We decided that would be the best age--old enough to be of some use in doing chores right off and young enough to be trained up proper. We mean to give him a good home and schooling. We had a telegram from Mrs. Alexander Spencer today--the mail-man brought it from the station-- saying they were coming on the five-thirty train tonight. So Matthew went to Bright River to meet him. Mrs. Spencer will drop him off there. Of course she goes on to White Sands station herself"
Mrs. Rachel prided herself on always speaking her mind; she proceeded to speak it now, having adjusted her mental attitude to this amazing piece of news.
"Well, Marilla, I'll just tell you plain that I think you're doing a mighty foolish thing--a risky thing, that's what. You don't know what you're getting. You're bringing a strange child into your house and home and you don't know a single thing about him nor what his disposition is like nor what sort of parents he had nor how he's likely to turn out. Why, it was only last week I read in the paper how a man and his wife up west of the Island took a boy out of an orphan asylum and he set fire to the house at night--set it ON PURPOSE, Marilla--and nearly burnt them to a crisp in their beds. And I know another case where an adopted boy used to suck the eggs--they couldn't break him of it. If you had asked my advice in the matter--which you didn't do, Marilla--I'd have said for mercy's sake not to think of such a thing, that's what."
This Job's comforting seemed neither to offend nor to alarm Marilla. She knitted steadily on.
"I don't deny there's something in what you say, Rachel. I've had some qualms myself. But Matthew was terrible set on it. I could see that, so I gave in. It's so seldom Matthew sets his mind on anything that when he does I always feel it's my duty to give in. And as for the risk, there's risks in pretty near everything a body does in this world. There's risks in people's having children of their own if it comes to that--they don't always turn out well. And then Nova Scotia is right close to the Island. It isn't as if we were getting him from England or the States. He can't be much different from ourselves."
"Well, I hope it will turn out all right," said Mrs. Rachel in a tone that plainly indicated her painful doubts. "Only don't say I didn't warn you if he burns Green Gables down or puts strychnine in the well--I heard of a case over in New Brunswick where an orphan asylum child did that and the whole family died in fearful agonies. Only, it was a girl in that instance."
"Well, we're not getting a girl," said Marilla, as if poisoning wells were a purely feminine accomplishment and not to be dreaded in the case of a boy. "I'd never dream of taking a girl to bring up. I wonder at Mrs. Alexander Spencer for doing it. But there, SHE wouldn't shrink from adopting a whole orphan asylum if she took it into her head."
Mrs. Rachel would have liked to stay until Matthew came home with his imported orphan. But reflecting that it would be a good two hours at least before his arrival she concluded to go up the road to Robert Bell's and tell the news. It would certainly make a sensation second to none, and Mrs. Rachel dearly loved to make a sensation. So she took herself away, somewhat to Marilla's relief, for the latter felt her doubts and fears reviving under the influence of Mrs. Rachel's pessimism.
"Well, of all things that ever were or will be!" ejaculated Mrs. Rachel when she was safely out in the lane. "It does really seem as if I must be dreaming. Well, I'm sorry for that poor young one and no mistake. Matthew and Marilla don't know anything about children and they'll expect him to be wiser and steadier that his own grandfather, if so be's he ever had a grandfather, which is doubtful. It seems uncanny to think of a child at Green Gables somehow; there's never been one there, for Matthew and Marilla were grown up when the new house was built--if they ever WERE children, which is hard to believe when one looks at them. I wouldn't be in that orphan's shoes for anything. My, but I pity him, that's what."
So said Mrs. Rachel to the wild rose bushes out of the fulness of her heart; but if she could have seen the child who was waiting patiently at the Bright River station at that very moment her pity would have been still deeper and more profound.
Translation - Indonesian Mrs. Rachel Lynde tinggal di suatu tempat, tepat ketika jalan utama Avonlea menurun menuju sebuah ceruk, aliran sungai begitu tenang dan teratur. Bahkan aliran sungai pun tak bisa melewati pintu depan rumah Mrs. Rachel Lynde tanpa tingkah laku sopan dan terhormat; mungkin arus sungai itu menyadari bahwa Mrs. Rachel sedang duduk di depan jendela, mata tajamnya mengamati semua yang lewat di depan rumahnya, mulai dari aliran sungai hingga anak-anak. Dan jika dia menyadari ada sesuatu yang ganjil atau tidak pada tempatnya, Mrs. Rachel tidak akan pernah berhenti menyelidiki hingga dia berhasil mengetahui mengapa dan bagaimana hal itu terjadi.
Di daerah Avonlea dan sekitarnya, ada beberapa orang yang bisa mengetahui urusan tetangganya dengan cara mengabaikan urusannya sendiri; tetapi, Mrs. Rachel Lynde adalah salah seorang perempuan andal yang bisa mengatur urusannya sendiri sekaligus urusan orang lain. Dia adalah seorang ibu rumah tangga yang hebat; pekerjaannya selalu tuntas dan dikerjakan dengan baik; dia “menjalankan” suatu usaha menjahit pakaian, membantu mengurus sekolah Minggu, dan merupakan pemberi bantuan bagi Kelompok Penggalangan Dana Gereja dan Sukarelawan Misi Luar Negeri. Dengan semua kesibukan ini, Mrs. Rachel masih memiliki banyak waktu untuk duduk selama berjam-jam di depan jendela dapurnya, merajut selembar selimut dari “tenunan kapas”—dia telah merajut enam belas selimut, seperti yang dibicarakan para ibu rumah tangga di Avonlea dengan nada suara kagum—dan bisa mengawasi jalan utama yang melintasi ceruk, lalu berakhir di bukit merah sempit di depan sana. Karena Avonlea merupakan sebuah semenanjung kecil berbentuk segitiga yang menonjol ke Teluk St. Lawrence, dengan lautan di kedua sisinya, semua orang yang datang atau pergi harus melewati jalan menanjak itu, dan selalu tertangkap oleh mata Mrs. Rachel yang awas.
Pada suatu siang di awal bulan Juni, Mrs. Rachel duduk di depan jendelanya. Sinar matahari masuk melalui jendela, hangat dan terang; taman di lereng kecil di depan rumah merona oleh mekarnya bunga-bunga berwarna merah muda dan putih, diiringi dengungan sekelompok lebah. Thomas Lynde—seorang pria pendiam bertubuh mungil yang dikenal sebagai “suami Rachel Lynde” oleh orang-orang Avonlea—sedang menebar benih lobaknya yang terakhir di lahan bergelombang di belakang kandang; dan Matthew Cuthbert seharusnya menebar benih juga di lahan luasnya yang bertanah merah, dekat dengan sungai, jauh di sebuah rumah pertanian yang bernama Green Gables—Loteng-Loteng Hijau. Mrs. Rachel mengetahui bahwa seharusnya begitu, karena semalam di toko milik William J. Blair, di Carmody, Mrs. Rachel mendengar Matthew Cuthbert memberitahu Peter Morrison, bahwa dia akan menebar benih lobaknya besok siang. Tentu saja Peter yang bertanya kepada Matthew Cuthbert, karena semua tahu Matthew Cuthbert tidak akan pernah memberi informasi tentang apa pun yang terjadi dalam hidupnya secara sukarela.
Dan sekarang, di sanalah Matthew Cuthbert, pada pukul setengah tiga siang saat hari yang seharusnya sibuk, dengan perlahan berkendara menuruni ceruk dan mendaki bukit; selain itu, dia mengenakan sebuah kemeja putih berkerah dan setelan bajunya yang terbaik, yang merupakan bukti nyata bahwa dia akan pergi keluar Avonlea; dan dia mengendarai kereta bugi, ditarik oleh kuda betinanya yang berwarna cokelat kemerahan. Ini menunjukkan bahwa dia akan menempuh perjalanan yang cukup jauh. Sekarang, ke mana Matthew Cuthbert menuju dan mengapa dia melakukan perjalanan itu?
Jika yang lewat adalah pria lain di Avonlea, Mrs. Rachel akan menghubung-hubungkan beberapa hal dengan ahli, sehingga menghasilkan sebuah tebakan yang cukup mendekati jawaban dua pertanyaan itu. Tetapi, Matthew begitu jarang keluar dari rumah, sehingga pasti ada sesuatu yang tidak lazim dan memaksanya pergi; dia merupakan pria paling pemalu yang pernah hidup dan benci jika harus berada di antara orang asing, atau menuju suatu tempat yang mengharuskan dia bicara. Matthew yang mengenakan kemeja putih dan mengendarai kereta bugi bukanlah sesuatu yang sering terjadi. Mrs. Rachel, yang berpikir keras akan hal ini, tidak bisa menebak jawaban dua pertanyaan itu. Dan kesenangannya pada siang hari ini menjadi terganggu.
“Aku akan pergi ke Green Gables setelah minum teh dan bertanya kepada Marilla ke mana dan mengapa Matthew pergi,” perempuan terhormat itu akhirnya memutuskan. “Seharusnya dia tidak akan pergi begitu saja ke kota pada saat ini dan dia tidak pernah bertamu ke seseorang; jika kehabisan benih lobak, dia tidak akan berpakaian rapi dan mengendarai kereta bugi untuk membelinya; dan dia tidak mengemudi begitu cepat untuk pergi ke dokter. Sesuatu pasti terjadi sejak semalam, sehingga dia memutuskan pergi. Aku benar-benar kebingungan, begitulah, dan aku pasti tak akan mengalami semenit pun waktu penuh ketenangan batin atau kesadaran, hingga aku tahu apa yang menyebabkan Matthew Cuthbert keluar dari Avonlea hari ini.”
Karena itu, setelah minum teh Mrs. Rachel barangkat; dia tidak perlu berjalan jauh; rumah besar dan luas yang teduh oleh bayangan pepohonan di halamannya, tempat keluarga Cuthbert tinggal, tidak sampai seperempat mil dari Lynde’s Hollow—Ceruk Lynde. Sebetulnya, jalan sempit yang menuju ke sana membuat jaraknya lebih jauh. Ayah Matthew Cuthbert, seorang pria yang juga sama pemalu dan pendiamnya seperti sang anak, dulu memilih tempat tinggal sejauh mungkin dari kediaman rekan-rekannya. Tetapi, dia tidak benar-benar perlu mengungsi ke dalam hutan, karena menemukan lahan yang cocok untuknya. Green Gables dibangun di ujung terjauh jalan yang tidak tertutup pepohonan. Dan di sanalah ia berdiri hari ini, terlihat dari jalan utama tempat rumah-rumah Avonlea lainnya berjajar dalam situasi yang akrab. Mrs. Rachel Lynde menganggap bahwa hidup di tempat seperti Green Gables berarti tidak hidup sama sekali.
“Hanya sekadar tinggal, begitulah,” dia berkata sambil melangkah di sepanjang jalan sempit berumput yang penuh jejak dalam roda kereta, dibatasi oleh semak-semak mawar liar. “Tidak heran, Matthew dan Marilla sama-sama agak ganjil, karena hidup nun jauh di sana, hanya berdua. Pepohonan tidaklah cukup bisa menemani, meskipun semua tahu, itu sudah cukup bagi mereka. Aku lebih memilih mencari orang lain. Tentu saja, mereka tampak cukup bahagia; tapi kemudian, kupikir, mereka hanya terbiasa dengan keadaan itu. Sesosok tubuh akan terbiasa dengan keadaan apa pun, bahkan jika harus digantung, begitu kata orang-orang Irlandia.”
Sambil berkata demikian, Mrs. Rachel melangkah keluar dari jalan sempit, menuju halaman belakang Green Gables. Halaman itu begitu hijau, rapi, dan presisi, dengan sebuah pohon dedalu jantan yang besar di satu sisi, dan susunan rapi tanaman Lombardi di sisi lain. Tidak ada serpihan kayu atau batu yang terlihat, dan sudah pasti Mrs. Rachel akan melihatnya jika ada. Dalam hati, dia berpendapat bahwa Marilla Cuthbert menyapu halamannya sesering dia menyapu rumahnya. Orang-orang bisa menyantap makan siang mereka di permukaan halaman itu tanpa terganggu oleh kotoran debu yang harus mereka kibaskan.
Dengan sopan, Mrs. Rachel mengetuk pintu dapur dan melangkah masuk ketika dipersilakan. Dapur di Green Gables merupakan sebuah ruangan yang ceria—atau mungkin bisa menjadi ceria jika tidak terlalu bersih, yang menyebabkan ruangan itu tampak seperti ruang duduk yang tidak digunakan. Jendela-jendelanya menghadap ke arah timur dan barat; jendela yang menghadap ke barat menampilkan pemandangan halaman belakang, dihiasi sinar matahari bulan Juni sendu yang menyorot ke dalam ruangan; tetapi, dari jendela yang menghadap ke timur, yang dihiasi pemandangan pepohonan ceri yang bunga putihnya bermekaran di taman sebelah kiri dan pohon-pohon birch ramping yang mengangguk-angguk di bawah lembah dekat sungai, bisa terlihat kehijauan rindang pepohonan pinus yang tumbuh rapat. Di sisi jendela timur ini Marilla Cuthbert duduk. Seperti biasa, dia sedikit tidak memercayai sinar matahari, yang baginya terlalu meriah dan tidak perlu dipikirkan terlalu serius, karena itu hanyalah suatu hal duniawi; dan dia duduk di sana saat ini, merajut. Meja di belakangnya sudah disiapkan untuk makan malam.
Sebelum benar-benar menutup pintu, Mrs. Rachel sudah mencatat dalam hati apa saja yang terhidang di atas meja. Tiga buah piring sudah disiapkan, itu artinya Marilla menunggu seseorang yang akan datang bersama Matthew untuk minum teh; tetapi peralatan makannya adalah yang biasa dia gunakan sehari-hari. Dan hanya ada manisan apel kelas dua serta satu macam kue, jadi tamu yang mereka tunggu bukan tamu yang istimewa. Tetapi, mengapa Matthew mengenakan kemeja putihnya dan kuda betinanya yang berwarna cokelat kemerahan? Mrs. Rachel merasa sedikit bingung dengan misteri tidak biasa dari Green Gables, yang biasanya tenang dan tidak misterius.
“Selamat sore, Rachel,” Marilla berkata dengan segera. “Saat ini adalah sore yang betul-betul indah, bukankah begitu? Apakah kau tak mau duduk? Bagaimana kabar keluargamu?”
Meskipun hubungan mereka tidak begitu dekat, ada sesuatu yang bisa disebut sebagai persahabatan dan selalu ada di antara Marilla Cuthbert dan Mrs. Rachel, yang tidak dipengaruhi—atau mungkin disebabkan oleh—perbedaan mereka.
Marilla adalah seorang perempuan yang tinggi dan kurus, dengan tulang-tulang menonjol dan tanpa lekukan tubuh; rambut gelapnya sudah ditumbuhi sedikit uban dan selalu digulung menjadi sebuah sanggul kencang di bagian belakang kepalanya, diperkuat oleh tusukan mantap dua buah tusuk konde kawat. Dia tampak seperti seorang perempuan dengan sedikit pengalaman dan sikap yang kaku, dan memang betul begitu; tetapi kadang-kadang masih ada yang menyenangkan darinya, jika saja sedikit lebih banyak, yaitu sesuatu yang bisa dibilang menunjukkan rasa humor.
“Keadaan kami cukup baik,” jawab Mrs. Rachel. “Aku khawatir keadaanmu yang tidak baik, karena aku melihat Matthew pergi hari ini. Kupikir, mungkin dia akan ke dokter.”
Bibir Marilla berdecap penuh pengertian. Dia telah menunggu kedatangan Mrs. Rachel; dia tahu bahwa perjalanan singkat Matthew akan tampak tidak lazim, dan pasti akan menimbulkan rasa penasaran tetangga-tetangganya.
“Oh, tidak, aku baik-baik saja, meskipun aku mengalami sakit kepala hebat kemarin,” dia menjawab. “Matthew pergi ke Bright River. Kami menunggu seorang anak lelaki dari panti asuhan di Nova Scotia, dan dia akan datang dengan kereta malam ini.”
Jika Marilla mengatakan bahwa Matthew pergi ke Bright River untuk menjumpai seekor kangguru dari Australia, Mrs. Rachel tidak akan lebih kaget daripada saat ini. Dia betul-betul membisu selama lima detik. Sudah pasti, Marilla tidak sedang bercanda dengannya, tetapi Mrs. Rachel hampir memercayai bahwa itu hanya gurauan.
“Apakah kau mengatakan yang sebenarnya, Marilla?” dia mendesak, ketika akhirnya bisa bersuara kembali.
“Ya, tentu saja,” jawab Marilla, bagaikan mengambil seorang anak lelaki dari panti asuhan di Nova Scotia adalah bagian dari pekerjaan musim semi di semua pertanian Avonlea yang teratur, dan bukannya suatu hal baru yang jarang terdengar.
Mrs. Rachel merasa bahwa dia mendapatkan kejutan yang sangat dahsyat. Dia memikirkannya dengan seruan keras dalam hati. Seorang anak lelaki! Marilla dan Matthew Cuthbert, yang paling tidak disangka-sangka, mengadopsi seorang anak lelaki! Dari panti asuhan! Yah, dunia benar-benar sudah terbalik! Dia tidak akan terkejut dengan apa pun setelah ini! Tidak ada lagi!
“Apa tepatnya yang membuat kalian memikirkan hal ini?” dia bertanya, menampakkan ketidaksetujuan.
Semestinya hal ini tidak terjadi, tanpa Marilla meminta sarannya sebelum melakukan itu, dan seharusnya keinginan mereka itu tidak disetujui.
“Yah, kami telah memikirkan hal ini beberapa lama—sebenarnya, selama musim dingin,” jawab Marilla. “Mrs. Alexander Spencer berkunjung kemari sehari sebelum Natal, dan dia berkata akan mengambil seorang gadis kecil dari panti asuhan di Hopetown pada musim semi. Sepupunya tinggal di sana dan Mrs. Spencer telah mengunjungi gadis kecil itu, serta mengetahui semuanya. Jadi, Matthew dan aku membicarakan hal ini sejak saat itu. Kami berpikir akan mengambil seorang anak lelaki. Matthew sudah semakin tua, kau tentu tahu—dia sudah enam puluh tahun—dan tidak sebugar dulu. Penyakit jantung juga sangat membuatnya kesulitan. Dan kau tahu, bagaimana susahnya mendapatkan bantuan tenaga sewaan. Di sini tak ada orang yang bisa melakukannya, kecuali anak-anak lelaki Prancis yang masih tanggung dan bodoh; dan segera setelah seorang anak Prancis itu kaupekerjakan dan kauajari, dia akan berhenti dan pergi ke pengalengan lobster atau ke Amerika Serikat. Awalnya, Matthew mengusulkan untuk mengambil seorang anak lelaki Barnardo. Tapi aku berkata ‘tidak’ dengan pasti. ‘Mereka mungkin baik—aku tidak mengatakan bahwa mereka tidak baik—tapi aku tidak mau anak jalanan London keturunan Arab,’ aku berkata. ‘Setidaknya, aku ingin anak lelaki yang asli dari negeri ini. Pasti akan selalu ada risiko, siapa pun yang kita ambil. Tapi, aku merasa pikiranku lebih tenang dan bisa tidur lebih nyenyak pada malam hari jika kita mengambil seorang anak Kanada asli.” Jadi, akhirnya kami memutuskan untuk meminta Mrs. Spencer mengurus permintaan seorang anak lelaki jika dia ke Nova Scotia lagi untuk menjemput anak perempuannya. Kami mendengar dia pergi minggu lalu, jadi kami menitipkan pesan melalui kerabat Richard Spencer di Carmody untuk membawakan kami seorang anak lelaki pintar, kira-kira berusia sepuluh atau sebelas tahun. Kami memutuskan bahwa usia itu sangat tepat—cukup besar untuk melakukan tugas-tugas dengan baik dan cukup muda untuk bisa dilatih dengan mudah. Kami juga bermaksud untuk memberikan anak itu tempat tinggal yang nyaman dan pendidikan. Kami mendapatkan telegram dari Mrs. Alexander Spencer hari ini—tukang pos membawanya dari stasiun—yang mengatakan bahwa mereka tiba dengan kereta api jam setengah enam sore ini. Jadi, Matthew pergi ke Bright River untuk menjumpainya. Mrs. Spencer akan mengantarkannya ke sana. Tentu saja, Mrs. Spencer sendiri akan menuju Stasiun White Sands.”
Mrs. Rachel membanggakan diri karena selalu mengatakan isi hatinya; saat ini dia berusaha mengungkapkan pikirannya, setelah jiwanya telah bisa menentukan reaksi yang sesuai terhadap sepotong berita mengejutkan ini.
“Oke, Marilla, aku hanya akan mengatakan yang sebenarnya, bahwa kupikir kalian melakukan sesuatu yang sangat tolol—hal yang sangat berisiko, sebenarnya. Kalian tidak tahu siapa yang akan kalian ambil. Kalian membawa seorang anak asing ke rumah dan tempat tinggal kalian, dan tidak mengetahui satu hal pun tentang dia, atau juga sifat-sifatnya, atau bagaimana orangtua kandungnya, atau bagaimana jika dia ternyata mengecewakan kalian. Mengapa demikian? Baru minggu lalu aku membaca di koran tentang seorang pria dan istrinya di bagian barat pulau ini yang mengambil seorang anak lelaki dari panti asuhan. Anak lelaki itu menyulut api di rumah mereka pada suatu malam—membakar rumah dengan sengaja, Marilla—dan hampir membakar suami-istri itu hingga hangus di tempat tidur mereka. Dan aku tahu kasus lain, saat seorang anak lelaki yang diadopsi memiliki kebiasaan menghisap telur—orangtua angkatnya tidak bisa mencegahnya melakukan hal itu. Jika kau meminta saranku akan hal ini—yang tidak kaulakukan, Marilla—aku akan mengatakan, demi Tuhan, jangan pernah memikirkan hal seperti itu, itu saja.”
Pendapat yang tidak mendukung ini tampaknya tidak membuat Marilla kesal atau khawatir. Dia tetap merajut dengan tenang.
“Aku tidak akan menyangkal bahwa ada maksud baik di dalam perkataanmu, Rachel. Aku sendiri juga memiliki keraguan. Tapi, Matthew sangat menginginkan ini. Aku bisa melihatnya, jadi aku menyerah. Begitu jarang Matthew sangat menginginkan sesuatu, dan saat itu, aku merasa harus menyetujuinya. Dan tentang risiko-risiko itu, pasti selalu ada risiko yang harus dihadapi setiap orang di dunia ini. Risiko ini juga dialami oleh orang-orang yang memiliki anak kandung—mereka tidak selalu tumbuh menjadi anak baik. Dan Nova Scotia tepat berada di dekat pulau ini. Berarti kami tidak mengambilnya dari Inggris atau Amerika Serikat. Dia pasti tidak terlalu berbeda dari kita sendiri.”
“Yah, kuharap hal ini akan berjalan dengan baik,” kata Mrs. Rachel dengan nada yang dengan jelas menyatakan keraguannya. “Hanya saja, jangan bilang aku tidak memperingatkanmu jika dia membakar Green Gables atau menaburkan racun di sumur—aku mendengar sebuah kasus di New Brunswick, seorang anak panti asuhan yang melakukannya, dan seluruh anggota keluarga tewas dalam penderitaan yang mengerikan. Hanya saja, pelaku kasus ini adalah anak perempuan.”
“Tapi, kami tidak mengambil anak perempuan,” kata Marilla, bagaikan meracuni sumur adalah suatu tindakan yang benar-benar feminin dan tidak perlu dikhawatirkan dari seorang anak lelaki. “Aku tidak pernah bermimpi untuk mengambil seorang anak perempuan. Aku bertanya-tanya, untuk apa Mrs. Alexander Spencer melakukannya. Tapi, dia pasti akan mengadopsi seisi panti asuhan jika dia memang betul-betul berniat.”
Mrs. Rachel sebetulnya ingin tetap tinggal hingga Matthew pulang bersama anak panti asuhan yang dia jemput. Tetapi, Matthew baru akan kembali sekitar dua jam lagi. Jadi, Mrs. Rachel memutuskan untuk menyusuri jalan menuju rumah Robert Bell dan menceritakan kabar ini kepada mereka. Sudah pasti, kabar ini akan segera menjadi sensasi, dan Mrs. Rachel sangat menyukai membuat sensasi. Jadi, dia berpamitan. Ini membuat Marilla merasa lega, karena dia merasa keraguan dan ketakutannya meningkat kembali di bawah pengaruh pesimisme Mrs. Rachel.
“Yah, entah apa yang telah terjadi dan akan terjadi!” seru Mrs. Rachel ketika dia sudah berada di jalan. “Tampaknya aku benar-benar sedang bermimpi. Yah, aku kasihan terhadap anak kecil yang mengibakan dan tidak bersalah itu. Matthew dan Marilla tidak mengetahui apa-apa tentang anak-anak. Mereka pasti akan mengharapkan anak itu lebih bijak dan lebih stabil daripada kakek anak itu sendiri, jika anak itu memiliki seorang kakek—dan aku meragukan hal itu. Tampaknya ganjil untuk memikirkan ada seorang anak di Green Gables; Matthew dan Marilla telah beranjak dewasa ketika rumah baru itu dibangun—mungkin mereka dulu pernah menjadi anak-anak, tetapi melihat mereka sekarang, hal itu sulit untuk dipercaya. Pasti mereka sama sekali tidak akan mengerti perasaan anak yatim piatu itu. Astaga, aku mengasihani anak itu, begitulah.”
Itulah kata-kata yang diucapkan Mrs. Rachel untuk mengungkapkan beban di hatinya kepada semak-semak mawar liar; tetapi jika dia bisa melihat seorang anak yang menunggu dengan sabar di Stasiun Bright River saat itu juga, rasa kasihan itu pasti akan lebih dalam dan lebih kuat.
English to Indonesian: Deeper
Source text - English The boys retraced their steps past the flickering blue flame and back into the railway tunnel. In a little more than twenty minutes they had reached where the train had come to a stop.
Crouched down by the guard’s carriage, its dust-filmed windows now unlit, they looked down the long line of trucks to where the engine sat. But nobody was in evidence – it seemed the train was completely unattended.
Then they moved their attention to the rest of the space; from what they could see the cavern before them was at least a couple of hundred metres from side to side.
“So this is the Miners’ Station,” Will said under his breath, focusing on the area to the left of the cavern, which was dotted with a line of lights. It didn’t look like much, consisting of a row of rather ordinary, single-storey shacks.
“Not exactly platform nine and three-quarters, is it?” Chester muttered.
“No … I thought it would be far bigger,” Will said in a disappointed voice. “Hardly remarkable,” he added, using the phrase his father would utter when unimpressed by something.
“Nobody sticks round here for long,” Cal said.
Chester looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I don’t think we should either,” he whispered nervously. “Where is everybody? The guard and the train driver?”
“Inside the buildings, probably,” Cal told him.
There was a noise, a muted rumbling like distant thunder, and then a huge clattering began.
“What the hell’s that?” Chester exclaimed with alarm, as they all shrank back into the tunnel.
Cal was pointing above the train. “No, look, they’re just loading up for the return journey.”
They saw large chutes poised above the higher-sided trucks. At least the diameter of an average dustbin, they were cylindrical and appeared to be made from sections of sheet metal that had been riveted together. Something was gushing from their mouths at great speed and hitting the metal beds of the trucks with a massive clamour.
“Now’s our chance!” Cal urged the others. He got up and, swooping around the back of the guard’s carriage, was belting down by the side of the train before Will could object.
“There he goes again,” Chester moaned, but just the same he and Will still took off after the younger boy, keeping to the lee of the train as Cal was doing.
They ran down the line of lower trucks, passing the one in which they had spent the journey, then continued beside their higher-sided counterparts. Dust and debris was spraying over their heads, and they had to pause several times to wipe it from their eyes. It took the boys a full minute to travel the length of the train, enough time for the loading to be completed. A few remaining scatters of whatever the material was fell from the row of chutes, and the air was laced with a gritty dust.
Uncoupled from the train, the steam engine was further along the track but Cal was tucked down beside the last of the higher trucks. As soon as Will and Chester caught up with him, Will lashed out, cuffing his brother round the head.
“Oi!” Cal hissed, raising his fists as if he was about to retaliate. “What was that for?”
“That was for running off again, you stupid little spod,” Will chided him in a low, furious voice. “If you keep doing things like that, we’re going to get caught.”
“Well, they didn’t see us … and how else could we get through here?” his brother defended himself vehemently.
Will didn’t answer.
Cal blinked slowly as if to say his brother was being tedious, and simply turned his head away to look into the distance. “We need to go down th—”
“No way,” Will said. “Chester and I are going to check first before any of us does anything. You just stay put!”
Cal obeyed reluctantly, flopping on to the ground with a bad-tempered groan.
“You all right?” Will asked Chester as he heard a loud snuffling noise behind him. He twisted round to look at him.
“This stuff gets everywhere,” Chester complained, then proceeded to blow his nose by clamping each nostril in turn with his fingers to clear them of the dust.
“That’s disgusting,” Will said under his breath, as Chester pinched a dangling skein of snot and flicked it to the ground. “Do you have to do that?”
Taking no heed of his friend’s distaste, Chester squinted at Will’s face, then examined his own hands and arms. “We’re certainly well camouflaged,” he observed. If their faces and clothes had been filthy before from the continuous stream of carbon-black smoke on the train, they were even filthier now after being showered during the loading of the trucks.
“Yeah, well, if you’re quite finished,” Will said, “let’s recce the station.” On their elbows, he and Chester edged around the front of the truck until they had an uninterrupted view of the buildings. There was absolutely no sign of any activity.
Making not the slightest effort to keep his head down, Cal disobeyed Will’s orders and joined them. He couldn’t seem to stay still, positively vibrating with impatience. “Listen, the railwaymen are in the station, but they’re going to come out soon. We have to get out of this place before they do,” he insisted.
Will considered the station buildings again. “Well, okay, but we all stick together and only go as far as the engine. Got that, Cal?”
They moved swiftly from the cover of the truck, running half-crouched until they came alongside the massive engine. Every so often it vented hissing jets of steam, as if it was a dragon in deep slumber. They could feel the warmth that still emanated from its giant boiler. Chester foolishly placed his hand on one of the massive plates of pitted steel that formed its slab-sided base, and retracted it quickly. “Ow!” he said. “It’s still really hot.”
“You don’t say,” Cal muttered sarcastically, as they skirted round to the front of the massively-proportioned machine.
“It’s awesome! Looks exactly like a tank,” Chester said in schoolboy wonder. With its huge interlocking armour plates and giant cowcatcher, it certainly did resemble a military vehicle of some kind, an old battle tank.
“Chester, we really don’t have time to admire the choo choo!” Will said.
“I wasn’t,” he mumbled in response, still ogling the engine.
They began to debate their next move.
“We should go down there,” Cal said forcefully, indicating the direction with his thumb.
“Blahdy, blahdy, blah,” Chester muttered under his breath, giving Cal a disdainful stare. “Here we go again.”
Will studied the area of the cavern his brother had pointed to. Across a stretch of about fifty metres of open ground was what could have been an opening in the cavern wall, metal ramps descending on either side of it from some sort of structure above. Will couldn’t see enough in the shadowy murkiness to be sure if it was a way out.
“I can’t tell what’s there,” he said to Cal. “Too dark.”
“That’s exactly why we should go there,” his brother replied.
“But what if the Colonists come out before we reach it?” Will asked. “There’s no way they can miss us.”
“They’re having a brew-up,” Cal replied, shaking his head at Will. “We’ll be okay if we go right now.”
Then Chester chimed in. “We could always back off … into the tunnel again, and wait until the train’s gone.”
“That could be hours. We’ve got to go now,” Cal said, his voice brimming with irritation. “While we’ve still got the chance.”
“Hang on,” Chester immediately countered, turning to Cal.
“We go,” Cal insisted tetchily.
“No, we—” Chester came back at him, but Cal raised his voice and didn’t let him finish.
“You don’t know anything,” he sneered.
“Who died and made you boss?” Chester swivelled around to his friend, looking for support. “You’re not going to listen to this, are you Will? He’s just a stupid brat.”
“Shut up,” Will hissed through gritted teeth to no one in particular, his eyes on the station.
“I say we—” Cal declaimed loudly.
Will shot his hand out and clapped it roughly over his brother’s mouth. “I said shut it, Cal. Two of them. Over there,” he whispered urgently into Cal’s ear, and then slowly took his hand away.
Cal and Chester sought out the two railwaymen, who were standing under a portico that ran along the front of several of the station buildings. They had apparently just emerged from one of the shacks, and strains of bizarre music filtered across to the boys through the open door.
They were wearing bulky blue uniforms and some form of breathing apparatus over their heads, and as the boys watched they lifted these up so they could drink from the large tankards each of them had in their hands. Even from where the boys were positioned, they could hear the men’s grumbling tones as they stepped a few paces forward and stopped, idly perusing the train, and then turned to point something out in the gantry high above the train.
After several minutes they turned on their heels and went back inside one of the shacks, slamming the door behind them.
“Right! Let’s go!” Cal said. He chose to look only at Will, studiously avoiding Chester.
“Cut it out,” Will growled. “We go when we all decide. We’re in this together.”
Cal started to reply, his upper lip lifted in an unpleasant snarl.
“This isn’t some bloody game, you know,” Will shot at him.
The younger boy huffed loudly and, rather than continue to challenge Will, turned on Chester and glowered fiercely at him.
“You … you Topsoiler!” Cal hissed.
Chester was completely nonplussed by this and, raising an eyebrow, gave Will a small shrug.
So they remained there, Will and Chester carefully watching the frontage of the station while Cal drew pictures in the dirt that had a remarkable resemblance to Chester, with squarish bodies and blocky heads. Every so often he chuckled evilly to himself and wiped them over, only to begin drawing again.
After five minutes with no further sign of the railwaymen, Will spoke. “Right, I reckon they’ve settled in. I say we should go now. Happy, Chester?”
Chester gave a single nod, looking distinctly unhappy.
“At last,” Cal said, leaping to his feet and rubbing his hands together to get the dust off them. In an instant he was in the full glare of the lights on the open ground, striding cockily away.
“What’s his problem?” Chester said to Will. “He’s going to get us all killed.”
In the darkness by the cavern wall, they stepped between the pair of ramps and discovered that there was indeed a way through, a sizeable cleft in the rock. Cal had struck it lucky with his suggestion, and wasn’t going to let this go unnoticed.
“I was r—” he started.
“Yeah, I know, I know,” Will interrupted. “This time.”
“What are those?” Chester said, noticing a number of structures as they entered a new stretch of tunnel. They were almost buried by large drifts of silt along one side of the wall. Some were like huge cubicles and others appeared to be circular. Odd pieces of metal and debris lay discarded around them. The boys approached one of the structures which, close up, looked like a giant honeycomb built of grey brick. As Will was wading through the silt to get closer, his foot flipped something over. He stooped to retrieve whatever it was. It was about the size of his hand and was hard and flat, with undulating edges. He kept hold of it as he went up to the honeycomb structure.
“There’ll be a hatch down here,” Cal said, pushing past his brother. He cleared the accumulated silt away at the base of the structure with his boot. Sure enough, there was a smallish door about half a metre square, which, as he squatted down and yanked it open a little, squealed loudly on dry hinges. Dark ash spilled out.
“How did you know that?” Will asked.
Rising to his feet, Cal snatched the object from his brother’s grip and rapped it hard against the rounded surface of the structure beside him. The object gave off a dull but slightly glassy sound, and fragments broke from it. “This is a piece of slag.” He swung his foot at a pile of dirt, sending it flying everywhere. “And I’m willing to bet there’ll be some charcoal under all this.”
“So?” Chester enquired.
“So these are furnaces,” Cal replied confidently.
“Really?” Will said, bending to peer in through the hatch.
“Yes, I’ve seen these before, in the foundries in the south cavern of the Colony.” Cal lifted his chin and regarded Chester truculently, as if he had proved his superiority over the older boy. “The Coprolites must’ve been smelting pig iron here.”
“An age ago, by the looks of it,” Will said, peering about the place.
Cal nodded, and, there being nothing else worthy of note, they trooped along the tunnel in silence.
“He’s a smart-ass,” Chester said, when Cal was far enough ahead to be out of earshot.
“Look, Chester,” Will replied in a low voice, “he’s probably scared stiff by this place, like all the Colonists are. And don’t forget he’s a lot younger than either of us. He’s just a kid.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“No, it’s not, but you have to make a bit of an allowance,” Will suggested.
“That’s no good down here, Will, and you know it!” Chester blurted. Noticing that Cal had evidently heard his outburst and had turned to look at them curiously, Chester immediately dropped his voice. “There’s no room for anyone to mess up. What, do you think we can ask the Styx for a second chance, like having another life in some stupid video game? Get real, will you?”
“He won’t let us down,” Will said.
“Are you willing to bet your life on that?” Chester asked him.
Will just shook his head as they continued to plod along. He knew that there was nothing he could say to change his friend’s opinion, and maybe Chester was right.
Away from the furnaces and the mounds of silt, they found the floor of the tunnel was compacted, as if many feet had trodden it into a firm surface. Although they kept to the main tunnel, every so often smaller passages spun off from it. Some of these were high enough to stand in, but the majority of them were mere crawlways. The boys had no intention of leaving the main thoroughfare – the thought of going down one of these didn’t appeal to any of them, and as it was they had no idea where they were heading. They eventually came to a place where the tunnel split.
“So, which way now?” Chester asked as he and Will neared Cal, who had come to a stop. The boy had spotted something lying at the base of the wall and went over to it, nudging it with his toecap. It was a signpost of bleached, splintery wood with two “hands” affixed to the top of a broken-off stake, their finger-like extensions pointing in opposite directions. There was barely legible writing carved into each sign. Cal picked up the stake and held it so Will could read it.
“This says Crevice Town, which must be the tunnel to the right. This …” he faltered, “I can’t quite make it out … the end’s been chewed off … I think it says The Great something or other?”
“The Great Plain,” Cal volunteered immediately.
Will and Chester regarded him with not a little surprise.
“Heard my uncle’s friends talk about it once,” he explained.
“Well, what else did you hear? And what’s this town like? Is it a Coprolite place?” Will asked him.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, should we go there?” Will pressed him.
“I really don’t know anything more,” Cal replied indifferently, letting the sign slide to the ground.
“Well, I like the sound of the town. Bet my Dad would have gone there. What do you think, Chester, do we go that way?”
“Whatever,” Chester answered, still staring distrustfully at Cal.
But as they ambled along, it became evident in only a few hours that the route they’d chosen wasn’t a main thoroughfare like the tunnel they’d left behind. The floor was rougher and loosely packed, with large chunks of stone strewn across it, suggesting that it wasn’t used very often. And, even worse, they were obliged to climb over large falls of rock where the roof or walls had partially collapsed.
Just as they began to deliberate amongst themselves whether to turn back, they rounded a corner and their lights cut a swathe through the darkness to reveal a structure barring their path. It was regular and clearly man-made.
“So there is something here, after all,” Will said, with a gush of relief.
As they neared the obstruction, the tunnel ballooned into a larger cavity. Their lights revealed a tall fence-like structure with two towers, each ten or so metres in height, which formed a gateway of sorts. And as they got closer, they could see that stretching high between the towers was a metal panel that proclaimed Crevice Town, in crude cut-out letters.
Crunching on the cinders and gravel, they ventured cautiously forwards. On either side of them, the tall fence ran uninterrupted, completely blocking the width of the cavern. It seemed as if there was nowhere else to go but through the open gateway. Nodding at each other, they crept through it and, once inside, they saw there were buildings of some description there.
“Looks like a ghost town,” Chester said, observing the rows of huts arranged on either side of the central avenue where they were now walking. “There can’t be anyone living here,” he added hopefully.
If any of the boys had been nursing the illusion that the huts might be occupied, this was dispelled as soon as they saw the condition they were in. Many had simply collapsed in on themselves. Of those that were still standing, their doors were open or missing altogether, and every single window was broken.
“Just going to check inside this one,” Will said. With Chester waiting nervously behind him, he negotiated his way through a pile of timber in the threshold, gripping the doorjamb to steady himself. He exclaimed as the whole structure groaned and heaved ominously.
“Be careful, Will!” Chester warned, moving a safe distance back in case the hut came crashing down. “Looks a bit dodgy.”
“Yeah,” Will muttered, but he was not going to be deterred. He went further inside and shone his light around as he threaded his way through the debris scattered over the floor.
“It’s full of bunk beds,” he reported back to the others.
“Bunk beds?” Cal echoed enquiringly from outside as Will continued to nose around the interior. There was a splintery crash as his foot went through the floor.
“Damn!” He extricated his foot, and began to carefully reverse out again. He paused to peer at something in a darkened corner, which could have been a stove of some description. But he decided he’d seen enough, given the parlous condition of the floor. “Nothing here,” he shouted to them, and returned outside.
They carried on down the central avenue until Cal broke the silence.
“Can you smell that?” he asked Will suddenly. “It’s sharp, like …”
“Ammonia. Yes,” Will cut in. He played his light on the area in front of his feet. “It seems to be coming from … from the ground. It feels sort of damp,” he observed, grinding the ball of his foot into the cavern floor and then squatting down on his hams. He took a pinch of the soil and held it under his nose. “Phew, it is this stuff. It stinks. Looks like dried bird droppings. Isn’t it called guano?”
“Birds. That’s okay,” Chester said in a relieved voice, recalling the harmless flock they’d encountered in the Colony.
“No, not birds, this is different,” Will immediately corrected himself. “And it’s sort of fresh. It feels really squidgy.”
“Oh crikey,” Chester hissed, looking frantically in all directions.
“Yuck! There are things in it,” Will observed, adjusting his weight from one leg to the other as he remained in a squatting position.
“What things?” Chester all but jumped into the air.
“Insects. See them?”
Shining their lights by their feet, Chester and Cal saw what Will was talking about. Beetles the size of well-fed cockroaches crawled ponderously over the slimy surface of the amassed droppings. They had creamy-white carapaces, and their similarly-coloured feelers twitched rhythmically as they went. Other, darker insects were around them, but these were harder to observe, apparently more sensitive to the light, as they scuttled rapidly away.
As the boys watched, they saw that just within their pooled circle of light a large beetle was flapping open its carapace. Will chuckled with fascination as its wings hummed into life with the sound of a clockwork toy, and it took to ungainly flight, like an engorged bumblebee. Once in the air, it weaved erratically from side to side until it vanished from view into the gloom.
“There’s a complete ecosystem here,” Will said, engrossed by the variety of insects he was finding. As he scratched around in the droppings, he uncovered a large and swollen-looking pale-coloured grub as big as his thumb.
“Grab that. We might be able to eat it,” Cal said.
“Ohhhh!” quivered Chester, stamping his feet. “Don’t be disgusting!”
“No, no, he’s being serious,” Will said flatly.
“Can we just get going again?” Chester begged.
Will reluctantly pulled himself away from the insects and they resumed their way down the central avenue. They were at the last of the huts when Will beckoned them to a halt again. The smell was getting more marked and he was just pointing at something as the others felt the breeze on their faces.
“Feel that? I think it’s coming from up there,” Will observed. “This whole area has some type of netting over it. Look at the holes.”
They peered above the tops of the huts where they could see a layer of mesh, which they had originally assumed to be the natural roof of the chamber. Weighed down with debris, in some places it sagged so much it almost touched the roofs of the huts, while in others the mesh was absent altogether. They tried to shine their lights up through one of these openings, past the torn strands of the mesh, and into the void high above. But they weren’t strong enough and didn’t reveal anything, just an ominous darkness.
“So could that be the crevice this place was named after?” Will pondered aloud.
“HEY!” Cal shouted at the top of his voice, making the other two start. They heard vague echoes of his shout reverberating across the void. “It’s big,” he said unnecessarily.
Then they heard a noise. Gentle to begin with, similar to the sound when pages of a book are being fanned through, it was growing louder at an alarming rate.
Something was stirring, waking.
“More beetles?” Chester asked, hoping that was all it was.
“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” Will said, scanning the space above their heads. “That might not have been such a great idea, Cal.”
Chester immediately rounded on Cal. “What have you done now, you little jerk?” he said in an urgent whisper.
Cal made a face.
A low clamour was now plainly audible and, all of a sudden, from holes in the mesh up above the boys’ heads, dark shapes dipped down, swooping at them. Their wingspans were huge and their screeches resounded back and forth from the walls, like an unearthly, high-pitched feedback, at the very limits of the boys’ hearing.
“Bats!” Cal yelled, recognising the sound right away. Chester howled in panic as he and Will remained rooted to the spot, mesmerised by the spectacle of the hurtling, careering animals.
“Run, you bloody idiots!” Cal bawled at them, already taking to his heels.
Within a second, the air was thick with them, too numerous to count, like a swarm of angry and vengeful wasps. They flicked past so quickly that Will couldn’t keep track of any single one of them.
“This isn’t good!” he exclaimed as leathery wings thrummed currents of dry air around their heads. The bats began to plunge at the boys, swerving aside just at the last moment.
Will and Chester hared down the avenue after Cal, not thinking or caring where they were going as long as they got away from the onslaught of flying monsters. They didn’t know if the bats were a hazard or not; they were driven by a single thought, almost a primordial fear, to escape from these oversized, hellish beasts.
And, as if to answer their plight, a house loomed out of the darkness ahead. At two storeys high, its austere façade towered over the low huts. It appeared to be constructed of a light-coloured stone, and all its windows were shuttered. There were outhouses to either side, which Cal desperately scoured as he ran, trying to find anywhere they could shelter.
“Quick! Over here!” he cried as he spotted that the front door of the house was slightly ajar.
In the midst of all this nightmarish confusion, Will glanced behind just in time to see a particularly large bat hurtle straight into the back of Chester’s head. He heard the soft thud as it struck. The size of a rugby ball, its body was black and solid. The collision sent Chester sprawling. Will raced over to help his friend, while trying to protect his own face with his arm.
Shouting, he pulled Chester to his feet. And with the boy slightly dazed and running unsteadily, Will guided him towards the strange house. Will was lashing out in front of himself, trying to ward off the beasts, when one careered into his rucksack. He was knocked sideways, but managed to keep his balance by hanging on to the still-befuddled Chester.
Will saw that the bat had dropped to the ground, one of its wings twisted and flapping uselessly. In an instant another bat was on it. Another flicked down, alighting next to the first. Then yet more, until the injured animal was almost completely hidden from sight by clambering bats, some of which were screeching viciously as if they were squabbling with each other. As the felled bat struggled futilely to get away, trying to crawl from under the other bats, Will saw them snapping at it, their tiny pin-like teeth coloured scarlet with its blood. They were attacking mercilessly, nipping at its thorax and abdomen as it began to squeal horribly.
Ducking and stumbling with Chester beside him, Will continued along the remaining length of the avenue. They staggered up the front steps of the house and under the porch, then through the door, which Cal had opened fully. As soon as they were all safely inside, Cal slammed the door shut behind them. They heard several bangs as bats dashed against it, and then a rustling as others brushed their wings over its surface. This soon died down, leaving only their strange piping calls, which were so faint as to be barely audible.
In the ensuing calm, the boys tried to get their breath back, looking about themselves. They found that they were in an imposing hallway replete with a large chandelier, its intricate design grey and furred with dust. And on both sides of the hallway there was a pair of elegantly curving staircases, which swept up to a landing. The place appeared to be empty; there was no furniture, and just the odd tatter of curling wallpaper hung on the dark walls. It looked as though it had been uninhabited for years.
Will and Cal began to wade through the dust, which was as thick as driven snow. Chester, still shaken, was leaning over by the front door and panting heavily.
“Are you all right?” Will called back to him, the sound of his voice quiet and muffled in the strange house.
“I think so.” Chester rose and stretched his head back, rubbing his neck to alleviate the soreness. “Feel like I was hit with a cricket ball.” As he inclined his head forward again, he noticed something.
“Hey, Will, you should see this.”
“What’s up?”
“Looks like someone broke in here,” Chester replied nervously.
Translation - Indonesian Anak-anak itu kembali menyusuri langkah mereka melewati api biru yang berkelip-kelip dan kembali ke terowongan rel. Dalam waktu dua puluh menit lewat sedikit, mereka tiba di tempat kereta tadi berhenti.
Mereka merunduk di dekat gerbong penjaga. Jendela-jendela gerbong yang tertutup lapisan debu saat ini gelap, dan mereka melihat barisan panjang gerbong, ke arah mesin kereta berada. Tetapi, tidak ada orang yang ada di sana—tampaknya kereta itu benar-benar kosong.
Kemudian, mereka mengalihkan perhatian ke area lainnya. Cekungan gua yang bisa mereka lihat di depan setidaknya memiliki lebar dua ratus meter.
“Jadi, inilah Stasiun Penambang,” Will berkata di antara napasnya, memusatkan pandangan ke daerah di sebelah kiri gua, yang dihiasi barisan cahaya. Kelihatannya tidak besar, hanya beberapa baris pondok bertingkat satu yang biasa saja.
“Sama sekali tidak seperti peron sembilan tiga perempat, ya?” Chester bergumam.
“Tidak … kupikir ini akan lebih besar,” Will menyahut dengan suara kecewa. “Sulit dipercaya,” dia menambahkan, menggunakan kalimat yang akan dilontarkan ayahnya saat tidak terkesan terhadap sesuatu.
“Tidak ada yang tinggal di sini lama-lama,” Cal berkata.
Chester tiba-tiba tampak tidak nyaman. “Kupikir sebaiknya kita juga begitu,” dia berbisik dengan gugup. “Ke mana orang-orang itu? Penjaga dan masinis?”
“Di dalam bangunan, mungkin,” Cal menjawabnya.
Ada sebuah suara, gelegar samar-samar bagaikan guntur di kejauhan, kemudian suara berkelontang keras mulai terdengar.
“Apa itu?” Chester berseru dengan kaget, ketika mereka semua mundur kembali ke terowongan.
Cal menunjuk ke atas kereta. “Tidak, lihat, mereka hanya mengisi muatan untuk perjalanan pulang.”
Mereka melihat pipa-pipa besar terpasang di atas gerbong yang bersisi tinggi. Paling sedikit, diameternya sebesar tong sampah yang sedang, berbentuk silinder dan tampaknya terbuat dari lembaran-lembaran besi yang disekrup. Sesuatu mengalir dari mulut pipa-pipa itu dengan kecepatan tinggi dan menerpa lantai logam gerbong dengan suara keras.
“Sekarang kesempatan kita!” Cal mendesak yang lain. Dia berdiri dan, berlari mengitari bagian belakang kereta penjaga, melesat dengan cepat di sisi kereta sebelum Will bisa mencegahnya.
“Lagi-lagi dia begitu,” Chester mengerang, tetapi dia dan Will masih juga mengikuti anak lelaki yang lebih kecil itu, terus berada di sisi kereta seperti yang Cal lakukan.
Mereka berlari ke barisan gerbong yang lebih rendah, melewati gerbong tempat mereka menghabiskan waktu di perjalanan, kemudian terus menuju samping bagian sudutnya yang lebih tinggi. Debu dan kotoran bertaburan di kepala mereka, dan mereka harus berhenti beberapa kali untuk menghapusnya dari mata. Anak-anak itu membutuhkan waktu satu menit penuh untuk menyusuri panjang kereta, waktu yang cukup hingga barang-barang selesai dimuat di kereta itu. Beberapa serpihan bahan yang tidak mereka ketahui masih mengalir dari barisan pipa, dan udara dipenuhi debu dan pasir.
Terpisah dari kereta, lokomotif uapnya berada jauh dari barisan gerbong, tetapi Cal berjongkok di samping gerbong tinggi terakhir. Segera setelah Will dan Chester berhasil menyusulnya, Will tiba-tiba memukul kepala adiknya itu dengan pelan.
“Oi!” Cal mendesis, mengangkat kepalan tinjunya bagaikan akan membalas. “Untuk apa itu?”
“Untuk menghukummu karena kabur lagi, dasar bocah kecil yang bodoh,” Will menegurnya dengan suara rendah yang penuh amarah. “Jika kau terus melakukan hal-hal seperti itu, kita akan tertangkap.”
“Yah, mereka tidak melihat kita … dan bagaimana lagi kita bisa sampai ke sini?” adiknya membela diri dengan gigih.
Will tidak menjawab.
Cal berkedip pelan bagaikan mengatakan kakaknya itu lamban, dan hanya memalingkan wajah untuk menatap kejauhan. “Kita harus menyusuri—”
“Tidak bisa,” Will berkata. “Chester dan aku akan memeriksa dulu sebelum siapa pun di antara kita melakukan sesuatu. Kau harus diam di sini!”
Dengan ragu Cal menurut, menjatuhkan diri ke tanah dengan erangan kesal.
“Kau baik-baik saja?” Will bertanya kepada Chester saat dia mendengar napas terengah-engah yang keras di belakangnya. Dia berputar untuk menatap temannya.
“Debu ini ada di mana-mana,” Chester mengeluh, kemudian melanjutkan usahanya untuk membersihkan masing-masing lubang hidung secara bergantian, berusaha mengeluarkan debu dari dalam.
“Itu menjijikkan,” Will berkata pelan, ketika Chester menjepit ujung ingus yang panjang dan membuangnya ke tanah. “Apakah kau harus melakukan itu?”
Tanpa memedulikan ketidaknyamanan temannya itu, Chester menyipitkan mata untuk memperhatikan wajah Will, kemudian menatap tangan dan lengannya sendiri. “Kita benar-benar berkamuflase dengan sempurna,” dia berkata. Jika awalnya wajah dan pakaian mereka kotor karena aliran asap karbon hitam yang terus-menerus berembus dari kereta, saat ini mereka lebih kotor lagi setelah bermandikan muatan gerbong yang berhamburan.
“Yeah, baiklah, jika kau sudah selesai,” Will berkata, “ayo kita selidiki stasiunnya.” Dengan bertumpu pada siku, dia dan Chester merayap ke bagian depan gerbong hingga mereka bisa melihat bangunan-bangunan itu tanpa terhalang apa pun. Tidak ada tanda-tanda aktivitas apa pun.
Tanpa sedikit pun menahan kepalanya agar tetap tertunduk, Cal mengabaikan perintah Will dan bergabung dengan mereka. Tampaknya dia tidak bisa tetap diam, benar-benar tergetar karena ketidaksabaran. “Dengar, para petugas rel sedang ada di stasiun, tapi mereka akan segera keluar. Kita harus pergi dari tempat ini sebelum mereka muncul,” dia bersikeras.
Mereka bergerak dengan cepat dari balik gerbong, berlari sambil setengah merunduk hingga tiba di samping lokomotif raksasa. Dalam jeda singkat, lokomotif itu mendesiskan gumpalan-gumpalan uap, bagaikan seekor naga yang sedang tertidur lelap. Mereka bisa merasakan kehangatan yang masih menguar dari tungku raksasanya. Dengan ceroboh, Chester menempelkan tangannya di salah satu plat baja berlubang raksasa yang membentuk sisi-sisi dasarnya, lalu menariknya kembali dengan cepat. “Aw!” dia menjerit. “Benar-benar panas.”
“Tidak perlu diungkapkan,” Cal bergumam dengan sinis, ketika mereka merayap ke depan mesin yang berproporsi raksasa.
“Benar-benar hebat! Tampak tepat seperti tank,” Chester berkata dengan kekaguman yang polos. Dengan plat-plat perisai besar yang rapat dan sekop tajam raksasanya, mesin itu benar-benar mirip dengan sebuah kendaraan militer, semacam tank peperangan yang sudah tua.
“Chester, kita benar-benar tidak punya waktu untuk mengagumi mainan itu!” Will berkata.
“Aku tidak melakukannya,” dia menjawab dalam gumaman, masih terpana menatap mesin kereta.
Mereka mulai memperdebatkan gerakan mereka selanjutnya.
“Kita harus pergi ke sana,” Cal berkata dengan memaksa, menunjuk ke suatu arah dengan ibu jarinya.
“Blahdy, blahdy, blah,” Chester bergumam pelan di antara napasnya, memberikan tatapan menghina kepada Cal. “Mulai lagi.”
Will memperatikan area gua yang ditunjuk adiknya. Di seberang ruang terbuka selebar kira-kira lima puluh meter, yang mungkin merupakan bukaan dinding gua, pagar-pagar besi turun dari semacam struktur di atas di kedua sisi. Will tidak dapat melihat dengan jelas di kegelapan pekat itu untuk memastikan apakah itu jalan keluar.
“Aku tidak bisa memastikan apa yang ada di sana,” dia berkata kepada Cal. “Terlalu gelap.”
“Itulah alasan mengapa kita harus pergi ke sana,” adiknya menjawab.
“Tapi, bagaimana jika para penduduk Colony muncul sebelum kita mencapainya?” Will bertanya. “Pasti kita tidak akan luput dari pandangan mereka.”
“Mereka sedang minum teh,” Cal menukas, menggelengkan kepala kepada Will. “Kita tidak akan apa-apa jika kita pergi sekarang juga.”
Kemudian, Chester ikut campur. “Kita selalu bisa mundur … ke terowongan lagi, dan menunggu hingga kereta pergi.”
“Itu pasti akan makan waktu berjam-jam. Kita harus pergi sekarang,” ujar Cal, suaranya terdengar kesal. “Sementara kita masih memiliki kesempatan.”
“Tunggu saja,” Chester tiba-tiba membantah, menoleh ke arah Cal.
“Kita harus pergi,” Cal bersikeras dengan kesal.
“Tidak, kita—” Chester kembali membantah, tetapi Cal meninggikan suaranya dan tidak membiarkan Chester selesai berbicara.
“Kau tidak tahu apa-apa,” dia membentak.
“Siapa yang tewas dan membuatmu menjadi bos?” Chester menoleh ke temannya, mencari dukungan. “Kau tidak akan mendengarkan dia, kan, Will? Dia hanya seorang bocah tolol.”
“Diamlah,” Will mendesis di antara giginya yang terkatup rapat, bukan kepada siapa-siapa, matanya tetap menatap stasiun.
“Aku bilang kita—” Cal berseru keras.
Will mengulurkan tangan dengan cepat dan menutup mulut adiknya dengan kasar. “Aku bilang diamlah, Cal. Ada dua orang petugas. Di sana,” dia berbisik dengan sungguh-sungguh di telinga Cal, kemudian dengan perlahan melepaskan tangannya.
Cal dan Chester melihat dua petugas rel, yang sedang berdiri di bawah atap bertiang yang terbentang di depan beberapa bangunan stasiun. Mereka baru saja muncul dari salah satu pondok, dan alunan musik ganjil terdengar oleh anak-anak itu melalui pintu yang terbuka.
Mereka mengenakan seragam biru yang besar, dan suatu bentuk semacam masker untuk bernapas di kepala mereka. Ketika anak-anak mengamati, mereka mengangkat masker ini agar bisa minum dari sebuah gayung logam besar yang masing-masing mereka pegang. Bahkan dari tempat anak-anak itu bersembunyi, mereka bisa mendengar suara-suara gumaman para pekerja ketika mereka berjalan beberapa langkah ke depan dan berhenti, memeriksa kereta dengan tak acuh, kemudian berpaling untuk menunjuk sesuatu di kerangka yang ada di atas kereta.
Setelah beberapa menit, mereka berbalik dan kembali masuk ke dalam salah satu pondok, dan membanting pintu di belakang mereka.
“Ya! Ayo sekarang!” Cal berkata. Dia memilih untuk menatap Will saja, karena sengaja menghindari Chester.
“Sudahlah,” Will menggeram. “Kita akan pergi jika kita semua sepakat. Kita harus selalu bersama-sama.”
Cal baru akan mulai menjawab, bibir atasnya bergerak mengekspresikan kekesalan.
“Ini bukan suatu permainan semata, kautahu,” Will menegurnya.
Adiknya itu mengeluh keras dan, bukannya terus menentang Will, dia menoleh ke arah Chester dan menatapnya dengan marah.
“Dasar kalian … para penduduk Topsoil!” Cal mendesis.
Chester benar-benar kebingungan dengan kata-kata Cal dan, sambil mengangkat sebelah alisnya, dia mendorong Will pelan.
Jadi, mereka tetap berada di sana, Will dan Chester dengan waspada mengamati bagian depan stasiun, sementara Cal menggambar sesuatu di tanah yang tampak mirip Chester, dengan tubuh berbentuk persegi dan kepala besar. Beberapa kali dia terkekeh jahat sendirian dan menghapus gambar-gambarnya, hanya untuk mengulanginya lagi.
Setelah lima menit tidak ada tanda-tanda kehadiran para petugas rel, Will berbicara. “Baiklah, kupikir mereka sudah nyaman di dalam. Menurutku, kita harus pergi sekarang. Kausenang, Chester?”
Chester hanya mengangguk sekali, tampak benar-benar tidak senang.
“Akhirnya,” Cal mendesah, melompat berdiri dan menggosok-gosok tangannya untuk menepis debu. Sekejap kemudian, dia sudah berada di tengah cahaya lampu lapangan terbuka, berjalan dengan penuh percaya diri.
“Dia itu kenapa?” Chester bertanya kepada Will. “Dia akan membuat kita semua terbunuh.”
Dalam kegelapan dinding gua, mereka melangkah di antara sepasang tiang penyangga dan menemukan bahwa memang jalan itu berlanjut, berupa celah yang cukup besar di batu. Cal memang beruntung karena pendapatnya benar, dan tidak akan membiarkannya terlupakan.
“Aku b—” dia mulai berkata.
“Yeah, aku tahu, aku tahu,” Will menukas. “Kali ini.”
“Apa itu?” Chester bertanya, melihat sejumlah struktur ketika mereka memasuki celah terowongan itu. Struktur-struktur itu nyaris terkubur oleh tumpukan tinggi pasir berlumpur di sepanjang salah satu sisi dinding. Beberapa di antaranya mirip kubikel-kubikel raksasa, dan yang lain tampak melingkar. Kepingan-kepingan logam yang ganjil dan tumpukan debu tersebar di sekelilingnya. Anak-anak itu mendekati salah satu struktur yang, dari dekat, mirip sebuah sarang lebah raksasa yang dibangun dari batu bata kelabu. Ketika Will berusaha menembus tumpukan debu ini untuk lebih mendekat, kakinya tersandung sesuatu. Dia membungkuk untuk melihat benda apa itu. Benda itu kira-kira berukuran sama dengan tangannya, keras, dan datar, dengan sudut-sudut yang melengkung. Dia terus memegangnya sembari mendekati struktur sarang lebah itu.
“Pasti ada sebuah celah di bawah sini,” Cal berkata, mendesak kakaknya ke samping. Dia membersihkan tumpukan debu di dasar struktur dengan sepatu botnya. Benar saja, di sana ada sebuah pintu kecil berukuran sekitar setengah meter persegi. Ketika Cal berjongkok, dia membuka pintu itu sedikit dan menimbulkan suara berdecit yang keras karena engsel-engselnya kering. Abu gelap mengepul keluar.
“Bagaimana kau bisa tahu itu?” Will bertanya.
Cal berdiri dan merebut benda yang dipegang kakaknya, lalu memukulkannya dengan keras ke permukaan bundar struktur di sampingnya. Benda itu mengeluarkan suara pelan tetapi sedikit berdentang, dan ada serpihan yang lepas. “Ini adalah sekeping ampas bijih besi.” Dia mengayunkan kakinya ke tumpukan debu, membuatnya beterbangan ke segala arah. “Dan aku berani bertaruh jika ada sejumlah arang di bawahnya.”
“Jadi?” Chester bertanya.
“Jadi ini adalah tungku pembakaran besi,” Cal menjawab dengan yakin.
“Benarkah?” Will bertanya, membungkuk untuk mengintip ke dalam celah.
“Ya, aku pernah melihat ini sebelumnya, di pabrik-pabrik di gua sebelah selatan Colony.” Cal mengangkat dagunya dan menatap Chester dengan angkuh, bagaikan telah membuktikan dia lebih hebat daripada anak lelaki yang lebih tua itu. “Para Coprolite pasti mencairkan bijih besi di sini.”
“Bertahun-tahun yang lalu, jika dilihat dari penampilannya,” Will berkata, memperhatikan tempat itu dengan saksama.
Cal mengangguk, dan karena tidak ada lagi yang bisa diamati, mereka berjalan di sepanjang terowongan sambil membisu.
“Dia benar-benar sok tahu,” Chester berkata, saat Cal cukup jauh dan tidak bisa mendengar mereka.
“Dengar, Chester,” Will menjawab dengan suara rendah, “mungkin dia ketakutan setengah mati terhadap tempat ini, seperti semua penduduk Colony. Dan jangan lupa, dia jauh lebih muda daripada kita berdua. Dia hanya seorang anak kecil.”
“Itu bukan alasan.”
“Memang, itu bukan alasan, tapi kau harus memakluminya sedikit,” Will menyarankan.
“Itu tidak ada gunanya di bawah sini, Will, dan kautahu itu!” Chester meledak. Menyadari bahwa Cal pasti mendengar ledakannya dan menoleh untuk menatap mereka dengan penuh rasa ingin tahu, Chester buru-buru merendahkan suaranya kembali. “Tidak boleh ada di antara kita yang mengacau. Memangnya kaupikir kita bisa meminta kesempatan kedua kepada Styx, seperti memiliki nyawa cadangan di suatu game video yang konyol? Berpikirlah dengan akal sehat, Will!”
“Dia tidak akan mengecewakan kita,” Will berkata.
“Apakah kau mau menggantungkan nyawamu kepadanya?” Chester bertanya.
Will hanya menggelengkan kepala sementara mereka terus berjalan. Dia tahu, tidak ada yang bisa dia katakan untuk membantah pendapat temannya, dan mungkin Chester benar.
Jauh dari tungku pembakaran dan tumpukan-tumpukan debu, mereka menemukan bahwa lantai terowongan itu sudah dipadatkan, bagaikan banyak kaki yang memijak permukaannya yang keras. Meskipun mereka terus berada di terowongan utama, seringkali ada jalan-jalan yang lebih kecil yang berawal dari situ. Beberapa cukup tinggi untuk bisa berdiri tegak, tetapi kebanyakan hanya bisa dilewati sambil merayap. Anak-anak tidak berniat untuk meninggalkan jalur utama—pikiran untuk mencoba salah satu jalan kecil tidak menggoda mereka, karena mereka tidak tahu ke mana jalan-jalan itu mengarah. Akhirnya, mereka tiba di sebuah tempat, di mana terowongan itu bercabang.
“Jadi, ke mana kita sekarang?” Chester bertanya ketika dia dan Will mendekati Cal, yang telah berhenti. Anak itu melihat sesuatu yang tergeletak di dasar dinding dan mendekatinya, mengungkitnya dengan ujung sepatu botnya. Benda itu adalah sebuah papan penunjuk jalan dari kayu yang telah rusak dan pudar, dengan dua “tangan” yang tergambar di atas tiang yang patah, tonjolan yang mirip dengan jari mereka menunjuk ke arah yang berlawanan. Ada tulisan yang dipahat engan cukup jelas di setiap penanda. Cal mengangkat tiang itu dan menegakkannya sehingga Will bisa membaca tulisan di sana.
“Yang ini tulisannya Crevice Town—Kota Lubang, pasti terowongan di sebelah kanan. Ini …” dia ragu-ragu, “Aku tidak bisa membacanya dengan jelas … bagian belakangnya sudah terkelupas … kupikir tulisannya berbunyi Great sesuatu atau apa ya?”
“Great Plain—Dataran Luas,” Cal segera menyahut.
Will dan Chester menoleh ke arahnya dengan terkejut.
“Pernah mendengar teman pamanku mengatakannya suatu kali,” dia menerangkan.
“Nah, apa lagi yang kaudengar? Dan seperti apa kota itu? Apakah itu tempat tinggal Coprolite?” Will bertanya kepadanya.
“Aku tidak tahu.”
“Ayolah, bisakah kita pergi ke sana?” Will mendesaknya.
“Aku benar-benar tidak tahu apa-apa lagi,” Cal menjawab dengan tidak acuh, membiarkan papan penunjuk itu menggelosor ke tanah.
“Yah, aku lebih menyukai kota. Pasti ayahku pergi ke sana. Bagaimana menurutmu, Chester, apakah kita memilih ke arah sana?”
“Terserah,” Chester menjawab, masih menatap Cal dengan tidak percaya.
Tetapi, setelah mereka berjalan pelan selama beberapa jam, terbukti bahwa rute yang mereka pilih bukanlah jalur utama seperti terowongan yang mereka tinggalkan. Permukaan tanahnya lebih kasar dan tidak terlalu padat, dengan butiran-butiran batu yang tersebar di mana-mana, menunjukkan bahwa jalan itu tidak sering digunakan. Dan, lebih buruk lagi, mereka harus memanjat ke sebongkah batu besar yang berasal dari atap atau dinding yang rubuh sebagian.
Tepat ketika mereka mulai berpikir untuk kembali, mereka berbelok di sebuah tikungan dan cahaya mereka menembus kegelapan dan menampakkan sebuah struktur yang menutupi jalan mereka. Sudah jelas struktur itu dibuat oleh manusia.
“Jadi, ada sesuatu di sini, akhirnya,” Will berkata, dengan sangat lega.
Ketika mereka mendekati benda yang menghalangi itu, terowongan membesar menjadi sebuah gua yang lebih besar. Cahaya mereka menerangi struktur tinggi yang mirip pagar dengan dua menara, masing-masing bertinggi sekitar sepuluh meter, yang membentuk semacam gerbang. Dan saat mereka semakin dekat, mereka bisa menyaksikan, di antara menara itu ada sebuah panel logam yang menjulang tinggi, dengan tulisan Crevice Town, dengan huruf-huruf yang dibentuk dengan kasar.
Dengan langkah berkeresak di atas abu dan kerikil, mereka terus maju dengan hati-hati. Di sisi kiri dan kanan mereka, pagar tinggi itu terbentang tak terputus, benar-benar menutupi lebar gua. Tampaknya, tidak ada tempat yang bisa mereka tuju selain gerbang yang terbuka. Setelah mengangguk satu sama lain, mereka memasukinya dan, setelah berada di dalam, mereka melihat ada beberapa macam bangunan di sana.
“Tampak seperti sebuah kota hantu,” Chester berkata, memperhatikan barisan pondok yang dibangun di sisi jalan utama, di mana mereka berjalan saat itu. “Tidak mungkin ada yang tinggal di sini,” dia menambahkan dengan penuh harap.
Jika ada di antara mereka yang mengalami ilusi bahwa pondok-pondok itu mungkin ditinggali, hal itu dengan cepat menghilang ketika melihat kondisi di dalamnya. Banyak yang benar-benar runtuh sendiri. Pada bangunan-bangunan yang masih berdiri, pintu-pintunya terbuka atau hilang sama sekali, dan setiap jendelanya rusak.
“Ayo kita periksa bagian dalam pondok ini,” Will berkata. Dengan Chester yang menunggu dengan gugup di belakangnya, dia mencari jalan di antara setumpuk kayu di ambang pintu, menyambar kusen pintu untuk menyeimbangkan diri. Dia berseru ketika seluruh struktur itu berkeretak dan bergoyang dengan keras.
“Hati-hati, Will!” Chester memperingatkan, mundur ke jarak yang aman, khawatir jika pondok itu tiba-tiba runtuh. “Tampaknya agak berbahaya.”
“Yeah,” Will bergumam, tetapi dia tidak akan mundur. Dia masuk lebih jauh ke dalam dan mengarahkan cahayanya berkeliling sambil terus maju di antara serpihan debu yang tersebar di lantai.
“Ruangan ini penuh ranjang bertingkat,” dia melaporkan kepada yang lain.
“Ranjang bertingkat?” Cal mengulangi dari luar dengan penuh ketertarikan ketika Will terus memeriksa bagian dalam pondok. Ada suara keras kayu pecah ketika kakinya menembus lantai.
“Sial!” Dia mengeluarkan kakinya, dan mulai berjalan kembali dengan hati-hati. Dia berhenti untuk memperhatikan sesuatu di sebuah sudut yang gelap, yang mungkin merupakan semacam tungku. Tetapi, dia memutuskan telah cukup melihat-lihat, karena kondisi lantai yang rapuh. “Tidak ada apa-apa di sini,” dia berteriak kepada mereka, lalu kembali keluar.
Mereka berjalan ke jalan utama hingga Cal memecah keheningan.
“Kaubisa menciumnya?” tiba-tiba dia bertanya kepada Will. “Baunya tajam, seperti …”
“Amonia. Ya,” Will memotong. Dia memainkan cahayanya ke area di depan kakinya. “Tampaknya berasal dari … dari tanah. Rasanya sedikit lembap,” dia mengamati, menginjak bola cahayanya hingga menempel ke lantai gua, kemudian berjongkok. Dia mengambil sedikit tanah dan mendekatkannya ke hidung. “Piuh, memang inilah bendanya. Bau. Seperti kotoran burung yang mengering. Bukankah ini disebut guano?”
“Burung. Tidak ada apa-apa,” Chester berkata dengan suara lega, mengingat sekelompok burung yang jinak yang pernah dia temui di Colony.
“Bukan, bukan burung, ini berbeda,” dengan segera Will mengoreksi. “Dan kotoran ini masih baru. Benar-benar lembek.”
“Oh, sial,” Chester mendesis, menatap ke segala arah dengan panik.
“Iuh! Ada benda di dalamnya,” Will mengamati, memindahkan berat badannya hingga bertumpu ke kaki yang lain, tetap dalam posisi berjongkok.
“Benda apa?” Chester nyaris terlonjak di udara.
“Serangga. Bisa melihatnya?”
Chester dan Cal menyorotkan cahaya mereka ke kaki, dan melihat apa yang sedang dibicarakan Will. Kumbang-kumbang berukuran kecoak yang gemuk menggeliat di atas permukaan kotoran menggumpal yang tampak berlendir. Mereka memiliki cangkang berwarna putih sepert ikrim, dan antena mereka yang berwarna sama berkedut berirama ketika mereka bergerak. Yang lain, serangga-serangga yang lebih gelap mengelilingi mereka, tetapi yang ini sulit untuk diamati, karena ternyata lebih sensitif terhadap cahaya, dan mereka langsung bubar dengan cepat.
Ketika memperhatikan serangga-serangga itu, mereka melihat, di dalam lingkaran cahaya mereka, seekor kumbang besar sedang membuka cangkangnya. Will terkekeh dengan kagum ketika sayap kumbang itu bergerak dengan suara dengung seperti mainan yang berdetak, dan kumbang itu mulai terbang dengan goyah, bagaikan seekor lebah yang kelaparan. Setelah berada di udara, kumbang itu melesat tidak beraturan dari sisi ke sisi hingga menghilang dari pandangan, menuju kegelapan.
“Ada sebuah ekosistem yang lengkap di sini,” Will berkata, terpana oleh beragamnya serangga yang dia temukan. Ketika dia menggali di sekeliling kotoran ini, dia menemukan seekor larva berwarna pucat yang besar dan tampak bengkak, sebesar ibu jarinya.
“Ambillah larva itu. Mungkin kita bisa memakannya,” Cal berkata.
“Ohhhh!” keluh Chester, mengentakkan kakinya. “Jangan jorok!”
“Tidak, tidak, dia memang serius,” Will berkata dengan datar.
“Bisakah kita meneruskan saja?” Chester memohon.
Dengan enggan, Will menarik dirinya dari serangga-serangga itu dan mereka melanjutkan perjalanan mereka menyusuri jalan utama. Mereka sudah berada di pondok terakhir saat Will memberi isyarat agar mereka berhenti kembali. Ada aroma yang semakin kuat dan dia menunjuk ke arah sesuatu ketika yang lain merasakan angin sejuk menerpa wajah mereka.
“Kalian merasakannya? Kupikir datangnya dari atas sana,” Will memperhatikan. “Seluruh area ini memiliki semacam jaring di atasnya. Lihat lubang-lubang itu.”
Mereka mendongak ke arah atap-atap pondok dan melihat lapisan jaring, yang awalnya mereka asumsikan sebagai atap alamiah ruangan itu. Karena dibebani oleh serpihan debu, di beberapa tempat, jaring itu benar-benar terlepas. Anak-anak itu berusaha menyorotkan cahaya mereka ke salah satu celah, melewati serat-serat jaring yang terlepas, ke arah lubang jauh di atas. Tetapi, cahaya mereka tidak cukup kuat dan tidak menampakkan apa-apa, hanya kegelapan total.
“Jadi, dari sinilah nama kota ini berasal? Dari lubang itu—crevice?” Will bertanya dengan keras.
“HEI!” Cal berteriak sekuat tenaga, membuat yang lain terkejut. Mereka mendengar gema samar teriakannya berulang beberapa kali di lubang itu. “Ukurannya cukup besar,” dia berkata dengan ringan.
Kemudian, mereka mendengar sebuah suara. Awalnya perlahan, mirip suara halaman-halaman buku disibakkan, dan dengan cepat bertambah keras.
Sesuatu telah terusik, dan bergerak.
“Lebih banyak kumbang?” Chester bertanya, berharap bahwa dugaannya benar.
“Uh, tidak, kupikir bukan,” Will menjawab, memperhatikan lubang di atas kepala mereka. “Itu bukan suatu ide bagus, Cal.”
Dengan segera, Chester menyerang Cal. “Apa yang kaulakukan saat ini, Bajingan Cilik?” dia bertanya dalam bisikan yang keras.
Cal mencibir.
Suara keresak yang pelan saat ini sudah bisa terdengar jelas dan, tiba-tiba, dari lubang-lubang jaring di atas kepala anak-anak itu, sosok-sosok hitam melesat turun, menyambar mereka. Rentang sayap mereka begitu lebar dan pekikan mereka bergema di dinding, seperti sebuah gaung bernada tinggi yang mengerikan, di batas pendengaran anak-anak itu.
“Kelelawar!” Cal berteriak, langsung mengenali suara itu. Chester melolong panik ketika dia dan Will tetap terpaku di tempat mereka, terpana oleh hewan-hewan yang beterbangan cepat ke segala arah.
“Lari, dasar idiot!” Cal berteriak kepada mereka, sudah duluan berlari.
Sedetik kemudian, udara dipenuhi gerombolan kelelawar, terlalu banyak untuk dihitung, bagaikan sekelompok lebah yang marah dan ingin membalas dendam. Mereka berkelebat begitu cepat sehingga Will tidak bisa melihat satu pun sosok mereka.
“Ini tidak bagus!” dia berseru ketika sayap-sayap berbulu membelah udara kering di atas kepala mereka. Kelelawar-kelelawar itu mulai menyerang anak-anak, dan baru berbelok tajam pada saat terakhir.
Will dan Chester berlari menyusuri jalan utama mengejar Cal, tidak berpikir atau memedulikan ke mana mereka menuju, selama mereka bisa lolos dari siksaan monster-monster terbang itu. Mereka tidak tahu apakah kelelawar-kelelawar itu berbahaya atau tidak; mereka terdorong oleh satu pikiran saja, nyaris berupa suatu ketakutan yang mendasar, untuk lolos dari binatang-binatang liar yang berukuran besar itu.
Dan, bagaikan menyambut mereka, sebuah rumah berdiri dalam kegelapan di depan sana. Dengan dua lantainya, fasad sederhana rumah itu menjulang di atas pondok-pondok beratap rendah. Tampaknya rumah itu dibangun dari batu berwarna terang, dan semua jendelanya tertutup. Ada beberapa bangunan kecil di kedua sisinya, yang ditemukan Cal tanpa sengaja saat dia berlari, berusaha untuk menemukan tempat perlindungan apa saja.
“Cepat! Di sini!” dia menjerit ketika melihat pintu depan rumah itu sedikit terbuka.
Di tengah seluruh kebingungan yang mengerikan itu, Will menoleh ke belakang tepat pada waktunya untuk melihat seekor kelelawar besar melesat tepat ke kepala Chester. Dia mendengar benturan pelan ketika kelelawar itu menabrak. Dengan ukuran sebesar bola rugby, tubuh kelelawar itu berwarna hitam dan padat. Tabrakan itu membuat Chester rubuh. Will berlari untuk menolong temannya sambil berusaha melindungi wajahnya sendiri dengan lengannya.
Sambil berteriak, dia menarik Chester agar berdiri. Dan dengan beban seorang anak yang masih agak pusing dan berlari dengan goyah, Will menuntunnya ke arah rumah ganjil tersebut. Will berusaha menabrak apa saja yang ada di depannya, berusaha melindungi diri dari binatang-binatang itu, ketika salah satu kelelawar menyambar ranselnya. Dia terdorong ke samping, tetapi berhasil menjaga keseimbangan dengan bertumpu kepada Chester yang masih melongo.
Will melihat kelelawar itu telah jatuh ke permukaan tanah, salah satu sayapnya patah dan mengepak dengan sia-sia. Dengan segera, seekor kelelawar lain hinggap di atasnya. Seekor lagi turun, bertengger di sebelah kelelawar pertama. Lebih banyak lagi kelelawar yang turun, hingga kelelawar yang terluka nyaris tertutup oleh kelelawar-kelelawar lain yang mencakar-cakar, beberapa memekik dengan tajam bagaikan berkelahi satu sama lain. Ketika dengan putus asa kelelawar yang terjatuh itu menggeliat untuk melepaskan diri, Will melihat kelelawar-kelelawar lain menggigitinya, gigi-gigi runcing mereka yang mirip jarum berwarna kemerahan karena darah kelelawar itu. Mereka menyerang tanpa kenal ampun, mencabik dada dan perut si kelelawar yang mulai memekik mengerikan.
Sambil merunduk dan tersandung-sandung dengan Chester di sebelahnya, Will terus berjalan menyusuri sisa jalan utama. Mereka menaiki tangga di depan rumah dan turun ke beranda, kemudian masuk melalui pintu, yang dibuka Cal lebar-lebar. Segera setelah mereka aman di dalam, Cal membanting pintu di belakang mereka. Mereka masih mendengar beberapa kelelawar menabrak pintu, kemudian suara gaduh kelelawar lain yang mengepakkan sayap mereka di permukaan pintu. Suara-suara itu dengan segera menghilang, hanya meninggalkan bunyi ganjil yang mirip suara peluit, yang begitu pelan sehingga nyaris tak terdengar.
Dalam ketenangan yang mengikuti, anak-anak itu berusaha mengatur napas, dan memeriksa keadaan di sekitar mereka. Ternyata mereka berada di sebuah ruang depan indah yang dihiasi sebuah kandelar besar, rancangannya yang rumit berwarna kelabu dan dipenuhi debu. Di kedua sisi ruang depan itu ada sepasang tangga yang meliuk dengan elegan, yang terpasang hingga sebuah landasan. Tempat itu tampak kosong; tidak ada perabotan, hanya ada sobekan ganjil gulungan kertas pelapis dinding yang tergantung di tembok-tembok gelap. Tampaknya, tempat itu sudah tidak dihuni selama beberapa tahun.
Will dan Cal mulai berjalan di atas debu, yang setebal lapisan salju. Chester, masih gemetaran, bersandar di pintu depan dan bernapas terengah-engah.
“Apakah kau tidak apa-apa?” Will bertanya kepadanya, suaranya sendiri terdengar pelan dan teredam di dalam rumah ganjil itu.
“Kupikir begitu.” Chester bangkit dan meregangkan kepalanya ke belakang, menggosok lehernya untuk mengurangi rasa pegal. “Rasanya aku dihantam oleh sebuah bola kriket.” Ketika dia menundukkan kepala kembali, dia menyadari sesuatu.
“Hei, Will, kau harus melihat ini.”
“Ada apa?”
“Sepertinya ada seseorang yang memaksa masuk ke rumah ini,” Chester menjawab dengan gugup.
English to Indonesian: The Great Gatsby
Source text - English
About half way between West Egg and New York the motor road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley of ashes — a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of gray cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-gray men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud, which screens their obscure operations from your sight. But above the gray land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic — their irises are one yard high. They look out of no face, but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set them there to fatten his practice in the borough of Queens, and then sank down himself into eternal blindness, or forgot them and moved away. But his eyes, dimmed a little by many paintless days, under sun and rain, brood on over the solemn dumping ground.
The valley of ashes is bounded on one side by a small foul river, and, when the drawbridge is up to let barges through, the passengers on waiting trains can stare at the dismal scene for as long as half an hour. There is always a halt there of at least a minute, and it was because of this that I first met Tom Buchanan’s mistress.
The fact that he had one was insisted upon wherever he was known. His acquaintances resented the fact that he turned up in popular restaurants with her and, leaving her at a table, sauntered about, chatting with whomsoever he knew. Though I was curious to see her, I had no desire to meet her — but I did. I went up to New York with Tom on the train one afternoon, and when we stopped by the ashheaps he jumped to his feet and, taking hold of my elbow, literally forced me from the car.
“We’re getting off,” he insisted. “I want you to meet my girl.”
I think he’d tanked up a good deal at luncheon, and his determination to have my company bordered on violence. The supercilious assumption was that on Sunday afternoon I had nothing better to do.
I followed him over a low whitewashed railroad fence, and we walked back a hundred yards along the road under Doctor Eckleburg’s persistent stare. The only building in sight was a small block of yellow brick sitting on the edge of the waste land, a sort of compact Main Street ministering to it, and contiguous to absolutely nothing. One of the three shops it contained was for rent and another was an all-night restaurant, approached by a trail of ashes; the third was a garage — Repairs. George B. Wilson. Cars bought and sold. — and I followed Tom inside.
The interior was unprosperous and bare; the only car visible was the dust-covered wreck of a Ford which crouched in a dim corner. It had occurred to me that this shadow of a garage must be a blind, and that sumptuous and romantic apartments were concealed overhead, when the proprietor himself appeared in the door of an office, wiping his hands on a piece of waste. He was a blond, spiritless man, anaemic, and faintly handsome. When he saw us a damp gleam of hope sprang into his light blue eyes.
“Hello, Wilson, old man,” said Tom, slapping him jovially on the shoulder. “How’s business?”
“I can’t complain,” answered Wilson unconvincingly. “When are you going to sell me that car?”
“Next week; I’ve got my man working on it now.”
“Works pretty slow, don’t he?”
“No, he doesn’t,” said Tom coldly. “And if you feel that way about it, maybe I’d better sell it somewhere else after all.”
“I don’t mean that,” explained Wilson quickly. “I just meant ——”
His voice faded off and Tom glanced impatiently around the garage. Then I heard footsteps on a stairs, and in a moment the thickish figure of a woman blocked out the light from the office door. She was in the middle thirties, and faintly stout, but she carried her surplus flesh sensuously as some women can. Her face, above a spotted dress of dark blue crepe-de-chine, contained no facet or gleam of beauty, but there was an immediately perceptible vitality about her as if the nerves of her body were continually smouldering. She smiled slowly and, walking through her husband as if he were a ghost, shook hands with Tom, looking him flush in the eye. Then she wet her lips, and without turning around spoke to her husband in a soft, coarse voice:
“Get some chairs, why don’t you, so somebody can sit down.”
“Oh, sure,” agreed Wilson hurriedly, and went toward the little office, mingling immediately with the cement color of the walls. A white ashen dust veiled his dark suit and his pale hair as it veiled everything in the vicinity — except his wife, who moved close to Tom.
“I want to see you,” said Tom intently. “Get on the next train.”
“All right.”
“I’ll meet you by the news-stand on the lower level.” She nodded and moved away from him just as George Wilson emerged with two chairs from his office door.
We waited for her down the road and out of sight. It was a few days before the Fourth of July, and a gray, scrawny Italian child was setting torpedoes in a row along the railroad track.
“Terrible place, isn’t it,” said Tom, exchanging a frown with Doctor Eckleburg.
“Awful.”
“It does her good to get away.”
“Doesn’t her husband object?”
“Wilson? He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York. He’s so dumb he doesn’t know he’s alive.”
So Tom Buchanan and his girl and I went up together to New York — or not quite together, for Mrs. Wilson sat discreetly in another car. Tom deferred that much to the sensibilities of those East Eggers who might be on the train.
She had changed her dress to a brown figured muslin, which stretched tight over her rather wide hips as Tom helped her to the platform in New York. At the news-stand she bought a copy of Town Tattle and a moving-picture magazine, and in the station drug-store some cold cream and a small flask of perfume. Up-stairs, in the solemn echoing drive she let four taxicabs drive away before she selected a new one, lavender-colored with gray upholstery, and in this we slid out from the mass of the station into the glowing sunshine. But immediately she turned sharply from the window and, leaning forward, tapped on the front glass.
“I want to get one of those dogs,” she said earnestly. “I want to get one for the apartment. They’re nice to have — a dog.”
We backed up to a gray old man who bore an absurd resemblance to John D. Rockefeller. In a basket swung from his neck cowered a dozen very recent puppies of an indeterminate breed.
“What kind are they?” asked Mrs. Wilson eagerly, as he came to the taxi-window.
“All kinds. What kind do you want, lady?”
“I’d like to get one of those police dogs; I don’t suppose you got that kind?”
The man peered doubtfully into the basket, plunged in his hand and drew one up, wriggling, by the back of the neck.
“That’s no police dog,” said Tom.
“No, it’s not exactly a police dog,” said the man with disappointment in his voice. “It’s more of an Airedale.” He passed his hand over the brown wash-rag of a back. “Look at that coat. Some coat. That’s a dog that’ll never bother you with catching cold.”
“I think it’s cute,” said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically. “How much is it?”
“That dog?” He looked at it admiringly. “That dog will cost you ten dollars.”
The Airedale — undoubtedly there was an Airedale concerned in it somewhere, though its feet were startlingly white — changed hands and settled down into Mrs. Wilson’s lap, where she fondled the weather-proof coat with rapture.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked delicately.
“That dog? That dog’s a boy.”
“It’s a bitch,” said Tom decisively. “Here’s your money. Go and buy ten more dogs with it.”
We drove over to Fifth Avenue, so warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the summer Sunday afternoon that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a great flock of white sheep turn the corner.
“Hold on,” I said, “I have to leave you here.”
“No, you don’t,” interposed Tom quickly.
“Myrtle’ll be hurt if you don’t come up to the apartment. Won’t you, Myrtle?”
“Come on,” she urged. “I’ll telephone my sister Catherine. She’s said to be very beautiful by people who ought to know.”
“Well, I’d like to, but ——”
We went on, cutting back again over the Park toward the West Hundreds. At 158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of apartment-houses. Throwing a regal homecoming glance around the neighborhood, Mrs. Wilson gathered up her dog and her other purchases, and went haughtily in.
“I’m going to have the McKees come up,” she announced as we rose in the elevator. “And, of course, I got to call up my sister, too.”
The apartment was on the top floor — a small living-room, a small dining-room, a small bedroom, and a bath. The living-room was crowded to the doors with a set of tapestried furniture entirely too large for it, so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of ladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles. The only picture was an over-enlarged photograph, apparently a hen sitting on a blurred rock. Looked at from a distance, however, the hen resolved itself into a bonnet, and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the room. Several old copies of Town Tattle lay on the table together with a copy of Simon Called Peter, and some of the small scandal magazines of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. A reluctant elevator-boy went for a box full of straw and some milk, to which he added on his own initiative a tin of large, hard dog-biscuits — one of which decomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all afternoon. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whiskey from a locked bureau door.
I have been drunk just twice in my life, and the second time was that afternoon; so everything that happened has a dim, hazy cast over it, although until after eight o’clock the apartment was full of cheerful sun. Sitting on Tom’s lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the telephone; then there were no cigarettes, and I went out to buy some at the drugstore on the corner. When I came back they had disappeared, so I sat down discreetly in the living-room and read a chapter of Simon Called Peter — either it was terrible stuff or the whiskey distorted things, because it didn’t make any sense to me.
Just as Tom and Myrtle (after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called each other by our first names) reappeared, company commenced to arrive at the apartment-door.
The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty, with a solid, sticky bob of red hair, and a complexion powdered milky white. Her eye-brows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face. When she moved about there was an incessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such a proprietary haste, and looked around so possessively at the furniture that I wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed immoderately, repeated my question aloud, and told me she lived with a girl friend at a hotel.
Mr. McKee was a pale, feminine man from the flat below. He had just shaved, for there was a white spot of lather on his cheekbone, and he was most respectful in his greeting to every one in the room. He informed me that he was in the “artistic game,” and I gathered later that he was a photographer and had made the dim enlargement of Mrs. Wilson’s mother which hovered like an ectoplasm on the wall. His wife was shrill, languid, handsome, and horrible. She told me with pride that her husband had photographed her a hundred and twenty-seven times since they had been married.
Mrs. Wilson had changed her costume some time before, and was now attired in an elaborate afternoon dress of cream-colored chiffon, which gave out a continual rustle as she swept about the room. With the influence of the dress her personality had also undergone a change. The intense vitality that had been so remarkable in the garage was converted into impressive hauteur. Her laughter, her gestures, her assertions became more violently affected moment by moment, and as she expanded the room grew smaller around her, until she seemed to be revolving on a noisy, creaking pivot through the smoky air.
“My dear,” she told her sister in a high, mincing shout, “most of these fellas will cheat you every time. All they think of is money. I had a woman up here last week to look at my feet, and when she gave me the bill you’d of thought she had my appendicitis out.”
“What was the name of the woman?” asked Mrs. McKee.
“Mrs. Eberhardt. She goes around looking at people’s feet in their own homes.”
“I like your dress,” remarked Mrs. McKee, “I think it’s adorable.”
Mrs. Wilson rejected the compliment by raising her eyebrow in disdain.
“It’s just a crazy old thing,” she said. “I just slip it on sometimes when I don’t care what I look like.”
“But it looks wonderful on you, if you know what I mean,” pursued Mrs. McKee. “If Chester could only get you in that pose I think he could make something of it.”
We all looked in silence at Mrs. Wilson, who removed a strand of hair from over her eyes and looked back at us with a brilliant smile. Mr. McKee regarded her intently with his head on one side, and then moved his hand back and forth slowly in front of his face.
“I should change the light,” he said after a moment. “I’d like to bring out the modelling of the features. And I’d try to get hold of all the back hair.”
“I wouldn’t think of changing the light,” cried Mrs. McKee. “I think it’s ——”
Her husband said “sh!” and we all looked at the subject again, whereupon Tom Buchanan yawned audibly and got to his feet.
“You McKees have something to drink,” he said. “Get some more ice and mineral water, Myrtle, before everybody goes to sleep.”
“I told that boy about the ice.” Myrtle raised her eyebrows in despair at the shiftlessness of the lower orders. “These people! You have to keep after them all the time.”
She looked at me and laughed pointlessly. Then she flounced over to the dog, kissed it with ecstasy, and swept into the kitchen, implying that a dozen chefs awaited her orders there.
“I’ve done some nice things out on Long Island,” asserted Mr. McKee.
Tom looked at him blankly.
“Two of them we have framed down-stairs.”
“Two what?” demanded Tom.
“Two studies. One of them I call Montauk Point— The Gulls, and the other I call Montauk Point— The Sea.”
The sister Catherine sat down beside me on the couch.
“Do you live down on Long Island, too?” she inquired.
“I live at West Egg.”
“Really? I was down there at a party about a month ago. At a man named Gatsby’s. Do you know him?”
“I live next door to him.”
“Well, they say he’s a nephew or a cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm’s. That’s where all his money comes from.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“I’m scared of him. I’d hate to have him get anything on me.”
This absorbing information about my neighbor was interrupted by Mrs. McKee’s pointing suddenly at Catherine:
“Chester, I think you could do something with her,” she broke out, but Mr. McKee only nodded in a bored way, and turned his attention to Tom.
“I’d like to do more work on Long Island, if I could get the entry. All I ask is that they should give me a start.”
“Ask Myrtle,” said Tom, breaking into a short shout of laughter as Mrs. Wilson entered with a tray. “She’ll give you a letter of introduction, won’t you Myrtle?”
“Do what?” she asked, startled.
“You’ll give McKee a letter of introduction to your husband, so he can do some studies of him.” His lips moved silently for a moment as he invented. “George B. Wilson at the Gasoline Pump, or something like that.”
Catherine leaned close to me and whispered in my ear: “Neither of them can stand the person they’re married to.”
“Can’t they?”
“Can’t stand them.” She looked at Myrtle and then at Tom. “What I say is, why go on living with them if they can’t stand them? If I was them I’d get a divorce and get married to each other right away.”
“Doesn’t she like Wilson either?”
The answer to this was unexpected. It came from Myrtle, who had overheard the question, and it was violent and obscene.
“You see,” cried Catherine triumphantly. She lowered her voice again. “It’s really his wife that’s keeping them apart. She’s a Catholic, and they don’t believe in divorce.”
Daisy was not a Catholic, and I was a little shocked at the elaborateness of the lie.
“When they do get married,” continued Catherine, “they’re going West to live for a while until it blows over.”
“It’d be more discreet to go to Europe.”
“Oh, do you like Europe?” she exclaimed surprisingly. “I just got back from Monte Carlo.”
“Really.”
“Just last year. I went over there with another girl.” “Stay long?”
“No, we just went to Monte Carlo and back. We went by way of Marseilles. We had over twelve hundred dollars when we started, but we got gypped out of it all in two days in the private rooms. We had an awful time getting back, I can tell you. God, how I hated that town!”
The late afternoon sky bloomed in the window for a moment like the blue honey of the Mediterranean — then the shrill voice of Mrs. McKee called me back into the room.
“I almost made a mistake, too,” she declared vigorously. “I almost married a little kyke who’d been after me for years. I knew he was below me. Everybody kept saying to me: ‘Lucille, that man’s ‘way below you!’ But if I hadn’t met Chester, he’d of got me sure.”
“Yes, but listen,” said Myrtle Wilson, nodding her head up and down, “at least you didn’t marry him.”
“I know I didn’t.”
“Well, I married him,” said Myrtle, ambiguously. “And that’s the difference between your case and mine.”
“Why did you, Myrtle?” demanded Catherine. “Nobody forced you to.”
Myrtle considered.
“I married him because I thought he was a gentleman,” she said finally. “I thought he knew something about breeding, but he wasn’t fit to lick my shoe.”
“You were crazy about him for a while,” said Catherine.
“Crazy about him!” cried Myrtle incredulously. “Who said I was crazy about him? I never was any more crazy about him than I was about that man there.”
She pointed suddenly at me, and every one looked at me accusingly. I tried to show by my expression that I had played no part in her past.
“The only crazy I was was when I married him. I knew right away I made a mistake. He borrowed somebody’s best suit to get married in, and never even told me about it, and the man came after it one day when he was out. ‘oh, is that your suit?’ I said. ‘this is the first I ever heard about it.’ But I gave it to him and then I lay down and cried to beat the band all afternoon.”
“She really ought to get away from him,” resumed Catherine to me. “They’ve been living over that garage for eleven years. And tom’s the first sweetie she ever had.”
The bottle of whiskey — a second one — was now in constant demand by all present, excepting Catherine, who “felt just as good on nothing at all.” Tom rang for the janitor and sent him for some celebrated sandwiches, which were a complete supper in themselves. I wanted to get out and walk southward toward the park through the soft twilight, but each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild, strident argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
Myrtle pulled her chair close to mine, and suddenly her warm breath poured over me the story of her first meeting with Tom.
“It was on the two little seats facing each other that are always the last ones left on the train. I was going up to New York to see my sister and spend the night. He had on a dress suit and patent leather shoes, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, but every time he looked at me I had to pretend to be looking at the advertisement over his head. When we came into the station he was next to me, and his white shirt-front pressed against my arm, and so I told him I’d have to call a policeman, but he knew I lied. I was so excited that when I got into a taxi with him I didn’t hardly know I wasn’t getting into a subway train. All I kept thinking about, over and over, was ‘You can’t live forever; you can’t live forever.’”
She turned to Mrs. McKee and the room rang full of her artificial laughter.
“My dear,” she cried, “I’m going to give you this dress as soon as I’m through with it. I’ve got to get another one to-morrow. I’m going to make a list of all the things I’ve got to get. A massage and a wave, and a collar for the dog, and one of those cute little ash-trays where you touch a spring, and a wreath with a black silk bow for mother’s grave that’ll last all summer. I got to write down a list so I won’t forget all the things I got to do.”
It was nine o’clock — almost immediately afterward I looked at my watch and found it was ten. Mr. McKee was asleep on a chair with his fists clenched in his lap, like a photograph of a man of action. Taking out my handkerchief I wiped from his cheek the remains of the spot of dried lather that had worried me all the afternoon.
The little dog was sitting on the table looking with blind eyes through the smoke, and from time to time groaning faintly. People disappeared, reappeared, made plans to go somewhere, and then lost each other, searched for each other, found each other a few feet away. Some time toward midnight Tom Buchanan and Mrs. Wilson stood face to face discussing, in impassioned voices, whether Mrs. Wilson had any right to mention Daisy’s name.
“Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!” shouted Mrs. Wilson. “I’ll say it whenever I want to! Daisy! Dai ——”
Making a short deft movement, Tom Buchanan broke her nose with his open hand.
Then there were bloody towels upon the bath-room floor, and women’s voices scolding, and high over the confusion a long broken wail of pain. Mr. McKee awoke from his doze and started in a daze toward the door. When he had gone half way he turned around and stared at the scene — his wife and Catherine scolding and consoling as they stumbled here and there among the crowded furniture with articles of aid, and the despairing figure on the couch, bleeding fluently, and trying to spread a copy of Town Tattle over the tapestry scenes of Versailles. Then Mr. McKee turned and continued on out the door. Taking my hat from the chandelier, I followed.
“Come to lunch some day,” he suggested, as we groaned down in the elevator.
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
“Keep your hands off the lever,” snapped the elevator boy.
“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. McKee with dignity, “I didn’t know I was touching it.”
“All right,” I agreed, “I’ll be glad to.”
. . . I was standing beside his bed and he was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands.
“Beauty and the Beast . . . Loneliness . . . Old Grocery Horse . . . Brook’n Bridge. . . . ”
Then I was lying half asleep in the cold lower level of the Pennsylvania Station, staring at the morning Tribune, and waiting for the four o’clock train.
Translation - Indonesian Kira-kira setengah perjalanan antara West Egg dan New York, jalan aspal tiba-tiba bergabung dengan rel kereta api, dan berdampingan sekitar seperempat mil, bagaikan menciut dari sebuah dataran terpencil tertentu. Ini adalah lembah debu—sebuah peternakan fantastis tempat abu tumbuh bagaikan gandum menjadi bukit-bukit kecil dan besar, serta taman-taman mengerikan tempat abu membentuk rumah-rumah dan cerobong-cerobong yang mengepulkan asap. Akhirnya, dengan usaha yang sangat keras orang-orang yang bergerak samar, asap itu pecah di udara yang pekat. Kadang-kadang, sebaris mobil kelabu melaju pelan di sepanjang jalurnya yang tak terlihat, mengeluarkan suara derit menyeramkan dan datang untuk beristirahat. Dengan segera, orang-orang yang kelabu tertutup abu berhamburan membawa sekop-sekop timah, membelah awan tebal yang mengaburkan gerakan-gerakan samar mereka dari matamu.
Namun, di atas tanah kelabu dan empasan abu menyebalkan yang tanpa henti berpusar, sesaat kemudian kau akan melihat sepasang mata Doktor T. J. Eckleburg. Sepasang mata Doktor T. J. Eckleburg berwarna biru dan berukuran raksasa—retina-retinanya setinggi satu meter. Sepasang mata itu tidak melekat di seraut wajah, tetapi dari balik kacamata kuning raksasa, yang bertengger di atas sebuah hidung yang tak kasatmata. Ternyata, seorang dokter mata konyol memasang patung itu di sana untuk meluaskan praktiknya di kota administratif Queen, kemudian menenggelamkan diri dalam kebutaan abadi, atau melupakan patung itu dan pindah. Namun, sepasang matanya, sedikit meredup karena catnya memudar di bawah terik matahari dan hujan, menatap tajam area pembuangan sampah yang sepi.
Di satu sisinya, lembah abu itu dibatasi oleh sebuah sungai kecil berbau busuk, dan ketika sebuah jembatan tarik dibangun agar tongkang-tongkang bisa lewat, para penumpang kereta-kereta yang menunggu bisa menatap pemandangan menyedihkan itu selama setengah jam. Kereta selalu berhenti di sana setidaknya semenit, dan karena hal ini, aku pertama kali bertemu dengan simpanan Tom Buchanan.
Fakta tentang Tom memiliki perempuan lain ditegaskan di mana pun dia dikenal. Para kenalannya membenci fakta bahwa dia muncul di restoran-restoran populer bersama perempuan itu dan, setelah meninggalkan simpanannya di meja, berjalan berkeliling, berbincang dengan siapa pun yang dia kenal. Meskipun aku penasaran terhadap perempuan itu, aku tidak berhasrat ingin bertemu—tetapi, ternyata kami berjumpa juga. Pada suatu siang, aku pergi ke New York bersama Tom naik kereta dan ketika kami terhenti oleh kepulan debu, dia melompat berdiri, memegangi sikuku, benar-benar memaksaku keluar gerbong.
“Kita akan turun!” dia bersikeras. “Aku ingin kau bertemu gadisku.”
Kupikir dia telah mabuk berat akibat jamuan makan siang tadi, dan tekadnya ingin ditemani olehku nyaris menjurus ke arah kekerasan. Asumsinya yang lebih kuat adalah pada Minggu sore, tak ada kegiatan lebih baik yang bisa kulakukan.
Aku mengikutinya menyusuri pagar rel kereta rendah yang dicat putih, dan kami berjalan sekitar seratus meter di jalan, di bawah tatapan Doktor Eckleburg yang selalu tajam. Satu-satunya bangunan yang terlihat adalah sebuah blok kecil dari batu bata kuning yang berdiri di tepi area pembuangan sampah. Sesuatu yang mirip Jalan Utama mengawalnya, dan terus memanjang hingga tak terlihat lagi. Salah satu dari tiga toko di blok itu disewakan, yang satu adalah sebuah restoran dua puluh empat jam yang bisa dikunjungi dengan melewati jalan setapak berdebu, dan yang ketiga adalah sebuah garasi—Bengkel. GEORGE B. WILSON. Jual Beli Mobil—dan aku mengikuti Tom masuk.
Bagian dalamnya sederhana dan polos; satu-satunya mobil yang terlihat adalah sebuah Ford bobrok terselubung debu yang meringkuk di sebuah sudut temaram. Aku sedang membayangkan bahwa keremangan garasi ini pasti hanyalah sebuah tirai penutup, dan apartemen-apartemen yang mewah dan romantis disembunyikan di atas, ketika si pemilik sendiri muncul di pintu sebuah kantor, menyeka kedua tangannya dengan secarik kain bekas. Dia adalah seorang lelaki pirang yang tak bersemangat, seperti kekurangan darah, dan agak tampan. Ketika melihat kami, binar harapan yang samar terlihat di sepasang mata birunya yang terang.
“Halo Wilson, Pak Tua,” sapa Tom, menepuk pundak lelaki itu dengan ramah. “Bagaimana bisnismu?”
“Aku tak dapat mengeluh,” jawab Wilson dengan tidak meyakinkan. “Kapan kau akan menjual mobil itu kepadaku?”
“Minggu depan. Anak buahku sedang mengerjakannya sekarang.”
“Bekerja cukup lambat ya dia?”
“Tidak, dia tidak lambat,” sahut Tom dengan dingin. “Dan jika kau merasa begitu, mungkin sebaiknya aku menjualnya ke tempat lain saja.”
“Aku tidak bermaksud begitu,” Wilson menjelaskan dengan cepat. “Aku hanya bermaksud—”
Suaranya menghilang dan Tom memandang berkeliling garasi dengan tidak sabar. Kemudian, aku mendengar suara langkah di sebuah tangga dan sesaat kemudian, sesosok perempuan montok menghalangi cahaya dari pintu kantor. Dia berusia pertengahan tiga puluh, dan agak gempal, tetapi dia membawa kelebihan dagingnya dengan sensual, seperti beberapa perempuan lain. Wajahnya, di atas gaun crepe-de-chine biru gelap yang bernoda, tidak memiliki keistimewaan atau kemilau kecantikan, tetapi selalu ada vitalitas tinggi yang spontan pada dirinya, bagaikan saraf-saraf di tubuhnya tak henti terbakar.
Dia tersenyum lambat dan berjalan melewati suaminya, bagaikan Wilson adalah sesosok hantu yang bersalaman dengan Tom, menatap tajam mata Tom. Kemudian, dia membasahi bibir dan tanpa berbalik, dia berbicara kepada suaminya dengan suara mendesah yang lembut.
“Tolong ambilkan beberapa kursi, jadi seseorang bisa duduk.”
“Oh, tentu saja,” Wilson menjawab cepat-cepat dan berjalan ke arah kantor kecilnya, dengan segera berbaur dengan warna semen dinding-dindingnya. Selapis debu putih menyelubungi setelan gelap dan rambut pucatnya bagaikan menyelubungi segalanya di area itu—kecuali istrinya, yang mendekati Tom.
“Aku ingin menemuimu,” ujar Tom dengan tegas. “Naiklah kereta berikutnya.”
“Baik.”
“Aku akan menemuimu di dekat kios surat kabar di lantai bawah.”
Perempuan itu mengangguk dan menjauhi Tom tepat ketika George Wilson muncul membawa dua kursi melewati pintu kantornya.
Kami menunggu perempuan itu menyusuri jalan dan menghilang dari pandangan. Saat itu beberapa hari sebelum 4 Juli, dan seorang anak lelaki Italia yang kurus dan kelabu sedang memasang torpedo-torpedo dalam barisan sepanjang jalur rel.
“Tempat yang buruk, bukan?” ujar Tom, saling menatap dengan Doktor Eckleburg.
“Buruk sekali.”
“Bagus jika dia bisa pindah.”
“Tidakkah suaminya keberatan?”
“Wilson? Dia pikir istrinya menemui sang adik di New York. Wilson sangat bodoh, dia bahkan tak tahu jika dia sendiri hidup.”
Jadi, Tom Buchanan, simpanannya, dan aku pergi bersama ke New York—atau bisa dibilang tidak bersama, karena Mrs. Wilson duduk diam-diam di kabin lain. Tom mengatur itu demi perasaan para penduduk East Egg yang mungkin berada di kereta itu juga.
Mrs. Wilson telah berganti pakaian dengan gaun muslin berwarna kecokelatan, yang ketat di atas pinggulnya yang cukup lebar, ketika Tom membantunya turun di peron New York. Di kios surat kabar, dia membeli satu eksemplar “Town Tattle” dan sebuah majalah film. Lalu, di toko obat stasiun, dia membeli krim dingin dan sebotol kecil parfum. Di atas, dalam perjalanan tenang yang menegangkan, dia membiarkan empat taksi lewat sebelum memilih sebuah taksi baru, berwarna ungu dengan bantalan-bantalan kelabu. Dan kami menyelinap keluar dari kepadatan stasiun, berjalan di bawah sinar matahari yang berkilauan. Namun, dengan segera dia menoleh dengan cepat dari jendela dan membungkuk, mengetuk kaca depan untuk berbicara dengan sopir.
“Aku ingin mendapatkan salah seekor anjing itu,” dia berbicara terang-terangan. “Aku ingin memeliharanya untuk menjaga apartemen. Pasti senang bisa memilikinya—seekor saja.” Kami mundur menghampiri seorang lelaki tua berambut kelabu yang anehnya mirip dengan John D. Rockefeller. Dalam sebuah keranjang, berayun dari lehernya, meringkuk selusin anak anjing yang baru saja lahir, entah dari ras apa.
“Jenis apa mereka?” tanya Mrs. Wilson penuh semangat saat lelaki itu mendekat ke jendela taksi.
“Segala jenis. Jenis apa yang kauinginkan, Lady?”
“Aku ingin memelihara seekor anjing polisi; sepertinya kau tidak memilikinya?”
Lelaki itu mengintip dengan ragu ke dalam keranjang, mengeluarkan sebelah tangan dan menarik seekor anjing yang menggeliat-geliat keluar, dengan memegangi tengkuknya.
“Itu bukan anjing polisi,” ujar Tom.
“Memang, itu bukan seekor anjing polISI betulan,” ujar lelaki itu, dengan kekecewaan dalam suaranya. “Sebenarnya lebih mirip sejenis terier airedale.” Dia menyapukan tangan ke punggung anjing yang mirip sikat pencuci berwarna cokelat. “Lihat bulunya. Bulu tebal. Ini seekor anjing yang tidak pernah menyulitkanmu dengan terjangkit pilek.”
“Kupikir anjing itu lucu,” ujar Mrs. Wilson dengan antusias. “Berapa harganya?”
“Anjing itu?” Si lelaki tua menatap anjing di tangannya dengan kagum. “Anjing itu berharga sepuluh dolar.”
Si anjing airedale—tidak diragukan lagi, ada sedikit darah terier airedale dalam tubuh anjing itu entah dari mana, meskipun kakinya putih mencolok—berpindah tangan dan duduk di pangkuan Mrs. Wilson. Dia mendudukkan si mantel tahan-cuaca itu dengan sangat gembira.
“Laki-laki atau perempuan?” dia bertanya lembut.
“Anjing itu? Dia laki-laki.”
“Anjing itu betina,” ujar Tom dengan tegas. “Ini uangmu. Pergilah dan beli sepuluh anjing lagi dengan uang ini.”
Kami pergi ke Fifth Avenue, yang begitu hangat dan lembut, nyaris mirip suasana pedesaan pada Minggu sore musim panas, sehingga aku tak akan terkejut jika melihat sekawanan biri-biri putih berbelok di tikungan.
“Tunggu,” aku berkata, “aku harus meninggalkan kalian di sini.”
“Tidak, jangan,” tolak Tom cepat. “Myrtle akan tersinggung jika kau tidak naik ke apartemen. Bukankah begitu, Myrtle?”
“Ayolah,” Mrs. Wilson mendesak. “Aku akan menelepon adikku Catherine. Dia selalu dinilai sangat cantik oleh orang-orang yang mengenalnya.”
“Yah, aku ingin, tapi—”
Kami terus melaju, memotong lagi Park ke arah West Hundreds. Di 158th Street, taksi berhenti di salah satu gedung apartemen yang mirip irisan panjang kue. Sambil memandang berkeliling lingkungan bagaikan seorang bangsawan yang baru kembali ke rumah, Mrs. Wilson meraih anjing dan belanjaannya yang lain, lalu masuk dengan sikap puas.
“Aku akan menyuruh McKee naik,” dia mengumumkan saat kami naik menggunakan lift. “Dan tentu saja, aku harus memanggil adikku juga.”
Apartemen berada di lantai atas—sebuah ruang keluarga kecil, ruang makan kecil, kamar tidur kecil, dan sebuah kamar mandi. Ruang keluarga disesaki oleh pintu-pintu dan satu set perabot bertapestri yang secara keseluruhan terlalu besar untuk ruangan itu, sehinggakami hanya bisa terus menatap adegan-adegan para perempuan yang naik ayunan di taman-taman Versailles. Satu-satunya gambar adalah sebuah foto berukuran terlalu besar, menampilkan seekor ayam betina bertengger di sebongkah batu yang buram. Namun, jika dilihat dari kejauhan, ayam betina itu mirip topi bonnet, dan wajah seorang perempuan tua yang gempal tersenyum lebar ke seisi ruangan. Beberapa majalah gosip lama “Town Tattle” tergeletak di meja dengan sebuah novel berjudul “Simon Called Peter” dan beberapa majalah gosip Broadway. Mrs. Wilson memperhatikan anjingnya lebih dahulu. Seorang anak lelaki penjaga lift yang canggung mengambil sebuah kotak penuh jerami dan sedikit susu, yang dia tuangkan atas inisiatif sendiri ke sebuah kaleng biskuit keras berukuran besar untuk anjing—salah satu jenis biskuit yang akan membusuk dengan menyedihkan dalam sepisin susu sepanjang sore. Sementara itu, Tom mengeluarkan sebotol whiskey dari sebuah pintu lemari yang terkunci.
Aku baru dua kali mabuk seumur hidupku, dan saat kedua kalinya, itu terjadi sore itu. Jadi, segalanya terjadi bagaikan bayangan samar meskipun hingga lewat pukul delapan malam apartemen masih penuh sinar matahari yang ceria. Duduk di pangkuan Tom, Mrs. Wilson memanggil beberapa orang lewat telepon. Tidak ada rokok, jadi aku keluar untuk membelinya di toko obat di sudut. Ketika kembali, mereka telah menghilang, jadi aku duduk diam-diam di ruang keluarga dan membaca satu bab buku “Simon Called Peter”—entah karena pengaruh whiskey yang kuat atau bukan, aku tidak memahaminya sedikit pun.
Tepat saat Tom dan Myrtle—setelah kami menghabiskan gelas minum pertama, Mrs. Wilson dan aku mulai saling memanggil dengan nama depan kami—muncul lagi, tamu mulai berdatangan di pintu apartemen.
Sang adik, Catherine, adalah seorang gadis langsing berusia sekitar tiga puluh tahun yang tampak menyukai hal-hal duniawi, dengan rambut merah bermodel bob kaku, dan kulit yang dibedaki seputih susu. Alisnya dicabuti dan digambar lagi dengan sudut yang lebih tajam, tetapi usaha melawan perubahan alam yang menunjukkan pertambahan usia menambah aura suram di wajahnya. Selama dia berada di sana, terdengar suara berdenting tanpa henti, dari sejumlah gelang keramik yang berguncang di kedua lengannya. Dia masuk dengan sikap terburu-buru, bagaikan memiliki semuanya, dan memandang berkeliling dengan sangat posesif ke arah perabot, sehingga aku bertanya-tanya apakah dia tinggal di sini. Namun, ketika aku bertanya, dia tertawa terbahak-bahak, mengulangi pertanyaanku keras-keras, dan berkata bahwa dia tinggal bersama seorang teman perempuannya di sebuah hotel.
Mr. McKee adalah seorang lelaki pucat feminin dari flat di bawah. Dia baru saja bercukur, karena ada setitik busa di tulang pipinya, dan dia sangat sopan saat menyapa semua orang di ruangan itu. Dia memberitahuku bahwa dia berkecimpung dalam “permainan artistik”, dan aku baru tahu setelahnya bahwa dia adalah seorang fotografer dan dia yang membuat perbesaran buram ibu Mrs. Wilson yang mengambang bagaikan sesosok ektoplasma di dinding. Istrinya bersuara memekik, anggun, cantik, tetapi mengerikan. Istrinya memberitahuku dengan bangga bahwa McKee telah memotretnya sebanyak seratus dua puluh tujuh kali sejak mereka menikah.
Mrs. Wilson telah berganti pakaian beberapa saat sebelumnya, dan sekarang mengenakan gaun sore yang rumit dari chiffon berwarna krem, yang tanpa henti berkeresak setiap kali dia bergerak di sekliling ruangan. Dengan pengaruh gaun itu, kepribadiannya pun berubah drastis. Vitalitas kuat yang begitu jelas di garasi telah berubah menjadi suatu sikap percaya diri yang mengesankan. Tawanya, sikap tubuhnya, kata-katanya semakin lama semakin berpengaruh dan ketika dia semakin kuat, ruangan bagaikan mengecil di sekelilingnya, hingga dia terlihat bagaikan berputar di sebuah sumbu yang gaduh dan berderit-derit di tengah udara berasap.
“Sayangku,” dia berbicara dengan adiknya dengan teriakan tajam yang memekakkan telinga, “kebanyakan lelaki akan membohongimu setiap saat. Yang mereka pikirkan hanyalah uang. Minggu lalu, ada seorang perempuan yang memeriksa kakiku, dan saat dia memberiku tagihan, kau akan berpikir bahwa dia telah mengoperasi usus buntuku.”
“Siapa nama perempuan itu?” tanya Mrs. McKee.
“Mrs. Eberhardt. Dia berkeliling untuk memeriksa kaki orang-orang di rumah mereka sendiri.”
“Aku menyukai gaunmu,” tukas Mrs. McKee. “Kupikir gaunmu mengagumkan.”
Mrs. Wilson menanggapi pujian itu dengan menaikkan alisnya, berekspresi tidak puas.
“Ini hanya sebuah gaun lama yang gila,” dia menyahut. “Aku hanya memakainya sekali-sekali, saat sedang tidak memedulikan penampilanku.”
“Tapi, gaun itu terlihat cantik di tubuhmu, jika kautahu maksudku,” desak Mrs. McKee. “Jika Chester bisa memotretmu dalam pose itu, kupikir dia bisa menghasilkan sebuah karya indah.”
Kami semua menatap Mrs. Wilson sambil membisu, yang menyibakkan seberkas rambut dari matanya, dan membalas tatapan kami dengan senyuman ceria. Mr. McKee memperhatikannya dengan saksama, memiringkan kepala, kemudian menggerakkan tangannya maju mundur secara perlahan di depan wajah.
“Aku harus mengganti cahayanya,” dia berkata sesaat kemudian. “Aku ingin mengeluarkan penampilan model darinya. Dan aku akan berusaha menahan semua rambut ke belakang.”
“Aku tak akan berpikir untuk mengubah cahaya,” pekik Mrs. McKee. “Kupikir ini—”
Suaminya menegur “SST!” dan kami semua memikirkan masalah itu lagi. karena itu, Tom Buchanan menguap keras dan berdiri.
“Kalian, Mr. dan Mrs. McKee, silakan minum,” dia berkata. “Ambillah es dan air mineral lagi, Myrtle, sebelum semua orang tertidur.”
“Aku sudah berkata kepada anak lelaki itu tentang esnya.” Myrtle menaikkan alisnya dengan putus asa karena kemalasan orang-orang rendahan itu. “Orang-orang itu! Kita harus terus mengawasi mereka sepanjang waktu.”
Dia menatapku dan tertawa tanpa sebab. Kemudian, dia mendekati si anjing, mengecupnya dengan penuh kasih sayang, lalu masuk ke dapur, mengesankan bahwa ada selusin koki yang menunggu perintahnya di sana.
“Aku membuat beberapa karya yang bagus di Long Island,” Mr. McKee berkata.
Tom menatapnya dengan kosong.
“Dua di antaranya dibingkai di lantai bawah.”
“Dua apa?” tanya Tom.
“Dua lukisan. Yang satu kujuduli ‘Montauk Point—Camar-Camar’, dan satu lagi kujuduli ‘Montauk Point—Laut’.”
Adik Mrs. Wilson, Catherine, duduk di sampingku di sofa.
“Kau juga tinggal di Long Island?” dia bertanya.
“Aku tinggal di West Egg.”
“Sungguh? Aku pernah ke sana untuk menghadiri pesta sebulan lalu. Di rumah seorang lelaki bernama Gatsby. Kau mengenalnya?”
“Aku tinggal di sebelah rumahnya.”
“Yah, mereka bilang dia keponakan atau sepupu Kaisar Wilhelm. Dari sanalah semua uangnya berasal.”
“Sungguh?”
Dia mengangguk.
“Aku takut kepadanya. Aku benci karena dia bisa melakukan apa pun terhadapku.”
Informasi mengejutkan tentang tetanggaku ini disela oleh Mrs. McKee yang tiba-tiba menuding Catherine: “Chester, kupikir kau harus melakukan sesuatu terhadap DIRINYA,” dia memotong, tetapi Mr. McKee hanya mengangguk dengan ekspresi bosan dan mengalihkan perhatian lagi kepada Tom.
“Aku ingin melakukan lebih banyak pekerjaan di Long Island jika bisa mendapatkan kesempatan. Aku hanya meminta mereka mengizinkanku memulai.”
“Tanya Myrtle,” sahut Tom, kemudian suaranya pecah menjadi tawa pendek yang keras ketika Mrs. Wilson masuk membawa baki. “Dia akan memberimu surat rekomendasi. Bukan begitu, Myrtle?”
“Memberi apa?” Mrs. Wilson bertanya, terkejut.
“Kau akan memberikan sepucuk surat rekomendasi McKee kepada suamimu, jadi suamimu bisa menyelidikinya sedikit.” Bibirnya bergerak-gerak tanpa suara sejenak, saat dia memikirkan kata-kata. “‘George B. Wilson di Pompa Bensin,’ atau semacam itu.”
Catherine mencondongkan tubuh mendekatiku dan berbisik di telingaku: “Mereka berdua sama-sama tidak tahan dengan orang yang mereka nikahi.”
“Bagaimana?”
“Tidak TAHAN.” Dia menatap Myrtle, kemudian Tom. “Yang kukatakan adalah, mengapa harus bertahan jika tidak tahan terhadap pasangan masing-masing? Jika aku jadi mereka, aku akan meminta cerai dan langsung saling menikahi.”
“Dia juga tidak menyukai Wilson?”
Jawaban pertanyaan ini tak terduga. Kata-kata itu datang dari Myrtle, yang tak sengaja mendengar pertanyaan itu, dan ternyata jawabannya jahat dan keji.
“Kaulihat?” pekik Catherine penuh kemenangan. Dia merendahkan suaranya lagi. “Sebenarnya, istri Tom yang membuat mereka tak bisa bercerai. Istrinya Katolik, dan mereka tidak memercayai perceraian.”
Daisy bukan seorang Katolik dan aku agak kaget mendengar lihainya kebohongan itu.
“Ketika mereka menikah,” lanjut Catherine, “mereka pergi ke barat untuk tinggal sebentar, hingga pernikahan mereka kacau.”
“Itu lebih tidak mencolok dibandingkan pergi ke Eropa.”
“Oh, kau menyukai Eropa?” dia memekik kaget. “Aku baru saja kembali dari Monte Carlo.”
“Yang benar saja.”
“Baru tahun lalu. Aku pergi ke sana bersama seorang teman perempuanku.”
“Tinggal lama?”
“Tidak, kami hanya pergi ke Monte Carlo, kemudian kembali. Kami memilih jalur melewati Marseilles. Kami memiliki lebih dari dua ratus dolar saat berangkat, tapi tertipu hingga kehabisan semuanya dalam dua hari, di ruang-ruang judi pribadi. Kami menempuh perjalanan pulang yang sangat sulit, kautahu. Ya Tuhan, betapa aku membenci kota itu!”
Langit petang merekah di jendela sesaat, bagaikan warna biru bersemburat Madu daerah Mediterania—kemudian, suara Mrs. McKee yang memekik membuatku kembali ke ruangan itu.
“Aku juga hampir membuat kesalahan,” dia menyatakan dengan bersemangat. “Aku nyaris menikahi seorang ikan kecil yang telah mengejarku selama bertahun-tahun. Aku tahu, dia lebih rendah dariku. Semua orang terus berkata padaku: ‘Lucille, lelaki itu jauh lebih rendah daripada dirimu!’ Tapi, jika aku tak bertemu Chester, dia pasti akan mendapatkanku.”
“Ya, tapi dengar,” ujar Myrtle Wilson, menganggukkan kepala naik turun, “setidaknya kau tidak menikahinya.”
“Aku tahu, aku tidak melakukannya.”
“Yah, aku menikahinya,” ujar Myrtle, kata-katanya ambigu. “Dan itulah perbedaan antara kasusmu dan kasusku.”
“Mengapa kau melakukannya, Myrtle?” desak Catherine. “Tidak ada yang memaksamu.”
Myrtle berpikir sejenak.
“Aku menikahinya karena kukira dia seorang lelaki sejati,” akhirnya dia menjawab. “Kupikir dia mengetahui sesuatu tentang perkembangbiakan, tapi dia bahkan tidak mampu menjilat sepatuku.”
“Kau pernah tergila-gila padanya sesaat,” ujar Catherine.
“Tergila-gila padanya!” pekik Myrtle, tidak percaya. “Siapa bilang aku tergila-gila padanya? Aku tidak pernah lebih tergila-gila kepadanya daripada kepada lelaki yang ada di sana.”
Dia tiba-tiba menunjukku, dan semua orang menatapku dengan ekspresi menuduh. Aku berusaha mengatur ekspresiku agar menunjukkan bahwa aku tak berperan apa-apa dalam masa lalunya.
“Satu-satunya tindakan GILAku adalah saat aku menikahinya. Aku langsung tahu, aku telah membuat kesalahan. Dia meminjam setelan terbaik orang lain untuk menikah dan tidak pernah memberitahuku tentang itu, dan si pemilik datang untuk mengambilnya saat dia sedang keluar.” Dia memandang berkeliling, memastikan siapa saja yang mendengar. “‘Oh, itu setelan jasmu?’ aku bertanya. ‘Ini pertama kalinya aku mendengar tentang itu.’ Tapi, aku memberikan setelan itu kepadanya, kemudian berbaring dan menangis untuk mengalahkan suara band sepanjang sore.”
“Dia benar-benar harus kabur dari suaminya,” Catherine menyimpulkan untukku. “Mereka telah tinggal di atas garasi selama sebelas tahun. Dan Tom adalah kekasih pertama yang pernah dia miliki.”
Botol whiskey—yang kedua—sekarang terus berputar di antara orang-orang yang hadir, kecuali Catherine yang “merasa sama sekali tidak ahli dalam hal apa pun”. Tom menelepon petugas kebersihan dan menyuruhnya membeli beberapa roti lapis yang terkenal, yang sudah merupakan hidangan makan malam yang komplet. Aku ingin keluar dan berjalan ke timur, ke arah taman, menembus cahaya senja yang lembut. Namun, setiap kali aku berusaha pergi, aku terus terlibat dalam beberapa perdebatan sengit dan liar yang menahanku, bagaikan mengikatku dengan tali, ke kursi. Namun, tinggi di atas kota, barisan jendela kuning di jajaran ini pasti membagi rahasia manusia kepada pengamat iseng di jalan-jalan yang semakin gelap, dan aku merasa seperti salah seorang dari mereka, mendongak dan bertanya-tanya. Aku terlibat dan keluar, tanpa henti terpikat dan terusir oleh keragaman hidup yang sangat hebat.
Myrtle menarik kursinya mendekati kursiku, dan tiba-tiba napasnya yang hangat mengembuskan kisah tentang pertemuan pertamanya dengan Tom.
“Pertemuan itu terjadi di dua bangku kecil yang saling berhadapan, yang selalu merupakan bangku-bangku terakhir yang tersisa di kereta. Aku akan pergi ke New York untuk menemui adikku dan menginap di sana. Dia mengenakan setelan jas resmi, sepatu kulit paten, dan aku tak dapat mengalihkan tatapanku dari dirinya. Namun, setiap kali dia menatapku, aku berpura-pura memandang iklan di atas kepalanya. Ketika kami tiba di stasiun, dia berada di sampingku, dan bagian depan kemeja putihnya menempel di lenganku—jadi, aku berkata padanya jika aku harus menelepon polisi, tapi dia tahu aku berbohong. Aku sangat bersemangat saat masuk ke sebuah taksi bersamanya sehingga aku nyaris tak sadar bahwa aku tidak naik ke sebuah kereta bawah tanah. Yang terus kupikirkan, berulang-ulang, adalah ‘Kau tak akan hidup selamanya, kau tak akan hidup selamanya’.”
Dia menoleh ke arah Mrs. McKee, dan ruangan itu dipenuhi tawa palsunya yang nyaring.
“Astaga,” dia memekik, “aku akan memberimu gaun ini segera setelah aku melepasnya. Aku harus membeli gaun baru besok. Aku akan membuat daftar semua hal yang harus kudapatkan. Pijat, keriting rambut, kalung anjing, dan sebuah asbak kecil manis yang terbuka saat kausentuh pegasnya, dan sebuah rangkaian bunga berpita sutra hitam untuk makam ibu yang bisa tahan sepanjang musim panas. Aku harus menulis sebuah daftar agar tidak melupakan semua yang harus kulakukan.”
Saat itu pukul sembilan malam—nyaris tak terasa waktu berlalu, dan saat aku melirik jamku, waktu sudah menunjukkan pukul sepuluh. Mr. McKee sudah tertidur di sebuah kursi dengan kedua tangan mengepal di pangkuannya, seperti sebuah potret lelaki yang diatur posisinya. Setelah mengeluarkan saputanganku, aku menghapus sisa busa kering dari pipinya, yang telah membuatku gelisah sepanjang sore.
Si anjing kecil duduk di atas meja, menatap menembus asap bagaikan tak melihat apa-apa, dan sekali-sekali mengerang lemah. Orang-orang menghilang, muncul lagi, membuat rencana untuk pergi ke suatu tempat, kemudian saling berpisah, mencari orang lain, menemukan orang lain beberapa meter dari mereka sendiri. Beberapa saat sebelum tengah malam, Tom Buchanan dan Mrs. Wilson berdiri berhadapan, berdiskusi dengan suara penuh emosi, apakah Mrs. Wilson berhak menyebut-nyebut nama Daisy.
“Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!” teriak Mrs. Wilson. “Aku akan menyebutnya kapan pun aku menginginkannya! Daisy! Dai—”
Dengan suatu gerakan kecil dan tiba-tiba, Tom Buchanan mematahkan hidung Mrs. Wilson dengan tamparan tangan terbuka.
Kemudian, ada handuk-handuk berdarah di lantai kamar mandi, suara-suara perempuan yang marah mengalahkan keributan, dan sebuah lolongan kesakitan yang mengalahkan semuanya. Mr. McKee terbangun dari tidurnya dan mulai berjalan ke pintu dengan linglung. Ketika sudah menempuh setengah perjalanan, dia berbalik dan menatap adegan itu—istrinya dan Catherine saling memarahi sekaligus menghibur sambil menabrak perabot yang menyesakkan ruangan di mana-mana, membawa benda-benda untuk pertolongan pertama, dan sosok menyedihkan di sofa mengucurkan darah dengan keras, berusaha menghamparkan satu eksemplar koran gosip “Town Tattle” menutupi pemandangan Versailles di hiasan tapestri. Kemudian, Mr. McKee berbalik dan terus berjalan ke pintu. Setelah meraih topi dari kandil, aku mengikuti.
“Datanglah untuk makan siang kapan-kapan,” dia memberi saran, saat kami mengerang dalam perjalanan turun menggunakan lift.
“Di mana?”
“Di mana saja.”
“Jangan sentuh tuas dengan tangan Anda,” tegur si pemuda penjaga lift.
“Maaf,” ujar Mr. McKee dengan nada tersinggung, “aku tak tahu aku menyentuhnya.”
“Baiklah,” aku setuju. “Aku akan senang melakukannya.”
... Aku berdiri di samping tempat tidurnya dan dia duduk di antara seprei dan selimut-selimut, mengenakan pakaian dalamnya, dengan sebuah portofolio besar di tangannya.
“Beauty and the Beast ... Kesepian ... Kuda Grosir Tua ... Sungai Kecil dan Jembatan ....”
Kemudian, aku berbaring, setengah tertidur di lantai bawah Stasiun Pennsylvania yang dingin, menatap harian pagi “Tribune”, dan menunggu kereta pukul empat pagi.
English to Indonesian: KISAH SI KATAI PUTIH YANG SERAKAH General field: Science Detailed field: Astronomy & Space
Source text - English In 1604, a new star appeared in the night sky. It shone brighter than all the other stars and for three weeks it was even visible during the day! This mysterious beacon marked the explosive death of a nearby star. These explosions are called supernova, and they give off so much light that for a few weeks, they can outshine a galaxy of billions of stars! Then slowly they fade away, leaving behind beautiful glowing clouds of gas, like the one in this picture.
But let's travel back to a few millions years earlier, because the story of this star gets even more interesting. The star that exploded in 1604 began its life as an average star, similar to our Sun. When an average-sized star dies, the result is much less dramatic than a powerful supernova. Instead of exploding, they collapse. The material from the centre of the star ends up squashed tightly down into a tiny, heavy ball called a white dwarf star.
This is how this star died for the first time, long before 1604. But how did it end up dying a second time? Well, astronomers have recently discovered the answer to that question. The white dwarf had a companion, an enormous red giant star. Even though the red giant was much larger, the white dwarf’s gravity was much stronger. It began to rip gas off its companion, pulling the material onto itself. Eventually the star's own greed led to its demise. It stole so much material that it became unstable, leading to the spectacular explosion that our ancestors saw!
More Information: The astronomers who made this discovery have created a video showing a simulation of the supernova explosion; you can watch it hereand get an amazing close-up view of one of the most explosive events in nature!
Translation - Indonesian Pada tahun 1604, sebuah bintang baru muncul di langit malam. Bintang itu bersinar lebih terang daripada semua bintang lain, dan selama tiga minggu, bintang itu bahkan terlihat pada siang hari! Mercusuar misterius ini merupakan penanda sebuah bintang di dekat kita mati dengan cara meledak. Ledakan-ledakan ini disebut supernova, yang memancarkan begitu banyak cahaya sehingga selama beberapa minggu, bintang-bintang yang meledak ini bisa mengalahkan cerlangnya sebuah galaksi yang terdiri dari triliunan bintang! Kemudian, cahaya itu memudar perlahan, meninggalkan awan-awan gas indah yang berpendar, seperti salah satu yang ada di gambar ini.
Namun, mari kita kembali ke beberapa juta tahun sebelumnya, karena kisah tentang bintang ini lebih menarik lagi. Bintang yang meledak pada tahun 1604 ini memulai hidupnya sebagai sebuah bintang sedang, sama dengan Matahari kita. Ketika sebuah bintang berukuran sedang mati, hasilnya tidak terlalu dramatis daripada sebuah supernova yang dahsyat. Bukannya meledak, bintang-bintang ini runtuh. Akhirnya, materi di pusat bintang memampat menjadi sebuah bola kecil yang berat, disebut bintang katai putih.
Demikianlah bintang ini mati untuk pertama kalinya, lama sebelum tahun 1604. Namun, bagaimana akhirnya bintang ini bisa mati untuk kedua kalinya? Nah, para astronom akhir-akhir ini menemukan jawaban atas pertanyaan itu. Bintang katai putih itu memiliki pasangan, sebuah bintang raksasa merah berukuran raksasa. Meskipun si raksasa merah jauh lebih besar, gravitasi si katai putih jauh lebih kuat. Si katai putih mulai menyedot gas dari pasangannya, menarik materi ke dirinya sendiri. Akhirnya, keserakahan membawa si katai putih ke akhir kehidupannya sendiri. Si katai putih mencuri begitu banyak materi sehingga dirinya sendiri menjadi tidak stabil, dan menyebabkan ledakan spektakuler yang disaksikan oleh para leluhur kita!
Informasi Lebih Lanjut: Para astronom yang menemukan ini telah membuat sebuah video yang menunjukkan simulasi ledakan supernova, kau bisa menontonnya di sini, dan dapatkan pemandangan salah satu peristiwa ledakan terdahsyat di alam semesta itu dari dekat!
English to Indonesian: SISI LAIN SI GALAKSI MONSTER General field: Science Detailed field: Astronomy & Space
Source text - English This looks like a picture of the powerful, planet-destroying laser beam from Star Wars or something else straight out of a sci-fi film, and it almost could be! What we're looking at is the centre of one of the most active galaxies in the Universe. Galaxy centres like this spew incredible amounts of energy – they are brighter than about 100 normal galaxies combined!
Although this picture is an artist's impression and not a real photograph, it is based on the first real 3-D observations of a quasar – this is what astronomers call these active galaxy centres! Seeing an astronomical object in 3D is no easy task. Unless the object is rotating, it is very difficult to see from more than one angle. But an unlikely hero came to our rescue in this case: an enormous cluster of galaxies lying between Earth and the quasar.
It sounds odd, but instead of blocking out the view of the quasar, the gravitational pull of the galaxy cluster was so strong that it bent the beams of light coming from the quasar as it travelled past. Because of this, the light travelled around the cluster and we were able to observe the quasar from Earth. Even better, the cluster bent the light so that we could see light coming from different sides of the quasar at once! This gave astronomers the first ever 3-D view of one of these monster galaxies!
Cool Fact: The Universe is made up of various structures held together by gravity. Stars are collected together into galaxies and galaxies are collected together into galaxy clusters. Our galaxy, the Milky Way, is part of the Virgo Cluster along with about 2000 other galaxies!
Translation - Indonesian Ini kelihatan seperti sinar laser dahsyat yang bisa menghancurkan planet dari Star Wars atau sesuatu yang muncul dari sebuah film sains-fiksi. Dan itu mungkin saja! Yang kita lihat ini adalah pusat salah satu galaksi paling aktif di Alam Semesta. Pusat-pusat Galaksi seperti ini menembakkan energi yang berjumlah luar biasa banyak—pusat-pusat ini lebih terang daripada gabungan 100 galaksi normal!
Meskipun ini adalah rekaan seniman dan bukan foto asli, gambar ini dibuat berdasarkan pengamatan-pengamatan 3-Dimensi pertama yang sebenarnya dari sebuah quasar—itulah istilah yang digunakan para astronom untuk menyebut pusat-pusat galaksi aktif ini! Melihat suatu objek astronomi dalam 3-Dimensi bukan pekerjaan yang mudah. Jika tidak berotasi, objeknya hanya akan tampak dari satu sudut, dan sulit sekali diamati dari sudut lain. Namun, sesosok pahlawan yang tak diduga datang menyelamatkan kita dalam kasus ini: sebuah gugus galaksi besar yang berada di antara Bumi dan quasar.
Kedengarannya aneh, tetapi, bukannya menghalangi pandangan kita terhadap quasar, gaya gravitasi gugus galaksi ini sangat kuat sehingga membelokkan berkas-berkas sinar yang datang dari quasar ketika melewatinya. Karena ini, cahaya melintas mengelilingi gugus dan kita bisa mengamati quasar itu dari Bumi. Lebih baik lagi, gugus itu membelokkan cahaya sehingga kita bisa melihat cahaya itu dari berbagai sisi quasar sekaligus! Ini membuat para astronom bisa melihat pemandangan 3-D salah satu galaksi monster itu untuk pertama kalinya!
Fakta Menarik: Alam semesta terdiri dari beragam struktur yang diikat di posisi masing-masing oleh gravitasi. Bintang-bintang berkumpul bersama menjadi galaksi-galaksi, dan galaksi-galaksi berkumpul bersama menjadi gugus-gugus galaksi. Galaksi kita, Bima Sakti, adalah anggota Gugus Virgo bersama 2000 galaksi lainnya!
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Years of experience: 20. Registered at ProZ.com: Oct 2011.
I am freelance english-indonesian translator and editor from 2004.
I have translated about 50 books and edited about 40 books, but I also have experience in translating and editing articles or documents.
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