Kopi dan Cinta yang Tak Pernah Mati

Agus Noor is a prose and short story writer as well as a playwright. He was born in Tegal, Central Java and graduated from ISI, the Indonesian Insitute of Art, in Yogyakarta. His short stories are published in several anthologies such as Kitab Cerpen Horison Sastra Indonesia (Majalah Horison dan The Ford Foundation, 2002), Jl. Asmaradana (Cerpen Pilihan Kompas, 2005), Ripin (Cerpen Kompas Pilihan, 2007), Kitab Cerpen Horison Sastra Indonesia, Pembisik (Cerpen-cerpen terbaik Republika), and 20 Cerpen Indonesia Terbaik 2008 (Pena Kencana). His short story Kunang-Kunang di Langit Jakarta was awarded the 2011 best short story by Kompas.

Agus Noor can be reached at agus2noor@yahoo.co.id

Published in February 2020. Copyright ©2020 by Agus Noor. Published with permission from the author. Translation copyright ©2020 by Oni Suryaman.

 

Kopi dan Cinta yang Tak Pernah Mati

 

Kebebasan selalu layak dirayakan. Maka selepas keluar penjara, yang diinginkan ialah mengunjungi kedai kopi ini. Kebahagiaan akan semakin lengkap bila dinikmati dengan secangkir kopi. Hanya di kedai kopi ini dia bisa menikmati kopi terbaik yang disajikan dengan cara paling baik.

Ada orang-orang yang bersikeras mempertahankan kenangan, dan kedai kopi ini seolah diperuntukkan bagi orang-orang seperti itu. Nyaris tak ada yang berubah. Meja kursi kayu hanya terlihat makin gelap dan tua.

Yang dulu tak ada hanya pengumuman bergambar bayangan wajah lelaki berkumis tebal, yang terpasang dekat jendela.

Ada tulisan di bawah pengumuman itu, seperti larik puisi. Pada kopi ada revolusi, juga cinta yang tak pernah mati. Dia tersenyum. Sejarah memang aneh: dulu lelaki itu pembangkang, kini dianggap pejuang.

Beberapa orang di kedai kopi langsung menatap tajam saat dia masuk. Dia mengenali beberapa dari mereka, para pembangkang yang sejak dulu memang selalu berkumpul di kedai kopi ini. Dia tetap tenang. Apa pun bisa terjadi. Mungkin seseorang akan menyerangnya. Sepuluh tahun dalam penjara membuat kewaspadaannya makin terasah.

Dia meraba pistol di balik jaket. Sekadar berjaga. Kita harus selalu berhati-hati menghadapi kebencian, batinnya, saat menatap anak muda penyaji kopi yang terus memandanginya.

Mata itu mengingatkan pada mata laki-laki yang dulu dibunuhnya. Umur anak muda itu baru sebelas tahun saat bapaknya mati. Kini terlihat seperti banteng muda yang siap meluapkan dendamnya. Pemuda itu mengangguk pelan saat dia memesan.

Panas udara siang membuat wangi kopi terasa semakin kental. Tak akan pernah dilupakannya harum kopi yang menenteramkan ini, seolah wangi itu dicuri dari surga.

Ketika ditugaskan ke kota ini, komandannya memberi tahu, agar tak melewatkan kedai kopi ini dari daftar yang harus dikunjungi. Kedai kopi yang menyediakan kopi terbaik. Kedai kopi yang bukan saja istimewa, tetapi juga berbahaya.

Bertahun lalu, dia dikirim ke kota ini untuk menghabisi seorang pembangkang yang dianggap berbahaya bagi negara. Saat itu unjuk rasa nyaris meledak setiap hari. Kota ini menjadi kota yang selalu rusuh oleh gagasan gila perihal kemerdekaan.

Para perusuh itu, begitu tentara menyebut, tak hanya bergerak di hutan-hutan, tetapi juga menyusup ke kota, menyerang pos keamanan atau menyergap pasukan patroli keamanan.

Tentara melakukan pembersihan. Puluhan orang ditangkap, diculik dan tak pernah kembali. Ada peristiwa yang tak akan pernah dilupakan oleh penduduk kota ini, ketika suatu hari tentara menghajar delapan anak muda di perempatan pusat kota. Mereka diseret, dibariskan satu per satu, kemudian ditembak tepat di kepala. Kekejian seperti itu terkadang diperlukan untuk menciptakan ketakutan. Tapi siapa yang bisa membunuh gagasan? Kepala bisa ditembak sampai pecah, tetapi gagasan akan terus hidup dalam kepala banyak orang. Peristiwa itu mendapat protes keras, dan makin memicu perlawanan.

Amnesty International menekan pemerintah pusat untuk menghentikan kekerasan. Saat operasi militer dianggap tak lagi berdaya guna, dia pun dikirim.

Sebagai seorang mata-mata yang terlatih dia pun dengan cepat mengetahui, bagi orang-orang di kota ini kedai kopi bukan sekadar tempat untuk menikmati kopi. Hampir di setiap jalan di kota ini selalu ada kedai kopi. Rasanya tak ada penduduk kota ini yang tak menyukai kopi. Di kedai kopi waktu seperti berhenti. Orang bisa sepanjang hari duduk di kedai kopi untuk berkumpul, berbual atau menyendiri, mempercakapkan hal-hal rahasia, kasak-kusuk perlawanan, juga tempat paling tepat untuk menyelesaikan masalah. Pertengkaran bisa diselesaikan dengan secangkir kopi. Semua keterangan di kota ini akan dengan mudah didapatkan di kedai kopi.

Dari keterangan yang dimiliki dia mengenali lelaki yang mesti dihabisi. Yang dianggap musuh negara paling berbahaya ternyata bukan seorang berperawakan kekar, yang hidup berpindah-pindah dalam hutan memimpin gerilyawan, dan karena itu tentara tak pernah berhasil menangkapnya. Orang yang dicarinya itu hanya bertubuh kecil, nyaris kurus, berkulit gelap, rambut agak ikal. Dia terlihat keras, tetapi selalu berbicara dengan nada santun. Jadi inilah orang yang selalu menghasut anak-anak muda untuk melakukan perlawanan dan menuntut kemerdekaan. Dia hanya penyaji kopi.

***

Anak muda penyaji kopi itu telah berdiri di dekatnya, menyodorkan secangkir kopi yang sedikit bergetar ketika diletakkan di meja. Dia tahu anak muda itu gugup, tetapi berusaha mengendalikan perasaannya.

“Ini kopi terbaik yang kusajikan untukmu yang di dalamnya tersimpan rahasia, yang hanya bisa kau ketahui setelah kau meminumnya.” Anak muda itu menatapnya. “Tapi aku tak yakin, apakah kamu berani meminumnya habis.”

Di luar, jalanan ramai lalu lalang kendaraan. Klakson angkot, knalpot sepeda motor meraung kencang. Lagu dangdut terdengar dari kedai kopi seberang jalan. Tapi dia merasakan suasana begitu sunyi di kedai ini. Semua orang dalam kedai terdiam dan memandang ke arahnya, seolah berharap terjadi perkelahian seru.

“Duduklah,” akhirnya dia berkata. “Seperti yang selalu dikatakan orang-orang di kota ini, mari kita selesaikan semuanya dengan secangkir kopi.

Terdengar kursi kayu digeser, dan anak muda itu duduk. “Seperti ketika kamu menghabisi ayah aku!”

Lagu dangdut masih terdengar dari kedai seberang: Tuduhlah aku, sepuas hatiiimuuuu, atau bila kau perlu bunuhlah akuuuu…

“Kau pasti membenciku.” Dia mengisap rokok dalam-dalam.

“Untuk apa membenci seorang pengecut. Pengecut lebih pantas dikasihani.”

“Kalau kukatakan aku bukan pembunuh ayahmu, pasti kau tak percaya. Tapi baiklah, bila aku memang kau anggap pembunuh ayahmu, kau pasti tahu kenapa ayahmu harus dibunuh.”

“Selalu tersedia cukup banyak alasan untuk menjadi pembunuh. Hanya pengecut yang membunuh dengan cara-cara licik.”

“Jangan terlalu percaya pada apa yang diberitakan koran-koran. Asal kau tahu, aku mengagumi ayahmu. Kematian ayahmu bukan tanggung jawabku. Itu tanggung jawab negara.”

“Yang pertama-tama dilakukan para pengecut memang selalu mencari pembenaran. Itu sebabnya para pengecut selalu selamat.”

Dia kembali menyalakan sebatang rokok. Padahal rokok di asbak masih panjang. Dia ingin meminum kopi di cangkir itu pelan, tapi seperti ada yang menahannya, naluri yang mengharuskannya bersikap hati-hati dalam keadaan seperti ini. Jari-jarinya berkedut, hal yang selalu terjadi bila dia merasa cemas, hingga rokok di jarinya nyaris lepas. “Aku telah menghabiskan sepuluh tahun dalam penjara untuk sesuatu yang dituduhkan padaku yang sebenarnya tak pernah kulakukan.”

“Pengecut tak akan pernah berani mengakui kejahatan yang dilakukan!”

“Aku sendiri hanya orang yang dikorbankan untuk menutupi kesalahan orang lain. Salah alamat bila kau mendendam kepadaku.”

“Ini bukan soal dendam. Ini soal keadilan,” tatapan anak muda itu makin tajam. “Kamu memang sudah dihukum. Dan aku yakin, sepanjang hidupmu, kamu akan terus dihukum oleh kepengecutan dan ketakutanmu. Tapi itu bukan alasan bagiku untuk berhenti menuntut keadilan.”

“Apa yang kamu tuntut dari keadilan? Keadilan tak pernah membuat yang mati hidup kembali.”

“Yang mati memang tak akan pernah hidup kembali…”

“Kecuali Tuhan,” dia menimpali ucapan anak muda itu, mencoba berkelakar mencairkan suasana tegang.

“Keadilan bukan perkara orang per orang. Ini bukan persoalan antara aku dan kamu. Juga bukan persoalan kamu dan ayahku. Jika kamu menganggap ini hanya persoalan pribadi, semestinya kamu menantang ayahku untuk berkelahi satu lawan satu, sampai salah satu di antara kalian mati. Itu jauh lebih jantan dan terhormat. Tapi aku tahu, pengecut semacammu tak akan pernah berani bersikap jantan seperti itu. Menyedihkan memang, pengecut selalu selamat oleh kepengecutannya.”

“Aku bukan pengecut!” Suaranya terdengar mengambang di udara.

“Kalau begitu, minum kopi itu, dan kita tunggu apa yang terjadi.”

Ketika dia hanya terdiam gamang memandangi cangkir kopi, anak muda itu tertawa masam. “Apa kamu pikir dengan berani datang ke kedai ayahku ini kamu sudah membuktikan keberanianmu? Tidak! Aku yakin kamu datang kemari bukan untuk meminta maaf. Kamu datang kemari justru karena ingin membuktikan bahwa kamu tidak bersalah telah membunuh ayahku. Kamu merasa, dengan dipenjara sepuluh tahun, sudah cukup untuk menganggap selesai persoalan.

Bagiku, tak ada kata lupa untuk kejahatan. Pembunuh selalu bersikeras melupakan korbannya. Bahkan, aku yakin, kamu sudah lupa seperti apa ayahku.”

Dia diam-diam melirik pada pengumuman di tembok kayu itu; wajah lelaki berkumis tebal itu tak akan pernah mungkin dilupakannya. Wajah itu selalu muncul dalam mimpi buruknya. Dia tak akan pernah lupa pada saat-saat dia mulai mendekati lelaki itu.

Masuklah ke dalam hati musuhmu melalui apa yang disukainya. Ketika dia selalu mengajaknya bicara tentang kopi, lelaki itu dengan cepat menyukainya. Saat menikmati kopi di sore bergerimis, dari lelaki itu dia tahu rahasia menyajikan kopi. Sentuhan tangan penyaji kopilah yang membedakan rasa kopi. Biji kopi terbaik tetap saja tak akan enak bila tangan penyaji kopi itu tak mengenali jiwa kopi. Dia pun mengerti kenapa di kedai ini tak ada mesin penggiling kopi. Lelaki itu mengolah sendiri biji-biji kopi dengan tangannya.

Sentuhlah biji-biji kopi itu dengan seluruh perasaanmu, kamu akan merasakan sesuatu yang lembut. Dan kamu akan tahu mana biji kopi terbaik yang pantas disajikan untuk pelanggan.

Sebenarnya dia tak hendak percaya. Namun pada kenyataannya kopi di kedai kopi ini memang terasa paling nikmat di lidahnya. Dia sudah sering menikmati kopi di banyak kedai kopi, tetapi tak ada yang bisa membuatnya merasa begitu nikmat senikmat setiap kali dia menikmati kopi di kedai ini. Seakan dalam secangkir kopi itu ada kebahagiaan yang dikekalkan. Bahkan ketika dalam penjara, diam-diam dia sering minta tolong pada sipir untuk membelikan kopi dari kedai ini. Dengan sogokan tentu saja.

“Tak pernah ada sebelumnya yang membiarkan kopi di kedai ini menjadi dingin tanpa menyentuhnya,” suara anak muda itu membuyarkan ingatannya. “Itu sudah cukup membuktikan bahwa kamu bukan saja pengecut karena tidak berani meminum kopi yang aku sajikan, tetapi juga meyakinkanku kalau kamu memang pengecut yang dihantui ketakutanmu sendiri.”

Anak muda itu bangkit meninggalkannya sendirian.

***

Langit gelap dan kosong ketika dia keluar dari kedai itu. Tapi perasaan kosong dalam hatinya menghamparkan kehampaan melebihi luas langit yang dipandanginya. Rasanya dia merasa lebih terhormat bila anak muda itu menghajarnya hingga babak belur ketimbang membuatnya merasa terhina seperti ini.

Tak akan pernah berani lagi dia kembali ke kedai kopi itu. Kopi yang disajikan anak muda itu benar-benar telah membuatnya diluapi perasaan takut; mengingatkannya pada peristiwa saat dia menuangkan arsenik ke dalam cangkir kopi lelaki berkumis itu.

Dia melihat seorang gadis berjalan bergegas menyeberang jalan. Gadis itu memakai kaos bergambar sablon wajah lelaki berkumis itu. Kematian seorang pengecut seperti dirinya tak akan pernah mendapat kehormatan seperti kematian lelaki yang dibunuhnya.

Saat melintas di depan toko kelontong berkaca lebar dia berhenti, memandangi bayangan muram tubuhnya; kulit coklat gelapnya tersamar warna jaket yang telah pudar, mata cekung dan alis matanya yang semurung sayap burung sedikit tertutup rambut yang mulai gondrong. Bayangan di kaca itu seperti hantu masa lalu yang tak ingin dilihatnya.

Kemudian dia berjalan menuju kelokan, dan untuk terakhir kali memandang kedai kopi itu dari kejauhan, sebelum akhirnya menghilang ke dalam cahaya kota yang remang. Bila pada akhirnya dia benar-benar menghilang dari dunia ini, adakah seseorang yang masih mengingat dan mengenangnya?

***

Coffee Noir

Despite his technical background, Oni Suryaman is driven by literature. In his spare time, he writes essays, book reviews, and fiction. He also worked as a part-time translator for Indonesian publisher Kepustakaan Populer Gramedia and Kanisius Publishing House. He has recently published a picture book titled I Belog, a retelling of a famous Balinese folklore, an adaptation of which was performed at the Asian Festival of Children’s Content (AFCC) Singapore 2017.

Read some of his essays and book reviews at: http://onisur.wordpress.com and http://semuareview.wordpress.com

He can be reached at oni.suryaman@gmail.com.

 

 

Coffee Noir

 

Freedom is always worth celebrating. That’s why, after he was released from prison, he wanted to visit this coffee shop. His joy would be completed with a cup of coffee. Only in this coffee shop could he enjoy the best coffee served in the best way.

Some people insisted on preserving memories, and it was as if this coffee shop especially existed for such people. Almost nothing had changed. Only the color of the wooden chairs had grown darker and older. The only thing that wasn’t there before was a sketch of a man’s face with a thick mustache on a poster next to the window.

A line was written at the bottom of the poster, like a verse of poetry: In coffee, there is revolution; there is also everlasting love. He smiled. History has its own humor: the man who used to be considered a rebel was now hailed as a hero.

Several people had glared at him when he entered. He recognized some of them; this coffee shop had always been a hotspot for rebels. He stayed calm. Anything could happen. Someone might challenge him. The ten years he served in prison had honed his sense of awareness to perfection.

He touched the gun under his jacket, just in case. Be careful when facing hatred, he thought, as he looked at a young server who would kept staring at him.

The young server’s eyes reminded him of the man he had killed. The young server was only eleven years old when his father died. Now he looked like a young bull ready to exact revenge. The server nodded slowly when he ordered his coffee.

The hot air at noon made the coffee aroma in the shop stronger. He would never forget the soothing smell of coffee; it was as if the scent was stolen from heaven.

When he had been assigned to this town, many years ago, his commanding officer had told him not to miss this coffee shop on the list of places you must visit. It serves the best coffee, his commanding officer told him. This coffee shop is not only special, but also dangerous.

He had been sent to this town to kill a rebel deemed dangerous to the national security. At that time, demonstrations took place almost every day. This town had always been riotous with crazy ideas about independence.

The rebels, as they were labelled by the national army, didn’t just roam the jungle, but also infiltrated towns, attacked military posts, and ambushed military patrols.

The national army conducted a sweep. Dozens of people were captured, abducted, and never returned. The people of the town would never forget the day the army beat up eight young men in an intersection downtown. The youths were dragged, lined up, and then shot in the head. Such atrocity was sometimes used to create fear. But who can kill ideas? One can shoot a head and explode the brain, but ideas stay alive inside the heads of many people. This atrocious was vehemently protested and triggered more retaliations.

Amnesty International pressured the central government to cease the brutality. When military operations were considered powerless, he was assigned to the town.

As a trained spy, he knew right away that this coffee shop was not just a place for the town’s people to gather and drink coffee. There were coffee shops on almost every street in this town. It seemed no one in this town didn’t enjoy coffee. At the coffee shop, time almost stood still. People could sit there all day long to gossip, tell secrets, plot for resistance, or just be alone. It was also a good place to settle disputes. Any dispute could be settled over a cup of coffee. Any information about this town could be easily obtained in the coffee shop.

And from the information he had collected, he identified the man he had been sent to kill. This man, considered the most dangerous rebel, turned out to be neither a big man nor someone who roved in the jungle leading guerillas; that’s why the national army never succeeded in capturing him. The man he was looking for was a man of small stature, almost skinny, with dark skin and slightly wavy hair. The man looked tough, but always spoke in a polite tone. This rebel, who continuously incited young men to join the resistance and demand independence, was just a server in a coffee shop.

***

The young man serving his coffee now stood next to him; the cup shook a little when he put it on the table.

He could tell that the young man was nervous but was trying to control his emotions.

“In this cup of the best coffee I can serve you lies a secret, which you can only find after you drink it.” The young server said, staring at him. “But I am not sure if you dare to empty your cup.”

Outside, the road was crowded with traffic. The air was filled with horns honking from mini-buses and exhaust pipes rumbling from motorcycles. A dangdut song blared from the coffee shop across the street. But he felt the silence that reigned in this coffee shop. Everyone was quiet and had their eyes fixed on him, as if expecting a fight would break out.

“Sit down,” he finally said to the young server. “As the people in this town would say, let’s settle everything with a cup of coffee.”

The wooden chair scraped as the young man dragged it from the table and sat down. The young man said, “Just like when you murdered my father!”

The dangdut song still blared from across the street. “Accuse me to your heart’s content, and if you feel it necessary, just kill me …” “You must hate me.” He sucked hard on his cigarette.

“Why should I hate a coward? You should be pitied.”

“If I told you that I didn’t kill your father, you would not believe me. But that’s fine. Let’s say you believe that I am indeed your father’s killer; if so, then you must know why he had to die.”

“There are always excuses to be a murderer. Only a coward kills using devious ways.”

“You cannot trust what is written in the newspapers. You have to know that I admired your father. I am not responsible for his death; this country is.”

“The first thing a coward always does is to find justification. That’s why a coward always survives.”

He lit another cigarette, even though the cigarette he left in the ashtray was still long. He wanted to sip his coffee, but something was keeping him from doing it; his instinct forced him to be careful in this kind of situation. His fingers twitched, something that always happened when he was nervous, and he almost dropped his cigarette. “I have served ten years in prison for something that I didn’t do.”

“A coward would never dare admit the crime he committed!”

“I’m just the fall guy for someone else’s crime. You picked the wrong guy if you hold a grudge against me.”

“This is not about a grudge. This is about justice.” The young man’s stare became more intense. “You served your time, indeed. I’m sure that for your entire life, you are going to be punished for your cowardice and fear. But that is not a reason for me to stop pursuing justice.”

“What do you want to pursue justice for? Justice could never raise someone from the dead. The dead can never be raised again …”

“Except by God,” the young man interrupted, trying to lighten the conversation with a joke. “Justice is not catered to one’s individual business. This is not about you and me. This is not even about you and my father. If you think this is personal, you should have challenged my father to a one-on-one duel to the death. That would be braver and more honorable. But I know, a coward like you would never act bravely like that. Sadly, indeed, a coward is always saved by his cowardice.”

“I am not a coward!” His voice hung in the air.

“Drink the coffee then,” said the server, “and let’s see what happens.”

When he looked at the cup of coffee in silence, the young server laughed wryly. “You think that you come here to my father’s coffee shop to prove your courage? No! I’m sure that you did not come here to apologize. You came here precisely because you want to prove that you’re innocent of killing my father. You think that your ten-year prison sentence is enough to close the matter. For me, a crime should never be forgotten. A murderer will always insist that he has forgotten his victim. I’m sure that you have forgotten what my father looks like.”

He stole a covert glance at the poster on the wooden wall; he would never be able to forget the face of the man with a thick mustache. That face always showed up in his nightmares. He would never forget the moment he approached that man.

Gain your enemy’s trust by knowing what he likes. When he started his conversations with the mustached man about coffee, the man liked him immediately. While enjoying the coffee during that rainy afternoon, he learned the secret of coffee-making from that man. “It is the hand that makes the coffee that makes the difference,” he was told. “Even the best coffee beans would taste bad if the coffeemaker is not in touch with the soul of the coffee.”

He suddenly understood why there was no coffee grinder in this shop. The man always crushed the coffee beans with his hands.

“Touch the beans with all of your soul, and you will feel something tender inside. You will know which beans are the best, worthy of being served to the customers.”

He wasn’t sure he believed that, but it was a fact that the coffee from this coffee shop was indeed the best according to his palate. He had enjoyed coffee in many coffee shops, but none tasted as good as the coffee in this shop. It was as if eternal bliss was captured in every cup of coffee. Even when he was in prison, he secretly asked the warden to get him coffee from this shop. For a price, of course.

“In this shop, no one ever dares to let the coffee get cold without touching it.” The young server’s voice interrupted his reminiscence. “This is enough to prove that you’re not just a coward who doesn’t dare to drink my coffee, but that you’re indeed a coward who is haunted by his own fear.”

The young server rose and left him by himself.

***

The sky was dark and empty when he came out of the coffee shop. But the emptiness in his heart was hollower than that of the sky above him. It would have been more respectful if the young man had beaten him to a pulp than made him feel insulted like this.

He would never dare to return to that coffee shop. The coffee served by the young man overwhelmed him with fear, reminding him when he had put arsenic in the cup of the man with the thick mustache.

He saw a girl hurriedly cross the street. She wore a T-shirt with the face of the man with a thick mustache. The death of a coward like him would never earn an honor like the death of the man he killed.

When he passed a general store with a wide glass window, he stopped. He looked at the somber shadow of his body, his dark-brown skin concealed by his faded jacket. His sunken eyes below arched eyebrows, partly covered by hair that had started to grow long. The reflection in the glass window was like a ghost from the past he didn’t want to see.

He walked toward the intersection and turned, looking back at the coffee shop for the last time, before disappearing in the dim light of the town. When, in the end, he really disappeared from this world, would anyone out there still remember him?

***