English Version of the Short Story
DEW AND MOSS
Short Story by Leni Marlina
—
The wall clock in Mardan’s house, close to the mining site, struck six times. Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Outside Mardan’s house that morning, before the first engine noise began creeping up from the foot of the hill, Dew was still whole at the tip of a taro leaf. Her body was round and translucent, trembling whenever the wind touched the leaf’s slick surface. She did not know the name of morning. She knew only the changes in temperature: the cold beginning to retreat, the air thinning of its moisture, the light slowly making her body lose its weight. During the night, she had formed from vapor clinging to the surface of the leaf when the earth cooled faster than the air. She had been born without a cry and would disappear without a grave.
Baca juga: YON BAYU: “AIR MATA AIR”, LUKA PERJUANGAN YANG TERUS BERULANG
Beneath that leaf, a few handspans from the taro roots, Moss clung to an old stone, half its body buried in the soil. Its color was deep green, almost black in the places where shade remained. It stored water between the fine fibers of its body. When the morning was sufficiently wet, it swelled a little. When the sun stayed too long, it shrank and hardened, like something holding back its hunger. Moss could not leave. The stone that served as its foothold was also the boundary of its body.
Dew knew Moss through reflected light. Every morning, when the sun was not yet high enough to burn her body away, she saw that green color glimmering among the shadows of the leaves.
“Still there?”
Moss did not answer with a voice. It sent out the faint scent of wet earth. Dew caught it across her surface.
“I’m going to fall,” said Dew.
“You always fall.”
“I can leave.”
Moss remained silent for a little longer. In the distance, an engine started. Its sound came from behind the hill, heavy and low, then broke into vibrations that traveled through the earth. Moss felt them first. The stone beneath its body gave a small pulse. Dust sifted down from the cracks in its surface.
Dew looked toward the sound. From where she hung, she could not see the entire hill. She saw only a portion of the paling sky and the tips of trees moving like little hands.
“Why are they splitting the hill?”
Moss answered, “They found something inside it.”
“The hill?”
“Water.”
Dew grew colder.
“Isn’t water already the hill’s own?”
Moss did not answer. The machine sounded again. This time, it was closer.
At 7:00 a.m., Mardan switched off the truck engine at the edge of the dirt road. He climbed down, wiping the back of his neck with a towel already stiff with dust. The soles of his shoes pressed into old mud dried like cracked skin. On the dashboard, a photograph of his son, Raja, was tucked beneath the windshield: the boy stood in his school uniform, clutching a blue plastic bottle covered in scratches. Beneath the photograph lay a small sheet of paper folded into quarters: rice, cooking oil, medicine, books, zinc sheets.
Mardan stared at the list for a moment, then folded it again. He slipped a cigarette into his pocket without lighting it. The foreman called from the truck bed.
“Section Three.”
Mardan turned.
“The water’s coming out again?”
“It’s bigger now.”
The foreman gave a small smile. He did not look pleased. He looked like a man who had just received a favorable number over the telephone. Beside him stood a man in a spotless vest, polished shoes, and a transparent plastic folder. The man unfolded a map. A blue line had been drawn around the hill. The line cut across a small river that villagers had used for water since long before anyone could remember.
“There’s been an adjustment,” he said. Mardan looked at the paper.
“An adjustment to what?”
“The contour.”
The man pointed to another line.
“This is the newly discovered water source.”
“Newly discovered?”
“According to the records.”
Mardan looked at the hill. He knew that water had been there long before someone placed a blue line upon a sheet of paper.
“If the source emerges here, do the trucks still go in?”
“They need to move faster.”
“The ground is soft.”
“It has already been accounted for.”
The man tapped the folder twice with two fingers.
“Everything has a number.”
Mardan did not argue. He took the truck keys. Before climbing in, he noticed a newly erected sign beside the entrance road. Its paint still gleamed: “RESOURCES FOR THE FUTURE.” The lower half of the sign was buried in mud.
Mardan climbed into the cab. The engine came alive. The truck wheels turned. Beneath them, the earth received the weight little by little.
At 7:30 a.m., the sun had risen high enough to thin Dew’s body. She felt the edges of herself trembling. The surface of the taro leaf warmed from beneath. Soon she would lose her shape.
“I’m thirsty,” said Moss.
Dew laughed softly.
“You’re always thirsty.”
“I’m always losing water.”
Dew looked at the green body clinging to the stone.
“Then why don’t you come with me?”
Moss had no feet. It had fine roots slipping into the surface of the stone, holding itself to cracks no wider than a hair.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“The difference is small to one who has never moved.”
Dew gathered the light inside her body.
“I envy you.”
Moss seemed to contract.
“What for?”
“You never fall.”
“I fall every day.”
Dew fell silent.
Moss continued, “Only, I fall in the same place.”
The wind passed. Dew’s body shifted slightly. Beneath them, the pumps began to work. Their vibration made Moss’s stone pulse. Water seeping through the earth changed direction. Several ants emerged from a crack in the stone, carrying tiny white eggs toward higher ground. Dew watched them.
“The earth is moving.”
Moss answered softly, “I know.”
“Afraid?”
“Stone does not fear.”
“But you?”
Moss did not answer.
At 8:00 a.m., Raja appeared at the end of the road with his blue bottle in his hand. He had run too fast and stopped to catch his breath. He had not yet changed out of his school uniform. One of his socks had slipped down.
“Father!”
Mardan stepped out of the cab.
“What are you doing here?”
“Mother told me to bring you your food.”
Raja held up the packet of rice.
Mardan took it.
“Don’t come here so often.”
“Why?”
“There are too many vehicles.”
Raja looked toward the hill. Dust floated among the trees.
“Do you work here, Father?”
“Yes.”
“Does the water work too?”
Mardan smiled for a moment.
“How could water work?”
Raja pointed toward the large hose carrying water from the excavation pit into a tank.
“What’s that?”
“Water.”
“Where are they taking it?”
Mardan did not answer at once. Raja opened his blue bottle.
“There’s hardly any water left at home.”
Mardan stared at the bottle. Small tooth marks showed around its cap.
“Just take it home. Don’t drink the water here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Raja pressed the bottle to his nose.
“It smells like iron.”
Mardan took the bottle, opened it, and smelled it. There was, indeed, a metallic odor.
“Enough. Go home.”
Raja did not move.
“If the water runs out, where will you get it?”
Mardan looked toward the hill.
“There’s still plenty.”
Raja pointed at the sign.
“Why does it say ‘the future’?”
Mardan followed the direction of his finger.
“Who told you that?”
“That.”
Raja spelled it out slowly.
“Fu-ture.”
Mardan took the packet of rice and put it inside the cab.
“Go home.”
Raja left. The blue bottle swung from his hand. Behind him, the pump continued to suck.
At 10:00 a.m., Dew had almost lost her shape. Her body was now only a thin film spreading across the leaf. Light passed through her. She could see the veins of the leaf from within her own body.
“I’m going to leave,” she said.
Moss released a breath of dampness.
“Don’t.”
Dew stopped.
“Why?”
“I need you.”
The sentence made Dew silent longer than usual. She knew Moss needed water. She knew that the green body could not endure long without moisture.
“But you don’t need me.”
“I need the water you carry.”
Dew shifted slightly.
“So you don’t need me.”
Moss hardened.
“I don’t know how to tell the difference.”
Dew fell from the leaf. Her body struck the earth beside the roots. Some of her seeped into the dust. Some clung to a grain of sand. The rest evaporated almost immediately.
Moss waited. Nothing returned. For a while, there was only the sound of the pump. Then the earth beneath the stone moved very slowly.
Moss felt something older than itself creeping beneath the surface: water. Not water that falls. Water searching for a way.
At 11:00 a.m., Mardan saw the crack. It was about two meters long, splitting the earth along the truck route.
He called the foreman.
“This needs to be closed.”
The foreman glanced at it.
“Just drive over it.”
“The crack is getting longer.”
“We’ll level it after the last load.”
Mardan crouched. He pushed the tip of his finger into the crack. The earth was cold.
There was water beneath it.
“What if it rains?”
The foreman looked at the sky.
“It won’t.”
“What if it does?”
“The forecast says clear.”
Mardan stood. On the dashboard, Raja’s photograph shifted slightly as wind entered through the window. The foreman handed him the work sheet.
“Last load before the break.”
Mardan looked at the columns of figures: volume, weight, time, fuel. There was no column for cracks. He signed. The truck moved. The rear wheels rolled over earth that was beginning to lose its shape. Beneath the surface, water searched for another opening.
At 12:00 noon, rain fell without warning. The day had begun clear, but suddenly the rain arrived. It was not heavy at first, only small drops striking the windshield like fingernails. Mardan watched the wipers move from left to right. The foreman called.
“Stop at the post.”
Mardan pressed the brake. The truck stopped. The rain grew heavier. Through the side window, he saw the slope. Water ran over the freshly cut earth. Mud began sliding down in thin sheets.
His phone vibrated. A message from home.
Raja had a fever.
Mardan read it once.
Then again.
He took the keys. The foreman stopped him.
“This load has to be moved first.”
“My son is sick.”
“Ten minutes.”
Mardan stared at the rain. Ten minutes. He knew that number. Ten minutes meant money. Money meant rice. Rice meant the house would still have something to eat that night. He sat back down. The truck moved.
At 2:00 p.m., the hill released a sound that did not sound like sound. Moss felt it through the stone. At first, a small pressure. Then cracks appeared everywhere.
Then something long broke deep beneath the earth. Moss’s body lifted slightly. It lost some of the fibers attached to the stone. Above it, tree roots emerged from the soil. The ants had disappeared. The birds no longer came down. The water turned muddy. The pump stopped.
The Dew that had fallen that morning had already traveled farther, entering the pores of the earth, passing through roots, sand, stone, and layers of darkness that had never seen sunlight. Moss did not know where Dew had gone. It knew only that its body was now wet.
At 3:00 p.m., the earth gave way. Mardan heard the first sound from behind the truck. It was not an explosion. It was more like a gigantic cupboard being dragged across a floor. He turned. The slope was coming down.
“Raja!”
He did not know why that was the name that escaped him. He slammed the door and ran. At the end of the route, Raja stood beside the earthen barrier, clutching his blue bottle. Somehow, the boy had found his way there.
“Father!”
Mardan ran. The earth shifted beneath his feet. Raja fell. Mardan caught him. Something struck his back. They rolled. The blue bottle slipped from Raja’s hand. The water inside spilled into the mud. Raja crawled toward it.
“Don’t!”
Mardan pulled the boy back. Behind them, the truck tilted and was dragged downward with the earth. The photograph of Raja, tucked beneath the windshield, came loose. The grocery list flew out: rice, oil, medicine, books, zinc sheets. One by one, the words disappeared into the mud.
At 5:00 p.m., the rain stopped. People arrived carrying helmets, cameras, cardboard boxes, and sheets of forms. Someone photographed the fallen sign. Someone photographed the truck. Someone photographed Mardan sitting with mud on his knees. A man handed him a cardboard box.
“Drinking water.”
Mardan took a bottle.
Its label was clean: “NATURAL SPRING WATER.” He looked toward the hill.
“Where did it come from?”
“From a source that has already been processed.”
“Which one?”
The man pointed to the form.
“Everything complies with the standards.”
Mardan looked at the bottle in his hand. The water was clear. Outside, the river was brown. A woman with a camera approached Raja.
“Are you happy to get some water?”
Raja did not answer. He held his dirty blue bottle. The woman smiled.
“Why don’t we replace that bottle?”
Raja hugged it.
“This one is mine.”
“The new one is better.”
Raja shook his head. Mardan watched his son. He did not tell Raja to accept it. An officer asked Mardan to fill out a form: name, age, occupation, status, material losses. Mardan read the final column.
“Water?”
The officer raised his head.
“There isn’t one.”
“Land?”
“Not that either.”
“House?”
“There is.”
“So what about the water that’s gone?”
The officer checked the sheet.
“It doesn’t fall under that category.”
Mardan handed the form back.
“So whatever is lost has to have a box first?”
The officer fell silent.
Then he said, “We only follow the format.”
Mardan looked at the top of the form. There was a number, a date, and a circular stamp: round, neat, like a hole.
At 6:00 p.m., Raja sat beneath the leaking roof of the house. His fever had begun to fall. He placed the blue bottle on the floor.
Rainwater dripped from the edge of the zinc roof. Raja moved the bottle beneath it. Mardan stood in the doorway. His work trousers were still muddy to the thighs. There was a small wound in the palm of his hand.
“Come inside,” he said.
Raja did not move.
“It’s cold.”
“Father.”
“Yes?”
“Can rainwater be drunk?”
Mardan looked at the bottle.
“Not straight away.”
“Why?”
Mardan was about to answer, but the sentence stopped inside him. Outside, the earth was still dripping brown water.
“Tomorrow we’ll find some other water,” he said.
Raja looked at him.
“Tomorrow?”
Mardan nodded. Raja moved the bottle beneath the drip again.
Tick.
At 10:00 p.m., night covered the hill. Moss still clung to the stone, now tilted beneath the altered earth. Part of its body was buried. Rainwater seeped from above, passing through Moss and entering the cracks in the stone.
It no longer waited for Dew to return. It felt water in another form. Water entering the earth. Water carrying the taste of mud. Water passing through roots. Water stored inside stone. Water that might one day emerge somewhere it had never known.
At Mardan’s house, Raja’s blue bottle was one-quarter full. Mardan sat on the floor, cleaning mud from beneath his fingernails with the tip of a small knife. The mud remained lodged in the fine lines of his nails. Beside him, Raja’s schoolbook lay open. On one of its pages, the boy had drawn a hill, a river, and a truck. There was a blue bottle. Beneath the drawing, written in pencil, was the word: “WATER.”
Mardan picked up the pencil. He added one word beneath it: “FATHER“. He looked at it, then erased the final two letters. The graphite trace remained. He closed the book.
At 11:00 p.m., there were no machines on the hill, no pumps, no wheels—only water moving beneath the earth. Among the wet stones, Moss slowly expanded. In the house, Raja’s blue bottle stood beneath the dripping roof. Outside the bottle, the night air cooled. Its surface began to mist over. A single bead of water formed on the scratched plastic. Beneath the earth, the water continued moving. And above the hill, half of whose body had lost its name, something transparent held itself back from falling.
—
Padang, West Sumatra, 2025
About the Author – Leni Marlina
Leni Marlina is an Indonesian poet, writer, translator, and lecturer at English Department, Faculty of Languages and Arts, Universitas Negeri Padang, Indonesia, where she has taught since 2006. Her creative and scholarly work encompasses poetry, fiction, essays, literary criticism, reviews, translation, and literacy studies. Beyond academia, she is actively engaged in literary journalism and literacy advocacy. She serves as a writer, contributor, editor, and editorial board member of Suara Anak Negeri – SAN Digital Media Group, including Suara Anak Negeri News, Suara Anak Negeri, and Negeri News, contributing literary works, essays, articles, and reports on education, literature, culture, and humanitarian issues.
Marlina is the founder and chairperson of several literary and literacy communities, including PPIPM-Indonesia, Poetry Pen International Community (PPIC), Littalk-C Literary Talk Community, Translation Practice Community (Trans-PC), and World Children’s Literature Community (WCLC). She is also an active member of SatuPena West Sumatra and PLS. Her international literary engagement includes affiliation with the Victorian Writers Centre, Australia, since 2012, and membership in the Shanghai Huifeng International Literary Association (ACC SHILA) since 2024. Through her academic, creative, and community work, she promotes literature and literacy as spaces for human connection, cultural dialogue, and social transformation.
——-
Indonesian Version of the Short Story
EMBUN DAN LUMUT
Cerpen: Leni Marlina
–
Jam dinding di rumah Mardan yang berdekatan dengan lahan tambang berdentang enam kali. Teng! Teng! Teng !Teng! Teng! Teng! Di luar rumah Mardan, pagi itu, sebelum suara mesin pertama merayap dari kaki bukit, Embun masih utuh di ujung daun talas. Tubuhnya bulat, bening, menggigil setiap kali angin menyentuh permukaan daun yang licin. Ia tidak tahu nama pagi. Ia hanya mengenal perubahan suhu: dingin yang mulai mundur, udara yang menipis kelembapannya, cahaya yang perlahan membuat tubuhnya kehilangan berat. Semalam ia terbentuk dari uap yang melekat pada permukaan daun ketika panas tanah turun lebih cepat daripada udara. Ia lahir tanpa tangisan dan akan hilang tanpa kuburan.
Di bawah daun itu, beberapa jengkal dari akar talas, Lumut menempel pada batu tua yang separuh tubuhnya tertanam di tanah. Warnanya hijau tua, hampir hitam di bagian yang selalu teduh. Ia menyimpan air di antara serat-serat halus tubuhnya. Bila pagi cukup basah, ia mengembang sedikit. Bila matahari terlalu lama tinggal, ia mengerut dan mengeras, seperti sesuatu yang sedang menahan lapar. Lumut tidak dapat pergi. Batu yang menjadi tempatnya berpijak juga menjadi batas bagi tubuhnya.
Embun mengenal Lumut dari pantulan cahaya. Setiap pagi, ketika matahari belum cukup tinggi untuk membakar tubuhnya, ia melihat warna hijau itu berkilau di antara bayang-bayang daun.
“Masih di sana?”
Lumut tidak menjawab dengan suara. Ia mengirimkan bau tanah basah yang tipis. Embun menangkapnya melalui permukaannya.
“Aku akan jatuh,” kata Embun.
“Kau selalu jatuh.”
“Aku bisa pergi.”
Lumut diam lebih lama. Di kejauhan, sebuah mesin menyala. Suaranya datang dari balik bukit, berat dan rendah, lalu pecah menjadi getaran yang merambat melalui tanah. Lumut merasakannya lebih dahulu. Batu di bawah tubuhnya berdenyut kecil. Debu turun dari celah-celah permukaan.
Embun melihat ke arah suara itu. Dari tempatnya bergantung, ia tidak dapat melihat seluruh bukit. Ia hanya melihat sebagian langit yang mulai memucat dan ujung pohon yang bergerak seperti tangan-tangan kecil.
“Mengapa mereka membelah bukit?”
Lumut menjawab, “Mereka menemukan sesuatu di dalamnya.”
“Bukit?”
“Air.”
Embun menjadi lebih dingin.
“Bukankah air memang milik bukit?”
Lumut tidak menjawab. Mesin terdengar lagi. Kali ini lebih dekat.
Pukul 07.00, Mardan mematikan mesin truk di tepi jalan tanah. Ia turun sambil mengusap tengkuk dengan handuk yang sudah kaku oleh debu. Sol sepatunya menekan lumpur lama yang mengering seperti kulit pecah. Di dashboard, foto anaknya, Raja, terselip di bawah kaca: anak itu berdiri dengan seragam sekolah, menggenggam botol plastik biru yang penuh goresan. Di bawah foto itu ada secarik kertas yang dilipat empat: beras, minyak, obat, buku, seng.
Mardan menatap daftar itu sebentar, lalu melipatnya kembali. Ia memasukkan rokok ke saku tanpa menyalakannya. Mandor memanggil dari bak alat.
“Jalur tiga.”
Mardan menoleh.
“Airnya keluar lagi?”
“Sudah lebih besar.”
Mandor tersenyum kecil. Ia tidak tampak senang. Ia tampak seperti orang yang baru menerima angka bagus melalui telepon. Di sampingnya berdiri seorang lelaki dengan rompi bersih, sepatu mengilap, dan map plastik transparan. Lelaki itu membuka selembar peta. Ada garis biru yang ditarik mengitari bukit. Garis itu memotong sungai kecil yang sejak dulu dipakai warga untuk mengambil air.
“Sudah ada penyesuaian,” katanya. Mardan melihat kertas itu.
“Penyesuaian apa?”
“Kontur.”
Lelaki itu menunjuk garis lain.
“Ini sumber air yang baru ditemukan.”
“Baru ditemukan?”
“Secara pencatatan.”
Mardan menatap bukit. Ia tahu air itu sudah ada jauh sebelum seseorang menaruh garis biru di atas kertas.
“Kalau sumbernya keluar di sini, truk tetap masuk?”
“Justru harus dipercepat.”
“Tanahnya lunak.”
“Sudah diperhitungkan.”
Lelaki itu menepuk map dengan dua jari.
“Semua ada angkanya.”
Mardan tidak membantah. Ia mengambil kunci truk. Sebelum naik, ia melihat sebuah papan yang baru dipasang di dekat jalan masuk. Catnya masih mengilap: “SUMBER DAYA UNTUK MASA DEPAN” Bagian bawah papan tertutup lumpur sampai separuh.
Mardan menaiki kabin. Mesin menyala. Roda truk berputar. Di bawahnya, tanah menerima beban itu sedikit demi sedikit.
Pukul 07.30, matahari telah naik cukup tinggi untuk membuat tubuh Embun menipis. Ia merasakan pinggir tubuhnya bergetar. Permukaan daun talas menghangat dari bawah. Tidak lama lagi ia akan kehilangan bentuk.
“Aku haus,” kata Lumut.
Embun tertawa kecil.
“Kau selalu haus.”
“Aku selalu kehilangan air.”
Embun memandang tubuh hijau yang menempel pada batu.
“Kalau begitu, mengapa kau tidak ikut pergi denganku?”
Lumut tidak memiliki kaki. Ia memiliki akar-akar halus yang menyusup ke permukaan batu, menahan dirinya pada retakan-retakan yang tidak lebih lebar dari rambut.
“Aku tidak bisa.”
“Tidak bisa atau tidak mau?”
“Bedanya kecil bagi yang tidak pernah berpindah.”
Embun mengumpulkan cahaya di tubuhnya.
“Aku iri padamu.”
Lumut seakan mengerut.
“Pada apa?”
“Kau tidak pernah jatuh.”
“Aku jatuh setiap hari.”
Embun diam.
Lumut melanjutkan, “Hanya saja aku jatuh ke tempat yang sama.”
Angin lewat. Tubuh Embun bergeser sedikit. Di bawah mereka, pompa mulai bekerja. Getarannya membuat batu Lumut berdenyut. Air yang merembes dari tanah berubah arah. Beberapa semut keluar dari celah batu, membawa telur-telur putih kecil ke tempat yang lebih tinggi. Embun memperhatikan.
“Tanah sedang bergerak.”
Lumut menjawab pelan, “Aku tahu.”
“Takut?”
“Batu tidak takut.”
“Tapi kau?”
Lumut tidak menjawab.
Pukul 08.00, Raja muncul di ujung jalan dengan botol biru di tangan. Ia berlari terlalu cepat, lalu berhenti untuk mengatur napas. Seragam sekolahnya belum diganti. Kaus kaki sebelah kirinya turun.
“Ayah!”
Mardan keluar dari kabin.
“Kenapa kau ke sini?”
“Ibu suruh kasih makan.”
Raja mengangkat bungkusan nasi.
Mardan menerima.
“Jangan sering datang.”
“Kenapa?”
“Banyak kendaraan.”
Raja melihat ke bukit. Debu melayang di antara pohon.
“Ayah kerja di sini?”
“Ya.”
“Airnya juga kerja?”
Mardan tersenyum sebentar.
“Air mana bisa kerja.”
Raja menunjuk selang besar yang mengalirkan air dari lubang tanah ke tangki.
“Itu apa?”
“Air.”
“Diambil ke mana?”
Mardan tidak segera menjawab. Raja membuka botol birunya.
“Air di rumah tinggal sedikit.”
Mardan menatap botol itu. Ada bekas gigitan kecil di tutupnya.
“Bawa pulang saja. Jangan diminum di sini.”
“Kenapa?”
“Entahlah.”
Raja menempelkan botol ke hidung.
“Bau besi.”
Mardan mengambil botol itu, membukanya, mencium. Memang ada bau logam.
“Sudah, pulang.”
Raja belum bergerak.
“Kalau airnya habis, Ayah ambil dari mana?”
Mardan melihat ke arah bukit.
“Masih banyak.”
Raja menunjuk papan.
“Kenapa ditulis masa depan?”
Mardan mengikuti arah jarinya.
“Siapa yang bilang?”
“Itu.”
Raja mengeja perlahan.
“Ma-sa de-pan.”
Mardan mengambil bungkus nasi dan memasukkannya ke kabin.
“Pulang.”
Raja pergi. Botol biru itu bergoyang di tangannya. Di belakangnya, pompa terus menyedot.
Pukul 10.00, Embun sudah hampir tidak berbentuk. Tubuhnya tinggal lapisan tipis yang melebar di atas daun. Cahaya menembusnya. Ia dapat melihat urat daun dari dalam tubuhnya sendiri.
“Aku akan pergi,” katanya.
Lumut mengirimkan hawa lembap.
“Jangan.”
Embun berhenti.
“Kenapa?”
“Aku membutuhkanmu.”
Kalimat itu membuat Embun diam lebih lama daripada biasanya. Ia tahu Lumut membutuhkan air. Ia tahu tubuh hijau itu tidak dapat bertahan lama tanpa kelembapan.
“Tapi kau tidak membutuhkan aku.”
“Aku membutuhkan air yang kau bawa.”
Embun bergerak sedikit.
“Jadi kau tidak membutuhkan aku.”
Lumut mengeras.
“Aku tidak tahu bagaimana membedakannya.”
Embun jatuh dari daun. Tubuhnya menimpa tanah di dekat akar. Sebagian meresap ke dalam debu. Sebagian menempel pada sebutir pasir. Sebagian lagi segera menguap.
Lumut menunggu. Tidak ada yang kembali. Untuk beberapa saat, hanya suara pompa. Kemudian tanah di bawah batu bergerak sangat pelan.
Lumut merasakan sesuatu yang lebih tua daripada dirinya merayap di bawah permukaan: air. Bukan air yang jatuh. Air yang sedang mencari jalan.
Pukul 11.00, Mardan melihat retakan itu. Panjangnya kira-kira dua meter, membelah tanah di sisi jalur truk.
Ia memanggil mandor.
“Ini harus ditutup.”
Mandor melihat sebentar.
“Lewat saja.”
“Retaknya tambah panjang.”
“Setelah muatan terakhir kita ratakan.”
Mardan berjongkok. Ia memasukkan ujung jari ke dalam retakan. Tanahnya dingin.
Ada air di bawah.
“Kalau hujan?”
Mandor menatap langit.
“Tidak hujan.”
“Kalau hujan?”
“Ramalan bilang cerah.”
Mardan berdiri. Di dashboard, foto Raja bergerak sedikit ketika angin masuk dari jendela. Mandor menyerahkan lembar kerja.
“Muatan terakhir sebelum istirahat.”
Mardan melihat kolom-kolom angka: volume, berat, waktu, bahan bakar. Tidak ada kolom untuk retakan. Ia menandatangani. Truk bergerak. Roda belakang melindas tanah yang mulai kehilangan bentuk. Di bawah permukaan, air mencari celah lain.
Pukul 12.00, hujan turun tanpa peringatan. Awalnya hari cerah, tapi tiba-tiba datang hujan. Bukan hujan deras pada awalnya. Hanya butiran kecil yang memukul kaca depan truk seperti kuku. Mardan melihat wiper bergerak kiri-kanan. Mandor menelepon.
“Berhenti di pos.”
Mardan menginjak rem. Truk berhenti. Hujan membesar. Dari kaca samping, ia melihat lereng. Air mengalir di atas permukaan tanah yang baru dipotong. Lumpur turun tipis-tipis.
Ponselnya bergetar. Pesan dari rumah. Raja demam. Mardan membaca sekali. Lalu sekali lagi. Ia mengambil kunci. Mandor menahannya.
“Muatan ini harus dipindahkan dulu.”
“Anak saya sakit.”
“Sepuluh menit.”
Mardan menatap hujan. Sepuluh menit. Ia tahu angka itu. Sepuluh menit berarti uang. Uang berarti beras. Beras berarti rumah tetap menyala malam nanti. Ia kembali duduk. Truk bergerak.
Pukul 14.00, bukit mengeluarkan suara yang tidak terdengar seperti suara. Lumut merasakannya melalui batu. Mula-mula tekanan kecil. Lalu muncul banyak retakan.
Lalu sesuatu yang panjang patah jauh di bawah tanah. Tubuh Lumut terangkat sedikit. Ia kehilangan sebagian serat yang melekat pada batu. Di atasnya, akar pohon keluar dari tanah. Semut-semut telah menghilang. Burung-burung tidak lagi turun. Air berubah keruh. Pompa berhenti.
Embun yang pagi tadi jatuh ke tanah sudah bergerak lebih jauh, masuk melalui pori-pori tanah, melewati akar, pasir, batu, dan lapisan gelap yang tidak pernah melihat matahari. Lumut tidak tahu ke mana Embun pergi. Ia hanya tahu tubuhnya kini basah.
Pukul 15.00, tanah longsor. Mardan mendengar suara pertama dari belakang truk. Bukan ledakan. Lebih seperti lemari raksasa yang diseret di atas lantai. Ia menoleh. Lereng turun.
“Raja!”
Ia tidak tahu mengapa nama itu yang keluar. Ia membanting pintu dan berlari. Di ujung jalur, Raja berdiri di dekat pagar tanah, memegang botol birunya. Entah bagaimana anak itu sampai di sana.
“Ayah!”
Mardan berlari. Tanah bergerak di bawah kakinya. Raja jatuh. Mardan menangkap tubuhnya. Sesuatu menghantam punggungnya. Mereka terguling.cBotol biru terlepas. Air di dalamnya tumpah ke lumpur. Raja merangkak hendak mengambilnya.
“Jangan!”
Mardan menarik tubuh anak itu. Di belakang mereka, truk miring lalu terseret turun bersama tanah. Foto Raja yang terselip di dashboard terlepas dari kaca. Kertas daftar belanja terbang keluar: beras, minyak, obat, buku, seng. Satu per satu hilang di lumpur.
Pukul 17.00, hujan berhenti. Orang-orang datang membawa helm, kamera, kardus, dan lembar formulir. Seseorang memotret papan yang roboh. Seseorang memotret truk. Seseorang memotret Mardan yang duduk dengan lutut berlumpur. Seorang lelaki menyerahkan kardus.
“Air minum.”
Mardan mengambil satu botol.
Labelnya bersih: “AIR SUMBER ALAMI”. Ia melihat ke arah bukit.
“Dari mana?”
“Dari sumber yang sudah diproses.”
“Yang mana?”
Lelaki itu menunjuk formulir.
“Semua sudah sesuai standar.”
Mardan memandang botol di tangannya. Airnya bening. Di luar sana, sungai berwarna cokelat. Seorang perempuan dengan kamera mendekati Raja.
“Adik senang dapat air?”
Raja tidak menjawab. Ia memegang botol birunya yang kotor. Perempuan itu tersenyum.
“Botolnya diganti saja.”
Raja memeluk botol itu.
“Ini punya saya.”
“Yang baru lebih bagus.”
Raja menggeleng. Mardan melihat anaknya. Ia tidak menyuruh Raja menerima. Seorang petugas meminta Mardan mengisi formulir: nama, usia, pekerjaan, status, kerugian material. Mardan membaca kolom terakhir.
“Air?”
Petugas mengangkat kepala.
“Tidak ada.”
“Tanah?”
“Tidak ada juga.”
“Rumah?”
“Ada.”
4“Kalau air yang hilang?”
Petugas memeriksa lembaran.
“Tidak masuk kategori itu.”
Mardan menyerahkan kembali formulir.
“Jadi yang hilang harus punya kotak dulu?”
Petugas terdiam.
Kemudian berkata, “Kami hanya mengikuti format.”
Mardan menatap bagian atas formulir. Ada sebuah nomor, tanggal, dan cap berbentuk lingkaran: bulat, rapi seperti lubang.
Pukul 18.00, Raja duduk di bawah atap rumah yang bocor. Demamnya mulai turun. Ia menaruh botol biru di lantai.
Air hujan menetes dari ujung seng. Raja memindahkan botol. Mardan berdiri di ambang pintu. Celana kerjanya masih berlumpur sampai paha. Ada luka kecil di telapak tangannya.
“Masuk,” katanya.
Raja tidak bergerak.
“Dingin.”
“Ayah.”
“Ya?”
“Air hujan boleh diminum?”
Mardan memandang botol.
“Jangan langsung.”
“Kenapa?”
Mardan hendak menjawab, tetapi kalimat itu berhenti. Di luar, tanah masih meneteskan air cokelat.
“Besok kita cari air lain,” katanya.
Raja memandangnya.
“Besok?”
Mardan mengangguk. Raja kembali memindahkan botol. Tik.
Pukul 22.00, malam menutup bukit. Lumut masih melekat pada batu yang kini miring. Sebagian tubuhnya tertutup tanah. Air hujan merembes dari atas, melewati lumut, masuk ke celah batu.
Ia tidak lagi menunggu Embun kembali. Ia merasakan air dalam bentuk lain. Air yang masuk ke tanah. Air yang membawa rasa lumpur. Air yang melewati akar. Air yang tersimpan di batu. Air yang suatu hari mungkin akan muncul di tempat yang tidak dikenalnya.
Di rumah Mardan, botol biru Raja telah terisi seperempat. Mardan duduk di lantai, membersihkan lumpur dari kukunya dengan ujung pisau kecil. Lumpur tetap tinggal di garis-garis kuku. Di sampingnya, buku Raja terbuka. Pada salah satu halaman, anak itu menggambar bukit, sungai, truk. Ada sebuah botol biru. Di bawah gambar itu tertulis dengan pensil: “AIR’.
Mardan mengambil pensil. Ia menambahkan satu kata di bawahnya: ‘AYAH”. Ia memandangnya dan menghapus dua huruf terakhir. Bekas grafit tetap tinggal. Ia menutup buku.
Pukul 23.00, tidak ada mesin di bukit, tidak ada pompa, tidak ada suara roda, hanya air yang berjalan di bawah tanah. Di antara batu yang basah, Lumut mengembang perlahan. Di rumah, botol biru Raja berdiri di bawah tetesan atap. Di luar botol, udara malam mendingin. Permukaannya mulai berkabut. Satu titik air terbentuk pada plastik yang tergores. Di bawah tanah, air terus bergerak. Dan di atas bukit yang separuh tubuhnya telah kehilangan nama, sesuatu yang bening menahan diri dari jatuh.
–
Padang, Sumbar, 2025
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Tentang Pengarang – Leni Marlina
Leni Marlina merupakan penulis, penyair, dan akademisi asal Sumatera Barat yang menetap di Padang. Kecintaannya pada dunia literasi tumbuh sejak masa sekolah dan terus menemaninya hingga kini. Ketertarikannya pada sastra semakin berkembang ketika menempuh studi Master of Arts (Writing and Literature) di Australia. Sejak tahun 2006, ia mengajar sebagai dosen tetap di Departemen Bahasa dan Sastra Inggris, Fakultas Bahasa dan Seni, Universitas Negeri Padang. Di sela-sela aktivitas akademiknya, ia menulis puisi, cerpen, esai, artikel ilmiah, serta terlibat dalam sejumlah kegiatan penerjemahan dan penyuntingan.
Bagi Leni, menulis bukan sekadar kegiatan kreatif, melainkan juga cara untuk belajar memahami kehidupan, merawat kemanusiaan, dan berbagi harapan. Karena itu, selain berkarya, ia aktif dalam berbagai komunitas literasi dan kepenulisan serta turut mengelola sejumlah ruang belajar dan berbagi bagi para pencinta edukasi, literasi dan sastra, termasuk Litttalk-C (Literary Talk Community) & Starcom Indonesia (Starmoonsun Edupreneur Community). Melalui kata-kata dan kegiatan literasi yang dijalaninya, ia berusaha memberi sumbangsih, sekecil apa pun, bagi tumbuhnya budaya membaca, menulis, dan apresiasi sastra. Beberapa penghargaan di bidang kepenulisan pada tingkat lokal, nasional, dan internasional pernah diterimanya, yang ia syukuri sebagai bagian dari perjalanan panjang untuk terus belajar dan berkarya. Email: lenimarlina@fbs.unp.ac.id|| Wattpad:@lenimarlina_write || Instagram:@lenimarlina_starmoonsun
