Marti & Sandra (15-The End)
Only half of the students were in class. The teacher, Ms. Tati, was in front of the teacher's desk. She looked at the clock on the wall and at her watch.
18. At home
Sandra slept on her mother's bed hugging the doll. The front door opened, accompanied by the sounds of giggling. From those sounds, staggering footsteps of two pairs of legs were heard, due to drunkenness.
Marti took off her shoes by kicking them. Their bodies bumped into anything.
"If we know this, we didn't have to go to the hotel from the start, did we?
“Waste of money. Just give me the hotel money. Hihihihihi!”
"Your house is nice too. Yes, yes, why didn't we come here straight away?"
"I didn't know who you are yet."
"So that's how it is? Before knowing each other, we go to the hotel, if we are familiar, go home."
"But still pay. Ha ha ha ha!"
"Ha ha ha ha! Hmm. How beautiful, you are Marti!”
"Your mouth smells like a drink, it's not proper."
"Like you didn’t just drink."
"Of course, I drink. Where are the women of the night who don't drink? Three glasses of margarita. Two glasses of tequila. Ouch. It feels like flying."
"Fly here. Just fly here. I'll catch you later."
”Fly. Huuuu!”
”Fly! Here. Here. Here!”
Marti sang.
"Take me fly, oh fly, far away..."
"Now! I got you!”
Sandra squirmed, but her eyes remained closed. There were sounds of people kissing excitedly.
Marti and the man came in, still embracing, and their clothes were wrinkled.
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Biting each other, unzipping each other's buttons and zippers, the two of them didn't realize Sandra was there until they both fell onto the bed. Sandra still closed her eyes.
Now Marti saw her.
"I'll move Sandra first," she whispered.
Annoyed, the man stretched himself.
"Hurry up," he whispered too.
Marti got out of bed, picked up Sandra. Marti who was drunken felt Sandra's body was very heavy.
Marti put her on the floor, and pushed her further under the bed before getting up again. Under the bed, Sandra heard everything. Her eyes opened and shed tears.
"Mama, Mama..." he said without voice.
19. Writing
Only half of the students were in class. The teacher, Ms. Tati, was in front of the teacher's desk. She looked at the clock on the wall and at her watch.
"Time is up, gather in front of the classroom."
All the students got up. Except Sandra.
She wrote something on her paper, then got up, too.
The teacher, Ms. Tati, saw her students walking to the front in a hurry, until it got a bit crowded.
The papers were piled up. Sandra hurriedly slipped between the students and inserted her paper in the middle.
***
At home, leaning back and stretching her legs on the sofa, the teacher, Ms. Tati, who was not yet married, checked the work of her students. From the television came the opinion of an official who praised the results of his own work. However, she barely heard the words.
She had already checked half of the pile. On the table in front of her, there was work that had already been checked. Next to her, on the sofa, was work that had not been checked.
The phone rang. Ms. Tati stood up and lifted while opening her glasses. It could be seen how young she was.
"Hi! Oh, I can't go out tonight. Yes, as usual, children's work. They must be checked, they really made them seriously. What's in it? Oh, I think they did have a wonderful childhood, didn't they? They are happy children, really. Yes, Yes, children are so, if they are not happy, what will happen?"
Ms. Tati did not have time to read Sandra's writing titled Mother. At the top of the pile, Sandra's words were clearly visible:
My Mother is a Prostitute…
20. Jakarta,
28 November 2024
The sky was cloudy and the air was windy when Sandra placed a red rose on the grave. Inscribed on the tombstone:
SUMARTI
28 November 1961, Jakarta
15 March 2022, Jakarta
Kneeling neatly dressed, she looked solemn in prayer. All the memories flashed like vivid pictures that weren't too sequenced. Sometimes it was clear, sometimes it was blurry and sometimes it gave her a gut-wrenching feeling. However, the rest she felt grateful while wiping her wet eyes.
Outside the cemetery fence, a long black sedan awaited, as she stepped swiftly away from her mother's grave.
The driver opened the door, handing over a cell phone.
"From the President, he said it was important."
"When is it not important?" said Sandra as she accepted it.
It started to rain, as the car moved slowly, passing children who outstretched their hands. The driver handed out money and Sandra listened to the person who spoke on the phone.
"Just a minute," she interrupted and said to the driver. We’re going straight to the Palace."
"Very well, Minister."
From the short story “Composing Lesson”,1991;
scenario ” “My Mother Is A Prostitute”, 1997;
edited into prose, March 2022.
(This article was translated by Hyginus Hardoyo).
