In the quiet corner of a rice field, a woman cried out loudly from a house, her voice no less powerful than the rain pouring down tonight. Amidst the thunderous sound, a woman groaned loudly, as if competing with the roar of the rain. The atmosphere was so silent, suddenly interrupted by the sounds of God’s creatures present in the night.
“What’s his name?”
“Abdullah Cekka.”
The child whimpered, squirming behind his mother’s embrace. When a beam of light peeked through the roof, the woman was astonished by her child’s eyes.
His feet were swift at the edge of the riverbank. Playing in the orderly rows of langsat orchards around the Batanghari river, his tiny feet never tired of running. But the atmosphere in his heart was different. Abdullah Cekka often experienced bullying because his eyes were different from other children.
As a result, he refrained from meeting his peers. He stayed at home, busy playing with stove ash. Smearing it on his face, he imitated his father’s mustache. He laughed and thickened it again. His mother stood in front of the kitchen, surprised to see the bald child, happy at home, and rarely playing by the river anymore.
His mother quickly grabbed Cekka’s hand before his face was smudged with ash. “Hey, no more of that,” she said. The child ran, quickly sandwiched by his mother. As she washed Cekka’s face, his mother began to ask.
“Are you not playing by the river, dear?” his mother asked Cekka, while occasionally washing his round face with water.
“No, Mom,” Cekka replied, stuttering as his mother rubbed his face with water.
Cekka always stayed at home. Over a year passed without mingling with his peers. He only left the house to accompany his mother selling husks at Pasar Angsoduo, and during the langsat harvest around the river. Cekka would run, gather langsat, then hide again when his friends passed by the orchard.
“Why do they call you that way?” his father scolded Cekka. Cekka was taken aback, his mouth turned even more sour chewing on his orange upon hearing his father. He pretended to be deaf. Cekka looked at his father, silenced, his eyes teary, writhing fiercely, smearing his father’s lips with ash. Cekka ran, his father quickly caught him, briefly restrained him, then he wriggled again. Cekka cried bitterly that afternoon.
By evening his energy drained, he slumped and lay in his mother’s lap. The child fell into a deep slumber as the twilight colors creeping from the jackfruit leaves in the yard began to caress his tiny face.
His parents paid no mind to Cekka’s problems; after all, weren’t they just children’s jokes, soon to be forgotten? But, it was a shame for someone with different eyes.
The grass in the meadow was no longer level with its tufts. It meant he had to go to school. Reluctantly, he was persuaded by his mother.
In front of the Madrasah gate, dressed neatly with a skullcap, his breath slowed as he looked at his friends. An hour passed at school, and Cekka sighed. He was quite reserved and afraid to approach his peers, although none of them mocked him. Childhood paranoia made it difficult for him to start getting to know others.
Noise echoed from all corners of the classroom, accompanied by the loud sound of a single iron knock, spilled onto the courtyard and canteen. Laughter and jokes filled the air, they were lively on the first day of school.
The classroom door was wide open, but his body remained still in his nest gathering strength to leave. Walking slowly, standing on the door’s threshold, his legs stiffened. Stepping out of the door confidently, he hesitated for a moment. Now he felt his back stiff as if something was holding him back.
Turning around, a little girl grabbed his shoulder and pushed him. The girl lowered her head, picking up the fallen flowers. Her face was flustered, unaware she bumped into a flower pot. Stepping back, her elbow accidentally hit a water bottle, wetting the clothes of a boy. The boy screamed, pointing at her cruelly.
All eyes sharpened ready to corner him. His chest tightened amidst the crowd preparing to attack him. Childhood memories of being bullied made it feel like a nightmare on the riverbank; the children were ready to torment him.
“ Abdullah Picek…”
“Picekk… Picekkk… Picekk.”
(Red: picek means ‘blind or impaired eyes’. The word petty in this speech is used to curse the person speaking to someone who cannot differentiate between one thing and another.)
Feeling immense pressure, in the silent atmosphere, all spectators watched him, waiting for the next performance. Tears streamed down his face. The audience became more jubilant as they watched. Squatting to cover his wet face, he walked into the classroom, slammed the door, and locked it. He locked himself in the empty classroom.
The audience banged louder, loudly accompanied by the knocking of the glass windows by the children. They surrounded his eyes from all angles.
“Mom… Mom… Mom! Where’s Mom?!!”
His mother was startled and Cekka suddenly sat up. His hips automatically sat stiff, gasping for breath, his clothes soaked with beads of sweat pouring from his back. Tears flooded his mother’s sarong. His mother hugged him tightly. Cekka cried bitterly that evening.
“Mom! Ceka doesn’t want to go to school, no… no….”
On the floor of the house’s bed, his mother stroked Cekka’s head. Her hands cradled her beloved child’s body while occasionally reciting prayers melodiously. As the Maghrib call to prayer began to sound, Cekka’s head leaned deeper against his mother’s chest. The clouds collectively began to disappear below the horizon line to the west.
“Cekka, let’s go to the mosque… come, let’s recite.”
The children walked together, approaching the call to prayer. They stopped by Cekka’s house, preparing to go to the mosque together.
His mother smiled at Cekka. “Don’t cry anymore, look at the Qibla, focus, and pray earnestly, dear,” his mother said softly.
Buttoning Cekka’s shirt and tying his father’s sarong around his small waist, his mother wiped his hands. “After prayers, it’ll be dark. When you come back, hold your friends’ hands, okay?” a little girl promptly grabbed his small hand.
His tiny eyes were calm as if understanding his mother’s intentions. His innocent eyes shone under the twilight lamp, as if God was revealing a miracle to him.
His mother looked at the setting sun. She was sure Cekka would grow up to be a very handsome man with eyes very different from his peers. Glowing in the retinas, and sometimes displaying shades of orange like the East Sea exposed to the sunset. His eyes were those of a young nobleman.
Jambi, March 18, 2019.