I was sitting at the bus stop next to Menara Mulia across from the Jakarta Tax Directorate General's office. Coming back from Mahendra's house earlier he drove me to this bus stop, from here it's still about an hour and a half to get home. The shuttle bus I usually take passes once an hour. I prefer to wait at this place than at the previous stop, the Polda Metro Jaya stop. Passengers who get on and off here are almost certainly employees who have offices around this place. The smell is different. This place smells better.
The meatball, Bakso Malang seller who usually sells at his base hasn't arrived yet. There was only a chicken porridge man who was looking for and preparing the right place for his cart. Usually, this place will be crowded with food sellers and buyers lined up along the sidewalk, after office hours. It's only crowded during work hours. Of all the food sellers, the Bakso Malang is the most special. As the seller is so busy washing dishes, the buyers usually take and serve themselves, as they are the most loyal customers. And not having to wait too long, the meatball is gone in no time.
To be honest, apart from the people who stop at this bus stop being neater and smelling better, it is Baso Bawan Malang that attracts me to wait for the shuttle at this place the most. That food has its own history in my life.
I remember a few years ago, when I visited Keukenhof Flower Park in the Netherlands, the theory was that it should have been spring but in fact, it was no less cold than winter. I got the wrong costume. Not bringing warm clothes in early spring is a very torturous thing. It was no longer visible snow, but the strong wind and bone-chilling cold made the soles of my feet feel thick, my fingers wrinkled and numb, unable to feel.
The stalls I found only sold cold food, cold boiled eggs, cold salmon, and all cold food, making my stomach feel even more frozen. The only thing I missed at that time was Baso Malang meatball. Imagining the spicy, hot sauce with the fragrance of fried onions made me unable to hold back my saliva. I really couldn't shake the shadow of that delicious food underlying from my eyes. In the Keukenhof Flower garden where the tulips were beautifully spread out, I almost died of cold missing Baso Malang.
And now, here, I can eat as much as I like Bakso Malang bite by bite, savoring the hot sauce, the spiciness of the chili, the warmth of the pepper, and the aroma of spring onions and fried onions while imagining the beautiful Keukenhof Flower Park. The enjoyment was immeasurable...
Suddenly I found the fingertips of my palms wrinkling like they were cold. Startled, I rubbed my fingers hard against my thighs. Ah, now it's normal again. Maybe I was hallucinating
The bright blue sky is cloudy in the background of the twin buildings of the Directorate General of Taxes. I don't know if anyone noticed or not that the white clouds behind the building were exactly the same shape. How it could be? What a Beautiful nature painting.
General Gatot Subroto Street was not too crowded. Only a few cars passed by, the rest were mostly motorcycles and a motorcycle... Which suddenly stopped.
Shut up.
In the middle of the road, a little off the edge about two meters straight from where I was sitting. The motorcyclist was still on his motorcycle and seemed to be trying to turn the gas but his hand could not be moved. His body was stiff. His legs were frozen. I felt the man's energy to accelerate the bike but it seemed his efforts were in vain. Less than a minute later he lost his balance. The motorcycle fell sideways onto his body which had already kissed the asphalt of the road.
I stood up. The chicken porridge man ran over, followed by the security guard who happened to be resting in front of the gate together carrying the man to the sidewalk at the bus stop where I was sitting.
"Surely it's Angin duduk!!"*) The porridge man said. A man, apparently just back from work, was still wearing his office uniform with his name tag on his necklace. His face looked very tired but he couldn't utter a word.
Then two passers-by came to help, laying the man on his back on the sidewalk. Then came another young woman enthusiastically trying to help the man, approaching several people who had just returned from work all arguing with each other.
"We should take this man to the hospital"
"Don't. If something happens on the road, who will be responsible?"
"Anyone knows this man?"
And the young woman swiftly fumbled through all the pockets on the shirt worn by the man and then took out a wallet from the man's pants pocket, disassembled the wallet looking for the man's identity and a telephone number that could be contacted by ID, SIM, business card ... Finally finding a phone number, the woman immediately dialed the number on her cellphone. While others were providing first aid by pressing the man's chest repeatedly. Some helped move the motorcycle and kept the keys. If this man had fallen somewhere else, he might have lost his belongings. A security guard called the police. And suddenly there were a lot of people crowding around,
It was office hours.
"What's wrong? Why, was there an accident?" Asked the new arrival.
With his body bent, straight arms with both palms resting on the man's chest, the well-dressed man pressed hard on the man's chest repeatedly. The body did not react. He pressed again. Remain silent. The man began to look panicked as the man showed no sign of life.
I glimpsed his weakened eyes. I recognized a moment like that. I had felt it, the struggle between life and death when I gave birth to my daughter.
A moment later the light disappeared.
Her eyes were still open, but I knew she was gone.
Innalilahi wa inna ilaihi rojiuun.... I whispered to myself.
And finally, the man who helped him realized that the man was dead. He went limp, sitting next to the man who was lying stiff. He wiped the man's eyes with his hand and then covered his face with a handkerchief. "Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi rojiuunn..." He sighed.
The people in the crowd began to whisper and look at each other, "..Died."
"Huh, died?"
Some people quietly began to leave the place.
"Shouldn't have pressed his chest like that" whispered another.
"If he had been taken to the hospital earlier, he might have been saved." Another voice.
The atmosphere was a little tense. The police hadn't arrived yet.
Then a woman got off the motorcycle and staggered through the crowd. Immediately she burst into tears. The young woman who had called earlier whispered something to her, and she sobbed into her shoulder.
Not too long after, the police arrived. They set up a police line at the scene. People moved out of the way. Then the dead man was carried together and put into the police car. The woman followed. So fast. So quickly the drama passed. After the police car left bringing the man and the woman, people left the bus stop one by one. And the place was quiet again. It seemed like nothing ever happened in that place.
I was alone again.
Luckily the shuttle bus I was waiting for came and I jumped into it.
Sitting, quietly on the front bench. Staring at the road ahead.
Something that I had been holding back finally came out, the tears rolled down slowly. Dripping down my shirt. Drop by drop. More and more, they soaked my shirt. Like a lump of stone pressed against my chest and throat. It hurts. But I couldn't make a sound, not even a sob. Only tears and snot in my nose kept flowing and flowing without being able to stem them.
A life drama was presented in front of me. A man was dying and died before my eyes. Just me and him. Just the two of us, until many people gathered around and I was just silent. I didn't do anything. I existed but didn't seem to exist. I seemed to make a sound but no words were heard. I saw people walking by and some even passed me by without knowing I was there. I don't know if I exist... or just a soul without a body.
What exactly was Universe trying to tell me, what exactly was the message behind the incident?
I couldn't find the answer.
This reality was more than just piercing...
But enough to destroy my feelings.
***
*) Angina is chest pain that arises due to impaired blood flow to the heart muscle