::: o amis kapak dan twelve junkies
"Oh, yes, I believe in friends, I believe we need them, but if, one day, you find you can't trust them any more, well, what then, what then?"
—Shallow Grave (Danny Boyle, UK, 1994)
i.
Almost ten years.
You met how?
At CSU.
She's what? Seven years younger?
She was a sophomore. I was a postdoc.
You were teaching her? She was your student?
No. She was math and physics, I was philosophy.
Explain it to me. You do philosophy of science, right?
I do now. I switched. Back then I was doing linguistic.
Language? Philosophy of language? Or film studies?
That's right. Conditionals, actually. I spent all my time thinking about the difference between "if it was" and "if it were".
Or between Tarkovsky's Solaris and Kubrick's 2001?
You name it, pal. I don't care.
And what do you spend all your time thinking about now, friend?
… Many worlds.
Excuse me? You mean other planets?
Many worlds, many minds. The interpretation of relative states. Popularly known as "parallel universes", Detective.
ii.
Karena setiap beberapa saat, seseorang membawakanku baki makan siang dan obat-obatanku dan matanya hitam lebam atau dahinya bengkak oleh jahitan, dan ia berkata:
"Kami merindukanmu Tuan Durden."
Atau seseorang dengan hidung patah mendorong alat pengepel lantai melewatiku dan berbisik:
"Semuanya berjalan sesuai rencana."
Berbisik:
"Kita akan menghancurkan peradaban hingga kita bisa membuat dunia yang lebih baik."
Berbisik:
"Kami menunggumu kembali."
iii.
But Badu is gone. Where is he?
Who the fahkk you think you are, pal?
iv.
Amis' Night Train. Palahniuk's Fight Club. Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye. Dostoevsky's Notes from the Underground. Dan lain-lain. Dan lain-lain. Dan lain-lain. Selalu-dan-akan-selalu "dan lain-lain".
v.
…
"You're a mysterious man, Dr. Jekyll. What can you, with your presumably clean life, have to do with a vile thing like this Hyde?"
vi.
How he hates 1996-2005. Perhitungan tak kunjung selesai. Dendam tak kunjung terbalas. Tak mungkin terbayar. Kesumat. Keparat. Kesumat. Keparat. Menyeruput kopi basi, dan membiarkannya tumpah ke lantai. Menetes-netes, dirubung semut.
vii.
this Hyde.
this Hyde.
this Hyde.
viii.
Big fahkkin deal, thought Badu. Exclusivity on a film that was never going to get made. The phone rang. He picked it up.
"Is that Badu?"
"Probably. Speaking."
"This is Mr. X."
The voice was flat, bleak. It could have been coming from the end of the world. Or the room next door.
"Fahkk. Mr. X. I have a word written in my head for you, and it's TUMBEN. So I think I've got a question, though it sounds cliché: How are you?"
"I'm doing fine, thanx for asking."
Bitterness creeping in, like a thread of blood sinking into a glass of water.
"Yeah, right. Sorry, how's it going?"
[It was absolutely not "What's it going to be then, eh?" of the grreatt A Clockwork Orange. So Badu ignored it.]
"What do you want?"
"I need to ask you about some scripts."
"I don't do scripts."
"You used to."
"A long time ago."
"We all know that nostalgia is dangerous, but I remember those days with a clear conscience."
"Don't ever think that quoting my favorite Sherman Alexie will make me impressed."
"Take it easy, Badu."
"I'm not fahkkin easy, Mr. X."
Sigh.
"I don't do drugs. I don't do scripts. I don't smoke."
Long pause.
"What about some reviews?"
[There are some sentences written in Badu's mind and it may be from Holden Caulfield or anything: "Oh, man. I thought what I'd do was, I'd pretend I was one of those deaf-mutes. So I wouldn't have to have any goddam stupid useless conversations with anybody."]
Longer pause.
"Could we meet up?"
Badu fell silent for so long that Mr. X thought the connection had been severed.
"Hello?" Mr. X tried. "Badu, are you still there?"
"I'm still here."
"Can we meet?"
At length, he finally responded: "Tomorrow. Not before one."
"Whatever. Tomorrow would be fine. Where?"
"Hell."
"Pardon me?"
"Yes, you hear me. H-E-L-L. Fahkkin HELL would be great."
"…"
Click.
ix.
Besok ke makam Nirmala. Sudah lama. Dan tak perlu bawa bunga. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody.
x.
"Hey, YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU WRITE."
xi.
Demi membuat saya tertawa dan kembali ceria, Badu mengutip satu cerita tentang perempuan yang menikahi seorang pengusaha pemakaman yang tampan dan sukses, dan pada malam pernikahan mereka sang suami merendam perempuan itu ke dalam bak mandi berisi air es hingga kulitnya sedingin es jika disentuh, lalu menyuruhnya berbaring diam sepenuhnya di ranjang. Kemudian sang suami menyetubuhi badannya yang membeku dan dingin kaku itu. Lucunya, perempuan itu melakukannya sejak masih pengantin baru, dan terus mengulanginya selama sepuluh tahun pernikahan mereka. Dan kini dia menulis surat kepada Tuhan untuk bertanya apakah itu berarti sesuatu.
Bisa jadi saya memang tidak pernah mengerti selera humor Badu, dan hampir menulis surat kepadanya. Belakangan saya mulai berpikir jangan-jangan ini perihal betapa-memang-ada-jenis-pekerjaan-yang-dijalani-dengan-terlampau-berlebihan justru membuat kita semakin berjarak dengan kewarasan. "Berkacalah, siapa tahu nasibmu tidak jauh berbeda..." kata Badu. Dan yang saya dapati adalah: muka Badu yang letih dan marah, pada pantulan cermin retak yang berdebu.
Tapi saya bahkan tidak tertawa.
xii.
I miss you, Nirmala. As usual. Tell me what Neverland looks like. Tell me, please.
* * *
