-- M. Shoim Anwar --

Dengan kapak berkilat-kilat lelaki itu mendekati patung di pusat kota. Meski usianya sudah tidak muda lagi, langkahnya masih tampak perkasa dan semangatnya membara. Butir-butir keringat di kening berkilauan memantulkan sinar matahari. Dari balik kaca mata bening yang dikenakan, sorot mata lelaki itu menyiratkan keyakinan berlipat.

"Telah ditanamkan sampah di kota-kota peradaban. Dan inilah kapak Ibrahim hamba!"¹⁾ katanya sambil mengacungkan benda itu ke arah langit.

Patung sosok perempuan itu berdiri menjulang. Rambutnya panjang mengurai. Telapak kakinya menumpu di pelataran beton, sementara kedua tangannya membuka seperti tengah menyambut orang yang akan memeluknya. Bagian-bagian tubuh patung itu tergambar dengan detail. Tanpa ada yang disembunyikan. Di tengah kota yang megah, patung itu hadir tanpa busana sesobek pun.

Di depan patung, dengan jarak tak lebih dari seratus meter, terdapat masjid besar kebanggaan warga kota. Posisi patung benar-benar berhadapan dengan pintu masjid. Antara keduanya dipisahkan oleh tanah lapang. Setiap orang yang datang dan pulang dari masjid pasti berpapasan dengan patung tersebut. Kondisi ini sudah lama menjadi bahan pembicaraan. Tapi hingga hari ini belum ada keputusan.

"Jadi, Pak Tais akan memulainya sekarang?" tanya Waidi.

"Tunggu apa lagi? Kita memang telah merdeka. Tapi itu bukan segalanya. Gerakan Syahwat Merdeka mau mengikis habis budaya malu!" jawab lelaki yang dipanggil Pak Tais itu bersemangat.

"Memang," Waidi mengangguk-angguk, "nilai-nilai kesucian yang ditegakkan dengan susah payah selama berabad-abad oleh para nabi, wali, dan orang-orang saleh mau diruntuhkan."

"Kita tidak mencari sensasi. Dari Ibrahim sampai sekarang tugas kita adalah menghancurkan berhala kemungkaran dengan tangan, mulut, dan hati kita!"

Keduanya berjalan ke arah patung. Cuaca sangat panas, tapi di atas sana terlihat mendung menggantung sebagai pertanda akan hujan. Di kejauhan sudah terdengar ada geluduk. Awalnya memang tak ada yang tahu rencana pembangunan patung tersebut. Tiba-tiba saja kawasan yang dikenal sebagai Hutan Kayu ini dibabat dan dipagari seng keliling. Konon ada tiga belas aliansi yang melakukan aktivitas di dalamnya. Dari dalam pagar itu sering keluar-masuk beberapa Perempuan Ayu. Tak jelas, apakah para Perempuan Ayu itu ikut tidur di situ atau tidak. Baik yang laki maupun perempuan, omongan mereka kerap terdengar sangat jorok. Di dekat tempat itu bahkan pernah ditemukan buku-buku cerita yang kelewat jorok serta kumpulan puisi dengan gambar alat kelamin di sampul depannya.

Pada suatu hari, saat pembangunan masih berlangsung dahulu, dua laki-laki bernama Ahmad dan Rada yang mulanya bekerja di situ menyatakan mengundurkan diri secara terbuka. Keduanya menyatakan tidak sepaham dengan aliansi di dalam. Dengan mundurnya dua orang tersebut semakin sempurnalah gerakan aliansi itu. Maka, kata-kata jorok pun semakin sering terdengar di situ. Beberapa bulan setelah itu pagar yang mengelilingi Hutan Kayu itu dibongkar. Bonggol-bonggol kayu masih tampak di sana-sini dengan ketinggian sekitar satu meter. Terlihat ada bangunan yang masih diberi selubung di kawasan tersebut. Banyak yang penasaran menanti selubung itu dibuka. Dan, benar, tiga hari setelah itu selubung pun dibuka. Ternyata dia adalah patung telanjang! Itulah yang menyulut Pak Tais mengasah kapaknya.

Terlihat seorang lelaki, Hudat namanya, dengan langkah terburu-buru mendekati Pak Tais dan Waidi dari arah belakang.

"Kau tidak bisa menghancurkan patung dengan mengatasnamakan Tuhan atau agama dengan tafsir seperti itu!" Hudat melontarkan kata-katanya dan menuding-nuding. Pak Tais mengeryit dan meninggikan kaca matanya.

"Terus?" Pak Tais menyela sambil mengangkat kapaknya. Dia memandang ke lelaki yang rambutnya dicat merah itu.

"Justru patung itu tercipta sebagai pancaran dari ayat-ayat Tuhan."

"Ya, itu benar!" seorang perempuan bernama Mariani yang datang menyusul Hudat ikut menimpali. "Dan kami sudah sepakat sebelum berkarya bersama."

Tiba-tiba datang lagi lelaki bernama Paisi ke kerumuman itu. Tubuh lelaki ini kecil tapi dia menampakkan keberanian juga. Mata Paisi memandang ke kerumunan itu secara bergantian. Kali ini menancap tepat ke kening Hudat. Paisi dengan cepat melompat ke bonggol kayu dan berdiri di atasnya.

"Kamu paham dengan yang kamu ucapkan tentang ayat-ayat Tuhan? Jangan sembrono! Tuhan telah memberi contoh simbol dan metafor untuk mengungkapkan banyak hal," Paisi menuding muka Hudat. "Pertentangan kalian adalah mencerminkan ciri zaman, di mana kaum muda yang progresif berhadapan dengan kaum tua yang merasa mapan!"

"Maaf," Pak Tais memotong sambil menempelkan kapak ke dadanya, "ini bukan perkara generasi, tapi perkara tanggung jawab moral terhadap bangsa!"

"Apa bukan karena selama ini Anda sering diundang ke sekolah-sekolah?" Benis, yang ternyata baru datang di belakang Hudat, nyeplos juga bicaranya.

"Itu wujud tanggung jawab kami untuk ikut membangun generasi muda di sekolah."

"Menyebalkan!" Benis melengos.

"Kita sudah terlalu jauh meninggalkan nilai-nilai agama," Pak Tais menjawab lagi.

"Jangan pakai pendekatan agamalah! Ini urusan seni!" terdengar suara membelah. Ternyata Sitompu yang baru muncul ikut menukas.

"Oke kalau nggak boleh," Pak Tais menurunkan nadanya, "sekarang bagaimana reaksi Anda andaikata yang dibuat patung telanjang itu adalah sosok ibumu? Malu apa ndak kalian?"

Suasana sepi beberapa saat. Tak ada yang bicara. Pak Tais menatap wajah-wajah yang mengelilingi dirinya. Udara terasa makin gerah karena ada mendung menyumpal di langit. Bunyi geluduk terdengar makin kerap. Angin tiba-tiba menerpa mengusung gulungan-gulungan debu ke arah mereka. Terdengar kata-kata kotor meluncur.

"Kalian sudah over dosis. Kalian menginginkan kebebasan, tapi di saat yang sama kalian justru kehilangan rasa malu sehingga berani mempertontonkan kemaluan sendiri. Ini sudah maniak!" Pak Tais kembali menandaskan.

"Kita berada dalam ruang kreatif yang berbeda dan tak bisa dipertemukan. Mestinya kita saling menghargai," Mariani kembali menimpali.

"Itu kalau Anda hidup sendiri. Ini ruang publik. Jadi tak ada yang bebas nilai. Setiap orang punya rasa tanggung jawab pada kepentingan umum," Waidi menuding ke Mariani.

Mariani mendelik ke arah Waidi. Perempuan itu dengan cepat melompat ke bonggol kayu dan berkacak pinggang. "Apa kamu kira kami tak punya tanggung jawab!"

"Tanggung jawab kalian hanya sebatas tanggung jawab kreatif individual. Tapi tak menyentuh tanggung jawab sosial. Sementara patung itu kalian pajang untuk dilihat masyarakat. Itu namanya egois. Sama saja dengan membuang limbah ke tengah perkampungan!" Pak Tais kali ini menaikkan tensi omongannya.

Mariani dengan cepat meloncat turun. Dia dan yang lain segera ambil posisi mengelilingi Pak Tais dan Waidi sambil berputar-putar. Kedua lelaki yang merasa dikepung itu ikut berputar sambil mengawasi langkah demi langkah. Sementara
Hudat yang napasnya terlihat ngos-ngosan akan merebut kapak di tangan Pak Tais.

"Semakin bernafsu kalian merebut benda ini, saya akan semakin berusaha keras mempertahankan," Pak Tais, sambil tersenyum, menggenggam kapaknya makin erat. Dia menoleh ke kiri ke kanan, dilemparkannya kapak itu ke udara, kemudian ditangkapnya kembali dengan tangan kiri seperti hendak mempertontonkan kepiawaiannya.

"Jangan kau teruskan niatmu!" Benis menuding kencang.

"Tak ada yang dapat memenjarakan niat kami," Waidi menepuk-nepuk dadanya. Dengan sekali hentakan dia pun telah berada di atas bonggol kayu. Kumis dan rambut keritingnya tampak makin tebal. Terdengar mendung menggelinding di atas kepala. Cuaca meredup.

Sekonyong-konyong perhatian mereka terbelah. Terlihat seorang lelaki berlari mendekat sambil berteriak-teriak. Ternyata dia adalah Muhid. Dia segera membelah kerumunan dan berdiri tepat di depan Pak Tais.

"Kau… akan menghancurkan patung itu…?" Muhid terbata-bata. "Persis seperti aksi si komunis Njoto menentang yang cabul-cabul dulu. Sekalian tiru saja dia!"

"Aha, dulu kau pernah bilang gerakan komunis masih remang-remang. Sekarang, Bung, kau omongkan itu dengan fasih. Ada hubungan apa kamu?" Pak Tais manggut-manggut. "Kau sudah baca buku-buku sejarah?"

"Tentu!"

"Ketahuilah Bung, komunis melakukan propaganda itu karena ambisi politik dan ingin merebut kekuasaan. Toh akhirnya mereka melakukan pembunuhan masal. Kami sangat jauh dari itu. Niat kami hanya karena Allah."

Muhid tak menjawab. Sekarang dia memepet Pak Tais dan memegang lengannya. Mata keduanya bertatapan. Waidi meloncat turun dari bonggol. Dengan tak kalah beraninya Waidi ikut menghadang. Kali ini dia merebut posisi Pak Tais dan ganti mengadu dada dengan Muhid. Sementara Paisi terlihat canggung dan agak takut. Di sebelahnya Hudat berkacak pinggang tinggi-tinggi.

"Ketahuilah!" Waidi menggeretak, "siapa pun yang memperjuangkan hukum Tuhan memang banyak dimusuhi. Ibrahim dibakar dengan api, Musa dikejar-kejar oleh Firaun, Isa disiksa, dan Muhammad dilempari dengan batu dan kotoran."

"Apa-apaan, jangan sok suci!" terdengar suara memotong. Ternyata Bihat datang juga. "Persetan semuanya!"

"Tuhan yang mengetahui hati kami," Waidi membalas.

Saat itu pula terdengar langkah mendebam-debam. Persis berbarengan dengan bunyi geluduk di langit. Kerumunan terhenyak dan mereka mengalihkan perhatian. Terlihat seorang lelaki berlari mendekat. O, ternyata yang datang adalah Wowo. Dengan napas seperti kuda Wowo membelah kerumunan. Dia langsung mengambil posisi Pak Tais dan Waidi. Ditatapnya mata mereka satu per satu. Bihat yang mencoba mendekat disepak minggir. Bihat tampak ketakutan dan mengusap-usap kepalanya yang gundul. Wowo, dengan jenggot yang lebat, tampak meradang dan berani. Dia pun berujar, "Kalian jangan coba-coba mencemari budaya dan moral bangsa kami. Kami adalah Bumi Putra. Kalian agen imperialis yang menyebarkan virus budaya dan seks. Kalian menghancurkan peradaban! Nilai-nilai budaya kalian rusak. Maka jadilah kalian budak kebebasan yang tak berperadaban!"

Sontak Hudat menuding-nuding. Bibirnya kelihatan bergetar dan dadanya mengembang. Kata-kata pun meluncur darinya, "Kalian iri. Kalian telah kalah dalam pertempuran kreatif. Kalian tak mampu menandingi kami sehingga kalian menggunakan dalil-dalil moral untuk menyerang kami. Kuno!"

"Kami tidak akan menghalalkan segala cara!" Wowo ganti menuding. "Kalian telah menggunakan dana dari dewan kesenian untuk kepentingan sendiri. Temanku Saut juga pernah omong ini. Kalian telah mengelabuhi pemerintah dan rakyat!"

"Itu kata-kata khas orang yang tak mampu membangun network. Bisanya menuduh dan selalu curiga! Bilang juga sama Saut!" Hudat meloncat pula ke atas bonggol kayu dan menepuk-nepuk dada, "Ini Hudat!"

"Ketika hendak melaksanakan perintah Tuhan," Pak Tais menukas, "Ibrahim dan Ismail digoda oleh para iblis agar menggagalkan niatnya melaksanakan perintah Tuhan. Maka, Ibrahim pun melempari iblis itu dengan batu. Iblis lari terbirit-birit."

"Tapi, kami tak akan lari!" Hudat membalas dengan cepat.

"Karena rasa malu kalian sudah tergadai!"

"Apa maksudmu?" Mariani menuding.

"Pikirkan itu!" Waidi membalasnya.

Cuaca makin meredup. Terdengar geluduk menggelinding di atas ubun-ubun seperti batu-batu besar meluncur. Awan hitam berarak ke satu titik. Kilat pun terlihat membelah. Suasana dengan cepat menjadi gelap. Geluduk sontak pecah menggelegar. Mereka yang tadi berdebat berhenti dengan sendirinya. Ditatapnya langit yang pekat di atas kepala. Petir dengan ganas menyambar seperti pecut menghajar. Mereka pun berlarian. Beberapa saat setelah itu hujan seperti dicurahkan dari langit. Hutan Kayu dan patung itu terbebat hujan.

Hujan telah lama mengguyur Hutan Kayu dengan lebatnya. Sudah hampir dua jam, tapi belum ada tanda-tanda mereda. Tanah yang gundul itu mengalirkan air keruh hingga ke halaman masjid. Dulu, ketika pohonnya masih lebat, tak pernah terjadi seperti ini. Air hujan terus mengangkut berbagai kotoran ke halaman masjid. Kecemasan mulai merambat seiring semakin naiknya permukaan air. Ini juga terjadi gara-gara sungai yang melewati Hutan Kayu ditimbun untuk fondasi patung. Akibatnya, kini air meluber ke mana-mana.

Air menggenangi jalanan hingga setinggi lutut. Tak bisa dihindarkan. Kemacetan terjadi sepanjang ruas jalan. Klakson kendaraan meraung-raung. Banjir terus menggempur. Maka, mogoklah semua kendaraan. Teriakan-teriakan terdengar di sana-sini.

Apa yang terjadi? Terlihat warga sekitar mulai kehabisan kesabaran. Di bawah guyuran hujan, mereka beramai-ramai mendatangi Hutan Kayu dengan membawa berbagai peralatan seperti cangkul, linggis, sekop, ganco, parang, bahkan juga terlihat pedang, celurit, serta potongan-potongan besi. Mereka berteriak-teriak makin keras. Anggota mereka juga makin bertambah. Dengan kaki-kaki terendam air hingga paha, mereka mulai tiba di Hutan Kayu dan langsung mengepung patung. Berbagai senjata diacung-acungkan ke arah patung. Aba-aba pun diteriakkan.

"Stop! Hentikan!" tiba-tiba terdengar suara datang. Orang-orang seketika menoleh ke belakang. Ada serombongan lain datang mendekat. Rombongan terakhir ini ternyata dimotori oleh Hudat beserta kawan-kawannya yang terlibat perdebatan sebelum hujan tadi. Mereka datang dengan melepas baju.

"Jangan coba-coba hancurkan patung!" teriak Hudat, "Kita harus bisa hidup berdampingan dengan berbagai perbedaan! Hargai ekspresi dan karya orang lain!"

"Apa maksudnya?" salah seorang ganti bertanya.

"Jangan melihat persoalan secara hitam putih!"

Tiba-tiba Hudat melihat Pak Tais dan Waidi datang mendekat. Tidak ada lagi kapak di tangan Pak Tais. Sementara hujan belum menipis. Aliran air terasa makin deras karena gelontoran dari atas.

"Kau pasti yang menggerakkan orang-orang kampung itu!" Hudat menuding ke Pak Tais, "Kau telah memperalat dan menunggangi mereka!"

"Maaf Bung, kami sama sekali tidak melakukan itu."

"Kura-kura dalam perahu!" Bihat ikut menuding.

"Kau gunakan pengaruhmu untuk menghasut mereka!" teriak Mariani sambil menyingkap roknya hingga ke lekuk paha.

"Kau telah melakukan provokasi pada mereka. Sejarah berulang. Ketika akal sehat sudah melemah, cara culas akan ditempuh. Ingatlah kepicikan Ken Arok, Jaka Tingkir, Napoleon, atau Musolini!" Hudat makin kencang.

"Ditunggangi!" Benis berteriak.

"Kami tak kenal kamus tunggang-mengunggang," Waidi membalas.

"Mereka, orang-orang yang tak mengenal hakikat seni dan keindahan, tidak selayaknya dilibatkan dalam wilayah ini. Ini pembodohan!" potong Bihat.

"Maaf," salah seorang warga kampung ikut angkat bicara, "perdebatan kalian soal karya seni sudah selesai. Biar sejarah juga yang menjawabnya. Ketika roh kalian sudah tinggal di tenggorokan dan maut sebentar lagi menjemput, saat itulah kalian menemukan jawaban apakah yang kalian perdebatkan selama ini berguna atau sia-sia. Saat itu pula kalian akan menemukan jawaban apakah kalian berada di pihak yang menang atau kalah. Dan, aku juga tahu, kata-kataku ini pun akan kalian perdebatkan kembali, bahkan sambil menendang kursi, melempar botol minuman, mencaci-maki, serta mengeluarkan kata-kata kotor."

"Ayo mulai!" Terdengar teriakan keras.

"Kita sudah dikepung banjir!"

"Hampir tenggelam!"

"Bongkar!"

Dengan cepat orang-orang itu mengayunkan peralatannya masing-masing. Cangkul, sekop, linggis, dan ganco, dengan gesit menembus tanah. Sungai yang terletak di bawah pelataran patung itu akan digali kembali. Mereka lakukan itu dengan cepat dan semangat. Mereka berpacu dengan waktu. Banjir semakin menggelontor. Teriakan di sana-sini terus terdengar. Dibuatlah tanggul secara melingkar. Fondasi patung itu digali beramai-ramai. Air yang menggenang di galian dikuras. Beberapa saat kemudian patung itu didorong. Belum juga goyah. Bangunan patung itu ternyata memakai fondasi cakar ayam. Maka, galian pun diperlebar. Teriakan-teriakan makin keras terdengar. Terlihat seorang naik ke pundak bangunan. Tambang besar kemudian diikatkan ke leher patung. Sementara yang lain menarik tambang itu ke arah utara.

"Ayo, tariiik…!" Terdengar komando.

Tambang itu pun ditarik bersama-sama. Masih alot. Galian diperdalam lagi. Hujan masih menggila. Banjir makin meluas. Kendaraan di jalan sudah tampak seperti perahu. Cuaca amat dingin, namun orang-orang semakin terlecut kerjanya. Terdengar kembali teriakan-teriakan. Mereka yang berada di bawah patung berlarian menjauh.

"Satu…dua…tiga! Tariiik…!!!"

Kepala patung terlihat mulai bergerak. Orang-orang makin bernafsu. Sedikit demi sedikit bangunan itu mulai bergeser dari tegaknya. Sekarang condong ke utara. Tenaga makin dikerahkan. Patung itu tampak oleng. Bersamaan dengan teriakan-teriakan yang makin keras patung itu pun tumbang ke arah utara dengan bunyi mendebam. Orang-orang pun bersorak. Sungai yang melintas di bekas bangunan kemudian dibedah. Air pun menerjang.

Esok paginya, traktor besar mengusung patung itu ke arah selatan kota. Kondisi berhala itu masih utuh dari ujung kepala hingga fondasi. Benda itu diusung dalam posisi telentang. Sementara kedua tangannya terlihat menengadah ke langit seperti hendak mengadukan nasibnya. Orang-orang melihatnya sepanjang perjalanan. Entah siapa yang menggores, di tubuh patung itu terbaca sebuah tulisan: "Berdebatlah terus di garis batas pernyataan dan impian"²⁾.

Hudat, Bihat, Benis, Muhid, dan Mariani menatapnya dari balik pagar. Paisi berdiri di tikungan. Sementara di perempatan jalan terlihat Pak Tais, Waidi, dan Wowo bersedekap tangan. Bunyi traktor terdengar gemeretak mengeremus kerikil sepanjang jalan. Konon patung itu akan ditancapkan di pinggir kolam renang di perbatasan kota.

Label: Short Stories

-- Gabriel Garcia Marquez --


Then she looked at me. I thought that she was looking at me for the first time. But then, when she turned around behind the lamp and I kept feeling her slippery and oily look in back of me, over my shoulder, I understood that it was I who was looking at her for the first time. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag on the harsh, strong smoke, before spinning in the chair, balancing on one of the rear legs. After that I saw her there, as if she'd been standing beside the lamp looking at me every night. For a few brief minutes that's all we did: look at each other. I looked from the chair, balancing on one of the rear legs. She stood, with a long and quiet hand on the lamp, looking at me. I saw her eyelids lighted up as on every night. It was then that I remembered the usual thing, when I said to her: "Eyes of a blue dog." Without taking her hand off the lamp she said to me: "That. We'll never forget that." She left the orbit, sighing: "Eyes of a blue dog. I've written it everywhere."

I saw her walk over to the dressing table. I watched her appear in the circular glass of the mirror looking at me now at the end of a back and forth of mathematical light. I watched her keep on looking at me with her great hot-coal eyes: looking at me while she opened the little box covered with pink mother of pearl. I saw her powder her nose. When she finished, she closed the box, stood up again, and walked over to the lamp once more, saying: "I'm afraid that someone is dreaming about this room and revealing my secrets." And over the flame she held the same long and tremulous hand that she had been warming before sitting down at the mirror. And she said: "You don't feel the cold." And I said to her: "Sometimes." And she said to me: "You must feel it now." And then I understood why I couldn't have been alone in the seat. It was the cold that had been giving me the certainty of my solitude. "Now I feel it," I said. "And it's strange because the night is quiet. Maybe the sheet fell off." She didn't answer. Again she began to move toward the mirror and I turned again in the chair, keeping my back to her. Without seeing her, I knew what she was doing. I knew that she was sitting in front of the mirror again, seeing my back, which had had time to reach the depths of the mirror and be caught by her look, which had also had just enough time to reach the depths and return--before the hand had time to start the second turn--until her lips were anointed now with crimson, from the first turn of her hand in front of the mirror. I saw, opposite me, the smooth wall, which was like another blind mirror in which I couldn't see her-- sitting behind me--but could imagine her where she probably was as if a mirror had been hung in place of the wall. "I see you," I told her. And on the wall I saw what was as if she had raised her eyes and had seen me with my back turned toward her from the chair, in the depths of the mirror, my face turned toward the wall. Then I saw her lower he eyes again and remain with her eyes always on her brassiere, not talking. And I said to her again: "I see you." And she raised her eyes from her brassiere again. "That's impossible," she said. I asked her why. And she, with her eyes quiet and on her brassiere again: "Because your face is turned toward the wall." Then I spun the chair around. I had the cigarette clenched in my mouth. When I stayed facing the mirror she was back by the lamp. Now she had her hands open over the flame, like the two wings of a hen, toasting herself, and with her face shaded by her own fingers. "I think I'm going to catch cold," she said. "This must be a city of ice." She turned her face to profile and her skin, from copper to red, suddenly became sad. "Do something about it," she said. And she began to get undressed, item by item, starting at the top with the brassiere. I told her: "I'm going to turn back to the wall." She said: "No. In any case, you'll see me the way you did when your back was turned." And no sooner had she said it than she was almost completely undressed, with the flame licking her long copper skin. "I've always wanted to see you like that, with the skin of your belly full of deep pits, as if you'd been beaten." And before I realized that my words had become clumsy at the sight of her nakedness she became motionless, warming herself on the globe of the lamp, and she said: "Sometimes I think I'm made of metal." She was silent for an instant. The position of her hands over the flame varied slightly. I said: "Sometimes in other dreams, I've thought you were only a little bronze statue in the corner of some museum. Maybe that's why you're cold." And she said: "Sometimes, when I sleep on my heart, I can feel my body growing hollow and my skin is like plate. Then, when the blood beats inside me, it's as if someone were calling by knocking on my stomach and I can feel my own copper sound in the bed. It's like- -what do you call it--laminated metal." She drew closer to the lamp. "I would have liked to hear you," I said. And she said: "If we find each other sometime, put your ear to my ribs when I sleep on the left side and you'll hear me echoing. I've always wanted you to do it sometime." I heard her breathe heavily as she talked. And she said that for years she'd done nothing different. Her life had been dedicated to finding me in reality, through that identifying phrase: "Eyes of a blue dog." And she went along the street saying it aloud, as a way of telling the only person who could have understood her:

"I'm the one who comes into your dreams every night and tells you: 'Eyes of a blue dog.'" And she said that she went into restaurants and before ordering said to the waiters: "Eyes of a blue dog." But the waiters bowed reverently, without remembering ever having said that in their dreams. Then she would write on the napkins and scratch on the varnish of the tables with a knife: "Eyes of a blue dog." And on the steamed-up windows of hotels, stations, all public buildings, she would write with her forefinger: "Eyes of a blue dog." She said that once she went into a drugstore and noticed the same smell that she had smelled in her room one night after having dreamed about me. "He must be near," she thought, seeing the clean, new tiles of the drugstore. Then she went over to the clerk and said to him: "I always dream about a man who says to me: 'Eyes of a blue dog.'" And she said the clerk had looked at her eyes and told her: "As a matter of fact, miss, you do have eyes like that." And she said to him: "I have to find the man who told me those very words in my dreams." And the clerk started to laugh and moved to the other end of the counter. She kept on seeing the clean tile and smelling the odor. And she opened her purse and on the tiles with her crimson lipstick, she wrote in red letters: "Eyes of a blue dog." The clerk came back from where he had been. He told her: Madam, you have dirtied the tiles." He gave her a damp cloth, saying: "Clean it up." And she said, still by the lamp, that she had spent the whole afternoon on all fours, washing the tiles and saying: "Eyes of a blue dog," until people gathered at the door and said she was crazy.

Now, when she finished speaking, I remained in the corner, sitting, rocking in the chair. "Every day I try to remember the phrase with which I am to find you," I said. "Now I don't think I'll forget it tomorrow. Still, I've always said the same thing and when I wake up I've always forgotten what the words I can find you with are." And she said: "You invented them yourself on the first day." And I said to her: "I invented them because I saw your eyes of ash. But I never remember the next morning." And she, with clenched fists, beside the lamp, breathed deeply: "If you could at least remember now what city I've been writing it in."

Her tightened teeth gleamed over the flame. "I'd like to touch you now," I said. She raised the face that had been looking at the light; she raised her look, burning, roasting, too, just like her, like her hands, and I felt that she saw me, in the corner where I was sitting, rocking in the chair. "You'd never told me that," she said. "I tell you now and it's the truth," I said. >From the other side of the lamp she asked for a cigarette. The butt had disappeared between my fingers. I'd forgotten I was smoking. She said: "I don't know why I can't remember where I wrote it." And I said to her: "For the same reason that tomorrow I won't be able to remember the words." And she said sadly: "No. It's just that sometimes I think that I've dreamed that too." I stood up and walked toward the lamp. She was a little beyond, and I kept on walking with the cigarettes and matches in my hand, which would not go beyond the lamp. I held the cigarette out to her. She squeezed it between her lips and leaned over to reach the flame before I had time to light the match. "In some city in the world, on all the walls, those words have to appear in writing: 'Eyes of a blue dog," I said. "If I remembered them tomorrow I could find you." She raised her head again and now the lighted coal was between her lips. "Eyes of a blue dog," she sighed, remembered, with the cigarette drooping over her chin and one eye half closed. The she sucked in the smoke with the cigarette between her fingers and exclaimed: "This is something else now. I'm warming up." And she said it with her voice a little lukewarm and fleeting, as if she hadn't really said it, but as if she had written it on a piece of paper and had brought the paper close to the flame while I read: "I'm warming," and she had continued with the paper between her thumb and forefinger, turning it around as it was being consumed and I had just read ". . . up," before the paper was completely consumed and dropped all wrinkled to the floor, diminished, converted into light ash dust. "That's better," I said. "Sometimes it frightens me to see you that way. Trembling beside a lamp."

We had been seeing each other for several years. Sometimes, when we were already together, somebody would drop a spoon outside and we would wake up. Little by little we'd been coming to understand that our friendship was subordinated to things, to the simplest of happenings. Our meetings always ended that way, with the fall of a spoon early in the morning.

Now, next to the lamp, she was looking at me. I remembered that she had also looked at me in that way in the past, from that remote dream where I made the chair spin on its back legs and remained facing a strange woman with ashen eyes. It was in that dream that I asked her for the first time: "Who are you?" And she said to me: "I don't remember." I said to her: "But I think we've seen each other before." And she said, indifferently: "I think I dreamed about you once, about this same room." And I told her: "That's it. I'm beginning to remember now." And she said: "How strange. It's certain that we've met in other dreams."

She took two drags on the cigarette. I was still standing, facing the lamp, when suddenly I kept looking at her. I looked her up and down and she was still copper; no longer hard and cold metal, but yellow, soft, malleable copper. "I'd like to touch you," I said again. And she said: "You'll ruin everything." I said: "It doesn't matter now. All we have to do is turn the pillow in order to meet again." And I held my hand out over the lamp. She didn't move. "You'll ruin everything," she said again before I could touch her. "Maybe, if you come around behind the lamp, we'd wake up frightened in who knows what part of the world." But I insisted: "It doesn't matter." And she said: "If we turned over the pillow, we'd meet again. But when you wake up you'll have forgotten." I began to move toward the corner. She stayed behind, warming her hands over the flame. And I still wasn't beside the chair when I heard her say behind me: "When I wake up at midnight, I keep turning in bed, with the fringe of the pillow burning my knee, and repeating until dawn: 'Eyes of a blue dog.'"

Then I remained with my face toward the wall. "It's already dawning," I said without looking at her. "When it struck two I was awake and that was a long time back." I went to the door. When I had the knob in my hand, I heard her voice again, the same, invariable. "Don't open that door," she said. "The hallway is full of difficult dreams." And I asked her: "How do you know?" And she told me: "Because I was there a moment ago and I had to come back when I discovered I was sleeping on my heart." I had the door half opened. I moved it a little and a cold, thin breeze brought me the fresh smell of vegetable earth, damp fields. She spoke again. I gave the turn, still moving the door, mounted on silent hinges, and I told her: "I don't think there's any hallway outside here. I'm getting the smell of country." And she, a little distant, told me: "I know that better than you. What's happening is that there's a woman outside dreaming about the country." She crossed her arms over the flame. She continued speaking: "It's that woman who always wanted to have a house in the country and was never able to leave the city." I remembered having seen the woman in some previous dream, but I knew, with the door ajar now, that within half an hour I would have to go down for breakfast. And I said: "In any case, I have to leave here in order to wake up."

Outside the wind fluttered for an instant, then remained quiet, and the breathing of someone sleeping who had just turned over in bed could be heard. The wind from the fields had ceased. There were no more smells. "Tomorrow I'll recognize you from that," I said. "I'll recognize you when on the street I see a woman writing 'Eyes of a blue dog' on the walls." And she, with a sad smile--which was already a smile of surrender to the impossible, the unreachable--said: "Yet you won't remember anything during the day." And she put her hands back over the lamp, her features darkened by a bitter cloud. "You're the only man who doesn't remember anything of what he's dreamed after he wakes up."

taken from: Classic Short Stories

Label: Short Stories