The atmosphere of the day was very cold and rain. Clouds of dark clouds blanketed the sky that had been drowning in countless quantities of water. A couple of parents with a son came to look around. I do not know what's on their minds, so they are still willing to come to a small museum in the middle of town. They were the first visitors of the day, and it was not impossible to be the only visitor of the day-the museum was never as crowded as any other museum.
In front of the table like a counter, Arthur stand ready to receive the visitors. He gave a smile to the little family. They seemed hesitant to enter the house, staring at each other and wondering - Are we in the right place? - at the door of the house. They were looking at the odd-looking arrival room. The room looked dim light lacked.
The ceiling accents on top of it in classic colonial style add to the gloom of the room, just like a funeral home. Seeing the gaze of the two parents, Arthur remained relaxed. He was used to seeing the faces of hundreds of visitors before those who were full of hesitation. Only his son who appeared without burden, hung his small umbrella to a place that has been provided specifically for children's umbrella without any sense of awkwardness.
"Good afternoon. My name is Dr. Arthur. It's great that you can stop by at this museum, "his smile broadened to reduce the awkwardness of the visitors, but it seemed to make things worse. Arthur, whose body was thin and nearly two feet tall, resembled a skeleton that walked. Facial skin and hands look wrinkled and thin and the skin of his temple folded into, showing the skull bones that must have been eroded ages. He was almost eighty years old. The father jerked away from his awkwardness.
Oh, good afternoon too, sir. Sorry to interrupt, "said the father.
"Not at all."
"Hmm, thank goodness," the father's tone of voice was highly contrived. "So do we have to..." He broke off. His body gesture was so confused. He can not string the right phrase-whether he should be polite or should be this way-his mind is screwed. Finally, the mother must intervene.
"I hear this is a museum of art, is it true?"
"You seem to have misheard, ma'am," said Arthur. The mother's forehead was wrinkled as if it were strange to be called a mistress. "This is not an art museum, this is a museum of silence."
The pair both looked at each other strangely.
"Oh, that means we heard wrong," said the mother who is still in doubt.
"Come on, Dad, Mom! I want to take a look. "The child's whimper broke the silence of the three adults. The boy's hand is pulling his father's jacket to follow him. "Please," Arthur's long, slender fingers led to the next room, allowing the visitor to just look around. "With all my heart I will guide you."
Every window there was covered with a curtain that was clogged in the rain outside. The surrounding walls are covered in dark mahogany, adding to the gloom of the museum. Fragrant fragrance of jasmine flowers that pierce the nose makes every visitor's hair goose bumps. On top of each small table that is about the size of an adult's waist, there is a glass jar that looks clear because it is routinely cleaned. Each glass jar of the exhibit is illuminated by a small, concentrated fluorescent light and deliberately focused on each of the exhibition objects. But because the lighting is very dazzling light, the atmosphere around the room becomes darker.
Each glass jar is accompanied by a stethoscope with a diaphragm attached directly with a clear glue to the glass surface. While the parts used to hear just lying around, waiting for customers. The boy walked quickly toward the first exhibition object, followed by his parents, then Arthur. A glass jar that stood to greet the guest, making the child's eyes do not blink.
"Empty," the boy chirped. His eyes still looked around the jar, surveying the room. "Nothing in it."
"Not as empty as you think," said Arthur. "Every glass jar you see has been sealed so that no air enters or out of the jar. Inside the glass jar contains a person's last breath. I have the largest recent blow collection in Indonesia, about fifty jars. Even some of the jars here hold the last blast of famous people. "
Hearing the words of Arthur, the mother laughed amused: a real laugh. His mouth was forced to close by his hands for no sound to come out, but still heard by Arthur. Arthur just smiled. He is accustomed to responding to all kinds of reaction visitors, because it's been years he took care of its unique collection. In contrast to both parents, the child even more interested in what is in it. His eyes stared at the clear glass surface. He took a similar tool stethoscope, but it was not.
"What is this?"
"His name is deathoscope," said Arthur. "A very sensitive tool. If you want to use it, please. Then you will hear the last blow of Amrozi bin Nurhasyim. "
"Is he a famous person?" Asked the boy. Arthur nodded.
"It could be that he is an artist. Though he's a criminal, he's pretty well known. Twenty-three years ago, he was executed. I personally mengautopsi and publish the certificate of death. And so his last blow got a place of honor here. "
"What did he do?" Asked the boy.
"Big bomb," said Arthur.
He carried out the 2002 Bali bombing. Hundreds of people were hovering over it. He never showed guilt when in court. He is referred to as 'The Smilling Assassin'. "Arthur crouched for the same height as the child. "Just listen if you want." The boy used the deathoscope while closing his eyes. The atmosphere was very quiet and the three adults looked at the child worriedly.
"There are all kinds of silences in this jar. The silence of the wind in a field, silent after a bullet shot. Your ears need adjustment for a moment. In a moment, you will hear Amrozi bin Nurhasyim's last breath, "Arthur whispered. The boy opened his eyes with a look of pleasure. He put the deathoscope back into place. He smiled at Arthur who was next to him.
"Like a choking person, but very short. Like ... "She took a short breath and pretended like a choking person. Arthur was very proud of him, then stood up.
The mother who had been holding back her laughter, now calms down even though the tears of her laughter still wet. "You're a doctor, right?"
"It's retired," Arthur replied. "Is not this against the theory of science?" Asked the mother sarcastically.
"Even if you are able to save the last air a person breathes, it still does not make a sound."
"Right," Arthur agreed. "But it's not the sound that's stored, but the silence. Everyone has a different kind of solitude. Even your husband also has solitude that only you can hear. "
"How do you collect these breaths?" The father interrupts Arthur's conversation with his mother. Arthur turned to face the father who had been staring at a jar of the front. "With an aspirator," Arthur said. "The shape is like a small pump that is used to pull an air blow from one's body and then put it in a vacuum container. I always carry it in my briefcase, in case it is needed. This tool and deathoscope I got from a doctor from England, and he is my teacher. So I became the pioneer of the last breath collecting in Indonesia. "
"Here is written Chairil Anwar. Well, you have his last breath collection. When I was in primary school, I was told to memorize one of his poems entitled 'Mix Dust', "said the father. Arthur just smiled to see the father who became interested in his collection. But Arthur's gaze was still stunned at the mother staring at a glass jar in the deeper part of the room.
"Wiwin Sugiarti," said the mother reading the card in front of a jar. "I guess, she must be a housewife."
"No," said Arthur. "I have never collected the last blow of a housewife, even though I have kept the last blow of all kinds of people, from students, members of parliament, and writers. He is a secretary of a well-known company in Jakarta, who died in hospital for the burns he suffered. "
"Burn because of what?" Asked the mother.
"His private jet plane along with a director of SOEs fell in the jungle of Borneo. Only he survived the accident, though only temporarily. She was admitted to ICU for five days before she died. During that incident, I was still teaching medical and I invited my students to simply satisfy their curiosity. It is rare for survivors to suffer such severe burns. Her skin melts and blends into the skin of another. And when I visited her, she died. Lucky I brought an aspirator tool. "
"I never believed your words. This place is full of lies and ridiculous, "sneers the mother. Then the mother uses deathoscope tool located in front of the jar. Arthur just smiled at the mother preparing to hear the jar. "You should look at other collections first. Some visitors are not so interested in knowing the expression Wiwin, "said Arthur reminded.
But the mother ignored the words of Arthur. The mother tries to listen to the voice inside the jar. But suddenly he took a step back. Suddenly with a quick movement Arthur hold the jar to avoid falling. Then the woman took off the hearing aids in a hurry, clumsy.
"W. S. Rendra, "said the father who admired the glass jar there with the child. "You really are enthusiastic about collecting the last blow of writers, huh?"
"I do not like this place," said the mother. The woman's eyes were suddenly unfocused. He was confused, put his hands on his neck.
"Honey?" Called her husband. The man approached her for concern. "Do you want to go? But we just came in. "The mother immediately glared at Arthur.
"You're not a good man. You're just like a grave thief! "The mother snapped at Arthur. Arthur was used to the reactions of his visitors. Her husband tried to calm his wife and then took her to the arrivals room.
"I hope you will fill the guest book, sir," Arthur said. The frail old man accompanied them to the arrival hall. The child bitterly tucked his hands in his pockets. Then he kicked a shabby bag beside the umbrella container. Realizing that he had kicked something, he saw the bag in a rush as he convinced himself that the contents of the bag were all right. He saw an aspirator device that looked like a copper thermos, with a rubber band and a plastic face mask stuck at the end of the tool.
"Can you wait in the car first? Ersa and I want to look around for longer, "said the father soothingly. "I do not care! We all have to get out of here! I'll go to the car first, "said the mother, bending her head, pulling away. "Do not be long."
"Wait," said the father. "Wait us."
The woman ignored her husband's call and immediately left the museum, leaving the door behind him wide open. He descended the granite steps to the sidewalk. She was a little dazed as she walked across the street. His face stared directly at his car across the street. Arthur just turned around to pick up the guest book -he thought maybe his guest still wanted to fill it.
Then he heard the sound of the brakes screeching and the metal crash, like a speeding car crashing into a tree, only that it was not a tree. The father shouts many times. Arthur spun around just as the father ran down the stairs to the ground. A silver Toyota car curved in an odd corner of the road, smoke rising from the wrecked car hood. The driver's door was open, and the driver stood in the middle of the road.
Arthur's ears were ringing sharply, but he could still hear the driver saying, "He does not even look left and right, right in the middle of the traffic. My God, what am I supposed to do? "The father did not listen to anyone's words. He knelt in the middle of the road, hugging his wife's body. The boy was still standing in the arrivals room, stunned there.
"Doctor!" Cried his father. "Please help! Doctor! "He looked at Arthur.
Arthur paused to retrieve his jacket and umbrella from the hanger. It was February, the wind was blowing hard and the rain did not stop. He does not want to be cold. He can live for this because he is diligent in maintaining the condition of his body. Arthur patted his child's shoulder as he stepped out. He had just descended the stairs when the boy called him.
Doctor, "the boy said nervously. Arthur turned back, toward the boy.
"Do not forget to bring this bag," said the boy. "Maybe you need your medical device."
Arthur smiled a little, climbed the stairs and took the bag from the boy's hand.
"Thank you," she said. "You're probably right."