KEAHLIAN BARU | EPS 6

KEAHLIAN BARU

Matahari belum terlalu tinggi, tapi halaman dekat sumur sudah ramai. Sepuluh ibu-ibu duduk melingkar, masing-masing dengan gumpalan tanah liat di depan mereka. Di tengah, Marni duduk dengan kain lap di pangkuannya, matanya bersemangat meskipun tangannya gemetar sedikit—kebiasaan sejak suaminya meninggal di jalan. "Ini bukan tanah sembarangan," jelasnya, memijat tanah liat dengan jari-jari terampil. "Ini tanah lempung dari pinggir sungai. Kalau kalian ambil yang terlalu banyak pasir, nanti gerabahnya rapuh." Laras, yang duduk paling depan, memperhatikan setiap gerakan. Di sampingnya, Sri—istri Baran—tampak skeptis. "Kita biasa pakai bambu buat nyimpen air, Mbok. Ngapain repot-repot bikin gerabah?" Marni tersenyum. "Coba lihat nanti."

Tiga jam kemudian, kata-kata Marni terbukti. Gerabah pertama berhasil dibentuk—sebuah kendi kecil dengan leher ramping dan badan membulat. Marni memutarnya di tangannya, memeriksa ketebalan dinding, lalu mengangguk puas. "Ini harus dijemur dulu tiga hari, baru dibakar. Tapi hasilnya bakal tahan air, lebih awet dari bambu." Sri meraih kendi itu, membolak-balik dengan mata tak percaya. "Ini... ini kita yang bikin?" Marni tertawa kecil. "Iya, Bu. Ibu dan saya." Suasana riuh. Ibu-ibu lain mulai menunjukkan hasil mereka—ada yang masih penyok, ada yang terlalu tebal, tapi semuanya adalah gerabah pertama dalam hidup mereka. Laras menatap tangannya yang penuh tanah liat, lalu menatap Marni. Ada rasa kagum di matanya. "Marni, kau benar-benar ahli." Marni menunduk, matanya berkaca-kaca. "Suamiku dulu bilang, suatu hari aku akan buka usaha gerabah. Dia... dia sudah tiada, tapi mimpinya hidup di sini."

Di ujung desa, suasana berbeda tapi semangatnya sama. Slamet—pengungsi dengan kaki pincang akibat luka lama—sedang mengajari lima warga cara memasang jerat. "Kita bukan pemburu besar," katanya, tangannya cekatan merangkai tali dari serat kayu. "Tapi kita bisa tangkap tikus tanah, tupai, atau burung. Cukup buat lauk." Salah satu pemuda asli, Jarwo, memperhatikan dengan serius. "Kalau mau tangkap yang lebih gede, Pak?" Slamet menggeleng. "Untuk sekarang, jangan dulu. Perangkap besar butuh tali kuat dan umpan yang banyak. Kita belum punya." Dia memasang jerat terakhir, lalu menunjukkan cara menyembunyikannya di semak. "Yang penting, ingat posisinya. Jangan sampai kita sendiri kena." Jarwo tersenyum lebar. "Besok aku coba di pinggir hutan."

Di dekat ladang, Kusno dan Karto masih bekerja dengan cangkul sihir. Ladang baru kini hampir selesai seluruhnya—siap ditanami bibit jagung dan kacang. Kusno berhenti sejenak, mengusap keringat di dahi. Matanya memandang hamparan tanah cokelat yang membentang. "Dulu, di desaku, aku punya ladang selebar ini," gumamnya. Karto mengangguk. "Aku dulu cuma buruh tani. Sekarang... sekarang aku punya harapan." Dia menatap cangkul di tangannya—cangkul yang nyaris menjadikannya pencuri, tapi kini jadi alat perubahan. "Makasih, Pak Baran," bisiknya pelan. "Makasih sudah percaya."

Di balai desa, Pak Teguh menerima laporan dari Baran. "Produksi gerabah sudah jalan. Mereka targetkan sepuluh unit per hari buat mulai," kata Baran. "Lima warga sudah bisa pasang jerat. Mudah-mudahan dalam seminggu kita punya tambahan lauk." Pak Teguh mengangguk, senyum tipis mengembang di wajahnya yang masih sedikit pucat. "Ini di luar ekspektasiku, Baran. Aku kira mereka cuma butuh tempat berteduh. Ternyata mereka bawa keahlian." Baran menghela napas. "Aku juga awalnya ragu, Pak. Tapi melihat sendiri... mereka bukan beban. Mereka justru penguat." Pak Teguh menepuk bahu Baran. "Kau yang berjaga di saat aku tumbang. Aku tak akan lupa itu."

Sore harinya, Marni memeriksa gerabah-gerabah yang dijemur. Laras dan Sri membantu mengatur posisi supaya terkena matahari maksimal. Di antara tumpukan gerabah, Laras melihat sesuatu—sebuah kendi kecil dengan ukiran sederhana di badannya. "Marni, ini ukirannya bagus. Bisa ajarin?" Marni mengangguk semangat. "Ini pola daun. Gampang kok. Nanti aku ajarin." Sri mendekat, ikut melihat. "Marni... dulu suamimu yang ngajarin?" Marni diam sebentar, lalu mengangguk. "Dia bilang, gerabah itu kayak hidup. Harus sabar, harus telaten. Kalau keburu nafsu, pecah." Laras dan Sri saling pandang. Ada kesedihan, tapi juga kekaguman. Marni kehilangan suami, tapi tetap melanjutkan mimpinya. Di desa yang baru ini, dia menanam kembali benih yang hampir mati.

Matahari mulai condong. Bayu sedang asyik bermain dengan Aryan dan Buyung di dekat sungai. Mereka membuat perahu-perahuan dari daun pisang, menerbangkannya di aliran air. Tiba-tiba Bayu berhenti, memegang perutnya. "Aduh..." Aryan menoleh. "Kenapa, Bayu?" Bayu menggeleng. "Nggak tahu. Perutku mules." Beberapa saat kemudian, rasa mulas itu mereda. Mereka melanjutkan main. Tapi saat hendak pulang, Bayu melihat sesuatu—beberapa anak kecil duduk di pinggir desa, memegang perut dengan wajah pucat. Yang paling parah, adik Kusno yang berusia empat tahun, sudah muntah-muntah di samping ibunya. Bayu berlari. Bukan ke rumahnya, tapi ke balai desa. "Ayah! Ayah!" Pak Teguh yang sedang berbincang dengan Baran menoleh kaget. "Ada apa, Nak?" Bayu terengah-engah. "Ada yang sakit! Banyak! Mereka muntah-muntah, pegang perut!"

Baran langsung bangkit. "Di mana?" "Di pinggir desa, dekat pohon randu. Anak-anak kecil, Pak. Mungkin lima atau enam." Baran melesat. Pak Teguh menyusul dengan langkah cepat meski tubuhnya belum pulih total. Di pinggir desa, pemandangan mengkhawatirkan. Lima anak terbaring di dipan darurat, meringis kesakitan. Dua di antaranya sudah pucat pasi. Ibu-ibu menangis di samping mereka, tak tahu harus berbuat apa. Nini datang, langsung memeriksa denyut nadi, memeriksa mata. "Muntah sejak kapan?" tanyanya pada salah satu ibu. "Satu jam lalu, Nini. Tiba-tiba aja." Nini mengerutkan dahi. Lalu dia mencium bau samar—bau anyir, seperti sesuatu yang busuk. Dia menunduk, memeriksa kuku anak-anak itu. Di bawah kuku, ada sisa-sisa makanan—sayur yang belum lama dimakan.

Nini bangkit, wajahnya tegang. "Air. Beri mereka air rebusan jahe. Hangat. Jangan dingin." Para ibu bergegas. Nini menarik Baran dan Pak Teguh ke samping. "Ini bukan penyakit biasa." Baran menegang. "Maksud Nini?" Nini menatap mereka bergantian. "Ini racun. Atau makanan basi. Tapi kalau lima anak dari keluarga berbeda sakit bersamaan dengan gejala sama... ada yang tidak beres dengan makanan mereka." Pak Teguh memucat. "Makanan dari jatah?" Nini menggeleng. "Belum tahu. Tapi kita harus selidiki. Cepat."

Malam turun, Dusun Karang diliputi kecemasan. Lima anak masih terbaring, dua di antaranya belum sadarkan diri. Nini dan Mbok Ranti bergantian menjaga, memberikan ramuan, membacakan mantra penyembuhan. Laras membantu menyiapkan air rebusan, sementara Baran dan beberapa pemuda memeriksa persediaan makanan. Mereka menemukan sesuatu—satu karung jagung yang mulai membusuk di bagian bawah, baunya menusuk. "Ini jatah yang dibagikan tiga hari lalu," kata Baran. "Mungkin mereka masak jagung ini tanpa tahu bagian bawahnya sudah busuk." Tapi Nini tak puas dengan jawaban itu. Matanya menyipit. "Karung ini dari mana?" Baran memeriksa. "Dari lumbung desa." Nini menggeleng. "Bukan itu. Dari mana asalnya? Siapa yang menyumbang? Atau... siapa yang meletakkannya?"

Pertanyaan itu menggantung. Di balik jendela, di kegelapan malam, sesosok bayangan mengamati keributan. Kirun tersenyum tipis. Di tangannya, sebuah buku kecil—dan di dalamnya, catatan baru: "Persediaan makanan. Titik lemah. Reaksi: panik." Dia menutup buku, menyimpannya di balik baju. Lalu dia melangkah pergi, menghilang di antara pohon-pohon. Tak ada yang melihat. Tak ada yang tahu. Tapi racun pertama sudah ditebar. Bukan hanya di makanan, tapi di hati. Kecurigaan mulai merambat. Siapa yang mau meracuni anak-anak? Apakah ini kebetulan? Atau ada yang sengaja? Malam itu, Dusun Karang tak bisa tidur. Dan di balik semua itu, Kirun menunggu. Menunggu reaksi. Menunggu kekacauan. Karena kekacauan adalah kesempatan.

NEW SKILLS (English Version)

The sun wasn't too high yet, but the area near the well was already crowded. Ten women sat in a circle, each with a lump of clay before them. In the center, Marni sat with a cloth on her lap, her eyes bright even though her hands trembled slightly—a habit since her husband died on the road. "This isn't just any soil," she explained, kneading clay with skilled fingers. "This is loam from the riverbank. If you take soil with too much sand, your pottery will be brittle." Laras, sitting in the front row, watched every move. Beside her, Sri—Baran's wife—looked skeptical. "We usually use bamboo to store water. Why bother making pottery?" Marni smiled. "Just wait and see."

Three hours later, Marni's words proved true. The first pot was successfully shaped—a small jar with a slender neck and rounded body. Marni turned it in her hands, checking wall thickness, then nodded in satisfaction. "This needs to dry for three days, then be fired. But the result will be waterproof, more durable than bamboo." Sri reached for the jar, turning it over with disbelief. "We... we made this?" Marni laughed softly. "Yes, ma'am. You and I." The atmosphere grew lively. Other women began showing their results—some were dented, some too thick, but all were the first pottery of their lives. Laras looked at her clay-covered hands, then at Marni. There was awe in her eyes. "Marni, you're truly skilled." Marni looked down, eyes glistening. "My husband used to say, one day I'd open a pottery business. He's... he's gone now, but his dream lives on here."

At the village's edge, the atmosphere was different but the spirit was the same. Slamet—a refugee with a limp from an old wound—was teaching five villagers how to set traps. "We're not big hunters," he said, his hands skillfully weaving rope from tree fiber. "But we can catch ground squirrels, squirrels, or birds. Enough for side dishes." One native youth, Jarwo, watched intently. "What if we want to catch something bigger, sir?" Slamet shook his head. "Not yet. Big traps need strong rope and lots of bait. We don't have that yet." He set the last trap, then showed how to hide it in the bushes. "The important thing: remember the location. Don't let us get caught ourselves." Jarwo grinned widely. "Tomorrow I'll try at the forest edge."

Near the fields, Kusno and Karto still worked with magic hoes. The new field was almost completely finished—ready for corn and bean seeds. Kusno paused, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes looked over the expanse of brown earth. "Back in my village, I had a field this wide," he murmured. Karto nodded. "I used to be just a farm laborer. Now... now I have hope." He looked at the hoe in his hand—the hoe that nearly made him a thief, but now became a tool of change. "Thank you, Mr. Baran," he whispered softly. "Thank you for trusting me."

At the village hall, Pak Teguh received reports from Baran. "Pottery production is running. They're targeting ten units per day to start," Baran said. "Five villagers can now set traps. Hopefully within a week we'll have additional side dishes." Pak Teguh nodded, a faint smile forming on his still-pale face. "This exceeds my expectations, Baran. I thought they only needed shelter. Turns out they brought skills." Baran sighed. "I had doubts too, sir. But seeing for myself... they're not burdens. They're actually strengtheners." Pak Teguh patted Baran's shoulder. "You kept watch when I fell. I won't forget that."

That afternoon, Marni inspected the drying pottery. Laras and Sri helped arrange them for maximum sun exposure. Among the pile, Laras noticed something—a small jar with simple carvings on its body. "Marni, this carving is beautiful. Can you teach us?" Marni nodded enthusiastically. "It's a leaf pattern. Easy. I'll teach you later." Sri approached, looking too. "Marni... did your husband teach you?" Marni paused briefly, then nodded. "He said pottery is like life. Must be patient, must be diligent. If you're in a hurry, it breaks." Laras and Sri exchanged glances. There was sadness, but also admiration. Marni lost her husband, yet continued his dream. In this new village, she was replanting a nearly dead seed.

The sun began to tilt. Bayu was playing happily with Aryan and Buyung near the river. They made boats from banana leaves, sailing them in the current. Suddenly Bayu stopped, holding his stomach. "Ow..." Aryan turned. "What's wrong, Bayu?" Bayu shook his head. "I don't know. My stomach hurts." Moments later, the cramping subsided. They continued playing. But as they were about to go home, Bayu saw something—several small children sitting at the village edge, holding their stomachs with pale faces. The worst was Kusno's four-year-old sister, already vomiting beside her mother. Bayu ran. Not to his house, but to the village hall. "Dad! Dad!" Pak Teguh, who was talking with Baran, turned startled. "What's wrong, son?" Bayu gasped. "Some people are sick! Many! They're vomiting, holding their stomachs!"

Baran immediately stood. "Where?" "At the village edge, near the kapok tree. Little kids, sir. Maybe five or six." Baran dashed off. Pak Teguh followed quickly despite his not-fully-recovered body. At the village edge, the sight was alarming. Five children lay on emergency bamboo beds, grimacing in pain. Two were already pale. Mothers cried beside them, not knowing what to do. Nini arrived, immediately checking pulses, checking eyes. "Vomiting since when?" she asked one mother. "An hour ago, Nini. Suddenly." Nini frowned. Then she smelled a faint odor—a rancid smell, like something rotten. She bent down, checking the children's fingernails. Under the nails were food remnants—vegetables recently eaten.

Nini stood, face tense. "Water. Give them ginger boiled water. Warm, not cold." The mothers hurried. Nini pulled Baran and Pak Teguh aside. "This isn't ordinary illness." Baran tensed. "What do you mean, Nini?" Nini looked at them alternately. "This is poison. Or spoiled food. But if five children from different families get sick simultaneously with the same symptoms... something's wrong with their food." Pak Teguh paled. "Food from rations?" Nini shook her head. "Don't know yet. But we must investigate. Quickly."

Night fell, Dusun Karang shrouded in anxiety. Five children still lay ill, two still unconscious. Nini and Mbok Ranti took turns watching over them, administering herbal mixtures, reciting healing chants. Laras helped prepare boiled water, while Baran and some young men inspected food supplies. They found something—a sack of corn beginning to rot at the bottom, its smell pungent. "This was distributed three days ago," Baran said. "Maybe they cooked this corn without knowing the bottom part was spoiled." But Nini wasn't satisfied with that answer. Her eyes narrowed. "Where did this sack come from?" Baran checked. "From the village granary." Nini shook her head. "Not that. Where did it originate? Who donated it? Or... who placed it there?"

The question hung in the air. Behind a window, in the night's darkness, a silhouette observed the commotion. Kirun smiled faintly. In his hand, a small book—and inside, a new note: "Food supplies. Weak point. Reaction: panic." He closed the book, hid it in his clothes. Then he walked away, disappearing among the trees. No one saw. No one knew. But the first poison had been spread. Not just in food, but in hearts. Suspicion began creeping. Who would poison children? Was this coincidence? Or intentional? That night, Dusun Karang couldn't sleep. And behind it all, Kirun waited. Waited for reactions. Waited for chaos. Because chaos was opportunity.

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