The Column Taken Literally

In eleven years of writing the satirical column in the town's Thursday paper, Mehmet had never been quoted by anyone except his mother, who repeated him to her friends with the punctuation wrong. That was why he felt entirely safe on the Wednesday evening he wrote about the town hall.

Selama sebelas tahun menulis kolom satire di koran Kamis kota itu, Mehmet tak pernah dikutip siapa pun kecuali ibunya, yang mengulang tulisannya kepada teman-temannya dengan tanda baca yang keliru. Itulah sebabnya ia merasa sepenuhnya aman pada Rabu malam ketika ia menulis tentang balai kota.

The council had spent the autumn commissioning a report on why nobody in town felt cheerful. The report cost more than the library's heating bill for a year, and it concluded that residents wanted "a visible symbol of renewal." With a deadline, a cold coffee and what he considered a modest sense of public duty, Mehmet proposed painting the town hall in wide orange and white stripes. A building that looked like a deckchair, he wrote, would lift anyone's mood, and it would be far cheaper than fixing the roof. He added a drawing of the mayor on a ladder, holding a ribbon and a very small brush.

Dewan kota menghabiskan musim gugur dengan memesan sebuah laporan tentang mengapa tak seorang pun di kota ini merasa riang. Laporan itu biayanya lebih besar daripada tagihan pemanas perpustakaan setahun penuh, dan kesimpulannya, warga menginginkan "simbol pembaruan yang terlihat." Dengan tenggat waktu, kopi yang sudah dingin, dan apa yang ia anggap sebagai rasa tanggung jawab publik yang sederhana, Mehmet mengusulkan agar balai kota dicat dengan garis-garis lebar oranye dan putih. Bangunan yang tampak seperti kursi santai, tulisnya, akan mengangkat suasana hati siapa pun, dan jauh lebih murah daripada memperbaiki atap. Ia menambahkan gambar wali kota di atas tangga, memegang pita dan kuas yang sangat kecil.

He had been so sure of the tone that it never crossed his mind anyone could miss it. Not until the following Monday did his editor turn her screen toward him without a word.

Ia begitu yakin akan nadanya sampai tak pernah terlintas bahwa ada yang bisa salah menangkapnya. Baru pada Senin berikutnya editornya memutar layarnya ke arahnya tanpa sepatah kata.

The council had met on Sunday night. By five votes to two, it had approved "the Courier columnist's initiative" and set aside a modest sum from the renewal fund. A painter had been booked for the first week of May.

Dewan kota telah bersidang pada Minggu malam. Dengan lima suara berbanding dua, mereka menyetujui "inisiatif kolumnis Courier" dan menyisihkan dana kecil dari anggaran pembaruan. Seorang tukang cat sudah dipesan untuk minggu pertama bulan Mei.

"They thanked you," she said. "Look. 'Mr. Mehmet's creative vision.'"

"Mereka berterima kasih padamu," katanya. "Lihat. 'Visi kreatif Pak Mehmet.'"

"It was a joke," he said. "It's called Small Print. It had a drawing of a deckchair."

"Itu lelucon," katanya. "Kolomnya bernama Small Print. Ada gambar kursi santainya."

"They don't read the drawings."

"Mereka tidak membaca gambar."

What troubled him in the days that followed was not the stripes but how happy people were. Strangers stopped him outside the bakery. The man who sold newspapers said it was the first idea in years that had made him look up at the building rather than past it. Had Mehmet written the same point about the roof in plain, serious language, he thought, it would have been filed and forgotten for another decade. Dressed as nonsense, it had been passed in a single evening.

Yang mengusiknya dalam hari-hari berikutnya bukan garis-garis itu, melainkan betapa bahagianya orang-orang. Orang-orang asing menghentikannya di depan toko roti. Pria penjual koran bilang itu ide pertama dalam bertahun-tahun yang membuatnya mendongak menatap gedung itu, bukan melewatinya. Seandainya Mehmet menulis hal yang sama tentang atap itu dalam bahasa biasa yang serius, pikirnya, tulisan itu akan diarsipkan dan terlupakan selama satu dasawarsa lagi. Disamarkan sebagai omong kosong, ia disetujui dalam satu malam.

On Friday the mayor caught him on the pavement and took both his hands in hers. "Do you know," she said, "that in thirty years nobody has suggested anything that made me smile during a budget meeting?"

Pada hari Jumat wali kota mencegatnya di trotoar dan menggenggam kedua tangannya. "Tahukah Anda," katanya, "bahwa selama tiga puluh tahun tak seorang pun mengusulkan sesuatu yang membuat saya tersenyum dalam rapat anggaran?"

"About the stripes," Mehmet began. "There's something I should—"

"Soal garis-garis itu," Mehmet mulai. "Ada yang harus saya—"

"Don't tell me the details. I want to be surprised."

"Jangan beri tahu detailnya. Saya ingin dikejutkan."

That night he drafted a correction. It was a good one, dry and careful, admitting that the column had been satire and regretting any confusion. He read it to his editor over the phone, and she was quiet for so long he thought the line had dropped.

Malam itu ia menyusun sebuah koreksi. Koreksi yang bagus, kering dan hati-hati, mengakui bahwa kolom itu satire dan menyesali kebingungan yang timbul. Ia membacakannya kepada editornya lewat telepon, dan perempuan itu diam begitu lama sampai ia mengira sambungannya terputus.

"Print that," she said finally, "and the stripes happen anyway, only now the whole town knows it was an accident. Or you stay silent, and they happen as a decision. Which would you rather have on the front of your building?"

"Kalau kamu cetak itu," katanya akhirnya, "garis-garis itu tetap terjadi, hanya saja sekarang seluruh kota tahu itu kecelakaan. Atau kamu diam, dan itu terjadi sebagai sebuah keputusan. Mana yang lebih kamu inginkan terpampang di depan gedungmu?"

"I'd rather not have anything on it."

"Aku lebih suka tidak ada apa-apa di sana."

"Too late for that."

"Sudah terlambat untuk itu."

He did not answer. Having spent a decade being safely unread, he found he had no practice at being believed, and the sensation was both flattering and faintly sick. If he had known the council read the paper at all, he would have written something duller. If he had written something duller, he thought, the roof would still be leaking and nobody would be smiling at the town hall at all.

Ia tidak menjawab. Setelah sepuluh tahun lebih menjadi penulis yang aman karena tak dibaca, ia mendapati dirinya tak berpengalaman dipercaya, dan sensasinya sekaligus membanggakan dan sedikit memualkan. Seandainya ia tahu dewan kota membaca koran itu, ia pasti menulis sesuatu yang lebih membosankan. Dan seandainya ia menulis sesuatu yang lebih membosankan, pikirnya, atap itu masih bocor dan tak seorang pun tersenyum pada balai kota.

He folded the correction in three and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket, next to his pen. It was still there in May, on the morning the ladder went up and the first stripe of orange rolled across the old grey stone. A small child at the edge of the crowd asked her father why the building was wearing a deckchair, and the whole square laughed, Mehmet loudest. He put a hand to his pocket. Then he took it away again.

Ia melipat koreksi itu menjadi tiga dan memasukkannya ke saku dalam jaketnya, di samping penanya. Kertas itu masih di sana pada bulan Mei, pada pagi ketika tangga dipasang dan garis oranye pertama menggulung di atas batu kelabu tua. Seorang anak kecil di tepi kerumunan bertanya kepada ayahnya mengapa gedung itu memakai kursi santai, dan seluruh alun-alun tertawa, Mehmet yang paling keras. Ia meraba sakunya. Lalu menarik tangannya kembali.