kisah anak yang soleh..

Anak yg SOLEH..-USTAZ Harun Din

Assalamualaikum semua..
> Satu kisah benar yang menarik dan berguna untuk renungan kita
bersama. Kisah ini diceritakan oleh Ustaz Shamsuri dalam salah satu siri-siri
ceramah beliau mengenai kebajikan anak-anak yang soleh kepada ibu
mereka yang telah meninggal dunia. Mungkin ada yang telah mendengarnya dan
sama-samalah kita renungkan sejauh mana kebaktian kita kepada kedua-dua
ibubapa kita.
>
> Kisah menarik ini adalah tentang diri Ustaz Harun Din dan adik
beradik beliau. Memang telah diketahui umum, bahawa Ustaz Harun Din dan adik
beradik beliau mempunyai pegangan dan ilmu agama yang tinggi hasil
didikan ibubapa mereka yang telah berjaya mencernakan roh Islam ke dalam
diri anak-anak mereka hingga menjadi alim ulama, tempat rujukan umat
Islam di negara ini, malah di tempat lain juga.
>
> Diceritakan bahawa, ibu Ustaz Harun telah meninggal dunia semasa
dalam solat Asar. Sebelum kematian ibu beliau, pada kebiasaannya, ibu
beliau akan bersembang-sembang dengan jiran selepas solat Asar. Tetapi pada
hari itu, selepas solat Asar, ibu Ustaz Harun tidak keluar ke beranda
rumah untuk beramah mesra dan bertanya khabar dengan jiran-jiran. Para
jiran tertanya-tanya ke manakah gerangan si ibu itu,
kalau dikatakan pergi ke rumah anak-anak, tidak pula.
>
> Setelah agak lama dengan ketiadaan si ibu itu, lalu jiran-jiran
mensyaki sesuatu telah berlaku terhadap ibu Ustaz Harun. Mereka kemudian
menjenguk ke dalam rumah sambil memberi salam, tetapi tiada jawapan.
Mereka kemudian memberanikan diri untuk masuk ke dalam rumah dan alangkah
terperanjat para jiran itu apabila mendapati ibu Ustaz Harun telah pun
meninggal dunia semasa dalam solat Asar.
>
> Mereka terus menghubungi anak-anak allahyarhamah. Pada kebiasaannya,
apabila berlaku satu-satu kematian, di mana-mana pun akan kita dapati
jenazah itu diuruskan oleh orang-orang kampung atau jamaah masjid,
jenazah lelaki, oleh jamaah lelaki, manakala jenazah perempuan oleh jamaah
perempuan. Tetapi berlainan pula dengan jenazah ibu Ustaz Harun Din ini.
>
> Beliau sendiri beserta dengan adik beradik beliau > (Ustaz Abu Hassan
Din dan Ustaz Ishak Din) menguruskan jenazah ibu mereka. Dengan penuh
belaian kasih sayang dan penuh hormat mereka memandikan ibu mereka,
mengkafankan, serta menunaikan solat jenazah yang diimamkan sendiri
oleh Ustaz Harun Din. Walaupun diminta oleh orang-orang kampung untuk
melaksanakan urusan jenazah tersebut, Ustaz Harun dan adik
beradik mereka dengan penuh sopan mengatakan kepada orang-orang kampung

bahawa ini adalah ibu mereka yang telah berjasa melahirkan, memberi
makan minum serta mendidik mereka sehingga menjadi anak-anak yang berguna.
Oleh itu, sebagai penghormatan yang terakhir dan tanda kasih sayang
anak-anak terhadap ibu mereka, biarlah mereka sendiri yang menguruskan
jenazah ibu mereka itu.
>
> Maka ramailah orang-orang kampung yang mengalirkan airmata mereka,
mengenangkan tentang kebaikan dan kesolehan anak-anak
hasil didikan tangan si ibu yang berjaya mendidik anak-anak dengan cahaya iman.
>
> Sehinggalah ke saat pengkebumian jenazah, urusan ini ditangani
sendiri oleh Ustaz Harun adik beradik. Sungguh menarik dan
mengharukan kisah ini. Tanyalah diri kita sendiri. Bagi yang masih mempunyai ibu dan
bapa, bagaimana nanti peranan kita semasa jasad ibubapa kita terbujur kaku.
Adakah kita juga ingin menghulurkan bakti zahir yang terakhir sebagai
tanda hormat kita kepada kedua-dua ibu bapa kita? Ataukah kita hanya
menyerahkan bulat-bulat urusan itu kepada orang-orang kampung atau jamaah
masjid untuk menguruskan jenazah mereka, tanpa ingin mengambil peluang

terakhir untuk berbakti. Inilah bakti zahir yang terakhir yang dapat
kita lakukan, disamping doa dan amalan-amalan baik kita yang kita
hadiahkan kepada ibubapa kita.
>
Bagaimana pula peranan kita sebagai ibu dan bapa kepada anak-anak kita
yang sedang membesar? Bagi yang telah bergelar
ayah/papa/bapa/walid/baba dan
ibu/mama/emak/ummi dan sebagainya, bagaimana nanti agaknya perlakuan
anak-anak kita setelah jasad kita pula terbujur kaku, menanti waktu
untuk diuruskan pengkebumian? Adakah anak-anak kita akan berebut-rebut
untuk menguruskan, atau bertempiaran lari kerana takut atau hina memandang
jenazah kita yang telah kaku?
>
> Sama-samalah kita renungkan ke arah mana diri kita sebagai anak dan
juga sebagai ibu dan bapa kepada anak-anak yang sedang memerlukan
didikan agama dari kita. Kita berilah didikan agama yang sebaiknya kepada
anak-anak kita agar menjadi orang-orang yang beriman dan berguna kepada
agama, bangsa dan negara, seperti contoh yang telah dipertuturkan di atas
tadi.
>
> Wallahu'alam.
>
> Sebenarnya ada seperkara lagi,
>
> Apabila manusia meninggal dunia, ada empat perkara yg masih ada
hubungan dengannya dan salah satunya ialah anak-anaknya. Tanggungjawab anak
masih belum habis terhadap kedua-dua ibubapanya walaupun ibubapa mereka
meninggal dunia, Selepas meninggal dunia, hendaklah anak-anaknya yang
memandikan dan menyembahyangkannya. Dan selepas itu pula hendaklah
selalu ia beramal dengan menyedekahkan pahalanya dan berdoa untuk mereka.
Disamping memelihara hubungan baik dgn saudara-saudara dan
sahabat-sahabatnya.
>
> Kalau kita buat perkara-perkara yg melanggar syarak pun ibubapa kita
juga mendapat habuan juga kerana dia yang mendidik kita. Jadi siapa yg
ibubapa yang dah tak ada itu, ingatlah mereka
dalam doa selepas
sembahyang dan selalulah berzikir utk mereka.
>
> Petikan ini di terima dari seorang sahabat ... renungkanlah agar kita
mengambil iktibar dari apa yang
diceritakannya.
>
> Aku mempunyai ibu yang hebat. Beliau menyayangiku dengan sepenuh
hatinya. Beliau berkorban dan membantuku dalam segala hal. Ibuku
membesarkan aku seperti menatang minyak yang penuh. Ibu menguruskan pengajianku
dan berkorban apa saja
demi memenuhi keperluaanku dan permintaanku. Hari ini, wanita yang
hebat itu telah kami semadikan untuk
selama-lamanya. Dapatkah anda
bayangkan perasaanku suatu hari aku pergi ke bilik ibuku dan aku telah terjumpa
serangkap sajak yang terlipat sepi di dalam laci mejanya.

> Sajaknya berbunyi begini.
>
> INILAH MASANYA
>
> JIKA KAU INGIN MENYINTAI IBU
> CINTAILAH IBU SEKARANG
SUPAYA IBU TAHU
> KEINDAHAN DAN KELEMBUTAN KASIH
> YANG MENGUKIR KUDUS DARIPADA SANUBARIMU
> CINTAILAH IBU SEKARANG
> SEMASA IBU MASIH HIDUP
> USAH TUNGGU SEHINGGA IBU TELAH PERGI
> KEMUDIAN BARULAH DIUKIR DI BATU NISAN
> DENGAN KATA-KATA INDAH PADA SEKUJUR BATU YANG SEPI
>
> JIKA KAU MEMILIKI INGATAN MANIS BUAT DIRI IBU
> TUNJUKLAH PADA IBU SEKARANG
> JIKA KAU TUNGGU SEHINGGA IBU MATI
> SUDAH PASTI IBU TAK DAPAT MENDENGAR
> KERNA KITA DIBATASI KELEMAHAN
>
> OLEH ITU, JIKA KAU MENYINTAI IBU
> WALAUPUN HANYA SECEBIS
> DARIPADA LAUTAN
HIDUPMU
> LAFAZKAN DAN BUKTIKAN SEKARANG
> SEMENTARA IBU MASIH HIDUP
> AGAR IBU DAPAT MENIKMATI DAN MENYANJUNGINYA
>
> Sekarang ibu sudah pergi dan aku menderita dengan rasa bersalah sebab
aku tidak pernah nyatakan betapa besar nilai ibuku selama ini. Malah
aku tak pernah melayan ibuku dengan wajarnya. Perasaan bersalah sering
menghantui hidupku. Aku layani semua orang untuk semua urusan,
tetapi
aku tak pernah meluangkan masa yang cukup untuk ibuku sendiri. Sebenarnya
aku mampu menuangkan air ke dalam cawannya, kemudian memeluknya ketika
bersarapan, tetapi aku lebih mengutamakan urusanku, rakan-rakanku dan

pekerjaanku.
>
> Sekarang baru aku terpikir............ pernahkah rakan-rakanku
melayaniku seperti ibuku ? Aku tahujawapanya. Apabila aku menelefon ibu, aku
sentiasa lakukan tergesa-gesa, cepat dan ringkas. Aku
benar-benar
berasa kesal dan malu apabila mengingati tindakan masa lampauku terhadap
ibu. Aku masih ingat berapa banyak masa dan pengorbanan ibu yang diberikan
untuk aku dan masa yang aku berikan padanya serta
banyak
manakah masa aku biarkan ibu kesepian dan hari tuanya berlalu
begitu sahaja. Aku sedar dan mengerti.
>
> Sekarang bahawa aku terlalu kritikal, aku diburu rasa kesal dan
bersalah. Dunia ini dipenuhi oleh anak-anak
seperti ku. Aku berharap kepada
rakan-rakanku........insaflah dan mengambil iktibar dan manfaat
daripada surat ini. Aku sudah terlambat dan kini sedang dilanda derita dan
penyesalan.
>
> Renungkanlah dan fikir-fikirkanlah!!!!!..... pernah kita bertindak
sedemikian????? pernah kita merasa kesal dengan tindakan kita itu????????
andainya kita pernah melayan sedemikian rupa terhadap ibu kita,

ubahlah sebelum terlambat
>
Bukankah pepatah mengatakan "syurga itu dibawah telapak kaki ibu" ...
mulia sungguh islam meletakkan wanita yang bergelar ibu ...
>
> wassalam
>
Sabda Rasulullah saw:
Tiada seorang muda yang menghormati seorang tua, melainkan Allah Ta'ala

akan mentakdirkan seorang lain menghormatinya, apabila dia menjadi tua
pula"

kisah seorang kristian masuk islam

'

Alkisah disebutkan bahwa di kota Array terdapat Qadhi yang kaya-raya. Suatu hari kebetulan hari Asyura' datanglah seorang miskin meminta sedekah. Berkatalah si miskin tadi, "Wahai tuan Qadhi, adalah saya seorang miskin yang mempunyai tanggungan keluarga. Demi kehormatan dan kemuliaan hari ini, saya meminta pertolongan daripada tuan, maka berilah saya sedekah sekadarnya berupa sepuluh keping roti, lima potong daging dan duit dua dirham."
Qadhi menjawab, "Datanglah selepas waktu zohor!"

Selepas sembahyang zohor orang miskin itu pun datang demi memenuhi janjinya. Sayangnya si Qadhi kaya itu tidak menepati janjinya dan menyuruh si miskin datang lagi selepas sembahyang Asar. Apabila dia datang selepas waktu yang dijanjikan untuk kali keduanya itu, ternyata si Qadhi tidak memberikan apa-apa. Maka beredarlah simiskin dari rumah si Qadhi dengan penuh kecewa.
Di waktu si miskin jalan mencari-cari, ia melintas di depan seorang kristian sedang duduk-duduk di hadapan rumahnya. Kepada orang Kristian itu si miskin minta sedekah, "Tuan, demi keagungan dan kebesaran hari ini berilah saya sedekah untuk menyara keluarga saya."

Si Kristian bertanya, "Hari apakah hari ini?"
"Hari ini hari Asyura", kata si miskin, sambil menerangkan keutamaan dan kisah-kisah hari Asyura'. Rupanya orang Kristian itu sangat tertarik mendengar cerita si peminta sedekah dan hatinya berkenan untuk memberi sedekah.
Berkata si Kristian, "Katakan apa hajatmu padaku!"
Berkata si peminta sedekah, "Saya memerlukan sepuluh keping roti, lima ketul daging dan wang dua dirham saja."
Dengan segera ia memberi si peminta sedekah semua keperluan yang dimintanya. Si peminta sedekah pun balik dengan gembira kepada keluarganya. Adapun Qadhi yang kedekut telah bermimpi di dalam tidurnya.

"Angkat kepalamu!" kata suara dalam mimpinya. Sebaik saja ia mengangkat kepala, tiba-tiba tersergam di hadapan matanya dua buah bangunan yang cantik. Sebuah bangunan diperbuat dari batu-bata bersalut emas dan sebuah lagi diperbuat daripada yaqut yang berkilau-kilauan warnanya. Ia bertanya, "Ya Tuhan, untuk siapa bangunan yang sangat cantik ini?"
Terdengar jawapan, "Semua bangunan ini adalah untuk kamu andaikan saja kamu mahu memenuhi hajat si peminta sedekah itu. Kini bangunan itu dimiliki oleh seorang Kristian."

Apabila Qadhi bangun dari tidurnya, iapun pergi kepada Kristian yang dimaksudkan dalam mimpinya.
Qadhi bertanya kepada si Kristian, "Amal apakah gerangan yang kau buat semalam hingga kau dapat pahala dua buah bangunan yang sangat cantik?"
Orang Kristian itu pun menceritakan tentang amal yang diperbuatnya bahwa ia telah bersedekah kepada fakir miskin yang memerlukannya pada hari Asyura' itu.
Kata Qadhi, "Juallah amal itu kepadaku dengan harga seratus ribu dirham."
Kata si Kristian, "Ketahuilah wahai Qadhi, sesungguhnya amal baik yang diterima oleh Allah tidak dapat diperjual-belikan sekalipun dengan harga bumi serta seisinya."

Kata Qadhi, "Mengapa anda begitu kedekut, sedangkan anda bukan seorang Islam?"
Ketika itu juga orang Kristian itu membuang tanda salibnya dan mengucapkan dua kalimah syahadat serta mengakui kebenaran agama yang dibawa oleh Nabi Muhammad S.A.W.

kasih pada ibu

Orang kata aku lahir dari perut ibu..
Bila dahaga, yang susukan aku.. ibu
Bila lapar, yang suapkan aku..ibu
Bila keseorangan, yang sentiasa di sampingku.. ibu
Kata ibu, perkataan pertama yang aku sebut.. Ma!

Bila bangun tidur, aku cari.. ibu
Bila nangis, orang pertama yang datang ..ibu
Bila nak bermanja.. aku dekati ibu
Bila nak bergesel... aku duduk sebelah ibu
Bila sedih, yang boleh memujukku hanya ibu
Bila nakal, yang memarahi aku ...ibu
Bila merajuk... yang memujukku cuma..ibu
Bila melakukan kesalahan... yang paling cepat marah..ibu
Bila takut... yang tenangkan aku.. ibu
Bila nak peluk... yang aku suka peluk..ibu

Aku selalu teringatkan ..Ibu

Bila sedih, aku mesti talipon... Ibu
Bila seronok... orang pertama aku nak beritahu...Ibu
Bila bengang.. aku suka luah pada ..Ibu
Bila takut, aku selalu panggil.. "ibuuuuuuuuuuuuu! "
Bila sakit, orang paling risau adalah ..Ibu
Bila nak exam, orang paling sibuk juga Ibu
Bila merajuk, yang datang pujuk aku juga.. Ibu
Bila buat hal, yang marah aku dulu..Ibu
Bila ada masalah, yang paling risau.. Ibu

Yang masih peluk dan cium aku sampai hari ni.. Ibu
Yang selalu masak makanan kegemaranku. . Ibu
Yang selalu simpan dan kemaskan barang-barang aku, Ibu
Yang selalu berleter kat aku.. Ibu
Yang selalu puji aku.. Ibu
Yang selalu nasihat aku.. Ibu

Bila nak kahwin..
Orang pertama aku tunjuk dan rujuk... Ibu
Aku ada pasangan hidup sendiri

Bila seronok... aku cari pasanganku
Bila sedih... aku cari Ibu
Bila berjaya... aku ceritakan pada pasanganku
Bila gagal... aku ceritakan pada Ibu
Bila bahagia, aku peluk erat pasanganku
Bila berduka, aku peluk erat Ibuku
Bila nak bercuti... aku bawa pasanganku
Bila sibuk... aku hantar anak ke rumah Ibu
Bila sambut valentine.. Aku hadiahi bunga pada pasanganku
Bila sambut hari ibu...

aku cuma dapat ucapkan Selamat Hari Ibu

Selalu ..... aku ingat pasanganku
Selalu... Ibu ingat kat aku

Bila..bila.. . aku akan talipon pasanganku
Entah bila.. ...aku nak talipon Ibu
Selalu ...aku belikan hadiah untuk pasanganku
Entah bila... aku nak belikan hadiah untuk Ibuku

Renungkan:

pesan Ibu dulu:
"Kalau kau sudah habis belajar dan berkerja... bolehkah kau kirim
wang untuk Ibu? Ibu bukan nak banyak... lima puluh ringgit sebulan
pun cukuplah". Berderai air mata aku. Hari ini kalau Ibu mahu lima
ratus sebulan pun aku mampu. Aku boleh kirimkan. Tapi Ibu sudah
tiada. Aku tidak berkesempatan lagi.. bukan lima puluh ringgit..
lima puluh sen pun tidak sempat aku kirimkan! Hanya yang termampu

COVER LETTER

Siti Afiqah bt. Abu Bakar
Lot 11317 Jalan Ghazali,
Sungai Kantan,
43000 Kajang,
Selangor Darul Ehsan.

14 Jun 2010



Director of Human Resources
Human Resources Department
31 Jalan Penchala
46500 Petaling Jaya
Selangor Darul Ehsan.


Dear Sir,

Application for the post of Site Supervisor
In your advertisement for the post Site Supervisor in the News Straits Times on April 26 2010, you listed several requirements. A principal requirement was that the applicants have a certificate in Food Technology.
I obtained a certificate in Food Technology from Politeknik Sultan Haji Ahmad Shah, Kuantan, Pahang.
The fact that I have no experience in a similar capacity need not deter you because I am a fast learner and can put my training and education to good use.
The enclosed resume includes further details of my education for your consideration.
I would be available to attend an interview at your convenience and look forward to hearing from you soon.
Thank you.

Yours faithfully,


(Siti Afiqah bt. Abu Bakar)

pengorbanan seorang anak....

hadiah utk ibu

"Apa nak jadi dengan kau ni Along? Bergaduh! Bergaduh! Bergaduh! Kenapa kau degil sangat ni? Tak boleh ke kau buat sesuatu yang baik, yang tak menyusahkan aku?”, marah ibu. Along hanya membungkam. Tidak menjawab sepatah apapun. “Kau tu dah besar Along. Masuk kali ni dah dua kali kau ulang ambil SPM, tapi kau asyik buat hal di sekolah. Cuba la kau ikut macam Angah dengan Alang tu.. Kenapa kau susah sangat nak dengar nasihat orang hah?”, leter ibu lagi.

Suaranya kali ini sedikit sebak bercampur marah. Along terus membatukan diri. Tiada sepatah kata pun yang keluar dari mulutnya. Seketika dia melihat si ibu berlalu pergi dan kembali semula dengan rotan di tangannya. Kali ini darah Along mula menderau. Dia berdoa dalam hati agar ibu tidak memukulnya lagi seperti selalu. “Sekarang kau cakap, kenapa kau bergaduh tadi? Kenapa kau pukul anak pengetua tu? Cakap Along, cakap!” Jerkah ibu. Along semakin berdebar-debar namun dia tidak dapat berkata-kata. Suaranya bagai tersekat di kerongkong. Malah, dia juga tidak tahu bagaimana hendak menceritakan hal sebenar. Si ibu semakin bengang. “ Jadi betul la kau yang mulakan pergaduhan ye!? Nanti kau, suka sangat cari penyakitkan, sekarang nah, rasakan!” Si ibu merotan Along berkali-kali dan berkali-kali jugaklah Along menjerit kesakitan.

“Sakit bu…sakit….maafkan Along bu, Along janji tak buat lagi….Bu, jangan pukul bu…sakit bu…” Along meraung meminta belas si ibu agar tidak merotannya lagi. “Tau sakit ye, kau bergaduh kat sekolah tak rasa sakit?” Balas ibu lagi. Kali ini semakin kuat pukulan si ibu menyirat tubuh Along yang kurus itu. “Bu…ampunkan Along bu…bukan Along yang mulakan…bukan Along….bu, sakit bu..!!”, rayu Along dengan suara yang tersekat-sekat menahan pedih. Along memaut kaki si ibu. Berkali-kali dia memohon maaf daripada ibunya namun siratan rotan tetap mengenai tubuhnya. Along hanya mampu berdoa. Dia tidak berdaya lagi menahan tangisnya. Tangis bukan kerana sakitnya dirotan, tapi kerana memikirkan tidak jemukah si ibu merotannya setiap hari. Setelah hatinya puas, si ibu mula berhenti merotan Along. Tangan Along yang masih memaut kakinya itu di tepis kasar. Along menatap mata ibu. Ada manik-manik kaca yang bersinar di kelopak mata si ibu. Along memandang dengan sayu. Hatinya sedih kerana telah membuatkan ibunya menangis lagi kerananya.

Malam itu, Along berjaga sepanjang malam. Entah mengapa matanya tidak dapat dilelapkan. Dia asyik teringatkan peristiwa dirotan ibu petang tadi. Begitulah yang berlaku apabila ibu marahkannya. Tapi kali ini marah ibu sangat memuncak. Mungkin kerana dia menumbuk anak pengetua sewaktu di sekolah tadi menyebabkan pengetua hilang sabar dan memanggil ibunya ke sekolah untuk membuat aduan kesekian kalinya. Sewaktu di bilik pengetua, Along sempat menjeling ibu di sebelah.

Namun, dia tidak diberi kesempatan untuk bersuara. Malah, semua kesalahan itu di dilemparkan kepadanya seorang. Si Malik anak pengetua itu bebas seolah-olah sedikit pun tidak bersalah dalam hal ini. Along mengesat sisa-sisa air mata yang masih bertakung di kelopak matanya. Dia berlalu ke meja tulis mencapai minyak sapu lalu disapukan pada bekas luka yang berbirat di tubuhnya dek rotanan ibu tadi. Perlahan-lahan dia menyapu ubat namun masih tetap terasa pedihnya. Walaupun sudah biasa dirotan, namun tidak seteruk kali ini. Along merebahkan badannya. Dia cuba memejamkan mata namun masih tidak mahu lelap. Seketika wajah ibu menjelma diruang ingatannya. Wajah ibu suatu ketika dahulu sangat mendamaikan pada pandangan matanya. Tetapi, sejak dia gagal dalam SPM, kedamaian itu semakin pudar dan hanya kelihatan biasa dan kebencian di wajah tua itu.

Apa yang dibuat serba tidak kena pada mata ibu. Along sedar, dia telah mengecewakan hati ibu dahulu kerana mendapat keputusan yang corot dalam SPM. Tetapi Along tidak pernah ambil hati dengan sikap ibu walau adakalanya kata-kata orang tua itu menyakiti hatinya. Along sayang pada ibu. Dialah satu-satunya ibu yang Along ada walaupun kasih ibu tidak semekar dahulu lagi. Along mahu meminta maaf. Dia tidak mahu menjadi anak derhaka. Fikirannya terlalu cacamarba, dan perasaannya pula semakin resah gelisah. Akhirnya, dalam kelelahan melayani perasaan, Along terlelap juga.

Seminggu selepas peristiwa itu, si ibu masih tidak mahu bercakap dengannya. Jika ditanya, hanya sepatah dijawab ibu. Itupun acuh tidak acuh sahaja. Pulang dari sekolah, Along terus menuju ke dapur. Dia mencangak mencari ibu kalau-kalau orang kesayangannya itu ada di situ. Along tersenyum memandang ibu yang terbongkok-bongkok mengambil sudu di bawah para dan kemudian mencacap makanan yang sedang dimasak itu. Dia nekad mahu menolong. Mudah-mudahan usahanya kali ini berjaya mengambil hati ibu. Namun, belum sempat dia melangkah ke dapur, adik perempuannya yang baru pulang daripada mengaji terus meluru ke arah ibu. Along terperanjat dan cuba berselindung di sebalik pintu sambil memerhatikan mereka.

“ Ibu...ibu masak apa ni? Banyaknya lauk, ibu nak buat kenduri ye!?” Tanya Atih kehairanan. Dia tidak pernah melihat ibunya memasak makanan yang pelbagai jenis seperti itu. Semuanya enak-enak belaka. Si ibu yang lincah menghiris sayur hanya tersenyum melihat keletah anak bongsunya itu. Sementara Along disebalik pintu terus memerhatikan mereka sambil memasang telinganya. “Ibu, Atih nak rasa ayam ni satu boleh?” “ Eh jangan, nanti dulu... Ibu tau Atih lapar, tapi tunggulah Kak Ngah dengan Alang balik dulu. Nanti kita makan sekali. Pergi naik atas mandi dan tukar baju dulu ye!”, si ibu bersuara lembut. Along menarik nafas panjang dan melepaskannya perlahan. ‘anak-anak kesayangan ibu nak balik rupanya…’ bisik hati kecil Along.

“Kak Ngah dengan Alang nak balik ke ibu?”, soalnya lagi masih belum berganjak dari dapur. Si ibu mengangguk sambil tersenyum. Di wajahnya jelas menampakkan kebahagiaan. “Oooo patutlah ibu masak lauk banyak-banyak. Mmm bu, tapi Atih pelik la. Kenapa bila Along balik, ibu tak masak macam ni pun?”. Along terkejut mendengar soalan Atih. Namun dia ingin sekali tahu apa jawapan dari ibunya. “Along kan hari-hari balik rumah? Kak Ngah dengan Alang lain, diorang kan duduk asrama, balik pun sebulan sekali ja!”, terang si ibu. “Tapi, ibu tak penah masak lauk macam ni dekat Along pun..”, soal Atih lagi. Dahinya sedikit berkerut dek kehairanan.

Along mula terasa sebak. Dia mengakui kebenaran kata-kata adiknya itu namun dia tidak mahu ada perasaan dendam atau marah walau secalit pun pada ibu yang sangat disayanginya. “Dah tu, pergi mandi cepat. Kejap lagi kita pergi ambil Kak Ngah dengan Alang dekat stesen bas.” , arah ibu. Dia tidak mahu Atih mengganggu kerja-kerjanya di dapur dengan menyoal yang bukan-bukan. Malah ibu juga tidak senang jika Atih terus bercakap tentang Along. Pada ibu, Along anak yang derhaka yang selalu menyakiti hatinya. Apa yang dikata tidak pernah didengarnya. Selalu pula membuat hal di sekolah mahupun di rumah. Disebabkan itulah ibu semakin hilang perhatian pada Along dek kerana marah dan kecewanya.

Selepas ibu dan Atih keluar, Along juga turut keluar. Dia menuju ke Pusat Bandar sambil jalan-jalan buat menghilangkan tekanannya. Tiba di satu kedai, kakinya tiba-tiba berhenti melangkah. Matanya terpaku pada sepasang jubah putih berbunga ungu yang di lengkapi dengan tudung bermanik. ‘Cantiknya, kalau ibu pakai mesti lawa ni….’ Dia bermonolog sendiri. Along melangkah masuk ke dalam kedai itu. Sedang dia membelek-belek jubah itu, bahunya tiba-tiba disentuh seseorang. Dia segera menoleh.

Rupa-rupanya itu Fariz, sahabatnya. “La…kau ke, apa kau buat kat sini?”, tanya Along ingin tahu sambil bersalaman dengan Fariz. “Aku tolong jaga butik kakak aku. Kau pulak buat apa kat sini?”, soalnya pula. “Aku tak de buat apa-apa, cuma nak tengok-tengok baju ni. Aku ingat nak kasi mak aku!”, jelas Along jujur. “waa…bagus la kau ni Azam. Kalau kau nak beli aku bagi less 50%. Macammana?” Terlopong mulut Along mendengar tawaran Fariz itu.. “Betul ke ni Riz? Nanti marah kakak kau!”, Along meminta kepastian. “Untuk kawan baik aku, kakak aku mesti bagi punya!”, balas Fariz meyakinkannya. “Tapi aku kena beli minggu depan la.. Aku tak cukup duit sekarang ni.” Cerita Along agak keseganan.

Fariz hanya menepuk mahunya sambil tersenyum. “Kau ambik dulu, lepas tu kau bayar sikit-sikit.” Kata Fariz . Along hanya menggelengkan kepala tanda tidak setuju. Dia tidak mahu berhutang begitu. Jika ibunya tahu, mesti dia dimarahi silap-silap dipukul lagi. “Dekat kau ada berapa ringgit sekarang ni?”, soal Fariz yang benar-benar ingin membantu sahabatnya itu. Along menyeluk saku seluarnya dan mengeluarkan dompet berwarna hitam yang semakin lusuh itu. “Tak sampai sepuluh ringgit pun Riz, tak pe lah, aku datang beli minggu depan. Kau jangan jual dulu baju ni tau!”, pesan Along bersungguh-sungguh. Fariz hanya mengangguk senyum.

Hari semakin lewat. Jarum pendek sudah melangkaui nombor tujuh. Setelah tiba, kelihatan Angah dan Alang sudah berada di dalam rumah. Mereka sedang rancak berbual dengan ibu di ruang tamu. Dia menoleh ke arah mereka seketika kemudian menuju ke dapur. Perutnya terasa lapar sekali kerana sejak pulang dari sekolah petang tadi dia belum makan lagi. Penutup makanan diselak. Syukur masih ada sisa lauk-pauk yang ibu masak tadi bersama sepinggan nasi di atas meja. Tanpa berlengah dia terus makan sambil ditemani Si Tomei, kucing kesayangan arwah ayahnya.

“Baru nak balik waktu ni? Buat hal apa lagi kat luar tu?”, soalan ibu yang bernada sindir itu tiba-tiba membantutkannya daripada menghabiskan sisa makanan di dalam pinggan. “Kenapa tak makan kat luar ja? Tau pulak, bila lapar nak balik rumah!”, leter ibu lagi. Along hanya diam.. Dia terus berusaha mengukir senyum dan membuat muka selamber seperti tidak ada apa-apa yang berlaku. Tiba-tiba Angah dan Alang menghampirinya di meja makan. Mereka berdiri di sisi ibu yang masih memandang ke arahnya seperti tidak berpuas hati. “Along ni teruk tau. Suka buat ibu susah hati.

Kerana Along, ibu kena marah dengan pengetua tu.” Marah Angah, adik perempuannya yang sedang belajar di MRSM. Along mendiamkan diri. Diikutkan hati, mahu saja dia menjawab kata-kata adiknya itu tetapi melihat kelibat ibu yang masih di situ, dia mengambil jalan untuk membisu sahaja. “Along! Kalau tak suka belajar, berhenti je la. Buat je kerja lain yang berfaedah daripada menghabiskan duit ibu", sampuk Alang, adik lelakinya yang menuntut di sekolah berasrama penuh. Kali ini kesabarannya benar-benar tercabar. Hatinya semakin terluka melihat sikap mereka semua. Dia tahu, pasti ibu mengadu pada mereka. Along mengangkat mukanya memandang wajah ibu. Wajah tua si ibu masam mencuka. Along tidak tahan lagi. Dia segera mencuci tangan dan meluru ke biliknya.

Perasaannya jadi kacau. Fikirannya bercelaru. Hatinya pula jadi tidak keruan memikirkan kata-kata mereka. Along sedar, kalau dia menjawab, pasti ibu akan semakin membencinya. Along nekad, esok pagi-pagi, dia akan tinggalkan rumah. Dia akan mencari kerja di Bandar. Kebetulan cuti sekolah selama seminggu bermula esok. Seperti yang dinekadkan, pagi itu selesai solat subuh, Along terus bersiap-siap dengan membawa beg sekolah berisi pakaian, Along keluar daripada rumah tanpa ucapan selamat. Dia sekadar menyelitkan nota buat si ibu menyatakan bahawa dia mengikuti program sekolah berkhemah di hutan selama seminggu.

Niatnya sekadar mahu mencari ketenangan selama beberapa hari justeru dia terpaksa berbohong agar ibu tidak bimbang dengan tindakannya itu. Along menunggang motorsikalnya terus ke Pusat Bandar untuk mencari pekerjaan. Nasib menyebelahinya, tengah hari itu, dia diterima bekerja dengan Abang Joe sebagai pembantu di bengkel membaiki motorsikal dengan upah lima belas ringgit sehari, dia sudah rasa bersyukur dan gembira. Gembira kerana tidak lama lagi, dia dapat membeli jubah untuk ibu. Hari ini hari ke empat Along keluar daripada rumah. Si ibu sedikit gelisah memikirkan apa yang dilakukan Along di luar. Dia juga berasa agak rindu dengan Along. Entah mengapa hati keibuannya agak tersentuh setiap kali terpandang bilik Along. Tetapi kerinduan dan kerisauan itu terubat apabila melihat gurau senda anak-anaknya yang lain.

Seperti selalu, Along bekerja keras membantu Abang Joe di bengkelnya. Sikap Abang Joe yang baik dan kelakar itu sedikit sebanyak mengubat hatinya yang luka. Abang Joe baik. Dia banyak membantu Along antaranya menumpangkan Along di rumahnya dengan percuma. “Azam, kalau aku tanya kau jangan marah k!”, soal Abang Joe tiba-tiba sewaktu mereka menikmati nasi bungkus tengah hari itu. “Macam serius jer bunyinya Abang Joe?” Along kehairanan. “Sebenarnya, kau lari dari rumah kan ?”

Along tersedak mendengar soalan itu. Nasi yang disuap ke dalam mulut tersembur keluar. Matanya juga kemerah-merahan menahan sedakan. Melihat keadaan Along itu, Abang Joe segera menghulurkan air. “Kenapa lari dari rumah? Bergaduh dengan parents?” Tanya Abang Joe lagi cuba menduga. Soalan Abang Joe itu benar-benar membuatkan hati Along sebak. Along mendiamkan diri. Dia terus menyuap nasi ke dalam mulut dan mengunyah perlahan. Dia cuba menundukkan mukanya cuba menahan perasaan sedih. “Azam, kau ada cita-cita tak…ataupun impian ker…?” Abang Joe mengubah topik setelah melihat reaksi Along yang kurang selesa dengan soalannya tadi. “ Ada ” jawab Along pendek.

“Kau nak jadi apa besar nanti? Jurutera? Doktor? Cikgu? Pemain bola? Mekanik macam aku…atau….” Along menggeleng-gelengka n kepala. “semua tak…Cuma satu je, saya nak mati dalam pangkuan ibu saya.” Jawab Along disusuli ketawanya. Abang Joe melemparkan tulang ayam ke arah Along yang tidak serius menjawab soalannya itu. “ Ala , gurau ja la Abang Joe. Sebenarnya….saya nak bawa ibu saya ke Mekah dan…saya….saya nak jadi anak yang soleh!”. Perlahan sahaja suaranya namun masih jelas didengari telinga Abang Joe. Abang Joe tersenyum mendengar jawapannya. Dia bersyukur di dalam hati kerana mengenali seorang anak yang begitu baik. Dia sendiri sudah bertahun-tahun membuka bengkel itu namun belum pernah ada cita-cita mahu menghantar ibu ke Mekah..

Setelah tamat waktu rehat, mereka menyambung kerja masing-masing. Tidak seperti selalu, petang itu Along kelihatan banyak berfikir. Mungkin terkesan dengan soalan Abang Joe sewaktu makan tadi. “Abang Joe, hari ni, saya nak balik rumah ...terima kasih banyak kerana jaga saya beberapa hari ni”, ucap Along sewaktu selesai menutup pintu bengkel. Abang Joe yang sedang mencuci tangannya hanya mengangguk. Hatinya gembira kerana akhirnya anak muda itu mahu pulang ke pangkuan keluarga. Sebelum berlalu, Along memeluk lelaki bertubuh sasa itu.

Ini menyebabkan Abang Joe terasa agak sebak. “Abang Joe, jaga diri baik-baik. Barang-barang yang saya tinggal kat rumah Abang Joe tu, saya hadiahkan untuk Abang Joe.” Kata Along lagi. “Tapi, kau kan boleh datang bila-bila yang kau suka ke rumah aku!?”, soal Abang Joe. Dia risau kalau-kalau Along menyalah anggap tentang soalannya tadi. Along hanya senyum memandangnya. “Tak apa, saya bagi kat Abang Joe. Abang Joe, terima kasih banyak ye! Saya rasa tak mampu nak balas budi baik abang.. Tapi, saya doakan perniagaan abang ni semakin maju.” Balasnya dengan tenang. Sekali lagi Abang Joe memeluknya bagai seorang abang memeluk adiknya yang akan pergi jauh.

Berbekalkan upahnya, Along segera menuju ke butik kakak Fariz untuk membeli jubah yang diidamkannya itu. Setibanya di sana , tanpa berlengah dia terus ke tempat di mana baju itu disangkut. “ Hey Azam, mana kau pergi? Hari tu mak kau ada tanya aku pasal kau. Kau lari dari rumah ke?”, soal Fariz setelah menyedari kedatangan sahabatnya itu. Along hanya tersengeh menampakkan giginya. “Zam, mak kau marah kau lagi ke? Kenapa kau tak bagitau hal sebenar pasal kes kau tumbuk si Malik tu?” “Tak pe lah, perkara dah berlalu….lagipun, aku tak nak ibu aku terasa hati kalau dia dengar tentang perkara ni", terang Along dengan tenang.

“Kau jadi mangsa. Tengok, kalau kau tak bagitau, mak kau ingat kau yang salah", kata Fariz lagi. “Tak apa lah Riz, aku tak nak ibu aku sedih. Lagipun aku tak kisah.” “Zam..kau ni…..” “Aku ok, lagipun aku sayang dekat ibu aku. Aku tak nak dia sedih dan ingat kisah lama tu.” Jelas Along memotong kata-kata si sahabat yang masih tidak berpuas hati itu. “Aku nak beli jubah ni Riz. Kau tolong balutkan ek, jangan lupa lekat kad ni sekali, k!”, pinta Along sambil menyerahkan sekeping kad berwarna merah jambu. “No problem…tapi, mana kau dapat duit? Kau kerja ke?” , soal Fariz ingin tahu. “Aku kerja kat bengkel Abang Joe. Jadi pembantu dia", terang Along. “Abang Joe mana ni?” “Yang buka bengkel motor kat Jalan Selasih sebelah kedai makan pakcik kantin kita tu!”, jelas Along dengan panjang lebar. Fariz mengangguk . “Azam, kau nak bagi hadiah ni kat mak kau bila?” “Hari ni la…” balas Along. “Ooo hari lahir ibu kau hari ni ek?” “Bukan, minggu depan…” “Habis?. Kenapa kau tak tunggu minggu depan je?”, soal Fariz lagi. “Aku rasa hari ni je yang yang sempat untuk aku bagi hadiah ni. Lagipun, aku harap lepas ni ibu aku tak marah aku lagi.” Jawabnya sambil mengukir senyum.

Along keluar daripada kedai. Kelihatan hujan mulai turun. Namun Along tidak sabar menunggu untuk segera menyerahkan hadiah itu untuk ibu. Sambil menunggang, Along membayangkan wajah ibu yang sedang tersenyum menerima hadiahnya itu. Motosikalnya sudah membelok ke Jalan Nuri II. Tiba di simpang hadapan lorong masuk ke rumahnya, sebuah kereta wira yang cuba mengelak daripada melanggar seekor kucing hilang kawalan dan terus merempuh Along dari depan yang tidak sempat mengelak.

Akibat perlanggaran yang kuat itu, Along terpelanting ke tengah jalan dan mengalami hentakan yang kuat di kepala dan belakangnya. Topi keledar yang dipakai mengalami retakan dan tercabut daripada kepalanya, Along membuka matanya perlahan-lahan dan terus mencari hadiah untuk si ibu dan dengan sisa kudrat yang ada, dia cuba mencapai hadiah yang tercampak berhampirannya itu. Dia menggenggam kuat cebisan kain dan kad yang terburai dari kotak itu. Darah semakin membuak-buak keluar dari hidungnya. Kepalanya juga terasa sangat berat, pandangannya berpinar-pinar dan nafasnya semakin tersekat-sekat. Dalam keparahan itu, Along melihat kelibat orang–orang yang sangat dikenalinya sedang berlari ke arahnya. Serta merta tubuhnya terus dirangkul seorang wanita. Dia tahu, wanita itu adalah ibunya. Terasa bahagia sekali apabila dahinya dikucup saat itu. Along gembira. Itu kucupan daripada ibunya. Dia juga dapat mendengar suara Angah, Alang dan Atih memanggil-manggil namanya. Namun tiada suara yang keluar dari kerongkongnya saat itu. Along semakin lemah. Namun, dia kuatkan semangat dan cuba menghulurkan jubah dan kad yang masih digenggamannya itu.


“Ha..hadiah….untuk….ibu………” ucapnya sambil berusaha mengukir senyuman. Senyuman terakhir buat ibu yang sangat dicintainya. Si ibu begitu sebak dan sedih. Si anak dipeluknya sambil dicium berkali-kali. Air matanya merembes keluar bagai tidak dapat ditahan lagi. Pandangan Along semakin kelam. Sebelum matanya tertutup rapat, terasa ada air hangat yang menitik ke wajahnya. Akhirnya, Along terkulai dalam pangkuan ibu dan dia pergi untuk selama-lamanya.

Selesai upacara pengebumian, si ibu terus duduk di sisi kubur Along bersama Angah, Alang dan Atih. Dengan lemah, wanita itu mengeluarkan bungkusan yang hampir relai dari beg tangannya. Sekeping kad berwarna merah jambu bertompok darah yang kering dibukanya lalu dibaca.

‘Buat ibu yang sangat dikasihi, ampunkanlah salah silap along selama ini. Andai along melukakan hati ibu, along pinta sejuta kemaafan. Terimalah maaf along bu..Along janji tak kan membuatkan ibu marah lagi. Ibu, Along sayang ibu selama-lamanya. Selamat hari lahir ibu… dan terimalah hadiah ini…..UNTUKMU IBU!’

Kad itu dilipat dan dicium. Air mata yang bermanik mula berjurai membasahi pipi. Begitu juga perasaan yang dirasai Angah, Alang dan Atih. Masing-masing berasa pilu dan sedih dengan pemergian seorang abang yang selama ini disisihkan. Sedang melayani perasaan masing-masing, Fariz tiba-tiba muncul. Dia terus mendekati wanita tua itu lalu mencurahkan segala apa yang dipendamnya selama ini.

“Makcik, ampunkan segala kesalahan Azam. Azam tak bersalah langsung dalam kes pergaduhan tu makcik. Sebenarnya, waktu Azam dan saya sibuk menyiapkan lukisan, Malik datang dekat kami. Dia sengaja cari pasal dengan Azam dengan menumpahkan warna air dekat lukisan Azam. Lepas tu, dia ejek-ejek Azam. Dia cakap Azam anak pembunuh. Bapa Azam seorang pembunuh dan … dia jugak cakap, ibunya seorang perempuan gila…” cerita Fariz dengan nada sebak. Si ibu terkejut mendengarnya. Terbayang di ruang matanya pada ketika dia merotan Along kerana kesalahan menumbuk Malik. “Tapi, kenapa arwah tidak ceritakan pada makcik Fariz?” Soalnya dengan sedu sedan. “Sebab…..dia tak mahu makcik sedih dan teringat kembali peristiwa dulu. Dia cakap, dia tak nak makcik jatuh sakit lagi, dia tak nak mengambil semua ketenangan yang makcik ada sekarang…walaupun dia disalahkan, dia terima. Tapi dia tak sanggup tengok makcik dimasukkan ke hospital sakit jiwa semula....” Terang Fariz lagi. Dia berasa puas kerana dapat menyatakan kebenaran bagi pihak sahabatnya itu.

Si ibu terdiam mendengar penjelasan Fariz. Terasa seluruh anggota badannya menjadi Lemah. Berbagai perasaan mencengkam hatinya. Sungguh hatinya terasa sangat pilu dan terharu dengan pengorbanan si anak yang selama ini dianggap derhaka.

when friendship turns to love

There was this little girl sitting by herself in the park. Everyone passed by her and never stopped to see why she looked so sad. Dressed in a worn pink dress, barefoot and dirty, the girl just sat and watched the people go by. She never tried to speak. She never said a word. Many people passed by her, but no one would stop.
The next day I decided to go back to the park in curiosity to see if the little girl would still be there. Yes, she was there, right in the very spot where she was yesterday, and still with the same sad look in her eyes. Today I was to make my own move and walk over to the little girl. For as we all know, a park full of strange people is not a place for young children to play alone. As I got closer I could see the back of the little girl's dress. It was grotesquely shaped. I figured that was the reason people just passed by and made no effort to speak to her. Deformities are a low blow to our society and, heaven forbid if you make a step toward assisting someone who is different. As I got closer, the little girl lowered her eyes slightly to avoid my intent stare. As I approached her, I could see the shape of her back more clearly.
She was grotesquely shaped in a humped over form. I smiled to let her know it was OK; I was there to help, to talk. I sat down beside her and opened with a simple, "Hello"; The little girl acted shocked, and stammered a "hi"; after a long stare into my eyes. I smiled and she shyly smiled back. We talked until darkness fell and the park was completely empty. I asked the girl why she was so sad. The little girl looked at me with a sad face said, "Because, I'm different"; I immediately said, "That you are!"; and smiled. The little girl acted even sadder and said, "I know." "Little girl," I said, "you remind me of an angel, sweet and innocent."
She looked at me and smiled, then slowly she got to her feet and said, "Really?" "Yes, you're like a little Guardian Angel sent to watch over all people walking by." She nodded her head yes, and smiled.
With that she opened the back of her pink dress and allowed her wings to spread, then she said "I am. I'm your Guardian Angel," with a twinkle in her eye. I was speechless -- sure I was seeing things."
She said, "For once you thought of someone other than yourself. My job here is done;" I got to my feet and said, "Wait, why did no one stop to help an angel?"
She looked at me, smiled, and said, "You are the only one that could see me," and then she was gone.
And with that, my life was changed dramatically.

the woma who tried to be good

Before she tried to be a good woman she had been a very bad woman—so bad that she could trail her wonderful apparel up and down Main Street, from the Elm Tree Bakery to the railroad tracks, without once having a man doff his hat to her or a woman bow. You passed her on the street with a surreptitious glance, though she was well worth looking at—in her furs and laces and plumes. She had the only full-length sealskin coat in our town, and Ganz' shoe store sent to Chicago for her shoes. Hers were the miraculously small feet you frequently see in stout women.
Usually she walked alone; but on rare occasions, especially round Christmas time, she might have been seen accompanied by some silent, dull-eyed, stupid-looking girl, who would follow her dumbly in and out of stores, stopping now and then to admire a cheap comb or a chain set with flashy imitation stones—or, queerly enough, a doll with yellow hair and blue eyes and very pink cheeks. But, alone or in company, her appearance in the stores of our town was the signal for a sudden jump in the cost of living. The storekeepers mulcted her; and she knew it and paid in silence, for she was of the class that has no redress. She owned the House With the Closed Shutters, near the freight depot—did Blanche Devine. And beneath her silks and laces and furs there was a scarlet letter on her breast.
In a larger town than ours she would have passed unnoticed. She did not look like a bad woman. Of course she used too much perfumed white powder, and as she passed you caught the oversweet breath of a certain heavy scent. Then, too, her diamond eardrops would have made any woman's features look hard; but her plump face, in spite of its heaviness, wore an expression of good-humoured intelligence, and her eyeglasses gave her somehow a look of respectability. We do not associate vice with eyeglasses. So in a large city she would have passed for a well-dressed prosperous, comfortable wife and mother, who was in danger of losing her figure from an overabundance of good living; but with us she was a town character, like Old Man Givins, the drunkard, or the weak-minded Binns girl. When she passed the drug-store corner there would be a sniggering among the vacant-eyed loafers idling there, and they would leer at each other and jest in undertones.
So, knowing Blanche Devine as we did, there was something resembling a riot in one of our most respectable neighbourhoods when it was learned that she had given up her interest in the house near the freight depot and was going to settle down in the white cottage on the corner and be good. All the husbands in the block, urged on by righteously indignant wives, dropped in on Alderman Mooney after supper to see if the thing could not be stopped. The fourth of the protesting husbands to arrive was the Very Young Husband, who lived next door to the corner cottage that Blanche Devine had bought. The Very Young Husband had a Very Young Wife, and they were the joint owners of Snooky. Snooky was three-going-on-four, and looked something like an angel—only healthier and with grimier hands. The whole neighbourhood borrowed her and tried to spoil her; but Snooky would not spoil.
Alderman Mooney was down in the cellar fooling with the furnace. He was in his furnace overalls—a short black pipe in his mouth. Three protesting husbands had just left. As the Very Young Husband, following Mrs. Mooney's directions, cautiously descended the cellar stairs, Alderman Mooney looked up from his tinkering. He peered through a haze of pipe-smoke.
"Hello!" he called, and waved the haze away with his open palm. "Come on down! Been tinkering with this blamed furnace since supper. She don't draw like she ought. 'Long toward spring a furnace always gets balky. How many tons you used this winter?"
"Oh—ten," said the Very Young Husband shortly. Alderman Mooney considered it thoughtfully. The Young Husband leaned up against the side of the cistern, his hands in his pockets. "Say, Mooney, is that right about Blanche Devine's having bought the house on the corner?"
"You're the fourth man that's been in to ask me that this evening. I'm expecting the rest of the block before bedtime. She's bought it all right."
The Young Husband flushed and kicked at a piece of coal with the toe of his boot.
"Well, it's a darned shame!" he began hotly. "Jen was ready to cry at supper. This'll be a fine neighbourhood for Snooky to grow up in! What's a woman like that want to come into a respectable street for anyway? I own my home and pay my taxes—"
Alderman Mooney looked up.
"So does she," he interrupted. "She's going to improve the place—paint it, and put in a cellar and a furnace, and build a porch, and lay a cement walk all round."
The Young Husband took his hands out of his pockets in order to emphasize his remarks with gestures.
"What's that got to do with it? I don't care if she puts in diamonds for windows and sets out Italian gardens and a terrace with peacocks on it. You're the alderman of this ward, aren't you? Well, it was up to you to keep her out of this block! You could have fixed it with an injunction or something. I'm going to get up a petition—that's what I'm going—"
Alderman Mooney closed the furnace door with a bang that drowned the rest of the threat. He turned the draft in a pipe overhead and brushed his sooty palms briskly together like one who would put an end to a profitless conversation.
"She's bought the house," he said mildly, "and paid for it. And it's hers. She's got a right to live in this neighbourhood as long as she acts respectable."
The Very Young Husband laughed.
"She won't last! They never do."
Alderman Mooney had taken his pipe out of his mouth and was rubbing his thumb over the smooth bowl, looking down at it with unseeing eyes. On his face was a queer look—the look of one who is embarrassed because he is about to say something honest.
"Look here! I want to tell you something: I happened to be up in the mayor's office the day Blanche signed for the place. She had to go through a lot of red tape before she got it—had quite a time of it, she did! And say, kid, that woman ain't so—bad."
The Very Young Husband exclaimed impatiently:
"Oh, don't give me any of that, Mooney! Blanche Devine's a town character. Even the kids know what she is. If she's got religion or something, and wants to quit and be decent, why doesn't she go to another town—Chicago or some place—where nobody knows her?"
That motion of Alderman Mooney's thumb against the smooth pipebowl stopped. He looked up slowly.
"That's what I said—the mayor too. But Blanche Devine said she wanted to try it here. She said this was home to her. Funny—ain't it? Said she wouldn't be fooling anybody here. They know her. And if she moved away, she said, it'd leak out some way sooner or later. It does, she said. Always! Seems she wants to live like—well, like other women. She put it like this: She says she hasn't got religion, or any of that. She says she's no different than she was when she was twenty. She says that for the last ten years the ambition of her life has been to be able to go into a grocery store and ask the price of, say, celery; and, if the clerk charged her ten when it ought to be seven, to be able to sass him with a regular piece of her mind—and then sail out and trade somewhere else until he saw that she didn't have to stand anything from storekeepers, any more than any other woman that did her own marketing. She's a smart woman, Blanche is! She's saved her money. God knows I ain't taking her part—exactly; but she talked a little, and the mayor and me got a little of her history."
A sneer appeared on the face of the Very Young Husband. He had been known before he met Jen as a rather industrious sower of that seed known as wild oats. He knew a thing or two, did the Very Young Husband, in spite of his youth! He always fussed when Jen wore even a V-necked summer gown on the street.
"Oh, she wasn't playing for sympathy," west on Alderman Mooney in answer to the sneer. "She said she'd always paid her way and always expected to. Seems her husband left her without a cent when she was eighteen—with a baby. She worked for four dollars a week in a cheap eating house. The two of 'em couldn't live on that. Then the baby—"
"Good night!" said the Very Young Husband. "I suppose Mrs. Mooney's going to call?"
"Minnie! It was her scolding all through supper that drove me down to monkey with the furnace. She's wild—Minnie is." He peeled off his overalls and hung them on a nail. The Young Husband started to ascend the cellar stairs. Alderman Mooney laid a detaining finger on his sleeve. "Don't say anything in front of Minnie! She's boiling! Minnie and the kids are going to visit her folks out West this summer; so I wouldn't so much as dare to say 'Good morning!' to the Devine woman. Anyway a person wouldn't talk to her, I suppose. But I kind of thought I'd tell you about her."
"Thanks!" said the Very Young Husband dryly.
In the early spring, before Blanche Devine moved in, there came stonemasons, who began to build something. It was a great stone fireplace that rose in massive incongruity at the side of the little white cottage. Blanche Devine was trying to make a home for herself. We no longer build fireplaces for physical warmth—we build them for the warmth of the soul; we build them to dream by, to hope by, to home by.
Blanche Devine used to come and watch them now and then as the work progressed. She had a way of walking round and round the house, looking up at it pridefully and poking at plaster and paint with her umbrella or fingertip. One day she brought with her a man with a spade. He spaded up a neat square of ground at the side of the cottage and a long ridge near the fence that separated her yard from that of the very young couple next door. The ridge spelled sweet peas and nasturtiums to our small-town eyes.
On the day that Blanche Devine moved in there was wild agitation among the white-ruffled bedroom curtains of the neighbourhood. Later on certain odours, as of burning dinners, pervaded the atmosphere. Blanche Devine, flushed and excited, her hair slightly askew, her diamond eardrops flashing, directed the moving, wrapped in her great fur coat; but on the third morning we gasped when she appeared out-of-doors, carrying a little household ladder, a pail of steaming water and sundry voluminous white cloths. She reared the little ladder against the side of the house mounted it cautiously, and began to wash windows: with housewifely thoroughness. Her stout figure was swathed in a grey sweater and on her head was a battered felt hat—the sort of window-washing costume that has been worn by women from time immemorial. We noticed that she used plenty of hot water and clean rags, and that she rubbed the glass until it sparkled, leaning perilously sideways on the ladder to detect elusive streaks. Our keenest housekeeping eye could find no fault with the way Blanche Devine washed windows.
By May, Blanche Devine had left off her diamond eardrops—perhaps it was their absence that gave her face a new expression. When she went down town we noticed that her hats were more like the hats the other women in our town wore; but she still affected extravagant footgear, as is right and proper for a stout woman who has cause to be vain of her feet. We noticed that her trips down town were rare that spring and summer. She used to come home laden with little bundles; and before supper she would change her street clothes for a neat, washable housedress, as is our thrifty custom. Through her bright windows we could see her moving briskly about from kitchen to sitting room; and from the smells that floated out from her kitchen door, she seemed to be preparing for her solitary supper the same homely viands that were frying or stewing or baking in our kitchens. Sometimes you could detect the delectable scent of browning hot tea biscuit. It takes a brave, courageous, determined woman to make tea biscuit for no one but herself.
Blanche Devine joined the church. On the first Sunday morning she came to the service there was a little flurry among the ushers at the vestibule door. They seated her well in the rear. The second Sunday morning a dreadful thing happened. The woman next to whom they seated her turned, regarded her stonily for a moment, then rose agitatedly and moved to a pew across the aisle. Blanche Devine's face went a dull red beneath her white powder. She never came again—though we saw the minister visit her once or twice. She always accompanied him to the door pleasantly, holding it well open until he was down the little flight of steps and on the sidewalk. The minister's wife did not call—but, then, there are limits to the duties of a minister's wife.
She rose early, like the rest of us; and as summer came on we used to see her moving about in her little garden patch in the dewy, golden morning. She wore absurd pale-blue kimonos that made her stout figure loom immense against the greenery of garden and apple tree. The neighbourhood women viewed these negligées with Puritan disapproval as they smoothed down their own prim, starched gingham skirts. They said it was disgusting—and perhaps it was; but the habit of years is not easily overcome. Blanche Devine—snipping her sweet peas; peering anxiously at the Virginia creeper that clung with such fragile fingers to the trellis; watering the flower baskets that hung from her porch—was blissfully unconscious of the disapproving eyes. I wish one of us had just stopped to call good morning to her over the fence, and to say in our neighbourly, small town way: "My, ain't this a scorcher! So early too! It'll be fierce by noon!" But we did not.
I think perhaps the evenings must have been the loneliest for her. The summer evenings in our little town are filled with intimate, human, neighbourly sounds. After the heat of the day it is infinitely pleasant to relax in the cool comfort of the front porch, with the life of the town eddying about us. We sew and read out there until it grows dusk. We call across-lots to our next-door neighbour. The men water the lawns and the flower boxes and get together in little quiet groups to discuss the new street paving. I have even known Mrs. Hines to bring her cherries out there when she had canning to do, and pit them there on the front porch partially shielded by her porch vine, but not so effectually that she was deprived of the sights and sounds about her. The kettle in her lap and the dishpan full of great ripe cherries on the porch floor by her chair, she would pit and chat and peer out through the vines, the red juice staining her plump bare arms.
I have wondered since what Blanche Devine thought of us those lonesome evenings—those evenings filled with little friendly sights and sounds. It is lonely, uphill business at best—this being good. It must have been difficult for her, who had dwelt behind closed shutters so long, to seat herself on the new front porch for all the world to stare at; but she did sit there—resolutely—watching us in silence.
She seized hungrily upon the stray crumbs of conversation that fell to her. The milkman and the iceman and the butcher boy used to hold daily conversation with her. They—sociable gentlemen—would stand on her doorstep, one grimy hand resting against the white of her doorpost, exchanging the time of day with Blanche in the doorway—a tea towel in one hand, perhaps, and a plate in the other. Her little house was a miracle of cleanliness. It was no uncommon sight to see her down on her knees on the kitchen floor, wielding her brush and rag like the rest of us. In canning and preserving time there floated out from her kitchen the pungent scent of pickled crab apples; the mouth-watering, nostril-pricking smell that meant sweet pickles; or the cloying, tantalising, divinely sticky odour that meant raspberry jam. Snooky, from her side of the fence, often used to peer through the pickets, gazing in the direction of the enticing smells next door. Early one September morning there floated out from Blanche Devine's kitchen that clean, fragrant, sweet scent of fresh-baked cookies—cookies with butter in them, and spice, and with nuts on top. Just by the smell of them your mind's eye pictured them coming from the oven—crisp brown circlets, crumbly, toothsome, delectable. Snooky, in her scarlet sweater and cap, sniffed them from afar and straightway deserted her sandpile to take her stand at the fence. She peered through the restraining bars, standing on tiptoe. Blanche Devine, glancing up from her board and rolling-pin, saw the eager golden head. And Snooky, with guile in her heart, raised one fat, dimpled hand above the fence and waved it friendlily. Blanche Devine waved back. Thus encouraged, Snooky's two hands wigwagged frantically above the pickets. Blanche Devine hesitated a moment, her floury hand on her hip. Then she went to the pantry shelf and took out a clean white saucer. She selected from the brown jar on the table three of the brownest, crumbliest, most perfect cookies, with a walnut meat perched atop of each, placed them temptingly on the saucer and, descending the steps, came swiftly across the grass to the triumphant Snooky. Blanche Devine held out the saucer, her lips smiling, her eyes tender. Snooky reached up with one plump white arm.
"Snooky!" shrilled a high voice. "Snooky!" A voice of horror and of wrath. "Come here to me this minute! And don't you dare to touch those!" Snooky hesitated rebelliously, one pink finger in her pouting mouth. "Snooky! Do you hear me?"
And the Very Young Wife began to descend the steps of her back porch. Snooky, regretful eyes on the toothsome dainties, turned away aggrieved. The Very Young Wife, her lips set, her eyes flashing, advanced and seized the shrieking Snooky by one writhing arm and dragged her away toward home and safety.
Blanche Devine stood there at the fence, holding the saucer in her hand. The saucer tipped slowly, and the three cookies slipped off and fell to the grass. Blanche Devine followed them with her eyes and stood staring at them a moment. Then she turned quickly, went into the house and shut the door.
It was about this time we noticed that Blanche Devine was away much of the time. The little white cottage would be empty for a week. We knew she was out of town because the expressman would come for her trunk. We used to lift our eyebrows significantly. The newspapers and handbills would accumulate in a dusty little heap on the porch; but when she returned there was always a grand cleaning, with the windows open, and Blanche—her head bound turbanwise in a towel—appearing at a window every few minutes to shake out a dustcloth. She seemed to put an enormous amount of energy into those cleanings—as if they were a sort of safety valve.
As winter came on she used to sit up before her grate fire long, long after we were asleep in our beds. When she neglected to pull down the shades we could see the flames of her cosy fire dancing gnomelike on the wall.
There came a night of sleet and snow, and wind and rattling hail—one of those blustering, wild nights that are followed by morning-paper reports of trains stalled in drifts, mail delayed, telephone and telegraph wires down. It must have been midnight or past when there came a hammering at Blanche Devine's door—a persistent, clamorous rapping. Blanche Devine, sitting before her dying fire half asleep, started and cringed when she heard it; then jumped to her feet, her hand at her breast—her eyes darting this way and that, as though seeking escape.
She had heard a rapping like that before. It had meant bluecoats swarming up the stairway, and frightened cries and pleadings, and wild confusion. So she started forward now, quivering. And then she remembered, being wholly awake now—she remembered, and threw up her head and smiled a little bitterly and walked toward the door. The hammering continued, louder than ever. Blanche Devine flicked on the porch light and opened the door. The half-clad figure of the Very Young Wife next door staggered into the room. She seized Blanche Devine's arm with both her frenzied hands and shook her, the wind and snow beating in upon both of them.
"The baby!" she screamed in a high, hysterical voice. "The baby! The baby—"
Blanche Devine shut the door and shook the Young Wife smartly by the shoulders.
"Stop screaming," she said quietly. "Is she sick?"
The Young Wife told her, her teeth chattering:
"Come quick! She's dying! Will's out of town. I tried to get the doctor. The telephone wouldn't—I saw your light! For God's sake—"
Blanche Devine grasped the Young Wife's arm, opened the door, and together they sped across the little space that separated the two houses. Blanche Devine was a big woman, but she took the stairs like a girl and found the right bedroom by some miraculous woman instinct. A dreadful choking, rattling sound was coming from Snooky's bed.
"Croup," said Blanche Devine, and began her fight.
It was a good fight. She marshalled her little inadequate forces, made up of the half-fainting Young Wife and the terrified and awkward hired girl.
"Get the hot water on—lots of it!" Blanche Devine pinned up her sleeves. "Hot cloths! Tear up a sheet—or anything! Got an oilstove? I want a teakettle boiling in the room. She's got to have the steam. If that don't do it we'll raise an umbrella over her and throw a sheet over, and hold the kettle under till the steam gets to her that way. Got any ipecac?"
The Young Wife obeyed orders, whitefaced and shaking. Once Blanche Devine glanced up at her sharply.
"Don't you dare faint!" she commanded.
And the fight went on. Gradually the breathing that had been so frightful became softer, easier. Blanche Devine did not relax. It was not until the little figure breathed gently in sleep that Blanche Devine sat back satisfied. Then she tucked a cover ever so gently at the side of the bed, took a last satisfied look at the face on the pillow, and turned to look at the wan, dishevelled Young Wife.
"She's all right now. We can get the doctor when morning comes—though I don't know's you'll need him."
The Young Wife came round to Blanche Devine's side of the bed and stood looking up at her.
"My baby died," said Blanche Devine simply. The Young Wife gave a little inarticulate cry, put her two hands on Blanche Devine's broad shoulders and laid her tired head on her breast.
"I guess I'd better be going," said Blanche Devine.
The Young Wife raised her head. Her eyes were round with fright.
"Going! Oh, please stay! I'm so afraid. Suppose she should take sick again! That awful—awful breathing—"
"I'll stay if you want me to."
"Oh, please! I'll make up your bed and you can rest—"
"I'm not sleepy. I'm not much of a hand to sleep anyway. I'll sit up here in the hall, where there's a light. You get to bed. I'll watch and see that every-thing's all right. Have you got something I can read out here—something kind of lively—with a love story in it?"
So the night went by. Snooky slept in her little white bed. The Very Young Wife half dozed in her bed, so near the little one. In the hall, her stout figure looming grotesque in wall-shadows, sat Blanche Devine pretending to read. Now and then she rose and tiptoed into the bedroom with miraculous quiet, and stooped over the little bed and listened and looked—and tiptoed away again, satisfied.
The Young Husband came home from his business trip next day with tales of snowdrifts and stalled engines. Blanche Devine breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him from her kitchen window. She watched the house now with a sort of proprietary eye. She wondered about Snooky; but she knew better than to ask. So she waited. The Young Wife next door had told her husband all about that awful night—had told him with tears and sobs. The Very Young Husband had been very, very angry with her—angry and hurt, he said, and astonished! Snooky could not have been so sick! Look at her now! As well as ever. And to have called such a woman! Well, really he did not want to be harsh; but she must understand that she must never speak to the woman again. Never!
So the next day the Very Young Wife happened to go by with the Young Husband. Blanche Devine spied them from her sitting-room window, and she made the excuse of looking in her mailbox in order to go to the door. She stood in the doorway and the Very Young Wife went by on the arm of her husband. She went by—rather white-faced—without a look or a word or a sign!
And then this happened! There came into Blanche Devine's face a look that made slits of her eyes, and drew her mouth down into an ugly, narrow line, and that made the muscles of her jaw tense and hard. It was the ugliest look you can imagine. Then she smiled—if having one's lips curl away from one's teeth can be called smiling.
Two days later there was great news of the white cottage on the corner. The curtains were down; the furniture was packed; the rugs were rolled. The wagons came and backed up to the house and took those things that had made a home for Blanche Devine. And when we heard that she had bought back her interest in the House With the Closed Shutters, near the freight depot, we sniffed.
"I knew she wouldn't last!" we said.
"They never do!" said we.