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This story began twenty years ago. I'm five

mercy.

Since morning, my hometown village has been busy.

In two months the rainfed rice fields will harvest,

Green rice shoots can be seen on the hillsides.

A dense forest lay above him, shrouded in mist.

The leaves were still wet, dew decorated the edges.

The air felt cold, steam coming out every time

exhale. Three cars with rolling wheels

the mud was stuck in front of my father's house. Just a car

certain ones that can pass through the steep roads of Barisan Hill,

after heavy rain last night.

Twelve people jumped out of the cars, they

wear boots, thick pants, jacket, hat, look

dashing, and what caught my attention the most, they were

carrying a rifle. It's not a kecepek, a homemade firearm

villages I've seen, they carry weapons

fire belonging to military forces. My brain immediately thought,

Maybe it's in their backpack, it also has a flap

grenade. But that's too much, I rubbed that face

hit by a spider web.

To see the cars, my father shuffled down

from the steps, holding on, dragging his feet

paralyzed one, laughing broadly approached the group. I

it was rare to see my father, who was sickly, laugh after that. Usually he grumbles more, gets angry

angry. One of the group approached,

It seemed like their leader was also laughing out loud.

They hugged, patted on the shoulder. Like an old friend.

"Syahdan, we haven't seen each other in a long time." That person,

with narrow eyes, exclaimed. He is the same age as Kutikik

My father, around fifty. His body is short, stocky,

only my father's shoulders.

Father chuckled. Reply pat on the back.

"How was your trip, Young Boss?"

"Bad, Syahdan. Last night, we almost got lost, one

My car also almost rolled over into a dark valley. One

Another tire burst, still behind, hopefully

get here before evening, or our plans come true

delayed, the car was carrying three hunting dogs.

Good grief! How did you get to live here,

shahdan? Far from anywhere, like the ends of the earth.

It's so hard for us to find it. And become a farmer?

Since when can people who only know fighting

grow rice, huh? You hit the paddy?"

"Long story, Young Boss." Father laughed again,

gripping his staff more firmly, "You guys go up

upstairs, my wife has prepared coffee and juadah. We can talk over breakfast. Of course you'll be hungry after that

tossing and turning on the winding roads."

The narrow-eyed person nodded. Exclaim, command

his entourage.

I stood near the steps, listening to the conversation.

Several other village residents also watched

crowd, they were standing in the yard of my father's house.

Interested in looking at jeeps with big wheels?

Cars rarely enter our village.

I know who this troupe is, I've been told

Father since a month ago. There will be hunters from the city

who come, they will hunt wild boar.

Our village is actually not like other villages

you know. We call it the gutter. There are only two

or thirty wooden stilt houses, it lies

far apart separated gardens or courtyards. If you want

call the neighbors, you can open the window then

shout as loud as you can—that's why the intonation

the inland people of Sumatra sound harsh. This year,

the wild boars gave us a hard time, there were so many of them, and

invaded the fields. If not overcome, rice fields that

hard to maintain can be destroyed. Even every night

paddy fields guarded, fitted with repellent cans, too

surrounded by a solid fence, the results are useless. The pigs

always have a way in, and they are not afraid of sound cans, there are tens or maybe hundreds of them.

The village elders have given up, Dad hasn't, he said

will ask for the help of hunters from the city.

"Do we have to pay them, Syahdan?" Elder

the village asked worriedly.

Dad shook his head, at the meeting a month ago, "No

a penny, bro. They really like to hunt pigs. That

City people's hobby. Maybe some pigs will be carried by

them, to eat. That's the only payment."

I, who also attended the meeting, got it right away

concluded, those are definitely the people who are allowed

eat pork. Because my mom at home said many times

Sometimes, pork is haram to eat.

"Bajang!" My father shouted from above, already up the terrace

house on stilts, "You help your Mamak prepare

food. Don't just stand uselessly down there."

I nodded, immediately climbing the stairs.

Fifteen minutes. The twelve hunters were already sitting in

on a stretch of mat, their firearms were laid out

lined up in the bamboo hall. Also backpacks, large flashlights, ropes,

nets and other equipment. I immediately knew, judging

deft movements, they must be hunters

experienced. What I didn't expect was,

My father turned out to be close to the leadership this group. They sat close together in the corner of the mat,

talking like long lost friends.

"Come here, Bachelor." My father shouted again.

I'm the one holding up the kettle of hot coffee

turned around.

"Come on!" My father glared, impatient.

I hurried to the corner of the mat.

"This is my son, Young Master." Dad pointed at me, "His age

fifteen. His name is Bujang."

"Ah, you didn't say in your letter that you had one

son, Syahdan?" The narrow-eyed person

looking at me, from head to toe, "Her body

big like his father. It's like local government

mature. His eyes were sharp black. I like her. Which grade are you

you now?"

My father shook his head, laughed, "No school. Like

his father."

The narrow-eyed man was still looking at me, "Come here, Bujang.

Closer."

I took another step, sitting with my knees on the mat.

"Are you good at hunting wild boar like

your father?

"Do not expect." Father chuckled, cutting off the reply, "He

never even entered the forest alone. her mother

very anxious. Everything is completely forbidden, very afraid

his son was injured. Just in case he's an only child."

The narrow-eyed man nodded in disbelief.

"Would you like to join the hunt this afternoon?"

I nodded quickly—before even looking

the expression on my father's face sitting next to him.

"That's great! Let's see how good you are on the inside

there. Your father was once a great hunter,

give him a shotgun, he'll drop one-

one pig at a time."

That's too fast a conversation. Even before me

realized it, I had obtained a golden ticket that

I've wanted it all this time. Half an hour later, in the kitchen

house on stilts, Mamak is not happy, her face is sad

sweating from cooking curry, you see

sour. But you assure me that all is well

just. They were talking in particular, about a hunting permit for me.