A Tale from a Coffee Stall -- Part I

A Tale from a Coffee Stall -- Part I

By Muram Batu

A lot of Acehnese thinkers get their ideas from chatting at coffee stalls. Likewise, most Acehnese businessmen emerge from the same stalls. Unsurprisingly, roadside coffee shops in Aceh can be found along the trans-Sumatra highway.

The man was lost in thought in the corner of a coffee stall near a hill overlooking the sea, surrounded by a glass of thick coffee, some cakes in oily banana leaves on a dish and cigarette smoke. This was Syaiful.

He was known as a loner, never talking with others, not even greeting people. He had become a one-man family, left behind by his folks as hundreds of thousands of inhabitants perished at the same time. Syaiful's behavior was nothing new to locals. Most people understood and let him be.

Before losing his family, he had been a chatty guy, telling endless stories from dawn 'til dusk. There, at the seaside stall, he had spent his time relating different tales every day.

Some people were disappointed and angered by the loss of Syaiful's story-telling habit. And when they tried to bring back his previous routine, a row would ensue.

Syaiful would swear at those wishing to hear him chattering. He became all too emotional, and he was highly sensitive to the slightest offense.

So Syaiful was now an introvert. Nobody was capable of restoring him to his prior daily life.

"Ahh!!" groaned Syaiful, prompting customers to give him a quick sideways glance before resuming talking, reading newspapers or watching programs on the TV in the middle of the shop.

"Ahh!!" he grunted again, with those present paying no care anymore. They were already accustomed to his whining. As usual, a waiter approached Syaiful with a dish of cakes in oily banana leaves. After a while, his growling was silenced, and nothing was heard except for the sound of fatty cakes being devoured.

***

Lela watched, smiling, at Syaiful sleeping beside her.

She stroked his belly gently as she got up from the bed slowly and headed to the kitchen.

She was eager to make her husband's favorite cake. She had bought bananas, glutinous rice flour, ripe coconuts, eggs and white sugar for the snack. Banana leaves were plentiful in the backyard for wrapping.

Lela started cooking, her heart full of love. She grated the coconuts, poured some water onto the shreds and squeezed them to produce the milk, which she divided into two parts.

Adeptly, she turned to make the dough for the crepe. She cooked the bananas with coconut milk plus sugar and a bit of salt to produce a compote. As it cooled down, she mixed the compote with the rice flour, blending it into a dry crepe dough.

Unfortunately, durian was not in season so she couldn't make a durian filling. Ordinary custard was prepared instead: eggs, coconut milk and sugar were beaten and cooked in a wok until it became thick and creamy.

After the dough and filling were ready, Lela returned to the bedroom to find Syaiful still sound asleep.

She trotted into the backyard despite the dark, cold dawn, carrying a sharp knife and heading to the banana trees to pick some young leaves.

Back in the kitchen, she cleaned the leaves, cut them into the proper shapes and covered them with cooking oil. Her fingers grasped a clump of dough carefully, kneading it on the cut leaves and spreading some custard in the middle of the thin crepe she had formed. She then wrapped the flat dough and custard in the leaves, shaping them into a small, elongated form.

Lela smiled after steaming the oily snack, waiting for them to be cooked through. It wouldn't take long.

Syaiful smiled as Lela's caresses awakened him.

"It's half-past five, Bang, let us attend morning prayers first."

Lela beamed at her husband and went to the bathroom.

They would soon be praying with local residents. This was the early morning she had been longing for. She was even more pleased with the secret that made her happy.

"Why have you made such a lot of timpan, La?" asked Syaiful later as he savored the snack, which were now warm.

"Why? You don't like it? Does the food at the coffee stall taste better?"

"Of course not, your home-cooking is more delicious. But why all of a sudden?"

"Abang, do you want to know why?"

"Sure. Otherwise, why should I ask?"

"Bang, we've been married for a year, haven't we?"

"Are you pregnant?" Syaiful interjected.

Lela only nodded, smiling happily.

***

A lot of cakes were still left on the dish when the other customers got bored with Syaiful's grunting. But this time, he was groaning as well as speaking and chattering. They immediately crowded around him, expecting Syaiful to have returned to his past habit.

"I'll not be able to eat all the timpan, it's too much."

"Why, Syaiful, don't you always come here to enjoy your favorite snack? You can even eat up to three full dishes," responded an old man, a clove cigarette chain-smoker.

"Not today," sighed Syaiful.

"Why?" asked another. They seemed to be craving to hear his story.

"No," said Syaiful.

"Why?"

"Ahh!!"

"Give him more timpan!"

"He's moaning, give him more!"

"Still a lot on the plate!" scolded the waiter.

"Just give it to him, we can't stand him whining anymore."

"But..."

"No, Bang, I won't have more. It's enough, too much," Syaiful retorted, looking at the waiter who was going to serve him again.

"Then why are you groaning?" queried the old man, a clove cigarette stuck to his lips.

"It's nothing."

"Come on, Syaiful, tell us a story. What's made you whine? We're all here yearning for your tales. Aren't we brothers?"

"Brothers?" Syaiful was genuinely puzzled.

"Yes, all the people in Aceh are brothers, you know that, don't you?" they replied.

"Yes, we come from one ancestor, Adam!" remarked another, making the crowd burst into laughter.

Syaiful remained silent, staring at everybody around him.

"Sorry,just kidding." They stopped laughing.

Those gathered remembered a previous occasion, when Syaiful made one of them laugh so hard with his jokes that the unfortunate man was hospitalized.

"It's all right, I'm glad to see people can still laugh. I've forgotten how to laugh. Life is so unfair," Syaiful said.

No one spoke, but all eyes were on him. They were convinced that Syaiful would start talking.

Syaiful was still tight-lipped. After a moment, he gazed out at the sea. He fixed his eyes upon the vast ocean for a long while, the customers still waiting.

It would make them happy to see Syaiful telling tales again, perhaps a sign of recovery.

A village tengku said Syaiful was sick because he had not resigned himself to the ordeal from Allah.

"My wife Lela made so much timpan. I didn't even know when she had prepared the cake, so I suspected her of ordering it from a food vendor. I never knew she could make timpan," started Syaiful, almost whispering, while continuing to watch the sea.

The crowd shifted closer to him, as if cutting out any possible interference to his soft voice.

"Oh, so that's why. So you don't eat the snack as before?" they asked.

"No, I don't."

"Tell us more, to ease your mind. Sharing with others will calm you. Speaking your mind is the cheapest cure, at least."

Syaiful turned to the crowd, surprised to realize that they had encircled him.

"Tell us some more," said another customer.

Syaiful sagged for a moment, thinking of what had been trapped in his mind for so long. He wanted to share more with them. But he didn't know how to begin.

***

Translated by Aris Prawira

* Bang/Abang: title used to address an older man; literally, "elder brother" * Timpan: typical Acehnese sweet, a cake wrapped in oily banana leaves * Tengku: Islamic religious teacher or ulema