The Easter Bunny

The Easter Bunny

Honobono

Slamet walked in his slow, sure step across the sprawling garden that surrounded the white, Dutch-style house.

The Javanese in him told him he shouldn't be, but he was proud of the way he had transformed the once weed-riddled yard into a lush, colorful landscape of reds, yellows and fuchsias balanced by all the shades of green the eye could behold.

But his real pride and joy was the orchid nursery with their hanging plaques and pots, the blooms always seeming to nod in greeting.

Slamet took special care of his fragile, yet resilient, charges. He loved their sturdy leaves and stems and the wondrous colors of their petals. From the orange-flecked gold of the Dancing Maidens to the soft glow of the Moon Orchid, even the white trimming and deep hue of the common violet orchid -- each was perfect in their own way.

Together, they made a palette more brilliant than any he had ever seen or held.

He could have taken the day off today -- "It's Easter weekend, Slamet," Nyonya Harper had said. But the orchids were always thirsty, and he didn't trust anyone else to spray them properly so that their leaves, roots and blooms were curtained in a fine dew. Well, except Nyonya Harper, but she had a big event at the orphanage today.

Slamet stopped at the threshold of the orchid nursery in reverence and gave an imperceptible bow as always. Inside, he began filling the spray bottle when he paused, one ear cocked. From somewhere beyond the rows of hanging blooms, he had heard a hiccup.

The spray bottle cradled loosely in one large, square hand, he moved toward the sound -- and there, under a corner shelf, he espied a bit of pink fabric. Crouching down, he peered underneath.

"Non Rachel?" he asked the bundle of pink.

Among the folds was a little girl with a matching ribbon in her pale hair -- which was all he could see of her. Her ringlets bounced ever so slightly as she sobbed into her upraised knees.

"Non Rachel, what are you doing under there? Aren't you going with your mother today?"

The ringlets shook once, emitting another hiccup, and the girl fiercely wiped at her eyes.

"No!" she said into her lap.

"But you're wearing your favorite dress. Come now. What will your mother think if she finds you here? She'll think I'm hiding you," he tried to joke.

No response.

"Tell Slamet what's the matter. You can tell Slamet, can't you?"

"We don't have any eggs!" she yelled suddenly, glaring at him.

Slamet was puzzled. "Eggs?"

"Yes!"

"But your mother bought dozens of eggs yesterday." And she had -- he had helped carry the bags and bags of eggs to the house, careful not to swing them.

"No!" said Rachel.

"No?" Slamet echoed.

"No. Easter. Eggs," she said, as though this explained everything, and lowered her bright, wet eyes.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

Wiping away a tear, she replied, "We painted eggs all day yesterday for the or-fans."

"And?"

"And we're giving them all away! Today!"

Slamet waited.

"So we won't have any for to-mo-mo-morrow!" she wailed.

Slamet finally understood. Every year, Rachel looked forward to painting eggs with her mother for the egg hunt on Easter Sunday. This year, Nyonya Harper's foundation was introducing Easter as a treat to the orphanage they supported. He recalled the many ladies who had come that Friday, and Rachel jumping up and down with glee, singing, "We're painting eggs! We're painting eggs!"

Slamet looked at the hiccupping girl. "Oh, no, no. You'll have eggs tomorrow," he declared.

Rachel looked at him doubtfully.

"Sure. You'll see. There will be eggs tomorrow," he said with a broad smile.

"Really...?" she whispered.

"Of course!"

"But ... how?"

"It's a secret."

"A secret?" Rachel's eyes began to twinkle.

"Yes, a secret ... and I hear your mother calling for you. Come, come! If you don't go, your mother will have to bring the children here..." He frowned. "But I don't think everyone will fit under there."

Rachel giggled.

"Rachel...?" her mother called, close now.

"Quick! Quick!" Slamet held out his hand, and Rachel took it.

"Ah, your dress! All wrinkled!"

Giggling still, the girl smoothed out her dress, very ladylike.

Just then, her mother arrived at the nursery. "Rachel? Rachel! Here you are. Selamat siang, Slamet. What were you doing here?" she asked her daughter.

Rachel stole a glance at Slamet. "I was telling Slamet about the Easter Bunny...?"

"Rachel, what did I tell you?"

"I mean, I was telling Mas Slamet about the Easter Bunny," she corrected.

"Good. Come along now, we're running a little late, and the children are waiting for us. And Slamet, do go home after you spray the orchids, or you'll make me feel like a ... like a tyrant."

"Yes, Nyonya Harper."

"Say goodbye to Slamet now," she took Rachel's hand.

"Bye-bye, Mas Slamet."

"Bye-bye, Non Rachel," Slamet waved back, and mother and daughter bustled out of the nursery in a flurry of skirts and ruffles, leaving him looking thoughtful.

***

Maryam Harper sat down to a cup of coffee as birds twittered and the morning sun shone through the window. She sighed, dispersing the steam.

The day at the orphanage had been filled with laughter and smiles. They had played games and sang songs, and the Easter eggs had been a success -- although the children thought it hilarious that a rabbit could lay eggs. Rachel, teasing, had told them so, and they thought it so funny that they wouldn't listen to the women's explanation that no, the Easter Bunny did not lay the eggs.

But what to do now?

Rachel would come down soon, ready for her Easter egg hunt, and Maryam was so ashamed -- she had completely forgotten to put some aside. No chocolate rabbit, either.

The best she could come up with was to tell her that they would have a special Easter next Sunday, when Harold returned from his business trip, but she could already see Rachel's face fall.

The patter of small feet on the stairs broke through her reverie.

"Mama! Mama!"

"Good morning, darling -- oof!" grunted Maryam as Rachel gave her a flying hug.

"Where's my Easter basket?"

"Now, dear... I don't know how to tell you..,," she began, but Rachel dragged her to the porch.

"Come on, Mama! Oh!" cried Rachel, nearly slamming into Slamet.

"Selamat pagi, Nyonya Harper."

"Oh, Slamet. Good morning." She paused. "What are you doing here on a Sunday?"

Not knowing what to reply, he looked down at his hands, which were clasping his gardening hat.

"I ... I forgot my hat yesterday, and, well ... I found something strange in the garden."

"Really?!" shrieked Rachel, bounding off. "Where? Where?"

"Oh, here and there," he muttered, feeling Nyonya Harper's puzzled gaze upon him.

Rachel flew from shrub to hedge to flower bed, then emitted a cry of triumph.

"Mama! I found one! No, two ... three!"

"What...?" Maryam crossed the garden, glancing back once at Slamet, who fell into step behind her.

"Look! Here! And here!" Rachel held aloft a painted egg in each hand, her face shining. "I thought you forgot!"

Maryam coughed. "Well..."

Rachel frowned. "But Mama ... there are funny pictures on them."

"Let me see -- oh my."

The egg she held bore the intricate image of a garuda, and on another was a wayang figure. Still another was covered with a spiraling batik motif.

"And who's this, Mama? It's a pretty lady all in green."

"Oh honey, this is the Queen of the South Seas," said Maryam, in awe.

"And here's a bunny -- but it looks ... different."

Maryam cleared her throat carefully.

"Of course it's different, honey. These are very special eggs. These aren't from any ordinary Easter Bunny."

"But Mama, you said there's no such thing."

"No, Rachel. There certainly is. At least, an Indonesian Easter Bunny."

She looked up at Slamet standing at a distance, holding onto his hat and not meeting her gaze, and at the specks of color that dotted his fingers.