Short Story by Yudhi Herwibowo
Published JakartaPost 2018
Translated by Liswindio Apendicaesar
Narrator Ilona Joline Surjoraharjo
Music Illustration Liston P. Siregar

The breeze passing through the leaves sounded like the pitter-patter of rain. The weather slowly got colder and pierced through bones. Few seconds after, suddenly the atmosphere changed into something subtler and emptier, leaving a silence that felt like for eternity.

By the edge of the moonlight that was split by the bamboo reeds, two people held each other’s hand and hesitantly walked ahead to the lush wood.

“Is this the right path?” the girl asked as she wiped the sweat drops on her forehead.

The person beside her slightly nodded, albeit his movement was unclear. “Indeed this is,” replied he.

Both of them went deeper into the wood and they had to remove the twigs hindering their way. Sometimes their steps were stopped by things moving around them; they thought it’s the night beasts lurking around, but actually it’s only their fear. The pathway then got clearer hinting that it had been passed by some people before them.

Right before reaching their destination, the wood became denser by the branches and big leaves. After trying so hard to clear their pathway, eventually they arrived before the wide overlay of droughty soil. Tens of swings hanged on trees; each of them hanged on a big old dead tree. Oddly, those swings moved back and forth despite no wind blowing or anyone pushing them.

The girl let go of the guy’s hand. She stepped forward and slowly said “Dear Lord! They actually exist, dear…”

***

 The swing hangs on a guava tree that has long died. The wind keeps blowing that it moves the swing endlessly.

I decide to remove the swing again this year. It’s been 10 years since the first we hanged it on the tree, and since then I don’t how many times already I’ve considered taking it off.

As we return home from our pilgrim this morning, soon the desire that has always been there and never ceased suddenly urges me to walk into the garage and take the sickle.

Hope — my only child — only looks at me without a word. I ignore her although I understand what her expression means. Anyhow, she never touches the swing. I never tell her that her life and the swing are somehow connected. She probably can feel it, though.

I keep falling whenever I try climbing up the tree. My head hits a big root that surfaces from the ground. I lose my consciousness for a while, but then I see images from the past as if they were so clear and real. These pieces of memory take me to the time that I always wish to forget.

About ten years ago, May —my wife— and I took the decision. We were crying in silence as we decided it, and it was our last choice.

“I wish this would be our last endeavor, my dear,” May whispered to me. I nodded.

That night we had a very similar dream in each of our own sleep. I didn’t know why we happened to talk about the dream after the dawn prayer; we rarely, if not at all, talked about dreams whatsoever.

“He’s an old man with gray hair and beards,” said May.

“The old man said we can have it we really want it,” added I.

May nodded and continued, “He spoke of a place in the middle of the wood where all trees there are already dead.”

“There are 98 swings on each tree. Reputedly, the number of the swings will never change no matter how many have been taken by people,” my voice almost was unheard and swallowed by the air.

***

I don’t know how long has it been since I fainted. When I regain consciousness, I see Aliyah, my little sister, sits by my side.

“What happened to you?” Her question strikes me as I’m still trying to recollect my memory. “Mrs. Salman saw you fell, so she shouted asking for help.” Slowly I start remembering everything. “Why did you even carry a sickle?”

“I was going to cut off the swing,” my voice sounds hoarse, but my answer turns her silent for a moment or two.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve told you so many times to chop down the tree, as well as the swing. They’re an eyesore for the view.”

I can only nod to her. I know she has never agreed since the first time May and I placed the swing there. Of course I don’t blame her. Our house is small with a yard of only 40 square meters. It’s just odd to have a swing under a big tree there.

However, May and I really had a justified reason for that.

“It was our endeavor, Al,” I reply to her, hoping she would stop shouting at ears. “Just consider this as inducement.”

Since then, Aliyah never talks about the swing anymore, although I know she still dislikes it.

***

The day after the swing had been hanged on the tree in our front yard, everything changed!

At first, I thought it was only my feeling. The swing always moved back and forth with or without wind. It just moved endlessly, slowly. Nevertheless, the guava tree started to die out. The leaves turned dry and withered. It all happened only within a week.

I felt something strange, so did May. However, few days later May told me that she got pregnant. I was really happy and I did not care anymore with whatever strange things there were. Our neighbors spread rumors about the swing, but I could not care less because of my overjoyed feeling.

“Any children try to ride the swing always fall…”

“As the dusk falls, the atmosphere around the swing feels strange…”

We didn’t bother whatever they said. Eventually, the child we had been waiting for was born. We named her: Hope.

Suddenly, on the day before May and Hope could return home, May asked me, “Can we now take the swing down?” I could see the flash of fear in her eyes.

As I arrived in the afternoon, I grabbed a sickle in the garage and was ready to cut off the rope that hanged the swing to the tree. The rope, however looked rusty and old, was really tenacious. I lost counts how many times I fell each time I tried to cut it off.

On the very same day, I was late to find out that May fell from her bed in hospital. Her head hit the periphery of the bed made of metal. It was around the same time when I tried to cut off the rope. She got up and eventually returned to the bed, but she was gone right before she pushed the emergency button to call nurses. I arrived there only to see her sleep for eternity.

***

I raised Hope on my own. The whole past 10 years May and I really had expected her presence in our home. We really hoped that she could complete our happiness. However, right when we had her, it felt like we lost our way, and I lost my May.

Hope never cried like most infants did when they were born. She even was still awake around midnight. Even up until she got bigger, no cry was ever heard from her mouth. When she started crawling, all she did was headed toward the window facing to the swing.

Doctor said that Hope was different; she’s a child with special need. As much as I agreed with the doctor, I also believed that there was something inexplicable about her.

I always feel there is a gap between Hope and me. Every word I tell her will only evaporate right before reaching her ears. My stare at her does not mean anything to her. Thankfully Aliyah is here. She has been helping me taking care of her. Although I never say anything to her, but each time she looks at me she seems to understand what has happened.

Deep down, I always try to love Hope. I’m sure May would do the same. Unfortunately, I just can’t. I always feel that there is something inside of Hope, especially when she stands by the window looking at the swing. Really, it somehow scarifies me. I think whoever knows what May and I did that night, will feel the same about Hope.

***

I ask some younglings that always hang out around security post to cut down the guava tree along with the swing. I give them some money for my request.

“Burn the swing until no more,” I tell them repeatedly. “Remember: until there’s nothing left!”

They start moving vigorously. They borrow a chainsaw from a neighbor and start cutting the tree into some parts. Within an hour, they’ve already taken down the tree and the swing away from my yard. I imagine they must have started burning them in the landfill of this village.

I accidentally run to Hope standing by the window. Her stare looks empty looking at the empty yard. Her eyes start to melt. I am surprised because it is the very first time I see her cry. I show no empathy to her. I’ve already decided it despite knowing what will happen later. I start recalling the day May and I got the same dream, that one sentence that has been echoing in our head: “The swing will invite a life in your womb. You only have to make sure the swing will always be in your front yard.”

I go to sleep with readiness in my heart. I know, just like what happened to May, my body will later fall hitting something. The next day my body will be found without a breath. Aliyah will be the first one to find, and Hope maybe will look at my body with pleasure just like how she smiled the day I found May’s dead body lying in hospital. [] h