The sun is above the crown. Sweat moistens the body. Either because of the sun or cold sweat in fear. One child is on the lookout for sawing while the other is covering up so as not to be seen by others. All pounding. All trembling.
Not until twenty minutes is over. A hole formed on the woven bamboo fence. It remained for hours. Though the size of the hole is only as big as the body of children aged 11 years. After that the piece of gedek we put it back so it looks like the original. At first glance there will be no sawhole there.
At night, tiptoeing, we headed behind the building. Dark atmosphere. One by one we began to mrobos into the building through the little hole we made this afternoon. Who enters the last one, must close the hole again. That's the rule of the game. Once inside, we immediately mingle with the audience.
I live in Jalan Cisadane, Surabaya. About a kilometer from my house there is a field. Similar to the square. Its function is versatile. In addition to the playground, the field is also often used for performances ludruk, typical theater of East Java, like ketoprak in Central Java.
Usually ludruk groups who play there will build their own theater. If I say "show hall", do not imagine things. Just imagine a stage from the board, a tin roof, with a woven bamboo wall or a gedek. Around the building will be given a two-meter-long bamboo woven fence that becomes a barrier wall between those outside and the audience inside.
Viewers must buy tickets. No bench number. Who is fast he will sit in the front row. Closest to the stage. The seat is also made of long bamboo. When the audience is full, the seat is squeezed. Uniquely, no one objected. All happy.
I was 11 years old then. With peers, who can not afford a ticket, we usually break through the hole in the wall of gedek we saw during the day. Sawing work is safer in the afternoon because almost all players and ludruk associates are not in place. They usually have other activities or work. The building is empty. That's when we started to make a "secret hole".
Usually the holes we make are only effective for up to three days. After that will be caught by the manager of the show building and then closed and guarded. Additional fluorescent lights will also be installed. So we bite our fingers again. Modus operandi like this we will use again if there are other group ludruk gig there. Later caught again, closed again, guarded again, then we bite the fingers again.
If it is so, usually our next strategy will be run. We will stand around the counter. If anyone buys a ticket, usually an adult, we will beg to allow nunut alias passengers to join in. How to hold the hand of the person. At first glance looks like the parents who brought their children to watch. Not all building managers allow one ticket for two. But this tactic often works.
I am one of the most common nunut. One day, there was a grandmother with one daughter and two grandchildren buying tickets. Their clothes are so simple to not exactly shabby. The grandmother brought a basket of snacks for her children and grandchildren. Spectators who do not have a lot of money usually bring their own food from home. Understandably, the show could last more than three hours.
To the grandmother I begged to be nunut. He fell for me and allowed me to come. Even my hand was hooked up. But, on the door, the officer told me not to come in. The grandmother tried to convince the clerk that I was her grandson. A ridiculous explanation, indeed, considering I'm physically very different. With white skin and golden hair, it is not easy to convince anyone that I am his grandson.
With great difficulty the grandmother asked that I be allowed to enter. The doorman still does not allow. Maybe my face was recognized because almost every night appeared there. They kept arguing. Starting with fear, I went away. But, unexpectedly, the grandmother called me back. He reached into his knee and took out a dime, counted it for a moment, then hurried to the counter.
I can not believe it. The grandmother bought me a ticket with the remains of her money. The ticket was then given to me. "Saiki kowe iso mlebu," he said in Javanese while smiling. "Now you can go in," he said.
The memory is very imprinted. Even up to this moment. If you remember the event, it's still hard to believe. Judging from his appearance, the grandmother was not a person who is well off. How could he be willing to sacrifice the rest of his money for me? For a boy he just met that night.