Perhaps only a few people will believe my story. Will you listen to it?
He merely snorted, wagged his tail, and then nestled against my right arm. His fur looked clean, and he appeared chubbier.
His eyes gazed at me with curiosity, indicating that he wanted to hear my tale. He settled in amid the cold downpour, as the rain grew heavier. I saw flashes of lightning through the window, followed by thunderous roars.
“Alright, I’ll tell you.”
At that time, no one could save me when I was entangled by the roots of a giant tree. These roots could lengthen and shorten at will, with a terrifying size.
I still don’t know what kind of creature it was. But believe me, if someone finds themselves in a subconscious state, it feels like a dream—albeit a horrifying one. I was nearly killed by it.
I struggled desperately to break free and survive. If I hadn’t managed to escape its grasp, I might have died. This is a matter of fate, isn’t it?
I ran as fast as I could from the pursuit of those tree roots. I stumbled several times but fought with all my might to keep running for my life. My breath was ragged, as if it would give out. Thankfully, the roots eventually stopped chasing me.
However, as I rested, recovering from the terrifying pursuit, I heard a woman crying. It was unmistakably my mother’s voice.
I called out to her, but she seemed not to hear me, continuing to sob. I had no idea what had happened to her. Her cries were filled with deep sorrow. It broke my heart to hear them.
Then, the lush trees and the path turned completely white, bathed in a soft light. My body felt weightless, as if floating without gravity. It was strange, yet I could still faintly hear my mother’s mournful cries, like someone who had surrendered to despair.
“Mom, I’m here!” I shouted.
“Where are you, Mom?”
I couldn’t see her. I wondered what was happening to me. This was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I felt trapped in an endless labyrinth filled with rough paths.
Suddenly, I remembered my childhood with my father. I saw a shadow resembling a large flashlight. Yes, after thinking about it, it looked like a sokle.
Unexpectedly, I entered that shadow and met my father. I felt immense joy seeing him with a faint smile. His face was radiant, clean-shaven, and he wore splendid, sparkling clothes.
“Is that really you, Dad? Why do you look so young and handsome?” I thought.
He hugged me warmly, smiling occasionally. Yet, he didn’t speak much, as if uninterested in catching up after all these years apart. Nevertheless, I was happy to see him, fulfilling my longing for him.
It felt like he was giving me a ride on a motorcycle he bought years ago by selling some cattle. I didn’t ask where we were going; the moment was too joyful.
After a while, during our journey to an unknown destination, my mother suddenly appeared, chasing after us. She ran as fast as she could.
“Dad, why didn’t you bring Mom?” I asked.
But he didn’t answer.
My mother kept calling my name, chasing us relentlessly.
“Dad!”
He remained silent. I looked back at her with a heavy heart. Suddenly, my throat felt tight, my eyes burned, and I couldn’t hold back my tears. My heart ached hearing her calls.
“I want to be with you, Mom,” I told him.
Even though I shouted, there was no response from him. He continued driving. I jumped off the motorcycle out of pity for her. I wanted to hug her immediately.
Then, my memory brought me a realization that my father had died when I was seven.
After landing on the ground from jumping off the motorcycle, I hurried towards my mother, only to find she had disappeared. She vanished in the blink of an eye, her presence swept away by the wind.
I felt sad and disappointed. I searched for her, overwhelmed by a deep longing to embrace her. At that moment, I promised that if I found her, I would never upset her again. I would always treat her kindly. But how could I escape this labyrinth?
Soon after, a piece of cloth flew toward me. I ran from it, but fortunately, someone saved me. That person gave me a black belt made from banana trunk fibers fashioned into a rope. Like my father, he didn’t say much and left abruptly.
***
The wall clock ticked slowly, hanging in the hospital corridor. Sitting on a long bench in the emergency waiting room, my mother muttered prayers continuously. Her eyes were weary.
Meanwhile, my uncle, who had accompanied her, was on his way to the hospital. He had just visited a kiai to seek prayers for my recovery. He carried a bundle of coarse salt. The kiai instructed him to mix it into my food and rub some on certain parts of my body.
“Did you know that I had a condition requiring brain surgery?”
He remained silent, occasionally closing his eyes and purring. He listened intently to my story, without doubt or disbelief.
“Alright, I’ll continue my story.”
I realized I was in the hospital. When I awoke from my coma, the first word I uttered was “Mom.”
As my vision cleared, I recalled the person who saved me from the flying cloth and gave me the belt. Upon full recovery, I wanted to meet my mother and ask about the belt’s whereabouts.
After regaining full consciousness, I learned the belt didn’t exist. Yet, I remembered that the person who saved me was the same kiai my uncle had visited—Kiai Ghofar, whose sermons my father often listened to on the radio every dawn and at five in the evening.
Once I recovered, I felt a strong urge to become his student. Even though I had never met him in person, I recognized his face from the photograph my father had always displayed in our living room.
Illustration: Vincent van Gogh’s painting.