Father's Face (Ending Part)

Source image from Pixabay

Read also Part 1 

And don't forget Part 2

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Every time I looked at the mountain in front of my house, I remember my father's face. I never knew my father. I only know through photos are still saved in old album. Not a lot is the number of photographs. There are five pieces. It was already looking dull and fuzzy. With the photo sheet that I know the father's face at a glance.

Another time I asked the people in my village. Where is my father? Is it true that my father was on that mountain? Had the father been there, I would climb the mountain peaks. I will find where my dad was. But people never gave an answer. In fact, some people just comforted me with words that exactly the same as the mother answers. I doubt them all. Some faces lie in their expression. Such as saving something that had been planned earlier.

My mother is now trading in a stall next to the house. Sis Zubaidah often help the mother. Difference in my age range from eight years to her. She has grown up as a beautiful girl. Many men who like Sis Zubaidah. Sis Zubaidah has long been out of school. Approx since my father disappeared from home. Sis Zubaidah sincere accepted it. With great enthusiasm she helped the mother, in order to meet the needs of our lives, and of course, the cost of school. I pity also see them working hard. Especially mothers. At the age of growing older unaccompanied by her husband, if she did not feel lonely?

To be honest I envy my friends. They have a father who always accompany them. If they want something, they always whine to their father. Every Eid, they visited relatives with family members complete. They joke, they play, they confide in each other. Father! Go home dad! Come back with us. Come back and give us warmth.

I had graduated from high school in a school district. My age has also been quite mature now, 18 years. I'm not innocently like a junior high. I have begun to understand the meaning of this hard life. I had been able to control myself, when I am keen to see the face of my father and especially when longing is so passionate. I have grown as an independent young man. After school, I helped mom. Doing all the things that can relieve the burden of the mother.

"Old are now 18 years old. Your school has also been graduated. It's up to you where you will continue your education. Mom saw a lot of change on you for two years. Since it is also very rare you ask a father to us. It's time mom was telling the truth. Because this may be the right time. "One night mom called me and beside it had been sitting too Sis Zubaidah.

I dropped my eyes downward. I disinclined look into the eyes of the mother. Tonight will probably put an end to a question, where the father.

With patience mothers talked of the father. Said the mother, the father had disappeared when I was 3 years old and never come back again. A miserable night, several people dressed in black and wearing a cap face forcing the father away from home. Mother tried to stop them, but was unable. Their hands are too strong. Sis Zubaidah just cried. Watched the with his own eyes they kidnaped father. Sis Zubaidah kept crying, and one of them threaten Sis Zubaidah. Frightened, Sis Zubaidah was silent. Meanwhile, I was still asleep without knowing anything. After the incident, the villagers finally looking dad's footsteps. They did not know what a mistake my father. They also never know whether the father is alive or dead.

I heard the story attentively. Just like a dream I had. The dream has several times disturbing my sleep. And several times left without saying goodbye. A dream that only I knew. As if that's the answer about the whereabouts of my father now. On the mountain lost and stuck in the dark, between reality and illusion.

Every time I looked at the mountain in front of the house, I remember my father's face. I never knew my father. I only know through photos still stored in old album. Not a lot is the number of photographs. There are five pieces. It was already looking dull and fuzzy. With the photo sheet that I know the father's face at a glance.

Now, when I looked at the mountain in front of my house. I remember my father's face. My age was 23 years. My mother had died two weeks ago. I asked leave to return home. I have become a soldier now. I assigned outside of town - three months ago. Came to my ears a painful news. Mother had died. Although I did not get to see the mother's face for the last time, I had a chance to attend her funeral. Sis Zubaidah had been married two years ago with a teacher.

There was a time my leave has expired. I have just returned from the tomb of the mother. I said goodbye to Sis Zubaidah. I picked up my stuff, Sis Zubaidah take me to the gate house with her husband. I saw Sis Zubaidah cried.

I walk the streets of the small gravelly. My hand was clutching a piece of paper that has been shabby. Some of the pieces I write these sentences ever used is still saved well. The letter never reached again to its destination. Before going any further, I looked at the mountain. I miss my father's face. May my father was in a beautiful garden in the mountain.[]

The end