Pantai Plengkung, "Surga" Peselancar

Pasangan peselancar Jeremy (35)-Mine (33) sudah mencantumkan jadwal kunjungannya ke Pantai Plengkung, Banyuwangi, Jawa Timur. Selama sepekan, dalam bulan Maret depan, suami-istri asal Queensland, Australia, itu mengincar sensasi Plengkung setelah menjelajahi Kawah Ijen dan Taman Nasional Baluran Sitobondo, Jawa Timur.

Jika turis luar negeri saja tertarik, bagaimana dengan Anda? Jangan mengaku peselancar sejati jika belum pernah menjajal nyali berselancar di pantai yang menghadap Samudra Hindia ini.

Pantai Plengkung tak sekadar elok dipandang mata. Pantai yang juga lazim disebut ”G-land” ini juga menjadi tempat favorit peselancar di dunia. Ombak setinggi 4-5 meter yang datang bersusulan membuat atraksi berselancar (surfing) menjadi lebih menantang. Kepungan hutan juga membuat tempat ini dijuluki ”surga kesunyian”.

Pantas saja Jeremy-Mine tak jemu-jemunya untuk menyambangi tempat ini. Asal tahu saja, kedua turis ini sebetulnya sudah pernah menggunjungi G-land empat tahun silam. Selama ini rupanya mereka memelihara rasa penasaran. Pertengahan Maret memang menjadi salah satu waktu paling tepat untuk melampiaskan hasrat mereka untuk kembali ”bercanda” dengan gulungan ombak Plengkung.

Ombak pantai selatan akan meninggi mulai Maret hingga Oktober. Biasanya mencapai puncak pada bulan purnama yang jatuh di pertengahan bulan.

”Kami ingin merasakan lagi sensasi gulungan ombak bersusulan yang terkenal di G-land. Ombak yang Anda dapatkan bisa sangat tinggi dan itu memanjang hampir setengah kilometer,” kata Mine yang pada Sabtu (19/2) mendaki Gunung Ijen bersama Jeremy, suaminya.

Jeremy juga menyukai sensasi menjelajah hutan dan mengamati perilaku satwa. Empat tahun lalu ia tidak bisa menyaksikan kawanan banteng (Bos javanicus javanicus) yang ada di area pantai Sadengan, Alas Purwo. Kali ini, ia berniat mengulangi lagi kegiatannya, dan berharap hasrat terpendamnya terpenuhi.

Minat khusus

Sudah lama Pantai Plengkung yang berada di kawasan Taman Nasional Alas Purwo (TNAP) menjadi tujuan para wisatawan berminat khusus. Pantai ini apabila dilihat dari citra satelit bentuknya melengkung membentuk huruf G terbalik. Posisi itulah yang membuat ombak setinggi 4-5 meter bisa terbentuk. Para peselancar bisa merasakan sensasi dorongan ombak yang panjang dan susul-menyusul. Dasar pantai G-land, menurut Suharto, Kepala Resor Rawabendo, TNAP, berbentuk landai. Palung hanya ditemukan di sisi barat, yang pernah menjadi lokasi pendaratan kapal. Posisi ini membuat G-land nyaman sebagai tempat surfing. Namun, di balik keelokannya tentu perlu kehati-hatian tersendiri. Pasalnya, karang yang berada di dalam laut bisa melukai peselancar di dalam air.

Setiap tahun tidak kurang dari 400-600 wisatawan asing yang datang untuk berselancar di pantai berpasir putih ini. Di tempat ini mereka bisa menginap selama sepekan, bahkan berbulan-bulan di resor-resor dalam hutan.

Menembus hutan

Pantai Plengkung bisa dicapai lewat jalan darat dari Kota Banyuwangi, atau jalan laut dari Pulau Bali. Perjalanan darat membutuhkan waktu 2-3 jam dari Kota Banyuwangi untuk sampai di gerbang pertama TNAP yang berada di Kecamatan Tegaldlimo.

Sepanjang perjalanan dari gerbang pertama ke pos Rawabendo di wilayah TNAP, di kanan-kiri jalan hanya tampak rerimbunan hutan jati. Akan tetapi, begitu sampai di pos selanjutnya, yakni Pancur, vegetasi hutan hujan tropis pun mulai memberi warna perjalanan ke Pantai Plengkung. Di sini berjejer tumbuhan endemik Alas Purwo. Sebutlah, misalnya, sawo kecik (Manilkara kauki) dan bambu manggong (Gigantochloa manggong).

Di sepanjang perjalanan juga bisa ditemukan tumbuhan seperti nyamplung (Calophyllum inophyllum), keben (Barringtonia asiatica), ketapang (Terminalia cattapa), kepuh (Sterculia foetida), dan berbagai jenis bambu.

Untuk melintas hutan tersebut, pengunjung harus memakai mobil bergardan ganda (double gardan) atau four-wheel drive (4wd) milik TNAP. Mobil tersebut siap mengangkut wisatawan melewati jalur yang belum beraspal, berlumpur dan berbatu dari pos Pancur menuju pintu masuk Pantai Plengkung. Biayanya mencapai Rp 130.000 per mobil, pergi-pulang.

Suasana hutan yang dihiasi dengan kicauan burung dan keanekaragaman tanaman lebih terasa jika Anda duduk di bak mobil jagawana tersebut. Di tempat itu, sudut pandang Anda bisa lebih luas. Jika beruntung Anda akan menemukan babi hutan yang mencari makan di tepi jalan, atau biawak sebesar komodo yang sedang berjemur di dekat sungai. Akan tetapi, Anda harus tahan guncangan akibat jalan tak rata sepanjang 15 kilometer.

Sampai di gerbang Pantai Plengkung, perjalanan pun disambung dengan berjalan kaki sejauh kurang lebih 200 meter menuju pantai. Di titik pemberhentian itu pula pengunjung disambut dengan papan kayu penunjuk lokasi resor, seperti Bobby’s camp atau Joyo’s camp.

Jika perjalanan di darat membutuhkan waktu 4-5 jam, perjalanan lewat laut bisa ditempuh lebih singkat. Dari Kuta di Bali hanya perlu waktu dua jam. Tarif yang ditawarkan mencapai 125 dollar Amerika Serikat (AS) per orang.

Di kawasan Pantai Plengkung, wisatawan biasanya menginap selama sepekan. Mereka bisa menginap di resor bertarif dollar atau wisma milik TNAP yang letaknya agak jauh dari Plengkung, tetapi bertarif rupiah.

Resor-resor di Plengkung semuanya memanfaatkan kesunyian hutan. Hanief, Direktur Bobby’s Camp di G-land, mengatakan bahwa resornya mengoperasikan generator listrik minim suara. Generator itu mampu menerangi resor dan menghidupkan penyejuk udara (AC,) TV kabel, dan air panas. Setiap hari mereka juga memproduksi roti sendiri dan mengolah makanan lokal, seperti ubi rebus dan talas, untuk memenuhi akomodasi dan makanan para peselancar.

Dengan rata-rata 100 dollar AS setiap hari, selama minimal tiga hari, wisatawan bisa menikmati senyapnya hutan, gulungan ombak, lengkap dengan akomodasi hotel berbintang.

Namun, jika ingin lebih irit, Wisma TNAP yang berada di Rawabendo bisa jadi pilihan. Tarif kamarnya hanya Rp 100.000. Warung di area kompleks wisma bisa menjadi pilihan tempat makan, selain pesan makanan dari wisma.

Di tempat inilah Anda bisa mengenyam sensasi lain, yakni, kicauan burung, perilaku hewan, dan gemerisik gesekan dedaunan.

Sumber : http://travel.kompas.com/read/2011/03/07/07213494/Pantai.Plengkung.Surga.Peselancar

My Opinion : beach is the most popular tourist attractions by Indonesian citizens and foreign tourists. They come to the beach to enjoy its beauty, and also sunbathing, surfing, and relaxing on the beach. Not infrequently foreign residents come from different countries to enjoy the beauty of beaches in Indonesia, such as for example these Plengkung beach as the berths of this spouses surfers from Australia. they chose the beach "g-land" as unsaturated sights they visit, Waves as high as 4-5 meters coming continuously makes surfing becomes more challenging for this husband and wive who surf here. They also enjoy the resorts that is located not far from the beach.

Tak Heran apabila Kemacetan Sulit Diurai

JAKARTA, KOMPAS.com — Kemacetan di Jakarta seolah telah menjadi ciri khas di ibu kota negara ini. Sebagian besar warga Jakarta juga mengeluhkan ledakan jumlah kendaraan sebagai penyebab utama kemacetan di ibu kota.

Hasbi Hasibuan selaku Sekretaris Dinas Perhubungan DKI Jakarta mengemukakan bahwa laju pertumbuhan kendaraan pribadi menjadi salah satu penyebab masalah ini.

"Rasio jumlah kendaraan pribadi dibandingkan kendaraan umum adalah 98 persen berbanding 2 persen. Jumlah kendaraan pribadi tersebut mengangkut 49,7 persen perpindahan manusia per hari, sedangkan kendaraan umum mengangkut sekitar 50,3 persen perpindahan manusia per hari," ungkap Hasbi ketika dialog publik mengenai "Rencana Penerapan ERP di Kota Jakarta", Rabu (23/3/2011).

Kondisi ini diperparah dengan adanya sekitar 600.000 unit kendaraan yang mengangkut lebih kurang 1,2 juta orang dari Bogor, Depok, Tangerang, dan Bekasi menuju Jakarta. Jumlah ini tentunya terus bertambah.

Jika pertumbuhan kendaraan berbanding terbalik dengan pembangunan jalan dan infrastrukturnya, maka dipastikan pada tahun 2014 Jakarta macet total."Sistem 3-in-1 sekarang sudah tidak lagi efektif mengatasi kemacetan. Pembangunan jalan layang non-tol yang baru-baru ini dilakukan bisa mengatasi kemacetan, tapi tampaknya tidak akan bertahan lama," ujarnya.

Sistem 3-in-1 yang diterapkan sejak 1992 memang sudah tidak efektif lagi mengatasi kemacetan Jakarta. Sistem ini justru memicu persoalan baru, yaitu menjamurnya joki. Sedangkan pembangunan 56flyover dan underpass yang selesai dikerjakan dalam 10 tahun terakhir juga menemui hasil serupa.

Kemacetan semakin hari malah makin menjadi-jadi. Belum lagi banyaknya prasarana jalan yang rusak dan mudah tergenang saat hujan semakin memperparah kemacetan.

Menurut Hasbi, rencana penerapan ERP ini mesti terwujud. Hal ini juga dimaksudkan untuk menekan laju pertumbuhan kendaraan bermotor di jalanan Jakarta, sekaligus membuat para pengendara kendaraan pribadi itu berpindah ke kendaraan umum.

"Semuanya harus diawali dengan perbaikan moda angkutan umum terlebih dahulu. Busway saya rasa sudah cukup mewakili. Tapi, tetap harus terus dipelihara dan ditambah biar kemacetan berkurang," tandasnya.

Sumber : http://megapolitan.kompas.com/read/2011/03/23/20150392/Tak.Heran.apabila.Kemacetan.Sulit.Diurai

My Opinion : Traffic jam in Jakarta City has become something that are hard to erase. There has been so many ways that has been done to reduce the traffic jam like built a busway, increase some railway carriage and etc, but seems useless, it’s like that Jakarta and the traffic jam is one unit that cannot be separated. So many imigrant that are coming to Jakarta from suburban area in order to make a better life has become one of the reason, make Jakarta more crowded. Even there are so many public transportation is still not enough to reduce the traffic jam because each person bring their own transportation everywhere they are going. Traffic jam occur mostly in the morning and in the evening even until midnight. I don’t know why if there is a rain the traffic jam become worse than when it’s not rain and on weekend too. It is said that in Jakarta half of your day is spent on the road.    

Pemimpin Senior Al Qaeda Hanya Tersisa Satu

WASHINGTON, KOMPAS.com — Pemimpin senior Al Qaeda tersisa satu. Itulah judul artikel Peter Bergen, penulis buku Manhunt: The Ten-Year Search for bin Laden, From 9/11 to Abbottabad di CNN.com, Rabu (6/6/2012).

Artikel itu muncul menyusul beredarnya berita bahwa Abu Yahya Al Libi, orang nomor dua dalam jaringan teroris Al Qaeda, dipastikan tewas dalam serangan pesawat tak berawak CIA di wilayah suku Pakistan di sepanjang perbatasan Afganistan pada Senin pagi.  Berdasarkan hitungan New America Foundation, sebuah lembaga think tank non-partisan di mana Bergen menjabat sebagai direktur, pada masa Presiden Barack Obama, serangan drone (pesawat tak berawak) CIA telah menewaskan 15 orang yang berperan sangat penting dalam jaringan Al Qaeda. New America Foundation juga mencatat, pada periode Presiden George W Bush, yang memiliki otorisasi serangan dengan menggunakan drone, sebanyak 16 tokoh penting Al Qaeda tewas di Pakistan.

Akibatnya, kata Bergen yang mengutip para pejabat senior kontraterorisme AS, sekarang ini tinggal satu pemimpin di Al Qaeda. Dia adalah Ayman Al Zawahiri, seorang dokter bedah asal Mesir yang mudah naik pitam. Zawahiri menjadi pemimpin kelompok itu setelah kematian pendirinya, Osama bin Laden, dalam serangan Navy SEAL AS di Pakistan pada Mei 2011.

Zawahiri, kiranya, sangat menyadari akhir nasib begitu banyak rekan-rekan lamanya di Al Qaeda. Dia akan mengerahkan energi yang cukup untuk tidak berakhir seperti mereka—ditembak mati pesawat tak berawak CIA,  jika dia juga bersembunyi di daerah suku Pakistan, lokasi serangan drone belakangan itu terkonsentrasi.

Padahal, kata Bergen, Zawahiri juga menghadapi tugas yang hampir mustahil, yaitu melanjutkan misi utama Al Qaeda: menyerang Amerika Serikat, atau mengalahkan salah satu sekutu dekatnya.

Al Qaeda sudah tidak melakukan sebuah serangan yang sukses di Barat sejak terakhir mengebom sistem transportasi London pada 7 Juli 2005. Dan, tentu saja, kelompok itu tidak berhasil menyerang Amerika Serikat selama lebih dari satu dekade.

Namun, afiliasi-afiliasi regional kelompok itu masih menebar ancaman. Yang paling berbahaya dari semua yang ada adalah Al Qaeda di Semenanjung Arab (AQAP) yang berbasis di Yaman. AQAP-lah yang telah berupaya mengebom pesawat Northwest bernomor penerbangan 253 di Detroit pada Hari Natal 2009 melalui seorang warga Nigeria. Pelaku menyembunyikan bom yang sulit dideteksi di celana dalamnya. AQAP juga yang menyelundupkan bom dalam cartridge printer ke pesawat kargo menuju Amerika Serikat pada Oktober 2010.

Bulan lalu muncul berita bahwa seorang mata-mata telah menembus jaringan AQAP. Mata-mata itu telah mengungkap adanya generasi baru bom pakaian dalam yang dirancang para pembuat bom kelompok tersebut. Bom generasi baru itu sengaja dirancang untuk merontokkan pesawat jet komersial. Namun, semua rencana AQAP untuk merontokkan pesawat komersial gagal.

Menurut Bergen, beberapa orang mungkin menyatakan bahwa walau Al Qaeda sebagai organisasi mungkin pada dasarnya sudah mati, tetapi ideologinya terus menyebar dan mengilhami "para serigala kesepian" untuk menyerang Amerika Serikat. New America Foundation pun telah mencatat jumlah korban dari "para serigala kesepian" yang terinspirasi ideologi jihad. Mereka telah berhasil menewaskan total 17 warga Amerika di Amerika Serikat sejak peristiwa 9/11.

Namun, menurut Bergen, tak perlulah hal itu terlalu dikuatirkan atau dibesar-besarkan. Sebanyak 54 warga Amerika dilaporkan tewas setiap tahun karena tersambar petir, tulis Bergen yang mengutip data dari  Badan Cuaca Nasional AS. Dengan kata lain, bagi warga Amerika, kata dia, petir sekitar 30 kali lebih mematikan ketimbang terorisme berdasarkan jihad.

Sejumlah kecil orang Amerika, kata dia, punya ketakutan yang irasional akan tersambar petir. Menurut dia, kematian Abu Yahya Al Libi, Senin lalu, harus mengingatkan mereka itu bahwa takut akan Al Qaeda saat ini bahkan lebih tidak rasional.

Sumber  : http://internasional.kompas.com/read/2012/06/07/09385992/Pemimpin.Senior.Al.Qaeda.Hanya.Tersisa.Satu

My Opinion : Even only one person left as the leader of Al-Qaeda i believe that there must be others like him who will replace his place in the future. In fact that maybe the war between America and this Al-Qaeda will still continue. This meaningless war has made many victim not only adults but children also. This tragedy has been going on for too long and still it don’t see any end soon. Thing like this only make chaos everywhere, they willing to die just because some nonsense holy war ideology. This nonsense holy war ideology indicate that they who died while doing this will go straight to heaven. So even if this last leader of Al-Qaeda captured or died, as long as there is people who believe in that ideology it will still continue.

The Vendetta by Guy de Maupassant

Paolo Saverini's widow lived alone with her son in a poor little house on the ramparts of Bonifacio. The town, built on a spur of the mountains, in places actually overhanging the sea, looks across a channel bristling with reefs, to the lower shores of Sardinia. At its foot, on the other side and almost completely surrounding it, is the channel that serves as its harbour, cut in the cliff like a gigantic corridor. Through a long circuit between steep walls, the channel brings to the very foot of the first houses the little Italian or Sardinian fishing-boats, and, every fortnight, the old steamboat that runs to and from Ajaccio.

Upon the white mountain the group of houses form a whiter patch still. They look like the nests of wild birds, perched so upon the rock, dominating that terrible channel through which hardly ever a ship risks a passage. The unresting wind harasses the sea and eats away the bare shore, clad with a sparse covering of grass; it rushes into the ravine and ravages its two sides. The trailing wisps of white foam round the black points of countless rocks that everywhere pierce the waves, look like rags of canvas floating and heaving on the surface of the water.

The widow Saverini's house held for dear life to the very edge of the cliff; its three windows looked out over this wild and desolate scene.

She lived there alone with her son Antoine and their bitch Semillante, a large, thin animal with long, shaggy hair, of the sheep-dog breed. The young man used her for hunting.

One evening, after a quarrel, Antoine Saverini was treacherously slain by a knife-thrust from Nicolas Ravolati, who got away to Sardinia the same night.

When his old mother received his body, carried home by bystanders, she did not weep, but for a long time stayed motionless, looking at it; then, stretching out her wrinkled hand over the body, she swore vendetta against him. She would have no one stay with her, and shut herself up with the body, together with the howling dog. The animal howled continuously, standing at the foot of the bed, her head thrust towards her master, her tail held tightly between her legs. She did not stir, nor did the mother, who crouched over the body with her eyes fixed steadily upon it, and wept great silent tears.

The young man, lying on his back, clad in his thick serge coat with a hole torn across the front, looked as though he slept; but everywhere there was blood; on the shirt, torn off for the first hasty dressing; on his waistcoat, on his breeches, on his face, on his hands. Clots of blood had congealed in his beard and in his hair.

The old mother began to speak to him. At the sound of her voice the dog was silent.

"There, there, you shall be avenged, my little one, my boy, my poor child. Sleep, sleep, you shall be avenged, do you hear! Your mother swears it! And your mother always keeps her word; you know she does."

Slowly she bent over him, pressing her cold lips on the dead lips.

Then Semillante began to howl once more. She uttered long cries, monotonous, heart-rending, horrible cries.

They remained there, the pair of them, the woman and the dog, till morning.

Antoine Saverini was buried next day, and before long there was no more talk of him in Bonifacio.

He had left neither brothers nor close cousins. No man was there to carry on the vendetta. Only his mother, an old woman, brooded over it.

On the other side of the channel she watched from morning till night a white speck on the coast. It was a little Sardinian village, Longosardo, where Corsican bandits fled for refuge when too hard pressed. They formed almost the entire population of this hamlet, facing the shores of their own country, and there they awaited a suitable moment to come home, to return to the maquis of Corsica. She knew that Nicolas Ravolati had taken refuge in this very village.

All alone, all day long, sitting by the window, she looked over there and pondered revenge. How could she do it without another's help, so feeble as she was, so near to death? But she had promised, she had sworn upon the body. She could not forget, she could not wait. What was she to do? She could no longer sleep at night, she had no more sleep nor peace; obstinately she searched for a way. The dog slumbered at her feet and sometimes, raising her head, howled into the empty spaces. Since her master had gone, she often howled thus, as though she were calling him, as though her animal soul, inconsolable, had retained an ineffaceable memory of him.

One night, as Semillante was beginning to moan again, the mother had a sudden idea, an idea quite natural to a vindictive and ferocious savage. She meditated on it till morning, then, rising at the approach of day, she went to church. She prayed, kneeling on the stones, prostrate before God, begging Him to aid her, to sustain her, to grant her poor worn-out body the strength necessary to avenge her son.

Then she returned home. There stood in the yard an old barrel with its sides stove in, which held the rain-water; she overturned it, emptied it, and fixed it to the ground with stakes and stones; then she chained up Semillante in this kennel, and went into the house.

Next she began to walk up and down her room, taking no rest, her eyes still turned to the coast of Sardinia. He was there, the murderer.

All day long and all night long the dog howled. In the morning the old woman took her some water in a bowl, but nothing else; no soup, no bread.

Another day went by. Semillante, exhausted, was asleep. Next day her eyes were shining, her hair on end, and she tugged desperately at the chain.

Again the old woman gave her nothing to eat. The animal, mad with hunger, barked hoarsely. Another night went by.

When day broke, Mother Saverini went to her neighbour to ask him to give her two trusses of straw. She took the old clothes her husband had worn and stuffed them with the straw into the likeness of a human figure.

Having planted a post in the ground opposite Semillante's kennel, she tied the dummy figure to it, which looked now as though it were standing. Then she fashioned a head with a roll of old linen.

The dog, surprised, looked at this straw man, and was silent, although devoured with hunger.

Then the woman went to the pork-butcher and bought a long piece of black pudding. She returned home, lit a wood fire in her yard, close to the kennel, and grilled the black pudding. Semillante, maddened, leapt about and foamed at the mouth, her eyes fixed on the food, the flavour of which penetrated to her very stomach.

Then with the smoking sausage the mother made a collar for the straw man. She spent a long time lashing it round his neck, as though to stuff it right in. When it was done, she unchained the dog.

With a tremendous bound the animal leapt upon the dummy's throat and with her paws on his shoulders began to rend it. She fell back with a piece of the prey in her mouth, then dashed at it again, sank her teeth into the cords, tore away a few fragments of food, fell back again, and leapt once more, ravenous.

With great bites she rent away the face, and tore the whole neck to shreds.

The old woman watched, motionless and silent, a gleam in her eyes. Then she chained up her dog again, made her go without food for two more days, and repeated the strange performance.

For three months she trained the dog to this struggle, the conquest of a meal by fangs. She no longer chained her up, but launched her upon the dummy with a sign.

She had taught the dog to rend and devour it without hiding food in its throat. Afterwards she would reward the dog with the gift of the black pudding she had cooked for her.

As soon as she saw the man, Semillante would tremble, then turn her eyes towards her mistress, who would cry "Off!" in a whistling tone, raising her finger.

When she judged that the time was come, Mother Saverini went to confession and took communion one Sunday morning with an ecstatic fervour; then, putting on a man's clothes, like an old ragged beggar, she bargained with a Sardinian fisherman, who took her, accompanied by the dog, to the other side of the straits.

In a canvas bag she had a large piece of black pudding. Semillante had had nothing to eat for two days. Every minute the old woman made her smell the savoury food, stimulating her hunger with it.

They came to Longosardo. The Corsican woman was limping slightly. She went to the baker's and inquired for Nicolas Ravolati's house. He had resumed his old occupation, that of a joiner. He was working alone at the back of his shop.

The old woman pushed open the door and called him:

"Hey! Nicolas!"

He turned round; then, letting go of her dog, she cried:

"Off, off, bite him, bite him!"

The maddened beast dashed forward and seized his throat.

The man put out his arms, clasped the dog, and rolled upon the ground. For a few minutes he writhed, beating the ground with his feet; then he remained motionless while Semillante nuzzled at his throat and tore it out in ribbons.

Two neighbours, sitting at their doors, plainly recollected having seen a poor old man come out with a lean black dog which ate, as it walked, something brown that its master was giving to it.

In the evening the old woman returned home. That night she slept well.

Source : http://fiction.eserver.org/short/the_vendetta.html

Intisari : Seorang janda tua yang hanya tinggal bersama anjing dan anak laki-lakinya di desa yang kecil. Di suatu malam dirinya mendapati anak laki-lakinya di bunuh oleh Nicolas Ravolati, dimana pada malam yang sama dia melarikan diri ke sebuah desa bernama Sardinia. Tidak terima atas apa yang menimpa pada anaknya dia bersumpah bahwa dia akan membalas dendam terhadap orang yang telah membuat anaknya tersebut meninggal. Setiap hari dirinya duduk di seberang jendela membayangkan bagaimana dia bisa membalas dendam tanpa bantuan orang lain. Mendengar anjingnya yang terus menggonggong tiba-tiba dia mendapat sebuah ide, dirinya hanya memberikan anjing tersebut seember air tanpa memberinya makan. Hari demi hari berlanjut dia tetap memberi anjingnya seember air tanpa makanan, anjing tersebut marah karena kelaparan dan menggonggong dengan kencang setiap harinya. Pada suatu hari janda tersebut membuat sebuah boneka orang-orangan dan menaruhnya di dekat kandang anjing tersebut, lalu dia pergi ke sebuah toko daging dan membeli beberapa makanan. Dia membuat sebuah sosis yang di kalungkan ke leher boneka orang-orangan tersebut lalu melepaskan anjingnya. Dia melihat anjingnya yang kelaparan tersebut mencabik-cabik boneka orang-orangan yang dia kalungkan dengan sosis tersebut dan kemudian merantainya kembali. Lagi, dia membuat anjingnya merasa kelaparan selama beberapa hari. Setelah tiga bulan persiapan yang dilakukan, akhirnya dia pergi untuk mendatangi sang pembunuh anaknya tersebut dengan membawa anjingnya tersebut, tepat setelah dia melihat sang pembunuh tersebut dia segera melepaskan anjingnya dan segera saja memerintahkan sang anjing untuk menyerang pembunuh itu. Anjing tersebut langsung mencabik-cabik tenggorokan sang pembunuh tersebut, janda tersebut kembali pulang dan tidur lelap di malam harinya.

The Use of Force by William Carlos Williams

They were new patients to me, all I had was the name, Olson. Please come down as soon as you can, my daughter is very sick.

When I arrived I was met by the mother, a big startled looking woman, very clean and apologetic who merely said, Is this the doctor? and let me in. In the back, she added. You must excuse us, doctor, we have her in the kitchen where it is warm. It is very damp here sometimes.

The child was fully dressed and sitting on her father's lap near the kitchen table. He tried to get up, but I motioned for him not to bother, took off my overcoat and started to look things over. I could see that they were all very nervous, eyeing me up and down distrustfully. As often, in such cases, they weren't telling me more than they had to, it was up to me to tell them; that's why they were spending three dollars on me.

The child was fairly eating me up with her cold, steady eyes, and no expression to her face whatever. She did not move and seemed, inwardly, quiet; an unusually attractive little thing, and as strong as a heifer in appearance. But her face was flushed, she was breathing rapidly, and I realized that she had a high fever. She had magnificent blonde hair, in profusion. One of those picture children often reproduced in advertising leaflets and the photogravure sections of the Sunday papers.

She's had a fever for three days, began the father and we don't know what it comes from. My wife has given her things, you know, like people do, but it don't do no good. And there's been a lot of sickness around. So we tho't you'd better look her over and tell us what is the matter.

As doctors often do I took a trial shot at it as a point of departure. Has she had a sore throat?

Both parents answered me together, No . . . No, she says her throat don't hurt her.

Does your throat hurt you? added the mother to the child. But the little girl's expression didn't change nor did she move her eyes from my face.

Have you looked?

I tried to, said the mother, but I couldn't see.

As it happens we had been having a number of cases of diphtheria in the school to which this child went during that month and we were all, quite apparently, thinking of that, though no one had as yet spoken of the thing.

Well, I said, suppose we take a look at the throat first. I smiled in my best professional manner and asking for the child's first name I said, come on, Mathilda, open your mouth and let's take a look at your throat.

Nothing doing.

Aw, come on, I coaxed, just open your mouth wide and let me take a look. Look, I said opening both hands wide, I haven't anything in my hands. Just open up and let me see.

Such a nice man, put in the mother. Look how kind he is to you. Come on, do what he tells you to. He won't hurt you.

At that I ground my teeth in disgust. If only they wouldn't use the word "hurt" I might be able to get somewhere. But I did not allow myself to be hurried or disturbed but speaking quietly and slowly I approached the child again.

As I moved my chair a little nearer suddenly with one catlike movement both her hands clawed instinctively for my eyes and she almost reached them too. In fact she knocked my glasses flying and they fell, though unbroken, several feet away from me on the kitchen floor.

Both the mother and father almost turned themselves inside out in embarrassment and apology. You bad girl, said the mother, taking her and shaking her by one arm. Look what you've done. The nice man . . .

For heaven's sake, I broke in. Don't call me a nice man to her. I'm here to look at her throat on the chance that she might have diphtheria and possibly die of it. But that's nothing to her. Look here, I said to the child, we're going to look at your throat. You're old enough to understand what I'm saying. Will you open it now by yourself or shall we have to open it for you)

Not a move. Even her expression hadn't changed. Her breaths however were coming faster and faster. Then the battle began. I had to do it. I had to have a throat culture for her own protection. But first I told the parents that it was entirely up to them. I explained the danger but said that I would not insist on a throat examination so long as they would take the responsibility.

If you don't do what the doctor says you'll have to go to the hospital, the mother admonished her severely.

Oh yeah? I had to smile to myself. After all, I had already fallen in love with the savage brat, the parents were contemptible to me. In the ensuing struggle they grew more and more abject, crushed, exhausted while she surely rose to magnificent heights of insane fury of effort bred of her terror of me.

The father tried his best, and he was a big man but the fact that she was his daughter, his shame at her behavior and his dread of hurting her made him release her just at the critical times when I had almost achieved success, till I wanted to kill him. But his dread also that she might have diphtheria made him tell me to go on, go on though he himself was almost fainting, while the mother moved back and forth behind us raising and lowering her hands in an agony of apprehension.

Put her in front of you on your lap, I ordered, and hold both her wrists.

But as soon as he did the child let out a scream. Don't, you're hurting me. Let go of my hands. Let them go I tell you. Then she shrieked terrifyingly, hysterically. Stop it! Stop it! You're killing me!

Do you think she can stand it, doctor! said the mother.

You get out, said the husband to his wife. Do you want her to die of diphtheria?

Come on now, hold her, I said.

Then I grasped the child's head with my left hand and tried to get the wooden tongue depressor between her teeth. She fought, with clenched teeth, desperately! But now I also had grown furious--at a child. I tried to hold myself down but I couldn't. I know how to expose a throat for inspection. And I did my best. When finally I got the wooden spatula behind the last teeth and just the point of it into the mouth cavity, she opened up for an instant but before I could see anything she came down again and gripping the wooden blade between her molars she reduced it to splinters before I could get it out again.

Aren't you ashamed, the mother yelled at her. Aren't you ashamed to act like that in front of the doctor?

Get me a smooth-handled spoon of some sort, I told the mother. We're going through with this. The child's mouth was already bleeding. Her tongue was cut and she was screaming in wild hysterical shrieks. Perhaps I should have desisted and come back in an hour or more. No doubt it would have been better. But I have seen at least two children lying dead in bed of neglect in such cases, and feeling that I must get a diagnosis now or never I went at it again. But the worst of it was that I too had got beyond reason. I could have torn the child apart in my own fury and enjoyed it. It was a pleasure to attack her. My face was burning with it.

The damned little brat must be protected against her own idiocy, one says to one's self at such times. Others must be protected against her. It is a social necessity. And all these things are true. But a blind fury, a feeling of adult shame, bred of a longing for muscular release are the operatives. One goes on to the end.

In a final unreasoning assault I overpowered the child's neck and jaws. I forced the heavy silver spoon back of her teeth and down her throat till she gagged. And there it was--both tonsils covered with membrane. She had fought valiantly to keep me from knowing her secret. She had been hiding that sore throat for three days at least and lying to her parents in order to escape just such an outcome as this.

Now truly she was furious. She had been on the defensive before but now she attacked. Tried to get off her father's lap and fly at me while tears of defeat blinded her eyes.

Source : http://fiction.eserver.org/short/the_use_of_force.html

Intisari : Seorang dokter yang bernama Olson yang di telepon oleh seseorang agar datang ke rumahnya untuk memeriksa seorang anak wanita yang sedang sakit. Segera setelah dia sampai pada rumah pasien ini, dirinya langsung memeriksa keadaan anak itu. Curiga bahwa sang anak tersebut terkena penyakit Diphtheria, dokterpun langsung menanyakan terhadap kedua orangtuanya apakah sang anak merasakan sakit pada tenggorokannya tapi mereka berkata bahwa anaknya tidak merasakan sakit pada tenggorokannya. Untuk memastikkan dokter itu pun meminta sang anak untuk membuka mulutnya agar sang dokter dapat melihatnya namun ternyata anak itu menolak untuk membuka mulutnya. Ia pun meyakinkan tidak akan terjadi apa-apa, ketika dokter tersebut mencoba untuk mendekatinya, anak kecil itu tiba-tiba mengamuk dan mencakarnya. Dokter pun memberitahu pada kedua orang tuanya bahwa dia harus segera mengecek tenggorokannya untuk melihat apakah dia mengidap penyakit diptheria dan bisa saja meninggal karenanya. Sang dokter pun meminta kepada orang tuanya untuk memeganginya namun sang anak menjadi semakin marah dan berteriak histeris dan dokter pun harus menggunakan tenaganya dan paksaan agar dapat memeriksa sang anak.

A Telephone Call by Dorothy Parker

PLEASE, God, let him telephone me now. Dear God, let him call me now. I won't ask anything else of You, truly I won't. It isn't very much to ask. It would be so little to You, God, such a little, little thing. Only let him telephone now. Please, God. Please, please, please.

If I didn't think about it, maybe the telephone might ring. Sometimes it does that. If I could think of something else. If I could think of something else. Knobby if I counted five hundred by fives, it might ring by that time. I'll count slowly. I won't cheat. And if it rings when I get to three hundred, I won't stop; I won't answer it until I get to five hundred. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty.... Oh, please ring. Please.

This is the last time I'll look at the clock. I will not look at it again. It's ten minutes past seven. He said he would telephone at five o'clock. "I'll call you at five, darling." I think that's where he said "darling." I'm almost sure he said it there. I know he called me "darling" twice, and the other time was when he said good-by. "Good-by, darling." He was busy, and he can't say much in the office, but he called me "darling" twice. He couldn't have minded my calling him up. I know you shouldn't keep telephoning them--I know they don't like that. When you do that they know you are thinking about them and wanting them, and that makes them hate you. But I hadn't talked to him in three days-not in three days. And all I did was ask him how he was; it was just the way anybody might have called him up. He couldn't have minded that. He couldn't have thought I was bothering him. "No, of course you're not," he said. And he said he'd telephone me. He didn't have to say that. I didn't ask him to, truly I didn't. I'm sure I didn't. I don't think he would say he'd telephone me, and then just never do it. Please don't let him do that, God. Please don't.

"I'll call you at five, darling." "Good-by, darling.,' He was busy, and he was in a hurry, and there were people around him, but he called me "darling" twice. That's mine, that's mine. I have that, even if I never see him again. Oh, but that's so little. That isn't enough. Nothing's enough, if I never see him again. Please let me see him again, God. Please, I want him so much. I want him so much. I'll be good, God. I will try to be better, I will, If you will let me see him again. If You will let him telephone me. Oh, let him telephone me now.

Ah, don't let my prayer seem too little to You, God. You sit up there, so white and old, with all the angels about You and the stars slipping by. And I come to You with a prayer about a telephone call. Ah, don't laugh, God. You see, You don't know how it feels. You're so safe, there on Your throne, with the blue swirling under You. Nothing can touch You; no one can twist Your heart in his hands. This is suffering, God, this is bad, bad suffering. Won't You help me? For Your Son's sake, help me. You said You would do whatever was asked of You in His name. Oh, God, in the name of Thine only beloved Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, let him telephone me now.

I must stop this. I mustn't be this way. Look. Suppose a young man says he'll call a girl up, and then something happens, and he doesn't. That isn't so terrible, is it? Why, it's gong on all over the world, right this minute. Oh, what do I care what's going on all over the world? Why can't that telephone ring? Why can't it, why can't it? Couldn't you ring? Ah, please, couldn't you? You damned, ugly, shiny thing. It would hurt you to ring, wouldn't it? Oh, that would hurt you. Damn you, I'll pull your filthy roots out of the wall, I'll smash your smug black face in little bits. Damn you to hell.

No, no, no. I must stop. I must think about something else. This is what I'll do. I'll put the clock in the other room. Then I can't look at it. If I do have to look at it, then I'll have to walk into the bedroom, and that will be something to do. Maybe, before I look at it again, he will call me. I'll be so sweet to him, if he calls me. If he says he can't see me tonight, I'll say, "Why, that's all right, dear. Why, of course it's all right." I'll be the way I was when I first met him. Then maybe he'll like me again. I was always sweet, at first. Oh, it's so easy to be sweet to people before you love them.

I think he must still like me a little. He couldn't have called me "darling" twice today, if he didn't still like me a little. It isn't all gone, if he still likes me a little; even if it's only a little, little bit. You see, God, if You would just let him telephone me, I wouldn't have to ask You anything more. I would be sweet to him, I would be gay, I would be just the way I used to be, and then he would love me again. And then I would never have to ask You for anything more. Don't You see, God? So won't You please let him telephone me? Won't You please, please, please?

Are You punishing me, God, because I've been bad? Are You angry with me because I did that? Oh, but, God, there are so many bad people --You could not be hard only to me. And it wasn't very bad; it couldn't have been bad. We didn't hurt anybody, God. Things are only bad when they hurt people. We didn't hurt one single soul; You know that. You know it wasn't bad, don't You, God? So won't You let him telephone me now?

If he doesn't telephone me, I'll know God is angry with me. I'll count five hundred by fives, and if he hasn't called me then, I will know God isn't going to help me, ever again. That will be the sign. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five. . . It was bad. I knew it was bad. All right, God, send me to hell. You think You're frightening me with Your hell, don't You? You think. Your hell is worse than mine.

I mustn't. I mustn't do this. Suppose he's a little late calling me up --that's nothing to get hysterical about. Maybe he isn't going to call--maybe he's coming straight up here without telephoning. He'll be cross if he sees I have been crying. They don't like you to cry. He doesn't cry. I wish to God I could make him cry. I wish I could make him cry and tread the floor and feel his heart heavy and big and festering in him. I wish I could hurt him like hell.

He doesn't wish that about me. I don't think he even knows how he makes me feel. I wish he could know, without my telling him. They don't like you to tell them they've made you cry. They don't like you to tell them you're unhappy because of them. If you do, they think you're possessive and exacting. And then they hate you. They hate you whenever you say anything you really think. You always have to keep playing little games. Oh, I thought we didn't have to; I thought this was so big I could say whatever I meant. I guess you can't, ever. I guess there isn't ever anything big enough for that. Oh, if he would just telephone, I wouldn't tell him I had been sad about him. They hate sad people. I would be so sweet and so gay, he couldn't help but like me. If he would only telephone. If he would only telephone.

Maybe that's what he is doing. Maybe he is coming on here without calling me up. Maybe he's on his way now. Something might have happened to him. No, nothing could ever happen to him. I can't picture anything happening to him. I never picture him run over. I never see him lying still and long and dead. I wish he were dead. That's a terrible wish. That's a lovely wish. If he were dead, he would be mine. If he were dead, I would never think of now and the last few weeks. I would remember only the lovely times. It would be all beautiful. I wish he were dead. I wish he were dead, dead, dead.

This is silly. It's silly to go wishing people were dead just because they don't call you up the very minute they said they would. Maybe the clock's fast; I don't know whether it's right. Maybe he's hardly late at all. Anything could have made him a little late. Maybe he had to stay at his office. Maybe he went home, to call me up from there, and somebody came in. He doesn't like to telephone me in front of people. Maybe he's worried, just alittle, little bit, about keeping me waiting. He might even hope that I would call him up. I could do that. I could telephone him.

I mustn't. I mustn't, I mustn't. Oh, God, please don't let me telephone him. Please keep me from doing that. I know, God, just as well as You do, that if he were worried about me, he'd telephone no matter where he was or how many people there were around him. Please make me know that, God. I don't ask YOU to make it easy for me--You can't do that, for all that You could make a world. Only let me know it, God. Don't let me go on hoping. Don't let me say comforting things to myself. Please don't let me hope, dear God. Please don't.

I won't telephone him. I'll never telephone him again as long as I live. He'll rot in hell, before I'll call him up. You don't have to give me strength, God; I have it myself. If he wanted me, he could get me. He knows where I ram. He knows I'm waiting here. He's so sure of me, so sure. I wonder why they hate you, as soon as they are sure of you. I should think it would be so sweet to be sure.

It would be so easy to telephone him. Then I'd know. Maybe it wouldn't be a foolish thing to do. Maybe he wouldn't mind. Maybe he'd like it. Maybe he has been trying to get me. Sometimes people try and try to get you on the telephone, and they say the number doesn't answer. I'm not just saying that to help myself; that really happens. You know that really happens, God. Oh, God, keep me away from that telephone. Kcep me away. Let me still have just a little bit of pride. I think I'm going to need it, God. I think it will be all I'll have.

Oh, what does pride matter, when I can't stand it if I don't talk to him? Pride like that is such a silly, shabby little thing. The real pride, the big pride, is in having no pride. I'm not saying that just because I want to call him. I am not. That's true, I know that's true. I will be big. I will be beyond little prides.

Please, God, keep me from, telephoning him. Please, God.

I don't see what pride has to do with it. This is such a little thing, for me to be bringing in pride, for me to be making such a fuss about. I may have misunderstood him. Maybe he said for me to call him up, at five. "Call me at five, darling." He could have said that, perfectly well. It's so possible that I didn't hear him right. "Call me at five, darling." I'm almost sure that's what he said. God, don't let me talk this way to myself. Make me know, please make me know.

I'll think about something else. I'll just sit quietly. If I could sit still. If I could sit still. Maybe I could read. Oh, all the books are about people who love each other, truly and sweetly. What do they want to write about that for? Don't they know it isn't tree? Don't they know it's a lie, it's a God damned lie? What do they have to tell about that for, when they know how it hurts? Damn them, damn them, damn them.

I won't. I'll be quiet. This is nothing to get excited about. Look. Suppose he were someone I didn't know very well. Suppose he were another girl. Then I d just telephone and say, "Well, for goodness' sake, what happened to you?" That's what I'd do, and I'd never even think about it. Why can't I be casual and natural, just because I love him? I can be. Honestly, I can be. I'll call him up, and be so easy and pleasant. You see if I won't, God. Oh, don't let me call him. Don't, don't, don't.

God, aren't You really going to let him call me? Are You sure, God? Couldn't You please relent? Couldn't You? I don't even ask You to let him telephone me this minute, God; only let him do it in a little while. I'll count five hundred by fives. I'll do it so slowly and so fairly. If he hasn't telephoned then, I'll call him. I will. Oh, please, dear God, dear kind God, my blessed Father in Heaven, let him call before then. Please, God. Please.

Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twentyfive, thirty, thirty-five....

Source : http://fiction.eserver.org/short/a_telephone_call.html

Intisari : Seorang wanita yang sedang menunggu telepon dari seorang lelaki yang di sukainya, dia memohon kepada tuhan agar sang lelaki tersebut kembali meneleponnya. Dia memohon kepada tuhan agar sang pria kembali meneleponnya karena sang pria berjanji akan menelponnya kembali. Namun sang pria tidak juga menelpon dirinya sehingga dia merasakan gelisah dan  memohon kepada tuhan agar sang pria tersebut menelepon dirinya. Dia ingin sekali untuk menelepon sang pria tersebut namun enggan untuk melakukannya, dia takut bahwa nanti pria tersebut berfikir bahwa dirinya akan dianggap seperti seorang wanita yang suka meneror dan dia tidak mau sampai dianggap seperti itu. Dia pun menunggu terus sampai pria tersebut akan meneleponnya dan dia pun berjanji akan menghitung angka kelipatan lima sampai lima ratus secara pelan-pelan sampai angka lima ratus, jika sebelum angka lima ratus terdengar bunyi telepon tidak akan diangkatnya sampai selesai menghitung. Perasaan marah, berharap, bimbang dan putus asa pun muncul dalam hati wanita tersebut, sehingga memunculkan pikiran-pikiran negatif terhadap tuhan, telepon dan bahkan pada lelaki yang ia sukai.