Graveyard Flowers

Surely, only God knows why Asmupa loved Markakim so deeply. From a young age, Asmupa had already displayed astonishing beauty. Her eyes were sharp. Her eyebrows were well-defined. Her skin was flawless. Her figure was full. Her face radiated an otherworldly and unsettling aura. It was no surprise that during her teenage years, Asmupa became the fantasy of every man in her village. In Asmupa's presence, young boys would instantly transform into grown men, offering flirtations and risqué jokes that sent shivers down the spine.

However, Asmupa has one oddity. He likes to sleep in graves.

When exactly this hobby happened, of course only God (and perhaps also the devil) knows. What is clear is that if her friends at the madrasa lost Asmupa during class and the teacher asked about this, they would almost certainly answer: "In the cemetery!" And approaching the age of virginity, when her heart was troubled, or happy, or wanted to be alone, there was no place she could rely on other than the cemetery. Because of this, the people in her village gave Asmupa the nickname: Grave Flower

However, don't be surprised if the seeds of love can grow in graves.

How could it not be? Markakim, a peculiar young man with a rather terrifying hobby of hunting kranggang eggs, unexpectedly found love with Asmupa in a cemetery. Yes, it was in the cemetery, shaded by tall and lush trees, where fate brought Asmupa and Markakim together as the hunter targeted a kranggang nest hanging from a gayam tree. The nest was quite large and appeared to contain an abundance of eggs.

In fact, the quantity of kranggang eggs is not the main goal for Markakim. Unlike other hunters who seek kranggang eggs to make a living, Markakim does it merely as a hobby. Markakim never sells kranggang eggs to bird feed middlemen like other hunters. In fact, he often willingly shares the eggs with less fortunate hunters or simply leaves them under a tree to be enjoyed by wild birds.

As a man with an adventurous spirit and a love for challenges, Markakim's satisfaction lies in finding a kranggang nest in the tallest tree, untouched by any hunter: "This is what I call a virgin nest," Markakim exclaimed joyfully whenever he discovered such a nest.

And that's normal. It's impossible for the hunters' watang to reach a nest that is too high except by climbing it. And, you know, climbing a kranggang nest requires strong determination and guts. Because, the fierce and agile kranggang will swarm and attack the hunter and that is the same as falling into hell. Because of that courage, it is no wonder that people gave Markakim the title of King of Kranggang.

Duh, duh, duh, lucky those bushes...

And it was in the grave that the seeds of love between Asmupa and Markakim grew.

At that time, the sun was directly overhead, and Asmupa, unable to withstand the intense pressure around his bladder, was forced to urinate behind the bushes near a gayam tree in the middle of the cemetery. Thinking that no one was present during the day except those resting beneath the gravestones, Asmupa was startled when he suddenly heard a voice that seemed familiar to him.

“Duh, duh, duh, lucky those bushes…”

Asmupa immediately looked for the source of the sound. And at the top of the tree, he found Markakim giving off a really annoying smile.

“Bastard. You were peeking at me!” cursed Asmupa.

"Duh, duh, duh, how dare you pee on the grave."

"Don't talk too much, get down!"

Holding back anger and shame, Asmupa then picked up a stone and threw it in Markakim's direction. Fortunately, the stone only hit a branch near his feet. Asmupa then ran frantically to the south, heading toward the pond usually used by residents to fetch drinking water. That afternoon, the pond appeared green, quiet, and serene. There, Asmupa sobbed uncontrollably. Asmupa closed his eyes, as if unwilling to see anything. However, there was nothing he could do. With his eyes shut, he instead saw Markakim smiling—a smile more terrifying than the specter guarding the graveyard.

Asmupa became increasingly hateful, disgusted and embarrassed.

Not knowing what to do, Asmupa then walked straight toward a wooden log between two stones, commonly used by residents as a foothold for drawing water. Without further thought, Asmupa plunged herself in. She wanted to die immediately. But death is truly not something that can be planned. As Asmupa gasped for air, Markakim, who had apparently been trailing her from a distance, immediately jumped in and saved her. Seizing the precious opportunity that every man in the village dreamed of, Markakim swiftly brought his face close to Asmupa's, directed his mouth toward the beautiful lips of the young woman, and performed artificial respiration.

Of course Asmupa, who did not faint, knew very well what Markakim had done. However, she just kept quiet and gave in. She even had time to feel Markakim's warm and ndower lips on hers and enjoyed the slippery sensation that she had never imagined.

That afternoon, the quiet lake became even quieter. Not a single bird could be heard calling.

“Marry me immediately,” said Asmupa suddenly.

”Gosh, osh, osh, reckless...”

“Marry me.”

“Gosh, osh, osh, that's nonsense...”

“Get married!!!” Asmupa snapped.

That day truly became a disaster for the men there. This was because Asmupa's requests were akin to prayers that were always granted. Since childhood, she had been the most independent child and accustomed to doing as she pleased. Warsiani, her mother, had also greatly spoiled Asmupa ever since she became a widow and could no longer recall how many men had sown seeds in her womb until Asmupa was born into the world. Warsiani could never refuse Asmupa's desires, including her wish to marry the King of Kranggang.

Crazy. Asmupa knows that Markakim is a global celebrity. Just look at him carrying a watang everywhere…

Warsiani's heart was certainly heavy to let go of her beautiful only child into the arms of the fat bachelor who only went in and out of the forest and graveyard to hunt for kranggang eggs. In fact, if she wanted, Asmupa could have gotten the most respected man. However, what could she do. Her daughter had been pregnant and Warsiani could only console herself by holding on to the Prophet's advice: "Patient people are loved by God."

“The Grave Flower will belong to King Kranggang!” said Tarman as he slammed down the dominoes.

"Markakim, the Sixth Balak, is really lucky," said Kasto.

“Crazy. Asmupa knows that Markakim is a global celebrity. Just look at him carrying a watang everywhere…” said Matukiran.

Everyone laughed and giggled.

Asmupa and Markakim's marriage took place simply. Because they did not want to cause a commotion among the residents, the marriage was held simply and in the shortest possible time, attended by Modin, Bayan, Pak RT, and four of Markakim's relatives. There was no special reception. There was no tayub and dangdut koplo that were popular with the young people there. After the marriage contract was over, Pak Modin had time to whisper to Markakim: "Hose your wife from the front and from the back, because she is the field where you plant crops..."

Of course Markakim didn't understand what Mr. Modin meant.

But, as a man who had been struggling with the nests of the kranggang for most of his life, he knew that if there was a nest that was challenging, he only needed to watang long and to poke it solemnly and calmly. And that was what he practiced during the first thrilling night. Like a big tree, Asmupa he climbed, he swayed left and right, he traced the nest among the branches and thick leaves, then poked it until the eggs fell and scattered into the basket at the end of the watang.

The next day, Asmupa and Markakim woke up a little late.

Nevertheless, Asmupa's face looked bright and radiant, and she knew: Markakim was indeed a real man. Her love grew deeper. Her face was filled with gratitude and joy. Warsiani, who was also once young, only smiled knowingly as she served breakfast. Before leaving for the fields, she said:

“Get off the cart immediately before the rice, vegetables and fish get cold.”

Without taking a shower, Asmupa and Markakim went straight to the dining table. They ate greedily as if they had finished the hardest work that drained all their energy.

"Today, you are not allowed to eat shellfish," said Asmupa.

“Oh, oh, oh, just a moment,” said Markakim.

"Should not."

“Oh, oh, oh, just a minute.”

"Before the bedug dobol, you must be home."

"Of course."

That's it. After dipping his body in the well, with his body and clothes still wet, Markakim set off. While carrying a long watang he passed a coffee shop where young people usually hung out and relaxed. Passing the left side of the shop, Markakim walked confidently, ready for the chatter and taunts.

“Oh King Kranggang, how does it feel to suck the honey of the Grave Flower?” said Tarman.

Markakim smiled lightly, ignoring Tarman's chatter. With firm and steady steps, he walked south, straight towards the cemetery, because he knew there was still a nest there that he had not conquered.

Markakim quickened his steps, speeding up his work, not doing his usual waton-alon waton acting, because Asmupa was waiting with a smile and love that can only be found in heaven. Arriving at the cemetery, Markakim went straight to the Gayam tree that towered in the middle of the cemetery. Saying hello and excused himself to the Begejil who was guarding the Gayam, Markakim leaned the watang and climbed up. Passing through the complicated and dense branches, Markakim continued to climb and climb, ignoring the bites of the algae that were starting to be felt on his hands and feet, as if reminding Markakim not to disturb the peace of his eggs and young.

Markakim took the watang and climbed up again, pointing the watang at the intended nest and climbed even higher. Meanwhile, the kranggangs began to crawl up Markakim's back, stomach, neck and head. Feeling threatened, the kranggangs attacked Markakim with strong bites and Markakim, who had been immune to the bites all his life, began to panic. The bites of the kranggangs felt painful, hot and itchy.

However, Markakim did not want to give up so easily. He continued to climb higher until his watang touched the nest. Knowing that he had reached the right distance between the watang and the kranggang nest, without much consideration, Markakim immediately poked the nest. But he forgot—a carelessness that was hard to understand for an expert poker like Markakim—he was right below the kranggang nest and the torn nest dropped thousands of kranggang onto his face.

Like King Abrahah who was pelted with thousands of pebbles from hell, the shells attacked Markakim mercilessly, some entered his nose, mouth, and bit his entire face. Markakim, who was flustered, dropped the watang and began to lose his balance. When one shell managed to reach his eye and bite his cornea, Markakim's body swayed and the branch that was his foot support broke. Markakim fell and shot down there. His head hit the gravestone on the side of the bush, where he had seen Asmupa urinating. The gravestone that seemed to be a witness to his good luck and bad luck.

"Dead. Markakim is dead, fallen from a gayam tree," said Soman who came to give the sad news.

When the funeral processionists carried Markakim's coffin to the grave, Asmupa was still laughing and following the line of funeral processions at the very end.

Hearing this, Warsiani immediately screamed as loud as she could. However, Asmupa laughed. A truly terrifying laugh. A laugh that continued to echo, even to the point where the people who took Markakim's body arrived at her house. The laughter also continued to echo as Pak Modin and the others passed by taking care of Markakim's body, and the mothers who were giving condolences looked at Asmupa with a look that only women could understand.

“Be patient, Ning, be patient…”

As the funeral processionists carried Markakim's coffin to the cemetery, Asmupa was still laughing and following the line of funeral processions at the very end. She even refused when Warsiani held her hand and continued walking while laughing until her husband was finished being buried.

"Brothers, be witnesses, is Markakim a good person?" asked Modin after reading the talkin and was about to close the funeral ceremony.

"Okay!!!" answered the ushers in unison, giving their testimony.

But Asmupa kept laughing. A laughter that was increasingly cold and empty, and could not be understood by all who were present there.

Since that day, Asmupa has been sleeping in the grave again.

Years later, people passing by the grave still found Asmupa laughing beside Markakim's grave, under the gayam tree that had brought together love and at the same time acted as an intermediary for Death that took everything.

Western Warriors, 2025

A Muttaqin,writes poetry and prose. His short stories are collected in the anthology Klub Solidaritas Suami Hilang: Short Stories Selected by Kompas 2014, Kasur Tanah: Short Stories Selected by Kompas 2017, and Ihwal Nama Masjid Pucuk: Short Stories Selected by Kompas 2022. His latest book of poetry, Tilas Genosida, won the best poetry book award selected by Tempo 2024.

Antonius Kho, born in 1958 in Klaten, Central Java. Studied fine arts in Bandung, continued in Cologne, Germany. Received several awards, including, 1st Prize ”Mask in Venice” Art Addiction Annual in Venice (1998) Gold Masks ”Diploma of Excellence”, Palazzo Correr in Venice (1989). Since 2004, founded Liang Art Space (Wina Gallery), in Ubud, Bali.