For seven nights in a row, Rumiyati held communal prayer gatherings for Subandi. The villagers still came enthusiastically. Not only did they get to go home with delicious food, but the hostess also slipped envelopes containing money into the gift packages. Not bad—one hundred thousand rupiah could help cover living expenses for several days.
“Hey, is this money halal? If it’s wealth magic money, I’m scared,” Memet murmured, still on the terrace of Rumiyati’s house.
“Who cares! Money’s money. Just say bismillah,” another villager replied. “If you don’t want it, give it to me.”
“Spend the money on something at the shop right away. Remember, use your left hand when paying so the magic won’t work.” An old man offered this advice.
Many people acted foolishly over the rumors going around. Most accepted the food with their left hands because they believed it was one way to ward off magic. Not many were willing to eat the food at Rumiyati’s house. They decided to go home immediately, taking the gift packages with them.
Some villagers even threw away the food Rumiyati had given them, afraid they might become sacrificial victims themselves. They only dared take the money inside the envelopes. Even that was spent immediately so they wouldn’t keep it for too long. They were afraid something terrible would happen to them.
Others placed the food on the floor, then stepped over it three times back and forth while reciting a string of incantations to ward off misfortune, hoping to drive away any negative energy if the food really did contain elements of wealth magic.
“Ward off misfortune, let divination miss its mark, let sorcery completely vanish. May Suradira’s glory over the realm be destroyed by devotion.” Only after performing the ritual did they dare eat the food Rumiyati had given them.
The more religious villagers recited Ayat Kursi and several prayers before enjoying the food, whether they ate it at Rumiyati’s house or took it home.
“Why is there still so much food?” Rumiyati wondered when she saw that many of the plates prepared according to the number of guests were still untouched.
“Maybe they’re full, miss. So they didn’t want to eat,” several of the women helping out answered briefly before trying to change the subject.
Rumiyati sensed that something was strange. The villagers were usually very enthusiastic whenever there was a celebration feast, a chance to eat together, whether it was a wedding celebration or a communal prayer gathering like this one. There was no way they had deliberately eaten at home first. They knew they would be served food and be sent home with gift packages.
Something’s definitely not right, the twenty-two-year-old woman thought.
After all the guests had returned to their respective homes, Rumiyati immediately called Sundari, her servant. “What’s going on? Why didn’t anyone want to eat? Was our cooking bad?”
Hearing her employer’s question, Sundari swallowed with difficulty. “Well ... well ...”
“Don’t keep saying ‘well, well.’ What is it? You must know the reason, Ndari,” Rumiyati pressed, noticing Sundari’s strange behavior.
The servant, who was four years older than Rumiyati, finally worked up the courage to tell her all the gossip going around, including the villagers’ fear that they would become sacrifices for their employer’s wealth magic.
“Oh my God. How can they be so cruel to me? I just lost my husband, and they’re spreading all kinds of nasty rumors about me. What have I ever done to be a bad neighbor? I’ve never been stingy. Whenever someone was in trouble, I never hesitated to help. How can they treat me like this?” Rumiyati was furious and heartbroken as she listened to her servant’s account.
“Well, be patient, miss. My advice is, get married again as soon as you can. I’m sure the gossip will disappear once you remarry.”
Rumiyati did not answer. She merely gestured for the servant to leave. How could she think about marriage when Subandi’s grave soil had not even dried yet? That was village life for you. Get married, and people gossiped about you. Get divorced, and they sneered. Even when you died ... they still slandered you.
Finding a replacement for Subandi would not be easy. He was the only love she had ever known. No other man in Telomoyo could compare with Subandi—not in looks, strength, diligence, intelligence, or his respectable family background. It would be difficult to displace Subandi in Rumiyati’s heart.
What matters now is focusing on the business. Bandi is gone. Whether I like it or not, I have to take charge myself, Rumiyati thought.
Her exhaustion had reached its peak after seven days of mourning, receiving visitors who came to pay respects, and preparing the tahlil every night. The beautiful young widow decided to go straight to sleep. For the past several days, she had only been able to doze fitfully. She had never truly fallen asleep.
She pulled the thick blanket up to her long neck. Telomoyo Village had been bitterly cold these past few days.
Clear tears slipped unbidden from the corner of the long-haired woman’s eyes. She remembered how Subandi used to hold her tightly from behind whenever their bodies pressed together on the bed. Not because it was cramped, but because that was how they shared affection and warmth.
Rumiyati remembered the last time they had been together on that bed. Unlike usual, when Rumiyati always asked to be pampered and treated with extraordinary gentleness and tenderness, that night she had become wild. An overwhelming urge had risen from within her, demanding release and immediate satisfaction. She could no longer hold back her desire.
Rumiyati and Subandi’s lips met, kissing each other roughly. Every now and then, the woman bit her husband’s lower lip eagerly. It felt like chewing gum—fresh and springy. Several times, the man winced and endured the sting. He tried to match Rumiyati’s fierceness that night.
The two naked adults became increasingly lost in the fierce wave of heat Rumiyati had sparked from the beginning. Moans turned into cries. Caresses became clutching, squeezing, even scratching here and there. They were like lovers who had been apart for a long time. Together, they eased their longing, racing alongside their desire.
That powerful urge meant one taste of pleasure was not enough for Rumiyati. The beads of sweat that had yet to dry demanded to be drenched again. Her labored breathing only lulled her reason further to sleep and stirred her wicked desire.
Subandi was overwhelmed trying to keep up with his wife’s suddenly surging desire, which demanded release that very night, as though there would never be another chance after this. Only after making love nine times could Rumiyati smile in relief. Truly, it had been an incredibly long night for them both.
At the end of their climb toward passion, her husband complained that his private weapon felt hot, as though it were burning.
“I’m sorry, honey. Was it because we did it too many times?” That was all Rumiyati could say. She felt terribly guilty. But she truly had been unable to control herself that night.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Maybe I’m just not used to going that many times in a row. I’ll have to train myself. Hopefully you won’t ask for this every day,” Subandi replied with a light laugh.
Rumiyati blushed shyly. She rested her head affectionately against her husband’s broad chest. Their bodies were soaked, bathed in sweat, and still completely naked, without a single piece of cloth covering them. The cold air of Telomoyo Village could not bite into their still-burning bodies, fired by the embers of desire. The wind seemed to retreat, unwilling to fight the heat of their passionate sun.
“I love you, honey. Before, now, later, and forever,” Rumiyati said as she toyed with the fine hairs on Subandi’s stomach.
“I love you too, sweetheart. I’d even be willing to die ... for you.”
Subandi’s answer from that night still echoed in her mind. Was it a sign? A premonition, or ...? Rumiyati shifted, then sat with her back against the headboard. She covered her face with both hands, holding back her sobs. Only bitter tears forced their way from her eyes, soundlessly.
Was I the reason Bandi died? What if this really was a curse, black magic, or whatever it was ... because of me?