"Apparently, Haris also went to France, ladies," said one of the mothers who wore a knee-length negligee.
"It's the same with Agus, Sister Syarifah, and Irma, right?" said one of his friends who was busy sorting vegetables.
That afternoon, mothers were shopping for necessities for the 29th night of Ramadan at the Aunty Sri stall. As usual, they will always make small talk while sorting out the desired vegetables. Either small talk about other people's business or talk about their own household problems. It never escapes from their daily activities.
Even in holy places like mosques they can still gossip about other people.
"Yes, ma'am. Great, yes, they can be trusted by Mr. Hartono and Ustad Hasmul," said the first mothers.
Meanwhile, next to them was a woman who was not much different from their age. She also seems to be looking for vegetables and seasonings that will be used to prepare dishes later.
"Aunty, one box of red seasoning, yes," said the woman to Aunty Sri.
Aunty Sri also swiftly took a box that was already filled with ready-to-use red spices. The seasoning is one of Aunty Sri's mainstays. Because, on average, Babatan villagers prefer to use red spices for cooking. Moreover, the red seasoning made by Aunty Sri is very suitable for the tongue of the residents.
"Brother Agus is also very kind, ma'am. The maintenance costs for Mr. Fahmi, who had an accident a few days ago, are all borne by Brother Agus," said a mother who was a bit tall.
For some reason, in this increasingly modern era, all information can be spread quickly. Just imagine, in a village like that, information that is not necessarily true or not can reach the ears of the residents. Especially if in other big cities.
Meanwhile, the woman who was interacting with Aunty Sri was then surprised to hear the gossip from the women next to her. She tried to roll his eyes.
"Sorry, ladies and gentlemen. Emmm ... is the Agus you mean my son Agus?" she asked a little awkwardly.
Since the woman who turned out to be Mrs. Hartini—Agus's mother—has only been living in the village for a few weeks, the residents hardly recognized her. They felt very foreign to the figure of the woman in front of them. Even in the mosque or in other gatherings, it seems they have never met Mrs. Hartini's face. Then they just stared at each other.
"Yes, ma'am ... that's Brother Agus, mother's son," said Aunty Sri, who already knew that Mrs. Hartini was Agus' mother.
"This is Agus' mother, ladies and gentlemen. Her name is Mrs. Hartini. Isn't that right?" continued Aunty Sri while introducing Mrs. Hartini to the women of Babatan village.
Mrs. Hartini then nodded her head slowly. As if to justify Aunty Sri's words.
"Oahhh ... the one from Jakarta, right, ma'am?" said the dressed-up mother with a cynical look.
"Yes, ma'am ... I just came from Jakarta," said Mrs. Hartini politely.
"Oh yeah ... there really was a delegation to France, wasn't there?" continued Mrs. Hartini who was curious. Because Agus never told his mother about it.
The mothers then frowned respectively. They were surprised, how could the mother herself did not know the plan for her child's departure. Moreover, this is not just commuting out of town. Rather go abroad.
"Oh, Mother, how come you don't even know?" asked one of the mothers with a look of astonishment on her face.
Mrs. Hartini was silent and did not answer. Because, she could not tell the family problems that have no end. Possibly, it will be a rumor that spread everywhere.
"Um ... maybe Agus hasn't had time to tell me yet," said Mrs. Hartini casually.
Feeling that he didn't want to talk too much, he immediately showed the selected vegetables to Aunty Sri. Waiting for Aunty Sri to finish giving the total price to be paid.
"How much, Mom?" asked Mrs. Hartini while raising her eyebrows.
"Thirty-eight thousand, ma'am," said Aunty Sri after calculating the price of the vegetables.
Mrs. Hartini immediately took out money from her luxurious purse which she always carried with her everywhere. Including the small shop owned by Aunty Sri.
"Just take the change, Aunty," said Mrs. Hartini as she handed her a red bill.
She seemed a little in a hurry to leave the shop. Aunty Sri read this of course.
Meanwhile, the mothers who witnessed Mrs. Hartini's return from the Aunty Sri shop just shook their heads.
"How could this guy not know about his child's activities," said the girl in the dress again.
She is a mother whose mouth is a little messed up. With his confidence, he has always been a spreader of gossip to local residents. Including when talking about Irma's past. Emmm ... very clever tongue when asked to talk about other people's ugliness. In fact, the conditions of the household as well as their children are also not much different.
"Yes, ladies ... it's not good to talk about other people in this holy month," advised Aunty Sri, who had been waiting for them to finish shopping.
Actually, it's not their spending that much, but gossiping about them that consumes their time. To the extent that Aunty Sri was too tired to listen to their chatter. I do not know whether they will get the blessing of fasting or not. Because it was ordained by God.
***
"Irma! Help Mother, Dear!" Mrs. Laila shouted from the kitchen which was not too far from her daughter's room.
Every day, Irma prefers to lie down on the bed rather than helping her mother in the kitchen. Not without pity, but because he can't cook. Once she helped, instead of feeling helped, Mrs. Laila's head suddenly felt dizzy because her food tasted so foreign.
Irma then straightened up when she heard the screams from her mother. The sound of screams, of course, really bothered his ears.
"Yes, ma'am ...," said Irma lazily.
For some reason, the air in the month of Ramadan seemed hotter than usual. Turning on the fan is not the right choice to overcome this. Because, the air will not be cooler, but it will feel hotter.
Feeling lazy, she was forced to walk to the kitchen. I don't know, she doesn't know what his mother will order if she is already in the room.
"Help what, Mom? Eat?" said Irma with a deliberately weakened face.
Mrs. Laila who witnessed this spontaneously pinched her daughter's arm.
"It's good ... if you want to eat, cook first. Help Mother. It's not fast, just lie down," said Mrs. Laila while her hands were busy slicing garlic.
Irma took a deep breath. Not as usual who likes to pretend to be in pain when pinched.
"So, what should Irma help you with?" asked Irma who pretended to be holding a sharp object lying on the kitchen table.
To be continued ....