hey guys check this out. I never found any short stories like this. If anybody can guess what happen to the main character, please reply, and tell me what do you think of Roald Dahl.


The Landlady

Roald Dahl


Billy Weaver had traveled down from London on the slow afternoon train, with a change at Reading on the way, and by the time he got to Bath, it was about nine o’clock in the evening, and the moon was coming up out of a clear starry sky over the houses opposite the station entrance. But the air was deadly cold and the wind was like a flat blade of ice on his cheeks.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but is there a fairly cheap hotel not too far away from here?”

“Try The Bell and Dragon,” the porter answered, pointing down the road. “They might take you in. It’s about a quarter of a mile along on the other side.”

Billy thanked him and picked up his suitcase and set out to walk the quarter-mile to The Bell and Dragon. He had never been to Bath before. He didn’t know anyone who lived there. But Mr. Greenslade at the head office in London had told him it was a splendid town. “Find your own lodgings,” he had said, “and then go along and report to the branch manager as soon as you’ve got yourself settled.”

Billy was seventeen years old. He was wearing a new navy-blue overcoat, a new brown trilby hat, and a new brown suit, and he was feeling fine. He walked briskly down the street. He was trying to do everything briskly these days. Briskness, he had decided, was the one common characteristic of all successful businessmen. The big shots up at the head office were absolutely fantastically brisk all the time. They were amazing.

There were no shops on this wide street that he was walking along, only a line of tall houses on each side, all of them identical. They had porches and pillars and four or five steps going up to their front doors, and it was obvious that once upon a time they had been very swanky residences. But now, even in the darkness, he could see that the paint was peeling from the woodwork on their doors and windows and that the handsome white facades were cracked and blotchy from neglect.

Suddenly, in a downstairs window that was brilliantly illuminated by a street lamp not six yards away, Billy caught sight of a printed notice propped up against the glass in one of the upper panes. It said BED AND BREAKFAST. There was a vase of yellow chrysanthemums, tall and beautiful, standing just underneath the notice.

He stopped walking. He moved a bit closer. Green curtains (some sort of velvety material) were hanging down on either side of the window. The chrysanthemums looked wonderful beside them. He went right up and peered through the glass into the room, and the first thing he saw was a bright fire burning in the hearth. On the carpet in front of the fire, a pretty little dachshund was curled up asleep with its nose tucked into its belly. The room itself, so far as he could see in the half darkness, was filled with pleasant furniture. There was a baby grand piano and a big sofa and several plump armchairs, and in one corner he spotted a large parrot in a cage. Animals were usually a good sign in a place like this, Billy told himself; and all in all, it looked to him as though it would be a pretty decent house to stay in. Certainly it would be more comfortable than The Bell and Dragon.

On the other hand, a pub would be more congenial than a boardinghouse. There would be beer and darts in the evenings, and lots of people to talk to, and it would probably be a good bit cheaper, too. He had stayed a couple of nights in a pub once before and he had liked it. He had never stayed in any boardinghouses, and, to be perfectly honest, he was a tiny bit frightened of them. The name itself conjured up images of watery cabbage, rapacious landladies, and a powerful smell of kippers in the living room.

After dithering about like this in the cold for two or three minutes, Billy decided that he would walk on and take a look at The Bell and Dragon before making up his mind. He turned to go.

And now a queer thing happened to him. He was in the act of stepping back and turning away from the window when all at once his eye was caught and held in the most peculiar manner by the small notice that was there. BED AND BREAKFAST, it said. BED AND BREAKFAST, BED AND BREAKFAST, BED AND BREAKFAST. Each word was like a large black eye staring at him through the glass, holding him, compelling him, forcing him to stay where he was and not to walk away from that house, and the next thing he knew, he was actually moving across from the window to the front door of the house, climbing the steps that led up to it, and reaching for the bell.

He pressed the bell. Far away in a back room he heard it ringing, and then at once —it must have been at once because he hadn’t even had time to take his finger from the bell button—the door swung open and a woman was standing there.
Normally you ring the bell and you have at least a half-minute’s wait before the door opens. But this dame was like a jack-in-the-box. He pressed the bell—and out she popped! It made him jump.

She was about forty-five or fifty years old, and the moment she saw him, she gave him a warm, welcoming smile.
“ Please come in,” she said pleasantly. She stepped aside, holding the door wide open, and Billy found himself automatically starting forward. The compulsion or, more accurately, the desire to follow after her into that house was extraordinarily strong.

So a few minutes later, after unpacking his suitcase and washing his hands, he trotted downstairs to the ground floor and entered the living room. His landlady wasn’t there, but the fire was glowing in the hearth, and the little dachshund was still sleeping soundly in front of it. The room was wonderfully warm and cozy. I’m a lucky fellow, he thought, rubbing his hands. This is a bit of all right.

He found the guest book lying open on the piano, so he took out his pen and wrote down his name and address. There were only two other entries above his on the page, and as one always does with guest books, he started to read them. One was a Christopher Mulholland from Cardiff. The other was Gregory W. Temple from Bristol.

That’s funny, he thought suddenly. Christopher Mulholland. It rings a bell.

Now where on earth had he heard that rather unusual name before?

Was it a boy at school? No. Was it one of his sister’s numerous young men, perhaps, or a friend of his father’s? No, no, it wasn’t any of those. He glanced down again at the book.

Christopher Mulholland
231 Cathedral Road, Cardiff

Gregory W. Temple
27 Sycamore Drive, Bristol

As a matter of fact, now he came to think of it, he wasn’t at all sure that the second name didn’t have almost as much of a familiar ring about it as the first.

“Gregory Temple?” he said aloud, searching his memory. “Christopher Mulholland? . . .”

“Such charming boys,” a voice behind him answered, and he turned and saw his landlady sailing into the room with a large silver tea tray in her hands. She was holding it well out in front of her, and rather high up, as though the tray were a pair of reins on a frisky horse.

“They sound somehow familiar,” he said.

“They do? How interesting.”

“I’m almost positive I’ve heard those names before somewhere. Isn’t that odd? Maybe it was in the newspapers. They weren’t famous in any way, were they? I mean famous cricketers7 or footballers or something like that?”

“Famous,” she said, setting the tea tray down on the low table in front of the sofa. “Oh no, I don’t think they were famous. But they were incredibly handsome, both of them, I can promise you that. They were tall and young and handsome, my dear, just exactly like you.”

Once more, Billy glanced down at the book. “Look here,” he said, noticing the dates. “This last entry is over two years old.”

“It is?”

“Yes, indeed. And Christopher Mulholland’s is nearly a year before that—more than three years ago.”

“Dear me,” she said, shaking her head and heaving a dainty little sigh. “I would never have thought it. How time does fly away from us all, doesn’t it, Mr. Wilkins?”

“It’s Weaver,” Billy said. “W-e-a-v-e-r.”

“Oh, of course it is!” she cried, sitting down on the sofa. “How silly of me. I do apologize. In one ear and out the other, that’s me, Mr. Weaver.”

“You know something?” Billy said. “Something that’s really quite extraordinary about all this?”

“No, dear, I don’t.”

“Well, you see, both of these names—Mulholland and Temple—I not only seem to remember each one of them separately, so to speak, but somehow or other, in some peculiar way, they both appear to be sort of connected together as well. As though they were both famous for the same sort of thing, if you see what I mean—like . . . well . . . like Dempsey and Tunney, for example, or Churchill and Roosevelt.”

“How amusing,” she said. “But come over here now, dear, and sit down beside me on the sofa and I’ll give you a nice cup of tea and a ginger biscuit before you go to bed.”

“You really shouldn’t bother,” Billy said. “I didn’t mean you to do anything like that.” He stood by the piano, watching her as she fussed about with the cups and saucers. He noticed that she had small, white, quickly moving hands and red fingernails.

“I’m almost positive it was in the newspapers I saw them,” Billy said. “I’ll think of it in a second. I’m sure I will.”

There is nothing more tantalizing than a thing like this that lingers just outside the borders of one’s memory. He hated to give up.

“Now wait a minute,” he said. “Wait just a minute. Mulholland . . . Christopher Mulholland . . . wasn’t that the name of the Eton schoolboy who was on a walking tour through the West Country, and then all of a sudden . . .”

“Milk?” she said. “And sugar?”

“Yes, please. And then all of a sudden . . .”

“Eton schoolboy?” she said. “Oh no, my dear, that can’t possibly be right, because my Mr. Mulholland was certainly not an Eton schoolboy when he came to me. He was a Cambridge undergraduate. Come over here now and sit next to me and warm yourself in front of this lovely fire. Come on. Your tea’s all ready for you.” She patted the empty place beside her on the sofa, and she sat there smiling at Billy and waiting for him to come over.

He crossed the room slowly and sat down on the edge of the sofa. She placed his teacup on the table in front of him.

“ There we are,” she said. “How nice and cozy this is, isn’t it?”

Billy started sipping his tea. She did the same. For half a minute or so, neither of them spoke. But Billy knew that she was looking at him. Her body was half turned toward him, and he could feel her eyes resting on his face, watching him over the rim of her teacup. Now and again, he caught a whiff of a peculiar smell that seemed to emanate directly from her person. It was not in the least unpleasant, and it reminded him—well, he wasn’t quite sure what it reminded him of. Pickled walnuts? New leather? Or was it the corridors of a hospital? 

At length, she said, “Mr. Mulholland was a great one for his tea. Never in my life have I seen anyone drink as much tea as dear, sweet Mr. Mulholland.”

“I suppose he left fairly recently,” Billy said. He was still puzzling his head about the two names. He was positive now that he had seen them in the newspapers—in the headlines.

“Left?” she said, arching her brows. “But my dear boy, he never left. He’s still here. Mr. Temple is also here. They’re on the fourth floor, both of them together.”

Billy set his cup down slowly on the table and stared at his landlady. She smiled back at him, and then she put out one of her white hands and patted him comfortingly on the knee. “How old are you, my dear?” she asked.

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen!” she cried. “Oh, it’s the perfect age! Mr. Mulholland was also seventeen. But I think he was a trifle shorter than you are; in fact I’m sure he was, and his teeth weren’t quite so white. You have the most beautiful teeth, Mr. Weaver, did you know that?”

“They’re not as good as they look,” Billy said. “They’ve got simply masses of fillings in them at the back.”

“Mr. Temple, of course, was a little older,” she said, ignoring his remark. “He was actually twenty-eight. And yet I never would have guessed it if he hadn’t told me, never in my whole life. There wasn’t a blemish on his body.”

“A what?” Billy said.

“His skin was just like a baby’s.”

There was a pause. Billy picked up his teacup and took another sip of his tea; then he set it down again gently in its saucer. He waited for her to say something else, but she seemed to have lapsed into another of her silences. He sat there staring straight ahead of him into the far corner of the room, biting his lower lip.

“That parrot,” he said at last. “You know something? It had me completely fooled when I first saw it through the window. I could have sworn it was alive.”

“Alas, no longer.”

“It’s most terribly clever the way it’s been done,” he said. “It doesn’t look in the least bit dead. Who did it?”

“I did.”

“ You did?”

“Of course,” she said. “And have you met my little Basil as well?” She nodded toward the dachshund curled up so comfortably in front of the fire. Billy looked at it. And suddenly, he realized that this animal had all the time been just as silent and motionless as the parrot. He put out a hand and touched it gently on the top of its back. The back was hard and cold, and when he pushed the hair to one side with his fingers, he could see the skin underneath, grayish black and dry and perfectly preserved.

“Good gracious me,” he said. “How absolutely fascinating.” He turned away from the dog and stared with deep admiration at the little woman beside him on the sofa. “It must be most awfully difficult to do a thing like that.”

“Not in the least,” she said. “I stuff all my little pets myself when they pass away. Will you have another cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” Billy said. The tea tasted faintly of bitter almonds, and he didn’t much care for it.

“You did sign the book, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“That’s good. Because later on, if I happen to forget what you were called, then I could always come down here and look it up. I still do that almost every day with Mr. Mulholland and Mr. . . . Mr. . . .”

“Temple,” Billy said, “Gregory Temple. Excuse my asking, but haven’t there been any other guests here except them in the last two or three years?”

Holding her teacup high in one hand, inclining her head slightly to the left, she looked up at him out of the corners of her eyes and gave him another gentle little smile.

“No, my dear,” she said. “Only you.”

The Landlady

Roald Dahl

Billy Weaver telah menempuh perjalanan jauh dari London dengan menggunakan kereta api yang berangkat sore hari, dengan mengganti kereta api di Reading di tengah perjalanan, dan ketika di tiba di Bath, waktu menunjukkan pukul 9 malam, dan bulan telah muncul di langit yang cerah dan berbintang diatas rumah-rumah yang berdiri di hadapan gerbang stasiun. Tapi udara terasa sangat dingin dan angin terasa seperti pisau es di pipinya.

"Permisi," katanya, "dimanakah hotel yang murah dan letaknya tidak jauh dari sini?"

"Cobalah Bell and Dragon," jawab si penjaga, menunuk ke ujung jalan. "mereka mungkin menerimamu. Letaknya kira-kira seperempat mil sepanjang jalan."

Billy mengucapkan terima kasih dan mengangkat kopernya dan mulai berjalan keluar untuk menempuh perjalanan seperempat mil ke hotel Bell and Dragon. Dia belum pernah ke Bath sebelumnya. Dia tidak mengenal seorangpun yang tinggal di kota tersebut. Tapi Mr. Greenslade di kantor pusat di London memberitahunya bahwa Bath adalah kota yang indah. "Temukanlah Tempat untuk menginap," katanya, "dan kemudian melaporlah ke kantor cabang segera setelah kamu tiba."

Billy berusia 17 tahun. Dia mengenakan sebuah jaket berwarna biru laut yang baru, sebuah topi baru, dan sebuah setelan coklat yang baru juga, dan dia merasa sangat baik. Dia berjalan dengan lincah menelusuri jalan. Dia sedang mencoba untuk melakukan segalanya dengan lincah akhir-akhir ini. Kelincahan, putusnya, adalah salah satu karakteristik dari semua pebisnis yang sukses. Para orang-orang besar di kantor pusat selalu lincah setiap waktu. Mereka luar biasa.

Tidak ada toko-toko di sepanjang jalan tersebut, hanya sebarisan rumah bertingkat di kedua sisinya, semuanya identik. Setiap rumah memiliki serambi dan pilar-pilar dan tangga rendah menuju ke pintu depan, dan jelas sekali bahwa dulu rumah-rumah tersebut adalah kompleks yang bergengsi. Tapi sekarang, bahkan di dalam kegelapan, dia melihat cat-cat yang mengelupas di pintu depan dan jendela dan bagian dinding yang berwarna putih retak dan bernoda karena terlantar.

Tiba-tiba, di jendela lantai satu yang di sinari oleh lampu jalan tidak lebih dari 6 meter jauhnya, Billy melihat sebuah papan iklan. Tulisannya BED AND BREAKFAST. Ada sebuah vas bunga Chrysanthemums, tinggi dan cantik, berdiri dibawah iklan tersebut.

Dia berhenti berjalan. Dia mendekat. Gorden berwarna hijau (jenisnya beludru) tergantung di kedua sisi jendela. Chrysantemum tersebut terlihat indah disamping gorden. Dia segera menuju ke jendela dan melihat kedalam melalui jendela kedalam ruangan, dan hal pertama yang dia lihat adalah api yang membara di tungku. Di atas karpet didepan perapian, seekor dachshund kecil tertidur melingkar dengan hidung menempel ke perutnya. Ruangan itu sendiri, sejauh yang bisa di lihat dengan sedikit cahaya, diisi dengan perabotan yang nyaman. Ada sebuah Grand Piano kecil dan sebuah sofa yang besar dan beberapa kursi kayu, dan di salah satu sudut terlihat seekor burung beo didalam kandang. Hewan biasanya adalah tanda yang baik di tempat seperti ini, pikirnya; dan sebagainya, sepertinya rumah ini cukup pantas untuk di tinggali. Pastinya akan lebih nyaman daripada The Bell And Dragon.

Sebaliknya, sebuah pub akan lebih menyenangkan daripada rumah kos. Di pub ada bir dan dart di malam hari, dan banyak orang yang bisa di ajak bicara, dan harganya juga pasti lebih murah. Dia telah tinggal beberapa malam di sebuah pub sebelumnya dan dia menyukainya. Dia tidak pernha tinggal di rumah kos, dan, sejujurnya, dia merasa sedikit takut untuk tinggal di rumah kos. Dari namanya saja terbayang akan kubis yang berair, nyonya rumah yang rakus, dan bau ikan asin dari ruang tengah.

Setelah kebingungan di tengah cuaca dingin selama 2 atau 3 menit. Billy memutuskan untuk meneruskan perjalanan dan melihat The Bell and Dragon sebelum mengambil keputusan. Dia berbalik untuk pergi.

Hal yang aneh terjadi sekarang. Dia sedang berjalan mundur dan berbalik dari jendela ketika seketika matanya tertangkap dan tertahan dengan aneh oleh papan iklan tersebut. BED AND BREAKFAST, tulisnya. BED AND BREAKFAST, BED AND BREAKFAST, BED AND BREAKFAST. Setiap kata seolah-olah seperti dua mata hitam yang menatapnya dari balik kaca, menahannya, menariknya, memaksanya untuk tetap berdiri di tempatnya dan tidak berjalan pergi, dan hal berikutnya yang dia tahu, dia berjalan menjauh dari jendela menuju pintu rumah tersebut, menaiki tangga menuju ke pintu, dan menekan bel.

Dia menekan bell. Jauh di ruang belakan dia mendengar suara bel, dan seketika - itu pasti seketika karena dia belum menarik tanggannya dari tombol bel - pintu terbuka dan seorang wanita berdiri disana.
Normalnya ketika kamu menekan bel dan kamu memiliki setidaknya setengah menit menunggu sebelum pintu terbuka. Tapi wanita tua itu seperti mainan Jack-in-the-box. Dia menekan beil- dan pop!! dia keluar. Billy terkejut karenanya.

Dia berusia kira-kira empa lima atau lima puluh tahu, dan ketika dia melihat Billy, dia memberikan senyum selamat datang yang hangat.
"Silakan masuk," Katanya ramah. Wanita itu bergeser ke samping, memegang pintu terbuka lebar, dan Billy menemukannya dirinya secara otomatis berjalan masuk. Dorongan, atau, lebih akuratnya, keingginan untuk mengikuti wanita tersebut ke dalam rumah sangat luar biasa kuat.

"Aku melihat papan iklan di jendela," katanya, berusaha menahan dirinya.

"Ya, aku tahu."

"Aku membutuhkan sebuah kamar"

"Kamarnya siap digunakan untukmu, sayang," kata wanita itu. Dia memiliki wajah bulat merah jambu dan mata biru yang lembut.

"Aku sedang dalam perjalanan ke Bell and Dragon," Billy memberitahunya. "Tapi aku melihat iklan di jendelamu."

"Anakku sayang," katanya, "kenapa kamu tidak masuk ke dalam saja?"

"Berapa harga yang kamu tawarkan?"

"Lima dolar dan enam sen"

Harganya murah sekali. Kurang dari setengah yang akan dibayarkannya.
"Jika teralu maha," tambahnya, "mungkin aku akan mengurangi sedikit. Apa kamu mau telur untuk sarapan? Telur mahal saat ini. Harganya jadi kurang dari 6 sen tanpa telur."

"Harganya tidak masalah," jawab Billy. "Aku suka tinggal di sini."

"Aku tahu kamu pasti suka. Ayo masuklah."

Wanita itu sangat baik. Dia seperti seorang ibu dari seorang teman baik yang sedang menyambut seseorang ke dalam rumah untuk tinggal selama liburan natal. Billy melepaskan topinya dan berjalan melampau ambang pintu.

"Gantunkan saja di sana," kata wanita itu, "dan biar kubantu menggantungkan jaketmu."

Tidak ada topi atau jaket lain di ruangan itu, Tidak ada payung, tidak ada tongkat untuk berjalan- tak ada apapun.

"Kami menyimpan semuanya sendiri," kata wanita itu, tersenyum pada Billy dari balik bahunya ketika dia memimpin jalan ke lantai dua. "Jarang sekali aku mendapatkan kesenangan untuk menerima tamu kedalam rumahku yang kecil ini."

Wanita tua itu agak eksentrik, pikir Billy. Tapi dengan harga lima dolar dan enam sen semalam, siapa peduli tentang itu? "Ku pikir tempat ini akan penuh dengan tamu.," katanya sopan.

"Oh, memang, tentu saja. Tapi masalahnya adalah aku cenderung pemilih"

"Ah, begitu."

"Tapi aku selalu siap. Segalanya selalu siap siang dan malam di rumah ini ketika seorang tamu yang sopan dan cocok datang. Dan menyenangkan sekali, sangat menyenangkan ketika sekarang untuk sekali lagi aku membuka pintu dan melihat seseorang yang tepat berdiri di depan pintu." Wanita itu sedang menaiki tangga, dan dia berhenti dengan satu tangan di pegangan tangga, memutar kepalanya dan tersenyum pada Billy dengan bibirnya yang pucat. "Seperti dirimu," tambahnya, dan mata birunya menjelajah perlahan-lahan dari atas kepala ke ujung kaki Billy, dan kemudian naik lagi.

Di lantai dua wanita itu berkata padanya, "Lantai ini milikku."

Mereka menaiki beberapa deret anak tangga lagi. "Dan lantai ini semuanya adalah milikmu," katanya. "Ini ruanganmu. Aku berharap kamu menyukainya." Dia membawa Billy ke sebuah kamar tidur depan yang kecil tapi memikat, menghidupkan lampu ketika dia masuk.

"Matahari pagi dapat dilihat tepat di jendela, Mr. Perkins. Namau Mr. Perkins, bukan?"

"Bukan," kata Billy. "Weaver."

"Mr. Weaver. Nama yang bagus. Aku telah meletakkan sebuah botol air diantara seprai untuk menganginkannya, Mr. Weaver. Menyenangkan sekali tidur di tempat asing dengan seprai yang bersih, bukan? Dan kamu boleh menghidupkan penghangat setiap saat kamu merasa dingin."

"Terima kasih," kata Billy. "Terima kasih banyak." dia memperhatikan seprainya telah diganti dan

"Tujuh belas!" kata wanita itu. "Oh, usia yang sempurna! Mr. Mulholland juga tujuh belas. Tapi dia sedikit lebih pendek dari dirimu: sejujurnya aku yakin dia memang pendek, dan giginya juga tidak begitu putih. Kau memiliki gigi yang indah, Mr. Weaver, apa kau tahu?"

"Gigiku tidak seindah yang terlihat," kata Billy. "Susunanya jadi berantakan di bagian belakang."

"Mr. Temple, tentu saja, sedikit lebih tua," Kata wanita itu, mengacuhkan pernyataanya. "Dia sebenarnya berusia 28. Dan aku tidak akan pernah tahu kalau dia tidak memberitahukannya, tidak akan pernah seumur hidupku. Tidak ada sedikitpun cacat di tubuhnya."

"Ada apa di tubuhnya?" tanya Billy

"Kulitnya persis seperti kulit bayi."

Sebuah jeda. Billy mengambil teh dan menghirupnya; kemudian dia meletakkannya dengan lembut diatas cawan. Dia menunggu wanita itu untuk mengatakan sesuatu, tapi sepertinya wanita itu tenggelam kedalam kesunyian. Billy duduk di sana menatap langsung ke sudut ruangan, menggigit bibir bawahnya.

"Burung beo itu," Katanya pada akhirnya. "Kau tahu? Aku tertipu oleh burung itu ketika pertama sekali melihatnya. Aku sumpah tadinya itu hidup."

"Pada awalnya, tapi sekarang tidak lagi."

"Pintar sekali cara mereka melakukannya," kata Billy. "Dia tidak terlihat mati. Siapa yang membuatnya?"

"Aku sendiri?"

"Kamu sendiri?"

"Tentu saja," katanya. "dan sudahkah kamu bertemu dengan basilku yang kecil?" wanita itu mengangguk ke dachshund yang sedang melingkar nyaman di depan perapian. Billy menatapnya. Dan tiba-tiba, dia sadar bahwa hewan ini telah ada di sana, diam dan tak bergerak, persis seperti burung beo tersebut.

"Astaga," kata Billy. "Luar biasa." Dia mengalihkan pandangannya dari anjing itu dan menatap wanita kecil disebelahnya dengan perasaan kagum. "Pasti sulit sekali melakukan pekerjaan seperti itu."

"Tidak sulit sama sekali," kata wanita itu. "Aku mengawetkan semua hewan peliharaanku ketika mereka mati. Mau teh lagi?"

“Tidak, terima kasih, " jawab Billy. Samar-samar terasa almond pahit dari teh tersebut, dan dia tidak begitu mempedulikan hal itu.

"Kamu sudah mengisi buku tamu kan?"

"Oh, ya."
"Baguslah. Karena nanti, kalau aku lupa siapa namau, aku selalu bisa membaca kembali buku tamu. Aku masih melakukan hal ini dengan Mr. Mulholland dan Mr. ....  Mr. ....."

"Temple," kata Billy, "Gregory Temple. Boleh aku bertanya, apakah ada tamu lain selain mereka berdua selama tiga tahun ini?"

Memegang cangkir tehnya tinggi di satu tangan, mencondongkan kepalanya ke kiri, wanita itu menatap Billy dan memberinya senyum lembut.

"Tidak ada nak" katanya. "Hanya kamu."

hehe, akhirnya ada yang respon. emang ceritanya serem, bentuk penulisannya menarik

masalahnya ini cerpen bukan aku yang tulis. Aku cuma nerjemahin. Yang tulis itu Roald Dhal, ada cerpen lain lagi karya dia yang misterius kayak yang ini, sedang diterjemahkan, ntar ku tulis pake topik lain.

dia memang serba misterius, tapi aku yakin bily pasti mati.

dari komik detektif conan, aku belajar kalo yang ada bau almondnya itu pasti racun.

oke deh, ku coba, sebenarnya bukan cuma cerpen yang ku suka, banyak sih, cuma kebetulan kebanyakan buku ku gratis.