Takbiran di Ciledug selalu meriah. Jalanan penuh dengan konvoi bedug, bocah-bocah berlarian membawa petasan, dan suara takbir menggema dari setiap sudut gang. Malam itu, udara masih terasa gerah meskipun jam sudah menunjukkan pukul sebelas. Lampu-lampu warna-warni berkedip di depan rumah, menandakan Lebaran sudah di ambang pintu.
Tapi di balik gegap gempita malam takbiran, ada satu gang yang justru sepi. Gang sempit yang menghubungkan Pasar Lembang ke jalan utama. Biasanya ramai dilewati orang, tapi entah kenapa, malam itu seperti terabaikan. Hanya ada satu sosok yang berdiri di sana—seorang pria tua dengan sarung lusuh, peci hitam, dan wajah yang nyaris tak terlihat karena tertutup bayangan lampu jalan yang redup.
“Bang, kita lewat sini aja. Muter jauh kalau lewat jalan gede,” ujar Anton pada temannya, Jaka.
“Beneran, Ton? Kok gangnya kosong gitu?” Jaka ragu-ragu.
“Yaelah, paling orang-orang lagi pada konvoi. Lagian kita buru-buru mau nyari ketupat, kan?”
Mereka akhirnya masuk ke gang itu. Langkah mereka menggema di antara dinding rumah yang berdekatan. Sesekali suara petasan dari kejauhan terdengar memantul, menciptakan gema aneh.
Baru beberapa meter masuk, Anton tiba-tiba menepuk bahu Jaka. “Bro, lo liat itu gak?”
Jaka menoleh. Pria tua tadi masih berdiri di sana, tak bergerak, menatap mereka.
Anton menelan ludah. “Assalamu’alaikum, Pak…”
Tak ada jawaban.
Jaka mulai gelisah. “Udah, Ton, jalan aja.”
Baru mereka mau melangkah, pria tua itu tiba-tiba bicara, suaranya lirih namun jelas, seperti angin yang berdesir di antara rerimbunan.
“Sudah takbirannya?”
Anton dan Jaka saling pandang. “Eh, udah, Pak. Dari tadi rame banget,” jawab Anton, mencoba bersikap santai.
Pria itu tersenyum tipis. “Bagus… bagus… Tapi, anak-anak sekarang sering lupa.”
“Lupa apaan, Pak?” tanya Jaka tanpa pikir panjang.
Pria itu menghela napas pelan. “Lupa bahwa malam ini bukan cuma buat takbiran, tapi juga untuk mengingat siapa yang sudah pergi…”
Tiba-tiba, udara di sekitar mereka terasa lebih dingin. Anton merinding. “Pak… bapak ini siapa, ya?”
Pria itu tertawa kecil. “Aku? Aku cuma ikut takbiran… dari tahun ke tahun…”
Tanpa aba-aba, lampu di gang itu berkedip-kedip lalu mati total. Suasana jadi gelap gulita. Anton dan Jaka langsung berlari tanpa pikir panjang. Mereka nyaris tersandung batu, menabrak gerobak sampah, dan baru berhenti setelah sampai di ujung gang yang terang.
“GILA! SIAPA ITU?!” Anton terengah-engah.
Jaka gemetar sambil melirik ke belakang. “Gue gak mau tahu, yang penting kita udah keluar dari situ.”
Mereka menenangkan diri sebentar, lalu kembali berjalan menuju pasar. Tapi saat mereka melewati warung kopi, seorang bapak tua duduk santai sambil menyeruput kopi hitamnya. Melihat Anton dan Jaka ngos-ngosan, si bapak bertanya, “Kenapa, Nak? Dikejar setan?”
Anton dan Jaka saling pandang. “Pak, bapak tahu gak tadi ada orang tua berdiri di gang sepi belakang?”
Bapak itu mendadak terdiam. Matanya menyipit, lalu dia tersenyum. “Oh, itu… dia memang selalu ada tiap malam takbiran. Katanya, dulu dia suka ikut konvoi bedug, tapi meninggal ketabrak saat lari-larian…”
Anton dan Jaka langsung pucat.
“Tapi tenang, dia bukan hantu jahat. Dia cuma mau memastikan semua orang takbiran dengan khusyuk.”
Mereka melirik ke arah gang itu lagi, tapi sudah kosong. Tak ada siapa-siapa.
“Jadi… kita barusan takbiran bareng…” Jaka bergidik.
Bapak itu tertawa kecil. “Iya, nak. Selamat Idul Fitri, ya. Jangan lupa saling memaafkan.”
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