Berani by Michelle Kadarusman

Author:Michelle Kadarusman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pajama Press Inc.
Published: 2022-05-13T00:00:00+00:00

Ari

On the way home from school, I stop at a roadside stall that sells art supplies.

“Can I have a children’s paint set, please?” I ask. “Just a small one. And some paper.”

The shopkeeper wraps the plastic paint tray in brown paper and rolls a few white sheets into a tube.

“You have to add water to the paintbrush,” she says. “And rinse the brush in water each time you change colors, so they don’t get mucky.”

“Oh, of course,” I say. “I’ll need a paintbrush too, please.”

“There’s one included in the set,” she says. “Just a small one,” she adds. She opens another box and shows me the thin brush inside. I can’t imagine Ginger Juice holding something so small in her huge hand.

“I’m going to need a bigger one,” I say, pointing to a larger, thicker brush displayed on the back wall of the stall.

The woman plucks it from the display, tapes it to the roll of paper, and tells me what I owe her. I dig into my pocket for the money. It is my week’s budget for coffee and pastries at Warung Kopi.

I rush home, excited to bring the supplies back to Ginger Juice. I find her lying on her back, holding one foot aloft as she grooms the orange fur between each toe. I drag a table to her cage and unwrap the paints and paper.

“I have a game for us to play,” I tell her. “We are going to paint!” I run off to the kitchen for a cup of water and scurry back again to see she is still focused on her foot grooming. “The experts call this an enrichment activity,” I tell her. “Stimulation for your brain.”

Ginger Juice is not roused by my chatter, but when I dip the wet paintbrush into the paint and draw strokes on the paper, see turns her head, her eyes following my every movement. She watches the activity intently. I continue making lines, circles, and dots from each color, until my paper is full. I hold my artwork up proudly.

“You see? It’s called painting. Here,” I say, sliding the paint tray and water cup through the bars of her cage. “Your turn.” I unwrap a sheet of paper and lay it in the cage next to the paints and then hold up the larger paintbrush so she can see. “This is your brush. I bought it for you. Are you ready to try?”

Ginger Juice sits up finally and nudges at the paper with one foot, then she grips it in her toes and lies down again. She sniffs at the paper, now held high above her head.

“No, it’s not food,” I say. “It’s a game.” I waggle the paintbrush, still in my hand, for her to see. “It’s for painting, like I was doing before.” I hold up my page. “See?”

Ginger Juice places the paper over her face for a while, then holds it in her hands and begins to tear it into smaller and smaller pieces.

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