"Cendol, cendol... Get your ice cendol here, ladies and gentlemen. Guaranteed to use authentic palm sugar. Cendol, cendol!" Satria called out, selling his cendol as he walked around.
Today was Sunday, so Satria wasn't selling at the school as usual. Instead, he roamed farther afield, setting out around 8 in the morning. On holidays or Sundays, Satria ventured into the nearby villages.
"Sir, I'd like to buy some cendol," a woman said, carrying her child.
Satria smiled and nodded, then approached the calling customer. He stopped right in front of the buyer's house.
"How many would you like, ma'am?" Satria asked kindly and politely.
"Could you make it three packs for 10,000? Is that possible?" the woman asked tentatively.
"Of course, ma'am," Satria replied politely.
"Thank God, thank you, sir," the woman said with gratitude.
Satria nodded amiably. He started preparing the ice cendol, packaging it in plastic bags. Satria didn't set fixed prices and often sold to schoolchildren for as low as 1,000 rupiah.
Before he finished packing the woman's order, two more ladies who were regular customers arrived to buy Satria's cendol. They were familiar with his schedule in that area.
"Satria, can you give me four packs for 5,000 each?" Mrs. Siti asked pleasantly.
"I'll just take two packs, sir. My husband isn't home, so it's just for me and my child," Mrs. Mila added, ordering two packs of cendol.
"Yes, ladies, please wait. I'll prepare your orders after I finish these," Satria said with his usual courtesy.
"Satria, you're quite handsome, you know. But aren't you worried about getting tanned selling cendol in this heat?" Mrs. Mila joked.
"What can I do? Selling cendol is the only skill I have," Satria remarked, hands continuously busy packing the cendol.
"It's good to do any work, as long as it's legitimate and harms no one," added Mrs. Siti, and Mrs. Mila nodded in agreement.
"Yes, ma'am," Satria responded politely.
Having finished the three packs, Satria handed them to the woman and her child. He then prepared packs for Mrs. Siti, followed by Mrs. Mila. As he was packing for Mrs. Mila, he was suddenly interrupted by a loud call.
"Satria! Still peddling on a Sunday? You should get an office job, so you can have weekends off. It's a shame you only scrape together coins. Ha ha!" Rudi jeered, laughing scornfully from within his car—the car he always bragged about. Rudi was just an ordinary office employee but managed to buy a costly car. Satria was well aware of Rudi's dishonesty and knew that eventually, everyone gets their comeuppance.
"Yes, that's me, just a humble cendol vendor, collecting small change, unlike office worker Rudi. But I wonder, with a regular office salary, how can you afford a car worth millions?" Satria inquired, lightly probing Rudi.
"Mind your words. Even as an ordinary employee, I earn a large salary. Perhaps what you make in a year is just my monthly income – hence, a 200 million car is within my reach. Why do you ask? Are you jealous? Ha! You could never afford a car like this. By the way, remember to return the 100 million you borrowed or was that fake money you used yesterday?" Rudi spoke arrogantly.
"Just ignore that poor man. Let him keep selling; let's go, or others will arrive," Rudi's wife urged.
Rudi's car sped away, and Satria shook his head at the arrogance of his brother-in-law. He resumed packaging cendol for Mrs. Mila.
"That man is quite arrogant. Satria, you know that person?" Mrs. Mila inquired.
"He's my brother-in-law, ma'am. Unfortunately, that's just how he is – an office worker, unlike your humble cendol vendor," Satria replied with a friendly smile.
"Oh, your brother-in-law? If I had a brother-in-law like that, I'd give him a piece of my mind for his arrogance. At least as a cendol vendor, it's your own business, and you're independent," added Mrs. Siti.
"That's right, ma'am. Here's your cendol," Satria said as he handed over their orders.
After receiving payment from Mrs. Siti and Mrs. Mila, Satria continued on his rounds. The sun climbed higher, growing hotter by the minute, perfect weather for an ice-cendol treat. Thankfully, by half-past two, he had sold out and arrived home. As of now, he still pushed his cart by hand, although Dinda had suggested upgrading to a bicycle cart to ease the burden of his rounds.
...
"Dinda, today I bought a refrigerator and a fan. We still have plenty of money left. What do you think about buying a motorcycle instead? Our current one is always breaking down and being dragged to the workshop," Satria suggested.
Their motorcycle was indeed an old model that made quite a racket, nearly a weekly visitor at the repair shop.
"Yes, Dinda, go ahead and buy the motorcycle. We could even buy a car; I have the money, Dinda. In fact, we could go to the dealership right now," Satria said, smiling.
A car? Dinda was puzzled by his words. Why would Satria talk about buying a car? He sounded serious, without a hint of jest. Dinda grew suspicious: where could her husband get the money for a car?
*If Satria is just a cendol vendor\, how could he have saved 100 million? I can't quite believe it. Yet\, he insists it's his savings\,* Dinda thought to herself.
"You have enough for a car?" Dinda asked.
"Ah... Well, Dinda, I was just speaking off the cuff," Satria stammered nervously.
The time wasn't right for Satria to reveal his true self. When the moment was proper, he would undoubtedly tell her.
Dinda's phone began vibrating insistently. Satria took it out and answered gibberish in front of Dinda.
Dinda's eyes widened at the sight of Satria's phone – it was not the old model he used to have but a brand new, expensive device. Her suspicions deepened; it was unlike her husband to be frivolous or to sport luxury goods.
"Okay, I'll be there tomorrow," Satria said before abruptly hanging up.
He hadn't noticed he'd used the phone he was keeping secret. He'd bought it a week ago after his old phone shattered during a sales round. His old mobile was still in his left pocket.
"You got a new phone? That's an expensive model, isn't it, Satria?" exclaimed Dinda. She might not own a costly phone herself, but she knew this was a high-end one, the kind wealthy people flaunted on television.
"Um... Yes, Dinda," Satria conceded, finally admitting the truth about the phone.
"Satria, it's very expensive. It could have bought us three new motorcycles. Please be honest, where did the money come from? Are you involved in something illicit? You're not dealing in illegal goods, are you?" Dinda probed intensely.
"God willing, what I have and earn is all legitimate, Dinda. Believe me. I would never support us with illicit money. One day you'll understand, but what I fear is your reaction. What if you leave me when you find out the truth?" Satria said while holding Dinda's hand.
Satria feared that once Dinda learned his deeply held secret, she would leave, thinking he'd deceived her. But he had his reasons for keeping the truth from her – to live as an ordinary man for now.
"What is it you're hiding from me, Satria?" asked Dinda seriously.
"In time, you'll know. Let's get some rest now; it's quite late," Satria replied, already lying in bed.
Dinda glanced at her husband, certain he was keeping something from her. Nonetheless, she chose not to push him, trusting that he would open up in his own time. She lay down beside Satria, who embraced her warmly, a nightly ritual. Dinda fell asleep in Satria's embrace.
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