Bebegigs
Chapter 1

Rainy seagrass ngagelebug, komo wanci sambekala…

Kade Bebegig, Anaking!

Kade Bebegig's!

Bebegig mawa dodo.

Why did I suddenly remember that poem? think Orange.

The meaning of the rhyme is…

If the rain roars hard, especially at dusk…

Watch out for the scarecrow, my boy!

Watch out for the scarecrow!

Scarecrow carrying terror.

The rhyme was often whispered by his grandmother when he was a child. Instantly he felt as if he could hear his grandmother's soft voice, a voice he had not heard since he was five years old…

Kade Bebegig's!

Bebegig mawa dodo.

Grandma Orange died when she was five years old, since then, she only lived alone with her mother, Ragnala. Now the girl was eighteen years old, and her mother had never read the poem.

He could not understand why he suddenly remembered the poem as they got down from the van his mother had rented, and stared at their new home covered in piles of dried acacia leaves with a sprinkling of flowers.

"What's up, Orange?" ask Ragnala. "Why are you daydreaming?" He placed one hand on the shoulder of his daughter's blue coat. "What do you think, honey?"

Orange shivering. Not because of the touch of his mother's hand, but because of the cold wind that blows from the mountain. He observed the rumbia-roofed cottage that would become their new residence.

Watch out for the scarecrow!

Actually, the rhyme still has its second part. I don't know why he doesn't remember.

Inwardly, he wondered if he still kept the rhyme book that his grandmother had read a lot.

"This cottage seems quite comfortable," said his mother. He was still holding onto the shoulders of the orange.

In fact, Orange felt very sad, not at all happy. But he forced a smile. "Yes. Comfortable," he muttered.

Flakes of dried leaves and acacia flower powder piled up on the roof, strewn across door and window sills, on the patio and in the courtyard. Makes the whole place look like it's covered in a yellow velvet carpet.

The cold air made Ragnala's normally pale cheeks look reddish.

Ragnala's age is actually not too old, but since the first hair is all white. His hair is long and always coiled jucung—sanggul traditional West Java, like women in the Dutch colonial era.

Ragnala was tall and skinny. And quite pretty, with a round face and big dark eyes.

The orange does not resemble its mother. He doesn't even know who he really looks like. His grandmother's face could not be remembered clearly, and his father never even knew him at all. His mother said his father disappeared after he was born.

Orange hair is choppy and dark brown. His eyes are brown too. He is tall and athletic. She became a female basketball team star at her former school, in Jakarta.

The orange enjoys chatting, dancing and singing. Contrary to her quiet mother. Sometimes a full day Ragnala doesn't say a word. Orange loved his mother very much, but Ragnala was too stiff and very quiet. Orange hopes his mother can be easier to talk to.

I'm going to need a friend to talk to, she thought sadly.

Just yesterday they left Jakarta, but Jingga has missed his friends.

How can I find a new friend in a small village in the interior like this? Orange wondered while helping her mother get their things off the van. His boots crammed over a bed of dried leaves.

Their new home is located at the foot of a mountain in the interior of Banten, in a remote village known as Rain Village.

The tiny houses on the side of the road look like toy houses made of straw.

Orange suddenly felt himself lost to a fairyland.

But it's not a fairy tale!

It was his new home. Their new and magical home.

Orange inexhaustible why they had to move from a big city to a small village that was cold for mercy.

Ragnala never explained it to completion. Just, "It's time to make a change" he said in an unclear murmur. "It's time we moved on." And that's all good. Ragnala usually never says two sentences in a row.

Orange knew her mother grew up in a village like this. But why should they move now?

Why should I leave school and all my friends?

Cipaganggang.

What kind of name is that, Cipagenggang?

Just imagine. Jingga was forced to move from Jakarta to Cipagenggang.

After all, this village is also not a tourist village that is crowded with tourists for a vacation. This village is really deserted.

No child is the same age as me, thought Orange.

Ragnala removed the piles of dried leaves and acacia flower powder that had accumulated on their new doorstep, then tried to open the door. "Uhh, the door leaf is already curved," he growled. He stuck his shoulder to the door and pushed it open.

Ragnala is skinny, but also strong.

The orange began to put the bags into the house. But something in the fog-shrouded courtyard across the street caught his eye. He turned and looked while squinting his eyes.

Then he screamed stifled.

Whatisit? thought.

A scarecrow?

Scarecrow with hoodie sweater?

And while the orange stared at him, the scarecrow began to move.

Orange gnashed his eyes.

Apparently he saw it wrong!

The scarecrow did not move.

A flock of sparrows perched and frenzied along the hands of scarecrows made of wood and tree branches. The birds were jolted as a strong wind blew suddenly, so it looked like the scarecrow's hand was as if it was folded forward. A scarecrow has no elbow, so it is impossible for its hand to fold forward.

The steps of the orange crusted as the girl approached the scarecrow and examined it closely.

That scarecrow is really weird. His arms are made of tree branches. One arm stretched to the side, while the other was raised upwards, as if waving at an orange. Each tree branch has three branches as fingers. His head was made of coconut shells wrapped around a sheath cloth forming a hood like a hoodie sweater. His clothes were like a loose Indian robe that was long until it touched the ground, completely covering the part of the trunk that was plugged as his feet. Part of his face was covered with charcoal, knocking eyes and mouth made slightly extended to one side like a scar, until impressed as if he was sneering.

Why is it that looks made? think Orange.

His gaze was fixed on the scar on the face of the scarecrow. "Freak," he muttered. That was his favorite word. His mother said he needed to add to his vocabulary.

But what dong, the right word to describe a spooky-looking scarecrow with a scar on its face?

"Tell-try please help Mama!" his mother's cry made Orange turn away.

The oranges rushed across the street, heading for their new home.