He wore his white cap, and now and then his eyes would glance at a new bamboo basket sitting next to his wooden table.
Pak Haji Duloh stood in front of a row of big plastic containers.
Of course, he bought that basket specially for one person.
All this time, Pak Haji Duloh worked as a fish seller at his stall.
He mixed all the fish in one main tank, without separating them by type or size.
Even the plecostomus went in with everything else.
For him, all fish from under the toll road were just regular goods.
Their value was only determined by weight, not quality.
But since Pak Haji Duloh paid Anom without cutting the price, curiosity started eating away at his decades-old business logic.
There was something unusual about the fish Anom sold, something he couldn’t quite figure out.
Pak Haji Duloh couldn’t explain it.
But his instinct as a seller for many years told him this was special merchandise.
He put five plecostomus fish from Anom’s morning delivery into the new bamboo basket.
The water he used came from the market well, the same as the other containers.
A little brackish, a bit cloudy.
Pak Haji Duloh shifted back to sit on his high chair.
His eyes occasionally glanced at the wall clock on the market post.
In his mind, he wanted to run a small experiment.
Without his assistant knowing.
…
As the sun climbed higher and its hot rays pierced through the market’s tin roof, leaking in some spots, the temperature clearly kept rising.
The clock started showing nine in the morning.
The time when even the fish sellers started to panic.
Because heat was enemy number one for their goods.
The market smell began to change.
What was once fresh and fishy has now turned slightly stale and heavy.
The fish from other suppliers, all of them, including Ali’s delivery from earlier, also started showing signs of fatigue.
Pak Haji Duloh got down from his chair.
He checked the big tank in front of him.
The fish in there were getting weak.
A few were floating sideways.
Their mouths were gasping, showing poor circulation.
The water in the tank had turned cloudy and slimy.
Many of the fish eyes were starting to go white.
Pak Haji Duloh pressed his finger into the flesh of one fish to check the quality of his merchandise.
In two hours, he would have to lower the price, or these fish would end up in the trash.
He looked over at Anom’s special bamboo basket.
But Pak Haji Duloh was stunned again when he saw the fish in that basket swimming calmly.
Pak Haji Duloh bent down and took one out.
The fish struggled a little.
Its hard tail slapped against his palm.
It stung a bit, but Pak Haji Duloh didn’t let go.
He pried open the fish’s gill cover with his thumb.
Fresh red color.
Bright red.
Like a fish just pulled from a mountain spring.
Even when Pak Haji Duloh smelled the fish again, there was almost no muddy odor.
He put the fish back in the basket.
…
At the neighboring stalls, the sellers started shouting.
“Sale!
Sale!
Cheap fish before they go bad!”
The fish in Pak Haji Duloh’s big tank started giving off a bad smell.
But Anom’s bamboo basket stayed the same.
The fish inside swam around like nothing was happening.
They refused to follow nature’s law of decay.
A housewife stopped in front of Pak Haji Duloh’s stall.
She was one of his regular customers, famous for being fussy.
She often bargained until the price was almost unreasonable.
Her eyes scanned the big tank with its pale fish.
Then her eyes landed on the bamboo basket in the corner of the table.
“Pak Haji Duloh, what kind of fish are these?
They look so fresh!”
Pak Haji Duloh cleared his throat.
“Those are special stock, ma’am.
Just came this morning.
The price is a thousand more than the others.”
Usually, that woman would bargain.
“A thousand?
Give me a discount, Pak.”
But today she just stared at the fish’s eyes.
“Give me three, Pak.
Clean them, please.”
Pak Haji Duloh’s assistant quickly took three from the bamboo basket.
He cut open the fish bellies.
His hands stopped for a moment.
The blood that came out was bright red, watery, and not thick like regular fish.
The flesh even looked clean white.
The assistant stared at Pak Haji Duloh with confused eyes.
Pak Haji Duloh just gave a small nod.
As if to say, “Don’t ask too many questions.”
…
Afternoon came.
The market started getting quiet, and the concrete floor was now covered with leftover vegetables and fish fin pieces.
At Pak Haji Duloh’s stall, the scene was the opposite of his neighbor’s.
The big tank was still full of leftover fish that were starting to smell.
He had to sell them at a loss to animal feed makers.
But Anom’s bamboo basket was empty.
Everything is sold at the normal price.
Three customers even asked to order more for the next morning.
Pak Haji Duloh set aside two plecostomus fish from Anom’s delivery.
He put them in a clear plastic bag.
He didn’t sell them on purpose.
He wanted to take them home.
Wanted to observe further.
Wanted to know how long this miracle would last.
…
He went home.
In his living room, he poured well water into a glass jar.
Then he put the two fish inside.
No food.
No water change.
Just observation.
Pak Haji Duloh sat on a plastic chair next to the jar.
He stared at the fish swimming.
His eyes no longer saw living creatures.
His eyes saw a pile of coins.
He could sell these fish as premium quality.
Triple the price.
The small restaurants on the outskirts would line up.
He could reduce his losses from rotten fish to almost zero percent…
Pak Haji Duloh smiled.
He had to make sure Anom only sold fish to him.
…
Under the toll road.
Anom sat in front of his shack.
Inem beside him.
Both were quiet, staring at the black water in the canal flowing slowly.
“What did Pak Haji Duloh say today?” Inem asked.
Anom pulled out some money from his pants pocket.
“He said I have to bring more tomorrow.
He didn’t complain.
He said the fish were good and gave me a bonus.” Anom said with a smile.
That stingy Pak Haji Duloh, who always cut prices, who always complained, suddenly turned nice.
Anom didn’t believe in free kindness.
He had lived on the streets too long to believe in something that cost nothing.
“Good that he’s happy,” Inem said softly.
“As long as the water keeps flowing, the fish will stay good.”
Anom looked at Inem.
“Did you do something to those fish?”
Inem turned her head with her clear eyes and looked at Anom.
“I didn’t do anything.
I’m just here.”
“Just here?”
“Sometimes the presence of something pure in a dirty place can change how the world works.” Inem paused for a moment.
“I am a snakehead fish living in mud.
But I am still a healer.
Those fish just felt the leftovers of my breath.”
Anom didn’t fully understand.
But since Inem came, the black canal water no longer felt deadly.
He even just realized the wound on his hand from last night was gone.
The fish he caught changed.
Though he didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful.
“People are starting to ask questions, Inem.
Ali and his friends are suspicious.
Pak Haji Duloh separated those fish.
If this keeps going, this place under the toll road won’t be peaceful anymore.”
“Fear is the price of a miracle,” Inem answered.
“You can’t have light without attracting darkness.”
Anom snorted.
He didn’t like that answer.
Too mysterious.
But he had no other answer.
He could only sit here, smoke, and stare at the flowing water.
Somewhere else.
That night, Pak Haji Duloh couldn’t sleep well.
He kept getting up just to look at the glass jar in his living room.
The fish inside were still swimming lively, still fresh.
Pak Haji Duloh touched the glass jar.
His mind drifted to money.
“These aren’t ordinary fish,” Pak Haji Duloh whispered in his quiet living room.
“This is money.”
Meanwhile.
Under the toll road, Anom finally fell asleep.
Inem still sat beside him, her eyes open, staring into the darkness of the canal water.