(Original Bahasa Indonesia)
Empat belas tahun setelah Einstein meninggal, partikel subatomik ternyata masih bisa dibagi menjadi kuark dan gluon. Dalam mimpi kanak-kanakmu, kau melihat Einstein kecil duduk menunggang kuark, menggesek biola dengan kompas kantung diikatkan tergantung di leher biola.
Senarnya, tali gravitasi itu, bergetar, menggema halus ke lorong telinga. Kuark terus berputar mengelilingi gluon. Di lapis luar, elektron terus berputar mengelilingi kuark dan gluon. Semua berputar, semakin besar. Gravitasi menjulur, semakin lebar.
Dalam mimpi kanak-kanakmu itu engkau tertidur. Lalu terbangun dalam skema ini: Engkau, bersama Einstein, duduk menunggangi “sesuatu” berputar mengelilingi bumi. Terus berputar. Di lapis luar, “sesuatu” bersama bumi terus berputar mengililingi matahari. Terus berputar.
Di lapis luarnya lagi, “sesuatu” dan matahari terus berputar mengelilingi Bimasakti. Terus berputar. Di lapis luar-luarnya lagi, “sesuatu” dan Bimasakti terus berputar mengelilingi gugus galaksi. Terus berputar. Di lapis luar-luar-luarnya lagi, “sesuatu” dan gugus galaksi terus berputar mengelilingi … ah, tali gravitasi itu, getar yang semula halus mengelus telinga, perlahan meninggi, terus meninggi, dan lalu menghentak, nyaring, lengking, memekak bagai memecah gendang telinga. Semua gemetar.
Dengan mata kepala sendiri, engkau melihat jarum kompas kantung yang tergantung di leher biola Einstein seperti menggigil, lalu bergerak kacau tak tentu arah. Di satu titik, kompas itu meledak, hancur, bersama Einstein, bersama dirimu—bersama semesta, bersama mimpimu, dan lalu terbangun dalam mimpi kanak-kanak itu. Mimpi kanak-kanak yang, saat kau terbangun, kembali melihat Einstein kecil menggesek biola menunggang kuark.
(English Translation)
Fourteen years after Einstein died, subatomic particles were still divisible into quarks and gluons. And in your childhood dream, you saw the young Einstein sitting astride a quark, drawing his bow across a violin with a pocket compass tied dangling from the violin’s neck.
Its string—that thread of gravity—trembled, sending a soft hum down the corridor of your ear. The quark kept circling the gluon. In the outer layer, electrons kept circling the quark and gluon. Everything spun, widening, expanding. Gravity stretched, widening further.
In that childhood dream you drifted into sleep. Then awoke into this arrangement: You and Einstein sat astride “something” spinning around the earth. It spun on and on. In the outer layer, that “something” and the earth spun around the sun. Still spinning.
Beyond that layer, “something” and the sun spun around the Milky Way. Still spinning. Beyond the outer-outer layer, “something” and the Milky Way spun around a cluster of galaxies. Still spinning. And beyond even that,
“something” and the galaxy cluster spun around… ah—that thread of gravity, the vibration once gentle stroking your ear, rose, rose higher, then struck—sharp, shrill, splitting like it would tear your eardrum apart. Everything shuddered.
With your own eyes, you saw the needle of the pocket compass dangling from Einstein’s violin-neck quiver, then whirl wildly, directionless. Then, in a single flash, the compass exploded—shattered—taking Einstein with it, taking you with it, taking the universe, your dream, until you awoke back inside that childhood dream: the young Einstein once again bowing his violin while riding a quark.
