Friday, July 30, 2010

FAIR FOR FEAR

The jeepney stopped; he got off first. She took his hand as she stepped her shoes on the rung and the pavement. In her mind she isn't sure if she took his hand out of affection. Instantly they disappeared among the multitude re-emerging at the queue at the mall gate before security guards inspecting women's shoulder bags and frisking men from waist to calves before they were allowed in. From there they proceeded to the movie ticket booth.

Inside the theater, their eyes adjusted to the darkness. All their eyes could see is the screen scrolling up the end credits.

A shadow approached from the opposite direction. It puts it hand in its jeans pocket and kept it there. As they came within reach of the shadow, the hand thrusts hard a glinting thing into his chest. She didn't notice anything until his hand loosened on hers as he dropped to the floor.

"Oh my Godddddddd!" she screamed. Her voice echoed like it was shouted to a cliff. Moments later, the screen went blank and the lights were turned on while the shadow casually walked to the door. The momentary opening of the door allowed the noise out but not enough to be noticed by the people outside as the closer sprung shut the both-side swinging door again.

The outside lights revealed the face of the shadow -- a girl, lanky from being thin. But that was all the details the lights could provide. She was not fleeing; the crowd was enough a refuge that escape wasn’t necessary. She quickly joined the other people and was gone to a pedestrian lane wanting to cross the highway. She stood there to wait and thoughts different from what the eyes can see came flooding. The highway was a river and the cars were giant boulders carried by a flood. At the other side of the river were children playing in its cliff bank. One child, too young to be naughty and naked from the waist down, was sitting at the edge of the cliff. He dangled his feet almost touching the water. His penis rested on the sand as he sat. Some grits of sand adhered to the moist end of his uncircumcised penis as he stood to jump into the water. He buried his toe among rocks in the water and kicked his feet into the air to the direction of the other side of the river. He buries his toe again and the boy transformed into a carabao calf and his right toe the mouth of a dugong grazing underwater weeds. As the calf moved away, a Japanese-looking man with gray beard and mustache and sideburns superimposed the vision. He was cutting reeds at the foot of a bridge. The other side of the river was houses of all-bamboo materials. Men were drinking the other day’s tuba, a prelude to a party of an unknown celebration. The carabao calf re-appeared, went near them and got knocked in the forehead with a big rock by the drinking men. They drained the beast of its blood from the nostrils into their drinks instead of cutting a slit in the neck. The boy emerged from the body of the dead beast the way a phoenix would from the ashes. His eyes looked around but without looking at the drinking men. His eyes wandered to where a thin dog is being chained to a bamboo chair like it had stolen fire. The dog's left hind leg is free to allow it to raise it when urinating. The mind of mix up thoughts segued to reality. Her hands were still hidden in her jeans pocket. And then she joined the crowd that crossed the highway.

Back inside the theater, the coagulated blood remained on the floor when they carried the stabbed man out of the theater and out of the mall into a taxi to a nearby hospital. It tells the history of the past few minutes. When the giant screen darkened for the next screening, feet trampled it. As the taxi sped away blinking lights to indicate emergency, she struggled back to her senses to look back at the recent past.

"You’ve the idea why I called you here?" the professor asked.

"No, not at all," she lied.

"Look at this." He opened he pouch and brought out the content. She looked without saying anything. "How can you mistake this for your answer to the exam? One page is not enough to satisfy my questions in the exam, not even 15 or 20 pages. How can you mistake this letter to be your answer to the exam?"

"I've put the wrong paper."

"Alright, I want you to comeback within two days. Show it to me; bring it to me -- the answer to the exam that you mistakenly mailed to your parents. Exam time is not the time to write letters to parents, I might forgive you. Come back within two days."

She folded the paper on which she copied the test questions pretending to be answering and secretly put in her jeans pocket. After submitting her sealed manila envelope she went straight to the university post office and then to the provincial library. The university library closes a week before the final exam. More than a week later, home for the semestral vacation, she herself received the pouch from the letter carrier.

"So what's your decision? He's old -- nearly twice as old?"

"I'm thinking of accepting."

"I'm not giving you up to him – or to anybody."

"Only for a while, I'll come back to you."

"No!" she said angrily.

"We will still be seeing each other."

"I can't share you with anybody."

"There's nothing I can do."

"There is, if you really want to. I want you to say no."

"I'm not coming back to this university just for that one subject alone."

"I spent so much on you."

The word changed the atmosphere from quarrel to fight although their voices were controlled.

"I told you I will still be seeing you. You're the reason I neglected that subject so I had to cheat."

"I said I'm not giving you up to him."

"I said there is nothing I can do."

"There is something I will do."

"Then do it! But what is it?"

"You'll know when I’ve done it."

There is a moment of silence and exchange of looks. Their voices toned down to soft conversation.

"You'll be in jail."

"I'm not going to jail."

"The law will be after you."

"They law will have nobody to run after. Don't worry about me. I care more about losing you than the loss of my..."

She kept the finisher word unsaid. It doesn't exist anyway as far as they are concerned. She was several paces leaving her behind when the final parting word that needed to be said was to be said loud to be clearly heard.

"Where will I find you?"

"You know where to find me."

He was almost twice older -- such a kind of relationship as that of Joseph and Mary was probably the best known one. Michael and Catherine picked up the idea but they failed to get the trend moving. And on her part, she detested the idea, only she didn't have a choice. But now her heart melted for the dying man. The warmth of his blood that flowed and dried on her blouse and on her undies and belly skin, the man’s dying moments spent in her arms, somehow ate up a space in her heart. And now she wished the murder did not take place.

A pair of feet approached the house, a barung-barong by city word. Nobody is home save for the child -- a boy, and a dog, curled near the open door. The path on which the feet walked seemed trodden only by the owner of the house whose husband died when the child in her womb. He died for the movement and she accepted the loss without bitterness. And now that her husband is gone and the movement is in a sense dormant or totally dead, the path had become less and less walked.

Here the clouds aren't merely for the eyes to see. It's also for the hand to touch as it lingers low until late mornings. Arecas abound and while evaporation was not yet strong its millions of tiny flowers perfumed the morning breeze. Unlike the ilang-ilang, no spirit maker has yet patented the areca scent. As the feet stepped on the dry areca frond heaping on the path, it sent signal like a trip wire to the sleeping dog. He began to bark guessingly and instantly his barking voice added colors to silence. As the approaching feet emerged from the fog, he added loudness to his barking intent in keeping the intruder at bay. He bared his fang growling ready to attack.

"Osmond, Osmond! You're still alive after all these years. And who is this angel? Ah yes, you were in your Mama's body when your Papa died. Where is your mama?" she asked like the child is capable of giving her the information she needed.

Osmond stopped barking as soon as his name was called. His canine sense of smell didn’t send signal to the brain any scent of this intruder’s fear and his mine went rushing through memories to check why this intruder knows him by name. And the he recognized her smell and Osmond began to wag his tail. She kneeled to him and held the dog in the ear with both hands almost kissing him. And then he led her to the child's mother in the broke. She was about finished with the dishes when they arrived.
"Babes!" she called.

"So you're the one being barked."

"Yeah, I was."

"You have come back. Is there still reason to come back?"

"I just missed this place. Is there still reason for you to stay here?"

"I cannot leave this place yet."

"You still with that solar light NGO?"

"Yes, that's why I'm still here. But what really happened? I know you won’t come here for that reason alone -- missing this place."

Babes looked at her in the eyes demanding confession.

"I've killed a man."

"Is there still reason to kill?"

"It's not in the name of the movement."

"So what is it?"

"It's Fear."

"What about Fear."

"She went out with another man -- a man."

"Do we accept that kind of killing?"

"We don't, but maybe we can blame it to the movement."

"You want to get away with your crime using the movement?"

"We've gotten away so many times."

"Yes, but that was different. We did not do that for our own selves. We did that for the country. They were not personal enemies. We did that for what we fought for."

"Ok, alright. But I'm not giving myself up. If the authorities find me and arrest me, I'll give myself up -- without a fight."

There was a long moments of silence, each trying to find a word to say and what to decide. Osmond who was lying near them stood up and began to rub his body on Babe's legs as though to beg to allowed her to stay. She touched him in the head and Osmond steadied to be touched some more. He whined and barked then touched his paw on her. Her hand accepted his paw.

"You think that's fair enough for Fear?"

"How can that be fair or unfair for Fear?"

"She's a girl."

"So?"

"She might have fallen in love with the man you killed."

They looked at each other long each struggling to find words to say. Babes got up after sitting long before the spring. She felt the blood in her shins and soles creeping back to circulation. She picked up the pail loaded with washed dishes of the morning meal and began to walk the path towards the hut. The lanky girl walked behind. They walked in silence still finding for words to say like every word had been said.

Osmond went rushing through their legs to the direction of the hut and to the heaped dry frond by the path and began barking at a figure emerging in the mist.

--- e n d ---

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

KILLER RIVER

The Upper Disakan River, a river common to the towns of Manukan and Jose Dalman in Zamboanga del Norte in Mindanao, Philippines must have killed more people than any other rivers in the world.

It is a short river of only nearly 15 kilometers from the main water source to the estuary.

It snakes between mountains not a portion of its stream is rapids or cascades or falls.

It runs all through level lands like a canal with either mountains or hills on both sides.

Full time smaller tributary rivers and creeks with waters of their own and waterless brooks collect the rainwater into Upper Disakan River in the rainy months between July and August of each year, making the river a killer.

The highway that links the coastal municipalities of Zamboanga del Norte crosses this river.

Over the years community grew to the size of a little town beside the highway near the river and the bridge that crosses to the other side of the river.

The July, 1991 flood wiped out this community sending belongings such as refrigerators, washing machines and corpse to the sea. A few escaped or weren't home during the flood but hundreds were missing and when some of the bodies drifted ashore, they were beyond recognition. Some bodies of the victims were drifted to neighboring towns. Victims were buried in a mass grave beside the Upper Disakan public cemetery.

Not learning a lesson, the community slowly grew again, this time even bigger. And the local authorities doesn't seem to care. Little businesses were established, a little flea market for fishermen's wives to sell their husband's catch and for farmers to sell their farm products, billiard halls and a few stores.

In August, 2002, at around 7:00 o'clock in the afternoon it started to rain strong and up 4:00 o'clock the rain was still as strong. Before everybody was awake in the neighboring communities, words were passed around that the Upper Disakan River flooded again. By 7:00 o'clock in the morning when onlookers arrived in Upper Disakan, the flood beginning to subside. Looking at the river's main stream, Upper Disakan River was so fearsome the way it carried debris with its current.

The entire community was wiped out by the flood, save for the store that used concrete materials. But a giant red flower dap-dap tree uprooted and carried by the flood slammed into the window of the store, root first. One of the billiard tables was deposited by the flood into a carabao wallow with its 3 pieces of granite surface broken into 7 pieces. The other tables were nowhere to be found. A light truck owned by a businessman in the community was among a mixture of flood debris: an entire bamboo plant, a number of banana plants, a few coconut trunks all complete with its roots, and some logs stalled as debris accumulated. And, hundreds of lives were lost mostly missing never to be found.

Within a few years of that August, 2002 flood, houses are sneaking back into the place although not anymore as many.

And in July 23, 2010, Upper Disakan River flooded again. The rains were only in the mountains and wasn't strong and long enough and the floodwater barely reaching the surface of Upper Disakan Bridge.

But it's only a matter time before the Upper Disakan River will kill people again.

Monday, July 26, 2010

MY BLIND FRIEND

My Subano friend Custodio Dalaay is blind in the right eye. He lost the eye firing a shotgun he himself made. His shotgun is made of nearly three feet, three fourth inch diameter GI plumbing pipe for the barrel, the butt he himself crafted, the metal works that included the firing pin and trigger was made by a blacksmith in another town. He pushes a bullet into the pipe and his shotgun is ready. It's illegal to make, to own, to possess, a home made shotgun. Factory made shotguns are available at gun stores and can be legally purchased, but Dalaay cannot afford it and so he made his own. His purpose is to guard his corn of monkeys in the day and wild boar in the night. One evening shortly after midnight he heard noises in his corn field, he reach for his shotgun at the head of his bamboo bunk. Like a ghost he went out of the house, his shotgun at fort arm. He edged closer to where the noise came from. There was the pig, dully lighted by the crescent moon eating his corn. He aimed his shotgun, one eye closed, the other open, looking at the sight. He held his breath and fired. The cartridge exploded into his right eye knocking him unconscious. The next morning he was in a government hospital at the provincial capital, right eye on bandage. When the bandage was removed some months later, his right eye was no longer in its socket.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

I KILLED MY WIFE

Because there were times that we won't be able to see each other, within eight months after we lived together as husband and wife, we had to decide that one of us had to leave our jobs. She was a kitchen crew of a restaurant chain in Makati City working on shifts while I was on a 9 to 5 job in a shipping company in Port Area, Manila. Alone in life, she had no problem with her work sched. Married to me, she had to do some cooking although I did not require her to do so. And on her days off from work, she had to wash clothes which now included mine because I was now her husband. And so we decided that she be the one to leave her job, her salary being lower than mine.
This decision which we made mostly out of my insistence was to be the culprit to her death twenty four years later. Having no more works to do after washing the dishes after breakfast I had deprived her of physical activities her body needed to keep away the big C. She didn't have to hurry anymore to the train station; she didn't have to hurry anymore to her work place after getting off the train; she didn't have to work anymore in the kitchen of that restaurant.
Sometime in the later part of the 90s, she began to complain about a growth inside her anus. We did not take it seriously as we thought it was just an ordinary polyp. By the early 2000, she began to feel difficulty defecating. Later her feces had traces of blood. Some months more later, she would sit a long time on the toilet bowl trying to excrete, first with little amount, and then some more months later, nothing will come out.
For nearly two years she was bedridden, and in the late morning of September 24, 2004 I had to rush her on a taxi to a government hospital. Her hemoglobin was so low I couldn't remember the figure. The doctors suggested blood transfusion but without encouragement. At 2:00 o'clock of that day, she said the surrounding was beginning to get dark. Her right hand crept into mine and held it tight. Minutes later her eyes began to slowly close and her hand slowly loosened on mine. And then she began a struggled breathing even when the oxygen was in her nostril. And in the early evening of that day, her bed dripped with her urine perhaps in her effort to hold on to life. And then she breathed her last.
In the course of her ailment, we went to a doctor at the stage when defecating became difficult. The doctor took sample tissues from her anus and recommended operation when he got the result. But the second doctor we consulted for another opinion said "no. Operation is not the solution. Even in the early growth of the polyp, operation was not a solution. Operation will only lower the quality of life" my wife will have to live in the few remaining days of her life as she'll be carrying a colostomy bag in her waist for the few remaining days of her life.
I did some reading after her death. The Encarta says heating the bacon up to nearly 500 degrees C makes it carcinogenic. But I can hardly blame the bacon although there were few occasions that we ate club sandwich in restaurants in Greenhills, San Juan, Metro Manila. The Encarta also says that lack of fruit and vegetable in the diet make the body vulnerable to the big C. We ate enough fruit mostly banana being the only available fruit year round, and she cooked vegetable quite often.
And the Encarta also says that lack of physical activities can also cause the development of the big C. The lack of activities thing of my wife which is my making, I believe is the real culprit to my wife's death.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

My Cerebral Palsy Son

My second son Archie was shown to me through the glass windows hours after he was born. After a day at the nursery, the hospital called me at work informing me that Archie had turned yellowish. "He vomited," the hospital added. The only medical word I remember the hospital told me was "jaundice." His skin was like a skinned ginger when I went to see him at the hospital nursery. Archie had to remain in the hospital for 29 days. When he was released he was so thin that we did catch up feeding for him. Within a few months, he was almost like a healthy baby. But the only development we noticed in him was his body. Until he was three years old he had not learned to walk nor had he learned to talk. I devoted more of my time on his walk learning. I was determined not to keep him in a crib or a pen when he had outgrown the crib. On weekends we would go to a nearby park where the grass on the lawn would cushion his every fall. Exactly on June 16, 1988, he was three years and three months then, I leaned him on suntan flowers that bordered the park lawn. I took three short steps backward and began encouraging him to walk toward me. It took nearly an hour of coaxing before he finally stepped his feet toward me. Only three steps the last step was to make sure that he gets to me, and then he hugged me. But that was all that was needed and his courage to learn to walk was built. Now he's 25 years old, a full grown man. Archie can walk although not quite in good control of his body, but he walks. Archie has not learned to talk, but he's not zero at communicating. He types on the computer the words he wants to say to me. the document file is always open in case he wants to say something. Archie has never gone to school in his life, not even a half minute in a formal classroom. He got all his education in the internet. He can be visited in his FaceBook account. He's using his full name Nate Archibald Ferrolino Hisula.