Everything was fresh and chilly, after the heavy rain the night before. The verdant leaves of the old mango tree in their backyard swayed crisply in the gentle wind that early Monday morning. The different orchids hanging in their yard were in perfect bloom; they lay bathing under the warmth of the impressive sun. She tried to remember what her mother taught her yesterday, about the different names of their orchids. She loved their names: cattleya, miltonia, vanda and a whole lot more. Women should be like orchids, her mother said, graceful and modest.
She thought it was a very pleasant day for the start of the school, quite enticing after all the pressures in her junior year. The newly-bathed world seemed to promise her a great day ahead in the private school she hoped to graduate from soon. She grew tired of seeing her old school that she attended from the start of her kindergarten years then to her six years in elementary up to now of her remaining last year in high school.
She met Rodel that June of her senior year in high school. He was a small boy for his age playing on that unpaved road at the front of their house in Buendia Street in Embarcadero. She learned later he was just two years younger than her, yet his physique would make anybody presume he was only eleven years old. On her way to school early that morning, Charyl met this skinny young boy carrying a pail of leftover foods loaded in his small rusting bicycle. He wore that loose white shirt that was too big and faded that it freely and gently swung against the wind in every turn of his pedal. He slowly pedaled his bicycle towards the small pathway of their house careful not to spill his load.
She was about to open their gate when she noticed the boy. It was not the old hanging clothes that he wore that caught her attention but it was the innocent yet joyous mood in the boy’s face as he passed by their gate. It was also a new face in their place as she knew all the children in the neighborhood. She had this habit and fondness of giving candies or sometimes some pieces of cheaper chocolates, the Choey Chocos she always bought from Aling Wending’s Sari-sari Store to these children every time she got home from school and she passed by these children playing patintero in front of their house. Sometimes her four-year old sister Maggie would complain whenever she asked for her pasalubong from her Ate and she could give nothing because she had offered all those sweets from her little friends outside. She smiled as these thoughts entered her mind. She pulled the gate and headed her way to the corner of their street to wait for a tricycle to carry her to school.
That afternoon she brought five pieces of orange flavored Maxx and another five pieces of her favorite Choey Chocos. She saw those children playing tumba-lata as she was approaching their house and, seeing her, they ran towards her.
“Hi Ate!” The children were shouting with excitement. “Have you any candies there?”
“Well, yeah, here, get one each of you. Hmm, have you been good to your parents today?” She was smiling as she gave her pasalubongs to her hyperkinetic friends.
“I helped my mother wash the dishes today.” The smallest of them Mara, the same age as her little sister, said proudly in response to her.
“Me too!” added Toby, the jolly fat kid from the house next to them.
Then she shifted her attention towards the young boy she just saw bicycling early that morning. In a distance, he sat on the old bamboo fence on the road side while gazing in an ardent manner at the children who were busy unpacking their sweet little prizes. She still had one left in her pocket. She approached the boy who was now looking towards her direction.
“You’re new here right?” she asked. “What’s your name?”
He was hesitant and his face revealed an expression of shyness at first. He diverted his look from her towards the ground. She offered him the last piece of chocolate she had before he revealed his name.
“I’m Rodel. We live in that house over there.” showing the direction with his pointing mouth.
“Rodel, I’m Charyl and I assume I’m older than you, so you can call me Ate ok. So where do you come from?”
A tiny voice was heard from their house; it was Maggie who was running towards them with a lollipop in her mouth.
“You’re so mean Ate! Don’t tell me you haven’t left any chocolate for me?” the tone of voice created a sense of guilt in Charyl’s part. She smiled at her little sister and led her towards the gate. “Mama is waiting for you inside. She heard you and asked me to fetch you.”
“Don’t worry Maggie I promise next time, I’ll buy you some chocolates.” She consoled her sister and placed her arm around her shoulder.
“And by the way Rodel,” she turned her back at the lad and gave him a jovial smile. “Let’s have a talk some other time. It’s nice meeting you.”
The boy smiled and gave her back a reassuring nod.
Later that night, they gathered at the table for dinner and asked her father about Rodel’s family. Mr. Cortes who was not used to hearing his daughter asking about the neighborhood gave her a questioning stare.
“I haven’t known them but someone told me they came from Cotabato City. They are evacuees of the war.”
“Ahh, the war between the military and the MILF, it was in the news this morning” Charyl added.
“What’s an MILF papa?” Her sister interrupted.
“Sssh, you shouldn’t interfere with the talks of the grown-ups Maggie.”
“But I’m almost as big as you Ate!”
“Haven’t I told you not to quarrel at the table?” Their father reminded them and gave them both a stern look. Mrs. Cortes was silent at the other end of the table, nibbling her food. She was tall woman, average in size and wearing her flowered dress. With that fair skin that she had, a beautiful nose resembling those of an eagle and a nice curling hair, one could tell at that point she was just on her late thirties, as Charyl’s classmates would always tell her every time her mother was the one attending their PTCA meeting because her father who was the president of the association had to travel to far cities and towns for days or weeks to attend seminars and congress. And they couldn’t believe what Charyl declared her mother was turning forty that December but never mentioned about the age of her father who was younger than her. She took care of her body intensively like how she managed all her household chores, and that made her great for Charyl as she would tell all her friends.
The scene was unnatural in the family. They ate in silence. Their father taught his two daughters to always show their good manners at the table. He was always worried about his dignity as the vice-mayor in their town; about the breeding of his decent and kind daughters, about his being a venerable padre de familia and a good husband. And that decency included not probing into other people’s lives that even their story, their marriage, was never talked about to his daughters.
For almost the sixteen years of their marriage Charyl never heard her mother or her father tell about how they ended up marrying each other. She only got to hear their story from her friends outside who also heard them from their parents, but oftentimes it was always Aling Wending whom she insisted on retelling the story of her parents. She would tease the old woman that if she didn’t tell her she won’t be buying in her small sari-sari store anymore. Yet it was not the teasing of Charyl that compelled her to grant her request. Somehow it was because she was the daughter of the vice mayor and that she felt the responsibility as well as everybody else to do the things that would please them. They were friends of everybody.
Charyl was also amazed by her abrupt attitude an the table. It was later that she realized how sudden and inappropriate her question was. It created a slight indignation in her father towards them, for their defiance of their table manners. She was interested in the young boy she met a while ago. He was slow-smiling yet she could feel his joviality and friendliness. That morning when she saw him, she felt a different jealousy for the ease and warm outlook in the boy’s face as he bicycled easily on that road.
The next day they didn’t have a class in Creative Writing. Charyl spent the whole afternoon dealing into Robert Frost’s poems. She quoted some of her favorite lines from one of the poems in an anthology and softly whispered it.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
“And miles to go before I sleep.” She repeated the last line and stopped. She looked at her window and saw her mother’s orchidarium. The bright and beautiful colors of the different orchids gave her coolness after her body was doomed by the hot and dusty afternoon. The bending dancing ladies looked like bowing subjects paying tribute to a powerful queen. She smiled at the thought, imagining herself as the queen and walked to and fro in an upright way.
She was examining the bright petals of the orchids when she noticed Rodel passing by, carrying his loaded pail.
“Rodel!” she called and the boy turned. He saw Charyl and gave her an uncertain look. “Come over here, I’ve got something to give you.”
“I can’t, I have to feed Mikhail and my sister.” He came near the walls of the gate to hear her better for a conversation.
“Can I come with you?” she asked. “But it’s alright if you don’t want.”
He was hesitant at first but his face brightened when he remembered the old books that he needed to fix and he needed someone to help him.
“Sure you can come if you promise to help me repair all my treasures.” And he flaunted a convincing smile.
“Treasures? What treasures?” She asked in amusement.
“Yes, of course, my treasures. Just come over and I’ll show them.”
The path leading to their house was small, covered with little stones and pebbles. They passed by small houses that never looked like houses to Charyl. They were made of nipa and she could see through the bare doors which hang thin curtains for decorations, the floors that were made of bamboos and where various plastic toys were scattered everywhere. She stared at the colorful bougainvillas and gumamelas growing in the big and old cans piled at the corners of their backyard. She felt the appreciation for the housewives who created these little flower gradens. Women were pretty creative, she thought, and the image of her mother spraying her orchids appeared in her mind; her lovely mother who never grew tired of taking care of her flowers as her daughters.
“That’s our house over there.” He cut off the silence and pointed his mouth towards it.
They walked silently and she acknowledged how blessed they were compared to these people. . She was thankful her parents never raised her and Maggie in place like that. They lived in a concrete house where all their necessities where provided in an instant after their request, except for the unnecessary things where they should earn the prize of having them by saving the money themselves.
“Who’s with you there right now?” she asked to cover up with her ruminations since they entered the small path walk leading to Rodel’s house.
“My little sister. I don’t know where my parents go. They leave everyday after breakfast to find food to feed us.”
“You mean you left your sister alone? How old is she?’
“About your sister’s age.” He stopped there and walked in silence. After a while she asked. “That girl who came to you yesterday, she’s your sister right?”
“Yeah, she’s four years old and her name is Maggie.”
Around a corner, Rodel’s house appeared. It was set far back from the main street, behind the little houses with bamboo fences. The house was illuminated by the massive sun glowing in the West, the light beaming in through the small windows with bamboo bars. Their windows were decorated with pink pongee carefully tucked in the left and right edges. She was surprised by the tidiness of that small house that looked the same from the outside with the other houses that they passed by. The living room was small and it was bare; with only a long wooden bench standing near the window and a divider between the kitchen and their sala.
“I want to show you my treasures,” he said and raised his arm, moving his skinny hand in graceful flourish, shaped like a tilde pointing to piled books in an old bookstand.
Charyl smile at the unexpected gesture of the boy.
“Well yeah I got it. So where did you get these books?”
“They’re from a friend way back in our old hometown in Cotabato, in Upi. Some I got from our school. I stole them.”
“You what?” She was becoming more curious.
“You know my teachers there were so evil and crazy to just burn the old books in our library. It would be a big regret if I just leave these precious books in the graves of their ashes. So when I had the chance to sneak, I gathered some and ran with the books.” The tone was a simple confession with enough honesty in it.
“That was amazing of you.” She said in surprise.
He smiled at the complement and pointed the wooden bench near the window. “Have a seat.”
She sat down carefully in the old bench. She thought that the leg would break, afraid she might knock over. “By the way, where’s your little sister?”
“She might still be sleeping in our little room.”
“What time will she be waking up?”
“I don’t know, maybe later.”
Her eyes wandered from the small corners of the room towards the heap of books on the shelf.
“You really like books, don’t you?”
“They’re part of my fantasy.” He got one of the books from the pile and carefully scanned the pages. “They’re old but they are still fine.”
“I like fantasies too. They take me to strange and fantastic places.”
“I learned from a friend; there are only two kinds of people, those who dream and those who don’t. I prefer to be a dreamer.”
Charyl was astounded, struck by the response of the lad. She didn’t expect the simplicity of his words yet with a tint of wisdom in it. She usually heard those things from her elementary teachers.
“I’m just a plain dreamer, but who knows” he shrugged his shoulder and held up the book, “I’ll be the next genius like Einstein or perhaps a good strategist like Hussein.” He let out a loud laughter for his odd thought.
“You’re kidding, Einstein is great but you don’t probably want to become a bomber.” Charyl was also giggling.
From the little room adjacent to the kitchen, they heard a low thud on the floor. It was Rodel’s little sister, Baningning who was sitting on the floor cradling a ball. Rodel lifted her up and brought her to the table and fed his sister. She had never done that to Maggie. They never had a helper or a yaya at home but her mother had been very careful and dedicated to all her responsibilities as a housewife. She stayed at home and did all the household chores. She never complained at the unending treadmill of her role. For Charyl she resembled a perfect beautiful orchid in her orchidarium, alive and fresh everyday.
She looked at Rodel feeding his little sister spoonfuls of lugaw and bits spilled on the floor. If she was in his place she would have surely shouted at Baningning for such clumsiness and she admired Rodel’s patience.
“I haven’t told you” he said “my sister isn’t normal. I heard from Tatay she has this some kind of syndrome. What do you call that? That was... anyway, everybody says she’s a mongoloid.”
She didn’t know how to react; she could feel the sympathy creeping inside her and a lump in her throat. How could have these people endure problems such as this, she thought. They might be brave and courageous enough to live in such conditions.
“How did she acquire that?”
“I don’t know. It runs through the blood of my family; my cousin got one too.”
“Can it be cured?”
The shrug in his shoulders was enough for Charyl to stay silent. He didn’t know the answer and she didn’t have anything to say either. Even if that illness could be cured, still with the state of their condition she knew they couldn’t afford it financially.
She wanted to ask about his old hometown in Cotabato, his family, the war, everything that would support or disprove the rumors, but she was afraid she might take something away from him. Maybe that wasn’t the right time; she convinced herself.
‘You mentioned a name earlier.” She asked to digress from their topic.
“Ahh Mikhail? That’s the name of the barako of our neighbor. I’m feeding it for the old lady and I got some payment for it. After I feed Baningning, I’ll be feeding him also.”
“How much do you earn from that?”
“Just enough, five pesos every pail”
“What are you going to do with your money?”
“I’m saving for something. I heard the fiesta here will be on August. I’d like to buy a pair of slippers for me and Baningning. Our journey would be easier if we have better slippers. ”
Charyl was caught dumbfounded. There was the tone of maturity in the boy’s voice that she didn’t anticipate from his smallness.
Within days and weeks, they grew close to each other. Charyl helped him fix his books and covered them with recycled cellophanes she brought from their house. During weekend afternoons she accompanied Rodel in getting the leftovers from the neighborhood and helped in feeding Baningning. It was not only her compassion for Rodel’s condition but that she found her closeness towards Rodel like a sibling. She treated him and his sister the way she treated Maggie. She cared for them like a responsible and concerned older sister.
One afternoon she was looking at the flowers her mother had just bought three weeks ago, a new kind of orchid—dendrobiums as she introduced them to her. Her mother was quite particular to the orchids she brought home. She even mentioned the name where it originated; dendron tree and bios life. Sometimes she enjoyed listening to her mother’s lectures on flowers but oftentimes it annoyed her so easily—memorizing names which she thought has nothing to do with their lives. But she was surprised that afternoon to see the new kind of orchids bore delicate petals so quickly. It was soothing in the eyes; their lavender, bright orange and yellow colors preserved the humidity of the afternoon.
There was the raising of loud clamor of trumpets and drums when August came, the much-awaited fiesta in their town. Charyl and Rodel were both excited, they would love to see young boys and girls in their colorful costumes and painted bodies parading and dancing in the streets; it was the Sirong festival. The streets were full of people and loud noises of cars and other vehicles were screeching to avoid running over them. These were the people from all walks of life engaging in that once in a year celebration of their patron saint: the Immaculada Concepcion. People commemorated the feast of their saint to acknowledge the abundance of their harvests, the good health of their family, the happiness and prosperity of the town. These people believed their celebration was blessed by the Virgin Mother for that bright and fair day. There were the colorful banderitas that hung from windows of opposite houses on the streets.
The big park at the right side of the church where huge trees were growing in verdancy, provided a resting place for the people; men and women who were tired after the long procession, youngsters who were too exhausted after walking for hours in the streets chattering with their friends and cousins, and drunk men who were about to drift into the comatose stage. There were the benches around that enticed lovers to take their seats and enjoy the moment and the sight around and the big fountains where different birds gathered and rest for a while in times these fountains were not in function; these little birds that seemed to watch people and read their thoughts or familiarize their movements; each of the folks doing their own business.
The morning was spent by the town folks preparing for the procession of their patron saint. The priest with the white robe as well as his young sacristans, old women in mantillas, middle-aged women chatting and others who were silent carrying their babies gathered outside the church after the mass and marched in the streets, past the park, past the small and big houses under the avenues of acacias and narras towards the market and back to the church where they started. Only Mr. and Mrs. Cortes joined in the procession. They left their daughters who were still sleeping in their beds. The girls were tired after watching the Palabwanay sa Awit; a singing contest in the plaza the other night with their cousins which they found boring and so they transfered to the concert of the well-known bands coming from different cities in the gym.
It was already eight in the morning when Charyl woke up, arranging her bed hastily. She looked at the clock on the wall and realizing she was almost late for the motorbike race event that morning, she quickly ran downstairs and headed to the bathroom.
By fifteen minutes past eight, she was on Rodel’s house. She saw Aling Tesing, almost done washing the dishes while her husband Mang Selmo was finishing his cup of coffee in the little kitchen table.
“Good morning Aling Tesing and Mang Selmo!” She greeted them with a cheerful smile. That was an unusual morning for Charyl, catching Rodel’s parents in their house. She never saw them by morning in her visits, except only on late afternoons, after the six o’clock bell ring in the distant church.
“Yes good morning too! You’re very early today, Rodel’s still asleep but you can wake him up.” She replied.
Aling Tesing was a good and industrious woman. She had a gentle voice and whenever she spoke, Charyl would feel the kindheartedness and acceptance in that house. She was pretty older than her mother, with the smooth wrinkles on her forehead and white strands on her long hair. Mang Selmo was always silent and Charyl could feel his indifference towards her. She would seldom hear him talk. Her father was a strict man, but compared to Rodel’s father, she felt like Mang selmo got the whole world on his back to carry. Maybe their awful situation was enough to aggravate all his burdens.
“By the way Selmo,” she added “finish your coffee quickly, I don’t want to embarrass the Vice-mayor.”
Mang Selmo didn’t answer and minutes later, he brought his mug to the kitchen sink.
“Don’t worry Aling Tesing, Mama and Papa are still in the church. I think they’ll be home later pa.”
“Thank you Charyl. Please tell Rodel to take care of his sister, I’ll bring their lunch later.” She requested her.
They went out of their house quickly. Charyl didn’t had the chance to ask her if she could bring Rodel and Baningning with her to the motorcade event. Maybe she will aske her later.
“Rodel wake up!” Charyl shook him. He was bending with a faded blanket on his back on the old mat he shared with his parents and his sister who was still sleeping beside him; like a pupa curling in refuge. “Come on, the motorcade will be starting in a few minutes!”
Rodel was yawning and squinting when he got up from the floor. “Wait, can I bring Baningning with me? No one will look after her. Nanay and Tatay are the cooks in your house right?”
“Yes, I saw them this morning.”
“We can drop by and leave Baningning there. Five minutes, I will just wash my face.” He ran quickly towards the sink and afterwards dressed himself and his little sister who got up slowly and was still rubbing her eyes, while Charyl helped her change her clothes.
The field where the motorcade was held was fully packed with people coming from distant barangays and neighboring towns. Some traveled far just to witness the spectacular event. The riders wore gears and their motorcycles were decorated with little streamers of different colors; blue, silver, red but they were removed when the contest began. The spectators around the field as well as the contestants were vastly excited. Rodel counted them; there were ten of them who would join the first round. In the center of the grassy ground, little mountains of soil rose like small islands and on top a young man was raising a banner to signify the start of the game and holding a handy board on his left hand where the number of rounds was written.
Charyl watched her companion who was squinting at the sunlit blue sky. “What are you watching over there? Do you see motor riders flying?” she was teasing him.
“You wish!” and laughed, “I can feel the heavy winds and I’m looking at the clouds. I think it will rain.”
“Don’t be foolish. You wouldn’t want to screw up this event just because of the weather.” She protested.
The heavy gusts of the wind were enough to make the banners marking the game flutter every now and then. With the signal of the man on top of the little tower at the front edge of the field, the contest began. The crowds were shouting as each rider speeded up their motorcycles and flashed while leaping up the mounds. They were like grasses circling around the field waiting to be tossed off by the wind of fate.
The game was stopped for a while when one rider fell from his motorcycle accidentally in one of his leaps on the fourth round; the crowds were in a sudden commotion. The members of the medical team who were assigned to the game rushed towards the van waiting outside the gate, carrying the young man who fell off.
Charyl watched them in terror; her companion followed the running crowds with his eyes.
“You wouldn’t really know, accidents do come when you least expect them.” he murmured while shaking his head in sympathy.
“That’s awful! Such a misfortune!” she declared and sighed heavily.
“No one is to be blamed really. Nobody wished for it but I’m sure everybody is prepared for this. Accidents in games like this should be anticipated.”
‘I hope he’s not injured badly.”
“Too bad he won’t be able to join the last round.”
“I guess I can’t take of this anymore. Another accident will make me faint.”
“Sssh, you’re hoping for it.” he stopped her.
“I’m not!” she protested “Rodel can we just go home? Besides I’m getting hungry, I haven’t taken my breakfast. I was too badly excited for this.” She pleaded.
“If that’s what you want.”
The fresh air in the morning was replaced by hot blasts of wind at noon but there were few a spots in the sky filled with dark clouds. They walked the dusty street filled with walking people whom Charyl didn’t know the destinations, others they passed by sitting on the benches of the plaza, under the luxuriant leaves of the acacias. These people were just competing with the vehicle problems on the street, she thought.
They had just arrived at the Cortes’ house when tiny drops of rain slowly began to fall. The house was filled with many people. They had a lot of visitors, big people from the neighboring towns; the mayors and the vice-mayors of Madrid, Carmen and many others, politicians who were friends of Charyl’s father. The living room was occupied by her mother’s friends who were enjoying themselves, eating desserts, laughing and chatting noisily like bees, while the politicians gathered around the table talking about the latest events in the country, their plans and their concerns about their towns as if the event was meant for a meeting or a discussions on politics.
The two made their way at the back of their house and appeared at the kitchen. Aling Tesing, Rodel’s mother was surprised to see them. She was cuddling Baningning who was asleep on her lap. Mang Selmo was busy chopping the pork on the table outside. The smell of the kitchen was dominated by the nilagang baka boiling in the big pot which Mang Selmo set on the stove before doing his next task. The aroma of it made the two hungrier.
“Rodel, can you take Baningning home? You see, I wasn’t able to help your father in the kitchen because your sister is disturbing me.” Aling Tesing was complaining.
“But Nay, it’s still raining,” he protested, he didn’t want to go home yet. “I haven’t brought an umbrella! Besides we don’t have umbrella either.”
“Maybe later, you can just get her so that I can do my work.”
“Aling Tesing, Baningning can sleep in my room,” Charyl suggested “if the rain stops I and Rodel can send her home.”
“But your mother might be angry” she hesitated.
“I don’t think so, besides she’s busy with her visitors.” She assured her.
“Alright, that’s very kind of you Charyl. Rodel take your sister. Be careful not to wake her up, she might be crying again and disturb the visitors.”
“Yes Nay” he answered. He brought his sister towards Charyl’s room and laid her on the soft bed. It was a beautiful room, he noticed. There was the ambience of pinkness in it; the room was painted pink all over and the window was decorated with pink flowery curtain in which he could see through the street like a big gaping mouth of a higante receiving the falling waters from heaven. There was the little table and a chair at the foot of the bed with a pink lampshade. There was also the small shelf with piled books on top and beside it, a vase with plastic flowers. The family portraits were hung close to one another on the walls. Rodel noticed there was something common in them: the intricate yet lovely curls in their hair. The pictures were all smiling; Vice-mayor Cortes in his wide eyes glass and his wife who had a gorgeous yet reluctant smile.
“Rodel” his scrutiny was halted by Charyl’s intrusion, “I’m really hungry.”
The two went down and satisfied themselves with abundance of food on the table; lechon, afritada, steak and Rodel heaped his plate with viands and desserts, eating them hastily like a hungry beast consuming more of his customary fill. Charyl was the first to finish so she waited and watched Rodel gobbled up his food, unmindful of her watching eyes.
In her room after eating, they relished the dull moment on that rainy afternoon reading her favorite poets.
“You’re thirteen, right? Don’t you have any plan to enter high school?” Charyl asked.
“I haven’t finished my elementary.”
“But you want to go to school?”
Rodel didn’t answer. Charyl had been expecting it and she knew she had struck Rodel. For two months that passed, she got closer to him and somehow she knew him, his attitude and even his outlooks in life. There were just things that she needed to clarify. He was vocal, but there were certain things he kept for himself, for privacy. She threw questions at times but she made sure those weren’t too much to steal his privacy.
“You will be graduating on March right?” It was obvious that he didn’t want to answer the question.
“Yes.” It was the only word that she could answer in response.
“You’re very lucky; you have parents who can afford to send you to a private school.” There was a tinge of pain when he said it. It was not jealousy or some sort; his words were rather an anticipation of her deprivation. She felt a shame for herself, for growing tired of the almost nine years she spent in her old private school, and regret for having asked the question.
There was a long silence in that room. Charyl’s eyes were into the book she was holding. She wasn’t reading the poems inside it; it was just a mere blank stare. The rain continued, its sound on the roof like pebbles crashing on big stones.
“We better read newspapers or magazines and learn something than becoming stupid in these poems.” he declared sullenly.
Charyl turned furious by what she heard and shouted back at him, initiating their childish prattle. They argued their sides waking up Baningning who awoke alarmed by the blaring voices and resorted to a loud cry.
“What’s happening here?” Mrs. Cortes was upset by the noise in the room that reached up the visitor’s ears in the sala. “Charyl! Why are they here in your room?” the sight of Baningning who was now weeping softly, maybe frightened by the sharp voice of Mrs. Cortes, made her even more cross. “Take them out here, go!” she demanded.
Charyl led the two who were terribly frightened by the sharp voice of her mother down to the kitchen. His mother, who was ladling the bihon she was cooking on a large pan, was grumbling after Rodel told her what happened upstairs. She was blaming him for what happened. Charyl who was silent in one corner felt guilty and ashamed of her mother’s treatment towards her friends.
An hour passed and the rain ceased. Outside everything was lulled in silence, the little holes on the road which were unpaved by concrete cement and asphalt were filled with rainwater. Rodel decided to go home with Baningning but Charyl convinced them to go with her and watch the Sirong event in the nearby elementary school.
“Please Rodel, I’ll pay your entrance fee” she was pleading. “You see, I can’t bring Maggie, she’s asleep.”
“Ok, but how about Baningning? Can we bring her?” he asked.
“Yes sure. I guess she will also enjoy the sight.”
“So what are we waiting for? Let’s go!” he said gaily.
They walked the long street slowly, Rodel carrying Baningning at his back and Charyl drawing attention to the beautiful dresses on the shops. They passed by the toy store which made Baningning want to get loose from Rodel’s hold, speaking her words irregularly and pointing to the different toys that she saw; the teddy bears smiling to convince those who passed by to get them out of that store, the balloons in firm grasp of the vendor swaying elegantly in all its charming colors as if wanting to get loose towards the clear weightless sky.
“You’re going to buy slippers for Baningning, right?” she reminded him as they passed by the shoe store.
“I want to, but my saving’s not enough. I saw a pair of beautiful sandals in that store the other day.” His voice had a tinge of regret as she continued walking.
“How much do they cost?” she asked.
“About fifty, I’ve got thirty pesos here. Maybe I’ll buy that next time. Four pails of food for Mikhail and I’ll have the money!”
“Let’s buy them!”
“I told you, I don’t have enough money for now.”
“I can lend you if you want. I’ve one hundred pesos here, one ticket costs only twenty pesos and three tickets cost sixty. I’ll have forty pesos left.” She gave him a wide smile. She thought that was the only thing she could do to appease them for what happened in their house a moment ago.
“Are you sure? I can only pay you back next week.” But he wasn’t even sure if he could earn the money by that time. He just wanted to get the sandal at that point and the truth was that he was praying for this chance; for someone to lend him money even if he would give back twice the payment. That was how desperate he was.
“Yes, of course!” she exclaimed and pulled Baningning towards the store.
The attendants and cashier stared at them when they entered the store; everywhere Charyl could feel their scrutinizing eyes, the way they looked at Rodel’s sister with disgusted eyes as if Baningning was a headline in a newspaper which they needed to peer at and examine closely. She wanted to yell at their faces, mind your own business!
“Miss, you’re Vice-mayor’s daughter right? Is that girl your sister?” the cashier asked her when she paid the sandals at the counter. Rodel and Baningning were following at her back like innocent puppies tailing their mother. She was getting more annoyed with those questions. What then if Baningning was her sister, she thought, would that affect the way they would look at her father? Were they implying her father was a politician who was hiding something like the possibility of hiding a defective daughter if certainly the case was that they were really siblings?
“Miss,” she stressed the word, “is that question part of your job?” and flaunted her sarcastic smile. The cashier, quite ashamed by Charyl’s reaction, turned silent and slowly wrapped the item. Even when they walked out the place, Charyl could still feel their gazes; pins that were seeping through her back while she wasn’t sure whether Rodel also felt that way. She wanted to ask him but she couldn’t even dare. And if in case he was hurt by the prejudiced looks of these people. She believed she could handle them. There are these people, she thought, who feel themselves much superior to those with defects, what a pity for them!
They arrived at the place where the Sirong event was held; like the motorcade field, there were many people who gathered around to witness the dramatic dances of the participants coming from different towns. The ground was still wet after the heavy rain that threatened the certainty of the event. There were five delegates from different towns and they were all astounding in their colorful costumes while others wore only bahags and their bodies painted which were brown. Their enormous and grand props showed their great effort and time in preparing for that event; and there was only one goal: to impress the judges and bag the gold. The host announced the start of the contest and the first delegate from Placer del Norte entered the ground where they performed well. Exceptional! And the crowds clapped in approval.
Charyl and Rodel, who was carrying Baningning on his back, were running to catch up with the first performers. They didn’t mind the crowds they passed by who were throwing glances at the young girl who was smiling gaily at the populous sight while being carried by the small boy who was perspiring with the weight on his back.
“How pitiful they are,” Charyl heard them whisper to one another. She didn’t want to pay attention to what these people had been rattling, but they won’t escape her keen ears. She forced herself to be heedless of their prattles; she talked to Rodel and focused on the performers with the bahags, the dancers in Manuvu costumes wearing tribal beads, others carrying huge fans made of anahaw. They danced and performed gracefully but these were all just shows, a perfect entertainment of staged wars between the conqueror and the natives. The costumes and paints showed diverse groups of people staging their story which were not their own.
Sometime an early morning toward the middle of December, the sky let down the heavy weight it was carrying and poured down pails of water to the brown earth. Charyl just awoke from her quiet slumber in her bedroom and stayed at their sala watching the rainwater drop heavily from the gutter in the roof. She gazed through the window at the wet yellow durantas gleaming under the rain.
“Up so early?” her father said, passing and glancing at her over the tops of his eyeglass, holding his mug of coffee. She just gave a quick look at her father and turned to meditate again at the mesmerizing sound of the rain.
She remembered once when she helped Rodel get his regular pail of load one afternoon in early September, and she asked. “Why don’t you get this early in the morning?”
He replied, “What to catch early worm?” and laughed. “I don’t care about worms, I only care for Mikhail.” and laughed out.
Waking in the morning when there was no class was really a peculiar occurrence she realized, and she was not used to getting up early. She decided to bring Rodel’s family the arroz caldo that her mother had just cooked for their breakfast. She sneaked in the kitchen and walked the drenched streets in her raincoat and umbrella towards her destination.
They sat on the long wooden bench by the window. Charyl was amusing herself with the raindrops and Rodel was spooning the arroz caldo on the small bowl while Baningning was crawling on the floor, enjoying herself with her toys. Charyl hummed an old Christmas song, Mary’s boy child Jesus Christ was born on Christmas day.
“Christmas season, has always been cold.” She said. “But I love holidays especially when there is no class.” She waited for an answer but there was only silence. Rodel kept nibbling his food.
“What do you do during Christmas season Rodel?” She turned to him to make sure he will answer her. “I mean your preparations for this occasion?”
He stopped eating and watched the dark heavy sky. He swallowed first the remaining food on his mouth before he answered.
“In my old hometown,” he said “December was no occasion festive at all.” He stopped and stared at distance. “I have an older sister.”
“You have? Where is she?” she asked.
“She was killed...” he paused, “in a bus bombing, a year ago. It was also December.” He glanced at her and gazed again at the gloomy sky.
“She used to bring us delicious food, every Christmas Eve. I told you, December for the people there was never a festivity, but in our house, we got to eat special foods like pancit and lechon manok, though we can hear falling bombs and gunshots ringing in a distance. We didn’t mind them, the MILF and the militaries, competing for the loudest shots. The war was pretty normal, gunshots clear in the day, piercing in the night. We weren’t afraid; we believed they won’t hurt us. We had faith, they will spare us. There was this man, an MILF commander, Al Haj Bravo as he introduced himself, knocked on our door one night, asking for some food. My father let him in, I was on our little room, tucking Baningning in bed, but I can hear them. Their voices clear in my ears. He promised Nanay and Tatay many things. The MILFs had an issue, about these ancestral domains. He said that if the government would give them their rights, everybody will be in peace. He was eloquent; I knew he had convinced Nanay and Tatay. It was a serious talk, after that, I heard noise in the kitchen, a clamor of plates and the man was gone. My sister, Ate Remi arrived an hour later, I was very glad to see her. I was so excited to open her pasalubongs. She was working as a saleslady in the city. She never finished her high school but she was very intelligent and hardworking. She got a good job. She was motivating me, supporting my financial needs and encouraging me to finish my education. She brought lots of delicious foods that night, a box of Dunkin Donut, packs of chocolates and breads, pancit bihon and my favorite lechon manok. We were so happy that night. It was cold, and strange, we never heard gunshots. Everything was peaceful and quiet; the stars were bright and clear outside. We enjoyed the food, I’ve never seen Baningning so happy, she can’t talk but I knew she was very happy. I saw the glint in her eyes as she cradled one piece of that Bavarian-filled donut in her bosom. Nanay and Tatay were laughing loudly in the table while Ate Remi cracked her jokes. I was also giggling with them as I nibbled the yummy wings of lechon manok. Moment later, the nearby church bell rang vociferously at the struck of twelve, after a series of ringing, everything was quiet again, only the buzzing of nocturnal insects could be heard somewhere, piercing the night. We slept peacefully that night. I even dreamt of Ate Remi, she was smiling as we swung gaily on a see saw. We awoke early by morning, because Ate Remi will be going back to Davao, she couldn’t make a leave because that would be a very busy shopper’s day in the mall where she worked and she needed to go back by eight which was her scheduled duty. We accompanied her up to the tricycle terminal. She hugged us very tight, she bade us goodbye and reminded me to take care of Nanay, Tatay and Baningning, and the tricycle headed towards the bus terminal. By afternoon, a neighbor came shouting and running towards our house, telling us horrifying news: my sister was one of the victims of the bombing in the terminal. Someone saw her, an old man. She was standing in one corner, waiting for the bus bound for Davao, and the bus came, just a moment it arrived, the bus exploded. It was a broken glass from the window of the bus that struck her chest leading to her instant death. The old man saw a tall guy in red bonnet and black scarf, that guy leave a small cartoon in the bus entrance and disappeared before the bus exploded. Later in the news, he was identified as Al Haj Bravo. I could feel the outrage deep inside me; I wanted to kill that MILF commander. Tatay was comforting Nanay who was crying loudly after hearing the news. We wanted justice for her sudden death, we condemned the MILFs, but we can do nothing and Nanay was afraid of what might happen next. I could be the next victim, or Tatay or my poor sister. We escaped and came here trying to forget the brutality of that place but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t burry that dreadful incident. It still recurred to me over and over again. At night I could still dream of broken glasses flying everywhere, they’re horrible and they’re haunting me, haunting those people I love.”
There was the sadness in his words and Charyl could deeply sense his fear and pain. He was glaring blankly at the rain outside. The raindrops fell heavily and crashing into the open ground but there was the penetrating silence between them.
Charyl felt numb, she couldn’t even dare ask again about that story, it was a piercing reality that was slapped to her face and she wished she could escape that, the way Rodel’s family had run off from all the misfortunes they had.
Rodel will be a full-grown man after ten years. He won’t finish his education in high school though he will be lucky enough to be given the opportunity to be the only grantee of the scholarship given by Charyl’s father. He will be a man of morals and dignity and on his twenty-third birthday on midsummer April, he will disappear suddenly. Rumors will spread that he joined the group who condemns the evil and faulty doings of those politicians in the government, who believe in the ideals and the necessity of revolution. By early morning of November on that same year, a solitary fisherman will take sight of a body wrap in cloth floating on a river, strained in the outspreading nipa palm roots near the Macapagal Bridge. Later it will be identified as the body of Baningning; her body with burned spots left by pressing a hot coin. This sight will leave the growing crowd in extremity of disgust, sympathy and terror. Charyl will deeply grieve for Baningning’s death; the town folks believed she was with the rebels, taken care of, after the death of Aling Tesing and Mang Selmo. She will condemn those who did severe cruelty to this helpless even retarded woman. She will learn later about Rodel’s death after their encounter with the militaries in the far east, in the sloping mountains of Diwata. She will feel even more the grievance for his sudden death.
Another ten years and Charyl will be sitting at the chairs on the stage reserved for the candidates of the 2050 election. But she will not be the running candidate herself; she will be supporting her husband who will be running for mayor in their town. She will be his campaign manager, the ever-supportive wife of the intelligent and prominent businessman in town, Francis Plaza.
Down on the dusty road, a young boy will be seen driving an old motorcycle. The screeching noise will irritate the whole crowd and the candidate speaking on the stage. The motorcycle will pass the big acacias, bypassing the watching and listening crowd and the candidates upstage who will be very busy fanning themselves because of the dreadful heat of the afternoon. They will whisper to one another from time to time. Some will be listening to the speech of one candidate at the front, as if to apprehend seriously of what they are hearing but at the back of their minds are the possibilities of their anticipated victories.
On her chair, Charyl will remember her dead parents; her venerable parents who made her into a decent woman she thinks she is now. She will think of her five-year old daughter, Alexandra, who have ADHD or the hyperactive syndrome; a vivacious and blessed child, provided not just the things she needed but with all those she wanted. She will think of Rodel and their friendship that endured the fast fleeting of time; the arbiter of life and death, he once said.
The sky above will seem weightless, the void color of blue expanding all over it. The horizon beyond will paint a mark of emptiness and despair in Charyl’s mind.
She will see the bright and colorful orchids of her mother at the back of her brain, withering under the creeping white heat of the sun, the wilting that seems like a mockery to those people who lived their pretentious life. And she will clap absent-mindedly after the splendid speech of her husband; the scripted speech she made five years ago since her husband tried to run for the mayor’s position.
