Love in the Rice Fields

by Macario Pineda

  And then, in an explosion of grief in the face of his understanding, Tata Teban felt the tears now freely flowing down his face.

  Ka Martin’s Heaven

  When Ka Martin opened his eyes, he noticed Ester, his fifteen-year-old and youngest daughter sleeping, face down on one side of the mat. The girl had dozed off while fanning the sick farmer, to drive away the noontime heat.

  A faint smile briefly crossed the farmer’s face, already past the prime of life. He stretched his arm hoping to push away his daughter’s long hair loosely spread out, but the effort was not enough. The old man ruefuly shook his head. He had weakened considerably in a matter of a few hours.

  Ka Martin stared at the beams of light passing through the small holes of the wooden wall. The sun was about to set. It must be Tomas giving the calf its bath near the well adjoining the mango tree. The calf was bleating. Perhaps its selfish mother had one again refused to give the small one its udder. It was Maria feeding the hen near the rice grinder. The piglets had hearty appetites and were voracious eaters. He had purchased four of them in Sta. Maria before harvest, but he gave one to the Pascual couple. Suddenly the chicks began chirping. Tagpi, the dog, had again invaded their space, and sowed terror. It was Doro who was pushing the cart after spreading fertilizer in the field. The male carabao, now tethered, bellowed. Doro really liked Garay, the carabao. It had been a kind beast. The cacophony of sounds in the late afternoon reached Ka Martin loud and clear.

  Careful steps treading on the creaking bamboo flooring interrupted Ka Martin’s musing. Someone was calling out to him, “Father.” It was Kanding. Would he like to eat a bowl of porridge? The old man slowly turned his head in Kanding’s direction. She was such a good daughter. She talked and behaved just like Ka Masang, his wife who had died ten tears ago. He weakly shook his head. He might be hungry, she suggested. The old man managed to smile. And pointed with his eyes at Kanding’s youngest sister asleep.

  Tomas was calling from the ground. Was his father awake? Kanding said something. Doro muttered some words and steps from the ground rushed up the stairs. Then Ka Martin heard the flooring groan as more feet walked on it.

  They wanted to know how he felt today. Had the herbal doctor’s prescribed concoction of kiluwa done him any good? Wouldn’t it be better to have the doctor from town see him? His condition might improve with the doctor’s medicine. That’s right, said a voice that was Kanding’s.

  Doro came into the room. And it was Maria, carrying the bucket for the pig’s food, going up the stairs. Ester woke up. The girl yawned, stretched her muscles and with a smile on her face, turned to the old man.

  An inexplicable rush of overpowering happiness overcame the sick farmer. His children really loved him with all their heart. If only Masang had lived to see them. Ester had just turned five when his wife passed away. A, how he wished Masang were by his side.

  The old man took a deep breath. Were his children aware of the happiness that was his as he watched over these lives he had nurtured with God’s help and his own untiring labor and effort?

  Ka Martin suddenly felt an unusually sharp stab of pain in his chest. The tight chain within his body suddenly snapped. The old man closed his eyes. A thick mantle of darkness descended upon his consciousness.

  When he opened his eyes again, light was streaming through the window. The fiery-red rays of the setting sun flooded the whole house. The two candles had been lit in front of the small statue of Christ, and swayed and flickered as they cavorted with the gentle breeze. And the women were kneeling in front of the small altar.

  Ka Martin approached the window facing the pale western horizon. The rays of the sole sparkling star had gradually suffused the sky. Ka Martin turned and looked behind his shoulder and momentarily gazed at the prayers in their slow ascent to the heavens like the white smoke of the fragrant incense. He turned his face towards the western sky and without any hesitation allowed himself to be transported towards the star beckoning to him.

  2

  In an instant, Ka Martin found himself in the midst of a strange vastness that taxed the imagination. Surrounding him was terrifying darkness. Facing him, from an impossible distance, was an incomparable explosion of light. And reigning imperiously in the vast expanse was absolute stillness.

  As the thick, black mantle of darkness enveloped him, Ka Martin experienced such great terror and trepidation surging through his veins. And to arouse more fear, the implacable darkness seemed to stir menacingly, ready to pounce on him. Such horrific thought merely reinforced Ka Martin’s suspicion that the darkness was hiding a horrifying monster that at any moment could devour his body. Crushed by terror beyond words, and finding himself without any possible exit, and convinced that the dangerous, evil force would soon smash him to smithereens, Ka Martin took a deep breath and resigned his fate to the will of a compassionate God. Instantly, the terror of annihilation vanished and assumed the shape of a gentle hand extended in mercy.

  Despite this recent transformation in his surroundings, Ka Martin felt strange. He was not sure if his body had been wrapped in destructive fire or death-inflicting cold. Neither could he figure out if a mysterious force was dragging him, or if he was suspended in mid-air. Nor could he say if the passing moments amounted to years or mere seconds. In the midst of such absolute stillness and peace, anything was possible: that he was both dead and alive, as small and insignificant as a common flea or as majestic as a mountain, negotiating distances or unmoving, in that incomparable vastness of peace and oblivion.

  Suddenly, his eyes were struck blind by a great illumination. When he lifted his eyes, he saw himself standing in front of a Powerful Being from whom radiated what seemed to him miraculous light that streamed through his being. In a few moments, that seemed to him as years of standing motionless before the Presence, his whole being was cleansed, all dark traces of past iniquities taken over by a most resplendent light.

  When Ka Martin once again raised his face, the Powerful Being was no longer there, and in front of him was a man with a gentle and pleasant countenance.

  Ka Martin looked around. The place was clean and bright. The wind was calm and gentle. And the streaming light infused warmth into each fiber of his body.

  The sweetest smile lighted the face of the man in front of him. He raised his arms and pointed to a huge gate guarding a gleaming city just a short distance away. The man took Ka Martin’s hand and together they approached the city of light.

  Upon entering the city, Ka Martin caught his breath. He looked around in wonder, stupefied. This was a city awash in glittering gold. He walked on impeccably tidy streets made of marble. The mansions vied with each other in breathtaking splendor, their gleaming facade showing off precious stones. Birds of different species hovered in the air, flew among the trees, and as rays of light struck them, their feathers shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. The trees were made of gold and ivory, abundant with leaves of emerald. The air hummed with soothing, melodious music.

  A joyful crowd of people from the blessed city came and greeted the two men. A garland of fragrant flowers was hung around the neck of the old farmer.

  Ka Martin could not help but smile, with delight. “This is it, this is it,” he murmured to himself.

  “This is the sacred city where the fortunate blessed dwell.” And Ka Martin sighed deeply, overcome by joy …”

  But when he turned to his companion, Ka Martin recognized in the other man’s eyes a strangely disturbing question that sent shivers through his being.

  3

  Ka Martin had been awake but he had not risen. After spending so many days in this splendid city, he was still overcome by a profound sense of wonder each time he greeted the day.

  The sweetest melody, the source of which defied his understanding, filled the room. How pleasant to the ears was this soothing music that did not fail to rouse him from sleep.

  Ka Martin let his gaze wander around the room. The sun had risen, its rays shining on the precious
stones spread out on the golden wall, bringing out its brilliance and sparkle, the spectacle of shifting colors heightening the marvelous loveliness of the place.

  Such pleasurable feeling of contentment almost took the old man’s breath away. What his eyes saw corresponded to the image of heaven taught to him and which he had willingly embraced since he was a child: this was heaven of palatial and gilded mansions where the blessed dwelt, where no hunger, no thirst, no death stalked those who inhabited the wondrous place.

  Ka Martin stood up. He made way his towards the window. As he moved, he felt the white garment sensuously wrapping itself around him. On earth he wore nothing but clothes made of rough materials. And now in his old age, he donned raiments softer and more precious than the costliest silk. But the same pleasurable comfort that had buoyed him up sometimes gave his increasingly troubled mind pause. The image of an Aeta he had known in childhood raced in his mind. Having been used to raw food, the Aeta immediately complained of a stomach ache after eating boiled corn.

  From where he stood, the scenery outside appeared impeccably lovely and truly awesome. The streets were beginning to come alive in preparation for all-day feasting and dining. It was a delight to watch the motley crowd, almost childlike, who seemed engrossed only with the present. Where did he hear the saying that unless one became a child, one could not enter the kingdom of God?

  Not far from the old farmer’s house stood a tree where two birds, at first glance, were at play. Ka Martin was about to shift his gaze when he noticed that the birds were not whiling away their time merely flitting to and fro.

  The old farmer hurriedly left the house. There was overflowing happiness in his heart, something he had never felt before. He slowly edged his way towards the tree until he got close, but the birds barely paid any attention, so preoccupied were they with their task.

  The birds would fly away from the tree but would invariably glide back. And when they did, they carried with them young leaves of grass they painstakingly arranged to make a nest.

  The scene moved the old man. He sat still on the thick grass and stood guard over the unfolding activity. As he watched the birds build the the nest, an inexplicable sadness settled in his heart.

  The sun was about to disappear from the horizon when the birds completed their task. Heaving a deep sigh, Ka Martin rose to his feet. His feet were leaden when he returned to his gilded mansion that lay in wait.

  Standing in the doorway was the same gentle man who first led him into the city of gold. Ka Martin’s face appeared like a moon veiled in darkness.

  “Why do you look sad, Martin?” the man asked.

  The old man said nothing. Would this gentle being understand mere earthly desires?

  Ka Martin did not answer his own question. Instead, he looked in the direction of the tree he had patiently watched over. From where the two stood, they gazed at the two birds now twittering in the nest. Such was the unparalleled delight the scene conveyed that signified genuine joy for the old farmer, a truth that, despite living in the midst of abundance and of luxury, caused envy in his heart. When Ka Martin turned to the companion, his eyes were drenched with tears.

  The man with the gentle countenance studied Ka Martin’s face. And later, when the weeping old man lifted his gaze, he was struck by the immense joy etched on the other man’s face.

  The man with the pleasant appearance embraced the old man. “You are blessed and fortunate, Martin,” he whispered into Ka Martin’s ears, “you are indeed blessed.”

  4

  A strange sound jolted Ka Martin from sleep the following morning. No melodious music that used to wake him up filled the air.

  He opened his eyes. Surprised, he sat upright. What happened, Ka Martin wondered to himself, as his eyes took in a totally diffferent scene.

  The wall made of gold was gone, even the precious stones that sparkled each morning as the sun’s rays touched them. The bed showing off its mother-of-pearl was nowhere in sight, nor the soft garments more costly than pure silk that adorned his body. The sweet melody that each morning woke him up to transport him to more enchanting dreams had been rendered silent.

  Instead, meeting his eyes was a wall made of interwoven bamboo. The roof was also made of bamboo with thatched nipa leaves. His sleeping place was a tattered mat on the floor on which rested two pillows and a rough sheet made from jute fiber. Through the window that was slighly ajar, Ka Martin caught a glimpse of a mango tree heavy with thick foliage.

  The old farmer stared at the pillows on his mat. A wave of confusion overcame him.

  He pushed away the jute bag of a blanket. He proceeded to go out of the house. He suddenly stood in his track.

  In front of the clay stove was a woman, bent over as she tried to light the fire, the very sight of whom made his heart skip a beat. Those arms browned by incessant toil in the heat of the sun, the hair now turning grey, those heels now cracked walking on the merciless parched earth: he knew this woman, he once met her in some forgotten place, at a time he could no longer remember.

  The woman looked over her shoulder. A smile lit up her face. And Ka Martin rushed towards her,

  “God forgive me, Masang,” he blurted out. “I did not recognize you at once.”

  And he gazed at that face that even in her youth was devoid of physical beauty; those wrinkled and darkened cheeks always exposed to the sun, a small nose that was not only too small but protruded between two bony cheeks below her eyes, the mouth he could not recall ever free from traces of chewed betel nut, and her hair that always smelled of coconut oil. And those hands that were his constant companion in the field; chopping pieces of wood for cooking when he was too fatigued and hardly able to lift a finger; bathing the carabaos when he would come home late at night after spending hours in the cockpit, stitching and mending his meager and tattered clothes, preparing his food, taking care of his children. Ka Martin broke out into delighted laughter.

  With their arms comfortably around each other, the couple climbed down the stairs.

  Standing by the mango tree was his favorite carabao, so strong and robust. Over there by the pomelo tree was the well where water continued to spring. The swallows were noisily twitting and twirling on top of the mango tree. The hens were cackling noisily near the hen house. Large pigs being fattened raked the ground with their snouts.

  Itim, the frisky dog, barked and wagged its tail as it excitedly ran after the couple. And from the coop came the sound of his winning rooster crowing and cackling; in its last fight, the rooster even pecked its opponent before expiring.

  Ka Martin bent down and grabbed a handful of soil. He turned to his wife. “Oy, the soil is fertile here.”

  Ka Masang answered with a smile, and in that moment, Ka Martin recognized in Ka Masang’s face the smile of the gentle guide that led him to the city of gold.

  The old man inhaled the fresh morning air. And in the gentle rustling of the leaves, Ka Martin seemed to hear a voice whispering softly: “You are blessed, Martin. You are truly blessed.”

  Mother …

  It was a modern three-story building, and from the ledge of the roof facing the street, an occasional glance thrown the way of trucks and cars roaring down below inevitably made his stomach contract. He found this fear of heights strange. Ka Masyong’s sampaloc tree in the village was much higher than this building in Ermita where he had found work as a painter, and when gathering sampaloc shoots, he would climb the branches, clamber up the edge, and did not feel dizzy as he leapt from branch to branch.

  This was perhaps what he felt when he was with Uring, he observed to himself. In that infinitesimal moment when their eyes met, he seemed to melt only to find himself hurled into some distant sky. Was that perhaps because he really loved Uring, he reasoned out. Had he found in Uring his true love?

  His paint brush continued to move up and down rhythmically on the smooth surface of the roof’s edge, but he found his mind wandering off, again and again, to the village from which he had departed.
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  They were all there—his mother, his father, his brothers and sisters, his relatives. His friends were there. And so was Uring who probably at this time was busy cooking rice for lunch. He could imagine the young woman pouring water into three cups of rice in the claypot.

  The previous evening, he had walked around hoping to catch a glimpse of Uring as she sat by the window. Fate smiled on him. Uring was where he had hoped she would be, and she greeted him.

  “Won’t you come in, Tonyo?” she spoke to him in a voice that never failed to send shivers up and down his spine. “Where are you off to, Tonyo …?”

  The longing to climb those stairs was strong, but the fear that his gesture would be misconstrued by those who would see him, and by Uring’s parents, as a sign that he was paying formal court, made him resist his desire. He would not want people to think that way. At his age of eighteen years, nobody needed to tell him that the object of his love was inordinately sensitive and more reticent than the prickliest makahiya.

  He stood his ground and resolutely remained outside the house, but in those fleeting moments when Uring gave him her smile, the angels seemed to break into a wondrous song from the sky, and as he slowly trudged towards home, after spending some time at his regular haunts, he could still hear traces of the song in his heart. It was as if he and Uring had stumbled upon a world all their own and their spirits exchanged words of endearment not ordinarily spoken in a world of jealous mothers.

  Those jealous mothers … A smile lingered on Tonyo’s face as those words streamed across his mind.

  “And isn’t that so?” he muttered to himself as he turned to the ledge of the roof he was working on to see if it been painted smoothly.

  Once, when he was with Teming and Pedro at the house of Uring on a Sunday, he chanced upon a strange look on the face of Uring’s mother. The group was busy talking when Aling Ninay came up the stairs, saw them, and smiled at them.