“Ha-have you been wai-waiting long?” he asked, seeming to look at something on the elevated ground.
He was staring at nothing. We felt the hair on our arms standing up. Because we heard a voice: an ethereal sound like the whisper of the wind or the gentle swish of the water in a spring: the voice was crystal clear and pristine, and pure … pure … pure.
“Have you-you be-been there-there long?”
“Not long …”
“My-my friends wan-wanted to kn-know how I called y-you.”
“What did you tell them, Nano?”
“I-I told th-them you ha-had no na-name.” Nano then gazed at someone who appeared to occupy a space on the grass. “W-Why are y-you not clo-clothed?”
“Is there something wrong with being unclothed?”
“No-None! You-you are love-lovely, e …”
A soft tinkle of a laughter reached us: it was laughter exuding genuine affection and pleasure, and pure … pure … pure …
“My fr-friends also asked if I k-kiss you.” Nano broke into a giggle, a child chortling in delight.
“What did you say, Nano?”
“I said-said that’s ba-bad, isn’t th-that so?”
“It’s bad if it’s bad, Nano!”
“E, if it’s not b-bad?”
“Then it’s not bad! Would you like to kiss me, Nano?”
“No …. no. I’m a-ashamed.”
“Don’t be ashamed. It’s not bad if you kiss me, e. Come, give me a kiss, Nano.”
“You-you won’t ge-get ang-angry?”
“No, Nano. Come, kiss me!”
We saw Nano bending over, lips puckered, and appeared to kiss no one.
“You smell good!”
“Would you like to come with me, Nano?”
‘Wh-where are we go-going?”
“We’ll go to my country. It is a joyful place. You will be happy there.”
“Wh-when are we co-coming back he-here?”
“We won’t return ever, Nano. We will live there.”
“N-no. My … my mo-mother will be sa-sad …”
“When your mother dies, Nano, will you come with me?”
“Wh-when my mo-mother dies …”
“I will go now, Nano. I will leave you for a while, ha?”
“Sh-shall I see you a-again to-tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow at the same time. I will leave you now, Nano …”
With his eyes, Nano appeared to follow someone who was walking away. He was smiling like a child whose playmate had just said goodbye. After a while, Nano rose to his feet and left the clearing whistling a tune.
Nano and his sweetheart had long been gone, but our bodies remained pressed to the ground under the thick ferns where he hid. And only then did we notice how profusely we had perspired that our clothes clung to our bodies.
“Are we merely dreaming?” Karling, looking dazed, wondered.
Both of seemed to be running out of breath as we followed a strange, disquieting episode.
“What kind of creature is Nano’s sweetheart, Karling?”
“Nano really perceives her as human, isn’t that so, Karling?”
“Karling, is your grandfather still in your house?”
“He is. Why?” And he realized what I meant. “Yes, come to think of it. My Amang Roman might be able to offer us an explanation …”
Tandang Roman was past seventy and seemed to possess some knowledge of these mysterious events. I said seemed, on account of his reticence and the general air of secrecy which shrouded anything he said about those strange events. Malignant forces appeared to be in hot pursuit as we rowed furiously back to our village. Both of us felt sure, through some vague presentiment, that Tatang Roman would blow away the wisps of smoke hiding the truth.
“That wild, strange creature,” he exclaimed. After we had given him an account of our adventure. “So that nymph has once again deigned to appear in Karuyan, is that so?”
“What do you mean, a nymph, Amang Roman?”
“Even before the ancestors of the Sebastian family were installed to great honor, rumors were flying thick about the mysterious appearance of that nymph. So, she is haunting the place again …”
“Have you actually seen one, Amang Roman?”
“When I was still unmarried. Absolutely enchanting! That strange creature!”
“How did you see her, Ba Roman? We failed to see her, e.”
“Ay, you cannot really see her. You have to view her through the prism of a pure, white diamond …”
“Are you sure she will be revealed to us, Amang Roman?”
“Ummhh, yes, your eyes will feast on loveliness so absolutely perfect that it will take your breath away.”
“Where can we borrow a ring made of pure, white diamond?” Karding wondered.
“Don’t be tattling tales, you fools!”
“Why, Ba Roman?”
“You might suffer the consequences of your transgression and you will never know what hit you.”
“Do you know of anyone who has incurred the nymph’s wrath?”
“Ummh, yes indeed! The culprit stiffened suddenly and fell down, convulsed, his mouth frothing.”
“Did he die, Amang Roman?”
“He was as stiff as a suckling pig!”
Karling succeeded in borrowing a diamond ring from his Nana Disyang. Early in the following afternoon, we hied off to our hiding place under the thick foliage near Karuyan. The stone was blinding in its whiteness and when we brought it close to our eyes, we could view the verdant peak of the small hill through its prism. And we waited for the arrival of Nano’s sweetheart.
Karling and I momentarily focused our attention on something else, and when he examined the diamond to see what was reflected on its surface, he caught a glimpse of the nymph. All of a sudden his body was shaking violently and his face registered his shock while gazing at that loveliness mirrored on the facet of the diamond. He was breathing heavily when he finally handed over the ring to me. And it was my turn to peek.
What greeted my eyes was an image of a young woman in the prime of her youth. She was lying down, her bed the carpet of fine, green grass and she appeared to be looking at the sky and following the movements of the birds up above. Her hair hang loosely, her hand held a strange-looking flower, and the undraped body was exposed to the light. Whereupon, upon seeing that luminous being who, to my mind, epitomized nothing but what was pure … pure … pure, I was overcome by a an indescribable joy, and my soul ascended to the lofty perch of a miraculous knowledge of what true beauty meant, devoid of any sin or malice.
“Let me see,” Karling said softly, as he reached for the ring.
I held on to the ring tightly and as Karling tried to swipe it away, he dropped the ring among the ferns. When he finally retrieved the ring, the diamond facet looked dull as it stared back at him. The nymph had vanished into thin air.
“She might never return!” Karling sighed with regret. “What a pity! She was breathtakingly lovely …. Lovely …”
When Nano arrived, his features dissolved into surprise when he did not see the nymph at her usual place. He waited and we waited with him, longing with all our hearts for the nymph’s return. As darkness set in, the strange being never showed up, and what remained with us were the incessant shrieking of the river owls and the heartrending sobs of a distraught Nano.
Our fevered anticipation for the return of the elusive being was dashed to the ground when we returned to Karuyan the following day.
“It would take a long time, a great number of years, before she returns,” Ingkong Roman intoned. “They always fall back on what they have been doing each time their activities are disrupted by human beings. You’re fortunate she spared you from her revenge.”
“Nano was more fortunate. Why was it that Nano could see her and carry on a conversation with her, without fear that she would mysteriously vanish?”
“That being really shows herself only to children. We, on the other hand, c
ould see her, darkly and for a fleeting moment, through the prism of a diamond.”
Through many days and weeks, Karling and I sought to discover the answer to this intriguing question. Was this precious gift given to children because in their state of innocence, their minds could resist all attempts to soil and tarnish them by so-called knowledge? Perhaps, that is so! In the deep recesses of my mind, a thought dwelt: that a nymph was an absolute idea, a sacred dream, a pure, unadulterated vision of timeless beauty, from which all traces of sin and ugliness had been banished, that lingered in the heart of each human being. Whatever the reason was, I consoled myself with those ideas, imperfectly grasped, each time I saw the sheer innocence and honesty reflected in the luminous eyes of Nano, the twenty-five-year-old child.
The Looting in Longos
The soothing touch of the nocturnal wind on the loose shingles of the nipa roof sounded like a gentle lullaby to the family in the house. Meanwhile, the village slept peacefully after a day of intense labor, the starry sky a protective canopy over the community.
The Santos family had retired for the night and lay peacefully asleep. They were all there in the room—the father, the mother, the oldest child, the second, the third, the fourth, and the two-year-old youngest offspring.
In the dim light of a small gas lamp, it was possible to see the vague outlines of a sleeping family. The father lay fast asleep and on either side of him were the two oldest children. Under the mosquito net were the other two children lying on a mat, bodies close together because it was a cold night—and the mother had her arms protectively around the youngest child, her face close to the child, in a pose only a mother could take while cuddling her young.
(Our Father, bless this dwelling. It has been fifteen years since, in your Divine Will, you led me and Maria to find each other and join our hearts in love. You willed for us to be blessed by your priest in holy matrimony in the village chapel, with a vow to live together until death. You willed that we strive to understand our duties in life, and here we are, after fifteen years, in this house—the two of us and our children—to lead our lives, according to your will, and to raise our children who will give us honor, in Your Name, Our Father).
Under the house were several hens and a young red rooster seeking shelter for the night. A mother hen had spread her great wings over her fourteen young ones in a bamboo cage trap. The dog, covered by a patchwork of colors, lay at the foot of the stairs, occasionally twisting its body to fend off the cold. The two carabaos cast a black, sinister shadow in the corral further down. And in front of the house stood a cart, as if in prayer.
Suddenly, a shot coming from the edge of the village shattered the tranquillity of the night. An explosive red line streaked across the sky aiming for the stars. On the other side of the village, another shot rang, as if in response, and another red line flashed to spear the stars. Hardly had the echo trailed away when a dog barked, another dog howled, followed by another, until almost every dog in the village joined in an ear-slitting cacophony of howling, giving vent to their fears and confusion.
(I still recall, Our Father, what Maria and I did in the early stages of our marriage. She helped me spread fertilizer on our rice paddies. She came with me as we cleared the soil, scattered the seeds, pulling out the weeds, as we planted. You must remember, Our Father, that in the first two years of married life, we performed all the farming chores, and perhaps because of the physical toil, Maria lost her child in her fifth month.
(You must recall, Our Father, how hard we labored then because we wanted to build a small house. We looked for several posts, one by one; bamboos in twos or threes, four bundles of nipa palm, and bundles of rattan splittings, until we had gathered all the materials so that we could ask the carpenter to begin work without fearing that we would not be able to pay him, since Maria’s tagunggong was full.
Five shadows silently walked down the side of the main street, seeking shelter in the darkness. They stopped in front of the family’s house, briefly talked in whispers, and brazenly entered the gate.
The dog at the foot of the stairs jerked his body and barked furiously. For a few seconds, the shadows stood still as they neared the stairs. A shot exploded in the darkness, and the dog covered by a patchwork of colors, fell to the ground, emitting a death rattle, convulsed, and died.
(When Maria gave birth to our firstborn, Our Father, it was the rainy season. There was a heavy downpour when I fetched the midwife. The shadow of anxiety that accompanied me was huge as I flew down the street because Maria’s contractions had become frequent. It seemed to me that Nana Sebia’s house was kilometers away when in truth, it was quite near.)
(When the screaming male infant emerged from the womb—as if struggling against the idea of being born, although we were ready to bestow him all our love—I gained an understanding, Our Father, of how much we owed our parents. This was made much clearer on the third day as the infant, with his navel giving him pain—while Maria nursed a a fever and I spent sleepless nights taking care of the baby—and I remembered those instances I had caused my mother grief when she was still alive.)
In the house, it was the mother who raised her head, as she hugged the youngest she had cuddled protectively. The man woke up, lurched forward, and sat up. The children slumbered on, blissfully unaware of the raucus.
The rooster and the hen were cackling noisily.
At the top of the stairs, a harsh voice whipped across the house, reaching the couple, their eyes heavy with sleep. “Open the door.”
(In that rainy reason when Juan was born—the namesake of our grandfather—I seemed to have gained more strength to till my field. Maria could no longer be with me as I cut the grass in the field, but how happy we were especially on those days when I brought home some mudfish I caught in the paddies.
(And that summer, Our Father, we almost doubled our harvest, thanks to your Care and Blessing. The rice stalks were heavy and the seeds were unsullied and without chaff. Maria deposited two handfuls of peseta coins, and like a child, I was struck and amused by the tinkling sound of each falling coin inside the bamboo coin bank. Our eldest by our side could not stop wriggling his arms and kicking his legs about, as if fascinated by the plopping sound.
(Our Father, Maria must have been surprised when, as we knelt in the chapel when Father Andres celebrated the farmers’ thanksgiving mass, drops of tears streamed down my face. The truth of what my deceased grandfather always used to say when he was still alive—that as the sun shone, Your Mercy suffused the world—gently wafted into my mind.)
The mother jolted sideways, holding the child in a tight embrace. The father walked on his knees and approached the mother and the child, and in a moment their arms were around each other. Through all these movements, the four other children remained oblivious to the world.
From the edge of the village, another shot reverberated in the air, followed by a gunshot coming from the entrance to the village.
And from the stairs, another threatening voice bellowed: “Open the door if you want to live.”
(When Juan was about to turn ten months old, Maria thought of opening a small store. Each morning, accompanied by a neighbor’s son, and carrying her baby, Maria would leave for the town to buy fish wholesale. I would have objected, afraid that our firstborn might get sick, but Nana Sebia advised me against it. This would do wonders for the child, and in truth, he seemed to have ballooned and become healthier.
(On the other hand, Tata Pento encouraged me to invest in a salambaw with him. Maria opened her coin bank and I had to sell our palay reserved for use in the rainy season. But through Your Mercy, I recovered the investment and netted a profit that dry season.
(Our Father, when Maria’s small business began to prosper, giving her a tidy income, Tata Pento and I asked her to buy our haul of fish from the salambaw wholesale. In that year’s rainy months, we produced the initial deposit to purchase a piece of land from a landowner who happened to be our relative, after we pleaded with him t
o sell the land to us.)
The door began to shake. The butt of the gun was repeatedly slammed against the door. The menacing voice boomed and reverberated in the house with the ominous threat: “Do you really want to die?” And the husband and wife felt each other shaking with fear, their minds in turmoil, as another shot was fired.
The oldest child finally woke up and instantly sat up. Through his eyes he could barely open, he saw his parents dimly. The son lunged forward towards his mother and noiselessly put his arms around her back.
The father was immediately on his feet. He pulled out a bolo from the wall that, even in the dim light, emitted a sinister sheen. The mother screamed. And in one movement, she simultaneously dropped her child and rose to her feet, as she grabbed her husband and hugged him tightly. “My God … don’t. They could have everything … Give them everything. Your children … there are many of them … My God.”
Another shot coming from the stairs conveyed the meaning of her scream with brutal clarity.
(Time flew with the speed of light, Our Father, but no day passed for the family in a meaningless way. One be one, more children were born, including this last one. We added two more sections to the roof. Our single piece of land increased to two, three, four. Another salambaw was added to the first one, bringing with them more income.
(Juan began his education, but in second grade, he was forced to stop, Our Father, when the enemies came to our town. But my heart was overwhelmed with joy, Our Father, as I saw the result of his two-year schooling. He could now write his name, our names, and even those of his siblings. He could read when we, his parents could only affix our thumb prints on the documents when we got married. How full of goodness you have been to my family, Our Father.)
A thunderous blow was aimed at the door. The wire connected to the door’s hinges broke off and the door flew open, and in its wake a heavy gust of freezing wind and the terrifying footsteps of the shadowy intruders.
The mother let out a horrible scream. The man still kept a tight grip on his bolo, turned to the shadows, although the fire in his blood had since subsided when he heard the words that only a mother staring at danger in the face could utter.
Love in the Rice Fields Page 10
