by Carl Johnson
Chapter Four
WHEN RUMORS ABOUT the First World War broke out, Francisco signed up for the army without thinking twice. It was just a few weeks after he turned 18.
Francisco was one of the first soldiers to land on Russian soil by the time the World War I came into full bloom. He was given a choice between going back to the United States or to the Philippines, which at that time much like today, was still under American rule, after he had completed his tour there.
Sensing more adventures at hand, he chose to go back to his country and landed in the town of Catbalogan towards the start of the second half of 1915, a little over a year since he stepped on Russian soil.
The only adventure Francisco had upon coming back, however, was one that involved women and wine.
It came as no surprise to Julio that he was born a little over nine months after his father set foot on Philippine shores. He had served as the de facto ambassadors with the Filipino locals for a time. As Ingkong Juan told Julio, his father was renowned for his great bravery as well as his physical might all throughout the surrounding barrios.
It did not surprise Julio to hear this. His father was a short-tempered man with an affinity for wine. When his father's antics became legendary, the American commander was forced to remove him from active duty.
However, that didn't stop Francisco from identifying with the American troops. Having nothing to do in the sleepy town, his father, who only knew soldiering as a way of life, always spent time in the small garrison he had just passed by.
Julio was sure that his father would be drunk when he came back-he hoped he would be too drunk to even start a ruckus. Otherwise he would have to sleep in his makeshift bed atop the old star apple tree again.
Julio was roused from his thoughts when he saw that the well was not more than 20 paces away.
His heart sank. Someone was there before him, so he didn't have the well to himself.
Unless the person there was almost done, he would have to spend at least 20 minutes before his turn came. Given the small amounts of water that came out of the deep well's pump, it would take another half an hour before he could fill the huge bucket.
Already, his eyes were scanning the area for a place where he could spend time under the shade of a tree to sit or doze off until it was time for him to work the pump.
He squinted to get a glimpse of the person whose back was to him as he neared, and was surprised. It was a woman! From where he was he could see that either she was his age or she was taller than most. He was too far away to decide which was true.
He pondered about it as he got nearer. Even with his drum dragging loudly behind, she did not even cast a glance his way. Either she was deaf or she just did not care for company like him. It was as if he did not exist. Julio slowed down without being aware of it, with his focus all on her.
He knew all of the people in town, but he could not remember seeing her. The ray of light that peeped through the canopy of leaves directly overhead bore down on her hair and seemed to lend her an ethereal air. Her hair appeared to take on a light, reddish hue against the sun's rays. She was wearing a simple house gown that was common in town and yet, tried as he might, he could not remember seeing the same pattern.
At ten paces away, he started to go to the side to at least see her profile. Then he noticed something that stood out like a sore thumb.
She was light skinned!
Unlike the American soldiers he had seen, her skin looked like it had never seen the sun since birth. Her arms, her nape, and her cheek almost seemed to be impervious to light. Aside from the shadows that fell in one or two places, her pallor appeared uniform all throughout.
He was near enough also to notice a high forehead that gave way to the thin nose that angled slightly upwards before tapering off above her upper lip.
If she noticed him, she gave no indication. Her entire frame was intent on pumping water from the deep well. Her left hand held the top of the pump's handle while the other lifted and pushed down rhythmically. Her frame was bent forward a bit, one foot in front of the other.
He noticed her hands. He was sure that her hands were the daintiest pair of hands he had ever set eyes on.
Julio was staring at her profile so hard he didn't notice that her bucket was already full. When she started turning to where he stood, it was too late to turn away.
Then he could finally see her face.
"Greetings," her voice sounded as if it was one with the air, "Would you be able to help me get this bucket upon my shoulder?"
He was stunned. It was not because she talked like the old people did back at the town.
It was not because her bluish eyes almost shone with a radiance that bore deep into his, nor was it the symmetry of her angelic face that lent a little aura of pureness and incorruptibility.
It was because he had been caught staring, rather rudely, at her fineness. She was just so beautiful. When she talked, the soft sound reverberated inside of his head like church bells. But instead of frightening him, it confused him because he liked the sound very much.
Julio, for the first time in his entire life, was instantly smitten by a woman.
It was enough to mess him up.
"S-Sure," Julio stammered, "Are you sure?" he asked, looking at the wooden bucket filled with water that was almost as tall as the one he had been dragging for the last half hour.
"I am sure," she replied, the corner of her lips lifting up a little as if she was avoiding not to laugh.
Julio could not tell if he was walking or ambling over to where she was. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and his eyes could not help but be glued to her face.
Something inside him was stirring, like a chorus of distant drums that set his blood to race in his veins. The woman had finally acknowledged him in the form of a smile as he approached. When she did, he felt like he was going to burst into flames.
Every piece of him was screaming for the woman, something as old as the memories of the forest he had gazed upon earlier began to work within him.
Like an automaton with only one focus, he approached. Though no more than a few steps apart, he felt like he had been walking for a long time.
His eyes settled on her face. Everything blotted out around them, and all that was left was color of the leaves and the light of the sun through the canopy above.
"You are kind," she spoke again, but this time with a shy, lovely smile on her face. "Gratitude."
What he had known about the town of which he had never set foot outside in all his 21 years heavily contradicted the woman. There was the peculiar way she phrased her words. Her unique physical features were an absolute mystery.
He wracked his brain to discern where she might be living. But he knew of no place where people look or talk like her. He was so lost in his ruminations that he did not even notice the weight of the bucket that he was slowly lowering unto her shoulders.
She rocked a little as she balanced the weight of the bucket. He half expected her shoulders to give. He knew how heavy that bucket was. He could not last 10 minutes without taking it off and replacing it on the other side.
But she surprised him.
Although the middle part of the bucket's bottom was extending outside her right shoulder, her left hand stretched out and held the rim from that side.
Her right hand was underneath for support. Very little water spilled out. Then, without saying a word, she started walking towards the narrow path opposite where he had come from, and disappeared among the tall grass.
THAT NIGHT, JULIO did not wait for his father to come home. After cooking rice on their earthen stove and skillfully grilling what remained of their stock of dried fish over the embers, he ate with his siblings and mother in silence. Being the eldest meant he also washed the dishes before leaving.
He made sure everything was done before he left. He wanted to spend the night alone, up in his makeshift bamboo bed up on the old star apple tree's boug
hs.
He had not yet recovered from his brief encounter with the strange beautiful woman that afternoon. He considered himself a prisoner of the town in which he grew up. Many times during his trek back with the bucket of water upon his shoulder, he thought about just how isolated his town was.
If the lady he had seen was just a sample of what was out there, he didn't want to waste time.
He wanted to get out.
To say that the woman assaulted his senses was an understatement. When he replayed the encounter over and over in his mind, Julio found no difficulty recalling everything.
From the patterns on her clothing, to the sandals she was wearing.
He pictured the stray strands of hair that fell down her back, laying comfortably on her shoulders.
The weird, reddish tint of her hair and the spotless skin that covered her entire body were lovely but enigmas to him. The combination of both worked a magic that he had only heard about in folk stories, told and retold all over the village.
The color of her eyes was light-colored, of the palest blue. He shivered in his makeshift bamboo bed when he remembered when their eyes met.
When her lips almost turned into a smile the moment she said "Gratitude," Julio felt he would melt.
It was almost dawn when he finally let go of every detail of the encounter to wonder where the lady might be living.
