Sugar and Spite

by Gail D. Villanueva

  I’m never, ever going to let that happen.

  The moon’s almost out when Kidlat and I arrive home. My dog heads straight for the backyard gate to herd Lolo’s chickens. Kidlat doesn’t like seeing the chickens running about. Based on the sounds of loud flapping and angry clucks from the yard, I’m pretty sure the chickens don’t like him either.

  Our home is like most of the houses in the area—old, Spanish-era houses reinforced with concrete to withstand weathering from the sun and the sea. The only difference is that our eatery takes up the entire front of our house and we have a potion lab at the back.

  I pass by the empty tables on the front patio and enter the eatery. Bagayan Food Haus is usually empty at this time. Dinner fare has replaced the afternoon snack options on the counter, ready for the early evening crowd arriving around six.

  Lolo Sebyo is behind the cash register. But he’s not alone.

  A woman who looks a bit older than my mother is talking to him. She’s dressed simply in a plain blouse and a pleated skirt.

  “Come on, Tatay Sebyo,” the woman pleads with my grandfather. “I’ll even double the amount. Two thousand pesos.”

  Lolo Sebyo shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Nadia. I cannot make one for you.”

  Oh. I guess this woman needs Lolo’s arbularyo services. Out of respect, I hang back and take a seat near the end of the counter. Bagayan Food Haus is a small eatery, so I can hear everything they say without even trying.

  “Three thousand,” the woman says. “Please.”

  “No, my child.” Lolo’s voice is firm. “My conscience cannot handle seeing you live with the consequences of using a love potion to forcibly take someone’s property. Hire a lawyer. From what you told me, you have legal rights to it.”

  The woman sighs loudly. “But it would take too long!”

  “Indeed, but it is the right and lawful way.”

  “Can’t you just—just one drop of gayuma,” says the woman. She reaches over the counter to take my grandpa’s hand. “Please, Tatay Sebyo.”

  “I am sorry.” Lolo Sebyo pats her hand in return. “I cannot help you.”

  The woman looks like she’s about to try again but thinks better of it. She bids Lolo Sebyo goodbye, and he gives her his blessing. My grandfather says he will pray for her. Not only for her to settle her problems, but for her to be able to find peace as well.

  As soon as she’s out of earshot, I approach the cash register. “Why didn’t you want to make a love potion for her, Lolo?”

  “The gayuma is a dangerous potion, my Bee.” Lolo Sebyo’s lips turn to a grim line. “It is called a ‘love potion,’ but is love still love when forced upon someone else? And using ‘love’ to get what you want is wrong. Very wrong.”

  “But—”

  “Come now, Bee. Go to your father,” Lolo Sebyo says, his voice as firm as the tone he used on the woman. “I believe he is cooking ube halaya and might need your help.”

  I do as I’m told. I know better than to bother Lolo when he’s upset. Especially when he’s upset because he had to turn down helping someone. As an arbularyo-in-training, this is what I’m in for. I hope I’ll be ready for it.

  “In here, sweetheart,” Dad calls from the kitchen, where he’s peeling boiled ube roots. “There’s adobo and caldereta at the eatery.”

  I dump my backpack on the sofa.

  “Mano po,” I say, asking for his hand. Dad responds by ruffling my hair with his clean hand. “Thanks, Dad.”

  The door connecting our house to the eatery opens. Mom emerges, still clad in her work uniform—blue denim shorts and a collared, bright yellow polo shirt. She greets Dad and me with quick kisses, then heads for the sofa to remove her shoes and untie her ponytail.

  Like me, my mother is small and thin. Well, I’m more on the scrawny side. But we have the same build, so hopefully I’ll fill out a bit when I grow up. Mom has a high-bridged nose and big eyes and lighter-than-usual brown skin. Most people say her mouth is her best feature, and I agree with them. Her lips are red and pouty and always ready to curve into a smile.

  My mother deserves the name Sunshine. She can brighten up any dreary room just by being there.

  “Where’s Kidlat? That dog didn’t greet me hello yet.” Mom retrieves a squeak-less dog toy from under the bamboo frame of the sofa and places it on the table. The stuffed turtle toy didn’t use to be squeak-less. It squeaked a lot, and loudly too. Kidlat made it squeak so much that Mom gave the toy surgery to remove the thing that made the squeaking sound. It’s been squeak-less since then, but Kidlat still adores it.

  “He’s outside chasing chickens.”

  “Jolina! Lolo Sebyo loves those birds—”

  “I know, Mom.” I hold up my hands in surrender, laughing. “I’m kidding.”

  Well, I’m only half kidding. Kidlat was chasing the chickens, but by this time, he is sleeping on the picnic table under the mango tree. It’s his favorite afternoon siesta place.

  Mom rolls her eyes but grins at me. “Silly girl. You’re just like your dad—”

  “Hey!” Dad protests as he finishes peeling the last of the boiled ube roots. He then disappears behind the counter. When he emerges, he’s carrying a huge, empty vat.

  “Need help?” Mom asks my father as she slips her feet into her flip-flops.

  “I got this, hon,” says Dad. “Almost done.”

  As fate would have it, Dad’s name is Rainier, or Rain for short. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but it’s cool to think that I’m the daughter of Rain and Sunshine.

  I ask for Mom’s hand and she chucks my chin in response. “How was school?”

  School was usual as far as school in Isla Pag-Ibig goes. As always, no one bothered talking to me. Well, a classmate or two said “excuse me” or asked me to pass a paper. Other than that, I spent recess alone. I guess no one really wants to befriend the dayo.

  But my parents don’t need to know that. “It was okay.”

  Mom raises her eyebrows. “Only okay?”

  Ugh. Why do parents have this superpower of knowing that things aren’t okay even when we kids say they are?

  “Well, I aced another test.” I have to give her something, or she’ll never stop asking. “I didn’t even study for it!”

  “You truly are my daughter.” Dad grins. “Too smart for school.”

  Mom shakes a finger at me. “Don’t get used to it. It’ll get more challenging, I promise.”

  I pour myself an orange juice from the fridge. From the corner of my eye, I can see Mom massaging her legs while Dad smashes ube roots in the vat with butter and condensed milk.

  We didn’t use to be like this, you know. It’s hard to believe that only a few months have passed since Lola Toyang went to Heaven. And Dad was still the head chef of the hotel where Mom worked as a manager.

  We had to sell a lot of our stuff to help pay for Lola Toyang’s cancer treatment. Then we moved here. Now Lola Toyang is gone, Dad is only a cook at his family’s eatery, and Mom is just a receptionist-on-probation at a mean girl’s family resort.

  Claudine is a mean girl through and through. She knows she gets to me. Every time she sees I’m affected by the awful things she says, Claudine just provokes me even more.

  I don’t need her meanness in my life. My family has been through so much already. I don’t want to add to Mom and Dad’s burden by making them worry about me having a rough time adjusting to life here.

  Starting today, I will not let Claudine Dimasalang bother me. I’m going to ignore her, like she doesn’t exist. Maybe then she’ll get tired and finally leave me alone.

  One of the things I really miss about Manila is having my own desk in school. My parents were able to send me to a private Catholic school with Lolo Sebyo and Lola Toyang’s help. But being on an island province like Isla Pag-Ibig—it’s different. There aren’t any private schools. Just public schools where I have to share my desk with two other kids who don’t seem to want anything to do with me.

  Su
nday school’s setup is more similar to that of my school in Manila. There aren’t many of us who attend it since some kids prefer to have mass instead of Bible study. I get to have my own desk in the corner of the room and avoid Claudine.

  Well … I try to, at least.

  “Hi.” A tall, dark boy comes up to my desk. I don’t really know him, but we go to the same public school. I heard his friends call him Marvin. The other kids seem to like him enough, but he’s never said a word to me. Until now, that is.

  “Hi,” I say back. I try to think of what to say next. I promised myself I’d make an effort to be friendlier, but I really have no idea what else to say.

  Marvin gestures to the desk on my left. “Is this seat taken?”

  “No.”

  “Can I sit here?”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks.” Marvin looks like he’s about to say something more, but he just closes his mouth. He turns to the short-haired Chinese Filipino girl wearing glasses sitting on his other side. I can’t remember her name. Angela or Angelica or something.

  Ugh. I’ll try again later. I’m sure we’ll have more to talk about once the catechist hands out the activity sheets for the day.

  At exactly three o’clock, Claudine saunters in. She takes a handful of yema balls from the candy bowl on our catechist’s table, claiming the desk right in front of it. She turns to face us and waves a bunch of small white envelopes. “Guess who’s having the best party of the year soon.”

  As Claudine distributes the envelopes, everyone, including Marvin and Angela/Angelica, talks excitedly among themselves. Everyone but me.

  I chew on my fingernails as Claudine draws near. I know I said I don’t care about her anymore, but it would be so embarrassing if everyone got an invite and I didn’t. And I love parties. I always got invited to parties back in Manila.

  “What do people do at parties here anyway?” I ask Marvin and Angela/Angelica. “Do you guys sing videoke all day?”

  The two kids laugh. Progress!

  “Not all day, no,” Marvin says with a grin. “We also—”

  “Do stuff that you’ll only hear about but will not see,” Claudine finishes for him. She hands Marvin and Angela/Angelica an envelope each but keeps the last one under her arm. “You’re not invited.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Considering our recent fight at Nanay Dadang’s, I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s not inviting me. But it still hurts not to be included. Like, it really hurts.

  But I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.

  I’ve told myself I won’t care about what she thinks, says, or does. I don’t care if she’s embarrassing me in front of everyone.

  Claudine Dimasalang doesn’t exist to me.

  “Um, Claudine …” Angela/Angelica clears her throat. “Maybe you can make room for one more—”

  “No.” Claudine glares at me as she waves the last envelope. “This is for Mr. Bradbury. He may have started as a dayo here, but he sure doesn’t act like we’re beneath him. Unlike this Manilenya here who thinks she’s better than everyone just because she lived in the capital. You want to know what’s going to happen at my party?”

  “I don’t,” I croak, a lump in my throat forming. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. “I don’t care.”

  “I’m going to tell you anyway.” Claudine’s lips curve into a sneer. “My guests are going to stuff themselves silly with this amazing international buffet. Mommy hired a magician and a petting zoo—I heard they’re bringing a monkey and a cockatoo and a giant snake. We’ll have free-flowing ice cream and cotton candy and french fries and fish balls. Everyone is invited but you.”

  I bite my lower lip, blinking hard to stop myself from crying. I love cotton candy and fish balls. And the petting zoo sounds exciting—I’ve never seen a monkey, a cockatoo, or a giant snake up close. It sounds like the kind of party I’d love to attend, but I’m not invited.

  Claudine Dimasalang is such an expert at making me feel less than I really am. Maybe in some alternate universe, I’m rich and she’s poor. But even then, I’m 100 percent sure she’d still manage to make me feel like a lesser human being.

  Through my wet eyes, I see the other kids looking at me. But not one of them says anything to Claudine.

  They’re scared of her.

  Well, I’m not scared of her. I’m Jolina Beatrice Bagayan, arbularyo apprentice. I’m not afraid of this silly, mean girl. “What did I ever do to you?”

  Claudine’s eyes narrow. “It’s so obvious—”

  Dong! Dong! Dong!

  Saved by the church bell. Everyone runs back to their seats, even Claudine. No one wants to be caught bullying me when Mr. Terrence Bradbury, our volunteer catechist, arrives.

  A tear runs down my cheek. I brush it away before anyone sees.

  Whatever is obvious to Claudine, I’ll never know. And I really, honest-to-goodness don’t care. Because as of this moment, I’m decided.

  Claudine is going to get what she deserves. Whether she likes it or not.

  It isn’t easy finding a gayuma spell in Lolo Sebyo’s library. Considering how he feels about using the love potion, I’m not surprised. It’s hidden on the lowest shelf with the dirtiest, most neglected ancient books. And the only one I find is in a thin red book that contains a single gayuma recipe and pages upon pages of ridiculous love advice from one of our old arbularyo ancestors in the early 1900s.

  Greetings, dear arbularyo! So, you want to make a love potion. Perhaps it is for a lovestruck client, or a poor soul whose heart you would like to help heal—I shall not judge you. Your reasons are your business. Truth be told, it is not of any concern to me.

  However, I shall make it my concern to ask you if you are aware of what you are about to do.

  It will take anywhere from a moment to a day for the gayuma to take effect. Your power as an arbularyo will dictate how long it takes.

  It is very difficult to discern love from gayuma and real, un-magicked love. Its effects on the target have been characterized as constantly thinking about the client and the unquestioning deference of the target to the client. Rest assured, any other person who unwittingly takes the gayuma will be unaffected. The magic only applies to your target.

  Do not forget to say protective prayers on yourself as the brewer and ask for the Lord’s blessing when you are through. Just like any brew, be sure to offer Him everything you do. Then you may proceed.

  Herewith are the ingredients of the brew:

  A pink candle

  A bundle of herbs for emotion alteration

  Two drops of Positive Thinking

  Half a drop of Persuasive Speech

  A thornless red rose

  A teaspoon of raw sugar

  A dash of sea salt

  A photograph of the intended target

  A delivery vessel

  The delivery vessel you use must be an edible food that the target willingly ingests. If the target does not eat it, your gayuma serves no purpose.

  Heed my warning, my fellow arbularyo. Love is a powerful force, as is magic. Two powerful forces combined in a potion can result in even greater consequences. It is unlike any potion you will ever brew; its magic different from what you are used to.

  Be certain to remind your client that magic is a covenant. What magic gives, magic will eventually take.

  The book is obviously warning about Balik. Every arbularyo knows this. Even I already know this. It’s the most basic rule of magic—you reap what you sow. “Balik” directly translates as “return.” Do good, get good returns. Do bad, get bad returns.

  But Lolo Sebyo always says an arbularyo is protected by God from dark forces if they intend to help, not hurt. And how could I be doing bad by helping Claudine be a better person?

  So I want justice too. Isn’t justice good? What Claudine did to me in Sunday school was wrong. Lolo Sebyo may not approve, but I believe this is the only way.

  Besides, if my Bagayan ancestors have brewe
d gayuma, the Balik couldn’t be that bad, right? Our entire clan would have been wiped out of existence with all the bad karma coming from every Bagayan who makes a gayuma.

  It’s for the greater good. I’m not the only one who would benefit from a kinder, more loving Claudine. Everyone in Bible study group who’s terrified of her will too. And I’m going to make sure I take the proper precautions. My brewing skills might be at a less-than-proficient level, but the book does say gayuma magic is very different. Maybe that also means this magic won’t reject me as much as the magic I’ve been trying to learn. For once, I might make a potion that actually works.

  Because I need it to work.

  It has to.

  The ingredients of the gayuma are surprisingly easy to acquire. Granted, I’m an arbularyo’s apprentice and I know where to get magical herbs easily. I have seen bottles of Positive Thinking and Persuasive Speech potions in Lolo’s cabinet. I only need a few drops, so I’m sure he won’t notice if I take some.

  I don’t want to blow my allowance on buying gayuma stuff, so I make do with what I have. Like the pink candle, for example. It just says that the candle needs to be colored pink. Lolo Sebyo’s potion book doesn’t mention anything specific except for that.

  So I melt a white candle and a pink crayon, combining them together to make a pink candle. Simple.

  Well, except for the unexpected challenge that is Kidlat.

  “Kidlat, no!” I jump as my dog pushes my thighs with his front paws. “I’ll play with you later. I might burn myself if you don’t behave.”

  The dog’s ears flatten on his head, his tail lowered. He lets out a long, loud whine. But he stops bothering me. Before long, I have a thick, foot-long pink candle. I hide it in my dresser until I’m ready to brew.

  Getting Claudine’s photo is trickier though.

  It’s been a week since Claudine embarrassed me in front of everyone, and in that time, I’ve managed to ignore her. Every now and then, she’ll be at Nanay Dadang’s store buying random things like chips and batteries, but I pretend not to see her. Sometimes I’ll catch her looking at me. I don’t know why and I really don’t care, but it does pose a problem in getting her photo without her noticing.