The women could not believe their ears. They shook their heads vigorously, as though to dislodge the child’s voice from their hallowed selves, while staring at the hopeless matriarch. Do something! Such blasphemy!
One of the women, Manay Elsa, came forward and held Pina roughly by the arm. “A cross does not have eyes.”
“But I saw them, Grandmother-in-the-knees. Huge burning eyes.”
Lola Conching had resumed her halted tears, but, this time, not because of deep emotion inspired by the beatific vision, but of embarrassed frustration. Ay, this beloved great-granddaughter of mine who keeps calling me Grandmother-in-the-knees. Yes, it’s our way of distinguishing a great-grandmother like me from an ordinary grandmother, but to address me in such formal terms makes the neighbours look at us strangely. And now this? A dragonfly? Did you hear that? A dragonfly with eyes of fire? Ay, baya, my six-year-old cross, this little unbeliever of my Calvary! The old woman’s tears ran down her cheeks and fell on Pina’s hair.
“Stop raining on me, Grandmother-in-the-knees— please?” The girl tugged at her skirt.
Atrebida! Manay Elsa caught her breath at such insolence—had she been my daughter—! Everyone waited for the old woman to do something, but she was not one to scold her children or her grandchildren or her great grandchildren in public. Fair woman that she was, she believed in meting out punishment or sermon behind closed doors with only the culprit in attendance. Besides, this littlest monkey of a great-granddaughter was her favourite.
“We’re going home. I’ll see Padre Biya this afternoon, I promise.”
The women huddled close, like hurt orphans. Lola Conching is walking away, just like that? Without even consulting them about what to say to Padre Biya, without even asking any of them to come along? But it must have escaped her mind, what with that brat. She’s a strange one, isn’t she? Always playing alone or following her great-grandmother around. That’s what happens when a child doesn’t even know who her father is—now, haven’t you heard? What ignorance! That’s why the mother never returned here after she left the child with Lola Conching years ago. Even her grandmother, the other one—I mean, Lola Conching’s daughter, of course— hardly comes for a visit. Ay, that brat’s mother was something else, you better believe me. I’d say, loose as a skirt missing its elastic.
Together, the women wove tales about Pina and her absent unwed mother, all along worrying whether Lola Conching would remember her task to see Padre Biya and whether she would give all their good names to their Cura Paroco. But he must know that the Santo Cristo was revealed to Elsa Chavez, Maria Belmonte, Asuncion Coronel, etc., etc.…he must!
That late afternoon, right after the mass which was very well attended, as the makeshift church had just begun holding the occasional service after the Japanese retreat, the women gathered around Grandmother-in-the-knees and, of course, Pina again. So what will you do now, Lola Conching? There’s Padre Biya blessing the children. Go on, please, now’s our chance. But perhaps, we should come along and talk to him, too. And, perhaps, you shouldn’t take Pina with you, don’t you think so? But the girl held on tightly to her great-grandmother’s skirt as they advanced towards the altar where the ancient Cura Paroco was just blessing a crippled little boy.
“Hoy, Inggo,” Pina yelled to the boy, “We just saw a giant dragonfly with a smoking tail and eyes on fire!”
The women stopped on their tracks, the children and Padre Biya stared, and the whole church fell silent. For a small and frail girl of six, Pina had such a deep bass, the other kids often teased her that, soon, she might even grow a moustache.
“So, a giant dragonfly…how interesting…” the priest chuckled above the sudden protesting buzz of the women.
“Padre, it was a cross that we saw—a flying cross,” Manay Elsa solemnly announced as she walked towards the priest, sharply elbowing Pina on her way.
Talaga? Really, now? A crowd suddenly engulfed the confused priest and the enraptured storyteller. Her arms flew in the air as she described how the heavens opened and revealed the sky-cruising apparition to us women, us women, and don’t you forget that. Lucky you, Manay Elsa. Ay, my heart just soared and soared with it, mind you. Went this way and that with the Santo Cristo which even left a trail of incense in the sky. Hesusmaryahosep, a miracle! Tell us, tell us more. Did it have the marks of Calvary, the nail holes, the blood? How exactly did it fly, float, or—zoom above your heads? Ay, Padre, this is a sign, I’m sure, the war is truly over. Over! Hoy, let’s all visit the place where you saw it. Pay our respects, of course! That would be sacred ground now. Dios ko po, if I just lay my bad back there, perhaps, well, you never know…
Looking at his crippled left leg with hope, Inggo was torn between believing in miracles and enjoying a tale about giant dragonflies that blew smoke from their behinds. He felt a bit sorry for his best friend. Even her deep, indignant bass was no match against the loud chorus of the faithful.
“How could they tell? They didn’t look at it hard or long enough, but I did. Really stared till it disappeared.” Pina dragged him to one of the pews away from the impassioned throng.
“We-ell…” Inggo rubbed his leg which, he reminded himself, still hurt every night.
“Believe me, its eyes were a deep yellow. Blazing, I tell you!”
“Could be the sun from heaven—but eyes…sigurado ka—you sure?”
“Wait a minute, you don’t believe me either, do you?”
“Uhmm…” Inggo limped back towards the crowd.
So everyone won’t listen to me, Pina stamped her foot. Grandmother-in-the-knees, who’s just now confirming Manay Elsa’s story, and even my one and only friend. Traitor! She wanted to call out to his hunched frame. Wasn’t I the one who ran back here to get some help when you fell from that tree, while we were on a lookout for the advancing Japanese? Wasn’t it Grandmother-in-the-knees who massaged your leg everyday so you could walk again? Why don’t you call that a miracle, too?
“…So we fell on our knees…”
“With our hearts overflowing with great joy…”
“As we prayed and wept…”
“While Lola Conching sang the ‘Te Deum’—”
“NOW, WE CAN HEAR IT CLEARLY!”
Hesusmaryahosep! Story caught in their throats, the women couldn’t believe what they saw—Pina was shouting from the altar table! The altar table, of all places! She had climbed onto it and stepped on it— stepped on it, por Dios y por Santo! Desecrated the holy mantle, only ever touched by Jesus’ body and blood, with her dirty feet—Grandmother-in-the-knees nearly fainted. The old priest was red in the face with—was it utmost concern for a lost sheep or rage at this damned boldness? The parishioners wondered how Iraya could have borne a little devil. And Inggo was absolutely scared for his silly, silly friend.
“Get off the altar of God, my child.” The priest’s voice quavered with painful control.
“Pina, my Pina, how could you…?” Grandmother-in-the-knees was hot and cold all at once with humiliation and fear for her great-granddaughter’s soul.
“So now we can hear it clearly. You were all on your knees with heads bowed in prayer—and not looking up, remember?—while I stared long and hard at the dragonfly. Ay, what a giant! It even buzzed, strangely though. Engggggg-chug-chug-chug-chug-engggggg…” Pina droned while making flying motions with her arms on the table of God.
There was a brief silence after the little dramatisation. It was Padre Biya who first came out of the crowd’s stupor, him who understood what the vision in question actually was. The old priest approached the altar, arms held out, coaxing Pina to come down. Haay, but what a disappointing revelation. We need real epiphanies, yes, miracles, Lord, especially at the end of a war.
“But why believe her? She’s her mother’s child, or have you forgotten?” Manay Elsa spat out the bitterness that must have come from aborted sainthood. Last night, she had dreamt of the shepherd children of Fatima, which inspired the thought that God loves poor village f
olk more than the rest of the world.
“In her stupid head, Pina braids lies the way her mother did. Remember the dreamer who fancied that all the men of Iraya were in love with her at one time?”
“You’re talking about my family, Elsa,” Stung to the heart, Grandmother-in-the-knees accosted the gossip in no time.
“Now, now, ladies, there’s no reason to fight…”
“And why not, Padre?” Pina sat on the altar, cross-legged, and leaned earnestly towards the priest.
“You see, you see what I mean? That impudent little snot even answers back the Padre? What incredible nerve!”
“An ignorant flea of a child—”
“Who’s blasphemed the Holy Cross!”
“A miracle dragonfly then, if you wish—but a cross? Certainly not, Padre—engggggg-chug-chug-chug-chug-engggggg-” Pina leapt from the altar, landed amidst the open-mouthed crowd, walked through it, and out the church door, still with her airborne motions. “I tell you, it was a giant, beautiful flying thing—enggggg-chug-chug-chug-enggggg—”
Engggggggg—is that Pina’s deep bass? Halat nguna, that’s much louder and not human at all. Heavens, what’s that? Everyone had followed Pina and her flight which seemed to be echoed somewhere—up there?
“Look, oh, look! The cross! The dragonfly! Ay, Dios ko po!” Inggo had forgotten his bad leg as he tried to stretch to his full height, waving both arms towards the sky.
“Santa Maria, Ina nin Dios…” Most of the crowd nearly fell on each other as they crouched or knelt, then closed their eyes and bowed their heads, either in fear or in petrified adoration. One man kept on kissing the ground. Grandmother-in-the-knees began to say the rosary. Manay Elsa had visions of meeting the Pope. And Padre Biya suddenly felt very sad and tired. The village had too much war indeed. Time for miracles now.
“No, no, don’t kneel. Look up, look up!” Pina jumped up and down in frenzy. “You have to see it for what it is. See how its tail burns, and the eyes, ay—see the fire in them?”
The young pilot from Tennessee was back to reconnoitre the area for any more signs of the retreating Japanese, this time with renewed vigour and even elation after hearing how the US airforce had just mushroom-bombed Manila and thus thrashed the Japanese base. He felt like humming the American anthem as he adjusted his binoculars—but wait a minute, what’s this? Hey, the natives are kneeling again! Gee, they sure love us around here. Damn, wish I had a camera!
He was most overcome, his chest began to swell, he felt. And his eyes stung a bit, when his vision picked up the little girl who was jumping up and down, arms reaching out to him—O, hail America! Must fly lower so these humble folk can see the flag on my tail, yes, take me closer to their level. Back in Manila, he loved it when the golden-brown girls came up to him and smiled, “Victory Joe!”
Yes, do a little dive, won’t hurt really. Here we go— enggggg-enggggg—chug-chug-chug—gee, what a reception!—engggg-chug-chug-chug—lower, lower— chug-chug-ugh-ugh-ugh-ugh—what the—what’s happening—what—Omigod!
“Ay, Pina, look—it’s falling!” Inggo screamed.
“Ay! Ay! Ay! The heaven, the cross is falling!”
“Falling on our heads! We’re all going to die! Santa Maria—!”
“Madre de Dios, it’s coming towards—everyone, everyone get out of here! Run! Quickly! Por Dios y por Santo, run!” Padre Biya could hardly breathe as he drove his flock from the entrance of the church—to somewhere safe, over there, yes, under that balete tree! Everyone!
So this is how the world ends, Manay Elsa’s last thought before she fainted into the arms of Grandmother-in-the-knees, just before the air grew dim and thundered, and the earth shook. Then all was still.
Not long after, Padre Biya opened his eyes. Clutching at his heart, knowing something he couldn’t understand had broken there, he hurried to the sight of the crash, exactly at the doorstep of his church. Pina and Inggo followed close at his heels, the rest of the parishioners right behind them. Surprisingly, the cross-dragonfly was in one piece, though badly dented. And the man—there’s a man in it!—was alive, ay, a miracle! Another one!
A man from heaven, imagine! And he’s as white as the angels. Is he perhaps our Anghel de la Guardia? San Gabriel himself! Don’t you come any closer, it’s not proper. Hush, all of you. Only the Padre should—but Pina had already sped past the priest, dragging Inggo with her.
Squatting before the stunned pilot, she prodded him with a finger. “Yes, he’s alive—but what is he?” She turned to the parish priest.
“You hurt, son?”
The crowd, who had now bravely crept forward, wondered at the Padre’s strange tongue. Where did it come from?
“Here, take my hand.” Padre Biya hadn’t spoken English in a long time, the words tasted strangely in his mouth. “Can you stand—?”
“Huh?” The angel from Tennessee was all right but very sore. It was hardly a pleasant trip from heaven.
“You must be really scared, falling a long way from the sky like that. No wonder you’re so pale—but what are you—?”
“Pina, Pina…,” Padre Biya pushed her gently aside. “It’s okay, son. You’re with good folk. Hoy, someone, come and help us here.”
“So-o-o white… Dios ko, like our plaster saints…” Someone swooned in devotion.
“So white…all blood must have left him, of course.” Inggo was familiar with the symptom of fear.
“But—what are you?”
“Huh?” The poor pilot could not understand why a little girl was hovering around him in such an agitated manner and why there was no “Victory Joe” greeting from the crowd.
“What are you?” She tugged once more at his arm, but Padre Biya led him away.
Pina was terribly disappointed. She was wrong, utterly wrong in her story and, now, she couldn’t think of another version to right it. She did not feel like following the procession of the faithful entering the church with the pale man, not at once. For a moment, she pondered over the possible answer to her important query before Inggo took her aside.
“Hoy, Pina,” he whispered, “our dragonflies may not be as big or fancy as his, but—they surely fly better.”
Dream Stories
1. Corazon
The Spanish lady lived in a mansion which she tried to keep spotless. Sixteen rooms formed a square around a large atrium with a plain earth floor. No plants growing, as they disturbed the eye, and no spots of dirt if she had her way. Any floor must be well maintained; even soil must be clean.
She said her sister lived with her, but far away at the other side of the atrium, in the sixteenth room; she occupied the first. They were not on speaking terms. Her sister was frivolous and wasteful, and threw wild, dirty parties, so she decided to sell the house and move to a smaller place.
The day they were about to leave, her sister would not come out of her room. From the atrium, she called out to the sixteenth room, but no answer. It was nearly evening; she’d been calling out the whole day. The atrium was desolate and freezing, and all sixteen rooms were dark except for one lighted window. She knew she was in there. “Corazon, Corazon!” she called. But no answer, just a silent light from the window.
In the morning, the new owner of the house found her crouched over her bags and very ill. Heart attack? He took her to hospital, but couldn’t find anyone to inform about her condition. Records said, no relatives.
At the hospital, her heart X-ray perplexed the doctors. The organ was nowhere to be seen! “Because she wouldn’t leave with me,” the Spanish lady tried to explain, but they barely listened—“Corazon, Corazon, I called out to the sixteenth room, but she wouldn’t even answer…”
2. Yellow
Her husband gave her a tiny box before he went on another long trip. In it was a fat, yellow chick not looking more than a day old. To amuse you while I’m away, he said. It was a new yellow, heaving quite abnormally. Its breathing filled the room. She couldn’t stand the sound of yellow breathing within an enc
losed space, so she left the room, the house. The breathing spread around the large lawn and disturbed even the flowers.
She had to do something. She replaced the lid on the box. But the breathing only intensified, as though the chick were dying loudly.
Loud death was bad luck, so she frantically searched for a way to dispose of it. But the breathing grew a voice. Save me, it said. Cut open my breast and take out my heart then plant it and save me. But she did not have a knife. She considered using her nails, but the thought of the messy act made her stomach turn. She ran around the lawn, holding the box with the dying yellow which was pleading to be divested of its heart.
When she reached the gate of her husband’s estate, she couldn’t stand the breathing or the pleading any longer. She flung the box away and fled to the house without looking back.
Her husband returned six months later. While inside her that night, he remarked about the pretty new shrubs at the gate. He congratulated her on the choice. Where did she get them, he asked, but in a knowing voice. They were just beginning to bloom, too, he said. Yellow flowers, chick yellow, no, a deeper shade actually. The yellow segments of ripe jackfruit hanging like succulent hearts.
3. The Death of Chopin Chopin
He made music, but went about the task carelessly, untidily. He left music everywhere, hung his notes wherever he found them. On his washcloth, the tap, the bedpost, even left them in the pantry among the cans of sardines, in his apron pocket, all over the floor. One day, he found a fat half-note embedded in his blueberry muffin. And the dunny got clogged with two quarter notes which refused to become unslurred.
The woman he lived with decided she’d had enough when a multitude of tiny sixteenth notes gathered like mould on her brand-new lingerie. After a final fight, while she was trying to extricate an eighth note out of her hair, she packed her bags and walked out. Never to come back.
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