“Is that so?” He had asked, laughing. “That’s not a problem, Pepe … e …kumpare! …”
Mameng had gone out to do her marketing while his mother was scrubbing the claypot with her is-is. He distinctly recalled his other’s furrowed brows when she entered the living room as she wiped her hand on a piece of rag.
“If you don’t mind my joining your conversation, Pepe,” his mother said. “Mameng is pregnant. Perhaps, I told myself, you’re not aware of this ….”
“Is she pregnant, Ka Maria?” the future kumpare, asked, as he drew a deep sigh, his face showing his disapppintment, “I did not know …”
“So what?” Pinong asked. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Son, that belief came from the old folks!” the mother explained. “It’s bad for either of a married couple to stand as a baptismal sponsor when the wife is pregnant …”
Pinong had the temerity to break into laughter, and cracked: “Mother, what would have been bad is if it’s the husband who is pregnant,” he said.
And the two men shared a dismissive laughter.
“Don’t do it, Pinong.” The old woman warned. “There will be another occasion in the future, and anyway, Pepe and his wife are still young.”
Pinong could not stop laughing. The gaiety in his laughter, laced with a little contempt, showing how incredulous he was, which when he himself heard from another mouth, could be interpreted as being rude to his mother.
“Times have changed, Mother!” he added. “There are no more dwarves, nocturnal monsters, elves of the ant-hill nowadays … People no longer believe in superstitions …”
And so, what Pinong wanted was done. He became the godfather of Pepe’s son.
“I was still umarried when Pepe asked if I could be the godfather of their first son. Don’t worry, Mother. This is no longer the time for sickles and hammocks …”
“Hmph, what’s done is done!” the old woman blurted out, unable to show her anger to her son. “If our father were alive, he would have rained blows on you with his long stake …”
Pinong shut his eyes more tightly, but those memories refused to go away.
Two months after the incident, Mameng sold the pig she was fattening up to Aling Siyon, a meat-dealer. But when the meat-dealer saw Mameng’s condition, she took it upon herself to advise Mameng.
“You’re about to give birth, Mameng. It would be better for me to get the pig next month, and I’ll just look for another pig to slaughter on Sunday. They say it is not good for an expectant mother on her ninth month to sell any animal …”
“But we decided to sell the pig to have our kitchen repaired. The crossbeams are about to fall apart …”
“And you mean you will have repairs done?” the meat-dealer asked in shock. “But that’s worse. They say that you’ll have a difficult labor and your life might be in danger. Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“My mother-in-law has been adamant against it … It’s Pinong who refuses to listen. He says he does not believe in superstitions, Ka Siyon …”
The pig exchanged hands and Pinong called a carpenter. Aling Marya’s eyes welled up with tears, in anger and frustration.
“I was not remiss in my duty to call your attention to these things!” the old woman said, exasperated. “Bad things might happen and only then will you feel sorry …”
“It’s Pinong, Mother!” Mameng admitted. “If I had the choice …”
“Why that stupid dolt is so stubborn, I cannot explain for the life of me … If his father had been alive, he would not have acted up …”
“Please don’t waste your time worrying, Mother!” Pinong advised his mother. “What wrong could come out of selling a pig and having repairs done to the house? What’s wrong is if the kitchen collapsed while we’re eating, and our family is hurt …”
Even the carpenter reminded Pinong of the power of folk beliefs, a grim reminder that hounded him even when he found himself in the barbershop. But all talks merely led to more ribbing and peals of laughter.
When Pinong saw Mameng in excruciating pain as she began labor, he could no longer resort to laughter. And as Mameng’s labor lasted into the night, Pinong was gripped by a terrible anxiety.
When, on the following morning, he called Doctor Hulyaning and the latter advised him to rush Mameng to a hospital in Manila, what seemed like an iron fist gripped his heart, and for the first time in his life, he was crushed by a horrible fear. The fear ran amuck and intensified as the vehicle carrying Mameng sped towards Manila.
And when he brought back the bodies of his wife and child, lying lifeless in the coffins, as if in deep sleep, the fear in his heart was gone, in its stead were the namelesss horror and profound desolation, that had crept into his being simultaneously with the monstrous accusation.
The mother and her child were waked at the village chapel. According to a superstition, people who died away from home should not be waked in the house. For the first time, Pinong could no longer object. Nor could his face show the faintest trace of a smile.
At the funeral, Pinong’s neigbors noticed that he did not shed a single tear. They could not fathom what he felt within: a heart-breaking pain that no amount of tears could assuage.
Unknown to everyone, Pinong visited the tomb the same evening. It was late in the night and the sky was dark and cloudless. He sat beside the tomb for what seemed an eternity; later, accompanied only by flashes of lightning streaking across the sky and the sounds of thunder ripping the world apart, and by the air rife with the threatening rain, he fell down on his knees and prayed. Through the ancient words of the prayers he learned, he poured out all the sufferings of a soul helplessly lying on the cross, accused of a grievous crime. But those words remained stuck to his lips while his heart felt encased in a an impregnable iron, impervious to any consoling touch.
“If I have truly erred by violating the precepts of our ancestors, my God,” he said, “why was I not made to bear all the sufferings?”
His lips were forming words tentatively as he addressed God, but he knew that a huge swathe of doubt occupied his soul.
On the last day of the forty-day prayer for the dead, a friend from Paombong brought a large earthen jar of wine made from nipa juice. The severely weakened body of Pinong, fatigued due to many sleepless nights, easily succumbed to the magic of the frothy wine; in one dramatic, uncontrollable moment, the neighbors bore witness to an explosion of emotions so long suppressed.
The women were at prayer in the house when a man, drinking with other men downstairs, spoke aloud, as another guest reprimanded him. Pinong’s face had turned red at this point.
“It does not matter!” he yelled, as his dull eyes flashed wth anger. “The object of their prayers is useless, e! If he is truly kind, why did he kill my wife and our child, just because I became a godfather and I had repaired my house?”
Waves of shock overcame those who were with him.
As he lay on the cold floor, sleep finally came to Pinong. And when he woke up, Lita’s voice floated in the house. He peered through the hole of the thin, wooden wall.
His mother was mending some clothes, while his five-year-old daughter was slumped on the floor, facing her grandmother. The three-year-old was fast asleep beside the old woman.
“Impo …” the child began, “where is my mother?”
“In heaven!” the old woman replied.
The girl paused, as if in deep thought. “Isn’t it true, impo, that angels live in heaven? My mother used to tell me before that heaven is where the angels live …”
“Yes, that’s true. Angels live in heaven, Lita.”
“E, is my mother in heaven, ha, impo?”
“Yes …”
“E, who took her there, ha, impo?”
“It was God …”
The child’s lips seemed to tilt downward as she continued.
“Impo,” she went on, “perhaps my mother was taken to heaven because … e … e … the angels are sad. Ha, impo?”
As he peered through the hole, with his body leaning sideways against the wall, Pinong heard and he felt a sudden stab of pain in his heart. And at the same time, a flash of illumination streaked before his eyes. Stunned, he rose to his feet, rushed towards Lita on his knees, and held her by the shoulders.
“Lita,” he muttered breathlessly, with his soul mirrored in his eyes. “Please say it again. Say what you’ve just said.”
Surprised, the child turned to her father and saw his face emitting a strange light. Even Aling Marya was gazing at his son who appeared to have witnessed a miracle.
“Please, my child!” the father’s plea was heartrending. “Please tell me … Please say why God took your mother away …”
The look of surprise that overcame the child had gone. Her features dissolved into a smile: “E, isn’t it, Father?” she muttered, as a tentative smile gently hovered on her innocent lips. “The angels are sad, aren’t they?”
Pinong caught his daughter in his arms and rained kisses on her round cheeks.
In the sudden light that streaked across his mind, occasioned by what he heard from his young daughter, the truth dawned on him that the Creator was not a cruel Lord who meted out punishment to the miserable, ignorant humanity for each smallest transgression. In truth, He was a Compassionate Father, always ready to forgive, and His Will forever hidden from a creature like him …
“Father, you’re crying …” the child spoke, as if in wonder.
Pinong was indeed shedding tears. Drops of tears streamed down his face, as he felt his heart being revitalized as each drop fell.
The Nymph of Karuyan
It’s extremely difficult to write this kind of story. First, I am not even sure if this is a real short story. My only reason for writing this story is the authenticity of the events.
The story took place in 1940, in Bigaa, in a part of the woods called Karuyan. The area near the river was sparsely populated. And when summer came, carabaos flocked here to pasture.
The hero of this story was Nano. The whole town knew Nano: all of twenty-five years, with a solid, muscular build, an expert horse-rider who was also skillful at riding carabaos, even leaning forward with his buttocks higher than his head, without falling down. And what amazed us was his uncanny ability to befriend any four-legged beast easily! The most ferocious of dogs lost their fierceness at the gentle tap of his finger on their head or a smile. The wildest hog, raised for breeding purposes, turned meek and appeared smitten the moment Nano stroked its head.
Nano was handsome in ways difficult to explain. His eyes had an unusual sparkle, his face was composed and untroubled, and his smile carried with it a deep affection for whomever it was meant. Under other circumstances, Nano should have been the lover of a string of village lasses, and the truth was, a great deal of young women were fond of him. The problem was that Nano was a child, even though his chronological age was twenty-five years.
When Nano was two years old, he fell from the window, due to the servant’s neglect. His mind must have been severely affected by the accident, or perhaps by something else, but since that time, his body continued to grow, but he retained the mind of a five-year-old child.
He was fishing by the river right next to the train station when Karling and I chanced upon him one morning in the summer of 1940.
“Did you catch anything, Nano?” Karling asked.
“No, not yet,” he said as he threw us a winsome smile.
“If you happen to catch apahap, will you give it to me?’
“Oh, n-no. I’ll give my ca-catch to m-my sweet-sweetheart.” Nano’s stutter was charming.
“Aba, I didn’t know you had a sweetheart, Nano!” I said. “Is she pretty?”
“Pre-pretty. Really pretty.”
“Is that so? Who is she? Is it Peli or Ninay?”
“N-no!” he blurted out, smiling amusedly as if to excuse me for my ignorance. “Pre-prettier than Peli …”
“Where is she from?” Karling asked.
“There, over there, there in Ka-Karuyan …”
“A, where you pasture your carabaos, yes?”
“What’s her name?” I piped in.
“I … I don’t know. My sweet-sweetheart does n-not have a na-name ….”
“Have you heard of a sweetheart without a name, Nano?” Karling pushed him.
“My sweet-sweetheart has no na-name …” He threw us an exasperated glance, seemingly at a loss to explain why we could not understand. “E … she does not even have clo-clothes, e.”
Karling and I glanced at each other.
“No clothes?” Karling asked. “A, perhaps she was bathing, isn’t that so?”
“N-No. She, she really has no clo-clothes on. E, she, she’s na-naked, e.”
I burst into laughter. “You might be referring to a carabao, Nano?”
His eyes flashed with anger.
“My sweet-sweetheart is not a ca-carabao. My sweet-sweetheart is a young wo-woman. A love-lovely wo-woman.”
Karling and I exchanged another glance.
“But, Nano, you said that your sweetheart wears no clothes. Is there a young woman who does not wear clothes … really naked?”
“My sweet-sweetheart!”
“Is she really a woman, Nano? Is she human?” Karling asked.
“I sa-said yes, e. You-you’re so pig-pig-headed. Sh-she’s a human wo-woman.”
The angrier Nano got, the more pronounced his stutter became.
“It’s because we cannot believe you when you tell us that you sweetheart wears no clothes, Nano,” I explained gently in order not to rile him up any further. “Look at Peli, Nati, Ninay, Osang, or Luding … They wear clothes, isn’t that so? If your sweetheart is really human, why is she not wearing clothes, why is she naked, as you insist?”
“E, sh-she does not-not wear clo-clothes, m-my sweet-sweetheart!” he lowered his voice and spoke with finality. “Wha-what can-can I d-do? Sh-she wears no-no clo-clothes.”
“If she’s really human, Nano, by what name does your sweetheart go?”
“Sh-she does no-not have a n-name!”
“But what about when you talk to each other? How do you call her, Nano?”
“No-none. W-we just t-talk.”
As I said, Nano’s mind was severely challenged. But he was not insane. Like the mind of child of a five-year-old, Nano’s mind underwent a process of determining that what was true was true, and what was not was not. That was the reason why Karling and I patiently asked questions about his sweetheart. If Nano insisted that she had a sweetheart who was human, it meant he really had a sweetheart. What puzzled us was his insistence that she wore no clothes. What kind of a human woman was Nano’ sweetheart then?
Karling changed the tone of his questions.
“Is your sweetheart really lovely, Nano? Do you kiss her?”
The sudden, fiery glint in his eyes expressed his horror and revulsion. “N-No! Th-that’s b-bad! D-don’t s-say th-that!”
“Does you sweetheart forbid you, Nano?”
“N-No!”
“How did you know it’s wrong?”
“I-It’s really b-bad. Do-don’t e-ever s-say that again!”
“Nano,” I asked, “is she really naked, without clothes?”
“Yes, I tol-told you, e. You-you’re so stubborn, a.”
“Is she really lovely, Nano? Who among the women in the village can compare with her?”
“Love-lovelier th-than any wo-woman …”
“As lovely as Peli, Nano?”
“I t-told you, love-lovelier than Peli, e …”
“As lovely as Ninay?”
“N-no one c-can be love-lovelier … M-my sweet-sweetheart is lovelier than anyone!”
“Where do you get to talk to your sweetheart, Nano?”
“Th-there in Ka-Karuyan. Over th-there by the ri-river near the huge duhat tree …”
We knew what he was referring to. It was the peak of a small hill that farmers did not find arable. It
was usually surrounded by cogon and coarse ferns. That place was spacious and clear and only fine, small grass lay on it like a warm carpet. An idea came to me: should I decide to have a tryst with my sweetheart, I would choose that place, a site reserved by nature to hide those who sought it as their haven from malicious eyes.
“What time do you usually meet your sweetheart, Nano?”
I knew what prompted Karling to ask the question. The same thought had occurred to me.
“In-in the after-afternoon. I-I’ll g-go there la-later …”
“We’ll accompany you, Nano. You introduce us to your sweetheart.”
“N-no. Sh-she wouldn’t l-like it!”
“Did she tell you she did not like anybody else to be there when you meet?”
“N-No!”
“Then how did you know that she didn’t like company?”
“I re-really know. I-I just kn-know!”
Karling and I looked at each other knowingly. And right there and then we agreed to do something: we will spy on Nano as he kept his tryst with his swe-et-sweetheart who was a hu-human-wo-woman.
Had Nano been an ordinary young man with his faculty intact and not, as we knew him, a young man with the mental age of a five-year-old, we would not have been possessed by this raging curiosity. Anyone with a modicum of intellect could always weave a fantasy. But Nano thought like a child for whom what was true was true and what was not was not.
The sun was still up when Karling and I proceeded to the boat we had borrowed from Ka Anong. We rowed until we reached Karuyan, and once we were near the small hill, we crawled until we saw the place covered by cogon and ferns. We agonized in the suffocating heat for two hours until we were rewarded with the sight of Nano riding his carabao.
“Here comes Nano,” I whispered into Karling’s ear.
We were unaccountably short of breath, while we felt the surging of our pulse. What lay in store for our eyes as we viewed the scene on which was spread fine, small grass like a warm carpet?
Nano alighted from his carabao and entered the clearing. A luminous light brightened up an already serene face.
Love in the Rice Fields Page 9