When the Elephants Dance

by Tess Uriza Holthe

  ~ the twilight people

  WHEN I WAS A YOUNG MAN, our family was not considered the lowest rung on the ladder. We were the dirt, below the lowest step. But within our village my family was well respected because of my special gifts. I was born under a red harvest moon, with the birthing sack still covering me. If the sack is buried immediately under a chosen place, revealed to the mother in her dreams, the infant will inherit certain gifts. I had the gift of sight, of seeing those beings that others cannot. I could see the twilight people.

  We lived in the Visayans, in a village in northwest Samar. The houses were all the same, made of palm leaves and bamboo. All were raised on six-foot stilts to allow the ocean to rush under without washing away the houses. They were known as bahay kubos, “straw houses.” I called them feather houses, because they were so fragile that they threatened constantly to blow away with the wind.

  In between each dwelling, coconut trees sprouted, inhabited by lime green parrots, chattering mynah birds, and the red-hornbilled bee eaters. The large branches cast shadows on my face at noon. Our farthest neighbors were a few feet away; the nearest ones, an arm’s length. The houses were so flimsy that during the tempestuous monsoons, our father ran around with palm leaves, patching the holes carved in by the strong gales. The winds were so forceful that the purple salamanders crawling upside down on the ceiling lost their footing and fell kamikaze onto our beds at night.

  Every evening, during high tide, the water came through our floorboards and floated our slippers away. I woke shivering and barefoot in the mornings, searching for my thong tsinelas. I found them at the end of our short hallway, holding congregation with the other slippers.

  MY LIFE WAS seeking every conceivable type of employment. The most perilous was collecting bird’s eggs in limestone caves where salangana bird’s nests were perched sixty feet high, above crystal clear waters and coral reefs, with nothing but crevices to cling to. The eggs were a delicacy, and the saliva from the young was considered a cure for certain illnesses. Salanganas are the chief ingredient in bird’s nest soup and were considered an aphrodisiac by our Chinese residents. The work paid handsomely. My father and I were very talented at finding such caves, but I tried my best to keep him from this; he was growing too old for such climbing. I worked as many jobs as I could to help my parents put rice on the table for my sister, Addie, and me.

  Adeline, my sister, was only a year younger than me, twenty-four. She had developed a rare type of cataract in her left eye. We did not have the money to take her to a real doctor, so my father allowed the people at the nearby clinic to operate on her for free, to further their studies. They told him that they could take the nerve from her good eye and attach it to the bad in order to regenerate it. The result was that she became completely blind.

  But let me tell you about my visions. I could see the spirits and other beings, just as I see you before me now. I could see the old man who used to live across from our house. He had been dead for weeks, but I saw him follow the same ritual each morning, as if he were still alive. He opened his door, walked to the end of the path, and looked out into the gray ocean, with his fishing spear over his shoulder. He still did this after his death, but I was the only one who could see him.

  I could walk into a house and see the anger that hovered in the air from a fight, in the form of a sneering woman with a pale face. I was gifted, the old people said. But I thought otherwise. I did not want to see these things. It was troublesome to sit in a room full of people and not shout when a spirit came to stand in front of me or ran its fingers through my hair. A neighbor once took me to a gambling establishment in hopes that my talent extended to reading cards, but it did not.

  There is more. In the forest behind our house I could see little people, no taller than my ankles. They never said a word, but they watched me with their eyes. I walked through the forest and whispered, “Excuse me, pardon me,” so as not to disturb them. They were called duendes, elves. It was in that same forest that I became friends with Diagos, a powerful creature known as a tikbalang. But of him, I shall save for last.

  The forest was not as it is now, sheared in some places to allow for telephone poles. Back then it was a magical place; even the texture of the air was different, like inhaling nectar, and when someone called your name, you could not be sure it was someone with two arms and two legs. No, you could not be certain at all.

  I WAS TWENTY-FIVE, already an old man. Most of my schoolmates had married at eighteen. People asked what I was waiting for. I told them that I was waiting for the right time. But truthfully, I could not bring myself to be so selfish. Who would watch over my parents and Addie? They could not survive without my contributions.

  Because of my gift of sight, our house was always busy. People came to our house for all spiritual questions. It was no different the morning of Todos los Santos, All Souls’ Day.

  I opened one eye to see my mother standing over me with our neighbor Mang Cristobal as I lay on my baníg shivering. The floor mat sucked in the cold from the outside, and it was difficult to stay warm.

  “Anák, anák …” She still called me “child.” “Are you awake now?”

  “What is it, Ma?” I asked, pulling my blanket out from under Mang Cristobal’s slipper, where his big toe with its yellow nail gawked at me.

  “It is Aling Sally. She is having trouble breathing.”

  “Then she should go to the clinic.” I threw an arm over my eyes in irritation.

  “No, Ped, it is Abner, he is torturing her. You must ask him to leave.”

  Abner was Aling Sally’s son-in-law, whom she had nagged constantly until his death a week before in a boating accident. His little bangkâ turned over in rough waters, and he was pinned beneath and drowned.

  “How does she know it is Abner?” I asked, getting up. There would be no sleep for me. My mind was already awake, and my mother did not have the heart to send people away.

  “The house smells like his cigarettes,” Mang Cristobal explained in a whisper.

  I sighed and put on my shirt. Abner had always told me he would pester the old woman if he died first. She had never forgiven him when his wife, her daughter, had died in childbirth.

  WHEN WE ARRIVED at their house, there was a large gathering of neighbors.

  Mang Cristobal sniffed the air. “Not yet, not yet. Soon you will smell the smoke. Wait, just wait.” He held up his hand, motioning for me to be still.

  I did not need to wait. I could smell the smoke the minute I entered. The moment the door opened it rolled out like fog, but I was the only one who could see it. I followed the scent to Aling Sally’s room, where she lay on the bed, gasping for breath.

  It took all my strength not to laugh, for there was Abner’s spirit smoking a large cigar, but that was not all. He was sitting cross-legged on top of Aling Sally’s chest.

  “Is he here? Do you see him?” Mang Cristobal held out a shaking crucifix before him.

  “Leave us,” I said. The spirits did not talk with too many people in the room. It disturbed their energy. It did not take much to encourage Mang Cristobal. He and my mother hurried out.

  “Pedro, help me. I feel he is strangling me,” Aling Sally pleaded.

  “No, he is not strangling you,” I assured her. “Abner, what are you doing?”

  His spirit sighed and gave me a smirk. “I am going to take her with me.”

  “Ay, he is here,” Aling Sally began to moan. “I can smell his cigarettes now.”

  That was how it was when a spirit spoke; their presence gave out a familiar scent.

  “Shut up, old hag.” Abner took a deep breath and blew into her face.

  Aling Sally coughed hysterically.

  “Hoy, Abner.” I shook my head.

  Aling Sally’s eyes grew large. “What is he saying? Does he wish to kill me?”

  “No, he would not wish that.”

  “Yes, I wish that.” Abner nodded. “Truly I wish to kill her.”

  “That wil
l only get you a ticket to the wrong side, my friend.” I tried to hide my laughter. I knew Abner too well. He was a good man, and the guilt of his wife’s death had weighed heavily on him when he was alive, for he had loved her very much. Aling Sally’s accusations had only added to the pain.

  “I knew they would send for you, Ped. My God, you should have seen the fish I had before I drowned. Dios ko, it was tremendous,” Abner said, and whistled.

  I smiled at him.

  “Why are you smiling?” Aling Sally gasped. “He has possessed you.”

  “Shut up. Smoke some more, witch, choke some more.” Abner blew another cloud at her.

  “Ab,” I said, “come now. This is really too much.”

  “You see what I had to live with? I cannot believe that my sweet Carmella came from that.” He looked down at his mother-in-law with great disgust. He was quiet; he looked a little embarrassed. “What do you do now, Ped? Remember how many times I begged to come along with you? And now here I am, the spirit you wish to chase out.”

  “I remember, my friend. There is nothing to this, really. I simply ask that you leave this dwelling place.”

  “And then? There are no prayers?”

  “None,” I told him. “But your soul has heard the request. It will know what to do.”

  “My God, I feel it, Ped. This is a frightful thing. I feel I am being sucked out of the room. Where do I go now?”

  “Go with God,” I told him. “There will be guides. Rest now. You are riding on a current.” He sighed, and I felt his presence leave the room.

  WHEN I OPENED the door, my mother and Mang Cristobal looked ready to flee.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “It is done. He will trouble her no more.”

  My mother lifted her chin proudly. “You see? What did I tell you about my son?”

  Mang Cristobal peered into the room and was reassured by his wife. “I feel like walking now,” Aling Sally announced.

  We left with a sack of rice, our payment.

  AFTER ALING SALLY’S, I fetched my lantern and went straight to the caves, where I risked my neck for a fifty-foot nest buried deep in a crevice. Afterward I went to the market to sell my find.

  Our neighbor, Pidring Bonifacio, hurried to my stand, leading Addie by the hand. “Pedro, when will you be done here? Do not forget tonight is Todos los Santos. Have you forgotten our plans? People are already at the cemetery.”

  “Eight more to sell and we can go.”

  “But Addie has been waiting all day,” Pidring complained. He liked to use my sister as leverage.

  “Not that long, kuya.” She smiled in my direction. I would do anything to make her smile. It pained me to think of her sitting by herself at home, in the dark. She was never more than two steps away from me.

  Pidring lived in the house beside ours. He was my best friend, as good as a brother.

  “All day, ha?” I studied Addie. Her face was rosy from running with Pidring. I had had a good day. I had sold twice my usual and still had eight eggs to sell.

  “How much for four? I give you one peso.” A customer waved several coins under my nose.

  I looked at Addie, bent over and adjusting the broken strap on her sandal. She had tied it into a knot. “Four pesos and you can have all eight,” I announced.

  The man felt the uneven stubbles on his chin. They sprouted unbecomingly, like weak trees planted on bad soil. My offer was more than generous.

  “Three,” the man bargained. He could sense my anxiousness to leave.

  I snorted and looked at Pidring.

  “Let him have it, Pedro. I will give you the other peso,” Pidring said in frustration.

  “Done.” I scowled and spread out a newspaper to wrap the eggs in. Addie clapped her hands in excitement.

  We watched as the man left. “Where is the other peso?” I asked Pidring knowingly.

  He shrugged sheepishly. “Pedro, you know better than to listen to me. Where would I get an extra peso?”

  I nudged him in the head and took my sister’s hand. We hurried to catch a kalesa ride to San Isidro.

  We arrived in San Isidro just as the sun was setting. The sky around the sun was a halo of purple and pink, lavender and blue. Perfect clouds freckled the horizon like a stream of pebbles. Once we reached the hillside overlooking the cemetery, Pidring and I exclaimed at the sight below our feet. The graveyard was full of the living.

  “There are candles twinkling on every gravestone, like fallen stars,” I told Addie. “Blankets are laid out on top of each mound, with food, and people sitting and chatting to one another.”

  “And the women? What are they wearing?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Yellow dresses, Maria Clara dresses, some with black lace on their heads, some white. Mostly everyone has a banana leaf for a hat, and they are wearing cowhide for shoes.”

  “You beast.” Addie hit me playfully.

  “They are not as pretty as my sister.” I rubbed her back. I did not have the heart to tell her the fine clothing everyone wore. The people of that town were very well-to-do. The three of us were used cigarette stubs in a box of fine cigars.

  “Tell me the truth.” Addie pulled my arm. “Pidring,” she insisted.

  “Nothing very special about them, Addie,” he answered. “What is lovely is the entryway, shall I tell you?” He threw his arm around her.

  “Yes, yes.” She elbowed us playfully.

  “There are two very big stone angels at the entrance. There are many families. The men are dressed in barongs. How can they stand the long sleeves in this infernal heat? Some are wearing Western hats with a wide band of ribbon and a single feather attached. Almost every marker is blanketed with food, as if in a picnic. People are strolling about, visiting with neighbors, talking about the dead.”

  She frowned. “I am not deaf.”

  “The stones are different sizes. Some are oblong, others are short and square. There are wreaths, sweetcakes on the blankets. Small glasses of wine are left out for the dead.”

  “Do they not bother the spirits with such a display?” Addie asked as we walked down into the graveyard.

  “The spirits know to stay away when there are too many people,” unless it is their dwelling place or they are stuck and cursed, I added sheepishly in my own mind.

  “Do not encourage her, Ped. It will give her nightmares again,” Pidring said.

  He was the only one in the village who did not believe any of my much talked of gifts. If it brings you an extra meal on the table, he would say with a shrug. Lost souls, he called the people who asked for my help. I could be ordinary with him, and I was thankful for it.

  I looked around. It was difficult to relax. My skin was tingling and being pulled in every direction. There were spirits seated in between each family. They studied me as I walked by. A man floated beside his young widow. He tipped his hat as they passed. Others were not as nice. “Leave us. This is our home,” they hissed.

  To the right a woman sat with a basket of sweet rolls that kept tipping over when there was no wind. She trembled as the spirit of her jealous sister continued to interrupt her prayers.

  “Stop that,” I said below my breath. “Can you not see she is trying to apologize?” The specter crossed her arms and pouted at me.

  Pidring tapped me on the shoulder and nodded to a group of young women sitting in front of the steps of a large mausoleum. I felt my legs grow hot. Their dresses fit their breasts to perfection. The shorter lengths exposed their tender ankles.

  “How wonderfully indecent,” Pidring said, grinning.

  I shook my head, embarrassed by his loudness.

  “What, what is it?” Addie asked with a knowing smile.

  “Pidring wishes to make fools of us.”

  “It will be perfect, Ped,” Pidring insisted. “If we could get them to walk down the road …” He laughed and clapped his hands.

  We had set up a prank the night before, as we did each year on All Souls’ Day. I had been h
esitant to play one this year, because Addie had asked to come along. Sometimes our pranks got us into fistfights, sometimes not, but there was always a certain amount of running involved each time. The family he was pointing to were the Villanuevas, the wealthiest in San Isidro. The father owned many acres of land. He had four daughters and no sons. I glanced at the gravesite. There was no sign of the father, only three of the girls and the grandfather.

  I made a face. “Not that family. Pick another, Pidring. Do you wish to see us thrown in jail? The father is great friends with the constabulary. Those girls are—” I turned and saw the fourth sister standing behind Pidring with her arms crossed.

  “Socorra.” I nodded in greeting. She had a doll’s face. She was small; with high heels she barely reached Addie’s height. Her hair was pulled up into a simple knot, emphasizing her brown eyes. The hair on the corners of her brow were baby fine. She brushed away a few loose tendrils with a gloved hand, then pulled off the gloves in irritation and smoothed back her hair.

  “Finish your sentence. Those girls are what?” she demanded.

  Socorra’s voice startled Addie, who squeezed my hand and began to shuffle her foot one on top of the other, back and forth. I was speechless. I was mesmerized by her first-class clothing, the richness of her blue traveling suit, the matching Western hat with a small veil and pin. I was a roach crawling near her fineness.

  “That is a lovely fragrance you are wearing,” Addie murmured. I closed my eyes and inhaled. She was strawberries and almonds.

  She ignored Addie’s compliment and looked us up and down with contempt. I am ashamed to say I was impressed by her airs. She fascinated me. She reeked of authority.

  “Let me finish your sentence for you. Those girls are beautiful, above us, educated. Shall I continue?” Socorra asked, lifting her chin at me.

  “Yes, all of the above, lovely lady.” I laughed nervously.

  She rolled her eyes in disgust and walked past us.

  I stood rooted to the spot. I studied her every movement, her back straight as a ballerina’s, the way she stopped and turned her head to survey the others.