Untitled
Chapter One
1944
I was awake before the lamplight hit my eyes. My sister Amanda put the alcohol lamp noiselessly down on my bedside table. It was past midnight then, but she seemed not at all surprised to find me awake.
"Are we going away?" I asked her. Amanda put a finger to her lips even before I had finished my question. She nodded once and pulled me up gently.
"Put some warm clothes on, and your shoes. I'll help you pack your belongings."
I obeyed her immediately. So this was it, I thought to myself. I had pieced together bits of information I had overheard from my parents as they spoke about the war that was upon us. My father was a ship's captain, one of the very few who knew the waters around our islands, like the back of his hand. He had managed to make it home shortly after the war began, and from then on lived in relative obscurity tending my mother's gardens. Late in the afternoons he and my mother would talk quietly between themselves, and as the war progressed he would disappear for days. When once I asked my mother why my father would leave us like that, it was my brother Abel who told me to be silent, that my father did that to protect the rest of us.
Three days ago, unobserved by the rest of the family, I had watched from an upstairs window when my father went away at dawn with two men who were strangers to me. When he did not return that same day all my mother would say to me was not to worry, that my father was safe.
I was the runt of the family. The butt of all jokes. My eldest brother Abel always said I was named Renato to truncate what otherwise would have been a longer line of siblings, a tendency everyone believed, when parents gave their children names that began with the same letter. Being the youngest, I was the most protected, the first to be called at mealtimes, the last to know everything.
By the time I had finished dressing, Amanda was lacing up the brown canvas knapsack I had inherited from my brother Alex. She helped me put it on, and told me to wait in the kitchen for the rest of the family.
"Can we take Abucay with us?" I asked her. Abucay was my pet cockatoo, a present from an uncle in Davao when he visited us a few months ago.
"You'll have to set Abucay free," she replied, quietly. "There'll be no one here to take care of him."
I held back the tears that suddenly stung my eyes. I was eight years old, and I wanted my eldest sister to be proud of me. I nodded once and walked quietly through the house towards the backyard. As I passed my brother Alex's room I saw no light under his door, which was out of the ordinary. Alex always had a light in his room because he wrote in his notebook all the time. Whatever he wrote he showed no one, except for one time when he was feeling generous, and allowed me to peek at a page that he had written. When I realized that I could not understand the words he had written, he had laughed and told me that was because the words were in Latin.
It was dark in the backyard. When I opened the door to Abucay's cage I startled him awake. for a moment, he seemed confused, then he pecked hesitantly at the space where the door should have been. He looked at me expectantly. I put my arm into the cage and he hopped on, as he usually did, walked gingerly all the way to my shoulder and rested there. I walked him to the banana grove ten yards away, found a tree stump and put him down. I yanked off a nearly ripe cardaba from a nearby tree, peeled it and placed it by Abucay's feet. He pecked at it once, and then again, this time with more enthusiasm. While he was occupied with the fruit I started walking back towards the house. I hadn't gone in through the door when I felt a familiar draft of air and found Abucay on my shoulder again.
"No," I whispered to him, "go back to the trees, you'll be safer there." I transferred him to my other arm, raised it swiftly and watched in dismay as he flew back to his cage. I thought of going back to take him out again, but I also knew that his instinct of self-preservation would eventually drive him back to the grove. I went inside and closed the door behind me.
Inside the house I found the rest of the family assembled in the sala. For the first time I saw both my mother and Amanda wearing trousers. It almost made me smile. I looked at Amanda and Abel and realized that they were almost identical, their brown khakis and their faces blurred in the half-light emphasizing their twinhood. Amelia, who was a year older than me, was holding mama's hand while she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with her other hand. Abel and Alex hitched their olive green knapsacks, presents from Papa's last trip from Hongkong, on their backs. There was a tartanilla waiting outside the front door, on which our servants Beloy and Sening had piled our provisions. Mama told us to get on. She and Amanda blew out the remaining lamps and the house fell into darkness.
While Amanda waited by the carriage my mother stood by the front door, gazing at the empty house. Here she had lived since she and Papa were married. Here all her children had first seen the light. She closed the front door quietly, then, without another backward glance, climbed into the tartanilla beside Abel, who held the reins.
As we rode away I looked back at the house that I had known since I was born. It had been the venue of many joyous celebrations. I recalled colored paper lanterns hanging from the branches of the trees that surrounded it, rattan chairs around tables topped with pristine white linen, laden with food from my mother's gardens and animal pens. Then the war came. Now it stood in the middle of the mango grove, stark against the dark windows and the moonless sky, like a skull.
I asked my mother quietly if we were going to return here. "Soon," she answered. But as we rode off, I looked back at the house that was slowly obscured by the darkness, and I knew in my heart that I would never see it again.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
I Do Not Ask You to Forget
(in answer to Pablo Neruda's poem "There's No Forgetting")
I ask you where you've been all this time
because things happen
that are far removed from this little town
where rivers are free to flow out into the sea:
I ask because i want to build a sanctuary
for birds who have alit amidst blood and tears
Here where the sea washes away the exhaustion of war
It is a tiny place, where day turns into night
leaving the aftertaste of rain in your mouth
Come to me and whisper the screams that have
shattered your spirit
or let me put my finger against your lips
and hold your head to my breast and feed you
with my heartbeat.
I do not ask you to discard the memories
but merely to keep them by your feet till you decide
the time for leaving
let my naked fingers trace your neck
we will walk on leaves fallen on the grass:
wear the coolness of day going dark
appease the grief that runs in your blood.
Here swallows nest in violets,
all things we miss and which remind
erstwhile lives we lived
though here time remains and sweetness remains.
I do not ask you to forget
Nor must you lose yourself in silence
I do not claim to have an answer:
I do know you must live
to build the dikes that were breached
to calm the tide that batters the hulls
for though we know there is no forgetting
there is for the briefest moment, respite.
I ask you where you've been all this time
because things happen
that are far removed from this little town
where rivers are free to flow out into the sea:
I ask because i want to build a sanctuary
for birds who have alit amidst blood and tears
Here where the sea washes away the exhaustion of war
It is a tiny place, where day turns into night
leaving the aftertaste of rain in your mouth
Come to me and whisper the screams that have
shattered your spirit
or let me put my finger against your lips
and hold your head to my breast and feed you
with my heartbeat.
I do not ask you to discard the memories
but merely to keep them by your feet till you decide
the time for leaving
let my naked fingers trace your neck
we will walk on leaves fallen on the grass:
wear the coolness of day going dark
appease the grief that runs in your blood.
Here swallows nest in violets,
all things we miss and which remind
erstwhile lives we lived
though here time remains and sweetness remains.
I do not ask you to forget
Nor must you lose yourself in silence
I do not claim to have an answer:
I do know you must live
to build the dikes that were breached
to calm the tide that batters the hulls
for though we know there is no forgetting
there is for the briefest moment, respite.
Sins of Omission
You sit at the table
with the red umbrella,
with no one to hear you belch
right after you lick the last
drop from the mouth of
your beer bottle.
You go home to your chair
at the dining table,
except there's no one there to
make you cups of coffee and
watch you sit and read
your newspaper.
You'd like to go out, see
a movie with someone,
but you cannot find a shirt
in the pile that she had left
behind unironed
the day she left.
You want to lie down, sleep
corners of your blanket
creeping around your arms and
legs as you embrace the soft
pillow that she used
to cry on.
with the red umbrella,
with no one to hear you belch
right after you lick the last
drop from the mouth of
your beer bottle.
You go home to your chair
at the dining table,
except there's no one there to
make you cups of coffee and
watch you sit and read
your newspaper.
You'd like to go out, see
a movie with someone,
but you cannot find a shirt
in the pile that she had left
behind unironed
the day she left.
You want to lie down, sleep
corners of your blanket
creeping around your arms and
legs as you embrace the soft
pillow that she used
to cry on.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Mobius
A mundane haven is all
this small world immeasurable
bound by time
so scarce angels cry
with each passing
second of your absence
locked by space
so dense screams die
under whispered
touches of your voice
obscured by meaning
so gray memory leaps
at the mere
snap of your fingers
caged by music
so haunting birds mourn
the unlatching of
the grilled gate
Immeasurably mundane is all
the world, to this small haven.
this small world immeasurable
bound by time
so scarce angels cry
with each passing
second of your absence
locked by space
so dense screams die
under whispered
touches of your voice
obscured by meaning
so gray memory leaps
at the mere
snap of your fingers
caged by music
so haunting birds mourn
the unlatching of
the grilled gate
Immeasurably mundane is all
the world, to this small haven.
Malong
"Ituring mo itong kaibigan."
Puwedeng itapis
pag ahon sa dagat
(patuyuing nakadikit sa balat)
Maaaring ipalupot ng maka-ilang ulit
iputong ng parang korona
(panangga sa init ng tanghali)
Tiklupin ng makalawa
isuot bilang palda, maikli o mahaba
(sing-ikli ng panahon, sing-haba ng gabi)
Ibalabal kung maginaw
Italukbong kung umuulan
(ingatang kuwag sumayad sa lupa)
Itali sa balikat
na parang saya
(kaunting sipag lang ng daliri)
Gamiting kumot
sa pagtulog
(para huwag pagpiyestahan ng lamok)
Hanapin sa loob
ang nakawalang panaginip
(magising ka man sa katotohanan)
Kinaumagahan.
Puwedeng itapis
pag ahon sa dagat
(patuyuing nakadikit sa balat)
Maaaring ipalupot ng maka-ilang ulit
iputong ng parang korona
(panangga sa init ng tanghali)
Tiklupin ng makalawa
isuot bilang palda, maikli o mahaba
(sing-ikli ng panahon, sing-haba ng gabi)
Ibalabal kung maginaw
Italukbong kung umuulan
(ingatang kuwag sumayad sa lupa)
Itali sa balikat
na parang saya
(kaunting sipag lang ng daliri)
Gamiting kumot
sa pagtulog
(para huwag pagpiyestahan ng lamok)
Hanapin sa loob
ang nakawalang panaginip
(magising ka man sa katotohanan)
Kinaumagahan.
Wishing for Rain
The young vendor served me with a smile as I sat on a plastic stool in front of her makeshift counter. I was halfway through my coffee and cheese roll when a gurgling sound came from behind the table. Still smiling, the girl reached down and cooed.
"So, my precious, you're awake already."
I leaned across the table and saw a baby lying in a small wicker basket, the threads ringing her earlobes still red with merthiolate. She squealed happily and her tiny toes curled as the girl tickled her belly. The half-swallowed bread caught in my throat.
"Yours?" I asked the girl and she answered with a nod. "How old is she?"
"Six months."
I paid her and, without finishing the coffee, went to board my bus. It moved out of the terminal with less than ten people aboard, and I had the seat across the driver all to myself. I was slowly getting used to travelling alone, but everytime we passed a landmark or an interesting place I would turn my head and speak, then I'd stop short as I realized Paul wasn't there to listen.
I arrived at the pension house in Tibangâ late in the evening. Everyone had finished supper, and the cooks had gone home. The kitchen aide had offered to prepare something, if I didn't mind waiting, but I was too exhausted to eat. I went straight to the room that had been assigned to me. I dropped my knapsack, fell on the mattress, and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
It was still dark when I awoke to sounds that I had not heard in a long time. A rooster was crowing, crickets chirping in counterpoint to his summons. I remembered waking up like that, a lifetime ago, when Paul and I had slept in a makeshift hut up in the mountains in Tuburan. I got up, opened the window, and found the rooster perched on a clothesline post. It was still too dark to get my bearings, but the slight breeze told me that it was all right to stay there, safe in that friendly darkness.
When the night sky had dissipated into a pale orange haze I knew something was amiss. From my window I could see Iligan Bay in the distance, flanked by tall coconut trees, and as I watched the waters turn blue I realized why I felt rather disoriented. Here the sun rose from behind the mountains and set in the sea.
The college administrator, Mr. Galvez, was waiting for me when I came down for breakfast. He apologized for not having been there to greet me when I arrived. He led me to the dining room, saying he hoped I would not have any difficulty adjusting to the environment. As we sat down he gave me an outline of what was expected of me, which was mainly to orient the resident instructors with the new networking system, and make whatever recommendations necessary for improvement. In my spare time I could tour the city, as long as I left word with the front desk on my way out. Then he took note of my clothes.
"Are you comfortable in those?" he asked, indicating my long-sleeved shirt, which was buttoned at the cuffs. "It can get very warm in the afternoons, but I do recommend you dress modestly, especially if you plan to visit Marawi during your stay here."
I assured him that I had brought appropriate clothing, and that he need not worry about me on that point. I always wore long-sleeved shirts, but I didn't see the need to tell him why.
In the next two weeks I became too busy to remember that there were other places to see besides the hallways of ACE Computer College. In the dusty afternoons I wished for rain as the walk back to the pension house sapped whatever energy I had left. A couple of instructors at the college dropped a few hints, but ever since Paul died I had no desire to go out with anyone.
But then Mr. Galvez told me they were donating old computers to the Agus National High School, and since they could not spare anyone to set the units up would I mind going instead? The Agus school principal promised a tour for whoever was bringing the units there, he said, and wouldn't it be like hitting two birds and so on.
I smiled at the hopefulness in his voice and said, yes, I would like the opportunity to represent the college.
The following morning I found the service L300 in front of the college, loaded with hardware we were taking to Agus, which was roughly thirty kilometers out of Tibangâ. Mr. Galvez handed me a brown envelope full of papers which, he emphasized, the Agus school principal had to sign. The whole operation might take a good part of a day, and he promised us a nice dinner when we got back. He sent the driver and me off with a wave.
Along the way, Nong Bob the driver regaled me with stories of ambushes he'd been witness to, bombings that he'd survived. Occupational hazards. As he was relating an especially harrowing experience complete with sound effects, I heard a knocking sound coming from the underside of the van. For a minute I thought we were going into one of his adventures, but Nong Bob calmly told me that there was nothing to worry about, the van made noises like that every now and then.
When we arrived at the Agus National High School we were met by the teacher-in-charge.
"Michael Fortich," he introduced himself with a firm handshake.
At first glance he looked like one of the high school students, but his presence was all the more pronounced because of his quietness, as opposed to the raucous delight of some of the teenagers who had gathered around to watch. He drafted a few boys to help unload the hardware the driver and I had brought, and said I had better supervise the operation.
We spent the whole afternoon assembling the units, and while the sweat rolled off my chin and onto my collar I noticed him looking at me every now and then. Once I challenged his eyes, and with his brows slightly raised he looked from my collar to my buttoned sleeves. I stared him down.
"There'll be some sort of ceremony tomorrow," he said as he stood up after the last unit had been put together.
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes. You've come a day early, you see. Tomorrow the principal and most of the other teachers will be here. Maybe even a photographer."
I turned to Nong Bob, who was still sweating after his crash course on computer assembly, and asked him if he could ferry me back here tomorrow. He said he wasn't sure, because he had a strict schedule of deliveries to follow. Then he excused himself to go check on the van.
"Can't we dispense with the formalities?" I said to Fortich.
"The principal will have to sign your receipts. Besides, she would be greatly disappointed if she couldn't formally thank your school."
I wasn't at all sure if I saw a hint of a smile on his mouth when he said that.
"Well, it's out of the question, I wasn't told that I'd have to spend the night, I don't have a change of clothes and-" Then I saw Nong Bob coming towards us, scratching and shaking his head. In his other hand he held a grease-stained object, and when I looked at it my heart sank.
"I have to get a replacement for this. The van won't run without it."
"But it was running just an hour ago!" I protested.
"I don't want to risk a breakdown on the way back."
"I'm going with you."
"It's a long walk," Fortich said to Nong Bob.
"You better stay here, Miss," Nong Bob said to me, "it's getting dark. It's not safe for you to be out in the street. Stay with the van so I can tell Mr. Galvez it's in safe hands. If I hurry I can be back here in the morning."
"In the morning?"
"There's a room the principal uses when she sleeps over," Fortich said. "It's in the other building. If she were here I'm sure she would insist that you use it."
I booted up the nearest computer and watched it go through its startup sequence without a hitch. I did the same with the other units and they all behaved normally. I took that as a good omen.
Later, as I stood on the landing and watched Nong Bob disappear down the road, I began to doubt my own judgment. Then I turned around and saw for the first time where I really was.
The school buildings stood on a landscaped hillside, plants with the most colorful leaves bordering the balconies. Gigantic river stones stood here and there like obelisks. Around them were shrubs a handspan's height, dotted with flowers just about to bloom.
This is a school, I thought as I stood there in the afternoon light, not some three-storey building on a dusty city street. I looked down and saw Fortich waiting for me.
"Let me show you to your room," he said. He helped me down and at the touch of his hand I immediately felt a spark. Static from all that assembly, I thought. I let go as soon as I was on steady ground.
The principal's sleeping room was spare and snug. It reminded me of another place that seemed so far away, a place where I thought nothing could harm me. It had a white metal hospital bed with a mattress on it, and a little cabinet that was also a side table. The bed was high enough for me to get a clear view of the school yard and the verdant slopes beyond it.
"There's a washroom out in the back," Fortich said as he stood in the doorway, "if you'd like to freshen up. I'll have one of the boys stock up some water."
"Thank you."
"If you don't mind wearing borrowed clothes I think I can get you something to change into."
"That might be too much of a bother."
"It won't. I know these people. They'll be eager to help."
"I leave everything in your hands, then."
Again that hint of a smile, as he nodded and turned to go.
Shortly after he left I heard the sound of pouring water outside. I stepped out and found one of the boys who had helped us emptying a container full of water into a large earthen jar. On a makeshift bamboo table beside it were a soap dish and a clean, neatly-folded hand towel.
"What's your name?" I asked the boy.
"Chris, Ma'am."
"Where do you get your water, Chris?"
"There's a water pump behind those classrooms," he said, pointing to a building about fifty meters away.
"Kind of a long way for hauling, isn't it? I'll help you."
"No! I mean, no, Ma'am. I do this at home all the time. I'm used to it."
I was not at all used to having anyone serving me, but he was so earnest that I let it go.
"Thank you very much for helping me, Chris."
He blushed and smiled shyly. "I go now, fetch more water." He went off with his container before I could say anything else. He came back three more times, until the earthen jar was full.
I stood by the jar and washed my hands. I still found it difficult to look at my arms after rolling up my sleeves. Undressing before a bath was easier, when I could step into the shower and cover myself with soapsuds and pretend that each inch of skin was the same as the rest. But seeing the scars stark against the fabric of my shirt always brought back all the memories.
They had made it seem so easy. A forged signature, paid testimonies-even before the bruises had faded and the scabs on my arms hardened as I lay in a hospital charity ward-they had taken my child away from me. When I had recovered, I had gone to the old house where they had taken my daughter. I was stopped cold at the gate by a blue-shirted security guard who told me I could not go inside.
I must have stood there, lost in remembering, before realizing that I was not alone. Michael Fortich was standing a few feet away from me, cradling a small bundle of cloth, his eyes fastened on my bare forearms. I quickly rolled down my sleeves and felt them stick to my wet skin.
You're a long way from your pineapple plantation, I wanted to say to him. His kind was one of the reasons why my daughter would grow up without a father, conditioned by her grandparents to believe that her mother was no good, if not dead.
"I thought you might want to change into these," he said quietly. He handed me the bundle after I had dried my hands with the towel. "I've invaded your privacy. Please forgive me." Without waiting for an answer he went away.
I carried the bundle inside the room and unraveled the knot. The colorful cloth wrapping turned out to be a malong, and inside it was a necklace of beads with tinkling brass bells. There were also two cotton shirts, one navy blue and the other brown, that smelled faintly of flowers. I held the blue one up against my body and smoothed its long sleeves down my arms.
I turned around and looked through the window. Michael was standing on the same spot where I had stood relishing the sight of the school yard for the first time. As I looked at him I thought I must have had that same look on my face. Then he looked in my direction, and though I knew he couldn't see me through the curtains I smiled at him in thanks. I thought I saw him smile back.
After I had bathed and changed into my borrowed finery I heard a knock on the door. It was Chris, asking me if I was ready for supper. He led me through the school grounds to a foot path that took us uphill past several huts along either side. I wanted to ask him where we were going but before I could he stopped in front of a house whose walls were made of coco lumber louvers.
"Sir Michael!" Chris called out, and soon enough he appeared, dressed as I was minus the adornments, the smile on his face as reserved as this afternoon's. A table stood against the wall behind him. A modest supper had been laid out for four. Before I could even wonder who the fourth place was for, a teenaged girl entered the room carrying a steaming soup tureen. Then I knew who had lent me my clothes.
"This is Tina," Michael said. "She's Chris' sister. They help me out every now and then in exchange for tutoring. Although I must admit I need their help more than they need my tutoring."
I fell into furtive observation of these people who were sharing their meal with me, touched by the kindness that they had shown on such short notice. We ate the sautéed greens and stewed fish with our hands. I could not help looking at Michael's as he scooped up the food from his plate with his right hand. It was lean and lined with veins so blue they showed up despite his dark skin.
Chris ate his supper with an appetite typical of a boy of his age, and he would look up in protest at his sister when she nudged him with her elbow to make him eat more slowly. Tina had such small fair hands they were like a child's, and I wondered if my daughter's hands would be like hers, and if I would ever hold them again. We ate in silence, a silence which I refused to break because of its serenity, and I was thankful that none of them felt the need for simple chatter.
Michael walked me back to my room. As we followed the same path I was extremely aware of the tinkling of the bells on the necklace I wore. On impulse I stopped and looked up at the night sky, and was amazed by the multitude of stars that were visible. I thought, these are not the same stars that I see at night where I live.
But there's Orion! I pointed out to myself, tracing the three bright stars of his belt and the three smaller stars that formed his sword. But here Orion wore a flowing cape, his dog Sirius nipping at its hem. From Orion's right hand I deduced which direction was east, so I knew where to expect the sunrise.
"We all find what we're looking for, eventually," I heard Michael say, "if we know what it is we're looking for."
I know what I'm looking for, I thought. Do you?
When we arrived at my door I said to Michael, "I didn't get to thank Tina for lending me her clothes. Please tell her I appreciate it." I fingered the brass bells of the necklace. "I really must get something like this before I leave."
"That's mine, actually. But you can have it if you wish."
"I wish."
For the first time, I heard him laugh. "It doesn't take much to make you happy, does it?" he said. "A kind gesture, warm food. I remember the look on your face when you saw our garden."
It's going to take more than a landscaped garden to make me really happy, I thought. But as soon as I go home . . .
". . . didn't look like this at the time we built the school five years ago," Michael was saying. He had sat down on the stone steps by the door, facing the school yard. "We erected the buildings around the trees and rocks-"
"You speak as if you've held saw and hammer yourself."
"I have. I can even say I'm a better carpenter than teacher."
I sat down beside him. "You built that house you live in."
He nodded. "It's a long way from Malaybalay, but it's home."
For a second I was embarrassed that he'd read my mind earlier this afternoon. But when he looked at me his eyes seemed to say, It's all right, we're even now.
"I wish it would rain, though," he said. "It takes a lot of effort to water all this. Sometimes the ground is so dry the wind just lifts the dust off the road and blows it all the way to here. The leaves need their bath."
Right after he spoke the air around us suddenly changed. I looked up at the sky and it was as if the stars had heard him and had gone to fetch the clouds, thick gray clouds streaked with white lightning, thunder chasing them toward us. We sat there, dumbfounded, as the first drops of rain fell on the hillside.
It fell quietly, smoothing a blanket of solace over the school yard. I held out my hand to catch the droplets falling from the roof, forming a warm pool in my palm. As the rain intensified I pushed up my sleeves and held my arms out under the steady stream.
"I didn't do this to myself, you know."
"I didn't think you did."
"We were full of anger then. We were very young. There was this settlement in my hometown that was going to be torn down to make way for a shipbuilding facility. I went there to join the protest, took the baby along so my relatives there could see her. I'd convinced Paul to come with us. We'd leave Miranda with my aunts then go to the town plaza where the settlers had gathered. We were there for three days. On the third day the landowners brought in reinforcements. That's when things got out of hand."
I took a deep breath and told him about the shields and truncheons and the bullets, and the firemen's hoses that washed away the blood on the plaza. I told him how I had sat on the ground with Paul's head on my lap and how I had tried to smooth his hair, and failing because of the dark hole in his skull. I remembered the sound of his head hitting the pavement when the soldiers pulled me up and dragged me off. I told him about the intense light when they yanked off my blindfold, about the nodes that had been taped to my body, about how I had prayed that my inquisitors would turn the current on the highest setting right away so I could faint and not feel the other things that they did to me.
I stopped, cupped my hands under the rain and splashed the water on my face. It eased the sting in my eyes and I felt the flush on my cheeks subside.
"Paul's mother came to me later, when I was in hospital. She said she was taking Miranda away, in exhcange for her son's life. Two days later I got a restraining order. I haven't seen my daughter since."
"How old is she?"
"Almost four. I'm trying to get her back, but I need money to do that so I came here. The company is paying me a lot for this assignment. I want to bring her somewhere peaceful, where she can grow up, go to school, have friends. Where I don't have to worry over where we're going to be the next day."
I turned to him and saw him looking strangely at me. I said, "I'd been wondering, you know, what someone with a name like yours is doing here." He grinned. "You hiding from the law or something?"
"No, not the law. And I'm not hiding. At least, not anymore," Michael said, looking out at the rain. "I had a girl back in Bukidnon. She was very pretty. And kind. I used to get up very early in the morning so I could go out in the fields with her at harvest time. We were going to marry." He sighed. "She caught a fever--just a mild one, her sister had told me. Then my parents sent me off on business deal in Manila and when I came back, she was dead. I'd always thought she could have lived, but her family had been too proud to ask for help. I realized I couldn't live there anymore, not with her memory, so I went away. I stopped at a few places, moved on. Then I found this place. I like it here. The people are friendly, and the kids are great. Didn't take long for me to decide to stay."
I breathed deeply and smiled.
"I love the way the ground smells when it rains."
"I like the frogs singing afterwards," Michael said, "like all the fields lifting their voices to heaven in thanks. Think I'll join them."
He stood up and walked into the rain, back to that landing where earlier today we had both stood in turn. I watched him, sentinel barely discernable through the curtain of rain. Then he stretched his arms to his sides, threw his head back and let the rain fall on his face. He stood there, for an eternity it seemed, until he slowly let one arm down and turned to me. I reached out through the rain until I felt his hand, warm and sheltering, on my palm.
At dawn, in my own clothes, I took a long walk and caught a jeepney back to Tibangâ. I stopped by the college to tell them I'd left the papers behind in Agus for them to pick up, then on to the pension house to pack. It was a ninety minute ride back to Agora, and another six hours by hovercraft to the place I called home.
An empty house, which I hoped to fill with the laughter of my daughter, when at last we would be reunited. It was a place where the sun rose over the sea, and quietly set behind the mountains leaving a bright orange glow in the sky as a promise to return the next day.
I showed up at our main office, got paid for my troubles and was granted a day of rest.
I went to the beach, to one of the last places in Marigondon where I could sit on the sand and feel the sun warm on my back. I stayed there all afternoon with my sleeves rolled up, planning my course for the following days, offices to visit, people to consult. But every now and then my thoughts returned to the south, where the sky had once given me a reprieve.
A peaceful place, where perhaps my daughter can grow up, go to school, have friends. Where I wouldn't have to worry over where we're going to be the next day. A place like this beach, where we can sit on the sand and write indecipherable wishes for the tide to read. Where we can get to know each other again, where I could hold her hand to my cheek, and kiss her hair.
When it rains she might sit with me by the window, and follow my eyes as I look through the downpour. When I look at her she would smile, and I would smile back. Perhaps on one of those days I will tell her about that place where the sun rises from behind the mountains and melts away into the sea. I will tell her, as we bathe in the afterglow of a hundred sunsets, where the necklace that I wear comes from, about the man who once sat beside me under the stars, wishing for rain. ###
"So, my precious, you're awake already."
I leaned across the table and saw a baby lying in a small wicker basket, the threads ringing her earlobes still red with merthiolate. She squealed happily and her tiny toes curled as the girl tickled her belly. The half-swallowed bread caught in my throat.
"Yours?" I asked the girl and she answered with a nod. "How old is she?"
"Six months."
I paid her and, without finishing the coffee, went to board my bus. It moved out of the terminal with less than ten people aboard, and I had the seat across the driver all to myself. I was slowly getting used to travelling alone, but everytime we passed a landmark or an interesting place I would turn my head and speak, then I'd stop short as I realized Paul wasn't there to listen.
I arrived at the pension house in Tibangâ late in the evening. Everyone had finished supper, and the cooks had gone home. The kitchen aide had offered to prepare something, if I didn't mind waiting, but I was too exhausted to eat. I went straight to the room that had been assigned to me. I dropped my knapsack, fell on the mattress, and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
It was still dark when I awoke to sounds that I had not heard in a long time. A rooster was crowing, crickets chirping in counterpoint to his summons. I remembered waking up like that, a lifetime ago, when Paul and I had slept in a makeshift hut up in the mountains in Tuburan. I got up, opened the window, and found the rooster perched on a clothesline post. It was still too dark to get my bearings, but the slight breeze told me that it was all right to stay there, safe in that friendly darkness.
When the night sky had dissipated into a pale orange haze I knew something was amiss. From my window I could see Iligan Bay in the distance, flanked by tall coconut trees, and as I watched the waters turn blue I realized why I felt rather disoriented. Here the sun rose from behind the mountains and set in the sea.
The college administrator, Mr. Galvez, was waiting for me when I came down for breakfast. He apologized for not having been there to greet me when I arrived. He led me to the dining room, saying he hoped I would not have any difficulty adjusting to the environment. As we sat down he gave me an outline of what was expected of me, which was mainly to orient the resident instructors with the new networking system, and make whatever recommendations necessary for improvement. In my spare time I could tour the city, as long as I left word with the front desk on my way out. Then he took note of my clothes.
"Are you comfortable in those?" he asked, indicating my long-sleeved shirt, which was buttoned at the cuffs. "It can get very warm in the afternoons, but I do recommend you dress modestly, especially if you plan to visit Marawi during your stay here."
I assured him that I had brought appropriate clothing, and that he need not worry about me on that point. I always wore long-sleeved shirts, but I didn't see the need to tell him why.
In the next two weeks I became too busy to remember that there were other places to see besides the hallways of ACE Computer College. In the dusty afternoons I wished for rain as the walk back to the pension house sapped whatever energy I had left. A couple of instructors at the college dropped a few hints, but ever since Paul died I had no desire to go out with anyone.
But then Mr. Galvez told me they were donating old computers to the Agus National High School, and since they could not spare anyone to set the units up would I mind going instead? The Agus school principal promised a tour for whoever was bringing the units there, he said, and wouldn't it be like hitting two birds and so on.
I smiled at the hopefulness in his voice and said, yes, I would like the opportunity to represent the college.
The following morning I found the service L300 in front of the college, loaded with hardware we were taking to Agus, which was roughly thirty kilometers out of Tibangâ. Mr. Galvez handed me a brown envelope full of papers which, he emphasized, the Agus school principal had to sign. The whole operation might take a good part of a day, and he promised us a nice dinner when we got back. He sent the driver and me off with a wave.
Along the way, Nong Bob the driver regaled me with stories of ambushes he'd been witness to, bombings that he'd survived. Occupational hazards. As he was relating an especially harrowing experience complete with sound effects, I heard a knocking sound coming from the underside of the van. For a minute I thought we were going into one of his adventures, but Nong Bob calmly told me that there was nothing to worry about, the van made noises like that every now and then.
When we arrived at the Agus National High School we were met by the teacher-in-charge.
"Michael Fortich," he introduced himself with a firm handshake.
At first glance he looked like one of the high school students, but his presence was all the more pronounced because of his quietness, as opposed to the raucous delight of some of the teenagers who had gathered around to watch. He drafted a few boys to help unload the hardware the driver and I had brought, and said I had better supervise the operation.
We spent the whole afternoon assembling the units, and while the sweat rolled off my chin and onto my collar I noticed him looking at me every now and then. Once I challenged his eyes, and with his brows slightly raised he looked from my collar to my buttoned sleeves. I stared him down.
"There'll be some sort of ceremony tomorrow," he said as he stood up after the last unit had been put together.
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes. You've come a day early, you see. Tomorrow the principal and most of the other teachers will be here. Maybe even a photographer."
I turned to Nong Bob, who was still sweating after his crash course on computer assembly, and asked him if he could ferry me back here tomorrow. He said he wasn't sure, because he had a strict schedule of deliveries to follow. Then he excused himself to go check on the van.
"Can't we dispense with the formalities?" I said to Fortich.
"The principal will have to sign your receipts. Besides, she would be greatly disappointed if she couldn't formally thank your school."
I wasn't at all sure if I saw a hint of a smile on his mouth when he said that.
"Well, it's out of the question, I wasn't told that I'd have to spend the night, I don't have a change of clothes and-" Then I saw Nong Bob coming towards us, scratching and shaking his head. In his other hand he held a grease-stained object, and when I looked at it my heart sank.
"I have to get a replacement for this. The van won't run without it."
"But it was running just an hour ago!" I protested.
"I don't want to risk a breakdown on the way back."
"I'm going with you."
"It's a long walk," Fortich said to Nong Bob.
"You better stay here, Miss," Nong Bob said to me, "it's getting dark. It's not safe for you to be out in the street. Stay with the van so I can tell Mr. Galvez it's in safe hands. If I hurry I can be back here in the morning."
"In the morning?"
"There's a room the principal uses when she sleeps over," Fortich said. "It's in the other building. If she were here I'm sure she would insist that you use it."
I booted up the nearest computer and watched it go through its startup sequence without a hitch. I did the same with the other units and they all behaved normally. I took that as a good omen.
Later, as I stood on the landing and watched Nong Bob disappear down the road, I began to doubt my own judgment. Then I turned around and saw for the first time where I really was.
The school buildings stood on a landscaped hillside, plants with the most colorful leaves bordering the balconies. Gigantic river stones stood here and there like obelisks. Around them were shrubs a handspan's height, dotted with flowers just about to bloom.
This is a school, I thought as I stood there in the afternoon light, not some three-storey building on a dusty city street. I looked down and saw Fortich waiting for me.
"Let me show you to your room," he said. He helped me down and at the touch of his hand I immediately felt a spark. Static from all that assembly, I thought. I let go as soon as I was on steady ground.
The principal's sleeping room was spare and snug. It reminded me of another place that seemed so far away, a place where I thought nothing could harm me. It had a white metal hospital bed with a mattress on it, and a little cabinet that was also a side table. The bed was high enough for me to get a clear view of the school yard and the verdant slopes beyond it.
"There's a washroom out in the back," Fortich said as he stood in the doorway, "if you'd like to freshen up. I'll have one of the boys stock up some water."
"Thank you."
"If you don't mind wearing borrowed clothes I think I can get you something to change into."
"That might be too much of a bother."
"It won't. I know these people. They'll be eager to help."
"I leave everything in your hands, then."
Again that hint of a smile, as he nodded and turned to go.
Shortly after he left I heard the sound of pouring water outside. I stepped out and found one of the boys who had helped us emptying a container full of water into a large earthen jar. On a makeshift bamboo table beside it were a soap dish and a clean, neatly-folded hand towel.
"What's your name?" I asked the boy.
"Chris, Ma'am."
"Where do you get your water, Chris?"
"There's a water pump behind those classrooms," he said, pointing to a building about fifty meters away.
"Kind of a long way for hauling, isn't it? I'll help you."
"No! I mean, no, Ma'am. I do this at home all the time. I'm used to it."
I was not at all used to having anyone serving me, but he was so earnest that I let it go.
"Thank you very much for helping me, Chris."
He blushed and smiled shyly. "I go now, fetch more water." He went off with his container before I could say anything else. He came back three more times, until the earthen jar was full.
I stood by the jar and washed my hands. I still found it difficult to look at my arms after rolling up my sleeves. Undressing before a bath was easier, when I could step into the shower and cover myself with soapsuds and pretend that each inch of skin was the same as the rest. But seeing the scars stark against the fabric of my shirt always brought back all the memories.
They had made it seem so easy. A forged signature, paid testimonies-even before the bruises had faded and the scabs on my arms hardened as I lay in a hospital charity ward-they had taken my child away from me. When I had recovered, I had gone to the old house where they had taken my daughter. I was stopped cold at the gate by a blue-shirted security guard who told me I could not go inside.
I must have stood there, lost in remembering, before realizing that I was not alone. Michael Fortich was standing a few feet away from me, cradling a small bundle of cloth, his eyes fastened on my bare forearms. I quickly rolled down my sleeves and felt them stick to my wet skin.
You're a long way from your pineapple plantation, I wanted to say to him. His kind was one of the reasons why my daughter would grow up without a father, conditioned by her grandparents to believe that her mother was no good, if not dead.
"I thought you might want to change into these," he said quietly. He handed me the bundle after I had dried my hands with the towel. "I've invaded your privacy. Please forgive me." Without waiting for an answer he went away.
I carried the bundle inside the room and unraveled the knot. The colorful cloth wrapping turned out to be a malong, and inside it was a necklace of beads with tinkling brass bells. There were also two cotton shirts, one navy blue and the other brown, that smelled faintly of flowers. I held the blue one up against my body and smoothed its long sleeves down my arms.
I turned around and looked through the window. Michael was standing on the same spot where I had stood relishing the sight of the school yard for the first time. As I looked at him I thought I must have had that same look on my face. Then he looked in my direction, and though I knew he couldn't see me through the curtains I smiled at him in thanks. I thought I saw him smile back.
After I had bathed and changed into my borrowed finery I heard a knock on the door. It was Chris, asking me if I was ready for supper. He led me through the school grounds to a foot path that took us uphill past several huts along either side. I wanted to ask him where we were going but before I could he stopped in front of a house whose walls were made of coco lumber louvers.
"Sir Michael!" Chris called out, and soon enough he appeared, dressed as I was minus the adornments, the smile on his face as reserved as this afternoon's. A table stood against the wall behind him. A modest supper had been laid out for four. Before I could even wonder who the fourth place was for, a teenaged girl entered the room carrying a steaming soup tureen. Then I knew who had lent me my clothes.
"This is Tina," Michael said. "She's Chris' sister. They help me out every now and then in exchange for tutoring. Although I must admit I need their help more than they need my tutoring."
I fell into furtive observation of these people who were sharing their meal with me, touched by the kindness that they had shown on such short notice. We ate the sautéed greens and stewed fish with our hands. I could not help looking at Michael's as he scooped up the food from his plate with his right hand. It was lean and lined with veins so blue they showed up despite his dark skin.
Chris ate his supper with an appetite typical of a boy of his age, and he would look up in protest at his sister when she nudged him with her elbow to make him eat more slowly. Tina had such small fair hands they were like a child's, and I wondered if my daughter's hands would be like hers, and if I would ever hold them again. We ate in silence, a silence which I refused to break because of its serenity, and I was thankful that none of them felt the need for simple chatter.
Michael walked me back to my room. As we followed the same path I was extremely aware of the tinkling of the bells on the necklace I wore. On impulse I stopped and looked up at the night sky, and was amazed by the multitude of stars that were visible. I thought, these are not the same stars that I see at night where I live.
But there's Orion! I pointed out to myself, tracing the three bright stars of his belt and the three smaller stars that formed his sword. But here Orion wore a flowing cape, his dog Sirius nipping at its hem. From Orion's right hand I deduced which direction was east, so I knew where to expect the sunrise.
"We all find what we're looking for, eventually," I heard Michael say, "if we know what it is we're looking for."
I know what I'm looking for, I thought. Do you?
When we arrived at my door I said to Michael, "I didn't get to thank Tina for lending me her clothes. Please tell her I appreciate it." I fingered the brass bells of the necklace. "I really must get something like this before I leave."
"That's mine, actually. But you can have it if you wish."
"I wish."
For the first time, I heard him laugh. "It doesn't take much to make you happy, does it?" he said. "A kind gesture, warm food. I remember the look on your face when you saw our garden."
It's going to take more than a landscaped garden to make me really happy, I thought. But as soon as I go home . . .
". . . didn't look like this at the time we built the school five years ago," Michael was saying. He had sat down on the stone steps by the door, facing the school yard. "We erected the buildings around the trees and rocks-"
"You speak as if you've held saw and hammer yourself."
"I have. I can even say I'm a better carpenter than teacher."
I sat down beside him. "You built that house you live in."
He nodded. "It's a long way from Malaybalay, but it's home."
For a second I was embarrassed that he'd read my mind earlier this afternoon. But when he looked at me his eyes seemed to say, It's all right, we're even now.
"I wish it would rain, though," he said. "It takes a lot of effort to water all this. Sometimes the ground is so dry the wind just lifts the dust off the road and blows it all the way to here. The leaves need their bath."
Right after he spoke the air around us suddenly changed. I looked up at the sky and it was as if the stars had heard him and had gone to fetch the clouds, thick gray clouds streaked with white lightning, thunder chasing them toward us. We sat there, dumbfounded, as the first drops of rain fell on the hillside.
It fell quietly, smoothing a blanket of solace over the school yard. I held out my hand to catch the droplets falling from the roof, forming a warm pool in my palm. As the rain intensified I pushed up my sleeves and held my arms out under the steady stream.
"I didn't do this to myself, you know."
"I didn't think you did."
"We were full of anger then. We were very young. There was this settlement in my hometown that was going to be torn down to make way for a shipbuilding facility. I went there to join the protest, took the baby along so my relatives there could see her. I'd convinced Paul to come with us. We'd leave Miranda with my aunts then go to the town plaza where the settlers had gathered. We were there for three days. On the third day the landowners brought in reinforcements. That's when things got out of hand."
I took a deep breath and told him about the shields and truncheons and the bullets, and the firemen's hoses that washed away the blood on the plaza. I told him how I had sat on the ground with Paul's head on my lap and how I had tried to smooth his hair, and failing because of the dark hole in his skull. I remembered the sound of his head hitting the pavement when the soldiers pulled me up and dragged me off. I told him about the intense light when they yanked off my blindfold, about the nodes that had been taped to my body, about how I had prayed that my inquisitors would turn the current on the highest setting right away so I could faint and not feel the other things that they did to me.
I stopped, cupped my hands under the rain and splashed the water on my face. It eased the sting in my eyes and I felt the flush on my cheeks subside.
"Paul's mother came to me later, when I was in hospital. She said she was taking Miranda away, in exhcange for her son's life. Two days later I got a restraining order. I haven't seen my daughter since."
"How old is she?"
"Almost four. I'm trying to get her back, but I need money to do that so I came here. The company is paying me a lot for this assignment. I want to bring her somewhere peaceful, where she can grow up, go to school, have friends. Where I don't have to worry over where we're going to be the next day."
I turned to him and saw him looking strangely at me. I said, "I'd been wondering, you know, what someone with a name like yours is doing here." He grinned. "You hiding from the law or something?"
"No, not the law. And I'm not hiding. At least, not anymore," Michael said, looking out at the rain. "I had a girl back in Bukidnon. She was very pretty. And kind. I used to get up very early in the morning so I could go out in the fields with her at harvest time. We were going to marry." He sighed. "She caught a fever--just a mild one, her sister had told me. Then my parents sent me off on business deal in Manila and when I came back, she was dead. I'd always thought she could have lived, but her family had been too proud to ask for help. I realized I couldn't live there anymore, not with her memory, so I went away. I stopped at a few places, moved on. Then I found this place. I like it here. The people are friendly, and the kids are great. Didn't take long for me to decide to stay."
I breathed deeply and smiled.
"I love the way the ground smells when it rains."
"I like the frogs singing afterwards," Michael said, "like all the fields lifting their voices to heaven in thanks. Think I'll join them."
He stood up and walked into the rain, back to that landing where earlier today we had both stood in turn. I watched him, sentinel barely discernable through the curtain of rain. Then he stretched his arms to his sides, threw his head back and let the rain fall on his face. He stood there, for an eternity it seemed, until he slowly let one arm down and turned to me. I reached out through the rain until I felt his hand, warm and sheltering, on my palm.
At dawn, in my own clothes, I took a long walk and caught a jeepney back to Tibangâ. I stopped by the college to tell them I'd left the papers behind in Agus for them to pick up, then on to the pension house to pack. It was a ninety minute ride back to Agora, and another six hours by hovercraft to the place I called home.
An empty house, which I hoped to fill with the laughter of my daughter, when at last we would be reunited. It was a place where the sun rose over the sea, and quietly set behind the mountains leaving a bright orange glow in the sky as a promise to return the next day.
I showed up at our main office, got paid for my troubles and was granted a day of rest.
I went to the beach, to one of the last places in Marigondon where I could sit on the sand and feel the sun warm on my back. I stayed there all afternoon with my sleeves rolled up, planning my course for the following days, offices to visit, people to consult. But every now and then my thoughts returned to the south, where the sky had once given me a reprieve.
A peaceful place, where perhaps my daughter can grow up, go to school, have friends. Where I wouldn't have to worry over where we're going to be the next day. A place like this beach, where we can sit on the sand and write indecipherable wishes for the tide to read. Where we can get to know each other again, where I could hold her hand to my cheek, and kiss her hair.
When it rains she might sit with me by the window, and follow my eyes as I look through the downpour. When I look at her she would smile, and I would smile back. Perhaps on one of those days I will tell her about that place where the sun rises from behind the mountains and melts away into the sea. I will tell her, as we bathe in the afterglow of a hundred sunsets, where the necklace that I wear comes from, about the man who once sat beside me under the stars, wishing for rain. ###
The Last Betrayal
There's nothing different in the way
she moves about so efficiently,
catering to his every whim.
In fact, she has bloomed much the way
he thought, seeing her then so callow,
now graceful as shadows should be.
It's only proper that she dress
lissome as a dancer for his eyes,
baring skin enticing, sultry
hints to unfold; she cleaves to him,
painted lips inviting touches where
violently she shivers in a breath.
She is as fate decrees, radiance
to his sun, burning all senses save
the one moment when she cries out
the name of a star.
*3rd Prize Winner in the 2000 Homelife Poetry Competition
she moves about so efficiently,
catering to his every whim.
In fact, she has bloomed much the way
he thought, seeing her then so callow,
now graceful as shadows should be.
It's only proper that she dress
lissome as a dancer for his eyes,
baring skin enticing, sultry
hints to unfold; she cleaves to him,
painted lips inviting touches where
violently she shivers in a breath.
She is as fate decrees, radiance
to his sun, burning all senses save
the one moment when she cries out
the name of a star.
*3rd Prize Winner in the 2000 Homelife Poetry Competition
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Awit sa Mandaragat
Halika't sisirin
ang aking mga mata
pagmasdan ang mga isdang
bahaghari sa pagitan
ng korales.
Hulihin ang bahaghari
isilid sa garapon
takpan, iuwi, itago
sa dilim ng makitid mong
silid.
Kay gandang pagmasdan
kulay ng liwanag
lalo na't bumabagyo
at hindi maaaring
pumalaot.
Matalim ang korales
mailap ang isda.
Hamunin ang sarili
masugatan man, o malunod
O amining hindi ka marunong
lumangoy.
ang aking mga mata
pagmasdan ang mga isdang
bahaghari sa pagitan
ng korales.
Hulihin ang bahaghari
isilid sa garapon
takpan, iuwi, itago
sa dilim ng makitid mong
silid.
Kay gandang pagmasdan
kulay ng liwanag
lalo na't bumabagyo
at hindi maaaring
pumalaot.
Matalim ang korales
mailap ang isda.
Hamunin ang sarili
masugatan man, o malunod
O amining hindi ka marunong
lumangoy.
Sophie and the Rainbow
Sophie was a little girl who lived in a house deep inside a forest.
It was always dark outside her window, because the forest was so dense, and the sunlight could never shine all the way through the canopy of leaves. But little Sophie didn't mind that at all. It was warm and cozy inside, especially when she would snuggle up to her mother while she sat in the rocking chair nursing Sophie's baby brother. There was always a fire in the hearth, which her father kept alive with old branches that had fallen off the trees in the forest.
Everyday Sophie would play quietly on the floor beside the hearth. Most of the time she would take her little pillow in her arms and rock it gently and softly sing to it. Whenever she did that her mother would smile down at her, and Sophie would smile back.
One day her father decided to take Sophie with him to the edge of the forest, where the road to the town lay. He was going to get a few things in town, and he asked Sophie's mother what he needed to bring back. Her mother gave Sophie's father a list of things to buy.
"I'll bring back something for you too," Sophie said, to both her mother and her little brother. As she didn't know yet what she would find in town Sophie added, "It will be a surprise."
Sophie and her father walked quietly on the path towards the town. It had just rained, but the sun was coming up from behind the mountains in the distance.
Then her father said, "Look, Sophie" as he pointed to the sky. Sophie looked up and saw, for the first time, a rainbow.
It began from one corner of the sky, a long, wide bridge of color that ended just beyond the road to the town.
"That's what I'll bring home to Mama," Sophie said to her father. Her father just smiled.
The store in town was filled with things Sophie had never seen before. There were shiny pots and pans piled up high on wooden shelves, thick blankets and clothes folded inside big brown boxes on the floor. Sophie walked quietly around the store looking at the things, until her father called her and said they were going home.
Then Sophie went to the counter where the storekeeper stood and said to him,
"I would like a jar, please."
The storekeeper smiled down at Sophie. "And what would you like me to put in it, little girl?"
"Oh, nothing, sir," Sophie replied. "I already have something to put in it."
"And what might that be?"
Sophie replied, "A rainbow."
The storekeeper smiled. "Ah, I have just the jar for you."
The storekeeper stooped behind the counter and came up with a jar which he placed carefully on the counter. It wasn't just an ordinary jar. It had many sides, and a glass cover that fit the top snugly.
The storekeeper said, "I had been saving this for the time when a little girl like you would come in here and ask for a jar to put a rainbow in."
He came out from behind the counter and gave Sophie the jar. It was big enough for Sophie to hold in the crook of her arm. Sophie was so happy with her jar that she didn't see her father put his hand on the counter, and the shopkeeper push it gently away.
Sophie and her father thanked the storekeeper and walked out into the street.
As Sophie and her father walked towards the end of the rainbow they passed other people on the street. All of them smiled down at Sophie and asked where she was going.
"I'm going to put the rainbow into this jar and take it home to my mother and baby brother."
The people laughed and shook their heads. Sophie wondered why they did that. It made her feel so bad that she wanted to cry, but then she felt her father's hand warm around her little hand.
A band of children, when they learned what Sophie wanted to do, had started following Sophie and her father as they walked to the end of the rainbow. The children were scruffy and mean, and they called out to Sophie in sing-song
"Silly Sophie, silly Sophie, wants to put a rainbowin a ja-aar"
The children laughed and pointed at her, and the tears that Sophie had been holding back finally fell.
Sophie's tears fell into the many-sided jar that she held under the rainbow's end. But through her tears she saw the band of colors creep into the jar and fasten themselves on to her teardrops.
And there they were, a hundred little rainbows bright in Sophie's jar!
Sophie smiled with joy. She held the jar in her arm and walked back home with her father.
As for the children who laughed at Sophie, they tried to put the rainbow in a jar too. But they were too mean to shed tears, and so the rainbow refused to come inside their jars. As the sun rose higher in the sky the rainbow disappeared altogether, and those children went back to their mean, scruffy games.
Sophie brought the jar of little rainbows into the house deep in the forest. Her mother was so happy with little Sophie's surprise. They put the jar of rainbows on the table beside the rocking chair, where Sophie and her mother and father, and yes, even her baby brother could gather around and look at its warm, bright colors.
It was always dark outside her window, because the forest was so dense, and the sunlight could never shine all the way through the canopy of leaves. But little Sophie didn't mind that at all. It was warm and cozy inside, especially when she would snuggle up to her mother while she sat in the rocking chair nursing Sophie's baby brother. There was always a fire in the hearth, which her father kept alive with old branches that had fallen off the trees in the forest.
Everyday Sophie would play quietly on the floor beside the hearth. Most of the time she would take her little pillow in her arms and rock it gently and softly sing to it. Whenever she did that her mother would smile down at her, and Sophie would smile back.
One day her father decided to take Sophie with him to the edge of the forest, where the road to the town lay. He was going to get a few things in town, and he asked Sophie's mother what he needed to bring back. Her mother gave Sophie's father a list of things to buy.
"I'll bring back something for you too," Sophie said, to both her mother and her little brother. As she didn't know yet what she would find in town Sophie added, "It will be a surprise."
Sophie and her father walked quietly on the path towards the town. It had just rained, but the sun was coming up from behind the mountains in the distance.
Then her father said, "Look, Sophie" as he pointed to the sky. Sophie looked up and saw, for the first time, a rainbow.
It began from one corner of the sky, a long, wide bridge of color that ended just beyond the road to the town.
"That's what I'll bring home to Mama," Sophie said to her father. Her father just smiled.
The store in town was filled with things Sophie had never seen before. There were shiny pots and pans piled up high on wooden shelves, thick blankets and clothes folded inside big brown boxes on the floor. Sophie walked quietly around the store looking at the things, until her father called her and said they were going home.
Then Sophie went to the counter where the storekeeper stood and said to him,
"I would like a jar, please."
The storekeeper smiled down at Sophie. "And what would you like me to put in it, little girl?"
"Oh, nothing, sir," Sophie replied. "I already have something to put in it."
"And what might that be?"
Sophie replied, "A rainbow."
The storekeeper smiled. "Ah, I have just the jar for you."
The storekeeper stooped behind the counter and came up with a jar which he placed carefully on the counter. It wasn't just an ordinary jar. It had many sides, and a glass cover that fit the top snugly.
The storekeeper said, "I had been saving this for the time when a little girl like you would come in here and ask for a jar to put a rainbow in."
He came out from behind the counter and gave Sophie the jar. It was big enough for Sophie to hold in the crook of her arm. Sophie was so happy with her jar that she didn't see her father put his hand on the counter, and the shopkeeper push it gently away.
Sophie and her father thanked the storekeeper and walked out into the street.
As Sophie and her father walked towards the end of the rainbow they passed other people on the street. All of them smiled down at Sophie and asked where she was going.
"I'm going to put the rainbow into this jar and take it home to my mother and baby brother."
The people laughed and shook their heads. Sophie wondered why they did that. It made her feel so bad that she wanted to cry, but then she felt her father's hand warm around her little hand.
A band of children, when they learned what Sophie wanted to do, had started following Sophie and her father as they walked to the end of the rainbow. The children were scruffy and mean, and they called out to Sophie in sing-song
"Silly Sophie, silly Sophie, wants to put a rainbowin a ja-aar"
The children laughed and pointed at her, and the tears that Sophie had been holding back finally fell.
Sophie's tears fell into the many-sided jar that she held under the rainbow's end. But through her tears she saw the band of colors creep into the jar and fasten themselves on to her teardrops.
And there they were, a hundred little rainbows bright in Sophie's jar!
Sophie smiled with joy. She held the jar in her arm and walked back home with her father.
As for the children who laughed at Sophie, they tried to put the rainbow in a jar too. But they were too mean to shed tears, and so the rainbow refused to come inside their jars. As the sun rose higher in the sky the rainbow disappeared altogether, and those children went back to their mean, scruffy games.
Sophie brought the jar of little rainbows into the house deep in the forest. Her mother was so happy with little Sophie's surprise. They put the jar of rainbows on the table beside the rocking chair, where Sophie and her mother and father, and yes, even her baby brother could gather around and look at its warm, bright colors.
Three Months
Three months ago they said goodbye to each other. She had taken an earlier flight because she wanted to do the leaving, for a change.
Now she waited for him patiently. He was late, but she knew he would be there. In her hand were photographs from the time they spent together. She was going to give them to him, because it pained her too much to look at them now. He had not taken any pictures then, because he had known they would be too painful to look at, after a while.
She sat on the mall bench with her legs crossed, unmoving but for her hands flipping the plastic pages of the album. Then he was there in front of her. The first thing she noticed was that he had lost a considerable amount of weight. The other thing she observed was his hesitance. He took her hand as if to shake it, then relented and embraced her. Not as tightly as the last time, and she kissed that same spot under his ear but not with the desperation of three months ago.
They sat on the bench as he looked at the pictures, while she unfolded the kerchief that he had brought her as a present. He talked about how he had been sick, some debilitating virus that had turned his guts inside out. She told him about her new job. They updated each other on old friends who had kept in touch. They talked about places the other had yet to see.
They did not talk about three months ago. Not about the first time he saw her, reading his poetry, unaware that he was in the audience. They did not talk about the meals they shared in the days that followed, the walks they took around the city. They did not talk about that night when they went to a folkhouse where she sang with the singer in the band and he just looked at her, mesmerized by the sheer joy on her face.
They did not talk about that night when she got rip-roaring drunk and he had to escort her home, to be rewarded by her throwing up on his best shirt, the one his wife had given him last Christmas. They did not talk about how embarrassed she had been, despite her headache. She did not remind him that she had asked him in to her cottage to wash up, and that she didn’t have a shirt large enough that he could change into. They did not talk about how she had a coughing fit, and to relieve her he gave her the most sensuous shiatsu massage she had ever experienced. They certainly did not talk about how his wife had found the letter she wrote him a week after they parted, where she said how much she missed him and couldn’t wait for the chance to see him again.
She did not look at him the way she did three months ago, while they spoke of things other than those they could not talk about. Neither did he. She did not wonder why they were here, together if only for a couple of hours. He was merely on an errand, and had to leave soon. She had to go back to the office. When they had to say goodbye again their eyes finally met, but they chose to ignore the longing that they first saw in each other’s eyes three months ago.
They shook hands. ###
Now she waited for him patiently. He was late, but she knew he would be there. In her hand were photographs from the time they spent together. She was going to give them to him, because it pained her too much to look at them now. He had not taken any pictures then, because he had known they would be too painful to look at, after a while.
She sat on the mall bench with her legs crossed, unmoving but for her hands flipping the plastic pages of the album. Then he was there in front of her. The first thing she noticed was that he had lost a considerable amount of weight. The other thing she observed was his hesitance. He took her hand as if to shake it, then relented and embraced her. Not as tightly as the last time, and she kissed that same spot under his ear but not with the desperation of three months ago.
They sat on the bench as he looked at the pictures, while she unfolded the kerchief that he had brought her as a present. He talked about how he had been sick, some debilitating virus that had turned his guts inside out. She told him about her new job. They updated each other on old friends who had kept in touch. They talked about places the other had yet to see.
They did not talk about three months ago. Not about the first time he saw her, reading his poetry, unaware that he was in the audience. They did not talk about the meals they shared in the days that followed, the walks they took around the city. They did not talk about that night when they went to a folkhouse where she sang with the singer in the band and he just looked at her, mesmerized by the sheer joy on her face.
They did not talk about that night when she got rip-roaring drunk and he had to escort her home, to be rewarded by her throwing up on his best shirt, the one his wife had given him last Christmas. They did not talk about how embarrassed she had been, despite her headache. She did not remind him that she had asked him in to her cottage to wash up, and that she didn’t have a shirt large enough that he could change into. They did not talk about how she had a coughing fit, and to relieve her he gave her the most sensuous shiatsu massage she had ever experienced. They certainly did not talk about how his wife had found the letter she wrote him a week after they parted, where she said how much she missed him and couldn’t wait for the chance to see him again.
She did not look at him the way she did three months ago, while they spoke of things other than those they could not talk about. Neither did he. She did not wonder why they were here, together if only for a couple of hours. He was merely on an errand, and had to leave soon. She had to go back to the office. When they had to say goodbye again their eyes finally met, but they chose to ignore the longing that they first saw in each other’s eyes three months ago.
They shook hands. ###
Birthright
(for Sir Leo D.)
My forehead bears the imprint of knuckles
of hands that smell of rose water,
Custom when I present myself, his wife,
To pews of aunts and uncles once removed.
As one they take my father's name,
roll it round their dentures like gum,
then politely turn away to spit out
the strange morsel so alien to the tongue.
Alien, indeed. Their hair fair as their speech
lisping affectations at which I smile:
What is white skin after all, but
a mere lack of imagination?
I retrieve my prized possession, the
one seed that remains of my birthright,
wear it around my neck in defiance,
talisman, armor, shield.
My forehead bears the imprint of knuckles
of hands that smell of rose water,
Custom when I present myself, his wife,
To pews of aunts and uncles once removed.
As one they take my father's name,
roll it round their dentures like gum,
then politely turn away to spit out
the strange morsel so alien to the tongue.
Alien, indeed. Their hair fair as their speech
lisping affectations at which I smile:
What is white skin after all, but
a mere lack of imagination?
I retrieve my prized possession, the
one seed that remains of my birthright,
wear it around my neck in defiance,
talisman, armor, shield.
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Sa ma-anad lang
Ingon ang doktor
guinadili kuno
ang parat
guinadili
ang tam-is
ang mokaon ug aslom
ang walay undang nga paghithit
ug marlboro bisan lights pa
Ingon si tatay
lisod kuno
ang maanad nga naay kauban
lisod
ang mag-inusara
human
sa pipila ka tuig
nga kinabuhing minyo
Tubag nakong doc
lisod tuod
mabusog
sa pagkaon nga
tab-ang
ang makat-on
ug kaon
aron mabuhi.
Tubag nakong tatay
ginadili kanako
ang maanad
sa parayeg
mahigalam
sa lami
nga init
sa pagdulog.
Hinuon
sa maanad ra mana
mabuhi
sa tab-ang
mokaon
ug bugnaw
mopiyong, matulog
ug mahinanok.
guinadili kuno
ang parat
guinadili
ang tam-is
ang mokaon ug aslom
ang walay undang nga paghithit
ug marlboro bisan lights pa
Ingon si tatay
lisod kuno
ang maanad nga naay kauban
lisod
ang mag-inusara
human
sa pipila ka tuig
nga kinabuhing minyo
Tubag nakong doc
lisod tuod
mabusog
sa pagkaon nga
tab-ang
ang makat-on
ug kaon
aron mabuhi.
Tubag nakong tatay
ginadili kanako
ang maanad
sa parayeg
mahigalam
sa lami
nga init
sa pagdulog.
Hinuon
sa maanad ra mana
mabuhi
sa tab-ang
mokaon
ug bugnaw
mopiyong, matulog
ug mahinanok.
Sanayan lang yan
Sabi ng doktor
bawal daw
ang maalat
bawal
ang matamis
ang kumain ng maasim
ang walang humpay na paghithit
ng marlboro kahit na lights pa
Sabi ng tatay
mahirap daw
ang masanay ng may kasama
mahirap
ang mag-isa
pagkatapos
ng ilang taong
buhay may-asawa
Sagot ko kay doc
mahirap nga
magpakabusog
sa pagkaing
matabang,
ang matutong
kumain
para mabuhay.
Sagot ko kay tatay
bawal sa akin
ang masanay
sa lambing
mamihasa
sa masarap
na init
ng may kasiping.
Kung tutuusin
sanayan lang yan,
mabuhay
sa matabang
kumain
ng malamig
pumikit, matulog
ng mahimbing.
bawal daw
ang maalat
bawal
ang matamis
ang kumain ng maasim
ang walang humpay na paghithit
ng marlboro kahit na lights pa
Sabi ng tatay
mahirap daw
ang masanay ng may kasama
mahirap
ang mag-isa
pagkatapos
ng ilang taong
buhay may-asawa
Sagot ko kay doc
mahirap nga
magpakabusog
sa pagkaing
matabang,
ang matutong
kumain
para mabuhay.
Sagot ko kay tatay
bawal sa akin
ang masanay
sa lambing
mamihasa
sa masarap
na init
ng may kasiping.
Kung tutuusin
sanayan lang yan,
mabuhay
sa matabang
kumain
ng malamig
pumikit, matulog
ng mahimbing.
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