Category: Fiction

Brothers, Part 2

Fiction by | July 28, 2013

He inspected the plant more closely, and he noticed that a tiny stem at the center had been cut. The stem was still oozing with fresh purple sap. He realized that someone had reached the peak ahead of him and picked the flower.

He heard footsteps on the grass, and when he turned his head, he saw Indirapatra, bleeding profusely from the wound in his arm and chest. The knees of the older datu gave in, and he fell to his side near Sulayman. His palm opened, and a purple flower slipped to the ground.

Sulayman sneered in disbelief. “This isn’t happening. You’re weak. How did you survive?”

“I may not appear as strong as you are,” Indirapatra said, “but I’m not weak. In fact, because of what you did, I found out I’m as strong as you, maybe even stronger.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re not stronger. You just deceived me. Tell me, Indirapatra. What did you do? Before we went up here, did you make a deal with a demon to help you get through the traps?”

“Don’t accuse me of doing such things, Sulayman. I got here on my own strength and skills.”

“How did you get through the crocodiles? Uncle has never taught you how to fight them. It’s only me whom he taught. Whenever you are with Father learning about statecraft and other worthless matters, Uncle would take me to the jungle and teach me how to capture and kill beasts.”

Continue reading Brothers, Part 2

Brothers, Part 1

Fiction by | July 21, 2013

Indirapatra and his younger brother, Sulayman, reached the lakeside almost at the same time. The people cheered, but in a few moments, they became quiet when they found out that Sulayman’s boat was empty.

“This is surprising,” the rajah said, addressing both the crowd and his young nephews. “Datu Sulayman, the greatest hunter and fiercest warrior in the sultanate, came out empty-handed today.”

Instead of appearing ashamed, Sulayman stood in his boat with a smug look in his face. No one could guess what he was thinking.

The rajah turned to Indirapatra. “My nephew, kindly show your subjects what you have for them.”

Indirapatra nodded. He addressed the people. “It has been months now since a giant crocodile appeared in the lake and started attacking human beings, forcing our fishermen to stop working and causing shortage of fish supply. I assure you, though, that the chieftains, under the orders of my father, the sultan, are doing everything they can to have the monster killed or at least driven away. For the meantime, please accept the fish that my brother and I catch for all of you. For this day, here’s what my lucky net has snagged.”

Indirapatra jumped from his boat and tipped it over. The people gasped in surprise when a fish as long and large as the boat dropped on the sand. The fish was at least thirty feet long, easily the biggest ever caught from the lake.

Continue reading Brothers, Part 1

The Last Guardian Seeker, Part 2

Fiction by | June 9, 2013

Chieftain Logaton lays a chunk of ground areca nut on the betel leaf, adds a dash of lime, and rolls the leaf. He hands the whole quid to Timuk.

Timuk bites off and chews. In a moment, the menthol taste of the quid cools his mouth.

Chieftain Logaton smiles at Timuk. “You don’t have to tell it to me, young man, but I know that’s the best quid you’ve ever had.”

Timuk spits the residue on the dirt floor. He says, “I won’t be stingy with my praise, Chieftain. You deserve the reputation for having a way with plants. You use the same ingredients as others do, but your hand adds magic to the quid.”

Logaton’s smile widens, exposing his red, areca-stained teeth. “Ah, but you have yet to taste my latest concoction. I found out betel quid tastes so much better when sprinkled with tobacco. I’ll make one for you. You should take it to your fagamal.”

“Tobacco? Isn’t that from the lowlands?”

Logaton stares at Timuk, his smile wiped away. “Yes,” the chieftain says. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Chieftain, I must come to the lakeg tree as pure as possible. My betel quid must not contain anything that is not from here, especially something that is brought by our enemies.”

“Oh, that Wot!” Logaton says. “He has poisoned your mind against the people from the plains. He is not content with sending you off with just betel quid. He also wants you to not enjoy the quid. A quid is just a quid, it’s not food. Only food is prohibited. You won’t violate any rule whether your quid has areca or tobacco or weed.”

“It wasn’t Chieftain Wot who told me about staying pure. It was Chieftain Bendung.”

“That Bendung, too. I’m sure he made you a beliyan like him. How does he expect chants to help you stay alive for nine days? To tell you what I truly feel, young man, this guardian seeking is madness. Nobody knows if akaws still exist.”

“Chieftain Sik, the next and last chieftain I’ll visit, had a spirit-guardian not a long time ago.”

“But not anymore. The spirits have left us, young man. What the other chieftains don’t see is that for the people of the plateau to survive, we must adapt to the times. We must learn the ways of the people from the plains. We need not fight Gantuangco. Do you know what I’ve done? I let the company use my territory without any objection. I struck a deal with Mr. Gantuangco himself. I told him I would not oppose the operation but the company must hire the people of my village as workers.”

Timuk’s mouth falls open.

Continue reading The Last Guardian Seeker, Part 2

The Last Guardian Seeker, Part 1

Fiction by | June 2, 2013

Timuk wipes the tears off Wadina’s cheek. “I will come back,” he tells his wife, his hands cupping her chin.

“I know,” Wadina says. “I’m sorry, I can’t help but cry. I know you can do it. You can capture the akaw. It’s just that . . . Oh, Timuk, it’s too dangerous. For nine days, you have to stay in the lakeg tree without food, and then you will fight the spirit-guardian when it appears. Do you really have to do this?”

“I have to, Wadina. The five chieftains have chosen me. This quest is for all the Manobo people. We cannot fight the intruders on our own. They have guns. We need the akaw to protect us.”

Wadina takes a deep breath. “I will offer my prized hen to Nemula,” she says. “I know the almighty will help you. You have a good heart, Timuk, and you are brave and intelligent.”

Timuk smiles. He kisses the infant in Wadina’s arms and whispers, “Sleep tight, child. I am taking this fagamal for you. I want you and your brother to grow up without fear, safe in the land Nemula gave us.”

The older child, five summers old, stands silently beside Wadina. Timuk kneels down and tells him, “While Father’s gone, you take care of Mother, all right?”

“Yes, Father.” The boy speaks with the fluency of a grownup. “I’m the man of the house now.”

Timuk chuckles. “Good,” he says, tousling his son’s hair. “You remember everything I tell you.” He stands up and tells his wife, “Do not worry, Wadina. I am not alone in this quest. I will be bringing with me the counsel of the five chieftains. I have spoken to two of them, and I will drop by the remaining three on my way to the lakeg.”

“I trust you, Timuk,” Wadina says. “Your children and I will be waiting for you.”

“I will come back,” he says. He unties his horse from the tree and mounts it.

The other people from the village, huddled several feet behind Wadina, yell the guardian seeker goodbye. Timuk waves at them as the horse runs, disappearing into the other side of the hill.

Timuk feels cold, and he knows it’s not because of the wind sweeping past him. It’s because of fear. Despite the confidence he has shown his family and tribesmen, he’s not sure if he can capture the akaw, if he can grab its scrotum first. The chieftains have told him that if the akaw grabbed the seeker’s scrotum first, the man would lose his mind. For Timuk, it would be worse than death. It pains him to imagine himself going home talking to invisible people and laughing at inanimate objects. Wadina and the children will be hiding in shame all day. The kids in the neighborhood will tease him and make him dance. The elders will be shaking their head in disappointment.

Timuk reminds himself that he has to see three more chieftains. Perhaps after talking to them, he will finally be sure of himself. He lightly kicks the horse, and it speeds up, galloping on the footpath that leads to the village of Chieftain Wot. The pounding of the hooves is loud, but to Timuk’s ears, the beating of his heart sounds louder.

Continue reading The Last Guardian Seeker, Part 1

The Right Choice

Fiction by | May 20, 2013

I opened my eyes as I heard the distant crowing of the earliest roosters. It was still dark. I wasn’t sure if I had actually slept, but I got out of bed and stretched. My feet, seeming to have a mind of their own, carried me to the window which I opened to a gust of wind. I breathed in the scent of peace and quiet. It felt like Ramadhan, the peace and quiet. I continued looking into the dark, seeing nothing. I shivered in the cold. I could feel it coming from within my own body. I stood waiting for any sign of the first activities of the day, but it was too early. I decided to go out to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee before the house stirred. I sipped on my coffee, realizing for the first time, after many years of coffee-drinking, how bad coffee tasted.

I went out to the familiar living room that had been witness to many unforgettable moments. My first big accident, when, running around with my little sister, I hit my head on the sharp corner of the marble-topped table. I’d never seen my parents as anxious and worried as they were at that time. My brothers were in complete shock and my sister in tears as they saw all that blood oozing from my cracked-open head. I felt everyone wanting to trade places with me as each knew how this would upset and anger my father. I was eight years old and I was my father’s favorite.

We were also seated in the same area when we, as one family, talked about and planned my eldest brother’s wedding. And my second brother’s. It was also in this place that my sister and I comforted each other as the news of our father’s untimely death came to shatter the strong wall that we all were leaning on all those years. Before that, we thought we were invincible. We thought we were untouchable. Yes, death has such a cruel way of making one realize that no one is really safe. My father was sure he would live until the age of ninety-eight. He would have done everything by then, he told me. He wanted to make a difference. But he died thirty-five years earlier. And this living room ceased to be a living room.

Continue reading The Right Choice

Shadows

Fiction by | April 14, 2013

Jomari is convinced that a monster is out to get him. He could see it dancing on the walls, edging closer and closer to the foot of his bed. Sometimes, he could feel it tickling the soles of his feet. Other times, it would nip at his ears. It is a small thing, no bigger than his fist. The shadow follows him even under the cover of the blanket, making its way up his legs, squeezing in right beside him. Jomari would turn away from it and shut his eyes. He doesn’t want to see it.

Night after the night, the shadow would creep inside his room to nibble at his toes. Sometimes, it would laugh at him. Its piercing shriek of a laugh would have Jomari hiding his head under the pillows. But somehow, the tinny laugh would find its way through Jomari, its echoes reverberating inside his head.

In the morning, Jomari would get headaches. He has not been sleeping well. There were bags under his eyes. At school, he often falls asleep in class, his head leaning against the wall.

In between breaks, or whenever he was awake, he thinks of ways of getting rid of the monster. The monster always comes from under his doorway, slipping in through the gap between the door and the floor.

Jomari writes notes that he keeps tucked between the pages of a notebook. He has a habit of reminding himself. He is afraid of forgetting even the littlest of things. Maybe, he thinks, the notes could help him.

 

28 Feb
I think I know where the monster is coming from.
I don’t know how it got there, but it’s there.
There’s nothing I can do to get rid of it.
Or maybe, I haven’t tried everything yet.

 
Continue reading Shadows

Bintana ni Juanito

Fiction by | April 7, 2013

Alas singko ng umaga’y gising na ang diwa ko upang maghanda sa pagpasok ko sa paaralan. Lumabas muna ako upang umigib ng tubig. Maya-maya’y batid ko ang pag-dampi ng malamig na hangin sa nanginginig kong katawan. Bigla kong napansin ang mukha ni Juanito na naka dungaw na naman sa bintana ng kanilang payak na barong-barong. Nakatulala na naman si Juanito na tila nililipad ng hangin ang isipan.

Ilang segundo ang nakalipas ng makita ang tanawing yaon ay biglang nilamon ang katahimikan ng isang sigaw. “JUANITO!” Si Aling Letty na naman ito, ang nanay ni Juanito, na tila ba’y umiiyak na tinatawag ang kanyang anak. Biglang isinara ni Juanito ang bintana at madalian siyang tumakbo patungo sa kanyang ina. Ako nama’y binalot ng katanungan ngunit nagpatuloy na lamang sa aking ginagawa at itinuon ang pag-iisip sa paghahanda patungong paaralan.

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One New Message

Fiction by | March 31, 2013

“Teka. Wait. Ka-text ko pa si Mama…”

Every time I hear those words, I instantly remember my high school days.

Back then, when I said said such a line, especially in front of my barkada, they would immediately assume that I was a mama’s boy. Often, this would be followed by a series of I-have-an-overly-protective-mother jokes. They put on high-pitched voices and went: “’Nak, kumain ka na?” “Yung likod mo baka basa. Magbihis ka na.” and “May pulbos ka d’yan sa bag mo. Ipinasok ka kagabi habang natutulog ka.”

In high school, I recalled that I raged against my mother when she snooped in my email account. I was irritated when she kept asking about my whereabouts, who I hung out with, and if I would have dinner with the rest of the family. Her questions would always be followed by her imperative need to know what time I would be home.

I grudged against her every time this happened. Sometimes, it left me wondering when I would actually be allowed to make decisions of my own and finally exercise my God-given free will. Thoughtlessly, I often ignored my mother’s text messages and even refused to answer her calls, just for the heck of it.

But that was before. In a span of just over 6 months, things have changed drastically and guess what?

Continue reading One New Message