Category: Fiction

Ang Gakit ni Noebong

Fiction by | June 12, 2011

In memory of Satur Apoyon (1935-2011), we are publishing the entirety of his short story Ang Gakit ni Noebong. This eponymous short story also bannered his collection of fiction which the Davao Writers Guild published in 2008.

Ang Gakit ni Noebong Satur ApoyonAng ulan ganinang hapon misamot pagbunok padulong sa tungang gabii. Ang tinabisak sa daw guang-guang nga mga lusok sa ulan maorag molusno sa bubongang kahoy ug kugon sa payag nga nag-umbaw sa tampi sa suba sa Sinuda. Ang kamaot sa panahon nakapabalaka ni Noebong, usa sa mga timawa nga amahan sa panimalay sa nagkapuo nga tribu sa mga Giyangan sa pag-utlan sa Dabaw ug Bukidnon.

Wala gayod mahimutang si Noebong sukad pa ganina sa ilang sayong panihapon. Nahinanok na lang ang bag-ong nanganak niyang asawa ug babayeng puya niini ug sa ilang kamagulangan nga si Kadong sa hagip-ot nga sibay nga binungbongan lamang sa panit sa kahoy ug sinawgan og linipak nga kawayan, apan si Noebong daw gianipay– mohigda ug mobangon matag karon ug unya. Wala siya mabalaka nga mosuyla ang baha sa suba, apan gikahadlokan niya ang buhawi nga simbako mohugpa sa liogan sa bungtod nga gitarokan sa ilang payag. Kon mahitabo kana, nabalaka si Nobeong nga ang iyang kapehan ug kamaisan ug ingon man ang ilang kabawng igdadaro, mga kanding, mga piso, sunoy ug himungaan mabanlas usab ngadto sa walogong bahin ubos sa ilang pinuy-anan.

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Hagawhaw sa Kagabhion

Fiction by | May 15, 2011

Wala nahimutang si Francis samtang naglakaw padulong sa ilang balay. Naglantugi ang iyang hunahuna kon mopadayon ba siyag uli o dili. Gipaningot siyag taman sa kakulba. Bisag naa nay iyang namugnang palusot, wala gihapon mahuwas ang iyang gibating kahadlok.Sa iyang paminaw, mora siyag malipong. Kusog kaayo ang pitik sa iyang kabuhi.

Isip usa ka sundalo, grabe modisiplina si Nong Ernesto kanila – ligas paka ang balaod niini sa balay. Nakatilaw na siya kausa sa kasalbahis niini. Wala kadto sila kaulig sayo kuyog sa iyang Kuya Joel nanan-awg amatyur sa plasa. Mao nga pag-uli, grabeg pangasaba ug latos ang ilang nadawat. Nasunggo intawn ang iyang maguwang pagkaigo sa kusog nga kinumo sa amahan.

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Marred Air

Fiction by | April 24, 2011

The couple living across the street in the suburban village of Royal Hills seemed perfectly at home in the idyllic middle-class environment of American log cabin-themed homes on manicured lawns. Except for one thing. Well, two things actually. But the first thing that stands out is that at 8 AM, it is the wife who takes the car and goes to the office while the husband dressed only in plain brown house shorts waves goodbye to her while carrying and shushing their tearful one-year old daughter.  I only know the wife’s first name, Sally. In my head, I go, “Sally, that girl,” from the song with sexually explicit lyrics popularized by 2 Live Crew many years back.  I have not talked to the husband nor do I intend to.  He is a scrawny slant-eyed man who is fond of wearing nothing but short pants perfect for displaying his unappetizing bony body as he putters around in their unfenced yard.  He reminds me of the stereotypical characters in classic Chinese movies, like the distraught cook or the manager of the bar where the fights usually take place, so I named him Wang-fu.  The other thing that stands out about Sally and Wang-fu is how odd they look together.  In the mornings, Sally, with full breasts, slight belly fat, and generous hips and buttocks straining against her form-fitting office clothes, would kiss a practically skeletal and half-naked Wang-fu goodbye at their doorstep.  From Monday to Friday, variations of this same scene would play out before Sally gets into her silver 1.3 Toyota Vios that is decent enough for a bank employee except for its cheap dull magwheels. When Sally steps out in her three-and-a-half-inch patent leather heels and still wet rebonded hair reaching the middle of her back, I see a woman with a parochial air that cannot be shaken off even as she takes the wheel of her car. Her corporate attire screams department store and belies the sophistication she wants to project.  The epitome of a grim and determined worker who rose from the ranks, Sally hardly smiles, if at all.

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Daddy's Shoes

Fiction by | April 17, 2011

shoesDaddy had to be buried without his shoes. I’ve always wondered how he would have felt about it if he knew. He was tall. About five feet eleven, maybe. I’ve always thought he was big too.

He wore his black cotton socks, they said, but his shoes just couldn’t fit in anymore. In fact they said that if we wanted they could put his shoes in but it would have to be laid on top of his legs. I took them home instead, those shoes.

They were relatively new. Soft black leather with smooth soles, you could tell they were not used very often. Daddy referred to them as his “dress shoes.”

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Dreamland

Fiction by | April 10, 2011

You get into bed. You try to relax, but your legs keep shaking. This is you trying to keep your mind off that joyride you had with Pa’s car—the one that ended with a busted taillight and a visit from the cops. Or your breakup with Jackie—the one that broke a few plates and a window and kept the neighbors up. Those seem miles and miles away as you try to close your eyes. You wish for a nice dream to come take you away.

A boy lies in the dust of a village in a far-flung land. A gust of wind kicks up the dust around him. The dust scrapes his back, some large bits leaving bloody scratches on his skin; it was as if the dust was eating him alive, much like his hunger is scraping the insides of his stomach. He looks around and sees that his family could not take the scrapes anymore. He closes his eyes and wishes for some bread. The bread is soft, crumbling at the boy’s touch as he tears off a piece to eat. It is sweet, causing the boy’s tongue to drip saliva at first contact. The bread goes down the boy’s throat without so much as a sound. The scrapes have stopped. The boy wakes up. The bread was but a dream. All he has to eat is the hard bits of dust blown into his mouth by the wind, tearing at his teeth and gums as he flexes his jaws and drying what little spit is left in his mouth. The scrapes continue.

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Ang Kwento Ko

Fiction by | April 3, 2011

Nakilala ko si Cobi noong anim na taong gulang pa lang ako. Kaklase ko siya sa kindergarten at siya ang pinakamalapit sa akin. Bata pa lang ako noon, pero may nararamdaman na akong pagtingin sa kanya. Iyon bang pag di siya nakatingin sa akin ay sa kanya ko pinapako ang mga mata ko. Tapos pag nahuli nya ako ay dinidilaan ko siya sabay sabing “pangeeettt!” Tapos tatawa lang siya. Ganoon kami dati at namimiss ko ang mga pagkakataong iyon kapag walang pasok. Kaya naman parang parusa sa akin noon ang bawat araw ng Sabado at Linggo.

Keychain na sapatos. Oo. Isang keychain na sapatos ang iniabot ko sa kanya sa araw ng paglisan niya. Ibabalot ko sana iyon ng papel pero baka di ko na siya maabutan sa paaralan. Matulin ang takbo ko para lang maihabol ko ang regalong ito na bigay pa sa akin ng nanay ko noong umiyak ako sa palengke para mabili lang ang nakabiting keychain na iyon. Ngumiti siya. Dahan-dahan. At isa pang sandali ay niyakap niya ako at bumulong na ang pangeeett daw ng bigay ko at halatang luma na at may kagat pa ng daga. Iyon lang at bumitaw na siya sa pagkakayakap sa akin.

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Edi and the Riddle of the Lady

Fiction by | February 13, 2011

Adapted from Greek Mythology. Illustrations by Juan Carlos Tejada and Kevin Hiram Tejada+

When Edi reached the city’s gate
all was quiet and sedate.
So Edi called with his voice out loud
“HEY MONSTER, WHEREVER YOU ARE, COME OUT!”

Suddenly there was loud flapping of wings
And a large, dark shadow loomed over him.

The winged creature was large and furry
With the body of lion
And the head of a lady.

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So Real

Fiction by | February 6, 2011

As the song goes, “If I can make it there. I’ll make it anywhere. New York! New York!” 

But Tricia was barely making it.

Carrying what seemed like ten watermelons inside her belly, she willed her brain to suck all the tears back in.  She knew that even a sigh would place her in danger of losing her very fragile control.  It was a good thing her neighbors, John and Mayen, offered to drive.  If it weren’t for the waves of alternating intense fire and knives that radiated from her abdomen, she would have felt deep humiliation.

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