It was the morning of September 2, 1951, and in these waking moments, the demons fled into the forest, waiting the next storm.
Mang Berto, who had already fixed his things for the travel ahead, had to unpack his blue maong and a white Chinese collared shirt that was left behind by a thief outside his house. He always suspected that the man who stole his favorite blue shirt and replaced it with this silly shirt he had planned to burn, was one of those badjaos that would pester the mayor of the town for financial aid. He woke one morning only to discover that his blue shirt, grey underwear, and a good pair of fisherman’s shorts were missing, only to find that sleeping on the ground the white shirt he was wearing now.
Berto, who was Christened Alberto Garciano Timbreza, had a very good stature for a Filipino. His short, black hair hung proudly beneath his brown and handsome face. He walked with an aura of a proud young man of 31, covered in brown that had been tempered by the Sun. And aside from his foolishness that he could never seem to outgrow, Berto is a good man.
“Berto…” a lovely voice called from behind him. “I thought you have already left before the storm.” The voice came behind his line of sight while he was walking towards a local carrinderia to secure something to eat. Berto turned pathetically slow, a small side-effect of his groggy morning disposition. He had to smile when he finally recognized her face.
“Good morning, Lola Chiong.”
Her name, when said aloud, was enough to calm a screaming infant. Maybe because the poor little things could sense the evil inside her that might come out when she would demand something and not get it. Berto’s grogginess was soon cured by her magical name, and to him, seeing he was like waking up, over and over again.
“You look like you’ve been robbed of your dinner. Come inside. I have some left-over’s from last night’s fiesta.”
Entering her simple yet elegant adobe, Berto could smell the mixed scents of the meal to come; the sour, airy steam from the lechon paksiw and fried eggs being cooled by the wind. He started to salivate when he saw that the table was already set for two, and that a pot of hot chicken tinola engulfed with white rice steaming up the air with its soul of lemon grass and a touch of salt; the steam seemed to have a life of its own, climbing up the ceiling and then danced off violently. Berto could not help but blush.
“You have been expecting me.” Berto said with a huge smile and little restraint.
“Yes, I have. I have something important to tell you, Berto. Eat first.”
The air that was filled with the flavor of the food had quickly turned into an atmosphere of calculated curiosity and meaningless yet apparent discomfort, but not for Lola Chiong who seemed to have planned this moment for some time now. Finally, clearing up the banana leaves and potteries that were used for this post-fiesta breakfast, Lola Chiong sat Berto down on her front porch and offered him a well-rolled tobacco and tea that was made of dried mint leaves and something that even I, do not know of. Lola Chiong relaxed a roll of tobacco on her emaciated lips and lit one for herself, something that Berto was not prepared for.
“There is something I need for you to do.” She said, while clouds of smoke were slithering out from her weathered mouth.
Across town, the little boy that had saved little Antonio from the forest had not slept the night before. The rain scared him to a point that he could not even dare to close his eyes. He kept his eyes open by chewing on mashed coffee beans and embracing the crippling fear that a demon might come to their house, probably to steal something, do something, anything that a demon might do in the eyes of a child. His eyes that next morning seemed like an old man’s that had lost his will to live, and it was this reason why Antonio demanded from Pelagio to let him take him back to the forest.
“That boy left something behind, Mama, I need to get it back.” Antonio would say over and over again when Pelagio Tuvera would prohibit her son more from wandering off alone.
“You, Antonio, are too young to do God’s work!” she would scream. But this was not the reason why Pelagio did not allow Antonio to go to the little boy. In fact, she wanted him to go. But it was not time, not yet, Antonio, be patient, pray, she would tell Antonio with her eyes that said nothing.
“But, he saved me. I need to save him, too.”
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