I buffed my belt buckle until my fingers were sore, until the torn old white
cotton undershirt that I had used to apply the cleaning cream with had turned
black and until I could see the reflection of my face on the shiny metal. That
afternoon, the Urios PMT would have the final rehearsal for the once-a-year
pass-in-review and I wanted to look resplendent in it. I put on my khaki
uniform, black shoes, khaki belt, and a cadet military cap.
I looked at myself in the mirror and was filled with admiration. Sixteen years
old, I was not bad-looking. Not bad-looking at all, a full head of thick black
hair, which, for genetic reasons have gradually and irreversibly abandoned me
through the years. I stood straight up, with the saber at my side, as I turned
here and twisted there, in front of the large mirror at my sister's room facing
Juan Luna Street. I was an officer, the Executive Officer, second only to the
commander, Virgilio, and I was determined on making a good impression of myself
with Joan, my sponsor, my partner who would be clinging to my left arm when we
would be strutting along the lines of the battalion privates and officers of
lower rank during the most anticipated review at the sawdust-filled empty lot
where the Urios University main building is now..
Joan Omila, my yearmate, was the new girl in town. She had light brown hair,
having inherited it from her mother who was half German. She had enrolled at
the Urios High School earlier that year when her father was promoted to manager
of Koppel Industries which had a major office in Butuan, the center of the
logging world. Koppel, which later became the United States Industries, was the
main supplier of heavy equipment, tractors,
graders, and such. Her eyes were of similar light brown hue but in spite of her
fair complexion, she did not look a bit anemic because her lips were naturally
pink and her cheeks, a shy red.
Naturally, all the boys followed her around and all of them had a crush on her.
I was one of the few exceptions because, at that time, my heart had already
been claimed by somebody else.
Joan had a walk defined by a heavenly sway and I could tell by the way Agelio's
and Benjamin's eyes would get glazed over when she happened to look their way
that they had become victims of that wonderful affliction that followed the
male growth spurt and awkward voice change. To this day, my brain can still
smell the perfume that she dabbed her ever-present handkerchief with, Chanel
#5, for which reason the guys did not stand a chance. I could see the envy in
their lips and curled-down mouths. She was my sponsor and would be by my side
during the rehearsals and during the actual parade. What they would have given
up to be in my place.
I was adjusting my cravat when I suddenly heard a door being forcibly slammed
open. The doorknob, I believed, was violently crashed against a wall. This was
followed by a blood-curling scream, a woman's hysterical voice, and another
loud voice, a man's voice. "Ayaw!" No! The commotion came from next door, new
renter-occupants of the rooms in the first floor of the Mallonga Building,
under the stairway to the Office of the Bureau of Forestry.
I hurriedly looked out the window and I saw a man running as
fast as his legs could carry him, running for his life, pale as
uncooked cassava, butt-naked, cradling his pink intestines in his arms and
hands, blood dripping on the street He was fleeing to safety, towards the
Police Station across the road from the side of the old City Hall, followed a
few seconds later by another man, trying to catch up with him, brandishing a
long sharp knife in the air.
I rushed down the stairs and ran to the house where the noise came from. There
were already a couple of men, standing near the opening of the violently
smashed door. I smelled it before I saw the pool blood on the wooden floor,
several footprints imprinted on the now coagulating liquid. And by the side of
the bed was the lifeless, naked form of what was once a woman, looking like
indecently butchered meat, black hair drenched in blood, unseeing eyes, wide
open, terror-stricken, unseeing, lifeless eyes. I could not look away from her
face, the mouth grotesquely grimaced, revealing a half-protruding tongue and
uneven upper teeth. The dirty native mat was halfway off the wooden bed, and a
small pillow had fallen off the bed unto the floor and was now soaked in red.
I backed away from the room, concerned that I would get my shoes smudged with
the blood and went back home. I was going to be a doctor and this should not
have disturbed me. But my heart was beating so fast that I had to force myself
to take deep breaths or I would have fainted from the most horrible sight I
have ever witnessed in my entire young life. I was bathed in cold sweat.
My father met me in the living room.
"What happened?!"
"There's a dead woman there. I think she was hacked to death." I unsuccessfully
tried to control the trembling in my voice as I
told him about the man with the intestines in his hands and the
other man pursuing him. I saw the comprehension in his face as he told me to
hurry and call the priest to administer the last rites
on the woman.
"But, Papa, she's already dead."
"I know! Just do what I tell you. Run to the 'convento' and get the priest.
Now!"
I ran and got the priest and took him to the dead woman and watched and
listened while he was performing the ritual. My heart had slowed down but my
mouth was still dry. My PMT uniform was crumpled and wet with perspiration. I
had lost my cap.
I also lost my innocence that summer day.
Submit comments via the Discussion Board at:
http://www.butuanon.org/yabb/cgi-bin/yabb2/YaBB.cgi?board=Essays
