ISKA
The barangay was situated in the middle of a grassland surrounded by a mountain range before it gave way to the sea. I couldn’t miss it, the fisherman, well-colored and standing tall and firm, told me as I left the boat. The barangay was large, a sprawling mess, not at all like the villages and houses stacked together from the mountains I was used to.
“It’s like an entire country,” he said. The only reason why this fishing port, small and old, was doing well was because of it.
“You’d do well there too,” he added. “Merchants always end up rich in Anduyan.” He eyed the luggage.
“But you can’t go there right now,” another fisherman said. This one was old and frail. He gestured to the sky, the deep rich orange hue quickly fading into an angry purple. “Carriages won’t pass by at night, it’s a rule. But the other merchants will arrive the day after tomorrow to transport their goods. I’m sure they won’t mind if you come along.”
Before I could say anything, the woman from the kubo called out for supper. Her voice echoed throughout the port area, a sharp shrill tone. Looking at me imploringly, the old man persuaded, “There is extra room we can lend you for two nights. I’m sure my wife will not mind.”
“Please,” the younger fisherman said. “It’s not safe to go into the forest alone at night. Stay with us.”
With no choice and with no further insistence, the fishermen took my luggage and, silently, I followed suit. The woman from the kubo stood at the mouth of the cottage, receiving the luggage from the men.
Her eyes scoured questioningly at what the men brought, but she spoke of nothing; instead her eyes bore holes at me. “Prepare a cot,” the old man told her. “This merchant arrived a day earlier than the others. We cannot let her in the forest.”
The woman continued to lock her gaze with mine, something indescribable hidden in her dark eyes as she watched. “Indeed we shouldn’t. Come inside, my dear,” she told me. “Have supper with us; I’m sure you are tired from your journey.”
And without another word, they entered into the kubo, one by one, the men beckoning me inside.
Above, the purple hue had bled through the evening sky until there was no longer any orange to be seen. The smell of fresh fish broth filled the air. Crickets from the secluding trees began to sing.
=
After dinner, which was a quiet event of hurried hands and sloppy eating under the dim lantern light, the woman led me to a one-mat room. The only window was open, the flap supported by a thick block of wood, to relieve the heavy stench of tobacco from within; the window overlooked the sea, the sound of waves entering the room in soft intervals. Light came in only from the holes of the nipa ceiling. The room was barren. The woman settled my belongings on the wall nearest to the cot spread out on the bamboo floor.
“If there is anything else you need,” the woman told me, “Do not hesitate to tell any of us.” She peered at my arm, at the bandages that grip it. “You should take care of that. I don’t want it contaminating any of us.” Perhaps she thought I was a leper. I clicked my tongue in distaste. “Understood?”
She was demanding compensation.
“Of course,” I told her, the first words I had uttered since I arrived. Before she could leave, I asked, “Does anybody smoke in this house?”
The woman looked confused, if not a bit rattled. Her eyes . “I don’t allow my boys,” she sniffed indignantly, “to smoke. If you do not have any other concern,” And with that, the woman left.
=
Alone, sleep did not come easily. The feeling of strange discomfort prevented me from sleeping and so I remained seated on the cot, leaning against the thin wall of the kubo, where I could hear the soft grunts and groans of the men and the wife sleeping in the adjoining room. I wondered how long I had been awake.
Across me, light shone through the room; the moon had risen from beyond the horizon and settled a few ways above the sea. It cast an enchanting glow through the night, the dark waters giving way to its pale light. Like a moth to the flame, I found myself transfixed to its face until ever so slowly, the moon slipped farther up the sky.
I closed my eyes and felt the night wind beckon me. Once more, the smell of tobacco slipped through the room and the woman’s voice echoed through my mind once more.
“I don’t allow my boys to smoke.”
Something was wrong here, I felt.
I remained on the cot, awake for the entire night until the peak of night faded into the brink of dusk. By then, I could no longer contain myself. It’s dangerous for me to stay here. I must leave.
From my luggage, I took out a parcel of preserved goat meat, which I had gotten from the barangay on the opposite island, for the fishermen and the wife, and set it on the small wooden table by the clay hearth. This would serve them for three days and appease the wife. I put away the small cot and closed the window; after which, I gathered my things.
I left the kubo at first light.
=
At dawn, the mountain is tranquil, the trail not difficult to understand. The grass had split itself into two distinct lines from where the wheels of the carriages passed, and I followed them, careful not to stray.
The forest is quiet. Light seeped through the cracks of the foliage above, disturbed by a light breeze which passed by unannounced. The air is cold and wet. Overhead, I could see the fog covering a portion of the valley, as though clouds were coming down from the summit of the mountains. There is a river flowing nearby, too; its current smooth and silent, punctuated only by the sudden splash perhaps from a small rodent or a freshwater fish.
There were sounds of birds as well, the hum of animals unperturbed.
For a while I continued down the marked path until I reached a grove of yellow-shoot bamboos; then the road bent to the right, around an old mangled-looking tree. It stood tall and hunched, as though it were an old man; its branches reaching up high before curling around nothing. The bark was peeling and the roots bulged on the surface of the soil.
Tobacco, the scent wafted in the air again, like someone had puffed smoke in front of me.
My body tensed up, but before I could move, pain shot through my arm as sudden as the stench of smoke. It wreaked through my body, so powerful that I was unable to scream. I gasped, my breath quickening.
Swiftly, with trembling fingers, I undid the bandages beneath the right sleeve of my jacket, and, once revealed, the arm was a burning red color; the veins inflamed. My whole body throbbed. It felt like my limb was about to burst.
A scream tore through my throat, then, until my lungs could no longer sustain themselves.
Something is watching me. The thought presented itself like arrows coursing through the sky.
Then, just as suddenly, the stench disappeared, vanishing from the air. Just as easily, the pain subsided and I was left on the damp floor of the forest.
For a while, I only breathed, ravenous and prostrate on the soil. Sweat poured from all over my body and my arm, which had swelled considerably, slowly returned to its natural state. The heat of sunlight peeking through the foliage burned on the skin of my face.
After a few moments, I stood, slowly and on shaky legs. I refixed the bandages beneath my sleeves and located my luggage, which lay a few meters from me. Securing it once more around my shoulders, I began to walk, trembling. My knees kept buckling.
Walk slowly, don’t let them see, don’t let them know.
I thought back to what the fishermen had said. How the merchants no longer travelled after dawn. How the stench of tobacco appeared last night in spite of not having been used. There was no denying it, I thought, gripping my bandaged arm.
Death is coming. Something terrible will fall upon this land.
With one last glance to the old tree, I left the bamboo grove, disoriented and nauseous, a heavy feeling upon me.
Death is coming, I agreed. But Death no longer came as a surprise to the Hand of Bathala.
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