The Color of My Fears [COMPLETE]

Chapter 4 - More Visions [#13]

I didn't know what came over me in my encounter with Nilo at the plaza. That boyhood friend of mine really had me at my wit's end every time I was with him. He obviously had me bewildered with his version of the race, whether he was telling the truth or not. He had a stronger aura (dungan), as old folks were wont to say when somebody had overwhelmed you. I could feel it, but I also felt something came alive under that lonok tree. I kept on walking, my mind heavy of the scene of the race where I felt cheated. I let my feet carry me where they wanted to go. From the plaza, I traversed the beaten path through the middle of the grassy area beside the baseball field (besbolan), where giant ipil-ipil trees (agho) grew abundantly, their branches swaying tonight.

I passed by the chapel (kapelya) fenced in by thorny bougainvillea plants so thick you couldn't get through it. The harder you try, the deeper the thorns bite into your flesh. The chapel yard had huge trees planted on it: the nara, the acacia and the kobe trees. On the north side of the chapel stood the Balay-Bakasyonan (Vacation House) of the hacienda owners. On the south side were the ruins of an ancient sugar mill, its stones still clinging to each other, a part of a broken wall or rampart or what remained of it, ending on the fallen tower on one side, where a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary of the Immaculate Conception was placed, transforming the site into we called the grotto. We used to crawl in the nooks and niches of the ruins and played hide-and-seek (panaguay), notwithstanding various incoherent stories told by old folks that the old sugar mill was used by the Japanese soldiers during the Second World War. There were small caves in the structures, enough for two or three persons to go in and hide. Some sort of cover for protection against enemies. Each time a story was told about these ruins, new versions came out, embellished by incredible tales depending on who was narrating the story as told to him or her by a long-dead great, great grandfather.

The chapel had a pointed roof as seen on the facade. During a full moon and clear sky, you could see moonbeams striking the roof as if a bridge from nowhere just appeared linking heaven and earth, and angels would descend flying, flapping their wings, sparkling in the moonlight. I thought then that angels lived in the chapel but wondered why we were so afraid to enter the chapel grounds at night, let alone sleep inside when we boys decided to test the limits of our courage.

But tonight the moon was invisible, or rather, dark clouds hid the moon and slowly, ever so slowly the clouds moved across the face of the darkening sky. And stars were like brilliant stones, emerging one by one from the gathering darkness.

I turned left and kept on walking, forgetting that I already passed our house. Mother would be looking for me, wondering where I would have gone looking for spiders. My hand had a mind of its own and instinctively felt for the match box in my pocket, ready to put the spiders inside when I caught one. My feet continued to walk on, dragging me along with an invisible force pulling me towards the village school where kapok trees lined both sides of the road. I didn't know exactly where my feet would carry me, but I did know where the road would lead me – to Ismael's house.

The road to the village school – St. Francis of Assisi Elementary School – looked like a ribbon of faded light in the gathering darkness punctuated by twinkling starlights in the sky. Cicadas and crickets started to spew out a cacophony of shrill sounds, each one trying to outdo each other to get the attention of passers-by. On both sides of the road stood a row of ancient kapok (ceiba) trees, one tree facing another in a pair, with their branches arching overhead, gripping each other in a tight embrace. They formed some kind of one long arched tunnel in a dark passageway, with the fading light barely passing through the spaces between the thick foliage. The village school stood at the end of these double rows of kapok trees connected by a concrete bridge to the road which turned east to Tio Berto's house.

I walked briskly on the long, straight road. It has been said since time immemorial that darkness hides all vile creatures of the night. To a twelve-year old boy, no manner of assurance could assuage the fear of dark enchantment, or bewitchment (bagat), if you will, in which witches (aswang) and elves (tamawo) could play evil tricks on you, leading to your destruction. You would hear something whispered in your ears, something seductive, something pleasurable yet something ominous, that would lead to forgetfulness, to getting around in circles, endlessly wandering, walking on a path of black roses, ending seeing a coffin blocking your way on the road. And to escape this evil madness, you have to take your shirt or dress off and put it back again inside out. Shades of the devil biting his tail!

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