The Vens

Camouflage

Mahalla's POV

Marso de 1565 (March 1565)

I stood atop the dunes watching the foreign men swim ashore. A lot of them drowned in the endeavor. Should I help them? I had this urge to watch them drown. I heard from Mother the cruelty of these men with high noses and sky eyes.

My great great grandfather Kallipulaku or perhaps someone in his army killed that invader Ferdinand Magellan in Matan, Sugbu Island. I wanted history to be accurate but no one can provide evidence that it was Kallipulaku's sword that stabbed, beheaded and chopped Magellan's body into pieces.

I looked below the dunes and saw that some of the men had survived the impact of the big waves. They started climbing up the enlarged fragments of shells, corals and rocks.

I was contemplating whether or not to leave the dunes at Tagbilaran Beach. I had to wait how low the tide could get tonight. If I decided to shrink back the sand, Tagbilaran would drown.

I worried about my mawmags. I created thousands of hills for my mawmags. They were safer up the hills. I ordered my slaves to fence the hills with spears so no cats could eat my tiny mawmags.

Most of the men were lying on the shore exhausted from swimming. They were wearing shabby shirts that must have been white before.

There was one man wearing a clean shirt and baggy black pants that hugged his wet legs.  The whiteness of the fabric was blinding under the sun. He had brown hair with streaks of gold. I noticed the muscles on his legs flexing as he climbed the dunes hastily as if there was a race and he wanted to win badly. His robust built and tall stature told me he had authority and power. He was about the same age as Father. I observed how eager he was to reach the ridge of the dune.

When he reached the top of the dune, he looked up to the sky. He fell on his knees and raised his hands up. He chanted repetitive words with voice so jubilant they turned into a song. His words were beautifully accented. I listened and welcomed the words in my ears. They were the most melodic sounds I had ever heard.

I walked closer to him and sucked in the hymns of jubilant words. His language was beautiful to my ears. If he could only see me he would see me smiling with my eyes closed and my head swinging to the music he was singing.

"Padre Nuestro que estás en el Cielo, Santificado sea tu nombre, venga a nosotros tu Reino. Hágase tu voluntad así en la Tierra como en el Cielo. Danos hoy el pan de cada día. Perdona nuestras ofensas como nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden. No nos dejes caer en la tentación y líbranos del mal, amén."

I was tempted to scare him. Any woman or man I know believed in ghosts. Even our foreign visitors had their own stories of shadows and mists that moved and talked.

With my camouflage powers, I could become a ghost at will. When it's dark, I could somehow leave traces of visibility but in broad daylight, I could be as transparent as the wind.

Should I scare him? Scaring him would discourage him not to set foot on our island but I wanted to listen to his language. I wanted to hear him speak many things and in due time I would be able to speak his mother tongue.

I listened to the words of his song. Each syllable hit my soul with dizziness that immediately converted into enthusiastic envy. I envied his fluency.

The man stood up and turned about.

"Padre Nuestro que estás en el Cielo, Santificado sea tu nombre, venga a nosotros tu Reino. Hágase tu voluntad así en la Tierra como en el Cielo. Danos hoy el pan de cada día. Perdona nuestras ofensas como nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden. No nos dejes caer en la tentación y líbranos del mal, amén."

The words were familiar now. I was grateful that he repeated the same songs.

"Padre.....cielo....nosotros....." I whispered.

The man turned to his right where I was standing.

Did he hear me?

"Mahalla!" Father called.

"Mahalla! Mahalla!"

Father and his army were climbing on the other side of the dunes. My five servants were climbing the dunes as well.

His army echoed my name. I chuckled at the thought of Father worrying if the waves drowned me or if I was already buried in the dunes that appeared out of nowhere.

The man with golden brown hair heard Father's voice. His face shone with excitement.

I felt danger approaching as the man walked toward Father's voice.

I checked the man for weapons. He had none.

Father reached the top of the dune. One of his army officers pointed to the sea. Another officer looked down the dunes and saw the foreign men climbing up.

The two big ships that survived the waves sailed away from the beach. They lowered small boats suspended on the sides. Men started climbing down the ship and squeezed themselves into the small boats. They started rowing towards the beach.

The man saw Father and started waving.

This man was asking for his death.

Father drew his machete. The officers behind him did the same.

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