She awoke when the train neared San Carlos, Pangasinan, a town in the middle of a vast expanse of parched rice paddies. A procession of small shrubs and sparse cogon followed the path of small rills and rivulets which snaked through the drab landscape, giving it a little tinge of green. Livestock stretched throughout the horizon, a scattering of cattle, water buffaloes, goats, pigs, ducks, chicken. A cluster of houses could be seen from a community sheltered by fruit bearing mango trees, connected to a road by a narrow dike.
They reached Dagupan at around five o'clock in the afternoon. The heat had cooled down a bit and a soft breeze refreshed them. After disembarking from the train, they hired a karetela to take them to Pantal where more than a dozen bancas waited to ferry passengers across the river. The bridge that used to span the river was blown up by Filipino and American sappers during the retreat to Bataan to delay the Japanese advance. They boarded a banca carved from a huge tree which took them to the other bank. Dusk was settling and she could feel the briny air caressing her cheeks as the boat glided among the mangroves and nipa palms which lined the river bank. Bird calls resounded through the rustling leaves. They transferred to another karetela drawn by a brown mare which took them to their village, Calaocan.
The town of Binmaley consists of salt marshes, levees and embankments which were formed from alluvial deposits which became footholds and foundations for habitation, growing into villages which comprised a town. The river which meandered through most of the town provided livelihood and was regarded with reverence - a source of life and sustenance.
A wide pristine beach lined with swaying coconut trees looks towards clear blue waters which at certain times of the year lap gently on the sand, and during tempestuous times crash violently on the shore. The sand is white and soft.
On balmy afternoons when a crescent moon hung low in the mountain to the west, Bernabe and Flora would stroll along the beach. Hand in hand, they would tease the gentle waves reaching for the shore, nimbly avoiding ripples which sought to swamp their feet. They would sit upon a moored boat and watch the sunset, noting the fading colors as the sun disappeared behind the mountains. They'd then watch the evening star gain brilliance in the fading light, preceding the millions of other stars in the heavens. Later at night, when the kids were fast asleep under a giant mosquito net, they'd hungrily search for each other, then fall into a deep sleep, lulled by the sonorous whisper of a melodious surf.
War had encroached on paradise. They could live on the periphery and remain untouched by war but there were needs which dictated that they venture into the world of other men. Life must go on no matter what the state of affairs are.
In Binmaley, there were very few parcels of land where rice was cultivated. There was an abundance of fish but a pressing lack of rice and other agricultural products. Inadequate transportation hampered the movement of goods, raising prices.
The sheaves of palay stored in the small granary was long consumed and the farmer who tilled the few paddies the family owned had not resumed planting, leaving the fields fallow. Bernabe and a few friends traded fish for rice; they loaded their bicycles with a banyera of fish or shrimps and pedaled 30 kilometers to Urdaneta, through dusty and potholed roads, made a quick barter and pedaled back to Binmaley - a half sack of rice balanced precariously on a metal frame behind the saddle. He traded twice a month, ample time for his sore buttocks to heal.
He never felt better; muscles on his arms and legs filled up. He was handsomer and more virile. He loved the outdoors and loved to watch birds, especially hawks float on unseen thermal layers until one would spot a fish basking on the surface of a pond. He would swoop down with such grace and snatch his prey with strong talons then laboriously fly up in the sky.
He loved to fish with a hook and line. It gave him time to meditate. He was not a religious man but he firmly believed in God. He went to church occasionally, held strongly that religion is private, and prayer is a communion between man and God. He never entertained questions whose solutions only led to other questions. It was calming to make a blind leap. Fishing offered him his unique way to have a dialogue with God.
He would return home with a string of biya joined together by their gills. He would remove the scales and wash them in a basin of water. He'd sprinkle the fish with salt and let it soak for awhile before deep frying them in lard. He would direct Gorio to fetch the quern and grind mongo beans which was boiled in water until it simmered. He would then saute garlic, onions and tomatoes, tossed in a dozen shrimps, bagoong and a crushed piece of ginger. When it was done, he added tender leaves of ampalaya. They would then eat lunch. He ate with his fingers, savoring the golden yellow fish eggs which he rolled in his tongue.
Flora was a practical woman who did not concern herself with unessential intricacies of life. She faced whatever life dealt her with a fatalistic attitude, believing that what is bound to happen will happen. Enjoy life, hard as it is, be thankful for simple pleasures that come, be ready to help those in need, you can always spare somebody something. Like Bernabe, she was an occasional churchgoer and could not enumerate the Sacraments - as if that was a prerequisite to enter heaven.
With schools disrupted, she found happiness puttering in her garden, coaxing small plants to grow like little children. She planted patola, sayote, ampalaya, tomatoes, eggplants, okra, camote, malunggay. She also planted gumamelas and other flowering plants. The neighbors, watching the garden grow began to ask her for camote tops, malunggay, ampalaya etc. She gave them seeds and cuttings and told them how to plant them. Shortly after, they would come and pester her again.
