On the 10th Day of Christmas: Story - Sleep Pill

 

 “I used to have a name once.” The man said.

I watched him as he examined his palms as if expecting to find his name etched in the curve of his flesh. Instead, all he saw was the identity code V2351 tattooed on his left wrist.

“What was it?”

He shook his head and raised his left shoulder in a shrug. “I forgot. You forget a lot of things here. Names, and them memories, they are like coins in your head and they fall out of the hole in your brain.” His right hand rose to play with a lock of greasy brown hair that fell across his face. “I think it might have been Claude or Charles, something like that.”

I jotted down the details on my notebook. Subject V2351 (Charles/Claude). Male. About 35 years old. Still has verbal facilities and lucid enough to answer my questions. The skin on his arms show the blue spatter bruising characteristic of a slox -- a sleep pill junkie. His green eyes were dark sunken orbs framed within a hollow-cheeked imitation of a human face. Rail thin, sat on a wheelchair since his legs can no longer carry the weight, not even of a small bag of cotton balls. He was shadow of a man who has seen the worst of the effects of Oxerxen A.

“How long do you think you’ve been here?” I asked. A routine question since I already read his file and knew most of the intake details.

The patient’s face scrunched in the effort of remembering. “Maybe four years? Maybe five?”

“One year and seven months, to be exact.” A brief look at his face confirmed his surprise. I opened his PI folder and read to him the specifics of his confinement. “You were admitted in the Angels of Mercy Hospital, Rhode Island on March 17, 2022 at 2:45 in the morning. You were brought in by an ambulance. You were reportedly drunk when you dropped down unconscious in front of a Chekhoot’s bar. The bar manager called the paramedics.”

“Yeah, that I remember. Chekhoot’s…” A slow grin spread on his face. “I could use a drink right now.” Then his faced crumpled into a frown as, I figured, he hit upon a memory that he didn’t like. Now anger filled his eyes and his voice was rough when he spoke. “Why are you bringing all this up again?”

I waited a beat before responding. His left eyebrow started their muscular spasms and his hands shook when he placed them, palms down, on the table between us. “I was sick, okay? I was sick. They didn’t have help for me then.”

I nodded. The National Sleep Institute was only founded later that year and before then, slox patients were segregated by placing them in the hospitals’ private wings. Junkies like him were individually transported to the Institute from all over the country after the Bill of Segregation was ratified. All logistics were paid for by the Department of Defense and the President of the United States himself kept direct tabs on the Institute’s security reports. “I am here to review your progress. I believe you voluntarily submitted yourself to participate in the Sleep Release Experiment, is that right?” He nodded in reply. “Good. This is in conjunction with that experiment. I need to identify all causal factors leading to your addiction to better inform us of how to pre-terminate the grounds of dependence.”

“Say what?”

“I want to talk to you so I can understand why people get addicted to the Sleep Pill.”

“Ha!” His sudden loud laughter stunned me. His frailty couldn’t seem to contain the derision he felt. “Why would anyone want to escape this fucking freaky world?”

“You tell me. You were a decent man, once. What happened?”

“I--- It’s so long ago, can’t expect me to remember that! I can’t even remember my own name!”

“It’s Charles.”

“Could’ve been Claude.” He murmured, rocking his upper body back and forth now, his hands folded tight into his chest. “I remember a Claude.”

I shifted gears in the conversation. On my notebook, I wrote down: Agitation pre-empting memory access. Claude a key memory he has subsumed into himself. “Have you made any friends here, Charles?”

He squinted his eyes at me and frowned. “I have… friends.” He answered slowly. “They’re all from here. We keep each other company.”

“Who are they?”

He rattled off a series of patient codes. I took note of the sheen in his eyes when he said the numbers. These people are in the epicenter of his newly constructed world, and whether he actually likes them or not, it provides him with some semblance of the world he left behind since being confined in the Institute. “Tell me about Patient C0201.”

“Patrick.” He provided. “He was in college. Duke or Dartmouth, some fancy shit like that.”

“He sounds smart.”

Charles snorted. “Smart and clueless, say.” He re-arranged himself in his seat and made himself comfortable as if preparing for a long storytelling session. “He’s one of those who just had to be Number One. He popped the pills to stay awake longer for studying.” He snorted. “Definitely not how I want to spend my sleep-free nights!”

I asked him if he knew how Patrick was admitted to the Institute. His face became animated describing the boy’s break down in the middle of his oral defense. He used his hands to emphasize how spittle started spewing from Patrick’s mouth and how he started bodily shaking his professor in Antiquities. “They literally had to take him away in a straitjacket.”

“Did you come here in a straitjacket?” I interjected.

His face suddenly became all straight lines and hard planes. “No. I was really more like Marissa. They brought me in an ambulance. Tied to the bed.” His eyes shifted to his left. Aha! Memory. Finally! I have to tread carefully from that point on.

“Why did they tie her to the bed? Was she restless?”

“No. She was violent. Like me. She used to be one really good lay, or so she keeps telling us. She’s a hooker in New York. A high-class one, pays really well. It must’ve right? Sleep Pills aren’t cheap.”

I shook my head. “It’s expensive, and hard to access.”

“Hard as hell. But in her case, her handler hands it out to them like candies in the bank. Keeps them performing all night long, all day over. More action, more profits.”

“There is a high incidence of prostitutes suffering from sleep pill syndrome.” I affirmed. “Mostly for the same reasons. Profit.”

“Moolah.” He emphasized. “Lots and lots of it.”

“Did she tell you what happened while she was violent?”

Charles nodded. He rubbed his legs, a sign he was stimulated by his knowledge of Marissa’s reason for admission. He leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “She went fuck crazy.” He laughed out loud. “And I don’t mean just insane. She went crazy for the fuck. She needed sex as much as she needed slox. Started scaring off the genteel clients. Until one night after downing two of the pips, she just went shit-fuck-hell mad. She was with a congressman that night, and in the middle of sex, she bit his nipple off. Clean cut away from the chest! Ha!”

I doubt it was clean. Teeth leaves corrugated marks on flesh and the act of tearing will not be tidy. But that’s not a point I’d like to clarify right then, since it was clear he was getting closer to where I needed him to be. “Were you that violent?”

His bark of laughter echoed through the dark room. “No! Not that way!” his laugh faded to chuckles. Until finally, the chuckle turned into a sniff. He lowered his head and stared at his hands again.“I was…worse. I think.”

“What did you do, Charles?”

“Nothing. I did nothing.”

It was my turn to lean forward towards him. “They brought you in tied to your stretcher. The nurses were scared to come near you. They had to raise the salary of the one medical aide they could persuade to touch you. That’s not nothing.”

A long silence stretched between us. I have watched hundreds of patients fidget before. I have sat there while shadows lengthened. I’m good at this game. Charles, obviously, was not.

“I just want to see my family again.” He said, voice soft as air.

“They’re dead.”

I was not surprised at his anger. What surprised me was the vehemence and complexity of his denial. “NO! They’re just… just asleep… They are sleeping!” he struggled to stand up, but it was standard procedure to tie them to their chairs during briefings. He was violently thrown back to his seat. An Institute guard stepped out of the shadows and nearer to the examination table. I motioned for him to stay. “Let me stand up from here, you son of a bitch!”

“I can’t do that, Charles. But you can sit down and try to proceed with this conversation more calmly.”

“Calm?! Fuck you! You just told me my family is dead, and you want me to calm down?” he yelled. “Fuck off!”

The guard cleared his throat. “Sedative?”

“No, thanks, Roberto. He needs to be lucid for what I will ask him next.”

Charles kicked at the table. But it was a fixed heavy wood furniture and it only budged the tiniest inch. “You will not ask me anymore questions, asshole! Get me out of here!”

“But I do. I have a couple more questions.” I looked at him with all the will power I can muster. “How did you kill them, Charles?”

“My name is Claude. And I didn’t kill my family.”

“So how did they die?”

“I already said, they’re not dead!”

I pushed two photographs towards him. “Anne-Marie and little Charlotte. Found dead inside your house the night you got stone drunk and high on slox on 53^rd Avenue.” The photos showed the mother and child inside the master bedroom, on the bed. Their skin was the sallow color of death, but their bodies were lovingly arranged. Little Charlotte was even clutching a Raggedy doll.

“They’re just sleeping. You have to believe me.”

“Trace shows they swallowed large amounts of arsenic.Ingested.” I flipped open his file again. “It says here there were traces of arsenic in your clothing the night you were rushed to the hospital. Arsenic and curry powder.” I closed the file again. “What did you have for dinner that night, Charles?”

“I don’t remember. How can I remember something stupid like that?” he pulled at the cuffs on his wrist.

“Chicken curry, I bet.”

Charles howled. Howled like a madman. He sounded as if he was burning from the inside. “Why are you doing this? Why?”

“Because… there’s no other way to help you, Charles. Or should I say, Mr. Perraud.” I bowed my head. “I need you to remember these tragic events so we, at the Institute, could help you overcome your addiction to the Sleep Pill.”

He spat at me. Literally spewed his saliva on me. “Overcome my addiction? Why do you keep feeding us the pips then? Why do you keep giving it to me?”

“You’re body is highly saturated with Oxerxen A, and if we do not slough off the drug from your system, you will… well. You will die, Mr. Perraud.” I tapped my notebook. “And we can’t let you die. Not yet. We need to understand what went wrong with the pill, Charles. Imagine, by answering my questions, you will help a thousand, no, a million slox junkies out there.”

“You mean, you want to create a stronger better drug so more junkies will stay addicted to it. You’re one of them. I saw your ID. You’re one of them pharmaceutical companies. You brought this evil to the world.”

I leaned back form my chair and rubbed my temples. The first pangs of migraine were clawing their way to my head. “We had highly skilled psychiatrists working on the product. I’m one of them. We didn’t know it will get so awry. We meant well, you can believe that. Imagine, a single pill will cure human species’ need to sleep. Sleep optional lifestyle will help mankind actualize their potentials. The animal testing went fine. Slox mice performed even better than the normal ones. We knew we had a breakthrough in our hands.”

Charles was looking a little glazed over, but I pushed on, wanting to make him understand. “Do you see it? You must’ve saw it. You took the pill too.”

He closed his eyes as if in great pain. His voice, when he spoke, was cracking from the sheer weight of his memories. “I took the pill to do more. Be more. Wasn’t that your slogan or something? Before I was addicted to slox, I was addicted to work. I pulled 72 hours once, without sleep. All for the sake of bringing home the much needed money.” He took a deep breath. “But then, things started to change. I had more mood swings, I was sure people were trying to ruin my career, some were even going to kill me. I wasn’t… nice anymore. They fired me.” He kicked at the table more feebly this time.

“So what did you do?”

“What was I to do? My family was going to starve. I cannot imagine my wife’s face if I had to tell her our house was repossessed. I did it for them. I don’t want them to suffer. So I put them into deep sleep. But I can’t go there yet. I can’t sleep. So I took more of the pills.”

“And you got drunk. When you collapsed and was brought to the hospital, they tried to detox you from slox, didn’t they?”

“They knew I was on it. But they weren’t sure how much yet. Tests takes so long. But the thing with taking higher dosages of the pill was, the hangover was more painful. You need it more, within shorter and shorter time. I needed it. They didn’t have any.”

“So you killed the intern?”

He nodded. “It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to. In my head, he was this monster. And I needed to kill him, to save myself. I killed him.”

“How?”

“I strangled him with his stethoscope. We were alone in the room.”

“And after you strangled him?”

He gave me a pleading, haunted look. “I don’t remember.” He answered in a low voice.

“Yes you do.” I said, just as soft. “Tell me, and release yourself from that prison in your head.”

“I… I cracked his head open using the bed winder I wrenched away from the metal frame. That thing that goes around to pull you up or down.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

I looked at him with pityingly. “Charles. You ate his brains.”

He sobbed. “No.”

“Yes.”

Charles threw up. “Stop, please.” He gasped and puked, swallowing some again. “Just kill me, please. Let me be with them.”

I watched him until he recovered slightly.

“We both know that I’m not really here anymore. I died when they did.”

I saw his life light pulsing light and dark. He’s calling out for death, for his redemption. But ---

“No.” I stood up and motioned to the guard to open the door. “Not yet.”

“Please! Please!!! You can’t leave me here you sonafobitch!” he tried to stand up, violently, wrenching his arms from his sockets. He howled in pain. “You open a can of worms and now you have to help me get rid of it, you asshole!”

The door closed. Another guard escorted me down the hallway. I can still hear the echoes of Charles’ pleas. My shoes made a staccato sound on the marbled floor. I passed the other rooms where other patients were in states of disrepair themselves. I wrote on my notebook as I walked. I have enough to prove that the pill is causing irregularities in the pre-frontal cortex region of the brain, causing people to lose their rational thought and enhancing their animalistic instincts. It happened to all of them. I sighed. So many casualties. In my mind, they were collateral damage. Broken toy soldiers in the forefront of a war against mediocrity. But the future is still bright.

“Better.” I murmured to myself. “We will make it better. You’ll be so proud, Charles.”

From his room, Charles screamed.

-=--=-=-=

On the 11th Day of Christmas: Story- The Royal Wedding of Datimbang

Eliong woke up from his afternoon siesta with a sneeze.

He sat up with a jolt and rubbed his itching nose so hard it turned the tip tomato red. His eyes quickly sought out the window to check the sky outside. He could see dark clouds moving from the mountain towards their valley and he shook his head. It’s going to rain and he knew it. At least his nose does. His fits of sneezing always come before every downpour. His grandfather said it was sensitivity to the changes in the weather and he called it an uncanny ability. Eliong only thought it was a nuisance. He sneezed again.

With a sigh, he groped the floor with his feet trying to locate his slippers. When he found it, he slipped it on as quietly as he can. No matter how careful he was though, the bamboo cot creaked violently when he stood up. From the other cot, his younger brother stirred.

“Yong? Where are you going?” asked Jojo’s sleep-soaked voice.

Eliong hushed him with his finger and pointed outside. “It’s going to rain. I’ll just get the washing Inang hung to dry.”

“Oh, okay.” The young boy laid his head down. A second later, he looked up again, “Wait! Could you check on the chickens too? See if the rain won’t turn them to tinola before their time.”

Eliong felt a brief pang of irritation but he let it go with another sigh. Jojo was the one who washed the dishes after lunch anyway. “Sige.”

He doesn’t mind going to the chicken house. It’s the part of their farm that’s nearest the forest, and Eliong loves the forest. His playmates think it’s scary, but he knew he was braver than they are. He couldn’t understand what they found so frightening with the lush greenery and secret hidden places within the copse. He was also just fond of the insects and small animals he found along its fringes every once in a while. To him, the forest was fascinating. He checked the clouds coming in again and saw that he still had quite some time left. He chose to go check on the chickens first.

Inside the shed, Paeng the Elder Goat bleated mournfully at him. Beside him, his son Okong was agitated and tugging at his tether. Not unusual before rain, but it was nevertheless inconsistent with the young goat’s usual tepid character. Eliong patted Okong’s head once and made his way to the back part of the shed where the chickens were cooped and making a ruckus. Itang just mended the roof so he was confident it’ll hold in a medium-strong storm. Eliong checked the latches on the coop and spoke softly to calm the animals down.

“Tsk, tsk, it’s okay now. It’s just a drizzle, from the looks of it. You’ll be fine in here.” He shushed and tutted. The chickens started to settle and they dug into their nests with their clawed feet upon hearing the familiar voice. Eliong was satisfied when the clucking subsided. When all he could hear are cooing sounds of contentment, he made his way out to the clothesline.

Inang’s sinampay were like ladies dancing in the gathering wind. He espied his Itang’s best dress shirt at the farthest line and resolved to get to it first. It was made of expensive jusi material, a gift from the wealthy haciendero who owns the land they till. He dashed up the small slope to the clothesline and was about to reach out to remove the sipit from the barong when Eliong stopped short with a yell at the sight of a massive black dog hidden behind the folds of a hanging kumot. He was not afraid of dogs, but something in the animal’s immenseness was unsettling.

“Go away, Blackie. It’s about to rain, your fur will get dragging wet.”

The dog responded by barking once. Eliong stepped back in surprise. The dog’s bark sounded like a huge kampana tolling. It had decibels and echoes in it which does not belong in any creature’s sound. The dog watched him somberly, as if measuring him for something. When it seemed satisfied, it stood up and started to lope towards the forest. Eliong watched with fascination as the dog stopped, turned back at him, and barked once more.

“What? You want me to follow?” he asked.

The dog rapidly barked back. It turned its head towards the forest and then back to Eliong. It’s little feet were doing a jig while keeping in place, as if it was impatient to be away. Then it barked continuously, the tolling sound of its urgency washing over the boy and urging him to action.

“Alright, I’m coming! Don’t frighten the chickens because I just got them to calm down!” he answered. Eliong started to run to the forest, just right behind the scampering dog.

At this point, it crossed Eliong’s mind to be careful. The animal was unearthly enough and it was bringing him deeper into the forest than he’d ever been before. He did love the woods, but he was still a child afraid of losing his way in the darkness. “Dog! Slow down, please,I don’t want to get lost!”

Heeding his words, the dog lessened its pace a notch. It kept sniffing the air, changing direction once, then twice. Finally, when the leaves of the branches overhead covered the sky completely and the forest ground was soft and damp, it stopped. It stood so still, that Eliong understood that he needs to be quiet too.

The dog cocked its ear, and then whined a little. Eliong was tempted tilt his head as well; but before he could even make the motion, he heard a far-away lilting melody. It sounded like a hundred flutes playing all at once and several kawayan sticks being pounded to a certain rhythm. The sound, soft as it is, had a persuasive cadence. It was not so slow, but not ecstatically happy either. In fact, it sounded a bit somber for folk music.

“Is there a party in there?” Eliong found himself asking the dog. As he expected, the dog returned a bark and surged to its feet. It started running towards the music. Eliong and the dog leapt over brambles, sidestepped insect mounds, and passed sideways between boulders until finally saw a clearing that lay to the north. Eliong had never been to that area before and wasn’t  even aware that such a place existed in the woods. Or that it was a place where colorful pageantry are often held, for it was exactly a parade that was passing through the clearing.

Eliong knew he should be scared. The strangest creatures were standing not a few meters away from where he is hidden by the bushes --- creatures of myth and nighttime stories told to frighten them to sleep.  But he was too fascinated by the display of weirdness to let fear get the better of him. There were kapres walking in line, lit tobaccos pinched between their fingers. There were beautiful women, all dressed in green and brown, swaying to the music being played by what seemed an odd assortment of dwarves and elves. And then, there were men with slanted eyes and tipped ears carrying black banners, their posture erect and daunting. Just behind them, a man on horseback was being escorted by four giants --- bigger and taller than any man Eliong has ever seen. The man astride the horse was handsome, almost impossibly so. But something in the set of his mouth and the haughty jaunt of his eyebrows expresses a cruelty that Eliong immediately took a dislike to. Something cold crept to his heart as he watched the parade come to a stop. Those walking in line continued to snake around the clearing until they formed a loose circle facing the man who now stood in the middle of the grassy space. All of the creatures looked entranced by the figure in the center, as if they were under a spell. Before he knew to fight it, Eliong felt a wave of enchantment hit him and he wavered.  He began to edge closer to the clearing, but the dog stopped him by biting his shirt and tugging at it. He was about to speak, to tell the dog to let him go, to let him creep closer to the beautiful man, when a rough hand suddenly seized him and covered his mouth.

A man’s low voice whispered at his left ear, “Don’t be foolish, boy. Keep quiet. You are in danger here.”

The fear Eliong has been harboring this entire time rose to his throat. Yes, he could sense danger, but was too entranced to heed it.

“I will let go of you now, but you must be still and keep your voice to a whisper.” The man said. Eliong nodded his assent.

The man let go, and Eliong spun around to face a rugged, brown face --- not unhandsome but with features hard to pin down. He was wearing the traditional kamiso worn by farmers, but wrapped upon his head was a colorful cloth that marks him as a rich man, maybe even a Datu. He also had a magnificent parrot perched on his shoulders with many-colored plumage. The bird was eyeing him carefully with its beady eyes.

“You are not supposed to be here, mortal boy.” The man said.

Eliong looked at the black dog and back to the man. “The dog brought me here, sir.”

“Tahol, what have you done?” the man asked, an edge of anger to his voice. The bird fluttered her wings and flew to perch on the dog’s head. ELiong thought they looked almost comical.

Tahol whimpered softly and pointed his nose to the clearing. They turned to look. Another small horse was entering the field, this time with a woman riding side-saddle on it. The woman was small, fragile and has a delicate beauty that belied the fiery gaze she has affixed on the man in the clearing.

“Datimbang…” the man mournfully whispered.

“Who is she?” Eliong asked.

The man’s eyes never left the woman when he replied, “My beloved.”

The woman was carried off the horse by one of the giants, and was put down directly in front of the man. With a pinkie finger, the giant forced her to kneel in front him. Once she was on her knees, the crowd cheered and clapped, and one of the men carrying black banners stepped forward and shouted, “Let the wedding begin!” The cheering got louder.

“A wedding? What is happening?” Eliong asked frantically. “I thought she was your beloved?”

“She is. But Datu Miskoyaw has kidnapped her. I dueled with Miskoyaw, but he has tricked me into exhausting my powers. A cheat!”  He crouched low, his pained eyes watching the revelry. “I have followed them for seven days through the forest. I knew they were making their way to the holy ground.”

“Well, what are you doing here? Why don’t you stop it?” the boy tugged at the man’s sleeved kamiso. “Stop them!”

“I am wounded, and weakened by going for so long without nourishment. This army of strange creatures will overpower me if I do not plan my actions well.”

“What can I do to help? I’m small, but I’m really fast on my feet!”

A tremor of emotion passed in the man’s eyes. “Tahol has chosen you well, it seems. I do have a plan, and it will involve great courage on your part. You can choose not to do it, if it sounds too dangerous.”

“I have enough enchantment to hold the minor creatures in a thrall. And I have enough strength to battle the giants, kapres, the soldiers and maybe even Miskoyaw himself. But I need someone to run through the battlefield to get to Datimbang. I need you to hold her until Miskoyaw’s enchantment drains from her. She is within a protective circle, but a mortal of pure heart can pass through. Once you get to her, no other creature may invade the circle. Such is the enchantment.”

“Just hold her? That’s easy!” Eliong scoffed.

Tha man’s hand descended upon his shoulder again. “You have to hold her, but her form will change. Miskoyaw will make her as detestable as he can make her, so you would let go. That man can read your innermost fears. Be prepared to face your most terrifying nightmares.”

Eliong regarded the man silently. He had some pretty terrifying dreams, and he wouldn’t want to be facing them for anything. But the man looked so desolate, and knew he had to help, even if he died trying. He nodded his assent. “I will do it.”

Tahol padded softly to him and nuzzled his hand in encouragement.

“Thank you. What is your name, brave boy?”

“My name is Eliong. I live just outside the forest at the end of Dilawon.”

The man kneeled in front of him and smiled. “I am Bantugan. Whatever happens, know that I am forever in your debt. And if I perish in this endeavor, I am sure Datimbang will stand for what I have promised you.“

“Please, it’s okay. I just want to help.” Eliong replied. “I want to learn to be brave.”

Bantugan smiled. “You already are, little one. So take heart.” He stood up and retrieved his short sword. “For Datimbang.”

Eliong took a deep breath and readied his feet. “For Inang.”

Bantugan held Eliong’s gaze for a long moment. Then he raised his sword and yelled a war cry. In less than a second, he came crashing out of the forest with Eliong close at his heels.

The gathered revelers were taken aback by the intrusion. Eliong noted that dwarves, elves and maidens were all rooted to the spot, unable to move due to Bantugan’s enchantment. He ran as fast as he could between each small body, twisting and turning so as not to be snatched by frozen fingers. Bantugan’s magic though cannot hold the larger creatures in its sway. As one, the kapres swung forward and ran towards him, intent on pulling him apart limb by limb. Swiftly, deftly, Bantugan slashed at them masterfully. His sword punctured and cut and hacked at the wall of hairy monsters until the wiser of them ran away. The soldiers have surrounded Bantugan by this time, and the sharp tips of their banners were aimed at him. Eliong worried about him, but heard the parrot reminding him of his goal.

“Datimbang, Datimbang!”

Eliong offered a prayer for Bantugan, but now, he has to focus on one thing: Datimbang who will soon become a monster in his arms. 

A giant moved to block Eliong’s path, but Tahol was suddeny at his side, and the dog lunged at the colossus’ feet and bit hard. The giant fell clutching it’s injured leg, and Tahol took this opportunity to attack the monster’s neck. A team soldier fell out of rank and ran towards Eliong, sharp tips at the ready, but the bird swooped down on them and pecked at their eyes. They created such a flurry that they inadvertently hit each other with their tipped sticks and gouged more damage than the bird did to them. Eliong was on the clear and he can already see Datimbang looking at him, with a face full of worry and concern. When he was near enough, he lunged at her, arms flung open and then clasped her as if hanging on for dear life.

“Bantugan sent me.” Eliong yelled.

Datimbang nodded, understanding, and then whispered, “Please don’t let go. I will try my best not to harm you.”

Scarcely where the words out of her mouth when she transformed into a kapre herself. Eliong screamed as he felt the smooth arms turn hairy and bulging. The kapres eyes were fiery red and it stared at him with such hatred. It bellowed, anger surging from the depths of his deep howl. “Let go of me, mortal! Or I tear your head off!”

“I will not let go!” Eliong shouted at the creature. The kapre howled once more and turned itself into a snake. It curled its heavy slithering body around his arm and neck.

“Sssss…. One bite, mortal and you will be dead. One squeeze and I will crush your throat. Say goodbye to your beloved Inang!”

Eliong sobbed. “Then I would die being brave and she will be proud of me.”

“Fooolishhhhh!” screamed the snake and it turned itself into a half-bodied woman with black leathery wings whipping at her back. “I will not let go too as well, and I will eat your innards and have myself a feast of liver and kidneys!”

“Manananggal!” Eliong cried. The woman twisted in his hold, and he felt her wet and slippery tongue on his neck.

“Sumptuous feast!” the manananggal cackled.

Eliong’s courage wavered. He turned to look at Bantugan and saw him slicing his way through the soldiers, so many of them already down and bleeding. Seeing his bravery against such odds, Eliong made up his resolve. If Bantugan can fight insurmountable enemies, so can he. “I will not let go, hag! Go and eat me!”

“Let go! Let go of me, stupid boy!” the hag’s voice started to sound more feminine until it was Datimbang speaking to him again. Her face changed into something softer and sweeter, the graceful curves of her lips accentuating the words she was saying, “It is over, Eliong. We cannot win. Look at Bantugan, he will die and we will die with him. Run while you still can.”

Eliong saw Bantugan fall. A giant has kicked him down and it had a huge rock poised above the faltering hero. Just when he was about smash the man with it, a bevy of birds flew out of the forest and made directly for the giant’s eyes. It seems Bantugan’s pet has rallied some of its friends. The distraction gave bantugan the breather he needed and the opportunity to approach the giant closer and penetrate the creature’s thick hide. Brave bird. And thus, Eliong renewed his courage.

“No, Bantugan will win. And you are not Datimbang because the real one loves and believes in her beloved.” He told the woman.

The woman smiled sadly. “I have warned you. And now, we shall all perish.” She closed her eyes and sighed. Then Eliong felt her body go slack. Her lips parted to let out a last sigh, a last breath, and Datimbang lay still in his arms.

Eliong shook her body as hard as she could. “Datimbang?”

A mournful chorus rose from the still frozen maidens. “Datimbang! Datimbang!” They cried.

“She is dead! She is dead!” Eliong shouted, tears streaming down his cheeks. “She is cold and dead.”

The parrot flew down and hovered above him. “Eliong! Eliong! Hold on!” it screeched.

Suddenly, Eliong felt Datimbang’s body disintegrating. The flesh from her bones was melting, as if she was decomposing in front of his eyes. Her eyes sunk to their sockets, the nose bent, and her skull was visible underneath. She began to stink like a long-dead animal left to the elements.

Eliong heaved and retched, but held on. He adjusted his grasp as the woman became a lump in his arms. She kept decreasing in size until the boy found himself holding a mass of flesh as big as an overlarge egg. “Datimbang!” he cried once again.

From the center of the clearing, a frustrated howl echoed through the forest. Eliong’s first thought was Bantugan must have fallen at last. But when he turned to look, it was Miskoyaw held under Bantugan’s sword. The latter’s eyes were burning and hard and his grip on his sword was firm. He spoke fiercely.

“I should kill you Miskoyaw. But I am not like you. Harm me or Datimbang and her family again and I will come to finish what I have started today.” And with that he slashed a wound on Miskoyaw’s right arm. “A reminder of our covenant.” Bantugan said and stood up.

Miskoyaw wailed and disappeared from underneath the victor, and along with him all of the creatures of the bizarre parade. Within three breaths, the clearing was as pristine as it must have looked before the encounter.

Eliong stood up and ran towards Bantugan, the egg still held in his palms.

“Eliong!” he smiled.

The boy ran to him and kneeled at his feet. “I am sorry! I am sorry, I have failed! She did not return!” He held up the egg to the man. Tahol loped towards them, and the bird perched on Bantugan’s shoulder. Their stares were grim.

Bantugan however, was smiling. “Whatever do you mean, friend? You have saved my precious Datimbang.” He delicately picked up the egg and laid it in front of Eliong. “Watch.”

Bantugan leaned forward and breathed on the egg. A mist formed around the shell, rising and growing denser as the seconds passed. Eliong heard a soft crack, then a blinding light strobed through the clearing. He instinctively covered his eyes with his hand.

“No, friend, look.” Bantugan’s voice was tinged with joy.

Eliong slowly removed his hand and found himself staring once again at the graceful, beautiful Datimbang. “But how?” he asked.

It was her who answered. “We are the Old Ones, Eliong. We cannot die, but we can be made miserable by such consequences as you have witnessed.” She bent over and planted a kiss on his forehead. “You are very brave, and you have saved the both of us from an eternity of misery and desolation. Thank you.”

“As I have told you, boy, I am forever in your debt. The both of us are.” Bantugan stepped forward and patted Eliong’s back. “I shall give you this.” He removed his head cloth and offered it to him. “Whenever someone you love is ill, wrap this cloth around their head, and they shall recover immediately. However, it cannot bring anyone back from death. Use it well.”

Datimbang laid a hand on his cheek. “And I want to give you this.” She removed a bead and a string from her necklace and looped it around his neck. “This will bring you and your kin good fortune for as long as it is passed on peacefully from one generation to the next.”

“And always, you and your kin, will be kin of the forest as well. Feel safe as you travel its depth and darkness. You are marked by Datimbang herself.” Bantugan informed him.

The lady took Eliong’s arms and embraced him. She held his head and placed it on her lap. “Now rest, my brave warrior. Close your eyes and sleep.” She said.

And although he was not the least sleepy, he found himself falling into the welcoming darkness.

“Eliong, naku, Eliong!” a sharp voice broke through his consciousness. “Bata ka, why didn’t you get the sinampay? And listen, the chickens are all a-fluster! How will they lay good eggs if they are panicked like that?”

His eyes snapped open. When he sat up, he found himself in bed, his younger brother wiping sleep from his eyes and their mother glaring at them. Outside, the gentle rain was slapping on their roof. Itang was drying himself with his panyolito.

“Inang! I did! I went out and checked the chickens, I also tried to get the sinampay…but…”

“But what?” Inang asked.

“But there was a dog and it brought me to the clearing deep within the woods. I met a man with a pet parrot and I helped him rescue his beloved from an evil man.” Eliong said, doubting his own words as he said them.

“A parrot?” Jojo asked amazed.

“Hay naku, what kind of story is that? You and your brother were sleeping fitfully when we came in. Talaga naman. Now get up and help me cook dinner. Never lie to me again, or else, your Itang will thrash you with the palu-palo!” Inang said. Eliong sighed and gave up. Now that he said it, his story does seem awfully sketchy. He was probably just dreaming. A small lump formed in his throat. If it was just a dream, then he didn’t meet the Old Ones. It also means he’s not really brave either. Frowning, he stood up, felt for his slippers and meekly followed his Inang.

“Oy, Eliong, where did you get that colorful scarf?” Jojo suddenly asked.

Eliong stopped in his tracks. He felt for the scarf and found it tied around his neck like a panyo. And underneath the cloth was a necklace of string with only one bead. He gasped. “Inang!”

“What? Why?”

“It’s true, I really did meet Bantugan and Datimbang! I really was brave. And they said our family will have good fortune from now on!”

His parents eyed each other carefully. His Itang shook his head and laughed. “What good fortune? We’ve always had good fortune. We have each other, that’s why. Now, I’m hungry. Let’s cook dinner.”

Inang chuckled and patted Eliong’s head. “You will become a good storyteller when you grow up.”

“It wasn’t just a story, ‘nang.”

“Of course not.” Jojo chortled.

Outside just then, where the woods started, a great fluttering of wings rose, and a screechy, birdy voice echoed through the place, reaching their hut effortlessly. The whole family froze when they heard what it called out.

“Eliong! Eliong!”

12 Gifts

I hesitated to do this because I knew a lot of people would think a lot of naughty things such as what a spendthrift, or how vain of her to think we care about her work. But please know I am doing this for the sake of sharing what I feel like I do better than shopping for knick knacks which will fade or get broken or get lost in time.

So please accept this small gift using the best of social media, because we do live in changing times, and I feel we ought to maximize it. :D

Merry Christmas... soon!

On the 12th Day of Christmas: Story - Diyan Masalanta

It was a slow day, the kind of day that’s meant for skipping work and going to the movies instead. I asked my sister to go with me but she’s the type who would rather grow warts on her face than cut her working hours. Being boyfriend-less and all my best friends working in Makati (Intramuros, where I work, is so many worlds away, they say), I ended up walking along Manila Bay a few hours before sunset.

Proverbial Manila Bay at sunset. I scoffed a little and looked around. The bayside was littered with lovers HHWW (holding hands while walking) and sitting on the wall embracing and kissing. There were a few families doing PG (parental guidance) things like riding bikes and flying kites. All in all, the bay looked like a scene straight from a postcard and there is no better day I can think of to come across her again.

She was weaving through the crowd, touching people on their foreheads with a banahaw leaf she kept brandishing like... like…oh, but what else is it but a magic wand? She was still wearing her raggedy clothes, which I think were once green but now looked like something a boy who ate too much wasabi puked out. She has become paler than I remembered. She looked diminished. But the way she moves --- her sensuous dance hasn’t changed at all. She moved with the same grace she had when she danced under the guava tree, the day Tia Elisa ran away. It was a sliding, gliding kind of dance that followed no earthly music. And everyone she approached, lovers most of them, shivered almost imperceptibly the moment she touched them with the banahaw. She smiled every time the lovers drew closer together, and frowned when they drew apart. All this she did inconspicuously --- invisible to all but me.

I tried to think of a way to talk to her, but my mind drew a complete blank on things to say. How do you speak to a goddess after all? Because I knew from the first time I saw her that she was one of the Old Ones, and my mortality felt like a barrier between us. I have heard that those who dared to speak and were found insolent were punished. This particular goddess I could not afford to offend for she is Diyan Masalanta, the patroness of people in love.

She has fascinated me ever since I saw her fifteen years ago, in my grandfather’s backyard, dancing her slow dance around my Tia Elisa and her lover, Manong Pancho. Theirs was a heated discussion, I could tell by the urgency of their movements and the abruptness of their speech. The same banahaw leaf touched my Tia Elisa’s bosom and the day ended with her running away with Manong. My grandfather was livid when he found out and I did not have the courage to tell him about the dancing woman. But she lived in my imagination, and I poured over old books of lore until I found a name I just felt was right --- Diyan. That was her. Diyan Masalanta because of the havoc she wreaks inside men’s hearts.

A small breath of air, much like the fluttering of a leaf, brought me back to the present. With growing terror, I realized Diyan was staring straight at me, in all her unearthly presence. And for the briefest second, I flinched. I realized I was genuinely scared she has touched me with her leaf.

Then she smiled.

“The girl who sees…” she said, her voice a soft, lilting sound.

I stood stock still, like a cat in caught in the headlights of 20-wheeler truck. “Please…” I managed to say.

“Please what?” she has stopped dancing. She just stepped closer towards me. Her head was tilted as if she was studying me; I felt like an amoeba under a microscope.

“Please don’t hurt me?” I replied, unsure if that’s what I wanted to say.

“Hurt you? I never hurt anyone.” She frowned. She took a step back. “When did I hurt anyone?”

“I didn’t mean it that way…” I stammered.

“People hurt themselves, Ibiang.” Her use of my pet name took me by surprise “They are given the greatest gift and they curse it. They are given joy and they stomp on it like some disgusting thing. Look at me. I am worse for wear. I toil and grow worn to shreds with each passing decade. My question, mortal, is this? Why do humans detest love?”

That was it. She looked tired, thus diminished. How many years, eras has she done this? And what she asked of me was not an easy question to answer at all. Why is it Love is deemed crueler, and a wreaker of havoc, above all?

“They do not detest it, goddess. They are terrified of it, at least I think I am.” I remembered how I felt when I thought she has touched me. “Love is worse than gold, because gold you can lose to thieves. But losing love is something entirely your responsibility. And I… I don’t think anyone who knew love and lost it could ever erase that shadow, that blight from their memory.”

“So is that why some would rather not have love start at all?” she asked pointedly.

“Some.” I answered, which sounded more like a confession. “Some.”

“Foolish mortal.” Her voice was sharp, but her eyes grew gentle, almost sad. “You will find me again. I have not touched you yet. Sooner or later, I touch everyone.”

Diyan Masalanta gave me one final look and turned away. She picked up the lost steps of her dance and tapped people with her leaf. The sunset has started and everyone the length of Manila Bay huddled closer to each other for warmth, for sharing the perfect moment with their loved ones.

“Feel that cool breeze…” I heard one girl say to her boyfriend as she burrowed deeper in his embrace.

I started walking back to Intramuros, knowing someday, the breeze will come for me.


Original Link at: http://geeksguide.blogspot.com/2008/06/diyan-masalanta.html