APO PULE'S TATTOO
Story by Percival Campoamor Cruz
Published in the Asian Journal of Los Angeles
Part 1, p. B3 August 24, 2011 http://www.ajdigitaledition.com/webpaper/webpapers/2011/aj110824/multi/index.html
Part 2, p. B5 August 31, 2011
http://www.ajdigitaledition.com/webpaper/webpapers/2011/aj110831/multi/index.html
Part 3, p. B3 September 7, 2011
http://www.ajdigitaledition.com/webpaper/webpapers/2011/aj110907/multi/index.html
--The first people Magellan saw when he landed on Homonhon Island on March 17, 1521 had tattoos. He referred to them as “Pintados” (“Painted”). In fact, the Spaniards referred to the archipelago as “Las Islas de los Pintados” (“The Islands of the Painted People”). . .
-- The majority of the tattoos were badges of courage in battle. Other tattoos like the “babalakay” and the“mangkid” had different symbolisms.-- - Lane Wilcken
Author, “Filipino Tattoos”
--The first people Magellan saw when he landed on Homonhon Island on March 17, 1521 had tattoos. He referred to them as “Pintados” (“Painted”). In fact, the Spaniards referred to the archipelago as “Las Islas de los Pintados” (“The Islands of the Painted People”). . .
-- The majority of the tattoos were badges of courage in battle. Other tattoos like the “babalakay” and the“mangkid” had different symbolisms.-- - Lane Wilcken
Author, “Filipino Tattoos”
Pule and his younger brother, Legleg, were part of a contingent of boys that was performing a monumental task during that particular evening. They were aiming to accomplish the final steps toward manhood. The elders had let twenty of the tribe’s future hunters to walk into the claws of the night and into the dark bosom of the jungle in search of wild pigs.
It was customary to teach the youths how to use the “sibat” ( lance) and the “gulok” (a bladed weapon similar to a butcher knife, only thinner and longer) in capturing wild pigs, dead or alive. The men of the village had been able to sustain the survival of the tribe through the sheer skill in the use of the said weapons, coupled with physical conditioning and cunning.
A “dallung” or feast awaited the arrival of the young hunters when each one came home with a catch late in the following day. A day later, the brave, young men who had already proven their worth received their very first tattoos.
The tribe had one elderly man who was the master of tattoos. He was referred to as the “mambabatek”. A female tattoo master was referred to as “manfafattong”. A tattoo rite was preceded by the worship of the ancestors and the offering of animal sacrifices.
Another village elder referred to as the “hinahanghal”, who wore a tattoo on his throat symbolic of his having a golden voice, sang petitions to the “anitos” (spirits of the ancestors) to protect the tattoo recipients from infection.
Older men and women in the village, on account of their ages and experience, bore more tattoos on their bodies and limbs than their younger counterparts.
There were tattoo symbols for dogs. These represent fierceness and watchfulness, the special traits of dogs. There were tattoos shaped like mountains and layers of mountain tops meant multiple acts of service or bravery. There were tattoos in the shape of the centipede, which became protection against poisons. There were tattoos that looked like falcons or eyes – these tattoos were given to tribe members who could see beyond and communicate with the spirits in the afterlife; “minminata”, they were called.
It was a duty to watch the village’s boundaries so that intruders could not
trespass. Intruders were beheaded and the village warriors brought home their
heads as proofs of victory in battle. And the reward for valor was one tattoo for
every head brought home.
“Chak-lag” was the ultimate form of honor. It looked like a shield and it was tattooed on the surface of the entire chest of the ultimate warrior. There was also an honorary tattoo for the “kadangyan”, the blue-blooded and wealthy member of the tribe.
The women wore tattoos on the inner part of their thighs, the pathways, as newborns come out of the mothers’ portals. The purpose of these tattoos was to ensure successful childbirth.
His father had asked Pule to keep a good eye on his little brother, Legleg, and to do whatever was necessary in case he got into harm’s way. Bunched together at the beginning of the hunt, the boys had to disperse following the elders’ advice. The brothers Pule and Legleg were groping in the dark on their own. They were carefully
treading an unfamiliar path along the edge of a cliff when, unexpectedly, Legleg slipped off a loose, slimy patch of dirt and fell off the edge. He was able to hang on momentarily to a stub of a tree that was sticking out of the cliff’s edge.
-- Brother Pule, Brother Pule, please pull me up. . . Save me for God’s sake! –
Pule froze in fear. His immediate reaction was to save his brother, but he knew he was ill-equipped to do so. He had no rope that he could use to pull him up with, that was, assuming that he had enough power to pull him up. All he had was the “gulok” and the “sibat” that had a long bamboo pole for a handle. He thought of dangling the lance’s long handle as a hitch; but he hesitated. If he used the lance to pull up Legleg, either Legleg could hang on to it and be pulled up; or he, Pule, could be pulled down off the cliff and both of them would fall into the deep chasm, he thought as precious seconds ticked off toward a heroic rescue or a major disaster.
And the inevitable happened. Pule decided that using the lance would not work. Legleg could not hold on to the stub any longer and he let go. He fell like a rock into the dark, empty space.
Pule walked back to the village alone and wailing. In broken sentences he gave the elders the grim news. The elders and the physically-able men of the village immediately rushed to the scene of the tragic accident. They took the long,
circuitous and treacherous path going down to the bottom of the chasm. Morning
was starting to break when the men finally retrieved Legleg’s dead body.
The young hunters came back with a good catch, but instead of having a celebration, the village observed a day of mourning in honor of the dead. Each of the young man came back with a catch and would surely earn a tattoo. Pule brought home the mangled body of his brother.
Time passed on and Pule developed into a full-grown man. He grew up carrying in his heart the burden of guilt and deep sadness for losing his beloved brother. He was being blamed regarding the accident that befell his brother. He put up with the blaming and the villagers’ cold treatment of him.
Coward! Everyone thought he was. The young maidens of the village avoided him. The young men did not want him in their hunting parties and battles. He had no trespassers’ heads to bring home. His life had no meaning. He had not even one tattoo in a society that looked up to tattoos as proofs of manhood, valor, victory, and honor.
Pule decided to leave the village and headed for the plains; in fact for the big city, and started a new life. Already, the Spaniards were in power in the Philippines at that time. They were in control of the government and the church that was proselytizing Christianity.
In the mountains, the Spaniards were being beheaded by the tribal warriors. It was ironic how Pule’s fate had reversed completely –the Spaniards whose heads were being sought after by his peers were the ones that had opened their arms to him, adopted and supported him in a society “more advanced and more humane than the society where he came from”.
Pule’s education was financed by his adopted parents. He took up pre-medicine and became an assistant to a specialist. Although he did not become a full-fledged doctor, the experience he gained working for the specialist, had given him enough credentials to provide sufficient medical service.
Early on, Consuelo, his girlfriend, and Pule had agreed to get married as soon as his medical career took off. She now asked him to go ahead with their plans of marriage. However, Pule had other plans, and decided to put off the marriage. He also opted to give up a lucrative job at a hospital in Manila and decided to go back to the Cordilleras to be with his beloved people once again.
Pule had assumed that time had changed his people’s opinion of him. When he arrived at the village, he threw away his city clothes and changed into the tribe’s
traditional wear, the so-called, G-String.
The reception to Pule was cold. He heard remarks like, -- Why did he have to come back? -- People were avoiding him. And when he saw people having conversation he knew they were talking about him.
-- The coward is back! Of what good is it to have the Coward back?! --
Pule led a solitary life. He kept to himself in the hut that gradually began to look like a clinic. He was grateful every time a villager knocked on his door to seek medical assistance. He welcomed each one with warmth and respect and provided them with treatment and medicines, free-of-charge.
The elders, the wise men of the tribe, and the traditional medicine men became upset. The heretic! Introducing new medicine! The “anitos” will be offended! A tragedy will befall the tribe because the Laws of Nature have been violated. They protested.
People who became well after being seen by Pule had petitioned the elders to give him the freedom to serve those who wanted to be served.
His sympathizers had grown in number. However, there was one unfortunate incident. One girl’s condition was so grave she could not be saved. Pule could not perform the needed surgery for lack of the proper equipment. The child died and Pule’s reputation got tarnished again.
A band of angry men with tattoos stormed into Pule’s house, tied his hands behind his back, and dragged him into the jungle. The men took turns in punching and kicking Pule, striking his head and body with blunt objects, and spitting at him, as he laid on the wet ground motionless. They eventually left him, dead they believed, for the wild animals to feast on.
When Pule came to, he realized he was being attended to by some of the village’s
women, inside a house. The women picked up the unconscious Pule after the angry men left him for dead. They carried him into a safe place and alternated tending to him until he regained consciousness.
Pule had lost the opportunity to be married. Consuelo, his sweetheart in the city, could wait no longer and married another man. On the other hand, the women in the village, for fear of being censured by the rest of the tribe, did not want any relationship with him.
A majority of the villagers could not forget what happened at the wild pig hunt that took the life of Legleg. They could not forget nor forgive Pule, “kahi’t pumuti na ang uwak“ (a saying about not forgiving even if it took forever – “even if the crow turned white”). They treated Pule as if he were a walking dead, a piece of stone, an old tree, that was in their midst but who had no voice, no value, no feelings, no significance in their lives.
Still, Pule persevered in the village; he continued to serve those who came by for treatment until he advanced in age. As days and months and years passed on, the number of people who learned to love and respect him had increased significantly.
A few more years passed on. Pule could feel his body was getting older. He knew his days were numbered. One night, in a dream, he saw Legleg standing on an island and waving a hand at him. The wind brought to his ears Legleg’s words.
-- Pule, brother, you are without fault. Forgiveness is not necessary. I long to hug you; get here soon. --
The mountain tribe believed that when a person passed away, his soul went on board a wooden boat and was transported across a lake and into an island. The
fierce-looking guard at the island, named Kutao, only let in persons carrying
the appropriate tattoos on their bodies.
The sun was fading away in the Cordilleras. The pitch darkness of the night came spreading across the land like a black veil of mourning. Inside one of the houses, that stood high on stilts atop the ground following tradition, the elders gathered around the old man lying face down on a straw mat.
The tattoo master ceremoniously etched on Pule’s back his very first tattoo - now they referred to him as Apo Pule out of respect - a picture of a two-rigged boat crossing
a lake. The tattoo was the recognition of the man's goodness that, tragically, had been overshadowed by a grim incident, one single incident that had rendered his whole life bitter and miserable.
At long last, Apo Pule had earned a tattoo. The only society that mattered to him had finally accepted him. He would be able to cross the expansive lake, enter the island
that Kutao was guarding, and there be reunited with his beloved brother because he wore the badge of honor, the appropriate tattoo.
Story by Percival Campoamor Cruz
Published in the Asian Journal of Los Angeles
Part 1, p. B3 August 24, 2011 http://www.ajdigitaledition.com/webpaper/webpapers/2011/aj110824/multi/index.html
Part 2, p. B5 August 31, 2011
http://www.ajdigitaledition.com/webpaper/webpapers/2011/aj110831/multi/index.html
Part 3, p. B3 September 7, 2011
http://www.ajdigitaledition.com/webpaper/webpapers/2011/aj110907/multi/index.html
--The first people Magellan saw when he landed on Homonhon Island on March 17, 1521 had tattoos. He referred to them as “Pintados” (“Painted”). In fact, the Spaniards referred to the archipelago as “Las Islas de los Pintados” (“The Islands of the Painted People”). . .
-- The majority of the tattoos were badges of courage in battle. Other tattoos like the “babalakay” and the“mangkid” had different symbolisms.-- - Lane Wilcken
Author, “Filipino Tattoos”
--The first people Magellan saw when he landed on Homonhon Island on March 17, 1521 had tattoos. He referred to them as “Pintados” (“Painted”). In fact, the Spaniards referred to the archipelago as “Las Islas de los Pintados” (“The Islands of the Painted People”). . .
-- The majority of the tattoos were badges of courage in battle. Other tattoos like the “babalakay” and the“mangkid” had different symbolisms.-- - Lane Wilcken
Author, “Filipino Tattoos”
Pule and his younger brother, Legleg, were part of a contingent of boys that was performing a monumental task during that particular evening. They were aiming to accomplish the final steps toward manhood. The elders had let twenty of the tribe’s future hunters to walk into the claws of the night and into the dark bosom of the jungle in search of wild pigs.
It was customary to teach the youths how to use the “sibat” ( lance) and the “gulok” (a bladed weapon similar to a butcher knife, only thinner and longer) in capturing wild pigs, dead or alive. The men of the village had been able to sustain the survival of the tribe through the sheer skill in the use of the said weapons, coupled with physical conditioning and cunning.
A “dallung” or feast awaited the arrival of the young hunters when each one came home with a catch late in the following day. A day later, the brave, young men who had already proven their worth received their very first tattoos.
The tribe had one elderly man who was the master of tattoos. He was referred to as the “mambabatek”. A female tattoo master was referred to as “manfafattong”. A tattoo rite was preceded by the worship of the ancestors and the offering of animal sacrifices.
Another village elder referred to as the “hinahanghal”, who wore a tattoo on his throat symbolic of his having a golden voice, sang petitions to the “anitos” (spirits of the ancestors) to protect the tattoo recipients from infection.
Older men and women in the village, on account of their ages and experience, bore more tattoos on their bodies and limbs than their younger counterparts.
There were tattoo symbols for dogs. These represent fierceness and watchfulness, the special traits of dogs. There were tattoos shaped like mountains and layers of mountain tops meant multiple acts of service or bravery. There were tattoos in the shape of the centipede, which became protection against poisons. There were tattoos that looked like falcons or eyes – these tattoos were given to tribe members who could see beyond and communicate with the spirits in the afterlife; “minminata”, they were called.
It was a duty to watch the village’s boundaries so that intruders could not
trespass. Intruders were beheaded and the village warriors brought home their
heads as proofs of victory in battle. And the reward for valor was one tattoo for
every head brought home.
“Chak-lag” was the ultimate form of honor. It looked like a shield and it was tattooed on the surface of the entire chest of the ultimate warrior. There was also an honorary tattoo for the “kadangyan”, the blue-blooded and wealthy member of the tribe.
The women wore tattoos on the inner part of their thighs, the pathways, as newborns come out of the mothers’ portals. The purpose of these tattoos was to ensure successful childbirth.
His father had asked Pule to keep a good eye on his little brother, Legleg, and to do whatever was necessary in case he got into harm’s way. Bunched together at the beginning of the hunt, the boys had to disperse following the elders’ advice. The brothers Pule and Legleg were groping in the dark on their own. They were carefully
treading an unfamiliar path along the edge of a cliff when, unexpectedly, Legleg slipped off a loose, slimy patch of dirt and fell off the edge. He was able to hang on momentarily to a stub of a tree that was sticking out of the cliff’s edge.
-- Brother Pule, Brother Pule, please pull me up. . . Save me for God’s sake! –
Pule froze in fear. His immediate reaction was to save his brother, but he knew he was ill-equipped to do so. He had no rope that he could use to pull him up with, that was, assuming that he had enough power to pull him up. All he had was the “gulok” and the “sibat” that had a long bamboo pole for a handle. He thought of dangling the lance’s long handle as a hitch; but he hesitated. If he used the lance to pull up Legleg, either Legleg could hang on to it and be pulled up; or he, Pule, could be pulled down off the cliff and both of them would fall into the deep chasm, he thought as precious seconds ticked off toward a heroic rescue or a major disaster.
And the inevitable happened. Pule decided that using the lance would not work. Legleg could not hold on to the stub any longer and he let go. He fell like a rock into the dark, empty space.
Pule walked back to the village alone and wailing. In broken sentences he gave the elders the grim news. The elders and the physically-able men of the village immediately rushed to the scene of the tragic accident. They took the long,
circuitous and treacherous path going down to the bottom of the chasm. Morning
was starting to break when the men finally retrieved Legleg’s dead body.
The young hunters came back with a good catch, but instead of having a celebration, the village observed a day of mourning in honor of the dead. Each of the young man came back with a catch and would surely earn a tattoo. Pule brought home the mangled body of his brother.
Time passed on and Pule developed into a full-grown man. He grew up carrying in his heart the burden of guilt and deep sadness for losing his beloved brother. He was being blamed regarding the accident that befell his brother. He put up with the blaming and the villagers’ cold treatment of him.
Coward! Everyone thought he was. The young maidens of the village avoided him. The young men did not want him in their hunting parties and battles. He had no trespassers’ heads to bring home. His life had no meaning. He had not even one tattoo in a society that looked up to tattoos as proofs of manhood, valor, victory, and honor.
Pule decided to leave the village and headed for the plains; in fact for the big city, and started a new life. Already, the Spaniards were in power in the Philippines at that time. They were in control of the government and the church that was proselytizing Christianity.
In the mountains, the Spaniards were being beheaded by the tribal warriors. It was ironic how Pule’s fate had reversed completely –the Spaniards whose heads were being sought after by his peers were the ones that had opened their arms to him, adopted and supported him in a society “more advanced and more humane than the society where he came from”.
Pule’s education was financed by his adopted parents. He took up pre-medicine and became an assistant to a specialist. Although he did not become a full-fledged doctor, the experience he gained working for the specialist, had given him enough credentials to provide sufficient medical service.
Early on, Consuelo, his girlfriend, and Pule had agreed to get married as soon as his medical career took off. She now asked him to go ahead with their plans of marriage. However, Pule had other plans, and decided to put off the marriage. He also opted to give up a lucrative job at a hospital in Manila and decided to go back to the Cordilleras to be with his beloved people once again.
Pule had assumed that time had changed his people’s opinion of him. When he arrived at the village, he threw away his city clothes and changed into the tribe’s
traditional wear, the so-called, G-String.
The reception to Pule was cold. He heard remarks like, -- Why did he have to come back? -- People were avoiding him. And when he saw people having conversation he knew they were talking about him.
-- The coward is back! Of what good is it to have the Coward back?! --
Pule led a solitary life. He kept to himself in the hut that gradually began to look like a clinic. He was grateful every time a villager knocked on his door to seek medical assistance. He welcomed each one with warmth and respect and provided them with treatment and medicines, free-of-charge.
The elders, the wise men of the tribe, and the traditional medicine men became upset. The heretic! Introducing new medicine! The “anitos” will be offended! A tragedy will befall the tribe because the Laws of Nature have been violated. They protested.
People who became well after being seen by Pule had petitioned the elders to give him the freedom to serve those who wanted to be served.
His sympathizers had grown in number. However, there was one unfortunate incident. One girl’s condition was so grave she could not be saved. Pule could not perform the needed surgery for lack of the proper equipment. The child died and Pule’s reputation got tarnished again.
A band of angry men with tattoos stormed into Pule’s house, tied his hands behind his back, and dragged him into the jungle. The men took turns in punching and kicking Pule, striking his head and body with blunt objects, and spitting at him, as he laid on the wet ground motionless. They eventually left him, dead they believed, for the wild animals to feast on.
When Pule came to, he realized he was being attended to by some of the village’s
women, inside a house. The women picked up the unconscious Pule after the angry men left him for dead. They carried him into a safe place and alternated tending to him until he regained consciousness.
Pule had lost the opportunity to be married. Consuelo, his sweetheart in the city, could wait no longer and married another man. On the other hand, the women in the village, for fear of being censured by the rest of the tribe, did not want any relationship with him.
A majority of the villagers could not forget what happened at the wild pig hunt that took the life of Legleg. They could not forget nor forgive Pule, “kahi’t pumuti na ang uwak“ (a saying about not forgiving even if it took forever – “even if the crow turned white”). They treated Pule as if he were a walking dead, a piece of stone, an old tree, that was in their midst but who had no voice, no value, no feelings, no significance in their lives.
Still, Pule persevered in the village; he continued to serve those who came by for treatment until he advanced in age. As days and months and years passed on, the number of people who learned to love and respect him had increased significantly.
A few more years passed on. Pule could feel his body was getting older. He knew his days were numbered. One night, in a dream, he saw Legleg standing on an island and waving a hand at him. The wind brought to his ears Legleg’s words.
-- Pule, brother, you are without fault. Forgiveness is not necessary. I long to hug you; get here soon. --
The mountain tribe believed that when a person passed away, his soul went on board a wooden boat and was transported across a lake and into an island. The
fierce-looking guard at the island, named Kutao, only let in persons carrying
the appropriate tattoos on their bodies.
The sun was fading away in the Cordilleras. The pitch darkness of the night came spreading across the land like a black veil of mourning. Inside one of the houses, that stood high on stilts atop the ground following tradition, the elders gathered around the old man lying face down on a straw mat.
The tattoo master ceremoniously etched on Pule’s back his very first tattoo - now they referred to him as Apo Pule out of respect - a picture of a two-rigged boat crossing
a lake. The tattoo was the recognition of the man's goodness that, tragically, had been overshadowed by a grim incident, one single incident that had rendered his whole life bitter and miserable.
At long last, Apo Pule had earned a tattoo. The only society that mattered to him had finally accepted him. He would be able to cross the expansive lake, enter the island
that Kutao was guarding, and there be reunited with his beloved brother because he wore the badge of honor, the appropriate tattoo.
Car Twin
Percival Campoamor Cruz
He got out of his workplace and headed for his car. He parked it on the street when he came in the morning, a big, 20-year-old red Mercedes 300 SD Diesel. The door was unlocked and when he sat at the driver's seat he saw that the key was already in the ignition. He was a bit perplexed. "I forgot to lock the car? I left the key in the ignition?"
He took off and went home.
At 3:30 in the morning he was awaken by a phone call. It was the police.
"Is this Anton?"
"This is he."
“This is the police. We're calling to report that your car is still parked on Hillcrest Street. It's the only car on the street. Are you aware that no car should remain parked on the street from 3:00 to 6:00 in the morning?"
"Yes I am. But I have my car here in my garage."
"Is there something wrong with you, Sir? We have your car! We have already towed it, a red Mercedes 300SD with Plate No. SOE688."
Anton could not believe what he was hearing.
"Can you come to the station right away?"
He got up, put on his clothes, and walked to the garage. He picked the car key from his pocket. He felt that there were two keys in the pocket. He brought them out and looked at them - two keys, completely identical. Now he felt confused and frightened.
The officers at the police station could not accept Anton's assertion that he brought his car home that evening. They took him to the car that they had towed. What Anton saw was a twin of his car, exact to all the details, including the Plate No. SOE688!
"You must be playing games with us, Anton," one of the officers said.
"You're the ones playing a game on me."
Anton, now in his 70s, used to be a screenplay writer. His best well-known work was a story about aliens from another world secretly living with humans on earth.
Unbeknownst to him, his wife was one of those aliens. Melissa, his wife, mysteriously disappeared five years ago. Actually, Melissa's mission on earth had already been accomplished. She went back home to planet Herta, the origin of the aliens living with humans on earth. She assumed the role of a nurse who had unusual healing powers. Her right hand pointer finger was different. Actually, she had twin pointer fingers in her right hand. Anton used to tease her that she was an alien because of the double pointer fingers. Anyway, Melissa is a missing person and the police had classified her disappearance as a cold case.
Now, Anton was really in hot waters. The police upon checking his background found out that he was the husband of a missing person. Back then he was already eliminated as a suspect in the disappearance of his wife. But now, with the case of the two identical cars, the police began to again entertain suspicions about his character.
“Are not writers kind of weirdos?” The police officers thought.
One possibility that the police looked into was that Anton had been into too much science-fiction stuff that he had already damaged his brain. He may be just making up the disappearance of his wife and the sudden appearance of a twin of his car. That would be a neat act, some kind of a very clever magic, if that was the case.
For lack of sufficient evidence the police released Anton but warned him that he would be under close surveillance.
Back at home, Anton settled into his couch, laid down and tried to put himself into sleep. He murmured again and again. “Parallel universe! Parallel universe!. . . The car leaked into my universe!”
He was referring to the existence of parallel universes. There are more than one universe. The entire gigantic universe is only one of innumerable universes, each universe like one tiny bubble in a limitless ocean of universes. There are more of him, and there are more of his cars, exactly identical, in those universes.
Percival Campoamor Cruz
He got out of his workplace and headed for his car. He parked it on the street when he came in the morning, a big, 20-year-old red Mercedes 300 SD Diesel. The door was unlocked and when he sat at the driver's seat he saw that the key was already in the ignition. He was a bit perplexed. "I forgot to lock the car? I left the key in the ignition?"
He took off and went home.
At 3:30 in the morning he was awaken by a phone call. It was the police.
"Is this Anton?"
"This is he."
“This is the police. We're calling to report that your car is still parked on Hillcrest Street. It's the only car on the street. Are you aware that no car should remain parked on the street from 3:00 to 6:00 in the morning?"
"Yes I am. But I have my car here in my garage."
"Is there something wrong with you, Sir? We have your car! We have already towed it, a red Mercedes 300SD with Plate No. SOE688."
Anton could not believe what he was hearing.
"Can you come to the station right away?"
He got up, put on his clothes, and walked to the garage. He picked the car key from his pocket. He felt that there were two keys in the pocket. He brought them out and looked at them - two keys, completely identical. Now he felt confused and frightened.
The officers at the police station could not accept Anton's assertion that he brought his car home that evening. They took him to the car that they had towed. What Anton saw was a twin of his car, exact to all the details, including the Plate No. SOE688!
"You must be playing games with us, Anton," one of the officers said.
"You're the ones playing a game on me."
Anton, now in his 70s, used to be a screenplay writer. His best well-known work was a story about aliens from another world secretly living with humans on earth.
Unbeknownst to him, his wife was one of those aliens. Melissa, his wife, mysteriously disappeared five years ago. Actually, Melissa's mission on earth had already been accomplished. She went back home to planet Herta, the origin of the aliens living with humans on earth. She assumed the role of a nurse who had unusual healing powers. Her right hand pointer finger was different. Actually, she had twin pointer fingers in her right hand. Anton used to tease her that she was an alien because of the double pointer fingers. Anyway, Melissa is a missing person and the police had classified her disappearance as a cold case.
Now, Anton was really in hot waters. The police upon checking his background found out that he was the husband of a missing person. Back then he was already eliminated as a suspect in the disappearance of his wife. But now, with the case of the two identical cars, the police began to again entertain suspicions about his character.
“Are not writers kind of weirdos?” The police officers thought.
One possibility that the police looked into was that Anton had been into too much science-fiction stuff that he had already damaged his brain. He may be just making up the disappearance of his wife and the sudden appearance of a twin of his car. That would be a neat act, some kind of a very clever magic, if that was the case.
For lack of sufficient evidence the police released Anton but warned him that he would be under close surveillance.
Back at home, Anton settled into his couch, laid down and tried to put himself into sleep. He murmured again and again. “Parallel universe! Parallel universe!. . . The car leaked into my universe!”
He was referring to the existence of parallel universes. There are more than one universe. The entire gigantic universe is only one of innumerable universes, each universe like one tiny bubble in a limitless ocean of universes. There are more of him, and there are more of his cars, exactly identical, in those universes.
“Drama Queen”
Short Story by Percival Campoamor Cruz
(Published in Asian Journal San Diego on October 22, 2010): http://www.scribd.com/doc/39859014/Asian-Journal-Oct-22-2010
My mother just would not miss one episode of a reality show. It was aired on radio Monday to Friday, before noon, for thirty minutes. My mother listened to the
show while she was preparing lunch, or pressing the clothes, or cleaning the house; and I was at home for the school lunch break.
Maria was married to a sick man. At night, the man went around the neighborhood to peep on women. The houses were small, instantly-built houses, made up of discarded galvanized iron sheets and lumber. The residents who migrated to the city in search of work built them on idle lands without permit and became rent-free shelter. The houses did not have rooms – were literally boxes – and privacy was not a convenience. Maria’s husband peered through holes on the walls of the houses and watched the women as they changed clothes or washed. One night, one of the husbands caught the peeping tom in flagrante delicto. He yelled at him and, thus, made noise enough to attract the attention of the other men in the neighborhood. The men came out, grabbed the village voyeur and started beating him up. Maria said the angry men left her husband as good as dead. She single-handedly picked him up and dragged him to the main street where a passerby came and offered to give him a ride to the hospital. “Louie, I cried so much for my husband. He was for many days hospitalized. The bills grew so large I did not have an idea where to get the money; I had to beg to be able to pay them. My relatives mocked me for living with a sex maniac. That was the saddest part of my life that I would never, ever forget,” Maria narrated her most harrowing experience.
There was a big applause from the audience.
Such was the format of the show: Housewives came to the studio and in a thirty-minute “live” show, Louie, the producer-host, picked seven women to tell their most tragic, deplorable,
humiliating, hurting, tear-jerking real-life stories. The show was entitled “Drama Queen”.
The winner was chosen at the end of the show. Louie asked the audience to clap for the seven contestants, one at a time; and the one who received the loudest applause was declared the winner, the “Drama Queen of the Day”. The winning housewife took home twenty pesos and several loaves of bread and canned sardines, plus a year’s supply of the sponsor’s medicinal ointment. It made me wonder how the contestants could reveal their innermost secrets (and not be embarrassed?) for a measly twenty bucks, but anyway . . .
Esther was married to a good-looking husband. He was tall, had a moustache, and looked like Clark Gable. In contrast, she was short, dark and, well. . . homely. She was not sure whether the husband really loved her in spite of her looks, or married her just for convenience. The husband loathed working and preferred to be at home. He spent a lot of time hanging out with friends or kibitzing at the corner barber shop. He was economically dependent on Esther, who was a gainfully employed nurse. One day, Esther came home unexpectedly and she caught her husband in bed with the housemaid. Esther’s intuition, that her husband was just a freeloading louse, was thus confirmed. She threw the husband and the maid out of the house. And she became a very lonely, heart-broken ex-wife. And that was Esther’s most hurting experience.
At the end of the revelation, the audience gave her a resounding round of applause.
Radio was the main source of entertainment at that time. TV was scarce and not affordable. Louie loved the show. It had brought him fame and money. He had this reality show and a string of other shows that played out daily. They were all “live” broadcasts. Louie spent a lot of time at the studio doing his daily beat. As late as ten in the evening, he sat at his booth, and read letters from women who sought advice. He sat like a psychologist who fielded questions about love, courtship, sex, and marriage. His job ended at midnight and that was the late hour he went home.
Blanca had to work as a housemaid in a rich Chinese businessman’s household. She needed to support the medical bills of her mother who had contracted tuberculosis. The boss and his wife were mean. Blanca was made to work from the wee hours of the morning until late at night. She was given a small and airless room beside the kitchen. She had to make her own simple meals or miss meals as she was not allowed to eat the food that she cooked for the family. When Blanca made a mistake, like when she accidentally dropped and broke a ceramic plate, the wife pulled her hair and banged her head on the wall. She was also required to pay for whatever ware she broke. She led a harsh, lonely and miserable life away from her parents. She had to endure the cruelty of her employers but, in spite of all the sacrifices, the mother died anyway of the dreaded disease.
The audience was jubilant and gave Blanca a thunderous applause.
Louie’s wife was young, ten years younger than him. She was an attractive woman. Louie told her she did not have to work since money was pouring in. She spent her time shopping and seeing her friends. She had a beautiful house and all the equipment she needed in the house. She had her own car. Nice clothes, shoes and handbags. Jewelry. She had everything that a young woman could desire. The only thing she did not have was the company of Louie because Louie was always at work.
“I am a battered housewife,” Nora declared. “My husband goes out with his friends every night. He comes home drunk and makes trouble. He asks me if I still see my former boyfriend and I tell him, no. He says he does not believe it because somebody saw me having coffee with him at some place. That is a lie, Louie, and I tell him so. But he believes the lie and beats me up. He is madly jealous. He is not letting me go out. I cannot even wear my makeup. I live the life of a prisoner. The last time he beat me up, he busted my eyes and mouth so bad that my own mother could not recognize me. He said he was going to kill me if he heard about anymore cheating. This is my horrifying experience.”
The audience loved her story and gave Nora a good applause.
Louie’s wife, Victoria, was his number one fan. Wherever she went, she made certain the radio was playing Louie’s station. When she was at home the radio played all day long, tuned in to Louie’s radio station. When she was in the car, the car’s radio was constantly tuned in, likewise, to Louie’s radio station. The radio worked like a clock or scheduler that told Victoria about the whereabouts of her husband.
Aling Eliza’s five-year old son had a swollen head caused by encephalitis. She could not afford to buy the medicines, much less, agree to a surgical procedure that the doctor recommended. The boy, a smart, lovable human being was wasting away. Aling Eliza cried every time she saw boys her son’s age having fun outdoors while her little boy was lying in bed and enduring pain, cooped up inside the house. The boy got so sick one evening that she had to take him to the emergency room. She went from one hospital to the other begging for mercy but no hospital took the boy in because she did not have the security deposit. “My son was burning with fever. He was shaking and throwing up. He could not speak and with his eyes he was pleading to me for help. He was like telling me – Mama, why doesn’t anybody want to help me? – Louie, I wanted to die. I asked God to take my life instead of my son’s, if He could just spare my son’s life.” And she sobbed uncontrollably.
Louie gave the contestant his handkerchief so she could wipe off her tears. “I’m so sorry, Aling Eliza,” Louie commiserated.
“My son died that very same night. . . Losing my son is like losing my own life. Oh, my God, how could this world be so cruel!”
And Aling Eliza sobbed some more, and the audience clapped enthusiastically, obviously very pleased with her sad story.
“We will be back after this commercial.” Louie took a break.
(Sound of a wailing baby in the background
(Announcer: -- Your child can’t sleep because of stuffy nose? Breecks Cold Ointment is the remedy. Soothing cold that penetrates the skin and melts away the stuffiness caused by colds in the chest and throat. Gently apply on the chest and throat of baby and see the instant result of Breecks.--
(Sound effect (gleeful chimes) up and out.
(Announcer: -- Breecks Cold Ointment, when there is cold, there is relief.(Victorious music up and under.
(Announcer: -- Available in a small tin can or in the big jar at your neighborhood pharmacy.--)
The show continued on.
Wife Victoria was being pursued by her former boyfriend. Phone calls came to her house again and again. When she was out shopping or having a snack she could sense his presence. She was being stalked. She picked up the phone one day and admonished the stalker to stop harassing her.
The former boyfriend was very persistent. He tried soft-sell tactics like sending her flowers and chocolates. Those unwelcomed gifts she threw away as soon they were delivered.
She never discussed the problem with Louie. She preferred not to give him any worries. Besides, she thought she could handle the situation on her own.
Then the former boyfriend tried blackmail. He told Victoria on the phone, “I keep our pictures. I have several that show us in very compromising situations. I wonder how Louie would react if he saw them.”
“Louie knows we’re over. I married him and I am faithful to him, God knows!” Victoria protested.
“God knows, but Louie does not,” the former boyfriend was straight-forward about it. “When he sees the pictures he will think we are still on.”
“What do you really want!?” Victoria cut him short.
“I just want to see you and talk to you. Just one final time and then I’ll let you go,” the former boyfriend tried to calm her down.
The former boyfriend arrived in a flashy, yellow, convertible Corvette to pick up Victoria at her favorite coffee shop. As soon as she sat herself in the car, the sports car sped away in a loud roar. The car’s radio was playing at full blast. Momentarily the song being played was, “Your Cheatin’ Heart”. . .
“Your cheatin' heart,
Will make you weep,
You'll cry and cry,
And try to sleep,
But sleep won't come,
The whole night through,
Your cheatin’ heart, will tell on you . . .”
Without asking permission, Victoria reached out for the radio dial and switched the tuner to her husband Louie’s radio station.
“Our next contestant for the day,” Louie announced, “is Josephine Reyes.”
Josephine narrated how her husband disappeared, never to be seen again. He was a leader in the labor union. He led his co-workers in strikes against unfair and abusive employers. She spoke of how the police and the military sided with employers. Many times her husband was picked up and mauled at the police station because he was inciting strikers. The police and the military always presumed that her husband was a communist and that he was undermining the authority of the government. One evening, men in uniform came to pick up her husband for questioning. In spite of her pleadings, the men took him away anyway. That was the last time she saw him alive. She went to the police and the military for help. She was told they knew nothing about the abduction. She had presumed he was already dead.
The audience liked the story and applauded with gusto.
The former boyfriend treated Victoria to lunch at a posh restaurant. Then they drove up to a suburban resort where they could have a private talk. The former boyfriend talked of how miserable his life had been. Born into a rich family, the boyfriend spoke of how he already possessed all the nice things a man like him could have. But his life was still empty, he declared softly.
He travelled all over the world and tried to forget Victoria. He planned on starting a new life in California where his parents owned a house. “Victoria . . .” he said. “My heart is aching for you. No possession, no place in the world, no one, no experience can fill up my life but you.”
Victoria was silent. She did not know what to say.
“I wanted to marry you, remember?” the boyfriend asked for an acknowledgment.
At that point, Victoria blurted out, “. . . and your parents were against the marriage because they wanted you to marry someone else.”
“I assure you, Victoria, it was not my fault.”
“It was all your fault,” Victoria pointedly disagreed. “You were not man enough!”
The boyfriend took Victoria home, thanked her for the company, gently gave her a light kiss on the forehead, and left. That evening, Victoria could not sleep. Thoughts were running all over her head . . . . -- He was not a monster after all . . . I did not know he was having a tough time, the poor fellow. . . How can I help him? I am beyond helping him. I need help myself. --
Then she thought about her own life. . . -- Isn’t it weird? We lead the same miserable life. Materially, I am well-off; but spiritually, I am a lonely soul. Oh, Louie, forgive me for these thoughts. . . --
Time went on and the daily stuff that filled up Louie’s and Victoria’s days remained monotonously the same. Victoria’s former boyfriend stopped calling, for a while, until one day.
He wanted to meet up with Victoria again.
To prove that persistence paid off, old folks had a saying that even a piece of wood soaking with water when left beside the fireplace would eventually ignite; similarly, that a big boulder of rock when tiny drops of water incessantly fell on it, would eventually crack up. Such was the analogy that could be applied in the case of the boyfriend and Victoria. No matter that Victoria was strong-willed, no matter that she loved her husband, no matter that she had rejected the former boyfriend so many times in the past, she eventually succumbed to the temptation.
She and the former boyfriend had a fine day at the beach. They had lunch at an outdoor seafood restaurant. They went on board a boat that took visitors on a cruise around the bay. Before night fall, they found themselves in a cocktail bar. They danced and felt a longing for each other. Victoria had a transistor radio in her handbag. She was still tuned in to husband Louie’s radio station.
One thing led to another. Victoria and the boyfriend found themselves carrying on an indecent affair inside a motel room.
She felt a different ecstasy in the hands of the former boyfriend – a feeling she did not experience with Louie. The former boyfriend was very familiar with the landscape; he was able to control her whole being, awaken all her sensitive points. Naked before each other, she felt the kisses and the touches that she once knew and they felt great. Her body was quivering and absorbing all the wonderful sensation as her mind and hearing were wafting away.
The radio in the motel room was playing softly and she could hardly hear Louie’s voice coming out of the speaker. Unbeknownst to Louie, his own personal tragedy of a major proportion, was unraveling as he delivered in his modulated voice an endearing message . . . “and this next song is heartily dedicated to you, loyal listener, whose letter we just read, whose heartache we feel; a song of eternal love, also lovingly dedicated to my wife, Victoria. Victoria, I love you,” . . . and then he provided a sweet musical background to his wife’s indiscretion.
Short Story by Percival Campoamor Cruz
(Published in Asian Journal San Diego on October 22, 2010): http://www.scribd.com/doc/39859014/Asian-Journal-Oct-22-2010
My mother just would not miss one episode of a reality show. It was aired on radio Monday to Friday, before noon, for thirty minutes. My mother listened to the
show while she was preparing lunch, or pressing the clothes, or cleaning the house; and I was at home for the school lunch break.
Maria was married to a sick man. At night, the man went around the neighborhood to peep on women. The houses were small, instantly-built houses, made up of discarded galvanized iron sheets and lumber. The residents who migrated to the city in search of work built them on idle lands without permit and became rent-free shelter. The houses did not have rooms – were literally boxes – and privacy was not a convenience. Maria’s husband peered through holes on the walls of the houses and watched the women as they changed clothes or washed. One night, one of the husbands caught the peeping tom in flagrante delicto. He yelled at him and, thus, made noise enough to attract the attention of the other men in the neighborhood. The men came out, grabbed the village voyeur and started beating him up. Maria said the angry men left her husband as good as dead. She single-handedly picked him up and dragged him to the main street where a passerby came and offered to give him a ride to the hospital. “Louie, I cried so much for my husband. He was for many days hospitalized. The bills grew so large I did not have an idea where to get the money; I had to beg to be able to pay them. My relatives mocked me for living with a sex maniac. That was the saddest part of my life that I would never, ever forget,” Maria narrated her most harrowing experience.
There was a big applause from the audience.
Such was the format of the show: Housewives came to the studio and in a thirty-minute “live” show, Louie, the producer-host, picked seven women to tell their most tragic, deplorable,
humiliating, hurting, tear-jerking real-life stories. The show was entitled “Drama Queen”.
The winner was chosen at the end of the show. Louie asked the audience to clap for the seven contestants, one at a time; and the one who received the loudest applause was declared the winner, the “Drama Queen of the Day”. The winning housewife took home twenty pesos and several loaves of bread and canned sardines, plus a year’s supply of the sponsor’s medicinal ointment. It made me wonder how the contestants could reveal their innermost secrets (and not be embarrassed?) for a measly twenty bucks, but anyway . . .
Esther was married to a good-looking husband. He was tall, had a moustache, and looked like Clark Gable. In contrast, she was short, dark and, well. . . homely. She was not sure whether the husband really loved her in spite of her looks, or married her just for convenience. The husband loathed working and preferred to be at home. He spent a lot of time hanging out with friends or kibitzing at the corner barber shop. He was economically dependent on Esther, who was a gainfully employed nurse. One day, Esther came home unexpectedly and she caught her husband in bed with the housemaid. Esther’s intuition, that her husband was just a freeloading louse, was thus confirmed. She threw the husband and the maid out of the house. And she became a very lonely, heart-broken ex-wife. And that was Esther’s most hurting experience.
At the end of the revelation, the audience gave her a resounding round of applause.
Radio was the main source of entertainment at that time. TV was scarce and not affordable. Louie loved the show. It had brought him fame and money. He had this reality show and a string of other shows that played out daily. They were all “live” broadcasts. Louie spent a lot of time at the studio doing his daily beat. As late as ten in the evening, he sat at his booth, and read letters from women who sought advice. He sat like a psychologist who fielded questions about love, courtship, sex, and marriage. His job ended at midnight and that was the late hour he went home.
Blanca had to work as a housemaid in a rich Chinese businessman’s household. She needed to support the medical bills of her mother who had contracted tuberculosis. The boss and his wife were mean. Blanca was made to work from the wee hours of the morning until late at night. She was given a small and airless room beside the kitchen. She had to make her own simple meals or miss meals as she was not allowed to eat the food that she cooked for the family. When Blanca made a mistake, like when she accidentally dropped and broke a ceramic plate, the wife pulled her hair and banged her head on the wall. She was also required to pay for whatever ware she broke. She led a harsh, lonely and miserable life away from her parents. She had to endure the cruelty of her employers but, in spite of all the sacrifices, the mother died anyway of the dreaded disease.
The audience was jubilant and gave Blanca a thunderous applause.
Louie’s wife was young, ten years younger than him. She was an attractive woman. Louie told her she did not have to work since money was pouring in. She spent her time shopping and seeing her friends. She had a beautiful house and all the equipment she needed in the house. She had her own car. Nice clothes, shoes and handbags. Jewelry. She had everything that a young woman could desire. The only thing she did not have was the company of Louie because Louie was always at work.
“I am a battered housewife,” Nora declared. “My husband goes out with his friends every night. He comes home drunk and makes trouble. He asks me if I still see my former boyfriend and I tell him, no. He says he does not believe it because somebody saw me having coffee with him at some place. That is a lie, Louie, and I tell him so. But he believes the lie and beats me up. He is madly jealous. He is not letting me go out. I cannot even wear my makeup. I live the life of a prisoner. The last time he beat me up, he busted my eyes and mouth so bad that my own mother could not recognize me. He said he was going to kill me if he heard about anymore cheating. This is my horrifying experience.”
The audience loved her story and gave Nora a good applause.
Louie’s wife, Victoria, was his number one fan. Wherever she went, she made certain the radio was playing Louie’s station. When she was at home the radio played all day long, tuned in to Louie’s radio station. When she was in the car, the car’s radio was constantly tuned in, likewise, to Louie’s radio station. The radio worked like a clock or scheduler that told Victoria about the whereabouts of her husband.
Aling Eliza’s five-year old son had a swollen head caused by encephalitis. She could not afford to buy the medicines, much less, agree to a surgical procedure that the doctor recommended. The boy, a smart, lovable human being was wasting away. Aling Eliza cried every time she saw boys her son’s age having fun outdoors while her little boy was lying in bed and enduring pain, cooped up inside the house. The boy got so sick one evening that she had to take him to the emergency room. She went from one hospital to the other begging for mercy but no hospital took the boy in because she did not have the security deposit. “My son was burning with fever. He was shaking and throwing up. He could not speak and with his eyes he was pleading to me for help. He was like telling me – Mama, why doesn’t anybody want to help me? – Louie, I wanted to die. I asked God to take my life instead of my son’s, if He could just spare my son’s life.” And she sobbed uncontrollably.
Louie gave the contestant his handkerchief so she could wipe off her tears. “I’m so sorry, Aling Eliza,” Louie commiserated.
“My son died that very same night. . . Losing my son is like losing my own life. Oh, my God, how could this world be so cruel!”
And Aling Eliza sobbed some more, and the audience clapped enthusiastically, obviously very pleased with her sad story.
“We will be back after this commercial.” Louie took a break.
(Sound of a wailing baby in the background
(Announcer: -- Your child can’t sleep because of stuffy nose? Breecks Cold Ointment is the remedy. Soothing cold that penetrates the skin and melts away the stuffiness caused by colds in the chest and throat. Gently apply on the chest and throat of baby and see the instant result of Breecks.--
(Sound effect (gleeful chimes) up and out.
(Announcer: -- Breecks Cold Ointment, when there is cold, there is relief.(Victorious music up and under.
(Announcer: -- Available in a small tin can or in the big jar at your neighborhood pharmacy.--)
The show continued on.
Wife Victoria was being pursued by her former boyfriend. Phone calls came to her house again and again. When she was out shopping or having a snack she could sense his presence. She was being stalked. She picked up the phone one day and admonished the stalker to stop harassing her.
The former boyfriend was very persistent. He tried soft-sell tactics like sending her flowers and chocolates. Those unwelcomed gifts she threw away as soon they were delivered.
She never discussed the problem with Louie. She preferred not to give him any worries. Besides, she thought she could handle the situation on her own.
Then the former boyfriend tried blackmail. He told Victoria on the phone, “I keep our pictures. I have several that show us in very compromising situations. I wonder how Louie would react if he saw them.”
“Louie knows we’re over. I married him and I am faithful to him, God knows!” Victoria protested.
“God knows, but Louie does not,” the former boyfriend was straight-forward about it. “When he sees the pictures he will think we are still on.”
“What do you really want!?” Victoria cut him short.
“I just want to see you and talk to you. Just one final time and then I’ll let you go,” the former boyfriend tried to calm her down.
The former boyfriend arrived in a flashy, yellow, convertible Corvette to pick up Victoria at her favorite coffee shop. As soon as she sat herself in the car, the sports car sped away in a loud roar. The car’s radio was playing at full blast. Momentarily the song being played was, “Your Cheatin’ Heart”. . .
“Your cheatin' heart,
Will make you weep,
You'll cry and cry,
And try to sleep,
But sleep won't come,
The whole night through,
Your cheatin’ heart, will tell on you . . .”
Without asking permission, Victoria reached out for the radio dial and switched the tuner to her husband Louie’s radio station.
“Our next contestant for the day,” Louie announced, “is Josephine Reyes.”
Josephine narrated how her husband disappeared, never to be seen again. He was a leader in the labor union. He led his co-workers in strikes against unfair and abusive employers. She spoke of how the police and the military sided with employers. Many times her husband was picked up and mauled at the police station because he was inciting strikers. The police and the military always presumed that her husband was a communist and that he was undermining the authority of the government. One evening, men in uniform came to pick up her husband for questioning. In spite of her pleadings, the men took him away anyway. That was the last time she saw him alive. She went to the police and the military for help. She was told they knew nothing about the abduction. She had presumed he was already dead.
The audience liked the story and applauded with gusto.
The former boyfriend treated Victoria to lunch at a posh restaurant. Then they drove up to a suburban resort where they could have a private talk. The former boyfriend talked of how miserable his life had been. Born into a rich family, the boyfriend spoke of how he already possessed all the nice things a man like him could have. But his life was still empty, he declared softly.
He travelled all over the world and tried to forget Victoria. He planned on starting a new life in California where his parents owned a house. “Victoria . . .” he said. “My heart is aching for you. No possession, no place in the world, no one, no experience can fill up my life but you.”
Victoria was silent. She did not know what to say.
“I wanted to marry you, remember?” the boyfriend asked for an acknowledgment.
At that point, Victoria blurted out, “. . . and your parents were against the marriage because they wanted you to marry someone else.”
“I assure you, Victoria, it was not my fault.”
“It was all your fault,” Victoria pointedly disagreed. “You were not man enough!”
The boyfriend took Victoria home, thanked her for the company, gently gave her a light kiss on the forehead, and left. That evening, Victoria could not sleep. Thoughts were running all over her head . . . . -- He was not a monster after all . . . I did not know he was having a tough time, the poor fellow. . . How can I help him? I am beyond helping him. I need help myself. --
Then she thought about her own life. . . -- Isn’t it weird? We lead the same miserable life. Materially, I am well-off; but spiritually, I am a lonely soul. Oh, Louie, forgive me for these thoughts. . . --
Time went on and the daily stuff that filled up Louie’s and Victoria’s days remained monotonously the same. Victoria’s former boyfriend stopped calling, for a while, until one day.
He wanted to meet up with Victoria again.
To prove that persistence paid off, old folks had a saying that even a piece of wood soaking with water when left beside the fireplace would eventually ignite; similarly, that a big boulder of rock when tiny drops of water incessantly fell on it, would eventually crack up. Such was the analogy that could be applied in the case of the boyfriend and Victoria. No matter that Victoria was strong-willed, no matter that she loved her husband, no matter that she had rejected the former boyfriend so many times in the past, she eventually succumbed to the temptation.
She and the former boyfriend had a fine day at the beach. They had lunch at an outdoor seafood restaurant. They went on board a boat that took visitors on a cruise around the bay. Before night fall, they found themselves in a cocktail bar. They danced and felt a longing for each other. Victoria had a transistor radio in her handbag. She was still tuned in to husband Louie’s radio station.
One thing led to another. Victoria and the boyfriend found themselves carrying on an indecent affair inside a motel room.
She felt a different ecstasy in the hands of the former boyfriend – a feeling she did not experience with Louie. The former boyfriend was very familiar with the landscape; he was able to control her whole being, awaken all her sensitive points. Naked before each other, she felt the kisses and the touches that she once knew and they felt great. Her body was quivering and absorbing all the wonderful sensation as her mind and hearing were wafting away.
The radio in the motel room was playing softly and she could hardly hear Louie’s voice coming out of the speaker. Unbeknownst to Louie, his own personal tragedy of a major proportion, was unraveling as he delivered in his modulated voice an endearing message . . . “and this next song is heartily dedicated to you, loyal listener, whose letter we just read, whose heartache we feel; a song of eternal love, also lovingly dedicated to my wife, Victoria. Victoria, I love you,” . . . and then he provided a sweet musical background to his wife’s indiscretion.
The Wedding Ring
Short Story by Percival Campoamor Cruz
Mang Kardo pursued one and only one profession – jewelry-making. Since he was young, he had been exposed to making rings, necklaces, and bracelets made of either gold or silver. His father passed on the craft to him and left no stone unturned in teaching him how to be a good jeweler. Although Mang Kardo’s formal education was basic, lower than college-level, on the practical side he was a master.
“Why waste time in college when in the end you would be looking for a job. The job is available here and now – it is staring at you right this minute – grab it. I will give you all the tools and the secrets that can make you a successful jeweler. You have found yourself a job, if you’re ready now,” Mang Kardo’s father admonished him.
Mang Kardo listened to his father and, as a matter of course, became a master of his craft. He and his father became famous – the great jewelers at Gonzales’ Jewelry Store on Moriones Street, in Tondo.
A cold piece of yellow metal, by the creative genius and masterful hands of Mang Kardo, turned into a sparkling treasure that when adorned with a piece of diamond became a great fortune.
Gonzales’ Jewelry Store was in an old house. The store was at the first floor. Upstairs was the home of Mang Kardo and his wife, Rosal.
At that time, Escolta and Florentino Torres were the jewelry centers of Manila. That was where people went for expensive jewelry. Those who knew better went to Mang Kardo’s place which was in an obscure section of the city. It was worth the inconvenience - quality jewelry at a lower price. Before long, the rich and the powerful, even the movie celebrities, became Mang Kardo’s customers.
Mang Kardo and Rosal had wanted so much to have a son who could eventually help run the business. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, they became childless. Workers, not related to them, were hired in order to cope with the strong demand. The workers learned the trade and ordinarily left after they gained confidence that they could either put up their own shop or land better-paying jobs somewhere else. Mang Kardo was a good boss and he did not withhold teaching what he knew; however, workers always looked for greener pastures.
After a long period of time, Mang Kardo’s competition caught up with him. He had to let go of his workers. Alone and 71 years old, Mang Kardo’s eyes became weak and his hands began to tremble. His loyal customers diminished as they noticed the change in his workmanship.
The deeper reason for Mang Kardo’s failing business was Rosal’s deteriorating health. Rosal developed a chronic backache that turned out to be a case of emphysema, according to a lung specialist. Later on, her breathing became hard, she lost her appetite for food and became bed-ridden.
Mang Kardo lost his focus on the business. His time and attention were diverted to taking Rosal to the doctor. Rosal lost weight and she had to be connected to a portable oxygen tank that she had to carry around in order to breathe properly. Mang Kardo was devastated. His only companion in life was in danger of dying!
The strain on Mang Kardo’s mind was great. The strain on his finances was equally heavy. He had used up all his savings. His diminished earnings were not enough to take care of his business expenses and, then, Rosal’s growing medical expenses. Mang Kardo and Rosal were in bad financial shape.
The doctor had said an operation was necessary: That the damaged part of Rosal’s lungs could be taken out; that the lungs could have the capability of re-growing. Money was the only thing that separated Rosal from a lifesaving surgery and slow death. Mang Kardo knew how badly he needed money but he had no idea where to find it.
One day, a customer came in. The door was half-open.
“Mang Kardo, Mang Kardo . . . are you in there?” the visitor asked in a rather loud but unsure voice.
Mang Kardo came down from his upstairs living quarters where he was then keeping an eye on Rosal.
“Yes, Ineng, I’m here. Come on in.” Mang Kardo welcomed the unexpected guest.
A 20-year old, quite tall, woman with long, black hair and petite body came in.
“Are you Mang Kardo?” and he nodded. “My name is Melinda. I’m the daughter of Mrs. Guerrero, your longtime customer. She instructed me to see you about a wedding ring. I brought with me my mother’s ring; using the same gold and diamond, we want it redesigned. The design on this one is sort of old-fashioned. My mom handed it down to me to be my wedding ring. I will be married next month.” The young lady explained.
Mang Kardo looked at the ring using a magnifier. “I remember this piece of jewelry. I crafted it for your parents’ 30th wedding anniversary. This has a perfect stone of extraordinary value. Nothing could be a better wedding ring for a beautiful young lady like you than this. When do you need it?”
“Our wedding will be on June 12. Can I have it before the start of June?”
“Alright, but that means you are giving me less than a month to work on it. Well, lady, be back on May 25 and the ring will be ready by then.”
The young lady left and Mang Kardo hurriedly put the ring under a magnifier for a closer scrutiny. He meticulously examined the ring’s every facet as he turned it around with his finger. It was indeed a precious gem. “Easily this ring could fetch two hundred thousand pesos”, he told himself.
And there began Mang Kardo’s calvary. Two hundred thousand pesos could save the life of Rosal, if the operation could be undertaken.
He was thinking of doing a “miracle”. He would pull up everything that he knew about his craft in order to make a faithful reproduction of the original ring. He would make a piece of ordinary glass look like real diamond. The band he could make out of copper material and make it look like real gold by gold plating. Mrs. Guerrero’s genuine ring could be sold to a rich Chinese jeweler on Tambunting Street. Rosal could have the operation and she did not have to die.
The following days became hectic for Mang Kardo. He spent a lot of time making sketches of the design on paper. When he was convinced he had come up with the right design, he cut sheets of copper and shaped them into different bands and settings until he decided which one was the best. Then he patiently sculpted a diamond-looking stone out of ordinary glass. He kept chipping at it and polishing it. He broke and threw away numerous pieces until he came up with one piece that looked like the real glittering gem.
He stayed up late on many nights and could not sleep. The excitement was one thing, the depravity of what he was doing gnawing at his conscience was another. Rosal often saw him with a blank stare and in deep thought. She woke him up one night because he was growling in his sleep. Little did she know that Mang Kardo was having a nightmare. He was seeing the ghost of his father who was swaying a pointed finger at him while saying “Kardo, Kardo . . . how many times did I tell you that a jeweler should be like Cesar’s wife. There is no room for the slightest suspicion!”
Mang Kardo had a very tough time resisting temptation. His heart and mind became a battlefield between good and evil; in the end, good triumphed. He decided, “Rosal’s life I commend to the hands of God’s.”
May 25th came and as agreed, Melinda came back to the shop to claim the wedding ring.
“Melinda, you’re a very lucky child! I have created the most beautiful, most precious, and truest gold and diamond wedding ring I have ever made in my life – an extraordinary gem for a pure-hearted beautiful young woman like you.”
“Thank you Mang Kardo. But I want you to know, the wedding will not take place,” said Melinda almost with a tear falling from her eye.
“The wedding will not take place?” The stunned old man repeated what he had heard.
“Yes, Mang Kardo. Joey is already married. Someone had told me so. And before it became too late, I confronted him about the matter. He admitted the truth – that he already was married, albeit unhappily. Mang Kardo, I am a victim of fakery.”
“Very sad, indeed, my child. You’re young and beautiful; you’ll meet a genuine person along the way. Celebrate the fact that the truth came out early on, rather than you regret later when finding out would be too late. Anyway. . . treasure the ring and let it be a reminder that evil exists in the world, and in the end goodness triumphs. Be yourself at all times – pure in heart, a beautiful human being in and out; be like the ring - true gold and true diamond, not a fake.”
The young lady accepted the ring, wore it on her finger, kissed Mang Kardo on the forehead, and left.
Mang Kardo shook his head in disappointment and could not take his eyes off Melinda until she disappeared from his view. He closed the door of the shop and headed for the stairs. Upstairs Rosal was waiting for him.
Short Story by Percival Campoamor Cruz
Mang Kardo pursued one and only one profession – jewelry-making. Since he was young, he had been exposed to making rings, necklaces, and bracelets made of either gold or silver. His father passed on the craft to him and left no stone unturned in teaching him how to be a good jeweler. Although Mang Kardo’s formal education was basic, lower than college-level, on the practical side he was a master.
“Why waste time in college when in the end you would be looking for a job. The job is available here and now – it is staring at you right this minute – grab it. I will give you all the tools and the secrets that can make you a successful jeweler. You have found yourself a job, if you’re ready now,” Mang Kardo’s father admonished him.
Mang Kardo listened to his father and, as a matter of course, became a master of his craft. He and his father became famous – the great jewelers at Gonzales’ Jewelry Store on Moriones Street, in Tondo.
A cold piece of yellow metal, by the creative genius and masterful hands of Mang Kardo, turned into a sparkling treasure that when adorned with a piece of diamond became a great fortune.
Gonzales’ Jewelry Store was in an old house. The store was at the first floor. Upstairs was the home of Mang Kardo and his wife, Rosal.
At that time, Escolta and Florentino Torres were the jewelry centers of Manila. That was where people went for expensive jewelry. Those who knew better went to Mang Kardo’s place which was in an obscure section of the city. It was worth the inconvenience - quality jewelry at a lower price. Before long, the rich and the powerful, even the movie celebrities, became Mang Kardo’s customers.
Mang Kardo and Rosal had wanted so much to have a son who could eventually help run the business. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, they became childless. Workers, not related to them, were hired in order to cope with the strong demand. The workers learned the trade and ordinarily left after they gained confidence that they could either put up their own shop or land better-paying jobs somewhere else. Mang Kardo was a good boss and he did not withhold teaching what he knew; however, workers always looked for greener pastures.
After a long period of time, Mang Kardo’s competition caught up with him. He had to let go of his workers. Alone and 71 years old, Mang Kardo’s eyes became weak and his hands began to tremble. His loyal customers diminished as they noticed the change in his workmanship.
The deeper reason for Mang Kardo’s failing business was Rosal’s deteriorating health. Rosal developed a chronic backache that turned out to be a case of emphysema, according to a lung specialist. Later on, her breathing became hard, she lost her appetite for food and became bed-ridden.
Mang Kardo lost his focus on the business. His time and attention were diverted to taking Rosal to the doctor. Rosal lost weight and she had to be connected to a portable oxygen tank that she had to carry around in order to breathe properly. Mang Kardo was devastated. His only companion in life was in danger of dying!
The strain on Mang Kardo’s mind was great. The strain on his finances was equally heavy. He had used up all his savings. His diminished earnings were not enough to take care of his business expenses and, then, Rosal’s growing medical expenses. Mang Kardo and Rosal were in bad financial shape.
The doctor had said an operation was necessary: That the damaged part of Rosal’s lungs could be taken out; that the lungs could have the capability of re-growing. Money was the only thing that separated Rosal from a lifesaving surgery and slow death. Mang Kardo knew how badly he needed money but he had no idea where to find it.
One day, a customer came in. The door was half-open.
“Mang Kardo, Mang Kardo . . . are you in there?” the visitor asked in a rather loud but unsure voice.
Mang Kardo came down from his upstairs living quarters where he was then keeping an eye on Rosal.
“Yes, Ineng, I’m here. Come on in.” Mang Kardo welcomed the unexpected guest.
A 20-year old, quite tall, woman with long, black hair and petite body came in.
“Are you Mang Kardo?” and he nodded. “My name is Melinda. I’m the daughter of Mrs. Guerrero, your longtime customer. She instructed me to see you about a wedding ring. I brought with me my mother’s ring; using the same gold and diamond, we want it redesigned. The design on this one is sort of old-fashioned. My mom handed it down to me to be my wedding ring. I will be married next month.” The young lady explained.
Mang Kardo looked at the ring using a magnifier. “I remember this piece of jewelry. I crafted it for your parents’ 30th wedding anniversary. This has a perfect stone of extraordinary value. Nothing could be a better wedding ring for a beautiful young lady like you than this. When do you need it?”
“Our wedding will be on June 12. Can I have it before the start of June?”
“Alright, but that means you are giving me less than a month to work on it. Well, lady, be back on May 25 and the ring will be ready by then.”
The young lady left and Mang Kardo hurriedly put the ring under a magnifier for a closer scrutiny. He meticulously examined the ring’s every facet as he turned it around with his finger. It was indeed a precious gem. “Easily this ring could fetch two hundred thousand pesos”, he told himself.
And there began Mang Kardo’s calvary. Two hundred thousand pesos could save the life of Rosal, if the operation could be undertaken.
He was thinking of doing a “miracle”. He would pull up everything that he knew about his craft in order to make a faithful reproduction of the original ring. He would make a piece of ordinary glass look like real diamond. The band he could make out of copper material and make it look like real gold by gold plating. Mrs. Guerrero’s genuine ring could be sold to a rich Chinese jeweler on Tambunting Street. Rosal could have the operation and she did not have to die.
The following days became hectic for Mang Kardo. He spent a lot of time making sketches of the design on paper. When he was convinced he had come up with the right design, he cut sheets of copper and shaped them into different bands and settings until he decided which one was the best. Then he patiently sculpted a diamond-looking stone out of ordinary glass. He kept chipping at it and polishing it. He broke and threw away numerous pieces until he came up with one piece that looked like the real glittering gem.
He stayed up late on many nights and could not sleep. The excitement was one thing, the depravity of what he was doing gnawing at his conscience was another. Rosal often saw him with a blank stare and in deep thought. She woke him up one night because he was growling in his sleep. Little did she know that Mang Kardo was having a nightmare. He was seeing the ghost of his father who was swaying a pointed finger at him while saying “Kardo, Kardo . . . how many times did I tell you that a jeweler should be like Cesar’s wife. There is no room for the slightest suspicion!”
Mang Kardo had a very tough time resisting temptation. His heart and mind became a battlefield between good and evil; in the end, good triumphed. He decided, “Rosal’s life I commend to the hands of God’s.”
May 25th came and as agreed, Melinda came back to the shop to claim the wedding ring.
“Melinda, you’re a very lucky child! I have created the most beautiful, most precious, and truest gold and diamond wedding ring I have ever made in my life – an extraordinary gem for a pure-hearted beautiful young woman like you.”
“Thank you Mang Kardo. But I want you to know, the wedding will not take place,” said Melinda almost with a tear falling from her eye.
“The wedding will not take place?” The stunned old man repeated what he had heard.
“Yes, Mang Kardo. Joey is already married. Someone had told me so. And before it became too late, I confronted him about the matter. He admitted the truth – that he already was married, albeit unhappily. Mang Kardo, I am a victim of fakery.”
“Very sad, indeed, my child. You’re young and beautiful; you’ll meet a genuine person along the way. Celebrate the fact that the truth came out early on, rather than you regret later when finding out would be too late. Anyway. . . treasure the ring and let it be a reminder that evil exists in the world, and in the end goodness triumphs. Be yourself at all times – pure in heart, a beautiful human being in and out; be like the ring - true gold and true diamond, not a fake.”
The young lady accepted the ring, wore it on her finger, kissed Mang Kardo on the forehead, and left.
Mang Kardo shook his head in disappointment and could not take his eyes off Melinda until she disappeared from his view. He closed the door of the shop and headed for the stairs. Upstairs Rosal was waiting for him.