Fatima Tarnate

I'm out now. Oh,
but why am I so cold?
-J. Neil C. Garcia

Dear Ramon,

Thank you very much for granting my three students an interview last Monday. It was nice of you to come to our university for the interview. You certainly made all of us happy. I hope it was also worth it for you.

I have not seen the tape of the interview. The term is about to end, and I’m up to my neck in work. (Do you go through the same torture yourself at your university?) I will probably see the tape next week. And judging from what my students have told me, I’m sure it’s going to be quite a treat.

It might interest you to know that we’re going to use the tape in our classes. We are building up our library of audio-visual materials for the study of the various visual, auditory, and performing arts. Other artists who have agreed to be interviewed by my students include Edgar Talusan Fernandez, Imelda Cajipe-Endaya, Leandro Locsin, Jean Marie Syjuco, Solomon Saprid, Lucrecia Kasilag, Jose Legaspi, Lisa Macuja, Sid Hildawa, Susan Fernandez-Magno, Renato Habulan, Cecilia Bulaong-Garrucho, and Conrad Dy-Liacco. Without your knowing it, you have helped us in our project. Saying thank you does not seem enough.

My friends and I enjoyed your concert immensely. We loved your repertoire. Bach, Handel, Faure, and Prokofiev are four of my favorite composers. It would have been nicer had you included Filipino compositions in the program. (You played great on Noel Padilla’s last album Ritmo at Himig.) At any rate, I think it is one of the best concerts I have seen lately. You have even inspired some of my students to take up flute lessons. (Can they still learn how to play the instrument at their age?) Undoubtedly, you now have a following at our university; and if only for us, you must continue playing the flute.

I enclose four pictures taken before the interview. (I wish I could have stayed for the interview, but as I told you, I had to go to a friend’s lecture on HIV/AIDS awareness that afternoon.) I also enclose three reaction papers of my students on your concert. I asked them to write a two-page letter to anyone, telling him/her why he/she should have watched the concert. I picked out three of the best papers. I’m sure you will enjoy reading them.

Thank you again for all the help. I look forward to seeing your forthcoming concerts. And good luck with your concerts in Europe and the United States. We’ll be cheering for you.
Warm regards,

Stephan

P. S.

Over lunch, I asked if you could perform at our university sometime next term. You said yes. But we didn’t get to talk about it in detail. I wonder if you’re still keen on the idea. Please let me know.

Dear Liza,

Your letter made my week. I was deeply moved by the things you wrote.

I really respect and admire Ramon. But I’m not expecting anything from him. I would just like us to be friends. I’m not yet ready to plunge into any kind of commitment. There are other more pressing things on my mind right now, like finishing my M. A. and applying for a Fulbright scholarship. I believe there’s time for everything, especially if it’s meant to be.

Mr. Flutist has not called up or written back yet. He’s probably busy. I wonder if he has received my letter. I hope I hear from him before he leaves for his concerts abroad. Have I told you what the cards said about us? Ramon considers me a friend. He’s also open to this kind of relationship. The only thing that gets in the way is our lack of communication. I’ve done my part. It’s his turn to do his.

I’m happy for you and Bryan. I think you look good together. I know you’re worried about your future with him. But both of you are artists, and thus there should always be room for adventure in your relationship. Just look at the many unhappy people around you. You’re lucky you have Bryan. He’s a decent person. You’re blessed for having each other.

Affectionately,
Stephan

Dear Mike,

I have been meaning to write you. I feel I have to clear up certain things.

Last month, Liza, Bryan, Trish, Joey, and I watched Ramon Francisco’s concert at the CCP. I had seen him perform at the Hyatt Terraces in Baguio last summer. When I learned he would play here, I thought it would be nice to see him again. I also thought of sending my students to his concert. Ramon is undeniably one of the best flutists in the country today. Playing the flute is like second nature to him. However, I didn’t get to meet him after the concert. (I finally met him here at the university a few days later. Three of my students in Art Studies interviewed him for their project.) On our way home, we (except for Bryan, of course) were telling one another how we wished we were his flute, tuxedo, and all sorts of things. We simply adored the guy.

I didn’t know Trish got the shock of her life when she saw me go gaga over Ramon. It was only late last month that I learned about this from Liza, in her post-concert letter to me. Truth to tell, I had already come to terms with myself long before this incident. I already knew who I was and what I wanted. I thought all the while my sexuality was obvious. “People are blind,” Yentl says. (Not like most of my gay friends, I didn’t see the need to explain myself to my family. They have a quiet way of saying they understand.) I have been very open about my sexuality to close friends since then. That’s why I thought it would be unfair to you if I didn’t tell you about this. I hope this will not affect our friendship. I’m happy with my decision. But I’m happier that my family and friends have learned to accept me as I am. I hope you will also learn to live with this.

You and Joey are very dear to me. You should know that. You’re probably thinking I’ve become closer to her. That’s because you have been acting strange lately. You don’t have to feel uneasy because Joey is in love with you. She just wants you to know her feelings for you. Try to handle the situation with maturity and sensitivity. Be well.

Love,
Stephan

Dear Ramon,

It was such a pleasure chatting with you after your concert last Friday. You were very warm and accommodating.

I enjoyed the concert very much. I loved Gluck’s Dance of the Blessed Spirits. It really brought to mind the happy reunion of Orpheus and Eurydice. Sancan’s Sonatine was the most ambitious piece that you played. I liked it a lot. You were not in your element during the concert. I had noticed you were having a difficult time breathing even before you told me so. Was it the first time it happened? You must do something about it.

Filipina pianists Lourdes Molina, Gisella Buencamino, and Rosario Onglatco were all exceptionally good. I particularly liked Buencamino’s interpretation of Kasilag’s composition, which called for plucking the strings of the piano. Ravel’s La Valse, the last piece played by duo-pianists Molina and Onglatco, was also a knockout. I felt like dancing while it was playing. It was really a memorable night for me.

You mentioned your October concert at the CCP. I just checked out the university calendar. I’m afraid I can’t require my students to watch your concert because it falls during our term break. But I will tell them about it just the same. This is one concert they should not miss because, as you said, this is really for them. I will definitely watch this concert because it is something new and, I suppose, exciting. (Is it true you will be talking to the audience in your concert?) I can’t wait to see it.

How’s work at your university? Your students are lucky they have you for their teacher. I’m sure they know that. Do you see yourself growing old in academe? Teaching is a difficult profession. I myself have thought of getting out of the university many times. But there seems to be a powerful force trying to keep me here. Probably I am cut out for this kind of work.

I’m still teaching Art Studies. I don’t feel confident about handling the course; I feel inadequate. But there are not too many people in the department who want to teach the subject either. If I had my way, I would only handle literature courses, because these are what I have been trained to teach.

There are still so many things I wish to ask and tell you, but I always seem to run out of time. Perhaps we could meet for after-dinner drinks, or coffee, one of these days? I understand you have classes from Tuesday to Thursday. Let’s fix a free day for both of us.

Thank you again for spending time with us last Friday. Thank you also for the postcard you sent from Florence. It was lovely. If you have other concerts before October, please let me know. I would very much like to see you again.

Always,
Stephan

Dear Joey,

It was a good thing you went with me to the concert last night. I don’t know what I would have done had I seen it alone.

I still can’t figure out why Ramon suddenly turned cold and distant last night. He seemed like a different person. (Could it be that I came on too strong in my last letter to him?) I would like to think he was just preoccupied with something (or someone?). If this is a phase he’s going through, I hope he gets over it soon. I don’t want us to drift apart. It would be unfortunate if we let our friendship go to waste.

You’re a wise woman. You would know what to do in a situation like this. Do you think it’s a good idea to consult the cards on this? (I have done my I Ching, but I want to know what the cards have to say.) You have been wanting to use tarot on me. Why don’t we do it this time? I know you’re busy with work. (When is the AIDS Newsletter coming out?) That’s why I would appreciate it very much if we could talk. You always make me feel better whenever I have a problem.

I admire how you handled Mike. He has so much to learn about relationships. He has been blinded by tradition. I hope he realizes it’s his loss he has not reciprocated your feelings for him. I’m glad he has not changed with me after I sent him my confessional letter. I give him credit for that. Perhaps there’s still hope for him.

You should consider dating other men. I think Victor would be a good choice. He has a stable job. He’s gender-sensitive. He’s into New Age stuff. Need I go on? It was good you got over your feelings for Mike, but it should not end there. There are other men around. Think about it.

The Jack of Hearts,
Stephan

P. S.

I still intend to watch Ramon’s concert in October. I hope you can go with me again. Mark the date on your calendar.

Dear Trish,

I have been wanting to thank you for liberating me from my old, egotistical self. If you had not shown your concern, I would not have decided to come out. It really feels good not to be hiding anymore. I’m blessed for having you and the rest of the Tuesday-Thursday Club around. I could not have coped without you.

I’m giving up on Ramon. There’s no future for us. I have thought about this for some time. But I would like to keep our friendship. (I have already bought tickets to his concert at the CCP next month.) I know I can be a good friend to him. It’s probably not the right time for us. I would like to think this is the will of the universe. I will be patient and understanding. What is important is that I’m much happier now than before.

Any news (good, I hope) on Christian? I know you care deeply about him. But you have to protect yourself from any pain that goes with loving and losing. That has always been my principle. You’re a beautiful person. You deserve someone who’s kind, secure, and sensitive. If you think Christian has these qualities, then go for him. I trust your judgement. I just want you to be happy.

Kenny Loggins (our favorite) sums up my exact sentiments about love: “Everybody’s got a boat upon the ocean. But not everybody’s sailing out to sea. And is there someone there for me? I’m ready to believe.” I hope you will believe, too. I wish you well.

The Fool,
Stephan

P. S.

I met someone in a bar on Adriatico last Saturday. His name is Dennis. He’s a bank executive. He’s mestizo (your type) and very articulate. He loves Barbra Streisand (ten points for him), Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Dame Margot Fonteyn, Pat Conroy, Isabel Allende, John Williams, Meryl Streep, Daniel Day-Lewis, Enya, U2, Everything But the Girl, Armistead Maupin, K. D. Lang, Sting, Jim Chappell, Margaret Atwood, and Luciano Pavarotti. Who says there are no more Renaissance men around? I’m seeing him again this weekend. Send me good vibes.

“Coming Out” first appeared in Ladlad: An Anthology of Philippine Gay Writing (Anvil, 1994)

Sinalin sa Filipino ni Ma. Crisanta S. Nelmida

Sapagkat hindi inaasahan ang pagdating ng Digmaan sa ating bansa, marami ang di-inaasahang pangyayari sa ating buhay, lalo na ang pagkakahiwalay sa mga mahal sa buhay na napadpad sa malayong lupain. Ganyan na lamang ang kaba ng magandang asawa ni Genaro nang hindi na nakabalik ang lalaki sa tabi ng kanyang mag-anak.

Isinara ang lahat ng paaralan kaya napilitang huminto sa pagtuturo si Aurora. Higit na naragdagan ang kanyang kalbaryo sapagkat hindi niya malaman kung saan siya hahanap ng ikabubuhay nilang mag-iina.

“Doon na lang kina Lolo at Lola n’yo tayo titira, mga anak,” ang sabi ng mapagmahal na ina sa tatlong anak.

“Gusto ko roon, Nanay! Maraming niyog doon! Sagana sa singkamas! Magsasawa tayo sa gulay, duhat, at kamatchile!” mabilis na sagot ng panganay.

“Sige sirin Nanay, doon na lang tayo kina Lolo at Lola tumira,” mabilis ding habol ng dalawang nakababatang anak niya.

Dahil sa tiyaga, sipag, at tiis ni Aurora, nakayanan niyang mabuhay kahit wala ang asawa. Nagbabuyan at nagmanukan silang mag-iina. At dahil naroon sila sa dulo ng makapal na niyugan ng biyenan niya, madalas silang maglangis na siyang ibinebenta; sadyang mahal ang langis sa mga panahong yaon.

Isang gabi, naitanong ni Mario, “Nanay, kailan naman kaya uuwi si tatay, ey?”

“Huwag kang mabahala anak, at pagkatapos ng giyera uuwi na ang tatay mo,” paasa ng ina.

“Napakasaya natin kung magkagayon! Di ba, Nanay?” magiliw na sambit ng mga bata.

“Matulog na kayo sirin mga anak, upang maaga kayong makabangon. Marami tayong gawain bukas. Magdadala tayo ng niyog,” paalala ng ina sa mga anak.

Habang patuloy ang digmaan, gayon na lamang ang hirap na dinanas ni Aurora, lalo na noong wala na siyang natanggap na impormasyon tungkol sa kanyang asawa. Tumigil ang koreo, pahayagan, at radio o kahit anong mapagkukunan ng balita.

Ang mga araw, buwan, at taon ay lumipas nang hindi namamalayan, at sa gitna ng kanyang mga hirap at lungkot nabalikat ni Aurora ang tungkuling pag-aralin ang kanyang mga anak. Umaasa pa rin siyang balang araw ay makaiisip ding umuwi sa kanila ang kanyang asawa.

“Nanay,” wika ng mga anak niya, “bakit kaya hindi sinasagot ni Tatay namin ang mga sulat sa kanya? Kinalimutan na siguro tayong tuluyan.”

“Maaari, subalit hindi rin ako maniniwalang hindi siya nangungulila sa atin,” sagot ng nanay nila.

“Sinulatan namin si Tatay noong ibinalita naming nahulog ang kapatid ko. Napakatigas naman ng puso niya at hindi man lang sumulat sa atin!” malungkot na bigkas ng anak na babae.

“Hindi tayo maaaring makalimutan ng Tatay n’yo. Wala naman akong pagkukulang na maaari niyang ikagalit sa akin. Hindi bale, anak, umasa kayo sa Diyos, at darating din siya sa atin.”

Natahimik ang mga bata. Ang taimtim nilang pagmamahal sa kanya ang nagsilbing pag-asa at lakas ni Aurora sa buhay.

Maagang naghapunan sina Aurora kaya maaga rin silang pumanhik nang tahimik sa kanilang silid. Hindi nagtagal, may naulinigan si Aurorang pamilyar na boses. Kaagad siyang tumungo sa pinto at binuksan ito. Nagulat siya nang makitang dumating ang biyenan niyang lalaki. Siya’y nagbigay-galang at saka nag-usisa.

“Bakit, Ama, napadalaw kayo sa oras na ito? Ano ho’ng nangyari? Ano’ng pakay n’yo?” ang sunud-sunod na tanong ni Aurora.

“Dumating ang asawa mo, anak,” hindi mapigilang balita ng matanda.

“Dumating si Genaro! Nasaan siya, ey? Sadyang ikinasisiya ko, Ama, ang pagbalik niya sa piling naming mag-anak. Hindi kailanman nagmaliw ang pag-asa kong magkikita kaming muli. Hindi magpapabaya ang Diyos, basta’t hindi mo rin siya kalilimutan.”

Noon din ay nagbihis si Aurora, at sumama sa biyenan upang salubungin ang asawang matagal nang hindi nasilayan.

Read the original in Pangasinan

Asabi so wedding anniversary di sanasawan Bernardo tan si Melba ed inpakarapat day samploy taon ya maong dan olupan. Diad bayag dalan sanasawa ya manaamong, anggapoy bengatlan siblangan da no ag ingen manaari lawas so kaliketan ed loub na maawang dan ayaman. Si Bernardo ya abangonan to’d bilay to so maong ya arowan tan maong a pantalusan, nanengneng so ontan lan panamabli to ed kapisag na puso to tan ontan met ed saray anemiran anak da.

Diad saman a mablin agew walaran dinmagup so atatagey ya oked na totoo laut lad saray maaro tan malugor ton ateng nen Bernardo tan ontan met na saray agi tan kakanayon to.

“Mabuhay! Long Live!” So maliket ya nibelyaw day totoo ed saray sanasawa.

“Salamat ed sikayon amin!” So nikuan day sanasawa ed saray sankaili ya aki-ambegya.

Alimbos iray liket so totoo ed saman a labi. ANdi lay ginawa ra say nansayaw, nanpalek, naniinuman na alak tan angan. Baleg ya tanol so agawa ed dalem tan paway na marakep dan ayaman. Diad paway na kosina balet, nanengneng so ag manondan kimey tan oras na ikakana ran baso, plato, kutsara, tenedor tan arom nira. Si Bernardo ya maimano lawas ed saray totoo, adatngan ton anengneng so sanina ya dingan met lay yakar dala. Saraya nengneng day nababaingan tan atawag so imano nen Bernardo lapud nalikas ton singa mamapasnok si asawa to ed saraya.

“Akin, Melba? Siopa raman? Angan lara?” So nantotombukan ton tepet.

“Saraman so totoon ayaman day abong. Labay day onloub ya igaganggan. Mamapasnokak ta onlaradia amta maringdingot ira. Inablog kora laingen!” Ebat nen Melba.

Lapud niduman ingal so nangel ed kawalaan day sankaili, kanian atawag so imano ray sanasawa. Tampol dinmago ra ed simpok day sankaili ya atiptipon.

Labi lan maong nen nasungpal so saman ya ayayam. Saray totoo kinalkalnaan da met lay nanpatanir ed satay sanasawa. Ag nibalikas so kaliketan ya alikna na baling sakey ed saray dinmagup.

Saray sanasawa, saray anak da tan saray igaganggan dara baleg met met so inkabanalan da. Asakbay iran nalaan na inpakaugip. Andi kita-kitaw ed abong kayari na inpanliliket da.

“Sakay kan bin andi sibeg! Agko inilaluan ya ontan so ugalim! Kaonungan mo lan mangipanengneng itan a walna ed sika?” So nikuan nen Bernardo ed asawa to.

“Akin et ontan so ibagam! Iner so nanggawaan koy makapoy ed sika?” Masebesebeg ya inebat nen bii.

“Anggapoy makapoy ya ginawam! No amtak labat ya ontan so ugalim, dakel ni bin agko ni anengneng,” masiadoy pasnok nen Bernardo.

“Ibagam ed siak no antoy kinolangan ko ya asawa. Niinter ko met so kanepegan kon sakey ya asawa tan sakey ya ina. Kaonugan mon mangibaga tan ed siak!” So nangisan ya ebat nen Melba.

“Taboy kadia! Taboy kadia! Agko labay a nanengneng so lupam! Diad bayag talan manaamong, anggapoy nibagam ed panangarok ed sika, balet diad anengneng kon kalamngan mo ed dilin ateng mo, sikato tan so ugalim agko nitepel!” Mabakat ya paliwawa nen asawan laki.

“Sikatotan so pamatabuyan mo ed siak ya asawam! Agak met nanlamang ed sika! Antoy pibibiang mo no malamangak ed ateng ko! Sikatotan so agmo nepeg ya louban!” Paliwawa nen Melba.

“So kuanmo, Melba. Balet diad siak a mantalus ditan mapatnag so petepeteg ya inkatoom. No nayarian mon lamangen so ateng mon dili ya akautangan moy nagnap mon bilay, siopa ak nin agmo lamangen!” So maingal ya nibaga nen Bernardo.

Lapud mapalaloy nangis nen Melba, kanian agto agawaan lay onebat ed si asawa ton singa oolamen so laman to ed kabaleg na pasnok to.

“Taboy kadia! Taboy kadia ed sayan ayaman! Agko naako so ginawam ya kalamangan. Agak ni akanengneng na sankaugsan a too, no agmo bukod! Malamang! Malamang! Taboy kadia! Taboy ka!” So maingal ya baga nen asawan laki.

Lapud manponiti tan maingal si Bernardo kanian narengel met si Melba ya maingal.

“Daddy! Daddy! Akin? Antoy kokogipen yo? Akin et maingal kayo?”

Si Bernardo ya naksawan ed gaway pasnok to, sansansakey so balikas to.

“Salamat! Salamat! Kugip ko labat manaya. Salamat!”

Diad biek tonian agawa, si Melba alikna to so niduman liknaan nen asawa to. Nanlapu lad saman, naaralan ton arowen si inato, tan lapud wala man a kinugip nen Bernardo kanian anonutan tomay akulaw ya anengneng ton nanpasnukan nen asawa to. Intepel ton inbaga ed si asawa to ya sman ya akulaw, et dilin ina to fan lapud duka ed kipapasen, inbaing to ya inkabat ed si asawa to.

Anggaman mairap tan duka si katulangan nen Bernardo, siansian inpanengneng toy luor tan panangaro to ed si akulaw a dilin ateng na kapisag na puso to.

Read the Filipino translation by Ma. Crisanta S. Nelmida

AGUA DE MAYO

The middle days of May were as sepia as all other days, perhaps even more so by a shade. The summer had been unusually hot, unusually dry even for an island where wind and rain were alien for a quarter of a year. Until everything gathered together for the feast of Agua de Mayo. Tempers, childbirths, sermons, swallows and crows, old lakes, young boys, pigs’ tails, mayors and mayors’ wives, silent enchantresses — everyone and everything! Agua de Mayo! The first rain of May. Water from the heavens as salve for spirit, colic, cough and cold. Water for the parched season of nothing to be thankful for. By tradition blessed and holy, oh, as the fluids of Mother Mary, o first rainwater of May, when all the dust fell prey to the rataplan, the drumming. First thick drops of prayerful water, prayed-for water, incantatory rainwater pirouetting on bodies sepia and streets dry as dust the begetter, raindrops, first raindrops of May! Until then summer would stay sultry, could only be so. Brows and breasts were knit and frayed, blew to the quick. Dust took over papers, sheets, cups, books, groins, hair, heads and lives for whom loves stayed in dry heat till heat itself overcame with its first May come. Agua de Mayo!

This day of May, in Bacong, portent seemed to hang unawares, over the dusty air. Six horses were seen, of a sudden, rampaging through the short streets. Heard over the din of thundering hooves was a yell so free, fierce and alive urging the spectacle on as from someone who had been there in the near past, in those short dusty streets, and now familiarly come back, such was the triumph of his cry in full flush of dust. Six horses. Of different colors and breeds. In order of appearance, from left to right as it were through the southern end of town, give or take a nose, the twenty-four thundering hooves belonged to: (1) Bucephalus; (2) Scout; (3) Hero; (4) Marengo; (5) National Velvet; and (6) Ilocos King.

Seen on top of one horse, extreme right, was a young fellow whose figure seemed familiar but really in all that dust one could not tell, he wasn’t even laughing like Leon the prankster devil. Seen jumping from Horse One to Five and back again, like a circus bareback specialist, was an older man who seemed in all that dust to be enjoying himself, such was his power. They charged through the short streets clouded with dust, the older man yelling in full flush, so free and fierce and alive.

Melecio.

Kinoa the barber recognized him, and said thus, Melecio, he has come back, but where the devil did he steal all those horses? Melecio’s not one to steal, said Balboa whose straight black hair had been cut off into inchstrips and which now flew about like no one’s business but the dust’s. Where the devil did he get all those horses, Kinoa persisted. And why does he jump from one to the other bareback and all, while the younger fellow stayed all the while on Extreme Right, is that Ilocos King?! How should we know, Balboa answered, his nostrils quivering in the prick of dust and hair. Come on, cut off the other half of my head’s hair, and stop being such a philosopher.
Paquito the dwarf espied the swirling clouds of dust from his perch in the belfry. He dropped his four-foot baby python, Isabella. The young she-snake coiled instinctively around her master’s stumpy leg. Paquito pulled Isabella off and placed her in a corner, where an endcoil of rope lay in wait for the gnarled stumpy hands to toll the hours. Paquito squinted at the clouds of dust rising up over Bacong’s central street. He had never seen such a phenomenon before, he though. Mostly it had been sunsets over the mountain with twin horns, Cuernos de Negros they called it, that, and sunrises with that awful Leon coming out from the surf and playing with himself right before Mass. This was something else. He had to squint and still could not quite make out what caused the swirling clouds of dust. He did something only dwarfs are trained to do from birth. To sharpen their sights, they spat into their fingers, rubbed these quickly against their butts, then spread their palms over their eyes. Instantly he saw, and knew, and cursed.

Paquito to the snake: “You will not believe this, Isabella, but it is Leon our fool of a friend, he has come back with his good-for-nothing brother-in-law, and I think they’re planning to steal the show come fiesta time.”

Padre Salsa was relieving himself when he heard what seemed like conquistadors come over the New Land once again. “Cortez,” he muttered, and wiped himself. “He has found the Fountain, no, it’s de Leon, yes, good old Ponce, he has found the Fountain and come to share the blessings of youth, yes!”

Padre Salsa quickly adjusted his tunic and rushed out into the courtyard, where he nearly stumbled into the dwarf racing past with that, ugh, four-foot snaked coiled round his stumpy leg. “No, you are not to share in the Fountain,” Padre Salsa cried, striking out with his cane.

But everyone knows dwarfs cannot be hurt by handcarved objects, and the baby python hissed in contempt at this doddering old priest’s lack of native lore. Coiling looser, Isabella allowed herself to be dragged into a more intimate inspection of a phenomenon. The stumpy leg raced on with another, raising its own train of dust, as dwarf and snake beat priest and cane by a proverbial mile.

He was first on the site, was Paquito. Knowing the ways of his fool of a friend Leon, he positioned himself inconspicuously in a side niche within the old banyan’s buttressing roots. A sleeping firefly woke to the surprise of daylight glint in Isabella’s eyes, and fluttered quickly off its way to deeper darkness.

Silvestra came calmly out into the small bamboo porch just as Leon and Melecio rode in with the six horses. Close on their heels and hooves were Kinoa the barber, Anacleto the ricecake peddler, Meniang the mat weaver, Pepe Quimpo and Gelio Joaquin who were apprentice Guardia Civil, Balboa the loafer son of a hacendero, Imelda the profligate widow with Turing her jeweler in tow, Magno the fisherman who all this time had secretly lusted after Silvestra, the portly mayor, his two bodyguards, three aides, seven properly uniformed Guardia Civil with rifles and bayonets, Botong, Enteng, Nanding, the mayor’s buxom wife, Tacio the historian, and finally Padre Salsa with his cane.

Isabella the snake sank into sleep as her master sat still in his banyan niche. The proceedings Paquito observed would of course later be recounted in diverse oratorical fashions and focal lengths, and Tacio himself would prepare a lengthy account which he would later put to the lamp, in the sheer idiocy of his last years, sighing to himself that the unearthly was not his province…

“Bestra!” Melecio cried loudly. “We have the charm! We have the charm!”

The hooves thundered to a stop amid a final swirl of dust, and through the clouding screen Leon’s eyes spoke of calm resignation as they met Silvestra’s. Their eyes locked in understanding, for both knew that pain was fast at hand. It would follow the false glint of power, yecch, but naturally.

“We have the charm! We have it!? Melecio jumped off the faithful pinto Scout and rushed through the wall of dust to take Silvestra in his arms. “We have come back with it, Bestra! And nothing can stop us now!”

Just as Melecio lifted Silvestra triumphantly off the porch, the pursuing townsfolk came into view. Immediately they formed a circle around the hut, the way curiosity tends to approach as a swiftly dwindling radius of intimacy.

Paquito saw it all, and marveled.

Leon got off Ilocos King, and with a pat on its tan Godolphin rump sent it off hoofing once more, followed by the other five, off toward the sea to raise another fine cloud of dust.

Melecio strode confidently to the narrowing circle, his arms in full akimbo.

“Well, if it isn’t our portly mayor come to lead his faithful people…” said Melecio sneeringly.

He hadn’t even noticed their diminished chances for escape as the horses galloped past the old banyan, sending a speck of hurting dust into Paquito’s left eye before they eventually and most unceremoniously disappeared. The dwarf squinted his way through what he realized was a historic precedent of vainglorious local importance, the kind of myth-seed which would upstage even his Isabella’s worth as fanciful ally.

“Well, if it isn’t the mayor’s wife, lover of pig’s tails, come to see how their able guards will soon march off with their own tails between their legs…” Melecio sneered further.

Silvestra eyed Leon. They discoursed quickly through the impending contretemps.

“How is it, Leon, that the weak speak more than the strong?”

“It is like the littlest bird, who chirps for more than its fair share of space. Hovering over much more of place, the hawk remains silent.”

“Shall you talk this way forever, now that you’ve swallowed the banana’s charm?”

“No, my dear sister Bestra, no way. My speech shall curve here and there the way the banana shapes its day.”

“And now did it taste, this drop from the banana heart?”

“It was not from the heart, but from the latest unfurled leaf. Just as your husband had said.”

“Melecio heard it wrong. The charm comes from the banana heart, on the night of the new moon. That is the lore.”

“No matter. I was laughing and my eyes were closed. The drop could have come from banana heaven, for all I know. It tasted like reveries of old age, or like the secret of a successful recipe for leche flan, or like the beginning of a dream of grace…”

“Did both of you swallow the charm? I think not.”

“No. You are right.”

“It was you.”

“Yes.”

“And Melecio’s drawing from you, he is like that, he will sap your strength, Leon.”

“You have been silent yourself, though allow him the same…”

“Seeing as how he is ignorant.”

“Seeing as how he’s a fool.”

“Yes, but don’t you just love ‘em…”

“Louts and fools, yes, my soft spot is even softer now, like a newborn’s fontanelle, what with that infernal drop of banana mush…”

“And how did it happen? I suppose you yawned in attendance, and true to the elliptical manner of fate, the sideline grew more precious in the lack of moonlight…”

“No, I tell you, I laughed, most inadvertently so. And you speak like me now, my dear sister.”

“Yes, we both speak like the tortoise. Remember, Leon?”

“I remember, yes. Yours was the power.”

“But I am woman. I need it not for show.”

“But I am young.”

“And have to explain away your laughter…”

“So you did. You opened your mouth, in bold bored disbelief, and the drop from the heart slid through. It’s so you, Leon.”

“What heart?”

“The banana’s.”

“What we eat boiled in vinegar?”

“Didn’t you receive the drop from the banana’s purple heart?”

“I tell you, I don’t know. If you say so. Expect it from the latest unfurled leaf I was told. The youngest of greens. At the right moment. In the right spirit. Facing east. All that balderdash. So said Melecio. Of course I did not believe. But somehow my mouth must have wavered so in risible appreciation, and the drop slipped in. The night of the new moon, that too, of course.”

“No, Leon, you were not under a leaf that dripped. The magic liquid pearl came from the darkest purplish tip of the banana heart. Up north they say whoever catches it in his mouth finds himself defending it against an army of familiars. If he keeps the charm in his mouth till sunrise, then it is his for a lifetime. All that is as true as the heart is purple, and pointed, and tastes delicious boiled in vinegar. That is the lore. Melecio misled you.”

“Like a fool.”

“Like a fool, and a soon-to-be crippled husband.”

“I know now why you had been selfish with your power, Bestra.”

“You understand, Leon. Bear it like a smile, for as long as you may, for it shall soon turn into grimace.”

“Words beyond the tortoise, sister.”

“Words that flutter like the mysteries of pictures.”

“Words that circle and swoop, as the hawk of destiny now does to your fool little bird of a husband.”

Their eyes locked, Leon’s and Silvestra’s, and they shared, shhh now…sibling seerdom.

Melecio, arms and soul and mind akimbo, sprang forward to meet the spectating circle. Instinctively the mayor moved back, and in his official portliness bumped into Botong, causing the lad’s chin to reflect a suddenly spinning world as of falling glass, the head it belonged to colliding vertiginously with the chest of a retreating Guardia Civil, sending his lightly cradled rifle crashing to the ground to strike up a slight swirl of dust simultaneous with a loud report and Melecio’s proximate scream.

Silvestra and Leon rushed forward as Melecio crumpled to the ground clutching his shattered knee.

The crowd moved back in various directions, leaving the offending rifle lying all alone in the settling dust before them. Melecio screamed proximately in distant pain. Silvestra gathered him in her arms, and in an instant he was reduced to quiet sobbing. Leon strode forward.

Paquito peered closer from his banyan niche.

Leon collected the rifle and laughed. He wrenched off the trigger and trigger guard and tossed them aside. The Guardia Civil retreated in lockstep. The mayor’s wife clung to Botong who was nearest her. Enteng tripped over himself as he joined Nanding in pulling Botong away.

Leon wrestled off the bolt and cast it aside, laughing and moving forward. Kinoa backed up slowly, fingering his scissors in his back pocket. Meniang made a hasty sign of the cross and turned away. Pepe and Gelio stayed rooted with their mouths agape, surprised at Leon’s show of strength.

Leon tore off the barrel, metal sights and all, and flung them to the ground. His laughter became more robust as he came close to the retreating crowd. The mayor tried to grab at one of the fleeing Guardia Civil, but the anonymous uniform was quick to elude him. Balboa comforted Imelda, much to Turing’s distate. He held on tighter to his jewelbag as the randy Magno jostled past to get close to the mayor’s buxom wife. The mayor’s aides and bodyguards were quick to run off faster than everyone else, and were now even racing past the doddering Padre Salsa and the mortified but intensely curious Tacio.

Leon grasped the stripped wooden rifle and quickly rubbed his hands in spirals around it. He pulled one end and bent it into a curving handle. He tugged at the rest and tapered off the rifle into an elegant cane. Paquito’s jaw almost dropped, had it not been for Isabella waking and coiling up against it.

With a roar of laughter Leon jumped up across the crowd, soaring quickly and magnificently past everyone agape to land right beside the astonished Padre Salsa, whom he now gave a resounding smack on the tunicked bottom. Tacio dropped his journal in bewilderment. Leon went after the Guardia Civil and not one of them proved too quick for his cane and laughter. Finally Leon found the mayor and gave him too a sharp whack that brought Paquito out like a shot from his banyan niche. Isabella coiled tightly around a leg, wondering as to her master’s next stumpy move. The master proceeded to bump into a figure standing by the old banyan. He hadn’t noticed her from his niche. She was Sisa, who now took no notice of the dwarf as she surveyed the proceedings with a new face, one that was — yes — now breaking into a wide smile.

From a hundred feet out Leon felt another phenomenon contesting his first grand show of magic. Instantly he espied Sisa by the old banyan, with Paquito at her side gazing up at her incredulously. Sisa’s smile grew wider and a rumble of thunder rent the air. Leon laughed, tossing his head back vigorously.

Sisa joined him in laughter, and instantly the skies broke into a respectful, tentative drizzle. Leon waved his makeshift cane and laughed a covenant with Sisa. The rain began to fall in torrents. Agua de Mayo!

And Silvestra walked slowly back to her hut as Leon picked up the fallen Melecio and dragged him off sobbing through the blinding rain and past the dumbstruck crowd for whom the twin images bacame shimmering studies in elegant, measured escape, until they noticed a small skulking figure rushing up to join the modest exodus, with something four feet long or so coiled round its stumpy leg and waving up against the harsh large drops of the first May rain, and they knew that elsewhere in town the young boys and girls were jumping for joy and good growth while their fathers and mothers collected the sacred rainwater in coconut halves and pranched about too bathing in the rain’s glad abandon, while here they stayed rooted under more than just a drenching force, gazing wonderingly at the three strange fugitives making their way in the distant haze toward the path that led to the foot-hills. One clutched his leg while another had something coiled and mysterious around his. And the third, leading them, boomed with laughter that drowned out even the raging retaplan that was Agua de Mayo.