Philip Cantila had worked as a janitor in Mactan-Cebu International Airport for almost 18 years. At 46, he was one of the oldest janitors working in MCIA -- second only to Quinito Baad who turned 48 last summer -- and was seriously considering retiring next year to put up his own sari-sari store. Before the airport, Philip used to work as a janitor in a Japanese-owned electronics manufacturing firm in the Mactan Export Processing Zone 1. Unfortunately, the Japanese owners decided that it would be less costly to run the electronics factory somewhere in China. Because of this, the MEPZ 1 branch was heavily downsized with almost half of the workforce laid off. Philip was one of those displaced employees. Luckily for him, a relative got him a job in the airport three months later.

Philip was known to be quite an amiable person with a decidedly easygoing manner. In his 10th year as an airport janitor, he was given special recognition for his outstanding job performance (excellent attendance, rapport with his co-workers, the works, etc) and was considered to be a role model to be emulated by new employees. The only gripe the airport management ever had with regards to him was six years ago when Philip descended into a two-month drinking splurge following the unexpected death of his wife Angela and seven year old daughter Josephine due to a freak vehicular accident in Opon. But Philip recovered and managed to keep his job and stay sober at the same time. While he had remained a friendly presence in the airport terminal, close friends have noticed a slight change in him -- yes, he was still remarkably dependable in his job but he has become increasingly taciturn lately.

That Tuesday was a particularly long day at work for Philip. He looked up at the airport terminal display. The digital clock read 4:21 PM TUE 16 OCT 1997. Time to go home, he thought to himself. Passing by the MCIA gate, he greeted Gary, the 26 year old security guard from Cordova.

“Heading home early, Philip?” Gary asked.

“Yeah, my shift starts early tomorrow,” Philip replied. “Need to get enough sleep.”

“Hey, my cousin Vinny will be coming over later. He’ll be bringing a couple of Red Horse’s and some joots. You wanna join later?”

“I’m too old for that, Gary. Besides, I don’t drink that much anymore. I promised to stay clear from all of that a long time ago.”

“You worry too much, old man. It’s just a couple of drinks and a hit. What’s the worse thing that could happen?”

“Nah, no thanks, I’ll pass this time.”

“Whatever you say. Easy on the road.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Cruising on the coastal road with his second-hand SG100-5 motorcycle, he couldn’t help but admire the orange sky as the sun makes one last futile attempt to provide light to the lazy earth. Shortly before 6 PM, he arrived at his house, located just 25 minutes away from the airport.

He grabbed some bahaw and buwad and sat in front of the TV (raffled during a Christmas Party two years ago) and proceeded to watch TV Patrol. He couldn't find anything interesting in the news so he turned the TV off and decided to smoke in the front yard. The night was hot and the disturbing absence of wind wasn’t helping at all in alleviating his boredom. He decided to call it a night and catch some needed sleep before his next shift begins. By 8:30 PM, he was snoring.

He woke up to the sound of a lady and a girl laughing. He sat up irked -- not at all enjoying his interrupted sleep. He looked at his watch -- 1:13 AM. How could neighbors be this inconsiderately noisy at this hour, he thought. He got out of bed and staggered on the way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He opened the bedroom door and looked out. His kitchen had transformed into an area several times as big as his house. Instead of wooden planks, the floor was neatly furnished with stucco tiles. Instead of stackable stools, the place was filled with airport terminal chairs. His kitchen sink was replaced with a marble counter with smiling ladies behind it and above it, hung an electronic display showing all flight information (destination, ETD, ETA, etc).

He saw a Japanese lady in a brown jacket talking animatedly with a teenage girl in a pink tank top and torn jeans. The girl was laughing uncontrollably while the lady was attempting to stifle her own giggles. Philip looked around and saw various people reading magazines, drinking coffee and even sleeping on their luggage. He heard a calm female voice from the overhead speaker saying, “Flight number PR 434 bound for Narita Airport, Tokyo, Japan, now boarding at Gate 7. Flight number PR 434 bound for Narita Airport, Tokyo, Japan, now boarding at Gate 7. Thank you.” Philip watched as the lady, the teenage girl and everybody else began to stand up and walk towards the gate.

Suddenly, Philip felt a burning sensation all over him. He sat transfixed as flames engulfed everything he just saw. He was standing on the runway now. There was smoke everywhere. He saw the burning wreckage of the airbus a dozen meters away. He could see bloodied passengers trying to free themselves from the debris. Then he saw the Japanese lady. Her left side was burned, she was carrying the teenage girl in her arms. Philip heard her say in a weak voice, “Tasukete … Tasukete … Dozo … Tasukete … ”

He ran towards the lady but she disappeared in thin air. The burning wreckage, the runway, they were all gone. He found himself standing in his front yard. Everything was quiet.

He scuttled back to his house and called the airport guardhouse. No answer. He redialed. Three rings. No answer. Six rings … To be continued ...

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The World Is My Playground

Undulate. These symphonies
Proliferate emotions.

Down on the floor, my knees
Harvest my lithe elations.
Are you mine then not?
Repair me--soon unknowing--
Mercurially forgot.
Allow me this--imploring--

Drown me now, I beg you.
Oceans breathe musical hellos
Wedged deep and always true,
Neither azure nor dying yellow.


The Last Goodbye

Jaded me, I wonder
Even he whose despair
Faintly seen, though under
Fevered dreams, made aware.

Bleeding voices permeate,
Unshed noises recreate
Clues of his own desire.
Kindly now elaborate
Likely how this inchoate
Effused this haunting fire.
Yet mourns the world entire.


Goodnight And Go

In the mist, I listen
Merry Miss, I implore,
Out of this old prison
Grant me this last encore.
Echo then more than ever
Now and when it’s all over.

Hide and seek in my sadness.
Even then, how I shiver.
Amber friend, do remember.
Pray, don’t speak of this madness.


Gently Weeps

Weep me these strings,
Appease my new mourning.
Lend me your wings
Lest I fall, adjourning.
Yonder clouds, he sings
Surrendered notes, returning.

Bend it now, my master,
Lost but now resumed.
Undo these songs of plaster,
Endure this past entombed,
Seduce this soul impugned.


These poems originally appeared in Acrostic Paperbag.

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Four years of college had done nothing to lessen the impact of his uncle’s revelations. Even in the most hectic days of his life as a BS Admin student, he had not been completely distracted from the things that will be required of him. When the time comes, he kept remembering those words. When the time comes.

True, he had never promised his uncle anything. He even tried to run away from home after that unforgettable day. But two days later, he had returned and his uncle had wordlessly welcomed him home. Dondon had not bothered to ask Roy what excuse was given to his worried mother. He had not even spoken to his uncle for two days.

But Dondon had always suspected that Roy was just biding his time. His uncle had always known that, eventually, Dondon would acquiesce to his request. That all his nephew ever needed was some time to take it all in. To accept what he must do. For Anna, Dondon thought. For Anna.

“Dondon?” He heard Inday call his name.

“Yes?”

“Your uncle wants to talk to you.”

“I’ll be right there.”

When he entered the bedroom, he found his uncle with eyes closed. Dondon sat down quietly on the chair beside the bed. When he looked up, his uncle was looking at him.

“Dondon,” his uncle whispered.

“I’m here.”

“Your mother called last night. You were out on an errand so Inday took the call.”

“How is she?”

“She’s nearing the end of her contract. She says she’s coming home this November.”

“For good?”

“Yes. For good.”

Dondon can’t help but smile.

“Dondon, I need to know. Have you decided?”

Dondon nodded.

“And?”

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. It’s settled then.”

“On one condition, Tiyo.”

His uncle remained silent.

“It ends with me. No matter what happens after this, it ends with me. Don’t ask me to do it again. Promise me right now that it ends with me. No matter what.”

Roy looked away, closed his eyes and made no reply. Dondon stared at his hands. He stood up and walked towards the door.

“Dondon,” his uncle called out, coughing.

Dondon stopped and turned.

“It ends with you. I promise you that.”

“Okay. When do we…?”

“Tonight. It ends tonight.”

Dondon left the room in silence.


Dondon has played a lot of guitars in his life. Several of them he made and crafted with his own young hands. A few of the cracked and broken ones, he restored through his patience and determination. Some he purposely wrecked to serve a new and better purpose.

But he has never played this particular old guitar. He opened the leather-coated case and gazed long at the mysterious instrument. It hasn’t changed much in the last four years. The fret board is still cracked, the auburn varnish remains scarred, its old familiar smell still unique and haunting. The time has come, he thought to himself. He closed the case and carried it upstairs.

When he entered the bedroom, he looked at his uncle’s face. Roy’s eyes told him all he needed to know.

“Let’s get it done,” Roy said.

Dondon pulled out the guitar and sat on the chair beside his uncle’s bed. He realized his hands were trembling.

His uncle coughed out loud and said, “Play it twice.”

“But…”

“Play it twice, boy, and whatever happens, don’t ever stop until you’re done.”

“Yes, Tiyo.”

Dondon breathed deeply and relaxed his hands. Then he began playing the first notes of Forbidden Game. Even as Roy coughed out loud again, he gave no reaction but concentrated on his playing. His uncle spoke.

“We were still living in Tagbilaran then. Anna was four and I had been married for eight years to Helena when it happened. My wife found out that I was having an affair with another woman. One day, she confronted me about it. I denied it at first. But soon, I admitted everything. She broke down and went hysterical. She tried to hit me. Again and again, she hit me. And God forgive me, I hit her back. But… I swear I didn’t mean to hit her that hard. She fell… downstairs, she fell and broke her neck. She died. My wife… I killed her.”

Dondon remained unfaltering in his playing. Relentlessly, rapid notes flowed with urgency from the old guitar’s strings and blended into one desperately melancholic piece. Even as he fought to keep his concentration, Dondon could sense his mind slowly being drained by the instrument’s undiscriminating power. It was almost like the music was pulling in his soul, drowning him in its mysterious void. He played the song a second time as Roy spoke again.

“There was no one in the house that day. Anna and Inday were out on a stroll. So I reported it as an accident. I told them Helena was planning to fetch Anna. I told them she had slipped on the stairs and had taken a fatal fall. They all believed my lies. Everyone -- the police, Inday, Anna … Oh, my Anna. I told Anna her Mama had left and gone away. I told her that Mama was never coming back. I told my daughter her mother has left her forever.”

Roy coughed violently between sobs. He was crying freely now.

“She wouldn’t utter a word in the next few days. Then she started to get weak. At nights, she called out to her Mama. She was crying all the time. But I was with her until the end. I wanted to tell her everything but I couldn’t… How could I? One day, slept and didn’t wake up anymore. Oh God, what have I done to my Anna? Oh God, Oh God…”

Dondon was nearing the end of the song and the unbearable strain showed on his face. He kept on playing as Roy spoke for the last time.

“Take this away from my heart and let my daughter be cured. Oh God, take it all away and let me sleep. Let me have peace.”

Roy closed his eyes. Dondon finished playing. He sat hunched on the chair breathing deeply, his energy almost spent. He stared at his sleeping uncle and wept. He stood up and staggered out the door, still clutching the old guitar. He walked slowly towards Anna’s door. It ends tonight, he said to himself, it ends tonight.

He sat beside Anna’s bed and tried to recover his strength and his resolve. He knew this time that he will need to channel his own emotions. Father and brother, stay with me, he thought. He took one deep breath and steadied his hands. They wouldn’t stop shaking. He played nonetheless.

His fingers felt weak but he coursed through the first few bars perfectly. He poured forth all his rage at the world, his grief for a lost father and brother, and his longing for an absent mother in the instrument he was holding. Sweat gathered in his brow. By the time, the first song ended, he was almost out of breath. One more, he told himself, one more and it’s over.

He played it again. He closed his eyes and focused with all his might. Even as his fingers started to get numb, they found their way to the right places -- touching and lifting, pushing and pulling, sending forth notes that echo through the still room. As the last of these notes faded in the darkness, Dondon collapsed on the floor.

He slowly propped himself up and stared at Anna. Nothing happened. He stood up, she remained still. He fell on the chair and wept.

He sensed movement. Looking up, he saw Anna stir. He rushed beside her.

“Anna?” he quietly pleaded.

Anna opened his eyes and looked at Dondon.

“Papa?” she cried. “Where’s Papa?”

Dondon continued to weep.


“What do you think about this place?” his mother asked.

“It’s great, Mama,” Dondon replied.

“Good. Thanks to Kenneth, I got it for a fairly modest price.”

“It’s very quiet. I guess that’s good. And there are trees in the yard, too.”

“Yeah, I made sure to get a house with a decent yard. By the way, where’s Anna?”

“Right there on the front porch, playing with Fluffy.”

“She really likes that puppy, doesn’t she?”

“She sure does.”

Dondon stood up and looked out the window. He listened. He couldn’t hear the cars from the street. He looked at the horizon. He saw dark clouds loom in the distance. Rain was coming.

“How was yesterday’s visit to the hospital?” his mother interrupted him.

“Tiyo is stable,” he replied. “There’s no change in his condition. It’s almost two years now since… since he lapsed into coma. ”

His mother touched his shoulder. He turned and faintly smiled.

“Things will get back to normal,” she said to him.

“I know,” he replied. His mother gave him a hug.

“It’s going to rain soon. Go get Anna, it’s time for merienda.”

“Yes, Mama.”

He coughed slightly and walked out the door.

His uncle drove fast on the way home. Both haven’t exchanged words at all since leaving Tacio’s house. Every few minutes, Dondon would hear his uncle cough out loud and spit on the road. He decided to break the silence.

“What happened tonight?” he asked his uncle.

“Not now, I’ll explain later,” Roy replied. “We’re already home. Take the case and follow me.”

In three quick steps, his uncle had traversed the few meters between the parked vehicle and the front door. A few more steps through the stairs and he was inside Anna’s room. His nephew appeared panting seconds later. Inday was already asleep on the chair beside the bed. He sauntered towards the snoring woman and woke her up.

“We’re here,” he said, “you can go.”

Inday yawned and staggered out of the room.

“Close the door and give me the guitar,” Roy quickly instructed Dondon.

His nephew handed him the case. Roy pulled out the guitar in one swift motion and occupied the now vacant seat.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered to Dondon.

Roy took a deep breath and calmed himself. He closed his eyes and began to pluck the same tune he played a half hour ago. He played it softly this time. So softly that Dondon could just make out the notes from where he was standing. Roy played with as much focus and consistent rhythm as he did at Tacio’s but with more restraint, with more emotion. Dondon could see the intensity in his uncle’s face. It was like Roy was channeling the music he’s playing into his daughter’s sleeping form. He remained unmoving and so absorbed in what he’s doing -- ignoring the sweat gathering in his temple and in the forearms. As the song neared its emotional climax, Roy never wavered in his concentration. Except until the last guitar chord when his shoulders slumped visibly while he exhaled and coughed lightly.

Roy opened his eyes and waited. Dondon stood silent, staring at his uncle. A faint sound emanated from the bed.

“Papa?” Anna muttered. “Papa?”

Roy burst to tears.


Given the still unexplained events of the previous night, Dondon had trouble sleeping. Roy had urged his nephew to get some sleep and leave him and his now awakened daughter alone in the room. He had further added that there would be no need to open the shop for business the next day. Still confused, Dondon had acceded if only to momentarily dispel the nagging questions in his head. Those questions followed him in his dreams along with images of his mother and departed family.

The ringing of the phone woke him up. He sat up startled and disoriented. He checked the clock -- 8:51 AM. He stood and picked up the phone.

“Hello,” he mumbled to the receiver.

“Manoy Roy?” Lihan’s anxious voice surprised him.

“No, it’s Dondon, Manang. I think Tiyo is still asleep. Wait, I’ll go get him.”

“Don’t bother, Dong. Just give him a message for me?”

“Okay, Manang.”

“Tell him Tacio passed away early this morning.”

Dondon sat down.

“He died just after three this morning,” Lihan’s voice continued. “Will you tell your uncle when he wakes up? And, and tell him to call me back as soon as he can.”

“I will, Manang.”

“Thank you.”

The line went dead.

Dondon slowly put down the receiver. He glanced upstairs. Then he stood up and ran towards his uncle’s bedroom. He knocked twice. No sound. He knocked again, louder this time. Nothing. He called out to his uncle. No reply. He opened the door. The room was empty.

He ran towards the other wing of the second level, to Anna’s room. This time, he opened the door without bothering to knock. His uncle’s weary gaze greeted him. He looked at Anna. She was sleeping.

“She’s asleep once more,” Roy quietly said to him.

“Lihan called,” Dondon said. “She told me to tell you that Tacio…”

“I know. Just after three this morning. Just about the time Anna slipped away again.”

Roy stood, staring silently at Anna.

“What’s going on?” Dondon asked his uncle.

“Come. I’ll explain everything.”


“Anna is sick,” his uncle began. “She has been for a long time now.”

“I know.”

“And you do understand by now that no doctor can cure her condition.”

“What do you mean? I saw her last night. She…”

“Yes, she was cured. For a very short while, she was okay. But you saw her again this morning. Her condition remains the same.”

“I don’t understand, Tiyo. What happened last night? What happened to Tacio? To Anna?”

A pause.

“The guitar,” Roy replied.

“I still don’t understand.”

“It’s the old guitar, Dondon. It has the ability to heal. But it can also take away.”

“Take away?”

“Emotions. Regrets. Desires. Every strong emotion there is. Sometimes, it takes away a part of life.”

“Tacio. He was…”

“Yes. But he gave that part willingly. That part of him, that unbearable burden he carried for so many years -- it cured Anna last night. Even for only a moment. It cured her.”

“At the cost of his life.”

“Yes.”

“But … that part … I mean, at the moment he died. That connection was broken, wasn’t it? That’s why Anna is sleeping again?”

His uncle nodded.

“When you played the guitar at Tacio’s,” Dondon continued, “I felt it too. I felt sad, I wanted to cry. Did it…”

“It harvests from anyone.”

“The old guitar -- where did it come from?”

“From Tacio. He gave it to me. When she learned about Anna’s sickness.”

“But … My God, Tiyo. You’ve been using it all these years. Who were the people you…”

“It doesn’t matter now. None of it matters, boy. Don’t you see? Only Anna matters. Last night, we’ve come so close to curing her.”

“At what terrible price, Tiyo? It’s killing you, too. Look I’m not stupid. You think I haven’t noticed? You’re getting sicker by the day…”

“For my daughter, I choose to accept this. For Anna.”

“But for how long?”

“We’re close to curing her. So close. But I know I don’t have much time.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is where you come in, Dondon.”

“Tiyo, what are you asking of me?”

“I have taught you everything I know about running this shop. About the art of guitar making. Most importantly, about music. You know everything I know. I made sure of that when I brought you in.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that when the time comes, you must carry on. For me. For Anna. Until she’s cured.”

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“Are you needed at Malou’s tonight?” Dondon heard his uncle ask him.

“No,” Dondon replied, “Manang said she and Bebe can manage with the deliveries.”

“Good, I need you to come with me.”

“Where to, Tiyo?”

“We’re going to Tacio’s house in fifteen minutes. Finish what you’re doing and close up shop. Then bring the old guitar to the jeep.”

“The old guitar?”

His uncle nodded.

“What about Anna?” Dondon asked.

“Inday will be here in a minute to look after her,” his uncle replied.

“Okay.”

His uncle nodded again before climbing upstairs, coughing. Dondon glanced at the clock -- ten minutes to seven. Quickly, he finished restringing a newly finished guitar and set it on the rack. He stretched out his arms before reaching up for the keys behind the clock. He flipped the “Close” sign on the door and let down the blinds. He thumbed down the knob’s locking mechanism before shutting the door, simultaneously switching off the lights.

He strode through the darkness towards the opposite door and entered his uncle’s office. The guitar case was leaning on the corner beside the cabinet. He took it, set it on the table and ran his hands on the worn leather covering before releasing the latch. He opened it slowly and eyed the old instrument. The fret board cracked in various places and the auburn varnish has faded away. Its smell reminded Dondon of his grandfather’s rocking chair. After a brief pause, he closed the case, switched off the lights and headed out.


Tacio was a manghihilot who lived in a town at the northern side of Mactan Island. Dondon has only been to the place once when his uncle had taken him to its annual barangay fiesta. But he had never met Tacio, the man had been away during their visit. That was in January 1997, before Tacio fell sick. Two years later, the old man is almost completely bed-ridden. So Dondon had heard.

It usually took about forty five minutes to get to the town but that night, his uncle drove curiously slow. The road to Tacio’s was almost empty, save for the occasional trisikad passing by every now and then. His uncle tried to clear his throat but ended up coughing hard.  

“You okay, Tiyo?” Dondon asked.

“I’m fine,” his uncle replied, still coughing.

Dondon looked at his uncle and then turned away, staring at his hands.

“Your mother called Thursday but you were out,” his uncle managed to say after the coughing has subsided. “She asked how you’ve been.”

Dondon looked up and asked, “Is she doing okay?”

“Yes. But she won’t be home for Christmas. Sorry, just thought you should know.”

Dondon stared at the road, disappointed.

“Time flies fast,” his uncle continued. “It was only five years ago when your mother left you in my care, after that awful accident. You were just about twelve then. Look at you now -- about to attend college soon. And you’re doing really well in the shop. Even better than most of my apprentices. I’m proud of you, boy. You’re like family. I’m sure Anna won’t mind having you as her kuya. She sure would look up to you. And she will, when she gets better.”

More coughing. Dondon remained silent.

“Anyway, we’re here,” his uncle said. “Bring the guitar case.”

The house hasn’t changed much. Except for the chopped down guava tree in the front yard, it looked exactly the same as Dondon remembered. A woman peered out of the window and stared at them both.

“Manoy Roy,” she said, recognizing Dondon’s uncle.

“Good evening, Manang,” Roy greeted in reply. “How is he?”

“Not good, I’m afraid,” she answered. “He doesn’t have much time. Please come in.”

She led them through a dimly lit living room where Dondon saw several people sitting together, seemingly deep in thought, as if in prayer. Even when Dondon and his uncle were directly passing through their midst, none of them paid any attention. The visitors followed the woman up a flight of stairs leading to the second level’s solitary room. She opened the door gently.

The room smelt of oil and old wood. An electric fan was humming on one corner. On another, there was a small table with a pan, a folded towel and an empty glass. The bed was just beside the window. Tacio laid still, staring silently at the evening sky.
 
The woman approached the old man and said, “Tacio, he’s here.”

Tacio turned his head and looked at Dondon, then at Roy. He smiled weakly, a look of recognition on his face.

Roy returned his smile and said, “You look good for your age, Manoy.”

“You were always bad at jokes, Roy. I can see that you haven’t changed much.”

“You know me, old man.”

Roy said and took a seat beside the bed. He motioned to Dondon to sit on the far side of the room.

“Lihan,” Tacio turned to the woman, “do you mind leaving us for a while? I need to talk to these two alone.”

Lihan left the room wordlessly, closing the door behind her.

“How is Anna?” Tacio asked.

“No improvement,” Roy replied, looking down.

“How long has she been sleeping now?”

“More than six years.”

Tacio sighed and threw a gaze at Dondon.

“So this is the boy you told me about,” Tacio said.

“He doesn’t look it but he’s good,” Roy replied.

“Sure about that? He looks unsure of himself.”

Dondon couldn’t tell if the old man was joking.

“So was I back then,” Roy reminisced.

“No, you were never like that, Roy,” Tacio said, turning to Roy. “Did you bring it?”

Roy nodded and held out his hand to his nephew, asking for the case.

“Let’s get it done,” the old man said.

Roy took the case and laid it on the floor. Methodically, he released its latch and opened it. He took a brief pause before taking out the instrument. Almost affectionately, he ran his hands along the nylon strings before holding it steady against his chest and lap. He coughed slightly before playing the first few notes of Forbidden Game. The old man spoke.

“Her name was Esperanza. She was the youngest of my daughters. She fell in love with the son of that drunkard tubero Prado. She was almost sixteen when that boy got her pregnant. I had the boy arrested and I made sure he went to prison. Two months before his release, he died in a prison riot. I told my daughter the news. I told her she should have never hooked up with that wayward kid. Broken, my Esperanza ran away. She took her three year old baby with her. Eight years ago, she took away my only grandson from me and never came back.”

The guitar melodies increased their intensity. Roy bowed his head with eyes closed, completely focused in his playing, the fingers of his left hand graciously and relentlessly dancing on the frets while his right hand provided a consistent and incessant rhythm.

Dondon sat transfixed, mesmerized by the perfect harmony. He couldn’t explain its effect on him. He felt sad, so desperately sad. He remembered his mother, away in a distant country. He thought of his father and brother, taken away from him forever. He wanted to cry. Tacio’s voice broke his trance.

“I never heard from Esperanza and my grandson again. Until a year ago. When they found her dead, dumped in a dark alley in Kamagayan. Stabbed in all places. Along with the body of my ten year old grandson.”

The old man’s voice broke off, he was crying uncontrollably now. Dondon sat shocked and speechless. His uncle kept playing, ostensibly oblivious of the dying man’s confession.

“Long have I lived and suffered this burden in my soul. All these years, not a day goes by that I don’t look at the mirror and clinch my fists in disgust, in abhorrence of myself. Because of my foolish pride, I have sentenced my only daughter to untimely death and denied my grandson a chance at a better life. I condemn myself for my crime. I beg of you tonight. Take this burden from my heart and let me die in peace. Let me sleep. Let me sleep…”

As Tacio was closing his eyes, Roy finished his playing. As the last notes of the guitar echoed in the now quiet room, Dondon was brought back to his senses, once again aware of his surroundings, the smell of oil and old wood, the hum of the fan and the noise of the crickets outside.

Roy put the guitar back in the case. He gave the case to Dondon and knelt beside the bed. He bent close to Tacio’s ear and whispered something. He wiped a tear before standing up.

He headed towards the door, his nephew not far behind. Downstairs, they found Lihan waiting anxiously. She stood up when she saw Roy.

“Is it done?” she asked.

“He’s sleeping now, Manang,” Roy said.

“Thank you,” she replied, taking Roy’s hands.

“We have to go,” he said courtly. “Keep in touch.”

“I will, Manoy.”

He strode outside, his nephew trailing wordlessly.

 

Bus fare from the North Bus Terminal to the town of Maya: P60.

Boat ride from the Maya port to the Cocobana shoreline: P40.

Standard room for rent at a Bounty Beach resort: P600.

Sea tour around the island plus one day rent of snorkeling equipment: P800.

Jumping on the crystalline waters and cursing endlessly because I forgot to take the cell phone out of my pocket: Priceless.