The Killers by Ernest Hemingway "I can give you ham and eggs, bacon and eggs,

liver..."
The door of Henry's lunchroom opened and two men
came in. They sat down at the counter. "I'll take ham and eggs," the man called Al said. He
wore a derby hat and a black overcoat buttoned
"What's yours?" George asked them.
across the chest. His face was small and white and he
"I don't know," one of the men said. "What do you had tight lips. He wore a silk muffler and gloves.
want to eat, Al?"
"Give me bacon and eggs," said the other man. He
"I don't know," said Al. "I don't know what I want to was about the same size as Al. Their faces were
eat." different, but they were dressed like twins. Both
wore overcoats too tight for them. They sat leaning
Outside it was getting dark. The street-light came on
forward, their elbows on the counter.
outside the window. The two men at the counter
read the menu. From the other end of the counter "Got anything to drink?" Al asked.
Nick Adams watched them. He had been talking to
"Silver beer, bevo, ginger-ale," George said.
George when they came in.
"I mean you got anything to drink?"
"I'll have a roast pork tenderloin with apple sauce
and mashed potatoes," the first man said. "Just those I said."
"It isn't ready yet." "This is a hot town," said the other. "What do they
call it?"
"What the hell do you put it on the card for?"
"Summit."
"That's the dinner," George explained. "You can get
that at six o'clock." "Ever hear of it?" Al asked his friend.
George looked at the clock on the wall behind the "No," said the friend.
counter.
"What do you do here nights?" Al asked.
"It's five o'clock."
"They eat the dinner," his friend said. "They all come
"The clock says twenty minutes past five," the here and eat the big dinner."
second man said.
"That's right," George said.
"It's twenty minutes fast."
"So you think that's right?" Al asked George.
"Oh, to hell with the clock," the first man said. "What
"Sure."
have you got to eat?"
"You're a pretty bright boy, aren't you?"
"I can give you any kind of sandwiches," George said.
"You can have ham and eggs, bacon and eggs, liver "Sure," said George.
and bacon, or a steak."
"Well, you're not," said the other little man. "Is he,
"Give me chicken croquettes with green peas and Al?"
cream sauce and mashed potatoes."
"He's dumb," said Al. He turned to Nick. "What's your
"That's the dinner." name?"
"Everything we want's the dinner, eh? That's the way "Adams."
you work it."
"Another bright boy," Al said. "Ain't he a bright boy,
Max?"
"The town's full of bright boys," Max said.
George put the two platters, one of ham and eggs,
the other of bacon and eggs, on the counter. He set
down two side-dishes of fried potatoes and closed
the wicket into the kitchen.
"Which is yours?" he asked Al.
"Don't you remember?"
"Ham and eggs."
"Just a bright boy," Max said. He leaned forward and
took the ham and eggs. Both men ate with their
gloves on. George watched them eat.
"What are you looking at?" Max looked at George.
"Nothing."
"The hell you were. You were looking at me."
"Maybe the boy meant it for a joke, Max," Al said.
George laughed.
"You don't have to laugh," Max said to him. "You
don't have to laugh at all, see?"
"All right," said George.
"So he thinks it's all right." Max turned to Al. "He
thinks it's all right. That's a good one."
"Oh, he's a thinker," Al said. They went on eating.
"What's the bright boy's name down the counter?"
Al asked Max.
"Hey, bright boy," Max said to Nick. "You go around
on the other side of the counter with your boy
friend."
"What's the idea?" Nick asked.
"There isn't any idea."
"You better go around, bright boy," Al said. Nick went
around behind the counter.
"What's the idea?" George asked.
"None of your damn business," Al said. "Who's out in
the kitchen?"
"The nigger."
"What do you mean the nigger?"
"The nigger that cooks."
"Tell him to come in."
"What's the idea?"
"Tell him to come in."
"Where do you think you are?"
"We know damn well where we are," the man called
Max said. "Do we look silly?"
"You talk silly," Al said to him. "What the hell do you
argue with this kid for? Listen," he said to George,
"tell the nigger to come out here."
"What are you going to do to him?"
"Nothing. Use your head, bright boy. What would we
do to a nigger?"
George opened the slit that opened back into the
kitchen. "Sam," he called. "Come in here a minute."
The door to the kitchen opened and the nigger came
in. "What was it?" he asked. The two men at the
counter took a look at him.
"All right, nigger. You stand right there," Al said.
Sam, the nigger, standing in his apron, looked at the
two men sitting at the counter. "Yes, sir," he said. Al
got down from his stool.
"I'm going back to the kitchen with the nigger and
bright boy," he said. "Go on back to the kitchen,
nigger. You go with him, bright boy." The little man
walked after Nick and Sam, the cook, back into the
kitchen. The door shut after them. The man called
Max sat at the counter opposite George. He didn't
look at George but looked in the mirror that ran
along back of the counter. Henry's had been made
over from a saloon into a lunch counter.
"Well, bright boy," Max said, looking into the mirror,
"why don't you say something?"
"What's it all about?"
"Hey, Al," Max called, "bright boy wants to know
what it's all about."
"Why don't you tell him?" Al's voice came from the
kitchen.
"What do you think it's all about?"
"I don't know."
"What do you think?"
Max looked into the mirror all the time he was
talking.
"I wouldn't say."
"Hey, Al, bright boy says he wouldn't say what he
thinks it's all about."
"I can hear you, all right," Al said from the kitchen.
He had propped open the slit that dishes passed
through into the kitchen with a catsup bottle. "Listen,
bright boy," he said from the kitchen to George.
"Stand a little further along the bar. You move a little
to the left, Max." He was like a photographer
arranging for a group picture.
"Talk to me, bright boy," Max said. "What do you
think's going to happen?"
George did not say anything.
"I'll tell you," Max said. "We're going to kill a Swede.
Do you know a big Swede named Ole Andreson?"
"Yes."
"He comes here to eat every night, don't he?"
"Sometimes he comes here."
"He comes here at six o'clock, don't he?"
"If he comes."
"We know all that, bright boy," Max said. "Talk about
something else. Ever go to the movies?"
"Once in a while."
"You ought to go to the movies more. The movies are
fine for a bright boy like you."
"What are you going to kill Ole Andreson for? What
did he ever do to you?"
"He never had a chance to do anything to us. He
never even seen us."
"And he's only going to see us once," Al said from the
kitchen.
"What are you going to kill him for, then?" George
asked.
"We're killing him for a friend. Just to oblige a friend,
bright boy."
"Shut up," said Al from the kitchen. "You talk too
goddam much."
"Well, I got to keep bright boy amused. Don't I, bright
boy?"
"You talk too damn much," Al said. "The nigger and
my bright boy are amused by themselves. I got them
tied up like a couple of girl friends in the convent."
"I suppose you were in a convent."
"You never know."
"You were in a kosher convent. That's where you
were."
George looked up at the clock.
"If anybody comes in you tell them the cook is off,
and if they keep after it, you tell them you'll go back
and cook yourself. Do you get that, bright boy?"
"All right," George said. "What you going to do with
us afterward?"
"That'll depend," Max said. "That's one of those
things you never know at the time."
George looked up at the clock. It was a quarter past
six. The door from the street opened. A street-car
motorman came in.
"Hello, George," he said. "Can I get supper?"
"Sam's gone out," George said. "He'll be back in
about half an hour."
"I'd better go up the street," the motorman said.
George looked at the clock. It was twenty minutes
past six.
"That was nice, bright boy," Max said. "You're a
regular little gentleman."
"He knew I'd blow his head off," Al said from the
kitchen.
"No," said Max. "It ain't that. Bright boy is nice. He's
a nice boy. I like him."
At six-fifty-five George said: "He's not coming."
Two other people had been in the lunch-room. Once
George had gone out to the kitchen and made a
ham-and-egg sandwich "to go" that a man wanted to
take with him. Inside the kitchen he saw Al, his derby
hat tipped back, sitting on a stool beside the wicket
with the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun resting on
the ledge. Nick and the cook were back to back in the
corner, a towel tied in each of their mouths. George
had cooked the sandwich, wrapped it up in oiled
paper, put it in a bag, brought it in, and the man had
paid for it and gone out.
"Bright boy can do everything," Max said. "He can
cook and everything. You'd make some girl a nice
wife, bright boy."
"Yes?" George said. "Your friend, Ole Andreson, isn't
going to come."
"We'll give him ten minutes," Max said.
Max watched the mirror and the clock. The hands of
the clock marked seven o'clock, and then five
minutes past seven.
"Come on, Al," said Max. "We better go. He's not
coming."
"Better give him five minutes," Al said from the
kitchen.
In the five minutes a man came in, and George
explained that the cook was sick.
"Why the hell don't you get another cook?" the man
asked. "Aren't you running a lunch-counter?" He
went out.
"Come on, Al," Max said.
"What about the two bright boys and the nigger?"
"They're all right."
"You think so?"
"Sure. We're through with it."
"I don't like it," said Al. "It's sloppy. You talk too
much."
"Oh, what the hell," said Max. "We got to keep
amused, haven't we?"
"You talk too much, all the same," Al said. He came
out from the kitchen. The cut-off barrels of the
shotgun made a slight bulge under the waist of his
too tight-fitting overcoat. He straightened his coat
with his gloved hands.
"So long, bright boy," he said to George. "You got a
lot of luck."
"That's the truth," Max said. "You ought to play the
races, bright boy."
The two of them went out the door. George watched
them, through the window, pass under the arc-light
and across the street. In their tight overcoats and
derby hats they looked like a vaudeville team.
George went back through the swinging door into
the kitchen and untied Nick and the cook.
"I don't want any more of that," said Sam, the cook.
"I don't want any more of that."
Nick stood up. He had never had a towel in his mouth
before.
"Say," he said. "What the hell?" He was trying to
swagger it off.
"They were going to kill Ole Andreson," George said.
"They were going to shoot him when he came in to
eat."
"Ole Andreson?"
"Sure."
The cook felt the corners of his mouth with his
thumbs.
"They all gone?" he asked.
"Yeah," said George. "They're gone now."
"I don't like it," said the cook. "I don't like any of it at
all."
"Listen," George said to Nick. "You better go see Ole
Andreson."
"All right."
"You better not have anything to do with it at all,"
Sam, the cook, said. "You better stay way out of it."
"Don't go if you don't want to," George said.
"Mixing up in this ain't going to get you anywhere,"
the cook said. "You stay out of it."
"I'll go see him," Nick said to George. "Where does
he live?"
The cook turned away.
"Little boys always know what they want to do," he
said.
"He lives up at Hirsch's rooming-house," George said
to Nick.
"I'll go up there."
Outside the arc-light shone through the bare
branches of a tree. Nick walked up the street beside
the car-tracks and turned at the next arc-light down
a side-street. Three houses up the street was Hirsch's
rooming-house. Nick walked up the two steps and
pushed the bell. A woman came to the door.
"Is Ole Andreson here?"
"Do you want to see him?"
"Yes, if he's in."
Nick followed the woman up a flight of stairs and
back to the end of a corridor. She knocked on the
door.
"Who is it?"
"It's somebody to see you, Mr. Andreson," the
woman said.
"It's Nick Adams."
"Come in."
Nick opened the door and went into the room. Ole
Andreson was lying on the bed with all his clothes on.
He had been a heavyweight prize-fighter and he was
too long for the bed. He lay with his head on two
pillows. He did not look at Nick.
"What was it?" he asked.
"I was up at Henry's," Nick said, "and two fellows
came in and tied up me and the cook, and they said
they were going to kill you."
It sounded silly when he said it. Ole Andreson said
nothing.
"They put us out in the kitchen," Nick went on. "They
were going to shoot you when you came in to
supper."
Ole Andreson looked at the wall and did not say
anything.
"George thought I better come and tell you about it."
"There isn't anything I can do about it," Ole Andreson
said.
"I'll tell you what they were like."
"I don't want to know what they were like," Ole
Andreson said. He looked at the wall. "Thanks for
coming to tell me about it."
"That's all right."
Nick looked at the big man lying on the bed.
"Don't you want me to go and see the police?"
"No," Ole Andreson said. "That wouldn't do any
good."
"Isn't there something I could do?"
"No. There ain't anything to do."
"Maybe it was just a bluff."
"No. It ain't just a bluff."
Ole Andreson rolled over toward the wall.
"The only thing is," he said, talking toward the wall,
"I just can't make up my mind to go out. I been in
here all day."
"Couldn't you get out of town?"
"No," Ole Andreson said. "I'm through with all that
running around."
He looked at the wall.
"There ain't anything to do now."
"Couldn't you fix it up some way?"
"No. I got in wrong." He talked in the same flat voice.
"There ain't anything to do. After a while I'll make up
my mind to go out."
"I better go back and see George," Nick said.
"So long," said Ole Andreson. He did not look toward
Nick. "Thanks for coming around."
Nick went out. As he shut the door he saw Ole
Andreson with all his clothes on, lying on the bed
looking at the wall.
"He's been in his room all day," the landlady said
downstairs. "I guess he don't feel well. I said to him:
'Mr. Andreson, you ought to go out and take a walk
on a nice fall day like this,' but he didn't feel like it."
"He doesn't want to go out."
"I'm sorry he don't feel well," the woman said. "He's
an awfully nice man. He was in the ring, you know."
"I know it."
"You'd never know it except from the way his face
is," the woman said. They stood talking just inside the
street door. "He's just as gentle."
"Well, good-night, Mrs. Hirsch," Nick said.
"I'm not Mrs. Hirsch," the woman said. "She owns the
place. I just look after it for her. I'm Mrs. Bell."
"Well, good-night, Mrs. Bell," Nick said.
"Good-night," the woman said.
Nick walked up the dark street to the corner under
the arc-light, and then along the car-tracks to Henry's
eating-house. George was inside, back of the
counter.
"Did you see Ole?"
"Yes," said Nick. "He's in his room and he won't go
out."
The cook opened the door from the kitchen when he
heard Nick's voice.
"I don't even listen to it," he said and shut the door.
"Did you tell him about it?" George asked.
"Sure. I told him but he knows what it's all about."
"What's he going to do?"
"Nothing."
"They'll kill him."
"I guess they will."
"He must have got mixed up in something in
Chicago."
"I guess so," said Nick.
"It's a hell of a thing."
"It's an awful thing," Nick said.
They did not say anything. George reached down for
a towel and wiped the counter.
"I wonder what he did?" Nick said.
"Double-crossed somebody. That's what they kill
them for."
"I'm going to get out of this town," Nick said.
"Yes," said George. "That's a good thing to do."
"I can't stand to think about him waiting in the room
and knowing he's going to get it. It's too damned
awful."
"Well," said George, "you better not think about it."
1927
 A Quest to Recapture the Spirits by Jude Ortega tricycle and skaylab drivers. He asked Nang Moray,
“Are you going to Kawayan, La?”
An earlier version of this story won first place in the
Jimmy Y. Balacuit Literary Awards at the 20th Iligan The albularia was not able to say anything and only
National Writers Workshop (2013) managed to nod. She was usually loquacious and
would respond to mundane questions with a lengthy
Nang Moray, the best-known albularia in half a
answer. Her long experience in handling patients had
dozen villages, woke up one day to find the spirits
taught her that making people comfortable with her
gone. She summoned them through her usual chants
was the first step in healing them. Words, however,
and rituals, but she did not receive any response. The
failed her this moment because the young man had
spirits did not manifest to her in any way, not even in
called her “Lola.” She was reminded of her age.
the form of a soft whisper in the wind or a faint
Though she was well aware that half her hair had
shadow darting past the corner of her eye. They had
turned gray and her face was lined with wrinkles, she
left her without any warning, without leaving any
was not used to being referred to as a grandmother.
trace for her to follow, as though they had not been
Nang Moray had no grandchildren, for all her four
her companions for nearly half a century, as though
children died when they were too young to marry,
they had never existed. After several days of calling
and her patients, who were mostly her age or
in vain for them, she set out to look for her friends.
younger, addressed her as “Nang” or “Nanay,” not
The sixty-year-old albularia could think of a number “Lola” or “Iyay.”
of reasons why the spirits disappeared, but her
The driver led Nang Moray to the back of the sidecar.
biggest suspicion was that they had been drawn to
The front was already filled. Seated in it were three
another—maybe stronger, she hated to admit it—
persons, two in the main seat and one in the extra,
center of energy. For the past several months, Nang
narrow seat. As soon as Nang Moray was seated at
Moray had been hearing about a new healer in the
the back, she heard the old man in front grunt in
capital town. The man, whether on purpose or by
pain, leaning on the woman beside him. Nang Moray
accident, must have lured the spirits away from Nang
stared at the horizontal mirror attached near the
Moray’s abode. Nang Moray did not know exactly
ceiling of the vehicle, and she saw the reflection of
what to do with the other healer. She decided she
the man and the woman. There was no doubt that
should go to his place and observe first. She told
they were father and daughter. Their noses, which
herself that if she found out her suspicion was true,
looked like the base of a coconut frond, seemed to
and the man took away the spirits with ill intentions,
have sprouted from the same trunk.
she wouldn’t let him get away with it.
The old man groaned louder. His daughter turned to
Nang Moray lived in the town of Esperanza, and
the driver and asked, “Aren’t we going yet?”
Isulan, the capital town of Sultan Kudarat, was just
twenty minutes away. She rode a jeepney and “In a while,” the driver said. “Just two more
alighted at the public market of Isulan. She was quite passengers.”
familiar with the place, so she had no trouble looking
“Ah, Diyos ko!” the father said, his hand grappling at
for the terminal of tricycles bound for Kawayan, the
the wall of the vehicle as though he was blind. The
slightly remote village where she had heard her rival
other hand was pressed against his belly. “I can no
lived.
longer take this.”
A man in his twenties approached Nang Moray. She
Nang Moray, having seen countless patients in pain,
assumed immediately that he was a driver, for his
could tell that the father was suffering from no
arms were covered with garish-red cooling sleeves
ordinary affliction. He seemed to be a man who had
designed with black dragons, a recent trend among
grown old toiling under the sun and drinking gallons
of tuba, and men like him usually kept their pain to
themselves as long as they could help it. If they were
crying like a child, especially in front of their own
children, the pain must be equivalent to having three
aching teeth.
“Diyos ko,” the father said again. “Hijo de puta!”
Nang Moray was alarmed. When men like him called
out to heavens and cursed in the same breath, the
pain was as severe as having ten aching teeth. She
glanced around, looking for spirits. She wanted to
help the old man. But as she had expected, there was
no spirit hovering around. Spirits shied away from
crowded, noisy places.
“How much is the fare?” the third passenger in front,
a man in his forties, asked the driver.
“Twelve pesos per person,” the driver answered.
“We’ll pay for the empty seats,” the passenger said.
Nang Moray realized he was a companion of the
father and daughter.
“All right,” the driver said, hopping at the motorcycle
at once, as though afraid the passenger would
change his mind. “That’s an additional twenty-four
pesos.”
“No problem,” the man said. “Just hurry up.” He was
seated on the narrow seat in front of his
companions, so he had to sit sideways. His body
faced the door, his knees jutting out of the vehicle.
Now that his neck was twisted toward the driver,
Nang Moray was able to see his face better. He did
not look like the father and daughter, but he looked
three times more worried than the daughter was.
“Kawayan’s not very far,” the driver said. “We’ll be
there in fifteen minutes.” The tricycle winded its way
out of the public market. For some reason, the sick
old man stopped whimpering.
When the tricycle moved off the highway and started
to run on unpaved road, the driver told the family,
“You’re going to Doc Sonny, eh? Don’t worry, he’s
really good.” He spoke aloud, so Nang Moray could
hear his voice over the hum of the engine. “I’ve
brought so many patients to his house, and almost
all of them later claimed they were healed.”
The daughter nodded. “So we heard,” she said in an
equally loud voice. “The doctors in the provincial
hospital seem unable to cure Tatay, so we decided to
take him to Doc Sonny.”
At first the conversation confused Nang Moray, but
almost immediately she figured out that “Doc
Sonny” was a faith healer—the faith healer she was
looking for. The family and she had the same
destination. She wondered why her rival was called
a doctor. She strained her ear forward so as not to
miss a word in the conversation. She didn’t have to
exert much effort, though. Unlike some people her
age, she was still sharp of hearing.
The tricycle ran over a bumpy spot, jolting up the
passengers a few inches from the seat. “Puta!” the
sick man shouted. “Diyos ko, puta!”
Nang Moray peeked out the tricycle, hoping to see
spirits in the less bustling surroundings. The spirits
didn’t have to be her friends. She knew how to ask
for a favor from spirits that she had only met for the
first time. Her eyes surveyed the rice fields flanking
the road, and her heart leaped when she saw wisps
of smoke gliding around a tree. To her dismay,
however, the spirits were pale-colored and shrieked
at one another. They were young—she guessed they
came into existence after the Second World War—
and oblivious to human pain.
“Hold on, Tay,” the third passenger in front said, his
eyes on the verge of tears. He tried to rub the sick
man’s arm, but with surprising vigor, the sick man
brushed off the hand.
“Just let him be, Pang,” the woman told the man.
Nang Moray realized he was her husband.
The man did not seem to take offense with what his
father-in-law did, but he turned to the side and
looked out the vehicle. He reminded Nang Moray of
Mando, her late husband. Mando had a
thoughtfulness that bordered on cowardice. Every
time she gave birth to their children, he would cry as
he held her hand, while she only gritted her teeth
and grunted in a low voice. Whenever one of the one means all the cells still look normal and grade
children got sick, he would be unable to sleep at five means all the cells no longer look normal.”
night, kissing the kid every now and then and telling
“I see,” the driver said. “With Doc Sonny, though, it
him or her to fight, until Nang Moray would be
does not matter at all in what stage or grade your
annoyed and tell him to leave the kid to rest. In his
cancer is. A month ago, he got a female patient with
last days, however, Mando showed extraordinary
stage three breast cancer. She was already so thin
courage. Tiny worms slowly ate him alive from the
and weak. Now I heard she already sweeps her yard.
legs up. Every morning, while he still had strength in
Doc Sonny can cure you as long as you believe.”
his arms, he would silently drag himself near the
hearth, pick the wriggling creatures one by one, and “We believe in him,” the woman said. “He has also
toss them into the fire. cured someone from our town. We’d rather resort
to Doc Sonny’s care than stay in a hospital. The
The tricycle driver said to no one in particular, “I’m
provincial has no specialist who can operate on
sorry. I’ll drive more carefully. Iyoy is suffering from
Tatay. When we went to the private clinic of a
what, by the way? Kidney stones?”
specialist, we were told we must prepare seventy
“No,” the woman answered. “The ultrasound thousand pesos. My god, where would we get such
showed his kidneys are all right. No stones. The an amount!”
doctor said he’s got prostate cancer instead.”
“Indeed, hospitals will suck you dry,” the driver said.
“Prostate? Where is that?” the driver said. Nang “While Doc Sonny, he does not ask for any amount.
Moray, too, had no idea what kind of cancer it was. Donation only. Oh, here we are.”
“It’s a common disease of men nowadays,” the The tricycle stopped in front of a house, which was
woman said. identical to most houses in the outskirts of Isulan.
The lower half was made of hollow blocks, and the
The driver looked uneasy, and the woman seemed to
upper part was covered with weaved African palm. A
relish this. She explained further, “The prostate is
scooter was parked in the front yard. “You’re lucky,”
found somewhere in the groin of men. It’s a kind of
the driver said. “Doc Sonny doesn’t have so many
sex organ, and women don’t have it. The ultrasound
patients today. Sometimes, the yard is full of
showed my father’s prostate has grade four
vehicles, some of them four-wheeled.”
enlargement.”
The family paid the driver and stepped out of the
“Grade four?” the driver said. “It sounds like your
tricycle. The old man cried in pain again as his
father’s prostate is going to school. I thought cancers
companions assisted him. He paused after almost
are classified by stages.”
every step.
The woman said, “The grade has something to do
“Do you want me to carry you, Tay?” the son-in-law
with how the cells look, while the stage has
asked.
something to do with how the cancer has spread. My
father’s cancer is in stage two, meaning it’s still “Puta,” the sick man said. “Don’t touch me.”
confined in his prostate. Stages three and four mean
The daughter said, “Please stop cursing, Tay,” which
the cancer has spread to other organs.”
only made the sick man utter more expletives.
“You explain well.”
The driver, who was watching the family, giggled
The woman beamed. “Oh, I was able to go to college soundlessly. “Poor man,” he said.
for a few semesters.” To show more of her skill, she
Nang Moray couldn’t determine if he was referring
added, “As to the grades of prostate cancer, grade
to the sick man or the son-in-law. Nonetheless, she
told the driver, “Cursing helps him bear the pain.”
She alighted from the tricycle and handed her fare.
“You’re just here, too?” the driver said.
“Yes,” Nang Moray said. She had given the driver a
twenty-peso bill, and the young man was taking his
time counting her change.
“You’re going to consult Doc Sonny?”
“No,” she said. But realizing the driver might ask
more questions, she lied, “I mean, yes. I’m having
trouble with my back.” She stretched out her open
palm toward the driver to signify that she was
waiting for her change.
The driver counted faster, handed her the coins, and
told her, “You came to the right place. Doc Sonny
offers hassle-free treatment. He’s not your usual
albulario. He doesn’t perform rituals or ask you to
offer something to spirits.”
Nang Moray wasn’t able to say anything until the
tricycle left. When she turned to the family, she saw
them disappear into the doorway. She followed
them to the house.
A woman about forty years old had welcomed the
visitors to the living room. “Is this the patient?” she
asked, touching the grumpy old man at the back.
The couple nodded.
“Doc Sonny is inside the clinic, treating someone,”
the woman said, pointing behind the heavy curtains
that covered what should normally be a dining area.
“But he will attend to you in a short while. For the
meantime, here.” She fumbled at the pocket of her
duster and took out a ballpoint pen and a tiny piece
of paper. She gave them to the sick man’s daughter.
“Please write the full name of the patient.” With
emphasis, she added, “Include the full middle
name.”
Without any question, the daughter did as she was
told.
“I am Doc Sonny’s assistant, by the way,” the woman
introduced herself. “You may call me Nurse Lydia.”
Nang Moray’s eyes inspected Lydia. Her shoulder-
length hair looked as though she had not used a
comb since she woke up that morning, and her floral
duster had faded from being washed so many times.
Detergent had obliterated the printed stems that
connected the pale flowers and light-green leaves.
She did not in any way resemble a nurse, just as the
house did not in any way resemble a clinic or
hospital.
The curtains parted, and a young couple came out.
The woman was pregnant.
“Oh,” Lydia said. “The checkup is done.”
Checkup! Nang Moray thought in indignation. That
term is for real doctors only.
The young couple bade Lydia goodbye and went out
of the door. The curtains parted again, and a smiling
young man peeked out. He had a deep dimple on
both cheeks.
“That’s Doc Sonny,” Nurse Lydia said. “My son.”
Nang Moray stared at her rival in surprise. He
seemed to be just eighteen or nineteen.
“Good mor—” The young man was not able to finish
his greeting when his eyes met Nang Moray’s. She
knew that he sensed something peculiar about her.
“W-who’s the patient?” the young man asked.
“My father,” the daughter of the sick man said,
standing up from the long bamboo seat.
Doc Sonny avoided Nang Moray’s eyes and told the
others, “Please take the patient here.” He
disappeared again behind the curtains.
Lydia assisted the family. Nang Moray watched as
the old man was slowly guided to the other side of
the curtains. Outside the house, she heard an engine
come to life and then fade away. The pregnant
woman and her husband must have left, riding the
motorcycle that had been parked in the yard.
Lydia came out of “the clinic” and asked Nang Moray,
“Are you not with them?”
“No,” Nang Moray said.
“I’m sorry,” Lydia said, sitting beside the older
woman. “I think you have to wait for a while. It looks
like the man’s condition is serious. Write your name
first.” She gave Nang Moray another piece of paper
and the pen that was used by the sick man’s
daughter.
Behind the curtains, Doc Sonny said, “Teodoro Ogatis
Flaminiano.”
“He’s reading the patient’s name,” Nurse Lydia
explained to Nang Moray. “He can diagnose the
patient’s illness from the name alone.”
“He doesn’t consult spirits?”
“He does. He has a number of guides.”
Nang Moray stared around the house. She could not
see or feel the presence of any spirit.
Doc Sonny was speaking to the patient. “Tatay Teo, I
can tell from your name that there’s something
wrong in your abdomen.”
“That’s true, Doc,” Nong Teo’s daughter said. “He’s
got—”
“Kidney trouble,” Doc Sonny said.
There was silence.
“Am I right?” Doc Sonny said.
“Actually, Doc,” Nong Teo’s daughter said with
hesitation, “we’ve brought Tatay to a hospital, and
the ultrasound showed his kidneys are fine. No
stones or any abnormality. His prostate is enlarged
instead.”
“Ah yes,” Doc Sonny said. “Of course. The prostate
and kidneys are connected. All problems in the
abdomen really start from the kidneys. Oftentimes,
the affliction goes down and causes the legs to swell.
In your father’s case, the swelling did not descend
farther and stayed in the groin.”
It occurred to Nang Moray that the boy was a quack.
There was no spirit around, so he had no guide
whatsoever. He was swindling his patients.
Doc Sonny said, “Your father’s prostate is in grade
four.”
“Oh, Doc Sonny,” Nong Teo’s daughter said. “That’s
what also the doctor—I mean, the previous doctor—
told us.”
Nang Moray was confused. She wondered how the
boy knew about the exact grade of the prostate, how
he was able to determine the patient’s ailment
without the aid of spirits.
Doc Sonny continued, “It’s grade four leading to
stage one.”
“So it’s not cancer yet?” the daughter asked.
“It’s not. But your father must be healed the soonest
possible time.”
“Oh, thank you so much, Doc Sonny. We were so
worried that Tatay’s got cancer. You give us hope.”
It struck Nang Moray that the woman believed the
boy more than in the doctor in the private hospital.
The boy had a different and crude explanation for
the stages and grades of prostate cancer, but the
woman took his word for truth. Nang Moray could
not blame the woman. Doctors did not know
everything. They did not believe that evil spirits had
something to do with illnesses, but Nang Moray,
having a third eye and herself capable of curing
diseases, knew better. As to the boy, however, she
could not decide yet if he truly had a healing power
or he was just a good trickster.
Nang Moray told Lydia, “I can’t feel the spirits.”
“Of course, you can’t,” Lydia said. “They only show
themselves to Doc Sonny.”
Nang Moray held her tongue. Nobody in the place
knew that she was a healer herself.
Lydia explained, “Sonny used to be a nursing student,
but he had to stop because I could no longer send
him to school. Last year, he was stricken by a serious
illness. He died of it. But he came back to life after
maybe half an hour. Spirits then started to come to
him and help him heal other people.”
Nang Moray nodded. So that explains it, she thought.
The boy had some knowledge about medicine, and
that was what he had been using to determine the
illnesses of his patients. He was not truly capable of
communicating with spirits. The story about him
dying and then coming back to life was most likely
something he and Lydia had spun. It was an all too
common story among purported healers. In Nang
Moray’s case, she gained the trust and friendship of
the spirits painstakingly. She started, at the age of
ten, as an apprentice of a babaylan, the younger
sister of her maternal grandmother. She found it
difficult to believe that spirits would liaise with a
human being in so abrupt a manner as what
happened to the boy. She saw a glimmer of hope.
The boy had not taken away her friends, and she still
had a chance to find them.
Inside “the clinic,” the daughter of the sick man
asked, “So what do we need to do now, Doc? How
are you going to cure my father?”
“First, your father must use a catheter again,” Doc
Sonny answered. “He must be able to urinate. When
you went to the hospital, the doctor had your father
wear a catheter, right?”
“How did you know, Doc? Oh, I’m sorry for asking. I
know, spirits are guiding you. You’re right. They
made my father wear a catheter in the hospital. After
a week, Tatay felt better, so we went home. Then last
night, Tatay felt pain again in his abdomen. We
decided to come here instead of going to the
hospital, for the doctor might insist Tatay should
undergo an operation. We can’t afford the seventy
thousand the hospital is asking from us.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll perform the operation. You don’t
have to spend so much money with me, and I won’t
open up or even just touch your father’s abdomen.”
“Really, Doc? I’m so happy to hear that.”
“Yes, but first, I’m afraid you have to go back to the
hospital. Have a nurse put a catheter on your father
and then come back here tomorrow for the
operation.”
“We’ll do that, Doc. Thank you. But could you do
something right now to ease my father’s pain?”
“Yes, I’ll give your father first aid.”
Nurse Lydia stood up and told Nang Moray, “Please
excuse me. Doc Sonny needs my assistance. Don’t
worry, the first aid normally doesn’t take much time.
It will be over in a minute.”
Nang Moray nodded, and when Nurse Lydia had
gone behind the curtains, she stood up too. She had
to leave now. She no longer had any business in the
house. When she reached the doorway, however, a
cry of pain stopped her in her tracks.
“Don’t touch me!” the sick man shouted behind the
curtains.
“Tay,” the daughter said, “you have to get up. We
have to go back to the hospital.”
“It hurts,” the father said. “God, it hurts!” He then
uttered a string of expletives.
As the sick man cursed, Nang Moray heard thuds and
creaks and saw the curtains shake. The man must be
pounding with his fist the bamboo bed he was lying
on. The daughter wailed in distress, asking his father
to stop and imploring Doc Sonny to do something.
The others behind the curtains were also talking in
panicked voices. Forgetting where she was and why
she was there, driven by a desire to help, Nang
Moray rushed to “the clinic.” She gasped when she
parted the curtains.
Dark haze was swirling around the sick man, and the
other human beings, including Doc Sonny, seemed
unaware of the malevolent presence. The boy,
muttering something useless, was pointing his two
outstretched fingers at the sick man’s exposed
abdomen. “Let me do it,” Nang Moray said, brushing
aside the boy’s hand. She heard protests, but she
blocked out everything else in her senses.
She might be unable to summon good spirits, but
driving away evil spirits was another thing. She took
out the tiny bottle that was always slung around her
neck and hidden under her blouse. She then pulled
open the cap, poured a drop of coconut oil from
inside the bottle to the tip of her index and middle
fingers, and with the oil made a sign of the cross on
the sick man’s abdomen. While making the sign, she
repeatedly uttered a phrase from the Latin version of
Our Father. The haze gave out a shriek and, in the
form of a horned serpent, darted out of the door at
the back of the house. The sick man whimpered and,
still conscious, collapsed on the bed.
The other people in the room stared at Nang Moray
in bewilderment.
“It’s gone,” Nang Moray said. “The bad spirit has
left.”
“It’s true,” the sick man said. “The pain has stopped.
Am I healed now?”
“No,” Nang Moray said. “Bad spirits feed on the
illness of a human being. They will come again. For
them to go away completely, your physical malaise
must be eradicated first.”
“Who are you?” Lydia butted in.
Nang Moray was reminded that she was in the house
of other people. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I
shouldn’t be here.”
The boy touched Nang Moray on the arm. “You’re a
healer,” he said.
Nang Moray pulled away. She turned to the family
who had been with her in the tricycle. “Go to the
doctor,” she said. “Or to another healer.” She then
rushed out of the room.
The boy followed her. “Iyay, please,” he said. “I want
to know you.”
Still walking fast and without looking back, she told
him, “Stop fooling people!”
“I’m not fooling people. I’m really a healer. I have
guides.”
Nang Moray stopped walking. “I don’t see them.”
“They’re not here right now. They left when you
arrived.”
“What a convenient excuse.”
“I’m telling the truth. I still have so much to learn. I
sometimes don’t know why spirits behave in a
certain way. Maybe you can help me.”
Nang Moray continued walking.
“Iyay, please!”
“Let me leave!”
When Nang Moray reached the road, there was no
tricycle in sight, so she kept on walking, not minding
the dust and the heat of the sun. The boy had
stopped bothering her, but even if she didn’t look
back, she knew that he was watching her walk away.
The silence told her so.
After a few minutes, a tricycle stopped beside Nang
Moray. “To the market?” the driver asked. Without
answering, Nang Moray stepped into the vehicle,
and as soon as she was seated, the driver asked her
again. “Is your checkup over?”
It was the same tricycle that she had ridden earlier.
“Yes,” she told the driver. “The checkup was quick.”
The tricycle sped up. The driver said, “I went back to
Doc Sonny’s house to wait for your fellow passengers
earlier, but Doc Sonny said they’re staying there for
a while. He told me to go after you instead. Thanks
to him, at least I have one passenger on the way back
to the market.”
Nang Moray nodded. She was in no mood to talk to
the driver, or to anyone for that matter, but he was
quite garrulous. He asked, “How did it go? The
checkup.”
She lied. “Doc Sonny just gave me a bottle of coconut
oil. He instructed me to apply it on my back every
night.”
“That’s weird. Doc Sonny does not usually give
anything to his patients. My wife and I go to him
regularly. He just points at the afflicted part of the
body, chants some inaudible prayer, and then gives
us a list of food that we shouldn’t eat.”
Nang Moray opted not to comment. She pretended
to be busy looking at the view beside the road.
“Doc Sonny is a good healer.” The driver kept on
talking. “But sometimes my wife and I feel we really
need medicine. For that, we go to Nong Ontit in
Bagumbayan. He doesn’t want to be called ‘doctor,’
but he acts more like a doctor than Doc Sonny. He
checks your eyes and mouth and gives out
prescriptions.”
“He knows the name of tablets?”
“Yes. Tablets, capsules, syrups. And not just
paracetamol or mefenamic acid, mind you. Even the
ones that are hard to spell.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“No. Aside from having a guide, if you know what I
mean, Nong Ontit is quite familiar with medicines.
He used to work in a pharmacy. Similar to Doc Sonny.
He was a nursing student before he died and came
back to life. Don’t you find it interesting? There’s a
new trend among healers now, especially the
popular ones. They know some science. They’re
more like doctors than albularios. I think gone are
the days of smelly ointments and chicken offerings.”
The driver chuckled.
“But there are still a lot of good old-fashioned
albularios,” Nang Moray said, trying not to raise her
voice. “Have you heard of Nang Moray?”
“From Esperanza?”
“Yes.”
“I know her. My mother used to go to her. But I don’t.
I hope you’re not her friend or relative”—the driver
chuckled again—“but I trust Doc Sonny and Nong
Ontit more. Nang Moray is a has-been. Only old
people and those who live in the boondocks
continue to trust her methods. Why, have you been
her patient?”
“N-no,” Nang Moray said. “I just heard of her.”
When she reached her home, Nang Moray once
again called the spirits, but none of them appeared.
She sat near the window and stared at her yard.
There had been days when it was crowded with
vehicles, some of them even four-wheeled, but now
it was empty, and she thought with dread that it
would be so from then on.
For most of the day the following weeks, Nang Moray
spent her time gazing out the window, reminiscing
about her heydays as an albularia, wishing for her
spirit friends to reappear gliding toward her. She
swore to herself that if they did come back, she
would take them without any question. She would
work with them again as though they had never left.
She had to refuse her visitors who came to be
healed, and their number was dwindling. When one
day she sensed a person standing in her yard, she did
not bother to even look at him. She remained leaning
on the window, her forearms resting on the sill, her
chin resting on her forearms. She had no enthusiasm
to greet someone she would only send away in a
while. The person, for his part, remained standing in
silence, as though patiently waiting for her to finish
her waking dream.
When Nang Moray eventually stared at the stranger,
her jaw dropped. It was Doc Sonny. She was not
surprised to find out that it was he. She was surprised
that he looked so young—younger than she
remembered him to be—even if his face was serious
and his youthful dimples were not shown.
She opened the door, and he greeted her, “Good
morning, Nang Moray.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I cannot entertain visitors
today.”
“I am not alone,” he said. She frowned, not
understanding what he meant, and he explained, “I
was telling the truth. They went away when you were
coming to my house, and they came back when you
left.”
She found his statements still too cryptic, but before
she could clarify further what he had said, the wind
blew and the spirits that she had been looking for
appeared. So the spirits had indeed gone to the boy.
The spirits did not come close to her or go inside the
house through the door or windows, but they
encircled the humble structure, as though inspecting
a property that they had abandoned but still
considered their own.
“Come in,” Nang Moray told Doc Sonny, and as soon
as the visitor was seated, she said, “Are you giving
them back to me?”
“But, Nang Moray,” Doc Sonny said, “I cannot give
back what I have not taken away. The spirits came to
me of their own accord.”
She had a feeling that he was telling the truth, but
her heart was filled with rancor for him. “I do not
believe you,” she said. “You did something to lure the
spirits to your house. In any case, you can let them
go. They will come back to me.”
“They won’t go back to you. They won’t go anywhere
else.”
“So why are you here?”
“There are so many things I still don’t understand. I
need someone who will teach me. I need your help,
Nang Moray.”
Nang Moray was struck speechless. She had not
entertained the possibility that the other healer
would come to her to be her apprentice. When she
found her voice, it was quivering and full of spite. “So
you’re not only keen on stealing the spirits. You want
me lose my place among healers. You want me to
lose everything.”
“I am not going to replace you, Nang. I am only asking
you to share your knowledge with me, not to transfer
it to me.”
“All the same. Without the spirits, I can’t heal serious
illnesses. I’m reduced to a manughilot, someone
who kneads aching muscles. Have you thought of
that?”
“But, Nang, the spirits have decided. I can’t make
them go back to you. Perhaps you can do something
to make them go back to you. I won’t prevent that
from happening. But as long as they want to be with
me, I’ll accept them. I’ll take care of them.”
“Hah! You don’t know what you are talking about.
Keeping spirits in your stead takes more than lighting
an incense or guarding a tree for them. You have to
give your life.”
“I’m willing to spend the rest of my life healing other
people if this is what God wants me to do.”
“I’m not being metaphorical. The woman who taught
me to be an albularia was killed by evil spirits, and
she was a babaylan. She was a powerful healer. She
knew the ancient arts of healing. But she was still
defeated. The good spirits were not able to save her.
The same thing might happen to you.”
“It didn’t happen to you. Clearly you’re no ordinary
albularia. You’re also a babaylan. And if evil spirits
were not able to defeat you and you share with me
your knowledge, then I will be spared from meeting
a tragic end.”
Nang Moray shook her head. “I am not a babaylan. I
am not worthy of such a name. Though I am still
alive, my fate was worse than that of my master. The
evil spirits killed my husband and our four very young
children! Now be stubborn and sacrifice your
mother’s life.”
Doc Sonny grew pale. For the first time since he
talked to her, Nang Moray saw him waver. “S-surely,
there’s a way,” he said. “These thing need not
happen.”
Nang Moray didn’t know if her heart was touched
with pity for the young man or she wanted to scare
him more into giving up. She decided to give him an
explanation, to let him in on some babaylans’
secrets. “Healers will always be vulnerable,” she
started. “That’s because there are different kinds of
spirits, and a healer must know all of them well.
When I was in your house, the spirit I drove away
from there came into existence during the Spanish
occupation. It was something that can defeated by
Catholic rituals and Latin prayers. You can’t see those
kinds of spirits—”
“I saw it when it was fleeing,” Doc Sonny interrupted.
“It looked like a huge snake and had horns.”
“All right. But your third eye isn’t strong enough yet
to see it while it was still coming, and you don’t know
the rituals against it.”
With his silence, Doc Sonny admitted that Nang
Moray was right. She continued, “I’m not saying that
I will, but I can teach you those rituals. I know how to
defeat, or at least drive away, spirits that came into
existence as far back as seven or eight hundred years
ago. The problem is that, as far as I know, no one can
teach you to fight ancient spirits. They no longer
abound and not many of them are malevolent, but
our lack of knowledge makes us healers and our
family and patients defenseless against them.” Nang
Moray thought that with her last statement, she
sounded as though she was recognizing Doc Sonny
as a legitimate healer, as someone who belonged to
the age-old family of babaylans. She didn’t want the
young man to have such an impression, so she
added, “You don’t have to feel responsible for the
spirits. If you don’t want to keep them and they
deem me no longer fit to take care of them, they can
look for another person. For every generation, there
are always a few people who are born with a third
eye.”
“But . . . Maybe in other parts of the country, there
are babaylans there who know how to fight ancient
spirits.”
“I’m afraid the knowledge has been completely lost.
I went to Panay and Negros once to look for such a
person, but I didn’t find any.”
Long silence followed. When Doc Sonny opened his
mouth, he said, “Thank you, Nang Moray, for talking
to me. I think I need some time to think over
matters.”
Nang Moray nodded.
She led him to the door. From several directions, the
spirits floated and formed a cluster in the front yard,
waiting for their new friend. When Doc Sonny was
about to turn away, Nang Moray was suddenly
gripped with fear that he would not come back. It
dawned on her that there was something greater at
stake, something greater than her pride. “Perhaps,”
she said aloud, and waited for him to face her. When
he did, she continued, “Perhaps the babaylans
themselves were to blame. At some point in history,
maybe one generation refused or failed to pass on
their knowledge to the next.”
Doc Sonny smiled. With his dimples, he looked so
young and sweet and even guileless. She could no
longer understand why she had considered him a
threat. “And perhaps,” he said, “one generation was
unwilling to learn from their predecessors or did not
brave the danger that came with the calling.”
“You know where to find me when you’re ready.”
Doc Sonny nodded. She watched him walk away, the
spirits gliding around him, stirring the wind and
causing the leaves to rustle. Now she knew: he was
not her rival; he was her successor. He was not the
other healer; he was the new healer. She did not call
the spirits to come back to her. She whispered
instead, “Guide him. Give him the courage that he
needs, just like what you did to me when you found
me.” She then bid them goodbye.
Tata Selo Ni Rogelio Sikat
Ang panitikan ay salamin ng buhay. Ito’y isang
representasyon ng mga karanasan sa buhay ng tao sa
tulong ng mga salita. Sa kuwentong ito, alamin kung
anong mga pangyayari sa mga tao sa lipunan ang
malinaw na pinapaksa ng may akda. Matagumpay ba
itong nailahad ng may akda? Anong paraan ang
ginamit niya?
Maliit lamang sa simula ang kalumpon ng taong nasa
bakuran ng munisipyo, ngunit ng tumaas ang araw,
at kumalat na ang balitang tinaga at napatay si
Kabesang Tano, ay napuno na ang bakuran ng bahay-
pamahalaan.
Naggitgitan ang mga tao, nagsiksikan, nagtutulakan,
bawat isa’y naghahangan makalapit sa istaked.
“Totoo ba, Tata Selo?”
“Binawi niya ang aking saka kaya tinaga ko siya.”

Nasa loob ng istaked si Tata Selo. Mahigpit na
nakahawak sa rehas. May nakaalsang putok sa noo.
Nakasungaw ang luha sa malabo at tila lagi nang may
inaaninaw na mata. Kupas ang gris niyang suot, may
mga tagpi na ang siko at paypay. Ang kutod niyang
yari sa matibay na supot ng asin ay may bahid ng
natuyong putik. Nasa harap niya at kausap ang isang
magbubukid ang kanyang kahangga, na isa sa
nakalusot sa mga pulis na sumasawata sa
nagkakagulong tao.
“Hindi ko ho mapaniwalaan, Tata Selo,” umiiling na
wika ng kanyang kahangga, “talagang hindi ko ho
mapaniwalaan.”
Hinaplus-haplos ni tata Selo ang ga-daliri at natuyuan
na ng dugong putok sa noo. Sa kanyang harapan, di
kalayuan sa istaked, ipinagtitilakan ng mga pulis ang
mga taong ibig makakita sa kanya. Mainit ang Sikat
ng araw na tumatama sa mga ito, walang humihihip
na hangin at sa kanilang ulunan ay nakalutang ang
nagsasalisod na alikabok.
“Bakit niya babawiin ang saka?” tanong ng Tata Selo.
“Dinaya ko na ba siya sa partihan? Tinuso ko na ba
siya? Siya ang may-ari ng lupa at kasama lang niya
ako. Hindi ba’t kaya maraming nagagalit sa akin ay
dahil sa ayaw kong magpamigay ng kahit isang
pinangko kung anihan?”
Hndi pa rin umalis sa harap ng istaked si Tata Selo.
Nakahawak pa rin siya sa rehas. Nakatingin siya sa
labas ngunit wala siyang sino mang tinitingnan.
Hindi mo na sana tinaga ang Kabesa,” anang
binatang anak ng pinakamayamang propitaryo sa
San Roque, na tila isang magilas na pinunong bayan
nakalalahad sa pagitan ng maraming tao sa istaked.
Mataas ito, maputi, nakasalaming may kulay, at
nakapamaywang habang naninigarilyo.
“Binabawi po niya ang aking saka,” sumbong ni Tata
Selo. “Saan pa po ako pupunta kung wala na akong
saka?”
Kumumpas ang binatang mayaman. “Hindi katwiran
iyan para tagain mo ang Kabesa. Ari niya ang lupang
sinasaka mo. Kung gusto ka niyang paalisin,
mapapaalis ka niya anumang oras.”
Halos lumabas ang mukha ni Tata Selo sa rehas.
“Ako po’y hindi ninyo nauunawaan,” nakatingala at
nagpipilit ngumiting wika niya sa binatang nagtapon
ng sigarilyo at mariing tinapakan pagkatapos. “alam
po ba ninyong dating amin ang lupang iyon?
Naisangla lamang po nang magkasakit ang aking
asawa, naembargo lamang po ng Kabesa. Pangarap
ko pong bawiin ang lupang iyon kaya nga po ako hindi
nagbibigay ng kahit isang pinangko kung anihan.
Kung hindi ko na naman po mababawi, masasaka
man lamang po.nakikiusap po ako sa Kabesa kangina.
‘kung maaari po sana, ‘Besa’’, wika ko po, ‘kung
maaari po sana, huwag naman po ninyo akong
paalisin. Kaya ko pa pong magsaka, ‘Besa. Totoo
pong ako’y matanda na, ngunit ako pa nama’y
malakas pa.’ Ngunit…Ay! Tinungkod po niya ako nang
tinungkod, Tingnan po n’yong putok sa aking noo,
tingnan po ‘nyo.”
Dumukot ng sigarilyo ang binata. Nagsindi ito at
pagkaraa’y tinalikuran si Tata Selo at lumapit sa isang
pulis.
“Pa’no po ba’ng nangyari, Tata Selo?”
Sa pagkakahawak sa rehas, napabaling si Tata Selo.
Nakita niya ang isang batang magbubukid na
nakalapit sa istaked. Nangiti si Tata Selo. Narito ang
isang magbubukid, anak-magbubukid na naniniwala
sa kanya. Nakataas ang malapad na sumbrerong
balanggot ng bata.
Nangungulintab ito, ang mga bisig at binti ay may
halas. May sukbit itong lilik.
“Pinuntahan niya ako sa aking saka, amang,”
paliwanag ni Tata Selo. “Doon ba sa may sangka.
Pinaalis ako sa aking saka, ang wika’y iba na raw ang
magsasaka. Nang makiusap ako’y tinungkod ako. Ay!
Tinungkod ako, amang, nakikiusap ako sapagkat
kung mawawalan ako ng saka ay saan pa ako
pupunta?” mga pulis. Ipinasya ng alkalde na ipalabas ng istaked
si Tata Selo at dalhin sa kanyang tanggapan.
“Wala na nga kayong mapupuntahan, Tata Selo.” Dalawang pulis ang kumuha kay Tata Selo sa istaked.

Gumapang ang luha sa pisngi ni Tata Selo. Tahimik na “Mabibilanggo ka niyan, Tata Selo,” anang alkalde
nakatingin sa kanya ang bata. pagkapasok ni Tata Selo. Umupo si Tata Selo sa
silyang nasa harap ng mesa. Nanginginig ang kamay
“Patay po ba?” ni Tata Selo nang ipatong niya iyon sa
nasasalaminang mesa.
Namuti ang mga kamao ni Tata Selo sa
pagkakahawak sa rehas. Napadukmo siya sa balikat. “Pa’no nga ba’ng nangyari?” kunot at galit na tanong
ng alkalde. Matagal bago nakasagot si Tata Selo.
“Pa’no po niyan si Saling?” muling tanong ng bata.
Tinutukoy nito ang maglalabimpitong anak ni Tata “Binawi po niya ang aking saka, Presidente,” wika ni
Selo na ulila na sa ina. Tata Selo. “Ayaw ko pong umalis doon. Dati pong
amin ang lupang iyon, amin, po, Naisangla lamang po
Katulong ito kina Kabesang Tano at kamakalawa at naembargo—“
lamang umuwi kay Tata Selo. “Pa’no po niyan si “Alam ko na iyan,” kumukupas at umiiling na putol ng
Saling?” nabubugnot na alkalde.

Lalong humigpit ang pagkakahawak ni Tata Selo sa Lumunok si Tata Selo. Nang muli siyang tumingin sa
rehas. Hindi pa nakakausap ng alkalde si Tata Selo. presidente, may nakasungaw nang luha sa kanyang
Mag-aalas-onse na nang dumating ito, kasama ang malalabo at tila lagi nang may inaaninaw na mata.
hepe ng pulis. Galing sila sa bahay ng kabesa. Abut-
abot ang busina ng dyip na kinasaksakyan ng “Ako po naman, Presidente, ay malakas pa,” wika ni
dalawang upang mahawi ang hanggang noo’y di pa Tata Selo. “Kaya ko pa pong magsaka. Makatuwiran
nag-aalisang tao. po bang paalisin ako? Malakas pa po naman ako,
Presidente, malakas pa po.”
Tumigil ang dyip sa di-kalayuan sa istaked.
“Saan mo tinaga ang Kabesa?”
“Patay po ba? Saan po ang taga?”
Matagal bago nakasagot si Tata Selo.
Naggitgitan at nagsiksikan ang mga pinagpawisang
tao. Itinaas ng may-katabaang alkalde ang dalawang “Nasa may sangka po ako nang dumating ang
kamay upang payapain ang pagkakaingay. Nanulak Kabesa. Nagtatapal po ako ng pitas na pilapil. Alam
ang malaking lalaking hepe. ko pong pinanonood ako ng kabesa, kung kaya po
naman pinagbuti ko ang paggawa, para malaman
“Saan po tinamaan?” niyang ako po’y talagang malakas pa, kaya ko pa
pong magsaka. Walang anu-ano po, tinawag niya ako
“Sa bibig.” Ipinasok ng alkalde ang kanang palad sa at nang ako po’y lumapit, sinabi niyang makakaalis na
bibig, hinugot iyon at mariing ihinagod hanggang sa ako sa aking saka sapagkat iba na ang magsasaka.
kanang punog tainga. “Lagas ang ngipin.”
‘Bakit po naman, ‘Besa?’ tanong ko po. Ang wika’y
Nagkagulo ang mga tao. Nagsigawan, nagsiksikan, umalis na lang daw po ako. ‘Bakit po naman, ‘Besa?’
naggitgitan, nagtulakan. Nanghataw ng batuta ang Tanong ko po uli, ‘malakas pa po naman ako, a’
Nilapitan po niya ako. Nakiusap pa po ako sa kanya,
ngunit ako po’y… Ay! Tinungkod po niya ako ng “Napatay mo pala ang kabesa,” anang malaking
tinungkod nang tinungkod.” lalaking hepe. Lumapit ito kay Tata Selo na

“Tinaga mo na no’n,” anag nakamatyag na hepe. Nakayuko at di pa natitinag sa upuan.

Tahimik sa tanggapan ng alkalde. Lahat ng tingin— “Binabawi po niya ang aking saka.” Katwiran ni Tata
may mga eskribante pang nakapasok doon—ay Selo. Sinapo ng hepe si Tata Selo. Sa lapag halos
nakatuon kay Tata Selo. Nakayuko si Tata Selo at mangudngod si Tata Selo.
gagalaw-galaw ang tila mamad na daliri sa ibabaw ng
maruming kutod. Sa pagkakatapak sa makintab na “Tinungkod po niya ako ng tinungkod,” nakatingala,
sahig, hindi mapalagay ang kanyang may putik, umiiyak at kumikinig ang labing katwiran ni Tata Selo.
maalikabok at luyang paa.
Itinayo ng hepe si Tata Selo. Kinadyot ng hepe si Tata
“Ang iyong anak, na kina Kabesa raw?” usisa ng Selo sa sikmura. Sa sahig napaluhod si
alkalde.
Tata Selo, nakakapit sa uniporment kaki ng hepe.
Hindi sumagot si Tata Selo.
“Tinungkod po niya ako ng tinungkod… Ay!
“Tinatanong ka anang hepe.” Tinungkod po niya ako ng tinungkod ng tinungkod…”

Lumunok si Tata Selo. Sa may pinto ng tanggapan, naaawang nakatingin

ang dalawang pulis.
“Umuwi na po si Saling, Presidente.”
“Si Kabesa kasi ang nagrekomenda kay Tsip, e,”
“Kailan?” sinabi ng isa nang si Tata Selo ay tila damit na
nalaglag sa pagkakasabit nang muling pagmalupitan
“Kamakalawa po ng umaga.” ng hepe.

“Di ba’t kinakatulong siya ro’n?” Mapula ang sumikat na araw kinabukasan. Sa
bakuran ng munisipyo nagkalat ang papel na naiwan
“Tatlong buwan na po.” nang nagdaang araw. Hindi pa namamatay ang
alikabok, gayong sa pagdating ng buwang iyo’y dapat
“Bakit siya umuwi?” nang nag-uuulan. Kung may humihihip na hangin,
may mumunting ipu-ipong nagkakalat ng mga papel
Dahan-dahang umangat ang mukha ni Tata Selo. sa itaas.
Naiiyak na napayuko siya.
“Dadalhin ka siguro sa kabesera, Selo,” anang
“May sakit po siya.” bagong paligo at bagong bihis na alkalde sa
matandang nasa loob ng istaked. “Don ka suguro
Nang sumapit ang alas-dose—inihudyat iyon ng ikukulong.”
sunod-sunod na pagtugtog ng kampana sa simbahan
na katapat lamang ng munisipyo—ay umalis ang Wala ni papag sa loob ng istaked at sa maruming
alkalde upang mananghalian. Naiwan si Tata Selo, sementadong lapag nakasalampak si Tata Selo. Sa
kasama ang hepe at dalawang pulis. paligid niya’y natutuyong tamak-tamak na tubig.
Naka-unat ang kanyang maiitim at hinahalas na paa
at nakatukod ang kanyang tila walang butong mga
kamay. Nakakiling, naka-sandal siya sa steel matting
na siyang panlikurang dingding ng istaked. Sa malapit
sa kanyang kamay, hindi na gagalaw ang sartin ng
maiitim na kape at isang losang kanin. Nilalangaw
iyon.
“Habang-buhay siguro ang ibibigay sa iyo,” patuloy
ng alkalde. Nagsindi ito ng tabako at lumapit sa
istaked. Makintab ang sapatos ng alkalde.
“Patayin na rin ninyo ako, Presidente.” Paos at
bahagya nang narinig si Tata Selo. Napatay ko po ang
Kabesa. Patayin na rin ninyo po ako.”
Takot humipo sa maalikabok na rehas ang alkalde.
Hindi niya nahipo ang rehas ngunit pinagkiskis niya
ng mga palad at tiningnan niya kung may alikabok
iyon. Nang tingnan niya si Tata Selo, nakita niyang
lalo nang nakiling ito.
May mga tao namang dumarating sa munisipyo.
Kakaunti lang iyon kaysa kahapon. Nakapasok ang
mga iyon sa bakuran ng munisipyo, ngunit may
kasunod na pulis. Kakaunti ang magbubukid sa
bagong langkay na dumating at titingin kay Tata Selo.
Karamihan ay taga-Poblacion. Hanggang noon,
bawat isa’y nagtataka, hindi makapaniwala, gayong
kalat na ang balitang ililibing kinahapunan ang
Kabesa. Nagtataka at hindi makapaniwalang
nakatingin sila kay Tata Selo na tila isang di
pangkaraniwang hayop na itatanghal.
Ang araw, katulad kahapon, ay mainit na naman.
Nang magdadakong alas-dos, dumating ang anak ni
Tata Selo. Pagkakita sa lugmok na ama, mahigpit
itong napahawak sa rehas at malakas na humagulgol.
Nalaman ng alkalde na dumating si Saling at ito’y
ipinatawag sa kanyang tanggapan.
Di-nagtagal at si Tata Selo naman ang ipinakaon.
Dalawang pulis ang umalalay kay Tata Selo. Halos
buhatan siyang dalawang pulis.
Pagdating sa bungad ng tanggapan ay tila saglit na
nagkaroon ng lakad si Tata Selo. Nakita niya ang
babaing nakaupo sa harap ng mesa ng presidente.
Nagyakap ang mag-ama pagkakita.
“Hindi ka na sana naparito Saling,” wika ni Tata Selo
na napaluhod. “May sakit ka, Saling, may sakit ka!”
Tila tulala ang anak ni Tata Selo habang kalong ang
ama. Nakalugay ang walang kintab niyang buhok, ang
damit na suot ay tila yaong suot pa nang nagdaang
araw. Matigas ang kanyang namumulang mukha.
Pinalipat-lipat niya ang tingin mula sa nakaupong
alkalde hanggang sa mga nakatinging pulis.
“Umuwi ka na, Saling” hiling ni Tata Selo. “Bayaan mo
na…bayaan mo na. Umuwi ka na, anak. Huwag,
huwag ka nang magsasabi…”
Tuluyan nang nalungayngay si Tata Selo. Ipinabalik
siya ng alkalde sa istaked. Pagkabalik niya sa istaked,
pinanood na naman siya ng mga tao.
“Kinabog kagabi,” wika ng isang magbubukid.
“Binalutan ng basang sako, hindi ng halata.”
“Ang anak, dumating daw?”
“Naki-mayor.”
Sa isang sulok ng istaked iniupo ng dalawang pulis si
Tata Selo. Napasubsob si Tata Selo pagkaraang siya’y
maiupo. Ngunit nang marinig niyang muling
ipinanakaw ang pintong bakal ng istaked,
humihilahod na ginapang niya ang rehas. Mahigpit
na humawak doon at habang nakadapa’y ilang
sandali ring iyo’y tila huhutukin. Tinawag siya ng mga
pulis ngunit paos siya at malayo na ang mga pulis.
Nakalabas ang kanang kamay sa rehas, bumagsak
ang kanyang mukha sa sementadong lapag. Matagal
siyang nakadapa bago niya narinig na may tila
gumigising sa kanya.
“Tata Selo…Tata Selo…”
Umangat ang mukha ni Tata Selo. Inaninaw ng mga
luha niyang mata ang tumatawag sa kanya.
Iyon ang batang dumalaw sa kanya kahapon.

Hinawakan ng bata ang kamay ni Tata Selo na

umabot sa kanya.

“Nando’n amang si Saling sa Presidente,” wika ni

Tata Selo. “Yayain mo nang umuwi, umuwi na kayo.”
Muling bumagsak ang kanyang mukha sa lapag. Ang
bata’y saglit na nag-paulik-ulik, pagkaraa’y takot at
bantulot nang sumunod…

Mag-iikaapat na ng hapon. Padahilig na ang sikat ng

araw, ngunit mainit pa rin iyon. May kapiraso nang
lihin sa istaked, sa may dingding na steel matting,
ngunit si Tata Selo’y wala roon. Nasa init siya,
nakakapit sa rehas sa dakong harapan ng istaked.
Nakatingin siya sa labas, sa kanyang malalabo at tila
lagi nang nag-aaninaw na mata’y tumatama ang
mapulang sikat ng araw. Sa labas ng istaked,
nakasandig sa rehas ang batang Inutusan niya
kanina. Sinabi ng bata na ayaw siyang papasukin sa
tanggapan ng alkalde ngunit hindi siya pinakinggan ni
Tata Selo, na ngayo’y hindi pagbawi ng saka ang
sinasabi.

Habang nakakapit sa rehas at nakatingin sa labas,

sinasabi niyang lahat ay kinuha na sa kanila, lahat, ay!
Ang lahat ay kinuha na sa kanila…