Alona’s Quest for the Golden Tree

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Alona’s Quest for the Golden Tree

Chapter 8: The Map

THERE WERE MANY things that were strange in the world. The weather was one of them.

When I woke up the next morning, there was nothing but a hint of slight drizzle in the morning. It went away so soon I never paid it too much attention.

Apart from feeling a bit squashed, some muscles aching here and there, I had a particularly good and recharging sleep. I woke up happy and content. Stretching luxuriously in front of the window, I paid my tribute to the morning sun. There was a certain chill in the air; exotic, sweet, and tangy. It smelled of fresh grasses and chicken’s manure. There were whiffs of zesty citrus scents from kalamansi plant and sweet fragrances from sampaguita flowers.

The sun had not fully risen yet. In all appearances, it was still very early. But the morning in our house started at the crack of dawn. As soon as the first rooster started crowing, my mother was up and ready. My brothers, who worked the barotos early, woke up with her.

If she was your mother, you would be up and ready in no time, too.
Immune to my mother’s companion-less talk, I usually slept in. I was always the last one up. Today was no exception.

I stretched and stifled a lazy yawn.

Skipping to the table, I opened the plate that covered my breakfast excitedly. What, moments ago, was a bouncing smile turned into a grimace. Inside was a solitary pan de sal, a cup of rice and two dried fishes. It looked thoroughly forlorn and pathetic.

“Nay, where’s my breakfast?” I demanded.

“It’s right in front of you,” my mother retorted.

Her voice was chipped and stern.

Nanay emerged from underneath the family cabinet, holding an ancient looking dress in one hand. Straightening up, she put it on. It looked like a dress she owned back when she was younger and alarmingly plump. What used to be a pretty dress, albeit old-fashioned, now hung at her like an overgrown duster.

“Isn’t there anything else?”

“No, there isn’t,” Nanay replied flatly. She was brushing her hair deliberately. Beside her was a face powder she rarely opened, waiting to be used.

I made a face, disliking the pitiful breakfast with all my heart.

“Don’t be squeamish,” said Nanay, in a rather annoyed voice. “What did you expect? Litson? Where do you think we could get that?”

She made a sound that sounded like an impatient snort.

“Don’t turn your nose up at the food,” she said, scowling. “Continue doing that and you’ll be chasing the little food that we have right now away. Let’s see what you would say if you had to go to school in an empty stomach.”

I rolled my eyes.

Getting a mug from the table, I made my coffee. That was Kapeng Barako, a present from Manang Gelai’s daughter. I didn’t really like the bitter coffee, too strong for my taste. But I had no choice.

Sitting mutinously, I attacked the pitiful breakfast and grumbled.

Nanay applied two swipes of lipstick, checking her reflection against the mirror propped on the windowsill.

“Are you going somewhere, Nay?”

If I hadn’t been harboring ill feelings toward my miserly food, I might have noticed it sooner. Nanay usually stayed at home. She had no need for pretty dresses or face powders or red lipstick.

“I’m going to town,” she informed me simply.

The town was one baroto ride away from our village.

I nodded.

 “When will you be back?”

“By mid-afternoon,” she said, brow furrowing as she thought. “It might last me a day. I’ll be sure to be here by mid-afternoon.”

She looked ready to go, having snapped her big shoulder bag closed. But, she hesitated in stepping out.

“There’s more than enough hot water. Don’t forget to pour hot water on your bath,” she said.

I nodded.

“And make sure to use only enough shampoo. Don’t play with it. That’s such a waste.”

I pouted.

Nay looked at her wristwatch, with the expression of someone that needed to get going. Yet, she still would not move.

“Nay,” I said, sipping my coffee like a dignified grown-up. “I’m going to be fine. I’m a big girl now, you know.”

She chuckled, disbelieving.

“Somehow, I had a bad feeling about this. I have half a mind to just cancel altogether. I shouldn’t have said that I will go. I just can’t say no to Kumareng Sela, after she had talked to her bosses about me and all.” 

She faced me.

“Are you absolutely sure you’re going to be fine?”

“Absolutely, Nay,” I assured her. “It’s not like I get into accidents every other day.”

Nanay had to laugh at that.

With never-ending instructions that could rival a last will and testament, she left.

I FELT a glorious sense of release when Nanay went out. It was a rare treat, to be all alone. I reveled at the feeling, at least until the blistering hot water burned my skin as I accidentally knocked it over when I was taking out the kettle.

All in all, I had an immensely satisfying bath. I did lather on a generous amount of shampoo, singing a happy song whose lyrics I remembered only just.

An hour into my freedom, I had to admit that the fun was starting to wear off. With everyone gone, the house felt strangely hollow and quiet. Despite my insistence that I was a rather big girl, I couldn’t help but feel a bit frightened when I realized that I was completely alone.

Except for Negrita. But that dog, though she looked menacing, was a coward deep inside. There was no consolation there.

Used to having a mother that always prepared my clothes, I was not acquainted to having to know where my every article of clothing was. Thus, with one yellow sock on one foot, I kneeled down and pulled open the cabinet to find its pair.

In its wake, several other things were knocked aside. Nanay’s chest was among them. In her hurry, Nanay probably had not been able to close it properly. It laid halfway open.

This was Nanay’s treasure chest. Everything that she held dear, she put it here. I reached out. Instead of closing it properly, I pushed the chest open. I was much too curious. 

I felt a sense of exhilaration. It felt so mysterious and so curious. I had to wait because my heart was skipping a beat.

WHEN I OPENED the chest, I felt a definite sense of anti-climax.

There were no interesting stuff there; only a handful of dresses folded neatly and tucked into a corner, and some pictures. I ignored the dresses, I had no interest in them. However, I picked up the pictures.

Yellowed with age, it was the picture of Nanay’s family. It felt weird to see Nanay so young. I always think of her as the mother. It was difficult to imagine that Nanay had been a young girl, too.

There was a picture of Kuya Habagat and Kuya Maliksi when they were significantly younger. I was the baby cradled in Nanay’s arm. Tatay stood in the corner, unsmiling. The background was a cage of an animal with impossibly long necks, giraffes.

I peered at our faces. It looked so different. Everyone looked so much younger. Nanay was youthful, and a whole lot less lined. The man beside her was young too. He had thick eyebrows and sharp eyes, one that looked like it had the ability to cut through stone. These were the eyes that I alone of the three children inherited.

“So, this is how he looked like,” I whispered.

It had been so long since I had seen Tatay. I was starting to forget how he looked like.

As I thumbed through all the pictures, something heavy and glinting fell down. It was a necklace, with a vintage watch as a pendant. The clock had stopped. Yet, it did not diminish the beauty of the necklace one bit.

I picked it up, awed by its old-world glamour. I didn’t know Nay owned such treasure. Unable to restrain myself, I put it on.

Positioning myself in front of the mirror, I twirled and admired my reflection.
There was a button at the top of the pendant. When I pushed it open, I saw two miniature pictures facing each other tucked safely inside its little compartments. There was a yellowed picture of a young woman; midnight black hair bushy, eyes clear and level, and nose a perfect little one. I always thought I looked like my mother. Apparently, I was wrong. I was the spitting image of my Lola, I realized.

On the other leaf was Lolo, awkward in his fixed smile and silly fedora hat, but an enjoyable sight all the same because of his beaming smile.

Personally, I never knew either of them, having had no chance to be with them. They died before I was even conceived. All I knew of them, I learned from Nanay’s stories. And she liked to tell lots of stories.

Lolo was generally uneducated. He wouldn’t know how to read and write to save himself. However, he was very resourceful and hardworking. He transformed useless lands into bountiful and rich farmlands. He had the legendary green thumb. Under his care and supervision, crops and plants flourished. He woke up at the crack of dawn to tend to his lands. He was also the last farmer to leave the fields. Soon, he had lands that went as far as anyone can see, which were quite a vast amount of lands I reckon, and the owner of rice fields full of dancing golden stalks.

Through it all, he remained modest and humble, fulfilling his healthy need for boasting only during moments of tuba overload, which was far and few between. 

Lolo did not live miserly. Nanay had a surplus of stories about new dresses during every significant occasion, of ability to buy anything she desired, of getting whatever she wanted. She lived in abundance and prosperity, like a little princess.

Until she met Tatay.

For a while, there was a nasty rumor that Lolo’s riches came from the infamous Yamashita treasure. The treasure was buried at his field, the field that he so lovingly tended and cared for.

It was so ridiculous that Lolo never dignify it with an answer.

But, he lived during a very tricky time. It was the Martial Law. President Marcos’ dictatorial regime was bound to upset the life of these simple people, never to be righted again.

Lolo met his end at the exact same field that he loved too much. 

Being the wealthiest in the place, he got embroiled in the brutal politics of the day. The turbulent time birthed several revolutionaries that fought against the dictatorship. The mountains, once scenic and secure, crawled with NPA’s and rebels with a cause. Or so they claimed. They carried long rifles and guns, scaring the hell out of local people. Following in the wake of the insurgents were the militaries. They invaded the place, setting camps beside the mountains, rounding the rebels.

There were gun fires. And deaths.

Sometimes, my Nanay would tell us, the mountain shook with the thundering of arms. Then, mangled bodies will float down the river the next day.

Lolo protected his family with his wealth. He tried to remain neutral, and had given help to both parties. By secretly supporting the NPA’s, he ensured that the insurgents will not touch his family. By secretly supporting the military, he ensured that the soldiers will not touch his family, too. This double-cross did not remain unnoticed.

He paid for these with his life. Up until this day, Nanay never knew whose guns shot the fatal shot, the rebels or the military.

Without him, the farm withered. Lola, crazed with grief, followed him to the grave shortly thereafter. Nanay and her siblings, for reasons best known to themselves, proceeded to sell most of the lands. The money, obviously, never lasted that long.

“So,” I said, tracing the vintage faces, “we’ve met. Hello.”

All thoughts of the missing sock forgotten, I caressed the necklace admiringly. It was with a heavy heart that I took it off. I made a mental note to ask my mother to borrow it sometimes once she got back.

As I replaced the necklace back to its position, I noticed a piece of paper protruding from underneath it. I tugged. It barely moved. I tugged again, and ripped it successfully. Which was not my intention at all. Cursing myself silently for my clumsiness, I let go. The piece that came away fluttered feebly and landed on top of the wooden chest.

Kneeling down, I looked at the body of the paper I ripped. I realized that the difficulty in getting it was owed to the fact that the paper was tucked so securely at the innermost compartment of the trunk. It looked like it was deliberately hidden away. 

Like a stubborn puzzle that I just couldn’t let go without solving, I took all the contents of the trunk and persevered to obtain the puzzling piece of paper.
I gasped when I unfolded it.

It was, like everything that was in this chest, yellow and brittle. I handled the frail pages carefully, holding my breath. I was becoming more aware that what I was holding was no mere document. 

And I was right.

It was a map. Every springs, mountains, and rivers were etched. Streets and roads were drawn. Here and there were little dots and x’s. Whatever it was marking, it looked curious. It looked like a great glowing huge tree. The map did not contain any other names or titles whatsoever, almost as if the owner had no need for it. 

Still gasping, I tucked the document back into its secret compartment.

The document added another question to the mounting list of questions I wanted to ask Nanay. When she got back, I’d ask whether Lolo, by any chance, knew anything about the Golden Tree, too.

(c) 2016, Herbel Santiago

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