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Alona’s Quest for the Golden Tree
Chapter 14: Piko
IT WAS a relief to go out of the house, out of the domestic tension and drama. However, even outside, destruction had made its mark.
The scene that met my eyes was not very pretty. It hit me how devastating yesterday’s storm had been.
Some of the tallest trees had been bowled over, almost losing their dignity in their uprooted state. Some of the houses tilted dangerously sideways, looking like it will topple at the slightest sighs of the winds. Several chickens, their feathers soaking wet, were unable to take themselves off their perch. Many were shivering. Many had died.
Women and children were sweeping their backyards, cleaning leaves and rubbish. Every now and then, someone would sniff and wail. The destruction had reduced their houses to almost nothing. They had to rebuild and fix their house again. True enough, men were busy fixing their broken walls and roofs.
I looked at our house. There was no one to fix it.
Our house looked sad, battered, and forlorn.
Or maybe I just felt sad, looking through misery-colored glasses.
I skirted the giant santol tree that was knocked down by the storm.
“Take a pick!” said a singsong voice.
I looked up.
It was Joseph, my classmate and one of my closest friends. Aside from Ate Rachel, he was the one I always hang around with. Although, I didn’t hang out with the both of them at the same time. For some reason, the two couldn’t get along.
Joseph was clutching two rocks in his hands; round in his right and flat in his left. We were hunting for the perfect pato for our game piko. This was the most common game here. A house-like figure had been drawn on the ground. In order to advance to the next stage of the game, the kid must properly throw the rock at the right figure and made sure not to step on the line as they cross the figures.
In one of my better days, I would consider choosing the right pamato carefully. There was a trick to choosing the best one, that one that will carry you farthest into the game. It should be light enough to follow the slightest direction of the player’s throw and strong enough to defy the manipulation of the wind. That pato should be that special.
At the moment though, I didn’t care much.
“Whatever,” I answered.
“Whatever?” asked Joseph, exasperated. “What kind of an answer is that? The fate of our team depends on this tiny rock. Choose carefully, or bear the awful consequences.”
Did I mention that Joseph could be a bit melodramatic?
“Cut it out,” I said, a bit unkindly. “It’s just a stone.”
Joseph rolled his eyes.
Dusting the bench, making sure it was squeaky clean, he sat down beside me.
“Okay,” he said, a resigned note in his voice. “What is it? Spill it out.”
“What’s what?” I asked, a little defensively.
“That! You’re driving me crazy.”
“I’m not,” I hissed.
“Yeah, you’re not,” he said, sarcastically.
I sighed.
Our friends were starting to draw the game on the ground. The other team had found their stone already, and now eager to play. There was a general air of activity. Here and there, laughter burst out overflowingly.
It was weird, I was listening to all the noises as if I am apart, separate. I even felt annoyed. A storm had rocked our universe, and these kids had the nerve to play?
Maybe, I was being melodramatic, too.
“Hoy,” shook Joseph. “Earth to you!? Are you going to tell me or not?”
I scratched my head.
Joseph was an only child. Her mother worked in Saudi Arabia. His father owned several small boats. Alone in the whole barangay, he was the only one with a yaya. As far as I was concerned, he never lacked anything. I doubt he would really understand.
“If you can find the Golden Tree, would you go look for it?” I asked.
Joseph did not speak for a while.
Then he laughed. Hard. Mockingly.
“What?” I asked, indignant.
“You couldn’t possibly believe in that tosh?” he said, body rocking in silent laughter. “You’re not a kid anymore.”
“Please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m nine.”
“But seriously, the Golden Tree! You know it’s not true!”
I grimaced. At that moment, my greatest desire involved knocking the sarcasm out of his annoying body.
“You don’t know that!” I said.
“But it is!” he insisted. “Have you any proof that it exists?”
“Have you any proof that it doesn’t exist?” I argued hotly.
Joseph shook his head, incredulous.
There was silence.
“Supposing it’s true,” I said again, insistently and stubbornly. “Would you go look for it?”
He looked at me. And roared with laughter.
“Shut up,” I said, irritated. “C’mon, be imaginative. Just imagine for a second it’s really true, would you go look for it?”
Joseph fought to keep his face straight.
“No,” he answered, “I won’t. Does that answer your question?”
My face fell.
“Why not?” I demanded.
“Because,” he answered, rather amused, “it is difficult to find. Why would I bother?”
I made a face.
Right, it was like Joseph to not pursue something that will cause him terrible inconvenience.
“Hey,” waved our friends. “What are you two doing? C’mon! Are we going to play or not?”
Well, I thought, Joseph’s probably right.
“C’mon,” I said, standing up. “Let’s go. They’re looking for us.”
Joseph refused to go.
It took us a bit of persuading before Joseph agreed to get up. Finding the bench unusually comfortable, he refused to get up. I tugged, the lazy bastard refused to go.
In the end, the whole team bounded toward us, glowering. He didn’t have a choice but to get up. We spent the next hour skipping happily and laughing outrageously. Joseph, bless his lazy soul, was the one who laughed the hardest.
(c) 2016, Herbel Santiago