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Alona’s Quest for the Golden Tree
Chapter 26: A Miracle
IT WAS a miracle, I thought, remembering. That’s what happened.
The fever that started climbing while I was in the mountain peaked and became a full-blown flu. For one week, I was confined to bed. I drifted from consciousness to unconsciousness.Â
On the ninth day, I woke up feeling parched. The fever had deserted me. Still, I was as weak as a kitten.
“Nay,” I croaked.
Nanay was sleeping. She had her arms folded in front of her, and the chair was pulled up beside the wooden bed. She had slept sitting down.
“Nay?”
“Oh,” she said, groggily. “You’re awake.”
She jerked up, feeling my neck and forehead. “You’re okay now, thank God!”
I blinked.
“Do you feel hurt? Dizzy?”
I shook my head. The world moved for a while.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“Thirsty,” I replied.
She went to fetch a glass of water.
On top of the dining table, there was a basket of fruits. There were chocolates, too.
“Do you want to eat chocolates?” asked Nanay, following my gaze.
“Chocolates,” I mimicked absent-mindedly. “Why do we have chocolates?”
To my utter surprise, Nanay grinned down on me.
“It was because of you, my baby,” she answered. “It was because of you.”
That was cryptic. I did not understand that.
I remembered being a bad daughter for putting her in such a fright, for not following her orders, for putting myself in front of danger. I did not deserve to be grinned down at.Â
But Nanay kept grinning.
Did she finally really lost it because of me? I wanted to wail.
She got up. When she came back, she was bearing a letter. She gave it to me, wearing an odd expression. There was a piece of paper with Php20,000xxx written on top of it. There was a bank imprinted on the paper and a signature.
I had no idea what it meant.
The second piece of paper was more straightforward.
It said:
Alona,Â
In kindness lies the Golden Tree.
Don Juan.
I had no idea what it meant either.
But Nanay was hugging me.
“My good, great daughter. You who never hesitates to help, to save a stranger. I’m proud of you,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving your brother. Thank you for saving your family.”
I blinked.
“Is Kuya Habagat okay?”
“He’s having the operation right now,” Nanay answered. “He’s going to be okay.”
I didn’t know what I did exactly. However, that was very good news.
“You’re okay. Your brother’s okay. We’re okay. Thank God,” whispered Nanay.
Indeed, it was a miracle.
KUYA MALIKSI joined me as I waited for the baroto that bore Kuya Habagat and Nanay.
“Is your brother coming home today?” shouted one of the women drying fishes by the seashore.
“Opo,” I answered.
“Aba, that’s good! Come by the house. I’ll give you some freshly caught fishes for the celebration.”
We nodded in acknowledgement.
The fishing village was bustling with activities, activities that one had to look closely in order to appreciate and to understand. Our island was cut away from civilization. Like any other great civilization, it had complicated and interesting stories to tell.
As we looked on, the reflection of the orangey rays of the sun bounced off the blueness of the sea. The scent of the ocean was strong: familiar and intoxicating.
Yet, it had depths. It had its dangers.
But, it was still beautiful.
Kuya Habagat and Nanay was coming closer to the shoreline now. Kuya Habagat was thinner, weaker. But there was a glow in his cheeks, a sign that he had had enough rest. Nanay, for the first time in years, was smiling freely. She looked beautiful, too.
They were happy, grinning and waving.
I grinned, too.
(c) 2016, Herbel Santiago