Barrio Tales and Other Stories

Barrio

Ordinary People



Here I am back, talking about my townsfolk, my story telling is getting slower each day, other interests are preoccupying me. I am saddened by the turn of world events, more saddened by the same old tales in my country - tales about politicians and military and whoever makes news - whew, yeah, lots of you would probably say the same - Whew!

Strength is what I wish for our nation. Like the strength of the acacia and the narra trees that inspire me everyday. The quiet journey of my life began with the trees. They were the ones I first recognized when reason entered my mind. I hope they'd be the last I'd recognize when reason leaves my mind.

I'm gonna talk about wars.

There were wars in my town too. Little stupid wars. Like the war I am about to tell you. The war between two women.

One day, in the quiet morning, while the cocks were just clearing their throats for another series of tok-to-ko-koks, while the golden rays of the sun were just about to bless the soil, Maria and Segundina pierced the morning's tranquility by their screams and cusses against each other.

We knew these two women would clash soon anyways because they had severe personality conflicts.

Maria shouted at Segundina, "You are just as commoner-looking as Nora, as small and as bad as her."

Segundina screamed back, "And you are just as immature and try-hard as Vilma."

Segundina, bless her heart, believed with all her heart that Nora was the ultimate star of the Philippines. Maria, who happened to be a friend of Tony Santos Sr., insisted that Vilma must be the idol of every Kapampangan.

No one else in my town was bothered this intensely about Nora and Vilma besides them.

Because they were the only two families in my barrio that had television sets.

Ergo, Maria and Segundina families were the only ones who could watch the shows of the famous Nora and Vilma. So I don't need to tell you further they were the two wealthiest families in my barrio - (by virtue of owning TVs). Also, Segundina owned the town's biggest grocery store where we bought in cash or on credit everything we needed in our daily lives. Maria owned the biggest poultry and hog business in this side of my town which employed almost half of the working population.

In fact, I used to climb trees so that I could peer through the window of Segundina to watch TV's Nora's Superstar ( and we were quite a few perched up on top of trees watching Superstar); and then I used to sit on top of picket fence of Maria to watch through her TV Vilma's show, the one with "I love you Lucky" in the end. Of course there was Alma Moreno too but I would not get into that since I only have a few minutes to write this damn tale.

Then there was "Lipad, Darna Lipad" and I thought Vilma could fly; and there was "SuperGee" and I thought Nora was a motorcycle Mama. Nora and Vilma, Vilma and Nora. They were a far cry from the days of Divina Valencia and Stella Suarez( Divina Vaaaaaalencia -- nagbobomba! Stella Suareeeeeez -- nugbuburles!) or the days of Sampaguita stars.

But I would dwell on that later.

Maria and Segundina ( as I was saying) surprised the whole barrio that morning when they started calling each other names that I would not dare repeat in my very decent story. Hearing them, my mother beamed, saying, "Oh my goodness, even the rich quarrel!" She thought the poor like her and my father were the only ones entitled to quarreling. And my parents were virtually the soap opera stars in my barrio when it came to quarreling. The moment my father finishes his one bottle of beer and my mother finishes throwing away the supper's left-overs, they would resume the quarrel which they had left off the previous night while the rest of the barrio, our neighbors would sit quietly listening to every detail, of every dirt, of every activity our family went through presented with dramatic flair. My father would win the Academy anytime for his dialogues such as "I'm trying hard to give the best for this family but how much more a poor man like me can dooooooo? I am tired, so, so, so, very very very tired of giving my all for this family!" And then mother would retort, "And you can kiss my ass - you were given the opportunity to work abroad but you refused because you want to stay in the same dank ofice you work in for a pittance of salary - What keeps you in that office? A girlfriend? A querida?" And there you go, that is why I am a story teller today. My parents were basically the masters of creative writing, creative discourse, creative debate. I didn't need to go to school to learn how to create a story or a situation. My parents taught me how to create those things naturally.

So Maria and Segundina became tigresses that day, and because I am a very decent writer, I would try to avoid telling you how these two women fought. I would not tell you how Maria grabbed the long black hair of Segundina and tried to smash it against the tree. I would not tell you how Segundina scratched the face of Maria until it bled. I would not tell you how they rolled on the ground, scratching, punching, slapping - I won't tell you all that, it is so indecent to tell you how our women fought. They wouldn't back down and their goal was the fantasy of every man (real man) in my barrio. While fighting, our women would strip their counterparts of clothing as much as they could. I don't know why our women did it but my mother told me, "during the Japanese Times (for she always attributes everything bad in the Philippines to the Japanese Times), the Japanese would strip a Filipina of her dignity by raping her then showing her naked in public. From that time on, Filipinos adapted public stripping as a means of humiliating the enemy". So there - my mother was shown naked in public during the Japanese Times. I was so sorry for her until I learned Mathematics and counted her age to be four years old when she was shown naked in public. And to learn she was naked because her parents had no money to buy her clothes during the Japanese Times... But the way she sounded....as if.....Well, but let me get back to my story.

The war between these two women took an ugly turn - fights like these, the Filipino way, always take ugly turns. You know how we Filipinos take things personally.(I remember my grandaunt who one day was snubbed by her boyfriend and she never talked to him again. She decided to become a spinster for the rest of her life. That's how intense she personalized that little snubbery). Maria and Segundina were no different.

First, it was a question of loyalty. The only ones who were allowed to watch the television of Segundina must declare before the public they were Vilmanians. And the same was true for Maria's Noranians.

This had divided the town. My family had no choice but turn Vilmanian because we must have access to Segundina's grocery store. We could not afford to lose our credit which would kill us of starvation if we did. But it also meant that we could no longer have access to the meat sold by Maria. I was also prevented by Noranians to climb and sit on trees to watch Superstar.

The war became worse and worse each passing day. The two women's division divided the whole town and suddenly neighbors that used to share salt and other ingredients with each others were no more in speaking terms. Suddenly we had to give "The Look" to our enemies. What is The Look you might ask. It is that special sharp and angry and very mean look. You stare at your enemy as your paths cross on the street. You just look at each other, no words, no clearing of throats, no hellos or goodbyes - all you do is to slant your eyes a little bit, stare diagonally (or at the corner of one eye) and raise one eyebrow, you never bow your head, you never stop The Look, you never look at anything else...you just give your enemy The Look.

So my town just stared at each others that way. One day, I gave Romeo, a Noranian, The Look. And because I focused my eyes solely on him, I stepped on a dog's foot. Well, the dog gave me The Look and The Bite as well. I gave up The Look instantly and embraced The Moan.

This war between the two women would spread in all aspects of our lives. People started destroying each other's property, Segundina's store was vandalized more than a dozen times, Maria lost lots of pigs and chickens through "night robberies"; the rest of the town failed to go on with their normal lives, worried and curious about the next move of the two ladies. The ladies were the only topics of conversation as if there was nothing else worth talking about in our small town.

This war would eventually eat the flesh of our world. The businesses of the two women would collapse and farmers would no longer have credit in any store. Jobs would disappear because there is no more hog-raising and poultry jobs available, and the townfolk started leaving town in search of livelihood somewhere.

These two women would live miserably, trying to wreak havoc to each other until the day they died.

All because of Nora and Vilma.

When I see the stupid quarrels among our politicians and military people and technocrats and church leaders and inteligensia and educators and commentators because of stupid accusations and counter-accusations, and as I watch how the ordinary Filipino gets so carried away to the degrees of forgeting the normal flow of his livelihood, I remember the death of Maria and Segundina and my town.

Years from now you'd see how ordinary our most talked-about personalities and their quarrels are, how insipid the rumors of coups and counter-coups are, how stupid it was to even pay attention to the dramatics of politicians who seemed to have gone into politics so they could pester us with their lines of who-did-what-I-didn't-do-it-my-fart-smells-better-than-theirs-my pee-runs-taller-than-theirs kind-a shit . Why do we even pay attention?

They are all as ordinary as you and I.

But unlike them ordinary people, I have so many hopes for myself and my country I have no time for them.

I left my town since long long time ago. I could not stand losing opportunities caused by stupidity.

Alex Maskara

Barrio Tales