Barrio Stories and Other Tales

Barrio

Woodcutter



In my town, there's always the 'official one'. Official emcee, official joker, official holy man, official midwife, official beauty queen, name the category and there sure is somebody who carries the official title to that.

I for one aspires to become the official storyteller but I must be able to tell a thousand and one tales before I can lay claim to that and at my rate, I may as well be a very old man before I can achieve my goal; it's not easy, there's a lot of competition in my town, but I am not talking about my quest or dream to my officialdom here, I'd like to talk about Tembong, our town's official woodcutter.

Tembong was so named because his mother was Apung Lembong . I don't know - but Apung Lembong had this taste for names ending in bong, like, Tembong, Bembong, Bongbong, Kembong, and that's how her children were named but I won't go into details here, I want to limit my story to Tembong himself, I might get carried away and start talking about naming children in my town, for example Ating Puring named all her children after medicines - Tylenol, Coricidin-D, Rifampicin - I am not making this up! Tyle, Cory and Rifa are my best childhood friends - I am really pissed off now, I'm getting off the straight and narrow path of story telling.

But you get my drift I hope. When I close my eyes here in America I don't imagine Miami's roads or buildings or even South Beach no matter how sexy and beautiful its people are. When I close my eyes I remember the people I grew up with, I remember events and places in my little town. I see the morning sun rising up in the cemetery behind our house and how my parents would get us into the fishponds behind the cemetery, and stand facing the sun, they said doing that is a cure for asthma; then when I got boils they'd let the dog lick me, saying the dog's saliva cures skin infection; I remember so many things, like the rising of the dust in the air when I swept the road in front of the house to clear it of garbage, how Father would create bonfire out of garbage and dried leaves to smoke mango trees. How in summer we climbed guava trees.

But I always remember Tembong.

He walked as manly as they come, his stride exuded that country-boy look, he was the town's official woodcutter. His body was the epitome of strength, mothers reminded their children to become like Tembong- "Good looking Tembong didn't get those big muscles by laying on the mat forever", they said, " He goes from backyard to backyard, from sun-up to sun-down, trimming trees, gathering the cut branches, spreading them under the sun and after a few days returning to convert them all into firewood. If you'd be as industrious as Tembong, you will grow up to be as good-looking as him."

Firewood in our town was a staple like rice, I had never used a mechanical stove until the arrival of cusinilla, the one you pump with kerosene, I hated it because it could always explode into big flame if over-pumped. Most of my childhood we cooked meals using stove out of clay, rice and ulam were always cooked in casseroles made of clay, hardened clay, the one strong clay dug up in Bulacan or Laguna. At times, especially when fiesta came, I made stove out of three hollow-blocks - it was always easy to make an instant stove out of the earth, but what was really important was the firewood. And firewood was abundant then, woodcutting and firewood making was a decent profession and Tembong was the official one in our town.

Fathers reminded their boys to be like Tembong. "Watch him work", they said, "and you'd never see a better consistency and concentration at work, his intensity can only be matched by the focus of farmers planting rice during the planting season, yet he has no season, the trees are his life, they are always waiting for him to be trimmed every season."

Life was easy for us in my town, we lived simple lives, celebrated at proper times and venues, mourned at appropriate occasions, planted at proper times, harvested at proper times. Produce were sold in Guagua marketplace - peanuts, watermelons, corn, squash and of course, rice. Extra produce was shared between folk.

One day, Apung Sepya called on Tembong to cut her narra tree. That was big news to us, to trim a tree was normal but to cut it was something we needed to watch and see. The town needed to evaluate such drastic decision. Apung Sepya explained she had a dream last night and the tree spoke to her- the tree wants to rest now, it has lived too many centuries and needs to be replaced - those were the exact words of the old woman. The town thought over it, foremost among them was Tembong who thought that cutting a tree 'just like that' was an affront to nature, to the forefathers who planted the tree, to the history the tree has witnessed and to his profession as the town's official woodcutter.

So we all gathered to hear him speak and since he was the official woodcutter, it was expected of him to explain his position clearly and with opposition from Apung Sepya. Here is where the talent of my town comes from - we are expected to make our ideas clearly verbalized, reasonably thought, extemporaneously expressed, and we must not be afraid to debate until we had convinced the oldest citizen and the youngest child who could think. So we all settled ourselves to listen to the best debate we were about to hear; Apung Sepya remained the undisputed queen of debate in our town, at her age of eighty, she had accumulated through years a wealth of knowledge which were Taj Majal in caliber compared to the Nipa Hut knowledge of our official and very young Tembong. We were excited to witness it.

Apung Sepya started the debate - "Young man Tembong, I'd like you to to cut my narra tree and if you have misgivings about that, speak now."

Tembong adjusted his pants now loose since he forgot to wear his belt. "With due respect Apung Sepya, why would dreams dictate our decisions in cutting our trees; does this imply if you dreamed all our trees saying they're tired we must cut them all?"

Apung Sepya, "Don't exaggerate my dream Tembong, I do not think my personal connection to my tree applies to all trees on earth. Age, (as you will find when you become as old as I am), makes you more acutely aware of dreams, you interpret them more personally, they are the ladder that leads you to the other world. At my age, I find my tree to possess a spirit akin to my human spirit, I become quiet and I listen..."

This intercourse of reason and explanations between Apung Sepya and Tembong lasted in what seemed forever and it would be impossible for me to record the whole damn thing because, well, it is impossible - but this I can tell you, on that day, even the chickens listened. On that day, I looked at my town and I thought it was the most beautiful place on earth. I felt the breeze smelling of fish from the fishponds enveloping me, and I saw the wide wide yellow rice-fields spread around us; it was maybe the month of May because Jessica was calling Mother asking permission to pick gumamela and santan flowers from our garden. Our street was full of woodland and gardens and populated by quiet and contented people who thought life was meant to be born in town and to grow in town and to die in town. And we had simple concerns and happiness. I was excited about the arrival of the fair, could not sleep anticipating the next amateur singing contest... and I saw Apung Asya selling pork on the same table and on the same chair listening intently to the debate and smiling; and I saw Apung Gundang praying the rosary to rid our town of evil spirits; and I saw Apung Gari smoking her marcangungot brand of cigarette as she spread her salted tilapias under the sun to dry...and I saw the wide expanse of sky.

On that day,

I remember clearly how Tembong came home in high spirits because for the first time, for the first time, he convinced the old woman to admit the defect of her reasoning. Dreams, Tembong concluded, cannot lead us. We must consider objectivity and science in our decisions.

He mesmerized us, the listeners, with his vision for our town. "I envision our town to remain this peaceful and contented until the day I die Apung Sepya. I want to succeed as a woodcutter and for that I would like our trees to keep growing and multiplying. It is scientifically proven that trees keep floods away, give us shelter, food, keep the air clean, keep our animals well-fed. Trees even keep birds flying above us. But we've already known this long before science has proved it to us. More trees in our backyards, more fish in our rivers and fishponds, more gardens to sooth our eyes will keep us together for the rest of our lives; will enable us to provide all our needs for eternity. If we start cutting our trees today, we will create a domino effect that will damage this little town, and I hate to hand to my children a damaged town. Apung Sepya, I promise to provide you all the firewood you need as long as you promise not to cut your narra tree. I promise you that I will educate my children in the science of agriculture so they can prolong the bountiful life of your tree.

"I have grown already and I have seen the beauty of life in this town. The secret of our happiness is the company of trees; these are the ones delivering the energy, the intellect, the health, the reason in our lives. And their message is simple, Simplicity - simplicity is all that matters on this town. Simple existence, like that of a tree's, is the root of all success. Look at our town and this is all we see - simplicity. Simple houses, simple farmers and people, simple dreams, simple thoughts, simple wants and needs. That is all I care about Apung Sepya, the simple things in life. The trees, the forest, the river, the things we plant, the cradle, the youth, the love-making, the children, the grave, these are the only things we need. I don't want any fame, I don't want any applause, I don't need any admiration. Like our trees, all I need is what the earth provides. And when I am ready to go, I will go. Just like your narra tree Apung Sepya. When its time to go, it will do so without getting help from my axe."

Apung Sepya bowed her head and whispered, "So be it Tembong...so be it."

And I stared at my town then and felt the winds of May, and I saw flowers being cut and trees bearing fruits, and I picked up vegetables from the plants and fruits from the trees. I was very contented, very very happy.

.......Twenty years later, half of my town went abroad to work and those that were left like Tembong retreated to the mountains in search of livelihood because all the trees in town were cut by illegal loggers. One day, Tembong was found dead of emaciation, his children were scattered to relatives and friends and they grew up criminals and drug addicts. The narra tree of Apung Sepya has long been cut by loggers who thought it prudent to cut it in the name of development.......

Alex Maskara

Barrio Tales