Electricity Comes to Town

The Aklan River Story ©2002 by H.O. Santos; Photo ©2002 by Hector Santos

GERRY was tired. Not so much from his travels as from the seeming emptiness of his existence now that he was no longer young and no longer had the expectations and drive he had when life was all ahead of him. Life had been good but unless he lived to be over a hundred was now mostly in the past. He needed his own special kind of rest and rejuvenation to get himself going again. That was the reason he took this trip to the Philippines—to visit the places and people he knew in his youth before he got too old to make one last pilgrimage.

Until the aerospace industry crashed, he made pretty good money. He enjoyed fine restaurants, visited interesting places in many countries, and didn’t think twice about buying a new book that caught his fancy. Gerry was now making much less than what he did ten years ago. He worked on whatever few freelance projects came his way. Now that he had to be more careful with his insubstantial funds, he took it as a challenge to look for good wine in the bargain bins, hardly traveled anymore, and didn’t make house repairs unless it was absolutely necessary.

His wife had left him a couple of years after he lost his job. She thought he just wasn’t trying hard enough to find another good job. After all the economy was in great shape—surely an engineer would be able to find work if he wanted to. He couldn’t make her understand that companies preferred younger and lesser paid engineers, many of whom only met the minimum requirements for the job.

It would have been understandable had Gerry become bitter but he took the slowdown as an opportunity to rearrange his priorities in life. In the process, he found that there were many things he had wanted to do after he retired that he could start doing now while he was still in his early fifties. He began to read many of the books he had been putting off, did research on the Philippine-American War, and even dabbled in writing. He used to think fifty was old until he saw the idols of his youth still doing rock and roll on stage like they used to.

His lifestyle had been drastically downsized but he learned that eating a couple of one-dollar fish tacos at the neighborhood restaurant frequented by the local Latino community was just as enjoyable as eating a twenty-dollar catch-of-the-day entrée in that pretentious restaurant he once loved. A cold Tecate in a can served with a slice of lime was now more than a match for that Chalone demi-bottle of Chardonnay he used to favor with his seafood lunch.

It had taken him several years to save enough money for this trip but he was enjoying every minute of it. Right now he was on an airplane to Panay Island in the middle of the Philippine archipelago. He had already been to Aparri in Northern Luzon, a place where he worked on a project not long after he first got out of engineering college. He had supervised the installation of an additional electric generator there, making several trips until the generator was put online.

The Aparri he saw on this visit hardly looked like the one he knew from before. It was more crowded and had sprawled far beyond its former boundaries. The dull smell of standing water that collected after the frequent rains had been replaced by the sharp stench of decaying garbage. But he managed to meet one more time some of the people he had known—it was like reliving life a second time. He could barely remember those people but the photographs he had taken earlier helped him find them.

The radio technician who used to hang around the power plant curious to learn about generators was now retired. He had built a successful electronic repair business and his son was now running it. He was pleased to see Gerry again and they shared a pitcher of tuba in the same corner store like they did three decades ago. That breezy gathering place with small bamboo tables on a gravel floor and the thatched palm leaf roof was one of the few things that had changed little over time and Gerry liked that.

The young and lovely daughter of the owner of the hotel where he often stayed and who used to make his heart beat faster now owned a large restaurant that was doing very well. She had since gained a few pounds and had ten children. Family duties and hard work had left her less time to care for herself. She giggled when Gerry showed her a picture from thirty years ago and confessed that he was then quite enamored of her but had been too shy to do anything about it.

The flight attendant’s voice came on the PA system, rousing him from his reverie. She asked everyone to fasten their seat belts. They were now approaching Kalibo, Aklan, and would be landing in a few minutes. The Boeing 737 banked to turn for the airstrip and when it leveled out, Gerry saw the meandering Aklan River below. He remembered his college geology class where they discussed the life of a river and how it changed its shape over geologic time. A meandering shape meant the river was old. He wondered when the river would finally form oxbows, a sign it had grown very old and would soon die.

A man at the Kalibo airport was holding a sign that said, “Gerry Mercader.” Gerry went over and introduced himself.

The man introduced himself in return, “I’m Fr. Antonio, assistant parish priest of Ibajay. Monsignor Abaya, our parish priest, was delighted to get your letter. He said he was in the early grades when electricity first came to Ibajay. He remembered what a thrill it was for him and is only too happy to help you meet again some of the people you are looking for.”

“I’m glad he remembered that day. I was afraid nobody would care. This trip of remembrance means a lot to me and I’m very grateful to you and the Monsignor.”

“Those generators are long gone—we’re now connected to the main power source on this island but they served us well for a long time,” Fr. Antonio said as they walked to his car.

Gerry stowed his suitcases in the trunk of the car. Soon they on their way to Ibajay.

“This road is good, it’s not the way I remember it.”

“The government had to pave it because of all the tourists who go to Boracay. Those of us from Ibajay, naturally, were only so happy that they did,” Fr. Antonio laughed. “Are you planning to visit Boracay? You should, it’s a very nice place.”

“No, I don’t think I have the time.” He didn’t want to tell the priest he had seen better beaches that didn’t have as many tourists. More importantly, he knew he couldn’t afford the atrocious prices they wanted for the rooms in Boracay.

“I hope I’m not intruding on your rectory too much, I only need a small place to sleep,” Gerry said, changing the subject.

“Oh, no,” the jolly priest chuckled. “You’re going first class. You’re staying in the home of a woman who never married. She had it built a few years ago—it has at least six huge bedrooms. Nobody hardly ever stays there but it has a full staff so you’ll be fine. We put up our guests there all the time. She doesn’t mind. Your only problem is you may feel lonely there. She’s only there a few days during the year.”

“What a waste, if I understand what you’re saying.”

“You got it right and I agree. Her parents were killed in a car accident in Europe years ago. She inherited the family fortune all by herself, she had no brothers or sisters. Too bad she doesn’t have any heirs. I don’t know what will become of all her property when she passes on.”

“What a waste,” Gerry said, repeating himself.

“The strange thing is she is so good looking. Still is. I don’t understand why she never married. Some mean spirited people whisper she’s a lesbian. Some say her heart was broken a long time ago. Who knows, people talk and gossip all the time. All I know is that she’s a very good and generous woman. If not for her help, our parish would have a hard time maintaining our social assistance programs.”

The road went up a mountain range but the ride was smooth, quite a change from what Gerry remembered from the past. Gerry took some old pictures out from his bag. He showed one to Fr. Antonio.

“His hair’s gray now but still looks the same. He is Nonoy, our congressman. He now stays in Manila most of the time,” the priest said.

Gerry showed him another.

“I believe that’s Josue, one of our linemen. He got killed in an accident about ten years ago. He was fixing some downed power lines after a typhoon passed through town.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, he was one of the fellows I remember well. He was such a fun guy to be with.”

Gerry felt heavy hearted but he went on to show another picture to Fr. Antonio.

“I don’t know where I’d seen her but I’ve seen that picture before.”

“You couldn’t have, this picture is thirty years old—taken before you were born.”

“It must have been her daughter’s picture that I’d seen then. I just can’t recall who she is at this time.”

“Right, if things run true to form this woman probably has ten children now.”

They were getting close to Ibajay and the sea became visible once more. They passed a whitewashed house on the beach that looked over an angry ocean with thundering waves that came roaring in.

“See that house by the beach? It belongs to the same lady I was telling you about. I don’t understand why she had it built when she hardly ever stays there. She had an older, smaller house there torn down and replaced by what you see.”

They finally reached their destination, a three-story house that seemed too much for that town. As Gerry carried his bags into the living room, he heard somebody playing the sad and languorous Adagio by Albinoni on a piano in another room.

“That music was meant to be played on the organ, not a piano,” Gerry said to no one in particular.

There was an oil portrait of a woman hanging in the living room. She was elegantly beautiful and mature, but her eyes sparkled with the intensity of a young woman. On another wall was a large and tall oil portrait—it showed the full figure of a young woman wearing a green dress. Behind her was the ocean and red-tinged clouds could be seen in the distance. She was attempting to smile but there were tears in her eyes. The striking portrait and the music from the other room belonged together but seemed oddly out of place in that bright and airy home.

IT was thirty years ago when Gerry first saw the Aklan River. He was on a Philippine Airlines Fokker F-27 and about to visit the island of Panay for the first time. He had been hired as a consultant, a fancy term for a short time, albeit well paid, contract worker, by the distributor of a line of German diesel-electric generators to find out why the two sets they had sold to the town of Ibajay through the Rural Electrification Administration, commonly known as REA, didn’t work. The REA engineer in charge of the project had already been there but couldn’t find the problem.

Gerry was a brash young engineer then who thought he knew everything. He didn’t even bother to study or bring the manuals the equipment supplier had given him. He knew there were manuals in the power plant he could use if he needed to. He didn’t want to waste his time reading manuals. All electric generators were basically the same, after all.

He was ambitious and unsatisfied with his status in life. He had been resigned to living a comfortable but average life much like his parents before him until he learned that the United States had recently opened its doors to immigrants, especially to people like himself who had technical backgrounds. He was happy that his application had been approved and was anxiously waiting to save enough money for a plane ticket so he could leave.

At the airport terminal, he didn’t know if he should take a bus or some other means of transportation to Ibajay. Luckily, there were two other young men who were also going there. They suggested sharing a rental car since the next bus to Ibajay may not come by for another few hours.

The rental car could have been illegal for it had no markings. It was at least twenty years old, almost as old as Gerry, but in very good shape. It was an old black Chevrolet that more properly belonged in a museum. It looked new and he wondered how the owner had been able to maintain the vehicle in such a pristine condition. It was roomy inside, clean, and looked comfortable. It unquestionably was much better than the taxicabs in Manila that Gerry was used to.

The road to Ibajay was bumpy and dusty. It wasn’t paved but appeared to have been graded quite well. Instead of gravel and sand, fist-sized stones formed the surface of the road which rose up a mountain before going back down to where it was close to the sea again. It was midafternoon when they got to Ibajay. He bade goodbye to his new friends as they let him off at the house of the man he was supposed to contact.

The house was directly across the street from the left side of the parish church that typically marked the center of just about every town in the Philippines. Gerry couldn’t see the front of the church from where he was.

A bakery filled the entire first floor of the house and sounds of workers busy preparing dough for the next morning’s bread drifted into the street. Rolls were already being baked for the evening customers. Gerry loved the smell of baking bread. He remembered the many small towns he had been to that invariably had better bread than Manila. That had always been one of the mysteries that puzzled him. Manila wouldn’t be such a bad place to live in if only it had bread as good as what they had in the provinces.

Gerry’s contact was one of the owners of the power plant and also the vice‑mayor of the town. The vice-mayor welcomed Gerry into his home and led him up the stairs to the living room on the second floor. He showed Gerry the room they had set aside for him.

As soon as he got settled, Gerry asked the vice-mayor, “When can I go see the power plant?”

“Oh, don’t be in a hurry. We’ll have plenty of time tomorrow.”

Nonoy, as everybody in town called the vice-mayor, introduced him to three people who had come in. They were all employees at the plant.

Tay Ramon was the oldest. He had worked at the sugar mills in Iloilo and was familiar with diesel engines and electric generators. His job was to run and maintain the power plant. At twenty, Josue was the youngest. He was a lineman who had just completed training at the utility company in Bacolod City, an island away from Panay. Ben was the utility man. He took care of the building, helped in equipment repair, drove the jeep, and assisted Josue in working on the power lines.

They talked about everything except about their problem with the generator. That topic would be left for tomorrow. Today, they just wanted to chat. They also wanted to show Gerry around but he begged off. He didn’t feel he should start the fun part of his assignment until after he had done some real work.

After the visitors left, an old lady came into the living room. Gerry heard her ask the vice-mayor in their local language he barely understood, “Isn’t he a little too young for this job?” He didn’t hear the vice-mayor’s reply or perhaps didn’t understand. Gerry was twenty-two but he was slight of build and had a boyish looking face so that some people thought he was only seventeen or eighteen.

The vice-mayor introduced her to Gerry, “This is my mother, everyone calls her Nay Elpidia.” The vice-mayor left them in the living room to attend a meeting at the municipio.

Nay Elpidia gave Gerry a suspicious look and started grilling him about his qualifications. “How old are you?” “Did you go to college?” “Have you done this kind of work before?”

Gerry thought she was being too intrusive but answered her questions patiently and didn’t feel slighted. After all, she was an old woman and he knew many of them behaved strangely at times.

The next morning as Gerry sat in the living room waiting for someone to take him to the power plant, Nay Elpidia came in and eyed him anew.

“Do you think you can fix the problem at the power plant? The government engineer who was older and more experienced than you couldn’t find the problem.”

“I think I can. We’ll fix it before I leave,” he assured her.

At length, Ben came and took him to the plant in a jeep.

After about half an hour, Gerry found the problem. Straightforward and methodical diagnostics showed that the distribution transformer had been improperly wired. The secondaries had been wired in a delta configuration instead of a wye so that the voltage coming out was too low. He had the workers rewire the transformers and after firing up the diesel engines, the street lights of Ibajay shone for the first time in its history.

It was still early in the morning so he spent some time teaching the employees how to bring a motor-generator set to its correct frequency. He also showed them how to synchronize and bring the second generator online when the first generator started getting near its maximum rated capacity. The instruments they had at the plant were simple and unsophisticated, but they were of proven technology and at the appropriate level for the simple needs of the town at that time.

While they were working, a man came to deliver a bottle of tuba at the power plant for Gerry. He had casually asked the day before whether they had tuba in the island just like in Luzon. One of the guys had thoughtfully ordered for a bottle from one of the outlying barrios to be brought in. Gerry thought it was too early for a drink but he drank a glass of the fermented coconut sap and shared the rest of the bottle with the others. He knew it would turn into vinegar if they waited too long.

When Gerry returned to the vice-mayor’s home for lunch, he saw Nay Elpidia outside the house looking at the burning street lights that were almost unnoticeable under the midday sun. He had told the people at the plant to keep the engines running for a few hours to test them and break them in at the same time.

“How did you fix it right away?” she asked.

“It wasn’t hard to find,” Gerry said. “I was lucky.”

“I’m very happy. I had promised the people we would have lights at the cemetery in time for All Saint’s Day next month. I’m glad I can keep my important promise.”

Gerry smiled at the thought of how simple folk made silly promises for things they had no control over. And yet, it didn’t take much to make them happy. He wished he could be more like them sometimes.

Josue stopped by after lunch and said he would be his guide for the afternoon. He wanted to show Gerry around. They went to the church across the street first. They turned right when they got there to look at its facade. It was a big church and the unusually large open area around it made it look isolated from the town’s mundane daily activities giving it more of the grandeur it deserved. Everything stood still in the hot afternoon and the smell of newly cut grass around the church hang heavy in the air.

Josue and Gerry walked through the different sections of town. Ibajay was a medium sized town, clean and uncrowded—it seemed like a comfort­able place to live in. Many of the acacia trees had epiphytes growing on the upper part of their trunks—frequent rains during most of the year nourished them. The town had some fairly large and beautiful homes, a sign that the local economy had been good. They stopped every now and then at different places so Gerry could take pictures. He had first gotten serious about photography when he was still in college. After Gerry had seen enough after walking for several hours, they returned to the vice-mayor’s home, getting there shortly before it became dark.

That evening people were out in the streets. Children were playing everywhere. The air was heavy with moisture but for the first time the street lights of Ibajay shone brightly at night, making the threatening rain clouds look less ominous.

Gerry spent an hour in the power plant that night swapping stories with everybody. Curious people dropped in to have a look at the motors and generators that provided the power for the street lights. He untiringly answered their questions about the generators and how they worked. The rumbling sound of the diesel engines, earthy and primitive compared to the hum of gas turbines or the whine of hydroelectric turbines that Gerry was more familiar with, added to the sense of the town’s isolation from the outside world.

The next morning, Gerry awoke to the sound of church bells. It was Sunday and he was stuck in Ibajay for at least one more day. There were only three flights a week and Monday would be his first chance to go back home. He dressed himself to attend Mass. He usually didn’t bother going to Mass but understood that people in small towns expected him to. He didn’t want to risk their displeasure since he knew he would be returning in a month or two to check on the progress at the power plant.

After Mass, he stood on the walk outside the front door of the church. Josue saw him and came over. “How are you doing? Enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, yes. Just watching all the pretty girls walk by—I have nothing else to do,” Gerry replied.

“That’s good, there’s nothing better than watching girls.”

“My problem is that all I do is watch. I wouldn’t know what to do if I meet a real pretty one.”

“Surely a city boy like you would know what to do with small town girls.”

“No, I don’t. That’s my problem. For instance, see that lovely girl coming out the door right now—I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful before but all I can do is look.”

He waved his hand towards the door without making it obvious he was pointing at someone to Josue. There was a tall, young woman with long, dark hair hanging straight down, simple and unadorned. Her eyes were intense and twinkled in a smile. Her even white teeth showed through her full red lips as she chatted with her companion. She was wearing a wispy silk dress with a V-neck and buttons on the front. It draped beautifully around her body, showing to great advantage the smooth whiteness of her beautifully shaped arms and legs.

“You sure know how to pick your women. She’s the only daughter of a prominent couple in this town. And she’s really pretty, too—every eligible male here has been chasing after her. I know her—I’ll introduce you to her.”

“Don’t bother, I’m not in the same league as she is.”

“Nonsense, she’s quite nice and unaffected.”

Josue waited until the woman got close and walked in step with her. Gerry followed reluctantly, a little embarrassed. He could smell her soft perfume that brought images of wild forest flowers to him.

“Carmina, what brings you to town? It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

“Oh, Josue, it’s good to see you. I finished college a few months ago—I’ll be here for a while until I make up my mind what to do next.”

“Ha, everybody knows you don’t have to do anything.”

She laughed heartily, “You mean I wasted four years of my life going through college?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. By the way, I want to introduce to you my friend, Gerry. Gerry, this is Carmina,” Josue said.

“He was the one who brought us the lights last night,” he added.

“Did you really?” Carmina asked, turning to Gerry.

“Oh, no. A lot of people have been working on that project for a long time. I only did my little bit yesterday.”

“He’s being too modest. If not for him, we’d still be fumbling around trying to get that darn generator running. Nay Elpidia calls him ‘The Light Bringer.’ ”

Gerry’s face turned red, he was getting embarrassed by the hype he felt Josue was pouring on for his benefit. Carmina noticed it and smiled at him mischievously.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce Lisa. She’s our housekeeper. I’ll prepare lunch for all of us if you guys will walk us home.”

Before Gerry could protest, Josue accepted the offer. Carmina’s house was only three blocks away from the church. It was a large concrete structure, probably the largest in town. It was beautifully furnished, it even had a grand piano in the living room. Gerry later learned that the house was empty most of the time since Carmina and her parents seldom stayed there anymore.

Monday came and Gerry could finally go home. He got up early and packed up his things. The utility jeep of the power plant was waiting to take him to Kalibo for the flight back home. He said goodbye to his host and thanked him for his hospitality. As he was going down the stairs, Nay Elpidia came and hugged him. She handed him a large, heavy, paper wrapped package.

“I hope you like crabs and shrimp. I had them harvested from our fishpond early this morning so they’ll still be fresh when you get to Manila.”

TWO months later, Gerry was on his way to Ibajay a second time. His job now was to get the government engineer to sign the acceptance form so that his company could get the final payment for the equipment. Gerry chuckled as he thought that even if everything was working per specifications, the government engineer would still expect some money to make the process move forward. He’d be telling everybody he didn’t get paid enough for all the hard work he was doing as a government employee. That was how most of them rationalized their need for grease money.

When his plane landed in Kalibo, Gerry was surprised that a car was waiting for him. The driver said he would be driving him to Ibajay. “My master owns half of the power plant. You will be staying in his residence because the engineer from the REA is staying at the vice-mayor’s house.”

Gary was surprised some more when the driver opened the gate to a house in Ibajay he remembered well. He entered the front door and saw Carmina playing the piano. She smiled at him and said, “I’ve been practicing all week. The last time I played for you I made so many mistakes I was embarrassed.”

She stood up and took his hands. “I’m really glad to see you once again.”

“I am, too. I didn’t expect I’d ever see you again.”

“I did,” she said proudly.

“Don’t tell me you’re a witch who can tell the future,” Gerry teased her.

“You joke but I’ve been told that the women in my family can. Sometimes I can, and it’s scary,” she said seriously. “Well, get cleaned up and get ready for lunch. You’ll have to suffer breakfast, lunch, and dinner with me for the next few days. You have no choice.”

“I can’t think of a better punishment.”

Gerry spent the afternoon at the power plant meeting and talking with the REA engineer about what demonstrations he was expecting. They set their schedule for the next day—the acceptance test would take almost the whole day.

For the next three months, electricity would only be available from six to eleven every evening. The schedule will be evaluated and modified then to take into account demand for electricity. It’ll be a while before the town gets electricity twenty-four hours a day.

As the engines were being fired up for the six o’clock start, a man came to set up a barbecue grill. Soon the charcoal was glowing and the man put pieces of meat and chunks of mackerel on the grill to cook. The smell of vinegar on the meat and fat dripping on the charcoal reminded Gerry of good times during fiestas. The reason for the barbecue became evident when the vice-mayor arrived with a case of beer and plenty of ice. He filled glasses with chunks of ice to cool the warm beer and handed them out to everyone. He said it was an informal celebration in anticipation of the formal certification of the power plant.

It was past nine o’clock when Gerry got back to Carmina’s house. She was waiting for him near the door. He felt sheepish—he had wanted to sneak in and go straight to his room. He knew he smelled of alcohol.

“The vice-mayor brought some beer over. I couldn’t just leave,” he tried to explain.

“You men always say that—I wish you didn’t. Drinking with other guys can never be good for you.”

Gerry looked at her with a pained look and said, “Carmina, you wouldn’t understand. Sometimes drinking can help you forget about the things you can’t have and the things you can’t do.”

Carmina came closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be giving you a lecture,” she said gently. “But please get cleaned up and get ready for dinner. I’m very hungry.”

THE day after the tests, Gerry felt more at ease. He had nothing to do but wait for the REA engineer to complete his evaluation. However, he had to be around in case any of the tests needed to be repeated. He could go anywhere as long as he lets them know where they could reach him if he was needed.

Sitting across the table from Carmina at breakfast, Gerry thought about how easy it would be to fall in love with her. He knew it was a somewhat preposterous idea and pushed the thought aside. He poured himself another cup of the strong and hot baraco coffee from the pot.

“Where are your mother and father?”

“Daddy has a law practice in Iloilo City. We also have a hardware store and other businesses there that my mother manages. They’re very strict and very traditional, and have raised me to quietly accept whatever comes without expressing my feelings—like a Maria Clara from the nineteenth century.”

He didn’t say anything so she continued, “We’re seldom here except for the holidays and special occasions. This is really the longest I’ve stayed here—people in town must be wondering why. What about your parents?”

“They’re hard working people. My father teaches at a university and does engineering design work at home as a second source of income. My mother sells real estate. Somehow, they managed to get all six of us children through college but it was a struggle.”

“I admire people like them, if only everybody was like that.”

“Okay, let’s talk about something else. Remember that silk dress with the V‑neck you were wearing to church when I first saw you? Can you put it on? I’d like to take pictures of you.”

“Silly for you to remember, but I’ll do it for you. I know just where we can go, too—for the pictures I mean. Better yet, we can spend the whole day there.”

“Great, I promise to send you copies of the pictures as soon as I get them printed.”

By midmorning, Carmina had her silk dress in a travelling bag. She was driving a jeep with Gerry in the passenger seat on the way to the beach.

A few kilometers outside town, she turned and drove the jeep into a driveway that led to a cottage with a porch that faced the ocean. A few chairs and a table were in place. The beach was rough gravel and the waves were strong, foaming on their way in. They crashed on the shore with a languorous, rhythmic roar that could soothe away the tensions from any weary soul. The fresh, salty smell of the ocean was quite a change from the damp smell of tropical vegetation in town.

“Are the waves always this strong?”

“Not all the time, but they’re even stronger when there’s a storm. It’s not a good place for swimming this time of year. But there’s a certain time of day when the waves subside—it gets so quiet then.”

Carmina opened the door to let Gerry in.

“We have a couple taking care of this place but they’re not prepared for us so Lisa will come later and bring us lunch.”

“You really take care of all the details, don’t you. I’m amazed—I thought people would be taking care of you all the time.” He regretted his words as soon as he spoke them. He hadn’t meant them that way.

“You underestimate me. That’s good, it means I’ll always exceed your expectations.” If she felt put down, she didn’t show it.

It was past midafternoon when Carmina put on her silk dress for the second photo shoot. They went back to the same place on the beach where Gerry had shot pictures of her earlier in the day. The sun was getting low and it tinged the high clouds in the distance with the red glow of a campfire about to die out. The waves had quieted down as if getting ready to sleep. They held hands, laughing and moving from place to place as Gerry tried to take advantage of the soft warm light that now enveloped the landscape. A few clouds momentarily passed over the sun diffusing its light and removing the harsh shadows that were everywhere just a few minutes ago.

Gerry asked Carmina to stop. Her face was aglow in the light of the dying sun, the wide sea was behind her, and farther away were the red clouds. Her green silk dress took on the shade of dark jade. He clicked off a few shots but wasn’t satisfied.

“Smile at me and think of something sad.”

CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.

He was about to put his camera away when he saw a tear come to her eye.

CLICK.

“What were you thinking about? I hope I didn’t make you unhappy. I’m sorry.” He brushed her cheeks with his fingers to wipe the tears away.

“I’m okay,” she replied, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing—time to go home anyway.”

AFTER dinner that evening, Carmina brought out two tiny wine glasses and a squat bottle of Sandeman port. She deftly removed the cork and poured a little amount into each glass. She handed one to Gerry.

“I thought you were against drinking.”

“No, I’m not. I drink wine on special occasions—but I don’t want people drinking too much. Sorry, we only have dessert wines here, table wines don’t keep very well in this climate. But with electricity and refrigerators, who knows.”

She took her glass of port with her to the piano and started playing for Gerry like she had done the last few nights.

“What’s that piece you’re playing now? Strange, it’s so peaceful and relaxing but every time I hear you play it I feel sad.”

“No, that feeling isn’t strange at all. I think happiness always brings forth sadness in the end. It’s the price we pay for being happy,” she remarked. “The music is an adagio written by Albinoni around four centuries ago. It was written for the organ and seldom played on a piano. This arrangement was written by one of my music teachers, a nun at the college I went to. I never get tired of it.”

Carmina played another baroque piece, this time by Pachelbel. Gerry closed his eyes, savoring the moment while waiting to pay the price of sadness that Carmina suggested was inevitable.

“Come sit by me. Let’s try to feel the same emotions from the music.”

Gerry poured himself another glass of port and sat next to Carmina. She smelled of wild flowers from the forest. She continued to play her music until its warmth became indistinguishable from the warmth of the sweet port. Suddenly the lights went out.

Carmina grabbed Gerry’s arm and asked, “What happened?”

“I think they must have turned the generators off. We’ve never been up this late before.”

She giggled. “Thank goodness, that’s all it was. It was a shock.”

She still didn’t let go of Gerry’s arm. This time it was her warmth that came over him. He put his arm around her to bring her lips closer and kissed her softly. She didn’t move for a while, then her lips came back to ever so gently touch his lips in return.

Everything was quiet then she called out, “Lisa, it’s so dark in here. Do you know where the matches are?”

Lisa shuffled in from the back room holding a candle. She used it to light the two kerosene lamps in the living room. Their light was soft and muted compared to the harsh new light technology had just brought to town.

They went to the sofa to talk some more. Time had become irrelevant because neither of them wanted to be the first to say goodnight.

“You’re leaving tomorrow. Are you coming back?”

“You’re the witch, you tell me,” he replied, trying to lighten the dark mood that had settled in the room.

Carmina was quiet for some time. The sparkle had left her eyes.

“I know you’re coming back. I just don’t know when. I’ll be very happy when you do.”

Gerry looked at her longingly even as he tried not to.

“Carmina, I think you’re wrong this time. I’m leaving for America next month. I want to make enough money so I can do the things I’ve always wanted to do and say out loud the many things I have to keep within myself for now.”

Even in the soft light of the old lamps it was obvious that Carmina’s eyes had become moist once more.

“You’re lucky all you need is money. For me there will always be things that will be left undone and words that will forever be unsaid.” Ω

o-oo-o0o-oo-o

*ABOUT THE AUTHOR: H.O. Santos had worked in Ibajay as consultant for Ibajay Electric Co. sometime in the late 60's. His reason for writing this, in his own words - "... I am touched by ... the same qualities I found in people I met in Ibajay many years ago when I went there as a young man. It was because of my wonderful memories there that Ibajay has always been in my heart".

He had done research on old Filipino scripts and could be considered as authority on the subject. You can start flipping his pages on A Philippine Leaf here. He is currently the editor of The Best Philippine Short Stories. For more on H.O. Santos, click here.