Atin ko Pong singsing (a novel) part 2

For as long as he could remember, the packs of wild dogs that roamed that part of the countryside had been a permanent part of the landscape. They were a nuisance at worse, doing no more harm than scaring an occasional bird, “bayawak” or even a wild boar away from the areas. In a way they would keep the plantation clean by eating any dead or decaying animals. This time, the insistent snarling was different from what he normally would hear. There was a desparation and a savageness to the primeval grunts that the dogs were giving out. He saw the familiar baston of Impong Ano unceremoniusly thrown to one side of the clearing where the watering hole was and as he approached first the florsheim wingtips were apparent, and he thought the old patriarch had just fallen because of the steady jerking of his feet but then as his gaze rose above the legs, he saw what must have been four or five dogs, one spotted white chewing into Impong Ano’s groin while a brown female gnashed at his stomach. The others took turns biting into other parts of the old man’s body tearing whole pieces of meat which was what shook the old man. He had been nice to Marciano making special arrangements for his small wedding to Rosa which happened really very very quickly as if he was more interested in seeing them both married than they to each other. These were different times, the owners of the Plantation dictated all life on the estate. They often suggested, but more like decided, who would marry who, who would be the godparents, where they would live, who they worked for and what jobs they did.  It was the same for Marciano and Rosa, they were brought together at the mansion to face Impong Ano, in the sala. All he said was “Ini in maging asawa mu, Pakasalan mu. Ang singsing atchu ketah” pointing to a drawer beside the tiffany lamp still it by kerosene. He opened the drawer and found two silver bands. Simple but solid, and as he looked at his wife, instantly he understood, his destiny had been laid out for him. He was to be wed to Rosa. remain on the estate as a “sota” in charge of the stables, as his father was before him.

It was a simple wedding conducted in between masses at the Cathedral in the central town plaza. No other witnesses except Impong Ano, and Apopng Dedeng, wife of Tomas, eldest son and set to inherit the hacienda. The ceremony was so rushed that Marciano barely had a chance to kiss his wife who stil upto this time had not said a word since they first met, but instead met his gaze with a tired, and thankful look that needed no more explaining. Impong Ano stood as ninong, Tya Daleng eldest niece as Ninang while Dedeng and Tomas barely stepped into the church as witnesses as the parishioners were entering to participate in the annual Novena at the advent of Holy Week. Rosa took one quick glance at the entrance and saw that Tomas and Dedeng were gone, replaced by throngs of parishioners entering. The priest would be sending some papers for them to sign, perhaps even drop by for a little drink as tradition would dictate after a wedding where the richest man in San Fernando would stand as godfather, it is customary, food and drink, a culinary journey indeed. She adjusted her simple white veil and white cassock with a blue sash and stepped out onto the plaza with her new husband in tow.

It was too late before Marciano saw it, a big black one approaching, head down, mouth slavering with a bubbly and foamy mouth slowly, steadily picking up speed as it approached the mounted man and pounced jaws first into the neck of the horse. His last memory was how wonderful that day at the kubo was when they had their first meal together as a family. Rosa had come back as she usually did at about 8 or 8:30 by the clock and she had with her a bowl of beef stew, in one hand and some fresh eggs in the other. The hearth had just been lit and cast a healthy orange glow all around the hut, complementing the yellow glow of the kerosene lamp. She had set the kawali on the stove and proceeded to break the eggs into a bowl where Ano, her eldest son of four was beating them to make scrambled eggs.  With a little twist of the wrist, she put two tablespoons of the solid Purico cooking oil into the hot kawali, and as it melted away, a casual pinch of salt, almost two fingers full for a small woman of her stature, which immediately sent the salt crackling against the heat of the pan.  At that instant, the beaten eggs are poured into the kawali, and a deft combination of circular and cutting motion transformed ordinary eggs into the classic scarmbled eggs favored by the Santos Paras family. Rosa was prudent enough to cook just four  for her family, as normally she would work with 10 - 12 eggs in one go. As the eggs were divided among the family of Rosa and Marciano, he could still recall how the flickering light played very lightly on her milky white skin, blessed with smoothness inspite of the hard work.  . . . Thus did he die with that last memory of the face of his wife Rosa. All he heard as this moment flashed in his mind was a crack like a branch breaking from a nearby tree then one brief moment of excruciating pain on his nape as horse and rider fell together with this big black dog jaws clamped shut on the horse’s neck and then darkness. It was over.