(In remembrance of the Mendiola Massacre)
Darkness had finally engulfed the
horizon. Two lowly shadows were talking as they traversed the riprap bordering
the seashore. A myriad sparkles of light coming from the yachts afloat, the
tall buildings and the nearby park illuminated the surrounding.
“Where do you want to sleep tonight?”
Rod amusingly asked his little brother as they passed the PICC building.
“How about up there?” Ador pointed to
the rooftop of the convention center.
“No way. It’s too cold up there.
Remember, you got sick the last time we slept there? Besides, we might get
caught by the guards this time.”
“Hey, I know where – the waiting shed!”
Ador trotted to the area carrying his wooden cigarette box. At the age of
twelve, Ador was already a veteran cigarette peddler. He would jump from one
bus to another, or streak from one side of the road over the center island to
the other side. It was his everyday routine from five in the morning to six in
the evening.
Rod, on the other hand, was a master at
odd jobs: from being a whisper pimp to cleaning the post office facade, to
stevedoring. He was observant and aloof, and could almost always tell if you are
being honest or deceitful. He had learned a lot from the streets he grew up on.
Disappointment covered the two boys’
faces when they reached the place.
“We can’t sleep here anymore, kuya. The cover is gone!” Ador kicked
the withered santan plants that were supposed to cover the waiting shed from
the road and served as sieves for street dust and vehicle smoke.
“Too bad!”
“They didn’t pay the caretaker again!”
“Come on, let’s try the park.”
The park was so quiet except for a few
whispers and the usual night sounds. Near a low, bushy tree was a snug pit
quite hidden but sufficiently lit by the high post lamp.
“Hey look here, kuya,” Ador peered through the bushy camouflage. “This sure looks
like a cosy place.”
“Okay, let’s clean it up a bit,” Rod
agreed after taking a peek. “Be careful. There might be centipedes or lizards
nestling in the grass.”
After the brothers ate their
unemancipated supper of pancit guisado
and two small plastic pouches of rice, Rod opened his bag and pullled out a
half-torn blanket. He spread it equally on the ground, removed his shirt and
used it to patch the large hole of the blanket. Then he sat down with his
brother, legs stretched to the hilt.
For several minutes, the two mused
insignificant queries and exchanged thoughts as if they were Socrates and Plato
playing with unfathomable ideas and enigmas, making shrieks now and then.
Though most of the concepts were beyond them, not because they were
intellectually incapable but due to the lack of education, all the arguments
were reduced to the simplicity of cause and effect. This, too, was a daily
routine between the siblings before they sleep.
A bird’s eyeview would picture the
sleeping duo in a small patch of ground surrounded by manmade landscaping and
the pollution of the night world. The coincidence of that night’s tandem of
dreams made it unforgettable. Both Rod and Ador had been wanting to know their
past. They were separated from their parents when Rod was barely seven years old
and Ador only two years old. They could vaguely remember their father and
mother, and the incidence that separated them. The firmament above, perhaps in
consolation, granted their desired dream where they would realized the past:
There
was a commotion from both sides of the Mendiola Bridge. The rows of protesting
farmers were met with automatic rifle fire. The cries of agony were
overwhelming as the farmers scampered for dear life. The memories of that
infamous day – the Mendiola Massacre – became so vivid. It was horrifying.
Indeed, how horrible was that day!
Smokes of yellow and dirty-white covered the crossroads. Even the menacing
barbwires bowed down to repent the evil that was committed. When the asphalt
could finally be seen amid the smoke, nineteen bodies lie dead in front of the
streets that separated the Malacañang Palace from the rest of the metropolis.
There! There was father from one among
them! Father’s wish to have a piece of land he can call his own, after decades
of abuse and hardship in the sugar plantation, had been granted. A piece of land
he could neither plant on nor cultivate, but a piece where he would be
eternally emtombed. Yes, my God! There lay our father. There he was.
A shiver of chill half-awakened Ador as
he stretched his arm to embrace his brother beside him. The lenitive luminance
lashing between life and limbo was languidly lacking. There was a greater haze
than any of them could understand. To them, however, it was enough to temporarily
appease their longing. And the dream, nay, nightmare continued:
There
was a scuttle – a chasing spree. The clean-up operation was massive. People of
all ages were being yanked into a detention van.
“My children, my children, where are my
children?!” Tears of protest and pain watered the reddened cheeks. Bruises of
red and black bemedalled the shoulders. A woman of courage, brave yet weak,
persistent yet unarmed! There was mother!
“Inay….!” Ador cried.
Rod gently tapped his nape: “Sshhh! Go back to sleep, we’re just dreaming.”
The moon was now on the far side. Rod
gazed as the clouds passed against its transformation to opacity. At the
background was darkness, yet an entire universe full of stars. It was like
traveling in time. For each twinkle of a star, a day passed. Like a lost
sparrow on its flight, his thought quested for an unknown future.
The siblings were awaken the following
morning by an abundance of fragrance that filled the surrounding air. The
flowers in the park started blooming.
“Arayku!
Arayku….!” Ador screamed. “What is that? Don’t hurt me!”
Rod jerked up. “It’s just a bird pecking
at your back.”
How did the bird got there, so far from
its natural habitat? A mother sparrow, probably thinking they were intruders
landgrabbing her nest area, riled-up behind in a warlike fashion. Rod folded-up
his head to meet his knees and mused a few more thoughts.
“Why, you….! I’m going to make you my
breakfast!” Ador angrily caught the sparrow.
“Let it go!” prodded Rod. “The bird is
merely protecting its nest.”
“Nest….?! Where….?
“There, about a meter behind your left.”
Indeed, a little nest inside a thick
bush with two stocky newly-hatched nestling at the center. Of all places, it’s
a miracle that they have found a home in an urban park.
“So, you’re the strange noise I’ve been
hearing last night,” said Ador.
“They’re just like us, but at least they
have a home and a mother....!” Rod
contemplated. “They’re just like us….. They’re……”
The echo of that particular memory
brought Rod back to the present. He
smiled as he walks ahead of his mother and brother. The seawaves endlessly
flirting with the ripraps; the cold breeze hovering over the convention center
area; and the nearly-dilapidated waiting shed – such unforgetable parts of the
immediate past.
Elena had
accompanied her children in attending a free concert of folk and ethnic songs.
It was barely a month since she was released from prison after the new
government found her innocent of the crime of rebellion and was reunited with
her two sons.
It was already past three o’clock in the
morning and they decided to walk and stroll a little bit in the park and
partaked the blessing of the morning air. They passed through the same path
taken by Rod and Ador when they were still wanderers in the park.
Finally, as if Ador’s limbs were being
lured to the spot, they reached the sparrow’s haven – their haven.
“Look, Inay….! This was our favorite sleeping place!” cried Ador.
“The bottle I used to put drinking water
is still here!” Rod noticed as he probed the area.
Elena could only bite her lip thinking
of the hardships that her young children have encountered during her absence.
And to think that during those times politicians were claiming that democracy
was returned to the country. Elena wrongfully was imprisoned for ten years, her
husband murdered and their two very young children left to fend for themselves.
She never did get justice for all these sufferings. The people responsible were
even considered by some as heroes who restored democracy in the country. Such
is the irony that beclouded a society ruled by the oligarchy. Elena emboldened
her thoughts – “it was part of the struggle, a great sacrifice for a greater
cause.” Thank God they survived.
Elena’s tears invoked by her revolting
spirit could merely alleviate her pain. As she looked toward the heavens, she
saw a yellow ribbon tied to a tree, she angrily pulled it down, crampled it in
her hands and threw in the garbage bin. At the same time, the first rays of
sunlight venerated the zenith. Unnoticed, she wiped her tears and followed her
children.
“The nest….! Is the sparrow’s nest still there?! Ador
asked curiously.
“Yes, it’s still here, but the sparrows
are gone!” Rod replied.
“Oh look ….! There they are, all three
of them!”
“It seems our former neighbors are
migrating. The nestlings have fully grown their wings, and with their mother by
their side, they will soon find a new home.”
The sight of the three sparrows soaring
freely through the morning sky was an advent as equally magnificent as the
background. For now, darkness had been defeated. The sun was in full sphere.
And the sky, hopefully, preparing a new dawn.
NOTE: This is a
short story I wrote for Mr. & Ms.
Magazine (published May 18, 1999), based on a true story, true experiences, a piece of true history culled
from the aftermath of the infamous Mendiola Massacre. The Cory Aquino Regime
tried to cover everything, but no matter how they buried the corpses of the
past, their spirits will emerge and reveal the truth. The perpetrators are now
rotting in their graves. Perhaps justice may have been served through time after
all.
I chose the title "Sparrows in the Park" to make it more dramatic. The names of the characters and certain situations have been change to protect their identities.
“LEARN TO DO GOOD;
SEEK JUSTICE; HELP THE OPPRESSED; DEFEND THE FATHERLESS; STAND FOR THE WIDOW’S
CAUSE!” – Isaiah 1:17
