Chapter 19: SUPER KAPRE

As usual, Juan Tabagwang and I found ourselves at the Tomadors’ Tavern. We ordered 19 bottles of “Agua de Pataranta,” a drink. Honestly, this drink tastes terrible. But once one becomes drunk with this “agua” it tastes like the essence of “ambrosia.” Anyway, while we were drinking, I noticed Juan wiped his armpit with a tissue paper soaked in “agua” every time before Maria D’Kapri, the Super Kapre, checked on us.

   

“What’s wrong, Juan!?” I curiously asked.

   

“I-I have under-arm odor,” Juan replied, though embarrassed, “I don’t want Maria to smell it.”

   

“Definitely, she’ll be turned-off and gives you a PWE!!!” I remarked, and followed it with a loud, “BWAHAHAHA ….”

   

Juan looked at me annoyed, but it caught Maria’s attention and she gave us a suspicious glance.

   

“By the way, Juan, did you ever hear of the story of Kapre,” I asked just to make him more uncomfortable but mainly to boast his self-esteem, “not Maria, the Super Kapre?”

   

“Not interested,” Juan said, still disgusted with me.

   

“Just listen to this story; it’s good for your ego. But let me tell you the story in pilipino, it’s not funny in english,” I insisted. “Here goes the story EXACTLY as I heard it from the Genie himself.”

  

  

Isang araw, hindi isang gabi, lukotoy na lukutoy na lumalakad sa dalampasigan si Kapre dahil hanggan ngayon ay wala pang magandang chick na pumapatol sa kanya kahit na iyong busagra ang mukha na parang aswang. Bakit o bakit? Dahil meron siyang isang katangian na siyang kawsa para ma turn-off ang kahit sinumang tsika sa kanya, meron siyang ANGHIT na ang baho ay subra pa sa bulok na imburnal at ang amoy nito ay abot ng mahigit isang kilometro. Talagang lintik ang baho ano?

   

Ang pagmuni-muni ni Kapre sa kanyang buhay na masasabing tunay na kapalpakan sa kalungkutan ay biglang natigil ng mabundol niya ng hindi sinasadya ang isang botelya na kalahating nakabaon sa buhangin. Wala sa loob niya na dinampot ito at dahan-dahan na binunot ang tapon. PLOK! Anak ng kuting, may sound effect pa. At mula sa botelya ay lumabas ang makapal na usok. Unti-unting nawawala ang usok pero kasabay nito ay meron music background na TANG TARANG TANG TANG …. Teka, tekaaa …, bakit may music? Huwag kayong makialam, ako ang nagkukuwento at hindi kayo. Saka gusto kung meron MU-SIK ….

   

Kapre: Isang Genie!? …..

   

Genie: UGOK! Bakit, TIPAKLONG ba ang inaasahan mo!?

   

Ang lungkot sa mukha ni Kapre ay napalitan ng kaligayahan. Bakit biglang sumaya si Kapre? Hindi lang kayo pakialam, usisiro pa kayo. Makinig na lang kayo sa kuwento ko.

   

Kapre: D-di kung gayon bibigyan mo ako ng t-tatlo, tatlong mga kahilingan.

   

Genie: Sinong TARANTADO ang nagsabi sa’yong puwede kang humingi ng tatlong kahilingan?

   

Kapre: Eh, iyon talaga ang dapat! At saka ganyan ang palaging nangyayari sa mga stories at movies!

   

Genie: Anghit amoy ka na, utak KULUGO ka pa! Sa stories at movies lang iyon na hindi totoo! Iba ito, REALITY ito! Puwede ka lang sa ISANG kahilingan!

   

Kapre: HINDI isa, tatlo! At bilang Amo mo ay ako ang masusunod!

   

Biglang gulat si Genie, buldot ang mga mata, hindi makapaniwala sa kanyang narinig. At ngising aso na dinampot si kapre.

   

Genie: AMO mo!? TIRISIN kaya kita na parang PIGSA para sumambulat ka! O baka gusto mong ipasok kita dito sa loob ng botelyang ito na may takip na tapon, ibalibag sa dagat para matureta ka sa loob ng libo-libong mga taon?

   

Kapre: G-genie, b-biro lang, IKAW ang amo ko! Sige na nga, isang kahilingan!

   

Genie: Bueno, ano ang gusto mo? Hindi, dahil ako ang amo mo, hihiling ako ng kahilingan para sa’yo! Magagandang mga chicks na ubod ng seksi ang ibibigay ko sa’yo. Ito naaa ….

  

Ang mga mata ni Kapre ay biglang bumulwak sa tuwa. Bumulwak!? …. Sa dialogue na lang ay makakamot mo ang b-baya …, ang ano ang kakamutin? Bahala kayo kung ano ang gusto ninyong kamutin. Ang gulo ninyo, nalilihis tuloy sa ibang direksiyon ang storya ko. Balik kay Kapre. Subali’t ang kalibogan ni Kapre, ehe, kaligayahan pala ay napalitan ng hilakbot ....

   

Kapre: Aaaaaaah! Nanay ko pooo!!! Bakit ang dami!? ....

   

Sabay karipas ng takbo si kapre. Habol sa kanya ang ISANG LIBONG magaganda at seksing mga bebots.

   

Genie: Hindi ko kasi sinabi kung ilan, hehehe …. Huwag kang mag-alaala, TRIP nila ang may anghit na amoy imburnal na kagaya ng sa’yo, hihihiii ….

   

Kapre: Ikaw ang humiling para sa akin! I-ibaliiik mo sila, ISA lang ay TAMA na sa akin!

   

Genie: HINDI puwede! Hindi puwedeng bawiin ang kahilingan! Pagtiyagaan mo na lang sila! Saka iyong ISANG LIBO ay panghimagas lamang, meron pang ISANG MILYON na mas saksakan ng ganda at seksi pa ang susunod. Ito naaaaaaa….

   

KA-TSING, KA-TSANG, KA-TSONG, …. Walanghiya, parang cash register ang sound effects ng sunod sunod na paglabas ng magaganda at seksing mga pogitas.

   

Kapre: Aaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!! Saklolooooooo!!!!! ….

   

Genie: Hehehe …. Sa wakes, LIBERTAD!!! Libre na ako sa mga chicks na ito. Mantakin mo ba naman na ISANG MILYON at ISANG LIBONG tsikas ang hindi ako pinatulog sa mahigit na libo-libong taon sa loob ng botelya. Hahaha …, sa wakes, tunay na LIBERTAD!!!

   

Kapre: Ibalik mo silaaaaa ….

   

Genie: Sige mga GIRLS, habulin si Kapre! Hindi siya makakatakas sa inyo! Sundan lang ninyo ang amoy imburnal na anghit niya, heheheee ….

   

Kapre: Heeeeeeellp!!! …. Hindi ko kayaaaaaaa ……. isa-isa laaaaanng!!! .....

   

Girls: Hihihihihihiiiiiiii ………

   

Di iyon nga ang nangyari, isa-isa lang, araw-araw, bawa’t tanghali, gabi-gabi, bawa’t  hating-gabi rin, saka oras-oras, minuto-minuto at segundo-segundo sa loob ng … teka, tekaaaaa …. Bakit, meron pa bang ibang pagkakataon? Hanggan dito na lang, pinagugulo ninyo ang storya ko.

  

“What’s the connection of your story with my ego!?” Juan asked me with his eyes open wide as he scratched his head.

   

“You have ANGHIT, so is Kapre,” I reasoned while I snickered.

   

“So …, everyone else has armpit odor, ANGHIT!” Juan insisted.

   

But before I could say anything, Maria who was passing by smacked Juan’s head. She mistakenly thought that Juan was talking about her body odor.

   

“Idiot!” She shouted at Juan in anger.

   

I calmly reasoned with Maria while hiding from her under the table but all to no avail. Juan and I ended up thrown outside the tavern in the chilly night but we brought the bottles of “agua” with us.

   

“It’s your fault,” Juan complained as he was rubbing his head, “your Genie’s story is MORONIC.”

   

“C’mon, Juan, I was just trying to boast your ego,” I said. “Everyone has ANGHIT, that’s why many women are using perfumes to hide their anghit, hehehe ….”

   

“Your story implies that ANGHIT attracts women,” Juan said as he glanced at me through the corner of his eye but with a slight mischievous frown on his face.

   

“Absolutely!” I agreed.

   

“You’re sick, maybe only those with cuckoo’s head,” he said. “Forget it. Instead, let’s just drink to it.”

   

“Yeah, to ANGHIT,” I shouted as I toasted up my bottle with Juan.

   

We drunk to it; and along the way we sung the drunken song of Super Kapre to somehow lessen the coldness of the bone chilling night. Our singing attracted the stray dogs and they howled to accompany our drunken singing.

“La la laaaaa ….. awooooooo …..”

 

Chapter 18: IF ONLY I COULD HOLD BACK THE TIME

Juan Tabagwang and I found ourselves again walking aimlessly along the same dirty and crowded old street we used to pass by. We caught sight of the parrot, Periko, on his perch in the bird shop, Mga Ibon ni Adarna. He was drunk and singing a drunkard's song. Nearby was a bottle of agua de pataranta, boxes of crackers and many different fruits. He was fed lavishly by his owner who was afraid of Periko's attorney, the "Liar," who might demand more rights and benefits for his client.

We also happened to pass by the corner street where a little girl was selling sampaguita flower necklaces. Though very poor, the girl was spirited and cheerful. But it was her confident innocence that impressed me most. Not far from the little girl was a beggar, an old woman. She looked very sad, in pain and despondent. And her trembling hand held an empty alms box. I gazed for a while at the pitiful old beggar. But my attention was distracted when I heard the voice of the little girl.

"Mister …," she said smiling as she offered the sampaguita flowers to Juan, "fragrant necklaces?"

"Ok, give me one," Juan said.

"Just one!?" the little girl said as her smile suddenly vanished and became a frown. She gave the flower to Juan, and then she turned to me. "You two are cheapskates!"

"Only my companion," I said as I gently elbowed Juan who looked at me in disbelief, "we're jobless right now but once we have a lot of money, we'll buy all of your sampaguitas."

The little girl stuck out her tongue at me, took the money from Juan, and then she turned her back from us. As she swaggered away, she said, "hmph!"

I just raised my eyebrows as I smiled at her. But before we left, I looked at Juan through the corner of my eye as I smiled and pointed my thumb at the old woman. He knew what I meant.

"Now, who's the cheapskate!?" Juan said in a sarcastic tone. "Again, don't tell me you don't have any money?"

Juan was right. Nevertheless, he obliged me and he dropped his last money, a change, into the alms box of the old woman. And the sound of the coin caused a slight pained smile on her face, a token of gratitude for Juan's generosity.

As we walked away I turned to look once more at the old woman. Even after a week, her haunting very sad face still lingered in my mind. So I decided to capture that look on a canvas. With my oil painting box, brushes and a small canvas, Juan and I returned, and from a distance, unnoticed by the old beggar, we positioned ourselves. After three hours, I finished the oil portrait.

"By the contour of her face, she was beautiful when she was still young," Juan remarked as he admiringly looked at the painting.

"Yes," I agreed with him, "even after all those many years that had gone by."

"She reminds me of Mona," Juan said as he pondered, "and the only difference is that there's a pained sadness in her smile."

"Now, Juan, let's make her happy," I said as I tapped his shoulder, "you give your money for dinner as payment for painting her without her permission."

"Again!?" Juan exclaimed, aghast at what I said as he scratched his head. "How am I supposed to eat tonight?"

"Stop complaining, Juan," I said as I gathered my oil paints and brushes, "your generosity will be highly commended by someone above."

Though Juan whined and murmured, he again obliged me. A month after that, I entered the painting in a contest. I didn't win, however it was bought by a collector for a decent sum of money. Juan was extremely delighted when he knew about it.

"We can drink agua de pataranta everyday for three weeks with that amount of money," he said wide-eyed and looking up as if thanking someone above for the unexpected agua blessing.

"Yeah, right," I said, "and end up thoroughly burned inside."

"But there is enough money left over for our medical bills," Juan said, and then he roared with laughter.

I deadpanned for a moment as I looked at Juan, sighed, then just smiled at his idiocy. Actually, my plan was to give all the money to the old woman. Sadly, she died before I can give it to her. She was buried near the edge of a forested area in a nameless grave, at the government's expense, marked only by a cross made from two small branches which were tied together by a discarded plastic sheet. Nevertheless, dotting and growing on her grave and round about are colorful little wild flowers. The place was very peaceful, broken only once in a while by the chirping of the birds. Nearby were the garish graves and mausoleums.

"Why don't you just donate it to the religious charities?" Juan suggested.

"No," I said, "they have very deep pockets.

"How about giving it to the poor?"

"Maybe."

"We're poor and jobless," Juan beamed, "we can give it to ourselves and drown ourselves drinking the agua."

I almost smacked Juan's head with my hand for his stupid remark. "It's your fault Juan for being poor and jobless," I said with a grin, "why don't you go back and apologize to Ed A. D'tor, tell him that you're sorry."

"He won't forgive me," Juan said.

"No, he will forgive you," I insisted, "all you have to do is stop doing superheroes, it's simply not in our culture."

"Ed A. D'tor is a moron," Juan said firmly.

"No," I said, countering him, "It's your superheroes that are moronic."

Juan was too proud to apologize. Anyway, I decided to buy all the sampaguita flowers of the little girl. She couldn't believe her good fortune; she’s wide-eyed as she smiled at us.

"See, did I not tell you that I'll buy all your flowers," I said as I winked at the little girl, "now, you know who the cheapskate is."

Juan perked up, but he said nothing. He just scratched his head and sighed as he looked up. But as we were leaving, I sadly missed the old woman. Even the loud drunken singing of the parrot, Periko, in the bird’s shop as we passed by it and Juan's light-hearted jokes did not alleviate my sadness. We eventually ended at the cemetery where the old woman was buried. Juan noticed the gaudy, gated mausoleums.

"I bet you, during the resurrection, these people cannot get out of their tombs," he said looking at the gated mausoleums, "those concrete and iron bars will prevent them from getting out."
I looked at Juan as I marveled again at his idiocy. But just to humor him, I said, "they have no intention of getting out, they're so comfortable in their air-conditioned mausoleums."

Juan turned to me amazed. But getting the sense of what I meant, he roared into loud laughter. It distracted the two crows, Jack and Jill, feasting on the food offerings for the dead. They flew away carrying some of the food.

"Aren't those food offerings for the dead?" Juan asked, confused. "To be eaten by the dead in their reincarnated afterlife or resurrection?"

"Yes," I answered as I flippantly laughed, "and those two crows, Jack and Jill, are the resurrected dead.

Juan looked unconvinced; my foolish explanation caused him to scratch his head. Even at the grave site of the old woman, Juan was still thinking about the food offerings for the dead. His deep thought was only distracted when I draped the sampaguita flowers over the grave site.

"What use are these flowers for?" Juan queried. "These cannot resurrect the old woman, could it?

"No, Juan," I answered with a sigh of frustration, "It's just one last little obligation and respect for someone unrelated to us who has departed."

On our way home, we dropped by at the Tomadors' Tavern and ordered 18 bottles of agua de pataranta. After drinking several bottles, serious thought flashed in my mind when I glanced at Maria D'Kapri, the Super Kapre. She looked strong-willed, very sure of herself with neither care of the past nor the future. And Juan, just like me, was reckless and proud, eating, drinking, and enjoying the present as if there was also no tomorrow. The old beggar was the future, and it saddened me when I thought about her. But I longed for the spirited life of the past, the life of innocence, when I thought about the little girl.

The Sun was setting when we left the tavern. Neither I nor Juan was singing a drunken song that night. But our homeward bound journey into the darkness was inevitable just like the setting Sun which we have to face someday. Oh, how I wished that day if only I could hold back the time.

Chapter 17: KONG, THE KING


With nothing better to do and to pass away my boredom, I visited my friend, Juan Tabagwang. I found him starring at a wall of his studio, he was holding a pencil in front of his drawing board with a blank illustration paper on top of it, but his face had a look of someone whose artistic creativity is drained out of him. Indeed, Juan was completely burned out with his last comics work. Unable to come up with fresh ideas, he asked me to accompany him to go hiking.

"Let's hike to the forest of Kang-Kong," he said dryly.

"What for?" I asked, mystified.

"You know …," he said, "somehow the refreshing breeze and beautiful scenery of the forest will reinvigorate my idea suffocated brain."

I looked at Juan through the corner of my eye with a slight mischievous smile. I was about to tell him that what his head needed is the spirit of agua de pataranta, however, I changed my mind because of the thought that hiking is a good cure for my boredom. Instead, I said, "Great, let's go and bring with us 17 bottles of agua."

So, the next day, early in the morning, we started our long hike. We reached the edge of Kang-Kong forest which is a snaking river overgrown with wild kangkong plants, the forest is known as Kang-Kong because of this plant. It was hot that day and looking at the river made us thirsty. Since we forgot to bring water, we drunk the liquor agua we brought with us.

Halfway in the forest we were already drunk and boisterously singing along the way. Our noise scattered away the birds and little animals, except one, an abandoned, hungry newborn baby monkey helplessly lying on our path. His eyes looked pitiful as if begging us to feed him. Juan picked him up and gave him a drink of agua. The baby monkey ravenously drunk it, afterward he gave us a drunken, innocent smile.

"He will be a great monkey someday," I said jokingly as I smile, "a drunkard in the making, though."

"Yes, he will be the great drunkard king of Kang-Kong," added Juan flippantly followed by a drunken laughter."

Anyway, we took the baby monkey along as we continue with our drinking, and once in a while Juan also gave the monkey a drink. That was when the spirit of agua started to really kick in and the three of us ended sleeping under the cool, shaded canopy of a huge tree. Unknown to us were the two malevolent crows, Jack and Jill, hungrily perched on a branch and eyeing the silently sleeping baby monkey, mistakenly thought by them as a cadaver for dinner. We were ignored by those two crows because Juan and I were snoring loudly.

Jack and Jill slowly circled the baby monkey, they were about to pounce upon him when I suddenly woke up with a shout because of a bad drunken dream. It scared and bewildered the two crows, and in their haste and confusion, they inadvertently grabbed the two open, half empty bottles of agua beside the monkey and flew away with it. After this incident we went back home, Juan is still artistically uninspired but at least well rested.

Juan adopted the baby monkey and fondly called him Kong. But Kong cost Juan too much money to feed him because he grew bigger quickly, and he also drunk too much agua de pataranta. To relieve his burden, Juan gave Kong to Maria D'Kapri, the Super Kapre, as a gift.

The first time Maria saw Kong, she exclaimed, "What a cutie monkey!"

Honestly, Kong is horrendously ugly. Nevertheless, Juan was relieved of his burden, he thought. After a month when Juan and I went to Tomadors'Tavern to drink agua, Maria confronted and shoved us Kong who was drunk.

"You drunken half-wits," she shouted at us angrily, "take back your drunken brother gorilla."

When Maria was angry, anyone was really scared of her. So, fearful, I tried to squeeze myself in a corner and Juan tried to hide under the table. We didn't dare reason out with her, she's not called Super Kapre for nothing with her powerful uppercut which was well-known among the drunkards in the area. Coyly, Juan took back Kong. And the three of us were thrown out of the tavern by her. Later, we heard from one of the drunkard customers of the tavern that Kong drunk all the aguas of Tomadors,' almost making the tavern bankrupt. This made Juan so depressed at the thought of the great cost of caring for Kong.

"Why don't we give Kong to the owner of the pet shop, Mga Ibon Ni Adarna," I suggested to Juan, "he might be trained as a scratch artist like the parrot bird, Periko."

Juan's face brightened and he added, "And Kong can support his agua addiction, great idea!"

Consequently, we went to the pet shop with Kong. The owner was delighted when he saw the monkey, thinking that he had another pet genius that he could train to be like Periko. Indeed, after a week, Kong became a scratch artist even greater than Periko. The problem was that every time he became drunk with agua, he covered with graffiti scratches the pet shop and even the neighboring stores to the consternation of the pet shop owner. And when Juan and I visited the pet shop, the owner, just like Maria, shoved Kong to us.

"Take back your monkey," the pet shop owner said in disgust, "he's a drunkard and a scatterbrained gorilla."

The infuriated Kong countered and gave the pet shop owner the finger. I was surprised because we did not teach Kong to do the finger; maybe he learned it from Periko. And Juan looked more depressed this time. He really "had a monkey on his back." Anyway, we took Kong back again.

Juan scolded Kong for his wild and drunken behavior. Kong's feeling was hurt. Sadly, he gathered his meager belongings from inside Juan's house, put it in a small bundle of cloth, tied it on a long stick, slung it over his shoulder, and then dejectedly he started to go away. Juan tried to stop Kong, but he turned around and gave Juan the finger, a sign that he was completely severing his ties with him.

After this we never heard from Kong again, not until when all the aguas in the town started to disappear, and we suspected him as the culprit. Our suspicions was correct when we learned that every night there was a drunken gorilla swinging around the huge and very tall bell tower of the church. Kong nightly drunken fooling around was later joined by the two drunken crows, Jack and Jill, who evidently had a liking for the agua also after they got a taste of it in the forest of Kang-Kong. To add to their nightly drunken escapade, they also rung the bells of the church as if to announce to everyone that it was party time again to the dismay of the minister.

Many curious people started to come every night to the church, not for religious reason but to watch the drunken antics of the trio who by that time were becoming well-known throughout the town and also in the towns nearby. Eventually, they became the tourist attraction and were advertised as the King Kong evening show by some opportunistic and enterprising businessmen. Many tourists gave donations to the church to care for Kong and his sidekicks, Jack and Jill. The donations made the minister very happy. He pocketed most of the donations, and knowingly, he condoned the bad agua addiction at the expense of the three drunken performers.

As the fame of Kong grew so was the popularity of agua de pataranta. People started to drink the agua, especially the rich ones who called it the quintessential wine to make it sound elegant; I called it the ambrosia of wines. Frankly, the agua is so repulsive in taste; its aftereffect is like being kick by a wild cimarron on the head. Anyway, the agua became very expensive; it was not good for the likes of Juan and me who had to work twice as many hours to earn money just to buy the agua. But the local manufacturer produced more agua, though greedy, he hired more workers which was good for the economy of the town.

Juan and I went once to see Kong and his sidekicks, Jack and Jill, in one of their ludicrous nightly shows. They even added a repertoire to their performance, Kong would mightily beat his chest like a drum as Jack and Jill squawked in rhythm as if they were singing a drunken song just like Juan and I used to do. Probably the two crows learned from us when they flew overhead while we were drunk and singing. There were many tourists eagerly ogling them, and they applauded the trio every time they gave them the finger.

"What the …," Juan said with a look of disbelief on his face as he scratched his head, "these tourists are imbeciles."

"C'mon, Juan, leave them alone," I said, "that's what fans are for."

"Well …," Juan said as he sighed, "I have a feeling that Kong will become very popular and he will be long remembered as King Kong." Then he turned to me with an inquiring look.

"Indeed," I said with a knowing smile at Juan, "stories will be written and movies will be made about him."

"But we starving artists who saved Kong from the forest of Kang-Kong will fade by time into oblivion," Juan concluded in resignation.

We left the place laughing, and as we faded into the night our laughter also receded into darkness. But who are we laughing at?

Chapter 16: THE ART OF RESURRECTING THE DEAD


It was one of those dreary days, as I walked alone on the same old street I used to pass by, when the sun was not shining because it was cloudy and there was an intermittent rain. And to add to the gloominess, I saw a pair of crows perched high up on the branch of a tree with their hungry, fiendish eyes looking at me like I'm dinner and eerily squawking as if they were enjoying the dismal day. I tried to scare them away but instead they gave me the finger. Frustrated, I just ignored them and continued walking away. From afar I could still hear their infuriating, gleeful squawking. To remember those two malevolent crows, I christened them Jack and Jill.

It was almost dark when I eventually ended up in front of my friend's house, Juan Tabagwang. Inside, I saw him deep into spiritual inquiry. He was peering into his Holy Book.

"Juan, why are you into sudden spirituality?" I asked with amazement.

He just glanced at me without turning his back, and then continued with his spiritual searching. Suddenly, he exclaimed, "Eureka! I found it!"

"Found what?"

"The secret of resurrection," Juan replied who looked back at me, his eyes wide open as if he was hit by an instant revelation from above. And before I could say another word, he ran out of the house. I ran after him.

I called after him, still bewildered by his weird action, "Where to, Juan?"

"To the wake of my grandmother," he answered with great excitement.

"Why, are you going to resurrect your grandmother?"

Juan did not answer me. Rather, he gave me an irritated look. I responded to him with an impish smile. Anyway, we eventually found ourselves in the funeral home. There were many people, relatives of Juan. Many were crying, others were mourning, and some were giving eulogies and reminding everyone to always remember Juan's dead grandmother.

Juan greeted his relatives. For a while he listened to the eulogies. Afterward, he went to the coffin of his grandmother, he looked at her through the glass cover for a minute, and then slowly turned to the mourners.

"Idiots!" he shouted suddenly and irreverently at them. "All your weeping, praises, and exhortation to always remember our grandmother are worthless. Those cannot bring her back to life!"

All the mourners, including me, were stunned by what Juan just said. There was a long silence.

"When our grandmother was alive, you took her for granted as if she was a useless thing. You did not take good care of her," Juan continued with his scathing sermon. "Morons! You should instead be praying to God to remember our grandmother because God is the only one who can resurrect her … "

Juan was unable to finish his diatribe lecture, one of his uncles rushed toward him, and a fight ensued which degenerated into pandemonium. In the confused fighting, the coffin was accidentally overturned. It crashed to the floor, its lid opened. And Juan's grandmother abruptly perked up, her darkened hollow eyes were open wide and she looked ghostly in appearance.

"Impertinent pinheads!" the grandmother suddenly shouted angrily in her piercing and high-pitched voice as she looked at everyone who was fighting around her. "You mistakenly thought I was dead and put me in a coffin, and while I'm enjoying and trying to sleep peacefully in here in death, you woke me up by your noisy fighting!"

Everybody was shocked and froze with fright with the sudden coming back to life of Juan's grandmother. Then, except for me and Juan, they all stampeded out through the door, others through the windows.

Outside, on the roof were the two crows, Jack and Jill, squawking gleefully as they watched and gave the finger to the mourners who were running in different directions. The eyes of Jack and Jill had a diabolical look at the thought of a dinner, a feasting on a cadaver in a coffin.

Back inside the funeral home, Juan's grandmother, with difficulty, was trying to get out of the coffin as she looked at me and Juan. "Why are you two looking at me as if I look like a ghost?" she said impatiently. "Help me out here."

Gladly we helped her out of the coffin while at the same time Juan's relatives who had regained their wits, slowly and one by one, had returned. Though his relatives were astonished at what happened, it was apparent that joy could be seen on their faces.

"Grandma, you're alive!" Juan remarked, delighted.

"Stupid!" grandma exclaimed. "Would I be talking to you if I were dead?"

Juan blushed as he scratched his head. However, after a month, I heard from Juan that his grandmother is now being treated respectfully and kindly by his family and relatives.

As usual, Juan and I found ourselves again at the Tomadors' Tavern drinking 16 bottles of "agua de pataranta," the ambrosia of wines. But since Maria D' Kapri, the Super Kapre, was in one of her mood swings again, she treated us as if we were dead drunks that needed to be resurrected to soberness. So, even before we finished our drinks, she kicked us out of the tavern into the bone-chilling night. The cold somehow lessened our drunkenness a little.

And as usual, on our way home we passed by the house of Kurso, the Great, and his young beautiful wife. We stealthily sneaked under the crawl space of their house to check if Kurso is still alive. He's alive alright because we found out that their bed was noisily rocking and creaking. Afterward, we silently sneaked out of the crawl space.

And again, as usual, we sung the irritating drunken song of resurrection, "Lalala …, sing with us now all you alive but artistically dead artists of the world, lalala …."

But our singing was interrupted when we heard the arguing squawks of the two crows, Jack and Jill, flying overhead. They were angry and blaming each other probably because they missed again their cadaver evening feast. This time, Juan and I gave them the finger.

Chapter 15: HOW TO DRAW WHILE YOU’RE SLEEPING

I met Juan Tabagwang in the busy street I used to walk along everyday near the Tomadors' Tavern. He was in a hurry, carrying a rolled up illustration board and a paper bag containing some pencils, an eraser, a bottle of white deleter, and an ink. From his look I noticed that he was very tired working very hard to come up with whatever drawings he can think of and that he also wanted to catch up with his many very tight deadlines. Anyway, he pretended to be just fine and even boasted that he can still draw even if he's sleepless. He also communicated to me his many weird dreams which are the results of his overworked mind during his erratic sleeps. I was about to humor him when a bum caught my eye, he was sleeping and snoring soundly under a cool shaded corner of a building.

I pointed the bum to Juan to call his attention. "Juan," I said, "you see that bum?"

"What about him?" he asked nonchalantly.

"If he's an artist," I answered, "he's an excellent example of an artist who's drawing while sleeping."

Juan looked at me with blank stare on his face. Countering me, he said, "But he's not doing anything."

I was about to explain to him when I saw Maria D'Kapri, the Super Kapre, beaming her winsome smile at us outside the Tomadors' Tavern. Though reluctant because of his deadlines, Juan obliged me and we went inside the Tomadors' to drink "agua de pataranta." I ordered 15 bottles of "agua." But Juan leeringly looked at me knowing that he's the one who's going to pay for it again afterward. Anyhow, with great gusto we drank the "aguas." We were already drunk when Juan started to open up with his problems.

"You know what …?" he asked.

"I don't know," I answered him to liven up our conversation.

"Stop being funny," he said, a bit irritated, "you know I'm too tired to draw, I have headaches, sleepless at night, and when I was sleeping I dreamed many weird dreams all because of my difficult "hanap-patay" style of illustration."

"So, your work is killing you," I said. "Why don't you instead try to draw while you're sleeping, that way you can catch up with your lost sleeps and be well rested?"

Juan deadpanned, and he was annoyed by what I just said. "Don't be a comedian," he said, "I'm serious."

"Me too," I said. "Let me give you an illustration how it's done. You see, I always dream of Maria …"

I was unable to finish my explanation because Maria, who was nearby, overheard and misinterpreted what I said, and she smacked the back of my head with her backhand.

"Pervert!" she exclaimed forcefully with anger.

"Far from it, Maria," I reasoned to her as I rubbed my aching head, "you misunderstood what I said."

But Maria wouldn't listen to me, she turned her back and walked away fuming mad. I turned to Juan who burst laughing.

"Indeed, you're a pervert," he said. "You deserved it."

"Aw, shut up," I said, pissed at Juan, "you pay for the aguas."

"Again …?" Juan said, wide eyed.

"You deserve it for siding with Maria," I said to even it up.

Anyway, Juan paid Maria for our "aguas." She didn't want to talk, nor look at me, though I coyly pretended to be sorry so that she would forgive me, but all to no avail. We exited the tavern and along the way we sing the irritating and out of tune song of the artists who draw while sleeping.

"La la la …, you sing with us now, all you lazy bum artists of the world who draw while you're sleeping, la la la …."

Suddenly, Juan stopped as we passed by the house of Kurso, the Great. "How come Kurso is not cursing us again?" he asked, mystified. "His dogs are also not howling, nor his cats meowing? Can we again throw rocks at his house to wake him up?"

"Leave him alone, Juan," I said. "He's working while sleeping, he's dreaming with his wife."

"Yeah, right … this dreaming with his wife I understand," Juan said with an impish smile on his face, "but this working while sleeping or this drawing while sleeping, you haven't explained it to me yet."

"I'm too groggy drunk, Juan," I said as I walked haphazardly due to drunkenness, "but continue with your weird dreams and, just like Kurso, you work and draw while you're sleeping."

Though Juan was still confused when we separated, for two weeks I hadn't seen him. But I met him later by accident at Luna's Park, the hangout of the kulapol group of painters painting always the beautiful scenery of the park. When I saw him he looked dejected as if the whole world crashed upon him.

"Juan, what happened?" I inquired.

"Your advice was stupid," he remarked with bitterness, "I slept most of the whole two weeks, and I hadn't done anything. I missed my deadlines, and they fired me all because of your idiotic advice to draw while sleeping."

"Juan, you're really an idiot," I said, "that's not what I meant."

"No, you're the one who's more than twice an idiot for not explaining clearly to an idiot," he countered forcefully.

"Nevertheless, you see those painters painting the beautiful scenery of the park?" I asked Juan as I pointed at the painters that dotted the park’s every corner.

He looked at me with inquiring eyes, then he said, "So …?"

"They are all wide awake," I said. "They get their inspirations and paint from what they see in the park."

"But I was sleeping," Juan said.

"Precisely," I said as I waved my finger at him, "you should get your inspirations from what you perceive in your weird dreams while you're sleeping, afterward when you wake up you draw your dreams. You also will get a good night sleep and you are also well rested."

Juan just scratched his head due to the convoluted logic of my explanation. "So, that's what you meant by drawing while sleeping … it sucks," he said, disgusted. Then he asked, "But what about Maria?"

"About her," I said with a smile, "I dream of her every time I want to draw a beautiful girl, she's my inspiration."

"Now I know why most of your beautiful drawings of girls all look like her," Juan said smiling but with a knowing mischievous look on his face.

"Let's go back to Tomadors' Tavern and you explain to Maria my dreams about her," I said, "and also to celebrate with 'agua de pataranta' our idiocy."

We were laughing while we were on our way to Tomadors.' Actually, we were laughing at the idiocy of those artists who don't know how to draw while they're sleeping.

"Bwahahaha ..."

Chapter 14: THE ART OF LUNACY (the parable of the fleas and the carabao)

Juan Tabagwang and I had the most unusual experience ever in one of our drinking bouts over the drink “agua de pataranta” at the Tomadors’ Tavern. We were literally attacked by crazed, drunken, blood-sucking fleas. The attack started after we drunk 14 bottles of “agua.”

    
Though tipsy, Juan jumped out of his seat after being bitten by a blood-sucking bug. “I was bitten by a ‘super flea’,” he said, surprised, as he scratched his butt.

    
Though initially startled, I laughed at Juan. But I was also bitten by a blood-sucker and nearly screamed. The pain was like being stabbed by a small needle. Juan was right; they were “super bugs.”

    
“Let’s find those critters,” I said, irritated, as I also scratched my butt, “and catch them.”

    
Juan and I looked under our seats. He was lucky. He easily found and caught the flea that bit him and put it into his empty glass. It took me some time before I found the bug that bit me. I also put it into the glass where the other bug was. Then Juan and I examined the unusual fleas. They were huge, really super compared to ordinary fleas.

    
“They seem to be drunk,” Juan said.              

    
Since I was also drunk, I humored Juan. “Probably became drunk from our ‘agua’ diluted blood,” I said. “Pour more ‘agua’ on them and let’s see what happens.”

    
I expected the bugs to drown but they didn’t. Instead, they seemed liked crazed drunks and tried to jump out of the glass as if trying to attack us.”

    
“These bugs are crazy,” Juan said. “Let’s squash them now.”

    
Before I could say anything, Maria D’Kapri, our pretty waitress friend, who’s known among the drunkards as Super Kapre because of her powerful upper-cut, suddenly butt in. “What idiotic things are you two doing again?” she asked suspiciously.

    
“I was just trying to drown these two fleas with our leftover agua,” I said as I pointed at the glass where the bugs were. I then scratched my head and at the same time I tried to shrink in my seat so as not to make her excited. “But Juan wants to squash them.”

    
“You two are very mean,” Maria said as she squinted her eyes. “Release them!”

    
Juan, who was so fearful of her, promptly complied and released the blood-sucking fleas on the floor. She left, but looked back at us, still suspicious, probably expecting us to do foolish thing again.

    
After Maria was out of sight, I asked Juan, “Do you know the parable of the fleas and the carabao?”

    
“Nope,” replied Juan, unconcerned as he looked at me with weary, drunken eyes. “First time I ever heard of such a parable.”

    
“It’s a crazy, but very interesting parable,” I said.

    
“Okay, let me hear it,” he said. This time his eyes showed a glint of interest.

    
I reclined in my seat to make myself comfortable, and then I told Juan the story.

    
Once upon a time, there was a group of ravenous blood-sucking fleas who gorged themselves with the blood of a carabao, a water buffalo. They bloated themselves every sucking session. For pleasure, they tormented the carabao by biting its balls. The carabao, in return hit them with the tip of its tail. Every time many of the fleas were whipped to death. The rest always fled and hid inside its butt crack. Two of the fleas, flea A and flea B, were enraged.

    
“We’ll teach the carabao a lesson once and for all time,” flea A said. “We’ll wrestle it to the ground.”

    
“Great idea!” uttered flea B with delight. “Let’s do it!”

    
“How are you two supposed to do that?” inquired flea C, with a look of disbelief on its face.

    
“Easy,” flea A said, “we’ll all go on top of the carabao while it’s lying on the ground, then wrestle it.”

    
“Excellent idea!” flea B declared with a wide grin on its face. “You’re a genius, flea A.”

    
But some fleas showed blank stares as they looked at flea A because of its moronic idea, but others thought flea A and flea B were loonies.

    
“Anyone care to join us?” inquired flea A, totally believing its idea was brilliant.

    
“Why don’t you two just go on with your screwball idea,” flea C said. “It’s safer for the rest of us here inside the butt crack.”

    
Flea A was disgusted at the other fleas for not supporting them. Together with flea B, they slowly sneaked out to wrestle the carabao. On their way out, another great idea hit flea A. “Why wrestle the carabao to the ground,” he said to flea B, “when we can destroy it instead.”

    
“Super idea, flea A!” flea B agreed with eyes wide, intrigued.

    
But flea A paused suddenly, another greater idea came to his mind. “Ah, it’s easier to destroy God,” flea A said with an evil smile. “Once we destroy God we can easily destroy the carabao. And then we become gods like God, or even greater than God.” Flea A then roared with wicked laughter.

    
“A most fantastic idea!” flea B exclaimed in total conformity with flea A. “How about if we made ourselves gods of God?”

    
“That too,” agreed flea A.

    
However the other fleas were jolted to their senses when they overheard the unbelievable, blasphemous idea of flea A and flea B.

    
“But God is not responsible for the death of our companion fleas. It's the carabao,” flea C protested.

    
“Why destroy God?” asked the other fleas, siding with flea C.

    
“If all of you don’t like my idea, then get off the carabao,” flea A shouted in anger at the other cowardly fleas.

    
“Indeed, we will,” countered flea C. Turning to the other fleas, “Let’s jump off and go to another carabao and not become partisans to these two demented fleas.”

    
One after another, the other fleas exited the butt crack of the carabao. Then they jumped off to go to another. But flea A and flea B chuckled with delight at the thought of their good fortune.

    
Flea A looked at flea B and said, “Now we have no competition. We’ll be the only two who will become gods after we destroy God.” Then flea A roared diabolically with laughter.

    
“Now, how do we destroy God?” flea B enthusiastically inquired.

    
“We’ll destroy Pedro, the master of the carabao, first,” flea A said with determination. “Then we destroy God afterward.”

    
“But how do we destroy God?” flea B asked insistently.

    
“We’ll destroy Pedro first and then worry about God later,” flea A answered with finality.

    
Just then, the two fleas spotted Pedro, who was about to ride on the carabao. They rushed headlong as fast as they could, then they leaped, jumped, and dived over the forest-like, hairy back of the carabao to stab him with their suckers. They reached him just as he’s about to sit on the saddle. Once Pedro’s butt touched the saddle, they sneaked under his butt and jabbed him with all their might with their suckers with the intent of killing him. Pedro yelled, but then smacked the two fleas flat on his butt. With its dying breath, flea A cursed and blamed God for their misfortune.

    
“Why curse God?” inquired flea B, who was also near death. “Why blame God?”

    
“It’s His fault for creating Pedro,” flea A answered, moments before its death. “Anyway, we can even the score. With our death, God will cease and is destroyed in our consciousness.”

    
Flea B is a fanatic believer of flea A. With their last breath the two fleas cursed and blamed God. They even forced themselves not to breath to accelerate their death in order to destroy God in their awareness, lunatics to the end.

    
But what happened to the other fleas? They were already on another carabao sucking its blood. However, they had learned their lesson not to torment it. And that concludes the story.

    

  
“What’s the lesson of your parable?” Juan asked as he scratched his head, unable to understand it.

    
“What a moronic parable!” joined in Maria who was nearby, listening all along to my story, but unnoticed by us. “Anyway, what’s the lesson?”

    
I glanced at Maria with a playful smile. “Well, flea A and flea B represent the insignificant megalomaniac madmen,” I explained. “A multitude of them want to be like God, like Adam and Eve, and also a great many of their descendants. Others think they are gods, the like of which are Caligula, Commodus, Nero, and also Alexander. Many want to be greater than God, doing things even God won’t do. These are people like Attila, Genghis Khan, Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, and many more. A great number want to be gods of the God. These are the idol worshipers who are more powerful than their controlled idol gods. Finally, there are those who want to destroy God by denying His existence and saying all kinds of perverted things about Him. Many of these megalomaniacs are dead, like the two flattened fleas, undone by their lunacy. Their remains are trash scattered in the dustbins of history. Others, by time, will follow them.”

    
“Who are those who curse and blame God?” Juan asked, now showing great interest.

    
“These are the worthless human fleas,” I explained, “they curse and blame God for all the misfortune and calamities that befall them, of which the fault are their own. The same destiny also awaits them, like the crushed fleas.”

    
Maria seriously looked at me sideways. I sensed that she was about to lash out at me when suddenly a drunk screamed in pain after being bitten by a blood-sucking flea. This was followed by the scream of another drunk, and then another. Almost all the drunks in the tavern screamed. Juan and I also jumped out of our seats. We were bitten again, this time by more bugs.

    
“I think I was bitten by scores of bugs,” Juan said excitedly as he vigorously scratched his itchy butt. He even rubbed his butt against the rough wall of the tavern.

    
“So was I,” I said as I also scratched my butt non-stop. “I think these suckers are out to torment us. Something is driving them mad.” I stopped scratching and picked up an empty bottle of “agua.” I looked at it and just to make more fun of the situation, I said, “I think our blood diluted by this ‘agua’ made them crazy and attack us.”

    
“No!” Juan strongly disagreed with me. “Those two demented, huge fleas we released are leading the attack against us.”

    
I stared at him in disbelief at his loony theory. I was about to explain to him to prove him wrong when all of a sudden most of the drunks in the tavern run out shouting, “Run, hurry!”

    
Though taken by surprise, Maria quickly ran after them. She caught one of the drunks and gave him an upper-cut. The drunk flew up and then crashed to the ground, flat on his back, unconscious. Maria really deserved to be called the Super Kapre. Anyway, when the drunks saw what happened, they all returned to the tavern and paid Maria for their drinks.

    
Along the way home, though Juan and I were drunk, we did not sing the drunken parable song. We were busy scratching our itchy butts bitten by those crazy, drunken, blood-sucking fleas.            

    
“I strongly believe that those two suckers we released, like the two demented fleas in your parable, lead the attack on us and on those runaway drunks. They want to destroy us,” Juan said. “We should have crushed them earlier.”

    
“C’mon, Juan, don’t be a loose screw like those two fleas,” I reasoned. “It’s the instinctive nature of the fleas, but those drunks used the bugs as an excuse and ran away from the tavern because they didn’t want to pay Maria for their drinks.”

    
Juan was still unconvinced. We argued all the way home. Even now we still don’t agree about what happened that night.

Chapter 13: HOW TO DRAW WITH YOUR BUTT


With nothing better to do, Juan Tabagwang and I were walking again along the busy street where the bird shop, “Mga Ibon ni Adarna,” was located. We noticed from a distance that the talkative, foul-mouthed, cursing, and blasphemous parrot, Periko, was busy doing something. Out of curiousity we approached the bird. We were surprised to find out that it had a pencil tucked between its beak and was busy doing some unusual and interesting scratches on a pad of paper. For a time Periko ignored us. But when it noticed that we were intruding on what it was doing, it gave us a malevolent look and then the finger. We got the message and went away.

“Periko is a bird genius!” Juan remarked.

“With those scratches, Periko will go places,” I said in jest. Then I burst out laughing.

But Juan was dead serious. He looked at me and said, “And we’re going nowhere with what we are doing?”

“I thought your Super-Butt is doing great?” I inquired, a bit surprised.

“Nope!” Juan said. “And lately most of my super ideas were rejected, including the last one, The Super-Shit.”

“Same thing happened to me,” I said half-heartedly. “A guy I know advised me to use my left hand to draw, because they won’t hire me if I use my right hand.”

“What happened then?”

I did not answer Juan and instead gave him an impish smile. “Use your butt, Juan,” I said jokingly. “You’re a much better artist than me.”

A smile lingered on Juan’s face in reaction to what I said. After that I did not see him for almost three months. I was concerned that something may have happened to him. So I gave him a visit. Do you know what he had been doing all this time? He was literally drawing with a pencil taped to his butt when I found him.

“Juan, you’re an idiot!” I remarked, surprised. “That’s not what I meant when I said you should draw with your butt.”

“I know,” he said. “But this is the last of my butt drawings.”

While Juan was busy with his butt, I looked at all the drawings he did that were tacked onto the wall. “It’s similar to the scratches of Periko,” I said. “What’s the title for these butt artworks?”

“Super-Butt II,” Juan answered in laughter. “I want you to go with me when I present it to Ed A. D’tor, the editor and art director who rejected my Super-Shit.”

We went to this well known publisher and studio, and Juan bravely presented his buttworks to Ed.

“What is this?” Ed asked, his eyes wide and bulging in disbelief as he looked at the drawings. “It seems to be drawn by a butt!” Ed said in an insulting way.

“Absolutely!” Juan exclaimed as he looked down on Ed with an air of superiority. “You’re not worthy to behold my left or right foot drawing, more so with my left hand, and even more so with my right hand.”

“Get out of my office!” Ed angrily shouted. “And take your buttworks with you.”

“You can have it,” Juan remarked. “You deserve it. It’s for buttheads like you!”

“Get out!” thundered Ed.

“I’ve already been out for a long time now,” Juan countered.

We exited the building, still able to hear Ed’s shouting. But Juan was very happy. “Oh, I feel good,” he said. Then he laughed. “I feel like I’m as free as a butterfly, free from the tyranny of those editor and art director buttheads.”

“Yeah, you’re free, but jobless,” I said. “What now?”

“To Tomadors’ Tavern,” Juan said, excited. “Let’s celebrate my freedom and joblessness!”

“But we were ‘excommunicated’ by Maria, or Super Kapre,” I reminded Juan.

“Oh, she’ll forgive us once she sees us,” Juan said. “It has been a while and I have a feeling that she already misses us.”

Juan was right. Even before we entered Tomadors’ Tavern, Maria looked excited upon seeing us. I don’t know why. Probably she missed our foolishness. Anyway, Juan chose the center table of the tavern and we ordered 13 bottles of “agua de pataranta.” As the bottles were emptied by us one after another, the tavern was slowly filled with Juan’s laughter. I never saw him so happy in all the times we’ve been together. “Freedom,” in whatever form, is indeed “liberating.”

We were drunk when we left the tavern. Juan blew a kiss goodbye to Maria, who gave us a winsome smile in return. Along the way we passed by the bird shop, “Mga Ibon ni Adarna.” We noticed that people were lining up to get a signed print drawing of Periko, the parrot’s scratches.

“Look at that!” I exclaimed as I nudged Juan who was too drunk and could barely walk straight. “Periko is becoming a millionaire while we are becoming penniless.”

Probably out of envy, Juan curses Periko. The bird gave him the finger. I hurriedly pulled Juan out of the way because Periko’s fans gave us angry stares. Far away from the bird shop we noticed that the sun had already set. As usual, due to our drunkeness and also to somehow mitigate our misfortune, we belted with gusto the drunken song of “how to draw with your butt.”

“La la la, sing with us now all you buttheads of the world, la la la ....”

By the way, before you readers go to the next story, do you know what happened to Periko after it became famous and earned a lot of money? Lately, I heard that it was represented by a “liar,” the same guy who represented the monkey who won the art competition, because its master was only feeding it crackers and pocketing all the money. Periko, like Juan, wanted to be free from subservience to its master. The call for freedom is indeed also for the birds and monkeys, heh heh!

Chapter 12: THE ORIGIN OF THE CROP CIRCLES

Juan Tabagwang and I could not go back to Tomadors’ Tavern. Maria D’Kapri, or “Super Kapre,” expelled or “excommunicated” us because of her misconception that we had blasphemed her religious beliefs. Instead, we went to “Kuwatro-Singko,” a tavern selling “kuwatro kantos,” a cheap and false imitation of the drink “agua de pataranta,” for 5 cents a bottle if you drink at least four bottles. Unluckily for us, the tavern ran out of “kuwatros.” But there was another tavern, the “Lasinggos’ Tavern,” selling “Lapad,” an imitation of “kuwatro kantos.” Since our throats were dry and the “spirit” of the “agua” beckoned to us strongly, we decided to go to Lasinggos even though it was a long walk.

    

Along the way, we passed by the house of Kurso, The Great. There was a celebration of Kurso’s wedding at their beautifully decorated guest house made of bamboo. We saw him in his tuxedo beside his radiant, beaming bride in her wedding dress.

    

“So, that’s the reason why he stole that money,” Juan said as he looked wide eyed at Kurso.

    

“Possibly,” I said. “I think he won’t be cursing us anymore during the night time.”

    

“How do you know that?” Juan asked as he looked at me not getting the meaning of what I just said.

    

I did not answer Juan. I just gave him a mischievous smile. We continued walking and we passed by the bird shop “Mga Ibon Ni Adarna.” As usual, the talkative, foul-mouthed, cursing, and blasphemous parrot, Periko, gave us all kinds of curses, expletives and blasphemies ever said by anyone. “!@#$^%*&,” Periko squawked rapidly at us.

    

“You know who reminds me of Periko?” I asked Juan.

    

“Kurso, The Great!” he answered.

    

“Right!” I said. “I think we should call Periko, The Little Kurso instead.”

    

“How appropriate,” Juan agreed. Then he chuckled.

    

But Periko gave us a malevolent look again. Juan gave him the finger and it cursed at us some more. We left the place, however, from afar, we still heard its curses, expletives and blasphemies.

    

At Lassingos’ Tavern we ordered 12 bottles of “Lapad.” Like a liquor famished drunks, we chugged the drinks so fast even though the taste was so horrible, and the side effect was like being kicked on the head by a wild cimmaron. Instead of seeing double, I saw triple. Juan saw quadruple.

    

“I think I am already drunk, Juan,” I said as I tried to stand up with my knees wobbling.

    

“I-I’m not!” Juan remarked. “It-It’s the tavern that’s drunk ....” He turned to the other drunks and said, “Right!?”

    

“Correct!” the drunkards roared back in agreement.

    

“S-see!” Juan said as he looked at me with drunken eyes. His pupils seemed to be moving from side to side, and up and down. Then he crashed to the floor. I picked him up. He was barely able to stand up. Before we left the table Juan grabbed a half-empty bottle of “Lapad.” “We need this to sober up,” he said as he looked at me again trying to open his weary eyes.

    

On our way home, we bumped into people and electric posts. We were ignored by everyone because of our drunkenness. We passed by the bird shop again. The parrot Periko lambasted us once more with curses, expletives and blasphemies. Juan was so irritated that he sneaked into the shop and forced the parrot to drink the “Lapad.” After a short time, it moved in circles in its cage, tumbled, and then collapsed. I thought it was dead, poisoned by the drink Juan gave it. Suddenly, Periko perked up and started singing drunken songs instead of cursing.

    

“W-What happened?” the shop owner inquired, bewildered. “What did you do?”

    

“Nothing,” I uttered. “I think your parrot is drunk.”

    

We left the bird shop while Periko was still singing. The shop owner was scratching his head, confused by the sudden change in attitude of his bird. Juan and I could not control our laughter. We stopped laughing only when we passed Kurso’s house again. We noticed that everybody was still having a good time at the wedding celebration at the bamboo guest house, especially Kurso and his bride. It was almost dark, and stupid ideas suddenly hit me. I glanced at Juan and gave him an impish smile.

    

“Follow me, Juan,” I said.

    

Without asking and thinking, he followed me. We crawled under the basement of Kurso’s bamboo guest house. I looked for the main support, a huge bamboo, and found it. It was reinforced by another big bamboo brace for additional stability. I quietly beckoned to Juan to help me remove the brace.

    

“What are you going to do?” Juan asked in an undertone.

    

“We’ll shake the guest house,” I answered in a subdued voice.

    

“Then what?”

    

“You’ll see.”

    

With great difficulty we were able to remove the brace, and with all our strength we managed to push the main support bamboo back and forth, slowly at first.

    

“Push harder,” I whispered to Juan.

    

“Earthquake!” we heard Kurso exclaim from inside the guest house above us.

    

“Yeah, a small earthquake!” said one of the guests.

    

“Push harder Juan,” I said softly.

    

“The quake is getting stronger!!” some of the visitors remarked. They were starting to panic.

    

“The earthquake stopped!” uttered Kurso’s bride. There were sighs of relief from the people above.

    

“Now, push with all your might Juan,” I said in a low voice.

    

“The earthquake is getting stronger and stronger,” we heard Kurso say in fear.

    

“Here we go again!” I shouted very loudly as Juan and I pushed the main support bamboo of the guest house very hard.

    

“What!?” Juan exclaimed, baffled at why I shouted.

    

“This is no earthquake!” Kurso remarked.

    

“It’s a prank!” said one of the visitors.

    

“After them!” shouted another.

    

“Run Juan!” I said. “And fast!”

    

I ran out of the basement. Juan followed after me, still confused. Behind us were Kurso and his visitors with baseball bats and clubs. They chased us round and round in the cornfield of old Ago. Luckily for us we escaped from them. The excitement of the chase sobered my drunkenness. I lost Juan, but I found him later hiding inside a hollowed tree trunk. He was trembling with fear, but otherwise okay and sober.

    

“They’re gone, Juan,” I said. “You can come out now.”

    

Juan slowly came out of the trunk as he looked left and right, still scared. “You really are an idiot!” he remarked. “They could have beaten us to a pulp.”

    

“C’mon Juan,” I said. “I just wanted to scare Kurso.

    

“Yeah right!” he said indignantly. “They are the ones who scared the crap out of us!” Then he turned and gazed at old Ago’s cornfield. “Old Ago will be really mad at us. We made circles in his cornfield.”

    

“We’ll see him in a couple of days and apologize. He’ll understand,” I said. “You’ll pay for the damages to his crops.”

    

“Why me?” Juan asked, irked.

    

“I-I mean we,” I said with a smile as I looked at him through the corner of my eye.

    

After two days, we woke up early in the morning to see old Ago. Still at a distance, we were more surprised to see many people around the shack of the old fool on the hill. And many more were carrying gifts and going to his cornfield. Old Ago met us far from the crowd.

    

“We’ve come to apologize and pay ...,” I was unable to finish. Old Ago gave me a sign to shut up.

    

“I know, everything has been paid for, more than a hundred fold,” old Ago said. “ In fact, I’m mighty grateful for what happened.”

    

Before old Ago left, he gave us a wily smile and chuckled as he turned his back. I laughed, but Juan scratched his head, unable to comprehend why the old fool was happy. Anyway, Juan tried to be funny. “Isn’t it we’re supposed to be singing a song?” Juan asked. “We forgot to sing two days ago after the chase.”

    

“Don’t be a fool Juan,” I said. “We’re not drunk. Besides, it’s very early in the morning. People might think we’re nuts.”

     

With a mischievous playful smile on his face, Juan said, “Aren’t we?”

    

“Only you, Juan,” I said to to annoy him.

As we started to leave the place, I gazed back at old Ago’s cornfield one more time. I saw that the people were now placing their gifts at the center of the crop circles. We learned afterward that those people believed that the old fool on the hill had the good fortune of being the only lucky host of god-like alien visitors from outer space, who made the crop circles in his cornfield as a sign of a covenant between him and the aliens. How all these things came to be we had no idea. However, we found out even later that Kurso was hired by old Ago as his congregator.

    

That answers many of the questions. Recently, I heard that old Ago, the old fool on the hill, is now highly revered and believed by many as the old saint on the hill.

    

It is sad though, the old fool whom I highly respected was corrupted by money and human worship. He reminds me of the wise king and prophet of old who became a stupid fool in his old age.