We all have stories to tell. And we all have one story we are always afraid to share. Now breathe slowly and narrate them before it’s too late… before it’s too late...
My hands were sweating profusely as I prepared myself to speak in front of my friends in the dormitory that one spooky evening when a long blackout found us all gathering in a room with only one delicate candle in the center serving our night. I don’t know why it shook me inside waiting for my turn to share my story when the preceding ones were already frightening. Everybody else was sobersided and the rhythmic gush of the wind from outside made the curtains move like they were pulled by someone effortlessly. When all eyes were already directed to my limelight and not a single word was said anymore, I knew it was time to share something that haunts me for years.
I couldn’t forget that man from my childhood days who used to be a friend of our family and a business partner of my father. Every 4 a.m. of Saturdays way back my late elementary and early high school years, my father always woke me up to come with him to a hut we owned. This was where all the fishermen who did business with us delivered the fishes they caught at night. Even if the hut was just in the next barangay, Papa and I had to ride our then old tricycle to reach it. That man named Reneboy stood there in the streetlight in front of his house waving his right hand for us to notice while his left hand carried his scraped bucket. Only his silhouette was clear from afar but when he waved his hand prompting us to stop, we knew it was him. Every time the tricycle halted, he would greet us always. He was a very facetious man. He was an honorable man. He really was.
Reneboy was a man of intertwining personality and reality. He was a good man but fate was mean to him. He’s from Luzon as far as I can remember but got stuck in our small barrio when he married one of our neighbors. The girl whom he married happens to be a night-blinded woman. They have raised three sons, the eldest about 8 years old as of the moment. They dwelled in an abandoned house few blocks away from my home. No one ever attempted to live there but Reneboy chose to do so despite incomplete roofing because it was the only place he could own. His wife didn’t have a permanent job except for paid laundry washing and letting this woman go out at night is a very horrible idea. As I have heard too, their eldest son is hardheaded and rebellious, their second son is soft and silent while their youngest kid needs more parental care and guidance for being not too mentally normal. Depending only on the sea for living was an extreme way of survival. Sometimes when there is abundance of fishes, the livelihood becomes satisfyingly lucrative. But most of the time especially during cold seasons, the sea isn’t the only place that is empty. Stomachs are more sucked out worse than vacuum. Maybe these are the reasons why the couple always quarreled and I always heard their little boys cry every time I passed by their house. Nevertheless, as I’ve known Reneboy personally and from other people’s testimonies too, he was indeed a man of integrity when he conducted business, a man of perseverance when it came to giving his family their needs and a man of patience when he was with other people. And maybe his being just and honest paved the way to his tragic ending.
I again remembered the heat of the sun that one scorching summer afternoon. I first sat on a small hut beside the roofless basketball court not far from our house. I saw Reneboy played too. He was always smiling to anyone. Everything was going well until he told the referee that someone from the other team committed a foul. That someone who he pointed out happened to be an ex-convict imprisoned for more than 6 years before. There was a ruckus which led to a fistfight between the two of them. Some other neighbors pacified the fight then the game eventually got cancelled. Everyone left the court but Reneboy stayed at the small hut to sleep there. He was alone sleeping maybe because all other people went to their homes to watch late afternoon soap operas. Even me, I went inside my cousin’s house which is the nearest house from the court and whose windows could easily see the small hut where Reneboy was already napping with the sea sparkling behind it. The next few moments were quick but my two then clear eyes witnessed every single piece of the event.
I saw the now drunken ex-convict through the door. He was walking past the tree outside and was heading somewhere. As I followed his path, I realized that he was already heading to the hut where Reneboy was sleeping in. I turned my head and slightly stood up the window to see what would happen next. It indeed was very quick. And very gory too.
The ex-convict pulled something on his back beneath his shirt. It was a special knife as far as my knowledge is concerned. He swiftly raised his hand with the knife and at a vista, I knew Reneboy just became conscious when the knife already penetrated his chest. I was startled and I didn’t even realize that my cousin was already beside me speechless as well. I was about to call someone but the ex-convict took the knife and stabbed Reneboy again. This time, he maneuvered the knife as if it was a steering wheel and he seemed like writing a word in his chest. I literally saw the shock and pain in his eyes and when he finally stopped moving with his one hand falling on the ground hanging back and forth, I knew I adored was already dead. There was no way he would still breathe. No way he would rise up again or fight for his life. Because with the tremendous amount of the blood that splashed and was flowing inside the hut, he was gone. That was my first close murder encounter. And I tell you, I felt like I was murdered too.
Right after that I heard news of how the ex-convict surrendered after hiding in the comfort room of my godfather’s house and how terrible it was for Reneboy’s family to suffer from the incident. That night filled the entire barangay with horror. No one went outside their homes, only the gossip wandered on the streets spreading like a contagious disease.
I cried for two nights too because I still dreamt of that scene where Reneboy gets stabbed. On the first Saturday after the incident, Papa and I still rode our tricycle towards out hut half-awake. However, Papa’s tone shifted bringing me back to my senses. He pointed that man standing under the streetlight in front of Reneboy’s house. That person was waving his right hand and the left hand was carrying a pail too. Just like Reneboy. It was only still a silhouette so we didn’t know who it was. But the contours of his body, the shape of his head and the way he stood resembled Reneboy so much. I cried outright and told Papa not to stop driving. I told him not to drop by the streetlight. Not on that same man who’s not supposed to be there that time. Gladly, we did not stop the waving man but as we passed him, I heard the loud sound of the pail rolling on the pavements of the street. Whoever it was, I just wanted to stop the horror. I looked back though. When I turned my head, I looked closely at that man. He was still waving his hand. He was silently and restlessly waving his hand.
