THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN MARVEL
My dad used to own this huge lot at the back of our house. It was covered with a thick coat of talahib grass which grew wild most of the time; then a few meters beyond would be some tall palm trees (have you heard of silag?) with leaves that looked like green fans. These were waved by invisible hands as the wind happened to pass by. A few meters from this clump of silag would be two lomboy trees. The fruit would be hanging from high branches, a snack for the myriad of birds that came and went. I always wanted to pick those black berries and to shake them with salt inside two clasped plates. Open the plates and you would find the saltened lomboy berries ready to savour.
But with no one to climb those high branches, all I did was to throw some stones to bring down some .In most cases, my aim rewarded me nothing but a strained arm.
A well trodden pathway cut trhrough the lot and then it passed beside a small nipa hut located at where the property ends. The path went out into a small dirt road bordered by clumps of bamboo trees on either side that went from from north to south. Go north and you will wind up into the town cemetery; go south and you will find yourself in a place in town called Cabincolan.
The man who lived in that nipa hut was named Patricio. He lived there as a tenant with a small family, and in return, he would do stuff for us. Another thing thing I knew about him is his strength. People do not like to cross his path because he could lift very heavy objects with ease. So, some townspeople would call him to do odd jobs like fixing a carabao's dislocated leg. At that time, the carabao ( or water buffalo ) was the beast of burden in the Philippines. It pulled the plow so the farmer could plant another season of rice. They said, he would go to the animal, pull his leg hard until the disjointed bone snapped back in place. I have not seen it, I just heard about it from witnesses.
The immediate backyard beyond our house was also a playground/open space which I shared with stray pigs, chickens, 2 geese ( a male and a female) several dogs, and pigeons. The male goose was fond of sneaking at me from behind, started pecking at my legs or butt, then would turn about and go back to his mate as if laughing in goose language like he was saying " I did it again!" It was not painful. It was just humiliating being pecked by a goose in the butt.
The surface of the yard was mostly sand which covered the loamy soil. Then there was that big warehouse which was once a rice mill. My mom said that in its heyday, the rice mill ran could run 24 hours a day.It was owned by my Grandfather, my dad's dad. Grandpa was the pioneer of several enterprises that geared to the needs Asingan in the '20s.: unhusking palay to turn it into rice, buying and selling palay, and also threshing the newly harvested rice stalks into palay.
Thus in the '20s, my grandpa was the richest man in town. He even became a town mayor. And once, they won the Philippine Charity Sweepstakes. It was only a couple of thousands, but that was big money then. But close to the end of his term, he died from a stroke. I heard he was fond of eating pork with lots of fatty tissue in it. When he died, there was a reversal of fortune.My grandma could not run the business all by herself. Especially when T.B. got hold of her and reduced her once robust body into a pitiful frame. When I was a young boy in the late '40s, the warehouse was already idle although most of the machines were still inside.
There were quite a few things to do for me in the backyard. I play with the animals and fowls. I sometimes scratched with a stick the belly of a big sow and then she would lie down enjoying the scratch. I scratch her crotch and she would lift up one of her legs. When I stop scratching her, she would open her eyes like she was saying "Why did you stop?" I would leave her and she would stand up and go about her normal pig's day...
There was also this water well just a few meters away from our staircase going up our house. Here my Mom and sisters, helped by our maid would wash clothes when there was nothing more to wear. They would wash them by hand and sometimes with a PALO-PALO a piece of flat wood shaped like a ukelele. It was used to beat the crap out of the heavier clothes ( like denims-maong), then rinsed again them again on the BATYA, a washing tub made of strong aluminum. Finally they would hang all the clothes on a stretched wire to get dried.
The well was less than 10 feet in radius, and they built this high concrete structure ( about 4 feet high ) around it to keep small animals and frisky kids from falling in.
They would ask me to draw water from the well by using a bucket tied with a long stout rope to one end of a bamboo pole. This bamboo pole was strapped on a branch of atree which overlooked the well. On the other end of the bamboo pole was something heavy (a big piece of metal, maybe ) , just to balance the water filled bucket as you pulled it up. Two buckets full of water would take care of one washing .. There is a separate batya for white clothes and the rest of the printed clothes were mixed in another.
The well was the water source for general use, except for drinking..There were two bathrooms in our house then, one on the second floor beside the bangsal ( another common Filipino home annex ). I seldom use the banio ( local name for a bath ) in the backyard. Only my dad dared to use it. There were lots of plants and shrubs surrounding this outdoor banio..It has no shower. You use the water from the well deposited on a plastic drum. No hot water. You have to squat on the floor while bathing. One time, I took a bath there and a few minutes after dousing myself with the water, a big centipede came out of the wooden floor and run out just beside my bare ass. That was my last time for me to bathe in that horrid place.
The water level of the well was very deep from the ground's surface. Sometimes we kids would throw down small stones just to hear the ensuing splash. Then my Mom would asked us to stop saying .."If the stones would cover up the water level, one of you would down the well to take all the stones out!.." One of our male helpers do this once in a while, "cleaning the well " it was called. There was so much dirt and what-nots that settled inside, including all the stones that we threw in. But he hated this chore. He said it felt like being buried alive.
During the rainy season, the water level would go up, almost near the surface. We could touch the water with our hands and we do not need the pole to scoop it. Also during the rainy season, sometimes we saved the water for drinking because rainwater has a different, sweeet taste. It is pure H20. Acid rain was unheard of during those days.For the rest of the year, we pump our drinking water from a pump ( artesian well they called it ) which is located in our bangsal, a sort of structure on the second floor of the house with no roof and the floors were made with split bamboos. The bangsal is the place to wash dishes, spoons and cups after each meal. They used artesian well water for this purpose.
Ocassionally, we would still go to the river on Saturdays to wash clothes at the same time have a picnic and nature outing. One of my hobbies then was collecting stones from the river bed. There were plenty of stones there: all shapes and sizes.
One day, I found a stone shaped like a man. It got a head , two legs and one arm stretched out, like he is about to fly. He was about 3 or 4 inches high.I was so happy with my find. Better than finding a 5 peso bill on the street, I guess. Money does not last very long in my pocket.
I kept it safe with me and when I reached home, I hid it in a special corner in our house..
And so I suddenly had a toy, a buddy, a true pal. I called him Captain Marvel because this comic book hero in a red suit then was my favorite hero. I always bought Captain Marvel comic books from Dagupan's old Marigold magazine store.
When I had nobody to play with, I would play with Captain Marvel. I would bring him to our wide backyard beyond the empty ware house where there were lots of vegetation, shrubs and thick cogon grass. I made up adventures for him as he walked about on the grass or under the silag plants. Or I would make him fly up to the leaves of banana trees. Of course I was always keeping an eye for the snakes that might be sleeping there. But even if there were snakes, I was not afraid. I had Captain Marvel with me and he could lick anything or anybody!
And so we had lots of adventures. I made up the plots and dialogues while immersed in my fantasy world. When I was tired, I would go back to the house to read my comic books. then play again if there was still time left. ..I had months, then years of fantasy role playing after classes and during week ends and holidays.
It was on a hot sunny day on March. I was out playing with my stone action figure when I thought of going to the well to wash my face. It was so humid that day. Philippine summer has just began..The air was heavy with fine dust. So I was out there, keeping an eye on Captain Marvel as he was battling the "dust monsters". Soon some dirt cakes formed on my forehead. So off to the well I went. I placed Captain Marvel on the rim of the well. The water level was very deep that day. I threw in the water bucket.
As Ipulled up the bucket, my elbow hit Captain Marvel. And he flew down, down down into the well without me holding him.
My first reaction, like any 9-year old was to cry out loud. I could not believe how careless I was leaving him on the rim of the well, instead of laying him on the ground!
After an hour or two, I finally calmed down. I had to accept that he is gone. He "died" and there was nothing I can do about it.Going into the well was out of question.
The next day, I had to go to school with my books, pencils and all. I saw the well and tried not to mind it.
It was only after a week that I finally went back there to see my face in the water. . And I would break my image with a small pebble. I started reading again my Captain Marvel comics and continued buying them each time a new copy appeared on the Marigold Book store shelves in Dagupan---#
VICTORIO COSTES
