Authors: Emil M. Flores
Another perky DJ joined in. “Quick trivia for you guys out there, this is
actually
a cover of the song ‘Maalaala Mo Kaya’
.
I know, no one
remembers the original, really—so the title’s pretty clever, huh?”
She stopped trying to comprehend what was happening and scanned the papers instead. They still had the strange, rubbery feel that other countries had managed to get rid of. It
was fairly unusual for people to have physical news, now, but she supposed that not everyone could download it to their phones—not yet. Not here. That was still the same, too.
Carmina,
our very own STAR on ASAP LIVE!
it said on the right dog-ear; then,
movement to install more public toilets
on the left.
GMangOes, updates on stem cell research, fresh air, OFWs
in the space hotels, and the revival of national pride, especially now in these troubling
times—she skimmed through the front page, wondering just how much had changed—or how
little.
Yeah, yeah. So when are times not troubling,
she thought, with more than a little mirth—but she turned to that story and started reading, unaware of the
snowflake that had drifted down and stuck itself on the car window, of the roads on either side of her that were covered in a paper-thin layer of white.
By Audrey Rose Villacorta
My finger usually would have been shaking as I lightly touched the sign out link on my monitor. Seven years ago, I would have simply dropped dead. Then, I got a second-hand
desktop computer for my graduation present. I was utterly, reasonably horrified despite the little wave of delight. Twenty-one and free from the bondage of term papers, I had no idea what to do
with it aside from showing it off to my friends. In the days that followed, I camped in that corner of our house in Bicol where my father also stored sacks of rice harvested from our farm. I was
forced to discover what I could do with my first computer, aside from opening and saving documents. I dared not touch the Fs.
But when I read my sixty-year-old mother’s e-mail, fear left me almost paralyzed. I just had to get rid of the mail as fast as I could. The twelve-paragraph message had
my loving but practical mother’s decade-old wish, which was also my father’s dying wish, God rest his soul, that I marry somebody as soon as possible—or at least find a sperm
donor that would produce a decent grandchild.
After praising my rebonded hair and brown eyes—she politely avoided mentioning my big mouth—and “our good genes,” she said things that one would never
ever want to hear from her mother. Like websites with names that sound like a factory of babies, if not getting hit by a bus and getting paid for it.
I was repulsed that I was somehow interested in checking them out. I had to repeat in my head the one and only reason why I should not engage in ‘things’ that I had
not been taught back in G.M.R.C. Not until every maiden on earth had done ‘it.’ But how would I tell my mother that I could not—must not—or it would be the end of the world,
literally?
I had been the guardian of humanity for years and I was not going to fail, even be it for my remaining parent. Of course, I had not told anyone that. People would naturally
think I was crazy.
I grabbed my locket and quickly uttered a prayer that was much older than my mother’s. Then I resumed switching off the computer, which was accompanied by a long
procession of words from my mouth that increased in intensity and decreased in intelligence.
“Shut down. Off. Switch off? Close! Oh, please, just die.”
For a few seconds, my computer and I stared at each other, and I thought that somehow we made a connection that would make my life easier in school, until a shiny brown head
suddenly popped out beside my face and said, “Click Close. Click Start. Click Shut Down.” Then it retreated from somewhere behind me as the computer miraculously obeyed. That was while
every cell of my body disintegrated into black particles and fell in a heap on the floor. The only thing whole was my heart, which was now in a place that could only be what used to be my
throat.
“Madonna, you do remember that we have a meeting?” The tiny bald man with non-rimmed glasses had his lips pulled in either side of his face in a fashion that was
like a smile. And a smiling principal when a teacher was late was v-e-r-y bad. If the date and time on my digital clock obscured by his round little head was correct, then I had yet given him
another reason to further his cause in The Meeting. And I remembered, it was indeed 3:30 p.m. on June 6, 2017. I scurried away from the sunny room with Mr. Benavidez and my computer at the center
of it, both of them grinning after me, I was sure. I walked briskly across the hall to join my co-teachers, almost bumping against a new recruit who looked like Piolo Pascual.
That night, before I prayed my usual prayer, I first asked God to touch Mr. Benavidez’ heart and have him send back the E.T.s to the division office. Computers I could
handle, but not those electronic teachers. I just could not imagine being in the same room with a bucket of bolts that can talk, and, they said, can actually teach.
Then I prayed that He keep my students safe and also my family. Finally, I took my locket from inside my nightshirt, opened it, took out the gray piece of paper, and clutched
it to my heart. Despite my fear to even say the words, I whispered over and over that He keep the world as it was and not let darkness linger too long.
As I did so, I looked at the paper with a child’s writing and drawings. There was what seemed to be a bottle with rings inside. Then there were labels. I knew well what
they meant, though some parts had been smeared by rainwater. I knew it was rain because it was pouring on my way home the day I made the notes in it.
The sky was very dark on that day. It seemed that lightning wanted to strike me down despite my wet, shivering size. Cold terror nibbled on my tiny heart as I gripped my
already soaked bag and held on to my umbrella in a game of tug-of-war with the wind. It was my plump teacher’s idea of getting us all cozy earlier while the rain fell like felines on our
classroom roof, so she told us about how the world would end. I did not even know it was supposed to.
She said darkness will envelop every plain and valley of the earth. Everybody must go home before the last ray of daylight is swallowed by blackness. If unfortunately one of
our family members does not make it, we must by all means close our doors. Even if our mothers pound and beg to come in, we should not dare open the doors, because the moment we do, we will be
facing the devil himself. It would not be my mother anymore, who might have hurried home from buying something. Not my sister anymore, who might have been playing on the other side of the
street.
Everything will be infected by the evil blackness that descended upon the earth. There will be no food. Not if we happened to hear this story, for the only food will be a jar
of stored grapes, graced on top by a mother grape, which should have been blessed by the priest. Candles and matches that can be lit would only be those that have also been blessed.
Then we will wait and listen to unimaginable calamities happening outside as good battles evil. We must not come out of our homes until we receive a sign. And when we do, we
will be judged by God himself, and there will be no more family.
I was lost in my thoughts. I stared blindly out the window at the green fields blurred by rain. Mrs. Clara continued to mumble about prophecies while I searched every nook of
my mind for a possible escape when that time comes. How could I store the grapes? We buy them only on Christmas. Won’t they rot? How do I get the priest to bless them? How will I warn my
sisters and brothers and mama and papa?
But then my teacher said that we will know when that time is near. If we notice that there are no longer babies born, we should start storing the blessed grapes.
So that would never really happen, I said to myself. That just has to be impossible. Didn’t God tell Noah that He would no longer try to destroy the world and create the
rainbow to seal that promise? Didn’t I just see one yesterday?
Still, for the next few days, I lived with the same fear I walked with that day after school, especially when gray clouds threatened the light of the day. I always looked out
after my sister and brothers. But on a very still and dark night before the week ended, I discovered how I could postpone the day I so feared.
It was very late. I was waiting for my mother to come to bed. She was looking at a strange writing on a long notebook. Then she would punch softly on her typewriter. It was
lulling me to sleep, that soft clicking sound followed by that of the rushing sea just around the corner. Then my mother stopped. She cocked her head and seemed to listen to something. It was a
distant crowing of roosters.
“A maiden downtown is pregnant. Already two babies out of wedlock this month,” she tsked and went back to typing.
I did not know roosters could know something like that. But I did realize that one gets an enormous belly almost the whole year round, and then a baby, if she got pregnant. If
there were always a baby, I guessed that Judgment Day would have to be postponed for another time—each time. Hope sprang in my chest. I just knew what I would do.
“Great, I’m pregnant again.”
“Come on, Madonna, honey. It’s not like it’s your fifth baby. And shouldn’t you be happy? You’ve prevented the end of the world for another one
year.”
I threw the pregnancy kit at my husband’s temple with violent intentions. Keane, who looked like a very rugged and tired actor in his unshaven state, managed to duck. I
could not be any happier when his head connected with the handle of the refrigerator door instead. I hated it when he joked about my thus far almost two–decade-long personal mission to save
the world.
“You know I will get married and have kids, but not this soon,” I screeched as I marched out of the bathroom, past my husband rubbing his head and across the sala.
I shrieked when I almost stepped on a hissing black plate that sucked some bits of the pregnancy kit from under the sofa. I fought the urge to kick it out of the house to the construction going on
in the vacant lot in front. I yelled “Push Stop” instead. It went still and I continued my way to the mezzanine that was our room. The blue lights emanating from under our steel gray
bed did not calm me this time. Nor did the big new plasma television on the ceiling.
“Well, of course that would be when you’re all dried up and could feed your babies milk powder from your very own bosom,” a voice that was unmistakably
hurting came from beneath. I burst into tears.
I heard Keane say something about pregnant women and thunder upstairs to my side. The day was restarted with a soothing plan of flying my mother from Catanduanes to stay with
us in Manila for Christmas and a promise to buy me that suit I can wear like skin while I lose weight and stretch marks.
I managed to get myself to the second school I taught in. I was glad that a steel railing was already being installed along the walk to the forefront of the building, or I
would skid my way to class. I was greeted by the sight of the class E.T. blinking red and swishing in the center of the room, the children around laughing and poking at it. Wires and laptops were
all tangled and I almost screamed when a rebounding little boy almost doubled over. I took a remote control from my bag and pointed it at the blinds that drew up the instant I hit the button. The
yellow light of the early morning flooded the white room as the children scrambled back to their stations of chairs and computers and mess of food.
I gingerly picked up the black and silver ball in the middle of the room. It was as big as my aunt’s 90s CD player. I felt silly for pitying it when I so loathed it four
years ago. I slid the power switch under it to Off and told my students to open their electronic notebooks and watch the presentation for the next class. They giggled to themselves as I started for
the door, my bag slung over my shoulder and the poor E.T. in my arms.
They were not as happy when I appeared at the door again, this time a white round E.T. was gliding lightly ahead of me. I sat at my table in the corner and watched the E.T.
present the lessons I’d saved in my memory card last night. There at the center, it cast a soft green light that formed a grid. Minutes later, the room was full of transparent images of
leaping athletes and flying objects, while a voice coming from the little white ball on the floor explained gravity.
I watched my students type at the same time on their individual laptops. Later, the E.T. automatically called their names at random and quizzed them, but I stopped it right
after the presentation. I still liked talking to my students. I was their class adviser after all and I still had to grade their manners. The E.T. could rest.
I busied myself with sending e-mails to my friends about my second baby and browsing news sites. Another update was made on the issue I have been following for the last two
weeks. President Ramon Revilla was actually considering approving the three-child policy. I felt sick. I ran to the comfort room and stayed there puking and crying my guts out until I heard my
students calling softly to me. The E.T. was quiet when I stepped out of the comfort room. Puzzled but concerned cherubic faces looked up at me. I smiled.
“Who wants a quiz?” Nobody raised a hand. I was glad that nothing had changed in this aspect of education. “Alright, I’ll tell you a story
instead.”
And I told them about the maiden who did not want to get married to save the world. They were silent after and I felt sorry for them for many reasons. I felt I was failing in
my mission.
Later, I came home to the drilling and crashing in front of our house. Soon, a giant steel building would rise from it. The drilling went on through the night and I silently
wept. I went out to our dark porch, lit a candle and held a silent vigil to what for me was death of another part of the earth.