Ang Huling Tikbalang

Chapter 6: Ortago
 
The ground was coming up pretty fast. I braced for impact. At about twenty feet from the ground, a shadow flew passed me. And at about ten feet, this dark apparition caught me at the waist then yanked me sideways. Now I’m going sideways, defying the force of gravity. Then for a moment whatever it was that was conveying me again changed direction after what felt like a jump up. I saw a slide show of the side of our house as I was whisked up. The grip on my waist loosened as another grip on my ankle tightened like a clamp. I could see the galvanized iron sheet. I'm on the roof! Held up by my ankle, I was shaken like a half filled sack of potatoes. One by one my Tikbalang Finder Kit:-- the kaleidoscope-like viewer and the compass-like contraption fell out from my pockets. A spark flew into the air as my Zippo hit the galvanized iron sheet. I dropped the leather pouch I held in my hand as well. Then he dropped me.
 
On my hand and knees, I crawled up to the ridge of the roof and sat crosswise across it. I stared at the shadowy malignant mass before me. The thing that caught me as I fell then swept me up here on the roof. I couldn’t make it out. My eyes focused just as the blob of shadows moved. It rose up. It’s edges peeled off, and these bits stretched out like cats waking up from a nap. My God, they are cats-- two slinky, mangy feral cats. They spread out but their beady yellow eyes were still on me. The hair bristles on the back of my neck and did the dance that it does so well. Some people say this is God’s warning that the devil is near, but I’ve experienced the same sensation when I’m eating balut. The menacing blob is the stuff horror movies are made of and the feral cats further add to the drama. I tried harder to convince myself that I’m not in the presence of a devil. Yet the hair on my nape continued to do its dance-- and I know I am not eating balut. And yet the sensation persisted. Okay, I'm going to scream now. I willed myself to be calm. I took a step back just as the main mass of the shadow stretched out. A distant lightning on the horizon back-lighted the blot of black. It took a human-like form, mockingly genuflected, bowed its head and spoke in a deep voice…
 
“Ako si Ortago, ang iyong lingkod. Kinatatakutang mandirigma at hinahangaang mangngangaso.”
 
He slid forward on silent feet into the moonlight. It-- or rather he, was more than eight feet tall. He had disproportionately long limbs and body wrapped in what appeared as armor made of chain mail and leather. Sheathed crosswise on his back are two blades at a length that is between a sword and a dagger. The blades shimmered in the moonlight; it's sharp translucent edge so thin it almost seemed to vanish; its hilts decorated with spirals and a ball at the end. Seated atop the sheaths is a small metal backpack. Two bolos, the hilts likewise intricately carved with spirals, are sheathed and strapped on his leather and mail brigandine. On one hand he holds a walking stick that looked more like a weapon than an ordinary staff. There was faint dark blue shimmer on the walking sick, the moonlight played around its edges giving it an almost ghostly shimmer. He was about half as tall as the Tikbalang Omas, but he seems to be much stronger and faster.
 
He unhinged the articulated metal lames of his bevor-- armor which covered much of his neck and chin, removed a gauntlet-- exposing a sinewy and hairy hand, and knelt on one knee as he rummaged at the pile of junk that fell out of my pockets. He held the kaleidoscope-like viewer, gave it a cursory look, crushed it with his hand then let it drop from his grip. The compass cum mechanical astronomical clock interested him more. He held it with what could be described as close to reverence. He made a sound much like the chattering laugh of a spotted hyena. It was unnerving.
 
The gismo is known to humankind as the Antikythera mechanism. A prototype was recovered from a shipwreck off Point Glyphadia on the Greek Island of Antikythera in 1900 and thus was named after the island. It was disguised to look like an extravagant over-indulgent Olympic calendar to hide its true usage. The ruse worked. Even as humans have discovered it and studied it. Nobody has yet understood what it is used for. Actually what was discovered from the wreak was merely a mock up-- a crude proof of concept made in 100 BC, much simpler and less portable than the mechanism Ortago now hold in his hand.
 
The mangy cats has now slithered up behind him and seem to disappear again into the shadows. All that remained visible are two pairs of unblinking yellow eyes. Images of Felix the Cat-- with his magical black bag that could transform into a car, an airplane, anything, uncontrollably flew across my mind.
 
It is usually at this point that ordinary human beings normally take stock of the situation they find themselves in. Asking themselves questions like: Can I run away? Can I take him out? Unfortunately, both options are unavailable. Running away would require jumping off the roof, an option that would only be feasible if I have a parachute. On the other hand, taking a stand and fighting is a totally different matter. Without any weapon, one must rely on their fists but when you punch the face of an adversary who could also throw a punch, they tend to punch you at about the same time you’re aiming for their face. This invariably complicates matters. If you can’t knock out the enemy first, maybe it’s better not to initiate a fight. And so I watch and waited. Waited for what fate had planned for me. And hoped that fate would still change her mind. Of course, one can always give in to panic. It’s probably what most people would do.
 
Ortago stepped onto the roof’s eave. He was holding the Antikythera mechanism and after tweaking some knobs and levers, he checked its bearings, then scanned the horizon. Then for a moment he froze as if surprised. He cupped his mouth with his hands. He then lets out a howl that mimicked that of a wolf. A similar howl tore thru the distant dark skies.

Omas!
 
In my mind’s eye, I could see Omas staggering and steadying himself. I remember the last image of his face as he pushed me off the airship. It seems even a Tikbalang is not immune to the effects of the Tikbalang powder-- a heady mix of narcotics and herbs that brought on mild hallucinations and paranoia. The most potent weapon in the Tikbalang’s bag of tricks. Effective in elaborate practical jokes as well as in combat. The powder, as I have experienced, messes up one’s sense of direction and time. It seems that somehow Omas got his wits back and has responded to what appears as a challenge from Ortago. But, I doubt Omas would oblige. The airship is now just a speck as it continued to head southward. Omas obviously is in no condition to fight and has chosen flight.
 
Then all of a sudden the air is filled with the sound of rapid patter as if I'm about to be overrun by a horde of stampeding rats. It’s only raindrops. Big drops of raindrops. The distant lightning has ceased and in its stead a haze of gray blurred the horizon. I got down on my elbows and knees fearful of a lighting strike.
 
In a blink of an eye, the armored apparition was on me and had picked me up again, this time by my shoulder. He effortlessly held me up until we are face to face.
 
“Ikaw ba ang bagong laruan ni Omas?”
 
He knows Omas. And like Omas, he speaks the Tagalog dialect but, unlike Omas, he speaks it with an Ilokano accent. Omas speaks it with a Bisayan intonation.
 
Ortago took a step toward the eave of the roof and swung me over the edge; I’m now dangling two stories from the ground.
 
"Alam mo ba na noong unang panahon ay kumakain kami ng tao? Bigyan mo ako ng dahilan para hayaan kitang mabuhay pa."
 
At wits end, I retrieved the contraband from my mouth. The gold locket-- with the picture of a woman, which I furtively liberated from the makeshift altar from which it hung at Omas' airship. I held it out to Ortago.

Ortago lets out a hyena’s laugh. A glint of recognition crossed his face. Is that a smirk?
 
“Si Nenita Guerrero?”
 
Ortago’s grip on my shoulder tightened. An instant later, we are falling. It took a moment before I realized it that Ortago had stepped over the edge of the roof. And just before we hit the ground, Ortago let go of me. I tumbled. The wind knocked out of me. I staggered to my knees. I touched the ground one more time just to make sure. The ground actually felt good.
 
Up close and with the moonlight shining on him, Ortago didn’t looked as menacing as he was in the shadows. His dark colored armor clung to his body like skin. The leather was meticulously sewn and the chain mail made of some kind of metal I’ve never seen before. His hair, a jumble of dreadlocks. My eyes met his.
 
“Alam mo ba na ang mga mananakop na Kastilang prayle ang nagbansag sa amin ng Kapre”?


The word "kapre" was actually a corruption of the Arabic word “Kaffir”-- a non-believer in Islam. A defamatory reference used by early Arabs and Moors to villify dark-skinned non-Muslim Dravidians. It was the early Spanish friars who brought and propagated the term in the Philippine islands; initially to scare and dissuade early Filipinos from helping escaped African slaves. The term was later applied to sightings of Ortago and his ilk.

“Kapre” or “Tikbalang”, Ortago and Omas are of the same blood.
 
The Warrior-hunter class-- to which Ortago belongs, and the Intellectuals-- to which Omas belongs, had a long history of conflict and had fought each other for centuries since after the “Fall”. To prevent further bloodshed, truce was declared and an agreement forged. The Warriors-hunters were banished to the island of Luzon and the Intellectuals were condemned to the yet undiscovered wilderness beyond Luzon island. The island of Siquijor was declared neutral ground-- nay, sacred ground. The Intellectuals-- the guardians of ancient knowledge and the high priests, were tasked to keep watch over the island. Warriors-hunters and Intellectuals alike have equal access to Isla del Fuego on equinoxes for "The Gathering". But the truce was fragile and skirmishes continued thru the centuries. Fewer and fewer showed up for "The Gathering". The few who did feared ambush. Until no one showed up anymore. Many struck out on their own and chose to live solitary lives. Random fighting continued. Some were hunted by humans. Until their numbers dwindled. Until only Omas and Ortago were left. Each stayed within their realm. A semblance of peace reigned. It had been centuries since the truce was broken. Until today.
 
Ortago knew that Omas would not risk the intrusion for something trivial. Ortago turned to me and grabbed me to examine my chest. He saw the blood stain and at once understood. He held up the Antikythera mechanism then something like a sneer quivered over his gaunt features. He let me go.
 
Ortago looked up in the skies as he slid the Antikythera mechanism into a satchel. Then he sniffed at the air.
“Panahon na...”
 
Ortago then produced what looked like a metal tube with what appeared to me as burning embers on one end-- it actually looked like a cigar. And like a cigar, there is smoke emanating from the burning end. The smoke provides a translucent screen that makes Ortago almost invisible. The  cats had made their way down and are again on his side and appear to blend with him. He again genuflected. Then from that position, he jumped up and disappeared into the dark night.
 
Itutuloy...

Ang Huling Tikbalang

Chapter 5: Omas

"Kung iyong ipahihintulot ay gagamitin kong kasangkapan ang bertud upang ako ay magkaroon muli ng pag-asa na makabalik sa aking mundo”

I willed myself to think. Within me is some kind of Bezoar stone-- a stony concretion that have been embedded, cultured and somehow passed down through generations in our bloodline; that this Mutya or Hiyas or Bertud-- or whatever it is called, is now “ripe” for harvest; and to "harvest" it is to surgically extract it?

He desperately needs it for something really important; but, he’s not forcing it. He could have ripped me apart to get it. But, somehow he didn't. It seems he can’t force it. That’s it. I have to “give” it to him-- or, at least, to acquiesce in to a surgery.

Folklore has it that deception and lies are second nature to his ilk. Deception is the game we are playing right now, but how much is deception and how much is the truth I could not sieve through. Everybody lies. It is not so much as telling an absolute lie as not telling all that is true. Truth is that which is true or in accordance with facts or reality, but sometimes the facts or reality could be unacceptable or incredible to us and for which reason even the truth is rejected and that which is untrue is embraced. The truth, I guess, is what we would like to believe in. Facts and reality are solid rocks we could anchor unto and walk upon, but we need faith to fly.

Humans are generally assumed to tell the truth in their dealings with other humans, but lie at every opportunity that would benefit them. His kind generally lie; does that mean he tells the truth for the same reasons and motivations we tell lies?

I need more time and a calmer place to think. But, all things considered what do I have to loose? Other than a few drops of blood and a wound that would eventually heal-- not much; in fact, nothing.

And so, I let him do what he had to do.

He told me to take the contents of one of the vial first, which I did. I felt slightly lightheaded. Then he deftly made a small incision on my chest. I felt pain. I felt blood oozing from the wound. It felt warm. But, it was over in minutes. Something like a sneer quivered over his gaunt features as he held up the bertud. He held it up in the air like a priest consecrating the Eucharist. Then he unceremoniously took one vial from my hand and poured its entire contents over the wound. It felt cold on my skin and in a minute a gel had formed over the wound. He said I should drink the contents of the last vial only if I experience pain.

"Para sa iyo..."

He tossed over what looked like a cylinder made of interlocking gold mesh; and as with most of his gadgets, it is studded with precious stones. It looks like a small telescope. I could grasp it in my hand with just a little of it sticking out of my fist. I looked into the eye hole. It’s a kaleidoscope of some kind. I rotated the tube and the rubies, diamonds and other precious stones within the tube interacted with the mirror-like surface inside the tube. It seems to do the reverse of what a kaleidoscope normally does. Instead of seeing changing patterns when the tube is rotated; it puts the Tikbalang in sharp focus. Through the eye hole I could clearly see the Tikbalang-- even with his camouflage turned on.

Then he tossed over a mechanical contraption with a jumble of miniature dials, gears, knobs and levers. It's face is a cross between a bejeweled clock and an intricately designed compass but with several dials. It looks like some kind of a multifunctional steam punk analog computer cum navigational instrument on steroids. The device looks remarkable for its level of miniaturization and for the complexity of its parts and is comparable to that of 19th-century clocks. It has more than 30 gears with teeth formed through equilateral triangles. The Tikbalang flicked a hidden lever and it revealed a dial resembling a clock with a round dial with symbols rather than numbers on them, it has only one hand and it's pointing directly at him. An analog GPS? Cool.

“Kakailanganin mo mga iyan kung nanaisin mo muli akong makaharap. Hindi na kita muli matutunton ngayong natanggal na ang bertud sa iyong dibdib.”

I stuffed them into my pocket with the Zippo.

It seems that the thing inside me is also some kind of beacon that he tunes into to track me. That is how he locates me. Without it, he cannot track me. And now he would want me to be able to track him?

Suddenly, he cocked his head slightly to one side as if he had heard a muffled or a distant sound-- a sound not unlike that made by a intruder in the night as he stumbled on furniture, and he is now straining to confirm it.

What happened next was a blur: he strapped a leather and metal contraption around my waist and torso; then he connected what looked like a cable unto it. He grasped me by my shoulders, looked into my eyes and said:

“Ako si Omas. Sa muling pagkikita.”

Then, without warning, he pushed me out of the door. Instinctively, I grabbed on to him-- I caught a leather pouch that hang on a string around his neck. A blast of white powder sprayed forth onto his face as I my hold tightened on the leather pouch. Anguish and confusion flooded his face.

The sight, smell and sound of the night enveloped me once more. I felt a rush of air. I could see the ground rushing up to me.

I'm falling...


itutuloy...

Ang Huling Tikbalang

Chapter 4: Ang Bertud

He turned to the wall of vials and ran his forefinger through the rows and rows of vari-colored phials; momentarily lingering on one before moving on to another; finally, he extricated three dusty vials. He then stepped back to the console and pulled out his itak from its slot. Then he turned to face me as he tapped on a combination of jewels on the itak’s handle to release and separate a thin scalpel like knife from the itak’s blade. He handed me the vials.

“Nagkakamali ka. Wala akong alam sa pananambal...”, I said.

"Hindi na ako magpapaliguy-ligoy pa." His manner now more deliberate, he no longer circle about a topic or double back to restate a previous sentence; I even detect a hint of urgency in his voice.

"Ang pinakamahalagang nagawa para sa akin ng iyong ninuno ay ang pagtago at pagpapayabong ng isang bertud-- isang butil ng pag-asa para sa akin, sa isang lugar na walang makakakuha."

He laid his forefinger on my chest and tapped.

"Nandito...!"


Itutuloy...

Ang Huling Tikbalang

Chapter 3: Ang Mananambal

"Ano ba talaga ang kailangan mo sa akin?"

I asked the question again, though I was no longer sure I was prepared to hear the answer to it. It's way passed midnight, I could tell from the color of the sky, it's now tinge with gray and blue. Like the first time I was with him, time seemed to have warped. When I looked back at him, his itak is already up in the air, and in the next moment he had thrust it down in a smooth sweeping motion as if to strike at something, though I didn't see anything there; Clank! It struck metal. Suddenly, the airship became less translucent, like a projected image coming into focus. He stepped into it with his head bent; apparently, to clear a low doorway; he disappeared into the blurriness. After a moment, an arm came into focus again and motioned me to follow.

When I watch horror flicks, I rail at characters who put themselves in situations where it is obvious that they would likely be chopped, burned or eaten alive. Idiots, I'd say to them, you deserve your fate. If this is such a movie, this is the best time to walk away. I could almost hear the audience-- Stupid, get out of there! Now, I'm not fearless and I'm not stupid either. I am standing on what seems to be a doorway. Either I walk away right now or I jumped right in. Still contemplating my options, I extended my hand beyond the surface of what could be a door. Immediately, my hand blurred out of focus. I could now only perceive the vaguest impression of my hand beyond the doorway, my wrist ending as abruptly as that of an amputee. I felt no pain though. That's good. I pulled back my hand, it came back into focus. That's good, too.

What the heck, I stepped in.

I stepped into a vacuum-- a vortex of silence that sucked all the sounds from my ears. All the sounds of the night dissolved.

He was already sitting on a wire frame chair in front of what looked like a cockpit full of mechanical dials and levers. He had put on an ornate barbute with a retractable visor that when extended gave him the profile of a horse. Again he raised his itak and thrust it unto a slot; then he pulled at it like a lever and the whole airship shook as if being unhinged from a clamp. Then he tossed what looked like glowing embers unto a metal cylinder that dominated the center of the airship. He closed the lid. Then, he flicked a switch to activate a mechanism that whined like a fan. He sat, his back turned on me, with a beam of light shining upon the golden spine on his nape. I inched forward to take a closer look until he is within arm's reach, I reached out. The skin on the tip of my forefinger felt separately alive as I did so, and my skin tingled. I couldn't understand it, but it was how I felt. Just then the airship shuddered and threw me off balanced. I fell back. We're floating up. I grabbed on to a hand rail. Small green leaves hang down from above, it smelt reminiscent of spicy mint, but not quite that, with a hint suggestive of a heady mix of freshly mowed grass after a drizzle of rain and a trace of coconut oil, but not quite any of those things, either.

Then I noticed that the wall is actually a woody-stemmed series of branches, a living vine-- probably some kind of orchid, trailing on the metal frame of the airship like a trellis of bamboo and wire Dada used to guide the growth of a row of Ampalaya plants we used to have back in Frisco. A bunch of fireflies flew in through the gaps between the branches and the titanium mesh. Then a head of a tuko came out, its mouth half open, a firefly's wing hanging out from it; the wing disappeared after a quick jerk of the tuko's head, the tuko blinked its eyes, licked its chops then withdrew into the cover of the leaves. The airship is a living and breathing ecosystem!

Every gear and mechanical device is multi-functional; streams of pinhole sized blue light streaked across and around me, flooding the capsule with an unnatural luminance. I looked around, there's barely enough room for two normal sized people.

"... pero saan ka natutulog dito?"

"Hindi ko kailangang matulog."

"... 'di ka natutulog? Kahit kailan...?"

"Hindi."

Vials with vari-colored liquids in them lined the wall, farther back is a ledge that served as a desk, rolls of parchment paper and a stack of books-- dog-eared ancient books, were scattered on it. One book particularly caught my attention, it's bound in leather with what appear as Arabic script printed on its cover. He said it's the only existing copy of the "Book of Ingenious Devices"; a book commissioned by the Abassid Caliph of Baghdad, Abu Jafar al-Ma'mun ibn Harun, credited as a work of the Banu Musa brothers and first published in 850 A.D. He said most of the automatas illustrated on the book were invented by them when they still freely roamed the Earth, stolen by Greek scholars, and from whom the Banu Musa brothers merely copied from. He said they destroyed all the other copies because it contained, among others, a blueprint of the airship.

My eyes were then drawn to an intricate gold locket that hung on a makeshift altar, I opened it and inside was a faded photograph of a woman, a very plain-featured kayumanggi, with nothing in her looks that would merit a second look, her long black slightly wavy hair brushed back from her plain face more as a practical convenience rather than for style.

He swung around to face me.

"Kilala ko ang lolo ng lola mo. Isa siyang Mananambal sa Isla del Fuego."

You knew Dada's grandfather? I vaguely knew Dada was a Bisaya, but I did not know that she hailed from the Visayan island of Siquijor. I realized then that I knew very little about Dada.

More dials are turned, a lever or two pulled here and there, then a tug on a chain attached to a pulley, magically the floor and walls of the airship expanded to double its breadth-- the airship is a huge Hoberman sphere, a hybrid geodesic dome that could be expanded and folded down to a fraction of its size by the scissor-like action of its joints. The gaps on the mesh have become bigger, too; I could now see the steeple of the Immaculate Conception Cathedral and the dark gray dome of the Araneta Coliseum on the horizon, I figured we are about two hundred feet up in the air. I've read somewhere that the horizon, as seen by a five foot tall man standing at sea level on a clear day, is four kilometers away. From this height, I could probably see as far away as ninety kilometers all around me. I've never been on a mountain or on a plane before, never as high up as this; the sight is simply overwhelming. The headlights on Highway 54 twinkled like stars, tree tops gently swayed with the wind as if they are dancing in the moonlight. I felt insignificant compared to the rest of the universe.

He stood up and tore off the armor plates-- the bejewelled spaulders on his broad and sinewy shoulders and equally bejewelled rerebraces on his upper arms, and showed me a deep nasty scar that ran from his right arm to his upper chest, the healed flesh a grim testimony to old violence. He had survived a mortal wound only because my great grandfather attended to him. In gratitude, he shared his own pharmacopoeia and taught my great grandfather the ancient knowledge of concocting medicine from plants, rare herbs, minerals and animal parts that were then abundant in the islands. Not long after that, he said my great grandfather became a well known and sought after mananambal. He reminisced that as he convalesce from his wound, he and my great grandfather went for long walks in search of materials and ingredients in the woods and mountains of Siquijor; and since some of the plants they needed were not endemic to the islands, they secretly planted, and farmed, these exotic plants in hidden nooks and crannies that they only knew. Most of these plants only sprout or blossom or bear fruit only once a year-- exactly seven Fridays after Ash Wednesday. And thus the quest for ingredients coincides with the Cuaresma and culminates on the eve of their Summer Equinox Gathering when the ingredients are then subjected to pangangadlip or pagpapagong and made into minasa-- a yearly quest for ingredients that was eventually ritualized by second and third generation mananambals and other followers and is now known in Siquijor as Pangangalap.

His voice then went down to a whisper-- as if wary that somebody else might hear, and said that he also taught my great grandfather the secret science of extracting esoteric ores from the deepest bowels of the Earth. He said that my great grandfather further improved on the metallurgical processes that were taught him and it wasn't long before my great grandfather was able to extract the elemental essences of these metals and minerals with the use of crucibles; and developing alternative ways to further purify these extracts.

"... iyon ang dahilan kaya ako nandito."


itutuloy...

Ang Huling Tikbalang

Chapter 1: Claire de Lune

It was a moonlit night. On a night like this, going out to play a game of hide-and-seek was the cool thing to do in those days. The air was hot and humid, my sando stuck to my back like a leech and beads of sweat were draining down my eyebrows, stinging my eyes. It did not matter, it was always fun. And I was good at this game. None of my cousins have ever found me-- not Olan, not Cho-cho, not Chuck, nobody! I've hidden in the most unlikely places and sometimes I just stood motionless in the shadows and let stray moonbeams filtering down through the tree branches to cut me up in unrecognizable parts. But, that night I did something more radical, I climbed up the Duhat tree. It was the best idea I've come out with thus far; nobody ever looks up, they won't find me, ever. 

I climbed on a fairly large branch, sat on it and after a while brought out my Zippo; I was tinkering with it when something snuffled and snorted behind me. I blinked my eyes and stared up at the stars. Then I looked down to the ground and then on my side. It moved from behind me to my side. I blinked my eyes again. It was still there; beside me; it was blocking my way down and I was too high up to jump down. I could feel its presence, I didn't have to look. But, I did look; well, not exactly, I took a sneak through the corner of an eye without turning my head. It was there alright. I searched my mind to pigeonhole the creature beside me.

"Ano 'to?..."

" 'di kaya isa 'tong--" I thought to myself, then tried to push the thought away by thinking of something else; it didn't work, panic seized me. I was a young boy then and would have been afraid if it didn't looked more afraid of me than I was of it. With a hangdog face it spoke gently; it sheepishly said it meant no harm and was even apologetic of how scary it looked. 

It was a man's voice. A voice that, amazingly, sounded like the deep baritone voice of a news reader I listened to on the AM radio. Maybe it was his demeanor and his gentle voice for I do not remember being scared. It is not that I was inherently plucky as a child and I must admit I was afraid of the dark (still am) but I claim kinship with all things that thrive on moonlit nights. Besides, you could see in moonlit nights; it isn't technically dark. He kept looking at my Zippo; seemed to be fascinated by it. I told him I found the Zippo wedged between Dada's food cupboard and the kitchen wall; it was quite old and a bit battered; the hinge a bit twisted. The upper lid doesn't line up with the body and it doesn't close right. He asked if he could take a look. I wasn't exactly sure what happened next; maybe I had a brain fart or something, as if a sliver of memory had been yanked out of my brain. The next thing I saw was that he was holding my Zippo in his hand. I fought off the urge to try to grab it back. Nobody touches my Zippo! His strong hands looked human though, but they were hairy and had overly long sinewy fingers and dirty rending fingernails. He held and caressed my Zippo as if it was a delicate Faberge egg. I grimaced as he took a sniff at my Zippo; told me that it belonged to a private in the U.S. Army; a WW II soldier who fought the Japanese here; who had dysentery and later died of a gunshot wound. "Lahat ng 'yun nalaman mo sa isang singhot lamang?" Then he whipped out a glass bulb; he took off the lid and waved it about; in a few seconds it was full of kulisap; he hanged the glowing bulb on a branch; so he could see, he said. He said the Zippo was manufactured in 1941. Then he held out a humongous locket attached with a spinner ball to a thick chain he wore around his neck, an octagon shaped puzzle box with a mechanical trick lock. He deftly operated the opening mechanism: shifted a few panels and rotated a few pins then held it up in a certain way for a few seconds till it opened up to reveal an assortment of tools and other attachments stowed within the hollow that could be manipulated via a pivot point mechanism much like that of a Swiss Army knife but a lot more complex. Upon opening, a miniature cylinder-- with minute pins on it, started to revolve which then struck the tuned teeth of a metal comb, a tiny drum and a set of small bells to play a tune. He said he adapted and integrated the mechanism of a carillon à musique into his take-anywhere "tool box" because he was intrigued by the workings of it; the tune was Debussy's Clair de lune, he added. He pulled out what looked like a mechanical grab and a tool that looked like pliers. He worked on the lid of the Zippo; replaced the wick and put a flint in; polished it and handed it back to me. I flipped the top lid open then flipped it closed, it clicked. It was like new again. I stole a glance at him and saw his eyes glistened with pride. We talked in whispers for a while longer; then he said he’d seek me out again when I was older.

Sensing that he was about to turn around to go, I gathered up enough wits to ask him or it what he or it was. But, he seemed to have anticipated the question and didn't wait for me to finish. He grunted. It sounded like he was suppressing laughter. It was enough. It confirmed what I had in mind. And with that, he disappeared into the darkness of the night.

It took me quite some time to get down from the Duhat tree even as it took me less than a minute to climb up. And when I did got down, everybody had gone home. It seemed I spent only a few minutes up the tree but when I looked up the sky, it already had a tinge of orange on it, it was almost daybreak. And even as the tree was just a few steps from Dada's house it took me sometime to find my way up the stairs. Curiously too, everybody in the house was in deep sleep when I finally got to my bed. I must have lost track of time.