by Ardy and Dave
After listening to the initial narration of Laura, the mother and Mary Joy, the daughter of what happened to them in that fateful evening of November 7, 2020, both Dave I started to feel uneasy. We looked unperturbed from the outside, yet, the turmoil of our thoughts and imaginations of what happened was ravaging our composure. This was a feeling only Dave and I understood. But, if only the people around us, at that time, could see what was going on in our minds and in our hearts, they would have been able to unravel the mystery of our anxiety.
Dave didn’t tell me his anxiety, neither did I. But both of us understood the beating of our pulse and of our hearts. Both Dave and I wanted to tell Mary Joy and Laura that what happened to them was not fair – that there was something wrong – that it was too much for a young girl like Mary Joy to have been allegedly subjected to that form of brutality, a kind of brutality only an insane person could do in the slaughterhouse.
I wanted to follow Dave as he went outside. I could not anymore feel the pain of his step unintentionally stamped on my hand as he stood and walked outside of the hut, after the initial narration. My pain was immaterial. What was super imposed at that moment was something both Dave and I did not understand. We wanted to shout for justice – for mercy – for peace – for immediate responses – for vengeance and what not, on behalf of joy. But as media people we were supposed to appear calm and cool. Hypocrisy! Even the noblest of women, Mother Mary sobbed to High Heavens when she saw her own Son punished and crucified for a sin He did not commit!
Yes, we were silent; all of us. But my silence was a mask since the turbulence of my thoughts was almost raging like fire. I asked for a glass of water from Ruth, my secretary, who came along from Baclayon. I gulped and almost emptied the small bottle of water Ruth gave me. I saw Dave furiously sweating out under the shade of a tree as he tried to gasp for fresh air while stretching out his sight to the vast green fields a few meters from where we were. His condition seemed to bother me as I know that his sugar count would rise and fall according to his threshold of stress. His blood pressure, sometimes, would do the same.
These were the games in my mind and these games were halted by Laura as she said: “Gipanuwayan man gud ko!”
I immediately stood from the floor and with a crescendo in my voice, I said: “Ha? Kinsa may gipanuwayan? Naunsa ka Laura?”
“Aw dili ba mam, si Rufino ba, kadtong ahong pares, pagkamatikod nija nga mao na to’y nahitabo sa mga bata, mikalit man lang siya ug ingon nga, ‘Gipanuwayan man ko!’ ug nadungog jud to naho mam nga miingon sija aron,” Laura narrated.
I squirmed at this statement especially when Laura continued by saying: “Midugang pa jud ahong pares ug ingon mam nga: ‘Ang yawa may gasugo naho nga buhaton ni,’ ingon sija mam.”
“Mao…. mao ba? Miingon siya ana?” I hesitatingly said.
Laura continued to narrate, this time changing the speed of her narration. She became faster. She said: “Mao tong nabintaha na unta ahong gibati mam kay mura man sija ug naka-amgo na sa ijang gibuhat. Tiaw ba’y miangkon na sija nga nayawa-an siya. Pero. . .!”
“Pero, unsa Laura?” I asked hurriedly.
Laura answered and said: “Pero nakurat ko mam kaajo – kaajo jud – kay mikalit na man pud sija ug kuha sa ijang hinagiban.”
I saw Laura’s eyes re-enacting the actual scene. I seemed to be terrified. I could feel again the “heavy downpour of the rain” of the “heavy rain” even if it was fuming hot outside.
“Gikuha na pud nijang balik ang ijang hinagiban mam unya GIDUSLAK nija sa ijang kaugalingon. . . . . whew . . .Misinggit na pud ko ug kusog. . . . . Unja gidunggab na pud nija ug samot ijang kaugalingon mam. . . . Unya, mao to nga . . . nga misamot ko ug singgit ug nangajo ko pakitabang sa mga tawo . . .Wa ko kahibawo ug muabot ba ug dili,” Laura said moving her hands as though she was holding the bladed weapon allegedly used by Rufino, her partner, in hacking her two daughters and, this time, in hacking himself. As Laura narrated this part of the story, every now and then, she would wet her lips with her tongue as they seemed to dry up.
Then she voluntarily continued: “Mao tong naluja na sija mam….. hu hu hu hu . .ug sa pagkaluja nija, naglubog na jud sija.. . . Maaaaam, adtong tungora galubog na sija…. adtong tungura, murag dili na naho kaya.. . . Tiaw bay tulo na silang nagkadugo sa ahong atubangan: hu hu hu . . . dihay ahong Mary Joy nga wala nay mga kamot……. dihay ahong 3 anyos nga anak nga wala na maglihuk kay ija nang giduslak…. diha pa pud ahong pares nga galubog na pud… Ginoo mag-unsa na man ko?” (To be continued)