Marven’s First Novel, chapter02

     One Saturday afternoon, at about four o’clock, Aldo went out of the house and was walking the length of the neighborhood’s concrete secondary road in the south. He was going the way of the creek eastwards, and the sun was shining on his back. He kept on the sidewalk, below which, is a sloping soil. And below is a few-meters-wide field of cracked clay with a few outgrowths of grass. Next is the creek teeming with bunches of running water lilies. And beyond are vast fields of melon, or of whatever fruit was planted there and farther, whose end could not be seen by the naked eye. After he passed the block where his cousin Greta’s house is, he took less than a hundred steps more and finally reached the end of the concrete road. What lay before him next is an extension, a recently-built network of roads of pure soil.

     This point had, for many years, been considered the edge of the neighborhood until this change happened. The roads and blocks in this new extension are landscaped quite differently from the earlier sub-areas to indeed distinguish it as another one. Some bulldozers that regularly run to and fro creating this landscape can still be seen and is still in operation for the entire duration of the summer.

     Advancing this way into this newly-formed sub-area felt like entering the bosom of the wilderness and approaching that overwhelming behemoth which is the mountain range. At this point, the foliage that was spread across its terrain, from looking bluish at a farther distance had become greener; and the features that pop out from it, more distinct. These things, that appeared so little and almost invisible from their house or any other place in the neighborhood, now, at this point, looked larger and distinguishable. Among them are those electricity towers, those some sort of square banners which he still didn't know what really are, and those white edifices at the foot which, as a child, he thought to be dump trucks buried underneath the smoky mountain that used to exist in the city, got stuck there, and were no longer able pull themselves up up to the present day, thus lying there like mythological creatures vanquished in an epic battle expiring with eyes wide open. It is those eyes that specifically scared him as a child. They stared at him humanlike everytime he looked at them from their front yard which now had become part of the interior of their house. However, those eyes were actually the broken headlights of the buried dump trucks that had ceased to function. But that is false too. What he always thought to be the glaring eyes of mythological beasts or the headlights of the dump trucks were actually windows, as the eyes are windows to the soul. These edifices definitely stood out among the other things off the mountain range especially during siesta hours of the early afternoon when the sun directly hits their whitish coat of paint. As he grew older, he eventually learned that the green mound that ever presented itself arrayed in the east ain’t no smoky mountain but were really the hilly areas of the town and of adjacent towns. Because as a child, he never questioned how the smoky mountain could be visible in that direction when it was actually located the other way around.

      The mountains stood before him like a dream that he must reach for at all costs even if he has to swim across rivers and traverse the fields, the villages, and the busy town proper. He wants to see them becoming more and more gigantic and majestic as he approaches them. But what if, for example, he actually got there on foot after facing some obstacles and going through changing landscapes? What then? Everybody knows that mountains don’t exactly look beautiful when one is on them and that they are just best viewed and appreciated from afar, just like what a dream is.

      To his right was a very-distant volcano-like mountain that stood a little higher than the mountain range to its left although the former is very far, bluish, and misty. This standalone mountain seems to have the power of becoming plainly visible only after a rainfall as if the rain could drive away the mist that surrounds it. It really looked magical.

     To his left, a few blocks near the end of the sub-area, he saw a newly-setup hardware and construction-supply store. And at the last block, he saw that the corner lot that faces the fields to the east and south has been taken and partially reclaimed at its center. On it, he saw two men. One is a neatly-dressed and smart-looking fellow pointing at different parts in the lot especially in the corners where the foundations are to be laid, seemingly giving instructions. Whenever they faced west, the sun directly hits their faces. That was how Aldo recognized the other individual who is the very-reliable master carpenter known in the neighborhood who was then nodding his head. But this little activity to his left was dull compared to the one to his right, the noises from which, he could definitely hear while observing the two men.

     He tilted right, stood at the edge of the road, and looked on what was happening below. Lo and behold: a volleyball fiesta. But first, he looked over the horizon before him. From this point can already be seen from afar the ancient lighthouse, the lake, and the bluish standalone volcanic mountain beyond it. He again looked below and saw that the field, on which, the heightened excitement and hilarity was taking place was wide enough since the creek has slanted to the right and was far away, thus putting away the fear that the ball might fall in there except perhaps by willful negligence. The poles that held and stretched out the net were fastened securely on the north and south points, and the opposing courts were therefore on the west and east. The wind that emanated from the fields to the south blew refreshingly. From left to right and right to left and vice versa flew a colorful leather ball, and the otherwise peaceful and quiet place was made noisy by the blabbers and exclamations spoken in a language totally foreign to Aldo but only understandable by those who uttered them: the members of the federation. Aldo didn’t bother to go down the field but just watched the game from where he stood, which is better. And as he did, his youthful interest in the game was rekindled. He wished he could play. After a set is finished, two or three players excused themselves and quitted the game, saying they were going home already. One of the players who had seen Aldo while the game ensued and who knows him as a neighbor and recognizes his knowledge of the game softly beckoned him to enter the court.

     “Sure,” Aldo replied joyfully.

     Then he descended the road and jogged into the court as a player. He instinctively placed himself in the back row because that is where his functions would probably be: as a filler, a helper, a stopper. Because he is not that good although he can definitely control the ball once it lands on the bones of his arms and does so in a peculiar diva-like manner. Aldo felt intimidated at the skill level of his teammates and opponents. Here they are, residing in the remotest part of town; and yet he seems to be in the presence of national athletes. They were quite vigorous and merciless when it comes to hitting the ball. Nevertheless, to his surprise and honor, these pros found him very useful, leading them to set the ball for him at times when he is at the front row according to rotation. Oftentimes, he would miss the ball because he is not yet good at getting the right timing to jump and hit, to his teammates’ outspoken disappointment. Sometimes, he would succeed at hitting the ball although weakly. And sometimes, he would just opt to drop the ball quickly by tapping it straight down with his fingertips. In the latter two, he would hear the word nice from his teammates.

     Playing this game exhilarated him so much. And it stuck. Suddenly, he felt a desire to totally revisit this thing and continue his unfinished business with it and improve himself in it. He asked the person who invited him if they would continue playing here tomorrow and in the days to come as long as the net stands. The person replied that he can go here anytime he wants during the afternoon. Because this thing is true. Whenever there is a volleyball net put up in the neighborhood or in the fields for whatever reason, there you will find this federation of volleyball enthusiasts. They will definitely visit and use it no matter how far. You would just be surprised they were able to go there. Because where the corpse is, there the vultures are; and where a volleyball net is fastened, there they are as well. You can be sure about it.

     Aldo also asked if they have some sort of team or if they’re planning to join a league in the neighborhood and, if so, if he could join, even just as a benchwarmer. He reasoned that he just wants to attend the practice sessions and be able to play the game on a regular basis. The person was surprised at his proposition because such a thing rarely happens in their community. Because volleyball is not as popular as basketball among its inhabitants and there are only a few softies like them who appreciate the sport. But the person replied that if there would be a volleyball tournament in September, which is rare, they would definitely join and the person himself would go to his house if needed. Aldo thanked him happily.

     Aldo played for as long as it took until the entire group decided they have had enough and to pack up and go home. Aldo felt the time was not enough. After the last game, everybody stopped, called it a day, and ascended the road. The group headed home the way, from which, Aldo went; while he broke away, said goodbye to the players, and expressed hope of playing with them again tomorrow and in the coming days. Then he resumed his stroll. When he looked at the corner, the two men were no longer there. Of course, they were gone. Aldo now took the last road and headed towards the northeastern corner.

     It was already late in the afternoon and the sun was about to set. Now alone and quiet, he already became aware of his dinginess and thirst. Good thing the wind still blew refreshingly. It helped a little. Then he looked to his right and saw the fields——the outskirts of their neighborhood to the east——and the villagers by their huts, a few carabaos or water buffaloes at work, and, from afar to the northeast, tall grasses being burnt. The spectacle these elements produced was so peaceful that he wished he could take a girl with him to sit on the large rocks at the edge of the road, gaze over the landscape, and talk. Then he reached the end of the road and saw the sloping soil that smoothly transitioned from the neighborhood to the fields. His communion with nature now being over, he turned left, faced the setting sun, and went westwards back at home.

     What now met his view was that defunct water tank tower that arguably used to supply water to their neighborhood. Arguably because he doubts whether that dome no matter how big it looked could ever have that capacity. Maybe it did in only some areas but not to all. Plus, as a child, he remembered their household taps running with water from a deep-well source. And there was also once, in the corner of a vacant block, a hose running with deep-well water, from which, they would fetch when water is out in their taps. Could all of that water have come from that tank? Hardly.

     As to their drinking water, in the past, some of their neighbors would engage in the business of selling it, the thing popular by its moniker, nawasa. They did this by going to its source in a not-so-faraway place in the city riding in regular-sized bicycles with square steel enclosures as sidecars holding a dozen or more containers whose appearance was peculiar to its day, fall in line towards the nawasa tap, fetch it into their containers, venture homewards with now an added burden and pedal down the road alongside motorized vehicles, and, once home, decide when to peddle the nawasa with their side-carred bikes around the neighborhood. Every household in the community usually had containers similar to that of the peddlers but not as many. And these they used as the containers where to keep their drinking water source. What happens is that there was a transfer of content from one to another. One got filled up and another emptied. This was done in a very-skilfully way that not a drip is wasted. These water containers composed of thick plastic and are rectangular in shape and have a hole and lid on top. It had no tap below. Again, the appearance of these containers is peculiar to its day and is no longer existent. All of this has changed now, of course, ever since each household their community already got connected to a steady water line of nawasa, good for both household use and drinking. The latter only has to be filtered further using an apparatus to be perfectly safe.

     The water tank tower which he was now seeing before him stood a little distance away from the last concrete road which used to be the edge of their neighborhood. It stood on what used to be part of the fields; and at night, it stood solitarily under the moonlight. That is why this structure always filled his young mind with mystery. As a child, he had heard scary stories about it, that, at night, there could be seen sitting on its metal beams, gazing from its platform up at the dome, or just floating around it spirits of the deceased if not the dark fairy creatures of the country folklore like aswang, tikbalang, kapre, or manananggal. But nowadays and now that he has reached it and were standing underneath it, all he sees is an abandoned rusty piece of tin can that still had outgrowths of grass below as before.

     After these observations, he pressed on and saw to his right the designated landfill some meters away from the corner. It is periodically burnt and also emptied by dump trucks.

     As he was nearing the concrete road, he saw to his left, emerging from the cluster of trees that bordered the last concrete road or inside street, a chubby young woman heading towards the main road. Aldo recognized her to be his former classmate Beatriz. He again looked before him and pretended to not have seen her. But Beatriz likewise saw and recognized him and frowned and snickered at his presence in such a place as where he was. Aldo felt embarrassed and just decided to ignore her. But Beatriz, teeming with confidence and good will, called him out familiarly, saying, “Hey, Aldo! Aldo!”

     At this, Aldo turned his head and faced her but continued walking. “Oh, hey. It’s you. Hi. How’s it going?” Inevitably they crossed paths when they both stepped on the corner.

     “What are you doing here?" Beatriz questioned. She walked alongside Aldo.

     "Huh? Oh. I just strolled. What a question? Am I not allowed to be exactly here? As far as I know, I can be wherever I want."

     "Right. Of course."

     "Is that really surprising to see someone like me here?"

     "A little bit."

     "Why? I don't understand. This is my neighborhood."

     "Of course. Also, why do you look like that?"

     "Like what?" He looked down his shirt. “Oh. I didn't run. I just walked. Plus, I played volleyball.”

     “What?” Beatriz frowned.

     "They put up a volleyball net there. What can I do? You know I find that thing very irresistible."

     "I don't know about that."

     "I was a player back then. Remember?"

     “Oh, yeah. I remember.”

     “Oh, you do? Nice. And yes. I’m still into that kind of thing. I’m old!”

     “It’s nice to see you again here in the neighborhood, Aldo.”

     “Huh? What do you mean?”

     “I mean I thought I would no longer see you here. Because most of our classmates no longer live here.”

     “Well, it's them. They're not me. As you can see, I still live here. You know why? Simple. I LOVE this neighborhood. Period. And I may still look the same as before. I mean, poor.”

     “If not in the cities, they now live and work abroad. They are now luckily abroad.”

     “Luckily? Why? I don’t get it. We have our own country to help improve. I’m not saying I’m against working abroad. But if ever we would have to work abroad, it must be by choice and not by necessity. The grass is not always greener on the other side of the fence."

     "Apparently, they are."

     "No. I don't think so. It's a misconception. Instead of going abroad, why don't we all just set our minds to make this country better than it is today."

     "Because the opportunities in great countries are better than here. Here, the geniuses of our great kababayans will just go to waste. Here, they will just go underpaid and unappreciated."

     "Because people are blind and stupid?"

     "Exactly. Anyways, I actually agree with you. I would rather work here and serve my countrymen. I find working abroad less appealing too."

     "Nice. Thank you."

     "That's why I wanted to gather around those of you who are still here."

     “How about you? What do you busy yourself with nowadays?”

     “Oh. I was getting to that. I’m a Math teacher in the public school. Aside from that, I also teach other things.”

     “Oh. Nice. Good for you. How long have you been doing that?"

     "Let's just say I never had an idle year."

     "Oh. That makes me feel bad a little bit. Unlike you, I’m just starting out in life.”

     "You can do it. You can be successful. Just believe in yourself."

     "Thank you."

     When they reached a certain inside street, Beatriz stopped. So, this is me. It was nice seeing you again, Aldo. I hope you would take time to reconnect with us so that we can see each other more often in the days to come.

    “Us? We? How? Have you reconnected with our other classmates?”

     “Yes, especially with those who still live here. We see each other from time to time.”

     “Okay.”

     “Including this one who has decided to come home after living in the city for many years. Or, at least, I think she just intends to stay here for a little while. Maybe for the holidays.”

     “Who is this she?”

     “Mauricia.”

     Aldo's eyes bulged as she looked at Beatriz. “As in Mauricia?”

     “Yes.”

     “Okay... So you want me to join your little group?”

     “Yes. We would gladly welcome you.”

     “Since when did Mauricia return?

     “Just recently. About two weeks ago. Then I invited her...”

     “My goodness. I already lost track of what’s happening in my little neighborhood.”

     “Wait. Weren’t you two...?”

     “Yes. But that’s just... you know...”

     “Oh, yes. I remember.”

     “She may no longer remember me. She may be married too and have her own family just like our other classmates.”

     “No. She’s still single.”

     “What? How do you know?”

     “She told me.”

     “Excellent, then. Isn't it?”

     “Shall I tell her that I saw you today and that I’ve told you about her.”

     “No, no. It’s not necessary. It won’t do her any good to know that I still exist.”

     “Why? Come on.”

     “It better just stay as it is: a memory.”

     “Maybe not. But, all right.” Beatriz already turned towards the street and took about five steps when she turned again when she remembered something. “Oh. By the way, she was just with me minutes before I saw you in the corner.”

     “Oh.”

     “So close. Isn’t it?”

     “Yes, it is,” Aldo muttered.

     “So, what do you think? Shall I tell her? I’m dying to tell her.”

     “Uh..."

     "Come on. The more of us in the group, the merrier."

     "Fine. It’s up to you.”

     “All right. I'll definitely tell her.” This time, Beatriz really left.

     But Aldo still didn’t and looked down as he stopped and reconsidered. When he again looked towards the inside street, Beatriz has completely disappeared, vanished, gone. She has entered her home. That’s it. It’s now beyond his control. Whether he likes it or not, Mauricia will know about him. Therefore, he just accepted the fact and set his face towards the sun-filled sky. Then he started moving his feet and headed homewards. When he got home, he immediately looked for a cold drink and drank liters of cold water. Afterwards, he reclined himself down on his wooden bed.

tentatively titled, “The Neighborhood”

from The Simple Adventures of a Simple Simpleton

by: Marven T. Baldo