The House of Past And Present*

There’s a house near the river bend that people only mention in hushed tones. Fishermen who pass by the house on their way to their little fishing trips make the sign of the cross three times, and mumble incantations taught to them by their fathers, and their fathers’ fathers before them.

The house has been there for as long as they can remember. The old folks say its been empty since the end of WWII (though no one could really tell). Strangely, they can’t agree whether the owners have died or have left the place for distant shores. They couldn’t even remember who the owners were.

Nobody has ventured near the house for decades. Stories about weird goings-on have been handed down from generation to generation and as is the case in most far-flung barrios, these stories were never verified. After all there’s no harm in believing these things.

The structure itself, surprisingly, remains intact. The wide capiz windows have escaped destruction from the mischievous kids’ slingshots, those rubber and wood contraptions that seem to be always aimed at moving objects, like birds, and more often than not, in whatever inanimate object that catches their fancy, like the lamp post bulbs, or whatever of it is left in the barrio’s scarcely lighted streets. That it remained intact may be due to the stories of “gaba”(karma) and bad luck that have befallen those who dared to mess with the house. Or so the stories go.

Its thatched roof and old wood walls have also withstood time. There was even no evidence of termite damage. Perhaps the termites have also taken the trouble to avoid the house as well. While the surroundings have now been fortified like a fortress by the cogon grass surrounding it, no other sign of vegetation touched its backyard, just the dry collected dust of time, making it appear like a charcoal painting hidden in a basement.

It is a strange occurrence that once in awhile, when strong winds coming in from the sea blow through the area, dust would rise up in spirals like mini-twisters in slow motion. The occasional passerby who happen to witness this occurrence immediately averts his eyes for fear of seeing feral eyes staring back at him. After a while when the winds die down, the dust would take their time settling back to the ground to resume their collective nap.

During one the barrio’s fiestas when everyone erupted in a colorful cooking/feeding frenzy, there emanated from the old house waltz music as if coming from a brass band. Of course the barrio folks dismissed this and blamed everything to the buzz brought about by too much indulgence in coconut wine (tuba), and went about their dusk-’til-dawn revelry. No one would acknowledge what they heard. Being simple people, those who even entertained doubts in their minds quickly cast these thoughts away like useless bottle caps.

They woke up the following morning feeling the effects of their indulgence, cleaned up the debris of their celebrations and moved on with their rural life, the previous night’s music already forgotten.


II

Inside the old house, the patriarch and his two grown sons, attired in strict barong tagalog, as is the custom of colonials, were smoking cigars as they listened approvingly to the brass band striking up the latest tunes while the coiffed matriarch guided her young daughter in the ways of the waltz.

They were celebrating their latest harvest. They had been blessed with a typhoon free season that year. They had more than doubled their output compared with the previous year’s harvest. The patriarch stood up and went to the veranda to get some air. He had consumed a fair amount of brandy and was feeling a little light-headed. He looked out and gazed at the vastness of his hacienda. He had done well, he knew that. Ever since his father returned to Spain and all but disowned him, he insisted on staying in the islands and got himself a Filipino bride. He never regretted his decision. His sagadas respect him well, and he always treated them fairly.

He turned his attention to the dense forest that bordered his abaca plantation. During this time, his manservants would be cowering in their quarters, afraid to venture out. “Malignos,” they usually say. “It’s the feast of the encantos living in the woods.” No amount of money would make them go into the forest and survey the land to see if it would be suitable for his envisioned sugarcane crop. He shook his head in disgust. The Katipuneros have done their job well. They have sown fear into the hearts of these ultra-gullible simpletons. They’ve made up stories of duwendes and other nocturnal creatures roaming the forest to dissuade them from accidentally discovering their hiding places.

Looking more intently, he thought he saw a fireworks display in the midst of the forest. Some sort of a celebration. He chuckled silently. “Even I, am already imagining things,” he said softly to himself. “I should be going to bed.”

He went back inside, bade goodnight to his wife and children, and headed for the master’s bedroom.


ooOoo

Imagine a world where time flows like a current, continuous and graceful. Everyone would be living in their own time, as is the way it usually is and logically, should be.

But if time is a current, then there would be worlds existing upstream, and downstream, and in between. Because the current always moves forward, as if by design, then these worlds are naturally unaware of each other; each world believing that their existence is absolute and there is no other time but the here and the now. They dismiss other times and other worlds. Those they have outgrown are called past, and those they will grow into are called future.

However, what if some world moves faster than another? Say for example that the past now have 23 hour days, and the present retains its 24 hours a day. Then at some point these two worlds would converge, although they won’t be headed for a physical collision, as each world will be existing in its own version of time. And while no world can occupy the same space at the same time, surely there would be indications of each other’s presence. Some would say that this is manifested by deja vu and those other unexplained things like ghosts and apparitions.

*Heavily influenced by Einstein’s Dreams, and too much coffee.