Tumakbo Ka!

“Run for your lives boys!” The sound of the headmaster’s shrill words echoed across the grassy field. “Or you’ll be seeing me at three o’clock!” Father K’s deafening voice on the loudspeaker caught Freddy by surprise causing the twelve-year-old to drift off the dirt track. A quick nudge by his best friend’s elbow helped correct the wayward course. Arnel, a step to his right, drew Freddy’s attention with a look of concern that mirrored his own. The moment however, evaporated as the two were overcome with laughter, a hysterical yet natural response by two people who knew the other better than anyone else in the world or at least anyone in their small fishing village. After all, de Leons and Bonifacios have lived near each other in this part of the province for generations; Freddy and Arnel’s families were no exception. The two, inseparable ever since they learned to crawl, practically lived in each other’s homes built in the traditional bahay kubo style. Their tatays’ [fathers’] livelihood relied heavily on how many tilapia they could pull out of the river and as the household’s ultimate arbiter of authority, their word was law. Their nanays [mothers] maintained respectful domiciles and injected religious lessons into their brood whenever possible, most commonly in the form of rosary prayer before bedtime. Most importantly, good-natured humor plus a knack for getting in trouble of one kind or another aligned perfectly with these kaibigan [friends]. Simply put, they were two peas in a pod.

Four strides ahead, Rudy spun around and snapped, “Tumahimik ka [shut up]! The old monk will hear you!” With a response so automatic that Arnel waited in expectation for it, Freddy rolled his eyes in disapproval. Rudy took his station as kuya [big brother] perhaps a little too seriously. Jun, the thoughtful one of the bunch, carried the rear and chimed, “I can’t have another detention, tatay ko [my dad] is expecting me to run the sari-sari [convenience store] after school.”

The smell of the morning’s freshly cut grass still lingered in the air. To the dismay of the others, the shopkeeper’s son had fallen further behind and stopped completely to pick the green clippings off of his socks. Sweat dripping down Jun’s face made keeping the spectacles securely on the bridge of his nose an ongoing challenge. The faster three had just rounded the corner nearest the path leading to the school’s largest building, a lap-sided hall painted white under a brown tin roof. The structure’s most prominent feature was a covered breezeway that protected the main entry during the heavy monsoon rains. When Jun finally caught up, the reunited friends found themselves in the middle of the pack of fifty-three tired and sweaty boys ages eleven to thirteen. All had nearly identical builds: lanky and barely forty kilograms soaking wet. With hair black as night and coffee-colored eyes, no one would blink twice if it was ever suggested that they were all first kin. Since most of the residents of the village were of the common variety (only the chairman and police chief’s families were mestizo), every skin tone was in the Moreno palette. Rudy stood above the others as he experienced an unusual growth spurt over the previous summer; he was confident with the extra height afforded to him. All were wearing the Catholic school’s required uniform for physical activity: a white tank top shirt, navy blue shorts cut above the knees, and tan canvas shoes that were uncomfortable during the long runs that the headmaster insisted each student partake in (Tuesday afternoons were reserved for the sixth and seventh grade boys). These shoes were often passed down from sibling to sibling but rarely lasted longer than a few years. Some of the runners had skinned elbows or scabbed knees, others were missing socks or needed patches to mend torn shorts. All were praying that this ordeal would soon be over.

Between half and two-thirds speed, the desire to conserve energy in the sweltering heat was paramount. The racers had already completed four of the required ten laps and although the first two treks around the oval went by rather quickly, each successive lap gradually became slower. As was the custom during these weekly runs, Jun would provide updates as to how many laps had been achieved. He would announce, “Four down, six to go!” as they passed the starting line, a swath of white gravel a full meter wide. Beside it, a metal flag pole rose five meters high and was adorned with a checkered flag the size of a beach towel. Purchased by Father K during a shopping excursion to Makati, the banner had certainly seen better days, but four complete monsoon seasons had taken its toll on the now tattered rag (the frugal priest refused a replacement until the current one lived out its use which the boys were convinced was when only three strands of thread remained). Arnel would invariably mutter, “Ay putanginay [son of a bitch],” as he mustered the strength to continue.

The mid-afternoon sun had been beating on the runner’s brows with no clouds to provide reprieve from the sun or at least bring some of the temperature down. The rainforest’s dense canopy would be of no help either; its shade barely reached the edge of the bamboo fence that surrounded the field (a barrier too tall for the average middle schooler to peer over). Except for a small gap where two of the posts had been carelessly spaced and coincidently just wide enough for a pre-teen child to squeeze through, the barricade was impenetrable. There would be no breeze to help the boys’ sweat dissipate off their skin that day. To pass the time, Freddy monitored the rhythm of his companions’ footsteps. Although mostly independent of one another, every so often they would stride in perfect unison. For the next few laps, an unusual silence befell the four. Normally a talkative bunch, perhaps the desire to finish the exercise on such a grueling day had required their complete and utter focus. With the starting line back in sight and Jun anxious to proclaim the completion of lap six, Freddy interrupted the young chino’s train of thought.

“Hey Rud, let’s cut out of here. I heard there are still guns by the fishing boats.”

Word had spread of the latest skirmish between the Japanese and a band of guerrillas that had recently joined the handful of GIs that remained in the area. The outnumbered resistance fighters and Kanos [Americans] had been holding their ground for nearly three whole months against the Imperial Army.

“First, gagu [stupid], how many times do I have to tell you it’s Kuya Rudy to you? Second, tanga [idiot], do you want to be shot down dead by the Japs? They still haven’t left!”

Arnel and Jun stood by to see how this display of brotherly love would play out.

“Why would I ever call you kuya? Just because you’re a teenager now? You’re only a year older than me! There’s only one kuya in the family and that’s Kuya Emmy. I’m not hanging around to finish this torture. Mas mainit [it’s too hot] and my balls are sticking to my thigh.”

This brought forth howls of laughter by the two neighborhood boys who clearly joined the younger sibling’s side. Jokes involving the male anatomy were always in high fashion.

“First, pangit [ugly], you’ll finish here or we’ll all get in trouble! Second, gunggong [dumbass], how could your balls stick to your thigh when they’re only the size of calamansi [tiny lemons]?”

This time, the roar of laughter defected to Rudy’s camp.

“And don’t forget, Father K warned us that any kulelat [straggler] that doesn’t finish by three o’clock will be given an extra lap!”

With the mention of the priest, all eyes now scanned the field to see where the man in the black robe had ventured. Arnel was the first to spot the target and pointed towards the bleachers so that the others could lock onto his position. Apparently, the scorching heat had taken its toll on the clergyman who sought refuge under the sitting area’s cover (an ornate trellis made of bamboo and palm fronds). His egg-shell colored handkerchief, reaching full saturation, was being wrung out by the Kano’s large white hands. How the pastor’s parched lips longed for a tall glass of ice water.

Freddy restated that hanging around to endure such punishment was for fools and that the next time they passed the gap in the fence, he would gracefully take his leave. Fatigue and the promise of tropical shade became the deciding factors for the other twelve-year-olds as they nodded in agreement to the plan. Rudy, still feeling heated by the younger brother’s insolence, voiced his opposition but reluctantly relented since it was his utmost desire to avoid the preacher’s wrath at all costs. It was a well-documented fact that the headmaster possessed a paddle made of narawood with a leather handle and the inscription “For the wrongdoer will be paid back for the wrong he has done, and there is no partiality. Colossians 3:25.” The instrument was intended to strike fear into its young victims and was clearly the pastor’s favorite.

As the gap grew closer and closer, anticipation grew higher and higher. At the perfect moment, Freddy announced, “Deli na [faster now]!” and the four hastened their pace. With the coveted exit just a few meters away, each participant sought and found adequate cover surprisingly with great efficiency. Rudy and Freddy took refuge behind a bed of rafflesia, a large flowering plant native to the adjacent rainforest. Within seconds of settling into their hiding place, the stench of the large bulbs penetrated the brothers’ best defense (pulling their flimsy shirts over their noses). Although the close proximity of the sibling rivals brought forth instant feelings of animosity, it was quickly replaced with a spirit of cooperation given the circumstances the two currently faced. Arnel’s hiding place was more fortuitous: a felled branch fully adorned with green and brown leaves the size of dinner plates, he merely had to crouch behind it to be fully camouflaged. Perhaps Jun was the most exposed as he chose to lay flat amongst the unkept grass although his wiry frame didn’t need much to conceal it completely. Like a tarsier (a furry denizen indigenous to the islands), the boy lifted his head, swiveled it, and directed his almond-shaped eyes toward the target’s last known location. His vantage point was just clear enough to spot Father K having a lively discussion with the groundskeeper, a short elderly man named Ernesto, who had been keeping the landscape in good order at the church since before the Americans took control of the islands from the Spaniards. Apparently, a mango tree between the church and school had dropped a considerable amount of fruit that was attracting all manner of rodents and insects. Jun gave the signal, a whispery “psssst” to activate the others who began their trek towards the narrow slit and freedom. Humor wasn’t lost by each as they waddled duck-like through the tall grass. Arnel and Freddy stepped through the gap first followed by Jun and lastly Rudy.

Suddenly in the distance, a voice barked, “You four! Stop where you are!” Father K had spotted the defectors and was quickly making his way towards them. The pastor’s tone was stern and agitated as he continued, “I mean it! You boys are in for a world of hurt!” Surprisingly, he was quite agile given his large stature. His black cassock swayed over the turf making him appear to float above the blades of grass; his white collar juggled just a comb’s width below his jutting Adam’s Apple in a strange hypnotic dance. A sense of dread was now taking over each frantic mind as the menace continued to rapidly close the distance. “Which palo [stick] will hurt more,” wondered Rudy, “the headmaster’s or tatay’s when I get home?” The boys anxiously waited for their frozen bodies to respond to their brain’s commands. Finally, a quivering voice belted, “Tumakbo para sa iyong buhay [run for your lives]!”