*Note this story is in Bicol-Naga.
Mayong tawo na nakaka-bisto simo na arog ko.
Midbid ta ka na bago ka pa namundag. Ang saimong ina magayon na babaye. Sa pangpang siya nagpapalampas nin oras, dinadalan ang sulog paduman sa kurit kan langit asin daga. Yaon ako kan si ama mo nagpamalaye. D’yan mismo sa kahoy na iyan.
Mooton mong mag-kawat sa may salog kan sadit ka pa. Ang saimong mga para-aling nakabarantay sinisigurong libre ka sa peligro. Nungka sinda maghadit ta pagyaon ako mayo simong makaka-kulog.
Nagdakula ka na kaakbay ang salog. Ano nang pilyo mo kan anom na taon ka. Pigpararingawan mo ang manga gurang na Padre. Tapos nagdalagan ka sa salog ta aram mo na dae ka makukua duman niisay man. Matibayon ka kayang maglangoy. Mayo sa mga kakawat mo na kaya ang paspas mong paglangoy. Nalobo sa orgulyo ang sakong puso ta himate na galamay mong marhay ang tubig-salog.
Yaon man ako kan mangyari ang enot mong problema sa pagka-moot. Ay, marhay-marhayon ka para sa babaeng eto. Romdom ko pa ang pagparaisip mo kung ano ang manga nangyari. Bilogon an bulan asin matanga na kan nagharanap ang manga nag-aataman saimo. Haloy sinda naghanap pero dae ka naheling. Iyo, ta oya ako siniguro s’imong pagsolo-solo. Pagmata pagka-aga mayo ka ning maski sarong guris sa hawak, asin nag-puli ka sa manga magurang mo.
Duminakula kang areglado, binatilyong ma-gulat asin guapo. Pirmi ka diyan sa may pangpang, poesia sinusurat, binabalagtas minsan. Ang saimong boses kalmado asin malumbay. Iyan ang manga kantang naduyan sako sa pagkaturog.
Sinayod mo saro sa saimong berso duwa nang bulan ang naka-agi. Na ang buhay kan tawo hararom ang gurot sa kalag. Isinurat mo, “Garo sarong daga sa kalag.” Ang sulog kan salog nagbiko, nagtaliling, asin nagduko ta naki-iba sa pagtula mo. Huli kaiyan, nagimadmad ako kun ano ang dapat kong gibohon.
Kan nagtuparan ang satong manga mata may namatian ka, ano? Talaga kitang duwa saro sana. Nakatindog kang solido sa daga kan nagserado ang satong manga hiling asin nagkantada ang salog. Ang tubig luminangkaw sagkod na uminabot sa saimong mata asin naheling mo ang totoong ako.
Siempre, nangalas ka. Arog ka’yan ang modo kan kadaklan pagnahiling ang tunay kong porma. Dae mo nabatid na nakasulot ako kaning pungpong na uhot asin binurogpos na batag para itago ang hibaba kan sakong hawak. Nawili ka sa sakong gayon asin ako, siring man s’imo. Nahihiling ko ang pungaw asin pagmawot kan kalag mo. Dae bale na ang kublit ko itom asin abuhon o kaya ine nasusuklob nin tarom, basta ang importante gusto mo ako.
Hasta ngonyan sinusumpa ko pa ang mga katambay mo. Pano ninda naaraman gamiton ang daga na itaga pa-kurus sa tubig?
Ay, habo kong maaraman mo ang sakong kaluyahan, padaba.
Dae mahaloy magkakasaro kita. Sagkod na may sulog ang salog, puso ko pagsasadire mo
Madanay sagkod pa man.
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English Version
Nobody knows you like I do.
I’ve known you since before you were born. Your mother was such a beautiful woman. She would spend time by the river, watching it run into the horizon. I was there when your father, the gentleman, proposed. He did it right by that tree.
When you were a little baby you loved to play by the water. You’d always be watched of course, your guardians would hover around you to make sure you were alright. They didn’t need to worry, as long as I was there nothing would be able to harm you.
You grew up with the river by your side. At six years old you were a mischievous little boy. You would play tricks on the old priests and run away to the river where they couldn’t catch you. You were a great swimmer. None of your playmates could match your speed. It made my heart swell with pride knowing that you took to the water so well.
I was there during your first heartbreak. You were too good for that girl anyway. I remember you trying to find sense in what had happened. It was midnight and the moon full in the sky when your guardians came to look for you. Try as they might they couldn’t find you, of course, I was there to make sure you had your privacy. You woke up the next day, not a scratch on you, and went back home to your parents.
You grew into a fine young man, so dashing and handsome. You would stay by the riverside and write your poems, even orating them on some occasions. Your voice was so soothing and calm. It was my lullaby every night.
Two moons ago you spoke one of your poems out loud. It was about life, how it cuts deep into the soul of every person. “Like a knife through the soul”, that was one of the lines from your poem. The river bent and flowed to match your oration. It was then I knew what I had to do.
When our eyes met you could feel it couldn’t you? How we were meant to be together. You stood there, solid on the ground as we locked our gaze and the river sang. It rose higher until it reached your eyes and you saw me for what I was.
You were surprised, of course. Most humans are when they see my true form. You didn’t realize that I wore the bundle of rice straws and cluster of bananas to hide my lower half. You were enthralled by my beauty and I, by you. I could see the longing in your soul. It didn’t matter that my skin was black and grey or that it was covered with spines, you wanted me and that was all that mattered.
To this day I still curse your guardian. How did a human know to get a bolo and slash at the water with a cross? That knowledge should have been hidden from humans.
Ah but I should not show weakness in front of you, my love.
We will be together soon enough. As long as the river flows, my heart will belong to you.
Always and forever.
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*Central Bicol, commonly called Bicol Naga, is the most-spoken language in the Bicol Region of southern Luzon, Philippines. It is spoken in the northern and western part of Camarines Sur, second congressional district of Camarines Norte, eastern part of Albay, northeastern part of Sorsogon, San Pascual town in Masbate, and southwestern part of Catanduanes. Central Bicol speakers can be found in all provinces of Bicol and it is a majority language in Camarines Sur.
Written by Karl Gaverza
Bicol Translation by Patricia P. SanJose
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Translation Copyright © Patricia P. SanJose
Adapted from a story from Abra, Calaba River told by Guillermo Guillen Crisologo
Berberoka Illustration by Guillermo Guillen Crisologo