The brute awakens
By the lakeside
Dripping leeches
The words from his lolo ring through his ears.
Dripping leeches
It made his skin crawl.
He was finally back from Riyadh, trekking back to his ancestral home, Lake Lanao.
He sat, overlooking the lake and sighed. This visit wasn’t for recreation, he had news that his paternal lolo (grandfather) had passed away and it was his duty as the eldest of his cousins to see to the organization of the wake.
Leeches.
He couldn’t stand those bloodsucking worms. When he was a child he would play by the riverside and one day he slipped and fell into a bog filled with the parasites.
“Traumatized” wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what he had gone through. To this day he would run from the creatures as soon as he saw them.
Now, all he could think about was the leeches.
When he was younger he wasn’t the most well behaved child and his elders and playmates would say: “You inherited your attitude from Omakaan.”
The words stung worse because it associated him with leeches. When they would say that he would think of the giant and it made him wince.
He wasn’t there for the brute. He was there for the spirits.
His family was an old clan and stretching back centuries they had an understanding. The Tonong (Spirits) would give them wisdom and in exchange the spirts would be protected from the forces of the harmful halimaw (Monster).
Hailmaw.
A perfect description of the Omakaan.
He was the worst person for this situation, but all his generation were too young for the task.
Leeches
Those god-damned leeches
He waded to the lake and his heart was pounding through his ribcage. He gasped but the sweet release of air never came. His extremities shook violently enough to hurt.
He had only taken seven steps and his whole being was in flight.
The elders knew of his fear, yet they let him face it alone.
He was not Rajah Indarapatra, no epic hero.
He was just a mechanic from the Middle East, with no courage left to fight the beast.
All he could do was run.
Away from the leeches.
Away from his family.
That was why he left for Riyadh.
This was not his home, not anymore.
He dropped his kampilan and ran far from the lake.
Let someone take this on.
And somewhere in the background the leeches rejoiced.
=—————————=
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by the Muwa description The Enduring Ma-Aram Tradition, Alicia P. Magos., New Day, 1992
Illustration by Klyde Sosa used with permission from Rob Martin of Pine Box Entertainment and Secret Garden Games
