It was that smile.
Basilio was there ever since I could remember. Lola always called him our guardian, and for a while, she was right.
I had only been there for twelve seasons. There was my second home. The elders tried to shield me from the realities of my family, but I knew.
Papa was a gambler.
Mama was a drunk.
And I was taken from there by my lola and titos, given shelter from the storm.
I am an only child and my relatives never saw fit to make their own families. They doted on me and have me gifts, their language of love.
While I appreciated their efforts, I just had one wish.
I wanted not to be alone.
I first met him under the mango tree. It was the last day I had set eyes on my father and the bruises were testament to that.
My tears were falling on the tree’s roots and I heard him for the first time.
“Please don’t let your tears fall, I don’t like my house to be wet.”
I sensed that was a joke and gave a giggle.
“What is your name?” He asked.
“People call me Cruz.”
“That is your last name isn’t it? All those in this abode are ‘Cruz’”
“That is what they call me.”
“What do you call yourself?”
“Ian.”
“Well then hello Ian, I am Basilio.”
“What are you?”
“If you haven’t noticed I am one of the small spirits.”
“I’ve never met a spirit before, small or otherwise.”
“Then let me be your first. Hello Ian.”
“Hello Basilio.”
Since that day we had become close as a human and spirit could be. Basilio taught me the magics of his kind and I kept him laughing.
I learned about the elementals that surround the physical world and how to challenge them.
There was a time a tikbalang spirit tried to claim Basilio’s tree for its own designs and Basilio had no choice but to do the forbidden.
Spirits can live in the physical world and in certain cases they can augment their power through mortals.
He possessed me and banished the tikbalang.
But that did not come without a cost.
The moment we mended I was thrust into a foreign world.
I could see what was kept from human eyes.
And Basilio was so very sorry.
If he didn’t fight off the tikbalang then the entire family would be in danger. His only recourse was to open myself to the spirit world.
And then my lessons came.
He exposed me to the realm from where he originated.
Basilio was an earth spirit and he had many friends that he invited to rest in the shadow of his mango tree.
The Idaemonon would not leave the ground but its fingers would poke out from the earth.
Many brown-skinned patiyanaks frolicked. (I learned that the patiyanaks were different from the flesh eating demon babies I had heard of in many legends).
Basilio was also a mediator. There was a time right before my birthday that he had to settle a dispute between a Nuno and Lamam nin Lota, both very powerful spirits that inhabited the earth.
They both claimed a patch of ground was their domain. This specific lot was near human settlements and to placate the spirits, many sacrifices were made there and each of the earth wanted it for themselves.
Basilio’s solution?
They would share.
The sacrifices were many and the bounty could be spread to both. Each would take the lot for a season, the rainy for the nuno and the dry to the lamam nin lota.
They greed and Basilio let out a sigh of relief.
“I didn’t think that would work.” He confessed.
But I knew he could do it.
He could do anything.
The years passed and we became stronger together. The flux of the spirit world finally flowing in my veins.
It was us against the world.
And there was that smile.
I cant tell you when exactly I felt something wrong. The atmosphere just felt weighted.
It was after rainy season and it wasn’t out of the ordinary for the spirits to dwell (temporarily) in his tree.
He wouldn’t stop smiling.
The days bled into months and he did what Basilio does: mediate, laugh and protect.
Then he asked the unthinkable.
He told me that there was a great spirit of the storm that would pass and he needed strength to keep it from destroying our home.
Before he had always said that he would never let me go through that again.
But he was my friend. I believed him.
The ritual was quick and brutal. He pushed back the part of my soul that tied me to the physical realm, and then I knew.
The spirit wasn’t Basilio.
It bided its time through the sunsets until it could convince me to be possessed.
But the real Basilio’s teachings were etched into my memory.
I summoned the power of my soul and fought back against the intrusion.
My family said I refused to leave the tree for one week, rejecting offers of food and water.
They knew of the spiritual world and let me have my battle.
It was a fight of wills. The fake Basilio nearly broke me if not for the reminder.
He hurt my friend.
And there was no way in the many layered worlds that I would not avenge him.
After the seventh day it had given in. That spirit knew I would not falter. Or maybe he just got bored, I do not know.
Once it left only silence reigned.
Basilio was gone.
My best friend was gone.
In the coming months the spirits rested in the tree no longer, a silent testament to the great spirit that once called it home.
Now the power of the spirit world runs through me. I could still feel Basilio’s presence and I think he may not be gone for good.
I asked aid from the Nuno, the Patiyanak, the Lampong and other earth spirits.
They told me that the fake Basilio was named Binagoonan, a spirit of deceit.
I will find you Basilio.
I will find my friend.
=——————————=
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by the description in Pinatubo Aytas: Continuity and Change. Shimizu. 1989. pg 57
Illustration by Von Milano used with permission from Rob Martin of Pine Box Entertainment and Secret Garden Games
