Leoncio sighed deep. It was the era of stone churches and horse drawn carriages, but it seemed that with all those modern marvels time was still running out. He glanced once more at the cobblestone street and prayed that his carriage would arrive soon.
Tigidig – Tigidig – Tigidig – Tigidig
God must have finally heard him and the telltale sound of his carriage greeted his ears with fervent anticipation. Maybe this time he would make it in time to join his family for dinner.
The pale moon hung high in the sky as Leoncio boarded the carriage. He greeted his driver and told him that he was headed home. It was his daily routine and things seemed to be going normally until a stranger waved his arms and asked to speak with the owner of the carriage.
The stranger begged Leoncio for a lift, it was dark and he was afraid of the treacherous road. Leoncio rubbed his temples and remembered a verse that his grandmother would repeat “God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them.”
He didn’t want to be late to have supper with his family, but he couldn’t leave a person in need. He was a God-fearing man and knew that there was someone up there, watching.
With a hint of reluctance Leoncio moved and offered the man a seat in his carriage.
It was going to be a long night.
“I see you’re a religious man,” the stranger said, breaking the silence.
“I guess I am,” Leoncio clutched the cross around his neck. “A force of habit I guess,” he replied.
“I was a religious man too.”
“Was?”
Leoncio felt unprepared for this conversation. He was tired from the day’s work and would rather not have to engage in petty small talk with a stranger he had just met ten minutes ago.
“It was a long time ago, you probably don’t want to hear about it.”
But curiosity is a strong force.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
It was a night much light this. The sun had faded and the stars began to play their games. I was a lowly farmer, headed home after a hard day’s work in the market.
I was a prayerful man, always believing the Lord had a plan for me.
As I reached my house I knew something was amiss. The door was hanging open and my wife did not greet me. I feared the worst.
I was greeted by the bodies of my family sprawled across the living room. It seemed that robbers had broken in and put them to the knife.
Tears of sadness and rage filled me and it was then that I cursed the name of the Lord, most high. I would not be part of any plan that sought to do my family harm.
And that day I left my farmhouse in a blaze of anger.
He was no longer my God and I turned to others to help me avenge my family.
Leoncio didn’t know what to say. He stared, mouth agape, at the stranger beside him.
“That was the first of my many misdeeds, but it wouldn’t be the last.”
Something was bubbling inside Leoncio, he wanted to tell the driver to stop, to throw the stranger out of the carriage, but it seemed that he too was in a trance.
And thus did the stranger continued on with his tale.
I went to the places touched by the dark, to those forgotten by the men in robes. I would have done anything to find those that killed my family, I would have paid any price.
They demanded things I dare not speak aloud, for the memory still makes me weep bitter tears. But endured them, I did.
I needed no one. Sometimes in the night I would remember my parents and wonder what they would have thought of my actions, but I spat at their memory. This was the only way to make them pay for what they had done.
And when all was said and done, I had new gods who gave me the zeal to take my revenge.
I carved idols in their image to better gain their power and kept them close to me. Their whispers carried me off to blessed sleep every night.
I ignored the Sabbath day, for what use was it to me then? No more hearing the hypocritical friars and their words of venom, no more sitting at the pews praying for things that would not come.
I was whole in their presence. In my baptism of blood, I knew where I should go.
Their whispers lead me to a cave hidden deep within the forest. It was there I heard laughter and music on the lips of the men that took my family from me.
It was over in a heartbeat.
I left one of them alive with a knife in his hand and told the guardia civil that I had heard a commotion from the cave. It was all too easy to blame the man for the deaths of his compatriots. Who would believe a thief?
Though who am I to judge? I took something from them to remind myself of the cruelty of man, a single coin that they had no doubt stolen from another poor soul.
It would not bring my family back, that much I knew. But the glint of silver blinds even the most righteous men. I took it and fled to the forest.
I had forgotten that everything came at a price, and those that I believed had helped me were ready to collect.
I tried to run, believe me I wanted nothing more than to be back in my house, surrounded by my family. I ran to a neighbor’s house and asked for help, but I knew he could give me none.
My last thoughts before they ripped the skin from my flesh was how I wanted my neighbor’s house. To be safe and warm in the embrace of the family inside.
And I relived those events nine times. The knife, the craven images, breaking the covenants set by your god.
Leoncio struggled to find words. The stranger had suddenly turned from a man into a skeletal being, its clothes in tatters.
“By the way, my good man. Where is the nearest church?”
Leoncio pointed to the south, in the direction of Molo church. He blinked and the stranger was gone, an empty seat was all that remained.
That night Leoncio’s screams could be heard for miles around as the legend of Siyam-Siyam was spread throughout Iloilo.
*In mid to late 19th century Iloilo, travelers on horseback or carriage told of encountering a restless spirit at night. The spirit at first appeared as a normal human and asked to hitch a ride. On the way it would talk casually and confess of its nine sins that it committed nine times. Then the hitchhiker will turn into a skeleton in tatters and ask for the nearest church and disappear while the travelers screamed their heads off. In one story, Siyam-Siyam finally found peace when he encountered a friar.
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Based on the Siyam-Siyam myth from Iloilo
Siyam-siyam Illustration by Justine André Villapa
Instagram: @art.justineandrev
