*Note this story is in Tagalog

Nagtipon tipon ang mga mangangaso para sa isang piging. Lingid sa kanilang kaalaman hindi lamang sila ang naroroon.

Matagal ko na silang sinusubaybayan.  Ilang buwan na. May mga pagkakatulad din sila ng mga Kagkag na nakasalamuha ko, magkatulad ngunit magkaiba.

Unang una ang kanilang pagsasalo salo ay hindi kagaya sa amin.  Bawat wirwir ay nagbabantay sa mga puntod tulad ng mga buwitreng sabik sa inuuod na laman.  Sa sandalling alam nila na walang ibang nilalang sa paligid sisimulan nila ang pagkain sa bankay.  Hindi sila magaaksaya ng panahon at hindi sila magaantay ng mga kauri nila.  Hindi ko rin alam kung nakapagpapalit sila ng anyo tulad ng aking kaibigan.

Lingid sa kaalam ng mga magulang ko, bawat gabi kapiling ko ang mga kagkag.  Akala nila’y natutulog laman ako sa aking kwarto, at iyon ang gusto kong isipin nila.  Hindi nila maiintindihan kung bakit nais kong kasama ang mga kagkag.

Ang tanging sandali na nadarama ko na ako’y buhay ay sa piling ng mga patay.

Napawi ang aking pagmumuni muni dahil sa mga tunog ng mga nababaling buto at ang matamis na tunog ng nadudurog na mga laman.  Isa pang pagkakaiba nila sa mga kagkag.  Tinatanggalan nila ng laman ang mga bankay at naninirahan dito.  Tumatagal sila ng ilang linggo sa loob ng bangkay.  Sa tingin ko kaya nila ito ginagawa upang matakot ang iba pang mangangain ng bangkay.

Nakakatawang isipin na kailangan nila itong gawin para paalisin ang ibang masasamang ispiritung kauri nila nang sagayon ay hindi maantala ang kanilang pagkain.

Dumapa ako at ipinatong ang aking ulo sa ibabaw ng malamig na lupa. Pinakikinggan ko ang tugtog ng kadiliman. Ang tunog ng kamatayan na aking ninanais. Tinuruan ako ng mga kagkag na gamitin ang aking mga pandama upang malaman kung kailan darating ang kamatayan.

Nakarinig ako ng panaghoy ng isang kaluluwa sa hindi kalayuan.  Bibilang ng ilang araw bago mailibing ang bangkay.  Naglalaway ako sa lasa ng isang bagong libing na bangkay.  Walang sasarap pa dito.

Ngunit ito ay makapaghihintay. Nandirito ako para sa ibang pakay.

Dinikit ko pa ang aking tenga sa lupa ang nadarama ko na ang mga mangangso ay nakahanap na ng kanilang susunod na pagkain. Hinukay nila ang lupa at unti unting binuksan ang kabaong na naroon upang makamit ang kanila minimithing premyo.

Panahon na upang magkaroon ng bagong kaibigan.

Sa paglapit ko nagsimulang umangil ang wirwir.  Hindi nila tinutuing na kaibigan ang mga tao, kahit ako hindi ko sila tinuturing kaibigan.

Binigyan ko sila ilang pirasong tenga na tira ng mga kagkag.  Sumisimbulon a nais kong makipag kaibigan.  Sa kanila ang tenga ang pinakamasarap na parte ng bangkay.

Pinalibutan ako ng mga wirwir. Magkahalong takot at pagsusupetsa ang nadarama ko buhat sa kanila.  Napansin ko nakalabas ang kanilang mga kutsilyong gawa sa buto.  Handa nilang ipagtanggol ang kanila sarili mula sa akin.

Maliwanag ang buwan ngayong gabi at kitang kita ko ang lahat ng wirwir na naroroon sa sementeryo. Nang mapansin nila akong lahat nadama kong nagiba ang kanilang pakiramdam.  Puno na ito ngayon ng kuryosidad.

Hinanap ko ang pinakamalaking wirwir.  Nagtama ang aming paningin at kinagat ko ang kapirasong tenga na nasa aking kamay.

Napuno ng tawanan ang sementeryo.  Kitang kita ko sa kanilang mukha ang magkahalong gulat at pagkamangha.

Sa isip ko “tama yan, tao ako pero pareho lang tayo.”

Lumapit sa akin ang pinakamalaking wirwir at binigyan niya akong kapirasong atay.  Agad ko itong kinuha at sinulang ngasabin.

Nawalan ng interest sa akin ang ibang wirwir nang mapagtanto nil ana katulad nila ako.  Bumalik sila sa mga nakabukas na libingan ang pinagpatuloy ang pagkain.

Tinitigan ako ng ng wirwir sa harap ko at umungol.

Ungol na animo’y nagtatanong kung ako ako.

Pinunasan ko ang aking bibig na puno ng dugo mula sa atay.  Inilahad ko sa kanya ang aking palad at sinabing “kaibigan”.

Matagal na silang takot sa mga gawi at gawa ng mga tao.  Nasa aking mga kamay ngayon ang pagasa nil ana muli silang makililala.  Na ang mga aswang ay maghaharing muli.

Kinuha niya ang kamay ko at hinila niya ko sa bangkay na siya niya ring ginawang tahanan.  Naamoy ko ang pinaghalo halong dugo, bangkay at lupa na lalong nakapaglaway sa aking bibig.

Hinandog ko sa kanya ang dala kong tenga na kanya naman tinanggap at kinain. Napansin kong gutom na gutom siya.

Maya maya pa ay tumayo ang aking baging kaibiga at tumili ng pagkatinistinis.

Mali… bakit andito na sila? Bakit maaga sila?

Nakita ko ang mga kagkag na unti unting nagbabago ng anyo.  Mula sa hayop nilang anyo ay nagpalit ito ng totoong anyo. Ang bago kong kaibigan ay bumalik sa loob ng bangkay na kanyang tahanan at hapunan. Mukhang gusto din magdaos ng piging ang mga kagkag at hindi nila gusting may ibang kasalamuha.

Tumayo ako at sumigaw na animo’y nanggagaling sa ilalim ng lupa.

Sa sandalling iyon ang mga kagkag at wirwir ay naintindihan ang nais ko.

“Dapat tayong magsamasama at magsanib ng pwersa.  May paparating na malaking sakuna” Dinig ang tinig ko sa buong sementeryo.

Binaba ng mga wirwir ang kanilang mga kutsilyong yar isa buto gayon din ang mga kagkag na nagbaba ng mga bungong kanilang sandata.

Hindi nila kailangang magtalo at magkasakitan.  Pareho lang ang minimithi naming.

Gusto naming pare pareho ng puwang sa sanlibutan.

“sama sama tayo” winika ko ito gamit ang aking bibig at mata.

“Simulan ang piging!”

=—————————-=

English Version

The hunters gather for their feast, but little do they know they are not alone.

I’ve been watching them for months, so similar to the kagkag that I’ve spent so much time with, but also very different.

For one, they don’t have feasts like we do. Each wirwir hangs around graveyards like vultures and dig up the graves as soon as they think they’re alone, they don’t even wait for others of their kind to join in.  If they can change their form like my friends, I haven’t seen it.

I’ve spent most of my nights around the kagkag. My parents think I’m quietly sleeping in my bedroom and that’s the way I want to keep it. They mean well, for old people anyway, but they would never understand.

The only time I feel alive is among the dead.

My thoughts are interrupted by the breaking of bone and the sweet sound of crushed flesh. Another way they are different from the kagkag. They hollow out the corpses and live inside them, sometimes for weeks at a time. I think it’s so that they can scare away the other corpse eaters.

What a silly notion, scaring the ghouls, as if anything can keep them away from their next meal.

I put my head on the ground and listen to the black harmony I love so much, the sound of death. The kagkag taught me how to use my senses in ways that I could keep the shroud of the grave close to me.

I hear the expiration of another soul not far from the graveyard, it may take a few days to get buried but nothing tastes as delectable as a freshly buried corpse.

But that can wait. I’m here for something different.

I press my ear closer to the earth and wait for the telltale beat that tell me the hunters have found their next meal. They part the earth and crack the coffin to get to their prize.

It’s time to make some new friends.

The wirwir hiss and snarl as I approach, they’re not fond of humans and I can’t blame them. Neither am I to be perfectly honest.

I give them a token of peace, some ears leftover from the last feast I had with the kagkag. They would always save the best parts for last.

The hunters surround me with fear and suspicion. I notice they have knives made from bone, probably to defend themselves against those that look like me.

The moon is bright tonight and I can see all the wirwir from around the graveyard. Once I made my presence known their curiosity outmatched their fear.

I lock eyes with the largest wirwir and take a bite out of one of the ears.

It’s laughter echoes through the graveyard. The others rattle their bony implements and join in the amusement.

“That’s right, I may be human, but I’m just like you,” I think to myself.

The wirwir that I made contact with shambles out of its corpse home and offers me a piece of liver, I gladly accept and start the feast.

The others seemed to lose interest once I proved that I was like them. They walked back to the graves and coffins, more focused on their next meal.

The wirwir looks me in the eye and grunts.

“What are you?” It seems to ask.

I take my finger and wipe the blood from my mouth. I spread it around my hands and offer them to the wirwir.

“A friend.” I hope it understands.

Too long have the ghouls stood scared against the workings of humankind. It’s up to me to make sure that my friends have their time in the sun.

So to speak.

My new friend takes my hand and leads me to his corpse house. The smell of blood and earth makes my mouth water, and I accept the invitation and share a meal with the wirwir.

I offer him the ears and he devours them like a glutton.

Suddenly it raises its head and shrieks.

No. They’ve come too early.

The kagkag shift from their animal forms and my new friend retreats back into the corpse we were sharing. They seem to want to hold one of their fiestas, and others are not welcome.

I shout at the top of my lungs, a deep, guttural dirge.

For a moment all eyes are on me, the wirwir and the kagkag both seem to understand what I’m trying to do.

“We must all come together to face a bigger threat.” My shout echoes to the far end of the cemetery.

The wirwir lay down their knives and the kagkag set aside their skulls.

Both groups need not worry, for we are all the same.

We all want a little piece of humanity, don’t we?

I take my bloodstained hands and hold my new friend and the closest kagkag.

“Together.” I say with both my eyes and my words.

“Let the fiesta begin.”

=—————–=

Continued from the Kagkag’s tale

Inspired by the Wirwir entry in Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology. Ramos. 1971.

Wirwir Illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito
FB: That Guy With A Pen

*Note this story is in Tagalog

Walang “on the job training” sa trabaho ko. Kailangan mo lang makisama, at huwag hayaang lamunin ka ng takot.

Nasaan na ba ako?

Oo nga pala, nasa karanasan ko pagtatrabaho sa sementeryo.

Halos 40 taon na ang lumipas ng umalis ako sa Mindanao para sa magandang bukas na ng aking mga  anak. Si Carmen at Berto.

Alam mo naming nakapagtapos sila ng kolehiyo di ‘ba? Lagi nila akong pinipilit na umalis na sa aking trabaho, sa iba na lang daw. Basta malayo sa mga nitso’t buto, lalo na noong namatay ang kanilang ama, naku! Pero hindi ko nakikita ang sarili ko na umalis sa lugar na ito.

Doon ako naglagi, doon sa museleo na kulay asul.

Naging hilig ko na ang paliguan ng asul na pintura ang mga libingan. Tignan mo, masarap sa mata tignan ang  itsura ng libingan, kalmado.

Ano nga? Ay, pasensya na! Iniiba ko na naman ang usapan, kaming mga matatanda ay ganito na talaga madalas.

Ayon, na naniniwala ba ko sa mga multo?

Hindi mo naman kailangang maging baliw para maniwala!

Noong unang dating naming dito, ginigising kami ng mga tunog mula sa kadena tuwing alas tres, aba’y wala namang mga tao.

Yung asawa kong ‘yon, masayahin at mahilig uminom.

Isang beses sa kaniyang kalasingan, kumuha siya ng bungo at sinama niya sa paglilibot sa buong sementeryo. Nang gabing din iyon, nagpakita sa kaniya ang kaluluwa. Dali-dali akong pumunta sa kinaroroonan niya, pero wala namang ibang tao doon. Pagkatapos noon, nagkasakit siya. Syempre isa lang ang magpapagaling sa kaniya, ang paghingi ng tawad. Kaya ako’y nag-alay sa multo para sa paghingi ng tawad.

Mabisa iyon, ng araw din iyon ay gumaling ang aking asawa!

Natatawa na lang ako kapag naalala iyon.

Nawala na naman ba ‘ko sa usapan natin?

Sige na nga, sasabihin ko na sa iyo.

Hindi ko talaga, plinano na magtagal dito. Ang asawa ko talaga ang nangangalaga sa mga libingan  bago pa ako dumating galing probinsya.

May mga naririnig na akong kuwento galing sa mga lolo at lola ko. Na may mga nilalang na naniniwalang hindi dapat nirerespeto ang mga yumao.

Lalo na kung hindi sila gutom.

Sa matagal na pagtatrabaho ko rito, may iilan din naman akong nakita.

Mayroon d’yan na kayang pasabugin ang tyan ng patay sa pamamagitan lang ng paghawak sa kabaong.

Kaya lagi kong pinapaalalahanan yung mga pamilya na mag-iwan ng bukas na ilaw. Nakatutulong yan laban sa mga   ganung nilalang.

Yung mga nakalibing dito, iba-iba iyan ng karanasan. Mayroon diyan katulad sa sitwasyon ko, umalis sa sariling bayan. Kaya lagi kong nirerespeto kung ano man ang mga tradisyon nila.

Katulad ng libingan doon.

Ay, doon sa bandang kaliwa.

Tama, ayun nga.

Napansin mo ba yung malaking piraso ng metal sa libingan?  Pinakiusap ‘yan ng pamilya niyan na dapat lagi iyan nandyan.

Hindi nila sinabi kung bakit, hindi rin naman ako nagtanong kung bakit. Siguro kailangan talaga iyon. Bilang proteksyon sa mga mahal mo sa buhay kahit na sila ay patay na.

Kaya ngayon, magsisimula na ako.

Ang pinakanakakainis sa mga mga multong ito, iyon yung mga hindi marunong mag-isip nang mabuti. Sa ibang lugar, ang tawag sa kanila ay wirwir. Ako ang tawag ko sa kanila ay mga buwisit.

Binabantayan ko lagi yung mga bagong libing tuwing gabi. Para lang masigurado na hindi nila, oo nila dahil grupo-grupo sila kung pumunta, hukuyin ang libingan at kainin ang patay.

Noon e, kayang-kaya ko pa. Pero ngayong tumatanda na ako ay pinapahirapan na ako ng mga buto ko.

Dumating na nga sa puntong, gusto ko ng sumuko.

Pero may tumulong sa akin.

Pinapalibutan na ng mga wirwir yung bagong libingan.

Nang marinig ko ang tunog ng isang saksopon.

At parang kidlat, itong sementeryo ay napuno ng iba’t ibang instrumento. Hawak-hawak ito ng mga kahindik-hindik na mga nilalang.

Pero ng binuka nila ang kanilang mga bibig upang tumugtog, aba! Napapasayaw ako.

Hindi ko alam kung sa henereasyon niyo ngayon e alam niyo ang tunay na tunog ng Jazz. Pero sa mga panahong ‘yon, narinig ko.

Namangha ako. Tahimik akong nakatayo ng biglang may tumapik sa akin.  Matangkad na  Amerikano. Pumalakpak siya at malakas na sinabing “Let’s make more lovely music for our audience!”

Doon ko lang napansin na tumigil na pala sa paghuhukay ng libangan yung mga wirwir. Sumasayaw na ito sa saliw ng banda. May nakita akong trumpeta, trombonyo, tambol, mayroon pa nga atang piyano na gawa sa buto.

Hindi ko na maalala ang mga sumunod na nangyari. Parang sinabi pa nga ng Amerikano na kailangan pa niya ng miyembro para makompleto ang tunog na nais nito. Ano ibig niyang sabihin? Ay, hindi ko alam!

Siguro, yung Amerikano at kaniyang banda ay nandyan lang. Napapasayaw sa mga wirwir.

=————————————————–=

English Version

There’s no “on the job training” for what I do. You just have to adapt and not take let the fear overtake you.

Now where was I?

Oh yes, my experiences in the Cemetery.

Nearly 40 years ago I left Mindanao to search for a better life, it was for my children, you see.

Carmen and Berto. You know they both finished college? They kept (and keep) trying to get me to move somewhere else, away from the bones and coffins, especially after their father died. But I can’t imagine leaving this place.

I stay in a small mausoleum over there by the blue one.

My favorite thing to do is giving the tombs a fresh coat of paint, and well, I think blue is really calming.

Yes? Oh I’m sorry! I keep changing the topic, I get that way sometimes. Most people do when they’re my age.

Do I believe in ghosts?

Well you would have to be crazy not to!

The first time I arrived from the province my husband and I would wake up at 3 in the morning to the sound of chains. No one was there of course. No person, at least.

My husband was a happy man that also liked to drink a lot.

One time he played with a skull and carried it around the cemetery.

That night the ghost showed itself to him. I rushed to where he was, of course, but there was nothing there. Then he got really sick. I did the only thing I could think of and asked for forgiveness, and gave an offering to the spirit.

It worked and my husband managed to get better within the day.

Those were good times, me and him and the graves.

I got off topic again, didn’t I?

Alright, let me tell you about it.

I never planned to be here for long. My husband took care of the graves before I came here from the province.

There were stories I knew from my lolos and lolas. Creatures that didn’t think that the dead were something to be respected.

Not if they were hungry.

In my years I’ve come across a few kinds.

There were the ones that would make a corpse’s belly bust just by touching the coffin.

I’d always tell the families at the wake to leave bright lights. That always helped against these creatures.

The dead buried here come from all walks of life. Some of them travelling far from their roots like I did. I always made sure to respect their traditions.

Like the grave over there.

No, the one to the left.

Yes, that one.

If you look closely you can see a big piece of metal on the grave. The family requested that it be on there at all times.

I didn’t ask, and they didn’t tell. It was just something that had to be done. To protect your loved one even after they passed.

And now I get to my story.

The most aggravating of these spirits were the ones that were too stupid to know better. In some places they called them the wirwir. I just called them annoying.

Every night after a new coffin was buried, I would have to keep watch to make sure they (yes they travel in packs) keep from digging through the grave and eating the body.

It was tolerable when I was younger, but these old bones ache.

There was a point where I didn’t think I could handle it anymore.

But on one strange night I had help.

The wirwir were clumped together around the newly set grave

Then I heard the saxophones.

In a flash the cemetery was filled with instruments.

Grotesque creatures of all shapes and sizes opened their mouths.

And it made me want to dance.

I don’t know if you young people know what real jazz sounds like, but it was there.

I stood silent, overwhelmed by what I was seeing, then someone tapped my shoulder.

It was a tall American (I could tell by his accent). He was dressed like he just stepped out of a movie.

He clapped his hands and shouted to the creatures, “Let’s make more lovely music for our audience!”

Then I noticed the wirwir were joining in. They had stopped digging for their next meal and were dancing to the beat of the bone-drums. I saw trumpets, trombones, bass and even a piano made of polished white bone.

I don’t remember much after that. I think the American said he needed more members to make the sound complete. What that meant I didn’t know.

I’d like to think that the American and his band are still out there somewhere.

Giving the ghouls the time of their lives.

=——————————————————————-=

*Tagalog is an Austronesian language spoken as a first language by a quarter of the population of the Philippines and as a second language by the majority. Its standardized form, officially named Filipino, is the national language of the Philippines, and is one of two official languages alongside English.

Written by Karl Gaverza

Translation by Kenn Empuesto
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Translation Copyright © Kenn Empuesto

Inspired by the Wirwir description in Vanoverbergh, Morice. (1938). “The Isneg Life Cycle II: Marriage, Death, and Burial.” PCAC 3 (3)

Wirwir Illustration by Ethan of @Mangkukulang

FB:@Mangkukulang

IG:@Mangkukulang

The Diary of a Teenage Cannibal Part 2

The hunters gather for their feast, but little do they know they are not alone.

I’ve been watching them for months, so similar to the kagkag that I’ve spent so much time with, but also very different.

For one, they don’t have feasts like we do. Each wirwir hangs around graveyards like vultures and dig up the graves as soon as they think they’re alone, they don’t even wait for others of their kind to join in. If they can change their form like my friends, I haven’t seen it.

I’ve spent most of my nights around the kagkag. My parents think I’m quietly sleeping in my bedroom and that’s the way I want to keep it. They mean well, for old people anyway, but they would never understand.

The only time I feel alive is among the dead.

My thoughts are interrupted by the breaking of bone and the sweet sound of crushed flesh. Another way they are different from the kagkag. They hollow out the corpses and live inside them, sometimes for weeks at a time. I think it’s so that they can scare away the other corpse eaters.

What a silly notion, scaring the ghouls, as if anything can keep them away from their next meal.

I put my head on the ground and listen to the black harmony I love so much, the sound of death. The kagkag taught me how to use my senses in ways that I could keep the shroud of the grave close to me.

I hear the expiration of another soul not far from the graveyard, it may take a few days to get buried but nothing tastes as delectable as a freshly buried corpse.

But that can wait. I’m here for something different.

I press my ear closer to the earth and wait for the telltale beat that tell me the hunters have found their next meal. They part the earth and crack the coffin to get to their prize.

It’s time to make some new friends.

The wirwir hiss and snarl as I approach, they’re not fond of humans and I can’t blame them. Neither am I to be perfectly honest.

I give them a token of peace, some ears leftover from the last feast I had with the kagkag. They would always save the best parts for last.

The hunters surround me with fear and suspicion. I notice they have knives made from bone, probably to defend themselves against those that look like me.

The moon is bright tonight and I can see all the wirwir from around the graveyard. Once I made my presence known their curiosity outmatched their fear.

I lock eyes with the largest wirwir and take a bite out of one of the ears.

It’s laughter echoes through the graveyard. The others rattle their bony implements and join in the amusement.

“That’s right, I may be human, but I’m just like you,” I think to myself.

The wirwir that I made contact with shambles out of its corpse home and offers me a piece of liver, I gladly accept and start the feast.

The others seemed to lose interest once I proved that I was like them. They walked back to the graves and coffins, more focused on their next meal.

The wirwir looks me in the eye and grunts.

“What are you?” It seems to ask.

I take my finger and wipe the blood from my mouth. I spread it around my hands and offer them to the wirwir.

“A friend.” I hope it understands.

Too long have the ghouls stood scared against the workings of humankind. It’s up to me to make sure that my friends have their time in the sun.

So to speak.

My new friend takes my hand and leads me to his corpse house. The smell of blood and earth makes my mouth water, and I accept the invitation and share a meal with the wirwir.
I offer him the ears and he devours them like a glutton.
Suddenly it raises its head and shrieks.

No. They’ve come too early.

The kagkag shift from their animal forms and my new friend retreats back into the corpse we were sharing. They seem to want to hold one of their fiestas, and others are not welcome.
I shout at the top of my lungs, a deep, guttural dirge.

For a moment all eyes are on me, the wirwir and the kagkag both seem to understand what I’m trying to do.

“We must all come together to face a bigger threat.” My shout echoes to the far end of the cemetery.

The wirwir lay down their knives and the kagkag set aside their skulls.

Both groups need not worry, for we are all the same.
We all want a little piece of humanity, don’t we?

I take my bloodstained hands and hold my new friend and the closest kagkag.

“Together.” I say with both my eyes and my words.

“Let the fiesta begin.”

————————–————————–————————–—

Continued from the Kagkag’s tale

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Inspired by the Wirwir entry in Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology. Ramos. 1971.

Wirwir Illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito
FB: That Guy With A Pen